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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/18372-8.txt b/18372-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0aab8b6 --- /dev/null +++ b/18372-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5057 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Argosy, 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: The Argosy + Vol. 51, No. 2, February, 1891 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Charles W. Woods + +Release Date: May 11, 2006 [EBook #18372] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ARGOSY *** + + + + +Produced by Paul Murray, Taavi Kalju and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + _"Laden with Golden Grain"_ + + * * * * * + + THE + ARGOSY. + + + EDITED BY + CHARLES W. WOOD. + + * * * * * + + + VOLUME LI. + + _January to June, 1891._ + + * * * * * + + + RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, + 8, NEW BURLINGTON STREET, LONDON, W. + + Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty. + + _All rights reserved._ + + + LONDON: + PRINTED BY OGDEN, SMALE AND CO. LIMITED, + GREAT SAFFRON HILL, E.C. + + + + + +_CONTENTS._ + + +THE FATE OF THE HARA DIAMOND. Illustrated by M.L. GOW. + + Chap. I. My Arrival at Deepley Walls Jan + II. The Mistress of Deepley Walls Jan + III. A Voyage of Discovery Jan + IV. Scarsdale Weir Jan + V. At Rose Cottage Feb + VI. The Growth of a Mystery Feb + VII. Exit Janet Hope Feb + VIII. By the Scotch Express Feb + IX. At "The Golden Griffin" Mar + X. The Stolen Manuscript Mar + XI. Bon Repos Mar + XII. The Amsterdam Edition of 1698 Mar + XIII. M. Platzoff's Secret--Captain Ducie's Translation of + M. Paul Platzoff's MS Mar + XIV. Drashkil-Smoking Apr + XV. The Diamond Apr + XVI. Janet's Return Apr + XVII. Deepley Walls after Seven Years Apr + XVIII. Janet in a New Character May + XIX. The Dawn of Love May + XX. The Narrative of Sergeant Nicholas May + XXI. Counsel taken with Mr. Madgin May + XXII. Mr. Madgin at the Helm Jun + XXIII. Mr. Madgin's Secret Journey Jun + XXIV. Enter Madgin Junior Jun + XXV. Madgin Junior's First Report Jun + + * * * * * + +THE SILENT CHIMES. By JOHNNY LUDLOW (Mrs. HENRY WOOD). + + Putting Them Up Jan + Playing Again Feb + Ringing at Midday Mar + Not Heard Apr + Silent for Ever May + + * * * * * + +THE BRETONS AT HOME. By CHARLES W. WOOD, F.R.G.S. With + 35 Illustrations Jan, Feb, Mar, Apr, May, Jun + + * * * * * + +About the Weather Jun +Across the River. By HELEN M. BURNSIDE Apr +After Twenty Years. By ADA M. TROTTER Feb +A Memory. By GEORGE COTTERELL Feb +A Modern Witch Jan +An April Folly. By GILBERT H. PAGE Apr +A Philanthropist. By ANGUS GREY Jun +Aunt Phoebe's Heirlooms: An Experience in Hypnotism Feb +A Social Debut Mar +A Song. By G.B. STUART Jan +Enlightenment. By E. NESBIT Feb +In a Bernese Valley. By ALEXANDER LAMONT Feb +Legend of an Ancient Minster. By JOHN GRĈME Mar +Longevity. By W.F. AINSWORTH, F.S.A. Apr +Mademoiselle Elise. By EDWARD FRANCIS Jun +Mediums and Mysteries. By NARISSA ROSAVO Feb +Miss Kate Marsden Jan +My May Queen. By JOHN JERVIS BERESFORD, M.A. May +Old China Jun +On Letter-Writing. By A.H. JAPP, LL.D. May +Paul. By the Author of "Adonais, Q.C." May +"Proctorised" Apr +Rondeau. By E. NESBIT Mar +Saint or Satan? By A. BERESFORD Feb +Sappho. By MARY GREY Mar +Serenade. By E. NESBIT Jun +Sonnets. By JULIA KAVANAGH Jan, Feb, Apr, Jun +So Very Unattractive! Jun +Spes. By JOHN JERVIS BERESFORD, M.A. Apr +Sweet Nancy. By JEANIE GWYNNE BETTANY May +The Church Garden. By CHRISTIAN BURKE May +The Only Son of his Mother. By LETITIA MCCLINTOCK Mar +To my Soul. From the French of Victor Hugo Jun +Unexplained. By LETITIA MCCLINTOCK Apr +Who Was the Third Maid? Jan +Winter in Absence Feb + + * * * * * + +_POETRY._ + +Sonnets. By JULIA KAVANAGH Jan, Feb, Apr, Jun +A Song. By G.B. STUART Jan +Enlightenment. By E. NESBIT Feb +Winter in Absence Feb +A Memory. By GEORGE COTTERELL Feb +In a Bernese Valley. By ALEXANDER LAMONT Feb +Rondeau. By E. NESBIT Mar +Spes. By JOHN JERVIS BERESFORD, M.A. Apr +Across the River. By HELEN M. BURNSIDE Apr +My May Queen. By JOHN JERVIS BERESFORD, M.A. May +The Church Garden. By CHRISTIAN BURKE May +Serenade. By E. NESBIT Jun +To my Soul. From the French of Victor Hugo Jun +Old China Jun + + * * * * * + +_ILLUSTRATIONS._ + +By M.L. Gow. + + "I advanced slowly up the room, stopped, and curtsied." + + "I saw and recognised the mysterious midnight visitor." + + "He came back in a few minutes, but so transformed in outward + appearance that Ducie scarcely knew him." + + "Behold!" + + "Sister Agnes knelt for a few moments and bent her head in silent + prayer." + + "He put his hand to his side, and motioned Mirpah to open the letter." + + * * * * * + +Illustrations to "The Bretons at Home." + + + + +[Illustration: I SAW AND RECOGNIZED THE MYSTERIOUS MIDNIGHT VISITOR.] + + + + +THE ARGOSY. + +_FEBRUARY, 1891._ + + + + +THE FATE OF THE HARA DIAMOND. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +AT ROSE COTTAGE. + + +On regaining my senses I found myself in a cozy little bed in a cozy +little room, with an old gentleman sitting by my side gently chafing one +of my hands--a gentleman with white hair and a white moustache, with a +ruddy face and a smile that made me all in love with him at first sight. + +"Did I not say that she would do famously in a little while?" he cried, +in a cheery voice that it did one good to listen to. "I believe the +Poppetina has only been hoaxing us all this time: pretending to be +half-drowned just to find out whether anyone would make a fuss about +her. Is not that the truth, little one?" + +"If you please, sir, where am I? And are you a doctor?" I asked, +faintly. + +"I am not a doctor, either of medicine or law," answered the +white-haired gentleman. "I am Major Strickland, and this place is Rose +Cottage--the magnificent mansion which I call my own. But you had better +not talk, my dear--at least not just yet: not till the doctor himself +has seen you." + +"But how did I get here?" I pleaded. "Do tell me that, please." + +"Simply thus. My nephew Geordie was out mooning on the bridge when he +heard a cry for help. Next minute he saw you and your boat go over the +weir. He rushed down to the quiet water at the foot of the falls, +plunged in, and fished you out before you had time to get more than +half-drowned. My housekeeper, Deborah, put you to bed, and here you are. +But I am afraid that you have hurt yourself among those ugly stones that +line the weir; so Geordie has gone off for the doctor, and we shall soon +know how you really are. One question I must ask you, in order that I +may send word to your friends. What is your name? and where do you +live?" + +Before I could reply, the village doctor came bounding up the stairs +three at a time. Five minutes sufficed him for my case. A good night's +rest and a bottle of his mixture were all that was required. A few hours +would see me as well as ever. Then he went. + +"And now for the name and address, Poppetina," said the smiling Major. +"We must send word to papa and mamma without a moment's delay." + +"I have neither papa nor mamma," I answered. "My name is Janet Hope, and +I come from Deepley Walls." + +"From Deepley Walls!" exclaimed the Major. "I thought I knew everybody +under Lady Chillington's roof, but I never heard of you before to-night, +my dear." + +Then I told him that I had been only two days with Lady Chillington, and +that all of my previous life that I could remember had been spent at +Park Hill Seminary. + +The Major was evidently puzzled by what I had told him. He mused for +several moments without speaking. Hitherto my face had been in +half-shadow, the candle having been placed behind the curtain that fell +round the head of the bed, so as not to dazzle my eyes. This candle the +Major now took, and held it about a yard above my head, so that its full +light fell on my upturned face. I was swathed in a blanket, and while +addressing the Major had raised myself on my elbow in bed. My long black +hair, still damp, fell wildly round my shoulders. + +The moment Major Strickland's eyes rested on my face, on which the full +light of the candle was now shining, his ruddy cheek paled; he started +back in amazement, and was obliged to replace the candlestick on the +table. + +"Great Heavens! what a marvellous resemblance!" he exclaimed. "It cannot +arise from accident merely. There must be a hidden link somewhere." + +Then taking the candle for the second time, he scanned my face again +with eyes that seemed to pierce me through and through. "It is as if one +had come to me suddenly from the dead," I heard him say in a low voice. +Then with down-bent head and folded arms he took several turns across +the room. + +"Sir, of whom do I remind you?" I timidly asked. + +"Of someone, child, whom I knew when I was young--of someone who died +long years before you were born." There was a ring of pathos in his +voice that seemed like the echo of some sorrowful story. + +"Are you sure that you have no other name than Janet Hope?" he asked, +presently. + +"None, sir, that I know of. I have been called Janet Hope ever since I +can remember." + +"But about your parents? What were they called, and where did they +live?" + +"I know nothing whatever about them except what Sister Agnes told me +yesterday." + +"And she said--what?" + +"That my father was drowned abroad several years ago, and that my mother +died a year later." + +"Poverina! But it is strange that Sister Agnes should have known your +parents. Perhaps she can supply the missing link. The mention of her +name reminds me that I have not yet sent word to Deepley Walls that you +are safe and sound at Rose Cottage. Geordie must start without a +moment's delay. I am an old friend of Lady Chillington, my dear, so that +she will be quite satisfied when she learns that you are under my roof." + +"But, sir, when shall I see the gentleman who got me out of the water?" +I asked. + +"What, Geordie? Oh, you'll see Geordie in the morning, never fear! A +good boy! a fine boy! though it's his old uncle who says it." + +Then he rang the bell, and when Deborah, his only servant, came up, he +committed me with many injunctions into her charge. Then taking my head +gently between his hands, he kissed me tenderly on the forehead, and +wished me "Good-night, and happy dreams." + +Deborah was very kind. She brought me up a delicious little supper, and +decided that there was no need for me to take the doctor's nauseous +mixture. She took it herself instead, but merely as a sop to her +conscience and my own; "for, after all, you know, there's very little +difference in physic--it's all nasty; and I daresay this mixture will do +my lumbago no harm." + +The effects of the accident had almost entirely passed away by next +morning, and I was dressed and downstairs by seven o'clock. I found the +Major hard at work digging up the garden for his winter crops. "Ah, +Poppetina, down so early!" he cried. "And how do we feel this morning, +eh? None the worse for our ducking, I hope." + +I assured him that I was quite well, and that I had never felt better in +my life. + +"That will be good news for her ladyship," he replied, "and will prove +to her that Miss Hope has not fallen among Philistines. In any case, she +cannot be more pleased than I am to find that you have sustained no harm +from your accident. There is something, Poverina, in that face of yours +that brings back the past to me strangely. But here comes Master +Geordie." + +I turned and saw a young man sauntering slowly down the pathway. He was +very fair, and, to me, seemed very handsome. He had blue eyes, and his +hair was a mass of short, crisp flaxen curls. From the way in which the +Major regarded him as he came lounging up, I could see that the old +soldier was very proud of his young Adonis of a nephew. The latter +lifted his hat as he opened the wicket, and bade his uncle good-morning. +Me he did not for the moment see. + +"Miss Hope is not up yet, I suppose?" he said. "I trust she is none the +worse for her tumble over the weir." + +"Our little water-nymph is here to answer for herself," said the Major. +"The roses in her cheeks seem all the brighter for their wetting." + +George Strickland turned smilingly towards me, and held out his hand. "I +am very glad to find that you have suffered so little from your +accident," he said. "When I fished you out of the river last night you +looked so death-like that I was afraid we should not be able to bring +you round without difficulty." + +Tears stood in my eyes as I took his hand. "Oh, sir, how brave, how +noble it was of you to act as you did! You saved my life at the risk of +your own; and how can I ever thank you enough?" + +A bright colour came into his cheek as I spoke. "My dear child, you must +not speak in that way," he said. "What I did was a very ordinary thing. +Anyone else in my place would have done precisely the same. I must not +claim more merit than is due for an action so simple." + +"To you it may seem a simple thing to do, but I cannot forget that it +was my life that you saved." + +"What an old-fashioned princess it is!" said the Major. "Why, it must +have been born a hundred years ago, and have had a fairy for its +godmother. But here comes Deborah to tell us that breakfast is ready. +Toasted bacon is better than pretty speeches; so come along with you, +and make believe that you have known each other for a twelvemonth at +least." + +Rose Cottage was a tiny place, and there were not wanting proofs that +the Major's income was commensurate with the scale of his establishment. +A wise economy had to be a guiding rule in Major Strickland's life, +otherwise Mr. George's college expenses would never have been met, and +that young gentleman would not have had a proper start in life. Deborah +was the only servant that the little household could afford; but then +the Major himself was gardener, butler, valet and page in one. Thus--he +cleaned the knives in a machine of his own invention; he brushed his own +clothes; he lacquered his own boots, and at a pinch could mend them. He +dug and planted his own garden, and grew enough potatoes and greenstuff +to serve his little family the year round. In a little paddock behind +his garden the Major kept a cow; in the garden itself he had +half-a-dozen hives; while not far away was a fowl-house that supplied +him with more eggs than he could dispose of, except by sale. The Major's +maxim was, that the humblest offices of labour could be dignified by a +gentleman, and by his own example he proved the rule. What few leisure +hours he allowed himself were chiefly spent with rod and line on the +banks of the Adair. + +George Strickland was an orphan, and had been adopted and brought up by +his uncle since he was six years old. So far, the uncle had been able +to supply the means for having him educated in accordance with his +wishes. For the last three years George had been at one of the public +schools, and now he was at home for a few weeks' holiday previously to +going to Cambridge. + +It will of course be understood that but a very small portion of what is +here set down respecting Rose Cottage and its inmates was patent to me +at that first visit; much of it, indeed, did not come within my +cognizance till several years afterwards. + +When breakfast was over, the Major lighted an immense meerschaum, and +then invited me to accompany him over his little demesne. To a girl +whose life had been spent within the four bare walls of a school-room, +everything was fresh and everything was delightful. First to the +fowl-house, then to the hives, and after that to see the brindled calf +in the paddock, whose gambols and general mode of conducting himself +were so utterly absurd that I laughed more in ten minutes after seeing +him than I had done in ten years previously. + +When we got back to the cottage, George was ready to take me on the +river. The Major went down with us and saw us safely on board the _Water +Lily_, bade us good-bye for an hour, and then went about his morning's +business. I was rather frightened at first, the _Water Lily_ was such a +tiny craft, so long and narrow that it seemed to me as if the least +movement on one side must upset it. But George showed me exactly where +to sit, and gave me the tiller-ropes, with instructions how to manage +them, and was himself so full of quiet confidence that my fears quickly +died a natural death, and a sweet sense of enjoyment took their place. + +We were on that part of the river which was below the weir, and as we +put out from shore the scene of my last night's adventure was clearly +visible. There, spanning the river just above the weir, was the +open-work timber bridge on which George was standing when my cry for +help struck his ears. There was the weir itself, a sheet of foaming, +frothing water, that as it fell dashed itself in white-lipped passion +against the rounded boulders that seemed striving in vain to turn it +from its course. And here, a little way from the bottom of the weir, was +the pool of quiet water over which our little boat was now cleaving its +way, and out of which the handsome young man now sitting opposite to me +had plucked me, bruised and senseless, only a few short hours ago. I +shuddered and could feel myself turn pale as I looked. George seemed to +read my thoughts; he smiled, but said nothing. Then bending all his +strength to the oars, he sent the _Water Lily_ spinning on her course. +All my skill and attention were needed for the proper management of the +tiller, and for a little while all morbid musings were banished from my +mind. + +Scarcely a word passed between us during the next half-hour, but I was +too happy to care much for conversation. When we had gone a couple of +miles or more, George pointed out a ruinous old house that stood on a +dreary flat about a quarter of a mile from the river. Many years ago, he +told me, that house had been the scene of a terrible murder, and was +said to have been haunted ever since. Nobody would live in it; it was +shunned as a place accursed, and was now falling slowly into decay and +ruin. I listened to the story with breathless interest, and the telling +of it seemed to make us quite old friends. After this there seemed no +lack of subjects for conversation. George shipped his oars, and the boat +was allowed to float lazily down the stream. He told about his +schooldays, and I told about mine. The height of his ambition, he said, +was to go into the army, and become a soldier like his dear old uncle. +But Major Strickland wanted him to become a lawyer; and, owing +everything to his uncle as he did, it was impossible for him not to +accede to his wishes. "Besides which," added George, with a sigh, "a +commission is an expensive thing to buy, and dear old uncle is anything +but rich." + +When we first set out that morning I think that George, from the summit +of his eighteen years, had been inclined to look down upon me as a +little school miss, whom he might patronise in a kindly sort of way, but +whose conversation could not possibly interest a man of his sense and +knowledge of the world. But whether it arose from that "old-fashioned" +quality of which Major Strickland had made mention, which caused me to +seem so much older than my years; or whether it arose from the genuine +interest I showed in all he had to say; certain it is that long before +we got back to Rose Cottage we were talking as equals in years and +understanding; but that by no means prevented me from looking up to him +in my own mind as to a being superior, not only to myself, but to the +common run of humanity. I was sorry when we got back in sight of the +weir, and as I stepped ashore I thought that this morning and the one I +had spent with Sister Agnes in Charke Forest were the two happiest of my +life. I had no prevision that the fair-haired young man with whom I had +passed three such pleasant hours would, in after years, influence my +life in a way that just now I was far too much a child even to dream of. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE GROWTH OF A MYSTERY. + + +We started at five o'clock to walk back to Deepley Walls, the Major, and +I, and George. It was only two miles away across the fields. I was quite +proud to be seen in the company of so stately a gentleman as Major +Strickland, who was dressed this afternoon as for a visit of ceremony. +He had on a blue frock-coat, tightly buttoned, to which the builder had +imparted an intangible something that smacked undeniably of the old +soldier. He wore a hat rather wide in the brim; a high stiff checked +cravat; a white vest; and lacquered military boots, over which his +tightly-strapped trousers fell without a crease. He had white buckskin +gloves, a stout silver-headed malacca cane, and carried a choice +geranium in his button-hole. + +There was not much conversation among us by the way. The Major's usual +flow of talk seemed to have deserted him this afternoon, and his mood +seemed unconsciously to influence both George and me. Lady Chillington's +threat to send me to a French school weighed down my spirits. I had +found dear friends--Sister Agnes, the kind-hearted Major, and his +nephew, only to be torn from them--to be plunged back into the cold, +cheerless monotony of school-girl life, where there would be no one to +love me, but many to find fault. + +We went back by way of the plantation. George would not go any farther +than the wicket at its edge, and it was agreed that he should there +await the Major's return from the Hall. "I hope, Miss Janet, that we +shall see you at Rose Cottage again before many days are over," he said, +as he took my hand to bid me farewell. "Uncle has promised to ask her +ladyship to spare you for a few days." + +"I shall be very, very glad to come, Mr. George. As long as I live I +shall be in your debt, for I cannot forget that I owe you my life." + +"The fairy godmother is whispering in her ear," said the Major in a loud +aside. "She talks like a woman of forty." + +While still some distance away we could see Lady Chillington sunning +herself on the western terrace. With a pang of regret I saw that Sister +Agnes was not with her. The Major quickened his pace; I clung to his +hand, and felt without seeing that her ladyship's eyes were fixed upon +me severely. + +"I have brought back your wandering princess," said the Major, in his +cheery way, as he lifted his hat. Then, as he took her proffered hand, +"I hope your ladyship is in perfect health." + +"No princess, Major Strickland, but a base beggar brat," said Lady +Chillington, without heeding his last words. "From the first moment of +my seeing her I had a presentiment that she would cause me nothing but +trouble and annoyance. That presentiment has been borne out by facts--by +facts!" She nodded her head at the Major, and rubbed one lean hand +viciously within the other. + +"Your ladyship forgets that the child herself is here. Pray consider her +feelings." + +"Were my feelings considered by those who sent her to Deepley Walls? I +ought to have been consulted in the matter--to have had time given me to +make fresh arrangements. It was enough to be burdened with the cost of +her maintenance, without the added nuisance of having her before me as a +continual eyesore. But I have arranged. Next week she leaves Deepley +Walls for the Continent, and if I never see her face again, so much the +better for both of us." + +"With all due respect to your ladyship, it seems to me that your tone is +far more bitter than the occasion demands. What may be the relationship +between Miss Hope and yourself it is quite impossible for me to say; +but that there is a tie of some sort between you I cannot for a moment +doubt." + +"And pray, Major Strickland, what reason may you have for believing that +a tie of any kind exists between this young person and the mistress of +Deepley Walls?" + +"I will take my stand on one point: on the extraordinary resemblance +which this child bears to--" + +"To whom, Major Strickland?" + +"To one who lies buried in Elvedon churchyard. You know whom I mean. +Such a likeness is far too remarkable to be the result of accident." + +"I deny the existence of any such likeness," said Lady Chillington, +vehemently. "I deny it utterly. You are the victim of your own +disordered imagination. Likeness, forsooth!" She laughed a bitter, +contemptuous laugh, and seemed to think that she had disposed of the +question for ever. + +"Come here, child," said the Major, taking me kindly by the hand, and +leading me close up to her ladyship. "Look at her, Lady Chillington," he +added; "scan her features thoroughly, and tell me then that the likeness +of which I speak is nothing more than a figment of my own brain." + +Lady Chillington drew herself up haughtily. "To please you in a whim, +Major Strickland, which I cannot characterise as anything but +ridiculous, I will try to discover this fancied resemblance." Speaking +thus, her ladyship carried her glass to her eye, and favoured me with a +cold, critical stare, under which I felt my blood boil with grief and +indignation. + +"Pshaw! Major Strickland, you are growing old and foolish. I cannot +perceive the faintest trace of such a likeness as you mention. Besides, +if it really did exist it would prove nothing. It would merely serve to +show that there may be certain secrets within Deepley Walls which not +even Major Strickland's well-known acumen can fathom." + +"After that, of course I can only bid your ladyship farewell," said the +offended Major, with a ceremonious bow. Then turning to me: "Good-bye, +my dear Miss Janet, for the present. Even at this, the eleventh hour, I +must intercede with Lady Chillington to grant you permission to come and +spend part of next week with us at Rose Cottage." + +"Oh! take her, and welcome; I have no wish to keep her here. But you +will stop to dinner, Major, when we will talk of these things further. +And now, Miss Pest, you had better run away. You have heard too much +already." + +I was glad enough to get away; so after a hasty kiss to Major +Strickland, I hurried indoors; and once in my own bed-room, I burst into +an uncontrollable fit of crying. How cruel had been Lady Chillington's +words! and her looks had been more cruel than they. + +I was still weeping when Sister Agnes came into the room. She had but +just returned from Eastbury. She knelt beside me, and took me in her +arms and kissed me, and wiped away my tears. "Why was I crying?" she +asked. I told her of all that Lady Chillington had said. + +"Oh! cruel, cruel of her to treat you thus!" she said. "Can nothing move +her--nothing melt that heart of adamant? But, Janet, dear, you must not +let her sharp words wound you so deeply. Would that my love could shield +you from such trials in future. But that cannot always be. You must +strive to regard such things as part of that stern discipline of life +which is designed to tutor our wayward hearts and rebellious spirits, +and bring them into harmony with a will superior to our own. And now you +must tell me all about your voyage down the Adair, and your rescue by +that brave George Strickland. Ah! how grieved I was, when the news was +brought to Deepley Walls, that I could not hasten to you, and see with +my own eyes that you had come to no harm! But I was chained to my post, +and could not stir." + +Scarcely had Sister Agnes done speaking when the air was filled with a +strain of music that seemed to be more sweet and solemn than anything I +had ever heard before. All the soreness melted out of my heart as I +listened; all my troubles seemed to take to themselves wings, and life +to put on an altogether different aspect from any it had ever worn to me +before. I saw clearly that I had not been so good a girl in many ways as +I might have been. I would try my best not to be so inattentive at +church in future, and I would never, no, not even on the coldest night +in winter, neglect to say my prayers before getting into bed. + +"What is it? Where does it come from?" I whispered into the ear of +Sister Agnes. + +"It is Father Spiridion playing the organ in the west gallery." + +"And who is Father Spiridion?" + +"A good man and my friend. Presently you shall be introduced to him." + +No word more was spoken till the playing ceased. Then Sister Agnes took +me by the hand and we went towards the west gallery. Father Spiridion +saw us, and paused on the top of the stairs. + +"This is the child, holy father, of whom I have spoken to you once or +twice; the child, Janet Hope." + +The father's shrewd blue eyes took me in from head to foot at a glance. +He was a tall, thin and slightly cadaverous-looking man, with high +aquiline features; and with an indefinable something about him that made +me recognise him on the spot as a gentleman. He wore a coarse brown robe +that reached nearly to his feet, the cowl of which was drawn over his +head. When Sister Agnes had spoken he laid his hand gently on my head, +and said something I could not understand. Then placing his hand under +my chin, he said, "Look me straight in the face, child." + +I lifted my eyes and looked him fairly in the face, till his blue eyes +lighted up with a smile. Then patting me on the cheek, he said, +addressing Sister Agnes, "Nothing shifty there, at any rate. It is a +face full of candour, and of that innocent fearlessness which childhood +should always have, but too often loses in an evil world. I dare be +bound now, little Janet, that thou art fond of sweetmeats?" + +"Oh, yes, sir, if you please." + +"By some strange accident I find here in my _soutane_ a tiny box of +bonbons. They might have been put there expressly for a little sweet +tooth of a Janet. Nothing could be more opportune. Take them, my child, +with Father Spiridion's blessing; and sometimes remember his name in thy +prayers." + +I did not see Father Spiridion again before I was sent away to school, +but in after years our threads of life crossed and re-crossed each other +strangely, in a way that neither he nor I even dreamed of at that first +interview. + +My life at Deepley Walls lengthened out from day to day, and in many +ways I was exceedingly happy. My chief happiness lay in the love of dear +Sister Agnes, with whom I spent at least one or two hours every day. +Then I was very fond of Major Strickland, who, I felt sure, liked me in +return--liked me for myself, and liked me still more, perhaps, for the +strange resemblance which he said I bore to some dear one whom he had +lost many years before. Of George Strickland, too, I was very fond, but +with a shy and diffident sort of liking. I held him as so superior to me +in every way that I could only worship him from a distance. The Major +fetched me over to Rose Cottage several times. Such events were for me +holidays in the true sense of the word. Another source of happiness +arose from the fact that I saw very little of Lady Chillington. The +indifference with which she had at first regarded me seemed to have +deepened into absolute dislike. I was forbidden to enter her apartments, +and I took care not to be seen by her when she was walking or riding +out. I was sorry for her dislike, and yet glad that she dispensed with +my presence. I was far happier in the housekeeper's room, where I was +treated like a little queen. Dance and I soon learned to love each other +very heartily. + +Those who have accompanied me thus far may not have forgotten the +account of my first night at Deepley Walls, nor how frightened I was by +the sound of certain mysterious footsteps in the room over mine. The +matter was explained simply enough by Dance next day as a whim of Lady +Chillington, who, for some reason best known to herself, chose that room +out of all the big old house as the scene of her midnight +perambulations. When, therefore, on one or two subsequent occasions, I +was disturbed in a similar way, I was no longer frightened, but only +rendered sleepless and uncomfortable for the time being. I felt at such +times, so profound was the surrounding silence, as if every living +creature in the world, save Lady Chillington and myself, were asleep. + +But before long that room over mine acquired for itself in my mind a new +and dread significance. A consciousness gradually grew upon me that +there was about it something quite out of the common way; that its four +walls held within themselves some grim secret, the rites appertaining to +which were gone through when I and the rest of the uninitiated were +supposed to be in bed and asleep. I cannot tell what it was that first +made me suspect the existence of this secret. Certainly not the midnight +walks of Lady Chillington. Perhaps a certain impalpable atmosphere of +mystery, which, striking keenly on the sensitive nerves of a child, +strung by recent events to a higher pitch than usual, broke down the +first fine barrier that separates things common and of the earth earthy, +from those dim intuitions which even the dullest of us feel at times of +things spiritual and unseen. But however that may be, it so fell out +that I, who at school had been one of the soundest of sleepers, had now +become one of the worst. It often happened that I would awake in the +middle of the night, even when there was no Lady Chillington to disturb +me, and would so lie, sleepless, with wide-staring eyes, for hours, +while all sorts of weird pictures would paint themselves idly in the +waste nooks and corners of my brain. One fancy I had, and for many +nights I thought it nothing more than fancy, that I could hear soft and +muffled footsteps passing up and down the staircase just outside my +door; and that at times I could even faintly distinguish them in the +room over mine, where, however, they never stayed for more than a few +minutes at any one time. + +In one of my daylight explorations about the old house I ventured up the +flight of stairs that led from the landing outside my door to the upper +rooms. At the top of these stairs I found a door that differed from +every other door I had seen at Deepley Walls. In colour it was a dull +dead black, and it was studded with large square-headed nails. It was +without a handle of any kind, but was pierced by one tiny keyhole. To +what strange chamber did this terrible door give access? and who was the +mysterious visitor who came here night after night with hushed footsteps +and alone? These were two questions that weighed heavily on my mind, +that troubled me persistently when I lay awake in the dark, and even +refused by day to be put entirely on one side. + +By-and-by the mystery deepened. In a recess close to the top of the +flight of stairs that led to the black door was an old-fashioned case +clock. When this clock struck the hour, two small mechanical figures +dressed like German burghers of the sixteenth century came out of two +little turrets, bowed gravely to each other, and then retired, like +court functionaries, backwards. It was a source of great pleasure to me +to watch these figures go through their hourly pantomime But after a +time it came into my head to wonder whether they did their duty by night +as well as by day; whether they came out and bowed to each other in the +dark, or waited quietly in their turrets till morning. In pursuance of +this inquiry, I got out of bed one night after Dance had left me, and +relighted my candle. I knew that it was just on the stroke of eleven, +and here was a capital opportunity for studying the customs of my little +burghers by night. I stole up the staircase with my candle, and waited +for the clock to strike. It struck, and out came the little figures as +usual. + +"Perhaps they only came because they saw my light," I said to myself. I +felt that the question as to their mode of procedure in the dark was +still an unsettled one. + +But scarcely had the clock finished striking when I was disturbed by the +shutting of a door downstairs. Fearing that someone was coming, and that +the light might betray me, I blew out my candle and waited to hear more. +But all was silent in the house. I turned to go down, but as I did so, I +saw with astonishment that a thin streak of light shone from under the +black door. I stood like one petrified. Was there anyone inside the +room? Listening intently, I waited for full five minutes without +stirring a limb. Silence the most profound upstairs and down. Stepping +on tiptoe, I went back to my room, shut myself in, and crept gladly into +bed. + +Next night my curiosity overmastered my fear. As soon as Dance was gone +I crept upstairs in the dark. One peep was enough. As on the previous +night, a thin streak of light shone from under the black door--evidence +that it was lighted up inside. Next night, and for several nights +afterwards, I put the same plan in operation with precisely the same +result. The light was always there. + +Having my attention thus concentrated as it were upon this one room, and +lying awake so many hours when I ought to have been asleep, my +suspicions gradually merged into certainty that it was visited every +midnight by someone who came and went so lightly and quietly that only +by intently listening could I distinguish the exact moment of their +passing my door. Who was this visitor that came and went so +mysteriously? To discover this, without being myself discovered, was a +matter that required both tact and courage, but it was one on which I +was almost as much a monomaniac as a child well can be. To have opened +my door when the landing was perfectly dark would have been to see +nothing. To have opened the door with a candle in my hand would have +been to betray myself. I must wait for a moonlight night, which would +light up the landing sufficiently for my purpose. I waited. My +opportunity came. With my doorway in deep shadow, my door just +sufficiently open for me to peer through, and with the staircase lighted +up by rays of the moon, I saw and recognised the mysterious midnight +visitor to the room over mine. I saw and recognised Sister Agnes. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +EXIT JANET HOPE. + + +The effect upon me of the discovery that Sister Agnes was the midnight +visitor of the room over mine was at once to stifle that brood of morbid +fancies with which of late both room and visitor had become associated +in my mind. I loved her so thoroughly, she was to me so complete an +embodiment of all that was noble and beautiful in womanhood, that +however unsatisfying to my curiosity such visits might be, I could not +doubt that she must have excellent reasons for making them. One thing +was quite evident, that since she herself had said nothing respecting +the room and her visits to it, it was impossible for me to question her +on the matter. Such being the case, I felt that it would be a poor +return for all her goodness to me to question Dance or any other person +respecting what she herself wished to keep concealed. Besides, it was +doubtful whether Dance would tell me anything, even if I were to ask +her. She had warned me a few hours after my arrival at Deepley Walls +that there were many things under that roof respecting which I must seek +no explanation; and with no one of the other domestics was I in any way +intimate. + +Still my curiosity remained unsatisfied; still over the room itself hung +a veil of mystery which I would fain have lifted. All my visits to the +room to see whether the light shone under the door had hitherto been +made previously to the midnight visits of Sister Agnes. The question +that now arose in my mind was whether the mysterious thread of light was +or was not visible after Sister Agnes's customary visit--whether, in +fact, it shone there all the night through. In order to solve this +doubt, I lay awake the night following that of my discovery of Sister +Agnes. Listening intently, with my bed-room door ajar, I heard her go +upstairs, and ten minutes later I could just distinguish her smothered +footfall as she came down. I heard the door at the bottom of the +corridor shut behind her, and then I knew that I was safe. + +Slipping out of bed, I stole, barefooted as I was, out of my bed-room +and up the flight of stairs which led to the black door. Of ghosts in +the ordinary meaning of that word--in the meaning which it has for five +children out of six--I had no fear; my fears, such as they were, ran in +quite another groove. I went upstairs slowly, with shut eyes, counting +each stair as I put my feet on it from one up to ten. I knew that from +the tenth stair the streak of light, if there, would be visible. On the +tenth stair I opened my eyes. There was the thread of light shining +clear and steady under the black door. For a minute I stood looking at +it. In the intense silence the beating of my heart was painfully +audible. Grasping the banister with one hand, I went downstairs +backwards, step by step, and so regained the sanctuary of my own room. + +I scarcely know in what terms to describe, or how to make sufficiently +clear, the strange sort of fascination there was for me in those nightly +rambles--in living perpetually on the edge of a mystery. While daylight +lasted the feeling slumbered within me; I could even take myself to task +for wanting to pry into a secret that evidently in nowise concerned me. +But as soon as twilight set in, and night's shadows began to creep +timidly out of their corners, so surely could I feel the spell working +within me, the desire creeping over me to pluck out the heart of the +mystery that lay hidden behind the black nail-studded door upstairs. +Sometimes I climbed the staircase at one hour, sometimes at another; but +there was no real sleep for me, nothing but fitful uneasy dozes, till +the brief journey had been made. After climbing to the tenth stair, and +satisfying myself that the light was there, I would creep back +noiselessly to bed, and fall at once into a deep dreamless sleep that +was often prolonged till late in the forenoon. + +At length there came a night when the secret was laid bare, and the +spell broken for ever. I had been in bed for two hours and a half, lying +in that half-dreamy state in which facts and fancies are so inextricably +jumbled together that it is too much labour to disintegrate the two, +when the clock struck one. Next moment I was out of bed, standing with +the handle of the half-opened door in my hand, listening to the silence. +I had heard Sister Agnes come down some time ago, and I felt secure from +interruption. To-night the moon shone brightly in through a narrow +window in the gable, and all the way upstairs there was a track of white +light as though a company of ghosts had lately passed that way. As I +went upstairs I counted them up to the tenth, and then I stood still. +Yes, the thread of light was there as it always was, only--only somehow +it seemed broader to-night than I had ever noticed it as being before. +It _was_ broader. I could not be mistaken. While I was still pondering +over this problem, and wondering what it might mean, my eye was taken by +the dull gleam of some small white object about half way up the door. My +eyes were taken by it, and would not leave it till I had ascertained +what it really was. I approached it step by step, slowly, and then I saw +that it was in reality that which I had imagined it to be. It was a +small silver key--Sister Agnes's key--which she had forgotten to take +away with her on leaving the room. Moreover the door was unlocked, +having been simply pulled to by Sister Agnes on leaving, which explained +why the streak of light showed larger than common. + +I felt as though I were walking in a dream, so unreal did the whole +business seem to me by this time. I was in a moonlight glamour; the +influence of the silver orb was upon me. Of self-volition I seemed to +have little or none left. I was given over to unseen powers, viewless, +that dwell in space, of which we have ordinarily no human cognition. At +such moments as these, and I have gone through many of them, I am no +longer the Janet Hope of everyday life. I am lifted up and beyond my +ordinary self. I obey a law whose beginning and whose ending I am alike +ignorant of: but I feel that it is a law and not an impulse. I am led +blindly forward, but I go unresistingly, feeling that there is no power +left in me save that of obeying. + +Did I push open the door of the secret room, or was it opened for me by +unseen hands? I know not. I only know that it closed noiselessly behind +me of its own accord and left me standing there wondering, alone, with +white face and staring eyes. + +The chamber was a large one, or seemed so to me. It was draped entirely +in black, hiding whatever windows there might be. The polished wood +floor was bare. The ceiling was painted with a number of sprawling +Cupids, some of them scattering flowers, others weaving leafy chaplets, +presumably to crown the inane-looking goddess reclining in their midst +on a bank of impossible cloud. But both Cupids and goddess were dingy +with age, and seemed to have grown too old for such Arcadian revels. + +The room was lighted with a dozen large wax candles placed in four +silver tripods, each of them about six feet in height, and screwed to +the floor to prevent their being overturned. All these preparations were +not without an object. That object was visible in the middle of the +room. It was a large black coffin studded with silver nails, placed on a +black slab about four feet in height, and more than half covered with a +large pall. + +I felt no fear at sight of this grim object. I was lifted too far above +my ordinary self to be afraid. I simply wondered--wondered who lay +asleep inside the coffin, and how long he or she had been there. + +The only article of furniture in the room was a _prie-dieu_ of black +oak. I knelt on this, and gazed on the coffin, and wondered. My +curiosity urged me to go up to it, and turn down the pall, and ascertain +whether the name of the occupant was engraved on the lid. But stronger +than my curiosity was a certain repugnance to go near it which I could +not overcome. That some person was shut up there who during life had +been of importance in the world, I could not doubt. This, too, was the +room in which Lady Chillington took her midnight perambulations, and +that coffin was the object she came to contemplate. Perhaps the occupant +of the coffin came out, and walked with my lady, and held ghostly +converse with her on such occasions. I fancied that even now I could +hear him breathing heavily, and turning over uneasily in his narrow bed. +There seemed a rustling, too, among the folds of the sombre curtains as +though someone were in hiding there; and that low faint sobbing sigh +which quivered through the room, like an accent of unutterable sorrow, +whence did it come? Others than myself were surely there, though I might +not be able to see them. + +I knelt on the _prie-dieu_, stirring neither hand nor foot; as +immovable, in fact, except for my breathing, as a figure cut out of +stone. Looking and wondering still, after a time it seemed to me that +the lights were growing dimmer, that the room was growing colder; that +some baleful presence was beside me with malicious intent to gradually +numb and chill the life out of me, to freeze me, body and soul, till the +two could no longer hold together; and that when morning came, if ever +it did come to that accursed room, my husk would be there indeed, but +Janet Hope herself would be gone for ever. A viewless horror stirred my +hair, and caused my flesh to creep. The baneful influence that was upon +me was deepening in intensity; every minute that passed seemed to render +me more powerless to break the spell. Suddenly the clock struck two. At +the same moment a light footfall sounded on the stairs outside. It was +Sister Agnes coming back to lock the door, and to fetch the key which +she had left behind two hours before. I heard her approach the door, and +I saw the door itself pulled close to; then the key was turned, the bolt +shot into its place, the key was withdrawn, and I was left locked up +alone in that terrible room. + +But the proximity of another human being sufficed to break the spell +under which I had been powerless only a minute before. Better risk +discovery, better risk everything, than be left to pass the night where +I was. Should that horror settle down upon me again, I felt that I must +succumb to it. It would crush the life out of me as infallibly as though +I were in the folds of some huge python. Long before morning I should be +dead. + +I slid from off the _prie-dieu_, and walking backward, with my eyes +glancing warily to right and left, I reached the door and struck it with +my fists. "Sister Agnes!" I cried, "Sister Agnes! do not leave me. I am +here alone." + +Again the curtains rustled, stirred by invisible fingers; again that +faint long-drawn sigh ran like an audible shiver through the room. I +heard eager fingers busy outside the door; a mist swam up before my +eyes, and next moment I fainted dead away in the arms of Sister Agnes. + +For three weeks after that time I lay very ill--lay very close to the +edge of the grave. But for the ceaseless attentions and tender +assiduities of Sister Agnes and Dance I should have slipped out of life +and all my troubles. To them I owe it that I am now alive to write these +lines. One bright afternoon, as I was approaching convalescence, Sister +Agnes and I, sitting alone, got into conversation respecting the room +upstairs, and my visit to it. + +"But whose coffin is that, Sister Agnes?" I asked. "And why is it left +there unburied?" + +"It is the coffin of Sir John Chillington, her ladyship's late +husband," answered Sister Agnes, very gravely. "He died thirteen years +ago. By his will a large portion of the property left to his widow was +contingent on his body being kept unburied and above ground for twenty +years. Lady Chillington elected to have the body kept in that room which +you were so foolish as to visit without permission; and there it will +probably remain till the twenty years shall have expired. All these +facts are well known to the household; indeed, to the country for miles +around; but it was not thought necessary to mention them to a child like +you, whose stay in the house would be of limited duration, and to whom +such knowledge could be of no possible benefit." + +"But why do you visit the room every midnight, Sister Agnes?" + +"It is the wish of Lady Chillington that, day and night, twelve candles +shall be kept burning round the coffin, and ever since I came to reside +at Deepley Walls it has been part of my duty to renew the candles once +every twenty-four hours. Midnight is the hour appointed for the +performance of that duty." + +"Do you not feel afraid to go there alone at such a time?" + +"Dear Janet, what is there to be afraid of? The dead have no power to +harm us. We shall be as they are in a very little while. They are but +travellers who have gone before us into a far country, leaving behind +them a few poor relics, and a memory that, if we have loved them, ought +to make us look forward with desire to the time when we shall see them +again." + +Three weeks later I left Deepley Walls. Madame Delclos was in London for +a week, and it was arranged that I should return to France with her. +Major Strickland took me up to town and saw me safely into her hands. My +heart was very sad at leaving all my dear new-found friends, but Sister +Agnes had exhorted me to fortitude before I parted from her, and I knew +that neither by her, nor the Major, nor George, nor Dance, should I be +forgotten. I saw Lady Chillington for a moment before leaving. She gave +me two frigid fingers, and said that she hoped I should be a good girl, +and attend assiduously to my lessons, for that in after life I should +have to depend upon my own industry for a living. I felt at the moment +that I would much rather do that than have to depend through life on her +ladyship's bounty. + +A few tears would come when the moment arrived for me to say farewell to +the Major. He tried his best, in his hearty, affectionate way, to cheer +me up. I flung my arms round his neck and kissed him tenderly. He turned +abruptly, seized his hat, and rushed from the room. Whereupon Madame +Delclos, who had been trying to look _sympathique_, drew herself up, +frowned, and pinched one of my ears viciously. Forty-eight hours later I +was safely shut up in the Pension Clissot. + + * * * * * + +Here my personal narrative ends. From this point the story of which the +preceding pages form a part will be recorded by another pen. It was +deemed advisable by those to whose opinion in such matters I bow without +hesitation, that this narrative of certain events in the life of a +child--a necessary introduction to the narrative yet to come--should be +written by the person whom it most concerned. Now that her task is done, +she abnegates at once (and thankfully) the first person singular in +favour of the third, and whatever is told of her in the following pages, +is told, not by herself, but by that other pen, of which mention is made +above. + +Between the time when this curtain falls and the next one draws up, +there is a lapse of seven years. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +BY THE SCOTCH EXPRESS. + + +Among other passengers, on a certain fine spring morning, by the 10 a.m. +Scotch express, was one who had been so far able to propitiate the guard +as to secure a whole compartment to himself. He was enjoying himself in +a quiet way--smoking, and skimming his papers, and taking a bird's-eye +view now and again at the landscape that was flying past him at the rate +of forty miles an hour. Few people who cared to speculate as to his +profession would have hesitated to set him down as a military man, even +had not the words, "Captain Ducie," painted in white letters on a black +portmanteau which protruded half-way from under his seat, rendered any +such speculation needless. He must have been three or four-and-forty +years old, judging from the lines about his mouth and eyes, but in some +other respects he looked considerably younger. He wore neither beard nor +whiskers, but his short hair, and his thick, drooping moustache were +both jet black, and betrayed as yet, thanks either to Nature or Art, +none of those straggling streaks of silver which tell so plainly of the +advance of years. He had a clear olive complexion, a large aquiline nose +and deep-set eyes, piercing and full of fire, under a grand sweep of +eyebrow. In person he was tall and thin; broad-chested, but lean in the +flank, with hands and feet that looked almost effeminate, so small were +they in comparison with his size. A black frock-coat, tightly buttoned, +set off to advantage a figure of which he might still be reasonably +proud. The remainder of his costume was in quiet keeping with the first +fashion of the period. + +Captain Ducie smoked and read and stared out of the window much as +eleven out of twelve of us would do under similar circumstances, while +milepost after milepost flashed out for an instant and was gone. After a +time he took a letter out of his breast-pocket, opened it, and read it. +It was brief, and ran as under:-- + + "Stapleton, Scotland, March 31st. + + "MY DEAR NED,--Since you wish it, come down here for a few weeks; + whether to recruit your health or your finances matters not. + Mountain air and plain living are good for both. However, I warn + you beforehand that you will find us very dull. Lady B.'s health is + hardly what it ought to be, and we are seeing no company just now. + If you like to take us as we are, I say again--come. + + "As for the last paragraph of your letter, I scarcely know in what + terms to answer it. You have already bled me so often the same way, + that I have grown heartily sick of the process. This must be the + last time of asking, my boy; I wish you clearly to understand that. + This place has cost me a great deal of money of late, and I cannot + spring you more than a hundred. For that amount I enclose you a + cheque. Finis coronat opus. Bear those words in mind, and believe + me when I say that you have had your last cheque + + "From your affectionate cousin, + "BARNSTAKE." + +"Consummate little prig!" murmured Captain Ducie to himself as he +refolded the letter and put it away. "I can fancy the smirk on his face +as he penned that precious effusion, and how, when he had finished it, +he would trot off to his clothes-prop of a wife and ask her whether she +did not think it at once amusing and severe. That letter shall cost your +lordship fifty guineas, I don't allow people to write to me in that +style with impunity." + +He lighted another cigar frowningly. "I wonder if I was ever so really +hard up as I am now?" he continued to himself. "I don't think I ever was +quite. I have been in Queer Street many a time, but I've always found a +friend round the corner, or have pulled myself through by the skin of +the teeth somehow. But this time I see no lift in the cloud. My +insolvency has become chronic; it is attacking the very citadel of life. +I have not a single uncle or aunt to fall back upon. The poor creatures +are all dead and buried, and their money all spent. Well!--Outlaw is an +ugly word, but it is one that I shall have to learn how to spell before +long. I shall have to leave my country for my country's good." + +He puffed away fiercely for a little while, and then he resumed. + +"It would not be a bad thing for a fellow like me to become a chief +among the Red Skins--if they would have me. With them my lack of pence +would be no bar to success. I can swim and shoot and ride: although I +cannot paint a picture, I daresay that I could paint myself; and I know +several fellows whose scalps I should have much pleasure in taking. As +for the so-called amenities of civilized life, what are they worth to +one who, like me, has no longer the means of enjoying them? After all, +it is a question whether freedom and the prairie would not be preferable +to Pall-Mall and a limited income of, say--twelve hundred a year--the +sort of income that is just enough to make one the slave of society, but +is not sufficient to pay for gilding its fetters. A station, by Jove! +and with it the possibility of getting a drop of cognac." + +As soon as the train came to a stand, Captain Ducie vacated his seat and +went in search of the refreshment-room. On coming back five minutes +later, he was considerably disgusted to find that he was no longer to +have his compartment to himself. The seat opposite to that on which he +had been sitting was already occupied by a gentleman who was wrapped up +to the nose in rugs and furs. + +"Any objection to smoking?" asked the Captain presently as the train +began to move. He was pricking the end of a fresh cigar as he asked the +question. The words might be civil, but the tone was offensive; it +seemed to convey--"I don't care whether you object or not: I intend to +enjoy my weed all the same." + +The stranger, however, seemed in nowise offended. He smirked and +quavered two yellow-gloved fingers out of his furs. "Oh, no, certainly +not," he said. "I, too, am a smoker and shall join you presently." + +He spoke with the slightest possible foreign accent, just sufficient to +tell an educated ear that he was not an Englishman. If Captain Ducie's +features were aquiline, those of the stranger might be termed +vulturine--long, lean, narrow, with a thin, high-ridged nose, and a chin +that was pointed with a tuft of thick, black hair. Except for this tuft +he was clean shaven. His black hair, cropped close at back and sides, +was trained into an elaborate curl on the top of the forehead and there +fixed with _cosmétique_. Both hair and chin-tuft were of that +uncompromising blue-black which tells unmistakably of the dye-pot. His +skin was yellow and parchment-like, and stretched tightly over his +forehead and high cheek-bones, but puckering into a perfect net-work of +lines about a mouth whose predominant expression was one of mingled +cynicism and suspicion. There was suspicion, too, in his small black +eyes, as well as a sort of lurking fierceness which not even his most +urbane and elaborate smile could altogether eliminate. In person he was +very thin and somewhat under the middle height, and had all the air of a +confirmed valetudinarian. He was dressed as no English gentleman would +care to be seen dressed in public. A long brown velvet coat trimmed with +fur; lavender-coloured trousers tightly strapped over patent leather +boots; two or three vests of different colours under one made of the +skin of some animal and fastened with gold buttons; a profusion of +jewellery; an embroidered shirt-front and deep turn-down collar: such +were the chief items of his attire. A hat with a very curly brim hung +from the carriage roof, while for present head-gear he wore a sealskin +travelling cap with huge lappets that came below his ears. In this cap, +and wrapped to the chin in his bear-skin rug, he looked like some +newly-discovered species of animal--a sort of cross between a vulture +and a monkey, were such a thing possible, combining the deep-seated +fierceness of the one with the fantastic cunning, and the impossibility +of doing the most serious things without a grimace, of the other. + +No sooner had Captain Ducie lighted his cigar than with an impatient +movement he put down the window close to which he was sitting. It had +been carefully put up by the stranger while Ducie was in the refreshment +room; but the latter was a man who always studied his own comfort before +that of anyone else, except when self whispered to him that such a +course was opposed to his own interests, which was more than he could +see in the present case. + +The stranger gave a little sniggering laugh as the window fell noisily; +then he shivered and drew his furs more closely around him. "It is +strange how fond you English people are of what you call fresh air," he +said. "In Italy fresh air may be a luxury, but it cannot be had in your +hang-dog climate without one takes a catarrh at the same time." + +Captain Ducie surveyed him coolly from head to foot for a moment or two. +Then a sudden thought seemed to strike him. "I must really ask you to +pardon my rudeness," he said, lifting his Glengarry. "If the open window +is the least annoyance to you, by all means let it be shut. To me it is +a matter of perfect indifference." As he spoke he pulled the window up, +and then he turned on the stranger with a look that seemed to imply: +"Although I seemed so truculent a few minutes ago, you see what a +good-natured fellow I am at heart." In most of Captain Ducie's actions +there was some ulterior motive at work, however trivial many of his +actions might appear to an outsider, and in the present case it was not +likely that he acted out of mere complaisance to a man whom he had never +seen nor heard of ten minutes previously. + +"You are too good--really far too good," said the stranger. "Suppose we +compromise the matter?" With that his lean hands, encased in +lemon-coloured gloves, let down the window a couple of inches, and fixed +it there with the strap. + +"Now really, you know, do just as you like about it," said the Captain, +with that slow amused smile which became his face so well. "As I said +before, I am altogether indifferent in the matter." + +"As it is now, it will suit both of us, I think. And now to join you in +your smoke." + +From the net over his head he reached down a small mahogany case. This +he opened, and from it extracted a large meerschaum pipe elaborately +mounted with gold filigree work. Having charged the pipe from an +embroidered pouch filled with choice Turkish tobacco, he struck an +allumette and began to smoke. + +"Decidedly an acquaintance worth cultivating," murmured the Captain +under his breath. "But what country does the beggar belong to?" A +question more easily asked than answered: at all events, it was one +which the Captain found himself unable to solve to his own satisfaction. +For a few minutes they smoked in silence. + +"Do you travel far, to-day?" asked the stranger at length. "Are you +going across the Border?" + +"The end of my journey is Stapleton, Lord Barnstake's place, and not a +great way from Edinburgh. Shall I have the pleasure of your company as +far as I go by rail?" + +"Ah, no, sir, not so far as that. Only to--. There I must leave you, and +take the train for Windermere. I live on the banks of your beautiful +lake. Permettez-moi, monsieur," and with a movement that was a +combination of a shrug, a grimace and a bow, the stranger drew a +card-case from one of his pockets, and, extracting a card therefrom, +handed it to Ducie. + +The Captain took it with a bow, and, sticking his glass in his eye, +read:-- + + _____________________________________ + | | + | | + | M. PAUL PLATZOFF. | + | | + | | + |_Bon Repos, | + | Windermere._ | + |___________________________________| + +The Captain in return handed over his pasteboard credential, and, this +solemn rite being accomplished, conversation was resumed on more easy +and agreeable terms. + +"I daresay you are puzzling your brains as to my nationality," said +Platzoff, with a smile. "I am not an Englishman; that you can tell from +my accent. I am not a Frenchman, although I write 'monsieur' before my +name. Still less am I either a German or an Italian. Neither am I a +genuine Russian, although I look to Russia as my native country. In +brief, my father was a Russian, my mother was a Frenchwoman, and I was +born on board a merchantman during a gale of wind in the Baltic." + +"Then I should call you a true cosmopolitan--a genuine citizen of the +world," remarked Ducie, who was amused with his new friend's frankness. + +"In ideas I strive to be such, but it is difficult at all times to +overcome the prejudices of education and early training," answered +Platzoff. "You, sir, are, I presume, in the army?" + +"Formerly I was in the army, but I sold out nearly a dozen years ago," +answered Ducie, drily. "Does this fellow expect me to imitate his +candour?" thought the Captain. "Would he like to know all about my +grandfather and grandmother, and that I have a cousin who is an earl? If +so, I am afraid he will be disappointed." + +"Did you see much service while you were in the army?" asked Platzoff. + +"I saw a good deal of hard fighting in the East, although not on any +large scale." Ducie was beginning to get restive. He was not the sort of +man to quietly allow himself to be catechised by a stranger. + +"I, too, know something of the East," said Platzoff. "Three of the +happiest years of my life were spent in India. While out there I became +acquainted with several gentlemen of your profession. With Colonel +Leslie I was particularly intimate. I had been stopping with the poor +fellow only a few days before that gallant affair at Ruckapore, in which +he came by his death." + +"I remember the affair you speak of," said Ducie. "I was in one of the +other Presidencies at the time it happened." + +"There was another officer in poor Leslie's regiment with whom I was +also on very intimate terms. He died of cholera a little later on, and I +attended him in his last moments. I allude to a Captain Charles +Chillington. Did you ever meet with him in your travels?" + +Captain Ducie's swarthy cheek deepened its hue. He paused to blow a +speck of cigar ash off his sleeve before he spoke. "I did not know your +Captain Charles Chillington," he said, in slow, deliberate accents. +"Till the present moment I never heard of his existence." + +Captain Ducie pulled his Glengarry over his brows, folded his arms, and +shut his eyes. He had evidently made up his mind for a quiet snooze. +Platzoff regarded him with a silent snigger. "Something I have said has +pricked the gallant Captain under his armour," he muttered to himself. +"Is it possible that he and Chillington were acquainted with each other +in India? But what matters it to me if they were?" + +When M. Platzoff had smoked his meerschaum to the last whiff, he put it +carefully away, and disposed himself to follow Ducie's example in the +matter of sleep. He rearranged his wraps, folded the arms, shut his +eyes, and pressed his head resolutely against his cushion; but at the +end of five minutes he opened his eyes, and seemed just as wakeful as +before. "These beef-fed Englishmen seem as if they can sleep whenever +and wherever they choose. Enviable faculty! I daresay the heifers on +which they gorge possess it in almost as great perfection." + +Hidden away among his furs was a small morocco-covered despatch-box. +This he now proceeded to unlock, and to draw from it a folded paper +which, on being opened, displayed a closely-written array of figures, as +though it were the working out of some formidable problem in arithmetic. +Platzoff smiled, and his smile was very different from his cynical +snigger, as his eyes ran over the long array of figures. "I must try and +get this finished as soon as I am back at Bon Repos," he muttered to +himself. "I am frightened when I think what would happen if I were to +die before its completion. My great secret would die with me, and +perhaps hundreds of years would pass away before it would be brought to +light. What a discovery it would be! To those concerned it would seem as +though they had found the key-note of some lost religion--as though they +had penetrated into some temple dedicated to the gods of eld." + +His soliloquy was suddenly interrupted by three piercing shrieks from +the engine, followed by a terrible jolting and swaying of the carriage, +which made it almost impossible for those inside to keep their seats. +Captain Ducie was alive to the danger in a moment. One glance out of the +window was enough. "We are off the line? Hold fast!" he shouted to +Platzoff, drawing up his legs, and setting his teeth, and looking very +fierce and determined. M. Platzoff tried to follow his English friend's +example. His yellow complexion faded to a sickly green. With eyes in +which there was no room now for anything save anguish and terror +unspeakable, he yet snarled at the mouth and showed his teeth like a +wolf brought hopelessly to bay. + +The swaying and jolting grew worse. There was a grinding and crunching +under the wheels of the carriage as though a thousand huge coffee-mills +were at work. Suddenly the train parted in the middle, and while the +forepart, with the engine, went ploughing through the ballast till +brought up in safety a few hundred yards further on, the carriage in +which were Ducie and Platzoff, together with the hinder part of the +train, went toppling over a high embankment, and crashing down the side, +and rolling over and over, came to a dead stand at the bottom, one huge +mass of wreck and disaster. + + +(_To be continued._) + + + + +SONNET. + + + Yes, I have heard it oft: a few brief years + True life comprise. The rest is but a dream: + What though to thee like life it vainly seem. + Fool, trust it not; 'tis not what it appears. + We live but once. We die before the shears + Of Atropos the thread have clipped. True life + Is when with ardent youth's and passion's strife + We suffer and we feel. 'Tis when wild tears + Can flow and hearts can break, or 'neath the gaze + Of loved eyes beat. 'Tis when on eager wing + Of Hope we soar, and Past and Future bring + Within the Present's grasp. Ay, we live then, + But when that cup is quaffed what doth remain? + The dregs of days that follow upon days! + +JULIA KAVANAGH. + + + + +MEDIUMS AND MYSTERIES. + +BY NARISSA ROSAVO. + + +So long as the world lasts, no doubt a large portion of its inhabitants +will run after that which the Scotch expressively term "uncanny." The +absence of accurate knowledge and the impossibility of thorough +scientific investigation, of separating the chaff from the wheat, the +true from the counterfeit, becomes at one and the same time the charm +and the counterblast to diligent searchers. + +For the most part, these are persons of inferior mental calibre, of +somewhat unrefined instincts; but, on the other hand, I have known +mighty intellects lose themselves in this maze, where no firm clue can +be seized by which to go forward safely, to advance at all, while the +return journey must be made with _certain_ loss. Persistent endeavour +brings weakened faith in God, in place of that certainty spiritualists +talk of when they say their arts are beneficial, proving a hereafter--a +spiritual world. + +It is not thus we get on firm footing. We but advance into sloughs of +despond, led by wills of the wisp; and the girl mediums, the so-called +clairvoyantes, invariably lose mental health and physical strength. It +is but a matter of time, and they become hysteria patients or +inhabitants of lunatic asylums. I have known a clever clergyman of the +Church of England determine to find out the truth, if any, on this path. +He made use of his own daughter in the search. The coil of delusion led +him on until it became a choice of death or madness for the tender +instrument with which he felt his way into the unseen world. + +There is _something_ along this road, call it odic force, or what you +will. Science has not, perhaps cannot, ever get firm footing here; but +the result of long and careful observation as yet only enables us to +strike a sort of average. Experiments pursued for years with +table-turning, planchettes, mediums, clairvoyantes, come to this. You do +get answers, strange messages, unaccountable communications; but nothing +is ever told, in any séance, which does not lie perdu in the breast of +someone of the company. There is often no willing deception; +peradventure, no fooling at all: but as you cannot draw water from a dry +well, neither can you get a message except the germ of it broods within +some soul with which you have some present contact. + +And then, things being so, what advance can we make? + +Many people seem to be unaware that to search after necromancers and +soothsayers is forbidden by the English law. Consequently--let us say--a +great number of cultivated ladies and gentlemen do, even in this +intelligent age, resort to the homes of such folk; aye, and consult +them, too, eagerly, at the most critical junctures in their lives. + +I know of a London washerwoman by trade who makes vastly more money by +falling into trances than by her legitimate calling, to which she adds +the letting of lodgings. + +On one occasion she was commissioned to comment, in her swoon, on the +truth or constancy of a girl's lover; an unopened letter from him being +placed in her hands as she slept. She did comment on him, and truly. She +said he was not true: that he did not love the girl really, that it was +all a sham. Well, the power by which that clairvoyante spoke was the +lurking distrust within the mind of the girl who stood by with an aching +heart, listening to her doom. Also, perhaps, some virtue we know not of +transfused itself subtilely from the paper upon which that perfidious +one had breathed and written. Who can tell? But in any case the thing is +all a snare and a delusion, and after much observation I can honestly +say--I repeat this--that he or she who dabbles in these mysteries loses +faith in God, and is apt to become a prey to the power of Evil. + +And then the delusions, collusions, and hopeless entanglement of deceit +mixed up with Spiritualism! How many tales I could tell--an I would! + +There was a certain rich old gentleman in a great centre of trade and +finance. The mediums had hope and every prospect he would make a will, +or had made one, in their favour--endowing them and theirs with splendid +and perpetual grants. This credulous searcher had advanced to the stage +when doubt was terrible. He was ardent to convert others, and thereby +strengthen his own fortress. He prevailed upon two clear-headed business +men, brothers, to attend his séances. With reluctance, to do him a +favour, they, after much difficulty, were induced to yield. Their host +only wanted them, he said, to give the matter the unprejudiced attention +they bestowed on--say--pig-iron. + +There was no result whatever at the first sitting. The spirits were out +of temper, obstinate, would not work. The disappointment was great, even +to the novices, who had expected some fun at least. However, it was only +an adjournment. The fun came next night. + +All present sat round a table in a dark room, touching hands, with +extended finger points. When the gas was turned up it was discovered +that one of the unbelievers actually had a large bangle on his wrist. It +had not been there before. Of course the spirits had slipped it on. He +let this pass then. He had not the discourtesy to explain that a very +pretty girl at his side had gently manoeuvred it into its place. Her +taper fingers were very soft and worked as spirits might. + +This had gone off well, and better followed. Again the lights were +lowered to the faintest glimmer. Soft music played. Forms floated +through the air, now here, now there, plucking at a +tambourine--touching a sweet chord on the open piano. At last, in evil +moment, the most angelic, sylph-like form came all too near our friend +who wore the bangle. The temptation was too great for mortal man. He +extended his arms and took firm, substantial, desperate hold of the +nymph, at the same instant shouting wildly to his brother, "Turn up the +gas, Jim." + +The vulgar light revealed that the panting figure struggling from his +grasp was that of his pretty neighbour who had slipped the bangle on his +wrist. Strange to say, the giver of this spiritual feast never forgave +those two brothers for their discourtesy. + +But there are, as Hamlet says, real mysteries in this dull, prosaic life +of ours. One or two true tales may not come amiss. I am quite ready to +give any member of the Psychical Society chapter and verse and +authorities, and every available data, if desired. + +A certain barrister lost his wife a few years since. He was left with +two little children to care for alone. London was no longer what it had +been to him. He wished to make a home in the suburbs for his little boy +and girl, and at last found one to his mind. He bought a villa near the +river, in a pretty, country-like locality. The house was in bad repair, +and he set workmen at it without delay. One day he took his children +down with him while affairs were still in progress. They played about, +while he sat writing in what was to be the library. Presently they ran +to him. "Oh, papa! Mamma is out here!" + +"Oh, no, my dears! Mamma is not there," he replied. + +"But she is; indeed she is," they persisted. "She is at the end of the +long passage. We saw her; but she would not let us go on. She waved us +back." + +To satisfy the children he must go with them. They led him to a long, +dark corridor leading to back premises. "Ah, she is gone!" they cried in +great disappointment. "Quite gone! But she _was_ there, papa. She would +not let us go on. Come, let us look for her." + +"No, children; you wait here," he cried, moved by some sudden, cautious +instinct. He went into the dusky passage, and, after a few steps, +discovered that a trap-door leading to a deep cellar had been left open. +Had the children run along here their destruction would have been almost +certain. + +Again, a tale of the late Bishop Wilberforce. So many tales of him have +been current, but I do not believe that this has ever before gone +abroad. + +In early days he had a close friend, a school chum, a college companion; +but about the time young Wilberforce took orders these two had a bitter +and hopeless falling out. They never got over the disunion, and fell +utterly apart. The chum became an extensive landowner, and was master of +a charming house in the South of England. + +Time passed on, and he grew elderly. He thought of making his will. +Being a great man, not only his solicitor but the solicitor's son +arrived on the scene for the event. All three gentlemen were assembled +in the library, a long room, with many windows running down almost to +the ground. Suddenly the young man present saw a gentleman go by the +first of these windows. The elder lawyer raised his head as the figure +went by the second opening. Last of all the master of the house looked +up. + +"Why, that is Wilberforce," he exclaimed. "How many years it is since we +fell out, and I dared him ever again to seek me out." + +So saying, he ran to the hall-door to welcome his guest, towards whom no +bitter feeling now remained in his mind. Strange to say, the Bishop was +not at the door, nor could he be found within the grounds. At the moment +of his appearance he had fallen from his horse in this neighbourhood and +had been instantly killed. + + + + +ENLIGHTENMENT. + + + It was not in the lovely morning time + When dew lies bright on silent meadow-ways; + It was not in the splendid noon's high prime, + When all the lawns with sunlight are ablaze; + But in the tender twilight--ere the light + Of the broad moon made beautiful the night. + + It was not in the freshness of my youth, + Nor when my manhood laughed in perfect power, + That first I tasted of immortal truth + And plucked the buds of the immortal flower. + But when my life had passed its noon, I found + The path that leads to the enchanted ground. + + It was not love nor passion that made dear + That hour now memorable to us two; + Nothing was said the whole world might not hear, + Only--our souls touched, and for me and you, + Trees, flowers and sunshine, and the hearts of men, + Are better to be understood since then. + +E. NESBIT. + + + + +THE SILENT CHIMES. + +PLAYING AGAIN. + + +It could not be said the Church Leet chimes brought good when they rang +out that night at midnight, as the old year was giving place to the new. +Mrs. Carradyne, in her superstition, thought they brought evil. +Certainly evil set in at the same time, and Captain Monk, with all his +scoffing obstinacy, could not fail to see it. That fine young lad, his +son, fell through the window listening to them; and in the self-same +hour the knowledge reached him that Katherine, his eldest and dearest +child, had flown from his roof in defiant disobedience, to set up a home +of her own. + +Hubert was soon well of his bruises; but not of the cold induced by +lying in the snow, clad only in his white nightshirt. In spite of all +Mr. Speck's efforts, rheumatic fever set in, and for some time Hubert +hovered between life and death. He recovered; but would never again be +the strong, hearty lad he had been--though indeed he had never been very +physically strong. The doctor privately hoped that the heart would be +found all right in future, but he would not have answered for it. + +The blow that told most on Captain Monk was that inflicted by Katherine. +And surely never was disobedient marriage carried out with the impudent +boldness of hers. Church Leet called it "cheek." Church Leet +(disbelieving the facts when they first oozed out) could talk of nothing +else for weeks. For Katherine had been married in the church hard by, +that same night. + +Special licenses were very uncommon things in those days; they cost too +much; but the Reverend Thomas Dancox had procured one. With Katherine's +money: everybody guessed that. She had four hundred a-year of her own, +inherited from her dead mother, and full control over it. So the special +license was secured, and their crafty plans were laid. The stranger who +had presented himself at the Hall that night (by arrangement), asking +for Mr. Dancox, thus affording an excuse for his quitting the +banquet-room, was a young clergyman of Worcester, come over especially +to marry them. When tackled with his deed afterwards, he protested that +he had not been told the marriage was to be clandestine. Tom Dancox went +out to him from the banquet; Katherine, slipping on a bonnet and shawl, +joined them outside; they hastened to the rectory and thence into the +church. And while the unconscious master of Leet Hall was entertaining +his guests with his good cheer and his stories and his hip, hip, +hurrah, his Vicar and Katherine Monk were made one until death should +them part. And death, as it proved, intended to do that speedily. + +At first Captain Monk, in his unbounded rage, was for saying that a +marriage celebrated at ten o'clock at night by the light of a solitary +tallow candle, borrowed from the vestry, could not hold good. Re-assured +upon this point, he strove to devise other means to part them. Foiled +again, he laid the case before the Bishop of Worcester, and begged his +lordship to unfrock Thomas Dancox. The Bishop did not do as much as +that; though he sent for Tom Dancox and severely reprimanded him. But +that, as Church Leet remarked, did not break bones. Tom had striven to +make the best of his own cause to the Bishop, and the worst of Captain +Monk's obdurate will; moreover, stolen marriages were not thought much +of in those days. + +An uncomfortable state of things was maintained all the year, Hall Leet +and the Parsonage standing at daggers drawn. Never once did Captain Monk +appear at church. If he by cross-luck met his daughter or her husband +abroad, he struck into a good fit of swearing aloud; which perhaps +relieved his mind. The chimes had never played again; they pertained to +the church, and the church was in ill-favour with the Captain. As the +end of the year approached, Church Leet wondered whether he would hold +the annual banquet; but Captain Monk was not likely to forego that. Why +should he? The invitations went out for it; and they contained an +intimation that the chimes would again play. + +The banquet took place, a neighbouring parson saying grace at it in the +place of Tom Dancox. While the enjoyment was progressing and Captain +Monk was expressing his marvel for the tenth time as to what could have +become of Speck, who had not made his appearance, a note was brought in +by Rimmer--just as he had brought in one last year. This also was from +Mrs. Carradyne. + + "_Please come out to me for one moment, dear Godfrey. I must say a + word to you._" + +Captain Monk's first impulse on reading this was to send Rimmer back to +say she might go and be hanged. But to call him from the table was so +very extreme a measure, that on second thoughts he decided to go to her. +Mrs. Carradyne was standing just outside the door, looking as white as a +sheet. + +"Well, this is pretty bold of you, Madam Emma," he began angrily. "Are +you out of your senses?" + +"Hush, Godfrey! Katherine is dying." + +"What?" cried the Captain, the words confusing him. + +"Katherine is dying," repeated his sister, her teeth chattering with +emotion. + +In spite of Katherine's rebellion, Godfrey Monk loved her still as the +apple of his eye; and it was only his obstinate temper which had kept +him from reconciliation. His face took a hue of terror, and his voice a +softer tone. + +"What have you heard?" + +"Her baby's born; something has gone wrong, I suppose, and she is dying. +Sally ran up with the news, sent by Mr. Speck. Katherine is crying out +for you, saying she cannot die without your forgiveness. Oh, Godfrey, +you will go, you will surely go!" pleaded Mrs. Carradyne, breaking down +with a burst of tears. "Poor Katherine!" + +Never another word spoke he. He went out at the hall-door there and +then, putting on his hat as he leaped down the steps. It was a wretched +night; not white, clear, and cold as the last New Year's Eve had been, +or mild and genial as the one before it; but damp, raw, misty. + +"You think I have remained hard and defiant, father," Katherine +whispered to him, "but I have many a time asked God's forgiveness on my +bended knees; and I longed--oh, how I longed!--to ask yours. What should +we all do with the weight of sin that lies on us when it comes to such +an hour as this, but for Jesus Christ--for God's wonderful mercy!" + +And, with one hand in her father's and the other in her husband's, both +their hearts aching to pain, and their eyes wet with bitter tears, poor +Katherine's soul passed away. + +After quitting the parsonage, Captain Monk was softly closing the garden +gate behind him--for when in sorrow we don't do things with a rush and a +bang--when a whirring sound overhead caused him to start. Strong, +hardened man though he was, his nerves were unstrung to-night in company +with his heartstrings. It was the church clock preparing to strike +twelve. The little doctor, Speck, who had left the house but a minute +before, was standing at the churchyard fence close by, his arms leaning +on the rails, probably ruminating sadly on what had just occurred. +Captain Monk halted beside him in silence, while the clock struck. + +As the last stroke vibrated on the air, telling the knell of the old +year, the dawn of the new, another sound began. + +Ring, ring, ring! Ring, ring, ring! + +The chimes! The sweet, soothing, melodious chimes, carolling forth the +Bay of Biscay. Very pleasant were they in themselves to the ear. +But--did they fall pleasantly on Captain Monk's? It may be, not. It may +be, a wish came over him that he had never thought of instituting them. +But for doing that, the ills of his recent life had never had place. +George West's death would not have lain at his door, or room been made +by it for Tom Dancox, and Katherine would not be lying as he had now +left her--cold and lifeless. + +"Could _nothing_ have been done to save her, Speck?" he whispered to the +doctor, whose arms were still on the churchyard railings, listening to +the chimes in silence--though indeed he had asked the same question +indoors before. + +"Nothing; or you may be sure, sir, it would have been," answered Mr. +Speck. "Had all the medical men in Worcestershire been about her, they +could not have saved her any more than I could. These unfortunate cases +happen now and then," sighed he, "showing us how powerless we really +are." + +Well, it was grievous news wherewith to startle the parish. And Mrs. +Carradyne, a martyr to belief in ghosts and omens, grew to dread the +chimes with a nervous and nameless dread. + + +II. + +It was but the first of February, yet the weather might have served for +May-day: one of those superb days that come once in a while out of their +season, serving to remind the world that the dark, depressing, dreary +winter will not last for ever; though we may have half feared it means +to, forgetting the reassuring promise of the Divine Ruler of all things, +given after the Flood: + +"_While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, +and summer and winter, and day and night, shall not cease._" + +The warm and glorious sunbeams lay on Church Leet, as if to woo the bare +hedges into verdant life, the cold fields to smiling plains. Even the +mounds of the graveyard, interspersed amidst the old tombstones, looked +green and cheerful to-day in the golden light. + +Turning slowly out of the Vicarage gate came a good-looking clergyman of +seven-or-eight-and-twenty. A slender man of middle height, with a sweet +expression on his pale, thoughtful face, and dark earnest eyes. It was +the new Vicar of Church Leet, the Reverend Robert Grame. + +For a goodish many years have gone on since that tragedy of poor +Katherine's death, and this is the second appointed Vicar since that +inauspicious time. + +Mr. Grame walked across the churchyard, glancing at the inscriptions on +the tombs. Inside the church porch stood the clerk, old John Cale, keys +in hand. Mr. Grame saw him and quickened his pace. + +"Have I kept you waiting, Cale?" he cried in his pleasant, considerate +tones. "I am sorry for that." + +"Not at all, your reverence; I came afore the time. This here church is +but a step or two off my home, yonder, and I'm as often out here as I be +indoors," continued John Cale, a fresh-coloured little man with pale +grey eyes and white hair. "I've been clerk here, sir, for +seven-and-thirty years." + +"You've seen more than one parson out then, I reckon." + +"More than one! Ay, sir, more than--more than six times one, I was going +to say; but that's too much, maybe. Let's see: there was Mr. Cartright, +he had held the living I hardly know how many years when I came, and he +held it for many after that. Mr. West succeeded him--the Reverend George +West; then came Thomas Dancox; then Mr. Atterley: four in all. And now +you've come, sir, to make the fifth." + +"Did they all die? or take other livings?" + +"Some the one thing, sir, and some the other. Mr. Cartright died, he was +old; and Mr. West, he--he--" John Cale hesitated before he went on--"he +died; Mr. Dancox got appointed to a chaplaincy somewhere over the seas; +he was here but about eighteen months, hardly that; and Mr. Atterley, +who has just left, has had a big church with a big income, they say, +given to him over in Oxfordshire." + +"Which makes room for me," smiled Robert Grame. + +They were inside the church now; a small and very old-fashioned church, +with high pews, dark and sombre. Over the large pew of the Monks, +standing sideways to the pulpit, sundry slabs were on the wall, their +inscriptions testifying to the virtues and ages of the Monk family dead +and gone. Mr. Grame stood to read them. One slab of white marble, its +black letters fresh and clear, caught especially his eye. + +"Katherine, eldest child of Godfrey Monk, gentleman, and wife of the +Reverend Thomas Dancox," he read out aloud. "Was that he who was Vicar +here?" + +"Ay, 'twas. She married him again her father's wish, and died, poor +thing, just a year after it," replied the clerk. "And only twenty-three, +as you see, sir! The Captain came down and forgave her on her dying bed, +and 'twas he that had the stone put up there. Her baby-girl was taken to +the Hall, and is there still: ten years old she must be now; 'twas but +an hour or two old when the mother died." + +"It seems a sad history," observed Mr. Grame as he turned away to enter +the vestry. + +John Cale did the honours of its mysteries; showing him the chest for +the surplices; the cupboard let into the wall for the register-book; the +place where candles and such-like stores were kept. Mr. Grame opened a +door at one end of the room and saw a square flagged place, containing +grave-digging tools and the hanging ropes of the bell which called +people to church. Shutting the door again, he crossed to a door on the +opposite side. But that he could not open. + +"What does this lead to?" he asked. "It is locked." + +"It's always kept locked, that door is, sir; and it's a'most as much as +my post is worth to open it," said the clerk, his voice sinking to a +mysterious whisper. "It leads up to the chimes." + +"The chimes!" echoed the new parson in surprise. "Do you mean to say +this little country church can boast of chimes?" + +John Cale nodded. "Lovely, pleasant things they be to listen to, sir, +but we've not heard 'em since the midnight when Miss Katherine died. +They play a tune called 'The Bay of Biscay.'" + +Selecting a key from the bunch that he carried in his hand, he opened +the door, displaying a narrow staircase, unprotected as a ladder and +nearly perpendicular. At its top was another small door, evidently +locked. + +"Captain Monk had all this done when he put the chimes up," remarked he. +"I sweep the dust off these stairs, once in three months or so, but +otherwise the door's not opened. And that one," nodding to the door +above, "never." + +"But why?" asked the clergyman. "If the chimes are there, and are, as +you say, melodious, why do they not play?" + +"Well, sir, I b'lieve there's a bit of superstition at the bottom of +it," returned the clerk, not caring to explain too fully lest he should +have to tell about Mr. West's death, which might not be the thing to +frighten a new Vicar with. "A feeling has somehow got abroad in the +parish (leastways with a many of its folk) that the putting-up of its +bells brought ill-luck, and that whenever the chimes ring out some +dreadful evil falls on the Monk family." + +"I never heard of such a thing," exclaimed the Vicar, hardly knowing +whether to laugh or lecture. "The parish cannot be so ignorant as that! +How can the putting-up of chimes bring ill-luck?" + +"Well, your reverence, I don't know; the thing's beyond me. They were +heard but three times, ringing in the new year at midnight, three years, +one on top of t'other--and each time some ill fell." + +"My good man--and I am sure you are good--you should know better," +remonstrated Mr. Grame. "Captain Monk cannot, surely, give credence to +this?" + +"No, sir; but his sister up at the Hall does--Mrs. Carradyne. It's said +the Captain used to ridicule her finely for it; he'd fly into a passion +whenever 'twas alluded to. Captain Monk, as a brave seaman, is too bold +to tolerate anything of the sort. But he has never let the chimes play +since his daughter died. He was coming out from the death-scene at +midnight, when the chimes broke forth the third year, and it's said he +can't abear the sound of 'em since." + +"That may well be," assented Mr. Grame. + +"And finding, sir, year after year, year after year, as one year gives +place to another, that they are never heard, we have got to call 'em +amid ourselves, the Silent Chimes," spoke the clerk, as they turned to +leave the church. "The Silent Chimes, sir." + +Clinking his keys, the clerk walked away to his home, an ivy-covered +cottage not a stone's-throw off; the clergyman lingered in the +churchyard, reading the memorials on the tombstones. He was smiling at +the quaintness of some of them, when the sound of hasty footsteps caused +him to turn. A little girl was climbing over the churchyard-railings (as +being nearer to her than the entrance-gate), and came dashing towards +him across the gravestones. + +"Are you grandpapa's new parson?" asked the young lady; a pretty child +of ten, with a dark skin, and dusky-violet eyes staring at him freely +out of a saucy face. + +"Yes, I am," said he. "What is your name?" + +"What is yours?" boldly questioned she. "They've talked about you at +home, but I forgot it." + +"Mine is Robert Grame. Won't you tell me yours?" + +"Oh, it's Kate.--Here's that wicked Lucy coming! She's going to groan at +me for jumping here. She says it's not reverent." + +A charming young lady of some twenty years was coming up the path. She +wore a scarlet cloak, its hood lined with white silk; a straw hat shaded +her fair face, blushing very much just now; in her dark-grey eyes might +be read vexation, as she addressed Mr. Grame. + +"I hope Kate has not been rude? I hope you will excuse her heedlessness +in this place. She is but a little girl." + +"It's only the new parson, Lucy," broke in Kate without ceremony. "He +says his name's Robert Grame." + +"Oh, Kate, don't! How shall we ever teach you manners?" reprimanded the +young lady in much distress. "She has been greatly indulged, sir," +turning to the clergyman. + +"I can well understand that," he said, with a bright smile. "I presume +that I have the honour of speaking to the daughter of my patron--Captain +Monk?" + +"No; Captain Monk is my uncle: I am Lucy Carradyne." + +As the young clergyman stood, hat in hand, a feeling came over him that +he had never seen so sweet a face as the one he was looking at. Miss +Lucy Carradyne was saying to herself, "What a nice countenance he has! +What kindly, earnest eyes!" + +"This little lady tells me her name is Kate." + +"Kate Dancox," said Lucy, as the child danced away. "Her mamma was +Captain Monk's eldest daughter; she died when Kate was born. My uncle is +very fond of Kate; he will hardly have her controlled at all." + +"I have been in to see my church! John Cale has been doing its honours +for me," smiled Mr. Grame. "It is a pretty little edifice." + +"Yes, and I hope you will like it; I hope you will like the parish," +frankly returned Lucy. + +"I shall be sure to do that, I think. As soon, at least, as I can feel +convinced that it is to be really mine," he added, with a quaint +expression. "When I heard, a week ago, that Captain Monk had presented +me--an entire stranger to him--with the living of Church Leet, I could +not believe it. It is not often that a nameless curate, without +influence, is spontaneously remembered." + +"It is not much of a living," said Lucy, meeting the words half +jestingly. "Worth, I believe, but about a hundred and sixty pounds +a-year." + +"But that is a great rise for me--and I have a house to myself large +and beautiful--and am a Vicar and no longer a curate," he returned, +laughingly. "I cannot _imagine_, though, how Captain Monk came to give +it me. Have you any idea how it was, Miss Carradyne?" + +Lucy's face flushed. She could not tell this gentleman the truth: that +another clergyman had been fixed upon, one who would have been +especially welcome to the parishioners; that Captain Monk had all but +nominated him to the living. But it chanced to reach the Captain's ears +that this clergyman had expressed his intention of holding the Communion +Service monthly, instead of quarterly as heretofore, so he put the +question to him. Finding it to be true, he withdrew his promise; he +would not have old customs broken in upon by modern innovation, he said; +and forthwith he appointed the Reverend Robert Grame. + +"I do not even know how Captain Monk heard of me," continued Mr. Grame, +marking Lucy's hesitation. + +"I believe you were recommended to him by one of the clergy attached to +Worcester Cathedral," said Lucy.--"And I think I must wish you +good-morning now." + +But there came an interruption. A tall, stately, haughty young woman, +with an angry look upon her dark and handsome face, had entered the +churchyard, and was calling out as she advanced: + +"That monkey broken loose again, I suppose, and at her pranks here! What +are you good for, Lucy, if you cannot keep her in better order? You know +I told you to go straight on to Mrs. Speck, and--" + +The words died away. Mr. Grame, who had been hidden by a large upright +tombstone, emerged into view. Lucy, with another blush, spoke to cover +the awkwardness. + +"This is Miss Monk," she said to him. "Eliza, it is the new clergyman, +Mr. Grame." + +Miss Monk recovered her equanimity. A winning smile supplanted the anger +on her face; she held out her hand, grandly gracious. For she liked the +stranger's look: he was beyond doubt a gentleman--and an attractive man. + +"Allow me to welcome you to Church Leet, Mr. Grame. My father chances to +be absent to-day; he is gone to Evesham." + +"So the clerk told me, or I should have called this morning to pay my +respects to him, and to thank him for his generous and most unexpected +patronage of me. I got here last night," concluded Mr. Grame, standing +uncovered as when he had saluted Lucy. Eliza Monk liked his pleasant +voice, his taking manners: her fancy went out to him there and then. + +"But though papa is absent, you will walk up with me now to the Hall to +make acquaintance with my aunt, Mrs. Carradyne," said Eliza, in those +tones that, gracious though they were, sounded in the light of a +command--just as poor Katherine's had always sounded. And Mr. Grame went +with her. + +But now--handsome though she was, gracious though she meant to be--there +was something about Eliza Monk that seemed to repulse Robert Grame, +rather than attract him. Lucy had fascinated him; she repelled. Other +people had experienced the same kind of repulsion, but knew not where it +lay. + +Hubert, the heir, about twenty-five now, came forward to greet the +stranger as they entered the Hall. No repulsion about _him_. Robert +Grame's hand met his with a warm clasp. A young man of gentle manners +and a face of rare beauty--but oh, so suspiciously delicate! Perhaps it +was the extreme slenderness of the frame, the wan look in the refined +features and their bright hectic that drew forth the clergyman's +sympathy. An impression came over him that this young man was not long +for earth. + +"Is Mr. Monk strong?" he presently asked of Mrs. Carradyne, when Hubert +had temporarily quitted the room. + +"Indeed, no. He had rheumatic fever some years ago," she added, "and has +never been strong since." + +"Has he heart disease?" questioned the clergyman. He thought the young +man had just that look. + +"We fear his heart is weak," replied Mrs. Carradyne. + +"But that may be only your fancy, you know, Aunt Emma," spoke Miss Monk +reproachfully. She and her father were both passionately attached to +Hubert; they resented any doubt cast upon his health. + +"Oh, of course," assented Mrs. Carradyne, who never resented anything. + +"We shall be good friends, I trust," said Eliza, with a beaming smile, +as her hand lay in Mr. Grame's when he was leaving. + +"Indeed I hope so," he answered. "Why not?" + + +III. + +Summer lay upon the land. The landscape stretched out before Leet Hall +was fair to look upon. A fine expanse of wood and dale, of trees in +their luxuriant beauty; of emerald-green plains, of meandering streams, +of patches of growing corn already putting on its yellow hue, and of the +golden sunlight, soon to set and gladden other worlds, that shone from +the deep-blue sky. Birds sang in their leafy shelters, bees were +drowsily humming as they gathered the last of the day's honey, and +butterflies flitted from flower to flower with a good-night kiss. + +At one of the windows stood, in her haughty beauty, Eliza Monk. Not, +surely, of the lovely scene before her was she thinking, or her face +might have worn a more pleasing expression. Rather did she seem to gaze, +and with displeasure, at two or three people who were walking in the +distance: Lucy Carradyne side by side with the clergyman, and Miss Kate +Dancox pulling at his coat-tails. + +"Shameful flirt!" + +The acidity of the tone was so pronounced that Mrs. Carradyne, seated +near and busy at her netting, lifted her head in surprise. "Why, Eliza, +what's the matter? Who is a flirt?" + +"Lucy," curtly replied Eliza, pointing with her finger. + +"Nonsense," said Mrs. Carradyne, after glancing outwards. + +"Why does she persistently lay herself out to attract that man?" was the +passionate rejoinder. + +"Be silent, Eliza. How can you conjure up so unjust a charge? Lucy is +not capable of _laying herself out_ to attract anyone. It lies but in +your imagination." + +"Day after day, when she is out with Kate, you may see him join +her--allured to her side." + +"The 'allurer' is Kate, then. I am surprised at you, Eliza: you might be +talking of a servant-maid. Kate has taken a liking for Mr. Grame, and +she runs after him at all times and seasons." + +"She ought to be stopped, then." + +"Stopped! Will you undertake to do it? Could her mother be stopped in +anything she pleased to do? And the child has the same rebellious will." + +"I say that Robert Grame's attraction is Lucy." + +"It may be so," acknowledged Mrs. Carradyne. "But the attraction must +lie in Lucy herself; not in anything she does. Some suspicion of the +sort has, at times, crossed me." + +She looked at them again as she spoke. They were sauntering onwards +slowly; Mr. Grame bending towards Lucy, and talking earnestly. Kate, +dancing about, pulling at his arm or his coat, appeared to get but +little attention. Mrs. Carradyne quietly went on with her work. + +And that composed manner, combined with her last sentence, brought gall +and wormwood to Eliza Monk. + +Throwing a summer scarf upon her shoulders, Eliza passed out at the +French window, crossed the terrace, and set out to confront the +conspirators. But she was not in time. Seeing her coming, or not seeing +her--who knew?--Mr. Grame turned off with a fleet foot towards his home. +So nobody remained for Miss Monk to waste her angry breath upon but +Lucy. The breath was keenly sharp, and Lucy fell to weeping. + + * * * * * + +"I am here, Grame. Don't go in." + +The words fell on the clergyman's ears as he closed the Vicarage gate +behind him, and was passing up the path to his door. Turning his head, +he saw Hubert Monk seated on the bench under the May tree, pink and +lovely yet. "How long have you been here?" he asked, sitting down beside +him. + +"Ever so long; waiting for you," replied Hubert. + +"I was but strolling about." + +"I saw you: with Lucy and the child." + +They had become fast and firm friends, these two young men; and the +minister was insensibly exercising a wonderful influence over Hubert for +good. Believing--as he did believe--that Hubert's days were numbered, +that any sharp extra exertion might entail fatal consequences, he gently +strove, as opportunity offered, to lead his thoughts to the Better Land. + +"What an evening it is!" rapturously exclaimed Hubert. + +"Ay: so calm and peaceful." + +The rays of the setting sun touched Hubert's face, lighting up its +extreme delicacy; the scent of the closing flowers filled the still air +with its sweetness; the birds were chanting their evening song of +praise. Hubert, his elbow on the arm of the bench, his hand supporting +his chin, looked out with dreamy eyes. + +"What book have you there?" asked Mr. Grame, noticing one in his other +hand. + +"Herbert," answered the young man, showing it. "I filched it from your +table through the open window, Grame." + +The clergyman took it. It chanced to open at a passage he was very fond +of. Or perhaps he knew the place, and opened it purposely. + +"Do you know these verses, Hubert? They are appropriate enough just now, +while those birds are carolling." + +"I can't tell. What verses? Read them." + + "Hark, how the birds do sing, + And woods do ring! + All creatures have their joy, and man hath his, + Yet, if we rightly measure, + Man's joy and pleasure + Rather hereafter than in present is. + + Not that we may not here + Taste of the cheer; + But as birds drink and straight lift up the head, + So must he sip and think + Of better drink + He may attain to after he is dead." + +"Ay," said Hubert, breaking the silence after a time, "it's very true, I +suppose. But this world--oh, it's worth living for. Will anything in the +next, Grame, be more beautiful than _that_?" + +He was pointing to the sunset. It was marvellously and unusually +beautiful. Lovely pink and crimson clouds flecked the west; in their +midst shone a golden light of dazzling refulgence, too glorious to look +upon. + +"One might fancy it the portals of heaven," said the clergyman; "the +golden gate of entrance, leading to the pearly gates within, and to the +glittering walls of precious stones." + +"And--why! it seems to take the form of an entrance-gate!" exclaimed +Hubert in excitement. For it really did. "Look at it! Oh, Grame, surely, +surely the very gate of Heaven cannot be more dazzlingly beautiful than +that!" + +"And if the gate of entrance is so unspeakably beautiful, what will the +City itself be?" murmured Mr. Grame. "The Heavenly City! the New +Jerusalem!" + +"It is beginning to fade," said Hubert presently, as they sat watching; +"the brightness is going. What a pity!" + +"All that's bright must fade in this world, you know; and fade very +quickly. Hubert! it will not in the next." + + * * * * * + +Church Leet, watching its neighbours' doings sharply, began to whisper +that the new clergyman, Mr. Grame, was likely to cause unpleasantness to +the Monk family, just as some of his predecessors had caused it. For no +man having eyes in his head (still less any woman) could fail to see +that the Captain's imperious daughter had fallen desperately in love +with him. Would there be a second elopement, as in the days of Tom +Dancox? Would Eliza Monk set her father at defiance, as Katherine did? + +One of the last to see signs and tokens, though they took place under +her open eyes, was Mrs. Carradyne. But she saw at last. The clergyman +could not walk across a new-mown field, or down a shady lane, or be +hastening along the dusty turnpike road, but by some inexplicable +coincidence he would be met by Miss Monk; and when he came to the Hall +to pass an hour with Hubert, she generally made a third at the +interview. It had pleased her latterly to take to practising on the old +church organ; and if Mr. Grame was not wiled into the church with her +and her attendant, the ancient clerk, who blew the bellows, she was sure +to alight upon him in going or returning. + +One fine evening, dinner over, when the last beams of the sun were +slanting into the drawing-room, Eliza Monk was sitting back on a sofa, +reading; Kate romped about the room, and Mrs. Carradyne had just rung +the bell for tea. Lucy had been spending the afternoon with Mrs. Speck, +and Hubert had now gone to fetch her home. + +"Good gracious, Kate, can't you be quiet!" exclaimed Miss Monk, as the +child in her gambols sprung upon the sofa, upsetting the book and its +reader's temper. "Go away: you are treading on my flounces. Aunt Emma, +why do you persist in having this tiresome little reptile with us after +dinner?" + +"Because your father will not let her be sent to the nursery," said Mrs. +Carradyne. + +"Did you ever know a child like her?" + +"She is but as her mother was; as you were, Eliza--always rebellious. +Kate, sit down to the piano and play one of your pretty tunes." + +"I won't," responded Kate. "Play yourself, Aunt Emma." + +Dashing through the open glass doors, Kate began tossing a ball on the +broad gravel walk below the terrace. Mrs. Carradyne cautioned her not to +break the windows, and turned to the tea-table. + +"Don't make the tea yet, Aunt Emma," interrupted Miss Monk, in a tone +that was quite like a command. "Mr. Grame is coming, and he won't care +for cold tea." + +Mrs. Carradyne returned to her seat. She thought the opportunity had +come to say something to her niece which she had been wanting to say. + +"You invited Mr. Grame, Eliza?" + +"I did," said Eliza, looking defiance. + +"My dear," resumed Mrs. Carradyne with some hesitation, "forgive me if I +offer you a word of advice. You have no mother; I pray you to listen to +me in her stead. You must change your line of behaviour to Mr. Grame." + +Eliza's dark face turned red and haughty. "I do not understand you, Aunt +Emma." + +"Nay, I think you do understand me, my dear. You have incautiously +allowed yourself to fall into--into an undesirable liking for Mr. Grame. +An _unseemly_ liking, Eliza." + +"Unseemly!" + +"Yes; because it has not been sought. Cannot you see, Eliza, how he +instinctively recedes from it? how he would repel it were he less the +gentleman than he is? Child, I shrink from saying these things to you, +but it is needful. You have good sense, Eliza, keen discernment, and you +might see for yourself that it is not to you Mr. Grame's love is +given--or ever will be." + +For once in her life Eliza Monk allowed herself to betray agitation. She +opened her trembling lips to speak, but closed them again. + +"A moment yet, Eliza. Let us suppose, for argument's sake, that Mr. +Grame loved you; that he wished to marry you; you know, my dear, how +utterly useless it would be. Your father would not suffer it." + +"Mr. Grame is of gentle descent; my father is attached to him," disputed +Eliza. + +"But Mr. Grame has nothing but his living--a hundred and sixty pounds +a-year; _you_ must make a match in accordance with your own position. It +would be Katherine's trouble, Katherine's rebellion over again. But this +was mentioned for argument's sake only; Mr. Grame will never sue for +anything of the kind; and I must beg of you, my dear, to put all idea of +it away, and to change your manner towards him." + +"Perhaps you fancy he may wish to sue for Lucy!" cried Eliza, in fierce +resentment. + +"That is a great deal more likely than the other. And the difficulties +in her case would not be so great." + +"And pray why, Aunt Emma?" + +"Because, my dear, I should not resent it as your father would. I am not +so ambitious for her as he is for you." + +"A fine settlement for her--Robert Grame and his hundred--" + +"Who is taking my name in vain?" cried out a pleasant voice from the +open window; and Robert Grame entered. + +"I was," said Eliza readily; her tone changing like magic to sweet +suavity, her face putting on its best charm--"About to remark that the +Reverend Robert Grame has a hundred faults. Aunt Emma agrees with me." + +He laughed lightly, regarding it as pleasantry, and inquired for Hubert. + +Eliza stepped out on the terrace when tea was over, talking to Mr. +Grame; they began to pace it slowly together. Kate and her ball sported +on the gravel walk beneath. It was a warm, serene evening, the silver +moon shining, the evening star just appearing in the clear blue sky. + +"Lucy being away, you cannot enjoy your usual flirtation with her," +remarked Miss Monk, in a light tone. + +But he did not take it lightly. Rarely had his voice been more serious +than when he answered: "I beg your pardon. I do not flirt--I have never +flirted with Miss Carradyne." + +"No! It has looked like it." + +Mr. Grame remained silent. "I hope not," he said at last. "I did not +intend--I did not think. However, I must mend my manners," he added more +gaily. "To flirt at all would ill become my sacred calling. And Lucy +Carradyne is superior to any such trifling." + +Her pulses were coursing on to fever heat. With her whole heart she +loved Robert Grame: and the secret preference he had unconsciously +betrayed for Lucy had served to turn her later days to bitterness. + +"Possibly you mean something more serious," said Eliza, compressing her +lips. + +"If I mean anything, I should certainly mean it seriously," replied the +young clergyman, his face blushing as he made the avowal. "But I may +not. I have been reflecting much latterly, and I see I may not. If my +income were good it might be a different matter. But it is not; and +marriage for me must be out of the question." + +"With a portionless girl, yes. Robert Grame," she went on rapidly with +impassioned earnestness, "when you marry, it must be with someone who +can help you; whose income will compensate for the deficiency of yours. +Look around you well: there may be some young ladies rich in the world's +wealth, even in Church Leet, who will forget your want of fortune for +your own sake." + +Did he misunderstand her? It was hardly possible. She had a large +fortune; Lucy none. But he answered as though he comprehended not. It +may be that he deemed it best to set her ill-regulated hopes at rest for +ever. + +"One can hardly suppose a temptation of that kind would fall in the way +of an obscure individual like myself. If it did, I could but reject it. +I should not marry for money. I shall never marry where I do not love." + +They had halted near one of the terrace seats. On it lay a toy of +Kate's, a little wooden "box of bells." Mechanically, her mind far away, +Eliza took it up and began, still mechanically, turning the wire which +set the bells to play with a soft but not unpleasant jingle. + +"You love Lucy Carradyne!" she whispered. + +"I fear I do," he answered. "Though I have struggled against the +conviction." + +A sudden crash startled them; shivers of glass fell before their feet; +fit accompaniment to the shattered hopes of one who stood there. Kate +Dancox, aiming at Mr. Grame's hat, had sent her ball through the window. +He leaped away to catch the culprit, and Eliza Monk sat down on the +bench, all gladness gone out of her. Her love-dream had turned out to be +a snare and a delusion. + +"Who did that?" + +Captain Monk, frightened from his after-dinner nap by the crash, came +forth in anger. Kate got a box on the ear, and was sent to bed howling. + +"You should send her to school, papa." + +"And I will," declared the Captain. "She startled me out of my sleep. +Out of a dream, too. And it is not often I dream. I thought I was +hearing the chimes." + +"Chimes which I have not yet been fortunate enough to hear," said Mr. +Grame with a smile. Eliza recalled the sound of the bells she had set in +motion, and thought it must have penetrated to her father in his sleep. + +"By George, no! You shall, though, Grame. They shall ring the new year +in when it comes." + +"Aunt Emma won't like that," laughingly commented Eliza. She was trying +to be gay and careless before Robert Grame. + +"Aunt Emma may _dis_like it!" retorted the Captain. "She has picked up +some ridiculously absurd notion, Grame, that the bells bring ill-luck +when they are heard. Women are so foolishly superstitious." + +"That must be a very far-fetched superstition," said the parson. + +"One might as well believe in witches," mocked the Captain. "I have +given in to her fancies for some years, not to cross her, and let the +bells be silent: she's a good woman on the whole; but be hanged if I +will any longer. On the last day of this year, Grame, you shall hear the +chimes." + + * * * * * + +How it came about nobody exactly knew, unless it was through Hubert, but +matters were smoothed for the parson and Lucy. + +Mrs. Carradyne knew his worth, and she saw that they were as much in +love with one another as ever could be Hodge and Joan. She liked the +idea of Lucy being settled near her--and the vicarage, large and +handsome, could have its unused rooms opened and furnished. Mr. Grame +honestly avowed that he should have asked for Lucy before, but for his +poverty; he supposed that Lucy was poor also. + +"That is so; Lucy has nothing of her own," said Mrs. Carradyne to this. +"But I am not in that condition." + +"Of course not. But--pardon me--I thought your property went to your +son." + +Mrs. Carradyne laughed. "A small estate of his father's, close by here, +became my son's at his father's death," she said. "My own money is at my +disposal; the half of it will eventually be Lucy's. When she marries, I +shall allow her two hundred a-year: and upon that, and your stipend, you +will have to get along together." + +"It will be like riches to me," said the young parson all in a glow. + +"Ah! Wait until you realise the outlets for money that a wife entails," +nodded Mrs. Carradyne in her superior wisdom. "Not but that I'm sure +it's good for young people, setting-up together, to be straitened at the +beginning. It teaches them economy and the value of money." + +Altogether it seemed a wonderful prospect to Robert Grame. Miss Lucy +thought it would be Paradise. But a stern wave of opposition set in from +Captain Monk. + +Hubert broke the news to him as they were sitting together after dinner. +To begin with, the Captain, as a matter of course, flew into a passion. + +"Another of those beggarly parsons! What possessed them, that they +should fix upon _his_ family to play off their machinations upon! Lucy +Carradyne was his niece: she should never be grabbed up by one of them +while he was alive to stop it." + +"Wait a minute, father," whispered Hubert. "You like Robert Grame; I +know that: you would rather see him carry off Lucy than Eliza." + +"What the dickens do you mean by that?" + +Hubert said a few cautious words--hinting that, but for Lucy's being in +the way, poor Katherine's escapade might have been enacted over again. +Captain Monk relieved his mind by some strong language, sailor fashion; +and for once in his life saw he must give in to necessity. + +So the wedding was fixed for the month of February, just one year after +they had met: that sweet time of early spring, when spring comes in +genially, when the birds would be singing, and the green buds peeping +and the sunlight dancing. + +But the present year was not over yet. Lucy was sewing at her wedding +things. Eliza Monk, smarting at their sight as with an adder's sting, +ran away from it to visit a family who lived near Oddingly, an +insignificant little place, lying, as everybody knows, on the other side +of Worcester, famous only for its dulness and for the strange murders +committed there in 1806--which have since passed into history. But she +returned home for Christmas. + +Once more it was old-fashioned Christmas weather; Jack Frost freezing +the snow and sporting his icicles. The hearty tenants, wending their way +to the annual feast in the winter twilight, said how unusually sharp the +air was, enough to bite off their ears and noses. + +The Reverend Robert Grame made one at the table for the first time, and +said grace at the Captain's elbow. He had heard about the freedom +obtaining at these dinners; but he knew he was utterly powerless to +suppress it, and he hoped his presence might prove some little +restraint, just as poor George West had hoped in the days gone by: not +that it was as bad now as it used to be. A rumour had gone abroad that +the chimes were to play again, but it died away unconfirmed, for Captain +Monk kept his own counsel. + +The first to quit the table was Hubert. Captain Monk looked up angrily. +He was proud of his son, of his tall and graceful form, of his handsome +features, proud even of his bright complexion; ay, and of his estimable +qualities. While inwardly fearing Hubert's signs of fading strength, he +defiantly refused to recognise it or to admit it openly. + +"What now?" he said in a loud whisper. "Are _you_ turning renegade?" + +The young man bent over his father's shoulder. "I don't feel well; +better let me go quietly, father; I have felt oppressed here all +day"--touching his left side. And he escaped. + +There was present at table an elderly gentleman named Peveril. He had +recently come with his wife into the neighbourhood and taken on lease a +small estate, called by the odd name of Peacock's Range, which belonged +to Hubert and lay between Church Dykely and Church Leet. Mr. Peveril put +an inopportune question. + +"What is the story, Captain, about some chimes which were put up in the +church here and are never allowed to ring because they caused the death +of the Vicar? I was told of it to-day." + +Captain Monk looked at Mr. Peveril, but did not speak. + +"One George West, I think. Was he parson here?" + +"Yes, he was parson here," said Farmer Winter, finding nobody else +answered Mr. Peveril, next to whom he sat. He was a very old man now, +but hale and hearty still, and a steadfast ally of his landlord. "Given +that parson his way and we should never have had the chimes put up. +Sweet sounding bells they are." + +"But how could the chimes kill him?" went on Mr. Peveril. "Did they kill +him?" + +"George West was a quarrelsome, mischief-making meddler, good for +nothing but to set the parish together by the ears; and I must beg of +you to drop his name when at my table, Peveril. As to the chimes, you +will hear them to-night." + +Captain Monk spoke in his sternest tones, and Mr. Peveril bowed. Robert +Grame had listened in surprise. He wondered what it all meant--for +nobody had ever told him of this phase of the past. The table clapped +its unsteady hands and gave a cheer for the chimes, now to be heard +again. + +"Yes, gentlemen," said the Captain, not a whit more steady than his +guests. "They shall ring for us to-night, though it brought the parson +out of his grave." + +A few minutes before twelve the butler, who had his orders, came into +the dining-room and set the windows open. His master gave him another +order and the man withdrew. Entering the drawing-room, he proceeded to +open those windows also. Mr. Peveril, and one or two more guests, sat +with the family; Hubert lay back in an easy-chair. + +"What are you about, Rimmer?" hastily cried out Mrs. Carradyne in +surprise. "Opening the windows!" + +"It is by the master's orders, ma'am," replied the butler; "he bade me +open them, that you and the ladies might get a better hearing of the +chimes." + +Mrs. Carradyne, superstitious ever, grew white as death. "_The chimes!_" +she breathed in a dread whisper. "Surely, surely, Rimmer, you must be +mistaken. The chimes cannot be going to ring again!" + +"They are to ring the New Year in," said the man. "I have known it this +day or two, but was not allowed to tell, as Madam may guess"--glancing +at his mistress. "John Cale has got his orders, and he'll set 'em going +when the clock has struck twelve." + +"Oh, is there no one who will run to stop it?" bewailed Mrs. Carradyne, +wringing her hands in all the terror of a nameless fear. "There may yet +be time. Rimmer! can you go?" + +Hubert came out of his chair laughing. Rimmer was round and fat now, and +could not run if he tried. "I'll go, aunt," he said. "Why, walking +slowly, I should get there before Rimmer." + +The words, "walking slowly," may have misled Mrs. Carradyne; or, in the +moment's tribulation, perhaps she forgot that Hubert ought not to be the +one to use much exertion; but she made no objection. No one else made +way, and Hubert hastened out, putting on his overcoat as he went towards +the church. + +It was the loveliest night; the air was still and clear, the landscape +white and glistening, the moon bright as gold. Hubert, striding along at +a quick walk, had traversed half the short distance, when the church +clock struck out the first note of midnight. And he knew he should not +be in time--unless-- + +He set off to run: it was such a very little way! Flying along without +heed to self, he reached the churchyard gate. And there he was +forced--forced--to stop to gather up his laboured breath. + +Ring, ring, ring! broke forth the chimes melodiously upon Hubert's ear. +"Stop!" he shouted, panting; "stop! stop!"--just as if John Cale could +hear the warning: and he began leaping over all the gravestones in his +path, after the irreverent fashion of Miss Kate Dancox. + +"Stop!" he faintly cried in his exhaustion, dashing through the vestry, +as the strains of "The Bay of Biscay" pursued their harmonious course +overhead, sounding louder here than in the open air. "Sto--" + +He could not finish the word. Pulling the little door open, he put his +foot on the first step of the narrow ladder of a staircase: and then +fell prone upon it. John Cale and young Mr. Threpp, the churchwarden's +son, who had been the clerk's companion, were descending the stairs, +after the chimes had chimed themselves out, and they had locked them up +again to (perhaps) another year, when they found some impediment below. + +"What is it?" exclaimed young Mr. Threpp. The clerk turned on his +lantern. + +It was Hubert, Captain Monk's son and heir. He lay there with a face of +deadly whiteness, a blue shade encircling his lips. + +JOHNNY LUDLOW. + + + + +WINTER IN ABSENCE. + + + The earth is clothed with fog and mist, + The shrivelled ferns are white with rime, + The trees are fairy-frosted round + The portion of enchanted ground + Where, in the woods, we lovers kissed + Last summer, in the happy time. + + They say that summer comes again; + In winter who believes it true? + Can I have faith through days like this-- + Days with no rose, no sun, no kiss, + Faith in the long gold summer when + There will be sunshine, flowers and you? + + Keep faith and me alive, I pray; + Feed me with loving letters, dear; + Speak of the summer and the sun; + Lest, when the winter-time be done, + Your summer shall have fled away + With me--who had no heart to stay + The slow, sick turning of the year. + + + + +THE BRETONS AT HOME. + +BY CHARLES W. WOOD, F.R.G.S., AUTHOR OF "THROUGH HOLLAND," "LETTERS FROM +MAJORCA," ETC. ETC. + + +Morlaix awoke to a new day. The sunshine was pouring upon it from a +cloudless sky--a somewhat rare vision in Brittany, where the skies are +more often grey, rain frequently falls, and the land is overshadowed by +mist. + +[Illustration: GATEWAY, DINAN.] + +So far the climate of Brittany resembles very much that of England: and +many other points of comparison exist between Greater Britain and Lesser +Brittany besides its similarity of name. For even its name it derives +from us; from the fact that in the fifth and sixth centuries the Saxons, +as they choose to call them, went over in great numbers and settled +there. No wonder, then, that the Bretons possess many of our +characteristics, even in exaggeration, for they are direct descendants +of the ancient Britons. + +They have, for instance, all the gravity of the English temperament, to +which is added a gloom or sombreness of disposition that is born of +repression and poverty and a long struggle with the ways and means of +existence; to which may yet farther be added the influence of climate. +Hope and ambition, the two great levers of the world, with them are not +largely developed; there has been no opportunity for their growth. +Ambitions cannot exist without an aim, nor hope without an object. Just +as in certain dark caves of the world, where daylight never penetrates, +the fish found there have no eyes, because, from long disuse of the +organ, it has gradually lessened and died out; so hope and ambition +amongst the moral faculties must equally disappear without an object in +life. + +It is therefore tolerably certain that where, according to +phrenologists, the organ of Hope is situated, there the Breton head will +be found undeveloped. + +Now without hope no one can be constitutionally happy, and the Bretons +would be amongst the unhappiest on earth, just as they are amongst the +most slow-moving, if it were not for a counterbalancing quality which +they own in large excess. This virtue is veneration; and it is this +which saves them. + +They are the most earnest and devoted, almost superstitiously religious +of people. They observe their Sabbaths, their fasts and feasts with a +severity and punctuality beyond all praise. With few exceptions, their +churches are very inferior to those of Normandy, but each returning +Sunday finds the Breton churches full of an earnest crowd, evidently +assembled for the purpose of worshipping with their whole heart and +soul. The rapt expression of many of the faces makes them for the moment +simply beautiful, and if an artist could only transfer their fervency to +canvas, he would produce a picture worthy of the masters of the Middle +Ages, and read a lesson to the world far greater than that of an +_Angelus_ or a _Magdalene_. + +It is a sight worth going very far to see, these earnest worshippers, +with whom the head is never turned and the eye never wanders. The +further you pass into the interior of Brittany--into the remote +districts of the Morbihan, for instance--where the outer world, with its +advancement and civilization, scarcely seems to have penetrated, there +fervency and devotion are still full of the element of superstition; +there you will find that faith becomes almost synonymous with a strict +observance of prayers, penances and the commands of the Church. When the +Angelus rings out in the evening, you will see the labourer, wending his +way homeward, suddenly arrest his steps in the ploughed field, and with +bent head, pass in silent prayer the dying moments of _crépuscule_. + +There will scarcely be an exception to the rule, either in men or women. +The reverence has grown with their growth, having first been born with +them of inheritance: the heritage and the growth of centuries. All over +the country you will find Calvaries erected: huge stone crosses and +images of the Crucifixion, many of them crumbling and beautiful with the +lapse of ages, the stone steps at their base worn with the devotion of +pilgrims: crosses that stand out so solemnly and picturesquely in the +gloaming against the background of the grey, cold Breton skies, and give +a religious tone to the whole country. + +The Bretons have ever remained a race apart, possessing their own +language, their own habits, manners and customs; not becoming absorbed +with other nations, nor absorbing in themselves any foreign element. +Separated from Normandy by no visible boundary line, divided by no +broad Channel, the Bretons are as different from the Normans as the +Normans are distinct from the English. They have a high standard of +integrity, of right and wrong, there is the distinct feeling of +_Noblesse oblige_ amongst them; their _noblesse_ consisting in the fact +that, being Breton, _il faut agir loyalement_. If they pass you their +word, you may be sure they will not go from it: it is as good as their +bond. They are a hundred years behind the rest of mankind, but there is +a great charm and a great compensation in their simplicity. + +Normandy may be called the country of beautiful churches, Brittany of +beautiful towns. + +This is eminently true of Morlaix, for, in spite of the removal of many +an ancient landmark, it is still wonderfully interesting. In situation +it is singularly favoured and romantic, placed as it is on the sides of +three deep ravines. Hills rise on all sides, shutting in the houses; +hills fertile and well-wooded; in many places cultivated and laid out in +gardens, where flowers grow and flourish all the year round, and +orchards that in spring-time are one blaze, one wealth of blossoming +fruit trees. + +We looked out upon all this that first morning. Not a wealth of +blossoming trees, for the blossoms were over. But before us stretched +the high hills, and surrounding us were all the houses of Morlaix, old +and new. The sun we have said shone upon all, and we needed all this +brightness to make up for the discomforts of the past night. H.C. +declared that his dreams had been of tread-mills, monastic penances, and +the rack; but he had survived the affliction, and this morning was eager +for action. + +It was market-day, and the market-place lay just to the right of us. The +stalls were in full force; the butter and poultry women in strong +evidence, and all the other stalls indigenous to the ceremony. There was +already a fair gathering of people, many of them _paysans_, armed with +umbrellas as stout and clumsy as themselves. For the Bretons know and +mistrust their own climate, and are too well aware that the day of a +brilliant morning too often ends in weeping skies. Many wore costumes +which, though quaint, were not by any means beautiful. They were heavy +and ungraceful, like the people themselves: broad-brimmed hats and loose +trunk hose that hung about them like sacks, something after the fashion +of Turkish pantaloons; and the men wore their hair in huge manes, +hanging down their backs, ugly and untidy; habits, costumes and people +all indicative of la Bretagne Bretonnante--la Basse Bretagne. + +It was a lively scene, in which we longed to take a part; listen to the +strange language, watch the ways and manners of this distinctive race, +who certainly are too aboriginal to win upon you at first sight. + +The hotel was wide awake this morning, full of life and movement. All +who had had to do with us last night gave us a special greeting. They +seemed to look upon us almost as _enfants de la maison_; had taken us +in and done for us under special circumstances, and so had special +claims upon us. Moreover, we were English, and the English are much +considered in Morlaix. + +We looked upon last night's adventures as the events of a dream, though +at the time they had been very painful realities. The first object in +the hotel to meet our gaze was André, his face still tied up like a +mummy, still looking the Image of Misery, as if he and repose had known +nothing of each other since we had parted from him. He was, however, +very anxious for our welfare, and hoped we had slept well on our +impromptu couches. + +Next, on descending, we caught sight of Madame, taking the air and +contemplating the world at large at the door of her bureau. The moment +we appeared the air became too strong for her, and she rapidly passed +through her bureau to a sanctum sanctorum beyond, into which, of course, +we could not penetrate. We looked upon this as a tacit confession of a +guilty conscience, and agreed magnanimously to make no further allusion +to her lapsed memory. So when we at length met face to face, she, like +André, was full of amiable inquiries for our health and welfare. + +We sallied forth, and whatever we thought of Morlaix last night, we +thought no less of it to-day. + +It is a strange mixture of ancient and modern, as we were prepared to +find it. On all sides rose the steep hills, within the shelter of which +the town reposes. The situation is exceedingly striking. Stretching +across one end of the town with most imposing effect is the enormous +viaduct, over which the train rolls towards the station. It possesses +also a footway for pedestrians, from which point the whole town lies +mapped at your feet, and you may trace the faraway windings of the +river. The viaduct is nearly two hundred feet high, and nearly four +hundred yards long, and from its position it looks even more gigantic +than it is. It divides the town into two portions, as it were, the outer +portion consisting of the port and harbour: and from this footway far +down you may see the picturesque shipping at repose: a very modest +amount to-day moored to the river side, consisting of a few barges, a +vessel or two laden with coal or wood, and a steamer in which you might +take passage for Hâvre, or perhaps some nearer port on the Brittany +Coast. + +It is a charming picture, especially if the skies overhead are blue and +the sun is shining. Then the town is lying in alternate light and shade; +the pavements are chequered with gabled outlines, long drawn out or +foreshortened according to their position. The canal bordering the old +market-place is lined with a long row of women, alternately beating +linen upon boards and rinsing it in the water. We know that they are +laughing and chattering, though we cannot hear them; for a group of even +sober Breton women could not be together and keep silence. They take +life very seriously and earnestly; with them it is not all froth and +evaporation; but this is their individual view of existence; +collectively there comes the reaction, forming the lights and shadows of +life, just as we have the lights and shadows in nature. That reaction +must come is the inevitable law; and possibly explains why there are so +many apparent contradictions in people. + +Morlaix has had an eventful history in the annals of Brittany. It takes +its name from _Mons Relaxus_, the hill that was crowned by the ancient +castle; a castle which existed at the time of the Roman occupation, if +the large number of medals and pieces of Roman money discovered in its +foundations may be taken as indicating its epoch. Many of these remains +may be seen in the small museum of the town. They date from the third +century. + +The progress of Morlaix was slow. Very little is recorded of its earlier +history. Though the Romans occupied it, we know not what they did there. +Nearly all traces of Roman architecture have disappeared. The town has +been frequently sacked and pillaged and burnt, sacrilege in which the +English have had many a hand; and even Roman bricks and mortar will +yield in time to destructive agencies. + +Even in the eleventh century it was still nothing more than a small +fishing town, a few houses nestling in the ravine, and sheltered by a +huge rampart on the south-west. Upon the _Mons Relaxus_, the hill giving +its name to the town, stood the lordly castle, the two rivers flowing, +one on either side, which further down unite and form one stream. To-day +all traces of the castle have disappeared and the site is planted with +trees, and quiet citizens walk to and fro beneath their shade, where +centuries ago there echoed the clash of arms and the shouts of warriors +going forth conquering and to conquer. For in those days the Romans were +the masters of the world, and seemed born only for victory. + +In the twelfth century, Morlaix began a long series of vicissitudes. In +1187 Henry II. of England laid siege to it, and it gave in after a +resistance of nine weeks. It was then in possession of the Dukes of +Brittany, who built the ancient walls of the town, traces of which yet +exist, and are amongst the town's most interesting remains. + +The occupation of the English being distasteful to the Bretons, they +continually rebelled against it; though, as far as can be known, the +English were no hard task-masters, forcing them, as the Egyptians did +the Israelites, to make bricks without straw. + +In 1372 the English were turned out of their occupation, and the Dukes +of Brittany once more reigned. It was an unhappy change for the +discontented people, as they soon found. John IV., Duke of Brittany, was +guilty of every species of tyranny and cruelty, and many of the +inhabitants were sacrificed. + +Time went on and Morlaix had no periods of great repose. Every now and +then the English attacked it, and in the reign of Francis I. they +pillaged and burnt it, destroying antiquities that perhaps to-day would +have been worth many a king's ransom. This was in the year 1532. + +[Illustration: GATEWAY OF THE OLD MONASTERY, MORLAIX.] + +In 1548, Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, a child of five years only, +disembarked at the wonderfully quaint little town of Roscoff to marry +the Dauphin of France, who afterwards reigned as Francis II. She made a +triumphal entry into Morlaix, was lodged at the Jacobin convent, and +took part in the Te Deum that was celebrated in her honour in Notre Dame +du Mur. This gives an additional interest to Morlaix, for every place +visited by the beautiful and unfortunate Queen of Scots, every record +preserved of her, possesses a romantic charm that time has been unable +to weaken. + +As she was returning to the convent after the celebration of the Te +Deum, and they were passing what was called the Gate of the Prison, the +drawbridge gave way and fell into the river. It was fortunately low +water, and no lives were lost. But the Scots Guards, separated from the +young Queen by the accident, took alarm, thought the whole thing had +been planned, and called out: "Treason! Treason!" Upon which the +Chevalier de Rohan, who rode near the Queen, quickly turned his horse +and shouted: "Never was Breton guilty of treason!" + +And this exclamation may be considered a key-note to their character. +The Bretons, amongst their virtues, may count that of loyalty. All is +fair in love and war, it is said; but the Bretons would betray neither +friend nor foe under any circumstance whatever. + +For two hundred years Morlaix has known peace and repose, as far as the +outer world is concerned. She has given herself up to religious +institutions, and has grown and prospered. So it comes to pass that she +is a strange mixture of new and old, and that side by side with a quaint +and wonderful structure of the Middle Ages, we find a house of the +present day flourishing like a green bay tree--a testimony to +prosperity, and an eyesore to the lover of antiquity. But these wonders +of the Middle Ages must gradually disappear. As time rolls on, and those +past centuries become more and more remote, the old must give place to +the new; ancient buildings must fall away in obedience to the inevitable +laws of time, progress and destruction. + +This is especially true of Morlaix. Much that was old-world and lovely +has gone for ever, and day by day something more is disappearing. + +We sallied forth, but unaccompanied by Misery, who was hard at work in +the hotel, preparing us rooms wherein, as he expressed it, we should +that night lodge as Christians. Whether, last night, he had put us down +as Mahometans, Fire Worshippers, or heathens of some other denomination, +he did not say. + +The town had lost the sense of weirdness and mystery thrown over it by +the darkness. The solemn midnight silence had given place to the +activity of work and daylight; all shops were open, all houses unclosed; +people were hurrying to and fro. Our strange little procession of three +was no more, and André carrying a flaring candle would have been +anything but a picturesque object in the sunshine. + +But what was lost of weirdness and mystery was more than made up by the +general effect of the town, by the minute details everywhere visible, by +the sense of life and movement. Usually the little town is quiet and +somewhat sleepy; to-day the inhabitants were roused out of their Breton +lethargy by the presence of so many strangers amongst them, and by the +fact of its being market day. + +More than even last night, we were impressed by the wonderful outlines +of the Grand' Rue, where the lattice had been lighted up and the +mysterious vision had received a revelation in gazing upon H.C. To-day +behind the lattice there was comparative darkness, and the vision had +descended to a lower region, and the unromantic occupation of opening a +roll of calico and displaying its advantages to a market woman who was +evidently bent upon driving a bargain. The vision caught sight of H.C., +and for the moment calico and everything else was forgotten; the market +woman no doubt had her calico at her own price. + +The street itself is one of the most wonderful in France. As you stand +at the end and look down towards _Les Halles_, you have a picturesque +group, an assemblage of outlines scarcely to be equalled in the world. +The street is narrow, and the houses, more and more overhanging as they +ascend floor by floor, approach each other very closely towards the +summit. The roofs are, some of them, gabled; others, slanting backwards, +give room for picturesque dormer windows. Wide lattices stretch across +some of the houses from end to end; in others the windows are smaller +and open outwards like ordinary French windows, but always latticed, +always picturesque. + +Below, on the ground floor, many of the houses are given up to shops, +but, fortunately, they have not been modernised. + +The whole length of the front is unglazed, and you gaze into an interior +full of mysterious gloom, in which you can scarcely see the wares +offered for sale. The rooms go far back. They are black with age: a dark +panelling that you would give much to be able to transport to other +scenes. The ceilings are low, and great beams run across them. The doors +admitting you to these wonderful old-world places match well their +surroundings. They are wide and substantial, with beams that would +effectually guard a prison, and wonderful old locks and keys and pieces +of ironwork that set you wild with longings to turn housebreaker and +carry away these ancient and artistic relics. + +You feel that nothing in the lives of the people who live in these +wonderful tenements can be commonplace. However unconscious they may be +of the refining influence, it is there, and it must leave its mark upon +them. + +At least, you think so. You know what the effect would be upon yourself. +You know that if you could transport this street bodily to some quiet +nook in England and surround it by velvety lawns and ancient trees that +have grown and spread with the lapse of ages, your existence would +become a long and romantic daydream, and you would be in danger of +living the life of a recluse and never separating yourself from these +influences. Custom would never stale their infinite variety; familiarity +would never breed contempt. Who tires of wandering through a gallery of +the old masters? who can endure the modern in comparison? It is not the +mere antiquity of all these things that charm; it is that they are +beautiful in themselves, and belong to an age when the Spirit of Beauty +was poured out upon the world from full vials held in the hands of +unseen angels, and what men touched and created they perfected. + +But the vials have long been exhausted and the angels have fled back to +heaven. + +The houses all bear a strong family resemblance to each other, which +adds to their charm and harmony. Most of them possess two doors, one +giving access to the shop we have just described, the other admitting to +a hall or vestibule, panelled, and often richly sculptured. Above the +_rez-de-chaussée_, two or three stories rise, supported by enormous +beams richly moulded and sculptured, again supported in their turn by +other beams equally massive, whose massiveness is disguised by rich +sculpture and ornamentation: a profusion of boughs, of foliage, so +beautifully wrought that you may trace the veins in the leaves of +niches, pinnacles and statues: corner posts ornamented with figures of +kings, priests, saints, monsters, and bagpipers. The windows seem to +multiply themselves as they ascend, with their small panes crossed and +criss-crossed by leaden lines: the fronts of many are slated with slates +cut into lozenge shapes; and many possess the "slate apron" found in +fifteenth century houses, with the slates curved outwardly to protect +the beam. + +By the second door you pass down a long passage into what originally was +probably a small yard, but has now been turned into a living-room or +kitchen covered over at the very top of the house by a skylight. This is +an arrangement now peculiar to Brittany. The staircase occupies one side +of the space, and you may trace the windings to the very summit, +curiously arranged at the angles. These singularly-constructed rooms +have given to the houses the name of _lanternes_. Every room has an +enormous fireplace, in which you might almost roast an ox, built partly +of wood and stone, richly carved and ornamented. But let the eye rest +where it will, it is charmed by rich carvings and mouldings, beams +wonderfully sculptured, statues, ancient niches and grotesques. + +In one of these houses is to be found a wonderful staircase of carved +oak and great antiquity, that in itself would make Morlaix worth +visiting. It is in the Flamboyant style, and was probably erected about +the year 1500. For Brittany is behind the age in its carvings as much as +in everything else, and this staircase in any other country might safely +be put down to the year 1450. It is of wonderful beauty, and almost +matchless in the world: a marvel of skill and refinement. It possesses +also a _lavoir_, the only known example in existence, with doors to +close when it is not in use; the whole thing a dream of beautiful +sculpture. + +[Illustration: OLD STAIRCASE IN THE GRAND' RUE, MORLAIX, SHOWING +LAVOIR.] + +One other house in Morlaix has also a very wonderful staircase; still +more wonderful, perhaps, than that in the Grand' Rue; but it is not in +such good preservation. The house is in the Rue des Nobles, facing the +covered market-place. It is called the house of the Duchesse Anne, and +here in her day and generation she must have lived or lodged. + +The house is amongst the most curious and interesting and ancient in +Morlaix, but it is doomed. The whole interior is going to rack and ruin, +and it was at the peril of our lives that we scrambled up the staircase +and over the broken floors, where a false step might have brought us +much too rapidly back to terra firma. Morlaix is not enterprising enough +to restore and save this relic of antiquity. + +The staircase, built on the same lines as the wonderful staircase in the +Grand' Rue, is, if possible, more refined and beautiful; but it has been +allowed to fall into decay, and much of it is in a hopelessly worm-eaten +condition. H.C. was in ecstasies, and almost went down on his knees +before the image of an angel that had lost a leg and an arm, part of a +wing, and the whole of its nose; but very lovely were the outlines that +remained. + +"Like the Venus of Milo in the Louvre," said H.C., "what remains of it +is all the more precious for what is not." + +It was not so very long since we had visited the Louvre together, and he +had remained rapt before the famous Venus for a whole hour, +contemplating her from every point of view, and declaring that now he +should never marry: he had seen perfection once, and should never see it +again. This I knew to be nothing but the enthusiasm of the moment. The +very next pretty face and form he encountered, animated with the breath +of life, would banish from his mind all allegiance to the cold though +faultless marble image. + +The exterior of the house of the Duchesse Anne was as remarkable as the +interior for its wonderful antiquity, its carvings, its statues and +grotesques, its carved pilasters between the windows, each of different +design and all beautiful, its gabled roofs and its latticed panes that +had long fallen out of the perpendicular. Both this and the next house +were closed; and it was heartbreaking to think that perhaps on our next +visit to Morlaix empty space would here meet our gaze, or, still worse, +a barbarous modern aggression. + +Few towns now, comparatively speaking, possess fifteenth century +remains, and those few towns should preserve them as amongst their most +cherished treasures. + +Morlaix is still amongst the most favoured towns in this respect. Go +which way you will, and amongst much that is modern, you will see +ancient houses and nooks and corners that delight you and take you back +to the Middle Ages. Now it will be an old house in the market-place that +has escaped destruction; now a whole court up some narrow turning, too +out-of-the-way to have been worthy of demolition; and now it will be a +whole street, like the Grand' Rue, which has been preserved, no doubt +of deliberate intent, as being one of the most typical fifteenth century +streets in the whole of France, an ornament and an attraction to the +town, raising Morlaix out of the commonplace, and causing antiquarians +and many others to visit it. + +For if all the houses of the Grand' Rue are not actually fifteenth +century--and they are not--they all look of an age; they all belong to +the same school of architecture, and the harmony of the whole street is +perfect. Looking upwards, the eye is delighted at the outlines of the +gabled roofs that stand out so clearly and sharply against the +background of the sky; and you return to it over and over again during +your sojourn in Morlaix, and each time you gaze longer and think it more +beautiful than before. + +These old-world towns and streets are very refreshing to the spirit. We +grow weary of our modern towns, with their endless monotony and their +utter absence of all taste and beauty. Just as when sojourning in a +country devoid of monuments and ruins, the mind at length absolutely +hungers for some grand, ecclesiastical building, some glorious vestige +of early ages; so when we have once grown familiar with mediĉval towns +and outlines, it becomes an absolute necessity occasionally to run away +from our prosy nineteenth century habitations, and refresh our spirit, +and absorb into our inmost nature all these refining old-world charms. +It is an influence more easily felt than described; also, it does not +appeal to all natures. We can only understand Shakespeare by the +Shakespeare that is within us--an oft quoted saying but a very true one; +and Pan might pipe for ever to one who has no music in his soul; and the +rainbow might arch itself in vain to one who is colour-blind. + +Morlaix also, as we have said, owes much to its situation. + +Lying between three ravines, it is most romantically placed. Its people +are sheltered from many of the cruel winds of winter, and even the +sturdy Bretons cannot be quite indifferent to the stern blast that comes +from the East laden with ice and snow. + +Not that the people of Morlaix look particularly robust, though we found +them very civil and often very interesting. We must pay for our +privileges, and if a town is built in a hollow, and is sheltered from +the east wind, the chances are that its climate will be enervating. +This, of course, has its drawbacks, and sets the seal of consumption on +many a victim that might have escaped in higher latitudes. + +One charming type we found in Morlaix, consisting of a family that ought +to have lived in the middle ages, and been painted by Raphael, or have +served as models for Fra Angelico's angels. Three generations. + +We were climbing the Jacob's ladder leading to the station one day, when +we chanced upon an old man who sold antiquities. We were first taken +with his countenance. It had honesty and integrity written upon it. Had +he been a German, living in Ober-Ammergau, he would certainly have been +chosen for the chief character in the play--a play, by the way, that has +always seemed questionable, since the greatest and most momentous Drama +creation ever witnessed appears too sacred a theme to be theatrically +represented, even in a spirit of devotion. + +Our antiquarian was growing old. His face was pale, beautiful and +refined, with a very spiritual expression. The eyes were of a pure blue, +in which dwelt almost the innocence of childhood. He was slightly +deformed in the back. There was a pathetic tone in the voice, a resigned +expression in the face, which told of a long life of struggle, and +possibly much hardship and trouble--the latter undoubtedly. + +We soon found that he had in him the true artistic temperament. His own +work was beautiful, his carvings were full of poetical feeling. If not a +genius himself, he was one whose offspring should possess the "sacred +fire," which must be born with its possessor, can never after be +kindled. In one or two instances we pointed to something superlatively +good. "Ah, that is my son's work," he said; "it is not mine." And there +was an inflection in the voice which told of pride and affection, and +perhaps was the one bright spot in the old man's pilgrimage, perhaps his +one sorrow and trouble--who could tell? We had not seen the son; we felt +we must do so. + +The old man's most treasured possession was a crucifix, to which he +pointed with a reverential devotion. + +"I have had it nearly thirty years," he said, "and I never would sell +it. It is so beautiful that it must be by a great master--one of the old +masters. People have come to see it from far and near. Many have tempted +me with a good offer, but I would never part with it. Now I want the +money and I wish to sell it. Will you not buy it?" + +It was certainly exquisitely beautiful; carved in ivory deeply browned +with age. We had never seen anything to equal the position of the Figure +upon the Cross; the wonderful beauty of the head; the sorrow and +sacredness of the expression; the perfect anatomy of the body. But in +our strictly Protestant prejudices we hesitated. As an object of +religion of course we could have nothing to do with it; the Roman +Catholic creed, with its outward signs and symbols, was not ours; who +even in our own Church mourned the almost lost beauty and simplicity of +our ancient ritual; that substitution of the ceremonial for the +spiritual, the creature for the Creator, which seems to threaten the +downfall of the Establishment. Would it be right to purchase and possess +this beautiful thing merely as an object of refined and wonderful art? I +looked at H.C. In his face at least there was no hesitation. Such a +prize was not to be lost if it could be obtained within reasonable +limits. It must take a place amongst his old china, his headless Saints +and Madonnas! + +[Illustration: OLD HOUSES, MORLAIX.] + +The first time we came across the old man--it was quite by accident +that we found him out--we felt that we had discovered a prize in human +nature: one of those rare exceptions that exist still in out-of-the-way +nooks and corners, but are seldom found. It is so difficult to go +through the world and remain unspoiled by it; especially for those who, +having to work for their daily bread by the sweat of their brow, have to +come into daily contact with that harder, coarser element in human +nature, that, for ever over-reaching its neighbour, tries to believe +that the race _is_ to the swift and the battle to the strong. + +The son was away from the town on the occasion of our first visit. The +father seemed proud of him in a quiet, gentle sort of way, and +gentleness was evidently the key-note to his character. He said his son +had carried off all the prizes in a Paris School of Art, and one prize +that was especially difficult to obtain. Would we come again and see +him, and see his work? + +We went again. At the door-sill a little child greeted us; the most +beautiful little face we had ever seen. Nothing in any picture of an old +master ever equalled it. At the first moment we almost thought it the +face of an angel, as it looked up into our faces with all the confidence +and innocence of infancy. The child might have been eighteen months old, +just at the age when the eyes begin to take that inquiring look upon +everything, as if they had just awakened to the fact that they had +arrived upon a scene where all was new and strange. The eyes of this +child were large and of a celestial blue; fair curls fell over his +shoulders; his cheeks were round like a cherub's, and had the hue of the +damask rose. The strangest part about the face was its refinement, as if +the little fellow, instead of being born of the people, had come of a +long line of noble ancestors. + +We went into the workshop, and there found the father of the child at +work, the son of the old man. + +We no longer wondered at the child's beauty; it was a counterpart of the +father's, but to the latter was added all the grace and maturity of +manhood. Unlike the old man, the face was round and flushed with the hue +of health. Large dark blue eyes looked out earnestly at you from under +long dark lashes. The head was running over with dark crisp curls. The +face was also singularly refined, had an exceedingly pure and modest +expression. No Apollo, real or imagined, was ever more perfect in form +and feature. To look upon that face was to love its owner. + +He was hard at work, carving, his wonderfully-drawn plans about him. It +was certainly the best modern work we had ever seen; and here, we felt, +was a genius. Probably it had been hampered for want of means, as so +many other geniuses have been since the foundation of the world. He +ought to have been known and celebrated; the master of a great and +famous _atelier_ in the chief of gay cities; appreciated by the +world--and perhaps spoilt by flattery. Instead of which, he was working +for his daily bread in a small town, unknown, unappreciated; toiling in +a small, retired workshop, where people seldom penetrated, and a good +deal of his work depended upon chance. Yet, if his face bespoke one +thing more than another, it was happiness and contentment. Ambition +seemed to have no part in his life. That he loved his art was evident +from the tenderness with which he handled his drawings and looked upon +his carvings. It may be that this love was all-sufficient for him, and +that as long as he had health to work, and fancy to create, and daily +bread to eat, he cared for nothing more. + +The little rift within the lute? Ah, who is without it? What household +has not its skeleton? Where shall we find perfect happiness--or anything +perfect? In this instance it was soon apparent to us; and again we +marvelled at the inconsistency of human nature; the incongruity of +things; the way men spoil their lives and make crooked things that ought +to be, and might have been, so straight. + +We could not help wondering what sort of help-meet this Apollo had +chosen for himself; what angelic mother had given to the world this +little blue-eyed cherub, whose fitting place seemed not earth but +heaven. + +Even as we wondered we were answered. A voice called to the child from +above, and the child turned its lovely head, but moved not. Then the +owner of the voice was heard descending, and the mother appeared. We +were dismayed. Never had we seen a woman more abandoned and neglected. +Everything about her was slovenly. Her hair fell about her face and +shoulders in tangled masses; her clothing was torn and neglected. We had +seen such exhibitions in the dens of London, never in a decent +household. It made us feel inexpressibly sad and sorrowful. Here was a +great mystery; two people terribly ill-matched. We glanced at the +husband, expecting to see a flush mantling his brow. But he quietly went +on with what he was about, as though he saw not, and mother and child +disappeared upstairs. + +Here, then, whether he knew it or not, was the little rift within the +lute. An ill-assorted marriage, a life-long mistake. Had he looked and +chosen above him, his help-meet might have assisted him to rise in the +world and to become famous. As it was, he had been caught by a pretty +face--for, with due care and attention and a settled expression, the +face would have been undoubtedly pretty--and had sealed his fate. With +such a wife no man could rise. + +We left him to his art and went our way, very sorrowful. It was a lovely +morning, and we started back for the hotel, having arranged to take a +drive at a certain hour along the river banks to the sea. + +We found the conveyance ready for us. Monsieur, by special attentions, +was making up for the lapses of that one terrible night. + +Above us, as we went, stretched the gigantic viaduct, so singular a +contrast with the ancient houses and remains of this old town; forming a +comparison that certainly makes Morlaix one of the most remarkable towns +in France. Beneath it rose the houses on the rocky slopes, one above +another, so that from the back you may almost enter them from the roof, +as you do some of the Tyrolese châlets. In Morlaix it has given rise to +a proverb: "Du jardin au grenier, comme on dit à Morlaix." + +[Illustration: MORLAIX.] + +Beneath the viaduct, far down, was the river and the little port, where +vessels of considerable tonnage may anchor, and which has added much to +the prosperity of the town, that trades largely in corn, vegetables, +butter, honey, wax, oil-seeds, and--as we have seen--horses. There is +also a large tobacco manufactory here, which gives employment to an +immense number of hands. + +We passed all this and went our way down the right bank of the river. +The scenery is very picturesque; the heights are well wooded, broken and +undulating. Some of the richer inhabitants of Morlaix have built +themselves houses on the heights; charming châteaux where they spend +their summers, and luxuriate in the fresh breezes that blow up from the +sea. Across there on the left bank of the river, rises the convent of +St. François, a large building, where the _religieux_ retire from the +world, yet are not too isolated. + +And on this side, on the _Cours Beaumont_, a lovely walk planted with +trees, we come to the Fontaine des Anglais, so called because here, in +1522, six hundred English were surprised asleep by the people of +Morlaix, and slain. They had, however, courted their own doom. Henry +VIII. had picked a quarrel with Francis I. for seizing the ships of +English merchants in French ports. The English king had escorted with +his fleet the Emperor Charles V., of Spain, under command of the Earl of +Surrey, and in returning, it entered the river, surprised Morlaix, burnt +and sacked the town, and murdered many of its inhabitants. They left it +loaded with spoil; and when the inhabitants surprised these six hundred +English they revenged themselves upon them without mercy. + +To-day, we had no sooner reached the spot than suddenly the clouds +gathered, the sky was overcast, a squall rose shrieking and whistling +amidst the trees, and there was every appearance of a downpour. We were +not prepared for it, but we rashly continued our way. At last, just +before we reached a small road-side cabaret, down it came, as if the +whole reservoir of cloudland had been let loose. + +We hastily stopped at the auberge, already half-drenched, and H.C. +crying out "Any port in a storm," we entered it. It was humble enough, +yet might every benighted traveller in every storm find as good a +refuge! + +The good woman of the house was standing at her poêle, preparing the +mysteries of the mid-day dinner. Her husband, she said, had gone into +Morlaix, with fish to sell--it was one of their chief means of +livelihood. He bought the fish from the fishermen who came up the river, +and sold it again to the hotels. One of his best customers was the Hôtel +d'Europe, and M. Hellard was a brave monsieur, who never beat them down +in their prices, and had always a pleasant word for them. Madame was +very amiable too, for the matter of that. + +It was rather a hard life, but what with that and the little profit of +the auberge, they managed to make both ends meet. + +She had three children. The eldest was a girl, and had her wits about +her. She had been to Paris with her father, and had seen the Exhibition, +and talked about it like a grown-up person. But her father had taken her +one night to the Théâtre des Variétés in the Champs Elysées, and the +girl had been mad ever since to become a _chanteuse_ and an actress. + +The ambitious child--a girl of fourteen--at this moment came down +stairs, and a more forbidding young damsel we had seldom seen. Her +mother had evidently no control over her; she was mistress of the +situation; ordered her mother about, slapped a younger brother, a little +fellow who was playing at a table with some leaden soldiers, and +finally, to our relief, disappeared into an inner room. We saw her no +more. + +"It is always like that," sighed the poor mother, who seemed by no means +a woman to be lightly sat upon: "always like that ever since she went +that _malheureux_ voyage to Paris. It has changed her character; made +her dissatisfied with her lot; I fear she will one day leave us and go +back to Paris for good--or rather for evil; for she will have no one to +look after her; and, I am told, it is a sink of iniquity. I was never +there, and know very little about the ways of large towns. Morlaix is +quite enough for me. But she is afraid of her father, that is one +_bonheur_." + +All this time she had been brewing us coffee, and now she brought it to +us in her best china, with some of the spirit of the country which does +duty for cognac and robs so many of the Bretons of their health and +senses. But it was not a time to be fastidious. To counteract the +effects of the elements and drenched clothes, we helped ourselves +liberally to a decoction that we thought excellent, but under other +conditions should have considered poisonous. + +The while our hostess, glad of an appreciative audience, poured into our +ears tales and stories of herself, her life and the neighbourhood. How +she had originally belonged to the Morbihan, and when a girl dressed in +the costume of her country, with the short petticoats and the +picturesque kerchief crossed upon the breast. How her father had been a +well-to-do _bazvalan_ and made the Sunday clothes for the whole village. +And how she had met her fate when her bonhomme came that way on a visit +to an old uncle in the village, and in six months they were married, and +she had come to Morlaix. She had never regretted her marriage. She had a +good husband, who worked hard; and if they were poor, they were far from +being in want. She had really only one trouble in the world, and that +was that she could do nothing with her eldest girl. She would obey no +one but her father; and even he was losing control over her. + +"Is her father much away?" we asked, thinking that the young damsel +looked as if she were under no very stern discipline. + +"Not on long voyages, such as going to Paris or the Morbihan," replied +the woman; "but he is often away for half-a-day or so, selling his fish +in Morlaix and doing commissions for their little auberge. And then," +she added with a condoning smile, "of course he sometimes met with a +camarade who enticed him to drink a glass too much, though that was a +rare occurrence. Mais que voulez-vous? Human nature was weak; and for +her part she really thought that men were weaker than women. Certainly +they were more self-indulgent." + +"It is because they have more temptations," said H.C., pleading the +cause of his own sex. "Women had more to do with home and the +pot-au-feu." + +At this moment our hostess's pot-au-feu began to boil over, and she +darted across the room, took it off the fire and returned, laughing. + +"Even the pot-au-feu we cannot always manage, it seems," she remarked; +"and so there are faults on all sides. Sometimes on a Sunday her husband +went and spent the day at Roscoff, where he had a cousin living. Did +messieurs know Roscoff--a deadly-lively little place, with a quaint +harbour, where there was a chapel to commemorate the landing of Marie +Stuart?" + +We said we did not know it, but purposed visiting it on the morrow if +the skies ceased their deluge. + +"Why does your husband not turn fisherman," we asked, "instead of buying +his fish from others, and so selling it second-hand at a smaller profit? +You are so close to the sea." + +"Dame," replied the woman, "it is not his trade. He was never brought up +to the sea; always hated it. And for the rest," she added, with a +shudder, "Heaven forbid that he should turn fisherman! She had once +dreamed three times running that he was drowned at sea; and she had +feared the water ever since. She had almost made her husband take a vow +that he would never go upon the sea. He generally took part once a year +in the regatta; of course, there could be no danger; but she trembled +the whole time until she saw him returning safe and sound. No, no! +Chacun à son métier." + +Here we interrupted the flow of eloquence, though the woman was really +interesting with her straightforward confidences, her rather picturesque +patois, and her numerous gestures. + +We went to the door and surveyed the elements. The skies were cowering; +the rain came down like a revengeful cataract; the road was flooded, and +the water was beginning to flood the room. In front the river looked +cold and threatening; it flowed towards the sea with an angry rush; our +vehicle was refreshing itself before the door, and the horse and driver +had taken refuge in the stable. The tops of the surrounding hills were +hidden in mist; everywhere the rain roared. The scene was dreary and +desolate in the extreme. + +At this moment the driver appeared. "Was it of any use waiting? He knew +the climate pretty well; the rain would never cease till sundown. Had we +not better make the best of it and get back to Morlaix?" + +We thought so, and gave the signal for departure. Our patience was +exhausted--and so was our coffee. Our hostess was distressed. At least +we would borrow an umbrella, and her husband's thick coat, and perhaps +her shawl for our knees. She was too good; genuinely kind hearted; and +in despair when we accepted nothing. We bade her farewell, settled her +modest demands, and set out for Morlaix. + +Arrived at the hotel like drowned rats, Madame was all anxiety and +motherly solicitude, begged us to get between blankets and have tisane +administered or some eau sucrée with a spoonful of rum in it. She +bemoaned the uncertainty of the climate, and hoped we were not going to +have bad weather for our visit. And when we declined all her polite +attentions, assuring her that a change of clothing was all we needed, +and all we should do, she declared that she was amazed at our temerity, +but that she had the greatest admiration for the constitution and +courage of the people of Greater Britain. + + + + +AFTER TWENTY YEARS + +BY ADA M. TROTTER. + + +"May you come in and rest, you ask? Why of course you may. Take this +rocking-chair--but there, some men don't like rockers. Well, if so be +you prefer it, stay as you be, right in the shadder of the vines. It's a +pretty look-out from there, I know, all down the valley over them meadow +lands--and that rushing bit of river. + +"You ask me if I know'd one Kitty Larkins, the prettiest gal in the +county, the prettiest gal anywheres, you say. Yes, sir! I know'd her +well. Dead? Yes, sir, Kitty--the bright, gay creature folks knew as +Kitty Larkins died this day twenty years ago. + +"Do I know how she died and the story of her life? I do well; I do; +p'raps better nor most. You want to hear about her; maybe you would find +it kind of prosing; but there, the afternoon sun _is_ pretty hot, and +the haymakers out there in the meadows have got a hard time of it. + +"What's that! Don't I go and lend a hand in the press of the season? +Well, I don't. Not for twenty year. There's them as calls it folly, but +the smell of the hay brings it all back and turns me sick. You say you +can't believe such a fine woman as me would be subject to fancies; you +think I look too young, do you, to be talkin' this way of twenty years +ago. Wall, there's more than one way of counting age. Some goes by grey +hairs, some by happenings. But this that came so long ago is all as +clear--clear as God's light upon the meadows there. + +"But if you will have the whole story, let's begin at the beginnin', and +that brings you to the old school-house where them three, neighbours' +children they was, went to school together. There was Kitty of course, +and Elihu Grant and Joel Barton, them was the three that my story's +about. + +"'Lihu was always a big, over-grown lad, with a steadfast, kind heart, +not what folks called brilliant; he warn't going to be extraordinary +when he grow'd up, didn't want to be, so fur as I know; he aimed to be +as good a man's his father, nothing more, nothing less. Good and true +was 'Lihu; all knew that, yet his name was never mentioned without a +'but,' not even by the school marm, though she said he was the best boy +in her school. + +"Kitty looked down some on 'Lihu, made him fetch and carry, and always +accustomed herself to the 'but,' as if the good qualities wasn't of much +account since they could not command general admiration. Yes, this had +something to do with what follered; I can see that plain enough. Still, +I know she loved 'Lihu from babyhood deep down in her heart of hearts-- + +"Anything wrong, sir? you give me a turn moving so sudden like. Let me +see, where was I? Oh, talkin' about them boys. Well, let's get on. + +"I've given you some idea of what 'Lihu was like, but seems to me harder +to tell about that Barton boy, that gay, handsome, charming Joel, that +kept the whole country alive with his doings and sayings from the time +he could trot about alone. + +"Wall! he _was_ bright was Joel, and 'twas no wonder that his parents +see it so plain and talk Joel day in and day out whenever they got a +soul to listen to 'em. Kitty grew up admiring him; there warn't no 'but' +in speaking of Joel. He done everything first class, from farm work to +his lessons, so no wonder his folks acted proud of him and sent him to +college to prepare for a profession. + +"Wall, his success at college added some to his notoriety, and his +doings was talked back and forth more'n ever. + +"Then every term kind of altered him. He come back with a finer air, +better language and a knowledge of the ways of society folks, that put +him ahead of anyone else in the valley; while poor 'Lihu was just the +same in speech and manner, and more retiring and modest than ever; and, +though he was faithfuller, truer and stronger hearted than he'd ever +given promise of being, folks never took to him as they did to young +Joel. + +"But I must go on, for young folks grow up and the signs of mischief +come gradual like and was not seen by foolish Kitty, but increasing +every time Joel come home for his vacations. Of course Kitty was to +blame, but the Lord made her what she was. + +"Yes, I can speak freely of her now, because, as I said before, this +careless, pretty Kitty died twenty long years ago. + +"Not before she married Joel, you ask? Well, of all impatient men! +really I can't get on no quicker than I be doin', and if you're tired of +it, why take your hat and go. Events don't fly as quick as words and I'm +taking you over the course at race-horse speed, skipping where I can, so +as to give you just the gist of the story. + +"Wall then, Kitty loved life; not but what it meant work early and late +to keep things as they oughter be on the old homestead. Her folks warn't +as notable as they might ha' been till Kitty took hold; and then I tell +you, sir, she made things spin. 'Twarn't only her pretty face that +brought men like bees about the place; there was many as would ha' asked +for her, if she'd been as homely as a door nail. But she sent 'em all +away with the same story--all but her old sweethearts 'Lihu and Joel, +and they was as much rivals when they grow'd up as they'd been at the +old school-house, when Kitty treated 'Lihu like a yaller dog and showed +favour to young Joel. + +"But 'Lihu hung on. He come of a race never known to give up what they +catched on to. Some way he gained ground too, for, with that shiftless +dad at the head of things at the homestead, there was need of a wise +counsellor to back up Kitty in the way she took hold. + +"'Lihu was wise, and Kitty got to leaning on his word, and by the time +that I be talkin' of, I s'pose there warn't no one that could have +filled the place in Kitty's life that 'Lihu had made for himself--only +he did not guess at that, and the more she realised it, the backwarder +that silly young creature would have been to confess to it, even to +herself. + +"Sir, I ain't used to folks that give such sudden turns. Don't you +s'pose you could set down and be comfortable somewheres while I be +talkin', instead of twisting and snerling yourself up in my poor vines? + +"You'd rather stand where you be; well, then, I'll get on with my story. + +"I was coming to Joel. It's more interesting to strangers, that part +about Joel, for he was, as I said before, everything 'Lihu +lacked--bright and gay, handsome and refined. Ay, and he was a manly +looking feller too, and had took lessons in fighting and worked through +a gymnasium course, while 'Lihu knew no better exercises than sawing +wood and pitching hay and such farm work. 'Lihu was clumsy in moving, +but Joel graceful and light; you'd as soon have thought of the old +church tower taking to dancing as of 'Lihu trying his hand at it; but +Joel, of course, he were the finest dancer anyone had ever see'd in our +neighbourhood. + +"So it naturally come about that when Kitty wanted to have a gay +time--and what young girl does not like fun sometimes?--she took to Joel +and left 'Lihu to his fierce jealousy out in the cold. + +"Joel had nothing to do but philander after Kitty, come vacations, and +there he'd be lounging round the garden, reading poetry to her, when +she'd a minute to set down, and telling her about the doings of gay +society folks in cities. + +"Kitty liked it all, why shouldn't she? and the more 'Lihu looked like a +funeral the more she turned her back on him and favoured t'other. You +see, sir, I give it you fair. There was faults all round; and if you +want my candid opinion, that Joel was more to blame than Kitty, for, +being a man of the world, he knew better than she what the end of it all +was bound to be; that the day would come when she would have to make her +choice between them and that to one of them that day would mean a broken +heart, a spoiled life. + +"Ah, well! It was hayin' time just twenty years ago, and a spell of +weather just like this, perhaps a mite warmer, but much the same. + +"Well, it threatened a thunderstorm, and all hands was pressed into the +fields. Even Kitty was there, with her rake, for, to tell the truth, +she was child enough to love a few hours in the sweet-smelling meadows. +Joel, he was there, he'd took off his store clothes, and was handsomer +than ever in his flannels, and, with his deftness and muscle, was worth +any two hired men in the field. + +"He and 'Lihu, who had come over to lend a hand, was nigh to one another +that afternoon; and there was things said between 'em, as they worked, +as had to lay by for a settlin'. Kitty made things worse--silly girl +that she was--by coming round in her gay way with her rake, and smiling +at them both, so that it would have beat the Angel Gabriel to know which +of them it were she had a leaning to. + +"Truth was, Kitty was back into childhood, out there in the hay--merry +and sweet as a rosebud she looked in her old faded bonnet. I see her +just as plain, this poor child--that did so much mischief without +meaning to hurt anybody. How was she to know that fierce fires of +jealous, passionate hatred were at work, kindled by her to flame that +sunshiny afternoon, as she danced along the meadow with her rake, happy +as the June day seemed long? + +"No, sir, you need not be impatient, for the story is about done. + +"The last load of hay was pitched as the glowing sun went down. The +thunderstorm had passed to the hills beyond, and on the horizon clouds +lay piled, purple black. The men come in to supper, and then went out +again. Kitty was busy with her dishes in the kitchen till dark; then +there come a flash of lightning, and a growlin' of thunder. The last +dish was put away, and so the girl went sauntering out, down to the bush +of cluster roses by the garden gate, where she could look over into the +barn-yard and call to the men still at work with the hay. + +"Something took her farther--'twas as if a hand led her--and she crossed +the yard, and down the lane she went till she got to the meadow gate +that stood open as the men had left it after bringing that last heavy +wain through. + +"The moon was up--a moon that drifted serenely through the banks of +clouds, ever upwards to the zenith. + +"Sir, did you ever think--and being a stranger, sir, you must excuse the +question--did you ever think of the wicked deeds that moon has looked +upon since the creation of mortal man? Oh, yes, I know it, I know it +well; in God's sunlight, that sin would never have been committed; but +in the moonlight--the calm, still moonlight--passions rise to fever +heat, the blow is struck, and man turns away with the curse of Cain +written on his brow. + +"Kitty, standing with her back against the gate, her eyes following the +flitting light across the meadow to the mill-race by the path beyond, +all at once felt her heart leap with nameless horror. Yet all she could +see was shadows, for the figures was out of sight. All she could see was +shadows--shadows cast upon the moonlit meadowland where she had gaily +danced with her rake in hand only a few hours before. Two giant forms +(so the moonbeams made it) swayed back and forth, gripped together like +one, scarcely moving from one spot as they wrestled, as though 'twould +take force to uproot them--force like that of the whirlwind in the +spring, that tore the old oak like a sapling from its foundations laid +centuries ago. + +"Kitty, struck dumb like one in nightmare, fled across the meadow +towards the mill-race. + +"As she went, the shadows lifted and changed with a cruel uprising that +told her the end was near. If she could have cried out then, and if they +had heard! But as she fled on unheeding, the moon was suddenly obscured. +It was pitch dark, and the muttering thunder broke into a roar that +shook the earth under Kitty's feet. How long was it before the moon +drifted from out that cloud-bank, where lightning played with zig-zag +flames? How long? + +"When the moonbeams fell again upon the meadow-lands the shadows were +gone and Kitty stood alone upon the banks of the mill-race, looking at +the rushing dark waters. When she turned homewards she met Joel face to +face. He was pale, but a triumphant light shone in his eyes. He came +forward with open arms--'Kitty, my Kitty!' he cried. + +"Kitty stood one moment, with eyes that seemed to pierce to his very +heart, then she turned to the splashing waters and pointed solemnly. + +"'Elihu, where is Elihu?' she asked; and in that moment, when Joel hung +his head before her without a word of answer, Kitty fell down like a +dead thing at his feet. + +"And I, who knew her so well, I tell you that Kitty died there on that +meadow by the race, just twenty year ago to-day. + +"Joel, you ask? What come to Joel? Well, p'raps he felt bad just at +first, for he went away for two, three year, I believe. But he come +back, did Joel, and Kitty never molested him by word or deed. You can +see his house there below the mill; he's married long since and his +house is full of children. But never, since that June night twenty year +ago, has he dared set foot at the old homestead. Folks talked--of course +they talked--but Kitty, the staid, sad woman they called Kitty, heeded +nothing that was said. Joel, he tried to right himself and writ her many +a long letter at the first. + +"'It was a fair wrestle,' said he, 'and him as was beaten was to leave +the place and not come back for months or years. Elihu was beat on the +wrestle and he's gone that's all there is to it.' + +"Kitty, she never answered them letters; she remembered that uplifted +arm as the vast shadows swayed towards her on the meadow, and Joel, he +give it up." + + * * * * * + +By this time the heavy hay-waggons began to move across the meadows. It +was drawing near supper-time and the speaker rose and briskly set aside +her knitting. + +"I believe that's all," she said. "It's a tragic story for a country +place like this. But now set down, won't you, and wait till the men come +up for supper? Mebbe you'll be glad of a cup of tea before you go any +further." + +The stranger, well within the shade of the clustering vines, made no +reply. + +"Say," cried she, from the porch door; "set down and wait for supper, +won't you?" + +Surprised at the silence, accustomed as she was to the garrulity of +country neighbours, she stepped out into the piazza. A beautiful woman +she, of forty years, whose fine face seemed now set in an aureole of +sunbeams. The stranger took off his hat and stooped somewhat towards +her; there was something familiar in the gesture, which set the wild +blood throbbing at her heart-strings as though the past twenty years had +been a dream. + +"Kitty, my dear love, Kitty." + +The farm men came singing up the lane, the heavy waggons grinding slowly +along in the sunshine. All this, the everyday life, was now the dream, +and they, Kitty and Elihu, had met in the meadow lands of the earthly +Paradise. + + + + +A MEMORY. + + + How much of precious joy, that leaves no pain, + Lives in the simple memory of a face + Once seen, and only for a little space, + And never after to be seen again: + A face as fair as, on an altar pane, + A pictured window in some holy place-- + The glowing lineaments of immortal grace, + In many a vague ideal sought in vain. + Such face was yours, and such the joy to me, + Who saw you once, once only, and by chance, + And cherished evermore in memory + The noble beauty of your countenance-- + The poet's natural language in your looks, + Sweet as the wondrous sweetness of your books. + +GEORGE COTTERELL. + + + + +AUNT PHOEBE'S HEIRLOOMS. + +_An Experience in Hypnotism._ + + +We do not take to new ideas readily in Bishopsthorpe. Our fashions are +always at least one season behind the times; it is only by a late +innovation in Post Office regulations that we are now enabled to get our +London papers on the day of their publication; and a craze, social or +scientific, has almost been forgotten by the fashionable world before it +manages to establish any kind of footing in our midst. + +It therefore came upon us with more or less of a shock one morning a +short time ago to find the walls of our sleepy little country town +placarded with naming posters announcing that Professor Dmitri +Sclamowsky intended to visit Bishopsthorpe on the following Friday, for +the purpose of exhibiting in the Town Hall some of his marvellous powers +in Thought Reading, Mesmerism, and Hypnotism. + +Stray rumours from time to time, and especially of late, had visited us +of strange experiments in connection with these outlandish sciences, if +sciences they can be called; but we had received these with incredulity, +mingled with compassion for such weak-minded persons as could be easily +duped by the clever conjuring of paid charlatans. + +This, at least, was very much the mental attitude of my aunt Phoebe, and +it was only under strong pressure from me and one or two others of her +younger and more enterprising section of Bishopsthorpe society that she +at last reluctantly consented to patronise the Professor's performance +in person. + +Even at the last moment she almost failed us. + +"I am getting too old a woman, my dear Elizabeth," she said to me as I +was helping her to dress, "to leave my comfortable fireside after dinner +for the sake of seeing second-rate conjuring." + +"Indeed, it is good of you," I said, as I disposed a piece of soft old +point lace in graceful folds round the neck of her black velvet dress; +"but virtue will be its own reward, for I am sure you will enjoy it as +much as any of us, and as for being too old, that is all nonsense! Just +look in the glass, and then say if you have a heart to cheat +Bishopsthorpe of a sight of you in all your glory." + +"You are a silly girl, Elizabeth!" said my aunt, and yet she did as I +suggested, and, walking up to the long pier-glass, looked at her +reflection with a well pleased smile. "Indeed," she continued, turning +back to me to where I stood by the dressing-table, "I think I am as +silly as you are, to rig myself out like this," and she pointed to the +double row of large single diamonds I had clasped round her neck, and +the stars of the same precious stones which twinkled and flashed in the +lace of her cap. + +"Come, Aunt Phoebe," I said, drawing down her hands, which had made a +movement as though she would have taken off the glittering gauds, "you +don't often give the good Bishopsthorpe folk a chance of admiring the +Anstruther heirlooms. They look so lovely! Don't take them off, +_please_. What is the use of having beautiful things if they are always +to be hidden away in a jewellery case? There now," I went on; "I hear +the carriage at the door; here is your fur cloak: you must wrap yourself +up well for it is a cold night," and so saying I muffled her up, and +hustled her downstairs before she could remonstrate, even had she wished +to do so. + +The little Town Hall was already crowded when we arrived, but seats had +been reserved for us in one of the front rows of benches. Many eyes were +turned on us as we made our way to our places, for Aunt Phoebe was +looked up to as one of the cornerstones of aristocracy in Bishopsthorpe, +and I fancied that I caught an expression of relief on the faces of some +of those present, who, until the entertainment had been sanctioned by +her presence, had probably felt doubtful as to its complete orthodoxy. +But of course I may have been wrong. Aunt Phoebe is always telling me +I am too imaginative. + +It seemed as though the Professor had awaited our arrival to begin the +performance, for we had hardly taken our seats than the curtain, which +had hitherto hidden the stage from our view, rolled up and discovered +the Professor standing with his hand resting upon an easel, on which was +placed a large blackboard. + +I think the general feeling in the room was that of disappointment. I +know that I, for one, had hoped to see something more interesting than +the usual paraphernalia of a lecture on astronomy or geology. + +Professor Sclamowsky, too, was not at all as impressive a person as his +name had led me to expect. He was short and thick-set. His close-cropped +hair was of the undecided colour which fair hair assumes when it is +beginning to turn grey, and a heavy moustache of the same uninteresting +hue hid his mouth. His jaw was heavy and slightly underhung, and his +neck was thick and coarse. + +Altogether his appearance was remarkably unprepossessing and +commonplace. + +In a short speech, spoken with a slight foreign accent, which some way +or other struck me as being assumed, he begged to disclaim all intention +of _conjuring_. His performance was solely and entirely a series of +experiments in and illustrative of the wonderful science of Hypnotism; a +science still in its infancy, but destined to take its place among the +most marvellous of modern discoveries. + +As he spoke, his heavy, uninteresting face lit up as with a hidden +enthusiasm, and my attention was attracted to his eyes, which I had not +before noticed. They were of a curious bright metallic blue and are the +only eyes I have ever seen, though one reads and hears so perpetually of +them, which really seemed to flash as he warmed to his subject. + +As he finished, I looked at Aunt Phoebe, who shrugged her shoulders +and smiled incredulously. It was clear that she was not going to be +imposed upon by his specious phrases. + +It would be unnecessary to weary my readers by describing at length how +the usual preliminary of choosing an unbiassed committee was gone +through; nor how, after the doctor, the rector, Mr. Melton (the +principal draper in Bishopsthorpe) and several other of the town +magnates, all men of irreproachable honesty, had been induced to act in +this capacity, the Professor proceeded, with eyes blindfolded and +holding the doctor's hand in his, to find a carefully hidden pin, to +read the number of a bank-note and to write the figures one by one on +the blackboard, and to perform other experiments of the same kind amid +the breathless interest of the audience. + +I frankly admit that I was astonished and bewildered by what I saw, and +I had a little uneasy feeling that if it were not all a piece of +gigantic humbug, it was not quite canny--not quite right. + +What struck me most, I think, was the unfussy, untheatrical way in which +it was all done. Every one of the Professor's movements was marked by an +air of calm certainty. He threaded his way through the crowded benches +with such an unhesitating step that, only that I had seen the bandage +fastened over his eyes by the rector and afterwards carefully examined +by the doctor, neither of whom could be suspected of complicity, I +should have said he must have had some little peep-hole arranged to +enable him to guide his course so unfalteringly. + +There were, of course, thunders of applause from the sixpenny seats when +the Thought Reading part of the entertainment came to an end. + +"Well, Aunt Phoebe," I said, turning to her as the Professor bowed his +thanks, "what do you think?" + +"Think, my dear?" she repeated. "I think the man is a very fair +conjurer." + +"But," I protested, "how could he know where the pin was; and you know +Mr. Danby himself fastened the handkerchief?" + +"My dear Elizabeth, I have seen Houdin do far more wonderful things, +when I was a girl; but he had the honesty to call it by its right +name--conjuring." + +I had not time to carry on the discussion, for the Professor now +reappeared and informed us that by far the most interesting part of the +performance was still to come. Thought Reading and Mesmerism, or, as +some people preferred to call it--Hypnotism--were, he believed, +different parts of the same wonderful and but very partially-understood +power. A power so little understood as not even to possess a distinctive +name; a power which he believed to be latent in everybody, but which +was capable of being brought to more or less perfection, according to +the amount of care and attention bestowed upon it. "I," said the +Professor, "have given my life to it." And again I fancied I saw the +curious blue eyes flash with a sudden unexpected fire. + +"In the experiments which I am about to show you," he went on, "I am +assisted by my daughter, Anna Sclamowsky," and, drawing back a curtain +at the back of the stage, he led forward a girl who looked to be between +sixteen and eighteen years old. + +There was no sort of family resemblance between father and daughter. She +was tall and slight, with a small dark head prettily poised on a long, +slender neck. Her face was pale, and her large dark eyes had a startled, +frightened look as she gazed at the sea of strange faces below her. Her +father placed her in a chair facing us all; and turning once more to the +audience said: + +"I shall now, with your kind permission, put my daughter into a mesmeric +or hypnotic trance; and while she is in it, I hope to show you some +particularly interesting experiments. Look at me, Anna--so--" + +He placed his fingers for a moment on her eyelids, and then stood aside. +Except that the girl was now perfectly motionless, and that her gaze was +unnaturally fixed, I could see nothing different in her appearance from +what it had been a few moments before. + +The Professor now turned to Mr. Danby, who was seated beside me, and +said, "If this gentleman will oblige me by stepping up on the stage, he +can assure himself by any means he may choose to use, that my daughter +is in a perfectly unconscious state at this moment; and if it will give +the audience and himself any more confidence in the sincerity of this +experiment, he is perfectly at liberty to blindfold her. Then if he will +be kind enough to go through the room and touch here and there any +person he may fancy, my daughter, at a word from me, will in the same +order and in the same manner touch each of those already touched. I +myself will, during the whole of the time, stand at the far end of the +hall, so that there can be no sort of communication between us." + +So saying, Sclamowsky left the stage, and walking down the room, placed +himself with his back against the wall, and fixed his gaze upon the +motionless form of his daughter. + +As I looked back at him, even though separated from him by the length of +the hall, I could see the strange glitter and flash of his eyes. It gave +me an uncomfortable, uneasy feeling; and I turned my face again towards +the stage, where the good-natured rector was following out the +directions he had received. + +He lifted Anna Sclamowsky's arm, which, on his relaxing his hold, fell +limp and lifeless by her side; he snapped his fingers suddenly close +before her wide-open eyes without producing even a quiver of a muscle in +her set face. He shouted in her ear; shook her by the shoulders; but +all without succeeding in making her show any sign of consciousness. He +then tied a handkerchief over her eyes; and, leaving the stage, went +about through the room, touching people here and there as he went, +pursuing a most tortuous course, and ended at last by placing his hand +upon Aunt Phoebe's diamond necklace. He then bowed to the Professor to +intimate that we were ready to see the conclusion of the experiment. + +Sclamowsky moved forward about a pace, beckoned with his hand, and +called, not loudly but distinctly, "Anna!" + +Without a moment's hesitation the girl, still blindfolded, rose, walked +swiftly down the steps which led from the stage to the floor of the +hall, and with startling exactness reproduced Mr. Danby's actions. In +and out through the benches she passed amid a silence of breathless +interest, touching each person in exactly the same spot as Mr. Danby had +done a few minutes previously. + +I saw Aunt Phoebe drawing herself up rigidly as Anna Sclamowsky came +towards our bench and, amid deafening applause, laid her finger upon the +Anstruther diamonds. The clapping and noise produced no effect upon the +girl. She stood motionless as though she had been a statue, her hand +still upon the necklace. + +Whether Aunt Phoebe was aggravated by the complete success of the +experiment or annoyed at having been obliged to take so prominent a part +in it, I do not know, but she certainly was a good deal out of temper; +for when Sclamowsky made his way to where his daughter was standing, she +said, in tones of icy disapproval, which must have been audible for a +long way down the room-- + +"A very clever piece of imposture, sir." + +The mesmerist's face flushed and his eyes flashed angrily. He, however, +bowed low. + +"There's nothing so hard," he said, "to overcome, madam, as prejudice. I +fear you have been inconvenienced by my daughter's hand. I will now +release her--and you." + +So saying, he placed his own hand for a moment over his daughter's and +breathed lightly on the girl's face. Instantly the muscles relaxed, her +hand fell to her side, and I could hear her give a little shuddering +sigh, apparently of relief. + +I noticed, too, that, whether by design or accident Sclamowsky kept his +hand for a moment longer on my aunt's necklace, and as he took his +finger away, I fancied that he looked at her fixedly for a second, and +muttered something either to himself or her, the meaning of which I +could not catch. + +"What did he say to you?" I asked, as Sclamowsky, after removing the +bandage from his daughter's eyes, assisted her to remount the stage. + +Aunt Phoebe looked a little confused and dazed, and her hand went up +to her necklace, as though to reassure herself of its safety. + +"Say to me?" she repeated, rousing herself as though by an effort; "he +said nothing to me. But I think, Elizabeth, if it is the same to you, we +will go home; the heat of the room has made me feel a little dizzy." + +We heard next day that we had missed the best part of the entertainment +by leaving when we did, and that many and far more wonderful experiments +were successfully attempted; but I had no time to waste in vain regrets +for not having been present, for I was much taken up with Aunt Phoebe. + +I was really anxious about her; she was so strangely unlike her calm, +equable self. All Saturday she was restless and irritable, wandering +half way upstairs, and then as though she had forgotten what she wanted, +returning to the drawing-room, where she set to work opening old cabinet +drawers, looking under chairs and sofas, tumbling everything out of her +work-box as if in search of something, and snubbing me for my pains when +I offered to help her. + +This went on all day, and I had almost made up my mind to send for Dr. +Perkins, when, after late dinner, she suddenly sank into an arm-chair +with a look of relief. + +"I know what it is," she said; "it is my diamonds!" + +"Your diamonds, Aunt Phoebe!" I exclaimed. "Why, I locked them up for +you myself in your dressing-box when we came home last night!" + +"Are you sure, Elizabeth?" she asked with an anxious, worried +expression. + +"Quite sure," I answered; "but if it will satisfy you, I will bring down +your dressing-box now and let you see." + +"Do, there's a dear child! I declare I feel too tired to move another +step." + +I was not surprised at this, considering how she had been fussing about +all day, and I ran up to her bed-room, brought down her rosewood +dressing-box and placed it on the table in front of her. + +I was greatly struck by the nervous trembling of her fingers as she +chose out the right key from amongst the others in her bunch, and the +shaky way in which she fitted it into the lock. Even when she had turned +the key she seemed half afraid to raise the lid, so I did it for her, +and, taking out the first tray, lifted out the morocco case which +contained the heirlooms and laid it in her lap. + +Aunt Phoebe tremblingly touched the spring, the case flew open and +disclosed the diamonds lying snugly on their bed of blue velvet. She +took them out and looked at them lovingly, held them up so that they +might catch the light from the lamp, and then with a sigh replaced them +in their case and shut it with a snap. + +I waited for a few minutes, then, as she did not speak, I put out my +hand for the case, intending to replace it in the dressing-box and take +it upstairs. But Aunt Phoebe clutched it tightly, staggered to her +feet and said in a husky, unnatural voice, "No, I must take it myself." + +"Why, you said you were too tired!" I began, but before I could finish +my sentence she had left the room, and I heard her going upstairs and +opening the door of her bed-room. + +Some few minutes afterwards I heard her steps once more on the stairs, +and I waited, expecting her every moment to open the drawing-room door +and walk in; but to my astonishment I heard her pass by, and a moment +afterwards the clang of the front door as it was hastily shut told me +that Aunt Phoebe had left the house. + +"She must be mad!" I exclaimed to myself as I rushed to the hall, seized +up the first hat I could see, flung a shawl over my shoulders, and tore +off in pursuit of my runaway relative. + +It was quite dark, but I caught sight of her as she passed by a +lamp-post. She was walking quickly, quicker than I had ever seen her +walk before, and with evidently some set purpose in her mind. I ran +after her as fast as I could, and came up with her as she was turning +down a small dark lane leading, as I knew, to a little court, the home +of a very poor but respectable section of the inhabitants of +Bishopsthorpe. + +"Aunt Phoebe," I gasped as I touched her arm, "where are you going? +You must be making a mistake!" + +"No, no!" she cried, with a feverish impatience in her voice. "I am +right! quite right! You must not stop me!" and she quickened her pace +into a halting run. + +I saw clearly that there was nothing to be done but to follow her and +try to keep her out of actual harm's way, for there now seemed to be no +manner of doubt that my poor aunt was, for the time at any rate, insane. +So I fell back a pace, and, never appearing even to notice that I had +left her side, she pursued her course. + +Suddenly she stopped short, crossed the street and stumbled up the +uneven stone steps of a shabby-looking house, whose front door was wide +open. Without a moment's hesitation she entered the dark hall, and I +followed closely at her heels. Up the squalid, dirty stairs she hurried, +and, without knocking, opened a door on the left-hand side of the first +landing and went in. + +I was a few steps behind, but as I gained the threshold I saw her take a +parcel from beneath her cloak and hold it out to a man who came to meet +her from the far end of the badly-lighted room. + +"I have brought them," I heard my aunt say in the same curious husky +voice I had noticed before. + +As the man came nearer and stood where the light of the evil-smelling +little paraffin lamp fell upon his features, I recognised in the heavy +jaw, the bull-neck and the close-cropped head, the Professor Dmitri +Sclamowsky of the previous evening. Our eyes met, and I thought I +detected a start of not altogether pleased surprise; but if this were so +he recovered himself quickly and bowing low, said: + +"I had not expected the pleasure of _your_ company, madam, but as you +have done me the honour of coming, I am glad that you should be here to +witness the conclusion of last night's experiment. This lady," he +continued, pointing to my aunt, who still stood with fixed, apparently +unseeing eyes, holding out the parcel towards him--"this lady, you will +remember, considered the hypnotic phenomena exhibited at last night's +entertainment as a clever imposture--those were the words, I think. To +one who, like myself, is an enthusiast on the subject, such words were +hard, nay, impossible to bear. It was necessary to prove to her that the +power I possess"--here his blue eyes gleamed with the same metallic +light I had before noticed--"is something more than _conjuring_; +something more than a 'clever imposture'. You will see now." + +As he spoke he stretched out his hand and took the parcel from my aunt, +and as he did so, I recognised with horror the morocco case which I knew +contained the heirlooms. + +"Who are these for?" he said, addressing Aunt Phoebe. + +"For you," came from my aunt's lips, but her eyes were fixed and her +voice seemed to come with difficulty. + +"She is mad!" I exclaimed. "She does not know what she is saying!" + +Sclamowsky smiled. + +"And who am I?" he continued, still addressing my aunt. + +"The Professor Dmitri Sclamowsky." + +"And what is this?" indicating the morocco case. + +"My diamonds." + +"You make them a present to me?" + +"Yes." + +Sclamowsky opened the case and took out the jewels. + +"A handsome present, certainly!" he said, turning to me with a smile. + +I was speechless. There was something so horrible in my dear Aunt +Phoebe's set face and wide open, stony eyes, something so weird in the +dim room, with its one miserable lamp; something so mockingly fiendish +in Sclamowsky's glittering eyes as he stood with the diamonds flashing +and twinkling in his hands, that though I strove for utterance, I could +not succeed in articulating a single word. + +"Enough!" at last he said, replacing the diamonds in their case and +closing it sharply--"the experiment is concluded," and so saying he +stepped up close to Aunt Phoebe and made two or three passes with his +hands in front of her face. A quiver ran all over my aunt's figure. She +swayed and would have fallen if I had not rushed forward and caught her +in my arms. + +She looked round at me with terror and bewilderment in every feature. + +"Where am I, Elizabeth?" she stammered, and then looking round she +caught sight of Sclamowsky. "What is the meaning of this?" + +"Never mind, Aunt Phoebe," I said. "Come home, and I will tell you all +about it." + +Aunt Phoebe passed her hand over her eyes, and as she did so I glanced +inquiringly from Sclamowsky's face to the jewellery case in his hands. +What was to be the end of it all? I had certainly heard my aunt +distinctly give this man her diamonds as a present, but could a gift +made under such circumstances hold good for a moment? He evidently saw +the query in my face. + +"You judge me even more hastily than did your aunt," he said. "She +called me an impostor; you think me a rogue and a swindler. Here are +your jewels, madam," he said, turning to Aunt Phoebe. "I shall be more +than satisfied if the result of this evening's experiment prove to you +that, as your poet says, 'There are more things in heaven and earth than +are dreamt of in your philosophy.'" + +"I don't understand it all," said Aunt Phoebe piteously, as she +mechanically took the morocco case into her hands. + +"Don't try to do so now," I said. "You must come home with me as quickly +as you can;" for I was feverishly anxious to escape from this +house--from this man with this horrible, terrifying power. + +He bowed silently to us as I hurried Aunt Phoebe out of the room; but +as I was going down the stairs an irresistible impulse came over me to +look back. + +He was standing on the landing, politely holding the little lamp so that +we might see our way down the uneven, irregular stairs, and the light +fell upon his face. Was the expression I saw upon it one of triumph, or +one of defeated dishonesty? I could not say. Even now, though I have +thought it all over and over till my head has got dazed and confused, I +cannot make up my mind whether he had hoped, by means of his strange +mesmeric power, to obtain possession of the Anstruther diamonds--a +design only frustrated by my unlooked-for appearance--or whether his +action was altogether prompted by a determination to demonstrate and +vindicate the truth of the phenomena connected with his science. + +Sometimes I lean to one view, sometimes to the other. I have now told +the facts of the case simply and without exaggeration just as they +occurred, and my readers must judge for themselves whether Dmitri +Sclamowsky was, in the matter of Aunt Phoebe's heirlooms, a +disappointed swindler or a triumphant enthusiast. + + + + +SAINT OR SATAN. + + +A story, strange as true--a story to the truth of which half the +inhabitants of the good city of Turin can bear testimony. + +Have you ever been to Turin, by the way? To that city which reminds one +of nothing so much as a gigantic chess-board set down upon the banks of +the yellow river--that city with never-ending, straight streets, all +running at right angles to each other, and whose extremities frame in +delicious pictures of wooded hill or snow-capped Alp; whose inhabitants +recall the grace and courtesy of the Parisians, joined to a good spicing +of their wit and humour; whose dialect is three-parts French pronounced +as it is written; and whose force and frankness strike you with a +special charm after the ha-haing of the Florentines, the sonorousness of +the Romans and the sing-song of the Neapolitans; to say nothing of the +hideousness of the Genoese and the chaos of the Sicilians; that city of +kindly greetings and hearty welcome? + +Well, if you have given Turin a fair trial, you will know what a +pleasant place it is; if you have not, I advise you to do so upon the +first occasion that may present itself. + +The climate is described by some emulator of Thomson to consist of "Tre +mesi d'Inferno, nove d'inverno." But then you must remember that Turin +houses are provided with chimneys, and Turin floors with carpets, and +that no one who does not wish it is forced--as so many of us have +been--to shiver upon marble pavement and be half suffocated by a +charcoal-brazier. No refuge from the cold save that, one's bed, or +sitting in a church. And one can neither lie for ever in bed, nor sit +the day through in a church, however fine it may be. + +It is extremely healthy, however, and altogether one of the pleasantest +towns in Italy to live in. It has, too, one of the fairest gardens in +Europe: the Valentino, with its old red-brick palace, its elms, its +lawns, its river and setting, on one side, of lovely hills. Lady Mary W. +Montagu speaks of the beauty of this garden in her day. I think she +would scarcely recognise it at the present. Modern art has done its +best, and over the whole yet lingers the mysterious charm of the Past; +the dark historical legends connected with the palace and its quondam +frail, fair, and, I regret to add, ferocious mistress, its--But what has +all this to do with "Saint or Satan," you will ask? Where is your +promised story? + +Well, Satan enters somewhat largely into the story of the Valentino +which I will relate you at some future time; and, as to the part, if +any, his dark Majesty had in what I am going to tell you to-day, you +yourself must judge, reader. I am inclined to think _he had_ a claw in +the matter, rather than Saint Antonio to whom the miracle is ascribed. +The miracle! Yes, the miracle. And if you could see her, you would +certainly say that a miracle of some kind there certainly was. + +I have, after long consideration and study, come to the conclusion that +"Old Maids" are, generally speaking, a very pleasant, kind-hearted +portion of society. They may be a little irritable and restive while +standing upon the border-land that divides the marriageable from the +un-marriageable age; but that boundary once passed, they take place +among the worthiest and best. And surely their anxiety as to the reply +to the question of "Miss or Mrs.?" is pardonable. Matrimony means an +utter change of life to a woman; while to a man it is of infinitely less +import. + +I am afraid I cannot class the "Signorina Guiseppina Pace" as having +formed one of the pleasant section of old maids; I must even, however +reluctantly, place her among the decidedly unpleasant ones. +"Peace"--"Pace" was her name, but her old mother, with whom she lived, +would have told you that she differed greatly from her name. + +So do most of us, indeed; and I am sure you have only to run over the +list of your friends in the kindliest manner to see that I am right in +my affirmation. + +Perhaps Miss Guiseppina thought that one can have too much of even a +good thing; that the name of Pace was quite enough for the house, and +that, in consequence, she ought to do her best to banish it under all +other circumstances. She certainly succeeded; for she led her poor old +widow-mother and their single servant such a life as to give them a +lively foretaste of what Purgatory--to say no worse--might possibly be. + +Ah! if she could but have cut off the Pace from her own name as cleanly +as she cut off all possible peace from the two poor women who were +doomed, for their sins, to live under the same roof with her! + +But, despite the endeavours during thirty odd long years, she had never +had one single chance of doing so; and it riled her to the core. +Schoolfellows had floated away upon the sea of matrimony, friends had +become mothers--grandmothers--and yet she remained Guiseppina Pace, as +she ever had remained; and with no prospect of a change. + +How she learned to loathe the sight of a bridal procession; and how she +taught mother and maid to tremble at the passing of the same! How the +news of a projected marriage stirred her bile, and how her dearest +friends hastened to her with any matrimonial news they could gather, or +invent! It was wonderful to see, and pleasant enough to witness--from a +distance. + +Guiseppina and her mother occupied a small flat in Via Santa Teresa: +Guiseppina's bed-room and their one sitting-room looking into the +street; her mother's room, the kitchen and a sort of coal-hole in which +the servant slept being at the back of the house. + +It was summer. People pushed perspiringly for the shady side of the +street, puffed and panted under pillar and portico. The public gardens +were besieged; fans fluttered everywhere; iced-beer and pezzi duri were +in constant requisition. + +It was on a Friday afternoon. Guiseppina had sunk, exhausted with the +heat and exasperated with the flies, into a large arm-chair opposite her +bed, and was sitting there fanning herself violently and trying to catch +a breath of fresh air from the widely-opened window beside her. But +there was no air, fresh or otherwise; and nothing but the languid steps +of the passers in the street below was heard. Not the roll of a wheel, +the hoof of a horse, or the yelp of a dog. It seemed as if the whole +place had been given over to the cruel glare of sunshine and the +persevering impertinence of flies. + +It was just one of those days which make one long intensely for the +shade of ilexes upon the sea shore, and the swish of idle waters upon +the beach. + +And Guiseppina _did_ long, and _had_ longed, and had finally driven her +poor mother in tears to her room with reproaches for not being able to +go for a month to Pegli, as, that very morning, their upper floor +neighbours, the Castelles, had gone--and--and--and--: the usual +litany--the usual nagging--the usual temper; hinc ille lacrimĉ. + +"Why should she alone," she exclaimed to herself sitting there, "remain +to roast in town, while all her friends--? Ah, it was too cruel! If she +could only--!" + +Her eyes fell upon the little picture of Saint Antonio hanging over her +bed--the Saint credited with presiding over marriages--the Saint to +which, through all these long years, Guiseppina had daily appealed and +prayed. Alas, all in vain! Not the shadow of a lover had he sent +her--not the ghost of an offer had he vouchsafed her in return for all +her tears and tapers. + +She looked across at the Saint, this time with a scowl, however. The +Saint seemed to return her gaze with a mocking smile. No! That was +indeed adding insult to injury! After thirty years unswerving devotion, +to mock at her thus! + +She didn't say thirty years, mind, though she could have added somewhat +to the figure without risking a fib. She said something else, a +something that didn't sound exactly like a blessing; and, in a sudden +fit of rage, started from her seat, sprang across the room, tore the +offending Saint from the nail from which he had dangled for such long +years, and, without further ceremony, flung him out through the open +window into the street below. + +Then, aghast at what she had done, she stood as if turned to stone, not +daring to go to the window to see what the effect of her novel +proceeding might have been. + +Minutes, to her ages, passed: then came a ring at the bell. Answer she +must; the maid was out marketing, her mother in tears--for it might be +the post--it might be--! Ah, she shivered as she thought thereon--it +might be a municipal guard with a "contravenzione"--fine; for in Italy +one cannot now fling even saints from a window down upon the passers' +heads with impunity. Time was when worse things were periodically +showered down upon passengers, but, thanks to government and wholesome +laws, nous avons changé tout cela. + +With a beating heart Guiseppina drew the bolt and opened the door. There +on the landing stood, not a policeman, but an elderly gentleman, his hat +in one hand, Saint Antonio in the other, and his bald head looming out +from the gloom--some Turin stairs are _very_ dark--like the moon in a +fog. + +"Signora"--he began in a hesitating voice, and holding forward the +imperturbable Saint as a shield and excuse for his intrusion-- + +"Signore," replied the ancient maiden, gazing forth at her visitor with +wonder on her face and relief in her heart. + +The relief fled quickly, however, for she suddenly remembered that many +of the police were said to prowl about in civil clothes and inflict no +end of fines, of which they pocketed a part. + +But he didn't look a bit like a policeman. So she smiled upon him, and +listened benignantly to his tale. He had been passing the house--musing +upon his business--that of a broker--and trying to guess at the truth of +a report relative to certain investments, when suddenly his calculations +had been put to flight by the arrival of some unseen object from on +high, which, after alighting upon the crown of his Panama, fell at his +feet. + +Here a wave of his hand and a flourish of the Saint indicated his having +picked up the same. + +He then proceeded to relate his having looked up--the Saint could only +have come from Heavenward, he had perched so exactly upon the crown of +his hat--having seen the open window--all the rest in the house were +closed--and having taken the liberty-- + +Here another wave of the hand, followed by a bow. + +And then, at this juncture, Signora Pace came out from her room, and +she, after being informed of the cause of her daughter's being found in +close converse upon the landing with a stranger of the male sex, asked +the said stranger in. Her invitation being accepted, the trio adjourned +to the sitting-room, the gallant knight still retaining his trophy. + +Only after being warmly pressed to do so by Signora Pace did the +all-unexpected and unknown visitor deposit Saint Antonio upon the centre +table, and take his seat upon the red rep sofa next to her. + +Guiseppina sat facing him. She seemed suddenly to have quite +changed--never once snubbed her mother, and appeared throughout all +sugar and sweetness. + +We can suppose that remorse at having treated her Saint after this +fashion, and relief at his not having fallen into the hands of a +policeman, as she at first had most reasonably feared, had worked the +change. + +Policeman, indeed! Signor Cesare Garelli--such the visitor gave as his +name--appeared to her to be quite a charming person. To be sure, he was +bald, but that mattered little. So was Julius Cĉsar and a host of other +great men. + +Cesare Garelli was something, to her, infinitely more interesting than +his great namesake ever had been. He was a partner of the well-known +Zucco, and the office they kept in Via Carlo Alberto had wooden cups of +gold nuggets, no end of glittering coins and crisp bank-notes of foreign +and formidable appearance, in its solitary window. More than once she +had longingly halted before its treasures. + +So a vast deal of information was exchanged on both sides, and when +Signor Cesare Garelli rose to go, the flood of golden sunshine had crept +quite across to the other side of the street. + +Apparently some of it had crept into Guiseppina's heart also, for she +refrained from flying out when the long-delayed "minestra" turned out to +be smoked, and she even went so far as to give Saint Antonio a chaste +kiss as she restored him to the crooked nail to which he had hung for so +long a time. + +Cesare Garelli's visits became more and more frequent in Via Santa +Teresa. Then followed excursions to Rivoli, to Superza, to Moncalieri. +Nice little dinners, and evenings spent at the Caffe San Carlo or under +the horse-chestnuts in the Valentino garden, succeeded rapidly. La +Signora Pace's life savoured of the seventh heaven, and Guiseppina's +temper grew mellow as the peaches which her admirer was for ever sending +her. + +That phase passed away, and then one fine day Cesare Garelli burst forth +in all the glory and radiance of a declared and accepted lover. + +In less than three months from the date of Saint Antonio's flight +through the window into the hot, dusty street, Guiseppina +voluntarily--oh, how voluntarily!--renounced the name of Pace for ever +and took that of Garelli. + +If you want to know if Saint or Satan made his match for him, you had +better ask Cesare Garelli himself. I cannot tell you. + +A. BERESFORD. + + + + +IN A BERNESE VALLEY. + + + I met her by this mountain stream + At twilight's fall long years gone by, + While, rosy with day's afterbeam, + Yon snow-peaks glowed against the sky; + + And she was but a simple maid + Who fed her goats among the hills, + And sang her songs within the glade, + And caught the music of the rills; + + And drank the fragrance of the flowers + That bloomed within love-haunted dells; + And wandered home in gloaming hours, + Amid the sound of tinkling bells. + + + And now I'm in this vale again, + And once more hear the tinkling sound; + But yet 'tis not the same as when + That maiden 'mid her flock I found. + + And still the rosy light of morn + Steals soft o'er mount and stream and tree; + And yet I hear the Alpine horn, + But the old charm is lost to me; + + For I would see that angel face, + And hear again the simple tale + Which to that twilight lent the grace + That changed this to Arcadian vale. + + It cannot be: my dream is o'er; + No more among the hills she'll roam; + No more she'll sing the songs of yore; + Or call the weary cattle home; + + For she is in her bed of rest, + Encompassed all with gentians blue, + With Edelweiss upon her breast, + And by her head wild thyme and rue. + + Sweet _Angelus_, from yon church-tower, + That floatest now so soft and clear, + Ring back again that golden hour + When I still sat beside her here! + +ALEXANDER LAMONT. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Argosy, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ARGOSY *** + +***** This file should be named 18372-8.txt or 18372-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/3/7/18372/ + +Produced by Paul Murray, Taavi Kalju and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://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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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: The Argosy + Vol. 51, No. 2, February, 1891 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Charles W. Woods + +Release Date: May 11, 2006 [EBook #18372] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ARGOSY *** + + + + +Produced by Paul Murray, Taavi Kalju and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h3><i>"Laden with Golden Grain"</i></h3> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<h3>THE</h3> +<h1>ARGOSY.</h1> + +<p> </p> + +<h4>EDITED BY</h4> +<h2>CHARLES W. WOOD.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<h3>VOLUME LI.</h3> + +<h2><i>January to June, 1891.</i></h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + + +<h4>RICHARD BENTLEY & SON,</h4> +<h4>8, NEW BURLINGTON STREET, LONDON, W.</h4> + +<p class="center">Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty.</p> + +<h5><i>All rights reserved.</i></h5> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p class="center"> +LONDON:<br /> +PRINTED BY OGDEN, SMALE AND CO. LIMITED,<br /> +GREAT SAFFRON HILL, E.C.<br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><i>CONTENTS.</i></h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='right'>PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='center'><b><span class="smcap">The Fate of the Hara Diamond</span>. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">M.L. Gow</span>.</b></td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>Chap. I. </td> + <td align='left'>My Arrival at Deepley Walls</td> + <td align='right'>Jan</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>II. </td> + <td align='left'>The Mistress of Deepley Walls</td> + <td align='right'>Jan</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>III. </td> + <td align='left'>A Voyage of Discovery</td> + <td align='right'>Jan</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>IV. </td> + <td align='left'>Scarsdale Weir</td> + <td align='right'>Jan</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>V. </td> + <td align='left'>At Rose Cottage</td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>VI. </td> + <td align='left'>The Growth of a Mystery</td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>VII. </td> + <td align='left'>Exit Janet Hope</td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>VIII. </td> + <td align='left'>By the Scotch Express</td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>IX. </td> + <td align='left'>At "The Golden Griffin"</td> + <td align='right'>Mar</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>X. </td> + <td align='left'>The Stolen Manuscript</td> + <td align='right'>Mar</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XI. </td> + <td align='left'>Bon Repos</td> + <td align='right'>Mar</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XII. </td> + <td align='left'>The Amsterdam Edition of 1698</td> + <td align='right'>Mar</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XIII. </td> + <td align='left'>M. Platzoff's Secret—Captain Ducie's Translation of M. Paul Platzoff's MS</td> + <td align='right'>Mar</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XIV. </td> + <td align='left'>Drashkil-Smoking</td> + <td align='right'>Apr</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XV. </td> + <td align='left'>The Diamond</td> + <td align='right'>Apr</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XVI. </td> + <td align='left'>Janet's Return</td> + <td align='right'>Apr</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XVII. </td> + <td align='left'>Deepley Walls after Seven Years</td> + <td align='right'>Apr</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XVIII. </td> + <td align='left'>Janet in a New Character</td> + <td align='right'>May</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XIX. </td> + <td align='left'>The Dawn of Love</td> + <td align='right'>May</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XX. </td> + <td align='left'>The Narrative of Sergeant Nicholas</td> + <td align='right'>May</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XXI. </td> + <td align='left'>Counsel taken with Mr. Madgin</td> + <td align='right'>May</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XXII. </td> + <td align='left'>Mr. Madgin at the Helm</td> + <td align='right'>Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XXIII. </td> + <td align='left'>Mr. Madgin's Secret Journey</td> + <td align='right'>Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XXIV. </td> + <td align='left'>Enter Madgin Junior</td> + <td align='right'>Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='right'>XXV. </td> + <td align='left'>Madgin Junior's First Report</td> + <td align='right'>Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='center'>* * * * *</td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='center'><b><span class="smcap">The Silent Chimes</span>. By <span class="smcap">Johnny Ludlow</span> (Mrs. <span class="smcap">Henry Wood</span>).</b></td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Putting Them Up</td> + <td align='right'>Jan</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Playing Again</td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Ringing at Midday</td> + <td align='right'>Mar</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Not Heard</td> + <td align='right'>Apr</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Silent for Ever</td> + <td align='right'>May</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='center'>* * * * *</td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><b><span class="smcap">The Bretons at Home</span>. By <span class="smcap">Charles W. Wood</span>, F.R.G.S. With 35 Illustrations</b></td> + <td align='right'>Jan, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, Mar, Apr, May, Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='center'>* * * * *</td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>About the Weather</td> + <td align='right'>Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Across the River. By <span class="smcap">Helen M. Burnside</span></td> + <td align='right'>Apr</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>After Twenty Years. By <span class="smcap">Ada M. Trotter</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>A Memory. By <span class="smcap">George Cotterell</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>A Modern Witch</td> + <td align='right'>Jan</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>An April Folly. By <span class="smcap">Gilbert H. Page</span></td> + <td align='right'>Apr</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>A Philanthropist. By <span class="smcap">Angus Grey</span></td> + <td align='right'>Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Aunt Phœbe's Heirlooms: An Experience in Hypnotism</td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>A Social Debut</td> + <td align='right'>Mar</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>A Song. By <span class="smcap">G.B. Stuart</span></td> + <td align='right'>Jan</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Enlightenment. By <span class="smcap">E. Nesbit</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>In a Bernese Valley. By <span class="smcap">Alexander Lamont</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Legend of an Ancient Minster. By <span class="smcap">John Græme</span></td> + <td align='right'>Mar</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Longevity. By <span class="smcap">W.F. Ainsworth</span>, F.S.A.</td> + <td align='right'>Apr</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Mademoiselle Elise. By <span class="smcap">Edward Francis</span></td> + <td align='right'>Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Mediums and Mysteries. By <span class="smcap">Narissa Rosavo</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Miss Kate Marsden</td> + <td align='right'>Jan</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>My May Queen. By <span class="smcap">John Jervis Beresford</span>, M.A.</td> + <td align='right'>May</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Old China</td> + <td align='right'>Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>On Letter-Writing. By <span class="smcap">A.H. Japp</span>, LL.D.</td> + <td align='right'>May</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Paul. By the Author of "Adonais, Q.C."</td> + <td align='right'>May</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>"Proctorised"</td> + <td align='right'>Apr</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Rondeau. By <span class="smcap">E. Nesbit</span></td> + <td align='right'>Mar</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Saint or Satan? By <span class="smcap">A. Beresford</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Sappho. By <span class="smcap">Mary Grey</span></td> + <td align='right'>Mar</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Serenade. By <span class="smcap">E. Nesbit</span></td> + <td align='right'>Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Sonnets. By <span class="smcap">Julia Kavanagh</span></td> + <td align='right'>Jan, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, Apr, Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>So Very Unattractive!</td> + <td align='right'>Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Spes. By <span class="smcap">John Jervis Beresford</span>, M.A.</td> + <td align='right'>Apr</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Sweet Nancy. By <span class="smcap">Jeanie Gwynne Bettany</span></td> + <td align='right'>May</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>The Church Garden. By <span class="smcap">Christian Burke</span></td> + <td align='right'>May</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>The Only Son of his Mother. By <span class="smcap">Letitia McClintock</span></td> + <td align='right'>Mar</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>To my Soul. From the French of Victor Hugo</td> + <td align='right'>Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Unexplained. By <span class="smcap">Letitia McClintock</span></td> + <td align='right'>Apr</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Who Was the Third Maid?</td> + <td align='right'>Jan</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Winter in Absence</td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='center'>* * * * *</td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='center'><b><i>POETRY.</i></b></td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Sonnets. By <span class="smcap">Julia Kavanagh</span></td> + <td align='right'>Jan, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, Apr, Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>A Song. By <span class="smcap">G.B. Stuart</span></td> + <td align='right'>Jan</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Enlightenment. By <span class="smcap">E. Nesbit</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Winter in Absence</td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>A Memory. By <span class="smcap">George Cotterell</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>In a Bernese Valley. By <span class="smcap">Alexander Lamont</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Rondeau. By <span class="smcap">E. Nesbit</span></td> + <td align='right'>Mar</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Spes. By <span class="smcap">John Jervis Beresford</span>, M.A.</td> + <td align='right'>Apr</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Across the River. By <span class="smcap">Helen M. Burnside</span></td> + <td align='right'>Apr</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>My May Queen. By <span class="smcap">John Jervis Beresford</span>, M.A.</td> + <td align='right'>May</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>The Church Garden. By <span class="smcap">Christian Burke</span></td> + <td align='right'>May</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Serenade. By <span class="smcap">E. Nesbit</span></td> + <td align='right'>Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>To my Soul. From the French of Victor Hugo</td> + <td align='right'>Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Old China</td> + <td align='right'>Jun</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='center'>* * * * *</td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='center'><b><i>ILLUSTRATIONS.</i></b></td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'><b>By M.L. Gow.</b></td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>"I advanced slowly up the room, stopped, and curtsied."</td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>"I saw and recognised the mysterious midnight visitor."</td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>"He came back in a few minutes, but so transformed in outward appearance that Ducie scarcely knew him."</td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>"Behold!"</td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>"Sister Agnes knelt for a few moments and bent her head in silent prayer."</td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>"He put his hand to his side, and motioned Mirpah to open the letter."</td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='center'>* * * * *</td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='left'>Illustrations to "The Bretons at Home."</td> + <td align='left'></td> +</tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a href="images/01large.jpg"> + <img src="images/01.jpg" + alt="I saw and recognized the mysterious midnight visitor." + title="I saw and recognized the mysterious midnight visitor." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">I saw and recognized the mysterious midnight visitor.</span> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE ARGOSY.</h2> + +<h3><i>FEBRUARY, 1891.</i></h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE FATE OF THE HARA DIAMOND.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>AT ROSE COTTAGE.</h3> + + +<p>On regaining my senses I found myself in a cozy little bed in a cozy +little room, with an old gentleman sitting by my side gently chafing one +of my hands—a gentleman with white hair and a white moustache, with a +ruddy face and a smile that made me all in love with him at first sight.</p> + +<p>"Did I not say that she would do famously in a little while?" he cried, +in a cheery voice that it did one good to listen to. "I believe the +Poppetina has only been hoaxing us all this time: pretending to be +half-drowned just to find out whether anyone would make a fuss about +her. Is not that the truth, little one?"</p> + +<p>"If you please, sir, where am I? And are you a doctor?" I asked, +faintly.</p> + +<p>"I am not a doctor, either of medicine or law," answered the +white-haired gentleman. "I am Major Strickland, and this place is Rose +Cottage—the magnificent mansion which I call my own. But you had better +not talk, my dear—at least not just yet: not till the doctor himself +has seen you."</p> + +<p>"But how did I get here?" I pleaded. "Do tell me that, please."</p> + +<p>"Simply thus. My nephew Geordie was out mooning on the bridge when he +heard a cry for help. Next minute he saw you and your boat go over the +weir. He rushed down to the quiet water at the foot of the falls, +plunged in, and fished you out before you had time to get more than +half-drowned. My housekeeper, Deborah, put you to bed, and here you are. +But I am afraid that you have hurt yourself among those ugly stones that +line the weir; so Geordie has gone off for the doctor, and we shall soon +know how you really are. One question I must ask you, in order that I +may send word to your friends. What is your name? and where do you +live?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>Before I could reply, the village doctor came bounding up the stairs +three at a time. Five minutes sufficed him for my case. A good night's +rest and a bottle of his mixture were all that was required. A few hours +would see me as well as ever. Then he went.</p> + +<p>"And now for the name and address, Poppetina," said the smiling Major. +"We must send word to papa and mamma without a moment's delay."</p> + +<p>"I have neither papa nor mamma," I answered. "My name is Janet Hope, and +I come from Deepley Walls."</p> + +<p>"From Deepley Walls!" exclaimed the Major. "I thought I knew everybody +under Lady Chillington's roof, but I never heard of you before to-night, +my dear."</p> + +<p>Then I told him that I had been only two days with Lady Chillington, and +that all of my previous life that I could remember had been spent at +Park Hill Seminary.</p> + +<p>The Major was evidently puzzled by what I had told him. He mused for +several moments without speaking. Hitherto my face had been in +half-shadow, the candle having been placed behind the curtain that fell +round the head of the bed, so as not to dazzle my eyes. This candle the +Major now took, and held it about a yard above my head, so that its full +light fell on my upturned face. I was swathed in a blanket, and while +addressing the Major had raised myself on my elbow in bed. My long black +hair, still damp, fell wildly round my shoulders.</p> + +<p>The moment Major Strickland's eyes rested on my face, on which the full +light of the candle was now shining, his ruddy cheek paled; he started +back in amazement, and was obliged to replace the candlestick on the +table.</p> + +<p>"Great Heavens! what a marvellous resemblance!" he exclaimed. "It cannot +arise from accident merely. There must be a hidden link somewhere."</p> + +<p>Then taking the candle for the second time, he scanned my face again +with eyes that seemed to pierce me through and through. "It is as if one +had come to me suddenly from the dead," I heard him say in a low voice. +Then with down-bent head and folded arms he took several turns across +the room.</p> + +<p>"Sir, of whom do I remind you?" I timidly asked.</p> + +<p>"Of someone, child, whom I knew when I was young—of someone who died +long years before you were born." There was a ring of pathos in his +voice that seemed like the echo of some sorrowful story.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure that you have no other name than Janet Hope?" he asked, +presently.</p> + +<p>"None, sir, that I know of. I have been called Janet Hope ever since I +can remember."</p> + +<p>"But about your parents? What were they called, and where did they +live?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I know nothing whatever about them except what Sister Agnes told me +yesterday."</p> + +<p>"And she said—what?"</p> + +<p>"That my father was drowned abroad several years ago, and that my mother +died a year later."</p> + +<p>"Poverina! But it is strange that Sister Agnes should have known your +parents. Perhaps she can supply the missing link. The mention of her +name reminds me that I have not yet sent word to Deepley Walls that you +are safe and sound at Rose Cottage. Geordie must start without a +moment's delay. I am an old friend of Lady Chillington, my dear, so that +she will be quite satisfied when she learns that you are under my roof."</p> + +<p>"But, sir, when shall I see the gentleman who got me out of the water?" +I asked.</p> + +<p>"What, Geordie? Oh, you'll see Geordie in the morning, never fear! A +good boy! a fine boy! though it's his old uncle who says it."</p> + +<p>Then he rang the bell, and when Deborah, his only servant, came up, he +committed me with many injunctions into her charge. Then taking my head +gently between his hands, he kissed me tenderly on the forehead, and +wished me "Good-night, and happy dreams."</p> + +<p>Deborah was very kind. She brought me up a delicious little supper, and +decided that there was no need for me to take the doctor's nauseous +mixture. She took it herself instead, but merely as a sop to her +conscience and my own; "for, after all, you know, there's very little +difference in physic—it's all nasty; and I daresay this mixture will do +my lumbago no harm."</p> + +<p>The effects of the accident had almost entirely passed away by next +morning, and I was dressed and downstairs by seven o'clock. I found the +Major hard at work digging up the garden for his winter crops. "Ah, +Poppetina, down so early!" he cried. "And how do we feel this morning, +eh? None the worse for our ducking, I hope."</p> + +<p>I assured him that I was quite well, and that I had never felt better in +my life.</p> + +<p>"That will be good news for her ladyship," he replied, "and will prove +to her that Miss Hope has not fallen among Philistines. In any case, she +cannot be more pleased than I am to find that you have sustained no harm +from your accident. There is something, Poverina, in that face of yours +that brings back the past to me strangely. But here comes Master +Geordie."</p> + +<p>I turned and saw a young man sauntering slowly down the pathway. He was +very fair, and, to me, seemed very handsome. He had blue eyes, and his +hair was a mass of short, crisp flaxen curls. From the way in which the +Major regarded him as he came lounging up, I could see that the old +soldier was very proud of his young Adonis of a nephew. The latter +lifted his hat as he opened the wicket, and bade his uncle good-morning. +Me he did not for the moment see.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Miss Hope is not up yet, I suppose?" he said. "I trust she is none the +worse for her tumble over the weir."</p> + +<p>"Our little water-nymph is here to answer for herself," said the Major. +"The roses in her cheeks seem all the brighter for their wetting."</p> + +<p>George Strickland turned smilingly towards me, and held out his hand. "I +am very glad to find that you have suffered so little from your +accident," he said. "When I fished you out of the river last night you +looked so death-like that I was afraid we should not be able to bring +you round without difficulty."</p> + +<p>Tears stood in my eyes as I took his hand. "Oh, sir, how brave, how +noble it was of you to act as you did! You saved my life at the risk of +your own; and how can I ever thank you enough?"</p> + +<p>A bright colour came into his cheek as I spoke. "My dear child, you must +not speak in that way," he said. "What I did was a very ordinary thing. +Anyone else in my place would have done precisely the same. I must not +claim more merit than is due for an action so simple."</p> + +<p>"To you it may seem a simple thing to do, but I cannot forget that it +was my life that you saved."</p> + +<p>"What an old-fashioned princess it is!" said the Major. "Why, it must +have been born a hundred years ago, and have had a fairy for its +godmother. But here comes Deborah to tell us that breakfast is ready. +Toasted bacon is better than pretty speeches; so come along with you, +and make believe that you have known each other for a twelvemonth at +least."</p> + +<p>Rose Cottage was a tiny place, and there were not wanting proofs that +the Major's income was commensurate with the scale of his establishment. +A wise economy had to be a guiding rule in Major Strickland's life, +otherwise Mr. George's college expenses would never have been met, and +that young gentleman would not have had a proper start in life. Deborah +was the only servant that the little household could afford; but then +the Major himself was gardener, butler, valet and page in one. Thus—he +cleaned the knives in a machine of his own invention; he brushed his own +clothes; he lacquered his own boots, and at a pinch could mend them. He +dug and planted his own garden, and grew enough potatoes and greenstuff +to serve his little family the year round. In a little paddock behind +his garden the Major kept a cow; in the garden itself he had +half-a-dozen hives; while not far away was a fowl-house that supplied +him with more eggs than he could dispose of, except by sale. The Major's +maxim was, that the humblest offices of labour could be dignified by a +gentleman, and by his own example he proved the rule. What few leisure +hours he allowed himself were chiefly spent with rod and line on the +banks of the Adair.</p> + +<p>George Strickland was an orphan, and had been adopted and brought up by +his uncle since he was six years old. So far, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> uncle had been able +to supply the means for having him educated in accordance with his +wishes. For the last three years George had been at one of the public +schools, and now he was at home for a few weeks' holiday previously to +going to Cambridge.</p> + +<p>It will of course be understood that but a very small portion of what is +here set down respecting Rose Cottage and its inmates was patent to me +at that first visit; much of it, indeed, did not come within my +cognizance till several years afterwards.</p> + +<p>When breakfast was over, the Major lighted an immense meerschaum, and +then invited me to accompany him over his little demesne. To a girl +whose life had been spent within the four bare walls of a school-room, +everything was fresh and everything was delightful. First to the +fowl-house, then to the hives, and after that to see the brindled calf +in the paddock, whose gambols and general mode of conducting himself +were so utterly absurd that I laughed more in ten minutes after seeing +him than I had done in ten years previously.</p> + +<p>When we got back to the cottage, George was ready to take me on the +river. The Major went down with us and saw us safely on board the <i>Water +Lily</i>, bade us good-bye for an hour, and then went about his morning's +business. I was rather frightened at first, the <i>Water Lily</i> was such a +tiny craft, so long and narrow that it seemed to me as if the least +movement on one side must upset it. But George showed me exactly where +to sit, and gave me the tiller-ropes, with instructions how to manage +them, and was himself so full of quiet confidence that my fears quickly +died a natural death, and a sweet sense of enjoyment took their place.</p> + +<p>We were on that part of the river which was below the weir, and as we +put out from shore the scene of my last night's adventure was clearly +visible. There, spanning the river just above the weir, was the +open-work timber bridge on which George was standing when my cry for +help struck his ears. There was the weir itself, a sheet of foaming, +frothing water, that as it fell dashed itself in white-lipped passion +against the rounded boulders that seemed striving in vain to turn it +from its course. And here, a little way from the bottom of the weir, was +the pool of quiet water over which our little boat was now cleaving its +way, and out of which the handsome young man now sitting opposite to me +had plucked me, bruised and senseless, only a few short hours ago. I +shuddered and could feel myself turn pale as I looked. George seemed to +read my thoughts; he smiled, but said nothing. Then bending all his +strength to the oars, he sent the <i>Water Lily</i> spinning on her course. +All my skill and attention were needed for the proper management of the +tiller, and for a little while all morbid musings were banished from my +mind.</p> + +<p>Scarcely a word passed between us during the next half-hour, but I was +too happy to care much for conversation. When we had gone a couple of +miles or more, George pointed out a ruinous old house that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> stood on a +dreary flat about a quarter of a mile from the river. Many years ago, he +told me, that house had been the scene of a terrible murder, and was +said to have been haunted ever since. Nobody would live in it; it was +shunned as a place accursed, and was now falling slowly into decay and +ruin. I listened to the story with breathless interest, and the telling +of it seemed to make us quite old friends. After this there seemed no +lack of subjects for conversation. George shipped his oars, and the boat +was allowed to float lazily down the stream. He told about his +schooldays, and I told about mine. The height of his ambition, he said, +was to go into the army, and become a soldier like his dear old uncle. +But Major Strickland wanted him to become a lawyer; and, owing +everything to his uncle as he did, it was impossible for him not to +accede to his wishes. "Besides which," added George, with a sigh, "a +commission is an expensive thing to buy, and dear old uncle is anything +but rich."</p> + +<p>When we first set out that morning I think that George, from the summit +of his eighteen years, had been inclined to look down upon me as a +little school miss, whom he might patronise in a kindly sort of way, but +whose conversation could not possibly interest a man of his sense and +knowledge of the world. But whether it arose from that "old-fashioned" +quality of which Major Strickland had made mention, which caused me to +seem so much older than my years; or whether it arose from the genuine +interest I showed in all he had to say; certain it is that long before +we got back to Rose Cottage we were talking as equals in years and +understanding; but that by no means prevented me from looking up to him +in my own mind as to a being superior, not only to myself, but to the +common run of humanity. I was sorry when we got back in sight of the +weir, and as I stepped ashore I thought that this morning and the one I +had spent with Sister Agnes in Charke Forest were the two happiest of my +life. I had no prevision that the fair-haired young man with whom I had +passed three such pleasant hours would, in after years, influence my +life in a way that just now I was far too much a child even to dream of.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>THE GROWTH OF A MYSTERY.</h3> + + +<p>We started at five o'clock to walk back to Deepley Walls, the Major, and +I, and George. It was only two miles away across the fields. I was quite +proud to be seen in the company of so stately a gentleman as Major +Strickland, who was dressed this afternoon as for a visit of ceremony. +He had on a blue frock-coat, tightly buttoned, to which the builder had +imparted an intangible something that smacked undeniably of the old +soldier. He wore a hat rather wide in the brim; a high stiff checked +cravat; a white vest; and lacquered military boots, over which his +tightly-strapped trousers fell without a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> crease. He had white buckskin +gloves, a stout silver-headed malacca cane, and carried a choice +geranium in his button-hole.</p> + +<p>There was not much conversation among us by the way. The Major's usual +flow of talk seemed to have deserted him this afternoon, and his mood +seemed unconsciously to influence both George and me. Lady Chillington's +threat to send me to a French school weighed down my spirits. I had +found dear friends—Sister Agnes, the kind-hearted Major, and his +nephew, only to be torn from them—to be plunged back into the cold, +cheerless monotony of school-girl life, where there would be no one to +love me, but many to find fault.</p> + +<p>We went back by way of the plantation. George would not go any farther +than the wicket at its edge, and it was agreed that he should there +await the Major's return from the Hall. "I hope, Miss Janet, that we +shall see you at Rose Cottage again before many days are over," he said, +as he took my hand to bid me farewell. "Uncle has promised to ask her +ladyship to spare you for a few days."</p> + +<p>"I shall be very, very glad to come, Mr. George. As long as I live I +shall be in your debt, for I cannot forget that I owe you my life."</p> + +<p>"The fairy godmother is whispering in her ear," said the Major in a loud +aside. "She talks like a woman of forty."</p> + +<p>While still some distance away we could see Lady Chillington sunning +herself on the western terrace. With a pang of regret I saw that Sister +Agnes was not with her. The Major quickened his pace; I clung to his +hand, and felt without seeing that her ladyship's eyes were fixed upon +me severely.</p> + +<p>"I have brought back your wandering princess," said the Major, in his +cheery way, as he lifted his hat. Then, as he took her proffered hand, +"I hope your ladyship is in perfect health."</p> + +<p>"No princess, Major Strickland, but a base beggar brat," said Lady +Chillington, without heeding his last words. "From the first moment of +my seeing her I had a presentiment that she would cause me nothing but +trouble and annoyance. That presentiment has been borne out by facts—by +facts!" She nodded her head at the Major, and rubbed one lean hand +viciously within the other.</p> + +<p>"Your ladyship forgets that the child herself is here. Pray consider her +feelings."</p> + +<p>"Were my feelings considered by those who sent her to Deepley Walls? I +ought to have been consulted in the matter—to have had time given me to +make fresh arrangements. It was enough to be burdened with the cost of +her maintenance, without the added nuisance of having her before me as a +continual eyesore. But I have arranged. Next week she leaves Deepley +Walls for the Continent, and if I never see her face again, so much the +better for both of us."</p> + +<p>"With all due respect to your ladyship, it seems to me that your tone is +far more bitter than the occasion demands. What may be the relationship +between Miss Hope and yourself it is quite impos<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>sible for me to say; +but that there is a tie of some sort between you I cannot for a moment +doubt."</p> + +<p>"And pray, Major Strickland, what reason may you have for believing that +a tie of any kind exists between this young person and the mistress of +Deepley Walls?"</p> + +<p>"I will take my stand on one point: on the extraordinary resemblance +which this child bears to—"</p> + +<p>"To whom, Major Strickland?"</p> + +<p>"To one who lies buried in Elvedon churchyard. You know whom I mean. +Such a likeness is far too remarkable to be the result of accident."</p> + +<p>"I deny the existence of any such likeness," said Lady Chillington, +vehemently. "I deny it utterly. You are the victim of your own +disordered imagination. Likeness, forsooth!" She laughed a bitter, +contemptuous laugh, and seemed to think that she had disposed of the +question for ever.</p> + +<p>"Come here, child," said the Major, taking me kindly by the hand, and +leading me close up to her ladyship. "Look at her, Lady Chillington," he +added; "scan her features thoroughly, and tell me then that the likeness +of which I speak is nothing more than a figment of my own brain."</p> + +<p>Lady Chillington drew herself up haughtily. "To please you in a whim, +Major Strickland, which I cannot characterise as anything but +ridiculous, I will try to discover this fancied resemblance." Speaking +thus, her ladyship carried her glass to her eye, and favoured me with a +cold, critical stare, under which I felt my blood boil with grief and +indignation.</p> + +<p>"Pshaw! Major Strickland, you are growing old and foolish. I cannot +perceive the faintest trace of such a likeness as you mention. Besides, +if it really did exist it would prove nothing. It would merely serve to +show that there may be certain secrets within Deepley Walls which not +even Major Strickland's well-known acumen can fathom."</p> + +<p>"After that, of course I can only bid your ladyship farewell," said the +offended Major, with a ceremonious bow. Then turning to me: "Good-bye, +my dear Miss Janet, for the present. Even at this, the eleventh hour, I +must intercede with Lady Chillington to grant you permission to come and +spend part of next week with us at Rose Cottage."</p> + +<p>"Oh! take her, and welcome; I have no wish to keep her here. But you +will stop to dinner, Major, when we will talk of these things further. +And now, Miss Pest, you had better run away. You have heard too much +already."</p> + +<p>I was glad enough to get away; so after a hasty kiss to Major +Strickland, I hurried indoors; and once in my own bed-room, I burst into +an uncontrollable fit of crying. How cruel had been Lady Chillington's +words! and her looks had been more cruel than they.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<p>I was still weeping when Sister Agnes came into the room. She had but +just returned from Eastbury. She knelt beside me, and took me in her +arms and kissed me, and wiped away my tears. "Why was I crying?" she +asked. I told her of all that Lady Chillington had said.</p> + +<p>"Oh! cruel, cruel of her to treat you thus!" she said. "Can nothing move +her—nothing melt that heart of adamant? But, Janet, dear, you must not +let her sharp words wound you so deeply. Would that my love could shield +you from such trials in future. But that cannot always be. You must +strive to regard such things as part of that stern discipline of life +which is designed to tutor our wayward hearts and rebellious spirits, +and bring them into harmony with a will superior to our own. And now you +must tell me all about your voyage down the Adair, and your rescue by +that brave George Strickland. Ah! how grieved I was, when the news was +brought to Deepley Walls, that I could not hasten to you, and see with +my own eyes that you had come to no harm! But I was chained to my post, +and could not stir."</p> + +<p>Scarcely had Sister Agnes done speaking when the air was filled with a +strain of music that seemed to be more sweet and solemn than anything I +had ever heard before. All the soreness melted out of my heart as I +listened; all my troubles seemed to take to themselves wings, and life +to put on an altogether different aspect from any it had ever worn to me +before. I saw clearly that I had not been so good a girl in many ways as +I might have been. I would try my best not to be so inattentive at +church in future, and I would never, no, not even on the coldest night +in winter, neglect to say my prayers before getting into bed.</p> + +<p>"What is it? Where does it come from?" I whispered into the ear of +Sister Agnes.</p> + +<p>"It is Father Spiridion playing the organ in the west gallery."</p> + +<p>"And who is Father Spiridion?"</p> + +<p>"A good man and my friend. Presently you shall be introduced to him."</p> + +<p>No word more was spoken till the playing ceased. Then Sister Agnes took +me by the hand and we went towards the west gallery. Father Spiridion +saw us, and paused on the top of the stairs.</p> + +<p>"This is the child, holy father, of whom I have spoken to you once or +twice; the child, Janet Hope."</p> + +<p>The father's shrewd blue eyes took me in from head to foot at a glance. +He was a tall, thin and slightly cadaverous-looking man, with high +aquiline features; and with an indefinable something about him that made +me recognise him on the spot as a gentleman. He wore a coarse brown robe +that reached nearly to his feet, the cowl of which was drawn over his +head. When Sister Agnes had spoken he laid his hand gently on my head, +and said something I could not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> understand. Then placing his hand under +my chin, he said, "Look me straight in the face, child."</p> + +<p>I lifted my eyes and looked him fairly in the face, till his blue eyes +lighted up with a smile. Then patting me on the cheek, he said, +addressing Sister Agnes, "Nothing shifty there, at any rate. It is a +face full of candour, and of that innocent fearlessness which childhood +should always have, but too often loses in an evil world. I dare be +bound now, little Janet, that thou art fond of sweetmeats?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, sir, if you please."</p> + +<p>"By some strange accident I find here in my <i>soutane</i> a tiny box of +bonbons. They might have been put there expressly for a little sweet +tooth of a Janet. Nothing could be more opportune. Take them, my child, +with Father Spiridion's blessing; and sometimes remember his name in thy +prayers."</p> + +<p>I did not see Father Spiridion again before I was sent away to school, +but in after years our threads of life crossed and re-crossed each other +strangely, in a way that neither he nor I even dreamed of at that first +interview.</p> + +<p>My life at Deepley Walls lengthened out from day to day, and in many +ways I was exceedingly happy. My chief happiness lay in the love of dear +Sister Agnes, with whom I spent at least one or two hours every day. +Then I was very fond of Major Strickland, who, I felt sure, liked me in +return—liked me for myself, and liked me still more, perhaps, for the +strange resemblance which he said I bore to some dear one whom he had +lost many years before. Of George Strickland, too, I was very fond, but +with a shy and diffident sort of liking. I held him as so superior to me +in every way that I could only worship him from a distance. The Major +fetched me over to Rose Cottage several times. Such events were for me +holidays in the true sense of the word. Another source of happiness +arose from the fact that I saw very little of Lady Chillington. The +indifference with which she had at first regarded me seemed to have +deepened into absolute dislike. I was forbidden to enter her apartments, +and I took care not to be seen by her when she was walking or riding +out. I was sorry for her dislike, and yet glad that she dispensed with +my presence. I was far happier in the housekeeper's room, where I was +treated like a little queen. Dance and I soon learned to love each other +very heartily.</p> + +<p>Those who have accompanied me thus far may not have forgotten the +account of my first night at Deepley Walls, nor how frightened I was by +the sound of certain mysterious footsteps in the room over mine. The +matter was explained simply enough by Dance next day as a whim of Lady +Chillington, who, for some reason best known to herself, chose that room +out of all the big old house as the scene of her midnight +perambulations. When, therefore, on one or two subsequent occasions, I +was disturbed in a similar way, I was no longer frightened, but only +rendered sleepless and uncomfortable for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> time being. I felt at such +times, so profound was the surrounding silence, as if every living +creature in the world, save Lady Chillington and myself, were asleep.</p> + +<p>But before long that room over mine acquired for itself in my mind a new +and dread significance. A consciousness gradually grew upon me that +there was about it something quite out of the common way; that its four +walls held within themselves some grim secret, the rites appertaining to +which were gone through when I and the rest of the uninitiated were +supposed to be in bed and asleep. I cannot tell what it was that first +made me suspect the existence of this secret. Certainly not the midnight +walks of Lady Chillington. Perhaps a certain impalpable atmosphere of +mystery, which, striking keenly on the sensitive nerves of a child, +strung by recent events to a higher pitch than usual, broke down the +first fine barrier that separates things common and of the earth earthy, +from those dim intuitions which even the dullest of us feel at times of +things spiritual and unseen. But however that may be, it so fell out +that I, who at school had been one of the soundest of sleepers, had now +become one of the worst. It often happened that I would awake in the +middle of the night, even when there was no Lady Chillington to disturb +me, and would so lie, sleepless, with wide-staring eyes, for hours, +while all sorts of weird pictures would paint themselves idly in the +waste nooks and corners of my brain. One fancy I had, and for many +nights I thought it nothing more than fancy, that I could hear soft and +muffled footsteps passing up and down the staircase just outside my +door; and that at times I could even faintly distinguish them in the +room over mine, where, however, they never stayed for more than a few +minutes at any one time.</p> + +<p>In one of my daylight explorations about the old house I ventured up the +flight of stairs that led from the landing outside my door to the upper +rooms. At the top of these stairs I found a door that differed from +every other door I had seen at Deepley Walls. In colour it was a dull +dead black, and it was studded with large square-headed nails. It was +without a handle of any kind, but was pierced by one tiny keyhole. To +what strange chamber did this terrible door give access? and who was the +mysterious visitor who came here night after night with hushed footsteps +and alone? These were two questions that weighed heavily on my mind, +that troubled me persistently when I lay awake in the dark, and even +refused by day to be put entirely on one side.</p> + +<p>By-and-by the mystery deepened. In a recess close to the top of the +flight of stairs that led to the black door was an old-fashioned case +clock. When this clock struck the hour, two small mechanical figures +dressed like German burghers of the sixteenth century came out of two +little turrets, bowed gravely to each other, and then retired, like +court functionaries, backwards. It was a source of great pleasure to me +to watch these figures go through their hourly pantomime<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> But after a +time it came into my head to wonder whether they did their duty by night +as well as by day; whether they came out and bowed to each other in the +dark, or waited quietly in their turrets till morning. In pursuance of +this inquiry, I got out of bed one night after Dance had left me, and +relighted my candle. I knew that it was just on the stroke of eleven, +and here was a capital opportunity for studying the customs of my little +burghers by night. I stole up the staircase with my candle, and waited +for the clock to strike. It struck, and out came the little figures as +usual.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they only came because they saw my light," I said to myself. I +felt that the question as to their mode of procedure in the dark was +still an unsettled one.</p> + +<p>But scarcely had the clock finished striking when I was disturbed by the +shutting of a door downstairs. Fearing that someone was coming, and that +the light might betray me, I blew out my candle and waited to hear more. +But all was silent in the house. I turned to go down, but as I did so, I +saw with astonishment that a thin streak of light shone from under the +black door. I stood like one petrified. Was there anyone inside the +room? Listening intently, I waited for full five minutes without +stirring a limb. Silence the most profound upstairs and down. Stepping +on tiptoe, I went back to my room, shut myself in, and crept gladly into +bed.</p> + +<p>Next night my curiosity overmastered my fear. As soon as Dance was gone +I crept upstairs in the dark. One peep was enough. As on the previous +night, a thin streak of light shone from under the black door—evidence +that it was lighted up inside. Next night, and for several nights +afterwards, I put the same plan in operation with precisely the same +result. The light was always there.</p> + +<p>Having my attention thus concentrated as it were upon this one room, and +lying awake so many hours when I ought to have been asleep, my +suspicions gradually merged into certainty that it was visited every +midnight by someone who came and went so lightly and quietly that only +by intently listening could I distinguish the exact moment of their +passing my door. Who was this visitor that came and went so +mysteriously? To discover this, without being myself discovered, was a +matter that required both tact and courage, but it was one on which I +was almost as much a monomaniac as a child well can be. To have opened +my door when the landing was perfectly dark would have been to see +nothing. To have opened the door with a candle in my hand would have +been to betray myself. I must wait for a moonlight night, which would +light up the landing sufficiently for my purpose. I waited. My +opportunity came. With my doorway in deep shadow, my door just +sufficiently open for me to peer through, and with the staircase lighted +up by rays of the moon, I saw and recognised the mysterious midnight +visitor to the room over mine. I saw and recognised Sister Agnes.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>EXIT JANET HOPE.</h3> + + +<p>The effect upon me of the discovery that Sister Agnes was the midnight +visitor of the room over mine was at once to stifle that brood of morbid +fancies with which of late both room and visitor had become associated +in my mind. I loved her so thoroughly, she was to me so complete an +embodiment of all that was noble and beautiful in womanhood, that +however unsatisfying to my curiosity such visits might be, I could not +doubt that she must have excellent reasons for making them. One thing +was quite evident, that since she herself had said nothing respecting +the room and her visits to it, it was impossible for me to question her +on the matter. Such being the case, I felt that it would be a poor +return for all her goodness to me to question Dance or any other person +respecting what she herself wished to keep concealed. Besides, it was +doubtful whether Dance would tell me anything, even if I were to ask +her. She had warned me a few hours after my arrival at Deepley Walls +that there were many things under that roof respecting which I must seek +no explanation; and with no one of the other domestics was I in any way +intimate.</p> + +<p>Still my curiosity remained unsatisfied; still over the room itself hung +a veil of mystery which I would fain have lifted. All my visits to the +room to see whether the light shone under the door had hitherto been +made previously to the midnight visits of Sister Agnes. The question +that now arose in my mind was whether the mysterious thread of light was +or was not visible after Sister Agnes's customary visit—whether, in +fact, it shone there all the night through. In order to solve this +doubt, I lay awake the night following that of my discovery of Sister +Agnes. Listening intently, with my bed-room door ajar, I heard her go +upstairs, and ten minutes later I could just distinguish her smothered +footfall as she came down. I heard the door at the bottom of the +corridor shut behind her, and then I knew that I was safe.</p> + +<p>Slipping out of bed, I stole, barefooted as I was, out of my bed-room +and up the flight of stairs which led to the black door. Of ghosts in +the ordinary meaning of that word—in the meaning which it has for five +children out of six—I had no fear; my fears, such as they were, ran in +quite another groove. I went upstairs slowly, with shut eyes, counting +each stair as I put my feet on it from one up to ten. I knew that from +the tenth stair the streak of light, if there, would be visible. On the +tenth stair I opened my eyes. There was the thread of light shining +clear and steady under the black door. For a minute I stood looking at +it. In the intense silence the beating of my heart was painfully +audible. Grasping the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> banister with one hand, I went downstairs +backwards, step by step, and so regained the sanctuary of my own room.</p> + +<p>I scarcely know in what terms to describe, or how to make sufficiently +clear, the strange sort of fascination there was for me in those nightly +rambles—in living perpetually on the edge of a mystery. While daylight +lasted the feeling slumbered within me; I could even take myself to task +for wanting to pry into a secret that evidently in nowise concerned me. +But as soon as twilight set in, and night's shadows began to creep +timidly out of their corners, so surely could I feel the spell working +within me, the desire creeping over me to pluck out the heart of the +mystery that lay hidden behind the black nail-studded door upstairs. +Sometimes I climbed the staircase at one hour, sometimes at another; but +there was no real sleep for me, nothing but fitful uneasy dozes, till +the brief journey had been made. After climbing to the tenth stair, and +satisfying myself that the light was there, I would creep back +noiselessly to bed, and fall at once into a deep dreamless sleep that +was often prolonged till late in the forenoon.</p> + +<p>At length there came a night when the secret was laid bare, and the +spell broken for ever. I had been in bed for two hours and a half, lying +in that half-dreamy state in which facts and fancies are so inextricably +jumbled together that it is too much labour to disintegrate the two, +when the clock struck one. Next moment I was out of bed, standing with +the handle of the half-opened door in my hand, listening to the silence. +I had heard Sister Agnes come down some time ago, and I felt secure from +interruption. To-night the moon shone brightly in through a narrow +window in the gable, and all the way upstairs there was a track of white +light as though a company of ghosts had lately passed that way. As I +went upstairs I counted them up to the tenth, and then I stood still. +Yes, the thread of light was there as it always was, only—only somehow +it seemed broader to-night than I had ever noticed it as being before. +It <i>was</i> broader. I could not be mistaken. While I was still pondering +over this problem, and wondering what it might mean, my eye was taken by +the dull gleam of some small white object about half way up the door. My +eyes were taken by it, and would not leave it till I had ascertained +what it really was. I approached it step by step, slowly, and then I saw +that it was in reality that which I had imagined it to be. It was a +small silver key—Sister Agnes's key—which she had forgotten to take +away with her on leaving the room. Moreover the door was unlocked, +having been simply pulled to by Sister Agnes on leaving, which explained +why the streak of light showed larger than common.</p> + +<p>I felt as though I were walking in a dream, so unreal did the whole +business seem to me by this time. I was in a moonlight glamour; the +influence of the silver orb was upon me. Of self-volition I seemed to +have little or none left. I was given over to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> unseen powers, viewless, +that dwell in space, of which we have ordinarily no human cognition. At +such moments as these, and I have gone through many of them, I am no +longer the Janet Hope of everyday life. I am lifted up and beyond my +ordinary self. I obey a law whose beginning and whose ending I am alike +ignorant of: but I feel that it is a law and not an impulse. I am led +blindly forward, but I go unresistingly, feeling that there is no power +left in me save that of obeying.</p> + +<p>Did I push open the door of the secret room, or was it opened for me by +unseen hands? I know not. I only know that it closed noiselessly behind +me of its own accord and left me standing there wondering, alone, with +white face and staring eyes.</p> + +<p>The chamber was a large one, or seemed so to me. It was draped entirely +in black, hiding whatever windows there might be. The polished wood +floor was bare. The ceiling was painted with a number of sprawling +Cupids, some of them scattering flowers, others weaving leafy chaplets, +presumably to crown the inane-looking goddess reclining in their midst +on a bank of impossible cloud. But both Cupids and goddess were dingy +with age, and seemed to have grown too old for such Arcadian revels.</p> + +<p>The room was lighted with a dozen large wax candles placed in four +silver tripods, each of them about six feet in height, and screwed to +the floor to prevent their being overturned. All these preparations were +not without an object. That object was visible in the middle of the +room. It was a large black coffin studded with silver nails, placed on a +black slab about four feet in height, and more than half covered with a +large pall.</p> + +<p>I felt no fear at sight of this grim object. I was lifted too far above +my ordinary self to be afraid. I simply wondered—wondered who lay +asleep inside the coffin, and how long he or she had been there.</p> + +<p>The only article of furniture in the room was a <i>prie-dieu</i> of black +oak. I knelt on this, and gazed on the coffin, and wondered. My +curiosity urged me to go up to it, and turn down the pall, and ascertain +whether the name of the occupant was engraved on the lid. But stronger +than my curiosity was a certain repugnance to go near it which I could +not overcome. That some person was shut up there who during life had +been of importance in the world, I could not doubt. This, too, was the +room in which Lady Chillington took her midnight perambulations, and +that coffin was the object she came to contemplate. Perhaps the occupant +of the coffin came out, and walked with my lady, and held ghostly +converse with her on such occasions. I fancied that even now I could +hear him breathing heavily, and turning over uneasily in his narrow bed. +There seemed a rustling, too, among the folds of the sombre curtains as +though someone were in hiding there; and that low faint sobbing sigh +which quivered through the room, like an accent of unutterable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> sorrow, +whence did it come? Others than myself were surely there, though I might +not be able to see them.</p> + +<p>I knelt on the <i>prie-dieu</i>, stirring neither hand nor foot; as +immovable, in fact, except for my breathing, as a figure cut out of +stone. Looking and wondering still, after a time it seemed to me that +the lights were growing dimmer, that the room was growing colder; that +some baleful presence was beside me with malicious intent to gradually +numb and chill the life out of me, to freeze me, body and soul, till the +two could no longer hold together; and that when morning came, if ever +it did come to that accursed room, my husk would be there indeed, but +Janet Hope herself would be gone for ever. A viewless horror stirred my +hair, and caused my flesh to creep. The baneful influence that was upon +me was deepening in intensity; every minute that passed seemed to render +me more powerless to break the spell. Suddenly the clock struck two. At +the same moment a light footfall sounded on the stairs outside. It was +Sister Agnes coming back to lock the door, and to fetch the key which +she had left behind two hours before. I heard her approach the door, and +I saw the door itself pulled close to; then the key was turned, the bolt +shot into its place, the key was withdrawn, and I was left locked up +alone in that terrible room.</p> + +<p>But the proximity of another human being sufficed to break the spell +under which I had been powerless only a minute before. Better risk +discovery, better risk everything, than be left to pass the night where +I was. Should that horror settle down upon me again, I felt that I must +succumb to it. It would crush the life out of me as infallibly as though +I were in the folds of some huge python. Long before morning I should be +dead.</p> + +<p>I slid from off the <i>prie-dieu</i>, and walking backward, with my eyes +glancing warily to right and left, I reached the door and struck it with +my fists. "Sister Agnes!" I cried, "Sister Agnes! do not leave me. I am +here alone."</p> + +<p>Again the curtains rustled, stirred by invisible fingers; again that +faint long-drawn sigh ran like an audible shiver through the room. I +heard eager fingers busy outside the door; a mist swam up before my +eyes, and next moment I fainted dead away in the arms of Sister Agnes.</p> + +<p>For three weeks after that time I lay very ill—lay very close to the +edge of the grave. But for the ceaseless attentions and tender +assiduities of Sister Agnes and Dance I should have slipped out of life +and all my troubles. To them I owe it that I am now alive to write these +lines. One bright afternoon, as I was approaching convalescence, Sister +Agnes and I, sitting alone, got into conversation respecting the room +upstairs, and my visit to it.</p> + +<p>"But whose coffin is that, Sister Agnes?" I asked. "And why is it left +there unburied?"</p> + +<p>"It is the coffin of Sir John Chillington, her ladyship's late +hus<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>band," answered Sister Agnes, very gravely. "He died thirteen years +ago. By his will a large portion of the property left to his widow was +contingent on his body being kept unburied and above ground for twenty +years. Lady Chillington elected to have the body kept in that room which +you were so foolish as to visit without permission; and there it will +probably remain till the twenty years shall have expired. All these +facts are well known to the household; indeed, to the country for miles +around; but it was not thought necessary to mention them to a child like +you, whose stay in the house would be of limited duration, and to whom +such knowledge could be of no possible benefit."</p> + +<p>"But why do you visit the room every midnight, Sister Agnes?"</p> + +<p>"It is the wish of Lady Chillington that, day and night, twelve candles +shall be kept burning round the coffin, and ever since I came to reside +at Deepley Walls it has been part of my duty to renew the candles once +every twenty-four hours. Midnight is the hour appointed for the +performance of that duty."</p> + +<p>"Do you not feel afraid to go there alone at such a time?"</p> + +<p>"Dear Janet, what is there to be afraid of? The dead have no power to +harm us. We shall be as they are in a very little while. They are but +travellers who have gone before us into a far country, leaving behind +them a few poor relics, and a memory that, if we have loved them, ought +to make us look forward with desire to the time when we shall see them +again."</p> + +<p>Three weeks later I left Deepley Walls. Madame Delclos was in London for +a week, and it was arranged that I should return to France with her. +Major Strickland took me up to town and saw me safely into her hands. My +heart was very sad at leaving all my dear new-found friends, but Sister +Agnes had exhorted me to fortitude before I parted from her, and I knew +that neither by her, nor the Major, nor George, nor Dance, should I be +forgotten. I saw Lady Chillington for a moment before leaving. She gave +me two frigid fingers, and said that she hoped I should be a good girl, +and attend assiduously to my lessons, for that in after life I should +have to depend upon my own industry for a living. I felt at the moment +that I would much rather do that than have to depend through life on her +ladyship's bounty.</p> + +<p>A few tears would come when the moment arrived for me to say farewell to +the Major. He tried his best, in his hearty, affectionate way, to cheer +me up. I flung my arms round his neck and kissed him tenderly. He turned +abruptly, seized his hat, and rushed from the room. Whereupon Madame +Delclos, who had been trying to look <i>sympathique</i>, drew herself up, +frowned, and pinched one of my ears viciously. Forty-eight hours later I +was safely shut up in the Pension Clissot.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Here my personal narrative ends. From this point the story of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> which the +preceding pages form a part will be recorded by another pen. It was +deemed advisable by those to whose opinion in such matters I bow without +hesitation, that this narrative of certain events in the life of a +child—a necessary introduction to the narrative yet to come—should be +written by the person whom it most concerned. Now that her task is done, +she abnegates at once (and thankfully) the first person singular in +favour of the third, and whatever is told of her in the following pages, +is told, not by herself, but by that other pen, of which mention is made +above.</p> + +<p>Between the time when this curtain falls and the next one draws up, +there is a lapse of seven years.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>BY THE SCOTCH EXPRESS.</h3> + + +<p>Among other passengers, on a certain fine spring morning, by the 10 a.m. +Scotch express, was one who had been so far able to propitiate the guard +as to secure a whole compartment to himself. He was enjoying himself in +a quiet way—smoking, and skimming his papers, and taking a bird's-eye +view now and again at the landscape that was flying past him at the rate +of forty miles an hour. Few people who cared to speculate as to his +profession would have hesitated to set him down as a military man, even +had not the words, "Captain Ducie," painted in white letters on a black +portmanteau which protruded half-way from under his seat, rendered any +such speculation needless. He must have been three or four-and-forty +years old, judging from the lines about his mouth and eyes, but in some +other respects he looked considerably younger. He wore neither beard nor +whiskers, but his short hair, and his thick, drooping moustache were +both jet black, and betrayed as yet, thanks either to Nature or Art, +none of those straggling streaks of silver which tell so plainly of the +advance of years. He had a clear olive complexion, a large aquiline nose +and deep-set eyes, piercing and full of fire, under a grand sweep of +eyebrow. In person he was tall and thin; broad-chested, but lean in the +flank, with hands and feet that looked almost effeminate, so small were +they in comparison with his size. A black frock-coat, tightly buttoned, +set off to advantage a figure of which he might still be reasonably +proud. The remainder of his costume was in quiet keeping with the first +fashion of the period.</p> + +<p>Captain Ducie smoked and read and stared out of the window much as +eleven out of twelve of us would do under similar circumstances, while +milepost after milepost flashed out for an instant and was gone. After a +time he took a letter out of his breast-pocket, opened it, and read it. +It was brief, and ran as under:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right">"Stapleton, Scotland, March 31st.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Ned</span>,—Since you wish it, come down here for a few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> weeks; +whether to recruit your health or your finances matters not. +Mountain air and plain living are good for both. However, I warn +you beforehand that you will find us very dull. Lady B.'s health is +hardly what it ought to be, and we are seeing no company just now. +If you like to take us as we are, I say again—come.</p> + +<p>"As for the last paragraph of your letter, I scarcely know in what +terms to answer it. You have already bled me so often the same way, +that I have grown heartily sick of the process. This must be the +last time of asking, my boy; I wish you clearly to understand that. +This place has cost me a great deal of money of late, and I cannot +spring you more than a hundred. For that amount I enclose you a +cheque. Finis coronat opus. Bear those words in mind, and believe +me when I say that you have had your last cheque</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 4em;">"From your affectionate cousin,</span></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 6em;">"<span class="smcap">Barnstake</span>."</span></p></div> + +<p>"Consummate little prig!" murmured Captain Ducie to himself as he +refolded the letter and put it away. "I can fancy the smirk on his face +as he penned that precious effusion, and how, when he had finished it, +he would trot off to his clothes-prop of a wife and ask her whether she +did not think it at once amusing and severe. That letter shall cost your +lordship fifty guineas, I don't allow people to write to me in that +style with impunity."</p> + +<p>He lighted another cigar frowningly. "I wonder if I was ever so really +hard up as I am now?" he continued to himself. "I don't think I ever was +quite. I have been in Queer Street many a time, but I've always found a +friend round the corner, or have pulled myself through by the skin of +the teeth somehow. But this time I see no lift in the cloud. My +insolvency has become chronic; it is attacking the very citadel of life. +I have not a single uncle or aunt to fall back upon. The poor creatures +are all dead and buried, and their money all spent. Well!—Outlaw is an +ugly word, but it is one that I shall have to learn how to spell before +long. I shall have to leave my country for my country's good."</p> + +<p>He puffed away fiercely for a little while, and then he resumed.</p> + +<p>"It would not be a bad thing for a fellow like me to become a chief +among the Red Skins—if they would have me. With them my lack of pence +would be no bar to success. I can swim and shoot and ride: although I +cannot paint a picture, I daresay that I could paint myself; and I know +several fellows whose scalps I should have much pleasure in taking. As +for the so-called amenities of civilized life, what are they worth to +one who, like me, has no longer the means of enjoying them? After all, +it is a question whether freedom and the prairie would not be preferable +to Pall-Mall and a limited income of, say—twelve hundred a year—the +sort of income that is just enough to make one the slave of society, but +is not sufficient to pay for gilding its fetters. A station, by Jove! +and with it the possibility of getting a drop of cognac."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + +<p>As soon as the train came to a stand, Captain Ducie vacated his seat and +went in search of the refreshment-room. On coming back five minutes +later, he was considerably disgusted to find that he was no longer to +have his compartment to himself. The seat opposite to that on which he +had been sitting was already occupied by a gentleman who was wrapped up +to the nose in rugs and furs.</p> + +<p>"Any objection to smoking?" asked the Captain presently as the train +began to move. He was pricking the end of a fresh cigar as he asked the +question. The words might be civil, but the tone was offensive; it +seemed to convey—"I don't care whether you object or not: I intend to +enjoy my weed all the same."</p> + +<p>The stranger, however, seemed in nowise offended. He smirked and +quavered two yellow-gloved fingers out of his furs. "Oh, no, certainly +not," he said. "I, too, am a smoker and shall join you presently."</p> + +<p>He spoke with the slightest possible foreign accent, just sufficient to +tell an educated ear that he was not an Englishman. If Captain Ducie's +features were aquiline, those of the stranger might be termed +vulturine—long, lean, narrow, with a thin, high-ridged nose, and a chin +that was pointed with a tuft of thick, black hair. Except for this tuft +he was clean shaven. His black hair, cropped close at back and sides, +was trained into an elaborate curl on the top of the forehead and there +fixed with <i>cosmétique</i>. Both hair and chin-tuft were of that +uncompromising blue-black which tells unmistakably of the dye-pot. His +skin was yellow and parchment-like, and stretched tightly over his +forehead and high cheek-bones, but puckering into a perfect net-work of +lines about a mouth whose predominant expression was one of mingled +cynicism and suspicion. There was suspicion, too, in his small black +eyes, as well as a sort of lurking fierceness which not even his most +urbane and elaborate smile could altogether eliminate. In person he was +very thin and somewhat under the middle height, and had all the air of a +confirmed valetudinarian. He was dressed as no English gentleman would +care to be seen dressed in public. A long brown velvet coat trimmed with +fur; lavender-coloured trousers tightly strapped over patent leather +boots; two or three vests of different colours under one made of the +skin of some animal and fastened with gold buttons; a profusion of +jewellery; an embroidered shirt-front and deep turn-down collar: such +were the chief items of his attire. A hat with a very curly brim hung +from the carriage roof, while for present head-gear he wore a sealskin +travelling cap with huge lappets that came below his ears. In this cap, +and wrapped to the chin in his bear-skin rug, he looked like some +newly-discovered species of animal—a sort of cross between a vulture +and a monkey, were such a thing possible, combining the deep-seated +fierceness of the one with the fantastic cunning, and the impossibility +of doing the most serious things without a grimace, of the other.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> + +<p>No sooner had Captain Ducie lighted his cigar than with an impatient +movement he put down the window close to which he was sitting. It had +been carefully put up by the stranger while Ducie was in the refreshment +room; but the latter was a man who always studied his own comfort before +that of anyone else, except when self whispered to him that such a +course was opposed to his own interests, which was more than he could +see in the present case.</p> + +<p>The stranger gave a little sniggering laugh as the window fell noisily; +then he shivered and drew his furs more closely around him. "It is +strange how fond you English people are of what you call fresh air," he +said. "In Italy fresh air may be a luxury, but it cannot be had in your +hang-dog climate without one takes a catarrh at the same time."</p> + +<p>Captain Ducie surveyed him coolly from head to foot for a moment or two. +Then a sudden thought seemed to strike him. "I must really ask you to +pardon my rudeness," he said, lifting his Glengarry. "If the open window +is the least annoyance to you, by all means let it be shut. To me it is +a matter of perfect indifference." As he spoke he pulled the window up, +and then he turned on the stranger with a look that seemed to imply: +"Although I seemed so truculent a few minutes ago, you see what a +good-natured fellow I am at heart." In most of Captain Ducie's actions +there was some ulterior motive at work, however trivial many of his +actions might appear to an outsider, and in the present case it was not +likely that he acted out of mere complaisance to a man whom he had never +seen nor heard of ten minutes previously.</p> + +<p>"You are too good—really far too good," said the stranger. "Suppose we +compromise the matter?" With that his lean hands, encased in +lemon-coloured gloves, let down the window a couple of inches, and fixed +it there with the strap.</p> + +<p>"Now really, you know, do just as you like about it," said the Captain, +with that slow amused smile which became his face so well. "As I said +before, I am altogether indifferent in the matter."</p> + +<p>"As it is now, it will suit both of us, I think. And now to join you in +your smoke."</p> + +<p>From the net over his head he reached down a small mahogany case. This +he opened, and from it extracted a large meerschaum pipe elaborately +mounted with gold filigree work. Having charged the pipe from an +embroidered pouch filled with choice Turkish tobacco, he struck an +allumette and began to smoke.</p> + +<p>"Decidedly an acquaintance worth cultivating," murmured the Captain +under his breath. "But what country does the beggar belong to?" A +question more easily asked than answered: at all events, it was one +which the Captain found himself unable to solve to his own satisfaction. +For a few minutes they smoked in silence.</p> + +<p>"Do you travel far, to-day?" asked the stranger at length. "Are you +going across the Border?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The end of my journey is Stapleton, Lord Barnstake's place, and not a +great way from Edinburgh. Shall I have the pleasure of your company as +far as I go by rail?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, no, sir, not so far as that. Only to—. There I must leave you, and +take the train for Windermere. I live on the banks of your beautiful +lake. Permettez-moi, monsieur," and with a movement that was a +combination of a shrug, a grimace and a bow, the stranger drew a +card-case from one of his pockets, and, extracting a card therefrom, +handed it to Ducie.</p> + +<p>The Captain took it with a bow, and, sticking his glass in his eye, +read:—</p> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr> + <td align='left' class="bbox"><br /><span style="margin-left: 4em;" class="smcap">M. Paul Platzoff.</span> <br /><br /> + <i>Bon Repos,</i><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Windermere.</i></span></td> +</tr> +</table></div> + +<p>The Captain in return handed over his pasteboard credential, and, this +solemn rite being accomplished, conversation was resumed on more easy +and agreeable terms.</p> + +<p>"I daresay you are puzzling your brains as to my nationality," said +Platzoff, with a smile. "I am not an Englishman; that you can tell from +my accent. I am not a Frenchman, although I write 'monsieur' before my +name. Still less am I either a German or an Italian. Neither am I a +genuine Russian, although I look to Russia as my native country. In +brief, my father was a Russian, my mother was a Frenchwoman, and I was +born on board a merchantman during a gale of wind in the Baltic."</p> + +<p>"Then I should call you a true cosmopolitan—a genuine citizen of the +world," remarked Ducie, who was amused with his new friend's frankness.</p> + +<p>"In ideas I strive to be such, but it is difficult at all times to +overcome the prejudices of education and early training," answered +Platzoff. "You, sir, are, I presume, in the army?"</p> + +<p>"Formerly I was in the army, but I sold out nearly a dozen years ago," +answered Ducie, drily. "Does this fellow expect me to imitate his +candour?" thought the Captain. "Would he like to know all about my +grandfather and grandmother, and that I have a cousin who is an earl? If +so, I am afraid he will be disappointed."</p> + +<p>"Did you see much service while you were in the army?" asked Platzoff.</p> + +<p>"I saw a good deal of hard fighting in the East, although not on any +large scale." Ducie was beginning to get restive. He was not the sort of +man to quietly allow himself to be catechised by a stranger.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I, too, know something of the East," said Platzoff. "Three of the +happiest years of my life were spent in India. While out there I became +acquainted with several gentlemen of your profession. With Colonel +Leslie I was particularly intimate. I had been stopping with the poor +fellow only a few days before that gallant affair at Ruckapore, in which +he came by his death."</p> + +<p>"I remember the affair you speak of," said Ducie. "I was in one of the +other Presidencies at the time it happened."</p> + +<p>"There was another officer in poor Leslie's regiment with whom I was +also on very intimate terms. He died of cholera a little later on, and I +attended him in his last moments. I allude to a Captain Charles +Chillington. Did you ever meet with him in your travels?"</p> + +<p>Captain Ducie's swarthy cheek deepened its hue. He paused to blow a +speck of cigar ash off his sleeve before he spoke. "I did not know your +Captain Charles Chillington," he said, in slow, deliberate accents. +"Till the present moment I never heard of his existence."</p> + +<p>Captain Ducie pulled his Glengarry over his brows, folded his arms, and +shut his eyes. He had evidently made up his mind for a quiet snooze. +Platzoff regarded him with a silent snigger. "Something I have said has +pricked the gallant Captain under his armour," he muttered to himself. +"Is it possible that he and Chillington were acquainted with each other +in India? But what matters it to me if they were?"</p> + +<p>When M. Platzoff had smoked his meerschaum to the last whiff, he put it +carefully away, and disposed himself to follow Ducie's example in the +matter of sleep. He rearranged his wraps, folded the arms, shut his +eyes, and pressed his head resolutely against his cushion; but at the +end of five minutes he opened his eyes, and seemed just as wakeful as +before. "These beef-fed Englishmen seem as if they can sleep whenever +and wherever they choose. Enviable faculty! I daresay the heifers on +which they gorge possess it in almost as great perfection."</p> + +<p>Hidden away among his furs was a small morocco-covered despatch-box. +This he now proceeded to unlock, and to draw from it a folded paper +which, on being opened, displayed a closely-written array of figures, as +though it were the working out of some formidable problem in arithmetic. +Platzoff smiled, and his smile was very different from his cynical +snigger, as his eyes ran over the long array of figures. "I must try and +get this finished as soon as I am back at Bon Repos," he muttered to +himself. "I am frightened when I think what would happen if I were to +die before its completion. My great secret would die with me, and +perhaps hundreds of years would pass away before it would be brought to +light. What a discovery it would be! To those concerned it would seem as +though they had found the key-note of some lost religion—as though they +had penetrated into some temple dedicated to the gods of eld."</p> + +<p>His soliloquy was suddenly interrupted by three piercing shrieks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> from +the engine, followed by a terrible jolting and swaying of the carriage, +which made it almost impossible for those inside to keep their seats. +Captain Ducie was alive to the danger in a moment. One glance out of the +window was enough. "We are off the line? Hold fast!" he shouted to +Platzoff, drawing up his legs, and setting his teeth, and looking very +fierce and determined. M. Platzoff tried to follow his English friend's +example. His yellow complexion faded to a sickly green. With eyes in +which there was no room now for anything save anguish and terror +unspeakable, he yet snarled at the mouth and showed his teeth like a +wolf brought hopelessly to bay.</p> + +<p>The swaying and jolting grew worse. There was a grinding and crunching +under the wheels of the carriage as though a thousand huge coffee-mills +were at work. Suddenly the train parted in the middle, and while the +forepart, with the engine, went ploughing through the ballast till +brought up in safety a few hundred yards further on, the carriage in +which were Ducie and Platzoff, together with the hinder part of the +train, went toppling over a high embankment, and crashing down the side, +and rolling over and over, came to a dead stand at the bottom, one huge +mass of wreck and disaster.</p> + + +<p>(<i>To be continued.</i>)</p> + + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/01de.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + +<h2>SONNET.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes, I have heard it oft: a few brief years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True life comprise. The rest is but a dream:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What though to thee like life it vainly seem.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fool, trust it not; 'tis not what it appears.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We live but once. We die before the shears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Atropos the thread have clipped. True life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is when with ardent youth's and passion's strife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We suffer and we feel. 'Tis when wild tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can flow and hearts can break, or 'neath the gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of loved eyes beat. 'Tis when on eager wing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Hope we soar, and Past and Future bring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the Present's grasp. Ay, we live then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when that cup is quaffed what doth remain?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dregs of days that follow upon days!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="name"><span class="smcap">Julia Kavanagh.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> +<h2>MEDIUMS AND MYSTERIES.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Narissa Rosavo.</span></h3> + + +<p>So long as the world lasts, no doubt a large portion of its inhabitants +will run after that which the Scotch expressively term "uncanny." The +absence of accurate knowledge and the impossibility of thorough +scientific investigation, of separating the chaff from the wheat, the +true from the counterfeit, becomes at one and the same time the charm +and the counterblast to diligent searchers.</p> + +<p>For the most part, these are persons of inferior mental calibre, of +somewhat unrefined instincts; but, on the other hand, I have known +mighty intellects lose themselves in this maze, where no firm clue can +be seized by which to go forward safely, to advance at all, while the +return journey must be made with <i>certain</i> loss. Persistent endeavour +brings weakened faith in God, in place of that certainty spiritualists +talk of when they say their arts are beneficial, proving a hereafter—a +spiritual world.</p> + +<p>It is not thus we get on firm footing. We but advance into sloughs of +despond, led by wills of the wisp; and the girl mediums, the so-called +clairvoyantes, invariably lose mental health and physical strength. It +is but a matter of time, and they become hysteria patients or +inhabitants of lunatic asylums. I have known a clever clergyman of the +Church of England determine to find out the truth, if any, on this path. +He made use of his own daughter in the search. The coil of delusion led +him on until it became a choice of death or madness for the tender +instrument with which he felt his way into the unseen world.</p> + +<p>There is <i>something</i> along this road, call it odic force, or what you +will. Science has not, perhaps cannot, ever get firm footing here; but +the result of long and careful observation as yet only enables us to +strike a sort of average. Experiments pursued for years with +table-turning, planchettes, mediums, clairvoyantes, come to this. You do +get answers, strange messages, unaccountable communications; but nothing +is ever told, in any séance, which does not lie perdu in the breast of +someone of the company. There is often no willing deception; +peradventure, no fooling at all: but as you cannot draw water from a dry +well, neither can you get a message except the germ of it broods within +some soul with which you have some present contact.</p> + +<p>And then, things being so, what advance can we make?</p> + +<p>Many people seem to be unaware that to search after necromancers and +soothsayers is forbidden by the English law. Consequently—let us say—a +great number of cultivated ladies and gentlemen do, even in this +intelligent age, resort to the homes of such folk; aye,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> and consult +them, too, eagerly, at the most critical junctures in their lives.</p> + +<p>I know of a London washerwoman by trade who makes vastly more money by +falling into trances than by her legitimate calling, to which she adds +the letting of lodgings.</p> + +<p>On one occasion she was commissioned to comment, in her swoon, on the +truth or constancy of a girl's lover; an unopened letter from him being +placed in her hands as she slept. She did comment on him, and truly. She +said he was not true: that he did not love the girl really, that it was +all a sham. Well, the power by which that clairvoyante spoke was the +lurking distrust within the mind of the girl who stood by with an aching +heart, listening to her doom. Also, perhaps, some virtue we know not of +transfused itself subtilely from the paper upon which that perfidious +one had breathed and written. Who can tell? But in any case the thing is +all a snare and a delusion, and after much observation I can honestly +say—I repeat this—that he or she who dabbles in these mysteries loses +faith in God, and is apt to become a prey to the power of Evil.</p> + +<p>And then the delusions, collusions, and hopeless entanglement of deceit +mixed up with Spiritualism! How many tales I could tell—an I would!</p> + +<p>There was a certain rich old gentleman in a great centre of trade and +finance. The mediums had hope and every prospect he would make a will, +or had made one, in their favour—endowing them and theirs with splendid +and perpetual grants. This credulous searcher had advanced to the stage +when doubt was terrible. He was ardent to convert others, and thereby +strengthen his own fortress. He prevailed upon two clear-headed business +men, brothers, to attend his séances. With reluctance, to do him a +favour, they, after much difficulty, were induced to yield. Their host +only wanted them, he said, to give the matter the unprejudiced attention +they bestowed on—say—pig-iron.</p> + +<p>There was no result whatever at the first sitting. The spirits were out +of temper, obstinate, would not work. The disappointment was great, even +to the novices, who had expected some fun at least. However, it was only +an adjournment. The fun came next night.</p> + +<p>All present sat round a table in a dark room, touching hands, with +extended finger points. When the gas was turned up it was discovered +that one of the unbelievers actually had a large bangle on his wrist. It +had not been there before. Of course the spirits had slipped it on. He +let this pass then. He had not the discourtesy to explain that a very +pretty girl at his side had gently manœuvred it into its place. Her +taper fingers were very soft and worked as spirits might.</p> + +<p>This had gone off well, and better followed. Again the lights were +lowered to the faintest glimmer. Soft music played. Forms floated +through the air, now here, now there, plucking at a +tambourine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>—touching a sweet chord on the open piano. At last, in evil +moment, the most angelic, sylph-like form came all too near our friend +who wore the bangle. The temptation was too great for mortal man. He +extended his arms and took firm, substantial, desperate hold of the +nymph, at the same instant shouting wildly to his brother, "Turn up the +gas, Jim."</p> + +<p>The vulgar light revealed that the panting figure struggling from his +grasp was that of his pretty neighbour who had slipped the bangle on his +wrist. Strange to say, the giver of this spiritual feast never forgave +those two brothers for their discourtesy.</p> + +<p>But there are, as Hamlet says, real mysteries in this dull, prosaic life +of ours. One or two true tales may not come amiss. I am quite ready to +give any member of the Psychical Society chapter and verse and +authorities, and every available data, if desired.</p> + +<p>A certain barrister lost his wife a few years since. He was left with +two little children to care for alone. London was no longer what it had +been to him. He wished to make a home in the suburbs for his little boy +and girl, and at last found one to his mind. He bought a villa near the +river, in a pretty, country-like locality. The house was in bad repair, +and he set workmen at it without delay. One day he took his children +down with him while affairs were still in progress. They played about, +while he sat writing in what was to be the library. Presently they ran +to him. "Oh, papa! Mamma is out here!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, my dears! Mamma is not there," he replied.</p> + +<p>"But she is; indeed she is," they persisted. "She is at the end of the +long passage. We saw her; but she would not let us go on. She waved us +back."</p> + +<p>To satisfy the children he must go with them. They led him to a long, +dark corridor leading to back premises. "Ah, she is gone!" they cried in +great disappointment. "Quite gone! But she <i>was</i> there, papa. She would +not let us go on. Come, let us look for her."</p> + +<p>"No, children; you wait here," he cried, moved by some sudden, cautious +instinct. He went into the dusky passage, and, after a few steps, +discovered that a trap-door leading to a deep cellar had been left open. +Had the children run along here their destruction would have been almost +certain.</p> + +<p>Again, a tale of the late Bishop Wilberforce. So many tales of him have +been current, but I do not believe that this has ever before gone +abroad.</p> + +<p>In early days he had a close friend, a school chum, a college companion; +but about the time young Wilberforce took orders these two had a bitter +and hopeless falling out. They never got over the disunion, and fell +utterly apart. The chum became an extensive landowner, and was master of +a charming house in the South of England.</p> + +<p>Time passed on, and he grew elderly. He thought of making his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> will. +Being a great man, not only his solicitor but the solicitor's son +arrived on the scene for the event. All three gentlemen were assembled +in the library, a long room, with many windows running down almost to +the ground. Suddenly the young man present saw a gentleman go by the +first of these windows. The elder lawyer raised his head as the figure +went by the second opening. Last of all the master of the house looked +up.</p> + +<p>"Why, that is Wilberforce," he exclaimed. "How many years it is since we +fell out, and I dared him ever again to seek me out."</p> + +<p>So saying, he ran to the hall-door to welcome his guest, towards whom no +bitter feeling now remained in his mind. Strange to say, the Bishop was +not at the door, nor could he be found within the grounds. At the moment +of his appearance he had fallen from his horse in this neighbourhood and +had been instantly killed.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/02de.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + +<h2>ENLIGHTENMENT.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was not in the lovely morning time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When dew lies bright on silent meadow-ways;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was not in the splendid noon's high prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When all the lawns with sunlight are ablaze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in the tender twilight—ere the light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the broad moon made beautiful the night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was not in the freshness of my youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor when my manhood laughed in perfect power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That first I tasted of immortal truth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And plucked the buds of the immortal flower.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when my life had passed its noon, I found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The path that leads to the enchanted ground.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was not love nor passion that made dear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That hour now memorable to us two;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing was said the whole world might not hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Only—our souls touched, and for me and you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trees, flowers and sunshine, and the hearts of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are better to be understood since then.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="name"><span class="smcap">E. Nesbit.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SILENT CHIMES.</h2> + +<h3>PLAYING AGAIN.</h3> + + +<p>It could not be said the Church Leet chimes brought good when they rang +out that night at midnight, as the old year was giving place to the new. +Mrs. Carradyne, in her superstition, thought they brought evil. +Certainly evil set in at the same time, and Captain Monk, with all his +scoffing obstinacy, could not fail to see it. That fine young lad, his +son, fell through the window listening to them; and in the self-same +hour the knowledge reached him that Katherine, his eldest and dearest +child, had flown from his roof in defiant disobedience, to set up a home +of her own.</p> + +<p>Hubert was soon well of his bruises; but not of the cold induced by +lying in the snow, clad only in his white nightshirt. In spite of all +Mr. Speck's efforts, rheumatic fever set in, and for some time Hubert +hovered between life and death. He recovered; but would never again be +the strong, hearty lad he had been—though indeed he had never been very +physically strong. The doctor privately hoped that the heart would be +found all right in future, but he would not have answered for it.</p> + +<p>The blow that told most on Captain Monk was that inflicted by Katherine. +And surely never was disobedient marriage carried out with the impudent +boldness of hers. Church Leet called it "cheek." Church Leet +(disbelieving the facts when they first oozed out) could talk of nothing +else for weeks. For Katherine had been married in the church hard by, +that same night.</p> + +<p>Special licenses were very uncommon things in those days; they cost too +much; but the Reverend Thomas Dancox had procured one. With Katherine's +money: everybody guessed that. She had four hundred a-year of her own, +inherited from her dead mother, and full control over it. So the special +license was secured, and their crafty plans were laid. The stranger who +had presented himself at the Hall that night (by arrangement), asking +for Mr. Dancox, thus affording an excuse for his quitting the +banquet-room, was a young clergyman of Worcester, come over especially +to marry them. When tackled with his deed afterwards, he protested that +he had not been told the marriage was to be clandestine. Tom Dancox went +out to him from the banquet; Katherine, slipping on a bonnet and shawl, +joined them outside; they hastened to the rectory and thence into the +church. And while the unconscious master of Leet Hall was entertaining +his guests with his good cheer and his stories and his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> hip, hip, +hurrah, his Vicar and Katherine Monk were made one until death should +them part. And death, as it proved, intended to do that speedily.</p> + +<p>At first Captain Monk, in his unbounded rage, was for saying that a +marriage celebrated at ten o'clock at night by the light of a solitary +tallow candle, borrowed from the vestry, could not hold good. Re-assured +upon this point, he strove to devise other means to part them. Foiled +again, he laid the case before the Bishop of Worcester, and begged his +lordship to unfrock Thomas Dancox. The Bishop did not do as much as +that; though he sent for Tom Dancox and severely reprimanded him. But +that, as Church Leet remarked, did not break bones. Tom had striven to +make the best of his own cause to the Bishop, and the worst of Captain +Monk's obdurate will; moreover, stolen marriages were not thought much +of in those days.</p> + +<p>An uncomfortable state of things was maintained all the year, Hall Leet +and the Parsonage standing at daggers drawn. Never once did Captain Monk +appear at church. If he by cross-luck met his daughter or her husband +abroad, he struck into a good fit of swearing aloud; which perhaps +relieved his mind. The chimes had never played again; they pertained to +the church, and the church was in ill-favour with the Captain. As the +end of the year approached, Church Leet wondered whether he would hold +the annual banquet; but Captain Monk was not likely to forego that. Why +should he? The invitations went out for it; and they contained an +intimation that the chimes would again play.</p> + +<p>The banquet took place, a neighbouring parson saying grace at it in the +place of Tom Dancox. While the enjoyment was progressing and Captain +Monk was expressing his marvel for the tenth time as to what could have +become of Speck, who had not made his appearance, a note was brought in +by Rimmer—just as he had brought in one last year. This also was from +Mrs. Carradyne.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<i>Please come out to me for one moment, dear Godfrey. I must say a +word to you.</i>"</p></div> + +<p>Captain Monk's first impulse on reading this was to send Rimmer back to +say she might go and be hanged. But to call him from the table was so +very extreme a measure, that on second thoughts he decided to go to her. +Mrs. Carradyne was standing just outside the door, looking as white as a +sheet.</p> + +<p>"Well, this is pretty bold of you, Madam Emma," he began angrily. "Are +you out of your senses?"</p> + +<p>"Hush, Godfrey! Katherine is dying."</p> + +<p>"What?" cried the Captain, the words confusing him.</p> + +<p>"Katherine is dying," repeated his sister, her teeth chattering with +emotion.</p> + +<p>In spite of Katherine's rebellion, Godfrey Monk loved her still as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> the +apple of his eye; and it was only his obstinate temper which had kept +him from reconciliation. His face took a hue of terror, and his voice a +softer tone.</p> + +<p>"What have you heard?"</p> + +<p>"Her baby's born; something has gone wrong, I suppose, and she is dying. +Sally ran up with the news, sent by Mr. Speck. Katherine is crying out +for you, saying she cannot die without your forgiveness. Oh, Godfrey, +you will go, you will surely go!" pleaded Mrs. Carradyne, breaking down +with a burst of tears. "Poor Katherine!"</p> + +<p>Never another word spoke he. He went out at the hall-door there and +then, putting on his hat as he leaped down the steps. It was a wretched +night; not white, clear, and cold as the last New Year's Eve had been, +or mild and genial as the one before it; but damp, raw, misty.</p> + +<p>"You think I have remained hard and defiant, father," Katherine +whispered to him, "but I have many a time asked God's forgiveness on my +bended knees; and I longed—oh, how I longed!—to ask yours. What should +we all do with the weight of sin that lies on us when it comes to such +an hour as this, but for Jesus Christ—for God's wonderful mercy!"</p> + +<p>And, with one hand in her father's and the other in her husband's, both +their hearts aching to pain, and their eyes wet with bitter tears, poor +Katherine's soul passed away.</p> + +<p>After quitting the parsonage, Captain Monk was softly closing the garden +gate behind him—for when in sorrow we don't do things with a rush and a +bang—when a whirring sound overhead caused him to start. Strong, +hardened man though he was, his nerves were unstrung to-night in company +with his heartstrings. It was the church clock preparing to strike +twelve. The little doctor, Speck, who had left the house but a minute +before, was standing at the churchyard fence close by, his arms leaning +on the rails, probably ruminating sadly on what had just occurred. +Captain Monk halted beside him in silence, while the clock struck.</p> + +<p>As the last stroke vibrated on the air, telling the knell of the old +year, the dawn of the new, another sound began.</p> + +<p>Ring, ring, ring! Ring, ring, ring!</p> + +<p>The chimes! The sweet, soothing, melodious chimes, carolling forth the +Bay of Biscay. Very pleasant were they in themselves to the ear. +But—did they fall pleasantly on Captain Monk's? It may be, not. It may +be, a wish came over him that he had never thought of instituting them. +But for doing that, the ills of his recent life had never had place. +George West's death would not have lain at his door, or room been made +by it for Tom Dancox, and Katherine would not be lying as he had now +left her—cold and lifeless.</p> + +<p>"Could <i>nothing</i> have been done to save her, Speck?" he whispered to the +doctor, whose arms were still on the churchyard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> railings, listening to +the chimes in silence—though indeed he had asked the same question +indoors before.</p> + +<p>"Nothing; or you may be sure, sir, it would have been," answered Mr. +Speck. "Had all the medical men in Worcestershire been about her, they +could not have saved her any more than I could. These unfortunate cases +happen now and then," sighed he, "showing us how powerless we really +are."</p> + +<p>Well, it was grievous news wherewith to startle the parish. And Mrs. +Carradyne, a martyr to belief in ghosts and omens, grew to dread the +chimes with a nervous and nameless dread.</p> + + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<p>It was but the first of February, yet the weather might have served for +May-day: one of those superb days that come once in a while out of their +season, serving to remind the world that the dark, depressing, dreary +winter will not last for ever; though we may have half feared it means +to, forgetting the reassuring promise of the Divine Ruler of all things, +given after the Flood:</p> + +<p>"<i>While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, +and summer and winter, and day and night, shall not cease.</i>"</p> + +<p>The warm and glorious sunbeams lay on Church Leet, as if to woo the bare +hedges into verdant life, the cold fields to smiling plains. Even the +mounds of the graveyard, interspersed amidst the old tombstones, looked +green and cheerful to-day in the golden light.</p> + +<p>Turning slowly out of the Vicarage gate came a good-looking clergyman of +seven-or-eight-and-twenty. A slender man of middle height, with a sweet +expression on his pale, thoughtful face, and dark earnest eyes. It was +the new Vicar of Church Leet, the Reverend Robert Grame.</p> + +<p>For a goodish many years have gone on since that tragedy of poor +Katherine's death, and this is the second appointed Vicar since that +inauspicious time.</p> + +<p>Mr. Grame walked across the churchyard, glancing at the inscriptions on +the tombs. Inside the church porch stood the clerk, old John Cale, keys +in hand. Mr. Grame saw him and quickened his pace.</p> + +<p>"Have I kept you waiting, Cale?" he cried in his pleasant, considerate +tones. "I am sorry for that."</p> + +<p>"Not at all, your reverence; I came afore the time. This here church is +but a step or two off my home, yonder, and I'm as often out here as I be +indoors," continued John Cale, a fresh-coloured little man with pale +grey eyes and white hair. "I've been clerk here, sir, for +seven-and-thirty years."</p> + +<p>"You've seen more than one parson out then, I reckon."</p> + +<p>"More than one! Ay, sir, more than—more than six times one, I was going +to say; but that's too much, maybe. Let's see: there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> was Mr. Cartright, +he had held the living I hardly know how many years when I came, and he +held it for many after that. Mr. West succeeded him—the Reverend George +West; then came Thomas Dancox; then Mr. Atterley: four in all. And now +you've come, sir, to make the fifth."</p> + +<p>"Did they all die? or take other livings?"</p> + +<p>"Some the one thing, sir, and some the other. Mr. Cartright died, he was +old; and Mr. West, he—he—" John Cale hesitated before he went on—"he +died; Mr. Dancox got appointed to a chaplaincy somewhere over the seas; +he was here but about eighteen months, hardly that; and Mr. Atterley, +who has just left, has had a big church with a big income, they say, +given to him over in Oxfordshire."</p> + +<p>"Which makes room for me," smiled Robert Grame.</p> + +<p>They were inside the church now; a small and very old-fashioned church, +with high pews, dark and sombre. Over the large pew of the Monks, +standing sideways to the pulpit, sundry slabs were on the wall, their +inscriptions testifying to the virtues and ages of the Monk family dead +and gone. Mr. Grame stood to read them. One slab of white marble, its +black letters fresh and clear, caught especially his eye.</p> + +<p>"Katherine, eldest child of Godfrey Monk, gentleman, and wife of the +Reverend Thomas Dancox," he read out aloud. "Was that he who was Vicar +here?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, 'twas. She married him again her father's wish, and died, poor +thing, just a year after it," replied the clerk. "And only twenty-three, +as you see, sir! The Captain came down and forgave her on her dying bed, +and 'twas he that had the stone put up there. Her baby-girl was taken to +the Hall, and is there still: ten years old she must be now; 'twas but +an hour or two old when the mother died."</p> + +<p>"It seems a sad history," observed Mr. Grame as he turned away to enter +the vestry.</p> + +<p>John Cale did the honours of its mysteries; showing him the chest for +the surplices; the cupboard let into the wall for the register-book; the +place where candles and such-like stores were kept. Mr. Grame opened a +door at one end of the room and saw a square flagged place, containing +grave-digging tools and the hanging ropes of the bell which called +people to church. Shutting the door again, he crossed to a door on the +opposite side. But that he could not open.</p> + +<p>"What does this lead to?" he asked. "It is locked."</p> + +<p>"It's always kept locked, that door is, sir; and it's a'most as much as +my post is worth to open it," said the clerk, his voice sinking to a +mysterious whisper. "It leads up to the chimes."</p> + +<p>"The chimes!" echoed the new parson in surprise. "Do you mean to say +this little country church can boast of chimes?"</p> + +<p>John Cale nodded. "Lovely, pleasant things they be to listen to,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> sir, +but we've not heard 'em since the midnight when Miss Katherine died. +They play a tune called 'The Bay of Biscay.'"</p> + +<p>Selecting a key from the bunch that he carried in his hand, he opened +the door, displaying a narrow staircase, unprotected as a ladder and +nearly perpendicular. At its top was another small door, evidently +locked.</p> + +<p>"Captain Monk had all this done when he put the chimes up," remarked he. +"I sweep the dust off these stairs, once in three months or so, but +otherwise the door's not opened. And that one," nodding to the door +above, "never."</p> + +<p>"But why?" asked the clergyman. "If the chimes are there, and are, as +you say, melodious, why do they not play?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I b'lieve there's a bit of superstition at the bottom of +it," returned the clerk, not caring to explain too fully lest he should +have to tell about Mr. West's death, which might not be the thing to +frighten a new Vicar with. "A feeling has somehow got abroad in the +parish (leastways with a many of its folk) that the putting-up of its +bells brought ill-luck, and that whenever the chimes ring out some +dreadful evil falls on the Monk family."</p> + +<p>"I never heard of such a thing," exclaimed the Vicar, hardly knowing +whether to laugh or lecture. "The parish cannot be so ignorant as that! +How can the putting-up of chimes bring ill-luck?"</p> + +<p>"Well, your reverence, I don't know; the thing's beyond me. They were +heard but three times, ringing in the new year at midnight, three years, +one on top of t'other—and each time some ill fell."</p> + +<p>"My good man—and I am sure you are good—you should know better," +remonstrated Mr. Grame. "Captain Monk cannot, surely, give credence to +this?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir; but his sister up at the Hall does—Mrs. Carradyne. It's said +the Captain used to ridicule her finely for it; he'd fly into a passion +whenever 'twas alluded to. Captain Monk, as a brave seaman, is too bold +to tolerate anything of the sort. But he has never let the chimes play +since his daughter died. He was coming out from the death-scene at +midnight, when the chimes broke forth the third year, and it's said he +can't abear the sound of 'em since."</p> + +<p>"That may well be," assented Mr. Grame.</p> + +<p>"And finding, sir, year after year, year after year, as one year gives +place to another, that they are never heard, we have got to call 'em +amid ourselves, the Silent Chimes," spoke the clerk, as they turned to +leave the church. "The Silent Chimes, sir."</p> + +<p>Clinking his keys, the clerk walked away to his home, an ivy-covered +cottage not a stone's-throw off; the clergyman lingered in the +churchyard, reading the memorials on the tombstones. He was smiling at +the quaintness of some of them, when the sound of hasty footsteps caused +him to turn. A little girl was climbing over the churchyard-railings (as +being nearer to her than the entrance-gate), and came dashing towards +him across the gravestones.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Are you grandpapa's new parson?" asked the young lady; a pretty child +of ten, with a dark skin, and dusky-violet eyes staring at him freely +out of a saucy face.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am," said he. "What is your name?"</p> + +<p>"What is yours?" boldly questioned she. "They've talked about you at +home, but I forgot it."</p> + +<p>"Mine is Robert Grame. Won't you tell me yours?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's Kate.—Here's that wicked Lucy coming! She's going to groan at +me for jumping here. She says it's not reverent."</p> + +<p>A charming young lady of some twenty years was coming up the path. She +wore a scarlet cloak, its hood lined with white silk; a straw hat shaded +her fair face, blushing very much just now; in her dark-grey eyes might +be read vexation, as she addressed Mr. Grame.</p> + +<p>"I hope Kate has not been rude? I hope you will excuse her heedlessness +in this place. She is but a little girl."</p> + +<p>"It's only the new parson, Lucy," broke in Kate without ceremony. "He +says his name's Robert Grame."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Kate, don't! How shall we ever teach you manners?" reprimanded the +young lady in much distress. "She has been greatly indulged, sir," +turning to the clergyman.</p> + +<p>"I can well understand that," he said, with a bright smile. "I presume +that I have the honour of speaking to the daughter of my patron—Captain +Monk?"</p> + +<p>"No; Captain Monk is my uncle: I am Lucy Carradyne."</p> + +<p>As the young clergyman stood, hat in hand, a feeling came over him that +he had never seen so sweet a face as the one he was looking at. Miss +Lucy Carradyne was saying to herself, "What a nice countenance he has! +What kindly, earnest eyes!"</p> + +<p>"This little lady tells me her name is Kate."</p> + +<p>"Kate Dancox," said Lucy, as the child danced away. "Her mamma was +Captain Monk's eldest daughter; she died when Kate was born. My uncle is +very fond of Kate; he will hardly have her controlled at all."</p> + +<p>"I have been in to see my church! John Cale has been doing its honours +for me," smiled Mr. Grame. "It is a pretty little edifice."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I hope you will like it; I hope you will like the parish," +frankly returned Lucy.</p> + +<p>"I shall be sure to do that, I think. As soon, at least, as I can feel +convinced that it is to be really mine," he added, with a quaint +expression. "When I heard, a week ago, that Captain Monk had presented +me—an entire stranger to him—with the living of Church Leet, I could +not believe it. It is not often that a nameless curate, without +influence, is spontaneously remembered."</p> + +<p>"It is not much of a living," said Lucy, meeting the words half +jestingly. "Worth, I believe, but about a hundred and sixty pounds +a-year."</p> + +<p>"But that is a great rise for me—and I have a house to myself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> large +and beautiful—and am a Vicar and no longer a curate," he returned, +laughingly. "I cannot <i>imagine</i>, though, how Captain Monk came to give +it me. Have you any idea how it was, Miss Carradyne?"</p> + +<p>Lucy's face flushed. She could not tell this gentleman the truth: that +another clergyman had been fixed upon, one who would have been +especially welcome to the parishioners; that Captain Monk had all but +nominated him to the living. But it chanced to reach the Captain's ears +that this clergyman had expressed his intention of holding the Communion +Service monthly, instead of quarterly as heretofore, so he put the +question to him. Finding it to be true, he withdrew his promise; he +would not have old customs broken in upon by modern innovation, he said; +and forthwith he appointed the Reverend Robert Grame.</p> + +<p>"I do not even know how Captain Monk heard of me," continued Mr. Grame, +marking Lucy's hesitation.</p> + +<p>"I believe you were recommended to him by one of the clergy attached to +Worcester Cathedral," said Lucy.—"And I think I must wish you +good-morning now."</p> + +<p>But there came an interruption. A tall, stately, haughty young woman, +with an angry look upon her dark and handsome face, had entered the +churchyard, and was calling out as she advanced:</p> + +<p>"That monkey broken loose again, I suppose, and at her pranks here! What +are you good for, Lucy, if you cannot keep her in better order? You know +I told you to go straight on to Mrs. Speck, and—"</p> + +<p>The words died away. Mr. Grame, who had been hidden by a large upright +tombstone, emerged into view. Lucy, with another blush, spoke to cover +the awkwardness.</p> + +<p>"This is Miss Monk," she said to him. "Eliza, it is the new clergyman, +Mr. Grame."</p> + +<p>Miss Monk recovered her equanimity. A winning smile supplanted the anger +on her face; she held out her hand, grandly gracious. For she liked the +stranger's look: he was beyond doubt a gentleman—and an attractive man.</p> + +<p>"Allow me to welcome you to Church Leet, Mr. Grame. My father chances to +be absent to-day; he is gone to Evesham."</p> + +<p>"So the clerk told me, or I should have called this morning to pay my +respects to him, and to thank him for his generous and most unexpected +patronage of me. I got here last night," concluded Mr. Grame, standing +uncovered as when he had saluted Lucy. Eliza Monk liked his pleasant +voice, his taking manners: her fancy went out to him there and then.</p> + +<p>"But though papa is absent, you will walk up with me now to the Hall to +make acquaintance with my aunt, Mrs. Carradyne," said Eliza, in those +tones that, gracious though they were, sounded in the light of a +command—just as poor Katherine's had always sounded. And Mr. Grame went +with her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> + +<p>But now—handsome though she was, gracious though she meant to be—there +was something about Eliza Monk that seemed to repulse Robert Grame, +rather than attract him. Lucy had fascinated him; she repelled. Other +people had experienced the same kind of repulsion, but knew not where it +lay.</p> + +<p>Hubert, the heir, about twenty-five now, came forward to greet the +stranger as they entered the Hall. No repulsion about <i>him</i>. Robert +Grame's hand met his with a warm clasp. A young man of gentle manners +and a face of rare beauty—but oh, so suspiciously delicate! Perhaps it +was the extreme slenderness of the frame, the wan look in the refined +features and their bright hectic that drew forth the clergyman's +sympathy. An impression came over him that this young man was not long +for earth.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Monk strong?" he presently asked of Mrs. Carradyne, when Hubert +had temporarily quitted the room.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, no. He had rheumatic fever some years ago," she added, "and has +never been strong since."</p> + +<p>"Has he heart disease?" questioned the clergyman. He thought the young +man had just that look.</p> + +<p>"We fear his heart is weak," replied Mrs. Carradyne.</p> + +<p>"But that may be only your fancy, you know, Aunt Emma," spoke Miss Monk +reproachfully. She and her father were both passionately attached to +Hubert; they resented any doubt cast upon his health.</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course," assented Mrs. Carradyne, who never resented anything.</p> + +<p>"We shall be good friends, I trust," said Eliza, with a beaming smile, +as her hand lay in Mr. Grame's when he was leaving.</p> + +<p>"Indeed I hope so," he answered. "Why not?"</p> + + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<p>Summer lay upon the land. The landscape stretched out before Leet Hall +was fair to look upon. A fine expanse of wood and dale, of trees in +their luxuriant beauty; of emerald-green plains, of meandering streams, +of patches of growing corn already putting on its yellow hue, and of the +golden sunlight, soon to set and gladden other worlds, that shone from +the deep-blue sky. Birds sang in their leafy shelters, bees were +drowsily humming as they gathered the last of the day's honey, and +butterflies flitted from flower to flower with a good-night kiss.</p> + +<p>At one of the windows stood, in her haughty beauty, Eliza Monk. Not, +surely, of the lovely scene before her was she thinking, or her face +might have worn a more pleasing expression. Rather did she seem to gaze, +and with displeasure, at two or three people who were walking in the +distance: Lucy Carradyne side by side with the clergyman, and Miss Kate +Dancox pulling at his coat-tails.</p> + +<p>"Shameful flirt!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + +<p>The acidity of the tone was so pronounced that Mrs. Carradyne, seated +near and busy at her netting, lifted her head in surprise. "Why, Eliza, +what's the matter? Who is a flirt?"</p> + +<p>"Lucy," curtly replied Eliza, pointing with her finger.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," said Mrs. Carradyne, after glancing outwards.</p> + +<p>"Why does she persistently lay herself out to attract that man?" was the +passionate rejoinder.</p> + +<p>"Be silent, Eliza. How can you conjure up so unjust a charge? Lucy is +not capable of <i>laying herself out</i> to attract anyone. It lies but in +your imagination."</p> + +<p>"Day after day, when she is out with Kate, you may see him join +her—allured to her side."</p> + +<p>"The 'allurer' is Kate, then. I am surprised at you, Eliza: you might be +talking of a servant-maid. Kate has taken a liking for Mr. Grame, and +she runs after him at all times and seasons."</p> + +<p>"She ought to be stopped, then."</p> + +<p>"Stopped! Will you undertake to do it? Could her mother be stopped in +anything she pleased to do? And the child has the same rebellious will."</p> + +<p>"I say that Robert Grame's attraction is Lucy."</p> + +<p>"It may be so," acknowledged Mrs. Carradyne. "But the attraction must +lie in Lucy herself; not in anything she does. Some suspicion of the +sort has, at times, crossed me."</p> + +<p>She looked at them again as she spoke. They were sauntering onwards +slowly; Mr. Grame bending towards Lucy, and talking earnestly. Kate, +dancing about, pulling at his arm or his coat, appeared to get but +little attention. Mrs. Carradyne quietly went on with her work.</p> + +<p>And that composed manner, combined with her last sentence, brought gall +and wormwood to Eliza Monk.</p> + +<p>Throwing a summer scarf upon her shoulders, Eliza passed out at the +French window, crossed the terrace, and set out to confront the +conspirators. But she was not in time. Seeing her coming, or not seeing +her—who knew?—Mr. Grame turned off with a fleet foot towards his home. +So nobody remained for Miss Monk to waste her angry breath upon but +Lucy. The breath was keenly sharp, and Lucy fell to weeping.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"I am here, Grame. Don't go in."</p> + +<p>The words fell on the clergyman's ears as he closed the Vicarage gate +behind him, and was passing up the path to his door. Turning his head, +he saw Hubert Monk seated on the bench under the May tree, pink and +lovely yet. "How long have you been here?" he asked, sitting down beside +him.</p> + +<p>"Ever so long; waiting for you," replied Hubert.</p> + +<p>"I was but strolling about."</p> + +<p>"I saw you: with Lucy and the child."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + +<p>They had become fast and firm friends, these two young men; and the +minister was insensibly exercising a wonderful influence over Hubert for +good. Believing—as he did believe—that Hubert's days were numbered, +that any sharp extra exertion might entail fatal consequences, he gently +strove, as opportunity offered, to lead his thoughts to the Better Land.</p> + +<p>"What an evening it is!" rapturously exclaimed Hubert.</p> + +<p>"Ay: so calm and peaceful."</p> + +<p>The rays of the setting sun touched Hubert's face, lighting up its +extreme delicacy; the scent of the closing flowers filled the still air +with its sweetness; the birds were chanting their evening song of +praise. Hubert, his elbow on the arm of the bench, his hand supporting +his chin, looked out with dreamy eyes.</p> + +<p>"What book have you there?" asked Mr. Grame, noticing one in his other +hand.</p> + +<p>"Herbert," answered the young man, showing it. "I filched it from your +table through the open window, Grame."</p> + +<p>The clergyman took it. It chanced to open at a passage he was very fond +of. Or perhaps he knew the place, and opened it purposely.</p> + +<p>"Do you know these verses, Hubert? They are appropriate enough just now, +while those birds are carolling."</p> + +<p>"I can't tell. What verses? Read them."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Hark, how the birds do sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And woods do ring!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All creatures have their joy, and man hath his,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet, if we rightly measure,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Man's joy and pleasure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rather hereafter than in present is.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Not that we may not here<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Taste of the cheer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But as birds drink and straight lift up the head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So must he sip and think<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of better drink<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He may attain to after he is dead."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Ay," said Hubert, breaking the silence after a time, "it's very true, I +suppose. But this world—oh, it's worth living for. Will anything in the +next, Grame, be more beautiful than <i>that</i>?"</p> + +<p>He was pointing to the sunset. It was marvellously and unusually +beautiful. Lovely pink and crimson clouds flecked the west; in their +midst shone a golden light of dazzling refulgence, too glorious to look +upon.</p> + +<p>"One might fancy it the portals of heaven," said the clergyman; "the +golden gate of entrance, leading to the pearly gates within, and to the +glittering walls of precious stones."</p> + +<p>"And—why! it seems to take the form of an entrance-gate!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> exclaimed +Hubert in excitement. For it really did. "Look at it! Oh, Grame, surely, +surely the very gate of Heaven cannot be more dazzlingly beautiful than +that!"</p> + +<p>"And if the gate of entrance is so unspeakably beautiful, what will the +City itself be?" murmured Mr. Grame. "The Heavenly City! the New +Jerusalem!"</p> + +<p>"It is beginning to fade," said Hubert presently, as they sat watching; +"the brightness is going. What a pity!"</p> + +<p>"All that's bright must fade in this world, you know; and fade very +quickly. Hubert! it will not in the next."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Church Leet, watching its neighbours' doings sharply, began to whisper +that the new clergyman, Mr. Grame, was likely to cause unpleasantness to +the Monk family, just as some of his predecessors had caused it. For no +man having eyes in his head (still less any woman) could fail to see +that the Captain's imperious daughter had fallen desperately in love +with him. Would there be a second elopement, as in the days of Tom +Dancox? Would Eliza Monk set her father at defiance, as Katherine did?</p> + +<p>One of the last to see signs and tokens, though they took place under +her open eyes, was Mrs. Carradyne. But she saw at last. The clergyman +could not walk across a new-mown field, or down a shady lane, or be +hastening along the dusty turnpike road, but by some inexplicable +coincidence he would be met by Miss Monk; and when he came to the Hall +to pass an hour with Hubert, she generally made a third at the +interview. It had pleased her latterly to take to practising on the old +church organ; and if Mr. Grame was not wiled into the church with her +and her attendant, the ancient clerk, who blew the bellows, she was sure +to alight upon him in going or returning.</p> + +<p>One fine evening, dinner over, when the last beams of the sun were +slanting into the drawing-room, Eliza Monk was sitting back on a sofa, +reading; Kate romped about the room, and Mrs. Carradyne had just rung +the bell for tea. Lucy had been spending the afternoon with Mrs. Speck, +and Hubert had now gone to fetch her home.</p> + +<p>"Good gracious, Kate, can't you be quiet!" exclaimed Miss Monk, as the +child in her gambols sprung upon the sofa, upsetting the book and its +reader's temper. "Go away: you are treading on my flounces. Aunt Emma, +why do you persist in having this tiresome little reptile with us after +dinner?"</p> + +<p>"Because your father will not let her be sent to the nursery," said Mrs. +Carradyne.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever know a child like her?"</p> + +<p>"She is but as her mother was; as you were, Eliza—always rebellious. +Kate, sit down to the piano and play one of your pretty tunes."</p> + +<p>"I won't," responded Kate. "Play yourself, Aunt Emma."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dashing through the open glass doors, Kate began tossing a ball on the +broad gravel walk below the terrace. Mrs. Carradyne cautioned her not to +break the windows, and turned to the tea-table.</p> + +<p>"Don't make the tea yet, Aunt Emma," interrupted Miss Monk, in a tone +that was quite like a command. "Mr. Grame is coming, and he won't care +for cold tea."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carradyne returned to her seat. She thought the opportunity had +come to say something to her niece which she had been wanting to say.</p> + +<p>"You invited Mr. Grame, Eliza?"</p> + +<p>"I did," said Eliza, looking defiance.</p> + +<p>"My dear," resumed Mrs. Carradyne with some hesitation, "forgive me if I +offer you a word of advice. You have no mother; I pray you to listen to +me in her stead. You must change your line of behaviour to Mr. Grame."</p> + +<p>Eliza's dark face turned red and haughty. "I do not understand you, Aunt +Emma."</p> + +<p>"Nay, I think you do understand me, my dear. You have incautiously +allowed yourself to fall into—into an undesirable liking for Mr. Grame. +An <i>unseemly</i> liking, Eliza."</p> + +<p>"Unseemly!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; because it has not been sought. Cannot you see, Eliza, how he +instinctively recedes from it? how he would repel it were he less the +gentleman than he is? Child, I shrink from saying these things to you, +but it is needful. You have good sense, Eliza, keen discernment, and you +might see for yourself that it is not to you Mr. Grame's love is +given—or ever will be."</p> + +<p>For once in her life Eliza Monk allowed herself to betray agitation. She +opened her trembling lips to speak, but closed them again.</p> + +<p>"A moment yet, Eliza. Let us suppose, for argument's sake, that Mr. +Grame loved you; that he wished to marry you; you know, my dear, how +utterly useless it would be. Your father would not suffer it."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Grame is of gentle descent; my father is attached to him," disputed +Eliza.</p> + +<p>"But Mr. Grame has nothing but his living—a hundred and sixty pounds +a-year; <i>you</i> must make a match in accordance with your own position. It +would be Katherine's trouble, Katherine's rebellion over again. But this +was mentioned for argument's sake only; Mr. Grame will never sue for +anything of the kind; and I must beg of you, my dear, to put all idea of +it away, and to change your manner towards him."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you fancy he may wish to sue for Lucy!" cried Eliza, in fierce +resentment.</p> + +<p>"That is a great deal more likely than the other. And the difficulties +in her case would not be so great."</p> + +<p>"And pray why, Aunt Emma?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Because, my dear, I should not resent it as your father would. I am not +so ambitious for her as he is for you."</p> + +<p>"A fine settlement for her—Robert Grame and his hundred—"</p> + +<p>"Who is taking my name in vain?" cried out a pleasant voice from the +open window; and Robert Grame entered.</p> + +<p>"I was," said Eliza readily; her tone changing like magic to sweet +suavity, her face putting on its best charm—"About to remark that the +Reverend Robert Grame has a hundred faults. Aunt Emma agrees with me."</p> + +<p>He laughed lightly, regarding it as pleasantry, and inquired for Hubert.</p> + +<p>Eliza stepped out on the terrace when tea was over, talking to Mr. +Grame; they began to pace it slowly together. Kate and her ball sported +on the gravel walk beneath. It was a warm, serene evening, the silver +moon shining, the evening star just appearing in the clear blue sky.</p> + +<p>"Lucy being away, you cannot enjoy your usual flirtation with her," +remarked Miss Monk, in a light tone.</p> + +<p>But he did not take it lightly. Rarely had his voice been more serious +than when he answered: "I beg your pardon. I do not flirt—I have never +flirted with Miss Carradyne."</p> + +<p>"No! It has looked like it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Grame remained silent. "I hope not," he said at last. "I did not +intend—I did not think. However, I must mend my manners," he added more +gaily. "To flirt at all would ill become my sacred calling. And Lucy +Carradyne is superior to any such trifling."</p> + +<p>Her pulses were coursing on to fever heat. With her whole heart she +loved Robert Grame: and the secret preference he had unconsciously +betrayed for Lucy had served to turn her later days to bitterness.</p> + +<p>"Possibly you mean something more serious," said Eliza, compressing her +lips.</p> + +<p>"If I mean anything, I should certainly mean it seriously," replied the +young clergyman, his face blushing as he made the avowal. "But I may +not. I have been reflecting much latterly, and I see I may not. If my +income were good it might be a different matter. But it is not; and +marriage for me must be out of the question."</p> + +<p>"With a portionless girl, yes. Robert Grame," she went on rapidly with +impassioned earnestness, "when you marry, it must be with someone who +can help you; whose income will compensate for the deficiency of yours. +Look around you well: there may be some young ladies rich in the world's +wealth, even in Church Leet, who will forget your want of fortune for +your own sake."</p> + +<p>Did he misunderstand her? It was hardly possible. She had a large +fortune; Lucy none. But he answered as though he comprehended not. It +may be that he deemed it best to set her ill-regulated hopes at rest for +ever.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + +<p>"One can hardly suppose a temptation of that kind would fall in the way +of an obscure individual like myself. If it did, I could but reject it. +I should not marry for money. I shall never marry where I do not love."</p> + +<p>They had halted near one of the terrace seats. On it lay a toy of +Kate's, a little wooden "box of bells." Mechanically, her mind far away, +Eliza took it up and began, still mechanically, turning the wire which +set the bells to play with a soft but not unpleasant jingle.</p> + +<p>"You love Lucy Carradyne!" she whispered.</p> + +<p>"I fear I do," he answered. "Though I have struggled against the +conviction."</p> + +<p>A sudden crash startled them; shivers of glass fell before their feet; +fit accompaniment to the shattered hopes of one who stood there. Kate +Dancox, aiming at Mr. Grame's hat, had sent her ball through the window. +He leaped away to catch the culprit, and Eliza Monk sat down on the +bench, all gladness gone out of her. Her love-dream had turned out to be +a snare and a delusion.</p> + +<p>"Who did that?"</p> + +<p>Captain Monk, frightened from his after-dinner nap by the crash, came +forth in anger. Kate got a box on the ear, and was sent to bed howling.</p> + +<p>"You should send her to school, papa."</p> + +<p>"And I will," declared the Captain. "She startled me out of my sleep. +Out of a dream, too. And it is not often I dream. I thought I was +hearing the chimes."</p> + +<p>"Chimes which I have not yet been fortunate enough to hear," said Mr. +Grame with a smile. Eliza recalled the sound of the bells she had set in +motion, and thought it must have penetrated to her father in his sleep.</p> + +<p>"By George, no! You shall, though, Grame. They shall ring the new year +in when it comes."</p> + +<p>"Aunt Emma won't like that," laughingly commented Eliza. She was trying +to be gay and careless before Robert Grame.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Emma may <i>dis</i>like it!" retorted the Captain. "She has picked up +some ridiculously absurd notion, Grame, that the bells bring ill-luck +when they are heard. Women are so foolishly superstitious."</p> + +<p>"That must be a very far-fetched superstition," said the parson.</p> + +<p>"One might as well believe in witches," mocked the Captain. "I have +given in to her fancies for some years, not to cross her, and let the +bells be silent: she's a good woman on the whole; but be hanged if I +will any longer. On the last day of this year, Grame, you shall hear the +chimes."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>How it came about nobody exactly knew, unless it was through Hubert, but +matters were smoothed for the parson and Lucy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Carradyne knew his worth, and she saw that they were as much in +love with one another as ever could be Hodge and Joan. She liked the +idea of Lucy being settled near her—and the vicarage, large and +handsome, could have its unused rooms opened and furnished. Mr. Grame +honestly avowed that he should have asked for Lucy before, but for his +poverty; he supposed that Lucy was poor also.</p> + +<p>"That is so; Lucy has nothing of her own," said Mrs. Carradyne to this. +"But I am not in that condition."</p> + +<p>"Of course not. But—pardon me—I thought your property went to your +son."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carradyne laughed. "A small estate of his father's, close by here, +became my son's at his father's death," she said. "My own money is at my +disposal; the half of it will eventually be Lucy's. When she marries, I +shall allow her two hundred a-year: and upon that, and your stipend, you +will have to get along together."</p> + +<p>"It will be like riches to me," said the young parson all in a glow.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Wait until you realise the outlets for money that a wife entails," +nodded Mrs. Carradyne in her superior wisdom. "Not but that I'm sure +it's good for young people, setting-up together, to be straitened at the +beginning. It teaches them economy and the value of money."</p> + +<p>Altogether it seemed a wonderful prospect to Robert Grame. Miss Lucy +thought it would be Paradise. But a stern wave of opposition set in from +Captain Monk.</p> + +<p>Hubert broke the news to him as they were sitting together after dinner. +To begin with, the Captain, as a matter of course, flew into a passion.</p> + +<p>"Another of those beggarly parsons! What possessed them, that they +should fix upon <i>his</i> family to play off their machinations upon! Lucy +Carradyne was his niece: she should never be grabbed up by one of them +while he was alive to stop it."</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute, father," whispered Hubert. "You like Robert Grame; I +know that: you would rather see him carry off Lucy than Eliza."</p> + +<p>"What the dickens do you mean by that?"</p> + +<p>Hubert said a few cautious words—hinting that, but for Lucy's being in +the way, poor Katherine's escapade might have been enacted over again. +Captain Monk relieved his mind by some strong language, sailor fashion; +and for once in his life saw he must give in to necessity.</p> + +<p>So the wedding was fixed for the month of February, just one year after +they had met: that sweet time of early spring, when spring comes in +genially, when the birds would be singing, and the green buds peeping +and the sunlight dancing.</p> + +<p>But the present year was not over yet. Lucy was sewing at her wedding +things. Eliza Monk, smarting at their sight as with an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> adder's sting, +ran away from it to visit a family who lived near Oddingly, an +insignificant little place, lying, as everybody knows, on the other side +of Worcester, famous only for its dulness and for the strange murders +committed there in 1806—which have since passed into history. But she +returned home for Christmas.</p> + +<p>Once more it was old-fashioned Christmas weather; Jack Frost freezing +the snow and sporting his icicles. The hearty tenants, wending their way +to the annual feast in the winter twilight, said how unusually sharp the +air was, enough to bite off their ears and noses.</p> + +<p>The Reverend Robert Grame made one at the table for the first time, and +said grace at the Captain's elbow. He had heard about the freedom +obtaining at these dinners; but he knew he was utterly powerless to +suppress it, and he hoped his presence might prove some little +restraint, just as poor George West had hoped in the days gone by: not +that it was as bad now as it used to be. A rumour had gone abroad that +the chimes were to play again, but it died away unconfirmed, for Captain +Monk kept his own counsel.</p> + +<p>The first to quit the table was Hubert. Captain Monk looked up angrily. +He was proud of his son, of his tall and graceful form, of his handsome +features, proud even of his bright complexion; ay, and of his estimable +qualities. While inwardly fearing Hubert's signs of fading strength, he +defiantly refused to recognise it or to admit it openly.</p> + +<p>"What now?" he said in a loud whisper. "Are <i>you</i> turning renegade?"</p> + +<p>The young man bent over his father's shoulder. "I don't feel well; +better let me go quietly, father; I have felt oppressed here all +day"—touching his left side. And he escaped.</p> + +<p>There was present at table an elderly gentleman named Peveril. He had +recently come with his wife into the neighbourhood and taken on lease a +small estate, called by the odd name of Peacock's Range, which belonged +to Hubert and lay between Church Dykely and Church Leet. Mr. Peveril put +an inopportune question.</p> + +<p>"What is the story, Captain, about some chimes which were put up in the +church here and are never allowed to ring because they caused the death +of the Vicar? I was told of it to-day."</p> + +<p>Captain Monk looked at Mr. Peveril, but did not speak.</p> + +<p>"One George West, I think. Was he parson here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he was parson here," said Farmer Winter, finding nobody else +answered Mr. Peveril, next to whom he sat. He was a very old man now, +but hale and hearty still, and a steadfast ally of his landlord. "Given +that parson his way and we should never have had the chimes put up. +Sweet sounding bells they are."</p> + +<p>"But how could the chimes kill him?" went on Mr. Peveril. "Did they kill +him?"</p> + +<p>"George West was a quarrelsome, mischief-making meddler, good for +nothing but to set the parish together by the ears; and I must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> beg of +you to drop his name when at my table, Peveril. As to the chimes, you +will hear them to-night."</p> + +<p>Captain Monk spoke in his sternest tones, and Mr. Peveril bowed. Robert +Grame had listened in surprise. He wondered what it all meant—for +nobody had ever told him of this phase of the past. The table clapped +its unsteady hands and gave a cheer for the chimes, now to be heard +again.</p> + +<p>"Yes, gentlemen," said the Captain, not a whit more steady than his +guests. "They shall ring for us to-night, though it brought the parson +out of his grave."</p> + +<p>A few minutes before twelve the butler, who had his orders, came into +the dining-room and set the windows open. His master gave him another +order and the man withdrew. Entering the drawing-room, he proceeded to +open those windows also. Mr. Peveril, and one or two more guests, sat +with the family; Hubert lay back in an easy-chair.</p> + +<p>"What are you about, Rimmer?" hastily cried out Mrs. Carradyne in +surprise. "Opening the windows!"</p> + +<p>"It is by the master's orders, ma'am," replied the butler; "he bade me +open them, that you and the ladies might get a better hearing of the +chimes."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carradyne, superstitious ever, grew white as death. "<i>The chimes!</i>" +she breathed in a dread whisper. "Surely, surely, Rimmer, you must be +mistaken. The chimes cannot be going to ring again!"</p> + +<p>"They are to ring the New Year in," said the man. "I have known it this +day or two, but was not allowed to tell, as Madam may guess"—glancing +at his mistress. "John Cale has got his orders, and he'll set 'em going +when the clock has struck twelve."</p> + +<p>"Oh, is there no one who will run to stop it?" bewailed Mrs. Carradyne, +wringing her hands in all the terror of a nameless fear. "There may yet +be time. Rimmer! can you go?"</p> + +<p>Hubert came out of his chair laughing. Rimmer was round and fat now, and +could not run if he tried. "I'll go, aunt," he said. "Why, walking +slowly, I should get there before Rimmer."</p> + +<p>The words, "walking slowly," may have misled Mrs. Carradyne; or, in the +moment's tribulation, perhaps she forgot that Hubert ought not to be the +one to use much exertion; but she made no objection. No one else made +way, and Hubert hastened out, putting on his overcoat as he went towards +the church.</p> + +<p>It was the loveliest night; the air was still and clear, the landscape +white and glistening, the moon bright as gold. Hubert, striding along at +a quick walk, had traversed half the short distance, when the church +clock struck out the first note of midnight. And he knew he should not +be in time—unless—</p> + +<p>He set off to run: it was such a very little way! Flying along without +heed to self, he reached the churchyard gate. And there he was +forced—forced—to stop to gather up his laboured breath.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ring, ring, ring! broke forth the chimes melodiously upon Hubert's ear. +"Stop!" he shouted, panting; "stop! stop!"—just as if John Cale could +hear the warning: and he began leaping over all the gravestones in his +path, after the irreverent fashion of Miss Kate Dancox.</p> + +<p>"Stop!" he faintly cried in his exhaustion, dashing through the vestry, +as the strains of "The Bay of Biscay" pursued their harmonious course +overhead, sounding louder here than in the open air. "Sto—"</p> + +<p>He could not finish the word. Pulling the little door open, he put his +foot on the first step of the narrow ladder of a staircase: and then +fell prone upon it. John Cale and young Mr. Threpp, the churchwarden's +son, who had been the clerk's companion, were descending the stairs, +after the chimes had chimed themselves out, and they had locked them up +again to (perhaps) another year, when they found some impediment below.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" exclaimed young Mr. Threpp. The clerk turned on his +lantern.</p> + +<p>It was Hubert, Captain Monk's son and heir. He lay there with a face of +deadly whiteness, a blue shade encircling his lips.</p> + +<p class="name"><span class="smcap">Johnny Ludlow.</span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/02de.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + +<h2>WINTER IN ABSENCE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The earth is clothed with fog and mist,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The shrivelled ferns are white with rime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The trees are fairy-frosted round<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The portion of enchanted ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, in the woods, we lovers kissed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Last summer, in the happy time.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say that summer comes again;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In winter who believes it true?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can I have faith through days like this—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Days with no rose, no sun, no kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faith in the long gold summer when<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There will be sunshine, flowers and you?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Keep faith and me alive, I pray;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Feed me with loving letters, dear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speak of the summer and the sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest, when the winter-time be done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your summer shall have fled away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With me—who had no heart to stay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The slow, sick turning of the year.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE BRETONS AT HOME.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Charles W. Wood, F.R.G.S., Author of "Through Holland," "Letters from +Majorca," etc. etc.</span></h3> + + +<div class="figleft"> + <img src="images/02.jpg" + alt="Gateway, Dinan." + title="Gateway, Dinan." /><br /> + <span class="caption">Gateway, Dinan.</span> +</div> + +<p>Morlaix awoke to a new day. The sunshine was pouring upon it from a +cloudless sky—a somewhat rare vision in Brittany, where the skies are +more often grey, rain frequently falls, and the land is overshadowed by +mist.</p> + +<p>So far the climate of Brittany resembles very much that of England: and +many other points of comparison exist between Greater Britain and Lesser +Brittany besides its similarity of name. For even its name it derives +from us; from the fact that in the fifth and sixth centuries the Saxons, +as they choose to call them, went over in great numbers and settled +there. No wonder, then, that the Bretons possess many of our +characteristics, even in exaggeration, for they are direct descendants +of the ancient Britons.</p> + +<p>They have, for instance, all the gravity of the English temperament, to +which is added a gloom or sombreness of disposition that is born of +repression and poverty and a long struggle with the ways and means of +existence; to which may yet farther be added the influence of climate. +Hope and ambition, the two great levers of the world, with them are not +largely developed; there has been no opportunity for their growth. +Ambitions cannot exist without an aim, nor hope without an object. Just +as in certain dark caves of the world, where daylight never penetrates, +the fish found there have no eyes, because, from long disuse of the +organ, it has gradually lessened and died<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> out; so hope and ambition +amongst the moral faculties must equally disappear without an object in +life.</p> + +<p>It is therefore tolerably certain that where, according to +phrenologists, the organ of Hope is situated, there the Breton head will +be found undeveloped.</p> + +<p>Now without hope no one can be constitutionally happy, and the Bretons +would be amongst the unhappiest on earth, just as they are amongst the +most slow-moving, if it were not for a counterbalancing quality which +they own in large excess. This virtue is veneration; and it is this +which saves them.</p> + +<p>They are the most earnest and devoted, almost superstitiously religious +of people. They observe their Sabbaths, their fasts and feasts with a +severity and punctuality beyond all praise. With few exceptions, their +churches are very inferior to those of Normandy, but each returning +Sunday finds the Breton churches full of an earnest crowd, evidently +assembled for the purpose of worshipping with their whole heart and +soul. The rapt expression of many of the faces makes them for the moment +simply beautiful, and if an artist could only transfer their fervency to +canvas, he would produce a picture worthy of the masters of the Middle +Ages, and read a lesson to the world far greater than that of an +<i>Angelus</i> or a <i>Magdalene</i>.</p> + +<p>It is a sight worth going very far to see, these earnest worshippers, +with whom the head is never turned and the eye never wanders. The +further you pass into the interior of Brittany—into the remote +districts of the Morbihan, for instance—where the outer world, with its +advancement and civilization, scarcely seems to have penetrated, there +fervency and devotion are still full of the element of superstition; +there you will find that faith becomes almost synonymous with a strict +observance of prayers, penances and the commands of the Church. When the +Angelus rings out in the evening, you will see the labourer, wending his +way homeward, suddenly arrest his steps in the ploughed field, and with +bent head, pass in silent prayer the dying moments of <i>crépuscule</i>.</p> + +<p>There will scarcely be an exception to the rule, either in men or women. +The reverence has grown with their growth, having first been born with +them of inheritance: the heritage and the growth of centuries. All over +the country you will find Calvaries erected: huge stone crosses and +images of the Crucifixion, many of them crumbling and beautiful with the +lapse of ages, the stone steps at their base worn with the devotion of +pilgrims: crosses that stand out so solemnly and picturesquely in the +gloaming against the background of the grey, cold Breton skies, and give +a religious tone to the whole country.</p> + +<p>The Bretons have ever remained a race apart, possessing their own +language, their own habits, manners and customs; not becoming absorbed +with other nations, nor absorbing in themselves any foreign element. +Separated from Normandy by no visible<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> boundary line, divided by no +broad Channel, the Bretons are as different from the Normans as the +Normans are distinct from the English. They have a high standard of +integrity, of right and wrong, there is the distinct feeling of +<i>Noblesse oblige</i> amongst them; their <i>noblesse</i> consisting in the fact +that, being Breton, <i>il faut agir loyalement</i>. If they pass you their +word, you may be sure they will not go from it: it is as good as their +bond. They are a hundred years behind the rest of mankind, but there is +a great charm and a great compensation in their simplicity.</p> + +<p>Normandy may be called the country of beautiful churches, Brittany of +beautiful towns.</p> + +<p>This is eminently true of Morlaix, for, in spite of the removal of many +an ancient landmark, it is still wonderfully interesting. In situation +it is singularly favoured and romantic, placed as it is on the sides of +three deep ravines. Hills rise on all sides, shutting in the houses; +hills fertile and well-wooded; in many places cultivated and laid out in +gardens, where flowers grow and flourish all the year round, and +orchards that in spring-time are one blaze, one wealth of blossoming +fruit trees.</p> + +<p>We looked out upon all this that first morning. Not a wealth of +blossoming trees, for the blossoms were over. But before us stretched +the high hills, and surrounding us were all the houses of Morlaix, old +and new. The sun we have said shone upon all, and we needed all this +brightness to make up for the discomforts of the past night. H.C. +declared that his dreams had been of tread-mills, monastic penances, and +the rack; but he had survived the affliction, and this morning was eager +for action.</p> + +<p>It was market-day, and the market-place lay just to the right of us. The +stalls were in full force; the butter and poultry women in strong +evidence, and all the other stalls indigenous to the ceremony. There was +already a fair gathering of people, many of them <i>paysans</i>, armed with +umbrellas as stout and clumsy as themselves. For the Bretons know and +mistrust their own climate, and are too well aware that the day of a +brilliant morning too often ends in weeping skies. Many wore costumes +which, though quaint, were not by any means beautiful. They were heavy +and ungraceful, like the people themselves: broad-brimmed hats and loose +trunk hose that hung about them like sacks, something after the fashion +of Turkish pantaloons; and the men wore their hair in huge manes, +hanging down their backs, ugly and untidy; habits, costumes and people +all indicative of la Bretagne Bretonnante—la Basse Bretagne.</p> + +<p>It was a lively scene, in which we longed to take a part; listen to the +strange language, watch the ways and manners of this distinctive race, +who certainly are too aboriginal to win upon you at first sight.</p> + +<p>The hotel was wide awake this morning, full of life and movement. All +who had had to do with us last night gave us a special greeting. They +seemed to look upon us almost as <i>enfants de la maison</i>; had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> taken us +in and done for us under special circumstances, and so had special +claims upon us. Moreover, we were English, and the English are much +considered in Morlaix.</p> + +<p>We looked upon last night's adventures as the events of a dream, though +at the time they had been very painful realities. The first object in +the hotel to meet our gaze was André, his face still tied up like a +mummy, still looking the Image of Misery, as if he and repose had known +nothing of each other since we had parted from him. He was, however, +very anxious for our welfare, and hoped we had slept well on our +impromptu couches.</p> + +<p>Next, on descending, we caught sight of Madame, taking the air and +contemplating the world at large at the door of her bureau. The moment +we appeared the air became too strong for her, and she rapidly passed +through her bureau to a sanctum sanctorum beyond, into which, of course, +we could not penetrate. We looked upon this as a tacit confession of a +guilty conscience, and agreed magnanimously to make no further allusion +to her lapsed memory. So when we at length met face to face, she, like +André, was full of amiable inquiries for our health and welfare.</p> + +<p>We sallied forth, and whatever we thought of Morlaix last night, we +thought no less of it to-day.</p> + +<p>It is a strange mixture of ancient and modern, as we were prepared to +find it. On all sides rose the steep hills, within the shelter of which +the town reposes. The situation is exceedingly striking. Stretching +across one end of the town with most imposing effect is the enormous +viaduct, over which the train rolls towards the station. It possesses +also a footway for pedestrians, from which point the whole town lies +mapped at your feet, and you may trace the faraway windings of the +river. The viaduct is nearly two hundred feet high, and nearly four +hundred yards long, and from its position it looks even more gigantic +than it is. It divides the town into two portions, as it were, the outer +portion consisting of the port and harbour: and from this footway far +down you may see the picturesque shipping at repose: a very modest +amount to-day moored to the river side, consisting of a few barges, a +vessel or two laden with coal or wood, and a steamer in which you might +take passage for Hâvre, or perhaps some nearer port on the Brittany +Coast.</p> + +<p>It is a charming picture, especially if the skies overhead are blue and +the sun is shining. Then the town is lying in alternate light and shade; +the pavements are chequered with gabled outlines, long drawn out or +foreshortened according to their position. The canal bordering the old +market-place is lined with a long row of women, alternately beating +linen upon boards and rinsing it in the water. We know that they are +laughing and chattering, though we cannot hear them; for a group of even +sober Breton women could not be together and keep silence. They take +life very seriously and earnestly; with them it is not all froth and +evaporation; but this is their individual<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> view of existence; +collectively there comes the reaction, forming the lights and shadows of +life, just as we have the lights and shadows in nature. That reaction +must come is the inevitable law; and possibly explains why there are so +many apparent contradictions in people.</p> + +<p>Morlaix has had an eventful history in the annals of Brittany. It takes +its name from <i>Mons Relaxus</i>, the hill that was crowned by the ancient +castle; a castle which existed at the time of the Roman occupation, if +the large number of medals and pieces of Roman money discovered in its +foundations may be taken as indicating its epoch. Many of these remains +may be seen in the small museum of the town. They date from the third +century.</p> + +<p>The progress of Morlaix was slow. Very little is recorded of its earlier +history. Though the Romans occupied it, we know not what they did there. +Nearly all traces of Roman architecture have disappeared. The town has +been frequently sacked and pillaged and burnt, sacrilege in which the +English have had many a hand; and even Roman bricks and mortar will +yield in time to destructive agencies.</p> + +<p>Even in the eleventh century it was still nothing more than a small +fishing town, a few houses nestling in the ravine, and sheltered by a +huge rampart on the south-west. Upon the <i>Mons Relaxus</i>, the hill giving +its name to the town, stood the lordly castle, the two rivers flowing, +one on either side, which further down unite and form one stream. To-day +all traces of the castle have disappeared and the site is planted with +trees, and quiet citizens walk to and fro beneath their shade, where +centuries ago there echoed the clash of arms and the shouts of warriors +going forth conquering and to conquer. For in those days the Romans were +the masters of the world, and seemed born only for victory.</p> + +<p>In the twelfth century, Morlaix began a long series of vicissitudes. In +1187 Henry II. of England laid siege to it, and it gave in after a +resistance of nine weeks. It was then in possession of the Dukes of +Brittany, who built the ancient walls of the town, traces of which yet +exist, and are amongst the town's most interesting remains.</p> + +<p>The occupation of the English being distasteful to the Bretons, they +continually rebelled against it; though, as far as can be known, the +English were no hard task-masters, forcing them, as the Egyptians did +the Israelites, to make bricks without straw.</p> + +<p>In 1372 the English were turned out of their occupation, and the Dukes +of Brittany once more reigned. It was an unhappy change for the +discontented people, as they soon found. John IV., Duke of Brittany, was +guilty of every species of tyranny and cruelty, and many of the +inhabitants were sacrificed.</p> + +<p>Time went on and Morlaix had no periods of great repose. Every now and +then the English attacked it, and in the reign of Francis I. they +pillaged and burnt it, destroying antiquities that perhaps to-day<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> would +have been worth many a king's ransom. This was in the year 1532.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a href="images/03large.jpg"> + <img src="images/03.jpg" + alt="Gateway of the Old Monastery, Morlaix." + title="Gateway of the Old Monastery, Morlaix." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">Gateway of the Old Monastery, Morlaix.</span> +</div> + +<p>In 1548, Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, a child of five years only, +disembarked at the wonderfully quaint little town of Roscoff to marry +the Dauphin of France, who afterwards reigned as Francis II. She made a +triumphal entry into Morlaix, was lodged at the Jacobin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> convent, and +took part in the Te Deum that was celebrated in her honour in Notre Dame +du Mur. This gives an additional interest to Morlaix, for every place +visited by the beautiful and unfortunate Queen of Scots, every record +preserved of her, possesses a romantic charm that time has been unable +to weaken.</p> + +<p>As she was returning to the convent after the celebration of the Te +Deum, and they were passing what was called the Gate of the Prison, the +drawbridge gave way and fell into the river. It was fortunately low +water, and no lives were lost. But the Scots Guards, separated from the +young Queen by the accident, took alarm, thought the whole thing had +been planned, and called out: "Treason! Treason!" Upon which the +Chevalier de Rohan, who rode near the Queen, quickly turned his horse +and shouted: "Never was Breton guilty of treason!"</p> + +<p>And this exclamation may be considered a key-note to their character. +The Bretons, amongst their virtues, may count that of loyalty. All is +fair in love and war, it is said; but the Bretons would betray neither +friend nor foe under any circumstance whatever.</p> + +<p>For two hundred years Morlaix has known peace and repose, as far as the +outer world is concerned. She has given herself up to religious +institutions, and has grown and prospered. So it comes to pass that she +is a strange mixture of new and old, and that side by side with a quaint +and wonderful structure of the Middle Ages, we find a house of the +present day flourishing like a green bay tree—a testimony to +prosperity, and an eyesore to the lover of antiquity. But these wonders +of the Middle Ages must gradually disappear. As time rolls on, and those +past centuries become more and more remote, the old must give place to +the new; ancient buildings must fall away in obedience to the inevitable +laws of time, progress and destruction.</p> + +<p>This is especially true of Morlaix. Much that was old-world and lovely +has gone for ever, and day by day something more is disappearing.</p> + +<p>We sallied forth, but unaccompanied by Misery, who was hard at work in +the hotel, preparing us rooms wherein, as he expressed it, we should +that night lodge as Christians. Whether, last night, he had put us down +as Mahometans, Fire Worshippers, or heathens of some other denomination, +he did not say.</p> + +<p>The town had lost the sense of weirdness and mystery thrown over it by +the darkness. The solemn midnight silence had given place to the +activity of work and daylight; all shops were open, all houses unclosed; +people were hurrying to and fro. Our strange little procession of three +was no more, and André carrying a flaring candle would have been +anything but a picturesque object in the sunshine.</p> + +<p>But what was lost of weirdness and mystery was more than made up by the +general effect of the town, by the minute details everywhere visible, by +the sense of life and movement. Usually the little town is quiet and +somewhat sleepy; to-day the inhabitants were roused<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> out of their Breton +lethargy by the presence of so many strangers amongst them, and by the +fact of its being market day.</p> + +<p>More than even last night, we were impressed by the wonderful outlines +of the Grand' Rue, where the lattice had been lighted up and the +mysterious vision had received a revelation in gazing upon H.C. To-day +behind the lattice there was comparative darkness, and the vision had +descended to a lower region, and the unromantic occupation of opening a +roll of calico and displaying its advantages to a market woman who was +evidently bent upon driving a bargain. The vision caught sight of H.C., +and for the moment calico and everything else was forgotten; the market +woman no doubt had her calico at her own price.</p> + +<p>The street itself is one of the most wonderful in France. As you stand +at the end and look down towards <i>Les Halles</i>, you have a picturesque +group, an assemblage of outlines scarcely to be equalled in the world. +The street is narrow, and the houses, more and more overhanging as they +ascend floor by floor, approach each other very closely towards the +summit. The roofs are, some of them, gabled; others, slanting backwards, +give room for picturesque dormer windows. Wide lattices stretch across +some of the houses from end to end; in others the windows are smaller +and open outwards like ordinary French windows, but always latticed, +always picturesque.</p> + +<p>Below, on the ground floor, many of the houses are given up to shops, +but, fortunately, they have not been modernised.</p> + +<p>The whole length of the front is unglazed, and you gaze into an interior +full of mysterious gloom, in which you can scarcely see the wares +offered for sale. The rooms go far back. They are black with age: a dark +panelling that you would give much to be able to transport to other +scenes. The ceilings are low, and great beams run across them. The doors +admitting you to these wonderful old-world places match well their +surroundings. They are wide and substantial, with beams that would +effectually guard a prison, and wonderful old locks and keys and pieces +of ironwork that set you wild with longings to turn housebreaker and +carry away these ancient and artistic relics.</p> + +<p>You feel that nothing in the lives of the people who live in these +wonderful tenements can be commonplace. However unconscious they may be +of the refining influence, it is there, and it must leave its mark upon +them.</p> + +<p>At least, you think so. You know what the effect would be upon yourself. +You know that if you could transport this street bodily to some quiet +nook in England and surround it by velvety lawns and ancient trees that +have grown and spread with the lapse of ages, your existence would +become a long and romantic daydream, and you would be in danger of +living the life of a recluse and never separating yourself from these +influences. Custom would never stale their infinite variety; familiarity +would never breed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> contempt. Who tires of wandering through a gallery of +the old masters? who can endure the modern in comparison? It is not the +mere antiquity of all these things that charm; it is that they are +beautiful in themselves, and belong to an age when the Spirit of Beauty +was poured out upon the world from full vials held in the hands of +unseen angels, and what men touched and created they perfected.</p> + +<p>But the vials have long been exhausted and the angels have fled back to +heaven.</p> + +<p>The houses all bear a strong family resemblance to each other, which +adds to their charm and harmony. Most of them possess two doors, one +giving access to the shop we have just described, the other admitting to +a hall or vestibule, panelled, and often richly sculptured. Above the +<i>rez-de-chaussée</i>, two or three stories rise, supported by enormous +beams richly moulded and sculptured, again supported in their turn by +other beams equally massive, whose massiveness is disguised by rich +sculpture and ornamentation: a profusion of boughs, of foliage, so +beautifully wrought that you may trace the veins in the leaves of +niches, pinnacles and statues: corner posts ornamented with figures of +kings, priests, saints, monsters, and bagpipers. The windows seem to +multiply themselves as they ascend, with their small panes crossed and +criss-crossed by leaden lines: the fronts of many are slated with slates +cut into lozenge shapes; and many possess the "slate apron" found in +fifteenth century houses, with the slates curved outwardly to protect +the beam.</p> + +<p>By the second door you pass down a long passage into what originally was +probably a small yard, but has now been turned into a living-room or +kitchen covered over at the very top of the house by a skylight. This is +an arrangement now peculiar to Brittany. The staircase occupies one side +of the space, and you may trace the windings to the very summit, +curiously arranged at the angles. These singularly-constructed rooms +have given to the houses the name of <i>lanternes</i>. Every room has an +enormous fireplace, in which you might almost roast an ox, built partly +of wood and stone, richly carved and ornamented. But let the eye rest +where it will, it is charmed by rich carvings and mouldings, beams +wonderfully sculptured, statues, ancient niches and grotesques.</p> + +<p>In one of these houses is to be found a wonderful staircase of carved +oak and great antiquity, that in itself would make Morlaix worth +visiting. It is in the Flamboyant style, and was probably erected about +the year 1500. For Brittany is behind the age in its carvings as much as +in everything else, and this staircase in any other country might safely +be put down to the year 1450. It is of wonderful beauty, and almost +matchless in the world: a marvel of skill and refinement. It possesses +also a <i>lavoir</i>, the only known example in existence, with doors to +close when it is not in use; the whole thing a dream of beautiful +sculpture.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a href="images/04large.jpg"> + <img src="images/04.jpg" + alt="Old Staircase in the Grand' Rue, Morlaix, showing Lavoir." + title="Old Staircase in the Grand' Rue, Morlaix, showing Lavoir." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">Old Staircase in the Grand' Rue, Morlaix, showing Lavoir.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>One other house in Morlaix has also a very wonderful staircase; still +more wonderful, perhaps, than that in the Grand' Rue; but it is not in +such good preservation. The house is in the Rue des Nobles, facing the +covered market-place. It is called the house of the Duchesse Anne, and +here in her day and generation she must have lived or lodged.</p> + +<p>The house is amongst the most curious and interesting and ancient in +Morlaix, but it is doomed. The whole interior is going to rack and ruin, +and it was at the peril of our lives that we scrambled up the staircase +and over the broken floors, where a false step might have brought us +much too rapidly back to terra firma. Morlaix is not enterprising enough +to restore and save this relic of antiquity.</p> + +<p>The staircase, built on the same lines as the wonderful staircase in the +Grand' Rue, is, if possible, more refined and beautiful; but it has been +allowed to fall into decay, and much of it is in a hopelessly worm-eaten +condition. H.C. was in ecstasies, and almost went down on his knees +before the image of an angel that had lost a leg and an arm, part of a +wing, and the whole of its nose; but very lovely were the outlines that +remained.</p> + +<p>"Like the Venus of Milo in the Louvre," said H.C., "what remains of it +is all the more precious for what is not."</p> + +<p>It was not so very long since we had visited the Louvre together, and he +had remained rapt before the famous Venus for a whole hour, +contemplating her from every point of view, and declaring that now he +should never marry: he had seen perfection once, and should never see it +again. This I knew to be nothing but the enthusiasm of the moment. The +very next pretty face and form he encountered, animated with the breath +of life, would banish from his mind all allegiance to the cold though +faultless marble image.</p> + +<p>The exterior of the house of the Duchesse Anne was as remarkable as the +interior for its wonderful antiquity, its carvings, its statues and +grotesques, its carved pilasters between the windows, each of different +design and all beautiful, its gabled roofs and its latticed panes that +had long fallen out of the perpendicular. Both this and the next house +were closed; and it was heartbreaking to think that perhaps on our next +visit to Morlaix empty space would here meet our gaze, or, still worse, +a barbarous modern aggression.</p> + +<p>Few towns now, comparatively speaking, possess fifteenth century +remains, and those few towns should preserve them as amongst their most +cherished treasures.</p> + +<p>Morlaix is still amongst the most favoured towns in this respect. Go +which way you will, and amongst much that is modern, you will see +ancient houses and nooks and corners that delight you and take you back +to the Middle Ages. Now it will be an old house in the market-place that +has escaped destruction; now a whole court up some narrow turning, too +out-of-the-way to have been worthy of demolition; and now it will be a +whole street, like the Grand' Rue,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> which has been preserved, no doubt +of deliberate intent, as being one of the most typical fifteenth century +streets in the whole of France, an ornament and an attraction to the +town, raising Morlaix out of the commonplace, and causing antiquarians +and many others to visit it.</p> + +<p>For if all the houses of the Grand' Rue are not actually fifteenth +century—and they are not—they all look of an age; they all belong to +the same school of architecture, and the harmony of the whole street is +perfect. Looking upwards, the eye is delighted at the outlines of the +gabled roofs that stand out so clearly and sharply against the +background of the sky; and you return to it over and over again during +your sojourn in Morlaix, and each time you gaze longer and think it more +beautiful than before.</p> + +<p>These old-world towns and streets are very refreshing to the spirit. We +grow weary of our modern towns, with their endless monotony and their +utter absence of all taste and beauty. Just as when sojourning in a +country devoid of monuments and ruins, the mind at length absolutely +hungers for some grand, ecclesiastical building, some glorious vestige +of early ages; so when we have once grown familiar with mediæval towns +and outlines, it becomes an absolute necessity occasionally to run away +from our prosy nineteenth century habitations, and refresh our spirit, +and absorb into our inmost nature all these refining old-world charms. +It is an influence more easily felt than described; also, it does not +appeal to all natures. We can only understand Shakespeare by the +Shakespeare that is within us—an oft quoted saying but a very true one; +and Pan might pipe for ever to one who has no music in his soul; and the +rainbow might arch itself in vain to one who is colour-blind.</p> + +<p>Morlaix also, as we have said, owes much to its situation.</p> + +<p>Lying between three ravines, it is most romantically placed. Its people +are sheltered from many of the cruel winds of winter, and even the +sturdy Bretons cannot be quite indifferent to the stern blast that comes +from the East laden with ice and snow.</p> + +<p>Not that the people of Morlaix look particularly robust, though we found +them very civil and often very interesting. We must pay for our +privileges, and if a town is built in a hollow, and is sheltered from +the east wind, the chances are that its climate will be enervating. +This, of course, has its drawbacks, and sets the seal of consumption on +many a victim that might have escaped in higher latitudes.</p> + +<p>One charming type we found in Morlaix, consisting of a family that ought +to have lived in the middle ages, and been painted by Raphael, or have +served as models for Fra Angelico's angels. Three generations.</p> + +<p>We were climbing the Jacob's ladder leading to the station one day, when +we chanced upon an old man who sold antiquities. We were first taken +with his countenance. It had honesty and integrity written upon it. Had +he been a German, living in Ober-Ammergau,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> he would certainly have been +chosen for the chief character in the play—a play, by the way, that has +always seemed questionable, since the greatest and most momentous Drama +creation ever witnessed appears too sacred a theme to be theatrically +represented, even in a spirit of devotion.</p> + +<p>Our antiquarian was growing old. His face was pale, beautiful and +refined, with a very spiritual expression. The eyes were of a pure blue, +in which dwelt almost the innocence of childhood. He was slightly +deformed in the back. There was a pathetic tone in the voice, a resigned +expression in the face, which told of a long life of struggle, and +possibly much hardship and trouble—the latter undoubtedly.</p> + +<p>We soon found that he had in him the true artistic temperament. His own +work was beautiful, his carvings were full of poetical feeling. If not a +genius himself, he was one whose offspring should possess the "sacred +fire," which must be born with its possessor, can never after be +kindled. In one or two instances we pointed to something superlatively +good. "Ah, that is my son's work," he said; "it is not mine." And there +was an inflection in the voice which told of pride and affection, and +perhaps was the one bright spot in the old man's pilgrimage, perhaps his +one sorrow and trouble—who could tell? We had not seen the son; we felt +we must do so.</p> + +<p>The old man's most treasured possession was a crucifix, to which he +pointed with a reverential devotion.</p> + +<p>"I have had it nearly thirty years," he said, "and I never would sell +it. It is so beautiful that it must be by a great master—one of the old +masters. People have come to see it from far and near. Many have tempted +me with a good offer, but I would never part with it. Now I want the +money and I wish to sell it. Will you not buy it?"</p> + +<p>It was certainly exquisitely beautiful; carved in ivory deeply browned +with age. We had never seen anything to equal the position of the Figure +upon the Cross; the wonderful beauty of the head; the sorrow and +sacredness of the expression; the perfect anatomy of the body. But in +our strictly Protestant prejudices we hesitated. As an object of +religion of course we could have nothing to do with it; the Roman +Catholic creed, with its outward signs and symbols, was not ours; who +even in our own Church mourned the almost lost beauty and simplicity of +our ancient ritual; that substitution of the ceremonial for the +spiritual, the creature for the Creator, which seems to threaten the +downfall of the Establishment. Would it be right to purchase and possess +this beautiful thing merely as an object of refined and wonderful art? I +looked at H.C. In his face at least there was no hesitation. Such a +prize was not to be lost if it could be obtained within reasonable +limits. It must take a place amongst his old china, his headless Saints +and Madonnas!</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <a href="images/05large.jpg"> + <img src="images/05.jpg" + alt="Old Houses, Morlaix." + title="Old Houses, Morlaix." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">Old Houses, Morlaix.</span> +</div> + +<p>The first time we came across the old man—it was quite by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> accident +that we found him out—we felt that we had discovered a prize in human +nature: one of those rare exceptions that exist still in out-of-the-way +nooks and corners, but are seldom found. It is so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> difficult to go +through the world and remain unspoiled by it; especially for those who, +having to work for their daily bread by the sweat of their brow, have to +come into daily contact with that harder, coarser element in human +nature, that, for ever over-reaching its neighbour, tries to believe +that the race <i>is</i> to the swift and the battle to the strong.</p> + +<p>The son was away from the town on the occasion of our first visit. The +father seemed proud of him in a quiet, gentle sort of way, and +gentleness was evidently the key-note to his character. He said his son +had carried off all the prizes in a Paris School of Art, and one prize +that was especially difficult to obtain. Would we come again and see +him, and see his work?</p> + +<p>We went again. At the door-sill a little child greeted us; the most +beautiful little face we had ever seen. Nothing in any picture of an old +master ever equalled it. At the first moment we almost thought it the +face of an angel, as it looked up into our faces with all the confidence +and innocence of infancy. The child might have been eighteen months old, +just at the age when the eyes begin to take that inquiring look upon +everything, as if they had just awakened to the fact that they had +arrived upon a scene where all was new and strange. The eyes of this +child were large and of a celestial blue; fair curls fell over his +shoulders; his cheeks were round like a cherub's, and had the hue of the +damask rose. The strangest part about the face was its refinement, as if +the little fellow, instead of being born of the people, had come of a +long line of noble ancestors.</p> + +<p>We went into the workshop, and there found the father of the child at +work, the son of the old man.</p> + +<p>We no longer wondered at the child's beauty; it was a counterpart of the +father's, but to the latter was added all the grace and maturity of +manhood. Unlike the old man, the face was round and flushed with the hue +of health. Large dark blue eyes looked out earnestly at you from under +long dark lashes. The head was running over with dark crisp curls. The +face was also singularly refined, had an exceedingly pure and modest +expression. No Apollo, real or imagined, was ever more perfect in form +and feature. To look upon that face was to love its owner.</p> + +<p>He was hard at work, carving, his wonderfully-drawn plans about him. It +was certainly the best modern work we had ever seen; and here, we felt, +was a genius. Probably it had been hampered for want of means, as so +many other geniuses have been since the foundation of the world. He +ought to have been known and celebrated; the master of a great and +famous <i>atelier</i> in the chief of gay cities; appreciated by the +world—and perhaps spoilt by flattery. Instead of which, he was working +for his daily bread in a small town, unknown, unappreciated; toiling in +a small, retired workshop, where people seldom penetrated, and a good +deal of his work depended upon chance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> Yet, if his face bespoke one +thing more than another, it was happiness and contentment. Ambition +seemed to have no part in his life. That he loved his art was evident +from the tenderness with which he handled his drawings and looked upon +his carvings. It may be that this love was all-sufficient for him, and +that as long as he had health to work, and fancy to create, and daily +bread to eat, he cared for nothing more.</p> + +<p>The little rift within the lute? Ah, who is without it? What household +has not its skeleton? Where shall we find perfect happiness—or anything +perfect? In this instance it was soon apparent to us; and again we +marvelled at the inconsistency of human nature; the incongruity of +things; the way men spoil their lives and make crooked things that ought +to be, and might have been, so straight.</p> + +<p>We could not help wondering what sort of help-meet this Apollo had +chosen for himself; what angelic mother had given to the world this +little blue-eyed cherub, whose fitting place seemed not earth but +heaven.</p> + +<p>Even as we wondered we were answered. A voice called to the child from +above, and the child turned its lovely head, but moved not. Then the +owner of the voice was heard descending, and the mother appeared. We +were dismayed. Never had we seen a woman more abandoned and neglected. +Everything about her was slovenly. Her hair fell about her face and +shoulders in tangled masses; her clothing was torn and neglected. We had +seen such exhibitions in the dens of London, never in a decent +household. It made us feel inexpressibly sad and sorrowful. Here was a +great mystery; two people terribly ill-matched. We glanced at the +husband, expecting to see a flush mantling his brow. But he quietly went +on with what he was about, as though he saw not, and mother and child +disappeared upstairs.</p> + +<p>Here, then, whether he knew it or not, was the little rift within the +lute. An ill-assorted marriage, a life-long mistake. Had he looked and +chosen above him, his help-meet might have assisted him to rise in the +world and to become famous. As it was, he had been caught by a pretty +face—for, with due care and attention and a settled expression, the +face would have been undoubtedly pretty—and had sealed his fate. With +such a wife no man could rise.</p> + +<p>We left him to his art and went our way, very sorrowful. It was a lovely +morning, and we started back for the hotel, having arranged to take a +drive at a certain hour along the river banks to the sea.</p> + +<p>We found the conveyance ready for us. Monsieur, by special attentions, +was making up for the lapses of that one terrible night.</p> + +<p>Above us, as we went, stretched the gigantic viaduct, so singular a +contrast with the ancient houses and remains of this old town; forming a +comparison that certainly makes Morlaix one of the most remarkable towns +in France. Beneath it rose the houses on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> rocky slopes, one above +another, so that from the back you may almost enter them from the roof, +as you do some of the Tyrolese châlets. In Morlaix it has given rise to +a proverb: "Du jardin au grenier, comme on dit à Morlaix."</p> + +<div class="figleft"> + <a href="images/06large.jpg"> + <img src="images/06.jpg" + alt="Morlaix." + title="Morlaix." /></a><br /> + <span class="caption">Morlaix.</span> +</div> + +<p>Beneath the viaduct, far down, was the river and the little port, where +vessels of considerable tonnage may anchor, and which has added much to +the prosperity of the town, that trades largely in corn, vegetables, +butter, honey, wax, oil-seeds, and—as we have seen—horses. There is +also a large tobacco manufactory here, which gives employment to an +immense number of hands.</p> + +<p>We passed all this and went our way down the right bank of the river. +The scenery is very picturesque; the heights are well wooded, broken and +undulating. Some of the richer inhabitants of Morlaix have built +themselves houses on the heights; charming châteaux where they spend +their summers, and luxuriate in the fresh breezes that blow up from the +sea. Across there on the left bank of the river, rises the convent of +St. François, a large building, where the <i>religieux</i> retire from the +world, yet are not too isolated.</p> + +<p>And on this side, on the <i>Cours Beaumont</i>, a lovely walk planted with +trees, we come to the Fontaine des Anglais, so called because here, in +1522, six hundred English were surprised asleep by the people of +Morlaix, and slain. They had, however, courted their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> own doom. Henry +VIII. had picked a quarrel with Francis I. for seizing the ships of +English merchants in French ports. The English king had escorted with +his fleet the Emperor Charles V., of Spain, under command of the Earl of +Surrey, and in returning, it entered the river, surprised Morlaix, burnt +and sacked the town, and murdered many of its inhabitants. They left it +loaded with spoil; and when the inhabitants surprised these six hundred +English they revenged themselves upon them without mercy.</p> + +<p>To-day, we had no sooner reached the spot than suddenly the clouds +gathered, the sky was overcast, a squall rose shrieking and whistling +amidst the trees, and there was every appearance of a downpour. We were +not prepared for it, but we rashly continued our way. At last, just +before we reached a small road-side cabaret, down it came, as if the +whole reservoir of cloudland had been let loose.</p> + +<p>We hastily stopped at the auberge, already half-drenched, and H.C. +crying out "Any port in a storm," we entered it. It was humble enough, +yet might every benighted traveller in every storm find as good a +refuge!</p> + +<p>The good woman of the house was standing at her poêle, preparing the +mysteries of the mid-day dinner. Her husband, she said, had gone into +Morlaix, with fish to sell—it was one of their chief means of +livelihood. He bought the fish from the fishermen who came up the river, +and sold it again to the hotels. One of his best customers was the Hôtel +d'Europe, and M. Hellard was a brave monsieur, who never beat them down +in their prices, and had always a pleasant word for them. Madame was +very amiable too, for the matter of that.</p> + +<p>It was rather a hard life, but what with that and the little profit of +the auberge, they managed to make both ends meet.</p> + +<p>She had three children. The eldest was a girl, and had her wits about +her. She had been to Paris with her father, and had seen the Exhibition, +and talked about it like a grown-up person. But her father had taken her +one night to the Théâtre des Variétés in the Champs Elysées, and the +girl had been mad ever since to become a <i>chanteuse</i> and an actress.</p> + +<p>The ambitious child—a girl of fourteen—at this moment came down +stairs, and a more forbidding young damsel we had seldom seen. Her +mother had evidently no control over her; she was mistress of the +situation; ordered her mother about, slapped a younger brother, a little +fellow who was playing at a table with some leaden soldiers, and +finally, to our relief, disappeared into an inner room. We saw her no +more.</p> + +<p>"It is always like that," sighed the poor mother, who seemed by no means +a woman to be lightly sat upon: "always like that ever since she went +that <i>malheureux</i> voyage to Paris. It has changed her character; made +her dissatisfied with her lot; I fear she will one day leave us and go +back to Paris for good—or rather for evil;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> for she will have no one to +look after her; and, I am told, it is a sink of iniquity. I was never +there, and know very little about the ways of large towns. Morlaix is +quite enough for me. But she is afraid of her father, that is one +<i>bonheur</i>."</p> + +<p>All this time she had been brewing us coffee, and now she brought it to +us in her best china, with some of the spirit of the country which does +duty for cognac and robs so many of the Bretons of their health and +senses. But it was not a time to be fastidious. To counteract the +effects of the elements and drenched clothes, we helped ourselves +liberally to a decoction that we thought excellent, but under other +conditions should have considered poisonous.</p> + +<p>The while our hostess, glad of an appreciative audience, poured into our +ears tales and stories of herself, her life and the neighbourhood. How +she had originally belonged to the Morbihan, and when a girl dressed in +the costume of her country, with the short petticoats and the +picturesque kerchief crossed upon the breast. How her father had been a +well-to-do <i>bazvalan</i> and made the Sunday clothes for the whole village. +And how she had met her fate when her bonhomme came that way on a visit +to an old uncle in the village, and in six months they were married, and +she had come to Morlaix. She had never regretted her marriage. She had a +good husband, who worked hard; and if they were poor, they were far from +being in want. She had really only one trouble in the world, and that +was that she could do nothing with her eldest girl. She would obey no +one but her father; and even he was losing control over her.</p> + +<p>"Is her father much away?" we asked, thinking that the young damsel +looked as if she were under no very stern discipline.</p> + +<p>"Not on long voyages, such as going to Paris or the Morbihan," replied +the woman; "but he is often away for half-a-day or so, selling his fish +in Morlaix and doing commissions for their little auberge. And then," +she added with a condoning smile, "of course he sometimes met with a +camarade who enticed him to drink a glass too much, though that was a +rare occurrence. Mais que voulez-vous? Human nature was weak; and for +her part she really thought that men were weaker than women. Certainly +they were more self-indulgent."</p> + +<p>"It is because they have more temptations," said H.C., pleading the +cause of his own sex. "Women had more to do with home and the +pot-au-feu."</p> + +<p>At this moment our hostess's pot-au-feu began to boil over, and she +darted across the room, took it off the fire and returned, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Even the pot-au-feu we cannot always manage, it seems," she remarked; +"and so there are faults on all sides. Sometimes on a Sunday her husband +went and spent the day at Roscoff, where he had a cousin living. Did +messieurs know Roscoff—a deadly-lively little place, with a quaint +harbour, where there was a chapel to commemorate the landing of Marie +Stuart?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<p>We said we did not know it, but purposed visiting it on the morrow if +the skies ceased their deluge.</p> + +<p>"Why does your husband not turn fisherman," we asked, "instead of buying +his fish from others, and so selling it second-hand at a smaller profit? +You are so close to the sea."</p> + +<p>"Dame," replied the woman, "it is not his trade. He was never brought up +to the sea; always hated it. And for the rest," she added, with a +shudder, "Heaven forbid that he should turn fisherman! She had once +dreamed three times running that he was drowned at sea; and she had +feared the water ever since. She had almost made her husband take a vow +that he would never go upon the sea. He generally took part once a year +in the regatta; of course, there could be no danger; but she trembled +the whole time until she saw him returning safe and sound. No, no! +Chacun à son métier."</p> + +<p>Here we interrupted the flow of eloquence, though the woman was really +interesting with her straightforward confidences, her rather picturesque +patois, and her numerous gestures.</p> + +<p>We went to the door and surveyed the elements. The skies were cowering; +the rain came down like a revengeful cataract; the road was flooded, and +the water was beginning to flood the room. In front the river looked +cold and threatening; it flowed towards the sea with an angry rush; our +vehicle was refreshing itself before the door, and the horse and driver +had taken refuge in the stable. The tops of the surrounding hills were +hidden in mist; everywhere the rain roared. The scene was dreary and +desolate in the extreme.</p> + +<p>At this moment the driver appeared. "Was it of any use waiting? He knew +the climate pretty well; the rain would never cease till sundown. Had we +not better make the best of it and get back to Morlaix?"</p> + +<p>We thought so, and gave the signal for departure. Our patience was +exhausted—and so was our coffee. Our hostess was distressed. At least +we would borrow an umbrella, and her husband's thick coat, and perhaps +her shawl for our knees. She was too good; genuinely kind hearted; and +in despair when we accepted nothing. We bade her farewell, settled her +modest demands, and set out for Morlaix.</p> + +<p>Arrived at the hotel like drowned rats, Madame was all anxiety and +motherly solicitude, begged us to get between blankets and have tisane +administered or some eau sucrée with a spoonful of rum in it. She +bemoaned the uncertainty of the climate, and hoped we were not going to +have bad weather for our visit. And when we declined all her polite +attentions, assuring her that a change of clothing was all we needed, +and all we should do, she declared that she was amazed at our temerity, +but that she had the greatest admiration for the constitution and +courage of the people of Greater Britain.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> +<h2>AFTER TWENTY YEARS</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Ada M. Trotter</span>.</h3> + + +<p>"May you come in and rest, you ask? Why of course you may. Take this +rocking-chair—but there, some men don't like rockers. Well, if so be +you prefer it, stay as you be, right in the shadder of the vines. It's a +pretty look-out from there, I know, all down the valley over them meadow +lands—and that rushing bit of river.</p> + +<p>"You ask me if I know'd one Kitty Larkins, the prettiest gal in the +county, the prettiest gal anywheres, you say. Yes, sir! I know'd her +well. Dead? Yes, sir, Kitty—the bright, gay creature folks knew as +Kitty Larkins died this day twenty years ago.</p> + +<p>"Do I know how she died and the story of her life? I do well; I do; +p'raps better nor most. You want to hear about her; maybe you would find +it kind of prosing; but there, the afternoon sun <i>is</i> pretty hot, and +the haymakers out there in the meadows have got a hard time of it.</p> + +<p>"What's that! Don't I go and lend a hand in the press of the season? +Well, I don't. Not for twenty year. There's them as calls it folly, but +the smell of the hay brings it all back and turns me sick. You say you +can't believe such a fine woman as me would be subject to fancies; you +think I look too young, do you, to be talkin' this way of twenty years +ago. Wall, there's more than one way of counting age. Some goes by grey +hairs, some by happenings. But this that came so long ago is all as +clear—clear as God's light upon the meadows there.</p> + +<p>"But if you will have the whole story, let's begin at the beginnin', and +that brings you to the old school-house where them three, neighbours' +children they was, went to school together. There was Kitty of course, +and Elihu Grant and Joel Barton, them was the three that my story's +about.</p> + +<p>"'Lihu was always a big, over-grown lad, with a steadfast, kind heart, +not what folks called brilliant; he warn't going to be extraordinary +when he grow'd up, didn't want to be, so fur as I know; he aimed to be +as good a man's his father, nothing more, nothing less. Good and true +was 'Lihu; all knew that, yet his name was never mentioned without a +'but,' not even by the school marm, though she said he was the best boy +in her school.</p> + +<p>"Kitty looked down some on 'Lihu, made him fetch and carry, and always +accustomed herself to the 'but,' as if the good qualities wasn't of much +account since they could not command general admiration. Yes, this had +something to do with what follered; I can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> see that plain enough. Still, +I know she loved 'Lihu from babyhood deep down in her heart of hearts—</p> + +<p>"Anything wrong, sir? you give me a turn moving so sudden like. Let me +see, where was I? Oh, talkin' about them boys. Well, let's get on.</p> + +<p>"I've given you some idea of what 'Lihu was like, but seems to me harder +to tell about that Barton boy, that gay, handsome, charming Joel, that +kept the whole country alive with his doings and sayings from the time +he could trot about alone.</p> + +<p>"Wall! he <i>was</i> bright was Joel, and 'twas no wonder that his parents +see it so plain and talk Joel day in and day out whenever they got a +soul to listen to 'em. Kitty grew up admiring him; there warn't no 'but' +in speaking of Joel. He done everything first class, from farm work to +his lessons, so no wonder his folks acted proud of him and sent him to +college to prepare for a profession.</p> + +<p>"Wall, his success at college added some to his notoriety, and his +doings was talked back and forth more'n ever.</p> + +<p>"Then every term kind of altered him. He come back with a finer air, +better language and a knowledge of the ways of society folks, that put +him ahead of anyone else in the valley; while poor 'Lihu was just the +same in speech and manner, and more retiring and modest than ever; and, +though he was faithfuller, truer and stronger hearted than he'd ever +given promise of being, folks never took to him as they did to young +Joel.</p> + +<p>"But I must go on, for young folks grow up and the signs of mischief +come gradual like and was not seen by foolish Kitty, but increasing +every time Joel come home for his vacations. Of course Kitty was to +blame, but the Lord made her what she was.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I can speak freely of her now, because, as I said before, this +careless, pretty Kitty died twenty long years ago.</p> + +<p>"Not before she married Joel, you ask? Well, of all impatient men! +really I can't get on no quicker than I be doin', and if you're tired of +it, why take your hat and go. Events don't fly as quick as words and I'm +taking you over the course at race-horse speed, skipping where I can, so +as to give you just the gist of the story.</p> + +<p>"Wall then, Kitty loved life; not but what it meant work early and late +to keep things as they oughter be on the old homestead. Her folks warn't +as notable as they might ha' been till Kitty took hold; and then I tell +you, sir, she made things spin. 'Twarn't only her pretty face that +brought men like bees about the place; there was many as would ha' asked +for her, if she'd been as homely as a door nail. But she sent 'em all +away with the same story—all but her old sweethearts 'Lihu and Joel, +and they was as much rivals when they grow'd up as they'd been at the +old school-house, when Kitty treated 'Lihu like a yaller dog and showed +favour to young Joel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But 'Lihu hung on. He come of a race never known to give up what they +catched on to. Some way he gained ground too, for, with that shiftless +dad at the head of things at the homestead, there was need of a wise +counsellor to back up Kitty in the way she took hold.</p> + +<p>"'Lihu was wise, and Kitty got to leaning on his word, and by the time +that I be talkin' of, I s'pose there warn't no one that could have +filled the place in Kitty's life that 'Lihu had made for himself—only +he did not guess at that, and the more she realised it, the backwarder +that silly young creature would have been to confess to it, even to +herself.</p> + +<p>"Sir, I ain't used to folks that give such sudden turns. Don't you +s'pose you could set down and be comfortable somewheres while I be +talkin', instead of twisting and snerling yourself up in my poor vines?</p> + +<p>"You'd rather stand where you be; well, then, I'll get on with my story.</p> + +<p>"I was coming to Joel. It's more interesting to strangers, that part +about Joel, for he was, as I said before, everything 'Lihu +lacked—bright and gay, handsome and refined. Ay, and he was a manly +looking feller too, and had took lessons in fighting and worked through +a gymnasium course, while 'Lihu knew no better exercises than sawing +wood and pitching hay and such farm work. 'Lihu was clumsy in moving, +but Joel graceful and light; you'd as soon have thought of the old +church tower taking to dancing as of 'Lihu trying his hand at it; but +Joel, of course, he were the finest dancer anyone had ever see'd in our +neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>"So it naturally come about that when Kitty wanted to have a gay +time—and what young girl does not like fun sometimes?—she took to Joel +and left 'Lihu to his fierce jealousy out in the cold.</p> + +<p>"Joel had nothing to do but philander after Kitty, come vacations, and +there he'd be lounging round the garden, reading poetry to her, when +she'd a minute to set down, and telling her about the doings of gay +society folks in cities.</p> + +<p>"Kitty liked it all, why shouldn't she? and the more 'Lihu looked like a +funeral the more she turned her back on him and favoured t'other. You +see, sir, I give it you fair. There was faults all round; and if you +want my candid opinion, that Joel was more to blame than Kitty, for, +being a man of the world, he knew better than she what the end of it all +was bound to be; that the day would come when she would have to make her +choice between them and that to one of them that day would mean a broken +heart, a spoiled life.</p> + +<p>"Ah, well! It was hayin' time just twenty years ago, and a spell of +weather just like this, perhaps a mite warmer, but much the same.</p> + +<p>"Well, it threatened a thunderstorm, and all hands was pressed into the +fields. Even Kitty was there, with her rake, for, to tell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> the truth, +she was child enough to love a few hours in the sweet-smelling meadows. +Joel, he was there, he'd took off his store clothes, and was handsomer +than ever in his flannels, and, with his deftness and muscle, was worth +any two hired men in the field.</p> + +<p>"He and 'Lihu, who had come over to lend a hand, was nigh to one another +that afternoon; and there was things said between 'em, as they worked, +as had to lay by for a settlin'. Kitty made things worse—silly girl +that she was—by coming round in her gay way with her rake, and smiling +at them both, so that it would have beat the Angel Gabriel to know which +of them it were she had a leaning to.</p> + +<p>"Truth was, Kitty was back into childhood, out there in the hay—merry +and sweet as a rosebud she looked in her old faded bonnet. I see her +just as plain, this poor child—that did so much mischief without +meaning to hurt anybody. How was she to know that fierce fires of +jealous, passionate hatred were at work, kindled by her to flame that +sunshiny afternoon, as she danced along the meadow with her rake, happy +as the June day seemed long?</p> + +<p>"No, sir, you need not be impatient, for the story is about done.</p> + +<p>"The last load of hay was pitched as the glowing sun went down. The +thunderstorm had passed to the hills beyond, and on the horizon clouds +lay piled, purple black. The men come in to supper, and then went out +again. Kitty was busy with her dishes in the kitchen till dark; then +there come a flash of lightning, and a growlin' of thunder. The last +dish was put away, and so the girl went sauntering out, down to the bush +of cluster roses by the garden gate, where she could look over into the +barn-yard and call to the men still at work with the hay.</p> + +<p>"Something took her farther—'twas as if a hand led her—and she crossed +the yard, and down the lane she went till she got to the meadow gate +that stood open as the men had left it after bringing that last heavy +wain through.</p> + +<p>"The moon was up—a moon that drifted serenely through the banks of +clouds, ever upwards to the zenith.</p> + +<p>"Sir, did you ever think—and being a stranger, sir, you must excuse the +question—did you ever think of the wicked deeds that moon has looked +upon since the creation of mortal man? Oh, yes, I know it, I know it +well; in God's sunlight, that sin would never have been committed; but +in the moonlight—the calm, still moonlight—passions rise to fever +heat, the blow is struck, and man turns away with the curse of Cain +written on his brow.</p> + +<p>"Kitty, standing with her back against the gate, her eyes following the +flitting light across the meadow to the mill-race by the path beyond, +all at once felt her heart leap with nameless horror. Yet all she could +see was shadows, for the figures was out of sight. All she could see was +shadows—shadows cast upon the moonlit meadowland where she had gaily +danced with her rake in hand only a few hours before. Two giant forms +(so the moonbeams made it) swayed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> back and forth, gripped together like +one, scarcely moving from one spot as they wrestled, as though 'twould +take force to uproot them—force like that of the whirlwind in the +spring, that tore the old oak like a sapling from its foundations laid +centuries ago.</p> + +<p>"Kitty, struck dumb like one in nightmare, fled across the meadow +towards the mill-race.</p> + +<p>"As she went, the shadows lifted and changed with a cruel uprising that +told her the end was near. If she could have cried out then, and if they +had heard! But as she fled on unheeding, the moon was suddenly obscured. +It was pitch dark, and the muttering thunder broke into a roar that +shook the earth under Kitty's feet. How long was it before the moon +drifted from out that cloud-bank, where lightning played with zig-zag +flames? How long?</p> + +<p>"When the moonbeams fell again upon the meadow-lands the shadows were +gone and Kitty stood alone upon the banks of the mill-race, looking at +the rushing dark waters. When she turned homewards she met Joel face to +face. He was pale, but a triumphant light shone in his eyes. He came +forward with open arms—'Kitty, my Kitty!' he cried.</p> + +<p>"Kitty stood one moment, with eyes that seemed to pierce to his very +heart, then she turned to the splashing waters and pointed solemnly.</p> + +<p>"'Elihu, where is Elihu?' she asked; and in that moment, when Joel hung +his head before her without a word of answer, Kitty fell down like a +dead thing at his feet.</p> + +<p>"And I, who knew her so well, I tell you that Kitty died there on that +meadow by the race, just twenty year ago to-day.</p> + +<p>"Joel, you ask? What come to Joel? Well, p'raps he felt bad just at +first, for he went away for two, three year, I believe. But he come +back, did Joel, and Kitty never molested him by word or deed. You can +see his house there below the mill; he's married long since and his +house is full of children. But never, since that June night twenty year +ago, has he dared set foot at the old homestead. Folks talked—of course +they talked—but Kitty, the staid, sad woman they called Kitty, heeded +nothing that was said. Joel, he tried to right himself and writ her many +a long letter at the first.</p> + +<p>"'It was a fair wrestle,' said he, 'and him as was beaten was to leave +the place and not come back for months or years. Elihu was beat on the +wrestle and he's gone that's all there is to it.'</p> + +<p>"Kitty, she never answered them letters; she remembered that uplifted +arm as the vast shadows swayed towards her on the meadow, and Joel, he +give it up."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>By this time the heavy hay-waggons began to move across the meadows. It +was drawing near supper-time and the speaker rose and briskly set aside +her knitting.</p> + +<p>"I believe that's all," she said. "It's a tragic story for a country<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +place like this. But now set down, won't you, and wait till the men come +up for supper? Mebbe you'll be glad of a cup of tea before you go any +further."</p> + +<p>The stranger, well within the shade of the clustering vines, made no +reply.</p> + +<p>"Say," cried she, from the porch door; "set down and wait for supper, +won't you?"</p> + +<p>Surprised at the silence, accustomed as she was to the garrulity of +country neighbours, she stepped out into the piazza. A beautiful woman +she, of forty years, whose fine face seemed now set in an aureole of +sunbeams. The stranger took off his hat and stooped somewhat towards +her; there was something familiar in the gesture, which set the wild +blood throbbing at her heart-strings as though the past twenty years had +been a dream.</p> + +<p>"Kitty, my dear love, Kitty."</p> + +<p>The farm men came singing up the lane, the heavy waggons grinding slowly +along in the sunshine. All this, the everyday life, was now the dream, +and they, Kitty and Elihu, had met in the meadow lands of the earthly +Paradise.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/02de.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + +<h2>A MEMORY.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How much of precious joy, that leaves no pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lives in the simple memory of a face<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Once seen, and only for a little space,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never after to be seen again:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A face as fair as, on an altar pane,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A pictured window in some holy place—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The glowing lineaments of immortal grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In many a vague ideal sought in vain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such face was yours, and such the joy to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who saw you once, once only, and by chance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cherished evermore in memory<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The noble beauty of your countenance—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The poet's natural language in your looks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet as the wondrous sweetness of your books.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="name"><span class="smcap">George Cotterell</span>.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> +<h2>AUNT PHŒBE'S HEIRLOOMS.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>An Experience in Hypnotism.</i></p> + + +<p>We do not take to new ideas readily in Bishopsthorpe. Our fashions are +always at least one season behind the times; it is only by a late +innovation in Post Office regulations that we are now enabled to get our +London papers on the day of their publication; and a craze, social or +scientific, has almost been forgotten by the fashionable world before it +manages to establish any kind of footing in our midst.</p> + +<p>It therefore came upon us with more or less of a shock one morning a +short time ago to find the walls of our sleepy little country town +placarded with naming posters announcing that Professor Dmitri +Sclamowsky intended to visit Bishopsthorpe on the following Friday, for +the purpose of exhibiting in the Town Hall some of his marvellous powers +in Thought Reading, Mesmerism, and Hypnotism.</p> + +<p>Stray rumours from time to time, and especially of late, had visited us +of strange experiments in connection with these outlandish sciences, if +sciences they can be called; but we had received these with incredulity, +mingled with compassion for such weak-minded persons as could be easily +duped by the clever conjuring of paid charlatans.</p> + +<p>This, at least, was very much the mental attitude of my aunt Phoebe, and +it was only under strong pressure from me and one or two others of her +younger and more enterprising section of Bishopsthorpe society that she +at last reluctantly consented to patronise the Professor's performance +in person.</p> + +<p>Even at the last moment she almost failed us.</p> + +<p>"I am getting too old a woman, my dear Elizabeth," she said to me as I +was helping her to dress, "to leave my comfortable fireside after dinner +for the sake of seeing second-rate conjuring."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, it is good of you," I said, as I disposed a piece of soft old +point lace in graceful folds round the neck of her black velvet dress; +"but virtue will be its own reward, for I am sure you will enjoy it as +much as any of us, and as for being too old, that is all nonsense! Just +look in the glass, and then say if you have a heart to cheat +Bishopsthorpe of a sight of you in all your glory."</p> + +<p>"You are a silly girl, Elizabeth!" said my aunt, and yet she did as I +suggested, and, walking up to the long pier-glass, looked at her +reflection with a well pleased smile. "Indeed," she continued, turning +back to me to where I stood by the dressing-table, "I think I am as +silly as you are, to rig myself out like this," and she pointed to the +double row of large single diamonds I had clasped round her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> neck, and +the stars of the same precious stones which twinkled and flashed in the +lace of her cap.</p> + +<p>"Come, Aunt Phœbe," I said, drawing down her hands, which had made a +movement as though she would have taken off the glittering gauds, "you +don't often give the good Bishopsthorpe folk a chance of admiring the +Anstruther heirlooms. They look so lovely! Don't take them off, +<i>please</i>. What is the use of having beautiful things if they are always +to be hidden away in a jewellery case? There now," I went on; "I hear +the carriage at the door; here is your fur cloak: you must wrap yourself +up well for it is a cold night," and so saying I muffled her up, and +hustled her downstairs before she could remonstrate, even had she wished +to do so.</p> + +<p>The little Town Hall was already crowded when we arrived, but seats had +been reserved for us in one of the front rows of benches. Many eyes were +turned on us as we made our way to our places, for Aunt Phœbe was +looked up to as one of the cornerstones of aristocracy in Bishopsthorpe, +and I fancied that I caught an expression of relief on the faces of some +of those present, who, until the entertainment had been sanctioned by +her presence, had probably felt doubtful as to its complete orthodoxy. +But of course I may have been wrong. Aunt Phœbe is always telling me +I am too imaginative.</p> + +<p>It seemed as though the Professor had awaited our arrival to begin the +performance, for we had hardly taken our seats than the curtain, which +had hitherto hidden the stage from our view, rolled up and discovered +the Professor standing with his hand resting upon an easel, on which was +placed a large blackboard.</p> + +<p>I think the general feeling in the room was that of disappointment. I +know that I, for one, had hoped to see something more interesting than +the usual paraphernalia of a lecture on astronomy or geology.</p> + +<p>Professor Sclamowsky, too, was not at all as impressive a person as his +name had led me to expect. He was short and thick-set. His close-cropped +hair was of the undecided colour which fair hair assumes when it is +beginning to turn grey, and a heavy moustache of the same uninteresting +hue hid his mouth. His jaw was heavy and slightly underhung, and his +neck was thick and coarse.</p> + +<p>Altogether his appearance was remarkably unprepossessing and +commonplace.</p> + +<p>In a short speech, spoken with a slight foreign accent, which some way +or other struck me as being assumed, he begged to disclaim all intention +of <i>conjuring</i>. His performance was solely and entirely a series of +experiments in and illustrative of the wonderful science of Hypnotism; a +science still in its infancy, but destined to take its place among the +most marvellous of modern discoveries.</p> + +<p>As he spoke, his heavy, uninteresting face lit up as with a hidden +enthusiasm, and my attention was attracted to his eyes, which I had not +before noticed. They were of a curious bright metallic blue and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> are the +only eyes I have ever seen, though one reads and hears so perpetually of +them, which really seemed to flash as he warmed to his subject.</p> + +<p>As he finished, I looked at Aunt Phœbe, who shrugged her shoulders +and smiled incredulously. It was clear that she was not going to be +imposed upon by his specious phrases.</p> + +<p>It would be unnecessary to weary my readers by describing at length how +the usual preliminary of choosing an unbiassed committee was gone +through; nor how, after the doctor, the rector, Mr. Melton (the +principal draper in Bishopsthorpe) and several other of the town +magnates, all men of irreproachable honesty, had been induced to act in +this capacity, the Professor proceeded, with eyes blindfolded and +holding the doctor's hand in his, to find a carefully hidden pin, to +read the number of a bank-note and to write the figures one by one on +the blackboard, and to perform other experiments of the same kind amid +the breathless interest of the audience.</p> + +<p>I frankly admit that I was astonished and bewildered by what I saw, and +I had a little uneasy feeling that if it were not all a piece of +gigantic humbug, it was not quite canny—not quite right.</p> + +<p>What struck me most, I think, was the unfussy, untheatrical way in which +it was all done. Every one of the Professor's movements was marked by an +air of calm certainty. He threaded his way through the crowded benches +with such an unhesitating step that, only that I had seen the bandage +fastened over his eyes by the rector and afterwards carefully examined +by the doctor, neither of whom could be suspected of complicity, I +should have said he must have had some little peep-hole arranged to +enable him to guide his course so unfalteringly.</p> + +<p>There were, of course, thunders of applause from the sixpenny seats when +the Thought Reading part of the entertainment came to an end.</p> + +<p>"Well, Aunt Phœbe," I said, turning to her as the Professor bowed his +thanks, "what do you think?"</p> + +<p>"Think, my dear?" she repeated. "I think the man is a very fair +conjurer."</p> + +<p>"But," I protested, "how could he know where the pin was; and you know +Mr. Danby himself fastened the handkerchief?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Elizabeth, I have seen Houdin do far more wonderful things, +when I was a girl; but he had the honesty to call it by its right +name—conjuring."</p> + +<p>I had not time to carry on the discussion, for the Professor now +reappeared and informed us that by far the most interesting part of the +performance was still to come. Thought Reading and Mesmerism, or, as +some people preferred to call it—Hypnotism—were, he believed, +different parts of the same wonderful and but very partially-understood +power. A power so little understood as not even to possess a distinctive +name; a power which he believed to be latent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> in everybody, but which +was capable of being brought to more or less perfection, according to +the amount of care and attention bestowed upon it. "I," said the +Professor, "have given my life to it." And again I fancied I saw the +curious blue eyes flash with a sudden unexpected fire.</p> + +<p>"In the experiments which I am about to show you," he went on, "I am +assisted by my daughter, Anna Sclamowsky," and, drawing back a curtain +at the back of the stage, he led forward a girl who looked to be between +sixteen and eighteen years old.</p> + +<p>There was no sort of family resemblance between father and daughter. She +was tall and slight, with a small dark head prettily poised on a long, +slender neck. Her face was pale, and her large dark eyes had a startled, +frightened look as she gazed at the sea of strange faces below her. Her +father placed her in a chair facing us all; and turning once more to the +audience said:</p> + +<p>"I shall now, with your kind permission, put my daughter into a mesmeric +or hypnotic trance; and while she is in it, I hope to show you some +particularly interesting experiments. Look at me, Anna—so—"</p> + +<p>He placed his fingers for a moment on her eyelids, and then stood aside. +Except that the girl was now perfectly motionless, and that her gaze was +unnaturally fixed, I could see nothing different in her appearance from +what it had been a few moments before.</p> + +<p>The Professor now turned to Mr. Danby, who was seated beside me, and +said, "If this gentleman will oblige me by stepping up on the stage, he +can assure himself by any means he may choose to use, that my daughter +is in a perfectly unconscious state at this moment; and if it will give +the audience and himself any more confidence in the sincerity of this +experiment, he is perfectly at liberty to blindfold her. Then if he will +be kind enough to go through the room and touch here and there any +person he may fancy, my daughter, at a word from me, will in the same +order and in the same manner touch each of those already touched. I +myself will, during the whole of the time, stand at the far end of the +hall, so that there can be no sort of communication between us."</p> + +<p>So saying, Sclamowsky left the stage, and walking down the room, placed +himself with his back against the wall, and fixed his gaze upon the +motionless form of his daughter.</p> + +<p>As I looked back at him, even though separated from him by the length of +the hall, I could see the strange glitter and flash of his eyes. It gave +me an uncomfortable, uneasy feeling; and I turned my face again towards +the stage, where the good-natured rector was following out the +directions he had received.</p> + +<p>He lifted Anna Sclamowsky's arm, which, on his relaxing his hold, fell +limp and lifeless by her side; he snapped his fingers suddenly close +before her wide-open eyes without producing even a quiver of a muscle in +her set face. He shouted in her ear; shook her by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> shoulders; but +all without succeeding in making her show any sign of consciousness. He +then tied a handkerchief over her eyes; and, leaving the stage, went +about through the room, touching people here and there as he went, +pursuing a most tortuous course, and ended at last by placing his hand +upon Aunt Phœbe's diamond necklace. He then bowed to the Professor to +intimate that we were ready to see the conclusion of the experiment.</p> + +<p>Sclamowsky moved forward about a pace, beckoned with his hand, and +called, not loudly but distinctly, "Anna!"</p> + +<p>Without a moment's hesitation the girl, still blindfolded, rose, walked +swiftly down the steps which led from the stage to the floor of the +hall, and with startling exactness reproduced Mr. Danby's actions. In +and out through the benches she passed amid a silence of breathless +interest, touching each person in exactly the same spot as Mr. Danby had +done a few minutes previously.</p> + +<p>I saw Aunt Phœbe drawing herself up rigidly as Anna Sclamowsky came +towards our bench and, amid deafening applause, laid her finger upon the +Anstruther diamonds. The clapping and noise produced no effect upon the +girl. She stood motionless as though she had been a statue, her hand +still upon the necklace.</p> + +<p>Whether Aunt Phœbe was aggravated by the complete success of the +experiment or annoyed at having been obliged to take so prominent a part +in it, I do not know, but she certainly was a good deal out of temper; +for when Sclamowsky made his way to where his daughter was standing, she +said, in tones of icy disapproval, which must have been audible for a +long way down the room—</p> + +<p>"A very clever piece of imposture, sir."</p> + +<p>The mesmerist's face flushed and his eyes flashed angrily. He, however, +bowed low.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing so hard," he said, "to overcome, madam, as prejudice. I +fear you have been inconvenienced by my daughter's hand. I will now +release her—and you."</p> + +<p>So saying, he placed his own hand for a moment over his daughter's and +breathed lightly on the girl's face. Instantly the muscles relaxed, her +hand fell to her side, and I could hear her give a little shuddering +sigh, apparently of relief.</p> + +<p>I noticed, too, that, whether by design or accident Sclamowsky kept his +hand for a moment longer on my aunt's necklace, and as he took his +finger away, I fancied that he looked at her fixedly for a second, and +muttered something either to himself or her, the meaning of which I +could not catch.</p> + +<p>"What did he say to you?" I asked, as Sclamowsky, after removing the +bandage from his daughter's eyes, assisted her to remount the stage.</p> + +<p>Aunt Phœbe looked a little confused and dazed, and her hand went up +to her necklace, as though to reassure herself of its safety.</p> + +<p>"Say to me?" she repeated, rousing herself as though by an effort;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> "he +said nothing to me. But I think, Elizabeth, if it is the same to you, we +will go home; the heat of the room has made me feel a little dizzy."</p> + +<p>We heard next day that we had missed the best part of the entertainment +by leaving when we did, and that many and far more wonderful experiments +were successfully attempted; but I had no time to waste in vain regrets +for not having been present, for I was much taken up with Aunt Phœbe.</p> + +<p>I was really anxious about her; she was so strangely unlike her calm, +equable self. All Saturday she was restless and irritable, wandering +half way upstairs, and then as though she had forgotten what she wanted, +returning to the drawing-room, where she set to work opening old cabinet +drawers, looking under chairs and sofas, tumbling everything out of her +work-box as if in search of something, and snubbing me for my pains when +I offered to help her.</p> + +<p>This went on all day, and I had almost made up my mind to send for Dr. +Perkins, when, after late dinner, she suddenly sank into an arm-chair +with a look of relief.</p> + +<p>"I know what it is," she said; "it is my diamonds!"</p> + +<p>"Your diamonds, Aunt Phœbe!" I exclaimed. "Why, I locked them up for +you myself in your dressing-box when we came home last night!"</p> + +<p>"Are you sure, Elizabeth?" she asked with an anxious, worried +expression.</p> + +<p>"Quite sure," I answered; "but if it will satisfy you, I will bring down +your dressing-box now and let you see."</p> + +<p>"Do, there's a dear child! I declare I feel too tired to move another +step."</p> + +<p>I was not surprised at this, considering how she had been fussing about +all day, and I ran up to her bed-room, brought down her rosewood +dressing-box and placed it on the table in front of her.</p> + +<p>I was greatly struck by the nervous trembling of her fingers as she +chose out the right key from amongst the others in her bunch, and the +shaky way in which she fitted it into the lock. Even when she had turned +the key she seemed half afraid to raise the lid, so I did it for her, +and, taking out the first tray, lifted out the morocco case which +contained the heirlooms and laid it in her lap.</p> + +<p>Aunt Phœbe tremblingly touched the spring, the case flew open and +disclosed the diamonds lying snugly on their bed of blue velvet. She +took them out and looked at them lovingly, held them up so that they +might catch the light from the lamp, and then with a sigh replaced them +in their case and shut it with a snap.</p> + +<p>I waited for a few minutes, then, as she did not speak, I put out my +hand for the case, intending to replace it in the dressing-box and take +it upstairs. But Aunt Phœbe clutched it tightly, staggered to her +feet and said in a husky, unnatural voice, "No, I must take it myself."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, you said you were too tired!" I began, but before I could finish +my sentence she had left the room, and I heard her going upstairs and +opening the door of her bed-room.</p> + +<p>Some few minutes afterwards I heard her steps once more on the stairs, +and I waited, expecting her every moment to open the drawing-room door +and walk in; but to my astonishment I heard her pass by, and a moment +afterwards the clang of the front door as it was hastily shut told me +that Aunt Phœbe had left the house.</p> + +<p>"She must be mad!" I exclaimed to myself as I rushed to the hall, seized +up the first hat I could see, flung a shawl over my shoulders, and tore +off in pursuit of my runaway relative.</p> + +<p>It was quite dark, but I caught sight of her as she passed by a +lamp-post. She was walking quickly, quicker than I had ever seen her +walk before, and with evidently some set purpose in her mind. I ran +after her as fast as I could, and came up with her as she was turning +down a small dark lane leading, as I knew, to a little court, the home +of a very poor but respectable section of the inhabitants of +Bishopsthorpe.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Phœbe," I gasped as I touched her arm, "where are you going? +You must be making a mistake!"</p> + +<p>"No, no!" she cried, with a feverish impatience in her voice. "I am +right! quite right! You must not stop me!" and she quickened her pace +into a halting run.</p> + +<p>I saw clearly that there was nothing to be done but to follow her and +try to keep her out of actual harm's way, for there now seemed to be no +manner of doubt that my poor aunt was, for the time at any rate, insane. +So I fell back a pace, and, never appearing even to notice that I had +left her side, she pursued her course.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she stopped short, crossed the street and stumbled up the +uneven stone steps of a shabby-looking house, whose front door was wide +open. Without a moment's hesitation she entered the dark hall, and I +followed closely at her heels. Up the squalid, dirty stairs she hurried, +and, without knocking, opened a door on the left-hand side of the first +landing and went in.</p> + +<p>I was a few steps behind, but as I gained the threshold I saw her take a +parcel from beneath her cloak and hold it out to a man who came to meet +her from the far end of the badly-lighted room.</p> + +<p>"I have brought them," I heard my aunt say in the same curious husky +voice I had noticed before.</p> + +<p>As the man came nearer and stood where the light of the evil-smelling +little paraffin lamp fell upon his features, I recognised in the heavy +jaw, the bull-neck and the close-cropped head, the Professor Dmitri +Sclamowsky of the previous evening. Our eyes met, and I thought I +detected a start of not altogether pleased surprise; but if this were so +he recovered himself quickly and bowing low, said:</p> + +<p>"I had not expected the pleasure of <i>your</i> company, madam, but as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> you +have done me the honour of coming, I am glad that you should be here to +witness the conclusion of last night's experiment. This lady," he +continued, pointing to my aunt, who still stood with fixed, apparently +unseeing eyes, holding out the parcel towards him—"this lady, you will +remember, considered the hypnotic phenomena exhibited at last night's +entertainment as a clever imposture—those were the words, I think. To +one who, like myself, is an enthusiast on the subject, such words were +hard, nay, impossible to bear. It was necessary to prove to her that the +power I possess"—here his blue eyes gleamed with the same metallic +light I had before noticed—"is something more than <i>conjuring</i>; +something more than a 'clever imposture'. You will see now."</p> + +<p>As he spoke he stretched out his hand and took the parcel from my aunt, +and as he did so, I recognised with horror the morocco case which I knew +contained the heirlooms.</p> + +<p>"Who are these for?" he said, addressing Aunt Phœbe.</p> + +<p>"For you," came from my aunt's lips, but her eyes were fixed and her +voice seemed to come with difficulty.</p> + +<p>"She is mad!" I exclaimed. "She does not know what she is saying!"</p> + +<p>Sclamowsky smiled.</p> + +<p>"And who am I?" he continued, still addressing my aunt.</p> + +<p>"The Professor Dmitri Sclamowsky."</p> + +<p>"And what is this?" indicating the morocco case.</p> + +<p>"My diamonds."</p> + +<p>"You make them a present to me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Sclamowsky opened the case and took out the jewels.</p> + +<p>"A handsome present, certainly!" he said, turning to me with a smile.</p> + +<p>I was speechless. There was something so horrible in my dear Aunt +Phœbe's set face and wide open, stony eyes, something so weird in the +dim room, with its one miserable lamp; something so mockingly fiendish +in Sclamowsky's glittering eyes as he stood with the diamonds flashing +and twinkling in his hands, that though I strove for utterance, I could +not succeed in articulating a single word.</p> + +<p>"Enough!" at last he said, replacing the diamonds in their case and +closing it sharply—"the experiment is concluded," and so saying he +stepped up close to Aunt Phœbe and made two or three passes with his +hands in front of her face. A quiver ran all over my aunt's figure. She +swayed and would have fallen if I had not rushed forward and caught her +in my arms.</p> + +<p>She looked round at me with terror and bewilderment in every feature.</p> + +<p>"Where am I, Elizabeth?" she stammered, and then looking round she +caught sight of Sclamowsky. "What is the meaning of this?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Never mind, Aunt Phœbe," I said. "Come home, and I will tell you all +about it."</p> + +<p>Aunt Phœbe passed her hand over her eyes, and as she did so I glanced +inquiringly from Sclamowsky's face to the jewellery case in his hands. +What was to be the end of it all? I had certainly heard my aunt +distinctly give this man her diamonds as a present, but could a gift +made under such circumstances hold good for a moment? He evidently saw +the query in my face.</p> + +<p>"You judge me even more hastily than did your aunt," he said. "She +called me an impostor; you think me a rogue and a swindler. Here are +your jewels, madam," he said, turning to Aunt Phœbe. "I shall be more +than satisfied if the result of this evening's experiment prove to you +that, as your poet says, 'There are more things in heaven and earth than +are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"</p> + +<p>"I don't understand it all," said Aunt Phœbe piteously, as she +mechanically took the morocco case into her hands.</p> + +<p>"Don't try to do so now," I said. "You must come home with me as quickly +as you can;" for I was feverishly anxious to escape from this +house—from this man with this horrible, terrifying power.</p> + +<p>He bowed silently to us as I hurried Aunt Phœbe out of the room; but +as I was going down the stairs an irresistible impulse came over me to +look back.</p> + +<p>He was standing on the landing, politely holding the little lamp so that +we might see our way down the uneven, irregular stairs, and the light +fell upon his face. Was the expression I saw upon it one of triumph, or +one of defeated dishonesty? I could not say. Even now, though I have +thought it all over and over till my head has got dazed and confused, I +cannot make up my mind whether he had hoped, by means of his strange +mesmeric power, to obtain possession of the Anstruther diamonds—a +design only frustrated by my unlooked-for appearance—or whether his +action was altogether prompted by a determination to demonstrate and +vindicate the truth of the phenomena connected with his science.</p> + +<p>Sometimes I lean to one view, sometimes to the other. I have now told +the facts of the case simply and without exaggeration just as they +occurred, and my readers must judge for themselves whether Dmitri +Sclamowsky was, in the matter of Aunt Phœbe's heirlooms, a +disappointed swindler or a triumphant enthusiast.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/02de.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> +<h2>SAINT OR SATAN.</h2> + + +<p>A story, strange as true—a story to the truth of which half the +inhabitants of the good city of Turin can bear testimony.</p> + +<p>Have you ever been to Turin, by the way? To that city which reminds one +of nothing so much as a gigantic chess-board set down upon the banks of +the yellow river—that city with never-ending, straight streets, all +running at right angles to each other, and whose extremities frame in +delicious pictures of wooded hill or snow-capped Alp; whose inhabitants +recall the grace and courtesy of the Parisians, joined to a good spicing +of their wit and humour; whose dialect is three-parts French pronounced +as it is written; and whose force and frankness strike you with a +special charm after the ha-haing of the Florentines, the sonorousness of +the Romans and the sing-song of the Neapolitans; to say nothing of the +hideousness of the Genoese and the chaos of the Sicilians; that city of +kindly greetings and hearty welcome?</p> + +<p>Well, if you have given Turin a fair trial, you will know what a +pleasant place it is; if you have not, I advise you to do so upon the +first occasion that may present itself.</p> + +<p>The climate is described by some emulator of Thomson to consist of "Tre +mesi d'Inferno, nove d'inverno." But then you must remember that Turin +houses are provided with chimneys, and Turin floors with carpets, and +that no one who does not wish it is forced—as so many of us have +been—to shiver upon marble pavement and be half suffocated by a +charcoal-brazier. No refuge from the cold save that, one's bed, or +sitting in a church. And one can neither lie for ever in bed, nor sit +the day through in a church, however fine it may be.</p> + +<p>It is extremely healthy, however, and altogether one of the pleasantest +towns in Italy to live in. It has, too, one of the fairest gardens in +Europe: the Valentino, with its old red-brick palace, its elms, its +lawns, its river and setting, on one side, of lovely hills. Lady Mary W. +Montagu speaks of the beauty of this garden in her day. I think she +would scarcely recognise it at the present. Modern art has done its +best, and over the whole yet lingers the mysterious charm of the Past; +the dark historical legends connected with the palace and its quondam +frail, fair, and, I regret to add, ferocious mistress, its—But what has +all this to do with "Saint or Satan," you will ask? Where is your +promised story?</p> + +<p>Well, Satan enters somewhat largely into the story of the Valentino +which I will relate you at some future time; and, as to the part, if +any, his dark Majesty had in what I am going to tell you to-day, you +yourself must judge, reader. I am inclined to think <i>he had</i> a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> claw in +the matter, rather than Saint Antonio to whom the miracle is ascribed. +The miracle! Yes, the miracle. And if you could see her, you would +certainly say that a miracle of some kind there certainly was.</p> + +<p>I have, after long consideration and study, come to the conclusion that +"Old Maids" are, generally speaking, a very pleasant, kind-hearted +portion of society. They may be a little irritable and restive while +standing upon the border-land that divides the marriageable from the +un-marriageable age; but that boundary once passed, they take place +among the worthiest and best. And surely their anxiety as to the reply +to the question of "Miss or Mrs.?" is pardonable. Matrimony means an +utter change of life to a woman; while to a man it is of infinitely less +import.</p> + +<p>I am afraid I cannot class the "Signorina Guiseppina Pace" as having +formed one of the pleasant section of old maids; I must even, however +reluctantly, place her among the decidedly unpleasant ones. +"Peace"—"Pace" was her name, but her old mother, with whom she lived, +would have told you that she differed greatly from her name.</p> + +<p>So do most of us, indeed; and I am sure you have only to run over the +list of your friends in the kindliest manner to see that I am right in +my affirmation.</p> + +<p>Perhaps Miss Guiseppina thought that one can have too much of even a +good thing; that the name of Pace was quite enough for the house, and +that, in consequence, she ought to do her best to banish it under all +other circumstances. She certainly succeeded; for she led her poor old +widow-mother and their single servant such a life as to give them a +lively foretaste of what Purgatory—to say no worse—might possibly be.</p> + +<p>Ah! if she could but have cut off the Pace from her own name as cleanly +as she cut off all possible peace from the two poor women who were +doomed, for their sins, to live under the same roof with her!</p> + +<p>But, despite the endeavours during thirty odd long years, she had never +had one single chance of doing so; and it riled her to the core. +Schoolfellows had floated away upon the sea of matrimony, friends had +become mothers—grandmothers—and yet she remained Guiseppina Pace, as +she ever had remained; and with no prospect of a change.</p> + +<p>How she learned to loathe the sight of a bridal procession; and how she +taught mother and maid to tremble at the passing of the same! How the +news of a projected marriage stirred her bile, and how her dearest +friends hastened to her with any matrimonial news they could gather, or +invent! It was wonderful to see, and pleasant enough to witness—from a +distance.</p> + +<p>Guiseppina and her mother occupied a small flat in Via Santa Teresa: +Guiseppina's bed-room and their one sitting-room looking into the +street; her mother's room, the kitchen and a sort of coal-hole in which +the servant slept being at the back of the house.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was summer. People pushed perspiringly for the shady side of the +street, puffed and panted under pillar and portico. The public gardens +were besieged; fans fluttered everywhere; iced-beer and pezzi duri were +in constant requisition.</p> + +<p>It was on a Friday afternoon. Guiseppina had sunk, exhausted with the +heat and exasperated with the flies, into a large arm-chair opposite her +bed, and was sitting there fanning herself violently and trying to catch +a breath of fresh air from the widely-opened window beside her. But +there was no air, fresh or otherwise; and nothing but the languid steps +of the passers in the street below was heard. Not the roll of a wheel, +the hoof of a horse, or the yelp of a dog. It seemed as if the whole +place had been given over to the cruel glare of sunshine and the +persevering impertinence of flies.</p> + +<p>It was just one of those days which make one long intensely for the +shade of ilexes upon the sea shore, and the swish of idle waters upon +the beach.</p> + +<p>And Guiseppina <i>did</i> long, and <i>had</i> longed, and had finally driven her +poor mother in tears to her room with reproaches for not being able to +go for a month to Pegli, as, that very morning, their upper floor +neighbours, the Castelles, had gone—and—and—and—: the usual +litany—the usual nagging—the usual temper; hinc ille lacrimæ.</p> + +<p>"Why should she alone," she exclaimed to herself sitting there, "remain +to roast in town, while all her friends—? Ah, it was too cruel! If she +could only—!"</p> + +<p>Her eyes fell upon the little picture of Saint Antonio hanging over her +bed—the Saint credited with presiding over marriages—the Saint to +which, through all these long years, Guiseppina had daily appealed and +prayed. Alas, all in vain! Not the shadow of a lover had he sent +her—not the ghost of an offer had he vouchsafed her in return for all +her tears and tapers.</p> + +<p>She looked across at the Saint, this time with a scowl, however. The +Saint seemed to return her gaze with a mocking smile. No! That was +indeed adding insult to injury! After thirty years unswerving devotion, +to mock at her thus!</p> + +<p>She didn't say thirty years, mind, though she could have added somewhat +to the figure without risking a fib. She said something else, a +something that didn't sound exactly like a blessing; and, in a sudden +fit of rage, started from her seat, sprang across the room, tore the +offending Saint from the nail from which he had dangled for such long +years, and, without further ceremony, flung him out through the open +window into the street below.</p> + +<p>Then, aghast at what she had done, she stood as if turned to stone, not +daring to go to the window to see what the effect of her novel +proceeding might have been.</p> + +<p>Minutes, to her ages, passed: then came a ring at the bell. Answer she +must; the maid was out marketing, her mother in tears—for it might be +the post—it might be—! Ah, she shivered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> as she thought thereon—it +might be a municipal guard with a "contravenzione"—fine; for in Italy +one cannot now fling even saints from a window down upon the passers' +heads with impunity. Time was when worse things were periodically +showered down upon passengers, but, thanks to government and wholesome +laws, nous avons changé tout cela.</p> + +<p>With a beating heart Guiseppina drew the bolt and opened the door. There +on the landing stood, not a policeman, but an elderly gentleman, his hat +in one hand, Saint Antonio in the other, and his bald head looming out +from the gloom—some Turin stairs are <i>very</i> dark—like the moon in a +fog.</p> + +<p>"Signora"—he began in a hesitating voice, and holding forward the +imperturbable Saint as a shield and excuse for his intrusion—</p> + +<p>"Signore," replied the ancient maiden, gazing forth at her visitor with +wonder on her face and relief in her heart.</p> + +<p>The relief fled quickly, however, for she suddenly remembered that many +of the police were said to prowl about in civil clothes and inflict no +end of fines, of which they pocketed a part.</p> + +<p>But he didn't look a bit like a policeman. So she smiled upon him, and +listened benignantly to his tale. He had been passing the house—musing +upon his business—that of a broker—and trying to guess at the truth of +a report relative to certain investments, when suddenly his calculations +had been put to flight by the arrival of some unseen object from on +high, which, after alighting upon the crown of his Panama, fell at his +feet.</p> + +<p>Here a wave of his hand and a flourish of the Saint indicated his having +picked up the same.</p> + +<p>He then proceeded to relate his having looked up—the Saint could only +have come from Heavenward, he had perched so exactly upon the crown of +his hat—having seen the open window—all the rest in the house were +closed—and having taken the liberty—</p> + +<p>Here another wave of the hand, followed by a bow.</p> + +<p>And then, at this juncture, Signora Pace came out from her room, and +she, after being informed of the cause of her daughter's being found in +close converse upon the landing with a stranger of the male sex, asked +the said stranger in. Her invitation being accepted, the trio adjourned +to the sitting-room, the gallant knight still retaining his trophy.</p> + +<p>Only after being warmly pressed to do so by Signora Pace did the +all-unexpected and unknown visitor deposit Saint Antonio upon the centre +table, and take his seat upon the red rep sofa next to her.</p> + +<p>Guiseppina sat facing him. She seemed suddenly to have quite +changed—never once snubbed her mother, and appeared throughout all +sugar and sweetness.</p> + +<p>We can suppose that remorse at having treated her Saint after this +fashion, and relief at his not having fallen into the hands of a +policeman, as she at first had most reasonably feared, had worked the +change.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + +<p>Policeman, indeed! Signor Cesare Garelli—such the visitor gave as his +name—appeared to her to be quite a charming person. To be sure, he was +bald, but that mattered little. So was Julius Cæsar and a host of other +great men.</p> + +<p>Cesare Garelli was something, to her, infinitely more interesting than +his great namesake ever had been. He was a partner of the well-known +Zucco, and the office they kept in Via Carlo Alberto had wooden cups of +gold nuggets, no end of glittering coins and crisp bank-notes of foreign +and formidable appearance, in its solitary window. More than once she +had longingly halted before its treasures.</p> + +<p>So a vast deal of information was exchanged on both sides, and when +Signor Cesare Garelli rose to go, the flood of golden sunshine had crept +quite across to the other side of the street.</p> + +<p>Apparently some of it had crept into Guiseppina's heart also, for she +refrained from flying out when the long-delayed "minestra" turned out to +be smoked, and she even went so far as to give Saint Antonio a chaste +kiss as she restored him to the crooked nail to which he had hung for so +long a time.</p> + +<p>Cesare Garelli's visits became more and more frequent in Via Santa +Teresa. Then followed excursions to Rivoli, to Superza, to Moncalieri. +Nice little dinners, and evenings spent at the Caffe San Carlo or under +the horse-chestnuts in the Valentino garden, succeeded rapidly. La +Signora Pace's life savoured of the seventh heaven, and Guiseppina's +temper grew mellow as the peaches which her admirer was for ever sending +her.</p> + +<p>That phase passed away, and then one fine day Cesare Garelli burst forth +in all the glory and radiance of a declared and accepted lover.</p> + +<p>In less than three months from the date of Saint Antonio's flight +through the window into the hot, dusty street, Guiseppina +voluntarily—oh, how voluntarily!—renounced the name of Pace for ever +and took that of Garelli.</p> + +<p>If you want to know if Saint or Satan made his match for him, you had +better ask Cesare Garelli himself. I cannot tell you.</p> + +<p class="name"><span class="smcap">A. Beresford</span>.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/01de.jpg" + alt="Decorative" + title="Decorative" /> +</div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> +<h2>IN A BERNESE VALLEY.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I met her by this mountain stream<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At twilight's fall long years gone by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While, rosy with day's afterbeam,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yon snow-peaks glowed against the sky;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And she was but a simple maid<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who fed her goats among the hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sang her songs within the glade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And caught the music of the rills;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And drank the fragrance of the flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That bloomed within love-haunted dells;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wandered home in gloaming hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amid the sound of tinkling bells.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">And now I'm in this vale again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And once more hear the tinkling sound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet 'tis not the same as when<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That maiden 'mid her flock I found.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And still the rosy light of morn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Steals soft o'er mount and stream and tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet I hear the Alpine horn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the old charm is lost to me;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For I would see that angel face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hear again the simple tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which to that twilight lent the grace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That changed this to Arcadian vale.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It cannot be: my dream is o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No more among the hills she'll roam;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more she'll sing the songs of yore;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or call the weary cattle home;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For she is in her bed of rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Encompassed all with gentians blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Edelweiss upon her breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And by her head wild thyme and rue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet <i>Angelus</i>, from yon church-tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That floatest now so soft and clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ring back again that golden hour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I still sat beside her here!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="name"><span class="smcap">Alexander Lamont</span>.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Argosy, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ARGOSY *** + +***** This file should be named 18372-h.htm or 18372-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/3/7/18372/ + +Produced by Paul Murray, Taavi Kalju and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://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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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: The Argosy + Vol. 51, No. 2, February, 1891 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Charles W. Woods + +Release Date: May 11, 2006 [EBook #18372] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ARGOSY *** + + + + +Produced by Paul Murray, Taavi Kalju and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + _"Laden with Golden Grain"_ + + * * * * * + + THE + ARGOSY. + + + EDITED BY + CHARLES W. WOOD. + + * * * * * + + + VOLUME LI. + + _January to June, 1891._ + + * * * * * + + + RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, + 8, NEW BURLINGTON STREET, LONDON, W. + + Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty. + + _All rights reserved._ + + + LONDON: + PRINTED BY OGDEN, SMALE AND CO. LIMITED, + GREAT SAFFRON HILL, E.C. + + + + + +_CONTENTS._ + + +THE FATE OF THE HARA DIAMOND. Illustrated by M.L. GOW. + + Chap. I. My Arrival at Deepley Walls Jan + II. The Mistress of Deepley Walls Jan + III. A Voyage of Discovery Jan + IV. Scarsdale Weir Jan + V. At Rose Cottage Feb + VI. The Growth of a Mystery Feb + VII. Exit Janet Hope Feb + VIII. By the Scotch Express Feb + IX. At "The Golden Griffin" Mar + X. The Stolen Manuscript Mar + XI. Bon Repos Mar + XII. The Amsterdam Edition of 1698 Mar + XIII. M. Platzoff's Secret--Captain Ducie's Translation of + M. Paul Platzoff's MS Mar + XIV. Drashkil-Smoking Apr + XV. The Diamond Apr + XVI. Janet's Return Apr + XVII. Deepley Walls after Seven Years Apr + XVIII. Janet in a New Character May + XIX. The Dawn of Love May + XX. The Narrative of Sergeant Nicholas May + XXI. Counsel taken with Mr. Madgin May + XXII. Mr. Madgin at the Helm Jun + XXIII. Mr. Madgin's Secret Journey Jun + XXIV. Enter Madgin Junior Jun + XXV. Madgin Junior's First Report Jun + + * * * * * + +THE SILENT CHIMES. By JOHNNY LUDLOW (Mrs. HENRY WOOD). + + Putting Them Up Jan + Playing Again Feb + Ringing at Midday Mar + Not Heard Apr + Silent for Ever May + + * * * * * + +THE BRETONS AT HOME. By CHARLES W. WOOD, F.R.G.S. With + 35 Illustrations Jan, Feb, Mar, Apr, May, Jun + + * * * * * + +About the Weather Jun +Across the River. By HELEN M. BURNSIDE Apr +After Twenty Years. By ADA M. TROTTER Feb +A Memory. By GEORGE COTTERELL Feb +A Modern Witch Jan +An April Folly. By GILBERT H. PAGE Apr +A Philanthropist. By ANGUS GREY Jun +Aunt Phoebe's Heirlooms: An Experience in Hypnotism Feb +A Social Debut Mar +A Song. By G.B. STUART Jan +Enlightenment. By E. NESBIT Feb +In a Bernese Valley. By ALEXANDER LAMONT Feb +Legend of an Ancient Minster. By JOHN GRAEME Mar +Longevity. By W.F. AINSWORTH, F.S.A. Apr +Mademoiselle Elise. By EDWARD FRANCIS Jun +Mediums and Mysteries. By NARISSA ROSAVO Feb +Miss Kate Marsden Jan +My May Queen. By JOHN JERVIS BERESFORD, M.A. May +Old China Jun +On Letter-Writing. By A.H. JAPP, LL.D. May +Paul. By the Author of "Adonais, Q.C." May +"Proctorised" Apr +Rondeau. By E. NESBIT Mar +Saint or Satan? By A. BERESFORD Feb +Sappho. By MARY GREY Mar +Serenade. By E. NESBIT Jun +Sonnets. By JULIA KAVANAGH Jan, Feb, Apr, Jun +So Very Unattractive! Jun +Spes. By JOHN JERVIS BERESFORD, M.A. Apr +Sweet Nancy. By JEANIE GWYNNE BETTANY May +The Church Garden. By CHRISTIAN BURKE May +The Only Son of his Mother. By LETITIA MCCLINTOCK Mar +To my Soul. From the French of Victor Hugo Jun +Unexplained. By LETITIA MCCLINTOCK Apr +Who Was the Third Maid? Jan +Winter in Absence Feb + + * * * * * + +_POETRY._ + +Sonnets. By JULIA KAVANAGH Jan, Feb, Apr, Jun +A Song. By G.B. STUART Jan +Enlightenment. By E. NESBIT Feb +Winter in Absence Feb +A Memory. By GEORGE COTTERELL Feb +In a Bernese Valley. By ALEXANDER LAMONT Feb +Rondeau. By E. NESBIT Mar +Spes. By JOHN JERVIS BERESFORD, M.A. Apr +Across the River. By HELEN M. BURNSIDE Apr +My May Queen. By JOHN JERVIS BERESFORD, M.A. May +The Church Garden. By CHRISTIAN BURKE May +Serenade. By E. NESBIT Jun +To my Soul. From the French of Victor Hugo Jun +Old China Jun + + * * * * * + +_ILLUSTRATIONS._ + +By M.L. Gow. + + "I advanced slowly up the room, stopped, and curtsied." + + "I saw and recognised the mysterious midnight visitor." + + "He came back in a few minutes, but so transformed in outward + appearance that Ducie scarcely knew him." + + "Behold!" + + "Sister Agnes knelt for a few moments and bent her head in silent + prayer." + + "He put his hand to his side, and motioned Mirpah to open the letter." + + * * * * * + +Illustrations to "The Bretons at Home." + + + + +[Illustration: I SAW AND RECOGNIZED THE MYSTERIOUS MIDNIGHT VISITOR.] + + + + +THE ARGOSY. + +_FEBRUARY, 1891._ + + + + +THE FATE OF THE HARA DIAMOND. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +AT ROSE COTTAGE. + + +On regaining my senses I found myself in a cozy little bed in a cozy +little room, with an old gentleman sitting by my side gently chafing one +of my hands--a gentleman with white hair and a white moustache, with a +ruddy face and a smile that made me all in love with him at first sight. + +"Did I not say that she would do famously in a little while?" he cried, +in a cheery voice that it did one good to listen to. "I believe the +Poppetina has only been hoaxing us all this time: pretending to be +half-drowned just to find out whether anyone would make a fuss about +her. Is not that the truth, little one?" + +"If you please, sir, where am I? And are you a doctor?" I asked, +faintly. + +"I am not a doctor, either of medicine or law," answered the +white-haired gentleman. "I am Major Strickland, and this place is Rose +Cottage--the magnificent mansion which I call my own. But you had better +not talk, my dear--at least not just yet: not till the doctor himself +has seen you." + +"But how did I get here?" I pleaded. "Do tell me that, please." + +"Simply thus. My nephew Geordie was out mooning on the bridge when he +heard a cry for help. Next minute he saw you and your boat go over the +weir. He rushed down to the quiet water at the foot of the falls, +plunged in, and fished you out before you had time to get more than +half-drowned. My housekeeper, Deborah, put you to bed, and here you are. +But I am afraid that you have hurt yourself among those ugly stones that +line the weir; so Geordie has gone off for the doctor, and we shall soon +know how you really are. One question I must ask you, in order that I +may send word to your friends. What is your name? and where do you +live?" + +Before I could reply, the village doctor came bounding up the stairs +three at a time. Five minutes sufficed him for my case. A good night's +rest and a bottle of his mixture were all that was required. A few hours +would see me as well as ever. Then he went. + +"And now for the name and address, Poppetina," said the smiling Major. +"We must send word to papa and mamma without a moment's delay." + +"I have neither papa nor mamma," I answered. "My name is Janet Hope, and +I come from Deepley Walls." + +"From Deepley Walls!" exclaimed the Major. "I thought I knew everybody +under Lady Chillington's roof, but I never heard of you before to-night, +my dear." + +Then I told him that I had been only two days with Lady Chillington, and +that all of my previous life that I could remember had been spent at +Park Hill Seminary. + +The Major was evidently puzzled by what I had told him. He mused for +several moments without speaking. Hitherto my face had been in +half-shadow, the candle having been placed behind the curtain that fell +round the head of the bed, so as not to dazzle my eyes. This candle the +Major now took, and held it about a yard above my head, so that its full +light fell on my upturned face. I was swathed in a blanket, and while +addressing the Major had raised myself on my elbow in bed. My long black +hair, still damp, fell wildly round my shoulders. + +The moment Major Strickland's eyes rested on my face, on which the full +light of the candle was now shining, his ruddy cheek paled; he started +back in amazement, and was obliged to replace the candlestick on the +table. + +"Great Heavens! what a marvellous resemblance!" he exclaimed. "It cannot +arise from accident merely. There must be a hidden link somewhere." + +Then taking the candle for the second time, he scanned my face again +with eyes that seemed to pierce me through and through. "It is as if one +had come to me suddenly from the dead," I heard him say in a low voice. +Then with down-bent head and folded arms he took several turns across +the room. + +"Sir, of whom do I remind you?" I timidly asked. + +"Of someone, child, whom I knew when I was young--of someone who died +long years before you were born." There was a ring of pathos in his +voice that seemed like the echo of some sorrowful story. + +"Are you sure that you have no other name than Janet Hope?" he asked, +presently. + +"None, sir, that I know of. I have been called Janet Hope ever since I +can remember." + +"But about your parents? What were they called, and where did they +live?" + +"I know nothing whatever about them except what Sister Agnes told me +yesterday." + +"And she said--what?" + +"That my father was drowned abroad several years ago, and that my mother +died a year later." + +"Poverina! But it is strange that Sister Agnes should have known your +parents. Perhaps she can supply the missing link. The mention of her +name reminds me that I have not yet sent word to Deepley Walls that you +are safe and sound at Rose Cottage. Geordie must start without a +moment's delay. I am an old friend of Lady Chillington, my dear, so that +she will be quite satisfied when she learns that you are under my roof." + +"But, sir, when shall I see the gentleman who got me out of the water?" +I asked. + +"What, Geordie? Oh, you'll see Geordie in the morning, never fear! A +good boy! a fine boy! though it's his old uncle who says it." + +Then he rang the bell, and when Deborah, his only servant, came up, he +committed me with many injunctions into her charge. Then taking my head +gently between his hands, he kissed me tenderly on the forehead, and +wished me "Good-night, and happy dreams." + +Deborah was very kind. She brought me up a delicious little supper, and +decided that there was no need for me to take the doctor's nauseous +mixture. She took it herself instead, but merely as a sop to her +conscience and my own; "for, after all, you know, there's very little +difference in physic--it's all nasty; and I daresay this mixture will do +my lumbago no harm." + +The effects of the accident had almost entirely passed away by next +morning, and I was dressed and downstairs by seven o'clock. I found the +Major hard at work digging up the garden for his winter crops. "Ah, +Poppetina, down so early!" he cried. "And how do we feel this morning, +eh? None the worse for our ducking, I hope." + +I assured him that I was quite well, and that I had never felt better in +my life. + +"That will be good news for her ladyship," he replied, "and will prove +to her that Miss Hope has not fallen among Philistines. In any case, she +cannot be more pleased than I am to find that you have sustained no harm +from your accident. There is something, Poverina, in that face of yours +that brings back the past to me strangely. But here comes Master +Geordie." + +I turned and saw a young man sauntering slowly down the pathway. He was +very fair, and, to me, seemed very handsome. He had blue eyes, and his +hair was a mass of short, crisp flaxen curls. From the way in which the +Major regarded him as he came lounging up, I could see that the old +soldier was very proud of his young Adonis of a nephew. The latter +lifted his hat as he opened the wicket, and bade his uncle good-morning. +Me he did not for the moment see. + +"Miss Hope is not up yet, I suppose?" he said. "I trust she is none the +worse for her tumble over the weir." + +"Our little water-nymph is here to answer for herself," said the Major. +"The roses in her cheeks seem all the brighter for their wetting." + +George Strickland turned smilingly towards me, and held out his hand. "I +am very glad to find that you have suffered so little from your +accident," he said. "When I fished you out of the river last night you +looked so death-like that I was afraid we should not be able to bring +you round without difficulty." + +Tears stood in my eyes as I took his hand. "Oh, sir, how brave, how +noble it was of you to act as you did! You saved my life at the risk of +your own; and how can I ever thank you enough?" + +A bright colour came into his cheek as I spoke. "My dear child, you must +not speak in that way," he said. "What I did was a very ordinary thing. +Anyone else in my place would have done precisely the same. I must not +claim more merit than is due for an action so simple." + +"To you it may seem a simple thing to do, but I cannot forget that it +was my life that you saved." + +"What an old-fashioned princess it is!" said the Major. "Why, it must +have been born a hundred years ago, and have had a fairy for its +godmother. But here comes Deborah to tell us that breakfast is ready. +Toasted bacon is better than pretty speeches; so come along with you, +and make believe that you have known each other for a twelvemonth at +least." + +Rose Cottage was a tiny place, and there were not wanting proofs that +the Major's income was commensurate with the scale of his establishment. +A wise economy had to be a guiding rule in Major Strickland's life, +otherwise Mr. George's college expenses would never have been met, and +that young gentleman would not have had a proper start in life. Deborah +was the only servant that the little household could afford; but then +the Major himself was gardener, butler, valet and page in one. Thus--he +cleaned the knives in a machine of his own invention; he brushed his own +clothes; he lacquered his own boots, and at a pinch could mend them. He +dug and planted his own garden, and grew enough potatoes and greenstuff +to serve his little family the year round. In a little paddock behind +his garden the Major kept a cow; in the garden itself he had +half-a-dozen hives; while not far away was a fowl-house that supplied +him with more eggs than he could dispose of, except by sale. The Major's +maxim was, that the humblest offices of labour could be dignified by a +gentleman, and by his own example he proved the rule. What few leisure +hours he allowed himself were chiefly spent with rod and line on the +banks of the Adair. + +George Strickland was an orphan, and had been adopted and brought up by +his uncle since he was six years old. So far, the uncle had been able +to supply the means for having him educated in accordance with his +wishes. For the last three years George had been at one of the public +schools, and now he was at home for a few weeks' holiday previously to +going to Cambridge. + +It will of course be understood that but a very small portion of what is +here set down respecting Rose Cottage and its inmates was patent to me +at that first visit; much of it, indeed, did not come within my +cognizance till several years afterwards. + +When breakfast was over, the Major lighted an immense meerschaum, and +then invited me to accompany him over his little demesne. To a girl +whose life had been spent within the four bare walls of a school-room, +everything was fresh and everything was delightful. First to the +fowl-house, then to the hives, and after that to see the brindled calf +in the paddock, whose gambols and general mode of conducting himself +were so utterly absurd that I laughed more in ten minutes after seeing +him than I had done in ten years previously. + +When we got back to the cottage, George was ready to take me on the +river. The Major went down with us and saw us safely on board the _Water +Lily_, bade us good-bye for an hour, and then went about his morning's +business. I was rather frightened at first, the _Water Lily_ was such a +tiny craft, so long and narrow that it seemed to me as if the least +movement on one side must upset it. But George showed me exactly where +to sit, and gave me the tiller-ropes, with instructions how to manage +them, and was himself so full of quiet confidence that my fears quickly +died a natural death, and a sweet sense of enjoyment took their place. + +We were on that part of the river which was below the weir, and as we +put out from shore the scene of my last night's adventure was clearly +visible. There, spanning the river just above the weir, was the +open-work timber bridge on which George was standing when my cry for +help struck his ears. There was the weir itself, a sheet of foaming, +frothing water, that as it fell dashed itself in white-lipped passion +against the rounded boulders that seemed striving in vain to turn it +from its course. And here, a little way from the bottom of the weir, was +the pool of quiet water over which our little boat was now cleaving its +way, and out of which the handsome young man now sitting opposite to me +had plucked me, bruised and senseless, only a few short hours ago. I +shuddered and could feel myself turn pale as I looked. George seemed to +read my thoughts; he smiled, but said nothing. Then bending all his +strength to the oars, he sent the _Water Lily_ spinning on her course. +All my skill and attention were needed for the proper management of the +tiller, and for a little while all morbid musings were banished from my +mind. + +Scarcely a word passed between us during the next half-hour, but I was +too happy to care much for conversation. When we had gone a couple of +miles or more, George pointed out a ruinous old house that stood on a +dreary flat about a quarter of a mile from the river. Many years ago, he +told me, that house had been the scene of a terrible murder, and was +said to have been haunted ever since. Nobody would live in it; it was +shunned as a place accursed, and was now falling slowly into decay and +ruin. I listened to the story with breathless interest, and the telling +of it seemed to make us quite old friends. After this there seemed no +lack of subjects for conversation. George shipped his oars, and the boat +was allowed to float lazily down the stream. He told about his +schooldays, and I told about mine. The height of his ambition, he said, +was to go into the army, and become a soldier like his dear old uncle. +But Major Strickland wanted him to become a lawyer; and, owing +everything to his uncle as he did, it was impossible for him not to +accede to his wishes. "Besides which," added George, with a sigh, "a +commission is an expensive thing to buy, and dear old uncle is anything +but rich." + +When we first set out that morning I think that George, from the summit +of his eighteen years, had been inclined to look down upon me as a +little school miss, whom he might patronise in a kindly sort of way, but +whose conversation could not possibly interest a man of his sense and +knowledge of the world. But whether it arose from that "old-fashioned" +quality of which Major Strickland had made mention, which caused me to +seem so much older than my years; or whether it arose from the genuine +interest I showed in all he had to say; certain it is that long before +we got back to Rose Cottage we were talking as equals in years and +understanding; but that by no means prevented me from looking up to him +in my own mind as to a being superior, not only to myself, but to the +common run of humanity. I was sorry when we got back in sight of the +weir, and as I stepped ashore I thought that this morning and the one I +had spent with Sister Agnes in Charke Forest were the two happiest of my +life. I had no prevision that the fair-haired young man with whom I had +passed three such pleasant hours would, in after years, influence my +life in a way that just now I was far too much a child even to dream of. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE GROWTH OF A MYSTERY. + + +We started at five o'clock to walk back to Deepley Walls, the Major, and +I, and George. It was only two miles away across the fields. I was quite +proud to be seen in the company of so stately a gentleman as Major +Strickland, who was dressed this afternoon as for a visit of ceremony. +He had on a blue frock-coat, tightly buttoned, to which the builder had +imparted an intangible something that smacked undeniably of the old +soldier. He wore a hat rather wide in the brim; a high stiff checked +cravat; a white vest; and lacquered military boots, over which his +tightly-strapped trousers fell without a crease. He had white buckskin +gloves, a stout silver-headed malacca cane, and carried a choice +geranium in his button-hole. + +There was not much conversation among us by the way. The Major's usual +flow of talk seemed to have deserted him this afternoon, and his mood +seemed unconsciously to influence both George and me. Lady Chillington's +threat to send me to a French school weighed down my spirits. I had +found dear friends--Sister Agnes, the kind-hearted Major, and his +nephew, only to be torn from them--to be plunged back into the cold, +cheerless monotony of school-girl life, where there would be no one to +love me, but many to find fault. + +We went back by way of the plantation. George would not go any farther +than the wicket at its edge, and it was agreed that he should there +await the Major's return from the Hall. "I hope, Miss Janet, that we +shall see you at Rose Cottage again before many days are over," he said, +as he took my hand to bid me farewell. "Uncle has promised to ask her +ladyship to spare you for a few days." + +"I shall be very, very glad to come, Mr. George. As long as I live I +shall be in your debt, for I cannot forget that I owe you my life." + +"The fairy godmother is whispering in her ear," said the Major in a loud +aside. "She talks like a woman of forty." + +While still some distance away we could see Lady Chillington sunning +herself on the western terrace. With a pang of regret I saw that Sister +Agnes was not with her. The Major quickened his pace; I clung to his +hand, and felt without seeing that her ladyship's eyes were fixed upon +me severely. + +"I have brought back your wandering princess," said the Major, in his +cheery way, as he lifted his hat. Then, as he took her proffered hand, +"I hope your ladyship is in perfect health." + +"No princess, Major Strickland, but a base beggar brat," said Lady +Chillington, without heeding his last words. "From the first moment of +my seeing her I had a presentiment that she would cause me nothing but +trouble and annoyance. That presentiment has been borne out by facts--by +facts!" She nodded her head at the Major, and rubbed one lean hand +viciously within the other. + +"Your ladyship forgets that the child herself is here. Pray consider her +feelings." + +"Were my feelings considered by those who sent her to Deepley Walls? I +ought to have been consulted in the matter--to have had time given me to +make fresh arrangements. It was enough to be burdened with the cost of +her maintenance, without the added nuisance of having her before me as a +continual eyesore. But I have arranged. Next week she leaves Deepley +Walls for the Continent, and if I never see her face again, so much the +better for both of us." + +"With all due respect to your ladyship, it seems to me that your tone is +far more bitter than the occasion demands. What may be the relationship +between Miss Hope and yourself it is quite impossible for me to say; +but that there is a tie of some sort between you I cannot for a moment +doubt." + +"And pray, Major Strickland, what reason may you have for believing that +a tie of any kind exists between this young person and the mistress of +Deepley Walls?" + +"I will take my stand on one point: on the extraordinary resemblance +which this child bears to--" + +"To whom, Major Strickland?" + +"To one who lies buried in Elvedon churchyard. You know whom I mean. +Such a likeness is far too remarkable to be the result of accident." + +"I deny the existence of any such likeness," said Lady Chillington, +vehemently. "I deny it utterly. You are the victim of your own +disordered imagination. Likeness, forsooth!" She laughed a bitter, +contemptuous laugh, and seemed to think that she had disposed of the +question for ever. + +"Come here, child," said the Major, taking me kindly by the hand, and +leading me close up to her ladyship. "Look at her, Lady Chillington," he +added; "scan her features thoroughly, and tell me then that the likeness +of which I speak is nothing more than a figment of my own brain." + +Lady Chillington drew herself up haughtily. "To please you in a whim, +Major Strickland, which I cannot characterise as anything but +ridiculous, I will try to discover this fancied resemblance." Speaking +thus, her ladyship carried her glass to her eye, and favoured me with a +cold, critical stare, under which I felt my blood boil with grief and +indignation. + +"Pshaw! Major Strickland, you are growing old and foolish. I cannot +perceive the faintest trace of such a likeness as you mention. Besides, +if it really did exist it would prove nothing. It would merely serve to +show that there may be certain secrets within Deepley Walls which not +even Major Strickland's well-known acumen can fathom." + +"After that, of course I can only bid your ladyship farewell," said the +offended Major, with a ceremonious bow. Then turning to me: "Good-bye, +my dear Miss Janet, for the present. Even at this, the eleventh hour, I +must intercede with Lady Chillington to grant you permission to come and +spend part of next week with us at Rose Cottage." + +"Oh! take her, and welcome; I have no wish to keep her here. But you +will stop to dinner, Major, when we will talk of these things further. +And now, Miss Pest, you had better run away. You have heard too much +already." + +I was glad enough to get away; so after a hasty kiss to Major +Strickland, I hurried indoors; and once in my own bed-room, I burst into +an uncontrollable fit of crying. How cruel had been Lady Chillington's +words! and her looks had been more cruel than they. + +I was still weeping when Sister Agnes came into the room. She had but +just returned from Eastbury. She knelt beside me, and took me in her +arms and kissed me, and wiped away my tears. "Why was I crying?" she +asked. I told her of all that Lady Chillington had said. + +"Oh! cruel, cruel of her to treat you thus!" she said. "Can nothing move +her--nothing melt that heart of adamant? But, Janet, dear, you must not +let her sharp words wound you so deeply. Would that my love could shield +you from such trials in future. But that cannot always be. You must +strive to regard such things as part of that stern discipline of life +which is designed to tutor our wayward hearts and rebellious spirits, +and bring them into harmony with a will superior to our own. And now you +must tell me all about your voyage down the Adair, and your rescue by +that brave George Strickland. Ah! how grieved I was, when the news was +brought to Deepley Walls, that I could not hasten to you, and see with +my own eyes that you had come to no harm! But I was chained to my post, +and could not stir." + +Scarcely had Sister Agnes done speaking when the air was filled with a +strain of music that seemed to be more sweet and solemn than anything I +had ever heard before. All the soreness melted out of my heart as I +listened; all my troubles seemed to take to themselves wings, and life +to put on an altogether different aspect from any it had ever worn to me +before. I saw clearly that I had not been so good a girl in many ways as +I might have been. I would try my best not to be so inattentive at +church in future, and I would never, no, not even on the coldest night +in winter, neglect to say my prayers before getting into bed. + +"What is it? Where does it come from?" I whispered into the ear of +Sister Agnes. + +"It is Father Spiridion playing the organ in the west gallery." + +"And who is Father Spiridion?" + +"A good man and my friend. Presently you shall be introduced to him." + +No word more was spoken till the playing ceased. Then Sister Agnes took +me by the hand and we went towards the west gallery. Father Spiridion +saw us, and paused on the top of the stairs. + +"This is the child, holy father, of whom I have spoken to you once or +twice; the child, Janet Hope." + +The father's shrewd blue eyes took me in from head to foot at a glance. +He was a tall, thin and slightly cadaverous-looking man, with high +aquiline features; and with an indefinable something about him that made +me recognise him on the spot as a gentleman. He wore a coarse brown robe +that reached nearly to his feet, the cowl of which was drawn over his +head. When Sister Agnes had spoken he laid his hand gently on my head, +and said something I could not understand. Then placing his hand under +my chin, he said, "Look me straight in the face, child." + +I lifted my eyes and looked him fairly in the face, till his blue eyes +lighted up with a smile. Then patting me on the cheek, he said, +addressing Sister Agnes, "Nothing shifty there, at any rate. It is a +face full of candour, and of that innocent fearlessness which childhood +should always have, but too often loses in an evil world. I dare be +bound now, little Janet, that thou art fond of sweetmeats?" + +"Oh, yes, sir, if you please." + +"By some strange accident I find here in my _soutane_ a tiny box of +bonbons. They might have been put there expressly for a little sweet +tooth of a Janet. Nothing could be more opportune. Take them, my child, +with Father Spiridion's blessing; and sometimes remember his name in thy +prayers." + +I did not see Father Spiridion again before I was sent away to school, +but in after years our threads of life crossed and re-crossed each other +strangely, in a way that neither he nor I even dreamed of at that first +interview. + +My life at Deepley Walls lengthened out from day to day, and in many +ways I was exceedingly happy. My chief happiness lay in the love of dear +Sister Agnes, with whom I spent at least one or two hours every day. +Then I was very fond of Major Strickland, who, I felt sure, liked me in +return--liked me for myself, and liked me still more, perhaps, for the +strange resemblance which he said I bore to some dear one whom he had +lost many years before. Of George Strickland, too, I was very fond, but +with a shy and diffident sort of liking. I held him as so superior to me +in every way that I could only worship him from a distance. The Major +fetched me over to Rose Cottage several times. Such events were for me +holidays in the true sense of the word. Another source of happiness +arose from the fact that I saw very little of Lady Chillington. The +indifference with which she had at first regarded me seemed to have +deepened into absolute dislike. I was forbidden to enter her apartments, +and I took care not to be seen by her when she was walking or riding +out. I was sorry for her dislike, and yet glad that she dispensed with +my presence. I was far happier in the housekeeper's room, where I was +treated like a little queen. Dance and I soon learned to love each other +very heartily. + +Those who have accompanied me thus far may not have forgotten the +account of my first night at Deepley Walls, nor how frightened I was by +the sound of certain mysterious footsteps in the room over mine. The +matter was explained simply enough by Dance next day as a whim of Lady +Chillington, who, for some reason best known to herself, chose that room +out of all the big old house as the scene of her midnight +perambulations. When, therefore, on one or two subsequent occasions, I +was disturbed in a similar way, I was no longer frightened, but only +rendered sleepless and uncomfortable for the time being. I felt at such +times, so profound was the surrounding silence, as if every living +creature in the world, save Lady Chillington and myself, were asleep. + +But before long that room over mine acquired for itself in my mind a new +and dread significance. A consciousness gradually grew upon me that +there was about it something quite out of the common way; that its four +walls held within themselves some grim secret, the rites appertaining to +which were gone through when I and the rest of the uninitiated were +supposed to be in bed and asleep. I cannot tell what it was that first +made me suspect the existence of this secret. Certainly not the midnight +walks of Lady Chillington. Perhaps a certain impalpable atmosphere of +mystery, which, striking keenly on the sensitive nerves of a child, +strung by recent events to a higher pitch than usual, broke down the +first fine barrier that separates things common and of the earth earthy, +from those dim intuitions which even the dullest of us feel at times of +things spiritual and unseen. But however that may be, it so fell out +that I, who at school had been one of the soundest of sleepers, had now +become one of the worst. It often happened that I would awake in the +middle of the night, even when there was no Lady Chillington to disturb +me, and would so lie, sleepless, with wide-staring eyes, for hours, +while all sorts of weird pictures would paint themselves idly in the +waste nooks and corners of my brain. One fancy I had, and for many +nights I thought it nothing more than fancy, that I could hear soft and +muffled footsteps passing up and down the staircase just outside my +door; and that at times I could even faintly distinguish them in the +room over mine, where, however, they never stayed for more than a few +minutes at any one time. + +In one of my daylight explorations about the old house I ventured up the +flight of stairs that led from the landing outside my door to the upper +rooms. At the top of these stairs I found a door that differed from +every other door I had seen at Deepley Walls. In colour it was a dull +dead black, and it was studded with large square-headed nails. It was +without a handle of any kind, but was pierced by one tiny keyhole. To +what strange chamber did this terrible door give access? and who was the +mysterious visitor who came here night after night with hushed footsteps +and alone? These were two questions that weighed heavily on my mind, +that troubled me persistently when I lay awake in the dark, and even +refused by day to be put entirely on one side. + +By-and-by the mystery deepened. In a recess close to the top of the +flight of stairs that led to the black door was an old-fashioned case +clock. When this clock struck the hour, two small mechanical figures +dressed like German burghers of the sixteenth century came out of two +little turrets, bowed gravely to each other, and then retired, like +court functionaries, backwards. It was a source of great pleasure to me +to watch these figures go through their hourly pantomime But after a +time it came into my head to wonder whether they did their duty by night +as well as by day; whether they came out and bowed to each other in the +dark, or waited quietly in their turrets till morning. In pursuance of +this inquiry, I got out of bed one night after Dance had left me, and +relighted my candle. I knew that it was just on the stroke of eleven, +and here was a capital opportunity for studying the customs of my little +burghers by night. I stole up the staircase with my candle, and waited +for the clock to strike. It struck, and out came the little figures as +usual. + +"Perhaps they only came because they saw my light," I said to myself. I +felt that the question as to their mode of procedure in the dark was +still an unsettled one. + +But scarcely had the clock finished striking when I was disturbed by the +shutting of a door downstairs. Fearing that someone was coming, and that +the light might betray me, I blew out my candle and waited to hear more. +But all was silent in the house. I turned to go down, but as I did so, I +saw with astonishment that a thin streak of light shone from under the +black door. I stood like one petrified. Was there anyone inside the +room? Listening intently, I waited for full five minutes without +stirring a limb. Silence the most profound upstairs and down. Stepping +on tiptoe, I went back to my room, shut myself in, and crept gladly into +bed. + +Next night my curiosity overmastered my fear. As soon as Dance was gone +I crept upstairs in the dark. One peep was enough. As on the previous +night, a thin streak of light shone from under the black door--evidence +that it was lighted up inside. Next night, and for several nights +afterwards, I put the same plan in operation with precisely the same +result. The light was always there. + +Having my attention thus concentrated as it were upon this one room, and +lying awake so many hours when I ought to have been asleep, my +suspicions gradually merged into certainty that it was visited every +midnight by someone who came and went so lightly and quietly that only +by intently listening could I distinguish the exact moment of their +passing my door. Who was this visitor that came and went so +mysteriously? To discover this, without being myself discovered, was a +matter that required both tact and courage, but it was one on which I +was almost as much a monomaniac as a child well can be. To have opened +my door when the landing was perfectly dark would have been to see +nothing. To have opened the door with a candle in my hand would have +been to betray myself. I must wait for a moonlight night, which would +light up the landing sufficiently for my purpose. I waited. My +opportunity came. With my doorway in deep shadow, my door just +sufficiently open for me to peer through, and with the staircase lighted +up by rays of the moon, I saw and recognised the mysterious midnight +visitor to the room over mine. I saw and recognised Sister Agnes. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +EXIT JANET HOPE. + + +The effect upon me of the discovery that Sister Agnes was the midnight +visitor of the room over mine was at once to stifle that brood of morbid +fancies with which of late both room and visitor had become associated +in my mind. I loved her so thoroughly, she was to me so complete an +embodiment of all that was noble and beautiful in womanhood, that +however unsatisfying to my curiosity such visits might be, I could not +doubt that she must have excellent reasons for making them. One thing +was quite evident, that since she herself had said nothing respecting +the room and her visits to it, it was impossible for me to question her +on the matter. Such being the case, I felt that it would be a poor +return for all her goodness to me to question Dance or any other person +respecting what she herself wished to keep concealed. Besides, it was +doubtful whether Dance would tell me anything, even if I were to ask +her. She had warned me a few hours after my arrival at Deepley Walls +that there were many things under that roof respecting which I must seek +no explanation; and with no one of the other domestics was I in any way +intimate. + +Still my curiosity remained unsatisfied; still over the room itself hung +a veil of mystery which I would fain have lifted. All my visits to the +room to see whether the light shone under the door had hitherto been +made previously to the midnight visits of Sister Agnes. The question +that now arose in my mind was whether the mysterious thread of light was +or was not visible after Sister Agnes's customary visit--whether, in +fact, it shone there all the night through. In order to solve this +doubt, I lay awake the night following that of my discovery of Sister +Agnes. Listening intently, with my bed-room door ajar, I heard her go +upstairs, and ten minutes later I could just distinguish her smothered +footfall as she came down. I heard the door at the bottom of the +corridor shut behind her, and then I knew that I was safe. + +Slipping out of bed, I stole, barefooted as I was, out of my bed-room +and up the flight of stairs which led to the black door. Of ghosts in +the ordinary meaning of that word--in the meaning which it has for five +children out of six--I had no fear; my fears, such as they were, ran in +quite another groove. I went upstairs slowly, with shut eyes, counting +each stair as I put my feet on it from one up to ten. I knew that from +the tenth stair the streak of light, if there, would be visible. On the +tenth stair I opened my eyes. There was the thread of light shining +clear and steady under the black door. For a minute I stood looking at +it. In the intense silence the beating of my heart was painfully +audible. Grasping the banister with one hand, I went downstairs +backwards, step by step, and so regained the sanctuary of my own room. + +I scarcely know in what terms to describe, or how to make sufficiently +clear, the strange sort of fascination there was for me in those nightly +rambles--in living perpetually on the edge of a mystery. While daylight +lasted the feeling slumbered within me; I could even take myself to task +for wanting to pry into a secret that evidently in nowise concerned me. +But as soon as twilight set in, and night's shadows began to creep +timidly out of their corners, so surely could I feel the spell working +within me, the desire creeping over me to pluck out the heart of the +mystery that lay hidden behind the black nail-studded door upstairs. +Sometimes I climbed the staircase at one hour, sometimes at another; but +there was no real sleep for me, nothing but fitful uneasy dozes, till +the brief journey had been made. After climbing to the tenth stair, and +satisfying myself that the light was there, I would creep back +noiselessly to bed, and fall at once into a deep dreamless sleep that +was often prolonged till late in the forenoon. + +At length there came a night when the secret was laid bare, and the +spell broken for ever. I had been in bed for two hours and a half, lying +in that half-dreamy state in which facts and fancies are so inextricably +jumbled together that it is too much labour to disintegrate the two, +when the clock struck one. Next moment I was out of bed, standing with +the handle of the half-opened door in my hand, listening to the silence. +I had heard Sister Agnes come down some time ago, and I felt secure from +interruption. To-night the moon shone brightly in through a narrow +window in the gable, and all the way upstairs there was a track of white +light as though a company of ghosts had lately passed that way. As I +went upstairs I counted them up to the tenth, and then I stood still. +Yes, the thread of light was there as it always was, only--only somehow +it seemed broader to-night than I had ever noticed it as being before. +It _was_ broader. I could not be mistaken. While I was still pondering +over this problem, and wondering what it might mean, my eye was taken by +the dull gleam of some small white object about half way up the door. My +eyes were taken by it, and would not leave it till I had ascertained +what it really was. I approached it step by step, slowly, and then I saw +that it was in reality that which I had imagined it to be. It was a +small silver key--Sister Agnes's key--which she had forgotten to take +away with her on leaving the room. Moreover the door was unlocked, +having been simply pulled to by Sister Agnes on leaving, which explained +why the streak of light showed larger than common. + +I felt as though I were walking in a dream, so unreal did the whole +business seem to me by this time. I was in a moonlight glamour; the +influence of the silver orb was upon me. Of self-volition I seemed to +have little or none left. I was given over to unseen powers, viewless, +that dwell in space, of which we have ordinarily no human cognition. At +such moments as these, and I have gone through many of them, I am no +longer the Janet Hope of everyday life. I am lifted up and beyond my +ordinary self. I obey a law whose beginning and whose ending I am alike +ignorant of: but I feel that it is a law and not an impulse. I am led +blindly forward, but I go unresistingly, feeling that there is no power +left in me save that of obeying. + +Did I push open the door of the secret room, or was it opened for me by +unseen hands? I know not. I only know that it closed noiselessly behind +me of its own accord and left me standing there wondering, alone, with +white face and staring eyes. + +The chamber was a large one, or seemed so to me. It was draped entirely +in black, hiding whatever windows there might be. The polished wood +floor was bare. The ceiling was painted with a number of sprawling +Cupids, some of them scattering flowers, others weaving leafy chaplets, +presumably to crown the inane-looking goddess reclining in their midst +on a bank of impossible cloud. But both Cupids and goddess were dingy +with age, and seemed to have grown too old for such Arcadian revels. + +The room was lighted with a dozen large wax candles placed in four +silver tripods, each of them about six feet in height, and screwed to +the floor to prevent their being overturned. All these preparations were +not without an object. That object was visible in the middle of the +room. It was a large black coffin studded with silver nails, placed on a +black slab about four feet in height, and more than half covered with a +large pall. + +I felt no fear at sight of this grim object. I was lifted too far above +my ordinary self to be afraid. I simply wondered--wondered who lay +asleep inside the coffin, and how long he or she had been there. + +The only article of furniture in the room was a _prie-dieu_ of black +oak. I knelt on this, and gazed on the coffin, and wondered. My +curiosity urged me to go up to it, and turn down the pall, and ascertain +whether the name of the occupant was engraved on the lid. But stronger +than my curiosity was a certain repugnance to go near it which I could +not overcome. That some person was shut up there who during life had +been of importance in the world, I could not doubt. This, too, was the +room in which Lady Chillington took her midnight perambulations, and +that coffin was the object she came to contemplate. Perhaps the occupant +of the coffin came out, and walked with my lady, and held ghostly +converse with her on such occasions. I fancied that even now I could +hear him breathing heavily, and turning over uneasily in his narrow bed. +There seemed a rustling, too, among the folds of the sombre curtains as +though someone were in hiding there; and that low faint sobbing sigh +which quivered through the room, like an accent of unutterable sorrow, +whence did it come? Others than myself were surely there, though I might +not be able to see them. + +I knelt on the _prie-dieu_, stirring neither hand nor foot; as +immovable, in fact, except for my breathing, as a figure cut out of +stone. Looking and wondering still, after a time it seemed to me that +the lights were growing dimmer, that the room was growing colder; that +some baleful presence was beside me with malicious intent to gradually +numb and chill the life out of me, to freeze me, body and soul, till the +two could no longer hold together; and that when morning came, if ever +it did come to that accursed room, my husk would be there indeed, but +Janet Hope herself would be gone for ever. A viewless horror stirred my +hair, and caused my flesh to creep. The baneful influence that was upon +me was deepening in intensity; every minute that passed seemed to render +me more powerless to break the spell. Suddenly the clock struck two. At +the same moment a light footfall sounded on the stairs outside. It was +Sister Agnes coming back to lock the door, and to fetch the key which +she had left behind two hours before. I heard her approach the door, and +I saw the door itself pulled close to; then the key was turned, the bolt +shot into its place, the key was withdrawn, and I was left locked up +alone in that terrible room. + +But the proximity of another human being sufficed to break the spell +under which I had been powerless only a minute before. Better risk +discovery, better risk everything, than be left to pass the night where +I was. Should that horror settle down upon me again, I felt that I must +succumb to it. It would crush the life out of me as infallibly as though +I were in the folds of some huge python. Long before morning I should be +dead. + +I slid from off the _prie-dieu_, and walking backward, with my eyes +glancing warily to right and left, I reached the door and struck it with +my fists. "Sister Agnes!" I cried, "Sister Agnes! do not leave me. I am +here alone." + +Again the curtains rustled, stirred by invisible fingers; again that +faint long-drawn sigh ran like an audible shiver through the room. I +heard eager fingers busy outside the door; a mist swam up before my +eyes, and next moment I fainted dead away in the arms of Sister Agnes. + +For three weeks after that time I lay very ill--lay very close to the +edge of the grave. But for the ceaseless attentions and tender +assiduities of Sister Agnes and Dance I should have slipped out of life +and all my troubles. To them I owe it that I am now alive to write these +lines. One bright afternoon, as I was approaching convalescence, Sister +Agnes and I, sitting alone, got into conversation respecting the room +upstairs, and my visit to it. + +"But whose coffin is that, Sister Agnes?" I asked. "And why is it left +there unburied?" + +"It is the coffin of Sir John Chillington, her ladyship's late +husband," answered Sister Agnes, very gravely. "He died thirteen years +ago. By his will a large portion of the property left to his widow was +contingent on his body being kept unburied and above ground for twenty +years. Lady Chillington elected to have the body kept in that room which +you were so foolish as to visit without permission; and there it will +probably remain till the twenty years shall have expired. All these +facts are well known to the household; indeed, to the country for miles +around; but it was not thought necessary to mention them to a child like +you, whose stay in the house would be of limited duration, and to whom +such knowledge could be of no possible benefit." + +"But why do you visit the room every midnight, Sister Agnes?" + +"It is the wish of Lady Chillington that, day and night, twelve candles +shall be kept burning round the coffin, and ever since I came to reside +at Deepley Walls it has been part of my duty to renew the candles once +every twenty-four hours. Midnight is the hour appointed for the +performance of that duty." + +"Do you not feel afraid to go there alone at such a time?" + +"Dear Janet, what is there to be afraid of? The dead have no power to +harm us. We shall be as they are in a very little while. They are but +travellers who have gone before us into a far country, leaving behind +them a few poor relics, and a memory that, if we have loved them, ought +to make us look forward with desire to the time when we shall see them +again." + +Three weeks later I left Deepley Walls. Madame Delclos was in London for +a week, and it was arranged that I should return to France with her. +Major Strickland took me up to town and saw me safely into her hands. My +heart was very sad at leaving all my dear new-found friends, but Sister +Agnes had exhorted me to fortitude before I parted from her, and I knew +that neither by her, nor the Major, nor George, nor Dance, should I be +forgotten. I saw Lady Chillington for a moment before leaving. She gave +me two frigid fingers, and said that she hoped I should be a good girl, +and attend assiduously to my lessons, for that in after life I should +have to depend upon my own industry for a living. I felt at the moment +that I would much rather do that than have to depend through life on her +ladyship's bounty. + +A few tears would come when the moment arrived for me to say farewell to +the Major. He tried his best, in his hearty, affectionate way, to cheer +me up. I flung my arms round his neck and kissed him tenderly. He turned +abruptly, seized his hat, and rushed from the room. Whereupon Madame +Delclos, who had been trying to look _sympathique_, drew herself up, +frowned, and pinched one of my ears viciously. Forty-eight hours later I +was safely shut up in the Pension Clissot. + + * * * * * + +Here my personal narrative ends. From this point the story of which the +preceding pages form a part will be recorded by another pen. It was +deemed advisable by those to whose opinion in such matters I bow without +hesitation, that this narrative of certain events in the life of a +child--a necessary introduction to the narrative yet to come--should be +written by the person whom it most concerned. Now that her task is done, +she abnegates at once (and thankfully) the first person singular in +favour of the third, and whatever is told of her in the following pages, +is told, not by herself, but by that other pen, of which mention is made +above. + +Between the time when this curtain falls and the next one draws up, +there is a lapse of seven years. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +BY THE SCOTCH EXPRESS. + + +Among other passengers, on a certain fine spring morning, by the 10 a.m. +Scotch express, was one who had been so far able to propitiate the guard +as to secure a whole compartment to himself. He was enjoying himself in +a quiet way--smoking, and skimming his papers, and taking a bird's-eye +view now and again at the landscape that was flying past him at the rate +of forty miles an hour. Few people who cared to speculate as to his +profession would have hesitated to set him down as a military man, even +had not the words, "Captain Ducie," painted in white letters on a black +portmanteau which protruded half-way from under his seat, rendered any +such speculation needless. He must have been three or four-and-forty +years old, judging from the lines about his mouth and eyes, but in some +other respects he looked considerably younger. He wore neither beard nor +whiskers, but his short hair, and his thick, drooping moustache were +both jet black, and betrayed as yet, thanks either to Nature or Art, +none of those straggling streaks of silver which tell so plainly of the +advance of years. He had a clear olive complexion, a large aquiline nose +and deep-set eyes, piercing and full of fire, under a grand sweep of +eyebrow. In person he was tall and thin; broad-chested, but lean in the +flank, with hands and feet that looked almost effeminate, so small were +they in comparison with his size. A black frock-coat, tightly buttoned, +set off to advantage a figure of which he might still be reasonably +proud. The remainder of his costume was in quiet keeping with the first +fashion of the period. + +Captain Ducie smoked and read and stared out of the window much as +eleven out of twelve of us would do under similar circumstances, while +milepost after milepost flashed out for an instant and was gone. After a +time he took a letter out of his breast-pocket, opened it, and read it. +It was brief, and ran as under:-- + + "Stapleton, Scotland, March 31st. + + "MY DEAR NED,--Since you wish it, come down here for a few weeks; + whether to recruit your health or your finances matters not. + Mountain air and plain living are good for both. However, I warn + you beforehand that you will find us very dull. Lady B.'s health is + hardly what it ought to be, and we are seeing no company just now. + If you like to take us as we are, I say again--come. + + "As for the last paragraph of your letter, I scarcely know in what + terms to answer it. You have already bled me so often the same way, + that I have grown heartily sick of the process. This must be the + last time of asking, my boy; I wish you clearly to understand that. + This place has cost me a great deal of money of late, and I cannot + spring you more than a hundred. For that amount I enclose you a + cheque. Finis coronat opus. Bear those words in mind, and believe + me when I say that you have had your last cheque + + "From your affectionate cousin, + "BARNSTAKE." + +"Consummate little prig!" murmured Captain Ducie to himself as he +refolded the letter and put it away. "I can fancy the smirk on his face +as he penned that precious effusion, and how, when he had finished it, +he would trot off to his clothes-prop of a wife and ask her whether she +did not think it at once amusing and severe. That letter shall cost your +lordship fifty guineas, I don't allow people to write to me in that +style with impunity." + +He lighted another cigar frowningly. "I wonder if I was ever so really +hard up as I am now?" he continued to himself. "I don't think I ever was +quite. I have been in Queer Street many a time, but I've always found a +friend round the corner, or have pulled myself through by the skin of +the teeth somehow. But this time I see no lift in the cloud. My +insolvency has become chronic; it is attacking the very citadel of life. +I have not a single uncle or aunt to fall back upon. The poor creatures +are all dead and buried, and their money all spent. Well!--Outlaw is an +ugly word, but it is one that I shall have to learn how to spell before +long. I shall have to leave my country for my country's good." + +He puffed away fiercely for a little while, and then he resumed. + +"It would not be a bad thing for a fellow like me to become a chief +among the Red Skins--if they would have me. With them my lack of pence +would be no bar to success. I can swim and shoot and ride: although I +cannot paint a picture, I daresay that I could paint myself; and I know +several fellows whose scalps I should have much pleasure in taking. As +for the so-called amenities of civilized life, what are they worth to +one who, like me, has no longer the means of enjoying them? After all, +it is a question whether freedom and the prairie would not be preferable +to Pall-Mall and a limited income of, say--twelve hundred a year--the +sort of income that is just enough to make one the slave of society, but +is not sufficient to pay for gilding its fetters. A station, by Jove! +and with it the possibility of getting a drop of cognac." + +As soon as the train came to a stand, Captain Ducie vacated his seat and +went in search of the refreshment-room. On coming back five minutes +later, he was considerably disgusted to find that he was no longer to +have his compartment to himself. The seat opposite to that on which he +had been sitting was already occupied by a gentleman who was wrapped up +to the nose in rugs and furs. + +"Any objection to smoking?" asked the Captain presently as the train +began to move. He was pricking the end of a fresh cigar as he asked the +question. The words might be civil, but the tone was offensive; it +seemed to convey--"I don't care whether you object or not: I intend to +enjoy my weed all the same." + +The stranger, however, seemed in nowise offended. He smirked and +quavered two yellow-gloved fingers out of his furs. "Oh, no, certainly +not," he said. "I, too, am a smoker and shall join you presently." + +He spoke with the slightest possible foreign accent, just sufficient to +tell an educated ear that he was not an Englishman. If Captain Ducie's +features were aquiline, those of the stranger might be termed +vulturine--long, lean, narrow, with a thin, high-ridged nose, and a chin +that was pointed with a tuft of thick, black hair. Except for this tuft +he was clean shaven. His black hair, cropped close at back and sides, +was trained into an elaborate curl on the top of the forehead and there +fixed with _cosmetique_. Both hair and chin-tuft were of that +uncompromising blue-black which tells unmistakably of the dye-pot. His +skin was yellow and parchment-like, and stretched tightly over his +forehead and high cheek-bones, but puckering into a perfect net-work of +lines about a mouth whose predominant expression was one of mingled +cynicism and suspicion. There was suspicion, too, in his small black +eyes, as well as a sort of lurking fierceness which not even his most +urbane and elaborate smile could altogether eliminate. In person he was +very thin and somewhat under the middle height, and had all the air of a +confirmed valetudinarian. He was dressed as no English gentleman would +care to be seen dressed in public. A long brown velvet coat trimmed with +fur; lavender-coloured trousers tightly strapped over patent leather +boots; two or three vests of different colours under one made of the +skin of some animal and fastened with gold buttons; a profusion of +jewellery; an embroidered shirt-front and deep turn-down collar: such +were the chief items of his attire. A hat with a very curly brim hung +from the carriage roof, while for present head-gear he wore a sealskin +travelling cap with huge lappets that came below his ears. In this cap, +and wrapped to the chin in his bear-skin rug, he looked like some +newly-discovered species of animal--a sort of cross between a vulture +and a monkey, were such a thing possible, combining the deep-seated +fierceness of the one with the fantastic cunning, and the impossibility +of doing the most serious things without a grimace, of the other. + +No sooner had Captain Ducie lighted his cigar than with an impatient +movement he put down the window close to which he was sitting. It had +been carefully put up by the stranger while Ducie was in the refreshment +room; but the latter was a man who always studied his own comfort before +that of anyone else, except when self whispered to him that such a +course was opposed to his own interests, which was more than he could +see in the present case. + +The stranger gave a little sniggering laugh as the window fell noisily; +then he shivered and drew his furs more closely around him. "It is +strange how fond you English people are of what you call fresh air," he +said. "In Italy fresh air may be a luxury, but it cannot be had in your +hang-dog climate without one takes a catarrh at the same time." + +Captain Ducie surveyed him coolly from head to foot for a moment or two. +Then a sudden thought seemed to strike him. "I must really ask you to +pardon my rudeness," he said, lifting his Glengarry. "If the open window +is the least annoyance to you, by all means let it be shut. To me it is +a matter of perfect indifference." As he spoke he pulled the window up, +and then he turned on the stranger with a look that seemed to imply: +"Although I seemed so truculent a few minutes ago, you see what a +good-natured fellow I am at heart." In most of Captain Ducie's actions +there was some ulterior motive at work, however trivial many of his +actions might appear to an outsider, and in the present case it was not +likely that he acted out of mere complaisance to a man whom he had never +seen nor heard of ten minutes previously. + +"You are too good--really far too good," said the stranger. "Suppose we +compromise the matter?" With that his lean hands, encased in +lemon-coloured gloves, let down the window a couple of inches, and fixed +it there with the strap. + +"Now really, you know, do just as you like about it," said the Captain, +with that slow amused smile which became his face so well. "As I said +before, I am altogether indifferent in the matter." + +"As it is now, it will suit both of us, I think. And now to join you in +your smoke." + +From the net over his head he reached down a small mahogany case. This +he opened, and from it extracted a large meerschaum pipe elaborately +mounted with gold filigree work. Having charged the pipe from an +embroidered pouch filled with choice Turkish tobacco, he struck an +allumette and began to smoke. + +"Decidedly an acquaintance worth cultivating," murmured the Captain +under his breath. "But what country does the beggar belong to?" A +question more easily asked than answered: at all events, it was one +which the Captain found himself unable to solve to his own satisfaction. +For a few minutes they smoked in silence. + +"Do you travel far, to-day?" asked the stranger at length. "Are you +going across the Border?" + +"The end of my journey is Stapleton, Lord Barnstake's place, and not a +great way from Edinburgh. Shall I have the pleasure of your company as +far as I go by rail?" + +"Ah, no, sir, not so far as that. Only to--. There I must leave you, and +take the train for Windermere. I live on the banks of your beautiful +lake. Permettez-moi, monsieur," and with a movement that was a +combination of a shrug, a grimace and a bow, the stranger drew a +card-case from one of his pockets, and, extracting a card therefrom, +handed it to Ducie. + +The Captain took it with a bow, and, sticking his glass in his eye, +read:-- + + _____________________________________ + | | + | | + | M. PAUL PLATZOFF. | + | | + | | + |_Bon Repos, | + | Windermere._ | + |___________________________________| + +The Captain in return handed over his pasteboard credential, and, this +solemn rite being accomplished, conversation was resumed on more easy +and agreeable terms. + +"I daresay you are puzzling your brains as to my nationality," said +Platzoff, with a smile. "I am not an Englishman; that you can tell from +my accent. I am not a Frenchman, although I write 'monsieur' before my +name. Still less am I either a German or an Italian. Neither am I a +genuine Russian, although I look to Russia as my native country. In +brief, my father was a Russian, my mother was a Frenchwoman, and I was +born on board a merchantman during a gale of wind in the Baltic." + +"Then I should call you a true cosmopolitan--a genuine citizen of the +world," remarked Ducie, who was amused with his new friend's frankness. + +"In ideas I strive to be such, but it is difficult at all times to +overcome the prejudices of education and early training," answered +Platzoff. "You, sir, are, I presume, in the army?" + +"Formerly I was in the army, but I sold out nearly a dozen years ago," +answered Ducie, drily. "Does this fellow expect me to imitate his +candour?" thought the Captain. "Would he like to know all about my +grandfather and grandmother, and that I have a cousin who is an earl? If +so, I am afraid he will be disappointed." + +"Did you see much service while you were in the army?" asked Platzoff. + +"I saw a good deal of hard fighting in the East, although not on any +large scale." Ducie was beginning to get restive. He was not the sort of +man to quietly allow himself to be catechised by a stranger. + +"I, too, know something of the East," said Platzoff. "Three of the +happiest years of my life were spent in India. While out there I became +acquainted with several gentlemen of your profession. With Colonel +Leslie I was particularly intimate. I had been stopping with the poor +fellow only a few days before that gallant affair at Ruckapore, in which +he came by his death." + +"I remember the affair you speak of," said Ducie. "I was in one of the +other Presidencies at the time it happened." + +"There was another officer in poor Leslie's regiment with whom I was +also on very intimate terms. He died of cholera a little later on, and I +attended him in his last moments. I allude to a Captain Charles +Chillington. Did you ever meet with him in your travels?" + +Captain Ducie's swarthy cheek deepened its hue. He paused to blow a +speck of cigar ash off his sleeve before he spoke. "I did not know your +Captain Charles Chillington," he said, in slow, deliberate accents. +"Till the present moment I never heard of his existence." + +Captain Ducie pulled his Glengarry over his brows, folded his arms, and +shut his eyes. He had evidently made up his mind for a quiet snooze. +Platzoff regarded him with a silent snigger. "Something I have said has +pricked the gallant Captain under his armour," he muttered to himself. +"Is it possible that he and Chillington were acquainted with each other +in India? But what matters it to me if they were?" + +When M. Platzoff had smoked his meerschaum to the last whiff, he put it +carefully away, and disposed himself to follow Ducie's example in the +matter of sleep. He rearranged his wraps, folded the arms, shut his +eyes, and pressed his head resolutely against his cushion; but at the +end of five minutes he opened his eyes, and seemed just as wakeful as +before. "These beef-fed Englishmen seem as if they can sleep whenever +and wherever they choose. Enviable faculty! I daresay the heifers on +which they gorge possess it in almost as great perfection." + +Hidden away among his furs was a small morocco-covered despatch-box. +This he now proceeded to unlock, and to draw from it a folded paper +which, on being opened, displayed a closely-written array of figures, as +though it were the working out of some formidable problem in arithmetic. +Platzoff smiled, and his smile was very different from his cynical +snigger, as his eyes ran over the long array of figures. "I must try and +get this finished as soon as I am back at Bon Repos," he muttered to +himself. "I am frightened when I think what would happen if I were to +die before its completion. My great secret would die with me, and +perhaps hundreds of years would pass away before it would be brought to +light. What a discovery it would be! To those concerned it would seem as +though they had found the key-note of some lost religion--as though they +had penetrated into some temple dedicated to the gods of eld." + +His soliloquy was suddenly interrupted by three piercing shrieks from +the engine, followed by a terrible jolting and swaying of the carriage, +which made it almost impossible for those inside to keep their seats. +Captain Ducie was alive to the danger in a moment. One glance out of the +window was enough. "We are off the line? Hold fast!" he shouted to +Platzoff, drawing up his legs, and setting his teeth, and looking very +fierce and determined. M. Platzoff tried to follow his English friend's +example. His yellow complexion faded to a sickly green. With eyes in +which there was no room now for anything save anguish and terror +unspeakable, he yet snarled at the mouth and showed his teeth like a +wolf brought hopelessly to bay. + +The swaying and jolting grew worse. There was a grinding and crunching +under the wheels of the carriage as though a thousand huge coffee-mills +were at work. Suddenly the train parted in the middle, and while the +forepart, with the engine, went ploughing through the ballast till +brought up in safety a few hundred yards further on, the carriage in +which were Ducie and Platzoff, together with the hinder part of the +train, went toppling over a high embankment, and crashing down the side, +and rolling over and over, came to a dead stand at the bottom, one huge +mass of wreck and disaster. + + +(_To be continued._) + + + + +SONNET. + + + Yes, I have heard it oft: a few brief years + True life comprise. The rest is but a dream: + What though to thee like life it vainly seem. + Fool, trust it not; 'tis not what it appears. + We live but once. We die before the shears + Of Atropos the thread have clipped. True life + Is when with ardent youth's and passion's strife + We suffer and we feel. 'Tis when wild tears + Can flow and hearts can break, or 'neath the gaze + Of loved eyes beat. 'Tis when on eager wing + Of Hope we soar, and Past and Future bring + Within the Present's grasp. Ay, we live then, + But when that cup is quaffed what doth remain? + The dregs of days that follow upon days! + +JULIA KAVANAGH. + + + + +MEDIUMS AND MYSTERIES. + +BY NARISSA ROSAVO. + + +So long as the world lasts, no doubt a large portion of its inhabitants +will run after that which the Scotch expressively term "uncanny." The +absence of accurate knowledge and the impossibility of thorough +scientific investigation, of separating the chaff from the wheat, the +true from the counterfeit, becomes at one and the same time the charm +and the counterblast to diligent searchers. + +For the most part, these are persons of inferior mental calibre, of +somewhat unrefined instincts; but, on the other hand, I have known +mighty intellects lose themselves in this maze, where no firm clue can +be seized by which to go forward safely, to advance at all, while the +return journey must be made with _certain_ loss. Persistent endeavour +brings weakened faith in God, in place of that certainty spiritualists +talk of when they say their arts are beneficial, proving a hereafter--a +spiritual world. + +It is not thus we get on firm footing. We but advance into sloughs of +despond, led by wills of the wisp; and the girl mediums, the so-called +clairvoyantes, invariably lose mental health and physical strength. It +is but a matter of time, and they become hysteria patients or +inhabitants of lunatic asylums. I have known a clever clergyman of the +Church of England determine to find out the truth, if any, on this path. +He made use of his own daughter in the search. The coil of delusion led +him on until it became a choice of death or madness for the tender +instrument with which he felt his way into the unseen world. + +There is _something_ along this road, call it odic force, or what you +will. Science has not, perhaps cannot, ever get firm footing here; but +the result of long and careful observation as yet only enables us to +strike a sort of average. Experiments pursued for years with +table-turning, planchettes, mediums, clairvoyantes, come to this. You do +get answers, strange messages, unaccountable communications; but nothing +is ever told, in any seance, which does not lie perdu in the breast of +someone of the company. There is often no willing deception; +peradventure, no fooling at all: but as you cannot draw water from a dry +well, neither can you get a message except the germ of it broods within +some soul with which you have some present contact. + +And then, things being so, what advance can we make? + +Many people seem to be unaware that to search after necromancers and +soothsayers is forbidden by the English law. Consequently--let us say--a +great number of cultivated ladies and gentlemen do, even in this +intelligent age, resort to the homes of such folk; aye, and consult +them, too, eagerly, at the most critical junctures in their lives. + +I know of a London washerwoman by trade who makes vastly more money by +falling into trances than by her legitimate calling, to which she adds +the letting of lodgings. + +On one occasion she was commissioned to comment, in her swoon, on the +truth or constancy of a girl's lover; an unopened letter from him being +placed in her hands as she slept. She did comment on him, and truly. She +said he was not true: that he did not love the girl really, that it was +all a sham. Well, the power by which that clairvoyante spoke was the +lurking distrust within the mind of the girl who stood by with an aching +heart, listening to her doom. Also, perhaps, some virtue we know not of +transfused itself subtilely from the paper upon which that perfidious +one had breathed and written. Who can tell? But in any case the thing is +all a snare and a delusion, and after much observation I can honestly +say--I repeat this--that he or she who dabbles in these mysteries loses +faith in God, and is apt to become a prey to the power of Evil. + +And then the delusions, collusions, and hopeless entanglement of deceit +mixed up with Spiritualism! How many tales I could tell--an I would! + +There was a certain rich old gentleman in a great centre of trade and +finance. The mediums had hope and every prospect he would make a will, +or had made one, in their favour--endowing them and theirs with splendid +and perpetual grants. This credulous searcher had advanced to the stage +when doubt was terrible. He was ardent to convert others, and thereby +strengthen his own fortress. He prevailed upon two clear-headed business +men, brothers, to attend his seances. With reluctance, to do him a +favour, they, after much difficulty, were induced to yield. Their host +only wanted them, he said, to give the matter the unprejudiced attention +they bestowed on--say--pig-iron. + +There was no result whatever at the first sitting. The spirits were out +of temper, obstinate, would not work. The disappointment was great, even +to the novices, who had expected some fun at least. However, it was only +an adjournment. The fun came next night. + +All present sat round a table in a dark room, touching hands, with +extended finger points. When the gas was turned up it was discovered +that one of the unbelievers actually had a large bangle on his wrist. It +had not been there before. Of course the spirits had slipped it on. He +let this pass then. He had not the discourtesy to explain that a very +pretty girl at his side had gently manoeuvred it into its place. Her +taper fingers were very soft and worked as spirits might. + +This had gone off well, and better followed. Again the lights were +lowered to the faintest glimmer. Soft music played. Forms floated +through the air, now here, now there, plucking at a +tambourine--touching a sweet chord on the open piano. At last, in evil +moment, the most angelic, sylph-like form came all too near our friend +who wore the bangle. The temptation was too great for mortal man. He +extended his arms and took firm, substantial, desperate hold of the +nymph, at the same instant shouting wildly to his brother, "Turn up the +gas, Jim." + +The vulgar light revealed that the panting figure struggling from his +grasp was that of his pretty neighbour who had slipped the bangle on his +wrist. Strange to say, the giver of this spiritual feast never forgave +those two brothers for their discourtesy. + +But there are, as Hamlet says, real mysteries in this dull, prosaic life +of ours. One or two true tales may not come amiss. I am quite ready to +give any member of the Psychical Society chapter and verse and +authorities, and every available data, if desired. + +A certain barrister lost his wife a few years since. He was left with +two little children to care for alone. London was no longer what it had +been to him. He wished to make a home in the suburbs for his little boy +and girl, and at last found one to his mind. He bought a villa near the +river, in a pretty, country-like locality. The house was in bad repair, +and he set workmen at it without delay. One day he took his children +down with him while affairs were still in progress. They played about, +while he sat writing in what was to be the library. Presently they ran +to him. "Oh, papa! Mamma is out here!" + +"Oh, no, my dears! Mamma is not there," he replied. + +"But she is; indeed she is," they persisted. "She is at the end of the +long passage. We saw her; but she would not let us go on. She waved us +back." + +To satisfy the children he must go with them. They led him to a long, +dark corridor leading to back premises. "Ah, she is gone!" they cried in +great disappointment. "Quite gone! But she _was_ there, papa. She would +not let us go on. Come, let us look for her." + +"No, children; you wait here," he cried, moved by some sudden, cautious +instinct. He went into the dusky passage, and, after a few steps, +discovered that a trap-door leading to a deep cellar had been left open. +Had the children run along here their destruction would have been almost +certain. + +Again, a tale of the late Bishop Wilberforce. So many tales of him have +been current, but I do not believe that this has ever before gone +abroad. + +In early days he had a close friend, a school chum, a college companion; +but about the time young Wilberforce took orders these two had a bitter +and hopeless falling out. They never got over the disunion, and fell +utterly apart. The chum became an extensive landowner, and was master of +a charming house in the South of England. + +Time passed on, and he grew elderly. He thought of making his will. +Being a great man, not only his solicitor but the solicitor's son +arrived on the scene for the event. All three gentlemen were assembled +in the library, a long room, with many windows running down almost to +the ground. Suddenly the young man present saw a gentleman go by the +first of these windows. The elder lawyer raised his head as the figure +went by the second opening. Last of all the master of the house looked +up. + +"Why, that is Wilberforce," he exclaimed. "How many years it is since we +fell out, and I dared him ever again to seek me out." + +So saying, he ran to the hall-door to welcome his guest, towards whom no +bitter feeling now remained in his mind. Strange to say, the Bishop was +not at the door, nor could he be found within the grounds. At the moment +of his appearance he had fallen from his horse in this neighbourhood and +had been instantly killed. + + + + +ENLIGHTENMENT. + + + It was not in the lovely morning time + When dew lies bright on silent meadow-ways; + It was not in the splendid noon's high prime, + When all the lawns with sunlight are ablaze; + But in the tender twilight--ere the light + Of the broad moon made beautiful the night. + + It was not in the freshness of my youth, + Nor when my manhood laughed in perfect power, + That first I tasted of immortal truth + And plucked the buds of the immortal flower. + But when my life had passed its noon, I found + The path that leads to the enchanted ground. + + It was not love nor passion that made dear + That hour now memorable to us two; + Nothing was said the whole world might not hear, + Only--our souls touched, and for me and you, + Trees, flowers and sunshine, and the hearts of men, + Are better to be understood since then. + +E. NESBIT. + + + + +THE SILENT CHIMES. + +PLAYING AGAIN. + + +It could not be said the Church Leet chimes brought good when they rang +out that night at midnight, as the old year was giving place to the new. +Mrs. Carradyne, in her superstition, thought they brought evil. +Certainly evil set in at the same time, and Captain Monk, with all his +scoffing obstinacy, could not fail to see it. That fine young lad, his +son, fell through the window listening to them; and in the self-same +hour the knowledge reached him that Katherine, his eldest and dearest +child, had flown from his roof in defiant disobedience, to set up a home +of her own. + +Hubert was soon well of his bruises; but not of the cold induced by +lying in the snow, clad only in his white nightshirt. In spite of all +Mr. Speck's efforts, rheumatic fever set in, and for some time Hubert +hovered between life and death. He recovered; but would never again be +the strong, hearty lad he had been--though indeed he had never been very +physically strong. The doctor privately hoped that the heart would be +found all right in future, but he would not have answered for it. + +The blow that told most on Captain Monk was that inflicted by Katherine. +And surely never was disobedient marriage carried out with the impudent +boldness of hers. Church Leet called it "cheek." Church Leet +(disbelieving the facts when they first oozed out) could talk of nothing +else for weeks. For Katherine had been married in the church hard by, +that same night. + +Special licenses were very uncommon things in those days; they cost too +much; but the Reverend Thomas Dancox had procured one. With Katherine's +money: everybody guessed that. She had four hundred a-year of her own, +inherited from her dead mother, and full control over it. So the special +license was secured, and their crafty plans were laid. The stranger who +had presented himself at the Hall that night (by arrangement), asking +for Mr. Dancox, thus affording an excuse for his quitting the +banquet-room, was a young clergyman of Worcester, come over especially +to marry them. When tackled with his deed afterwards, he protested that +he had not been told the marriage was to be clandestine. Tom Dancox went +out to him from the banquet; Katherine, slipping on a bonnet and shawl, +joined them outside; they hastened to the rectory and thence into the +church. And while the unconscious master of Leet Hall was entertaining +his guests with his good cheer and his stories and his hip, hip, +hurrah, his Vicar and Katherine Monk were made one until death should +them part. And death, as it proved, intended to do that speedily. + +At first Captain Monk, in his unbounded rage, was for saying that a +marriage celebrated at ten o'clock at night by the light of a solitary +tallow candle, borrowed from the vestry, could not hold good. Re-assured +upon this point, he strove to devise other means to part them. Foiled +again, he laid the case before the Bishop of Worcester, and begged his +lordship to unfrock Thomas Dancox. The Bishop did not do as much as +that; though he sent for Tom Dancox and severely reprimanded him. But +that, as Church Leet remarked, did not break bones. Tom had striven to +make the best of his own cause to the Bishop, and the worst of Captain +Monk's obdurate will; moreover, stolen marriages were not thought much +of in those days. + +An uncomfortable state of things was maintained all the year, Hall Leet +and the Parsonage standing at daggers drawn. Never once did Captain Monk +appear at church. If he by cross-luck met his daughter or her husband +abroad, he struck into a good fit of swearing aloud; which perhaps +relieved his mind. The chimes had never played again; they pertained to +the church, and the church was in ill-favour with the Captain. As the +end of the year approached, Church Leet wondered whether he would hold +the annual banquet; but Captain Monk was not likely to forego that. Why +should he? The invitations went out for it; and they contained an +intimation that the chimes would again play. + +The banquet took place, a neighbouring parson saying grace at it in the +place of Tom Dancox. While the enjoyment was progressing and Captain +Monk was expressing his marvel for the tenth time as to what could have +become of Speck, who had not made his appearance, a note was brought in +by Rimmer--just as he had brought in one last year. This also was from +Mrs. Carradyne. + + "_Please come out to me for one moment, dear Godfrey. I must say a + word to you._" + +Captain Monk's first impulse on reading this was to send Rimmer back to +say she might go and be hanged. But to call him from the table was so +very extreme a measure, that on second thoughts he decided to go to her. +Mrs. Carradyne was standing just outside the door, looking as white as a +sheet. + +"Well, this is pretty bold of you, Madam Emma," he began angrily. "Are +you out of your senses?" + +"Hush, Godfrey! Katherine is dying." + +"What?" cried the Captain, the words confusing him. + +"Katherine is dying," repeated his sister, her teeth chattering with +emotion. + +In spite of Katherine's rebellion, Godfrey Monk loved her still as the +apple of his eye; and it was only his obstinate temper which had kept +him from reconciliation. His face took a hue of terror, and his voice a +softer tone. + +"What have you heard?" + +"Her baby's born; something has gone wrong, I suppose, and she is dying. +Sally ran up with the news, sent by Mr. Speck. Katherine is crying out +for you, saying she cannot die without your forgiveness. Oh, Godfrey, +you will go, you will surely go!" pleaded Mrs. Carradyne, breaking down +with a burst of tears. "Poor Katherine!" + +Never another word spoke he. He went out at the hall-door there and +then, putting on his hat as he leaped down the steps. It was a wretched +night; not white, clear, and cold as the last New Year's Eve had been, +or mild and genial as the one before it; but damp, raw, misty. + +"You think I have remained hard and defiant, father," Katherine +whispered to him, "but I have many a time asked God's forgiveness on my +bended knees; and I longed--oh, how I longed!--to ask yours. What should +we all do with the weight of sin that lies on us when it comes to such +an hour as this, but for Jesus Christ--for God's wonderful mercy!" + +And, with one hand in her father's and the other in her husband's, both +their hearts aching to pain, and their eyes wet with bitter tears, poor +Katherine's soul passed away. + +After quitting the parsonage, Captain Monk was softly closing the garden +gate behind him--for when in sorrow we don't do things with a rush and a +bang--when a whirring sound overhead caused him to start. Strong, +hardened man though he was, his nerves were unstrung to-night in company +with his heartstrings. It was the church clock preparing to strike +twelve. The little doctor, Speck, who had left the house but a minute +before, was standing at the churchyard fence close by, his arms leaning +on the rails, probably ruminating sadly on what had just occurred. +Captain Monk halted beside him in silence, while the clock struck. + +As the last stroke vibrated on the air, telling the knell of the old +year, the dawn of the new, another sound began. + +Ring, ring, ring! Ring, ring, ring! + +The chimes! The sweet, soothing, melodious chimes, carolling forth the +Bay of Biscay. Very pleasant were they in themselves to the ear. +But--did they fall pleasantly on Captain Monk's? It may be, not. It may +be, a wish came over him that he had never thought of instituting them. +But for doing that, the ills of his recent life had never had place. +George West's death would not have lain at his door, or room been made +by it for Tom Dancox, and Katherine would not be lying as he had now +left her--cold and lifeless. + +"Could _nothing_ have been done to save her, Speck?" he whispered to the +doctor, whose arms were still on the churchyard railings, listening to +the chimes in silence--though indeed he had asked the same question +indoors before. + +"Nothing; or you may be sure, sir, it would have been," answered Mr. +Speck. "Had all the medical men in Worcestershire been about her, they +could not have saved her any more than I could. These unfortunate cases +happen now and then," sighed he, "showing us how powerless we really +are." + +Well, it was grievous news wherewith to startle the parish. And Mrs. +Carradyne, a martyr to belief in ghosts and omens, grew to dread the +chimes with a nervous and nameless dread. + + +II. + +It was but the first of February, yet the weather might have served for +May-day: one of those superb days that come once in a while out of their +season, serving to remind the world that the dark, depressing, dreary +winter will not last for ever; though we may have half feared it means +to, forgetting the reassuring promise of the Divine Ruler of all things, +given after the Flood: + +"_While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, +and summer and winter, and day and night, shall not cease._" + +The warm and glorious sunbeams lay on Church Leet, as if to woo the bare +hedges into verdant life, the cold fields to smiling plains. Even the +mounds of the graveyard, interspersed amidst the old tombstones, looked +green and cheerful to-day in the golden light. + +Turning slowly out of the Vicarage gate came a good-looking clergyman of +seven-or-eight-and-twenty. A slender man of middle height, with a sweet +expression on his pale, thoughtful face, and dark earnest eyes. It was +the new Vicar of Church Leet, the Reverend Robert Grame. + +For a goodish many years have gone on since that tragedy of poor +Katherine's death, and this is the second appointed Vicar since that +inauspicious time. + +Mr. Grame walked across the churchyard, glancing at the inscriptions on +the tombs. Inside the church porch stood the clerk, old John Cale, keys +in hand. Mr. Grame saw him and quickened his pace. + +"Have I kept you waiting, Cale?" he cried in his pleasant, considerate +tones. "I am sorry for that." + +"Not at all, your reverence; I came afore the time. This here church is +but a step or two off my home, yonder, and I'm as often out here as I be +indoors," continued John Cale, a fresh-coloured little man with pale +grey eyes and white hair. "I've been clerk here, sir, for +seven-and-thirty years." + +"You've seen more than one parson out then, I reckon." + +"More than one! Ay, sir, more than--more than six times one, I was going +to say; but that's too much, maybe. Let's see: there was Mr. Cartright, +he had held the living I hardly know how many years when I came, and he +held it for many after that. Mr. West succeeded him--the Reverend George +West; then came Thomas Dancox; then Mr. Atterley: four in all. And now +you've come, sir, to make the fifth." + +"Did they all die? or take other livings?" + +"Some the one thing, sir, and some the other. Mr. Cartright died, he was +old; and Mr. West, he--he--" John Cale hesitated before he went on--"he +died; Mr. Dancox got appointed to a chaplaincy somewhere over the seas; +he was here but about eighteen months, hardly that; and Mr. Atterley, +who has just left, has had a big church with a big income, they say, +given to him over in Oxfordshire." + +"Which makes room for me," smiled Robert Grame. + +They were inside the church now; a small and very old-fashioned church, +with high pews, dark and sombre. Over the large pew of the Monks, +standing sideways to the pulpit, sundry slabs were on the wall, their +inscriptions testifying to the virtues and ages of the Monk family dead +and gone. Mr. Grame stood to read them. One slab of white marble, its +black letters fresh and clear, caught especially his eye. + +"Katherine, eldest child of Godfrey Monk, gentleman, and wife of the +Reverend Thomas Dancox," he read out aloud. "Was that he who was Vicar +here?" + +"Ay, 'twas. She married him again her father's wish, and died, poor +thing, just a year after it," replied the clerk. "And only twenty-three, +as you see, sir! The Captain came down and forgave her on her dying bed, +and 'twas he that had the stone put up there. Her baby-girl was taken to +the Hall, and is there still: ten years old she must be now; 'twas but +an hour or two old when the mother died." + +"It seems a sad history," observed Mr. Grame as he turned away to enter +the vestry. + +John Cale did the honours of its mysteries; showing him the chest for +the surplices; the cupboard let into the wall for the register-book; the +place where candles and such-like stores were kept. Mr. Grame opened a +door at one end of the room and saw a square flagged place, containing +grave-digging tools and the hanging ropes of the bell which called +people to church. Shutting the door again, he crossed to a door on the +opposite side. But that he could not open. + +"What does this lead to?" he asked. "It is locked." + +"It's always kept locked, that door is, sir; and it's a'most as much as +my post is worth to open it," said the clerk, his voice sinking to a +mysterious whisper. "It leads up to the chimes." + +"The chimes!" echoed the new parson in surprise. "Do you mean to say +this little country church can boast of chimes?" + +John Cale nodded. "Lovely, pleasant things they be to listen to, sir, +but we've not heard 'em since the midnight when Miss Katherine died. +They play a tune called 'The Bay of Biscay.'" + +Selecting a key from the bunch that he carried in his hand, he opened +the door, displaying a narrow staircase, unprotected as a ladder and +nearly perpendicular. At its top was another small door, evidently +locked. + +"Captain Monk had all this done when he put the chimes up," remarked he. +"I sweep the dust off these stairs, once in three months or so, but +otherwise the door's not opened. And that one," nodding to the door +above, "never." + +"But why?" asked the clergyman. "If the chimes are there, and are, as +you say, melodious, why do they not play?" + +"Well, sir, I b'lieve there's a bit of superstition at the bottom of +it," returned the clerk, not caring to explain too fully lest he should +have to tell about Mr. West's death, which might not be the thing to +frighten a new Vicar with. "A feeling has somehow got abroad in the +parish (leastways with a many of its folk) that the putting-up of its +bells brought ill-luck, and that whenever the chimes ring out some +dreadful evil falls on the Monk family." + +"I never heard of such a thing," exclaimed the Vicar, hardly knowing +whether to laugh or lecture. "The parish cannot be so ignorant as that! +How can the putting-up of chimes bring ill-luck?" + +"Well, your reverence, I don't know; the thing's beyond me. They were +heard but three times, ringing in the new year at midnight, three years, +one on top of t'other--and each time some ill fell." + +"My good man--and I am sure you are good--you should know better," +remonstrated Mr. Grame. "Captain Monk cannot, surely, give credence to +this?" + +"No, sir; but his sister up at the Hall does--Mrs. Carradyne. It's said +the Captain used to ridicule her finely for it; he'd fly into a passion +whenever 'twas alluded to. Captain Monk, as a brave seaman, is too bold +to tolerate anything of the sort. But he has never let the chimes play +since his daughter died. He was coming out from the death-scene at +midnight, when the chimes broke forth the third year, and it's said he +can't abear the sound of 'em since." + +"That may well be," assented Mr. Grame. + +"And finding, sir, year after year, year after year, as one year gives +place to another, that they are never heard, we have got to call 'em +amid ourselves, the Silent Chimes," spoke the clerk, as they turned to +leave the church. "The Silent Chimes, sir." + +Clinking his keys, the clerk walked away to his home, an ivy-covered +cottage not a stone's-throw off; the clergyman lingered in the +churchyard, reading the memorials on the tombstones. He was smiling at +the quaintness of some of them, when the sound of hasty footsteps caused +him to turn. A little girl was climbing over the churchyard-railings (as +being nearer to her than the entrance-gate), and came dashing towards +him across the gravestones. + +"Are you grandpapa's new parson?" asked the young lady; a pretty child +of ten, with a dark skin, and dusky-violet eyes staring at him freely +out of a saucy face. + +"Yes, I am," said he. "What is your name?" + +"What is yours?" boldly questioned she. "They've talked about you at +home, but I forgot it." + +"Mine is Robert Grame. Won't you tell me yours?" + +"Oh, it's Kate.--Here's that wicked Lucy coming! She's going to groan at +me for jumping here. She says it's not reverent." + +A charming young lady of some twenty years was coming up the path. She +wore a scarlet cloak, its hood lined with white silk; a straw hat shaded +her fair face, blushing very much just now; in her dark-grey eyes might +be read vexation, as she addressed Mr. Grame. + +"I hope Kate has not been rude? I hope you will excuse her heedlessness +in this place. She is but a little girl." + +"It's only the new parson, Lucy," broke in Kate without ceremony. "He +says his name's Robert Grame." + +"Oh, Kate, don't! How shall we ever teach you manners?" reprimanded the +young lady in much distress. "She has been greatly indulged, sir," +turning to the clergyman. + +"I can well understand that," he said, with a bright smile. "I presume +that I have the honour of speaking to the daughter of my patron--Captain +Monk?" + +"No; Captain Monk is my uncle: I am Lucy Carradyne." + +As the young clergyman stood, hat in hand, a feeling came over him that +he had never seen so sweet a face as the one he was looking at. Miss +Lucy Carradyne was saying to herself, "What a nice countenance he has! +What kindly, earnest eyes!" + +"This little lady tells me her name is Kate." + +"Kate Dancox," said Lucy, as the child danced away. "Her mamma was +Captain Monk's eldest daughter; she died when Kate was born. My uncle is +very fond of Kate; he will hardly have her controlled at all." + +"I have been in to see my church! John Cale has been doing its honours +for me," smiled Mr. Grame. "It is a pretty little edifice." + +"Yes, and I hope you will like it; I hope you will like the parish," +frankly returned Lucy. + +"I shall be sure to do that, I think. As soon, at least, as I can feel +convinced that it is to be really mine," he added, with a quaint +expression. "When I heard, a week ago, that Captain Monk had presented +me--an entire stranger to him--with the living of Church Leet, I could +not believe it. It is not often that a nameless curate, without +influence, is spontaneously remembered." + +"It is not much of a living," said Lucy, meeting the words half +jestingly. "Worth, I believe, but about a hundred and sixty pounds +a-year." + +"But that is a great rise for me--and I have a house to myself large +and beautiful--and am a Vicar and no longer a curate," he returned, +laughingly. "I cannot _imagine_, though, how Captain Monk came to give +it me. Have you any idea how it was, Miss Carradyne?" + +Lucy's face flushed. She could not tell this gentleman the truth: that +another clergyman had been fixed upon, one who would have been +especially welcome to the parishioners; that Captain Monk had all but +nominated him to the living. But it chanced to reach the Captain's ears +that this clergyman had expressed his intention of holding the Communion +Service monthly, instead of quarterly as heretofore, so he put the +question to him. Finding it to be true, he withdrew his promise; he +would not have old customs broken in upon by modern innovation, he said; +and forthwith he appointed the Reverend Robert Grame. + +"I do not even know how Captain Monk heard of me," continued Mr. Grame, +marking Lucy's hesitation. + +"I believe you were recommended to him by one of the clergy attached to +Worcester Cathedral," said Lucy.--"And I think I must wish you +good-morning now." + +But there came an interruption. A tall, stately, haughty young woman, +with an angry look upon her dark and handsome face, had entered the +churchyard, and was calling out as she advanced: + +"That monkey broken loose again, I suppose, and at her pranks here! What +are you good for, Lucy, if you cannot keep her in better order? You know +I told you to go straight on to Mrs. Speck, and--" + +The words died away. Mr. Grame, who had been hidden by a large upright +tombstone, emerged into view. Lucy, with another blush, spoke to cover +the awkwardness. + +"This is Miss Monk," she said to him. "Eliza, it is the new clergyman, +Mr. Grame." + +Miss Monk recovered her equanimity. A winning smile supplanted the anger +on her face; she held out her hand, grandly gracious. For she liked the +stranger's look: he was beyond doubt a gentleman--and an attractive man. + +"Allow me to welcome you to Church Leet, Mr. Grame. My father chances to +be absent to-day; he is gone to Evesham." + +"So the clerk told me, or I should have called this morning to pay my +respects to him, and to thank him for his generous and most unexpected +patronage of me. I got here last night," concluded Mr. Grame, standing +uncovered as when he had saluted Lucy. Eliza Monk liked his pleasant +voice, his taking manners: her fancy went out to him there and then. + +"But though papa is absent, you will walk up with me now to the Hall to +make acquaintance with my aunt, Mrs. Carradyne," said Eliza, in those +tones that, gracious though they were, sounded in the light of a +command--just as poor Katherine's had always sounded. And Mr. Grame went +with her. + +But now--handsome though she was, gracious though she meant to be--there +was something about Eliza Monk that seemed to repulse Robert Grame, +rather than attract him. Lucy had fascinated him; she repelled. Other +people had experienced the same kind of repulsion, but knew not where it +lay. + +Hubert, the heir, about twenty-five now, came forward to greet the +stranger as they entered the Hall. No repulsion about _him_. Robert +Grame's hand met his with a warm clasp. A young man of gentle manners +and a face of rare beauty--but oh, so suspiciously delicate! Perhaps it +was the extreme slenderness of the frame, the wan look in the refined +features and their bright hectic that drew forth the clergyman's +sympathy. An impression came over him that this young man was not long +for earth. + +"Is Mr. Monk strong?" he presently asked of Mrs. Carradyne, when Hubert +had temporarily quitted the room. + +"Indeed, no. He had rheumatic fever some years ago," she added, "and has +never been strong since." + +"Has he heart disease?" questioned the clergyman. He thought the young +man had just that look. + +"We fear his heart is weak," replied Mrs. Carradyne. + +"But that may be only your fancy, you know, Aunt Emma," spoke Miss Monk +reproachfully. She and her father were both passionately attached to +Hubert; they resented any doubt cast upon his health. + +"Oh, of course," assented Mrs. Carradyne, who never resented anything. + +"We shall be good friends, I trust," said Eliza, with a beaming smile, +as her hand lay in Mr. Grame's when he was leaving. + +"Indeed I hope so," he answered. "Why not?" + + +III. + +Summer lay upon the land. The landscape stretched out before Leet Hall +was fair to look upon. A fine expanse of wood and dale, of trees in +their luxuriant beauty; of emerald-green plains, of meandering streams, +of patches of growing corn already putting on its yellow hue, and of the +golden sunlight, soon to set and gladden other worlds, that shone from +the deep-blue sky. Birds sang in their leafy shelters, bees were +drowsily humming as they gathered the last of the day's honey, and +butterflies flitted from flower to flower with a good-night kiss. + +At one of the windows stood, in her haughty beauty, Eliza Monk. Not, +surely, of the lovely scene before her was she thinking, or her face +might have worn a more pleasing expression. Rather did she seem to gaze, +and with displeasure, at two or three people who were walking in the +distance: Lucy Carradyne side by side with the clergyman, and Miss Kate +Dancox pulling at his coat-tails. + +"Shameful flirt!" + +The acidity of the tone was so pronounced that Mrs. Carradyne, seated +near and busy at her netting, lifted her head in surprise. "Why, Eliza, +what's the matter? Who is a flirt?" + +"Lucy," curtly replied Eliza, pointing with her finger. + +"Nonsense," said Mrs. Carradyne, after glancing outwards. + +"Why does she persistently lay herself out to attract that man?" was the +passionate rejoinder. + +"Be silent, Eliza. How can you conjure up so unjust a charge? Lucy is +not capable of _laying herself out_ to attract anyone. It lies but in +your imagination." + +"Day after day, when she is out with Kate, you may see him join +her--allured to her side." + +"The 'allurer' is Kate, then. I am surprised at you, Eliza: you might be +talking of a servant-maid. Kate has taken a liking for Mr. Grame, and +she runs after him at all times and seasons." + +"She ought to be stopped, then." + +"Stopped! Will you undertake to do it? Could her mother be stopped in +anything she pleased to do? And the child has the same rebellious will." + +"I say that Robert Grame's attraction is Lucy." + +"It may be so," acknowledged Mrs. Carradyne. "But the attraction must +lie in Lucy herself; not in anything she does. Some suspicion of the +sort has, at times, crossed me." + +She looked at them again as she spoke. They were sauntering onwards +slowly; Mr. Grame bending towards Lucy, and talking earnestly. Kate, +dancing about, pulling at his arm or his coat, appeared to get but +little attention. Mrs. Carradyne quietly went on with her work. + +And that composed manner, combined with her last sentence, brought gall +and wormwood to Eliza Monk. + +Throwing a summer scarf upon her shoulders, Eliza passed out at the +French window, crossed the terrace, and set out to confront the +conspirators. But she was not in time. Seeing her coming, or not seeing +her--who knew?--Mr. Grame turned off with a fleet foot towards his home. +So nobody remained for Miss Monk to waste her angry breath upon but +Lucy. The breath was keenly sharp, and Lucy fell to weeping. + + * * * * * + +"I am here, Grame. Don't go in." + +The words fell on the clergyman's ears as he closed the Vicarage gate +behind him, and was passing up the path to his door. Turning his head, +he saw Hubert Monk seated on the bench under the May tree, pink and +lovely yet. "How long have you been here?" he asked, sitting down beside +him. + +"Ever so long; waiting for you," replied Hubert. + +"I was but strolling about." + +"I saw you: with Lucy and the child." + +They had become fast and firm friends, these two young men; and the +minister was insensibly exercising a wonderful influence over Hubert for +good. Believing--as he did believe--that Hubert's days were numbered, +that any sharp extra exertion might entail fatal consequences, he gently +strove, as opportunity offered, to lead his thoughts to the Better Land. + +"What an evening it is!" rapturously exclaimed Hubert. + +"Ay: so calm and peaceful." + +The rays of the setting sun touched Hubert's face, lighting up its +extreme delicacy; the scent of the closing flowers filled the still air +with its sweetness; the birds were chanting their evening song of +praise. Hubert, his elbow on the arm of the bench, his hand supporting +his chin, looked out with dreamy eyes. + +"What book have you there?" asked Mr. Grame, noticing one in his other +hand. + +"Herbert," answered the young man, showing it. "I filched it from your +table through the open window, Grame." + +The clergyman took it. It chanced to open at a passage he was very fond +of. Or perhaps he knew the place, and opened it purposely. + +"Do you know these verses, Hubert? They are appropriate enough just now, +while those birds are carolling." + +"I can't tell. What verses? Read them." + + "Hark, how the birds do sing, + And woods do ring! + All creatures have their joy, and man hath his, + Yet, if we rightly measure, + Man's joy and pleasure + Rather hereafter than in present is. + + Not that we may not here + Taste of the cheer; + But as birds drink and straight lift up the head, + So must he sip and think + Of better drink + He may attain to after he is dead." + +"Ay," said Hubert, breaking the silence after a time, "it's very true, I +suppose. But this world--oh, it's worth living for. Will anything in the +next, Grame, be more beautiful than _that_?" + +He was pointing to the sunset. It was marvellously and unusually +beautiful. Lovely pink and crimson clouds flecked the west; in their +midst shone a golden light of dazzling refulgence, too glorious to look +upon. + +"One might fancy it the portals of heaven," said the clergyman; "the +golden gate of entrance, leading to the pearly gates within, and to the +glittering walls of precious stones." + +"And--why! it seems to take the form of an entrance-gate!" exclaimed +Hubert in excitement. For it really did. "Look at it! Oh, Grame, surely, +surely the very gate of Heaven cannot be more dazzlingly beautiful than +that!" + +"And if the gate of entrance is so unspeakably beautiful, what will the +City itself be?" murmured Mr. Grame. "The Heavenly City! the New +Jerusalem!" + +"It is beginning to fade," said Hubert presently, as they sat watching; +"the brightness is going. What a pity!" + +"All that's bright must fade in this world, you know; and fade very +quickly. Hubert! it will not in the next." + + * * * * * + +Church Leet, watching its neighbours' doings sharply, began to whisper +that the new clergyman, Mr. Grame, was likely to cause unpleasantness to +the Monk family, just as some of his predecessors had caused it. For no +man having eyes in his head (still less any woman) could fail to see +that the Captain's imperious daughter had fallen desperately in love +with him. Would there be a second elopement, as in the days of Tom +Dancox? Would Eliza Monk set her father at defiance, as Katherine did? + +One of the last to see signs and tokens, though they took place under +her open eyes, was Mrs. Carradyne. But she saw at last. The clergyman +could not walk across a new-mown field, or down a shady lane, or be +hastening along the dusty turnpike road, but by some inexplicable +coincidence he would be met by Miss Monk; and when he came to the Hall +to pass an hour with Hubert, she generally made a third at the +interview. It had pleased her latterly to take to practising on the old +church organ; and if Mr. Grame was not wiled into the church with her +and her attendant, the ancient clerk, who blew the bellows, she was sure +to alight upon him in going or returning. + +One fine evening, dinner over, when the last beams of the sun were +slanting into the drawing-room, Eliza Monk was sitting back on a sofa, +reading; Kate romped about the room, and Mrs. Carradyne had just rung +the bell for tea. Lucy had been spending the afternoon with Mrs. Speck, +and Hubert had now gone to fetch her home. + +"Good gracious, Kate, can't you be quiet!" exclaimed Miss Monk, as the +child in her gambols sprung upon the sofa, upsetting the book and its +reader's temper. "Go away: you are treading on my flounces. Aunt Emma, +why do you persist in having this tiresome little reptile with us after +dinner?" + +"Because your father will not let her be sent to the nursery," said Mrs. +Carradyne. + +"Did you ever know a child like her?" + +"She is but as her mother was; as you were, Eliza--always rebellious. +Kate, sit down to the piano and play one of your pretty tunes." + +"I won't," responded Kate. "Play yourself, Aunt Emma." + +Dashing through the open glass doors, Kate began tossing a ball on the +broad gravel walk below the terrace. Mrs. Carradyne cautioned her not to +break the windows, and turned to the tea-table. + +"Don't make the tea yet, Aunt Emma," interrupted Miss Monk, in a tone +that was quite like a command. "Mr. Grame is coming, and he won't care +for cold tea." + +Mrs. Carradyne returned to her seat. She thought the opportunity had +come to say something to her niece which she had been wanting to say. + +"You invited Mr. Grame, Eliza?" + +"I did," said Eliza, looking defiance. + +"My dear," resumed Mrs. Carradyne with some hesitation, "forgive me if I +offer you a word of advice. You have no mother; I pray you to listen to +me in her stead. You must change your line of behaviour to Mr. Grame." + +Eliza's dark face turned red and haughty. "I do not understand you, Aunt +Emma." + +"Nay, I think you do understand me, my dear. You have incautiously +allowed yourself to fall into--into an undesirable liking for Mr. Grame. +An _unseemly_ liking, Eliza." + +"Unseemly!" + +"Yes; because it has not been sought. Cannot you see, Eliza, how he +instinctively recedes from it? how he would repel it were he less the +gentleman than he is? Child, I shrink from saying these things to you, +but it is needful. You have good sense, Eliza, keen discernment, and you +might see for yourself that it is not to you Mr. Grame's love is +given--or ever will be." + +For once in her life Eliza Monk allowed herself to betray agitation. She +opened her trembling lips to speak, but closed them again. + +"A moment yet, Eliza. Let us suppose, for argument's sake, that Mr. +Grame loved you; that he wished to marry you; you know, my dear, how +utterly useless it would be. Your father would not suffer it." + +"Mr. Grame is of gentle descent; my father is attached to him," disputed +Eliza. + +"But Mr. Grame has nothing but his living--a hundred and sixty pounds +a-year; _you_ must make a match in accordance with your own position. It +would be Katherine's trouble, Katherine's rebellion over again. But this +was mentioned for argument's sake only; Mr. Grame will never sue for +anything of the kind; and I must beg of you, my dear, to put all idea of +it away, and to change your manner towards him." + +"Perhaps you fancy he may wish to sue for Lucy!" cried Eliza, in fierce +resentment. + +"That is a great deal more likely than the other. And the difficulties +in her case would not be so great." + +"And pray why, Aunt Emma?" + +"Because, my dear, I should not resent it as your father would. I am not +so ambitious for her as he is for you." + +"A fine settlement for her--Robert Grame and his hundred--" + +"Who is taking my name in vain?" cried out a pleasant voice from the +open window; and Robert Grame entered. + +"I was," said Eliza readily; her tone changing like magic to sweet +suavity, her face putting on its best charm--"About to remark that the +Reverend Robert Grame has a hundred faults. Aunt Emma agrees with me." + +He laughed lightly, regarding it as pleasantry, and inquired for Hubert. + +Eliza stepped out on the terrace when tea was over, talking to Mr. +Grame; they began to pace it slowly together. Kate and her ball sported +on the gravel walk beneath. It was a warm, serene evening, the silver +moon shining, the evening star just appearing in the clear blue sky. + +"Lucy being away, you cannot enjoy your usual flirtation with her," +remarked Miss Monk, in a light tone. + +But he did not take it lightly. Rarely had his voice been more serious +than when he answered: "I beg your pardon. I do not flirt--I have never +flirted with Miss Carradyne." + +"No! It has looked like it." + +Mr. Grame remained silent. "I hope not," he said at last. "I did not +intend--I did not think. However, I must mend my manners," he added more +gaily. "To flirt at all would ill become my sacred calling. And Lucy +Carradyne is superior to any such trifling." + +Her pulses were coursing on to fever heat. With her whole heart she +loved Robert Grame: and the secret preference he had unconsciously +betrayed for Lucy had served to turn her later days to bitterness. + +"Possibly you mean something more serious," said Eliza, compressing her +lips. + +"If I mean anything, I should certainly mean it seriously," replied the +young clergyman, his face blushing as he made the avowal. "But I may +not. I have been reflecting much latterly, and I see I may not. If my +income were good it might be a different matter. But it is not; and +marriage for me must be out of the question." + +"With a portionless girl, yes. Robert Grame," she went on rapidly with +impassioned earnestness, "when you marry, it must be with someone who +can help you; whose income will compensate for the deficiency of yours. +Look around you well: there may be some young ladies rich in the world's +wealth, even in Church Leet, who will forget your want of fortune for +your own sake." + +Did he misunderstand her? It was hardly possible. She had a large +fortune; Lucy none. But he answered as though he comprehended not. It +may be that he deemed it best to set her ill-regulated hopes at rest for +ever. + +"One can hardly suppose a temptation of that kind would fall in the way +of an obscure individual like myself. If it did, I could but reject it. +I should not marry for money. I shall never marry where I do not love." + +They had halted near one of the terrace seats. On it lay a toy of +Kate's, a little wooden "box of bells." Mechanically, her mind far away, +Eliza took it up and began, still mechanically, turning the wire which +set the bells to play with a soft but not unpleasant jingle. + +"You love Lucy Carradyne!" she whispered. + +"I fear I do," he answered. "Though I have struggled against the +conviction." + +A sudden crash startled them; shivers of glass fell before their feet; +fit accompaniment to the shattered hopes of one who stood there. Kate +Dancox, aiming at Mr. Grame's hat, had sent her ball through the window. +He leaped away to catch the culprit, and Eliza Monk sat down on the +bench, all gladness gone out of her. Her love-dream had turned out to be +a snare and a delusion. + +"Who did that?" + +Captain Monk, frightened from his after-dinner nap by the crash, came +forth in anger. Kate got a box on the ear, and was sent to bed howling. + +"You should send her to school, papa." + +"And I will," declared the Captain. "She startled me out of my sleep. +Out of a dream, too. And it is not often I dream. I thought I was +hearing the chimes." + +"Chimes which I have not yet been fortunate enough to hear," said Mr. +Grame with a smile. Eliza recalled the sound of the bells she had set in +motion, and thought it must have penetrated to her father in his sleep. + +"By George, no! You shall, though, Grame. They shall ring the new year +in when it comes." + +"Aunt Emma won't like that," laughingly commented Eliza. She was trying +to be gay and careless before Robert Grame. + +"Aunt Emma may _dis_like it!" retorted the Captain. "She has picked up +some ridiculously absurd notion, Grame, that the bells bring ill-luck +when they are heard. Women are so foolishly superstitious." + +"That must be a very far-fetched superstition," said the parson. + +"One might as well believe in witches," mocked the Captain. "I have +given in to her fancies for some years, not to cross her, and let the +bells be silent: she's a good woman on the whole; but be hanged if I +will any longer. On the last day of this year, Grame, you shall hear the +chimes." + + * * * * * + +How it came about nobody exactly knew, unless it was through Hubert, but +matters were smoothed for the parson and Lucy. + +Mrs. Carradyne knew his worth, and she saw that they were as much in +love with one another as ever could be Hodge and Joan. She liked the +idea of Lucy being settled near her--and the vicarage, large and +handsome, could have its unused rooms opened and furnished. Mr. Grame +honestly avowed that he should have asked for Lucy before, but for his +poverty; he supposed that Lucy was poor also. + +"That is so; Lucy has nothing of her own," said Mrs. Carradyne to this. +"But I am not in that condition." + +"Of course not. But--pardon me--I thought your property went to your +son." + +Mrs. Carradyne laughed. "A small estate of his father's, close by here, +became my son's at his father's death," she said. "My own money is at my +disposal; the half of it will eventually be Lucy's. When she marries, I +shall allow her two hundred a-year: and upon that, and your stipend, you +will have to get along together." + +"It will be like riches to me," said the young parson all in a glow. + +"Ah! Wait until you realise the outlets for money that a wife entails," +nodded Mrs. Carradyne in her superior wisdom. "Not but that I'm sure +it's good for young people, setting-up together, to be straitened at the +beginning. It teaches them economy and the value of money." + +Altogether it seemed a wonderful prospect to Robert Grame. Miss Lucy +thought it would be Paradise. But a stern wave of opposition set in from +Captain Monk. + +Hubert broke the news to him as they were sitting together after dinner. +To begin with, the Captain, as a matter of course, flew into a passion. + +"Another of those beggarly parsons! What possessed them, that they +should fix upon _his_ family to play off their machinations upon! Lucy +Carradyne was his niece: she should never be grabbed up by one of them +while he was alive to stop it." + +"Wait a minute, father," whispered Hubert. "You like Robert Grame; I +know that: you would rather see him carry off Lucy than Eliza." + +"What the dickens do you mean by that?" + +Hubert said a few cautious words--hinting that, but for Lucy's being in +the way, poor Katherine's escapade might have been enacted over again. +Captain Monk relieved his mind by some strong language, sailor fashion; +and for once in his life saw he must give in to necessity. + +So the wedding was fixed for the month of February, just one year after +they had met: that sweet time of early spring, when spring comes in +genially, when the birds would be singing, and the green buds peeping +and the sunlight dancing. + +But the present year was not over yet. Lucy was sewing at her wedding +things. Eliza Monk, smarting at their sight as with an adder's sting, +ran away from it to visit a family who lived near Oddingly, an +insignificant little place, lying, as everybody knows, on the other side +of Worcester, famous only for its dulness and for the strange murders +committed there in 1806--which have since passed into history. But she +returned home for Christmas. + +Once more it was old-fashioned Christmas weather; Jack Frost freezing +the snow and sporting his icicles. The hearty tenants, wending their way +to the annual feast in the winter twilight, said how unusually sharp the +air was, enough to bite off their ears and noses. + +The Reverend Robert Grame made one at the table for the first time, and +said grace at the Captain's elbow. He had heard about the freedom +obtaining at these dinners; but he knew he was utterly powerless to +suppress it, and he hoped his presence might prove some little +restraint, just as poor George West had hoped in the days gone by: not +that it was as bad now as it used to be. A rumour had gone abroad that +the chimes were to play again, but it died away unconfirmed, for Captain +Monk kept his own counsel. + +The first to quit the table was Hubert. Captain Monk looked up angrily. +He was proud of his son, of his tall and graceful form, of his handsome +features, proud even of his bright complexion; ay, and of his estimable +qualities. While inwardly fearing Hubert's signs of fading strength, he +defiantly refused to recognise it or to admit it openly. + +"What now?" he said in a loud whisper. "Are _you_ turning renegade?" + +The young man bent over his father's shoulder. "I don't feel well; +better let me go quietly, father; I have felt oppressed here all +day"--touching his left side. And he escaped. + +There was present at table an elderly gentleman named Peveril. He had +recently come with his wife into the neighbourhood and taken on lease a +small estate, called by the odd name of Peacock's Range, which belonged +to Hubert and lay between Church Dykely and Church Leet. Mr. Peveril put +an inopportune question. + +"What is the story, Captain, about some chimes which were put up in the +church here and are never allowed to ring because they caused the death +of the Vicar? I was told of it to-day." + +Captain Monk looked at Mr. Peveril, but did not speak. + +"One George West, I think. Was he parson here?" + +"Yes, he was parson here," said Farmer Winter, finding nobody else +answered Mr. Peveril, next to whom he sat. He was a very old man now, +but hale and hearty still, and a steadfast ally of his landlord. "Given +that parson his way and we should never have had the chimes put up. +Sweet sounding bells they are." + +"But how could the chimes kill him?" went on Mr. Peveril. "Did they kill +him?" + +"George West was a quarrelsome, mischief-making meddler, good for +nothing but to set the parish together by the ears; and I must beg of +you to drop his name when at my table, Peveril. As to the chimes, you +will hear them to-night." + +Captain Monk spoke in his sternest tones, and Mr. Peveril bowed. Robert +Grame had listened in surprise. He wondered what it all meant--for +nobody had ever told him of this phase of the past. The table clapped +its unsteady hands and gave a cheer for the chimes, now to be heard +again. + +"Yes, gentlemen," said the Captain, not a whit more steady than his +guests. "They shall ring for us to-night, though it brought the parson +out of his grave." + +A few minutes before twelve the butler, who had his orders, came into +the dining-room and set the windows open. His master gave him another +order and the man withdrew. Entering the drawing-room, he proceeded to +open those windows also. Mr. Peveril, and one or two more guests, sat +with the family; Hubert lay back in an easy-chair. + +"What are you about, Rimmer?" hastily cried out Mrs. Carradyne in +surprise. "Opening the windows!" + +"It is by the master's orders, ma'am," replied the butler; "he bade me +open them, that you and the ladies might get a better hearing of the +chimes." + +Mrs. Carradyne, superstitious ever, grew white as death. "_The chimes!_" +she breathed in a dread whisper. "Surely, surely, Rimmer, you must be +mistaken. The chimes cannot be going to ring again!" + +"They are to ring the New Year in," said the man. "I have known it this +day or two, but was not allowed to tell, as Madam may guess"--glancing +at his mistress. "John Cale has got his orders, and he'll set 'em going +when the clock has struck twelve." + +"Oh, is there no one who will run to stop it?" bewailed Mrs. Carradyne, +wringing her hands in all the terror of a nameless fear. "There may yet +be time. Rimmer! can you go?" + +Hubert came out of his chair laughing. Rimmer was round and fat now, and +could not run if he tried. "I'll go, aunt," he said. "Why, walking +slowly, I should get there before Rimmer." + +The words, "walking slowly," may have misled Mrs. Carradyne; or, in the +moment's tribulation, perhaps she forgot that Hubert ought not to be the +one to use much exertion; but she made no objection. No one else made +way, and Hubert hastened out, putting on his overcoat as he went towards +the church. + +It was the loveliest night; the air was still and clear, the landscape +white and glistening, the moon bright as gold. Hubert, striding along at +a quick walk, had traversed half the short distance, when the church +clock struck out the first note of midnight. And he knew he should not +be in time--unless-- + +He set off to run: it was such a very little way! Flying along without +heed to self, he reached the churchyard gate. And there he was +forced--forced--to stop to gather up his laboured breath. + +Ring, ring, ring! broke forth the chimes melodiously upon Hubert's ear. +"Stop!" he shouted, panting; "stop! stop!"--just as if John Cale could +hear the warning: and he began leaping over all the gravestones in his +path, after the irreverent fashion of Miss Kate Dancox. + +"Stop!" he faintly cried in his exhaustion, dashing through the vestry, +as the strains of "The Bay of Biscay" pursued their harmonious course +overhead, sounding louder here than in the open air. "Sto--" + +He could not finish the word. Pulling the little door open, he put his +foot on the first step of the narrow ladder of a staircase: and then +fell prone upon it. John Cale and young Mr. Threpp, the churchwarden's +son, who had been the clerk's companion, were descending the stairs, +after the chimes had chimed themselves out, and they had locked them up +again to (perhaps) another year, when they found some impediment below. + +"What is it?" exclaimed young Mr. Threpp. The clerk turned on his +lantern. + +It was Hubert, Captain Monk's son and heir. He lay there with a face of +deadly whiteness, a blue shade encircling his lips. + +JOHNNY LUDLOW. + + + + +WINTER IN ABSENCE. + + + The earth is clothed with fog and mist, + The shrivelled ferns are white with rime, + The trees are fairy-frosted round + The portion of enchanted ground + Where, in the woods, we lovers kissed + Last summer, in the happy time. + + They say that summer comes again; + In winter who believes it true? + Can I have faith through days like this-- + Days with no rose, no sun, no kiss, + Faith in the long gold summer when + There will be sunshine, flowers and you? + + Keep faith and me alive, I pray; + Feed me with loving letters, dear; + Speak of the summer and the sun; + Lest, when the winter-time be done, + Your summer shall have fled away + With me--who had no heart to stay + The slow, sick turning of the year. + + + + +THE BRETONS AT HOME. + +BY CHARLES W. WOOD, F.R.G.S., AUTHOR OF "THROUGH HOLLAND," "LETTERS FROM +MAJORCA," ETC. ETC. + + +Morlaix awoke to a new day. The sunshine was pouring upon it from a +cloudless sky--a somewhat rare vision in Brittany, where the skies are +more often grey, rain frequently falls, and the land is overshadowed by +mist. + +[Illustration: GATEWAY, DINAN.] + +So far the climate of Brittany resembles very much that of England: and +many other points of comparison exist between Greater Britain and Lesser +Brittany besides its similarity of name. For even its name it derives +from us; from the fact that in the fifth and sixth centuries the Saxons, +as they choose to call them, went over in great numbers and settled +there. No wonder, then, that the Bretons possess many of our +characteristics, even in exaggeration, for they are direct descendants +of the ancient Britons. + +They have, for instance, all the gravity of the English temperament, to +which is added a gloom or sombreness of disposition that is born of +repression and poverty and a long struggle with the ways and means of +existence; to which may yet farther be added the influence of climate. +Hope and ambition, the two great levers of the world, with them are not +largely developed; there has been no opportunity for their growth. +Ambitions cannot exist without an aim, nor hope without an object. Just +as in certain dark caves of the world, where daylight never penetrates, +the fish found there have no eyes, because, from long disuse of the +organ, it has gradually lessened and died out; so hope and ambition +amongst the moral faculties must equally disappear without an object in +life. + +It is therefore tolerably certain that where, according to +phrenologists, the organ of Hope is situated, there the Breton head will +be found undeveloped. + +Now without hope no one can be constitutionally happy, and the Bretons +would be amongst the unhappiest on earth, just as they are amongst the +most slow-moving, if it were not for a counterbalancing quality which +they own in large excess. This virtue is veneration; and it is this +which saves them. + +They are the most earnest and devoted, almost superstitiously religious +of people. They observe their Sabbaths, their fasts and feasts with a +severity and punctuality beyond all praise. With few exceptions, their +churches are very inferior to those of Normandy, but each returning +Sunday finds the Breton churches full of an earnest crowd, evidently +assembled for the purpose of worshipping with their whole heart and +soul. The rapt expression of many of the faces makes them for the moment +simply beautiful, and if an artist could only transfer their fervency to +canvas, he would produce a picture worthy of the masters of the Middle +Ages, and read a lesson to the world far greater than that of an +_Angelus_ or a _Magdalene_. + +It is a sight worth going very far to see, these earnest worshippers, +with whom the head is never turned and the eye never wanders. The +further you pass into the interior of Brittany--into the remote +districts of the Morbihan, for instance--where the outer world, with its +advancement and civilization, scarcely seems to have penetrated, there +fervency and devotion are still full of the element of superstition; +there you will find that faith becomes almost synonymous with a strict +observance of prayers, penances and the commands of the Church. When the +Angelus rings out in the evening, you will see the labourer, wending his +way homeward, suddenly arrest his steps in the ploughed field, and with +bent head, pass in silent prayer the dying moments of _crepuscule_. + +There will scarcely be an exception to the rule, either in men or women. +The reverence has grown with their growth, having first been born with +them of inheritance: the heritage and the growth of centuries. All over +the country you will find Calvaries erected: huge stone crosses and +images of the Crucifixion, many of them crumbling and beautiful with the +lapse of ages, the stone steps at their base worn with the devotion of +pilgrims: crosses that stand out so solemnly and picturesquely in the +gloaming against the background of the grey, cold Breton skies, and give +a religious tone to the whole country. + +The Bretons have ever remained a race apart, possessing their own +language, their own habits, manners and customs; not becoming absorbed +with other nations, nor absorbing in themselves any foreign element. +Separated from Normandy by no visible boundary line, divided by no +broad Channel, the Bretons are as different from the Normans as the +Normans are distinct from the English. They have a high standard of +integrity, of right and wrong, there is the distinct feeling of +_Noblesse oblige_ amongst them; their _noblesse_ consisting in the fact +that, being Breton, _il faut agir loyalement_. If they pass you their +word, you may be sure they will not go from it: it is as good as their +bond. They are a hundred years behind the rest of mankind, but there is +a great charm and a great compensation in their simplicity. + +Normandy may be called the country of beautiful churches, Brittany of +beautiful towns. + +This is eminently true of Morlaix, for, in spite of the removal of many +an ancient landmark, it is still wonderfully interesting. In situation +it is singularly favoured and romantic, placed as it is on the sides of +three deep ravines. Hills rise on all sides, shutting in the houses; +hills fertile and well-wooded; in many places cultivated and laid out in +gardens, where flowers grow and flourish all the year round, and +orchards that in spring-time are one blaze, one wealth of blossoming +fruit trees. + +We looked out upon all this that first morning. Not a wealth of +blossoming trees, for the blossoms were over. But before us stretched +the high hills, and surrounding us were all the houses of Morlaix, old +and new. The sun we have said shone upon all, and we needed all this +brightness to make up for the discomforts of the past night. H.C. +declared that his dreams had been of tread-mills, monastic penances, and +the rack; but he had survived the affliction, and this morning was eager +for action. + +It was market-day, and the market-place lay just to the right of us. The +stalls were in full force; the butter and poultry women in strong +evidence, and all the other stalls indigenous to the ceremony. There was +already a fair gathering of people, many of them _paysans_, armed with +umbrellas as stout and clumsy as themselves. For the Bretons know and +mistrust their own climate, and are too well aware that the day of a +brilliant morning too often ends in weeping skies. Many wore costumes +which, though quaint, were not by any means beautiful. They were heavy +and ungraceful, like the people themselves: broad-brimmed hats and loose +trunk hose that hung about them like sacks, something after the fashion +of Turkish pantaloons; and the men wore their hair in huge manes, +hanging down their backs, ugly and untidy; habits, costumes and people +all indicative of la Bretagne Bretonnante--la Basse Bretagne. + +It was a lively scene, in which we longed to take a part; listen to the +strange language, watch the ways and manners of this distinctive race, +who certainly are too aboriginal to win upon you at first sight. + +The hotel was wide awake this morning, full of life and movement. All +who had had to do with us last night gave us a special greeting. They +seemed to look upon us almost as _enfants de la maison_; had taken us +in and done for us under special circumstances, and so had special +claims upon us. Moreover, we were English, and the English are much +considered in Morlaix. + +We looked upon last night's adventures as the events of a dream, though +at the time they had been very painful realities. The first object in +the hotel to meet our gaze was Andre, his face still tied up like a +mummy, still looking the Image of Misery, as if he and repose had known +nothing of each other since we had parted from him. He was, however, +very anxious for our welfare, and hoped we had slept well on our +impromptu couches. + +Next, on descending, we caught sight of Madame, taking the air and +contemplating the world at large at the door of her bureau. The moment +we appeared the air became too strong for her, and she rapidly passed +through her bureau to a sanctum sanctorum beyond, into which, of course, +we could not penetrate. We looked upon this as a tacit confession of a +guilty conscience, and agreed magnanimously to make no further allusion +to her lapsed memory. So when we at length met face to face, she, like +Andre, was full of amiable inquiries for our health and welfare. + +We sallied forth, and whatever we thought of Morlaix last night, we +thought no less of it to-day. + +It is a strange mixture of ancient and modern, as we were prepared to +find it. On all sides rose the steep hills, within the shelter of which +the town reposes. The situation is exceedingly striking. Stretching +across one end of the town with most imposing effect is the enormous +viaduct, over which the train rolls towards the station. It possesses +also a footway for pedestrians, from which point the whole town lies +mapped at your feet, and you may trace the faraway windings of the +river. The viaduct is nearly two hundred feet high, and nearly four +hundred yards long, and from its position it looks even more gigantic +than it is. It divides the town into two portions, as it were, the outer +portion consisting of the port and harbour: and from this footway far +down you may see the picturesque shipping at repose: a very modest +amount to-day moored to the river side, consisting of a few barges, a +vessel or two laden with coal or wood, and a steamer in which you might +take passage for Havre, or perhaps some nearer port on the Brittany +Coast. + +It is a charming picture, especially if the skies overhead are blue and +the sun is shining. Then the town is lying in alternate light and shade; +the pavements are chequered with gabled outlines, long drawn out or +foreshortened according to their position. The canal bordering the old +market-place is lined with a long row of women, alternately beating +linen upon boards and rinsing it in the water. We know that they are +laughing and chattering, though we cannot hear them; for a group of even +sober Breton women could not be together and keep silence. They take +life very seriously and earnestly; with them it is not all froth and +evaporation; but this is their individual view of existence; +collectively there comes the reaction, forming the lights and shadows of +life, just as we have the lights and shadows in nature. That reaction +must come is the inevitable law; and possibly explains why there are so +many apparent contradictions in people. + +Morlaix has had an eventful history in the annals of Brittany. It takes +its name from _Mons Relaxus_, the hill that was crowned by the ancient +castle; a castle which existed at the time of the Roman occupation, if +the large number of medals and pieces of Roman money discovered in its +foundations may be taken as indicating its epoch. Many of these remains +may be seen in the small museum of the town. They date from the third +century. + +The progress of Morlaix was slow. Very little is recorded of its earlier +history. Though the Romans occupied it, we know not what they did there. +Nearly all traces of Roman architecture have disappeared. The town has +been frequently sacked and pillaged and burnt, sacrilege in which the +English have had many a hand; and even Roman bricks and mortar will +yield in time to destructive agencies. + +Even in the eleventh century it was still nothing more than a small +fishing town, a few houses nestling in the ravine, and sheltered by a +huge rampart on the south-west. Upon the _Mons Relaxus_, the hill giving +its name to the town, stood the lordly castle, the two rivers flowing, +one on either side, which further down unite and form one stream. To-day +all traces of the castle have disappeared and the site is planted with +trees, and quiet citizens walk to and fro beneath their shade, where +centuries ago there echoed the clash of arms and the shouts of warriors +going forth conquering and to conquer. For in those days the Romans were +the masters of the world, and seemed born only for victory. + +In the twelfth century, Morlaix began a long series of vicissitudes. In +1187 Henry II. of England laid siege to it, and it gave in after a +resistance of nine weeks. It was then in possession of the Dukes of +Brittany, who built the ancient walls of the town, traces of which yet +exist, and are amongst the town's most interesting remains. + +The occupation of the English being distasteful to the Bretons, they +continually rebelled against it; though, as far as can be known, the +English were no hard task-masters, forcing them, as the Egyptians did +the Israelites, to make bricks without straw. + +In 1372 the English were turned out of their occupation, and the Dukes +of Brittany once more reigned. It was an unhappy change for the +discontented people, as they soon found. John IV., Duke of Brittany, was +guilty of every species of tyranny and cruelty, and many of the +inhabitants were sacrificed. + +Time went on and Morlaix had no periods of great repose. Every now and +then the English attacked it, and in the reign of Francis I. they +pillaged and burnt it, destroying antiquities that perhaps to-day would +have been worth many a king's ransom. This was in the year 1532. + +[Illustration: GATEWAY OF THE OLD MONASTERY, MORLAIX.] + +In 1548, Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, a child of five years only, +disembarked at the wonderfully quaint little town of Roscoff to marry +the Dauphin of France, who afterwards reigned as Francis II. She made a +triumphal entry into Morlaix, was lodged at the Jacobin convent, and +took part in the Te Deum that was celebrated in her honour in Notre Dame +du Mur. This gives an additional interest to Morlaix, for every place +visited by the beautiful and unfortunate Queen of Scots, every record +preserved of her, possesses a romantic charm that time has been unable +to weaken. + +As she was returning to the convent after the celebration of the Te +Deum, and they were passing what was called the Gate of the Prison, the +drawbridge gave way and fell into the river. It was fortunately low +water, and no lives were lost. But the Scots Guards, separated from the +young Queen by the accident, took alarm, thought the whole thing had +been planned, and called out: "Treason! Treason!" Upon which the +Chevalier de Rohan, who rode near the Queen, quickly turned his horse +and shouted: "Never was Breton guilty of treason!" + +And this exclamation may be considered a key-note to their character. +The Bretons, amongst their virtues, may count that of loyalty. All is +fair in love and war, it is said; but the Bretons would betray neither +friend nor foe under any circumstance whatever. + +For two hundred years Morlaix has known peace and repose, as far as the +outer world is concerned. She has given herself up to religious +institutions, and has grown and prospered. So it comes to pass that she +is a strange mixture of new and old, and that side by side with a quaint +and wonderful structure of the Middle Ages, we find a house of the +present day flourishing like a green bay tree--a testimony to +prosperity, and an eyesore to the lover of antiquity. But these wonders +of the Middle Ages must gradually disappear. As time rolls on, and those +past centuries become more and more remote, the old must give place to +the new; ancient buildings must fall away in obedience to the inevitable +laws of time, progress and destruction. + +This is especially true of Morlaix. Much that was old-world and lovely +has gone for ever, and day by day something more is disappearing. + +We sallied forth, but unaccompanied by Misery, who was hard at work in +the hotel, preparing us rooms wherein, as he expressed it, we should +that night lodge as Christians. Whether, last night, he had put us down +as Mahometans, Fire Worshippers, or heathens of some other denomination, +he did not say. + +The town had lost the sense of weirdness and mystery thrown over it by +the darkness. The solemn midnight silence had given place to the +activity of work and daylight; all shops were open, all houses unclosed; +people were hurrying to and fro. Our strange little procession of three +was no more, and Andre carrying a flaring candle would have been +anything but a picturesque object in the sunshine. + +But what was lost of weirdness and mystery was more than made up by the +general effect of the town, by the minute details everywhere visible, by +the sense of life and movement. Usually the little town is quiet and +somewhat sleepy; to-day the inhabitants were roused out of their Breton +lethargy by the presence of so many strangers amongst them, and by the +fact of its being market day. + +More than even last night, we were impressed by the wonderful outlines +of the Grand' Rue, where the lattice had been lighted up and the +mysterious vision had received a revelation in gazing upon H.C. To-day +behind the lattice there was comparative darkness, and the vision had +descended to a lower region, and the unromantic occupation of opening a +roll of calico and displaying its advantages to a market woman who was +evidently bent upon driving a bargain. The vision caught sight of H.C., +and for the moment calico and everything else was forgotten; the market +woman no doubt had her calico at her own price. + +The street itself is one of the most wonderful in France. As you stand +at the end and look down towards _Les Halles_, you have a picturesque +group, an assemblage of outlines scarcely to be equalled in the world. +The street is narrow, and the houses, more and more overhanging as they +ascend floor by floor, approach each other very closely towards the +summit. The roofs are, some of them, gabled; others, slanting backwards, +give room for picturesque dormer windows. Wide lattices stretch across +some of the houses from end to end; in others the windows are smaller +and open outwards like ordinary French windows, but always latticed, +always picturesque. + +Below, on the ground floor, many of the houses are given up to shops, +but, fortunately, they have not been modernised. + +The whole length of the front is unglazed, and you gaze into an interior +full of mysterious gloom, in which you can scarcely see the wares +offered for sale. The rooms go far back. They are black with age: a dark +panelling that you would give much to be able to transport to other +scenes. The ceilings are low, and great beams run across them. The doors +admitting you to these wonderful old-world places match well their +surroundings. They are wide and substantial, with beams that would +effectually guard a prison, and wonderful old locks and keys and pieces +of ironwork that set you wild with longings to turn housebreaker and +carry away these ancient and artistic relics. + +You feel that nothing in the lives of the people who live in these +wonderful tenements can be commonplace. However unconscious they may be +of the refining influence, it is there, and it must leave its mark upon +them. + +At least, you think so. You know what the effect would be upon yourself. +You know that if you could transport this street bodily to some quiet +nook in England and surround it by velvety lawns and ancient trees that +have grown and spread with the lapse of ages, your existence would +become a long and romantic daydream, and you would be in danger of +living the life of a recluse and never separating yourself from these +influences. Custom would never stale their infinite variety; familiarity +would never breed contempt. Who tires of wandering through a gallery of +the old masters? who can endure the modern in comparison? It is not the +mere antiquity of all these things that charm; it is that they are +beautiful in themselves, and belong to an age when the Spirit of Beauty +was poured out upon the world from full vials held in the hands of +unseen angels, and what men touched and created they perfected. + +But the vials have long been exhausted and the angels have fled back to +heaven. + +The houses all bear a strong family resemblance to each other, which +adds to their charm and harmony. Most of them possess two doors, one +giving access to the shop we have just described, the other admitting to +a hall or vestibule, panelled, and often richly sculptured. Above the +_rez-de-chaussee_, two or three stories rise, supported by enormous +beams richly moulded and sculptured, again supported in their turn by +other beams equally massive, whose massiveness is disguised by rich +sculpture and ornamentation: a profusion of boughs, of foliage, so +beautifully wrought that you may trace the veins in the leaves of +niches, pinnacles and statues: corner posts ornamented with figures of +kings, priests, saints, monsters, and bagpipers. The windows seem to +multiply themselves as they ascend, with their small panes crossed and +criss-crossed by leaden lines: the fronts of many are slated with slates +cut into lozenge shapes; and many possess the "slate apron" found in +fifteenth century houses, with the slates curved outwardly to protect +the beam. + +By the second door you pass down a long passage into what originally was +probably a small yard, but has now been turned into a living-room or +kitchen covered over at the very top of the house by a skylight. This is +an arrangement now peculiar to Brittany. The staircase occupies one side +of the space, and you may trace the windings to the very summit, +curiously arranged at the angles. These singularly-constructed rooms +have given to the houses the name of _lanternes_. Every room has an +enormous fireplace, in which you might almost roast an ox, built partly +of wood and stone, richly carved and ornamented. But let the eye rest +where it will, it is charmed by rich carvings and mouldings, beams +wonderfully sculptured, statues, ancient niches and grotesques. + +In one of these houses is to be found a wonderful staircase of carved +oak and great antiquity, that in itself would make Morlaix worth +visiting. It is in the Flamboyant style, and was probably erected about +the year 1500. For Brittany is behind the age in its carvings as much as +in everything else, and this staircase in any other country might safely +be put down to the year 1450. It is of wonderful beauty, and almost +matchless in the world: a marvel of skill and refinement. It possesses +also a _lavoir_, the only known example in existence, with doors to +close when it is not in use; the whole thing a dream of beautiful +sculpture. + +[Illustration: OLD STAIRCASE IN THE GRAND' RUE, MORLAIX, SHOWING +LAVOIR.] + +One other house in Morlaix has also a very wonderful staircase; still +more wonderful, perhaps, than that in the Grand' Rue; but it is not in +such good preservation. The house is in the Rue des Nobles, facing the +covered market-place. It is called the house of the Duchesse Anne, and +here in her day and generation she must have lived or lodged. + +The house is amongst the most curious and interesting and ancient in +Morlaix, but it is doomed. The whole interior is going to rack and ruin, +and it was at the peril of our lives that we scrambled up the staircase +and over the broken floors, where a false step might have brought us +much too rapidly back to terra firma. Morlaix is not enterprising enough +to restore and save this relic of antiquity. + +The staircase, built on the same lines as the wonderful staircase in the +Grand' Rue, is, if possible, more refined and beautiful; but it has been +allowed to fall into decay, and much of it is in a hopelessly worm-eaten +condition. H.C. was in ecstasies, and almost went down on his knees +before the image of an angel that had lost a leg and an arm, part of a +wing, and the whole of its nose; but very lovely were the outlines that +remained. + +"Like the Venus of Milo in the Louvre," said H.C., "what remains of it +is all the more precious for what is not." + +It was not so very long since we had visited the Louvre together, and he +had remained rapt before the famous Venus for a whole hour, +contemplating her from every point of view, and declaring that now he +should never marry: he had seen perfection once, and should never see it +again. This I knew to be nothing but the enthusiasm of the moment. The +very next pretty face and form he encountered, animated with the breath +of life, would banish from his mind all allegiance to the cold though +faultless marble image. + +The exterior of the house of the Duchesse Anne was as remarkable as the +interior for its wonderful antiquity, its carvings, its statues and +grotesques, its carved pilasters between the windows, each of different +design and all beautiful, its gabled roofs and its latticed panes that +had long fallen out of the perpendicular. Both this and the next house +were closed; and it was heartbreaking to think that perhaps on our next +visit to Morlaix empty space would here meet our gaze, or, still worse, +a barbarous modern aggression. + +Few towns now, comparatively speaking, possess fifteenth century +remains, and those few towns should preserve them as amongst their most +cherished treasures. + +Morlaix is still amongst the most favoured towns in this respect. Go +which way you will, and amongst much that is modern, you will see +ancient houses and nooks and corners that delight you and take you back +to the Middle Ages. Now it will be an old house in the market-place that +has escaped destruction; now a whole court up some narrow turning, too +out-of-the-way to have been worthy of demolition; and now it will be a +whole street, like the Grand' Rue, which has been preserved, no doubt +of deliberate intent, as being one of the most typical fifteenth century +streets in the whole of France, an ornament and an attraction to the +town, raising Morlaix out of the commonplace, and causing antiquarians +and many others to visit it. + +For if all the houses of the Grand' Rue are not actually fifteenth +century--and they are not--they all look of an age; they all belong to +the same school of architecture, and the harmony of the whole street is +perfect. Looking upwards, the eye is delighted at the outlines of the +gabled roofs that stand out so clearly and sharply against the +background of the sky; and you return to it over and over again during +your sojourn in Morlaix, and each time you gaze longer and think it more +beautiful than before. + +These old-world towns and streets are very refreshing to the spirit. We +grow weary of our modern towns, with their endless monotony and their +utter absence of all taste and beauty. Just as when sojourning in a +country devoid of monuments and ruins, the mind at length absolutely +hungers for some grand, ecclesiastical building, some glorious vestige +of early ages; so when we have once grown familiar with mediaeval towns +and outlines, it becomes an absolute necessity occasionally to run away +from our prosy nineteenth century habitations, and refresh our spirit, +and absorb into our inmost nature all these refining old-world charms. +It is an influence more easily felt than described; also, it does not +appeal to all natures. We can only understand Shakespeare by the +Shakespeare that is within us--an oft quoted saying but a very true one; +and Pan might pipe for ever to one who has no music in his soul; and the +rainbow might arch itself in vain to one who is colour-blind. + +Morlaix also, as we have said, owes much to its situation. + +Lying between three ravines, it is most romantically placed. Its people +are sheltered from many of the cruel winds of winter, and even the +sturdy Bretons cannot be quite indifferent to the stern blast that comes +from the East laden with ice and snow. + +Not that the people of Morlaix look particularly robust, though we found +them very civil and often very interesting. We must pay for our +privileges, and if a town is built in a hollow, and is sheltered from +the east wind, the chances are that its climate will be enervating. +This, of course, has its drawbacks, and sets the seal of consumption on +many a victim that might have escaped in higher latitudes. + +One charming type we found in Morlaix, consisting of a family that ought +to have lived in the middle ages, and been painted by Raphael, or have +served as models for Fra Angelico's angels. Three generations. + +We were climbing the Jacob's ladder leading to the station one day, when +we chanced upon an old man who sold antiquities. We were first taken +with his countenance. It had honesty and integrity written upon it. Had +he been a German, living in Ober-Ammergau, he would certainly have been +chosen for the chief character in the play--a play, by the way, that has +always seemed questionable, since the greatest and most momentous Drama +creation ever witnessed appears too sacred a theme to be theatrically +represented, even in a spirit of devotion. + +Our antiquarian was growing old. His face was pale, beautiful and +refined, with a very spiritual expression. The eyes were of a pure blue, +in which dwelt almost the innocence of childhood. He was slightly +deformed in the back. There was a pathetic tone in the voice, a resigned +expression in the face, which told of a long life of struggle, and +possibly much hardship and trouble--the latter undoubtedly. + +We soon found that he had in him the true artistic temperament. His own +work was beautiful, his carvings were full of poetical feeling. If not a +genius himself, he was one whose offspring should possess the "sacred +fire," which must be born with its possessor, can never after be +kindled. In one or two instances we pointed to something superlatively +good. "Ah, that is my son's work," he said; "it is not mine." And there +was an inflection in the voice which told of pride and affection, and +perhaps was the one bright spot in the old man's pilgrimage, perhaps his +one sorrow and trouble--who could tell? We had not seen the son; we felt +we must do so. + +The old man's most treasured possession was a crucifix, to which he +pointed with a reverential devotion. + +"I have had it nearly thirty years," he said, "and I never would sell +it. It is so beautiful that it must be by a great master--one of the old +masters. People have come to see it from far and near. Many have tempted +me with a good offer, but I would never part with it. Now I want the +money and I wish to sell it. Will you not buy it?" + +It was certainly exquisitely beautiful; carved in ivory deeply browned +with age. We had never seen anything to equal the position of the Figure +upon the Cross; the wonderful beauty of the head; the sorrow and +sacredness of the expression; the perfect anatomy of the body. But in +our strictly Protestant prejudices we hesitated. As an object of +religion of course we could have nothing to do with it; the Roman +Catholic creed, with its outward signs and symbols, was not ours; who +even in our own Church mourned the almost lost beauty and simplicity of +our ancient ritual; that substitution of the ceremonial for the +spiritual, the creature for the Creator, which seems to threaten the +downfall of the Establishment. Would it be right to purchase and possess +this beautiful thing merely as an object of refined and wonderful art? I +looked at H.C. In his face at least there was no hesitation. Such a +prize was not to be lost if it could be obtained within reasonable +limits. It must take a place amongst his old china, his headless Saints +and Madonnas! + +[Illustration: OLD HOUSES, MORLAIX.] + +The first time we came across the old man--it was quite by accident +that we found him out--we felt that we had discovered a prize in human +nature: one of those rare exceptions that exist still in out-of-the-way +nooks and corners, but are seldom found. It is so difficult to go +through the world and remain unspoiled by it; especially for those who, +having to work for their daily bread by the sweat of their brow, have to +come into daily contact with that harder, coarser element in human +nature, that, for ever over-reaching its neighbour, tries to believe +that the race _is_ to the swift and the battle to the strong. + +The son was away from the town on the occasion of our first visit. The +father seemed proud of him in a quiet, gentle sort of way, and +gentleness was evidently the key-note to his character. He said his son +had carried off all the prizes in a Paris School of Art, and one prize +that was especially difficult to obtain. Would we come again and see +him, and see his work? + +We went again. At the door-sill a little child greeted us; the most +beautiful little face we had ever seen. Nothing in any picture of an old +master ever equalled it. At the first moment we almost thought it the +face of an angel, as it looked up into our faces with all the confidence +and innocence of infancy. The child might have been eighteen months old, +just at the age when the eyes begin to take that inquiring look upon +everything, as if they had just awakened to the fact that they had +arrived upon a scene where all was new and strange. The eyes of this +child were large and of a celestial blue; fair curls fell over his +shoulders; his cheeks were round like a cherub's, and had the hue of the +damask rose. The strangest part about the face was its refinement, as if +the little fellow, instead of being born of the people, had come of a +long line of noble ancestors. + +We went into the workshop, and there found the father of the child at +work, the son of the old man. + +We no longer wondered at the child's beauty; it was a counterpart of the +father's, but to the latter was added all the grace and maturity of +manhood. Unlike the old man, the face was round and flushed with the hue +of health. Large dark blue eyes looked out earnestly at you from under +long dark lashes. The head was running over with dark crisp curls. The +face was also singularly refined, had an exceedingly pure and modest +expression. No Apollo, real or imagined, was ever more perfect in form +and feature. To look upon that face was to love its owner. + +He was hard at work, carving, his wonderfully-drawn plans about him. It +was certainly the best modern work we had ever seen; and here, we felt, +was a genius. Probably it had been hampered for want of means, as so +many other geniuses have been since the foundation of the world. He +ought to have been known and celebrated; the master of a great and +famous _atelier_ in the chief of gay cities; appreciated by the +world--and perhaps spoilt by flattery. Instead of which, he was working +for his daily bread in a small town, unknown, unappreciated; toiling in +a small, retired workshop, where people seldom penetrated, and a good +deal of his work depended upon chance. Yet, if his face bespoke one +thing more than another, it was happiness and contentment. Ambition +seemed to have no part in his life. That he loved his art was evident +from the tenderness with which he handled his drawings and looked upon +his carvings. It may be that this love was all-sufficient for him, and +that as long as he had health to work, and fancy to create, and daily +bread to eat, he cared for nothing more. + +The little rift within the lute? Ah, who is without it? What household +has not its skeleton? Where shall we find perfect happiness--or anything +perfect? In this instance it was soon apparent to us; and again we +marvelled at the inconsistency of human nature; the incongruity of +things; the way men spoil their lives and make crooked things that ought +to be, and might have been, so straight. + +We could not help wondering what sort of help-meet this Apollo had +chosen for himself; what angelic mother had given to the world this +little blue-eyed cherub, whose fitting place seemed not earth but +heaven. + +Even as we wondered we were answered. A voice called to the child from +above, and the child turned its lovely head, but moved not. Then the +owner of the voice was heard descending, and the mother appeared. We +were dismayed. Never had we seen a woman more abandoned and neglected. +Everything about her was slovenly. Her hair fell about her face and +shoulders in tangled masses; her clothing was torn and neglected. We had +seen such exhibitions in the dens of London, never in a decent +household. It made us feel inexpressibly sad and sorrowful. Here was a +great mystery; two people terribly ill-matched. We glanced at the +husband, expecting to see a flush mantling his brow. But he quietly went +on with what he was about, as though he saw not, and mother and child +disappeared upstairs. + +Here, then, whether he knew it or not, was the little rift within the +lute. An ill-assorted marriage, a life-long mistake. Had he looked and +chosen above him, his help-meet might have assisted him to rise in the +world and to become famous. As it was, he had been caught by a pretty +face--for, with due care and attention and a settled expression, the +face would have been undoubtedly pretty--and had sealed his fate. With +such a wife no man could rise. + +We left him to his art and went our way, very sorrowful. It was a lovely +morning, and we started back for the hotel, having arranged to take a +drive at a certain hour along the river banks to the sea. + +We found the conveyance ready for us. Monsieur, by special attentions, +was making up for the lapses of that one terrible night. + +Above us, as we went, stretched the gigantic viaduct, so singular a +contrast with the ancient houses and remains of this old town; forming a +comparison that certainly makes Morlaix one of the most remarkable towns +in France. Beneath it rose the houses on the rocky slopes, one above +another, so that from the back you may almost enter them from the roof, +as you do some of the Tyrolese chalets. In Morlaix it has given rise to +a proverb: "Du jardin au grenier, comme on dit a Morlaix." + +[Illustration: MORLAIX.] + +Beneath the viaduct, far down, was the river and the little port, where +vessels of considerable tonnage may anchor, and which has added much to +the prosperity of the town, that trades largely in corn, vegetables, +butter, honey, wax, oil-seeds, and--as we have seen--horses. There is +also a large tobacco manufactory here, which gives employment to an +immense number of hands. + +We passed all this and went our way down the right bank of the river. +The scenery is very picturesque; the heights are well wooded, broken and +undulating. Some of the richer inhabitants of Morlaix have built +themselves houses on the heights; charming chateaux where they spend +their summers, and luxuriate in the fresh breezes that blow up from the +sea. Across there on the left bank of the river, rises the convent of +St. Francois, a large building, where the _religieux_ retire from the +world, yet are not too isolated. + +And on this side, on the _Cours Beaumont_, a lovely walk planted with +trees, we come to the Fontaine des Anglais, so called because here, in +1522, six hundred English were surprised asleep by the people of +Morlaix, and slain. They had, however, courted their own doom. Henry +VIII. had picked a quarrel with Francis I. for seizing the ships of +English merchants in French ports. The English king had escorted with +his fleet the Emperor Charles V., of Spain, under command of the Earl of +Surrey, and in returning, it entered the river, surprised Morlaix, burnt +and sacked the town, and murdered many of its inhabitants. They left it +loaded with spoil; and when the inhabitants surprised these six hundred +English they revenged themselves upon them without mercy. + +To-day, we had no sooner reached the spot than suddenly the clouds +gathered, the sky was overcast, a squall rose shrieking and whistling +amidst the trees, and there was every appearance of a downpour. We were +not prepared for it, but we rashly continued our way. At last, just +before we reached a small road-side cabaret, down it came, as if the +whole reservoir of cloudland had been let loose. + +We hastily stopped at the auberge, already half-drenched, and H.C. +crying out "Any port in a storm," we entered it. It was humble enough, +yet might every benighted traveller in every storm find as good a +refuge! + +The good woman of the house was standing at her poele, preparing the +mysteries of the mid-day dinner. Her husband, she said, had gone into +Morlaix, with fish to sell--it was one of their chief means of +livelihood. He bought the fish from the fishermen who came up the river, +and sold it again to the hotels. One of his best customers was the Hotel +d'Europe, and M. Hellard was a brave monsieur, who never beat them down +in their prices, and had always a pleasant word for them. Madame was +very amiable too, for the matter of that. + +It was rather a hard life, but what with that and the little profit of +the auberge, they managed to make both ends meet. + +She had three children. The eldest was a girl, and had her wits about +her. She had been to Paris with her father, and had seen the Exhibition, +and talked about it like a grown-up person. But her father had taken her +one night to the Theatre des Varietes in the Champs Elysees, and the +girl had been mad ever since to become a _chanteuse_ and an actress. + +The ambitious child--a girl of fourteen--at this moment came down +stairs, and a more forbidding young damsel we had seldom seen. Her +mother had evidently no control over her; she was mistress of the +situation; ordered her mother about, slapped a younger brother, a little +fellow who was playing at a table with some leaden soldiers, and +finally, to our relief, disappeared into an inner room. We saw her no +more. + +"It is always like that," sighed the poor mother, who seemed by no means +a woman to be lightly sat upon: "always like that ever since she went +that _malheureux_ voyage to Paris. It has changed her character; made +her dissatisfied with her lot; I fear she will one day leave us and go +back to Paris for good--or rather for evil; for she will have no one to +look after her; and, I am told, it is a sink of iniquity. I was never +there, and know very little about the ways of large towns. Morlaix is +quite enough for me. But she is afraid of her father, that is one +_bonheur_." + +All this time she had been brewing us coffee, and now she brought it to +us in her best china, with some of the spirit of the country which does +duty for cognac and robs so many of the Bretons of their health and +senses. But it was not a time to be fastidious. To counteract the +effects of the elements and drenched clothes, we helped ourselves +liberally to a decoction that we thought excellent, but under other +conditions should have considered poisonous. + +The while our hostess, glad of an appreciative audience, poured into our +ears tales and stories of herself, her life and the neighbourhood. How +she had originally belonged to the Morbihan, and when a girl dressed in +the costume of her country, with the short petticoats and the +picturesque kerchief crossed upon the breast. How her father had been a +well-to-do _bazvalan_ and made the Sunday clothes for the whole village. +And how she had met her fate when her bonhomme came that way on a visit +to an old uncle in the village, and in six months they were married, and +she had come to Morlaix. She had never regretted her marriage. She had a +good husband, who worked hard; and if they were poor, they were far from +being in want. She had really only one trouble in the world, and that +was that she could do nothing with her eldest girl. She would obey no +one but her father; and even he was losing control over her. + +"Is her father much away?" we asked, thinking that the young damsel +looked as if she were under no very stern discipline. + +"Not on long voyages, such as going to Paris or the Morbihan," replied +the woman; "but he is often away for half-a-day or so, selling his fish +in Morlaix and doing commissions for their little auberge. And then," +she added with a condoning smile, "of course he sometimes met with a +camarade who enticed him to drink a glass too much, though that was a +rare occurrence. Mais que voulez-vous? Human nature was weak; and for +her part she really thought that men were weaker than women. Certainly +they were more self-indulgent." + +"It is because they have more temptations," said H.C., pleading the +cause of his own sex. "Women had more to do with home and the +pot-au-feu." + +At this moment our hostess's pot-au-feu began to boil over, and she +darted across the room, took it off the fire and returned, laughing. + +"Even the pot-au-feu we cannot always manage, it seems," she remarked; +"and so there are faults on all sides. Sometimes on a Sunday her husband +went and spent the day at Roscoff, where he had a cousin living. Did +messieurs know Roscoff--a deadly-lively little place, with a quaint +harbour, where there was a chapel to commemorate the landing of Marie +Stuart?" + +We said we did not know it, but purposed visiting it on the morrow if +the skies ceased their deluge. + +"Why does your husband not turn fisherman," we asked, "instead of buying +his fish from others, and so selling it second-hand at a smaller profit? +You are so close to the sea." + +"Dame," replied the woman, "it is not his trade. He was never brought up +to the sea; always hated it. And for the rest," she added, with a +shudder, "Heaven forbid that he should turn fisherman! She had once +dreamed three times running that he was drowned at sea; and she had +feared the water ever since. She had almost made her husband take a vow +that he would never go upon the sea. He generally took part once a year +in the regatta; of course, there could be no danger; but she trembled +the whole time until she saw him returning safe and sound. No, no! +Chacun a son metier." + +Here we interrupted the flow of eloquence, though the woman was really +interesting with her straightforward confidences, her rather picturesque +patois, and her numerous gestures. + +We went to the door and surveyed the elements. The skies were cowering; +the rain came down like a revengeful cataract; the road was flooded, and +the water was beginning to flood the room. In front the river looked +cold and threatening; it flowed towards the sea with an angry rush; our +vehicle was refreshing itself before the door, and the horse and driver +had taken refuge in the stable. The tops of the surrounding hills were +hidden in mist; everywhere the rain roared. The scene was dreary and +desolate in the extreme. + +At this moment the driver appeared. "Was it of any use waiting? He knew +the climate pretty well; the rain would never cease till sundown. Had we +not better make the best of it and get back to Morlaix?" + +We thought so, and gave the signal for departure. Our patience was +exhausted--and so was our coffee. Our hostess was distressed. At least +we would borrow an umbrella, and her husband's thick coat, and perhaps +her shawl for our knees. She was too good; genuinely kind hearted; and +in despair when we accepted nothing. We bade her farewell, settled her +modest demands, and set out for Morlaix. + +Arrived at the hotel like drowned rats, Madame was all anxiety and +motherly solicitude, begged us to get between blankets and have tisane +administered or some eau sucree with a spoonful of rum in it. She +bemoaned the uncertainty of the climate, and hoped we were not going to +have bad weather for our visit. And when we declined all her polite +attentions, assuring her that a change of clothing was all we needed, +and all we should do, she declared that she was amazed at our temerity, +but that she had the greatest admiration for the constitution and +courage of the people of Greater Britain. + + + + +AFTER TWENTY YEARS + +BY ADA M. TROTTER. + + +"May you come in and rest, you ask? Why of course you may. Take this +rocking-chair--but there, some men don't like rockers. Well, if so be +you prefer it, stay as you be, right in the shadder of the vines. It's a +pretty look-out from there, I know, all down the valley over them meadow +lands--and that rushing bit of river. + +"You ask me if I know'd one Kitty Larkins, the prettiest gal in the +county, the prettiest gal anywheres, you say. Yes, sir! I know'd her +well. Dead? Yes, sir, Kitty--the bright, gay creature folks knew as +Kitty Larkins died this day twenty years ago. + +"Do I know how she died and the story of her life? I do well; I do; +p'raps better nor most. You want to hear about her; maybe you would find +it kind of prosing; but there, the afternoon sun _is_ pretty hot, and +the haymakers out there in the meadows have got a hard time of it. + +"What's that! Don't I go and lend a hand in the press of the season? +Well, I don't. Not for twenty year. There's them as calls it folly, but +the smell of the hay brings it all back and turns me sick. You say you +can't believe such a fine woman as me would be subject to fancies; you +think I look too young, do you, to be talkin' this way of twenty years +ago. Wall, there's more than one way of counting age. Some goes by grey +hairs, some by happenings. But this that came so long ago is all as +clear--clear as God's light upon the meadows there. + +"But if you will have the whole story, let's begin at the beginnin', and +that brings you to the old school-house where them three, neighbours' +children they was, went to school together. There was Kitty of course, +and Elihu Grant and Joel Barton, them was the three that my story's +about. + +"'Lihu was always a big, over-grown lad, with a steadfast, kind heart, +not what folks called brilliant; he warn't going to be extraordinary +when he grow'd up, didn't want to be, so fur as I know; he aimed to be +as good a man's his father, nothing more, nothing less. Good and true +was 'Lihu; all knew that, yet his name was never mentioned without a +'but,' not even by the school marm, though she said he was the best boy +in her school. + +"Kitty looked down some on 'Lihu, made him fetch and carry, and always +accustomed herself to the 'but,' as if the good qualities wasn't of much +account since they could not command general admiration. Yes, this had +something to do with what follered; I can see that plain enough. Still, +I know she loved 'Lihu from babyhood deep down in her heart of hearts-- + +"Anything wrong, sir? you give me a turn moving so sudden like. Let me +see, where was I? Oh, talkin' about them boys. Well, let's get on. + +"I've given you some idea of what 'Lihu was like, but seems to me harder +to tell about that Barton boy, that gay, handsome, charming Joel, that +kept the whole country alive with his doings and sayings from the time +he could trot about alone. + +"Wall! he _was_ bright was Joel, and 'twas no wonder that his parents +see it so plain and talk Joel day in and day out whenever they got a +soul to listen to 'em. Kitty grew up admiring him; there warn't no 'but' +in speaking of Joel. He done everything first class, from farm work to +his lessons, so no wonder his folks acted proud of him and sent him to +college to prepare for a profession. + +"Wall, his success at college added some to his notoriety, and his +doings was talked back and forth more'n ever. + +"Then every term kind of altered him. He come back with a finer air, +better language and a knowledge of the ways of society folks, that put +him ahead of anyone else in the valley; while poor 'Lihu was just the +same in speech and manner, and more retiring and modest than ever; and, +though he was faithfuller, truer and stronger hearted than he'd ever +given promise of being, folks never took to him as they did to young +Joel. + +"But I must go on, for young folks grow up and the signs of mischief +come gradual like and was not seen by foolish Kitty, but increasing +every time Joel come home for his vacations. Of course Kitty was to +blame, but the Lord made her what she was. + +"Yes, I can speak freely of her now, because, as I said before, this +careless, pretty Kitty died twenty long years ago. + +"Not before she married Joel, you ask? Well, of all impatient men! +really I can't get on no quicker than I be doin', and if you're tired of +it, why take your hat and go. Events don't fly as quick as words and I'm +taking you over the course at race-horse speed, skipping where I can, so +as to give you just the gist of the story. + +"Wall then, Kitty loved life; not but what it meant work early and late +to keep things as they oughter be on the old homestead. Her folks warn't +as notable as they might ha' been till Kitty took hold; and then I tell +you, sir, she made things spin. 'Twarn't only her pretty face that +brought men like bees about the place; there was many as would ha' asked +for her, if she'd been as homely as a door nail. But she sent 'em all +away with the same story--all but her old sweethearts 'Lihu and Joel, +and they was as much rivals when they grow'd up as they'd been at the +old school-house, when Kitty treated 'Lihu like a yaller dog and showed +favour to young Joel. + +"But 'Lihu hung on. He come of a race never known to give up what they +catched on to. Some way he gained ground too, for, with that shiftless +dad at the head of things at the homestead, there was need of a wise +counsellor to back up Kitty in the way she took hold. + +"'Lihu was wise, and Kitty got to leaning on his word, and by the time +that I be talkin' of, I s'pose there warn't no one that could have +filled the place in Kitty's life that 'Lihu had made for himself--only +he did not guess at that, and the more she realised it, the backwarder +that silly young creature would have been to confess to it, even to +herself. + +"Sir, I ain't used to folks that give such sudden turns. Don't you +s'pose you could set down and be comfortable somewheres while I be +talkin', instead of twisting and snerling yourself up in my poor vines? + +"You'd rather stand where you be; well, then, I'll get on with my story. + +"I was coming to Joel. It's more interesting to strangers, that part +about Joel, for he was, as I said before, everything 'Lihu +lacked--bright and gay, handsome and refined. Ay, and he was a manly +looking feller too, and had took lessons in fighting and worked through +a gymnasium course, while 'Lihu knew no better exercises than sawing +wood and pitching hay and such farm work. 'Lihu was clumsy in moving, +but Joel graceful and light; you'd as soon have thought of the old +church tower taking to dancing as of 'Lihu trying his hand at it; but +Joel, of course, he were the finest dancer anyone had ever see'd in our +neighbourhood. + +"So it naturally come about that when Kitty wanted to have a gay +time--and what young girl does not like fun sometimes?--she took to Joel +and left 'Lihu to his fierce jealousy out in the cold. + +"Joel had nothing to do but philander after Kitty, come vacations, and +there he'd be lounging round the garden, reading poetry to her, when +she'd a minute to set down, and telling her about the doings of gay +society folks in cities. + +"Kitty liked it all, why shouldn't she? and the more 'Lihu looked like a +funeral the more she turned her back on him and favoured t'other. You +see, sir, I give it you fair. There was faults all round; and if you +want my candid opinion, that Joel was more to blame than Kitty, for, +being a man of the world, he knew better than she what the end of it all +was bound to be; that the day would come when she would have to make her +choice between them and that to one of them that day would mean a broken +heart, a spoiled life. + +"Ah, well! It was hayin' time just twenty years ago, and a spell of +weather just like this, perhaps a mite warmer, but much the same. + +"Well, it threatened a thunderstorm, and all hands was pressed into the +fields. Even Kitty was there, with her rake, for, to tell the truth, +she was child enough to love a few hours in the sweet-smelling meadows. +Joel, he was there, he'd took off his store clothes, and was handsomer +than ever in his flannels, and, with his deftness and muscle, was worth +any two hired men in the field. + +"He and 'Lihu, who had come over to lend a hand, was nigh to one another +that afternoon; and there was things said between 'em, as they worked, +as had to lay by for a settlin'. Kitty made things worse--silly girl +that she was--by coming round in her gay way with her rake, and smiling +at them both, so that it would have beat the Angel Gabriel to know which +of them it were she had a leaning to. + +"Truth was, Kitty was back into childhood, out there in the hay--merry +and sweet as a rosebud she looked in her old faded bonnet. I see her +just as plain, this poor child--that did so much mischief without +meaning to hurt anybody. How was she to know that fierce fires of +jealous, passionate hatred were at work, kindled by her to flame that +sunshiny afternoon, as she danced along the meadow with her rake, happy +as the June day seemed long? + +"No, sir, you need not be impatient, for the story is about done. + +"The last load of hay was pitched as the glowing sun went down. The +thunderstorm had passed to the hills beyond, and on the horizon clouds +lay piled, purple black. The men come in to supper, and then went out +again. Kitty was busy with her dishes in the kitchen till dark; then +there come a flash of lightning, and a growlin' of thunder. The last +dish was put away, and so the girl went sauntering out, down to the bush +of cluster roses by the garden gate, where she could look over into the +barn-yard and call to the men still at work with the hay. + +"Something took her farther--'twas as if a hand led her--and she crossed +the yard, and down the lane she went till she got to the meadow gate +that stood open as the men had left it after bringing that last heavy +wain through. + +"The moon was up--a moon that drifted serenely through the banks of +clouds, ever upwards to the zenith. + +"Sir, did you ever think--and being a stranger, sir, you must excuse the +question--did you ever think of the wicked deeds that moon has looked +upon since the creation of mortal man? Oh, yes, I know it, I know it +well; in God's sunlight, that sin would never have been committed; but +in the moonlight--the calm, still moonlight--passions rise to fever +heat, the blow is struck, and man turns away with the curse of Cain +written on his brow. + +"Kitty, standing with her back against the gate, her eyes following the +flitting light across the meadow to the mill-race by the path beyond, +all at once felt her heart leap with nameless horror. Yet all she could +see was shadows, for the figures was out of sight. All she could see was +shadows--shadows cast upon the moonlit meadowland where she had gaily +danced with her rake in hand only a few hours before. Two giant forms +(so the moonbeams made it) swayed back and forth, gripped together like +one, scarcely moving from one spot as they wrestled, as though 'twould +take force to uproot them--force like that of the whirlwind in the +spring, that tore the old oak like a sapling from its foundations laid +centuries ago. + +"Kitty, struck dumb like one in nightmare, fled across the meadow +towards the mill-race. + +"As she went, the shadows lifted and changed with a cruel uprising that +told her the end was near. If she could have cried out then, and if they +had heard! But as she fled on unheeding, the moon was suddenly obscured. +It was pitch dark, and the muttering thunder broke into a roar that +shook the earth under Kitty's feet. How long was it before the moon +drifted from out that cloud-bank, where lightning played with zig-zag +flames? How long? + +"When the moonbeams fell again upon the meadow-lands the shadows were +gone and Kitty stood alone upon the banks of the mill-race, looking at +the rushing dark waters. When she turned homewards she met Joel face to +face. He was pale, but a triumphant light shone in his eyes. He came +forward with open arms--'Kitty, my Kitty!' he cried. + +"Kitty stood one moment, with eyes that seemed to pierce to his very +heart, then she turned to the splashing waters and pointed solemnly. + +"'Elihu, where is Elihu?' she asked; and in that moment, when Joel hung +his head before her without a word of answer, Kitty fell down like a +dead thing at his feet. + +"And I, who knew her so well, I tell you that Kitty died there on that +meadow by the race, just twenty year ago to-day. + +"Joel, you ask? What come to Joel? Well, p'raps he felt bad just at +first, for he went away for two, three year, I believe. But he come +back, did Joel, and Kitty never molested him by word or deed. You can +see his house there below the mill; he's married long since and his +house is full of children. But never, since that June night twenty year +ago, has he dared set foot at the old homestead. Folks talked--of course +they talked--but Kitty, the staid, sad woman they called Kitty, heeded +nothing that was said. Joel, he tried to right himself and writ her many +a long letter at the first. + +"'It was a fair wrestle,' said he, 'and him as was beaten was to leave +the place and not come back for months or years. Elihu was beat on the +wrestle and he's gone that's all there is to it.' + +"Kitty, she never answered them letters; she remembered that uplifted +arm as the vast shadows swayed towards her on the meadow, and Joel, he +give it up." + + * * * * * + +By this time the heavy hay-waggons began to move across the meadows. It +was drawing near supper-time and the speaker rose and briskly set aside +her knitting. + +"I believe that's all," she said. "It's a tragic story for a country +place like this. But now set down, won't you, and wait till the men come +up for supper? Mebbe you'll be glad of a cup of tea before you go any +further." + +The stranger, well within the shade of the clustering vines, made no +reply. + +"Say," cried she, from the porch door; "set down and wait for supper, +won't you?" + +Surprised at the silence, accustomed as she was to the garrulity of +country neighbours, she stepped out into the piazza. A beautiful woman +she, of forty years, whose fine face seemed now set in an aureole of +sunbeams. The stranger took off his hat and stooped somewhat towards +her; there was something familiar in the gesture, which set the wild +blood throbbing at her heart-strings as though the past twenty years had +been a dream. + +"Kitty, my dear love, Kitty." + +The farm men came singing up the lane, the heavy waggons grinding slowly +along in the sunshine. All this, the everyday life, was now the dream, +and they, Kitty and Elihu, had met in the meadow lands of the earthly +Paradise. + + + + +A MEMORY. + + + How much of precious joy, that leaves no pain, + Lives in the simple memory of a face + Once seen, and only for a little space, + And never after to be seen again: + A face as fair as, on an altar pane, + A pictured window in some holy place-- + The glowing lineaments of immortal grace, + In many a vague ideal sought in vain. + Such face was yours, and such the joy to me, + Who saw you once, once only, and by chance, + And cherished evermore in memory + The noble beauty of your countenance-- + The poet's natural language in your looks, + Sweet as the wondrous sweetness of your books. + +GEORGE COTTERELL. + + + + +AUNT PHOEBE'S HEIRLOOMS. + +_An Experience in Hypnotism._ + + +We do not take to new ideas readily in Bishopsthorpe. Our fashions are +always at least one season behind the times; it is only by a late +innovation in Post Office regulations that we are now enabled to get our +London papers on the day of their publication; and a craze, social or +scientific, has almost been forgotten by the fashionable world before it +manages to establish any kind of footing in our midst. + +It therefore came upon us with more or less of a shock one morning a +short time ago to find the walls of our sleepy little country town +placarded with naming posters announcing that Professor Dmitri +Sclamowsky intended to visit Bishopsthorpe on the following Friday, for +the purpose of exhibiting in the Town Hall some of his marvellous powers +in Thought Reading, Mesmerism, and Hypnotism. + +Stray rumours from time to time, and especially of late, had visited us +of strange experiments in connection with these outlandish sciences, if +sciences they can be called; but we had received these with incredulity, +mingled with compassion for such weak-minded persons as could be easily +duped by the clever conjuring of paid charlatans. + +This, at least, was very much the mental attitude of my aunt Phoebe, and +it was only under strong pressure from me and one or two others of her +younger and more enterprising section of Bishopsthorpe society that she +at last reluctantly consented to patronise the Professor's performance +in person. + +Even at the last moment she almost failed us. + +"I am getting too old a woman, my dear Elizabeth," she said to me as I +was helping her to dress, "to leave my comfortable fireside after dinner +for the sake of seeing second-rate conjuring." + +"Indeed, it is good of you," I said, as I disposed a piece of soft old +point lace in graceful folds round the neck of her black velvet dress; +"but virtue will be its own reward, for I am sure you will enjoy it as +much as any of us, and as for being too old, that is all nonsense! Just +look in the glass, and then say if you have a heart to cheat +Bishopsthorpe of a sight of you in all your glory." + +"You are a silly girl, Elizabeth!" said my aunt, and yet she did as I +suggested, and, walking up to the long pier-glass, looked at her +reflection with a well pleased smile. "Indeed," she continued, turning +back to me to where I stood by the dressing-table, "I think I am as +silly as you are, to rig myself out like this," and she pointed to the +double row of large single diamonds I had clasped round her neck, and +the stars of the same precious stones which twinkled and flashed in the +lace of her cap. + +"Come, Aunt Phoebe," I said, drawing down her hands, which had made a +movement as though she would have taken off the glittering gauds, "you +don't often give the good Bishopsthorpe folk a chance of admiring the +Anstruther heirlooms. They look so lovely! Don't take them off, +_please_. What is the use of having beautiful things if they are always +to be hidden away in a jewellery case? There now," I went on; "I hear +the carriage at the door; here is your fur cloak: you must wrap yourself +up well for it is a cold night," and so saying I muffled her up, and +hustled her downstairs before she could remonstrate, even had she wished +to do so. + +The little Town Hall was already crowded when we arrived, but seats had +been reserved for us in one of the front rows of benches. Many eyes were +turned on us as we made our way to our places, for Aunt Phoebe was +looked up to as one of the cornerstones of aristocracy in Bishopsthorpe, +and I fancied that I caught an expression of relief on the faces of some +of those present, who, until the entertainment had been sanctioned by +her presence, had probably felt doubtful as to its complete orthodoxy. +But of course I may have been wrong. Aunt Phoebe is always telling me +I am too imaginative. + +It seemed as though the Professor had awaited our arrival to begin the +performance, for we had hardly taken our seats than the curtain, which +had hitherto hidden the stage from our view, rolled up and discovered +the Professor standing with his hand resting upon an easel, on which was +placed a large blackboard. + +I think the general feeling in the room was that of disappointment. I +know that I, for one, had hoped to see something more interesting than +the usual paraphernalia of a lecture on astronomy or geology. + +Professor Sclamowsky, too, was not at all as impressive a person as his +name had led me to expect. He was short and thick-set. His close-cropped +hair was of the undecided colour which fair hair assumes when it is +beginning to turn grey, and a heavy moustache of the same uninteresting +hue hid his mouth. His jaw was heavy and slightly underhung, and his +neck was thick and coarse. + +Altogether his appearance was remarkably unprepossessing and +commonplace. + +In a short speech, spoken with a slight foreign accent, which some way +or other struck me as being assumed, he begged to disclaim all intention +of _conjuring_. His performance was solely and entirely a series of +experiments in and illustrative of the wonderful science of Hypnotism; a +science still in its infancy, but destined to take its place among the +most marvellous of modern discoveries. + +As he spoke, his heavy, uninteresting face lit up as with a hidden +enthusiasm, and my attention was attracted to his eyes, which I had not +before noticed. They were of a curious bright metallic blue and are the +only eyes I have ever seen, though one reads and hears so perpetually of +them, which really seemed to flash as he warmed to his subject. + +As he finished, I looked at Aunt Phoebe, who shrugged her shoulders +and smiled incredulously. It was clear that she was not going to be +imposed upon by his specious phrases. + +It would be unnecessary to weary my readers by describing at length how +the usual preliminary of choosing an unbiassed committee was gone +through; nor how, after the doctor, the rector, Mr. Melton (the +principal draper in Bishopsthorpe) and several other of the town +magnates, all men of irreproachable honesty, had been induced to act in +this capacity, the Professor proceeded, with eyes blindfolded and +holding the doctor's hand in his, to find a carefully hidden pin, to +read the number of a bank-note and to write the figures one by one on +the blackboard, and to perform other experiments of the same kind amid +the breathless interest of the audience. + +I frankly admit that I was astonished and bewildered by what I saw, and +I had a little uneasy feeling that if it were not all a piece of +gigantic humbug, it was not quite canny--not quite right. + +What struck me most, I think, was the unfussy, untheatrical way in which +it was all done. Every one of the Professor's movements was marked by an +air of calm certainty. He threaded his way through the crowded benches +with such an unhesitating step that, only that I had seen the bandage +fastened over his eyes by the rector and afterwards carefully examined +by the doctor, neither of whom could be suspected of complicity, I +should have said he must have had some little peep-hole arranged to +enable him to guide his course so unfalteringly. + +There were, of course, thunders of applause from the sixpenny seats when +the Thought Reading part of the entertainment came to an end. + +"Well, Aunt Phoebe," I said, turning to her as the Professor bowed his +thanks, "what do you think?" + +"Think, my dear?" she repeated. "I think the man is a very fair +conjurer." + +"But," I protested, "how could he know where the pin was; and you know +Mr. Danby himself fastened the handkerchief?" + +"My dear Elizabeth, I have seen Houdin do far more wonderful things, +when I was a girl; but he had the honesty to call it by its right +name--conjuring." + +I had not time to carry on the discussion, for the Professor now +reappeared and informed us that by far the most interesting part of the +performance was still to come. Thought Reading and Mesmerism, or, as +some people preferred to call it--Hypnotism--were, he believed, +different parts of the same wonderful and but very partially-understood +power. A power so little understood as not even to possess a distinctive +name; a power which he believed to be latent in everybody, but which +was capable of being brought to more or less perfection, according to +the amount of care and attention bestowed upon it. "I," said the +Professor, "have given my life to it." And again I fancied I saw the +curious blue eyes flash with a sudden unexpected fire. + +"In the experiments which I am about to show you," he went on, "I am +assisted by my daughter, Anna Sclamowsky," and, drawing back a curtain +at the back of the stage, he led forward a girl who looked to be between +sixteen and eighteen years old. + +There was no sort of family resemblance between father and daughter. She +was tall and slight, with a small dark head prettily poised on a long, +slender neck. Her face was pale, and her large dark eyes had a startled, +frightened look as she gazed at the sea of strange faces below her. Her +father placed her in a chair facing us all; and turning once more to the +audience said: + +"I shall now, with your kind permission, put my daughter into a mesmeric +or hypnotic trance; and while she is in it, I hope to show you some +particularly interesting experiments. Look at me, Anna--so--" + +He placed his fingers for a moment on her eyelids, and then stood aside. +Except that the girl was now perfectly motionless, and that her gaze was +unnaturally fixed, I could see nothing different in her appearance from +what it had been a few moments before. + +The Professor now turned to Mr. Danby, who was seated beside me, and +said, "If this gentleman will oblige me by stepping up on the stage, he +can assure himself by any means he may choose to use, that my daughter +is in a perfectly unconscious state at this moment; and if it will give +the audience and himself any more confidence in the sincerity of this +experiment, he is perfectly at liberty to blindfold her. Then if he will +be kind enough to go through the room and touch here and there any +person he may fancy, my daughter, at a word from me, will in the same +order and in the same manner touch each of those already touched. I +myself will, during the whole of the time, stand at the far end of the +hall, so that there can be no sort of communication between us." + +So saying, Sclamowsky left the stage, and walking down the room, placed +himself with his back against the wall, and fixed his gaze upon the +motionless form of his daughter. + +As I looked back at him, even though separated from him by the length of +the hall, I could see the strange glitter and flash of his eyes. It gave +me an uncomfortable, uneasy feeling; and I turned my face again towards +the stage, where the good-natured rector was following out the +directions he had received. + +He lifted Anna Sclamowsky's arm, which, on his relaxing his hold, fell +limp and lifeless by her side; he snapped his fingers suddenly close +before her wide-open eyes without producing even a quiver of a muscle in +her set face. He shouted in her ear; shook her by the shoulders; but +all without succeeding in making her show any sign of consciousness. He +then tied a handkerchief over her eyes; and, leaving the stage, went +about through the room, touching people here and there as he went, +pursuing a most tortuous course, and ended at last by placing his hand +upon Aunt Phoebe's diamond necklace. He then bowed to the Professor to +intimate that we were ready to see the conclusion of the experiment. + +Sclamowsky moved forward about a pace, beckoned with his hand, and +called, not loudly but distinctly, "Anna!" + +Without a moment's hesitation the girl, still blindfolded, rose, walked +swiftly down the steps which led from the stage to the floor of the +hall, and with startling exactness reproduced Mr. Danby's actions. In +and out through the benches she passed amid a silence of breathless +interest, touching each person in exactly the same spot as Mr. Danby had +done a few minutes previously. + +I saw Aunt Phoebe drawing herself up rigidly as Anna Sclamowsky came +towards our bench and, amid deafening applause, laid her finger upon the +Anstruther diamonds. The clapping and noise produced no effect upon the +girl. She stood motionless as though she had been a statue, her hand +still upon the necklace. + +Whether Aunt Phoebe was aggravated by the complete success of the +experiment or annoyed at having been obliged to take so prominent a part +in it, I do not know, but she certainly was a good deal out of temper; +for when Sclamowsky made his way to where his daughter was standing, she +said, in tones of icy disapproval, which must have been audible for a +long way down the room-- + +"A very clever piece of imposture, sir." + +The mesmerist's face flushed and his eyes flashed angrily. He, however, +bowed low. + +"There's nothing so hard," he said, "to overcome, madam, as prejudice. I +fear you have been inconvenienced by my daughter's hand. I will now +release her--and you." + +So saying, he placed his own hand for a moment over his daughter's and +breathed lightly on the girl's face. Instantly the muscles relaxed, her +hand fell to her side, and I could hear her give a little shuddering +sigh, apparently of relief. + +I noticed, too, that, whether by design or accident Sclamowsky kept his +hand for a moment longer on my aunt's necklace, and as he took his +finger away, I fancied that he looked at her fixedly for a second, and +muttered something either to himself or her, the meaning of which I +could not catch. + +"What did he say to you?" I asked, as Sclamowsky, after removing the +bandage from his daughter's eyes, assisted her to remount the stage. + +Aunt Phoebe looked a little confused and dazed, and her hand went up +to her necklace, as though to reassure herself of its safety. + +"Say to me?" she repeated, rousing herself as though by an effort; "he +said nothing to me. But I think, Elizabeth, if it is the same to you, we +will go home; the heat of the room has made me feel a little dizzy." + +We heard next day that we had missed the best part of the entertainment +by leaving when we did, and that many and far more wonderful experiments +were successfully attempted; but I had no time to waste in vain regrets +for not having been present, for I was much taken up with Aunt Phoebe. + +I was really anxious about her; she was so strangely unlike her calm, +equable self. All Saturday she was restless and irritable, wandering +half way upstairs, and then as though she had forgotten what she wanted, +returning to the drawing-room, where she set to work opening old cabinet +drawers, looking under chairs and sofas, tumbling everything out of her +work-box as if in search of something, and snubbing me for my pains when +I offered to help her. + +This went on all day, and I had almost made up my mind to send for Dr. +Perkins, when, after late dinner, she suddenly sank into an arm-chair +with a look of relief. + +"I know what it is," she said; "it is my diamonds!" + +"Your diamonds, Aunt Phoebe!" I exclaimed. "Why, I locked them up for +you myself in your dressing-box when we came home last night!" + +"Are you sure, Elizabeth?" she asked with an anxious, worried +expression. + +"Quite sure," I answered; "but if it will satisfy you, I will bring down +your dressing-box now and let you see." + +"Do, there's a dear child! I declare I feel too tired to move another +step." + +I was not surprised at this, considering how she had been fussing about +all day, and I ran up to her bed-room, brought down her rosewood +dressing-box and placed it on the table in front of her. + +I was greatly struck by the nervous trembling of her fingers as she +chose out the right key from amongst the others in her bunch, and the +shaky way in which she fitted it into the lock. Even when she had turned +the key she seemed half afraid to raise the lid, so I did it for her, +and, taking out the first tray, lifted out the morocco case which +contained the heirlooms and laid it in her lap. + +Aunt Phoebe tremblingly touched the spring, the case flew open and +disclosed the diamonds lying snugly on their bed of blue velvet. She +took them out and looked at them lovingly, held them up so that they +might catch the light from the lamp, and then with a sigh replaced them +in their case and shut it with a snap. + +I waited for a few minutes, then, as she did not speak, I put out my +hand for the case, intending to replace it in the dressing-box and take +it upstairs. But Aunt Phoebe clutched it tightly, staggered to her +feet and said in a husky, unnatural voice, "No, I must take it myself." + +"Why, you said you were too tired!" I began, but before I could finish +my sentence she had left the room, and I heard her going upstairs and +opening the door of her bed-room. + +Some few minutes afterwards I heard her steps once more on the stairs, +and I waited, expecting her every moment to open the drawing-room door +and walk in; but to my astonishment I heard her pass by, and a moment +afterwards the clang of the front door as it was hastily shut told me +that Aunt Phoebe had left the house. + +"She must be mad!" I exclaimed to myself as I rushed to the hall, seized +up the first hat I could see, flung a shawl over my shoulders, and tore +off in pursuit of my runaway relative. + +It was quite dark, but I caught sight of her as she passed by a +lamp-post. She was walking quickly, quicker than I had ever seen her +walk before, and with evidently some set purpose in her mind. I ran +after her as fast as I could, and came up with her as she was turning +down a small dark lane leading, as I knew, to a little court, the home +of a very poor but respectable section of the inhabitants of +Bishopsthorpe. + +"Aunt Phoebe," I gasped as I touched her arm, "where are you going? +You must be making a mistake!" + +"No, no!" she cried, with a feverish impatience in her voice. "I am +right! quite right! You must not stop me!" and she quickened her pace +into a halting run. + +I saw clearly that there was nothing to be done but to follow her and +try to keep her out of actual harm's way, for there now seemed to be no +manner of doubt that my poor aunt was, for the time at any rate, insane. +So I fell back a pace, and, never appearing even to notice that I had +left her side, she pursued her course. + +Suddenly she stopped short, crossed the street and stumbled up the +uneven stone steps of a shabby-looking house, whose front door was wide +open. Without a moment's hesitation she entered the dark hall, and I +followed closely at her heels. Up the squalid, dirty stairs she hurried, +and, without knocking, opened a door on the left-hand side of the first +landing and went in. + +I was a few steps behind, but as I gained the threshold I saw her take a +parcel from beneath her cloak and hold it out to a man who came to meet +her from the far end of the badly-lighted room. + +"I have brought them," I heard my aunt say in the same curious husky +voice I had noticed before. + +As the man came nearer and stood where the light of the evil-smelling +little paraffin lamp fell upon his features, I recognised in the heavy +jaw, the bull-neck and the close-cropped head, the Professor Dmitri +Sclamowsky of the previous evening. Our eyes met, and I thought I +detected a start of not altogether pleased surprise; but if this were so +he recovered himself quickly and bowing low, said: + +"I had not expected the pleasure of _your_ company, madam, but as you +have done me the honour of coming, I am glad that you should be here to +witness the conclusion of last night's experiment. This lady," he +continued, pointing to my aunt, who still stood with fixed, apparently +unseeing eyes, holding out the parcel towards him--"this lady, you will +remember, considered the hypnotic phenomena exhibited at last night's +entertainment as a clever imposture--those were the words, I think. To +one who, like myself, is an enthusiast on the subject, such words were +hard, nay, impossible to bear. It was necessary to prove to her that the +power I possess"--here his blue eyes gleamed with the same metallic +light I had before noticed--"is something more than _conjuring_; +something more than a 'clever imposture'. You will see now." + +As he spoke he stretched out his hand and took the parcel from my aunt, +and as he did so, I recognised with horror the morocco case which I knew +contained the heirlooms. + +"Who are these for?" he said, addressing Aunt Phoebe. + +"For you," came from my aunt's lips, but her eyes were fixed and her +voice seemed to come with difficulty. + +"She is mad!" I exclaimed. "She does not know what she is saying!" + +Sclamowsky smiled. + +"And who am I?" he continued, still addressing my aunt. + +"The Professor Dmitri Sclamowsky." + +"And what is this?" indicating the morocco case. + +"My diamonds." + +"You make them a present to me?" + +"Yes." + +Sclamowsky opened the case and took out the jewels. + +"A handsome present, certainly!" he said, turning to me with a smile. + +I was speechless. There was something so horrible in my dear Aunt +Phoebe's set face and wide open, stony eyes, something so weird in the +dim room, with its one miserable lamp; something so mockingly fiendish +in Sclamowsky's glittering eyes as he stood with the diamonds flashing +and twinkling in his hands, that though I strove for utterance, I could +not succeed in articulating a single word. + +"Enough!" at last he said, replacing the diamonds in their case and +closing it sharply--"the experiment is concluded," and so saying he +stepped up close to Aunt Phoebe and made two or three passes with his +hands in front of her face. A quiver ran all over my aunt's figure. She +swayed and would have fallen if I had not rushed forward and caught her +in my arms. + +She looked round at me with terror and bewilderment in every feature. + +"Where am I, Elizabeth?" she stammered, and then looking round she +caught sight of Sclamowsky. "What is the meaning of this?" + +"Never mind, Aunt Phoebe," I said. "Come home, and I will tell you all +about it." + +Aunt Phoebe passed her hand over her eyes, and as she did so I glanced +inquiringly from Sclamowsky's face to the jewellery case in his hands. +What was to be the end of it all? I had certainly heard my aunt +distinctly give this man her diamonds as a present, but could a gift +made under such circumstances hold good for a moment? He evidently saw +the query in my face. + +"You judge me even more hastily than did your aunt," he said. "She +called me an impostor; you think me a rogue and a swindler. Here are +your jewels, madam," he said, turning to Aunt Phoebe. "I shall be more +than satisfied if the result of this evening's experiment prove to you +that, as your poet says, 'There are more things in heaven and earth than +are dreamt of in your philosophy.'" + +"I don't understand it all," said Aunt Phoebe piteously, as she +mechanically took the morocco case into her hands. + +"Don't try to do so now," I said. "You must come home with me as quickly +as you can;" for I was feverishly anxious to escape from this +house--from this man with this horrible, terrifying power. + +He bowed silently to us as I hurried Aunt Phoebe out of the room; but +as I was going down the stairs an irresistible impulse came over me to +look back. + +He was standing on the landing, politely holding the little lamp so that +we might see our way down the uneven, irregular stairs, and the light +fell upon his face. Was the expression I saw upon it one of triumph, or +one of defeated dishonesty? I could not say. Even now, though I have +thought it all over and over till my head has got dazed and confused, I +cannot make up my mind whether he had hoped, by means of his strange +mesmeric power, to obtain possession of the Anstruther diamonds--a +design only frustrated by my unlooked-for appearance--or whether his +action was altogether prompted by a determination to demonstrate and +vindicate the truth of the phenomena connected with his science. + +Sometimes I lean to one view, sometimes to the other. I have now told +the facts of the case simply and without exaggeration just as they +occurred, and my readers must judge for themselves whether Dmitri +Sclamowsky was, in the matter of Aunt Phoebe's heirlooms, a +disappointed swindler or a triumphant enthusiast. + + + + +SAINT OR SATAN. + + +A story, strange as true--a story to the truth of which half the +inhabitants of the good city of Turin can bear testimony. + +Have you ever been to Turin, by the way? To that city which reminds one +of nothing so much as a gigantic chess-board set down upon the banks of +the yellow river--that city with never-ending, straight streets, all +running at right angles to each other, and whose extremities frame in +delicious pictures of wooded hill or snow-capped Alp; whose inhabitants +recall the grace and courtesy of the Parisians, joined to a good spicing +of their wit and humour; whose dialect is three-parts French pronounced +as it is written; and whose force and frankness strike you with a +special charm after the ha-haing of the Florentines, the sonorousness of +the Romans and the sing-song of the Neapolitans; to say nothing of the +hideousness of the Genoese and the chaos of the Sicilians; that city of +kindly greetings and hearty welcome? + +Well, if you have given Turin a fair trial, you will know what a +pleasant place it is; if you have not, I advise you to do so upon the +first occasion that may present itself. + +The climate is described by some emulator of Thomson to consist of "Tre +mesi d'Inferno, nove d'inverno." But then you must remember that Turin +houses are provided with chimneys, and Turin floors with carpets, and +that no one who does not wish it is forced--as so many of us have +been--to shiver upon marble pavement and be half suffocated by a +charcoal-brazier. No refuge from the cold save that, one's bed, or +sitting in a church. And one can neither lie for ever in bed, nor sit +the day through in a church, however fine it may be. + +It is extremely healthy, however, and altogether one of the pleasantest +towns in Italy to live in. It has, too, one of the fairest gardens in +Europe: the Valentino, with its old red-brick palace, its elms, its +lawns, its river and setting, on one side, of lovely hills. Lady Mary W. +Montagu speaks of the beauty of this garden in her day. I think she +would scarcely recognise it at the present. Modern art has done its +best, and over the whole yet lingers the mysterious charm of the Past; +the dark historical legends connected with the palace and its quondam +frail, fair, and, I regret to add, ferocious mistress, its--But what has +all this to do with "Saint or Satan," you will ask? Where is your +promised story? + +Well, Satan enters somewhat largely into the story of the Valentino +which I will relate you at some future time; and, as to the part, if +any, his dark Majesty had in what I am going to tell you to-day, you +yourself must judge, reader. I am inclined to think _he had_ a claw in +the matter, rather than Saint Antonio to whom the miracle is ascribed. +The miracle! Yes, the miracle. And if you could see her, you would +certainly say that a miracle of some kind there certainly was. + +I have, after long consideration and study, come to the conclusion that +"Old Maids" are, generally speaking, a very pleasant, kind-hearted +portion of society. They may be a little irritable and restive while +standing upon the border-land that divides the marriageable from the +un-marriageable age; but that boundary once passed, they take place +among the worthiest and best. And surely their anxiety as to the reply +to the question of "Miss or Mrs.?" is pardonable. Matrimony means an +utter change of life to a woman; while to a man it is of infinitely less +import. + +I am afraid I cannot class the "Signorina Guiseppina Pace" as having +formed one of the pleasant section of old maids; I must even, however +reluctantly, place her among the decidedly unpleasant ones. +"Peace"--"Pace" was her name, but her old mother, with whom she lived, +would have told you that she differed greatly from her name. + +So do most of us, indeed; and I am sure you have only to run over the +list of your friends in the kindliest manner to see that I am right in +my affirmation. + +Perhaps Miss Guiseppina thought that one can have too much of even a +good thing; that the name of Pace was quite enough for the house, and +that, in consequence, she ought to do her best to banish it under all +other circumstances. She certainly succeeded; for she led her poor old +widow-mother and their single servant such a life as to give them a +lively foretaste of what Purgatory--to say no worse--might possibly be. + +Ah! if she could but have cut off the Pace from her own name as cleanly +as she cut off all possible peace from the two poor women who were +doomed, for their sins, to live under the same roof with her! + +But, despite the endeavours during thirty odd long years, she had never +had one single chance of doing so; and it riled her to the core. +Schoolfellows had floated away upon the sea of matrimony, friends had +become mothers--grandmothers--and yet she remained Guiseppina Pace, as +she ever had remained; and with no prospect of a change. + +How she learned to loathe the sight of a bridal procession; and how she +taught mother and maid to tremble at the passing of the same! How the +news of a projected marriage stirred her bile, and how her dearest +friends hastened to her with any matrimonial news they could gather, or +invent! It was wonderful to see, and pleasant enough to witness--from a +distance. + +Guiseppina and her mother occupied a small flat in Via Santa Teresa: +Guiseppina's bed-room and their one sitting-room looking into the +street; her mother's room, the kitchen and a sort of coal-hole in which +the servant slept being at the back of the house. + +It was summer. People pushed perspiringly for the shady side of the +street, puffed and panted under pillar and portico. The public gardens +were besieged; fans fluttered everywhere; iced-beer and pezzi duri were +in constant requisition. + +It was on a Friday afternoon. Guiseppina had sunk, exhausted with the +heat and exasperated with the flies, into a large arm-chair opposite her +bed, and was sitting there fanning herself violently and trying to catch +a breath of fresh air from the widely-opened window beside her. But +there was no air, fresh or otherwise; and nothing but the languid steps +of the passers in the street below was heard. Not the roll of a wheel, +the hoof of a horse, or the yelp of a dog. It seemed as if the whole +place had been given over to the cruel glare of sunshine and the +persevering impertinence of flies. + +It was just one of those days which make one long intensely for the +shade of ilexes upon the sea shore, and the swish of idle waters upon +the beach. + +And Guiseppina _did_ long, and _had_ longed, and had finally driven her +poor mother in tears to her room with reproaches for not being able to +go for a month to Pegli, as, that very morning, their upper floor +neighbours, the Castelles, had gone--and--and--and--: the usual +litany--the usual nagging--the usual temper; hinc ille lacrimae. + +"Why should she alone," she exclaimed to herself sitting there, "remain +to roast in town, while all her friends--? Ah, it was too cruel! If she +could only--!" + +Her eyes fell upon the little picture of Saint Antonio hanging over her +bed--the Saint credited with presiding over marriages--the Saint to +which, through all these long years, Guiseppina had daily appealed and +prayed. Alas, all in vain! Not the shadow of a lover had he sent +her--not the ghost of an offer had he vouchsafed her in return for all +her tears and tapers. + +She looked across at the Saint, this time with a scowl, however. The +Saint seemed to return her gaze with a mocking smile. No! That was +indeed adding insult to injury! After thirty years unswerving devotion, +to mock at her thus! + +She didn't say thirty years, mind, though she could have added somewhat +to the figure without risking a fib. She said something else, a +something that didn't sound exactly like a blessing; and, in a sudden +fit of rage, started from her seat, sprang across the room, tore the +offending Saint from the nail from which he had dangled for such long +years, and, without further ceremony, flung him out through the open +window into the street below. + +Then, aghast at what she had done, she stood as if turned to stone, not +daring to go to the window to see what the effect of her novel +proceeding might have been. + +Minutes, to her ages, passed: then came a ring at the bell. Answer she +must; the maid was out marketing, her mother in tears--for it might be +the post--it might be--! Ah, she shivered as she thought thereon--it +might be a municipal guard with a "contravenzione"--fine; for in Italy +one cannot now fling even saints from a window down upon the passers' +heads with impunity. Time was when worse things were periodically +showered down upon passengers, but, thanks to government and wholesome +laws, nous avons change tout cela. + +With a beating heart Guiseppina drew the bolt and opened the door. There +on the landing stood, not a policeman, but an elderly gentleman, his hat +in one hand, Saint Antonio in the other, and his bald head looming out +from the gloom--some Turin stairs are _very_ dark--like the moon in a +fog. + +"Signora"--he began in a hesitating voice, and holding forward the +imperturbable Saint as a shield and excuse for his intrusion-- + +"Signore," replied the ancient maiden, gazing forth at her visitor with +wonder on her face and relief in her heart. + +The relief fled quickly, however, for she suddenly remembered that many +of the police were said to prowl about in civil clothes and inflict no +end of fines, of which they pocketed a part. + +But he didn't look a bit like a policeman. So she smiled upon him, and +listened benignantly to his tale. He had been passing the house--musing +upon his business--that of a broker--and trying to guess at the truth of +a report relative to certain investments, when suddenly his calculations +had been put to flight by the arrival of some unseen object from on +high, which, after alighting upon the crown of his Panama, fell at his +feet. + +Here a wave of his hand and a flourish of the Saint indicated his having +picked up the same. + +He then proceeded to relate his having looked up--the Saint could only +have come from Heavenward, he had perched so exactly upon the crown of +his hat--having seen the open window--all the rest in the house were +closed--and having taken the liberty-- + +Here another wave of the hand, followed by a bow. + +And then, at this juncture, Signora Pace came out from her room, and +she, after being informed of the cause of her daughter's being found in +close converse upon the landing with a stranger of the male sex, asked +the said stranger in. Her invitation being accepted, the trio adjourned +to the sitting-room, the gallant knight still retaining his trophy. + +Only after being warmly pressed to do so by Signora Pace did the +all-unexpected and unknown visitor deposit Saint Antonio upon the centre +table, and take his seat upon the red rep sofa next to her. + +Guiseppina sat facing him. She seemed suddenly to have quite +changed--never once snubbed her mother, and appeared throughout all +sugar and sweetness. + +We can suppose that remorse at having treated her Saint after this +fashion, and relief at his not having fallen into the hands of a +policeman, as she at first had most reasonably feared, had worked the +change. + +Policeman, indeed! Signor Cesare Garelli--such the visitor gave as his +name--appeared to her to be quite a charming person. To be sure, he was +bald, but that mattered little. So was Julius Caesar and a host of other +great men. + +Cesare Garelli was something, to her, infinitely more interesting than +his great namesake ever had been. He was a partner of the well-known +Zucco, and the office they kept in Via Carlo Alberto had wooden cups of +gold nuggets, no end of glittering coins and crisp bank-notes of foreign +and formidable appearance, in its solitary window. More than once she +had longingly halted before its treasures. + +So a vast deal of information was exchanged on both sides, and when +Signor Cesare Garelli rose to go, the flood of golden sunshine had crept +quite across to the other side of the street. + +Apparently some of it had crept into Guiseppina's heart also, for she +refrained from flying out when the long-delayed "minestra" turned out to +be smoked, and she even went so far as to give Saint Antonio a chaste +kiss as she restored him to the crooked nail to which he had hung for so +long a time. + +Cesare Garelli's visits became more and more frequent in Via Santa +Teresa. Then followed excursions to Rivoli, to Superza, to Moncalieri. +Nice little dinners, and evenings spent at the Caffe San Carlo or under +the horse-chestnuts in the Valentino garden, succeeded rapidly. La +Signora Pace's life savoured of the seventh heaven, and Guiseppina's +temper grew mellow as the peaches which her admirer was for ever sending +her. + +That phase passed away, and then one fine day Cesare Garelli burst forth +in all the glory and radiance of a declared and accepted lover. + +In less than three months from the date of Saint Antonio's flight +through the window into the hot, dusty street, Guiseppina +voluntarily--oh, how voluntarily!--renounced the name of Pace for ever +and took that of Garelli. + +If you want to know if Saint or Satan made his match for him, you had +better ask Cesare Garelli himself. I cannot tell you. + +A. BERESFORD. + + + + +IN A BERNESE VALLEY. + + + I met her by this mountain stream + At twilight's fall long years gone by, + While, rosy with day's afterbeam, + Yon snow-peaks glowed against the sky; + + And she was but a simple maid + Who fed her goats among the hills, + And sang her songs within the glade, + And caught the music of the rills; + + And drank the fragrance of the flowers + That bloomed within love-haunted dells; + And wandered home in gloaming hours, + Amid the sound of tinkling bells. + + + And now I'm in this vale again, + And once more hear the tinkling sound; + But yet 'tis not the same as when + That maiden 'mid her flock I found. + + And still the rosy light of morn + Steals soft o'er mount and stream and tree; + And yet I hear the Alpine horn, + But the old charm is lost to me; + + For I would see that angel face, + And hear again the simple tale + Which to that twilight lent the grace + That changed this to Arcadian vale. + + It cannot be: my dream is o'er; + No more among the hills she'll roam; + No more she'll sing the songs of yore; + Or call the weary cattle home; + + For she is in her bed of rest, + Encompassed all with gentians blue, + With Edelweiss upon her breast, + And by her head wild thyme and rue. + + Sweet _Angelus_, from yon church-tower, + That floatest now so soft and clear, + Ring back again that golden hour + When I still sat beside her here! + +ALEXANDER LAMONT. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Argosy, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ARGOSY *** + +***** This file should be named 18372.txt or 18372.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/3/7/18372/ + +Produced by Paul Murray, Taavi Kalju and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://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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