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diff --git a/3067-0.txt b/3067-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e6d06e0 --- /dev/null +++ b/3067-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,29794 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Hard Cash, by Charles Reade + +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: Hard Cash + +Author: Charles Reade + +Release Date: April 13, 2013 [EBook #3067] +Last Updated: March 5, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARD CASH *** + + + + +Produced by James Rusk + + + + + + + +HARD CASH + +By Charles Reade + + + + [Transcriber's Note: Italics are indicated by underscores. + The pound sign is indicated by L. No attempt has been made + to transcribe Greek text or sheet music. Accent marks in + foreign words are ignored. Two chapters named Chapter XLI.] + + + + +PREFACE + +“HARD CASH,” like “The Cloister and the Hearth,” is a matter-of-fact +Romance--that is, a fiction built on truths; and these truths have +been gathered by long, severe, systematic labour, from a multitude +of volumes, pamphlets, journals, reports, blue-books, manuscript +narratives, letters, and living people, whom I have sought out, +examined, and cross-examined, to get at the truth on each main topic I +have striven to handle. + + +The madhouse scenes have been picked out by certain disinterested +gentlemen, who keep private asylums, and periodicals to puff them; +and have been met with bold denials of public facts, and with timid +personalities, and a little easy cant about Sensation* Novelists; but +in reality those passages have been written on the same system as the +nautical, legal, and other scenes: the best evidence has been ransacked; +and a large portion of this evidence I shall be happy to show at my +house to any brother writer who is disinterested, and really cares +enough for truth and humanity to walk or ride a mile in pursuit of them. + +CHARLES READE. + +6 BOLTON ROW, MAYFAIR, + +December 5, 1868. + + + * This slang term is not quite accurate as applied to me. + Without sensation there can be no interest: but my plan is + to mix a little character and a little philosophy with the + sensational element. + + + + +HARD CASH + + + + +PROLOGUE + +IN a snowy villa, with a sloping lawn, just outside the great commercial +seaport, Barkington, there lived a few years ago a happy family. A +lady, middle-aged, but still charming; two young friends of hers; and a +periodical visitor. + +The lady was Mrs. Dodd; her occasional visitor was her husband; her +friends were her son Edward, aged twenty, and her daughter Julia, +nineteen, the fruit of a misalliance. + +Mrs. Dodd was originally Miss Fountain, a young lady well born, +high bred, and a denizen of the fashionable world. Under a strange +concurrence of circumstances she coolly married the captain of an East +Indiaman. The deed done, and with her eyes open, for she was not, +to say, in love with him, she took a judicious line--and kept it: no +hankering after Mayfair, no talking about “Lord this” and “Lady that,” + to commercial gentlewomen; no amphibiousness. She accepted her place +in society, reserving the right to embellish it with the graces she had +gathered in a higher sphere. In her home, and in her person, she +was little less elegant than a countess; yet nothing more than a +merchant-captain's wife; and she reared that commander's children in a +suburban villa, with the manners which adorn a palace. When they happen +to be there. She had a bugbear; Slang. Could not endure the smart +technicalities current; their multitude did not overpower her distaste; +she called them “jargon”--“slang” was too coarse a word for her to apply +to slang: she excluded many a good “racy idiom” along with the real +offenders; and monosyllables in general ran some risk of' having to show +their passports. If this was pedantry, it went no further; she was open, +free, and youthful with her young pupils; and had the art to put herself +on their level: often, when they were quite young, she would feign +infantine ignorance, in order to hunt trite truth in couples with them, +and detect, by joint experiment, that rainbows cannot, or else will +not, be walked into, nor Jack-o'-lantern be gathered like a cowslip; and +that, dissect we the vocal dog--whose hair is so like a lamb's--never so +skilfully, no fragment of palpable bark, no sediment of tangible squeak, +remains inside him to bless the inquisitive little operator, &c., &c. +When they advanced from these elementary branches to Languages, History, +Tapestry, and “What Not,” she managed still to keep by their side +learning with them, not just hearing them lessons down from the top of +a high tower of maternity. She never checked their curiosity, but made +herself share it; never gave them, as so many parents do, a white-lying +answer; wooed their affections with subtle though innocent art, thawed +their reserve, obtained their love, and retained their respect. Briefly, +a female Chesterfield; her husband's lover after marriage, though not +before; and the mild monitress the elder sister, the favourite companion +and bosom friend of both her children. + +They were remarkably dissimilar; and perhaps I may be allowed to preface +the narrative of their adventures by a delineation; as in country +churches an individual pipes the keynote, and the tune comes raging +after. + +Edward, then, had a great calm eye, that was always looking folk full +in the face, mildly; his countenance comely and manly, but no more; too +square for Apollo; but sufficed for John Bull. His figure it was that +charmed the curious observer of male beauty. He was five feet ten; +had square shoulders, a deep chest, masculine flank, small foot, high +instep. To crown all this, a head, overflowed by ripples of dark brown +hair, sat with heroic grace upon his solid white throat, like some +glossy falcon new lighted on a Parian column. + +This young gentleman had decided qualities, positive and negative. He +could walk up to a five-barred gate and clear it, alighting on the other +side like a fallen feather; could row all day, and then dance all night; +could fling a cricket ball a hundred and six yards; had a lathe and +a tool-box, and would make you in a trice a chair, a table, a doll, +a nutcracker, or any other moveable, useful, or the very reverse. And +could not learn his lessons, to save his life. + +His sister Julia was not so easy to describe. Her figure was tall, +lithe, and serpentine; her hair the colour of a horse-chestnut fresh +from its pod; her ears tiny and shell-like, her eyelashes long and +silky; her mouth small when grave, large when smiling; her eyes pure +hazel by day, and tinged with a little violet by night. But in jotting +down these details, true as they are, I seem to myself to be painting +fire, with a little snow and saffron mixed on a marble pallet. There is +a beauty too spiritual to be chained in a string of items; and Julia's +fair features were but the china vessel that brimmed over with the +higher loveliness of her soul. Her essential charm was, what shall I +say? Transparence. + + “You would have said her very body thought.” + +Modesty, Intelligence, and, above all, Enthusiasm, shone through her, +and out of her, and made her an airy, fiery, household joy. Briefly, an +incarnate sunbeam. + +This one could learn her lessons with unreasonable rapidity, and until +Edward went to Eton, would insist upon learning his into the bargain, +partly with the fond notion of coaxing him on, as the company of a swift +horse incites a slow one; partly because she was determined to share his +every trouble, if she could not remove it. A little choleric, and indeed +downright prone to that more generous indignation which fires at the +wrongs of others. When heated with emotion, or sentiment, she lowered +her voice, instead of raising it like the rest of us. She called her +mother “Lady Placid,” and her brother “Sir Imperturbable.” And so much +for outlines. + +Mrs. Dodd laid aside her personal ambition with her maiden name; but she +looked high for her children. Perhaps she was all the more ambitious for +them, that they had no rival aspirant in Mrs. Dodd. She educated Julia +herself from first to last: but with true feminine distrust of her power +to mould a lordling of creation, she sent Edward to Eton, at nine. This +was slackening her tortoise; for at Eton is no female master, to coax +dry knowledge into a slow head. However, he made good progress in two +branches--aquatics and cricket. + +After Eton came the choice of a profession. His mother recognised but +four; and these her discreet ambition speedily sifted down to two. For +military heroes are shot now and then, however pacific the century; and +naval ones drowned. She would never expose her Edward to this class +of accidents. Glory by all means; glory by the pail; but safe glory, +please; or she would none of it. Remained the church and the bar: and, +within these reasonable limits, she left her dear boy free as air; +and not even hurried--there was plenty of time to choose: he must pass +through the university to either. This last essential had been settled +about a twelvemonth, and the very day for his going to Oxford was at +hand, when one morning Mr. Edward formally cleared his throat: it was +an unusual act, and drew the ladies' eyes upon him. He followed the +solemnity up by delivering calmly and ponderously a connected discourse, +which astonished them by its length and purport. “Mamma, dear, let us +look the thing in the face.” (This was his favourite expression, as +well as habit.) “I have been thinking it quietly over for the last six +months. Why send me to the university? I shall be out of place there. +It will cost you a lot of money, and no good. Now, you take a fool's +advice; don't you waste your money and papa's, sending a dull fellow +like me to Oxford. I did bad enough at _Eton._ Make me an engineer, or +something. If you were not so fond of me, and I of you, I'd say send me +to Canada, with a pickaxe; you know I have got no headpiece.” + +Mrs. Dodd had sat aghast, casting Edward deprecating looks at the close +of each ponderous sentence, but too polite to interrupt a soul, even a +son talking nonsense. She now assured him she could afford very well to +send him to Oxford, and begged leave to remind him that he was too good +and too sensible to run up bills there, like the young men who did +not really love their parents. “Then, as for learning, why, we must be +reasonable in our turn. Do the best you can, love. We know you have no +great turn for the classics; we do not expect you to take high honours +like young Mr. Hardie; besides, that might make your head ache: he +has sad headaches, his sister told Julia. But, my dear, an university +education is indispensable Do but see how the signs of it follow a +gentleman through life, to say nothing of the valuable acquaintances and +lasting friendships he makes there: even those few distinguished persons +who have risen in the would without it, have openly regretted the want, +and have sent their children: and _that_ says volumes to me.” + +“Why, Edward, it is the hall-mark of a gentleman,” said Julia eagerly. +Mrs. Dodd caught a flash of her daughter: “And my silver shall never be +without it,” said she warmly. She added presently, in her usual placid +tone, “I beg your pardon, my dears, I ought to have said my gold.” With +this she kissed Edward tenderly on the brow, and drew an embrace and a +little grunt of resignation from him. “Take the dear boy and show him +our purchases, love!” said Mrs. Dodd, with a little gentle accent of +half reproach, scarce perceptible to a male ear. + +“Oh, yes,” and Julia rose and tripped to the door. There she stood +a moment, half turned, with arching neck, colouring with innocent +pleasure. “Come, darling. Oh, you good-for-nothing thing.” + +The pair found a little room hard by, paved with china, crockery, glass, +baths, kettles, &c. + +“There, sir. Look them in the face; and us, if you can.” + +“Well, you know, I had no idea you had been and bought a cart-load of +things for Oxford.” His eye brightened; he whipped out a two-foot rule, +and began to calculate the cubic contents. “I'll turn to and make the +cases, Ju.” + + +The ladies had their way; the cases were made and despatched; and one +morning the Bus came for Edward, and stopped at the gate of Albion +Villa. At this sight mother and daughter both turned their heads quickly +away by one independent impulse, and set a bad example. Apparently +neither of them had calculated on this paltry little detail; they were +game for theoretical departures; to impalpable universities: and “an +air-drawn Bus, a Bus of the mind,” would not have dejected for a moment +their lofty Spartan souls on glory bent; safe glory. But here was a Bus +of wood, and Edward going bodily away inside it. The victim kissed them, +threw up his portmanteau and bag, and departed serene as Italian skies; +the victors watched the pitiless Bus quite out of sight; then went up +to his bedroom, all disordered by packing, and, on the very face of it, +vacant; and sat down on his little bed intertwining and weeping. + +Edward was received at Exeter College, as young gentlemen are received +at college; and nowhere else, I hope, for the credit of Christendom. +They showed him a hole in the roof, and called it an “Attic;” grim +pleasantry! being a puncture in the modern Athens. They inserted him; +told him what hour at the top of the morning he must be in chapel; +and left him to find out his other ills. His cases were welcomed like +Christians, by the whole staircase. These undergraduates abused one +another's crockery as their own: the joint stock of breakables had just +dwindled very low, and Mrs. Dodd's bountiful contribution was a godsend. + +The new comer soon found that his views of a learned university had been +narrow. Out of place in it? why, he could not have taken his wares to a +better market; the modern Athens, like the ancient, cultivates muscle +as well as mind. The captain of the university eleven saw a cricket-ball +thrown all across the ground; he instantly sent a professional bowler +to find out who that was; through the same ambassador the thrower was +invited to play on club days; and proving himself an infallible catch +and long-stop, a mighty thrower, a swift runner, and a steady, though +not very brilliant bat, he was, after one or two repulses, actually +adopted into the university eleven. He communicated this ray of glory +by letter to his mother and sister with genuine delight, coldly and +clumsily expressed; they replied with feigned and fluent rapture. +Advancing steadily in that line of academic study towards which his +genius lay, he won a hurdle race, and sent home a little silver hurdle; +and soon after brought a pewter pot, with a Latin inscription recording +the victory at “Fives” of Edward Dodd: but not too arrogantly; for in +the centre of the pot was this device, “The Lord Is My Illumination.” + The Curate of Sandford, who pulled number six in the Exeter boat, left +Sandford for Witney: on this he felt he could no longer do his college +justice by water, and his parish by land, nor escape the charge of +pluralism, preaching at Witney and rowing at Oxford. He fluctuated, +sighed, kept his Witney, and laid down his oar. Then Edward was solemnly +weighed in his jersey and flannel trousers, and proving only eleven +stone eight, whereas he had been ungenerously suspected of twelve +stone,* was elected to the vacant oar by acclamation. He was a picture +in a boat; and, “Oh!!! well pulled, six!!” was a hearty ejaculation +constantly hurled at him from the bank by many men of other colleges, +and even by the more genial among the cads, as the Exeter glided at ease +down the river, or shot up it in a race. + + *There was at this time a prejudice against weight, which + has yielded to experience + +He was now as much talked of in the university as any man of his +college, except one. Singularly enough that one was his townsman; but +no friend of his; he was much Edward's senior in standing, though not in +age; and this is a barrier the junior must not step over--without direct +encouragement--at Oxford. Moreover, the college was a large one, and +some of “the sets” very exclusive: young Hardie was Doge of a studious +clique; and careful to make it understood that he was a reading man who +boated and cricketed, to avoid the fatigue of lounging; not a boatman or +cricketer who strayed into Aristotle in the intervals of Perspiration. + +His public running since he left Harrow was as follows: the prize poem +in his fourth term; the sculls in his sixth; the Ireland scholarship +in his eighth (he pulled second for it the year before); Stroke of the +Exeter in his tenth; and reckoned sure of a first class to consummate +his twofold career. + +To this young Apollo, crowned with variegated laurel, Edward looked up +from a distance. The brilliant creature never bestowed a word on him by +land; and by water only such observations as the following: “Time, Six!” + “Well pulled, Six!” “Very well pulled, Six!” Except, by-the-bye, one +race; when he swore at him like a trooper for not being quicker at +starting. The excitement of nearly being bumped by Brasenose in the +first hundred yards was an excuse. However, Hardie apologised as they +were dressing in the barge after the race; but the apology was so stiff, +it did not pave the way to an acquaintance. + +Young Hardie, rising twenty-one, thought nothing human worthy of +reverence, but Intellect. Invited to dinner, on the same day, with the +Emperor of Russia, and with Voltaire, and with meek St. John, he would +certainly have told the coachman to put him down at Voltaire. + +His quick eye detected Edward's character; but was not attracted by it: +says he to one of his adherents, “What a good-natured spoon that Dodd +is; Phoebus, what a name!” Edward, on the other hand, praised this +brilliant in all his letters, and recorded his triumphs and such of his +witty sayings as leaked through his own set, to reinvigorate mankind. +This roused Julia's ire. It smouldered through three letters; but burst +out when there was no letter; but Mrs. Dodd, meaning, Heaven knows, no +harm, happened to say meekly, _a propos_ of Edward, “You know, love, +we cannot all be young Hardies.” “No, and thank Heaven,” said Julia +defiantly. “Yes, mamma,” she continued, in answer to Mrs. Dodd's +eyebrow, which had curved; “your mild glance reads my soul; I detest +that boy.” Mrs. Dodd smiled: “Are you sure you know what the word +'detest' means? And what has young Mr. Hardie done, that you should +bestow so violent a sentiment on him?” + +“Mamma, I am Edward's sister,” was the tragic reply; then, kicking off +the buskin pretty nimbly, “There! he beats our boy at everything, and +ours sits quietly down and admires him for it: oh! how can a man let +anybody or anything beat him! I wouldn't; without a desperate struggle.” + She clenched her white teeth and imagined the struggle. To be sure, she +owned she had never seen this Mr. Hardie; but after all it was only Jane +Hardie's brother, as Edward was hers; “And would I sit down and let Jane +beat me at Things? Never! never! never! I couldn't.” + +“Your friend to the death, dear; was not that your expression?” + +“Oh, that was a slip of the tongue, dear mamma; I was off my guard. I +generally am, by the way. But now I am on it, and propose an amendment. +Now I second it. Now I carry it.” + +“And now let me hear it.” + +“She is my friend till death--or Eclipse; and that means until she +eclipses me, of course.” But she added softly, and with sudden gravity: +“Ah! Jane Hardie has a fault which will always prevent her from +eclipsing your humble servant in this wicked world.” + +“What is that?” + +“She is too good. Much.” + +“Par exemple?” + +“Too religious.” + +“Oh, that is another matter.” + +“For shame, mamma! I am glad to hear it: for I scorn a life of +frivolity; but then, again, I should not like to give up everything, you +know.” Mrs. Dodd looked a little staggered, too, at so vast a scheme +of capitulation. But “everything” was soon explained to mean balls, +concerts, dinner-parties in general, tea-parties without exposition of +Scripture, races, and operas, cards, charades, and whatever else amuses +society without perceptibly sanctifying it. All these, by Julia's +account, Miss Hardie had renounced, and was now denouncing (with the +young the latter verb treads on the very heels of the former). “And, you +know, she is a district visitor.” + +This climax delivered, Julia stopped short, and awaited the result. + +Mrs. Dodd heard it all with quiet disapproval and cool incredulity. +She had seen so many young ladies healed of many young enthusiasms by +a wedding ring. But, while she was searching diligently in her mine +of ladylike English--mine with plenty of water in it, begging her +pardon--for expressions to convey inoffensively, and roundabout, her +conviction that Miss Hardie was a little, furious simpleton, the post +came and swept the subject away in a moment. + +Two letters; one from Calcutta, one from Oxford. + +They came quietly in upon one salver, and were opened and read with +pleasurable interest, but without surprise, or misgiving; and without +the slightest foretaste of their grave amid singular consequences. + +Rivers deep and broad start from such little springs. + + +David's letter was of unusual length for him. The main topics were, +first, the date and manner of his return home. His ship, a very old one, +had been condemned in port: and he was to sail a fine new teak-built +vessel, the _Agra,_ as far as the Cape; where her captain, just +recovered from a severe illness, would come on board, and convey her +and him to England. In future, Dodd was to command one of the Company's +large steamers to Alexandria and back. + +“It is rather a come-down for a sailor, to go straight ahead like a +wheelbarrow in all weathers with a steam-pot and a crew of coalheavers. +But then I shall not be parted from my sweetheart such long dreary +spells as I have been thus twenty years, my dear love: so is it for me +to complain?” + +The second topic was pecuniary; the transfer of their savings from +India, where interest was higher than at home, but the capital not so +secure. + +And the third was ardent and tender expressions of affection for +the wife and children he adored. These effusions of the heart had no +separate place, except in my somewhat arbitrary analysis of the honest +sailor's letter; they were the under current. Mrs. Dodd read part of it +out to Julia; in fact all but the money matter: that concerned the heads +of the family more immediately; and Cash was a topic her daughter did +not understand, nor care about. And when Mrs. Dodd had read it with +glistening eyes, she kissed it tenderly, and read it all over again +to herself, and then put it into her bosom as naively as a milkmaid in +love. + +Edward's letter was short enough, and Mrs. Dodd allowed Julia to read +it to her, which she did with panting breath, and glowing cheeks, and a +running fire of comments. + +“'Dear Mamma, I hope you and Ju are quite well----'” + +“Ju,” murmured Mrs. Dodd plaintively. + +“'And that there is good news about papa coming home. As for me, I +have plenty on my hands just now; all this term I have been ['training' +scratched out, and another word put in: C -- R -- oh, I know) +'cramming.'” + +“'Cramming,' love?” + +“Yes, that is the Oxfordish for studying.” + +“'--For smalls.'” + +Mrs. Dodd contrived to sigh interrogatively. Julia, who understood her +every accent, reminded her that “smalls” was the new word for “little +go.” + +“'--Cramming for smalls; and now I am in two races at Henley, and that +rather puts the snaffie on reading and gooseberry pie' (Goodness me), +'and adds to my chance of being ploughed for smalls.'” + +“What does it all mean?” inquired mamma, “'gooseberry pie'? and 'the +snaffle'? and 'ploughed'?” + +“Well, the gooseberry pie is really too deep for me: but 'ploughed' +is the new Oxfordish for 'plucked.' O mamma, have you forgotten that? +'Plucked' was vulgar, so now they are 'ploughed.' 'For smalls; but I +hope I shall not be, to vex you and Puss.'” + +“Heaven forbid he should be so disgraced! But what has the cat to do +with it?” + +“Nothing on earth. Puss? that is me. How dare he? Did I not forbid all +these nicknames and all this Oxfordish, by proclamation, last Long.” + +“Last Long?” + +“Hem! last protracted vacation.” + +“'--Dear mamma, sometimes I cannot help being down in the mouth,' +(why, it is a string of pearls) 'to think you have not got a son like +Hardie.'” At this unfortunate reflection it was Julia's turn to suffer. +She deposited the letter in her lap, and fired up. “Now, have not I +cause to hate, and scorn, and despise le petit Hardie?” + +“Julia!” + +“I mean to dislike with propriety, and gently to abominate--Mr. Hardie, +junior.” + +“'--Dear mamma, do come to Henley on the tenth, you and Ju. The +university eights will not be there, but the head boats of the Oxford +and Cambridge river will; and the Oxford head boat is Exeter, you know; +and I pull Six.'” + +“Then I am truly sorry to hear it; my poor boy will overtask his +strength; and how unfair of the other young gentlemen; it seems +ungenerous; unreasonable; my poor child against so many.” + +“'--And I am entered for the sculls as well, and if you and “the +Impetuosity”' (Vengeance!) 'were looking on from the bank, I do think I +should be lucky this time. Henley is a long way from Barkington, but it +is a pretty place; all the ladies admire it, and like to see both the +universities out and a stunning race.' Oh, well, there _is_ an epithet. +One would think thunder was going to race lightning, instead of Oxford +Cambridge.” + +“'--If you can come, please write, and I will get you nice lodgings; I +will not let you go to a noisy inn. Love to Julia and no end of kisses +to my pretty mamma. --From your affectionate Son, + +“'EDWARD DODD.'” + + +They wrote off a cordial assent, and reached Henley in time to see the +dullest town in Europe; and also to see it turn one of the gayest in +an hour or two; so impetuously came both the universities pouring into +it--in all known vehicles that could go _their_ pace--by land and water. + + + + +CHAPTER I + +IT was a bright hot day in June. Mrs. Dodd and Julia sat half reclining, +with their parasols up, in an open carriage, by the brink of the Thames +at one of its loveliest bends. + +About a furlong up stream a silvery stone bridge, just mellowed by time, +spanned the river with many fair arches. Through these the coming river +peeped sparkling a long way above, then came meandering and shining +down; loitered cool and sombre under the dark vaults, then glistened on +again crookedly to the spot where sat its two fairest visitors that +day; but at that very point flung off its serpentine habits, and shot +straight away in a broad stream of scintillating water a mile long, down +to an island in mid-stream: a little fairy island with old trees, and +a white temple. To curl round this fairy isle the broad current parted, +and both silver streams turned purple in the shade of the grove; then +winded and melted from the sight. + +This noble and rare passage of the silvery Thames was the Henley +racecourse. The starting-place was down at the island, and the goal was +up at a point in the river below the bridge, but above the bend +where Mrs. Dodd and Julia sat, unruffled by the racing, and enjoying +luxuriously the glorious stream, the mellow bridge crowded with +carriages--whose fair occupants stretched a broad band of bright colour +above the dark figures clustering on the battlements--and the green +meadows opposite with the motley crowd streaming up and down. + +Nor was that sense, which seems especially keen and delicate in women, +left unregaled in the general bounty of the time. The green meadows +on the opposite bank, and the gardens at the back of our fair friends, +flung their sweet fresh odours at their liquid benefactor gliding by; +and the sun himself seemed to burn perfumes, and the air to scatter +them, over the motley merry crowd, that bright, hot, smiling, airy day +in June. + +Thus tuned to gentle enjoyment, the fair mother and her lovely daughter +leaned back in a delicious languor proper to their sex, and eyed with +unflagging though demure interest, and furtive curiosity, the wealth of +youth, beauty, stature, agility, gaiety, and good temper, the two great +universities had poured out upon those obscure banks; all dressed in +neat but easy-fitting clothes, cut in the height of' the fashion; or +else in jerseys white or striped, and flannel trousers, and straw hats, +or cloth caps of bright and various hues; betting, strolling, laughing, +chaffing, larking, and whirling stunted bludgeons at Aunt Sally. + +But as for the sport itself they were there to see, the center of all +these bright accessories, “The Racing,” my ladies did not understand +it, nor try, nor care a hook-and-eye about it. But this mild dignified +indifference to the main event received a shock at 2 p. m.: for then +the first heat for the cup came on, and Edward was in it. So then Racing +became all in a moment a most interesting pastime--an appendage to +Loving. He left to join his crew. And, soon after, the Exeter glided +down the river before their eyes, with the beloved one rowing quietly +in it: his jersey revealed not only the working power of his arms, +as sunburnt below the elbow as a gipsy's, and as corded above as a +blacksmith's, but also the play of the great muscles across his broad +and deeply indented chest: his oar entered the water smoothly, gripped +it severely, then came out clean, and feathered clear and tunably on the +ringing rowlock: the boat jumped and then glided, at each neat, easy, +powerful stroke. “Oh, how beautiful and strong he is!” cried Julia. “I +had no idea.” + +Presently the competitor for this heat came down: the Cambridge boat, +rowed by a fine crew in broad-striped jerseys. “Oh, dear” said Julia, +“they are odious and strong in this boat too. I wish I was in it--with a +gimlet; he _should_ win, poor boy.” + +Which corkscrew staircase to Honour being inaccessible, the race had to +be decided by two unfeminine trifles called “Speed” and “Bottom.” + + +Few things in this vale of tears are more worthy a pen of fire than an +English boat-race is, as seen by the runners; of whom I have often been +one. But this race I am bound to indicate, not describe; I mean, to show +how it appeared to two ladies seated on the Henley side of the Thames, +nearly opposite the winning-post. These fair novices then looked all +down the river, and could just discern two whitish streaks on the water, +one on each side the little fairy isle, and a great black patch on the +Berkshire bank. The threatening streaks were the two racing boats: the +black patch was about a hundred Cambridge and Oxford men, ready to run +and hallo with the boats all the way, or at least till the last puff of +wind should be run plus halloed out of their young bodies. Others less +fleet and enduring, but equally clamorous, stood in knots at various +distances, ripe for a shorter yell and run when the boats should come up +to them. Of the natives and country visitors, those who were not nailed +down by bounteous Fate ebbed and flowed up and down the bank, with +no settled idea but of getting in the way as much as possible, and of +getting knocked into the Thames as little as might be. + +There was a long uneasy suspense. + +At last a puff of smoke issued from a pistol down at the island; two +oars seemed to splash into the water from each white streak; and the +black patch was moving; so were the threatening streaks. Presently was +heard a faint, continuous, distant murmur, and the streaks began to get +larger, and larger, and larger; and the eight splashing oars looked four +instead of two. + +Every head was now turned down the river. Groups hung craning over it +like nodding bulrushes. + +Next the runners were swelled by the stragglers they picked up; so were +their voices; and on came the splashing oars and roaring lungs. + +Now the colours of the racing jerseys peeped distinct. The oarsmen's +heads and bodies came swinging back like one, and the oars seemed to +lash the water savagely, like a connected row of swords, and the spray +squirted at each vicious stroke. The boats leaped and darted side by +side, and, looking at them in front, Julia could not say which +was ahead. On they came nearer and nearer, with hundreds of voices +vociferating “Go it, Cambridge” “Well pulled, Oxford!” “You +are gaining, hurrah!” “Well pulled Trinity!” “Hurrah!” “Oxford!” + “Cambridge!” “Now is your time, Hardie; pick her up!” “Oh, well pulled, +Six!” “Well pulled, Stroke!” “Up, up! lift her a bit!” “Cambridge!” + “Oxford!” “Hurrah!” + +At this Julia turned red and pale by turns. “O mamma!” said she, +clasping her hands and colouring high, “would it be very wrong if I was +to _pray_ for Oxford to win?” + +Mrs. Dodd had a monitory finger; it was on her left hand; she raised it; +and that moment, as if she had given a signal, the boats, fore-shortened +no longer, shot out to treble the length they had looked hitherto, and +came broadside past our palpitating fair, the elastic rowers stretched +like greyhounds in a chase, darting forward at each stroke so boldly +they seemed flying out of the boats, and surging back as superbly, an +eightfold human wave: their nostrils all open, the lips of some pale and +glutinous, their white teeth all clenched grimly, their young eyes all +glowing, their supple bodies swelling, the muscles writhing beneath +their jerseys, and the sinews starting on each bare brown arm; their +little shrill coxswains shouting imperiously at the young giants, and +working to and fro with them, like jockeys at a finish; nine souls +and bodies flung whole into each magnificent effort; water foaming and +flying, rowlocks ringing, crowd running, tumbling, and howling like mad; +and Cambridge a boat's nose ahead. + +They had scarcely passed our two spectators, when Oxford put on a +furious spurt, and got fully even with the leading boat. There was a +louder roar than ever from the bank. Cambridge spurted desperately in +turn, and stole those few feet back; and so they went fighting every +inch of water. Bang! A cannon on the bank sent its smoke over both +competitors; it dispersed in a moment, and the boats were seen pulling +slowly towards the bridge--Cambridge with four oars, Oxford with six, as +if that gum had winged them both. + +The race was over. + +But who had won our party could not see, and must wait to learn. + + +A youth, adorned with a blue and yellow rosette, cried out, in the +hearing of Mrs. Dodd, “I say, they are properly pumped, both crews +are:” then, jumping on to a spoke of her carriage-wheel, with a slight +apology, he announced that two or three were shut up in the Exeter. + +The exact meaning of these two verbs passive was not clear to Mrs. Dodd; +but their intensity was. She fluttered, and wanted to go to her boy +and nurse him, and turned two most imploring eyes on Julia, and Julia +straightway kissed her with gentle vehemence, and offered to ruin and +see. + +“What, amongst all those young gentlemen, love? I fear that would not +be proper. See, all the ladies remain apart.” So they kept quiet and +miserable, after the manner of females. + +Meantime the Cantab's quick eye had not deceived him; in each racing +boat were two young gentlemen leaning collapsed over their oars; and +two more, who were in a cloud, and not at all clear whether they were in +this world still, or in their zeal had pulled into a better. But their +malady was not a rare one in racing boats, and the remedy always at +hand: it combined the rival systems; Thames was sprinkled in their +faces--Homoeopathy: and brandy in a teaspoon trickled down their +throats--Allopathy: youth and spirits soon did the rest; and, the moment +their eyes opened, their mouths opened; and, the moment their mouths +opened, they fell a chaffing. + +Mrs. Dodd's anxiety and Julia's were relieved by the appearance of Mr. +Edward, in a tweed shooting-jacket sauntering down to them, hands in +his pockets, and a cigar in his mouth, placidly unconscious of their +solicitude on his account. He was received with a little guttural cry of +delight; the misery they had been in about him was duly concealed from +him by both, and Julia asked him warmly who had won. + +“Oh, Cambridge.” + +“Cambridge! Why, then you are beaten?” + +“Rather.” (Puff.) + +“And you can come here with that horrible calm, and cigar, owning +defeat, and puffing tranquillity, with the same mouth. Mamma, we are +beaten. Beaten! actually.” + +“Never mind,” said Edward kindly; “you have seen a capital race, the +closest ever known on this river; and one side or other must lose.” + +“And if they did not quite win, they very nearly did,” observed Mrs. +Dodd composedly; then, with heartfelt content, “He is not hurt, and that +is the main thing.” + +“Well, my Lady Placid, and Mr. Imperturbable, I am glad neither of your +equanimities is disturbed; but defeat is a Bitter Pill to me.” + +Julia said this in her earnest voice, and drawing her scarf suddenly +round her, so as almost to make it speak, digested her Bitter Pill in +silence. During which process several Exeter men caught sight of Edward, +and came round him, and an animated discussion took place. They began +with asking him how it had happened, and, as he never spoke in a hurry, +supplied him with the answers. A stretcher had broken in the Exeter? No, +but the Cambridge was a much better built boat, and her bottom cleaner. +The bow oar of the Exeter was ill, and not fit for work. Each of these +solutions was advanced and combated in turn, and then all together. At +last the Babel lulled, and Edward was once more appealed to. + +“Well, I will tell you the real truth,” said he, “how it happened.” + (Puff.) + +There was a pause of expectation, for the young man's tone was that of +conviction, knowledge, and authority. + +“The Cambridge men pulled faster than we did.” (Puff.) + +The hearers stared and then laughed. + +“Come, old fellows,” said Edward, “never win a boat-race on dry land! +That is such a _plain_ thing to do; gives the other side the laugh as +well as the race. I have heard a stretcher or two told, but I saw +none broken. (Puff.) Their boat is the worst I ever saw; it dips every +stroke. (Puff.) Their strength lies in the crew. It was a good race and +a fair one. Cambridge got a lead and kept it. (Puff.) They beat us +a yard or two at rowing; but hang it all, don't let them beat us at +telling the truth, not by an inch.” (Puff.) + +“All right, old fellow!” was now the cry. One observed, however, that +Stroke did not take the matter so coolly as Six; for he had shed a tear +getting out of the boat. + +“Shed a fiddlestick!” squeaked a little sceptic. + +“No” said another, “he didn't quite shed it; his pride wouldn't let +him.” + +“So he decanted it, and put it by for supper, suggested Edward, and +puffed. + +“None of your chaff, Six. He had a gulp or two, and swallowed the rest +by main force.” + +“Don't you talk: you can swallow anything, it seems.” (Puff.) + +“Well, I believe it,” said one of Hardie's own set. “Dodd doesn't know +him as we do. Taff Hardie can't bear to be beat.” + +When they were gone, Mrs. Dodd observed, “Dear me! what if the young +gentleman did cry a little, it was very excusable; after such great +exertions it _was_ disappointing, mortifying. I pity him for one, and +wish he had his mother alive and here, to dry them.” * + + *Oh where, _and_ oh where, _was_ her Lindley Murray gone? + +“Mamma, it is you for reading us,” cried Edward, slapping his thigh. +“Well, then, since you can feel for a fellow, Hardie _was_ a good deal +cut up. You know the university was in a manner beaten, and he took the +blame. He never cried; that was a cracker of those fellows. But he +did give one great sob, that was all, and hung his head on one side a +moment. But then he fought out of it directly, like a man; and there was +an end of it, or ought to have been. Hang chatterboxes!” + +“And what did you say to console him, Edward?” inquired Julia warmly. + +“What--me? Console my senior, and my Stroke? No, thank you.” + +At this thunderbolt of etiquette both ladies kept their countenances +this was _their_ muscular feat that day--and the racing for the sculls +came on: six competitors, two Cambridge, three Oxford, one London. +The three heats furnished but one good race, a sharp contest between a +Cambridge man and Hardie, ending in favour of the latter; the Londoner +walked away from his opponent; Sir Imperturbable's competitor was +impetuous, and ran into him in the first hundred yards; Sir I. +consenting calmly. The umpire, appealed to on the spot, decided that it +was a foul, Mr. Dodd being in his own water. He walked over the course, +and explained the matter to his sister, who delivered her mind thus-- + +“Oh! if races are to be won by going slower than the other, we may shine +yet: _only,_ I call it Cheating, not Racing.” + +He smiled unmoved; she gave her scarf the irony twist, and they all went +to dinner. The business recommenced with a race between a London boat +and the winner' of yesterday's heat, Cambridge. Here the truth of +Edward's remark appeared. The Cambridge boat was too light for the men, +and kept burying her hose; the London craft, under a heavy crew, +floated like a cork. The Londoners soon found out their advantage, and, +overrating it, steered into their opponents water prematurely, in spite +of a warning voice from the bank. Cambridge saw, and cracked on for a +foul; and for about a minute it was anybody's race. But the Londoners +pulled gallantly, and just scraped clear ahead. This peril escaped, +they kept their backs straight and a clear lead to the finish. Cambridge +followed a few feet in their wake, pulling wonderfully fast to the end, +but a trifle out of form, and much distressed. + +At this both universities looked blue, their humble aspiration being, +first to beat off all the external world, and then tackle each other for +the prize. + +Just before Edward left his friends for “the sculls,” the final heat, a +note was brought to him. He ran his eye over it, and threw it open into +his sister's lap. The ladies read it. Its writer had won a prize poem, +and so now is our time to get a hint for composition: + + +“DEAR SIR,--Oxford must win something. Suppose we go in for these +sculls. You are a horse that can stay; Silcock is hot for the lead at +starting, I hear; so I mean to work him out of wind; then you can wait +on us, and pick up the race. My head is not well enough to-day to +win, but I am good to pump the Cockney; he is quick, but a little +stale--Yours truly, + +“ALFRED HARDIE” + + +Mrs. Dodd remarked that the language was sadly figurative; but she hoped +Edward might be successful in spite of his correspondent's style. + +Julia said she did not dare hope it. “The race is not always to the +slowest and the dearest.” This was in allusion to yesterday's “foul.” + +The skiffs started down at the island, and, as they were longer coming +up than the eight oars, she was in a fever for nearly ten minutes. At +last, near the opposite bank, up came the two leading skiffs struggling, +both men visibly exhausted--Silcock ahead, but his rudder overlapped by +Hardie's bow; each in his own water. + +“We are third,” sighed Julia, and turned her head away from the river +sorrowfully. But only for a moment, for she felt Mrs. Dodd start and +press her arm; and lo! Edward's skiff was shooting swiftly across +from their side of the river. He was pulling just within himself, in +beautiful form, and with far more elasticity than the other two had got +left. As he passed his mother and sister, his eyes seemed to strike +fire, and he laid out all his powers, and went at the leading skiffs +hand over head. There was a yell of astonishment and delight from both +sides of the Thames. He passed Hardie, who upon that relaxed his speed. +In thirty seconds more he was even with Silcock. Then came a keen +struggle: but the new comer was “the horse that could stay:” he drew +steadily ahead, and the stern of his boat was in a line with Silcock's +person when the gun fired; and a fearful roar from the bridge, the +river, and the banks, announced that the favourite university had picked +up the sculls in the person of Dodd of Exeter. + +In due course he brought the little silver sculls, and pinned them on +his mother. + +While she and Julia were telling him how proud they were, and how happy +they should be, but for their fears that he would hurt himself, beating +gentlemen ever so much older than himself, came two Exeter men with wild +looks hunting for him. + +“Oh, Dodd! Hardie wants you directly.” + +“Don't you go, Edward,” whispered Julia; “why should you be at Mr. +Hardie's beck and call? I never heard of such a thing. That youth _will_ +make me hate him.” + +“Oh, I think I had better just go and see what it is about,” replied +Edward: “I shall be back directly.” And on this understanding he went +off with the men. + +Half-an-hour passed; an hour; two hours, and he did not return. Mrs. +Dodd and Julia sat wondering what had become of him, and were looking +all around, and getting uneasy, when at last they did hear something +about him, but indirectly, and from an unexpected quarter. A tall young +man in a jersey and flannel trousers, and a little straw hat, with a +purple rosette, came away from the bustle to the more secluded part +where they sat, and made eagerly for the Thames as if he was a duck, and +going in. But at the brink he flung himself into a sitting posture, +and dipped his white handkerchief into the stream, then tied it +viciously round his brow, doubled himself up with his head in his hands, +and rocked himself like an old woman--minus the patience, of course. + +Mrs. Dodd and Julia, sitting but a few paces behind him, interchanged, +a look of intelligence. The young gentleman was a stranger; but they had +recognised a faithful old acquaintance at the bottom of his pantomime. +They discovered, too, that the afflicted one was a personage: for he +had not sat there long when quite a little band of men came after him. +Observing his semi-circularity and general condition, they hesitated a +moment; and then one of them remonstrated eagerly.: “For Heaven's sake +come back to the boat! There is a crowd of all the colleges come round +us; and they all say Oxford is being sold. We had a chance for the +four-oared race, and you are throwing it away.” + +“What do I care what they all say?” was the answer, delivered with a +kind of plaintive snarl. + +“But we care.” + +“Care then! I pity you.” And he turned his back fiercely on them, and +then groaned by way of half apology. Another tried him: “Come, give us a +civil answer, please.” + +“People that intrude upon a man's privacy, racked with pain, have +no right to demand civility,” replied the sufferer, more gently, but +sullenly enough. + +“Do you call this privacy?” + +“It was, a minute ago. Do you think I left the boat, and came here among +the natives, for company? and noise? With my head splitting?” + +Here Julia gave Mrs. Dodd a soft pinch, to which Mrs. Dodd replied by a +smile. And so they settled who this petulant young invalid must be. + +“'There, it is no use,” observed one, _sotto voce,_ “the bloke really +has awful headaches, like a girl, and then he always shuts up this way. +You will only rile him, and get the rough side of his tongue.” + +Here, then, the conference drew towards a close. But a Wadham man, who +was one of the ambassadors, interposed. “Stop a minute,” said he. “Mr. +Hardie, I have not the honour to be acquainted with you, and I am not +here to annoy you, nor to be affronted by you. But the university has a +stake in this race, and the university expostulates through us--through +me, if you like.” + +“Who have I the honour?” inquired Hardie, assuming politeness sudden and +vast. + +“Badham, of Wadham.” + +“Badham o' Wadham? Hear that, ye tuneful nine! Well, Badham o' Wadham, +you are no acquaintance of mine; so you may possibly not be a fool. Let +us assume by way of hypothesis that you are a man of sense, a man of +reason as well as of rhyme. Then follow my logic. Hardie of Exeter is a +good man in a boat when he has not got a headache. + +“When he has got a headache, Hardie of Exeter is not worth a straw in a +boat. + +“Hardie of Exeter has a headache now. + +“Ergo, the university would put the said Hardie into a race, headache +and all, and reduce defeat to a certainty. + +“And, ergo, on the same premises, I, not being an egotist, nor an ass, +have taken Hardie of Exeter and his headache out of the boat, as I +should have done any other cripple. + +“Secondly, I have put the best man on the river into this cripple's +place. + +“Total, I have given the university the benefit of my brains; and +the university, not having brains enough to see what it gains by the +exchange, turns again and rends me, like an animal frequently mentioned +in Scripture; but, _nota bene,_ never once with approbation.” + +And the afflicted Rhetorician attempted a diabolical grin, but failed +signally; and groaned instead. + +“Is this your answer to the university, sir?” + +At this query, delivered in a somewhat threatening tone, the invalid sat +up all in a moment, like a poked lion. “Oh, if Badham o' Wadham thinks +to crush me _auctoritate sua et totius universitatis,_ Badham o' +Wadham may just tell the whole university to go and be d----d, from +the Chancellor down to the junior cook at Skimmery Hall, with my +compliments.” + +“Ill-conditioned brute!” muttered Badham of Wadham. “Serve you right if +the university were to chuck you into the Thames.” And with this comment +they left him to his ill temper. One remained; sat quietly down a little +way off, struck a sweetly aromatic lucifer, and blew a noisome cloud; +but the only one which betokens calm. + +As for Hardie, he held his aching head over his knees, absorbed in pain, +and quite unconscious that sacred pity was poisoning the air beside him, +and two pair of dovelike eyes resting on him with womanly concern. + +Mrs. Dodd and Julia had heard the greatest part of this colloquy. They +had terribly quick ears and nothing better to do with them just then. +Indeed, their interest was excited. + +Julia went so far as to put her salts into Mrs. Dodd's hand with a +little earnest look. But Mrs. Dodd did not act upon the hint. She had +learned who the young man was: had his very name been strange to her, +she would have been more at her ease with him. Moreover, his rudeness +to the other men repelled her a little. Above all, he had uttered a +monosyllable and a stinger: a thorn of speech not in her vocabulary, +nor even in society's. Those might be his manners, even when not aching. +Still, it seems, a feather would have turned the scale in his favour, +for she whispered, “I have a great mind; if I could but catch his eye.” + +While feminine pity and social reserve were holding the balance so +nicely, and nonsensically, about half a split straw, one of the racing +four-oars went down close under the Berkshire bank. “London!” observed +Hardie's adherent. + +“What, are you there, old fellow?” murmured Hardie, in a faint voice. +“Now, that is like a friend, a real friend, to sit by me, and not make a +row. Thank you! thank you!” + +Presently the Cambridge four-oar passed: it was speedily followed by the +Oxford; the last came down in mid-stream, and Hardie eyed it keenly as +it passed. “There,” he cried, “was I wrong? There is a swing for you; +there is a stroke. I did not know what a treasure I had got sitting +behind me.” + +The ladies looked, and lo! the lauded Stroke of the four-oar was their +Edward. + +“Sing out and tell him it is not like the sculls. We must fight for the +lead at starting, and hold it with his eyelids when he has got it.” + +The adherent bawled this at Edward, and Edward's reply came ringing back +in a clear, cheerful voice, “We mean to try all we know.” + +“What is the odds?” inquired the invalid faintly. + +“Even on London; two to one against Cambridge; three to one against us.” + +“Take all my tin and lay it on,” sighed the sufferer. + +“Fork it out, then. Hallo! eighteen pounds? Fancy having eighteen pounds +at the end of term. I'll get the odds up at the bridge directly. Here's +a lady offering you her smelling-bottle.” + +Hardie rose and turned round, and sure enough there were two ladies +seated in their carriage at some distance, one of whom was holding him +out three pretty little things enough, a little smile, a little blush, +and a little cut-glass bottle with a gold cork. The last panegyric on +Edward had turned the scale. + +Hardie went slowly up to the side of the carriage, and took off his hat +to them with a half-bewildered air. Now that he was so near, his face +showed very pale; the more so that his neck was a good deal tanned; +his eyelids were rather swollen, and his young eyes troubled and almost +filmy with the pain. The ladies saw, and their gentle bosoms were +touched: they had heard of him as a victorious young Apollo trampling on +all difficulties of mind and body; and they saw him wan, and worn, with +feminine suffering: the contrast made him doubly interesting. + +Arrived at the side of the carriage, he almost started at Julia's +beauty. It was sun-like, and so were her two lovely earnest eyes, +beaming soft pity on him with an eloquence he had never seen in human +eyes before; for Julia's were mirrors of herself; they did nothing by +halves. + +He looked at her and her mother, and blushed, and stood irresolute, +awaiting their commands. This sudden contrast to his petulance with his +own sex paved the way. “You have a sad headache, sir,” said Mrs. Dodd; +“oblige me by trying my salts.” + +He thanked her in a low voice. + +“And, mamma,” inquired Julia, “ought he to sit in the sun?” + +“Certainly not. You had better sit there, sir, and profit by our shade +and our parasols.” + +“Yes, mamma, but you know the real place where he ought to be is Bed.” + +“Oh, pray don't say that,” implored the patient. + +But Julia continued, with unabated severity, “And that is where he would +go this minute, if I was his mamma.” + +“Instead of his junior, and a stranger,” said Mrs. Dodd, somewhat +coldly, dwelling with a very slight monitory emphasis on the “stranger.” + +Julia said nothing, but drew in perceptibly, and was dead silent ever +after. + +“Oh, madam!” said Hardie eagerly, “I do not dispute her authority, nor +yours. You have a right to send me where you please, after your kindness +in noticing my infernal head, and doing me the honour to speak to me, +and lending me this. But if I go to bed, my head will be my master. +Besides, I shall throw away what little chance I have of making your +acquaintance; and the race just coming off!” + +“We will not usurp authority, sir,” said Mrs. Dodd quietly; “but we know +what a severe headache is, and should be glad to see you sit still in +the shade, and excite yourself as little as possible.” + +“Yes, madam,” said the youth humbly, and sat down like a lamb. He +glanced now and then at the island, and now and then peered up at the +radiant young mute beside him. + +The silence continued till it was broken by--a fish out of water. An +undergraduate in spectacles came mooning along, all out of his element. +It was Mr. Kennet, who used to rise at four every morning to his Plato, +and walk up Shotover Hill every afternoon, wet or dry, to cool his eyes +for his evening work. With what view he deviated to Henley has not yet +been ascertained. He was blind as a bat, and did not care a button about +any earthly boat-race, except the one in the AEneid, even if he could +have seen one. However, nearly all the men of his college went to +Henley, and perhaps some branch, hitherto unexplored, of animal +magnetism drew him after. At any rate, there was his body; and his mind +at Oxford and Athens, and other venerable but irrelevant cities. He +brightened at sight of his doge, and asked him warmly if he had heard +the news. + +“No: what? Nothing wrong, I hope?” + +“Why, two of our men are ploughed; that is all,” said Kennet, affecting +with withering irony to undervalue his intelligence. + +“Confound it, Kennet, how you frightened me! I was afraid there was some +screw loose with the crew.” + +At this very instant, the smoke of the pistol was seen to puff out from +the island, and Hardie rose to his feet. “They are off!” cried he to the +ladies, and after first putting his palms together with a hypocritical +look of apology, he laid one hand on an old barge that was drawn up +ashore, and sprang like a mountain goat on to the bow, lighting on the +very gunwale. The position was not tenable an instant, but he extended +one foot very nimbly and boldly, and planted it on the other gunwale; +and there he was in a moment, headache and all, in an attitude as +large and inspired as the boldest gesture antiquity has committed to +marble--he had even the advantage in stature over most of the sculptured +forms of Greece. But a double opera-glass at his eye “spoiled the lot,” + as Mr. Punch says. + +I am not to repeat the particulars of a distant race coming nearer and +nearer. The main features are always the same; only this time it was +more exciting to our fair friends, on account of Edward's high stake in +it. And then their grateful though refractory patient, an authority +in their eyes, indeed all but a river-god, stood poised in air, and in +excited whispers interpreted each distant and unintelligible feature +down to them: + +“Cambridge was off quickest.” + +“But not much.” + + +“Anybody's race at present, madam.” + + +“If this lasts long we may win. None of them can stay like us.” + +“Come, the favourite is not so very dangerous.” + +“Cambridge looks best.” + +“I wouldn't change with either, so far.” + + +“Now, in forty seconds more, I shall be able to pick out the winner.” + +Julia went up this ladder of thrills to a high state of excitement; and, +indeed, they were all so tuned to racing pitch, that some metal nerve or +other seemed to jar inside all three, when the piercing, grating voice +of Kennet broke in suddenly with-- + +“How do you construe [Greek text]?” + +The wretch had burrowed in the intellectual ruins of Greece the +moment the pistol went off, and college chat ceased. Hardie raised his +opera-glass, and his first impulse was to brain the judicious +Kennet, gazing up to him for an answer, with spectacles goggling like +supernatural eyes of dead sophists in the sun. + +“How do you construe _'Hoc age'_? you incongruous dog. Hold your tongue, +and mind the race.” + + +“There, I thought so. Where's your three to one, now? The Cockneys +are out of this event, any way. Go on, Universities, and order their +suppers!” + +“But which is first, sir?” asked Julia imploringly. “Oh, which is first +of all?” + +“Neither. Never mind; it looks well. London is pumped; and if Cambridge +can't lead him before this turn in the river, the race will be ours. +Now, look out! By Jove, we are _ahead!_” + +The leading boats came on, Oxford pulling a long, lofty, sturdy stroke, +that seemed as if it never could compete with the quick action of its +competitor. Yet it was undeniably ahead, and gaining at every swing. + +Young Hardie writhed on his perch. He screeched at them across the +Thames, “Well pulled, Stroke! Well pulled all! Splendidly pulled, Dodd! +You are walking away from them altogether. Hurrah, Oxford for ever, +hurrah!” The gun went off over the heads of the Oxford crew in advance, +and even Mrs. Dodd and Julia could see the race was theirs. + +“We have won at last,” cried Julia, all on fire, “and fairly; only think +of that!” + +Hardie turned round, grateful to beauty for siding with his university. +“Yes, and the fools may thank me; or rather my man, Dodd. Dodd for ever! +Hurrah!” + +At this climax even Mrs. Dodd took a gentle share in the youthful +enthusiasm that was boiling around her, and her soft eyes sparkled, and +she returned the fervid pressure of her daughter's hand; and both their +faces were flushed with gratified pride and affection. + +“Dodd!” broke in “the incongruous dog,” with a voice just like a saw's. +“Dodd? Ah, that's the man who is just ploughed for smalls.” + + +Ice has its thunderbolts. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +WINNING boat-races was all very fine; but a hundred such victories could +not compensate Mr. Kennet's female hearers for one such defeat as he had +announced--a defeat that, to their minds, carried disgrace. Their Edward +plucked! At first they were benumbed, and sat chilled, with red cheeks, +bewildered between present triumph and mortification at hand. Then the +colour ebbed out of their faces, and they encouraged each other feebly +in whispers, “Might it not be a mistake?” + +But unconscious Kennet robbed them of this timid hope. He was now in +his element, knew all about it, rushed into details, and sawed away all +doubt from their minds. The sum was this. Dodd's general performance was +mediocre, but passable; he was plucked for his Logic. Hardie said he +was very sorry for it. “What does it matter?” answered Kennet; “he is a +boating-man. + +“Well, and I am a boating-man. Why, you told me yourself, the other +day, poor Dodd was anxious about it on account of his friends. And, +by-the-bye, that reminds me they say he has got two pretty sisters +here.” + +Says Kennet briskly, “I'll go and tell him; I know him just to speak +to.” + +“What! doesn't he know?” + +“How can he know?” said Kennet jealously; “the testamurs were only +just out as I came away.” And within this he started on his congenial +errand. + +Hardie took two or three of his long strides, and fairly collared him. +“You will do nothing of the kind.” + +“What, not tell a man when he's ploughed? That is a good joke.” + +“No. There's time enough. Tell him after chapel to-morrow, or in chapel +if you must; but why poison his triumphal cup? And his sisters, too, why +spoil their pleasure? Hang it all, not a word about 'ploughing' to any +living soul to-day.” + +To his surprise, Kennet's face expressed no sympathy, nor even bare +assent. At this Hardie lost patience, and burst out impetuously, “Take +care how you refuse me; take care how you thwart me in this. He is the +best-natured fellow in college. It doesn't matter to you, and it does +to him; and if you _do,_ then take my name off the list of your +acquaintance, for I'll never speak a word to you again in this world; +no, not on my death-bed, by Heaven!” + +The threat was extravagant; but Youth's glowing cheek and eye, and +imperious lip, and simple generosity, made it almost beautiful. + +Kennet whined, “Oh, if you talk like that, there is an end to fair +argument.” + +“End it then, and promise me; upon your honour!” + +“Why not? What bosh! There, I promise. Now, how do you construe [Greek +text]?” + +The incongruous dog (“I thank thee, Taff, for teaching me that word”) +put this query with the severity of an inquisitor bringing back a +garrulous prisoner to the point. Hardie replied gaily, “Any way you +like, now you are a good fellow again.” + +“Come, that is evasive. My tutor says it cannot be rendered by any one +English word; no more can [Greek text].” + +“Why, what on earth can he know about English? [Greek text] is a +Cormorant: [Greek text] is a Skinflint; and your tutor is a Duffer. +Hush! keep dark now! here he comes.” And he went hastily to meet Edward +Dodd: and by that means intercepted him on his way to the carriage. +“Give me your hand, Dodd,” he cried; “you have saved the university. You +must be stroke of the eight-oar after me. Let me see more of you than I +have, old fellow.” + +“Within all my heart,” replied Edward calmly, but taking the offered +hand cordially; though he rather wanted to get away to his mother and +sister. “We will pull together, and read together into the bargain,” + continued Hardie. + +“Read together? You and I? What do you mean?” + +“Well, you see I am pretty well up in the Imigliner books; what I have +got to rub up is my Divinity and my Logic--especially my Logic. Will you +grind Logic with me? Say 'Yes,' for I know you will keep your word.” + +“It is too good an offer to refuse, Hardie; but now I look at you, +you are excited: wonderfully excited: within the race, eh? Now, +just--you--wait--quietly--till next week, and then, if you are so soft +as to ask me in cool blood----” + +“Wait a week?” cried the impetuous youth. “No, not a minute. It is +settled. There, we cram Logic together next term.” + +And he shook Edward's hand again with glistening eyes and an emotion +that was quite unintelligible to Edward; but not to the quick, sensitive +spirits, who sat but fifteen yards off. + +“You really must excuse me just now,” said Edward, and ran to the +carriage, and put out both hands to the fair occupants. They kissed him +eagerly, with little tender sighs; and it cost them no slight effort not +to cry publicly over “the beloved,” “the victorious,” “the ploughed.” + +Young Hardie stood petrified. What? These ladies Dodd's sisters. Why, +one of them had called the other mamma. Good heavens! all his talk in +their hearing had been of Dodd; and Kennet and he between them had +let out the very thing he wanted to conceal, especially from Dodd's +relations. He gazed at them, and turned hot to the very forehead. Then, +not knowing what to do or say, and being after all but a clever boy, +not a cool, “never unready” man of the world, he slipped away, blushing. +Kennet followed, goggling. + + +Left to herself, Mrs. Dodd would have broken the bad news to Edward at +once, and taken the line of consoling him under her own vexation: it +would not have been the first time that she had played that card. But +young Mr. Hardie had said it would be unkind to poison Edward's day: and +it is sweet woman's nature to follow suit; so she and Julia put bright +faces on, and Edward passed a right jocund afternoon with them. He was +not allowed to surprise one of the looks they interchanged to relieve +their secret mortification. But, after dinner, as the time drew near +for him to go back to Oxford, Mrs. Dodd became silent, and a little +_distraite;_ and at last drew her chair away to a small table, and wrote +a letter. + +In directing it she turned it purposely, so that Julia could catch the +address: _“Edward Dodd, Esq., Exeter College, Oxford._” + +Julia was naturally startled at first, and her eye roved almost +comically to and fro the letter and its Destination, seated calm and +unconscious of woman's beneficent wiles. But her heart soon divined the +mystery: it was to reach him the first thing in the morning, and spare +him the pain of writing the news to them; and, doubtless, so worded as +not to leave him a day in doubt of their forgiveness and sympathy. + +Julia took the missive unobserved by the Destination, and glided out of +the room to get it quietly posted. + +The servant-girl was waiting on the second-floor lodgers, and told her +so, with a significant addition, viz., that the post was in this street, +and only a few doors off. Julia was a little surprised at her coolness, +but took the hint with perfect good temper, and just put on her shawl +and bonnet, and went with it herself. The post-office was not quite so +near as represented; but she was soon there, for she was eager till she +had posted it. But she came back slowly and thoughtfully; here in the +street, lighted only by the moon, and an occasional gaslight, there was +no need for self-restraint, and soon her mortification betrayed itself +in her speaking countenance. And to think that her mother, on whom she +doted, should have to write to her son, there present, and post the +letter! This made her eyes fill, and before she reached the door of the +lodging, they were brimming over. + +As she put her foot on the step, a timid voice addressed her in a +low tone of supplication. “May I venture to speak one word to you, Miss +Dodd?--one single word?” + +She looked up surprised; and it was young Mr. Hardie. + +His tall figure was bending towards her submissively, and his face, as +well as his utterance, betrayed considerable agitation. + + +And what led to so unusual a rencontre between a young gentleman and +lady who had never been introduced? + +“The Tender Passion,” says a reader of many novels. + +Why, yes; the tenderest in all our nature: + +Wounded Vanity. + +Naturally proud and sensitive, and inflated by success and flattery, +Alfred Hardie had been torturing himself ever since he fled Edward's +female relations. He was mortified to the core. He confounded “the +fools” (his favourite synonym for his acquaintance) for going and +calling Dodd's mother an elder sister, and so not giving him a chance to +divine her. And then that he, who prided himself on his discrimination, +should take them for ladies of rank, or, at all events, of the highest +fashion and, climax of humiliation, that so great a man as he should +go and seem to court them by praising Dodd of Exeter, by enlarging upon +Dodd of Exeter, by offering to grind Logic with Dodd of Exeter. Who +would believe that this was a coincidence, a mere coincidence? They +could not be expected to believe it; female vanity would not let them. +He tingled, and was not far from hating the whole family; so bitter a +thing is that which I have ventured to dub “The Tenderest Passion.” + He itched to soothe his irritation by explaining to Edward. Dodd was a +frank, good-hearted fellow; he would listen to facts, and convince the +ladies in turn. Hardie learned where Dodd's party lodged, and waited +about the door to catch him alone: Dodd must be in college by twelve, +and would leave Henley before ten. He waited till he was tired of +waiting. But at last the door opened; he stepped forward, and out +tripped Miss Dodd. “Confound it!” muttered Hardie, and drew back. +However, he stood and admired her graceful figure and action, her +ladylike speed without bustling. Had she come back at the same pace, he +would never have ventured to stop her: on such a thread do things hang: +but she returned very slowly, hanging her head. Her look at him and his +headache recurred to him--a look brimful of goodness. She would do as +well as Edward, better perhaps. He yielded to impulse, and addressed +her, but with all the trepidation of a youth defying the giant Etiquette +for the first time in his life. + +Julia was a little surprised and fluttered, but did not betray it; she +had been taught self-command by example, if not by precept. + +“Certainly, Mr. Hardie,” said she, within a modest composure a young +coquette might have envied under the circumstances. + +Hardie had now only to explain himself; but instead of that, he stood +looking at her within silent concern. The fair face she raised to him +was wet with tears; so were her eyes, and even the glorious eyelashes +were fringed with that tender spray; and it glistened in the moonlight. + +This sad and pretty sight drove the vain but generous youth's calamity +clean out of his head. “Why, you are crying! Miss Dodd, what is the +matter? I hope nothing has happened.” + +Julia turned her head away a little fretfully, with a “No, no!” But soon +her natural candour and simplicity prevailed; a simplicity not without +dignity; she turned round to him and looked him in the face. “Why should +I deny it to you, sir, who have been good enough to sympathise with us? +We are mortified, sadly mortified, at dear Edward's disgrace; and it has +cost us a struggle not to disobey you, and _poison his triumphal cup_ +with sad looks. And mamma had to write to him, and console him against +to-morrow: but I hope he will not feel it so severely as she does: and I +have just posted it myself, and, when I thought of our dear mamma being +driven to such expedients, I--Oh!” And the pure young heart, having +opened itself by words, must flow a little more. + +“Oh, pray don't cry,” said young Hardie tenderly; “don't take such +a trifle to heart so. You crying makes me feel guilty for letting it +happen. It shall never occur again. If I had only known, it should never +have happened at all.” + +“Once is enough,” sighed Julia. + +“Indeed, you take it too much to heart. It is only out of Oxford a +plough is thought much of; especially a single one; that is so very +common. You see, Miss Dodd, an university examination consists of +several items: neglect but one, and Crichton himself would be ploughed; +because brilliancy in your other papers is not allowed to count; that is +how the most distinguished man of our day got ploughed for Smalls. I had +a narrow escape, I know, for one. But, Miss Dodd, if you knew how far +your brother's performance on the river outweighs a mere slip in the +schools, in all university men's eyes, the dons' and all, you would not +make this bright day end sadly to Oxford by crying. Why, I could find +you a thousand men who would be ploughed to-morrow with glory and +delight to win one such race as your brother has won two.” + +Julia sighed again. But it sounded now half like a sigh of relief--the +final sigh, with which the fair consent to be consoled. + +And indeed this improvement in the music did not escape Hardie. He felt +he was on the right tack: he enumerated fluently, and by name, many good +men, besides Dean Swift, who had been ploughed, yet had cultivated the +field of letters in their turn; and, in short, he was so earnest and +plausible, that something like a smile hovered about his hearer's lips, +and she glanced askant at him with furtive gratitude from under her +silky lashes. But it soon recurred to her that this was rather a long +interview to accord to “a stranger,” and under the moon; so she said a +little stiffly, “And was this what you were good enough to wish to say +to me, Mr. Hardie?” + +“No, Miss Dodd, to be frank, it was not. My motive in addressing you, +without the right to take such a freedom, was egotistical. I came here +to clear myself; I--I was afraid you must think me a humbug, you know.” + +“I do not understand you, indeed.” + +“Well, I feared you and Mrs. Dodd might think I praised Dodd so, and did +what little I did for him, knowing who you were, and wishing to curry +favour with you by all that; and that is so underhand and paltry a way +of going to work, I should despise myself.” + +“Oh, Mr. Hardie,” said the young lady, smiling, “How foolish: why, of +course, we knew you had no idea.” + +“Indeed I had not; but how could you know it?” + +“Why, we saw it. Do you think we have no eyes? Ah, and much keener ones +than gentlemen have. It is mamma and I who are to blame, if anybody; +we ought to have declared ourselves: it would have been more generous, +more--manly. But we cannot all be gentlemen, you know. It was so sweet +to hear Edward praised by one who did not know us; it was like stolen +fruit; and by one whom others praise: so, if you can forgive us our +slyness, there is an end of the matter.” + +“Forgive you? you have taken a thorn out of my soul.” + +“Then I am so glad you summoned courage to speak to me without ceremony. +Mamma would have done better, though; but after all, do not I know her? +my mamma is all goodness and intelligence. And be assured, sir, she does +you justice; and is quite sensible of your _disinterested_ kindness to +dear Edward.” With this she was about to retire. + +“Ah! But you, Miss Dodd? with whom I have taken this unwarrantable +liberty?” said Hardie imploringly. + +“Me, Mr. Hardie? You do me the honour to require my opinion of your +performances: including of course this self-introduction?” + +Hardie hung his head; there was a touch of satire in the lady's voice, +he thought. + +Her soft eyes rested demurely on him a moment; she saw he was a little +abashed. + +“My opinion of it all is that you have been very kind to us; in being +most kind to our poor Edward. I never saw, nor read of anything more +generous, more manly. And then _so_ thoughtful, _so_ considerate, _so_ +delicate! So instead of criticising you, as you seem to expect, his +sister only blesses you, and thanks you from the very bottom of her +heart.” + +She had begun within a polite composure borrowed from mamma; but, once +launched, her ardent nature got the better: her colour rose and rose, +and her voice sank and sank, and the last words came almost in a +whisper; and such a lovely whisper: a gurgle from the heart; and, as +she concluded, her delicate hand came sweeping out with a heaven-taught +gesture of large and sovereign cordiality, that made even the honest +words and the divine tones more eloquent. It was too much; the young +man, ardent as herself, and not, in reality, half so timorous, caught +fire; and seeing a white, eloquent hand rather near him, caught it, and +pressed his warm lips on it in mute adoration and gratitude. + +At this she was scared and offended. “Oh; keep that for the Queen!” + cried she, turning scarlet, and tossing her fair head into the air, +like a startled stag; and she drew her hand away quickly and decidedly, +though not roughly. He stammered a lowly apology--in the very middle of +it she said quietly, “Good-bye, Mr. Hardie,” and swept, with a gracious +little curtsey, through the doorway, leaving him spell-bound. + + +And so the virginal instinct of self-defence carried her off swiftly and +cleverly. But none too soon; for, on entering the house, that external +composure her two mothers Mesdames Dodd and Nature had taught her, fell +from her like a veil, and she fluttered up the stairs to her own room +with hot cheeks, and panted there like some wild thing that has been +grasped at and grazed. She felt young Hardie's lips upon the palm of her +hand plainly; they seemed to linger there still; it was like light but +live velvet. This, and the ardent look he had poured into her eyes, set +the young creature quivering. Nobody had looked at her so before, and +no young gentleman had imprinted living velvet on her hand. She was +alarmed, ashamed, and uneasy. What right had he to look at her like +that? What shadow of a right to go and kiss her hand? He could not +pretend to think she had put it out to be kissed; ladies put forth +the back of the hand for that, not the palm. The truth was he was an +impudent fellow, and she hated him now, and herself too, for being so +simple as to let him talk to her: mamma would not have been so imprudent +when she was a girl. + +She would not go down, for she felt there must be something of this kind +legibly branded on her face: “Oh! oh! just look at this young lady! She +has been letting a young gentleman kiss the palm of her hand; and the +feel has not gone off yet; you may see that by her cheeks.” + +But then, poor Edward! she must go down. + +So she put a wet towel to her tell-tale cheeks, and dried them by +artistic dabs, avoiding friction, and came downstairs like a mouse, and +turned the door-handle noiselessly, and glided into the sitting-room +looking so transparent, conscious, and all on fire with beauty and +animation, that even Edward was startled, and, in a whisper, bade his +mother observe what a pretty girl she was: “Beats all the country girls +in a canter.” Mrs. Dodd did look; and, consequently, as soon as ever +Edward was gone to Oxford, she said to Julia, “You are feverish, love; +you have been excited with all this. You had better go to bed.” + +Julia complied willingly; for she wanted to be alone and think. She +retired to her own room, and went the whole day over again; and was +happy and sorry, exalted and uneasy, by turns; and ended by excusing Mr. +Hardie's escapade, and throwing the blame on herself. She ought to have +been more distant; gentlemen were not expected, nor indeed much wanted, +to be modest. A little assurance did not misbecome them. “Really, I +think it sets them off,” said she to herself. + +Grand total: “What _must_ he think of me?” + +Time gallops in reverie: the town clock struck twelve, and with its iron +tongue remorse entered her youthful conscience. Was this obeying mamma? +Mamma had said, “Go to bed:” not, “Go upstairs and meditate: upon young +gentlemen.” She gave an expressive shake of her fair shoulders, like +a swan flapping the water off its downy wings, and so dismissed the +subject from her mind. + +Then she said her prayers. + +Then she rose from her knees, and in tones of honey said, “Puss! puss! +pretty puss!” and awaited a result. + +Thieves and ghosts she did not believe in, yet credited cats under beds, +and thought them neither “harmless” nor “necessary” there. + +After tenderly evoking the dreaded and chimerical quadruped, she +proceeded none the less to careful research, especially of cupboards. +The door of one resisted, and then yielded with a crack, and blew out +the candle. “There now,” said she. + +It was her only light, except her beauty. They allotted each Hebe +but one candle, in that ancient burgh. “Well,” she thought, “there is +moonlight enough to _un_dress by.” She went to draw back one of the +curtains; but in the act she started back with a little scream. There +was a tall figure over the way watching the house. + +The moon shone from her side of the street full on him, and in that +instant her quick eye recognised Mr. Hardie. + +“Well!” said she aloud, and with an indescribable inflexion; and hid +herself swiftly in impenetrable gloom. + +But, after a while, Eve's daughter must have a peep. She stole with +infinite caution to one side of the curtain, and made an aperture just +big enough for one bright eye. Yes, there he was, motionless. “I'll tell +mamma,” said she to him, malignantly, as if the sound could reach him. + +Unconscious of the direful threat, he did not budge. + +She was unaffectedly puzzled at this phenomenon; and, not being the +least vain, fell to wondering whether he played the nightly sentinel +opposite every lady's window who exchanged civilities within him. +“Because, if he does, he is a fool,” said she, promptly. But on +reflection, she felt sure he did nothing of the kind habitually, for he +had too high an opinion of himself; she had noted that trait in him at +a very early stage. She satisfied herself, by cautious examination, that +he did not know her room. He was making a temple of the whole lodging. +“How ridiculous of him!” Yet he appeared to be happy over it; there was +an exalted look in his moonlit face; she seemed now first to see +his soul there. She studied his countenance like an inscription, and +deciphered each rapt expression that crossed it; and stored them in her +memory. + +Twice she left her ambuscade to go to bed, and twice Curiosity, or +Something, drew her back. At last, having looked, peered, and peeped, +till her feet were cold, and her face the reverse, she informed herself +that the foolish Thing had tired her out. + +“Good-night, Mr. Policeman,” said she, pretending to bawl to him. “And +oh! Do rain! As hard as ever you can.” With this benevolent aspiration, +a little too violent to be sincere, she laid her cheek on her pillow +doughtily. + +But her sentinel, when out of sight, had more power to disturb her. She +lay and wondered whether he was still there, and what it all meant, and +whatever mamma would say; and which of the two, she or he, was the head +culprit in this strange performance, to which Earth, she conceived, +had seen no parallel; and, above all, what he would do next. Her pulse +galloped, and her sleep was broken; and she came down in the morning a +little pale. Mrs. Dodd saw it at once, with the quick maternal eye; and +moralised: “It is curious; youth is so fond of pleasure; yet pleasure +seldom agrees with youth; this little excitement has done your mother +good, who is no longer young; but it has been too much for you. I shall +be glad to have you back to our quiet home.” + +Ah! Will that home be as tranquil now? + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE long vacation commenced about a month afterwards, and Hardie came to +his father's house, to read for honours, unimpeded by university races +and college lectures; and the ploughed and penitent one packed up his +Aldrich and his Whately, the then authorities in Logic, and brought +them home, together with a firm resolution to master that joyous science +before the next examination for Smalls in October. But lo! ere he had +been an hour at home, he found his things put neatly away in his drawers +on the feminine or vertical system--deep strata of waistcoats, strata of +trousers, strata of coats, strata of papers--and his Logic gone. + +In the course of the evening he taxed his sister good-humouredly, and +asked “What earthly use that book was to her, not wearing curls.” + +“I intend to read it, and study it, and teach you it,” replied Julia, +rather languidly--considering the weight of the resolve. + +“Oh, if you have boned it to read, I say no more; the crime will punish +itself.” + +“Be serious, Edward, and think of mamma! I cannot sit with my hands +before me, and let you be reploughed.” + +“I don't want. But--reploughed!--haw, haw! but you can't help me at +Logic, as you used at Syntax. Why, all the world knows a girl can't +learn Logic.” + +“A girl can learn anything she chooses to learn. What she can't learn is +things other people set her down to.” Before Edward could fully digest +this revelation, she gave the argument a new turn by adding fretfully, +“And don't be so unkind, thwarting and teasing me!” and all in a moment +she was crying. + +“Halloa!” ejaculated Edward, taken quite by surprise. “What is the +matter, dears?” inquired maternal vigilance from the other end of the +room. “You did not speak brusquely to her, Edward?” + +“No, no,” said Julia eagerly. “It is I that am turned so cross and so +peevish. I am quite a changed girl. Mamma, what _is_ the matter with +me?” And she laid her brow on her mother's bosom. + +Mrs. Dodd caressed the lovely head soothingly with one hand, and made +a sign over it to Edward to leave them alone. She waited quietly till +Julia was composed: and then said, softly, “Come, tell me what it is: +nothing that Edward said to you; for I heard almost every word, and I +was just going to smile, or nearly, when you---- And, my love, it is not +the first time, you know. I would not tell Edward, but I have more than +once seen your eyes with tears in them.” + +“Have you, mamma?” said Julia, scarcely above a whisper. + +“Why, you know I have. But I said to myself it was no use forcing +confidence. I thought I would be very patient, and wait till you came +to me with it; so now, what is it, my darling? Why do you speak of one +thing and think of another? and cry without any reason that your mother +can see?” + +“I don't know, mamma,” said Julia, hiding her head. “I think it is +because I sleep so badly. I rise in the morning hot and quivering, and +more tired than I lay down.” + +Mrs. Dodd inquired how long this had been. + +Julia did not answer this question; she went on, with her face still +hidden: “Mamma, I do feel so depressed and hysterical, or else in +violent spirits: but not nice and cheerful as you are, and I used to be; +and I go from one thing to another, and can settle to nothing--even in +church I attend by fits and starts: I forgot to water my very flowers +last night: and I heard Mrs. Maxley out of my window tell Sarah I am +losing my colour. Am I? But what does it matter? I am losing my sense; +for I catch myself for ever looking in the glass, and that is a sure +sign of a fool, you know. And I cannot pass the shops: I stand and look +in, and long for the very dearest silks, and for diamonds in my hair.” A +deep sigh followed the confession of these multiform imperfections; and +the culprit half raised her head to watch their effect. + +As for Mrs. Dodd, she opened her eyes wide with surprise; but at the end +of the heterogeneous catalogue she smiled, and said, “I cannot believe +_that._ If ever there was a young lady free from personal vanity, it is +my Julia. Why, your thoughts run by nature away from yourself; you were +born for others.” + +Her daughter kissed her gratefully, and smiled: but after a pause, said, +sorrowfully, “Ah! that was the old Julia, as seen with your dear eyes. I +have almost forgotten _her._ The new one is what I tell you, dear +mamma, and that” (within sudden fervour) “is a dreamy, wandering, vain, +egotistical, hysterical, abominable girl.” + +“Let me kiss this monster that I have brought into the world,” said Mrs. +Dodd. “And now let me think.” She rested her eyes calm and penetrating +upon her daughter; and at this mere look, but a very searching one, the +colour mounted and mounted in Julia's cheek strangely. + +“After all,” said Mrs. Dodd thoughtfully, “yours is a critical age. +Perhaps my child is turning to a woman; my rosebud to a rose. And she +sighed. Mothers will sigh at things none other ever sighed at. + +“To a weed, I fear,” replied Julia. “What will you say when I own I felt +no real joy at Edward's return this time? And yesterday I cried, 'Do get +away, and don't pester me!'” + +“To your brother? Oh!” + +“Oh, no, mamma, that was to poor Spot. He jumped on me in a reverie, all +affection, poor thing.” + +“Well, for your comfort, dogs do not appreciate the niceties of our +language.” + +“I am afraid they do; when we kick them.” + +Mrs. Dodd smiled at the admission implied here, and the deep penitence +it was uttered with. But Julia remonstrated, “Oh no! no! don't laugh at +me, but help me within your advice: you are so wise and so experienced: +you must have been a girl before you were an angel. You _must_ know +what is the matter with me. Oh, do pray cure me, or else kill me, for +I cannot go on like this, all my affections deadened and my peace +disturbed.” + +And now the mother looked serious and thoughtful enough; and the +daughter watched her furtively. “Julia,” said Mrs. Dodd, very gravely, +“if it was not my child, reared under my eye, and never separated from +me a single day, I should say, this young lady is either afflicted +with some complaint, and it affects her nerves and spirits; or else she +has--she is--what inexperienced young people call 'in love.' You need +not look so frightened, child; nobody in their senses suspects _you_ +of imprudence or indelicacy; and therefore I feel quite sure that +your constitution is at a crisis, or your health has suffered some +shock--pray Heaven it may not be a serious one. You will have the best +advice, and without delay, I promise you.” + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +That very evening, Mrs. Dodd sent a servant into the town with a note +like a cocked-hat for Mr. Osmond, a consulting surgeon, who bore a +high reputation in Barkington. He came, and proved too plump for that +complete elegance she would have desired in a medical attendant; but +had a soft hand, a gentle touch, and a subdued manner. He spoke to the +patient with a kindness which won the mother directly; had every hope +of setting her right without any violent or disagreeable remedies; but, +when she had retired, altered his tone; and told Mrs. Dodd seriously she +had done well to send for him in time: it was a case of “Hyperaesthesia” + (Mrs. Dodd clasped her hands in alarm), “or as unprofessional persons +would say, 'excessive sensibility.'” + +Mrs. Dodd was somewhat relieved. Translation blunts thunderbolts. She +told him she had always feared for her child on that score. But was +sensibility curable? Could a nature be changed? + +He replied that the Idiosyncrasy could not; but its morbid excess could, +especially when taken in time. Advice was generally called in too late. +However, here the only serious symptom was the Insomnia. “We must treat +her for that,” said he, writing a prescription; “but for the rest, +active employment, long walks or rides, and a change of scene and +associations, will be all that will be required. In these cases,” + resumed Mr. Osmond, “connected as they are with Hyperaemia, some medical +men considered moderate venesection to be indicated.” He then put on his +gloves saying, “The diet, of course, must be Antiphlogistic. Let us say +then, for breakfast, dry toast with very little butter--no coffee--cocoa +(from the nibs), or weak tea: for luncheon, beef-tea or mutton-broth: +for dinner, a slice of roast chicken, and tapioca or semolina pudding. +I would give her one glass of sherry, but no more, and barley-water; it +would be as well to avoid brown meats, at all events for the present. +With these precautions, my dear madam, I think your anxiety will soon be +happily removed.” + +Julia took her long walks and light diet; and became a little pale +at times, and had fewer bursts of high spirits in the intervals of +depression. Her mother went with her case to a female friend. The lady +said she would not trust to surgeons and apothecaries; she would have +a downright physician. “Why not go to the top of the tree at once, and +call in Dr. Short? You have heard of him?” + +“Oh, yes; I have even met him in society; a most refined person: I +will certainly follow your advice and consult him. Oh, thank you, Mrs. +Bosanquet! _A propos,_ do you consider him skilful? + +“Oh, immensely; he is a particular friend of my husband's.” + +This was so convincing, that off went another three-cocked note, and +next day a dark-green carriage and pair dashed up to Mrs. Dodd's door, +and Dr. Short bent himself in an arc, got out, and slowly mounted +the stairs. He was six feet two, wonderfully thin, livid, and +gentleman-like. Fine homing head, keen eye, lantern jaws. At sight +of him Mrs. Dodd rose and smiled. Julia started and sat trembling. +He stepped across the room inaudibly, and after the usual civilities, +glanced at the patient's tongue, and touched her wrist delicately. +“Pulse is rapid,” said he. + +Mrs. Dodd detailed the symptoms. Dr. Short listened within the patient +politeness of a gentleman, to whom all this was superfluous. He asked +for a sheet of note-paper, and divided it so gently, he seemed to be +persuading one thing to be two. He wrote a pair of prescriptions, and +whilst thus employed looked up every now and then and conversed with the +ladies. + +“You have a slight subscapular affection, Miss Dodd: I mean, a little +pain under the shoulder-blade.” + +“No, sir,” said Julia quietly. + +Dr. Short looked a little surprised; his female patients rarely +contradicted him. Was it for them to disown things he was so a good as +to assign them? + +“Ah!” said he, “you are not conscious of it: all the better; it must be +slight; a mere uneasiness: no more.” He then numbered the prescriptions, +1, 2, and advised Mrs. Dodd to drop No. 1 after the eighth day, and +substitute No. 2, to be continued until convalescence. He put on his +gloves to leave. Mrs. Dodd then, with some hesitation, asked him humbly +whether she might ask him what the disorder was. “Certainly, madam,” +said he graciously; “your daughter is labouring under a slight torpidity +of the liver. The first prescription is active, and is to clear the +gland itself, and the biliary ducts, of the excretory accumulation; +and the second is exhibited to promote a healthy normal habit in that +important part of the vascular system.” + +“What, then, it is not Hyperaemia?” + +“Hyperaemia? There is no such disorder in the books.” + +“You surprise me,” said Mrs. Dodd. “Dr. Osmond certainly thought it was +Hyperaemia.” And she consulted her little ivory tablets, whereon she had +written the word. + +But meantime, Dr. Short's mind, to judge by his countenance, was away +roaming distant space in search of Osmond. + +“Osmond? Osmond? I do not know that name in medicine.” + +“Oh, oh, oh!” cried Julia, “and they both live in the same street!” Mrs. +Dodd held up her finger to this outspoken patient. + +But a light seemed to break in on Dr. Short. “Ah! you mean Mr. Osmond: a +surgeon. A very respectable man, a most respectable man. I do not know +a more estimable person--in his grade of the profession--than my good +friend Mr. Osmond. And so he gives opinions in medical cases, does he?” + Dr. Short paused, apparently to realise this phenomenon in the world of +Mind. He resumed in a different tone: “You may have misunderstood him. +Hyperaemia exists, of course; since he says so. But Hyperaemia is not +a complaint; it is a symptom. Of biliary derangement. My worthy friend +looks at disorders from a mental point; very natural: his interest lies +that way, perhaps you are aware: but profounder experience proves that +mental sanity is merely one of the results of bodily health: and I +am happy to assure you that, the biliary canal once cleared, and the +secretions restored to the healthy habit by these prescriptions, +the Hyperaemia, and other concomitants of hepatic derangement, will +disperse, and leave our interesting patient in the enjoyment of her +natural intelligence, her friends' affectionate admiration, and above +all, of a sound constitution. Ladies, I have the honour” and the Doctor +eked out this sentence by rising. + +“Oh, thank you, Dr. Short,” said Mrs. Dodd, rising within him; “you +inspire me with confidence and gratitude.” As if under the influence of +these feelings only, she took Dr. Short's palm and pressed it. Of the +two hands, which met for a moment then, one was soft and melting, the +other a bunch of bones; but both were very white, and so equally +adroit, that a double fee passed without the possibility of a bystander +suspecting it. + +For the benefit of all young virgins afflicted like Julia Dodd, here are +the Doctor's prescriptions:-- + +FOR MISS DODD. + + Rx Pil: Hydrarg: Chlor: Co: + singuml: nocte sumend: + Decoc: Aloes Co: 3j + omni mane + viii. Sept. J. S. + +------- + +FOR MISS DODD. + + Rx Conf: Sennae. + Potass: Bitartrat. + Extr: Tarax: a a 3ss + Misft: Elect: + Cujus sum: 3j omni mane. + xviii. Sept. J. S. + +------- + +Id: Anglie reddit: per me Carol: Arundin: + +The same done into English by me. C. R. + + +FOR MISS DODD. + +1. O Jupiter aid us!! Plummer's pill to be taken every night, 1 oz. +compound decoction of Aloes every morning. + +8th Sept. J. S. + +FOR MISS DODD. + +2. O Jupiter aid us!! with Confection of Senna, Bitartrate of Potash, +extract of Dandelion, of each half an ounce, let an electuary be mixed; +of which let her take 1 drachm every morning. + +18th Sept. J. S. + +------- + +“Quite the courtier,” said Mrs. Dodd, delighted. Julia assented: she +even added, with a listless yawn, “I had no idea that a skeleton was +such a gentlemanlike thing; I never saw one before.” + +Mrs. Dodd admitted he was very thin. + +“Oh no, mamma; 'thin' implies some little flesh. When he felt my pulse, +a chill struck to my heart. Death in a black suit seemed to steal up to +me, and lay a finger on my wrist: and mark me for his own.” + +Mrs. Dodd forbade her to give way to such gloomy ideas; and expostulated +firmly with her for judging learned men by their bodies. “However,” said +she, “if the good, kind doctor's remedies do not answer his expectations +and mine, I shall take you to London directly. I do hope papa will soon +be at home.” + +Poor Mrs. Dodd was herself slipping into a morbid state. A mother +collecting Doctors! It is a most fascinating kind of connoisseurship, +grows on one like Drink; like Polemics; like Melodrama; like the +Millennium; like any Thing. + +Sure enough, the very next week she and Julia sat patiently at the +morning levee of an eminent and titled London surgeon. Full forty +patients were before them: so they had to wait and wait. At last they +were ushered into the presence-chamber, and Mrs. Dodd entered on the +beaten ground of her daughter's symptoms. The noble surgeon stopped her +civilly but promptly. “Auscultation will give us the clue,” said he, +and drew his stethoscope. Julia shrank and cast an appealing look at +her mother; but the impassive chevalier reported on each organ in turn +without moving his ear from the key-hole: “Lungs pretty sound,” said he, +a little plaintively: “so is the liver. Now for the----Hum? There is no +kardiac insufficiency, I think, neither mitral nor tricuspid. If we find +no tendency to hypertrophy we shall do very well. Ah! I have succeeded +in diagnosing a slight diastolic murmur; very slight.” He deposited the +instrument, and said, not without a certain shade of satisfaction that +his research had not been fruitless, “The heart is the peccant organ.” + +“Oh, sir! is it serious?” said poor Mrs. Dodd. + +“By no means. Try this” (he scratched a prescription which would not +have misbecome the tomb of Cheops), “and come again in a month.” Ting! +He struck a bell. That “ting” said, “Go, live, Guinea; and let another +come.” + +“Heart-disease now!” said Mrs. Dodd, sinking back in her hired +carriage, and the tears were in her patient eyes. + +“My own, own mamma,” said Julia earnestly, “do not distress yourself. +I have no disease in the world, but my old, old, old one, of being a +naughty, wayward girl. As for you, mamma, you have resigned your own +judgment to your inferiors, and that is both our misfortunes. Dear, dear +mamma, do take me to a doctress next time, if you have not had enough.” + +“To a what, love?” + +“A she-doctor, then.” + +“A female physician, child? There is no such thing. No; assurance is +becoming a characteristic of our sex; but we have not yet intruded +ourselves into the learned professions, thank Heaven.” + +“Excuse me, mamma, there are one or two; for the newspapers say so.” + +“'Well, dear, there are none in this country, happily.” + +“'What, not in London?” + +“No.” + +“Then what _is_ the use of such a great overgrown place, all smoke, if +there is nothing in it you cannot find in the country? Let us go back to +Barkington this very day, this minute, this instant; oh, pray, pray.” + +“And so you shall--to-morrow. But you must pity your poor mother's +anxiety, and see Dr. Chalmers first.” + +“Oh, mamma, not another surgeon! He frightened me; he hurt me. I never +heard of such a thing; oh, please not another surgeon.” + +“It is not a surgeon, dear; it is the Court Physician.” + +The Court Physician detected “a somewhat morbid condition of the great +nervous centres.” To an inquiry whether there was heart-disease, he +replied, “Pooh!” On being told Sir William had announced heart-disease, +he said, “Ah! _that alters the case entirely._” He maintained, however, +that it must be trifling, and would go no further, the nervous system +once restored to its healthy tone. “O Jupiter, aid us! Blue pill and +Seidhitz powder.” + +Dr. Kenyon found the mucous membrane was irritated and required +soothing. “O Jupiter, &c.” + +Mrs. Dodd returned home consoled and confused; Julia listless and +apathetic. Tea was ordered, with two or three kinds of bread, thinnest +slices of meat, and a little blane mange, &c., their favourite repast +after a journey; and whilst the tea was drawing, Mrs. Dodd looked over +the card-tray and enumerated the visitors that had called during +their absence. “Dr. Short-- Mr. Osmond--Mrs. Hetherington--Mr. Alfred +Hardie--Lady Dewry--Mrs. and Miss Bosanquet. What a pity Edward was not +at home, dear; Mr. Alfred Hardie's visit must have been to him.” + +“Oh, of course, mamma.” + +“A very manly young gentleman.” + +“'Oh, yes. No. He is so rude.” + +“Is he? Ah! he was ill just then, and pain irritates gentlemen; they are +not accustomed to it, poor Things.” + +“That is like you, dear mamma; making excuses for one.” Julia added +faintly, “But he is so impetuous.” + +“I have a daughter who reconciles me to impetuosity. And he _must_ have +a good heart, he was so kind to my boy.” + +Julia looked down smiling; but presently seemed to be seized with a +spirit of contradiction: she began to pick poor Alfred to pieces; he was +this, that, and the other; and then so bold, she might say impudent. + +Mrs. Dodd replied calmly that he was very kind to her boy. + +“Oh, mamma, you cannot approve all the words he spoke.” + +“It is not worth while to remember all the words young gentlemen speak +now-a-days. He was very kind to my boy, I remember that.” + +The tea was now ready, and Mrs. Dodd sat down, and patted a chair, with +a smile of invitation for Julia to come and sit beside her. But Julia +said, “In one minute, dear,” and left the room. + +When she came back, she fluttered up to her mother and kissed her +vehemently, then sat down radiant. “Ah!” said Mrs. Dodd, “why, you are +looking yourself once more. How do you feel now? Better?” + +“How do I feel? Let me see: The world seems one e-nor-mous +flower-garden, and Me the butterfly it all belongs to.” She spake, +and to confirm her words the airy thing went waltzing, sailing, and +fluttering round the room, and sipping mamma every now and then on the +wing. + +In this buoyancy she remained some twenty-four hours; and then came +clouds and chills, which, in their turn, gave way to exultation, duly +followed by depression. Her spirits were so uncertain, that things too +minute to justify narration turned the scale either way: a word from +Mrs. Dodd--a new face at St. Anne's Church looking devoutly her way--a +piece of town gossip distilled in her ear by Mrs. Maxley--and she was +sprightly or languid, and both more than reason. + +One drizzly afternoon they were sitting silent and saddish in the +drawing-room, Mrs. Dodd correcting the mechanical errors in a drawing +of Julia's, and admiring the rare dash and figure, and Julia doggedly +studying Dr. Whately's Logic, with now and then a sigh, when suddenly a +trumpet seemed to articulate in the little hall: “Mestress Doedd at home?” + +The lady rose from her seat, and said with a smile of pleasure, “I hear +a voice.” + +The door opened, and in darted a grey-headed man, with handsome but +strongly marked features, laughing and shouting like a schoolboy broke +loose. He cried out, “Ah! I've found y' out at last.” Mrs. Dodd glided +to meet him, and put out both her hands, the palms downwards, with +the prettiest air of ladylike cordiality; he shook them heartily. “The +vagabins said y' had left the town; but y' had only flitted from the +quay to the subbubs; 'twas a pashint put me on the scint of ye. And how +are y' all these years? an' how's Sawmill?” + +“Sawmill! What is that?” + +“It's just your husband. Isn't his name Sawmill?” + +“Dear no! Have you forgotten?--David.” + +“Ou, ay. I knew it was some Scripcher Petrarch or another, Daavid, or +Naathan, or Sawmill. And how is he, and where is he?” + +Mrs. Dodd replied that he was on the seas, but expect---- + +“Then I wish him well off 'em, confound 'em oncannall! Halloa! why, this +will be the little girl grown up int' a wumman while ye look round.” + +“Yes, my good friend; and her mother's darling.” + +“And she's a bonny lass, I can tell ye. But no freend to the Dockers, I +see.” + +“Ah!” said Mrs. Dodd sadly, “looks are deceitful; she is under medical +advice at this very----” + +“Well, that won't hurt her, unless she takes it.” And he burst into a +ringing laugh: but in the middle of it, stopped dead short, and his face +elongated. “Lord sake, mad'm,” said he impressively, “mind what y' are +at, though; Barkton's just a trap for fanciful femuls: there's a n'oily +ass called Osmond, and a canting cut-throat called Stephenson and a +genteel, cadaveris old assassin called Short, as long as a maypole; +they'd soon take the rose out of Miss Floree's cheek here. Why, they'd +starve Cupid, an' veneseck Venus, an' blister Pomonee, the vagabins.” + +Mrs. Dodd looked a little confused, and exchanged speaking glances with +Julia. “However,” she said calmly, “I _have_ consulted Mr. Osmond and +Dr. Short; but have not relied on them alone. I have taken her to Sir +William Best. And to Dr. Chalmers. And to Dr. Kenyon.” And she felt +invulnerable behind her phalanx of learning and reputation. + +“Good Hivens!” roared the visitor, “what a gauntlet o' gabies for one +girl to run; and come out alive! And the picter of health. My faith, +Miss Floree, y' are tougher than ye look.” + +“My daughter's name is Julia,” observed Mrs. Dodd, a little haughtily; +but instantly recovering herself, she said, “This is Dr. Sampson, +love--an old friend of your mother's.” + +“And th' Author an' Invintor of th' great Chronothairmal Therey o' +Midicine, th' Unity Perriodicity an' Remittency of all disease,” put in +the visitor, with such prodigious swiftness of elocution that the words +went tumbling over one another like railway carriages out on pleasure, +and the sentence was a pile of loud, indistinct syllables. + +Julia's lovely eyes dilated at this clishmaclaver, and she bowed +coldly. Dr. Sampson had revealed in this short interview nearly all the +characteristics of voice, speech, and manner, she had been taught from +infancy to shun: boisterous, gesticulatory, idiomatic; and had taken +the discourse out of her mamma's mouth twice. Now Albion Villa was a Red +Indian hut in one respect: here nobody interrupted. + +Mrs. Dodd had little personal egotism, but she had a mother's, and could +not spare this opportunity of adding another Doctor to her collection: +so she said hurriedly, “Will you permit me to show you what your learned +confreres have prescribed her?” Julia sighed aloud, and deprecated the +subject with earnest furtive signs; Mrs. Dodd would not see them. Now, +Dr. Sampson was himself afflicted with what I shall venture to call a +mental ailment; to wit, a furious intolerance of other men's opinions; +he had not even patience to hear them. “Mai--dear--mad'm,” said he +hastily, “when you've told me their names, that's enough. Short treats +her for liver, Sir William goes in for lung disease or heart, Chalmers +sis it's the nairves, and Kinyon the mookis membrin; and _I_ say they +are fools and lyres all four.” + +“Julia!” ejaculated Mrs. Dodd, “this is very extraordinary.” + +“No, it is not extraordinary,” cried Dr. Sampson defiantly; “nothing is +extraordinary. D'ye think I've known these shallow men thirty years, and +not plumbed 'um?” + +“Shallow, my good friend? Excuse me! they are the ablest men in your own +branch of your own learned profession.” + +“Th' ablest! Oh, you mean the money-makingest: now listen me! our +lairned Profession is a rascally one. It is like a barrel of beer. What +rises to the top?” Here he paused for a moment, then answered himself +furiously, “THE SCUM.” + +This blast blown, he moderated a little. “Look see!” said he, “up to +three or four thousand a year, a Docker is often an honest man, and +sometimes knows something of midicine; not much, because it is not +taught anywhere. But if he is making over five thousand, he must be +a rogue or else a fool: either he has booed an' booed, an' cript +an' crawled, int' wholesale collusion with th' apothecary an' the +accoucheur--the two jockeys that drive John Bull's faemily coach--and +they are sucking the pashint togither, like a leash o' leeches: or else +he has turned spicialist; has tacked his name to some poplar disorder, +real or imaginary; it needn't exist to be poplar. Now, those four you +have been to are spicialists, and that means monomaniues--their buddies +exspatiate in West-ind squares, but their souls dwell in a n'alley, +ivery man jack of 'em: Aberford's in Stomich Alley, Chalmers's in Nairve +Court, Short's niver stirs out o' Liver Lane, Paul's is stuck fast in +Kidney Close, Kinyon's in Mookis Membrin Mews, and Hibbard's in Lung +Passage. Look see! nixt time y' are out of sorts, stid o' consultin' +three bats an' a n'owl at a guinea the piece, send direct to me, and +I'll give y' all their opinions, and all their prescriptions, _gratis._ +And deevilich dear ye'll find 'em at the price, if ye swallow 'm.” + +Mrs. Dodd thanked him coldly for the offer, but said she would be more +grateful if he would show his superiority to persons of known ability by +just curing her daughter on the spot. + +“Well, I will,” said he carelessly: and all his fire died out of him. +“Put out your tongue!--Now your pulse!” + + +Mrs. Dodd knew her man (ladies are very apt to fathom their male +acquaintance--too apt, _I_ think); and, to pin him to the only medical +theme which interested her, seized the opportunity while he was in +actual contact with Julia's wrist, and rapidly enumerated her symptoms, +and also told him what Mr. Osmond had said about Hyperaesthesia. + +“GOOSE GREECE!” barked Sampson, loud, clear, and sharp as an irritated +watch-dog; but this one bow-wow vented, he was silent as abruptly. + +Mrs. Dodd smiled, and proceeded to Hyperaemia, and thence to the +Antiphlogistic Regimen. + +At that unhappy adjective, Sampson jumped up, cast away his patient's +hand, forgot her existence--she was but a charming individual--and +galloped into his native region, Generalities. + +“Antiphlogistic! Mai--dear--mad'm, that one long fragmint of ass's jaw +has slain a million. Adapted to the weakness of human nature, which +receives with rivirince ideas however childish, that come draped in +long-tailed and exotic words, that aasimine polysyllable has riconciled +the modern mind to the chimeras of th' ancients, and outbutchered the +guillotine, the musket, and the sword: ay, and but for me + + Had barred the door + For cinturies more + +on the great coming sceince, the sceince of healing diseases, instead +of defining and dividing 'em and lengthening their names and their +durashin, and shortening nothing but the pashint. Th' Antiphlogistic +Therey is this: That disease is fiery, and that any artificial +exhaustion of vital force must cool the system, and reduce the morbid +fire, called, in their donkey Latin 'flamma,' and in their compound +donkey Latin 'inflammation,' and in their Goose Greece, 'phlogosis,' +'phlegmon,' &c. And accordingly th' Antiphlogistic Practice is, to cool +the sick man by bleeding him, and, when blid, either to rebleed him with +a change of instrument, bites and stabs instid of gashes, or else +to rake the blid, and then blister the blid and raked, and then push +mercury till the teeth of the blid, raked, and blistered shake in their +sockets, and to starve the blid, purged, salivated, blistered wretch +from first to last. This is the Antiphlogistic system. It is seldom +carried out entire, because the pashint, at the first or second link +in their rimedial chain, expires; or else gives such plain signs of +sinking, that even these ass-ass-ins take fright, and try t' undo their +own work, not disease's, by tonics an' turtle, and stimulants: which +things given at the right time instead of the wrong, given when the +pashint was merely weakened by his disorder, and not enfeebled by their +didly rinmedies, would have cut th' ailment down in a few hours.” + +“Dear me,” said Mrs. Dodd; “and now, my good friend, with respect to _my +daughter_---- + +“N' list _me!_” clashed Sampson; “ye're goen to fathom th' +antiphlogistics, since they still survive an' slay in holes and corners +like Barkton and d'Itly; I've driven the vamperes out o' the cintres o' +civilisation. Begin with their coolers! Exhaustion is not a cooler, it +is a feverer, and they know it; the way parrots know sentences. Why are +we all more or less feverish at night? Because we are weaker. Starvation +is no cooler, it is an inflamer, and they know it--as parrots know +truths, but can't apply them: for they know that burning fever rages in +ivery town, street, camp, where Famine is. As for blood-letting, their +prime cooler, it is inflammatory; and they know it (parrot-wise), for +the thumping heart and bounding pulse of pashints blid by butchers in +black, and bullocks blid by butchers in blue, prove it; and they have +recorded this in all their books: yet stabbed, and bit, and starved, and +mercuried, and murdered on. But mind ye, all their sham coolers are real +weakeners (I wonder they didn't inventory Satin and his brimstin lake +among their refrijrators), and this is the point whence t' appreciate +their imbecility, and the sairvice I have rendered mankind in been the +first t' attack their banded school, at a time it seemed imprignable.” + +“Ah! this promises to be very interesting,” sighed Mrs. Dodd; “and +before you enter on so large a field, perhaps it would be as well to +dispose of a little matter which lies at my heart. Here is _my poor +daughter_----” + +“NLISSMEE! A human Bean is in a constant state of flux and reflux; his +component particles move, change, disappear, and are renewed; his life +is a round of exhaustion and repair. Of this repair the brain is +the sovereign ajint by night and day, and the blood the great living +material, and digestible food th' indispensible supply. And this balance +of exhaustion and repair is too nice to tamper with: disn't a single +sleepless night, or dinnerless day, write some pallor on the face, +and tell against the buddy? So does a single excessive perspiration, a +trifling diary, or a cut finger, though it takes but half an ounce of +blood out of the system. And what is the cause of that rare ivint--which +occurs only to pashmints that can't afford docking--Dith from old age? +Think ye the man really succumms under years, or is mowed down by Time? +Nay, yon's just Potry an' Bosh. Nashins have been thinned by the lancet, +but niver by the scythe; and years are not forces, but misures of +events. No, Centenarius decays and dies bekase his bodil' expindituire +goes on, and his bodil' income falls off by failure of the reparative +and reproductive forces. And now suppose bodil' exhaustion and repair +were a mere matter of pecuniary, instead of vital, economy: what would +you say to the steward or housekeeper, who, to balance your accounts and +keep you solvent, should open every known channel of expinse with one +hand, and with the other--stop the supplies? Yet this is how the Dockers +for thirty cinturies have burned th' human candle at both ends, yet +wondered the light of life expired under their hands.” + +“It seems irrational. Then in _my daughter's_ case you would----” + +“Looksee! A pashint falls sick. What haps directly? Why the balance is +troubled, and exhaustion exceeds repair. For proof obsairve the buddy +when Disease is fresh! + + And you will always find a loss of flesh + +to put it economikly, and then you must understand it, bein a +housekeeper-- + + Whativer the Disease, its form or essence, + Expinditure goes on, and income lessens. + +But to this sick and therefore weak man, comes a Docker purblind with +cinturies of Cant, Pricidint, Blood, and Goose Greece; imagines him +a fiery pervalid, though the common sense of mankind through its +interpreter common language, pronounces him an 'invalid,' gashes him +with a lancet, spills out the great liquid material of all repair by the +gallon, and fells this weak man, wounded now, and pale, and fainting, +with Dith stamped on his face, to th' earth, like a bayoneted soldier or +a slaughtered ox. If the weak man, wounded thus, and weakened, survives, +then the chartered Thugs who have drained him by the bung-hole, turn to +and drain him by the spigot; they blister him, and then calomel him: +and lest Nature should have the ghost of a chance to conterbalance these +frightful outgoings, they keep strong meat and drink out of his +system emptied by their stabs, bites, purges, mercury, and blisters; +damdijjits! And that, Asia excipted, was profissional Midicine from +Hippocrates to Sampsin. Antiphlogistic is but a modern name for an +ass-ass-inating rouutine which has niver varied a hair since scholastic +midicine, the silliest and didliest of all the hundred forms of +Quackery, first rose--unlike Seeince, Art, Religion, and all true +Suns--in the West; to wound the sick; to weaken the weak; and mutilate +the hurt; and thin mankind.” + +The voluble impugner of his own profession delivered these two last +words in thunder so sudden and effective as to strike Julia's work out +of her hands. But here, as in Nature, a moment's pause followed the +thunderclap; so Mrs. Dodd, who had long been patiently watching +her opportunity, smothered a shriek, and edged in a word: “This is +irresistible; you have confuted everybody, to their heart's content; and +now the question is, what course shall we substitute?” She meant, “in +the great case, which occupies me.” But Sampson attached a nobler, +wider, sense to her query. “What course? Why the great Chronothairmal +practice, based on the remittent and febrile character of all disease; +above all, on + + The law of Perriodicity, a law + Midicine yet has wells of light to draw. + +By Remittency, I mean th' ebb of Disease, by Perriodicity, th' ebb and +also the flow, the paroxysm and the remission. These remit and recur, +and keep tune like the tides, not in ague and remittent fever only, as +the Profission imagines to this day, but in all diseases from a Scirrhus +in the Pylorus t' a toothache. And I discovered this, and the new path +to cure of all diseases it opens. Alone I did it; and what my reward? +Hooted, insulted, belied, and called a quack by the banded school +of profissional assassins, who, in their day hooted Harvey and +Jinner--authors too of great discoveries, but discoveries narrow in +their consequences compared with mine. T' appreciate Chronothairmalism, +ye must begin at the beginning; so just answer me--What is man?” + +At this huge inquiry whirring tip all in a moment, like a cock-pheasant +in a wood, Mrs. Dodd sank back in her chair despondent. Seeing her _hors +de combat,_ Sampson turned to Julia and demanded, twice as loud, “WHAT +IS MAN?” Julia opened two violet eyes at him, and then looked at her +mother for a hint how to proceed. + +“How can that child answer such a question?” sighed Mrs. Dodd. “Let us +return to the point.” + +“I have never strayed an inch from it. It's about 'Young Physic.'” + +“No, excuse me, it is about a young lady. Universal Medicine: what have +I to do with that?” + +“Now this is the way with them all,” cried Sampson, furious; “there +lowed John Bull. The men and women of this benighted nashin have an +ear for anything, provided it matters nothing: talk Jology, Conchology, +Entomology, Theology, Meteorology, Astronomy, Deuteronomy, Botheronomy, +or Boshology, and one is listened to with rivirence, because these are +all far-off things in fogs; but at a word about the great, near, +useful art of Healing, y'all stop your ears; for why? your life and +dailianhourly happiness depend on it. But 'no,' sis John Bull, the +knowledge of our own buddies, and how to save our own Bakin--Beef I +mean--day by day, from disease and chartered ass-ass-ins, all that may +interest the thinkers in Saturn, but what the deevil is it t' _us?_ Talk +t' _us_ of the hiv'nly buddies, not of our own; babble o' comets an' +meteors an' Ethereal nibulae (never mind the nibulae in our own skulls). +Discourse t' us of Predistinashin, Spitzbairgen seaweed, the last novel, +the siventh vile; of Chrisehinising the Patagonians on condition they +are not to come here and Chrischinise the Whitechapelians; of the +letter to the _Times_ from the tinker wrecked at Timbuctoo; and the dear +Professor's lecture on the probabeelity of snail-shells in the backyard +of the moon: but don't ask us to know ourselves--Ijjits!!” + +The eloquent speaker, depressed by the perversity of Englishmen in +giving their minds to every part of creation but their bodies, suffered +a momentary loss of energy; then Mrs. Dodd, who had long been watching +lynx-like, glided in. “Let us compound. You are for curing all the +world, beginning with Nobody. My ambition is to cure _my girl,_ and +leave mankind in peace. Now, if you will begin with _my Julia,_ I will +submit to rectify the universe in its proper turn. Any time will do to +set the human race right; you own it is in no hurry: but _my child's_ +case presses; so do pray cure her for me. Or at least tell me what her +Indisposition is.” + +“Oh! What! didn't I tell you? Well, there's nothing the matter with +her.” + + +At receiving this cavalier reply for the reward of all her patience, +Mrs. Dodd was so hurt, and so nearly angry, that she rose with dignity +from her seat, her cheek actually pink, and the water in her eyes. +Sampson saw she was ruffled, and appealed to Julia--of all people. +“There now, Miss Julia,” said he, ruefully; “she is in a rage because I +won't humbug her. Poplus voolt decipee. I tell you, ma'am, it is not a +midical case. Give me disease and I'll cure 't. Stop, I'll tell ye +what do: let her take and swallow the Barkton Docks' prescriptions, +and Butcher Best's, and canting Kinyon's, and after those four tinkers +there'll be plenty holes to mend; then send for me!” + +Here was irony. Mrs. Dodd retorted by _finesse._ She turned on him with +a treacherous smile, and said: “Never mind doctors and patients; it is +so long since we met; I do hope you will waive ceremony, and dine with +me _en ami._” + +He accepted with pleasure; but must return to his inn first and get rid +of his dirty boots and pashints. And with this he whipped out his watch, +and saw that, dealing with universal medicine, he had disappointed more +than one sick individual; so shot out as hard as he had shot in, and +left the ladies looking at one another after the phenomenon. + +“Well?” said Julia, with a world of meaning. + +“Yes, dear,” replied Mrs. Dodd, “he _is_ a little eccentric. I think I +will request them to make some addition to the dinner.” + +“No, mamma, if you please, not to put me off so transparently. If I had +interrupted, and shouted, and behaved so, you would have packed _me_ off +to bed, or somewhere, directly.” + +“Don't say 'packed,' love. Dismissed me to bed.” + +“Ah!” cried Julia, “that privileged person is gone, and we must all mind +our P's and Q's once more.” + +Mrs. Dodd, with an air of nonchalance, replied to the effect that Dr. +Sampson was not her offspring, and so she was not bound to correct his +eccentricities. “And I suppose,” said she, languidly, “we must accept +these extraordinary people as we find them. But that is no reason why +_you_ should say 'P's and Q's,' darling.” + +That day her hospitable board was spread over a trap. Blessed with an +oracle irrelevantly fluent, and dumb to the point, she had asked him to +dinner with maternal address. He could not be on his guard eternally; +sooner or later, through inadvertence, or in a moment of convivial +recklessness, or in a parenthesis of some grand Generality, he would +cure her child: or, perhaps, at his rate of talking, would wear out +all his idle themes, down to the very “well-being of mankind;” and them +Julia's mysterious indisposition would come on the blank tapis. With +these secret hopes she presided at the feast, all grace and gentle +amity. Julia, too, sat down with a little design, but a very different +one, viz., of being chilly company; for she disliked this new +acquaintance, and hated the science of medicine. + +The unconscious Object chatted away with both, and cut their replies +very short, and did strange things: sent away Julia's chicken, +regardless of her scorn, and prescribed mutton; called for champagne and +made her drink it and pout; and thus excited Mrs. Dodd's hopes that he +was attending to the case by degrees. + +But after dinner, Julia, to escape medicine universal and particular, +turned to her mother, and dilated on treachery of her literary guide, +the _Criticaster._ “It said 'Odds and Ends' was a good novel to read by +the seaside. So I thought then oh! how different it must be from most +books, if you can sit by the glorious sea and even look at it. So I sent +for it directly, and, would you believe, it was an ignoble thing; all +flirtations and curates. The sea indeed! A pond would be fitter to read +it by; and one with a good many geese on.” + +“Was ever such simplicity!” said Mrs. Dodd. “Why, my dear, that phrase +about the sea does not _mean_ anything. I shall have you believing that +Mr. So-and-So, a novelist, can _'wither fashionable folly,'_ and that +_'a painful incident'_ to one shopkeeper has _'thrown a gloom'_ over a +whole market-town, and so on. Now-a-days every third phrase is of this +character; a starling's note. Once, it appears, there was an age of +gold, and then came one of iron, and then of brass. All these are gone, +and the age of 'jargon' has succeeded.” + +She sighed, and Sampson generalised; he plunged from the seaside novel +into the sea of fiction. He rechristened that joyous art Feckshin, and +lashed its living professors. “You devour their three volumes greedily,” + said he, “but after your meal you feel as empty as a drum; there is +no leading idea in 'um; now there always is--in Moliere; and _he_ +comprehended the midicine of his age. But what fundamental truth +d'our novelists iver convey? All they can do is pile incidents. Their +customers dictate th' article: unideaed melodrams for unideaed girls. +The writers and their feckshins belong to one species, and that's 'the +non-vertebrated animals;' and their midicine is Bosh; why, they bleed +still for falls and fevers; and niver mention vital chronometry. Then +they don't look straight at Nature, but see with their ears, and repeat +one another twelve deep. Now, listen me! there are the cracters for an +'ideaed feckshin' in Barkington, and I'd write it, too, only I haven't +time.” + +At this, Julia, forgetting her resolution, broke out, “Romantic +characters in Barkington? Who? who?” + +“Who _should_ they be, but my pashints? Ay, ye may lauch, Miss Julee, +but wait till ye see them.” He was then seized with a fit of candour, +and admitted that some, even of his pashints, were colourless; indeed, +not to mince the matter, six or seven of that sacred band were nullity +in person. “I can compare the beggars to nothing,” said he, “but the +globules of the Do-Nothings; dee----d insipid, and nothing in 'em. But +the others make up. Man alive, I've got 'a rosy-cheeked miser,' and an +'ill-used attorney,' and an 'honest Screw'--he is a gardener, with a +head like a cart-horse.” + +“Mamma! mamma! that is Mr. Maxley,” cried Julia, clapping her hands, and +thawing in her own despite. + +“Then there's my virgin martyr and my puppy. They are brother and +sister; and there's their father, but he is an impenetrable dog--won't +unbosom. Howiver, he sairves to draw chicks for the other two, and so +keep 'em goen. By-the-bye, you know my puppy?” + +“We have not that honour. Do we know Dr. Sampson's puppy, love?” + inquired Mrs. Dodd, rather languidly. + +“Mamma!--I--I--know no one of that name.” + +“Don't tell me! Why it was he sent me here told me where you lived, and +I was to make haste, for Miss Dodd was very ill: it is young Hardie, the +banker's son, ye know.” + +Mrs. Dodd said good-humouredly, but with a very slight touch of irony, +that really they were very much flattered by the interest Mr. Alfred +Hardie had shown; especially as her daughter had never exchanged ten +words with him. Julia coloured at this statement, the accuracy of which +she had good reason to doubt; and the poor girl felt as if an icicle +passed swiftly along her back. And then, for the first the in her life, +she thought her mother hardly gracious; and she wanted to say _she_ was +obliged to Mr. Alfred Hardie, but dared not, and despised herself for +not daring. Her composure was further attacked by Mrs. Dodd looking full +at her, and saying interrogatively, “I wonder how that young gentleman +could know about your being ill?” + +At this Julia eyed her plate very attentively, and murmured, “I believe +it is all over the town: and seriously too; so Mrs. Maxley says, for she +tells me that in Barkington if more than one doctor is sent for, that +bodes ill for the patient.” + +“Deevelich ill,” cried Sampson heartily. + + “For two physicians, like a pair of oars, + Conduck him faster to the Styjjin shores.” * + + * Garth. + +Julia looked him in the face, and coldly ignored this perversion of Mrs. +Maxley's meaning; and Mrs. Dodd returned pertinaciously to the previous +topic. “Mr. Alfred Hardie interests me; he was good to Edward. I am +curious to know why you call him a puppy?” + +“Only because he is one, ma'am. And that is no reason at all with 'the +Six.' He is a juveneel pidant and a puppy, and contradicts ivery new +truth, bekase it isn't in Aristotle and th' Eton Grammar; and he's +such a chatterbox, ye can't get in a word idgeways; and he and his +sister--that's my virgin martyr--are a farce. _He_ keeps sneerin' at +her relijjin, and that puts _her_ in such a rage, she threatens 't' +intercede for him at the throne.” + +“Jargon,” sighed Mrs. Dodd, and just shrugged her lovely shoulders. “We +breathe it--we float in an atmosphere of it. My love?” And she floated +out of the room, and Julia floated after. + +Sampson sat meditating on the gullibility of man in matters medical. +This favourite speculation detained him late, and almost his first word +on entering the drawing-room was, “Good night, little girl.” + +Julia coloured at this broad hint, drew herself up, and lighted a +bedcandle. She went to Mrs. Dodd, kissed her, and whispered in her ear, +“I hate him!” and, as she retired, her whole elegant person launched +ladylike defiance; under which brave exterior no little uneasiness was +hidden. “Oh, what will become of me!” thought she, “if _he_ has gone and +told him about Henley?” + + +“Let's see the prescriptions, ma'am,” said Dr. Sampson. + +Delighted at this concession, Mrs. Dodd took them out of her desk and +spread them earnestly. He ran his eye over them, and pointed out that +the mucous-membrane man and the nerve man had prescribed the same +medicine, on irreconcilable grounds; and a medicine, moreover, whose +effect on the nerves was _nil,_ and on the mucous membrane was not +to soothe it, but plough it and harrow it; “and did not that open her +eyes?” He then reminded her that all these doctors in consultation would +have contrived to agree. “But you,” said he, “have baffled the collusive +hoax by which Dox arrived at a sham uniformity--honest uniformity can +never exist till scientific principles obtain. Listme! To begin, is the +pashint in love?” + +The doctor put this query in just the same tone in which they inquire +“Any expectoration?” But Mrs. Dodd, in reply, was less dry and +business-like. She started and looked aghast. This possibility had once, +for a moment, occurred to her, but only to be rejected, the evidence +being all against it. + +“In love?” said she. “That child, and I not know it!” + +He said he had never supposed that. “But I thought I'd just ask ye; +for she has no bodily ailment, and the passions are all counterfeit +diseases; they are connected, like all diseases, with cerebral +instability, have their hearts and chills like all diseases, and their +paroxysms and remissions like all diseases. Nlistme! You have detected +the signs of a slight cerebral instability; I have ascertained th' +absence of all physical cause: then why make this healthy pashint's +buddy a test-tube for poisons? Sovereign drugs (I deal with no other, +I leave the nullities to the noodles) are either counterpoisons or +poisons, and here there is nothing to counterpoison at prisent. So I'm +for caushin, and working on the safe side th' hidge, till we are less in +the dark. Mind ye, young women at her age are kittle cattle; they have +gusts o' this, and gusts o' that, th' unreasonable imps. D'ye see these +two pieces pasteboard? They are tickets for a ball, + + In Barkton town-hall.” + +“Yes, of course I see them,” said Mrs. Dodd dolefully. + +“Well, I prescribe 'em. And when they have been taken, + + And the pashint well shaken, + +perhaps we shall see whether we are on the right system: and if +so, we'll dose her with youthful society in a more irrashinal form; +conversaziones, cookeyshines, et citera. And if we find ourselves on the +wrong _tack_ why then we'll hark _back._ + + Stick blindly to 'a course,' the Dockers cry. + But it does me harm: _Then_ 'twill do good _by-and-bye._ + Where lairned ye that, Echoes of Echoes, say! + The killer ploughs 'a course,' the healer _'feels his way.'_” + +So mysterious are the operations of the human mind, that, when we have +exploded in verse tuneful as the above, we lapse into triumph instead of +penitence. Not that doggrel meets with reverence here below--the statues +to it are few, and not in marble, but in the material itself--But then +an Impromptu! A moment ago our Posy was not: and now is; with the speed, +if not the brilliancy, of lightning, we have added a handful to the +intellectual dust-heap of an oppressed nation. From this bad eminence +Sampson then looked down complacently, and saw Mrs. Dodd's face as long +as his arm. She was one that held current opinions; and the world does +not believe Poetry can sing the Practical. Verse and useful knowledge +pass for incompatibles; and, though Doggrel is not Poetry, yet it has a +lumbering proclivity that way, and so forfeits the confidence of +grave sensible people. This versification, and this impalpable and +unprecedented prescription she had waited for so long, seemed all of +a piece to poor mamma: wild, unpractical, and--“oh, horror! +horror!”--eccentric. + +Sampson read her sorrowful face after his fashion. “Oh, I see, ma'am,” + cried he. “Cure is not welcome unless it comes in the form consecrated +by cinturies of slaughter. Well, then, give me a sheet.” He took the +paper and rent it asunder, and wrote this on the larger fragment: + + Rx Die Mercur. circa x. hor: vespert: + eat in musca ad Aulam oppid: + Saltet cum xiii canicul: + praesertim meo. Dom: reddita, + 6 hora matutin: dormiat at prand: + Repetat stultit: pro re nata. + +He handed this with a sort of spiteful twinkle to Mrs. Dodd, and her +countenance lightened again. Her sex will generally compound with +whoever can give as well as take. Now she had extracted a real, grave +prescription, she acquiesced in the ball, though not a county one; “to +satisfy your whim, my good, kind friend, to whom I owe so much.” + + +Sampson called on his way back to town, and, in course of conversation, +praised nature for her beautiful instincts, one of which, he said, +had inspired Miss Julee, at a credulous age, not to swallow “the didly +drastics of the tinkering dox.” + +Mrs. Dodd smiled, and requested permission to contradict him; her +daughter had taken the several prescriptions. + +Sampson inquired brusquely if she took him for a fool. + +She replied calmly: “No; for a very clever, but _rather_ opinionated +personage. + +“Opinionated? So is ivery man who has grounnds for his opinin. D'ye +think, because Dockers Short, an' Bist, an' Kinyon, an' Cuckoo, an' +Jackdaw, an' Starling, an' Co., don't know the dire effecks of calomel +an' drastics on the buddy, I don't know't? Her eye, her tongue, her +skin, her voice, her elastic walk, all tell _me_ she has not been robbed +of her vital resources. 'Why, if she had taken that genteel old thief +Short's rimidies alone, the girl's gums would be sore, + + And herself at Dith's door.” + +Mrs. Dodd was amused. “Julia, this is so like the gentlemen; they are in +love with argumeunt. They go on till they reason themselves out of their +reason. Why beat about the bush; when there she sits?” + +“What, go t' a wumman for the truth, when I can go t' infallible +Inference?” + +“You may always go to my David's daughter for the truth,” said Mrs. +Dodd, with dignity. She then looked the inquiry; and Julia replied to +her look as follows: first, she coloured very high; then, she hid her +face in both her hands; then rose, and turning her neck swiftly, darted +a glance of fiery indignation and bitter reproach on Dr. Meddlesome, and +left the apartment mighty stag-like. + +“Maircy on us!” cried Sampson. “Did ye see that, ma'am? Yon's just a +bonny basilisk. Another such thunderbolt as she dispinsed, and ye'll be +ringing for your maid to sweep up the good physician's ashes.” + +Julia did not return till the good physician was gone back to London. +Then she came in with a rush, and, demonstrative toad, embraced Mrs. +Dodd's knees, and owned she had cultivated her geraniums with all those +medicines, liquid and solid; and only one geranium had died. + + +There is a fascinating age, when an intelligent girl is said to +fluctuate between childhood and womanhood. Let me add that these seeming +fluctuations depend much on the company she is in: the budding virgin +is princess of chameleons; and, to confine ourselves to her two most +piquant contrasts, by her mother's side she is always more or less +childlike; but, let a nice young fellow engage her apart, and, hey +presto! she shall be every inch a woman: perhaps at no period of her +life are the purely mental characteristics of her sex so supreme in +her; thus her type, the rosebud, excels in essence of rosehood the rose +itself. + +My reader has seen Julia Dodd play both parts; but it is her child's +face she has now been turning for several pages; so it may be prudent to +remind him she has shone on Alfred Hardie in but one light; a young but +Juno-like woman. Had she shown “my puppy” her childish qualities, +he would have despised her--he had left that department himself so +recently. But Nature guarded the budding fair from such a disaster. + +We left Alfred Hardie standing in the moonlight gazing at her lodging. +This was sudden; but, let slow coaches deny it as loudly as they like, +fast coaches exist; and Love is a Passion, which, like Hate, Envy, +Avarice, &c., has risen to a great height in a single day. Not that +Alfred's was “Love at first sight;” for he had seen her beauty in the +full blaze of day with no deeper feeling than admiration; but in the +moonlight he came under more sovereign spells than a fair face: her +virtues and her voice. The narrative of their meeting has indicated the +first, and as to the latter, Julia was not one of those whose beauty +goes out with the candle; her voice was that rich, mellow, moving organ, +which belongs to no rank nor station; is born, not made; and, flow it +from the lips of dairymaid or countess, touches every heart, gentle +or simple, that is truly male. And this divine contralto, full, yet +penetrating, Dame Nature had inspired her to lower when she was moved +or excited, instead of raising it; and then she was enchanting. All +unconsciously she cast this crowning spell on Alfred, and he adored her. +In a word, he caught a child-woman away from its mother; his fluttering +captive turned, put on composure, and bewitched him. + +She left him, and the moonlight night seemed to blacken. But within his +young breast all was light, new light. He leaned opposite her window in +an Elysian reverie, and let the hours go by. He seemed to have vegetated +till then, and lo! true life had dawned. He thought he should love to +die for her; and, when he was calmer, he felt he was to live for her, +and welcomed his destiny with rapture. He passed the rest of the Oxford +term in a soft ecstasy; called often on Edward, and took a sudden and +prodigious interest in him; and counted the days glide by and the happy +time draw near, when he should be four months in the same town with +his enchantress. This one did not trouble the doctors; he glowed with a +steady fire; no heats and chills, and sad misgivings; for one thing, he +was not a woman, a being tied to that stake, Suspense, and compelled to +wait and wait for others' actions. To him, life's path seemed paved +with roses, and himself to march in eternal sunshine, buoyed by perfumed +wings. + +He came to Barkington to try for the lovely prize. Then first he had +to come down from love's sky, and realise how hard it is here below to +court a young lady--who is guarded by a mother--without an introduction +in the usual form. The obvious course was to call on Edward. Having +parted from him so lately, he forced himself to wait a few days, and +then set out for Albion Villa. + +As he went along, he arranged the coming dialogue for all the parties. +Edward was to introduce him; Mrs. Dodd to recognise his friendship for +her son; he was to say he was the gainer by it; Julia, silent at first, +was to hazard a timid observation, and he to answer gracefully, and +draw her out and find how he stood in her opinion. The sprightly affair +should end by his inviting Edward to dinner. That should lead to their +inviting him in turn, and then he should have a word with Julia, +and find out what houses she visited, and get introduced to their +proprietors. Arrived at this point, his mind went over hedge and ditch +faster than my poor pen can follow; as the crow flies, so flew he, and +had reached the church-porch under a rain of nosegays with Julia--in +imagination--by then he arrived at Albion Villa in the body. Yet he +knocked timidly; his heart beat almost as hard as his hand. + +Sarah, the black-eyed housemaid, “answered the door.” + +“Mr. Edward Dodd?” + +“Not at home, sir. Left last week.” + +“For long?” + +“I don't rightly know, sir. But he won't be back this week, I don't +think.” + +“Perhaps,” stammered Alfred, “the ladies--Mrs. Dodd--might be able to +tell me.” + +“Oh yes, sir. But my mistress, she's in London just now.” + +Alfred's eyes flashed. “Could I learn from Miss Dodd?” + +“La, sir, she is in London along with her ma; why, 'tis for her they are +gone; to insult the great doctors.” + +He started. “She is not ill? Nothing serious?” + +“Well, sir, we do hope not. She is pinning a bit, as young ladies will.” + +Alfred was anything but consoled by this off-hand account; he became +alarmed, and looked wretched. Seeming him so perturbed, Sarah, who was +blunt but good-natured, added, “But cook she says hard work would cure +our Miss of all _she_ ails. But who shall I say was asking? For my work +is a bit behind-hand.” + +Alfred took the hint reluctantly, and drew out his card-case, saying, +“For Mr. Edward Dodd.” She gave her clean but wettish hand a hasty wipe +with her apron, and took the card. He retired; she stood on the step and +watched him out of sight, said “Oho!” and took his card to the kitchen +for preliminary inspection and discussion. + +Alfred Hardie was resolute, but sensitive. He had come on the wings of +Love and Hope; he went away heavily; a housemaid's tongue had shod his +elastic feet with lead in a moment; of all misfortunes, sickness was +what he had not anticipated, for she looked immortal. Perhaps it was +that fair and treacherous disease, consumption. Well, if it was, he +would love her all the more, would wed her as soon as he was of age, and +carry her to some soft Southern clime, and keep each noxious air at bay, +and prolong her life, perhaps save it. + +And now he began to chafe at the social cobwebs that kept him from her. +But, just as his impatience was about to launch him into imprudence, +he was saved by a genuine descendant of Adam. James Maxley kept Mr. +Hardie's little pleasaunce trim as trim could be, by yearly contract. +This entailed short but frequent visits; and Alfred often talked with +him; for the man was really a bit of a character; had a shrewd rustic +wit, and a ready tongue, was rather too fond of law, and much too fond +of money; but scrupulously honest: head as long as Cudworth's, but +broader; and could not read a line. One day he told Alfred that he must +knock off now, and take a look in at Albion Villee. The captain was due: +and on no account would he, Maxley, allow that there ragged box round +the captains quarter-deck: “That is how he do name their little mossel +of a lawn: and there he walks for a wager, athirt and across, across and +athirt, five steps and then about; and I'd a'most bet ye a halfpenny he +thinks hisself on the salt sea ocean, bless his silly old heart.” + +All this time Alfred, after the first start of joyful surprise, was +secretly thanking his stars for sending him an instrument. To learn +whether she had returned, he asked Maxley whether the ladies had sent +for him. “Not they,” said Maxley, rather contemptuously; “what do +women-folk care about a border, without 'tis a lace one to their +nightcaps, for none but the father of all vanity to see. Not as I have +ought to say again the pair; they keep their turf tidyish--and pay +ready money--and a few flowers in their pots; but the rest may shift +for itself. Ye see, Master Alfred,” explained Maxley, wagging his head +wisely, “nobody's pride can be everywhere. Now theirs is in-a-doors; +their with-drawing-room it's like the Queen's palace, my missus tells +me; she is wrapped up in 'em, ye know. But the captain for my money.” + +The sage shouldered his tools and departed. But he left a good hint +behind him. Alfred hovered about the back-door the next day till he +caught Mrs. Maxley; she supplied the house with eggs and vegetables. +“Could she tell him whether his friend Edward Dodd was likely to come +home soon?” She thought not; he was gone away to study. “He haven't much +head-piece, you know, not like what Miss Julia have. Mrs. and Miss are +to be home to-day; they wrote to cook this morning. I shall be there +to-morrow, sartain, and I'll ask in the kitchen when Master Edward is +a-coming back.” She prattled on. The ladies of Albion Villa were good +kind ladies; the very maid-servants loved them; Miss was more for +religion than her mother, and went to St. Anne's Church Thursday +evenings, and Sundays morning and evening; and visited some poor women +in the parish with food and clothes; Mrs. Dodd could not sleep a wink +when the wind blew hard at night; but never complained, only came down +pale to breakfast. Miss Julia's ailment was nothing to speak of, but +they were in care along of being so wrapped up in her, and no wonder, +for if ever there was a duck----! + +Acting on this intelligence, Alfred went early the next Sunday to St. +Anne's Church, and sat down in the side gallery at its east end. While +the congregation flowed quietly in, the organist played the _Agnus Dei_ +of Mozart. Those pious tender tones stole over his hot young heart, and +whispered, “Peace, be still!” He sighed wearily, and it passed through +his mind that it might have been better for him, and especially for his +studies, if he had never seen her. Suddenly the aisle seemed to lighten +up; she was gliding along it, beautiful as May, and modesty itself +in dress and carriage. She went into a pew and kneeled a minute, then +seated herself and looked out the lessons for the day. Alfred gazed at +her face: devoured it. But her eyes never roved. She seemed to have put +off feminine curiosity, and the world, at the church door. Indeed +he wished she was not quite so heavenly discreet; her lashes were +delicious, but he longed to see her eyes once more; to catch a glance +from them, and, by it, decipher his fate. + +But no; she was there to worship, and did not discern her earthly lover, +whose longing looks were glued to her, and his body rose and sank with +the true worshippers, but with no more spirituality than a piston or a +Jack-in-the-box. + +In the last hymn before the sermon, a well-meaning worshipper in the +gallery delivered a leading note, a high one, with great zeal, but +small precision, being about a semitone flat; at this outrage on her +too-sensitive ear, Julia Dodd turned her head swiftly to discover +the offender, and failed; but her two sapphire eyes met Alfred's +point-blank. + +She was crimson in a moment, and lowered them on her book again, as if +to look that way was to sin. It was but a flash: but sometimes a flash +fires a mine. + +The lovely blush deepened and spread before it melted away, and Alfred's +late cooling heart warmed itself at that sweet glowing cheek. She never +looked his way again, not once: which was a sad disappointment; but she +blushed again and again before the service ended, only not so deeply. +Now there was nothing in the sermon to make her blush: I might add, +there was nothing to redden her cheek with religious excitement. There +was a little candid sourness--oil and vinegar--against sects and +Low Churchmen; but thin generality predominated. Total: “Acetate of +morphia,” for dry souls to sip. + +So Alfred took all the credit of causing those sweet irrelevant blushes; +and gloated: the young wretch could not help glorying in his power to +tint that fair statue of devotion with earthly thoughts. + +But stay! that dear blush, was it pleasure or pain? What if the sight of +him was intolerable? + +He would know how he stood with her, and on the spot. He was one of the +first to leave the church; he made for the churchyard gate, and walked +slowly backwards and forwards by it, with throbbing heart till she came +out. + +She was prepared for him now, and bowed slightly to him with the most +perfect composure, and no legible sentiment, except a certain marked +politeness many of our young ladies think wasted upon young gentlemen; +and are mistaken. + +Alfred took off his hat in a tremor, and his eyes implored and inquired, +but met with no further response; and she walked swiftly home, though +without apparent effort. He looked longingly after her; but discretion +forbade. + +He now crawled by Albion Villa twice every day, wet or dry, and had +the good fortune to see her twice at the drawing-room window. He was +constant at St. Anne's Church, and one Thursday crept into the aisle to +be nearer to her, and he saw her steal one swift look at the gallery, +and look grave; but soon she detected him, and though she looked no more +towards him, she seemed demurely complacent. Alfred had learned to note +these subtleties now, for Love is a microscope. What he did not know +was, that his timid ardour was pursuing a masterly course; that to find +herself furtively followed everywhere, and hovered about for a look, +is apt to soothe womanly pride and stir womanly pity, and to keep the +female heart in a flutter of curiosity and emotions, two porters that +open the heart's great gate to love. + +Now the evening before his visit to the Dodds, Dr. Sampson dined with +the Hardies, and happened to mention the “Dodds” among his old patients: +“The Dodds of' Albion Villa?” inquired Miss Hardie, to her brother's +no little surprise. “Albyn fiddlestick!” said the polished doctor. “No! +they live by the water-side; used to; but now they have left the town, +I hear. He is a sea-captain and a fine lad, and Mrs. Dodd is just the +best-bred woman I ever prescribed for, except Mrs. Sampson.” + +“It _is_ the Dodds of Albion Villa,” said Miss Hardie. “They have two +children: a son; his name is Edward; and a daughter, Julia; she is +rather good-looking; a Gentleman's Beauty.” + +Alfred stared at his sister. Was she blind? with her “rather +good-looking.” + +Sampson was quite pleased at the information. “N' listen me! I saved +that girl's life when she was a year old.” + +“Then she is ill now, doctor,” said Alfred hastily. “Do go and see her! +Hum! The fact is, her brother is a great favourite of mine.” He then +told him how to find Albion Villa. “Jenny, dear,” said he, when Sampson +was gone, “you never told me you knew her.” + +“Knew who, dear?” + +“Whom? Why Dodd's sister.” + +“Oh, she is a new acquaintance, and not one to interest you. We only +meet in the Lord; I do not visit Albion Villa; her mother is an amiable +worldling.” + +“Unpardonable combination!” said Alfred with a slight sneer. “So you and +Miss Dodd meet only at church!” + +“At church? Hardly. She goes to St. Anne's: sits under a preacher who +starves his flock with moral discourses, and holds out the sacraments of +the Church as the means of grace.” + +Alfred shook his head good-humouredly. “Now, Jenny, that is a challenge; +and you know we both got into a fury the last time we were betrayed into +that miserable waste of time and temper, Theological discussion. No, +no:-- + + Let sects delight to bark and bite + For 'tis their nature to; + Let gown and surplice growl and fight, + For Satan makes them so. + +But let you and I cut High Church and Low Church, and be brother and +sister. Do tell me in English where you meet Julia Dodd; that's a dear; +for young ladies 'meeting in the Lord' conveys no positive idea to my +mind.” + +Jane Hardie sighed at this confession. “We meet in the cottages of the +poor and the sick, whom He loved and pitied when on earth; and we, His +unworthy servants, try to soothe their distress, and lead them to Him +who can heal the soul as well as the body, and wipe away all the tears +of all His people.” + +“Then it does you infinite credit, Jane,” said Alfred, warmly. “Now, +that is the voice of true religion; and not the whine of this sect, +nor the snarl of that. And so she joins you in this good work? I am not +surprised.” + +“We meet in it now and then, dear; but she can hardly be said to have +joined me: I have a district, you know; but poor Mrs. Dodd will not +allow Julia to enlist in the service. She visits independently, and by +fits and starts; and I am afraid she thinks more of comforting their +perishable bodies than of feeding their souls. It was but the other day +she confessed to me her backwardness to speak in the way of instruction +to women as old as her mother. She finds it so much easier to let them +run on about their earthly troubles: and of course it is much _easier._ +Ah! the world holds her still in some of its subtle meshes.” + +The speaker uttered this sadly; but presently, brightening up, said, +with considerable _bonhomie,_ and almost a sprightly air: “But she is a +dear girl, and the Lord will yet light her candle.” + +Alfred pulled a face as of one that drinketh verjuice unawares; but let +it pass: hypercriticism was not his cue just then. “Well, Jenny,” said +he, “I have a favour to ask you. Introduce me to your friend, Miss Dodd. +Will you?” + +Miss Hardie coloured faintly. “I would rather not, dear Alfred: the +introduction could not be for her eternal good. Julia's soul is in a +very ticklish state; she wavers as yet between this world and the other +world; and it won't do; it won't do; there is no middle path. You would +very likely turn the scale, and then I should have fought against her +everlasting welfare--my friend's.” + +“What, am I an infidel?” inquired Alfred angrily. Jane looked +distressed. “Oh no, Alfred; but you are a worldling.” + +Alfred, smothering a strong sense of irritation, besought her to hear +reason; these big words were out of place here. “It is Dodd's sister; +and he will introduce me at a word, worldling as I am.” + +“Then why urge me to do it, against my conscience?” asked the young +lady, as sharply as if she had been a woman of the world. “You cannot +be in _love_ with her, as you do not know her.” + +Alfred did not reply to this unlucky thrust, but made a last effort +to soften her. “Can you call yourself my sister, and refuse me this +trifling service, which her brother, who loves her and esteems her ten +times more sincerely than you do, would not think of refusing me if he +was at home?” + +“Why should he? He is in the flesh himself; let the carnal introduce one +another. I really must decline; but I am very, very sorry that you feel +hurt about it.” + +“And I am very sorry I have not an amiable worldling for my sister, +instead of an unamiable and devilish conceited Christian.” And with +these bitter words, Alfred snatched a candle and bounced to bed in a +fury. So apt is one passion to rouse up others. + +Jane Hardie let fall a gentle tear: but consoled herself with the +conviction that she had done her duty, and that Alfred's anger was quite +unreasonable, and so he would see as soon as he should cool. + +The next day the lover, smarting under this check, and spurred to fresh +efforts, invaded Sampson. That worthy was just going to dine at Albion +Villa, so Alfred postponed pumping him till next day. Well, he called at +the inn next day, and if the doctor was not just gone back to London! + +Alfred wandered disconsolate homewards. + +In the middle of Buchanan Street, an agitated treble called after him, +“Mr. Halfred! hoh, Mr. Halfred!” He looked back and saw Dick Absalom, +a promising young cricketer, brandishing a document and imploring aid. +“Oh, Master Halfred, dooce please come here. I durstn't leave the shop.” + +There is a tie between cricketers far too strong for social distinctions +to divide, and, though Alfred muttered peevishly, “Whose cat is dead +now?” he obeyed the strange summons. + +The distress was a singular one. Master Absalom, I must premise, was +the youngest of two lads in the employ of Mr. Jenner, a benevolent old +chemist, a disciple of Malthus. Jenner taught the virtues of drugs and +minerals to tender youths, at the expense of the public. Scarcely ten +minutes had elapsed since a pretty servant girl came into the shop, +and laid a paper on the counter, saying, “Please to make that up, young +man.” Now at fifteen we are gratified by inaccuracies of this kind +from ripe female lips: so Master Absalom took the prescription with +a complacent grin; his eye glanced over it; it fell to shaking in his +hand, chill dismay penetrated his heart; and, to speak with oriental +strictness, his liver turned instantly to water. However, he made a +feeble clutch at Mercantile Mendacity, and stammered out, “Here's a many +ingredients, and the governor's out walking, and he's been and locked +the drawer where we keeps our haulhoppy. You couldn't come again in +half an hour, Miss, could ye?” She acquiesced readily, for she was not +habitually called Miss, and she had a follower, a languid one, living +hard by, and belonged to a class which thinks it consistent to come +after its followers. + +Dicky saw her safe off, and groaned at his ease. Here was a prescription +full of new chemicals, sovereign, no doubt, _i.e.,_ deadly when applied +Jennerically; and the very directions for use were in Latin words he +had encountered in no prescription before. A year ago Dicky would have +counted the prescribed ingredients on his fingers, and then taken +down an equal number of little articles, solid or liquid, mixed them, +delivered them, and so to cricket, serene; but now, his mind, to apply +the universal cant, was “in a transition state.” A year's practice had +chilled the youthful valour which used to scatter Epsom salts or oxalic +acid, magnesia or corrosive sublimate. An experiment or two by himself +and his compeers, with comments by the coroner, had enlightened him as +to the final result on the human body of potent chemicals fearlessly +administered, leaving him dark as to their distinctive qualities applied +remedially. What should he do? Run with the prescription to old Taylor +in the next street, a chemist of forty years? Alas! at his tender age he +had not omitted to chaff that reverend rival persistently and publicly. +Humble his establishment before the King Street one? Sooner perish +drugs, and come eternal cricket! And after all, why not? Drummer-boys, +and powder-monkeys, and other imps of his age that dealt destruction, +did not depopulate gratis; Mankind acknowledged their services in cash: +but old Jenner, taught by Philosophy through its organ the newspapers +that “knowledge is riches,” was above diluting with a few shillings a +week the wealth a boy acquired behind his counter; so his apprentices +got no salary. Then why not shut up the old rogue's shutters, and excite +a little sympathy for him, to be followed by a powerful reaction on +his return from walking; and go and offer his own services on the +cricket-ground to field for the gentlemen by the hour, or bowl at a +shilling on their balls? + +“Bowling is the lay for me,” said he; “you get money for that, and you +only bruise the gents a bit and break their thumbs: you can't put their +vital sparks out as you can at this work.” + +By a striking coincidence the most influential member of the cricket +club passed while Dick was in this quandary. + + +“Oh, Mr. Halfred, you was always very good to me on the ground--you +couldn't have me hired by the club, could ye? For I am sick of this +trade; I wants to bowl.” + +“You little duffer!” said Alfred, “cricket is a recreation, not a +business. Besides, it only lasts five months. Unless you adjourn to the +anitipodes. Stick to the shop like a man, and make your fortune.” + +“Oh, Mr. Halfred,” said Dick sorrowfully, “how can I find fortune here? +Jenner don't pay. And the crowner declares he will not have it; and the +Barton _Chronicle_ says us young gents ought all to be given a holiday +to go and see one of us hanged by lot. But this is what have broke this +camel's back at last; here's a dalled thing to come smiling and smirking +in with, and put it across a counter in a poor boy's hand. Oh! oh! oh!” + +“Dick,” said Alfred, “if you blubber, I'll give you a hiding. You have +stumbled on a passage you can't construe. Well, who has not? But we +don't shed the briny about it. Here, let me have a go at it.” + +“Ah! I've heard you are a scholard,” said Dick, “but you won't make out +this; there's some new preparation of mercury, and there's musk, and +there's horehound, and there's a neutral salt: and dal his old head that +wrote it!” + +“Hold your jaw, and listen, while I construe it to you. _'Die Mercurii,_ +on Wednesday--_decima hora vespertina,_ at ten o'clock at night--_eat +in Musca:'_ what does that mean? _'Eat in Musca?'_ I see! this is +modern Latin with a vengeance. 'Let him go in a fly to the Towns-hall. +_Saltet,_ let him jump--_cum tredecim caniculis,_ with thirteen little +dogs--_praesertim meo,_ especially with my little dog.' Dicky, this +prescription emanates from Bedlam direct. _'Domum reddita'_--hallo! it +is a woman, then. 'Let _her_ go in a fly to the--Town-hall, eh?' 'Let +_her_ jump, no, dance, with thirteen whelps, especially mine.' Ha! ha! +ha! And who is the woman that is to do all this I wonder?” + +“Woman, indeed!” said a treble at the door! “no more than I am; it's for +a young lady. O jiminy!” + +This polite ejaculation was drawn out by the speaker's sudden +recognition of Alfred, who had raised his head at her remonstrance, and +now started in his turn; for it was the black-eyed servant of Albion +Villa. They looked at one another in expressive silence. + +“Yes, sir, it is for my young lady. Is it ready, young man?” + +“No, it ain't: and never will,” squealed Dick angrily “It's a vile 'oax; +and you ought to be ashamed of yourself bringing it into a respectable +shop.” + +Alfred silenced him, and told Sarah he thought Miss Dodd ought to know +the nature of this prescription before it went round the chemists. + +He borrowed paper of Dick and wrote: + +“Mr. Alfred Hardie presents his compliments to Miss Dodd, and begs +leave to inform her that he has, by the merest accident, intercepted +the enclosed prescription. As it seems rather a sorry jest, and tends to +attract attention to Miss Dodd and her movements, he has ventured with +some misgivings to send it back with a literal translation, on reading +which it will be for Miss Dodd to decide whether it is to circulate. + +“'On Wednesday, at ten P.M., let her go in a fly to the Town-hall, and +dance with thirteen little {little dogs, puppies, whelps,} especially +with mine: return home at six A.M. and sleep till dinner, and repeat the +folly as occasion serves.'” + +“Suppose I could get it into Miss's hands when she's alone?” whispered +Sarah. + +“You would earn my warmest gratitude.” + +“'Warmest gratitude!' Is that a warm gownd, or a warm clock, I wonder?” + +“It is both, when the man is a gentleman, and a pretty, dark-eyed girl +pities him and stands his friend.” + +Sarah smiled, and whispered, “Give it me; I'll do my best.” + +Alfred enclosed the prescription and his note in one cover, handed +them to her, and slipped a sovereign into her hand. He whispered, “Be +prudent.” + +“I'm dark, sir,” said she: and went off briskly homewards, and Alfred +stood rapt in dreamy joy, and so self-elated that, had he been furnished +like a peacock, he would have instantly become a “thing all eyes,” + and choked up Jenner's shop, and swept his counter. He had made a +step towards familiarity, had written her a letter; and then, if this +prescription came, as he suspected, from Dr. Sampson, she would perhaps +be at the ball. This opened a delightful vista. Meantime, Mrs. Dodd +had communicated Sampson's opinion to Julia, adding that there was a +prescription besides, gone to be made up. “However, he insists on your +going to this ball.” + +Julia begged hard to be excused: said she was in no humour for balls: +and Mrs. Dodd objecting that the tickets had actually been purchased, +she asked leave to send them to the Dartons. “They will be a treat to +Rose and Alice; they seldom go out: mamma, I do so fear they are poorer +than people think. May I?” + +“It would be but kind,” said Mrs. Dodd. “Though really why my child +should always be sacrificed to other people's children----” + +“Oh, a mighty sacrifice!” said Julia. She sat down and enclosed the +tickets to Rose Darton, with a little sugared note. Sarah, being out, +Elizabeth took it. Sarah met her at the gate, but did not announce her +return: she lurked in ambush till Julia happened to go to her own room, +then followed her, and handed Alfred's missive, and watched her slily, +and being herself expeditious as the wind in matters of the heart, took +it for granted the enclosure was something very warm indeed; so she +said with feigned simplicity, “I suppose it is all right now, miss?” and +retreated swelling with a secret, and tormented her fellow-servants all +day with innuendoes dark as Erebus. + +Julia read the note again and again: her heart beat at those few +ceremonious lines. “He does not like me to be talked of,” she said to +herself. “How good he is! What trouble he takes about me! Ah! _he will +be there!_” + +She divined rightly; on Wednesday, at ten, Alfred Hardie was in the +ball-room. It was a magnificent room, well lighted, and at present not +half filled, though dancing had commenced. The figure Alfred sought was +not there; and he wondered he had been so childish as to hope she would +come to a city ball. He played the fine gentleman; would not dance. He +got near the door with another Oxonian, and tried to avenge himself for +her absence on the townspeople who were there by quizzing them. + +But in the middle of this amiable occupation, and indeed in the middle +of a sentence, he stopped short, and his heart throbbed, and he thrilled +from head to foot; for two ladies glided in at the door, and passed up +the room with the unpretending composure of well-bred people. They were +equally remarkable; but Alfred saw only the radiant young creature in +flowing muslin, with the narrowest sash in the room, and no ornament but +a necklace of large pearls and her own vivid beauty. She had altered +her mind about coming, with apologies for her vacillating disposition so +penitent and disproportionate that her indulgent and unsuspecting mother +was really quite amused. Alfred was not so happy as to know that she had +changed her mind with his note. Perhaps even this knowledge could have +added little to that exquisite moment, when, unhoped for, she passed +close to him, and the fragrant air from her brushed his cheek, and +seemed to whisper, “Follow me and be my slave.” + + + + + +CHAPTER V + +HE did follow her, and, convinced that she would be engaged ten deep in +five minutes, hustled up to the master of the ceremonies and begged an +introduction. The great banker's son was attended to at once. Julia saw +them coming, as her sex can see, without looking. Her eyes were on +fire, and a delicious blush on her cheeks, when the M. C. introduced Mr. +Alfred Hardie with due pomp. He asked her to dance. + +“I am engaged for this dance, sir,” said she softly. + +“The next?” asked Hardie timidly. + +“With pleasure.” + +But when they had got so far they were both seized with bashful silence; +and just as Alfred was going to try and break it, Cornet Bosanquet, +aged 18, height 5 feet 4 inches, strutted up with clanking heel, and, +glancing haughtily up at him, carried Julia off, like a steam-tug towing +away some fair schooner. To these little thorns society treats all +anxious lovers, but the incident was new to Alfred, and discomposed him; +and, besides, he had nosed a rival in Sampson's prescription. So now he +thought to himself, “that little ensign is 'his puppy.'” + +To get rid of Mrs. Dodd he offered to conduct her to a seat. She thanked +him; she would rather stand where she could see her daughter dance: on +this he took her to the embrasure of a window opposite where Julia and +her partner stood, and they entered a circle of spectators. The band +struck up, and the solemn skating began. + +“Who is this lovely creature in white?” asked a middle-aged solicitor. +“In white? I did not see any beauty in white,” replied his daughter. +“Why there, before your eyes,” said the gentleman, loudly. + +“What, that girl dancing with the little captain? I don't see much +beauty in her. _And_ what a rubbishing dress.” + +“It never cost a pound, making and all,” suggested another Barkingtonian +nymph. + +“But what splendid pearls!” said a third: “can they be real?” + +“Real! what an idea!” ejaculated a fourth: “who puts on real pearls as +big as peas with muslin at twenty pence the yard?” + +“Weasels!” muttered Alfred, and quivered all over: and he felt to Mrs. +Dodd so like a savage going to spring, that she laid her hand upon his +wrist, and said gently, but with authority, “Be calm, sir! and oblige me +by not noticing these people.” + +Then they threw dirt on her bouquet, and then on her shoes, while she +was winding in and out before their eyes a Grace, and her soft muslin +drifting and flowing like an appropriate cloud round a young goddess. + +“A little starch would make it set out better. It's as limp as a towel +on the line.” + +“I'll be sworn it was washed at home.” + +“Where it was made.” + +“I call it a rag, not a gown.” + +“Do let us move,” whispered Alfred. + +“I am very comfortable here,” whispered Mrs. Dodd. “How can these things +annoy my ears while I have eyes? Look at her: she is the best-dressed +lady in the room; her muslin is Indian, and of a quality unknown to +these provincial shopkeepers; a rajah gave it us: her pearls were my +mother's, and have been in every court in Europe; and she herself +is beautiful, would be beautiful dressed like the dowdies who are +criticising her: and I think, sir, she dances as well as any lady can +encumbered with an Atom that does not know the figure.” All this with +the utmost placidity. + +Then, as if to extinguish all doubt, Julia flung them a heavenly smile; +she had been furtively watching them all the time, and she saw they were +talking about her. + +The other Oxonian squeezed up to Hardie. “Do you know the beauty? She +smiled your way. + +“Ah!” said Hardie, deliberately, “you mean that young lady with +the court pearls, in that exquisite Indian muslin, which floats so +gracefully, while the other muslin girls are all crimp and stiff; like +little pigs clad in crackling.” + +“Ha! ha! ha! Yes. Introduce me.” + +“I could not take such a liberty with the queen of the ball.” + +Mrs. Dodd smiled, but felt nervous and ill at ease. She thought to +herself, “Now here is a generous, impetuous thing.” As for the hostile +party, staggered at first by the masculine insolence of young Hardy, it +soon recovered, and, true to its sex, attacked him obliquely, through +his white ladye. + +“Who _is_ the beauty of the ball?” asked one, haughtily. + +“I don't know, but not that mawkish thing in limp muslin.” + +“I should say Miss Hetherington is the belle,” suggested a third. + +“Which is Miss Hetherington?” asked the Oxonian coolly of Alfred. + +“Oh, she won't do for us. It is that little chalk-faced girl, dressed in +pink with red roses; the pink of vulgarity and bad taste.” + +At this both Oxonians laughed arrogantly, and Mrs. Dodd withdrew her +hand from the speaker's arm and glided away behind the throng. Julia +looked at him with marked anxiety. He returned her look, and was sore +puzzled what it meant, till he found Mrs. Dodd had withdrawn softly from +him; then he stood confused, regretting too late he had not obeyed her +positive request, and tried to imitate her dignified forbearance. + +The quadrille ended. He instantly stepped forward, and bowing politely +to the cornet, said authoritatively, “Mrs. Dodd sends me to conduct you +to her. With your permission, sir.” His arm was offered and taken before +the little warrior knew where he was. + +He had her on his arm, soft, light, and fragrant as zephyr, and her cool +breath wooing his neck; oh, the thrill of that moment! but her first +word was to ask him, with considerable anxiety, “Why did mamma leave +you?” + +“Miss Dodd, I am the most unhappy of men.” + +“No doubt! no doubt!” said she, a little crossly. She added with one +of her gushes of naivete, “and I shall be unhappy too if you go and +displease mamma.” + +“What could I do? A gang of snobbesses were detracting from--somebody. +To speak plainly, they were running down the loveliest of her sex. Your +mamma told me to keep quiet. And so I did till I got a fair chance, and +then I gave it them in their teeth.” He ground his own, and added, “I +think I was very good not to kick them.” + +Julia coloured with pleasure, and proceeded to turn it off. “Oh! most +forbearing and considerate,” said she. “Ah! by the way, I think I did +hear some ladies express a misgiving as to the pecuniary value of my +costume; ha! ha! Oh--you--foolish!--Fancy noticing that! Why it is in +little sneers that the approval of the ladies shows itself at a ball, +and it is a much sincerer compliment than the gentlemen's bombastical +praises: 'the fairest of her sex,' and so on; that none but the +'silliest of her sex' believe.” + +“Miss Dodd, I never said the fairest of her sex. I said the loveliest.” + +“Oh, that alters the case entirely,” said Julia, whose spirits were +mounting with the lights and music, and Alfred's company; “so now +come and be reconciled to the best and wisest of her sex; ay, and the +beautifullest, if you but knew her sweet, dear, darling face as I do. +There she is; let us fly.” + +“Mamma, here is a penitent for you, real or feigned, I don't know +which.” + +“Real, Mrs. Dodd,” said Alfred. “I had no right to disobey you and risk +a scene. You served me right by abandoning me; I feel the rebuke and its +justice. Let me hope your vengeance will go no further.” + +Mrs. Dodd smiled at the grandiloquence of youth, and told him he had +mistaken her character. “I saw I had acquired a generous, hot-headed +ally, who was bent on doing battle with insects; so I withdrew; but so +I should at Waterloo, or anywhere else where people put themselves in a +passion.” + +The band struck up again. + +“Ah!” said Julia, “and I promised you this dance; but it is a waltz and +my guardian angel objects to the _valse a deux temps._” + +“Decidedly. Should all the mothers in England permit their daughters to +romp and wrestle in public, and call it waltzing, I must stand firm till +they return to their senses.” + +Julia looked at Alfred despondently. He took his cue and said with a +smile, “Well, perhaps it is a little rompy; a donkey's gallop and then +twirl her like a mop.” + +“Since you admit that, perhaps you can waltz properly?” said Mrs. Dodd. + +Alfred said he ought; he had given his whole soul to it in Germany last +Long. + +“Then I can have the pleasure of dropping the tyrant. Away with you both +while there is room to circulate.” + +Alfred took his partner delicately; they made just two catlike steps +forward, and melted into the old-fashioned waltz. + +It was an exquisite moment. To most young people Love comes after a +great deal of waltzing. But this pair brought the awakened tenderness +and trembling sensibilities of two burning hearts to this their first +intoxicating whirl. To them, therefore, everything was an event, +everything was a thrill--the first meeting and timid pressure of their +hands, the first delicate enfolding of her supple waist by his strong +arm but trembling hand, the delightful unison of their unerring feet, +the movement, the music, the soft delicious whirl, her cool breath +saluting his neck, his ardent but now liquid eyes seeking hers +tenderly, and drinking them deep, hers that now and then sipped his so +sweetly--all these were new and separate joys, that linked themselves in +one soft delirium of bliss. It was not a waltz it was an Ecstasy. + +Starting almost alone, this peerless pair danced a gauntlet. On each +side admiration and detraction buzzed all the time. + +“Beautiful! They are turning in the air.” + +“Quite gone by. That's how the old fogies dance.” + +Chorus of shallow males: “How well she waltzes.” + +Chorus of shallow females: “How well he waltzes.” + +But they noted neither praise nor detraction: they saw nothing, heard +nothing, felt nothing, but themselves and the other music, till two +valsers _a deux temps_ plunged into them. Thus smartly reminded they had +not earth all to themselves, they laughed good-humouredly and paused. + +“Ah! I am happy!” gushed from Julia. She hushed at herself, and said +severely, “You dance very well, sir.” This was said to justify her +unguarded admission, and did, after a fashion. “I think it is time to go +to mamma,” said she demurely. + +“So soon? And I had so much to say to you.” + +“Oh, very well. I am all attention.” + +The sudden facility offered set Alfred stammering a little. “I wanted +to apologise to you for something--you are so good you seem to have +forgotten it--but I dare not hope that--I mean at Henley--when the +beauty of your character, and your goodness, so overpowered me, that a +fatal impulse----” + +“What do you mean, sir?” said Julia, looking him full in the face, like +an offended lion, while, with true feminine and Julian inconsistency her +bosom fluttered like a dove. “I never exchanged one word with you in +my life before to-day; and I never shall again if you pretend the +contrary.” + +Alfred stood stupified, and looked at her in piteous amazement. + +“I value your acquaintance highly, Mr. Hardie, now I have made it, +as acquaintances are made; but please to observe, I never saw you +before--scarcely; not even in church.” + +“As you please,” said he, recovering his wits in part. “What you say +I'll swear to.” + +“Then I say, never remind a lady of what you ought to wish her to +forget.” + +“I was a fool, and you are an angel of tact and goodness.” + +“Oh, now I am sure it is time to join mamma,” said she in the driest, +drollest way. _“Valsons._” + +They waltzed down to Mrs. Dodd, exchanging hearts at every turn, and +they took a good many in the space of a round table, for in truth both +were equally loth to part. + + +At two o'clock Mrs. Dodd resumed common-place views of a daughter's +health, and rose to go. + +Her fly had played her false, and, being our island home, it rained +buckets. Alfred ran, before they could stop him, and caught a fly. He +was dripping. Mrs. Dodd expressed her regrets; he told her it did not +matter; for him the ball was now over, the flowers faded, and the lights +darkness visible. + +“The extravagance of these children!” said Mrs. Dodd to Julia, with a +smile, as soon as he was out of hearing. Julia made no reply. + +Next day she was at evening church: the congregation was very sparse. +The first glance revealed Alfred Hardie standing in the very next +pew. He wore a calm front of conscious rectitude; under which peeped +sheep-faced misgivings as to the result of this advance; for, like all +true lovers, he was half impudence, half timidity; and both on the grand +scale. + +Now Julia in a ball-room was one creature, another in church. After +the first surprise, which sent the blood for a moment to her cheek, +she found he had come without a prayer-book. She looked sadly and half +reproachfully at him; then put her white hand calmly over the wooden +partition, and made him read with her out of her book. She shared +her hymn-book with him, too, and sang her Maker's praise modestly and +soberly, but earnestly, and quite undisturbed by her lover's presence. +It seemed as if this pure creature was drawing him to heaven holding by +that good book, and by her touching voice. He felt good all over. To be +like her, he tried to bend his whole mind on the prayers of the church, +and for the first time realised how beautiful they are. + +After service he followed her to the door. Island home again, by the +pailful; and she had a thick shawl but no umbrella. He had brought a +large one on the chance; he would see her home. + +“Quite unnecessary; it is so near.” + +He insisted; she persisted; and, persisting, yielded. They said but +little; yet they seemed to interchange volumes; and, at each gaslight +they passed, they stole a look and treasured it to feed on. + +That night was one broad step more towards the great happiness, or great +misery, which awaits a noble love. Such loves, somewhat rare in Nature, +have lately become so very rare in Fiction that I have ventured, with +many misgivings, to detail the peculiarities of its rise and progress. +But now for a time it advanced on beaten tracks. Alfred had the right +to call at Albion Villa, and he came twice; once when Mrs. Dodd was out. +This was the time he stayed the two hours. A Mrs. James invited Jane and +him to tea and exposition. There he met Julia and Edward, who had just +returned. Edward was taken with Jane Hardie's face and dovelike eyes; +eyes that dwelt with a soft and chastened admiration on his masculine +face and his model form, and their owner felt she had received “a call” + to watch over his spiritual weal. So they paired off. + +Julia's fluctuating spirits settled now into a calm, demure, +complacency. Her mother, finding this strange remedial virtue in +youthful society, gave young parties, inviting Jane and Alfred in +their turn. Jane hesitated, but, as she could no longer keep Julia from +knowing her worldly brother, and hoped a way might be opened for her +to rescue Edward, she relaxed her general rule, which was to go into no +company unless some religious service formed part of the entertainment. +Yet her conscience was ill at ease; and, to set them an example, she +took care, when she asked the Dodds in return, to have a clergyman there +of her own party, who could pray and expound with unction. + +Mrs. Dodd, not to throw cold water on what seemed to gratify her +children, accepted Miss Hardie's invitation; but she never intended to +go, and at the last moment wrote to say she was slightly indisposed. The +nature of her _indisposition_ she revealed to Julia alone. “That young +lady keeps me on thorns. I never feel secure she will not say or do +something extravagant or unusual: she seems to suspect sobriety and good +taste of being in league with impiety. Here I succeed in bridling her +a little; but encounter a female enthusiast in her own house? _merci!_ +After all, there must be something good in her, since she is your +friend, and you are hers. But I have something more serious to say +before you go there: it is about her brother. He is a flirt: in fact, a +notorious one, more than one lady tells me.” + +Julia was silent, but began to be very uneasy; they were sitting and +talking after sunset, yet without candles. She profited for once by that +prodigious gap in the intelligence of “the sex.” + +“I hear he pays you compliments, and I have seen a disposition to single +you out. Now, my love, you have the good sense to know that, whatever a +young gentleman of that age says to you, he says to many other ladies; +but your experience is not equal to your sense; so profit by mine. A +girl of your age must never be talked of with a person of the other sex: +it is fatal; fatal! but if you permit yourself to be singled out, you +will be talked of, and distress those who love you. It is easy to avoid +injudicious duets in society; oblige me by doing so to-night.” To show +how much she was in earnest, Mrs. Dodd hinted that, were her admonition +neglected, she should regret for once having kept clear of an +enthusiast. + +Julia had no alternative; she assented in a faint voice. After a pause +she faltered out, “And suppose he should esteem me seriously?” + +Mrs. Dodd replied quickly, “Then that would be much worse. But,” said +she, “I have no apprehensions on that score; you are a child, and he is +a precocious boy, and rather a flirt. But forewarned is forearmed. So +now run away and dress, sweet one: my lecture is quite ended.” + +The sensitive girl went up to her room with a heavy heart. All the fears +she had lulled of late revived. She saw plainly now that Mrs. Dodd only +accepted Alfred as a pleasant acquaintance: as a son-in-law he was out +of the question. “Oh, what will she say when she knows all?” thought +Julia. + +Next day, sitting near the window, she saw him coming up the road. After +the first movement of pleasure at the bare sight of him, she was sorry +he had come. Mamma's suspicions awake at last, and here he was again; +the third call in one fortnight! She dared not risk an interview with +him, ardent and unguarded, under that penetrating eye, which she felt +would now be on the watch. She rose hurriedly, said as carelessly as +she could, “I am going to the school,” and tying her bonnet on all in a +flurry, whipped out at the back-door with her shawl in her hand just as +Sarah opened the front door to Alfred. She then shuffled on her shawl, +and whisked through the little shrubbery into the open field, and +reached a path that led to the school, and so gratified was she at her +dexterity in evading her favourite, that she hung her head, and went +murmuring, “Cruel, cruel, cruel!” + +Alfred entered the drawing-room gaily, with a good-sized card and a +prepared speech. His was not the visit of a friend, but a functionary; +the treasurer of the cricket-ground come to book two of his eighteen to +play against the All-England Eleven next month. “As for you, my worthy +sir (turning to Edward), I shall just put you down without ceremony. +But I must ask leave to book Captain Dodd. Mrs. Dodd, I come at the +universal desire of the club; they say it is sure to be a dull match +without Captain Dodd. Besides, he is a capital player.” + +“Mamma, don't you be caught by his chaff,” said Edward, quietly. “Papa +is no player at all. Anything more unlike cricket than his way of making +runs!” + +“But he makes them, old fellow; now you and I, at Lord's the other day, +played in first-rate form, left shoulder well up, and achieved--with +neatness, precision, dexterity, and despatch--the British duck's-egg. + +_“Misericorde!_ What is that?” inquired Mrs. Dodd. + +“Why, a round O,” said the other Oxonian, coming to his friend's aid. + +“And what is that, pray?” + +Alfred told her “the round O,” which had yielded to “the duck's egg,” + and was becoming obsolete, meant the cypher set by the scorer against a +player's name who is out without making a run. + +“I see,” sighed Mrs. Dodd. “The jargon of the day penetrates to your +very sports and games. And why British?” + +“Oh, 'British' is redundant: thrown in by the universities.” + +“But what does it mean?” + +“It means nothing. That is the beauty of it. British is inserted in +imitation of our idols, the Greeks; they adored redundancy.” + +In short, poor Alfred, though not an M. P., was talking to put off time, +till Julia should come in: so he now favoured Mrs. Dodd, of all people, +with a flowery description of her husband's play, which I, who have +not his motive for volubility, suppress. However, he wound up with the +captains “moral influence.” “Last match,” said he, “Barkington did +not do itself justice. Several, that could have made a stand, were +frightened out, rather than bowled, by the London professionals. +Then Captain Dodd went in, and treated those artists with the same +good-humoured contempt he would a parish bowler, and, in particular, +sent Mynne's over-tossed balls flying over his head for five, or to +square leg for four, and, on his retiring with twenty-five, scored in +eight minutes, the remaining Barkingtonians were less funky, and made +some fair scores.” + +Mrs. Dodd smiled a little ironically at this tirade, but said she +thought she might venture to promise Mr. Dodd's co-operation, should he +reach home in time. Then, to get rid of Alfred before Julia's return, +the amiable worldling turned to Edward. “Your sister will not be back, +so you may as well ring the bell for luncheon at once. Perhaps Mr. +Hardie will join us.” + +Alfred declined, and took his leave with far less alacrity than he had +entered; Edward went down-stairs with him. + +“Miss Dodd gone on a visit?” asked Alfred, affecting carelessness. + +“Only to the school. By-the-bye, I will go and fetch her.” + +“No, don't do that; call on my sister instead, and then you will pull me +out of a scrape. I promised to bring her here; but her saintship was so +long adorning 'the poor perishable body,' that I came alone.” + +“I don't understand you,” said Edward. “I am not the attraction here; it +is Julia.” + +“How do you know that? When a young lady interests herself in an +undergraduate's soul, it is a pretty sure sign she likes the looks of +him. But perhaps you don't want to be converted; if so, keep clear +of _her._ 'Bar the fell dragon's blighting way; but shun that lovely +snare.'” + +“On the contrary,” said Edward calmly, “I only wish she could make me +as good as she is, or half as good.” + +“Give her the chance, old fellow, and then it won't be your fault if she +makes a mess of it. Call at two, and Jenny will receive you very kindly, +and will show you you are in the 'gall of bitterness and the bond of +iniquity.' Now, won't that be nice?” + +“I will go,” said Edward gravely. + +They parted. Where Alfred went the reader can perhaps guess; Edward to +luncheon. + +“Mamma,” said he, with that tranquillity which sat so well on him, +“don't you think Alfred Hardie is spoony upon our Julia?” + +Mrs. Dodd suppressed a start, and (perhaps to gain time before replying +sincerely) said she had not the honour of knowing what “spoony” meant. + +“Why, sighs for her, and dies for her, and fancies she is prettier than +Miss Hardie. He must be over head and ears to think that.” + +“Fie, child!” was the answer. “If I thought so, I should withdraw from +their acquaintance. Excuse me; I must put on my bonnet at once, not to +lose this fine afternoon.” + +Edward did not relish her remark: it menaced more Spoons than one. +However, he was not the man to be cast down at a word: he lighted a +cigar, and strolled towards Hardie's house. Mr. Hardie, senior, had left +three days ago on a visit to London; Miss Hardie received him; he +passed the afternoon in calm complacency, listening reverently to her +admonitions, and looking her softly out of countenance, and into earthly +affections, with his lion eyes. + +Meantime his remark, so far from really seeming foolish to Mrs. Dodd, +was the true reason for her leaving him so abruptly “Even this dear slow +Thing sees it,” thought she. She must talk to Julia more seriously, +and would go to the school at once. She went up-stairs, and put on her +bonnet and shawl before the glass; then moulded on her gloves, and came +down equipped. On the stairs was a large window, looking upon the open +field; she naturally cast her eyes through it in the direction she was +going, and what did she see but a young lady and gentleman coming slowly +down the path towards the villa. Mrs. Dodd bit her lip with vexation, +and looked keenly at them, to divine on what terms they were. And the +more she looked the more uneasy she grew. + +The head, the hand, the whole body of a sensitive young woman walking +beside him she loves, betray her heart to experienced eyes watching +unseen; and especially to female eyes. And why did Julia move so slowly, +especially after that warning? Why was her head averted from that +encroaching boy, and herself so near him? Why not keep her distance, +and look him full in the face? Mrs. Dodd's first impulse was that of +leopardesses, lionesses, hens, and all the mothers in nature; to dart +from her ambush and protect her young; but she controlled it by a +strong effort; it seemed wiser to descry the truth, and then act with +resolution: besides, the young people were now almost at the shrubbery; +so the mischief if any, was done. + +They entered the shrubbery. + +To Mrs. Dodd's surprise and dismay, they did not come out this side +so quickly. She darted her eye into the plantation; and lo! Alfred had +seized the fatal opportunity foliage offers, even when thinnish: he +held Julia's hand, and was pleading eagerly for something she seemed not +disposed to grant; for she turned away and made an effort to leave him. +But Mrs. Dodd, standing there quivering with maternal anxiety, and +hot with shame, could not but doubt the sincerity of that graceful +resistance. If she had been quite in earnest, Julia had fire enough in +her to box the little wretch's ears. She ceased even to doubt, when +she saw that her daughter's opposition ended in his getting hold of two +hands instead of one, and devouring them with kisses, while Julia still +drew her head and neck away, but the rest of her supple frame seemed +to yield and incline, and draw softly towards her besieger by some +irresistible spell. + +“I can bear no more!” gasped Mrs. Dodd aloud, and turned to hasten and +part them; but even as she curved her stately neck to go, she caught the +lovers' parting; and a very pretty one too, if she could but have looked +at it, as these things ought always to be looked at: artistically. + +Julia's head and lovely throat, unable to draw the rest of her away, +compromised: they turned, declined, drooped, and rested one half moment +on her captor's shoulder, like a settling dove: the next, she scudded +from him, and made for the house alone. + +Mrs. Dodd, deeply indignant, but too wise to court a painful interview, +with her own heart beating high, went into the drawing-room, and there +sat down, to recover some little composure. But she was hardly seated +when Julia's innocent voice was heard calling “Mamma, mamma!” and soon +she came bounding into the drawing-room, brimful of good news, her +cheeks as red as fire and her eyes wet with happy tears; and there +confronted her mother, who had started up at her footstep, and now, +with one hand nipping the back of the chair convulsively, stood lofty, +looking strangely agitated and hostile. + +The two ladies eyed one another, silent, yet expressive, like a picture +facing a statue; but soon the colour died out of Julia's face as well, +and she began to cower with vague fears before that stately figure, so +gentle and placid usually, but now so discomposed and stern. + + +“Where have you been, Julia?” + +“Only at the school,” she faltered. + +“Who was your companion home?” + +“Oh, don't be angry with me! It was Alfred.” + +“Alfred! His Christian name! You try my patience too hard.” + +“Forgive me. I was not to blame this time, indeed! indeed! You frighten +me. What will become of me? What have I done for my own mamma to look at +me so?” + +Mrs. Dodd groaned. “Was that young coquette I watched from my window +the child I have reared? No face on earth is to be trusted after this. +'What have you done' indeed? Only risked your own mother's esteem, and +nearly broken her heart!” And with these words her own courage began to +give way, and she sank into a chair with a deep sigh. + +At this Julia screamed, and threw herself on her knees beside her, and +cried “Kill me! oh, pray kill me! but don't drive me to despair with +such cruel words and looks!” and fell to sobbing so wildly that Mrs. +Dodd altered her tone with almost ludicrous rapidity. “There, do not +terrify me with your impetuosity, after grieving me so. Be calm, child; +let me see whether I cannot remedy your sad imprudence; and, that I may, +pray tell me the whole truth. How did this come about?” + +In reply to this question, which she somewhat mistook, Julia sobbed out, +“He met me c-coming out of the school, and asked to s-see me home. I +said 'No thank you,' because I th-thought of your warning. 'Oh yes!' +said he, and _would_ walk with me, and keep saying he loved me. So, to +stop him, I said, 'M-much ob-liged, but I was b-busy and had no time +to flirt.' 'Nor have I the in-inclination,' said he. 'That is not what +others say of you,' said I--you know what you t-told me, mamma--so at +last he said d-did ever he ask any lady to be his wife? 'I suppose +not,' said I, 'or you would be p-p-private property by now instead of +p-public.'” + +“Now there was a foolish speech; as much as to say nobody could resist +him.” + +“W-wasn't it? And n-no more they could. You have no idea how he makes +love; _so_ unladylike: keeps advancing and advancing, and never once +retreats, nor even st-ops. 'But I ask _you_ to be my wife,' said he. +Oh, mamma, I trembled so. Why did I tremble? I don't know. I made myself +cold and haughty; 'I should make no reply to such ridiculous questions; +say that to mamma, if you dare!' I said.” + +Mrs. Dodd bit her lip, and said, “Was there ever such simplicity?” + +“Simple! Why that was my cunning. You are the only creature he is afraid +of; so I thought to stop his mouth with you. But instead of that, my +lord said calmly, 'That was understood; he loved me too well to steal +me from her to whom he was indebted for me.' Oh, he has always an answer +ready. And that makes him such a p-pest.” + +“It was an answer that did him credit.” + +“Dear mamma! now did it not? Then at parting he said he would come +to-morrow, and ask you for my hand; but I must intercede with you first, +or you would be sure to say 'No.' So I declined to interfere: 'W-w-what +was it to me?' I said. He begged and prayed me: 'Was it likely you would +give him such a treasure as Me unless I stood his friend?' (For the +b-b-brazen Thing turns humble now and then.) And, oh, mamma, he did so +implore me to pity him, and kept saying no man ever loved as he +loved me, and with his begging and praying me so passionately--oh, so +passionately--I felt something warm drop from his poor eyes on my hand. +Oh! oh! oh! oh!--What could I do? And then, you know, I wanted to +get away from him. So I am afraid I did just say 'Yes.' But only in a +whisper. Mamma! my own, good, kind, darling mamma, have pity on him and +on me; we love one another so.” + +A shower of tender tears gushed out in support of this appeal and in a +moment she was caught up with Love's mighty arms, and her head laid on +her mother's yearning bosom. No word was needed to reconcile these two. + +After a long silence, Mrs. Dodd said this would be a warning never +to judge her sweet child from a distance again, nor unheard. “And +therefore,” said she, “let me hear from your own lips how so serious an +attachment could spring up. Why, it is scarcely a month since you were +first introduced at that ball.” + +“Mamma,” murmured Julia, hanging her head, “you are mistaken; we knew +each other before.” + +Mrs. Dodd looked all astonishment. + +“Now I _will_ ease my heart,” said Julia, impetuously, addressing some +invisible obstacle. “I tell you I am sick of having secrets from my own +mother.” And with this out it all came. She told the story of her heart +better than I have; and, woman-like, dwelt on the depths of loyalty +and delicate love she had read in Alfred's moonlit face that night at +Henley. She said no eloquence could have touched her like it. “Mamma, +something said to me, 'Ay, look at him well, for that is your husband to +be.'” She even tried to solve the mystery of her _soi-disant_ sickness: +“I was disturbed by a feeling so new and so powerful,* but, above all, +by having a secret from you; the first--the last.” + + *Perhaps even this faint attempt at self-analysis was due to + the influence of Dr. Whately. For, by nature, young ladies + of this age seldom turn the eye inward. + +“Well, darling, then why have a secret? Why not trust me, your friend as +well as your mother?” + +“Ah! why, indeed? I am a puzzle to myself. I wanted you to know, and yet +I could not tell you. I kept giving you hints, and hoped so you would +take them, and make me speak out. But when I tried to tell you plump, +something kept pull--pull--pulling me inside, and I couldn't. Mark my +words! some day it will turn out that I am neither more nor less than a +fool.” + +Mrs. Dodd slighted this ingenious solution. She said, after a moment's +reflection, that the fault of this misunderstanding lay between the two. +“I remember now I have had many hints; my mind must surely have gone +to sleep. I was a poor simple woman who thought her daughter was to be +always a child. And you were very wrong to go and set a limit to your +mother's love: there is none--none whatever.” She added: “I must import +a little prudence and respect for the world's opinion into this new +connection; but whoever you love shall find no enemy in me.” + +Next day Alfred came to know his fate. He was received with ceremonious +courtesy. At first he was a good deal embarrassed, but this was no +sooner seen than it was relieved by Mrs. Dodd with tact and gentleness. +When her turn came, she said, “Your papa? Of course you have +communicated this step to him?” + +Alfred looked a little confused, and said, “No: he left for London two +days ago, as it happens.” + +“That is unfortunate,” said Mrs. Dodd. “Your best plan would be to write +to him at once. I need hardly tell you that we shall enter no family +without an invitation from its head.” + +Alfred replied that he was well aware of that, and that he knew his +father, and could answer for him. “No doubt,” said Mrs. Dodd, “but, as +a matter of reasonable form, I prefer he should answer for himself.” + Alfred would write by this post. “It is a mere form,” said he, “for +my father has but one answer to his children, 'Please yourselves.' He +sometimes adds, 'and how much money shall you want?' These are his two +formulae.” + +He then delivered a glowing eulogy on his father; and Mrs. Dodd, to +whom the boy's character was now a grave and anxious study, saw with no +common satisfaction his cheek flush and his eyes moisten as he dwelt on +the calm, sober, unvarying affection, and reasonable indulgence he +and his sister had met with all their lives from the best of parents. +Returning to the topic of topics, he proposed an engagement. “I have a +ring in my pocket,” said this brisk wooer, looking down. But this Mrs. +Dodd thought premature and unnecessary. “You are nearly of age,” said +she, “and then you will be able to marry, if you are in the same mind.” + But, upon being warmly pressed, she half conceded even this. “Well,” + said she, “on receiving your father's consent, you can _propose_ an +engagement to Julia, and she shall use her own judgment; but, until +then, you will not even mention such a thing to her. May I count on so +much forbearance from you, sir?” + +“Dear Mrs. Dodd,” said Alfred, “of course you may. I should indeed be +ungrateful if I could not wait a post for that. May I write to my father +here?” added he, naively. + +Mrs. Dodd smiled, furnished him with writing materials, and left him, +with a polite excuse. + + +“ALBION VILLA, _September 29._ + +“MY DEAR FATHER,--You are too thorough a man of the world, and too +well versed in human nature, to be surprised at hearing that I, so long +invulnerable, have at last formed a devoted attachment to one whose +beauty, goodness, and accomplishments I will not now enlarge upon; +they are indescribable, and you will very soon see them and judge for +yourself. The attachment, though short in weeks and months, has been a +very long one in hopes, and fears, and devotion. I should have told you +of it before you left, but in truth I had no idea I was so near the goal +of all my earthly hopes; there were many difficulties: but these have +just cleared away almost miraculously, and nothing now is wanting to my +happiness but your consent. It would be affectation, or worse, in me to +doubt that you will grant it. But, in a matter so delicate, I venture to +ask you for something more: the mother of my ever and only beloved Julia +is a lady of high breeding and sentiments: she will not let her daughter +enter any family without a cordial invitation from its head. Indeed she +has just told me so. I ask, therefore, not your bare consent, of which +I am sure, since my happiness for life depends on it, but a consent so +gracefully worded--and who can do this better than you?--as to gratify +the just pride and sensibilities of the high-minded family about to +confide its brightest ornament to my care. + +“My dear father, in the midst of felicity almost more than mortal, the +thought has come that this letter is my first step towards leaving the +paternal roof under which I have been so happy all my life, thanks to +you. I should indeed be unworthy of all your goodness if this thought +caused me no emotion. + +“Yet I do but yield to Nature's universal law. And, should I be master +of my own destiny, I will not go far from you. I have been unjust to +Barkington: or rather I have echoed, without thought, Oxonian prejudices +and affectation. On mature reflection, I know no better residence for a +married man. + +“Do you remember about a year ago you mentioned a Miss Lucy Fountain to +us as 'the most perfect gentlewoman you had ever met?' Well, strange to +say, it is that very lady's daughter; and I think when you see her you +will say the breed has anything but declined, in spite of Horace mind +his _'damnosa quid non.'_ Her brother is my dearest friend, and she is +Jenny's; so a more happy alliance for all parties was never projected. + +“Write to me by return, dear father, and believe me, ever your dutiful +and grateful son, + +“ALFRED HARDlE.” + + +As he concluded, Julia came in, and he insisted on her reading this +masterpiece. She hesitated. Then he told her with juvenile severity that +a good husband always shares his letters with his wife. + +“His wife! Alfred!” and she coloured all over. “Don't call me _names,_” + said she, turning it off after her fashion. “I can't bear it: it makes +me tremble. With fury.” + +“This will never do, sweet one,” said Alfred gravely. “You and I are +to have no separate existence now; you are to be I, and I am to be you. +Come!” + +“No; you read me so much of it as is proper for me to hear. I shall not +like it so well from your lips: but never mind.” + +When he came to read it, he appreciated the delicacy that had tempered +her curiosity. He did not read it all to her, but nearly. + +“It is a beautiful letter,” said she; “a little pomposer than mamma +and I write. 'The paternal roof!' But all that becomes you; you are a +scholar: and, dear Alfred, if I should separate you from your papa, +I will never estrange you from him; oh, never, never. May I go for my +work? For methinks, O most erudite, the 'maternal dame,' on domestic +cares intent, hath confided to her offspring the recreation of your +highness.” The gay creature dropt him a curtsey, and fled to tell Mrs. +Dodd the substance of “the sweet letter the dear high-flown Thing had +written.” + +By then he had folded and addressed it, she returned and brought her +work: charity children's great cloaks: her mother had cut them, and +in the height of the fashion, to Jane Hardie's dismay; and Julia was +binding, hooding, etcetering them. + +How demurely she bent her lovely head over her charitable work, while +Alfred poured his tale into her ears! How careful she was not to speak, +when there was a chance of his speaking! How often she said one thing so +as to express its opposite, a process for which she might have taken out +a patent! How she and Alfred compared heart-notes, and their feelings +at each stage of their passion! Their hearts put forth tendril after +tendril, and so curled, and clung, round each other. + +In the afternoon of the second blissful day, Julia suddenly remembered +that this was dull for her mother. To have such a thought was to fly +to her; and she flew so swiftly that she caught Mrs. Dodd in tears, and +trying adroitly and vainly to hide them. + +“What is the matter? I am a wretch. I have left you alone.” + +“Do not think me so peevish, love! you have but surprised the natural +regrets of a mother at the loss of her child.” + +“Oh, mamma,” said Julia, warmly, “and do you think all the marriage in +the world can ever divide you and me--can make me lukewarm to my own +sweet, darling, beautiful, blessed, angel mother? Look at me: I am as +much your Julia as ever; and shall be while I live. Your son is your +son till he gets him a wife: but your daughter's your daughter, +ALL--THE----DAYS--OF HER LIFE.” + + +Divine power of native eloquence: with this trite distich you made +hexameters tame; it gushed from that great young heart with a sweet +infantine ardour, that even virtue can only pour when young, and youth +when virtuous; and, at the words I have emphasised by the poor device +of capitals, two lovely, supple arms flew wide out like a soaring +albatross's wings, and then went all round the sad mother, and gathered +every bit of her up to the generous young bosom. + +“I know it, I know it!” cried Mrs. Dodd, kissing her; “I shall never +lose my daughter while she breathes. But I am losing my child. You are +turning to a woman visibly: and you were such a happy child. Hence my +misgivings, and these weak tears, which you have dried with a word: +see!” And she contrived to smile. “And now go down, dearest: he may be +impatient; men's love is so fiery.” + +The next day Mrs. Dodd took Julia apart and asked her whether there was +an answer from Mr. Hardie. Julia replied, from Alfred, that Jane had +received a letter last night, and, to judge by the contents, Mr. Hardie +must have left London before Alfred's letter got there. “He is gone to +see poor Uncle Thomas.” + +“Why do you call him 'poor?'” + +“Oh, he is not very clever; has not much mind, Alfred says; indeed, +hardly any.” + +“You alarm me, Julia!” cried Mrs. Dodd. “What? madness in the family you +propose to marry into?” + +“Oh no, mamma,” said Julia, in a great hurry; “no madness; only a little +imbecility.” + +Mrs. Dodd's lip curved at this Julian answer; but just then her mind +was more drawn to another topic. A serious doubt passed through her, +whether, if Mr. Hardie did not write soon, she ought not to limit his +son's attendance on her daughter. “He follows her about like a little +dog,” said she half fretfully. + +Next day, by previous invitation, Dr. Sampson made Albion Villa his +head-quarters. Darting in from London, he found Alfred sitting very +close to Julia over a book. + +“Lordsake!” cried he, “here's 'my puppy,' and 'm' enthusiast,' cheek +by chowl.” Julia turned scarlet, and Alfred ejaculated so loudly, that +Sampson inquired “what on airth was the matter now?” + +“Oh, nothing; only here have I been jealous of my own shadow, and +pestering her who 'your puppy' was: and she never would tell me. All +I could get from her,” added he, turning suddenly from gratitude to +revenge, “was that he was no greater a puppy than yourself, doctor.” + +“Oh, Alfred, no; I only said no vainer,” cried Julia in dismay. + +“Well, it is true,” said Sampson contentedly, and proceeded to dissect +himself just as he would a stranger. “I am a vain man; a remarkably vain +man. But then I'm a man of great mirit.” + +“All vain people are that,” suggested Alfred dryly. + +“Who should know better than you, young Oxford? Y' have got a hidache.” + +“No, indeed.” + +“Don't tell lies now. Ye can't deceive me; man, I've an eye like a hawk. +And what's that ye're studying with her? Ovid, for a pound.” + +“No; medicine; a treatise on your favourite organ, the brain, by one Dr. +Whately.” + +“He is chaffing you, doctor,” said Edward; “it is logic. He is coaching +her; and then she will coach me.” + +“Then I forbid the chaff-cutting, young Pidant. Logic is an ill plaster +to a sore head.” + +“Oh, 'the labour we delight in, physics pain.'” + + “Jinnyus, Jinnyus; + Take care o' your carkuss,” + +retorted the master of doggrel. “And that is a profounder remark than +you seem to think, by your grinning, all of ye.” + +Julia settled the question by putting away the book. And she murmured to +Alfred, “I wish I could steal your poor dear headaches: you might give +me half of them at least; you would, too, if you really loved me.” + +This sound remonstrance escaped criticism by being nearly inaudible, and +by Mrs. Dodd entering at the same moment. + +After the first greeting, Sampson asked her with merry arrogance, how +his prescription had worked? “Is her sleep broken still, ma'am? Are her +spirits up and down? Shall we have to go back t' old Short and his black +draught? How's her mookis membrin? And her biliary ducks? an'--she's off +like a flash.” + +“And no wonder,” said Mrs. Dodd reproachfully. + +Thus splashed Sampson among the ducks: one of them did not show her face +again till dinner. + +Jane Hardie accompanied her brother by invitation. The general amity was +diversified and the mirth nowise lessened by constant passages of arms +between Messrs. Sampson and Alfred Hardie. + +After tea came the first _contretemps._ Sampson liked a game of cards: +he could play, yet talk chronothermalism, as the fair can knit babies' +shoes and imbibe the poetasters of the day. + +Mrs. Dodd had asked Edward to bring a fresh pack. He was seen by his +guardian angel to take them out of his pocket and undo them; presently +Sampson, in his rapid way, clutched hold of them; and found a slip of +paper curled round the ace of spades, with this written very clear in +pencil, + + “REMEMBER THY CREATOR IN THE DAYS OF THY YOUTH!” + +“What is this?” cried Sampson, and read it out aloud. Jane Hardie +coloured, and so betrayed herself. Her “word in season” had strayed. It +was the young and comely Edward she wished to save from the diabolical +literature, the painted perdition, and not the uninteresting old sinner +Sampson, who proceeded to justify her preference by remarking that +“Remember not to trump your partner's best card, ladies,” would be more +to the point. + +Everybody, except this hardened personage, was thoroughly uncomfortable. +As for Alfred, his face betrayed a degree of youthful mortification +little short of agony. Mrs. Dodd was profoundly disgusted, but +fortunately for the Hardies, caught sight of his burning cheeks and +compressed lips. “Dr. Sampson,” said she, with cold dignity, “you will, +I am sure, oblige me by making no more comments; sincerity is not always +discreet; but it is always respectable: it is one of your own titles to +esteem. I dare say,” added she with great sweetness, “our resources +are not so narrow that we need shock anybody's prejudices, and, as it +happens, I was just going to ask Julia to sing: open the piano, love, +and try if you can persuade Miss Hardie to join you in a duet.” + +At this, Jane and Julia had an earnest conversation at the piano, and +their words, uttered in a low voice, were covered by a contemporaneous +discussion between Sampson and Mrs. Dodd. + +_Jane._ No, you must not ask me: I have forsworn these vanities. I have +not opened my piano this two years. + +_Julia._ Oh, what a pity; music is so beautiful; and surely we can +choose our songs, as easily as our words; ah, how much more easily. + +_Jane._ Oh, I don't go so far as to call music wicked: but music in +society is _such_ a snare. At least I found it so; my playing was highly +praised, and that stirred up vanity: and so did my singing, with which I +had even more reason to be satisfied. Snares! snares! + +_Julia._ Goodness me! I don't find them so. Now you mention it, +gentlemen do praise one; but, dear me, they praise every lady, even when +we have been singing every other note out of tune. The little unmeaning +compliments of society, can they catch anything so great as a soul? + +_Jane._ I pray daily not to be led into temptation, and shall I go into +it of my own accord? + +_Julia._ Not if you find it a temptation. At that rate I ought to +decline. + +_Jane._ That doesn't follow. My conscience is not a law to yours. +Besides, your mamma said “sing:” and a parent is not to be disobeyed +upon a doubt. If papa were to insist on my going to a ball even, or +reading a novel, I think I should obey; and lay the whole case before +Him. + +_Mrs. Dodd_ (from a distance). Come, my dears, Dr. Sampson is getting +_so_ impatient for your song. + +_Sampson._ Hum! for all that, young ladies' singing is a poor substitute +for cards, and even for conversation. + +_Mrs. Dodd._ That depends upon the singer, I presume. + +_Sampson._ Mai--dear--madam, they all sing alike; just as they all write +alike. I can hardly tell one fashionable tune from another; and nobody +can tell one word from another, when they cut out all the consonants. N' +listen me. This is what I heard sung by a lady last night. + +Eu un Da' ei u aa an oo. By oo eeeeyee aa Vaullee, Vaullee, Vaullee, +Vaullee, Vaullee om is igh eeaa An ellin in is ud. + +_Mrs. Dodd._ That sounds like gibberish. + +_Sampson._ It is gibberish, but it's Drydenish in articulating mouths. +It is-- + +He sung Darius great and good, By too severe a fate Fallen, fallen, +fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, And wiltering in his blood. + +_Mrs. Dodd._ I think you exaggerate. I will answer for Julia that she +shall speak as distinctly to music as you do in conversation. + +_Sampson_ (all unconscious of the tap). Time will show, madam. At +prisent they seem to be in no hurry to spatter us with their word-jelly. +Does some spark of pity linger in their marble bos'ms? or do they prefer +inaud'ble chit-chat t' inarticulate mewing? + +Julia, thus pressed, sang one of those songs that come and go every +season. She spoke the words clearly, and with such variety and +intelligence, that Sampson recanted, and broke in upon the--“very +pretty”--“how sweet”--and “who is it by?” of the others, by shouting, +“Very weak trash very cleanly sung. Now give us something worth the wear +and tear of your orgins. Immortal vairse widded t' immortal sounds; that +is what I understand b' a song.” + +Alfred whispered, “No, no, dearest; sing something suitable to you and +me.” + +“Out of the question. Then go farther away, dear; I shall have more +courage.” + +He obeyed, and she turned over two or three music-books, and finally +sung from memory. She cultivated musical memory, having observed the +contempt with which men of sense visit the sorry pretenders to music, +who are tuneless and songless among the nightingales, and anywhere else +away from their books. How will they manage to sing in heaven? Answer me +that. + +The song Julia Dodd sang on this happy occasion, to meet the humble but +heterogeneous views of Messrs. Sampson and Hardie, was a simple eloquent +Irish song called Aileen Aroon. Whose history, by-the-bye, was a curious +one. Early in this century it occurred to somebody to hymn a son of +George the Third for his double merit in having been born, and going to +a ball. People who thus apply the fine arts in modern days are seldom +artists; accordingly, this parasite could not invent a melody; so he +coolly stole Aileen Aroon, soiled it by inserting sordid and incongruous +jerks into the refrain, and called the stolen and adulterated article +Robin Adair. An artisan of the same kidney was soon found to write words +down to the degraded ditty: and, so strong is Flunkeyism, and so weak is +Criticism, in these islands, that the polluted tune actually superseded +the clean melody; and this sort of thing-- + + Who was in uniform at the ball? + Silly Billy, + +smothered the immortal lines. + +But Mrs. Dodd's severe taste in music rejected those ignoble jerks, and +her enthusiastic daughter having the option to hymn immortal Constancy +or mortal Fat, decided thus:-- + + When like the early rose, + Aileen aroon, + Beauty in childhood glows, + Aileen aroon, + + When like a diadem, + Buds blush around the stem, + Which is the fairest gem? + Aileen aroon. + + Is it the laughing eye? + Aileen aroon. + Is it the timid sigh? + Aileen aroon. + + Is it the tender tone? + Soft as the string'd harp's mean? + No; it is Truth alone, + Aileen aroon. + + I know a valley fair, + Aileen aroon. + I know a cottage there, + Aileen aroon. + + Far in that valley's shade, + I know a gentle maid, + Flower of the hazel glade, + Aileen aroon. + + Who in the song so sweet? + Aileen aroon, + Who in the dance so fleet? + Aileen aroon. + + Dear are her charms to me, + Dearer her laughter free, + Dearest her constancy. + Aileen aroon. + + Youth must with time decay, + Aileen aroon, + Beauty must fade away, + Aileen aroon. + + Castles are sacked in war, + Chieftains are scattered far, + Truth is a fixed star, + Aileen areon. + +The way the earnest singer sang these lines is beyond the conception of +ordinary singers, public or private. Here one of nature's orators spoke +poetry to music with an eloquence as fervid and delicate as ever rung in +the Forum. She gave each verse with the same just variety as if she had +been reciting, and, when she came to the last, where the thought rises +abruptly, and is truly noble, she sang it with the sudden pathos, the +weight, and the swelling majesty, of a truthful soul hymning truth with +all its powers. + +All the hearers, even Sampson, were thrilled, astonished, spell-bound: +so can one wave of immortal music and immortal verse (alas! how seldom +they meet!) heave the inner man when genius interprets. Judge, then, +what it was to Alfred, to whom, with these great words and thrilling +tones of her rich, swelling, ringing voice, the darling of his own heart +vowed constancy, while her inspired face beamed on him like an angel's. + +Even Mrs. Dodd, though acquainted with the song, and with her daughter's +rare powers, gazed at her now with some surprise, as well as admiration, +and kept a note Sarah had brought her, open, but unread, in her hand, +unable to take her eyes from the inspired songstress. However, just +before the song ended, she did just glance down, and saw it was signed +Richard Hardie. On this her eye devoured it; and in one moment she +saw that the writer declined, politely but peremptorily, the proposed +alliance between his son and her daughter. + +The mother looked up from this paper at that living radiance and +incarnate melody in a sort of stupor: it seemed hardly possible to her +that a provincial banker could refuse an alliance with a creature +so peerless as that. But so it was; and despite her habitual +self-government, Mrs. Dodd's white hand clenched the note till her nails +dented it; and she reddened to the brow with anger and mortification. + +Julia, whom she had trained never to monopolise attention in society, +now left the piano in spite of remonstrance, and soon noticed her +mother's face; for from red it had become paler than usual. “Are you +unwell, dear?” said she _sotto voce._ + +“No, love.” + +“Is there anything the matter, then?” + +“Hush! We have guests: our first duty is to them.” With this Mrs. Dodd +rose, and, endeavouring not to look at her daughter at all, went round +and drew each of her guests out in turn. It was the very heroism +of courtesy; for their presence was torture to her. At last, to her +infinite relief, they went, and she was left alone with her children. +She sent the servants to bed, saying she would undress Miss Dodd, and +accompanied her to her room. There the first thing she did was to lock +the door; and the next was to turn round and look at her full. + +“I always thought you the most lovable child I ever saw; but I never +admired you as I have to-night, my noble, my beautiful daughter, who +would grace the highest family in England.” With this Mrs. Dodd began to +choke, and kissed Julia eagerly with the tears in her eyes, and drew her +with tender, eloquent defiance to her bosom. + +“My own mamma,” said Julia softly, “what has happened?” + +“My darling,” said Mrs. Dodd, trembling a little, “have you pride? have +you spirit?” + +“I think I have.” + +“I hope so: for you will need them both. Read that!” + +And she held out Mr. Hardie's letter, but turned her own head away, not +to see her girl's face under the insult. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +JULIA took Mr. Hardie's note and read it:-- + + +“MADAM,--I have received a very juvenile letter from my son, by which I +learn he has formed a sudden attachment to your daughter. He tells me, +however, at the same time, that you await my concurrence before giving +your consent. I appreciate your delicacy; and it is with considerable +regret I now write to inform you this match is out of the question. I +have thought it due to you to communicate this to yourself and +without delay, and feel sure that you will, under the circumstances, +discountenance my son's further visits at your house--I am, Madam, with +sincere respect, your faithful servant, + +“RICHARD HARDIE.” + +Julia read this letter, and re-read it in silence. It was an anxious +moment to the mother. + +“Shall our pride be less than this _parvenu's?_” she faltered. “Tell me +yourself, what ought we to do?” + +“What we ought to do is, never to let the name of Hardie be mentioned +again in this house.” + +This reply was very comforting to Mrs. Dodd. + +“Shall I write to him, or do you feel strong enough?” + +“I feel that, if I do, I may affront him. He had no right to pretend +that his father would consent. You write, and then we shall not lose our +dignity though we are insulted.” + +“I feel so weary, mamma.” Life seems ended. + +“I could have loved him well. And now show me how to tear him out of my +heart; or what will become of me?” + +While Mrs. Dodd wrote to Alfred Hardie, Julia sank down and laid her +head on her mother's knees. The note was shown her; she approved it +languidly. A long and sad conversation followed; and, after kissing her +mother and clinging to her, she went to bed chilly and listless, but did +not shed a single tear. Her young heart was benumbed by the unexpected +blow. + +Next morning early, Alfred Hardie started gaily to spend the day at +Albion Villa. Not a hundred yards from the gate he met Sarah, with Mrs. +Dodd's letter, enclosing a copy of his father's to her. Mrs. Dodd +here reminded him that his visits had been encouraged only upon a +misapprehension of his father's sentiments; for which misapprehension he +was in some degree to blame: not that she meant to reproach him on that +score, especially at this unhappy moment: no, she rather blamed herself +for listening to the sanguine voice of youth; but the error must now +be repaired. She and Julia would always wish him well, and esteem him, +provided he made no further attempt to compromise a young lady who could +not be his wife. The note concluded thus-- + +“Individually I think I have some right to count on your honourable +feeling to hold no communication with my daughter, and not in any way to +attract her attention, under the present circumstances.--I am, dear Mr. +Alfred Hardie, with many regrets at the pain I fear I am giving you, +your sincere friend and well-wisher, + +“LUCY DODD.” + +Alfred on reading this letter literally staggered: but proud and +sensitive, as well as loving, he manned himself to hide his wound from +Sarah, whose black eyes were bent on him in merciless scrutiny. He said +doggedly, though tremulously, “Very well!” then turned quickly on his +heel, and went slowly home. Mrs. Dodd, with well-feigned indifference, +questioned Sarah privately: the girl's account of the abrupt way in +which he had received the missive added to her anxiety. She warned the +servants that no one was at home to Mr. Alfred Hardie. + +Two days elapsed, and then she received a letter from him. Poor fellow, +it was the eleventh. He had written and torn up ten. + + +“DEAR MRS. DODD,--I have gained some victories in my life; but not one +without two defeats to begin with; how then can I expect to obtain such +a prize as dear Julia without a check or two? You need not fear that I +shall intrude after your appeal to me as a gentleman: but I am not going +to give in because my father has written a hasty letter from Yorkshire. +He and I must have many a talk face to face before I consent to be +miserable for life. Dear Mrs. Dodd, at first receipt of your cruel +letter, so kindly worded, I was broken-hearted; but now I am myself +again: difficulties are made for ladies to yield to, and for men to +conquer. Only for pity's sake do not you be my enemy; do not set her +against me for my father's fault. Think, if you can, how my heart bleeds +at closing this letter without one word to her I love better, a thousand +times better, than my life--I am, dear Mrs. Dodd, yours sorrowfully, but +not despairing, + +“ALFRED HARDIE.” + + +Mrs. Dodd kept this letter to herself. She could not read it quite +unmoved, and therefore she felt sure it would disturb her daughter's +heart the more. + +Alfred had now a soft but dangerous antagonist in Mrs. Dodd. All the +mother was in arms to secure her daughter's happiness, _coute qu'il +coute!_ and the surest course seemed to be to detach her affections +from Alfred. What hope of a peaceful heart without this? and what real +happiness without peace? But, too wise and calm to interfere blindly, +she watched her daughter day and night, to find whether Love or Pride +was the stronger, and this is what she observed-- + +Julia never mentioned Alfred. She sought occupation eagerly: came +oftener than usual for money, saying, it was for “Luxury.” She visited +the poor more constantly, taking one of the maids with her, at Mrs. +Dodd's request. She studied Logic with Edward. She went to bed rather +early, fatigued, it would appear, by her activity: and she gave the +clue to her own conduct one day: “Mamma,” said she, “nobody is downright +unhappy who is good.” + +Mrs. Dodd noticed also a certain wildness and almost violence, with +which she threw herself into her occupations, and a worn look about the +eyes that told of a hidden conflict. On the whole Mrs. Dodd was hopeful; +for she had never imagined the cure would be speedy or easy. To see +her child on the right road was much. Only the great healer Time could +“medicine her to that sweet peace which once she owned;” and even Time +cannot give her back her childhood, thought the mother, with a sigh. + +One day came an invitation to an evening party at a house where they +always wound up with dancing. Mrs. Dodd was for declining as usual for +since that night Julia had shunned parties. “Give me the sorrows of the +poor and afflicted,” was her cry; “the gaiety of the hollow world jars +me more than I can bear.” But now she caught with a sort of eagerness at +this invitation. “Accept. They shall not say I am wearing the willow.” + +“My brave girl,” said Mrs. Dodd joyfully, “I would not press it; but you +are right; we owe it to ourselves to outface scandal. Still, let there +be no precipitation; we must not undertake beyond our strength.” + +“Try me to-night,” said Julia; “you don't know what I can do. I dare say +_he_ is not pining for _me._” + +She was the life and soul of the party, and, indeed, so feverishly +brilliant, that Mrs. Dodd said softly to her, “Gently, love; moderate +your spirits, or they will deceive our friends as little as they do me.” + +Meantime it cost Alfred Hardie a severe struggle to keep altogether +aloof from Julia. In fact, it was a state of daily self-denial, to which +he would never have committed himself, but that he was quite sure he +could gradually win his father over. At his age we are apt to count +without our antagonist. + +Mr. Richard Hardie was “a long-headed man.” He knew the consequence of +giving one's reasons: eternal discussion ending in war. He had taken +care not to give any to Mrs. Dodd, and he was as guarded and reserved +with Alfred. The young man begged to know the why and the wherefore, and +being repulsed, employed all his art to elicit them by surprise, or get +at them by inference: but all in vain. Hardie senior was impenetrable; +and inquiry, petulance, tenderness, logic, were all shattered on him as +the waves break on Ailsa Craig. + +Thus began dissension, decently conducted at first, between a father +indulgent hitherto and an affectionate son. + +In this unfortunate collision of two strong and kindred natures, +every advantage was at present on the father's side: age, experience, +authority, resolution, hidden and powerful motives, to which my reader +even has no clue as yet; a purpose immutable and concealed. Add to these +a colder nature and a far colder affection; for Alfred loved his father +dearly. + +At last, one day, the impetuous one lost his self-command, and said he +was a son, not a slave, and had little respect for Authority when afraid +or ashamed to appeal to Reason. Hardie senior turned on him with a +gravity and dignity no man could wear more naturally. “Alfred, have I +been an unkind father to you all these years?” + +“Oh no, father, no; I have said nothing that can be so construed. And +that is the mystery to me; you are acting quite out of character.” + +“Have I been one of those interfering, pragmatical fathers who cannot +let their children enjoy themselves their own way?” + +“No, sir; you have never interfered, except to pay for anything I +wanted.” + +“Then make the one return in your power, young man: have a little faith +in such a father, and believe that he does not interfere now but for +your good, and under a stern necessity; and that when he does interfere +for once, and say, 'This thing shall not be,' it shall not be--by +Heaven!” + +Alfred was overpowered by the weight and solemnity of this. Sorrow, +vexation, and despondency all rushed into his heart together, and +unmanned him for a moment; he buried his face in his hands, and +something very like a sob burst from his young heart. At this Hardie +senior took up the newspaper with imperturbable coldness, and wore a +slight curl of the lip. All this was hardly genuine, for he was not +altogether unmoved; but he was a man of rare self-command, and chose to +impress on Alfred that he was no more to be broken or melted than a mere +rock. + +It is always precarious to act a part; and this cynicism was rather +able than wise: Alfred looked up and watched him keenly as he read the +monetary article with tranquil interest; and then, for the first time in +his life, it flashed into the young man's mind that his father was not +a father. “I never knew him till now,” thought he. “This man is [Greek +text].” * + + *Without bowels of affection. + +Thus a gesture, so to speak, sowed the first seed of downright disunion +in Richard Hardie's house--disunion, a fast-growing plant, when men set +it in the soil of the passions. + +Alfred, unlike Julia, had no panacea. Had any lips, except perhaps hers, +told him that “to be good is to be happy here below,” he would have +replied: _“Negatur;_ contradicted by daily experience.” It never +occurred to him, therefore, to go out of himself, and sympathise with +the sordid sorrows of the poor, and their bottomless egotism in +contact with the well-to-do. He brooded on his own love, and his own +unhappiness, and his own father's cruelty. His nights were sleepless and +his days leaden. He tried hard to read for his first class, but for once +even ambition failed: it ended in flinging books away in despair. +He wandered about dreaming and moping for some change, and bitterly +regretting his excessive delicacy, which had tied his own hands and +brought him to a stand-still. He lost his colour and what little flesh +he had to lose; for such young spirits as this are never plump. In a +word, being now strait-jacketed into feminine inactivity, while void of +feminine patience, his ardent heart was pining and fretting itself out. +He was in this condition, when one day Peterson, his Oxonian friend, +burst in on him open-mouthed with delight, and, as usual with bright +spirits of this calibre, did not even notice his friend's sadness. +“Cupid had clapped him on the shoulder,” as Shakespeare hath it; and it +was a deal nicer than the bum-bailiff rheumatism. + +“Oh, such a divine creature! Met her twice; you know her by sight; her +name is Dodd. But I don't care; it shall be Peterson; the rose by any +other name, &c.” Then followed a rapturous description of the lady's +person, well worth omitting. “And such a jolly girl! brightens them all +up wherever she goes; and such a dancer; did the cachouka with a little +Spanish bloke Bosanquet has got hold of, and made his black bolus eyes +twinkle like midnight cigars: danced it with castanets, and smiles, and +such a what d'ye call 'em, my boy, you know; such a 'go.'” + +“You mean such an 'abandon,'” groaned Alfred, turning sick at heart. + +“That's the word. Twice the spirit of Duvernay, and ten times the +beauty. But just you hear her sing, that is all; Italian, French, +German, English even.” + +“Plaintive songs?” + +“Oh, whatever they ask for. Make you laugh or make you cry to order; +never says no. Just smiles and sits down to the music-box. Only she +won't sing two running: they have to stick a duffer in between. I shall +meet her again next week; will you come? Any friend of mine is welcome. +Wish me joy, old fellow; I'm a gone coon.” + +This news put Alfred in a phrensy of indignation and fear. Julia dancing +the cachouka! Julia a jolly girl! Julia singing songs pathetic or merry, +whichever were asked for! The heartless one! He called to mind all he +had read in the classics, and elsewhere, about the fickleness of woman. +But this impression did not last long; he recalled Julia's character, +and all the signs of a love tender and true she had given him. He read +her by himself, and, lover-like, laid all the blame on another. It was +all her cold-blooded mother. “Fool that I have been. I see it all now. +She appeals to my delicacy to keep away; then she goes to Julia and +says, 'See, he deserts you at a word from his father. Be proud, be gay! +He never loved you; marry another.' The shallow plotter forgets that +whoever she does marry I'll kill. How many unsuspicious girls have +these double-faced mothers deluded so? They do it in half the novels, +especially in those written by women; and why? because these know the +perfidy and mendacity of their sex better than we do; they see them +nearer, and with their souls undrest. War, Mrs. Dodd! war to the death! +From this moment I am alone in the world with her. I have no friend but +Alfred Hardie: and my bitterest enemies are my cold-blooded father and +her cold-blooded mother.” + +The above sentences, of course, were never uttered. But they represent +his thoughts accurately, though in a condensed form, and are, as it +were, a miniature of this young heart boiling over. + +From that moment he lay in wait for her, and hovered about the house day +and night, determined to appeal to her personally, and undeceive +her, and baffle her mother's treachery. But at this game he was soon +detected: Mrs. Dodd lived on the watch now. Julia, dressed to go out, +went to the window one afternoon to look at the weather; but retreated +somewhat hastily and sat down on the sofa. + +“You flutter, darling,” said Mrs. Dodd. “Ah! he is there.” + +“Yes.” + +“You had better take off your things.” + +“Oh, yes. I tremble at the thoughts of meeting him. Mamma, he is +changed, sadly changed. Poor, poor Alfred!” She went to her own room and +prayed for him. She informed the Omniscient that, though much greater +and better in other respects than she was, he had not Patience. She +prayed, with tears, that he might have Christian patience granted Him +from on high. + +“Heart of stone! she shuns me,” said Alfred, outside. He had seen her in +her bonnet. + +Mrs. Dodd waited several days to see whether this annoyance would not +die of itself: waiting was her plan in most things. Finding he was not +to be tired out, she sent Sarah out to him with a note carefully sealed. + + +“Mr. Alfred Hardie,--Is it generous to confine my daughter to the +house?--Yours regretfully, + +“LUCY DODD.” + + +A line came back instantly in pencil. + + +“Mrs. Dodd,--Is all the generosity and all the good faith to be on one +side?--Yours in despair, + +“ALFRED HARDIE.” + + +Mrs. Dodd coloured faintly: the reproach pricked her, but did not move +her. She sat quietly down that moment, and wrote to a friend in London, +to look out for a furnished villa in a healthy part of the suburbs, with +immediate possession. “Circumstances,” said she, “making it desirable we +should leave Barkington immediately, and for some months.” + + +The Bosanquets gave a large party; Mrs. and Miss Dodd were there. The +latter was playing a part in a charade to the admiration of all present, +when in came Mr. Peterson, introducing his friend, Alfred Hardie. + +Julia caught the name, and turned a look of alarm on her mother, but +went on acting. + +Presently she caught sight of him at some distance. He looked very pale, +and his glittering eye was fixed on her with a sort of stern wonder. + +Such a glance from fiery eyes, that had always dwelt tenderly on her +till then, struck her like a weapon. She stopped short, and turned red +and pale by turns. “There, that is nonsense enough,” said she bitterly, +and went and sat by Mrs. Dodd. The gentlemen thronged round her with +compliments, and begged her to sing. She excused herself. Presently +she heard an excited voice, towards which she dared not look; it was +inquiring whether any lady could sing Aileen Aroon. With every desire +to gratify the young millionaire, nobody knew Aileen Aroon, nor had ever +heard of it. + +“Oh, impossible!” cried Alfred. “Why, it is in praise of Constancy, a +virtue ladies shine in: at least, they take credit for it.” + +“Mamma,” whispered Julia terrified, “get me away, or there will be a +scene. He is reckless.” + +“Be calm, love,” said Mrs. Dodd, “there shall be none.” She rose and +glided up to Alfred Hardie, looked coldly in his face; then said with +external politeness and veiled contempt, “I will attempt the song, sir, +since you desire it.” She waved her hand, and he followed her sulkily to +the piano. She sung Aileen Aroon, not with her daughter's eloquence, but +with a purity and mellowness that charmed the room: they had never heard +the genius sing it. + +As spirits are said to overcome the man at whose behest they rise, so +this sweet air, and the gush of reminiscence it awakened, overpowered +him who had evoked them; Alfred put his Hand unconsciously to his +swelling heart, cast one look of anguish at Julia, and hurried away half +choked. Nobody but Julia noticed. + + +A fellow in a rough great-coat and tattered white hat opened the fly +door for Mrs. Dodd. As Julia followed her, he kissed her skirt unseen by +Mrs. Dodd, but her quick ears caught a heart-breaking sigh. She looked +and recognised Alfred in that disguise; the penitent fit had succeeded +to the angry one. Had Julia observed? To ascertain this without speaking +of him, Mrs. Dodd waited till they had got some little distance, then +quietly put out her hand and rested it for a moment on her daughter's; +the girl was trembling violently “Little wretch!” came to Mrs. Dodd's +lips, but she did not utter it. They were near home before she spoke +at all, and then she only said very kindly, “My love, you will not be +subjected again to these trials:” a remark intended quietly to cover the +last occurrence as well as Alfred's open persecution. + +They had promised to go out the very next day; but Mrs. Dodd went alone, +and made excuses for Miss Dodd. On her return she found Julia sitting +up for her, and a letter come from her friend describing a pleasant +cottage, now vacant, near Maida Vale. Mrs. Dodd handed the open letter +to Julia; she read it without comment. + +“We will go up to-morrow and take it for three months. Then the Oxford +vacation will terminate.” + +“Yes, mamma.” + + +I am now about to relate a circumstance by no means without parallels, +but almost impossible to account for; and, as nothing is more common and +contemptible than inadequate solutions, I will offer none at all: but +so it was, that Mrs. Dodd awoke in the middle of that very night in a +mysterious state of mental tremor; trouble, veiled in obscurity, seemed +to sit heavy on her bosom. So strong, though vague, was this new and +mysterious oppression, that she started up in bed and cried aloud, +“David!--Julia!--Oh, what is the matter?” The sound of her own voice +dispelled the cloud in part, but not entirely. She lay awhile, and then +finding herself quite averse to sleep, rose and went to her window, +and eyed the weather anxiously. It was a fine night; soft fleecy clouds +drifted slowly across a silver moon. The sailor's wife was reassured on +her husband's behalf. Her next desire was to look at Julia sleeping; she +had no particular object: it was the instinctive impulse of an anxious +mother whom something had terrified. She put on her slippers and +dressing-gown, and, lighting a candle at her night-lamp, opened her door +softly and stepped into the little corridor. But she had not taken two +steps when she was arrested by a mysterious sound. + +It came from Julia's room. + +What was it? + +Mrs. Dodd glided softly nearer and nearer, all her senses on the +stretch. + +The sound came again. It was a muffled sob. + + +The stifled sound, just audible in the dead stillness of the night, went +through and through her who stood there listening aghast. Her bowels +yearned over her child, and she hurried to the door, but recollected +herself, and knocked, very gently. “Don't be alarmed, love; it is only +me. May I come in?” She did not wait for the answer, but turned the +handle and entered. She found Julia sitting up in bed, looking wildly at +her, with cheeks flushed and wet. She sat on the bed and clasped her to +her breast in silence: but more than one warm tear ran down upon Julia's +bare neck; the girl felt them drop, and her own gushed in a shower. + +“Oh, what have I done?” she sobbed. “Am I to make you wretched too?” + +Mrs. Dodd did not immediately reply. She was there to console, and her +admirable good sense told her that to do that she must be calmer than +her patient; so even while she kissed and wept over Julia, she managed +gradually to recover her composure. “Tell me, my child,” said she, “why +do you act a part with me? Why brave it out under my eye, and spend the +night secretly in tears? Are you still afraid to trust me?” + +“Oh no, no; but I thought I was so strong, so proud: I undertook +miracles. I soon found my pride was a molehill and my love a mountain. I +could not hold out by day if I did not ease my breaking heart at night. +How unfortunate! I kept my head under the bed-clothes, too; but you have +such ears. I thought I would stifle my grief, or else perhaps you would +be as wretched as I am: forgive me! pray forgive me!” + +“On one condition,” said Mrs. Dodd, struggling with the emotion these +simple words caused her. + +“Anything to be forgiven,” cried Julia, impetuously. “I'll go to London. +I'll go to Botany Bay. I deserve to be hanged.” + +“Then, from this hour, no half-confidences between us. Dear me, you +carry in your own bosom a much harsher judge, a much less indulgent +friend, than I am. Come! trust me with your heart. Do you love him very +much? Does your happiness depend on him?” + +At this point-blank question Julia put her head over Mrs. Dodd's +shoulder, not to be seen; and, clasping her tight, murmured scarce above +a whisper, “I don't know how much I love him. When he came in at that +party I felt his slave--his unfaithful adoring slave; if he had ordered +me to sing Aileen Aroon, I should have obeyed; if he had commanded me to +take his hand and leave the room, I think I should have obeyed. His face +is always before me as plain as life; it used to come to me bright and +loving; now it is pale, and stern, and sad. I was not so wretched till I +saw he was pining for me, and thinks me inconstant--oh, mamma, so pale! +so shrunk I so reckless! He was sorry for misbehaving that night: he +changed clothes with a beggar to kiss my dress, poor thing! poor thing! +Who ever loved as he does me! I am dying for him; I am dying.” + +“There! there!” said Mrs. Dodd soothingly. “You have said enough. This +must be love. I am on your Alfred's side from this hour.” + +Julia opened her eyes, and was a good deal agitated as well as +surprised. “Pray do not raise my hopes,” she gasped. “We are parted +for ever. His father refuses. Even you seemed averse; or have I been +dreaming?” + +“Me, dearest? How can I be averse to anything lawful on which I find +your heart is really set, and your happiness at stake? Of course I have +stopped the actual intercourse, under existing circumstances; but these +circumstances are not unalterable: your only obstacle is Mr. Richard +Hardie.” + +“But what an obstacle!” sighed Julia. “His father! a man of iron! so +everybody says; for I have made inquiries--oh!” And she was abashed. +She resumed hastily, “And that letter, so cold, so cruel! I feel it +was written by one not open to gentle influences. He does not think +me worthy of his son so accomplished, so distinguished at the very +university where our poor Edward--has--you know----” + +“Little simpleton!” said Mrs. Dodd, and kissed her tenderly; “your iron +man is the commonest clay, sordid, pliable; and your stern heroic Brutus +is a shopkeeper: he is open to the gentle influences which sway the +kindred souls of the men you and I buy our shoes, our tea, our gloves, +our fish-kettles of: and these influences I think I command, and am +prepared to use them to the utmost.” + +Julia lay silent, and wondering what she could mean. + +But Mrs. Dodd hesitated now: it pained and revolted her to show her +enthusiastic girl the world as it is. She said as much, and added--“I +seem to be going to aid all these people to take the bloom from my own +child's innocence. Heaven help me!” + +“Oh, never mind that,” cried Julia in her ardent way; “give me Truth +before Error, however pleasing.” + +Mrs. Dodd replied only by a sigh: grand general sentiments like that +never penetrated her mind: they glided off like water from a duck's +back. “We will begin with this mercantile Brutus, then,” said she, with +such a curl of the lip. Brutus had rejected her daughter. + +“Mr. Richard Hardie was born and bred in a bank; one where no wild thyme +blows, my poor enthusiast, nor cowslips nor the nodding violet grows; +but gold and silver chink, and Things are discounted, and men grow rich, +slowly but surely, by lawful use of other people's money. Breathed +upon by these 'gentle influences,' he was, from his youth, a remarkable +man--measured by Trade's standard. At five-and-twenty divine what he +did! He saved the bank. You have read of bubbles: the Mississippi Bubble +and the South Sea Bubble. Well, in the year 1825, it was not one bubble +but a thousand; mines by the score, and in distant lands; companies +by the hundred; loans to every nation or tribe; down to Guatemala, +Patagonia, and Greece; two hundred new ships were laid on the stocks in +one year, for your dear papa told me; in short, a fever of speculation, +and the whole nation raging with it: my dear, Princes, Dukes, Duchesses, +Bishops, Poets, Lawyers, Physicians, were seen struggling with their own +footmen for a place in the Exchange: and, at last, good, steady, old Mr. +Hardie, Alfred's grandfather, was drawn into the vortex. Now, to excuse +him and appreciate the precocious Richard, you must try and realise that +these bubbles, when they rise, are as alluring and reasonable as they +are ridiculous and incredible when one looks back on them; even soap +bubbles, you know, have rainbow hues till they burst: and, indeed, the +blind avarice of men does but resemble the blind vanity of women: look +at our grandmothers' hoops, and our mothers' short waists and monstrous +heads! Yet in their day what woman did not glory in these insanities? +Well then, Mr. Richard Hardie, at twenty-five, was the one to foresee +the end of all these bubbles; he came down from London and brought +his people to their senses by sober reason and 'sound commercial +principles'--that means, I believe, 'get other people's money, but +do not risk your own.' His superiority was so clear, that his father +resigned the helm to him, and, thanks to his ability, the bank weathered +the storm, while all the other ones in the town broke or suspended their +trade. Now, you know, youth is naturally ardent and speculative; but +Richard Hardie's was colder and wiser than other people's old age: and +that is one trait. Some years later, in the height of his prosperity--I +reveal this only for your comfort, and on your sacred promise as a +person of delicacy, never to repeat it to a soul--Richard Hardie was a +suitor for my hand.” + +“Mamma!” + +“Do not ejaculate, sweetest. It discomposes me. 'Nothing is +extraordinary,' as that good creature Dr. Sampson says. He must have +thought it would _answer,_ in one way or another, to have a gentlewoman +at the head of his table; and I was not penniless, _bien entendu._ +Failing in this, he found a plain little Thing, with a gloomy temper, +and no accomplishments nor graces; but her father could settle twenty +thousand pounds. He married her directly: and that is a trait. He sold +his father's and grandfather's house and place of business, in spite of +all their associations, and obtained a lease of his present place from +my uncle Fountain: it seemed a more money-making situation. A trait. +He gives me no reason for rejecting my daughter. Why? because he is not +proud of his reasons: this walking Avarice has intelligence: a trait. +Now put all this together, and who more transparent than the profound +Mr. Hardie? He has declined our alliance because he takes for granted +we are poor. When I undeceive him on that head he will reopen +_negotiations_ in a letter--No. 2 of the correspondence; copied by one +of his clerks--it will be calm, plausible, flattering: in short, it will +be done like a gentleman: though he is nothing of the kind. And this +brings me to what I ought to have begun with: your dear father and +I have always lived within our income for our children's sake; he is +bringing home the bulk of our savings this very voyage, and it amounts +to fourteen thousand pounds.” + +“Oh, what an enormous sum!” + +“No, dearest, it is not a fortune in itself. But it is a considerable +sum to possess, independent of one's settlement and one's income. It is +loose cash, to speak _a la_ Hardie; that means I can do what I choose +with it and of course I choose--to make you happy. How I shall work +on what you call Iron and I venture to call Clay must be guided by +circumstances. I think of depositing three or four thousand pounds every +month with Mr. Hardie; he is our banker, you know. He will most likely +open his eyes, and make some move before the whole sum is in his hands. +If he does not, I shall perhaps call at his bank, and draw a cheque for +fourteen thousand pounds. The wealthiest provincial banker does not keep +such a sum floating in his shop-tills. His commercial honour, the one +semi-chivalrous sentiment in his soul, would be in peril. He would +yield, and with grace: none the less readily that his house and his +bank, which have been long heavily mortgaged to our trustees, were made +virtually theirs by agreement yesterday (I set this on foot with twelve +hours of Mr. Iron's impertinent letter), and he will say to himself, +'She can--post me, I think these people call it--this afternoon for not +cashing her cheque, and she can turn me and my bank into the street +to-morrow:' and then, of course, he shall see by my manner the velvet +paw is offered as well as the claw. He is pretty sure to ask himself +which will suit the _ledger_ best--this cat's friendship and her +fourteen thousand pounds, or--an insulted mother's enmity?” And Mrs. +Placid's teeth made a little click just audible in the silent night. + +“Oh, mamma! my heart is sick. Am I to be bought and sold like this?” + +Mrs. Dodd sighed, but said calmly, “You must pay the penalty for loving +a _parvenu's_ son. Come, Julia, no peevishness, no more romance, no more +vacillation. You have tried Pride and failed pitiably: now I insist on +your trying Love! Child, it is the bane of our sex to carry nothing +out: from that weakness I will preserve you. And, by-the-bye, we are not +going to marry Mr. Richard Hardie, but Mr. Alfred. Now, Mr. Alfred, with +all his faults and defects--” + +“Mamma! what faults? what defects?” + +“--Is a gentleman; thanks to Oxford, and Harrow, and nature. My darling, +pray to Heaven night and day for your dear father's safe return; for on +him, and him alone, your happiness depends: as mine does.” + +“Mamma!” cried Julia, embracing her, “what do poor girls do who have +lost their mother?” + +“Look abroad and see,” was the grave reply. + +Mrs. Dodd then begged her to go to sleep, like a good child, for her +health's sake; all would be well; and with this was about to return to +her own room; but a white hand and arm darted out of the bed and caught +her. “What! Hope has come to me by night in the form of an angel, and +shall I let her go back to her own room? Never! never! never! never! +never!” And she patted the bed expressively, and with the prettiest +impatience. + +“Well, let Hope take off her earrings first,” suggested Mrs. Dodd. + +“No, no, come here directly, earrings and all.” + +“No, thank you; or I shall have _them_ wounding you next.” + +Mrs. Hope quietly removed her earrings, and the tender pair passed the +rest of the night in one another's arms. The young girl's tears were +dried; and hope revived, and life bloomed again: only, henceforth her +longing eyes looked out to sea for her father, homeward bound. + +Next day, as they were seated together in the drawing-room, Julia came +from the window with a rush, and kneeled at Mrs. Dodd's knees, with +bright imploring face upturned. + +“He is there; and--I am to speak to him? Is that it?” + +“Dear, dear, dear mamma!” was the somewhat oblique reply. + +“Well, then, bring me my things.” + +She was ten minutes putting them on: Julia tried to expedite her and +retarded her. She had her pace, and could not go beyond it. + +Now by this time Alfred Hardie was thoroughly miserable. Unable to move +his father, shunned by Julia, sickened by what he had heard, and indeed +seen, of her gaiety and indifference to their separation, stung by +jealousy and fretted by impatience, he was drinking nearly all the +bitters of that sweet passion, Love. But as you are aware, he ascribed +Julia's inconstancy, lightness, and cruelty all to Mrs. Dodd. He hated +her cordially, and dreaded her into the bargain; he played the sentinel +about her door all the more because she had asked him not to do it +“Always do what your enemy particularly objects to,” said he, applying +to his own case the wisdom of a Greek philosopher, one of his teachers. + +So, when the gate suddenly opened, and instead of Julia, this very Mrs. +Dodd walked towards him, his feelings were anything but enviable. He +wished himself away, heartily, but was too proud to retreat. He stood +his ground. She came up to him; a charming smile broke out over her +features. “Ah! Mr. Hardie,” said she, “if you have nothing better to do, +will you give me a minute?” He assented with surprise and an ill grace. + +“May I take your arm?” + +He offered it with a worse. + +She laid her hand lightly on it, and it shuddered at her touch. He felt +like walking with a velvet tigress. + +By some instinct she divined his sentiment, and found her task more +difficult than she had thought; she took some steps in silence. At last, +as he was no dissembler, he burst out passionately, “Why are you my +enemy?” + +“I am not your enemy,” said she quietly. + +“Not openly, but all the more dangerous. You keep us apart, you bid her +be gay and forget me; you are a cruel, hard-hearted lady.” + +“No, I am not, sir,” said Mrs. Dodd simply. + +“Oh! I believe you are good and kind to all the rest of the world; but +you know you have a heart of iron for me.” + +“I am my daughter's friend, but not your enemy; it is you who are too +inexperienced to know how delicate, how difficult, my duties are. It is +only since last night I see my way clear; and, look, I come at once to +you with friendly intentions. Suppose I were as impetuous as you are? I +should, perhaps, be calling you ungrateful.” + +He retorted bitterly. “Give me something to be grateful for, and you +shall see whether that baseness is in my nature.” + +“I have a great mind to put you to the proof,” said she archly. “Let +us walk down this lane; then you can be as unjust to me _as you think +proper,_ without attracting public attention.” + +In the lane she told him quietly she knew the nature of his father's +objections to the alliance he had so much at heart, and they were +objections which her husband, on his return, would remove. On this he +changed his tone a little, and implored her piteously not to deceive +him. + +“I will not,” said she, “upon my honour. If you are as constant as my +daughter is in her esteem for you--notwithstanding her threadbare +gaiety worn over loyal regret, and to check a parcel of idle ladies' +tongues--you have nothing to fear from me, and everything to expect. +Come, _Alfred_--may I take that liberty with you?--let us understand one +another. We only want that to be friends.” + +This was hard to resist and at his age. His lip trembled, he hesitated, +but at last gave her his hand. She walked two hours with him, and laid +herself out to enlighten, soothe, and comfort his sore heart His hopes +and happiness revived under her magic, as Julia's had. In the midst of +it all, the wise woman quietly made terms. He was not to come to the +house but on her invitation, unless indeed he had news of the _Agra_ to +communicate; but he might write once a week to her, and enclose a few +lines to Julia. On this concession he proceeded to mumble her white +wrist, and call her his best, dearest, loveliest friend; his mother. +“Oh, remember,” said he, with a relic of distrust, “you are the only +mother I can ever hope to have.” + +That touched her. Hitherto, he had been to her but a thing her daughter +loved. + +Her eyes filled. “My poor, warm-hearted, motherless boy,” she said, +“pray for my husband's safe return. For on that your happiness depends, +and hers, and mine.” + +So now two more bright eyes looked longingly seaward for the _Agra_ +homeward bound. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +NORTH latitude 23.5, longitude east 113; the time March of this same +year; the wind southerly; the port Whampoa, in the Canton river. Ships +at anchor reared their tall masts here and there, and the broad stream +was enlivened and coloured by junks and boats of all sizes and vivid +hues, propelled on the screw principle by a great scull at the stern, +with projecting handles, for the crew to work; and at times a gorgeous +mandarin boat, with two great glaring eyes set in the bows, came flying, +rowed with forty paddles by an armed crew, whose shields hung on the +gunwale and flashed fire in the sunbeams: the mandarin, in conical and +buttoned hat, sitting on the top of his cabin calmly smoking Paradise, +_alias_ opium, while his gong boomed and his boat flew fourteen miles +an hour, and all things scuttled out of his celestial way. And there, +looking majestically down on all these water-ants, the huge _Agra,_ +cynosure of so many loving eyes and loving hearts in England, lay at her +moorings; homeward bound. + +Her tea not being yet on board, the ship's hull floated high as a +castle, and to the subtle, intellectual, doll-faced, bolus-eyed people +that sculled to and fro busy as bees, though looking forked mushrooms, +she sounded like a vast musical shell: for a lusty harmony of many +mellow voices vibrated in her great cavities, and made the air ring +cheerily around her. The vocalists were the Cyclops, to judge by the +tremendous thumps that kept clean time to their sturdy tune. Yet it was +but human labour, so heavy and so knowing, that it had called in music +to help. It was the third mate and his gang completing his floor to +receive the coming tea-chests. Yesterday he had stowed his dunnage, many +hundred bundles of light flexible canes from Sumatra and Malacca; on +these he had laid tons of rough saltpetre, in 200 lb. gunny-bags: and +was now mashing it to music, bags and all. His gang of fifteen, naked +to the waist, stood in line, with huge wooden beetles called commanders, +and lifted them high and brought them down on the nitre in cadence with +true nautical power and unison, singing as follows, with a ponderous +bump on the first note in each bar. + +[music notation] + +And so up to fifteen, when the stave was concluded with a shrill “Spell, +oh!” and the gang relieved, streaming with perspiration. When the +saltpetre was well mashed, they rolled ton water-butts on it, till the +floor was like a billiard table. A fleet of chop boats then began to +arrive, so many per day, with the tea-chests. Mr. Grey proceeded to lay +the first tier on his saltpetre floor, and then built the chests, tier +upon tier, beginning at the sides, and leaving in the middle a lane +somewhat narrower than a tea-chest Then he applied a screw jack to the +chests on both sides, and so enlarged his central aperture, and forced +the remaining tea-chests in; and behold the enormous cargo packed as +tight as ever shopkeeper packed a box--nineteen thousand eight hundred +and six chests, sixty half chests, fifty quarter chests. + +While Mr. Grey was contemplating his work with singular satisfaction, a +small boat from Canton came alongside, and Mr. Tickell, midshipman, ran +up the side, skipped on the quarterdeck, saluted it first, and then the +first mate; and gave him a line from the captain, desiring him to take +the ship down to Second Bar--for her water--at the turn of the tide. + +Two hours after receipt of this order the ship swung to the ebb. +Instantly Mr. Sharpe unmoored, and the _Agra_ began her famous voyage, +with her head at right angles to her course; for the wind being foul, +all Sharpe could do was to set his topsails, driver, and jib, and keep +her in the tide way, and clear of the numerous craft, by backing or +filling as the case required; which he did with considerable dexterity, +making the sails steer the helm for the nonce: he crossed the Bar at +sunset, and brought to with the best bower anchor in five fathoms and a +half. Here they began to take in their water, and on the fifth day +the six-oared gig was ordered up to Canton for the captain. The next +afternoon he passed the ship in her, going down the river to Lin-Tin, +to board the Chinese admiral for his chop, or permission to leave China. +All night the _Agra_ showed three lights at her mizen peak for him, and +kept a sharp look out. But he did not come: he was having a very +serious talk with the Chinese admiral; at daybreak, however, the gig +was reported in sight: Sharpe told one of the midshipmen to call the +boatswain and man the side. Soon the gig ran alongside; two of the +ship's boys jumped like monkeys over the bulwarks, lighting, one on the +main channels, the other on the midship port, and put the side ropes +assiduously in the captain's hands; he bestowed a slight paternal smile +on them, the first the imps had ever received from an officer, and +went lightly up the sides. The moment his foot touched the deck, +the boatswain gave a frightful shrill whistle; the men at the sides +uncovered; the captain saluted the quarter-deck, and all the officers +saluted him, which he returned, and stepping for a moment to the weather +side of his deck, gave the loud command, “All hands heave anchor.” He +then directed Mr. Sharpe to get what sail he could on the ship, the wind +being now westerly, and dived into his cabin. + +The boatswain piped three shrill pipes, and “All hands up anchor,” was +thrice repeated forward, followed by private admonitions, “Rouse and +bitt!” “Show a leg!” &c., and up tumbled the crew with homeward bound +written on their tanned faces. + +(Pipe.) “Up all hammocks.” + +In ten minutes the ninety and odd hammocks were all stowed neatly in +the netting, and covered with a snowy hammock-cloth; and the hands were +active, unbitting the cable, shipping the capstan bars, &c. + +“All ready below, sir,” cried a voice. + +“Man the bars,” returned Mr. Sharpe from the quarter-deck. “Play up, +fifer. Heave away.” + +Out broke the merry fife, with a rhythmical tune, and tramp, tramp, +tramp went a hundred and twenty feet round and round, and, with brawny +chests pressed tight against the capstan bars, sixty fine fellows walked +the ship up to her anchor, drowning the fife at intervals with their +sturdy song, as pat to their feet as an echo:-- + + Heave with a will, ye jolly boys, + Heave around: + We're off from Chainee, jolly boys, + Homeward bound. + +“Short stay apeak, sir,” roars the boatswain from forward. + +“Unship the bars. Way aloft. Loose sails. Let fall.” + +The ship being now over her anchor, and the top-sails set, the capstan +bars were shipped again, the men all heaved with a will, the messenger +grinned, the anchor was torn out of China with a mighty heave, and then +ran up with a luff tackle and secured; the ship's head cast to port. + +“Up with the jib--man the taupsle halliards--all hands make sail.” Round +she came slow and majestically; the sails filled, and the good ship bore +away for England. + +She made the Bogue forts in three or four tacks, and there she had to +come to again for another chop, China being a place as hard to get into +as Heaven, and to get out of as--Chancery. At three P.M. she was at +Macao, and hove to four miles from the land to take in her passengers. + +A gun was fired from the forecastle. No boats came off. Sharpe began to +fret; for the wind, though light, had now got to the N.W., and they were +wasting it. After a while the captain came on deck, and ordered all +the carronades to be scaled. The eight heavy reports bellowed the great +ship's impatience across the water and out pulled two boats with the +passengers. While they were coming, Dodd sent and ordered the gunner to +load the carronades with shot, and secure and apron them. The first boat +brought Colonel Kenealy, Mr. Fullalove, and a prodigious negro, who all +mounted by the side-ropes. But the whip was rigged for the next boat, +and the Honourable Mrs. Beresford and poodle hoisted on board, item her +white maid, item her black nurse, item her little boy and male Oriental +in charge thereof, the strangest compound of dignity and servility, and +of black and white, being clad in snowy cotton and japanned to the nine. + +Mrs. Beresford was the wife of a member of council in India. She had +been to Macao for her boy's health, intending to return to Calcutta: +but meantime her husband was made a director, and went home: so she was +going to join him. A tall, handsome lady, with too curved a nose. + +Like most aquiline women, she was born to domineer a bit; and, for the +last ten years, Orientals clinging at her knee and Europeans flattering +at her ear had nursed this quality high and spoiled her with all their +might. A similar process had been applied to her boy Frederick from +infancy; he was now nearly six. Arrogance and caprice shone so in both +their sallow faces, and spoke so in every gesture, that as they came +on board, Sharpe, a reader of passengers, whispered the second mate: +“Bayliss, we have shipped the devil.” + +“And a cargo of his imps,” grunted Mr. Bayliss. + +Mr. Fullalove was a Methodist parson--to the naked eye: grave, sober, +lean, lank-haired. But some men are hidden fires. Fullalove was one of +the extraordinary products of an extraordinary nation, the United States +of America. He was an engineer for one thing, and an inventive and +practical mechanician; held two patents of his own creating, which +yielded him a good income both at home and in Great Britain. Such +results are seldom achieved without deep study and seclusion; and, +accordingly, Joshua Fullalove, when the inventive fit was on, would be +buried deep as Archimedes for a twelvemonth, burning the midnight oil: +then, his active element predominating, the pale student would dash +into the forest or the prairie, with a rifle and an Indian, and come +out bronzed, and more or less be-panthered or be-buffaloed; thence +invariably to sea for a year or two. There, Anglo-Saxon to the backbone, +his romance had ever an eye to business; he was always after foreign +mechanical inventions--he was now importing a excellent one from +Japan--and ready to do lucrative feats of knowledge: thus he bought +a Turkish ship at the bottom of the Dardanelles for twelve hundred +dollars, raised her cargo (hardware), and sold it for six thousand +dollars; then weighed the empty ship, pumped her, repaired he; and +navigated her himself into Boston harbour, Massachusetts. On the way +he rescued, with his late drowned ship, a Swedish vessel, and received +salvage. He once fished eighty elephants' tusks out of a craft foundered +in the Firth of Forth, to the disgust of elder Anglo-Saxons looking +on from the shore. These unusual pursuits were varied by a singular +recreation: he played at elevating the African character to European +levels. With this view he had bought Vespasian for eighteen hundred +dollars; whereof anon. America is fertile in mixtures: what do we not +owe her? Sherry cobbler, gin sling, cocktail, mint julep, brandy smash, +sudden death, eye openers. Well, one day she outdid herself, and mixed +Fullalove: Quaker, Nimrod, Archimedes, Philanthropist, decorous Red +Rover, and What Not. + +The passenger boats cast loose. + +“All hands make sail.” + +The boatswain piped, the light-heeled topsmen sped up the ratlines and +lay out the yards, while all on deck looked up as usual to see them +work. Out bellied sail after sail aloft; the ship came curtseying round +to the southward, spread her snowy pinions high and wide, and went like +a bird over the wrinkled sea--homeward bound. + +It was an exhilarating start, and all faces were bright--but one. The +captain looked somewhat grave and thoughtful, and often scanned the +horizon with his glass; he gave polite but very short answers to his +friend Colonel Kenealy, who was firing nothings in his ear, and sent for +the gunner. + +While that personage, a crusty old Niler called Monk, is cleaning +himself to go on the quarter-deck, peep we into captain Dodd's troubled +mind, and into the circumstances which connect him with the heart of +this story, despite the twelve thousand miles of water between him and +the lovers at Barkington. + +It had always been his pride to lay by money for his wife and children, +and, under advice of an Indian friend, he had, during the last few +years, placed considerable sums, at intervals, in a great Calcutta +house, which gave eight per cent for deposits: swelled by fresh capital +and such high interest, the hoard grew fast. When his old ship, sore +battered off the Cape, was condemned by the company's agents at Canton, +he sailed to Calcutta, intending to return thence to England as a +passenger. But while he was at Calcutta, the greatest firm there +suspended payment carrying astonishment and dismay into a hundred +families. At such moments the press and the fireside ring for a little +while with the common-sense cry,* “Good interest means bad security.” As +for Dodd, who till then had revered all these great houses with nautical +or childlike confidence, a blind terror took the place of blind trust in +him; he felt guilty towards his children for risking their money (he had +got to believe it was theirs, not his), and vowed, if he could only get +hold of it once more, he would never trust a penny of it out of his own +hands again, except, perhaps, to the Bank of England. But should he ever +get it? It was a large sum. He went to Messrs. Anderson & Anderson, and +drew for his fourteen thousand pounds. To his dismay, but hardly to his +surprise, the clerks looked at one another, and sent the cheque into +some inner department. Dodd was kept waiting. His heart sank with him: +there was a hitch. + + *The Duke of Wellington (the iron one) is the author of this + saying. + +Meantime came a Government officer, and paid in an enormous sum in notes +and mercantile bills, principally the latter. + +Presently Dodd was invited into the manager's room. + +“Leaving the country, Captain Dodd?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“You had better take some of your money in bills at sight on London.” + +“I would rather have notes, sir,” faltered Dodd. + +“Oh, bills by Oliveira upon Baring are just as good, even without our +endorsement. However, you can have half and half. Calcutta does but +little in English bank-notes, you know.” + +They gave him his money. The bills were all manifestly good. But he +recognised one of them as having just been paid in by the civilian. He +found himself somehow safe in the street clutching the cash, with one +half of his great paternal heart on fire, and the other half freezing. +He had rescued his children's fortune, but he had seen destruction +graze it. The natural chill at being scraped by peril soon passed, the +triumphant glow remained. The next sentiment was precaution: he filled +with it to the brim; he went and bought a great broad pocket-book with +a key to it; though he was on dry land. He covered it with oiled silk +against the water; and sewed the whole thing to his flannel waistcoat, +and felt for it with his hand a hundred times a day: the fruit of his +own toil, his children's hoard, the rescued treasure he was to have the +joy of bringing home safe to the dear partner of all his joys. + +Unexpectedly he was ordered out to Canton to sail the _Agra_ to the +Cape. Then a novel and strange feeling came over him like a cloud; that +feeling was, a sense of personal danger: not that the many perils of the +deep were new to him: he had faced them this five-and-twenty years: but +till now they were little present to his imagination: they used to come, +be encountered, be gone: but now, though absent, they darkened the way. +It was the pocket-book. The material treasure, the hard cash, which had +lately set him in a glow, seemed now to load his chest and hang heavy +round the neck of his heart. Sailors are more or less superstitious, and +men are creatures of habit, even in their courage. Now David had never +gone to sea with a lot of money on him before. As he was a stout-hearted +man, these vague forebodings would, perhaps, have cleared away with +the bustle, when the _Agra_ set her studding sails off Macao, but for a +piece of positive intelligence he had picked up at Lin-Tin. The Chinese +admiral had warned him of a pirate, a daring pirate, who had been lately +cruising in these waters: first heard of south the line, but had since +taken a Russian ship at the very mouth of the Canton river, murdered +the crew in sight of land, and sold the women for slaves, or worse. Dodd +asked for particulars: was he a Ladroner, a Malay, a Bornese? In what +latitude was he to be looked for? The admiral on this examined his +memoranda: by these it appeared little was known as yet about the +miscreant, except that he never cruised long on one ground; the crew was +a mixed one: the captain was believed to be a Portuguese, and to have a +consort commanded by his brother: but this was doubtful; at all events, +the pair had never been seen at work together. + + +The gunner arrived and saluted the quarter-deck; the captain on this +saluted him, and beckoned him to the weather side. On this the other +officers kept religiously to leeward. + +“Mr. Monk,” said Dodd, “you will clean and prepare all the small arms +directly.” + +“Ay, ay, sir,” said the old Niler, with a gleam of satisfaction. + +“How many of your deck-guns are serviceable?” + +This simple question stirred up in one moment all the bile in the poor +old gentleman's nature. + +“My deck-guns serviceable! how the ---- _can_ they when that son of a +sea-cook your third mate has been and lashed the water butts to their +breechings, and jammed his gear in between their nozzles, till they +can't breathe, poor things, far less bark. I wish _he_ was lashed +between the devil's hind-hocks with a red hot cable as tight as he has +jammed my guns. + +“Be so good as not to swear, Mr. Monk,” said Dodd. “At your age sir, I +look to you to set an example to the petty officers.” + +“Well, I won't swear no more, sir, d--d if I do!” He added very loudly, +and with a seeming access of ire, “And I ax your pardon, captain, and +the deck's.” + +When a man has a deep anxiety, some human midge or mosquito buzzes +at him. It is a rule. To Dodd, heavy with responsibility, and a dark +misgiving he must not communicate, came delicately, and by degrees, +and with a semigenuflexion every three steps, one like a magpie; and, +putting his hands together, as our children do to approach the Almighty, +delivered himself thus, in modulated tones, and good Hindostanee. “The +Daughter of light, in whose beams I, Ramgolam, bask, glows with an +amicable desire to see the lord commander of the ship resembling a +mountain; and to make a communication.” + +Taught by sad experience how weighty are the communications the +daughters of light pour into nautical commanders at sea, Dodd hailed +Mr. Tickell, a midshipman, and sent him down to the lady's cabin. Mr. +Tickell soon came back reddish, but grinning, to say that nothing less +than the captain would do. + +Dodd sighed, and dismissed Monk with a promise to inspect the gun-deck +himself; then went down to Mrs. Beresford and found her indignant. Why +had he stopped the ship miles and miles from Macao, and given her the +trouble and annoyance of a voyage in that nasty little boat? Dodd opened +his great brown eyes, “Why, madam, it is shoal water off Macao; we dare +not come in.” + +“No evasion, sir. What have I to do with your shoal water? It was +laziness, and want of consideration for a lady who has rented half your +ship.” + +“Nothing of the kind, madam, I assure you.” + +“Are you the person they call Gentleman Dodd?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then don't contradict a lady, or I shall take the liberty to dispute +your title.” + +Dodd took no notice of this, and with a patience few nautical commanders +would have shown, endeavoured to make her see that he was obliged to +give Macao shoals a wide berth, or cast away the ship. She would not see +it. When Dodd saw she wanted, not an explanation, but a grievance, he +ceased to thwart her. “I am neglecting my duties to no purpose,” said +he, and left her without ceremony. This was a fresh offence; and, as he +went out, she declared open war. And she made it too from that hour: a +war of pins and needles. + +Dodd went on the gun-deck and found that the defence of the ship had, +as usual in these peaceful days, been sacrificed to the cargo. Out of +twenty eighteen-pounders she carried on that deck, he cleared three, and +that with difficulty. To clear any more he must have sacrificed either +merchandise or water: and he was not the man to do either on the mere +chance of a danger so unusual as an encounter with a pirate. He was a +merchant captain, not a warrior. + +Meantime the _Agra_ had already shown him great sailing qualities: +the log was hove at sundown and gave eleven knots; so that with a good +breeze abaft, few fore-and-aft rigged pirates could overhaul her. And +this wind carried her swiftly past one nest of them, at all events: +the Ladrone isles. At nine P.M., all the lights were ordered out. Mrs. +Beresford had brought a novel on board, and refused to comply; the +master-at-arms insisted; she threatened him with the vengeance of the +Company, the premier, and the nobility and gentry of the British realm. +The master-at-arms, finding he had no chance in argument, doused the +glim--pitiable resource of a weak disputant--then basely fled the +rhetorical consequences. + + +The northerly breeze died out, and light variable winds baffled the +ship. It was the 6th April ere she passed the Macclesfield Bank in +latitude 16. And now they sailed for many days out of sight of land. +Dodd's chest expanded: his main anxiety at this part of the voyage lay +in the state cabin; of all the perils of the sea, none shakes a sailor +like fire. He set a watch day and night on that spoiled child. + + +On the 1st May they passed the great Nantuna, and got among the Bornese +and Malay islands: at which the captain's glass began to sweep the +horizon again, and night and day at the dizzy foretop gallant mast-head +he perched an Eye. + +They crossed the line in longitude 107, with a slight breeze, but soon +fell into the Doldrums. A dead calm, and nothing to do but kill time. +Dodd had put down Neptune: that old blackguard could no longer row out +on the ship's port side and board her on the starboard, pretending to +come from ocean's depths; and shave the novices with a rusty hoop and +dab a soapy brush in their mouths. But champagne popped, the sexes +flirted, and the sailors span fathomless yarns, and danced rattling +hornpipes, fiddled to by the grave Fullalove. “If there is a thing +I _can_ dew, it's fiddle,” said he. He and his friend, as he +systematically called Vespasian, taught the crew Yankee steps, and were +beloved. One honest saltatory British tar offered that Western pair +his grog for a week. Even Mrs. Beresford emerged, and walked the deck, +quenching her austere regards with a familiar smile on Colonel Kenealy, +her escort. This gallant good-natured soldier flattered her to the nine, +and, finding her sweeten with his treacle, tried to reconcile her to his +old friend Dodd. Straight she soured, and forbade the topic imperiously. + +By this time the mates and midshipmen of the _Agra_ had fathomed their +captain. Mr. Tickell delivered the mind of the united midshipmen when +he proposed Dodd's health in their mess-room, “as a navigator, a +mathematician, a seaman, a gentleman, and a brick, with three times +three.” + +Dodd never spoke to his officers like a ruffian, nor yet palavered them, +but he had a very pleasant way of conveying appreciation of an officer's +zeal, by a knowing nod with a kindly smile on the heels of it. As +for the men, they seldom came in contact with the captain of a +well-officered ship: this crew only knew him at first as a good-tempered +soul, who didn't bother about nothing. But one day, as they lay becalmed +south of the line, a jolly foretopman came on the quarter-deck with a +fid of soup, and saluting and scraping, first to the deck, then to the +captain, asked him if he would taste that. + +“Yes, my man. Smoked!” + +“Like ---- and blazes, your honour, axing your pardon, and the deck's.” + +“Young gentleman,” said Dodd to Mr. Meredith, a midshipman, “be so good +as to send the cook aft.” + +The cook came, and received, not an oath nor a threat but a +remonstrance, and a grim warning. + +In the teeth of this he burnt the soup horribly the very next day. +The crew sent the lucky foretopman aft again. He made his scrape and +presented his fid. The captain tasted the soup, and sent Mr. Grey to bid +the boatswain's mate pipe the hands on deck and bring the cook aft. + +“Quartermaster, unsling a fire-bucket and fill it from the men's kids: +Mr. Tickell, see the cook swallow his own mess. Bosen's mate, take +a bight of the flying jib sheet stand over him, and start him if he +dailies with it.” With this the captain went below, and the cook, +supping at the bucket delivered himself as follows: “Well, ye lubbers, +it is first--rate. _There's_ no burn in it. It goes down like oil. Curse +your ladylike stomachs; you ain't fit for a ship; why don't ye go +ashore and man a gingerbread coach and feed off French frogs and Italian +baccy-pipe stems? (Whack.) What the ---- is that for?” + +_Boatswain's mate._ “Sup more, and jaw less.” + +“Well, I am supping as fast as I can. (Whack, whack.) Bloody end to ye, +what are ye about? (Whack, whack, whack.) Oh, Joe, Lord bless you, I +_can't_ eat any more of it. (Whack.) I'll give you my grog for a week +only to let me fling the ---- stuff over the side. (Whack, whack, +whack.) Oh, good, kind, dear Mr. Tickell, do go down to the captain for +me.” (Whack, whack.) + +“Avast!” cried the captain, reappearing; and the uplifted rope fell +harmless. + +“Silence, fore and aft!” + +(Pipe.) + +“The cook has received a light punishment this time, for spoiling the +men's mess. My crew shall eat nothing I can't eat myself. My care +is heavier than theirs is; but not my work, nor my danger in time of +danger. Mind that, or you'll find I can be as severe as any master +afloat. Purser.” + +“Sir.” + +“Double the men's grog: they have been cheated of their meal.” + +“Ay, ay, sir.” + +“And stop the cook's and his mate's for a week.” + +“Ay, ay, sir.” + +“Bosen, pipe down.” + +“Shipmates, listen to me,” said the foretopman. “This old _Agra_ is a +d----d com--for--table ship.” + +The oracular sentence was hailed with a ringing cheer. Still, it is +unlucky the British seaman is so enamoured of theological terms; for he +constantly misapplies them. + +After lying a week like a dead log on the calm but heaving waters, came +a few light puffs in the upper air and inflated the topsails only: the +ship crawled southward, the crew whistling for wind. + +At last, one afternoon, it began to rain, and after the rain came a +gale from the eastward. The watchful skipper saw it purple the water +to windward, and ordered the topsails to be reefed and the lee ports +closed. This last order seemed an excess of precaution; but Dodd was not +yet thoroughly acquainted with his ship's qualities: and the hard cash +round his neck made him cautious. The lee ports were closed, all but +one, and that was lowered. Mr. Grey was working a problem in his cabin, +and wanted a little light and a little air, so he just drooped his port; +but, not to deviate from the spirit of his captain's instructions, he +fastened a tackle to it; that he might have mechanical force to close it +with should the ship lie over. + +Down came the gale with a whoo, and made all crack. The ship lay over +pretty much, and the sea poured in at Mr. Grey's port. He applied his +purchase to close it. But though his tackle gave him the force of a +dozen hands, he might as well have tried to move a mountain; on the +contrary, the tremendous sea rushed in and burst the port wide open. +Grey, after a vain struggle with its might, shrieked for help; down +tumbled the nearest hands, and hauled on the tackle in vain. Destruction +was rushing on the ship, and on them first. But meantime the captain, +with a shrewd guess at the general nature of the danger he could not +see, had roared out, “Slack the main sheet.” The ship righted, and the +port came flying to, and terror-stricken men breathed hard, up to their +waists in water and floating boxes. Grey barred the unlucky port and +went aft, drenched in body, and wretched in mind, to report his own +fault. He found the captain looking grim as death. He told him, almost +crying, what he had done, and how he had miscalculated the power of the +water. + +Dodd looked and saw his distress. “Let it be a lesson, sir,” said he, +sternly. “How many ships have been lost by this in fair weather, and not +a man saved to tell how the craft was fooled away?” + +“Captain, bid me fling myself over the side, and I'll do it.” + +“Hummph! I'm afraid I can't afford to lose a good officer for a fault +he--will--never--repeat” + +It blew hard all night and till twelve the next day. The _Agra_ showed +her weak point: she rolled abominably. A dirty night came on. At eight +bells Mr. Grey, touched by Dodd's clemency and brimful of zeal, reported +a light in Mrs. Beresford's cabin. It had been put out as usual by the +master-at-arms; but the refractory one had relighted it. + +“Go and take it away,” said Dodd. + +Soon screams were heard from the cabin. “Oh, mercy! mercy! I will not be +drowned in the dark.” + +Dodd, who had kept clear of her so long, went down and tried to reassure +her. + +“Oh, the tempest! the tempest!” she cried. “AND TO BE DROWNED IN THE +DARK!” + + +“Tempest? It is blowing half a gale of wind; that is all.” + +“Half a gale! Ah! that is the way you always talk to us ladies. Oh, pray +give me my light, and send me a clergyman.” + +Dodd took pity, and let her have her light, with a midshipman to watch +it. He even made her a hypocritical promise that should there be one +grain of danger, he would lie to; but said he must not make a foul wind +of a fair one for a few lee lurches. The _Agra_ broke plenty of glass +and crockery though, with her fair wind and her lee lurches. + +Wind down at noon next day, and a dead calm. + +At two P. M. the weather cleared; the sun came out high in heaven's +centre; and a balmy breeze from the west. + +At six twenty-five, the grand orb set calm and red, and the sea was +gorgeous with miles and miles of great ruby dimples: it was the first +glowing smile of southern latitude. The night stole on so soft, so +clear, so balmy, all were loth to chose their eyes on it: the passengers +lingered long on deck, watching the Great Bear dip, and the Southern +Cross rise, and overhead a whole heaven of glorious stars most of us +have never seen, and never shall see in this world. No belching smoke +obscured, no plunging paddles deafened; all was musical; the soft air +sighing among the sails; the phosphorescent water bubbling from the +ship's bows; the murmurs from little knots of men on deck subdued by the +great calm: home seemed near, all danger far; Peace ruled the sea, the +sky, the heart: the ship, making a track of white fire on the deep, +glided gently yet swiftly homeward, urged by snowy sails piled up like +alabaster towers against a violet sky, out of which looked a thousand +eyes of holy tranquil fire. So melted the sweet night away. + + +Now carmine streaks tinged the eastern sky at the water's edge; and that +water blushed; now the streaks turned orange, and the waves below them +sparkled. Thence splashes of living gold flew and settled on the ship's +white sails, the deck, and the faces; and with no more prologue, being +so near the line, up came majestically a huge, fiery, golden sun, and +set the sea flaming liquid topaz. + +Instantly the look-out at the foretop-gallant-mast-head hailed the deck +below. + + “STRANGE SAIL! RIGHT AHEAD!” + +The strange sail was reported to Captain Dodd, then dressing in his +cabin. He came soon after on deck and hailed the lookout: “Which way is +she standing?” + +“Can't say, sir. Can't see her move any.” + +Dodd ordered the boatswain to pipe to breakfast; and taking his deck +glass went lightly up to the fore-top-gallant-mast crosstrees. Thence, +through the light haze of a glorious morning, he espied a long low +schooner, lateen-rigged, lying close under Point Leat, a small island +about nine miles distant on the weather bow, and nearly in the _Agra's_ +course, then approaching the Straits of Gaspar, 4 latitude S. + +“She is hove-to,” said Dodd very gravely. + + +At eight o'clock, the stranger lay about two miles to windward, and +still hove-to. + +By this time all eyes were turned upon her, and half a dozen glasses. +Everybody, except the captain, delivered an opinion. + +She was a Greek lying-to for water: she was a Malay coming north with +canes, and short of hands: she was a pirate watching the Straits. + +The captain leaned silent and sombre with his arms on the bulwarks, and +watched the suspected craft. + +Mr. Fullalove joined the group, and levelled a powerful glass, of his +own construction. His inspection was long and minute, and, while the +glass was at his eye, Sharpe asked him half in a whisper, could he make +out anything? + +“Wal,” said he, “the varmint looks considerable snaky.” Then, without +removing his glass, he let drop a word at a time, as if the facts +were trickling into his telescope at the lens, and out at the sight +“One--two--four--seven, false ports.” + +There was a momentary murmur among the officers all round. But British +sailors are undemonstrative: Colonel Kenealy, strolling the deck with +his cigar, saw they were watching another ship with maritime curiosity, +and making comments but he discerned no particular emotion nor anxiety +in what they said, nor in the grave low tones they said it in. Perhaps a +brother seaman would though. + +The next observation that trickled out of Fullalove's tube +was this: “I judge there are too few hands on deck, and too +many--white--eyeballs--glittering at the portholes.” + +“Confound it,” muttered Bayliss, uneasily; “how can you see that?” + +Fullalove replied only by quietly handing his glass to Dodd. The captain +thus appealed to, glued his eye to the tube. + +“Well, sir; see the false ports, and the white eyebrows?” asked Sharpe +ironically. + +“I see this is the best glass I ever looked through,” said Dodd +doggedly, without interrupting his inspection. + +“I think he is a Malay pirate,” said Mr. Grey. + +Sharpe took him up very quickly, and indeed angrily: “Nonsense. And if +he is, he won't venture on a craft of this size.” + +“Says the whale to the swordfish,” suggested Fullalove, with a little +guttural laugh. + +The captain, with the American glass at his eye, turned half round to +the man at the wheel: “Starboard!” + +“Starboard it is.” + +“Steer south-south-east” + +“Ay, ay, sir.” And the ship's course was thus altered two points. + +This order lowered Dodd fifty per cent. in Mr. Sharpe's estimation. +He held his tongue as long as he could: but at last his surprise and +dissatisfaction burst out of him, “Won't that bring him out on us!” + +“Very likely, sir,” replied Dodd. + +“Begging your pardon, captain, would it not be wiser to keep our course, +and show the blackguard we don't fear him?” + +“When we _do!_ Sharpe, he has made up his mind an hour ago whether to +lie still or bite; my changing my course two points won't change his +mind, but it may make him declare it; and _I_ must know what he does +intend before I run the ship into the narrows ahead.” + +“Oh, I see,” said Sharpe, half convinced. + +The alteration in the _Agra's_ course produced no movement on the part +of the mysterious schooner. She lay-to under the land still, and with +only a few hands on deck, while the _Agra_ edged away from her and +entered the Straits between Long Island and Point Leat, leaving the +schooner about two miles and a half distant to the N.W. + + +Ah! The stranger's deck swarms black with men. + +His sham ports fell as if by magic, his gums grinned through the gaps +like black teeth; his huge foresail rose and filled, and out he came in +chase. + + +The breeze was a kiss from Heaven, the sky a vaulted sapphire, the sea a +million dimples of liquid, lucid gold. + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +AMONGST the curiosities of human reasoning is this: one forms a judgment +on certain statements; they turn out incorrect, yet the judgment sound. + +This occurs oftenest when, to divine what any known person will do in a +case stated, we go boldly by his character, his habits, or his interest: +for these are great forces, towards which men gravitate through various +and even contrary circumstances. + +Now women, sitting at home out of detail's way, are somewhat forced, +as well as naturally inclined, to rely on their insight into character; +and, by this broad clue, often pass through false or discoloured data to +a sound calculation. + +Thus it was Mrs. Dodd applied her native sagacity to divine why Richard +Hardie declined Julia for his son's wife, and how to make him withdraw +that dissent: and the fair diviner was much mistaken in detail but +right in her conclusion; for Richard Hardie _was_ at that moment the +unlikeliest man in Barkington to decline Julia Dodd--with Hard Cash in +five figures--for his daughter-in-law. + +I am now about to make a revelation to the reader, that will +incidentally lead him to Mrs. Dodd's conclusion, but by a different +path. + +The outline she gave her daughter and my reader of Richard Hardie's cold +and prudent youth was substantially correct; but something had occurred +since then, unknown to her, unknown to all Barkington. The centuries had +blown a respectable bubble. + +About two hundred and fifty years ago, some genius, as unknown as the +inventor of the lathe, laid the first wooden tramroad, to enable a horse +to draw forty-two cwt. instead of seventeen. The coalowners soon used it +largely. In 1738, iron rails were invented; but prejudice, stronger +than that metal, kept them down, and the wooden ones in vogue, for some +thirty years. Then iron prevailed. + +Meantime, a much greater invention had been creeping up to join the +metal way; I mean the locomotive power of steam, whose history is not +needed here. Enough that in 1804 took place as promising a wedding as +civilisation ever saw; for then an engine built by Trevethick, a great +genius frittered for want of pluck, drew carriages, laden with ten tons, +five miles an hour on a Welsh railway. Next stout Stephenson came on the +scene, and insisted on benefiting mankind in spite of themselves, and +of shallow legislators, _a priori_ reasoners, and a heavy _Review_ +whose political motto was, “Stemus super antiquas vias;” which may be +rendered, “Better stand still on turnpikes than move on rails.” + +His torments and triumph are history. + +Two of his repartees seem neat: 1. To Lord Noodle, or Lord Doodle, which +was it? objecting haughtily, “And suppose a cow should get in the way +of your engine, sir?” he replied, “Why, then it would be bad--for the +coow.” The objector had overrated the obstructive power of his honoured +parent. + +2. To the _a priori_ reasoners, who sat in their studies and +demonstrated with complete unanimity that uncogged wheels would revolve +on a smooth rail, but leave the carriage _in statu quo,_ he replied by +building an engine with Lord Ravensworth's noble aid, hooking on eight +carriages, and rattling off up an incline. _“Solvitur ambulando,_” quoth +Stephenson the stout-hearted to Messrs. _A Priori._ + +Next a coach ran on the Stockton and Darlington rail. Next the Liverpool +and Manchester line was projected. Oh, then, what bitter opposition to +the national benefactors, and the good of man! + +Awake from the tomb echoes of dead Cant. + +“The revolving wheels might move the engine on a rail; but what +would that avail if they could not move them in the closet, and on a +mathematical paper? Railways would be bad for canals, bad for morals, +bad for highwaymen, bad for roadside inns: the smoke would kill the +partridges ['Aha! thou hast touched us nearly,' said the country +gentlemen), the travellers would go slowly to their destination, but +swift to destruction.” And the _Heavy Review,_ whose motto was _“Stemus +super_ turnpikes,” offered “to back old Father Thames against the +Woolwich railway for any sum.” And Black Will, who drove the next +heaviest ephemeral in the island, told a schoolboy, who now writes +these pages, “there's nothing can ever be safe at twenty miles an hour, +without 'tis a bird in the air;” and confirmed it with an oath. Briefly, +buzz! buzz! buzz! + +Gray was crushed, Trevethick driven out of the country, stout Steevie +thwarted, badgered, taunted, and even insulted, and bespattered with +dirt--I might say with dung, since his opponents discharged their own +brains at him by speech and writing. At last, when, after the manner of +men, they had manured their benefactor well, they consented to reap him. +Railways prevailed, and increased, till lo and behold a Prime Minister +with a spade delving one in the valley of the Trent. The tide turned; +good working railways from city to city became an approved investment of +genuine capital, notwithstanding the frightful frauds and extortion to +which the projectors were exposed in a Parliament which, under a new +temptation, showed itself as corrupt and greedy as any nation or age can +parallel. + +When this sober state of things had endured some time, there came a year +that money was loose, and a speculative fever due in the whirligig of +time. Then railways bubbled. New ones were advertised, fifty a month, +and all went to a premium. High and low scrambled for the shares, +even when the projected line was to run from the town of Nought to the +village of Nothing across a goose common. The flame spread, fanned by +prospectus and advertisement, two mines of glowing fiction, compared +with which the legitimate article is a mere tissue of understatements; +princes sat in railway tenders, and clove the air like the birds whose +effigies surmount their armorials; our stiffest Peers relaxed into +Boards; Bishops warned their clergy against avarice, and buttered Hudson +an inch thick for shares; and turned their little aprons into great +pockets; men, stainless hitherto, put down their infants, nurses +included, as independent subscribers, and bagged the coupons, _capturi +tartaros._ Nearly everything that had a name, and, by some immense +fortuity, could write it, demanded its part in the new and fathomless +source of wealth: a charwoman's two sons were living in a garret on +fifteen shillings apiece per week; down went their excellencies' names +for L. 37,000 worth of bubbling iron; another shareholder applied +imperiously from a house in Grosvenor Square; he had breakfasted on the +steps. Once more in Time's whirligig gentlemen and their footmen jostled +one another on the Exchange, and a motley crew of peers and printers, +vicars and admirals, professors, cooks, costermongers, cotton-spinners, +waiters, coachmen, priests, potboys, hankers, braziers, dairymen, +mail-guards, barristers, spinsters, butchers, beggars, duchesses, +rag-merchants--in one word, of Nobs and Snobs; fought and scrambled pell +mell for the popular paper, and all to get rich in a day.* + + *For the humours of the time see the parliamentary return of + Railway Subscribers, published 1846: Francis's British + Railway: Evan's Commercial Crisis; and the pamphlets and + journals of the day. + +Richard Hardie had some money in existing railways, but he declined to +invest his hard cash upon hypotheticals. He was repeatedly solicited to +be a director, but always declined. Once he was offered a canny bribe +of a thousand pounds to let his name go on a provisional committee. He +refused with a characteristic remark: “I never buy any merchandise at a +fancy price, not even hard cash.” + +Antidote to the universal mania, Barkington had this one wet blanket; +an unpopular institution; but far more salutary than a damp sheet +especially in time of Bubble. + +Nearly all his customers consulted Richard Hardie, and this was the +substance of his replies: “The Bubbles of History, including the great +one of my youth, were national, as well as individual, follies. It is +not so now: the railways, that ruin their allottees and directors, will +be pure additions to the national property, and some day remove one +barrier more from commerce. The Dutch tulip frenzy went on a petty +fancy: the Railway fury goes on a great fact. Our predecessors blew mere +soap bubbles; we blow an iron bubble: but here the distinction ends. +In 1825 the country undertook immediate engagements, to fulfil which +a century's income would not have sufficed: today a thousand railway +companies are registered, requiring a capital of six hundred million and +another thousand projected, to cost another five hundred million. +Where is the money to come from? If the world was both cultivated and +civilised (instead of neither), and this nation could be sold, with +every building, ship, quadruped, jewel, and marketable female in it, +it would not fetch the money to make these railways; yet the country +undertakes to create them in three years _with its floating capital._ +Arithmetic of Bedlam! The thing cannot last a year without collapsing.” + Richard Hardie _talked_ like this from first to last. But, when he +saw that shares invariably mounted; that even those who, for want of +interest, had to buy them at a premium, sold them at a profit; when he +saw paupers making large fortunes in a few months, by buying into every +venture and selling the next week--he itched for his share of the booty, +and determined to profit in act by the credulity of mankind, as well +as expose it in words. He made use of his large connections to purchase +shares, which he took care to part with speedily. He cleared a good deal +of money, and that made him hungrier: he went deeper and deeper into +what he called Flat-catching, till one day he stood to win thirty +thousand pounds at a _coup._ + +But it is dangerous to be a convert, real or false, to Bubble: the game +is to be rash at once, and turn prudent at the full tide. When Richard +Hardie was up to his chin in these time bargains, came an incident not +easy to foresee: the conductors of the _Times,_ either from patriotism +or long-sighted policy, punctured the bladder, though they were making +thousands weekly by the railway advertisements. The time was so well +chosen, and the pin applied, that it was a death-blow: shares declined +from that morning, and the inevitable panic was advanced a week or +two. The more credulous speculators held on in hopes of a revival; but +Hardie, who knew that the collapse had been merely hastened, saw the +gravity of the situation, and sold largely at a heavy loss. But he could +not sell all the bad paper he had accumulated for a temporary purpose: +the panic came too swiftly and too strong; soon there were no buyers +at any price. The biter was bit: the fox who had said, “This is a trap; +I'll lightly come and lightly go,” was caught by the light fantastic +toe. + +In this emergency he showed high qualities: vast financial ability, +great fortitude, and that sense of commercial honour which Mrs. Dodd +justly called his semi-chivalrous sentiment. He mustered all his private +resources to meet his engagements and maintain his high position. Then +commenced a long and steady struggle, conducted with a Spartan dignity +and self-command, and a countenance as close as wax. Little did any +in Barkington guess the doubts and fears, the hopes and despondencies, +which agitated and tore the heart and brain that schemed, and throbbed, +and glowed, and sickened by turns beneath that steady modulated +exterior. And so for months and months he secretly battled with +insolvency; sometimes it threatened in the distance, sometimes at hand, +but never caught him unawares: he provided for each coming danger, he +encountered each immediate attack. But not unscathed in morals. Just as +matters looked brighter, came a concentration of liabilities he could +not meet without emptying his tills, and so incurring the most frightful +danger of all. He had provided for its coming too; but a decline, +greater than he had reckoned on, in the value of his good securities, +made that provision inadequate. Then it was he committed a _faux-pas._ +He was one of his own children's trustees, and the other two signed +after him like machines. He said to himself: “My honour is my +children's; my position is worth thousands _to them._ I have sacrificed +a fortune to preserve it; it would be madness to recoil now.” He +borrowed three thousand pounds of the trust money, and, soon after, two +thousand more: it kept him above water; but the peril, and the escape on +such terms, left him gasping inwardly. + +At last, when even his granite nature was almost worn down with labour, +anxiety, and struggling all alone without a word of comfort--for +the price of one grain of sympathy would have been “Destruction”--he +shuffled off his iron burden and breathed again. + +One day he spent in a sort of pleasing lethargy, like a strong swimmer +who, long and sore buffeted by the waves, has reached the shore at last. + +The next day his cashier, a sharp-visaged, bald-headed old man called +Young Skinner, invited his attention rather significantly to the high +amount of certain balances compared with the cash at his (Skinner's) +disposal. + +“Indeed!” said Hardie quietly; “that must be regulated.” He added +graciously, as if conferring a great favour, “I'll look into the books +myself, Skinner.” + +He did more: he sat up all night over the books; and his heart died with +him. Bankruptcy seemed coming towards him, slow perhaps, but sure. And +meantime to live with the sword hanging over him by a hair! + +Soon matters approached a crisis; several large drafts were drawn, which +would have cleaned the bank out, but that the yearly rents of a wealthy +nobleman had for some days past been flowing in. This nobleman had gone +to explore Syria and Assyria. He was a great traveller, who contrived +to live up to his income at home, but had never been able to spend a +quarter of it abroad, for want of enemies and masters--better known as +friends and servants--to help him. So Hardie was safe for some months, +unless there should be an extraordinary run on him, and that was not +likely this year; the panic had subsided, and, _nota bene,_ his credit +had never stood higher. The reason was, he had been double-faced; had +always spoken against railways: and his wise words were public, whereas +his fatal acts had been done in the dark. + +But now came a change, a bitter revulsion, over this tossed mind: hope +and patience failed at last, and his virtue, being a thing of habit and +traditions rather than of the soul, wore out; nay more, this man, who +had sacrificed so nobly to commercial integrity, was filled with hate +of his idol and contempt of himself. “Idiot!” said he, “to throw away a +fortune fighting for honour--a greater bubble than that which has ruined +me--instead of breaking like a man, with a hidden purse, and starting +fair again, as sensible traders do.” + +No honest man in the country that year repented of his vices so +sincerely as Richard Hardie loathed his virtue. And he did not confine +his penitence to sentiment: he began to spend his days at the bank +poring over the books, and to lay out his arithmetical genius in a +subtle process, that should enable him by degrees to withdraw a few +thousands from human eyes for his future use, despite the feeble +safeguards of the existing law. In other words, Richard Hardie, +like thousands before him, was fabricating and maturing a false +balance-sheet. + +One man in his time plays many animals. Hardie at this period turned +mole. He burrowed darkling into _oes alienum._ There is often one of +these sleek miners in a bank: it is a section of human zoology the +journals have lately enlarged on, and drawn the painstaking creature +grubbing and mining away to brief opulence--and briefer penal servitude +than one could wish. I rely on my reader having read these really +able sketches of my contemporaries, and spare him minute details, that +possess scarcely a new feature, except one: in that bank was not only +a mole, but a mole-catcher; and, contrary to custom, the mole was the +master, the mole-catcher the servant. The latter had no hostile views; +far from it: he was rather attached to his master. But his attention was +roused by the youngest clerk, a boy of sixteen, being so often sent for +into the bank parlour, to copy into the books some arithmetical result, +without its process. Attention soon became suspicion; and suspicion +found many little things to feed on, till it grew to certainty. But the +outer world was none the wiser: the mole-catcher was no chatterbox; he +was a solitary man--no wife nor mistress about him; and he revered the +mole, and liked him better than anything in the world--_except money._ + +Thus the great banker stood, a colossus of wealth and stability to the +eye, though ready to crumble at a touch; and indeed self-doomed, for +bankruptcy was now his game. + +This was a miserable man, far more miserable than his son, whose +happiness he had thwarted: his face was furrowed and his hair thinned by +a secret struggle; and of all the things that gnawed him, like the fox, +beneath his Spartan robe, none was more bitter than to have borrowed +five thousand pounds of his children and sunk it. + +His wife's father, a keen man of business, who saw there was little +affection on his side, had settled his daughter's money on her for +life, and in case of her death, on the children upon coming of age. +The marriage of Alfred or Jane would be sure to expose him; settlements +would be proposed; lawyers engaged to peer into the trust, &c. No; they +_must_ remain single for the present, or else marry wealth. + +So, when his son announced an attachment to a young lady living in a +suburban villa, it was a terrible blow, though he took it with outward +calm, as usual. But if, instead of prating about beauty, virtue, and +breeding, Alfred had told him hard cash in five figures could be settled +by the bride's family on the young couple, he would have welcomed the +wedding with great external indifference, but a secret gush of joy; for +then he could throw himself on Alfred's generosity, and be released from +that one corroding debt; perhaps allowed to go on drawing the interest +of the remainder. + +Thus, in reality, all the interests with which this story deals +converged towards one point: the fourteen thousand pounds. Richard +Hardie's opposition was a mere misunderstanding; and if he had been told +of the Cash, and to what purpose Mrs. Dodd destined it, and then put on +board the _Agra_ in the Straits of Gaspar, he would have calmly taken +off his coat, and help to defend the bearer of It against all assailants +as stoutly, and, to all appearance, imperturbably, as he had fought +that other bitter battle at home. For there was something heroic in this +erring man, though his rectitude depended on circumstances. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE way the pirate dropped the mask, showed his black teeth, and bore +up in chase, was terrible: so dilates and bounds the sudden tiger on his +unwary prey. There were stout hearts among the officers of the peaceable +_Agra_; but danger in a new form shakes the brave, and this was their +first pirate: their dismay broke out in ejaculations not loud but deep. +“Hush,” said Dodd doggedly; “the lady!” + +Mrs. Beresford had just come on deck to enjoy the balmy morning. + +“Sharpe,” said Dodd, in a tone that conveyed no suspicion to the +new-comer, “set the royals and flying jib.--Port!” + +“Port it is,” cried the man at the helm. + +“Steer due south!” And, with these words in his mouth, Dodd dived to the +gun-deck. + +By this time elastic Sharpe had recovered the first shock, and the order +to crowd sail on the ship galled his pride and his manhood. He muttered +indignantly, “The white feather!” This eased his mind, and he obeyed +orders briskly as ever. While he and his hands were setting every rag +the ship could carry on that tack, the other officers having unluckily +no orders to execute, stood gloomy and helpless, with their eyes glued, +by a sort of sombre fascination, on that coming fate; and they literally +jumped and jarred when Mrs. Beresford, her heart opened by the lovely +day, broke in on their nerves with her light treble. + +“What a sweet morning, gentlemen! After all, a voyage is a delightful +thing. Oh, what a splendid sea! and the very breeze is warm. Ah! and +there's a little ship sailing along: here, Freddy, Freddy darling, leave +off beating the sailor's legs, and come here and see this pretty ship. +What a pity it is so far off. Ah! ah! what is that dreadful noise?” + +For her horrible small talk, that grated on those anxious souls like the +mockery of some infantine fiend, was cut short by ponderous blows and +tremendous smashing below. It was the captain staving in water-casks: +the water poured out at the scuppers. + +“Clearing the lee guns,” said a middy, off his guard. + +Colonel Kenealy pricked up his ears, drew his cigar from his mouth, and +smelt powder. “What, for action?” said he briskly. “Where's the enemy?” + +Fullalove made him a signal, and they went below. + +Mrs. Beresford had not heard or not appreciated the remark: she prattled +on till she made the mates and midshipmen shudder. + +Realise the situation, and the strange incongruity between the senses +and the mind in these poor fellows! The day had ripened its beauty; +beneath a purple heaven shone, sparkled, and laughed a blue sea, in +whose waves the tropical sun seemed to have fused his beams; and beneath +that fair, sinless, peaceful sky, wafted by a balmy breeze over those +smiling, transparent, golden waves, a bloodthirsty Pirate bore down on +them with a crew of human tigers; and a lady babble babble babble babble +babble babble babbled in their quivering ears. + +But now the captain came bustling on deck, eyed the loftier sails, saw +they were drawing well, appointed four midshipmen a staff to convey his +orders: gave Bayliss charge of the carronades, Grey of the cutlasses, +and directed Mr. Tickell to break the bad news gently to Mrs. Beresford, +and to take her below to the orlop deck; ordered the purser to serve out +beet biscuit, and grog to all hands, saying, “Men can't work on an empty +stomach: and fighting is hard work;” then beckoned the officers to come +round him. “Gentlemen,” said he, confidentially, “in crowding sail on +this ship I had no hope of escaping that fellow on this tack, but I was, +and am, most anxious to gain the open sea, where I can square my yards +and run for it, if I see a chance. At present I shall carry on till he +comes within range: and then, to keep the Company's canvas from being +shot to rags, I shall shorten sail; and to save ship and cargo and all +our lives, I shall fight while a plank of her swims. Better be killed in +hot blood than walk the plank in cold.” + +The officers cheered faintly; the captain's dogged resolution stirred up +theirs. + +The pirate had gained another quarter of a mile and more. The ship's +crew were hard at their beef and grog, and agreed among themselves it +was a comfortable ship. They guessed what was coming, and woe to the +ship in that hour if the captain had not won their respect. Strange +to say, there were two gentlemen in the _Agra_ to whom the pirate's +approach was not altogether unwelcome. Colonel Kenealy and Mr. Fullalove +were rival sportsmen and rival theorists. Kenealy stood out for a +smooth bore and a four-ounce ball; Fullalove for a rifle of his own +construction. Many a doughty argument they had, and many a bragging +match; neither could convert the other. At last Fullalove hinted that by +going ashore at the Cape, and getting each behind a tree at one hundred +yards, and popping at one another, one or other would be convinced. + +“Well, but,” said Kenealy, “if he is dead, he will be no wiser. Besides, +to a fellow like me, who has had the luxury of popping at his enemies, +popping at a friend is poor insipid work.” + +“That is true,” said the other regretfully. “But I reckon we shall never +settle it by argument.” + +Theorists are amazing; and it was plain, by the alacrity with which +these good creatures loaded the rival instruments, that to them the +pirate came not so much as a pirate as a solution. Indeed, Kenealy, +in the act of charging his piece, was heard to mutter, “Now, this is +lucky.” However, these theorists were no sooner loaded than something +occurred to make them more serious. They were sent for in haste to +Dodd's cabin; they found him giving Sharpe a new order. + +“Shorten sail to the taupsles and jib, get the colours ready on the +halyards, and then send the men aft.” + +Sharpe ran out full of zeal, and tumbled over Ramgolam, who was stooping +remarkably near the keyhole. Dodd hastily bolted the cabin-door, and +looked with trembling lip and piteous earnestness in Kenealy's face and +Fullalove's. They were mute with surprise at a gaze so eloquent and yet +mysterious. + +He manned himself, and opened his mind to them with deep emotion, yet +not without a certain simple dignity. + +“Colonel,” said he, “you are an old friend; _you,_ sir, are a new one; +but I esteem you highly, and what my young gentlemen chaff you about, +you calling all men brothers, and making that poor negro love you +instead of fear you, that shows me you have a great heart. My dear +friends, I have been unlucky enough to bring my children's fortune on +board this ship: here it is under my shirt. Fourteen thousand pounds! +This weighs me down. Oh, if they should lose it after all! Do pray give +me a hand apiece and pledge your sacred words to take it home safe to my +wife at Barkington, if you, or either of you, should see this bright sun +set to-day, and I should not.” + +“Why, Dodd, old fellow,” said Kenealy cheerfully, “this is not the way +to go into action.” + +“Colonel,” replied Dodd, “to save this ship and cargo, I must be +wherever the bullets are, and I will too.” + +Fullalove, more sagacious than the worthy colonel, said +earnestly--“Captain Dodd, may I never see Broadway again, and never see +Heaven at the end of my time, if I fail you. There's my hand.” + +“And mine,” said Kenealy warmly. + +They all three joined hands, and Dodd seemed to cling to them. “God +bless you both! God bless you! Oh, what a weight your true hands have +pulled off my heart. Good-bye, for a few minutes. The time is short. +I'll just offer a prayer to the Almighty for wisdom, and then I'll +come up and say a word to the men and fight the ship, according to my +lights.” + +Sail was no sooner shortened and the crew ranged, than the captain came +briskly on deck, saluted, jumped on a carronade, and stood erect. He was +not the man to show the crew his forebodings. + +(Pipe.) “Silence fore and aft.” + +“My men, the schooner coming up on our weather quarter is a Portuguese +pirate. His character is known; he scuttles all the ships he boards, +dishonours the women, and murders the crew. We cracked on to get out of +the narrows, and now we have shortened sail to fight this blackguard, +and teach him to molest a British ship. I promise, in the Company's +name, twenty pounds prize-money to every man before the mast if we beat +him off or out-manoeuvre him; thirty if we sink him; and forty if we tow +him astern into a friendly port. Eight guns are clear below, three on +the weather side, five on the lee; for, if he knows his business, he +will come up on the lee quarter: if he doesn't that is no fault of +yours nor mine. The muskets are all loaded, the cutlasses ground like +razors----” + +“Hurrah!” + +“We have got women to defend----” + +“Hurrah!” + +“A good ship under our feet, the God of justice overhead, British hearts +in our bosoms, and British colours flying--run 'em up!--over our heads.” + (The ship's colours flew up to the fore, and the Union Jack to the +mizen peak.) “Now, lads, I mean to fight this ship while a plank of her +(stamping on the deck) swims beneath my foot, and--what do you say?” + +The reply was a fierce “hurrah!” from a hundred throats, so loud, so +deep, so full of volume, it made the ship vibrate, and rang in the +creeping-on pirate's ears. Fierce, but cunning, he saw mischief in those +shortened sails, and that Union Jack, the terror of his tribe, rising to +a British cheer; he lowered his mainsail, and crawled up on the weather +quarter. Arrived within a cable's length, he double-reef'ed his foresail +to reduce his rate of sailing nearly to that of the ship; and the next +moment a tongue of flame, and then a gush of smoke, issued from his lee +bow, and the ball flew screaming like a seagull over the _Agra's_ mizen +top. He then put his helm up, and fired his other bow-chaser, and sent +the shot hissing and skipping on the water past the ship. This prologue +made the novices wince. Bayliss wanted to reply with a carronade; but +Dodd forbade him sternly, saying, “If we keep him aloof we are done +for.” + +The pirate drew nearer, and fired both guns in succession, hulled the +_Agra_ amidships, and sent an eighteen-pound ball through her foresail. +Most of the faces were pale on the quarter-deck; it was very trying to +be shot at, and hit, and make no return. The next double discharge +sent one shot smash through the stern cabin window, and splintered the +bulwark with another, wounding a seaman slightly. + +“LIE DOWN FORWARD!” shouted Dodd. “Bayliss, give him a shot.” + +The carronade was fired with a tremendous report but no visible effect. +The pirate crept nearer, steering in and out like a snake to avoid the +carronades, and firing those two heavy guns alternately into the devoted +ship. He hulled the _Agra_ now nearly every shot. + +The two available carronades replied noisily, and jumped as usual; they +sent one thirty-two pound shot clean through the schooner's deck and +side; but that was literally all they did worth speaking of. + +“Curse them!” cried Dodd; “load them with grape! they are not to be +trusted with ball. And all my eighteen-pounders dumb! The coward won't +come alongside and give them a chance.” + +At the next discharge the pirate chipped the mizen mast, and knocked a +sailor into dead pieces on the forecastle. Dodd put his helm down ere +the smoke cleared, and got three carronades to bear, heavily laden with +grape. Several pirates fell, dead or wounded, on the crowded deck, and +some holes appeared in the foresail; this one interchange was quite in +favour of the ship. + +But the lesson made the enemy more cautious; he crept nearer, but +steered so adroitly, now right astern, now on the quarter, that the ship +could seldom bring more than one carronade to bear, while he raked her +fore and aft with grape and ball. + +In this alarming situation, Dodd kept as many of the men below as +possible; but, for all he could do, four were killed and seven wounded. + +Fullalove's worth came too true: it was the swordfish and the whale: +it was a fight of hammer and anvil; one hit, the other made a noise. +Cautious and cruel, the pirate hung on the poor hulking creature's +quarters and raked her at point-blank distance. He made her pass a +bitter time. And her captain! To see the splintering hull, the parting +shrouds, the shivered gear, and hear the shrieks and groans of his +wounded; and he unable to reply in kind! The sweat of agony poured down +his face. Oh, if he could but reach the open sea, and square his yards, +and make a long chase of it; perhaps fall in with aid. Wincing under +each heavy blow, he crept doggedly, patiently on towards that one +visible hope. + +At last, when the ship was choved with shot, and peppered with grape, +the channel opened; in five minutes more he could put her dead before +the wind. + +No! The pirate, on whose side luck had been from the first, got half +a broadside to bear at long musket-shot, killed a midshipman by Dodd's +side, cut away two of the _Agra_'s mizen shrouds, wounded the gaff, +and cut the jib-stay. Down fell that powerful sail into the water, and +dragged across the ship's forefoot, stopping her way to the open sea she +panted for. The mates groaned; the crew cheered stoutly, as British tars +do in any great disaster: the pirates yelled with ferocious triumph, +like the devils they looked. + +But most human events, even calamities, have two sides. The _Agra_ being +brought almost to a standstill, the pirate forged ahead against his +will, and the combat took a new and terrible form. The elephant gun +popped and the rifle cracked in the _Agra's_ mizen top, and the man +at the pirate's helm jumped into the air and fell dead: both Theorists +claimed him. Then the three carronades peppered him hotly; and he +hurled an iron shower back with fatal effect. Then at last the long +eighteen-pounders on the gun-deck got a word in. The old Niler was not +the man to miss a vessel alongside in a quiet sea: he sent two round +shot clean through him; the third splintered his bulwark and swept +across his deck. + +“His masts--fire at his masts!” roared Dodd to Monk, through his +trumpet. He then got the jib clear, and made what sail he could without +taking all the hands from the guns. + +This kept the vessels nearly alongside a few minutes, and the fight was +hot as fire. The pirate now for the first time hoisted his flag. It +was black as ink. His crew yelled as it rose: the Britons, instead of +quailing, cheered with fierce derision; the pirate's wild crew of yellow +Malays, black chinless Papuans, and bronzed Portuguese, served their +side guns, twelve-pounders, well, and with ferocious cries. The white +Britons, drunk with battle now, naked to the waist, grimed with powder, +and spotted like leopards with blood, their and their mates', replied +with loud undaunted cheers and a deadly hail of grape from the +quarter-deck; while the master-gunner and his mates, loading with a +rapidity the mixed races opposed could not rival, hulled the schooner +well between wind and water, and then fired chain-shot at her masts, as +ordered, and began to play the mischief with her shrouds and rigging. +Meantime, Fullalove and Kenealy, aided by Vespasian, who loaded, were +quietly butchering the pirate crew two a minute, and hoped to settle the +question they were fighting for: smooth bore _v._ rifle; but unluckily +neither fired once without killing; so “there was nothing proven.” + +The pirate, bold as he was, got sick of fair fighting first. He hoisted +his mainsail and threw rapidly ahead, with a slight bearing to windward, +and dismounted a carronade and stove in the ship's quarter-boat, by way +of a parting kick. + +The men hurled a contemptuous cheer after him; they thought they had +beaten him off. But Dodd knew better. He was but retiring a little way +to make a more deadly attack than ever: he would soon wear, and cross +the _Agra's_ defenceless bows, to rake her fore and aft at pistol-shot +distance; or grapple, and board the enfeebled ship, two hundred strong. + +Dodd flew to the helm, and with his own hands put it hard a-weather, to +give the deck-guns one more chance, the last, of sinking or disabling +the Destroyer. As the ship obeyed, and a deck-gun bellowed below him, he +saw a vessel running out from Long Island, and coming swiftly up on his +lee quarter. + +It was a schooner. Was she coming to his aid? + +Horror! A black flag floated from her foremast head. + +While Dodd's eyes were staring almost out of his head at this deathblow +to hope, Monk fired again; and just then a pale face came close to +Dodd's, and a solemn voice whispered in his ear: “Our ammunition is +nearly done!” + +Dodd seized Sharpe's hand convulsively, and pointed to the pirate's +consort coming up to finish them; and said, with the calm of a brave +man's despair, “Cutlasses! and die hard!” + +At that moment the master-gunner fired his last gun. It sent a +chain-shot on board the retiring pirate, took off a Portuguese head +and spun it clean into the sea ever so far to windward, and cut the +schooner's foremast so nearly through that it trembled and nodded, and +presently snapped with a loud crack, and came down like a broken tree, +with the yard and sail; the latter overlapping the deck and burying +itself, black flag and all, in the sea; and there, in one moment, lay +the Destroyer buffeting and wriggling--like a heron on the water with +his long wings broken--an utter cripple. + +The victorious crew raised a stunning cheer. + +“Silence!” roared Dodd, with his trumpet. “All hands make sail!” + +He set his courses, bent a new jib, and stood out to windward close +hauled, in hopes to make a good offing, and then put his ship dead +before the wind, which was now rising to a stiff breeze. In doing this +he crossed the crippled pirate's bows, within eighty yards; and sore +was the temptation to rake him; but his ammunition being short, and his +danger being imminent from the other pirate, he had the self-command to +resist the great temptation. + +He hailed the mizen top: “Can you two hinder them from firing that gun?” + +“I rather think we can,” said Fullalove; “eh, Colonel?” and he tapped +his long rifle. + +The ship no sooner crossed the schooner's bows* than a Malay ran forward +with a linstock. Pop went the colonel's ready carbine, and the +Malay fell over dead, and the linstock flew out of his hand. A tall +Portuguese, with a movement of rage, snatched it up and darted to the +gun: the Yankee rifle cracked, but a moment too late. Bang! went the +pirate's bow-chaser, and crashed into the _Agra's_ side, and passed +nearly through her. + + *Being disabled, the schooner's head had come round to + windward, though she was drifting to leeward. + +“Ye missed him! Ye missed him!” cried the rival theorist joyfully. +He was mistaken: the smoke cleared, and there was the pirate captain +leaning wounded against the mainmast with a Yankee bullet in his +shoulder, and his crew uttering yells of dismay and vengeance. They +jumped, and raged, and brandished their knives, and made horrid +gesticulations of revenge; and the white eyeballs of the Malays and +Papuans glittered fiendishly; and the wounded captain raised his sound +arm and had a signal hoisted to his consort, and she bore up in chase, +and jamming her fore lateen flat as a board, lay far nearer the wind +than the _Agra_ could, and sailed three feet to her two besides. On +this superiority being made clear, the situation of the merchant vessel, +though not so utterly desperate as before Monk fired his lucky shot, +became pitiable enough. If she ran before the wind, the fresh pirate +would cut her off: if she lay to windward, she might postpone the +inevitable and fatal collision with a foe as strong as that she had only +escaped by a rare piece of luck; but this would give the crippled +pirate time to refit and unite to destroy her. Add to this the failing +ammunition and the thinned crew! + +Dodd cast his eyes all round the horizon for help. + +The sea was blank. + +The bright sun was hidden now; drops of rain fell, and the wind was +beginning to sing, and the sea to rise a little. + +“Gentlemen,” said he, “let us kneel down and pray for wisdom, in this +sore strait.” + +He and his officers kneeled on the quarter-deck. When they rose, Dodd +stood rapt about a minute: his great thoughtful eye saw no more the +enemy, the sea, nor anything external; it was turned inward. His +officers looked at him in silence. + +“Sharpe,” said he at last, “there _must_ be a way out of them both with +such a breeze as this is now; if we could but see it.” + +“Ay, _if,_” groaned Sharpe. + +Dodd mused again. + +“About ship!” said he softly, like an absent man. + +“Ay, ay, sir!” + +“Steer due north!” said he, still like one whose mind was elsewhere. + +While the ship was coming about, he gave minute orders to the mates +and the gunner, to ensure co-operation in the delicate and dangerous +manoeuvres that were sure to be at hand. + +The wind was W.N.W: lie was standing north; one pirate lay on his lee +beam stopping a leak between wind and water, and hacking the deck clear +of his broken mast and yards. The other, fresh, and thirsting for the +easy prey, came up to weather on him and hang on his quarter, pirate +fashion. + +When they were distant about a cable's length, the fresh pirate, to meet +the ship's change of tactics, changed his own, luffed up, and gave the +ship a broadside, well aimed but not destructive, the guns being loaded +with ball. + +Dodd, instead of replying immediately, put his helm hard up and ran +under the pirate's stern, while he was jammed up in the wind, and with +his five eighteen pounders raked him fore and aft, then paying off, +gave him three carronades crammed with grape and canister. The rapid +discharge of eight guns made the ship tremble, and enveloped her in +thick smoke; loud shrieks and groans were heard from the schooner: the +smoke cleared; the pirate's mainsail hung on deck, his jib-boom was cut +off like a carrot and the sail struggling; his foresail looked lace, +lanes of dead and wounded lay still or writhing on his deck, and his lee +scuppers ran blood into the sea. Dodd squared his yards and bore away. + +The ship rushed down the wind, leaving the schooner staggered and all +abroad. But for long; the pirate wore and fired his bow chasers at the +now flying _Agra_, split one of the carronades in two, and killed a +Lascar, and made a hole in the foresail. This done, he hoisted his +mainsail again in a trice, sent his wounded below, flung his dead +overboard, to the horror of their foes, and came after the flying ship, +yawing and firing his bow chasers. The ship was silent. She had no shot +to throw away. Not only did she take these blows like a coward, but all +signs of life disappeared on her, except two men at the wheel and the +captain on the main gangway. + +Dodd had ordered the crew out of the rigging, armed them with cutlasses, +and laid them flat on the forecastle. He also compelled Kenealy and +Fullalove to come down out of harm's way, no wiser on the smooth bore +question than they went up. + +The great patient ship ran environed by her foes; one destroyer right in +her course, another in her wake, following her with yells of vengeance, +and pounding away at her--but no reply. + +Suddenly the yells of the pirates on both sides ceased, and there was a +moment of dead silence on the sea. + +Yet nothing fresh had happened. + +Yes, this had happened: the pirates to windward and the pirates to +leeward of the _Agra_ had found out, at one and the same moment, that +the merchant captain they had lashed, and bullied, and tortured was a +patient but tremendous man. It was not only to rake the fresh schooner +he had put his ship before the wind, but also by a double, daring, +masterstroke to hurl his monster ship bodily on the other. Without a +foresail she could never get out of her way. The pirate crew had stopped +the leak, and cut away and unshipped the broken foremast, and were +stepping a new one, when they saw the huge ship bearing down in full +sail. Nothing easier than to slip out of her way could they get the +foresail to draw; but the time was short, the deadly intention manifest, +the coming destruction swift. + +After that solemn silence came a storm of cries and curses, as their +seamen went to work to fit the yard and raise the sail while their +fighting men seized their matchlocks and trained the guns. They were +well commanded by an heroic able villain. Astern the consort thundered; +but the _Agra's_ response was a dead silence more awful than broadsides. + +For then was seen with what majesty the enduring Anglo-Saxon fights. + +One of that indomitable race on the gangway, one at the foremast, two +at the wheel, conned and steered the great ship down on a hundred +matchlocks and a grinning broadside, just as they would have conned and +steered her into a British harbour. + +“Starboard!” said Dodd, in a deep calm voice, with a motion of his hand. + +“Starboard it is.” + +The pirate wriggled ahead a little. The man forward made a silent signal +to Dodd. + +“Port!” said Dodd quietly. + +“Port it is.” + +But at this critical moment the pirate astern sent a mischievous shot +and knocked one of the men to atoms at the helm. + +Dodd waved his hand without a word, and another man rose from the deck, +and took his place in silence, and laid his unshaking hand on the wheel +stained with that man's warm blood whose place he took. + +The high ship was now scarce sixty yards distant; _she seemed to know:_ +she reared her lofty figure-head with great awful shoots into the air. + +But now the panting pirates got their new foresail hoisted with a joyful +shout: it drew, the schooner gathered way, and their furious consort +close on the _Agra's_ heels just then scourged her deck with grape. + +“Port!” said Dodd calmly. + +“Port it is.” + +The giant prow darted at the escaping pirate. That acre of coming canvas +took the wind out of the swift schooner's foresail; it flapped: oh, then +she was doomed! That awful moment parted the races on board her: the +Papuans and Sooloos, their black faces livid and blue with horror, +leaped yelling into the sea, or crouched and whimpered; the yellow +Malays and brown Portuguese, though blanched to one colour now, turned +on death like dying panthers, fired two cannon slap into the ship's +bows, and snapped their muskets and matchlocks at their solitary +executioner on the ship's gangway, and out flew their knives like +crushed wasp's stings. CRASH! the Indiaman's cutwater in thick smoke +beat in the schooner's broadside: down went her masts to leeward like +fishing-rods whipping the water; there was a horrible shrieking yell; +wild forms heaped off on the _Agra_, and were hacked to pieces almost +ere they reached the deck--a surge, a chasm in the sea, filled with +an instant rush of engulphing waves, a long, awful, grating, grinding +noise, never to be forgotten in this world, all along under the ship's +keel--and the fearful majestic monster passed on over the blank she +had made, with a pale crew standing silent and awestruck on her deck; +a cluster of wild heads and staring eyeballs bobbing like corks in her +foaming wake, sole relic of the blotted-out Destroyer: and a wounded man +staggering on the gangway, with hands uplifted and staring eyes. + +Shot in two places, the head and the breast! + +With a loud cry of pity and dismay, Sharpe, Fullalove, Kenealy, and +others rushed to catch him; but ere they got near, the captain of the +triumphant ship fell down on his hands and knees, his head sunk over the +gangway, and his blood ran fast and pattered in the midst of them on the +deck he had defended so bravely. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THEY got to the wounded captain and raised him: he revived a little; +and, the moment he caught sight of Mr. Sharpe, he clutched him, and +cried, “Stunsels!” + +“Oh, captain,” said Sharpe, “let the ship go; it is you we are anxious +for now.” + +At this Dodd lifted up his hands and beat the air impatiently, and +cried again in the thin, querulous voice of' a wounded man, but eagerly, +“STUNSELS! STUNSELS!” + +On this, Sharpe gave the command. + +“Make sail. All hands set stunsels 'low and aloft!” + +While the unwounded hands swarmed into the rigging, the surgeon came aft +in all haste; but Dodd declined him till all his men should have been +looked to: meantime he had himself carried to the poop and laid on a +mattress, his bleeding head bound tight with a wet cambric handkerchief, +and his pale face turned towards the hostile schooner astern. She had +to hove to, and was picking up the survivors of her blotted-out consort. +The group on the _Agra's_ quarter-deck watched her to see what she would +do next; flushed with immediate success, the younger officers crowed +their fears she would not be game to attack them again. Dodd's fears ran +the other way: he said, in the weak voice to which he was now reduced, +“They are taking a wet blanket aboard; that crew of blackguards we +swamped won't want any more of us: it all depends on the pirate captain: +if he is not drowned, then blow wind, rise sea, or there's trouble ahead +for us.” + +As soon as the schooner had picked up the last swimmer, she hoisted +foresail, mainsail, and jib with admirable rapidity, and bore down in +chase. + +The _Agra_ had, meantime, got a start of more than a mile, and was now +running before a stiff breeze with studding sails alow and aloft. + +In an hour the vessels ran nearly twelve miles, and the pirate had +gained half a mile. + +At the end of the next hour they were out of sight of land, wind and sea +rising, and the pirate only a quarter of a mile astern. + +The schooner was now rising and falling on the waves; the ship only +nodding, and firm as a rock. + +“Blow wind, rise sea!” faltered Dodd. + +Another half-hour passed without perceptibly altering the position of +the vessels. Then suddenly the wounded captain laid aside his glass, +after a long examination, and rose unaided to his feet in great +excitement, and found his manly voice for a moment: he shook his fist +at the now pitching schooner and roared, “Good-bye! ye Portuguese +lubber--outfought--outmanoeuvred--AND OUTSAILED!” + +It was a burst of exultation rare for him; he paid for it by sinking +faint and helpless into his friend's arms; and the surgeon, returning +soon after, insisted on his being taken to his cabin and kept quite +quiet. + +As they were carrying him below, the pirate captain made the same +discovery, that the ship was gaining on him: he hauled to the wind +directly and abandoned the chase. + + +When the now receding pirate was nearly hull down, the sun began to set. +Mr. Tickell looked at him and said, “Hallo! old fellow, what are _you_ +about? Why, it isn't two o'clock.” + +The remark was quite honest: he really feared, for a moment, that orb +was mistaken and would get himself--and others--into trouble. However, +the middy proved to be wrong, and the sun right to a minute: Time flies +fast fighting. + +Mrs. Beresford came on deck with brat and poodle: Fred, a destructive +child, clapped his hands with glee at the holes in the canvas: Snap +toddled about smelling the blood of the slain, and wagging his tail by +halves, perplexed. “Well, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Beresford, “I hope you +have made noise enough over one's head: and what a time you did take to +beat that little bit of a thing. Freddy, be quiet; you worry me; where +is your bearer? Will anybody oblige me by finding Ramgolam?” + +“I will,” said Mr. Tickell hastily, and ran off for the purpose; but he +returned after some time with a long face. No Ramgolam to be found. + +Fullalove referred her--with humour-twinkling eye--to Vespasian. “I have +a friend here who says he can tell you something about him.” + +“Can you, my good man?” inquired the lady, turning haughtily towards the +negro. + +“Iss, Missy,” said Vespasian, showing his white teeth in a broad grin, +“dis child knows where to find dat ar niggar, widout him been and +absquatulated since.” + +“Then go and fetch him directly.” + +Vespasian went off with an obedient start. + +This annoyed Fullalove; interfered with his system: “Madam,” said he +gravely, “would you oblige me by bestowing on my friend a portion +of that courtesy with which you favour me, and which becomes you so +gracefully?” + +“Certainly not,” replied Mrs. Beresford. “Mr. Fullalove, I am out of +patience with you: the idea of a sensible intelligent gentleman like you +calling that creature your friend! And you an American, where they do +nothing but whip them from morning till night. Who ever heard of +making friends with a black?--Now what is the meaning of this? I detest +practical jokes.” For the stalwart negro had returned, bringing a tall +bread-bag in his arms: he now set it up before her, remarking, “Dis yar +bag white outside, but him 'nation black inside.” To confirm his words, +he drew off the bag, and revealed Ramgolam, his black skin powdered +with meal. The good-natured negro then blew the flour off his face, and +dusted him a bit: the spectators laughed heartily, but Ramgolam never +moved a muscle: not a morsel discomposed at what would have made an +European miserably ashamed, even in a pantomime--the Caucasian darkie +retained all his dignity while the African one dusted him; but, being +dusted, he put on his obsequiousness, stepped forward, joined his palms +together to Mrs. Beresford--like medieval knights and modern children at +their devotions--and addressed her thus:-- + +“Daughter of light, he who basks in your beams said to himself, 'The +pirates are upon us, those children of blood, whom Sheitan their master +blast for ever! They will ravish the Queen of Sunshine and the ayahs, +and throw the sahibs and sailors into the sea; but, bread being the +staff of existence, these foxes of the water will not harm it, but keep +it for their lawless appetites; therefore Ramgolam, son of Chittroo, son +of Soonarayan, will put the finger of silence on the lip of discretion, +and be bread in the day of adversity: the sons of Sheitan will +peradventure return to dry land and close the eye of watchfulness; then +will I emerge like the sun from a cloud, and depart in peace.” + +“Oh, very well,” said Mrs. Beresford; “then you are an abominable +egotist, that is all, and a coward: and thank Heaven Freddy and I were +defended by English and Americans, and--hem!--their friends, and not by +Hindoos.” She added charmingly, “This shows me my first words on coming +here ought to have been to offer my warmest thanks to the brave men who +have defended me and my child;” and swept them so queenly a curtesy, +that the men's hats and caps flew off in an instant “Mr. Black,” said +she, turning with a voice of honey to Vespasian, but aiming obliquely +at Fullalove's heart, _“would_ you oblige me by kicking that dog a +_little:_ he is always smelling what does not belong to him--why, it is +blood; oh!” and she turned pale in a moment. + +Sharpe thought some excuse necessary. “You see, ma'am, we haven't had +time to clean the decks since.” + +“It is the blood of men--of the poor fellows who have defended us so +nobly,” faltered the lady, trembling visibly. + +“Well, ma'am,” said Sharpe, still half apologetically, “you know a ship +can't fight all day long without an accident or two.” He added, with +nautical simplicity and love of cleanliness, “However, the deck will be +cleaned and holy-stoned to-morrow, long before you turn out.” + +Mrs. Beresford was too much overcome to explain how much deeper her +emotion was than a dislike to stained floors. She turned faint, and on +getting the better of that, went down to her cabin crying. Thence issued +a royal order that the wounded were to have wine and every luxury they +could fancy, without limit or stint--at her expense. + +The next day a deep gloom reigned in the ship; the crew were ranged in +their Sunday clothes and bare-headed; a grating was rigged; Sharpe read +the burial service; and the dead, each man sewed up in his hammock with +a 32-lb. shot, glided off the grating into the sea with a sullen plunge; +while their shipmates cried so that the tears dripped on the deck. + +With these regrets for the slain, too violent to last, was mingled a +gloomy fear that Death had a heavier blow in store. The surgeon's +report of Captain Dodd was most alarming; he had become delirious about +midnight, and so continued. + +Sharpe commanded the ship; and the rough sailors stepped like cats over +that part of the deck beneath which their unconscious captain lay. If +two men met on the quarter-deck, a look of anxious, but not hopeful, +inquiry was sure to pass between them. + +Among the constant inquirers was Ramgolam. The grave Hindoo often +waylaid the surgeon at the captain's door, to get the first intelligence +This marked sympathy with a hero in extremity was hardly expected from a +sage who at the first note of war's trumpet had vanished in a meal-bag. +However, it went down to his credit. One person, however, took a dark +view of this innocent circumstance But then that hostile critic was +Vespasian, a rival in matters of tint. He exploded in one of those droll +rages darkies seem liable to: “Massa cunnel,” said he, “what for dat yar +niggar always prowling about the capn's door? What for he ask so many +stupid questions? Dat ole fox arter no good: him heart so black as um +skin: dam ole niggar!” + +Fullalove suggested slily that a person with a dark skin might have a +grateful heart: and the colonel, who dealt little in innuendo, said, +“Come, don't you be so hard on jet, you ebony!” + +“Bery well, gemmen,” replied Vespasian ceremoniously, and with seeming +acquiescence. Then, with sudden ire, “Because Goramighty made you white, +you tink you bery wise without any more trouble. Dat ar niggar am an +abominable egotisk.” + +“Pray what does that mean?” inquired Kenealy innocently. + +“What him mean? what him mean? Yah! yah!” + +“Yes. What does it mean?” + +“What him mean? Yah! What didn't you hear Missy Besford miscall him an +abominable egotisk?” + +“Yes,” said Fullalove, winking to Kenealy; “but we don't know what it +means. Do you, sir?” + +“Iss, sar. Dat ar expression he signify a darned old cuss dat says to +dis child, 'My lord Vespasium, take benevolence on your insidious slave, +and invest me in a bread-bag,' instead of fighting for de ladies like a +freenindependum citizen. Now you two go fast asleep; dis child lie shut +one eye and open de oder bery wide open on dat ar niggar.” And with this +mysterious threat he stalked away. + +His contempt for a black skin, his ebullitions of unexpected ire, his +turgid pomposity, and love of long terms, may make the reader smile; but +they could hardly amuse his friends just then; everything that touched +upon Dodd was too serious now. The surgeon sat up with him nearly all +night: in the daytime those two friends sat for hours in his cabin, +watching sadly, and silently moistening his burning brow and his parched +lips. + +At length, one afternoon, there came a crisis, which took an +unfavourable turn. Then the surgeon, speaking confidentially to these +two staunch friends, inquired if they had asked themselves what should +be done with the body? “Why I ask,” said he, “is because we are in +a very hot latitude; and if you wish to convey it to Barkington, the +measures ought to be taken in time: in fact, within an hour or two after +death.” + +The poor friends were shocked and sickened by this horrible piece of +foresight. But Colonel Kenealy said, with tears, in his eyes, that his +old friend should never be buried like a kitten. + +“Then you had better ask Sharpe to give me an order for a barrel of +spirits,” said the surgeon. + +“Yes, yes, for two if you like. Oh, don't die, Dodd, my poor old fellow. +How shall I ever face his wife--I remember her, the loveliest girl you +ever saw--with such a tale as this? She will think it a cruel thing I +should come out of it without a scratch, and a ten times better man to +be dead: and so it is; it is cruel, it is unjust, it is monstrous; him +to be lying there, and we muffs to be sitting croaking over him and +watching for his last breath like three cursed old ravens.” And the +stout colonel groaned aloud. + +When the surgeon left them, they fell naturally upon another topic, the +pledge they had given Dodd about the L. 14,000. They ascertained it +was upon him, next his skin; but it seemed as unnecessary as it was +repugnant to remove it from his living person. They agreed, however, +that instantly on his decease they would take possession of it, note the +particulars, seal it up, and carry it to Mrs. Dodd, with such comfort +as they could hope to give her by relating the gallant act in which his +precious life was lost. + +At 9 P.M. the surgeon took his place by Dodd's bedside; and the pair, +whom one thing after another had drawn so close together, retired to +Kenealy's cabin. + +Many a merry chat they had had there, and many a gaseonade, being rival +hunters; but now they were together for physical companionship in sorrow +rather than for conversation. They smoked their cigars in moody silence, +and at midnight shook hands with a sigh and parted. That sigh meant to +say that in the morning all would be over. + +They turned in; but, ere either of them was asleep, suddenly the +captain's cabin seemed to fill with roars and shrieks of wild beasts, +that made the whole ship ring in the silent night The savage cries were +answered on deck by shouts of dismay and many pattering feet making +for the companion ladder; but the nearest persons to the cabin, and the +first to reach it, were Kenealy and Fullalove, who burst in, the +former with a drawn sword, the latter with a revolver, both in their +nightgowns; and there saw a sight that took their breath away. + +The surgeon was not there; and two black men, one with a knife, and one +with his bare claws, were fighting and struggling and trampling all over +the cabin at once, and the dying man sitting up in his cot, pale, and +glaring at them. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE two supple dusky forms went whirling so fast, there was no grasping +them to part them. But presently the negro seized the Hindoo by the +throat; the Hindoo just pricked him in the arm with his knife, and the +next moment his own head was driven against the side of the cabin with a +stunning crack, and there he was, pinned, and wriggling, and bluish with +fright, whereas the other swart face close against his was dark-grey +with rage, and its two fireballs of eyes rolled fearfully, as none but +African eyes can roll. + +Fullalove pacified him by voice and touch; he withdrew his iron grasp +with sullen and lingering reluctance, and glared like a disappointed +mastiff: The cabin was now full, and Sharpe was for putting both the +blacks in irons. No splitter of hairs was he. But Fullalove suggested +there might be a moral distinction between things that looked equally +dark to the eye. + +“Well, then, speak quick, both of you,” said Sharpe, “or I'll lay ye +both by the heels. Ye black scoundrels, what business have you in the +captain's cabin, kicking up the devil's delight?” + +Thus threatened, Vespasian panted out his tale; he had discovered this +nigger, as he persisted in calling the Hindoo, eternally prowling about +the good captain's door, and asking stupid questions: he had watched +him, and, on the surgeon coming out with the good news that the captain +was better, in had crawled “this yar abominable egotisk.” And he raised +a ponderous fist to point the polysyllables: with this aid the sarcasm +would doubtless have been crushing; but Fullalove hung on the sable +orator's arm, and told him drily to try and speak without gesticulating. +“The darned old cuss,” said Vespasian, with a pathetic sigh at not +being let hit him. He resumed and told how he had followed the Hindoo +stealthily, and found him with a knife uplifted over the captain--a +tremor ran through all present--robbing him. At this a loud murmur +filled the room; a very ugly one, the sort of snarl with which dogs fly +at dogs' throats with their teeth, and men fly at men's throats with a +cord. + +“Be quiet,” said Sharpe imperiously. “I'll have no lynching in a vessel +I command. Now then, you, sir, how do you know he was robbing the +captain?” + +“How do I know! Yah! yah! Cap'n, if you please you tell dis unskeptical +gemman whether you don't miss a lilly book out of your bosom!” + +During this extraordinary scene, Dodd had been looking from one speaker +to another in great surprise and some confusion; but at the negro's +direct appeal, his hand went to his breast and clutched it with a feeble +but heartrending cry. + +“Oh, him not gone far. Yah! yah!” and Vespasian stooped, and took up an +oilskin packet off the floor, and laid it on the bed. “Dis child seen +him in dat ar niggar's hand, and heard him go whack on de floor.” + +Dodd hurried the packet into his bosom, then turned all gratitude to +his sable friend: “Now God bless you! God bless you! Give me your honest +hand! You don't know what you have done for me and mine.” + +And, sick as he was, he wrung Vespasian's hand with convulsive strength, +and would not part with it. Vespasian patted him soothingly all over, +and whimpered out: “Nebber you mind, cap'n! You bery good man: this +child bery fond of you a long time ago. You bery good man, outrageous +good man! dam good man! I propose your health: invalesee directly!” + +While Dodd was speaking, the others were silent out of respect; but +now Sharpe broke in, and, with the national desire to hear both sides, +called on Ramgolam for his version. The Hindoo was now standing with his +arms crossed on his breast, looking all the martyr, meek and dignified. +He inquired of Sharpe, in very broken English, whether he spoke +Hindostanee. + +“Not I: nor don't act it neither,” said Sharpe. + +At this confession Ramgolam looked down on him with pity and mild +contempt. + +Mr. Tickell was put forward as interpreter. + +_Ramgolam (in Hindostanee)._ He whom Destiny, too strong for mortals, +now oppresses with iron hand and feeds with the bread of affliction---- + +_Mr. Tickell (translating)._ He who by bad luck has got into trouble---- + +_Ramgolam._ Has long observed the virtues that embellish the commander +of this ship resembling a mountain, and desired to imitate them---- + +_Tickell._ Saw what a good man the captain is, and wanted to be like +him---- + +_Vespasian._ The darned old cuss. + +_Ramgolam._ Seeing him often convey his hand to his bosom, I ascribed +his unparalleled excellence to the possession of some sovereign +talisman. (Tickell managed to translate this sentence all but the +word talisman, which he rendered--with all a translator's +caution--“article.”) Finding him about to depart to the regions of +the blessed, where such auxiliaries are not needed, and being eager to +emulate his perfections here below, I came softly to the place where he +lay---- + +_Tickell._ When I saw him going to slip his cable, I wanted to be as +good a fellow as he is, so I crept alongside---- + +_Ramgolam._ And gently, and without force, made myself proprietor of the +amulet and inheritor of a good man's qualities---- + +_Tickell._ And quietly boned the article, and the captain's virtues. I +don't know what the beggar means. + +_Ramgolam._ Then a traitor with a dark skin, but darker soul---- + +_Tickell._ Then another black-hearted nigger---- + +_Ramgolam._ Came furiously and misappropriated the charm thus piously +obtained---- + +_Tickell._ Ran in and stole it from me. + +_Ramgolam._ And bereft me of the excellences I was inheriting: and-- + +Here Sharpe interrupted the dialogue by putting the misappropriator +of other men's virtues in irons, and the surgeon insisted on the cabin +being cleared. But Dodd would not part with the three friends yet; +he begged them to watch him, and see nobody else came to take his +children's fortune. + +“I'll sink or swim with it; but oh! I doubt we shall have no luck while +it is aboard me. I never had a pirate alongside before, in all +these years. What is this?--here's something in it now--something +hard--something heavy: and--why, it's a bullet!” + +On this announcement, an eager inspection took place: and, sure enough, +a bullet had passed through Dodd's coat and waistcoat, &c., and through +the oilskin and the leather pocketbook, and just dented the “Hard Cash;” + no more. + +There was a shower of comments and congratulations. + +The effect of this discovery on the sick man's spirits was remarkable. +“I was a villain to belie it,” said he. “It is my wife's and my +children's, and it has saved my life for them.” + +He kissed it and placed it in his bosom, and soon after sunk into a +peaceful slumber. The excitement had not the ill effect the surgeon +feared: it somewhat exhausted him, and he slept long; but on awakening, +was pronounced out of danger. To tell the truth, the tide had turned +in his favour overnight, and it was to convey the good news on deck the +surgeon had left him. + + +While Dodd was recovering, the _Agra_ was beating westward with light +but contrary winds, and a good month elapsed without any incident +affecting the Hard Cash, whose singular adventures I have to record. In +this dearth, please put up with a little characteristic trifle, which +did happen one moonlight night. Mr. Fullalove lay coiled below decks in +deep abstraction meditating a patent; and being in shadow and silent, he +saw Vespasian in the moonlight creeping on all fours like a guilty +thing into the bedroom of Colonel Kenealy, then fast asleep. A horrible +suspicion thrilled through Fullalove: a suspicion he waited grimly to +verify. + +The transatlantic Mixture, Fullalove, was not merely an inventor, a +philanthrope, a warrior, a preacher, a hunter, a swimmer, a fiddler, a +sharp fellow, a good fellow, a Puritan, and a Bohemian; he was also a +Theorist: and his Theory, which dub we + + THE AFRICAN THEORY, + +had two branches. 1. That the races of men started equal; but accident +upon accident had walked some tribes up a ladder of civilisation, and +kicked others down it, and left others, standing at the foot. + +2. That the good work of centuries could be done, at a pinch, in a few +generations, by artificial condensation of the favourable circumstances. +For instance, secure this worker in Ebony 150 years' life, and he would +sign a penal bond to produce Negroes of the fourth descent equal in mind +to the best contemporary white. “You can breed Brains,” said he, “under +any skin, as inevitably as Fat. It takes time and the right crosses; but +so does Fat--or rather it did; for Fat is an institution now.” And here +our Republican must have a slap at thrones. “Compare,” said he, “the +opportunities of these distinguished Gentlemen and Ladies with their +acts. Their seats have been high, but their minds low, I swan. They have +been breeders for ages, and known the two rudiments of the science; +have crossed and crossed for grenadiers, racehorses, poultry, and +prize-bullocks; and bred in and in for fools; but which of them has ever +aspired to breed a Newton, a Pascal, a Shakespeare, a Solon, a Raphael? +Yet all these were results to be obtained by the right crosses, as +surely as a swift horse or a circular sow. Now fancy breeding shorthorns +when you might breed long heads.” So Vespasian was to engender Young +Africa; he was to be first elevated morally and intellectually as high +as he would go, and then set to breed; his partner, of course, to be +elected by Fullalove, and educated as high as she would consent to +without an illicit connection with the Experimentalist. He would be down +on their Pickaninnies before the parents could transfer the remnant of +their own weaknesses to them, polysyllables included, and would polish +these ebony chips; and at the next cross reckoned to rear a genius, by +which time, as near as he could calculate, he the Theorist would be in +his dotage: and all the better; make a curious contrast in favour of +Young Africa. + +Vespasian could not hit a barn door sitting--with a rifle! it was purely +with a view to his moral improvement mind you, that Fullalove invited +him into the mizentop to fight the pirate. The Patient came gingerly and +shivered there with fear. But five minutes elapsing, and he not killed, +that weakness gave way to a jocund recklessness; and he kept them all +gay with his quaint remarks, of which I must record but one. When they +crossed the stern of the pirate, the distance was so small that the +faces of that motley crew were plainly visible. Now, Vespasian was a +merciless critic of coloured skins. “Wal,” said he, turning up his nose +sky-high, “dis child never seen such a mixallaneous biling 'o darkies +as this yar; why darned ef there ain't every colour in the rainbow, +from the ace of spades, down to the fine dissolving views.” This amazing +description, coupled with his look of affront and disgust, made the +white men roar; for men fighting for their lives have a greater tendency +to laugh than one would think possible. Fullalove was proud of the +critic, and for a while lost sight of the pirate in his theory; which +also may seem strange. But your true theorist is a man apart: he can +withdraw into himself under difficulties. What said one of the breed two +thousand years ago? + + “Media inter praelia semper + Sideribus coelique plagis Superisque vacavi.” + +“Oh, the great African heart!” said Fullalove after the battle. “By my +side he fears no danger. Of all men, negroes are the most capable of +friendship; their affection is a mine: and we have only worked it with +the lash; and that is a ridiculous mining tool, I rather think.” + +When Vespasian came out so strong _versus_ Ramgolam, Fullalove was +even more triumphant: for after all it is not so much the heart as the +intelligence of the negro we albiculi affect to doubt. + +“Oh, the great African intellect!” said Fullalove publicly, taking the +bull by the horns. + +“I know,” said Mrs. Beresford maliciously; “it is down in the maps as +the great African Desert.” + +To balance his many excellences Vespasian had an infirmity. This was +an ungovernable itch for brushing whites. If he was talking with one of +that always admired, and now beloved, race, and saw a speck of dirt +on him, he would brush him unobtrusively, but effectually, in full +dialogue: he would steal behind a knot of whites and brush whoever +needed it, however little. Fullalove remonstrated, but in vain; on this +one point Instinct would not yield to Reason. He could not keep his +hands off a dusty white. He would have died of the Miller of Dee. But +the worst was he did not stop at clothes; he loathed ill-blacked shoes. +Woe to all foot-leather that did not shine; his own skin furnished a +perilous standard of comparison. He was eternally blacking boots _en +amateur._ Fullalove got in a rage at this, and insisted on his letting +his fellow-creatures' leather alone. Vespasian pleaded hard, especially +for leave to black Colonel Kenealy. “The cunnell,” said he pathetically, +“is such a tarnation fine gentleman spoilt for want of a lilly bit of +blacking.” Fullalove replied that the colonel had got a servant whose +mission it was to black his shoes. This simply amused Vespasian. “A +servant?” said he. “Yah! yah! What is the use of white servants? They +are not biddable. Massa Fullalove, sar, Goramighty he reared all white +men to kick up a dust, white servants inspecially, and the darkies to +brush 'em; and likewise additionally to make their boots she a lilly +bit.” He concluded with a dark hint that the colonel's white servant's +own shoes, though better blacked than his master's, were anything but +mirrors, and that this child had his eye on them. + + +The black desperado emerged on tiptoe from Kenealy's cabin, just as +Macbeth does from the murdered Duncan's chamber: only with a pair of +boots in his hand instead of a pair of daggers; got into the moonlight, +and finding himself uninterrupted, assumed the whistle of innocence, and +polished them to the nine, chuckling audibly. + +Fullalove watched him with an eye like a rattlesnake, but kept quiet. He +saw interference would only demoralise him worse: for it is more ignoble +to black boots clandestinely, than bravely; men ditto. + +He relieved his heart with idioms. “Darn the critter, he's fixed my +flint eternally. Now I cave. I swan to man. I may just hang up my +fiddle; for this darkie's too hard a row to hoe.” + +It was but a momentary dejection. The Mixture was _(inter alia)_ a +Theorist and an Anglo-Saxon; two indomitables. He concluded to temporise +with the Brush, and breed it out. + +“I'm bound to cross the obsequious cuss with the catawamptiousest gal in +Guinea, and one that never saw a blacking bottle, not even in a dream.” + _Majora canamus._ + +Being now about a hundred miles south of the Mauritius, in fine weather +with a light breeze, Dodd's marine barometer began to fall steadily; and +by the afternoon the declension had become so remarkable, that he felt +uneasy, and, somewhat to the surprise of the crew,--for there was now +scarce a breath of air,--furled his slight sails, treble reefed his +topsails, had his top-gallant and royal yards and gaff topsail bent on +deck, got his flying jib-boom in, &c., and made the ship snug. + +Kenealy asked him what was the matter? + +“Barometer going down; moon at the full; and Jonah aboard,” was the +reply, uttered doggedly. + +Kenealy assured him it was a beautiful evening, precursor of a fine day. +“See how red the sunset is. + + 'Evening red and morning grey + Are the sure signs of a fine day.'” + +Dodd looked, and shook his head. The sun was red, but the wrong red: an +angry red: and, as he dipped into the wave, discharged a lurid coppery +hue that rushed in a moment like an embodied menace over the entire +heavens. The wind ceased altogether: and in the middle of an unnatural +and suspicious calm the glass went down, down, down. + +The moon rose, and instantly all eyes were bent on her with suspicion; +for in this latitude the hurricanes generally come at the full moon. She +was tolerably clear, however; but a light scud sailing across her disc +showed there was wind in the upper regions. + +Dodd trusted to science; barred the lee-ports, and had the dead lights +put into the stem cabin and secured: then turned in for an hour's sleep. + +Science proved a prophet. Just at seven bells, in one moment like a +thunderbolt from the sky, a heavy squall struck the ship. Under a less +careful captain her lee-ports would have been open, and she might have +gone to the bottom like a bullet. + +“Let go the main sheet!” roared Sharpe hastily to a hand he had placed +there on purpose. He let go, and there was the sail flapping like +thunder, and the sheet lashing everything in the most dangerous way. +Dodd was on deck in a moment “Helm hard up! Hands shorten sail!” + +(Pipe.) “All hands furl sail, ahoy!” + +Up tumbled the crew, went cheerily to work, and by three bells in the +middle watch had hauled up what was left of the shivered mainsail, and +hove the ship to under close-reefed main topsail and storm stay-sails; +and so the voyage was suspended. + +A heavy sea got up under a scourging wind, that rose and rose, till the +_Agra_, under the pressure of that single sail treble reefed, heeled +over so as to dip her lee channels. This went on till the waves rolled +so high, and the squalls were so bitter, that sheets of water were +actually torn off their crests and launched incessantly on deck, not +only drenching Dodd and his officers, which they did not mind, but +threatening to flood the ship. + +Dodd battened down the hatches and stopped that game. + +Then came a danger no skill could avert: the ship lurched so violently +now, as not merely to clip, but bury, her lower deck port-pendents: and +so a good deal of water found ingress through the windage. Then Dodd set +a gang to the pumps: for, he said, “We can hardly hope to weather +this out without shipping a sea: and I won't have water coming in upon +water.” + +And now the wind, raging and roaring like discharges of artillery, +and not like wind as known in our seas, seemed to have put out all +the lights of heaven. The sky was inky black, and quite close to their +heads: and the wind still increasing, the vessel came down to her +extreme bearings, and it was plain she would soon be on her beam ends. +Sharpe and Dodd met, and holding on by the life-lines, applied their +speaking trumpets tight to each other's ears; and even then they had to +bawl. + +“She can't carry a rag much longer.” + +“No, sir; not half an hour.” + +“Can we furl that main taupsle?” + +Sharpe shook his head. “The first moment we start a sheet, the sail will +whip the mast out of her.” + +“You are right Well, then, I'll cut it away.” + +“Volunteers, sir?” + +“Ay, twelve: no more. Send them to my cabin.” + +Sharpe's difficulty was to keep the men back, so eager were the fine +fellows to risk their lives. However, he brought twelve to the cabin, +headed by Mr. Grey, who had a right, as captain of the watch, to go with +them; on which right he insisted, in spite of Dodd's earnest request +that he would forego it. When Dodd saw his resolution, he dropped the +friend and resumed the captain; and spoke to them through a trumpet; the +first time he had ever used one in a cabin, or seen one used. + +“Mr. Grey and men, going aloft to save the mainmast by cutting the sail +away.” + +“Ay, ay, sir!” + +“Service of danger, great danger!” + +“Hurrah!” + +“But great dangers can be made smaller by working the right way. Attend! +Lay out all on the yard, and take your time from one man at the lee +yard-arm: don't know who that will be; but one of the smartest men in +the ship. Order to _him_ is: hold his knife hand well up; rest to see! +and then in knives altogether: mind and cut from you, and below the reef +band; and then I hope to see all come down alive.” + +Mr. Grey and his twelve men left the cabin: and hey! for the main top. +The men let the officer lead them as far as Jacob's ladder, and then +hurrah for the lee yard-arm! That was where all wanted to be, and but +one could be. Grey was as anxious as the rest; but officers of his rank +seldom go aloft, and soon fall out of their catlike habits. He had done +about six ratlines, when, instead of going hand over head, he spread +his arms to seize a shroud on each side of him: by this he weakened his +leverage, and the wind just then came fiercer, caught him, and flattened +him against the rigging as tight as if Nature had caught up a mountain +for a hammer and nailed him with a cedar; he was spread-eagled. The +men accepted him at once as a new patent ratline with a fine resisting +power: they went up him, and bounded three ordinary ratlines at a go off +all his promontories, especially his shoulders and his head, receiving +his compliments in the shape of hearty curses. They gained the top and +lay out on the yard with their hair flying like streamers: and who got +the place of honour but Thompson, the jolly fore-topman who couldn't +stand smoked pea-soup. So strong and so weak are men. + +Thompson raised his knife high; there was a pause: then in went all +their knives, and away went the sail into the night of the storm, and +soon seemed a sheet of writing-paper, and more likely to hit the sky +than the sea. The men came down, picked their officer off the rigging, +had a dram in the captain's cabin, and saw him enter their names in the +log-book for good service, and in the purser's for extra grog on Sundays +from there to Gravesend. + +The ship was relieved; and all looked well till the chronometer, their +only guide now, announced sunset: when the wind, incredible as it may +appear, increased, and one frightful squall dipped the muzzles of the +lee carronades in the water. + +Then was heard the first cry of distress: an appalling sound; the wail +of brave men. And they had borne it all so bravely, so cheerfully, till +now. But now they knew something must go, or else the ship; the suspense +was awful, but very short. Crack! crash! the fore and main topmast both +gone short off by the caps; and the ship recovered slowly, hesitatingly, +tremblingly. + +Relieving her from one danger, this subjected her to another and a +terrible one. The heavy spars that had fallen, unable to break loose +from the rigging, pounded the ship so savagely as to threaten to stave +in her side. Add to this that, with labouring so long and severely, some +of the ship's seams began now to open and shut and discharge the oakum, +which is terrible to the bravest seamen. Yet neither this stout captain +nor his crew shirked any danger men had ever grappled with since men +were. Dodd ordered them to cut away the wreck to leeward; it was done: +then to windward; this, the more ticklish operation, was also done +smartly: the wreck passed under the ship's quarter, and she drifted +clear of it They breathed again. + +At eight bells in the first watch it began to thunder and lighten +furiously; but the thunder, though close, was quite inaudible in the +tremendous uproar of the wind and sea. It blew a hurricane: there were +no more squalls now; but one continuous tornado, which in its passage +through that great gaunt skeleton, the ship's rigging and bare poles, +howled and yelled and roared so terrifically, as would have silenced +a salvo of artillery fired alongside. The overwhelming sea ran in dark +watery mountains crested with devilish fire. The inky blackness added +supernatural horror; the wrath of the Almighty seemed upon them; and His +hand to drop the black sky down on them for their funeral pall. Surely +Noah from his ark saw nothing more terrible. + +What is that? Close on the lee bow: chose: the flash of a gun, another; +another; another. A ship in distress firing minute-guns in their ears; +yet no sound: human thunder silenced, as God's thunder was silenced, by +the uproar of His greater creatures in their mad rage. The _Agra_ fired +two minute-guns to let the other poor ship know she had a companion in +her helplessness and her distress, and probably a companion in her fate. +Even this companionship added its mite of danger: for both ships were +mere playthings of the elements; they might be tossed together; and +then, what would be their fate? Two eggs clashed together in a great +boiling caldron, and all the life spilt out. + +Yet did each flash shoot a ray of humanity and sympathy into the thick +black supernatural horror. + +And now came calamity upon calamity. A tremendous sea broke the tiller +at the rudder-head, and not only was the ship in danger of falling off +and shipping the sea, but the rudder hammered her awfully, and bade fair +to stave in her counter, which is another word for Destruction. Thus +death came at them with two hands open at once. + +These vessels always carry a spare tiller: they tried to ship it; +but the difficulty was prodigious. No light but the miserable +deck-lantern--one glowworm in Egypt supernaturally darkened--the _Agra_ +never on an even keel, and heeling over like a seesaw more than a ship; +and then every time they did place the tiller, and get the strain on +with their luff tackles, the awful sea gave it a blow and knocked it +away like a hair. + +At last they hit it off, or thought they had, for the ponderous thumps +of the rudder ceased entirely. However, the ship did not obey this new +tiller like the old one: her head fell off in an unlucky moment when +seven waves were rolling in one, and, on coming to the windward again, +she shipped a sea. It came in over her bow transversely; broke as high +as the mainstay, and hid and buried the whole ship before the mast; +carried away the waist bulwarks on both sides, filled the launch, and +drowned the live stock which were in it; swept four water-butts and +three men away into the sea, like corks and straws; and sent tons of +water down the forescuttle and main hatchway, which was partly opened, +not to stifle the crew, and flooded the gun-deck ankle-deep. + +Dodd, who was in his cabin, sent the whole crew to the pumps, except the +men at the wheel, and prepared for the worst. + +In men so brave as he was, when Hope dies Fear dies. His chief care +now was to separate the fate of those he loved from his own. He took a +bottle, inserted the fatal money in it with a few words of love to his +wife, and of direction to any stranger that should fall in with it; +secured the cork with melted sealing-wax, tied oilskin over it and +melted wax on that; applied a preparation to the glass to close the +pores; and to protect it against other accidents, and attract attention, +fastened a black painted bladder to it by a stout tarred twine, and +painted _“Agra_, lost at sea,” in white on the bladder. He had logged +each main incident of the storm with that curt business-like accuracy +which reads so cold and small a record of these great and terrible +tragedies. He now made a final entry a little more in character with the +situation: + +“About eight bells in the morning watch shipped a heavy sea forward. The +rudder being now damaged, and the ship hardly manageable, brought the +log and case on check, expecting to founder shortly. Sun and moon hidden +this two days, and no observation possible; but by calculation of wind +and current, we should be about fifty miles to the southward of the +Mauritius. God's will be done.” + +He got on deck with the bottle in his pocket and the bladder peeping +out: put the log and its case down on deck, and by means of the +life-lines crawled along on his knees, and with great difficulty, to the +wheel. Finding the men could hardly hold on, and dreading another sea, +Dodd, with his own hands, lashed them to the helm. + +While thus employed, he felt the ship give a slight roll, a very slight +roll to windward. His experienced eye lightened with hope, he cast his +eager glance to leeward. There it is a sailor looks for the first +spark of hope. Ay, thereaway was a little gleam of light. He patted the +helmsman on the shoulder and pointed to it; for now neither could one +man speak for the wind, nor another hear. The sailor nodded joyfully. + +Presently the continuous tornado broke into squalls. + +Hope grew brighter. + +But, unfortunately, in one furious squall the ship broke round off, so +as to present her quarter to the sea at an unlucky moment: for it came +seven deep again, a roaring mountain, and hurled itself over her stern +and quarter. The mighty mass struck her stem frame with the weight of a +hundred thousand tons of water, and drove her forward as a boy launches +his toy-boat on a pond; and though she made so little resistance, +stove in the dead lights and the port frames, burst through the cabin +bulkheads, and washed out all the furniture, and Colonel Kenealy in his +nightgown with a table in his arms borne on water three feet deep, and +carried him under the poop awning away to the lee quarter-deck scuppers, +and flooded the lower deck. Above, it swept the quarter-deck clean of +everything except the shrieking helmsmen; washed Dodd away like a cork, +and would have carried him overboard if he had not brought up against +the mainmast and grasped it like grim death, half drowned, half stunned, +sorely bruised, and gasping like a porpoise ashore. + +He held on by the mast in water and foam, panting. He rolled his +despairing eyes around; the bulwarks fore and aft were all in ruins, +with wide chasms, as between the battlements of some decayed castle; and +through the gaps he saw the sea yawning wide for him. He dare not move: +no man was safe a moment unless lashed to mast or helm. He held on, +expecting death. But presently it struck him he could see much farther +than before. He looked up: it was clearing overhead, and the uproar +abating visibly. And now the wind did not decline as after a gale: +extraordinary to the last, it blew itself out. + +Sharpe came on deck, and crawled on all fours to his captain, and helped +him to a life-line. He held on by it, and gave his orders. The wind was +blown out, but the sea was as dangerous as ever. The ship began to roll +to windward. If that was not stopped, her fate was sealed. Dodd had the +main trysail set and then the fore trysail, before he would yield to go +below, though drenched, and sore, and hungry, and worn out. Those sails +steadied the ship; the sea began to go down by degrees; the celestial +part of nature was more generous: away flew every cloud, out came the +heavenly sky bluer and lovelier than ever they had seen it; the sun +flamed in its centre. Nature, after three days' eclipse, was so lovely, +it seemed a new heavens and a new earth. If there was an infidel on +board who did not believe in God, now his soul felt Him, in spite of the +poor little head. As for Dodd, who was naturally pious, he raised his +eyes towards that lovely sky in heartfelt, though silent, gratitude +to its Maker for saving the ship and cargo and her people's lives, not +forgetting the private treasure he was carrying home to his dear wife +and children. + +With this thought, he naturally looked down, but missed the bladder that +had lately protruded from his pocket He clapped his hand to his pocket +all in a flutter. The bottle was gone. In a fever of alarm and anxiety, +but with good hopes of finding it, he searched the deck; he looked in +every cranny, behind every coil of rope the sea had not carried away. + +In vain. + +The sea, acting on the buoyant bladder attached, had clearly torn the +bottle out of his pocket, when it washed him against the mast. His +treasure then must have been driven much farther; and how far? Who could +tell? + +It flashed on the poor man with fearful distinctness that it must either +have been picked up by somebody in the ship ere now, or else carried out +to sea. + +Strict inquiry was made amongst the men. + +No one had seen it + +The fruit of his toil and prudence, the treasure Love, not Avarice, had +twined with his heartstrings, was gone. In its defence he had defeated +two pirates, each his superior in force; and now conquered the elements +at their maddest. And in the very moment of that great victory--It was +gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +IN the narrative of home events I skipped a little business, not quite +colourless, but irrelevant to the love passages then on hand. It has, +however, a connection with the curious events now converging to a point: +so, with the reader's permission, I will place it in logical sequence, +disregarding the order of time. The day Dr. Sampson splashed among +the ducks, and one of them hid till dinner, the rest were seated at +luncheon, when two patients were announced as waiting--Mr. and Mrs. +Maxley. Sampson refused to see them, on this ground: “I will not feed +and heal.” But Mrs. Dodd interceded, and he yielded. “Well, then, show +them in here. They are better cracters than pashints.” On this, a +stout fresh-coloured woman, the picture of health, was ushered in and +curtseyed all round. “Well, what is the matter now?” inquired Sampson +rather roughly. “Be seated, Mrs. Maxley,” said Mrs. Dodd, benignly. + +“I thank ye kindly, ma'am;” and she sat down. “Doctor, it is that pain.” + +“Well, don't say 'that pain.' Describe it. Now listen all of ye; ye're +goen to get a clinical lecture.” + +“If _you_ please, ma'am,” said the patient, “it takes me here under +my left breest, and runs right to my elbow, it do; and bitter bad 'tis +while it do last; chokes me mostly; and I feel as I must die: and if I +was to move hand or fut, I think I _should_ die, that I do.” + +“Poor woman!” said Mrs. Dodd. + +“Oh, she isn't dead yet,” cried Sampson cheerfully. “She'll sell addled +eggs over all our tombstones; that is to say, if she minds what I bid +her. When was your last spasm?” + +“No longer agone that yestereen, ma'am; and so I said to my master, 'The +doctor he is due to-morrow, Sally up at Albion tells me; and----'” + +“Whist! whist! who cares what you said to Jack, and Jill said to you? +What was the cause?” + +“The cause! What, of my pain? He says, 'What was the cause?'” + +“Ay, the cause. Just obsairve, jintlemen,” said Sampson, addressing +imaginary students, “how startled they all are if a docker deviates from +profissional habits into sceince, and takes the right eend of the stick +for once b' asking for the cause.” + +“The cause was the will of God, I do suppose,” said Mrs. Maxley. + +“Stuff!” shouted Sampson angrily. “Then why come to mortal me to cure +you?” + +Alfred put in his oar. “He does not mean the 'final cause;' he means the +'proximate cause. + +“My poor dear creature, I bain't no Latiner,” objected the patient. + +Sampson fixed his eyes sternly on the slippery dame. “What I want to +know is, had you been running up-stairs? or eating fast? or drinking +fast? or grizzling over twopence? or quarrelling with your husband! Come +now, which was it?” + +“Me quarrel with my man! We haven't never been disagreeable, not once, +since we went to church a pair and came back a couple. I don't say but +what we mayn't have had a word or two at odd times, as married folk +will.” + +“And the last time you had a word or two--y' infairnal quibbler--was it +just before your last spasm, eh?” + +“Well, it might; I am not gainsaying that: but you said quarrel, says +you. 'Quarrel' it were your word; and I defy all Barkton, gentle and +simple, to say as how me and my master----” + +“Whisht! whisht! Now, jintlemen, ye see what the great coming +sceince--the sceince of Healing--has to contind with. The dox are all +fools, but one: and the pashints are lyres, ivery man Jack. N' listen +me; y' have got a disease that you can't eradicate; but you may muzzle +it for years, and die of something quite different when your time's up.” + +“Like enough, sir. If _you_ please, ma'am, Dr. Stephenson do blame my +indigestion for it.” + +“Dr. Stephenson's an ass.” + +“Dear heart, how cantankerous you be. To be sure Dr. Osmond he says no: +it's muscular, says he.” + +“Dr. Osmond's an ijjit. List me; You mustn't grizzle about money; you +mustn't gobble, nor drink your beer too fast.” + +“You are wrong, doctor; I never drink no beer: it costs----” + +“Your catlap, then. And above all, no grizzling! Go to church whenever +you can without losing a farthing. It's medicinal; soothes the brain, +and takes it off worldly cares. And have no words with your husband, or +he'll outlive you; it's his only chance of getting the last word. Care +killed a cat, a nanimal with eight lives more than a chatterbox. If +you worry or excite your brain, little Maxley, you will cook your own +goose--by a quick fire.” + +“Dear heart, these be unked sayings. Won't ye give me nothing to make me +better, sir?” + +“No, I never tinker; I go to the root: you may buy a vile of chlorofm +and take a puff if you feel premonory symps: but a quiet brain is your +only real chance. Now slope, and send the male screw.” + +“Anan?” + +“Your husband.” + +“That I will, sir. Your sarvant, doctor; your sarvant, ma'am; sarvant, +all the company.” + +Mrs. Dodd hoped the poor woman had nothing very serious the matter. + +“Oh, it is a mortal disease,” replied Sampson, as cool as a cucumber. +“She has got angina pictoris or brist-pang, a disorder that admirably +eximplifies the pretinsions of midicine t' seeince.” And with this he +dashed into monologue. + +Maxley's tall gaunt form came slouching in, and traversed the floor, +pounding it with heavy nailed boots. He seated himself gravely at Mrs. +Dodd's invitation, took a handkerchief out of his hat, wiped his face, +and surveyed the company, grand and calm. In James Maxley all was +ponderous: his head was huge, his mouth, when it fairly opened, revealed +a chasm, and thence issued a voice naturally stentorian by its volume +and native vigour; but, when the owner of this incarnate bassoon had a +mind to say something sagacious, he sank at once from his habitual roar +to a sound scarce above a whisper; a contrast mighty comical to hear, +though on paper _nil._ + +“Well, what is it Maxley! Rheumatism again?” + +“No, that it ain't,” bellowed Maxley defiantly. + +“What then? Come, look sharp.” + +“Well, then, doctor, I'll tell you. I'm sore troubled--with--a--mouse.” + +This malady, announced in the tone of a proclamation, and coming after +so much solemn preparation, amused the party considerably, although +parturient mountains had ere then produced muscipular abortions. + +“A mouse!” inquired Sampson disdainfully. “Where? Up your sleeve? Don't +come to me: go t' a sawbones and have your arm cut off. I've seen 'em +mutilate a pashint for as little.” + +Maxley said it was not up his sleeve, worse luck. + +On this Alfred hazarded a conjecture. “Might it not have gone down his +throat? Took his potato-trap for the pantry-door. Ha! ha!” + +“Ay, I hear ye, young man, a-laughing at your own sport,” said Maxley, +winking his eye; “but 'tain't the biggest mouth as catches the most. You +sits yander fit to bust; but (with a roar like a lion) ye never offers +_me_ none on't, neither sup nor bit.” + +At this sudden turn of Mr. Maxley's wit, light and playful as a tap of +the old English quarter-staff, they were a little staggered; all but +Edward, who laughed and supplied him zealously with sandwiches. + +“You're a gentleman, you are,” said Maxley, looking full at Sampson and +Alfred to point the contradistinction. + +Having thus disposed of his satirists, he contemplated the sandwiches +with an inquiring and philosophic eye. “Well,” said he, after long and +thoughtful inspection, “you gentlefoiks won't die of hard work; your +sarvants must cut the very meat to fit your mouths.” And not to fall +behind the gentry in a great and useful department of intelligence, he +made precisely one mouthful of each sandwich. + +Mrs. Dodd was secretly amazed, and, taking care not to be noticed by +Maxley, said confidentially, _“Monsieur avait bien raison; le souris a +passe: par la._” + +The plate cleared, and washed down with a tumbler of port, Maxley +resumed, and informed the doctor that the mouse was at this moment in +his garden eating his bulbs. “And I be come here to put an end to her, +if I've any luck at all.” + +Sampson told him he needn't trouble. “Nature has put an end to her as +long as her body.” + +Mr. Maxley was puzzled for a moment, then opened his mouth from ear to +ear in a guffaw that made the glasses ring. His humour was perverse. He +was wit-proof and fun-proof; but at a feeble jest would sometimes roar +like a lion inflated with laughing-gas. Laughed he ever so loud and +long, he always ended abruptly and without gradation--his laugh was +a clean spadeful dug out of Merriment. He resumed his gravity and his +theme all in an instant. “White arsenic she won't look at for I've tried +her; but they tell me there's another sweetmeat come up, which they call +it striek nine.” + +“Hets! let the poor beasty alone. Life's as sweet tit as tus.” + +“If _you_ was a gardener, you'd feel for the bulbs, not for the varmin,” + remonstrated Maxley rather arrogantly. + +“But bein' a man of sceince, I feel for th' higher organisation. Mice +are a part of Nature, as much as market-gardeners.” + +“So be stoats, and adders, and doctors.” + +Sampson appealed: “Jintlemen, here's a pretty pashint: reflects on our +lairned profission, and it never cost him a guinea, for the dog never +pays.” + +“Don't let my chaff choke ye, doctor. That warn't meant for _you_ +altogether. So if you _have_ got a little bit of that 'ere about +you----” + +“I'm not a ratcatcher, my man: I don't go with dith in my pocket, like +the surgeons that carry a lancet. And if I had Murder in both pockets, +you shouldn't get any. Here's a greedy dog! got a thousand pounds in the +bank, and grudges his healer a guinea, and his mouse a stand-up bite.” + +“Now, who have been a telling you lies?” inquired Maxley severely. +“My missus, for a farthing. I'm not a thousand-pound man; I'm a +nine-hundred-pound man; and it's all safe at Hardie's.” Here he went +from his roar to his whisper, “I don't hold with Lunnon banks; they be +like my missus's eggs: all one outside, and the rotten ones only known +by breaking. Well (loud) I _be_ pretty close, I don't deny it; but +(confidentially) my missus beats me. I look twice at a penny; but she +looks twice at both sides of a halfpenny before she will let him go: and +it's her being so close have raised all this here bobbery; and so I +told her; says I, 'Missus, if you would but leave an end of a dip, or a +paring of cheese, about your cupboard, she would hide at home; but you +hungers her so, you drives her afield right on atop o' my roots.' 'Oh,' +says my missus, 'if _I_ was to be as wasteful as _you_ be, where should +_we_ be come Christmas day? Every tub on its own bottom,' says she; 'man +and wife did ought to keep theirselves to theirselves, she to the house, +and I to the garden.' 'So be it, says I, 'and by the same toaken, don't +let me catch them “Ns” in my garden again, or I'll spoil their clucking +and scratching,' says I, 'for I'll twist their dalled necks: ye've got +a yard,' says I, 'and a roost, and likewise a turnpike, you and your +poultry: so bide at home the lot, and don't come a scratching o' me,' +and with that we had a ripput; and she took one of her pangs; and then +I behoved to knock under; and that is allus the way if ye quarrel with +woman-folk; they are sworn to get the better of ye by hook or by crook. +Now dooe give me a bit of that ere, to quiet this here, as eats me up by +the roots and sets my missus and me by the ears.” + +“Justum ac tenacem propositi virum,” whispered Alfred to Edward. + +Sampson told him angrily to go to a certain great personage. + +“Not afore my betters,” whispered Mr. Maxley, smit with a sudden respect +for etiquette “Won't ye, now?” + +“I'll see ye hanged first, ye miserly old assassin.” + +“Then I have nothing to thank _you_ for,” roared Maxley, and made his +adieux, ignoring with marked contempt the false physician who declined +to doctor the foe of his domestic peace and crocuses. + +“Quite a passage of arms,” said Edward. + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Dodd, “and of bludgeons and things, rather than the +polished rapier. What expressions to fall from two highly educated +gentlemen! Slope--Potato-trap--Sawbones--Catlap--_je n'en finirais +pas._” + +She then let them know that she meditated a “dictionary of jargon;” in +hopes that its bulk might strike terror into honest citizens, and excite +an anti-jargon league to save the English language, now on the verge of +dissolution. + +Sampson was pleased with this threat. “Now, that is odd,” said he. +“Why, I am compilin' a vocabulary myself. I call 't th' ass-ass-ins' +dickshinary; showing how, by the use of mealy-mouthed and d'exotic +phrases, knaves can lead fools by th' ear a vilent dith. F'r instance; +if one was to say to John Bull, 'Now I'll cut a great gash in your arm +and let your blood run till ye drop down senseless,' he'd take fright +and say, 'Call another time!' So the profissional ass-ass-in words +it thus: 'I'll bleed you from a large orifice till the occurrence of +syncope.' All right sis John: he's bled from a lar j'orifice and dies +three days after of th' assassin's knife hid in a sheath o' goose +grease. But I'll bloe the gaff with my dictionary.” + +“Meantime _there_ is another contribution to mine,” said Mrs. Dodd. + +And they agreed in the gaiety of their hearts to compare their rival +Lexicons. + + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +THE subsiding sea was now a liquid Paradise: its great pellucid braes +and hillocks shone with the sparkle and the hues of all the jewels in an +emperor's crown. Imagine--after three days of inky sea, and pitchy sky, +and Death's deep jaws snapping and barely missing--ten thousand great +slopes of emerald, aquamarine, amethyst and topaz, liquid, alive, and +dancing jocundly beneath a gorgeous sun: and you will have a faint +idea of what met the eyes and hearts of the rescued looking out of that +battered, jagged ship, upon ocean smiling back to smiling Heaven. + +Yet one man felt no buoyancy, nor gush of joy. He leaned against a +fragment of the broken bulwark, confused between the sweetness of life +preserved and the bitterness of treasure lost--his wife's and children's +treasured treasure; benumbed at heart, and almost weary of the existence +he had battled for so stoutly. He looked so moody, and answered so +grimly and unlike himself, that they all held aloof from him; heavy +heart among so many joyful ones, he was in true solitude; the body in a +crowd, the soul alone. And he was sore as well as heavy; for of all +the lubberly acts he had ever known, the way he had lost his dear ones' +fortune seemed to him the worst. + +A voice sounded in his ear: “Poor thing! she has s foundered.” + +It was Fullalove scanning the horizon with his famous glass. + +“Foundered? Who?” said Dodd; though he did not care much who sank, who +swam. Then he remembered the vessel, whose flashing guns had shed a +human ray on the unearthly horror of the black hurricane. He looked all +round. + +Blank. + +Ay, she had perished with all hands. The sea had swallowed her, and +spared him--ungrateful. + +This turned his mind sharply. Suppose the _Agra_ had gone down, the +money would be lost as now, and his life into the bargain--a life dearer +to all at home than millions of gold: he prayed inwardly to Heaven for +gratitude and goodness to feel its mercy. This softened him a little; +and his heart swelled so, he wished he was a woman to cry over his +children's loss for an hour, and then shake all off and go through his +duty somehow; for now he was paralysed, and all seemed ended. Next, +nautical superstition fastened on him. That pocket-book of his was +Jonah: it had to go or else the ship; the moment it did go, the storm +had broken as by magic. + +Now Superstition is generally stronger than rational Religion, whether +they lie apart or together in one mind; and this superstitious notion +did something toward steeling the poor man. “Come,” said he to himself +“my loss has saved all these poor souls on board this ship. So be it! +Heaven's will be done! I must bustle, or else go mad.” + +He turned to and worked like a horse: and with his own hands helped +the men to rig parallel ropes--a substitute for bulwarks--till the +perspiration ran down him. + +Bayliss now reported the well nearly dry, and Dodd was about to bear up +and make sail again, when one of the ship-boys, a little fellow with a +bright eye and a chin like a monkey's, came up to him and said-- + +“Please, captain!” Then glared with awe at what he had done, and broke +down. + +“Well, my little man?” said Dodd gently. + +Thus encouraged, the boy gave a great gulp, and burst in in a brogue, +“Och your arnr, sure there's no rudder on her at all barrin the tiller.” + +“What d'ye mean?” + +“Don't murder me, your arnr, and I'll tell ye. It's meself looked over +the starrn just now; and I seen there was no rudder at all at all. +Mille diaoul, sis I; ye old bitch, I'll tell his arur what y'are after, +slipping your rudder like my granny's list shoe, I will.” + +Dodd ran to the helm and looked down; the brat was right: the blows +which had so endangered the ship, had broken the rudder, and the sea had +washed away more than half of it. The sight and the reflection made him +faintish for a moment. Death passing so very close to a man sickens him +_afterwards,_ unless he has the luck to be brainless. + + + +“What is your name, urchin?” + +“Ned Murphy, sir.” + +“Very well, Murphy, then you are a fine little fellow, and have wiped +all our eyes in the ship: run and send the carpenter aft.” + +“Ay, ay, sir.” + +The carpenter came. Like most artisans, he was clever in a groove: take +him out of that, and lo! a mule, a pig, an owl. He was not only unable +to invent, but so stiffly disinclined: a makeshift rudder was clean +out of his way; and, as his whole struggle was to get away from +every suggestion Dodd made back to groove aforesaid, the thing looked +hopeless. Then Fullalove, who had stood by grinning, offered to make +a bunkum rudder, provided the carpenter and mates were put under his +orders. “But” said he, “I must bargain they shall be disrated if they +attempt to reason.” + +“That is no more than fair,” said Dodd. The Yankee inventor demanded a +spare maincap, and cut away one end of the square piece, so as to make +it fit the stem-post: through the circle of the cap he introduced a +spare mizen topmast: to this he seized a length of junk, another to +that, another to that, and so on: to the outside junk he seized a spare +maintop-gallant mast, and this conglomerate being now nearly as broad as +a rudder, he planked over all. The sea by this time was calm; he got the +machine over the stern, and had the square end of the cap bolted to the +stern-post. He had already fixed four spans of nine-inch hawser to the +sides of the makeshift, two fastened to tackles, which led into the +gunroom ports, and were housed taut--these kept the lower part of the +makeshift close to the stern post--and two, to which guys were now fixed +and led through the aftermost ports on to the quarter-deck, where luff- +tackles were attached to them, by means of which the makeshift was to be +worked as a rudder. + +Some sail was now got on the ship, and she was found to steer very well. +Dodd tried her on every tack, and at last ordered Sharpe to make all +sail and head for the Cape. + +This electrified the first mate. The breeze was very faint but +southerly, and the Mauritius under their lee. They could make it in a +night and there refit, and ship a new rudder. He suggested the danger of +sailing sixteen hundred miles steered by a gimcrack; and implored Dodd +to put into port. + +Dodd answered with a roughness and a certain wildness never seen in him +before: “Danger, sir! There will be no more foul weather this voyage; +Jonah is overboard.” Sharpe stared an inquiry. “I tell you we shan't +lower our topgallants once from this to the Cape: Jonah is overboard:” + and he slapped his forehead in despair; then, stamping impatiently with +his foot, told Sharpe his duty was to obey orders, not discuss them. + +“Certainly, sir,” said Sharpe sullenly, and went out of the cabin +with serious thoughts of communicating to the other mates an alarming +suspicion about Dodd, that now, for the first time, crossed his mind. +But long habit of discipline prevailed, and he made all sail on the +ship, and bore away for the Cape with a heavy heart. The sea was like +a mill-pond, but in that he saw only its well-known treachery, to lead +them on to this unparalleled act of madness: each sail he hoisted seemed +one more agent of Destruction rising at his own suicidal command. + +Towards evening it became nearly dead calm. The sea heaved a little, +but was waveless, glassy, and the colour of a rose, incredibly brave and +delicate. + +The look-out reported pieces of wreck to windward. As the ship was +making so little way, Dodd beat up towards them: he feared it was a +British ship that had foundered in the storm, and thought it his duty to +ascertain and carry the sad news home. In two tacks they got near +enough to see with their glasses that the fragments belonged, not to a +stranger, but to the _Agra_ herself. There was one of her waterbutts, +and a broken mast with some rigging: and as more wreck was descried +coming in at a little distance, Dodd kept the ship close to the wind +to inspect it: on drifting near, it proved to be several pieces of the +bulwark, and a mahogany table out of the cuddy This sort of flotsam +was not worth delaying the ship to pick it up; so Dodd made sail again, +steering now south-east. + +He had sailed about half a mile when the look-out hailed the deck again. + +“A man in the water!” + +“Whereabouts?” + +“A short league on the weather quarter.” + +“Oh, we can't beat to windward for _him,_” said Sharpe; “he is dead long +ago.” + +“Holds his head very high for a corpse,” said the look-out. + +“I'll soon know,” cried Dodd. “Lower the gig; I'll go myself.” + +The gig was lowered, and six swift rowers pulled him to windward, while +the ship kept on her course. + +It is most unusual for a captain to leave the ship at sea on such petty +errands: but Dodd half hoped the man might be alive; and he was so +unhappy; and, like his daughter, who probably derived the trait from +him, grasped instinctively at a chance of doing kindness to some poor +fellow alive or dead. That would soothe his own sore, good heart. + +When they had pulled about two miles, the sun was sinking into the +horizon. “Give way, men,” said Dodd, “or we shall not be able to see +him.” The men bent to their oars and made the boat fly. + +Presently the coxswain caught sight of an object bobbing on the water +abeam. + +“Why, that must be it,” said he: “the lubber! to take it for a man's +head. Why, it is nothing but a thundering old bladder, speckled white.” + +“What?” cried Dodd, and fell a-trembling. “Steer for it! Give way!” + +“Ay, ay, sir!” + +They soon came alongside the bladder, and the coxswain grabbed it. +“Hallo! here's something lashed to it: a bottle!” + +“Give it me!” gasped Dodd in a voice choked with agitation. “Give it +me! Back to the ship! Fly! fly! Cut her off, or she'll give us the slip +_now._” + +He never spoke a word more, but sat in a stupor of joyful wonder. + +They soon caught the ship; he got into his cabin, he scarce knew how: +broke the bottle to atoms, and found the indomitable Cash uninjured. +With trembling hands he restored it to its old place in his bosom, and +sewed it tighter than ever. + +Until he felt it there once more, he could hardly realise a stroke of +good fortune that seemed miraculous--though, in reality, it was less +strange than the way he had lost it;* but now, laid bodily on his heart, +it set his bosom on fire. Oh, the bright eye, the bounding pulse, the +buoyant foot, the reckless joy! He slapped Sharpe on the back a little +vulgarly for him:-- + +“Jonah is on board again, old fellow: look out for squalls.” + + *The _Agra_, being much larger than the bottle, had drifted + faster to leeward in the storm. + +He uttered this foreboding in a tone of triumph, and with a gay elastic +recklessness, which harmonised so well with his makeshift rudder, that +Sharpe groaned aloud, and wished himself under any captain in the world +but this, and in any other ship. He looked round to make sure he was +not watched, and then tapped his forehead significantly. This somewhat +relieved him, and he did his duty smartly for a man going to the bottom +with his eyes open. + +But ill luck is not to be bespoken any more than good: the _Agra's_ +seemed to have blown itself out; the wind veered to the south-west, and +breathed steadily in that quarter for ten days. The topgallant sails +were never lowered nor shifted day nor night all that time, and not a +single danger occurred between this and the Cape, except to a monkey, +which I fear I must relate, on account of its remoter consequences. One +fine afternoon, everybody was on deck amusing themselves as they could: +Mrs. Beresford, to wit, was being flattered under the Poop awning by +Kenealy. The feud between her and Dodd continued, but under a false +impression. The lady had one advantage over the gentler specimens of her +sex; she was never deterred from a kind action by want of pluck, as they +are. Pluck? Aquilina was brimful of it. When she found Dodd was wounded, +she cast her wrongs to the wind, and offered to go and nurse him. Her +message came at an unlucky moment, and by an unlucky messenger: the +surgeon said hastily, “I can't have him bothered.” The stupid servant +reported, “He can't be worried;” and Mrs. Beresford, thinking Dodd had +a hand in this answer, was bitterly mortified; and with some reason. She +would have forgiven him, though, if he had died; but, as he lived, +she thought she had a right to detest him, and did; and showed her +sentiments like a lady, by never speaking to him, nor looking at him, +but ignoring him with frigid magnificence on his own quarter-deck. + +Now, among the crew of this ship was a favourite goat, good-tempered, +affectionate, and playful; but a single vice counterbalanced all his +virtues: he took a drop. A year or two ago some light-hearted tempter +taught him to sip grog; he took to it kindly, and was now arrived at +such a pitch that at grog-time he used to butt his way in among the +sailors, and get close to the canteen; and, by arrangement, an allowance +was always served out to him. On imbibing it, he passed with quadrupedal +rapidity through three stages, the absurd, the choleric, the sleepy; and +was never his own goat again until he awoke from the latter. Now Master +Fred Beresford encountered him in the second stage of inebriety, and, +being a rough playfellow, tapped his nose with a battledore. Instantly +Billy butted at him; mischievous Fred screamed and jumped on the +bulwarks. Pot-angry Billy went at him there; whereupon the young +gentleman, with all eldrich screech, and a comparative estimate of +perils that smacked of inexperience, fled into the sea, at the very +moment when his anxious mother was rushing to save him. She uttered +a scream of agony, and would actually have followed him, but was held +back, uttering shriek after shriek, that pierced every heart within +hearing. + +But Dodd saw the boy go overboard, and vaulted over the bulwark near the +helm, roared in the very air, “Heave the ship to!” and went splash +into the water about ten yards from the place. He was soon followed by +Vespasian, and a boat was lowered as quickly as possible. Dodd caught +sight of a broad straw hat on the top of a wave, swam lustily to it, and +found Freddy inside: it was tied under his chin, and would have floated +Goliath. Dodd turned to the ship, saw the poor mother with white face +and arms outstretched as if she would fly at them, and held the urchin +up high to her with a joyful “hurrah.” The ship seemed alive and to +hurrah in return with giant voice: the boat soon picked them up, and +Dodd came up the side with Freddy in his arms, and placed him in his +mother's with honest pride and deep parental sympathy. + +Guess how she scolded and caressed her child all in a breath, and sobbed +over him! For this no human pen has ever told, nor ever will. All I can +just manage to convey is that, after she had all but eaten the little +torment, she suddenly dropped him, and made a great maternal rush at +Dodd. She flung her arms round him, and kissed him eagerly, almost +fiercely: then, carried away wild by mighty Nature, she patted him +all over in the strangest way, and kissed his waistcoat, his arms, his +hands, and rained tears of joy and gratitude on them. + +Dodd was quite overpowered. “No! no!” said he. “Don't now, pray, don't! +There! there! I know, my dear, I know; I'm a father.” And he was very +near whimpering himself; but recovered the man and the commander, and +said, soothingly, “There! there!” and he handed her tenderly down to her +cabin. + +All this time he had actually forgotten the packet. But now a horrible +fear came on him. He hurried to his own cabin and examined it. A +little salt water had oozed through the bullet-hole and discoloured the +leather; but that was all. + +He breathed again. + +“Thank Heaven I forgot all about it!” said he: “it would have made a cur +of me.” + +Lady Beresford's petty irritation against Dodd melted at once--before +so great a thing: she longed to make friends with him; but for once felt +timid. It struck her now all of a sudden that she had been misbehaving. +However, she caught Dodd alone on the deck, and said to him softly, “I +want so to end our quarrel.” + +“Our quarrel, madam!” said he; “why, I know of none: oh, about the light +eh? Well, you see the master of a ship is obliged to be a tyrant in some +things.” + +“I make no complaint,” said the lady hastily, and hung her head. “All I +ask you is to forgive one who has behaved like a fool, without even the +excuse of being one; and--will you give me your hand, sir?” + +“Ay, and with all my heart,” said Dodd warmly, enclosing the soft little +hand in his honest grasp. + +And with no more ado these two highflyers ended one of those little +misunderstandings petty spirits nurse into a feud. + + +The ship being in port at the Cape, and two hundred hammers tapping at +her, Dodd went ashore in search of Captain Robarts, and made the _Agra_ +over to him in the friendliest way, adding warmly that he had found +every reason to be satisfied with the officers and the crew. To his +surprise, Captain Robarts received all this ungraciously. “You ought +to have remained on board, sir, and made me over the command on the +quarter-deck.” Dodd replied politely that it would have been more +formal. “Suppose I return immediately, and man the side for you: and +then you board her, say, in half-an-hour?” + +“I shall come when I like,” replied Robarts crustily. + +“And when will you like to come?” inquired Dodd, with imperturbable +good-humour. + +“Now, this moment: and I'll trouble you to come along with me.” + +“Certainly, sir.” + +They got a boat and went out to the ship: on coming alongside, Dodd +thought to meet his wishes by going first and receiving him. But the +jealous, cross-grained fellow, shoved roughly before him and led the way +up the ship's side. Sharpe and the rest saluted him: he did not return +the salute, but said hoarsely, “Turn the hands up to muster.” + +When they were all aft, he noticed one or two with their caps on. “Hats +off and be ---- to you!” cried he. “Do you know where you are? Do you +know who you are looking at? If not, I'll show you. I'm here to restore +discipline to this ship: so mind how you run athwart my hawse: don't you +play with the bull, my men; or you'll find his horns ---- sharp. Pipe +down! Now, you, sir, bring me the log-book.” + +He ran his eye over it, and closed it contemptuously: “Pirates, and +hurricanes! _I_ never fell in with pirates nor hurricanes: I have heard +of a breeze, and a gale, but I never knew a seaman worth his salt say +'hurricane.' Get another log-book, Mr. Sharpe; put down that it begins +this day at noon; and enter that Captain Robarts came on deck, found the +ship in a miserable condition, took the command, mustered the officers +and men, and stopped the ship's company's grog for a week for receiving +him with hats on.” + +Even Sharpe, that walking Obedience, was taken aback. “Stop--the ship's +company's--grog--for a week, sir?” + +“Yes, sir, for a week; and if you fling my orders back in my face +instead of clapping on sail to execute them, I'll have you towed ashore +on a grating. Your name is Sharpe; well my name is Dammedsharpe, and so +you'll find.” + +In short, the new captain came down on the ship like a blight. + +He was especially hard on Dodd: nothing that commander had done was +right, nor, had he done the contrary, would that have been right: he was +disgracefully behind time; and he ought to have put in to the Isle of +France, which would have retarded him: his rope bulwarks were lubberly: +his rudder a disgrace to navigation: he, Robarts, was not so green as to +believe that any master had really sailed sixteen hundred miles with it, +and if he had, more shame for him. Briefly, a marine criticaster. + +All this was spoken _at_ Dodd--a thing no male does unless he is an +awful snob--and grieved him, it was so unjust. He withdrew wounded +to the little cabin he was entitled to as a passenger, and hugged his +treasure for comfort. He patted the pocket-book, and said to it, “Never +_you_ mind! The greater Tartar he is, the less likely to sink you or run +you on a lee shore.” + +With all his love of discipline, Robarts was not so fond of the ship as +Dodd. + +While his repairs were going on he was generally ashore, and by this +means missed a visit. Commodore Collier, one of the smartest sailors +afloat, espied the Yankee makeshift from the quarter-deck of his vessel, +the _Salamanca,_ fifty guns. In ten minutes he was under the _Agra's_ +stern inspecting it; then came on board, and was received in form by +Sharpe and the other officers. “Are you the master of this ship, sir?” + he asked. + +“No, commodore. I am the first mate: the captain is ashore.” + +“I am sorry for it. I want to talk about his rudder.” + +“Oh, _he_ had nothing to do with that,” replied Sharpe, eagerly: “that +was our dear old captain: he is on board. Young gentleman! ask Captain +Dodd to oblige me by coming on deck! Hy! and Mr. Fullalove too.” + +“Young gentleman?” inquired Collier. “What the devil officer is that?” + +“That is a name we give the middies; I don't know why.” + +“Nor I neither; ha! ha!” + +Dodd and Fullalove came on deck, and Commodore Collier bestowed the +highest compliments on the “makeshift.” Dodd begged him to transfer them +to the real inventor, and introduced Fullalove. + +“Ay,” said Collier, “I know you Yankees are very handy. I lost my +rudder at sea once, and had to ship a makeshift; but it was a cursed +complicated thing, not a patch upon yours, Mr. Fullalove. Yours is +ingenious and _simple._ Ship has been in action, I see: pray how was +that, if I may be so bold?” + +“Pirates, commodore,” said Sharpe. “We fell in with a brace of +Portuguese devils, lateen-rigged, and carrying ten guns apiece, in the +Straits of Gaspar: fought 'em from noon till sundown, riddled one, and +ran down the other, and sunk her in a moment. That was all your doing, +Captain: so don't try to shift it on other people; for we won't stand +it.” + +“If he denies it, I won't believe him,” said Collier, “for he has got it +in his eye. Gentlemen, will you do me the honour to dine with me to-day +on board the flag-ship?” + +Dodd and Fullalove accepted. Sharpe declined, with regret, on the score +of duty. And as the cocked hat went down the side, after saluting +him politely, he could not help thinking to himself what a difference +between a real captain, who had something to be proud of, and his own +unlicked cub of a skipper with the manners of a pilot-boat. He told +Robarts the next day: Robarts said nothing, but his face seemed to turn +greenish, and it embittered his hatred of Dodd the inoffensive. + +It is droll, and sad, but true, that Christendom is full of men in +a hurry to hate. And a fruitful cause is jealousy. The schoolmen, or +rather certain of the schoolmen--for nothing is much shallower than +to speak of all those disputants as one school--defined woman, “a +featherless biped vehemently addicted to jealousy.” Whether she is more +featherless than the male can be decided at a trifling expense of time, +money, and reason: you have but to go to court. But as for envy and +jealousy, I think it is pure, unobservant, antique Cant which has fixed +them on the female character distinctively. As a molehill to a mountain +is women's jealousy to men's. Agatha may have a host of virtues and +graces, and yet her female acquaintance will not hate her, provided she +has the moderation to abstain from being downright pretty. She may sing +like an angel, paint like an angel, talk, write, nurse the sick, all +like an angel, and not rouse the devil in her fair sisters, so long as +she does not dress like an angel. But the minds of men being much larger +than women's, yet very little greater, they hang jealousy on a thousand +pegs. Where there was no peg, I have seen them do with a pin. + +Captain Robarts took a pin, ran it into his own heart, and hung that +sordid passion on it. + +He would get rid of all the Doddites before he sailed. He insulted Mr. +Tickell, so that he left the service and entered a mercantile house +ashore: he made several of the best men desert, and the ship went to +sea short of hands. This threw heavier work on the crew, and led to many +punishments and a steady current of abuse. Sharpe became a mere +machine, always obeying, never speaking: Grey was put under arrest for +remonstrating against ungentlemanly language; and Bayliss, being at +bottom of the same breed as Robarts, fell into his humour, and helped +hector the petty officers and men. The crew, depressed and irritated, +went through their duties pully-hauly-wise. There was no song under the +forecastle in the first watch, and often no grog on the mess table at +one bell. Dodd never came on the quarter-deck without being reminded he +was only a passenger, and the ship was now under naval discipline. +_“I_ was reared in the royal navy, sir,” would Robarts say, “second +lieutenant aboard the _Atalanta:_ that is the school, sir, that is the +only school that breeds seamen.” Dodd bore scores of similar taunts as +a Newfoundland puts up with a terrier in office: he seldom replied, and, +when he did, in a few quiet dignified words that gave no handle. + +Robarts, who bore the name of a lucky captain, had fair weather all the +way to St. Helena. + +The guard-ship at this island was the _Salamanca._ She had left the +Cape a week before the _Agra._ Captain Robarts, with his characteristic +good-breeding, went to anchor in-shore of Her Majesty's ship: the wind +failed at a critical moment, and a foul became inevitable. Collier was +on his quarter-deck, and saw what would happen long before Robarts did; +he gave the needful orders, and it was beautiful to see how in half +a minute the frigate's guns were run in, her ports lowered, her yards +toppled on end, and a spring carried out and hauled on. + +The _Agra_ struck abreast her own forechains on the _Salamanca's_ +quarter. + +(Pipe.) “Boarders away. Tomahawks! cut everything that holds!” was heard +from the frigate's quarter-deck. Rush came a boarding party on to the +merchant ship and hacked away without mercy all her lower rigging that +held on to the frigate, signal halyards and all; others boomed her +off with capstan bars, &c., and in two minutes the ships were clear. A +lieutenant and boat's crew came for Robarts, and ordered him on board +the _Salamanca,_ and, to make sure of his coming, took him back with +them. He found Commodore Collier standing stiff as a ramrod on his +quarter-deck. “Are you the master of the _Agra?_” (His quick eye had +recognised her in a moment.) + +“I am, sir.” + +“Then she was commanded by a seaman, and is now commanded by a lubber. +Don't apply for your papers this week; for you won't get them. Good +morning. Take him away.” + +They returned Robarts to his ship, and a suppressed grin on a score of +faces showed him the clear commanding tones of the commodore had +reached his own deck. He soothed himself by stopping the men's grog and +mast-heading three midshipmen that same afternoon. + +The night before he weighed anchor this disciplinarian was drinking very +late in a low public-house. There was not much moon, and the officer +in charge of the ship did not see the gig coming till it was nearly +alongside: then all was done in a flurry. + +“Hy! man the side! Lanterns there! Jump, you boys, or you'll catch +pepper.” + +The boys did jump, and little Murphy, not knowing the surgeon had +ordered the ports to be drooped, bounded over the bulwarks like an +antelope, lighted on the midship port, which stood at this angle /, and +glanced off into the ocean, lantern foremost: he made his little hole +in the water within a yard of' Captain Robarts. That Dignity, though +splashed, took no notice of so small an incident as a gone ship-boy: and +if Murphy had been wise and stayed with Nep. all had been well. But the +poor urchin inadvertently came up again, and without the lantern. One of +the gig's crew grabbed him by the hair, and prolonged his existence by +an inconsiderate impulse. + +“Where is the other lantern?” was Robarts' first word on reaching the +deck: as if he didn't know. + +“Gone overboard, sir, with the boy Murphy.” + +“Stand forward, you, sir,” growled Robarts. + +Murphy stood forward, dripping and shivering with cold and fear. + +“What d'ye mean by going overboard with the ship's lantern?” + +“Och, your arnr, sure some unasy divil drooped the port; and the lantern +and me we had no foothold at all at all, and the lantern went into the +say, bad luck to ut; and I went afther to try and save ut--for your +arnr.” + +“Belay all that!” said Robarts; “do you think you can blarney me, +you young monkey? Here, Bosen's mate, take a rope's-end and start +him!--Again!--Warm him well!--That's right.” + +As soon as the poor child's shrieks subsided into sobs, the +disciplinarian gave him Explanation for Ointment: “I can't have the +Company's stores expended this way.” + +The force of discipline could no farther go than to flog zeal for +falling overboard: so, to avoid anticlimax in that port, Robarts weighed +anchor at daybreak; and there was a southwesterly breeze waiting for +this favourite of fortune, and carried him past the Azores. Off Ushant +it was westerly, and veered to the nor'-west just before they sighted +the Land's End: never was such a charming passage from the Cape. The +sailor who had the luck to sight Old England first nailed his +starboard shoe to the mainmast for contributions; and all hearts beat +joyfully--none more than David Dodd's. His eye devoured the beloved +shore: he hugged the treasure his own ill luck had jeopardised--but +Robarts had sailed it safe into British waters--and forgave the man his +ill manners for his good luck. + +Robarts steered in for the Lizard; but, when abreast the Point, kept +well out again, and opened the Channel and looked out for a pilot + +One was soon seen working out towards him, and the _Agra_ brought +to. The pilot descended from his lugger into his little boat, rowed +alongside, and came on deck; a rough, tanned sailor, clad in flushing, +and in build and manner might have passed for Robarts' twin brother. + +“Now then, you, sir, what will you take this ship up to the Downs for?” + +“Thirty pounds.” + +Roberts told him roughly he would not get thirty pounds out of' _him._ + +“Thyse and no higher, my Bo,” answered the pilot sturdily: he had been +splicing the main brace, and would have answered an admiral. + +Robarts swore at him lustily: Pilot discharged a volley in return +with admirable promptitude. Robarts retorted, the other rough +customer rejoined, and soon all Billingsgate thundered on the _Agra's_ +quarter-deck. Finding, to his infinite disgust, his visitor as great a +blackguard as himself, and not to be outsworn, Robarts ordered him to +quit the ship on pain of being man-handled over the side. + +“Oh, that's it, is it?” growled the other: “here's fill and be off +then.” He prudently bottled the rest of his rage till he got safe into +his boat, then shook his fist at the _Agra_, and cursed her captain +sky-high. “You see the fair wind, but you don't see the Channel fret +a-coming, ye greedy gander. Downs! You'll never see them: you have saved +your ---- money, and lost your ---- ship, ye ---- lubber.” + +Robarts hurled back a sugar-plum or two of the same and then ordered +Bayliss to clap on all sail, and keep a mid-channel course through the +night. + +At four bells in the middle watch, Sharpe, in charge of the ship, tapped +at Robarts' door. “Blowing hard, sir, and the weather getting thickish.” + +“Wind fair still?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Then call me if it blows any harder,” grunted Robarts. + +In two hours more, tap, tap, came Bayliss, in charge. “If we don't take +sail in, they'll take themselves out.” + +“Furl to-gallen'sels, and call me if it gets any worse.” + +In another hour Bayliss was at him again. “Blowing a gale, sir, and a +Channel fog on.” + +“Reef taupsles, and call me if it gets any worse.” + +At daybreak Dodd was on deck, and found the ship flying through a fog +so thick that her forecastle was quite invisible from the poop, and even +her foremast loomed indistinct and looked distant. “You'll be foul of +something or other, Sharpe,” said he. + +“What is that to you?” inquired a loud rough voice behind him. “I don't +allow passengers to handle my ship.” + +“Then do pray handle her yourself; captain! Is this weather to go +tearing happy-go-lucky up the Channel?” + +“I mean to sail her without your advice, sir; and, being a seaman, I +shall get all I can out of a fair wind.” + +“That is right Captain Robarts, if you had but the British Channel all +to yourself.” + +“Perhaps you will leave me my deck all to myself.” + +“I should be delighted: but my anxiety will not let me.” With this Dodd +retired a few steps, and kept a keen look-out. + + +At noon a lusty voice cried “Land on the weather beam!” + +All eyes were turned that way and saw nothing. + +Land in sight was reported to Captain Robarts. + +Now that worthy was in reality getting secretly anxious: so he ran on +deck crying, “Who saw it?” + +“Captain Dodd, sir.” + +“Ugh! Nobody else?” + +Dodd came forward, and, with a respectful air, told him that, being on +the look-out, he had seen the coast of the Isle of Wight in a momentary +lift of the haze. + +“Isle of Fiddlestick!” was the polite reply; “Isle of Wight is eighty +miles astern by now.” + +Dodd answered firmly that he was well acquainted with every outline in +the Channel, and that the land he had seen was St. Katherine's Point + +Robarts deigned no reply, but had the log heaved: it showed the vessel +to be running twelve knots an hour. He then went to his cabin and +consulted his chart; and, having worked his problem, came hastily on +deck, and went from rashness to wonderful caution. “Turn the hands out, +and heave the ship to!” + +The manoeuvre was executed gradually and ably, and scarce a bucketful of +water shipped. “Furl taupsles and set the main trysail! There, Mr. Dodd, +so much for you and your Isle of Wight. The land you saw was Dungeness, +and _you_ would have run on into the North Sea, I'll be bound.” + +When a man, habitually calm, turns anxious, he becomes more irritable; +and the mixture of timidity and rashness he saw in Robarts made Dodd +very anxious. + +He replied angrily, “At all events, I should not make a foul wind out +of a fair one by heaving to; and if I did, I would heave to on the right +tack.” + +At this sudden facer--one, too, from a patient man--Robarts staggered a +moment. He recovered, and with an oath ordered Dodd to go below, or he +would have him chucked into the hold. + +“Come, don't be an ass, Robarts,” said Dodd contemptuously. + +Then, lowering his voice to a whisper, “Don't you know the men only want +such an order as that to chuck you into the sea?” + +Robarts trembled. “Oh, if you mean to head a mutiny----” + +“Heaven forbid, sir! But I won't leave the deck in dirty weather like +this till the captain knows where he is.” + +Towards sunset it got clearer, and they drifted past a revenue cutter, +who was lying to with her head to the northward. She hoisted no end of +signals, but they understood none of them, and her captain gesticulated +wildly on her deck. + +“What is that Fantoccio dancing at?” inquired Captain Robarts brutally. + +“To see a first-class ship drift to leeward in a narrow sea with a fair +wind,” said Dodd bitterly. + +At night it blew hard, and the sea ran high and irregular. The ship +began to be uneasy, and Robarts very properly ordered the top-gallant +and royal yards to be sent down on deck. Dodd would have had them down +twelve hours ago. The mate gave the order: no one moved. The mate went +forward angry. He came back pale. The men refused to go aloft: they +would not risk their lives for Captain Robarts. + +The officers all assembled and went forward: they promised and +threatened; but all in vain. The crew stood sullen together, as if to +back one another, and put forward a spokesman to say that “there was +not one of them the captain hadn't started, and stopped his grog a dozen +times: he had made the ship hell to them; and now her masts and yards +and hull might go there along with her skipper, for them.” + +Robarts received this tidings in sullen silence. “Don't tell that Dodd, +whatever you do,” said he. “They will come round now they have had their +growl: they are too near home to shy away their pay.” + +Robarts had not sufficient insight into character to know that Dodd +would instantly have sided with him against a mutiny. + +But at this juncture the ex-captain of the _Agra_ was down in the cabin +with his fellow-passengers, preparing a general remonstrance: he had a +chart before him, and a pair of compasses in his hand. + +“St. Katherine's Point lay about eight miles to windward at noon; and we +have been drifting south and east this twelve hours, through lying to on +the starboard tack; and besides, the ship has been conned as slovenly +as she is sailed. I've seen her allowed to break off a dozen times, and +gather more leeway. Ah! here is Captain Robarts. Captain, you saw the +rate we passed the revenue cutter. That vessel was nearly stationary; so +what we passed her at was our own rate of drifting, and our least rate. +Putting all this together, we can't be many miles from the French coast, +and, unless we look sharp and beat to windward, I pronounce the ship in +danger.” + +A horselaugh greeted this conclusion. + +“We are nearer Yarmouth sands than France, I promise you, and nothing +under our lee nearer than Rotterdam.” + +A loud cry from the deck above, “A LIGHT ON THE LEE BOW!” + +“There!” cried Robarts with an oath: “foul of _her_ next! through me +listening to your nonsense.” He ran upon deck, and shouted through his +trumpet, “All hands wear ship!” + +The crew, who had heard the previous cry, obeyed orders in the presence +of an immediate danger; and perhaps their growl had really relieved +their ill-humour. Robarts with delight saw them come tumbling up, and +gave his orders lustily: “Brail up the trysel! up with the helm! in with +the weather main brace! square the after yards!” + +The ship's bow turned from the wind, and, as soon as she got way on her, +Robarts ran below again, and entered the cabin triumphant. + +“That is all right: and now, Captain Dodd, a word with you. You will +either retire at once to your cabin, or will cease to breed disaffection +in my crew, and groundless alarm in my passengers, by instilling your +own childish, ignorant fears. The ship has been underlogged a hundred +miles, sir; and but for my caution in lying to for clear weather we +should be groping among the Fern Isl----” + +CRASH! + +An unheard-of shock threw the speaker and all the rest in a mass on +the floor, smashed every lamp, put out every light; and, with a fierce +grating noise, the ship was hard and fast on the French coast, with her +stern to the sea. + +One awful moment of silence; then, amidst shrieks of agony, the sea +struck her like a rolling rock, solid to crush, liquid to drown, and +the comb of a wave smashed the cabin windows and rushed in among them as +they floundered on the floor, and wetted and chilled them to the marrow. +A voice in the dark cried, “O God! we are dead men.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +“ON deck for your lives!” cried Dodd, forgetting in that awful moment he +was not the captain; and drove them all up, Robarts included, and caught +hold of Mrs. Beresford and Freddy at their cabin door and half carried +them with him. Just as they got on deck the third wave, a high one, +struck the ship and lifted her bodily up, canted her round, and dashed +her down again some yards to leeward, throwing them down on the hard and +streaming deck. + +At this tremendous shock the ship seemed a live thing, shrieking and +wailing, as well as quivering with the blow. + +But one voice dissented loudly from the general dismay. “All right men,” + cried Dodd, firm and trumpet-like. “She is broadside on now. Captain +Robarts, look alive, sir; speak to the men! don't go to sleep!” + +Robarts was in a lethargy of fear. At this appeal he started into a +fury of ephemeral courage. “Stick to the ship,” he yelled; “there is no +danger if you stick to the ship,” and with this snatched a life-buoy, +and hurled himself into the sea. + +Dodd caught up the trumpet that fell from his hand and roared, “I +command this ship. Officers come round me! Men to your quarters! Come, +bear a hand here and fire a gun. That will show us where we are, and let +the Frenchmen know.” + +The carronade was fired, and its momentary flash revealed that the ship +was ashore in a little bay; the land abeam was low and some eighty yards +off; but there was something black and rugged nearer the ship's stern. + +Their situation was awful. To windward huge black waves rose like +tremendous ruins, and came rolling, fringed with devouring fire; and +each wave as it charged them, curled up to an incredible height and +dashed down on the doomed ship--solid to crush, liquid to drown--with a +ponderous stroke that made the poor souls stagger, and sent a sheet of +water so clean over her that part fell to leeward, and only part came +down on deck, foretaste of a watery death; and each of these fearful +blows drove the groaning, trembling vessel farther on the sand, bumping +her along as if she had been but a skiff. + +Now it was men showed their inner selves. + +Seeing Death so near on one hand, and a chance of escape on the other, +seven men proved unable to resist the two great passions of Fear and +Hope on a scale so gigantic and side by side. Bayliss, a midshipman, and +five sailors stole the only available boat and lowered her. + +She was swamped in a moment + +Many of the crew got to the rum, and stupefied themselves to their +destruction. + +Others rallied round their old captain, and recovered their native +courage at the brave and hopeful bearing he wore over a heart full of +anguish. He worked like a horse, encouraging, commanding, doing; he +loaded a carronade with a pound of powder and a coil of rope, with an +iron bar attached to a cable, and shot the rope and bar ashore. + +A gun was now fired from the guard-house, whose light Robarts had taken +for a ship. But no light being shown any nearer on the coast, and the +ship expected every minute to go to pieces, Dodd asked if any one would +try to swim ashore with a line made fast to a hawser on board. + +A sailor offered to go if any other man would risk his life along with +him. Instantly Fullalove stripped, and Vespasian next. + +“Two is enough on such a desperate errand,” said Dodd with a groan. + +But now emulation was up, and neither Briton, Yankee, nor negro would +give way. A line was made fast to the sailor's waist, and he was lowered +to leeward; his venturesome rivals followed. The sea swallowed those +three heroes like crumbs, and small was the hope of life for them. + +The three heroes being first-rate swimmers and divers, and going with +the tide, soon neared the shore on the ship's lee quarter; but a sight +of it was enough: to attempt to land on that rock with such a sea on +was to get their skulls smashed like eggshells in a moment. They had to +coast it, looking out for a soft place. + +They found one, and tried to land; but so irresistible was the suction +of the retiring wave, that, whenever they got foot on the sand, and +tried to run, they were wrenched out to sea again, and pounded black and +blue and breathless by the curling breaker they met coming in. + +After a score of vain efforts, the negro, throwing himself on his back, +went in with a high wave, and, on touching the sand, turned, dug all +his ten claws into it clenched his teeth, and scrambled like a cat at +a wall. Having more power in his toes than the Europeans, and luckily +getting one hand on a firm stone, his prodigious strength just enabled +him to stick first while the wave went back; and then, seizing the +moment, he tore himself ashore, but bleeding and bruised all over, and +with a tooth actually broken by clenching in the convulsive struggle. + +He found some natives dancing about in violent agitation with a rope, +but afraid to go in and help him; and no wonder, not being seagulls. By +the light of their lanterns, he saw Fullalove washing in and out like +a log. He seized one end of the rope, and dashed in and grabbed his +friend, and they were hauled ashore together, both breathless, and +Fullalove speechless. + +The negro looked round for the sailor, but could not see him. Soon, +however, there was a cry from some more natives about fifty yards off +and laterns held up; away he dashed with the rope just in time to see +Jack make a last gallant attempt to land. It ended in his being flung up +like a straw into the air on the very crest of a wave fifteen feet high, +and out to sea with his arms whirling, and a death shriek which was +echoed by every woman within hearing. + +In dashed Vespasian with the rope, and gripped the drowning man's long +hair with his teeth: then jerked the rope, and they were both pulled +ashore with infinite difficulty. The good-natured Frenchmen gave them +all three lots of _vivats_ and brandy and pats on the back, and carried +the line for them to a flagstaff on the rocks nearer the stern of the +ship. + + +The ship began to show the first signs of breaking up: hammered to death +by the sea, she discharged the oakum from her opening seams, and her +decks began to gape and grin fore and aft. Corpses of drunken sailors +drowned between decks now floated up amidships, and washed and rolled +about among the survivors' feet These, seeing no hope, went about making +up all quarrels, and shaking hands in token of a Christian end. One or +two came to Dodd with their hands out. + +“Avast ye lubbers!” said he angrily; “do you think I have time for +nonsense? Foksel ahoy! axes, and cut the weather shrouds!” + +It was done; the foremast went by the board directly, and fell to +leeward: a few blows of the axe from Dodd's own hand sent the mainmast +after it. + +The _Agra_ rose a streak; and the next wave carried her a little farther +on shore. + +And now the man in charge of the hawser reported with joy that there was +a strain on it. + +This gave those on board a hope of life. Dodd bustled and had the hawser +carefully payed out by two men, while he himself secured the other end +in the mizen top: he had left that mast standing on purpose. + +There was no fog here; but great heavy black clouds flying about with +amazing swiftness extinguished the moon at intervals: at others she +glimmered through a dull mist in which she was veiled, and gave the poor +souls on the _Agra_ a dim peep of the frail and narrow bridge they must +pass to live. A thing like a black snake went down from the mizen-top, +bellying towards the yawning sea, and soon lost to sight: it was seen +rising again among some lanterns on the rock ashore: but what became +of it in the middle? The darkness seemed to cut it in two; the sea to +swallow it. Yet, to get from a ship going to pieces under them, the +sailors precipitated themselves eagerly on that black thread bellying +to the sea and flickering in the wind. They went down it, one after +another, and anxious eyes straining after them saw them no more: but +this was seen, that scarce one in three emerged into the lights ashore. + +Then Dodd got an axe, and stood in the top, and threatened to brain the +first man who attempted to go on the rope. + +“We must make it taut first,” said he; “bear a hand here with a tackle.” + +Even while this was being done, the other rope, whose end he had fired +ashore, was seen moving to windward. The natives, it seems, had found +it, half buried in sand. + +Dodd unlashed the end from the bulwarks and carried it into the top, and +made it fast: and soon there were two black snakes dipping shrorewards +and waving in the air side by side. + +The sailors scrambled for a place, and some of them were lost by their +own rashness. Kenealy waited coolly, and went by himself. + +Finally, Dodd was left in the ship with Mr. Sharpe and the women, and +little Murphy, and Ramgolam, whom Robarts had liberated to show his +contempt of Dodd. + +He now advised Mrs. Beresford to be lashed to Sharpe and himself, and +venture the passage; but she screamed and clung to him, and said, “I +dare not! oh I dare not!” + +“Then I must lash you to a spar,” said he, “for she can't last much +longer.” He ordered Sharpe ashore. Sharpe shook hands with him, and went +on the rope with tears in his eyes. + +Dodd went hard to work, lashed Mrs. Beresford to a piece of broken +water-butt: filled Fred's pockets with corks and sewed them up (you +never caught Dodd without a needle; only, unlike the women's, it was +always kept threaded). Mrs. Beresford threw her arms round his neck and +kissed him wildly: a way women have in mortal peril: it is but their +homage to courage. “All right!” said Dodd, interpreting it as appeal to +his protection, and affecting cheerfulness: “we'll get ashore together +on the poop awning, or somehow; never you fear. I'd give a thousand +pounds to know where high water is.” + +At this moment, with a report like a cannon, the lower decks burst fore +and aft: another still louder, and the _Agra's_ back broke. She parted +amidships with a fearful yawn, and the waves went toppling and curling +clean through her. + +At this appalling sound and sight, the few creatures left on the poop +cowered screaming and clinging at Dodd's knees, and fought for a bit of +him. + +Yes, as a flood brings incongruous animals together on some little +isle in brotherhood of fear--creatures who never met before without one +eating the other; and there they cuddle--so the thief Ramgolam clung +to the man he had tried to rob; the Hindoo Ayan and the English maid +hustled their mistress, the haughty Mrs. Beresford, and were hustled +by her, for a bit of this human pillar; and little Murphy and Fred +Beresford wriggled in at him where they could: and the poor goat crept +into the quivering mass trembling like an aspen, and not a butt left +either in his head or his heart. Dodd stood in the middle of these +tremblers, a rock of manhood: and when he was silent and they heard +only the voice of the waves, they despaired; and whenever he spoke, +they started at the astounding calmness of his voice and words, and life +sounded possible. + +“Come,” said he, “this won't do any longer. All hands into the +mizen-top!” + +He helped them all up, and stood on the ratlines himself: and, if you +will believe me, the poor goat wailed like a child below. He found in +that new terror and anguish a voice goat was never heard to speak in +before. But they had to leave him on deck: no help for it. Dodd advised +Mrs. Beresford once more to attempt the rope: she declined. “I dare not! +I dare not!” she cried, but she begged Dodd hard to go on it and save +himself. + +It was a strong temptation: he clutched the treasure in his bosom, and +one sob burst from the strong man. + +That sob was but the tax paid by Nature; for pride, humanity, and +manhood stood staunch in spite of it. “No, no, I can't,” said he “I +mustn't. Don't tempt me to leave you in this plight, and be a cur! Live +or die, I must be the last man on her. Here's something coming out to +us, the Lord in Heaven be praised!” + +A bright light was seen moving down the black line that held them to the +shore; it descended slowly within a foot of the billows, and lighting +them up showed their fearful proximity to the rope in mid-passage: they +had washed off many a poor fellow at that part. + +“Look at that! Thank Heaven you did not try it!” said Dodd to Mrs. +Beresford. + +At tins moment a higher wave than usual swallowed up the light: there +was a loud cry of dismay from the shore, and a wail of despair from the +ship. + +No! not lost after all! The light emerged, and mounted, and mounted +towards the ship. + +It came near, and showed the black shiny body of Vespasian, with very +little on but a handkerchief and a lantern--the former round his waist, +and the latter lashed to his back: he arrived with a “Yah! yah!” and +showed his white teeth in a grin. + +Mrs. Beresford clutched his shoulder, and whimpered, “Oh, Mr. Black!” + +“Iss, Missy, dis child bring good news. Cap'n! Massah Fullalove send +you his congratulations, and the compliments of the season; and take the +liberty to observe the tide am turn in twenty minutes.” + +The good news thus quaintly announced caused an outburst of joy from +Dodd, and, sailor-like, he insisted on all hands joining in a cheer. The +shore re-echoed it directly. And this encouraged the forlorn band +still more; to hear other hearts beating for them so near. Even +the intervening waves could not quite annul the sustaining power of +sympathy. + +At this moment came the first faint streaks of welcome dawn, and +revealed their situation more fully. + +The vessel lay on the edge of a sandbank. She was clean in two, the +stern lying somewhat higher than the stem. The sea rolled through her +amidships six feet broad, frightful to look at, and made a clean breach +over her forward, all except the bowsprit to the end of which the poor +sailors were now discovered to be clinging. The afterpart of the poop +was out of water, and in a corner of it the goat crouched like a +rabbit: four dead bodies washed about beneath the party trembling in +the mizen-top, and one had got jammed in the wheel, face uppermost and +glared up at them, gazing terror-stricken down. + +No sign of the tide turning yet, and much reason to fear it would turn +too late for them and the poor fellows shivering on the bowsprit. + +These fears were well founded. + +A huge sea rolled in, and turned the forepart of the vessel half over, +buried the bowsprit, and washed the men off into the breakers. + +Mrs. Beresford sank down, and prayed, holding Vespasian by the knee. + +Fortunately, as in that vessel wrecked long syne on Melita, “the hind +part of the ship stuck fast and remained immovable.” + +But for how long? + +Each wave now struck the ship's weather quarter with a sound like a +cannon fired in a church, and sent the water clear into the mizen-top. +It hit them like strokes of a whip. They were drenched to the skin, +chilled to the bone, and frozen to the heart with fear. They made +acquaintance that hour with Death. Ay, Death itself has no bitterness +that forlorn cluster did not feel: only the insensibility that ends that +bitterness was wanting. + +Now the sea, you must know, was literally strewed with things out of the +_Agra_; masts, rigging, furniture, tea-chests, bundles of canes, chairs, +tables; but of all this jetsam, Dodd's eye had been for some little time +fixed on one object: a live sailor drifting ashore on a great wooden +case. It struck him after a while that the man made very little way, +and at last seemed to go up and down in one place. By-and-bye he saw him +nearer and nearer, and recognised him. It was one of the three washed +off the bowsprit. + +He cried joyfully, “The tide has turned! here's Thompson coming out to +sea.” + +Then there ensued a dialogue, incredible to landsmen, between these two +sailors, the captain of the ship and the captain of the foretop, one +perched on a stationary fragment of that vessel, the other drifting on a +pianoforte, and both bawling at one another across the jaws of death. + +“Thompson ahoy!” + +“Hal-lo!” + +“Whither bound?” + +“Going out with the tide, and be d----d to me.” + +“What, can't ye swim?” + +“Like a brass figure-head. It's all over with poor Jack, sir.” + +“All over! Don't tell me! Look out now as you drift under our stern, and +we'll lower you the four-inch hawser.” + +“Lord bless you, sir, do, pray!” cried Thompson, losing his recklessness +with the chance of life. + +By this time the shore was black with people, and a boat was brought +down to the beach, but to attempt to launch it was to be sucked out to +sea. + +At present all eyes were fixed on Thompson drifting to destruction. + +Dodd cut the four-inch hawser, and Vespasian, on deck, lowered it with +a line, so that Thompson presently drifted right athwart it. “All right, +sir!” said he, grasping it, and, amidst thundering acclamations, was +drawn to land full of salt water and all but insensible. The piano +landed at Dunkirk three weeks later. + +In the bustle of this good and smart action the tide retired +perceptibly. + +By-and-bye the sea struck lower and with less weight. + +At 9 P. M. Dodd took his little party down on deck again, being now the +safest place; for the mast might go. + +It was a sad scene: the deck was now dry, and the dead bodies lay quiet +around them with glassy eyes; and, grotesquely horrible, the long hair +of two or three was stiff and crystallised with the saltpetre in the +ship. + +Mrs. Beresford clung to Vespasian: she held his bare black shoulder with +one white and jewelled hand, and his wrist with the other, tight. “Oh, +Mr. Black,” said she, “how brave you are! It is incredible. Why, you +came back! I must feel a brave man with both my hands or I shall die. +Your skin is nice and soft, too. I shall never outlive this dreadful +day.” + +And now that the water was too low to wash them off the hawser, several +of the ship's company came back to the ship to help the women down. + +By noon the _Agra's_ deck was thirty feet from the sand. The rescued +ones wanted to break their legs and necks, but Dodd would not permit +even that. He superintended the whole manoeuvre, and lowered, first the +dead, then the living, not omitting the poor goat, who was motionless +and limp with fright. + +When they were all safe on the sand, Dodd stood alone upon the poop a +minute, cheered by all the sailors, French and English, ashore, then +slid down a rope and rejoined his companions. + +To their infinite surprise, the undaunted one was found to be +snivelling. + +“Oh, dear! what is the matter?” said Mrs. Beresford tenderly. + +“The poor _Agra_, ma'am! She was such a beautiful sea-boat: and just +look at her now! Never sail again: never! never! She was a little crank +in beating, I can't deny it; but how she did fly with the wind abaft. +She sank a pirate in the straits, and weathered a hurricane off the +Mauritius; and after all for a lubber to go and lay her bones ashore in +a fair wind: poor dear beauty!” + +He maundered thus, and kept turning back to look at the wreck, till he +happened to lay his hand on his breast He stopped in the middle of his +ridiculous lament wore a look of self-reproach, and cast his eyes upward +in heartfelt gratitude. + +The companions of so many adventures dispersed. + +A hospitable mayoress entertained Mrs. Beresford and suite; and she took +to her bed, for she fell seriously ill as soon as ever she could do it +with impunity. + +Colonel Kenealy went off to Paris: “I'll gain that, any way, by being +wrecked,” said he. + +If there be a lover of quadrupeds here, let him know that Billy's +weakness proved his strength. Being brandied by a good-natured French +sailor, he winked his eye; being brandied greatly, he staggered up and +butted his benefactor like a man. + +Fullalove had dry clothes and a blazing fire ready for Dodd at a little +rude auberge. He sat over it and dried a few bank-notes he had loose +about him, and examined his greater treasure, his children's. The +pocket-book was much stained, but no harm whatever done to the contents. + +In the midst of this employment the shadow of an enormous head was +projected right upon his treasure. + +Turning with a start, he saw a face at the window: one of those vile +mugs which are found to perfection amongst the _canaille_ of the French +nation--bloated, blear-eyed, grizzly, and wild-beast like. The ugly +thing, on being confronted, passed slowly out of the sun, and Dodd +thought no more of it. + +The owner of this sinister visage was Andre Thibout, of whom it might be +said, like face like life; for he was one of those ill-omened creatures +who feed upon the misfortunes of their kind, and stand on shore in foul +weather hoping the worst, instead of praying for the best: briefly, a +wrecker. He and his comrade, Jacques Moinard, had heard the _Agra's_ gun +fired, and came down to batten on the wreck: but ho! at the turn of +the tide, there were gensdarmes and soldiers lining the beach, and the +Bayonet interposed between Theft and Misfortune. So now the desperate +pair were prowling about like hungry, baffled wolves, curses on their +lips and rage at their hearts. + + +Dodd was extremely anxious to get to Barkington before the news of the +wreck; for otherwise he knew his wife and children would suffer a year's +agony in a single day. The only chance he saw was to get to Boulogne in +time to catch the _Nancy_ sailing packet; for it was her day. But then +Boulogne was eight leagues distant, and there was no public conveyance +going. Fullalove, entering heartily into his feelings, was gone to look +for horses to hire, aided by the British Consul. The black hero was +upstairs clearing out with a pin two holes that had fallen into decay +for want of use. These holes were in his ears. + +And now, worn out by anxiety and hard work, Dodd began to nod in his +chair by the fire. + +He had not been long asleep when the hideous face of Thibout reappeared +at the window and watched him. Presently a low whistle was uttered +outside, and soon the two ruffians entered the room, and, finding the +landlady there as well as Dodd, called for a little glass apiece of +absinthe. While drinking it, they cast furtive glances towards Dodd, and +waited till she should go about her business, and leave them alone with +him. + +But the good woman surmised their looks, and knowing the character of +the men, poured out a cup of coffee from a great metal reservoir by the +fire, and waked Dodd without ceremony: “Voici votre cafe, Monsieur!” + making believe he had ordered it. + +“Merci, Madame!” replied he, for his wife had taught him a little +French. + +“One may sleep _mal a propos,_” muttered the woman in his ear. “My man +is at the fair, and there are people here who are not worth any great +things.” + +Dodd rubbed his eyes and saw those two foul faces at the end of the +kitchen: for such it was, though called _salle a manger._ “Humph!” said +he; and instinctively buttoned his coat. + +At that Thibout touched Moinard's knee under the table. + +Fullalove came in soon after to say he had got two horses, and they +would be here in a quarter of an hour. + +“Well, but Vespasian? how is he to go?” inquired Dodd. + +“Oh, we'll send him on ahead, and then ride and tie.” + +“No, no,” said Dodd, “I'll go ahead. That will shake me up. I think I +should tumble off a horse; I'm so dead sleepy.” + +Accordingly he started to walk on the road to Boulogne. + + +He had not been gone three minutes when Moinard sauntered out. + +Moinard had not been gone two minutes when Thibout strolled out. + +Moinard kept Dodd in sight and Thibout kept Moinard. + + +The horses were brought soon after, but unfortunately the pair did not +start immediately, though, had they known it, every moment was precious. +They wasted time in argument. Vespasian had come down with a diamond +ring in one ear, and a ruby in the other. Fullalove saw this retrograde +step, and said grimly, “Have you washed but half your face, or is this a +return to savagery?” + +Vespasian wore an air of offended dignity. “No, sar; these yar +decorations come off a lady ob i cibilisation: Missy Beresford donated +'em me. Says she, 'Massah Black'--yah! yah! She always nick-nominates +dis child Massa Black--'while I was praying Goramighty for self and +pickaninny, I seen you out of one corner of my eye admirationing my +rings; den just you take 'em,' says dat ar aristocracy: 'for I don't +admirationise 'em none: I've been shipwrecked.' So I took 'em wid +incredible condescension; and dat ar beautiful lady says to me, 'Oh, get +along wid your nonsense about coloured skins! I have inspectionated your +conduct, Massa Black, and likewise your performances on the slack rope,' +says she, 'in time of shipwreck: and darn me,' says she, 'but you are a +man, you are.' 'No, Missy,' says I superciliously, 'dis child am not a +man, if you please, but a coloured gemman.'” He added, he had put them +in his ears because the biggest would not go on his little finger. + +Fullalove groaned. “And of course, the next thing, you'll ring +your snout like a pig or a Patagonian. There, come along, ye +darn'd--Anomaly.” + +He was going to say “Cuss,” but remembering his pupil's late heroic +conduct, softened it down to Anomaly. + +But Vespasian always measured the force of words by their length or +obscurity. “Anomaly” cut him to the heart: he rode off in moody silence +and dejection, asking himself sorrowfully what he had done that such a +mountain of vituperation should fall on him. “Anomaly!!” + +They cantered along in silence; for Fullalove was digesting this new +trait in his pupil, and asking himself could he train it out, or must he +cross it out. Just outside the town they met Captain Robarts walking in; +he had landed three miles off down the coast. “Hallo!” said Fullalove. + +“I suppose you thought I was drowned?” said Robarts spitefully; “but you +see I'm alive still.” + +Fullalove replied, “Well, captain, that is only one mistake more you've +made, I reckon.” + +About two English miles from the town they came to a long straight slope +up and down, where they could see a league before them; and there they +caught sight of David Dodd's tall figure mounting the opposite rise. + +Behind him at some little distance were two men going the same way, but +on the grass by the roadside, whereas David was on the middle of the +road. + +“He walks well for Jacky Tar,” said Fullalove. + +“Iss, sar,” said Vespasian sulkily; “but dis 'Analogy' tink he not walk +so fast as those two behind him, cos they catch him up.” + +Now Vespasian had hardly uttered these words when a thing occurred, +so sudden and alarming, that the speaker's eyes protruded, and he was +dumfounded a moment; the next a loud cry burst from both him and his +companion at once, and they lashed their horses to the gallop and went +tearing down the hill in a fury of rage and apprehension. + + +Mr. Fullalove was right, I think: a sailor is seldom a smart walker; but +Dodd was a cricketer, you know, as well. He swung along at a good +pace and in high spirits. He had lost nothing but a few clothes, and a +quadrant, and a chronometer; it was a cheap wreck to him, and a joyful +one: for peril past is present delight. He had saved his life, and what +he valued more, his children's money. Never was that dear companion of +his perils so precious to him as now. One might almost fancy that, by +some strange sympathy, he felt the immediate happiness of his daughter +depended on it. Many in my day believe that human minds can thus +communicate, overleaping material distances. Not knowing, I can't say. +However, no such solution is really needed here. All the members of +a united and loving family feel together and work together--without +specific concert--though hemispheres lie between: it is one of the +beautiful traits of true family affection. Now the Dodds, father, +mother, sister, brother, were more one in heart and love than any other +family I ever saw: woe to them if they had not. + +David, then, walked towards Boulogne that afternoon a happy man. Already +he tasted by anticipation the warm caresses of his wife and children, +and saw himself seated at the hearth, with those beloved ones clustering +close round him. How would he tell them Its adventures--Its dangers from +pirates--Its loss at sea--Its recovery--Its wreck--Its coming ashore dry +as a bone; and conclude by taking It out of his bosom and dropping It in +his wife's lap with “Cheer, boys, cheer!” + +Trudging on in this delightful reverie, his ear detected a pitpat at +some distance behind him: he looked round with very slight curiosity +and saw two men coming up. Even in that hasty glance he recognised the +foulface of Andre Tiribout, a face not to be forgotten in a day. I don't +know how it was, but he saw in a moment that face was after him to rob +him, and he naturally enough concluded It was their object. + +And he was without a weapon, and they were doubtless armed. Indeed, +Thibout was swinging a heavy cudgel. + +Poor Dodd's mind went into a whirl and his body into a cold sweat. In +such moments men live a year. To gain a little time he walked swiftly +on, pretending not to have noticed them: but oh! his eyes roved wildly +to each side of the road for a chance of escape. He saw none. To his +right was a precipitous rock; to his left a profound ravine with a +torrent below, and the sides scantily clothed with fir-trees and bushes: +he was, in fact, near the top of a long rising ground called _“La +Mauvaise Cote,_” on account of a murder committed there two hundred +years ago. + +Presently he heard the men close behind him. At the same moment he saw +at the side of the ravine a flint stone about the size of two fists: +he made but three swift strides, snatched it up, and turned to meet the +robbers, drawing himself up high, and showing fight in every inch. + +The men were upon him. His change of attitude was so sudden and fiery +that they recoiled a step. But it was only for a moment: they had gone +too far to retreat; they divided, and Thibout attacked him on his left +with uplifted cudgel, and Moinard on his right with a long glittering +knife. The latter, to guard his head from the stone, whipped off his hat +and held it before his head: but Dodd was what is called “left handed:” + “ambidexter” would be nearer the mark (he carved and wrote with his +right hand, heaved weights and flung cricket-balls with his left). +He stepped forward, flung the stone in Thibout's face with perfect +precision, and that bitter impetus a good thrower lends at the moment +of delivery, and almost at the same moment shot out his right hand and +caught Moinard by the throat. Sharper and fiercer collision was never +seen than of these three. + +Thibout's face crashed; his blood squirted all round the stone, and +eight yards off lay that assailant on his back. + +Moinard was more fortunate: he got two inches of his knife into Dodd's +left shoulder, at the very moment Dodd caught him in his right-hand +vice. And now one vengeful hand of iron grasped him felly by the throat; +another seized his knife arm and twisted it back like a child's. He +kicked and struggled furiously, but in half a minute the mighty English +arm and iron fingers held the limp body of Jacques Moinard with its +knees knocking, temples bursting, throat relaxed, eyes protruding, and +livid tongue lolling down to his chin. A few seconds more, and, with the +same stalwart arm that kept his relaxed and sinking body from falling, +Dodd gave him one fierce whirl round to the edge of the road, then put a +foot to his middle, and spurned his carcase with amazing force and fury +down the precipice. Crunch! crunch! it plunged from tree to tree, from +bush to bush, and at last rolled into a thick bramble, and there stuck +in the form of a crescent But Dodd had no sooner sent him headlong by +that mighty effort, than his own sight darkened, his head swam, and, +after staggering a little way, he sank down in a state bordering on +insensibility. Meantime Fullalove and Vespasian were galloping down the +opposite hill to his rescue. + +Unfortunately, Andre Thibout was not dead, nor even mortally wounded. He +was struck on the nose and mouth; that nose was flat for the rest of his +life, and half of his front teeth were battered out of their sockets, +but he fell, not from the brain being stunned, but the body driven to +earth by the mere physical force of so momentous a blow, knocked down +like a ninepin. He now sat up bewildered, and found himself in a pool of +blood, his own. He had little sensation of pain, but he put his hand to +his face, and found scarce a trace of his features, and his hand came +away gory. He groaned. + +Rising to his feet, he saw Dodd sitting at some distance; his first +impulse was to fly from so terrible an antagonist, but, as he made for +the ravine, he observed that Dodd was in a helpless condition, wounded +perhaps by Moinard. And where was Moinard? + +Nothing visible of him but his knife: that lay glittering in the road. + +Thibout with anxious eye turned towards Dodd, kneeled to pick it up, +and in the act a drop of his own blood fell on the dust beside it. He +snarled like a wounded tiger, spat out half-a-dozen teeth, and crept on +tiptoe to his safe revenge. + +Awake from your lethargy or you are a dead man! + +No! Thibout got to him unperceived, and the knife glittered over his +head. + +At this moment the air seemed to fill with clattering hoofs and voices, +and a pistol-shot rang. Dodd heard and started, and so saw his peril. +He put up his left hand to parry the blow, but feebly. Luckily for him +Thibout's eyes were now turned another way, and glaring with stupid +terror out of his mutilated visage: a gigantic mounted fiend, with black +face and white gleaming, rolling eyes was coming at him like the wind, +uttering horrid howls. Thibout launched himself at the precipice with +a shriek of dismay, and went rolling after his comrade; but ere he had +gone ten yards he fell across a young larch-tree and hung balanced. Up +came the foaming horses: Fullalove dismounted hastily and fired three +deliberate shots down at Thibout from his revolver. He rolled off, and +never stopped again till he splashed into the torrent, and lay there +staining it with blood from his battered face and perforated shoulder. + +Vespasian jumped off, and with glistening eyes administered some good +brandy to Dodd. He, unconscious of his wound, a slight one, relieved +their anxiety by assuring them somewhat faintly he was not hurt, but +that, ever since that “tap on the head” he got in the Straits of Gaspar, +any angry excitement told on him, made his head swim, and his temples +seem to swell from the inside. + +“I should have come off second-best but for you, my dear friends. Shake +hands over it, do! O, Lord bless you! Lord bless you both. As for you, +Vespasian, I do think you are my guardian angel. Why, this is the second +time you've saved my life. No, it isn't: for it's the third.” + +“Now you git along, Massa Cap'n,” said Vespasian. “You berry good man, +ridicalous good man; and dis child ar'nt no gardening angel at all; +he ar a darned Anatomy” (with such a look of offended dignity at +Fullalove). + +After examining the field of battle and comparing notes, they mounted +Dodd on Vespasian's horse, and walked quietly till Dodd's head got +better; and then they cantered on three abreast, Vespasian in the middle +with one sinewy hand on each horse's mane; and such was his muscular +power, that he often relieved his feet by lifting himself clean into +the air, and the rest of the time his toe but touched the ground, and he +sailed like an ostrich and grinned and chattered like a monkey. + +Sad to relate, neither Thibout nor Moinard was ended. The guillotine +stood on its rights. Meantime, what was left of them crawled back to the +town stiff and sore, and supped together--Moinard on liquids only--and +vowed revenge on all wrecked people. + +The three reached Boulogne in time for the _Nancy,_ and put Dodd on +board: the pair decided to go to the Yankee Paradise--Paris. + +They parted with regret and tenderly, like old tried friends; and +Vespasian told Dodd, with tears in his eyes, that though he was in point +of fact only a darned Anemo, he felt like a coloured gemman at parting +from his dear old Captain. + +The master of the _Nancy_ knew Dodd well, and gave him a nice cot to +sleep in. He tumbled in with a bad headache and quite worn out, and +never woke for fifteen hours. + +And when he did wake, he was safe at Barkington. + +He and It landed on the quay. He made for home. + +On the way he passed Hardie's bank, a firm synonymous in his mind with +the Bank of England. + +A thrill of joy went through him. Now it _was_ safe. When he first sewed +It on in China, It seemed secure nowhere except on his own person. +But since then, the manifold perils by sea and land It had encountered +through being on him, had caused a strong reaction in his mind on +that point. He longed to see It safe out of his own hands and in good +custody. + +He made for Hardie's door with a joyful rush, waved his cap over his +head in triumph, and entered the bank with It. + +Ah! + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +CHRONOLOGY.--The Hard Cash sailed from Canton months before the boat +race at Henley recorded in Chapter I., but it landed in Barkington a +fortnight after the last home event I recorded in its true series. + +Now this fortnight, as it happens, was fruitful of incidents, and must +be dealt with at once. After that, “Love” and “Cash,” the converging +branches of this story, will flow together in one stream. + + +Alfred Hardie kept faith with Mrs. Dodd, and, by an effort she +appreciated, forbore to express his love for Julia except by the pen. He +took in Lloyd's shipping news, and got it down by rail, in hopes there +would be something about the _Agra;_ then he could call at Albion Villa. +Mrs. Dodd had given him that loophole: meantime he kept moping for an +invitation, which never came. + +Julia was now comparatively happy, and so indeed was Alfred; but +then the male of our species likes to be superlatively happy, not +comparatively; and that Mrs. Dodd forgot or perhaps had not observed. + +One day Sampson was at Albion Villa, and Alfred knew it. Now, though +it was a point of honour with poor Alfred not to hang about after Julia +until her father's return, he had a perfect right to lay in wait for +Sampson and hear something about her; and he was so deep in love that +even a word at second-hand from her lips was a drop of dew to his heart. + +So he strolled up towards the villa. He had nearly reached it, when +a woman ran past him making the most extraordinary sounds: I can only +describe it as screaming under her breath. Though he only saw her back, +he recognised Mrs. Maxley. One back differeth from another, whatever +you may have been told to the contrary in novels and plays. He called +to her: she took no notice, and darted wildly through the gate of Albion +Villa. Alfred's curiosity was excited, and he ventured to put his head +over the gate. But Mrs. Maxley had disappeared. + +Alfred had half a mind to go in and inquire if anything was the matter: +it would be a good excuse. + +While he hesitated, the dining-room window was thrown violently up, and +Sampson looked out. “Hy! Hardie! my good fellow! for Heaven's sake a +fly, and a fast one!” + +It was plain something very serious had occurred: so Alfred flew towards +the nearest fly-stand. On the way, he fell in with a chance fly drawn up +at a public-house; he jumped on the box and drove rapidly towards Albion +Villa. Sampson was hobbling to meet him--he had sprained his ankle or +would not have asked for a conveyance--to save time he got up beside +Alfred, and told him to drive hard to Little Friar Street. On the way he +explained hurriedly: Mrs. Maxley had burst in on him at Albion Villa to +say her husband was dying in torment: and indeed the symptoms she +gave were alarming, and, if correct, looked very like lockjaw. But her +description had been cut short by a severe attack, which choked her and +turned her speechless and motionless, and white to the very lips. + +“'Oho,' sis I, 'brist-pang!' And at such a time, ye know. But these +women are as unseasonable as they are unreasonable. Now, angina pictoris +or brist-pang is not curable through the lungs, nor the stomick, nor the +liver, nor the stays, nor the saucepan, as the bunglintinkerindox of the +schools pretind, but only through that mighty mainspring the Brain; and +instid of going meandering to the Brain round by the stomick, and so +giving the wumman lots o' time to die first, which is the scholastic +practice, I wint at the Brain direct, took a puff o' chlorofm put m' arm +round her neck, laid her back in a chair--she didn't struggle, for, when +this disorrder grips ye, ye cant move hand nor foot--and had my lady +into the land of Nod in half a minute; thin off t' her husband; so +here's th' Healer between two stools--spare the whipcord, spoil the +knacker!--it would be a good joke if I was to lose both pashints for +want of a little unbeequity, wouldn't it--Lash the lazy vagabin!--Not +that I care: what interest have I in their lives? they never pay: but ye +see custom's second nature; an d'Ive formed a vile habit; I've got to +be a Healer among the killers: an d'a Triton among--the millers. Here we +are at last, Hiven be praised.” And he hopped into the house faster than +most people can run on a good errand. Alfred flung the reins to a cad +and followed him. + +The room was nearly full of terrified neighbours: Sampson shouldered +them all roughly out of his way, and there, on a bed, lay Maxley's gaunt +figure in agony. + +His body was drawn up by the middle into an arch, and nothing touched +the bed but the head and the heels; the toes were turned back in the +most extraordinary contortion, and the teeth set by the rigour of the +convulsion, and in the man's white face and fixed eyes were the horror +and anxiety, that so often show themselves when the body feels itself in +the grip of Death. + +Mr. Osmond the surgeon was there; he had applied a succession of hot +cloths to the pit of the stomach, and was trying to get laudanum down +the throat, but the clenched teeth were impassable. + +He now looked up and said politely, “Ah! Dr. Sampson, I am glad to +see you here. The seizure is of a cataleptic nature, I apprehend. The +treatment hitherto has been hot epithems to the abdomen, and----” + +Here Sampson, who had examined the patient keenly, and paid no +more attention to Osmond than to a fly buzzing, interrupted him as +unceremoniously-- + +“Poisoned,” said he philosophically. + +“Poisoned!!” screamed the people. + +“Poisoned!” cried Mr. Osmond, in whose little list of stereotyped +maladies poisoned had no place. “Is there any one you have reason to +suspect?” + +“I don't suspect, nor conject, sir: I know. The man is poisoned, the +substance strychnine. Now stand out of the way you gaping gabies, and +let me work. Hy, young Oxford! you are a man: get behind and hold both +his arms for your life! That's you!” + +He whipped off his coat laid hold of Osmond's epithems, chucked them +across the room, saying, “You may just as well squirt rose-water at a +house on fire;” drenched his handkerchief with chloroform, sprang upon +the patient like a mountain cat and chloroformed him with all his might. + +Attacked so skilfully and resolutely, Maxley resisted little for so +strong a man; but the potent poison within fought virulently: as a +proof, the chloroform had to be renewed three times before it could +produce any effect. At last the patient yielded to the fumes and became +insensible. + +Then the arched body subsided and the rigid muscles relaxed and turned +supple. Sampson kneaded the man like dough by way of comment. + +“It is really very extraordinary,” said Osmond. + +“Mai--dearr--sirr, nothing's extraornary t' a man that knows the reason +of iverything.” + +He then inquired if any one in the room had noticed at what intervals of +time the pains came on. + +“I am sorry to say it is continuous,” said Osmond. + +“Mai--dearr--sirr, nothing on airth is continuous: iverything has +paroxysms and remissions--from a toothache t' a cancer.” + +He repeated his query in various forms, till at last a little girl +squeaked out, “If--_you_---please, sir, the throes do come about every +ten minutes, for I was a looking at the clock; I carries father his +dinner at twelve.” + +“If you please, ma'am, there's half a guinea for you for not being such +an' ijjit as the rest of the world, especially the Dockers.” And he +jerked her half a sovereign. + +A stupor fell on the assembly. They awoke from it to examine the coin, +and see if it was real, or only yellow air. + +Maxley came to and gave a sigh of relief. When he had been insensible, +yet out of pain, nearly eight minutes by the clock, Sampson chloroformed +him again. “I'll puzzle ye, my friend strych,” said he. “How will ye get +your perriodical paroxysms when the man is insensible? The Dox say y' +act direct on the spinal marrow. Well, there's the spinal marrow where +you found it just now. Act on it again, my lad! I give ye leave--if ye +can. Ye can't; bekase ye must pass through the Brain to get there: and +I occupy the Brain with a swifter ajint than y' are, and mean to keep y' +out of it till your power to kill evaporates, being a vigitable.” + +With this his spirits mounted, and he indulged in a harmless and +favourite fiction: he feigned the company were all males and medical +students, Osmond included, and he the lecturer. “Now, jintlemen,” said +he, “obsairve the great Therey of the Perriodeecity and Remitteney +of all disease, in conjunckshin with its practice. All diseases have +paroxysms and remissions, which occur at intervals; sometimes it's a +year, sometimes a day, an hour, ten minutes; but whatever th' interval, +they are true to it: they keep time. Only when the disease is retirin, +the remissions become longer, the paroxysms return at a greater +interval, and just the revairse when the pashint is to die. This, +jintlemen, is man's life from the womb to the grave: the throes that +precede his birth are remittent like ivery thing else, but come at +diminished intervals when he has really made up his mind to be born (his +first mistake, sirs, but not his last); and the paroxysms of his mortal +disease come at shorter intervals when he is really goon off the hooks: +but still chronometrically; just as watches keep time whether they go +fast or slow. Now, jintlemen, isn't this a beautiful Therey?” + +“Oh, mercy! Oh, good people help me! Oh, Jesus Christ have pity on me!” + And the sufferer's body was bent like a bow, and his eyes filled with +horror, and his toes pointed at his chin. + +The Doctor hurled himself on the foe. “Come,” said he, “smell to this, +lad! That's right! He is better already, jintlemen, or he couldn't howl, +ye know. Deevil a howl in um before I gave um puff chlorofm. Ah! would +ye? would ye?” + +“Oh! oh! oh! oh! ugh!----ah!” + +The Doctor got off the insensible body, and resumed his lecture calmly, +like one who has disposed of some childish interruption. “And now to +th' application of the Therey: If the poison can reduce the tin minutes' +interval to five minutes, this pashint will die; and if I can get the +tin minutes up t' half hour, this pashint will live. Any way, jintlemen, +we won't detain y' unreasonably: the case shall be at an end by one +o'clock.” + +On hearing this considerate stipulation, up went three women's aprons to +their eyes. + +“Alack! poor James Maxley! he is at his last hour: it be just gone +twelve, and a dies at one.” + +Sampson turned on the weepers. “Who says that, y' ijjits? I said the +case would end at one: a case ends when the pashint gets well or dies.” + +“Oh, that is good news for poor Susan Maxley; her man is to be well by +one o'clock, Doctor says.” + +Sampson groaned, and gave in. He was strong, but not strong enough to +make the populance suspend an opinion. + +Yet, methinks it might be done: by chloroforming them. + +The spasms came at longer intervals and less violent, and Maxley got so +fond of the essence of Insensibility, that he asked to have some in his +own hand to apply at the first warning of the horrible pains. + +Sampson said, “Any fool can complete the cure;” and, by way of practical +comment, left him in Mr. Osmond's charge; but with an understanding that +the treatment should not be varied; that no laudanum should be given; +but, in due course, a stiff tumbler of brandy and water, or two. “If +he gets drunk, all the better; a little intoxication weakens the body's +memory of the pain it has endured, and so expedites the cure. Now off we +go to th' other.” + +“The body's memory!” said Mr. Osmond to himself: “what on earth does the +quack mean?” + +The driver _de jure_ of the fly was not quite drunk enough to lose his +horse and vehicle without missing them. He was on the look out for the +robber, and as Alfred came round the corner full pelt, darted at the +reins with a husky remonstrance, and Alfred cut into him with the whip: +an angry explanation--a guinea--and behold the driver sitting behind +complacent and nodding. + +Arrived at Albion Villa, Alfred asked Sampson submissively if he might +come in and see the wife cured. + +“Why, of course,” said Sampson, not knowing the delicate position. + +“Then ask me in before Mrs. Dodd,” murmured Alfred coaxingly. + +“Oo, ay,” said the Doctor knowingly: “I see.” + +Mrs. Maxley was in the dining-room: she had got well of herself, but +was crying bitterly, and the ladies would not let her go home yet; they +feared the worst and that some one would blurt it out to her. + +To this anxious trio entered Sampson radiant. “There, it's all right. +Come, little Maxley, ye needn't cry; he has got lots more mischief to do +in the world yet; but, O wumman, it is lucky you came to me and not to +any of the tinkering dox. No more cat and dog for you and him but for +the Chronothairmal Therey. And you may bless my puppy's four bones too: +he ran and stole a fly like a man, and drove hilter-skilter. Now, if I +had got to your house two minutes later, your Jamie would have lairned +the great secret ere this.” He threw up the window. “Haw you! come away +and receive the applause due from beauty t' ajeelity.” + +Alfred came in timidly, and was received with perfect benignity and +self-possession by Mrs. Dodd, but Julia's face was dyed with blushes, +and her eyes sparkled the eloquent praise she was ashamed to speak +before them all. But such a face as her scarce needed the help of a +voice at such a time. And indeed both the lovers' faces were a pretty +sight and a study. How they stole loving glances, but tried to keep +within bounds, and not steal more than three per minute! and how +unconscious they endeavoured to look the intervening seconds! and what +windows were the demure complacent visages they thought they were +making shutters of! Innocent love has at least this advantage over +melodramatic, that it can extract exquisite sweetness out of so small +a thing. These sweethearts were not alone, could not open their hearts, +must not even gaze too long; yet to be in the same room even on such +terms was a taste of Heaven. + +“But, dear heart!” said Mrs. Maxley, “ye don't tell me what he ailed. +Ma'am, if you had seen him you would have said he was taken for death.” + +“Pray what _is_ the complaint?” inquired Mrs. Dodd. + +“Oh, didn't I tell ye? Poisoned.” + +This intelligence was conveyed with true scientific calmness, and +received with feminine ejaculations of horror. Mrs. Maxley was indignant +into the bargain: “Don't ye go giving my house an ill name! We keeps no +poison.” + +Sampson fixed his eyes sternly on her: “Wumman, ye know better: ye keep +strychnine, for th' use and delectation of your domestic animal.” + +“Strychnine! I never heard tell of it. Is that Latin for arsenic?” + +“Now isn't this lamentable? Why, arsenic is a mital; strychnine a +vigitable. N'hist me! Your man was here seeking strychnine to poison +his mouse; a harmless, domistic, necessary mouse. I told him mice were a +part of Nature as much as Maxleys, and life as sweet tit as tim: but he +was dif to scientific and chrisehin preceps; so I told him to go to the +Deevil: 'I will,' sis he, and went t' a docker. The two assassins have +poisoned the poor beastie between 'em; and thin, been the greatest miser +in the world, except one, he will have roasted his victim, and ate her +on the sly, imprignated with strychnine. 'I'll steal a march on t'other +miser,' sis he; and that's you: t' his brain flew the strychnine: his +brain sint it to his spinal marrow: and we found my lorrd bent like a +bow, and his jaw locked, and nearer knowin the great secret than any man +in England will be this year to live: and sairves the assassinating old +vagabin right.” + +“Heaven forgive you, Doctor,” said Mrs. Maxley, half mechanically. + +“For curin a murrderer? Not likely.” + +Mrs. Maxley, who had shown signs of singular uneasiness during Sampson's +explanation, now rose, and said in a very peculiar tone she must go home +directly. + +Mrs. Dodd seemed to enter into her feelings, and made her go in the fly, +taking care to pay the fare and the driver out of her own purse. As +the woman got into the fly, Sampson gave her a piece of friendly and +practical advice. “Nixt time he has a mind to breakfast on strychnine, +you tell me; and I'll put a pinch of arsenic in the salt-cellar, and +cure him safe as the bank. But this time he'd have been did and stiff +long before such a slow ajint as arsenic could get a hold on um.” + + +They sat down to luncheon, but neither Alfred nor Julia fed much, except +upon sweet stolen looks; and soon the active Sampson jumped up, and +invited Alfred to go round his patients. Alfred could not decline, but +made his adieux with regret so tender and undisguised, that Julia's +sweet eyes filled, and her soft hand instinctively pressed his at +parting to console him. She blushed at herself afterwards, but at the +time she was thinking only of him. + +Maxley and his wife came up in the evening with a fee. They had put +their heads together, and proffered one guinea. “Man and wife be one +flesh, you know, Doctor,” said the rustic miser. + +Sampson, whose natural choler was constantly checked by his humour, +declined this profuse proposal. “Here's vanity!” said he. “Now do you +really think your two lives are worth a guinea? Why, it's 252 pence! +1008 farthings!” + +The pair affected disappointment--vilely. + +At all events, he must accept this basket of gudgeons Maxley had brought +along. Being poisoned was quite out of Maxley's daily routine, and had +so unsettled him, that he had got up, and gone fishing--to the amazement +of the parish. + +Sampson inspected the basket. “Why, they are only fish,” said he; +_“I was in hopes they were pashints._” He accepted the gudgeons, and +inquired how Maxley got poisoned. It came out that Mrs. Maxley, seeing +her husband set apart a portion of his Welsh rabbit, had “grizzled,” and +asked what that was for; and being told “for the mouse,” and to “mind +her own business,” had grizzled still more, and furtively conveyed a +portion back into the pan for her master's own use. She had been +quaking dismally all the afternoon at what she had done, but finding +Maxley--hard but just--did not attack her for an involuntary fault, she +now brazened it out, and said, “Men didn't ought to have poison in the +house unbeknown to their wives. Jem had got no more than he worked +for,” &c. But, like a woman, she vowed vengeance on the mouse: whereupon +Maxley threatened her with the marital correction of neck-twisting if +she laid a finger on it. + +“My eyes be open now to what a poor creature do feel as dies poisoned. +Let her a be: there's room in our place for her and we.” + +Next day he met Alfred, and thanked him with warmth, almost with +emotion. “There ain't many in Barkington as ever done me a good turn, +Master Alfred; you be one on 'em: you comes after the Captain in my book +now.” + +Alfred suggested that his claims were humble compared with Sampson's. + +“No, no,” said Maxley, going down to his whisper, and looking, monstrous +wise: “Doctor didn't go out of his business for me: you did.” + +The sage miser's gratitude had not time to die a natural death before +circumstances occurred to test it. On the morning of that eventful day +which concluded my last chapter, he received a letter from Canada. His +wife was out with eggs; so he caught little Rose Sutton, that had more +than once spelled an epistle for him; and she read it out in a loud +and reckless whine: “'At -- noon -- this -- very -- daie -- Muster +--Hardie's a-g-e-n-t, aguent -- d-i-s dis, h-o-n -- honour_ed_ +--dis-honour_ed_--a--bill; and sayed.'” Here she made a full stop. Then +on to the next verse. + +“'There -- were no -- more -- asses.'” + +“Mercy on us! but it can't be asses, wench: drive your spe-ad into't +again.” + +“'A-s-s-e-t-s. Assets.'” + +“Ah! Go an! go an!” + +“'Now -- Fatther -- if -- you -- leave -- a s-h-i-l-l-i-n-g, shilling +--at --Hardie's -- after -- this -- b-l-a-m-e, ble-am -- your -- self +--not-- me -- for -- this -- is -- the -- waie -- the r-o-g-u-e-s, +rogews -- all-- bre-ak -- they -- go -- at -- a-- d-i-s-t-a-n-c-e, +distance --first-- and -- then -- at -- h-o-m-e, whuoame. -- Dear -- +fatther' --Lawk o' daisy, what ails you, Daddy Maxley? You be as white +as a Sunday smock. Be you poisoned again, if _you_ please?” + +“Worse than that--worse!” groaned Maxhey, trembling all over. +“Hush!--hold your tongue! Give me that letter! Don't you never +tell nobody nothing of what you have been a reading to me, and +I'll--I'll--It's only Jem's fun: he is allus running his rigs--that's a +good wench now, and I'll give ye a halfpenny.” + +“La, Daddy,” said the child, opening her eyes, “I never heeds what I +_re-ads:_ I be wrapped up in the spelling. Dear heart, what a sight of +long words folks puts in a letter, more than ever drops out of their +mouths; which their fingers be longer than their tongues, I do suppose.” + +Maxley hailed thus information characteristically. “Then we'll say no +more about the halfpenny.” + +At this, Rose raised a lamentable cry, and pearly tears gushed forth. + +“There, there!” said Maxley, deprecatingly; “here's two apples for ye; +ye can't get them for less: and a halfpenny or a haporth is all one +to you, but it is a great odds to me. And apples they rot; halfpence +don't.” + +It was now nine o'clock. The bank did not open till ten; but Maxley went +and hung about the door, to be the first applicant. + +As he stood there trembling with fear lest the bank should not open at +all, he thought hard, and the result was a double resolution: he would +have his money out to the last shilling; and, this done, would button up +his pockets and padlock his tongue. It was not his business to take care +of his neighbours; nor to blow the Hardies, if they paid him his money +on demand. “So not a word to my missus, nor yet to the town-crier,” said +he. + +Ten o'clock struck, and the bank shutters remained up. Five minutes +more, and the watcher was in agony. Three minutes more, and up came +a boy of sixteen whistling, and took down the shutters with an +indifference that amazed him. “Bless your handsome face!” said Maxley +with a sigh of relief. + +He now summoned up all his firmness, and, having recourse to an art +in which these shrewd rustics are supreme, made his face quite +inexpressive, and so walked into the bank the every-day Maxley +externally, but within a volcano ready to burst if there should be the +slightest hesitation to pay him his money. + +“Good morning, Mr. Maxley,” said young Skinner. + +“Good morning, sir.” + +“What can we do for you?” + +“Oh, I'll wait my turn, sir.” + +“Well, it is your turn now, if you like.” + +“How much have you got of mine, if you please, sir?” + +“Your balance? I'll see. Nine hundred and four pounds.” + +“Well, sir, then, if _you_ please, I'll draa _that._” + +(“It has come!” thought Skinner.) “What, going to desert us?” he +stammered. + +“No,” said the other, trembling inwardly, but not moving a facial +muscle: “it is only for a day or two, sir.” + +“Ah! I see, going to make a purchase. By-the-bye, I believe Mr. Hardie +means to offer you some grounds he is buying outside the town: will that +suit your book?” + +“I dare say it will, sir.” + +“Then perhaps you will wait till our governor comes in?” + +“I have no objection.” + +“He won't be long. Fine weather for the gardens, Mr. Maxley.” + +“Moderate, sir. I'll take my money if you please. Counting it out, that +will help pass the time till Muster Hardie comes. You han't made away +with it?” + +“What d'ye mean, sir?” + +“Hardies bain't turned thieves, be they?” + +“Are you mad or intoxicated, Mr. Maxley?” + +'Neither, sir; but I wants my own, and I wool have it too: so count out +on this here counter, or I'll cry the town round that there door.” + +“Henry, score James Maxley's name off the books,” said Skinner with cool +dignity. But when he had said this, he was at his wits' end: there were +not nine hundred pounds of hard cash in the bank, nor anything like it. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +SKINNER--called “young” because he had once had a father on the +premises--was the mole-catcher. The feelings with which he had now for +some months watched his master grubbing were curiously mingled. There +was the grim sense of superiority every successful detective feels as he +sees the watched one working away unconscious of the eye that is on him; +but this was more than balanced by a long habit of obsequious reverence. +When A. has been looking up to B. for thirty years, he cannot look +down on him all of a sudden, merely because he catches him falsifying +accounts. Why, Man is a cooking animal: bankrupt Man especially. + +And then Richard Hardie overpowered Skinner's senses: he was Dignity in +person: he was six feet two, and always wore a black surtout buttoned +high, and a hat with a brim a little broader than his neighbours', yet +not broad enough to be eccentric or slang. He moved down the street +touching his hat--while other hats were lifted high to him--a walking +volume of cash. And when he took off this ebon crown and sat in the bank +parlour, he gained in appearance more than he lost; for then his whole +head was seen, long, calm, majestic: that senatorial front and furrowed +face overawed all comers. Even the little sharp-faced clerk would stand +and peep at it, utterly puzzled between what he knew and what he eyed: +nor could he look at that head and face without excusing them. What a +lot of money they must have sunk before they came down to fabricating a +balance-sheet! + +And by-and-bye custom somewhat blunted his sense of the dishonesty, and +he began to criticise the thing arithmetically instead of morally. That +view once admitted, he was charmed with the ability and subtlety of +his dignified sharper; and so the mole-catcher began gradually, but +effectually, to be corrupted by the mole. He who watches a dishonest +process and does not stop it, is half way towards conniving: who +connives, is half way towards abetting. + +The next thing was, Skinner felt mortified at his master not trusting +him. Did he think old Bob Skinner's son would blow on Hardie after all +these years? + +This rankled a little, and set him to console himself by admiring his +own cleverness in penetrating this great distrustful man. Now of all +sentiments, Vanity is the most restless and the surest to peep out. +Skinner was no sooner inflated than his demure obsequious manner +underwent a certain change: slight and occasional only; but Hardie was +a subtle man, and the perilous path he was treading made him wonderfully +watchful, suspicious, and sagacious. He said to himself, “What has come +to Skinner? I must know.” So he quietly watched his watcher; and soon +satisfied himself he suspected something amiss. From that hour Skinner +was a doomed clerk. + + +It was two o'clock: Hardie had just arrived, and sat in the parlour, +Cato-like, and cooking. + +Skinner was in high spirits: it was owing to his presence of mind +the bank had not been broken some hours ago by Maxley. So now, while +concluding his work, he was enjoying by anticipation his employer's +gratitude. “He can't hold aloof after this,” said Skinner; “he must +honour me with his confidence. And I will deserve it. I do deserve it.” + +A grave, calm, passionless voice invited him into the parlour. + +He descended from his desk and went in, swelling with demure +complacency. + +He found Mr. Hardie seated garbling his accounts with surpassing +dignity. The great man handed him an envelope, and cooked majestic on. A +wave of that imperial hand, and Skinner had mingled with the past. + +For know that the envelope contained three things: a cheque for a +month's wages; a character; and a dismissal, very polite and equally +peremptory. + +Skinner stood paralysed: the complacency died out of his face, and +rueful wonder came instead. It was some time before he could utter a +word: at last he faltered, “Turn me away, sir? turn away Noah Skinner? +Your father would never have said such a word to _my_ father.” Skinner +uttered this his first remonstrance in a voice trembling with awe, but +gathered courage when he found he had done it, yet lived. + +Mr. Hardie evaded his expostulation by a very simple means: he made no +reply, but continued his work, dignified as Brutus, inexorable as Fate, +cool as Cucumber. + +Skinner's anger began to rise, he watched Mr. Hardie in silence, and +said to himself, “Curse you! you were born without a heart!” + +He waited, however, for some sign of relenting, and, hoping for it the +water came into his own eyes. But Hardie was impassive as ice. + +Then the little clerk, mortified to the core as well as wounded, ground +his teeth and drew a little nearer to this incarnate Arithmetic, and +said with an excess of obsequiousness, “Will you condescend to give me a +reason for turning me away all in a moment after five-and-thirty years' +faithful services?” + +“Men of business do not deal in reasons,” was the cool reply: “it is +enough for you that I give you an excellent character, and that we part +good friends.” + +“That we do not,” replied Skinner sharply: “if we stay together we are +friends; but we part enemies, if we do part.” + +“As you please, Mr. Skinner. I will detain you no longer.” + +And Mr. Hardie waved him away so grandly that he started and almost ran +to the door. When he felt the handle, it acted like a prop to his heart. +He stood firm, and rage supplied the place of steady courage. He clung +to the door, and whispered at his master--such a whisper: so loud, so +cutting, so full of meaning and malice; it was like a serpent hissing at +a man. + +“But I'll give _you_ a reason, a good reason, why you had better not +insult me so cruel: and what is more, I'll give you two: and one is that +but for me the bank must have closed this day at ten o'clock--ay, you +may stare; it was I saved it, not you--and the other is that, if you +make an enemy of me, you are done for. I know too much to be made an +enemy of, sir--a great deal too much.” + +At this Mr. Hardie raised his head from his book and eyed his crouching +venomous assailant full in the face, majestically, as one can fancy a +lion rearing his ponderous head, and looking lazily and steadily at a +snake that has just hissed in a corner. Each word of Skinner's was a +barbed icicle to him, yet not a muscle of his close countenance betrayed +his inward suffering. + +One thing, however, even he could not master: his blood; it retired from +that stoical cheek to the chilled and foreboding heart; and the sudden +pallor of the resolute face told Skinner his shafts had gone home. +“Come, sir,” said he, affecting to mingle good fellowship with his +defiance, “why bundle me off these premises, when you will be bundled +off them yourself before the week is out?” + +“You insolent scoundrel! Humph! Explain, Mr. Skinner.” + +“Ah! what, have I warmed your marble up a bit? Yes, I'll explain. The +bank is rotten, and can't last forty-eight hours.” + +“Oh, indeed! blighted in a day--by the dismissal of Mr. Noah Skinner. Do +not repeat that after you have been turned into the streets, or you will +be indicted: at present we are confidential. Anything more before you +quit the rotten bank?” + +“Yes, sir, plenty. I'll tell you your own history, past, present, and to +come. The road to riches is hard and rugged to the likes of me, but your +good father made it smooth and easy to you, sir. You had only to take +the money of a lot of fools that fancy they can't keep it themselves; +invest it in Consols and Exchequer bills, live on half the profits, put +by the rest, and roll in wealth. But this was too slow and too sure +for you: you must be Rothschild in a day; so you went into blind +speculation, and flung old Mr. Hardie's savings into a well. And now for +the last eight months you have been doctoring the ledger”--Hardie winced +just perceptibly--“You have put down our gains in white, our losses in +black, and so you keep feeding your pocket-book and empty our tills; +the pear will soon be ripe, and then you will let it drop, and into +the Bankruptcy Court we go. But, what you forget, fraudulent bankruptcy +isn't the turnpike way of trade: it is a broad road, but a crooked one: +skirts the prison wall, sir, and sights the herring-pond.” + +An agony went across Mr. Hardie's great face, and seemed to furrow as it +ran. + +“Not but what you are all right, sir,” resumed his little cat-like +tormentor, letting him go a little way, to nail him again by-and-bye: +“You have cooked the books in time: and Cocker was a fool to you. 'Twill +be all down in black and white. Great sacrifices: no reserve: creditors +take everything; dividend fourpence in the pound, furniture of house +and bank, Mrs. Hardie's portrait, and down to the coalscuttle. Bankrupt +saves nothing but his honour, and--the six thousand pounds or so he +has stitched into his old great-coat: hands his new one to the official +assignees, like an honest man.” + +Hardie uttered something between a growl and a moan. + +“Now comes the per contra: poor little despised Noah Skinner has kept +genuine books while you have been preparing false ones. I took the real +figures home every afternoon on loose leaves, and bound 'em: and +very curious they will read in court alongside of yours. I did it for +amusement o' nights: I'm so solitary, and so fond of figures. I must try +and turn them to profit; for I'm out of place now in my old age. Dearee +me! how curious that you should go and pick out me of all men to turn +into the street--like a dog--like a dog--like a dog.” + +Hardie turned his head away; and in that moment of humiliation and +abject fear, drank all the bitterness of moral death. + +His manhood urged him to defy Skinner and return to the straight path, +cost what it might. But how could he? His own books were all falsified. +He could place a true _total_ before his creditors by simply adding the +contents of his secret hoard to the assets of the Bank; but with this +true arithmetical result he could not square his books, except by +conjectural and fabricated details, which would be detected, and send +him to prison; for who would believe he was lying in figures only to get +back to the truth? No, he had entangled himself in his own fraud, and +was at the mercy of his servant. He took his line. “Skinner, it was your +interest to leave me whilst the bank stood; then you would have got a +place directly; but since you take umbrage at my dismissing you for your +own good, I must punish you--by keeping you.” + +“I am quite ready to stay and serve you, sir,” replied Skinner hastily +“and as for my angry words, think no more of them! It went to my heart +to be turned away at the very time you need me most.” + +(“Hypocritical rogue!” thought Hardie.) “That is true, Skinner,” said +he; “I do indeed need a faithful and sympathising servant, to advise, +support, and aid me. Ask yourself whether any man in England needs a +confidant more than I. It was bitter at first to be discovered even by +you: but now I am glad you know all; for I see I have undervalued your +ability as well as your zeal.” + +Thus Mr. Hardie bowed his pride to flatter Skinner, and soon saw by the +little fellow's heightened colour that this was the way to make him a +clerk of wax. + +The banker and his clerk were reconciled. Then the latter was invited to +commit himself by carrying on the culinary process in his own hand. He +trembled a little, but complied, and so became an accomplice. On this +his master took him into his confidence, and told him everything it was +impossible to hide from him. + +“And now, sir,” said Skinner, “let me tell you what I did for you this +morning. Then perhaps you won't wonder at my being so peppery. Maxley +_suspects:_ he came here and drew out every shilling. I was all in a +perspiration what to do. But I put a good face on, and----” + +Skinner then confided to his principal how he had evaded Maxley and +saved the Bank; and the stratagem seemed so incredible and droll, that +they both laughed over it long and loud. And in fact it turned out a +first-rate practical jest: cost two lives. + +While they were laughing, the young clerk looked in and said, “Captain +Dodd, to speak with you, sir!” + +“Captain Dodd!!!” And all Mr. Hardie's forced merriment died away, and +his face betrayed his vexation for once. “Did you go and tell him I was +here?” + +“Yes, sir: I had no orders; and he said you would be sure to see _him._” + +“Unfortunate! Well, you may show him in when I ring your bell.” + +The youngster being gone, Mr. Hardie explained to his new ally in a few +hurried words the danger that threatened him from Miss Julia Dodd. “And +now,” said he, “the women have sent her father to soften his. I shall +be told his girl will die if she can't have my boy, &c. As if I care who +lives or dies.” + +On this Skinner got up all in a hurry and offered to go into the office. + +“On no account,” said Mr. Hardie sharply. “I shall make my business with +you the excuse for cutting this love-nonsense mighty short. Take your +book to the desk, and seem buried in it.” + +He then touched the bell, and both confederates fell into an attitude: +never were a pair so bent over their little accounts--lies, like +themselves. + +Instead of the heart-broken father their comedy awaited, in came the +gallant sailor with a brown cheek reddened by triumph and excitement and +almost shouted in a genial jocund voice, “How d'ye do sir? It is a long +time since I came across your hawse.” And with this he held out his hand +cordially. Hardie gave his mechanically, and remained on his guard, but +somewhat puzzled. Dodd shook his cold hand heartily. “Well, sir, here +I am, just come ashore, and visiting you before my very wife; what d'ye +think of that?” + +“I am highly honoured, sir,” said Hardie: then, rather stiffly and +incredulously, “and to what may I owe this extraordinary preference? +Will you be good enough to state the purport of this visit--briefly--as +Mr. Skinner and I are much occupied?” + +“The purport? Why, what does one come to a banker about? I have got a +lot of money I want to get rid of.” + +Hardie stared, but was as much on his guard as ever; only more and more +puzzled. + +Then David winked at him with simple cunning, took out his knife, undid +his shirt, and began to cut the threads which bound the Cash to his +flannel. + +At this Skinner wheeled round on his stool to look, and both he and Mr. +Hardie inspected the unusual pantomime with demure curiosity. + +Dodd next removed the oilskin cover, and showed the pocket-book, brought +it down with a triumphant smack on the hollow of his hand, and, in the +pride of his heart, the joy of his bosom and the fever of his blood--for +there were two red spots on his cheek all the time--told the cold +pair Its adventures in a few glowing words: the Calcutta firm--the two +pirates--the hurricane--the wreck--the land-sharks--he had saved it +from. “And here It is, safe in spite of them all. But I won't carry It +on me any more: it is unlucky; so you must be so good as to take charge +of It for me, sir.” + +“Very well, Captain Dodd. You wish it placed to Mrs. Dodd's account, I +suppose?” + +“No! no! I have nothing to do with that: this is between you and me.” + +“As you please.” + +“Ye see it is a good lump, sir.” + +“Oh, indeed!” said Hardie a little sneeringly. + +“I call it a thundering lot o' money. But I suppose it is not much to +a rich banker like you.” Then he lowered his voice, and said with a +certain awe: “It's--fourteen--thousand pounds.” + +“Fourteen thousand pounds!!!” cried Hardie. Then with sudden and +consummate coolness, “Why, certainly an established bank like this deals +with more considerable deposits than that. Skinner, why don't you give +the Captain a chair?” + +“No! no!” said Dodd. “I'll heave-to till I get this off my mind, but I +won't anchor anywhere but at home.” He then opened the pocket-book and +spread the contents out before Mr. Hardie, who ran over the notes and +bills, and said the amount was L. 14,010, 12s. 6d. + +Dodd asked for a receipt. + +“Why, it is not usual when there is an account.” + +Dodd's countenance fell: “Oh, I should not like to part with it unless I +had a receipt.” + +“You mistake me,” said Hardie with a smile. “An entry in your banker's +book is a receipt. However, you can have one in another form.” He then +unlocked a desk, took out a banker's receipt; and told Skinner to +fill it in. This done, he seemed to be absorbed in some more important +matter. + +Skinner counted the notes and left them with Mr. Hardie; the bills he +took to his desk to note them on the back of the receipt. Whilst he was +writing this with his usual slowness and precision, poor Dodd's heart +overflowed. “It is my children's fortune, ye see: I don't look on +a sixpence of it as mine: that it is what made me so particular. It +belongs to my little Julia, bless her:--she is a rosebud if ever there +was one; and oh! such a heart; and so fond of her poor father; but not +fonder than he is of her--and to my dear boy Edward; he is the honestest +young chap you ever saw: what he says, you may swear to with your eyes +shut. But how could they miss either good looks or good hearts, and +_her_ children? the best wife and the best mother in England. She has +been a true consort to me this many a year, and I to her, in deep +water and shoal, let the wind blow high or low. Here is a Simple Simon +vaunting his own flesh and blood! No wonder that little gentleman there +is grinning at me. Well, grin away, lad! perhaps you haven't got any +children. But you have, sir: and you know how it is with us fathers; +our hearts are so full of the little darlings, out it must come. You can +understand how joyful I feel at saving their fortune from land-sharks +and sea-sharks, and landing it safe in an honest man's hands like you +and your father before you.” + +Skinner handed him the receipt. + +He cast his eye over it. “All right, little gentleman. Now my heart is +relieved of such a weight: I feel to have just cleared out a cargo of +bricks. Good-bye: shake hands. I wish you were as happy as I am. I wish +all the world was happy. God bless you! God bless you both!” + +And with this burst he was out of the room and making ardently for +Albion Villa. + + +The banker and his clerk turned round on their seats and eyed one +another a long time in silence and amazement. Was this thing a dream? +their faces seemed to ask. Then Mr. Hardie rested his senatorial head +on his hand and pondered deeply. Skinner too reflected on this strange +freak of Fortune: and the result was that he burst in on his principal's +reverie with a joyful shout: “The bank is saved! Hardie's is good for +another hundred years.” + +The banker started, for Skinner's voice sounded like a pistol-shot in +his ear, so high strung was he with thought. + +“Hush! hush!” he said, and pondered again in silence. At last he turned +to Skinner. “You think our course is plain? I tell you it is so dark and +complicated it would puzzle Solomon to know what is best to be done.” + +“Save the bank, sir, whatever you do.” + +“How can I save the bank with a few thousand pounds, which I must refund +when called on? You look keenly into what is under your eye, Skinner, +but you cannot see a yard beyond your nose. Let me think.” + +After a while he took a sheet of paper, and jotted down “the materials,” + as he called them, and read them out to his accomplice:-- + + +“1. A bank too far gone to be redeemed. If I throw this money into it, I +shall ruin Captain Dodd, and do myself no good, but only my creditors. + +“2. Miss Julia Dodd, virtual proprietor of this L. 14,000, or of the +greater part, if I choose. The child that marries first usually jockeys +the other. + +“3. Alfred Hardie, my son, and my creditor, deep in love with No. 2, +and at present somewhat alienated from me by my thwarting a silly love +affair; which bids fair to improve into a sound negotiation. + +“4. The L. 14,000 paid to me personally after banking hours, and not +entered on the banking books, nor known but to you and me. + +“Now suppose I treat this advance as a personal trust? The bank breaks: +the money disappears. Consternation of the Dodds, who, until enlightened +by the public settlement, will think it has gone into the well. + +“In that interval I talk Alfred over, and promise to produce the +L.14,000 intact, with my paternal blessing on him and Miss Dodd, provided +he will release me from my debt to him, and give me a life interest in +half the money settled on him by my wife's father, to my most unjust and +insolent exclusion. Their passion will soon bring the young people to +reason, and then they will soon melt the old ones.” + +Skinner was struck with this masterly little sketch. But he detected one +fatal flaw: “You don't say what is to become of me.” + +“Oh, I haven't thought of that yet.” + +“But do think of it, sir, that I may have the pleasure of co-operating. +It would never do for you and me to be pulling two ways, you know.” + +“I will not forget you,” said Hardie, wincing under the chain this +little wretch held him with, and had jerked him by way of reminder. + +“But surely, Skinner, you agree with me it would be a sin and a shame to +rob this honest captain of his money--for my creditors--curse them! Ah! +you are not a father. How quickly he found that out! Well, I am, and he +touched me to the quick. I love my little Jane as dearly as he loves his +Julia, every bit: and I feel for _him._ And then he put me in mind of +my own father, poor man. That seems strange, doesn't it? a sailor and a +banker. Ah! it was because they were both honest men. Yes, it was like +a wholesome flower coming into a close room, and then out again and +heaving a whiff behind was that sailor. He left the savour of Probity +and Simplicity behind, though he took the things themselves away again. +Why, why couldn't he leave us what is more wanted here than even his +money? His integrity: the pearl of price, that my father, whom I used to +sneer at, carried to his grave; and died simple, but wise; honest, +but rich--rich in money, in credit, in honour, and eternal hopes. Oh, +Skinner! Skinner! I wish I had never been born.” + +Skinner was surprised: he was not aware that intelligent men who sin +are subject to fits of remorse. Nay, more, he was frightened; for the +emotion of this iron man, so hard to move, was overpowering when it +came: it did not soften, it convulsed him. + +“Don't talk so, sir,” said the little clerk. “Keep up your heart! Have a +drop of something.” + +“You are right,” said Mr. Hardie gloomily; “it is idle to talk: we are +all the slaves of circumstances.” + +With this, he unlocked a safe that stood against the wall, chucked the +L. 14,000 in, and shammed the iron door sharply; and, as it closed upon +the Cash with a clang, the parlour door burst open as if by concert, and +David Dodd stood on the threshold, looking terrible. His ruddy colour +was all gone, and he seemed black and white with anger and anxiety; and +out of this blanched yet lowering face his eyes glowed like coals, and +roved keenly to and fro between the banker and the clerk. + +A thunder-cloud of a man. + + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +JAMES MAXLEY came out of the bank that morning with nine hundred and +four pounds buttoned up tight in the pocket of his leather breeches, a +joyful man; and so to his work, and home at one o'clock to dinner. + +At 2 P.M. he was thoughtful; uneasy at 3; wretched at 3.30. He was +gardener as well as capitalist, and Mr. Hardie owed him 30s. for work. +Such is human nature in general, and Maxley's in particular, that the L. +900 in pocket seemed small, and the 30s. in jeopardy large. + +“I can't afford to go with the creditors,” argued Maxley: “Dividend +on 30s.! Why, that will be about thirty pence: the change for a hard* +half-crown.” + + *_i.e._ a half-crown in one piece. + +He stuck his spade in the soil and made for his debtor's house. As he +came up the street, Dodd shot out of the bank radiant, and was about +to pass him without notice, full of his wife and children; but Maxley +stopped him with a right cordial welcome, and told him he had given them +all a fright this time. + +“What, is it over the town already that my ship has been wrecked?” And +Dodd looked annoyed. + +“Wrecked? No; but you have been due this two months, ye know. Wrecked? +Why, Captain, you haven't ever been wrecked?” And he looked him all over +as if he expected to see “WRECKED” branded on him by the elements. + +“Ay, James, wrecked on the French coast, and lost my chronometer, and a +tip-top sextant. But what of that? I saved _It._ I have just landed It +in the Bank. Good-bye; I must sheer off: I long to be home.” + +“Stay a bit, Captain,” said Maxley. “I am not quite easy in my mind. +I saw you come out of Hardie's. I thought in course you had been in to +draa: but you says different. Now what was it you did leave behind you +at that there shop, if _you_ please: not money?” + +“Not money? Only L. 14,000. How the man stares! Why, it's not mine, +James; it's my children's: there, good-bye;” and he was actually off +this time. But Maxley stretched his long limbs, and caught him in two +strides, and griped his shoulder without ceremony. “Be you mad?” said he +sternly. + +“No, but I begin to think you are.” + +“That is to be seen,” said Maxley gravely. “Before I lets you go, you +must tell me whether you be jesting, or whether you have really been so +simple as to drop fourteen--thousand--pounds at Hardie's?” No judge upon +the bench, nor bishop in his stall, could be more impressive than this +gardener was, when he subdued the vast volume of his voice to a low +grave utterance of this sort. + +Dodd began to be uneasy. “Why, good heavens, there is nothing wrong with +the old Barkington Bank?” + +“Nothing wrong?” roared Maxley: then whispered': “Holt! I was laad once +for slander, and cost me thirty pounds: nearly killed my missus it did.” + +“Man!” cried Dodd, “for my children's sake tell me if you know anything +amiss. After all, I'm like a stranger here; more than two years away at +a time.” + +“I'll tell you all I know,” whispered Maxley, “'tis the least I can do. +What (roaring) do--you--think--I've forgotten you saving my poor boy out +o' that scrape, and getting him a good place in Canada, and--why, he'd +have been put in prison but for you, and that would ha' broken my heart +and his mother's--and----” The stout voice began to quaver. + +“Oh, bother all that now,” said Dodd impatiently. “The bank! you have +grounded me on thorns.” + +“Well, I'll tell ye: but you must promise faithful not to go and say I +told ye, or you'll get me laad again: and I likes to laa _them,_ not for +_they_ to laa me.” + +“I promise, I promise.” + +“Well then, I got a letter to-day from my boy, him as you was so good +to, and here 'tis in my breeches-pocket.--Laws! how things do come round +sure_ly:_ why, lookee here now; if so be _you_ hadn't been a good friend +to _he, he_ wouldn't be where he is; and if so be _he_ warn't where _he_ +is, _he_ couldn't have writ _me_ this here, and then where should _you_ +and _I_ be?” + +“Belay your jaw and show me this letter,” cried David, trembling all +over. + +“That I wool,” said Maxley, diving a hand into his pocket. “Hush! lookee +yander now; if there ain't Master Alfred a-watching of us two out of +his window: and he have got an eye like a hawk, _he_ have. Step in the +passage, Captain, and I'll show it to you.” + +He drew him aside into the passage, and gave him the letter. Dodd ran +his eye over it hastily, uttered a cry like a wounded lion, dropped it, +gave a slight stagger, and rushed away. + +Maxley picked up his letter and watched Dodd into the bank again and +reflected on his work. His heart was warmed at having made a return to +the good captain. + +His head suggested that he was on the road which leads to libel. + +But he had picked up at the assizes a smattering of the law of evidence; +so he coolly tore the letter in pieces. “There now,” said he to himself, +“if Hardies do laa me for publishing of this here letter, why they pours +their water into a sieve. Ugh!” And with this exclamation he started, +and then put his heavy boot on part of the letter, and ground it +furtively into the mud; for a light hand had settled on his shoulder, +and a keen young face was close to his. + +It was Alfred Hardie, who had stolen on him like a cat. “I'm laad,” + thought Maxley. + +“Maxley, old fellow,” said Alfred, in a voice as coaxing as a woman's, +“are you in a good humour?” + +“Well, Master, Halfred, sight of you mostly puts me in one, especially +after that there strychnine job.” + +“Then tell me,” whispered Alfred, his eyes sparkling and his face +beaming, “who was that you were talking to just now? Was it?--wasn't +it?--who was it?” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +WHILE Dodd stood lowering in the doorway, he was nevertheless making a +great effort to control his agitation. + +At last he said in a stern but low voice, in which, however, a quick ear +might detect a tremor of agitation: “I have changed my mind, sir: I want +my money back.” + +At this, though David's face had prepared him, Mr. Hardie's heart +sank: but there was no help for it. He said faintly, “Certainly. May +I ask----?” and there he stopped; for it was hardly prudent to ask +anything. + +“No matter,” replied Dodd, his agitation rising even at this slight +delay. “Come! my money! I must and will have it.” + +Hardie drew himself up majestically. “Captain Dodd, this is a strange +way of demanding what nobody here disputes.” + +“Well, I beg your pardon,” said Dodd, a little awed by his dignity and +fairness, “but I can't help it.” + +The quick, supple banker saw the slight advantage he had gained, and +his mind went into a whirl. What should he do? It was death to part with +this money and gain nothing by it. Sooner tell Dodd of the love affair, +and open a treaty on this basis: he clung to this money like limpet to +its rock; and so intense and rapid were his thoughts and schemes how to +retain it a little longer, that David's apologies buzzed in his ear like +the drone of a beetle. + +The latter went on to say, “You see, sir, it's my children's fortune, my +boy Edward's, and my little Julia's: and so many have been trying to get +it from me, that my blood boils up in a moment about it now.--My poor +head!--You don't seem to understand what I am saying! There then, I am a +sailor; I can't go beating and tacking like you landsmen, with the wind +dead astern. The long and the short is, I don't feel It safe here: don't +feel It safe anywhere, except in my wife's lap. So no more words: here's +your receipt; give me my money.” + +“Certainly, Captain Dodd. Call to-morrow morning at the bank, and +it will be paid on demand in the regular way: the bank opens at ten +o'clock.” + +“No, no; I can't wait. I should be dead of anxiety before then. Why not +pay it me here and now? You took it here.” + +“We receive deposits till four o'clock, but we do not disburse after +three. This is the system of all banks.” + +“That is all nonsense: if you are open to receive money, you are open to +pay it.” + +“My dear sir, if you were not entirely ignorant of business, you would +be aware that these things are not done in this way. Money received is +passed to account, and the cashier is the only person who can honour +your draft on it. But, stop; if the cashier is in the bank, we may +manage it for you yet. Skinner, run and see whether he has left: and if +not, send him to me directly.” The cashier took his cue and ran out. + +David was silent. + +The cashier speedily returned, saying, with a disappointed air, “The +cashier has been gone this quarter of an hour.” + +David maintained an ominous silence. + +“That is unfortunate,” remarked Hardie. “But, after all, it is only till +to-morrow morning. Still I regret this circumstance, sir; and I feel +that all these precautions we are obliged to take must seem unreasonable +to you. But experience dictates this severe routine, and, were we to +deviate from it, our friends' money would not be so safe in our hands as +it always has been at present.” + +David eyed him sternly, but let him run on. When he had concluded +his flowing periods, David said quietly, “So you can't give me my own +because your cashier has carried it away?” + +Hardie smiled. “No, no; but because he has locked it up and carried away +the key.” + +“It is not in this room, then?” + +“No.” + +“Are you sure?” + +“Positive.” + +“What, not in that safe of yours, there?” + +“Certainly not,” said Hardie stoutly. + +“Open the safe: the keys are in it.” + +“Open the safe? What for?” + +“To show me It is not in the right-hand partition of that safe; there: +there.” And David pointed at the very place where it was. + +The dignified Mr. Hardie felt ready to sink with shame: a kind of +shudder passed through him, and he was about to comply, heart-sick; +but then wounded pride and the rage of disappointment stung him, and he +turned in defiance. “You are impertinent, sir, and I shall not reward +your curiosity and your insolence by showing you the contents of my +safe.” + +“My money! my money!” cried David fiercely: “no more words, for I shan't +listen to them: I know you now for what you are--a thief! I saw you +put it into that safe: a liar is always a thief. You want to steal my +children's money: I'll have your life first. My money! ye pirate! or I'll +strangle you.” And he advanced upon him purple with rage, and shot out +his long threatening arm and brown fingers working in the air. “D'ye +know what I did to a French land-shark that tried to rob me of It? I +throttled him with these fingers till his eyes and his tongue +started out of him. He came for my children's money, and I killed him +so--so--so--as I'll kill you, you thief! you liar! you scoundrel!” + +His face black and convulsed with rage, and his outstretched fingers +working convulsively, and hungering for a rogue's throat, made the +resolute Hardie quake. He whipped out of the furious man's way, and got +to the safe, pale and trembling. “Hush! no violence!” he gasped: “I'll +give you your money this moment you ruffian.” + +While he unlocked the safe with trembling hands, Dodd stood like a +man petrified, his arm and fingers stretched out and threatening; and +Skinner saw him pull at his necktie furiously, like one choking. + +Hardie got the notes and bills all in a hurry, and held them out to +Dodd. + +In which act, to his consternation and surprise and indignation, he +received a back-handed blow on the eye that dazzled him for an instant; +and there was David with his arms struggling wildly and his fists +clenched, his face purple, and his eyes distorted so that little was +seen but the whites the next moment his teeth gnashed loudly together, +and he fell headlong on the floor with a concussion so momentous that +the windows rattled and the room shook violently; the dust rose in a +cloud. + +A loud ejaculation burst from Hardie and Skinner, + +And then there was an awful silence. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +WHEN David fell senseless on the floor, Mr. Hardie was somewhat confused +by the back-handed blow from his convulsed and whirling arm. But Skinner +ran to him, held up his head, and whipped off his neckcloth. + +Then Hardie turned to seize the bell and ring for assistance; but +Skinner shook his head and said it was useless: this was no faint: old +Betty could not help him. + +“It is a bad day's work, sir,” said he, trembling: “he is a dead man.” + +“Dead? Heaven forbid!” + +“Apoplexy!” whispered Skinner. + +“Run for a doctor then: lose no time: don't let us have his blood on our +hands! Dead?” + +And he repeated the word this time in a very different tone, a tone too +strange and significant to escape Skinner's quick ear. However, he laid +David's head gently down and rose from his knees to obey. + +What did he see now, but Mr. Hardie, with his back turned, putting +the notes and bills softly into the safe again out of sight. He saw, +comprehended, and took his own course with equal rapidity. + +“Come, run!” cried Mr. Hardie; “I'll take care of him; every moment is +precious.” + +(“Wants to get rid of me!” thought Skinner.) “No, sir,” said he, “be +ruled by me: let us take him to his friends: he won't live; and we shall +get all the blame if we doctor him.” + +Already egotism had whispered Hardie, “How lucky if he should die!” + and now a still guiltier thought flashed through him: he did not try to +conquer it; he only trembled at himself for entertaining it. + +“At least: give him air!” said he in a quavering voice, consenting to a +crime, yet compromising with his conscience, feebly. + +He threw the window, open with great zeal--with prodigious zeal; for, +he wanted to deceive himself as well as Skinner. With equal parade he +helped carry Dodd to the window; it opened, on the ground: this done, +the self-deceivers put their heads together, and soon managed matters so +that two porters, known to Skinner, were introduced into the garden, +and informed that a gentleman had fallen down in a fit, and they were to +take him home to his friends, and not talk about it: there might be an +inquest, and that was so disagreeable to a gentleman like Mr. Hardie. +The men agreed at once for a sovereign apiece. It was all done in a +great hurry and agitation, and while Skinner accompanied the men to see +that they did not blab, Mr. Hardie went into the garden to breathe and +think. But he could do neither. + +He must have a look at It. + +He stole back, opened the safe, and examined the notes and bills. + +He fingered them. + +They seemed to grow to his finger. + +He lusted after them. + +He said to himself, “The matter has gone too far to stop; I _must_ go +on borrowing this money of the Dodds, and make it the basis of a large +fortune: it will be best for all parties in the end.” + +He put It into his pocket-book; that pocket-book into his breast-pocket; +and passed by his private door into the house, and to his dressing-room. + +Ten minutes later he left the house with a little black bag in his band. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +“WHAT will ye give me, and I'll tell ye?” said Maxley to Alfred Hardie. + +“Five pounds.” + +“That is too much.” + +“Five shillings, then.” + +“That is too little. Lookee here; your garden owes me thirty shillings +for work: suppose you pays me, and that will save me from going to your +Dad for it.” + +Alfred consented readily, and paid the money. Then Maxley told him it +was Captain Dodd he had been talking with. + +“I thought so! I thought so!” cried Alfred joyfully, “but I was afraid +to believe it: it was too delightful. Maxley, you're a trump you don't +know what anxiety you have relieved me of. Some fool has gone and +reported the _Agia_ wrecked; look here!” and he showed him his Lloyd's. +“Luckily it has only just come, so I haven't been miserable long.” + +“Well, to be sure, news flies fast now-a-days. He have been wrecked for +that matter.” He then surprised Alfred by telling him all he had just +learned from Dodd; and was going to let out about the L. 4,000, when he +recollected this was the banker's son, and while he was talking to him, +it suddenly struck Maxley that this young gentleman would come down +in the world should the bank break, and then the Dodds, he concluded, +judging others by himself, would be apt to turn their backs on him. Now +he liked Alfred, and was disposed to do him a good turn, when he could +without hurting James Maxley. “Mr. Alfred,” said he, “I know the world +better than you do: you be ruled by me, or you'll rue it. You put on +your Sunday coat this minute, and off like a shot to Albyn Villee; +you'll get there before the Captain; he have got a little business to +do first; that is neither here nor there: besides, you are young and +lissom. You be the first to tell Missus Dodd the good news; and, when +the Captain comes, there sits you aside Miss Julee: and don't you be shy +and shamefaced, take him when his heart is warm, and tell him why you +are there: 'I love her dear,' says you. He be only a sailor and they +never has no sense nor prudence; he is a'most sure to take you by the +hand, at such a time: and once you get his word, he'll stand good, to +his own hurt. He's one of that sort, bless his silly old heart.” + +A good deal of this was unintelligible to Alfred, but the advice seemed +good--advice generally does when it squares with our own wishes. He +thanked Maxley, left him, made a hasty toilet, and ran to Albion Villa. + +Sarah opened the door to him in tears. + +The news of the wreck had come to Albion Villa just half an hour ago, +and in that half hour they had tasted more misery than hitherto their +peaceful lot had brought them in years. Mrs. Dodd was praying and crying +in her room; Julia had put on her bonnet, and was descending in deep +distress and agitation, to go down to the quay and learn more if +possible. + +Alfred saw her on the stairs, and at sight of her pale, agitated face +flew to her. + +She held out both hands piteously to him: “O Alfred!” + +“Good news!” he panted. “He is alive--Maxley has seen him--I have seen +him--he will be here directly--my own love, dry your eyes--calm your +fears--he is safe--he is well: hurrah! hurrah!” + +The girl's pale face flushed red with hope, then pale again with +emotion, then rosy red with transcendent joy. “Oh, bless you! bless +you!” she murmured, in her sweet gurgle so full of heart: then took his +head passionately with both her hands, as if she was going to kiss him: +uttered a little inarticulate cry of love and gratitude over him, then +turned and flew up the stairs, crying “Mamma! mamma!” and burst into +her mother's room. When two such Impetuosities meet as Alfred and Julia, +expect quick work. + +What happened in Mrs. Dodd's room may be imagined: and soon both ladies +came hastily out to Alfred, and he found himself in the drawing-room +seated between them, and holding a hand of each, and playing the man +delightfully, soothing and assuring them. Julia believed him at a word, +and beamed with unmixed delight and anticipation of the joyful meeting. +Mrs. Dodd cost him more trouble: her soft hand trembled still in his, +and she put question upon question. But when he told her he with his own +eyes had seen Captain Dodd talking to Maxley, and gathered from Maxley +he had been shipwrecked on the coast of France, and lost his chronometer +and his sextant, these details commanded credit. Bells were rung: the +Captain's dressing-room ordered to be got ready; the cook put on her +mettle, and Alfred invited to stay and dine with the long-expected one: +and the house of mourning became the house of joy. + +“And then it was he who brought the good news,” whispered Julia to her +mother, “and that is so sweet.” + +“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Dodd, “he will make even me love him. The L. +14,000! I hope that was not lost in the wreck.” + +“Oh, mamma! who cares when his own dear, sweet, precious life has been +in danger, and is mercifully preserved? Why does he not come? I shall +scold him for keeping us waiting. You know I am not a bit afraid of him, +though he is papa. Indeed, I am ashamed to say I govern him with a rod +of--no matter what. Do, do, do let us all three put on our bonnets, and +run and meet him. I want him so to love somebody the very first day.” + +Mrs. Dodd said, “Well, wait a few minutes, and then, if he is not here, +you two shall go. I dare hardly trust myself to meet my darling husband +in the open street.” + +Julia ran to Alfred: “If he does not come in ten minutes, you and I may +go and meet him.” + +“You are an angel,” murmured Alfred. + +“You are another,” said Julia haughtily. “Oh, dear, I can't sit down, +and I don't want flattery: I want papa. A waltz! a waltz! then one can +go mad with joy without startling propriety. I can't answer for the +consequences if I don't let off a little, little happiness.” + +“That I will,” said Mrs. Dodd; “for I am as happy as you, and happier.” + She played a waltz. + +Julia's eyes were a challenge: Alfred started up and took her ready +hand, and soon the gay young things were whirling round, the happiest +pair in England. + +But in the middle of the joyous whirl, Julia's quick ear, on the watch +all the time, heard the gate swing to: she glided like an eel from +Alfred's arm and ran to the window. Arrived there, she made three swift +vertical bounds like a girl with a skipping rope, only her hands were +clapping in the air at the same time; then down the stairs, screaming, +“His chest his chest! he is coming, coming, come!” + +Alfred ran after her. + +Mrs. Dodd, unable to race with such antelopes, slipped quietly out into +the little balcony. + +Julia had seen two men carrying a trestle with a tarpauling over it, and +a third walking beside. Dodd's heavy sea-chest had been more than once +carried home this way. She met the men at the door, and overpowered them +with questions:-- + +“Is it his clothes? Then he wasn't so much wrecked after all. Is he with +you? Is he coming directly? Why don't you tell me?” + +The porters at first wore the stolid impassive faces of their tribe; +but when this bright young creature questioned them, brimming over with +ardour and joy, their countenances fell and they hung their heads. + +The little sharp-faced man, who was walking beside the others stepped +forward to reply to Julia. + +He was interrupted by a terrible scream from the balcony. + +Mrs. Dodd was leaning wildly over it, with dilating eyes and quivering +hand, that pointed down to the other side of the trestle: “Julia!! +Julia!!” + +Julia ran round, and stood petrified, her pale lips apart, and all her +innocent joy frozen in a moment. + +The tarpauling was scanty there, and a man's hand and part of his arm +dangled helpless out. + +The hand was blanched, and wore a well-known ring. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +IN the terror and confusion no questions were then asked: Alfred got to +David's head, and told Skinner to take his feet; Mrs. Dodd helped, and +they carried him up and laid him on her bed. The servant girls cried and +wailed, and were of little use: Mrs. Dodd hurried them off for medical +aid, and she and Julia, though pale as ghosts, and trembling in every +limb, were tearless and almost silent, and did all for the best. They +undid a shirt button that confined his throat: they set his head high, +and tried their poor little eau-de-Cologne and feminine remedies; and +each of them held an insensible hand in both hers, clasping it piteously +and trying to hold him tight, so that Death should not take him away +from them. + +“My son, where is my son?” sighed Mrs. Dodd. + +Alfred threw his arm round her neck: “You have one son here: what shall +I do?” + +The next minute he was running to the telegraph office for her. + +At the gate he found Skinner hanging about, and asked him hurriedly how +the calamity had happened. Skinner said Captain Dodd had fallen down +senseless in the street, and he had passed soon after, recognised him, +and brought him home: “I have paid the men, sir; I wouldn't let them ask +the ladies at such a time.” + +“Oh, thank you! thank you, Skinner! I will repay you; it is me you have +obliged.” And Alfred ran off with the words in his mouth. + +Skinner looked after him and muttered: “I forgot _him._ It is a nice +mess. Wish I was out of it.” And he went back, hanging his head, to +Alfred's father. + +Mr. Osmond met him. Skinner turned and saw him enter the villa. + + +Mr. Osmond came softly into the room, examined Dodd's eye, felt his +pulse, and said he must be bled at once. + +Mrs. Dodd was averse to this. “Oh, let us try everything else first,” + said she. But Osmond told her there was no other remedy: “All the +functions we rely on in the exhibition of medicines are suspended.” + +Dr. Short now drove up, and was ushered in. + +Mrs. Dodd asked him imploringly whether it was necessary to bleed. But +Dr. Short knew his business too well to be entrapped into an independent +opinion where a surgeon had been before him. He drew Mr. Osmond apart, +and inquired what he had recommended: this ascertained, he turned to +Mrs. Dodd and said, “I advise venesection or cupping.” + +“Oh, Dr. Short, pray have pity and order something less terrible. Dr. +Sampson is so averse to bleeding.” + +“Sampson? Sampson? never heard of him.” + +“It is the chronothermal man,” said Osmond. + +“Oh, ah! but this is too serious a case to be quacked. Coma with +stertor, and a full, bounding pulse, indicates liberal bloodletting. I +would try venesection; then cup, if necessary, or leech the temple. I +need not say, sir, calomel must complete the cure. The case is simple, +and, at present, surgical: I leave it in competent hands.” And he +retired, leaving the inferior practitioner well pleased with him and +with himself; no insignificant part of a physicians art. + +When he was gone, Mr. Osmond told Mrs. Dodd that however crotchety Dr. +Sampson might be, he was an able man, and had very properly resisted the +indiscriminate use of the lancet: the profession owed him much. “But in +apoplexy the leech and the lancet are still our sheet-anchor.” + +Mrs. Dodd utter a faint shriek: “Apoplexy! Oh, David! Oh, my darling, +have you come home for this?” + +Osmond assured her apoplexy was not necessarily fatal; provided the +cerebral blood-vessels were relieved in time by depletion. + +The fixed eye and terrible stertorous breathing on the one hand, and the +promise of relief on the other, overpowered Mrs. Dodd's reluctance. She +sent Julia out of the room on a pretext, and then consented with tears +to David's being bled. But she would not yield to leave the room. No; +this tender woman nerved herself to see her husband's blood flow, sooner +than risk his being bled too much by the hard hand of custom. Let the +peevish fools, who make their own troubles in love, compare their slight +and merited pangs with this: she was his true lover and his wife, yet +there she stood with eye horror-stricken yet unflinching, and saw the +stab of the little lancet, and felt it deeper than she would a javelin +through her own body, and watched the blood run that was dearer to her +than her own. + +At the first prick of the lancet David shivered, and, as the blood +escaped, his eye unfixed, and the pupils contracted and dilated, and +once he sighed. “Good sign that!” said Osmond. + +“Oh, that is enough, sir,” said Mrs. Dodd: “we shall faint if you take +any more.” + +Osmond closed the vein, observing that a local bleeding would do the +rest. When he had staunched the blood, Mrs. Dodd sank half fainting in +her chair. By some marvellous sympathy it was she who had been bled, +and whose vein was now closed. Osmond sprinkled water on her face; she +thanked him, and said sweetly, “You see I could not have lost any more.” + +When it was over she came to tell Julia; she found her sitting on the +stairs crying and pale as marble. She suspected. And there was Alfred +hanging over her, and in agony at her grief: out came his love for her +in words and accents unmistakable, and this in Osmond's hearing and the +maid's. + +“Oh, hush! hush!” cried poor Mrs. Dodd, and her face was seen to burn +through her tears. + +And this was the happy, quiet, little villa of my opening chapters. + +Ah! Richard Hardie! Richard Hardie! + + +The patient was cupped on the nape of the neck by Mr. Osmond, and, on +the glasses drawing, showed signs of consciousness, and the breathing +was relieved. These favourable symptoms were neither diminished nor +increased by the subsequent application of the cupping needles. + +“We have turned the corner.” said Mr. Osmond cheerfully. + +Rap! rap! rap! came a telegraphic message from Dr. Sampson, and was +brought up to the sick-room. + +“Out visiting patients when yours came. In apoplexy with a red face and +stertorous breathing, put the feet in mustard bath and dash much cold +water on the head from above. On revival give emetic: cure with sulphate +of quinine. In apoplexy with a white face, treat as for a simple faint: +here emetic dangerous. In neither apoplexy bleed. Coming down by train.” + +This message added to Mrs. Dodd's alarm; the whole treatment varied +so far from what had been done. She faltered her misgivings. Osmond +reassured her. “Not bleed in apoplexy!” said he superciliously; “why, it +is the universal practice. Judge for yourself. You see the improvement.” + +Mrs. Dodd admitted it. + +“Then as to the cold water,” said Osmond, “I would hardly advise so +rough a remedy. And he is going on so well. But you can send for ice; +and meantime give me a good-sized stocking.” + +He cut and fitted it adroitly to the patient's head, then drenched it +with eau-de-Cologne, and soon the head began to steam. + +By-and-bye, David muttered a few incoherent words, and the anxious +watchers thanked God aloud for them. + +At length Mr. Osmond took leave with a cheerful countenance, and left +them all grateful to him, and with a high opinion of his judgment and +skill, especially Julia. She said Dr. Sampson was very amusing to talk +to, but she should be sorry to trust to that rash, reckless, boisterous +man in time of danger. + + +About two in the morning a fly drove rapidly up to the villa, and +Sampson got out. + +He found David pale and muttering, and his wife and children hanging +over him in deep distress. + +He shook hands with them in silence, and eyed the patient keenly. He +took the nightcap off, removed the pillows, lowered his head, and said +quietly, “This is the cold fit come on: we must not shut our eyes on +the pashint. Why, what is this? he has been cupped!” And Sampson changed +colour and his countenance fell. + +Mrs. Dodd saw and began to tremble. “I could not hear from you; and +Dr. Short and Mr. Osmond felt quite sure: and he seems better. Oh, Dr. +Sampson, why were you not here? We have bled him as well. Oh, don't, +don't, don't say it was wrong! He would have died; they said so. Oh, +David! David! your wife has killed you.” And she knelt and kissed his +hand and implored his pardon, insensible. + +Julia clung sobbing to her mother, in a vain attempt to comfort her. + +Sampson groaned. + +“No, no,” said he: “don't go on so, my poor soul; you did all for the +best; and now we must make the best of what is done. Hartshorn! brandy! +and caution! For those two assassins have tied my hands.” + +While applying these timid remedies, he inquired if the cause was known. +They told him they knew nothing; but that David had been wrecked on the +coast of France, and had fallen down senseless in the street: a clerk of +Mr. Hardie's had recognised him, and brought him home: so Alfred said. + +“Then the cause is mintil,” said Sampson, “unless he got a blow on the +hid in bein' wrecked.”' + +He then examined David's head carefully, and found a long scar. + +“But this is not it,” said he; “this is old.” + +Mrs. Dodd clasped her hands, and assured him it was new to her: her +David had no scar there when he left her last. + +Pursuing his examination, Sampson found an open wound in his left +shoulder. + +He showed it them; and they were all as pale as the patient in a moment. +He then asked to see his coat, and soon discovered a corresponding +puncture in it, which he examined long and narrowly. + +“It is a stab--with a one-edged knife.” + +There was a simultaneous cry of horror. + +“Don't alarm yourselves for that,” said Sampson; “it is nothing: a mere +flesh-wound. It is the vein-wound that alarms me. This school knows +nothing about the paroxysms and remissions of disease. They have bled +and cupped him for a _passing fit._ It has passed into the cold stage, +but no quicker than it would have done without stealing a drop of blood. +To-morrow, by disease's nature, he will have another hot fit in spite of +their bleeding. Then those ijjits would leech his temples; and on that +paroxysm remitting by the nature of the disease, would fancy their +leeches had cured it.” + +The words were the old words, but the tone and manner was so different: +no shouting, no anger: all was spoken low and gently, and with a sort of +sad and weary and worn-out air. + +He ordered a kettle of hot water and a quantity of mustard, and made +his preparations for the hot fit, as he called it, maintaining the +intermittent and febrile character of all disease. + + +The patient rambled a good deal, but quite incoherently, and knew +nobody. + +But about eight o'clock in the morning he was quite quiet and apparently +sleeping: so Mrs. Dodd stole out of the room to order some coffee for +Sampson and Edward. They were nodding, worn out with watching. + +Julia, whose high-strung nature could dispense with sleep on such an +occasion, was on her knees praying for her father. + +Suddenly there came from the bed, like a thunder-clap, two words uttered +loud and furiously-- + +“HARDIE! VILLAIN!” + +Up started the drowsy watchers, and rubbed their eyes. They had heard +the sound, but not the sense. + +Julia rose from her knees bewildered and aghast: she had caught the +strange words distinctly--words that were to haunt her night and day. + +They were followed immediately by a loud groan, and the stertorous +breathing recommenced, and the face was no longer pale, but flushed and +turgid. On this Sampson hurried Julia from the room, and, with Edward's +help, placed David on a stool in the bath, and getting on a chair, +discharged half a bucket of cold water on his head: the patient gasped: +another, and David shuddered, stared wildly, and put his hand to his +head; a third, and he staggered to his feet. + +At this moment Mrs. Dodd coming hastily into the room, he looked +steadily at her, and said, “Lucy!” + +She ran to throw her arms round him, but Sampson interfered. “Gently! +gently!” said he; “we must have no violent emotions.” + +“Oh, no! I will be prudent.” And she stood quiet with her arms still +extended, and cried for joy. + +They got David to bed again, anti Sampson told Mrs. Dodd there was no +danger now from the malady, but only from the remedies. + +And in fact David fell into a state of weakness and exhaustion, and kept +muttering unintelligibly. + +Dr. Short called in the morning, and was invited to consult with Dr. +Sampson. He declined. “Dr. Sampson is a notorious quack: no physician of +any eminence will meet him in consultation.” + +“I regret that resolution,” said Mrs. Dodd quietly, “as it will deprive +me of the advantage of your skill.” + +Dr. Short bowed stifly. “I shall be at your service, madam, when that +empiric has given the patient up.” And he drove away. + +Osmond, finding Sampson installed, took the politic line; he contrived +to glide by fine gradations into the empiric's opinions, without +recanting his own, which were diametrically opposed. + +Sampson, before he shot back to town, asked him to provide a good +reliable nurse. + +He sent a young woman of iron. She received Sampson's instructions, and +assumed the command of the sick-room, and was jealous of Mrs. Dodd +and Julia, looked on them as mere rival nurses, amateurs, who, if not +snubbed, might ruin the professionals. She seemed to have forgotten in +the hospitals all about the family affections and their power of turning +invalids themselves into nurses. + +The second night she got the patient all to herself for four hours, from +eleven till two. + +The ladies having consented to this arrangement its order to recruit +themselves for the work they were not so mad as to intrust wholly to a +hireling, nurse's feathers smoothed themselves perceptibly. + +At twelve the patient was muttering and murmuring incessantly about +wrecks, and money, and things: of which vain babble nurse showed her +professional contempt by nodding. + +At 12.30 she slept + +At 1.20 she snored very loud, and woke instantly at the sound. + +She took the thief out of the candle, and went like a good sentinel to +look at her charge. + +He was not there. + +She rubbed her eyes, and held the candle over the place where he ought +to be--where, in fact, he must be; for he was far too weak to move. + +She tore the bedclothes down: she beat and patted the clothes with her +left hand, and the candle began to shake violently in her right. + +The bed was empty. + + +Mrs. Dodd was half asleep when a hurried tap came to her door: she +started up in a moment and great dread fell on her; was David sinking? + +“Ma'am! Ma'am! Is he here?” + +“He! Who?” cried Mrs. Dodd, bewildered. + +“Why, _him!_ He can't be far off” + +In a moment Mrs. Dodd had opened the door, and her tongue and the +nurse's seemed to dash together, so fast came the agitated words from +each in turn; and crying, “Call my son! Alarm the house!” Mrs. Dodd +darted into the sickroom. She was out again in a moment, and up in the +attics rousing the maids, while the nurse thundered at Edward's door +and Julia's, and rang every bell she could get at. The inmates were soon +alarmed, and flinging on their clothes: meantime Mrs. Dodd and the nurse +scoured the house and searched every nook in it down to the very cellar: +they found no David. + +But they found something. + +The street door ajar. + + +It was a dark drizzly night. + +Edward took one road, Mrs. Dodd and Elizabeth another. + +They were no sooner gone, than Julia drew the nurse into a room apart +and asked her eagerly if her father had said nothing. + +“Said nothing, Miss? Why he was a-talking all the night incessant.” + +“Did he say anything particular? think now.” + +“No, Miss: he went on as they all do just before a change. I never minds +'em; I hear so much of it.” + +“Oh, nurse! nurse! have pity on me; try and recollect.” + +“Well, Miss, to oblige you then; it was mostly fights this time--and +wrecks--and villains--and bankers--and sharks.” + +“Bankers??!” asked Julia eagerly. + +“Yes, Miss, and villains, they come once or twice, but most of the time +it was sharks, and ships, and money, and--hotch-potch I call it the way +they talk. Bless your heart, they know no better: everything they ever +saw, or read, or heard tell of--it all comes out higgledy-piggledy just +before they goes off. We that makes it a business never takes no notice +of what they says, Miss, and never repeats it out of one sick house into +another, that you _may_ rely on.” + +Julia scarcely heard this: her hands were tight to her brow as if to aid +her to think with all her force. + +The result was, she told Sarah to put on her bonnet and rushed upstairs. + +She was not gone three minutes, but in that short interval the nurse's +tongue and Sarah's clashed together swiftly and incessantly. + +Julia heard them. She came down with a long cloak on, whipped the hood +over her head, beckoned Sarah quickly, and darted out. Sarah followed +instinctively, but ere they had gone many yards from the house, said, +“Oh, Miss, nurse thinks you had much better not go.” + +“Nurse thinks! Nurse thinks! What does she know of me and my griefs?” + +“Why, Miss, she is a very experienced woman, and she says--Oh, dear! oh, +dear! And such a dark cold night for you to be out!” + +“Nurse? Nurse? What did she say?” + +“Oh, I haven't the heart to tell you: if you would but come back home +with me! She says as much as that poor master's troubles will be over +long before we can get to him.” And with this Sarah burst out sobbing. + +“Come quicker,” cried Julia despairingly. But after a while she said, +“Tell me; only don't stop me.” + +“Miss, she says she nursed Mr. Campbell, the young curate that died last +harvest-time but one, you know; and he lay just like master, and +she expecting a change every hour: and oh, Miss, she met him coming +down-stairs in his nightgown: and he said, 'Nurse, I am all right now,' +says he, and died momently in her arms at the stair-foot. And she nursed +an old farmer that lay as weak as master, and just when they looked for +him to go, lo! and behold him dressed and out digging potatoes, and fell +down dead before they could get hands on him mostly: and nurse have +a friend, that have seen more than she have, which she is older than +nurse, and says a body's life is all one as a rushlight, flares up +strong momently just before it goes out altogether. Dear heart! where +ever are we going to in the middle of the night?” + +“Don't you see? To the quay.” + +“Oh, don't go there, Miss, whatever! I can't abide the sight of the +water when a body's in trouble.” Here a drunken man confronted them, +and asked then if they wanted a beau; and on their slipping past him +in silence, followed them, and offered repeatedly to treat them. Julia +moaned and hurried faster. “Oh, Miss,” said Sarah, “what could you +expect, coming out at this time of night? I'm sure the breath is all out +of me, you do tear along so.” + +“Tear? we are crawling. Ah! Sarah, you are not his daughter. There, +follow me! I cannot go so slow.” And she set off to run. + +Presently she passed a group of women standing talking at a corner of +the street, and windows were open with nightcapped heads framed in them. + +She stopped a moment to catch the words; they were talking about a +ghost which was said to have just passed down the street, and discussing +whether it was a real ghost or a trick to frighten people. + +Julia uttered a low cry and redoubled her speed, and was soon at +Mr. Richard Hardie's door; but the street was deserted, and she was +bewildered, and began to think she had been too hasty in her conjecture. +A chill came over her impetuosity. The dark, drizzly, silent night, the +tall masts, the smell of the river--how strange it all seemed: and she +to be there alone at such an hour! + +Presently she heard voices somewhere near. She crossed over to a passage +that seemed to lead towards them; and then she heard the voices plainly, +and among them one that did not mingle with the others, for it was the +voice she loved. She started back and stood irresolute. Would he be +displeased with her? + +Feet came trampling slowly along the passage. + +His voice came with them. + +She drew back and looked round for Sarah. + +While she stood fluttering, the footsteps came close, and there emerged +from the passage into the full light of the gas-lamp Alfred and two +policemen carrying a silent senseless figure in a night-gown, with a +great-coat thrown over part of him. + +It was her father, mute and ghastly. + + +The policemen still tell of that strange meeting under the gaslight by +Hardie's Bank; and how the young lady flung her arms round her father's +head, and took him for death, and kissed his pale cheeks, and moaned +over him; and how the young gentleman raised her against her will, and +sobbed over her; and how they, though policemen, cried like children. +And to them I must refer the reader: I have not the skill to convey the +situation. + + +They got more policemen to help, and carried him to Albion Villa. + +On the way something cold and mysterious seemed to have come between +Julia and Alfred. They walked apart in gloomy silence, broken only by +foreboding sighs. + +I pass over the tempest of emotions under which that sad burden entered +Albion Villa, and hurry to the next marked event. + +Next day the patient had lost his extreme pallor, and wore a certain +uniform sallow hue; and at noon, just before Sampson's return, he opened +his eyes wide, and fixed them on Mrs. Dodd and Julia, who were now his +nurses. They hailed this with delight, and held their breath to hear him +speak to them the first sweet words of reviving life and love. + +But soon, to their surprise and grief, they found he did not know them. +They spoke to him, each in turn, and told him piteously who they were, +and implored him with tears to know them and speak to them. But no; he +fixed a stony gaze on them that made them shudder, and their beloved +voices passed over him like an idle wind. + +Sampson, when he came, found the ladies weeping by the bedside. + +They greeted him with affection, Julia especially: the boisterous +controversialist had come out a gentle, zealous artist in presence of a +real danger. + +Dr. Sampson knew nothing of what had happened in his absence. He stepped +to the bedside cheerfully, and the ladies' eyes were bent keenly on his +face in silence. + +He had no sooner cast eyes on David than his countenance fell, and his +hard but expressive features filled with concern. + +That was enough for Mrs. Dodd. “And he does not know me,” she cried: “he +does not know my voice. _His_ voice would call me back from the grave +itself. He is dying. He will never speak to me again. Oh, my poor orphan +girl!” + +“No! no!” said Samson, “you are quite mistaken: he will not die. +But----” + +His tongue said no more. His grave and sombre face spoke volumes. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +To return to the bank. Skinner came back from the Dodds' that miserable +afternoon in a state of genuine agitation and regret. He was human, and +therefore mixed, and their desolation had shocked him. + +The footman told him Mr. Hardie was not at home; gone to London, he +believed. Skinner walked away dejected. What did this mean? Had he left +the country? + +He smiled at his fears, and felt positive Mr. Hardie had misled the +servants, and was quietly waiting for him in the bank parlour. + +It was now dusk: he went round to that little dark nook of the garden +the parlour window opened on, and tapped: there was no reply; the room +looked empty. He tried the sash: it yielded. Mr. Hardie had been too +occupied with embezzling another's property to take common precautions +in defence of his own; never in his life before had he neglected to +fasten the iron shutters with his own hand, and to-day he had left the +very window unfastened. This augured ill. “He is off: he has done me +along with the rest,” thought Skinner. He stepped into the room, found a +lucifer-box, shut the shutters, lighted a candle, and went peering +about amongst the banker's papers, to see if he could find a clue to +his intentions; and, as he pottered and peered, he quaked as well: a +detector by dishonest means feels thief-like, and is what he feels. He +made some little discoveries that guided him in his own conduct; he +felt more and more sure his employer would outwit him if he could, and +resolved it should be diamond cut diamond. + +The church clock struck one. + +He started at the hour, crept out and closed the window softly, then +away by the garden gate. + +A light was still burning in Alfred's room, and at this Skinner had +another touch of compunction. “There is one won't sleep this night along +of our work,” thought he. + +At three next afternoon Mr. Hardie reappeared. + +He had gone up to town to change the form of the deposit:--He took +care to think of it as a deposit still, the act of deposit having been +complete, the withdrawal incomplete, and by no fault of his, for he had +offered it back; but Fate and Accident had interposed. He had converted +the notes into gold direct, and the bills into gold through notes; this +was like going into the river to hide his trail. Next process: he turned +his gold into L. 500 notes, and came flying home with them. + +His return was greeted by Skinner with a sigh of relief. Hardie heard +it, interpreted it aright, and sent for him into the parlour, and there +told him with a great affectation of frankness what he had done, then +asked significantly if there was any news at Albion Villa. + +Skinnier in reply told Mr. Hardie of the distress he had witnessed up +at Albion Villa: “And, sir,” said he, lowering his voice, “Mr. Alfred +helped carry the body upstairs. It is a nice mess altogether, sir, when +you come to think.” + +“Ah! all the better,” was the cool reply: “he will be useful to let us +know what we want; he will tell Jane, and Jane me. You don't think he +will live, do you?” + +“Live! no: and then who will know the money is here?” + +“Who should know? Did not he say he had just landed, and been +shipwrecked? Shipwrecked men do not bring fourteen thousand pounds +ashore.” The speaker's eyes sparkled: Skinner watched him demurely. +“Skinner,” said he solemnly, “I believe my daughter Jane is right, +and that Providence really interferes sometimes in the affairs of this +world. You know how I have struggled to save my family from disgrace and +poverty: those struggles have failed in a great degree: but Heaven has +seen them, and saved this money from the sea, and dropped it into my +very hands to retrieve my fortunes with. I must be grateful: spend a +portion of it in charity, and rear a noble fortune on the rest. Confound +it all!” + +And his crestfallen countenance showed some ugly misgiving had flashed +on him quite suddenly. + +“What sir? what?” asked Skinner eagerly. + +“The receipt!” + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +“THE receipt? Oh, is that all? _You_ have got that,” said Skinner very +coolly. + +“What makes you think so?” inquired the other keenly. He instantly +suspected Skinner of having it. + +“Why, sir, I saw it in his hand.” + +“Then it has got to Albion Villa, and we are ruined.” + +“No, no, sir; you won't hear me: I am sure I saw it fall out of his hand +when he was taken ill; and I think, but I won't be sure, he fell on it. +Anyway, there was nothing in his hands when I delivered him at Albion +Villa; so it must be here. I daresay you have thrown it into a drawer or +somewhere, promiscuously.” + +“No, no, Skinner,” said Mr. Hardie, with increasing alarm: “it is +useless for us to deceive ourselves. I was not three minutes in the +room, and thought of nothing but getting to town and cashing the bills.” + +He rang the bell sharply, and on Betty coming in, asked her what she had +done with that paper that was on the floor. + +“Took it up and put it on the table, sir. This was it, I think.” And she +had her finger upon a paper. + +“No! no!” said Mr. Hardie. “The one I mean was much smaller than that.” + +“What” said she, with that astonishing memory for trifles people have +who never read, “was it a little crumpled up paper lying by the basket?” + +“Yes! yes! that sounds like it.” + +“Oh, I put that _into_ the basket.” + +Mr. Hardie's eye fell directly on the basket, but it was empty. She +caught his glance, and told him she had emptied it in the dust-hole as +usual. Mr. Hardie uttered an angry exclamation. Betty, an old servant +of his wife's, resented it with due dignity by tossing her head as she +retired. + +“There is no help for it,” said Mr. Hardie bitterly; “we must go and +grub in the dust-hole now.” + +“Why, sir, your name is not on it, after all.” + +“What does that matter? A man is bound by the act of his agent; besides, +it is my form, and my initials on the back. Come, let us put a good face +on the thing.” And he led the way to the kitchen, and got up a little +laugh, and asked the scullery-maid if she could show Mr. Skinner and him +the dust-hole. She stared, but obeyed, and the pair followed her, making +merry. + +The dust-hole was empty. + +The girl explained: “It is the dustman's day: he came at eleven o'clock +in the morning and carried all the dust away: and grumbled at the paper +and the bones, he did. So I told him beggars musn't be choosers: just +like his impudence! when he gets it for nothing, and sells it for a mint +outside the town.” The unwonted visitors left her in dead silence almost +before she had finished her sentence. + +Mr. Hardie sat down in his parlour thoroughly discomposed; Skinner +watched him furtively. + +At last the former broke out: “This is the devil's doing: the devil in +person. No intelligence nor ability can resist such luck. I almost wish +we had never meddled with it: we shall never feel safe, never be safe.” + +Skinner made light of the matter, treated the receipt as thrown into the +sea. “Why, sir,” said he, “by this time it will have found its way to +that monstrous heap of ashes on the London Road; and who will ever look +for it there, or notice it if they find it?” Hardie shook his head: +“That monstrous heap is all sold every year to the farmers. That +receipt, worth L. 14,000 to me, will be strewed on the soil for +manure; then some farmer's man, or some farmer's boy that goes to the +Sunday-school, will read it, see Captain Dodd's name, and bring it to +Albion Villa, in hopes of a sixpence: a sixpence! Heaven help the man +who does a doubtful act and leaves damnatory evidence on paper kicking +about the world.” + +From that hour the cash Hardie carried in his bosom, without a right to +it, began to blister. + +He thought of telling the dustman he had lost a paper, and setting him +to examine the mountain of ashes on the London Road; but here caution +stepped in: how could he describe the paper without awakening curiosity +and defeating his own end? He gave that up. It was better to let the +sleeping dog lie. + +Finally, he resolved to buy security in a world where after all one has +to buy everything: so he employed an adroit agent, and quietly purchased +that mountain, the refuse of all Barkington. But he felt so ill-used, he +paid for it in his own notes: by this means the treaty reverted to the +primitive form of barter*--ashes for rags. + + * Or exchange of commodities without the aid of money: see + Homer, and Welsh Villages, _passim._ + +This transaction he concealed from his confederate. + +When he had completed it he was not yet secure; for another day had +passed and Captain Dodd alive still. Men often recover from apoplexy, +especially when they survive the first twenty-four hours. Should he +live, he would not now come into any friendly arrangement with the man +who had so nearly caused his death. So then good-bye to the matrimonial +combination Hardie had at first relied on to patch his debt to Alfred +and his broken fortunes. Then as to keeping the money and defying +Dodd, that would be very difficult and dangerous. Mercantile bills +are traceable things, and criminal prosecutions awkward ones. He found +himself in a situation he could not see his way through by any mental +effort; there were so many objections to every course, and so many to +its opposite. “He walked among fires,” as the Latins say. But the more +he pondered on the course to be taken should Dodd live, the plainer did +this dilemma stare him in the fade: either he must refund or fly the +country with another man's money, and leave behind him the name of a +thief. Parental love and the remains of self-respect writhed at this +thought; and with these combined a sentiment less genuine, but by no +means feeble: the love of reputation. So it was with a reluctant and +sick heart he went to the shipping office, and peered at the posters to +see when the next ship sailed for the United States. Still, he did go. + +Intent on his own schemes, and expecting every day to be struck in +front, he did not observe that a man in a rusty velveteen coat followed +him, and observed this act, and indeed all his visible acts. + +Another perplexity was, when he should break? There were objections to +doing it immediately, and objections to putting it off. + +With all this the man was in a ferment: by day he sat waiting and +fearing, by night he lay sleepless and thinking; and, though his stoical +countenance retained its composure, the furrows deepened in it, and the +iron nerves began to twitch at times, from strain of mind and want of +sleep, and that rack, suspense. Not a night that he did not awaken a +dozen times from his brief dozes with a start, and a dread of exposure +by some mysterious, unforeseen means. + +It is remarkable how truths sometimes flash on men at night in hours of +nervous excitement; it was in one of these nightly reveries David Dodd's +pocket-book flashed back upon Mr. Hardie. He saw it before his eyes +quite plain, and on the inside of the leather cover a slip of paper +pasted, and written on in pencil or pale ink, he could not recall which. + +What was that writing? It might be the numbers of the notes, the +description of the bills. Why had he not taken it out of the dying man's +pocket? “Fool! fool!” he groaned, “to do anything by halves.” + +Another night he got a far severer shock. Lying in his bed dozing and +muttering as usual, he was suddenly startled out of that uneasy slumber +by three tremendous knocks at the street door. + +He sprang out of bed, and in his confusion made sure the officers of +justice were come for him: he began to huddle on his clothes with a +vague notion of flight. + +He had got on his trousers and slippers, and was looking under his +pillow for the fatal Cash, when he heard himself called loudly and +repeatedly by name; but this time the sound came from the garden into +which his bedroom looked. He opened it very softly, in trepidation and +wonder, which were speedily doubled by what met his eyes; for there, +right in front of his window, stood an unearthly figure, corresponding +in every particular to that notion of a ghost in which we are reared, +and which, when our nerves are healthy, we can ridicule as it deserves; +but somehow it is never cleaned out of our imagination so thoroughly as +it is out of our judgment. + +The figure was white as a sheet and seemed supernaturally tall; and it +cried out in a voice like a wounded lion's, “You villain! you Hardie! +give me back my money: my fourteen thousand pounds. Give me my +children's money, or may your children die before your eyes: give me my +darlings' money, or may the eternal curse of God light on you and yours, +you scoundrel!” + +And the figure kneeled on the grass, and repeated the terrible +imprecation almost in the same words, with such energy that Hardie +shrank back, and, resolute as he was, cowered, with superstitious awe. + +But this sentiment soon gave way to vulgar fears; the man would alarm +the town. And in fact Mr. Hardie, in the midst of his agitation, was +dimly conscious of hearing a window open softly not very far from him. +But it was a dark night. He put his head out in great agitation, and +whispered, “Hush! hush! I'll bring it you down directly.” + +Internally cursing his hard fate, he got the fatal Cash, put on his +coat, hunted for the key of the bank parlour, and, having found it, +went softly down the stairs, unlocked the door, and went to open the +shutters. + +At this moment his ear caught a murmur, a low buzzing of voices in the +garden. + +He naturally thought that Captain Dodd was exposing him to some of the +townspeople. He was puzzled what to do, and, like a cautious man as he +was, remained passive but on the watch. + +Presently the voices were quiet, and he heard footsteps come very slowly +towards the window at which he stood, and then make for the little gate. +On this he slipped into the kitchen, which faced the street and got to a +window there, and listened. His only idea was to catch their intentions +if possible, and meet them accordingly. He dared not open the window; +for about him on the pavement he saw a female figure half standing, half +crouching: but soon that figure rushed wildly out of his sight to meet +the footsteps, and then he ventured to open the window, and listening, +heard cries of despair, and a young heart-broken voice say her father +was dead. + +“Ah!! that is all right,” muttered Hardie. + +Still, even this profound egotist was not yet so hardened but that he +felt one chill of horror at himself for the thought--a passing chill. + +He listened and listened, and by-and-bye he heard the slow feet +recommence their journey, amidst sobs and sights; and those sorrowful +feet, and the sobs and sighs of his causing, got fainter, and fainter, +retreated, and left him in quiet possession of the L. 14,000 he had +brought down to give it up: two minutes ago it was not worth as many +pence to him. + +He drew a long breath of relief. “It is mine; I am to keep it. It is the +will of Heaven.” + +Poor Heaven! + +He went to his bed again, and by a resolute effort composed himself and +determined to sheep. And in fact he was just dropping off, when suddenly +he started wide awake again: for it recurred to him vividly that a +window in his house had opened while David was cursing him and demanding +his children's money. + +Whose window? + +Half-a-dozen people and more slept on that side of the house. + +Whose window could it be? + +He walked among fires. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +NOT many days after this a crowd of persons stood in front of the old +bank, looking half stupefied at the shutters, and at a piece of paper +pasted on them announcing a suspension, only for a months or so, and +laying the blame on certain correspondents not specified. + +So great was the confidence inspired by the old bank, that many said +it would come round, it must come round in a month: but other of Mr. +Hardie's unfortunate clients recognised in the above a mere formula to +let them down by degrees: they had seen many statements as hopeful end +in a dividend of sixpence in the pound. + +Before the day closed, the scene at the bank door was heart-rending: +respectable persons, reduced to pauperism in that day, kept arriving +and telling their fellow-sufferers their little all was with Hardie, and +nothing before them but the workhouse or the almshouse: ruined mothers +came and held up their ruined children for the banker to see; and +the doors were hammered at, and the house as well as the bank was +beleaguered by a weeping, wailing, despairing crowd. + +But like an idle wave beating on a rock, all this human misery dashed +itself in vain against the banker's brick walls and shutters, hard to +them as his very heart. + +The next day they mobbed Alfred and hissed him at the back-door. Jane +was too ashamed and too frightened to stir out. Mr. Hardie sat calmly +putting the finishing strokes to his fabricated balance-sheet. + +Some innocent and excited victims went to the mayor for redress; to the +aldermen, the magistrates--in vain. + +Towards afternoon the banker's cool contempt for his benefactors, whose +lives he had darkened, received a temporary check. A heavy stone was +flung at the bank shutters: this ferocious blow made him start and the +place rattle: it was the signal for a shower; and presently tink, tink, +went the windows of the house, and in came the stones, starring the +mirrors, upsetting the chairs, denting the papered walls, chipping the +mantelpieces, shivering the bell glasses and statuettes, and strewing +the room with dirty pebbles, and painted fragments, and glittering ruin. + +Hardie winced: this was the sort of appeal to touch him. But soon he +recovered his _sang froid._ “Thank you,” said he, “I'm much obliged to +you; now I'm in the right and you are in the wrong.” And he put himself +under protection of the police; and fee'd them so royally that they +were zealous on his behalf and rough and dictatorial even with those +who thronged the place only to moan and lament and hold up their ruined +children. “You _must_ move on, you Misery,” said the police. And +they were right: Misery gains nothing by stopping the way; nothing by +bemoaning itself. + +But if the banker, naturally egotistical, and now entirely wrapped in +his own plans, and fears, and well-earned torments, was deaf to the +anguish of his clients, there were others in his house who felt it +keenly and deeply. Alfred and Jane were heart-broken: they sat hand in +hand in a little room, drawn closer by misfortune, and heard the groans +at their door; and the tears of pity ran down their own cheeks hot with +shame; and Alfred wrote on the fly-leaf of his “Ethics” a vow to pay +every shilling his father owed these poor people--before he died. It was +like him, and like his happy age, at which the just and the generous can +command, in imagination, the means to do kindred deeds. + +Soon he found, to his horror, that he had seen but a small percentage of +the distress his father had caused; the greater griefs, as usual, stayed +at home. Behind the gadding woes lay a terrible number of silent, decent +ruined homes and broken hearts, and mixed sorrows so unmerited, so +complicated, so piteous, and so cruel, that he was ready to tear his +hair, to know them and not be able to relieve them instantly. + +Of that mere sample I give a mere sample: divine the bulk then; and +revolve a page of human history often turned by the people, but too +little studied by statisticians and legislators. + +Mr. Esgar, a respectable merchant, had heavy engagements, to meet which +his money lay at the old bank. Living at a distance, he did not hear the +news till near dinner-time, and he had promised to take his daughters +to a ball that night. He did so; left them there; went home, packed up +their clothes and valuables, and next day levanted with them to America, +taking all the money he could scrape together in London, and so he +passed his ruin on to others. Esgar was one of those who wear their +honesty long but loose: it was his first disloyal act in business. +“Dishonesty made me dishonest,” was his excuse. _Valeat quantum._ + +John Shaw, a steady footman, had saved and saved, from twenty-one years +old to thirty-eight, for “Footman's Paradise,” a public-house. He was +now engaged to a comely barmaid, who sympathised with him therein, and +he had just concluded a bargain for the “Rose and Crown” in the suburbs. +Unluckily--for him--the money had not been paid over. The blow fell: he +lost his all; not his money only, but his wasted life. He could not be +twenty-one again; so he hanged himself within forty-eight hours, and was +buried by the parish, grumbling a little, pitying none. + +James and Peter Gilpin, William Scott, and Joel Paton, were poor +fishermen and Anglo-Saxon heroes--that is, heroes with an eye to the +main chance; they risked their lives at sea to save a ship and get +salvage; failing there, they risked their lives all the same, like fine +fellows as they were, to save the crew. They succeeded, but ruined +their old boat. A subscription was raised, and prospered so, that +a boat-builder built them a new one on tick, price L. 85; and the +publicans said, “Drink, boys, drink; the subscription will cover all; it +is up to L. 120 already.” The subscription money was swallowed with the +rest, and the Anglo-Saxon heroes hauled to prison. + +Doctor Phillips, aged seventy-four, warned by growing infirmities, had +sold a tidy practice, with house, furniture, and good-will, for a fair +price, and put it in the bank, awaiting some investment. The money +was gone now, and the poor old doctor, with a wife and daughter and a +crutch, was at once a pauper and an exile: for he had sold under the +usual condition, not to practise within so many miles of his successor. +He went to that successor, and begged permission to be his assistant at +a small, small salary. “I want a younger man,” was the reply. Then he +went round to his old patients, and begged a few half-guineas to get him +a horse and chaise and keep him over the first month in his new place. +They pitied him, but most of them were sufferers too by Hardie, and all +they gave him did but buy a donkey and cart; and with that he and his +went slowly and sadly to a village ten miles distant from the place +where all his life had been spent in comfort and good credit. The poor +old gentleman often looked back from his cart at the church spires of +Barkington. + + “From seventeen till now, almost fourscore, + There lived he, but now lived there no more. + At seventeen many their fortunes seek; + But at fourscore it is too old a week.” + +Arrived at his village, he had to sell his donkey and trust to his +crutch. And so Infirmity crept about begging leave to cure Disease--with +what success may be inferred from this: Miss Phillips, a lady-like girl +of eighteen, was taken up by Farmer Giles before Squire Langton for +stealing turnips out of a field: the farmer was hard, and his losses in +Hardie's Bank had made him bitter hard; so the poor girl's excuse, that +she could not let her father starve, had no effect on him: to jail she +should go.* + + *I find, however, that Squire Langton resolutely refused to + commit Miss Phillips. The real reason, I suspect, was, that + he had a respect for the Gospel, and not much for the law, + except those invaluable clauses which restrain poaching. The + reason he gave was: “Turnips be hanged! If she hadn't eaten + them, the fly would.” However, he found means to muzzle + Giles, and sent the old doctor two couple of rabbits. + +Took to the national vice, and went to the national dogs, Thomas Fisher, +a saving tinman, and a bachelor: so I expect no pity for him. + +To the same goal, by the same road, dragging their families, went the +Rev. Henry Scudamore, a curate; Philip Hall, a linen-draper; Neil Pratt, +a shoemaker; Simon Harris, a greengrocer; and a few more; but the above +were all prudent, laborious men, who took a friendly glass, but seldom +exceeded, until Hardie's bankruptcy drove them to the devil of drink for +comfort. + +Turned professional thief, Joseph Locke, working locksmith, who had just +saved money enough to buy a shop and good-will, and now lost it every +penny. + +Turned atheist, and burnt the family Bible before his weeping wife +and terrified children and gaping servant-girl, Mr. Williams, a +Sunday-school teacher, known hitherto only as a mild, respectable man, a +teetotaler, and a good parent and husband. He did not take to drinking; +but he did to cursing, and forbade his own flesh and blood ever to enter +a church again. This man became an outcast, shunned by all. + +Three elderly sisters, the Misses Lunley, well born and bred, lived +together on their funds, which, small singly, united made a decent +competence. Two of them had refused marriage in early life for fear the +third should fall into less tender hands than theirs. For Miss Blanche +Lunley was a cripple: disorder of the spine had robbed her, in youth's +very bloom, of the power not only to dance, as you girls do, but to walk +or even stand upright, leaving her two active little hands, and a heart +as nearly angelic as we are likely to see here on earth. + +She lay all day long on a little iron bedstead at the window of their +back-parlour, that looked on a sunny little lawn, working eagerly for +the poor; teaching the poor, young and old, to read, chiefly those of +her own sex; hearing the sorrows of the poor, composing the quarrels of +the poor, relieving their genuine necessities with a little money and +much ingenuity and labour. + +Some poor woman, in a moment of inspiration, called Miss Blanche “The +sunshine of the poor.” The word was instantly caught up in the parish, +and had now this many years gently displaced “Lunley,” and settled on +her here below, and its echo gone before her up to Heaven. + +The poor “sunshine of the poor” was happy: life was sweet to her. To +know whether this is so, it is useless to inquire of the backbone or the +limbs: look at the face! She lay at her window in the kindred sunshine, +and in a world of sturdy, able, agile cursers, grumblers, and yawners, +her face, pale its ashes, wore the eternal sunshine of a happy, holy +smile. + +But there came one to her bedside and told her the bank was broken, and +all the money gone she and her sisters had lent Mr. Hardie. + +The saint clasped her hands and said, “Oh, my poor people! What will +become of them?” And the tears ran down her pale and now sorrowful +cheeks. + +At this time she did not know the full extent of their losses. But they +had given Mr. Hardie a power of attorney to draw out all their consols. +That remorseless man had abused the discretion this gave him, and +beggared them--they were his personal friends, too--to swell his secret +hoard. + +When “the sunshine of the poor” heard this, and knew that she was now +the poorest of the poor, she clasped her hands and cried, “Oh, my poor +sisters! my poor sisters!” and she could work no more for sighing. + +The next morning found “the sunshine of the poor” extinct in her little +bed: ay, died of grief with no grain of egotism in it; gone straight to +heaven without one angry word against Richard Hardie or any other. + +Old Betty had a horror of the workhouse. To save her old age from it she +had deposited her wages in the bank for the last twenty years, and also +a little legacy from Mr. Hardie's father. She now went about the house +of her master and debtor, declaring she was sure he would not rob _her,_ +and, if he did, she would never go into the poorhouse. “I'll go out on +the common and die there. Nobody will miss _me._” + + +The next instance led to consequences upon consequences: and that is my +excuse for telling it the reader somewhat more fully than Alfred heard +it. + +Mrs. Maxley one night found something rough at her feet in bed. “What on +earth is this?” said she. + +“Never you mind,” said Maxley: “say it's my breeches; what then?” + +“Why, what on earth does the man put his breeches to bed for?” + +“That is my business,” roared Maxley, and whispered drily, “'tain't for +you to wear 'em, howsever.” + +This little spar led to his telling her he had drawn out all their +money, but, when she asked the reason, he snubbed her again indirectly, +recommending her to sleep. + +The fact is, the small-clothes were full of bank-notes; and Maxley +always followed them into bed now, for fear of robbers. + +The bank broke on a Tuesday: Maxley dug on impassive; and when curious +people came about him to ask whether he was a loser, he used +to inquire very gravely, and dwelling on every syllable, +“Do--you--see--anything--green--in this ere eye.” + +Friday was club day; the clubsmen met at the “Greyhound” and talked over +their losses. Maxley sat smoking complacently; and when his turn came to +groan, he said drily: “I draad all mine a week afore. (Exclamations.) I +had a hinkling: my boy Jack he wrote to me from Canada as how Hardie's +was rotten out there; now these here bankers they be like an oak tree; +they do go at the limbs first and then at the heart.” + +The club was wroth. “What, you went and made yourself safe and never +gave any of us a chance? Was that neighbourly? was that--clubbable?” + +To a hailstorm of similar reproaches, Maxley made but one reply, +“'Twarn't _my_ business to take care o' _you._” He added, however, a +little sulkily, “I was laad for slander once: scalded dog fears lue-warm +water.” + +“Oh,” said one, “I don't believe him. He puts a good face on it but his +nine hundred is gone along with ourn.” + +“'Taiu't gone far, then.” With this he put his hand in his pocket, and, +after some delay, pulled out a nice new crisp note and held it up. “What +is that? I ask the company.” + +“Looks like a ten-pun note, James.” + +“Welt the bulk 'grees with the sample; I knows where to find eightscore +and nine to match this here.” + +The note was handed round: and on inspection each countenance in turn +wore a malicious smile; till at last Maxley, surrounded by grinning +faces, felt uneasy. + +“What be 'e all grinning at like a litter o' Chessy cats? Warn't ye ugly +enough without showing of your rotten teeth?” + +“Haw! Haw!” + +“Better say 'tain't money at all, but only a wench's curl paper:” and +he got up and snatched it fiercely out of the last inspector's hand. “Ye +can't run your rigs on me,” said he. “What an if I can't read words, +I can figures; and I spelt the ten out on every one of them, afore I'd +take it.” + +A loud and general laugh greeted this boast. + +Then Maxley snatched up his hat in great wrath and some anxiety, and +went out followed by a peal. + +In five minutes he was at home; and tossed the note into his wife's lap. +She was knitting by a farthing dip. “Dame,” said he, controlling all +appearance of anxiety, “what d'ye call that?” + +She took up the note and held it close to the candle. + +“Why, Jem, it is a ten-pound note, one of Hardie's--_as was._” + +“Then what were those fools laughing at?” And he told her all that had +happened. + +Mrs. Maxley dropped her knitting and stood up trembling. “Why, you told +me you had got our money all safe out!” + +“Well, and so I have, ye foolish woman; and he drew the whole packet out +of his pocket and flung them fiercely on the table. Mrs. Maxley ran her +finger and eye over them, and uttered a scream of anger and despair. + +“These! these be all Hardie's notes,” she cried; “and what vally be +Hardie's notes when Hardie's be broke?” + +Maxley staggered as if he had been shot. + +The woman's eyes flashed fury at him. “This is your work, ye born idiot: +'mind your own business,' says you: you _must_ despise your wedded wife, +that has more brains in her finger than you have in all your great long +useless carease: you _must_ have your secrets: one day poison, another +day beggary: you have ruined me, you have murdered me: get out of my +sight! for if I find a knife I'll put it in you, I will.” And in her +ungovernable passion, she actually ran to the dresser for a knife: at +which Maxley caught up a chair and lifted it furiously, above his head +to fling at her. + +Luckily the man had more self-command than the woman; he dashed the +chair furiously on the floor, and ran out of the house. + +He wandered about half stupid, and presently his feet took him +mechanically round to his garden. He pottered about among his plants, +looking at them, inspecting them closely, and scarce seeing them. +However, he covered up one or two, and muttered, “I think there will be +a frost to-night: I think there will be a frost” Then his legs seemed to +give way. He sat down and thought of his wedding-day: he began to talk +to himself out loud, as some people do in trouble. “Bless her comely +face,” said he, “and to think I had my arm lifted to strike her, after +wearing her so low, and finding her good stuff upon the whole. Well, +thank my stars I didn't We must make the best on't: money's gone; but +here's the garden and our hands still; and 'tain't as if we were single +to gnaw our hearts alone: wedded life cuts grief a two. Let's make it up +and begin again. Sixty come Martinmas, and Susan forty-eight: and I be +a'most weary of turning moulds.” + +He went round to his front door. + +There was a crowd round it; a buzzing crowd with all their faces turned +towards his door. + +He came at their backs, and asked peevishly what was to do now. Some of +the women shrieked at his voice. The crowd turned about; and a score of +faces peered at him: some filled with curiosity, some with pity. + +“Lord help us!” said the poor man, “is there any more trouble a foot +to-day? Stand aside, please, and let me know.” + +“No! no!” cried a woman, “don't let him.” + +“Not let me go into my own house, young woman?” said Maxley with +dignity: “be these your manners?” + +“Oh, James: I meant you no ill. Poor man!” + +“Poor soul!” said another. + +“Stand aloof!” said a strange man. “Who has as good a right to be there +as he have?” + +A lane was made directly, and Maxley rushed down between two rows of +peering faces, with his knees knocking together, and burst into his own +house. A scream from the women inside as he entered, and a deep groan +from the strong man bereaved of his mate, told the tragedy. Poor Susan +Maxley was gone. + +She had died of breast-pang within a minute of his leaving her; and the +last words of two faithful spouses were words of anger. + + +All these things, and many more less tragic, but very deplorable, came +to Alfred Hardie's knowledge, and galled and afflicted him deeply. And +several of these revelations heaped discredit high upon Richard Hardie, +till the young man, born with a keen sense of justice, and bred amongst +honourable minds, began to shudder at his own father. + +Herein he was alone; Jane, with the affectionate blindness of her sex, +could throw her arms round her father's neck, and pity him for his +losses--by his own dishonesty--and pity him most when some victim of +his unprincipled conduct died or despaired. “Poor papa will feel this so +deeply,” was her only comment on such occasions. + +Alfred was not sorry she could take this view, and left her unmolested +to confound black with white, and wrong with right, at affection's +dictates; but his own trained understanding was not to be duped +in matters of plain morality. And so, unable to cure the wrongs he +deplored, unable to put his conscience into his pocket like Richard +Hardie, or into his heart like Jane, he wandered alone, or sat brooding +and dejected: and the attentive reader, if I am so fortunate as to +possess one, will not be surprised to learn that he was troubled, too, +with dark mysterious surmises he half dreaded, yet felt it his duty to +fathom. These and Mrs. Dodd's loss by the bank combined to keep him +out of Albion Villa. He often called to ask after Captain Dodd, but was +ashamed to enter the house. + +Now Richard Hardie's anxiety to know whether David was to die or live +had not declined, but rather increased. If the latter, he was now +resolved to fly to the United States with his booty, and cheat his +alienated son along with the rest: he had come by degrees down to this. +It was on Alfred he had counted to keep him informed of David's state; +but, on his putting a smooth inquiry, the young man's face flushed with +shame, or anger, or something, and he gave a very short, sharp, and +obscure reply. In reality, he did not know much, nor did Sarah, his +informant; for of late the servants had never been allowed to enter +David's room. + +Mr. Hardie, after this rebuff, never asked Alfred again; but having +heard Sampson's name mentioned as Dodd's medical attendant, wrote and +asked him to come and dine next time he should visit Barkington. + +“You will find me a fallen man,” said he; “to-morrow we resign our house +and premises and furniture to the assignees, and go to live at a little +furnished cottage not very far from your friends the Dodds. It is called +'Musgrove Cottage.' There, where we have so little to offer besides a +welcome, none but true friends will come near us; indeed, there are very +few I should venture to ask for such a proof of fidelity to your broken +friend, + +“R. H.” + + +The good-hearted Sampson sent a cordial reply, and came to dinner at +Musgrove Cottage. + + +Now all Hardie wanted of him in reality was to know about David; so when +Jane had retired and the decanter circulated, he began to pump him +by his vanity. “I understand,” said he, “you have wrought one of your +surprising cures in this neighbourhood. Albion Villa!” + +Sampson shook his head sorrowfully: Mr. Hardie's eyes sparkled. Alfred +watched him keenly and bitterly. + +“How can I work a great cure after these ass-ass-ins Short and Osmond? +Look, see! the man had been wounded in the hid, and lost blood: thin +stabbed in the shoulder, and lost more blood.”--Both the Hardies uttered +an ejaculation of unfeigned surprise.--“So, instid of recruiting the +buddy thus exhausted of the great liquid material of all repair, the +profissional ass-ass-in came and exhausted him worse: stabbed him while +he slept; stabbed him unconscious, stabbed him in a vein: and stole +more blood from him. Wasn't that enough? No! the routine of +profissional ass-ass-ination had but begun; nixt they stabbed him with +cupping-needles, and so stole more of his life-blood. And they were goen +from their stabs to their bites, goen to leech his temples, and so hand +him over to the sixton.” + +“But you came in and saved him,” cried Alfred. + +“I saved his life,” said Sampson sorrowfully; “but life is not the only +good thing a man may be robbed of by those who steal his life-blood, and +so impoverish and water the contints of the vessels of the brain.” + +“Doctor Sampson,” said Alfred, “what do you mean by these mysterious +words? You alarm me.” + +“What, don't you know? Haven't they told you?” + +“No, I have not had the courage to enter the house since the bank----” + he stopped in confusion. + +“Ay, I understand,” said Sampson: “however, it can't be hidden now:-- + +“He is a maniac.” + + +Sampson made this awful announcement soberly and sorrowfully. + +Alfred groaned aloud, and even his father experienced a momentary +remorse; but so steady had been the progress of Corruption, that he felt +almost unmixed joy the next instant; and his keen-witted son surprised +the latter sentiment in his face, and shuddered with disgust. + +Sampson went on to say that he believed the poor man had gone +flourishing a razor; and Mrs. Dodd had said, “Yes, kill me, David: kill +the mother of your children,” and never moved: which feminine, or in +other words irrational, behaviour had somehow disarmed him. But it would +not happen again: his sister had come; a sensible, resolute woman. She +had signed the order, and Osmond and he the certificates, and he was +gone to a private asylum. “Talking of that,” said Sampson, rising +suddenly, “I must go and give them a word of comfort; for they are just +breaking their hearts at parting with him, poor things. I'll be back in +an hour.” + +On his departure, Jane returned and made the tea in the dining-room: +they lived like that now. + +Mr. Hardie took it from his favourite's lithe white hand, and smiled +on her: he should not have to go to a foreign land after all: who would +believe a madman if he should rave about his thousands? He sipped +his tea luxuriously, and presently delivered himself thus, with bland +self-satisfaction:-- + +“My dear Alfred, some time ago you wished to marry a young lady without +fortune. You thought that I had a large one; and you expected me to +supply all deficiencies. You did not overrate my parental feeling, but +you did my means. I would have done this for you, and with pleasure, +but for my own coming misfortunes. As it was, I said 'No,' and when you +demanded, somewhat peremptorily, my reasons, I said 'Trust me.' Well, +you see I was right: such a marriage would have been your utter ruin. +However, I conclude, after what Dr. Sampson has told us, you have +resigned it on other grounds. Jane, my dear, Captain Dodd, I am sorry to +say, is afflicted. He has gone mad.” + +“Gone mad?! Oh, how shocking! What will become of his poor children?” + She thought of Edward first. + +“We have just heard it from Sampson. And I presume, Alfred, you are not +so far gone as to insist on propagating insanity by a marriage with his +daughter.” + +At this conclusion, which struck her obliquely, though aimed at Alfred, +Jane sighed gently, and her dream of earthly happiness seemed to melt +away. + +But Alfred ground his teeth, and replied with great bitterness and +emotion: “I think, sir, you are the last man who ought to congratulate +yourself on the affliction that has fallen on that unhappy family I +aspire to enter, all the more that now they have calamities for me to +share----” + +“More fool you,” put in Mr. Hardie calmly. + +“--For I much fear you are one of the causes of that calamity.” + +Mr. Hardie assumed a puzzled air. “I don't see how that can be: do you, +Jenny? Sampson told us the causes: a wound on the head, a wound in the +arm, bleeding, cupping, &c.” + +“There may be other causes Dr. Sampson has not been told of--yet” + +“Possibly. I really don't know what you allude to.” + +The son fixed his eyes on the father, and leaned across the table to +him, till their faces nearly met. + +“The fourteen thousand pounds, sir.” + + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +MR. HARDIE was taken by surprise for once, and had not a word to say, +but looked in his son's face, mute and gasping as a fish. + +During this painful silence his children eyed him inquiringly, but not +with the same result; for one face is often read differently by two +persons. To Jane, whose intelligence had no aids, he seemed unaffectedly +puzzled; but Alfred discerned beneath his wonder the terror of detection +rising, and then thrust back by the strong will: that stoical face shut +again like an iron door, but not quickly enough: the right words, the +“open sesame,” had been spoken, and one unguarded look had confirmed +Alfred's vague suspicions of foul play. He turned his own face away: he +was alienated by the occurrences of the last few months, but Nature and +tender reminiscences still held him by some fibres of the heart--in a +moment of natural indignation he had applied the touchstone, but its +success grieved him. He could not bear to go on exposing his father; so +he left the room with a deep sigh, in which pity mingled with shame and +regret. He wandered out into the silent night, and soon was leaning +on the gate of Albion Villa, gazing wistfully at the windows, and sore +perplexed and nobly wretched. + +As he was going out, Mr. Hardie raised his eyebrows with a look of +disinterested wonder and curiosity; and touched his forehead to Jane, as +much as to say, “Is he disordered in his mind?” + +As soon as they were alone, he asked her coolly what Alfred meant. She +said she had no idea. Then he examined her keenly about this fourteen +thousand pounds, and found, to his relief, Alfred had never even +mentioned it to her. + +And now Richard Hardie, like his son, wanted to be alone, and think over +this new peril that had risen in the bosom of his own family, and, for +once, the company of his favourite child was irksome: he made an excuse +and strolled out in his turn into the silent night. It was calm and +clear: the thousand holy eyes, under which men prefer to do their +crimes--except when they are in too great a hurry to wait--looked down +and seemed to wonder anything can be so silly as to sin; and beneath +their pure gaze the man of the world pondered with all his soul. He +tormented himself with conjectures: through what channel did Alfred +suspect him? Through the Dodds? Were they aware of their loss? Had the +pocket-book spoken? If so, why had not Mrs. Dodd or her son attacked +him? But then perhaps Alfred was their agent: they wished to try a +friendly remonstrance through a mutual friend before proceeding to +extremities; this accorded with Mrs. Dodd's character as he remembered +her. + +The solution was reasonable; but he was relieved of it by recollecting +what Alfred had said, that he had not entered the house since the bank +broke. + +On this he began to hope Alfred's might be a mere suspicion he could not +establish by any proof; and at all events, he would lock it in his own +breast like a good son: his never having given a hint even to his sister +favoured this supposition. + +Thus meditating, Mr. Hardie found himself at the gate of Albion Villa. + +Yet he had strolled out with no particular intention of going there. +Had his mind, apprehensive of danger from that quarter, driven his body +thither? + +He took a look at the house, and the first thing he saw was a young lady +leaning over the balcony, and murmuring softly to a male figure below, +whose outline Mr. Hardie could hardly discern, for it stood in the +shadow. Mr. Hardie was delighted. + +“Aha, Miss Juliet,” said he, “if Alfred does not visit you, some one +else does. You have soon supplied your peevish lover's place.” He then +withdrew softly from the gate, not to disturb the intrigue, and watched +a few yards off; determined to see who Julia's nightly visitor was, and +give Alfred surprise for surprise. + +He had not long to wait: the man came away directly, and walked, head +erect, past Mr. Hardie, and glanced full in his face, but did not +vouchsafe him a word. It was Alfred himself. + +Mr. Hardie was profoundly alarmed and indignant. “The young traitor! +Never enter the house? no; but he comes and tells her everything +directly under her window on the sly; and, when he is caught--defies me +to my face.” And now he suspected female cunning and malice in the way +that thunderbolt had been quietly prepared for him and launched, +without warning, in his very daughter's presence, and the result just +communicated to Julia Dodd. + +In a very gloomy mood he followed his son, and heard his firm though +elastic tread on the frosty ground, and saw how loftily he carried his +head; and from that moment feared, and very, very nearly hated him. + +The next day he feigned sick and sent for Osmond. That worthy prescribed +a pill and a draught, the former laxative, the latter astringent. This +ceremony performed, Mr. Hardie gossipped with him; and, after a detour +or two, glided to his real anxiety. “Sampson tells me you know more +about Captain Dodd's case than he does: he is not very clear as to the +cause of the poor man's going mad.” + +“The cause? Why, apoplexy.” + +“Yes, but I mean what caused the apoplexy?” + +Mr. Osmond replied that apoplexy was often idiopathic.* Captain Dodd, +as he understood, had fallen down in the street in a sudden fit: “but as +for the mania, that is to be attributed to an insufficient evacuation of +blood while under the apoplectic coma.” + + * “Arising of itself.” A term rather hastily applied to + disorders the coming signs of which have not been detected + by the medical attendant. + +The birth of Topsy was idiopathic--in that learned lady's opinion.---- + +“Not bled enough! Why, Sampson says it is because he was bled too much.” + +Osmond was amused at this, and repeated that the mania came of not being +bled enough. + +The discussion was turned into an unexpected quarter by the entrance of +Jane Hardie, who came timidly in and said, “Oh, Mr. Osmond, I cannot let +you go without telling you how anxious I am about Alfred. He is so thin, +and pale, and depressed.” + +“Nonsense, Jane,” said Mr. Hardie; “have we not all cause to be dejected +in this house?” But she persisted gently that there was more in it than +that; and his headaches were worse, and she could not be easy any longer +without advice. + +“Ah! those headaches,” said Mr. Osmond, “they always made me uneasy. To +tell the truth, Miss Hardie, I have noticed a remarkable change in him, +but I did not like to excite apprehensions. And so he mopes, does he? +seeks solitude, and is taciturn, and dejected?” + +“Yes. But I do not mind that so much as his turning so pale and thin.” + +“Oh, it is all part of one malady.” + +“Then you know what is the matter?” + + “I think I do; and yours is a wise and timely anxiety. Your brother's is +a very delicate case of hyperaesthetic character; and I should like to +have the advice of a profound physician. Let me see, Dr. Wycherley will +be with me to-morrow: may I bring him over as a friend?” + +This proposal did not at all suit Mr. Hardie. He put his own +construction on Alfred's pallor and dejection, and was uneasy at the +idea of his being cross-questioned by a couple of doctors: + +“No, no,” said he; “Taff has fancies enough already. I cannot have you +gentlemen coming here to fill his head with many more.” + +“Oh, he has fancies, has he?” said Osmond keenly. “My dear sir, we shall +not say one word to _him:_ that might irritate him: but I should like +_you_ to hear a truly learned opinion.” + +Jane looked so imploringly that Mr. Hardie yielded a reluctant assent, +on those terms. + +So the next day, by appointment, Mr. Osmond introduced his friend +Dr. Wycherley: bland and bald with a fine bead, and a face naturally +intelligent, but crossed every now and then by gleams of vacancy; a +man of large reading, and of tact to make it subserve his interests. +A voluminous writer on certain medical subjects, he had so saturated +himself with circumlocution, that it distilled from his very tongue: he +talked like an Article, a Quarterly one; and so gained two advantages: +1st, he rarely irritated a fellow-creature; for if he began a sentence +hot, what with its length, and what with its windiness, he ended it +cool: item, stabs by polysyllables are pricks by sponges. 2ndly, this +foible earned him the admiration of fools; and that is as invaluable as +they are innumerable. + +Yet was there in the mother-tongue he despised one gem of a word he +vastly admired: like most Quarterly writers. That charming word, the pet +of the polysyllabic, was “OF.” + + He opened the matter in a subdued and sympathising tone well calculated +to win a loving father, such as Richard Hardie--was not. + +“My good friend here informs me, sir, you are so fortunate as to possess +a son of distinguished abilities, and who is at present labouring +under some of those precursory indications of incipient disease of the +cerebro-psychical organs, of which I have been, I may say, somewhat +successful in diagnosing the symptoms. Unless I have been misinformed, +he has, for a considerable time, experienced persistent headache of +a kephalalgic or true cerebral type, and has now advanced to the +succeeding stage of taciturnity and depression, not* unaccompanied with +isolation, and probably constipation: but as yet without hallucination, +though possibly, and, as my experience of the great majority of these +cases would induce me to say, probably he is not** undisturbed by one or +more of those latent, and, at first, trifling aberrations, either of the +intelligence or the senses, which in their preliminary stages escape the +observation of all but the expert nosologist.” + + *Anglice, “accompanied.” + + **Anglice, “disturbed.” + +“There, you see,” said Osmond, “Dr. Wycherley agrees with me: yet I +assure you I have only detailed the symptoms, and not the conclusion I +had formed from them.” + +Jane inquired timidly what that conclusion was. + +“Miss Hardie, we think it one of those obscure tendencies which are very +curable if taken in time----” Dr. Wycherley ended the sentence: “But no +longer remediable if the fleeting opportunity is allowed to escape, and +diseased action to pass into diseased organisation.” + +Jane looked awestruck at their solemnity; but Mr. Hardie, who was taking +advice against the grain, turned satirical. “Gentleman,” said he, “be +pleased to begin by moderating your own obscurity; and then perhaps I +shall see better how to cure my son's disorder. What the deuce are you +driving at?” + +The two doctors looked at one another inquiringly, and so settled how to +proceed. Dr. Wycherley explained to Mr. Hardie that there was a sort of +general unreasonable and superstitious feeling abroad, a kind of terror +of the complaint with which his son was threatened; _“and which,_ +instead of the most remediable of disorders, is looked at as the +most incurable of maladies:” it was on this account he had learned to +approach the subject with singular caution, and even with a timidity +which was kinder in appearance than in reality; that he must admit. + +“Well, you may speak out, as far as I am concerned,” said Mr. Hardie, +with consummate indifference. + +“Oh, yes!” said Jane, in a fever of anxiety; “pray conceal nothing from +us.” + +“Well, then, sir, I have not as yet had the advantage of examining your +son personally, but, from the diagnostics, I have no doubt whatever +he is labouring under the first fore-shadowings of cerebro-psychical +perturbation. To speak plainly, the symptoms are characteristic of the +initiatory stage of the germination of a morbid state of the phenomena +of intelligence.” + +His unprofessional hearers only stared. + +“In one word, then,” said Dr. Wycherley, waxing impatient at their +abominable obtuseness, “it is the premonitory stage of the precursory +condition of an organic affection of the brain.” + +“Oh!” said Mr. Hardie, “the brain!* I see; the boy is going mad.” + + * What a blessing there are a few English words left in all + our dialects. + +The doctors stared in their turn at the prodigious coolness of a tender +parent. “Not exactly,” said Dr. Wycherley; “I am habitually averse to +exaggeration of symptoms. Your son's suggest to me 'the Incubation of +Insanity,' nothing more.” + +Jane uttered an exclamation of horror; the doctor soothed her with an +assurance that there was no cause for alarm. “Incipient aberration” + was of easy cure: the mischief lay in delay. “Miss Hardie,” said he +paternally, “during a long and busy professional career, it has been +my painful province to witness the deplorable consequences of the +non-recognition, by friends and relatives, of the precedent symptoms of +those organic affections of the brain, the relief of which was within +the reach of well-known therapeutic agents if exhibited seasonably.” + +He went on to deplore the blind prejudice of unprofessional persons, who +choose to fancy that other diseases creep, but Insanity pounces, on a +man; which he expressed thus neatly: “that other deviations from organic +conditions of health are the subject of clearly defined though +delicate gradations, but that the worst and most climacteric forms of +cerebro-psychical disorder are suddenly developed affections presenting +no evidence of any antecedent cephalic organic change, and unaccompanied +by a premonitory stage, or by incipient symptoms.” + +This chimera he proceeded to confute by experience: he had repeatedly +been called in to cases of mania described as sudden, and almost +invariably found the patient had been cranky for years; which he +condensed thus: “His conduct and behaviour for many years previously to +any symptom of mental aberration being noticed, had been characterised +by actions quite irreconcilable with the supposition of the existence of +perfect sanity of intellect.” + +He instanced a parson, whom he had lately attended, and found him as +constipated and as convinced he was John the Baptist engaged to the +Princess Mary as could be. “But,” continued the learned doctor, “upon +investigation of this afflicted ecclesiastic's antecedent history, +I discovered that, for years before this, he had exhibited conduct +incompatible with the hypothesis of a mind whose equilibrium had been +undisturbed. He had caused a number of valuable trees to be cut down on +his estate, without being able to offer a sane justification for such +an outrageous proceeding; and had actually disposed of a quantity of his +patrimonial acres, _'and which'_ clearly he never would have parted with +had he been in anything resembling a condition of sanity.” + +“Did he sell the land and timber below the market price?” inquired Mr. +Hardie, perking up, and exhibiting his first symptoms of interest in the +discussion. + +“On that head, sir, my informant, his heir-at-law, gave me no +information: nor did I enter into that class of detail. You naturally +look at morbid phenomena in a commercial spirit, but we regard them +medically--and all this time most assiduously visiting the sick of his +parish and preaching admirable serious.” + +The next instance he gave was of a stockbroker suffering under general +paralysis and a rooted idea that all the _specie_ in the Bank of England +was his, and ministers in league with foreign governments to keep him +out of it. “Him,” said the doctor, “I discovered to have been for +years guilty of conduct entirely incompatible with the hypothesis +of undisordered mental functions. He had accused his domestics +of peculation, and had initiated legal proceedings with a view of +prosecuting in a court of law one of his oldest friends.” + +“Whence you infer that, if my son has not for years been doing cranky +acts, he is not likely to be deranged at present.” + +This adroit twist of the argument rather surprised Dr. Wycherley. +However, he was at no loss for a reply. “It is not Insanity, but the +Incubation of Insanity, which is suspected in your intelligent son's +case: and the best course will be for me to enumerate in general terms +the several symptoms of 'the Incubation of Insanity:'” he concluded with +some severity. “After that, sir, I shall cease to intrude what I fear is +an unwelcome conviction.” + +The parent, whose levity and cold reception of good tidings he had thus +mildly, yet with due dignity, rebuked, was a man of the world, and liked +to make friends, not enemies: so he took the hint, and made a very civil +speech, assuring Dr. Wycherley that, if he ventured to differ from +him, he was none the less obliged by the kind interest he took in a +comparative stranger: and would be very glad to hear all about the +“Incubation of Insanity.” + +Dr. Wycherley bowed slightly and complied: + +“One diagnostic preliminary sign of abnormal cerebral action is +Kephalalgia, or true cerebral headache; I mean persistent headache +not accompanied by a furred tongue, or other indicia significant of +abdominal or renal disorder as its origin.” + +Jane sighed. “He has sad headaches.” + +“The succeeding symptom is a morbid affection of sleep. Either the +patient suffers from Insomnia, or else from Hypersomnia, which we +subdivide into sopor, carus, and lethargus; or thirdly from Kakosomnia, +or a propensity to mere dozing, and to all the morbid phenomena of +dreams.” + +“Papa,” said Jane, “poor Alfred sleeps very badly: I hear him walking at +all hours of the night.” + +“I thought as much,” said Dr. Wycherley; “Insomnia is the commonest +feature. To resume; the insidious advance of morbid thought is next +marked by high spirits, or else by low spirits; generally the latter. +The patient begins by moping, then shows great lassitude and ennui, then +becomes abstracted, moody, and occupied with a solitary idea.” + +Jane clasped her hands and the tears stood in her eyes; so well did this +description tally with poor Alfred's case. + +“And at this period,” continued Dr. Wycherley, “my experience leads me +to believe that some latent delusion is generally germinating in the +mind, though often concealed with consummate craft by the patient: the +open development of this delusion is the next stage, and, with this last +morbid phenomenon, Incubation ceases and Insanity begins. Sometimes, +however, the illusion is physical rather than psychical, of the sense +rather than of the intelligence. It commences at night: the incubator +begins by seeing nocturnal visions, often of a photopsic* character, or +hearing nocturnal sounds, neither of which have any material existence, +being conveyed to his optic or auricular nerves not from without, but +from within, by the agency of a disordered brain. These the reason, +hitherto unimpaired, combats at first, especially when they are +nocturnal only; but being reproduced, and becoming diurnal, the judgment +succumbs under the morbid impression produced so repeatedly. These are +the ordinary antecedent symptoms characteristic of the incubation of +insanity; to which are frequently added somatic exaltation, or, in +popular language, physical excitability--a disposition to knit the +brows--great activity of the mental faculties--or else a well-marked +decline of the powers of the understanding--an exaggeration of the +normal conditions of thought--or a reversal of the mental habits and +sentiments, such as a sudden aversion to some person hitherto beloved, +or some study long relished and pursued.” + + * Luminous. + +Jane asked leave to note these all down in her note-book. + +Mr. Hardie assented adroitly; for he was thinking whether he could +not sift some grain out of all this chaff. Should Alfred blab his +suspicions, here were two gentlemen who would at all events help him to +throw ridicule on them. + +Dr. Wycherley having politely aided Jane Hardie to note down the +“preliminary process of the Incubation of disorders of the Intellect,” + resumed: “Now, sir, your son appears to be in a very inchoate stage of +the malady: he has cerebral Kephalalgia and Insomnia----” + +“And, oh, doctor,” said Jane, “he knits his brows often and has given up +his studies; won't go back to Oxford this term.” + +“Exactly; and seeks isolation, and is a prey to morbid distraction and +reverie: but has no palpable illusions, has he?” + +“Not that I know of,” said Mr. Hardie. + +“Well, but,” objected Jane, “did not he say something to you very +curious the other night about Captain Dodd and fourteen thousand +pounds?” + +Mr. Hardie's blood ran cold. “No,” he stammered, “not that I remember.” + +“Oh, yes, he did, papa: you have forgotten it: but at the time you were +quite puzzled what he could meant: and you did _so._” She put her finger +to her forehead, and the doctors interchanged a meaning glance. + +“I believe you are right, Jenny,” said Mr. Hardie, taking the cue so +unexpectedly offered him: “he did say some nonsense I could not make +head nor tail of; but we all have our crotchets. There, run away, like +a good girl, and let me explain all this to our good friends here: and +mind, not a word about it to Alfred.” + +When she was gone, he said, “Gentlemen, my son is over head and ears in +love; that is all.” + +“Ay, Erotic monomania is a very ordinary phase of insanity,” said Dr. +Wycherley. + +“His unreasonable passion for a girl he knows he can never marry makes +him somewhat crotchety and cranky: that, and over-study, may have +unhinged his mind a little. Suppose I send him abroad? My good brother +will find the means; or we could advance it him, I and the other +trustees; he comes into ten thousand pounds in a month or two.” + +The doctors exchanged a meaning look. They then dissuaded him earnestly +from the idea of Continental travel. + +“Coelum non animam mutant qui trans mare currunt,” said Wycherley, and +Osmond explained that Alfred would brood abroad as well as at home, if +he went alone; and Dr. Wycherley summed up thus: “The most advisable +course is to give him the benefit of the personal superintendence of +some skilful physician possessed of means and appliances of every sort +for soothing and restraining the specific malady.” + +Mr. Hardie did not at first see the exact purport of this oleaginous +periphrasis. Presently he caught a glimpse; but said he thought +confinement was hardly the thing to drive away melancholy. + +“Not in all respects,” replied Dr. Wycherley; “but, on the other hand, +a little gentle restraint is the safest way of effecting a disruption of +the fatal associations that have engendered and tend to perpetuate the +disorder. Besides, the medicinal appliances are invaluable, including, +as they do, the nocturnal and diurnal attendance of a Psycho-physical +physician, who knows the Psychosomatic relation of body and mind, and +can apply physical remedies, of the effect of which on the physical +instrument of intelligence, the grey matter of the brain, we have seen +so many examples.” + +The good doctor then feelingly deplored the inhumanity of parents and +guardians in declining to subject their incubators to opportune and +salutary restraint under the more than parental care of a Psychosomatic +physician. On this head he got quite warm, and inveighed against the +abominable _cruelty_ of the thing. “It is contrary,” said he, “to every +principle of justice and humanity, that a fellow-creature, deranged +perhaps only on one point, should, for the want of the early attention +of those whose duty it is to watch over him, linger out his existence +separated from all who are dear to him, and condemned without any crime +to be a prisoner for life.” + +Mr. Hardie was puzzled by this sentence, in which the speaker's usual +method was reversed, and the thought was bigger than the words. + +“Oh,” said he at last, “I see. We ought to incarcerate our children to +keep them from being incarcerated.” + +“That is one way of putting it with a vengence,” said Mr. Osmond +staring. “No; what my good friend means----” + +“Is this; where the patient is possessor of an income of such a +character as to enable his friends to show a sincere affection by +anticipating the consequences of neglected morbid phenomena of +the brain, there a lamentable want of humanity is exhibited by the +persistent refusal to the patient, on the part of his relatives, of +the incalculable advantage of the authoritative advice of a competent +physician accompanied with the safeguards and preventives of----” + +But ere the mellifluous pleonast had done oiling his paradox with fresh +polysyllables, to make it slip into the banker's narrow understanding, +he met with a curious interruption. Jane Hardie fluttered in to say a +man was at the door accusing himself of being deranged. + +“How often this sort of coincidence occurs,” said Osmond +philosophically. + +“Do not refuse him, dear papa; it is not for money: he only wants you to +give him an order to go into a lunatic asylum.” + +_“Now, there is a sensible man,_” said Dr. Wycherley. + +“Well, but,” objected Mr. Hardie, “if he is a sensible man, why does he +want to go to an asylum?” + +“Oh, they are all sensible at times,” observed Mr. Osmond. + +_“Singularly so,_” said Dr. Wycherley, warmly. And he showed a desire +to examine this paragon, who had the sense to know he was out of his +senses. + +“It would be but kind of you, sir,” said Jane; “poor, poor man!” She +added, he did not like to come in, and would they mind just going out to +him? + +“Oh no, not in the least: especially as you seem interested in him.” + +And they all three rose and went out together, and found the petitioner +at the front door. Who should it be but James Maxley! + +His beard was unshaven, his face haggard, and everything about him +showed a man broken in spirit as well as fortune: even his voice +had lost half its vigour, and, whenever he had uttered a consecutive +sentence or two, his head dropped on his breast pitiably: indeed, this +sometimes occurred in the middle of a sentence, and then the rest of it +died on his lips. + +Mr. Richard Hardie was not prepared to encounter one of his unhappy +creditors thus publicly, and, to shorten the annoyance, would have +dismissed him roughly: but he dared not; for Maxley was no longer alone +nor unfriended. When Jane left him to intercede for him, a young man +joined him, and was now comforting him with kind words, and trying to +get him to smoke a cigar; and this good-hearted young gentleman was +the banker's son in the flesh, and his opposite in spirit, Mr. Alfred +Hardie. + +Finding these two in contact, the Doctors interchanged demurest glances. + +Mr. Hardie asked Maxley sullenly what he wanted of them. + +“Well, sir,” said Maxley despondingly, “I have been to all the other +magistrates in the borough; for what with losing my money, and what with +losing my missus, I think I bain't quite right in my head; I do see such +curious things, enough to make a body's skin creep at times.” And down +went his head on his chest. + +“Well?” said Mr. Hardie, peevishly: “go on: you went to the magistrates, +and what then?” + +Maxley looked up, and seemed to recover the thread: “Why they said 'no,' +they couldn't send me to the 'sylum, not from home: I must be a pauper +first. So then my neighbours they said I had better come to you.” And +down went his head again. + +“Well, but,” said Mr. Hardie, “you cannot expect me to go against the +other magistrates.” + +“Why not, sir? You have had a hatful o' money of me: the other gentlemen +han't had a farthing. They owes me no service, but you does: nine +hundred pounds' worth, if ye come to that.” + +There was no malice in this; it was a plain broken-hearted man's notion +of give and take; but it was a home-thrust all the same; and Mr. Hardie +was visibly discountenanced, and Alfred more so. + +Mr. Osmond, to relieve a situation so painful, asked Maxley rather +hastily what were the curious things he saw. + +Maxley shuddered. “The unreasonablest beasts, sir, you ever saw or heard +tell on: mostly snakes and dragons. Can't stoop my head to do no work +for them, sir. Bless your heart, if I was to leave you gentlemen now, +and go and dig for five minutes in my garden, they would come about me +as thick as slugs on cabbage. Why 'twas but yester'en I tried to hoe +a bit, and up come the fearfullest great fiery sarpint: scared me so I +heaved my hoe and laid on un' properly: presently I seemed to come out +of a sort of a kind of a red mist into the clear: and there laid my poor +missus's favourite hen; I had been and killed her for a sarpint!” He +sighed, then, after a moment's pause, lowered his voice to a whisper: +“Now suppose I was to go and take some poor Christian for one of these +gre-at bloody dragons I do see at odd times, I might do him a mischief, +you know, and not mean him no harm neither. Oh, dooee take and have me +locked up, gentlemen, dooee now: tellee I ain't fit to be about, my poor +head is so mazed.” + +“Well, well,” said Mr. Hardie, “I'll give you an order for the Union.” + +“What, make a pauper of me?” + +“I cannot help it,” said the magistrate: “it is the routine; and it was +settled at a meeting of the bench last month that we must adhere to +the rule as strictly as possible; the asylum is so full: and you know, +Maxley, it is not as if you were dangerous.” + +“That I be, sir: I don't know what I'm a looking at or a doing. Would +I ha' gone and killed my poor Susan's hen if I hadn't a been beside +myself? and she in her grave, poor dear: no, not for untold gold: and I +be fond of that too--used to be, however: but now I don't seem to care +for money nor nothing else.” And his head dropped. + +“Look here, Maxley, old fellow,” said Alfred sarcastically, “you must go +to the workhouse, and stay there till you hoe a pauper; take him for +a crocodile and kill him; then you will get into an asylum whether the +Barkington magistrates like it or not: that is the _routine,_ I believe; +and as reasonable as most routine.” + +Dr. Wycherley admired Alfred for this, and whispered Mr. Osmond, “How +subtly they reason.” + +Mr. Hardie did not deign to answer his son, who indeed had spoken at +him, and not to him. + +As for poor Maxley, he was in sad and sober earnest, and could not +relish nor even take in Alfred's irony. He lifted his head and looked +Mr. Hardie in the face. + +“You be a hard man,” said he, trembling with emotion. “You robbed me and +my missus of our all; you ha' broke her heart, and turned my head, and +if I was to come and kill _you,_ 'twould only be clearing scores. 'Stead +of that, I comes to you like a lamb, and says give me your name on a +bit of paper, and put me out of harm's way. 'No,' says you, 'go to the +workhouse!' Be _you_ in the workhouse--you that owes me nine hundred +pounds and my dead missus?” With this he went into a rage, took a +packet out of his pocket, and flung L. 900 of Mr. Hardie's paper at Mr. +Hardie's head before any one could stop him. + +But Alfred saw his game, stepped forward, and caught it with one hand, +and with the dexterity of a wicket-keeper, within a foot of his father's +nose. “How's that, Umpire?” said he: then, a little sternly, “Don't do +that again, Mr. Maxley, or I shall have to give you a hiding--to keep up +appearances.” He then put the notes in his pocket, and said quietly, _“I_ +shall give you your money for these before the year ends.” + +“You won't be quite so mad as that, I hope,” remonstrated his father. +But he made no reply: they very seldom answered one another now. + +“Oh,” said Dr. Wycherley, inspecting him like a human curiosity, “nullum +magnum ingenium sine mixtura dementiae.” + +“Nec parvum sine mixtura stultitiae,” retorted Alfred in a moment and +met his offensive gaze with a point-blank look of supercilious disdain. + +Then having shut him up, he turned to Osmond: “Come,” said he, +“prescribe for this poor fellow, who asks for a hospital, so Routine +gives him a workhouse. Come, you know there is no limit to your skill +and good nature: you cured Spot of the worms, cure poor old Maxley of +his snakes: oblige me.” + +“That I will, Mr. Alfred,” said Osmond heartily: and wrote a +prescription on a leaf of his memorandum-book, remarking that though a +simple purgative, it had made short work of a great many serpents and +dragons, and not a few spectres and hobgoblins into the bargain. + +The young gentleman thanked him graciously, and said kindly to Maxley, +“Get that made up--here's a guinea--and I'll send somebody to see how +you are to-morrow.” + +The poor man took the guinea, and the prescription, and his head drooped +again, and he slouched away. + +Dr. Wycherley remarked significantly that his conduct was worth +imitating by _all persons similarly situated:_ and concluded oracularly: +“Prophylaxis is preferable to therapeusis.” + +“Or, as _Porson_ would say, 'Prevention is better than cure.'” + +With this parting blow the Oxonian suddenly sauntered away, unconscious, +it seemed, of the existence of his companions. + +“I never saw a plainer case of Incubation,” remarked Dr. Wycherley with +vast benevolence of manner. + +“Maxley's?” + +“Oh, no; that is parochial. It is your profoundly interesting son I +alluded to. Did you notice his supercilious departure? _And his morbid +celerity of repartee?_” + +Mr. Hardie replied with some little hesitation, “Yes; and, excuse me, I +thought he had rather the best of the battle with you.” + +“Indubitably so,” replied Dr. Wycherley: “they always do: at least such +is my experience. If ever I break a lance of wit with an incubator! I +calculate with confidence on being unhorsed with abnormal rapidity, +and rare, indeed, are the instances in which my anticipations are +not promptly and fully realised. By a similar rule of progression the +incubator is seldom a match for the confirmed maniac, either in the +light play of sarcasm, the coruscations of wit or the severer encounters +of dialectical ratiocination.” + +“Dear, dear, dear! Then how is one to know a genius from a madman?” + inquired Jane. + +_“By sending for a psychological physician._” + +“If I understand the doctor right, the two things are not opposed,” + remarked Mr. Hardie. + +Dr. Wycherley assented, and made a remarkable statement in confirmation: +“One half of the aggregate of the genius of the country is at present +under restraint; fortunately for the community; and still more +fortunately for itself.” + +He then put on his gloves, and, with much kindness but solemnity, warned +Mr. Hardie not to neglect his son's case, nor to suppose that matters +could go on like this without “disintegrating or disorganising the grey +matter of the brain. I admit” said he, “that in some recorded cases of +insanity the brain on dissection has revealed no signs of structural +or functional derangement, and, that, on the other hand, considerable +encephalic disorganisation has been shown to have existed in other cases +without aberration or impairment of the reason: but such phenomena are +to be considered as pathological curiosities, with which the empiric +would fain endeavour to disturb the sound general conclusions of +science. The only safe mode of reasoning on matters so delicate +and profound is _a priori:_ and, as it may safely be assumed as a +self-evident proposition, that disturbed intelligence bears the same +relation to the brain as disordered respiration does to the lungs, it +is not logical, reasoning _a priori,_ to assume the possibility that the +studious or other mental habits of a Kephalalgic, and gifted youth, +can be reversed, and erotic monomania germinate, with all the morbid +phenomena of isolation, dejection of the spirits, and abnormal +exaltation of the powers of wit and ratiocination, without some +considerable impairment, derangement, disturbance, or modification, of +the psychical, motorial, and sensorial functions of the great cerebral +ganglion. But it would be equally absurd to presuppose that these +several functions can be disarranged for months, without more or less +disorganisation of the medullary, or even of the cineritious, matter +of the encephialon. _Therefore_--dissection of your talented son would +doubtless reveal at this moment either steatonatous or atheromatous +deposits in the cerebral blood-vessels, or an encysted abscess, probably +of no very recent origin, or, at the least, considerable inspissation, +and opacity, of the membranes of the encephalon, or more or less pulpy +disorganisation of one or other of the hemispheres of the brain: _good_ +morning!!” + +“Good morning, sir: and a thousand thanks for your friemidly interest in +my unhappy boy.” + +The Psycho-cerebrals “took their departure” (Psycho-cerebral for “went +away”), and left Jane Hardie brimful of anxiety. Alfred was not there to +dispose of the tirade in two words “Petitio principii,” and so smoke on; +and, not being an university woman, she could not keep her eye on the +original assumption while following the series of inferences the learned +doctor built so neatly, story by story, on the foundation _of_ the +quicksand _of_ a loose conjecture.* + + * So novices sitting at a conjuror see him take a wedding- + ring, and put it in a little box before a lady; then cross + the theatre with another little box, and put that before + another lady: “Hey! presto! pass!” in box 2 is discovered a + wedding-ring, which is instantly _assumed_ to be _the_ ring: + on this the green minds are fixed, and with this is sham + business done: Box 1, containing the real ring all the time, + is overlooked: and the confederate, in livery or not, does + what he likes with it; imprisons it in an orange--for the + good of its health. + +So poor Argan, when Fleurant enumerates the consequences of his omitting +a single--dose shall I say?--is terrified by the threatened disorders, +which succeed to each other logically enough: all the absurdity being in +the first link of the chain; and from that his mind is diverted.---- + +“Now not a word of this to Alfred,” said Mr. Hardie. “I shall propose +him a little foreign tour, to amuse his mind.” + +“Yes, but papa, if some serious change is really going on inside his +poor head.” + +Mr. Hardie smiled sarcastically. “Don't you see that if the mind can +wound the brain, the mind can cure it?” Then, after a while, he said +parentally, “My child, I must give you a lesson: men of the world use +enthusiasts--like those two I have just been drawing out--for their +tools; we don't let them make tools of us. Osmond, you know, is jackal +to an asylum in London; Dr. Wycherley, I have heard, keeps two or three +such establishments by himself or his agents: blinded by self-interest +and that of their clique--what an egotistical world it is, to be +sure!--they would confine a melancholy youth in a gloomy house, among +afflicted persons, and give him nothing to do but brood; and so turn +the scale against his reason. But I have my children's interest at heart +more than my own: I shall send him abroad, and so amuse his mind +with fresh objects, break off sad associations, and restore him to a +brilliant career. I count on you to second me in my little scheme for +his good.” + +“That I will, papa.” + +“Somehow, I don't know why, he is coolish to me.” + +“He does not understand you as I do, my own papa.” + +“But he is affectionate with you, I think.” + +“Oh yes, more than ever: trouble has drawn us closer. Papa, in the midst +of our sorrow, how much we have to be thankful for to the Giver of all +good things!” + +“Yes, little angel: and you must improve Heaven's goodness by working on +your brother's affection, and persuading him to this continental tour.” + +Thus appealed to, Jane promised warmly: and the man of the world, +finding he had a blind and willing instrument in the one creature he +loved, kissed her on the forehead, and told her to run away, for here +was Mr. Skinner, who no doubt wanted to speak on business. + +Skinner, who had in fact been holding respectfully aloof for some time, +came forward on Jane's retiring, and in a very obsequious tone requested +a private interview. Mr. Hardie led the way into the little dining-room. + +They were no sooner alone than Skinner left off fawning, very abruptly; +and put on a rugged resolute manner that was new to him: “I am come for +my commission,” said he sturdily. + +Mr. Hardie looked an inquiry. + +“Oh, you don't know what I mean, of course,” said the little clerk +almost brutally: “I've waited, and waited, to see if you would have the +decency, and the gratitude, and the honesty, to offer me a trifle out of +It; but I see I might wait till dooms-day before you would ever think of +thinking of anybody but yourself. So now shell out without more words or +I'll blow the gaff” The little wretch raised his voice louder and louder +at every sentence. + +“Hush! hush! Skinner,” said Mr. Hardie anxiously, “you are under some +delusion. When did ever I decline to recognise your services? I always +intended to make you a present, a handsome present.” + +“Then why didn't ye _do_ it without being forced? Come, sir, you can't +draw the wool over Noah Skinner's eyes. I have had you watched, and you +are looking towards the U. S., and that is too big a country for me to +hunt you in. I'm not to be trifled with: I'm not to be palavered: give +me a thousand pounds of It this moment or I'll blow the whole concern +and you along with it.” + +“A thousand pounds!” + +“Now look at that!” shrieked Skinner. “Serves me right for not saying +seven thousand. What right have you to a shilling of it more than I +have? If I had the luck to be a burglar's pal instead of a banker's, I +should have half. Give it me this moment, or I'll go to Albion Villa and +have you took up for a thief; as you are.” + +“But I haven't got it on me.” + +“That's a lie: you carry it where _he_ did; close to your heart: I can +see it bulge: there, Job was a patient man, but his patience went at +last.” With this he ran to the window and threw it open. + +Hardie entreated him to be calm. “I'll give it you, Skinner,” said he, +“and with pleasure, if you will give me some security that you will not +turn round, as soon as you have got it, and be my enemy.” + +“Enemy of a gent that pays me a thousand pounds? Nonsense! Why should +I? We are in the same boat: behave like a man, and you know you have +nothing to fear from me: but I will--not--go halves in a theft for +nothing: would _you?_ Come, how is it to be, peace or war? Will you be +content with thirteen thousand pounds that don't belong to you, not +a shilling of it, or will you go to jail a felon, and lose it every +penny?” + +Mr. Hardie groaned aloud, but there was no help for it. Skinner was on +sale: and _must_ be bought. + +He took out two notes for five hundred pounds each, and laid them on the +table, after taking their numbers. + +Skinner's eyes glistened: “Thank you, sir,” said he. He put them in his +pocket. Then he said quietly, “Now you have taken the numbers, sir; so +I'll trouble you for a line to make me safe against the criminal law. +You are a deep one; you might say I robbed you.” + +“That is a very unworthy suspicion, Skinner, and a childish one.” + +“Oh, it is diamond cut diamond. A single line, sir, just to say that in +return for his faithful services, you have given Noah Skinner two notes +for L. 500, Nos. 1084 and 85.” + +“With all my heart--on your giving me a receipt for them.” + +It was Skinner's turn to hesitate. After reflecting, however, on all the +possible consequences, he saw nothing to fear; so he consented. + +The business completed, a magic change took place in the little clerk. +“Now we are friends again, sir: and I'll give you a piece of advice. +Mind your eye with Mr. Alfred: he is down on us.” + +“What do you mean?” inquired Mr. Hardie with ill-disguised anxiety. + +“I'll tell you, sir. He met me this morning: and says he to me, +'Skinner, old boy, I want to speak a word to you.' He puts his hands +on my shoulder, and turns me round, and says he all at one time, +'The fourteen thousand pounds!' You might have knocked me down with a +feather. And he looked me through like a gimlet mind ye. 'Come now,' +says he, 'you see I know all; make a clean breast of it.' So then I +saw he didn't know _all,_ and I brazened up a bit: told him I hadn't a +notion what he meant. 'Oh yes, I did,' he said, 'Captain Dodd's fourteen +thousand pounds! It had passed through my hands.' Then I began to funk +again at his knowing that: perhaps he only guessed it after all: but at +the time I thought he knew it; I was flustered, ye see. But I said, +'I'd look at the books; but I didn't think his deposit was anything like +that.' 'You little equivocating humbug,' says he: 'and which was better, +to tell the truths at once and let Captain Dodd, who never did me any +harm, have his own, or to hear it told me in the felon's dock?' Those +were his words, sir: and they made my blood run cold; and if he had gone +on at me like that, I should have split, I know I should: but he just +said, 'There, your face has given your tongue the lie: you haven't +brains enough to play the rogue.' Oh, and another thing--he said he +wouldn't talk to the sparrow-hawk any more, when there was the kite hard +by: so by that I guess your turn is coming, sir; so mind your eye. And +then he turned his back on me with a look as if I was so much dirt. But +I didn't mind that; I was glad to be shut of him at any price.” + +This intelligence discomposed Mr. Hardie terribly; it did away with all +hope that Alfred meant to keep his suspicions to himself. “Why did you +not tell me this before?” said he reproachfully. + +Skinner's sharp visage seemed to sharpen as he replied, “Because I +wanted a thousand pounds first.” + +“Curse your low cunning!” + +Skinner laughed. “Good-bye, sir: take care of yourself and I'll take +care of mine. I'm afraid of Mr. Alfred and the stone jug, so I'm off to +London, and there I'll un-Skinner myself into Mr. Something or other, +and make my thousand pounds breed ten.” And he whipped out, leaving his +master filled with rage and dismay. + +“Outwitted even by this little wretch!” + +He was now accountable for fourteen thousand pounds, and had only +thirteen thousand left, if forced to reimburse; so that it was quite on +the cards for him to lose a thousand pounds by robbing his neighbour +and risking his own immortal jewel. This galled him to the quick; and +altogether his equable temper began to give way; it had already survived +half the iron of his nerves. He walked up and down the parlour chafing +like an irritated lion. In which state of his mind the one enemy he now +feared and hated walked quietly into the room, and begged for a little +serious conversation with him. + +“It is like your effrontery,” said Mr. Hardie: “I wonder you are not +ashamed to look your father in the face.” + +“Having wronged nobody I can look anybody in the face,” replied Alfred, +looking him in the face point-blank. + +At this swift rejoinder, Mr. Hardie felt like a too confident swordsman, +who, attacking in a passion suddenly receives a prick that shows him his +antagonist is not one to be trifled with. He was on his guard directly, +and said coldly, “You have been belying me to my very clerk.” + +“No, sir: you are mistaken; I have never mentioned your name to your +clerk.” + +Mr. Hardie reflected on what Skinner had told him, and found he had +made another false move. He tried again: “Nor to the Dodds?” with an +incredulous sneer. + +“Nor to the Dodds,” replied Alfred calmly. + +“What, not to Miss Julia Dodd?” + +“No, sir, I have seen her but once, since--I discovered about the +fourteen thousand pounds.” + +“What fourteen thousand pounds?” inquired Mr. Hardie innocently. + +“What fourteen thousand pounds!” repeated the young man disdainfully. +Then suddenly turning on his father, with red brow and flashing eyes: +“The fourteen thousand pounds Captain Dodd brought home from India: +the fourteen thousand pounds I heard him claim of you with curses: +ay, miserable son, and miserable man, that I am, I heard my own father +called a villain; and what did my father reply? Did you hurl the words +back into your accuser's throat? No: you whispered, 'Hush! hush! I'll +bring it you down.' Oh, what a hell Shame is!” + +Mr. Hardie turned pale, and almost sick: with these words of Alfred's +fled all hope of ever deceiving him. + +“There, there,” said the young man, lowering his voice from rage to +profound sorrow: “I don't come here to quarrel with my father, nor to +insult him, God knows: and I entreat you for both our sakes not to try +my temper too hard by these childish attempts to blind me: and, sir, +pray dismiss from your mind the notion that I have disclosed to any +living soul my knowledge of this horrible secret: on the contrary, I +have kept it gnawing my heart and almost maddening me at times. For my +own personal satisfaction I have applied a test both to you and Skinner; +but that is all I have done: I have not told dear Julia, nor any of her +family; and now, if you will only listen to me, and do what I entreat +you to do, she shall never know; oh, never.” + +“Oho!” thought Mr. Hardie, “he comes with a proposal: I'll hear it, +anyway.” + +He then took a line well known to artful men: he encouraged Alfred to +show his hand; maintaining a complete reserve as to his own; “You say +you did not communicate your illusion about this fourteen thousand +pounds to Julia Dodd that night: May I ask then (without indiscretion) +what did pass between you two?” + +“I will tell you, sir. She saw me standing there, and asked me in her +own soft angel voice if I was unhappy. I told her I must be a poor +creature if I could be happy. Then she asked me, with some hesitation I +thought, why I was unhappy. I said, because I could not see the path of +honour and duty clear: that at least was the purport. Then she told me +that in all difficulties she had found the best way was to pray to God +to guide her; and she begged me to lay my care before Him and ask His +counsel. And then I thanked her; and bade her good-night, and she me; +and that was all that passed between us two unhappy lovers, whom you +have made miserable; and even cool to one another; but not hostile to +you. And you played the spy on us, sir; and misunderstood us, as spies +generally do. Ah, sir! a few months ago you would not have condescended +to that.” + +Mr. Hardie coloured, but did not reply. He had passed from the irritable +into the quietly vindictive stage. + +Alfred then deprecated further discussion of what was past, and said +abruptly, “I have an offer to make you: in a very short time I shall +have ten thousand pounds; I will not resign my whole fortune; that would +be unjust to myself, and my wife; and I loathe and despise Injustice in +all its forms, however romantic or plausible. But, if you will give the +Dodds their L. 14,000, I will share my little fortune equally with you: +and thank you, and bless you. Consider, sir, with your abilities and +experience five thousand pounds may yet be the nucleus of a fortune; a +fortune built on an honourable foundation. I know you will thrive +with my five thousand pounds ten times more than with their fourteen +thousand; and enjoy the blessing of blessings, a clear conscience.” + +Now this offer was no sooner made than Mr. Hardie shut his face, and +went to mental arithmetic, like one doing a sum behind a thick door. He +would have taken ten thousand: but five thousand did not much tempt him: +besides, would it be five thousand clear? He already owed Alfred two +thousand five hundred. It flashed through him that a young man who +loathed and despised Injustice--even to himself--would not consent to be +diddled by him out of one sum while making him a present of another: +and then there was Skinner's thousand to be reimbursed. He therefore +declined in these terms: + +“This offer shows me you are sincere in these strange notions you have +taken up. I am sorry for it: it looks like insanity. These nocturnal +illusions, these imaginary sights and sounds, come of brooding on a +single idea, and often usher in a calamity one trembles to think of. You +have made me a proposal: I make you one: take a couple of hundred pounds +(I'll get it from your trustees) and travel the Continent for four +months; enlarge and amuse your mind with the contemplation of nature and +manners and customs; and if that does not clear this phantom L. 14,000 +out of your head, I am much mistaken.” + +Alfred replied that foreign travel was his dream: but he could not leave +Barkington while there was an act of justice to be done. + +“Then do me justice, boy,” said Mr. Hardie, with wonderful dignity, all +things considered. “Instead of brooding on your one fantastical idea, +and shutting out all rational evidence to the contrary, take the trouble +to look through my books: and they will reveal to you a fortune, not of +fourteen thousand, but of eighty thousand pounds, honourably sacrificed +in the vain struggle to fulfil my engagements: who, do you think, will +believe, against such evidence, the preposterous tale you have concocted +against your poor father? Already the tide is turning, and all who have +seen the accounts of the Bank pity me; they will pity me still more if +ever they hear my own flesh and blood insults me in the moment of my +fall; sees me ruined by my honesty and living in a hovel, yet comes into +that poor but honest abode, and stabs me to the heart by accusing me of +stealing fourteen thousand pounds: a sum that would have saved me, if I +could only have laid my hands on it.” + +He hid his face, to conceal its incongruous expression: and heaved a +deep sigh. + +Alfred turned his head away and groaned. + +After a while he rose from his seat and went to the door; but seemed +reluctant to go: he cast a longing, lingering look on his father, and +said beseechingly: “Oh think! you are not my flesh and blood more than +I am yours; is all the love to be on my side? Have I no influence even +when right is on my side?” Then he suddenly turned and threw himself +impetuously on his knees: “Your father was the soul of honour; your +son loathed fraud and injustice from his cradle; you stand between two +generations of Hardies, and belong to neither; do but reflect one moment +how bright a thing honour is, how short and uncertain a thing life is, +how sure a thing retribution is, in this world or the next: it is your +guardian angel that kneels before you now, and not your son: oh, for +Christ's sake, for my mother's sake, listen to my last appeal. You don't +know me: I cannot compound with injustice. Pity me, pity her I love, +pity yourself!” + +“You young viper!” cried the father, stung with remorse, but not touched +with penitence. “Get away, you amorous young hypocrite; get out of my +house, get out of my sight, or I shall spurn you and curse you at my +feet.” + +“Enough!” said Alfred, rising and turning suddenly calm as a statue: +“let us be gentlemen, if you please, even though we must be enemies. +Good-bye, my father that _was._” + +And he walked gently out of the room, and, as he passed the window Mr. +Hardie heard his great heart sob. + +He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “A hard tussle,” thought +he, “and with my own unnatural, ungrateful flesh and blood, but I have +won it: he hasn't told the Dodds; he never will; and, if he did, who +would believe him, or them?” + +At dinner there was no Alfred; but after dinner a note to Jane informing +her he had taken lodgings in the town, and requesting her to send his +books and clothes in the evening. Jane handed the note to her father: +and sighed deeply. Watching his face as he read it, she saw him turn +rather pale, and look more furrowed than ever. + +“Papa!” said she, “what _does_ it all mean!” + +“I am thinking.” + +Then, after a long pause, he ground his teeth and said, “It means--War: +War between my own son and me.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +LONG before this open rupture Jane Hardie had asked her father +sorrowfully, whether she was to discontinue her intimacy with the +Dodds: she thought of course he would say “Yes;” and it cost her a hard +struggle between inclination and filial duty to raise the question. But +Mr. Hardie was anxious her friendship with that family should continue; +it furnished a channel of news, and in case of detection might be useful +to avert or soften hostilities; so he answered rather sharply, “On no +account: the Dodds are an estimable family: pray be as friendly +with them as ever you can.” Jane coloured with pleasure at this most +unexpected reply; but her wakeful conscience reminded her, this answer +was given in ignorance of her attachment to Edward Dodd, and urged +her to confession. But at that Nature recoiled: Edward had not openly +declared his love to her; so modest pride, as well as modest shame, +combined with female cowardice to hold back the avowal. + +So then Miss Tender Conscience tormented herself; and recorded the +struggle in her diary; but briefly, and in terms vague and typical; not +a word about “a young man”--or “crossed in love”--but one obscure and +hasty slap at the carnal affections, and a good deal about “the saints +in prison,” and “the battle of Armageddon.” + +Yet, to do her justice, laxity of expression did not act upon her +conduct and warp that as it does most mystical speakers. + +To obey her father to the letter, she maintained a friendly +correspondence with Julia Dodd, exchanging letters daily; but, not to +disobey him in the spirit, she ceased to visit Albion Villa. Thus she +avoided Edward, and extracted from the situation the utmost self-denial, +and the least possible amount of “carnal pleasure,” as she naively +denominated an interchange of worldly affection, however distant and +respectful. + +One day she happened to mention her diary, and say it was a present +comfort to her, and instructive to review. Julia, catching at every +straw of consolation, said she would keep one too, and asked a sight +of Jane's for a model. “No, dear friend,” said Jane: “a diary should be +one's self on paper.” + +This was fortunate: it precluded that servile imitation, in which her +sex excels even mine; and consequently the two records reflect two good +girls, instead of one in two skins; and may be trusted to conduct this +narrative forward, and relieve its monotony a little: only, of course, +the reader must not expect to see the plot of a story carried minutely +out in two crude compositions written with an object so distinct: he +must watch for glimpses and make the most of indications. Nor is this an +excessive demand upon his intelligence; for, if he cannot do this with +a book, how will he do it in real life, where male and female characters +reveal their true selves by glimpses only, and the gravest and most +dramatic events give the diviner so few and faint signs of their coming? + + + _Extracts from Julia Dodd's Diary._ + +_“Dec. 5th._--It is all over; they have taken papa away to an asylum: +and the house is like a grave, but for our outbursts of sorrow. Just +before he went away the medal came--oh no, I cannot. Poor, poor mamma! + +“8 P. M. In the midst of our affliction Heaven sent us a ray of comfort: +the kindest letter from a lady, a perfect stranger. It came yesterday; +but now I have got it to copy: oh, bless it; and the good, kind writer.” + + +“'DEAR MADAM,--I scarcely know whether to hope or to fear that your good +husband may have mentioned my name to you: however, he is just the +man to pass over both my misbehaviour and his own gallantry; so I beg +permission to introduce myself. I and my little boy were passengers by +the _Agra;_ I was spoiled by a long residence in India, and gave your +husband sore trouble by resisting discipline, refusing to put out my +light at nine o'clock, and in short by being an unreasonable woman, or +rather a spoiled child. Well, all my little attempts at a feud failed; +Captain Dodd did his duty, and kept his temper provokingly; the only +revenge he took was a noble one; he jumped into the sea after my darling +Freddy, and saved him from a watery grave, and his mother from madness +or death; yet he was himself hardly recovered from a wound he had +received in defending us all against pirates. Need I say more to one who +is herself a mother? You will know how our little misunderstanding ended +after that. As soon as we were friends I made him talk of his family; +yourself, Edward, Julia, I seem to know you all. + +“'When the ruffian, who succeeded our good captain, had wrecked poor us, +and then deserted us, your husband resumed the command, and saved Freddy +and me once more by his courage, his wonderful coolness, and his +skill. Since then the mouse has been at work for the lion: I despair of +conveying any pleasure by it to a character so elevated as Captain Dodd; +his reward must be his own conscience; but we poor little women like +external shows, do we not? and so I thought a medal of the Humane +Society might give some pleasure to you and Miss Dodd. Never did medal +nor order repose on a nobler heart. The case was so strong, and so well +supported, that the society did not hesitate: and you will receive it +very soon after this. + +“'You will be surprised, dear madam, at all this from a stranger to +yourself, and will perhaps set it down to a wish to intrude on your +acquaintance. Well, then, dear madam, you will not be far wrong. +I _should_ like much to know one, whose character I already seem +acquainted with; and to convey personally my gratitude and admiration of +your husband: I could pour it out more freely to you, you know, than to +him.--I am, dear Madam, Yours very faithfully, + +“'LOUISA BERESFORD.'” + + +“And the medal came about an hour before the fly to take him away. His +dear name was on it and his brave courageous acts. + +“Oh, shall I ever be old enough and hard enough to speak of this without +stopping to cry? + +“We fastened it round his dear neck with a ribbon. Mamma would put +it inside his clothes for fear the silver should tempt some wretch; I +should never have thought of that: is there a creature so base? And we +told the men how he had gained it (they were servants of the asylum), +and we showed them how brave and good he was, and would be again if they +would be kind to him and cure him. And mamma bribed them with money to +use him kindly: I thought they would be offended and refuse it: but they +took it, and their faces showed she was wiser than I am. _He_ keeps away +from us too. It is nearly a fortnight now.” + +_“Dec. 7th._--Aunt Eve left to-day. Mamma kept her room and could not +speak to her; cannot forgive her interfering between papa and her. It +does seem strange that any one but mamma should be able to send papa out +of the house, and to such a place; but it is the law: and Edward, who +is all good sense, says it was necessary. He says mamma is unjust; grief +makes her unreasonable. I don't know who is in the right: and I don't +much care; but I know I am sorry for Aunt Eve, and very, very sorry for +mamma.” + +_“Dec. 8th._--I am an egotist: found myself out this morning; and it is +a good thing to keep a diary. It* was overpowered at first by grief for +mamma: but now the house is sad and quiet I am always thinking of _him;_ +and that is egotism. + + * Egotism. The abstract quality evolved from the concrete + term egotist by feminine art, without the aid of grammar. + +“Why _does_ he stay away so? I almost wish I could think it was coldness +or diminished affection; for I fear something worse; something to make +_him_ wretched. Those dreadful words papa spoke before he was afflicted! +words I will never put on paper; but they ring in my ears still; they +appal me: and then found at their very door! Ah! and I knew I _should_ +find him near that house. And now _he_ keeps away.” + +_“Dec. 9th._--All day trying to comfort mamma. She made a great effort +and wrote to Mrs. Beresford.” + + + POOR MAMMA'S LETTER + + +“DEAR MADAM,--Your kind and valued letter reached us in deep affliction; +and I am little able to reply to you as you deserve. My poor husband is +very ill; so ill that he no longer remembers the past, neither the brave +acts that have won him your esteem, nor even the face of his loving and +unhappy wife, who now thanks you with many tears for your sweet letter. +Heart-broken as my children and I are, we yet derive some consolation +from it. We have tied the medal round his neck, madam, and thank you far +more than we can find words to express. + +“In conclusion, I pray Heaven that, in your bitterest hour, you may +find the consolation you have administered to us: no, no, I pray you +may never, never stand in such need of comfort--I am dear madam, yours +gratefully and sincerely, + +“LUCY DODD.” + + +_“Dec. 10th, Sunday._--At St. Anne's in the morning. Tried hard to apply +the sermon. He spoke of griefs, but _so_ coldly; surely he never felt +one; _he_ was not there. Mem.: always pray against wandering thoughts on +entering church.” + +_“Dec. 11th._--A diary is a dreadful thing. Everything must go down now, +and, amongst the rest that the poor are selfish. I could not interest +one of mine in mamma's sorrows; no, they must run back to their own +little sordid troubles, about money and things. I was so provoked with +Mrs. Jackson (she owes mamma so much) that I left her hastily; and that +was Impatience. I had a mind to go back to her; but would not; and that +was Pride. Where is my Christianity? + +“A kind letter from Jane Hardie. But no word of _him._” + +_“Dec. 12th._--To-day Edward told me plump I must not go on taking +things out of the house for the poor: mamma gave me the reason. 'We are +poor ourselves, thanks to----' And then she stopped. Does she suspect? +How can she? She did hear not those two dreadful words of papa's? They +are like two arrows in my heart. And so we are poor: she says we have +scarcely anything to live upon after paying the two hundred and fifty +pounds a year for papa.” + +_“Dec. 13th._--A comforting letter from Jane. She sends me Hebrews xii. +11, and says, 'Let us take a part of the Bible, and read two chapters +prayerfully at the same hour of the day: will ten o'clock in the morning +suit you? and, if so, will you choose where to begin?' I will, sweet +friend, I will; and then, though some cruel mystery keeps us apart, our +souls will be together over the sacred page, as I hope they will one day +be together in heaven; yours will, at any rate. Wrote back, yes, and +a thousand thanks, and should like to begin with the Psalms; they are +sorrowful, and so are we. And I must pray not to think too much of +_him._ + +“If everything is to be put down one does, I cried long and bitterly to +find I had written that I must pray to God against _him._” + +_“Dec. 14th._--It is plain he never means to come again. Mamma says +nothing, but that is out of pity for me: I have not read her dear face +all these years for nothing. She is beginning to think him unworthy, +when she thinks of him at all.” + +“There is a mystery; a dreadful mystery; may he not be as mystified, too, +and perhaps tortured like me with doubts and suspicions? They say he is +pale and dejected. Poor thing! + +“But then, oh why not come to me and say so? Shall I write to him? No, I +will cut my hand off sooner.” + +_“Dec. 16th._--A blessed letter from Jane. She says, 'Letter writing on +ordinary subjects is a sad waste of time and very unpardonable among His +people.' And so it is; and my weak hope, daily disappointed, that there +may be something in her letter, only shows how inferior I am to my +beloved friend. She says, 'I should like to fix another hour for us two +to meet at the Throne together: will five o'clock suit you? We dine at +six; but I am never more than half an hour dressing.' + +“The friendship of this saint, and her bright example, is what Heaven +sends me in infinite mercy and goodness to sooth my aching heart a +little: for _him_ I shall never see again. + +“I have seen him this very evening.” + +“It was a beautiful night: I went to look at--the world to come I +call it--for I believe the redeemed are to inhabit those very stars +hereafter, and visit them all in turn--and this world I now find is a +world of sorrow and disappointment--so I went on the balcony to look at +a better one: and oh it seemed so holy, so calm, so pure, that heavenly +world I gazed and stretched my hands towards it for ever so little of +its holiness and purity; and, that moment I heard a sigh. I looked, +and there stood a gentleman just outside our gate, and it was _him._ I +nearly screamed, and my heart beat so. He did not see me: for I had come +out softly, and his poor head was down, down upon his breast; and he +used to carry it so high, a little, little, while ago--too high some +said; but not I. I looked, and my misgivings melted away, it flashed +on me as if one of those stars had written it with its own light in my +heart--'There stands Grief; not Guilt.' And before I knew what I was +about I had whispered 'Alfred!' The poor boy started and ran towards me: +but stopped short and sighed again. My heart yearned; but it was not for +me to make advances to him, after his unkindness: so I spoke to him as +coldly as ever I could, and I said, 'You are unhappy.' + +“He looked up to me, and then I saw even by that light that he +is enduring a bitter, bitter struggle: _so_ pale, _so_ worn, _so_ +dragged!--Now how many times have I cried, this last month? more than in +all the rest of my life a great deal.--'Unhappy!' he said; 'I must be +a contemptible thing if I was not unhappy.' And then he asked me should +not I despise him if he was happy. I did not answer that: but I asked +him why he was unhappy. And when I had, I was half frightened; for he +never evades a question the least bit. + +“He held his head higher still, and said, 'I am unhappy because I cannot +see the path of honour.' + +“Then I babbled something, I forget what: then he went on like this--ah, +I never forget what _he_ says--he said Cicero says 'AEquitas ipsa lucet +per se; something significat* something else:' and he repeated it slowly +for me--he knows I know a little Latin; and told me that was as much as +to say 'Justice is so clear a thing, that whoever hesitates must be on +the road of wrong. And yet,' he said bitterly, '_I_ hesitate and doubt, +in a matter of right and wrong, like an Academic philosopher weighing +and balancing mere speculative straws.' Those were his very words. 'And +so,' said he, 'I am miserable; deserving to be miserable.' + + *Dubitatio cogitationem significat injuriae. + +“Then I ventured to remind him that he, and I, and all Christian souls, +had a resource not known to heathen philosophers, however able. And I +said, 'Dear Alfred, when I am in doubt and difficulty, I go and pray to +Him to guide me aright: have you done so?' No, that had never occurred +to him: but he would, if I made a point of it; and at any rate he could +not go on in this way. I should soon see him again, and, once his mind +was made up, no shrinking from mere consequences, he promised me. Then +we bade one another good night and he went off holding his head as +proudly as he used: and poor silly me fluttered, and nearly hysterical, +as soon as I quite lost sight of him.” + +_“Dec. 17th._--At church in the morning: a good sermon. Notes and +analysis. In the evening Jane's clergyman preached. She came. Going out +I asked her a question about what we had heard; but she did not answer +me. At parting she told me she made it a rule not to speak coming from +church, not even about the sermon. This seemed austere to poor me. But +of course she is right. Oh, that I was like her.” + +_“Dec. 18th._--Edward is coming out. This boy, that one has taught all +the French, all the dancing, and nearly all the Latin he knows, turns +out to be one's superior, infinitely: I mean in practical good sense. +Mamma had taken her pearls to the jeweller and borrowed two hundred +pounds. He found this out and objected. She told him a part of it was +required to keep him at Oxford. 'Oh indeed,' said he: and we thought of +course there was an end: but next morning he was off before breakfast +and the day after he returned from Oxford with his caution money, forty +pounds, and gave it mamma; she had forgotten all about it. And he had +taken his name off the college books and left the university for ever. +The poor, gentle tears of mortification ran down his mother's cheeks, +and I hung round her neck, and scolded him like a vixen--as I am. We +might have spared tears and fury both, for he is neither to be melted +nor irritated by poor little us. He kissed us and coaxed us like a +superior being, and set to work in his quiet, sober, ponderous way, and +proved us a couple of fools to our entire satisfaction, and that without +an unkind word! for he is as gentle as a lamb, and as strong as ten +thousand elephants. He took the money back and brought the pearls +home again, and he has written 'SOYEZ DE VOTRE SIECLE' in great large +letters, and has pasted it on all our three bed-room doors, inside. And +he has been all these years quietly cutting up the _Morning Advertiser,_ +and arranging the slips with wonderful skill and method. He calls it +'digesting the _Tiser!'_ and you can't ask for any _modern_ information, +great or small, but he'll find you something about it in this digest. +Such a folio! It takes a man to open and shut it. And he means to be +a sort of little papa in this house, and mamma means to let him. And +indeed it is so sweet to be commanded; besides, it saves thinking for +oneself, and that is such a worry.” + +_“Dec. 19th._--Yes, they have settled it: we are to leave here, and live +in lodgings to save servants. How we are to exist even so, mamma cannot +see; but Edward can: he says we two have got popular talents, and _he +knows the markets_ (what does that mean, I wonder), and the world in +general. I asked him wherever he picked it up, his knowledge: he said, +'In the _'Tiser.'_ I asked him would he leave the place where _she_ +lives. He looked sad, but said, 'Yes: for the good of us all.' So he is +better than I am; but who is not? I wasted an imploring look on him; but +not on mamma: she looked back to me, and then said sadly, 'Wait a few +days, Edward, for--_my_ sake.' That meant for poor credulous Julia's, +who still believes in him. My sweet mother!” + +_“Dec. 21st._--Told Mamma to-day I would go for a governess, to help +her, since we are all ruined. She kissed me and trembled; but she did +not say 'No;' so it will come to that. He will be sorry. When I do go, +I think I shall find courage to send him a line: just to say I am sure +_he_ is not to blame for withdrawing. Indeed how could I ever marry a +man whose father I have heard my father call----” (the pen was drawn +through the rest). + +_“Dec. 22nd._--A miserable day: low spirited and hysterical. We are +really going away. Edward has begun to make packing-cases: I stood over +him and sighed, and asked him questions: he said he was going to take +unfurnished rooms in London, send up what furniture is absolutely +necessary, and sell the rest by auction, with the lease of our +dear, dear house, where we were all so happy once. So, what with his +'knowledge of the markets, and the world,' and his sense, and his strong +will, we have only to submit. And then he is so kind, too: 'Don't cry, +little girl,' he said. 'Not but what I could turn on the waters myself +if there was anything to be gained by it. _Shall_ I cry, Ju,' said he, +'or shall I whistle? I think I'll whistle.' And he whistled a tune right +through while he worked with a heart as sick as my own, perhaps. Poor +Edward!” + +_“Dec. 23rd._--My Christian friend has her griefs, too. But then _she_ +puts them to profit: she says today, 'We are both tasting the same +flesh-crucifying but soul-profiting experience.' Her every word is +a rebuke to me: torn at this solemn season of the year with earthly +passions. Went down after reading her letter, and played and sang the +_Gloria in Excelsis_ of Pergolesi, with all my soul. So then I repeated +it, and burst out crying in the middle. Oh shame! shame!” + +_“Dec. 24th._--Edward started for London at five in the morning to take +a place for us. The servants were next told, and received warning; +the one we had the poorest opinion of, she is such a flirt, cried, and +begged mamma to let her share our fallen fortunes, and said she could +cook a little and would do her best. I kissed her violently, and quite +forgot I was a young lady till she herself reminded me; and she looked +frightened at mamma. But mamma only smiled through her tears and said, +'Think of it quietly, Sarah, before you commit yourself.'” + + +“I am now sitting in my old room, cold as a stone: for I have packed up +some things: so the first step is actually taken. Oh, if I but knew +that he was happy! Then I could endure anything. But how can I think +so? Well, I will go, and never tell a soul what I suspect, and he cannot +tell, even if he knows: for it is his father. Jane, too, avoids all +mention of her own father and brother more than is natural. Oh, if I +could only be a child again! + +“Regrets are vain; I will cease even to record them; these diaries feed +one's selfishness, and the unfortunate passion, that will make me a bad +daughter and an ungrateful soldier of Him who was born as to-morrow: to +your knees, false Christian! to your knees!” + + +“I am calmer now; and feel resigned to the will of Heaven; or benumbed; +or something. I will pack this box and then go down and comfort my +mother; and visit my poor people, perhaps for the last time: ah me! + +“A knock at the street door! his knock! I know every echo of his hand, +and his foot. Where is my composure now? I flutter like a bird. I will +not go down. He will think I love him so. + +“At least I will wait till he has nearly gone. + +“Elizabeth has come to say I am wanted in the drawing-room. + +“So I _must_ go down whether I like or no. + +“Bedtime. Oh that I had the pen of a writer to record the scene I have +witnessed, worthily. When I came in, I found mamma and him both seated +in dead silence. He rose and looked at me and I at him: and years seemed +to have rolled over his face since last I saw it. I was obliged to turn +my head away; I curtseyed to him distantly, and may Heaven forgive me +for that: and we sat down, and presently turned round and all looked +at one another like the ghosts of the happy creatures we once were +altogether. + +“Then Alfred began, not in his old imperative voice, but scarce above +a whisper; and oh the words such as none but himself in the wide world +would have spoken--I love him better than ever; I pity him; I adore him; +he is a scholar; he is a chevalier; he is the soul of honour; he is the +most unfortunate and proudest gentleman beneath the sun; oh, my darling! +my darling!! + +“He said, 'Mrs. Dodd, and you Miss Dodd, whom I loved before I lost the +right to ask you to be mine, and whom I shall love to the last hour of +my miserable existence, I am come to explain my own conduct to you, +and to do you an act of simple justice, too long delayed. To begin with +myself, you must know that my understanding is of the Academic School: I +incline to weigh proofs before I make up my mind. But then I differ +from that school in this, that I cannot think myself to an eternal +standstill; (such an expression! but what does that matter, it was +_his;)_ I am a man of action: in Hamlet's place I should have either +turned my ghost into ridicule, or my uncle into a ghost; so I kept away +from you while in doubt, but now I doubt no longer. I take my line: +ladies, you have been swindled out of a large sum of money. + +“My blood ran cold at these words. Surely nothing on earth but a man +could say this right out like that. + +“Mamma and I looked at one another; and what did I see in her face, +for the first time? Why that she had her suspicions too, and had been +keeping them from me. Pitying angel! + +“He went on: 'Captain Dodd brought home several thousand pounds?' + +“Mamma said 'Yes.' And I think she was going to say how much, but he +stopped her and made her write the amount in an envelope, while he took +another and wrote in it with his pencil. He took both envelopes to me, +and asked me to read them out in turn: I did, and mamma's said fourteen +thousand pounds: and his said fourteen thousand pounds. Mamma looked +such a look at me. + +“Then he turned to me: 'Miss Dodd, do you remember that night you and +I met at Richard Hardie's door? Well, scarce five minutes before that, +your father was standing on our lawn and called to the man, who was my +father, in a loud voice--it rings in my ears now--“Hardie, Villain! give +me back my money, my fourteen thousand pounds! give me my children's +money, or may your children die before your eyes.” Ah, you wince to hear +me whisper these dreadful words: what if you had been where I was and +heard them spoken, and in a terrible voice; the voice of Despair; the +voice of Truth! Soon a window opened cautiously, and a voice whispered, +“Hush! I'll bring it you down.” And _this_ voice was the voice of fear, +of dishonesty, and of Richard Hardie.' + +“He turned deadly white when he said this, and I cried to mamma, 'Oh, +stop him! stop him!' And she said, 'Alfred, think what you are saying. +Why do you tell us what we had better never know?' He answered directly. + +“'Because it is the truth: and because I loathe injustice. Some time +afterwards I taxed Mr. Richard Hardie with this fourteen thousand +pounds: and his face betrayed him. I taxed his clerk, Skinner: and +Skinner's face betrayed him: and he fled the town that very night. + +“My mother looked much distressed and said, 'To what end do you raise +this pitiable subject? Your father is a bankrupt, and we but suffer with +the rest.' + +“'No, no,' said he, 'I have looked through the bankrupt's books, and +there is no mention of the sum. And then who brought Captain Dodd here? +Skinner? and Skinner is his detected confederate. It is clear to me poor +Captain Dodd trusted that sum to _us_ before he had the fit; beyond this +all is conjecture.' + +“Mamma looked at me again, and said, 'What am I to do; or say?' + +'I screamed, 'Do nothing, say nothing: oh pray, pray make him hold his +tongue, and let the vile money go. It is not _his_ fault.' + +“'Do?' said the obstinate creature: 'why tell Edward, and let him employ +a sharp attorney: you have a supple antagonist and a daring one. Need I +say I have tried persuasion, and even bribes: but he defies me. Set an +attorney on him, or the police. Fiat Justitia, ruat coelum.' I put both +hands out to him and burst out 'Oh, Alfred, why did you tell? A son +expose his own father? For shame; for shame! I have suspected it all +long ago: but _I_ would never have told.' + +“He started a little; but said, 'Miss Dodd, you were very generous to +me: but that is not exactly a reason why I should be a cur to you; and +an accomplice in a theft by which you suffer. I have no pretensions to +religion like my sister: so I can't afford to tamper with plain right +and wrong. What, look calmly on and see one man defraud another? I can't +do it. See _you_ defrauded? you, Mrs. Dodd, for whom I profess affection +and friendship? You, Miss Dodd, for whom I profess love and constancy? +Stand and see you swindled into poverty? Of what do you think I am made? +My stomach rises against it, my blood boils against it, my flesh creeps +at it, my soul loathes it:' then after this great burst he seemed to +turn _so_ feeble: 'Oh,' said he, faltering, 'I know what I have done; +I have signed the death warrant of our love, dear to me as life. But I +can't help it. Oh, Julia, Julia, my lost love, you can never look on me +again; you must not love a man you cannot marry. Cheat Hardie's wretched +son. But what could I do? Fate offers me but the miserable choice of +desolation or cowardly rascality. I choose desolation and I mean to +stand by my choice like a man. So good-bye, ladies.' + +“The poor proud creature rose from his seat, and bowed stiffly and +haughtily to us both, and was going away without another word, and I do +believe for ever. But his soul had been too great for his body; his +poor lips turned pale and he staggered; and would have fallen, but mamma +screamed to me, and she he loves so dearly, and abandons so cruelly, +woke from a stupor of despair, and flew and caught him fainting in these +arms.” + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +“WE laid the poor proud creature on the sofa, and bathed his face with +eau de Cologne. He spoke directly, and said that was nice, and 'His +head! his head!' And I don't think he was ever quite insensible, but he +did not know what was going on, for presently he opened his eyes wide, +and stared at us so, and then closed them with, oh such a sigh; it +swelled my heart almost to bursting. And to think I could say nothing: +but mamma soothed him and insisted on his keeping quiet; for he wanted +to run away from us. She was never so good to him before: she said, 'My +dear child, you have my pity and my esteem; alas! that at your age you +should be tried like this. How few in this sorry world would have acted +like you: I should have sided with my own flesh and blood, for one.' + +“'What, right or wrong?' he asked. + +“'Yes,' said she, 'right or wrong.' Then she turned to me: 'Julia, shall +all the generosity be on his side?' + +“I kissed her and clung to her, but dared not speak; but I was mad +enough to hope, I scarcely know what, till she said in the same kind, +sorrowful voice, 'I agree with you; you can never be my son; nor Julia's +husband. But as for that money, it revolts me to proceed to extremes +against one, who after all is your father, my poor, poor, chivalrous +boy.' But she would decide nothing without Edward; he had taken his +father's place in this house. So then I gave all up, for Edward is made +of iron. Alfred was clearer sighted than I, and never had a hope: he put +his arm round mamma and kissed her, and she kissed him: and he kissed my +hand, and crept away, and I heard his step on the stair, and on the road +ever so far, and life seemed ended for me when I heard it no more. + +“Edward has come home. Mamma told him all: he listened gravely: I hung +upon his hips; and at last the oracle spoke; and said 'This is a nice +muddle.' + +“More we could not get from him; he must sleep on it. O suspense! you +torture! He had seen a place he thinks will suit us: it is a bad +omen his saying that so soon after. As I went to bed I could not help +whispering, 'If he and I are parted, so will you and Jane.' The +cruel boy answered me _out loud,_ 'Thank you, little girl: that is a +temptation; and you have put me on my guard.' + +“Oh, how hard it is to understand a _man!_ they _are_ so impracticable +with their justice and things. I came away with my cheeks burning, and +my heart like a stone; to bed, but not to sleep. My poor, poor unhappy, +noble Alfred!” + +_“Dec. 27th._--Mamma and Edward have discussed it: they say nothing to +me. Can they have written to him? I go about my duties like a ghost; and +pray for submission to the Divine will.” + +_“Dec. 28th_--To-day as I was reading by main force to Mrs. Eagleton's +sick girl, came Sarah all in a hurry with, I was wanted, Miss. But I +_would_ finish my chapter, and O how hard the devil tried to make +me gabble it; so I clenched my teeth at him, and read it as if I was +spelling it; and then _didn't_ I fly? + +_“He_ was there; and they all sat waiting for me. I was hot and cold all +at the same time, and he rose and bowed to me, and I curtseyed to him, +and sat down and took my work, and didn't know one bit what I was doing. + +“And our new oracle, Edward, laid down the law like anything. 'Look +here, Hardie,' said he, 'if anybody but you had told us about this +fourteen thousand pounds, I should have set the police on your governor +before now. But it seems to me a shabby thing to attack a father on the +son's information, especially when it's out of love for one of us he has +denounced his own flesh and blood.'” + +“'No, no,' said Alfred eagerly, 'out of love of justice.'” + +“'Ah, you think so, my fine fellow, but you would not have done it for a +stranger,' said Edward. Then he went on: 'Of all blunders, the worst is +to fall between two stools. Look here, mamma: we decide, for the son's +sake, not to attack the father: after that it would be very inconsistent +to turn the cold shoulder to the son. Another thing, who suffers most +by this fraud? Why the man that marries Julia.' Alfred burst out +impetuously, 'Oh, prove that to me, and let me be that sufferer.' Edward +turned calmly to mamma: 'If the fourteen thousand pounds was in our +hands, what should you do with it?' + +“The dear thing said she should settle at least ten thousand of it on +Me, and marry Me to this poor motherless boy, 'whom I have learned to +love myself,' said she. + +“'There,' said Edward, 'you see it is you who lose by your governor's--I +won't say what--if you marry my sister.' + +“Alfred took his hand, and said, 'God bless you for telling me this.' + +“Then Edward turned to mamma and me; and said, 'This poor fellow has +left his father's house because he wronged us: then this house ought to +open its arms to him: that is only justice. But now to be just to our +side; I have been to Mr. Crawford, the lawyer, and I find this Hardie +junior has ten thousand pounds of his own. That ought to be settled on +Julia, to make up for what she loses by Hardie senior's--I won't say +what.' + +“'If anybody settles any of their trash on _me,_ I'll beat them, and +throw it in the fire,' said I; 'and I hated money.' + +“The oracle asked me directly did I hate clothes and food, and charity +to the poor, and cleanliness, and decency? Then I didn't hate money, +'for none of these things can exist without money, you little romantic +humbug; you shut up!' + +“Mamma rebuked him for his expressions, but approved his sentiments. But +I did not care for his sentiments: for _he_ smiled on me, and said, 'We +two are of one mind; we shall transfer our fortune to Captain Dodd, whom +my father has robbed. Julia will consent to share my honest poverty.' + +“'Well, we will talk about that,' said Edward pompously. + +“'Talk about it without me, then,' I cried, and got up, and marched +out indignant: only it was partly my low cunning to hide my face that +I could not keep the rapture out of. And, as soon as I had retired with +cold dignity, off I skipped into the garden to let my face loose, and I +think they sent him after me; for I heard his quick step behind me; so I +ran away from him as hard as I could; so of course he soon caught me; in +the shrubbery where he first asked me to be his; and he kissed both my +hands again and again like wildfire, as he is, and he said, 'You are +right, dearest; let them talk of their trash while I tell you how I +adore you; poverty with you will be the soul's wealth; even misfortune, +by your side, would hardly be misfortune: let all the world go, and let +you and I be one, and live together; and die together; for now I see +I could not have lived without you, nor without your love.' And I +whispered something on his shoulder--no matter what; what signifies the +cackle of a goose? And we mingled our happy tears, and our hearts, and +our souls. Ah, Love is a sweet a dreadful passion: what we two have gone +through for one another in a few months! He dined with us, and Edward +and he sat a long, long time talking; I dare say it was only about their +odious money; still I envied Edward having him so long. But at last +he came up, and devoured me with his lovely grey eyes, and I sang him +Aileen Aroon, and he whispered things in my ear, oh, such sweet sweet, +idiotic, darling things; I will not part with even the shadow of one of +them by putting it on paper, only I am the blessedest creature in all +the world; and I only hope to goodness it is not very wicked to be so +happy as I am.” + +_“Dec. 31st._--It is all settled. Alfred returns to Oxford to make up +for lost time; the time spent in construing me instead of Greek: and at +the end of term he is to come of age and marry--somebody. Marriage! what +a word to put down! it makes me tingle; it thrills me; it frightens me +deliciously: no, not deliciously; anything but: for suppose, being both +of us fiery, and they all say one of them ought to be cold blooded for +a pair to be happy, I should make him a downright bad wife. Why then I +hope I shall die in a year or two out of my darling's way, and let him +have a good one instead. I'd come back from the grave and tear her to +pieces. + +_“Jan. 4th._--Found a saint in a garret over a stable. Took her my +luncheon clandestinely; that is lady-like for 'under my apron:' and +was detected and expostulated by Ned. He took me into his studio--it is +carpeted with shavings--and showed me the _'Tiser_ digest, an enormous +book he has made of newspaper cuttings all in apple-pie order; and out +of this authority he proved vice and poverty abound most wherever there +are most charities. Oh, 'and the poor' a set of intoxicated sneaks, +and me a Demoralising Influence. It is all very fine: but why are there +saints in garrets, and half-starved? That rouses all my evil passions, +and I cannot bear it; it _is_ no use. + +_“Jan. 6th._--Once a gay day; but now a sad one. Mamma gone to see poor +papa, where he is. Alfred found me sorrowful, and rested my forehead on +his shoulder; that soothed me, while it lasted. I think I should like +to grow there. Mem! to burn this diary; and never let a creature see a +syllable. + +“As soon as he was gone, prayed earnestly on my knees not to make +an idol of him. For it is our poor idols that are destroyed for our +weakness. Which really I cannot quite see the justice of.” + +_“Jan. 8th._--Jane does not approve my proposal that we should praise +now and then at the same hour instead of always praying. The dear girl +sends me her unconverted diary 'to show me she is “a brand.”' I have +read most of it. But really it seems to me she was always goodish: only +she went to parties, and read novels, and enjoyed society. + +“There, I have finished it. Oh dear, how like her _un_converted diary is +to my _con_verted one!” + +_“Jan. 14th._--A sorrowful day: he and I parted, after a fortnight of +the tenderest affection, and that mutual respect without which neither +of us, I think, could love long. I had resolved to be very brave; but we +were alone, and his bright face looked so sad; the change in it took +me by surprise, and my resolution failed; I clung to him. If gentlemen +could interpret, as we can, he would never have left me. It is better +as it is. He kissed my tears away as fast as they came: it was the first +time he had ever kissed more than my hand; so I shall have that to think +of, and his dear promised letters: but it made me cry more at the time, +of course. Some day, when we have been married years and years, I shall +tell him not to go and pay a lady for every tear; if he wants her to +leave off. + +“The whole place so gloomy and vacant now.” + +_“Jan. 20th._--Poverty stares us in the face. Edward says we could make +a modest living in London; and nobody be the wiser: but here we are +known, and _'must_ be ladies and gentlemen, and fools,' he says. He has +now made me seriously promise not to give money and things out of the +house to the poor: it is robbing my mother and him. Ah, now I see +it _is_ nonsense to despise money: here I come home sad from my poor +people; and I used to return warm all over. And the poor old souls do +not enjoy my sermons half so much as when I gave them nice things to eat +along with them. + +“The dear boy, that I always loved dearly, but _admire_ and love now +that he has turned an intolerable tyrant and he used to be Wax, has put +down two maids out of our three, and brings our dinner up himself in a +jacket, then puts on his coat and sits down with us, and we sigh at him +and he grins and derides us; he does not care one straw for Pomp. And +mamma and I have to dress one another now. And I like it.” + +_“Jan. 30th._--He says we may now, by great economy, subsist honestly +till my wedding-day; but then mamma and he must _'absquatulate.'_ Oh, +what stout hearts men have. They can jest at sorrow even when, in spite +of their great thick skins, they feel it. Ah, the real poor are happy: +they marry, and need not leave the parish where their mother lives.” + +_“Feb. 4th._--A kind and most delicate letter from Jane. She says, +'Papa and I are much grieved at Captain Dodd's affliction, and deeply +concerned at your loss by the Bank. Papa has asked Uncle Thomas for two +hundred pounds, and I entreat you to oblige me by receiving it at my +hands and applying it according to the dictates of your own affectionate +heart.” + +“Actually our Viceroy will not let me take it: he says he will not +accept a crumb from the man who owes us a loaf.” + +_“Feb. 8th._--Jane mortified, and no wonder. If she knew how very poor +we are, she would be surprised as well. I have implored her not to take +it to heart, for that all will be explained one day, and she will see we +_could_ not. + +“His dear letters! I feed on them. We have no secrets, no two minds. He +is to be a first class and then a private tutor. Our money is to go to +mamma: it is he and I that are to work our fingers to the bone (I am so +happy!), and never let them be driven by injustice from their home. But +all this is a great secret. The Viceroy will be defeated, only I let him +talk till Alfred is here to back me. No; it is _not_ just the rightful +owner of fourteen thousand pounds should be poor. + +“How shallow female education is: I was always led to suppose modesty is +the highest virtue. No such thing! Justice is the queen of the virtues: +_He_ is justice incarnate.” + +_“March 10th._--On reperusing this diary, it is demoralising; very: it +feeds self. Of all the detestable compositions: Me, Me, Me, from one +end to another: for when it is not about myself, it is about Alfred, +and that it is my he-Me though not my she-one. So now to turn over a new +leaf: from this day I shall record only the things that happen in this +house and what my betters say to _me,_ not what I say; and the texts; +and outline of the sermons; and Jane's Christian admonitions.” + + +Before a resolve so virtuous all impure spirits retire, taking off their +hats, and bowing down to the very ground, but apprehending Small Beer. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + _Extracts from Jane Hardie's Diary._ + +_“March 3rd._--In my district again, the first time since my illness, +from which I am indeed but half recovered. Spoke faithfully to Mrs. B. +about her infidel husband: told her not to try and talk to him, but +to talk to God about him. Gave her my tract 'A quiet heart.' Came home +tired. Prayed to be used to sharpen the sickles of other reapers.” + +_“March 4th._--At St. Philip's to hear the Bishop. In the midst of an +excellent sermon on Gen. i. 2, he came out with the waters of baptism, +to my horror: he disclaimed the extravagant views some of them take, +then hankered after what he denied, and then partly unsaid _that_ too. +While the poor man was trimming his sails, I slunk behind a pillar in +the corner of my pew, and fell on my knees, and prayed (a) against the +stream of poison flowing on the congregation. Oh, I felt like Jeremiah +in his dungeon.” + +“In the evening papa forbade me to go to church again: said the wind was +too cold: I kissed him, and went up to my room and put my head between +the pillows not to hear the bells. Prayed for poor (b) Alfred.” + +_“March 5th._--Sadly disappointed in J. D. I did hope he was embittering +the world to her by degrees. But for some time past she writes in +ill-concealed spirits. + +“Another friend, after seeking rest in the world, is now seeking it in +ritualism. May both be drawn from their rotten reeds to the cross + + 'And oh this moral may my heart retain, + All hopes of happiness on earth are vain.'” + +_“March 6th._--The cat is out of the bag. She is corresponding with +Alfred: indeed she makes no secret of it. Wrote her a (c) faithful +letter. Received a short reply, saying I had made her unhappy, and +begging me to suspend my judgment till she could undeceive me without +giving me too much pain. What mystery is this?” + +“_March 7th._--Alfred announces his unalterable determination to marry +Julia. I read the letter to papa directly. He was silent for a long +time: and then said: 'All the worse for both of them.' It was all I +could do to suppress a thrill of carnal complacency at the thought this +might in time pave the way to another union. Even to think of that now +is a sin. 1 Cor. vii. 20-4, plainly shows that whatever position (d) +of life we are placed in, there it is our duty to abide. A child, for +instance, is placed in subjection to her parents; and must not leave +them without their consent.” + +_“March 8th._--Sent two cups of cold water to two fellow-pilgrims of +mine on the way to Jerusalem, viz: to E. H., Rom. viii. 1; to Mrs. M., +Philipp. ii. 27. + +“Prayed for increase of humility. I am so afraid my great success in His +vineyard has seduced me into feeling as if there was a spring of living +water in myself, instead of every drop being derived from the true +fountain.” + +_“March 9th._--Dr. Wycherley closeted two hours with papa--papa had sent +for him, I find. What is it makes me think that man is no true friend to +Alfred in his advice? I don't like these roundabout speakers: the lively +oracles are not roundabout.” + +_“March 10th._--My beloved friend and fellow-labourer, Charlotte D----, +ruptured a blood-vessel (x) at three P. M., and was conveyed in the +chariots of angels to the heavenly banqueting-house, to go no more out. +May I be found watching.” + +_“March 11th._--Dreadfully starved with these afternoon sermons. If they +go on like this, I really must stay at home, and feed upon the word.” + +_“March 12th._--Alfred has written to his trustees, and announced his +coming marriage, and told them he is going to settle all his money +upon the Dodds. Papa quite agitated by this news: it did not come from +Alfred; one of the trustees wrote to papa. Oh, the blessing of Heaven +will never rest on this unnatural marriage. Wrote a faithful letter to +Alfred while papa was writing to our trustee.” + +_“March 13th._--My book on Solomon's Song now ready for publication. But +it is so difficult now-a-days to find a publisher for such a subject. +The rage is for sentimental sermons, or else for fiction (f) under a +thin disguise of religious biography.” + +_“March 14th._--Mr. Plummer, of whose zeal and unction I had heard so +much, was in the town and heard of me, and came to see me by appointment +just after luncheon. _Such_ a sweet meeting. He came in and took my +hand, and in that posture prayed that the Holy Spirit might be with us +to make our conversation profitable to us, and redound to His glory. +Poor man, his wife leads him a cat and dog life, I hear, with her +jealousy. We had a _sweet_ talk; he admires Canticles almost as much as +I do (z): and has promised to take my book and get it cast on the Lord +(g) for me.” + +_“March 15th._--To _please,_ one must not be faithful. (h) Miss L., +after losing all her relations, and at thirty years of age, is to be +married next week. She came to me and gushed out about the blessing of +having at last one earthly friend to whom she could confide everything. +On this I felt it my duty to remind her she might lose him by death, +and then what a blank; and I was going on to detach her from the arm of +flesh, when she burst out crying, and left me abruptly; couldn't bear +the truth, poor woman. + +“In the afternoon met _him_ and bowed, and longed to speak, but thought +it my duty not to: cried bitterly on reaching home.” + +_“March l7th._--Transcribed all the (i) texts on Solomon's Song. It +seems to be the way He (j) has marked out for me to serve him.” + +_“March 19th._--Received this letter from Alfred: + + +'DEAR JANE,--I send you a dozen kisses and a piece of advice; learn +more; teach less: study more; preach less: and don't be in such a +hurry to judge and condemn your intellectual and moral superiors, on +insufficient information.--Your affectionate brother, + +ALFRED.' + +“A poor return for me loving his soul as my own. I do but advise him the +self-denial I myself pursue. Woe be to him if he rejects it.” + +_“March 20th._--A perverse reply from J. D. I had proposed we should +plead for our parents at the Throne. She says she fears that might seem +like assuming the office of the mediator: and besides her mother +is nearer Heaven than she is. What blindness! I don't know a more +thoroughly unhealthy mind than poor Mrs. (k) Dodd's. I am learning to +pray walking. Got this idea from Mr. Plummer. How closely he walks! his +mind so _exactly_ suits mine.” + +_“March 22nd._--Alfred returned. Went to meet him at the station. How +bright and handsome he looked! He kissed me so affectionately; and was +as kind and loving as could be: I, poor unfaithful wretch, went hanging +(m) on his arm, and had not the heart to dash his carnal happiness just +then. + +“He is gone _there._” + +_“March 24th._--Stole into Alfred's lodging when he was out; and, after +prayer, pinned Deuteronomy xxvii. 16, Proverbs xiii. 1, and xv. 5, and +Mark vii. 10, upon his bed-curtains.” + +_“March 25th._--Alfred has been in my room, and nailed Matthew vii. 1, +Mark x. 7, and Ezek. xviii. 20, on my wall. He found my diary, and has +read it, not to profit by, alas! but to scoff.” + +[Specimen of Alfred's comments. _N.B._ Fraternal criticism: + +A. Nolo Episcopari. + +B. It's an ill wind that blows nobody good. + +D. The old trick; picking one text, straining it; and ignoring six. So +then nobody who is not born married, must get married. + +E. Recipe. To know people's real estimate of themselves, study their +language of self-depreciation. If, even when they undertake to lower +themselves, they cannot help insinuating self-praise, be sure their +humility is a puddle, their vanity is a well. This sentence is typical +of the whole Diary or rather Iary; it sounds Publican, smells Pharisee. + +X. How potent a thing is language in the hand of a master: Here is +sudden death made humorous by a few incongruous phrases neatly disposed. + +F. Excuse me; there is still a little market for the Liquefaction of +Holy Writ, and the perversion of Holy Writ; two deathless arts, which +meet in your comment on the song you ascribe to Solomon. + +Z. More than Mrs. Plummer does, apparently. + +G. Apotheosis of the British public. How very like profaneness some +people's piety is! + +C. H. Faith, with this school, means anything the opposite of Charity. + +I. You are morally truthful: but intellectually mendacious. The texts on +Solomon's Song! You know very well there is not one. No grave writer +in all Scripture has ever deigned to cite, or notice, that coarse +composition; puellarum deliciae. + +J. Modest periphrasis for “I like it.” Motto for this Diary; “Ego, et +Deus meus.” + +K. In other words, a good, old-fashioned, sober, humble Christian, to +whom the daring familiarities of your school seem blasphemies. + +M. Here I recognise my sister; somewhat spoiled by a detestable sect; +but lovable by nature (which she is for ever abusing); and therefore +always amiable, when off her guard. + +_“March 28th._--Mr. Crawford the attorney called and told papa his son +had instructed him to examine the trust-deed, and to draw his marriage +settlement. Papa treated him with the greatest civility, and brought him +the deed. He wanted to take it away to copy; but papa said he had better +send a clerk here. Poor papa hid his distress from this gentleman, +though not from me; and gave him a glass of wine. + +“Then Mr. Crawford chatted, and let out Alfred had asked him to advance +a hundred pounds for the wedding presents, &c. Papa said he might do so +with perfect safety. + +“But the moment he was gone, his whole manner changed. He walked about +in terrible anger and agitation: and then sat down and wrote letters; +one was to uncle Thomas; and one to a Mr. Wycherley; I believe a brother +of the doctor's. I never knew him so long writing two letters before. + +“Heard a noise in the road, and it was Mr. Maxley, and the boys after +him hooting; they have found out his infirmity: what a savage animal is +man, till grace changes him! The poor soul had a stick, and now and then +turned and struck at them but his tormentors were too nimble. I drew +papa to the window, and showed him, and reminded him of the poor man's +request. He answered impatiently what was that to him? 'We have a worse +case nearer hand. Charity begins at home.' I ventured to say yes, but it +did not begin _and_ end at home.” + +_“March 31st._--Mr. Osmond here to-day; and over my work I heard papa +tell him Alfred is blackening his character in the town with some +impossible story about fourteen thousand pounds. Mr. Osmond very kind +and sympathising; set it all down to illusion; assured papa there was +neither malice nor insincerity in it. 'But what the better am I for +that?' said poor papa; 'if I am slandered, I am slandered.' And they +went out together. + +“Papa seems to feel this engagement more than all his troubles, and, +knowing by sad experience it is useless to expostulate with Alfred, I +wrote a long and faithful letter to Julia just before luncheon, +putting it to her as a Christian whether she could reconcile it to +her profession to set a son against his father, and marry him in open +defiance. + +“She replied, 3 P. M., that her mother approved the marriage, and she +owed no obedience, nor affection either, to _my_ parent. + +“3.30. Sent back a line rebuking her for this quibble. + +“At 5 received a note from Mrs. Dodd proposing that the correspondence +between myself and her daughter should cease _for the present._ + +“5.30. Retorted with an amendment that it should cease _for ever._ No +reply. Such are worldlings! Remonstrance only galls them. And so in one +afternoon's correspondence ends one more of my Christian friendships +with persons of my own sex. This is the eighth to which a carnal +attachment has been speedily fatal. + +“In the evening Alfred came in looking very red, and asked me whether it +was not self-reliant and uncharitable of me to condemn so many estimable +persons, all better acquainted with the circumstances than I am. I +replied with the fifth commandment. He bit his lip and said, 'We had +better not meet again, until you have found out which is worthiest of +honour, your father or your brother.' And with this he left abruptly; +and something tells me I shall not see him again. My faithfulness has +wounded him to the quick. Alas! Prayed for him and cried myself to +sleep.” + +_“April 4th._ Met _him_ disguised as a common workman, and carrying +a sack full of things. I was so shocked I could not maintain my +resolution: I said, 'Oh, Mr. Edward, what are you doing?' He blushed a +little, but told me he was going to sell some candlesticks and things of +his making: and he should get a better price in that dress; all traders +looked on a _gentleman_ as a thing made to be pillaged. Then he told me +he was going to turn them into a bonnet and a wreath; and his beautiful +brown eyes sparkled with affection. What egotistical creatures _they_ +must be! I was quite overcome, and said, Oh why did he refuse our offer? +Did he hate me so very much that he would not even take his due from my +hand? 'No,' he said, 'nobody in our house is so unjust to you as to hate +you; my sister honours you, and is very sorry you think ill of her: and, +as for me, I love you; you know how I love you.' I hid my face in my +hands; and sobbed out, 'Oh, you must not; you must not; my poor father +has one disobedient child already.' He said softly, 'Don't cry, dear +one; have a little patience; perhaps the clouds will clear: and, +meantime, why think so ill of us? Consider, we are four in number, of +different dispositious, yet all of one mind about Julia marrying Alfred. +May we not be right; may we not know something we love you too well to +tell you?' His words and his rich manly voice were so soothing; I gave +him just one hand while I still hid my burning face with the other; he +kissed the hand I yielded him, and left me abruptly. + +“If Alfred should be right! I am staggered now; he puts it so much more +convincingly.” + +_“April 5th._ A letter from Alfred, announcing his wedding by special +license for the 11th. + +“Made no reply. What _could_ I say? + +“Papa, on my reading it out left his very breakfast half finished, and +packed up his bag and rushed up to London. I caught a side view of his +face; and I am miserable. Such a new, such a terrible expression! a vile +expression! Heaven forgive me, it seemed the look of one who meditated a +_crime._” + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +THE spirit of dissension in Musgrove Cottage penetrated to the very +kitchen. Old Betty sided with Alfred, and combated in her place the +creed of the parlour: “Why, according to Miss, the young sparrows are +bound never to fly out of the nest; or else have the Bible flung at +'em. She do go on about God's will: seems to me 'tis His will the +world should be peopled by body and beast--which they are both His +creatures--and, by the same toaken, if they don't marry they does +wus. Certainly whilst a young man bides at home, it behoves him to be +dutiful; but that ain't to say he _is_ to bide at home for ever. Master +Alfred's time is come to leave we, and be master in a house of his own, +as his father done before him, which he forgets that now; he is grown +to man's estate, and got his mother's money, and no more bound to our +master than I be.” She said, too, that “parting blights more quarrels +than it breeds:” and she constantly invited Peggy to speak up, and +gainsay her. But Peggy was a young woman with white eyelashes, and given +to looking down, and not to speaking up: she was always watching Mr. +Hardie in company, like a cat cream; and hovering about him when alone. +Betty went so far as to accuse her of colloguing with him against +Alfred, and of “setting her cap at master,” which accusation elicited no +direct reply, but stinging innuendoes hours after. + +Now, if one looks into the thing, the elements of discord had attacked +Albion Villa quite as powerfully as Musgrove Cottage; but had hitherto +failed signally: the mutual affection of the Dodds was so complete, and +no unprincipled person among them to split the good. + +And, now that the wedding drew near, there was but one joyful heart +within the walls, though the others were too kind and unselfish to throw +cold water. Mrs. Dodd's own wedding had ended in a piteous separation, +and now to part with her darling child and launch her on the uncertain +waves of matrimony! She heaved many a sigh when alone: but as there +were no bounds to her maternal love, so there were no exceptions to her +politeness: over her aching heart she forced on a wedding face, subdued, +but hopeful, for her daughter, as she would for any other young lady +about to be married beneath her roof. + +It wanted but six days, when one morning after breakfast the bereaved +wife, and mother about to be deserted, addressed her son and Viceroy +thus: “Edward, we _must_ borrow fifty pounds.” + +“Fifty pounds! what for? who wants that?” + +“Why, _I_ want it,” said Mrs. Dodd stoutly. + +“Oh, if _you_ want it--what to do, please?” + +“Why, to buy her wedding clothes, dear.” + +“I thought what her 'I' would come to,” said Julia reproachfully. + +Edward shook his head, and said, “He who goes a borrowing goes a +sorrowing.' + +“But she is not a he,” objected Mrs. Dodd with the subtlety of a +schoolman: “and who ever heard of a young lady being married without +some things to be married _in?_” + +“Well, I've heard Nudity is not the cheese on public occasions: but why +not go dressed like a lady as she always does, only with white gloves; +and be married without any bother and nonsense.” + +“You talk like a boy,” said Mrs. Dodd. “I could not bear it. My poor +child!” and she cast a look of tenderest pity on the proposed victim. +“Well, suppose we make the poor child the judge,” suggested Edward. He +then put it to Julia whether, under the circumstances, she would wish +them to run in debt, buying her finery to wear for a day. “It was not +fair to ask _her,_” said Mrs. Dodd with a sigh. + +Julia blushed and hesitated, and said she would be candid; and then +stopped. + +“Ugh!” ejaculated Edward. “This is a bad beginning. Girl's candour! Now +for a masterpiece of duplicity.” + +Julia inquired how he dared; and Mrs. Dodd said warmly that Julia was +not like other people, she could be candid; had actually done it, +more than once, within her recollection. The young lady justified the +exception as follows: “If I was going to be married to myself, or to +some gentleman I did not care for, I would not spend a shilling. But I +am going to marry _him;_ and so--oh, Edward, think of them saying, 'What +has he married? a dowdy: why she hadn't new things on to go to church +with him: no bonnet, no wreath, no new white dress!' To mortify him the +very first day of our----” The sentence remained unfinished, but two +lovely eyes filled to the very brim without running over, and completed +the sense, and did the Viceroy's business, though a brother. “Why you +dear little goose,” said he: “of course, I don't mean that. I have as +good as got the things we must buy; and those are a new bonnet----” + +“Ah!” + +“A wreath of orange blossoms----” + +“Oh you good boy!” + +“Four pair of gloves: two white--one is safe to break--two dark; very +dark: invisible green, or visible black; last the honeymoon. All the +rest you must find in the house.” + +“What, fit her out with a parcel of old things? so cruel, so +unreasonable, dear Edward?” + +“Old things! Why, where is all your gorgeous attire from Oriental +climes? I see the splendiferous articles arrive, and then they vanish +for ever.” + +“Now, shawls and Indian muslins! pray what use are they to a bride?” + +“Why, what looks nicer than a white muslin dress?” + +“Married in muslin? The very idea makes me shiver.” + +“Well, clap her on another petticoat.” + +“How can you be so childish? Muslin is not the _the thing._” + +“No more is running in debt.” + +He then suggested that a white shawl or two should be cut into a bridal +dress. At this both ladies' fair throats opened on him with ridicule: +cut fifty guinea shawls into ten-pound dresses; that was male economy! +was it? Total, a wedding was a wedding: new things always _had_ had to +be bought for a wedding, and always would _in secula seculorum._ + +“New things? Yes,” said the pertinacious wretch; “but they need not be +new-bought things. You ladies go and confound the world's eyes with +your own in the drollest way: If Gorgeous Attire has lain long in your +drawers, you fancy the world will detect on its glossy surface how long +you had it, and gloated over it, and made it stale to your eye, before +you could bring your mind to wear it. That is your delusion, that and +the itch for going out shopping; oh, I'm down on you. Mamma dear, you +open that gigantic wardrobe of yours; and I'll oil my hair, white-wash +my mug (a little moan from Mrs. D.) and do the counterjumping business +to the life; hand the things down to you, unrol 'em, grin, charge you +100 per cent over value, note them down in a penny memorandum-book, sing +out 'Caesh! Caesh!' &c. &c.: and so we shall get all Julia wants, and +go through the ritual of shopping without the substantial disgrace of +running in debt.” + +Mrs. Dodd smiled admiringly, as ladies generally do at the sauciness of +a young male; but proposed an amendment. She would open her wardrobe, +and look out all the contents for Edward's inspection; and, if the mere +sight of them did not convince him they were inappropriate to a bride, +why then she would coincide with his views, and resign her own. + +“All right!” said he. “That will take a jolly time, I know; so I'll go +to my governor first for the bonnet and wreath.” + +Mrs. Dodd drew in at this last slang word; she had heard young gentlemen +apply it to their fathers. Edward, she felt sure, would not so sully +that sacred relation; still the word was obnoxious for its past +offences; and she froze at it: “I have not the honour to know who the +personage is you so describe,” said she formally. Edward replied very +carelessly that it was an upholsterer at the north end of the town. + +“Ah, a tradesman you patronise.” + +“Humph! Well, yes, that is the word, mamma, haw! haw! I have been making +the bloke a lot of oak candlesticks, and human heads with +sparkling eyes, for walking-sticks, &c. And now I'll go and draw +my--protege's--blunt.” The lady's hands were uplifted towards pitying +Heaven with one impulse. The young workman grinned: “Soyons de notre +siecle,” said he, and departed whistling in the tenor clef. He had the +mellowest whistle. + +After a few minutes well spent in deploring the fall of her Oxonian, and +gently denouncing his motto, and his century, its ways, and above all +its words, Mrs. Dodd took Julia to her bedroom, and unlocked drawers and +doors in her wardrobe; and straightway Sarah, who was hurriedly flogging +the chairs with a duster, relaxed, and began to work on a cheval-glass +as slowly as if she was drawing Nelson's lions at a thousand pounds +the tail. Mrs. Dodd opened a drawer and took out three pieces of worked +Indian muslin, a little discoloured by hoarding: “There, that must be +bleached and make you some wrappers for the honeymoon, if the weather +is at all fine; and petticoats to match;” next an envelope consisting of +two foolscap sheets tacked: this, carefully undone upon the bed revealed +a Brussels lace flounce and a veil: “It was my own,” said Mrs. Dodd +softly. “I saved it for you; see here is your name written on it +seventeen years ago. I thought 'this dear little toddler will have wings +some day, and then she will leave me.' But now I am almost afraid to +let you wear it; it might bring you misfortune: suppose after years of +wedded love you should be bereaved of----” Mrs. Dodd choked, and Julia's +arms were round her neck in a moment. + +“I'll risk it,” cried she impetuously. “If it but makes me as beloved as +you are, I'll wear it, come weal come woe! And then I shall feel it over +me at the altar like my guardian angel's wings, my own sweet, darling +mamma. Oh what an idiot, what a wretch I am, to leave you at all.” + +This unfortunate, unexpected burst, interrupted business sadly. Mrs. +Dodd sank down directly on the bed and wept; Julia cried over her, and +Sarah plumped herself down in a chair and blubbered. But wedding flowers +are generally well watered in the private apartments. + +Patient Mrs. Dodd soon recovered herself: “This is childish of me. When +I think that there are mothers who see their children go from the house +corpses, not brides, I ought to be ashamed of myself. Come! a l'oeuvre. +Ah, here is something.” And she produced a white China crape shawl. “Oh, +how sweet,” said Julia; “why have you never worn it?” + +“Dear me, child, what use would things be to those I love, if I went and +_wore_ them?” + +The next article she laid her hand on was a roll of white poplin, and +drew an exclamation from Mrs. Dodd herself: “If I had not forgotten +this, and it is the very thing. Your dear papa bought me this in London, +and I remonstrated with him well for buying me such a delicate thing, +only once wear. I kissed it and put it away, and forgot it. They _say_ +if you keep a thing seven years. It _is_ just seven years since he gave +it to me. Really, the dear boy is a witch: this is your wedding dress, +my precious precious.” She unrolled a few yards on the bed to show it; +and asked the gloating Sarah with a great appearance of consideration +whether they were not detaining her from her occupations? + +“Oh no, mum. This glass have got so dull; I'm just polishing of it a +bit. I shan't be a minute now, mum.” + +From silver tissue paper, Mrs. Dodd evolved a dress (unmade) of white +crape embroidered in true lover's-knots of violet silk, and ears of +wheat in gold. Then there was a scream at the glass, and Sarah seen in +it with ten claws in the air very wide apart: she had slily turned the +mirror and was devouring the reflexion of the finery, and this last +Indian fabric overpowered her. Her exclamation was instantly followed by +much polishing; but Mrs. Dodd replied to it after the manner of her sex: +“Well it _is_ lovely,” said she to Julia: “but where is the one with +beetle wings? Oh here.” + +“Real beetles' wings, mamma?” inquired Julia. + +“Yes, love.” + +“So they are, and how wicked! and what a lovely green! I will never wear +them: they are prismatic: now, if ever I am to be a Christian, I had +better begin: everything _has_ a beginning. Oh vanity of women, you +stick at nothing. A thousand innocent lives stolen to make one dress!” + And she put one hand before her eyes, and with the other ordered the +dress back into the wardrobe with genuine agitation. + +“My dear, what expressions! And you need not wear it; indeed neither of +them is fit for that purpose. But you _must_ have a pretty thing or two +about you. I have hoarded these a good many years; now it is your turn +to have them by you. And let me see; you want a travelling cloak: but +the dear boy will not let us; so choose a warm shawl.” + +A rich but modest one was soon found, and Julia tried it on, arching +her supple neck, and looking down over her shoulder to see the effect +behind, in which attitude oh for an immortal brush to paint her, or +anything half as bright, supple, graceful, and every inch a woman. +At this moment Mrs. Dodd threw a lovely blue Indian shawl on the bed, +galvanising Sarah so that up went her hands again, and the door opened +softly and a handsome head in a paper cap peeped on the scene, inquiring +with mock timidity “May 'The British Workman' come in?” + +He was invited warmly; Julia whipped his cap off, and tore it in two, +reddening, and Mrs. Dodd, intending to compliment his foresight, showed +him the bed laden with the treasures they had disinterred from vanity's +mahogany tomb. + +“Well, mother,” said he, “you were right, and I was wrong: they are +inappropriate enough, the whole lot.” + +The ladies looked at one another, and Sarah permitted herself a species +of snort. + +“Do we want Sarah?” he asked quietly. She retired bridling. + +“Inappropriate?” exclaimed Mrs. Dodd. “There is nothing here unfit for a +bride's trousseau.” + +“Good Heavens! Would you trick her out like a Princess?” + +“We must. We are too poor to dress her like a lady.” + +“Cinderella; at your service,” observed Julia complacently, and +pirouetted before him in her new shawl. + +Ideas rejected peremptorily at the time often rankle, and bear fruit +by-and-bye. Mrs. Dodd took up the blue shawl, and said she would make +Julia a peignoir of it; and the border, being narrowish, would do for +the bottom. “That was a good notion, of yours, darling,” said she, +bestowing a sweet smile on Edward. He grunted. Then she took out a +bundle of lace: “Oh, for pity's sake, no more,” cried the “British +Workman.” + +“Now, dearest, you have interfered once in feminine affairs, and we +submitted. But, if you say another word, I will trim her poplin with +Honiton two feet deep.” + +“Quarter! quarter!” cried Edward. “I'm dumb; grant me but this; +have nothing made up for her out of the house: you know there is no +dressmaker in Barkington can cut like you: and then that will put some +limit to our inconsistency.” Mrs. Dodd agreed; but she must have a woman +in to sew. + +Edward grunted at this, and said: “I wish I could turn you these gowns +with my lathe; what a deal of time and bother it would save. However, if +you want any stuffing, come to me; I'll lend you lots of shavings; +make the silk rustle. Oh, here is my governor's contribution.” And he +produced L. 7, 10s. + +“Now, look there,” said Julia sorrowfully, “it is money. And I thought +you were going to bring me the very bonnet yourself. Then I should have +valued it.” + +“Oh yes,” replied the young gentleman ironically; “can I choose a bonnet +to satisfy such swells as you and mamma? I'll tell you what I'll do; +I'll go with you and look as wise as Solomon, all the time you are +choosing it.” + +“A capital plan,” said Julia. + +Edward then shook his fist at the finery: and retired to work again for +his governor: “Flowers,” he observed, “are indispensable, at a wedding +breakfast; I hear too it is considered the right cheese to add something +in the shape of grub.” Exit whistling in the tenor clef; and keeping +their hearts up, like a man. + +So now there were two workshops in Albion Villa. Ned's study, as he +called it, and the drawing-room. In the former shavings flew, and +settled at their ease, and the whirr of the lathe slept not; the latter +was all patterns, tapes, hooks and eyes, whalebone, cuttings of muslin, +poplin and paper; clouds of lining-muslin, snakes of piping; skeins, +shreds; and the floor literally sown with pins, escaped from the fingers +of the fair, those taper fingers so typical of the minds of their +owners: or they have softness, suppleness, nimbleness, adroitness, and +“a plentiful lack” of tenacity. + +The days passed in hard work, and the evenings in wooing, never sweeter +than when it has been so earned: and at last came the wedding eve. +Dr. Sampson, who was to give the bride away, arrived just before +dinner-time: the party, including Alfred, sat down to a charming little +dinner; they ate beetles' wings, and drank Indian muslin fifteen years +in the wood. For the lathe and the chisel proved insufficient, and +Julia having really denied herself, as an aspirant to Christianity, +that assassin's robe, Mrs. Dodd sold it under the rose to a fat old +dowager--for whom nothing was too fine--and so kept up appearances. + +Julia and Alfred were profoundly happy at bottom; yet their union was +attended with too many drawbacks for boisterous gaiety, and Alfred, up +to this time, had shown a seriousness and sobriety of bliss, that won +Mrs. Dodd's gratitude: it was the demeanour of a delicate mind; it +became his own position, at odds with his own flesh and blood for +Julia's sake; it became him as the son-in-law of a poor woman so lately +bereaved of her husband, and reduced to poverty by one bearing the name +of Hardie. + +But now Dr. Sampson introduced a gayer element. He had seen a great deal +of Life; _i.e.,_ of death and trouble. This had not hardened him, but, +encountering a sturdy, valiant, self-protecting nature, had made him +terribly tough and elastic; it was now his way never to go forward or +backward a single step after sorrow. He seldom mentioned a dead friend +or relation; and, if others forced the dreary topic on him, they could +never hold him to it; he was away directly to something pleasant or +useful, like a grasshopper skipping off a grave into the green grass. He +had felt keenly about David while there was anything to be done: but now +his poor friend was in a madhouse, thanks to the lancet: and there was +an end of _him._ Thinking about him would do him no good. The present +only is irresistible; past and future ills the mind can bar out by a +resolute effort. The bride will very likely die of her first child! Well +then, forget that just now. Her father is in an asylum! Well then, don't +remember him at the wrong time: there sit female beauty and virtue ready +to wed manly wit and comeliness, seated opposite; see their sweet stolen +glances; a few hours only between them and wedded rapture: and I'm +here to give the lovely virgin away: fill the bumper high! _dum vivimus +vivamus._ In this glorious spirit he rattled on, and soon drew the young +people out, and silvery peals of laughter rang round the genial board. + +This jarred on Mrs. Dodd. She bore it in silence some time; but with +the grief it revived and sharpened by contrast, and the polite effort to +hide her distress, found herself becoming hysterical: then she made the +usual signal to Julia, and beat an early retreat. She left Julia in the +drawing-room, and went and locked herself in her own room. “Oh, how can +they be so cruel as to laugh and giggle in my David's house!” She wept +sadly, and for the first time felt herself quite lonely in the world: +for what companionship between the gay and the sad hearted? Poor thing, +she lived to reproach herself even with this, the nearest approach she +ever made to selfishness. + +Ere long she crept into Julia's room and humbly busied herself packing +her trunks for the wedding tour. The tears fell fast on her white hands. + +She would not have been left alone a minute if Julia's mind had not +been occupied just then with an affectionate and amiable anxiety: she +earnestly desired to reconcile her Alfred and his sister before the +wedding; and she sat in the drawing-room thinking whether it could be +done, and how. + +At last she sat down blushing, and wrote a little note, and rang the +bell for Sarah, and sent it courageously into the dining-room. + +Sarah very prudently listened at the keyhole before entering, for she +said to herself, “If they are talking free, I shan't go in till it's +over.” + +The persons so generously suspected were discussing a parchment Alfred +had produced, and wanted signed: “You are our trustee, my boy,” said he +to Edward: “so just write your name here, and mine comes here, and the +witness's there: the Doctor and Sarah will do. Send for a pen.” + +“Let's read it first, please.” + +“Read it! What for?” + +“Catch me signing a paper without reading it, my boy.” + +“What, can't you trust me?” inquired Alfred, hurt. + +“Oh yes. And can't you trust me?” + +“There's a question: why I have appointed you my Trusty in the Deed; he, +he.” + +“Well then trust me without my signing, and I'll trust you without +reading.” + +Sampson laughed at this retort, and Alfred reddened; he did not want +the Deed read. But while he hesitated, Sarah came in with Julia's note, +asking him to come to her for a minute. This sweet summons made him +indifferent to prosaic things. “Well, read away,” said he: “one comfort, +you will be no wiser.” + +“What, is it in Latin?” asked Edward with a wry face. + +“No such luck. Deeds used to be in Latin; but Latin could not be made +obscure enough. So now Dark Deeds are written in an unknown tongue +called 'Lawyerish,' where the sense is 'as one grain of wheat in two +bushels of chaff,' pick it out if you can. + +“Whatever man has done man may do,” said Dr. Sampson stoutly. “You have +rid it, and yet understood it: so why mayn't we, ye monster o' conceit?” + +“Read it?” said Alfred. “I never read it: would not read it for a great +deal of money. The moment I saw what a senseless rigmarole it was, I +flung it down and insisted on the battological author furnishing me +with an English translation. He complied: the crib occupies just +twenty lines; the original three folio pages, as you see. That crib, +gentlemen,” added he severely, “is now in my waistcoat pocket; and you +shall never see it--for your impudence. No, seat yourself by that +pool of parchment (sedet eternumque sedebit, &c.) and fish for Lawyer +Crawford's ideas, rari nantes in gurgite vasto.” And with this he flew +up-stairs on the wings of love. Julia met him in the middle of the room +all in a flutter: “It is to ask you a favour. I am unhappy--about one +thing.” + +She then leaned one hand softly on his shoulder, and curving her lovely +supple neck looked round into his face and watched it as she preferred +her petition: “It is about Jane and you. I cannot bear to part you +two in this way: only think six days you have not spoken, and I am the +cause.” + +“Not the only cause, love.” + +“I don't know, darling. But it is very cruel. I have got my dear mother +and Edward; you have nobody--but Me. Alfred,” said she with gentle +impetuosity, “now is your time; your papa is away.” + +“Oh, is he?” said Alfred carelessly. + +“Yes. Sarah says Betty says he is gone to Uncle Thomas. So I know you +won't refuse me, my own Alfred: it is to go to your sister this minute +and make it up.” + +“What, and leave you?” objected Alfred ruefully. + +“No, no; you are with the gentlemen, you know: you are not here, _in +reality,_ till tea. Make them an excuse: say the truth; say it is Me; +and come back to me with good news.” + +He consented on these terms. + +Then she armed him with advice: “You go to make peace; it is our last +chance; now remember, you must be very generous, very sweet-tempered. +Guard against your impetuosity. Do take warning by me; see how impetuous +I am. And then, you know, after all, she is only a lady, and a great +creature like you ought not to be ruffled by anything so small as a +lady's tongue: the idea! And, dearest, don't go trusting to your logic, +but _do_ descend to the arts of persuasion, because they are far more +convincing somehow: please try them.” + +“Yes. Enumerate them.” + +“Why, kissing and coaxing, and--don't ask _me._” + +“Will you bestow a specimen of those arts on me if I succeed?” + +“Try me,” said she: and looked him earnestly in the face; but +lowered her long lashes slowly and shyly, as she realised to what her +Impetuosity was pledging itself. + +Alfred got his hat and ran to Musgrove Cottage. + + +A man stepped out of the shadow of a hedge opposite Albion Villa, and +followed him, keeping in shadow as much as possible. + +The door of Musgrove Cottage was opened to him by old Betty with a +joyful start! “Mr. Alfred, I _de_clare! Come in; there's only me and +Miss. Master is in Yorkshire, and that there crocodile, Peggy, she is +turned away--for sauce--and a good riddance of bad rubbish: Miss is in +the parlour.” + +She ushered him triumphantly in. Jane was seated reading: she dropped +her book, and ran and kissed him with a cry of joy. So warm a reception +surprised him agreeably, and simplified his task. He told her he was +come to try and make it up with her before the wedding: “We lose your +presence, dear Jenny,” said he, “and that is a great grief to us, +valuing you as we do: don't refuse us your good wishes to-morrow.” + +“Dearest Alfred,” said she, “can you think it? I pray for you day and +night. And I have begun to blame myself for being so sure you were in +the wrong and poor papa faultless. What you sent me half in jest, I take +in earnest 'Judge not that ye be not judged.'” + +“Why, Jenny,” said Alfred, “how red your eyes are.” + +At this observation the young saint laid her head on her brother's +shoulder and had a good cry like any other girl. When she recovered a +little she told him, yes, she had been very unhappy: that he had always +been a dear good brother to her, and the only one she had; and that it +cut her to the heart not to be at his wedding; it seemed so unkind. + +Alfred set her on his knee--she had more soul than body--and kissed her +and comforted her: and, in this happy revival of natural affection, +his heart opened, he was off his guard, and told her all: gave her the +several proofs their father had got the L. 14,000. Jane, arrested by +the skill and logical clearness with which he marshalled the proofs, +listened in silence; and presently a keen shudder ran through her frame, +and reminded him he was setting a daughter against her father. + +“There,” said he, “I always said I would never tell you, and now I've +done it. Well, at least you will see with what consideration, and +unheard-of leniency, the Dodds for our sake are treating Mr. Richard +Hardie. Just compare their conduct to him with his to them. And which is +most to his advantage? that I should marry Julia, and give Mrs. Dodd the +life interest in my ten thousand pounds, to balance his dishonesty, or +for him to be indicted as a thief? Ned Dodd told us plainly he +would have set the police on him, had any other but his son been the +informant.” + +“Did _he_ say that? Oh, Alfred, this is a miserable world.” + +“I can't see that: it is the jolliest world in the world: everything is +bright and lovely, and everybody is happy except a few sick people, and +a few peevish ones that run to meet trouble. To-morrow I marry my sweet +Julia; Richard Hardie will find we two don't molest him, nor trouble our +heads about him. He will get used to us; and one fine day we shall say +to him, 'Now, we know all about the L. 14,000: just leave it by will +to dear Jenny, and let my friend Dodd marry her, and you can enjoy it +unmolested for your lifetime.' He will consent: and you will marry Ned, +and then you'll find the world has been wickedly slandered by dishonest +men and dismal dogs.” + +In this strain he continued till he made her blush a good deal and smile +a little; a sad smile. + +But at last she said, “If I was sure all this is true, I think I should +go--with a heavy heart--to your wedding. If I don't, the best part of me +will be there, my prayers, and my warm, warm wishes for you both. Kiss +her for me, and tell her so; and that I hope we shall meet round His +throne soon, if we cannot meet at His altar to-morrow.” + +Brother and sister then kissed one another affectionately; and +Alfred ran back like the wind to Albion Cottage. Julia was not in the +drawing-room, and some coolish tea was. After waiting half an hour he +got impatient, and sent Sarah to say he had a message for her. Sarah +went upstairs to Mrs. Dodd's room, and was instantly absorbed. After +waiting again for a long time, Alfred persuaded Edward to try his luck. +Edward went up to Mrs. Dodd's room, and was absorbed. + +The wedding dress was being solemnly tried on. A clean linen sheet was +on the floor, and the bride stood on it, receiving the last touches of +the milliner's art. With this and her white poplin and lace veil she +seemed framed in white, and her cheeks bloomed so, and her eyes +beamed, with excitement and innocent vanity, that altogether she was +supernaturally lovely. + +Once enter the room enchanted by this snow-chad rose, and--_Vestigia +nulla retrorsum._ + +However, Edward escaped at last and told Alfred what was on foot, and +drew a picture of the Bride with white above and white below. + +“Oh, let me see her,” implored the lover. + +Edward must ask mamma about that. He did, and mamma said “Certainly not; +the last person in the world that shall see her in her wedding dress.” + But she should come down to him in half an hour. It seemed a very long +half-hour. However, by way of compensation, he was alone when she did +come. “Good news?” she asked eagerly. + +“Capital: we are the best of friends. Why she is half inclined to +_come._” + +“Then--oh how good you are: oh, how I love you.” + +And she flung a tender arm round his neck, like a young goddess making +love; and her sweet face came so near his, he had only to stoop a +little, and their lips met in a long blissful kiss. + +That kiss was an era in her life. Innocence itself, she had put up her +delicious lips to her lover in pure, though earnest affection; but the +male fire with which his met them, made her blush as well as thrill, +and she drew back a little, ashamed and half scared, and nestled on his +shoulder, hiding a face that grew redder and redder. + +He bent his graceful head, and murmured down to her, “Are you afraid of +me, sweetest?” + +“Oh no, no! Yes, a little. I don't know. I was afraid I had made too +free with my Treasure; you don't quite belong to me yet, you know.” + +“Oh yes, I do; and, what is more, you belong to me. Don't you, sweet +rebel?” + +“Ah, that I do, heart and soul, my own, own, own.” + +A few more soft delicious murmurs, and then Julia was summoned to more +rites of vanity, and the lovers parted with tender reluctance for those +few hours. + +Alfred went home to his lodgings. He had not been there above ten +minutes, when he came out hastily, and walked quickly to the “White +Lion,” the principal inn in Barkington. He went into the stable-yard, +and said a few words to the ostler: then returned to his lodgings. + +The man followed him at a distance from Albion Terrace; watched him +home; dogged him to the “White Lion;” and, by-and-bye, entered the yard +and offered the ostler a glass of ale at the tap. + + +At Albion Villa they were working on Julia's dresses till past midnight: +and then Mrs. Dodd insisted on her going to bed. She obeyed; but when +the house was all quiet, came stealing out to her mother, and begged to +sleep with her: the sad mother strained her in a tearful embrace: and so +they passed the night; clinging to one another more as the parting drew +near. + +Edward arranged the wedding breakfast for after the ceremony; and sent +the ladies up a cup of coffee, and a bit of toast apiece. They could +hardly find appetite even for this; or indeed time; there was so much +still to do. + +At ten o'clock Julia was still in the height of dressing, delayed by +_contretemps_ upon _contretemps._ Sarah and her sister did her hair up +too loose, and, being a glorious mass, it threatened all to come down +and, meantime, a hair-pin quietly but persistently bored her cream-white +poll. + +“Oh, run for mamma!” she cried. + +Mamma came half dressed, had the hair all down again, and did it up +with adroit and loving hand, and put on the orange wreath, kissed her +admiringly, and retired to her own toilet; and the girls began to lace +the bride's body. + +Bump came Edward's foot against the door, making them all shriek. + +“Now I don't want to hurry you; but Dr. Sampson is come.” The handmaids, +flustered, tried to go faster; and, when the work was done, Julia took +her little handglass and inspected her back: “Oh,” she screamed, “I am +crooked. There, go for mamma!” + +Mamma soon came, and the poor bride held out imploring hands, “I'm all +awry; I'm as crooked as a ram's horn.” + +“La, miss,” said Sarah, “it's only behind; nobody will notice it.” + +“How can they help it? Mamma! _am_ I deformed?” + +Mrs. Dodd smiled superior and bade her be calm: “It is the lacing, dear. +No, Sarah, it is no use your _pulling_ it; all the pulling in the world +will not straighten it. I thought so: you have missed the second top +hole.” + +Julia's little foot began to beat a tattoo on the floor: “There is not +a soul in the house but you can do the simplest thing. Eyes and no eyes! +Fingers and no fingers! I never did.” + +“Hush, love, we all do our best.” + +“Oh, I am sure of that; poor things.” + +_“Nobody_ can lace you if you fidget about love,” objected Mrs. Dodd. + +(Bump)! “Now I don't want to hurry any man's cattle: but the bridesmaids +are come.” + +“Oh dear, I shall never be ready in time,” said Julia; and the tattoo +recommenced. + +“Plenty of time, love,” said Mrs. Dodd, quietly lacing: “not half-past +ten yet. Sarah, go and see if the bridegroom has arrived.” + +Sarah returned with the reassuring tidings that the bridegroom had not +yet arrived; though the carriages had. + +“Oh, thank Heaven, _he_ is not come,” said Julia. “If I keep him waiting +to-day, he might say--'Oho!'” + +Under dread of a comment so significant she was ready at last, and said +majestically he might come now whenever he liked. + +Meantime, down stairs an uneasiness of the opposite kind was growing. +Ten minutes past the appointed time, and the bridegroom not there. +So while Julia, now full dressed, and easy in her mind, was directing +Sarah's sister to lay out her plain travelling dress, bonnet and gloves +on the bed, Mrs. Dodd was summoned downstairs. She came down with +Julia's white gloves in her hand, and a needle and thread, the button +sewed on by trade's fair hand having flown at the first strain. Edward +met her on the stairs: “What had we better do, mother?” said he, _sotto +voce:_ “there must be some mistake. Can you remember? Wasn't he to call +for me on the way to the church?” + +“I really do not know,” said Mrs. Dodd. “Is he at the church, do you +think?” + +“No, no, either he was to call for me here, or I for him. I'll go to the +church, though: it is only a step.” + +He ran off, and in a little more than five minutes came into the +drawing-room. + +“No, he is not there. I must go to his lodgings. Confound him, he has +got reading Aristotle, I suppose.” + +This passed before the whole party, Julia excepted. + +Sampson looked at his watch, and said he could conduct the ladies to +the church while Edward went for Alfred. “Division of labour,” said he +gallantly, “and mine the delightful half.” + +Mrs. Dodd demurred to the plan. She was for waiting quietly in one +place. + +“Well, but” said Edward, “we may overdo that; here it is a quarter-past +eleven, and you know they can't be married after twelve. No, I really +think you had better all go with the doctor. I dare say we shall be +there as soon as you will.” + +This was agreed on after some discussion. Edward, however, to provide +against all contingencies, begged Sampson not to wait for him should +Alfred reach the church by some other road: “I'm only groomsman, +you know,” said he. He ran off at a racing pace. The bride was +then summoned, admired, and handed into one carriage with her two +bridesmaids, Miss Bosanquet and Miss Darton. Sampson and Mrs. Dodd went +in the other; and by half-past eleven they were all safe in the church. + +A good many people, high and low, were about the door and in the pews, +waiting to see the beautiful Miss Dodd married to the son of a personage +once so popular as Mr. Hardie: it had even transpired that Mr. Hardie +disapproved the match. They had been waiting a long time, and were +beginning to wonder what was the matter, when, at last the bride's party +walked up the aisle with a bright April sun shining on them through the +broad old windows. The bride's rare beauty, and stag-like carriage of +her head, imperial in its loveliness and orange wreath, drew a hum of +admiration. + +The party stood a minute or two at the east end of the church, and then +the clergyman came out and invited them into the vestry. + +Their reappearance was eagerly expected; in silence at first, but +presently in loud and multitudinous whispers. + +At this moment a young lady, with almost perfect features and sylph-like +figure, modestly dressed in dove-coloured silk, but with a new chip +bonnet and white gloves, entered a pew near the west door, and said a +little prayer; then proceeded up the aisle, and exchanged a word with +the clerk, then into the vestry. + +“Cheep! cheep! cheep!” went fifty female tongues, and the arrival of the +bridegroom's sister became public news. + +The bride welcomed her in the vestry with a sweet guttural of surprise +and delight, and they kissed one another like little tigers. + +“Oh, my darling Jane, how kind of you! have I got you back to make my +happiness complete?” + +Now none of her own party had thought it wise to tell Julia there was +any hitch: but Miss Hardie blurted out naturally enough, “But where's +Alfred?” + +“I don't know, dear,” said Julia innocently. “Are not he and Edward +in another part of the church? I thought we were waiting till twelve +o'clock, perhaps. Mamma dear, you know everything; I suppose this is all +right?” + +Then, looking round at her friends' faces, she saw in a moment that +it was all wrong. Sampson's, in particular, was burning with manly +indignation, and even her mother's discomposed, and trying to smile. + +When the innocent saw this, she suspected her beloved was treating her +cavalierly, and her poor little mouth began to work, and she had much +ado not to whimper. + +Mrs. Dodd, to encourage her, told her not to be put out: it had been +arranged all along that Edward should go for him: “Unfortunately we +had an impression it was the other way: but now Edward is gone to his +lodgings.” + +“No, mamma,” said Julia; “Alfred was to call for Edward; because our +house was on the way.” + +“Are you sure, my child?” asked Mrs. Dodd very gravely. + +“Oh yes, mamma,” said Julia, beginning to tremble; “at a quarter before +eleven: I heard them settle it.” + +The matter was terribly serious now; indeed, it began to look hopeless. +Weather overclouded: rain-drops falling; and hard upon twelve o'clock. + +They all looked at one another in despair. + +Suddenly there was a loud, long buzzing heard outside, and the house of +God turned into a gossiping fair. “Talk of money changers,” said Satan +that day, “give _me_ the exchangers of small talk.” + +“Thank Heaven they are come,” said Mrs. Dodd. But, having thus relieved +her mind, she drew herself up and prepared a freezing reception for the +defaulter. + +A whisper reached their excited ears: “It is young Mr. Dodd” and next +moment Edward came into the vestry--alone: the sight of him was enough; +his brow wet with perspiration, his face black and white with bitter +wrath. + +“Come home, _my_ people,” he said sternly: “there will be no wedding +here to-day!” + +The bridesmaids cackled questions at him; he turned his back on them. + +Mrs. Dodd knew her son's face too well to waste inquiries. “Give me my +child!” she cried, in such a burst of mother's anguish long restrained, +that even the insult to the bride was forgotten for one moment, till +she was seen tottering into her mother's arms and cringing and trying to +hide bodily in her: “Oh, throw a shawl over me,” she moaned; “hide all +this.” + +Well, they all did what they could. Jane hung round her neck and sobbed, +and said, “I've a sister now, and no brother.” The bridesmaids cried. +The young curate ran and got the fly to the vestry-door: “Get into it,” + he said, “and you will at least escape the curious crowd.” + +“God bless you, Mr. Hurd,” said Edward, half choked. He hurried the +insulted bride and her mother in; Julia huddled and shrank into a corner +under Mrs. Dodd's shawl: Mrs. Dodd had all the blinds down in a moment; +and they went home as from a funeral. + +Ay, and a funeral it was; for the sweetest girl in England buried her +hopes, her laugh, her May of youth, in that church that day. + +When she got to Albion Villa, she cast a wild look all around for fear +she should be seen in her wedding clothes, and darted moaning into the +house. + +Sarah met her in the hall, smirking; and saying, “Wish you j----” + +The poor bride screamed fearfully at the mocking words, and cut the +conventional phrase in two as with a razor; then fled to her own room +and tore off her wreath, her veil, her pearls, and had already strewed +the room, when Mrs. Dodd, with a foot quickened by affection, burst in +and caught her half fainting, and laid her weary as old age, and cold as +a stone, upon her mother's bosom, and rocked her as in the days of happy +childhood never to return, and bedewed the pale face with her own tears. + +Sampson took the bridesmaids each to her residence, on purpose to leave +Edward free. He came home, washed his face, and, sick at heart, but more +master of himself, knocked timidly at Julia's door. + +“Come in, _my son,_” said a broken voice. + +He crept in, and saw a sorry sight. The travelling dress and bonnet were +waiting still on the bed; the bridal wreath and veil lay on the floor; +and so did half the necklace, and the rest of the pearls all about the +floor; and Julia, with all her hair loose and hanging below her waist, +lay faintly quivering in her mother's arms. + +Edward stood and looked, and groaned. + +Mrs. Dodd whispered to him over Julia: “Not a tear! not a tear!” + +“Dead, or false?” moaned the girl: “dead, or false? Oh that I could +believe he was false; no, no, he is dead, dead.” + +Mrs. Dodd whispered again over her girl. + +“Tell her something: give us tears--the world for one tear!” + +“What shall I say?” gasped Edward. + +“Tell her the truth, and trust to God, whose child she is.” Edward knelt +on the floor and took her hand-- + +“My poor little Ju,” he said, in a voice broken with pity and emotion, +“would you rather have him dead, or false to you?” + +“'Why false, a thousand times. It's Edward. Bless your sweet face, my +own, own brother; tell me he is false, and not come to deadly harm.” + +“You shall judge for yourself,” he groaned. “I went to his lodgings. He +had left the town. The woman told me a letter came for him last night. +A letter in--a female hand. The scoundrel came in from us; got this +letter; packed up his things directly; paid his lodging; and went off in +a two-horse fly at eight o'clock in the morning.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +AT these plain proofs of Alfred's infidelity, Julia's sweet throat began +to swell hysterically, and then her bosom to heave and pant: and, +after a piteous struggle, came a passion of sobs and tears so wild, so +heart-broken, that Edward blamed himself bitterly for telling her. + +But Mrs. Dodd sobbed “No, no, I would rather have her so; only leave her +with me now: bless you, darling: leave us quickly.” + +She rocked and nursed her deserted child hours and hours: and so the +miserable day crawled to its close. + +Downstairs the house looked strange and gloomy: she, who had brightened +it all, was darkened herself. The wedding breakfast and flowers remained +in bitter mockery. Sarah cleared half the table, and Sampson and Edward +dined in moody silence. + +Presently Sampson's eye fell upon the Deed: it lay on a small table with +a pen beside it, to sign on their return from church. + +Sampson got hold of it and dived in the verbiage. He came up again +with a discovery. In spite of its feebleness, verbosity, obscurity, and +idiotic way of expressing itself, the Deed managed to convey to David +and Mrs. Dodd a life interest in nine thousand five hundred pounds, with +reversion to Julia and the children of the projected marriage. Sampson +and Edward put their heads over this, and it puzzled them, “Why, man,” + said Sampson, “if the puppy had signed this last night, he would be a +beggar now.” + +“Ay,” said Edward, “but after all he did not sign it.” + +“Nay, but that was your fault, not his: the lad was keen to sign.” + +“That is true; and perhaps if we had pinned him to this, last night, he +would not have dared insult my sister to-day.” + +Sampson changed the subject by inquiring suddenly which way he was gone. + +“Curse him, I don't know; and don't care. Go where he will I shall meet +him again some day; and then--Edward spoke almost in a whisper, but a +certain grind of his white teeth and flashing of his lion eyes made the +incomplete sentence very expressive. + +“What ninnies you young men are,” said the Doctor; “even you, that I dub +'my fathom o' good sense:' just finish your denner and come with me.” + +“No, Doctor; I'm off my feed for once: if you had been upstairs and seen +my poor sister! Hang the grub; it turns my stomach.” And he shoved his +plate away, and leaned over the back of his chair. + +Sampson made him drink a glass of wine, and then they got up from the +half-finished meal and went hurriedly to Alfred's lodgings, the Doctor, +though sixty, rushing along with all the fire and buoyancy of early +youth. They found the landlady surrounded by gossips curious as +themselves, and longing to chatter, but no materials. The one new fact +they elicited was that the vehicle was a White Lion fly, for she knew +the young man by the cast in his eye. “Come away,” shouted the Doctor +unceremoniously, and in two minutes they were in the yard of the White +Lion. + +Sampson called the ostler: out came a hard-featured man, with a strong +squint. Sampson concluded this was his man, and said roughly: “Where did +you drive young Hardie this morning?” + +He seemed rather taken aback by this abrupt question; but reflected and +slapped his thigh: “Why, that is the party from Mill Street.” + +“Yes.” + +“Druv him to Silverton station, sir: and wasn't long about it, +either--gent was in a hurry.” + +“What train did he go by?” + +“Well, I don't know, sir; I left him at the station.” + +“Well, then, where did he take his ticket for? Where did he tell the +porter he was going? Think now, and I'll give y' a sovereign.” + +The ostler scratched his head, and seemed at first inclined to guess for +the sovereign, but at last said: “I should only be robbing you gents. +Ye see, he paid the fly then and there, and gave me a crown: and I druv +away directly.” + +On this they gave him a shilling and left him. But on leaving the yard +Edward said: “Doctor, I don't like that fellow's looks: let us try +the landlord.” They went into the bar and made similar inquiries. The +landlord was out, the mistress knew nothing about it, but took a book +out of a drawer, and turned over the leaves. She read out an entry to +this effect-- + +“Pair horse fly to Silverton: take up in Mill Street at eight o'clock. +Is that it, sir?” Sampson assented; but Edward told her the ostler said +it was Silverton station. + +“No: it is Silverton in the book, sir. Well, you see it is all one to +us; the station is further than the town, but we charge seven miles +whichever 'tis.” + +Bradshaw, inspected then and there, sought in vain to conceal that four +trains reach Silverton from different points between 8.50 and 9.25 A. M. + +The friends retired with this scanty information. Alfred could hardly +have gone to London; for there was a train up from Barkington itself at +8.30. But he might have gone to almost any other part of the island, or +out of it for that matter. Sampson fell into a brown study. + +After a long silence, which Edward was too sad to break, he said +thoughtfully: “Bring sceince to bear on this hotch-potch. Facks are +never really opposed to facks; they onnly seem to be: and the true +solution is the one which riconciles all the facks: for instance, the +chronothairmal Therey riconciles all th' undisputed facks in midicine. +So now sairch for a solution to riconcile the Deed with the puppy +levanting.” + +Edward searched, but could find none; and said so. + +“Can't you?” said Sampson; “then I'll give you a couple. Say he is +touched in the upper story for one.” + +“What do you mean? Mad?” + +“Oh: there are degrees of Phrinzy. Here is th' inconsistency of conduct +that marks a disturbance of the reason: and, to tell the truth, I once +knew a young fellow that played this very prank at a wedding, and the +nixt thing we hard, my lorrd was in Bedlam.” + +Edward shook his head: “It is the villain's heart, not his brain.” + +Sampson then offered another solution, in which he owned he had more +confidence-- + +“He has been courting some other wumman first: she declined, or made +believe; but, when she found he had the spirit to go and marry an +innocent girl, then the jade wrote to him and yielded. It's a married +one, likely. I've known women go further for hatred of a wumman than +they would for love of a man and here was a temptation! to snap a lover +off th' altar, and insult a rival, all at one blow. He meant to marry: +he meant to sign that deed: ay and at his age, even if he had signed +it, he would have gone off at passion's call, and beggared himself. +What enrages me is that we didn't let him sign it, and so nail the young +rascal's money.” + +“Curse his money,” said Edward, “and him too. Wait till I can lay my +hand on him: I'll break every bone in his skin.” + +“And I'll help you.” + +In the morning, Mrs. Dodd left Julia for a few minutes expressly to +ask Sampson's advice. After Alfred's conduct she was free, and fully +determined, to defend herself and family against spoliation by any means +in her power: so she now showed the doctor David's letter about the +L. 14,000; and the empty pocket-book; and put together the disjointed +evidence of Julia, Alfred, and circumstances, in one neat and luminous +statement. Sampson was greatly struck with the revelation: he jumped +off his chair and marched about excited: said truth was stranger than +fiction, and this was a manifest swindle: then he surprised Mrs. Dodd +in her turn by assuming that old Hardie was at the bottom of yesterday's +business. Neither Edward nor his mother could see that, and said so: his +reply was characteristic: “Of course you can't; you are Anglosaxins; th' +Anglosaxins are good at drawing distinctions: but they can't gineralise. +I'm a Celt, and gineralise--as a duck swims. I discovered th' unity +of all disease: it would be odd if I could not trace the maniform +iniquities you suffer to their one source.” + +“But what is the connecting link?” asked Mrs. Dodd, still incredulous. + +“Why, Richard Hardie's interest.” + +“Well, but the letter?” objected Edward. + +“There goes th' Anglosaxin again,” remonstrated Sampson: “puzzling his +head over petty details; and they are perhaps mere blinds thrown out by +the enemy. Put this and that together: Hardie senior always averse to +this marriage; Hardie senior wanting to keep L. 14,000 of yours: if +his son, who knows of the fraud, became your mother's son, the swinidle +would be hourly in danger (no connection? y' unhappy Anglosaxins; why +the two things are interwoven). And so young Hardie is got out of the +way: old Hardie's doing, or I'm a Dutchman.” + +This reasoning still appeared forced and fanciful to Edward but it began +to make some little impression on Mrs. Dodd, and encouraged her to own +that her poor daughter suspected foul play. + +“Well, that is possible, too: whativer tempted man has done, tempted man +will do: but more likely he has bribed Jezebel to write and catch the +goose by the heart. Gintlennen, I'm a bit of a physiognomist: look at +old Hardie's lines; his cords, I might say: and deeper every time I see +him. Sirs, there's an awful weight on that man's mind. Looksee! I'll +just send a small trifle of a detective down to watch his game, and pump +his people: and, as soon as it is safe, we'll seize the old bird, and, +once he is trapped the young one will reappear like magic: th' old one +will disgorge; we'll just compound the felony--been an old friend--and +recover the cash.” + +A fine sketch; but Edward thought it desperately wild, and Mrs. Dodd +preferred employing a respectable attorney to try and obtain justice in +the regular way. Sampson laughed at her; what was the use of attacking +in the regular way an irregular genius like old Hardie? “Attorneys are +too humdrum for such a job,” said he; “they start with a civil letter +putting a rogue on his guard; they proceed t' a writ and then he digs a +hole in another county and buries the booty; or sails t' Australia with +it. N'list'me; I'm an old friend, and an insane lover of justice--I say +insane, because my passion is not returned, or the jade wouldn't keep +out of my way so all these years--you leave all this to me.” + +“Stop a minute,” said Edward; “you must not go compromising us: and we +have no money to pay for luxuries like detectives.” + +“I won't compromise any one of you: and my detective shan't cost y' a +penny.” + +“Ah, my dear friend,” said Mrs. Dodd, “the fact is, you do not know all +the difficulties that beset us. Tell him, Edward. Well, then, let _me._ +The poor boy is attached to this gentleman's daughter, whom you propose +to treat like a felon: and he is too good a son and too good a friend +for me to--what, what, shall I do?” + +Edward coloured up to the eyes. “Who told you that, mother?” said he. +“Well, yes, I do love her, and I'm not ashamed of it. Doctor,” said +the poor fellow after a while, “I see now I am not quite the person to +advise my mother in this matter. I consent to leave it in your hands.” + +And in pursuance of this resolution, he retired to his study. + +“There's a damnable combination,” said Sampson drily. “Truth is +sairtainly more wonderful than feckshin. Here's my fathom o' good sense +in love with a wax doll, and her brother jilting his sister, and her +father pillaging his mother. It _beats_ hotch-potch.” + +Mrs. Dodd denied the wax doll: but owned Miss Hardie was open to vast +objections: “An inestimable young lady; but so odd; she is one of these +uneasy-minded Christians that have sprung up: a religious egotist, and +_malade imaginaire,_ eternally feeling her own spiritual pulse----” + +“I know the disorrder,” cried Sampson eagerly: “the pashints have a hot +fit (and then they are saints): followed in due course by the cold fit +(and then they are the worst of sinners): and so on in endless rotation: +and, if they could only realise my great discovery, the perriodicity of +all disease, and time their sintiments, they would find the hot fit and +the cold return chronometrically, at intervals as rigular as the +tide's ebb and flow; and the soul has nothing to do with either febrile +symptom. Why Religion, apart from intermittent Fever of the Brain, is +just the caumest, peaceablest, sedatest thing in all the world.” + +“Ah, you are too deep for me, my good friend. All I know is that she +is one of this new school, whom I take the liberty to call 'THE FIDGETY +CHRISTIANS.' They cannot let their poor souls alone a minute; and they +pester one day and night with the millennium; as if we shall not all +be dead long before that. But the worst is, they apply the language of +earthly passion to the Saviour of mankind, and make one's flesh creep +at their blasphemies; so coarse, so familiar: like that rude multitude +which thronged and pressed Him when on earth. But, after all, she +came to the church, and took my Julia's part; so that shows she has +_principle;_ and do pray spare me her feelings in any step you take +against that dishonourable person her father. I must go back to his +victim, my poor, poor child--I dare not leave her long. Oh, Doctor, such +a night! and, if she dozes for a minute, it is to wake with a scream and +tell me she sees him dead: sometimes he is drowned; sometimes stained +with blood, but always dead.” + + + +This evening Mr. Hardie came along in a fly with his luggage on the box, +returning to Musgrove Cottage as from Yorkshire: in passing Albion Villa +he cast it a look of vindictive triumph. He got home and nodded by the +fire in his character of a man wearied by a long journey. Jane made him +some tea, and told him how Alfred had disappeared on his wedding-day. + +“The young scamp,” said he; he added, coolly, “It is no business +of mine. I had no hand in making the match, thank Heaven.” In the +conversation that ensued, he said he had always been averse to the +marriage; but not so irreconcilably as to approve this open breach of +faith with a respectable young lady. “This will recoil upon our name, +you know, at this critical time,” said he. + +Then Jane mustered courage to confess that she had gone to the wedding +herself: “Dear papa,” said she, “it was made clear to me that the +Dodds are acting in what they consider a most friendly way to you. They +think--I cannot tell you what they think. But, if mistaken, they are +sincere: and so, after prayer, and you not being here for me to consult, +I did go to the church. Forgive me, papa: I have but one brother; and +she is my dear friend.” + +Mr. Hardie's countenance fell at this announcement, and he looked almost +diabolical. But on second thoughts he cleared up wonderfully: “I will be +frank with you, Jenny: if the wedding had come off; I should have been +deeply hurt at your supporting that little monster of ingratitude. He +not only marries against his father's will (that is done every day), but +slanders and maligns him publicy in his hour of poverty and distress. +But now that he has broken faith and insulted Miss Dodd as well as me, +I declare I am glad you were there, Jenny. It will separate us from his +abominable conduct. But what does he say for himself? What reason does +he give?” + +“Oh, it is all mystery as yet.” + +“Well, but he must have sent some explanation to the Dodds.” + +“He may have: I don't know. I have not ventured to intrude on my poor +insulted friend. Papa, I hear her distress is fearful; they fear for her +reason. Oh, if harm comes to her, God will assuredly punish him whose +heartlessness and treachery has brought her to it. Mark my words,” she +continued with great emotion, “this cruel act will not go unpunished +even in this world.” + +“There, there, change the subject,” said Mr. Hardie peevishly. “What +have I to do with his pranks? He has disowned me for his father, and I +disown him for my son.” + +The next day Peggy Black called, and asked to see master. Old Betty, +after the first surprise, looked at her from head to foot, and foot to +head, as if measuring her for a suit of disdain; and told her she might +carry her own message; then flounced into the kitchen, and left her to +shut the street door, which she did. She went and dropped her curtsey at +the parlour door, and in a miminy piminy voice said she was come to make +her submission, and would he forgive her, and give her another trial? +Her penitence, after one or two convulsive efforts, ended in a very fair +flow of tears. + +Mr. Hardie shrugged his shoulders, and asked Jane if the girl had ever +been saucy to her. + +“Oh no, papa: indeed I have no fault to find with poor Peggy.” + +“Well, then, go to your work, and try and not offend Betty; remember she +is older than you.” + +Peggy went for her box and bandbox, and reinstated herself quietly, and +all old Betty's endeavours to irritate her only elicited a calm cunning +smile, with a depression of her downy eyelashes. + + _Albion Villa._ + +Next morning Edward Dodd was woke out of a sound sleep at about four +o'clock, by a hand upon his shoulder: he looked up, and rubbed his +eyes; it was Julia standing by his bedside, dressed, and in her bonnet. +“Edward,” she said in a hurried whisper, “there is foul play: I cannot +sleep, I cannot be idle. He has been decoyed away, and perhaps murdered. +Oh, pray get up and go to the police office or somewhere with me.” + +“Very well; but wait till morning.” + +“No; now; now--now--now. I shall never go out of doors in the daytime +again. Wait? I'm going crazy with wait, wait, wait, wait, waiting.” + +Her hand was like fire on him, and her eyes supernaturally bright. + +“There,” said Edward with a groan, “go downstairs, and I will be with +you directly.” + +He came down: they went out together: her little burning hand pinched +his tight, and her swift foot seemed scarcely to touch the ground; she +kept him at his full stride till they got to the central police station. +There, at the very thought of facing men, the fiery innocent suddenly +shrank together, and covered her blushing face with her hot hands. She +sent him in alone. He found an intelligent superintendent, who entered +into the case with all the coolness of an old official hand. + +Edward came out to his sister, and as he hurried her home, told her what +had passed: “The superintendent asked to see the letter; I told him +he had taken it with him: that was a pity, he said. Then he made me +describe Alfred to a nicety: and the description will go up to London +this morning, and all over Barkington, and the neighbourhood, and the +county.” + +She stopped to kiss him, then went on again with her head down, and +neither spoke till they were nearly home: then Edward told her “the +superintendent felt quite sure that the villain was not dead; nor in +danger of it.” + +“Oh, bless him! bless him! for saying so.” + +“And that he will turn up in London before very long; not in this +neighbourhood. He says he must have known the writer of the letter, and +his taking his luggage with him shows he has gone off deliberately. My +poor little Ju, now do try and look at it as he does, and everybody else +does; try and see it as you would if you were a bystander.” + +She laid her soft hand on his shoulder as if to support herself floating +in her sea of doubt: “I do see I am a poor credulous girl; but how can +my Alfred be false to me? Am I to doubt the Bible? Am I to doubt the +sun? Is nothing true in heaven or earth? Oh, if I could only have died +as I was dressing for church--died while he seemed true! He _is_ true; +the wicked creature has cast some spell on him: he has gone in a moment +of delirium; he will regret what he has done, perhaps regrets it now. I +am ungrateful to you, Edward, and to the good policeman, for saying he +is not dead. What more do I require? He is dead to me. Edward, let us +leave this place. We _were_ going: let us go to-day; this very day; oh, +take me, and hide me where no one that knows me can ever see me again.” + A flood of tears came to her relief: and she went along sobbing and +kissing her brother's hand every now and then. + +But, as they drew near the gate of Albion Villa, twilight began to usher +in the dawn. Julia shuddered at even that faint light, and fled like a +guilty thing, and hid herself sobbing in her own bedroom. + + +Mr. Richard Hardie slept better now than he had done for some time past, +and therefore woke more refreshed and in better spirits. He knew an +honest family was miserable a few doors off; but he did not care. He got +up and shaved with a mind at ease. One morning, when he had removed the +lather from one half his face, he happened to look out of window, and +saw on the wall opposite--a placard: a large placard to this effect: + + “ONE HUNDRED GUINEAS REWARD! + +Whereas, on the 11th instant Mr. Alfred Hardie disappeared mysteriously +from his lodgings in 15 Mill Street, under circumstances suggesting a +suspicion of foul play, know all men that the above reward will be paid +to any person or persons who shall first inform the undersigned where +the said Alfred Hardie is to be found, and what person or persons, if +any, have been concerned in his disappearance. + +“ALEXANDER SAMPSON, 39 Pope Street, Napoleon Square London.” + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +THE note Alfred Hardie received, on the 10th of April, was from Peggy +Black. The letters were well formed, for she had been educated at the +national school: but the style was not upon a par. + + +“MR. ALFRED, SIR,--Margaret Black sends her respects, and if you want to +know the truth about the money, I can tell you all, and where it is at +this present time. Sir, I am now in situation at Silverton Grove House, +about a furlong from the station; and if you will be so good to call +there and ask for Margaret, I will tell you where it is, which I mean +the L. 14,000; for it is a sin the young lady should be beguiled of her +own. Only you must please come this evening, or else to-morrow before +ten o'clock, by reason my mistress and me we are going up to London that +day early, and she talk of taking me abroad along with her.--I remain, +Sir, yours respectfully to command, + +“MARGARET BLACK. + +“If you please, sir, not to show this letter on no account.” + + +Alfred read this twice over, and felt a contemptuous repugnance towards +the writer, a cashiered servant, who offered to tell the truth out of +spite, having easily resisted every worthy motive. Indeed, I think +he would have perhaps dismissed the subject into the fire, but for a +strange circumstance that had occurred to him this very afternoon; but I +had no opportunity to relate it till now. Well, just as he was going to +dress for dinner, he received a visit from Dr. Wycherley, a gentleman +he scarcely knew by name. Dr. Wycherley inquired after his kephalalgia: +Alfred stared and told him it was much the same; troubled him +occasionally. + +“And your insomnia.” + +“I don't know the word: have you any authority for it?” + +Dr. Wycherley smiled with a sort of benevolent superiority that galled +his patient, and proceeded to inquire after his nightly visions and +voices. But at this Alfred looked grave as well as surprised and vexed. +He was on his guard now, and asked himself seriously what was the +meaning of all this, and could his father have been so mad as to talk +over his own shame with this stranger: he made no reply whatever. + +Dr. Wycherley's curiosity was not of a very ardent kind: for he was one +of those who first form an opinion, and then collect the materials of +one: and a very little fact goes a long way with such minds. So, when he +got no answer about the nocturnal visions and voices, he glided calmly +on to another matter. “By-the-bye, that L. 14,000!” + +Alfred started, and then eyed him keenly: “What L. 14,000?” + +“The fabulous sum you labour under the impression of your father having +been guilty of clandestinely appropriating.” + +This was too much for Alfred's patience. “I don't know who you are, +sir,” said he; “I never exchanged but three words in my life with you; +and do you suppose I will talk to a stranger on family matters of so +delicate a kind as this? I begin to think you have intruded yourself on +me simply to gratify an impertinent curiosity.” + +“The hypothesis is at variance with my established character,” replied +the oleaginous one. “Do me the justice to believe in the necessity of +this investigation, and that it is one of a most friendly character.” + +“Then I decline the double nuisance: your curiosity and your friendship! +Take them both out of my room, sir, or I shall turn them both out by one +pair of shoulders.” + +“You shall smart for this,” said the doctor, driven to plain English +by anger, that great solvent of circumlocution with which Nature has +mercifully supplied us. He made to the door, opened it, and said in +considerable excitement to some one outside, “Excited!--Very!” + +Now Dr. Pleonast had no sooner been converted to the vernacular, and +disappeared, than another stranger entered the room. He had evidently +been lurking in the passage: it was a man of smallish stature, +singularly gaunt, angular, and haggard, but dressed in a spruce suit +of black, tight, new, and glossy. In short, he looked like Romeo's +apothecary gone to Stultz with the money. He fluttered in with pale +cheek and apprehensive body, saying hurriedly, “Now, my _dear_ sir, _be_ +calm: _pray_ be calm. I have come down all the way from London to see +you, and I am _sure_ you won't make me lose my journey; will you now?” + +“And pray who asked you to come all the way from London, sir?” + +“A person to whom your health is very dear.” + +“Oh indeed; so I have secret friends, have I? Well, you may tell my +secret, underhand, _friends,_ I never was better in my life.” + +“I am truly glad to hear it,” said the little man: “let me introduce +myself, as Dr. Wycherley forgot to do it.” And he handed Alfred a card, +on which his name and profession were written. + +“Well, Mr. Speers,” said Alfred, “I have only a moment to give you, for +I must dress for dinner. What do you want?” + +“I come, sir, in hopes of convincing your friends you are not so very +ill; not incurable. Why your eye is steady, your complexion good: a +little high with the excitement of this conversation; but, if we can +only get over this little delusion, all will be well.” + +“What little delusion?” + +“About the L. 14,000, you know.” + +“What L. 14,000? I have not mentioned L. 14,000 to you, have I?” + +“No, sir: you seem to shun it like poison; that is the worst of it. You +talk about it to others fast enough: but to Dr. Wycherley and myself, +who could cure you of it, you would hide all about it, if you could.” + +At this Alfred rose and put his hands in his pockets and looked down +grimly on his inquisitor. “Mr. Speers,” said he, “you had better go. +There is no credit to be gained by throwing so small an apothecary as +you out of that window; and _you_ won't find it pleasant either; for, if +you provoke me to it, I shall not stand upon ceremony: I shan't open the +window first, as I should for Dr. What's his confounded name.” + +At these suggestive words, spoken with suppressed ire and flashing eyes, +Speers scuttled to the door crabwise, holding the young lion in check +conventionally--to wit, with an eye as valiant as a sheep's; and a +joyful apothecary was he when he found himself safe outside the house +and beside Dr. Wycherley, who was waiting for him. + +Alfred soon cooled, and began to laugh at his own anger and the +unbounded impudence of his visitors: but, on the other hand, it struck +him as a grave circumstance that so able a man as his father should stir +muddy water; should go and talk to these strangers about the money he +had misappropriated. He puzzled himself all the time he was dressing: +and, not to trouble the reader with all the conjectures that passed +through his mind, he concluded at last, that Mr. Hardie must feel very +strong, very sure there was no evidence against him but his son's, or he +would not take the eighth commandment by the horns like this. + +“Injustice carries it with a high hand,” thought Alfred, with a sigh. +He was not the youth to imitate his father's shamelessness: so he locked +this last incident in his own breast; did not even mention it to Julia. + +But now, on reading Peggy's note, his warlike instincts awoke, and, +though he despised his correspondent and her motives, he could not let +such a chance pass of defeating brazen injustice. It was unfortunate and +awkward to have to go to Silverton on his wedding morning; but, after +all, there was plenty of time. He packed up his things at once for +the wedding tour, and in the morning took them with him in the fly to +Silverton: his plan was to come back direct to Albion Villa: so he went +to Silverton Grove full dressed, all ready for the wedding. + +As it happened he overtook his friend Peterson just outside the town, +called to him gaily, and invited him to church and breakfast. + +To his surprise the young gentleman replied sullenly that he should +certainly not come. + +“Not come, old fellow?” said Alfred, hurt. + +“You have a good cheek to ask me,” retorted the other. + +This led to an explanation. Peterson's complaint was that he had told +Alfred he was in love with Julia, and Alfred had gone directly and +fallen in love with her just to cut him out. + +“What are you talking about?” said Alfred. “So this is the reason you +have kept away from me of late: why, I was engaged to her at the very +time; only my father was keeping us apart.” + +“Then why didn't you say so?” + +“Because my love is not of the prattling sort.” + +“Oh, nonsense; I don't believe a word of it.” + +“You don't believe my word! Did you ever know me tell a lie? At that +rate think what you please, sir: drive on, Strabo.” + +And so ended that little friendship. + +On the road our ardent youth arranged in his head a noble scheme. He +would bring Peggy Black home with him, compensating her liberally for +the place she would thereby lose: would confront her privately with his +father, and convince him it was his interest to restore the Dodds their +money with a good grace, take the L. 5000 he had already offered, and +countenance the wedding by letting Jane be present at it. It was hard to +do all this in the time, but well worth trying for, and not impossible. +A two-horse fly is not a slow conveyance, and he offered the man a +guinea to drive fast; so that it was not nine o'clock when they reached +Silverton Grove House, a place Alfred had never heard of. This, +however, I may observe, was no wonder: for it had not borne that name a +twelve-month. + +It was a large square mansion of red brick, with stone facings and +corners, and with balustrades that hid the garret windows. It stood in +its own grounds, and the entrance was through handsome iron gates, one +of which was wide open to admit people on foot or horseback. The flyman +got down and tried to open the other, but could not manage it. “There, +don't waste time,” said Alfred impatiently, “let me out.” + +He found a notice under the bell, “Ring and enter.” He rang accordingly, +and at the clang the hall-door opened, as if he had pulled a porter +along with the bell; and a grey-haired servant out of livery stood on +the steps to receive him. Alfred hurried across the plat, which was +trimmed as neatly as a college green, and asked the servant if he could +see Margaret Black. + +“Margaret Black?” said the man doubtfully: “I'll inquire, sir. Please to +follow me.” + +They entered a handsome hall, with antlers and armour: from this a +double staircase led up to a landing with folding doors in the centre +of it; one of these doors was wide open like the iron gate outside. The +servant showed Alfred up the left-hand staircase, through the open door, +into a spacious drawing-room, handsomely though not gaily furnished and +decorated, but a little darkened by Venetian blinds. + +The old servant walked gravely on and on, till Alfred began to think +he would butt the wall; but he put his hand out and opened a door that +might very well escape a stranger's notice; for it was covered with +looking-glass, and matched another narrow mirror in shape and size. +This door led into a very long room, as plain and even sordid as the +drawing-room was inviting: the unpapered walls were a cold drab, and +wanted washing; there was a thick cobweb up in one corner, and from +the ceiling hung the tail of another, which the housemaid's broom had +scotched not killed: that side of the room they entered by was all +books. The servant said, “Stay here a moment, sir, and I'll send her +to you.” With this he retired into the drawing-room, closing the door +softly after him: once closed it became invisible; it fitted like wax, +and left nothing to be seen but books; not even a knob. It shut to with +that gentle but clean click which a spring bolt, however polished and +oiled and gently closed, will emit. Altogether it was enough to give +some people a turn. But Alfred's nerves were not to be affected by +trifles; he put his hands in his pockets and walked up and down the +room, quietly enough at first, but by-and-bye uneasily. “Confound her +for wasting my time,” thought he; “why doesn't she come?” + +Then, as he had learned to pick up the fragments of time, and hated +dawdling, he went to take a book from the shelves. + +He found it was a piece of iron, admirably painted: it chilled his hand +with its unexpected coldness: and all the books on and about the door +were iron and chilly. + +“Well,” thought he, “this is the first dummy ever took me in. What a +fool the man must be! Why he could have bought books with ideas in them +for the price of these impostors.” + +Still Peggy did not come. So he went to a door opposite, and at right +angles to the farthest window, meaning to open it and inquire after her: +lo and behold he found this was a knob without a door. There had been a +door but it was blocked up. The only available door on that side had a +keyhole, but no latch, nor handle. + +Alfred was a prisoner. + +He no sooner found this out than he began to hammer on the door with his +fists, and call out. + +This had a good effect, for he heard a woman's dress come rustling: a +key was inserted, and the door opened. But, instead of Peggy, it was a +tall well-formed woman of thirty, with dark grey eyes, and straightish +eyebrows massive and black as jet. She was dressed quietly but like a +lady. Mrs. Archbold, for that was her name, cast on Alfred one of those +swift, all-devouring glances, with which her sex contrive to take in the +features, character, and dress of a person from head to foot, and smiled +most graciously on him, revealing a fine white set of teeth. She begged +him to take a seat; and sat down herself. She had left the door ajar. + +“I came to see Margaret Black,” said Alfred. + +“Margaret Black? There is no such person here,” was the quiet reply. + +“What! has she gone away so early as this?” + +Mrs. Archbold smiled, and said soothingly, “Are you sure she ever +existed; except in your imagination?” + +Alfred laughed at this, and showed her Peggy's letter. She ran her eye +over it, and returned it him with a smile of a different kind, half +pitying, half cynical. But presently resuming her former manner, “I +remember now,” said she in dulcet tones: “the anxiety you are labouring +under is about a large sum of money, is it not?” + +“What, can you give me any information about it?” said he, surprised. + +“I think we can render you great _service_ in the matter, infinite +service, Mr. Hardie,” was the reply, in a voice of very honey. + +Alfred was amazed at this. “You say you don't know Peggy! And yet you +seem to know me. I never saw you in my life before, madam; what on earth +is the meaning of all this?” + +“Calm yourself,” said Mrs. Archbold, laying a white and finely moulded +hand upon his arm, “there is no wonder nor mystery in the matter: _you +were expected._” + +The colour rushed into Alfred's face, and he started to his feet; some +vague instinct told him to be gone from this place. + +The lady fixed her eyes on him, put her hand to a gold chain that was +round her neck, and drew out of her white bosom, not a locket, nor a +key, but an ivory whistle. Keeping her eye steadily fixed on Alfred, she +breathed softly into the whistle. Then two men stepped quietly in at the +door; one was a short, stout snob, with great red whiskers, the other +a wiry gentleman with iron-grey hair. The latter spoke to Alfred, +and began to coax him. If Mrs. Archbold was honey, this personage was +treacle. “Be calm, my dear young gentleman; don't agitate yourself. You +have been sent here for your good; and that you may be cured, and so +restored to society and to your anxious and affectionate friends.” + +“What are you talking about? what do you mean?” cried Alfred; “are you +mad?” + +“No, _we_ are not,” said the short snob, with a coarse laugh. + +“Have done with this fooling, then,” said Alfred sharply; “the person I +came to see is not here; good morning.” + +The short man instantly stepped to the door, and put his back to it. +The other said calmly, “No, Mr. Hardie, you cannot leave the house at +present.” + +“Can't I? Why not, pray?” said Alfred, drawing his breath hard: and his +eyes began to glitter dangerously. + +“We are responsible for your safety: we have force at hand if necessary; +pray do not compel us to summon it.” + +“Why, where am I?” said Alfred, panting now; “is this a prison?” + +“No, no,” said Mrs. Archbold soothingly: “it is a place where you will +be cured of your headaches and your delusions, and subjected to no +unnecessary pain nor restraint.” + +“Oh, bother,” said the short snob brutally. “Why make two bites of a +cherry? You are in my asylum, young gentleman, and a devilish lucky +thing for you.” + +At this fatal word, “asylum,” Alfred uttered a cry of horror and +despair, and his eyes roved wildly round the room in search of escape. +But the windows of the room, though outside the house they seemed to +come as low as those of the drawing-room, were partly bricked-up within, +and made just too high to be reached without a chair. And his captors +read that wild glance directly, and the doctor whipped one chair away, +while Mrs. Archbold, with more tact, sat quietly down on the other. They +all three blew their whistles shrilly. + +Alfred uttered an oath and rushed at the door; but heard heavy feet +running on stone passages towards the whistles, and felt he had no +chance out that way: his dilating eye fell upon the handle of the old +defunct door: he made a high leap, came down with his left foot on its +knob of brass, and, though of course he could not stand on it, contrived +to spring from it slap at the window--Mrs. Archbold screamed--he broke +the glass with his shoulder, and tore and kicked the woodwork, and +squeezed through on to a stone ledge outside, and stood there bleeding +and panting, just as half a dozen keepers burst into the room at his +back. He was more than twenty feet from the ground: to leap down was +death or mutilation: he saw the flyman driving away. He yelled to him, +“Hy! hy! stop! stop!” The flyman stopped and looked round. But soon as +he saw who it was, he just grinned: Alfred could see his hideous grin; +and there was the rattle of chairs being brought to the window, and +men were mounting softly to secure him. A coarse hand stole towards +his ankle; he took a swift step and sprang desperately on to the next +ledge--it was an old manor house, and these ledges were nearly a foot +broad--from this one he bounded to the next, and then to a third, the +last but one on this side of the building. The corner ledge was but +half the size, and offered no safe footing: but close to it he saw +the outside leaves of a tree. That tree, then, must grow close to the +corner; could he but get round to it he might yet reach the ground +whole. Urged by that terror of a madhouse which is natural to a sane +man, and in England is fed by occasional disclosures, and the general +suspicion they excite, he leaped on to a piece of stone no bigger than +one's hat, and then whirled himself round into the tree, all eyes to see +and claws to grasp. + +It was a weeping ash: he could get hold of nothing but soft yielding +slivers, that went through his fingers, and so down with him like a +bulrush, and souse he went with his hands full of green leaves over head +and ears into the water of an enormous iron tank that fed the baths. + +The heavy plunge, the sudden cold water, the instant darkness, were +appalling: yet, like the fox among the hounds, the gallant young +gentleman did not lose heart nor give tongue. He came up gurgling and +gasping, and swimming for his life in manly silence: he swam round and +round the edge of the huge tank, trying in vain to get a hold upon its +cold rusty walls. He heard whistles and voices about: they came faint to +him where he was, but he knew they could not be very far off. + +Life is sweet. It flashed across him how, a few years before, a +university man of great promise had perished miserably in a tank on some +Swiss mountain--a tank placed for the comfort of travellers. He lifted +his eyes to Heaven in despair, and gave one great sob. + +Then he turned upon his back and floated: but he was obliged to paddle +with his hands a little to keep up. + +A window opened a few feet above him, and a face peered out between the +bars. + +Then he gave all up for lost, and looked to hear a voice denounce him; +but no: the livid face and staring eyes at the window took no notice of +him: it was a maniac, whose eyes, bereft of reason, conveyed no images +to the sentient brain. Only by some half vegetable instinct this +darkened man was turning towards the morning sun, and staring it full in +the face. Alfred saw the rays strike and sparkle on those glassy orbs, +and fire them; yet they never so much as winked. He was appalled yet +fascinated by this weird sight: could not take his eyes off it, and +shuddered at it in the very water. With such creatures as that he must +be confined, or die miserably like a mouse in a basin of water. + +He hesitated between two horrors. + +Presently his foot struck something, and he found it was a large pipe +that entered the tank to the distance of about a foot This pipe was not +more than three feet under water, and Alfred soon contrived to get upon +it, and rest his fingers upon the iron edge of the tank. The position +was painful: yet so he determined to remain till night: and then, if +possible, steal away. Every faculty of mind and body was strung up to +defend himself against the wretches who had entrapped him. + +He had not been long in this position, when voices approached, and next +the shadow of a ladder moved across the wall towards him. The keepers +were going to search his pitiable hiding-place. They knew, what he did +not, that there was no outlet from the premises: so now, having +hunted every other corner and cranny, they came by what is called the +exhaustive process of reasoning to this tank; and when they got near it, +something in the appearance of the tree caught the gardener's quick eye. +Alfred quaking heard him say, “Look here! He is not far from this.” + +Another voice said, “Then the Lord have mercy on him; why there's seven +foot of water; I measured it last night.” + +At this Alfred was conscious of a movement and a murmur, that proved +humanity was not extinct; and the ladder was fixed close to the tank, +and feet came hastily up it. + +Alfred despaired. + +But, as usual with spirits so quickwitted and resolute, it was but for a +moment. “One man in his time plays many animals;” he caught at the words +he had heard, and played the game the jackal desperate plays in India, +the fox in England, the elephant in Ceylon: he feigned death; filled his +mouth with water, floated on his back paddling imperceptibly, and half +closed his eyes. + +He was rewarded by a loud shout of dismay just above his head, and very +soon another ladder was placed on the other side, and with ropes +and hands he was drawn out and carried down the ladder: he took this +opportunity to discharge the water from his mouth, on which a coarse +voice said, “Look there! _His_ troubles are at an end.” + +However, they laid him on the grass, and sent for the doctor; then took +off his coat, and one of them began to feel his heart to see whether +there was any pulsation left: he found it thumping. “Look out,” he cried +in some alarm; “he's shamming Abraham.” + +But, before the words were well uttered, Alfred, who was a practised +gymnast, bounded off the ground without touching it with his hands, and +fled like a deer towards the front of the house: for he remembered the +open iron gate. The attendants followed shouting, and whistle answered +whistle all over the grounds. Alfred got safe to the iron gate: alas! +it had been closed at the first whistle twenty minutes ago. He turned in +rage and desperation, and the head-keeper, a powerful man, was rushing +incautiously upon him. Alfred instantly steadied himself, and with his +long arm caught the man in full career a left-handed blow like the +kick of a pony, that laid his cheek open and knocked him stupid and +staggering. He followed it up like lightning with his right, and, +throwing his whole weight into this second blow, sent the staggering man +to grass; slipped past another, and skirting the south side of the +house got to the tank again well in advance of his pursuers, seized the +ladder, carried it to the garden wall, and was actually half way up it, +and saw the open country and liberty, when the ladder was dragged away +and he fell heavily to the ground, and a keeper threw himself bodily on +him. Alfred half expected this, and drawing up his foot in time, dashed +it furiously in the coming face, actually knocking the man backwards. +Another kneeled on his chest: Alfred caught him by the throat so felly +that he lost all power, and they rolled over and over together, and +Alfred got clear and ran for it again, and got on the middle of the +lawn, and hallooed to the house:--“Hy! hy! Are there any more sane men +imprisoned there? Come out, and fight for your lives!” Instantly the +open windows were filled with white faces, some grinning, some exulting, +all greatly excited; and a hideous uproar shook the whole place--for the +poor souls were all sane in their own opinion--and the whole force of +attendants, two of them bleeding profusely from his blows, made a +cordon and approached him. But he was too cunning to wait to be fairly +surrounded; he made his rush at an under-keeper, feinted at his head, +caught him a heavy blow in the pit of the stomach, doubled him up in +a moment, and off again, leaving the man on his knees vomiting and +groaning. Several mild maniacs ran out in vast agitation, and, to curry +favour, offered to help catch him. Vast was their zeal. But when it came +to the point, they only danced wildly about and cried, “Stop him! for +God's sake stop him! he's ill, dreadfully ill; poor wretch! knock out +his brains!” And, whenever he came near them, away they ran whining like +kicked curs. + +Mrs. Archbold, looking out at a window, advised them all to let him +alone, and she would come out and persuade him. But they would not be +advised: they chased him about the lawn; but so swift of foot was he, +and so long in the reach, that no one of them could stop him, nor +indeed come near him, without getting a facer that came like a flash of +lightning. + +At last, however, they got so well round him, he saw his chance was +gone: he took off his hat to Mrs. Archbold at the window, and said +quietly, “I surrender to _you,_ madam.” + +At these words they rushed on him rashly. On this he planted two blows +right and left, swift as a cat attacked by dogs; administered two +fearful black eyes, and instantly folded his arms, saying haughtily, “It +was to the lady I yielded, not to you fellows.” + +They seized him, shook their fists in his face, cursed him, and pinned +him. He was quite passive: they handcuffed him, and drove him before +them, shoving him every now and then roughly by the shoulders. He made +no resistance, spoke no word. They took him to the strong-room, and +manacled his ankles together with an iron hobble, and then strapped them +to the bed-posts, and fastened his body down by broad bands of ticking +with leathern straps at the ends: and so left him more helpless than a +swaddled infant. The hurry and excitement of defence were over, and a +cold stupor of misery came down and sat like lead on him. He lay mute as +death in his gloomy cell, a tomb within a living tomb. And, as he lay, +deeper horror grew and grew in his dilating eyes: gusts of rage swept +over him, shook him, and passed: then gusts of despairing tenderness; +all came and went, but his bonds. What would his Julia think? If he +could only let her know! At this thought he called, he shouted, he +begged for a messenger; there was no reply. The cry of a dangerous +lunatic from the strong-room was less heeded here than a bark from any +dog-kennel in Christendom. “This is my father's doing,” he said. “Curse +him! Curse him Curse him!” and his brain seemed on fire, his temples +throbbed: he vowed to God to be revenged on his father. + +Then he writhed at his own meanness in coming to visit a servant and his +folly in being caught by so shallow an artifice. He groaned aloud. The +clock in the hall struck ten. There was just time to get back if they +would lend him a conveyance. He shouted, he screamed, he prayed. He +offered terms humbly, piteously; he would forgive his father, forgive +them all, he would say no more about the money, would do anything, +consent to anything, if they would only let him keep faith with his +Julia: they had better consent, and not provoke his vengeance. “Have +mercy on me!” he cried. “Don't make me insult her I love. They will all +be waiting for me. It is my wedding-day; you can't have known it is my +wedding-day; fiends, monsters, I tell you it is my wedding-day. Oh, pray +send the lady to me; she can't be all stone, and my misery might melt +a stone.” He listened for an answer, he prayed for an answer. There was +none. Once in a mad-house, the sanest man is mad, however interested +and barefaced the motive of the relative who has brought two of the most +venal class upon the earth to sign away his wits behind his back. And +once hobbled and strapped, he is a _dangerous_ maniac, for just so many +days, weeks, or years, as the hobbles, handcuffs, and jacket happen to +be left upon him by inhumanity, economy, or simple carelessness. Poor +Alfred's cries and prayers were heard, but no more noticed than the +night howl of a wolf on some distant mountain. All was sullen silence, +but the grating tongue of the clock, which told the victim of a +legislature's shallowness and a father's avarice--that Time, deaf to his +woe, as were the walls, the men, the women, and the cutting bands, was +stealing away with iron finger his last chance of meeting his beloved at +the altar. + +He closed his eyes, and saw her lovelier than ever, dressed all in +white, waiting for him with sweet concern in that peerless face. “Julia! +Julia!” he cried, with a loud heart-broken cry. The half-hour struck. At +that he struggled, he writhed, he bounded: he made the very room shake, +and lacerated his flesh; but that was all. No answer. No motion. No +help. No hope. + +The perspiration rolled down his steaming body. The tears burst from +his young eyes and ran down his cheeks. He sobbed, and sobbing almost +choked, so tight were his linen bands upon his bursting bosom. + +He lay still exhausted. + +The clock ticked harshly on: the rest was silence. With this miserable +exception: ever and anon the victim's jammed body shuddered so terribly +it shook and rattled the iron bedstead, and told of the storm within, +the agony of the racked and all foreboding soul. + +For then rolled over that young head hours of mortal anguish that no +tongue of man can utter, nor pen can shadow. Chained sane amongst the +mad; on his wedding-day; expecting with tied hands the sinister acts of +the soul-murderers who had the power to make their lie a truth! We can +paint the body writhing vainly against its unjust bonds; but who can +paint the loathing, agonised soul in a mental situation so ghastly? For +my part I feel it in my heart of hearts; but am impotent to convey it to +others; impotent, impotent. + +Pray think of it for yourselves, men and women, if you have not _sworn_ +never to think over a novel. Think of it for your own sakes: Alfred's +turn to-day, it may be yours to-morrow. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +AT two o'clock an attendant stole on tiptoe to the strong-room, unlocked +the door, and peeped cautiously in. Seeing the dangerous maniac quiet, +he entered with a plate of lukewarm beef and potatoes, and told him +bluntly to eat. The crushed one said he could not eat. “You must,” said +the man. “Eat!” said Alfred; “of what do you think I am made! Pray put +it down and listen to me. I'll give you a hundred pounds to let me out +of this place; two hundred; three.” + +A coarse laugh greeted this proposal. “You might as well have made it a +thousand when you was about it.” + +“So I will,” said Alfred eagerly, “and thank you on my knees besides. +Ah, I see you don't believe I have money. I give you my honour I have +ten thousand pounds: it was settled on me by my grandfather, and I came +of age last week.” + +“Oh, that's like enough,” said the man carelessly. “Well, you _are_ +green. Do you think them as sent you here will let you spend your money? +No, your money is theirs now.” + +And he sat down with the plate on his knee and began to cut the meat in +small pieces; while his careless words entered Alfred's heart, and gave +him such a glimpse of sinister motives and dark acts to come as set him +shuddering. + +“Come none o' that,” said the man, suspecting this shudder. He thought +it was the prologue to some desperate act; for all a chained madman does +is read upon this plan: his terror passes for rage, his very sobs for +snarls. + +“Oh, be honest with me,” said Alfred imploringly; “do you think it is to +steal my money the wretch has stolen my liberty?” + +“What wretch?” + +“My father.” + +“I know nothing about it,” said the man sullenly, “in course there's +mostly money behind, when young gents like you come to be took care of. +But you musn't go thinking of that, or you'll excite yourself again. +Come you eat your vittles like a Christian, and no more about it.” + +“Leave it, that is a good fellow; and then I'll try and eat a little +by-and-bye. But my grief is great--oh Julia! Julia! what shall I do? And +I am not used to eat at this time. Will you, my good fellow?” + +“Well, I will, now you behave like a gentleman,” said the man. + +Then Alfred coaxed him to take off the handcuffs. He refused, but ended +by doing it; and so left him. + +Four more leaden hours rolled by, and then this same attendant (his +name was Brown) brought him a cup of tea. It was welcome to his parched +throat; he drank it, and ate a mouthful of the meat to please the man, +and even asked for some more tea. + +At eight four keepers came into his room, undressed him, compelled him +to make his toilette, &c., before them, which put him to shame--being +a gentleman--almost as much as it would a woman. They then hobbled him, +and fastened his ankles to the bed, and put his hands into muffles, but +did not confine his body; because they had lost a lucrative lodger only +a month ago, throttled at night in a strait-waistcoat. + +Alfred lay in this plight, and compared with anguish unspeakable his +joyful anticipations of this night with the strange and cruel reality. +“My wedding night! my wedding night!” he cried aloud, and burst into a +passion of grief. + +By-and-bye he consoled himself a little with the hope that he could not +long be incarcerated as a madman, being sane; and his good wit told him +his only chance was calmness. He would go to sleep and recover composure +to bear his wrongs with dignity, and quietly baffle his enemies. + +Just as he was dropping off' he felt something crawl over his face. +Instinctively he made a violent motion to put his hands up. Both hands +were confined; he could not move them. He bounded, he flung, he writhed. +His little persecutors were quiet a moment, but the next they began +again. In vain he rolled and writhed, and shuddered with loathing +inexpressible. They crawled, they smelt, they bit. + +Many a poor soul these little wretches had distracted with the very +sleeplessness the madhouse professed to cure, not create, in conjunction +with the opiates, the confinement and the gloom of Silverton House, they +had driven many a feeble mind across the line that divides the weak and +nervous from the unsound. + +When he found there was no help, Alfred clenched his teeth and bore +it:--“Bite on, ye little wretches,” he said “bite on, and divert my mind +from deeper stings than yours--if you can.” + +And they did; a little. + +Thus passed the night in mental agony, and bodily irritation and +disgust. At daybreak the feasters on his flesh retired, and utterly worn +out and exhausted, he sank into a deep sleep. + +At half-past seven the head keeper and three more came in, and made him +dress before them. They handcuffed him, and took him down to breakfast +in the noisy ward; set him down on a little bench by the wall like a +naughty boy, and ordered a dangerous maniac to feed him. + +The dangerous maniac obeyed, and went and sat beside Alfred with a basin +of thick gruel and a great wooden spoon. He shovelled the gruel down +his charge's throat mighty superciliously from the very first; and +presently, falling into some favourite and absorbing train of thought, +he fixed his eye on vacancy, and handed the spoonfuls over his left +shoulder with such rapidity and recklessness that it was more like +sowing than feeding. Alfred cried out “Quarter! I can't eat so fast as +that, old fellow.” + +Something in his tone struck the maniac; he looked at Alfred full, +Alfred looked at him in return, and smiled kindly but sadly. + +“Hallo!” cried the maniac. + +“What's up now?” said a keeper fiercely. + +“Why this man is sane. As sane as I am.” + +At this there was a horse laugh. + +“Saner,” persisted the maniac; “for I am a little queer at times, you +know.” + +“And no mistake, Jemmy. Now what makes you think he is sane?” + +“Looked me full in the face, and smiled at me.” + +“Oh, that is your test, is it?” + +“Yes, it is. You try it on any of those mad beggars there and see if +they can stand it.” + +“Who invented gunpowder?” said one of the insulted persons, looking as +sly and malicious as a magpie going to steal. + +Jemmy exploded directly: “I did, ye rascal, ye liar, ye rogue, ye +Baconian!” and going higher, and higher in this strain, was very soon +handcuffed with Alfred's handcuffs, and seated on Alfred's bench and +tied to two rings in the wall. On this his martial ardour went down to +zero: “Here is treatment, sir,” said he piteously to Alfred. “I see +you are a gentleman; now look at this. All spite and jealousy because +I invented that invaluable substance, which has done so much to prolong +human life and alleviate human misery.” + +Alfred was now ordered to feed Jemmy; which he did: so quickly were +their parts inverted. + +Directly after breakfast Alfred demanded to see the proprietor of the +asylum. + +Answer: Doesn't live here. + +The Doctor then. + +Oh, he has not come. + +This monstrosity irritated Alfred: “Well, then,” said he, “whoever it is +that rules this den of thieves, when those two are out of it.” + +“I rule in Mr. Baker's absence,” said the head keeper, “and I'll teach +you manners, you young blackguard. Handcuff him.” + +In five minutes Alfred was handcuffed and flung into a padded room. + +“Stay there till you know how to speak to your betters,” said the head +keeper. + +Alfred walked up and down grinding his teeth with rage for five long +hours. + +Just before dinner Brown came and took him into a parlour, where Mrs. +Archbold was seated writing. Brown retired. The lady finished what +she was doing, and kept Alfred standing like a schoolboy going to be +lectured. At last she said, “I have sent for you to give you a piece of +advice: it is to try and make friends with the attendants.” + +“Me make friends with the scoundrels! I thirst for their lives. Oh, +madam, I fear I shall kill somebody here.” + +“Foolish boy; they are too strong for you. Your worst enemies could +wish nothing worse for you than that you should provoke them.” In saying +these words she was so much more kind and womanly that Alfred conceived +hopes, and burst out, “Oh, madam, you are human then; you seem to pity +me; pray give me pen and paper, and let me write to my friends to get me +out of this terrible place; do not refuse me.” + +Mrs. Archbold resumed her distant manner without apparent effort: she +said nothing, but she placed writing materials before him. She then left +the room, and locked him in. + +He wrote a few hasty ardent words to Julia, telling her how he had been +entrapped, but not a word about his sufferings--he was too generous to +give her needless pain--and a line to Edward, imploring him to come at +once with a lawyer and an honest physician, and liberate him. + +Mrs. Archbold returned soon after, and he asked her if she would lend +him sealing-wax: “I dare not trust to an envelope in such a place as +this,” said he. She lent him sealing-wax. + +“But how am I to post it?” said he. + +“Easily: there is a box in the house; I will show you.” + +She took him and showed him the box: he put his letters into it, and +in the ardour of his gratitude kissed her hand. She winced a little and +said, “Mind, this is not by my advice; I would never tell my friends I +had been in a madhouse; oh, never. I would be calm, make friends with +the servants--they are the real masters--and never let a creature know +where I had been.” + +“Oh, you don't know my Julia,” said Alfred; “she will never desert me, +never think the worse of me because I have been entrapped illegally into +a madhouse.” + +“Illegally, Mr. Hardie! you deceive yourself; Mr. Baker told me the +order was signed by a relation, and the certificates by first-rate +lunacy doctors.” + +“What on earth has that to do with it, madam, when I am as sane as you +are?” + +“It has everything to do with it. Mr. Baker could be punished for +confining a madman in this house without an order and two certificates; +but he couldn't for confining a sane person under an order and two +certificates.” + +Alfred could not believe this, but she convinced him that it was so. + +Then he began to fear he should be imprisoned for years: he turned pale, +and looked at her so piteously, that to soothe him she told him sane +people were never kept in asylums now; they only used to be. + +“How can they?” said she. “The London asylums are visited four times a +year by the commissioners, and the country asylums six times, twice +by the commissioners, and four times by the justices. _We_ shall be +inspected this week or next; and then you can speak to the justices: +mind and be calm; say it is a mistake; offer testimony; and ask either +to be discharged at once or to have a commission of lunacy sit on you. +Ten to one your friends will not face public proceedings: but you must +begin at the foundation, by making the servants friendly--and by--being +calm.” She then fixed her large grey eyes on him and said, “Now if I let +you dine with me and the first-class patients, will you pledge me your +honour to 'be calm,' and not attempt to escape?” Alfred hesitated at +that. Her eye dissected his character all the time. “I promise,” said +he at last with a deep sigh. “May I sit by you? There is something so +repugnant in the very idea of mad people.” + +“Try and remember it is their misfortune, not their crime,” said Mrs. +Archbold, just like a matronly sister admonishing a brother from school. + +She then whistled in a whisper for Brown, who was lurking about unseen +all the time. He emerged and walked about with Alfred, and by-and-bye, +looking down from a corridor, they saw Mrs. Archbold driving the +second-class women before her to dinner like a flock of animals. +Whenever one stopped to look at anything, or try and gossip, the +philanthropic Archbold went at her just like a shepherd's dog at a +refractory sheep, caught her by the shoulders, and drove her squeaking +headlong. + +At dinner Alfred was so fortunate as to sit opposite a gentleman, who +nodded and grinned at him all dinner with a horrible leer. He could not, +however, enjoy this to the full for a little distraction at his elbow: +his right hand neighbour kept forking pieces out of his plate and +substituting others from his own. There was even a tendency to gristle +in the latter. Alfred remonstrated gently at first; the gentleman +forbore a minute, then recommenced. Alfred laid a hand very quietly +on his wrist and put it back. Mrs. Archbold's quick eye surprised this +gesture: “What is the matter there?” said she. + +“Oh, nothing serious, madam,” replied Alfred; “only this gentleman does +me the honour to prefer the contents of my plate to his own.” + +“Mr. Cooper!” said the Archbold sternly. + +Cooper, the head keeper, pounced on the offender, seized him roughly +by the collar, dragged him from the table, knocking his chair down, +and bundled him out of the room with ignominy and fracas, in spite of a +remonstrance from Alfred, “Oh, don't be so rough with the poor man.” + +Then the novice laid down his knife and fork, and ate no more. “I am +grieved at my own ill-nature in complaining of such a trifle,” said he +when all was quiet. + +The company stared considerably at this remark: it seemed to them a most +morbid perversion of sensibility; for the deranged, thin-skinned beyond +conception in their own persons, and alive to the shadow of the shade of +a wrong, are stoically indifferent to the woes of others. + +Though Alfred was quiet as a lamb all day, the attendants returned him +to the padded room at night, because he had been there last night. But +they only fastened one ankle to the bed-post: so he encountered his +Lilliputians on tolerably fair terms--numbers excepted: they swarmed. +Unable to sleep, he put out his hand and groped for his clothes. But +they were outside the door, according to rule. + + +Day broke at last: and he took his breakfast quietly with the +first-class patients. It consisted of cool tea in small basins instead +of cups, and table-spoons instead of tea-spoons; and thick slices +of stale bread thinly buttered. A few patients had gruel or porridge +instead of tea. After breakfast Alfred sat in the first-class patients' +room and counted the minutes and the hours till Edward should come. +After dinner he counted the hours till tea-time. Nobody came; and he +went to bed in such grief and disappointment as some men live to eighty +without ever knowing. + +But when two o'clock came next day, and no Edward, and no reply, then +the distress of his soul deepened. He implored Mrs. Archbold to tell him +what was the cause. She shook her head and said gravely, it was but too +common; a man's nearest and dearest were very apt to hold aloof from him +the moment he was put into an asylum. + +Here an old lady put in her word. “Ah, sir, you must not hope to hear +from anybody in this place. Why, I have been two years writing and +writing, and can't get a line from my own daughter. To be sure she is +a fine lady now: but it was her poor neglected mother that pinched and +pinched to give her a good education, and that is how she caught a good +husband. But it's my belief the post in our hall isn't a real post: but +only a box; and I think it is contrived so as the letters fall down a +pipe into that Baker's hands, and so then when the postman comes----” + The Archbold bent her bushy brows on this chatty personage. “Be quiet, +Mrs. Dent; you are talking nonsense, and exciting yourself: you know you +are not to speak on that topic. Take care.” + +The poor old woman was shut up like a knife; for the Archbold had a +way of addressing her own sex that crushed them. The change was almost +comically sudden to the mellow tones in which she addressed Alfred the +very next moment, on the very same subject: “Mr. Baker, I believe, sees +the letters: and, where our poor patients (with a glance at Dent) write +in such a way as to wound and perhaps terrify those who are in reality +their best friends, they are not always sent. But I conclude _your_ +letters have gone. If you feel you can be calm, why not ask Mr. Baker? +He is in the house now; for a wonder.” + +Alfred promised to be calm; and she got him an interview with Mr. Baker. + +He was a full-blown pawnbroker of Silverton town, whom the legislature, +with that keen knowledge of human nature which marks the British senate, +permitted, and still permits, to speculate in Insanity, stipulating, +however, that the upper servant of all in his asylum should be a doctor; +but omitting to provide against the instant dismissal of the said doctor +should he go and rob his employer of a lodger--by curing a patient. + +As you are not the British legislature, I need not tell you that to +this pawnbroker insanity mattered nothing, nor sanity: his trade lay in +catching, and keeping, and stinting, as many lodgers, sane or insane, as +he could hold. + +There are certain formulae in these quiet retreats, which naturally +impose upon greenhorns such as Alfred certainly was, and some visiting +justices and lunacy commissioners would seem to be. Baker had been a +lodging-house keeper for certified people many years, and knew all the +formulae: some call them dodges: but these must surely be vulgar minds. +Baker worked “the see-saw formula.” + +“Letters, young gentleman?” said he: “they are not in my department +They go into the surgery, and are passed by the doctor, except those he +examines and orders to be detained.” + +Alfred demanded the doctor. + +“He is gone,” was the reply. (Formula.) + +Alfred found it as hard to be calm as some people find it easy to say +that word over the wrongs _of others._ + +The next day, but not till the afternoon, he caught the doctor: “My +letters! Surely, sir, you have not been so cruel as to intercept them?” + +“I intercept no letters,” said the doctor, as if scandalised at the very +idea. “I see who writes them, and hand them to Mr. Baker, with now and +then a remark. If any are detained, the responsibility rests with him.” + +“He says it rests with you.” + +“You must have misunderstood him.” + +“Not at all, sir. One thing is clear; my letters have been stolen either +by him or you; and I will know which.” + +The doctor parried with a formula. + +“You are _excited,_ Mr. Hardie. Be calm, sir, be calm: or you will be +here all the longer.” + +All Alfred obtained by this interview was a powerful opiate. The +head-keeper brought it him in bed. He declined to take it. The man +whistled, and the room filled with keepers. + +“Now,” said Cooper, “down with it, or you'll have to be drenched with +this cowhorn.” + +“You had better take it, sir,” said Brown; “the doctor has ordered it +you.” + +“The doctor? Well, let me see the doctor about it.” + +“He is gone.” + +“He never ordered it me,” said Alfred. Then fixing his eyes sternly on +Cooper, “You miscreants, you want to poison me. No, I will not take it. +Murder! murder!” + +Then ensued a struggle, on which I draw a veil: but numbers won the day, +with the help of handcuffs and a cowhorn. + +Brown went and told Mrs. Archbold, and what Alfred had said. + +“Don't be alarmed,” said that strong-minded lady: “it is only one of the +old fool's composing draughts. It will spoil the poor boy's sleep for +one night, that is all. Go to him the first thing in the morning.” + +About midnight Alfred was seized with a violent headache and fever: +towards morning he was light-headed, and Brown found him loud and +incoherent: only he returned often to an expression Mr. Brown had never +heard before-- + +“Justifiable parricide. Justifiable parricide. Justifiable patricide.” + +Most people dislike new phrases. Brown ran to consult Mrs. Archbold +about this one. After the delay inseparable from her sex, she came in a +morning wrapper; and they found Alfred leaning over the bed and bleeding +violently at the nose. They were a good deal alarmed, and tried to stop +it: but Alfred was quite sensible now, and told them it was doing him +good. + +“I can manage to see now,” he said; “a little while ago I was blind with +the poison.” + +They unstrapped his ankle and made him comfortable, and Mrs. Archbold +sent Brown for a cup of strong coffee and a glass of brandy. He tossed +them off; and soon after fell into a deep sleep that lasted till +tea-time. This sleep the poor doctor ascribed to the sedative effect +of his opiate. It _was_ the natural exhaustion consequent on the morbid +excitement caused by his cursed opiate. + +“Brown,” said Mrs. Archbold, “if Dr. Bailey prescribes again, let me +know. He shan't square _this_ patient with his certificates, whilst I am +here.” + +This was a shrewd, but uncharitable, speech of hers. Dr. Bailey was not +such a villain as that. + +He was a less depraved, and more dangerous animal: he was a fool. + +The farrago he had administered would have done an excited maniac no +good, of course, but no great harm. It was dangerous to a sane man: and +Alfred to the naked eye was a sane man. But then Bailey had no naked eye +left: he had been twenty years an M. D. The certificates of Wycherley +and Speers were the green spectacles he wore--very green ones--whenever +he looked at Alfred Hardie. + +Perhaps in time he will forget those certificates, and, on his +spectacles dropping off, he will see Alfred is sane. If he does, he will +publish him as one of his most remarkable _cures._ + +Meanwhile the whole treatment of this ill-starred young gentleman +gravitated towards insanity. The inner mind was exasperated by barefaced +injustice and oppression; above all, by his letters being stopped; for +that convinced him both Baker and Bailey, with their see-saw evasions, +knew he was sane, and dreaded a visit from honest, understanding men: +and the mind's external organ, the brain, which an asylum professes to +soothe, was steadily undermined by artificial sleeplessness. A man can't +sleep in irons till he is used to them and, when Alfred was relieved +of these, his sleep was still driven away by biting insects and barking +dogs, two opiates provided in many of these placid Retreats, with a view +to the permanence rather than the comfort of the lodgers. + +On the eighth day Alfred succeeded at last in an object he had steadily +pursued for some time: he caught the two see-saw humbugs together. + +“Now,” said he, _“you_ say _he_ intercepts my letters; and _he_ says it +is _you_ who do it. Which is the truth?” + +They were staggered, and he followed up his advantage: “Look me in the +face, gentlemen,” said he. “Can you pretend you do not know I am sane? +Ah, you turn your heads away. You can only tell this bare-faced lie +behind my back. Do you believe in God, and in a judgment to come? Then, +if you cannot release me, at least don't be such scoundrels as to stop +my letters, and so swindle me out of a fair trial, an open, public +trial.” + +The doctor parried with a formula. “Publicity would be the greatest +misfortune could befall you. Pray be calm.” + +Now, an asylum is a place not entirely exempt from prejudices: and one +of them is, that any sort of appeal to God Almighty is a sign or else +forerunner of maniacal excitement. + +These philosophers forget that by stopping letters, evading public +trials, and, in a word, cutting off all appeals to human justice, they +compel the patient to turn his despairing eyes, and lift his despairing +voice to Him, whose eye alone can ever really penetrate these dark +abodes. + +However, the patient who appealed to God above a whisper in Silverton +Grove House used to get soothed directly. And the tranquillising +influences employed were morphia, croton oil, or a blister. + +The keeper came to Alfred in his room. “Doctor has ordered a blister.” + +“What for? Send for him directly.” + +“He is gone.” + +This way of ordering torture, and then coolly going, irritated Alfred +beyond endurance. Though he knew he should soon be powerless, he showed +fight; made his mark as usual on a couple of his zealous attendants; +but not having room to work in was soon overpowered, hobbled, and +handcuffed: then they cut off his hair, and put a large blister on the +top of his head. + + +The obstinate brute declined to go mad. They began to respect him +for this tenacity of purpose: a decent bedroom was allotted him; his +portmanteau and bag were brought him, and he was let walk every day on +the lawn with a keeper; only there were no ladders left about, and the +trap-door was locked, _i.e._ the iron gate. + +On one of these occasions he heard the gatekeeper whistle three times +consecutively; his attendant followed suit, and hurried Alfred into the +house, which soon rang with treble signals. + +“What is it?” inquired Alfred. + +“The visiting justices are in sight: go into your room, please.” + +“Yes, I'll go,” said Alfred, affecting cheerful compliance, and the man +ran off. + +The whole house was in a furious bustle. All the hobbles, and chains, +and instruments of restraint were hastily collected and bundled out +of sight, and clean sheets were being put on many a filthy bed whose +occupant had never slept in sheets since he came there, when two +justices arrived and were shown into the drawing-room. + +During the few minutes they were detained there by Mrs. Archbold, +who was mistress of her whole business, quite a new face was put on +everything and everybody; ancient cobwebs fell; soap and water explored +unwonted territories: the harshest attendants began practising pleasant +looks and kind words on the patients, to get into the way of it, so that +it might not come too abrupt and startle the patients visibly under the +visitors' eyes: something like actors working up a factitious sentiment +at the wing for the public display, or like a racehorse's preliminary +canter. Alfred's heart beat with joy inexpressible. He had only to keep +calm, and this was his last day at Silverton Grove. The first thing he +did was to make a careful toilet. + +The stinginess of relations, and the greed of madhouse proprietors, +make many a patient look ten times madder than he is, by means of dress. +Clothes wear out in an asylum, and are not always taken off, though +Agriculture has long and justly claimed them for her own. And when it +is no longer possible to refuse the Reverend Mad Tom or Mrs. Crazy Jane +some new raiment, then consanguineous munificence does not go to Pool +or Elise, but oftener to paternal or maternal wardrobes, and even to the +ancestral chest, the old oak one, singing: + +“Poor things, they are out of the world: what need for them to be in the +fashion!” (Formula.) + +This arrangement keeps the bump of self-esteem down, especially in +women, and so co-operates with many other little arrangements to +perpetuate the lodger. + +Silverton Grove in particular was supplied with the grotesque in dress +from an inexhaustible source. Whenever money was sent Baker to buy a +patient a suit, he went from his lunacy shop to his pawnbroker's, dived +headlong into unredeemed pledges, dressed his patient as gentlemen are +dressed to reside in cherry-trees; and pocketed five hundred per cent. +on the double transaction. Now Alfred had already observed that many of +the patients looked madder than they were--thanks to short trousers and +petticoats, holey gloves, ear-cutting shirt-collars, frilled bosoms, +shoes made for and declined by the very infantry: coats short in the +waist and long in the sleeves, coalscuttle bonnets, and grand-maternal +caps. So he made his toilet with care, and put his best hat on to hide +his shaven crown. He then kept his door ajar, and waited for a chance of +speaking to the justices. One soon came: a portly old gentleman, with a +rubicund face and honest eye, walked slowly along the corridor, looking +as wise as he could, cringed on by Cooper and Dr. Bailey; the latter +had arrived post haste, and Baker had been sent for. Alfred came out, +touched his hat respectfully, and begged a private interview with +the magistrate. The old gentleman bowed politely, for Alfred's dress, +address, and countenance, left no suspicion of insanity possible in an +unprejudiced mind. + +But the doctor whispered in his ear, “Take care, sir. Dangerous!” + +Now this is one of the most effective of the formulae in a private +asylum. How can an inexperienced stranger know for certain that such +a statement is a falsehood? And even the just do not love justice--_to +others_--quite so well as they love their own skins. So Squire Tollett +very naturally declined a private interview with Alfred; and even drew +back a step, and felt uneasy at being so near him. Alfred implored him +not to be imposed upon. “An honest man does not whisper,” said he. “Do +not let him poison your mind against me; on my honour, I am as sane as +you are, and he knows it. Pray, pray use your own eyes and ears, sir, +and give yourself a chance of discovering the truth in this stronghold +of lies.” + +“Don't excite yourself, Mr. Hardie,” put in the doctor parentally. +(Formula.) + +“Don't you interrupt me, doctor; I am as calm as you are. Calmer; for, +see, you are pale at this moment; that is with fear that your wickedness +in detaining a sane man here is going to be exposed. Oh, sir,” said he, +turning to the justice, “fear no violence from me, not even angry words; +my misery is too deep for irritation, or excitement. I am an Oxford +man, sir, a prize man, an Ireland scholar. But, unfortunately for me, +my mother left me ten thousand pounds, and a heart. I love a lady whose +name I will not pollute by mentioning it in this den of thieves. My +father is the well-known banker, bankrupt, and cheat, of Barkington. He +has wasted his own money, and now covets his neighbour's and his son's. +He had me entrapped here on my wedding-day, to get hold of my money, and +rob me of her I love. I appeal to you, sir, to discharge me, or, if you +have not so much confidence in your own judgment as to do that, then I +demand a commission of lunacy, and a public inquiry.” + +Dr. Bailey said, “That would be a most undesirable exposure, both to +yourself and your friends.” (Formula.) + +“It is only the guilty who fear the light, sir,” was the prompt reply. + +Mr. Tollett said he thought the patient had a legal right to a +commission of lunacy if there was property, and he took note of the +application. He then asked Alfred if he had any complaint to make of the +food, the beds, or the attendants. + +“Sir,” said Alfred, “I leave those complaints to the insane ones: with +me the gigantic wrong drives out the petty worries. I cannot feel my +stings for my deep wound.” + +“Oh, then, you admit you are not treated _unkindly_ here?” + +“I admit nothing of the kind, sir. I merely decline to encumber your +memory with petty injuries, when you are good enough to inquire into a +monstrous one.” + +“Now that is very sensible and considerate,” said Mr. Tollett. “I will +see you, sir, again before we leave.” + +With this promise Alfred was obliged to be content. He retired +respectfully, and the justice said, “He seems as sane as I am.” The +doctor smiled. The justice observed it, and not aware that this smile +was a formula, as much so as a prizefighter's or a ballet-dancer's, +began to doubt a little: He reflected a moment, then asked who had +signed the certificates. + +“Dr. Wycherley for one.” + +“Dr. Wycherley? that is a great authority.” + +“One of the greatest in the country, sir.” + +“Oh, then one would think he must be more or less deranged.” + +“Dangerously so at times. But in his lucid intervals you never saw a +more quiet gentlemanly creature.” (Formula.) + +“How sad!” + +“Very. He is my most interesting patient (formula), though terribly +violent at times. Would you like to see the medical journal about him?” + +“Yes; by-and-bye.” + +The inspection then continued: the inspector admired the clean sheets +that covered the beds, all of them dirty, some filthy: and asked +the more reasonable patients to speak freely and say if they had any +complaint to make. This question being, with the usual sagacity of +public inspectors, put in the presence of Cooper and the doctor, who +stuck to Tollett like wax, the mad people all declared they were very +kindly treated. The reason they were so unanimous was this: they knew by +experience that, if they told the truth, the justices could not at +once remedy their discomforts, whereas the keepers, the very moment the +justices left the house, would knock them down, beat them, shake them, +strait-jacket them, and starve them: and the doctor, less merciful, +would doctor them. So they shook in their shoes, and vowed they were +very comfortable in Silverton Grove. + +Thus, in later days, certain Commissioners of Lunacy inspecting Accomb +House, extracted nothing from Mrs. Turner, but that she was happy and +comfortable under the benignant sway of Metcalf the mild--there present. +It was only by a miracle the public learned the truth, and miracles are +rare. + +Meantime, Alfred had a misgiving. The plausible doctor had now Squire +Tollett's ear, and Tollett was old, and something about him reminded the +Oxonian of a trait his friend Horace had detected in old age: + + “Vel quod res omnes timide gelide que ministrat. + Dilator, spe longus, iners,” &c. + +He knew there was another justice in the house, but he knew also he +should not be allowed to get speech with him, if by cunning or force it +could be prevented. He kept his door ajar. Presently Nurse Hannah came +bustling along with an apronful of things, and let herself into a vacant +room hard by. This Hannah was a young woman with a pretty and rather +babyish face, diversified by a thick biceps muscle in her arm that +a blacksmith need not have blushed for. And I suspect it was this +masculine charm, and not her feminine features, that had won her the +confidence of Baker and Co., and the respect of his female patients: +big or little, excited or not excited, there was not one of them this +bicipital baby-face could not pin by the wrists, and twist her helpless +into a strong-room, or handcuff her unaided in a moment; and she did it, +too, on slight provocation. Nurse Hannah seldom came into Alfred's part +of the house; but when she did meet him, she generally gave him a kind +look in passing; and he had resolved to speak to her, and try if he +could touch her conscience, or move her pity. He saw what she was at, +but was too politic to detect her openly and irritate her. He drew back +a step, and said softly, “Nurse Hannah! Are you there?” + +“Yes, I am here,” said she sharply, and came out of the room hastily, +and shut it. “What do you want, sir?” + +Alfred clasped his hands together. “If you are a woman, have pity on +me.” + +She was taken by surprise. “What can I do?” said she in some agitation. +“I am only a servant.” + +“At least tell me where I can find the Visiting Justice, before the +keepers stop me.” + +“Hush! Speak lower,” said Hannah. “You _have_ complained to one, haven't +you?” + +“Yes, but he seems a feeble old fogy. Where is the other? Oh, pray tell +me?” + +“I mustn't: I mustn't In the noisy ward. There, run.” + +And run he did. + +Alfred was lucky enough to get safe into the noisy ward without being +intercepted. And then he encountered a sunburnt gentleman, under thirty, +in a riding-coat, with a hunting-whip in his hand: it was Mr. Vane, a +Tory squire and large landholder in the county. + +Now, as Alfred entered at one door, Baker himself came in at the other, +and they nearly met at Vane. But Alfred saluted him first, and begged +respectfully for an interview. + +“Certainly, sir,” said Mr. Vane. + +“Take care, sir; he is dangerous,” whispered Baker. Instantly Mr. Vane's +countenance changed. But this time Alfred overheard the formula, and +said quietly: “Don't believe him, sir. I am not dangerous; I am as sane +as any man in England. Pray examine me, and judge for yourself.” + +“Ah, that is his delusion,” said Baker. “Come, Mr. Hardie, I allow you +great liberties, but you abuse them. You really must not monopolise his +Worship with your fancies. Consider, sir, you are not the only patient +he has to examine.” + +Alfred's heart sank: he turned a look of silent agony on Mr. Vane. + +Mr. Vane, either touched by that look, or irritated by Baker's +pragmatical interference, or perhaps both, looked that person coolly +in the face, and said sternly: “Be silent, sir; and let _the gentleman_ +speak to me.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +ALFRED thus encouraged told his story with forced calmness, and without +a word too much. Indeed, so clear and telling was the narrative, and +the logic so close, that incoherent patients one or two stole up +and listened with wonder and a certain dreamy complacency; the bulk, +however, held aloof apathetic: inextricably wrapped in fictitious +Autobiography. + +His story told, Alfred offered the Dodds in evidence that the fourteen +thousand pounds was no illusion, and referred to his sister and several +friends as witnesses to his sanity, and said the letters he wrote were +all stopped in the asylum: and why? That no honest man or woman might +know where he was. + +He ended by convincing Mr. Vane he was a sane and injured man, and his +father a dark designing person. + +Mr. Vane asked him whether he had any other revelations to make. Alfred +replied, “Not on my own account, but for the sake of those afflicted +persons who are here for life. Well, the beds want repaving; the vermin +thinning; the instruments of torture want abolishing, instead of hiding +for an hour or two when you happen to come: what do the patients gain +by that? The madmen dare not complain to you, sir, because the last +time one did complain to the justices (it was Mr. Petworth), they had no +sooner passed through the iron gate, than Cooper made an example of +him; felled him with his fist, and walked up and down him on his knees, +crying, 'I'll teach you to complain to the justices.' But one or two +gentlemanly madmen, who soon found out that I am not one of _them,_ have +complained to _me_ that the attendants wash them too much like Hansom +cabs, strip them naked, and mop them on the flag-stones, then fling on +their clothes without drying them. They say, too, that the meat is tough +and often putrid, the bread stale, the butter rancid, the vegetables +stinted, since they can't be adulterated. And as for sleep, it is hardly +known; for the beds are so short your feet stick out; insects, without a +name to ears polite, but highly odoriferous and profoundly carnivorous, +bite you all night; and dogs howl eternally outside; and, when exhausted +nature defies even these enemies of rest, then the doctor, who seems to +be in the pay of Insanity, claps you on a blister by brute force, and so +drives away sleep, Insanity's cure, or hocuses you by brute force as he +did me, and so steals your sleep, and tries to steal your reason, with +his opium, henbane, morphia, and other tremendous brain-stealers. With +such a potion, sir, administered by violence, he gave me in one night +a bursting fever, headache, loss of sight, and bleeding at the nose; as +Mrs. Archbold will tell you. Oh, look into these things, sir, in pity +to those whom Heaven has afflicted: to me they are but strokes with +a feather. I am a sane man torn from love and happiness, and confined +among the mad; discomfort is nothing to me; comfort is nothing; you can +do nothing for me but restore me to my dignity as a man, my liberty as +a Briton, and the rights as a citizen I have been swindled out of by a +fraudulent bankrupt and his tools, two venal doctors, who never saw +me but for one five minutes, but came to me ready bribed at a guinea +apiece, and so signed away my wits behind my back.” + +“Now, Mr. Baker,” said Vane, “what do you say to all this?” + +Baker smiled with admirable composure, and replied with crafty +moderation, “He is a gentleman, and believes every word he says; but it +is all his delusions. Why, to begin, sir, his father has nothing to do +with putting him in here; nothing on earth. (Alfred started; then +smiled incredulous.) And, in the next place, there are no instruments +of restraint here, but two pair of handcuffs and two strait jackets, and +these never hardly used; we trust to the padded rooms, you know. And, +sir,” said he, getting warm, which instantly affected his pronunciations +“if there's a hinsect in the ouse, I'll heat im.” + +Delusion is a big word, especially in a mad-house; it overpowers a +visitor's understanding. Mr. Vane was staggered. Alfred, whose eager +eyes were never off his face, saw this with dismay, and feeling that, +if he failed in the simpler matter, he should be sure to fail in +establishing his sanity, he said with inward anxiety, though with +outward calmness, “Suppose we test these delusions?” + +“With all my heart,” said Vane. + +Baker's countenance fell. + +“Begin with the instruments of restraint. Find me them.” + +Baker's countenance brightened up; he had no fear of their being found. + +“I will,” said Alfred: “please to follow me.” + +Baker grinned with anticipated triumph. + +Alfred led the way to a bedroom near his own; and asked Mr. Baker to +unlock it. Baker had not the key; no more had Cooper. The latter was +sent for it; he returned, saying the key was mislaid. + +“That I expected,” said Alfred. “Send for the kitchen poker, sir: I'll +soon unlock it.” + +“Fetch the kitchen poker,” said Vane. + +“Good gracious! sir,” said Cooper; “he only wants that to knock all our +brains out. You have no idea of his strength and ferocity.” + +“Well lied, Cooper,” said Alfred ironically. + +“Fetch _me_ the poker,” said Vane. + +Cooper went for it, and came back with the key instead. + +The door was opened, and they all entered. Alfred looked under the bed. +The rest stood round it. + +There was nothing to be seen but a year's dust + +Alfred was dumb-foundered, and a cold perspiration began to gather on +his brow. He saw at once a false move would be fatal to him. + +“Well, sir,” said Vane grimly. “Where are they?” + +Alfred caught sight of a small cupboard; he searched it; it was empty. +Baker and Cooper grinned at his delusion quietly, but so that Vane might +see that formula. Alfred returned to the bed and shook it. Cooper and +Baker left off grinning; Alfred's quick eye caught this, and he shook +the bed violently, furiously. + +“Ah!” said Mr. Vane, “I hear a chink.” + +“It is an iron bedstead and old,” suggested Baker. + +Alfred tore off the bed-clothes, and then the mattress. Below the latter +was a framework, and below the framework a receptacle about six inches +deep, five feet long, and three broad, filled with chains, iron +belts, wrist-locks, muffles, and screw-locked hobbles, &c.; a regular +Inquisition. + +If Baker had descended from the Kemble family, instead of rising from +nothing, he could not have acted better. “Good Heavens!” cried he, +“where do these come from? They must have been left here by the last +proprietor.” + +Vane replied only by a look of contempt, and ordered Cooper to go and +ask Mr. Tollett to come to him. + +Alfred improved the interval. “Sir,” said he, “all my delusions, fairly +tested, will turn out like this.” + +“They _shall_ be tested, sir; I give you my word.” + +Mr. Tollett came, and the two justices commenced a genuine +scrutiny--their first. They went now upon the true method, in which all +these dark places ought to be inspected. They did not believe a word; +they suspected everything; they examined patients apart, detected +cruelty, filth and vermin under philanthropic phrases and clean linen; +and the upshot was they reprimanded Baker and the attendants severely, +and told him his licence should never be renewed, unless at their +next visit the whole asylum was reformed. They ordered all the iron +body-belts, chains, leg-locks, wrist-locks, and muffs, to be put into +Mr. Tollett's carriage, and concluded a long inspection by inquiring +into Alfred's sanity: at this inquiry they did not allow Baker to be +even present, but only Dr. Bailey. + +First they read the order; and found it really was not Alfred's father +who had put him into the asylum. Then they read the certificates, +especially Wycherley's. It accused Alfred of headache, insomnia, +nightly visions, a rooted delusion (pecuniary), a sudden aversion to +an affectionate father; and at the doctor's last visit, a wild look +(formula), great excitement, and threats of violence without any +provocation to justify them. This overpowered the worthy squires' +understandings to begin. But they proceeded to examine the three books +an asylum has to keep by law: the visitor's book, the case book, and +the medical journal. All these were kept with the utmost looseness in +Silverton House as indeed they are in the very best of these places. +However, by combining the scanty notices in the several books, they +arrived at this total: + +“Admitted April 11. Had a very wild look, and was much excited. +Attempted suicide by throwing himself into a tank. Attacked the keepers +for rescuing him, with prodigious strength and violence. Refused food.” + +And some days after came an entry with his initials instead of his +name, which was contrary to law. “A. H. Much excited. Threats. Ordered +composing draught.” + +And a day or two after: “A. H. Excited. Blasphemous. Ordered blister.” + +The first entry, however, was enough. The doctor had but seen real +facts through his green spectacles, and lo! “suicide,” “homicide,” and +“refusal of food,” three cardinal points of true mania. + +Mr. Vane asked Dr. Bailey whether he was better since he came. + +“Oh, infinitely better,” said Dr. Bailey. “We hope to cure him in a +month or two.” + +They then sent for Mrs. Archbold, and had a long talk with her, +recommending Alfred to her especial care: and, having acted on his +judgment and information in the teeth of those who called him insane, +turned tail at a doctor's certificate; distrusted their eyesight at an +unsworn affidavit. + +Alfred was packing up his things to go away; bright as a lark. Mrs. +Archbold came to him, and told him she had orders to give him every +comfort; and the justices hoped to liberate him at their next visit. + +The poor wretch turned pale. “At their next visit!” he cried, “What, not +to-day? When is their next visit?” + +Mrs. Archbold hesitated: but at last she said, “Why you know; I told +you; they come four times every year.” + +The disappointment was too bitter. The contemptible result of all his +patience, self-command, and success, was too heart-breaking. He groaned +aloud. “And you can come with a smile and tell me that; you cruel +woman.” Then he broke down altogether and burst out crying. “You were +born without a heart,” he sobbed. + +Mrs. Archbold quivered at that. “I wish I had been,” said she, in a +strange, soft, moving voice; then, casting an eloquent look of reproach +on him, she went away in visible agitation, and left him sobbing. Once +out of his sight she rushed into another room, and there, taking no more +notice of a gentle madwoman, its occupant, than of the bed or the table, +she sank into a chair, and, throwing her head back with womanly abandon, +hid her hand upon her bosom that heaved tempestuously. + +And soon the tears trickled out of her imperious eyes, and ran +unrestrained. + +The mind of Edith Archbold corresponded with her powerful frame, and +bushy brows. Inside this woman all was vigour: strong passions, strong +good sense to check or hide them; strong will to carry them out. And +between these mental forces a powerful struggle was raging. She was +almost impenetrable to mere personal beauty, and inclined to despise +early youth in the other sex; and six months spent with Alfred in a +quiet country house would probably have left her reasonably indifferent +to him. But the first day she saw him in Silverton House he broke +through her guard, and pierced at once to her depths; first he terrified +her by darting through the window to escape: and terror is a passion. +So is pity; and never in her life had she overflowed with it as when she +saw him drawn out of the tank and laid on the grass. If, after all, he +was as sane as he looked, that brave high-spirited young creature, who +preferred death to the touch of coarse confining hands! + +No sooner had he filled her with dismay and pity, than he bounded from +the ground before her eyes and fled. She screamed, and hoped he would +escape; she could not help it. Next she saw him fighting alone against +seven or eight, and with unheard-of prowess almost beating them. She sat +at the window panting, with clenched teeth and hands, and wished him to +beat, and admired him, wondered at him. He yielded, but not to them: to +her. All the compliments she had ever received were tame compared with +this one. It thrilled her vanity. He was like the men she had read of, +and never seen: the young knights of chivalry. She glowed all over at +him, and detecting herself in time was frightened. Her strong good sense +warned her to beware of this youth, who was nine years her junior, yet +had stirred her to all her depths in an hour; and not to see him nor +think of him too much. Accordingly she kept clear of him altogether at +first. Pity soon put an end to that; and she protected and advised him, +but with a cold and lofty demeanour put on express. What with her kind +acts and her cold manner he did not know what to make of her; and often +turned puzzled earnest eyes upon her, as much as to say, Are you really +my friend or not? Once she forgot herself and smiled so tenderly in +answer to these imploring eyes, that his hopes rose very high indeed. He +flattered himself she would let him out of the asylum before long. That +was all Julia's true lover thought of. + +A feeling hidden, and not suppressed, often grows fast in a vigorous +nature. Mrs. Archbold's fancy for Alfred was subjected to this dangerous +treatment; and it smouldered, and smouldered, till from a _penchant_ it +warmed to a fancy, from a fancy to a passion. But _penchant,_ fancy, +or passion, she hid it with such cunning and resolution, that neither +Alfred nor even those of her own sex saw it; nor did a creature +even suspect it, except Nurse Hannah; but her eyes were sharpened by +jealousy, for that muscular young virgin was beginning to sigh for him +herself, with a gentle timidity that contrasted prettily with her biceps +muscle and prowess against her own sex. + +Mrs. Archbold had more passion than tenderness, but what woman is not +to be surprised and softened? When her young favourite, the greatest +fighter she had ever seen, broke down at the end of his gallant effort +and began to cry like a girl, her bowels of compassion yearned within +her, and she longed to cry with him. She only saved herself from some +imprudence by flight, and had her cry alone. After a flow of tears, such +a woman is invincible; she treated Alfred at tea-time with remarkable +coldness and reserve. This piece of acting led to unlooked-for +consequences: it emboldened Cooper, who was raging against Alfred for +telling the justices, but had forborne from violence for fear of getting +the house into a fresh scrape. He now went to the doctor, and asked +for a powerful drastic. Bailey gave him two pills, or rather boluses, +containing croton oil--_inter alia;_ for Bailey was one of the +_farraginous_ fools of the unscientific science. Armed with this weapon +of destruction, Cooper entered Alfred's bedroom at night, and ordered +him to take them: he refused. Cooper whistled, and four attendants came. +Alfred knew he should soon be powerless. He lost no time, sprang at +Cooper, and with his long arm landed a blow that knocked him against the +wall, and in this position, where his body could not give, struck him +again with his whole soul, and cut his cheek right open. The next minute +he was pinned, handcuffed, and in a straitjacket, after crippling one +assailant with a kick on the knee. + +Cooper, half stunned, and bleeding like a pig, recovered himself now, +and burned for revenge. He uttered a frightful oath, and jumped on +Alfred as he lay bound and powerless, and gave him a lesson he never +forgot. + +Every art has its secrets: the attendants in such madhouses as this +have been for years possessed of one they are too modest to reveal to +justices, commissioners, or the public; the art of breaking a man's +ribs, or breast-bone, or both, without bruising him externally. The +convicts at Toulon arrive at a similar result by another branch of the +art: they stuff the skin of a conger eel with powdered stone; then give +the obnoxious person a sly crack with it; and a rib backbone is broken +with no contusion to mark the external violence used. But Mr. Cooper and +his fellows do their work with the knee-joint: it is round, and leaves +no bruise. They subdue the patient by walking up and down him on their +knees. If they don't jump on him, as well as promenade him, the man's +spirit is often the only thing broken; if they do, the man is apt to be +broken bodily as well as mentally. Thus died Mr. Sizer in 1854, and two +others quite recently. And how many more God only knows: we can't count +the stones at the bottom of a dark well. + +Cooper then sprang furiously on Alfred, and went kneeling up and +down him. Cooper was a heavy man, and his weight crushed and hurt the +victim's legs; but that was a trifle: as often as he kneeled on Alfred's +chest, the crushed one's whole framework seemed giving way, and he could +scarcely breathe. But Brown drew Cooper back by the collar, saying, +“D'ye want to kill him?” And at this moment Mrs. Archbold, who was on +the watch, came in with Hannah and another nurse, and the three women at +a word from their leader pinned Cooper simultaneously, and, taking +him at a disadvantage, handcuffed him in a moment with a strength, +sharpness, skill, and determination not to be found in women out of a +madhouse--luckily for the newspaper husbands. + +The other keepers looked astounded at this masterstroke; but, as +no servant had ever affronted Mrs. Archbold without being dismissed +directly, they took their cue and said, “We advised him, ma'am, but he +would not listen to us.” + +“Cooper,” said Mrs. Archbold as soon as she recovered her breath, “you +are not fit for your place. To-morrow you go, or I go.” + +Cooper, cowed in a moment by the handcuffs, began to whine and say that +it was all Alfred's fault. + +But Mrs. Archbold was now carried away by two passions instead of one, +and they were together too much for prudence. She took a handful of +glossy locks out of her bosom and shook them in Cooper's face. + +“You monster!” said she; “you should go, for _that,_ if you were my own +brother.” + +The two young nurses assented loudly, and turned and cackled at Cooper +for cutting off such lovely hair. + +He shrugged his shoulders at them, and said sulkily to Mrs. Archbold, +“Oh, I didn't know. Of course, if you have fallen in love with him, my +cake is burnt. 'Tisn't the first lunatic you have taken a fancy to.” + +At this brutal speech, all the more intolerable for not being quite +false, Mrs. Archbold turned ashy pale, and looked round for a weapon to +strike him dead; but found none so handy and so deadly as her tongue. + +“It's not the first you have tried to MURDER,” said she. “I know all +about that death in Calton Retreat: you kept it dark before the coroner; +but it is not too late, I'll open the world's eyes. I was only going to +dismiss you, sir: but you have insulted me. I'll hang you in reply.” + +Cooper turned very pale and was silent; his tongue clove to the roof of +his mouth. + +But a feeble, unexpected voice issued from the bed and murmured +cheerfully, though with some difficulty, a single word-- + +“Justice!” + +At an expression so out of place they all started with surprise. + +Alfred went on: “You are putting the saddle on the wrong horse. The +fault lies with those villains Baker and Bailey. Cooper is only a +servant, you know, and obeys orders.” + +“What business had the wretch to cut your hair off?” said Mrs. Archbold, +turning on Alfred with flashing eyes. Her blood once up, she was ready +to quarrel even with him for taking part against himself. + +“Because he was ordered to put on a blister, and hair must come off +before a blister can go on,” replied Alfred soberly. + +“That is no excuse for him beating you and trying to break your front +teeth.” + +She didn't mind so much about his side ribs. + +“No,” replied Alfred. “But I hit him first: look at the bloke's face. +Dear Mrs. Archbold, you are my best friend in this horrid place, and you +have beautiful eyes; and, talk of teeth, look at yours! But you haven't +much sense of justice, forgive me for saying so. Put the proposition +into signs; there is nothing like that for clearing away prejudice. B. +and C. have a scrimmage: B begins it, C. gets the worst of it; in comes +A. and turns away--C. Is that justice? It is me you ought to turn away; +and I wish to Heaven you would: dear Mrs. Archbold, do pray turn me +away, and keep the other blackguard.” + +At this extraordinary and, if I may be allowed the expression, Alfredian +speech, the men first stared, and then laughed; the women smiled, and +then were nearer crying than laughing. + +And so it was, that justice handcuffed, straitjacketed, blistered, and +impartial, sent from its bed of torture a beam through Cooper's tough +hide to his inner heart. He hung his head and stepped towards Alfred: +“You're what I call a man,” he said. “I don't care a curse whether I +stay or go, after what she has said to me. But, come what may, you're a +gentleman, and one as can put hisself in a poor man's place. Why, sir, I +wasn't always so rough; but I have been twenty years at it; and mad folk +they'd wear the patience out of Jove, and the milk of human kindness +out of saints and opossums. However, if I was to stay here all my life, +instead of going to-morrow, I'd never lift hand to trouble you again, +for you taking my part again yourself like that.” + +“I'll put that to the test,” said Mrs. Archbold sharply. “Stay--on your +probation. Hannah!” + +And Baby-face biceps at a look took off his handcuffs; which she had +been prominent in putting on. + +This extraordinary scene ended in the men being dismissed, and the women +remaining and going to work after their kind. + +“The bed is too short for one thing,” said Hannah. “Look at his poor +feet sticking out and cold as a stone: just feel of them, Jane.” + +“No, no; murder!” cried Alfred; “that tickles.” + +Hannah ran for a chair, Jane for another pillow. Mrs. Archbold took off +his handcuffs, and, passing her hand softly and caressingly over his +head, lamented the loss of his poor hair. Amongst them they relieved +him of his straitjacket, set up his head, covered his feet, and he +slept like a top for want of drastics and opiates, and in spite of some +brilliant charges by the Lilliputian cavalry. + +After this the attendants never molested Alfred again; nor did the +doctor; for Mrs. Archbold got his boluses, and sent them up to a famous +analysing chemist in London, and told him she had; and said, “I'll thank +you not to prescribe at random for _that_ patient any more.” He took the +lady's prescription, coming as it did in a voice quietly grim, and with +a momentary but wicked glance shot from under her black brows. + +Alfred was all the more miserable at his confinement: his melancholy +deepened now there was no fighting to excite him. A handsome bright +young face clouded with sadness is very pitiable, and I need not say +that both the women who had fallen in love with him had their eyes, +or at least the tails of their eyes, for ever on his face. The result +varied with the characters of the watchers. That young face, ever sad, +made Mrs. Archbold sigh, and long to make him happy under her wing. How +it wrought on the purer and more womanly Hannah will be revealed by the +incident I have to relate. Alfred was sitting on a bench in the corridor +bowed down by grief, and the Archbold lurking in a room hard by, +feasting her eyes on him through an aperture in the door caused by the +inspection plate being under repair--when an erotic maniac was driven +past. She had obtained access--with marvellous cunning--to the men's +side; but was now coming back with a flea in her ear, and faster than +she went; being handcuffed and propelled by Baby-face biceps. On passing +the disconsolate Alfred the latter eyed him coyly, gave her stray sheep +a coarse push--as one pushes a _thing_--and laid a timid hand, gentle as +falling down, upon the rougher sex. Contrast sudden and funny. + +“Don't be so sad, sir,” she murmured, cooing like the gentlest of doves. +“I can't bear to see you look like that.” + +Alfred looked up, and met her full with his mournful honest eyes. “Ah, +Hannah, how can I be anything but sad, imprisoned here, sane amongst the +mad?” + +“Well, and so am I, sir; so is Mrs. Archbold herself.” + +“Ay, but you have not been entrapped, imprisoned on your wedding-day. I +cannot even get a word sent to my Julia, my wife that ought to be. Only +think of the affront they have made me put on her I love better, ten +times better, than myself. Why, she must have been waiting for me; +humiliated perhaps by my absence. What will she think of me? The rogues +will tell her a thousand lies: she is very high spirited, Hannah, +impetuous like myself, only so gentle and so good. Oh, my angel, my +angel; I shall lose you for ever.” + +Hannah clasped her hands, with tears in her eyes: “No, no,” she cried; +“it is a burning shame to part true lovers like you and her. Hush! speak +low. Brown told me you are as well as he is.” + +“God bless him for it, then.” + +“You have got money, they say; try it on with Brown.” + +“I will. Oh you darling. What is the matter?” + +For Baby-face was beginning to whimper. + +“Oh, nothing, sir; only you are so glad to go; and we shall be sorry to +part with you: but you won't care for that--oh! oh! oh!” + +“What, do you think I shall forget you and your kindness? Never: I'll +square accounts with friends and foes; not one shall be forgotten.” + +“Don't offer me any of your money,” sobbed Hannah, “for I wouldn't touch +it. Good-bye,” said she: “I shan't have as much as a kiss for it I'll be +bound: good-bye,” said she again, and never moved. + +“Oh, won't you, though,” cried Alfred gaily. “What is that? and that? +and that? Now, what on earth are you crying about? Dry your tears, you +dear good-hearted girl: no, I'll dry them for you.” + +He took out a white handkerchief and dried her cheeks gently for her, +and gave her a parting kiss. But the Archbold's patience was exhausted: +a door opened nearly opposite, and there she stood yellow with jealousy +and sombre as night with her ebon brows. At sight of this lowering +figure Hannah uttered a squawk, and fled with cheeks red as fire. +Alfred, not aware of Mrs. Archbold's smouldering passion, and little +dreaming that jealous anguish and rage stood incarnate before him, burst +out laughing like a mischievous boy! On this she swept upon him, and +took him by both shoulders, and awed him with her lowering brows close +to his. “You ungrateful wretch,” she said violently, and panted. + +His colour rose. “Ungrateful? That I am not madam. Why do you call me +so?” + +“You are--you are. What have I done to you that you run from me to the +very servants? However, she shall be packed off this very night, and you +to thank for it.” + +This was the way to wound the generous youth. “Now it is you that are +ungenerous,” he said. “What harm has the poor girl done? She had a +virtuous movement and pitied me for the heartless fraud I suffer by; +that is all. Pray, do you never pity me?” + +“Was it this virtuous movement set her kissing you?” said the Archbold, +clenching her teeth as if the word stung her, like the sight. + +“She didn't, now,” said Alfred; “it was I kissed her.” + +“And yet you pretend to love your Julia so truly?” + +“This is no place for that sacred name, madam. But be sure I have no +secrets from her, and kiss nobody she would not kiss herself.” + +“She must be a very accommodating young lady.” + +At this insult Alfred rose pale with anger, and was about to defy his +monitor mortally; but the quick-witted woman saw and disarmed him. In +one moment, before ever he could speak, she was a transformed creature, +a penitent; she put her hands together supplicatingly, and murmured-- + +“I didn't mean it; I respect _her;_ and your love for her; forgive me, +Alfred: I am so unhappy, oh forgive me.” + +And behold she held his hand between her soft, burning palms, and her +proud head sank languidly on his shoulder, and the inevitable tears ran +gently. + +Morals apart, it was glorious love-making. + +“Bother the woman,” thought Alfred. + +“Promise me not to do it again,” she murmured, “and the girl shall +stay.” + +“Oh, lord, yes, I promise; though I can't see what it matters to you.” + +“Not much, cruel boy, alas! but it matters to her; for----” She kissed +Alfred's hand gently, and rose to her feet and moved away; but at +the second step turned her head sudden as a bird and finished her +sentence--“if you kiss her before me, I shall kill her before you.” + +Here was a fresh complication! The men had left off blistering, +torturing, and bullying him; but his guardian angels, the women, were +turning up their sleeves to pull caps over him, and plenty of the random +scratches would fall on him. If anything could have made him pine more +to be out of the horrid place, this voluptuous prospect would. He hunted +everywhere for Brown. But he was away the day with a patient. At +night he lay awake for a long time, thinking how he should open the +negotiation. He shrank from it. He felt a delicacy about bribing +Beelzebub's servant to betray him. + +As Hannah had originated the idea, he thought he might very well ask her +to do the dirty work of bribing Brown, and he would pay her for it; only +in money, not kisses. With this resolution he sank to sleep, and his +spirit broke prison: he stood with Julia before the altar, and the +priest made them one. Then the church and the company and daylight +disappeared, and her own sweet low moving voice came thrilling, “My own, +own, own,” she murmured. “I love you ten times more for all you have +endured for me;” and with this her sweet lips settled on his like the +dew. + +Impartial sleep flies at the steps of the scaffold and the gate of +Elysium: so Alfred awoke at the above; but doubted whether he was quite +awake; for two velvet lips seemed to be still touching his. He stirred, +and somebody was gone like the wind, with a rustle of flying petticoats, +and his door shut in a moment. It closed with a catch-lock; this +dastardly vision had opened it with her key, and left it open to make +good her retreat if he should awake. Alfred sat up in bed indignant, and +somewhat fluttered. “Confound her impudence,” said he. But there was +no help for it; he grinned and bore it, as he had the blisters, and +boluses, &c., rolled the clothes round his shoulders, and off to the +sleep of the just again. Not so the passionate hypocrite, who, maddened +by a paroxysm of jealousy, had taken this cowardly advantage of a +prisoner. She had sucked fresh poison from those honest lips, and filled +her veins with molten fire. She tossed and turned the livelong night in +a high fever of passion, nor were the cold chills wanting of shame and +fear at what she had done. + +In the morning, Alfred remembered this substantial vision, and +determined to find out which of those two it was. “I shall know by her +looks,” said he; “she won't be able to meet my eye.” Well, the first +he saw was Mrs. Archbold. She met his eye full with a mild and pensive +dignity. “Come, it is not you,” thought Alfred. Presently he fell +in with Hannah. She wore a serene, infantine face, the picture of +unobtrusive modesty. Alfred was dumbfoundered. “It's not this one, +either,” said he. “But then, it must. Confound her impudence for looking +so modest.” However, he did not speak to her; he was looking out for +a face that interested him far more: the weather-beaten countenance of +Giles Brown. He saw him once or twice, but could not get him alone till +the afternoon. He invited him into his room: and when he got him there, +lost no time. “Just look me in the face, Brown,” said he quietly. Brown +looked him in the face. + +“Now, sir, am I mad or sane?” + +Brown turned his head away. Alfred laughed. “No, no, none of your +tricks, old fellow: look me in the face while you answer.” + +The man coloured. “I can't look a gentleman like you in the face, and +tell him he is mad.” + +“I should think not. Well, now; what shall I give you to help me +escape?” + +“Hush! don't mention that, sir; it's as much as my place is worth even +to listen to you.” + +“Well! then I must give you as much as your place is worth. Please to +calculate that, and name the figure.” + +“My place! I wouldn't lose it for a hundred pounds.” + +“Exactly. Then I'll give you a hundred guineas.” + +“And how am I to get my money, sir?” + +“The first time you are out, come to Albion Villa, in Barkington, and +I'll have it all ready for you.” + +“And suppose you were to say, 'No: you didn't ought ever to have been +confined'?” + +“I must trouble you to look in my face again, Mr. Brown. Now, do you see +treason, bad faith, avarice, ingratitude, rascality in it?” + +“Not a grain of 'em,” said Brown, with an accent of conviction. “Well, +now, I'll tell you the truth; I can read a gent by this time: and I'm no +more afeared for the money than if I had it in my hand. But ye see, my +stomach won't let me do it.” + +This was a sad disappointment; so sudden, too. “Your stomach?” said +Alfred ruefully. “'What do you mean?” + +“Ay, my stomach. Wouldn't _your_ stomach rise against serving a man that +had done you the worst turn one man can do another--been and robbed you +of your sweetheart?” + +Alfred stared with amazement. + +Brown continued, and now with some emotion: “Hannah Blake and I were +very good friends till you came, and I was thinking of asking her to +name the day; but now she won't look at me. 'Don't come teasing me,' +says she, 'I am meat for your master.' It's you that have turned the +girl's head, sir.” + +“Bother the women!” said Alfred cordially. “Oh, what plagues they are! +And how unjust _you_ are, to spite me for the fault of another. Can I +help the fools from spooning upon me?” He reflected a moment then burst +out: “Brown, you are a duffer, a regular duffer. What, don't you see +your game is to get me out of the place? If you do, in forty-eight hours +I shall be married to my Julia, and that dumpling-faced girl will be +cured. But if you keep me here, by Gee, sir, I'll make hot love to your +Hannah, boiling hot, hotter than ever was--out of the isles of Greece. +Oh do help me out, and I'll give you the hundred pounds, and I'll give +Hannah another hundred pounds, on condition she marries you: and, if she +won't marry you, she shan't have a farthing, only a good hiding.” + +Brown was overpowered by his maniac's logic. “You have a head,” said he; +“there's my hand; I'll go in, if I die for it.” + +They now put their heads together over the means. Brown's plan was to +wait, and wait, for an opportunity. Alfred's was to make one this very +night. + +“But how can I?” said Brown. “I shan't have the key of your room. I am +not on watch in your part to-night.” + +“Borrow Hannah's.” + +“Hannah's? She has got no key of the male patients rooms.” + +“Oh yes, she has; of mine, at all events.” + +“What makes you think that, sir?” said Brown suspiciously. + +Alfred didn't know what to say: he could not tell him why he felt sure +she had a key. + +“Just go quietly and ask her for it” said he: “don't tell her I sent +you, now.” + +Brown obeyed, and returned in half-an-hour with the key of the vacant +bedroom, where the hobbles and chains were hidden on the arrival of the +justices. + +She tells me this is the only key she has of any room in this corridor. +“But dear heart,” said Brown, “how quicksighted the women are. She said, +says she, 'If it is to bring sorrowful true lovers together again, +Giles, or the like of that I'll try and get the key you want off Mrs. +Archbold's bunch, though I get the sack for it,' says she. 'I know she +heaves them in the parlour at night' says Hannah. She is a trump, you +must allow.” + +Alfred coloured up. He suspected he had been unjust. + +“She is a good, kind, single-hearted girl,” said he; “and neither of you +shall find me ungrateful.” + +It was evident by the alacrity Brown now showed, that he had got his +orders from Hannah. + +It was agreed that Alfred should be down at night in his clothes, ready +to seize the right moment; that Hannah should get the key, and watch the +coast clear, and let him out into the corridor; and Brown get him down +by a back stairs, and out on the lawn, There he would find a ladder +close by the wall, and his own arms and legs must do the rest. + +And now Alfred was a changed creature: his eye sparkled; he walked on +air, and already sniffed the air of liberty. + +After tea Brown brought in some newspapers, and made Alfred a signal, +previously agreed on, that the ladder was under the east wall. He went +to bed early, put on his tweed shooting-jacket and trousers, and lay +listening to the clock with beating heart. + +At first, feet passed to and fro from time to time. These became less +frequent as the night wore on. + +Presently a light foot passed, stopped at the door, and made a sharp +scratch on it with some metal instrument. + +It was the key. The time was not ripe to use it, but good Hannah had +taken this way to let him know she had got it. + +This little scratch outside his door, oh it made his heart leap and +thrill. One great difficulty was overcome. He waited, and waited, but +with glowing, hopeful heart; and at last a foot came swiftly, the key +turned, and Hannah opened the door. She had a bull's-eye lantern. + +“Take your shoes in your hand,” she whispered, “and follow me.” + +He followed her. She led him in and out, to the door of the public room +belonging to the second-class patients. Then she drew her whistle, and +breathed very softly. Brown answered as softly from the other end. He +was waiting at the opposite door. + +“All right,” said she; “the dangerous part is over.” She put a key into +the door, and said very softly, “Good-bye.” + +“God bless you, Hannah,” said Alfred, with deep emotion. “God in heaven +bless you for this!” + +“He will, He does,” said the single-hearted girl, and put her other hand +to her breast with a great gulp. She opened the door slowly. “Good-bye, +dear. I shall never see you again.” + +And so these two parted; for Hannah could not bear the sight of Giles +at that moment. He was welcome to Alfred, though, most welcome, and +conducted him by devious ways to the kitchen, lantern in hand. + +He opened the kitchen door softly, and saw two burly strangers seated +at the table, eating with all their souls, and Mrs. Archbold standing +before the fire, but looking towards him: for she had heard his +footsteps ever so far off. + +The men looked up, and saw Alfred. They rose to their feet, and said, +“This will be the gentleman, madam?” + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Archbold. + +“Your servant, sir,” said the man very civilly. “If you are ready we +are.” + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +SAMPSON'S placard was on Barkington walls, and inside the asylum Alfred +was softening hearts and buying consciences, as related; so, in fact, he +had two strings to his bow. + +But mark how strangely things turn; these two strings got entangled. His +father, alarmed by the placard, had called at the pawnbroker's shop, and +told him he must move Alfred directly to a London asylum. Baker raised +objections; Mr. Hardie crushed them with his purse, _i.e.,_ with his +son's and victim's sweetheart's father's money. So then, as Baker after +all could not resist the project, but only postpone it for a day or two, +he preferred to take a handsome present, and cooperate. He even connived +at Mr. Hardie's signing the requisite name to the new order. This the +giddy world calls forgery; but, in these calm retreats, far from the +public's inquisitive eye, it goes for nothing. Why, Mrs. Archbold had +signed Baker's name and Dr. Bailey's more than a hundred several times +to orders, statements, and certificates; depriving Englishmen of their +liberty and their property with a gesture of her taper fingers; +and venting the conventional terms, “Aberration,” “Exaltation,” + “Depression,” “Debility,” “Paralysis,” “Excitable,” “Abnormal,” as +boldly and blindly as any male starling in the flock. + +On the very night, then, of Alfred's projected escape, two keepers came +down from Dr. Wycherley's asylum to Silverton station: Baker met them +and drove them to Silverton House in his dog-cart. They were to take +Alfred up by the night train; and, when he came into the kitchen with +Brown, they suspected nothing, nor did Baker or Cooper, who presently +emerged from the back kitchen. Brown saw, and recovered his wits +partially. “Shall I go for his portmanteau, sir?” stammered he, making +a shrewd and fortunate guess at what was up. Baker assented; and soon +after went out to get the horse harnessed. On this Mrs. Archbold, pale, +sorrowful, and silent hitherto, beckoned Alfred into the back kitchen, +and there gave him his watch and his loose money. “I took care of them +for you,” said she; “for the like have often been stolen in this place. +Put the money in your shoes; it may be useful to you.” + +He thanked her somewhat sullenly; for his disappointment was so deep and +bitter that small kindnesses almost irritated him. + +She sighed. “It is cruel to be angry with _me,_” she said: “I am not the +cause of this; it is a heavier blow to me than to you. Sooner or +later you will be free--and then you will not waste a thought on me, I +fear--but I must remain in this odious prison without your eyes and your +smile to lighten me, yet unable to forget you. Oh, Alfred, for mercy's +sake, whisper me one kind word at parting; give me one kind look to +remember and dote upon.” + +She put out both hands as eloquently as she spoke, and overpowered his +prudence so far that he took her offered hands--they were as cold now as +they were burning hot the last time--and pressed them, and said-- + +“I shall be grateful to you while I live.” + +The passionate woman snatched her hands away. “Gratitude is too cold for +me,” she cried; “I scorn even yours. Love me or hate me.” + +He made no reply. And so they parted. + +“Will you pledge your honour to make no attempt at escape on the road?” + asked the pawnbroker on his return. + +“I'll see you d----d first,” replied the prisoner. + +On this he was handcuffed, and helped into the dog-cart. + +They went up to town by the midnight train; but, to Alfred's +astonishment and delight did not take a carriage to themselves. + +However, station after station was passed, and nobody came into their +carriage. At last they stopped at a larger station, and a good many +people were on the platform: Alfred took this opportunity and appealed +in gentle but moving terms to the first good and intelligent face he +saw. “Sir,” said he, “I implore your assistance.” + +The gentleman turned courteously to him. The keepers, to Alfred's +surprise, did not interrupt. + +“I am the victim of a conspiracy, sir; they pretend I am mad: and are +taking me by force to a madhouse, a living tomb.” + +“You certainly don't appear to be mad,” said the gentleman. + +The head keeper instantly showed him the order and a copy of the +certificates. + +“Don't look at _them,_ sir,” cried Alfred; “they are signed by men who +were bribed to sign them. For pity's sake, sir, judge for yourself. Test +my memory, my judgment, by any question you please. Use your own good +sense; don't let those venal rogues judge for you.” + +The gentleman turned cold directly. + +“I could not take on me to interfere,” said he. The unsworn affidavits +had overpowered his senses. He retired with a frigid inclination. Alfred +wrung his handcuffed hands, and the connecting chain rattled. + +The men never complained: his conduct was natural; and they knew their +strength. At the next station he tested a snob's humanity instead of a +gentleman's. He had heard they were more tender-hearted. The answer was +a broad grin, repeated at intervals. + +Being called mad was pretty much the same thing as being mad to a mind +of this class: and Alfred had admitted he was called mad. + +At the next station he implored a silvery-haired old gentleman. Old age, +he had heard, has known griefs, and learned pity. + +The keeper showed the certificates. + +“Ah!” said Senex; “poor young man. Now don't agitate yourself. It is +all for your good. Pray go quietly. Very painful, very painful.” And +he hobbled away as fast as he could. It is by shirking the painful some +live to be silvery old. + +Next he tried a policeman. Bobby listened to him erect as a dart. + +The certificates were shown him. + +He eyed them and said sharply, “All right.” Nor could Alfred's +entreaties and appeals to common sense attract a word or even a look +from him. Alfred cried “Help! murder! If you are Englishmen, if you are +Christians, help me.” + +This soon drew a crowd round him, listening to his fiery tale of wrong, +and crying “Shame, shame! Let him go.” The keepers touched their heads, +winked, and got out and showed the certificates; the crowd melted away +like wax before those two suns of evidence (unsworn). The train moved +on. + +It was appalling. How could he ever get free? Between his mind and that +of his fellows there lay a spiritual barrier more impassible than the +walls of fortified cities. + +Yet, at the very next station, with characteristic tenacity of purpose, +he tried again; for he saw a woman standing near, a buxom country woman +of forty. Then he remembered that the Naked Eye was not yet an extinct +institution among her sex. He told her his tale, and implored her to use +her own eyes. She seemed struck, and did eye him far more closely +than the men had: and told the keepers they ought to be ashamed of +themselves; he was no madman, for she had seen madmen. They showed her +the certificates. + +“Oh, I am no scholar!” said she contemptuously; “ye can't write my two +eyes out of my head.” + +The keeper whipped off Alfred's cap and showed his shaven crown. + +“La! so he is,” said she, lowering her tone; “dear heart, what a pity. +And such a pretty young gentleman.” And after that all he could say only +drew the dew of patient pity to her eyes. + +The train went on, and left her standing there, a statue of negative +clemency. Alfred lost heart. He felt how impotent he was. “I shall +die in a madhouse,” he said. He shivered in a corner, hating man, and +doubting God. + +They reached Dr. Wycherley's early in the morning. Alfred was shown into +a nice clean bedroom, and asked whether he would like to bathe or sleep. +“Oh, a bath,” he said; and was allowed to bathe himself. He had not been +long in the water when Dr. Wycherley's medical assistant tapped at the +door, and then entered without further ceremony--a young gentleman with +a longish down on his chin, which, initiated early in the secrets +of physiology, he was too knowing to shave off and so go to meet his +trouble. He came in looking like a machine, with a note-book in his +hand, and stood by the bath side dictating notes to himself and jotting +them down. + +“Six contusions: two on the thorax, one on the abdomen, two on the +thighs, one near the patella; turn, please.” Alfred turned in the water. +“A slight dorsal abrasion; also of the wrists; a severe excoriation of +the ankle. Leg-lock, eh?” + +“Yes.” + +“Iron leg-lock. Head shaved. Large blister. Good! Any other injuries +external or internal under old system?” + +“Yes, sir, confined as a madman though sane, as _you,_ I am sure, have +the sense to see.” + +“Oh, never mind that; we are all sane here--except the governor and I.” + +He whipped out, and entered the condition of the new patient's body with +jealous minuteness in the case-book. As for his mind, he made no inquiry +into that: indeed he was little qualified for researches of the kind. + +At breakfast Alfred sat with a number of mad ladies and gentlemen, who +by firmness, kindness, and routine, had been led into excellent habits: +the linen was clean and the food good. He made an excellent meal, +and set about escaping: with this view he explored the place. Nobody +interfered with him; but plenty of eyes watched him. The house was on +the non-restraint system. He soon found this system was as bad for +him as it was good for the insane. Non-restraint implied a great many +attendants, and constant vigilance. Moreover, the doors were strong, the +windows opened only eight inches, and that from the top: their framework +was iron, painted like wood, &c. It was next to impossible to get +into the yard at night: and then it looked quite impossible to get any +further, for the house was encompassed by high walls. + +He resigned all hope of escape without connivance. He sounded a keeper; +the man fired at the first word. “Come, none of that, sir; you should +know better than tempt a poor man.” + +Alfred coloured to the eyes and sighed deeply. To have honour thrown +in his face, and made the reason for not aiding him to baffle a +dishonourable conspiracy! But he took the reproof so sweetly, the +man was touched, and by-and-bye, seeing him deeply dejected, said +good-naturedly, “Don't be down on your luck, sir. If you are really +better, which you don't look to have much the matter now, why not write +to the Commissioners and ask to be let out?” + +“Because my letters will be intercepted.” + +“Ay, to your friends; but not to the Commissioners of Lunacy. Not in +this house, any way.” + +“God bless you!” cried Alfred impetuously. “You are my benefactor; you +are an honest fellow; give me your hand.” + +“Well, why not? Only you mustn't excite yourself. Take it easy.” + (Formula.) + +“Oh, no cant among friends!” said Alfred: “wouldn't you be excited at +the hope of getting out of prison?” + +“Well, I don't know but I might. Bound I am as sick of it as you are.” + +Alfred got paper and sketched the letter on which so much depended. +It took him six hours. He tore up two; he cooled down the third, and +condensed it severely: by this means, after much thought, he produced +a close and telling composition. He also weeded it of every trait and +every term he had observed in mad people's talk, or the letters they +had shown him. So there was no incoherency, no heat, no prolixity, no +“spies,” no “conspiracy,” no italics. A simple, honest, earnest story, +with bitter truth stamped on every line; a sober, strong appeal from a +sore heart but hard head to the arbiters of his fate. + +To the best of my belief no madman, however slightly touched, or however +cunning, ever wrote a letter so gentle yet strong, so earnest yet calm, +so short yet full, and withal so lucid and cleanly jointed as this was. +And I am no contemptible judge; for I have accumulated during the last +few years a large collection of letters from persons deranged in +various degrees, and studied them minutely, more minutely than most +Psychologicals study anything but Pounds, Shillings, and Verbiage. + +The letter went, and he hoped but scarcely expected an answer by return +of post. It did not come. He said to his heart, “Be still;” and waited. +Another day went by; and another: he gnawed his heart and waited: he +pined, and waited on. The Secret Tribunal, which was all a shallow +legislature had left him, “took it easy.” Secret Tribunals always do. + +But, while the victim-suitor longed and pined and languished for one +sound from the voice of Justice and Humanity, and while the Secret +Tribunal, not being in prison itself all this time, “took it easy,” + events occurred at Barkington that bade fair to throw open the prison +doors and bring father and son, bride and bridegroom, together again +under one roof. + +But at what a price. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +AT sight of Sampson's placard Mr. Hardie was seized with a tremor that +suspended the razor in mid air: he opened the window, and glared at the +doctor's notice. + +At this moment he himself was a picture: not unlike those half cleaned +portraits the picture restorers hang out as specimens of their art. + +“Insolent interfering fool,” he muttered, and began to walk the room in +agitation. After a while he made a strong effort, shaved the other half, +and dressed slowly, thinking hard all the time. The result was, he went +out before breakfast (which he had not done for years), and visited Mr. +Baker--for what purpose has been already shown. + +On his return, Jane was waiting breakfast. The first word to him was: +“Papa, have you seen?” + +“What, the Reward!” said he indifferently. “Yes, I noticed it at our +door as I came home.” + +Jane said it was a very improper and most indelicate interference in +their affairs, and went on to say with heightened colour: “I have just +told Peggy to take it down. + +“Not for the world!” cried Mr. Hardie, losing all his calmness real or +feigned; and he rang the bell hastily. On Peggy's appearing, he said +anxiously, “I do not wish that Notice interfered with.” + +“I shouldn't think of touching it without your order, sir,” said she +quietly, and shot him a feline glance from under her pale lashes. + +Jane coloured, and looked a little mortified: but on Peggy's retiring, +Mr. Hardie explained that, whether judicious or not, it was a friendly +act of Dr. Sampson's; and to pull down his notice would look like siding +with the boy against those he had injured: “Besides,” said he, “why +should you and I burk inquiry? Ill as he has used me, I am his father, +and not altogether without anxiety. Suppose those doctors should be +right about him, you know?” + +Jane had for some time been longing to call at Albion Villa and +sympathise with her friend; and now curiosity was superadded: she burned +to know whether the Dodds knew of or approved this placard. She asked +her father whether he thought she could go there with propriety. “Why +not?” said he cheerfully, and with assumed carelessness. + +In reality it was essential to him that Jane should visit the Dodds. +Surrounded by pitfalls, threatened with a new and mysterious assailant +in the eccentric, but keen and resolute Sampson, this artful man, who +had now become a very Machiavel--constant danger and deceit had so +sharpened and deepened his great natural abilities--was preparing +amongst other defences a shield; and that shield was a sieve; and that +sieve was his daughter. In fact, ever since his return, he had acted +and spoken at the Dodds through Jane, but with a masterly appearance of +simplicity and mere confidential intercourse. At least I think this is +the true clue to all his recent remarks. + +Jane, a truthful, unsuspicious girl, was all the fitter instrument +of the cunning monster. She went and called at Albion Villa, and was +received by Edward, Mrs. Dodd being upstairs with Julia, and in five +minutes she had told him what her father, she owned, had said to her +in confidence. “But,” said she, “the reason I repeat these things is to +make peace, and that you may not fancy there is any one in our house so +cruel, so unchristian, as to approve Alfred's perfidy. Oh, and papa said +candidly he disliked the match, but then he disliked this way of ending +it far more.” + +Mrs. Dodd came down in due course, and kissed her; but told her Julia +could not see even her at present. “I think, dear,” said she, “in a day +or two she will see you; but no one else: and for her sake we shall now +hurry our departure from this place, where she was once so happy.” + +Mrs. Dodd did not like to begin about Alfred; but Jane had no such +scruples; she inveighed warmly against his conduct, and ere she left +the house, had quite done away with the faint suspicion Sampson had +engendered, and brought both Mrs. Dodd and Edward back to their original +opinion that the elder Hardie had nothing on earth to do with the +perfidy of the younger. + +Just before dinner a gentleman called on Edward, and proved to be a +policeman in plain clothes. He had been sent from the office to sound +the ostler at the “White Lion,” and, if necessary, to threaten him. The +police knew, though nobody else in Barkington did, that this ostler had +been in what rogues call trouble, twice, and, as the police can starve +a man of the kind by blowing on him, and can reward him by keeping dark, +he knows better than withhold information from them. + +However, on looking for this ostler, he had left his place that very +morning; had decamped with mysterious suddenness. + +Here was a puzzle. + +Had the man gone without noticing the reward? Had somebody outbid the +reward? Or was it a strange coincidence, and did he after all know +nothing? + +The police thought it was no coincidence, and he did know something; so +they had telegraphed to the London office to mark him down. + +Edward thanked his visitor; but, on his retiring, told his mother he +could make neither head nor tail of it; and she only said, “We seem +surrounded by mystery.” + +Meantime, unknown to these bewildered ones, Greek was meeting Greek only +a few yards off. + +Mr. Hardie was being undermined by a man of his own calibre, one too +cautious to communicate with the Dodds, or any one else, till his work +looked ripe. + +The game began thus: a decent mechanic, who lodged hard by, lounging +with his pipe near the gate of Musgrove Cottage, offered to converse +with old Betty. She gave him a rough answer; but with a touch of +ineradicable vanity must ask Peggy if she wanted a sweetheart, because +there was a hungry one at the gate: “Why: he wanted to begin on an old +woman like me.” Peggy inquired what he had said to her. + +“Oh, he begun where most of them ends--if they get so far at all: axed +me was I comfortable here; if not, he knew a young man wanted a nice +tidy body to keep house for him.” + +Peggy pricked up her ears; and, in less than a quarter of an hour, went +for a box of lucifers in a new bonnet and clean collar. She tripped past +the able mechanic very accidentally, and he bestowed an admiring smile +on her, but said nothing--only smoked. However, on her return, he +contrived to detain her, and paid her a good many compliments, which she +took laughingly and with no great appearance of believing them. However, +there is no going by that: compliments sink: and within forty-eight +hours the able mechanic had become a hot wooer of Peggy Black, always on +the look-out for her day and night, and telling her all about the lump +of money he had saved, and how he could double his income, if he had but +a counter, and tidy wife behind it. Peggy gossiped in turn, and let out +amongst the rest that she had been turned off once, just for answering +a little sharply; and now it was the other way; her master was a trifle +too civil at times. + +“Who could help it?” said the able mechanic rapturously; and offered a +pressing civility, which Peggy fought off. + +“Not so free, young man,” said she. “Kissing is the prologue to sin.” + +“How do you know that?” inquired the able mechanic, with the sly humour +of his class. + +“It is a saying,” replied Peggy demurely. + +At last, one night, Mr. Green the detective, for he it was, put his arm +round his new sweetheart's waist, and approached the subject nearest his +heart. He told her he had just found out there was money enough to be +made in one day to set them up for life in a nice little shop; and she +could help in it. + +After this inviting preamble, he crept towards the L. 14,000 by artful +questions; and soon elicited that there had been high words between +Master and Mr. Alfred about that very sum: she had listened at the +door and heard. Taking care to combine close courtship with cunning +interrogatories, he was soon enabled to write to Dr. Sampson, and say +that a servant of Mr. Hardie's was down on him, and reported that he +carried a large pocket-book in his breast-pocket by day; and she had +found the dent of it under his pillow at night--a stroke of observation +very creditable in an unprofessional female: on this he had made it +his business to meet Mr. Hardie in broad day, and sure enough the +pocket-book was always there. He added, that the said Hardie's face wore +an expression which he had seen more than once when respectable parties +went in for felony: and altogether thought they might now take out a +warrant and proceed in the regular way. + +Sampson received this news with great satisfaction: but was crippled by +the interwoven relations of the parties. + +To arrest Mr. Hardie on a warrant would entail a prosecution for felony, +and separate Jane and Edward for ever. + +He telegraphed Green to meet him at the station; and reached Barkington +at eight that very evening. Green and he proceeded to Albion Villa, +and there they held a long and earnest consultation with Edward; and at +last, on certain conditions, Mr. Green and Edward consented to act on +Sampson's plan. Green, by this time, knew all Mr. Hardie's out-of-door +habits; and assured them that at ten o'clock he would walk up and down +the road for at least half an hour, the night being dry. It wanted about +a quarter to ten, when Mrs. Dodd came down, and proposed supper to the +travellers. Sampson declined it for the present; and said they had +work to do at eleven. Then, making the others a signal not to disclose +anything at present he drew her aside and asked after Julia. + +Mrs. Dodd sighed--“She goes from one thing to another, but always +returns to one idea; that he is a victim, not a traitor.” + +“Well, tell her in one hour the money shall be in the house.” + +“The money! What does she care?” + +“Well, say we shall know all about Alfred by eleven o'clock.” + +“My dear friend, be prudent,” said Mrs. Dodd. “I feel alarmed: you were +speaking almost in a whisper when I came in.” + +“Y' are very obsairvant: but dawnt be uneasy; we are three to one. Just +go and comfort Miss Julee with my message.” + +“Ah, that I will,” she said. + +She was no sooner gone than they all stole out into the night, and a +pitch dark night it was; but Green had a powerful dark lantern to use if +necessary. + +They waited, Green at the gate of Musgrove Cottage, the other two a +little way up the road. + +Ten o'clock struck. Some minutes passed without the expected signal from +Green; and Edward and Sampson began to shiver. For it was very cold and +dark, and in the next place they were honest men going to take the law +into their own hands and the law sometimes calls that breaking the law. +“Confound him!” muttered Sampson; “if he does not soon come I shall run +away. It is bitterly cold.” + +Presently footsteps were heard approaching; but no signal: it proved to +be only a fellow in a smock-frock rolling home from the public-house. + +Just as his footsteps died away a low hoot like a plaintive owl was +heard, and they knew their game was afoot. + +Presently, tramp, tramp, came the slow and stately march of him they had +hunted down. + +He came very slowly, like one lost in meditation: and these amateur +policemen's hearts beat louder and louder, as he drew nearer and nearer. + +At last in the blackness of the night a shadowy outline was visible; +another tramp or two, it was upon them. + +Now the cautious Mr. Green had stipulated that the pocketbook should +first be felt for, and, if not there, the matter should go no farther. +So Edward made a stumble and fell against Mr. Hardie and felt his left +breast: the pocket-book was there:--“Yes,” he whispered: and Mr. Hardie, +in the act of remonstrating at his clumsiness, was pinned behind, and +his arms strapped with wonderful rapidity and dexterity. Then first he +seemed to awake to his hunger, and uttered a stentorian cry of terror, +that rang through the night and made two of his three captors tremble. + +“Cut that” said Green sternly, “or you'll get into trouble.” + +Mr. Hardie lowered his voice directly: “Do not kill me, do not hurt me,” + he murmured; “I am but a poor man now. Take my little money; it is in my +waistcoat pocket; but spare my life. You see I don't resist.” + +“Come, stash your gab, my lad,” said Green contemptuously, addressing +him just as he would any other of the birds he was accustomed to +capture. “It's not your stiff that is wanted, but Captain Dodd's.” + +“Captain Dodd's?” cried the prisoner with a wonderful assumption of +innocence. + +“Ay, the pocket-book,” said Green; “here, this! this!” He tapped on +the pocket-book, and instantly the prisoner uttered a cry of agony, and +sprang into the road with an agility no one would have thought possible +but Edward and Green soon caught him, and, the Doctor joining, they held +him, and Green tore his coat open. + +The pocket-book was not there. He tore open his waistcoat; it was not in +the waistcoat: but it was sewed to his very shirt on the outside. + +Green wrenched it away, and bidding the other two go behind the prisoner +and look over his shoulder, unseen themselves, slipped the shade of his +lantern. + +Mr. Hardie had now ceased to struggle and to exclaim; he stood sullen, +mute, desperate; while an agitated face peered eagerly over each of his +shoulders at the open pocket-book in Green's hands, on which the lantern +now poured a narrow but vivid stream of light. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +THERE was not a moment to lose, so Green emptied the pocketbook into +his hat, and sifted the contents in a turn of the hand, announcing each +discovery in a whisper to his excited and peering associates. + +“A lot of receipts.” + +“Of no use to any one but me,” said the prisoner earnestly. + +“Two miniatures; gold rims, pinchbeck backs.” + +“They are portraits of my children when young: Heaven forgive me, I +could not give them up to my creditors: surely, surely, you will not rob +me of them.” + +“Stash your gab,” said Mr. Green roughly. “Here's a guinea, Queen Anne's +reign.” + +“It belonged to my great-grandfather: take it, but you will let me +redeem it; I will give L. 5 for it poor as I am: you can leave it on my +door-step, and I'll leave the L. 5.” + +“Stow your gab. Letters; papers covered with figures. Stay, what is +this? a lot of memoranda.” + +“They are of the most private and delicate character. Pray do not expose +my family misfortunes.” And Mr. Hardie, who of late had been gathering +composure, showed some signs of agitation; the two figures glaring over +his shoulder shared it, and his remonstrance only made Green examine +the papers keenly: they might contain some clue to the missing money. +It proved a miscellaneous record: the price of Stocks at various days; +notes of the official assignee's remarks in going over the books, &c. +At last, however, Green's quick eye fell upon a fainter entry in pencil; +figures: 1, 4; yes, actually L. 14,000. “All right,” he said: and took +the paper close to the lantern, and began to spell it out-- + +“'This day Alfred told me to my face I had L. 14,000 of Captain Dodd's. +We had an angry discussion. What can he mean? Drs. Wycherley and Osmond, +this same day, afflicted me with hints that he is deranged, or partly. I +saw no signs of it before. Wrote to my brother entreating him to give me +L. 200 to replace the sum which I really have wronged this respectable +and now most afflicted family of. I had better withdraw----'” Here Mr. +Hardie interrupted him with sorrowful dignity: “These are mere family +matters; if you are a man, respect them.” + +Green went reading on like Fate: “'Better withdraw my opposition to +the marriage, or else it seems my own flesh and blood will go about the +place blackening my reputation.'” + +Mr. Hardie stamped on the ground. “I tell you, on my honour as a +gentleman, there's no money there but my grandfather's guinea. My money +is all in my waistcoat pocket, where you _will not_ look.” + +A flutter of uneasiness seemed to come over the detective: he darkened +his lantern, and replaced the pocket-book hurriedly in the prisoner's +breast, felt him all over in a minute, and to keep up the farce, robbed +him. + +“Only eight yellow boys,” said he contemptuously to his mates. He then +shipped the money back into Hardie's coat-pocket, and conducted him to +his own gate, tied him to it by the waist, and ordered him not to give +the alarm for ten minutes on pain of death. + +“I consent,” said Mr. Hardie, “and thank you for abstaining from +violence.” + +“All right, my tulip,” said Mr. Green cheerfully, and drew his +companions quietly away. But the next moment he began to run, and making +a sudden turn, dived into a street then into a passage, and so winded +and doubled till he got to a small public-house: he used some flash +word, and they were shown a private room. “Wait here an hour for me,” + he whispered; “I must see who liberates him, and whether he is really +as innocent as he reads, or we have been countermined by the devil's own +tutor.” + +The unexpected turn the evidence had taken--evidence of their own +choosing, too--cleared Mr. Hardie with the unprofessionals. Edward +embraced this conclusion as a matter of course, and urged the character +of that gentleman's solitary traducer: Alfred was a traitor, and +therefore why not a slanderer? + +Even Sampson, on the whole, inclined to a similar conclusion. + +At this crisis of the discussion a red-haired pedlar, with very large +whiskers and the remains of a black eye, put his head in, and asked +whether Tom Green was there. “No,” said the Doctor stoutly, not desiring +company of this stamp. “Don't know the lad.” + +The pedlar laughed: “There is not many that do know him at all hours; +however, he _is_ here, sir.” And he whipped off the red hair, and wiped +off the black eye, and ho, Green _ipse._ He received their compliments +on his Protean powers, and told them he had been just a minute too late. +Mr. Hardie was gone, and so he had lost the chance of seeing who came +to help him, and of hearing the first words that passed between the two. +This, he said, was a very great pity; for it would have shown him in +one moment whether certain suspicions of his were correct. Pressed as to +what these suspicions were, he begged to be excused saying any more for +the present. The Doctor, however, would not let him off so, but insisted +on his candid opinion. + +“Well, sir,” said Green, “I never was more puzzled in my life, owing to +not being near hand when he was untied. It looks all square, however. +There's one little thing that don't fit somehow.” + +They both asked in a breath what that was. + +“The sovs. were all marked.” + +They asked how he knew; and had he got them in his pocket to show? + +Green uttered a low chuckling laugh: “What, me fake the beans, now I +live on this side of the hedge? Never knew a cove mix his liquors that +way but it hurt his health soon or late. No, I took them out of one +pocket and felt of them as I slipped them into the other. Ye see, gents, +to do any good on my lay, a man must train his senses as well as his +mind: he must have a hare's ear, and a hawk's eye, a bloodhound's nose, +and a lady's hand with steel fingers and a silk skin. Now look at that +bunch of fives,” continued the master; and laid a hand white and soft as +a duchess's on the table: “it can put the bracelets on a giant, or find +a sharper's nail-mark on the back of the knave of clubs. The beans were +marked. Which it is a small thing, but it don't fit the rest. Here's an +unsuspicious gent took by surprise, in moonlight meditation fancy free, +and all his little private family matters found in his innocent bosom, +quite promiscuous; but his beans marked. That don't dovetail nohow. +Gents, did ever you hear of the man that went to the bottom of the +bottomless pit to ease his mind? Well, he was the head of my family. I +must go to the bottom whether there's one or not. And just now I see but +one way.” + +“And what is that?” inquired both his companions in some alarm. + +“Oh, I mustn't threaten it,” said Green, “or I shall never have the +stomach to do it. But dear me, this boozing ken is a very unfit place +for you,--you are champagne-gents, not dog's nose ones. Now you part and +make tracks for home, one on foot and one in a fly. You won't see me, +nor hear of me again, till I've something fresh.” + +And so the confederates parted, and Sampson and Edward met at Albion +Villa; and Edward told his mother what they had done, and his conviction +that Mr. Hardie was innocent, and Alfred a slanderer as well as a +traitor: “And indeed,” said he, “if we had but stopped to reflect, +we should have seen how unlikely the money was not to be lost in the +_Agra._ Why, the _'Tiser_ says she went to pieces almost directly she +struck. What we ought to have done was, not to listen to Alfred Hardie +like fools, but write to Lloyd's like people in their senses. I'll do it +this minute, and find out the surviving officers of the ship: they will +be able to give us information on that head.” Mrs. Dodd approved; and +said she would write to her kind correspondent Mrs. Beresford, and she +did sit down to her desk at once. As for Sampson, he returned to +town next morning, not quite convinced, but thoroughly staggered; and +determined for once to resign his own judgment, and abide the result of +Mrs. Dodd's correspondence and Mr. Green's sagacity. All he insisted on +was, that his placard about Alfred should be continued: he left money +for this, and Edward, against the grain, consented to see it done. But +placards are no monopoly: in the afternoon only a section of Sampson's +was visible in most parts of the town by reason of a poster to this +effect pasted half over it:-- + + “FIFTY GUINEAS REWARD. + +“Whereas, yesterday evening at ten o'clock Richard Hardie, Esq., of +Musgrove Cottage, Barkington, was assaulted at his own door by three +ruffians, who rifled his pockets, and read his private memoranda, and +committed other acts of violence, the shock of which has laid him on +a bed of sickness, the above reward shall be paid to any person, or +persons, who will give such information as shall lead to the detection +of all or any one of the miscreants concerned in this outrage. + +“The above reward will be paid by Mr. Thomas Hardie of Clare Court, +Yorkshire.” + + +On this the impartial police came to Mr. Hardie's and made inquiries. He +received them in bed, and told them particulars: and they gathered from +Peggy that she had heard a cry of distress, and opened the kitchen door, +and that Betty and she had ventured out together, and found poor master +tied to the gate with an old cord: this she produced, and the police +inspected and took it away with them. + +At sight of that Notice, Edward felt cold and then hot and realised the +false and perilous position into which he had been betrayed: “So much +for being wiser than the law,” he said: “what are we now but three +footpads?” This, and the insult his sister had received made the place +poison to him; and hastened their departure by a day or two. The very +next day (Thursday) an _affiche_ on the walls of Albion Villa announced +that Mr. Chippenham, auctioneer, would sell, next Wednesday, on the +premises, the greater part of the furniture, plate, china, glass, +Oriental inlaid boxes and screens, with several superb India shawls, +scarfs, and dresses; also a twenty-one years' lease of the villa, +seventeen to run. + +Edward took unfurnished apartments in London, near Russell Square: a +locality in which, as he learned from the _'Tiser,_ the rooms were +large and cheap. He packed just so much furniture as was essential; no +knick-knacks. It was to go by rail on Monday; Mrs. Dodd and Julia were +to follow on Tuesday: Edward to stay at Barkington and look after the +sale. + +Meantime their secret ally, Mr. Green, was preparing his threatened +_coup._ The more he reflected the more he suspected that he had been +outwitted by Peggy Black. She had led him on, and the pocket-book had +been planted for him. If so, why Peggy was a genius, and in his own +line; and he would marry her, and so kill two birds with one stone: make +a Detective of her (there was a sad lack of female detectives); and, +once his wife, she would split on her master, and he should defeat that +old soldier at last, and get a handsome slice of the L. 14,000. + +He manoeuvred thus: first, he went back to London for a day or two to +do other jobs, and to let this matter cool; then he returned, and wrote +from a town near Barkington to Peggy Black, telling her he had been +sent away suddenly on a job, but his heart had remained behind with +his Peggy: would she meet him at the gate at nine that evening? he +had something very particular to say to her. As to the nature of the +business, the enclosed would give her a hint. She might name her own +day, and the sooner the better. + +The enclosed was a wedding-ring. + +At nine this extraordinary pair of lovers met at the gate; but Peggy +seemed hardly at her ease; said her master would be coming out and +catching her; perhaps they had better walk up the road a bit. “With +all my heart,” said Green; but he could not help a little sneer: +“Your master?” said he: “why he is your servant, as I am. What, is he +jealous?” + +“I don't know what you mean, young man,” said Peggy. + +“I'll tell you when we are married.” + +“La, that is a long time to wait for my answer: why we ain't asked in +church yet.” + +“There's no need of that; I can afford a special licence.” + +“Lawk a daisy: why you be a gentleman, then.” + +“No, but I can keep my wife like a lady.” + +“You sounds very tempting,” murmured Peggy, throwing her skirt over her +head--for a drizzle was beginning--and walking slower and slower. + +Then he made hot love to her, and pressed her hard to name the day. + +She coquetted with the question till they came near the mouth of a dark +lane, called Lovers' Walk; then, as he insisted on an answer, she hung +her head bashfully, and coughed a little cough. At which preconcerted +signal a huge policeman sprang out of the lane and collared Mr. Green. + +On this Peggy, who was all Lie from head to heel, uttered a little +scream of dismay and surprise. + +Mr. Green laughed. + +“Well, you _are_ a downy one,” said he. “I'll marry you all the more for +thus.” + +The detective put his hands suddenly inside the policeman's, caught him +by the bosom with his right hand by way of fulcrum; and with his left by +the chin, which he forced violently back, and gave him a slight Cornish +trip at the same moment; down went the policeman on the back of his head +a fearful crack. Green then caught the astonished Peggy round the neck, +kissed her lips violently, and fled like the wind; removed all traces of +his personal identity, and up to London by the train in the character +of a young swell, with a self-fitting eyeglass and a long moustache the +colour of his tender mistress's eyebrow: tow. + +From town he wrote to her, made her a formal offer of marriage; and gave +her an address to write to “should she at any time think more kindly of +him and of his sincere affection.” + +I suppose he specified sincere because it was no longer sincere: he +hurled the offer into Musgrove Cottage by way of an apple of discord--at +least so I infer from the memorandum, with which he retired at present +from the cash hunt. + +“Mr. Hardie has the stiff, I think: but, if so, it is planted +somewhere--doesn't carry it about him; my Peggy is his mistress: nothing +to be done till they split.” + + +Victorious so far, Mr. Hardie had still one pressing anxiety: Dr. +Sampson's placard: this had been renewed, and stared him everywhere in +the face. Every copy of it he encountered made him shiver. If he had +been a man of impulse, he would have torn it down wherever he saw it; +but he knew that would not do. However, learning from Jane, who had it +from old Betty, who had it from Sarah, that Mrs. and Miss Dodd would +leave for London the day before the sale, and Edward the day after it, +he thought he might venture in the busy intermediate time to take some +liberties with it. This he did with excellent tact and judgment. Peggy +and a billsticker were seen in conference, and, soon after, the huge +bills of a travelling circus were pasted right over both the rival +advertisements in which the name of Hardie figured. The consequence was, +Edward raised no objection: he was full of the sale for one thing; but +I suspect he was content to see his own false move pasted over on such +easy terms. + + +One morning Peggy brought in the letters, and Jane saw one in Alfred's +handwriting. She snatched it up, and cried “Papa, from Alfred!” And she +left off making the tea, while her father opened it with comparative +composure. + +This coolness, however, did not outlast the perusal: “The young +ruffian!” said he; “would you believe it Jenny, he accuses me of being +the cause of his last business.” + +“Let me see, papa.” + +He held her out the letter; but hesitated and drew it back. “My dear, +it would give you pain to see your poor father treated so. Here's a +specimen: 'What could they expect but that the son of a sharper would +prove a traitor? You stole her money; I her affections, of which I am +unworthy.' Now what do you think of that?” + +“Unhappy Alfred!” said Jane. “No, papa, I would not read it, if you are +insulted in it. But where is he?” + +“The letter is dated Paris. See!” And he showed her the date. “But he +says here he is coming back to London directly; and he orders me in the +most peremptory way to be ready with my accounts, and pay him over +his fortune. Well, he is alive, at all events: really my good, kind, +interfering, pragmatical friend Sampson, with his placards, made me feel +uneasy, more uneasy than I would own to you, Jenny.” + +“Unhappy Alfred!” cried Jane, with the tears in her eyes; “and poor +papa!” + +“Oh, never mind me,” said Mr. Hardie; “now that I know no harm has come +to him, I really don't care a straw: I have got one child that loves me, +and that I love.” + +“Ah yes, dear, dear papa, and that will always love you, and never, +never disobey you in small things or great.” She rose from the table and +sealed this with a pious kiss; and, when she sat down with a pink flush +on her delicate cheek, his hard eye melted and dwelt on her with beaming +tenderness. His heart yearned over her, and a pang went through it: to +think that he must deceive even her, the one sweet soul that loved him! + +It was a passing remorse: the successful plotter soon predominated, and +it was with unmixed satisfaction he saw her put on her bonnet directly +after breakfast and hurry off to Albion Villa to play the part of his +unconscious sieve. + +He himself strolled in the opposite direction, not to seem to be +watching her. + +He was in good spirits: felt like a general, who, after repulsing many +desperate attacks successfully, orders an advance, and sees the tide +of battle roll away from his bayonets. His very body seemed elastic, +indomitable; he walked lustily out into the country, sniffed the +perfumed hedges, and relished life. To be sure he could not walk away +from all traces of his misdeeds; he fell in with objects that to +an ordinary sinner might have spoiled the walk, and even marred the +spring-time. He found his creditor Maxley with grizzly beard and +bloodshot eyes, belabouring a milestone; and two small boys quizzing +him, and pelting him with mud: and soon after he met his creditor, +old Dr. Phillips, in a cart, coming back to Barkington to end his days +there, at the almshouse. But to our triumphant Bankrupt and Machiavel +these things were literally nothing: he paced complacently on, and cared +no more for either of those his wrecks than the smiling sea itself seems +to care for the dead ships and men it washed ashore a week ago. + +He came home before luncheon for his gossip with Jane; but she had not +returned. All the better; her budget would be the larger. + +To while the time he got his file of the _Times,_ and amused himself +noting down the fluctuations in Peruvian bonds. + +While thus employed he heard a loud knock at his door, and soon after +Peggy's voice and a man's in swift collision. Hasty feet came along +the passage, the parlour door opened, and a young man rushed in pale as +ashes, and stared at him; he was breathless, and his lips moved, but no +sound came. + +It was Edward Dodd. + +Mr. Hardie rose like a tower and manned himself to repulse this fresh +assault. + +The strange visitor gasped out, “You are wanted at our house.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +JANE HARDIE had found Albion Villa in the miserable state that precedes +an auction: the house raw, its contents higgledy-piggledy. The stair +carpets, and drawing-room carpets, were up, and in rolls in the +dining-room; the bulk of the furniture was there too; the auction was to +be in that room. The hall was clogged with great packages, and littered +with small, all awaiting the railway carts; and Edward, dusty and +deliquescent, was cording, strapping, and nailing them at the gallop, in +his shirt sleeves. + +Jane's heart sank at the visible signs of his departure. She sighed; +and then, partly to divert his attention, told him hastily there was a +letter from Alfred. On this he ran upstairs and told Mrs. Dodd; and she +came downstairs, and after a conversation took Jane up softly to her +friend's room. + +They opened the door gently, and Jane saw the grief she was come to +console--or to embitter. + +Such a change! instead of the bright, elastic, impetuous young beauty, +there sat a pale, languid girl, with “weary of the world” written on +every part of her eloquent body; her right hand dangled by her side, and +on the ground beneath it lay a piece of work she had been attempting; +but it had escaped from those listless fingers: her left arm was +stretched at full length on the table with an unspeakable abandon, and +her brow laid wearily on it above the elbow. So lies the wounded bird, +so droops the broken lily. + +She did not move for Jane's light foot. She often sat thus, a drooping +statue, and let the people come and go unheeded. + +Jane's heart yearned for her. She came softly and laid a little hand +lightly on her shoulder, and true to her creed that we must look upward +for consolation, said in her ear, and in solemn silvery tones, “Our +light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more +exceeding and eternal weight of glory.” + +Julia turned at this and flung her arms round Jane's neck, and panted +heavily. + +Jane kissed her, and with tears in her eyes, proceeded to pour out, from +a memory richly stored with Scripture, those blessed words it is full +of, words that in our hours of ease or biblical criticism pass over +the mind like some drowsy chime but in the bitter day of anguish and +bereavement, when the body is racked, the soul darkened, shine out like +stars to the mariner; seem then first to swell to their real size and +meaning, and come to writhing mortals like pitying seraphim, divinity on +their faces and healing on their wings. + +Julia sighed heavily: “Ah,” she said, “these are sweet words. But I am +not ripe for them. You show me the true path of happiness: but I don't +_want_ to be happy; it's _him_ I want to be happy. If the angels came +for me and took me to heaven this moment, I should be miserable there, +if I thought _he_ was in eternal torment. Ay, I should be as miserable +there as I am here. Oh, Jane, when God means to comfort me, He will show +me _he_ is alive; till then words are wasted on me, even Bible words.” + +“Tell her your news, my dear,” said Mrs. Dodd quietly. She was one of +those who take human nature as it is, and make the best of it. + +“Julia dear,” said Jane, “your fears are extravagant; indeed: Alfred is +alive, we know.” + +Julia trembled, but said nothing. + +“He has written to-day.” + +“Ah! To you?” + +“No, to papa.” + +“I don't believe it. Why to him?” + +“But I saw the letter, dear; I had it my hand.” + +“Did you read it?” asked Julia, trembling now like an aspen, and +fluttering like a bird. + +“No, but I read the address, and the date inside, and I saw the +handwriting; and I was offered the letter, but papa told me it was full +of abuse of him, so I declined* to read it; however, I will get it for +_you._” + + * This was one of those involuntary inaccuracies which creep + into mortal statements. + +Mrs. Dodd thanked her warmly; but asked her if she could not in the +meantime give some idea of the contents. + +“Oh yes, Mrs. Dodd: papa read me out a great deal of it. He was in +Paris, but just starting for London: and he demanded his money and his +accounts. You know papa is one of his trustees.” + +“Well, but,” said Mrs. Dodd, “there was nothing--nothing about----?” + +“Oh yes, there was,” said Jane, “only I--well then, for dear Julia's +sake--the letter said, 'What wonder the son of a sharper should prove a +traitor? _You_ have stolen her money and _I_ her affections, and'--oh, I +can't, I can't.” And Jane Hardie began to cry. + +Mrs. Dodd embraced her like a mother, and entered into her filial +feelings: Mrs. Dodd had never seen her so weak, and, therefore, never +thought her so amiable. Thus occupied they did not at first observe how +these tidings were changing Julia. + +But presently looking up, they saw her standing at her full height on +fire with wrath and insulted pride. + +“Ah, you have brought me comfort,” she cried. “Mamma, I shall hate +and scorn this man some day, as much as I hate and scorn myself now for +every tear I have shed for him.” + +They tried to calm her, but in vain; a new gust of passion possessed the +ardent young creature and would have vent. She reddened from bosom +to brow, and the scalding tears ran down her flaming cheeks, and she +repeated between her clenched teeth, “My veins are not filled with +skim-milk, I can tell you: you have seen how I can love, you shall see +how I can hate.” And with this she went haughtily out of the room, not +to expose the passion which overpowered her. + +Mrs. Dodd took advantage of her absence to thank Jane for her kindness, +and told her she had also received some letters by this morning's post, +and thought it would be neither kind on her part nor just to conceal +their purport from her. She then read her a letter from Mrs. Beresford, +and another from Mr. Grey, in answer to queries about the L. 14,000. + +Sharpe, I may as well observe, was at sea; Bayliss drowned. + +Mrs. Beresford knew nothing about the matter. + +Mr. Grey was positive Captain Dodd, when in command, had several +thousand pounds in his cabin; Mrs. Beresford's Indian servant had been +detected trying to steal it, and put in irons: believed the lady had not +been told the cause--out of delicacy! and Captain Roberts had liberated +him. As to whether the money had escaped the wreck--if on Captain Dodd's +person, it might have been saved; but if not, it was certainly lost: for +Captain Dodd to his knowledge had run on deck from the passenger's cabin +the moment the ship struck, and had remained there till she went to +pieces; and everything was washed out of her. + +“Our own opinion,” said Mrs. Dodd, “I mean Edward's and mine, is now, +that the money was lost in the ship; and you can tell your papa so if +you like.” + +Jane thanked her, and said she thought so too: and what a sad thing it +was. + +Soon after this Julia returned, pale and calm as a statue, and sat down +humbly beside Jane. “Oh, pray with me,” she said: “pray that I may not +hate, for to hate is to be wicked; and pray that I may not love, for to +love is to be miserable.” + +Mrs. Dodd retired, with her usual tact and self-denial. + +Then Jane Hardie, being alone with her friend, and full of sorrow, +sympathy, and faith, found words of eloquence almost divine to raise +her. + +With these pious consolations Julia's pride and self-respect now +co-operated. Relieved of her great terror, she felt her insult to her +fingers' ends: “I'll never degrade myself so far as to pine for another +lady's lover,” she said. “I'll resume my duties in another sphere, and +try to face the world by degrees. I am not quite alone in it; I have my +mother still--and my Redeemer.” + +Some tears forced their way at these brave, gentle words. Jane gave her +time. + +Then she said: “Begin by putting on your bonnet, and visiting with me. +Come with one who is herself thwarted in the carnal affections; come +with her and see how sick some are, and we two in health; how racked +with pain some are, and we two at ease; how hungry some, and we have +abundance; and, above all, in what spiritual deserts some lie, while we +walk in the Gospel light.” + +“Oh that I had the strength,” said Julia; “I'll try.” + +She put on her bonnet, and went down with her friend; but at the street +door the strange feeling of shame overpowered her; she blushed and +trembled, and begged to substitute the garden for the road. Jane +consented, and said everything must have a beginning. + +The fresh air, the bursting buds, and all the face of nature, did Julia +good, and she felt it. “You little angel,” said she, with something of +her old impetuosity, “you have saved me. I was making myself worse by +shutting myself up in that one miserable room.” + +They walked hand in hand for a good half hour, and then Jane said she +must go; papa would miss her. Julia was sorry to part with her, and +almost without thinking, accompanied her through the house to the front +gate; and that was another point gained. “I never was so sorry to +part with you, love,” said she. “When will you come again? We leave +to-morrow. I am selfish to detain you; but it seems as if my guardian +angel was leaving me.” + +Jane smiled. “I must go,” said she, “but I'll leave better angels than +I am behind me. I leave you this: 'Humble yourself under the mighty +hand of God!' When it seems most harsh, then it is most loving. Pray for +faith to say with me, 'Lead us by a way that we know not.'” + +They kissed one another, and Julia stood at the gate and looked lovingly +after her, with the tears standing thick in her own violet eyes. + +Now Maxley was coming down the road, all grizzly and bloodshot, baited +by the boys, who had gradually swelled in number as he drew nearer the +town. + +Jane was shocked at their heathenish cruelty, and went off the path to +remonstrate with them. + +On this, Maxley fell upon her, and began beating her about the head and +shoulders with his heavy stick. + +The miserable boys uttered yells of dismay, but did nothing. + +Julia uttered a violent scream, but flew to her friend's aid, and +crying, “Oh you wretch! you wretch!” actually caught the man by the +throat and shook him violently. He took his hand off Jane Hardie, who +instantly sank moaning on the ground, and he cowered like a cur at the +voice and the purple gleaming eyes of the excited girl. + +The air filled with cries, and Edward ran out of the house to see what +was the matter; but on the spot nobody was game enough to come between +the furious man and the fiery girl. The consequence was, her impetuous +courage began to flag and her eye to waver; the demented man found +this out by some half animal instinct, and instantly caught her by the +shoulder and whirled her down on her knees; then raised his staff high +to destroy her. + +She screamed, and was just putting up her hands, womanlike, not to see +her death as well as feel it, when something dark came past her like a +rushing wind--a blow, that sounded exactly like that of a paving ram, +caught Maxley on the jaw: and there was Edward Dodd blowing like a +grampus with rage, and Maxley on his back in the road. But men under +cerebral excitement are not easily stunned, and know no pain: he bounded +off the ground, and came at Edward like a Spanish bull. Edward slipped +aside, and caught him another ponderous blow that sent him staggering, +and his bludgeon flew out of his hand, and Edward caught it. Lo! the +maniac flew at him again more fiercely than ever; but the young Hercules +had seen Jane bleeding on the ground: he dealt her assailant in full +career such a murderous stroke with the bludgeon, that the people, who +were running from all quarters, shrieked with dismay--not for Jane, but +for Maxley; and well they might; that awful stroke laid him senseless, +motionless and mute, in a pool of his own blood. + +“Don't kill him, sir; don't kill the man,” was the cry. + +“Why not?” said Edward sternly. He then kneeled over his sweetheart and +lifted her in his arms like a child. Her bonnet was all broken, her eyes +were turned upwards and set, and a little blood trickled down her cheek; +and that cheek seemed streaked white and red. + +He was terrified, agonised; yet he gasped out, “You are safe, dear; +don't be frightened.” + +She knew the voice. + +“Oh, Edward!” she said piteously and tenderly, and then moaned a little +on his broad bosom. He carried her into the house out of the crowd. + +Poor old doctor Phillips, coming in to end his days in the almshouse, +had seen it all: he got out of his cart and hobbled up. He had been in +the army, and had both experience and skill. He got her bonnet off, and +at sight of her head looked very grave. + +In a minute a bed was laid in the drawing-room, and all the windows and +doors open: and Edward, trembling now in every limb, ran to Musgrove +Cottage, while Mrs. Dodd and Julia loosened the poor girl's dress, and +bathed her wounds with tepid water (the doctor would not allow cold), +and put wine carefully to her lips with a teaspoon. + +“Wanted at your house, pray what for?” said Mr. Hardie superciliously. + +“Oh, sir,” said Edward, “such a calamity. Pray come directly. A ruffian +has struck her, has hurt her terribly, terribly.” + +“Her! Who?” asked Mr. Hardie, beginning to be uneasy. + +“Who! why Jane, your daughter, man; and there you sit chattering, +instead of coming at once.” + +Mr. Hardie rose hurriedly and put on his hat, and accompanied him, half +confused. + +Soon Edward's mute agitation communicated itself to him, and he went +striding and trembling by his side. + +The crowd had gone with insensible Maxley to the hospital, but the +traces of the terrible combat were there. Where Maxley fell the last +time, a bullock seemed to have been slaughtered at the least. + +The miserable father came on this, and gave a great scream like a woman, +and staggered back white as a sheet. + +Edward laid his hand on him, for he seemed scarce able to stand. + +“No, no, no,” he cried, comprehending the mistake at last; “that is not +hers--Heaven forbid! That is the madman's who did it; I knocked him down +with his own cudgel.” + +“God bless you! you've killed him, I hope.” + +“Oh, sir, be more merciful, and then perhaps He will be merciful to us, +and not take this angel from us.” + +“No! no! you are right; good young man. I little thought I had such a +friend in your house.” + +“Don't deceive yourself, sir,” said Edward; “it's not you I care for:” + then, with a great cry of anguish, _“I love her._” + +At this blunt declaration, so new and so offensive to him, Mr. Hardie +winced, and stopped bewildered. + +But they were at the gate, and Edward hurried him on. At the house door +he drew back once more; for he felt a shiver of repugnance at entering +this hateful house, of whose happiness he was the destroyer. + +But enter it he must; it was his fate. + +The wife of the poor Captain he had driven mad met him in the passage, +her motherly eyes full of tears for him, and both hands held out to him +like a pitying angel. “Oh, Mr. Hardie,” she said in a broken voice, and +took him, and led him, wonder-struck, stupefied, shivering with dark +fears, to the room where his crushed daughter lay. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +MR. HARDIE found his daughter lying ashy pale on a little bed in the +drawing-room of Albion Villa. She was now scarce conscious. The old +doctor sat at her head looking very grave; and Julia kneeled over her +beloved friend, pale as herself; with hands clasped convulsively, and +great eyes of terror and grief. + +That vivid young face, full of foreboding and woe, struck Mr. Hardie the +moment he entered, and froze his very heart. The strong man quivered and +sank slowly like a felled tree by the bedside; and his face and the poor +girl's, whose earthly happiness he had coldly destroyed, nearly met over +his crushed daughter. + +“Jane, my child,” he gasped; “my poor little Jane!” + +“Oh let me sleep,” she moaned feebly. + +“Darling, it's your own papa,” said Julia softly. + +“Poor papa!” said she, turning rather to Julia than to him. “Let me +sleep.” + +She was in a half lethargic state. + +Mr. Hardie asked the doctor in an agitated whisper if he might move her +home. The doctor shook his head: “Not by my advice; her pulse is scarce +perceptible. We must not move her nor excite her, nor yet let her sink +into lethargy. She is in great danger, very great.” + +At these terrible words Mr. Hardie groaned: and they all began to speak +below the breath. + +“Edward,” murmured Mrs. Dodd hurriedly, “run and put off the auction: +put it off altogether; then go to the railway; nothing must come here to +make a noise, and get straw put down directly. Do that first, dear.” + +“You are kinder to me than I deserve,” muttered Mr. Hardie humbly, quite +cowed by the blow that had fallen on him. The words agitated Mrs. Dodd +with many thoughts, but she whispered as calmly as she could, “Let us +think of nothing now but this precious life.” + +Mr. Hardie begged to see the extent of the injury. + +Mrs. Dodd dissuaded him, but he persisted. Then the doctor showed her +poor head. + +At that the father uttered a scream and sat quivering. Julia buried +her face in the bed-clothes directly, and sobbed vehemently. It passed +faintly across the benumbed and shuddering father, “How she loves my +child; they all love her,” but the thought made little impression at the +time; the mind was too full of terror and woe. The doctor now asked for +brandy in a whisper. Mrs. Dodd left the room with stealthy foot, and +brought it. He asked for a quill. Julia went with swift, stealthy foot, +and brought it. With adroit and tender hands they aided the doctor, +and trickled stimulants down her throat. Then sat like statues of grief +about the bed; only every now and then eye sought eye, and endeavoured +to read what the other thought. Was there hope? Was there none? And +by-and-bye, so roving is the mind, especially when the body is still, +these statues began to thrill with thoughts of the past as well as the +absorbing present. + +Ay, here were met a strange party; a stranger, for its size, methinks, +never yet met on earth, to mingle their hearts together in one grief. + +Just think! Of him who sat there with his face hidden in his hands, and +his frame shuddering, all the others were the victims. + +Yet the lady, whose husband he had robbed and driven mad, pitied and +sympathised with him, and he saw it; the lady, whom he had insulted at +the altar and blighted her young heart and life, pitied and sympathised +with him; the poor old doctor pitied and sympathised, and was more like +an anxious father than a physician. + +Even Jane was one of his victims; for she fell by the hand of a man he +had dishonestly ruined and driven out of his senses. + +Thinking of all he had done, and this the end of it, he was at once +crushed and melted. + +He saw with awe that a mightier hand than man's was upon him; it had +tossed him and his daughter into the house and the arms of the injured +Dodds, in defiance of all human calculation; and he felt himself a straw +in that hand: so he was, and the great globe itself. Oh, if Jane should +die! the one creature he loved, the one creature, bereaved of whom he +could get no joy even from riches. + +What would he not give to recall the past, since all his schemes had but +ended in this. Thus stricken by terror of the divine wrath, and touched +by the goodness and kindness of those he had cruelly wronged, all the +man was broken with remorse. Then he vowed to undo his own work as far +as possible: he would do anything, everything, if Heaven would spare him +his child. + +Now it did so happen that these resolves, earnest and sincere but +somewhat vague, were soon put to the test; and, as often occurs, what he +was called on to do first was that which he would rather have done last. +Thus it was: about five o'clock in the afternoon Jane Hardie opened her +eyes and looked about her. + +It was a moment of intense anxiety. They all made signals, but held +their breath. She smiled at sight of Mr. Hardie, and said, “Papa! dear +papa!” + +There was great joy: silent on the part of Mrs. Dodd and Julia; but Mr. +Hardie, who saw in this a good omen, Heaven recognising his penitence, +burst out: “She knows me; she speaks; she will live. How good God is! +Yes, my darling child, it is your own father. You will be brave and get +well, for my sake.” + +Jane did not seem to pay much heed to these words: she looked straight +before her like one occupied with her own thought, and said distinctly +and solemnly, “Papa--send for Alfred.” + + +It fell on all three like a clap of thunder, those gentle but decided +tones, those simple natural words. + +Julia's eyes flashed into her mother's, and then sought the ground +directly. + +There was a dead silence. + + +Mr. Hardie was the one to speak “Why for him, dear? Those who love you +best are all here.” + +“For Heaven's sake, don't thwart her, sir,” said the doctor, in alarm. +“This is no time to refuse her anything in your power. Sometimes the +very expectation of a beloved person coming keeps them alive; stimulates +the powers.” + +Mr. Hardie was sore perplexed. He recoiled from the sudden exposure +that might take place, if Alfred without any preparation or previous +conciliatory measures were allowed to burst in upon them. And while his +mind was whirling within him in doubt and perplexity, Jane spoke again; +but no longer calmly and connectedly; she was beginning to wander. +Presently in her wandering she spoke of Edward; called him dear Edward. +Mrs. Dodd rose hastily, and her first impulse was to ask both gentlemen +to retire: so instinctively does a good woman protect her own sex +against the other. But, reflecting that this was the father, she made +an excuse and retired herself instead, followed by Julia. The doctor +divined, and went to the window. The father sat by the bed, and soon +gathered his daughter loved Edward Dodd. + +The time was gone by when this would have greatly pained him. + +He sighed like one overmatched by fate; but said, “You shall have him, +my darling; he is a good young man, he shall be your husband, you +shall be happy. Only live for my sake, for all our sakes.” She paid no +attention and wandered on a little; but her mind gradually cleared, and +by-and-bye she asked quietly for a glass of water. Mr. Hardie gave it +her. She sipped, and he took it from her. She looked at him close, and +said distinctly, “Have you sent for Alfred?” + +“No, love, not yet.” + +“Not yet? There is no time to lose,” she said gravely. + +Mr. Hardie trembled. Then, being alone with her, the miserable man +unable to say no, unwilling to say yes, tried to persuade her not to ask +for Alfred. “My dear,” he whispered, “I will not refuse you: but I have +a secret to confide to you. Will you keep it?” + +“Yes, papa, faithfully.” + +“Poor Alfred is not himself. He has delusions: he is partly insane. My +brother Thomas has thought it best for us all to put him under gentle +restraint for a time. It would retard his cure to have him down here and +subject him to excitement.” + +“Papa,” said Jane, “are you deceiving me, or are you imposed upon? +Alfred insane! It is a falsehood. He came to me the night before the +wedding that was to be. Oh, my brother, my darling brother, how dare +they say you are insane! That letter you showed me then was a falsehood? +Oh, papa!” + +“I feared to frighten you,” said Mr. Hardie, and hung his head. + +“I see it all,” she cried “those wicked men with their dark words have +imposed on you. Bring him to me that I may reconcile you all, and end +all this misery ere I go hence and be no more seen.” + +“Oh, my child, don't talk so,” cried Mr. Hardie, trembling. “Think of +your poor father.” + +“I do,” she cried, “I do. Oh, papa, I lie here between two worlds, and +see them both so clear. Trust to me: and, if you love me----” + +“If I love you, Jane? Better than all the world twice told.” + +“Then don't refuse me this one favour: the last, perhaps, I shall ever +ask you. I want my brother here before it is too late. Tell him he must +come to his little sister, who loves him dearly, and--is dying. + +“Oh no! no! no!” cried the agonised father, casting everything to the +winds. “I will. He shall be here in twelve hours. Only promise me to +bear up. Have a strong will; have courage. You shall have Alfred, you +shall have anything you like on earth, anything that money can get you. +What am I saying? I have no money; it is all gone. But I have a father's +heart. Madam, Mrs. Dodd!” She came directly. + +“Can you give me paper? No, I won't trust to a letter. I'll send off a +special messenger this moment. It is for my son, madam. He will be here +to-morrow morning. God knows how it will all end. But how can I refuse +my dying child? Oh, madam, you are good, kind, forgiving; keep my poor +girl alive for me: keep telling her Alfred is coming; she cares more for +him than for her poor heart-broken father.” + +And the miserable man rushed out, leaving Mrs. Dodd in tears for him. + +He was no sooner gone than Julia came in; and clasped her mother, +and trembled on her bosom. Then Mrs. Dodd knew she had overheard Mr. +Hardie's last words. + +Jane Hardie, too, though much exhausted by the scene with her father, +put out her hand to Julia, and took hers, and said feebly, but with a +sweet smile, “He is coming, love; all shall be well.” Then to herself as +it were, and looking up with a gentle rapture in her pale face-- + +“Blessed are the peacemakers; for they shall be called the children of +God.” + +On this thought she seemed to feed with innocent joy; but for a long +time was too weak to speak again. + +Mr. Hardie, rushing from the house, found Edward at work outside; he was +crying undisguisedly, and with his coat off, working harder at spreading +the straw than both the two men together he had got to help him. Mr. +Hardie took his hand and wrung it, but could not speak. + +In half an hour a trusty agent he had often employed was at the station +waiting for the up train, nearly due. + +He came back to Albion Villa. Julia met him on the stairs with her +fingers to her lips. “She is sleeping; the doctor has hopes. Oh, sir, +let us all pray for her day and night.” + +Mr. Hardie blessed her; it seemed the face of an angel, so earnest, so +lovely, so pious. He went home: and at the door of his own house Peggy +met him with anxious looks. He told her what he had done. + +“Good Heavens!” said she; “have you forgotten? He says he will kill you +the first day he gets out. You told me so yourself.” + +“Yes, Baker said so. I can't help it. I don't care what becomes of me; I +care only for my child. Leave me, Peggy; there, go, go.” + +He was no sooner alone than he fell upon his knees, and offered the +Great Author of life and death--a bargain. “O God,” he cried, “I own my +sins, and I repent them. Spare but my child, who never sinned against +Thee, and I will undo all I have done amiss in Thy sight. I will refund +that money on which Thy curse lies. I will throw myself on their mercy. +I will set my son free. I will live on a pittance. I will part with +Peggy. I will serve Mammon no more. I will attend Thine ordinances. I +will live soberly, honestly, and godly all the remainder of my days; +only do Thou spare my child. She is Thy servant, and does Thy work on +earth, and there is nothing on earth I love but her.” + + +And now the whistle sounded, the train moved, and his messenger was +flying fast to London, with a note to Dr. Wycherley: + +“DEAR SIR,--My poor daughter lies dangerously wounded, and perhaps at +the point of death. She cries for her brother. He must come down to us +instantly with the bearer of this. Send one of your people with him if +you like. But it is not necessary. I enclose a blank cheque, signed, +which please fill at your discretion.--I am, with thanks, yours in deep +distress, + +“RICHARD HARDIE” + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +DR. SHORT arrived, approved Dr. Phillips's treatment, and said the case +was severe but not hopeless, and he would call again. A bed was prepared +in the house for Mr. Hardie: but neither he nor any of the Dodds closed +an eye that sorrowful night. + +About midnight, after a short slumber, the sufferer became uneasy, and +begged to be left with Julia. Julia was sent for, and found her a good +deal excited. She inquired more than once if they were quite alone, and +then asked for paper and a pencil. She wrote a few lines, and made +Julia put them in a cover and seal them. “Now, dear friend,” she said, +“promise me not to open this, nor even to let your mother; it is not for +your happiness that what I have written should be seen by her or you; +no, no, much better not. Come; dear friend, pledge me your honour.” + Julia pledged her honour. + +Then Jane wrote on the cover, “From a dying sister.” Julia saw that; and +wept sore. + +Jane comforted her. “Do not weep for me, love: I am content to go, or +stay. This is not my doing; so I know it must be for the best. He is +leading me by a way that I know not. Oh, my beloved friend, how sweet +it is to lie in His hands, and know no will but His. Ay, I thank Him for +crossing my will, and leading me to Himself by His own good way, and not +by poor blind, foolish mine.” + +In this spirit of full resignation she abode constant, and consoled her +weeping friends from time to time, whenever she was quite herself. + +About daybreak, being alone with her father, she shed a few tears at his +lonely condition. “I fear you will miss me,” said she. “Take my advice, +dear; be reconciled with Alfred at once, and let Julia be your daughter, +since I am leaving you. She is all humility and heart. Dying, I prize +her and her affection more highly; I seem to see characters clearer, all +things clearer, than I did before my summons came.” + +The miserable father tried to be playful and scold her: “You must not +talk nor think of death,” he said. “Your bridal-day is to come first; +I know all; Edward Dodd has told me he loves you. He is a fine noble +fellow; you shall marry him: I wish it. Now, for his sake, summon all +your resolution, and make up your mind to live. Why, at your age, +it needs but to say, 'I will live, I will, I will;' and when all the +prospect is so smiling, when love awaits you at the altar, and on every +side! If you could leave your poor doting father, do not leave your +lover: and here he is with his mother crying for you. Let me comfort +him; let me tell him you will live for his sake and mine.” + +Even this could not disturb the dying Christian. “Dear Edward,” she +said; “it is sweet to know he loves me. Ah, well, he is young; he must +live without me till I become but a tender memory of his youth. And oh, +I pray for him that he may cherish the words I have spoken to him for +his soul's good far longer than he can remember these features that are +hastening to decay.” + +At ten in the morning Mr. Hardie's messenger returned without Alfred, +and with a note from Dr. Wycherley to this effect, that, the order for +Alfred's admission into his asylum being signed by Mr. Thomas Hardie, +he could not send him out even for a day except on Thomas Hardie's +authority; it would be a violation of the law. Under the circumstances, +however, he thought he might venture to receive that order by telegraph. +If, then, Mr. Hardie would telegraph Thomas Hardie in Yorkshire to +telegraph him (Wycherley), Alfred should be sent with two keepers +wherever Mr. T. Hardie should so direct. + +Now Mr. Hardie had already repented of sending for Alfred at all. +So, instead of telegraphing Yorkshire, he remained passive, and said +sullenly to Mrs. Dodd, “Alfred can't come, it seems.” + +Thus Routine kept the brother from his dying sister. + +They told Jane, with aching hearts, there was reason to fear Alfred +could not arrive that day. + +She only gave a meaning look at Julia, about the paper; and then she +said with a little sigh, “God's will be done.” + +This was the last disappointment Heaven allowed Earth to inflict on her; +and the shield of Faith turned its edge. + +One hour of pain, another of delirium, and now the clouds that darken +this mortal life seemed to part and pass, and Heaven to open full upon +her. She spoke of her coming change no longer with resignation; it was +with rapture. “Oh!” she cried, “to think that from this very day I +shall never sin again, shall never again offend Him by unholy temper, by +un-Christ-like behaviour!” + +The strong and healthy wept and groaned aloud; but she they sorrowed for +was all celestial bliss. In her lifetime she had her ups and downs of +religious fervour; was not without feverish heats, and cold misgivings +and depression; but all these fled at that dread hour when the wicked +are a prey to dark misgivings, or escape into apathy. This timid girl +that would have screamed at a scratch, met the King of Terrors with +smiles and triumph. For her the grave was Jordan, and death was but the +iron gate of life everlasting. _Mors janua vitae._ Yet once or twice she +took herself to task: but only to show she knew what the All-Pure had +forgiven her. “I often was wanting in humility,” she said; “I almost +think that if I were to be sent back again into this world of sin and +sorrow I am leaving behind, I should grow a little in humility; for I +know the ripe Christian is like the ripe corn, holds his head lower than +when he was green; and the grave it seems to be ripening me. But what +does it matter? since He who died for me is content to take me as I am. +Come quickly, Lord Jesus, oh, come quickly! Relieve Thy servant from the +burden of the flesh, and of the sins and foibles that cling to it and +keep her these many years from Thee.” + +This prayer was granted; the body failed more and more; she could not +swallow even a drop of wine; she could not even praise her Redeemer; +that is to say, she could not speak. Yet she lay and triumphed. +With hands put together in prayer, and eyes full of praise and joy +unspeakable, she climbed fast to God. While she so mounted in the +spirit, her breath came at intervals unusually long, and all were sent +for to see Death conquer the body and be conquered by the soul. + +At last, after an unnaturally long interval, she drew a breath like a +sigh. They waited for another; waited, waited in vain. + +She had calmly ceased to live. + + +The old doctor laid down her hand reverently, and said “She is with us +no more.” Then with many tears, “Oh, may we all meet where she is now, +and may I go to her the first.” + + +Richard Hardie was led from the room in a stupor. + + +Immediately after death all the disfiguring effect of pain retired, and +the happy soul seemed to have stamped its own celestial rapture on the +countenance at the moment of leaving it; a rapture so wonderful, so +divine, so more than mortal calm, irradiated the dead face. The good +Christians she left behind her looked on and feared to weep, lest they +should offend Him, who had taken her to Himself, and set a visible seal +upon the house of clay that had held her. “Oh, mamma,” cried Julia with +fervour, “look! look! Can we, dare we, wish that angel back to this +world of misery and sin?” And it was some hours before she cooled, and +began to hang on Edward's neck and weep his loss and hers, as weep we +mortals must, though the angels of Heaven are rejoicing. + + +Thus died in the flower of her youth, and by what we call a violent +death, the one child Richard Hardie loved; member of a religious party +whose diction now and then offends one to the soul: but the root of +the matter is in them; allowance made for those passions, foibles, and +infirmities of the flesh, even you and I are not entirely free from, +they live fearing God, and die loving Him. + + +There was an inquest next day, followed in due course by a public trial +of James Maxley. But these are matters which, though rather curious and +interesting, must be omitted, or touched hereafter and briefly. + +The effect of Jane's death on Richard Hardie was deplorable. He saw +the hand of Heaven; but did not bow to it: so it filled him with rage, +rebellion, and despair. He got his daughter away and hid himself in the +room with her; scarce stirring out by night or day. He spoke to no one; +he shunned the Dodds: he hated them. He said it was through visiting +their house she had met her death, and at their door. He would not let +himself see it was he who had sent her there with his lie. He loathed +Alfred, calling him the cause of all. + +He asked nobody to the funeral: and, when Edward begged permission to +come, he gave a snarl like a wild beast and went raging from him. But +Edward would go: and at the graveside pitying Heaven relieved the young +fellow's choking heart with tears. But no such dew came to that parched +old man, who stood on its other side like the withered Archangel, his +eyes gloomy and wild, his white cheek ploughed deep with care and +crime and anguish, his lofty figure bowed by his long warfare, his +soul burning and sickening by turns, with hatred and rebellion, with +desolation and despair. + +He went home and made his will; for he felt life hang on him like lead, +and that any moment he might kill himself to be rid of it. Strange to +say, he left a sum of money to Edward Dodd. A moment before, he didn't +know he was going to do it: a moment after, he was half surprised he had +done it, and minded to undo it; but would not take the trouble. He went +up to London, and dashed into speculation as some in their despair take +to drink. For this man had but two passions; avarice, and his love for +his daughter. Bereaved of her, he must either die, or live for gain. He +sought the very cave of Mammon; he plunged into the Stock Exchange. + + +When Mr. Hardie said, “Alfred can't come, it seems,” Mrs. Dodd +misunderstood him, naturally enough. She thought the heartless young man +had sent some excuse: had chosen to let his sister die neglected rather +than face Julia: “As if she would leave her own room while _he_ was in +my house,” said Mrs. Dodd, with sovereign contempt. From this moment +she conceived a horror of the young man. Edward shared it fully, and the +pair always spoke of him under the title of “the Wretch:” this was when +Julia was not by. In her presence he was never mentioned. By this means +she would in time forget him, or else see him as they saw him. + +And as, after all, they knew little to Mr. Hardie's disadvantage, except +what had come out of “the Wretch's” mouth, and as moreover their hearts +were softened towards the father by his bereavement, and their sight of +his misery, and also by his grateful words, they quite acquitted him of +having robbed them, and felt sure the fourteen thousand pounds was at +the bottom of the sea. + +They were a little surprised that Mr. Hardie never spoke nor wrote to +them again; but being high-minded and sweet tempered, they set it down +to all-absorbing grief, and would not feel sore about it. + +And now they must leave the little villa where they had been so happy +and so unhappy. + +The scanty furniture went first; Mrs. Dodd followed, and arranged it +in their apartments. Julia would stay behind to comfort Edward, +inconsolable herself. The auction came off. Most of the things went for +cruelly little money compared to their value: and with the balance the +sad young pair came up to London, and were clasped in their mother's +arms. The tears were in her tender eyes. “It is a poor place to receive +my treasures,” she said: Edward looked round astonished: “It was a poor +place,” said he, “but you have made a little palace of it, somehow or +another.” + +“My children's love can alone do that,” replied Mrs. Dodd, kissing them +both again. + +Next day they consulted together how they were to live. Edward wished to +try and get his father into a public asylum; then his mother would have +a balance to live upon out of her income. But Mrs. Dodd rejected this +proposal with astonishment. In vain Edward cited the _'Tiser_ that +public asylums are patterns of comfort, and cure twice as many patients +as the private ones do. She was deaf alike to the _'Tiser_ and to +statistics. “Do not argue me out of my common sense,” said she. “My +husband, your father, in a public asylum, where anybody can go and stare +at my darling!” + +She then informed them she had written to her Aunt Bazalgette and her +Uncle Fountain, and invited them to contribute something towards David's +maintenance. + +Edward was almost angry at this. “Fancy asking favours of _them,_” said +he. + +“Oh, I must not sacrifice my family to false pride,” said Mrs. Dodd; +“besides they are entitled to know.” + +While waiting for their answers, a word about the parties and their +niece. + +Our Mrs. Dodd, born Lucy Fountain, was left at nineteen to the care +of two guardians: 1, her Uncle Fountain, an old bachelor, who loved +comfort, pedigree, and his own way; 2, her Aunt Bazalgette, who loved +flirting, dressing, and her own way; both charming people, when they got +their own way; verjuice, when they didn't: and, to conclude, egotists +deep as ocean. From guardians they grew match-makers and rivals by +proxy: uncle schemed to graft Lucy on to a stick called Talboys, that +came in with the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, known in pedigrees +as “the Norman Conquest.” Aunt, wife of a merchant of no Descent, +except from a high stool, devoted her to Richard Hardie. An unlooked-for +obstacle encountered both: Lucy was not amorous. She loved these two +egotists and their quadrupeds; but there she stopped dead short. They +persisted; and, while they pulled her to and fro and ruffled her +native calm, David Dodd, first mate of the Something or other East +Indiaman--brown cheek, honest speech, heart of gold--fell deep in love +and worshipped her at a distance. His timidity and social insignificance +made him harmless; so egotist Fountain had him in to dessert to spin +yarns; egotist Bazalgette invited him to her house to flirt with. At +this latter place he found Hardie and Talboys both courting Lucy; this +drove him mad, and in his fury he popped. Lucy declined him _secundum +artem:_ he went away blessing her, with a manly sob or two. Lucy cried +a little and took a feminine spite against his rivals, who remained to +pester her. Now Talboys, spurred by uncle, had often all but popped; +only some let, hindrance, or just impediment had still interposed: once +her pony kept prancing at each effort he made towards Hymen; they do say +the subtle virgin kept probing the brute with a hair pin, and made him +caracole and spill the treacle as fast as it came her way. However, +now Talboys elected to pop by sea. It was the element his ancestors had +invaded fair England by; and on its tranquil bosom a lover is safe from +prancing steeds, and the myriad anti-pops of _terra firma._ Miss Lucy +consented to the water excursion demurely, designing to bring her sickly +wooer to the point and so get rid of him for ever and ever. Plot and +counter-plot were baffled by the elements: there came an anti-pop out +of the south-west called a gale. Talboys boated so skilfully that he and +his intended would have been united without ceremony by Father Nep, at +the bottom of the British Channel, but for David Dodd, who was hovering +near in jealous anguish and a cutter. He saved them both, but in the +doing of it missed his ship, and professional ruin faced him. Then +good-hearted Lucy was miserable, and appealed to Mr. Bazalgette, and he +managed somehow to get David made captain of the _Rajah._ The poor girl +thought she had squared the account with David; but he refused the ship +unless she would go halves, and while her egotists bullied and vexed +her, he wrought so upon her pity, and teased her so, that to get rid +of his importunity she married him. In time she learned to love him ten +times better than if she had begun all flames. Uncle and aunt cut +her tolerably dead for some years. Uncle came round the first; some +antiquarian showed him that Dodd was a much more ancient family +than Talboys. “Why, sir, they were lords of sixteen manors under the +Heptarchy, and hold some of them to this day.” Mrs. Bazalgette, too, had +long corresponded with her periodically, and on friendly terms. + + +The answers came on the same day, curiously enough. Uncle Fountain, +ruined by railway speculation, was living on an allowance from +creditors; but his house was at their service, if they liked to live +with him--and board themselves. + +Mrs. Bazalgette's was the letter of a smooth woman, who has hoarded +imperishable spite. She reminded her niece after all these years, that +her marriage with David was an act of disobedience and ingratitude. She +then enumerated her own heavy expenses, all but the L. 400 a year she +spent in bedizening her carcass, and finally, amidst a multitude of +petty insults, she offered to relieve Mrs. Dodd of--Julia. Now Poetry +has reconciled us to an asp in a basket of figs; but here was a scorpion +in a bundle of nettles. Poor Mrs. Dodd could not speak after reading +it. She handed it to Edward, and laid her white forehead wearily in her +hand. Edward put the letter in an envelope and sent it back with a line +in his own hand declining all further correspondence with the writer. + +“Now then, ladies,” said he, “don't you be cast down. Let this be a +warning to us, never to ask favours of anybody. Let us look the thing in +the face; we must work or starve: and all the better for us. Hard work +suits heavy hearts. Come, have you any plan?” + +“To be sure we have,” said Julia eagerly. “I mean to go for a governess, +and then I shall cost mamma nothing, and besides I can send her the +money the people give me.” + +“A pretty plan!” said Edward sadly; “what! we three part company? Don't +you feel lonely enough without that? I do then. How can we bear our +burdens at all, if we are not to be all together to cheer one another +along the weary road? What! are we to break up? Is it not enough to be +bereaved?” + +He could say no more for the emotion his own words caused him; thinking +of Jane, he broke down altogether, and ran out of the room. + +However, he came back in an hour with his eyes red, but his heart +indomitable; determined to play a man's part for all their sakes. “You +ladies,” said he, with something of his old genial way, that sounded +so strange to one looking at his red eyes, and inspired a desire to hug +him, “are full of talent, but empty of invention. The moment you are +ruined or that sort of thing, it is, _go_ for a governess, _go_ for a +companion, _go_ here, _go_ there, in search of what? Independence? No; +dependence. Besides all this _going_ is bosh. Families are strong if +they stick together, and if they go to pieces they are weak. I learned +one bit of sense out of that mass of folly they call antiquity; and that +was the story of the old bloke with his twelve sons, and fagot to match. +'Break 'em apart,' he said, and each son broke his stick as easy as +shelling peas. 'Now break the twelve all tied together:' devil a bit +could the duffers break it then. Now we are not twelve, we are but +three: easy to break one or two of us apart, but not the lot together. +No; nothing but death shall break this fagot, for nothing less shall +part us three.” + +He stood like a colossus, and held out his hand to them; they clung +round his neck in a moment, as if to illustrate his words; clung tight, +and blessed him for standing so firm and forbidding them to part. + +Mrs. Dodd sighed, after the first burst of enthusiastic affection, and +said: “If he would only go a step further and tell us what to do in +company.” + +“Ay, there it is,” said Julia. “Begin with me. What can I do?” + +“Why, paint.” + +“What, to sell? Oh dear, my daubs are not good enough for that.” + +“Stuff! Nothing is too bad to _sell._” + +“I really think you might,” said Mrs. Dodd, “and I will help you.” + +“No, no, mamma, I want you for something better than the fine arts. +You must go in one of the great grooves: Female vanity: you must be a +dressmaker; you are a genius at it.” + +“My mamma a dressmaker,” cried Julia; “oh Edward, how can you. How dare +you. Poor, poor mamma!” + +“Do not be so impetuous, dear. I think he is right: yes, it is all I am +fit for. If ever there was a Heaven-born dressmaker, it's me.” + +“As for myself,” said Edward, “I shall look out for some business in +which physical strength goes further than intellectual attainments. +Luckily there are plenty such. Breaking stones is one. But I shall try a +few others first.” + +It is easy to settle on a business, hard to get a footing in one. Edward +convinced that the dressmaking was their best card, searched that mine +of various knowledge, the _'Tiser,_ for an opening: but none came. At +last one of those great miscellaneous houses in the City advertised +for a lady to cut cloaks. He proposed to his mother to go with him. She +shrank from encountering strangers. No, she would go to a fashionable +dressmaker she had employed some years, and ask her advice. Perhaps +Madame Blanch would find her something to do. “I have more faith in the +_'Tiser,_” said Edward, clinging to his idol. + +Mrs. Dodd found Madame Blanch occupied in trying to suit one of those +heart-breaking idiots, to whom dress is the one great thing, and all +things else, sin included, the little ones. She had tried on a scarf +three times; and it discontented her when on, and spoilt all else when +off. Mrs. Dodd saw, and said obligingly, “Perhaps were I to put it on, +you could better judge.” Mrs. Dodd, you must know, had an admirable art +of putting on a shawl or scarf. With apparent _nonchalance_ she settled +the scarf on her shapely shoulders so happily that the fish bit, and the +scarf went into its carriage; forty guineas, or so. Madame cast a rapid +but ardent glance of gratitude Dodd-wards. The customer began to go, and +after fidgeting to the door and back for twenty minutes actually went +somehow. Then madame turned round, and said, “I'm sure, ma'am, I am much +obliged to you; you sold me the scarf: and it is a pity we couldn't put +her on your bust and shoulders, ma'am, then perhaps a scarf might please +her. What can I do for you, ma'am?” + +Mrs. Dodd blushed, and with subdued agitation told Madame Blanch that +this time she was come not to purchase but to ask a favour. Misfortune +was heavy on her; and, though not penniless, she was so reduced by her +husband's illness and the loss of L. 14,000 by shipwreck, that she must +employ what little talents she had to support her family. + +The woman explored her from head to foot to find the change of fortune +in some corner of her raiment: but her customer was as well, though +plainly dressed as ever, and still looked an easy-going duchess. + +“Could Madame Blanch find her employment in her own line? What talent I +have,” said Mrs. Dodd humbly, “lies in that way. I could not cut as +well as yourself, of course; but I think I can as well as some of your +people.” + +“That I'll be bound you can,” said Madame Blanch drily. “But dear, dear, +to think of your having come down so. Have a glass of wine to cheer you +a bit; do now, that is a good soul.” + +“Oh no, madam. I thank you; but wine cannot cheer me: a little bit of +good news to take back to my anxious children, that would cheer me, +madam. _Will_ you be so good?” + +The dressmaker coloured and hesitated; she felt the fascination of +Dignity donning Humility, and speaking Music: but she resisted. “It +won't do, at least here. I shouldn't be mistress in my own place. I +couldn't drive you like I am forced to do the rest; and, then, I should +be sure to favour you, being a real lady, which is my taste, and you +always will be, rich or poor; and then all my ladies would be on the +bile with jealousy.” + +“Ah, madam,” sighed Mrs. Dodd, “you treat me like a child; you give me +sweetmeats, and refuse me food for my family.” + +“No, no,” said the woman hastily, “I don't say I mightn't send you out +some work to do at home.” + +“Oh, thank you, madam.” _N.B._ The dressmaker had dropped the Madam, so +the lady used it now at every word. + +“Now stop a bit,” said Madame Blanch. “I know a firm that's in want. +Theirs is easy work by mine, and they cut up a piece of stuff every two +or three days.” She then wrote on one of her own cards, Messrs. Cross, +Fitchett, Copland, and Tylee, 11, 12, 13, and 14, Primrose Lane, City. +“Say, I recommend you. To tell the truth, an old hand of my own was to +come here this very morning about it, but she hasn't kept her time; so +this will learn her business doesn't stand still for lie-a-beds to catch +it.” + +Mrs. Dodd put the card in her bosom and pressed the hand extended to her +by Madame Zaire Blanch; whose name was Sally White, spinster. She went +back to her children and showed them the card, and sank gracefully into +a chair, exhausted as much by the agitation of asking favours as by +the walk. “Cross, Fitchett, Copland? Why they were in the _'Tiser_ +yesterday,” said Edward: “look at this; a day lost by being wiser than +the _'Tiser._” + +“I'll waste no more then,” said Mrs. Dodd, rising quietly from the +chair. They begged her to rest herself first. No, she would not. “I saw +this lost by half an hour,” said she. “Succeed or fail, I will have no +remissness to reproach myself with.” And she glided off in her quiet +way, to encounter Cross, Fitchett, Copland and Tylee, in the lane where +a primrose was caught growing--six hundred years ago. She declined +Edward's company rather peremptorily. “Stay and comfort your sister,” + said she. But that was a blind; the truth was, she could not bear her +children to mingle in what she was doing. No, her ambition was to ply +the scissors and thimble vigorously, and so enable them to be ladies and +gentlemen at large. She being gone, Julia made a parcel of water-colour +drawings, and sallied forth all on fire to sell them. But, while she was +dressing, Edward started on a cruise in search of employment. He failed +entirely. They met in the evening, Mrs. Dodd resigned, Edward dogged, +Julia rather excited. “Now, let us tell our adventures,” she said. “As +for me, shop after shop declined my poor sketches. They all wanted +something about as good, only a little different: nobody complained +of the grand fault, and that is, their utter badness. At last, one old +gentleman examined them, and oh! he was so fat; there, round. And he +twisted his mouth so” (imitating him) “and squinted into them so. Then +I was full of hope; and said to myself; 'Dear mamma and Edward!' And +so, when he ended by saying, 'No,' like all the rest, I burst out crying +like a goose. + +“My poor girl,” cried Mrs. Dodd, with tears in her own eyes, “why expose +yourself to these cruel rebuffs?” + +“Oh, don't waste your pity, mamma; those great babyish tears were a +happy thought of mine. He bought two directly to pacify me; and there's +the money. Thirty shillings!” And she laid it proudly on the table. + +“The old cheat,” said Edward; “they were worth two guineas apiece, I +know.” + +“Not they; or why would not anybody else give twopence for them?” + +“Because pictures are a drug.” + +He added that even talent was not saleable unless it got into the Great +Grooves; and then looked at Mrs. Dodd, she replied that unfortunately +those Grooves were not always accessible. The City firm had received her +stiffly, and inquired for whom she had worked. “Children, my heart +fell at that question. I was obliged to own myself an amateur and beg a +trial. However, I gave Madame Blanch's card: but Mr.--I don't know which +partner it was--said he was not acquainted with her: then he looked a +little embarrassed, I thought, and said the Firm did not care to send +its stuff to ladies not in the business. I might cut it to waste, or--he +said no more; but I do really think he meant I might purloin it.” + +“Why wasn't I there to look him into the earth? Oh, mamma, that you +should be subjected to all this!” + +“Be quiet, child; I had only to put on my armour; and do you know what +my armour is? Thinking of my children. So I put on my armour, and said +quietly, we were not so poor but we could pay for a piece of cloth +should I be so unfortunate as to spoil it; and I offered in plain terms +to deposit the price as security. But he turned as stiff at that as his +yard measure; 'that was not Cross and Co.'s way of doing business,' he +said. But it is unreasonable to be dejected at a repulse or two; and I +am not out of spirits; not much:” with this her gentle mouth smiled; and +her patient eyes were moist. + +The next day, just after breakfast, was announced a gentleman from +the City. He made his bow and produced a parcel, which proved to be a +pattern cloak. “Order, ladies,” said he briskly, “from Cross, Fitchett, +and Co., Primrose Lane. Porter outside with the piece. You can come in, +sir.” Porter entered with a bale. “Please sign this, ma'am.” Mrs. Dodd +signed a receipt for the stuff, with an undertaking to deliver it in +cloaks, at 11 Primrose Lane, in such a time. Porter retreated. The other +said, “Our Mr. Fitchett wishes you to observe this fall in the pattern. +It is new.” + +“I will, sir. Am I to trouble you with any money--by way of deposit, +sir?” + +“No orders about it, ma'am. Ladies, your most obedient. Good morning, +sir.” + +And he was away. + +All this seemed like a click or two of City clock-work: followed by +rural silence. Yet in that minute Commerce had walked in upon genteel +poverty, and left honest labour and modest income behind her. + +Great was the thankfulness, strange and new the excitement. Edward was +employed to set up a very long deal table for his mother to work on, +Julia to go and buy tailors' scissors. Calculations were made how to cut +the stuff to advantage, and in due course the heavy scissors were heard +snick, snick, snicking all day long. + + +Julia painted zealously, and Edward, without saying a word to them, +walked twenty miles a day hunting for a guinea a week; and finding it +not. Not but what employment was often bobbed before his eyes: but there +was no grasping it. At last he heard of a place peculiarly suited to +him; a packing foreman's in a warehouse at Southwark; he went there, and +was referred to Mr. A.'s private house. Mr. A. was in the country for +a day. Try Mr. B. Mr. B. was dining with the Lord Mayor. Returning +belated, he fell in with a fire; and, sad to say, life was in jeopardy: +a little old man had run out at the first alarm, when there was no +danger, and, as soon as the fire was hot, had run in again for his +stockings, or some such treasure. Fire does put out some people's +reason; clean. While he was rummaging madly, the staircase caught, +and the smoke cut off his second exit, and drove him up to a little +staircase window at the side of the house. Here he stood, hose in hand, +scorching behind and screeching in front. A ladder had been brought: but +it was a yard short: and the poor old man danced on the window-ledge and +dare not come down to a gallant fireman who stood ready to receive him +at great personal peril. In the midst of shrieks and cries and shouts of +encouragement, Edward, a practised gymnast, saw a chance. He ran up the +ladder like a cat, begged the fireman to clasp it tight; then got on his +shoulders and managed to grasp the window-sill. He could always draw +his own weight up by his hands: so he soon had his knee on the sill, +and presently stood erect. He then put his left arm inside the window, +collared the old fellow with his right, and, half persuasion, half +force, actually lowered him to the ladder with one Herculean arm amidst +a roar that made the Borough ring. Such a strain could not long be +endured; but the fireman speedily relieved him by seizing the old +fellow's feet and directing them on to the ladder, and so, propping him +by the waist, went down before him, and landed him safe. Edward waited +till they were down: then begged them to hold the ladder tight below; +he hung from the ledge, got his eye well on the ladder below him, let +himself quietly drop, and caught hold of it with hands of iron, and +twisting round, came down the ladder on the inside hand over head +without using his feet, a favourite gymnastic exercise of his learnt +at the Modern Athens. He was warmly received by the crowd and by the +firemen. “You should be one of us, sir,” said a fine young fellow who +had cheered him and advised him all through. “I wish to Heaven I was,” + said Edward. The other thought he was joking, but laughed and said, +“Then you should talk to our head man after the business; there is a +vacancy, you know.” + +Edward saw the fire out, and rode home on the engine. There he applied +to the head man for the vacancy. + +“You are a stranger to me, sir,” said the head man. “And I am sure it is +no place for you; you are a gentleman.” + +“Well; is there anything ungentlemanly in saving people's lives and +property?” + +“Hear! hear!” said a comic fireman. + +The compliment began to tell, though. Others put in their word. “Why, +Mr. Baldwin, if a gentleman ain't ashamed of us, why should we be +ashamed of him?” + +“Where will ye get a better?” asked another; and added, “He is no +stranger; we've seen him work.” + +“Stop a bit,” said the comic fireman: “what does the dog say? Just call +him, sir, if you please; his name is Charlie.” + +Edward called the fire-dog kindly; he came and fawned on him; then +gravely snuffed him all round, and retired wagging his tail gently, as +much as to say, “I was rather taken by surprise at first, but, on the +whole, I see no reason to recall my judgment.” + +“It is all right,” said the firemen in chorus; and one that had not +yet spoken to Edward now whispered him mysteriously, “Ye see that there +dog--he knows more than we do.” + +After the dog, a biped oracle at head-quarters was communicated with, +and late that very night Edward was actually enrolled a fireman; and +went home warmer at heart than he had been for some time. They were all +in bed; and when he came down in the morning, Julia was reading out +of the _'Tiser_ a spirited and magniloquent description of a fire in +Southwark, and of the heroism displayed by a young gentleman unknown, +but whose name the writer hoped at so much the line would never be +allowed to pass into oblivion, and be forgotten. In short, the _'Tiser_ +paid him in one column, for years of devotion. Now Edward, of +course, was going to relate his adventure; but the journal told it +so gloriously, he hesitated to say, “I did all that.” He just sat and +stared, and wondered, and blushed, and grinned like an imbecile. + +Unfortunately looks seldom escaped the Doddesses. “What is that for?” + inquired Julia reproachfully. “Is that sheepish face the thing to wear +when a sister is reading out an heroic action? Ah, these are the things +that make one long to be a man, to do them. What are you thinking about, +dear?” + +“Well, I am thinking the _'Tiser_ is pitching it rather strong.” + +“My love, what an expression!” + +“Well, then, to be honest, I agree with you that it is a jolly thing to +fight with fire and save men's lives; and I am glad you see it in that +light; for now you will approve the step I have taken. Ladies, I have +put myself in the way of doing this sort of thing every week of my life. +I'm a fireman.” + +“You are jesting, I trust?” said Mrs. Dodd anxiously. + +“No, mamma. I got the place late last night, and I'm to enter on my +duties and put on the livery next Monday. Hurrah!” + +Instantly the admirers of fiery heroes at a distance overflowed with +grief and mortification at the prospect of one in their own family. They +could not speak at all at first: and, when they did, it was only “Cruel! +cruel!” from Julia; and “Our humiliation is now complete,” from Mrs. +Dodd. + +They soon dashed Edward's spirits, and made him unhappy; but they +could not convince him he had done wrong. However, in the heat of +remonstrance, they let out at last that they had just begun to hope by +dint of scissors and paint-brush to send him back to Oxford. He also +detected, under a cloud of tender, loving, soothing, coaxing and +equivocating expressions, their idea of a Man: to wit, a tall, strong, +ornamental creature, whom the women were to cocker up, and pet, and +slave for; and be rewarded by basking, dead tired, in an imperial smile +or two let fall by their sovereign _protege_ from his arm-chair. And, in +fact, good women have often demoralised their idols down to the dirt by +this process; to be sure their idols were sorryish clay, to begin. + +Edward was anything but flowery, so he paraded no manly sentiments in +reply; he just bluntly ridiculed the idea of his consenting to prey +on them; and he said humbly, “I know I can't contribute as much to +our living as you two can--the petticoats carry the brains in our +family--but, be a burden to you? Not if I know it.” + +“Pride! pride! pride!” objected Julia, lifting her grand violet orbs +like a pensive Madonna. + +“And such pride! The pride that falls into a fire-bucket,” suggested +prosaic mamma. + +“That is cutting,” said Edward: “but, _soyons de notre siecle;_ +flunkeyism is on the decline. I'll give you something to put in both +your pipes: + + 'Honour and rank from no condition rise. + Act well thy part; in that the honour lies.'” + +“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Dodd, “only first choose your part; and let your +choice be reasonable.” + +“Mine was Hobson's, and he never chooses wrong. Come, come,” said +he, and appealed calmly to their reason, by which means he made +no impression at all. Then he happened to say, “Besides, I must do +something. I own to you I am more cast down than I choose to show. +Mother, I feel like lead ever since she died.” Now on this, their faces +filled with sympathy directly. So encouraged he went on to say: “But +when I got my hand on that old duffer's collar, and lowered him to the +ladder, and the fire shot roaring out of the window after him, too late +to eat him, and the crowd cheered the fireman and me, I did feel warm +about the waistcoat, and, for the first time this ever so long, life +seemed not quite ended. I felt there was a little bit of good left, that +even a poor dunce like me could do, and she could approve--if she can +look down and see me, as I hope she can.” + +“There, there,” said Mrs. Dodd tearfully, “I am disarmed, But, my +darling, I do not know what you are talking about: Stay; why, Edward, +surely--I hope--you were not the young gentleman in the paper, the one +that risked his life so nobly, so foolishly--if it was you. + +“Why, mother, didn't I tell you it was me?” said Edward, colouring. + +“No, that you did not,” said Julia. “Was it? was it? oh do be quick and +tell one. There, it was.” + +“Well, it was: ah, I remember now; that splendiferous account shut me +up. Oh, I say, didn't the _'Tiser_ pitch it strong?” + +“Not at all,” cried Julia; “I believe every word, and ever so much more. +Mamma, we have got a hero, and here he is at breakfast with us, like +an ordinary mortal.” She rose suddenly with a burst of her old fire and +fell upon him and kissed him, and said earnestly how proud she was of +him; “And so is mamma. She may say what she likes.” + +“Proud of him! ah, that I am; very proud, and very unhappy. _Heroes are +my horror._ How often, and how earnestly have I prayed that my son might +not be brave like his father, but stay quietly at home out of harm's +way.” + +Here remonstrance ended; the members of this family, happy by nature, +though unhappy by accident, all knew when to yield to each other. + + +Unfortunately, in proportion as all these excitements great and small +died, and her life became quiet and uniform, the depth of Julia's wound +showed itself more and more. She never sang nor hummed, as she used to +do, going about the house. She never laughed. She did burst out with +fervid sentiments now and then, but very rarely; on the whole, a pensive +languor took the place of her lovely impetuosity. Tears rushed in a +moment to her eyes with no visible cause. She often stole to the window, +and looked all up and down the street; and when she was out of doors, +she looked down every side street she passed; and sometimes, when a +quick light step came behind them, or she saw a tall young gentleman at +a great distance, her hand twitched her mother's arm or trembled on it. +And, always, when they came home, she lingered a moment at the door-step +and looked all round before she went in. + +At all these signs one half of Mrs. Dodd's heart used to boil with +indignation, and the other half melt with pity. For she saw her daughter +was looking for “the Wretch.” Indeed Mrs. Dodd began to fear she had +done unwisely in ignoring “the Wretch.” Julia's thoughts dwelt on +him none the less; indeed all the more as it seemed; so the topic +interdicted by tacit consent bade fair to become a barrier between her +and Mrs. Dodd, hitherto her bosom friend as well as her mother. This +was intolerable to poor Mrs. Dodd: and at last she said one day, “My +darling, do not be afraid of me; rob me of your happy thoughts if you +will, but oh, not of your sad ones.” + +Julia began to cry directly. “Oh no, mamma,” she sobbed, “do not you +encourage me in my folly. I know I have thrown away my affections on one +who----I shall never see him again: shall I, mamma? Oh, to think I can +say those words, and yet go living on.” + +Mrs. Dodd sighed. “And if you saw him, would that mend the chain he has +chosen to break?” + +“I don't know; but if I could only see him to part friends! It is cruel +to hate him now he has lost his sister; and then I have got her message +to give him. And I want to ask him why he was afraid of me: why he could +not tell me he had altered his mind: did he think I wanted to have him +against his will? Oh, mamma,” said she imploringly, “he seemed to love +me; he seemed all truth. I am a poor unfortunate girl.” + +Mrs. Dodd had only caresses to soothe her with. She could not hold out +any hopes. + +One day Julia asked her timidly if she might be a district visitor: “My +dear friend was, and advised me to be one too; but I was wilful in those +days and chose to visit by fits and starts, and be independent. I am +humbled now a little: may I, mamma? Since she died every word of hers +seems a law to me.” + +Mrs. Dodd assented cordially; as she would to anything else her wounded +one had proposed. + +This project brought Julia into communication with the new curate; and +who should it prove to be but Mr. Hurd? At sight of him she turned white +and red, and the whole scene in the church came back to her. But Mr. +Hurd showed considerable tact for so young a man; he spoke to her in +accents of deep respect, but confined his remarks strictly to the +matter in hand. She told her mother when she got home; and expressed her +gratitude to Mr. Hurd, but said she wished they did not live in the +same parish with him. This feeling, however, wore off by degrees, as her +self-imposed duties brought her more and more into contact with him, and +showed her his good qualities. + +As for Mr. Hurd, he saw and understood her vivid emotion at sight of +him; saw and pitied; not without wonder that so beautiful a creature +should have been jilted. And from the first he marked his sense of +Alfred's conduct by showing her a profound and chivalrous respect which +he did not bestow on other young ladies in his parish; on the contrary, +he rather received homage from them than bestowed it. By-and-bye he saw +Julia suppress if not hide her own sorrow, and go sore-hearted day by +day to comfort the poor and afflicted: he admired and almost venerated +her for this. He called often on Mrs. Dodd, and was welcome. She +concealed her address for the present from all her friends except Dr. +Sampson; but Mr. Hurd had discovered her, and ladies do not snub the +clergy. Moreover, Mr. Hurd was a gentleman, and inclined to High Church. +This she liked. He was very good-looking too, and quiet in his manners. +Above all, he seemed to be doing her daughter good; for Julia and Mr. +Hurd had one great sentiment in common. When the intimacy had continued +some time on these easy terms, Mrs. Dodd saw that Mr. Hurd was falling +in love with Julia; and that sort of love warm, but respectful, which +soon leads to marriage, especially when the lover is a clergyman. This +was more than Mrs. Dodd bargained for; she did not want to part with her +daughter, and under other circumstances would have drawn in her horns. +But Mr. Hurd's undisguised homage gratified her maternal heart, coming +so soon after that great insult to her daughter; and then she said to +herself: “At any rate, he will help me cure her of 'the Wretch.'” She +was not easy in her mind, though; could not tell what would come of it +all. So she watched her daughter's pensive face as only mothers watch; +and saw a little of the old peach bloom creeping back. + +That was irresistible: she let things go their own way, and hoped for +the best. + + + + + +CHAPTER XL + +THE tenacity of a private lunatic asylum is unique. A little push behind +your back and you slide into one; but to get out again is to scale a +precipice with crumbling sides. Alfred, luckier than many, had twice +nearly escaped; yet now he was tighter in than ever. His father at first +meant to give him but a year or two of it, and let him out on terms, +his spirit broken and Julia married. But his sister's death was fatal to +him. By Mrs. Hardie's settlement the portion of any child of hers dying +a minor, or intestate and childless, was to go to the other children; so +now the prisoner had inherited his sister's ten thousand pounds, and a +good slice of his bereaved enemy's and father's income. But this doubled +his father's bitterness--that he, the unloved one, should be enriched +by the death of the adored one!--and also tempted his cupidity: and +unfortunately shallow legislation conspired with that temptation. For +when an Englishman, sane or insane, is once pushed behind his back into +a madhouse, those relatives who have hidden him from the public eye, +_i.e.,_ from the eye of justice, can grab hold of his money behind +his back, as they certified away his wits behind his back, and can +administer it in the dark, and embezzle it, chanting “But for us the +'dear deranged' would waste it.” Nor do the monstrous enactments which +confer this unconstitutional power on subjects, and shield its exercise +from the light and safeguard of Publicity, affix any penalty to the +abuse of that power, if by one chance in a thousand detected. In Lunacy +Law extremes of intellect meet; the British senator plays at Satan; and +tempts human frailty and cupidity beyond what they are able to bear. + +So behold a son at twenty-one years of age devoted by a father to +imprisonment for life. But stop a minute; the mad statutes, which by the +threefold temptation of Facility, Obscurity, and Impurity, insure the +occasional incarceration and frequent detention of sane but moneyed men, +do provide, though feebly, for their bare liberation, if perchance +they should not yield to the _genius loci,_ and the natural effect of +confinement plus anguish, by going mad or dying. The Commissioners of +Lunacy had power to liberate Alfred in spite of his relations. And that +power, you know, he had soberly but earnestly implored them to exercise. + +After a delay that seemed as strange to him as postponing a hand to +a drowning man, he received an official letter from Whitehall. With +bounding heart he broke the seal, and devoured the contents. They ran +thus-- + + +“Sir,--By order of the Commissioners of Lunacy, I am directed to inform +you that they are in the receipt of your letter of the 29th ultimo, +which will be laid before the Board at their next meeting.--I am, &c.” + + +Alfred was bitterly disappointed at the small advance he had made. +However, it was a great point to learn that his letters were allowed to +go to the Commissioners at all, and would be attended to by degrees. + +He waited and waited, and struggled hard to possess his soul in +patience. At times his brain throbbed and his blood boiled, and he +longed to kill the remorseless, kinless monsters who robbed him of his +liberty, his rights as a man, and his Julia. But he knew this would +not do; that what they wanted was to gnaw his reason away, and then who +could disprove that he had always been mad? Now he felt that brooding +on his wrong would infuriate him; so he clenched his teeth, and vowed a +solemn vow that nothing should drive him mad. By advice of a patient +he wrote again to the Commissioners begging for a special Commission to +inquire into his case; and, this done, with rare stoicism, self-defence, +and wisdom in one so young, he actually sat down to read hard for +his first class. Now, to do this, he wanted the Ethics, Politics, and +Rhetoric of Aristotle, certain dialogues of Plato, the Comedies of +Aristophanes, the first-class Historians, Demosthenes, Lucretius, a +Greek Testament, Wheeler's Analysis, Prideaux, Horne, and several +books of reference sacred and profane. But he could not get these books +without Dr. Wycherley, and unfortunately he had cut that worthy dead in +his own asylum. + +“The Scornful Dog” had to eat wormwood pudding and humble pie. He +gulped these delicacies as he might; and Dr. Wycherley showed excellent +qualities; he entered into his maniac's studies with singular alacrity, +supplied him with several classics from his own shelves, and borrowed +the rest at the London Library. Nor did his zeal stop there; he offered +to read an hour a day with him; and owned it would afford him the +keenest gratification to turn out an Oxford first classman from his +asylum. This remark puzzled Alfred and set him thinking; it bore a +subtle family resemblance to the observations he heard every day from +the patients; it was so one-eyed. + +Soon Alfred became the doctor's pet maniac. They were often closeted +together in high discourse, and indeed discussed Psychology, +Metaphysics, and Moral Philosophy with indefatigable zest, long after +common sense would have packed them both off to bed, the donkeys. In +fact, they got so thick that Alfred thought it only fair to say one day, +“Mind, doctor, all these pleasant fruitful hours we spend together so +sweetly will not prevent my indicting you for a conspiracy as soon as I +get out: it will rob the retribution of half its relish, though.” + +“Ah, my dear young friend and fellow-student,” said the doctor blandly, +“let us not sacrifice the delights of our profitable occupation of +imbibing the sweets of intellectual intercourse to vague speculations +as to our future destiny. During the course of a long and not, I trust, +altogether unprofitable career, it has not unfrequently been my lot to +find myself on the verge of being indicted, sued, assassinated, hung. +Yet here I sit, as yet unimmolated on the altar of phrenetic vengeance. +This is ascribable to the fact that my friends and pupils always adopt a +more favourable opinion of me long before I part with them; and ere +many days (and this I divine by infallible indicia), _your_ cure will +commence in earnest; and in proportion as you progress to perfect +restoration of the powers of judgment, you will grow in suspicion of +the fact of being under a delusion; or rather I should say a very slight +perversion and perturbation of the forces of your admirable intellect, +and a proper subject for temporary seclusion. Indeed this consciousness +of insanity is the one diagnostic of sanity that never deceives me and, +on the other hand, an obstinate persistence in the hypothesis of perfect +rationality demonstrates the fact that insanity yet lingers in the +convolutions and recesses of the brain, and that it would not be humane +as yet to cast the patient on a world in which he would inevitably be +taken some ungenerous advantage of.” + +Alfred ventured to inquire whether this was not rather paradoxical. + +“Certainly,” said the ready doctor; “and paradoxicality is an indicial +characteristic of truth in all matters beyond the comprehension of the +vulgar.” + +“That _sounds_ rational,” said the maniac very drily. + +One afternoon, grinding hard for his degree, he was invited downstairs +to see two visitors. + +At that word he found out how prison tries the nerves. He trembled with +hope and fear. It was but for a moment: he bathed his face and hands +to compose himself; made his toilet carefully, and went into the +drawing-room, all on his guard. There he found Dr. Wycherley and two +gentlemen; one was an ex-physician, the other an ex-barrister, who had +consented to resign feelessness and brieflessness for a snug L. 1500 +a year at Whitehall. After a momentary greeting they continued the +conversation with Dr. Wycherley, and scarcely noticed Alfred. They +were there _pro forma;_ a plausible lunatic had pestered the Board, and +extorted a visit of ceremony. Alfred's blood boiled, but he knew it must +not boil over. He contrived to throw a short, pertinent remark in every +now and then. This, being done politely, told; and at last Dr. Eskell, +Commissioner of Lunacy, smiled and turned to him: “Allow me to put a few +questions to you.” + +“The more the better, sir,” said Alfred. + +Dr. Eskell then asked him to describe minutely, and in order, all he had +done since seven o'clock that day. And he did it. Examined him in the +multiplication table. And he did it. And, while he was applying these +old-fashioned tests, Wycherley's face wore an expression of pity that +was truly comical. Now this Dr. Eskell had an itch for the classics: so +he went on to say, “You have been a scholar, I hear.” + +“I am not old enough to be a scholar, sir,” said Alfred; “but I am a +student.” + +“Well, well; now can you tell me what follows this line-- + + “Jusque datum sceleri canimus populuinque potentem'?” + +“Why, not at the moment.” + +“Oh, surely you can,” said Dr. Eskell ironically. “It is in a tolerably +well-known passage. Come, try.” + +“Well, I'll _try,_” said Alfred, sneering secretly. “Let me see-- + + 'Mum--mum--mum--populumque potentem, + In sua victrici conversum viscera dextra.'” + +“Quite right; now go on, if you can.” + +Alfred, who was playing with his examiner all this time, pretended +to cudgel his brains, then went on, and warmed involuntarily with the +lines-- + + “Cognatasque acies et rupto foedere regni + Certatum totis concussi viribus orbis + In commune nefas; infestis que obvia signis + Signa, pares aquilas, et pila minantia pilis.” + +“He seems to have a good memory,” said the examiner, rather taken aback. + +“Oh, that is nothing for him,” observed Wycherley; + + “He has Horace all by heart; you'd wonder: + And mouths out Homer's Greek like thunder.” + +The great faculty of Memory thus tested, Dr. Eskell proceeded to a +greater: Judgment. “Spirited lines those, sir.” + +“Yes, sir; but surely rather tumid. 'The whole _forces_ of the shaken +globe?' But little poets love big words.” + +“I see; you agree with Horace, that so great a work as an epic poem +should open modestly with an invocation.” + +“No, sir,” said Alfred. “I think that rather an arbitrary and peevish +canon of friend Horace. The AEneid, you know, begins just as he says an +epic ought not to begin; and the AEneid is the greatest Latin Epic. In +the next place the use of Modesty is to keep a man from writing an epic +poem at all but, if he will have that impudence, why then he had better +have the courage to plunge into the Castalian stream, like Virgil and +Lucan, not crawl in funking and holding on by the Muse's apron-string. +But--excuse me--quorsum haec tam putida tendunt? What have the Latin +poets to do with this modern's sanity or insanity?” + +Mr. Abbott snorted contemptuously in support of the query. But Dr. +Eskell smiled, and said: “Continue to answer me as intelligently, and +you may find it has a great deal to do with it.” + +Alfred took this hint, and said artfully, “Mine was a thoughtless +remark: of course a gentleman of your experience can test the mind on +any subject, however trivial.” He added piteously, “Still, if you would +but leave the poets, who are all half crazy themselves, and examine +me in the philosophers of Antiquity. Surely it would be a higher +criterion.” + +Dr. Wycherley explained in a patronising whisper, “He labours under an +abnormal contempt for poetry, dating from his attack. Previously to that +he actually obtained a prize poem himself.” + +“Well, doctor, and after that am I wrong to despise poetry?” + +They might have comprehended this on paper, but spoken it was too keen +for them all three. The visitors stared. Dr. Wycherley came to their +aid “You might examine my young friend for hours and not detect the one +crevice in the brilliancy of his intellectual armour.” + +The maniac made a face as one that drinketh verjuice suddenly. +“For pity's sake, doctor, don't be so inaccurate. Say a spot on the +brilliancy, or a crevice in the armour; but not a crevice in the +brilliancy. My good friend here, gentlemen, deals in conjectural +certificates and broken metaphors. He dislocates more tropes, to my +sorrow, than even his friend Shakespeare, whom he thinks a greater +philosopher than Aristotle, and who calls the murder of an individual +sleeper the murder of sleep, confounding the concrete with the abstract, +and then talks of taking arms against a sea of troubles; query, a cork +jacket and a flask of brandy?” + +“Well, Mr. Hardie,” said Dr. Eskell, rather feebly, “let me tell you +those passages, which so shock your _peculiar_ notions, are among the +most applauded.” + +“Very likely, sir,” retorted the maniac, whose logic was up; “but +applauded only in a nation where the _floods_ clap their hands every +Sunday morning, and we all pray for peace, giving as our exquisite +reason that we have got the God of hosts on our side in war.” + +Mr. Abbott, the other commissioner, had endured all this chat with an +air of weary indifference. He now said to Dr. Wycherley, “I wish to put +to you a question or two in private.” + +Alfred was horribly frightened: this was the very dodge that had ruined +him at Silverton House. “Oh no, gentlemen,” he cried imploringly. “Let +me have fair play. You have given me no secret audience; then why give +my accuser one? I am charged with a single delusion; for mercy's sake, +go to the point at once, and examine me on that head.” + +“Now you talk sense,” said Mr. Abbott; as if the previous topics had +been chosen by Alfred. + +“But that will excite him,” objected Dr. Eskell? “it always does excite +them.” + +“It excites the insane, but not the sane,” said Alfred. “So there is +another test; you will observe whether it excites me.” Then, before they +could interrupt him, he glided on. “The supposed hallucination is +this: I strongly suspect my father, a bankrupt--and therefore +dishonest--banker, of having somehow misappropriated a sum of fourteen +thousand pounds, which sum is known to have been brought from India by +one Captain Dodd, and has disappeared.” + +“Stop a minute,” said Mr. Abbott. “Who knows it besides you?” + +“The whole family of the Dodds. They will show you his letter from +India, announcing his return with the money.” + +“Where do they live?” + +“Albion Villa, Barkington.” + +Mr. Abbott noted the address in his book, and Alfred, mightily cheered +and encouraged by this sensible act, went on to describe the various +indications, which, insufficient singly, had by their united force +driven him to his conclusion. When he described David's appearance and +words on his father's lawn at night, Wycherley interrupted him quietly: +“Are you quite sure this was not a vision, a phantom of the mind heated +by your agitation, and your suspicions?” + +Dr. Eskell nodded assent, knowing nothing about the matter. + +“Pray, doctor, was I the only person who saw this vision?” inquired +Alfred slily. + +“I conclude so,” said Wycherley, with an admirable smile. + +“But why do you conclude so? Because you are one of those who reason in +a circle of assumptions. Now it happens that Captain Dodd was seen and +felt on that occasion by three persons besides myself.” + +“Name them,” said Mr. Abbott sharply. + +“A policeman called Reynolds, another policeman, whose name I don't +know, and Miss Julia Dodd. The policemen helped me lift Captain Dodd +off the grass, sir; Julia met us chose by, and we four carried Dr. +Wycherhey's phantom home together to Albion Villa.” + +Mr. Abbott noted down all the names, and then turned to Dr. Wycherley. +“What do you say to that?” + +“I say it is a very important statement,” said the doctor blandly; “and +that I am sure my young friend would not advance it unless he was firmly +persuaded of its reality.” + +“Much obliged, doctor; and you would not contradict me so rashly in a +matter I know all about and you know nothing about, if it was not your +fixed habit to found facts on theories instead of theories on facts.” + +“There, that is enough,” said Mr. Abbott. “I have brought you both to an +issue at last. I shall send to Barkington, and examine the policemen and +the Dodds.” + +“Oh, thank you, sir,” cried Alfred with emotion. “If you once apply +genuine tests like that to my case, I shall not be long in prison.” + +“Prison?” said Wycherley reproachfully. + +“Have you any complaint, then, to make of your treatment here?” inquired +Dr. Eskell. + +“No, no, sir,” said Alfred warmly. “Dr. Wycherley is the very soul +of humanity. Here are no tortures, no handcuffs nor leg-locks, no +brutality, no insects that murder Sleep--without offence to Logic. In +my last asylum the attendants inflicted violence, here they are only +allowed to endure it. And, gentlemen, I must tell you a noble trait +in my enemy there: nothing can make him angry with madmen; their +lies, their groundless and narrow suspicions of him, their deplorable +ingratitude to him, of which I see examples every day that rile me on +his account; all these things seem to glide off him, baffled by the +infinite kindness of his heart and the incomparable sweetness of his +temper; and he returns the duffers good for evil with scarcely an +effort.” + +At this unexpected tribute the water stood in the doctor's eyes. It +was no more than the truth; but this was the first maniac he had met +intelligent enough to see his good qualities clearly and express them +eloquently. + +“In short,” continued Alfred, “to be happy in his house all a man wants +is to be insane. But, as I am not insane, I am miserable; no convict, no +galley slave is so wretched as I am, gentlemen. And what is my crime?” + +“Well, well,” said Dr. Eskell kindly, “I think it likely you will not be +very long in confinement.” They then civilly dismissed him; and on his +departure asked Dr. Wycherley his candid opinion. Dr. Wycherley said +he was now nearly cured; his ability to discuss his delusion without +excitement was of itself a proof of that. But in another month he would +be better still. The doctor concluded his remarks thus-- + +“However, gentlemen, you have heard him: now judge for yourselves +whether anybody can be as clever as he is, without the presence of more +or less abnormal excitement of the organs of intelligence.” + +It was a bright day for Alfred; he saw he had made an excellent +impression on the Commissioners, and, as luck does not always come +single, after many vain attempts to get a letter posted to Julia, he +found this very afternoon a nurse was going away next day. He offered +her a guinea, and she agreed to post a letter. Oh the hapiness it was +to the poor prisoner to write it, and unburden his heart and tell his +wrongs. He kept his manhood for his enemies; his tears fell on the paper +he sent to his forlorn bride. He had no misgivings of her truth; he +judged her by himself: gave her credit for anxiety, but not for doubt. +He concluded a long, ardent, tender letter by begging her to come +and see him, and, if refused admission, to publish his case in the +newspapers, and employ a lawyer to proceed against all the parties +concerned in his detention. Day after day he waited for an answer to +his letter; none came. Then he began to be sore perplexed, and torn with +agonising doubts. What if her mind was poisoned too! What if she thought +him mad! What if some misfortune had befallen her! What if she had +believed him dead, and her heart had broken! Hitherto he had seen his +own trouble chiefly; but now he began to think day and night on hers; +and though he ground on for his degree not to waste time, and not to be +driven mad, yet it was almost superhuman labour; sighs issued from his +labouring breast while his hard, indomitable brain laboured away, all +uphill, at Aristotle's Divisions and Definitions. + +On the seventh day, the earliest the mad statute allowed, the two +Commissioners returned, and this time Mr. Abbott took the lead, and told +him that the policeman Reynolds had left the force, and the Dodds had +left the town, and were in London, but their address not known. + +At this Alfred was much agitated. She was alive, and perhaps near him. + +“I have heard a good deal of your story,” said Mr. Abbott, “and coupling +it with what we have seen of you, we think your relatives have treated +you, and a young lady of whom everybody speaks with respect--” + +“God bless you for saying that! God bless you!” + +“--treated you both, I say, with needless severity.” + +Dr. Eskell then told him the result of the Special Commission, now +closed. “I believe you to be cured,” said he; “and Mr. Abbott has some +doubts whether you were ever positively insane. We shall lay your case +before the Board at once, and the Board will write to the party who +signed the order, and propose to him to discharge you at once.” + +At this magnificent project Alfred's countenance fell, and he stared +with astonishment. “What! have you not the power to do me justice +without soliciting Injustice to help you?” + +“The Board has the power,” said Dr. Eskell; “but for many reasons they +exercise it with prudence and reserve. Besides, it is only fair to +those who have signed the order, to give them the graceful office of +liberating the patient; it paves the way to reconciliation.” + +Alfred sighed. The Commissioners, to keep up his heart, promised to send +him copies of their correspondence with the person who had signed the +order. “Then,” said Mr. Abbott kindly, “you will see your case is not +being neglected.” + +The following precis, though imperfect, will give some idea of the +correspondence: + +1. The Board wrote to Thomas Hardie, letting him know the result of the +Special Commission, and requesting him to discharge his nephew. + +Thomas quaked. Richard smiled, and advised Thomas to take no notice. By +this a week was gained to Injustice, and lost to Justice. + +2. The Board pointed out Thomas Hardie's inadvertence in not answering +No. 1; enclosed copy of it, and pressed for a reply. + +Thomas quaked, Richard smiled. + +3. Thomas Hardie to the Board. From what he had heard, it would be +premature to discharge Alfred. Should prefer to wait a month or two. + +4. Board to Alfred, conveying this in other terms. + +5. Alfred to Board, warning them against this proposal. To postpone +justice was to refuse justice, certainly for a time, probably for ever. + +6. The Board to Thomas Hardie, suggesting that if not released +immediately Alfred ought to have a trial--_i.e.,_ be allowed to go into +the world with a keeper. + +7. Alfred to the Board, begging that Dr. Sampson, an honest independent +physician, might be allowed to visit him and report to them. + +8. The Board to Alfred, declining this, for the present as unadvisable, +they being in correspondence with the person who had signed the +order--with a view to his liberation. + +9. T. Hardie to the Board, shuffling, and requesting time to make +further inquiries. + +10. The Board, suggesting there should be some reasonable limit to +delay. + +11. T. Hardie, asking for a month to see about it. + +12. The Board, suggesting a week. + +13. Alfred Hardie, asking permission to be visited by a solicitor with a +view to protection of his liberty and property. + +14. The Board, declining this, pending their correspondence with other +parties; but asking him for the names and addresses of all his trustees. + +15. Thomas Hardie, informing the Board he had now learned Alfred had +threatened to kill his father as soon as ever he should get out, and +leaving the Board to discharge him on their own responsibility if they +chose after this warning: but declining peremptorily to do so himself. + +16, 17, 18. The Board, by advice of Mr. Abbott, to Alfred's trustees, +warning them against any alienation of Alfred's money under the notion +that he was legally a lunatic; and saying that a public inquiry appeared +inevitable, owing to Mr. T. Hardie's unwillingness to enter into their +views. + +19. To Alfred, inquiring whether he wished to encounter the expense of +Chancery proceedings to establish his sanity. + +20. Alfred to the Board, imploring them to use their powers and +discharge him without further delay, and assuring them he meditated no +violence on his liberation, but should proceed against all parties under +legal advice. + +21. The Board to T. Hardie, warning him that he must in future pay +Alfred's maintenance in Asylum out of his own pocket, and pressing +him either to discharge the young man, or else to apply to the Lord +Chancellor for a Commission de Lunatico Inquirendo, and enclosing copy +of a letter from Wycherley saying the patient was harmless. + +22. T. Hardie respectfully declining to do either, but reminding the +Commissioners that the matter could be thrown into Chancery without his +consent; only the expense, which would be tremendous, would fall on +the lunatic's estate, which might hereafter be regretted by the party +himself. He concluded by promising to come to town and visit Alfred with +his family physician, and write further in a week. + +Having thus thrown dust in the eyes of the Board, Thomas Hardie and +Richard consulted with a notoriously unscrupulous madhouse keeper in the +suburbs of London, and effected a masterstroke; whereof anon. + +The correspondence had already occupied three months, and kept Alfred in +a fever of the mind; of all the maddening things with which he had been +harassed by the pretended curers of insanity, this tried him hardest. To +see a dozen honest gentlemen wishing to do justice, able to do justice +by one manly stroke of the pen, yet forego their vantage-ground, and +descend to coax an able rogue to do their duty and undo his own interest +and rascality! To see a strong cause turned into a weak one by the +timidity of champions clad by law in complete steel; and a rotten cause, +against which Law and Power, as well as Truth, Justice, and Common +Sense, had now declared, turned into a strong one by the pluck and +cunning of his one unarmed enemy! The ancients feigned that the +ingenious gods tortured Tantalus in hell by ever-present thirst, and +water flowing to just the outside of his lips. A Briton can thirst +for liberty as hard as Tantalus or hunted deer can thirst for cooling +springs and this soul-gnawing correspondence brought liberty, and +citizenhood, and love, and happiness, to the lips of Alfred's burning, +pining, aching heart, again, and again, and again; then carried them +away from him in mockery. Oh, the sickening anguish of Hope deferred, +and deferred: + + “The Hell it is in suing long to bide.” + +But indeed his hopes began to sicken for good when he found that the +Board would not allow any honest independent physician to visit him, or +any solicitor to see him. At first, indeed, they refused it because Mr. +Thomas Hardie was going to let him out: but when T. Hardie would not +move at their request, then on a fresh application they refused it, +giving as their reason that they had already refused it. Yet in so keen +a battle he would not throw away a chance: so he determined to win +Dr. Wycherley altogether by hook or by crook, and get a certificate of +sanity from him. Now a single white lie, he knew would do the trick. +He had only to say that Hamlet was mad. And “Hamlet was mad” is easily +said. + +Dr. Wycherley was a collector of mad people, and collectors are always +amateurs, and very seldom connoisseurs. His turn of mind co-operating +with his interests, led him to put down any man a lunatic, whose +intellect was manifestly superior to his own. Alfred Hardie, and one +or two more contemporaries, had suffered by this humour of the good +doctor's. Nor did the dead escape him entirely. Pascal, according to +Wycherley, was a madman with an illusion about a precipice; John Howard +a moral lunatic in whom the affections were reversed; Saul a moping +maniac with homicidal paroxysms and nocturnal visions; Paul an +incoherent lunatic, who in his writings flies off at a tangent, and +who admits having once been the victim of a photopsic illusion in +broad daylight; Nebuchadnezzar a lycanthropical lunatic; Joan of Arc +a theomaniac; Bobby Burton and Oliver Cromwell melancholy maniacs; +Napoleon an ambitious maniac, in whom the sense of impossibility became +gradually extinguished by visceral and cerebral derangement; Porson +an oinomaniac; Luther a phrenetic patient of the old demoniac breed, +alluded to by Shakespeare: + + “One sees more devils than vast Hell can hold. + That is the madman.” + +But without intending any disrespect to any of these gentlemen, he +assigned the golden crown of Insanity to Hamlet. To be sure, this +character tells his friends in the play he shall _feign_ insanity, and +swears them not to reveal the reason; and after this hint to his friends +and the pit (it is notorious he was not written for readers) he keeps +his word, and does it as cleverly as if his name was David or Brutus +instead of Hamlet; indeed, like Edgar, he rather overdoes it, and so +puzzles his enemies in the play, and certain German criticasters and +English mad doctors in the closet, and does not puzzle his bosom friend +in the play one bit, nor the pit for whom he was created. Add to this +his sensibility, and his kindness to others, and his eloquent grief +at the heart-rending situation which his father's and mother's son was +placed in and had brains to realise, though his psychological critics, +it seems, have not; and add to all that the prodigious extent of his +mind, his keen observation, his deep reflection; his brilliant +fancy, united for once in a way with the great Academic, or judicial, +intellect, that looks down and sees all the sides of everything--and +what can this rare intellectual compound be? Wycherley decided the +question. Hamlet was too much greater in the world of mind than S. T. +Coleridge and his German criticasters; too much higher, deeper, and +broader than Esquirol, Pinel, Sauze, Haslam, Munro, Pagan, Wigan, +Prichard, Romberg, Wycherley, and such small deer, to be anything less +than a madman. + +Now, in their midnight discussions, Dr. Wycherley more than once alluded +to the insanity of Hamlet; and offered proofs. But Alfred declined the +subject as too puerile. “A man must exist before he can be insane,” said +the Oxonian philosopher, severe in youthful gravity. But when he found +that Dr. Wycherley, had he lived in Denmark at the time, would have +conferred cannily with Hamlet's uncle, removed that worthy relative's +disbelief in Hamlet's insanity, and signed the young gentleman away +behind his back into a lunatic asylum, Alfred began to sympathise with +this posthumous victim of Psychological Science. “I believe the bloke +was no madder than I am,” said he. He got the play, studied it afresh, +compared the fiction with the legend, compared Hamlet humbugging his +enemies and their tool, Ophelia, with Hamlet opening his real mind to +himself or his Horatio the very next moment; contrasted the real madness +the author has portrayed in the plays of Hamlet and Lear by the side +of these extravagant imitations, to save, if possible, even dunces, and +dreamers, and criticasters from being taken in by the latter; and at +their next seance pitched into the doctor's pet chimera, and what with +logic, fact, ridicule, and the author's lines, knocked it to atoms. + +Now, in their midnight discussions, Dr. Wycherley had always handled +the question of Alfred Hardie's Sanity or Insanity with a philosophical +coolness the young man admired, and found it hard to emulate; but this +philosophic calmness deserted him the moment Hamlet's insanity was +disputed, and the harder he was pressed the angrier, the louder, the +more confused the Psychological physician became; and presently he got +furious, burst out of the anti-spasmodic or round-about style and called +Alfred a d--d ungrateful, insolent puppy, and went stamping about the +room; and, finally, to the young man's horror, fell down in a fit of an +epileptic character, grinding his teeth and foaming at the mouth. + +Alfred was filled with regret, and, though alarmed, had the presence of +mind not to call for assistance. The fit was a very mild one in reality, +though horrible to look at. The doctor came to, and asked feebly for +wine. Alfred got it him, and the doctor, with a mixture of cunning and +alarm in his eye, said he had fainted away, or nearly. Alfred assented +coaxingly, and looked sheepish. After this he took care never to +libel Hamlet's intellect again by denying his insanity; for he was now +convinced of what he had long half suspected, that the doctor had a bee +in his own bonnet; and Alfred had studied true insanity all this time, +and knew how inhumane it is to oppose a monomaniac's foible; it only +infuriates and worries him. No power can convince him. + + +But now he resolved to play on the doctor's foible. It went against +his conscience; but the temptation was so strong. He came to him with a +hang-dog air. + +“Doctor,” said he, “I have been thinking over your arguments, and I +capitulate. If Hamlet ever existed, he was as mad as a March hare.” And +he blushed at this his first quibble. + +Dr. Wycherley beamed with satisfaction. + +“My young friend, this gives me sincere pleasure; not on my account, but +on your own. There goes one of your illusions then. Now tell me--the L. +4,000! Have you calmly reconsidered that too?” + +Alfred hung his head, and looked guiltier and guiltier. + +“Why,” said he, “that never amounted to anything more than a strong +suspicion. It has long ceased to occupy my mind in excess. However, +should I ever be so fortunate as to recover my liberty, I have no +objection to collect the evidence about it pro and con., and then make +you the judge instead of myself.” This he delivered with an admirable +appearance of indifference. + +“Very well, sir,” said the doctor drily. “Then, now I have a piece of +good news for _you._ + +“Oh, doctor, what is that?” + +“Your cure is complete; that is all! You are now a sane man, as sane as +I am.” + +Alfred was a little disappointed at this piece of news; but recovering +himself, asked him to certify that and let him send the certificate to +the Board. Dr. Wycherley said he would with pleasure. + +“I'll bring it to you when I make my round,” said he. + +Alfred retired triumphant, and went in at Plato with a good heart. + +In about an hour Dr. Wycherley paid him the promised visit. But what may +not an hour bring forth? He came with mortification and regret in his +face to tell Alfred that an order of transfer had been signed by the +proper parties, and counter-signed by two Commissioners, and he was to +go to Dr. Wolf's asylum that day. + +Alfred groaned. “I knew my father would out-wit my feeble friends +somehow or other,” said he. “What is his game! do you know?” + +“I suppose to obtain a delay; and meantime get you into an asylum, where +they will tell the Commissioners you are worse again, and perhaps do +something to make their words good. Dr. Wolf, between ourselves, will +say or do almost anything for money. And his asylum is conducted on the +old system; though he pretends not.” + +“My dear friend,” said Alfred, “will you do me a favour?” + +“How could I deny you anything at this sorrowful moment?” + +“Here is an advertisement I want inserted in the _Morning Advertiser._” + +“Oh, I can't do that, I fear.” + +“Look at it before you break my heart by refusing me.” + +Dr. Wycherley looked at it, and said it was innocent, being +unintelligible: and he would insert it himself. + +“Three insertions, dear doctor,” said Alfred. “Here is the money. + +The doctor then told him sorrowfully he must pack up his things--Dr. +Wolf's keepers were waiting for him. + +The moment of parting came. Then Alfred solemnly forgave Dr. Wycherley +for signing away his wits, and thanked him for all his kindness and +humanity. “We shall never meet again, I fear,” said he; “I feel a weight +of foreboding here about my heart I never felt before; yet my trials +have been many and great. I think the end is at hand.” Dr. Wolf's +keepers received him, and their first act was to handcuff him. The +cold steel struck into him deeper than his wrist, and reminded him of +Silverton Grove; he could not suppress a shudder. The carriage rolled +all through London with him. He saw the Parks with autumn's brown and +golden tints: he saw the people, some rich, some poor, but none of them +prisoners. He saw a little girl all rags. “Oh if I could be as ragged as +you are,” he said, “and free.” + +At last they reached Drayton House--a huge old mansion, fortified into a +jail. His handcuffs were whipped off in the yard. He was ushered into a +large gloomy drawing-room. Dr. Wolf soon came to him, and they measured +each other by the eye like two prize-fighters. Dr. Wolf's eye fell under +Alfred's, and the latter felt he was capable of much foul play. He was +one of the old bull-necked breed: and contained the bull-dog and the +spaniel in his single nature. “I hope you will be comfortable here, +sir,” said he doggedly. + +“I will try, sir.” + +“The first-class patients dine in half an hour.” + +“I will be ready, sir.” + +“Full dress in the evening; there are several ladies.” Alfred assented +by a bow. Dr. Wolf rang a bell, and told a servant to show Mr. Hardie +his room. + +He had just time to make his toilet when the bell rang for dinner. + +As he went down a nurse met him, held up something white to him as she +came, lowered it quickly, and dropped it at his feet in passing. + +It was a billet-doux. + +It was twisted into a pretty shape, scented and addressed to Mr. Hardie, +in a delicate Italian hand, and in that pale ink which seems to reflect +the charming timidity of the fair who use it. + +He wondered; carried it into a recess; then opened it and read it. It +contained but this one line-- + +_“Drink nothing but water at dinner._” + + +These words in that delicate Italian hand sent a chill through Alfred. +What on earth was all this? Was he to be poisoned? Was his life aimed at +now instead of his reason? What was this mysterious drama prepared for +him the very moment he set his foot in the place, perhaps before? A +poisoner, and a friend! Both strangers. He went down to dinner: and +contrived to examine every lady and gentleman at the table. But they +were all strangers. Presently a servant filled his glass with beer; he +looked and saw it was poured from a small jug holding only his portion. +Alfred took his ring off his finger, and holding the glass up dropped +his ring in. + +“What is that for?” inquired one or two. + +“Oh, my ring has a peculiar virtue, it tells me what is good for me. Ah! +what do I see? My ruby changes colour. Fetch me a clean glass.” And +he filled it with water from a caraffe. “No, sir, leave the beer. I'll +analyse it in my room after dinner. I'm a chemist.” + +Dr. Wolf changed colour, and was ill at ease. Here was a bold and ugly +customer. However, he said nothing, and felt sure his morphia could +not be detected in beer by any decomposer but the stomach. Still he was +rather mystified. + +In the evening Alfred came dressed into the drawing-room, and found +several gentlemen and ladies there. One of the ladies seemed to attract +the lion's share of male homage. Her back was turned to Alfred: but it +was a beautiful back, with great magnificent neck and shoulders, and a +skin like satin; she was tall but rounded and symmetrical, had a massive +but long and shapely white arm, and perfect hand: and masses of thick +black hair sat on her grand white poll like a raven on a marble pillar. + +It was not easy to get near her; for the mad gentlemen were fawning on +her all round; like Queen Elizabeth's courtiers. + +However, Dr. Wolf, seeing Alfred standing alone, said, “Let me introduce +you,” and took him round to her. The courtiers fell back a little. The +lady turned her stately head, and her dark eyes ran lightly all over +Alfred in a moment. + +He bowed, and blushed like a girl. She curtseyed composedly and without +a symptom of recognition--deep water runs still--and Dr. Wolf introduced +them ceremoniously. + +“Mr. Hardie--Mrs. Archbold.” + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +ON Alfred's leaving Silverton, Mrs. Archbold was prostrated. It was a +stunning blow to her young passion, and left her weary, desolate. + +But she was too strong to lie helpless under disappointed longings. Two +days she sat stupefied with the heartache; after that she bustled about +her work in a fervour of half-crazy restlessness, and ungovernable +irritability, quenched at times by fits of weeping. As she wept apart, +but raged and tyrannised in public, she soon made Silverton House +Silverton Oven, especially to those who had the luck to be of her sex. +Then Baker timidly remonstrated; at the first word she snapped him up +and said a change would be good for both of them. He apologised; in +vain: that very day she closed by letter with Dr. Wolf, who had often +invited her to be his “Matron.” Her motive, half hidden from herself, +was to be anywhere near her favourite. + +Installed at Drayton House, she waited some days, and coquetted +woman-like with her own desires, then dressed neatly but soberly, and +called at Dr. Wycherley's; sent in a note explaining who she was with a +bit of soft sawder, and asked to see Alfred. + +She was politely but peremptorily refused. She felt this rebuff +bitterly. She went home stung and tingling to the core. But Bitters +wholesome be: offended pride now allied with strong good sense to wither +a wild affection; and, as it was no longer fed by the presence of its +object, her wound healed, all but the occasional dull throbbing that +precedes a perfect cure. + +At this stage of her convalescence Dr. Wolf told her in an off-hand +way that Mr. Hardie, a patient of doubtful insanity, was coming to +his asylum, to be kept there by hook or by crook. (She was entirely in +Wolf's confidence, and he talked of these things to her in English.) +The impenetrable creature assented outwardly, with no sign of emotion +whatever, but one flash of the eye, and one heave of the bosom swiftly +suppressed. She waited calmly and patiently till she was alone; then +yielded to joy and triumph; they seemed to leap inside her. But this +very thing alarmed her. “Better for me never to see him again,” she +thought. “His power over me is too terrible. Ah, good-bye to the peace +and comfort I have been building up! He will scatter them to the winds. +He has.” + +She tried not to think of him too much. And, while she was so +struggling, Wolf let out that Alfred was to have morphia at dinner the +first day--morphia, the accursed drug with which these dark men in these +dark places coax the reason away out of the head by degrees, or with a +potent dose stupefy the victim, then act surprise, alarm; and make his +stupor the ground for applying medical treatment to the doomed wretch. +Edith Archbold knew the game, and at the word morphia, Pity and Passion +rose in her bosom irresistible. She smiled in Dr. Wolf's face, and hated +him; and secretly girt herself up to baffle him, and protect Alfred's +reason, and win his heart through his gratitude. + +She received him as I have related, to throw dust in Dr. Wolf's eyes: +but she acted so admirably that some went into Alfred's. “Ah,” thought +he, “she is angry with herself for her amorous folly; and, with the +justice of her sex, she means to spite poor me for it.” He sighed; +for he felt her hostility would be fatal to him. To give her no fresh +offence, he fell into her manner, and treated her with a world of +distant respect. Then again, who else but she could have warned him +against poison? Then again, if so, why look so cold and stern at him? He +cast one or two wistful glances at her; but the artful woman of thirty +was impenetrable in public to the candid man of twenty-one. Even her +passion could not put them on an equality. + +That night he could not sleep. He lay wondering what would be the next +foul practice, and how he should parry it. + +He wrote next morning to the Commissioners that two of their number, +unacquainted with the previous proceedings of the Board, had been +surprised into endorsing an order of transfer to an asylum bearing +a very inferior character to Dr. Wycherley's; the object of this was +clearly foul play. Accordingly, Dr. Wolf had already tried to poison his +reason, by drugging his beer at dinner. He added that Dr. Wycherley +had now signed a certificate of his sanity, and implored the Board to +inspect it, and discharge him at once, or else let a solicitor visit him +at once, and take the requisite steps towards a public inquiry. + +While waiting anxiously for the answer, it cost him all his philosophy +to keep his heart from eating itself. But he fought the good fight +of Reason; he invited the confidences of the quieter mad people, and +established a little court, and heard their grievances, and by impartial +decisions and good humour won the regard of the moderate patients and +of the attendants, all but three; Rooke, the head keeper, a morose burly +ruffian; Hayes, a bilious subordinate, Rooke's shadow; and Vulcan, a +huge mastiff that would let nobody but Rooke touch him; he was as big +as a large calf, and formidable as a small lion, though nearly toothless +with age. He was let loose in the yard at night, and was an element in +the Restraint system; many a patient would have tried to escape but for +Vulcan. He was also an invaluable howler at night, and so cooperated +with Dr. Wolf's bugs and fleas to avert sleep, that vile foe to insanity +and all our diseases, private asylums included. + +Alfred treated Mrs. Archbold with a distant respect that tried her hard. +But that able woman wore sweetness and unobtrusive kindness, and bided +her time. + +In Drayton House the keeperesses eclipsed the keepers in cruelty to the +poorer patients. No men except Dr. Wolf and his assistant had a pass-key +into their department, so there was nobody they could deceive, nobody +they held worth the trouble. In the absence of male critics they showed +their real selves, and how wise it is to trust that gentle sex in the +dark with irresponsible power over females. With unflagging patience +they applied the hourly torture of petty insolence, needless +humiliation, unreasonable refusals to the poor madwomen; bored them with +the poisoned gimlet, and made their hearts bleeding pin-cushions. But +minute cruelty and wild caprice were not enough for them, though these +never tired nor rested; they must vilify them too with degrading and +savage names. Billingsgate might have gone to school to Drayton House. +_Inter alia,_ they seemed in love with a term that Othello hit upon; +only they used it not once, but fifty times a day, and struck decent +women with it on the face, like a scorpion whip; and then the scalding +tears were sure to run in torrents down their silly, honest, burning +cheeks. But this was not all; they had got a large tank in a flagged +room, nominally for cleanliness and cure, but really for bane and +torture. For the least offence, or out of mere wantonness, they would +drag a patient stark naked across the yard, and thrust her bodily +under water again and again, keeping her down till almost gone with +suffocation, and dismissing her more dead than alive with obscene and +insulting comments ringing in her ears, to get warm again in the cold. +This my ladies called “tanking.” + +In the ordinary morning ablutions they tanked without suffocating. But +the immersion of the whole body in cold water was of itself a severe +trial to those numerous patients in whom the circulation was weak; +and as medical treatment, hurtful and even dangerous. Finally, these +keeperesses, with diabolical insolence and cruelty, would bathe twenty +patients in this tank, and then make them drink that foul water for +their meals. + +“The dark places of the land are full of horrible cruelty.” + +One day they tanked so savagely that Nurse Eliza, after months of sickly +disapproval, came to the new redresser of grievances, and told. + +What was he to do? He seized the only chance of redress; he ran panting +with indignation to Mrs. Archbold, and blushing high, said imploringly, +“Mrs. Archbold, you used to be kindhearted----” and could say no more +for something rising in his throat. + +Mrs. Archbold smiled encouragingly on him, and said softly, “I am the +same I always was--to you Alfred.” + +“Oh, thank you; then pray send for Nurse Eliza, and hear the cruelties +that are being done to the patients within a yard of us.” + +“You had better tell me yourself, if you want me to pay any attention.” + +“I can't. I don't know how to speak to a lady of such things as are done +here. The brutes! the cowardly she-devils! Oh, how I should like to kill +them.” + +Mrs. Archbold laughed a little at his enthusiasm (fancy caring so what +was done to a pack of women), and sent for Nurse Eliza. She came and +being questioned told Mrs. Archbold more than she had Alfred. “And, +ma'am,” said she, whimpering, “they have just been tanking one they +had no business to touch; it is Mrs. Dale, her that is so close on her +confinement. They tanked her cruel they did, and kept her under water +till she was nigh gone. I came away; I couldn't stand it.” + +Alfred was walking about in a fury, and Nurse Eliza, in making this last +revolting communication, lowered her voice for him not to hear, but his +senses were quick. I think he heard, for he turned and came quickly to +them. + +“Mrs. Archbold, you are strong and brave--for a woman; oh, do go in to +them and take them by the throat and shake the life out of them, the +merciless, cowardly beasts! Oh that I could be a woman for an hour, or +they could be men, I'd soon have my foot on some of the wretches.” + +Mrs. Archbold acted Ignition. “Come with me both of you,” she said, and +they were soon in the female department. Up came keeperesses directly, +smirking and curtseying to her, and pretending not to look at Adonis. +“Which of you nurses tanked Mrs. Dale?” said she sternly. + +“'Twasn't I, ma'am, 'twasn't I.” + +“Oh, fie!” said Eliza to one, “you know you were at the head of it.” + +She pointed out two as the leaders. The Archbold instantly had them +seized by the others--who, with treachery equal to their cowardice, +turned eagerly against their fellow-culprits, to make friends with +Power--and, inviting all the sensible maniacs who had been tanked, to +assist or inspect, she bared her own statuesque arms, and, ably aided, +soon plunged the offenders, screaming, crying, and whining, like +spaniel bitches whipped, under the dirty water. They swallowed some, and +appreciated their own acts. Then she forced them to walk twice round +the yard with their wet clothes clinging to them, hooted by the late +victims. + +“There,” said Alfred, “let that teach you men will not own hyaenas in +petticoats for women.” + +Poor Alfred took all the credit of this performance; but in fact, when +the Archbold invited him to bear a hand, he showed the white feather. + +_“I_ won't touch the blackguardesses,” said he, haughtily turning it off +on the score of contempt. _“You_ give it them! Again, again! Brava!” + +Mosaic retribution completed, Mrs. Archbold told the nurses if ever +“tanking recurred she would bundle the whole female staff into the +street, and then have them indicted by the Commissioners.” + +These virtuous acts did Edith Archbold for love for a young man. Whether +mad women or sane, women pregnant, or the reverse, were tanked or not, +she cared at heart no more than whether sheep were washed or no in +Ettrick's distant dale. She was retiring with a tender look at Alfred, +and her pulse secretly unaccelerated by sheep-washing of she-wolves, +when her grateful favourite appealed to her again: + +“Dear Mrs. Archbold, shall we punish and not comfort? This poor Mrs. +Dale!” + +The Archbold could have boxed his ears. “Dear boy,” she murmured +tenderly, “you teach us all our duty.” She visited the tanked one, +found her in a cold room after it, shivering like ague, and her teeth +chattering. Mrs. Archbold had her to the fire, and got her warm clothes +and a pint of wine, and probably saved her life and her child's--for +love of a young man. + +Why I think Mrs. Dale would otherwise have left this shifting scene, +Mrs. Carey, the last woman in her condition they tanked and then turned +into a flagged cell that only wanted one frog of a grotto, was found +soon after moribund; on which they bundled her out of the asylum to die. +She did die next day, at home, but murdered by the asylum; and they told +the Commissioners she died through her friends taking her away from the +asylum too soon. The Commissioners had nothing to do but believe this, +and did believe it. Inspectors who visit a temple of darkness, lies, +cunning, and hypocrisy, four times a year, know mighty little of what +goes on there the odd three hundred and sixty-one days, five hours, +forty-eight minutes, and fifty-seven seconds.* + + * Arithmetic of my boyhood. I hear the world revolves some + minutes quicker now. + +“Now, Alfred,” said Mrs. Archbold, “I can't be everywhere, or know +everything; so you come to me when anything grieves you, and let me be +the agent of your humanity.” + +She said this so charmingly he was surprised into kissing her fair +hand; then blushed, and thanked her warmly. Thus she established a chain +between them. When he let too long elapse without appealing to her, she +would ask his advice about the welfare of this or that patient; and so +she cajoled him by the two foibles she had discerned in him--his vanity +and his humanity. + +Besides Alfred, there were two patients in Drayton House who had never +been insane; a young man, and an old woman; of whom anon. There were +also three ladies and one gentleman, who had been deranged, but had +recovered years ago. This little incident, Recovery, is followed in a +public asylum by instant discharge; but, in a private one, Money, not +Sanity, is apt to settle the question of egress. The gentleman's +case was scarce credible in the nineteenth century: years ago, being +undeniably cracked, he had done what Dr. Wycherley told Alfred was a +sure sign of sanity: _i.e.,_ he had declared himself insane; and had +even been so reasonable as to sign his own order and certificates, and +so imprison himself illegally, but with perfect ease; no remonstrance +against that illegality from the guardians of the law! When he got what +plain men call sane, he naturally wanted to be free, and happening +to remember he alone had signed the order of imprisonment, and the +imaginary doctor's certificates, he claimed his discharge from illegal +confinement. Answer: “First obtain a legal order for your discharge.” + On this he signed an order for his discharge. “That is not a legal +order.”--“It is as legal as the order on which I am here.” “Granted; +but, legally or not, the asylum has got you; the open air has not +got you. Possession is ninety-nine points of Lunacy law. Die your own +illegal prisoner, and let your kinsfolk eat your land, and drink your +consols, and bury you in a pauper's shroud” All that Alfred could do for +these victims was to promise to try and get them out some day, D.V. But +there was a weak-minded youth, Francis Beverley, who had the honour +to be under the protection of the Lord Chancellor. Now a lunatic or a +Softy, protected by that functionary, is literally a lamb protected by +a wolf, and that wolf _ex officio_ the cruellest, cunningest old mangler +and fleecer of innocents in Christendom. Chancery lunatics are the +richest class, yet numbers of them are flung among pauper and even +criminal lunatics, at a few pounds a year, while their committees bag +four-fifths of the money that has been assigned to keep the patient in +comfort. + +Unfortunately the protection of the Chancellor extends to Life and +Reason, as well as Fleece; with the following result: + +In public asylums about forty per cent. are said to be cured. + +In private ones twenty-five per cent, at least; most of them poorish. + +Of Chancery Lunatics not five per cent. + +Finally, one-third of all the Chancery Lunatics do every six years +exchange the living tombs they are fleeced and bullied in for dead tombs +where they rest; and go from the sham protection of the Lord Chancellor +of England to the real protection of their Creator and their Judge. + +These statistics have been long before the world, and are dead figures +to the Skimmer of things, but tell a dark tale to the Reader of +things, so dark, that I pray Heaven to protect me, and all other weak +inoffensive persons, from the protection of my Lord Chancellor in this +kind. + +Beverley was so unfortunate as to exist before the date of the above +petition: and suffered the consequences. + +He was an aristocrat by birth, noble on both sides of his house, and +unluckily had money. But for that he would have been a labouring man, +and free. My Lord Protector committed him with six hundred pounds a year +maintenance money to the care of his committee, the Honourable Fynes +Beverley. + +Now this corporate, yet honourable individual, to whom something was +committed, and so Chancery Lane called him in its own sweet French the +thing committed, was a gentleman of birth, breeding, and intelligence. +He undertook to take care of his simple cousin; and what he did take +care of was himself. + + THE SUB-LETTING SWINDLE. + +I. The Honourable Fynes Beverley, Anglo-French committee, or crown +tenant, sub-let soft Francis for L. 300 a year, pocketed L. 300, and +washed his hands of Frank. + +2. Mr. Heselden, the sub-tenant, sub-let the Softy of high degree for L. +150, pocketed the surplus, and washed his hands of him. + +3. The L. 150 man sub-let him to Dr. Wolf at L. 60 a year, pouched the +surplus, and washed his hands of him. + +And now what on earth was left for poor Dr. Wolf to do? Could he +sub-embezzle a Highlander's breeks? Could he subtract more than her skin +from off the singed cat? Could he peel the core of a rotten apple? Could +he pare a grated cheese rind? Could he flay a skinned flint? Could he +fleece a hog after Satan had shaved it as clean as a bantam's egg? + +Let no man dare to limit genius; least of all the genius of extortion. + +Dr. Wolf screwed comparatively more out of young Frank than did any of +the preceding screws. He turned him into a servant of all work and half +starved him; money profit, L. 45 out of the L. 60, or three-fourths, +whereas the others had only bagged one-half. But by this means he got a +good servant without wages, and on half a servant's food, clearing L. 22 +and L. 12 in these two items. + +Victim of our great national vice and foible, Vicariousness, this +scion of a noble house, protected in theory by the Crown, vicariously +sub-protected by the Chancellor, sub-vicariously sub-sham protected by +his kin, was really flung unprotected into the fleece market, and might +be seen--at the end of the long chain of subs. pros, vices, locos, +shams, shuffles, swindles, and lies--shaking the carpets, making the +beds, carrying the water, sweeping the rooms, and scouring the sordid +vessels, of thirty patients in Drayton House, not one of whom was his +equal either in birth or wealth; and of four menials, who were all his +masters and hard ones. His work was always doing, never done. He was not +the least mad nor bad, but merely of feeble intellect all round. Fifty +thousand gentlemen's families would have been glad of him at L. 300 +a year, and made a son and a brother of him. But he was under the +vicarious protection of the Lord Chancellor. Thin, half-starved, +threadbare, out at elbows, the universal butt, scoffed at by the very +lunatics, and especially ill treated by the attendants whose work he did +gratis, he was sworn at, jeered, insulted, cuffed and even kicked, every +day of his hard, hard life. And yet he was a gentleman, though a soft +one; his hands, his features, his carriage, his address, had all an +indefinable stamp of race. How had it outlived such crushing, degrading +usage? I don't know; how does a daisy survive the iron roller? Alfred +soon found him out, and to everybody's amazement, especially Frank's, +remonstrated gently but resolutely and eloquently, and soon convinced +the majority, sane and insane, that a creature so meek and useful +merited special kindness, not cruelty. One keeper, The Robin, _alias_ +Tom Wales, an ex--prize fighter, was a warm convert to this view. Among +the maniacs only one held out, and said contemptuously he couldn't see +it. + +“Well,” said Alfred, “lay a finger on him after this, and I'll lay a +hand on you, and aid your intellectual vision.” + +Rooke and Hayes treated remonstrance with open and galling contempt. Yet +the tide of opinion changed so, they did not care to defy it openly: but +they bullied poor Beverley now and then on the sly, and he never told. +He was too inoffensive for this world. But one day, as Alfred was +sitting with his door ajar, writing a letter of earnest expostulation to +the Commissioners, who had left his first unanswered, he heard Hayes at +the head of the stairs call roughly, “Frank! Frank!” + +“Sir,” replied the soft little voice of young Beverley. + +“Come, be quick, young shaver.” + +“I'm coming, sir,” and up ran Beverley. + +“Here, take this tray downstairs.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Stop, there's a bit of bread for you.” And Hayes chucked him a crust, +as one throws it to another man's dog. + +“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Beverley, stooping down for it, and being +habitually as hungry as a ratcatcher's tyke, took an eager bite in that +position. + +“How dare you eat it there,” said Hayes brutally: “take it to your own +crib: come, mizzle.” And with that lent him a contemptuous kick behind, +which owing to his position sent him off his balance flat on the tray; a +glass broke under him. Poor young Mr. Beverley uttered a cry of dismay, +for he knew Hayes would not own himself the cause. Hayes cursed him for +an awkward idiot, and the oath went off into a howl, for Alfred ran out +at him brimful of Moses, and with a savage kick in the back and blow on +the neck, administered simultaneously, hurled him head foremost down +the stairs. Alighting on the seventh step, he turned a somersault, and +bounded like a ball on to the landing below, and there lay stupefied. He +picked himself up by slow degrees, and glared round with speechless awe +and amazement up at the human thunderbolt that had shot out on him and +sent him flying like a feather. He shook his fist, and limped silently +away all bruises and curses, to tell Rooke and concert vengeance. +Alfred, trembling still with ire, took Beverley to his room (the boy was +as white as a sheet), and encouraged him, and made him wash properly, +brushed his hair, dressed him in a decent tweed suit he had outgrown, +and taking him under his arm, and walking with his own nose haughtily in +the air, paraded him up and down the asylum, to show them all the best +man in the house respected the poor soft gentleman. Ah, what a grand +thing it is to be young! Beverley clung to his protector too much like a +girl, but walked gracefully and kept step, and every now and then looked +up at Alfred with a loving adoration, that was sweet, yet sad to see. +Alfred marched him to Mrs. Archbold, and told his tale; for he knew +Hayes would misrepresent it, and get him into trouble. She smiled on the +pair; gently deplored her favourite's impetuosity, entreated him not to +go fighting with that great monster Rooke, and charmed him by saying, +“Well, and Frank _is_ a gentleman, when he is dressed like one.” + +“Isn't he?” said Alfred eagerly. “And whose fault is it he is not always +dressed like one? Whose fault that here's an earl's nephew, 'Boots in +Hell'?” + +“Not yours, Alfred, nor mine,” was the honeyed reply. + +In vain did Mr. Hayes prefer his complaint to Dr. Wolf. The Archbold had +been before him, and the answer was, “Served you right.” + +These and many other good deeds did Alfred Hardie in Drayton House. But, +as the days rolled on, and no answer came from the Commissioners, his +own anxiety, grief, and dismay left him less and less able to sympathise +with the material but smaller wrongs around him. He became silent, +dejected. + +At last he came to Mrs. Archbold, and said sternly his letters to the +Commissioners were intercepted. + +“I can't believe that,” said she. “It is against the law.” + +So it was: but law and custom are two. + +“I am sure of it,” said he; “and may the eternal curse of Heaven light +on the cowardly traitor and miscreant who has done it.” And he stalked +gloomily away. + +When he left her, she sighed at this imprecation from his lips; but did +not repent. “I _can't_ part with him,” she said despairingly; “and if +I did not stop his poor dear letters, Wolf would:” and the amorous +crocodile shed a tear, and persisted in her double-faced course. + +By-and-by, when she saw him getting thinner and paler, and his bright +face downcast and inexpressibly sad, she shared his misery: ay, shed +scalding tears for him: yet could not give him up; for her will was as +strong as the rest of her was supple; and hers was hot love, but not +true love like Julia's. + +Perhaps a very subtle observer, seeing this man and woman wax pale and +spiritless together in one house, might have divined her secret. Dr. +Wolf, then, was no such observer, for she made him believe she had a +rising _penchant_ for him. He really had a strong one for her. + +While Alfred's visible misery pulled at her heart-strings, and sometimes +irritated, sometimes melted her, came curious complications; one of +which requires preface. + +Mrs. Dodd then was not the wife to trust blindly where her poor husband +was concerned. She bribed so well that a keeperess in David's first +asylum told her David had been harshly used by an attendant. She +instantly got Eve Dodd to take him away: and transfer him to a small +asylum nearer London, and kept by a Mrs. Ellis. “Women are not cruel to +men,” said the sagacious Lucy Dodd. + +But, alas! if women are not cruel where sex comes in and mimics that +wider sentiment, Humanity, women are deadly economical. Largely gifted +with that household virtue, Mrs. Ellis kept too few servants, and, +sure consequence in a madhouse, too many straitjackets, hobbles, muffs, +leg-locks, bodybelts, &c. &c. Hence half her patients were frequently +kept out of harm's way by cruel restraints administered, not out of +hearty cruelty, but female parsimony. Mrs. and Miss Dodd invaded the +house one day when the fair economist was out, and found seven patients +out of the twelve kept out of mischief thus: one in a restraint +chair, two hobbled like asses, two chained like dogs, and two in +straight-waistcoats, and fastened to beds by webbing and straps; amongst +the latter, David, though quiet as a lamb. + +Mrs. Dodd cried over him as if her heart would break, and made Miss Dodd +shift him to a large asylum, where I believe he was very well used. But +here those dreadful newspapers interfered; a prying into sweet secluded +spots. They diversified Mrs. Dodd's breakfast by informing her that the +doctor of this asylum had just killed a patient; the mode of execution +bloodless and sure, as became fair science. It was a man between sixty +and seventy; an age at which the heart can seldom stand very much +shocking, or lowering, especially where the brain is diseased. So +they placed him in a shower-bath, narrow enough to impede respiration, +without the falling water, which of necessity drives out air. In short a +vertical box with holes all round the top. + +Here the doctor ordered him a cold shower-bath of unparalleled duration: +half an hour. To be followed by an unprecedented dose of tartar emetic. +This double-barrelled order given, the doctor went away. (Formula.) + +The water was down to forty-five degrees Fahrenheit. Half an hour's +shower-bath at that temperature in a roomy bath would kill the youngest +and strongest man in her Majesty's dominions. + +For eight-and-twenty mortal minutes the poor old man stood in this +vertical coffin under this cold cascade. Six hundred gallons of icy +water were in that his last hour, his last half-hour, discharged upon +his devoted head and doomed body. + +He had to be helped away from this death-torrent he had walked into in +high spirits, poor soul. + +Even this change awakened no misgivings, no remorse; though you or I, or +any man or woman picked at hazard out of the streets, would at once +have seen that he was dying, he was duly dozed by the fire with four +spoonfuls of antimonial tincture--_to mak' sicker._ But even the +“Destructive Art of Healing” cannot slay the slain. The old man cheated +the emetic; for, before it could hurt him, he died of the bath; And his +body told its own sad tale; to use the words of a medical eye-witness, +it was “A PIECE OF ALABASTER.” The death-torrent had driven the whole +circulation from the surface.* + + * This mode of execution is well known in the United States. + They settle refractory prisoners with it periodically. But + half an hour is not needed; twenty minutes will do the + trick. _“Harper's Weekly,_” a year or two ago, contained an + admirable woodcut of a negro's execution by water. In this + remarkable picture you see the poor darkie seated powerless, + howling and panting his life away under the deadly cascade, + and there stands the stolid turnkey, erect, formal, stiff as + a ramrod, pulling the deadly string with a sort of drill + exercise air, and no more compunction nor reflection than if + he himself was a machine constructed to pull strings or + triggers on his own string being pulled by butcher or fool. + A picture well studied, and so worth study. + +Mrs. Dodd was terrified, and in spite of Sampson's assurance that this +was the asylum of all others they would not settle another patient in +until the matter should have blown over, got Eve Dodd to write to Dr. +Wolf, and offer L. 300 a year if he would take David at once, and treat +him with especial consideration. + +He showed this letter triumphantly to Mrs. Archbold, and she, blinded +for a moment by feeling, dissuaded him from receiving Captain Dodd. He +stared at her. “What, turn away a couple of thousand pounds?” + +“But they will come to visit him; and perhaps see him.” + +“Oh, that can be managed. You must be on your guard: and I'll warn +Rooke. I can't turn away money on a chance.” + +One day Alfred found himself locked into his room. This was unusual: +for, though they called him a lunatic in words, they called him sane +by all their acts. He half suspected that the Commissioners were in the +house. + +Had he known who really was in the house, he would have beaten himself +to pieces against the door. + +At dinner there was a new patient, very mild and silent, with a +beautiful large brown eye, like some gentle animal's. + +Alfred was very much struck with this eye, and contrived to say a kind +word to him after dinner. Finding himself addressed by a gentleman, +the new comer handled his forelock and made a sea scrape, and announced +himself as William Thompson; he added with simple pride, “Able Seaman;” + then touching his forelock again, “Just come aboard, your honour.” After +this, which came off glibly, he was anything but communicative. However, +Alfred contrived to extract from him that he was rather glad to leave +his last ship, on account of having been constantly impeded there in his +duties by a set of lubbers, that clung round him and kept him on deck +whenever the first lieutenant ordered him into the top. + +The very next day, pacing sadly the dull gravel of his prison yard, +Alfred heard a row; and there was the able seaman struggling with +the Robin and two other keepers. He wanted to go to his duties in the +foretop: to wit, the fork of a high elm-tree in the court-yard. Alfred +had half a mind not to interfere. “Who cares for _my_ misery?” he said. +But his better nature prevailed, and he told the Robin he was sure going +up imaginary rigging would do Thompson more good than harm. + +On this the men reluctantly gave him a trial, and he went up the tree +with wonderful strength and agility, but evident caution. Still Alfred +quaked when he crossed his thighs tight over a limb of the tree forty +feet from earth, and went carefully and minutely through the whole +process of furling imaginary sails. However, he came down manifestly +soothed by the performance, and, singular phenomenon, he was quite cool; +and it was the spectators on deck who perspired. + +“And what a pleasant voice he has,” said Alfred; “it quite charms my +ear; it is not like a mad voice. It is like--I'm mad myself.” + +“And he has got a fiddle, and plays it like a hangel, by all accounts,” + said the Robin; “only he won't touch it but when he has a mind.” + +At night Alfred dreamed he heard Julia's sweet mellow voice speaking to +him; and he looked, and lo! it was the able seaman. He could sleep no +more, but lay sighing. + +Ere the able seaman had been there three days, Mrs. Dodd came +unexpectedly to see him; and it was with the utmost difficulty Alfred +was smuggled out of the way. Mrs. Archbold saw by her loving anxiety +these visits would be frequent, and, unless Alfred was kept constantly +locked up, which was repugnant to her, they would meet some day. She +knew there are men who ply the trade of spies, and where to find them; +she set one of them to watch Mrs. Dodd's house, and learn her habits, in +hopes of getting some clue as to when she might be expected. + +Now it so happened that, looking for one thing, she found another which +gave her great hopes and courage. And then the sight of Alfred's misery +tried her patience, and then he was beginning half to suspect her of +stopping his letters. Passion, impatience, pity, and calculation, +all drove her the same road, and led to an extraordinary scene, so +impregnated with the genius of the madhouse--a place where the passions +run out to the very end of their tether--that I feel little able to +describe it. I will try and indicate it. + +One fine Sunday afternoon, then, she asked Alfred languidly would he +like to walk in the country. + +“Would I like? Ah, don't trifle with a prisoner,” said he sorrowfully. + +She shook her head. “No, no, it will not be a happy walk. Rooke, who +hates you, is to follow us with that terrible mastiff, to pull you down +if you try to escape. I could not get Dr. Wolf to consent on any other +terms. Alfred, let us give up the idea. I fear your rashness.” + +“No, no, I won't try to escape--from you. I have not seen a blade of +grass this six months.” + +The accomplished dissembler hesitated, yielded. They passed through +the yard and out at the back door, which Alfred had so often looked +wistfully at; and by-and-by reached a delicious pasture. A light golden +haze streamed across it. Nature never seemed so sweet, so divine, to +Alfred before; the sun as bright as midsummer, though not the least hot, +the air fresh, yet genial, and perfumed with Liberty and the smaller +flowers of earth. Beauty glided rustling by his side, and dark eyes +subdued their native fire into softness whenever they turned on him; and +scarce fifty yards in the rear hung a bully and a mastiff ready to tear +him down if he should break away from beauty's light hand, that rested +so timidly on his. He was young, and stout-hearted, and relished his +peep of liberty and nature, though blotted by Vulcan and Rooke. He +chatted to Mrs. Archbold in good spirits. She answered briefly, and +listlessly. + + At last she stopped under a young chestnut-tree as if overcome with a +sudden reflection, and turning half away from him leaned her head and +hand upon a bough, and sighed. The attitude was pensive and womanly. He +asked her with innocent concern what was the matter; then faintly should +he take her home. All her answer was to press his hand with hers that +was disengaged, and, instead of sighing, to cry. + +The novice in woman's wiles set himself to comfort her--in vain; to +question her--in vain at first; but by degrees she allowed him to learn +that it was for him she mourned; and so they proceeded on the old, old +plan, the man extorting from the woman bit by bit just so much as she +wanted all along to say, and would have poured in a stream if let quite +alone. + +He drew from his distressed friend that Dr. Wolf for reasons of his own +had made special inquiries about the Dodds; that she had fortunately +or unfortunately heard of this, and had questioned the person employed, +hoping to hear something that might comfort Alfred. “Instead of that,” + said she, “I find Miss Dodd is like most girls; out of sight is out of +mind with her.” + +“What do you mean?” said Alfred, trembling suddenly. + +“Do not ask me. What a weak fool I was to let you see I was unhappy for +you.” + +“The truth is the truth,” gasped Alfred; “tell me at once.” + +“Must I? I am afraid you will hate me; for I should hate any one who +told me your faults. Well, then--if I must--Miss Dodd has a beau.” + +“It is a lie!” cried Alfred furiously. + +“I wish it was. But she has two in fact, both of them clergymen. +However, one seems the favourite; at least they are engaged to be +married; it is Mr. Hurd, the curate of the parish she lives in. By what +I hear she is one of the religious ones; so perhaps that has brought the +pair to an understanding.” + +At these words a cold sickness rushed all over Alfred, beginning at his +heart. He stood white and stupefied a moment; then, in the anguish of +his heart, broke out into a great and terrible cry; it was like a young +lion wounded with a poisoned shaft. + +Then he was silent, and stood stock still, like petrified despair. + +Mrs. Archbold was prepared for an outburst: but not of this kind. His +anguish was so unlike a woman's that it staggered her. Her good and +bad angels, to use an expressive though somewhat too poetical phrase, +battled for her. She had an impulse to earn his gratitude for life, +to let him out of the asylum ere Julia should be Mrs. Hurd, and even +liberty come too late for true love. She looked again at the statue of +grief by her side; and burst out crying in earnest. + +This was unfortunate. Shallow pity exuding in salt water leaves not +enough behind to gush forth in good deeds. + +She only tried to undo her own work in part; to comfort him a little +with commonplaces. She told him in a soothing whisper there were other +women in the world besides this inconstant girl, others who could love +him as he deserved. + +He made no answer to all she could say, but just waved his hand once +impatiently. Petty consolation seemed to sting him. + +She drew back discouraged; but only for a while. He was silent. + +With one grand serpentine movement she came suddenly close to him, and, +standing half behind him, laid her hand softly on his shoulder, and +poured burning love in his ear. “Alfred,” she murmured, “we are both +unhappy; let us comfort one another. I had pity on you at Silverton +House, I pity you now: pity _me_ a little in turn: take me out of this +dreadful house, out of this revolting life, and let me be with you. Let +me be your housekeeper, your servant, your slave. This news that has +shocked you so has torn the veil from my eyes. I thought I had cooled +my love down to friendship and tender esteem; but no, now I see you as +unhappy as myself, now I can speak and wrong no one, I own I--oh Alfred +my heart burns for you, bleeds for you, yearns for you, sickens for you, +dies for you.” + +“Oh, hush! hush! Mrs. Archbold. You are saying things you will blush for +the next moment.” + +“I blush now, but cannot hush; I have gone too far. And your happiness +as well as mine is at stake. No young girl can understand or value +such a man as you are: but I, like you, have suffered; I, like you, am +constant; I, like you, am warm and tender; at my age a woman's love is +bliss to him who can gain it; and I love you with all my soul, Alfred. +I worship the ground you walk on, my sweet, sweet boy. Say you the word, +dearest, and I will bribe the servants, and get the keys, and sacrifice +my profession for ever to give you liberty (see how sweet the open face +of nature is, sweeter than anything on earth, but love); and all I ask +is a little, little of your heart in return. Give me a chance to make +you mine for ever; and, if I fail, treat me as I shall deserve; desert +me at once; and then I'll never reproach you; I'll only die for you; as +I have lived for you ever since I first saw your heavenly face.” + +The passionate woman paused at last, but her hot cheek and heaving bosom +and tender convulsive hand prolonged the pleading. + +I am afraid few men of her own age would have resisted her; for +voice and speech and all burning, melting, and winning; and then, so +reasonable, lads; she did not stipulate for constancy. + +But Alfred turned round to her blushing and sorrowful. “For shame!” he +said; “this is not love: you abuse that sacred word. Indeed, if you +had ever really loved, you would have pitied me and Julia long ago, and +respected our love; and saved us by giving me my freedom long ago. I am +not a fool: do you think I don't know that you are my jailer, and the +cunningest and most dangerous of them all?” + +“You cruel, ungrateful!” she sobbed. + +“No; I am not ungrateful either,” said he more gently. “You have always +come between me and that kind of torture which most terrifies vulgar +souls: and I thank you for it. Only if you had also pitied the deeper +anguish of my heart, I should thank you more still. As it is, I forgive +you for the share you have had in blasting my happiness for life; and +nobody shall ever know what you have been mad enough in an unguarded +moment to say; but for pity's sake talk no more of love, to mock my +misery.” + +Mrs. Archbold was white with ire long before he had done this sentence. +“You insolent creature,” said she; “you spurn my love; you shall feel my +hate.” + +“So I conclude,” said he coldly: “such love as yours is hard by hate.” + +“It is,” said she: “and I know how I'll combine the two. To-day I loved +you, and you spurned me; ere long you shall love me and I'll despise +you; and not spurn you.” + +“I don't understand you,” said Alfred, feeling rather uneasy. + +“What,” said she, “don't you see how the superior mind can fascinate the +inferior? Look at Frank Beverley--how he follows you about and fawns on +you like a little dog.” + +“I prefer his sort of affection to yours.” + +“A gentleman and a man would have kept that to himself; but you are +neither one nor the other; or you would have taken my offer, and then +run away from me the next day, you fool. A man betrays a woman; he +doesn't insult her. Ah, you admire Frank's affection; well, you shall +imitate it. You couldn't love me like a man; you shall love me like a +dog.” + +“How will you manage that, pray?” he inquired with a sneer. + +“I'll drive you mad.” + +She hissed this fiendish threat out between her white teeth. + +“Ay, sir,” she said, “hitherto your reason has only encountered men. You +shall see now what an insulted woman can do. A lunatic you shall be ere +long, and then I'll make you love me, dote on me, follow me about for a +smile: and then I'll leave off hating you, and love you once more, but +not the way I did five minutes ago.” + +At this furious threat Alfred ground his teeth, and said, “Then I give +you my honour that the moment I see my reason the least shaken, I'll +kill you: and so save myself from the degradation of being your lover on +any terms.” + +“Threaten your own sex with that,” said the Archbold contemptuously; +“you may kill me whenever you like; and the sooner the better. Only, if +you don't do it very quickly, you shall be my property, my brain-sick, +love-sick slave.” + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +AFTER a defiance so bitter and deadly, Alfred naturally drew away from +his inamorata. But she, boiling with love and hate, said bitterly, “We +need not take Mr. Rooke into our secrets. Come, sir, your arm!” + +He stuck it out ungraciously, and averted his head; she took it, +suppressed with difficulty a petty desire to pinch, and so walked by +his side. He was as much at his ease as if promenading jungles with a +panther. She felt him quiver with repugnance under her soft hand; and +prolonged the irritating contact. She walked very slowly, and told him +with much meaning she was waiting for a signal. “Till then,” said she, +“we will keep one another company;” biting the word with her teeth as it +went out. + +By-and-by a window was opened in the asylum, and a table-cloth hung out. +Mrs. Archbold pointed it out to Alfred; he stared at it; and after that +she walked him rapidly home in silence. But, as soon as the door was +double-locked on him, she whispered triumphantly in his ear-- + +“Your mother-in-law was expected to-day; that signal was to let me know +she was gone.” + +“My mother-in-law!” cried the young man, and tried in vain to conceal +his surprise and agitation. + +“Ay; your mother-in-law, that shall never be. Mrs. Dodd.” + +“Mrs. Dodd here!” said Alfred, clasping his hands. Then he reflected, +and said coolly: “It is false; what should she come here for?” + +“To see your father-in-law.” + +“My father-in-law? What, is he here, too?” said Alfred with an +incredulous sneer. + +“Yes, the raving maniac that calls himself Thompson, and that you took +to from the first: he is your precious father-in-law--that shall never +be.” + +Alfred was now utterly amazed, and bewildered. Mrs. Archbold eyed him in +silent scorn. + +“Poor man,” said he at last; and hung his head sorrowfully. “No wonder +then his voice went so to my heart. How strange it all is! and how will +it all end?” + +“In your being a madman instead of an insolent fool,” hissed the viper. + +At this moment Beverley appeared at the end of the yard. Mrs. Archbold +whistled him to her like a dog. He came running zealously. “Who was that +called while I was out?” she inquired. + +“A polite lady, madam: she said sir to me, and thanked me.” + +“That sounds like Mrs. Dodd,” said the Archbold quietly. + +“Ah, but,” continued Frank, “there was another with her a beautiful +young lady; oh, so beautiful!” + +“Miss Julia Dodd,” said the Archbold grimly. + +Alfred panted, and his eyes roved wildly in search of a way to escape +and follow her; she could not be far off. + +“Anybody else, Frank?” inquired Mrs. Archbold. + +“No more ladies, madam; but there was a young gentleman all in black. I +think he was a clergyman--or a butler.” + +“Ah, that was her husband that is to be; that was Mr. Hurd. She can go +nowhere without him, not even to see her old beau.” + +At these words, every one of them an adder, Alfred turned on her +furiously, and his long arm shot out of its own accord, and the +fingers opened like an eagle's claw. She saw, and understood, but +never blenched. Her vindictive eye met his dilating flashing orbs +unflinchingly. + +“You pass for a woman,” he said, “and I am too wretched for anger.” + He turned from her with a deep convulsive sob, and, almost staggering, +leaned his brow against the wall of the house. + +She had done what no man had as yet succeeded in; she had broken his +spirit. And here a man would have left him alone. But the rejected +beauty put her lips to his ear, and whispered into them, “This is only +the beginning.” Then she left him and went to his room and stole all +his paper, and pens, and ink, and his very Aristotle. He was to have no +occupation now, except to brood, and brood, and brood. + +As for Alfred, he sat down upon a bench in the yard a broken man: up to +this moment he had hoped his Julia was as constant as himself. But no; +either she had heard he was mad, and with the universal credulity had +believed it, or perhaps, not hearing from him at all believed herself +forsaken; and was consoling herself with a clergyman. Jealousy did not +as yet infuriate Alfred. Its first effect resembled that of a heavy +blow. Little Beverley found him actually sick, and ran to the Robin. +The ex-prizefighter brought him a thimbleful of brandy, but he would not +take it. “Ah no, my friends,” he said, “that cannot cure me; it is not +my stomach; it is my heart. Broken, broken!” + +The Robin retired muttering. Little Beverley kneeled down beside him, +and kissed his hand with a devotion that savoured of the canine. Yet it +was tender, and the sinking heart clung to it. “Oh, Frank!” he cried, +“my Julia believes me mad, or thinks me false, or something, and she +will marry another before I can get out to tell her all I have endured +was for loving her. What shall I do? God protect my reason! What will +become of me?” + +He moaned, and young Frank sorrowed over him, till the harsh voice of +Rooke summoned him to some menial duty. This discharged, he came running +back; and sat on the bench beside his crushed benefactor without saying +a word. At last he delivered this sapient speech: “I see. You want to +get out of this place.” + +Alfred only sighed hopelessly. + +“Then I must try and get you out,” said Frank. Alfred shook his head. + +“Just let me think,” said Frank solemnly; and he sat silent looking +like a young owl: for thinking soon puzzled him, and elicited his +intellectual weakness, whereas in a groove of duties he could go +as smoothly as half the world, and but for his official, officious +Protector, might just as well have been Boots at the Swan, as Boots and +Chambermaid at the Wolf. + + +So now force and cunning had declared war on Alfred, and feebleness +in person enlisted in his defence. His adversary lost no time; that +afternoon Rooke told him he was henceforth to occupy a double bedded +room with another patient. + +“If he should be violent in the middle of the night, sing out, and we +will come--if we hear you,” said the keeper with a malicious smile. + +The patient turned out to be the able seaman. Here Mrs. Archbold aimed +a double stroke; to shake Alfred's nerves, and show him how very mad his +proposed father-in-law was. She thought that, if he could once be forced +to realise this, it might reconcile him to not marrying the daughter. + +The first night David did get up and paraded an imaginary deck for four +mortal hours. Alfred's sleep was broken; but he said nothing, and David +turned in again, his watch completed. + +Not a day passed now but a blow was struck. Nor was the victim passive; +debarred writing materials, he cut the rims off several copies of the +_Times,_ and secreted them: then catching sight of some ink-blots on the +back of Frank's clothes-brush, scraped them carefully off, melted them +in a very little water, and with a toothpick scrawled his wrongs to +the Commissioners; he rolled the slips round a half-crown, and wrote +outside, “Good Christian, keep this half-crown, and take the writing to +the Lunacy Commissioners at Whitehall, for pity's sake.” This done, he +watched, and when nobody was looking, flung his letter, so weighted, +over the gates; he heard it fall on the public road. + +Another day he secreted a spoonful of black currant preserve, diluted it +with a little water, and wrote a letter, and threw it into the road as +before: another day, hearing the Robin express disgust at the usage to +which he was now subjected, he drew him apart, and offered him a +hundred pounds to get him out. Now the ex-prizefighter was rather a +tender-hearted fellow, and a great detester of foul play. What he saw +made him now side heartily with Alfred; and all he wanted was to be +indemnified for his risk. + +He looked down and said, “You see, sir, I have a wife and child to think +of.” + +Alfred offered him two hundred pounds. + +“That is more than enough, sir,” said the Robin; “but you see I can't do +it alone. I must have a pal in it. Could you afford as much to Garrett? +He is the likeliest; I've heard him say as much as that he was sick of +the business.” + +Alfred jumped at the proposal: he would give them two hundred apiece. + +“I'll sound him,” said the Robin; “don't you speak to him, whatever. He +might blow the gaff. I must begin by making him drunk, then he'll tell +me his real mind.” + +One fine morning the house was made much cleaner than usual; the +rotatory chair, in which they used to spin a maniac like a teetotum, the +restraint chairs, and all the paraphernalia were sent into the stable, +and so disposed that, even if found, they would look like things +scorned and dismissed from service: for Wolf, mind you, professed the +non-restraint system. + +Alfred asked what was up, and found all this was in preparation for the +quarterly visit of the Commissioners: a visit intended to be a surprise; +but Drayton House always knew when they were coming, and the very names +of the two thunderbolts that thought to surprise them. + +Mrs. Archbold communicated her knowledge in off-hand terms. “It is only +two old women: Bartlett and Terry.” + +The gentlemen thus flatteringly heralded arrived next day. One an aged, +infirm man, with a grand benevolent head, bald front and silver hair, +and the gold-headed cane of his youth, now a dignified crutch: the other +an ordinary looking little chap enough, with this merit--he was what +he looked. They had a long interview with Mrs. Archbold first, for fear +they should carry a naked eye into the asylum. Mr. Bartlett, acting on +instructions, very soon inquired about Alfred; Mrs. Archbold's face put +on friendly concern directly. “I am sorry to say he is not so well as he +was a fortnight ago--not nearly so well. We have given him walks in the +country, too; but I regret to say they did him no real good; he came +back much excited, and now he shuns the other patients, which he used +not to do.” In short, she gave them the impression that Alfred was a +moping melancholiac. + +“Well, I had better see him,” said Mr. Bartlett, “just to satisfy the +Board.” + +Alfred was accordingly sent for, and asked with an indifferent air how +he was. + +He said he was very well in health, but in sore distress of mind at his +letters to the Commissioners being intercepted by Mrs. Archbold or Dr. +Wolf. + +Mrs. Archbold smiled pityingly. Mr. Bartlett caught her glance, and +concluded this was one of the patient's delusions. (Formula.) + +Alfred surprised the glances, and said, “You can hardly believe this, +because the act is illegal. But a great many illegal acts, that you +never detect, are done in asylums. However, it is not a question of +surmise; I sent four letters in the regular way since I came. Here +are their several dates. Pray make a note to inquire whether they have +reached Whitehall or not.” + +“Oh, certainly, to oblige you,” said Mr. Bartlett, and made the note. + +Mrs. Archbold looked rather discomposed at that. + +“And now, gentlemen,” said Alfred, “since Mrs. Archbold has had a +private interview, which I see she has abused to poison your mind +against me, I claim as simple justice a private interview to disabuse +you.” + +“You are the first patient ever told me to walk out of my own +drawing-room,” said Mrs. Archbold, rising white with ire and +apprehension, and sweeping out of the room. + +By this piece of female petulance she gave the enemy a point in the +game; for, if she had insisted on staying, Mr. Bartlett was far too weak +to have dismissed her. As it was, he felt shocked at Alfred's rudeness: +and so small a thing as justice did not in his idea counterbalance so +great a thing as discourtesy; so he listened to Alfred's tale with the +deadly apathy of an unwilling hearer. “Pour on: I will endure,” as poor +Lear says. + +As for Dr. Terry, he was pictorial, but null; effete; emptied of brains +by all-scooping-Time. If he had been detained that day at Drayton House, +and Frank Beverley sent back in his place to Whitehall, it would have +mattered little to him, less to the nation, and nothing to mankind. + +At last Mr. Bartlett gave Alfred some hopes he was taking in the truth; +for he tore a leaf out of his memorandum-book, wrote on it, and passed +it to Dr. Terry. The ancient took it with a smile, and seemed to make +an effort to master it, but failed; it dropped simultaneously from his +finger and his mind. + +Not a question was put to Alfred; so he was fain to come to an end; +he withdrew suddenly, and caught Mrs. Archbold at the keyhole. “Noble +adversary!” said he, and stalked away, and hid himself hard by: and no +sooner did the inspectors come out, and leave the coast clear, than he +darted in and looked for the paper Mr. Bartlett had passed to Dr. Terry. + +He found it on the floor: and took it eagerly up; and full of hope, and +expectation, read these words: + +WHAT IS THE NAME OF THE STUFF THE MATRON'S GOWN IS MADE OF? I SHOULD +LIKE TO BUY MRS. BARTLETT ONE LIKE IT. + +Alfred stood and read this again, and again he searched for some hidden +symbolical meaning in the words. High-minded, and deeply impressed with +his own wrongs, he could not conceive a respectable man, paid fifteen +hundred a year to spy out wrongs, being so heartless hard as to write +this single comment during the earnest recital of a wrong so gigantic +as his. Poor Alfred learned this to his cost, that to put small men +into great places is to create monsters. When he had realised the bitter +truth, he put the stony-hearted paper in his pocket, crept into the +yard, and sat down, and, for all he could do, scalding tears ran down +his cheeks. + +“Homunculi quanti sunt!” he sobbed; “homunculi quanti sunt!” + +Presently he saw Dr. Terry come wandering towards him alone. The +Archbold had not deigned to make him safe; senectitude had done that. +Alfred, all heart--sick as he was, went to the old gentleman out of +veneration for the outside of his head--which was Shakespearian--and +pity for his bodily infirmity; and offered him an arm. The doctor +thanked him sweetly, and said, “Pray, young man, have you anything to +communicate?” + +Then Alfred saw that the ancient man had already forgotten his face, and +so looking at him with that rare instrument of official inspection, +the naked eye, had seen he was sane; and consequently taken him for a +keeper. + +How swiftly the mind can roam, and from what a distance gather the +materials of a thought! Flashed like lightning through Alfred's mind +this line from one of his pets, the Greek philosophers: + +[Greek text] + +“And this is the greatest stroke of art, to turn an evil into a good.” + +Now the feebleness of this aged Inspector was an evil: the thing then +was to turn it into a good. Shade of Plato, behold how thy disciple +worked thee! “Sir,” said he, sinking his voice mysteriously, “I have: +but I am a poor man: you won't say I told you: it's as much as my place +is worth.” + +“Confidence, strict confidence,” replied Nestor, going over beaten +tracks; for he had kept many a queer secret with the loyalty which does +his profession so much honour. + +“Then, sir, there's a young gentleman confined here, who is no more mad +than you and I; and never was mad.” + +“You don't say so.” + +“That I do, sir: and they know they are doing wrong, sir, for they stop +all his letters to the Commissioners; and that is unlawful, you know. +Would you like to take a note of it all, sir?” + +The old fogie said he thought he should, and groped vaguely for his +note-book: he extracted it at last like a loose tooth, fumbled with it, +and dropped it: Alfred picked it up fuming inwardly. + +The ancient went to write, but his fingers were weak and hesitating, and +by this time he had half forgotten what he was going to say. Alfred's +voice quavered with impatience; but he fought it down, and offered as +coolly as he could to write it for him: the offer was accepted, and he +wrote down in a feigned hand, very clear-- + + +“DRAYTON HOUSE, _Oct. 5._--A sane patient, Alfred Hardie, confined here +from interested motives. Has written four letters to the Commissioners, +all believed to be intercepted. Communicated to me in confidence by +an attendant in the house. Refer to the party himself, and his +correspondence with the Commissioners from Dr. Wycherley's: also to +Thomas Wales, another attendant; and to Dr. Wycherley: also to Dr. +Eskell and Mr. Abbott, Commissioners of Lunacy.” + + +After this stroke of address Alfred took the first opportunity of +leaving him, and sent Frank Beverley to him. + +Thus Alfred, alarmed by the hatred of Mrs. Archbold, and racked with +jealousy, exerted all his intelligence and played many cards for +liberty. One he kept in reserve; and a trump card too. Having now no ink +nor colouring matter, he did not hesitate, but out penknife, up +sleeve, and drew blood from his arm, and with it wrote once more to the +Commissioners, but kept this letter hidden for an ingenious purpose. +What that purpose was my reader shall divine. + + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + +WE left Julia Dodd a district visitor. Working in a dense parish she +learned the depths of human misery, bodily and mental. + +She visited an honest widow, so poor that she could not afford a +farthing dip, but sat in the dark. When friends came to see her they +sometimes brought a candle to talk by. + +She visited a cripple who often thanked God sincerely for leaving her +the use of one thumb. + +She visited a poor creature who for sixteen years had been afflicted +with a tumour in the neck, and had lain all those years on her back with +her head in a plate; the heat of a pillow being intolerable. Julia found +her longing to go, and yet content to stay: and praising God in all the +lulls of that pain which was her companion day and night. + +But were I to enumerate the ghastly sights, the stifling loathsome +odours, the vulgar horrors upon horrors this refined young lady faced, +few of my readers would endure on paper for love of truth what she +endured in reality for love of suffering humanity, and of Him whose +servant she aspired to be. + +Probably such sacrifices of selfish ease and comfort are never quite in +vain; they tend in many ways to heal our own wounds: I won't say that +bodily suffering is worse than mental; but it is realised far more +vividly by a spectator. The grim heart-breaking sights she saw arrayed +Julia's conscience against her own grief; the more so when she found +some of her most afflicted ones resigned, and even grateful. “What,” + said she, “can they, all rags, disease and suffering, bow so cheerfully +to the will of Heaven, and have I the wickedness, the impudence, to +repine?” + +And then, happier than most district visitors, she was not always +obliged to look on helpless, or to confine her consolations to good +words. Mrs. Dodd was getting on famously in her groove. She was high in +the confidence of Cross and Co., and was inspecting eighty ladies, as +well as working; her salary and profits together were not less than five +hundred pounds a year, and her one luxury was charity, and Julia its +minister. She carried a good honest basket, and there you might see her +Bible wedged in with wine and meat, and tea and sugar: and still, +as these melted in her round, a little spark of something warm would +sometimes come in her own sick heart. Thus by degrees she was attaining +not earthly happiness, but a grave and pensive composure. + +Yet across it gusts of earthly grief came sweeping often; but these she +hid till she was herself again. + +To her mother and brother she was kinder, sweeter, and dearer, if +possible, than ever. They looked on her as a saint; but she knew better; +and used to blush with honest shame when they called her so. “Oh don't, +pray don't,” she would say with unaffected pain. “Love me as if I was an +angel; but do not praise me; that turns my eyes inward and makes me see +myself. I am not a Christian yet, nor anything like one.” + +Returning one day from her duties very tired, she sat down to take off +her bonnet in her own room, and presently heard snatches of an argument +that made her prick those wonderful little ears of hers which could +almost hear through a wall. The two concluding sentences were a key to +the whole dialogue. + +“Why disturb her?” said Mrs. Dodd. “She is getting better of 'the +Wretch;' and my advice is, say nothing: what harm can that do?” + +“But then it is so unfair, so ungenerous, to keep anything from the poor +girl that may concern her.” + +At this moment Julia came softly into the room with her curiosity hidden +under an air of angelic composure. + +Her mother asked after Mrs. Beecher, to draw her into conversation. She +replied quietly that Mrs. Beecher was no better, but very thankful for +the wine Mrs. Dodd had sent her. This answer given, she went without any +apparent hurry and sat by Edward, and fixed two loving imploring eyes on +him in silence. Oh, subtle sex! This feather was to turn the scale, and +make him talk unquestioned. It told. She was close to him too, and mamma +at the end of the room. + +“Look here, Ju,” said he, putting his hands in his pockets, “we two have +always been friends as well as brother and sister; and somehow it does +not seem like a friend to keep things dark;” then to Mrs. Dodd: “She is +not a child, mother, after all; and how can it be wrong to tell her +the truth, or right to suppress the truth? Well then, Ju, there's an +advertisement in the _'Tiser,_ and it's a regular riddle. Now mind, +I don't really think there is anything in it; but it is a droll +coincidence, very droll; if it wasn't there are ladies present, and +one of them a district visitor, I would say, d--d droll. So droll,” + continued he, getting warm, “that I should like to punch the +advertiser's head.” + +“Let me see it, dear,” said Julia. “I dare say it is nothing worth +punching about.” + +“There,” said Edward. “I've marked it.” + +Julia took the paper, and her eye fell on this short advertisement: + + + AILEEN AROON.--DISTRUST APPEARANCES. + +Looking at her with some anxiety, they saw the paper give one sharp +rustle in her hands, and then quiver a little. She bowed her head over +it, and everything seemed to swim. But she never moved: they could +neither of them see her face, she defended herself with the paper. +The letters cleared again, and, still hiding her face, she studied and +studied the advertisement. + +“Come, tell us what you think of it,” said Edward. “Is it anything? or a +mere coincidence?” + +“It is a pure coincidence,” said Mrs. Dodd, with an admirable imitation +of cool confidence. + +Julia said nothing; but she now rose and put both arms round Edward's +neck, and kissed him fervidly again and again, holding the newspaper +tight all the time. + +“There,” said Mrs. Dodd: “see what you have done.” + +“Oh, it is all right,” said Edward cheerfully. “The British fireman +is getting hugged no end. Why, what is the matter? have you got the +hiccough, Ju?” + +“No; no! You are a true brother. I knew all along that he would explain +all if he was alive: and he is alive.” So saying she kissed the _'Tiser_ +violently more than once; then fluttered away with it to her own room +ashamed to show her joy, and yet not able to hide it. + +Mrs. Dodd shook her head sorrowfully: and Edward began to look rueful, +and doubt whether he had done wisely. I omit the discussion that +followed. But the next time his duties permitted him to visit them Mrs. +Dodd showed him the _'Tiser_ in her turn, and with her pretty white +taper finger, and such a look, pointed to the following advertisement: + + AILEEN AROON.--I _do_ DISTRUST + APPEARANCES. But if you ever loved me + explain them at once. I have something for + you from your dear sister. + +“Poor simple girl,” said Mrs. Dodd, “not to see that, if he could +explain at all, he _would_ explain, not go advertising an enigma after +acting a mystification. And to think of my innocent dove putting in that +she had something for him from his sister; a mighty temptation for such +a wretch!” + +“It was wonderfully silly,” said Edward; “and such a clever girl, too; +but you ladies can't stick to one thing at a time; begging your pardon, +mamma.” + +Mrs. Dodd took no notice of this remark. + +“To see her lower herself so!” she said. “Oh, my son, I am mortified.” + And Mrs. Dodd leaned her cheek against Edward's, and sighed. + +“Now don't you cry, mammy,” said he sorrowfully. “I'll break every bone +in his skin for your comfort.” + +“Heaven forbid!” cried Mrs. Dodd anxiously; “what, are you not aware she +would hate you?” + +“Hate me: her brother!” + +“She would hate us all if we laid a finger on that wretch. Pray +interfere no more, love; foolish child, talking to me about women, and +it is plain you know nothing of their hearts: and a good thing _for_ +you.” She then put on maternal authority (nobody could do it more +easily) and solemnly forbade all violence. + +He did not venture to contradict her now; but cherished his resolution +all the more, and longed for the hour when he might take “the Wretch” by +the throat, and chastise him, the more publicly the better. + +Now, the above incident that revealed Julia's real heart, which she +had been hiding more or less all this time from those who could not +sympathise with her, took eventually a turn unfavourable to “the +Wretch.” So he might well be called. Her great and settled fear had +always been that Alfred was dead. Under the immediate influence of his +father's cunning, she had for a moment believed he was false; but so +true and loving a heart could not rest in that opinion. In true love so +long as there is one grain of uncertainty, there is a world of faith and +credulous ingenuity. So, as Alfred had never been seen since, as nobody +could say he was married to another, there was a grain of uncertainty as +to his unfaithfulness, and this her true heart magnified to a mountain. + +But now matters wore another face. She was sure he had written the +advertisement. Who but he, out of the few that take the words of any +song to heart, admired Aileen Aroon? Who but he out of the three or four +people who might possibly care for that old song, had appearances to +explain away? And who but he knew they took in the _Morning Advertiser?_ +She waited then for the explanation she had invited. She read the +advertising column every day over and over. + +Not a word more. + +Then her womanly pride was deeply wounded. What, had she courted an +explanation where most ladies would have listened to none; and courted +it in vain! + +Her high spirit revolted. Her heart swelled against the repeated insults +she had received: this last one filled the bitter cup too high. + +And then her mother came in and assured her he had only inserted that +advertisement to keep her in his power. He has heard you are recovering, +and are admired by others more worthy of your esteem. + +Julia cried bitterly at these arguments, for she could no longer combat +them. + +And Mr. Hurd was very attentive and kind. And when he spoke to Julia, +and Julia turned away, her eye was sure to meet Mrs. Dodd's eye +imploring her secretly not to discourage the young man too much. And so +she was gently pulled by one, and gently thrust by another, away from +her first lover and towards his successor. + +It is an old, old story. Fate seems to exhaust its malice on our first +love. For the second the road is smoother. Matters went on so some +weeks, and it was perfectly true that Mr. Hurd escorted both ladies one +day to Drayton House, at Julia's request, and not Mrs. Dodd's. Indeed, +the latter lady was secretly hurt at his being allowed to come with +them. + + +One Saturday afternoon, Mrs. Dodd went alone to Drayton House by +appointment. David was like a lamb, but, as usual, had no knowledge of +her. Mrs. Archbold told her a quiet, intelligent, patient had taken +a great fancy to him, and she thought this was adding much to his +happiness. “May I see him to thank him?” asked Mrs. Dodd. “Oh, +certainly,” said Mrs. Archbold; “I'll inquire for him.” She went out but +soon returned, saying, “He is gone out for a walk with the head keeper: +we give him as much air and amusement as we can; we hope soon to send +him out altogether cured.” “Truly kind and thoughtful,” said Mrs. Dodd. +Soon after, she kissed Mrs. Archbold, and pressed a valuable brooch +upon her: and then took leave. However, at the gate she remembered her +parasol. Mrs. Archbold said she would go back for it. Mrs. Dodd would +not hear of that: Mrs. Archbold insisted, and settled the question by +going. She was no sooner in the house, than young Frank Beverley came +running to Mrs. Dodd, and put the missing parasol officiously into her +hand. “Oh, thank you, sir,” said she; “will you be so kind as to tell +Mrs. Archbold I have it.” And with this they parted, and the porter +opened the gate to her, and she got into her hired cab. She leaned her +head back, and, as usual was lost in the sorrowful thoughts of what had +been, and what now was. Poor wife, each visit to Drayton House opened +her wound afresh. On reaching the stones, there was a turnpike This +roused her up; she took out her purse and paid it. As she drew back +to her seat, she saw out of the tail of her feminine eye the edge of +something white under her parasol. She took up the parasol, and found a +written paper pinned on to it: she detached this paper, and examined it +all over with considerable curiosity. It consisted of a long slip about +an inch and a quarter broad, rolled like tape, and tied with +packthread. She could not see the inside, of course, but she read +the superscription: it was firmly but clearly written, in red ink +apparently. + +Of the words I shall only say at present that they were strong and +simple, and that their effect on the swift intelligence and tender heart +of Mrs. Dodd was overpowering. They knocked at her heart; they drew from +her an audible cry of pity more eloquent than a thousand speeches: and +the next moment she felt a little faint; for she knew now the appeal was +not in red ink, but in something very fit to pass between the heart of +woe and the heart of pity. She smelt at her salts, and soon recovered +that weakness: and next her womanly bosom swelled so with the milk of +human kindness that her breath came short. After a little struggle she +gushed out aloud, “Ah, that I will, poor soul; this very moment.” + +Now, by this time she was close to her own house. + +She stopped the cab at her door, and asked the driver if his horse was +fresh enough to carry her to the Board of Lunacy: “It is at Whitehall, +sir,” said she. “Lord bless you, ma'am,” said the cabman, “Whitehall? +Why, my mare would take you to Whitechapel and back in an hour, let +alone Whitehall.” + +Reassured on that point Mrs. Dodd went in just to give the servant an +order: but as she stood in the passage, she heard her children's voices +and also a friend's; the genial, angry tones of Alexander Sampson, M. D. + +She thought, “Oh, I _must_ just show them all the paper, before I go +with it;” and so after a little buzz about dinner and things with Sarah, +mounted the stairs, and arrived among them singularly _apropos,_ as it +happened. + + +Men like Sampson, who make many foes, do also make stauncher friends +than ever the Hare does, and are faithful friends themselves. The +boisterous doctor had stuck to the Dodds in all their distresses; and +if they were ever short of money, it certainly was not his fault: for +almost his first word, when he found them in a lodging, was, “Now, ye'll +be wanting a Chick. Gimme pen and ink, and I'll just draw ye one; for +a hundre.” This being declined politely by Mrs. Dodd, he expostulated. +“Mai--dear--Madam, how on airth can ye go on in such a place as London +without a Chick?” + +He returned to the charge at his next visit and scolded her well for her +pride. “Who iver hard of refusing a Chick? a small inoffensive chick, +from an old friend like me? Come now, behave! Just a wee chick, I'll let +y' off for fifty.” + +“Give us your company and your friendship,” said Mrs. Dodd; “we value +them above gold: we will not rob your dear children, while we have as +many fingers on our hands as other people.” + + +On the present occasion Dr. Sampson, whose affectionate respect for the +leading London physicians has already displayed itself, was inveighing +specially against certain specialists, whom, in the rapidity of his +lusty eloquence, he called the Mad Ox. He favoured Julia and Edward with +a full account of the maniform enormities he had detected them in during +thirty years' practice; and so descended to his present grievance. A +lady, an old friend of his, was being kept in a certain asylum month +after month because she had got money and relations, and had once been +delirious. “And why was she delirious? because she had a brain fever, +she got well in a fortnight.” This lady had thrown a letter over +the wall addressed to him; somebody had posted it: he had asked the +Commissioners to let him visit her; they had declined for the present. +“Yon Board always sides with the strong against the weak,” said he. So +now he had bribed the gardener, and made a midnight assignation with the +patient; and was going to it with six stout fellows to carry her off by +force. “That is my recipe for alleged Insanity,” said he. “The business +will be more like a mejaeval knight carrying off a namorous nun out of +a convint, than a good physician saving a pashint from the Mad Ox. +However, Mrs. Saampson's in the secret; I daunt say sh' approves it; for +she doesn't. She says, 'Go quietly to the Board o' Commissioners.' Sis +I, 'My dear, Boards are a sort of cattle that go too slow for Saampson, +and no match at all for the Mad Ox.'” + +At this conjuncture, or soon after, Mrs. Dodd came in with her paper in +her hand, a little flurried for once, and after a hasty curtsey, said-- + +“Oh, Doctor Sampson, oh, my dears, what wickedness there is in the +world! I'm going to Whitehall this moment; only look at what was pinned +on my parasol at Drayton House.” + +The writing passed from hand to hand, and left the readers looking very +gravely at one another. Julia was quite pale and horror-stricken. +All were too deeply moved, and even shocked, to make any commonplace +comment; for it looked and read like a cry from heart to hearts. + + + _“If you are a Christian, if + you are human, pity a sane + man here confined in, fraud, + and take this to the Board of + Lunacy at Whitehall. Torn + by treachery from her I love, + my letters all intercepted, pens + and paper kept from me, I + write this with a toothpick + and my blood on a rim of + 'The Times.' Oh God, direct + it to some one who has suf- + fered, and can feel for an- + other's agony._” + + +Dr. Sampson was the first to speak. “There,” said he, under his breath: +“didn't I tell you? This man is sane. There's sanity in every line.” + +“Well, but,” said Edward, “do you mean to say that in the present day--” + +“Mai--dearr--sirr. Mankind niver changes. Whativer the muscles of man +_can_ do in the light, the mind and conscience of man will consent to do +in the dark.” + +Julia said never a word. + +Mrs. Dodd, too, was for action not for talk. She bade them all a hasty +adieu, and went on her good work. + +Ere she got to the street door, she heard a swift rustle behind her; and +it was Julia flying down to her, all glowing and sparkling with her old +impetuosity, that had seemed dead for ever. “No, no,” she cried, panting +with generous emotion; “it is to me it was sent. _I_ am torn from him +I love, and by some treachery I dare say: and _I_ have suffered--oh you +shall never know what I have suffered. Give it _me,_ oh pray, pray, pray +give it _me. I'll_ take it to Whitehall.” + + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + +IF we could always know at the time what we are doing. + +Two ladies carried a paper to Whitehall out of charity to a stranger. + +Therein the elder was a benefactress to a man she had never spoken of +but as “the Wretch;” the younger held her truant bridegroom's heart, +I may say, in her hand all the road and was his protectress. Neither +recognised the hand-writing; for no man can write his own hand with a +toothpick. + +They reached Whitehall, and were conducted upstairs to a gentleman of +pleasant aspect but powerful brow, seated in a wilderness of letters. + +He waved his hand, and a clerk set them chairs: he soon after laid down +his pen, and leaned gravely forward to hear their business. They saw +they must waste no time; Julia looked at her mother, rose, and took +Alfred's missive to his desk, and handed it him with one of her eloquent +looks, grave and pitiful. He seemed struck by her beauty and her manner. + +“It was pinned on my parasol, sir, by a poor prisoner at Drayton House,” + said Mrs. Dodd. + +“Oh, indeed,” said the gentleman, and began to read the superscription +with a cold and wary look. But thawed visibly as he read. He opened the +missive and ran his eye over it. The perusal moved him not a little: a +generous flush mounted to his brow; he rang the bell sharply. A clerk +answered it; the gentleman wrote on a slip of paper, and said earnestly, +“Bring me every letter that is signed with that name, and all our +correspondence about him.” + +He then turned to Mrs. Dodd, and put to her a few questions, which drew +out the main facts I have just related. The papers were now brought in. +“Excuse me a moment,” said he, and ran over them. “I believe the man +is sane,” said he, “and that you will have enabled us to baffle a +conspiracy, a heartless conspiracy.” + +“We do hope he will be set free, sir,” said Mrs. Dodd piteously. + +“He shall, madam, if it is as I suspect. I will stay here all night but +I will master this case; and lay it before the Board myself without +delay.” + +Julia looked at her mother, and then asked if it would be wrong to +inquire “the poor gentleman's name?” + +“Humph!” said the official; “I ought not to reveal that without his +consent. But stay! he will owe you much, and it really seems a pity he +should not have an opportunity of expressing his gratitude. Perhaps you +will favour me with your address: and trust to my discretion. Of course, +if he does not turn out as sane as he seems, I shall never let him know +it.” + +Mrs. Dodd then gave her address; and she and Julia went home with a glow +about the heart selfish people, thank Heaven, never know. + +Unconsciously these two had dealt their enemy and Alfred's a heavy blow; +had set the train to a mine. Their friend at the office was a man of +another stamp than Alfred had fallen in with. + + +Meantime Alfred was subjected to hourly mortifications and irritations. +He guessed the motive, and tried to baffle it by calm self-possession: +but this was far more difficult than heretofore, because his temper was +now exacerbated and his fibre irritated by broken sleep (of this poor +David was a great cause), and his heart inflamed and poisoned by that +cruel, that corroding passion jealousy. + +To think, that while he was in prison, a rival was ever at his Julia's +ear, making more and more progress in her heart! This corroder was his +bitter companion day and night; and perhaps of all the maddeners human +cunning could have invented this was the worst. It made his temples beat +and his blood run boiling poison. Indeed, there were times when he was +so distempered by passion that homicide seemed but an act of justice, +and suicide a legitimate relief. For who could go on for ever carrying +Hell in his bosom up and down a prison yard? He began to go alone! to +turn impatiently from the petty troubles and fathomless egotism of those +afflicted persons he had hitherto forced his sore heart to pity. Pale, +thin, and wo-begone, he walked the weary gravel, like the lost ones in +that Hall of Eblis whose hearts were a devouring fire. Even an inspector +with a naked eye would no longer have distinguished him at first sight +from a lunatic of the unhappiest class, the melancholiac. + + “Ipse suum cor edens hominum vestigia vitans.” + + +Mrs. Archbold looked on and saw this sad sight, not with the pity it +would once have caused, but with a sort of bitter triumph lightened by +no pleasure, and darkened by the shadow of coming remorse. Yet up to +this time she had shown none of that inconstancy of purpose which marks +her sex; while she did go far to justify the poet's charge: + + “Nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned.” + +Rooke had a hint to provoke Alfred to violence such as would justify +them in subjecting so popular a patient to bodily restraint, composing +draughts, and other quick maddeners. Rooke entered into the game +zealously from two motives; he was devoted to Mrs. Archbold, and he +hated Alfred, who had openly defied him, and mortified his vanity about +Frank Beverley. + +One Saturday Alfred was ordered out to walk with Rooke and Hayes and +Vulcan. He raised no objection: suspected, felt homicidal, suppressed +the impulse, and by this self-command he got time to give that letter to +Beverley with instructions. + +But, all the walk, he was saying to himself that Julia was in the house, +and he was kept away from her, and a rival with her; this made him +sicken and rage by turns. He came back in a state verging on fury. + +On entering the yard poor Beverley, who had done his bit of cunning, and +by reaction now relapsed into extra simplicity, came running, and said, +“I've done it; she has got it.” + +“What have you done? Who has got what?” cried Rooke. + +“Don't tell, Frank.” + +“If you don't I'll shake your life out, ye young blackguard,” cried +Rooke, seizing him and throttling him till he was black in the face. + +Alfred's long-pent fury broke out: he gnashed his teeth and dashed his +fist in Rooke's face. + +Rooke staggered back and bellowed with pain and anger, then rushing +at him incautiously, received a stinger that staggered him, and nearly +closed his right eye. He took the hint, and put himself in a posture +that showed he was skilled in the art of self-defence. He stopped two +blows neatly, and returned a heavy one upon the ribs. Alfred staggered +back some steps, but steadied himself, and, as Rooke rushed in too +hastily to improve his advantage, caught him heavily on the other eye, +but lost his own balance a little, which enabled Rooke to close; then +came a sharp short rally of re-echoing blows, and Rooke, not to be +denied, got hold of his man, and a wrestling bout ensued, in which +Alfred being somewhat weakened by misery and broken rest, Rooke's great +weight and strength enabled him, after a severe struggle, to fall with +his antagonist under him, and knock the breath out of his body for the +moment. Then Hayes, who had stood prudently aloof, came in and helped +handcuff him. They could not walk up and down him for the Robin, who +stood by with a professional air to see fair play. + +“Ah, cold iron is your best chance,” he said satirically. “Never you +mind, sir: you hit quick and well: I'd back _you_ at long odds in the +ring: both his peepers are in deep mourning.” He added, “A cow can beat +a man wrestling.” + +When Alfred was handcuffed they turned him loose. It soon transpired, +however, that he was now a dangerous maniac (Formula) and to be confined +in the noisy ward. + +On hearing this he saw the trap he had fallen into; saw and trembled. He +asked himself what on earth he should do; and presently the saying came +back to him, “And this is the highest stroke of art, to turn evil into +good.” He argued thus: Wolf's love of money is my great evil; he will +destroy me for money, do anything for money. Then suppose I offer him +money to be honest. He begged an interview with Dr. Wolf on business. +This was accorded at once. He asked the doctor plump whether he received +a large sum to detain him under pretence of insanity. + +“Not very, considering the trouble you sometimes give, Mr. Hardie,” was +the dry reply. + +“Well, then, Justice shall outbid rascality for once. I am a sane man, +and you know it; a man of my word, and you know it. I'll give you a +thousand pounds to let me out of this place.” + +Dr. Wolf's eyes sparkled. + +“You shall have any bond or security you like; and the money within a +week of my deliverance.” + +Dr. Wolf said he should be delighted to do it, if he could +conscientiously. + +At this piece of hypocrisy Alfred's cheek reddened, and he could not +speak. + +“Well, well, I do see a great change in you for the better,” said Dr. +Wolf. “If, as I suspect, you are convalescent, I will part with you +without a thousand pounds or a thousand pence.” + +Alfred stared. Had he mistaken his man? + +“I'll tell you what, though,” said the smooth doctor. “I have got two +pictures, one by Raphael, one by Correggio.” + +“I know them,” said the quick-witted Alfred; “they are worth more than a +thousand pounds.” + +“Of course they are, but I would take a thousand pounds from you.” + +“Throw me in my liberty, and I'll make it guineas.” + +“We will see about that.” And with this understanding the men of +business parted. Dr. Wolf consulted Mrs. Archbold then and there. + +“Impossible,” said she; “the law would dissolve such a bargain, and you +would be exposed and ruined.” + +“But a thousand pounds!” said the poor doctor. + +“Oh, he offered me more than that,” said Mrs. Archbold. + +“You don't mean to say so; when was that?” + +“Do you remember one Sunday that I walked him out, to keep clear of Mrs. +Dodd? Have you not observed that I have not repeated the experiment?” + +“Yes. But I really don't know why.” + +“Will you promise me faithfully not to take any notice if I tell you?” + +The doctor promised. + +Then she owned to him with manifest reluctance that Alfred had taken +advantage of her kindness, her indiscretion, in walking alone with him, +and made passionate love to her. “He offered me not a thousand pounds,” + said she, “but his whole fortune, and his heart, if I would fly with him +from _these odious walls;_ that was his expression.” + +Then seeing out of a corner of her eye that the doctor was turning +almost green with jealousy, this artist proceeded to describe the +love scene between her and Alfred, with feigned hesitation, yet minute +detail. Only she inverted the parts: Alfred in her glowing page made the +hot love; she listened abashed, confused, and tried all she could think +of to bring him to better sentiments. She concluded this chapter of +history inverted with a sigh, and said, “So now he hates me, I believe, +poor fellow.” + +“Do you regret your refusal?” asked Dr. Wolf uneasily. + +“Oh no, my dear friend. Of course, my judgment says that few women at my +age and in my position would have refused. But we poor women seldom go +by our judgments.” And she cast a tender look down at the doctor's feet. + +In short, she worked on him so, that he left Alfred at her disposition, +and was no sooner gone to his other asylum six miles off; than the +calumniated was conducted by Hayes and Rooke through passage after +passage, and door after door, to a wing of the building connected with +the main part only by a covered way. As they neared it, strange noises +became audible. Faint at first, they got louder and louder. Singing, +roaring, howling like wolves. Alfred's flesh began to creep. He stopped +at the covered way: he would have fought to his last gasp sooner than go +further, but he was handcuffed. He appealed to the keepers; but he had +used them both too roughly: they snarled and forced him on, and shut him +into a common flagged cell, with a filthy truckle-bed in it, and all the +vessels of gutta-percha. Here he was surrounded by the desperate order +of maniacs he at present scarcely knew but by report. Throughout that +awful night he could never close his eyes for the horrible unearthly +sounds that assailed him. Singing, swearing, howling like wild beasts! +His right-hand neighbour reasoned high of faith and works, ending each +pious argument with a sudden rhapsody of oaths and never slept a wink. +His left-hand neighbour alternately sang, and shouted, “Cain was a +murderer, Cain was a murderer;” and howled like a wolf, making night +hideous. His opposite neighbour had an audience, and every now and +then delivered in a high nasal key, “Let us curse and pray;” varying it +sometimes thus: “Brethren, let us work double tides.” And then he would +deliver a long fervent prayer, and follow it up immediately with a +torrent of blasphemies so terrific, that coming in such a contrast they +made Alfred's body wet with perspiration to hear a poor creature so defy +his Creator. No rest, no peace. When it was still, the place was +like the grave; and ever and anon, loud, sharp, tremendous, burst a +thunderclap of curses, and set those poor demented creatures all +yelling again for half-an-hour, making the tombs ring. And at clock-like +intervals a harmless but dirty idiot, who was allowed to roam the +ward, came and chanted through the keyhole, “Everything is nothing, and +nothing is everything.” + +This was the only observation he had made for many years. + +His ears assailed with horrors, of which you have literally no +conception, or shadow of a conception, his nose poisoned with ammoniacal +vapours, and the peculiar wild-beast smell that marks the true maniac, +Alfred ran wildly about his cell trying to stop his ears, and trembling +for his own reason. When the fearful night rolled away, and morning +broke, and he could stand on his truckle-bed and see the sweet +hoar-frost on a square yard of grass level with his prison bars, it +refreshed his very soul, and affected him almost to tears. He was then, +to his surprise, taken out, and allowed to have a warm bath and to +breakfast with David and the rest; but I suspect it was done to watch +the effect of the trial he had been submitted to. After breakfast, +having now no place to go, he lay on a bench, and there exhausted nature +overpowered him, and he fell fast asleep. + +Mrs. Archbold came by on purpose, and saw him. He looked very pale and +peaceful. There was a cut on his forehead due to Rooke's knuckles. Mrs. +Archbold looked down, and the young figure and haughty face seemed so +unresisting and peaceful sad, she half relented, and shed some bitter +tears. That did not, however, prevent her setting her female spies to +watch him more closely than ever. + +He awoke cold but refreshed, and found little Beverley standing by +him with wet eyes. Alfred smiled and held out his hand like a captive +monarch to his faithful vassal. “They shan't put you in the noisy ward +again,” sobbed Frank. “This is your last night here.” + +“Hy, Frank, you rascal, my boots!” roared Rooke from an open window. + +“Coming, sir--coming!” + +Alfred's next visitor was the Robin. He came whispering, “It is all +right with Garrett, sir, and he has got a key of the back gate; but you +must get back to your old room, or we can't work.” + +“Would to Heaven I could, Robin; another night or two in the noisy ward +will drive me mad, I think.” + +“Well, sir, I'll tell you what you do: which we all have to do it at +odd times: hold a candle to the devil: here she comes: I think she is +everywhere all at one time.” The Robin then sauntered away, affecting +nonchalance: and Alfred proceeded to hold the candle as directed. “Mrs. +Archbold,” said he timidly rising from his seat at her approach. + +“Sir,” said she haughtily, and affecting surprise. + +“I have a favour to ask you, madam. Would you be so kind as to let me go +back to my room?” + +“What, you have found I am not so powerless as you thought!” + +“I find myself so weak, and you so powerful that--you can afford to be +generous.” + +“I have no more power over you than you have over me.” + +“I wish it was so.” + +“I'll prove it,” said she. “Who has got the key of your room? Hayes?” + She whistled, and sent for him; and gave him the requisite order before +Alfred. Alfred thanked her warmly. + +She smiled, and went away disposed to change her tactics, and, having +shown him how she could torment, try soothing means, and open his heart +by gratitude. + +But presently looking out of her window she saw the Robin and him +together; and somehow they seemed to her subtle, observant eyes, to be +plotting. The very suspicion was fatal to that officer. His discharge +was determined on. Meantime she set her spies to watch him, and tell her +if they saw or heard anything. + +Now Mrs. Archbold was going out to tea that evening, and, as soon as +ever this transpired, the keepers secretly invited the keeperesses to +a party in the first-class patients drawing-room. This was a rare +opportunity, and the Robin and Garrett put their heads together +accordingly. + +In the dusk of the evening the Robin took an opportunity and slipped a +new key of the back gate into Alfred's hand, and told him “the trick was +to be done that very night:” he was to get Thompson to go to bed early; +and, instead of taking off his clothes, was to wait in readiness. “We +have been plying Hayes already,” said the Robin, “and, as soon as _she_ +is off, we shall hocuss him, and get the key; and, while they are all +larking in the drawing-room, off you go to Merrimashee.” + +“Oh, you dear Robin! You have taken my breath away. But how about +Vulcan?” + +“Oh, we know how to make him amiable: a dog-fancier, a friend of mine, +has provided the ondeniable where dogs is concerned: whereby Garrett +draws the varmint into the scullery, and shuts him in, while I get the +key from the other. _It's_ all right.” + +“Ah, Robin,” said Alfred, “it sounds too good to be true. What? this my +last day here!” + +The minutes seemed to creep very slowly till eight o'clock came. Then he +easily persuaded David to go to bed; Hayes went up and unlocked the +door for them: it closed with a catch-lock. Hayes was drunk, but full of +discipline, and insisted on the patients putting out their clothes; so +Alfred made up a bundle from his portmanteau, and threw it out. Hayes +eyed it suspiciously, but was afraid to stoop and inspect it closer: for +his drunken instinct told him he would pitch on his head that moment: so +he retired grumbling and dangling his key. + +At the end of the corridor he met Mrs. Archbold full dressed, and with +a candle in her hand. She held the candle up and inspected him; and a +little conversation followed that sobered Mr. Hayes for a minute or two. + +Mrs. Archbold was no sooner gone to her little tea-party than all the +first-class ladies and gentlemen were sent to bed to get a good sleep +for the good of their health, and the keepers and keeperesses took their +place and romped, and made such a row, sleep was not easy within hearing +of them. They sat on the piano, they sang songs to a drum accompaniment +played on the table, they danced, drank, flirted, and enjoyed themselves +like schoolboys. Hayes alone was gloomy and morose: so the Robin and +Garrett consoled him, drank with him, and soothed him with the balm +of insensibility: in which condition they removed him under charitable +pretences, and searched his pockets in the passage for the key of +Alfred's room. + +To their infinite surprise and disappointment it was not upon him. + +The fact is, Mrs. Archbold had snatched it from him in her wrath, and +put it in her own pocket. How far her suspicions went, how much her +spies had discovered, I really don't know; but somehow or other she was +uneasy in her mind, and, seeing Hayes in such a state, she would not +trust him during her absence, but took the key away with her. + +The Robin and Garrett knew nothing of this, and were all abroad, but +they thought Rooke must have the key; so they proceeded to drink with +him, and were just about to administer a really effective soporific in +his grog, when they and all the merry party were suddenly startled by +violent ringing at the bell, and thundering and halloaing at the hall +door. The men jumped to their feet and balanced themselves, and looked +half wild, half stupid. The women sat, and began to scream: for they had +heard a word that has terrors for us all: peculiar terrors for them. + +This alarm was due to a personage hitherto undervalued in the +establishment. + +Mr. Francis Beverley had been THINKING. So now, finding all the patients +boxed up, and their attendants romping in the drawing-room, he lighted +seven fires, skilfully on the whole, for practice makes perfect; but, +singular oversight, he omitted one essential ingredient in the fire, and +that was the grate. + +To be plain, Mr. Francis made seven bonfires of bed-curtains, +chairs, and other combustibles in the servants' garrets, lighted them +contemporaneously, and retired to the basement, convinced he had taken +the surest means to deliver his friend out of Drayton House: and with a +certain want of candour that characterises the weak, proceeded to black +his other bad master's shoes with singular assiduity. + +There was no wind to blow the flame; but it was a clear frost; and soon +fiery tongues shot out of three garret-windows into the night, and +lurid gleams burnished four more, and the old house was burning merrily +overhead, and ringing with hilarity on the first floor. + +But the neighbours saw, pointed, wondered, comprehended, shouted, rang, +knocked, and surged round the iron gate. “Fire! fire! fire!” and “Fire!” + went down the road, and men on horseback galloped for engines; and the +terror-stricken porter opened and the people rushed in and hammered at +the hall doors, and when Rooke ran down and opened, “Fire!” was the word +that met him from a score of eager throats and glittering eyes. + +“Fire! Where?” he cried. + +“Where! Why, _you_ are on fire. Blazing!” + +He ran out and looked up at the tongues of flame and volleys of smoke. +“Shut the gate,” he roared. “Call the police. Fire! fire!” And he dashed +back, and calling to the other keepers to unlock all the doors they had +keys of, ran up to the garrets to see what could be done. He came out +awe-stricken at what he saw. He descended hastily to the third floor. +Now the third floor of that wing was occupied principally by servants. +In fact, the only patients at that time were Dodd and Alfred. Rooke +called to the men below to send Hayes up to No. 75 with his key +directly; he then ran down to the next floor--of which he had keys--and +opened all the doors, and said to the inmates with a ghastly attempt at +cheerfulness, belied by his shaking voice, “Get up, gentlemen; there +is a ball and supper going on below.” He was afraid to utter the word +“fire” to them. The other keepers were as rapid, each on his beat, and +soon the more rational patients took the alarm and were persuaded or +driven out half-dressed into the yard, where they cowered together in +extremity of fear; for the fire began to roar overhead like a lion, +and lighted up the whole interior red and bright. All was screaming and +confusion; and then came a struggle to get the incurable out from the +basement story. There was no time to handcuff them. The keepers trusted +to the terror of the scene to cow them, and so opened the doors and got +them out anyhow. Wild, weird forms, with glaring eyes and matted hair, +leaped out and ran into the hall, and laughed, and danced, and cursed in +the lurid reflection of the fires above. Hell seemed discharging +demons. Men recoiled from them. And well they did; for now the skylight +exploded, and the pieces fell tinkling on the marble hall fast as hail. +The crowd recoiled and ran; but those awful figures continued their +gambols. One picked up the burning glass and ground it in his hands that +bled directly: but he felt neither burn nor cut. The keepers rushed +in to withdraw them from so dangerous a place: all but one obeyed with +sudden tameness: that one struggled and yelled like a demon. In the +midst of which fearful contest came a sudden thundering at a door on the +third floor. + +“What is that?” cried Rooke. + +“It is Mr. Hardie,” screamed the Robin. “You have left him locked in.” + +“I told Hayes to let him out long ago.” + +“But Hayes hasn't got the key. You've got it.” + +“No, no. I tell you Hayes has got it.” + +“No, no! Murder! murder! They are dead men. Run for Mrs. Archbold, +somebody. Run! Here, hammers, hammers! for God's sake, come and help me, +break the door. Oh, Rooke, Rooke!” + +“As I'm a man Hayes has got the key,” cried Rooke, stamping on the +ground, and white with terror. + +By this time Garrett had got a hammer, and he and Wales rushed wildly up +the stairs to batter in the strong door if they could. They got to the +third floor, but with difficulty; the smoke began to blind them and +choke them, and fiery showers fell on them, and drove them back smarting +and choking. Garrett sank down gasping at the stair-foot. Wales ran into +the yard uttering pitiful cries, and pointing wildly upwards; but before +he got there, a hand had broken through the glass of a window up in the +third floor, the poor white hand of a perishing prisoner, and clutched +the framework and tore at it. + +At this hand a thousand white faces were now upturned amid groans of +pity and terror, such as only multitudes can utter. Suddenly those +anxious faces and glistening eyes turned like one, for an attempt, wild +and unintelligible, but still an attempt, was about to be made to save +that hand and its owner out of the very jaws of death. + +Now amongst the spectators was one whose life and reason were at stake +on that attempt. + + +Mrs. Dodd was hurrying homeward from this very neighbourhood when the +fire broke out. Her son Edward was coming at nine o'clock to tea, +and, better still, to sleep. He was leaving the fire brigade. It had +disappointed him; he found the fire-escape men saved the lives, the +firemen only the property. He had gone into the business earnestly +too; he had invented a thing like a treble pouch hook, which could be +fastened in a moment to the end of a rope, and thrown into the window, +and would cling to the bare wall, if there was nothing better, and +enable him to go up and bring life down. But he had never got a chance +to try it; and, _per contra,_ he was on the engine when they went +tearing over a woman and broke her arm and collar-bone in the +Blackfriars Road; and also when they went tearing over their own +fire-dog, and crippled him. All this seemed out of character, and +shocked Edward; and then his mother could not get over the jacket. + +In a quarter of an hour he was to take off the obnoxious jacket for +ever, and was now lounging at the station smoking a short pipe, when a +man galloped up crying “Fire!” + +“All right!” said Edward, giving a whiff. “Where?” + +“Lunatic Asylum. Drayton House.” + +Guess how long before the horses were to, and the engine tearing at a +gallop down the road, and the firemen shouting “Fire! fire!” to clear +the way, and Edward's voice the loudest. + +When the report of fire swept townward past Mrs. Dodd, she turned, and +saw the glow. + +“Oh dear,” said she, “that must be somewhere near Drayton House.” And +full of the tender fears that fill such bosoms as hers for those they +love, she could not go home till she had ascertained that it was not +Drayton House. Moreover, Edward's was the nearest station; she had +little hope now of seeing him to tea. She sighed, and retraced her +steps, and made timid inquiries, but could gain no clear information. +Presently she heard galloping behind her, and the fireman's wild +sharp cry of fire. An engine drawn by two powerful brown horses came +furiously, all on fire itself with red paint and polished steel gleaming +in the lights; helmeted men clustered on it, and out of one of these +helmets looked a face like a fighting lion's, the eyes so dilated, the +countenance in such towering excitement, the figure half rising from +his seat as though galloping was too slow and he wanted to fly. It +was Edward. Mother and son caught sight of one another as the engine +thundered by, and he gave her a solemn ardent look, and pointed towards +the fire; by that burning look and eloquent gesture she knew it was +something more than a common fire. She trembled and could not move. But +this temporary weakness was followed by an influx of wild vigour; she +forgot her forty-two years, and flew to hover round the fire as the hen +round water. Unfortunately she was too late to get any nearer than the +road outside the gates, the crowd was so dense. And, while her pale face +and anxious eyes, the eyes of a wife and a mother, were bent on that +awful fire, the human tide flowed swiftly up behind her, and there she +was wedged in. She was allowed her foot of ground to stand and look like +the rest--no more. Mere unit in that mass of panting humanity, hers was +one of the thousands of upturned faces lurid in the light of the now +blazing roof. She saw with thousands the hand break the window and +clutch the frame; she gasped with the crowd at that terrible and piteous +sight, and her bosom panted for her fellow-creature in sore peril. +But what is this? The mob inside utter a great roar of hope; the crowd +outside strain every eye. + +A gleaming helmet overtops the outer wall. It is a fireman mounting the +great elm-tree in the madhouse yard. The crowd inside burst in a cheer. +He had a rope round his loins; his face was to the tree. He mounted and +mounted like a cat; higher, and higher, and higher, till he reached a +branch about twelve feet above the window and as many distant from it +laterally; the crowd cheered him lustily. But Mrs. Dodd, half distracted +with terror, implored them not to encourage him. “It is my child!” she +cried despairingly; “my poor reckless darling! Come down, Edward; for +your poor mother's sake, come down.” + +“Dear heart,” said a woman, “it is the lady's son. Poor thing!” + +“Stand on my knee, ma'am,” said a coal-heaver. + +“Oh no, sir, no. I could not look at him for the world. I can only pray +for him. Good people, pray for us!” And she covered her face, and prayed +and trembled and sobbed hysterically. A few yards behind was another +woman, who had arrived later, yet like her was wedged immovable. This +woman was more terror-stricken than Mrs. Dodd; and well she might; for +_she_ knew who was behind that fatal window: the woman's name was Edith +Archbold. The flames were now leaping through the roof, and surging up +towards heaven in waves of fire six feet high. Edward, scorched and half +blinded, managed to fasten his rope to the bough, and, calculating +the distances vertical and lateral he had to deal with, took up rope +accordingly, and launched himself into the air. + +The crowd drew their breath so hard it sounded like a murmur. To their +horror he missed the window, and went swinging back. + +There was a cry of dismay. But Edward had never hoped to leap into the +window; he went swinging by the rope back to the main stem of the tree, +gave it a fierce spang with his feet, and by this means and a powerful +gesture of his herculean loins got an inch nearer the window: back +again, and then the same game; and so he went swinging to and fro over +a wider and wider space; and, by letting out an inch of cord each swing, +his flying feet came above the window-ledge, then a little higher, then +higher still; and now, oh sight strange and glorious--as this helmeted +hero, with lips clenched and great eyes that stared unflinchingly at the +surging flames, and gleamed supernaturally with inward and outward fire, +swang to and fro on his frail support still making for the window--the +heads of all the hoping, fearing, admiring, panting crowd went surging +and waving to and fro beneath; so did not their hearts only but their +agitated bodies follow the course of his body, as it rushed to and fro +faster and faster through the hot air starred with snow-flakes, and +hail, of fire. And those his fellow-men for whom the brave fireman made +this supernatural effort, did they know their desperate condition? Were +they still alive? One little hour ago Alfred sat on the bed, full of +hope. Every minute he expected to hear the Robin put a key into the +door. He was all ready, and his money in his pocket. Alas! his liberator +came not; some screw loose again. Presently he was conscious of a great +commotion in the house. Feet ran up and down. Then came a smell of +burning. The elm-tree outside was illuminated. He was glad at first; he +had a spite against the place. But soon he became alarmed, and hammered +at the door and tried to force it. Impossible. “Fire!” rang from men's +voices. Fire crackled above his head; he ran about the room like a wild +creature; he sprang up at the window and dashed his hand through, but +fell back. He sprang again and got his hand on some of the lighter +woodwork; he drew himself up nearly to the window, and then the wood +gave way and he fell to the ground, and striking the back of his head, +nearly stunned himself; the flames roared fearfully now; and at this +David, who had hitherto sat unconcerned, started up, and in a stentorian +voice issued order upon order to furl every rag of sail and bring the +ship to the wind. He thought it was a tempest. “Oh hush! hush!” cried +Alfred in vain.. A beam fell from the roof to the floor, precursor of +the rest. On this David thought the ship was ashore, and shouted a fresh +set of orders proper to the occasion, so terribly alike are the angry +voices of the sister-elements. But Alfred implored him, and got him to +kneel down with him, and held his hand, and prayed. + +And, even while they kneeled and Alfred prayed, Death and Life met +and fought for them. Under the door, tight as it was, and through the +keyhole, struggled a hot stifling smoke, merciful destroyer running +before fire; and the shadow of a gigantic figure began to flicker in +from the outside, and to come and go upon the wall. Alfred did not know +what that was, but it gave him a vague hope: he prayed aloud as men +pray only for their bodies. (The crowd heard him and hushed itself +breathless.) + +The smoke penetrated faster, blinding and stifling; the giant shadow +came and went. But now the greater part of the roof fell in with an +awful report; the blazing timbers thundered down to the basement with +endless clatter of red-hot tiles; the walls quivered, and the building +belched skyward a thousand jets of fire like a bouquet of rockets: and +then a cloud of smoke. Alfred gave up all hope, and prepared to die. +Crash! as if discharged from a cannon, came bursting through the window, +with the roar of an applauding multitude and a mother's unheeded scream, +a helmeted figure, rope in hand, and alighted erect and commanding on +the floor amidst a shower of splinters and tinkling glass. “Up, men, for +your lives,” roared this fire-warrior, clutching them hard, and dragged +them both up to their feet by one prodigious gesture: all three faces +came together and shone in the lurid light; and he knew his father and +“the Wretch,” and “the Wretch” knew him. “Oh!” “Ah!” passed like pistol +shots; but not a word: even this strange meeting went for little, so +awful was the moment, so great are Death and Fire. Edward clawed his +rope to the bed; up to the window by it, dropped his line to fireman +Jackson planted express below, and in another moment was hauling up a +rope ladder: this he attached, and getting on it and holding his own +rope by way of banister, cried, “Now, men, quick, for your lives.” But +poor David called that deserting the ship, and demurred, till Alfred +assured him the captain had ordered it. He then submitted directly, +touched his forelock to Edward, whom he took for that officer, and went +down the ladder; Alfred followed. + +Now the moment those two figures emerged from the burning pile, Mrs. +Dodd, already half dead with terror for her son, saw and knew her +husband: for all about him it was as light as day. + +What terror! what joy! what gratitude! what pride! what a tempest of +emotions! + +But her fears were not ended: Edward, not to overweight the ladder, went +dangling by his hands along the rope towards the tree. And his mother's +eyes stared fearfully from him to the other, and her heart hung +trembling on her husband descending cautiously, and then on his +preserver, her son, who was dangling along by the hands on that frail +support. The mob cheered him royally, but she screamed and hid her face +again. At last both her darlings were safe, and then the lusty cheers +made her thrill with pride and joy, till all of a sudden they seemed to +die away, and the terrible fire to go out; and the sore-tried wife +and mother drooped her head and swooned away, wedged in and kept from +falling by the crowd. + +Inside, the mob parted and made two rushes, one at the rescued men, one +at the gallant fireman. Alfred and David were overpowered with curiosity +and sympathy. They had to shake a hundred honest hands, and others still +pressing on hurried them nearly off their feet. + +“Gently, good friends; don't part us,” said Alfred. + +“He is the keeper,” said one of the crowd. + +“Yes, I'm his keeper: and I want to get him quietly away. This +excitement will do him harm else; good friends, help me out by that +door.” + +“All right,” was the cry, and they rushed with him to the back door. +Rooke, who was about twenty yards off saw and suspected this movement. +He fought his way and struggled after Alfred in silence. Presently, +to his surprise, Alfred unlocked the door and whipped out with David, +leaving the door open. Rooke shouted and halloaed: “Stop him! he is +escaping,” and struggled madly to the door. Now another crowd had been +waiting in the meadows; seeing the door open they rushed in and the +doorway was jammed directly. In the confusion Alfred drew David along +the side of the wall; told him to stay quiet, bolted behind an outhouse, +and then ran across country for the bare life. + +To his horror David followed him, and with a madman's agility soon +caught him. + +He snorted like a spirited horse, and shouted cheerily, “Go ahead, +messmate; I smell blue water.” + +“Come on, then,” cried Alfred, half mad himself with excitement, and +the pair ran furiously, and dashed through hedges and ditches, torn, +bleeding, splashed, triumphant; behind them the burning madhouse, above +them the spangled sky, the fresh free air of liberty blowing in their +nostrils, and rushing past their ears. + +Alfred's chest expanded, he laughed for joy, he sang for joy, he leaped +as he went; nor did he care where he went. David took the command, and +kept snuffing the air, and shaping his course for blue water. And so +they rushed along the livelong night. + +Free. + + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + +A REPORT came round that the asylum was open in the rear. A rush was +made thither from the front: and this thinned the crowd considerably; +so then Mrs. Dodd was got out by the help of some humane persons, and +carried into the nearest house, more dead than alive. There she found +Mrs. Archbold in a pitiable state. That lady had been looking on the +fire, with the key in her pocket, by taking which she was like to be a +murderess: her terror and remorse were distracting, and the revulsion +had thrown her into violent hysterics. Mrs. Dodd plucked up a little +strength, and characteristically enough tottered to her assistance, and +called for the best remedies, and then took her hand and pressed it, and +whispered soothingly that both were now safe, meaning David and Edward. +Mrs. Archbold thought she meant Alfred and David: this new shock was +as good for her as cold water: she became quieter, and presently gulped +out, “You saw them? You knew them (ump) all that way off?” + +“Knew them?” said Mrs. Dodd; “why one was my husband, and the other my +son.” Mrs. Archbold gave a sigh of relief. “Yes, madam,” continued Mrs. +Dodd, “the young fireman, who went and saved my husband, was my own son, +my Edward; my hero; oh, I am a happy wife, a proud mother.” She could +say no more for tears of joy, and while she wept deliciously, Mrs. +Archbold cried too, and so invigorated and refreshed her cunning, and +presently she perked up and told Mrs. Dodd boldly that Edward had been +seeking her, and was gone home; she had better follow him, or he would +be anxious. “But my poor husband!” objected Mrs. Dodd. + +“He is safe,” said the other; “I saw him (ump) with an attendant.” + +“Ah,” said Mrs. Dodd, with meaning, “that other my son rescued was an +attendant, was he?” + +“Yes.” (Ump.) + +She then promised to take David under her especial care, and Mrs. Dodd +consented, though reluctantly, to go home. + +To her surprise Edward had not yet arrived, and Julia was sitting up, +very anxious; and flew at her with a gurgle, and kissed her eagerly, and +then, drawing back her head, searched the maternal eyes for what was the +matter. “Ah, you may well look,” said Mrs. Dodd. “Oh, my child! what a +night this has been;” and she sank into a chair, and held up her arms. +Julia settled down in them directly, and in that position Mrs. Dodd told +all the night's work, told it under a running accompaniment of sighs and +kisses, and ejaculations, and “dear mammas” and “poor mammas,” and +bursts of sympathy, astonishment, pity and wonder. Thus embellished and +interrupted, the strange tale was hardly ended, when a manly step came +up the stairs, and both ladies pinched each other, and were still as +mice, and in walked a fireman with a wet livery, and a face smirched +with smoke. Julia flew at him with a gurgle of the first degree, and +threw her arms round his neck, and kissed both his blackened cheeks +again and again, crying, “Oh my own, my precious, my sweet, brave +darling, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, you are a hero, a Christian hero, +that saves life, not takes it--” Mrs. Dodd checked her impetuous career +by asking piteously if his mother was not to have him. On this, Julia +drew him along by the hand, and sank with him at Mrs. Dodd's knees, and +she held him at arm's length and gazed at him, and then drew him close +and enfolded him, and thanked God for him; and then they both embraced +him at once, and interwove him Heaven knows how, and poured the wealth +of their womanly hearts out on him in a torrent, and nearly made him +snivel. But presently something in his face struck Mrs. Dodd accustomed +to read her children. “Is there anything the matter, love?” she inquired +anxiously. He looked down and said, “I am dead sleepy, mamma, for one +thing.” + +“Of course he is, poor child,” said Julia, doing the submaternal; “wait +till I see everything is comfortable,” and she flew off, turned suddenly +at the door with “Oh, you darling!” and up to his bedroom and put more +coals on his fire, and took a swift housewifely look all round. + +Mrs. Dodd seized the opportunity. “Edward, there is something amiss.” + +“And no mistake,” said he drily. “But I thought if I told you before her +you might scold me.” + +“Scold you, love? Never. Hush! I'll come to your room by-and-by.” + +Soon after this they all bade each other good night; and presently Mrs. +Dodd came and tapped softly at her son's door, and found him with his +vest and coat off, and his helmet standing on the table reflecting a +red coal; he was seated by the fire in a brown study, smoking. He +apologised, and offered to throw the weed away. “No, no,” said she, +suppressing a cough, “not if it does you good.” + +“Well, mother, when you are in a fix, smoke is a soother, you know, and +I'm in a regular fix.” + +“A fix,” sighed Mrs. Dodd resignedly, and waited patiently all ears. + +“Mamma,” said the fire-warrior, becoming speculative under the dreamy +influence of the weed, “I wonder whether such a muddle ever was before. +When a man is fighting with fire, what with the heat and what with the +excitement, his pulse is at a hundred and sixty, and his brain all in a +whirl, and he scarce knows what he is doing till after it is done. But +I've been thinking of it all since. (Puff.) There was my poor little +mamma in the mob; I double myself up for my spring, and I go at the +window, and through it; now, on this side of it I hear my mother cry, +'Edward come down;' on the other side I fall on two men perishing in +an oven; one is my own father, and the other is, who do you think? 'The +Wretch.'” + +Mrs. Dodd held up her hands in mute amazement. + +“I had promised to break every bone in his skin at our first meeting; +and I kept my promise by saving his skin and bones, and life and all.” + (Puff.) + +Mrs. Dodd groaned aloud. “I thought it was he,” she said faintly. “That +tall figure, that haughty grace! But Mrs. Archbold told me positively it +was an attendant.” + +“Then she told you a cracker. It was not an attendant, but a madman, +and that madman was Alfred Hardie, upon my soul! Our Julia's missing +bridegroom.” + +He smoked on in profound silence waiting for her to speak. But she lay +back in her chair mute and all relaxed, as if the news had knocked her +down. + +“Come, now,” said Edward at last; “what is to be done? May I tell Julia? +that is the question.” + +“Not for the world,” said Mrs. Dodd, shocked into energy. “Would you +blight her young life for ever, as mine is blighted?” She then assured +him that, if Alfred's sad state came to Julia's ears, all her love for +him would revive, and she would break with Mr. Hurd, and indeed never +marry all her life. “I see no end to her misery,” continued Mrs. Dodd, +with a deep sigh; “for she is full of courage; she would not shrink from +a madhouse (why she visits lazar-houses every day); she would be always +going to see her Alfred, and so nurse her pity and her unhappy love. No, +no; let _me_ be a widow with a living husband, if it is God's will: I +have had my happy days. But my child she shall not be so withered in +the flower of her days for any man that ever breathed; she shall not, I +say.” The mother could utter no more for emotion. + +“Well,” said Edward, “you know best. I generally make a mess of it when +I disobey you. But concealments are bad things too. We used to go with +our bosoms open. Ah!” (Puff.) + +“Edward,” said Mrs. Dodd, after some consideration, “the best thing is +to marry her to Mr. Hurd at once. He has spoken to me for her, and I +sounded her.” + +“Has he? Well, and what did she say?” + +“She said she would rather not marry at all, but live and die with me. +Then I pressed her a little, you know. Then she did say she could never +marry any but a clergyman, now she had lost her poor Alfred. And then I +told her I thought Mr. Hurd could make her happy, and she would make me +happy if she could esteem him; and marry him.” + +“Well, mamma, and what then?” + +“Why then, my poor child gave me a look that haunts me still--a look of +unutterable love, and reproach, and resignation, and despair, and burst +out crying so piteously I could say no more. Oh! oh! oh! oh!” + +“Don't you cry, mammy dear,” said Edward. “Ah, I remember when a tear +was a wonder in our house.” And the fire-warrior sucked at his cigar, to +stop a sigh. + +“And n--now n--ot a d--day without them,” sighed Mrs. Dodd “But _you_ +have cost me none, my precious boy.” + +“I'm waiting my time. (Puff.) Mamma, take my advice; don't you fidget +so. Let things alone. Why hurry her into marrying Mr. Hurd or anybody? +Look here; I'll keep dark to please you, if you'll keep quiet to please +me.” + +At breakfast time came a messenger with a line from Mrs. Archbold, to +say that David had escaped from Drayton House, in company with another +dangerous maniac. + +Mrs. Dodd received the blow with a kind of desperate resignation. She +rose quietly from the table without a word, and went to put on her +bonnet, leaving her breakfast and the note; for she did not at once see +all that was implied in the communication. She took Edward with her to +Drayton House. The firemen had saved one half of that building; the rest +was a black shell. Mrs. Archbold came to them, looking haggard, and told +them two keepers were already scouring the country, and an advertisement +sent to all the journals. + +“Oh, madam!” said Mrs. Dodd, “if the other should hurt him, or lead him +somewhere to his death?” + +Mrs. Archbold said she might dismiss this fear; the patient in question +had but one illusion, and, though terribly dangerous when thwarted in +that, was most intelligent in a general way, and much attached to Mr. +Dodd; they were always together. + +A strange expression shot into Mrs. Dodd's eye: she pinched Edward's arm +to keep him quiet, and said with feigned indifference-- + +“Then it was the one who was in such danger with my husband last night?” + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Archbold off her guard. It had not occurred to her that +this handsome, fashionably-dressed young gentleman, was the fireman of +last night. She saw her mistake, though, the moment he said bluntly, +“Why, you told my mother it was an attendant.” + +“Did I, madam?” asked Mrs. Archbold, mighty innocently: “I suppose I +thought so. Well, I was mistaken, unfortunately.” + +Mrs. Dodd was silent a moment, then, somewhat hastily bade Mrs. Archbold +good-bye. She told the cabman to drive to an old acquaintance of ours, +Mr. Green. He had set up detective on his own account. He was not at his +office, but expected. She sat patiently down till he came in. They +put their heads together, and Green dashed down to the asylum with a +myrmidon, while Mrs. Dodd went into the City to obtain leave of absence +from Cross and Co. This was politely declined at first, but on Mrs. +Dodd showing symptoms of leaving them altogether, it was conceded. She +returned home with Edward, and there was Mr. Green: he had actually +traced the fugitives by broken fences, and occasional footsteps in the +side clay of ditches, so far as to leave no doubt they had got upon the +great south-eastern road. Then Mrs. Dodd had a female inspiration. “The +Dover road! Ah! my husband will make for the sea.” + +“I shouldn't wonder, being a sailor,” said Green. “It is a pleasure to +work with a lady like you, that puts in a good hint. Know anything about +the other one, ma'am?” + +Mrs. Dodd almost started at this off-hand question. But it was a natural +one for Green to ask. + +She said gravely, “I do. To my cost.” + +Green's eye sparkled, and he took out his note-book. “Now where is _he_ +like to make for?” + +Mrs. Dodd seemed to wince at the question, and then turned her eyes +inward to divine. The result was she gave a downright shudder, and said +evasively, “Being with David, I hope and pray he will go towards the +coast.” + +“No, no,” said Green, “it won't do to count on that altogether. How do +we know which of the two will lead the other? You must please to put Mr. +Dodd out of the question, ma'am, for a moment. Now we'll say No. 2 had +escaped alone: where would he be like to run to?” + +Mrs. Dodd thus pressed, turned her eyes more and more inward, and said +at last in a very low voice, and with a sort of concentrated horror--“He +will come to my house.” + +Mr. Green booked this eagerly. The lady's emotion was nothing to him; +the hint was invaluable, the combination interesting. “Well, ma'am,” + said he, “I'll plant a good man in sight of your door: and I'll take the +Dover road directly with my drag. My teeth weren't strong enough for +the last nut you gave me to crack: let us try this one. Tom Green isn't +often beat twice running.” + +“I will go with you, Mr. Green.” + +“Honoured and proud, ma'am. But a lady like you in my dog-cart along o' +me and my mate!” + +Mrs. Dodd waived this objection almost contemptuously; she was all wife +now. + +It was agreed that Green should drive round for her in an hour. He +departed for the present, and Edward proposed to go in the dog-cart too, +but she told him no; she wanted him at home to guard his sister against +“the Wretch.” Then seeing him look puzzled, “Consider, Edward,” said +she, “he is not like your poor father: he has not forgotten. That +advertisement, Aileen Aroon, it was from him, you know. And then why +does he attach himself so to poor papa? Do you not see it is because he +is Julia's father? 'The Wretch' loves her still.” + +Edward from puzzled looked very grave. “What a head you have got, +mamma!” he said. “I should never have seen all this: yet it's plain +enough now, as you put it.” + +“Yes, it is plain. Our darling is betrothed to a maniac; that maniac +loves her, and much I fear she loves him. Some new calamity is +impending. Oh, my son, I feel it already heavy on my heart. What is it +to be? Is your father to be led to destruction, or will that furious +wretch burst in upon your sister, and kill her, or perhaps kill Mr. +Hard, if he catches them together? What may not happen now? The very air +seems to me swarming with calamities.” + +“Oh, I'll take care of all that,” said Edward. And he comforted her a +little by promising faithfully not to let Julia go out of his sight till +her return. + +She put on a plain travelling-dress. The dog-cart came. She slipped +fifty sovereigns into Mr. Green's hands for expenses, and off they went +at a slapping pace. The horse was a great bony hunter of rare speed +and endurance, and his long stride and powerful action raised poor Mrs. +Dodd's hopes, and the rushing air did her good. Green, to her surprise, +made few inquiries for some miles on the Dover road; but he explained +to her that the parties they were after had probably walked all night. +“They don't tire, that sort,” said Mr. Green. + +At Dartford they got a doubtful intimation, on the strength of which he +rattled on to Rochester. There he pulled up, deposited Mrs. Dodd at the +principal inn till morning, and scoured the town for intelligence. + +He inquired of all the policemen; described his men, and shrewdly added +out of his intelligence, “Both splashed and dirty.” + +No, the Bobbies had not seen them. + +Then he walked out to the side of the town nearest London, and examined +all the dealers in food. At last he found a baker who, early that +morning, had sold a quartern loaf to two tall men without hats, “and +splashed fearful;” he added, “thought they had broken prison; but 'twas +no business of mine: they paid for the bread right enough.” + +On hearing they had entered Rochester hatless, the shrewd Mr. Green made +direct to the very nearest slop-shop; and his sagacity was rewarded: the +shopkeeper was a chatterbox, and told him yes, two gents out on a frolic +had bought a couple of hats of him, and a whole set of sailor's clothes. +“I think they were respectable, too; but nothing else would satisfy him. +So the young one he humoured him, and bought them. I took his old ones +in exchange.” + +At that Green offered a sovereign for the old clothes blindfold. The +trader instantly asked two pounds, and took thirty shillings. + +Green now set the police to scour the town for a gentleman and a common +sailor in company, offered a handsome reward, and went to bed in a small +inn, with David's clothes by the kitchen fire. Early in the morning he +went to Mrs. Dodd's hotel with David's clothes, nicely dried, and told +her his tale. She knew the clothes directly, kissed them, and cried over +them: then gave him her hand with a world of dignity and grace: “What an +able man! Sir, you inspire me with great confidence.” + +“And you me with zeal, ma'am,” said the delighted Green. “Why I'd go +through fire and water for a lady like you, that pays well, and doesn't +grudge a fellow a bit of praise. Now you must eat a bit, ma'am, if it's +ever so little, and then we'll take the road; for the police think the +parties have left the town, and by their night's work they must be good +travellers.” + +The dog-cart took the road, and the ex-hunter stepped out thirteen miles +an hour. + +Now at this moment Alfred and David were bowling along ahead with a +perfect sense of security. All that first night, the grandest of his +life, Alfred walked on air, and drank the glorious exhilarating breath +of Freedom. But, when the sun dawned on them, his intoxicating joy began +to be dashed with apprehension: hatless and bemired, might they not be +suspected and detained by some officious authority? + +But the slop-shop set that all right. He took a double-bedded room in +The Bear, locked the door, put the key under his pillow, and slept till +eleven. At noon they were on the road again, and as they swung lustily +along in the frosty but kindly air, Alfred's chest expanded, his spirits +rose, and he felt a man all over. Exhilarated by freedom, youth, and +motion, and a little inflated by reviving vanity, his heart, buoyant as +his foot, now began to nurse aspiring projects: he would indict his own +father, and the doctors, and immolate them on the altar of justice and +publicly wipe off the stigma they had cast on him, and meantime he would +cure David and restore him to his family. + +He loved this harmless companion of his cell, his danger, and his +flight; loved him for Julia's sake, loved him for his own. Youth and +vanity whispered, “I know more about madness than the doctors; I have +seen it closer.” It struck him David's longing for blue water was one +of those unerring instincts that sometimes guide the sick to their cure. +And then as the law permits the forcible recapture of a patient--without +a fresh order or certificates--within fourteen days of his escape from +an asylum, he did not think it prudent to show himself in London till +that time should have elapsed. So, all things considered, why not hide a +few days with David in some insignificant seaport, and revel in liberty +and blue water with him all day long, and so by associations touch the +spring of memory, and begin the cure? As for David, he seemed driven +seaward by some unseen spur; he fidgeted at all delay; even dinner +fretted him; he panted so for his natural element. Alfred humoured +him, and an hour after sunset they reached the town of Canterbury. Here +Alfred took the same precautions as before, and slept till nine o'clock. + +When he awoke, he found David walking to and fro impatiently. “All +right, messmate,” said Alfred, “we shall soon be in blue water.” He made +all haste, and they were on the road again by ten, walking at a gallant +pace. + +But the dog-cart was already rattling along about thirty miles behind +them. Green inquired at all the turnpikes and vehicles; the scent was +cold at first, but warmer by degrees, and hot at Canterbury. Green just +baited his gallant horse, and came foaming on, and just as the +pair entered the town of Folkestone, their pursuers came up to the +cross-roads, not five miles behind them. + +Alfred went to a good inn in Folkestone and ordered a steak, then +strolled with David by the beach, and gloried in the water with him. +“After dinner we will take a boat, and have a sail,” said he. “See, +there's a nice boat, riding at anchor there.” + +David snuffed the breeze and his eye sparkled, and he said, “Wind due +east, messmate.” And this remark, slight as it was was practical, and +gave Alfred great delight: strengthened his growing conviction that not +for nothing had this charge been thrown on him. He should be the one to +cure his own father; for Julia's father was his: he had no father now. +“All right,” said he gaily, “we'll soon be on blue water: but first +we'll have our dinner, old boy, for I am starving.” David said nothing +and went rather doggedly back to the inn with him. + +The steak was on the table. Alfred told the waiter to uncover and David +to fall to, while he just ran upstairs to wash his hands. He came down +in less than two minutes; but David was gone, and the waiter standing +there erect and apathetic like a wooden sentinel. + +“Why, where is he?” said Alfred. + +“Gent's gone out,” was the reply. + +“And you stood there and let him? you born idiot. Which way is he gone?” + +“I don't know,” said the waiter angrily, “I ain't a p'liceman. None but +respectable gents comes here, as don't want watching.” Alfred darted +out and scoured the town; he asked everybody if they had seen a tall +gentleman dressed like a common sailor. Nobody could tell him: there +were so many sailors about the port; that which in an inland town would +have betrayed the truant concealed him here. A cold perspiration began +to gather on Alfred's brow, as he ran wildly all over the place. + +He could not find him, nor any trace of him. At last it struck him that +he had originally proposed to go to Dover, and had spoken of that town +to David, though he had now glanced aside, making for the smaller ports +on the south coast: he hired a horse directly, and galloped furiously +to Dover. He rode down to the pier, gave his horse to a boy to hold, +and ran about inquiring far David. He could not find him: but at last +he found a policeman, who told him he thought there was another party on +the same lay as himself: “No,” said the man correcting himself, “it +was two they were after, a gentleman and a sailor. Perhaps you are his +mate.” + +Alfred's blood ran cold. Pursued! and so hotly: “No, no,” he stammered; +“I suspect I am on the same business.” Then he said cunningly (for +asylums teach the frankest natures cunning), “Come and have a glass of +grog and tell me all about it.” Bobby consented, and under its influence +described Mrs. Dodd and her companions to him. + +But not everybody can describe minutely. In the bare outlines, which +were all this artist could furnish him, Alfred recognised at once, whom +do you think? Mrs. Archbold, Dr. Wolf, and his arch enemy Rooke, the +keeper. Doubtless his own mind, seizing on so vague a description, +adapted it rather hastily to what seemed probable. Mrs. Dodd never +occurred to him, nor that David was the sole, or even the main object +of the pursuit. He was thoroughly puzzled what to do. However, as his +pursuers had clearly scoured Dover, and would have found David if there, +he made use of their labours and galloped back towards Folkestone. But +he took the precaution to inquire at the first turnpike, and there he +learned a lady and two men had passed through about an hour before in a +dog-cart; it was a wonder he had missed them. Alfred gnashed his teeth; +“Curse you,” he muttered. “Well, do my work in Folkestone, I'll find him +yet, and baffle you.” He turned his horse's head westward and rode after +David. Convinced that his lost friend would not go inland, he took care +to keep near the cliffs, and had ever an eye on the beach when the road +came near enough. + +About eight miles west of Folkestone he saw a dog-cart going down a +hill before him: but there was only a single person in it. However, he +increased his pace and got close behind it as it mounted the succeeding +hill which was a high one. Walking leisurely behind it his quick eye +caught sight of a lady's veil wrapped round the iron of the seat. + +That made him instantly suspect this might be the dog-cart after all. +But, if so, how came a stranger in it? He despised a single foe, and +resolved to pump this one and learn where the others were. + +While he was thinking how he should begin, the dog-cart stopped at +the top of the hill, and the driver looked seaward at some object that +appeared to interest him. + +It was a glorious scene. Viewed from so great a height the sea expanded +like ocean, and its light-blue waters sparkled and laughed innumerable +in the breeze. “A beautiful sight, sir,” said the escaped prisoner, “you +may well stop to look at it.” The man touched his hat and chuckled. “I +don't think you know what I am looking at, sir,” he said politely. + +“I thought it was the lovely sea view; so bright, so broad, so _free._ + +“No, sir; not but what I can enjoy that a bit, too: but what I'm looking +at is an 'unt. Do you see that little boat? Sailing right down the coast +about eight miles off. Well, sir, what do you think there is in that +boat? But you'll never guess. A madman.” + +“Ah!” + +“Curious, sir, isn't it: a respectable gentleman too he is, and sails +well; only stark staring mad. There was two of 'em in company: but it +seems they can't keep together long. _Our_ one steals a fisherman's +boat, and there he goes down channel. And now look here, sir; see this +steam-tug smoking along right in front of us: she's after him, and see +there's my governor aboard standing by the wheel with a Bobby and a +lady: and if ever there was a lady she's one;” here he lowered his +voice. “She's that mad gentleman's wife, sir, as I am a living sinner.” + +They both looked down on the strange chase in silence. “Will they catch +her?” asked Alfred at last, under his breath. + +“How can we be off it? steam against sails. And if he runs ashore, I +shall be there to nab him.” Alfred looked, and looked: the water +came into his eyes. “It's the best thing that can befall him now,” he +murmured. He gave the man half-a-crown, and then turned his horse's head +and walked him down the hill towards Folkestone. On his arrival there he +paid for his horse, and his untasted dinner, and took the first train to +London, a little dispirited; and a good deal mortified; for he hated to +be beat. But David was in good hands, that was one comfort; and he had +glorious work on hand, love and justice. He went to an out of the way +inn in the suburbs, and, when he had bought a carpet-bag and some linen +and other necessaries, he had but one sovereign left. + +His heart urged him vehemently to go at once and find his Julia: but +alas! he did not even know where she lived; and he dared not at present +make public inquiries: that would draw attention to himself, and be +his destruction; for Wolf stood well with the police, and nearly always +recaptured his truant patients by their aid before the fourteen days +had elapsed. He determined to go first to a solicitor: and launch him +against his enemies, while compelled to shirk them in his own person. +Curious position! Now, amongst his father's creditors was Mr. Compton, +a solicitor, known for an eccentric, but honourable man, and for success +in litigation. Mr. Compton used to do his own business in Barkington, +and employ an agent in London: but Alfred remembered to have heard just +before his incarceration that he had reversed the parts, and now lived +in London. Alfred found him out by the Directory, and called at his +chambers in Lincoln's Inn Fields. He had to wait some time in the +outer office listening to a fluent earnest client preaching within: +but presently a sharp voice broke in upon the drone, and, after a few +sentences, Mr. Compton ushered out a client with these remarkable words: +“And as for your invention, it has been invented four times before you +invented it, and never was worth inventing at all. And you have borrowed +two hundred pounds of me in ninety loans, each of which cost me +an hour's invaluable time: I hold ninety acknowledgments in your +handwriting; and I'll put them all in force for my protection;” with +this he turned to his head clerk: “Mr. Colls, take out a writ against +this client; what is your Christian name, sir? I forget.” + +“Simon,” said the gaping client, off his guard. + +“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Compton with sudden politeness: then resuming +hostilities--“A writ in the Common Pleas against Simon Macfarlane: keep +it in your drawer, Colls, and if ever the said Macfarlane does me the +honour to call on me again serve him with it on the spot; and, if not, +not; good morning, sir.” And with this he bolted into his own room and +slammed its door. 'The clerks opened the outer door to Mr. Macfarlane +with significant grins, and he went out bewildered sorely, yea even +like one that walketh abroad in his sleep. “Now, sir,” said Mr. Colls +cheerfully to Alfred. But the new client naturally hesitated now: he put +on his most fascinating smile, and said: “Well, Mr. Colls, what do you +advise? Is this a moment to beard the lion in his den?” + +At Alfred's smile and address Colls fell in love with him directly, and +assured him _sotto voce,_ and with friendly familiarity, that now was +his time. “Why, he'll be as sweet as honey now he has got rid of a +client.” With this he took Alfred's name, and ushered him into a room +piled with japanned tin boxes, where Mr. Compton sat, looking all +complacency, at a large desk table, on which briefs, and drafts, and +letters lay in seeming confusion. He rose, and with a benignant courtesy +invited Alfred to sit down and explain his business. + +The reader is aware our Oxonian could make a close and luminous +statement. He began at the beginning, but soon disposed of preliminaries +and came to his capture at Silverton. Then Mr. Compton quietly rang the +bell, and with a slight apology to Alfred requested Colls to search +for the draft of Mrs. Holloway's will. Alfred continued. Mr. Compton +listened keenly, noted the salient points on a sheet of brief-paper, and +demanded the exact dates of every important event related. + +The story finished, the attorney turned to Colls, and said mighty +coolly, “You may go. The will is in my pocket: but I made sure he was a +madman. They generally are, these ill-used clients.” (Exit Colls) “Got +a copy of the settlement, sir, under which you take this ten thousand +pounds?” + +“No, sir.” + +“Any lawyer seen it?” + +“Oh yes; Mr. Crauford, down at Barkington.” + +“Good. Friend of mine. I'll write to him. Names and addresses of your +trustees?” + +Alfred gave them. + +“You have brought the order on which you were confined, and the two +certificates?” + +“Not I,” said Alfred. “I have begged and prayed for a sight of them, +and never could get one. That is one of the galling iniquities of the +system; I call it 'THE DOUBLE SHUFFLE.' Just bring your mind to bear +on this, sir: The prisoner whose wits and liberty have been signed away +behind his back is not allowed to see the order and certificate on which +he is confined--until _after_ his release: that release he is to obtain +by combating the statements in the order and certificates. So to get out +he must first see and contradict the lies that put him in; but to see +the lies that put him in, he must first get out. So runs the circle +of Iniquity. Now, is that the injustice of Earth, or the injustice of +Hell?” + +Mr. Compton asked a moment to consider: “Well, I think is of the +earth, earthy. There's a mixture of idiocy in it the Devil might fairly +repudiate. Young gentleman, the English Statutes of Lunacy are famous +monuments of legislatorial incapacity: and indeed, as a general rule, if +you want justice and wisdom, don't you go to Acts of Parliament, but to +the Common Law of England.” + +Alfred did not appreciate this observation: he made no reply to it, but +inquired, with some heat, “what he could do to punish the whole gang; +his father, the certifying doctors, and the madhouse keepers?” + +“Humph! You might indict them all for a conspiracy,” said Mr. Compton; +“but you would be defeated. As a rule, avoid criminal proceedings where +you have a civil remedy. A jury will give a verdict and damages where +they would not convict on the same evidence. Yours is just one of those +cases where Temper says, 'indict!' but Prudence says, 'sue!' and Law, +through John Compton, its oracle in this square, says, sue the defendant +and no other. Now, who is the true defendant here, or party liable in +law?” + +“The keeper of the asylum, for one.” + +“No. If I remember right, all proceedings against him are expressly +barred by a provision in the last statute. Let us see.” + +He took down the statutes of the realm, and showed Alfred the clause +which raises the proprietor of a madhouse above the civic level of +Prince Royal. “Curse the law,” said Alfred bitterly. + +“No, don't curse the Law. Curse the Act if you like; but we can't get on +without the Law, neither of us. Try again.” + +“The certifying doctor, sir?” + +“Humph!” said Mr. Compton, knitting his brows: “a jury might give you a +verdict. But it would probably be set aside by the full court, or else +by a court of error. For, unless you could prove informality, barefaced +negligence, or _mala fides,_ what does it come to? A professional man, +bound to give medical opinions to all comers, is consulted about you, +and says he thinks you are insane: you turn out sane. Well, then, he was +mistaken: but not more than he is in most of his professional +opinions. We lawyers know what guesswork Medicine is: we see it in the +witness-box. I hate suing opinions: it is like firing bullets at snipes +in a wind. Try again.” + +Alfred groaned. “Why there is nobody left but the rogue who signed the +order.” + +“And if you were a lawyer, that alone would tell you he is the +defendant. Where a legal wrong has been committed by A. B. and C., and +there is no remedy against A. or B., there must either be one against +C., or none at all: but this Law abhors as Nature does a vacuum. +Besides, this defendant has _done_ the wrong complained of. In his +person you sue an act, not an opinion. But of course you are not cool +enough to see all this just at first.” + +“Cool, sir,” said Alfred despairingly; “I am frozen with your +remorseless law. What, of all these villains, may I only attack one, and +can't I imprison even him, as he has me? Such narrow law encourages men +to violence, who burn under wrongs like mine.” + +Mr. Compton looked keenly at his agitated, mortified client, but made no +concession. He gave him a minute to digest the law's first bitter pill: +and then said, “If I am to act for you, you had better write a line to +the Commissioners of Lunacy requesting them to hand me copies of the +order and certificates.” Alfred wrote it. + +“And now,” said Mr. Compton thoughtfully, “I don't think they will +venture to recapture you during the fourteen days. But still they might; +and we attorneys are wary animals. So please give me at once a full +authority to act under advice of counsel for your protection.” + +Alfred wrote as requested, and Mr. Compton put the paper in his drawer, +remarking, “With this I can proceed by law or equity, even should you +get into the asylum again.” He then dismissed Alfred somewhat abruptly, +but with an invitation to call again after three clear days. Like most +ardent suitors after their first interview with passionless law, he went +away sadly chilled, and so home to his cheerless lodging, to count the +hours till he could see Julia, and learn his fate from her lips. + +This very morning a hasty note came to Edward from Folkestone, worded +thus: + + +“Oh, Edward: my worst misgivings! The two have parted. Poor papa has +taken a man's boat and is in sight. We shall follow directly in a +steamboat. But the other! You know my fears; you must be father and +mother to that poor child till I come home--Your sad mother, + +“LUCY DODD.” + + +Julia held out her hand for the note. Edward put it in his pocket. + +“What is that for?” said the young lady. + +“Why surely I may put my own property in my pocket.” + +“Oh, certainly. I only want to look at it first.” + +“Excuse me.” + +“Are you in earnest, Edward? Not let me see dear mamma's letter?” and +the vivid face looked piteously surprised. + +“Oh, I'll tell you the contents. Papa had got to Folkestone and taken a +boat, and gone to sea: then mamma took a steamboat and after him: so she +will soon catch him, and is not that a comfort?” + +“Oh, yes,” cried Julia, and was for some time too interested and excited +to think of anything else. But presently she returned to the charge. +“Anything else, dear?” + +“Humph? Well, not of equal importance.” + +“Oh, if it is of no importance, there can be no reason for not telling +me. What was it?” + +Edward coloured but said nothing. He thought however, and thus ran his +thoughts: “She's my intellectual superior and I've got to deceive her; +and a nice mess I shall make of it.” + +“It _is_ of importance,” said Julia, eyeing him. “You have told a story: +and you don't love your sister.” This fulminated, she drew herself up +proudly and was silent. A minute afterwards, stealing a look at her, he +saw her eyes suddenly fill with tears, _apropos_ of nothing tangible. + +“Now this is nice,” said he to himself + +At noon she put on her bonnet to visit her district. He put on his hat +directly, and accompanied her. Great was her innocent pleasure at that: +it was the first time he had done her the honour. She took him to her +poor people, and showed him off with innocent pride. + +“Hannah, this is my brother.” Then in a whisper, “Isn't he beautiful?” + Presently she saw him looking pale; unheard of phenomenon! “There now, +you are ill,” said she. “Come home directly, and be nursed.” + +“No, no,” said he. “I only want a little fresh air. What horrid places +what horrid sights and smells! I say, you must have no end of pluck to +face them.” + +“No, no, no. Dearest, I pray for strength: that is how I manage. And oh, +Edward, you used to think the poor were not to be pitied. But now you +see.” + +“Yes, I see, and smell and all. You are a brave, good girl. Got any +salts about you?” + +“Yes, of course. There. But fancy a young lion smelling salts.” + +“A young duffer, you mean; that has passed for game through the thing +not being looked into close.” + +“Oh, you can he close enough, where I want you to be open.” + +No answer. + +The next day he accompanied her again, but remained at the stairfoot +while she went in to her patients; and, when she came down, asked her, +Could no good Christian be found to knock that poor woman on the head +who lived in a plate. + +“No good Heathen, you mean,” said Julia. + +“Why, yes,” said he; “the savages manage these things better.” + +He also accompanied her shopping, and smoked phlegmatically outside the +shops; nor could she exhaust his patience. Then the quick girl put this +and that together. When they were at home again and her bonnet off, she +looked him in the face and said sweetly, “I have got a watch-dog.” + He smiled, and said nothing. “Why don't you answer?” cried Julia +impetuously. + +“Because least said is soonest mended. Besides, I'm down upon you: you +decoy me into a friendly conversation, and then you say biting things +directly.” + +“If I bite you, you sting me. Such want of confidence! Oh how cruel! how +cruel! Why can you not trust me? Am I a child? No one is young who has +suffered what I have suffered. Secrets disunite a family: and we were so +united. And then you are so stupid; _you_ keep a secret? Yes, like a dog +in a chain; you can't hide it one bit. You have undertaken a task you +are not fit for, sir; to hide a secret you must be able to tell fibs: +and you can't: not for want of badness, but cleverness to tell them +smoothly; you know it, you know it; and so out of your abominable +slyness you won't say a word. There, it is no use my trying to provoke +him. I wish you were not so good-tempered; so apathetic I mean, of +course.” Then, with one of her old rapid transitions, she began to +caress him and fawn on him: she seated him in an arm-chair and herself +on a footstool, and suddenly curling round his neck, murmured, “Dear, +dear brother, have pity on a poor girl, and tell her is there any news +that I have a right to hear, only mamma has given you your orders not to +tell me; tell me, love!” This last in an exquisite whisper. + +“Let me alone, you little fascinating demon,” said he angrily. “Ask +mamma. I won't tell you a word.” + +“Thank you!” she cried, bounding to her feet; “you _have_ told me. He +is alive. He loves me still. He was bewitched, seduced, deluded. He has +come to himself. Mamma has seen him. He wants to come and beg my pardon. +But you are all afraid I shall forgive him. But I will not, for at the +first word I'll stop his mouth, and say, 'If you were happy away from +me, I suppose you would not have come back.'” + +And instantly she burst out singing, with inspired eloquence and +defiance-- + + “Castles are sacked in war, + Chieftains are scattered far, + Truth is a fixed star-- + Aileen aroon.” + +But, unable to sustain it, the poor Impetuosity dropped as quickly as +she had mounted, and out went her arm on the table, and her forehead +sank on her arm, and the tears began to run silently down the sweet +face, so brave for a moment. + +“W--will y--you allow me to light a cigar?” said Edward. “I'm wretched +and miserable; you Tempest in petticoats, you!” + +She made him a sign of assent with the hand that was dangling languidly, +but she did not speak; nor did she appeal to him any more. Alienation +was commencing. But what was worse than speaking her mind, she was for +ever at the window now, looking up and down the street; and walking with +her he felt her arm often tremble, and sometimes jerk. The secret +was agitating her nerves, and destroying her tranquillity as much, or +perhaps more, than if she had known all. + +Mrs. Dodd wrote from Portsmouth: whereof anon. + + +Mr. Peterson called, and soon after him Mr. Hurd. Edward was glad to +see them, especially the latter, whose visits seemed always to do Julia +good. + +Moreover, as Peterson and Hurd were rivals, it afforded Edward an +innocent amusement to see their ill-concealed aversion to one another, +and the admirable address and delicacy with which his sister conducted +herself between them. + +However, this pastime was cut short by Sarah coming in and saying, +“There's a young man wants to see you, sir.” + +Julia looked up and changed colour. + +“I think he is a fireman,” said Sarah. She knew very well he was a +fireman, and also one of her followers. Edward went out and found one +of his late brethren, who told him a young gentleman had just been +inquiring for him at the station. + +“What was he like?” + +“Why, I was a good ways off, but I saw he was a tall one.” + +“Six feet?” + +“Full that.” + +“Give you his name?' + +“No: I didn't speak to him: it was Andrew. Andrew says he asked if there +was a fireman called Dodd: so Andrew said you had left; then the swell +asked where you lived, and Andrew couldn't tell him any more than it was +in Pembroke Street. So I told him, says I, 'Why couldn't you call me? +It is number sixty-six,' says I. 'Oh, he is coming back,' says Andrew. +However, I thought I'd come and tell you.” (And so get a word with +Sarah, you sly dog.) + +Edward thanked him, and put on his hat directly, for he could not +disguise from himself that this visitor might be Alfred Hardie. Indeed, +what more likely? + +Messrs. Hurd and Peterson always tried to stay one another out whenever +they met at 66, Pembroke Street. However, to make sure of not leaving +Julia alone, Edward went in and asked them both to luncheon, at which +time he said he should be back. + +As he walked rapidly to the station he grew more and more convinced +that it was Alfred Hardie. And his reflections ran like this. “What +a headpiece mamma has! But it did not strike her he would come to me +first. Yet how plain that looks now: for of course I'm the duffer's only +clue to Julia. These madmen are no fools, though. And how quiet he was +that night! And he made papa go down the ladder first: that was the old +Alfred Hardie; he was always generous: vain, overhearing, saucy, but +noble with it all. I liked him: he was a man that showed you his worst, +and let you find his best out by degrees. He hated to be beat: but +that's no crime. He was a beautiful oar, and handled his mawleys +uncommon; he sparred with all the prizefighters that came to Oxford, +and took punishment better than you would think; and a wonderful quick +hitter; Alec Reed owned that. Poor Taff Hardie! And when I think that +God has overthrown his powerful mind, and left me mine, such as it is! +But the worst is my having gone on calling him 'the Wretch' all this +time: and nothing too bad for him. I ought to be ashamed of myself. It +grieves me very much. 'When found make a note on;' never judge a fellow +behind his back again.” + +Arrived at the station, he inquired whether his friend had called again, +and was answered in the negative. He waited a few minutes, and then, +with the superintendent's permission, wrote a note to Alfred, inviting +him to dine at Simpson's at six, and left it with the fireman. This +done, he was about to return home, when another thought struck him. He +got a messenger, and sent off a single line to Dr. Wolf, to tell him +Alfred Hardie would be at Simpson's at seven o clock. + +But, when the messenger was gone, he regretted what he had done. He had +done it for Alfred's good; but still it was treason. He felt unhappy, +and wended his way homeward disconsolately, realising more and more that +he had not brains for the difficulties imposed upon him. + +On entering Pembroke Street he heard a buzz. He looked up, and saw a +considerable crowd collected in a semicircle. “Why that is near our +house,” he said, and quickened his steps. + +When he got near he saw that all the people's eyes were bent on No. 66. + +He dashed into the crowd. “What on earth is the matter?” he cried. + +“The matter? Plenty's the matter, young man,” cried one. + +“Murder's the matter,” said another. + +At that he turned pale as death. An intelligent man saw his violent +agitation, and asked him hurriedly if he belonged to the house. + +“Yes. For mercy's sake, what is it?” + +“Make way there!” shouted the man. “He belongs. Sir, a madman has broke +loose and got into your house. And I'm sorry to say he has just killed +two men.” + +“With a pistol,” cried several voices, speaking together. + + + + + +CHAPTER XLV + +ALFRED HARDIE spent three days writhing in his little lodging. His +situation had been sadder, but never more irritating. By right +possessor of thousands, yet in fact reduced to one suit, two shirts, and +half-a-crown: rich in intellect, yet hunted as a madman: affianced to +the loveliest girl in England, yet afraid to go near her for fear of +being torn from her again, and for ever. All this could last but one +week more; but a week's positive torture was no trifle to contemplate, +with a rival at his Julia's ear all the time. Suppose she should have +been faithful all these months, but in this last week should be worn +out and give herself to another: such things had been known. He went to +Lincoln's Inn with this irritating fear tearing him like a vulture. Mr. +Compton received him cheerfully, and told him he had begun operations in +Hardie _versus_ Hardie: had written to Thomas Hardie two days ago, and +inquired his London solicitor, and whether that gentleman would accept +service of the writ in Hardie _versus_ Hardie. + +“To Thomas Hardie? Why, what has he to do with it?” asked Alfred. + +“He is the defendant in the suit.” Then seeing amazement and incredulity +on Alfred's face, he explained that the Commissioners of Lunacy had +treated him with great courtesy; had at once furnished him with copies, +not only of the order and certificates, but of other valuable documents. +“And there,” said he, “lies the order; signed by Thomas Hardie, of Clare +Court, Yorkshire.” + +“Curse his impudence,” cried Alfred in a fury; “why, sir, he is next +door to an idiot himself.” + +“What does that matter? Ah, now, if I had gone in a passion and indicted +him, there would be a defence directly; 'no malice, defendant being +_non compos.'_ Whereas, by gently, quietly suing him, even if he was +a lunatic, we would make him or his estate pay a round sum for falsely +imprisoning a sane Briton. By-the-by, here is counsel's opinion on your +case,” and he handed him a short opinion of a distinguished Queen's +Counsel, the concluding words of which were these: + +3. If the certificates and order are in legal form, and were made and +given _bona fide,_ no action lies for the capture or detention of Mr. +Hardie. + +“Why it is dead against me,” said Alfred. “There goes the one rotten +reed you had left me.” + +“Singularly dead,” said the attorney coolly; “he does not even say 'I +am of opinion.' He is in great practice, and hardworked: in his hurry he +has taken up the Lunacy Acts, and has forgotten that the rights of sane +Englishmen are not the creatures of these little trumpery statutes. No, +thank you; our rights are centuries older, and prevail wherever, by +good luck, the statutes of the realm are silent; now they are all silent +about incarcerating sane men. Besides, he gives no cases. What is an +opinion without a precedent? A lawyer's guess. I thought so little of +his opinion that I sent the case to a clever junior, who has got time to +think before he writes.” Colls entered soon after with the said junior's +opinion. Mr. Compton opened it, and saying, “Now let us see what he +says,” read it to Alfred. It ran thus: + + +“There was clearly a right of action under the common law and it has +been exercised. _Anderdon v. Brothers; Paternoster v. Wynn,_ &c. Such a +right can only be annulled by the express terms of a statute: now the 8 +and 9 Victoria, cap. 100, sect. 99, so annuls it as against the madhouse +proprietor only. That, therefore, is the statutory exception, and tends +to confirm the common right. If the facts are as represented (on which, +of course, I can form no opinion), Mr. Hardie can safely sue the person +who signed the order for his alleged false imprisonment. + +“I agree with you that the usual course by praying the Court of Chancery +for a Commission de Lunatico Inquirendo, is timorous, and rests on +prejudice. Plt., if successful, is saddled with his own costs, and +sometimes with Deft.'s, and obtains no compensation. It seems clear that +a jury sitting at Nisi Prius can deal as well with the main fact as can +a jury sitting by the order of the Chancellor; and I need not say the +costs will go with their verdict, to say nothing of the damages, which +may be heavy. On the other hand, an indictment is hazardous; and I think +you can lose nothing by beginning with the suit. By having a shorthand +writer at the trial, you may collect materials for an indictment, and +also feel the pulse of the court; you can then confer upon the evidence +with some counsel better versed in criminal law than myself. _My_ advice +is to sue Thomas Hardie; and declare in Tort. + +“(Signed) BARROW. + +_“N.B._--I have been thus particular, because Hardie _v._ Hardie (if +carried to a verdict) will probably be a leading case.” + + +“Who shall decide when counsel disagree?” inquired Alfred satirically. + +“That depends on where they do it. If in court, the judge. If here, the +attorney.” + +You appear sanguine, Mr. Compton,” said Alfred; “perhaps you would not +mind advancing me a little money. I've only half-a-crown.” + +“It is all ready for you in this drawer,” said Compton cheerfully. “See +thirty sovereigns. Then you need not go to a bank.” + +“What, you knew I should borrow?” + +“Don't all my clients begin by bleeding _me?_ It is the rule of this +office.” + +“Then why don't you give up business?” + +“Because I bleed the opposite attorney's client a pound or two more than +my own bleeds me.” + +He then made Alfred sign a promissory note for the thirty pounds: +advised him to keep snug for one week more, and promised to write to him +in two days, and send Thomas Hardie's answer. Alfred left his address +and went from Mr. Compton a lighter man. Convinced of his courage and +prudence, he shifted one care off his own shoulders: and thought of love +alone. + +But, strange as it may appear, two cares are sometimes better for a +man than one. Alfred, having now no worry to divert him from his deeper +anxiety, was all love and jealousy; and quite overbalanced: the desire +of his heart grew so strong it overpowered alike his patience and his +prudence. He jumped into a cab, and drove to all the firemen's stations +on the Surrey side of the river, inquiring for Edward. At last he hit +upon the right one, and learned that Julia lived in Pembroke Street; +number unknown. He drove home to his lodgings; bought some ready-made +clothes, and dressed like a gentleman: then told the cabman to drive +to Pembroke Street. He knew he was acting imprudently; but he could not +help it. And, besides, Mr. Compton had now written to his uncle, and +begun the attack: that would surely intimidate his enemies, and turn +their thoughts to defence, not to fresh offence. However, catching sight +of a gunsmith's shop on the way, he suddenly resolved to arm himself on +the bare chance of an attack. He stopped the cab; went in and bought +a double-barrelled pistol, with powder-flask, bullets, wads, and caps +complete. This he loaded in the cab, and felt quite prudent after it. +The prudence of youth! + +He paid off the cab in Pembroke Street, and set about the task of +discovering Julia. He inquired at several houses, but was unsuccessful. +Then he walked slowly all down the street, looking up at all the +windows. And I think, if he had done this the day before, he might have +seen her, or she him: she was so often at the window now. But just then +she had company to keep her in order. + +He was unlucky in another respect. Edward came out of No. 66 and went +up the street, when he himself was going down it not so very many yards +off. If Alfred's face had only been turned the other way he would have +seen Edward, and all would have gone differently. + +The stoutest hearts have their moments of weakness and deep dejection. +Few timings are more certain, and less realised by ordinary men than +this; from Palissy fighting with Enamel to Layard disinterring a city, +this thing is so. + +Unable to find Julia in the very street she inhabited, Alfred felt weak +against fate. He said to himself, “If I find her, I shall perhaps wish I +had never sought her.” + +In his hour of dejection stern reason would be heard, and asked him +whether all Mrs. Archbold had said could be pure invention; and he was +obliged to confess that was too unlikely. Then he felt so sick at heart +he was half minded to turn and fly the street. But there was a large +yard close by him, entered by a broad and lofty gateway cut through one +of the houses. The yard belonged to a dealer in hay: two empty waggons +were there, but no men visible, being their dinner-time. Alfred slipped +in here, and sat down on the shaft of a waggon; and let his courage +ooze. He sighed, and sighed, and feared to know his fate. And so he sat +with his face in his hands unmanned. + +Presently a strain of music broke on his ear. It seemed to come from the +street. He raised his head to listen. He coloured, his eyes sparkled; he +stole out on tiptoe with wondering, inquiring face into the street. Once +there, he stood spell-bound, thrilling from his heart, that seemed now +on fire, to his fingers' ends. For a heavenly voice was singing to the +piano, just above his head; singing in earnest, making the very street +ring. Already listeners were gathering, and a woman of the people said, +“It's a soul singing without a body.” Amazing good things are said +in the streets. The voice was the voice of Julia; the song was Aileen +Aroon, the hymn of constancy. So sudden and full was the bliss, which +poured into the long and sore-tried listener at this sudden answer to +his fears, that tears of joy trembled in his eyes. “'Wretch that I was +to doubt her,” he said: and unable to contain his longing, unable to +wait and listen even to that which had changed his griefs and doubts +into rapture, he was at the door in a moment. A servant opened it: “Miss +Dodd?” he said, or rather panted; “you need not announce me. I am an old +acquaintance.” He could not bear any one should see the meeting between +him and his beloved; he went up the steep and narrow stair, guided by +the hymn of constancy. + +He stopped at the door, his heart was beating so violently. + +Then he turned the handle softly, and stepped into the drawing-room; it +was a double room: he took two steps and was in the opening, and almost +at Julia's back. + +Two young clergymen were bending devotedly one on each side of her; it +was to them she was singing the hymn of constancy. + + +Alfred started back as if he had been stung; and the music stopped dead +short. + +For she had heard his step, and, womanlike, was looking into her +companions' eyes first, to see if her ear had deceived her. What she saw +there brought her slowly round with a wild look. Her hands rose toward +her face, and she shrank away sideways from him as if he was a serpent, +and her dilated eyes looked over her cringing shoulder at him, and she +was pale and red and pale and red a dozen times in as many seconds. + +He eyed her sorrowfully and sternly, taking for shame that strange +mixture of emotions which possessed her. And so they met. Strange +meeting for two true lovers, who had parted last upon their wedding eve. + +No doubt, if they had been alone, one or other would have spoken +directly; but the situation was complicated by the presence of two +rivals, and this tied their tongues. They devoured one another with +their eyes in silence; and then Julia rose slowly to her feet, and began +to tremble from head to foot, as she looked at him. + +“Is this intrusion agreeable to you, Miss Dodd?” said Mr. Hurd +respectfully, by way of courting her. She made no reply, but only looked +wildly at Alfred still, and quivered visibly. + +“Pray, sir,” said Alfred, turning on Mr. Hurd, “have you any right to +interfere between us two?” + +“None whatever,” said Julia hastily. “Mr. Hurd, I need no one: I will +permit no one to say a word to him. Mr. Hardie knows he cannot enter a +house where I am--without an explanation.” + +“What, before a couple of curates?” + +“Do not be insolent to my friends, sir,” said Julia, panting. + +This wounded Alfred deeply. “Oh, as you please,” said he. “Only if you +put me on my defence before strangers, I shall, perhaps, put you to the +blush before them.” + +“Why do you come here, sir?” said Julia, not deigning to notice his +threat. + +“To see my betrothed.” + +“Oh, indeed!” said she bitterly; “in that case why have you postponed +your visit so long?” + +“I was in prison.” + +“In prison?” + +“In the worst of all prisons; where I was put because I loved you; +where I was detained because I persisted in loving you, you faithless, +inconstant girl.” + +He choked at these words; she smiled--a faint, uncertain smile. It died +away, and she shook her head, and said sadly-- + +“Defend yourself, and then call me as many names as you like. Where was +this prison?” + +“It was an asylum: a madhouse.” + +The girl stared at him bewildered. He put his hand into his pocket and +took Peggy's letter. “Read that,” he said. She held it in her hand, +and looked him in the face to divine the contents. “Read it,” said he, +almost fiercely; “that was the decoy.” She held it shaking in her hands, +and stared at it. I don't know whether she read it or not. + +He went on: “The same villain who defrauded your father of his money, +robbed me of my wife and my liberty: that Silverton House was a lunatic +asylum, and ever since then (Oh, Julia, the agony of that day) I have +been confined in one or other of those hells; sane amongst the mad; +till Drayton House took fire, and I escaped: for what? To be put on my +defence, by you. What have you suffered from our separations compared +with the manifold anguish I have endured, that you dare to receive the +most injured and constant of mankind like this, you who have had your +liberty all this time, and have consoled yourself for my absence with a +couple of curates?” + +“For shame,” said Julia, blushing to the forehead, yet smiling in a way +her companions could not understand. + +“Miss Dodd, will you put up with these insults?” said Mr. Hurd. + +“Ay, and a thousand more,” cried Julia, radiant, “and thank Heaven for +them; they prove his sincerity. You, who have thought proper to stay and +hear me insult my betrothed, and put my superior on his defence, look +how I receive his just rebuke: Dear, cruelly used Alfred, I never +doubted you in my heart, no not for a moment; forgive me for taunting +you to clear yourself; you who were always the soul of truth and honour. +Forgive me: I too have suffered; for I thought my Alfred was dead. +Forgive me.” + +And with this she was sinking slowly to her knees with the most touching +grace, all blushes, tears, penitence, happiness, and love; but he caught +her eagerly. “Oh! God forbid,” he cried: and in a moment her head was on +his shoulder, and they mingled their tears together. + +It was Julia who recovered herself first, and shrank from him a little, +and murmured, “We are not alone.” + +The misgiving came rather late: and they were alone. + +The other gentlemen had comprehended at last that it was indelicate +to remain: they had melted quietly away; and Peterson rushed down the +street; but Hurd hung disconsolate about that very entry, where Alfred +had just desponded before him. + + +“Sit by me, my poor darling, and tell me all,” said Julia. + +He began; but, ere he had told her about his first day at his first +asylum, she moaned and turned faint at the recital, and her lovely head +sank on his shoulder. He kissed her, and tried to comfort her, and said +he would not tell her any more. + +But she said somewhat characteristically, “I insist on your telling me +all--all. It will kill me.” Which did not seem to Alfred a cogent reason +for continuing his narrative. He varied it by telling her that through +all his misery the thought of her had sustained him. Alas, in the midst +of their Elysium a rough voice was heard in the passage inquiring for +Mr. Hardie. Alfred started up in dismay: for it was Rooke's voice. “I am +undone,” he cried. “They are coming to take me again; and, if they do, +they will drug me; I am a dead man.” + +“Fly!” cried Julia; “fly! upstairs: the leads.” + +He darted to the door, and out on the landing. + +It was too late. Rooke had just turned the corner of the stairs, and +saw him. He whistled and rushed after Alfred. Alfred bounded up the next +flight of stairs: but, even as he went, his fighting blood got up; he +remembered his pistol: he drew it, turned on the upper landing, and +levelled the weapon full at Rooke's forehead. The man recoiled with a +yell, and got to a respectful distance on the second landing. There he +began to parley. “Come, Mr. Hardie, sir,” said he, “that is past a joke: +would you murder a man?” + +“It's no murder to kill an assassin in defence of life or liberty; and +I'll kill you, Rooke, as I would kill a wasp, if you lay a finger on +me.” + +“Do you hear that?” shouted Rooke to some one below. + +“Ay, I hear,” replied the voice of Hayes. + +“Then loose the dog. And run in after him.” + +There was a terrible silence; then a scratching was heard below: and, +above, the deadly click of the pistol-hammers brought to full cock. + +And then there was a heavy pattering rush, and Vulcan came charging up +the stairs like a lion. He was half-muzzled; but that Alfred did not +know; he stepped forward and fired at the tremendous brute somewhat +unsteadily; and missed him, by an inch; the bullet glanced off the +stairs and entered the wall within a yard of Rooke's head: ere Alfred +could fire again, the huge brute leaped on him, and knocked him down +like a child, and made a grab at his throat; Alfred, with admirable +presence of mind, seized a banister, and, drawing himself up, put the +pistol to Vulcan's ear, and fired the other barrel just as Rooke rushed +up the stairs to secure his prisoner; the dog bounded into the air and +fell over dead with shattered skull, leaving Alfred bespattered with +blood and brains, and half blinded: but he struggled up, and tore the +banister out in doing so, just as a heavy body fell forward at his feet: +it was Rooke stumbling over Vulcan's carcass so unexpectedly thrown in +his path: Alfred cleared his eyes with his hand, and as Rooke struggled +up, lifted the banister high above his head, and, with his long sinewy +arm and elastic body, discharged a blow frightful to look at, for youth, +strength, skill, and hate all swelled, and rose, and struck together +in that one furious gesture. If the wood had held, the skull must have +gone. As it was, the banister broke over' the man's head (and one half +went spinning up to the ceiling). The man's head cracked under the +banister like a glass bottle; and Rooke lay flat and mute, within the +blood running from his nose and ears. Alfred hurled the remnant of the +banister down at Hayes and the others, and darted into a room (it +was Julia's bedroom), and was heard to open the window, and then drag +furniture to the door, and barricade it. This done, he went to load his +pistol, which he thought he had slipped into his pocket after felling +Rooke. He found to his dismay it was not there. The fact was, it had +slipped past his pocket and fallen down. + +During the fight, shriek upon shriek issued from the drawing-room. +But now all was still. On the stairs lay Vulcan dead, Rooke senseless: +below, Julia in a dead faint. And all in little more than a minute. + +Dr. Wolf arrived with the police and two more keepers, new ones in the +place of Wales and Garrett discharged; and urged them to break into the +bedroom and capture the maniac: but first he was cautious enough to set +two of them to watch the back of the house. “There,” he said, “where +that load of hay is going in: that is the way to it. Now stand you in +the yard and watch.” + +This last mandate was readily complied with; for there was not much to +be feared on the stones below from a maniac self-immured on the second +story. But to break open that bedroom door was quite another thing. The +stairs were like a shambles already--a chilling sight to the eyes of +mercenary valour. + +Rooke was but just sensible: the others hung back. But presently the +pistol was found sticking in a pool of gore. This put a new face on the +matter; and Dr. Wolf himself showed the qualities of a commander. He +sent down word to his sentinels in the yard to be prepared for any +attempt on Alfred's part, however desperate: and he sent a verbal +message to a stately gentleman who was sitting anxious in lodgings +over the way, after bribing high ad low, giving out money like water to +secure the recapture, and so escape what he called his unnatural son's +vengeance; for he knew him to be by nature bold and vindictive like +himself. After these preliminaries, Doctor Wolf headed his remaining +forces--to wit, two keepers, and two policemen, and thundered at the +bedroom door, and summoned Alfred to surrender. + +Now among the spectators who watched and listened with bated breath, +was one to whom this scene had an interest of its own. Mr. Hurd, +disconcerted by Alfred's sudden reappearance, and the lovers' +reconciliation, had hung about the entry very miserable; for he was +sincerely attached to Julia. But, while he was in this stupor, came the +posse to recapture Alfred, and he heard them say so. Then the shots were +fired within, then Wolf and his men got in, and Mr. Hurd, who was now at +the door, got in with them to protect Julia, and see this dangerous +and inconvenient character disposed of. He was looking demurely on at +a safish distance, when his late triumphant rival was summoned to +surrender. + +No reply. + +Dr. Wolf coaxed. + +No reply. + +Dr. Wolf told him he had police as well as keepers, and resistance would +be idle. + +No reply. + +Dr. Wolf ordered his men to break in the door. + +After some little delay, one of the keepers applied a chisel, while a +policeman held his truncheon ready to defend the operator. The lock gave +way. But the door could not open for furniture. + +After some further delay they took it off its hinges, and the room stood +revealed. + +To their surprise no rush was made at them. The maniac was not even in +sight. + +“He is down upon his luck,” whispered one of the new keepers; “we shall +find him crouched somewhere.” They looked under the bed. He was not +there. They opened a cupboard; three or four dresses hung from wooden +pegs; they searched the gowns most minutely, but found no maniac hid in +their ample folds. Presently some soot was observed lying in the grate; +and it was inferred he had gone up the chimney. + +On inspection the opening appeared almost too narrow. Then Dr. Wolf +questioned his sentinels in the yard. “Have you been there all the +time?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Seen nothing?” + +“No, sir. And our eyes have never been off the window and the heads.” + +Here was a mystery; and not a clue to its solution. The window was open; +but five-and-twenty feet above the paved yard; had he leaped down he +must have been dashed to pieces. + +Many tongues began to go at once; in the midst of which Edward burst in, +and found the two dead men of contemporary history consisted of a dead +dog and a stunned man, who, having a head like a bullet, was now come +to himself and vowing vengeance. He found Julia very pale, supported +and consoled by Mr. Hurd. He was congratulating her on her escape from a +dangerous maniac. + +She rose and tottered away from him to her brother and clung to him. He +said what he could to encourage her, then deposited her in an arm-chair +and went upstairs; he soon satisfied himself Alfred was not in the +house. On this he requested Dr. Wolf and his men to leave the premises. +The doctor demurred. Edward insisted, and challenged him to show a +magistrate's warrant for entering a private house. The doctor was +obliged to own he had none. Edward then told the policemen they were +engaged in an illegal act; the police had no authority to take part +in these captures. Now the police knew that very well; but, being +handsomely bribed, they had presumed, and not for the first time, upon +that ignorance of law which is deemed an essential part of a private +citizen's accomplishments in modern days. In a word, by temper and +firmness, and a smattering of law gathered from the omniscient _'Tiser,_ +Edward cleared his castle of the lawless crew. But they paraded the +street, and watched the yard till dusk, when its proprietor ran rusty +and turned them out. + +Julia sat between Edward and Mr. Hurd, with her head thrown back and +her eyes closed; and received in silence their congratulations on her +escape. She was thinking of his. When they had quite done, she opened +her eyes and said, “Send for Dr. Sampson. Nobody else knows anything. Oh +pray, pray, pray send for Dr. Sampson.” + +Mr. Hurd said he would go for Dr. Sampson. She thanked him warmly. + +Then she crept away to her bedroom, and locked herself in, and sat on +the hearthrug, and thought, and thought, and recalled every word and +tone of her Alfred; comparing things old and new. + +Dr. Sampson was a few miles out of town, visiting a patient. It was +nine o'clock in the evening when he got Julia's note; but he came on +to Pembroke Street at once. Dr. Wolf and his men had retired; leaving +a sentinel in the street, on the bare chance of Alfred returning. Dr. +Sampson found brother and sister sitting sadly, but lovingly together. +Julia rose upon his entrance. “Oh, Doctor Sampson! Now _is_ he--what +they say he is?” + +“How can I tell, till I see 'm?” objected the doctor. + +“But you know they call people mad who are nothing of the kind; for you +said so.” + +Sampson readily assented to this. “Why it was but last year a +surjin came to me with one Jackson, a tailor, and said, 'Just sign a +certificate for this man: his wife's mad.' 'Let me see her,' sid I. +'What for,' sis he, 'when her own husband applies.' 'Excuse me,' sis I, +'I'm not a bat, I'm Saampson.' I went to see her; she was nairvous +and excited. 'Oh, I know what you come about,' said she. 'But you are +mistaken.' I questioned her kindly, and she told me her husband was a +great trile t' her nairves. I refused to sign. On that disn't the tailor +drown himself in the canal nixt day? He was the madman; and she knew it +all the time, but wouldn't tell us; and that's a woman all over.” + +“Well then,” said Julia hopefully. + +“Ay, but,” said Sampson, “these cases are exceptions after all; and the +chances are nine to one he's mad. Daun't ye remember that was one of +the solutions offered ye, whem he levanted on his wedding-day?” He added +satirically, “And couldn't all that logic keep in a little reason?” + +This cynical speech struck Julia to the heart; she could not bear it, +and retired to her own room. + +Then Dr. Sampson saw his mistake, and said to Edward, with some concern, +“Maircy on us, she is not in love with Him still, is she? I thought that +young parson was the man now.” + +Edward shook his head: but declined to go much into a topic so delicate +as his sister's affections: and just then an alarming letter was +delivered from Mrs. Dodd. She wrote to the effect that David, favoured +by the wind, had run into Portsmouth harbour before their eyes, and had +disappeared, hidden, it was feared, by one of those low publicans, +who provide bad ships with sailors, receiving a commission. On this an +earnest conversation between Sampson and Edward. + +It was interrupted in its turn. + +Julia burst suddenly into the room, pale and violently excited, clasping +her hands and crying, “He is _there._ His voice is like a child's. Oh, +Help me! He is hurt. He is dying.” + + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI + +JULIA, as I have said, went to her own room, wounded unintentionally by +a chance speech: she sat down sick at heart; and presently opened her +window and looked out upon the starry night, and wondered where Alfred +was now; that Alfred for whom nobody else had a Human heart, it seemed. +“Alfred! my poor Alfred!” she sighed, and half-expected to hear him +reply. Then she said to herself, “They all called you false but me; yet +I was right: and now they all call you mad; but not I: I believe nothing +against you. You are my own Alfred still. Where have the wretches driven +you to?” At this her feelings carried her away, and she cried aloud on +him despairingly, and leaned upon the window-sill, and the tears ran +fast for him. + +Presently out of the silence of the night seemed to struggle a faint but +clear voice: + +“Julia.” + +She started, and a muffled scream came from her. Then she listened, all +trembling. Again the voice sighed, faintly but clear, “Julia!” + +“Alfred?” said she, quavering. + +“Yes. Pray be cautious; give no alarm. The house is watched; bring +Edward.” + +She flew downstairs, and electrified Edward and Sampson with the news. +“Oh, promise me not to betray him!” she cried. + +“Hut!” said the doctor, starting to his feet, “what should we betray +him for? I'll cure him for you. I can cure any lunatic that has lucid +intervals. Where is he?” + +“Follow me,” gasped Julia. “Stay. I'll get rid of the servants first. +I'll not play the fool, and betray him to his enemies.” She sent Sarah +eastward, and Jane westward, and then led the way through the kitchen +door into the yard. + +They all searched about, and found nothing. Then Julia begged them to be +silent. She whispered, “Alfred!” And instantly a faint voice issued +from the top of a waggon laden with hay and covered with a tarpaulin. +“Julia.” + +They all stood staring. + +“Who are those with you?” asked Alfred uneasily. + +“Only friends, dear! Edward and Dr. Sampson.” + +“Ned, old fellow,” groaned Alfred, “you pulled me out of the fire, won't +you help me out of this? I think my leg is broken.” + +At this Julia wrung her hands, and Edward ran into the house for his +rope, and threw it over the waggon. He told Julia and Sampson to hold on +by one end, and seizing the other, was up on the waggon in a moment. He +felt about till he came to a protuberance; and that was Alfred under the +tarpaulin, in which he had cut breathing-holes with his penknife. Edward +sent Julia in for a carving-knife, and soon made an enormous slit: +through this a well-known figure emerged into the moonlight, and seemed +wonderfully tall to have been so hidden. His hands being uninjured, +he easily descended the rope, and stood on one leg, holding it. Then +Sampson and Edward put each an arm under his, and helped him into the +house. + +After the body the mind. That is the rule throughout creation. They +examined, not his reason, but his leg. Julia stood by with clasped +hands, and a face beaming with pity and anxiety, that repaid his pain. +Sampson announced there were no bones broken, but a bad sprain, and the +limb very red and swollen. “Now,” inquired he briskly of the company, +“what is the practice in sprains? Why, leeches and cold water.” + +Edward offered at once to run and get them. + +“Are you mad?” was the reply. “Daun't I tell ye that is the _practice?_ +And isn't the practice sure to be th' opposite of the remedy? So get +water as hot as he can bear it, and no leeches.” + +Julia remonstrated angrily. “Is this a case for jesting?” + +“Deevil a jest in it,” replied the doctor. “'Well then, if ye must +know, th' opera-dancers apply hot water to sprains: now what is their +interest? T' expedite the cure: and the faculty apply cold water: and +what is their interest? To procrastinate the cure, and make a long job +of it. So just hold your toungues, and ring for hot water.” + +Julia did not ring; she beckoned Edward, and they flew out and soon +brought a foot-pan of hot water. Edward them removed Alfred's shoes and +stockings, and Julia bared her lovely arms, and blushed like a rose. + +Alfred divined her intention. “Dear Julia,” he said, “I won't let you: +that is too high an honour. Sarah can do that.” + +But Julia's blood was up. “Sarah?” said she contemptuously; “she is too +heavy handed: and--hold your tongue; I don't take my orders from you;” + then more humbly to the doctor, “I am a district visitor: I nurse all +manner of strangers, and he says I must leave his poor suffering leg to +the servants.” + +“Unnatural young monster,” said the doctor. “G'im a good nip.” + +Julia followed this advice by handling Alfred's swollen ankle with a +tenderness so exquisite, and pressing it with the full sponge so softly, +that her divine touch soothed him as much or more than the water. After +nursing him into the skies a minute or two, she looked up blushing in +his face, and said coaxingly, “Are you mad, dear Alfred? Don't be afraid +to tell us the truth. The madder you are, the more you need me to take +care of you, you know.” + +Alfred smiled at this sapient discourse, and said he was not the least +mad, and hoped to take care of _her_ as soon as his ankle was well +enough. This closed that sweet mouth of hers exceeding tight, and her +face was seen no more for a while, but hid by bending earnestly over +her work, only as her creamy poll turned pink, the colour of that hidden +face was not hard to divine. + +Then Edward asked Alfred how in the world he had escaped and got into +that waggon. The thing was incredible. “Mirawculous,” said Dr. Sampson +in assent. + +“No,” said Alfred, “it looks stranger to you than it is. The moment I +found my pistol was gone, I determined to run. I looked down and saw a +spout with a great ornamental mouth, almost big enough to sit on; and, +while I was looking greedily at it, three horses came into the yard +drawing a load of hay. The waggoner was busy clearing the pavement with +his wheel, and the waggon almost stopped a moment right under me. There +was a lot of loose hay on the top. I let myself down, and hung by the +spout a moment, and then leaped on to the loose hay. Unfortunately there +were the hard trusses beneath it, and so I got my sprain. Oh, I say, +didn't it hurt? However, I crept under the hay and hid myself, and saw +Wolf's men come into the yard. By-and-by a few drops of rain fell, +and some fellows chucked down a tarpaulin from the loft, and nearly +smothered me: so I cut a few air-holes with my penknife. And there I +lay, Heaven knows how long: it seemed two days. At last I saw an angel +at a window I called her by the name she bears on earth: to my joy +she answered, and here I am, as happy as a prince among you all, and +devilish hungry.” + +“What a muff I was not to think of that,” said Edward, and made for the +larder. + +“Dear doctor,” said Julia, lifting a Madonna-like face with swimming +eyes, “I see no change in him: he is very brave, and daring, and saucy. +But so he always was. To be sure he says extravagant things, and stares +one out of countenance with his eyes: well, and so he always did--ever +since _I_ knew him.” + +“Mayn't I even _look_ my gratitude?” whined Alfred. + +“Yes, but you need not stare it.” + +“It's your own fault, Miss Julee,” said Sampson. “With you fomenting his +sprain the creature's fomenting his own insensate passion. Break every +bone in a puppy's body, and it's a puppy still; and it doesn't do to +spoil puppies, as ye're spoiling this one. Nlist me, ye vagabin. Take +yonr eyes off the lady; and look _me_ in the face--if ye can: and tell +me how you came to leave us all in the lurch on your wedding morn.” + +Julia fired up. “It was not his fault, poor thing; he was decoyed away +after that miserable money. Ah, you may laugh at me for hating money; +but have I not good reason to hate it?” + +“Whist, whist, y' impetuous cracter; and let him tell his own tale.” + +Alfred, thus invited, delivered one of his calm, luminous statements; +which had hitherto been listened to so coldly by one official after +another. But the effect was mighty different, falling now on folk +not paid to pity. As for Dr. Sampson, he bounced up very early in the +narrative, and went striding up and down the room: he was pale with +indignation, and his voice trembled with emotion, and every now and then +he broke in on the well-governed narrative with oaths and curses, and +observations of this kind--“Why dinnt ye kill um? I'd have killed um. +I'd just have taken the first knife and killed um. Man, our Liberty is +our Life. Dith to whoever attacks it!” + +And so Edward coming in with Alfred's dinner on a tray, found the +_soi-disant_ maniac delivering his wrongs with the lofty serenity of +an ancient philosopher discussing the wrongs of another, Julia crying +furtively into the tub, and the good physician trampling and raving +about the room, like what the stoical narrator was accused of being. +Edward stopped, and looked at them all over the tray. “Well,” said he, +“if there's a madman in the room, it is not Hardie. Ahem.” + +“Madman? ye young ijjit,” roared the doctor, “he's no madder than I am.” + +“Heaven forbid,” said Alfred drily. + +“No madder than _you_ are, ye young Pump.” + +“That's an ungenerous skit on Edward's profession,” objected the maniac. + +“Be quite now, chattering,” said the excited doctor; “I tell ye ye niver +were mad, and niver will be. It's just the most heartless imposture, the +most rascally fraud I've ever caught the Mad Ox out in. I'll expose it. +Gimme pninkpapr. Man, they'll take y' again if we don't mind. But I'll +stop that: these ineequities can only be done in the dark. I'll shed the +light of day on 'em. Eat your dinner, and hold your tongue a minute--if +ye can.” The doctor had always a high sense of _Alfred's_ volubility. + +He went to work, and soon produced a letter headed, “PRIVATE MADHOUSES.” + In this he related pithily Alfred's incarceration, and the present +attempt to recapture him, with the particulars of his escape. “That will +interest th' enemy,” said he drily. He vouched for Alfred's sanity at +both dates, and pledged himself to swear to it in a court of law. He +then inquired what it availed to have sent one tyrant to Phalaris and +another to Versailles in defence of our Liberty, since after all that +Liberty lies grovelling at the mercy of Dr. Pill-box and Mr. Sawbones, +and a single designing relative? Then he drew a strong picture of this +free-born British citizen skulking and hiding at this moment from a gang +of rogues and conspirators, who in France and other civilised countries +that brag less of liberty than we do, would be themselves flying as +criminals from the officers of justice; and he wound up with a warm +appeal to the press to cast its shield over the victim of bad laws +and foul practices. “In England,” said he, “Justice is the daughter of +Publicity. Throughout the world deeds of villainy are done every day +in kid gloves: but, with us, at all events, they have to be done on +the sly! Here lies our true moral eminence as a nation. Utter then your +'fiat lux,' cast the full light of publicity on this dark villainy; and +behold it will wither, and your oppressed and injured fellow-citizen be +safe from that very hour.” + +He signed it and read it out to them, or rather roared it. But he had +written it so well he could not make it bad by delivery. Indeed, he was +a masterly writer of English, you must know. Julia was delighted, but +Alfred shook his head. “The editor will not put it in.” + +“Th' editor! D'ye think I'm so green as to trust t' any one editor? +D'ye think I've lived all these years and not learned what poor cowardly +things men are? Moral courage! where can you find it? Except in +the dickshinary? Few to the world their honest thoughts _avow;_ the +groveller policy robs justice _now_-- + + And none but Sampson dares to lift a hond + Against the curst corruption of the lond. + +Now, lad, I'm off to my printer with this. They are working night and +day just now: there will be two hundred copies printed in half an hour.” + +“And me, doctor,” said Julia. “Am poor I to have no hand in it? How +cruel of you? Oh pray, pray, pray let me help a little.” + +“Put on your bonnet, then, directly,” said he: “in war never lose a +minute.” + +“But I am so afraid they may be lying in wait for him outside.” + +“Then we'll give them a good hiding: there are three of us; all good men +and staunch,” said the indomitable doctor. + +“No, no,” said the pugnacious Alfred. “Julia does not like fighting: I +heard her screaming all the time I was defending myself on the stairs: +let us be prudent: let us throw dust in their eyes. Put me on a bonnet +and cloak.” + +“And a nice little woman you'll make, ye fathom.” + +“Oh, I can stoop--to conquer.” + +Julia welcomed this plan almost with glee, and she and Edward very soon +made a handsome brazen-looking trollop six feet high. Then it had to +stoop, and Edward and Julia helped it out to the carriage, under the +very noses of a policeman and a keeper, who were watching for Alfred: +seeing which--oh frailty of woman!--the district visitor addressed it +aloud as her aunt, and begged it to take care: which she afterwards +observed was acting a falsehood, and “where was her Christianity?” + +Alfred was actually not recognised: the carriage bowled away to the +great printing house; it was on that side the water. The foreman entered +into the thing with spirit, and divided the copy, small as it was, among +two or three compositors: so a rough proof was ready in an incredibly +short time; the doctor corrected it: and soon they began to work off the +copies. The foreman found them Mitchell's newspaper list, and envelopes +by the hundred, and while the copies were pouring in, all hands were +folding and addressing them to the London and provincial editors. The +office lent the stamps. The doctor drove Alfred to his own lodgings, and +forbade him to reappear in Pembroke Street until the letter should come +out in the London journals. + +That night the letters were all posted, and at daybreak were flying +north, south, east and west. In the afternoon the letter came out in +four London evening papers, and the next morning the metropolis and the +whole kingdom were ringing with them, and the full blaze of publicity +burst upon this dark deed. + +Ay, stout Sampson, well you knew mankind, and well you knew the nation +you lived in. Richard Hardie, in the very act of setting detectives to +find Alfred's lurking-place, ran his nose against this letter in the +_Globe._ He collapsed at the sight of it; and wrote directly to Dr. +Wolf, enclosing it and saying that it would be unadvisable to make any +fresh attempt. His letter was crossed by one from Dr. Wolf, containing +Sampson's thunderbolt extracted from the _Sun,_ and saying that no +earthly consideration should induce him to meddle with Alfred _now._ +Richard Hardie flung himself into the train, and went down to his +brother at Clare Court. + +He was ill at ease. He felt like some great general, who has launched +many attacks against the foe, very successful at first, then less +successful, then repulsed with difficulty, then repulsed with ease, till +at last the foe stands before him impregnable. Then he feels that ere +long that iron enemy will attack him in turn, and that he, exhausted +by his own onslaughts, must defend himself how he can. Yet there was a +pause; he passed a whole quiet peaceful day with his brother, assuring +him that the affair would go no further on either side; but in his +secret soul he felt this quiet day was but the ominous pause between two +great battles: one of the father against the son, the other of the son +against the father. + +And he was right: the very next day the late defender attacked, and in +earnest. But for certain reasons I prefer to let another relate it: + + _Hardie v. Hardie._ + +“DEAR SIR,--If you had been in my office when I received your favour of +yesterday relating deft.'s ruffian-like assault, you would have seen the +most ridiculous sight in nature--videlicet, an attorney in a passion. +I threw professional courtesy to the winds, and sent Colls off to Clare +Court to serve the writ personally. Next day, he found the deft, walking +in his garden with Mr. Richard Hardie. Having learned from the servant +which was his man, he stepped up and served copy of the writ in the +usual way. Deft turned pale, and his knees knocked together, and Colls +thinks he mistook himself for a felon, and was going to ask for mercy. +But Mr. Richard stopped him, and said his attorneys were Messrs. +Heathfield, in Chancery Lane; and was this the way Mr. Compton did +business? serving a writ personally on a gentleman in weak health. So +Colls, who can sneer in his quiet way, told him 'No,' but the invalid +had declined to answer my letter, and the invalid had made a violent +attack upon our client's person, avoiding his attorney, 'so, as his +proceedings are summary, we meet him in kind,' says little Colls. +'Oho,' says Mr. Richard, 'your are a wit, are you? Come and have some +luncheon.' This was to get him away from the weaker brother, I take it. +He gave Colls an excellent luncheon, and some admirable conversation +on policy and finance: and when he was going, says this agreeable host: +'Well, Mr. -----, you have had your bellyful of chicken and Madeira; and +your client shall have his bellyful of law.' And this Colls considers +emphatic but coarse.--I am, yours faithfully, + +“JOHN COMPTON.” + +_“P.S._--Colls elicited that no further attempt will be made to capture +you. It seems some injudicious friend of yours has been writing to the +newspapers. Pray stop that.” + + +On receiving this letter, Alfred bought another double pistol, loaded +it, hired a body-guard of two prizefighters, and with these at his +heels, repaired to 66 Pembroke Street. No enemy was near: the press had +swept the street alike of keepers and police with one Briarian gesture. +He found Julia and Edward in great anxiety about their father. The +immediate cause was a letter from Mrs. Dodd, which Edward gave him to +read; but not till he had first congratulated him heartily on the aegis +of the press being thrown over him. “The _'Tiser_ has a leader on it,” + said he. + +Mrs. Dodd's letter ran thus:-- + + +“My DEAR DEAR CHILDREN,--I am coming home to you heartbroken, without +your poor father. I saw an East Indian ship go to sea, and some instinct +whispered, suppose he should be on board that ship! But, foolishly, I +did not utter my thoughts: because they call these instincts women's +fancies. But now even Mr. Green thinks he is gone to sea; for the town +has been ransacked, and no trace of him can we find. I met my cousin, +Captain Bazalgette, here, and he is promoted to the _Vulture_ frigate, +and sails to-day. I have told him all our misfortunes, and he has +promised to overhaul that merchant ship if he comes up with her: but I +_can see by the way his eye shuns mine_ he has no real hopes. His ship +is the swifter, but he may pass her in the night. And then he is bound +for New Zealand, not India. I told Reginald my poor husband's expression +of face is altered by his affliction, and that he takes himself for a +common sailor, and has his medal still round his neck. Our cousin is +very kind, and will do all he can. God can protect my darling at sea, as +He has ashore: and in His power alone have I any trust. Any further stay +here is vain: my heart, too, yearns for my other treasures, and dreads +lest whilst I am here, and because I am here, some evil should befall +you too. Expect me soon after this letter, and let us try and comfort +one another under this the heaviest of all our many troubles.--With sad +heart, I am, both my darlings' loving mother and friend, + +“LUCY DODD” + + +In the discussion of this letter Alfred betrayed a slight defect of +character. He pooh-poohed the calamity: said David had now a chance, and +a good one, of being cured: whereas confinement was one of the common +causes of insanity even in sane persons. And he stoutly maintained +that David's going to sea was a happy inspiration. Edward coloured, but +deigned no reply. Julia was less patient, and though she was too loving +and too womanly to tell Alfred to his face he was deceiving himself, and +arguing thus indirectly to justify himself in taking her father out of +the asylum at all, yet she saw it, and it imparted a certain coldness +into her replies. Alfred noticed this, and became less confident and +louder, and prodigiously logical. + +He was still flowing on with high imperious voice, which I suppose +overpowered the sound of Mrs. Dodd's foot, when she entered suddenly, +pale and weary, in her travelling-dress. + +Alfred stopped, and they all started to their feet. + +At sight of Alfred she stood dumbfoundered a single moment; then uttered +a faint shriek; and looked at him with unutterable terror. + +He stood disconcerted. + +Julia ran, and throwing her arms round Mrs. Dodd's neck, entreated her +not to be afraid of him: he was not mad; Dr. Sampson said so. Edward +confirmed her words; and then Julia poured out the story of his wrongs +with great gushes of natural eloquence that might have melted a rock, +and, as anticlimax is part of a true woman, ended innocently by begging +her mother not to look so unkindly at him; and his ankle so sprained, +and him in such pain. For the first time in her life Mrs. Dodd was deaf +to her daughter's natural eloquence; it was remarkable how little her +countenance changed while Julia appealed. She stood looking askant +with horror at Alfred all through that gentle eloquent appeal. But +nevertheless her conduct showed she had heard every word: as soon as +ever her daughter's voice stopped, she seemed to dilate bodily, and +moved towards Alfred pale and lowering. Yes, for once this gentle quiet +lady looked terrible. She confronted Alfred, “Is this true, sir?” said +she, in a low stern voice. “Are you not insane? Have you _never_ been +bereft of your reason?” + +“No, Mrs. Dodd, I have not.” + +“Then what have you done with my husband, sir?” + + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII + +IT was a thunderbolt. Alfred hung his head, and said humbly, “I did +but go upstairs for one moment to wash my hands for dinner; and he was +gone.” + +Mrs. Dodd went on in her low stern voice, almost as if he had not +answered her at all: “By what right did you assume the charge of him? +Did I authorise you to take him from the place where he was safe, and +under my eye?” + +Alfred replied sullenly: “He was not very safe, for he was almost burnt +to death. The fire liberated him, not I. After the fire I ran away from +him: he followed me; and then what could I do? I made the best of it; +and gave up my own desires to try and cure him. He longed for the sea: +I tried to indulge him: I hoped to bring him back to you sane: but fate +was against me. I am the most unfortunate of men.” + +“Mr. Hardie,” said Mrs. Dodd, “what you have done was the act of a +madman; and, if I believed you to be anything but a madman, the sight +of you would be intolerable to me; for you have made me a widow, and my +children orphans.” + +With this she gave a great shudder, and retired in tears. + +Alfred rose, pale and defiant. “That is _her_ notion of justice,” said +he bitterly; “pray is it yours, you two?” + +“Well, since you ask my opinion,” said Edward, “I think it was rather +presumptuous of you to undertake the care of my father: and, having +undertaken it, you ought not to have left him a moment out of your +sight.” + +“Oh, that is your opinion, is it? And you, dear Julia?” + +Julia made no reply, but hid her face in her hands and sighed deeply. + +“I see,” said Alfred sorrowfully. “Even you are against me at heart. You +judge by the event, not the motive. There is no justice in this world +for me. I'm sick of life. I have no right to keep the mistress of the +house out of her own room: there, I'll go, my heart is broken. No, it is +not, and never shall be, by anything that breathes. Thank Heaven, I have +got one friend left in this bitter world: and I'll make her the judge +whether I have deserved this last injustice. _I'll go to my sister._” + +He jumped up and hobbled slowly across the room, while Julia and Edward +sat chilled to the bone by those five little words, so simple, so +natural, yet so incredible, and to the hearers so awful. They started, +they shuddered, they sat petrified, staring at him, while he hobbled +across the room to go to his sister. + +As he opened the door to go out he heard stout Edward groan and Julia +utter a low wail. He stood confounded a moment. Then he hobbled down a +stair or two. But, ere he had gone far, there was a hasty whispering +in the drawing-room, and Edward came after him in great agitation, and +begged him to return; Julia must speak with him. He turned, and his face +brightened. Edward saw that, and turned his own face away and stammered +out, “Forget what I said to you. I am your friend, and always must be +for her sake. No, no, I cannot go into that room with you; I'll go and +comfort mamma. Hardie, old fellow, we are very unhappy, all of us. We +are too unhappy to quarrel.” + +These kind words soothed Alfred's sore heart. He brightened up and +entered the drawing-room. He found Julia standing in the middle of it, +the colour of ashes. Alfred was alarmed. “You are unwell, dearest,” he +cried; “you will faint. What have I done with my ungoverned temper?” He +moved towards her with a face full of concern. + +“No, Alfred,” said she solemnly, “I am not the least ill. It is sorrow, +deep sorrow for one I love better than all the world. Sit down beside +me, my poor Alfred; and--God help me to speak to him!” + +Alfred began to feel dire misgivings. + +“Yes,” said she, “I love you too well to let any hand but mine wound +you.” And here she took his sinewy hand with her soft palm. “I want to +soften it in the telling: and ah, how can I? Oh, why can I not throw +myself body and soul between you and all trouble, all sorrow?” + +“My Julia,” said Alfred gravely, “something has happened to Jane.” + +“Yes, Alfred. She met with a terrible accident.” + +“Ah!” + +“She was struck by an unfortunate man; he was not in his right mind.” + +“Struck? My sister struck. What, was there no man by?” + +“No. Edward nearly killed him afterwards.” + +“God bless him.” + +“Alfred, be patient. It was too late.” + +“What, is she hurt seriously? Is she disfigured?” + +“No, Alfred,” said Julia solemnly; “she is not disfigured; oh far from +that.” + +“Julia, you alarm me. This comes of shutting her brother up. May +Heaven's eternal curse light on those who did it. My poor little sister! +How you weep, Julia. My heart is lead.” + +“I weep for you, darling, not for her.” + +“Ah, that is how they talk when those we love are----One word! I shall +never see my poor little Jenny again; shall I?” + +“Yes, Alfred; if you will but follow her steps and believe in Him, who +soothed her last hour, and made her face shine with joy like an angel's +while we all wept around. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, he said he had but +one true friend in the world. Alas it is so; you have but me now, who +pity you and love you more than heart can utter; my own, my beloved, my +bereaved.” + +What could soften such a shock as this? It fell, and his anguish +was frightful, all the more so that he ascribed the calamity to his +imprisonment, and mingled curses and threats of vengeance with his +bursts of grief. He spurned the consolations of religion: he said heaven +was as unjust as earth, as cruel as hell. + +She cried out and stopped his mouth with her hand; she almost forced +him to kneel beside her, and prayed aloud for him: and when at last his +agony found vent in tears, she put her innocent arms round his neck and +wept with him. + +Every now and then the poor fellow would almost shriek with remorse. +“Oh, if I had only been kinder to her! if I had but been kinder to her!” + +“You were kind to her,” said Julia softly, but firmly. “Oh, no; I was +always sneering at her. And why? I knew her religion was sincere: but +my little mind fixed on a few phrases she had picked up from others, +and I----” He could say no more, but groaned with anguish. And let his +remorse be a caution to us all. Bereaved we all must be, who live on and +on: but _this,_ bereavement's bitterest drop, we may avoid. + +“Alfred,” said Julia, “do not torment yourself. We girls care little +about a few sarcasms; it is the cold heart that wounds us. You loved +Jane, and she knew it well, and joyed in it. You were kinder to her than +you think, and so her dying thoughts were for you. It was for you she +asked, and made your father send for you, and poor I hoped you would +come. And, dearest, her last act was to write a few words to you, and +trust them to her who she knew loved you better than heart can utter. +Since it was her wish, let us try and read them together, the last words +of a saint (I have never seen them), and, if they do not prove words of +love, then I will let you think you were not a good brother to her you +and I, and poor, poor Edward, have lost.” + +He made a sad sign of assent; and Julia rose and got the enclosure. +But, as Jane's last written words reappeared on the scene in a somewhat +remarkable way, I will only say here, that both these poor young things +tried in vain to read them, and both in turn burst out sobbing, so that +they could not: so they held the paper and tried to see the words out of +their streaming eyes. And these two mourners had the room to themselves +till midnight; for even Mrs. Dodd's hostility respected Alfred then; and +as for Julia, she was one of those who rise with the occasion: she was +half wife, half angel from Heaven to her bereaved lover through all +those bitter hours. + + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + +No life was ever yet a play: I mean, an unbroken sequence of dramatic +incidents. Calms will come; unfortunately for the readers, happily for +the read. And I remember seeing it objected to novelists, by a young +gentleman just putting his foot for the first time into “Criticism,” + that the writers aforesaid suppress the small intermediate matters which +in real life come by the score between each brilliant event: and so +present the ordinary and the extraordinary parts of life in false +proportions. Now, if this remark had been offered by way of contrast +between events themselves and all mortal attempts to reproduce them +upon paper or the stage, it would have been philosophical; but it was a +strange error to denounce the practice as distinctive of fiction: for +it happens to be the one trait the novelist and dramatist have in +common with the evangelist. The Gospels skip fifteen years of the most +interesting life Creation has witnessed; they relate Christ's birth +in full, but hurry from His boyhood to the more stirring events of His +thirtieth and subsequent years. And all the inspired histories do much +the same thing. The truth is, that epics, dramas, novels, histories, +chronicles, reports of trials at law, in a word, all narratives true +or fictitious, except those which, true or fictitious, nobody reads, +abridge the uninteresting facts as Nature never did, and dwell as Nature +never did on the interesting ones. + +Can nothing, however, be done to restore, in the reader's judgment, +that just balance of “the sensational” and the “soporific,” which all +writers, that have readers, disturb? Nothing, I think, without his own +assistance. But surely something with it. And, therefore, I throw +myself on the intelligence of my readers; and ask them to realise, that +henceforth pages are no strict measure of time, and that to a year big +with strange events, on which I have therefore dilated in this +story, succeeded a year in which few brilliant things happened to the +personages of this tale: in short, a year to be skimmed by chronicler or +novelist, and yet (mind you) a year of three hundred and sixty-five +days six hours, or thereabouts, and one in which the quiet, unobtrusive +troubles of our friends' hearts, especially the female hearts, their +doubts, divisions, distresses, did not remit--far from it. Now this year +I propose to divide into topics, and go by logical, rather than natural, +sequence of events. + + THE LOVERS. + +Alfred came every day to see Julia, and Mrs. Dodd invariably left the +room at his knock. + +At last Julia proposed to Alfred not to come to the house for the +present; but to accompany her on her rounds as district visitor. To see +and soothe the bitter calamities of the poor had done her own heart good +in its worst distress, and she desired to apply the same medicine to her +beloved, who needed it: that was one thing: and then another was, that +she found her own anger rising when her mother left the room at that +beloved knock: and to be angry with her poor widowed, mother was a sin. +“She is as unfortunate as I am happy,” thought Julia; “I have got _mine_ +back.” + +Alfred assented to this arrangement with rather an ill grace. He +misunderstood Julia, and thought she was sacrificing him to what he +called her mother's injustice. This indeed was the interpretation any +male would have been pretty sure to put on it. His soreness, however, +did not go very far; because she was so kind and good to him when they +were together. He used to escort her back to the door of 66: and look +imploringly; but she never asked him in. He thought her hard for this. +He did not see the tears that flowed for that mute look of his the +moment the door was closed; tears she innocently restrained for fear the +sight of them should make him as unhappy as his imploring look made +her. _Mauvais calcul!_ She should have cried right out. When we men are +unhappy, we like our sweethearts to be unhappier--that consoles _us._ + +But when this had gone on nearly a month, and no change, Alfred lost +patience: so he lingered one day at the door to make a request. He asked +Julia to marry him: and so put an end to this state of things. + +“Marry you, child?” cried Julia, blushing like a rose with surprise and +pleasure. “Oh, for shame!” + +After the first thrill, she appealed to his candour whether that would +not be miserably selfish of her to leave her poor mother in her present +distressed condition. “Ah, Alfred, _so_ pale, _so_ spiritless, and +inconsolable! My poor, poor mother!” + +“You will have to decide between us two one day.” + +“Heaven forbid!” said Julia, turning pale at the very idea. But he +repeated doggedly that it must come to that, sooner or later. Then he +reminded her of their solemn engagement, and put it to her whether it +was a moral proceeding in her to go back from her plighted troth? What +had he done to justify her in drawing back from her word? “I admit,” + said he, “that I have _suffered_ plenty of wrong for your sake: but what +have I done wrong?” + +Undeterred by the fear of immorality, the monotonous girl had but one +reply to his multiform reasons: “This is no time for me to abandon my +mother.” + +“Ah, it is her you love: you don't care for me,” snapped Alfred. + +“Don't I, dear Alfred?” murmured Julia. + +“Forgive me! I'm a ruffian, a wretch.” + +“You are my Alfred. But oh, have a little patience, dear.” + +“A little patience? I have the patience of Job. But even his went at +last.” + +[I ought to have said they were in the passage now. The encroaching +youth had gained an entrance by agitating her so at the door that she +had to ask him in to hide her own blushes from the public.] She now +gently reminded him how much happier they were than they had been for +months. “Dear me,” said she, “I am almost happy: happier than I ought to +be; could be quite so, but that I see you discontented.” + +“Ah, you have so many about you that you love: I have only you.” + +“And that is true, my poor Alfred.” + +This softened him a little; and then she interwove her fingers together, +and so put both palms softly on his shoulder (you never saw a male do +that, and never will), and implored him to be patient, to be generous. +“Oh,” said she, “if you knew the distress it gives me to refuse to you +anything on earth, you would be generous, and not press me when my heart +says 'Yes,' but my lips _must_ say 'No.'” + +This melted him altogether, and he said he would not torment her any +more. + +But he went away discontented with himself for having yielded: my lord +did not call it “yielding,” but “being defeated.” And as he was not only +very deep in love, but by nature combative, he took a lodging nearly +opposite No. 66, and made hot love to her, as hot as if the attachment +was just forming. Her mother could not go out but he was at the door +directly: she could not go out but he was at her heels. This pleased her +at first and thrilled her with the sense of sweet and hot pursuit: but +by-and-by, situated as she was between him and her mother, it worried +her a little at times, and made her nervous. She spoke a little sharply +to him now and then. And that was new. It came from the nerves, not the +heart. At last she advised him to go back to Oxford. “I shall be the +ruin of your mind if we go on like this,” said she sadly. + +“What, leave the field to my rivals? No, thank you.” + +“What rivals, sir?” asked Julia, drawing up. + +“Your mother, your brother, your curates that would come buzzing the +moment I left; your sick people, who bask on your smiles and your sweet +voice till I envy them: Sarah, whom you permit to brush your lovely +hair, the piano you play on, the air you deign to breathe and brighten, +everybody and everything that is near you; they are all my rivals; and +shall I resign you to them, and leave myself desolate? I'm not such a +fool.” + +She smiled, and could not help feeling it was sweet to be pestered. So +she said with matronly dignity, and the old Julian consistency, “You are +a foolish impetuous boy. You are the plague of my life: and--the sun of +my existence.” That passed off charmingly. But presently his evil genius +prompted Alfred to endeavour to soften Mrs. Dodd by letter, and induce +her to consent to his marriage with her daughter. He received her answer +at breakfast-time. It was wonderfully polite and cold; Mrs. Dodd +feigned unmixed surprise at the proposal, and said that insanity being +unfortunately in her own family, and the suspicion of insanity resting +on himself, such a union was not to be thought of; and therefore, +notwithstanding her respect for his many good qualities, she must +decline with thanks the honour he offered her. She inserted a poisoned +sting by way of postscript. “When you succeed in publicly removing the +impression your own relations share with me, and when my husband owes +his restoration to you, instead of his destruction, of course you will +receive a very different answer to your proposal--should you then think +it consistent with your dignity to renew it.” + +As hostile testators used to leave the disinherited one shilling, not +out of a shilling's worth of kindly feeling, but that he might not be +able to say his name was omitted through inadvertency, so Mrs. Dodd +inserted this postscript merely to clench the nail and tantalise her +enemy. It was a masterpiece of feminine spite. + +She would have been wonderstruck could she have seen how Alfred received +her missive. + +To be sure he sat in a cold stupor of dejection for a good half hour; +but at the end of that time he lifted up his head, and said quietly, “So +be it. I'll get the trial over, and my sanity established, as soon as +possible: and then I'll hire a yacht and hunt her husband till I find +him.” + +Having settled this little plan, he looked out for Julia, whose sympathy +he felt in need of after such a stern blow. + +She came out much later than usual that day, for to tell the truth, her +mother had detained her to show her Alfred's letter, and her answer. + +“Ah, mamma,” said poor Julia, “you don't love me as you did once. Poor +Alfred!” + +Mrs. Dodd sighed at this reproach, but said she did not deserve it. No +mother in her senses would consent to such a match. + +Julia bowed her head submissively and went to her duties. But when +Alfred came to her open-mouthed to complain of her mother's cruelty, +she stopped him at once, and asked him how he could go and write that +foolish, unreasonable letter. Why had he not consulted her first? “You +have subjected yourself to a rebuff,” said she angrily, “and one from +which I should have saved you. Is it nothing that mamma out of pity to +me connives at our meeting and spending hours together? Do you think +she does no violence to her own wishes here? and is she to meet with no +return?” + +“What, are you against me too?” said poor Alfred. + +“No, it is you who are our enemy with your unreasonable impatience.” + +“I am not so cold-blooded as you are, certainly.” + +“Humility and penitence would become you better than to retort on me. I +love you both, and pray God on my knees to show me how to do my duty to +both.” + +“That is it; you are not single-hearted like me. You want to please all +the world, and reconcile the irreconcilable. It won't do: you will have +to choose between your mother and me at last.” + +“Then of course I shall choose my mother.” + +“Why?” + +“Because she claims my duty as well as my love; because she is bowed +down with sorrow, and needs her daughter just now more than you do; +besides, you are my other self, and we must deny ourselves.” + +“We have no more right to be unjust to ourselves than to anybody else; +injustice is injustice.” + +“Alfred, you are a high-minded Heathen, and talk Morality. Morality is a +snare. What I pray to be is a Christian, as your dear sister was, and to +deny myself; and you make it, oh so difficult.” + +“So I suppose it will end in turning out your heathen and then taking +your curate. Your mother would consent to that directly.” + +“Alfred,” said Julia with dignity, “these words are harsh, and--forgive +me for saying so--they are coarse. Such words would separate us two, +without my mother, if I were to hear many of them; for they take +the bloom off affection, and that mutual reverence, without which no +gentleman and lady could be blessed in holy wedlock.” + +Alfred was staggered and mortified too: they walked on in silence now. + +“Alfred,” said Julia at last, “do not think me behind you in affection, +but wiser, for once, and our best friend. I do think we had better see +less of one another for a time, my poor Alfred.” + +“And why for a time? Why not for ever?” + +“If your heart draws no distinction, why not indeed?” + +“So be it then: for I will be no woman's slave. There's my hand, Julia: +let us part friends.” + +“Thank you for that, dear Alfred: may you find some one who can love you +more--than--I do.” + +The words choked her. But he was stronger, because he was in a passion. +He reproached her bitterly. “If I had been as weak and inconstant as you +are, I might have been out of Drayton House long before I did escape. +But I was faithful to my one love. I have some right to sing 'Aileen +Aroon,' you have none. You are an angel of beauty and goodness; you will +go to Heaven, and I shall go to the devil now for want of you; but then +you have no constancy nor true fidelity: so that has parted us, and now +nothing is left me but to try and hate you.” + +He turned furiously on his heel. + +“God bless you, go where you will,” faltered Julia. + +He replied with a fierce ejaculation of despair, and dashed away. + +Thus temper and misunderstanding triumphed, after so many strange and +bitter trials had failed. + +But alas! it is often so. + + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + +Both the parted lovers were wretched. Julia never complained, but +drooped, and read the Psalms, and Edward detected her in tears over +them. He questioned her and obtained a lame account; she being far more +bent on screening Alfred than on telling the truth. + +Edward called on the other; and found him disconsolate, and reading a +Heathen philosopher for comfort, and finding none. Edward questioned +him, and he was reserved and even sulky. Sir Imperturbable persisted +quietly, and he exploded, and out came his wrongs. Edward replied that +he was a pretty fellow: wanted it all his own way. “Suppose my mother, +with her present feelings, was to take a leaf out of your book, and use +all her power; where would you be then? Come, old fellow, I know what +love is, and one of us _shall_ have the girl he loves, unless any harm +should come to my poor father owing to your blunder--oh, that would put +it out of the question, I feel--but let us hope better. I pulled you out +of the fire, and somehow I seem to like you better than ever after that; +let me pull you out of this mess too.” + +“Pull away,” cried the impetuous youth. “I'll trust you with my life: +ay, with more than my life, with my love; for you are the man for me: +reason is always uppermost with you: + + Give me the man that is not passion's slave, + And I will wear him in my heart's core, ay----” + +“Oh bother that. If you are in earnest, don't mouth, but put on your hat +and come over.” + +He assented; but in the middle of putting on his coat, made this little +observation: “Now I see how wise the ancients were: yes, friendship is +better than love; calmer, more constant, free from the heats and chills +of that impetuous passion; its pure bosom is ruffled by none of love's +jealousies and irritabilities. Solem e mundo tollunt qui tollunt +amicitiam.” + +“Oh bother quoting; come and shake hands with Julia.” They went over; +Mrs. Dodd was in the city. Edward ushered in Alfred, saying, “Here is +the other Impetuosity;” and sagely retired for a few minutes. When +he came back they were sitting hand in hand, he gazing on her, she +inspecting the carpet. “That is all right,” said Edward drily: “now the +next thing is, you must go back to Oxford directly, and read for your +first class.” + +The proposal fell like a blight upon the reconciled lovers. But Edward +gave potent reasons. The delays of law were endless: Alfred's defendant +had already obtained one postponement of the trial on frivolous grounds. +Now the Oxford examination and Doncaster races come on at a fixed date, +by a Law of Nature, and admit of no “postponement swindle.” “You mark +my words, you will get your class before you will get your trial, and it +won't hurt you to go into court a first-class man: will it? And then you +won't quarrel by letter, you two; I know. Come, will you do what I tell +you: or is friendship but a name? eh, Mr. Bombast?” He ended with great +though quiet force: “Come, you two, which is better, to part like the +scissors, or part like the thread?” + +Similes are no arguments; that is why they convince people so: Alfred +capitulated to the scissors and thread; and only asked with abnormal +humility to be allowed to taste the joys of reconciliation for two days. +The third found him at Oxford; he called on the head of his college +to explain what had prevented his return to Exeter in the October term +twelve months ago, and asked for rooms. Instead of siding with a man +of his own college so cruelly injured, the dignitary was alarmed by +the bare accusation, and said he must consider: insanity was a terrible +thing. + +“So is false accusation, and so is false imprisonment,” said Hardie +bitterly. + +“Unquestionably. But I have at present no means of deciding how far +those words apply.” In short, he could give no answer; must consult the +other officers, and would convey the result by letter. + +Alfred's pride was deeply mortified, not less by a certain cold +repugnant manner than by the words. And there came over his heart a +sickening feeling that he was now in the eyes of men an intellectual +leper. + +He went to another college directly, and applied to the vice-president, +the vice-president sent him with a letter to the dean; the dean looked +frightened; and told him hesitatingly the college was full; he might put +his name down, and perhaps get in next year. Alfred retired, and learned +from the porter that the college was not full. He sighed deeply, and the +sickening feeling grew on him; an ineradicable stigma seemed upon him, +and Mrs. Dodd was no worse than the rest of the world then; every mother +in England would approve her resolutions. He wandered about the scenes +of his intellectual triumphs: he stood in the great square of the +schools, a place ugly to unprejudiced eyes, but withal somewhat grand +and inspiring, especially to scholars who have fought their keen and +bloodless battles there. He looked at the windows and gilt inscription +of the Schola Metaphysices, in which he had met the scholars of his day +and defeated them for the Ireland. He wandered into the theatre, and +eyed the rostrum, whence he had not mumbled, but recited, his Latin +prize poem with more than one thunder of academic applause: thunder +compared with which Drury Lane's us a mere cracker. These places were +unchanged; but he, sad scholar, wandered among them as if he was a +ghost, and all these were stony phantoms of an intellectual past, never, +never to return. + +He telegraphed Sampson and Edward to furnish him with certificates that +he had never been insane, but the victim of a foul conspiracy; and, when +he received them, he went with them to St. Margaret's Hall; for he +had bethought him that the new principal was a first-rate man, and had +openly vowed he would raise that “refuge for the oft-times phoughed” to +a place of learning. + +Hardie called, sent in his card, and was admitted to the principal's +study. He was about to explain who he was, when the doctor interrupted +him, and told him politely he knew him by reputation. “Tell me rather,” + said he shrewdly, “to what I owe this application from an undergraduate +so distinguished as Mr. Hardie?” + +Then Alfred began to quake, and, instead of replying, put a hand +suddenly before his face, and lost courage for one moment. + +“Come, Mr. Hardie,” said the principal, “don't be disconcerted: a fault +regretted is half atoned; and I am not disposed to be hard on the errors +of youth; I mean where there is merit to balance them.” + +“Sir,” said Alfred sadly, “it is not a fault I have to acknowledge, but +a misfortune.” + +“Tell me all about it,” said Dr. Alder guardedly. + +He told it, omitting nothing essential that could touch the heart or +excite the ironical humour of an academician. + +“Well, 'truth is more wonderful than fiction,'” said the doctor. And I +conclude the readers of this tale are all of the doctor's opinion; so +sweet to the mind is cant. + +Alfred offered his certificates. + +Now Dr. Alder had been asking himself in what phrases he should decline +this young genius, who was sane now, but of course had been mad, only +had forgotten the circumstance. But the temptation to get an Ireland +scholar into his Hall suddenly overpowered him. The probability that he +might get a first-class in a lucid interval was too enticing; nothing +venture, nothing have. He determined to venture a good deal. + +“Mr. Hardie,” said he, “this house shall always be open to good morals +and good scholarship while I preside over it, and it shall be open to +them all the more when they come to me dignified, and made sacred, by +'unmerited calamity.'” + +Now this fine speech, like Minerva herself, came from the head. Alfred +was overcome by it to tears. At that the doctor's heart was touched, and +even began to fancy it had originated that noble speech. + +It was no use doing things by halves; so Dr. Alder gave Alfred a +delightful set of rooms; and made the Hall pleasant to him. He +was rewarded by a growing conviction that he had made an excellent +acquisition. This opinion, however, was anything but universal: and +Alfred finding the men of his own college suspected his sanity, and +passed jokes behind his back, cut them all dead, and confined himself to +his little Hall. There they petted him, and crowed about him, and betted +on him for the schools as freely as if he was a colt the Hall was going +to enter for the Derby. + +He read hard, and judiciously, but without his old confidence: he became +anxious and doubtful; he had seen so many first-rate men just miss +a first-class. The brilliant creature analysed all his Aristotelian +treatises, and wrote the synopses clear with marginal references on +great pasteboard cards three feet by two, and so kept the whole subject +before his eye, till he obtained a singular mastery. Same system with +the historians: nor did he disdain the use of coloured inks. Then the +brilliant creature drew lists of all the hard words he encountered in +his reading, especially in the common books, and read these lists till +mastered. The stake was singularly heavy in his case, so he guarded +every crevice. + +And at this period he was not so unhappy as he expected. The laborious +days went swiftly, and twice a week at least came a letter from Julia. +Oh, how his grave academic room with oaken panels did brighten, when +her letter lay on the table. It was opened, and seemed written with +sunbeams. No quarrels on paper! Absence made the heart grow fonder. And +Edward came to see him, and over their wine let out a feminine trait +in Julia. “When Hurd calls, she walks out of the room, just as my poor +mother does when you come. That is spite: since you are sent away, +nobody else is to profit by it. Where is her Christianity, eh? and echo +answers--Got a cigar, old fellow?” And, after puffing in silence awhile, +he said resignedly, “I am an unnatural monster.” + +“Oh, are you?” said the other serenely; for he was also under the benign +influence. + +“Yes,” said Edward, “I am your ally, and a mere spy in the camp of those +two ladies. I watch all their moves for your sake.” + +Alfred forgave him. And thus his whole life was changed, and for nearly +twelve months (for Dr. Alder let him reside in the Hall through the +vacation) he pursued the quiet tenor of a student's life, interrupted at +times by law; but that is another topic. + + WIFE AND NO WIFE. + +Mrs. Dodd was visibly shaken by that calamity which made her shrink with +horror from the sight of Alfred Hardie. In the winter she was so unwell +that she gave up her duties with Messrs. Cross and Co. Her connection +with them had been creditable to both parties. I believe I forgot to say +why they trusted her so; well, I must tell it elsewhere. David off her +hands, she was independent, and had lost the motive and the heart for +severe work. She told the partners she could no longer do them justice, +and left them, to their regret. They then advised her to set up as a +milliner, and offered her credit for goods at cash prices up to two +thousand pounds. She thanked them like a sorrowful queen, and went her +way. + +In the spring she recovered some spirit and health; but at midsummer a +great and subtle misfortune befell her. Her mind was bent on David night +and day, and used to struggle to evade the laws of space that bind +its grosser companion, and find her lost husband on the sea. She often +dreamt of him, but vaguely. But one fatal night she had a dream as clear +as daylight, and sharp as white pebbles in the sun. She was on a large +ship with guns; she saw men bring a dead sailor up the side; she saw all +their faces, and the dead man's too. It was David. His face was white. +A clear voice said he was to be buried in the deep next morning. She saw +the deck at her feet, the breeches of the guns, so clear, so defined, +that, when she awoke, and found herself in the dark, she thought reality +was the illusion. She told the dream to Julia and Edward. They tried +to encourage her, in vain. “I saw him,” she said, “I saw him; it was a +vision, not a dream; my David is dead. Well, then, I shall not be long +behind him.” + +Dr. Sampson ridiculed her dream to her face. But to her children he told +another story. “I am anxious about her,” he said, “most anxious. There +is no mortal ill the distempered brain may not cause. Is it not devilish +we can hear nothing of him? She will fret herself into the grave, as +sure as fate, if something does not turn up.” + +Her children could not console her; they tried, but something hung round +their own hearts, and chilled every effort. In a word, they shared her +fears. How came she to see him on board a ship with guns? In her waking +hours she always said he was on a merchant ship. Was it not one of +those visions, which come to mortals and give them sometimes a peep into +Space, and, far more rarely, a glance into Time? + +One day in the autumn, Alfred, being in town on law business, met what +seemed the ghost of Mrs. Dodd in the streets. She saw him not; her eye +was on that ghastly face she had seen in her dreams. It flashed through +his mind that she would not live long to part him and Julia. But he +discouraged the ungenerous thought; almost forgave her repugnance to +himself, and felt it would be worse than useless to ask Julia to leave +her mother, who was leaving her visibly. + +But her horror of him was anything but softened; and she used to tell +Dr. Sampson she thought the sight of that man would kill her now. Edward +himself began to hope Alfred would turn his affections elsewhere. The +house in Pembroke Street was truly the house of mourning now; all their +calamities were light compared with this. + + THE DISTRICT VISITOR. + +While Julia was writing letters to keep up Alfred's heart, she was very +sad herself Moreover, he had left her for Oxford but a very few days, +when she received an anonymous letter; her first. It was written in a +female hand, and couched in friendly and sympathetic terms. The writer +thought it only fair to warn her that Mr. Alfred Hardie was passionately +fond of a lady in the asylum, and had offered her marriage. If Miss Dodd +wished to be deceived, let her burn this letter and think no more of +it; if not, let her insert this advertisement in the Times: “The whole +Truth.--L. D.,” and her correspondent would communicate particulars by +word or writing. + +What a barbed and poisoned arrow is to the body, was this letter to +Julia's mind. She sat cold as a stone with this poison in her hand. Then +came an impetuous impulse to send it down to Alfred, and request him to +transfer the other half of his heart to his lady of the asylum. Then she +paused; and remembered how much unjust suspicion had been levelled at +him already. What right had she to insult him? She would try and keep +the letter to herself. As to acting upon it, her good sense speedily +suggested it came from the rival in question, real or supposed. “She +wants to make use of me,” said Julia; “it is plain Alfred does not care +much for her; or why does she come to me?” She put the letter in her +desk, and it rankled in her heart. _Hoeret lateri lethalis arundo._ She +trembled at herself; she felt a savage passion had been touched in her. +She prayed day and night against jealousy. + +But I must now, to justify my heading, skip some months, and relate a +remarkable incident that befell her in the said character. On the first +of August in this year, a good Christian woman, one of her patients, +asked her to call on Mr. Barkington, that lodged above. “He is a decent +body, miss, and between you and me, I think his complaint is, he don't +get quite enough to eat.” + +“Barkington!” said Julia, and put her hand to her bosom. She went and +tapped at his door. + +“Come in,” said a shrillish voice. + +She entered, and found a weazened old man seated, mending his own coat. + +He rose, and she told him she was a district visitor. He said he had +heard of her; they called her the beautiful lady in that court. This was +news to her, and made her blush. She asked leave to read a chapter to +him; he listened as to some gentle memory of childhood. She prescribed +him a glass of port wine, and dispensed it on the instant. Thus +physicked, her patient became communicative, and chattered on about his +native place--but did not name it--and talked about the people there. +Now our district visitor was, if the truth must be told, a compounder. +She would permit her pupils to talk about earthly affairs, on condition +they would listen to heavenly ones before she went. So she let this old +man run on, and he told her he had been a banker's clerk all his life, +and saved a thousand pounds, and come up to London to make his fortune +on the Stock Exchange; and there he was sometimes a bull, and sometimes +a bear, and whichever he was, certain foxes called brokers and jobbers +got the profit and he the loss. “It's all the same as a gambling-table,” + said he. “The jobbers and brokers have got the same odds the bank has at +Rouge et Noir, and the little capitalist like me is doomed beforehand.” + Then he told her that there was a crossing-sweeper near the Exchange who +came from his native place, and had started as a speculator, and come +down to that. Only he called it rising, and used to speak with a shudder +of when he dabbled in the funds, and often told him to look sharp, and +get a crossing. And lo! one day when he was cleaned out, and desperate, +and hovering with the other ghosts of little capitalists about the tomb +of their money, he saw his countryman fall flat, and the broom fly +out of his hand. Instantly he made a rush, and so did a wooden-legged +sailor; but he got first to the broom, and began to sweep while others +picked up his countryman, who proved dead as a herring; and he succeeded +to his broom, and it made money by the Exchange, though he never could. +Still, one day he picked up a pocket-book in that neighbourhood, with +a lump of money, which he straightway advertised in--no newspapers. +And now, Julia thought it time to interpose the eighth commandment, the +golden rule, and such branches of learning. + +He became a favourite of hers: he had so much to say: she even thought +she had seen his face before: but she could not tell where. She gave him +good books and tracts; and read to him, and ploughed his heart with her +sweet voice, and sowed the good seed in the furrows--seed which, like +wheat or other grain, often seems to fall flat and die, but comes out +green after many days. + +One Saturday she invited him to dine with the servants next day. He came +during church time, and went away in the afternoon while she was with +her mother. But she asked Sarah, who proved eager to talk about him. “He +was a rum customer; kept asking questions all dinner time. 'Well,' says +I, 'you're good company you are; be you a lawyer; for you examines us; +but you don't tell us nothing.' Ye see, Miss, Jane she is that simple, +she was telling him everything, and about Mr. Alfred's lawsuit with his +father and all.” + +Julia said that was indiscreet; but after all what did it matter? + +“Who knows, Miss?” Sarah replied: “least said is soonest mended. If you +please, Miss, who is he? Where does he bide? Where does he come from? +Does he know Hardies?” + +“I should think not. Why?” + +“Because I'm much mistaken if he doesn't.” Then putting on a stolid +look, she asked, “Does he know your papa?” + +“Oh no, Sarah. How should he?” + +“There now,” said Sarah; “Miss, you are all in the dark about this old +man: I'll tell you something; I took him out of the way of Jane's +temper when she began a dishing up, and I had him into the parlour for +a minute; and in course there he sees the picture of your poor papa hung +up. Miss, if you'll believe me, the moment he claps eyes on that there +picture, he halloes out, and out goes his two hands like this here. +'It's him!' says he; 'it's him!' and stares at the picture like a +stuck pig. Forgot I was close behind him, I do believe. 'She's _his_ +daughter,' says he, in a whisper, a curious whisper; seemed to come +out of his stomack. 'What's the matter now?' says I, just so. He gave +a great start, as if my speaking had wakened him from a dream, and says +he, 'nothing,' as quiet as a lamb. 'Nothing isn't much,' says I, just +so. 'It usedn't to be anything at all when I was your age,' says he, +sneering. But I paid him a good coin: says I, 'Old man, where you comes +from do the folks use to start and hallo out and cry “It's him! she's +his daughter!” and fling their two arms abroad like a wiumdmill in +March, and all for--nothing?' So at that he changed as white as my +smock, and fell all of a tremble. However, at dinner he perks up, and +drew that poor simple Jane out a good one. But he didn't look towards me +much, which I set opposite to watch my lord.” + +“Sarah,” said Julia, “this is really curious, mysterious; you are a +good, watchful, faithful girl; and, to tell the truth, I sometimes fancy +I have seen Mr. Barkington's face. However, I will solve this little +mystery to-morrow; for I will ask him: thank you, Sarah.” + +On Monday she called on Mr. Barkington to solve the mystery. But, +instead of solving, her visit thickened it: for Mr. Barkington was gone +bag and baggage. When Edward was told of this business, he thought it +remarkable, and regretted he had not seen the old man. + +So do I; for it is my belief Edward would have recognised him. + + DAVID DODD. + +The history of a man is the history of his mind. And that is why you +have heard so little of late about the simplest, noblest, and +most unfortunate of all my personages. Insanity is as various as +eccentricity. I have spared the kind-hearted reader some of David's +vagaries. However, when we parted with him, he had settled into +that strange phase of lunacy, in which the distant past seems nearly +obliterated, and memory exists, but revolves in a narrow round of things +present: this was accompanied with a positive illusion, to wit, a fixed +idea that he was an able seaman: and, as usual, what mental power he +retained came out strongest in support of this idea. All this was marked +by a bodily agility somewhat more than natural in a man of his age. +Owing to the wind astern, he was enabled to run into Portsmouth before +the steam-tug came up with him: and he did run into port, not because +he feared pursuit, but because he was desperately hungry; and he had no +suicidal tendencies whatever. + +He made for a public-house, and called for some bread and cheese and +beer; they were supplied, and then lo! he had no money to pay for them. +“I'll owe you till I come back from sea, my bo,” said he coolly. On this +the landlord collared him, and David shook him off into the road, much +as a terrier throws a rat from him; then there was a row, and a naval +officer, who was cruising about for hands, came up and heard it. There +was nothing at all unseamanlike in David's conduct, and the gentleman +took a favourable view of it, and paid the small demand; but not with +unleavened motives. He was the second lieutenant of H. M. frigate +_Vulture;_ she had a bad name, thanks to her last captain, and was short +of hands: he took David aside and asked him would he like to ship on +board the _Vulture._ + +David said yes, and suggested the foretop. “Oh yes,” growled the +lieutenant, “you all want to be there.” He then gauged this Jacky Tar's +intellects; asked him _inter alia_ how to send a frigate's foretop +gallant yard down upon deck: and to show how seamanship sticks in the +brain when once it gets there, David actually told him. “You are rather +old,” said the lieutenant, “but you are a seaman:” and so took him on +board the _Vulture_ at Spithead, before Green began to search the town +in earnest. Nobody acts his part better than some demented persons do: +and David made a very tolerable sailor notwithstanding his forty-five +years: and the sea did him good within certain limits. Between him and +the past lay some intellectual or cerebral barrier as impenetrable +as the great wall of China; but on the hither side of that wall his +faculties improved. Of course, the crew soon found out the gap in his +poor brain, and called him Soft Billy, and played on him at first. But +by degrees he won their affection; he was so wonderfully sweet-tempered: +and besides his mind being in an abnormal state, he loathed grog, and +gave his allowance to his messmates. One day he showed an unexpected +trait; they were lying becalmed in southern latitudes, and, time hanging +heavily, each wiled it how he might: one fiddled, another wrote to his +Polly, another fished for sharks, another whistled for a wind, scores +fell into the form of meditation without the reality, and one got a +piece of yarn and amused himself killing flies on the bulwark. Now this +shocked poor Billy: he put out his long arm and intercepted a stroke. +“What is the row?” said the operator. + +“You mustn't,” said Billy solemnly, looking into his face with great +dreamy eyes. + +“You be----,” said the other, and lent him a tap on the cheek with the +yarn. Billy did not seem to mind this; his skin had little sensibility, +owing to his disorder. + +Jack recommenced on his flies, and the bystanders laughed. They always +laughed now at everything Billy said, as Society used to laugh when +the late Theodore Hook asked for the mustard at dinner; and would +have laughed if he had said, “You see me sad, I have just lost my poor +father.” + +David stood looking on at the slaughter with a helpless puzzled air. + +At last he seemed to have an idea, he caught Jack up by the throat and +knee, lifted him with gigantic strength above his head, and was just +going to hurl him shrieking into the sea, when a dozen strong hands +interfered, and saved the man. Then they were going to bind Billy +hand and foot; but he was discovered to be perfectly calm; so they +remonstrated instead, and presently Billy's commander-in-chief, a +ship-boy called Georgie White, shoved in and asked him in a shrill +haughty voice how he dared do that. “My dear,” said Billy, with great +humility and placidity, “he was killing God's creatures, no allowance: * +so, ye see, to save their lives, I was _obliged._” + + *Nautical phrase, meaning without stint or limit, or + niggardly admeasurement as there is of grog. + +At this piece of reasoning, and the simplicity and gentle conviction +with which it was delivered, there was a roar. It subsided, and a doubt +arose whether Billy was altogether in the wrong. + +“Well,” said one, “I daresay life is sweet to them little creatures, if +they could speak their minds.” + +“I've known a ship founder in a fair breeze all along of killing 'em,” + said one old salt. + +Finally, several sided with Billy, and intimated that “it served the +lubber right for not listening to _reason._” And, indeed, methinks it +was lovely and touching that so divine a ray of goodness and superior +reason should have shot from his heart or from Heaven across that poor +benighted brain. + +But it must be owned his mode of showing his humanity was somewhat +excessive and abnormal, and smacked of lunacy. After this, however, the +affection of his messmates was not so contemptuous. + +Now the captain of the _Vulture_ was Billy's cousin by marriage. +Reginald Bazalgette. Twenty years ago, when the captain was a boy, they +were great friends: of late Bazalgette had seen less of him; still it +seems strange he did not recognise him in his own ship. But one or two +causes co-operated to prevent that. In the first place, the mind +when turned in one direction is not so sharp in another; and Captain +Bazalgette had been told to look for David in a merchant ship bound for +the East Indies. In the next place, insanity alters the expression of +the face wonderfully, and the captain of a frigate runs his eye over +four hundred sailors at muster, or a hundred at work, not to examine +their features, but their dress and bearing at the one, and their +handiness at the other. The worst piece of luck was that Mrs. Dodd did +not know David called himself William Thompson. So there stood “William +Thompson” large as life on the ship's books, and nobody the wiser. +Captain Bazalgette had a warm regard and affection for Mrs. Dodd, +and did all he could. Indeed, he took great liberties: he stopped and +overhauled several merchant ships for the truant; and, by-the-by, on +one occasion William Thompson was one of the boat's crew that rowed a +midshipman from the _Vulture_ alongside a merchant ship to search for +David Dodd. He heard the name and circumstance mentioned in the boat, +but the very name was new to him. He remembered it, but only from +that hour; and told his loving tyrant, Georgie White, they had been +overhauling a merchant ship and looking for one David Dodd. + +It was about Midsummer the _Vulture_ anchored off one of the South Sea +islands, and sent a boat ashore for fruit. Billy and his dearly beloved +little tyrant, Georgie White, were among the crew. Off goes Georgie to +bathe, and Billy sits down on the beach with a loving eye upon him. The +water was calm: but the boy with the heedlessness of youth stayed in it +nearly an hour: he was seized with cramp and screamed to his comrades. +They ran, but they were half a mile from the boat. Billy dashed into the +water and came up with Georgie just as he was sinking for the last time; +the boy gripped him; but by his great strength he disentangled himself +and got Georgie on his shoulders, and swam for the shore. Meantime the +sailors got into the boat, and rowed hastily towards them. + +Now Billy was undermost and his head under water at times, and Georgie, +some thought, had helped strangle him by gripping his neck with both +arms. Anyway, by the boy's account, just as they were getting into +shallow water, Billy gave a great shriek and turned over on his back; +and Georgie paddled with his hands, but Billy soon after this sunk like +a dead body while the boat was yet fifty yards off. And Georgie screamed +and pointed to the place, and the boat came up and took Georgie in; and +the water was so clear that the sailors saw Billy lie motionless at the +bottom, and hooked him with a boat hook and drew him up; but his face +came up alongside a deadly white, with staring eyes, and they shuddered +and feared it was too late. + +They took him into a house and stripped him, and rubbed him, and wrapped +him in blankets, and put him by the hot fire. But all would not do. + +Then, having dried his clothes, they dressed the body again and laid +him in the boat, and cast the Union Jack over him, and rowed slowly and +unwillingly back to the ship, Georgie sobbing and screaming over the +body, and not a dry eye in the boat. + +The body was carried up the side, and uncovered, just as Mrs. Dodd saw +in her dream. The surgeon was sent for and examined the body: and then +the grim routine of a man-of-war dealt swiftly with the poor skipper. He +was carried below to be prepared for a sailor's grave. Then the surgeon +walked aft and reported formally to the officer of the watch the death +by drowning of William Thompson. The officer of the watch went instantly +to the captain in his cabin and reported the death. The captain gave +the stereotyped order to bury him at noon next day; and the body was +stripped that night and sewed up in his hammock, with a portion of his +clothes and bedding to conceal the outline of the corpse, and two cannon +balls at his feet; and so the poor skipper was laid out for a watery +grave, and covered by the Union Jack. + + +I don't know whether any of my amorous young readers are much affected +by the catastrophe I have just related. If not, I will just remind them +that even Edward Dodd was prepared to oppose the marriage of Julia and +Alfred, if any serious ill should befall his father at sea, owing to +Alfred's imprudent interference in rescuing him from Drayton House. + + + + + + +CHAPTER L + +LAW + +MINUTE study of my fellow-creatures has revealed to me that there are +many intelligent persons who think that a suit at law commences in +court. This is not so. Many suits are fought and decided by the special +pleaders, and so never come into court; and, as a stiff encounter of +this kind actually took place in Hardie _v._ Hardie, a word of prefatory +explanation may be proper. Suitors come into court only to try an issue: +an issue is a mutual lie direct: and towards this both parties are +driven upon paper by the laws of pleading, which may be thus summed: 1. +Every statement of the adversary must either be contradicted flat, or +confessed and avoided: “avoided” means neutralised by fresh matter. 2. +Nothing must be advanced by plaintiff which does not disclose a ground +of action at law. 3. Nothing advanced by defendant, which, if true, +would not be a defence to the action. These rules exclude in a vast +degree the pitiable defects and vices that mark all the unprofessional +arguments one ever hears; for on a breach of any one of the said rules +the other party can demur; the demurrer is argued before the judges +in Banco, and, if successfully, the faulty plaint or faulty plea is +dismissed, and often of course the cause won or lost thereby, and the +country saved the trouble, and the suitors the expense of trying an +issue. + +So the writ being served by Plt.'s attorney, and an appearance put in by +Deft.'s, the paper battle began by Alfred Hardie, through his attorney, +serving on Deft.'s attorney “THE DECLARATION.” This was drawn by his +junior counsel, Garrow, and ran thus, after specifying the court and the +date: + +_Middlesex to wit_ Alfred Hardie by John Compton his attorney sues +Thomas Hardie For that the Deft. assaulted Plt. gave him into custody +to a certain person and caused him to be imprisoned for a long space +of time in a certain place to wit a Lunatic Asylum whereby the Plt. was +much inconvenienced and suffered much anguish and pain in mind and body +and was unable to attend to his affairs and was injured in his credit +and circumstances. + +And the Plt. claims L. 5000. + +Mr. Compton conveyed a copy of this to Alfred, and said it was a sweet +“declaration.” “What,” said Alfred, “is that all I have suffered at +these miscreants' hands? Why, it is written with an icicle.” + +Mr. Compton explained that this was the outline: “Counsel will lay the +colours on in court as thick as you like.” + +The defendant replied to the above declaration by three pleas. + +By statute 8 & 9 Vic., c. 100, s. 105. + +1. The Deft. by Joseph Heathfield his attorney says he is not guilty. 2. +And for a further Plea the Deft, says that before and at the time of the +alleged imprisonment Plt, was a person of unsound mind and incompetent +to take care of himself and a proper person to be taken care of and +detained and it was unfit unsafe improper and dangerous that he should +be at large thereupon the Deft, being the uncle of the Plt. and a +proper person to cause the Plt. to be taken charge of under due care and +treatment in that behalf did cause the Plt. to be so taken charge of and +detained under due care and treatment, &c. &c. + +The third plea was the stinger, but too long to cite _verbatim;_ it +went to this tune, that the plaintiff at and before the time &c. had +conducted himself like a person of unsound mind &c. and two certificates +that he was insane had been given by two persons duly authorised under +the statute to sign such certificates, and the defendant had believed +and did _bona fide_ believe these certificates to be true, &c. &c. + +The first of these pleas was a mere formal plea, under the statute. + +The second raised the very issue at common law the plaintiff wished to +try. + +The third made John Compton knit his brows with perplexity. “This is a +very nasty plea,” said he to Alfred: “a regular trap. If we join issue +on it we must be defeated; for how can we deny the certificates were in +form; and yet the plaguy thing is not loose enough to be demurred to? +Colls, who drew these pleas for them?” + +“Mr. Colvin, sir.” + +“Make a note to employ him in our next stiff pleading.” + +Alfred was staggered. He had thought to ride rough-shod over +defendant--a common expectation of plaintiffs; but seldom realised. +Lawyers fight hard. The pleas were taken to Garrow; he said there was +but one course, to demur to No. 3. So the plaintiff “joined issue on all +the defendant's pleas, and as to the last plea the plaintiff said the +same was bad in substance.” Defendant rejoined that the same was good in +substance, and thus Hardie _v._ Hardie divided itself into two cases, +a question of law for the judges, and an issue for the mixed tribunal +loosely called a jury. And I need hardly say that should the defendant +win either of them he would gain the cause. + +Postponing the history of the legal _question,_ I shall show how Messrs. +Heathfield fought off the _issue,_ and cooled the ardent Alfred and +sickened him of law. + +In theory every Englishman has a right to be tried by his peers: but +in fact there are five gentlemen in every court, each of whom has by +precedent the power to refuse him a jury, by simply postponing the trial +term after term, until the death of one of the parties, when the action, +if a personal one, dies too; and, by a singular anomaly of judicial +practice, if a slippery Deft. can't persuade A. or B., judges of the +common law court, to connive at what I venture to call + + THE POSTPONEMENT SWINDLE, + +he can actually go to C., D., and B., one after another, with his +rejected application, and the previous refusal of the other judges +to delay and baffle justice goes for little or nothing; so that the +postponing swindler has five to one in his favour. + +Messrs. Heathfield began this game unluckily. They applied to a judge in +chambers for a month to plead. Mr. Compton opposed in person, and showed +that this was absurd. The judge allowed them only four days to plead. +Issue being joined, Mr. Compton pushed on for trial, and the cause was +set down for the November term. Towards the end of the term Messrs. +Heathfield applied to one of the puisne judges for a postponement, on +the ground that a principal witness could not attend. Application was +supported by the attorney's affidavit, to the effect that Mr. Speers +was in Boulogne, and had written to him to say that he had met with a +railway accident, and feared he could not possibly come to England +in less than a month. A respectable French doctor confirmed this by +certificate. Compton opposed, but the judge would hardly hear him, and +postponed the trial as a matter of course; this carried it over the +sittings into next term. Alfred groaned, but bore it patiently; not so +Dr. Sampson: he raged against secret tribunals: “See how men deteriorate +the moment they get out of the full light of publeecity. What English +judge, sitting in the light of Shorthand, would admit 'Jack swears that +Gill says' for legal evidence. Speers has sworn to no facks. Heathfield +has sworn to no facks but th' existence of Speer's hearsay. They are a +couple o' lyres. I'll bet ye ten pounds t' a shilling Speers is as well +as I'm.” + +Mr. Compton quietly reminded him there was a direct statement--the +French doctor's certificate. + +“A medical certificut!” shrieked Sampson, amazed. “Mai--dearr--sirr, +a medical certificut is just an article o' commerce like an attorney's +conscience. Gimme a guinea and I'll get you sworn sick, diseased, +disabled, or dead this minute, whichever you like best.” + +“Come, doctor, don't fly off: you said you'd bet ten pounds to a +shilling Speers is not an invalid at all. I say done.” + +“Done.” + +“How will you find out?” + +“How? Why set the thief-takers on um, to be sure.” + +He wrote off to the prefect of police at Boulogne, and in four days +received an answer headed “Information in the interest of families.” The +prefect informed him there had been no railway accident: but that the +Sieur Speers, English subject, had really hurt his leg getting out of a +railway carriage six weeks ago, and had kept his room some days; but +he had been cured some weeks, and going about his business, and made an +excursion to Paris. + +On this Compton offered Sampson the shilling. But he declined to take +it. “The lie was self-evident,” said he; “and here's a judge wouldn't +see't, and an attorney couldn't. Been all their lives sifting evidence, +too. Oh the darkness of the profissional mind!” + +The next term came. Mr. Compton delivered the briefs and fees, +subpoenaed the witnesses, &c., and Alfred came up with a good heart to +get his stigma removed by twelve honest men in the light of day: but +first one case was taken out of its order and put before him, then +another, till term wore near an end. Then Messrs. Heathfield applied +to another judge of the court for a postponement. Mr. Richard Hardie, +plaintiff's father, a most essential witness, was ill at Clare Court. +Medical certificate and letter herewith. + +Compton opposed. Now this judge was a keen and honourable lawyer, with a +lofty hatred of all professional tricks. He heard the two attorneys, and +delivered himself to this effect, only of course in better legal phrase: +“I shall make no order. The defendant has been here before on a doubtful +affidavit. You know, Mr. Heathfield, juries in these cases go by the +plaintiff's evidence, and his conduct under cross-examination. And +I think it would not be just nor humane to keep this plaintiff in +suspense, and _civiliter mortuum,_ any longer. You can take out a +commission to examine Richard Hardie.” + +To this Mr. Compton nailed him, but the commission took time; and +while it was pending, Mr. Heathfield went to another judge with another +disabled witness: Peggy Black. That naive personage was nursing +her deceased sister's children--in an affidavit: and they had +scarlatina--surgeon's certificate to that effect. Compton opposed, and +pointed out the blot. “You don't want the children in the witness-box,” + said he: “and we are not to be robbed of our trial because one of +your witnesses prefer nursing other people's children to facing the +witness-box.” + +The judge nodded assent. “I make no order,” said he. + +Mr. Heathfield went out from his presence and sent a message by +telegraph to Peggy Black. “You must have Scar. yourself, and telegraph +the same at once: certificate by post.” + +The accommodating maiden telegraphed back that she had unfortunately +taken scarlatina of the children: medical certificate to follow by +post. Four judges out of the five were now awake to the move. But +Mr. Heathfield tinkered the hole in his late affidavit with Peggy's +telegram, and slipped down to Westminster to the chief judge of +the court, who had had no opportunity of watching the growth and +dissemination of disease among Deft.'s, witnesses. Compton fought this +time by counsel and with a powerful affidavit. But luck was against him. +The judge had risen to go home: he listened standing; Compton's counsel +was feeble; did not feel the wrong. How could he? Lawyers fatten by +delays of justice, as physicians do by tardy cure. The postponement was +granted. + +Alfred cursed them all, and his own folly in believing that an alleged +lunatic would be allowed fair play at Westminster, or anywhere else. +Compton took snuff, and Sampson appealed to the press again. He wrote a +long letter exposing with fearless irony the postponement swindle as +it had been worked in Hardie _v._ Hardie: and wound up with this fiery +peroration: + +“This Englishman sues not merely for damages, but to recover lost rights +dearer far than money, of which he says he has been unjustly robbed: his +right to walk in daylight on the soil of his native land without being +seized and tied up for life like a nigger or a dog; his footing in +society; a chance to earn his bread; and a place among mankind: +ay, among mankind; for a lunatic is an animal in the law's eye and +society's, and an alleged lunatic is a lunatic till a jury clears him. + +“I appeal to you, gentlemen, is not such a suitor sacred in all wise and +good men's minds? Is he not defendant as well as plaintiff? Why, his +stake is enormous compared with the nominal defendant's; and, if I know +right from wrong, to postpone his trial a fourth time would be to insult +Divine justice, and trifle with human misery, and shock the common sense +of nations.” + +The doctor's pen neither clipped the words nor minced the matter, +you see. Reading this the water came into Alfred's eyes. “Ah, staunch +friend,” he said, “how few are like you! To the intellectual dwarfs +who conspire with my oppressors, Hardie _v._ Hardie is but a family +squabble. _Parvis omnia parva._” Mr. Compton read it too; and said from +the bottom of his heart, “Heaven defend us from our friends! This is +enough to make the courts decline to try the case at all.” + +And, indeed, it did not cure the evil: for next term another _malade +affidavitaire_ was set up. Speers to wit. This gentleman deposed +to having come over on purpose to attend the trial; but having +inadvertently stepped aside as far as Wales, he lay there stricken +with a mysterious malady, and had just strength to forward medical +certificate. On this the judge in spite of remonstrance, adjourned +Hardie _v._ Hardie to the summer term. Summer came, the evil day drew +nigh: Mr. Heathfield got the venue changed from Westminster to London, +which was the fifth postponement. At last the cause came on: the parties +and witnesses were all in court, with two whole days before them to try +it in. + +Dr. Sampson rushed in furious. “There is some deviltry afloat,” said +he. “I was in the House of Commons last night, and there I saw the +defendant's counsel earwigging the judge.” + +“Nonsense,” said Mr. Compton, “such suspicions are ridiculous. Do you +think they can talk of nothing but Hardie _v._ Hardie?” + +“Mai--dearr sirr--my son met one of Heathfield's clerks at dinner, +and he let out that the trile was not to come off. Put this and that +together now.” + +“It will come off,” said Mr. Compton, “and in five minutes at farthest.” + +In less than that time the learned judge came in, and before taking his +seat made this extraordinary speech: + +“I hear this cause will take three days to try; and we have only two +days before us. It would be inconvenient to leave it unfinished; and I +must proceed on circuit the day after to-morrow. It must be a remanet: +no man can do more than time allows.” + +Plaintiff's counsel made a feeble remonstrance; then yielded. And the +crier with sonorous voice called on the case of Bread _v._ Cheese, in +which there were pounds at stake, but no principle. Oh, with what zest +they all went into it; being small men escaping from a great thing to +a small one. Never hopped frogs into a ditch with more alacrity. Alfred +left the court and hid himself, and the scalding tears forced their way +down his cheeks at this heartless proceeding: to let all the witnesses +come into court at a vast expense to the parties: and raise the cup of +justice to the lips of the oppressed, and then pretend he knew a trial +would last more than two days, and so shirk it. “I'd have made that a +reason for sitting till midnight” said poor Alfred, “not for prolonging +a poor injured man's agony four mortal months.” He then prayed God +earnestly for this great postponer's death as the only event that could +give him back an Englishman's right of being tried by his peers, and so +went down to Oxford broken-hearted. + +As for Sampson he was most indignant, and said a public man had no +business with a private ear: and wanted to appeal to the press again: +but the doughty doctor had a gentle but powerful ruler at home, as fiery +houses are best ruled by a gentle hand. Mrs. Sampson requested him +to write no more, but look round for an M. P. to draw these repeated +defeats of justice to the notice of the House. Now there was a Mr. +Bite, who had taken a prominent and honourable part in lunacy questions; +headed committees and so on: this seemed the man. Dr. Sampson sent him +a letter saying there was a flagrant case of a sane man falsely +imprisoned, who had now been near a year applying for a jury, and +juggled out of this constitutional right by arbitrary and unreasonable +postponements: would Mr. Bite give him (Dr. Sampson) ten minutes and +no more, when he would explain the case and leave documentary evidence +behind him for Mr. Bite to test his statement. The philanthropical M. P. +replied promptly in these exact words: + +“Mr. Bite presents his compliments to Dr. Sampson to state that it is +impossible for him to go into his case, nor to give him the time he +requests to do so.” + +Sampson was a little indignant at the man's insolence; but far more at +having been duped by his public assumption of philanthropy. “The little +pragmatical impostor!” he roared. “With what a sense o' relief th' +animal flings off the mask of humanity when there is no easy eclat to be +gained by putting't on.” He sent the philanthropical Bite's revelation +of his private self to Alfred, who returned it with this single remark: +_“Homunculi quanti sunt!_” + +Dishonest suitors all try to postpone; but they do not gain unmixed good +thereby. These delays give time for more evidence to come in; and this +slow coming and chance evidence is singularly adverse to the unjust +suitor. Of this came a notable example in October next, and made Richard +Hardie determined to precipitate the trial, and even regret he had not +fought it out long ago. + +He had just returned from consulting Messrs. Heathfield, and sat down +to a nice little dinner in his apartments (Sackville Street), when a +visitor was announced; and in came the slouching little figure of Mr. +Barkington, _alias_ Noah Skinner. + + DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. + +Mr. Hardie suppressed a start, and said nothing. Skinner bowed low with +a mixture of his old cringing way, and a certain sly triumphant leer, +so that his body seemed to say one thing, and his face the opposite. Mr. +Hardie eyed him, and saw that his coat was rusty, and his hat napless: +then Mr. Hardie smelt a beggar, and prepared to parry all attempts upon +his purse. + +“I hope I see my old master well,” said Skinner coaxingly. + +“Pretty well in body, Skinner; thank you.” + +“I had a deal of trouble to find you, sir. But I heard of the great +lawsuit between Mr. Alfred and you, and I knew Mr. Heathfield was your +solicitor; so I watched at his place day after day: and at last you +came. Oh, I was so pleased when I saw your noble figure; but I wouldn't +speak to you in the street for fear of disgracing you. I'm such a poor +little guy to be addressing a gentleman like you.” + +Now this sounded well on the surface, but below there was a subtle +something Mr. Hardie did not like at all: but he took the cue, and said, +“My poor Skinner, do you think I would turn up my nose at a faithful old +servant like you? Have a glass of wine with me, and tell me how you have +been getting on.” He went behind a screen and opened a door, and soon +returned with a decanter, leaving the door open. Now in the next room +sat, unbeknown to Skinner, a young woman with white eyelashes, +sewing buttons on Mr. Hardie's shirts. That astute gentleman gave +her instructions, and important ones too, with a silent gesture; then +reappeared and filled the bumper high to his faithful servant. They +drank one another's healths with great cordiality, real or apparent. Mr. +Hardie then asked Skinner carelessly, if he could do anything for him. +Skinner said, “Well, sir, I am very poor.” + +“So am I, between you and me,” said Mr. Hardie confidentially; “I don't +mind telling you; those confounded Commissioners of Lunacy wrote to +Alfred's trustees, and I have been forced to replace a loan of five +thousand pounds. That Board always sides with the insane. That crippled +me, and drove me to the Exchange: and now what I had left is all +invested in time-bargains. A month settles my fate: a little fortune, or +absolute beggary.” + +“You'll be lucky, sir, you'll be lucky,” said Skinner cheerfully; “you +have such a long head; not like poor little me; the Exchange soon burnt +my wings. Not a shilling left of the thousand pounds, sir, you were +so good as to give me for my faithful services. But you will give me +another chance, sir, I know; I'll take better care this time.” Mr. +Hardie shook his head sorrowfully, and said it was impossible. Skinner +eyed him askant, and remarked quietly, and half aside, “Of course, I +_could_ go to the other party: but I shouldn't like to do that. They +would come down handsome.” + +“What other party?” + +“La, sir, what other party? Why Mrs. Dodd's, or Mr. Alfred's; here's the +trial coming on, you know, and of course if they could get me to go on +the box and tell all I know, or half what I know, why the judge and jury +would say locking Mr. Alfred up for mad was a conspiracy.” + +Mr. Hardie quaked internally: but he hid it grandly, and once more was +a Spartan gnawed beneath his robe by this little fox. “What,” said he +sternly, “after all I and mine have done for you and yours, would you be +so base as to go and sell yourself to my enemies?” + +“Never, sir,” shouted Skinner zealously: then in a whisper, “Not if +you'll make a bid for me.” + +“How much do you demand?” + +“Only another thousand, sir?” + +“A thousand pounds!” + +“Why, what is that to you, sir? you are rich enough to buy the eighth +commandment out of the tables of ten per cent.: and then the lawsuit, +Hardies _versus_ Hardies!” + +“You have spoken plainly at last,” said Mr. Hardie grimly. “This is +extorting money by threats. Do you know that nothing is more criminal, +nor more easy to punish? I can take you before a magistrate, and +imprison you on the instant for this attempt. I will, too.” + +“Try it,” said Skinner coolly. “Where's your witness?” + +“Behind that screen.” + +Peggy came forward directly with a pen in her hand. Skinner was +manifestly startled and disconcerted. “I have taken all your words down, +Mr. Skinner,” said Peggy softly; then to her master, “Shall I go for a +policeman, sir?” + +Mr. Hardie reflected. “Yes,” said he sternly: “there's no other course +with such a lump of treachery and ingratitude as this.” + +Peggy whipped on her bonnet. + +“What a hurry you are in,” whined Skinner: “a policeman ought to be +the last argument for old friends to run to.” Then, fawning spitefully, +“Don't talk of indicting me, sir,” said he; “it makes me shiver: why how +will you look when I up and tell them all how Captain Dodd was took with +apoplexy in our office, and how you nailed fourteen thousand pounds off +his senseless body, and forgot to put them down in your balance-sheet, +so they are not whitewashed off like the rest.” + +“Any witnesses to all this, Skinner?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Who?” + +“Well; your own conscience _for one,_” said Skinner. + +“He is mad, Peggy,” said Mr. Hardie, shrugging his shoulders. He then +looked Skinner full in the face, and said, “Nobody was ever seized with +apoplexy in my office. Nobody ever gave me L. 14,000. And if this is +the probable tale with which you come here to break the law and extort +money, leave my house this instant: and if ever you dare to utter this +absurd and malicious slander, you shall lie within four stone walls, and +learn what it is for a shabby vagabond to come without a witness to his +back, and libel a man of property and honour.” + +Skinner let him run on in this loud triumphant strain till he had quite +done; then put out a brown skinny finger, and poked him lightly in the +ribs, and said quite quietly, and oh, so drily, with a knowing wink-- + +“I've--got--The Receipt.” + + + + + +CHAPTER LI + +MR. HARDIE collapsed as if he had been a man inflated, and that touch +had punctured him. “Ah!” said he. “Ah!” said Skinner, in a mighty +different tone: insolent triumph to wit. + +After a pause, Mr. Hardie made an effort and said contemptuously, “The +receipt (if any) was flung into the dusthole and carried away. Do you +think I have forgotten that?” + +“Don't you believe it, sir,” was the reply. “While you turned your back +and sacked the money, I said to myself, 'Oho, is that the game?' and +nailed the receipt. What a couple of scoundrels we were! I wouldn't have +her know it for all your money. Come, sir, I see its all right; you will +shell out sooner than be posted.” + +Here Peggy interposed; “Mr. Skinner, be more considerate; my master is +really poor just now.” + +“That is no reason why I should be insulted and indicted and trampled +under foot,” snarled Skinner all in one breath. + +“Show me the receipt and take my last shilling, you ungrateful, +vindictive viper,” groaned Mr. Hardie. + +“Stuff and nonsense,” said Skinner. “I'm not a viper; I'm a man of +business. Find me five hundred pounds; and I'll show you the receipt and +keep dark. But I can't afford to give it you for that, of course.” + +Skinner triumphed, and made the great man apologise, writhing all the +time, and wishing he was a day labourer with Peggy to wife, and fourteen +honest shillings a week for his income. Having eaten humble pie, he +agreed to meet Skinner next Wednesday at midnight, alone, under a +certain lamp on the North Kensington Road: the interval (four days) +he required to raise money upon his scrip. Skinner bowed himself +out, fawning triumphantly. Mr. Hardie stood in the middle of the room +motionless, scowling darkly. Peggy looked at him, and saw some dark and +sinister resolve forming in his mind: she divined it, as such women can +divine. She laid her hand on his arm, and said softly, “Richard, it's +not worth _that._” He started to find his soul read through his body so +clearly. He trembled. + +But it was only for a moment. “His blood be on his own head,” he +snarled. “This is not my seeking. He shall learn what it is to drive +Richard Hardie to despair.” + +“No, no,” implored Peggy; “there are other countries beside this: why +not gather all you have, and cross the water? I'll follow you to the +world's end, Richard.” + +“Mind your own business,” said he fiercely. + +She made no reply, but went softly and sat down again, and sewed the +buttons on his shirts. Mr. Hardie wrote to Messrs. Heathfield to get +Hardie _v._ Hardie tried as soon as possible. + +Meantime came a mental phenomenon: gliding down Sackville Street, +victorious Skinner suddenly stopped, and clenched his hands; and his +face writhed as if he had received a death-wound. In that instant +Remorse had struck him like lightning; and, perhaps, whence comes the +lightning. The sweet face and voice that had smiled on him, and cared +for his body, and cared for his soul, came to his mind, and knocked +at his heart and conscience. He went home miserable with an inward +conflict; and it lasted him all the four days; sometimes Remorse got the +better, sometimes Avarice. He came to the interview still undecided what +he should do. But, meantime, he had gone to a lawyer and made his will, +leaving his little all to Julia Dodd: a bad sign this; looked like +compounding with his awakened conscience. + +It was a dark and gusty night. Very few people were about. Skinner +waited a little while, and shivered, for his avarice had postponed the +purchase of a greatcoat until Christmas Day. At last, when the coast +seemed clear, Mr. Hardie emerged from a side street. Skinner put his +hand to his bosom. + +They met. Mr. Hardie said quietly, “I must ask you, just for form, to +show me you have the Receipt.” + +“Of course, sir; but not so near, please: no snatching, if I know it.” + +“You are wonderfully suspicious,” said Mr. Hardie, trying to smile. + +Skinner looked, and saw by the lamplight he was deadly pale. “Keep your +distance a moment, sir,” said he, and, on Mr. Hardie's complying, took +the Receipt out, and held it under the lamp. + +Instantly Mr. Hardie drew a life-preserver, and sprang on him with a +savage curse--and uttered a shriek of dismay, for he was met by the long +shiny barrel of a horse-pistol, that Skinner drew from his bosom, and +levelled full in the haggard face that came at him. Mr. Hardie recoiled, +crying, “No! no! for Heaven's sake!” + +“What!” cried Skinner, stepping forward and hissing, “do you think I'm +such a fool as to meet a thief unarmed? Come, cash up, or I'll blow you +to atoms.” + +“No, no, no!” said Mr. Hardie piteously, retreating as Skinner marched +on him with long extended pistol. “Skinner,” he stammered, “th-this is +n-not b-b-business.” + +“Cash up, then; that's business. Fling the five hundred pounds down, and +walk away. Mind it is loaded with two bullets; I'll make a double entry +on your great treacherous carcass.” + +“It's no use trying to deceive such a man as you,” said Mr. Hardie, +playing on his vanity. “I could not get the money before Saturday, and +so I listened to the dictates of despair. Forgive me.” + +“Then come again Saturday night. Come alone, and I shall bring a man to +see I'm not murdered. And look here, sir, if you don't come to the hour +and do the right thing without any more of these unbusiness-like tricks, +by Heaven, I'll smash you before noon on Monday.” + +“I'll come.” + +“I'll blow you to Mr. Alfred and Miss Dodd.” + +“I'll come, I tell you.” + +“I'll post you for a thief on every brick in the Exchange.” + +“Have mercy, Skinner. Have pity on the wretched man whose bread you have +eaten. I tell you I'll come.” + +“Well, mind you do, then, cash and all,” said Skinner sulkily, but not +quite proof against the reminiscences those humble words awakened. + +Each walked backwards a good dozen steps, and then they took different +roads, Skinner taking good care not to be tracked home. He went up +the high stairs to the hole in the roof he occupied, and lighted a +rushlight. He had half a mind to kindle a fire, he felt so chilly; but +he had blocked up the vent, partly to keep out the cold, partly to shun +the temptation of burning fuel. However, he stopped the keyhole with +paper, and also the sides of the window, till he had shut the wintry air +all out. Still, what with the cold and what with the reaction after so +great an excitement, his feeble body began to shiver desperately. He +thought at last he would light a foot-warmer he had just purchased for +old iron at a broker's; _that_ would only spend a halfpenneyworth of +charcoal. No, he wouldn't; he would look at his money; that would cheer +him. He unripped a certain part of his straw mattress and took out a +bag of gold. He spread three hundred sovereigns on the floor and put the +candle down among them. They sparkled; they were all new ones, and +he rubbed them with an old toothbrush and whiting every week. “That's +better than any fire,” he said, “they warm the heart. For one thing, +they are my own: at all events, I did not steal them, nor take them of +a thief for a bribe to keep dark and defraud honest folk.” Then remorse +gripped him: he asked himself what he was going to do. “To rob an +angel,” was the answer. “The fourteen thousand pounds is all hers, and +I could give it her in a moment. Curse him, he would have killed me for +it.” + +Then he pottered about and took out his will. “Ah,” said he, “that is +all right so far. But what is a paltry three hundred when I help do her +out of fourteen thousand? Villain!” Then, to ease his conscience, he +took a slip of paper and wrote on it a short account of the Receipt, and +how he came by it, and lo: as if an unseen power had guided his hand, he +added, “Miss Dodd lives at 66, Pembroke Street, and I am going to take +it to her as soon as I am well of my cold.” Whether this preceded an +unconscious resolve which had worked on him secretly for some time, or +whether it awakened such a resolve, I hardly know: but certain it is, +that having written it, he now thought seriously of doing it; and, the +more seriously he entertained the thought, the more good it seemed to +do him. He got “The Sinner's Friend” and another good book she had +lent him, and read a bit: then, finding his feet frozen, he lighted his +chafer and blew it well, and put it under his feet and read. The good +words began to reach his heart more and more: so did the thought of +Julia's goodness. The chafer warmed his feet and legs. “Ay,” said he, +“men don't want fires; warm the feet and the body warms itself.” He took +out “The Receipt” and held it in his hand, and eyed it greedily, and +asked himself could he really part with it. He thought he could--to +Julia. Still holding it tight in his left hand, he read on the good but +solemn words that seemed to loosen his grasp upon that ill-gotten paper. +“How good it was of her,” he thought, “to come day after day and feed a +poor little fellow like him, body and soul. She asked nothing back. +She didn't know he could make her any return. Bless her! bless her!” he +screamed. “Oh, how cruel I have been to her, and she so kind to me. She +would never let me want, if I took her fourteen thousand pounds. Like +enough give me a thousand, and help me save my poor soul, that I shall +damn if I meet him again. I won't go his way again. Lead us not into +temptation. I repent. Lord have mercy on me a miserable sinner.” And +tears bedewed those wizened cheeks, tears of penitence, sincere, at +least for the time. + +A sleepy languor now came over him, and the good book fell from his +hand; but his resolution remained unshaken. By-and-by waking up from a +sort of heavy dose, he took, as it were, a last look at the receipt, +and murmured, “My head, how heavy it feels.” But presently he roused +himself, full of his penitent resolution, and murmured again brokenly, +“I'll---take it to---Pembroke Street to---morrow: to---mor---row.” + + + + + +CHAPTER LII + +MR. HARDIE raised the money on his scrip, and at great inconvenience, +for he was holding on five hundred thousand pounds' worth of old Turkish +Bonds over an unfavourable settling day, and wanted every shilling to +pay his broker. If they did not rise by next settling day, he was a +beggar. However, being now a desperate gamester, and throwing for his +last stake, he borrowed this sum, and took it within a heavy heart to +his appointment with Skinner. Skinner never came. Mr. Hardie waited till +one o'clock. Two o'clock. No Skinner. Mr. Hardie went home hugging his +five hundred pounds, but very uneasy. Next day he consulted Peggy. She +shook her head, and said it looked very ugly. Skinner had most likely +got angrier and angrier with thinking on the assault. “You will never +see him again till the day of the trial: and then he will go down and +bear false witness against you. Why not leave the country?” + +“How can I, simpleton? My money is all locked up in the bargains. +No, I'm tied, tied to the stake; I'll fight to the last: and, if I'm +defeated and disgraced, I'll die, and end it.” + +Peggy implored him not to talk so. “I've been down to the court,” said +she softly, “to see what it is like. There's a great hall; and he must +pass through that to get into the little places where they try 'em. Let +me be in that hall with the five hundred pounds, and I promise you he +shall never appear against you. We will both go; you with the money, I +with my woman's tongue.” + +He gave her his hand like a shaky monarch, and said she had more wit +than he had. + +Mr. Heathfield, who had contrived to postpone Hardie _v._ Hardie +six times in spite of Compton, could not hurry it on now with his +co-operation. It hung fire from some cause or another a good fortnight: +and in this fortnight Hardie senior endured the tortures of suspense. +Skinner made no sign. At last, there stood upon the paper for next day, +a short case of disputed contract, and Hardie _v._ Hardie. + +Now, this day, I must premise, was to settle the whole lawsuit: for +while trial of the issue was being postponed and postponed, the legal +question had been argued and disposed of. The very Queen's counsel, +unfavourable to the suit, was briefed with Garrow's views, and delivered +them in court with more skill, clearness, and effect than Garrow ever +could; then sat down, and whispered over rather contemptuously to Mr. +Compton, “That is your argument, I think.” + +“And admirably put,” whispered the attorney, in reply. + +“Well; now hear Saunders knock it to pieces.” + +Instead of that, it was Serjeant Saunders that got maltreated: first +one judge had a peck at him: then another: till they left him scarce +a feather to fly with; and, when Alfred's counsel rose to reply, the +judges stopped him, and the chief of the court, Alfred's postponing +enemy, delivered his judgment after this fashion: + +“We are all of opinion that this plea is bad in law. By the common law +of England no person can be imprisoned as a lunatic unless actually +insane at the time. It has been held so for centuries, and down to the +last case. And wisely: for it would be most dangerous to the liberty of +the subject, if a man could be imprisoned without remedy unless he could +prove _mala fides_ in the breast of the party incarcerating him. As for +the statute, it does not mend the matter, but rather the reverse; for +it expressly protects duly authorised persons acting under the order and +certificates, and this must be construed to except from the protection +of the statute the person making the order.” + +The three puisne judges concurred and gave similar reasons. One of them +said that if A. imprisoned B. for a _felon,_ and B. sued him, it was no +defence to say that B., in his opinion, had imitated felony. They cited +Elliot _v._ Allen, Anderdon _v._ Burrows, and Lord Mansfield's judgment +in a very old case, the name of which I have unfortunately forgotten. + +Judgment was entered for the plaintiff; and the defendant's ingenious +plea struck off the record; and Hardie _v._ Hardie became the leading +case. But in law one party often wins the skirmish and the other the +battle. The grand fight, as I have already said, was to be to-day. + +But the high hopes and ardour with which the young lovers had once +come into court were now worn out by the postponement swindle, and the +adverse events delay had brought on them. Alfred was not there: he +was being examined in the schools; and had plumply refused to leave +a tribunal that named its day and kept it--for Westminster, until his +counsel should have actually opened the case. He did not believe +trial by jury would ever be allowed him. Julia was there, but sad and +comparatively listless. One of those strange vague reports, which often +herald more circumstantial accounts, had come home, whispering darkly +that her father was dead, and buried on an island in the South Sea. She +had kept this report from her mother, contrary to Edward's wish: but +she implored him to restrain his fatal openness. In one thing both these +sorely tried young people agreed, that there could be no marriage with +Alfred now. But here again Julia entreated her brother not to be candid; +not to tell Alfred this at present. “Oh do not go and dispirit him just +now,” she said, “or he will do something rash. No, he must and shall get +his first-class, and win his trial; and then you know any lady will be +too proud to marry him, and, when he is married and happy, you can tell +him I did all I could for him, and hunted up the witnesses, and was his +loving friend, though I could not--be--his--wife.” + +She could not say this without crying; but she said it for all that, and +meant it too. + +Besides helping Mr. Compton to get up the evidence, this true and +earnest friend and lover had attended the court day after day, to watch +how things were done, and, womanlike, to see what _pleased_ and what +_displeased_ the court. + +The witnesses subpoenaed on either side in Hardie _v._ Hardie began to +arrive at ten o'clock, and a tall stately man paraded Westminster Hall, +to see if Skinner came with them. All other anxieties had merged in +this: for the counsel had assured him if nothing unexpected turned up, +Thomas Hardie would have a verdict, or if not, the damages would be +nominal. + +At last the court crier cried, with a loud voice, “Hardie _v._ Hardie.” + Julia's eyes roved very anxiously for Alfred, and up rose Mr. Garrow, +and stated to the court the substance of the declaration: “To this,” + he said, “three pleas have been pleaded: first, the plea of not guilty, +which is a formal plea; also another plea, which has been demurred to, +and struck off the record; and, lastly, that at the time of the alleged +imprisonment the plaintiff was of unsound mind, and a fit person to be +confined; which is the issue now to be tried.” + +Mr. Garrow then sat down, very tired of this preliminary work, and +wondering when he should have the luck to conduct such a case as Hardie +_v._ Hardie; and leaned forward to be ready to prompt his senior, a +portly counsel, whom Mr. Compton had retained because he was great at +addressing juries, and no point of law could now arise in the Case. + +Colt, Q. C., rose like a tower, knowing very little of the facts, and +seeming to know everything. He had a prodigious business, and was rather +indolent, and often skimmed his brief at home, and then mastered it +in court--if he got time. Now, it is a good general's policy to open a +plaintiffs case warily, and reserve your rhetoric for the reply; and Mr. +Colt always took this line when his manifold engagements compelled +him, as in Hardie _v._ Hardie, to teach his case first and learn it +afterwards. I will only add, that in the course of his opening he was on +the edge of seven distinct blunders; but Garrow watched him and always +shot a whisper like a bullet just in time. Colt took it, and glided +away from incipient error imperceptibly, and with a tact you can have no +conception of. The jury did not detect the creaking of this machinery; +Serjeant Saunders did, and grinned satirically; so did poor Julia, and +her cheeks burned and her eyes flashed indignant fire. And horror of +horrors, Alfred did not appear. + +Mr. Colt's opening may be thus condensed: The plaintiff was a young +gentleman of great promise and distinction, on whom, as usual in these +cases of false imprisonment, money was settled. He was a distinguished +student at Eton and Oxford, and no doubt was ever expressed of his +sanity till he proposed to marry, and take his money out of his trustees +hands by a marriage settlement. On this his father, who up to that time +had managed his funds as principal trustee, showed him great personal +hostility for some time, and looked out for a tool: that tool he soon +found in his brother, the defendant, a person who, it would be proved, +had actually not seen the plaintiff for a year and a half, yet, with +great recklessness and inhumanity, had signed away his liberty and his +happiness behind his back. Then tools of another kind--the kind that +anybody can buy, a couple of doctors--were, as usual, easily found to +sign the certificates. One of these doctors had never seen him but for +five minutes, and signed in manifest collusion with the other. They +decoyed this poor young gentleman away on his wedding morning--on his +wedding morning, gentlemen, mark that--and consigned him to the worst of +all dungeons. What he suffered there he must himself relate to you; +for we, who have the happiness to walk abroad in the air of reason and +liberty, are little able to realise the agony of mind endured by a sane +man confined among the insane. What we undertake is to prove his sanity +up to the very hour of his incarceration; and also that he was quite +sane at the time when a brutal attempt to recapture him by violence was +made under the defendant's order, and defeated by his own remarkable +intelligence and courage. Along with the facts the true reason why +he was imprisoned will probably come out. But I am not bound to prove +sinister motives. It is for the defendant to prove, if he can, that +he had lawful motives for a lawless act; and that he exercised due +precaution, and did not lend himself recklessly to the dark designs of +others. If he succeed in this, that may go in mitigation of damages, +though it cannot affect the verdict. _Our_ principal object is the +verdict, which will remove the foul aspersion cast on my injured client, +and restore him to society. And to this verdict we are entitled, unless +the other side can prove the plaintiff was insane. Call Alfred Hardie. + +And with this he sat down. + +An official called Alfred Hardie very loud; he made no reply. Julia +rose from her seat with dismay painted on her countenance. Compton's, +Garrow's, and Colt's heads clashed together. + +Mr. Colt jumped up again, and said, “My Lud, I was not aware the +gentleman they accuse of insanity is just being examined for high +honours in the University of Oxford.” Aside to Compton, “And if he +doesn't come you may give them the verdict.” + +“Well,” said the judge, “of course he will be here before you close your +case.” + +On this the three heads clashed again, and Serjeant Saunders, for the +defendant, popped up and said with great politeness, and affectation of +sympathy, “My Lud, I can quite understand my learned friend's hesitation +to produce his, principal witness.” + +“You understand nothing about the matter,” said Colt cavalierly. “Call +Mr. Harrington.” + +Mr. Harrington was Alfred's tutor at Eton, and deposed to his sanity +there; he was not cross-examined. After him they went on step by step +with a fresh witness for every six months, till they brought him close +to the date of his incarceration; then they put in one of Julia's +witnesses, Peterson, who swore Alfred had talked to him like a +sane person that very morning; and repeated what had passed. +Cross-examination only elicited that he and Alfred were no longer good +friends, which rather strengthened the evidence. Then Giles and Hannah, +now man and wife, were called, and swore he was sane all the time he was +at Silverton House. Mr. Saunders diminished the effect by eliciting that +they had left on bad terms with Mr. Baker, and that Alfred had given +them money since. But this was half cured on re-examination, by being +set down to gratitude on Alfred's part. And now the judge went to +luncheon; and in came a telegraphic message to say Alfred was in the +fast train coming up. This was good news and bad. They had hoped he +would drop in before. They were approaching that period of the case, +when not to call the plaintiff must produce a vile impression. The +judge--out of good nature, I suspect--was longer at luncheon than usual, +and every minute was so much gained to Mr. Compton and Julia, who +were in a miserable state of anxiety. Yet it was equalled by Richard +Hardie's, who never entered the court but paced the hall the livelong +day to intercept Noah Skinner. And, when I tell you that Julia had +consulted Mr. Green, and that he had instantly pronounced Mr. Barkington +to be a man from Barkington who knew the truth about the fourteen +thousand pounds, and that the said Green and his myrmidons were hunting +Mr. Barkington like beagles, you will see that R. Hardie's was no vain +terror. At last the judge returned, and Mr. Colt was obliged to put in +his reserves; so called Dr. Sampson. Instantly a very dull trial became +an amusing one; the scorn with which he treated the opinion of Dr. +Wycherley and Mr. Speers, and medical certificates in general, was so +droll coming from a doctor, and so racily expressed, that the court was +convulsed. Also in cross-examination by Saunders he sparred away in +such gallant style with that accomplished advocate that it was mighty +refreshing. The judge put in a few intelligent questions after counsel +had done, and surprised all the doctors in court with these words: “I +am aware, sir, that you were the main instrument in putting down +bloodletting in this country.” + +What made Sampson's evidence particularly strong was that he had seen +the plaintiff the evening before his imprisonment. + +At this moment three men, all of them known to the reader, entered the +court; one was our old acquaintance Fullalove, another was of course +Vespasian; and the third was the missing plaintiff. + +A buzz announced his arrival; and expectation rose high. Mr. Colt called +him with admirably feigned nonchalance; he stepped into the box, and +there was a murmur of surprise and admiration at his bright countenance +and manly bearing. + +Of course to give his evidence would be to write “Hard Cash” over again. +It is enough to say that his examination in chief lasted all that day, +and an hour of the next. + +Colt took him into the asylum, and made him say what he had suffered +there to swell the damages. The main points his examination in chief +established were his sanity during his whole life, the money settled +on him, the means the doctors took to irritate him, and then sign him +excited, the subserviency of his uncle to his father, the double motive +his father had in getting him imprisoned; the business of the L. 14,000. + +When Colt sat down at eleven o'clock on the second day, the jury looked +indignant, and the judge looked very grave, and the case very black. + +Mr. Saunders electrified his attorney by saying, “My advice is, don't +cross-examine him.” + +Heathfield implored him not to take so strange a course. + +On this Saunders shrugged his shoulders, rose, and cross-examined +Alfred about the vision of one Captain Dodd he had seen, and about his +suspicions of his father. “Had not Richard Hardie always been a kind +and liberal father?” To this he assented. “Had he not sacrificed a large +fortune to his creditors?” Plaintiff believed so. “On reflection, then, +did not plaintiff think he must have been under an illusion?” No; he had +gone by direct evidence. + +Confining himself sagaciously to this one question, and exerting all his +skill and pertinacity, Saunders succeeded in convincing the court that +the Hard Cash was a myth: a pure chimera. The defendant's case looked +up; for there are many intelligent madmen with a single illusion. + +The re-examination was of course very short, but telling; for Alfred +swore that Miss Julia Dodd had helped him to carry home the phantom of +her father, and that Miss Dodd had a letter from her father to say that +he was about to sail with the other phantom, the L. 14,000. + +Here Mr. Saunders interposed, and said that evidence was inadmissible. +Let him call Miss Dodd. + +_Colt._--How do you know I'm not going to call her? + +_The Judge._--If you are, it is superfluous; if not, it is inadmissible. + +Mr. Compton cast an inquiring glance up at a certain gallery. A +beautiful girl bowed her head in reply, with a warm blush and such a +flash of her eye, and Mr. Colt said, “As my learned friend was afraid +to cross-examine the plaintiff on any point but this, and as I mean to +respond to his challenge, and call Miss Dodd, I will not trouble the +plaintiff any further.” + +Through the whole ordeal Alfred showed a certain flavour of Eton and +Oxford that won all hearts. His replies were frank and honest, and under +cross-examination he was no more to be irritated than if Saunders +had been Harrow bowling at him, or the Robin sparring with him. The +serjeant, who was a gentleman, indicated some little regret at the +possible annoyance he was causing him. Alfred replied with a grand air +of good fellowship, “Do not think so poorly of me as to suppose I feel +aggrieved because you are an able advocate and do your duty to your +client, sir.” + +_The Judge._--That is very handsomely said. I am afraid you have got an +awkward customer, in a case of this kind, Brother Saunders. + +_Serjt. S._--It is not for want of brains he is mad, my lord. + +_Alfred._--That is a comfort, any way. (Laughter.) + +When counsel had done with him, the judge used his right, and put +several shrewd and unusual questions to him: asked him to define +insanity. He said he could only do it by examples: and he abridged +several intelligent madmen, their words and ways; and contrasted them +with the five or six sane people he had fallen in with in asylums; +showing his lordship plainly that _he_ could tell any insane person +whatever from a sane one, and _vice versa._ This was the most remarkable +part of the trial, to see this shrewd old judge extracting from a +real observer and logical thinker those positive indicia of sanity and +insanity, which exist, but which no lawyer has ever yet been able to +extract from any psychological physician in the witness-box. At last, he +was relieved, and sat sucking an orange among the spectators; for they +had parched his throat amongst them, I promise you. + +Julia Dodd entered the box, and a sunbeam seemed to fill the court. +She knew what to do: her left hand was gloved, but her white right hand +bare. She kissed the book, and gave her evidence in her clear, mellow, +melting voice; gave it reverently and modestly, for to her the court was +a church. She said how long she had been acquainted with Alfred, and how +his father was adverse, and her mother had thought it was because they +did not pass for rich, and had told her they were rich, and with this +she produced David's letter, and she also swore to having met Alfred and +others carrying her father in a swoon from his father's very door. +She deposed to Alfred's sanity on her wedding eve, and on the day his +recapture was attempted. + +Saunders, against his own judgment, was instructed to cross-examine her; +and, without meaning it, he put a question which gave her deep distress. +“Are you now engaged to the plaintiff?” She looked timidly round, +and saw Alfred, and hesitated. The serjeant pressed her politely, but +firmly. + +“Must I reply to that?” she said piteously. + +“If you please.” + +“Then, no. Another misfortune has now separated him and me for ever.” + +“What is that, pray?” + +“My father is said to have died at sea: and my mother thinks _he_ is to +blame.” + +_The judge to Saunders._--What on earth has this to do with Hardie +against Hardie? + +_Saunders._--You are warmly interested in the plaintiff's success? + +_Julia._--Oh yes, sir. + +_Colt_ (aside to Garrow).--The fool is putting his foot into it: there's +not a jury in England that would give a verdict to part two interesting +young lovers. + +_Saunders._--You are attached to him? + +_Julia._--Ah, that I do. + +This burst, intended for poor Alfred, not the court, baffled +cross-examination and grammar and everything else. Saunders was wise and +generous, and said no more. + +Colt cast a glance of triumph, and declined to re-examine. He always let +well alone. The judge, however, evinced a desire to trace the fourteen +thousand pounds from Calcutta; but Julia could not help him: that +mysterious sum had been announced by letter as about to sail, and then +no more was heard about it till Alfred accused his father of having it. +All endeavours to fill this hiatus failed. However, Julia, observing +that in courts material objects affect the mind most, had provided +herself with all the _pieces de conviction_ she could find, and she +produced her father's empty pocket-book, and said, when he was brought +home senseless, this was in his breast-pocket. + +“Hand it up to me,” said the judge. He examined it, and said it had been +in the water. + +“Captain Dodd was wrecked off the French coast,” suggested Mr. Saunders. + +“My learned friend had better go into the witness-box, if he means to +give evidence,” said Mr. Colt. + +“You are very much afraid of a very little truth,” retorted Saunders. + +The judge stopped this sham rencontre, by asking the witness whether her +father had been wrecked. She said “Yes.” + +“And that is how the money was lost,” persisted Saunders. + +“Possibly,” said the judge. + +“I'm darned if it was,” said Joshua Fullalove composedly. + +Instantly, all heads were turned in amazement at this audacious +interruption to the soporific decorum of an English court. The +transatlantic citizen received this battery of eyes with complete +imperturbability. + +“Si-lence!” roared the crier, awaking from a nap, with an instinct that +something unusual had happened. But the shrewd old judge had caught the +sincerity with which the words were uttered, and put on his spectacles +to examine the speaker. + +“Are you for the plaintiff or the defendant?” + +“I don't know either of 'em from Adam, my lord. But I know Captain +Dodd's pocket-book by the bullet-hole.” + +“Indeed! You had better call this witness, Mr. Colt.” + +“Your lordship must excuse me; I am quite content with my evidence,” said +the wary advocate. + +“Well then, I shall call him as _amicus curiae;_ and the defendant's +counsel can cross-examine him.” + +Fullalove went into the box, was sworn, identified the pocket-book, and +swore he had seen fourteen thousand pounds in it on two occasions. With +very little prompting, he told the sea-fight, and the Indian darkie's +attempt to steal the money, and pointed out Vespasian as the rival +darkie who had baffled the attempt. Then he told the shipwreck to an +audience now breathless--and imagine the astonished interest with which +Julia and Edward listened to this stranger telling them the new strange +story of their own father!--and lastly, the attempt of the two French +wreckers and assassins, and how it had been baffled. And so the mythical +cash was tracked to Boulogne. + +The judge then put this question, “Did Captain Dodd tell you what he +intended to do with it?” + +_Fullalove_ (reverently).--I think, my lord, he said he was going to +give it to his wife. (Sharply.) Well, what is it, old hoss? What are +you making mugs at me for? Don't you know it's clean against law to +telegraph a citizen in the witness-box? + +_The Judge._--This won't do; this won't do. + +_The Crier._--Silence in the court. + +“Do you hyar now what his lordship says?” said Fullalove, with ready +tact. “If you know anything more, come up hyar and swear it like an +enlightened citizen; do you think I am going to swear for tew?” With +this Vespasian and Fullalove proceeded to change places amidst roars of +laughter at the cool off-hand way this pair arranged forensicalities; +but Serjeant Saunders requested Fullalove to stay where he was. “Pray +sir,” said he slowly, “who retained you for a witness in this cause?” + +Fullalove looked puzzled. + +“Of course somebody asked you to drop in here so very accidentally: come +now, who was it?” + +“I'm God Almighty's witness dropped from the clouds, I cal'late.” + +“Come, sir, no prevarication. How came you here just at the nick of +time?” + +“Counsellor, when I'm treated polite, I'm ile; but rile me, and I'm +thunder stuffed with pison: don't you raise my dander, and I'll tell +you. I have undertaken to educate this yar darkie,”--here he stretched +out a long arm, and laid his hand on Vespasian's woolly pate--“and I'm +bound to raise him to the Eu-ropean model.” (Laughter.) “So I said to +him, coming over Westminster Bridge, 'Now there's a store hyar where +they sell a very extraordinary Fixin; and it's called Justice; they +sell it tarnation dear; _but_ prime. So I make tracks for the very court +where I got the prime article three years ago, against a varmint that +was breaking the seventh and eighth commandments over me, adulterating +my patent and then stealing it. Blast him!” (A roar of laughter.) “And +coming along I said this old country's got some good pints after all, +old hoss. One is they'll sell you justice dear, _but_ prime in these yar +courts, if you were born at Kamschatkee; and the other is, hyar darkies +are free as air, disenthralled by the univarsal genius of British +liberty; and then I pitched Counsellor Curran's bunkum into this darkie, +and he sucked it in like mother's milk, and in we came on tiptoe, and +the first thing we heard was a freeborn Briton treated wus than ever a +nigger in Old Kentuck, decoyed away from his gal, shoved into a darned +madhouse--the darbies clapped on him----” + +“We don't want your comments on the case, sir.” + +“No, nor any other free and enlightened citizen's, I reckon. Wal, +Vespasian and me sat like mice in a snowdrift, and hid our feelings out +of good manners, being strangers, till his lordship got e-tarnally fixed +about the Captain's pocket-book. Vesp., says I, this hurts my feelings +powerful. Says I, this hyar lord did the right thing about my patent: +he summed up just: and now he is in an everlasting fix himself: one good +turn deserves another, I'll get him out of this fix, any way.” Here the +witness was interrupted with a roar of laughter that shook the court. +Even the judge leaned back and chuckled, genially though quietly. And +right sorrowful was every Briton there when Saunders closed abruptly the +cross-examination of Joshua Fullalove. + +His lordship then said he wished to ask Vespasian a question. + +Saunders lost patience. “What, another _amicus curiae,_ my lud! This is +unprecedented.” + +“Excuse my curiosity, Brother Saunders,” said the judge ironically. “I +wish to trace this L. 14,000 as far as possible. Have you any particular +objection to the truth on this head of evidence?” + +“No, my lud, I never urge objections when I can't enforce them.” + +“Then you are a wise man.” (To Vespasian, after he had been sworn), +“Pray did Captain Dodd tell you what he intended to do with this money?” + +“Is, massa judge, massa captan told dis child he got a branker in some +place in de old country, called Barkinton. And he said dis branker bery +good branker, much sartiner not to break dan the brank of England. (A +howl.) De captan said he take de money to dis yer branker, and den hab +no more trouble wid it. Den it off my stomach, de captan say, and dis +child heerd him. Yah!” + +The plaintiff's case being apparently concluded, the judge retired for a +few minutes. + +In the buzz that followed, a note was handed to Mr. Compton; _“Skinner!_ +On a hot scent. Sure to find him to-day.--_N.B._ He is wanted by another +party. There is something curious a-foot.” + +Compton wrote on a slip, “For Heaven's sake, bring him directly. In half +an hour it will be too late.” + +Green hurried out and nearly ran against Mr. Richard Hardie, who was +moodily pacing Westminster Hall at the climax of his own anxiety. To him +all turned on Skinner. Five minutes passed, ten, fifteen, twenty: all +the plaintiff's party had their eyes on the door; but Green did not +return; and the judge did. Then to gain a few minutes more, Mr. Colt, +instructed by Compton, rose and said with great solemnity, “We are +about to call our last witness: the living have testified to my client's +sanity, and now we shall read you the testimony of the dead.” + +_Saunders._--That I object to, of course. + +_Colt._--Does my learned friend mean to say he objects at random? + +_Saunders._--Nothing of the kind. I object on the law of evidence--a +matter on which my learned friend seems to be under a hallucination as +complete as his client's about that L. 14,000. + +_Colt._ + + --There's none ever feared + That the truth should be heard + But they whom the truth would indict. + +_Saunders._--A court of justice is not the place for old songs; and new +law. + +_Colt._--Really, my learned friend is the objective case incarnate. (To +Compton.--I can't keep this nonsense up for ever. Is Skinner come?) He +has a Mania for objection, and with your lordship's permission I'll buy +a couple of doctors and lock him up in an asylum as he leaves the court +this afternoon. (Laughter.) + +_The judge._--A very good plan: then you'll no longer feel the weight +of his abilities. I conclude, Mr. Colt, you intend to call a witness who +will swear to the deceased person's hand-writing and that it was written +in the knowledge Death was at hand. + +_Colt._--Certainly, my lord. I can call Miss Julia Dodd. + +_Saunders._--That I need not take the trouble of objecting to. + +_The judge_ (with some surprise).--No, Mr. Colt. That will never do. You +have examined her, and re-examined her. + +I need hardly say Mr. Colt knew very well he could not call Julia Dodd. +But he was fighting for seconds now, to get in Skinner. “Call Edward +Dodd.” + +Edward was sworn, and asked if he knew the late Jane Hardie. + +“I knew her well,” said he. + +“Is that her handwriting?” + +“It is.” + +“Where was it written?” + +“In my mother's house at Barkington.” + +“Under what circumstances?” + +“She was dying--of a blow given her by a maniac called Maxley.” + +“Maxley!” said the judge to counsel. “I remember the Queen _v._ Maxley. +I tried him myself at the assizes: it was for striking a young lady with +a bludgeon, of which she died. Maxley was powerfully defended; and it +was proved that his wife had died, and he had been driven mad for a +time, by her father's bank breaking. The jury _would_ bring in a verdict +that was no verdict at all; as I took the liberty to tell them at the +time. The judges dismissed it, and Maxley was eventually discharged.” + +_Colt._--No doubt that was the case, my lord. To the witness.--Did Jane +Hardie know she was dying? + +“Oh yes, sir. She told us all so.” + +“To whom did she give this letter?” + +“To my sister.” + +“Oh, to your sister? To Miss Julia Dodd?” + +“Yes, sir. But not for herself. It was to give to Alfred Hardie.” + +“Can you read the letter? It is rather faintly written. It is written in +pencil, my lord.” + +“I _could_ read it, sir; but I hope you will excuse me. She that wrote +it was very, very dear to me.” + +The young man's full voice faltered as he uttered these words, and +he turned his lion-like eyes soft and imploring on the judge. That +venerable and shrewd old man, learned in human nature as well as in +law, comprehended in a moment, and said kindly, “You misunderstand him. +Witnesses do not read letters _out_ in court. Let the letter be handed +up to me.” This was fortunate, for the court cuckoo, who intones most +letters, would have read all the sense and pathos out of this, with his +monotonous sing-song. + +The judge read it carefully to himself with his glasses, and told the +jury it seemed a genuine document: then the crier cried “Silence in the +court,” and his lordship turned towards the jury and read the letter +slowly and solemnly: + + +_“DEAR, DEAR BROTHER,--Your poor little Jane lies dying, suddenly but +not painfully, and my last earthly thoughts are for my darling brother. +Some wicked person has said you are insane. I deny this with my dying +breath and my dying hand. You came to me the night before the wedding +that was to be, and talked to me most calmly, rationally and kindly; so +that I could not resist your reasons, and went to your wedding, which, +till then, I did not intend. Show these words to your slanderers when I +am no more. But oh! Alfred, even this is of little moment compared with +the world to come. By all our affection, grant me one request. Battered, +wounded, dying in my prime, what would be my condition but for the +Saviour, whom I have loved, and with whom I hope soon to be. He smoothes +the bed of death for me, He lights the dark valley; I rejoice to die and +be with Him. Oh, turn to Him, dear brother, without one hour's delay, +and then how short will be this parting. This is your dying sister's one +request, who loves you dearly._” + + +With the exception of Julia's sobs, not a sound was heard as the judge +read it. Many eyes were wet: and the judge himself was visibly affected, +and pressed his handkerchief a moment to his eyes. “These are the words +of a Christian woman, gentlemen,” he said. And there was silence. A +girl's hand seemed to have risen from the grave to defend her brother +and rend the veil from falsehood. + +Mr. Colt, out of pure tact, subdued his voice to the key of the +sentiment thus awakened, and said impressively, “Gentlemen of the jury, +that is our case:” and so sat down. + + + + +CHAPTER LIII + +SERGEANT SAUNDERS thought it prudent to let the emotion subside before +opening the defendant's case: so he disarranged his papers, and then +rearranged them as before: and, during this, a person employed by +Richard Hardie went out and told him this last untoward piece of +evidence. He winced: but all was overbalanced by this, that Skinner had +not come to bear witness for the Plaintiff. + +Sergeant Saunders rose with perfect dignity and confidence, and +delivered a masterly address. In less than ten minutes the whole affair +took another colour under that plausible tongue. The tactician began by +declaring that the plaintiff was perfectly sane, and his convalescence +was a matter of such joy to the defendant, that not even the cruel +misinterpretation of facts and motives, to which his amiable client had +been exposed, could rob him of that sacred delight “Our case, gentlemen, +is, that the plaintiff is sane, and that he owes his sanity to those +prompt, wise, and benevolent measures, which we took eighteen months +ago, at an unhappy crisis of his mind, to preserve his understanding +and his property. Yes, his property, gentlemen; that property which in a +paroxysm of mania, he was going to throw away, as I shall show you by an +unanswerable document. He comes here to slander us and mulet us out of +five thousand pounds; but I shall show you he is already ten thousand +pounds the richer for that act of ours, for which he debits us five +thousand pounds instead of crediting us twice the sum. Gentlemen, I +cannot, like my learned friend, call witnesses from the clouds, from the +United States, and from the grave; for it has not occurred to my client +strong in the sense of his kindly and honourable intentions, to engage +gentlemen from foreign parts, with woolly locks and nasal twangs, to +drop in accidentally, and eke out the fatal gaps in evidence. The class +of testimony we stand upon is less romantic; it does not seduce the +imagination nor play upon the passions; but it is of a much higher +character in sober men's eyes, especially in a court of law. I rely, not +on witnesses dropped from the clouds, and the stars, and the stripes--to +order; nor even on the prejudiced statements of friends and sweethearts, +who always swear from the heart rather than from the head and the +conscience; but on the calm testimony of indifferent men, and on written +documents furnished by the plaintiff', and on contemporaneous entries in +the books of the asylum, which entries formally describe the plaintiff's +acts, and were put down at the time--at the time, gentlemen--with no +idea of a trial at law to come, but in compliance with the very proper +provisions of a wise and salutary Act. I shall also lay before you the +evidence of the medical witnesses who signed the certificates, men of +probity and honour, and who have made these subtle maladies of the mind +the special study of their whole life. I shall also call the family +doctor, who has known the plaintiff and his ailments, bodily and mental, +for many years, and communicated his suspicions to one of the first +psychological physicians of the age, declining, with a modesty which +we, who know less of insanity than he does, would do well to +imitate--declining, I say, to pronounce a positive opinion unfavourable +to the plaintiff, till he should have compared notes with this learned +man, and profited by his vast experience.” + +In this strain he continued for a good hour, until the defendants case +seemed to be a thing of granite. His oration ended, he called a string +of witnesses: every one of whom bore the learned counsel out by his +evidence in chief. + +But here came the grand distinction between the defendants case and +the plaintiff's. Cross-examination had hardly shaken the plaintiff's +witnesses: it literally dissolved the defendant's. Osmond was called, +and proved Alfred's headaches and pallor, and his own suspicions. But +then Colt forced him to admit that many young people had headaches +without going mad, and were pale when thwarted in love, without going +mad: and that as to the L. 14,000 and the phantom, he _knew_ nothing; +but had taken all that for granted on Mr. Richard Hardie's word. + +Dr. Wycherley deposed to Alfred's being insane and abnormally irritable, +and under a pecuniary illusion, as stated in his certificate: and to his +own vast experience. But the fire of cross-examination melted all his +polysyllables into guesswork and hearsay. It melted out of him that he, +a stranger, had intruded on the young man's privacy, and had burst into +a most delicate topic, his disagreement with his father, and so had +himself created the very irritation he had set down to madness. He also +had to admit that he knew nothing about the L. 14,000 or the phantom, +but had taken for granted the young man's own father, who consulted him, +was not telling him a deliberate and wicked falsehood. + +_Colt._--In short, sir, you were retained to make the man out insane, +just as my learned friend there is retained. + +_Wycherley._--I think, sir, it would not be consistent with the dignity +of my profession to notice that comparison. + +_Colt._--I leave defendant's counsel to thank you for that. Come, never +mind _dignity;_ let us have a little _truth._ Is it consistent with +your dignity to tell us whether the keepers of private asylums pay you +a commission for all the patients you consign to durance vile by your +certificates? + +Dr. Wycherley fenced with this question, but the remorseless Colt only +kept him longer under torture, and dragged out of him that he received +fifteen per cent. from the asylum keepers for every patient he wrote +insane; and that he had an income of eight hundred pounds a year from +that source alone. This, of course, was the very thing to prejudice a +jury against the defence: and Colt's art was to keep to their level. + +Speers, cross-examined, failed to conceal that he was a mere tool of +Wycherley's, and had signed in manifest collusion, adhering to the +letter of the statute, but violating its spirit for certainly, the Act +never intended by “separate examination,” that two doctors should come +into the passage, and walk into the room alternately, then reunite, and +do the signing as agreed before they ever saw the patient. As to the +illusion about the fourteen thousand pounds, Speers owned that the +plaintiff had not uttered a word about the subject, but had peremptorily +declined it. He had to confess, too, that he had taken for granted Dr. +Wycherley was correctly informed about the said illusion. + +“In short,” said the judge, interposing, “Dr. Wycherley took the very +thing for granted which it was his duty to ascertain; and you, sir, not +to be behind Dr. Wycherley, took the thing for granted at second hand.” + And when Speers had left the box, he said to Serjeant Saunders, “If this +case is to be defended seriously, you had better call Mr. Richard Hardie +without further delay.” + +“It is my wish, my lud; but I am sorry to say he is in the country very +ill; and I have no hope of seeing him here before to-morrow.” + +“Oh, well; so that you _do_ call him. I shall not lay hearsay before the +jury: hearsay gathered from Mr. Richard Hardie--whom you will call +in person if the reports he has circulated have any basis whatever in +truth.” + +Mr. Saunders said coolly, “Mr. Richard Hardie is not the defendant,” + and flowed on; nor would any but a lawyer have suspected what a terrible +stab the judge had given him so quietly. + +The surgeon of Silverton House was then sworn, and produced the case +book; and there stood the entries which had been so fatal to Alfred +with the visiting justices. Suicide, homicide, self-starvation. But the +plaintiff got to Mr. Colt with a piece of paper, on which he had written +his view of all this, and cross-examination dissolved the suicide +and homicide into a spirited attempt to escape and resist a false +imprisonment As for the self-starvation, Colt elicited that Alfred +had eaten at six o'clock though not at two. “And pray, sir,” said he, +contemptuously, to the witness, “do you never stir out of a madhouse? +Do you imagine that gentlemen in their senses dine at two o'clock in the +nineteenth century?” + +“No. I don't say that.” + +“What _do_ you say, then? Is forcible imprisonment of a bridegroom in +a madhouse the thing to give a _gentleman_ a _factitious_ appetite at +_your_ barbarous dinner-hour?” + +In a word, Colt was rough with this witness, and nearly smashed him. +Saunders fought gallantly on, and put in Lawyer Crawford with his draft +of the insane deed, as he called it, by which the erotic monomaniac +Alfred divested himself of all his money in favour of the Dodds. There +was no dissolving this deed away; and Crawford swore he had entreated +the plaintiff not to insist on his drawing so unheard-of a document; +but opposition or question seemed to irritate his client, so that he had +complied, and the deed was to have been signed on the wedding-day. + +All the lawyers present thought this looked really mad. Fancy a man +signing away his property to his wife's relatives!! The court, which had +already sat long beyond the usual time, broke up, leaving the defendant +with this advantage. Alfred Hardie and his friends made a little knot in +the hall outside, and talked excitedly over the incidents of the trial. +Mr. Compton introduced Fullalove and Vespasian. They all shook hands +with them, and thanked them warmly for the timely and most unexpected +aid. But Green and a myrmidon broke in upon their conversation. “I am +down on Mr. Barkington _alias_ Noah Skinner. It isn't very far from +here, if you will follow me.” Green was as excited as a foxhound when +Pug has begun to trail his brush: the more so that another client of his +wanted Noah Skinner; and so the detective was doing a double stroke of +business. He led the way; it was dry, and they all went in pairs after +him into the back slums of Westminster; and a pretty part that is. + +Now as they went along Alfred hung behind with Julia, and asked her what +on earth she meant by swearing that it was all over between her and +him. “Why your last letter was full of love, dearest; what could you be +thinking of to say that?” + +She shook her head sadly, and revealed to him with many prayers for +forgiveness that she had been playing a part of late: that she had +concealed her father's death from him, and the fatal barrier interposed. + +“I was afraid you would be disheartened, and lose your first class and +perhaps your trial. But you are safe now, dear Alfred; I am sure the +judge sees through them; for I have studied him for you. I know his +face by heart, and all his looks and what they mean. My Alfred will be +cleared of this wicked slander, and happy with some one----Ah!” + +“Yes, I mean to be happy with some one,” said Alfred. “I am not one of +your self-sacrificing angels; thank Heaven! Your shall not sacrifice +us to your mother's injustice nor to the caprices of fate. We have +one another; but you would immolate me for the pleasure of immolating +yourself. Don't provoke me too far, or I'll carry you off by force. I +swear it, by Him who made us both.” + +“Dearest, how wildly you talk.” And with this Julia hung her head, and +had a guilty thrill. She could not help thinking that eccentric little +measure would relieve her of the sin of disobedience. + +After making known to her his desperate resolution, Alfred was silent, +and they went sadly side by side; so dear, so near, yet always some +infernal thing or other coming between them. They reached a passage in +a miserable street. At the mouth stood two of Green's men, planted there +to follow Skinner should he go out: but they reported all quiet. “Bring +the old gentleman up,” said Green. “I appointed him six o'clock, and +it's on the stroke.” He then descended the passage, and striking a light +led the way up a high stair. Skinner lived on the fifth story. Green +tapped at his door. “Mr. Barkington.” + +No reply. + +“Mr. Barkington, I've brought you some money.” + +No reply. + +“Perhaps he is not at home,” said Mr. Compton. + +“Oh, yes, sir, I sent a sharp boy up, and he picked the paper out of the +keyhole and saw him sitting reading.” + +He then applied his own eye to the keyhole. “I see something black,” + said he, “I think he suspects.” + +While he hesitated, they became conscious of a pungent vapour stealing +through the now open keyhole. + +“Hallo!” said Green, “what is this?” + +Fullalove observed coolly that Mr. Skinner's lungs must be peculiarly +made if he could breathe in that atmosphere. “If you want to see him +alive, let me open the door.” + +“There's something amiss here,” said Green gravely. + +At that Fullalove whipped out a tool no bigger than a nutcracker, forced +the edge in, and sent the door flying open. The room or den was full of +an acrid vapour, and close to them sat he they sought motionless. + +“Keep the lady back,” cried Green, and threw the vivid light of his +bull's eye on a strange, grotesque, and ghastly scene. The floor was +covered with bright sovereigns that glittered in the lamp-light. On the +table was an open book, and a candle quite burnt down: the grease had +run into a circle. + +And, as was that grease to the expired light, so was the thing that sat +there in human form to the Noah Skinner they had come to seek. Dead this +many a day of charcoal fumes, but preserved from decomposition by those +very fumes, sat Noah Skinner, dried into bones and leather waiting for +them with his own Hard Cash, and with theirs; for, creeping awestruck +round that mummified figure seated dead on his pool of sovereigns, they +soon noticed in his left hand a paper: it was discoloured by the vapour, +and part hid by the dead thumb; but thus much shone out clear and +amazing, that it was a banker's receipt to David Dodd, Esq., for L. +14,010, drawn at Barkington, and signed for Richard Hardie by Noah +Skinner. Julia had drawn back, and was hiding her face; but soon +curiosity struggled with awe in the others: they peeped at the Receipt: +they touched the weird figure. Its yellow skin sounded like a drum, and +its joints creaked like a puppets. At last Compton suggested that Edward +Dodd ought to secure that valuable document. “No no,” said Edward: “it +is too like robbing the dead.” + +“Then I will,” said Compton. + +But he found the dead thumb and finger would not part with the Receipt; +then, as a trifle turns the scale, he hesitated in turn: and all but +Julia stood motionless round the body that held the Receipt, the soul of +the lost Cash, and still, as in life, seemed loth to part with it. + +Then Fullalove came beside the arm-chair, and said with simple dignity, +“I'm a man from foreign parts; I have no interest here but justice: +and justice I'll do.” He took the dead arm, and the joint creaked: +he applied the same lever to the bone and parchment hand he had to the +door: it creaked too, but more faintly, and opened and let out this:-- + + +No. 17. BARKINGTON, Nov. 10, 1847. + +_Received of_ DAVID DODD, Esq., _the sum of Fourteen Thousand and Ten +Pounds Twelve Shillings and Six Pence,_ + +to account on demand + +_For_ RICHARD HARDIE, + +NOAH SKINNER. + +L. 14,010: 12: 6. + + +A stately foot came up the stair, but no one heard it. All were absorbed +in the strange weird sight, and this great stroke of fate; or of +Providence. + +“This is yours, I reckon,” said Fullalove, and handed the receipt +to Edward. “No, no!” said Compton. “See: I've just found a will, +bequeathing all he has in the world, with his blessing, to Miss Julia +Dodd. These sovereigns are yours, then. But above all, the paper: as +your legal adviser, I insist on your taking it immediately. Possession +is nine points. However, it is actually yours, in virtue of this +bequest.” + +A solemn passionless voice seemed to fall on them from the clouds, + +“No; it is Mine.” + + +MY story must now return on board the _Vulture._ Just before noon, +the bell the half hours are struck on was tolled to collect the ship's +company; and soon the gangways and booms were crowded, and even +the yards were manned with sailors, collected to see their shipmate +committed to the deep. Next came the lieutenants and midshipmen and +stood reverently on the deck: the body was brought and placed on a +grating. Then all heads being uncovered below and aloft, the chaplain +read the solemn service of the dead. + +Many tears were shied by the rough sailors, the more so that to most of +them, though not to the officers, it was now known that poor Billy had +not always been before the mast, but had seen better days, and commanded +vessels, and saved lives; and now he had lost his own. + +The service is the same as ashore, with this exception: that the words +“We commit his body to the ground, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” &c., +are altered at sea, thus: “We commit his body to the deep, to be turned +into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body, when the sea +shall give up her dead; and the life of the world to come.” At these +words the body is allowed to glide off the grating into the sea. The +chaplain's solemn voice drew near those very words, and the tears +of pity fell faster; and Georgie White, an affectionate boy, sobbed +violently, and shivered beforehand at the sullen plunge that he knew +would soon come, and then he should see no more poor Billy who had given +his life for his. + +At this moment the captain came flying on deck, and jumping on to a gun, +cried sharply, “Avast! Haul that body aboard.” + +The sharp voice of command cut across the solemn words and tones in +the most startling way. The chaplain closed his book with a look of +amazement and indignation: the sailors stared, and for the first time +did not obey an order. To be sure it was one they had never heard +before. Then the captain got angry, and repeated his command louder, and +the body was almost jerked in board. + +“Carry him to my cabin; and uncover his face.” + +By this time nothing could surprise Jackey Tar. Four sailors executed +the order promptly. + +“Bosen, pipe to duty.” + +While the men were dispersing to their several stations, Captain +Bazalgette apologised to the chaplain, and explained to him and to the +officers. But I give his explanation in my own words. Finding the ship +quiet, the purser went to the captain down below, and asked him coolly +what entry he should make in the ship's books about this William +Thompson, who was no more William Thompson than he was. “What do you +mean?” said the captain. Then the purser told him that Thompson's +messmates, in preparing him last night for interment, had found a little +bag round his neck, and inside it, a medal of the Humane Society, and a +slip of paper written on in a lady's hand; then they had sent for him; +and he had seen at once that this was a mysterious case: this lady spoke +of him as her husband, and skipper of a merchant vessel. + +“What is that?” roared the captain, who hitherto had listened with scarce +half an ear. + +“Skipper of a merchant vessel, sir, as sure as you command her majesty's +frigate _Vulture:_ and then we found his shirt marked with the same name +as the lady's.” + +“What was the lady's name?” + +“Lucy Dodd; and David Dodd is on the shirt.” + +“Why didn't you tell me this before?” cried the captain. + +“Didn't know it till last night.” + +“Why it is twelve o'clock. They are burying him.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Lucy would never forgive me,” cried the captain. And to the purser's +utter amazement he clapped on his cocked hat, and flew out of the cabin +on the errand I have described. + +He now returned to the cabin and looked: a glance was enough: there lay +the kindly face that had been his friend man and boy. + +He hid his own with his hands, and moaned. He cursed his own blindness +and stupidity in not recognising that face among a thousand. In this he +was unjust to himself. David had never looked _himself_ till now. + +He sent for the surgeon, and told him the whole sad story: and asked him +what could be done. His poor cousin Lucy had more than once expressed +her horror of interment at sea. “It is very hot,” said he; “but surely +you must know some way of keeping him till we land in New Zealand: curse +these flies; how they bite!” + +The surgeon's eyes sparkled; he happened to be an enthusiast in the art +of embalming. “Keep him to New Zealand?” said he contemptuously, “I'll +embalm him so that he shall go to England looking just as he does +now--by-the-by, I never saw a drowned man keep his colour so well +before--ay, and two thousand years after that, if you don't mind the +expense.” + +“The expense! I don't care, if it cost me a year's pay. I think of +nothing but repairing my blunder as far as I can.” + +The surgeon was delighted. Standing over his subject, who lay on the +captain's table, he told that officer how he should proceed. “I have all +the syringes,” he said; “a capital collection. I shall inject the veins +with care and patience; then I shall remove the brain and the viscera, +and provided I'm not stinted in arsenic and spices----” + +“I give you carte blanche on the purser: make your preparations, and +send for him. Don't tell me how you do it; but do it. I must write and +tell poor Lucy I have got him, and am bringing him home to her--dead.” + +The surgeon was gone about a quarter of an hour; he then returned with +two men to remove the body, and found the captain still writing his +letter, very sorrowful: but now and then slapping his face or leg with a +hearty curse as the flies stung him. + +The surgeon beckoned the men in softly, and pointed to the body for them +to carry it out. + +Now, as he pointed, his eye, following his finger, fell on something +that struck that experienced eye as incredible: he uttered an +exclamation of astonishment so loud that the captain looked up directly +from his letter; and saw him standing with his finger pointing at the +corpse, and his eyes staring astonishment “What now?” said the captain, +and rose from his seat. + +“Look! look! look!” + +The captain came and looked, and said he saw nothing at all. + +“The fly; the fly!” cried the surgeon. + +“Yes, I see one of them has been biting him; for there's a little blood +trickling. Poor fellow.” + +“A dead man can't bleed from the small veins in his skin,” said the man +of art. “He is alive, captain, he is alive, as sure as we stand here, +and God's above. That little insect was wiser than us; he is alive.” + +“Jackson, don't trifle with me, or I'll hang you at the yard-arm. +God bless you, Jackson. Is it really possible? Run some of you, get a +mirror: I have heard that is a test.” + +“Mirror be hanged. Doctor Fly knows his business.” + +All was now flutter and bustle: and various attempts were made to +resuscitate David, but all in vain. At last the surgeon had an idea. +“This man was never drowned at all” said he: “I am sure of it. This is +catalepsy. He may lie this way for a week. But dead he is not. I'll +try the douche.” David was then by his orders stripped and carried to +a place where they could turn a watercock on him from a height: and the +surgeon had soon the happiness of pointing out to the captain a slight +blush on David's skin in parts, caused by the falling water. All doubts +ceased with this: the only fear was lest they should shake out the +trembling life by rough usage. They laid him on his stomach, and with +a bellows and pipe so acted on the lungs, that at last a genuine sigh +issued from the patient's breast. Then they put him in a warm bed, and +applied stimulants; and by slow degrees the eyelids began to wink, the +eyes to look more mellow, the respiration to strengthen, the heart to +beat: “Patience, now,” said the surgeon, “patience, and lots of air.” + +Patience was rewarded. Just four hours after the first treatment, +a voice, faint but calm and genial, issued from the bed on their +astonished ears, “Good morning to you all.” + +They kept very quiet. In about five minutes more the voice broke out +again, calm and sonorous-- + +“Where is my money--my fourteen thousand pounds?” + + +These words set them all looking at one another: and very much puzzled +the surgeon: they were delivered with such sobriety and conviction. +“Captain,” he whispered, “ask him if he knows you.” + +“David,” said the captain kindly, “do you know me?” David looked at him +earnestly, and his old kindly smile broke out, “Know ye, ye clog,” + said he, “why, you are my cousin Reginald. And how came you into this +thundering bank? I hope you have got no money here. 'Ware land sharks!” + +“We are not in a bank, David; we are on board my ship.” + +“The deuce we are. But where's my money?” + +“Oh, we'll talk about that by-and-by.” + +The surgeon stepped forward, and said soothingly, “You have been very +ill, sir. You have had a fit.” + +“I believe you are right,” said David thoughtfully. + +“Will you allow me to examine your eye?” + +“Certainly, doctor.” + +The surgeon examined David's eye with his thumb and finger and then +looked into it to see how the pupil dilated and contracted. + +He rubbed his hands after this examination; “More good news, captain!” + then lowering his voice, _“Your friend is as sane as I am._” + +The surgeon was right. A shock had brought back the reason a shock had +taken away. But how or why I know no more than the child unborn. The +surgeon wrote a learned paper, and explained the whole most ingeniously. +I don't believe one word of his explanation, and can't better it; so +confine myself to the phenomena. Being now sane, the boundary wall of +his memory was shifted. He remembered his whole life up to his demanding +his cash back of Richard Hardie; and there his reawakened mind stopped +dead short. Being asked if he knew William Thompson, he said, “Yes, +perfectly. He was a foretopman on board the _Agra,_ and rather a smart +hand. The ship was aground and breaking up: he went out to sea on +a piano: but we cut the hawser as he drifted under, and he got safe +ashore.” David's recovered reason rejected with contempt as an idle +dream all that had happened while that reason was in defect The last +phenomena I have to record were bodily: one was noted by Mr. Georgie +White in these terms: “Billy's eyes used to be like a seal's: but, now +he is a great gentleman, they are like yours and mine.” The other was +more singular: with his recovered reason came his first grey hair, and +in one fortnight it was all as white as snow. + +He remained a fortnight on board the _Vulture,_ beloved by high and +low. He walked the quarter-deck in the dress of a private gentleman, but +looking like an admiral. The sailors touched their hats to him with +a strange mixture of veneration and jocoseness. They called him among +themselves Commodore Billy. He was supplied with funds by Reginald, and +put on board a merchant ship bound for England. He landed, amid went +straight to Barkington. There he heard his family were in London. He +came back to London, and sought them. A friend told him of Green; he +went to him, and of course Green saw directly who he was. But able men +don't cut business short. He gravely accepted David's commission to find +him Mrs. Dodd. Finding him so confident, David asked him if he thought +he could find Richard Hardie or his clerk, Noah Skinner; both of whom +had levanted from Barkington. Green, who was on a hot scent as to +Skinner, demurely accepted both commissions; and appointed David to meet +him at a certain place at six. He came; he found Green's man, who took +him upstairs, and there was that excited group determining the ownership +of his receipt. + +Now to David that receipt was a thing of yesterday. “It is mine,” said +he. They all turned to look at this man, with sober passionless voice, +and hair of snow. A keen cry from Julia's heart made every heart there +quiver, and in a moment she was clinging and sobbing on her father's +neck. Edward could only get his hand and press and kiss it. Instinct +told them Heaven had given them their father back, mind and all. + +Ere the joy and the emotion had calmed themselves, Alfred Hardie slipped +out and ran like a deer to Pembroke Street. + +Those who were so strangely reunited could not part for a long time, +even to go down the stairs one by one. + +David was the first to recover his composure: indeed, great tranquillity +of spirit had ever since his cure been a remarkable characteristic of +this man's nature. His passing mania seemed to have burnt out all his +impetuosity, leaving him singularly sober, calm, and self-governed. + +Mr. Compton took the money, and the will, and promised the Executrix, +Skinner should be decently interred and all his debts paid out of the +estate. He would look in at 66 by-and-by. + +And now a happy party wended their way towards Pembroke Street. + +But Alfred was beforehand with them: he went boldly up the stairs, and +actually surprised Mrs. Dodd and Sampson together. + +At sight of him she rose, made him a low curtsey, and beat a retreat. He +whipped to the door, and set his back against it. “No,” said he saucily. + +She drew up majestically, and the colour mounted in her pale face. +“What, sir, would you detain me by force?” + +“And no mistake,” said the audacious boy. “How else can I detain you +when you hate me so?” She began to peep into his sparkling eyes to see +the reason of this strange conduct. + +“C'way from the door, ye vagabin,” said Sampson. + +“No, no, my friend,” said Mrs. Dodd, trembling, and still peering into +his sparkling eyes. “Mr. Alfred Hardie is a gentleman, at all events: +he would not take such a liberty with me, unless he had some excuse for +it.” + +“You are wonderfully shrewd, mamma,” said Alfred admiringly. “The excuse +is, I don't hate you as you hate me; and I am very happy.” + +“Why do you call me mamma to-day? Oh, doctor, he calls me mamma.” + +“Th' audacious vagabin.” + +“No, no, I cannot think he would call me that unless he had some good +news for us both?” + +“What good news can he have, except that his trile is goin' well, and +you don't care for that.” + +“Oh, how can you say so? I care for all that concerns him: he would not +come here to insult my misery with his happiness. He is noble, he is +generous, with all his faults. How dare you call me mamma, sir! Call +it me again, my dear child; because then I shall _know_ you are come to +save my heart from breaking.” And with this, the truth must be told, +the stately Mrs. Dodd did fawn upon Alfred with palms outstretched and +piteous eyes, and certain cajoling arts of her sex. + +“Give me a kiss then, mamma,” said the impudent boy, “and I _will_ tell +you a little bit of good news.” + +She bowed her stately head directly, and paid the required tribute with +servile humility and readiness. + +“Well then,” said Alfred, and was just going to tell her all, but caught +sight of Sampson making the most expressive pantomime to him to be +cautious. “Well,” said he, “I have seen a sailor.” + +“Ah!” + +“And he is sure Mr. Dodd is alive.” + +Mrs. Dodd lifted her hands to heaven, but could not speak. “In fact,” + said Alfred, hesitating (for he was a wretched hand at a fib), “he saw +him not a fortnight ago on board ship. But that is not all, mamma, the +sailor says he has his reason.” + +Mrs. Dodd sank on her knees, and said no word to man, but many to the +Giver of all good. When she arose, she said to Alfred, “Bring this +sailor to me. I must speak with him directly.” + +Alfred coloured. “I don't know where to find him just now.” + +“Oh, indeed,” said Mrs. Dodd quietly: and this excited her suspicion; +and from that moment the cunning creature lay in wait for Master Alfred. +She plied him with questions, and he got more and more puzzled how to +sustain his story. At last, by way of bursting out of his own net, he +said, “But I am sorry to say his hair has turned white. But perhaps you +won't mind that.” + +“And he hadn't a grey hair.” + +“It is not grey, like the doctor's: it is as white as the driven snow.” + +Mrs. Dodd sighed; then suddenly turning on Alfred, asked him, “Did the +sailor tell you that?” + +He hesitated a moment and was lost. + +“You have seen him,” she screamed; “he is in London: he is in the house. +I feel him near me:” and she went into something very like hysterics. +Alfred was alarmed, and whispered the truth. The doctor sent him off to +meet them, and recommended caution; her nerves were in such a state a +violent shock, even of happiness, might kill her. + +Thus warned, Julia came into the room alone, and while Dr. Sampson +was inculcating self-restraint for her own sake, she listened with a +superior smile, and took quite a different line. “Mamma,” said she, “he +is in the town; but I dare not bring him here till you are composed: his +reason is restored; but his nerves are not so strong as they were. Now, +if you agitate yourself, you will agitate him, and will do him a serious +mischief.” + +This crafty speech produced an incredible effect on Mrs. Dodd. It calmed +her directly: or rather her great love gave her strength to be calm. +“I will not be such a wretch,” she said. “See: I am composed, quite +composed. Bring me my darling, and you shall see how good I will be: +there now, Julia, see how calm I am, quite calm. What, have I borne so +much misery, with Heaven's help, and do you think I cannot bear this +great happiness for my dear darling's sake?” + +On this they proposed she should retire to her room, and they would go +for David. + +“Think over the meeting, dear, dear mamma,” said Julia, “and then you +will behave well for his sake, who was lost to us and is found.” + +Husband and wife met alone in Mrs. Dodd's room. No eye, even of the +children, ventured to witness a scene so strange, so sacred. We may try +and imagine that meeting; but few of us can conceive it by the light of +our narrow experience. Yet one or two there may be--the world is wide, +and the adventures and emotions of our race are many. + +One by one all were had up to that sacred room to talk to the happy +pair. They found David seated calmly at his wife's feet, her soft hand +laid on his white hair, lest he should leave her again: and they told +him all the sorrow behind them; and he, genial and kindly as ever, told +them all the happiness before them. He spoke like the master of the +house, the father of the family, the friend of them all. + +But with all his goodness he was sternly resolved to have his L. 14,000 +out of Richard Hardie. He had an interview with Mr. Compton that very +night, and the lawyer wrote a letter to Mr. Hardie, saying nothing about +the death of Skinner, but notifying that his client, Captain Dodd, had +recovered from Noah Skinner the receipt No. 17 for L. 14,010 12s. 6d, +and he was instructed to sue for it unless repaid immediately. He added +Captain Dodd was mercifully restored, and remembered distinctly every +particular of the transaction. + + +They all thought in their innocence that Hardie _v._ Hardie was now at +an end. Captain Dodd could prove Alfred's _soi-disant_ illusion to be +the simple truth. But Compton thought that this evidence had come too +late. “What, may we not get up and say here is papa, and it is all +true?” cried Julia indignant. + +“No, Miss Dodd; our case is closed. And take my advice: don't subject +your father to the agitation of a trial. We can do without him.” + +Well then, they would all go as spectators, and pray that justice might +prevail. + +They did go: and all sat together to hear a matter puzzled over, which +had David come one day earlier he would have set at rest for ever. + +Dick Absolom was put in to prove that Alfred had put two sovereigns on +the stumps for him to bowl if he could; and after him the defendant, Mr. +Thomas Hardie, a mild, benevolent, weak gentleman, was put into the box, +and swore the boy's father had come to him with story after story of the +plaintiff's madness, and the trouble it would get him into, and so he +had done for the best. His simplicity was manifest, and Saunders +worked it ably. When Colt got hold of him, and badgered him, he showed +something more than simplicity. He stuttered, he contradicted himself, +he perspired, he all but wept. + +_Colt._--Are you sure you had no spite against him? + +_Deft._--No. + +_Colt._--You are not sure, eh? + +This candid interpretation of his words knocked the defendant stupid. He +made no reply, but looked utterly flabbergasted. + +_Colt._--Did he not provoke you? Did he not call you an idiot. + +_Deft._--He might. + +_Colt._ (satirically).--Of course he might. (Laughter.) But did he? + +_Deft._ (plucking up a little spirit).--No. He called me SOFT TOMMY. + +This revelation, and the singular appropriateness of the nickname, were +so highly relished by an intelligent audience, that it was a long time +before the trial could go on for roars. The plaintiff's ringing laugh +was heard among the rest. + +The cross-examination proceeded in this style till the defendant began +to drivel at the mouth a little. At last, after a struggle, he said, +with a piteous whine, that he could not help it: he hated signing his +name; some mischief always came of it; but this time he had no option. + +“No option?” said Colt. “What do you mean?” + +And with one or two more turns of the screw, out came this astounding +revelation: + +“Richard said if I didn't put Taff in one, _he_ would put _me_ in one.” + +_The Judge._--In one what? + +_Deft._ (weeping).--In one madhouse, my lord. + +A peal followed this announcement, and Colt sat down grinning. Saunders +rose smiling. “I am much obliged to the learned counsel for making my +case,” said he: “I need not prolong the sufferings of the innocent. You +can go down, Mr. Hardie.” + +_The Judge._--Have you any defence to this action? + +“Certainly, my lord.” + +“Do you call Richard Hardie?” + +“No, my lord.” + +“Then had you not better confine yourself to the question of damages?” + +The sturdy Saunders would not take the hint; he replied upon the whole +case, and fought hard for a verdict. The line he took was bold; he +described Richard Hardie as a man who had acquired a complete power over +his weaker brother: and had not only persuaded him by statements, but +even compelled him by threats, to do what he believed would be the +salvation of his nephew. “Will you imitate the learned counsel's +cruelty? Will you strike a child?” In short, he made a powerful appeal +to their pity, while pretending to address their judgments. + +Then Colt rose like a tower, and assuming the verdict as certain, asked +the jury for heavy damages. He contrasted powerfully the defendant's +paltry claim to pity with the anguish the plaintiff had undergone. He +drew the wedding party, the insult to the bride, the despair of the +kidnapped bridegroom; he lashed the whole gang of conspirators concerned +in the crime, regretted that they could only make one of all these +villains smart, but hinted that Richard and Thomas Hardie were in one +boat, and that heavy damages inflicted on Thomas would find the darker +culprit out. He rapped out Mr. Cowper's lines on liberty, and they were +new to the jury, though probably not to you; he warned the jury that all +our liberties depended on them. “In vain,” said he, “have we beheaded +one tyrant, and banished another, to secure those liberties, if men are +to be allowed to send away their own flesh and blood into the worst of +all prisons for life and not smart for it, in those lamentably few cases +in which the law finds them out and lays hold of them.” But it would +task my abilities to the utmost, and occupy more time than is left me, +to do anything like justice to the fluent fiery eloquence of Colt, Q. +C., when he got a great chance like this. _Tonat, fulgurat, et rapidis +eloquentiae fluctibus cuncia proruit et proturbat._ Bursts of applause, +that neither crier nor judge could suppress, bore witness to the deep +indignation Britons feel when their hard-earned liberties are tampered +with by power or fraud, in defiance of law; and, when he sat down, the +jury were ready to fly out at him with L. 5000 in hand. + +Then rose the passionless voice of “justice according to law.” I wish I +could give the very words. The following is the effect as _I_ understood +it. Lawyers, forgive my deficiencies. + +“This is an important, but not a difficult case. The plaintiff sues the +defendant under _the law of England_ for falsely imprisoning him in +a madhouse. The imprisonment is admitted, and the sufferings of the +plaintiff not disputed. The question is, whether he was insane at the +time of the act? Now, I must tell you, that in a case of this kind, it +lies upon the defendant to prove the plaintiff's insanity, rather than +on the plaintiff to prove his own sanity. Has the defendant overcome +this difficulty? Illusion is the best proof of insanity; and a serious +endeavour was certainly made to fasten an illusion on the plaintiff +about a sum of L. 14,000. But the proof was weak, and went partly on an +assumption that all error is hallucination; this is illusory, and would, +if acted on, set one half the kingdom imprisoning the other half; and +after all, they did not demonstrate that the plaintiff was _in error._ +They advanced no _undeniable proof_ that Mr. Richard Hardie has not +embezzled this L. 14,000. I don't say it was proved on the other hand +that he did embezzle that sum. Richard Hardie sueing Alfred Hardie for +libel on this evidence might possibly obtain a verdict; for then the +burden of proof would lie on Alfred Hardie; but here it lies on those +who say he is insane. The fact appears to be that the plaintiff imbibed +a reasonable suspicion of his own father's integrity; it was a suspicion +founded on evidence, imperfect, indeed, but of a sound character as far +as it went. There had been a letter from Captain Dodd to his family, +announcing his return with L. 14,000 upon him, and, while as yet unaware +of this letter, the plaintiff heard David Dodd accuse Richard Hardie of +possessing improperly L. 14,000, the identical sum. At least, he swears +to this, and as Richard Hardie was not called to contradict him, you +are at liberty to suppose that Richard Hardie had some difficulty in +contradicting him on oath. Here, then, true or false, was a rational +suspicion, and every man has a right to a rational suspicion of his +neighbour, and even to utter it within due limits; and, if he overstep +those, the party slandered has his legal remedy; but if he omits his +legal remedy, and makes an attempt of doubtful legality not to confute, +but to stifle, the voice of reasonable suspicion, shrewd men will +suspect all the more. But then comes a distinct and respectable kind +of evidence for the defendant; he urges that the plaintiff was going to +sign away his property to his wife's relations. Now, this was proved, +and a draft of the deed put in and sworn to. This taken singly has +a very extraordinary look. Still, you must consider the plaintiff's +reasonable suspicion that money belonging to the Dodds had passed +irregularly to the Hardies, and then the wonder is diminished. Young and +noble minds have in every age done generous, self-denying, and delicate +acts. The older we get, the less likely we are to be incarcerated for a +crime of this character; but we are not to imprison youth and chivalry +merely because we have outgrown them. To go from particulars to +generals, the defendant, on whom the proof lies, has advanced hearsay +and conjecture, and not put their originators into the box. The +plaintiff, on whom the proof does not lie, has advanced abundant +evidence that he was sane at the time of his incarceration: this was +proved to demonstration by friends, strangers, and by himself.” Here the +judge analysed the testimony of several of the plaintiff's witnesses. + +“As to the parties themselves, it is curious how they impersonated, +so to speak, their respective lines of argument. The representative of +evidence and sound reasoning, though accused of insanity, was precise, +frank, rational and dignified in the witness-box; and I think you must +have noticed his good temper. The party, who relied on hearsay and +conjecture, was as feeble as they are; he was almost imbecile, as you +observed; and, looking at both parties, it really seems monstrous that +the plaintiff should be the one confined as a lunatic, and the defendant +allowed to run wild and lock up his intellectual superiors. If he means +to lock them _all_ up, even you and I are hardly safe. (Laughter.) The +only serious question, I apprehend, is on what basis the damages ought +to be assessed. The plaintiffs counsel has made a powerful appeal to +your passions, and calls for vengeance. Now I must tell you, you have no +right to make yourselves ministers of vengeance, nor even to punish the +defendant, in a suit of the kind: still less ought you to strike +the defendant harder than you otherwise would--in the vague hope of +punishing indirectly the true mover of the defendant and the other +puppets. I must warn you against that suggestion of the learned +counsel's. If the plaintiff wants vengeance, the criminal law offers it. +He comes here, not for vengeance, but for compensation, and restoration +to that society which he is every way fitted to adorn. More than +this--and all our sympathies--it is not for us to give him. But then the +defendant's counsel went too far the other way. His client, he says, +is next door to an idiot, and so, forsooth, his purse must be spared +entirely. This is all very well if it could be done without ignoring +the plaintiff and his just claim to compensation. Why, if the defendant, +instead of being weak-minded, were an idiot or a lunatic, it would +protect him from punishment as a felon, but not from damages in a suit. +A sane man is not to be falsely imprisoned by a lunatic without full +compensation from the lunatic or his estate: _a fortiori,_ he is not +to be so imprisoned by a mere fool without just compensation. Supposing +your verdict, then, to be for the plaintiff, I think vindictive damages +would be unfair, on this feeble defendant, who has acted recklessly, +but under an error, and without malice, or bad faith. On the other hand, +nominal or even unsubstantial damages would be unjust to the plaintiff; +and perhaps leave in some minds a doubt that I think you do not +yourselves entertain, as to the plaintiff's perfect sanity during the +whole period of his life.” + +As soon as his lordship had ended, the foreman of the jury said their +minds were quite made up long ago. + +“Si-lence in the court.” + +“We find for the plaintiff, with damages three thousand pounds.” + +The verdict was received with some surprise by the judge, and all the +lawyers except Mr. Colt, and by the people with acclamation; in the +midst of which Mr. Colt announced that the plaintiff had just gained his +first class at Oxford. “I wish him joy,” said the judge. + + + + +CHAPTER LIV + +THE verdict was a thunder-clap to Richard Hardie: he had promised Thomas +to bear him blameless. The Old Turks, into which he had bought at 72, +were down to 71, and that implied a loss of five thousand pounds. On +the top of all this came Mr. Compton's letter neatly copied by Colls: +Richard Hardie was doubly and trebly ruined. + +Then in his despair and hate he determined to baffle them all, ay, and +sting the hearts of some of them once more. + +He would give Peggy his last shilling; write a line to Alfred, another +to Julia, assuring them he had no money, and they had killed him. And +with that leave them both the solemn curse of a dying father, and then +kill himself. + +Not to be interrupted in his plan, he temporised with Mr. Compton; wrote +that, if the Receipt was really signed by his agent, of course the loss +must fall on him; it was a large sum, but he would sell out and do his +best, in ten days from date. With this he went and bought a pistol, and +at several chemist's shops a little essential oil of almonds: his plan +was to take the poison, and, if it killed without pain, well and good; +but if it tortured him, then he would blow his brains out at once. + +He soon arranged his worldly affairs, and next day gave Peggy his L. +500, and told her she had better keep it for fear he should be arrested. +He sent her on an errand to the other part of the town: then with +his poison and the pistol before him on the table, wrote a brief but +emphatic curse for his son and Julia; and a line to Peggy to thank her +for her fidelity to one so much older than herself, and to advise her to +take a tobacconist's shop with his money. When he had done all this, he +poured out the fragrant poison and tasted it. + +Ere he could drink it, one of those quidnunes, who are always +interrupting a gentleman when he has important business on hand, came +running in with all manner of small intelligence. Mr. Hardie put down +the glass, and gave him short, sullen answers, in hopes he would then go +away and let him proceed to business. And at last his visitor did +rise and go. Mr. Hardie sat down with a sigh of relief to his fragrant +beverage. + +Doesn't the door open, and this bore poke in his head: “Oh I forgot to +tell you; the Old Turks are going up today, like a shot.” And with this +he slammed the door again, and was off. + +At this the cup began to tremble in the resolute wretch's hand. The Old +Turks going up! He poured the poison back into the phial, and put it and +the pistol and all the letters carefully into his pocket, and took a cab +to the City. + +The report was true; there was an extraordinary movement in the Old +Turks. The Sultan was about to pay a portion of this loan, being at +six per cent.; this had transpired, and at four o'clock the Turks were +quoted at 73. Mr. Hardie returned a gainer of L. 5000 instead of a +loser. He locked up the means of death for the present. + +And now an ordinary man would have sold out, and got clear of the fatal +trap: but this was not an ordinary man: he would not sell a share +that day. In the afternoon they rose to 74. He came home, unloaded his +pistol, and made himself some brandy-and-water, and with a grim smile, +flavoured it with a few drops of the poison--that was a delicious +tumbler. The Turks went up, up, up, to 82. Then he sold out, and cleared +L. 49,000, and all in about ten days. + +With this revived the habits of his youth; no more cheating: nothing +could excuse that but the dread of poverty. He went to his appointment +with Mr. Compton; asked to see the Receipt; said “Yes; that was his +form, and Skinner's handwriting; he had never personally received one +farthing of the money; Skinner had clearly embezzled it: but that did +not matter; of course, Captain Dodd must not lose his money. Send your +bill of costs in Hardie _v._ Hardie to me, Mr. Compton,” said he, “they +shall not be taxed: you have lost enough by me already.” + +There was an air of dignity and good faith about the man that half +imposed even on Compton. And when Mr. Hardie drew out the notes and +said, “I should be grateful if you would forgive me the interest; but +for a great piece of good fortune on the Stock Exchange, I could never +have paid the whole principal,” he said warmly, “the interest should +never be demanded through him.” + +He called in Colls, delivered up the Receipt, and received the L. +14,010, 12s. 6d. from Mr. Hardie. + + +O immortal Cash! You, like your great inventor, have then a kind of +spirit as well as a body; and on this, not on your grosser part, depends +your personal identity. So long as that survives, your body may be +recalled to its lawful owner from Heaven knows where. + +Mr. Compton rushed to Pembroke Street, and put this hard, hard Cash in +David Dodd's hands once more. + + +Love and Constancy had triumphed: and Julia and Alfred were to be +married and go down to Albion Villa to prepare it for the whole party: +tenants no more: Alfred had bought it. The Commissioners of Lunacy had +protected his L. 20,000 zealously from the first: and his trustees had +now paid the money over. + +Alfred consulted by Mrs. Dodd, whose pet of pets he now was, as to the +guests to be asked to the wedding breakfast, suggested “None but the +tried friends of our adversity.” + +“What an excellent idea!” said Mrs. Dodd naively. + +Dr. Sampson being duly invited asked if he should bring his Emulsion. + +This proposal puzzled all but Mrs. Dodd. She was found laughing heartily +in a corner without any sound of laughter. Being detected and pointed +out by Julia, she said, with a little crow, “He means his wife. Yes, +certainly, bring your Emulcent”--pretending he had used that more +elegant word--“and then they will all see how well you can behave.” + +Accordingly he brought a lady, who was absurdly pretty to be the mother +of several grown young ladies and gentlemen, and two shades more quiet +and placid than Mrs. Dodd. She quietly had her chair placed by Dr. +Sampson's, and, whenever he got racy, she put a hand gently on his +shoulder, and by some mesmeric effect it moderated him as Neptune did +the waves in the AEneid. She was such a mistress of this mesmeric art, +that she carried on a perfect conversation with her other neighbour, +yet modulated her lion lord with a touch of that composing hand, in a +parenthetical manner, and even while looking another way. + +This hand, soft as down, yet irresistible, suppressed the great art of +healing, vital chronometry, the wrongs of inventors, the collusions of +medicine, the Mad Ox, and all but drawing-room topics, at the very first +symptom, and only just allowed the doctor to be the life and soul of the +party. + +Julia and Mrs. Dodd had a good cry at parting. Of course Alfred consoled +them: reminded them it was only for a week, and carried off his lovely +prize, who in the carriage soon dried her eyes upon his shoulder. + +Then she applied to her new lord and master for information. “They _say_ +that you and me are one, now,” said she interrogatively. + +He told her triumphantly it was so. + +“At that rate you are Julius and I am Elfrida,” said she. + +“That is a bargain,” said he, and sealed it on the sweet lips that were +murmuring Heaven so near him. + +In this sore-tried and now happy pair the ardour of possession lasted +long, and was succeeded by the sober but full felicity of conjugal love +and high esteem combined. They were so young and elastic, that past +sorrows seemed but to give one zest more to the great draught of +happiness they now drank day by day. They all lived together at Albion +Villa, thanks to Alfred. He was by nature combative, and his warlike +soul was roused at the current theory that you cannot be happy under the +same roof with your wife's mother. “That is cant,” said he to Mrs. Dodd; +“let us, you and I, trample on it hand in hand.” + +“My child,” said poor Mrs. Dodd sorrowfully, “I am a poor hand at +trampling; and everybody says a mother-in-law in the house bores a young +gentleman sadly.” + +“If a young gentleman can't live happy with you, mamma,” said he, +kissing her, “he is a little snob, that is all, and not fit to live at +all. _Delenda est Cantilena!_ That means 'Down with Cant!'” + +They did live together: and behold eleven French plays, with their +thirty-three English adaptations, confuted to the end of time. + +Creatures so high-bred as Mrs. Dodd never fidget one. There is a repose +about them; they are balm to all those they love, and blister to none. +Item, no stranger could tell by Mrs. Dodd's manner whether Edward or +Alfred was her own son. + +Oh, you happy little villa! you were as like Paradise as any mortal +dwelling can be. A day came, however, when your walls could no longer +hold all the happy inmates. Julia presented Alfred with a lovely boy; +enter nurses, and the villa showed symptoms of bursting. Two months +more, and Alfred and his wife and boy overflowed into the next villa. +It was but twenty yards off; and there was a double reason for the +migration. As often happens after a long separation Heaven bestowed +on Captain and Mrs. Dodd another infant to play about their knees at +present, and help them grow younger instead of older: for tender parents +begin life again with their children. + +The boys were nearly of a size, though the nephew was a month or two +older than his uncle, a relationship that was early impressed on their +young minds, and caused those who heard their prattle many a hearty +laugh. + +“Mrs. Dodd,” said a lady, “I couldn't tell by your manner which is yours +and which is your daughter's.” + +“Why they are both mine,” said Mrs. Dodd piteously, and opening her eyes +with gentle astonishment. + +As years rolled on Dr. Sampson made many converts at home and abroad. +The foreign ones acknowledged their obligations. The leading London +physicians managed more skilfully; they came into his ideas, and bit +by bit reversed their whole practice, and, twenty years after, Sampson +began to strengthen the invalid at once, instead of first prostrating +him, and so causing either long sickness or sudden death. But, with all +this, they disowned their forerunner, and still called him a quack while +adopting his quackery. This dishonesty led them into difficulties. +To hide that their whole practice in medicine was reversed on _better +information,_ they went from shuffle to shuffle, till at last they +reached this climax of fatuity and egotism--THE TYPE OF DISEASE IS +CHANGED. + + + Natura mutatur, non nos mutamur. + +O, mutable Nature and immutable doctors! + +O, unstable Omniscience, and infallible Nescience! + +The former may err; the latter never--in its own opinion. + +At this rate, draining the weak of their life blood was the right thing +in Cervantes' day: and when he observed that it killed men like sheep, +and said so under the head of Sangrado, he was confounding his own +age with an age to come three hundred years later, in which coming age +depletion was _going_ to be wrong. + +Moliere--in lashing the whole scholastic system of lancet, purge, and +blister as one of slaughter--committed the same error: mistook his +century for one to come. + +And Sampson, thirty years ago, sang the same tune, and mistook his +inflammatory generation for the cool generation as yet unborn. In short, +it is the characteristic of a certain blunder called genius to see +things too far in advance. The surest way to avoid this is not to see +them at all; but go blindly by the cant of the hour. _Race moutonuiere +va!_ + +Sampson was indignant at finding that these gentry, after denouncing him +for years as a quack, were pilfering his system, yet still reviling him. +He went in a towering passion, and hashed them by tongue and pen: told +them they were his subtractors now as well as detractors, asked them +how it happened that in countries where there is no Sampson the type +of disease remains unchanged, depletion is the practice, and death the +result, as it was in every age? + +No man, however stout, can help being deeply wounded when he sees his +ideas stolen, yet their author and publisher disowned. Many men's hearts +have been broken by this: but I doubt whether they were really great +men. + +Don't tell me Lilliput ever really kills Brobdignag. Except, of course, +when Brobdignag takes medical advice of Lilliput. + +Dr. Sampson had three shields against subtraction, detraction, and all +the wrongs inventors endure: to wit, a choleric temper, a keen sense of +humour, and a good wife. He storms and rages at his detracting pupils; +but ends with roars of laughter at their impudence. I am told he still +hopes to meet with justice some day, and to give justice a chance, he +goes to bed at ten, for, says he-- + + “Jinny us, jinny us, + Take care of your carcass,” + +and explains that no genius ever lived to ninety without being +appreciated. + +“If Chatterton and Keats had attended to this, they would have been all +right. If James Watt had died at fifty he would have been all wrong; for +at fifty he was a failure! so was the painter Etty, the English Tishin.” + And then he accumulates examples. + +His last distich bearing on Hard Cash is worth recording. “Miss Julee,” + said he, “y' are goen to maerry int' a strange family-- + + Where th' ijjit puts the jinnyus + In-til a madhus,” + +which, like most of the droll things this man said, was true: for Soft +Tommy and Alfred were the two intellectual extremes of the whole tribe +of Hardies. + +Mrs. Archbold, disappointed both in love and revenge, posed her +understanding, and soothed her mind, with Frank Beverley and opium. This +soon made the former deep in love with her, and his intellect grew by +contact with hers. But one day news came from Australia that her husband +was dead. Now, perhaps I shall surprise the reader, if I tell him that +this Edith Archbold began her wedded life a good, confiding, loving, +faithful woman. Yet so it was: the unutterable blackguard she had +married, he it was who laboured to spoil her character, and succeeded at +last, and drove her, unwilling at first, to other men. The news of +his death was like a shower-bath; it roused her. She took counsel with +herself, and hope revived in her strong head and miserable heart. She +told Frank, and watched him like a hawk. He instantly fell on his knees, +and implored her to marry him directly. She gave him her hand and turned +away, and shed the most womanly tear that had blessed her for years. “I +am not mad, you know,” said poor Frank; “I am only a bit of a muff.” To +make a long story short, she exerted all her intelligence, and with her +help Frank took measures towards superseding his Commission of Lunacy. +Now, in such a case, the Lord Chancellor always examines the patient in +person. What was the consequence? Instead of the vicarious old Wolf, +who had been devouring him at third and fourth hand, Frank had two +interviews with the Chancellor himself: a learned, grave, upright +gentleman, who questioned him kindly and shrewdly and finding him to be +a young man of small intellectual grasp, but not the least idiotic or +mad, superseded his commission in defiance of his greedy kinsfolk, and +handed him his property. He married Edith Archbold, and she made him +as happy as the day was long. For the first year or two she treated +his adoration with good-natured contempt; but, as years rolled on, she +became more loving, and he more knowing! They are now a happy pair, and +all between her first honest love, and this her last, seems to her a +dream. + +So you see a female rake can be ameliorated by a loving husband, as well +as a male rake by a loving wife. + +It sounds absurd, and will offend my female readers and their +unchristian prejudices, but that black-browed jade is like to be one +of the best wives and mothers in England. But then, mind you, she had +always--Brains. + + +I do not exactly know why Horace puts together those two epithets, +“just” and “tenacious of purpose.” Perhaps he had observed they go +together. To be honest, I am not clear whether this is so on the grand +scale. But certainly the two features did meet remarkably in one of my +characters--Alfred Hardie. The day the bank broke, he had said he would +pay the creditors. He now set to work to do it by degrees. He got the +names and addresses, lived on half his income, and paid half away to +those creditors: he even asked Julia to try and find Maxley out, and do +something for him. “But don't let me see him,” said he, trembling, +“for I could not answer for myself.” Maxley was known to be cranky, +but harmless, and wandering about the country. Julia wrote to Mr. Green +about him: + +Alfred's was an uphill game; but fortune favours the obstinate as well +as the bold. One day, about four years after his marriage with Julia, +being in London, he found a stately figure at the corner of a street, +holding out his hand for alms, too dignified to ask it except by that +mute and touching gesture. + +It was his father. + +Then, as truly noble natures must forgive the fallen, Alfred was +touched to the heart, and thought of the days of his childhood, before +temptation came. “Father,” said he, “have you come to this?” + +“Yes, Alfred,” said Richard composedly: “I undertook too many +speculations, especially in land and houses; they seemed profitable at +first, too; but now I am entirely hampered: if you would but relieve +me of them, and give me a guinea a week to live on, I would forgive all +your disobedient conduct.” + +Alfred bit his lip, had a wrestle with the old Adam; and said gently, +“Come home with me, sir.” + +He took him to Barkington, bag and baggage; and his good Christian wife +received the old man with delight; she had prayed day and night for +this reconciliation. Finding his son so warm, and being himself as cool, +Richard Hardie entrapped Alfred into an agreement, to board and lodge +him, and pay him a guinea every Saturday at noon; in return for this +Alfred was to manage Richard's property, and pocket the profits, if any. +Alfred assented: the old man chuckled at his son's simplicity, and made +him sign a formal agreement to that effect. + +This done he used so sit brooding and miserable nearly all the week till +guinea time came; and then brightened up a bit. One day Alfred sent for +an accountant to look after his father's papers, and see if matters were +really desperate. + +The accountant was not long at work, and told Alfred the accounts +were perfectly clear, and kept in the most, admirable order. “The cash +balance is L. 60,000,” said he, “and many of the rents are due. It is an +agent you want, not an accountant.” + +“What are you talking about? A balance of L. 60,000?” Alfred was +stupefied. + +The accountant, however, soon convinced him by the figures it was so. + +Alfred went with the good news to his father. + +His father went into a passion. “That is one side of the account, ye +fool,” said he; “think of the rates, the taxes, the outgoings. You want +to go from your bargain, and turn me on the world; but I have got you in +black and white, tight, tight.” + +Then Alfred saw the truth, and wondered at his past obtuseness. + +His father was a monomaniac. + +He consulted Sampson, and Sampson told him to increase the old man's +comforts on the sly, and pay him his guinea a week. “It's all you can do +for him.” + +Then Alfred employed an agent, and received a large income from +his father's land and houses, and another from his consols. The old +gentleman had purchased westward of Hyde Park Square, and had bought +with excellent judgment till his mind gave way. Alfred never spent a +farthing of it on himself: but he took some for his father's creditors. +“All justice is good,” said he, “even wild justice.” Some of these +unhappy creditors he found in the workhouse; the Misses Lunley that +survived were there, alas! He paid them their four thousand pounds, and +restored them to society. The name of Hardie began to rise again from +the dust. + +Now, while Richard Hardie sat brooding and miserable, expecting utter +ruin, and only brightening up on guinea day, Julia had a protege with +equally false views but more cheerful ones. It was an old man with a +silver beard, and a machine with which he stamped leather into round +pieces of silver, in his opinion. Nothing could have shaken that notion +out of his mind. Julia confirmed it. She let it be known that she would +always cash five pieces of round leather from Mr. Matthews' mint per +day, and ten on Friday, when working men are poorest. + +She contrived this with diabolical, no, angelical cunning, to save the +old man from ridicule, and to do his soul much good. All souls were +dear to her. What was the consequence? He went about with his mint, and +relieved poor people, and gratified his mania at the same time. His +face began to beam with benevolence and innocent self-satisfaction. On +Richard Hardie's all was cordage: and deep gloom sat on his ever-knitted +brow. + +Of these two men which was the rich man; he who had nothing, yet thought +he possessed enough for himself and his neighbours: or he who rolled in +wealth, but writhed under imaginary poverty? + +One reflection more. Do not look to see Providence dash the cup of +prosperity from every dishonest hand; or you will often be disappointed. +Yet this, if you look closer, you shall often see: such a man holds +the glittering cup tight, and nectar to the brim; but into that cup a +shadowy hand squeezes some subtle ingredient, which turns that nectar to +wormwood. + +Richard Hardie died, his end being hastened by fear of poverty coming +like an armed man, and his guinea a week going. Matthews met with an +accident, and, being impervious to pain, but subject to death, was laid +beside his poor mistress in St. Anne's churchyard. Julia buried him, and +had a headstone put to his grave; and, when this was done, she took her +husband to see it. On that stone was fresh carved the true name of the +deceased, James Maxley. + +“I have done what you told me,” said Julia, her sweet voice trembling +a little. Even she did not quite know how her husband would take it, or +bear it. + +“I _know it,_” said Alfred softly. “I saw who your Matthews was; but I +could not speak of him, even to you.” He looked at the grave in silence. + +Julia's arms were round his neck in a moment, and her wet cheek +consoling his. + +“You have done right, my good Christian wife. I wish I was like you. My +poor little Jenny!” + +Richard Hardie's papers were found in perfect order; and among them an +old will leaving L. 14,000 to Edward Dodd. + +On this being announced to Edward, he suggested that it was a fraud: +Alfred had been at him for a long time with offers of money, and failing +there, and being a fine impetuous fellow, had lost his temper and forged +a will, in his, Edward's, favour. + +This scandalous defence broke down. The document was indisputable, and +the magic sum was forced down Master Edward's throat, nilly willy. Thus +rose the Hard Cash a second time from the grave. + +All this enabled the tenacious Alfred to carry out a deeply-cherished +design. Hardie's late bank had been made into a shop; but it belonged to +Mrs. Dodd. He bought it of her, and set up the bank again, with +Edward as managing partner. This just suited Edward, who sadly wanted +employment. Hardie & Co. rose again, and soon wiped out the late +disgraceful episode, and looked on to the past centuries of honour and +good credit. No creditor of Richard Hardie was left unpaid. Alfred went +in for politics; stood for Barkington, was defeated by seventeen: took +it as a matter of course; told his friends he had never succeeded in +anything at first; nor been beaten in the end; stood again, and became +M. P. for Barkington, whence to dislodge him I pity any one who tries. + +For a long time Mrs. Dodd was nervous, and used to wake with a start at +night, and put out her hand to make sure David was not lost again. But +this wore off. + +For years the anniversary of that fatal day, when he was brought home +on the stretcher, came back to them all as a day of gloom. But that wore +off. + +Sometimes the happiness of her family seemed incredible to her, +remembering what they had all gone through. At first, their troubles +were too terrible and recent to be discussed. But even that wore off, +and they could talk of it all; and things bitter at the time became +pleasant to remember. + +One midsummer day they had all dined together rather early at Albion +Villa, and sat on the lawn, with Mrs. Dodd's boy and Julia's boy and +girl playing about these ladies' knees. Now after a little silence, Mrs. +Dodd, who had been thinking quietly of many things, spoke to them all, +and said: “If my children and I had not been bosom-friends, we never +should have survived that terrible time we have passed through, my +dears. Make friends of your children, my child.” + +“Ah, that I will!” said Julia; and caught up the nearest brat and kissed +it impetuously: for Wifehood and Maternity had not un-Julia'd her. + +“It wasn't only our being friends, mamma,” said Edward; “it was our +sticking together so.” + +In looking back on the story now ended, I incline to Mrs. Dodd's +conclusion. Almost my first word was that she and her children were +bosom-friends; and my last is to congratulate them that it was so. Think +of their various trials and temptations, and imagine what would have +become of them if family love and unity had not abounded. Their little +house was built on the sure foundation of true family affection: and so +the winds of adversity descended, and the floods came, and burst upon +that house, but could not prevail against it; it was founded on a rock. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Hard Cash, by Charles Reade + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARD CASH *** + +***** This file should be named 3067-0.txt or 3067-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/6/3067/ + +Produced by James Rusk + +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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