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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Brooke's Daughter, by Adeline Sergeant
+
+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: Brooke's Daughter
+       A Novel
+
+Author: Adeline Sergeant
+
+Release Date: January 28, 2010 [EBook #31106]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROOKE'S DAUGHTER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Linda Hamilton and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
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+=Hedri; or, Blind Justice.= By HELEN MATHERS.
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+
+The portrayal not the exaggeration of a noble character, from whom the
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+=A Smuggler's Secret.= By FRANK BARRETT.
+
+An exciting story of the Cornish Coast, full of adventure, well put
+together and of a pure tone.
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+PRICE 30 cents.
+
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+=The Great Mill Street Mystery.= By ADELINE SERGEANT.
+
+The author is as usual true to life and true to her own noble instincts.
+Added to a feminine perception, Miss Sergeant has a dispassionateness
+and a sense of humor quite rare in her sex.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
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+=The Moment After.= By ROBERT BUCHANAN.
+
+A thrilling story, giving the experience in the hereafter of a man who
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+PRICE 30 cents.
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+
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+
+
+JOHN LOVELL & SON, PUBLISHERS, MONTREAL.
+
+
+
+
+  BROOKE'S DAUGHTER.
+
+  *A NOVEL.*
+
+  BY
+
+  ADELINE SERGEANT,
+  _Author of "A True Friend" etc., etc._
+
+
+  MONTREAL:
+  JOHN LOVELL & SON,
+  23 ST. NICHOLAS STREET.
+
+
+
+
+Entered according to Act of Parliament in the year 1891, by John Lovell
+& Son, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture and Statistics at
+Ottawa.
+
+
+
+
+*SECOND EDITION.*
+
+"A DAUGHTER OF ST. PETER'S"
+
+  BY JANET C. CONGER.
+  (MRS. WM. COX ALLEN.)
+
+  *In Paper Cover, 30 Cents.
+    "  Cloth    "   50   "*
+
+Lovell's Canadian Authors' Series, No. 60.
+
+
+The authoress is a Canadian, and her story is remarkably well
+told.--_Advertiser_, London.
+
+In this work a new aspirant for literary honors in the field of fiction
+makes her first appearance before the public. The story which she tells
+is neither lengthy nor involved. It is a simple, prettily told story of
+love at first sight, with a happy ending, and little to divert the mind
+of the reader from the hero and heroine. Mrs. Conger's literary style is
+pleasing, and her production evidences a well cultured mind and a
+tolerable appreciation of character. Her book will be found very
+pleasant reading.--"_Intelligencer_," Belleville.
+
+The plot is ingeniously constructed, and its working out furnishes the
+opportunity for some dramatic situations. The heroine, of whose early
+life the title gives us a hint, is a creature all grace and tenderness,
+a true offspring of the sunny south. The hero is an American, a man of
+wealth, and an artist _in posse_. The other _dramatis person�_, who play
+their parts around these central figures, are mostly Italians or
+Americans. The great question to be solved is: Who is Merlina? In
+supplying the solution, the author takes occasion to introduce us to an
+obscure but interesting class of people. The denouement of "A Daughter
+of St. Peter's" is somewhat startling, but we must not impair the
+reader's pleasure by anticipation. We see from the advanced sheets that
+it is dedicated to the Canadian public, to whom we cordially commend
+it.--_The Gazette_, Montreal.
+
+For a first effort, which the authoress in her preface modestly says the
+novel is, "A Daughter of St. Peter's" must be pronounced a very
+promising achievement. The plot is well constructed and the story
+entertaining and well told. The style is light and agreeable, and with a
+little more experience and facility in novel-writing we may expect Mrs.
+Conger, if she essays a second trial, to produce a book that will
+surpass the decided merits of "A Daughter of St. Peter's."--_Free
+Press_, London.
+
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+
+
+BROOKE'S DAUGHTER.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE END OF HER CHILDHOOD.
+
+
+The Convent of the Annonciades, situated in a secluded spot on the
+outskirts of Paris, has long been well reputed as an educational
+establishment for young ladies of good family. The sisters themselves
+are women of refinement and cultivation, and the antecedents of every
+pupil received by them are most carefully inquired into: so carefully,
+indeed, that admission to the Convent School is looked on almost as a
+certificate of noble birth and unimpeachable orthodoxy. The Ladies of
+the Annonciades have indeed lately relaxed their rules, so far as to
+receive as parlor-boarders some very rich American girls and the
+children of a Protestant English marquis; but wealth in the first
+instance, and birth in the second, counterbalance the objections that
+might be raised to their origin or their faith. These exceptions to the
+rule are, however, few and far between; and, in spite of the levelling
+tendencies of our democratic days, Annonciades Convent is still one of
+the most exclusive and aristocratic establishments of the kind in
+Europe.
+
+Although we know too well that small-minded jealousy, strife, and
+bickering must exist in a community of women cut off so entirely from
+the outer world as in this Convent of the Annonciades, it must be
+confessed that the very name and air of the place possess a certain
+romantic charm. The house is old, turreted like a chateau, overgrown
+with clematis and passion-flower. The grounds, enclosed by high mossy
+walls, are of great extent, and beautifully laid out. The long chestnut
+avenue, the sparkling fountains, the trim flower-beds, are the delight
+of the sisters' hearts. The green beauty of the garden, and the grey
+stones of the ancient building, form a charming background for the
+white-veiled women who glide with noiseless footsteps along the
+cloisters or the avenue: a background more becoming to them even than to
+the bevy of girls in their everyday grey frocks, or their Sunday garb of
+white and blue. For the sisters' quaint and graceful dress harmonizes
+with the antique surroundings of building and ornament as anything
+younger and more modern fails to do.
+
+These women--shut off from the world, and knowing little of its joys or
+sorrows--have a strangely tranquil air. With some the tranquility verges
+on childishness. One feels that they have not conquered the world, they
+have but escaped it; and, as one pities the soldier who flies the
+battle, so one mourns for the want of courage which has condemned these
+women to an inglorious peace. But here and there another kind of face is
+to be seen. Here and there we come across a countenance bearing the
+tragic impress of toil and grief and passion; and we feel it possible
+that in this haven alone perhaps could a nature which had striven and
+suffered so greatly find in the end a lasting place. But such faces are
+fortunately few and far between.
+
+From the wide low window of the great _salle d'�tude_ a flight of steps
+with carved stone balustrades led into the garden. The balustrades were
+half-covered with clustering white roses and purple clematis on the day
+of which I write; and a breath of perfume, almost overpowering in its
+sweetness, was wafted every now and then from the beds of mignonette and
+lilies on either side. The brilliant sunshine of an early September day
+was not yet touched with the melancholy of autumn: the leaves of the
+Virginia creeper had not yet changed to scarlet, nor had the chestnuts
+yellowed as if winter was creeping on apace. Everything was still, warm
+and bright.
+
+The stillness was partly accounted for by the fact that most of the
+pupils had gone home for their summer holidays. The _salle d'�tude_ was
+empty and a little desolate: no hum of busy voices came from its open
+window to the garden; and even the tranquil sisters seemed to miss the
+sound, and to look wistfully at the bare desks and unused benches of
+their schoolroom. For they loved their pupils and their work; both
+came, perhaps, as a welcome break in the monotony of their barren lives;
+and they were sorry when the day came for their scholars to leave them
+for a time. Still more did they grieve when the inevitable day of a
+final departure arrived. They knew--some by hearsay, some by experience,
+and some by instinct alone--that the going away from school into the
+world was the beginning of a new life, full, very often, of danger and
+temptation, in which the good sisters and their teaching were likely to
+be forgotten, and it was a sorrow to them to be henceforth dissociated
+from the thoughts and lives of those who had often been under their
+guardianship and tuition for many years. Such a parting--probably a
+final one--was now imminent, and not a few of the sisters were troubled
+by the prospect, although it was against their rule to let any sign of
+such grief appear.
+
+It was not the hour of recreation, but the ordinary routine of the
+establishment was for a little while suspended, partly because it was
+holiday-time, and partly because an unusual event was coming to pass.
+One of the parlor boarders, who had been with the sisters since her
+childhood, first as a boarder and then as a guest, was about to leave
+them. She was to be fetched away by her mother and her mother's father,
+who was an English milord, of fabulous wealth and distinction, and,
+although at present a heretic, exceedingly "well-disposed" towards the
+Catholic church. It was not often that a gentleman set foot within the
+precincts of the convent; and although he would not be allowed to
+penetrate farther than the parlor, the very fact of his presence sent a
+thrill of excitement through the house. An English milord, a heretic,
+the grandfather of "cette ch�re Lisa," whom they were to lose so soon!
+No wonder the most placid of the nuns, the most stolid of the
+lay-sisters, tingled with excitement to the finger-tips!
+
+The girl whose departure from the convent school was thus regretted was
+known amongst her English friends as Lesley Brooke. French lips,
+unaccustomed to a name like Lesley, had changed it into Lisa; but Lesley
+loved her own name, which was a heritage in her family, and had been
+handed down to her from her grandmother. She was always glad to hear it
+from friendly English lips. She was nineteen now, and had stayed with
+the sisters an unusually long time without exactly knowing why. Family
+circumstances, she was told, had hitherto prevented her mother from
+taking her to an English home. But now the current of her life was to be
+changed. She was to leave Paris: she was, she believed, even to leave
+France. Her mother had written that she was to go to London, and that
+she (Lady Alice Brooke) would come for her, in company with Lesley's
+grandfather, Lord Courtleroy, with whom she had been traveling abroad
+for some time past.
+
+Lesley was overjoyed by the news. She had lately come to suspect
+something strange, something abnormal, in her own position. She had
+remained at school when other girls went to their homes: she never had
+been able to answer questions respecting her relations and their
+belongings. Her mother, indeed, she knew; for she sometimes spent a
+portion of the holidays with Lady Alice at a quiet watering-place in
+France or Italy. And her mother was all that could be desired. Gentle,
+refined, beautiful, with a slight shade of melancholy which only made
+her delicate face more attractive--at least in Lesley's eyes--Lady Alice
+Brooke gained love and admiration whithersoever she went. But she never
+spoke of her husband. Lesley had gradually learned that she must not
+mention his name. In her younger days she had been wont to ask questions
+about her unknown father. Was he dead?--was he in another country?--why
+had she never seen him? She soon found that these questions were gently
+but decidedly checked. Her mother did not decline in so many words to
+answer them, but she set them aside. Only once, when Lesley was fifteen,
+and made some timid, wistful reference to the father whom she had never
+known, did Lady Alice make her a formal answer.
+
+"I will tell you all about your father when you are old enough to hear,"
+she said. "Until then, Lesley, I had rather that you did not talk of
+him."
+
+Lesley shrank into herself abashed, and never mentioned his name again.
+
+All the same, as she grew older, her fancy played about this unknown
+father, as the fancy of young girls always plays about a mystery. Had he
+committed some crime? Had he disgraced himself and his family that his
+name might not be breathed in Lady Alice's ear? But she could not
+believe that her good, beautiful mother would ever have loved and
+married a wicked man!--such was the phrase that she, in her girlish
+innocence and ignorance, used to herself. As to scandal and
+tittle-tattle, none of it reached the seclusion of her convent-home, or
+was allowed to sully her fair mind. And it was impossible for her to
+connect the idea of folly, guilt, or shame with the pure, sweet face of
+her mother, or the stately pride and dignity of her mother's father, the
+Earl of Courtleroy. There was evidently a mystery; but she was sure of
+one thing, that it was a mystery without disgrace.
+
+And now, as she stood waiting on the stone steps, her face flushed a
+little, and her eyes filled at the thought that she would now, perhaps,
+be allowed to hear the story of her parents' lives. For she knew that
+she was going to leave the convent, and it had been vaguely hinted by
+Lady Alice in a recent letter that on leaving the convent Lesley must be
+prepared for a great surprise.
+
+Lesley looked over the silent, sweet-scented garden, and half-sighed,
+half-smiled, to think that she should leave it so soon, and perhaps for
+ever. But she was excited rather than sad, and when one of the sisters
+appeared at the door of the study, or _salle d'�tude_, Lesley turned
+towards her with a quick, eager gesture, which not all the training to
+which she had been subjected since her childhood would have availed to
+suppress.
+
+"Oh, sister, tell me, has she come?"
+
+The sister was a tall, spare woman, with a thin face and great dark
+eyes, with eyelids slightly reddened, as though by long weeping or
+sleeplessness. It was an austere face, but its severity softened into
+actual sweetness as she smiled at her pupil's eagerness.
+
+"Gently, my child: why so impetuous?" she said, taking the girl's hand
+in her own. "Yes, madame has arrived: she is in the parlor, speaking to
+the Reverend Mother; and in five minutes you are to go to her."
+
+"Not for five minutes?" said Lesley; and then, controlling herself, she
+added, penitently. "I know I am impatient, Sister Rose."
+
+"Yes, dear child: you are impatient: it is in your nature, in your
+blood," said the sister, looking at her with a sort of pity in her
+eyes--a pity which Lesley resented, without quite knowing why. "And you
+are going into a world where you will find many things sadly different
+from your expectations. If you remember the lessons that we have tried
+to read you here--lessons of patience, endurance, resignation to the
+will of others, and especially to the will of God--you will be happy in
+spite of sorrow and tribulation."
+
+The young girl trembled: it seemed as if the sister spoke with a
+purpose, as if she knew of some difficulty, some danger that lay before
+her. She had been trained to ask no questions, and therefore she kept
+silence. But her lips trembled, and her beautiful brown eyes filled with
+tears.
+
+"Come, my dear child," said Sister Rose, taking her by the hand, after a
+short pause, "I will take you to your mother. She will be ready for you
+now. May God protect you and guide you in your way through the world!"
+
+And Lesley lowered her head as if she had received a blessing. Sister
+Rose was a woman whom Lesley honored and revered, and her words,
+therefore, sank deep, and often recurred to the young girl's mind in
+days to come.
+
+They went in silence to the door of the parlor. Here Sister Rose
+relinquished her pupil's hand, tapped three times on one of the panels,
+and signed to Lesley to open the door. With a trembling hand Lesley
+obeyed the sign; and in another moment she was in her mother's arms.
+
+Lady Alice Brooke was a very attractive looking woman. She was tall,
+slight, and graceful, and although she must have been close upon forty,
+she certainly had not the appearance of a woman over four or five and
+thirty. Her complexion was untouched by time: her cheeks were smooth and
+fair, her blue eyes clear. Her pretty brown hair had perhaps lost a
+little of the golden tinge of its youth, but it was still soft and
+abundant. But the reason why people often turned to look at her did not
+lie in any measure of grace and beauty that she possessed, so much as in
+an indefinable air of distinction and refinement which seemed to pervade
+her whole being, and marked her off from the rest of the world as one
+made of finer clay than others.
+
+Many people resented this demeanor--which was quite unconscious on Lady
+Alice's part--and thought that it signified pride, haughtiness, coldness
+of heart; but in all this they were greatly, if not altogether,
+mistaken. Lady Alice was not of a cold nature, and she was never
+willingly haughty; but in some respects, she was what the world calls
+proud. She was proud of her ancient lineage; of the repute of her
+family, of the stainlessness of its name. And she had brought up Lesley,
+as far as she could, in the same old tradition.
+
+Lesley was like her mother, and unlike, too. She had her mother's tall,
+graceful figure; but there was much more vivacity in her face than there
+had ever been in Lady Alice's; much more warmth and life and color.
+There was more determination in the lines of her mouth and chin: her
+brow was broader and fuller, and her eyes were dark brown instead of
+blue. But the likeness was there, with a diversity of expression and of
+coloring.
+
+"I thought you were never coming," said Lesley at length, as she clung
+fondly to her mother. "I could hardly sleep last night for thinking how
+delightful it would be to go away with you!"
+
+Lady Alice gave a little start, and looked at the girl as if there had
+been some hidden meaning in her words.
+
+"Go away with me?" she repeated.
+
+"Yes, mother darling, and be with you always: to look after you and not
+let grandpapa tire you with long walks and long games of backgammon. I
+shall be his companion as well as yours, and I shall take care of you
+both. I have planned ever so many things that I mean to do--especially
+when we go to Scotland."
+
+"Lesley," said Lady Alice, faintly, "I am tired: let me sit down." And
+then, as the girl made her seat herself in the one arm-chair that the
+room contained, and hung over her with affectionate solicitude, she went
+on, with paling lips: "You never said these things in your letter,
+child! I did not know that you were so anxious to come away--with me."
+
+"Oh, mamma, dear, you surely knew it all the time?" said Lesley,
+thinking the comment a reproach. "You surely knew how I longed to be
+with you? But I would not _say_ much in my letters for fear of making
+you think I was unhappy; and I have always been very happy here with the
+dear sisters and the girls. But I thought you _understood_ me,
+mamma--understood by instinct, as it were," said Lesley, kneeling by her
+mother's side, and throwing an occasional shy glance into her mother's
+face.
+
+"I understand perfectly, dear, and I see your unselfish motive. It makes
+me all the more sorry to disappoint you as I am about to do."
+
+"Oh, mamma! Am I not to leave school, then?"
+
+"Yes, dear, you will leave school."
+
+"And--and--with you?"
+
+"You will come with me, certainly--until to-morrow, darling. But you
+leave _me_ to-morrow, too."
+
+The color began to fade from Lesley's cheeks, as it had already faded
+from Lady Alice's. The girl felt a great swelling in her throat, and a
+film seemed to dim the clearness of her sight. But Sister Rose's words
+came back to her mind with an inspiring thrill which restored her
+strength. "Patience, endurance, resignation!" Was this the occasion on
+which she was to show whether these virtues were hers or not? She would
+not fail in the hour of trial: she would be patient and endure!
+
+"If you will explain, mamma dear," she said, entreatingly, "I will try
+to do--as you would like."
+
+"My darling! My Lesley! What a help it is to me to see you so brave!"
+said her mother, putting her arms round the girl's shoulders, and
+resting her face on the bright young head. "If I could keep you with me!
+but it will be only for a time, my child, and then--then you _will_ come
+back to me?"
+
+"Come back to you, mamma? As if anything would keep me away! But what is
+it? where am I to go? what am I to do? Why haven't you told me before?"
+
+She was trembling with excitement. Patience was not one of Lesley's
+virtues. She felt, with sudden heat of passion, that she could bear any
+pain rather than this suspense, which her mother's gentle reluctance to
+give pain inflicted upon her.
+
+"I did not tell you before," said Lady Alice, slowly, "because I was
+under a promise not to do so. I have been obliged to keep you in the
+dark about your future for many a long year, Lesley, and the concealment
+has always weighed upon my mind. You must forgive me, dearest, for this:
+I did not see the consequence of my promise when I made it first."
+
+"What promise was it, mamma?"
+
+"To let you leave me for a time, my dear: to let you go from me--to let
+you choose your own life--oh, it seems hard and cruel to me now."
+
+"Tell me," pleaded Lesley, whose heart was by this time beating with
+painful rapidity, "tell me all--quickly, mamma, and I promise----"
+
+"Promise nothing until you have heard what I have to say," said her
+mother, drawing back. "I want you to hear the story before you see your
+grandfather again: that is the reason why I begged the Mother to let me
+speak to you here, before you left the convent. I have been forced into
+my present line of action, Lesley: I never took it wilfully. You shall
+judge for yourself if it were likely that I----But I will not excuse
+myself beforehand. I can tell you all that is necessary for you to know
+in very few words; and the rest lies in your hands."
+
+Lady Alice's pale lips quivered as she spoke, but her eyes were dry and
+filled with a light which was singularly cold and stern. Lesley,
+kneeling still, looked up into her face, and, fascinated by what she saw
+there, remained motionless and mute.
+
+"I have not let you speak to me of your father," Lady Alice began,
+"because I did not know how to answer your questions truthfully. But now
+I must speak of him. You have thought of him sometimes?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you have thought him dead?"
+
+"I thought so--yes."
+
+"But he is not dead," said Lady Alice, bitterly. "To my exceeding
+misfortune--and yours also--your father, Lesley, is alive."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+LADY ALICE'S STORY.
+
+
+The girl shrank back a little, but she did not remove her eyes from her
+mother's face. A great dread, however, had entered into them. A hot
+color leaped into her cheeks. Scarcely did she yet know what she
+dreaded; it was something intangible, too awful to be uttered--the
+terror of disgrace.
+
+But Lady Alice saw the look and interpreted it aright.
+
+"No, my darling," she said, "it is not _that_. It is nothing to be
+ashamed of--exactly. I do not accuse your father of any crime--unless it
+be a crime to have married a woman that he did not love, and to whom he
+was not suited, and to have been cruel--yes, cruel--to her and to her
+child."
+
+And then she burst into tears.
+
+"Mamma, dear mamma!" said Lesley, clasping her and sobbing out of
+sympathy, "it was a crime--worse than a crime--to be cruel to _you_."
+
+Lady Alice sobbed helplessly for a few minutes. Then she commanded
+herself by a great and visible effort and dried her eyes.
+
+"It is weak to give way before you, child," she said, sadly. "But I
+cannot tell you how much I have dreaded this moment--the moment when I
+must tell you of the great error of my life."
+
+"Don't tell me, mamma. I would rather hear nothing that you did not want
+me to know."
+
+"But I must tell you, Lesley. It is in my bargain with my husband that I
+should tell you. If I say nothing he will tell you _his_ side--and
+perhaps that would be worse."
+
+Lesley kissed her mother's delicate hand. "Then--if you _must_ tell
+me--I should be glad to hear it all now," she said, in a shaking voice.
+"Nothing seems so bad as to know half a story--or only to guess a
+part----"
+
+"Ah, you have wondered why I told you nothing of your father?"
+
+"I could not help wondering, mamma."
+
+"Poor child! Well, whatever it costs me I will tell you all my story
+now. Listen carefully, darling: I do not want to have to tell it twice."
+
+She pressed her handkerchief to her lips as if to prevent them from
+trembling, and then turning her eyes to another part of the room so that
+they need not rest upon her daughter's face Lady Alice began her story.
+
+"My tale is a tale of folly, not of crime," she said. "You must
+remember, Lesley, that I was a motherless girl, brought up in a lonely
+Scotch house in a very haphazard way. My dear father loved me tenderly,
+but he was away from home for the greater part of the year; and he
+understood little of a girl's nature or a girl's requirements. When I
+was sixteen he allowed me to dismiss my governess, and to live as I
+liked. I was romantic and dreamy; I spent a great deal of time in the
+library, and he thought that there at least I was safe. He would have
+been more careful of me, as he said afterwards, if I had wanted to roam
+over the moors and fields, to fish or shoot as many modern women do. I
+can only say that I think I should have been far safer on the hillside
+or the moor than I was in the lonely recesses of that library, pouring
+over musty volumes of chivalry and romance.
+
+"My only change was a few weeks in London with friends, during the
+season. Here, young as I was, I was thrown into a whirl of gaiety; but
+the society that I met was of the best sort, and I welcomed it as a
+pleasant relaxation. I saw the pleasant side of everything. You see I
+was very young. I went to the most charming parties; I was well
+introduced: I think I may say that I was admired. My first season was
+almost the happiest--certainly the most joyous--period of my life. But
+it was still a time of unreality, Lesley: the glitter and glamour of
+that glimpse of London society was as unreal as my dreams of love and
+beauty and nobleness in the old library at home. I lacked a mother's
+guiding hand, my child, and a mother's tender voice to tell me what was
+false and what was true."
+
+Involuntarily Lesley drew closer than ever to her mother.
+
+The ring of pain in Lady Alice's voice saddened and even affrighted her.
+It suggested a passionate yearning, an anxiety of love, which almost
+overwhelmed her. It is always alarming to a young and simple nature to
+be brought suddenly into contact with a very strong emotion, either of
+anguish, love, or joy.
+
+"I suffered for my loss," Lady Alice went on, after a short pause. "But
+at first without knowing that I suffered. There comes a time in every
+woman's life, Lesley, when she is in need of help and counsel, when, in
+fact, she is in danger. As soon as a woman loves, she stands on the
+brink of a precipice."
+
+"I thought," murmured Lesley, "that love was the most beautiful thing in
+the world?"
+
+"Is that what the nuns have taught you?" asked her mother, with a keen
+glance at the girl's flushing cheek. "Well, in one sense it is true.
+Love is a beautiful thing to look at--an angel to outward show--with the
+heart, too often, of a fiend; and it is he who leads us to that
+precipice of which I spoke--the precipice of disillusion and despair."
+
+To Lesley these words were as blasphemy, for they contradicted the whole
+spirit of the teaching which she had received. But she did not dare to
+contradict her mother's opinions. She looked down, and reflected dumbly
+that her mother knew more about the subject than she could possibly do.
+The good Sisters had talked to her about heavenly love; she had made no
+fine distinctions in her mind as to the kind of love they
+meant--possibly there were two kinds. And while she was considering this
+knotty point, her mother began to speak again.
+
+"I was between eighteen and nineteen," said Lady Alice, "scarcely as old
+as you are now, when a new interest came into my life. My father gave
+permission to a young literary man to examine our archives, which
+contained much of historical value. He never thought of cautioning me to
+leave the library to Mr. Brooke's sole occupation. I was accustomed to
+spend much of my time there: and the stranger--Mr. Brooke--must have
+heard this fact from the servants, for he begged that he might not
+disturb me, and that I would frequent the library as usual. After a
+little hesitation, I began to do so. My father was in London, and my
+only chaperon was an old lady who was too infirm to be of much use.
+Before long, I began to help Mr. Brooke in his researches and inquiries.
+He was writing a book on the great Scottish families of that part of the
+country, and the subject interested me. Need I tell you what followed,
+Lesley? Need I explain to you the heedless selfish folly of that time? I
+forgot my duty to my father, my duty to myself. I fancied I loved this
+man, and I promised to marry him."
+
+There was a light of interest in Lesley's eyes. She did not altogether
+understand her mother's tone. It sounded as though Lady Alice condemned
+lovers and all their ways, and such condemnation puzzled the girl, in
+spite of her convent breeding. During the last few months she had been
+allowed a much wider range of literature than was usual in the Sisters'
+domain; her mother had requested that she should be supplied with
+certain volumes of history, fiction, and poetry, that had considerably
+enlarged Lesley's views of life; and yet Lady Alice's words seemed to
+contradict all that the girl had previously heard or read of love. The
+mother read the unspoken question in Lesley's eyes, and answered it in a
+somewhat modified tone.
+
+"My dear, I do not mean that I think it wrong to love. So long as the
+world lasts I suppose people will love--and be miserable. It is right
+enough, if it is opposed by no other law. But in my case, I was wrong
+from beginning to end. I knew that my father would never give his
+permission to my marriage with Mr. Brooke; and, in my youthful folly, I
+thought that my best plan was to take my own way. I married Mr. Brooke
+in private, and then I went away with him to London. And it was not
+long, Lesley, before I rued my disobedience and my deceit. It was a
+great mistake."
+
+"But mamma, why were you so sure that grandpapa would not give his
+consent?"
+
+Lady Alice opened her gentle eyes with a look of profound astonishment.
+
+"Darling, don't you see? Mr. Brooke was--nobody."
+
+"But if you loved him----"
+
+"No, Lesley, your grandfather would never have heard of such a
+marriage. He had his own plans for me. My dear, I am not saying a word
+against your father in saying this. I am only telling you the fact--that
+he was what is often called a self-made, self-educated man, who could
+not possibly be styled my equal in the eyes of society. His father
+had been a small tradesman in Devonshire. The son being clever
+and--and--handsome, made his way a little in the world. He became a
+journalist: he wrote for magazines and newspapers and reviews: he was
+what is called a literary hack. He had no certain prospects, no certain
+income, when he married me. I think," said Lady Alice, with a sort of
+cold scorn, which was intensified by the very softness of her tones,
+"that he could not have done a more unjustifiable thing than persuade a
+girl in my position to marry him."
+
+Lesley felt a slight diminution of sympathy with her mother. Perhaps
+Lady Alice was conscious of some change in her face, for she added
+hastily.
+
+"Don't misjudge me, Lesley. If there had been between us the strong and
+tender love of which women too often dream, poverty might perhaps have
+been forgotten. It sounds terribly worldly to draw attention to the fact
+that poverty is apt to kill a love which was not very strong at the
+beginning. But the fact was that neither Caspar Brooke nor I knew our
+own minds. He was three-and-twenty and I was eighteen. We married in
+haste, and we certainly repented very much at leisure."
+
+"Was he not--kind?" asked Lesley, timidly.
+
+"Kind?" said her mother, with a sigh. "Oh, yes, perhaps he was kind--at
+first. Until he was tired of me, or I was tired of him. I don't know on
+which side the disillusion was felt first. Think where I came from--from
+the dear old Castle, the moors, the lochs, the free fresh air of
+Scotland, to a dreary lodging of two little rooms in a dingy street,
+where I had to cut and contrive and economize to make ends meet. I was
+an ignorant girl, and I could not do it. I got into debt, and my husband
+was angry with me. Why should I tell you the petty, sordid details of my
+life? I soon found out that I was miserable and that he was miserable
+too."
+
+Lesley listened breathlessly with hidden face. The story was full of
+humiliation for her. It seemed like a desecration of all that she had
+hitherto held dear.
+
+"My father and my friends would not forgive me," Lady Alice went on. "In
+our direst straits of poverty, I am glad to say that I never appealed to
+them. We struggled on together--your father and I--until you were four
+years old. Then a change came--a change which made it impossible for me
+to bear the misery of my life. Your father----"
+
+She came to a sudden stop, and sat with eyes fixed on the opposite wall,
+a curious expression of mingled desolation and contempt upon her cold,
+clear-cut face. For some reason or other Lesley felt afraid to hear what
+her mother had to say.
+
+"Mamma, don't tell me! Don't look like that," she cried. "I can't bear
+to hear it! Why need you tell me any more?"
+
+"Because," said her mother, slowly, "because your father exacts this
+sacrifice from me: that I should tell you--_you_, my daughter--the
+reason why I left him. I promised that I would do so, and I will keep my
+promise. The thing that hurts me most, Lesley, is to think that I may be
+injuring you--staining your innocence--darkening your youth--by telling
+you what I have to tell. At your age, I would rather that you knew
+nothing of life but its brighter side--nothing of love but what was fair
+and sweet. But it is the punishment of my first false step that I should
+bring sorrow upon my child. Lesley, in years to come remember that I
+have warned you to be honest and true, unless you would make those
+miserable whom you love best. If I had never deceived my father, my
+husband would never perhaps have deceived me; and I should not have to
+tell my child that the last person in the world whom she must trust is
+her father."
+
+There was a little silence, and then she continued in a strained and
+unnatural tone.
+
+"There was a woman--another woman--whom he loved. That is all."
+
+Lesley shivered and hid her face. To her mind, young and innocent as it
+was, the fact which her mother stated seemed like an indelible stain.
+She hardly dared as yet think what it meant. And, after a long pause,
+Lady Alice went on quietly--
+
+"I do not want to exaggerate. I do not believe that he meant to leave
+me--even to be untrue to me. I could not speak to you of him if I
+thought him so black-hearted, so treacherous. I mean simply this--take
+the fact as I state it, and inquire no further; I found that my husband
+cared for some one else more than he cared for me. My resolution was
+taken at once: I packed up my things, left his house, and threw myself
+at my father's feet. He was good to me and forgave me, and since
+then ... I have never entered my husband's house again."
+
+"He must have been wicked--wicked!" said Lesley, in a strangled voice.
+
+"No, he was not wicked. Let me do him so much justice. He was upright
+on the whole, I believe. He never meant to give me cause for complaint.
+But I had reason to believe that another woman suited him better than
+I did ... and it was only fair to leave him."
+
+"But did he--could he--marry her? I mean----"
+
+"My poor Lesley, you are very ignorant," said Lady Alice, smiling a wan
+smile, and touching the girl's cheek lightly with her hand. "How could
+he marry another woman when I was alive? Your father and I separated on
+account of what is called incompatibility of temper. The question of the
+person whom he apparently preferred to me never arose between us."
+
+"Then, is it not possible, mamma, that you may have been mistaken?" said
+Lesley, impetuously.
+
+Lady Alice shook her head. "Quite impossible, Lesley. I accuse your
+father of nothing. I only mean that another woman--one of his
+friends--would have suited him better than I, and that he knew it. I
+have no cause for complaint against him. And I would not have told you
+_this_, had I not felt it a duty to put in the strongest possible light
+my reasons for leaving him, so that a day may never come when you turn
+round upon me and blame me--as others have done--for fickleness, for
+ill-temper, for impatience with my husband; because now you know--as no
+one else knows--the whole truth."
+
+"But I should never blame you, mamma."
+
+"I do not know. I know this--that your father is a man who can persuade
+and argue and represent his conduct in any light that suits his purpose.
+He is a very eloquent--a very plausible man. He will try to win you over
+to his side."
+
+"But I shall never see him."
+
+"Yes, Lesley, you will. You are going to him to-morrow."
+
+"I will not--I will not"--said the girl, springing from her knees, and
+involuntarily clenching her right hand. "I will not speak to him--if he
+treated my darling mother so shamefully he must be bad, and I will not
+acknowledge any relationship to him."
+
+A look of apprehension showed itself in Lady Alice's eyes.
+
+"Darling," she said, "you must not let your generous love for me run
+away with your judgment. I am bound, and you must be bound with me.
+Listen, when your father found that I had left him he was exceedingly
+angry. He came to your grandfather's house, he clamored to see me, he
+attempted to justify himself--oh, I cannot tell you the misery that I
+went through. At last I consented to see him. He behaved like a madman.
+He swore that he would have me back--tyrant that he was!"
+
+"Mamma--perhaps he cared?"
+
+"Cared! He cared for his reputation," said Lady Alice growing rather
+white about the lips. "For nothing else! Not for me, Lesley! When his
+violence had expended itself we came to terms. He agreed to let me live
+where I liked on condition that when you were eight years old you were
+sent to school, and saw me only during the holidays----"
+
+"But why?"
+
+"He said that he dreaded my influence on your mind," said Lady Alice.
+"That you should be brought up at a good school was the first thing.
+Secondly, that when you were nineteen you should spend a year with him,
+and then a year with me; and that when you were twenty-one you should
+choose for yourself with which of the two you preferred to cast in your
+lot."
+
+"Oh, mamma, I cannot go to him now."
+
+"You must go, Lesley. I am bound, and you are bound by my promise. Only
+for a year, my darling. Then you can come back to me for ever. I
+stipulated that I should see you first, and say to you what I chose."
+
+"But cannot I wait a little while?"
+
+"Twenty-four hours, Lesley; that is all. You go to your father
+to-morrow."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
+
+
+The conversation between Lesley and her mother occupied a considerable
+time, and the sun was sinking westward when at last the two ladies left
+the Convent. Lesley's adieux had been made before Lady Alice's arrival,
+and the only persons whom she saw, therefore, after the long interview
+with her mother, were the Mother Superior, and the Sister who had
+summoned her to the parlor.
+
+While Lady Alice and the Reverend Mother exchanged a few last words,
+Lesley drew close to Sister Rose's side, and laid her hand on the
+serge-covered arm.
+
+"You were right," she said. "Sister, I see already that I shall need
+patience and endurance where I am going."
+
+"Gentleness and love, also," said the Sister. Then, as if in answer to
+an indefinable change in Lesley's lips and eyes, she added gently, "We
+are told that peacemakers are blessed."
+
+"I could not make peace----" Lesley began, hastily, and then she stopped
+short, confused, not knowing how much Sister Rose had heard of her
+mother's story. But if Sister Rose were ignorant of it, her next words
+were singularly appropriate. For she said, in a low tone--
+
+"Peace is better than war: forgiveness better than hatred. Dear child,
+it may be in your hands to reconcile those who have been long divided.
+Do your best."
+
+Lesley had no time to reply.
+
+It was a long drive from the Convent of the Annonciades to the hotel
+where Lord Courtleroy and Lady Alice were staying. The mother and
+daughter spoke little; each seemed wrapped in her own reflections. There
+were a hundred questions which Lesley was longing to ask; but she did
+not like to disturb her mother's silence. Dusk had fallen before their
+destination was reached; and Lesley's thoughts were diverted a little
+from their sad bewilderment by what was to her the novel sight of Paris
+by gaslight, and the ever-flowing, opposing currents of human beings
+that filled the streets. Hitherto, when she had left the Sisters for her
+holidays, her mother had wisely kept her within certain bounds: she had
+not gone out of doors after dark, she had not seen anything but the
+quieter sides of life. But now all seemed to be changed. Her mother
+mentioned the name of the best hotel in Paris as their destination: she
+said a few words about shopping, dresses, and jewellery, which made
+Lesley's heart beat faster, in spite of a conviction that it was very
+mean and base to feel any joy in such trivial matters. Especially under
+present circumstances. But she was young and full of life; and there
+certainly was some excitement in the prospect before her.
+
+"I shall not need much where I am going, shall I?" she hazarded timidly.
+
+"Perhaps not, but you must not be in any difficulty. There is not time
+to do a great deal, but you can be fitted and have some dresses sent
+after you, and I can choose your hats. And a fur-lined cloak for
+travelling--you will want that. We must do what we can in the time. It
+is not likely that your father sees much society."
+
+"It will be very lonely," said Lesley, with a little gasp.
+
+"My poor child! I am afraid it will. I can tell some friends of mine to
+call on you; but I don't know whether they will be admitted."
+
+"Where is--the house?" Lesley asked. She did not like to say "my
+father's house."
+
+"In Upper Woburn Place, Bloomsbury. I believe it is near Euston Square,
+or some such neighborhood."
+
+"Then it is not where _you_ lived, mamma?"
+
+"No, dear. We lived further West, in a street near Portman Square. I
+believe that Mr. Brooke finds Bloomsbury a convenient district for the
+kind of work that he has to do."
+
+She spoke very formally of her husband; but Lesley began to notice an
+under-current of resentment, of something like contempt, in her voice
+when she spoke of him. Lady Alice tried in vain to simulate an
+indifference which she did not feel, and the very effort roughened her
+voice and sharpened her accent in a way of which she was unconscious.
+The effect on a young girl, who had not seen much of human emotion, was
+to induce a passing doubt of her mother's judgment, and a transient
+wonder as to whether her father had always been so much in the wrong.
+The sensation was but momentary, for Lesley was devotedly attached to
+her mother, and could not believe her to be mistaken. And, while she was
+repenting of her hasty injustice, the carriage stopped between the white
+globes of electric light that fronted a great hotel, and Lesley was
+obliged to give her attention to the things around her rather than to
+her own thoughts and feelings.
+
+A waiter conducted the mother and daughter up one flight of stairs and
+consigned them to the care of a chambermaid. The chambermaid led them to
+the door of a suite of rooms, where they were met by Dayman, Lady
+Alice's own woman, whose stolid face relaxed into a smile of pleasure at
+the sight of Lesley.
+
+"Take Miss Brooke to her own room and see that she is made nice for
+dinner," said her mistress. "His Lordship has ordered dinner in our own
+rooms, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes, my lady. Covers for four--Captain Duchesne is here."
+
+"Oh," said Lady Alice, with an accent of faint surprise,
+"oh--well--Lesley, dear, we must not be late."
+
+To Lesley it seemed hardly worth while to unpack her boxes and dress
+herself for that one evening in the soft embroidered white muslin which
+had hitherto served for her best Sunday frock. But Mrs. Dayman insisted
+on a careful toilette, and was well satisfied with the result.
+
+"There, Miss Lesley," she said, "you have just your mamma's look--a sort
+of finished look, as if you were perfect outside and in!"
+
+Lesley laughed. "That compliment might be taken in two ways, Dayman,"
+she said, as she turned to meet her mother at the door. And in a few
+minutes she was standing in the gay little French _salon_, where the
+earl was conversing with a much younger man in a glare of waxlights.
+
+Lord Courtleroy was a stately-looking man, with perfectly snow-white
+hair and beard, an upright carriage, and bright, piercing, blue eyes. A
+striking man in appearance, and of exceedingly well-marked
+characteristics. The family pride for which he had long been noted
+seemed to show itself in his bearing and in every feature as he greeted
+his granddaughter, and yet it was softened by a touch of personal
+affection with which family pride had nothing whatever to do. For Lord
+Courtleroy's feelings towards Lesley were mixed. He saw in her the child
+of a man whose very name he detested, who stood as a type to him of all
+that was hateful in the bourgeois class. But he also saw in her his own
+granddaughter, "poor Alice's girl," whom fate had used so unkindly in
+giving her Caspar Brooke for a father. The earl had next to no personal
+knowledge of Caspar Brooke. They had not met since the one sad and
+stormy interview which they had held together when Lady Alice had left
+her husband's house. And Lord Courtleroy was wont to declare that he did
+not wish to know anything more of Mr. Brooke. That he was a Radical
+journalist, and that he had treated a daughter of the Courtleroys with
+shameful unkindness and neglect, was quite enough for the earl. And his
+manner to Lesley varied a little according as his sense of her affinity
+with his own family or his remembrance of her kinship with Mr. Brooke
+was uppermost.
+
+Lesley was too simply filial in disposition to resent or even to remark
+on his changes of mood. She admired her grandfather immensely, and was
+pleased to hear him comment on her growth and development since she saw
+him last. And then the visitor was introduced to her; and to Lesley's
+interest and surprise she saw that he was young.
+
+Young men were an unknown quantity to Lesley. She could not remember
+that she had ever spoken to a man so young and so good-looking before!
+Captain Henry Duchesne was tall, well-made, well-dressed: he was very
+dark in complexion, and had a rather heavy jaw; but his dark eyes were
+pleasant and honest, and he had a very attractive smile. The length of
+his moustache was almost the first thing that struck Lesley: it seemed
+to her so abnormally lengthy, with such very stiffly waxed ends, that
+she could scarcely avert her eyes from them. She was not able to tell,
+save from instinct, whether a man were well or ill-dressed, but she felt
+sure that Captain Duchesne's air of smartness was due to the perfection
+of every detail of his attire. She liked his manner: it was easy,
+well-bred, and unassuming; and she felt glad that he was present. For
+after the communication made to her by her mother, the evening might
+have proved an occasion of embarrassment. It was a relief to talk to
+some one for a little while who did not know her present circumstances
+and position.
+
+Lady Alice watched the two young people with a little dawning trouble in
+her sad eyes. She had known and liked Harry Duchesne since his
+childhood, and she had not been free from certain hopes and visions of
+his future, which affected Lesley also, but she thought that her
+father's invitation had been premature. Especially when she heard
+Captain Duchesne say to the girl in the course of the evening--
+
+"Are you going to London to-morrow?"
+
+"Yes, I believe so," said Lesley, looking down.
+
+"And you will be in town during the winter, I hope?"
+
+Lady Alice thought it well to interpose.
+
+"My daughter will not be staying with me. She goes to a relation's house
+for a few months, and will lead a very quiet life indeed. When she comes
+back to Courtleroy it will be time enough for her to commence a round of
+gaieties." This with a smile; but, as Henry Duchesne knew well enough,
+with Lady Alice a smile sometimes covered a very serious purpose. His
+quick perceptions showed him that he was not wanted to call on Miss
+Brooke during her stay in London, and he adroitly changed the subject.
+
+"Unfashionable relations, I suppose," he said to himself, reflecting on
+the matter at a later hour of the evening. "Upon my word I shouldn't
+have thought that Lady Alice was so worldly-minded! She certainly didn't
+want me to know where Miss Brooke was going. To some relation of that
+disreputable father of hers, I should fancy. Poor girt!"
+
+For, like many other persons in London society, Captain Duchesne knew
+only the name and nothing of the character of the man whom Lady Alice
+had married and left. It was vaguely supposed that he was not a very
+respectable character, and that no woman of spirit would have submitted
+to live with him any longer. Lady Alice's reputation stood so high that
+it could not be supposed that any one except her husband was in fault.
+Brooke is not an uncommon name. In certain circles the name of Caspar
+Brooke was known well enough; but was not often identified with the man
+who had run away with an earl's daughter. He had other claims to repute,
+but in a world to which Lady Alice had not the right of entry.
+
+When Harry Duchesne had departed Lady Alice went with Lesley to her
+bedroom. Mother and daughter sat down together, clasping each other's
+hands, and looking wistfully from time to time into each other's faces,
+but saying very little. The wish to ask questions faded out of Lesley's
+mind. She could not ask more than her mother chose to tell her.
+
+But Lady Alice thought that she had already said too much, and she
+restrained her tongue. It was after a long and pregnant silence that she
+murmured--
+
+"Lesley, my child, I want you to promise me something."
+
+"Oh, yes, mamma!"
+
+"I feel like one who is sending a lamb forth into the midst of wolves.
+Not that Mr. Brooke is a wolf--exactly," said Lady Alice, with a forced
+laugh, "but I mean that you are young and--and--unsophisticated, and
+that there may be a mixture of people at his house."
+
+Lesley was silent; she did not quite know what "a mixture of people"
+would be like.
+
+"I am so afraid for you, darling," said her mother, pleadingly. "Afraid
+lest you should be drawn into relationships and connections that you
+might afterwards regret: Do you understand me? Will you promise me to
+make no vows of any sort while you are away from me? Only for one year,
+my child--promise me for the year."
+
+"I don't think I quite understand you, mamma."
+
+"Must I put it so plainly? I mean this, Lesley. Don't engage yourself to
+be married while you are in your father's house."
+
+"Oh, that is easily promised!" said Lesley, with a smile of frank
+amusement and relief.
+
+"It may not be so easy to carry out as you think. Give me your word,
+darling. You promise not to form any engagement of marriage for a year?
+You promise me that?"
+
+"Oh, yes, mamma, I promise," said the girl, so lightly that Lady Alice
+almost felt that she had done an unwarrantable thing in exacting a
+promise only half understood. But she swallowed her rising qualms, and
+went oh, as if exculpating herself--
+
+"It is a safeguard. I do not ask you to marry only a man that I
+approve--I simply ask you to wait until I can help you with my advice.
+It will be no loss to you in any way. You are too young to think of
+these things yet; but it is on the young that unscrupulous persons love
+to prey--and therefore I give you a warning."
+
+"I am quite sure that I shall not need it," said Lesley, confidently;
+"and if I did, I could write and ask your advice----"
+
+"No, no! Oh, how could I forget to tell you? You are not to write to me
+while you are in your father's house."
+
+"Oh, mamma, that is cruel."
+
+"It is _his_ doing, not mine. Intercede with _him_, if you like. That
+was one of the conditions--that for this one year you should have no
+intercourse with me. And for the next year you will have no intercourse
+with him. And after that, you may choose for yourself."
+
+But this deprivation of correspondence affected Lesley more powerfully
+than even the prospect of separation--to which she was used already. She
+threw herself into her mother's arms and wept bitterly for a few
+moments. Then it occurred to her that she was acting neither
+thoughtfully nor courageously, and that her grief would only grieve her
+mother, and could remedy nothing. So she sat up and dried her eyes, and
+tried to respond cheerfully when Lady Alice spoke a few soothing words.
+But in the whole course of her short life poor Lesley had never been so
+miserable as she was that night.
+
+The bustle of preparation which had to be gone through next day
+prevented her, however, from thinking too much about her troubles. She
+and Lady Alice, with the faithful Dayman, were to leave Paris late in
+the afternoon; and the morning was spent in hurried excursions to shops,
+interviews with milliners and dressmakers, eager discussions on color,
+shape, and fitness. Lesley was glad to see that she was not to be sent
+to London with anything over-fine in the way of clothes. The gowns
+chosen were extremely simple, but in good taste; and the _modiste_
+promised that they should be sent after the young lady in the course of
+a very few days. There was some argument as to whether Lesley would
+require a ball dress, or dinner dresses. Lady Alice thought not. But,
+although nothing that could actually be called a ball-dress was ordered,
+there were one or two frocks of lovely shimmering hue and delightfully
+soft texture which would serve for any such festivity.
+
+"Though in _my_ day," said Lady Alice, smiling, "we did not go to balls
+in Bloomsbury. But, of course, I don't know what society Mr. Brooke sees
+now."
+
+Lesley was conscious of the sarcasm.
+
+The earl remained in Paris, while Lady Alice went with her daughter from
+Havre to Southampton, and thence to London. Dayman travelled with them;
+and a supplementary escort appeared in the person of Captain Duchesne,
+who "happened to be travelling that way." Lady Alice was not displeased
+to see him, although she had a guilty sense of stealing a march upon her
+husband in providing Lesley with a standard of youthful good-breeding
+and good-looks. It might tend to preserve her from forming any silly
+attachment in her father's circle, Lady Alice thought. As a matter of
+fact, she was singularly ignorant of what that circle might comprise.
+She had left him before his more prosperous days began to dawn, and she
+continued therefore to picture him to herself as the struggling
+journalist in murky lodgings--"the melancholy literary man" who smoked
+strong tobacco far into the night, and talked of things in which she had
+no interest at all. If matters were changed with Caspar Brooke since
+then, Lady Alice did not know it.
+
+She had ascertained that Mr. Brooke's sister was living in his house,
+and that she was capable of acting in some sort as Lesley's chaperon.
+Then, a connection of the earl's was rector of a neighboring church
+close to Upper Woburn Place--and he had promised to take Miss Brooke
+under his especial pastoral care;--although, as he mildly insinuated, he
+was not in the habit of visiting at Number Fifty. And with these
+recommendations and assurances, Lady Alice was forced to be content.
+
+She parted from her daughter at Waterloo Station. It did not seem
+possible to her to drive up to her husband's house in a cab, and drive
+away again. She committed her, therefore, to the care of Dayman, and put
+the girl and her maid into a four-wheeler, with Lesley's luggage on the
+top. Then she established herself in the ladies' waiting-room, until
+such time as Dayman should return.
+
+With beating heart and flushing cheek Lesley drove through the
+rapidly-darkening streets to her father's house. She was terribly
+nervous at the prospect of meeting him. And, even after the history
+that she had learnt from her mother, she felt that she had not the
+slightest notion as to what manner of man Caspar Brooke might turn
+out to be.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+THE MANNER OF MAN.
+
+
+On the day preceding Lesley Brooke's arrival in London, a tall,
+broad-shouldered man was walking along Southampton Row. He was a big
+man--a man whom people turned to look at--a distinctly noticeable man.
+He was considerably taller and broader than the average of his fellows:
+he was wide-chested and muscular, though without any inclination to
+stoutness; and he had a handsome, sunburned face, with a short brown
+beard and deep-set, dark-brown eyes. His hair was not cut quite to the
+conventional shortness, perhaps: there was a lock that would fall in an
+unruly manner across the broad brow with an obstinacy no hairdresser
+could subvert. But, in all other respects, he was very much as other
+men: he dressed well, if rather carelessly, and presented to the world a
+somewhat imposing personality. He did not wear gloves, and he had no
+flower at his button-hole; but the respectability of his silk hat and
+well-made coat was unimpeachable, and he had all the air of easy command
+which is so characteristic of the well-bred Englishman. The slight
+roughness about him was as inseparable from his build and his character
+as it is to the best-groomed and best-bred staghound or mastiff of the
+highest race.
+
+Southampton Row, as is well known, leads into Russell Square. In fact
+the straight line of the Row merges imperceptibly into one side of the
+Square, whence it continues under the name of Woburn Place, the East
+side of Tavistock Square, Upper Woburn Place, and Euston Square, losing
+itself at last in the Northern wilderness of the crowded Euston Road. It
+was at a house which he passed in his straight course from Holburn
+towards St. Pancras that this very tall and strong-looking gentleman
+stopped, at about five o'clock on a September afternoon.
+
+He stood on the steps for a moment, and looked up and down the house
+doubtfully, as if seeking for signs of life from within. A great many
+people were still out of town, and he was uncertain whether the
+occupants of this house were at home or not. The place had evidently
+been in the hands of painters and cleaners since he saw it last: the
+stone-work was scrupulously white, the wood-work was painted a delicate
+green. The visitor lifted his well-defined eyebrows at the lightness of
+the color, as he turned to the door and rang the bell. It was easy to
+see that he was an observant man, upon whose eyes very few things were
+lost.
+
+"Mrs. Romaine in?" he asked the trim maid who appeared in answer to his
+ring. He noticed that she was a new maid.
+
+"Yes, sir. What name shall I say, please, sir?"
+
+"Mr. Brooke."
+
+The girl looked intelligent, as if she had heard the name before. And
+Mr. Brooke, following her upstairs to the drawing-room, reflected on the
+quickness with which servants make themselves acquainted with their
+masters' and mistresses' affairs, and the disadvantages of a
+civilization in which you were at the mercy of your servants' tongues.
+
+These reflections had no bearing on his own circumstances: they
+proceeded entirely from Mr. Brooke's habit of taking general views, and
+making large applications of small things.
+
+The day was cloudy, and, although it was only five o'clock, the streets
+were growing dark. The weather was chilly, moreover, and the wind blew
+from the East. It was a pleasant change to enter Mrs. Romaine's
+drawing-room, which was full of soft light from a glowing little fire,
+full of the scent of roses and the lovely tints of Indian embroideries,
+Italian tapestries, dead gold-leaf backgrounds, and china that was
+beautiful as well as rare. Lady Alice Brooke, in her narrow isolation
+from the world, would not have believed that so charming a room could be
+found east of Great Portland Street. In which opinion she was very much
+mistaken; for her belief that in "society" and society's haunts alone
+could one find taste, culture, and beauty, led her to ignore the vast
+number of intellectual and artistic folk who still sojourn in the dim
+squares of Bloomsbury and Regent's Park. Sooth to say Lady Alice knew
+absolutely nothing of the worlds of intellect and art, save by means of
+an occasional article in the magazines, or a stroll through the large
+picture galleries of London during the season. She was a good woman in
+her way, and--also in her way--a clever one; but she had been brought up
+in another atmosphere from that which her husband loved, elevated in a
+totally different school, and she was not of a nature to adapt herself
+to what she did not thoroughly understand.
+
+Mrs. Romaine knew well enough that she was quite as well able to hold
+her own in the fashionable world if once she obtained an entrance to it
+as any Lady Alice or Lady Anybody of her acquaintance. But then the
+difficulty of entering if was very great. She had not sufficient fortune
+to vie with women who every year spent hundreds on their dress and on
+their dinner. She was handsome, but she was middle-aged. She had few
+friends of sufficient distinction to push her forward. And she was a
+wise woman. She thought it better to live where she enjoyed a good deal
+of popularity and consideration; where she could entertain in a modest
+way, where her husband had been well known, and she could glow with the
+reflected light that came to her from his shining abilities. These
+reasons were patent to the world: she really made no secret of them. But
+there was another reason, not quite so patent to the world, for her
+living quietly in Russell Square, and this reason she kept strictly to
+herself.
+
+Mrs. Romaine had been a widow for three years. Her husband had been a
+very learned man--Professor of numerous Oriental languages at University
+College for some years, afterwards a Judge in Calcutta; and as he had
+always lived in the West Central district during his Professorate, Mrs.
+Romaine declared that she loved it and could live nowhere else. The
+house in Russell Square was only partly hers. Her brother rented some of
+the rooms (shared the house with her, as Mrs. Romaine vaguely phrased
+it), and lightened the expense. But the two drawing-rooms, opening out
+of one another, were entirely at Mrs. Romaine's disposal, and she was
+generally to be found there between four and five o'clock in an
+afternoon--a fact of which it is to be presumed that Mr. Brooke was
+aware.
+
+"So you have come back to town?" she said, rising to meet him, and
+extending both hands with a pretty air of appropriative friendship.
+
+"Yes; but I hardly expected to find you here so early."
+
+Mrs. Romaine shrugged her shoulders a little.
+
+"I found the country very dull," she said. "And you?"
+
+"Oh, I went to Norway. I was well enough off. I rather enjoyed myself.
+Perhaps I required a little bracing up for the task that lies before
+me." He laughed as he spoke.
+
+Mrs. Romaine paused for a moment in her task of pouring out the tea.
+
+"You are resolved, then, to assume that responsibility?" she said, in a
+low voice.
+
+"My dear Rosalind! it's in the bond," answered Caspar Brooke, very
+coolly.
+
+He took the cup from her hand, stirred its contents, and proceeded to
+drink them in a leisurely manner, glancing at his hostess meanwhile,
+with a quiet smile.
+
+Mrs. Romaine's dark eyes dropped before that glance. There was an
+inscrutable look upon her face, but it was a look that would have told
+another woman that Mrs. Romaine was disappointed by the news which she
+had just heard. Caspar Brooke, being a man, saw nothing.
+
+"I am sorry," Mrs. Romaine said presently, with an assumption of great
+candor. "I am afraid you will have an uncomfortable time."
+
+"Oh, no," he answered, with indifference. "I shall not be uncomfortable,
+because it will not affect me in the least. When I spoke of bracing
+myself for the task, I was in jest." Mrs. Romaine did not believe this
+statement. "I shall go my own way whether the girl is in the house or
+not."
+
+"Why, then, did you insist on this arrangement?"
+
+"It is only right to give the girl a chance," said Mr. Brooke. "If she
+has any grit in her the next twelve months will bring it out. Besides,
+it is simple justice. She ought to see and judge for herself. If she
+decides--as her mother did--that I am an ogre, she can go back to her
+aristocratic friends in the North. I shall not try to keep her." There
+was the suspicion of a grim sneer on his face as he spoke.
+
+"Do you know what she is like?"
+
+"Yes: I saw her one day in Paris. She did not know, of course, that I
+was watching her. She is like her mother."
+
+The tone was unpromising. But perhaps it would have been as well if
+Rosalind Romaine had not murmured so pityingly--
+
+"My poor friend! What you have suffered--and oh, what you _will_
+suffer!"
+
+Brooke looked at her in silence, and his eyes softened. Mrs. Romaine
+seemed to him at that moment the incarnation of all that was sweet and
+womanly. She was slender, pale, graceful: she had velvety dark eyes and
+picturesque curling hair, cut short like a Florentine boy's. Her dress
+was harmonious in color and design; her attitude was charming, her voice
+most musical. It crossed Mr. Brooke's mind, as it had crossed his mind
+before, that he might have been very happy if Providence had sent him a
+wife like Rosalind Romaine.
+
+"I shall not suffer," he said, after a little silence, "because I will
+not suffer. My daughter will live for a year in my house, but she will
+not trouble my peace, I can assure you. She will go her own way, and I
+shall go mine."
+
+"I am afraid that she will not be so passive as you think," said Mrs.
+Romaine, with some hesitation. "She has been brought up in a very
+different school from any that you would recommend. A girl fresh from a
+French convent is not an easy person to deal with. Whatever may be the
+advantages of these convents, there are certain virtues which are not
+inculcated in them."
+
+"Such as----"
+
+"Truth and honesty, Caspar, my friend. Your daughter's accomplishments
+will not include candor, I fear."
+
+Mr. Brooke was silent for a moment, his face expressing more concern
+than he knew. Mrs. Romaine watched him furtively.
+
+"It may be so," he said at last in a rather heavy tone, "but it can't be
+helped. I had no hand in choosing a school for her, Rosalind"--his voice
+took a pleading tone "you will do your best for her? You will be her
+friend in spite of defects in her training?"
+
+"I will do anything that I can. But you will forgive me for saying,
+Caspar, that it is hard for me to forget that she is the daughter of the
+woman who--practically--wrecked your life."
+
+Brooke's face grew hard again. He uttered a short laugh, which had not a
+very agreeable sound.
+
+"Wrecked my life!" he repeated, disdainfully. "Excuse me, Rosalind. No
+woman ever had the power of wrecking my life. Indeed, I have been far
+more fortunate and prosperous since Lady Alice chose to leave me than
+before."
+
+Mrs. Romaine said nothing. She was an adept in the art of insinuating by
+a look, a turn of the head, a gesture, what she wished to convey. At
+this moment she indicated very clearly, though without speaking a word,
+that she sympathized deeply with her friend, Caspar Brooke, and was
+exceedingly indignant at the way in which he had been treated.
+
+Perhaps Mr. Brooke found the atmosphere enervating, for with a half
+smile and shake of the head, he rose up to go. Mrs. Romaine rose also.
+
+"She comes to-morrow evening," he said, before he took his leave.
+
+"To-morrow evening? You will be out!"
+
+"No, it is Wednesday: I can manage an evening at home. Perhaps you will
+kindly look in on Thursday afternoon?"
+
+And this Mrs. Romaine undertook to do.
+
+Caspar Brooke continued his walk along the Eastern side of Russell
+Square and Woburn Place. His quick observant eyes took note of every
+incident in his way, of every man, woman, and child within their range
+of vision. He stopped once to rate a cabman, not too mildly, for beating
+an over-worked horse--took down his number, and threatened to prosecute
+him for cruelty to animals. A ragged boy who asked him for money was
+brought to a standstill by some keenly-worded questions respecting his
+home, his name, his father's occupation, and the school which he
+attended. Of these Mr. Brooke also made a note, much to the boy's
+dismay; but consolation followed in the shape of a shilling, although
+the donor muttered a malediction on his own folly as he turned away. His
+last actions, before reaching his own house in Upper Woburn Place,
+were--first to ring the area-bell for a dog that was waiting at another
+man's gate (an office which the charitable are often called upon to
+perform in the streets of London for dogs and cats alike), and then to
+pick up a bony black kitten and take it on his arm to his own door,
+where he delivered it to a servant, with injunctions to feed and
+comfort the starveling. From which facts it may be seen that Mr. Caspar
+Brooke, in spite of all his faults, was a lover of dumb animals, and of
+children, and must therefore have possessed a certain amount of
+kindliness of disposition.
+
+Mr. Brooke dined at six o'clock, then smoked a cigar and had a cup of
+black coffee brought to him in the untidy little sanctum where he
+generally did his work. With the coffee came the black kitten, which
+sidled up to him on the table, purring, and rubbing her head against his
+arm as if she knew him for a friend. He stroked it occasionally as he
+read his evening papers, and stroked it in the caressing way which cats
+love, from its forehead to the tip of its stumpy tail. It was while he
+was thus engaged that a tap at the door was heard, and the tap was
+followed by the entrance of a young man, who looked as if he were quite
+at home.
+
+"Can I come in?" he said, in a perfunctory sort of way; and then,
+without waiting for any reply, went on--"I've no engagement to-night, so
+I thought I would look in here first, and see whether you had started."
+
+"All right. Where have you been?"
+
+"Special meeting--Church and State Union," said the young man with a
+smile. "I went partly in a medical capacity, partly because I was
+curious to know how they managed to unite the two professions."
+
+"Couldn't your sister tell you?"
+
+"Oh, I don't allow Ethel to attend such mixed gatherings," said the
+visitor, seating himself on the edge of the library table, and beginning
+to play with the cat.
+
+"You are unusually particular," said Mr. Brooke, with an amused look.
+But Maurice Kenyon, as the visitor was named, continued to attract the
+kitten's notice, without the answering protest which Caspar Brooke had
+expected.
+
+Maurice Kenyon was nearly thirty, and had stepped by good fortune into
+the shoes of a medical uncle who had left him a large and increasing
+general practice in the West Central district. The young man's
+popularity was not entirely owing to his skill, although he had an
+exceedingly good repute among his brethren in medicine. Neither was it
+attributable to good looks. He owed it rather to a sympathetic manner,
+to the cheerful candor of his dark grey eyes, to the mixture of firmness
+and delicate kindness by which his treatment of his patients was
+characterized. He was especially successful in his dealings with
+children; and he had therefore a good deal of adoration from grateful
+mothers to put up with. But of his skill and intellectual power there
+could be no doubt; and these qualities, coupled with his winning manner,
+bade fair to raise him to a very high place in his profession.
+
+There was one little check, and one only, to the flow of Mr. Kenyon's
+prosperity. Careful mothers occasionally objected that he was not
+married, and that his sister was an actress. Why did he let his sister
+go on the stage? And why, if she was an actress, did he allow her to
+live in his house? It did not seem quite respectable in the eyes of some
+worthy people that these things should be. But Mr. Kenyon only laughed
+when reports of these sayings, reached him, and went on his way unmoved,
+as his sister Ethel went on hers. And in London, the question of a
+doctor's relations, his sisters, his cousins, his aunts, and what they
+do for a living, is not so important as it is in the country. Maurice
+Kenyon's care of his sister, and her devotion to him, were well known by
+all their friends; and as he sometimes said, it mattered very little to
+him what all the rest of the world might think.
+
+"Talking of your sister, Kenyon," said Mr. Brooke, somewhat abruptly, "I
+suppose you know that my daughter comes to me to-morrow?"
+
+The connection of ideas was not, perhaps, very obvious, but Maurice
+Kenyon nodded as if he understood.
+
+"I suppose she will want a companion. Would Ethel be so kind as to call
+on her?"
+
+"Certainly. She will do all she can for Miss Brooke, I am sure."
+
+"I have been speaking to Mrs. Romaine, too."
+
+"_Have_ you?" Kenyon raised eyebrows a very little, but Mr. Brooke did
+not seem to notice the change of expression.
+
+"--And she promises to do what she can; but a woman like Mrs. Romaine is
+not likely to find many subjects in common with a girl fresh from a
+convent."
+
+"I suppose not"--in the driest of tones.
+
+"Mrs. Romaine," said Brooke, in a more decided tone, "is a cultivated
+woman who has made a mark in literature----"
+
+"In literature?" queried the doctor.
+
+"She has written a novel or two. She writes for various papers--well and
+smartly, I believe. She is a thorough woman of the world. Naturally, a
+girl brought up as Lesley has been will----"
+
+"--Will find her detestable," said Kenyon, briskly, "as I and Ethel do.
+You'll excuse this expression of opinion; you've heard it before."
+
+For a moment Caspar Brooke's face was overcast; then he broke into
+uneasy laughter, and rose from his chair, shaking himself a little as a
+big dog sometimes does when it comes out of the water.
+
+"You are incorrigible," he said. "A veritable heretic on the matter of
+my friend, Mrs. Romaine. By the by, I must remind you, Kenyon, that Mrs.
+Romaine is a very old friend of mine."
+
+His manner changed slightly as he spoke. There was a little touch of
+quiet hauteur in his look and tone, as if he wished to repel unsolicited
+criticism. Maurice understood the man too well to be offended, and
+merely changed the subject.
+
+But when, after half an hour's chat, the young doctor left the house,
+his mind reverted to the topic which Mr. Brooke had broached.
+
+"Mrs. Romaine, indeed! Why, the man's mad--to introduce her as a friend
+to his daughter! Does not all the world know that Mrs. Romaine caused
+the separation between him and his wife? And will the poor girl know? or
+has she been kept in the dark completely as to the state of affairs?
+Upon my word I'm sorry for her. It strikes me that she will have a hard
+row to hoe, if Mrs. Romaine is at her father's ear."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+OLIVER.
+
+
+Mr. Brooke had not long quitted Mrs. Romaine's drawing-room when it was
+entered by another man, whose personal resemblance to Mrs. Romaine
+herself was so striking that there could be little doubt as to their
+close relationship to one another. It was one of those curious
+likenesses that exist and thrive upon difference. Rosalind was not tall,
+and she was undeniably plump; while her younger brother, Oliver Trent,
+was above middle height, and of a spare habit. The creamy white of Mrs.
+Romaine's complexion had turned to deadly pallor in Oliver's thin,
+hairless face: and her most striking features were accentuated, and even
+exaggerated in his. Her arched and mobile eyebrows, her dark eyes, her
+broad nostrils, curved mouth, and finely-shaped chin, were all to be
+found, with a subtle unlikeness, in Oliver's face, and the jetty hair,
+short as it was on the man's head, grew low down on the brow and the
+nape of the neck exactly as hers did--although this resemblance was
+obscured by the fact that Rosalind wore a fringe, and carefully curled
+all the short hairs at the back of her head.
+
+The greatest difference of all lay in the expression of the two faces.
+Mrs. Romaine had certainly no frankness in her countenance, but she had
+plenty of smiling pleasantness and play of emotion. Oliver's face was
+like a sullen mask: it was motionless, stolid even, and unamiable. There
+were people who raved about his beauty, and nicknamed him Antinous and
+Adonis. But these were not physiognomists....
+
+Mrs. Romaine had two brothers, both some years younger than herself.
+Oliver, the youngest and her favorite, was about thirty, and called
+himself a barrister. As he had no briefs, however, it was currently
+reported that he lived by means of light literature, play, and judicious
+sponging upon his sister. The elder brother, Francis, was a
+ne'er-do-weel, and seldom appeared upon the scene. When he did appear,
+it was always a sign of trouble and want of cash.
+
+"So you have had Brooke here again?" Oliver inquired.
+
+"How did you know, Noll?"
+
+She turned her dark eyes upon him rather anxiously. Oliver's views and
+opinions were of consequence to her.
+
+"I saw him come in. I was coming up, but I turned round again and went
+away. Had a smoke in the Square till I saw him come out. Didn't want to
+spoil your little game, whatever it was."
+
+He spoke with a kind of soft drawl, not unpleasing to the ear at first,
+but irritating if too long continued. It seemed to irritate his sister
+now. She tapped impatiently on the floor with her toe as she replied--
+
+"How vulgar you are sometimes, Oliver! But all society is vulgar
+now-a-days, and I suppose one ought not to complain. I have no 'little
+game,' as you express it, and there was not the slightest need for you
+to have stayed away."
+
+Oliver was sitting on a sofa, with his elbows on his knees and the tips
+of his long white fingers meeting each other. When Mrs. Romaine ended
+her petulant little speech he turned his dark eyes upon her and smiled.
+He said nothing, however, and his silence offended his sister even more
+than his speech.
+
+"It is easy to see that you do not believe me," she said, "and I think
+it is very rude of you to be so sceptical. If you _have_ any remarks to
+make on the subject pray make them at once."
+
+"My dear Rosy, I have no remarks to make at all," said Oliver, easily.
+"Take your own way and I shall take mine. You are good enough to give me
+plenty of rope, and I should be uncivil indeed if I commented on the
+length of yours."
+
+Mrs. Romaine had been moving restlessly to and fro: she now stood still,
+on the hearthrug, her hands clasped before her, her face turned
+attentively towards her brother. Evidently she was struck by his words.
+
+"If you would speak out," she said at last, her smooth voice vibrating
+as if he had touched some chord of passion which was usually hushed to
+silence, "I should know better what you mean. You deal too much in hints
+and insinuations. You have said things of this sort before. I must know
+what you mean."
+
+"Come, Rosy," said Oliver, rising from his low seat and confronting her,
+"don't be so tragic--so intense. Plump little women like you shouldn't
+go in for tragedy. Smile, Rosy; it is your _m�tier_ to smile. You have
+won a good many games by smiling. You must smile on now--to the bitter
+end."
+
+He smiled himself as he looked at her--an unpleasant smile, with thin
+lips drawn back from white sharp looking teeth, which gave him the air
+of a snarling dog. Mrs. Romaine's face belied his words. It was tragic
+enough, intense enough, for a woman who had known mortal agony; the
+suggestion of placidity usually given by her smiling lips and rounded
+unwrinkled cheeks had disappeared; she might have stood for an
+impersonation of sorrow and despair. Oliver's mocking voice recalled her
+to herself.
+
+"A very good pose, Rosalind. The Tragic Muse indeed. Are you going to
+rival Ethel Kenyon? I am afraid it is rather late for you to go on the
+stage, that's all. Let me see: you have touched forty, have you not? I
+would acknowledge only thirty-nine if I were you. There is more than a
+year's difference between thirty-nine and forty."
+
+The strained muscles of her face relaxed: she made a little impatient
+gesture with her hands, then turned to the fireplace, and with one arm
+upon the mantelpiece, looked down into the fire.
+
+"You drive me nearly mad sometimes, Oliver," she said, in a low,
+passionate voice, "by your habit of saying only half a thing at a time.
+I know well enough that you are remonstrating with me now: that you
+disapprove of something--and will not tell me what. By and by, if I am
+in trouble or perplexity, you will turn round upon me and say that you
+warned me--told me that you disapproved--or something of that sort. You
+always do it, and it is not fair. Innuendoes are not warnings."
+
+"My dear Rosalind," said her brother, coolly, "I hope I know my place.
+I'm ten years younger than you are, and have been at various times much
+indebted to your generosity. It does not become me to take exception at
+anything that girls may like to do."
+
+He had the exasperating habit of treating kindness to himself with an
+air of condescension, as if he conferred a favor by accepting benefits.
+His smile of superiority hurt Mrs. Romaine.
+
+"When you adopt that tone, Oliver, I hate you!" she cried.
+
+"You are very impulsive, Rosy--in spite of your years," said Oliver,
+with his usual quietness. "I assure you I do not wish to interfere; and
+you must set it down to brotherly affection if I sometimes feel inclined
+to wonder what you mean to do."
+
+"To do?" she queried, looking round at him.
+
+"Yes, to do. I don't understand you, that is all. Of course, it is not
+necessary that I should understand."
+
+Mrs. Romaine did not often change color, but she flushed scarlet now,
+and was glad for a moment that the room was almost dark. Yet, as her
+brother stood close to her, and the fire was sending up fitful flashes
+of ruddy light, she felt certain, on reflection, that he had seen that
+blush. This certainly imparted some humility to her voice as she spoke
+again.
+
+"You know, Oliver, that I always like you to approve of what I am doing.
+I like you to understand. Of course, whatever I do, it is partly for
+your sake."
+
+"Is it?" said Oliver, with a laugh. "I shouldn't have thought it. As far
+as I can judge, you have been very careful to please yourself all
+through."
+
+There was a little silence. Then she said, in a low tone,
+
+"_How_ have I pleased myself, I should like to know?"
+
+"Do you want a plain statement of facts? Well, my dear, you know them as
+well as I do, though perhaps you do not know the light in which they
+present themselves to me. We three, you and Francis and I, were left to
+earn our own living at a somewhat early age. Francis became a banker's
+clerk, and you took to literature and governessing and general
+popularity. By a very clever stroke you managed to induce Professor
+Romaine to marry you. He was fifty and you were twenty-four. You did
+very well for yourself--twisted him round your little finger, and got
+him to leave you all his money; but really I do not see how this could
+be said to be for my sake."
+
+"Then you are very ungrateful, Oliver. You were a boy of fourteen when I
+married, and what would you have done but for Mr. Romaine and myself?"
+
+"You forget, my dear," said Oliver, smoothly, "that I was never exactly
+dependent on you for a livelihood. I took scholarships at school and
+college, and there was a certain sum of money invested in the Funds for
+my other expenses. It was perhaps not a large sum, but it was enough. I
+have to thank you for some very pleasant weeks at your house during the
+holidays; but there was really no necessity for you to marry Peter
+Romaine in order to provide for my holidays."
+
+She winced under his tone of banter, but did not speak. She seemed
+resolved to let him say what he liked. Rosalind Romaine might not be
+perfect in all relations of life, but she was certainly a good sister.
+
+"When a few years had elapsed," her brother went on, in a light
+narrative tone, "I'll grant that Romaine was of considerable service to
+us. He got Francis out of several scrapes, and he shoved me into a
+Government office, where the duties are not particularly onerous. Oh,
+yes, I owe some thanks to Romaine."
+
+"And none to me for marrying him?"
+
+Oliver laughed. "My dear Rosy," he said, "I have mentioned before that I
+consider you married him to please yourself."
+
+She shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing more.
+
+"Romaine became useful to me, of course," said Oliver, reflectively;
+"and then came the first extraordinary hitch. We met the Brookes--how
+many years ago--nearly twelve, I suppose; and you formed a gushing
+friendship with Lady Alice Brooke and her husband, especially with her
+husband."
+
+"Why do you rake up these old stories?"
+
+"Because I want to understand your position. You amazed me then, and you
+seem more than ever disposed to amaze me now. You were attracted by
+Caspar Brooke--heaven knows why! and you made no secret of the fact. You
+liked the man, and he liked you. I don't know how far the friendship
+went----"
+
+"There was nothing in it but the most ordinary, innocent
+acquaintanceship!"
+
+"Lady Alice did not think so. Lady Alice made a devil of a row about it,
+as far as I understand. Everyone who knows the story blames you,
+Rosalind, for the quarrel and separation between husband and wife."
+
+"It was not my fault."
+
+"Oh, was it not? Well, perhaps not. At any rate, the husband and wife
+separated quietly, twelve years ago. I don't know whether you hoped
+that Brooke would give his wife any justification for her
+suspicions----"
+
+"Oliver, you are brutal! You insult me! I have never given you reason to
+think so ill of me."
+
+"I think of you," said Oliver, slowly, "only as I think of all women. I
+don't suppose you are better or worse than the rest. As it happened the
+whole thing seemed to die down after that separation. Romaine whisked
+you off to Calcutta with him. Then he fell ill, and you had to nurse
+him: you and your friend Brooke did not often meet. Then your husband
+died, after a long illness, and you came here again three years ago--for
+what object?"
+
+"I had no object but that of living in a part of London which was
+familiar to me--and of being amongst friends. You have no right at all
+to call me to account in this way."
+
+"So I said a few minutes ago. But you remarked that you wished me to
+understand and approve of your proceedings. I am only trying to get at
+your motives--if you have any."
+
+Mrs. Romaine was tempted to say that she had no motives. But she did not
+think that Oliver would believe her.
+
+"Here you are," he went on, in his soft, slow voice, "in friendly--I
+might say familiar--relations with this man again. His wife is still
+living, and as bitter against him as ever, but not likely to give him
+any pretext for a divorce. You cannot marry him. Why do you provoke
+people to say ill-natured things about you by continuing so aimless a
+friendship?"
+
+"I don't think that any one would take the trouble of saying ill-natured
+things about me, Oliver," said Mrs. Romaine, forcing a smile. "We are
+too conventional, too advanced, now-a-days, for that kind of thing.
+Friendship between a man and woman is by no means the abnormal and
+unheard-of thing that it used to be."
+
+"You are not so free as you think you are. You are still
+good-looking--still young. You cannot afford to defy the world. And I
+cannot afford to defy it either. I don't mind a reasonable amount of
+laxity, but I do not want my sister to be the heroine of a scandal."
+
+"I think you might trust me to take care of myself."
+
+"I would not say a word if Brooke were a widower. Although I don't like
+him, I acknowledge that he is the sort of big blundering brute that
+suits some women. But there's no chance with him, so why should you make
+a fool of yourself?"
+
+Mrs. Romaine turned round with a fierce little gesture of contradiction,
+but restrained herself, and did not speak for a minute or two.
+
+"What do you want me to do?" she said at last, in rather a breathless
+kind of way.
+
+"Well, my dear Rosy, since you ask me, I should say that it would be far
+wiser to drop Brooke's acquaintance."
+
+"That is impossible."
+
+"And why impossible?"
+
+"His daughter is coming to him for a year: he has been here to-night to
+ask me to call on her--to chaperone her sometimes."
+
+"Is the man a fool?" said Oliver.
+
+"I think," Mrs. Romaine answered, somewhat unsteadily, "that Mr. Brooke
+never knew--exactly--that his wife was jealous of me."
+
+"Oh, that's too much to say. He must have known."
+
+"I am pretty sure that he did not. From things that he has said to me, I
+feel certain that he attributed only a passing irritation to her on my
+account. You do not believe me, Oliver; but I think that he is perfectly
+ignorant of the real cause of her leaving him."
+
+"And _you_ know it?"
+
+"I know it, and Lady Alice knows it: no one else."
+
+"What was it, then? You mean more than simple jealousy, I see."
+
+"Yes, but--I am not obliged to tell you what it was."
+
+"Oh, no. Keep your own counsel, by all means. But you are placing
+yourself in a very risky position. Lady Alice Brooke knows something
+that would, I suppose, compromise you in the world's eyes, if it were
+generally known. Her daughter is coming to Brooke's house. You mean--you
+seriously mean--to go to his house and visit this girl? thereby
+offending her mother (who is sure to hear of the visit) and bringing
+down the ill-will of all the Courtleroys upon your head? Have you no
+regard for your character and your position in the world? You are
+risking both, and you have nothing to gain."
+
+"Yes, I have."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"I cannot tell you."
+
+"You mean you will not tell me?"
+
+"Perhaps so."
+
+Oliver Trent deliberately took a match-box from the mantelpiece, struck
+a match, and lighted a wax candle. "I should like to see your face," he
+said.
+
+Rosalind looked at him fully and steadily for a few seconds; then her
+eyelids fell, and for the second time that evening the color mounted in
+her pale cheeks.
+
+"I think that I know the truth," said her brother, composedly, after a
+careful study of her face. "You are mad, Rosalind, and you will live to
+rue that madness."
+
+"I don't know what you mean," she said, turning away from the light of
+the candle. "You speak in riddles."
+
+"I will speak in riddles, then, no longer. I will be very plain with
+you. Rosalind, you are in love with Caspar Brooke."
+
+She sank down on a low chair as if her limbs would support her no longer
+and rested her face upon her hands.
+
+"No," she said, in a low voice, "you are wrong: I do not love Caspar
+Brooke."
+
+"What other motive can you have?"
+
+She waited for a moment, and then said, still softly--
+
+"I suppose I may as well tell you. I loved him once. In those first days
+of our acquaintance--when he was disappointed in his wife and seeking
+for sympathy elsewhere--I thought that he cared for me. I was mistaken.
+Oliver, can you keep my secret? No other soul in the world knows of this
+from me but you. I told him my love. I wrote to him--a wild, mad
+letter--offering to fly to the ends of the earth with him if he would
+go."
+
+Oliver stared at her as if he could not believe his ears.
+
+"And what answer did he make?"
+
+"He made none--because he never saw it. That letter fell into Lady
+Alice's hands. She did not know that it was the first that had been
+written: she took it to be one of a series. She wrote a short note to me
+about it; and the next thing I heard was that she had gone. But I know
+that he never saw that letter of mine."
+
+"All this," said Oliver, in a hard contemptuous voice, "does not explain
+your present line of conduct."
+
+She lifted her face from her hands. "Yes, it does," she said quickly.
+"If you were a woman you would understand! Do you think I want her to
+come back to him? No, if he cannot make me happy, he shall not be happy
+at _her_ side. I shall never forgive her for the words she wrote to me!
+If her daughter comes, Oliver, it is all the more reason why I should be
+here, ready to nip any notion of reconciliation in the bud. It is hate,
+not love, that dominates me: it is in my hatred for Caspar Brooke's wife
+that you must seek the explanation of my actions. _Now_, do you
+understand?"
+
+"I understand enough," said Oliver, drily.
+
+"And you will not interfere?"
+
+"For the present I will not interfere. But I will not bind myself. I
+must see more of what you are doing before I make any promises. Whatever
+you do, you must not compromise yourself or me."
+
+"Hate!" he repeated to himself scornfully as he left the house at a
+somewhat later hour in the evening. "It is all very well to put it down
+to her hate for Lady Alice. She is still in love with Brooke; and that
+is the beginning and the end of it."
+
+And Oliver was not far wrong.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+LESLEY COMES HOME.
+
+
+Caspar Brooke was a busy man, and he was quite determined that his
+daughter's arrival should make no difference in his habits. In this
+determination he was less selfish than stern: he had reason to believe
+that his wife's treatment of him proceeded from folly and fickleness,
+and that his daughter had inherited her foibles. It was not worth while,
+he said to himself, to make any radical change in his way of life:
+Lesley must accommodate herself, if she could, to his habits; and if she
+could not, she must go back to her mother. He was not prepared, he told
+himself, to alter his hours, or his friendships, or his peculiarities
+one whit for Lesley's sake.
+
+Lesley arrived an hour later than the time at which she had been
+expected. It was nearly eight o'clock when her cab stopped at the door
+of the house in Upper Woburn Place, and the evening was foggy and cold.
+To Lesley, fresh from the clear skies and air of a French city, street,
+house, and atmosphere alike seemed depressing. The chimes of St.
+Pancras' church, woefully out of tune, fell on her ear, and made her
+shiver as she mounted the steps that led to the front door. How dear
+they were to grow to her in time she did not then suspect, nor would
+have easily believed! At present their discordance was part of the
+general discordance of all things, and increased the weight of dejection
+which lay upon her. Her mother's maid had orders to deliver her over to
+Mr. Brooke and then to come away: she was not to spend an hour in the
+house, nor to partake of food within its walls. She had strict orders
+from Lady Alice on this point.
+
+The house was a very good house, as London dwellings go; but to Lesley's
+eyes it looked strangely mean and narrow. It was very tall, and the
+front was painted a chocolate brown. The double front doors, which
+opened to admit Lesley's boxes, showed an ordinary London hall, narrow,
+crowded with an oaken chest, an umbrella and hat stand, and lighted by a
+flaring gas lamp. At these doors two persons showed themselves; a neat
+but hard-featured maid-servant, and a lady of uncertain age, whom Lesley
+correctly guessed to be his sister and housekeeper, Miss Brooke. There
+was no sign of her father.
+
+"Is this Mr. Brooke's house?" inquired Dayman, formally. She used to
+know Mr. Brooke by sight, for she had lived with Lady Alice for many
+years.
+
+"Yes, this is the house, and this is his daughter, I suppose?" said Miss
+Brooke, coming forward, and taking Lesley's limp hand in hers. Miss
+Brooke had a keen, clever, honest face, but she was undeniably plain,
+and Lesley was not in a condition to appreciate the kindness of her
+glance.
+
+"I must see Mr. Brooke himself before I leave my young lady," Dayman
+announced.
+
+"Run and fetch your master, Sarah," said Miss Brooke, quickly. "He
+cannot have heard the cab."
+
+The white-aproned servant disappeared into the back premises, and
+thence, in a moment or two, issued Mr. Caspar Brooke himself, at the
+sight of whom Miss Brooke involuntarily frowned and bit her lip. She saw
+at one glance that Caspar was in his "study-coat," that his hair was
+dishevelled, and that he had just laid down his pipe. These were small
+details in themselves, but they meant a good deal. They meant that
+Caspar Brooke would not do a single thing, would not go a single step
+out of his way, to conciliate the affections of Lady Alice's daughter.
+He had never in his life looked more of a Bohemian than he did just
+then. And Miss Brooke suspected him of wilful perversity.
+
+The lights swam before Lesley's eyes. The vision of a big, brown-bearded
+man, bigger and broader, it seemed to her, than any man she had ever
+spoken to before, took away her senses. As he came up to her she
+involuntarily shrank back; and when he stooped to kiss her, the novel
+sensation of his bristly beard against her face, the strong scent of
+tobacco, and the sense that she was unwelcome, all contributed towards
+complete self-betrayal. Dizzy from her voyage; faint, sick, and
+unhinged, she almost pushed him away from her and sank down on a
+hall-chair with a burst of sobbing which she could not control. She was
+terribly ashamed of herself next moment; but the next moment was too
+late. She had made as bad a beginning as she had it in her power to
+make, and no after-apology could alter what was done.
+
+For a moment a dead silence fell on the little group. Miss Brooke heard
+her brother mutter something beneath his breath in a very angry tone.
+She wondered whether his daughter heard it too. The faithful and
+officious Dayman immediately pressed forward with soothing words and
+offers of help.
+
+"There, there, my dear young lady, don't take on so. It won't be for
+long, remember; and I'll come for you again to take you back to your
+mamma----"
+
+"You had better leave her alone, Dayman," said Mr. Brooke, coldly. "She
+will probably be more reasonable by and bye."
+
+Lesley was on her feet again in a moment. "I am not unreasonable," she
+said distinctly, but with a little catch in her voice; "it is only that
+I am tired and upset with the journey--and the sudden light was too much
+for me. Give mamma my love, Dayman, and say that I am very well."
+
+"Are the boxes all in?" asked Mr. Brooke. "We need not detain you, Mrs.
+Dayman."
+
+Dayman turned and dropped him a mocking curtsey. "I have my orders from
+my mistress, sir. Having seen the young lady safe into your hands, I
+will go back to my lady at the railway station, where she now is, and
+tell her how she was received."
+
+Miss Brooke, glancing anxiously at her brother, saw him bite his lip and
+frown. He did not speak, but he pointed to the door in a manner which
+Dayman did not see fit to disobey.
+
+"Good-bye, Miss Lesley--and I'll look forward to the day when I see you
+back again," said the maid, in a tone of profound commiseration.
+
+"Good-bye, Dayman, give my love to mamma," said Lesley. She would dearly
+have liked to add, "Don't tell her that I cried;" but with that circle
+of unsympathetic faces round her, she did not dare. She pressed her lips
+together, dashed the tears from her eyes, and managed to smile, however,
+as Dayman took her departure.
+
+Meanwhile, Miss Brooke had quietly sent the maid for a glass of wine,
+which she administered to the girl without further ado. Lesley drank it
+obediently, and felt reinvigorated: but although her courage rose, her
+spirit remained sadly low as she looked at her father's face, and saw
+that it wore an uncompromising frown.
+
+"You had better have these boxes carried upstairs as soon as possible,"
+he remarked to his sister. "I will say good-night now: I have to go
+out."
+
+He turned away rather brusquely, and went back into his study, which was
+situated behind the dining-room, on the ground-floor. Lesley looked
+after him helplessly, with a mingled feeling of offence and relief. She
+did not see him again, but was conveyed to her room by Miss Brooke, who
+spoke to her kindly indeed, but with a matter-of-fact directness which
+seemed hard and cold to the convent-bred girl, whose teachers and
+guardians had vied with one another in sugared sweetness and a tutored
+amiability of demeanor.
+
+Lesley was taken up two flights of stairs to a room which seemed close
+and stuffy to her, although in English eyes it might be deemed
+comfortable and even luxurious. But padded arm-chairs and couch,
+eider-down silken-covered quilts, cushions, curtains, and carpets, were
+things of which she had as yet no great appreciation. The room seemed to
+her altogether too full of furniture, and she longed to run to the
+window for a breath of fresh air. Miss Brooke, observing how white she
+looked, asked her if she felt faint.
+
+"No, thank, you; I am only tired," said Lesley.
+
+"You would like some tea, perhaps?"
+
+"Thank you," said the girl, rather hesitatingly. Nobody drank tea at the
+convent, and in her visits to Lady Alice she had not cultivated a taste
+for it. "I think I would rather go to bed."
+
+"You must have something to eat before you go," said Miss Brooke, drily.
+"Here, let me feel your pulse. Yes, you need food, and I'll send you up
+a soothing draught as well. You need not look so astonished, my dear:
+don't you know that I'm a doctor?"
+
+"A doctor! _You!_" Lesley looked round the room as if seeking for some
+place in which to hide from such a monstrosity.
+
+"Yes, a doctor--a lady doctor," said Miss Brooke, with grim but not
+unmirthful emphasis. "You never saw me before, did you? Well, I'm not
+in general practice just now; my health would not stand it, so I am
+keeping my brother's house instead; but I am fully qualified, my dear, I
+assure you, and can prescribe for you if you are ill as well as any
+physician in the land."
+
+She laughed as she spoke, and there was a humorous twinkle in her
+shrewd, kindly eyes, which Lesley did not understand. As a matter of
+fact, her innocent horror and amaze tickled Miss Brooke immensely. It
+was evident that this girl, with her foreign, aristocratic, and Catholic
+training knew nothing at all of the strides that have of late been made
+in the direction of female emancipation; and her ignorance was amusing
+to Miss Brooke, who was one of the foremost champions of the woman's
+cause. Miss Sophia Brooke, whose name was on every committee under the
+sun, who spoke at meetings and wrote half a dozen letters after her
+name, to have a niece who had never met a lady doctor in her life
+before, and probably did not know anything at all about women's
+franchise! It was quite too funny, and Miss Brooke--or Doctor Brooke, as
+she liked better to be called--was genuinely amused. But it was not an
+amusing matter to Lesley, who felt as if the foundations of the solid
+world were shaking underneath her.
+
+If she had heard of women doctors at all it was in terms of bitterest
+reprobation: she had been told that they were not persons of
+respectability, that they were "without the pale," and she had believed
+all she was told. And here she was, shut up for a year with a woman of
+the very class that she had been taught to reprobate--a woman, too, who,
+although no longer young, had a face which was pleasant to look upon,
+because it expressed refinement and kindliness as well as intellectual
+power, and whose dress, though plain, was severely neat, well-fitting,
+and of rich material. In fact, Miss Brooke was so unlike anything in the
+shape of womankind that Lesley had ever encountered, that the girl could
+only gaze at her in speechless amazement, and wonder whether _she_ was
+expected to develop into something of the same sort!
+
+She could not deny, however, that her aunt was very good-natured. Miss
+Brooke helped her to undress, put her to bed, unpacked her boxes in
+about half the time that a maid would have taken to do the work; then
+she brought her something to eat and drink, and waited on her with the
+care of a woman with a truly kindly heart. Lesley began to take courage
+and to ask questions.
+
+"I suppose I shall see my father again to-morrow morning," she said.
+
+"About mid-day you may see him," Miss Brooke answered, cheerfully. "He
+will be out till two or three in the morning, you know; and of course he
+can't be disturbed very early. You must remember that we keep the house
+very quiet until eleven or twelve, when he generally comes down. He
+breakfasts then, and goes out."
+
+Lesley was mystified. Why did her father keep such extraordinary hours?
+She had not the slightest notion that these were the usual arrangements
+of a journalist's life. She thought that he must be very thoughtless,
+very self-indulgent, even very wicked. Surely her mother had been more
+than justified in leaving him. She laid her head upon the pillow,
+feeling rather inclined to cry.
+
+Miss Brooke had not much of a clue to her emotions; but she was trying
+hard to fathom what was passing in the girl's mind, and she came very
+near the mark. She stooped down and kissed her affectionately.
+
+"I daresay you feel lonely and strange, my dear," she said; "but you
+must remember that you have come to your own home, and that we belong to
+you, and you to us. So you must put up with us for a time, and you
+may--eventually--come to like us, you know. Stranger things than that
+have happened before now."
+
+Lesley put one arm round her aunt's neck, undeterred by Miss Brooke's
+laugh and the little struggle she made to get away.
+
+"Thank you," she said, "for being so kind. I am sorry I cried when I
+came in."
+
+"You were hysterical and overwrought. I shall tell your father so."
+
+"You think he was vexed?"
+
+"I suppose," said Miss Brooke, "that a man hardly likes to see his
+daughter burst out crying and shrink away when she first looks at him."
+
+"Oh, I was very stupid!" cried Lesley, remorsefully. "It must have
+looked so bad, and I did not mean anything--at least, I meant only----"
+
+"I understand all about it," said her aunt, "and I shall tell your
+father what I think if he alludes to the matter. In the meantime you
+had better go to sleep, and wake up fresh and bright in the morning.
+Good-night, my dear."
+
+And Lesley was left to her own reflections.
+
+Although she went early to bed she did not sleep soon or soundly. There
+was not much traffic along the street in which her father lived, but the
+bells of St. Pancras rang out the hours and the quarters with painful
+tunelessness, and an occasional rumble of wheels would startle her into
+wakeful terror. At half-past two in the morning she heard the opening
+and shutting of the front door, and her father's footsteps on the stairs
+as he came up to bed. There seemed to her something uncanny in these
+nocturnal habits. The life of a journalist, of a literary man, of
+anybody who did any definite work in the world at all, was quite unknown
+to her.
+
+She came down to breakfast at nine o'clock, feeling weary and depressed.
+Miss Brooke was kind but preoccupied; she had a committee at twelve, she
+said, and another at four, so she would be obliged to leave Lesley for
+the greater part of the day. "But you will have your own little
+arrangements to make you know," she said, "and Sarah will show you or
+tell you anything you want. You might as well fall into our ways as soon
+as you can."
+
+"Oh, yes," said Lesley. "I only want to be no trouble."
+
+"You'll be no trouble to anybody," said Miss Brooke, cheerfully, "so
+long as you find something to do, and do it. There's a good library of
+books in the house, and a piano in the drawing-room; and you ought to go
+out for an hour or two every day. I daresay you will be able to occupy
+yourself."
+
+"Is there any one to go out with me?" queried Lesley, timidly. She had
+never been out alone in the whole course of her life.
+
+"Go out with you?" repeated Miss Brooke, rather rudely, though with kind
+intent. "An able-bodied young woman of eighteen or nineteen surely can
+take care of herself! You are not in Paris now, my dear, you are in
+London; and girls in London have to be independent and courageous."
+
+Lesley felt that she was being somewhat unjustly judged, but she did not
+like to reply. And her aunt, conscious of having spoken sharply, became
+immediately more gentle in manner, and told her certain details about
+the arrangements of the house, which it behoved Lesley to know, with
+considerable thoughtfulness and kind feeling.
+
+Mr. Brooke usually rang for his coffee about half-past ten, and came
+down at half-past eleven. He then had breakfast served to him in the
+dining-room, and did not join his sister at luncheon at all. In the
+afternoon he walked out, or wrote, or saw friends; dined at six, and
+went down to the office of his paper at eight. From the office he did
+not usually return until the small hours of the morning; and then, as
+Miss Brooke explained, he often sat up writing or reading for an hour or
+two longer.
+
+"Why does he work so late?" asked Lesley, innocently. "I should have
+thought the day-time was pleasanter."
+
+Miss Brooke gave a short, explosive laugh, fixed a pair of eyeglasses on
+the bridge of her nose, and looked at Lesley as if she were a natural
+curiosity.
+
+"Have you yet to learn," she said, "that we don't do what is pleasant in
+this life, but what we _must_?"
+
+Then she got up and went away from the breakfast-table, leaving Lesley
+ashamed and confounded. The girl leaned her elbows upon the white cloth,
+and furtively wiped a tear away from her eyes. She found herself in a
+new atmosphere, and it did not seem to her a very congenial one. She was
+bewildered; it did not appear possible that she could live for a year in
+a home of this very peculiar kind. To her uncultivated imagination, Mr.
+Brooke and his sister looked to her like barbarians. She did not
+understand their ways at all.
+
+She spent the morning in unpacking her things, and arranging them, with
+rather a sad heart, in her room. She did not like to go downstairs until
+the luncheon-bell rang; and then she found that she was to lunch alone.
+Miss Brooke was out; Mr. Brooke was in his study.
+
+The white-capped and severe-visaged middle-aged servant, who was known
+as Sarah, came to Lesley after the meal with a message.
+
+"Mr. Brooke says, Miss, that he would like to see you in his study, if
+you can spare him a few minutes."
+
+Lesley flushed hotly as she was shown into the smoky, little den. It was
+a scene of confusion, such as she had never beheld before. The table was
+heaped high with papers: books and maps strewed every chair: even the
+floor was littered with bulky tomes and piles of manuscript. At a
+knee-hole table Caspar Brooke was sitting, writing hard, as if for dear
+life, his loose hair falling heavily over his big forehead, his left
+hand grasping his thick brown beard. He looked up as Lesley entered, and
+gave her a nod.
+
+"Good-morning," he said. "Wait a minute: I must finish this and send it
+off by the quarter to three post. I have just done."
+
+He went on writing, and Lesley stood motionless beside the table, with a
+feeling of dire offence in her proud young heart. Why had he sent for
+her if he did not want her? She was half inclined to walk away without
+another word. Only a sense of filial duty restrained her. She thought to
+herself that she had never been treated so unceremoniously--even in her
+earliest days at school. And she was surprised to find that so small a
+thing could ruffle her so much. She had hardly known at the convent, or
+while visiting her mother, that she had such a thing as a "temper." It
+suddenly occurred to her now that her temper was very bad indeed.
+
+And in truth she had a hot, strong temper--very like her father's, if
+she had but known it--and a will that was prone to dominate, not to
+submit itself to others. These were facts that she had yet to learn.
+
+"Well, Lesley," said Caspar Brooke, laying down his pen, "I have
+finished my work at last. Now we can talk."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+FRIENDS AND FOES.
+
+
+Something in the slightly mutinous expression of Lesley's face seemed to
+strike her father. He looked at her fixedly for a minute or two, then
+smiled a little, and began to busy himself amongst his papers.
+
+"You are very like your mother," he said.
+
+Lesley felt a thrill of strong indignation. How dared he speak of her
+mother to her without shame and grief and repentance? She flushed to her
+temples and cast down her eyes, for she was resolved to say nothing that
+she might afterwards regret.
+
+"Won't you sit down?" said Mr. Brooke, indifferently. "You must make
+yourself at home, you know. If you don't, I'm afraid you will be
+uncomfortable. You will have to look after yourself."
+
+Lesley made no answer. She was thinking that it would be very
+disagreeable to look after herself. She did not know how clearly her
+face expressed her sentiments.
+
+"You don't much like the prospect, apparently?" said her father.
+"Well"--for he was becoming a little provoked by her silence--"what
+_would_ you like? Do you want a maid?"
+
+"Oh, no, thank you," said Lesley, startled into speech.
+
+"You can have one if you like, you know. Speak to your aunt about it. I
+suppose you have not been accustomed to wait upon yourself. Can you do
+your own hair?"
+
+He spoke with a smile, half-indulgent, half-contemptuous. Lesley
+remembered, with intuitive comprehension of his mood, that her mother
+was singularly helpless, and never dressed without Dayman's help, or
+brushed the soft tresses that were still so luxuriant and so fair. She
+rebelled at once against the unspoken criticism.
+
+"I can do everything for myself," she said; "I can do my own hair and
+mend my dresses and everything, because I am a schoolgirl; but of
+course when I am older I expect to have my own maid, as every lady
+does."
+
+Mr. Brooke's short, hard laugh was distinctly unpleasing to her ear.
+
+"I think you will find, when you are older," he said, with an emphasis
+on the words, "that a great many ladies have to do without maids--and
+very much better for them that they should--but as I do not wish to
+stint you in anything, nor to oppose any fairly reasonable desire of
+yours, I will tell your aunt to get you a maid as soon as possible."
+
+"Oh, no, please!" cried Lesley, more alarmed than pleased by the
+prospect. "I really do not wish for one; I do not wish you to have the
+trouble--the ex----"
+
+She stopped short: she did not quite like to speak of the "expense."
+
+"It will not be much trouble to me if Sophia finds you a maid," said her
+father drily; "and as to the expense, which is what I suppose you were
+going to allude to, I am quite well able to afford it. Otherwise I
+should not have proposed such a thing."
+
+Lesley felt herself snubbed, and did not like it, but again kept
+silence.
+
+"I cannot promise you much amusement while you stay here," Mr. Brooke
+went on, "but anything that you like to see or hear when you are in town
+can be easily provided for. I mean in the way of picture galleries,
+concerts, theatres--things of that kind. Your Aunt Sophia will probably
+be too much occupied to take you to such places; but if you have a maid
+you will be pretty independent. I wonder she did not think of it
+herself. Of course a maid can go about with you, and so relieve her
+mind."
+
+"I am sorry to be troublesome," said Lesley, stiffly.
+
+He cast an amused glance at her. "You won't trouble _me_, my dear. And
+Mrs. Romaine says that she will call and make your acquaintance. I dare
+say you will find her a help to you."
+
+"Is she--a friend of yours?"
+
+"A very old friend," said Caspar Brooke, with decision. "Then there are
+the Kenyons, who live opposite. Ethel Kenyon is a clever girl--a great
+favorite of mine. Her brother is a doctor."
+
+"And she lives with him and keeps his house?" said Lesley, growing
+interested.
+
+"Well, she lives with him. I don't know that she does much in the way of
+keeping his house. I hope I shall not shock your prejudices"--how did he
+know that she had any prejudices?--"if I tell you that she is an
+actress."
+
+"An actress!"--Lesley flushed with surprise, even with a little horror,
+though at the same moment she was conscious of a movement of pleasant
+curiosity and a desire to know what an actress was like in private life.
+
+"I thought you would be horrified," said her father, looking at her with
+something very like satisfaction. "How could you be anything else? How
+long have you lived in a French convent? Eight or ten years, is it not?
+Ah, well, I can't be surprised if you have imbibed the conventional idea
+of what you would call, I suppose, your class." He gave a little shrug
+to his broad shoulders. "It can't be helped now. You must make yourself
+as happy as you can, my poor child, as long as you are here, and console
+yourself with visions of your happy future at the Courtleroys'."
+
+It was exactly what Lesley intended to do, and yet she felt hurt by the
+slightly contemptuous pity of his tone.
+
+"I have no doubt that I shall be very happy," she said, steadying her
+voice as well as she could; "and I hope that you will not concern
+yourself about me."
+
+"I should not have time to do so if I wished," he answered coolly. "I
+never concern myself about anything but my proper business, which is
+_not_ to look after girls of eighteen----"
+
+"Then why did you send for me here?" she asked, with lightning rapidity.
+
+The question seemed to surprise him. He raised his eyebrows as he looked
+at her.
+
+"That was a family arrangement made many years ago," he answered at last
+deliberately. "And I think it was a wise one. There is no reason why you
+should grow up in utter ignorance of your father. And I prefer you to
+come when you have arrived at something like a reasonable age, rather
+than when you were quite a child. As you _are_ at a reasonable age,
+Lesley," with a lightening of his tones, "I suppose you have some
+tastes, some inclinations, of your own? What are they?"
+
+It must have been obstinacy that prompted Lesley's answer. "I have no
+taste," she said, looking down. "No inclinations."
+
+"Are you not fond of music?"
+
+"I play a little--a very little."
+
+"Oh." The tone was one of disappointment. "Art?
+Drawing--carving--modelling--any of the fads young ladies are so fond of
+now-a-days?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Do you read much?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What do you do, then?"
+
+"I can embroider a little," said Lesley, calmly. "The nuns taught me.
+And I can dance."
+
+She raised her eyes and studied the stormy expressions that flitted one
+after another across her father's face. She knew that she had taken a
+delight in provoking him, and she wondered whether he was not going to
+retaliate by an angry word. But after a few moments' pause he only
+said--
+
+"Would you like any lessons in singing or drawing now that you are in
+town?"
+
+The offer was a temptation to Lesley. Yes, she would dearly have liked
+some good singing lessons; her mother even had suggested that she should
+take them while she was in London. She was the fortunate possessor of a
+voice that was worth cultivating, and she longed to make the best of her
+time. But she had come with the notion that her father was poor, and
+that she must not be an unnecessary expense to him; and this idea had
+not been counteracted by any appearance of luxury or lavish expenditure
+in her London home. The furniture, except in her own room, was heavy,
+old-fashioned, and decidedly shabby. Her father seemed to work very
+hard. He had already promised her a maid; and Lesley could not bear to
+ask him for anything else. So she answered--
+
+"No, I think not, thank you."
+
+There might be generosity, but there was also some resentment and hot
+temper at the bottom of Lesley's reply. This was a fact, however, that
+her father did not discern. He merely paused for a moment, nodded his
+head once or twice, and seemed slightly disconcerted. Then he said--
+
+"Very well; do just as you like. Your aunt has a Mudie subscription, I
+believe"--what this meant Lesley had not the faintest idea--"and you
+will find books in the library, and a piano in the drawing-room. You
+must ask for anything you want." As if that was likely, Lesley thought!
+"I hope you will make friends and be comfortable. And--a--" he paused,
+and hesitated in his speech as he went on--"a--I hope--your mother--Lady
+Alice--was well when you left her?"
+
+"Pretty well," Lesley answered, dropping her eyes.
+
+"Was she going to Scotland for the winter?"
+
+"I think so."
+
+"Oh." He seemed satisfied with the answer. "By the way, Lesley, are you
+Catholic or Protestant?"
+
+"Protestant. Mamma would not allow the Sisters to talk to me about
+religion. I always drove to the English Church on Sundays."
+
+"Oh, very well. Do as you please. There are plenty of churches near us.
+But you need not bring more clergy than you can help to the house," said
+Brooke, with a peculiar smile. "I am not very fond of the Blacks. I am
+more of a Red myself, you know."
+
+"A Red?" Lesley asked, helplessly.
+
+"A Red Republican--Radical--Socialist--anything you like," said Brooke,
+laughing outright. "You didn't read the papers in your convent, I
+suppose. You had better begin to study them straight away. It will be a
+pleasant change from the Lives of the Saints. And now, if we have
+finished all that we have to say--I am rather busy, and----"
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon: I will go," said Lesley, rising at once. "I had
+no wish to intrude upon you," she added, with an attempt to be dignified
+and womanly, which she felt to be a miserable failure. Her father simply
+nodded in reply, took up his pen, and allowed her to leave the room.
+
+But when she had gone, he put the pen down and sat back in his chair,
+musing. Lesley had surprised him a little. She had more force and fire
+in her composition than he had expected to find. She was, as he had
+said, very like her mother in face and figure; and the minute
+differences of line and contour that showed Lesley to be strong where
+Lady Alice had been weak, original where Lady Alice had been most
+conventional, intellectual where Lady Alice had been only intelligent,
+were not perceptible at first sight even to a practised observer of men
+and women like Caspar Brooke. But the flash of her brown eyes, so like
+his own, and an occasional intonation in her voice, had told him
+something. She was in arms against him, so much he felt; and she had
+more individuality than her mother, in spite of her ignorance. It was a
+pity that her education had been so much neglected! Manlike, Caspar
+Brooke took literally every word that she had uttered; and reproached
+himself for having allowed his foolish, frivolous wife to bring up his
+daughter in a place where she had been taught nothing but embroidery and
+dancing.
+
+"It is a pity," he reflected; "but we cannot alter the matter now. The
+poor girl will feel herself sadly out of place in this house, I fear;
+but perhaps it won't do her any harm. She may be a better woman all her
+life--the idle, selfish, self-indulgent life that she is bound by all
+her traditions and her upbringing to lead--for having seen for a few
+months what honest work is like. She is too handsome not to marry well:
+let us only hope that Alice won't secure a duke for her. She will if she
+can; and I--well, I haven't much opinion of dukes." And so with a laugh
+and a shrug, Caspar Brooke returned to his work.
+
+Lesley went upstairs to the drawing-room with burning cheeks and a lump
+in her throat. She was offended by her father's manner towards her,
+although she could not but acknowledge that in essentials he had seemed
+wishful to be kind. And she knew that she had seemed ungracious and had
+felt resentful. But the resentment, she assured herself, was all on her
+mother's account. If he had treated Lady Alice as he had treated Lady
+Alice's daughter--with hardly concealed contempt, with the scornful
+indifference of one looking down from a superior height--Lesley did not
+wonder that her mother had left him. It was a manner which had never
+been displayed to her before, and she said to herself that it was
+horribly discourteous. And the worst of it was that it did not seem to
+be directed to herself alone: it included her friends the nuns, her
+mother, her mother's family, and all the circle of aristocratic
+relations to which she belonged. She was despised as part of the class
+which he despised; and it was difficult for her to understand the
+situation.
+
+It would have been easier if she could have set her father down as a
+mere boor, without refinement or intelligence; but there was one item in
+her impression of him which she could not reconcile with a want of
+culture. She was keenly sensitive to sound; and voices were important to
+her in her judgment of acquaintances. Now, Caspar Brooke had a
+delightful voice. It was low, musical, and finely modulated: his accent,
+moreover, was particularly delicate and refined. Lesley had, without
+knowing it, the same charmingly modulated intonation; and her father's
+voice was instinctively familiar to her. People had often said that it
+was hard to dislike a man with a voice like Caspar Brooke's; and Lesley
+was not insensible to its fascination. No, he could not be a mere
+insensate clod, with that pleasant and cultivated voice, she decided to
+herself; but he might be something worse--a heartless man of the world,
+who cared for nothing but himself and his own low ambitions: not a man
+who was worthy to be the husband of a gentle, loving, highly-organized
+woman like the daughter of Lord Courtleroy.
+
+With a deep sigh, Lesley ceased at last to meditate, and began to look
+about her. The room was large and lofty, and had three windows, opening
+upon a balcony. There were more books than Lesley had usually seen in
+drawing-rooms, and there was a very handsome Broadwood grand piano. The
+furniture was mostly of the solid type, handsome enough, but very heavy.
+Lesley, noticed, however, that the prints and paintings on the walls
+were really good, and that there was some valuable china on the
+mantlepiece. It was not an ugly room after all, and it displayed signs
+of culture on the part of its occupants; but Lesley turned from it with
+an impatient little shake of her head, expressive of deep disgust. And,
+indeed, it was sufficiently unlike the rooms to which she was accustomed
+to cause her considerable disappointment.
+
+She drew aside the curtains which hung from the archway between the back
+room and the front; and here her brow cleared. The one wide window
+looked out on a space of green grass and trees, inexpressibly refreshing
+to Lesley's eye. The walls were lined with rows of books, from floor to
+ceiling; and some easy chairs and small tables gave a look of comfort
+and purpose to the room. It was Mr. Brooke's library, though not the
+room in which he did his work. That was chiefly done in his little den
+downstairs, or at his office in the city.
+
+Lesley looked at the books with great and increasing pleasure. Here,
+indeed, was a joy of which her father could not rob her. No one would
+take any notice of what she read. She could "browse undisturbed" over
+the whole field of English literature if she were so minded. And the
+prospect was a delight.
+
+She sauntered back into the front room, and stood at one of the windows
+for a minute or two. Her attention was speedily attracted by a little
+pantomime at a window opposite her own--a drawing-room window, too, with
+a balcony before it, like the window at which she stood. A young lady in
+a white dress was talking to a black poodle, who was standing on his
+hind-legs, and a young man was balancing a bit of biscuit on the dog's
+nose. That was all. But the young lady was so extremely pretty, and the
+young man looked so cheerful and bright, and the poodle was such an
+extremely fascinating dog, that Lesley sighed in very envy of the
+felicity of all three. And it never crossed her mind that the pretty
+girl in the white costume, who had such a simple and natural look, could
+possibly be Ethel Kenyon, the actress, of whom her father had been
+speaking half an hour before. Yet such was the case.
+
+She was still observing the figures at the window when the door opened,
+and Sarah announced a visitor.
+
+"Mrs. Romaine, please, ma'am."
+
+Whereupon Lesley remembered the "very old friend" whom Mr. Brooke had
+mentioned. But was this the very old friend? This young and
+fashionably-dressed woman, with short, dark, curling hair, and a white
+veil to enhance the whiteness of her complexion. Mrs. Romaine was very
+handsome, without a doubt, but Lesley did not like her.
+
+"Miss Brooke?" said the visitor, in a silvery, flute-like voice, which
+the girl could not but admire. "You will forgive me for calling so soon?
+My old friendship with Mr. Brooke--whom I have known for years--made me
+anxious to see you, dear, as soon as possible. You will receive me also
+as a friend, I hope----"
+
+There could be but one answer. Lesley was delighted.
+
+"I have heard so much of you," murmured Mrs. Romaine, sitting down with
+the girl's hand in hers and gazing into her face with liquid, dreamy
+eyes; "and I wanted to know if I could not be of use to you. Dear Miss
+Brooke is so much occupied. I may call you Lesley, may I not? Dear
+Lesley, it will be the greatest possible pleasure to me to assist you in
+any way."
+
+"Thank you very much," said Lesley, rather lamely.
+
+"Dear," said Mrs. Romaine, "may I speak to you frankly? I knew your dear
+mother many years ago----"
+
+Lesley turned upon her with suddenly kindled eyes.
+
+"You knew mamma?"
+
+"I did, indeed, and I cannot express to you what my feeling was for her.
+Love, admiration--these seem cold words: worship, Lesley, expresses more
+nearly what I felt! Can you wonder that I hasten to welcome her daughter
+to her home?"
+
+Lesley's innocent heart warmed to the new-comer at once. How unjust she
+had been, she thought, to shrink for a moment from the visitor because
+of her youthful and ultra-fashionable appearance. Had she not found a
+friend?--a woman who loved her mother?
+
+Mrs. Romaine saw the impression that she had made, and did not try to
+deepen it just then. She went on more lightly:
+
+"I am a widow, you know, and I live in Russell Square. I hope that you
+will come and see me sometimes. Drop in whenever you like, and if there
+is anything that I can do for you count on me. You will want to go
+shopping or making calls sometimes when Miss Brooke is too busy to take
+you; then you must come to me. And how was dear Lady Alice when you saw
+her last?"
+
+Lesley did not like these effusive expressions of affection. But she
+answered, gently--
+
+"Mamma was quite well, thank you." Which answer did not give Mrs.
+Romaine all the information that she desired.
+
+"I have been looking at a pretty poodle dog over the way," she went on,
+conscious of some desire to change the subject. "Its mistress has been
+putting it through all sorts of tricks--ah, there it is again!"
+
+"The Kenyons' dog?" said Mrs. Romaine, smiling, as she looked at the
+little group which had once more formed itself upon the balcony. "Oh, I
+see. That is young Mr. Kenyon, the doctor, a great friend of your
+father's; and that is his sister, Ethel Kenyon, the actress."
+
+"My father spoke about her," said Lesley.
+
+"Oh, yes, he admires her very much. He wrote a long article about her in
+the _Tribune_ once. Do you see the _Tribune_ regularly? Your dear father
+writes a great deal for it, and I am sure you must appreciate his
+exquisite writing."
+
+"Do you know Miss Kenyon too?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I know her very well. And I expect to know her better very
+soon, because I suppose we shall be connections before long."
+
+Lesley looked a smiling inquiry.
+
+"I have a younger brother--my brother Oliver," said Mrs. Romaine, with a
+little laugh; "and younger brothers, dear, have a knack of falling in
+love. He has fallen in love with Ethel, who is really a nice girl, as
+well as a pretty and a clever girl, and I believe they will be married
+by and by."
+
+Lesley could not have said why, but somehow at that moment she was
+distinctly glad of the fact.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+OLIVER'S INTENTIONS.
+
+
+"Well, what is she like?" Oliver Trent asked, lightly, of his sister
+Rosalind, when they met that evening at dinner.
+
+"Lesley Brooke? She is a handsome girl," said Mrs. Romaine, with some
+reserve of manner.
+
+"Nothing more?"
+
+His sister waited until the servant had left the room before she
+replied.
+
+"I wish you would be discreet, Oliver. My servants are often at the
+Brookes' with messages. I should not like them to repeat what you were
+saying."
+
+Oliver shrugged his shoulders with the air of a man to whom women's
+caprices are incomprehensible. But he was silent until dessert was
+placed upon the table, and Mrs. Romaine's neat parlor-maid had
+disappeared.
+
+"Now," he said, "you can disburthen your mind in peace."
+
+"Oliver," said Mrs. Romaine, abruptly. "I want you to make Miss Brooke's
+acquaintance as soon as you can. I don't understand her, and I think
+that you can help me."
+
+"As how!"
+
+"Oh, don't be silly. You always get on with girls, and you can tell me
+what you think of her."
+
+Oliver raised his eyebrows, took a peach from the dish before him, and
+began to peel it with great deliberation.
+
+"Handsome, you say?"
+
+"Very."
+
+"Like Lady Alice? I remember her; a willowy, shadowy creature, with a
+sort of ethereal loveliness which appealed very strongly to my
+imagination when I was a boy."
+
+Mrs. Romaine flushed a little. It occurred to her that _she_ had never
+been called shadowy or ethereal-looking.
+
+"She is much more substantial than Lady Alice," she said, drily. "I
+should say that she had more individuality about her. She looks to me
+like a girl of character and intellect."
+
+"In which case your task will be the more difficult, you mean?"
+
+"I don't know what you mean by a task. I have not set myself to do
+anything definite."
+
+"No? Then you are very unlike your sex, Rosalind. I generally find women
+much too definite--damnably so."
+
+"Well, then, I must be an exception. You are always trying to entrap me
+into damaging admissions, Oliver, and I won't put up with it. All that I
+want is to be sure that Lady Alice shall not return to her husband. But
+there is nothing definite in that."
+
+"Oh, nothing at all," said Oliver, satirically. "All that you have got
+to do is to prejudice father and daughter against each other as much as
+possible, make Brooke believe that the girl has been set against him by
+her mother, and persuade Miss Brooke that her father is not the sort of
+man that Lady Alice can return to. Nothing definite in that, is there?"
+
+"Oliver, you are quite too bad. I never made any plans of the kind." But
+there was a distinctly guilty look in Mrs. Romaine's soft eyes.
+"Besides, that is a piece of work which hardly needs doing. Father and
+daughter are too much alike to get on."
+
+"Alike, are they?"
+
+"Yes, in a sense. The girl is very like her mother, too--she has Lady
+Alice's features and figure, but the expression of her face is her
+father's. And her eyes and her brow are her father's. And she is like
+her father--I think--in disposition."
+
+"You have found out so much that I think you scarcely need me to
+interview her in order to tell you more. What do you want me to do?"
+
+"I want to find out more about Lady Alice. Could you not get Ethel
+Kenyon to ask her about her mother, and then persuade Ethel to tell
+you?"
+
+"Can't take _Ethel_ into our confidence," said Oliver with a disparaging
+emphasis upon the name. "She is such a little fool." And then he began
+to roll a cigarette for himself.
+
+Mrs. Romaine watched him thoughtfully for a minute or two. "Noll," she
+said at length, "I thought you were really fond of Ethel?"
+
+Oliver's eyes were fixed upon the cigarette that he was now lighting,
+and, perhaps, that was the reason why he did not answer for a minute or
+two. At last, he said, in his soft, drawling way--
+
+"I am very fond of Ethel. And especially of the twenty thousand pounds
+that her uncle left her."
+
+"Ethel Kenyon is handsome enough to be loved for something beside her
+money."
+
+"Handsome? Oh, she's good-looking enough: but she's not exactly to my
+taste. A little too showy, too abrupt for me. Personally I like a
+softer, quieter woman; but as a rule the women that I really admire
+haven't got twenty thousand pounds."
+
+"I know who would suit you," said Mrs. Romaine, leaning forward and
+speaking in a very low voice--"Lesley Brooke."
+
+"What is her fortune? If it's a case of her face is her fortune, she
+really won't do for me, Rosy, however suitable she might be in other
+respects."
+
+"But," said Mrs. Romaine, eagerly, "she is sure to have plenty of money.
+Her father is well off--better off than people know--and would probably
+settle a considerable sum upon her; then think of the Courtleroys--there
+is a fair amount of wealth in that family, surely----"
+
+"Which they would be so very likely to give her if she married me," said
+her brother, with irony. "Moonshine, my dear. Do you think that Lady
+Alice would allow her daughter to marry your brother?--knowing what she
+does, and hating you as she does, would she like to be connected with
+you by marriage?"
+
+"That is exactly why I wish that you would marry her," said Mrs.
+Romaine, almost below her breath. "Think of the triumph for me!"
+
+Her eyes glowed, and she breathed more quickly as she spoke. "That woman
+scorned me--gloated over my sorrow and my love," she said; "she dared to
+reproach me for what she called my want of modesty--my want of womanly
+feeling, and--oh, I cannot tell you what she said! But this I know, that
+if I could reach her through her daughter or her husband, and stab her
+to the heart as she once stabbed me, the dearest wish of my life would
+be fulfilled!"
+
+"Women are always vindictive," said Oliver, philosophically. "The fact
+is, you want to revenge yourself on Lady Alice through me, and yet you
+don't consider _me_ in the very least. If I married this Lesley Brooke,
+Lady Alice and all the Courtleroys would no doubt get into an awful rage
+with her and you and me and everybody; and what would be the upshot?
+Why, they would cut her off with a shilling and we should be next door
+to penniless. Then Brooke--well, he may be fairly prosperous, but he has
+only what he makes, you know; and I doubt if he could settle very much
+upon his daughter, even if he wanted to. And he does not like me. I
+doubt whether even _you_, my dear Rosy, could dispose him to look
+favorably on my advances."
+
+Mrs. Romaine was perhaps convinced, but she did not like to own herself
+mistaken. She was silent for a minute or two, and then said with a sigh
+and a smile--
+
+"You may be right. But it would have been splendid if you could have
+married Lesley Brooke. We should have been thorns in Lady Alice's side
+ever afterwards."
+
+"You are one already, aren't you?" asked Oliver. He got up from the
+table and approached the mantelpiece as if to show that the discussion
+was ended. "No, my dear Rosalind," he said, "I'm booked. I am going to
+woo and wed Miss Ethel Kenyon and her twenty thousand pounds. She will
+be sick of her fad for the stage in twelve months. And then we shall
+live very comfortably. But I'll tell you what I will do to please you.
+I'll _flirt_ with this Lesley girl, nineteen to the dozen. I'll make
+love to her: I'll win her young affections, and do my best to break her
+heart, if you like. How would that suit you?"
+
+He spoke with a smile, but Rosalind knew that there was a ring of
+serious earnest in his voice.
+
+"It sounds a very cold-blooded sort of thing to do," she said.
+
+"Please yourself. I won't do it, then."
+
+"Oh, Oliver----"
+
+"Yes, I know you would like to see Lady Alice's daughter pining away for
+love of me," said Oliver, with a little laugh. "It is not a bad idea.
+The difficulty will be to manage both girls--seriously, Rosalind, Ethel
+Kenyon is the girl I mean to marry."
+
+"You are clever enough for anything if you like."
+
+"Thank you. Well, I'll see how far I can go."
+
+"I must tell you, first, however," said Mrs. Romaine, with some
+hesitation, "that I told Lesley Brooke this afternoon that you were in
+love with Ethel. I had not thought of this plan, you see, Oliver."
+
+"Ah, that complicates matters. Still, I think that we can manage--after
+a little reflection," said her brother, quietly. "Leave me to think it
+over, and I'll let you know what to do. And now I'm going out."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"Why should you ask? Do I generally tell you where I am going? Well, if
+you particularly want to know, I am going to the Novelty Theatre."
+
+"To see Ethel act?"
+
+"No--her part will be over by the time I get there. I shall probably see
+her home."
+
+Mrs. Romaine made no remonstrance. If she thought her brother's conduct
+a trifle heartless, she did not venture to say so. She was sometimes
+considerably in awe of Oliver, although he was only a younger brother.
+
+She went into the drawing-room rather slowly, watching him as he put on
+his hat and overcoat in the hall.
+
+"There is one thing I meant to tell you to-night, but I forgot it until
+now," she said, pausing at the drawing-room door. "I am nearly sure that
+I saw Francis in the Square to-day."
+
+Oliver turned round quickly. "The deuce you did! Did he see _you_?--did
+he try to speak to you?"
+
+"No, but I think that he is lying in wait. You made me promise to tell
+you when I saw him next."
+
+"Yes, indeed. I won't have him bothering you for money. If he wants
+money he had better come to me."
+
+"Have you so much, Noll?"
+
+He frowned and turned away. "At any rate he is not to annoy you," he
+said. "And I shall tell him so."
+
+Mrs. Romaine made no objection. This ne'er-do-weel brother of
+hers--Francis by name--had always been a trouble and perplexity to her.
+He had been in the habit of appealing periodically to her for help, and
+she had seldom failed to respond to the appeal, although she believed
+that all the money she gave him went for gambling debt or drink; but
+lately Oliver had interfered. He had said that Francis must henceforth
+apply to him and not to Rosalind if he wanted help, which sounded kind
+and brotherly enough; but Rosalind had a vague suspicion that there was
+more than met the ear in this declaration. She fancied somehow, that
+Oliver had secret and special reasons for preventing Francis'
+applications to her. But she knew very well that it was useless to ask
+questions or to make surmises respecting Oliver's motives and actions,
+unless he chose to show a readiness to make them clear to her. So she
+let him go out of the house without further remark.
+
+As Oliver crossed the road, he noticed that a man was leaning against
+the iron railings of the green enclosure in the middle of the Square.
+The man's form was in shadow, but his face seemed to be turned to Mrs.
+Romaine's house. Oliver sedulously averted his eyes and hailed a passing
+hansom cab. He had no mind to be delayed just then, and he was almost
+certain that he recognized in that gaunt and shabby figure his
+disreputable brother. No, by-and-bye he would talk to Francis, he said
+to himself, but not to-night. He had other game in view on this
+particular evening in September.
+
+The Novelty Theatre was just then occupied by a company that claimed to
+be the interpreters of a Scandinavian play-writer whose dramatic poems
+were just then the talk of London. Ethel Kenyon was playing a very minor
+part--a smaller _r�le_, indeed, than she was generally supposed to take,
+but one which she had accepted simply as an expression of her
+enthusiastic admiration for the author. Oliver knew the state of mind in
+which she generally came away from the representation of this play, and
+counted on her bright and elevated mood as a help to him in the course
+he meant to pursue.
+
+He knew her habits as well as he knew her moods. For the last three
+years, ever since Rosalind had settled in London, and he had been able
+to cultivate Miss Kenyon's acquaintance, he had watched her blossom from
+a saucy, laughing girl into a very attractive woman. It was only during
+the past few months, however, that he had thought of her as his future
+wife--only since she had succeeded to that enticing legacy of twenty
+thousand pounds. Since then he had studied her more carefully than ever.
+
+The Scandinavian writer's play was always over by a quarter to ten
+o'clock, and was succeeded by another in which Ethel had no share. She
+never stayed longer than was necessary on these nights. She was
+generally ready to leave the theatre soon after ten o'clock with her
+companion, Mrs. Durant, who had the right of entry to her dressing-room,
+and generally acted as her dresser. Maurice Kenyon had refused to let
+his sister go upon the stage unless she was always most carefully
+chaperoned. Mrs. Durant was always at hand whenever Ethel went to the
+Novelty Theatre. And Oliver knew exactly what to expect when he took up
+his position--not for the first time--at the narrow little stage-door.
+
+It was after ten o'clock, and the moon had risen in an almost cloudless
+sky. Even London looked beautiful beneath its light. Oliver cast a
+glance towards it and nodded as if in satisfaction. He did not care for
+the moon one jot; but he held a theory that women, being more romantic,
+were more likely to say "yes" to a wooer than "no," where they were
+wooed beneath a moonlit sky. The chances were all in his favor, he said
+to himself.
+
+A cab was already waiting. Presently the door opened and a young lady in
+hood and cloak came out. The light fell on a delicate, piquante face,
+with a complexion of ivory fairness which cosmetics had not had time to
+destroy, with charming scarlet lips, long-lashed dark eyes, a dimpled
+chin, and a great quantity of curling dark hair--the kind of hair which
+will not lie straight, but twists itself into tight rings, and gets into
+apparently inextricable tangles, and looks pretty all the time. And this
+was Ethel Kenyon. Her companion, a woman of forty-five, staid and
+demure, followed close behind her, giving no sign of surprise when
+Oliver raised his hat and gently accosted the two ladies.
+
+"Good-evening, Miss Kenyon. Good-evening, Mrs. Durant: I hope you notice
+what a lovely evening it is!"
+
+"Indeed I do!" said Ethel, fervently. "Oh, how I wish I were in the
+country! I should like a long country walk."
+
+"Would not a town walk do as well, for once?" asked Oliver, in his most
+persuasive tones. "I was wondering whether you would consent to let me
+see you home, as it is such a lovely night. But I see you have a
+cab----"
+
+"I would rather drive, I must say," remarked Mrs. Durant. It was what
+she knew she was expected to say, and she was not sorry for it, "I am
+tired of being on my feet so long. But if you would like to walk,
+Ethel, I daresay Mr. Trent would escort you."
+
+"I should be only too pleased," said Oliver.
+
+Ethel laughed happily. "All right, Mrs. Durant. You drive, and I'll walk
+home with Mr. Trent."
+
+She scarcely waited for Oliver to offer his arm. She laid her hand in it
+so naturally, so securely, that even Oliver felt an impulse of pleasure.
+He looked down at the lovely, smiling creature at his side with
+admiration, even with tenderness.
+
+At first they did not speak much, for they had to pass through some
+crowded and ill-smelling thoroughfares, where conversation was almost
+impossible. By-and-bye they emerged from these into Holborn, and thence
+they made their way into the wider streets and airier squares which
+abound in the West Central district. When they came in sight of the
+white pillars and paved yard of the British Museum, they were deep in
+talk on all sorts of matters--"Shakespeare and the musical glasses," as
+Oliver afterwards laughingly remarked. But he did not choose that she
+should altogether guide the course of conversation. Now and then he took
+the reins into his own hands. And it amused him to see how readily she
+allowed him to direct matters. She responded to the slightest hint, was
+attentive to the least check. Such quickness of apprehension, he argued,
+meant only one thing in a woman: not intellectual faculty, but love.
+
+"And you still like the stage?" he said to her, after a time.
+
+"I like it immensely. I can express myself there as I could in no other
+sphere of life. People used to advise me to take to recitations: how
+glad I am that I stood out for what I liked best."
+
+"What one likes best is not always the safest path."
+
+"You might as well say it is not always the easiest path! Mine is a very
+hard life, so far as work is concerned, you know. I toil early and late.
+But how can you be so awfully trite, Mr. Trent? I did not expect it of
+you."
+
+"A good deal of life is rather trite," said Oliver. "I know only one
+thing that can preserve it from commonplaceness and dullness and
+dreariness."
+
+"And that is----"
+
+"Love."
+
+A little silence fell on both of them. Oliver's voice had sunk almost to
+a whisper: Ethel's cheeks had grown suddenly very hot.
+
+"Love makes everything easy and beautiful. Does not your poet say
+so--the man whose play you have acted in to-night? Ethel, why don't you
+try the experiment?--the experiment of loving?"
+
+"I do try it," she said, laughing, and trying to regain her lost
+lightness of tone. "I love Maurice and Mrs. Durant and hosts of people."
+
+"Add one more to the list," said Oliver. "Love _me_."
+
+"You?" she said, doubtingly. "I am not sure whether you are a person to
+be loved."
+
+"Oh, yes, I am. Seriously, Ethel, may I speak to your brother? May I
+hope that you can love me a little, and that you will some day be my
+wife?"
+
+"Oh, that is _very_ serious!" she said, mockingly. And she withdrew her
+fingers from his arm. "I did not bargain for so much solemnity when I
+set out with you from the theatre to-night."
+
+"But I set out, Ethel, with the intention of asking you to be my wife.
+Come, my darling, won't you give me an answer? Don't send me away
+disconsolate! Let me teach you what love means--love and happiness!"
+
+His voice sank once more to its lowest murmur. Ethel listened,
+hesitated, smiled. Her little fingers found their way back to his arm
+again, and were instantly caught and pressed, and even kissed, when they
+came to a dark and shady place. And before he parted with her at the
+door of her brother's house, he had put his arms round her and kissed
+her on the lips.
+
+Was it all pretence--all for the sake of those twenty thousand pounds of
+hers? Oliver swore to himself that it was not. She was such a pretty
+little thing--such a dear, loving little girl, in spite of her fun and
+merriment and spirit--one could not help feeling fond of her. Not that
+he was going to acknowledge himself capable of such a weakness when he
+next talked to Rosalind.
+
+He was strolling idly along the east side of Russell Square as these
+thoughts passed through his mind. He had completely forgotten the
+stroller whom he had seen leaning against the railings of the Square
+gardens; but he was unpleasantly reminded of that gentleman's existence
+when a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a voice said in his ear--
+
+"I've been waiting here six hours, Oliver, and I must have a word or two
+with you."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+THE ELDER BROTHER.
+
+
+Oliver turned round sharply, with an air of visible impatience. He knew
+the voice well enough, and the moon-light left him no doubt as to the
+lineaments of a face with which he was quite familiar. Francis Trent was
+not unlike either Rosalind or Oliver; but of the two he resembled his
+sister rather than his younger brother. True, he did not possess her
+beauty, but he had her sleepy eyes, her type of feature, her colorless
+skin, and jetty hair. The colorlessness had degenerated, however, into
+an unhealthy pallor, and the stubbly beard which covered his cheeks and
+chin did not improve his appearance. Besides he was terribly out at
+elbows; his coat was green with age, his boots were broken, and his
+cuffs frayed and soiled. His hat was unnaturally shiny, and dented in
+two or three places. Altogether he looked as unlike a brother of the
+immaculate Oliver and the exquisitely-dressed Rosalind as could possibly
+have been found for either in the world of London.
+
+Oliver surveyed him with polite disgust, and waved him back a little.
+
+"You have been drinking coarse brandy, Francis," he said, coolly; "and
+you have been smoking bad tobacco. I wish you would consult my
+susceptibilities on those points when you come to interview me. You
+would really find it pleasanter in the end."
+
+"Where am I to find the money to consult your susceptibilities with?"
+asked the man, with a burst of what seemed like very genuine feeling.
+"Will you provide me with it? If you don't, what remains for me but to
+drink British brandy and smoke strong shag? I must drink something--I
+must smoke something. Will you pay the piper if I go to more expense?"
+
+"Not if you talk so loudly as to attract the attention of every passing
+policeman," said Oliver, dryly. "If you want to talk to me, as you say
+you do, keep quiet please."
+
+Francis Trent growled something like an imprecation on his brother below
+his breath, and then went on in a lowered tone.
+
+"It's easy for you to talk. You are not saddled by a wife and a lot of
+debts. _You_ haven't to keep out of the way for fear you should be
+wanted by the police--although you have not been very particular about
+keeping your hands clean after all. But you've been the lucky dog and I
+the unlucky one, and this is the result."
+
+"If you are going to be abusive, my good friend," said Oliver, calmly,
+"I shall turn round and go home again. If you will keep a civil tongue
+in your head I don't mind listening to you for five minutes. What have
+you got to say?"
+
+The man was evidently in a state of only half-repressed irritation. His
+brows twitched, he gnawed savagely at his beard, he looked at Oliver
+with furtive hate from under his heavy dark brows. But the younger man's
+cool tones seemed to possess the power of keeping him in check. He made
+a visible effort to calm himself as he replied,
+
+"You needn't be so down on me, Oliver. You must allow for a fellow's
+feeling a little out of sorts when he's kept waiting about here for
+hours. I am convinced that Rosalind saw me this afternoon; I'm certain
+that you saw me to-night. If I had not caught you now I would have gone
+to the front door and hammered at it till one of you came out."
+
+"And you think that you would have advanced your cause thereby?"
+
+"Why, hang it all, Oliver, one would think that I was not your own flesh
+and blood! Have you no natural affection left?"
+
+"Not much. Natural affection is a mistake. You need not count on that
+with me."
+
+"You always were a cold-blooded, half-hearted sort of a fellow. Not one
+to help a friend, or even a brother," said Francis, sullenly.
+
+"Suppose you come to the point," remarked Oliver. "It is getting on to
+eleven o'clock. I really can't stand here all night."
+
+"It is nothing to you that I have stood here for hours already."
+
+"No, it is not." There was a touch of sharpness in his tone. "I am in no
+mood for sentiment. Say what you have to say and get done with it, or I
+shall leave you."
+
+"Well," said Francis, after a pause, in which he was perhaps estimating
+his own powers of persuasion against his brother's powers of resistance,
+and coming to the conclusion that it was not worth his while to contend
+with him any longer, "I have come to say this. I am hard up--devilish
+hard up. But that's not all. It is not enough to offer me a five-pound
+note or a ten-pound note and tell me to spend it as I please. I want
+something definite. You seem to have plenty of money: I have none. I
+want an allowance, or else a sum of money down, sufficient to take Mary
+and myself to the Colonies. I don't think that is much to ask."
+
+"Don't you?"
+
+The icy tone which Oliver assumed exasperated his brother.
+
+"No, be hanged if I think it is!" he said vehemently, though still in
+lowered tones. "I want two hundred a year--it's little enough: or two or
+three thousand on the nail. Give me that, and I'll not trouble you or
+Rosy any more."
+
+"And where do you suppose that I'm to get two or three thousand pounds,
+or two hundred a year?"
+
+"I don't care where you get it, so long as you hand it over to me."
+
+"Very sorry I can't oblige you," said Oliver, nonchalantly "but as your
+proposition is a perfect impossibility, I don't see my way to saying
+anything else."
+
+"You think I don't mean it, do you?" growled his brother. "I tell you
+that I will have it. And if I don't have it I'll not hold my tongue any
+longer. I'll ruin you."
+
+"Don't talk in that melodramatic way," said Oliver, quietly. But his lip
+twitched a little as if something had touched him unpleasantly. "You
+know very well that you have no more power of ruining me than you have
+of flying to yonder moon. You can't substantiate any of your stories.
+You can blacken me in the eyes of a few persons who know me, perhaps;
+but really I doubt your power of doing that. People wouldn't believe
+you, you know; and they would believe me. There is so much moral power
+in a good hat and patent leather boots."
+
+"Do you dare to trifle with me----" the man was beginning, furiously,
+but Oliver checked him with a slight pressure on his arm, and went on
+suavely.
+
+"All this threatening sort of business is out of date, as you ought to
+know. One would think that you had been to the Surrey-side Theatres,
+lately, or the Porte St. Martin, and taken lessons of a stage villain.
+'Beware! I will be revenged,' and all that sort of thing. It doesn't go
+down now, you know. The fact is this--you can't do me any harm, you can
+only harm yourself; and I think you had better be advised by me and hold
+your tongue."
+
+Francis was silent for a minute or two. He was evidently impressed by
+Oliver's manner.
+
+"You're right in one way," he said, in a much more subdued tone. "People
+wouldn't listen to me because I am so badly dressed--I look so poor. But
+that could be remedied. A new suit of clothes might make all the
+difference, Oliver. And then we could see whether _some_ people would
+believe me or not!"
+
+"And what difference will it make to me if people did believe you?" said
+Oliver, slowly.
+
+The man stared at him open-mouthed. Oliver was taking a view of things
+which was unknown to Francis.
+
+"Well," he answered, "considering that you and most of my relations and
+friends have cut me for the last ten years because I got into trouble
+over a few accounts at the bank--and considering the sorry figure I cut
+now in consequence--I don't know why you should be so careless of the
+possibility of partaking my downfall! I should say that it would be
+rather worse for you than it has been for me; and it hasn't been very
+nice for _me_, I can assure you!"
+
+Oliver's face grew a trifle paler, but his voice was as smooth as ever
+when he began to speak.
+
+"Now, look here, Francis," he said, "I'll be open and plain with you. Of
+course, I know what you are alluding to; it would be weakness to pretend
+that I did not. But I assure you that you are on the wrong track. In
+your case you were found to have embezzled money, falsified accounts,
+and played the devil with old Lawson's affairs generally. You were
+prosecuted for it, and the whole case was in the papers. You got off on
+some technical point, but everybody knew that you were guilty, and
+everybody cut you dead--except, you will remember, your brother and
+sister, who continued to give you money, and were exceedingly kind to
+you. You were publicly disgraced, and there was no way of hushing the
+matter up at all. I am sorry to be obliged to put things so
+disagreeably----"
+
+"Go on! You needn't apologize," said Francis, with a rather husky laugh.
+"I know it all as well as you do. Go on."
+
+"I wish to point out the difference between our positions," said Oliver,
+calmly. "I did something a little shady myself, when I was a lad of
+twenty--at your instigation, mind; I signed old Romaine's name in the
+wrong place, didn't I? Old Romaine found it out, kept the thing quiet,
+and said that he had given me the money. I expressed my regret, and the
+matter blew over. What can you make out of that story?"
+
+He spoke very quietly, but there was a watchfulness in his eye, a slight
+twitching of his nostril, which proved him to be not entirely at his
+ease. His elder brother laughed aloud.
+
+"If that were all!" he said. "But you forget how base the action would
+seem if all the circumstances were known! how black the treachery and
+ingratitude to a man who was, after all, your benefactor. Rosalind never
+knew of that little episode, I believe? And she has a good deal of
+respect for her husband's memory. I should like to see what she would
+say about it."
+
+"She would not believe you, my dear boy."
+
+"But if I could prove it? If I had in my possession a full confession
+signed by yourself--the confession that Romaine insisted on, you will
+remember? What effect would that have upon her mind? And there was that
+other business, you know, about Mary's sister, whom you lured away from
+her home and ruined. _She_ is dead, but Mary is alive and can bear
+witness against you. How would you like these facts blazoned abroad and
+brought home to the mind of the pretty girl whom I saw you kissing a
+little while ago on the steps of a house in Upper Woburn Place? She is a
+Miss Kenyon, I know: an actress; I have heard all about her. Her brother
+is a doctor; and she has twenty thousand pounds in her own right."
+
+"You do seem, indeed, to know everything," said Oliver, with a sneer.
+
+"I make it my business to know everything about you. You've been so
+confoundedly mean of late that I had begun to understand that I must put
+the screw on you. And I warn you, if you don't give me what I ask, or
+promise to do so within a reasonable time, I shall first go to Rosalind,
+and then to these Kenyon people, and Caspar Brooke, and all these other
+friends of yours, and see what they will give me for your secrets."
+
+"They'll kick you out of the house, and you'll be called a fool for your
+pains," said the younger man, furiously.
+
+"No, I don't think so. Not if I play my game properly. You are engaged
+to Miss Kenyon, are you not?" Oliver stood silent.
+
+"I tell you that she shall never marry you in ignorance of your past
+unless you shut my mouth first. And you are the best judge of whether
+she will marry you at all or not, when she knows what we know."
+
+Then the two brothers were both silent for a little while. Oliver stood
+frowning, tracing a pattern on the pavement with the toe of his polished
+boot, and gazing at it. He was evidently considering the situation.
+Francis stood with his back to the railings, his eyes fixed, with a
+somewhat crafty look, upon his brother's face. He was not yet sure that
+his long-cherished scheme for extracting money from Oliver would
+succeed. He believed that it would; but there was never any counting
+upon Oliver. Astute as Francis considered himself (in spite of his
+failure in the world), Oliver was astuter still.
+
+Presently Oliver looked up and met Francis' fixed gaze. He started a
+little, and made an odd grimace, intended to conceal a nervous twitch of
+the muscles of his face. Then he spoke.
+
+"You think yourself very clever, no doubt. Well, perhaps you are. I'll
+acknowledge that, in a certain sense, you might spoil my game for me.
+Not quite in the way you think, you know; but up to a certain point. As
+I don't want to have my game spoilt, I am willing to make a bargain with
+you--is that plain?"
+
+"Fair sailing, so far," said Francis, doggedly. "Go on. What will you
+give?"
+
+"Nothing just now. The sum you named on the day when I marry Ethel
+Kenyon, on condition that you give me back that confession you talk
+about, swear not to mention your wife's sister, and take yourself off to
+Australia."
+
+"Hm!" said Francis considering. "So I have brought you to terms, have I?
+So much the better for you--and perhaps for me. Are you engaged to Miss
+Kenyon?"
+
+"I asked her to-night to marry me, and she consented."
+
+"You always were a lucky dog, Oliver," said Francis, with almost a
+wistful expression on his crafty face. "I never could see how you
+managed it, for my part. If that pretty girl"--with a laugh--"knew all
+that I knew----"
+
+"Exactly. I don't want her to know all you do. Are you going to agree to
+my terms or not?"
+
+"I should have said they were _my_ terms," said the elder brother, "but
+we won't haggle about names. Say two thousand five hundred pounds down?"
+
+"No, two thousand," said Oliver, boldly. "That will suit me better than
+two hundred a year."
+
+"Ah, you want to get rid of me, don't you? How soon is it likely to be?"
+
+"Oh, that I can't tell you. As soon as she fixes the day."
+
+"I swear by all that I hold sacred," said Francis, with sudden energy,
+"that I won't wait more than six months, and then I'll take two
+thousand."
+
+"Six? Make it twelve. The girl may want a year's freedom."
+
+"I won't wait twelve. I swear I won't. I'm tired of this life. I can't
+get any work to do, though I've tried over and over again. And I'm
+always unlucky at play. There's Mary threatening to go out to work
+again. If we were in another country, with a clear start, she should not
+have to do that."
+
+Oliver meditated. It did not seem to him likely that Ethel would refuse
+to marry him in six months' time, but of course it was possible. Still
+he was pretty sure that he could get the money advanced as soon as his
+engagement was noised abroad. It was rather a pity that he would have to
+publish it so soon--especially when his projects respecting Lesley
+Brooke had not been carried out--but it could not be helped. The
+prospect of ridding himself of his brother Francis was most welcome to
+him. And--if he could quiet him by promises, it might perhaps not be
+necessary to pay him the money after all.
+
+"Well," he said, at last, "I promise it within six months, Francis. On
+the conditions I named, of course."
+
+"And you will keep your word?" said Francis, looking suspiciously into
+his brother's smooth, pale face.
+
+"If not," answered Oliver, airily, "you have the remedy in your own
+hands, you know. You can easily bring me to book. And now that this
+interesting conversation is ended, perhaps you will kindly allow me to
+go home? The night is fine, but I am a good deal chilled with
+standing----"
+
+"And what am I, then? I've been waiting for you, off and on, for hours.
+And I haven't got a shilling in my pocket, either. Haven't you got a
+pound or two to spare, Oliver? For the sake of old times, you know."
+
+Some men would have found it pitiful to hear poor Francis Trent, with
+his broken-down, cringing, crafty look, thus sueing for a sovereign. For
+he had the air of a ruined gentleman, not of an ordinary beggar, and the
+signs of refinement in his face and bearing made his state of abasement
+and destitution more apparent. But Oliver was not touched by any such
+sentimental considerations. He looked at first as if he were about to
+refuse his brother's request; but policy dictated another course. He
+must not drive to desperation the man in whose hands lay his character
+and perhaps his future fortune. He put his hand into his pocket, brought
+out a couple of sovereigns, and dropped them into Francis' greedily
+outstretched palm. Then he crossed the road towards his sister's house,
+while the elder brother slunk away with an air of anything but triumph.
+It was sad to see him so depressed, so broken-spirited, so hopeless. For
+he had been meant for better things. But his will was weak, his
+principles had never been settled, and with his first lapse from honesty
+all self-respect seemed to leave him. Thenceforth he went down hill, and
+would long ago have reached the bottom but for the one helping hand that
+had been held out to stay him in his mad career. That hand belonged to
+none of his kith and kin, however. It was seamed and roughened and
+reddened by honest toil; but the toil had at least been honest and the
+toiler's love for the fine gentleman for whom she worked was loving and
+sincere. To cut a long story short, Francis Trent had married a
+dressmaker of the lower grade, and a dressmaker, moreover, who had once
+been a ladies'-maid.
+
+While he slouched away to his poverty-stricken home, and Oliver solaced
+himself with a novel and a cigar, and Miss Ethel Kenyon sank to sleep
+in spite of a tumult of innocent delight which would have kept a person
+of less healthy mind and body wide awake for hours, Lesley Brooke, who
+was to influence the fate of all these three, lay upon her bed bemoaning
+her loneliness of heart, and saying to herself that she should never be
+happy in her father's house. It was not that she had met with any
+positive unkindness: she could accuse nobody of wishing to be rude or
+cold, but the atmosphere was not one to which she was accustomed, and it
+gave her considerable discomfort. Even the Mrs. Romaine of whom her
+father spoke as if she would be a friend, was not very congenial to her.
+Rosalind's eyes remained cold, despite their softness, and Lesley was
+vaguely conscious of a repulsion--such as we sometimes feel on touching
+a toad or a snake--when Mrs. Romaine put her hand on the girl's listless
+fingers. No, what it was Lesley could not tell, but she was sure of
+this, that she could never like Mrs. Romaine.
+
+And she cried herself to sleep, and dreamed of the convent and the sunny
+skies of France.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+KNIGHT-ERRANTRY.
+
+
+Lesley found that she had unintentionally given great offence to Sarah,
+who was a supreme authority in her father's house, and possibly to her
+aunt as well, by the arrangement with her father that she would have a
+maid of her own. In vain she protested that she did not need one, and
+had not really asked for one; the impression remained upon Miss Brooke's
+mind and Sarah's mind that she had in some way complained of the
+treatment which she had received, and they were a little prejudiced
+against her in consequence.
+
+Miss Brooke was a good woman, and, to some extent, a just woman; but it
+was scarcely possible for her to judge Lesley correctly. All Miss
+Brooke's traditions favored the cult of the woman who worked: and
+Lesley, like her mother before her, had the look of a tall, fair
+lily--one of those who toil not, neither do they spin. Miss Brooke was
+quite too liberal-minded to have any great prejudice against a girl
+because she had been educated in a French convent, though naturally she
+thought it the worst place of training that could have been secured for
+her; and she had made up her mind at once, when she saw Lesley, that
+although there might be "no great harm" in the poor child, she was
+probably as frivolous, as shallow-hearted, and as ignorant as the
+ordinary French school-girl was supposed to be.
+
+With Sarah the case was different. Sarah was an ardent Protestant, of a
+strict Calvinist type, and she had taken up the impression that Miss
+Lesley must needs be a Romanist. Now this was not the case, for Lesley
+had always been allowed to go to her own church, see her own clergyman,
+and hold aloof from the devotional exercises prescribed for the other
+girls. But Sarah believed firmly that she belonged to the Church of
+Rome, and she did not feel at all easy in her mind at staying under the
+same roof with her. She made this remark to Miss Brooke on the third
+day after Lesley's arrival, and was offended at the burst of laughter
+with which Miss Brooke received it.
+
+"Do you think the house will fall in, Sarah? or that you will be
+corrupted?"
+
+"I think I may hold myself safe, ma'am," said Sarah, with dignity. "But
+I'm not so sure about the house."
+
+She stood with her arms folded, grimly surveying her mistress, who, if
+the truth must be told, was lying on a sofa in her bedroom, smoking a
+cigarette. Sarah knew her mistress' tastes, and had grown generally
+tolerant of them, but she still looked on the cigarettes with
+disapproval. Miss Brooke was discreet enough to smoke only in her own
+room or in her brother's study--a fact which had mollified Sarah a
+little when her mistress first began the practice.
+
+"The minute you smoke one o' them nasty things in the street, ma'am, I
+shall give notice," she had said.
+
+And Miss Brooke had quietly answered: "Very well, Sarah, we'll wait till
+then."
+
+It must be added, for the benefit of all who are shocked by Miss
+Brooke's practice, that she had begun it by order of a doctor as a cure
+for neuralgia. She continued it because she liked it. Lesley was only
+just beginning to suspect her aunt of the habit, and was inexpressibly
+startled and alarmed at the thought of such a thing. That her aunt, who
+was indisputably kind, clever, benevolent, respectable in every way,
+should smoke cigarettes, seemed to Lesley to justify all that she had
+heard against her father's Bohemian household. She could not get over
+it. Sarah _had_ got over this outrage on conventionality, but she was
+not yet prepared to forgive Lesley for having lived in a French convent.
+
+"Oh, you're not sure about the house," said Miss Brooke. "Well, I'm
+sorry for you, Sarah. I'll send in a plumber if you think that would be
+any good."
+
+"No, ma'am, don't; but if it will not ill-convenience you I should like
+to put a few tracts in Miss Lesley's room, so that she may look at them
+sometimes instead of the little book of Popish prayers that she has
+brought with her."
+
+Miss Brooke wondered for a moment what the book of Popish prayers could
+be; and then remembered a little Russia-bound book--the well-known
+"Imitation of Christ" which she had noticed in Lesley's room, and which
+Sarah had doubtless mistaken for a book of prayer. It would not have
+been at all like Miss Brooke to clear up the mistake. She generally let
+mistakes clear themselves. She only gave one of her short, clear, rather
+hard laughs, and told Sarah to put as many tracts as she pleased in
+Lesley's room. Whereon, Lesley shortly afterwards found a bundle of
+these publications in her room, and, as she rather disliked their tone
+and tendency, she requested Sarah to take them away.
+
+"They were put there for you to read," said Sarah, with stolid
+displeasure.
+
+"By my aunt?"
+
+"Your aunt knew that I was going to put them there. And it would be
+better for you to sit and read them rather than them rubbishy books you
+gets out of master's libery. Your poor, perishing soul ought to be
+looked after as well as your body."
+
+"Take them away, please," said Lesley, wearily. "I do not want to read
+them: I am not accustomed to that sort of book." Then, the innate
+sweetness of her nature gaining the day, she added, "Please do not be
+angry with me, Sarah. I would read them if I thought that they would do
+me any good, but I am afraid they will not."
+
+"Just like your mother," Sarah said, sharply. "She wouldn't touch 'em
+with the tips of her fingers, neither. And a maid, and all that
+nonsense. And dresses from France. Deary me, this is a sad upsetting for
+poor master."
+
+"I don't interfere with your master," said Lesley, somewhat bitterly.
+"He does not trouble about me--and I don't see why I should trouble
+about him."
+
+She said it almost below her breath, not thinking that Sarah would hear
+or understand; but Sarah--after flouncing out of the room with an
+indignant "Well, I'm sure!"--went straight to Miss Brooke and repeated
+every word, with a few embellishments of her own. Miss Brooke came to
+the conclusion that Lesley was, first of all, very indiscreet to take
+servants so much into her confidence, and, secondly, that she was
+inclined to rebel against her father's authority. And it seemed good to
+her to take counsel with Mrs. Romaine in this emergency; and Mrs.
+Romaine soon found an opportunity of pouring a sugared, poisoned version
+of what she had heard into Caspar Brooke's too credulous ears. So that
+he became colder than ever in his manner to Lesley, and Lesley wondered
+vainly how she could have offended him.
+
+The sole comfort that she gleaned at this time came from the Kenyons.
+Ethel called on her, and won her heart at once by a peculiarly caressing
+winsomeness that reminded one of some tropical bird--all dainty
+coquetries and shy, sweet playfulness. Not that Ethel was in the least
+bit shy, in reality; but she had a very tiny touch of the stage habit of
+_posing_, and with strangers she invariably posed as being a little shy.
+But in spite of this innocent little affectation, and in spite of a very
+fashionable style of dress and demeanor, Ethel was true-hearted and
+affectionate, and Lesley's own heart warmed to the tenderness of Ethel's
+nature before she had been in her company half an hour.
+
+"You know you are not a bit like what I expected you to be," Ethel said
+sagely, when the two girls had talked together for some little time.
+
+"What did you expect?" said Lesley, her face aglow.
+
+"I hardly know--something more French, I think--a girl with airs and
+graces," said Ethel, who had herself more airs and graces than Lesley
+had ever donned in all her life; "nothing so Puritan as you are!"
+
+"Puritan, after so many years of a French convent?"
+
+"Yes, Puritan: no word suits you half so well! There is a sort of
+restrained life and gladness about you, and it is the restraint that
+gives it its attraction! Oh, forgive me for speaking so frankly; but
+when I see you I forget that I have not known you for years and years! I
+feel somehow as if we had been friends all our life!"
+
+"And so do I," said Lesley, surrendering herself to the spell, and
+letting Ethel take both her hands and look into her face. "But you are
+not at all like the English girls I expected to meet! I thought they
+were all cold and stiff!"
+
+"Have you never seen an English girl before, dear?"
+
+"Yes, but I have had no English girl friend. I never talked to an
+English girl before as I am talking to you."
+
+"Oh, how charming!" said Ethel. "And I never before talked to a girl who
+had lived in a convent! We are each a new experience to the other! What
+a basis for friendship!"
+
+"Do you think so?" said Lesley. "I should have thought the
+opposite--that what is old and well-tried and established is the best to
+found a friendship upon."
+
+She spoke half sadly, with a memory of her parents and her own relations
+with her father in her mind. Ethel gave her a shrewd glance, but made no
+direct reply. She was a young woman of marvellously quick intuitions,
+and she saw at once that Lesley's training had not fitted her to take up
+her position in the Brooke household very easily.
+
+When she went home she turned this matter over in her mind a good many
+times; and was so absorbed in her reflections that her brother had to
+ask her twice what she was thinking about before she answered him.
+
+"I was thinking about Lesley Brooke," she answered promptly.
+
+"A lively subject. I never saw a girl with a more melancholy
+expression."
+
+"Well, of course, as yet she hates everything," said Ethel,
+comprehensively.
+
+"Hates everything! That's a large order," said the young doctor.
+
+They were at dinner--they dined at six every day on account of Ethel's
+professional engagements; and it was not often that Maurice was at home.
+When he was at home Ethel knew that he liked to talk to her, so she
+abandoned her brown studies.
+
+"Well, she hates the fog and the darkness, and the ugly buildings and
+the solid furniture of Mr. Brooke's house, which dates back to the
+Georgian era at the very least. I'm sure she hates Sarah. And I
+shouldn't like to say that she hates Doctor Sophy"--Ethel always called
+Miss Brooke Doctor Sophy--"but she doesn't like her very much. She is
+awfully shocked because Doctor Sophy smokes cigarettes."
+
+"Quite right of Miss Lesley Brooke to be shocked," said Maurice,
+laughing. "However, she need not despair, there is always old Caspar to
+fall back upon."
+
+Ethel pursed up her lips, looked at her brother very hard, and shook her
+curly head significantly.
+
+"Do you mean to say," cried the doctor, "that she doesn't appreciate her
+father?"
+
+"I don't think she understands him. And how can she appreciate him if
+she doesn't understand?"
+
+Maurice laid down his knife and fork, and simply glared at his sister.
+He was an excitable young man, and had a way of expressing himself
+sometimes in reprehensibly strong language. On this occasion, he said--
+
+"Do you mean to tell me that that girl is such a born idiot and fool
+that she can't see what a grand man her father is?"
+
+Ethel nodded. But her eyes brimmed over with mirth.
+
+"Then she deserves to be shut up for life in the convent she came from!"
+said the doctor. "I wouldn't have believed it! Is she blind? Doesn't she
+_see_ what an intellect that man has? Can't she understand that his
+abilities are equal to those of any man in Europe?"
+
+"We all know your admiration for Mr. Brooke, dear," said Ethel, saucily.
+"You had better go and expound your views to Lesley. Perhaps she and her
+father would get on better then."
+
+Maurice was silent. He sat and looked aghast at the notion thus
+presented to him. That Caspar Brooke--his friend, his mentor, almost his
+hero--should not have been able to live with his wife was bad enough!
+That his daughter should not admire him seemed to Maurice a sort of
+profanation! Heavens, what did the girl mean? The mother might have been
+an aristocratic fool; but the girl?--she looked intelligent enough!
+There must be a misapprehension somewhere; and it occurred to Maurice
+that it might be his duty to remove it.
+
+Maurice Kenyon was a born knight-errant. When he said that a thing
+wanted doing, his heart ached until he could do it. A Celtic strain of
+blood in him showed itself in the heat of his belief, the impetuosity of
+his actions. In Ethel this strain had taken an artistic turn; but the
+same nature that urged her to dramatic representation urged her brother
+to set to work vehemently on righting anything that he thought was
+wrong. There never was a man who hated more than he to leave a matter
+_in statu quo_.
+
+Although Ethel said no more concerning Lesley's misunderstanding of her
+father, Maurice was haunted by the echo of her remarks. He could not
+conceive how a girl possessed of ordinary faculties could possibly
+misprize her father's gifts. Either she was a girl of extraordinary
+stupidity, or she was wilfully blind. Perhaps there was no one to point
+out to her Caspar Brooke's many virtues. But they (thought Maurice) lay
+on the surface, and could not possibly be overlooked. The girl must have
+been spoiled by her residence in a French convent: she must be either
+stupid, frivolous, or base. Then how could Ethel care for her? Surely
+she could not be stupid: she could not be base--she might be frivolous:
+Maurice could not go so far as to think that his sister Ethel would like
+her the worse for being a little frivolous. Yes, that must be it: she
+was frivolous--a soulless butterfly, who pined for the gaieties of
+Paris. How awfully hard for a man like Caspar Brooke to have a daughter
+who was merely frivolous.
+
+The more he thought of it--and he thought a good deal of it--the more
+Mr. Kenyon was concerned. No doubt it was no business of his, he said to
+himself, and he was a fool to worry himself. But then Brooke was his
+friend, in spite of the disparity of their years; and he did not like to
+think that his friend had such a heavy burden to bear. For, of course,
+it was a heavy burden to a man like Brooke. No doubt Brooke did not show
+that it was a burden: strong men did not cry out when their strength was
+tried. But a man with his power of affection, his tenderness, his depth
+of feeling (as Maurice thought), must be troubled when he found that his
+daughter neither loved nor comprehended him!
+
+Maurice reflected that he had seen this extraordinary girl once. She had
+been standing at the window one day when he and Ethel were feeding that
+pampered poodle of Ethel's, Scaramouch, and he had been struck by the
+grace of her figure, the queenly pose of her head. He had not observed
+her face particularly, but he believed that it was rather pretty. Her
+dress--for his practised memory began to furnish him with details--her
+dress was grey, and if he could judge aright, fashionably made. Yes, a
+little French fashion-plate--a doll, powdered, perhaps, and painted,
+laced up, and perfumed and clothed in dainty raiment, to come and make
+discord in her father's home! It was intolerable. Why did not Brooke
+leave this pestilent creature in her own abode, with the insolent,
+aristocratic friends who had done their best already to spoil his life!
+
+Thus he worked himself up to a high pitch of passionate excitement on
+his friend's behalf. It never occurred to him that Caspar Brooke might
+not at all be in need of it. It did not seem possible to him that a
+father could feel indifferent to the opinion of his child. And perhaps
+he was right, and Caspar Brooke not quite so indifferent as he seemed.
+
+It must be the girl's fault, Maurice thought to himself. Could nothing
+be done? Could he set Ethel to talk to her? But no: Ethel was not
+serious enough in her appreciation of Caspar Brooke. Mrs. Romaine? She
+would praise Mr. Brooke, no doubt; but Kenyon had a troubled doubt of
+Mrs. Romaine's motives.
+
+Doctor Sophy? Well, he liked Doctor Sophy immensely, especially since
+she had given up her practice: he liked her because she was so frank, so
+sensible, so practical in her dealings. But she was not a very
+sympathetic sort of person: not the kind of person, he acknowledged to
+himself, who would be likely to inspire a young girl with enthusiasm for
+another.
+
+If there was nobody else to perform a needed office, it was your plain
+duty to perform it yourself. That had been Maurice Kenyon's motto for
+many years. It recurred to him now with rather disagreeable force.
+
+Why, of course, _he_ could not go and tell Brooke's daughter that she
+was a frivolous fool! What was his conscience driving at, he wondered.
+How could he, who did not know her in the least, commit such an act of
+impertinence as tell her how much he disapproved of her? It would be the
+act of a prig, not of a gentleman.
+
+Of course he could not do it. And then he began at the beginning again,
+and condoled with Brooke in his own heart, and vituperated Brooke's
+daughter, and wondered whether she was really incapable of being
+reclaimed to the paths of filial reverence, and whether he ought not to
+make an attempt in his friend's favor. All of which proves that if any
+man deserved the name of a Don Quixote, that man was Maurice Kenyon,
+M.R.C.S.
+
+Ethel unconsciously gave him the chance he secretly desired. He wanted
+above all things to make Lesley's acquaintance, and to talk to her--for
+her good--about her father. And one afternoon his sister begged him, as
+a great favor to her; to go over to Mr. Brooke's house with a message
+and a parcel for Lesley. He had been introduced to her one day in the
+street, therefore there could be nothing strange in his going in and
+asking for her, Ethel said. And would he please go about four o'clock,
+so as to catch Miss Lesley Brooke at afternoon tea.
+
+Maurice told himself that it would be an impertinent thing to speak to
+her about her family affairs, and that he would only stay three minutes.
+At four o'clock he knocked at the door of Mr. Brooke's chocolate-brown
+house, and inquired solemnly for Miss Brooke.
+
+Miss Brooke was not at home.
+
+"Miss Lesley Brooke then?"
+
+Miss Lesley Brooke was in the drawing-room. Maurice went upstairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+BROOKE'S DISCIPLE.
+
+
+Lesley was sitting in a low chair near a small wood fire, which the
+chillness of the October day made fully acceptable. She had a book on
+her lap, but she did not look as if she were reading: her chin was
+supported by her hand, and her brown eyes were gazing out of the window,
+with, as Maurice Kenyon could not fail to see, a slightly blank and
+saddened look. The girl had been now a fortnight in London, and her face
+had paled and thinned since her arrival; there was an anxious fold
+between her brows, and her mouth drooped at the corners. If her old
+friends--Sister Rose of the convent, for instance--had seen her, they
+could hardly have recognized this spiritless, brooding maiden for the
+joyous "Lisa" of their thoughts.
+
+Mr. Kenyon had only one moment in which to note the significance of her
+attitude, for Lesley changed it as soon as she heard his name. He gave
+her Ethel's message at once and Ethel's parcel, and then stood, a little
+confused and unready for she had risen and was looking as if, when his
+errand was accomplished, he ought to go. Fortunately, Doctor Sophy came
+in and invited him cordially to sit down; rang for tea and scolded him
+roundly for not coming oftener; then suddenly remembered that one of her
+everlasting committees was at that moment sitting in a neighboring
+house, and started off at once to join her fellows, calling out to
+Lesley as she went to give Mr. Kenyon some tea, and tell her father, who
+was in the library.
+
+"My father is out: Aunt Sophy does not know that," said Lesley to her
+visitor.
+
+"Then I ought to go?" said Maurice, smiling.
+
+"Oh, no!"--Lesley looked disturbed. "I did not mean to be so
+inhospitable. The tea is just coming up."
+
+"Thank you," said Maurice, accepting the unspoken invitation and seating
+himself. "I shall be very glad of a cup."
+
+She sat down too, veiling the real embarrassment of a school-girl by an
+assumption of great dignity. Maurice looked at her and felt perplexed.
+Somehow he could not believe that Brooke's daughter was such a very
+frivolous girl when he came to look at her. She had a fine brow,
+expressive eyes, a very eloquent mouth. He wondered what she was
+reading. Glancing at the title of the book, his heart sank within him.
+She had a yellow-backed novel in her hand, of a profoundly light and
+frivolous type. Maurice was fond of certain kinds of novels, but there
+were others that he disliked and despised, and, as it happened, Lesley
+had got hold of one of these.
+
+"You are reading?" he said. "Am I interrupting you very much?"
+
+"Oh, no," Lesley answered, smiling and shutting the book. "Tea is coming
+up, you see. I am falling into English habits, and beginning to love the
+hour of tea."
+
+Sarah brought in the tea-tray as she spoke; and even Sarah's sour visage
+relaxed a little at the sight of the young doctor. She went downstairs,
+and presently returned with a plate of small, sweet cakes, which she
+placed rather ostentatiously upon the table.
+
+"Sarah must have brought those cakes especially for me," said Mr. Kenyon
+lightly, when she had left the room. "She knows they are my especial
+favorites. And your father's too. I don't know how many dozen your
+father and I have not eaten, with our coffee sometimes in an evening! I
+suppose you are learning to like them for his sake!"
+
+He was talking against time for the sake of giving her back the
+confidence that she seemed to have lost, for her face had flushed and
+paled again more than once since his entry. But perhaps he was wrong,
+for she answered him with a quietness of tone which showed no
+perturbation.
+
+"These little macaroon things, you mean? I like them very much already.
+I did not know that my father cared about them. I have been away so
+long"--smilingly--"that I know but little of his tastes."
+
+"I could envy you the pleasure you will have, then?" said Maurice,
+quickly.
+
+Lesley opened her brown eyes. "The--the pleasure?" she faltered in an
+inquiring tone.
+
+"Yes, the pleasure of discovering what are the tastes and feelings of a
+man like your father," said Maurice.
+
+Then, as she looked disconcerted still, and as if she did not know quite
+what he meant, he went on, ardently:
+
+"You have the privilege, you know, of being the only daughter of a man
+who is not only very widely known, but very much respected and admired.
+That doesn't seem much to you perhaps?"--for he thought he saw Lesley's
+lip curl, and his tone became a little sharp. "I assure you it means a
+great deal in a world like ours--in the world of London. It means that
+your father is a man of great ability and of unimpeachable honesty--I
+mean honesty of thought, honesty of purpose--intellectual honesty. You
+have no idea how rare that quality is amongst public men--or literary
+men--or journalists. Indeed it is a wonder that Brooke is so successful
+as he is, considering that he never wrote or said a word that he did not
+mean. No doubt that seems a small thing to you: it is not a small thing
+to say of a journalist now-a-days."
+
+"I don't know much about journalists," said Lesley. "But all that you
+are saying would be taken as a matter of course amongst _gentlemen_."
+
+There was a snub for Maurice, and a sly hit at her father, too. Maurice
+began to wax warm.
+
+"Miss Brooke," he said, "you entirely fail to understand me; and I can
+imagine that you, perhaps, fail to understand your father also."
+
+"If I do," said Lesley, proudly, "I hardly need to be set right by a
+stranger."
+
+The young doctor sprang to his feet. "I a stranger!" he said. "I, who
+have known and appreciated and worked with Caspar Brooke for the last
+half dozen years--I to be called a stranger by his daughter? I don't
+think that's fair: I don't indeed."
+
+He paused and put his tea-cup down upon the table. "If you'll only think
+for a minute, Miss Brooke," he said, entreatingly, with such a sudden
+softening of voice and manner that Lesley sat amazed, "I cannot believe
+but that you'll pardon me. I owe so much to your father--he has been a
+guide, a helper, almost a prophet to me, ever since I came across him
+when I was a medical student at King's College Hospital, and I only want
+everybody to see him with my eyes--loving and reverent eyes, I can tell
+you, though I wouldn't say so to everybody, seeing that love and
+reverence seem to have gone out of fashion! But to his daughter----"
+
+"His daughter surely does not need to be taught how to think of him by
+another, whether he be an old friend or a comparative stranger," said
+Lesley. "She can learn to know him for herself."
+
+"But _can_ she?"--Maurice Kenyon's Irish strain, which always led him to
+be more eager and explicit in speech than if he had been entirely of
+Anglo-Saxon nationality, was running away with him. "Are you sure that
+she can? Look here, Miss Brooke: you come to your father's house
+straight from a French convent, I believe. What _can_ you know of
+English life? of the strife of political parties, of literary parties,
+of faiths and theories and passions? You are plunged into the midst of a
+new world--it can't help but be strange to you at first, and you must
+feel a trifle forlorn and miserable--at least I should think so----"
+
+Lesley was in a dilemma. Kenyon's words were so true, so apt, that they
+brought involuntary tears to her eyes. She could get rid of the lump in
+her throat only by working herself up into a rage: she could dissipate
+the tears only by making her eyes flash with anger. The melting mood was
+not to her taste. She chose the more hostile tone.
+
+"Mr. Kenyon, excuse me, but you have no right at all to talk about my
+being miserable. You may know my father: you do not know me."
+
+"But knowing your father so well----"
+
+"That has nothing to do with it. Am I not a separate human being? What
+have you to do with me and my feelings? You say that I do not know
+English ways--is it an English way," cried Lesley, indignantly, "to try
+to thrust yourself into a girl's confidence, and intrude where you have
+not been asked to enter? Then English ways are not those that I
+approve."
+
+Maurice Kenyon felt that his cause was lost. He had gone rather white
+about the lips as he listened to Lesley's protest. Of course, he had
+offended her by his abominable want of tact, he told himself--his
+intrusive proffer of unneeded sympathy and help. But it was not in his
+nature to acknowledge himself beaten, and to take his leave without a
+word. His ardor impelled him to speak.
+
+"Miss Brooke, I most sincerely beg your pardon," he said, in tones of
+deep humility. "I see that I have made a mistake--but I assure you that
+it was from the purest motives. I don't"--forgetting his apologetic
+attitude for a moment--"I _don't_ think that you realize what a truly
+great man your father is--how good, as well as great. I _don't_ think
+you understand him. But I beg your pardon for seeming to think that I
+could enlighten you. Of course, it must seem like impertinent
+interference to you. But if you knew"--with a tremor of disappointment
+in his voice--"what your father has been to me, you would not perhaps be
+so surprised at my wanting his daughter to sympathize with me in my
+feelings. I had no idea"--this was intended to be a Parthian shot--"that
+my admiration would be thought insulting."
+
+He bowed very low, and turned to depart, vowing to himself that nothing
+would induce him ever to enter that drawing-room again; but Lesley, pale
+and wide-eyed, called him back.
+
+"Stay, Mr. Kenyon," she said, rising from her seat.
+
+He halted, his hat in one hand, his fingers still on the knob of the
+door.
+
+"I never meant to say," said Lesley, confronting him, "that I was
+incapable of sympathy with you in admiration for my father. With my
+feeling towards him you have nothing to do--that is all. I am not angry
+because you express your own sentiments, but because----"
+
+She stopped and bit her lip.
+
+"----Because I dared divine what yours might be?" asked Maurice, boldly,
+and with an accent of reproach. "Is it possible that yours _can_ be like
+mine? and am I to blame for saying so? How can you estimate the worth of
+his work? You, a girl fresh from school! I know it is very rude to say
+so, but I cannot help it. If you were more of a woman, Miss Brooke, if
+you had had a wider experience of life and mankind, you would
+acknowledge that you could not possibly know very much of what your
+father had done, and you would be glad of the opportunity of learning!"
+
+This was just the speech calculated to make Lesley furiously angry, and
+it was with great difficulty that she restrained the words that rose
+impetuously to her lips. She stood motionless and silent, and Maurice
+mistook her silence for that of stupid obstinacy, when it was the
+silence of wounded feeling and passionate resentment. He went on hotly,
+for he began to feel himself once more in the right.
+
+"Of course you _may_ know all about him: you may know as much as I who
+have lived and worked at his side, so to speak, for the last six years!
+You may be familiar with his writings: you may have seen the _Tribune_
+every week, and you may know that wonderful book of his--'The
+Unexplored' I mean, not the essays--by heart; there may be nothing that
+I can tell you, even about his gallant fight for one of the hospitals
+last year, or the splendid work he has set going at the Macclesfield
+Buildings in North London, or the way in which his name is blessed by
+hundreds--yes hundreds--of men and women and children whom he has helped
+to lead a better life! You may know all about these things, and plenty
+more, but you _can't_ know--coming here without having seen him since
+you were a baby--you _can't_ know the beauty of his character, or the
+depths of his sympathy for the erring, or the tremendous efforts that he
+has made, and is still making, for the laboring poor. You can't know
+this, or else I'd tell you, Miss Brooke, what you would be doing! You
+would be working heart and soul to lighten his burdens and relieve him
+of the incessant drudgery that interferes with his higher work, instead
+of sitting here day after day reading yellow-backed novels in a
+drawing-room."
+
+And then, in a white heat of indignation, Mr. Maurice Kenyon took his
+leave. But he did not know the consternation that he had created in
+Lesley's mind. She was positively frightened by his vehemence. But she
+had never seen an angry man before--never been spoken to in strong
+masculine tones of reprobation and disgust, such as it seemed to her
+that Maurice Kenyon had used. And for what? She did not know. She was
+not aware that she had behaved in an unfilial manner to her father. She
+did not realize that her cold demeanor, her puzzled and bewildered
+looks, had told Mr. Kenyon far more than she would have cared to confess
+about the state of her feelings. For the rest, Ethel's words and
+Maurice's vivid imagination were to blame. And, angry as Lesley was, she
+felt with a thrill of dismay that Mr. Kenyon's discourteous words were
+perfectly true. She did not appreciate her father; she did not know
+anything about him. All that she had hitherto surmised was bad. And here
+came a young man, apparently sane, certainly handsome and clever,
+although disagreeable--to tell her that Caspar Brooke was a hero, a man
+among ten thousand, an intellectual giant, an uncrowned king. It was too
+ridiculous; and Lesley laughed aloud--although as she laughed she found
+that her eyes were wet with tears.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+"THE UNEXPLORED."
+
+
+Lesley retained for some time a feeling of distinct anger against
+Maurice Kenyon, even while she came to acknowledge the truth of divers
+of his words. But their truth, she told herself indignantly, was no
+justification of his brutality. He was horribly rude and meddlesome and
+intrusive. What business was it of his whether she gave her father or
+not the meed of praise that he deserved? Why should she be lectured for
+it by a stranger? Maurice Kenyon's conduct--Maurice Kenyon himself--was
+intolerable, and she should hate him all the days of her life.
+
+And in good sooth, Maurice's behavior is somewhat hard to excuse. He
+certainly had no business at all to attack Lesley on the subject of her
+feelings about her father, and his mode of attack was almost ludicrously
+wanting in judgment and discrimination. But that which tact and judgment
+might perhaps have failed to effect, Maurice's sledge-hammer blows
+brought home to Lesley's understanding. He was to blame; but he did some
+good, nevertheless. When the first shock was over, Lesley began to
+reflect that her own world had been a narrow one, and that possibly
+there were others equally good. And this was a great step to a girl who
+had been educated in a French convent school.
+
+Part of Lesley's inheritance from her father, and a part of which she
+was quite unconscious, was a singularly fair mind. She could judge and
+balance and discriminate with an impartiality which was far beyond the
+power of the ordinary woman. Being young her impartiality was now and
+then disturbed by little gusts of passion and prejudice; but the faculty
+was there to be strengthened by every opportunity of exercising it. This
+faculty had been stirred within her when Lady Alice first told her of
+her father's existence; but she had tried to stifle it as an accursed
+thing. She held it wicked to be anything but a partizan. And now it had
+revived within her, and was urging her to form no rash conclusions, to
+be careful in her thoughts about her new acquaintances, to weigh her
+opinions before expressing them. And all this in spite of a native fire
+and vivacity of temperament which might have led her into difficulties
+but for the counterbalancing power of judgment which she had inherited
+from the father whom she had been taught to despise.
+
+So although she raged with all her young heart and strength against Mr.
+Kenyon's construction of her feelings and motives, she had the good
+sense to ask herself whether there had not been some truth in what he
+said. After all, what did she know of this strange father of hers, whose
+every action she judged so harshly? She had heard her mother's story,
+which certainly placed him in a very unamiable light. But many years had
+gone by since Lady Alice left her husband, and a man's character might
+be modified in a dozen years or so. Lesley was willing to go so far. He
+might even be repentant for the past. Then Sister Rose's words came back
+to her. She, Lesley, might become the instrument of reconciliation
+between two who had been long divided!
+
+The color flashed into her face and slowly faded away. What chance had
+she of gaining her father's ear? True, she could descant by the hour
+together, if she had the opportunity, on Lady Alice's sweetness and
+goodness; but when could she get the opportunity of speaking about them
+to him? He looked on her with an eye of mistrust, almost of contempt.
+She had been brought up in a school of thought which he despised. How
+far away from her now, by the by, seemed the old life with which she had
+been familiar for so many years! the life of simple duties, of easy
+routine, of praise and tenderness and placid contentment. She was out in
+the world now, as other girls were who had once shared with her the
+convent life near Paris. Where were they now--Aglae and Marthe and
+Lucile and Anastasie? Did they all find life in the world as difficult
+as Lesley found it?
+
+No, there was little chance, she decided, of acting as a mediatrix
+between her parents. Her father would not listen to any word she might
+say. And she was quite sure that she could never speak of his private
+affairs to him. They had been divided so many years; they were strangers
+now, not father and daughter, as they ought to be.
+
+Curious to relate, a feeling of resentment against the decree that had
+so long severed her from him rose up in Lesley's heart. It was not exactly
+a feeling of resentment against her mother. Rather it was a protest against
+fate--the fate that had made that father a sealed book to her, although
+known and read of all the world beside. If there _were_ admirable things in
+his nature, why had she been kept in ignorance of them?--why told the one
+ugly fact of his life which seemed to throw all the rest into shadow? It
+was not fair, Lesley very characteristically remarked to herself: it
+certainly was not fair.
+
+If he was so distinguished a man in literature as Maurice Kenyon
+represented him to be, why had she never been allowed to read his books?
+She wanted, for the first time, to read something that he had written.
+She supposed she might; for there was no one now to choose her books for
+her. Only a day or two before she had dutifully asked her Aunt Sophia if
+she might read a book that Ethel had lent her (it was the yellow-backed
+novel, the sight of which had made Maurice so angry), and she had said,
+with her horrid little laugh--oh, how Lesley hated Aunt Sophy's
+laugh!----
+
+"Good heavens, child, read what you like! You're old enough!"
+
+And Lesley had felt crushed, but resolved to avail herself of the
+permission. But where should she find her father's works? She would cut
+out her tongue before she asked Aunt Sophy for them, or her father, or
+the Kenyons, or Mrs. Romaine.
+
+She set to work to search the library shelves, and was soon rewarded by
+the discovery of a set of _Tribunes_, a weekly paper in which she knew
+that her father wrote. She turned over the leaves, with a dazed feeling
+of bewilderment. None of the articles were signed. And she had no clue
+to those that were written by her father or anybody else.
+
+She returned the volumes to their places with a heavy sigh, and
+continued to look through the shelves--especially through the rows of
+ponderous quartos and octavos, where she thought that her father's works
+would probably be found. Simple Lesley! It was quite a shock to her when
+at last--after she had relinquished her search in heartsick
+disappointment--she suddenly came across a little paper volume bearing
+this legend:--
+
+"The Unexplored. By Caspar Brooke. Price One Shilling. Tenth Edition."
+
+She took the book in her hand and gazed at it curiously. This was the
+"wonderful book" of which Maurice Kenyon had spoken. This little
+shilling pamphlet--really it was little more than a pamphlet! It seemed
+an extraordinary thing to her that her father should write _shilling
+books_. "A shilling shocker" was a name that Lesley happened to know,
+and a thing that she heartily despised. Her taste had been formed on the
+best models, and Lady Alice had encouraged her in a critical
+disparagement of cheap literature. Still--if Caspar Brooke had written
+it, and Maurice Kenyon had recommended it, Lesley felt, with flushing
+cheek and suspicious eyes, that it was a thing which she ought to read.
+
+Holding it gingerly, as if it were a dangerous combustible which might
+explode at any moment, she hurried away with it to her own room, turned
+the key in the lock, and sat down to read.
+
+At the risk of fatiguing my readers, I must say a word or two about
+Caspar Brooke's romance "The Unexplored." It had obtained a wonderful
+popularity in all English-speaking countries, and was well known in
+every quarter of the globe. Even Lady Alice must have seen it advertised
+and reviewed and quoted a hundred times. Possibly she had refused to
+read it, or closed her eyes to its merits. Possibly what a man wrote
+seemed to her of little importance compared to that which a man showed
+himself in his daily life. At any rate, she had never mentioned the book
+to her daughter Lesley. She certainly moved in a circle which was
+slightly deaf to the echoes of literary fame.
+
+"The Unexplored" was one of those powerful romances of an ideal society
+with which recent days have made us all familiar. But Caspar's book was
+the forerunner of the shoal which the last ten years have cast upon our
+shores. He was one of the first to follow in the steps of Sir Thomas
+More and Sir Philip Sidney, and picture life as it should be rather than
+as it is. His hero, an Englishman of our own time, puzzled and
+distressed at the social misery and discord surrounding him, leaves
+England and joins an exploring expedition. In the unexplored recesses of
+the new world he comes across a colony founded in ancient days by a
+people who have preserved an idyllic purity of heart and manners,
+together with a fuller artistic life and truer civilization than our
+own. To these people he brings his stories of London as it is to-day,
+and fills their gentle hearts with amazement and dismay. A slender
+thread of love-making gives the book its romantic charm. He gains the
+affections of the king's daughter, a beautiful maiden, who has been
+attracted to him from the very first; and with her he hopes to realize
+all that has been unknown to him of noble life in his own country. But
+the book does not end with its hero and heroine lapped in slothful
+content. For the heart of the maiden burns with sorrow for the toiling
+poor of the great European cities of which he has told her: to her this
+region has also the charm of "The Unexplored," and the book ends with a
+hint that she and her husband are about to wend their way, with a new
+gospel in their hand, to the very city of which he had shaken the dust
+from his shoes in disgust before he found an unexplored Arcadia.
+
+There was not much novelty in the plot--the charm of the book lay in the
+way the story was told, in the beauty of the language; and also--last
+but not least--the burning earnestness of the author's tone as he
+contrasted the hopeless, heartless misery of the poor in our great
+cities with the ideal life of man. His pictures of London life, drawn
+from the street, the hospital, the workhouse, were touched in with
+merciless fidelity: his satire on the modern benevolence and modern
+civilization which allows such evils to flourish side by side with
+lecture-rooms, churches, intellectual culture, and refined luxury was
+keen and scathing. It was a book which had startled people, but had also
+brought many new truths to their minds. And although no one could be
+more startled, yet no one could be more avid for the truth than the
+author's own daughter, of whom he had never thought in the very least
+when he wrote the book.
+
+Lesley rose from her perusal of it with burning cheeks and humid eyes.
+She herself, without knowing it, was in much the same position as the
+heroine of her father's book. Like the girl Ione, in "The Unexplored,"
+she had lived in a charmed seclusion, far from the roar of modern
+civilization, far from the great cities which are the abomination of
+desolation in our time. Knowledge had come to her filtered through the
+minds of those who closed their eyes to evil and their ears to tales of
+sin. She did not know how the poor lived: she had only the vaguest and
+haziest possible notions concerning misery and want and disease. She was
+not only pure and innocent, but she was ignorant. She had scarcely ever
+seen a newspaper. She had read very few novels. She had lived almost all
+her life with women, and she had imbibed the notion that her marriage
+was a matter which her mother would arrange without particularly
+consulting her (Lesley's) inclinations.
+
+To a girl brought up in this way there was much to shock and repel in
+Caspar Brooke's romance. More than once, indeed, she put it down
+indignantly: more than once she cried out, in the silence of her room,
+"Oh, but it can't be true!" Nevertheless, she knew in her heart of
+hearts that the strong and burning words which she was reading could not
+have been written were they not sincerely felt. And as for facts, she
+could easily put them to the test. She could ask other people to tell
+her whether they were true. Were there really so many criminals in
+London; so many people "without visible means of subsistence?" so many
+children going out in a morning to their Board Schools without
+breakfast? But surely something ought to be done! How could people sit
+down and allow these things to be? How could her father himself, who
+wrote about such things, live in comfort, even (compared with the
+wretchedly poor) in modest luxury, without lifting a finger to help
+them?
+
+But there Lesley caught herself up. What had Mr. Kenyon said? Had he not
+spoken of the things that Caspar Brooke had done? For almost the first
+time Lesley began to wonder what made her father so busy. She had never
+heard a word concerning the pursuits that Mr. Kenyon had mentioned as so
+engrossing. "The splendid work at Macclesfield Buildings:" what was
+that? The people whom he had helped: what people? Whom could she ask?
+Not her father himself--that was out of the question. He never spoke to
+her except on trivial subjects. She remembered with a sudden and painful
+flash of insight, that conversations between him and his sister were
+sometimes broken off when she came into the room, or carried on in
+half-phrases and under-tones. Of course she _had_ heard of Macclesfield
+Buildings; and of a club and an institute and a hospital, and what not;
+but the words had gone over her head, being destitute of meaning and of
+interest for her. She had been blind and deaf, it seemed to her now,
+ever since she came into the house; but Maurice Kenyon and her father's
+book had opened her eyes to the reality of things.
+
+Later on in the day her maid came to help her to dress for dinner.
+Lesley looked at her with new interest. For was she not one of the
+great, poor, struggling mass of human beings whom her father called "the
+People?" Not the happy peasant-class, as depicted in sentimental
+storybooks: whether that existed or not, Lesley was not learned enough
+to say: it certainly did not exist in London. She looked at the woman
+who waited on her with keenly observant eyes. Her name was Mary
+Kingston, and Lesley knew that she was not one of the prosperous,
+self-satisfied, over-dressed type, so common amongst ladies' maids; for
+she had been "out of a situation" for some time, and had fallen into
+dire straits of poverty. It would not have been like Miss Brooke to hire
+a common-place, conventional ladies' maid; she really preferred a
+servant "with a history." Lesley remembered that she had heard of Mary
+Kingston's past difficulties without noting them.
+
+"Kingston," she said, gently, "do you know much about the poor?"
+
+Kingston started and colored. She was a woman of more than thirty years
+of age--pale, thin, flat-chested, not very tall; she had fairly good
+features and dark, expressive eyes; but she was not attractive-looking.
+Her lips were too pale and her dark eyes too sunken for beauty. There
+was a gentleness in her manner, however, a patience in her low voice,
+which Lesley had always liked. It reminded her, in some undefined way,
+of her old friend, Sister Rose.
+
+"I've lived among the poor all my life, ma'am," Kingston said.
+
+"Do they suffer very much?" Lesley asked.
+
+Kingston looked slightly puzzled. "Suffer, ma'am?"
+
+"Yes--from hunger and cold, I mean: I have been reading about poor
+people in this book--and----"
+
+Kingston cast a rapid glance at the volume. Her face kindled at once.
+
+"Oh," she said, "I've read that book, ma'am, and what a beautiful book
+it is!"
+
+"Do you know it?" Lesley asked, amazed. Then, moved by a sudden impulse,
+"And you know it was written by my father?"
+
+Who would have thought that she could say the last two words with such
+an accent of tender pride?
+
+"No, ma'am, I did not know. Is it really _this_ Mr. Brooke? The name,
+you see, is not so uncommon as some, and I did not think----"
+
+"I know, I know," said Lesley, hurriedly. "But just tell me this--is it
+true? Do the poor people suffer as much in England as he says they do?"
+
+"Oh yes, ma'am, I'm afraid so, at least. I've seen a good deal of
+suffering in my day."
+
+Lesley was quiet for a little while, and the woman brushed out her
+shining hair. "Tell me," she said, "what is the worst suffering of
+all--will you? I mean, a suffering caused by being poor--nothing to do
+with your own life, of course. Is it the being hungry, or cold--or
+what?"
+
+Kingston considered for a moment. "I think," she said at last, "it isn't
+the being cold or hungry yourself that matters so much as seeing those
+that belong to you cold and hungry. That's the worst. If you have
+children, it does go to your heart to hear them ask you for something to
+eat, and you have nothing to give them."
+
+"Yes," said Lesley, softly, "I should think that is the worst."
+
+"But I don't know," said Kingston, in a perfectly unmoved and stolid
+tone, "whether it's worse than having no candles."
+
+Lesley looked up in astonishment.
+
+"It's when any one's ill that you feel that," the woman went on, in the
+same level tones. "In winter it's dark, maybe, at four o'clock, and not
+light again till nearly nine in the morning. It doesn't matter so much
+if you can go out. But if you have to sit by some one who's ill, and you
+can't see their faces, and if they leave off moaning you think they're
+dead--and perhaps when the early morning light comes it's only a dead
+face you have to look upon, and you never saw them draw their last
+breath--why, then, you feel mad-like to think of the candles that are
+wasted in big houses and of the bread that's thrown away."
+
+Lesley listened, appalled. A homely detail of this kind impressed her
+more than any appeal to her higher imagination. The woes of the poor
+had suddenly become real.
+
+"I hope you never had to go through all that, Kingston," she said, very
+gently.
+
+"Yes, ma'am, twice," said Kingston. "Once with my mother, and once with
+my little boy. They were both dead in the morning, but I didn't see 'em
+die."
+
+"But where was your husband? Was he dead?" said Lesley, quickly.
+
+"Oh, no, ma'am. But he was amusing himself. He was a gentleman, you
+see--more shame to me, perhaps you'll say. I couldn't expect him to
+think of things like candles."
+
+"Oh!--And is he--is he dead?"
+
+"No ma'am, he isn't dead," said Kingston. And from the shortness of her
+tone and the steadiness with which she averted her face Lesley came to
+the conclusion that she did not want to be questioned any more.
+
+Lesley went down to dinner feeling that she had made some new and
+extraordinary discoveries. She noticed that her father and her aunt made
+several allusions which would have seemed mysterious and repellant to
+her the day before, but which now possessed an almost tragic interest.
+When before had she heard her aunt speak casually of a Mothers' Meeting
+and a Lending Library? These were common-place matters to the ordinary
+English girl; but to Lesley they possessed the elements of a romance.
+For was it not by means of hackneyed, common-place machinery of this
+kind that cultured men and women put themselves into relation with the
+great, suffering, coarse, uncultured, human-hearted poor?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+LESLEY SEEKS ADVICE.
+
+
+Added to Lesley's new views of life, there was also a new feeling for
+her father. In the first rush of enthusiastic admiration for his book,
+she forgot all that she had heard against him, and believed--for the
+moment--that he was all Maurice Kenyon represented him to be. But
+naturally this state of mind could not last. The long years of her
+mother's influence told against any claim to love or respect on the
+father's part. Lesley remembered how bitterly Lady Alice spoke of him.
+She could not think that her mother had been wrong.
+
+It is a terrible position for a son or daughter--to have to judge
+between father and mother. It is a wrong position, and one in which
+Lesley felt instinctively that she ought never to have been placed. Of
+course it was impossible for her to help it. Father and mother had
+virtually made her their judge. They said to her, "Live for a year with
+each of us, and choose which you prefer. You cannot have us both." And
+as the only true and natural position for a child is that in which he or
+she can have both, Lesley Brooke was in a very trying situation. She had
+begun life in her father's house as her mother's ardent partisan; and
+she was her mother's partisan still. Only she was not quite sure whether
+she was not going to find that she could love her father too. And in
+that case, Lesley was tremulously certain that Lady Alice would accuse
+her of unfaithfulness to _her_.
+
+She turned with a sigh from the contemplation of her position to her new
+views of London and modern life. The poverty and ignorance of which she
+read had seemed hateful to her. But her impulse--always the impulse of
+generous souls--was not to shrink away from this newly-discovered
+misery, but to go down into the midst of it and help to cure the evil.
+
+Still blindly ignorant of what was already done, or doing, she hardly
+knew in which way to begin a work that was so new to her. Indeed, she
+hardly estimated its difficulties. All the poor that she had ever seen
+were the blue-bloused peasants, or brown-faced crones, and quaint little
+maidens with pigtails, who had visited the convent at Fontainebleau. She
+was quite sure that English poor people were not like these. Her father
+knew a great deal about them, but she could not ask him. The very way in
+which he spoke to her--lightly always, and jestingly--made serious
+questioning impossible. To whom then should she apply? The answer
+presented itself almost immediately, and with extraordinary
+readiness--to Mr. Oliver Trent.
+
+This decision was not so remarkable as it at first may seem. Lesley
+had run over in her mind a list of the persons whom she could not
+or would not ask. Her father and Miss Brooke?--impossible. Mrs.
+Romaine?--certainly not. Ethel?--Lesley did not believe that she knew
+anything about the poor. Maurice Kenyon?--not for worlds. The
+neighboring clergy?--Mr. Brooke had said that he did not want "the
+Blacks" about his house. The other men and women whom Lesley had seen
+were mere casual acquaintances; not friends of the family, like Oliver
+Trent.
+
+At least, she _supposed_ that Oliver was a friend of the family. He was
+Mrs. Romaine's brother; and Mrs. Romaine was a good deal at the house.
+In her own mind Lesley put him on the same footing as Mr. Kenyon--which
+estimate would have made Caspar Brooke exceedingly indignant, could he
+have known it. For though he did not exactly dislike Oliver Trent, he
+would never have thought of classing him with his friend, Maurice
+Kenyon.
+
+But Oliver had already called twice on some pretext or other, since
+Lesley had come home: and on the latter of these occasions he had sat
+for a full hour with her in the drawing-room, talking chiefly of France
+and Italy--in low and softly modulated tones. Lesley was losing all her
+horror of interviews with young men. If the nuns had seen her now they
+would indeed have thought her lost to all sense of propriety. For one of
+Miss Brooke's chief theories was that no self-respecting young woman
+needs a chaperon. And she had flatly refused to chaperone Lesley except
+on inevitable or really desirable occasions. "The girl must learn to go
+about the world by herself," she had said. "And I will say this for
+Lesley, she is not naturally timid or helpless--it is only training that
+makes her so." And under this tuition Lesley soon acquired the
+self-possession in which she had been somewhat wanting when she came,
+newly-fledged, from her convent.
+
+So when Oliver called again--it was on a message from his sister, and it
+had not yet recurred to Lesley to wonder at the readiness shown by
+English brothers to run on messages to their sisters' friends--he found
+Lesley alone, as usual, in the drawing-room, and she welcomed him with
+considerable warmth--a warmth that took him by surprise.
+
+"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Trent: I wanted to ask you something," she
+said, at once.
+
+"Ask me anything--command me in anything," he replied.
+
+He sank into a low chair at her right hand, and looked quite
+devotionally into her face. Lesley felt a trifle disturbed. She could
+not forget that Oliver was Ethel's lover, and she did not think that he
+ought to look at her so--_eagerly_--she did not know what else to call
+it. It was a look that made her uncomfortable. Nobody had ever looked at
+her in that way before. They did not look like that in the convent.
+
+"It is nothing very particular," she said, shrinking back a little.
+"Only I have nobody to ask."
+
+"I know--I understand," said Oliver, in his softest tones. Somehow his
+sympathy did not offend her, as Mr. Kenyon's had done.
+
+"It is very stupid of me," Lesley went on, trying to smile, "not to ask
+my father or Aunt Sophy; but I am afraid they would only laugh at me."
+
+"I shall not laugh at you," said Oliver, marvelling inwardly.
+
+"Won't you? You are sure? It is only a little, stupid, ordinary
+question. Do you know anything about Macclesfield Buildings?"
+
+Oliver drew himself up in his chair. Was _that_ the question? He did not
+believe it. But he answered her unsmilingly.
+
+"Yes, Miss Brooke. They are the blocks of workmen's dwellings where your
+father has founded a Club."
+
+"Has he?" said Lesley, her eyes dilating. "That is--very good of him,
+isn't it?"
+
+"Oh, I suppose so," Oliver answered, with a little laugh. "Of
+course--but I must not insinuate worldly motives into his daughter's
+ears!"
+
+"Oh, please, go on: I want to hear!"
+
+"It is nothing wrong. Only if a man wants to stand well with the
+working-people--if he wants votes, for instance--it isn't at all a bad
+move to begin with a Working-Men's Club."
+
+"Votes, Mr. Trent? What for?"
+
+"School Board, or County Council, or Parliament," said Oliver, coolly.
+"Or even Board of Guardians. I don't know what your father's ambitions
+are, exactly. But popularity is always a good thing."
+
+Lesley pondered a little, the color rising in her cheeks. "Then," she
+said, "you think my father does good things from--from what people call
+'interested motives?'"
+
+"Good heavens, no, Miss Brooke, I never said anything of the kind,"
+declared Oliver, somewhat alarmed by her straightforwardness. "I was
+only thinking of the general actions of man, not of your father in
+particular."
+
+Lesley nodded. "I don't quite understand," she said. "But that doesn't
+matter for the present. I have another question to ask you, Mr. Trent.
+Do you know anything about the poor?"
+
+"I'm very poor myself," said Oliver, laughing. "Horribly poor. 'Pon my
+word, I don't know any one poorer."
+
+"Oh, you are laughing at me now," said Lesley, almost petulantly. "And
+you said that you would not laugh."
+
+She leaned back in her chair, with heightened color and brightening
+eyes: her breath came a little more quickly than usual, as if her pulses
+were quickened. There is nothing so catching as emotion. Oliver's
+sluggish pulses began to stir at the sight of her. That soft and tender
+face seemed more beautiful to him than the sparkle and vivacity of Ethel
+Kenyon's. If it had not been for Ethel's twenty thousand pounds, he did
+not know but what he would have preferred Lesley. Rosy had said that
+Lesley would suit him best.
+
+"I am not laughing; I swear I am not," he said earnestly. "I know what
+you mean--you are thinking of the London poor. Your tender heart has
+been stirred by the sight of them in the streets--they are dreadful to
+look at, are they not? It is like you to feel their woes so acutely."
+
+"I want to know," said Lesley, rather plaintively, "whether I cannot do
+anything for them?"
+
+"You--do anything--for the poor?" repeated Oliver. Then he scanned her
+narrowly--scanned her shining hair, delicate features, Paris-made gown,
+and dainty shoe--and laughed a little. "You can let them look at
+you--that ought to be enough," he said.
+
+Lesley frowned. "Nonsense, Mr. Trent. What does my father do for his
+Club?"
+
+"Smokes with the men, sometimes, I believe. You couldn't do that, you
+know----"
+
+"Although----" and then Lesley stopped short and laughed.
+
+"Although Aunt Sophy does. It's no secret, my dear Miss Brooke. Half the
+women in London smoke now-a-days, I believe. Even my sister indulges now
+and then."
+
+Lesley gave her head a little toss. "What else does my father do?" she
+asked.
+
+"Sings to them. Sunday afternoon, that is, you know. The wives are
+allowed to come to the Club-room then, and he has a sort of little
+concert for them--good music, sacred music, even, I believe. He gets
+professionals to come now and then; they will do anything to oblige your
+father, you know--and when they don't come, he sings himself. He really
+has a very good bass voice."
+
+"Ladies don't sing, I suppose," said Lesley, after a little pause.
+
+"Oh, yes, they do. He nearly always has a lady to sing. Why don't you go
+down on a Sunday afternoon? The club is open to friends of the founder,
+if not of the members, on Sunday afternoons. Don't Mr. Brooke and Miss
+Brooke always go?"
+
+"I suppose they do--I never asked where they went," said Lesley, with
+burning cheeks. She remembered that they always did disappear on Sunday
+afternoons. No, she had not asked; she had not hitherto felt any
+curiosity as to their doings; and they had not asked her to accompany
+them. She began to resent their lack of readiness to invite her to the
+club.
+
+"You might go down on Sunday afternoon," said Oliver, lazily. "I'm
+going: they have asked me to sing. Though you mayn't know it, Miss
+Brooke, I have a very decent tenor voice. Ethel is going with me. Won't
+you come?"
+
+"I don't know," said Lesley, nervously. She bethought herself that she
+could not easily propose to accompany her father, and that Ethel and
+Oliver Trent would not want her. She would be one too many in either
+party. She could not go.
+
+But Oliver read the reason of her scruples. "If you will allow me," he
+said, "I will ask my sister to come too. Then we shall be a compact
+little party of four, and we can start off without telling Mr. Brooke
+anything about it."
+
+Lesley hesitated a little, but finally consented. She had a great desire
+to see what was going on in Macclesfield Buildings. But Oliver, it may
+be feared, believed in his heart that she went because he was going. And
+he resolved to bestow his society on her rather than on Ethel and Mrs.
+Romaine on Sunday. It was decidedly more amusing to waken that still
+sweet face to animation than to engage in a war of wit with Ethel.
+
+Lesley thought of Oliver very little. Once or twice he had startled her
+by an assumption of intimacy, a softening of his voice, and a look of
+tenderness in his eyes, which made her shrink into herself with an
+instinctive emotion of dislike. But she had then proceeded to scold
+herself for foolish shyness and prudery--the prudery of a French-school
+girl, who was not accustomed to the ways of men. She had begun to feel
+herself very ignorant of the world since she came to her father's house.
+It would never do to offend one of her father's friends by seeming
+afraid of him. So she tried to smile and looked pleased when Oliver drew
+near, and she was all the more gracious to him because she had already
+quarrelled with Maurice Kenyon, who was even more her father's friend
+than Oliver himself. But what could she do? Mr. Kenyon had insulted
+her--the hot blood rose to her cheeks as she thought of some of the
+things that he had said. Insulted her by assuming that she could not
+appreciate her father because she was too careless, too frivolous, too
+foolish to do so. That she was ignorant, Lesley was ready to
+acknowledge; but not that she was incapable of learning.
+
+Oliver had no difficulty in persuading his sister to make one of the
+party on Sunday afternoon. Indeed, Mrs. Romaine made the expedition
+easier by inviting Lesley to lunch with her beforehand.
+
+"I asked Maurice and Ethel Kenyon, too," she said to Lesley, "but they
+would not come. Mr. Kenyon had his patients to attend to; and Ethel
+would not leave him to lunch alone."
+
+Lesley did not answer, but privately reflected that if the Kenyons had
+accepted the invitation she would have lunched at home.
+
+She went to church by herself on Sunday morning, for Mr. Brooke was not
+up, and Doctor Sophy frequented some assembly of eclectic souls, of
+which Lesley had never heard before. So she went demurely to that
+ugliest of all Protestant temples, St. Pancras' Church, and was not very
+much surprised when she perceived that Oliver Trent was in the seat
+behind her, and that he sat so that he could see her face.
+
+"I did not know that you went to St. Pancras'," she said, innocently, as
+they stood on the steps together outside when the service was over.
+
+"Nor do I," he answered her. "It is the most hideous church I ever saw.
+But there was an attraction this morning."
+
+Lesley looked as if she did not understand. And indeed she did not.
+
+"You are coming to lunch with us, are you not? Will you let me escort
+you?"
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Trent. But--do you mind?--I shall have to call at my
+father's house on my way. Just to leave my prayer-book. It will not take
+me a minute."
+
+Oliver could not object, although he was not altogether pleased. For Mr.
+Brooke's house was immediately opposite the Kenyons', and Miss Ethel was
+as likely as not to be sitting at the drawing-room window. Her sharp
+eyes would espy him from afar, and she might ask Lesley if he had been
+to church with her. Not a very great difficulty, but Oliver had a
+far-seeing mind, and one question might lead to others of a more serious
+kind.
+
+However, there was no help for it. He paused on the steps of number
+fifty, while Lesley rang the bell. She had been formally presented with
+a latch-key, but the use of it was so new to her, and the fear of losing
+it so great, that she usually left it on her dressing-table.
+
+A maid opened the door and said something to Lesley in an under tone.
+Oliver was looking across the street and neither heard the words nor
+saw the woman's face. But Lesley turned to him hastily.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Trent, I am so sorry to keep you waiting, but I must run up to
+my aunt for a moment."
+
+She disappeared into the house, and then Oliver turned and met the eyes
+of Lesley's waiting-maid. And at the same moment he was aware--as one is
+sometimes aware of what goes on behind one's back--that Ethel, in her
+pretty autumn dress of fawn-color and deep brown, had come out upon the
+balcony of her house and was observing him.
+
+"_You_, Mary?" said Oliver, in a stifled whisper.
+
+The woman looked at him with hard, defiant eyes. "Yes, me," she said.
+"You ought to know that I couldn't do anything else."
+
+He stood looking at her with a frown.
+
+"This is the last place where you ought to have come," he said.
+
+"Because they are friends of yours?" she asked. "I can't help that. I
+didn't know it when I came, but I know it now."
+
+"Then leave," said Oliver, still in the lowest possible tone, but also
+with all possible intensity. "Leave as soon as you can. I'll find you
+another place. It is the worst thing you can do for your own interest to
+remain here, where you may be recognized."
+
+"I can take care of that," said Mary Kingston, icily. "I'll think over
+it."
+
+Oliver put his hand into his pocket as if in search of a coin. But
+Kingston suddenly shook her head. "No," she said, quickly, "I don't want
+it. Not from you."
+
+And then Lesley's foot was heard upon the stairs. Oliver looked up to
+Ethel's balcony. Yes, she was there, her hand upon the railing, her eyes
+fixed on him with what was evidently a puzzled stare. Oliver smiled and
+raised his hat. Ethel nodded and smiled in return. But he
+fancied--though, of course, at that distance he could not be sure--that
+she still looked puzzled as she returned his bow and smile.
+
+He walked on with Lesley. But his good-humor was gone: the usual suavity
+of his manner was a little ruffled. His recognition of Mary Kingston had
+evidently been displeasing as well as embarrassing to him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+"HOME, SWEET HOME."
+
+
+Mrs. Romaine and Oliver Trent attributed Lesley's desire to see
+Macclesfield Buildings to a young girl's curiosity, and, perhaps, to a
+desire for Oliver's company. They had no conception of the new fancies
+and feelings, aims and interests, which were developing in her soul.
+Only so much of these were visible as to lead Oliver to say to his
+sister before they sallied forth that afternoon--
+
+"I fancy she is getting up an enthusiasm for her father. Won't that be
+awkward for you?"
+
+Mrs. Romaine was silent for a moment. Then she answered, with perfect
+quietness--
+
+"I think it will be more awkward for Lady Alice. It may be rather
+convenient for us."
+
+And Oliver noticed that for the rest of the afternoon she took every
+opportunity of indirectly and directly praising Mr. Brooke, his works
+and ways. But he could not see that Lesley looked pleased--perhaps Mrs.
+Romaine's words had rather an artificial ring.
+
+Somehow, it seemed to Lesley as if she hated the expedition on which she
+came. Was it not a little too like spying upon her father's work? He had
+never invited her to Macclesfield Buildings. And he would never know the
+spirit in which she came: it would seem to him as though she had been
+brought in Mrs. Romaine's train, perhaps against her will, to laugh, to
+stare, to criticize. She would rather have crept in humbly, and tried to
+understand, by herself, what he was trying to do. What would he think of
+her when he saw her there that afternoon?
+
+She was morbidly afraid of him and of his opinion. Caspar Brooke would
+have been as much hurt as astonished if he knew in what ogre-like light
+she regarded him.
+
+Ethel joined them before they started for Macclesfield Buildings, and as
+rain was beginning to fall, Oliver insisted that they should take a
+cab. It was for his own sake, as Rosalind reminded him, rather than for
+theirs. He had a profound dislike of dirty streets, dirty people,
+unpleasant sights and sounds. And there were plenty of these to be
+encountered in the North London district to which they were bound that
+afternoon.
+
+The three Londoners--for such they virtually were--could hardly refrain
+from laughing when they saw Lesley's horrified face as the cab drove up
+to the block of buildings in which the club was situated. "But this is a
+prison--a workhouse--a lunatic asylum!" she exclaimed. "People do not
+live here--do they--in this dreary place?"
+
+Ah, me, and a dreary place it was! Three lofty blocks of building, all
+of the same drab hue, with iron-railed balconies outside the narrow
+windows, and a great court-yard in which a number of children romped and
+howled and shrieked in play: it was perhaps the most depressingly ugly
+bit of architecture that Lesley had ever seen. In vain her friends told
+her of the superior sanitary arrangements, the ventilation, the
+drainage, the pure water "laid on;" all she could do was to clasp her
+hand, and say, with positive tears in her bright eyes, "But _why_ could
+it not all have been made more beautiful?" And indeed it is hard to say
+why not.
+
+"Now we are going down into a coal hole," said Oliver, as he helped the
+ladies to alight. "At least it was once a coal hole. Yes, it was. These
+four rooms were used as storehouses for coals and vegetables until your
+father rented them: you will see what they look like now."
+
+"Lesley is horrified," said Ethel, with a little laugh. "Not at the
+coal-hole," Lesley answered, trying also to be merry, "but at the
+ugliness of it all. Don't you think this kind of ugliness almost
+wicked?"
+
+"Oliver thinks all ugliness wicked," said Mrs. Romaine, maliciously.
+
+"Then _we_ ought to be very good," said Ethel. But Oliver did not
+answer: he was looking at Lesley, whose face had grown pale.
+
+"Are you tired?--are you ill?" he asked her, in the gentlest undertones.
+They were still picking their way over the muddy stones of the
+court-yards, and rough children ran up to them now and then, and
+clamored for a penny. "Is the sight of this place too much for you?"
+
+"Oh, no," said Lesley, with a sudden, inexplicable flush of color: "It
+is not that--it is ugly, of course; but I do not mind it at all."
+
+Oliver glanced round suspiciously, as if to discover why she had
+blushed. All that he could see was the tall figure of Maurice Kenyon,
+who was standing in a doorway talking to somebody on the stairs. Even if
+Lesley had seen him, she surely would not blush for that! What chance
+had Kenyon had of becoming acquainted with her? Oliver forgot that other
+sisters besides his own might send their brothers on messages.
+
+Down a flight of stone steps, through a low doorway, and into a dark
+little corridor, was Lesley conducted. She noticed that Mrs. Romaine and
+Ethel were quite accustomed to the place. "We have often been before,
+you know," Ethel explained. "It's your father's hobby, you know; his
+doll's house, or Noah's Ark, or whatever you like to call it--his pet
+toy. I always call it his Noah's Ark myself. The animals walk in two by
+two. The men may bring their wives on Sundays. Oh, by the bye, Lesley, I
+hope you don't mind smoke. The men have their pipes, you know."
+
+And then Lesley, dazzled and confounded by her surroundings, found
+herself in a brilliantly lighted room of considerable size--really two
+ordinary rooms thrown into one. Immediately the squalor and ugliness of
+the outer world were thrown into the background. The walls of the room
+were distempered--Indian red below, warm grey above; and on the grey
+walls were hung fine photographs of well-known foreign buildings or of
+celebrated paintings. In one part of the room stood a magnificent
+billiard-table, now neatly covered with a cloth. A neat little piano was
+placed at the other end of the room, near a large table covered with a
+scarlet cloth, strewn with magazines, papers, and books, and decorated
+with flowers. The chairs were of solid make, seated with red leather
+ornamented with brass nails. In fact, the whole place was not only
+comfortable, but cheery and pleasant to the eye. Lesley was told that
+there was also a library, beside a kitchen and pantry, whence visitors
+could get tea or coffee, "temperance drinks," and rolls or cakes.
+
+A few women in their "Sunday best" were looking at the books and
+periodicals, or gossiping together, but they were not so numerous as
+the men--respectable working-men for the most part; some of them
+smoking, some reading or talking, without their pipes. In one little
+group Lesley recognized, with a start, that her father was the centre of
+attraction. He was sitting, as the other men were, and he was talking:
+the musical notes of his cultivated voice rose clearly above the hum of
+rougher and huskier voices. Lesley gathered that some proposition had
+been made which he was combating.
+
+"No," he said, "I won't have it. Look here--did you open this club, or
+did I?"
+
+"You did, guv'nor," said one of the men.
+
+"Then I'll have my say in the management. Some of you want the women
+turned out, do you? It's the curse of modern life, the curse of English
+and all other society, that you do want the women turned out, you men,
+where-ever you go. And the reason is that women are better than you are.
+They are purer, nobler, more conscientious than you, and therefore you
+don't want them with you when you take your pleasures. Eh?"
+
+There was a melodious geniality about the last monosyllable which made
+the men smile in spite of themselves.
+
+"'T'ain't that," said one of them, awkwardly. "It's because they're apt
+to neglect their 'omes if they come out of an afternoon or an evening
+like we do."
+
+"Not they!" said Mr. Brooke. "To come out now and then is to make them
+love their homes, man. They'll put more heart in to their work, if they
+have a little rest and enjoyment now and then, as you do.
+Besides--you've got hold of a wrong principle. The women are not your
+slaves and servants; they ought not to be. They are your companions,
+your helpers. The more they are in sympathy with you, the better they
+will help you. Don't keep your wives out of the brighter moments of your
+lives, else they will forget how to feel with you, and help you when
+darker moments come!"
+
+There was a pause; and then a man, with rather a sullen face--evidently
+one of the malcontents--said, with a growl,
+
+"Fine talk, gov'nor. It'll end in our wives leaving us, like they say
+yours done."
+
+There was an instant hiss and groan of disapproval. So marked, indeed,
+that the man rose to shoulder his way to the door. Evidently he was not
+a popular character.
+
+"We'll pay him out, if you like, sir," said a youth; and some of the
+older men half rose as if to execute the threat.
+
+"Sit down: let him alone," said Mr. Brooke, sharply. "He's a poor fool,
+and he knows it. Every man's a fool that does not reverence women. And
+if women would try to be worthy of that reverence, the world would be
+better than it is."
+
+He rose as he spoke, with apparent carelessness, but those who knew him
+best saw that the taunt had stung him. And as he moved, he caught
+Lesley's eye. He had not known that she was to be there; and by
+something in her expression--by her heightened color, perhaps, or her
+startled eye--he saw at once that she had heard the man's rude speech
+and his reply.
+
+He stopped short, grasped at his beard as his manner was, especially
+when he was perplexed or embarrassed; then crossed over towards her,
+laid his hand on her arm, and spoke in a tone of unusual tenderness.
+
+"_You_ here, my child?"
+
+Lesley thrilled all over with the novel pleasure of what seemed to her
+like commendation. But she could not answer suitably.
+
+"Mrs. Romaine brought me," she said.
+
+"Ah! Mrs. Romaine?"--in quite a different tone. "Very kind of Mrs.
+Romaine. By the bye, Maurice"--to Mr. Kenyon, who had just appeared upon
+the scene, and was looking with curiously anxious eyes at Lesley--"the
+music ought to begin now. Is Trent ready? And will Ethel recite
+something? That's all right--I suppose Miss Bellot will be here
+presently."
+
+And leaving Lesley without another glance, he went to the piano and
+opened it. The audience settled itself in its place, and gave a little
+sigh of expectation. Mr. Brooke's Sunday afternoon "recitals," from four
+to five, always gave great satisfaction.
+
+Oliver sang first, then Ethel recited something; then Mr. Brooke sang,
+and then Oliver played--he was a very useful young man in his way--and
+then there came a little pause.
+
+"A certain Miss Bellot promised to come and sing, but she has not
+appeared," Ethel explained to her friend. "Lesley, you can sing: I know
+you can, for I saw a lot of songs in your portfolio the other day. Won't
+you give them something?"
+
+"Oh, no, I couldn't!"
+
+"It's not a critical audience," said Oliver, on her other side. "You
+might try. The people are growing impatient, and your father will be
+disappointed if things do not go well----"
+
+Lesley flushed deeply. A week ago she would have thought--What is it to
+me if my father is disappointed? But she could not think so to-night.
+
+"I have no music here. And I cannot sing properly when I play my own
+accompaniments."
+
+"Tell me something you know and let me see whether I can play it," said
+Oliver.
+
+She paused for a moment, then, with a smile in her eyes, she mentioned a
+name which made him laugh and elevate his eyebrows. "Do you know
+_that_?" she said.
+
+"Rather! Is it not a trifle hackneyed? Ah, well, not for this audience,
+perhaps. Yes, I will play." And then, just as Caspar Brooke, with a
+slight gesture of annoyance, turned to explain to the people that a
+singer whom he expected had not come, Oliver touched him on the arm.
+
+"Miss Brooke is going to sing, please," he said. "Will you announce
+her?"
+
+Mr. Brooke stared hard for a moment, then bowed his head.
+
+"My daughter will now sing to you," he said, curtly, and sat down again,
+grasping his brown beard with one hand.
+
+"_Can_ she sing?" Mrs. Romaine said in his ear, with an accent of veiled
+surprise.
+
+"I do not know in the least. I hope it will be English, at any rate.
+These good people don't care for French and Italian things."
+
+Mrs. Romaine saw that he looked undoubtedly nervous, and just then
+Oliver began the prelude to Lesley's song. It was certainly English
+enough. It was "Home, Sweet Home."
+
+Every one looked up at the sound of the familiar air. "Hackneyed" as
+Oliver had declared it to be, it is a song which every audience loves to
+hear. And Lesley made a pretty picture for the eyes to rest upon while
+she sang. She was dressed from top to toe in a delicate shade of grey,
+which suited her fair skin admirably: the grey was relieved by some
+broad white ribbons and a vest of soft white silk folds, according to
+the prevailing fashion. A wide-brimmed grey hat, trimmed with drooping
+grey ostrich feathers, also became her extremely well. Mrs. Romaine
+noticed that Caspar Brooke looked at her hard for a minute or two, and
+then sat with his eyes fixed on the ground, his right hand forming a
+pillow for his left elbow, and his left hand engaged in stroking his big
+brown beard. What she did not notice was, that Maurice Kenyon had
+withdrawn himself to a post behind Mr. Brooke's chair, where he could
+see and not be seen; and that his eyes were riveted upon the fair singer
+with an expression which betokened more perplexity than admiration.
+
+As Lesley's pure, sweet notes floated out upon the air, there was an
+instant stir of approbation and interest among the listeners. If the
+girl had been less intent upon her singing, the unmoved and unmoving
+stare of these men and women might have made her a little nervous. It
+was their way of showing attention. The men had even put down their
+pipes. But Lesley did not see them. She had chosen her song at
+haphazard, as one which these people were likely to understand; but its
+painful appropriateness to her own case, perhaps to her mother's case as
+well, only came home to her as she continued it.
+
+    "'Mid pleasures and palaces--though I may roam--
+    Be it never so humble, there's no place like home.
+    A charm from the heart seems to hallow it there,
+    Which, seek through the world, is not met with elsewhere."
+
+If Lesley's voice faltered a little while singing words with which she
+herself felt forced to disagree, and to which her mother had given the
+lie by running away from the home Caspar Brooke had provided for her,
+the hesitation and tremulousness were set down by the hearers as a very
+pretty bit of artistic skill, which they were not at all slow to
+appreciate. Mrs. Romaine put up her eye-glass and looked narrowly at the
+girl during the last few notes.
+
+"How well she sings!" she murmured in Mr. Brooke's ear. "Positively, as
+if she felt it!"
+
+Caspar Brooke gave a little start, left off handling his beard, and sat
+up shrugging his shoulders. "A good deal of dramatic talent, I fancy,"
+he observed. But he could say no more, for the people were clapping
+their hands and stamping with their feet, in their eagerness for
+another song; and he was obliged to be silent until the tumult abated.
+
+"You must sing again?" said Oliver.
+
+"Must I? Really? But--shall I sing what English people call a sacred
+piece? A Sunday piece, you know? 'Angels ever bright and fair'--can you
+play that?"
+
+Oliver could play that. And Lesley sang it with great applause.
+
+But, being a keenly observant young person, and also in a very sensitive
+state, she noticed that her father held aloof and did not look quite
+well pleased. And she, remembering her refusal to take singing lessons,
+felt, naturally, a little guilty.
+
+She had not time, however, to dwell upon her own feelings. The assembly
+began to disperse, for Mr. Brooke did not let the hours of his "meeting"
+encroach on church hours, and it was time to go. But almost every man,
+and certainly every woman, insisted on shaking hands with Lesley, most
+of them saying, with a friendly nod, that they hoped she'd come again.
+
+"You're Mr. Brooke's daughter, ain't you, miss?" said a tall,
+broad-shouldered fellow, with honest eyes and a pleasant smile, which
+Lesley liked.
+
+"Yes, I am."
+
+"I hope you'll give us a bit of your singing another Sunday. 'Tis a
+treat to hear you, it is."
+
+"Yes, I shall be glad to come again," said Lesley.
+
+"That's like your father's daughter," said the man, heartily. "Meaning
+no disrespect to you, miss. But Mr. Brooke's the life and soul of this
+place: he's splendid--just splendid; and we can't think too high of him.
+So it's right and fitting that his daughter should take after him."
+
+Lesley stood confused, but pleased. And then the man lowered his voice
+and spoke confidentially.
+
+"There was a bit of a breeze this afternoon, just after you came in, I
+think; but you mustn't suppose that we have trouble o' that sort every
+Sunday, or week-day either. It was just one low, blackguardly fellow
+that got in and wanted to make a disturbance. But he won't do it again,
+for we'll have a meeting, and turn him out to-morrow. I would just like
+you to understand, miss, that a good few of us in this here club would
+pretty nigh lay down our lives for Mr. Brooke if he wanted them--for
+myself I wouldn't even say 'pretty nigh,' for I'd do it in a jiffy.
+He's helped to save some of us from worse than death, miss, and that's
+why."
+
+"Come, Jim Gregson," said a cheery voice behind him, "you get along home
+to your tea. Time for shutting up just now. Good-bye."
+
+And Caspar Brooke held out his hand for the workman to shake. He had
+only just come up, and could not therefore have heard what Gregson was
+saying; but Lesley preferred to turn away without meeting his eye. For
+in truth her own were full of tears.
+
+She broke away from the little group, and went into the library, as if
+she wanted to inspect the books. But in reality she wanted a moment's
+silence and loneliness in which to get rid of the swelling in her
+throat, the tears in her eyes. These were caused partly by excitement,
+partly by an expression of feeling brought to her by the earnestness of
+Gregson's words, partly by penitence. And it was before she had well got
+rid of them that Maurice Kenyon put his head into the room and found her
+there.
+
+"We are going now, Miss Brooke," he said. "Will you come? I--I hope I'm
+not disturbing you--I----"
+
+"I am just coming," said Lesley, dashing the tears from her face. "I am
+quite ready."
+
+"There is no hurry. You can let them go on first, if you like," said
+Maurice, partly closing the door. Then, in the short pause that
+followed, he advanced a little way into the room.
+
+"Miss Brooke," he said, "I hope you will not mind my speaking to you
+again; but I want to say that I wish--most humbly and with all my
+heart--to beg your pardon. Will you forgive me?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+MAURICE KENYON'S APOLOGY.
+
+
+Lesley stood irresolute. In the other room she heard the sound of voices
+calling her own name. "We are just going, Lesley," she heard Mrs.
+Romaine say. She made a hurried step towards the door.
+
+"I can't stop," she said. "They will go without me."
+
+"What if they do?" asked Mr. Kenyon. "I'll see you home."
+
+Lesley looked amazed, as well she might, at this masterful way of
+settling the question. And while she hesitated Maurice acted, as he
+usually did.
+
+He strode to the door and spoke to Miss Brooke. "I am just showing your
+niece some of the books: I'll follow in a minute or two with her if
+you'll kindly walk on. It won't take me more than a minute."
+
+"Then we may as well wait," said Oliver's voice.
+
+Lesley would have been very angry if she had known what happened then.
+Mr. Kenyon, by means of energetic pantomime, conveyed to the quick
+perceptions of Doctor Sophy a knowledge of the fact that Lesley was a
+little agitated and overcome, and that he was soothing her. And that the
+departure of the rest of the party would be a blessed relief.
+
+Aunt Sophy was good-natured, and she had complete trust in Maurice
+Kenyon.
+
+"Don't stay more than a minute or two," she said. "We'll just walk on
+then--Caspar and I. Mr. Trent is, of course, escorting your sister. Mrs.
+Romaine will come with us, and you'll follow?"
+
+"I am quite ready," said Lesley.
+
+"All right," answered Maurice, easily, "I must first show you this
+book." Then he returned to the library, and she heard the sounds of
+retreating steps and voices as her father and his party left the
+building.
+
+"You have no book to show me--you had better come at once," Lesley said,
+severely. But Mr. Kenyon arrested her.
+
+"I assure you I have. Look here: the men clubbed together a little while
+ago and presented your father's works to the library, all bound, you
+see, in vellum. I need not mention that _he_ had not thought it worth
+while to give his own books to the club."
+
+He showed her the volumes with pride, as if the presentation had been
+made to a member of his own family. Lesley touched the books with gentle
+fingers and reverent eyes. "I have been reading 'The Unexplored,'" she
+said.
+
+"I knew you would! And I knew you would like it!--I am not wrong?"
+
+"I like it very much. But it is all new to me--so new--I feel like Ione
+when she first heard of the miseries of England--I have lived in an
+enchanted world, where everything of that sort was kept from me;
+so--_how_ could I understand?"
+
+"I know! I know!--You make me doubly ashamed of myself. I have lived,
+metaphorically, in dust and ashes ever since we had that talk together.
+Miss Brooke, I must have seemed to you the most intolerable prig! Can
+you ever forgive me for what I said?"
+
+"But," said Lesley, looking straight into his face with her clear brown
+eyes, "if what you said was true?----"
+
+"I had no right to say it."
+
+"That is true," Lesley answered, coldly; and she turned about as though
+she did not wish to pursue the subject.
+
+"But can you not forgive me for it? I was unjustifiably angry I confess;
+but since I confess it----"
+
+"Mr. Kenyon, we ought to be going home. I see the woman is waiting to
+put the lights out."
+
+"We will go home if you like--certainly," said Maurice, in a tone of
+vexed disappointment. "Take care of the step--yes, here is the door. I
+am afraid we cannot get a cab in this neighborhood; but as soon as we
+reach a more civilized locality, I will do my best to find one for you."
+
+By this time they were in the yard. Night had already fallen on the
+city, whether it had done so in the country or not. The lamps were
+lighted in the streets; a murky fog had settled like a pall upon the
+roads; and in the Sunday silence the church bells rang out with a
+mournful cadence which affected Lesley's spirits.
+
+"London is a terrible place," she said, with a little shiver.
+
+"Can you say that," he asked, looking at her curiously, "after seeing
+the good work that is being done here? If it is a terrible place, it is
+also a very noble and inspiring one."
+
+"I know I am ignorant," said Lesley, heavily. "It seems terrible to me."
+
+They were silent for a minute or two, for they were passing out of the
+yard belonging to the "model dwellings," as Macclesfield Buildings were
+called, into the squalid street beyond; and in avoiding the group of
+loafers smoking the pipe of idleness, and enjoying the comfortable
+repose of sloth, Lesley and Mr. Kenyon were so far separated that
+conversation became impossible.
+
+"You had better take my arm," said Maurice, shortly, almost sternly.
+"You must, indeed: the place is not fit for you. I ought to have gone
+out and got a cab."
+
+"Indeed, I do not need it. I can walk quite well. What other people do,
+I suppose I can do as well."
+
+"Miss Brooke, you have not forgiven me."
+
+Lesley was silent.
+
+"What can I say? I have no justification. I simply let my tongue and my
+temper run away with me. I am cursed with a hot temper: I do not think
+before I speak; but I never intended to hurt you, Miss Brooke, I am sure
+of that."
+
+"No," said Lesley, very quietly, "I understand you. If you had not
+thought me so stupid as not to see your meaning, or so callous as not to
+care if I did, you would not have spoken in that way. I don't know that
+your excuse makes matters much better, Mr. Kenyon. But I am not
+offended: you need not concern yourself."
+
+"Then you ought to be offended," said Kenyon, doggedly. "And I don't
+believe you."
+
+"You don't believe me."
+
+"No, indeed I don't."
+
+Lesley's offence was so great now, whatever it had been before, that it
+deprived her of the power of speech. Her stately head went up: her mouth
+set itself in straight, hard lines. Maurice saw these tokens, and
+interpreted them aright.
+
+"Don't be angry with me again. I mean that you could not fail to despise
+me, to look down on me, for my want of tact and sense. I thought that
+you did not understand your father--I was vexed at that, because I have
+such a respect, such an admiration for him--but I know now that I was
+mistaken. You ought to be angry with me, for I acknowledge that I spoke
+impertinently; but having been angry, you can now be merciful and
+forgive. I apologize from the bottom of my heart."
+
+"How do you know that I understand my father? Why have you changed your
+opinion?" said Lesley, coldly. "You have nothing to go upon--just as in
+the other case you had nothing to go upon. You rushed to one conclusion,
+if you will excuse me for saying so, and now you rush to another--with
+no better reason."
+
+"You are very severe, Miss Brooke," said Maurice. "But you are
+perfectly right, and I must not complain. Only--if I may make a
+representation----"
+
+"Oh, certainly!"
+
+"----I might point out that when I spoke to you first you had not read
+your father's book, you had not, I believe, even heard of it; that you
+knew nothing about the Macclesfield Club, and that when I spoke to you
+about his work amongst the poor you were very much inclined to murmur,
+'Can any good come out of Nazareth?'"
+
+"Mr. Kenyon----"
+
+"I beg your pardon, Miss Brooke, but isn't that substantially true? If
+you can honestly say that it is a misapprehension on my part, I won't
+say another word. But isn't it all true?"
+
+He turned his eager face and bright blue eyes towards her, and read in
+her pale, troubled face a little of the conflict that was going on
+between her candor and her pride. "Now, what will she say?" he thought,
+with what would have seemed to Lesley incomprehensible anxiety. "On her
+answer depends my opinion of her, now and for ever."
+
+And this appeared to Maurice quite an important matter, though possibly
+Lesley might not have thought it so.
+
+She turned to him at last with a frank, decisive gesture.
+
+"It _is_ true," she said. "I knew nothing about his books or his works,
+and so how could I appreciate them? I had never heard of 'The
+Unexplored' before. You are right, and I had no business to be so angry.
+But how do you know that I am different now?"
+
+"Oh, I know you are," said Maurice, confidently. "You have come to the
+club for one thing, you see; and you sang to the people and looked at
+them--well, as if you cared. And you have read 'The Unexplored' _now_?"
+
+"Yes. I have," said Lesley, hesitatingly.
+
+"And you like it?"
+
+"Yes--I like it." The girl looked away, and went on nervously,
+hesitatingly. "It is very well done," she said, "It is very clever."
+
+"Oh, if that is all you can find to say about it!"
+
+"But isn't it a great deal?--Mr. Kenyon, I don't know what to say about
+it. You see I can't be sure whether it is all--true."
+
+"True? The story? But, of course----"
+
+"Of course the _story_ is not true. I am not such a goose as that. But
+is the meaning of it true? the moral, so to speak? Is there so much
+wickedness in the world as my father says? So much vice and wealth and
+selfishness on the one side: so much misery and poverty and crime on the
+other? You are a doctor, and you must have seen a great deal of London
+life: you ought to know. Is it an exaggeration, or is it true?"
+
+There was such intensity and such pathos in her tones that Kenyon was
+silent for a minute or two, startled by the vivid reality which she had
+attached to her father's views and ideas. He could not have answered her
+lightly, even if it had been in his nature to do so.
+
+"Before God," he said, solemnly, "it is all true--every word of it."
+
+"Then what can we do," said Lesley, gently, "but go down into the midst
+of it and help?"
+
+Mr. Maurice Kenyon, being a man of ardent temperament, always vows that
+he lost his heart to Lesley there and then. It is possible that if she
+had not been a very pretty girl, the most noble of sentiments might have
+fallen unheeded from her lips; but as she was "so young, so sweet, so
+delicately fair," Kenyon could not hear his own opinions reciprocated
+without an answering thrill. How delightful would it be to walk through
+life with a woman of this kind by one's side! a woman, whose face was a
+picture, whose every movement a poem, whose soul was as finely touched
+to fine issues as that of an angel or a saint! All these reflections
+rushed through his mind in an instant, and it was almost a wonder that
+he did not blurt some of them out at once. But Lesley went on speaking
+in a quiet, pensive way.
+
+"I wonder whether I can do anything--while I am here. I shall not have
+so very long a time, but I might try."
+
+"Not so long a time, Miss Brooke? I thought you had come home for good."
+
+"Only for a year," said Lesley, coloring hotly. "Then I go back to
+mamma."
+
+Maurice said nothing at first. He felt the hand that rested on his arm
+tremble slightly, and he knew that he ought to make no more inquiries.
+But he could not refrain from adding, almost jealously--
+
+"You will be glad of that?"
+
+"Oh, yes! You do not know my mother?" said Lesley, half shyly, half
+boldly.
+
+"No, I never saw her."
+
+"It is very hard to be so long away from her. She is so sweet and good."
+
+"But you have your father? You are learning to know _him_ now."
+
+"Oh, yes, but I want them _both_," said Lesley, with an indescribably
+gentle and tender intonation. And as they reached Euston Road and were
+obliged to leave off talking while they threaded their way through the
+intricacies of vehicular traffic, Mr. Kenyon was revolving in his mind a
+new idea, namely, the possibility of a reconciliation between Brooke and
+his wife. He had never thought much about Lady Alice before: she seemed
+to him to have passed out of Caspar Brooke's life entirely; and if it
+were not for this link between the two--this sweet and noble-spirited
+and lovely girl--she would not have been likely to come back into it.
+But Lesley might perhaps reunite the two, and Maurice's heart began to
+burn within him with fear for his hero's happiness. Why should any Lady
+Alice trouble the peace of a worker for mankind like Caspar Brooke?
+
+They did not talk very much more on their way to Upper Woburn Place.
+They found Ethel and Oliver standing on the steps of Mr. Brooke's house,
+evidently waiting for the truants. It struck Lesley as she came up that
+Oliver Trent's brow was ominously dark, and that Ethel's pretty, saucy
+face wore an expression of something like anxiety or distress.
+
+"We are almost tired of waiting for you, good people," she began
+merrily. "Fortunately it is fine and warm, or we should have gone and
+left you to your own devices, as Mr. Brooke and Rosalind have done."
+
+"Where have they gone?" asked Maurice.
+
+"Walked off to her house. Miss Brooke is at home. Lesley, you _are_ an
+imposition! Think of having a voice like that, and keeping it dark all
+this time."
+
+"We shall requisition Miss Brooke for the club very often, I know that,"
+said Maurice.
+
+"You'll come in with us, Lesley?" Ethel asked.
+
+"No, thank you, Ethel. Not to-day. Thanks."
+
+She wondered a little nervously why Oliver was looking so vexed
+and--yes, so miserable, too! He seemed terribly out of spirits. Had he
+and Ethel quarrelled? The thought gave a look of tender inquiry to her
+eyes as she held out her hand to him. And on meeting that sweet glance,
+Oliver's face brightened. He had been feeling an unreasonable annoyance
+with her for walking home with Maurice Kenyon, and had even in his heart
+called her "a little French flirt." Though why it should matter to him
+that she was a flirt, did not exactly appear.
+
+They said good-bye to each other, and separated. Maurice went off to see
+a patient; Oliver accompanied Ethel to her own house; Lesley entered her
+own home.
+
+She was alone for an hour or two, and, to tell the truth, she felt
+rather dull. Miss Brooke went away to her circle of select souls, and
+her father, as she knew, had gone to Mrs. Romaine's. She took out her
+much-prized volume of "The Unexplored," and began to read it again;
+wishing that she could talk to her mother about it, and explain to her
+how really great and good a man her father was. For--she had got as far
+as this--she was sure that her mother did not understand him. It would
+have been impossible for him to do a mean, a cruel, a dishonorable
+action. There had been a misunderstanding somewhere; and Lesley wished,
+with her whole soul, that she could clear it up.
+
+The sound of the opening and closing of the front door did not arouse
+her from her dreams. She read on, holding the little paper-covered
+volume on her lap, deep in deepest thought, until the door of the
+drawing-room opened rather suddenly, and her father walked in.
+
+It was an unusual hour at which to see him in the drawing-room, and
+Lesley looked up in surprise. Then, half unconsciously, half timidly,
+she drew her filmy embroidered handkerchief over the book in her lap.
+She had a shy dislike to letting her father see what she was reading.
+
+He did not seem, however, to take any notice of her occupation. He
+walked straight to an arm-chair on the opposite side of the hearth, sat
+down, stretching out his long legs, and placing his elbows on the arms
+of the chair. The unruly lock of hair, which no hairdresser could tame,
+had fallen right across his broad brow, and heightened the effect of a
+very undeniable frown. Mr. Caspar Brooke was in anything but an amiable
+temper.
+
+It was with a laudable attempt, however, to keep the displeasure out of
+his voice that he said at length--
+
+"I thought I understood you to say, Lesley, that you were not musical!"
+
+The color flushed Lesley's face to the very roots of her hair.
+
+"I do not think I am--very musical," she said, trying to answer bravely.
+"I play the piano very little."
+
+"Of course you must know that that is a quibble," said Mr. Brooke,
+dryly. "A talent for music does not confine itself solely to the piano.
+I presume that you have been told that you have a good voice?"
+
+"Yes, I have been told so."
+
+"And you have had lessons?"
+
+"Yes, a few."
+
+"Then may I ask what was your motive for declining to take lessons in
+London when I asked to do so? You even went so far as to make use of a
+subterfuge: you gave me to understand that you had no musical power at
+all, and that you knew nothing and could do nothing?"
+
+He paused as if he expected a reply; but Lesley did not say a word.
+
+"I cannot understand it," Mr. Brooke went on; "but,"--after a pause--"I
+suppose there is no reason why I should. I did not come to say anything
+much about that part of the business. I came rather to suggest that as
+you have a good voice, it is wrong not to cultivate it. And your lessons
+will give you something to do. It seems to me rather a pity, my dear,
+that you should do nothing but sit round and read novels--which, your
+aunt tells me, is your principal occupation. Suppose you try to find
+something more useful to do?"
+
+He spoke with a smile now and in a softer voice; but Lesley was much too
+hurt and depressed to say a word. He looked at her steadfastly for a
+minute or two, and decided that she was sullen.
+
+"I will see about the lessons for you," he said, getting up and speaking
+decidedly, "and I hope you will make the most of your opportunities. How
+much time have you been in the habit of devoting to your singing every
+day?"
+
+"An hour and a half," said Lesley, in a very low voice.
+
+"And you left off practising as soon as you came here? That was a great
+pity; and you must allow me to say, Lesley, very silly into the bargain.
+Surely your own conscience tells you that it was wrong? A voice like
+yours is not meant to be hidden."
+
+Lesley wished that at that moment she could find any voice at all. She
+sat like a statue, conscious only of an effort to repress her tears. And
+Mr. Brooke, having said all that he wanted to say, took up a book, and
+thought how difficult it was to manage women who met remonstrances in
+silence.
+
+Lesley got up in a few moments and walked quietly out of the room. But
+she forgot her book. It fell noiselessly on the soft fur rug, and lay
+there, with leaves flattened and back bent outwards. Caspar Brooke was
+one of the people who cannot bear to see a book treated with anything
+less than reverence. He picked it up, straightened the leaves, and
+looked casually at the title. It was "The Unexplored."
+
+He held it for a minute, gazing before him with wide eyes as if he were
+troubled or perplexed. Then he shook his head, sighed, smiled, and put
+it down upon the nearest table. "Poor little girl!" he said. "I wonder
+if I frightened her at all!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+AT MRS. ROMAINE'S.
+
+
+The reason why Caspar Brooke spoke somewhat sharply to Lesley was not
+far to seek. He had been to Mrs. Romaine's house to tea. The sequence of
+cause and effect can easily be conjectured.
+
+"How charmingly your daughter sang!" Mrs. Romaine began, when she had
+got Mr. Brooke into his favorite corner, and given him a cup of her best
+China tea.
+
+"Yes, she sang very well," said Brooke, carelessly.
+
+"I had no idea that she _could_ sing! Why, by the bye--did you not tell
+me that she said she was not musical?--declined singing lessons, and so
+on?"
+
+"Yes, I think I said so. Yes, she did."
+
+"She must be very modest!" said Mrs. Romaine, lifting her eyebrows.
+
+"I don't know--I fancy she did not want to be indebted to me for more
+than she could help."
+
+Mrs. Romaine looked pained, and kept for a few moments a pained silence.
+
+"My poor friend!" she said at last. "This is very sad! Could she"--and
+Brooke knew that the pronoun referred to Lady Alice, not to
+Lesley--"could she not be content with abandoning you, without poisoning
+your daughter's mind against you?"
+
+Caspar said nothing. He leaned forward, tea-cup in hand, and studied the
+carpet. It was, perhaps, hard for him to find a suitable reply.
+
+"It is too much," Rosalind continued, with increasing energy. "You have
+taken not a daughter, but an enemy into your house. She sits and
+criticizes all you do--sends accounts to her mother, doubtless, of all
+your comings and goings. She looks upon you as a tyrant, and a
+disreputable person, too. She has been taught to hate you, and she
+carries out the teaching--oh, I can see it in every line of her face,
+every inflection of her voice: she has been taught to loathe you, my
+poor, misjudged friend, and she does not disguise her loathing!"
+
+It is not quite pleasant for a man to hear that his daughter hates him,
+and makes no secret of the hatred. Caspar immediately concluded that
+Lesley had made some outspoken remarks upon the subject to Mrs. Romaine.
+Secretly he felt hurt and angry: outwardly he smiled.
+
+"What would you have?" he said, lightly but bitterly. "Lady Alice has no
+doubt indoctrinated her daughter, as you say; all that I can expect from
+Lesley is civility. And I generally get that."
+
+"Civility? Between father and daughter? When she ought to be proud of
+such a father--proud of all that you are, and all that you have done!
+She should be adoring you, slaving for you, ready to sacrifice herself
+at your smallest word--and see what she is! A machine, silent, useless,
+unwilling--from whom all that you can claim is--civility! Oh, women are
+capable sometimes of taking a terrible revenge!"
+
+She threw her hands out with a gesture of despair and deprecation, which
+was really fine in its way; then she rose from her chair, went to the
+mantelpiece, and stood with her face bent upon her clasped hands. Caspar
+rose too, and stood on the hearthrug beside her, looking down at the
+pretty ruffled head, with something very like affection in his eye.
+
+He did not quite understand this emotion of hers, but its sincerity
+touched as well as puzzled him. For she was sincere as far as he was
+concerned, and this sincerity gave her a certain amount of power, such
+as sincerity always gives. The ring of true feeling in her voice could
+not be counterfeited, and Caspar was flattered by it, as any man would
+have been flattered at having excited so much sympathy in the heart of a
+talented and beautiful woman.
+
+He knew that Alice had been jealous of Rosalind Romaine, but, he
+thought, quite unreasonably so. Poor Rosalind, tied to a dry old stick
+of a husband, to whom she did her duty most thoroughly, was naturally
+glad to talk now and then to a man who knew something of Art and Life.
+That was simple enough, and he had been glad of her interest and
+sympathy, especially as these were denied to him by his wife. There was
+nothing for Lady Alice to be jealous about. And he had dismissed the
+matter impatiently from his thoughts. Alice had left him because she
+hated his opinions, his manner of life, his profession--not because she
+was jealous of Rosalind Romaine. But Rosalind knew better.
+
+The woman's sympathy affected him so far, however, that, after standing
+silent for a minute or two, he laid his hand softly upon her arm. It was
+a foolish thing to do, but then Caspar Brooke was never a particularly
+wise man, in spite of his goodness of heart and fertility of brain. And
+Rosalind felt, by the thrill that ran through her at his touch, that she
+had gained more from him than she had ever gained before. What would he
+say next?
+
+Well, he did not say very much. "Your sympathy, Rosalind," he said, "is
+very pleasant--very dear to me. But you must not give me too much of it.
+Sympathy is enervating, as other men have found before me!"
+
+"May I not offer you mine?" she said, plaintively. "It is so hard to be
+silent! If only I could make Lesley understand what you are--how
+noble--how good----"
+
+Caspar laughed, and took away his hand. "Don't talk to her about me; it
+would do no good," he said.
+
+He stood in the firelight, looking so massive, so stern, so resolved,
+that Mrs. Romaine lost herself for a moment in admiration of his great
+frame and leonine head. And as she paused he spoke again.
+
+"I have not lately observed much hostility to myself in Lesley's
+demeanor," he said. "At first, of course--but lately--well, I have been
+more struck by a sort of languor, a want of interest and comprehension,
+than anything else. No doubt she feels that she is in a new world----"
+
+"Ah yes, a world of intellect and activity to which she has not been
+accustomed," said Mrs. Romaine, briskly. Since Caspar had removed his
+hand she had been standing erect, watchfully observant of him. It was by
+his moods that she intended to regulate her own. "I suppose she has been
+accustomed to nothing but softness and self-indulgence; and she does not
+understand this larger life to which she now has access."
+
+"Poor child!" said Mr. Brooke.
+
+But this was not at all the remark that Mrs. Romaine wanted him to make.
+She tried to beat back the tide of paternal affection that was evidently
+setting in.
+
+"She wants rousing I am afraid. She ought not to be allowed to sink into
+a dreamy, listless state. It must be very trying for you to see it; you
+must be pained by the selfishness and waywardness from which it
+proceeds----"
+
+"Do you think it does?" said Mr. Brooke, almost wistfully. "I should be
+sorry to think Lesley selfish. Sophy says that she is more ignorant than
+selfish."
+
+"But what is ignorance save a form of selfishness?" cried Rosalind,
+indignantly. "She might know if she chose! She does know the common
+duties of humanity, the duty of every man or woman to labor for others,
+to gain knowledge, to make broad the borders of light! Oh, I cannot bear
+to hear ignorance alleged as an excuse for self-love! It is impossible
+that any one with Lesley's faculties should not see her duty, even if
+she is idle and indifferent enough to let it pass when she does see it."
+
+Mr. Brooke sat down, regardless of the fact that Mrs. Romaine was
+standing, and looked at the carpet again with a sigh.
+
+"You may be right," he said, in a pained tone; "but if so, what am I to
+do?"
+
+"You must speak to her," said Rosalind, energetically. "You must tell
+her not to be idle and obstinate and wayward: you must show her her
+duty, so that she may have no excuse for neglecting it."
+
+He shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"That's not a man's duty, it seems to me. Woman to woman, man to man. I
+wish you would do it, Rosalind!"
+
+"Oh, no; I have not a _mother's_ right," said she, softly.
+
+But the remark had an effect which she had not anticipated.
+
+"That is true. It is a mother who should tell a girl her duty. Poor
+Lesley's mother has not done all that she might do in that respect. Our
+unhappy quarrel has caused her to represent me to the girl in very dark
+colors, I believe. But I have lately been wondering whether that might
+not be amended. Did you hear that man's taunt this afternoon--about the
+wife that had left me? I can't endure that sort of thing. Think of the
+harm it does. And then the child must needs go and sing 'Home, Sweet
+Home.' To me, whose home was broken up by _her_ mother. I had the
+greatest possible difficulty in sitting through that song, Rosalind. And
+I said to myself that I was a great fool to put up with this state of
+things."
+
+His sentences were unusually short, his tones abrupt; both covered an
+amount of agitation which Mrs. Romaine had not expected to see. She sat
+down and remained silent and motionless: she even held her breath, not
+well knowing what to expect. Presently he resumed, in a lower tone--
+
+"I know that if I alter existing arrangements I shall give myself some
+pain and discomfort, and inflict more, perhaps, upon others; but I think
+this is inevitable. I am determined, if possible, to end my solitary
+life, and the solitary life also of a woman who is--I may say it
+now--dear to me." He spoke with deliberate gravity. Mrs. Romaine's
+pulses beat faster: the hot color began to steal into her cheeks. "I
+never wished to inflict pain upon her. I have always regretted the years
+of separation and loneliness that we have both spent. So I have
+resolved--perhaps that is too strong a word--I am thinking of asking her
+to share my home with me again."
+
+"Again?" The word escaped Rosalind's lips before she knew that she had
+spoken.
+
+"Yes, once again," said Caspar, quite unconscious of her emotion. "We
+did not get on very well when we lived together, but we are older now,
+and I think that if we made a fresh start it _might_ be possible--I
+wonder if Alice would consent?"
+
+There was a moment's pause. Then--"You think of asking Lady Alice to
+come back to you?" said Mrs. Romaine, in a hard, measured voice, which
+made Caspar look at her with some transient feeling of surprise. But he
+put down the change of tone to her astonishment at his proposition, and
+went on unmoved.
+
+"I thought of it--yes. It would be much better for Lesley."
+
+"Are you so devoted to Lesley that you want to sacrifice your whole life
+for her?" asked Rosalind, in the same hard, strained voice.
+
+"My whole life? Well, no--but you exaggerate, Rosalind. I do not
+sacrifice my whole life by having my wife and daughter in my house."
+
+"That is plausibly said. But one has to consider what sort of wife and
+daughter yours are, and what part of your life will have to be devoted
+to them."
+
+Brooke sat and stroked his beard. He began to wish that he had not
+mentioned his project to Mrs. Romaine. But he could not easily tell her
+to hold her tongue.
+
+"I am not going to presume," said Rosalind, "to say anything
+unkind--anything harsh of your wife: I know I have not the right, and I
+know that you would--very properly--resent it. So don't be afraid. But I
+only want to remind you that Lady Alice is not even where she was when,
+as an over-sensitive, easily-offended girl, she fled from you. She has
+had twelve years of life under conditions differing most entirely from
+yours. She has lived in the fashionable world--a world which of all
+others you dislike. What sympathy can there be between you? She may be
+perfect in her own line, but it is not your line: you are different; and
+you will never be happy together."
+
+"That is a hard thing to say, Rosalind."
+
+"It will be a harder thing for you if you try it. Believe me,
+Caspar"--her voice trembled as she used his Christian name, which she
+very seldom did--"believe me that if it would be for your happiness I
+would welcome the change! But when I remember the discord, the
+incompatibility, the want of sympathy, which used to grieve me in those
+old days, I cannot think----"
+
+She stopped short, and put her handkerchief to her eyes.
+
+"Lady Alice could not understand you--could not appreciate you," she
+said. "And it was hard--hard for your friends to look on and
+say--_nothing_!"
+
+Brooke rose abruptly from his chair. "No one ever had a truer friend
+than I have in you," he said, huskily. "But it seems to me that Alice
+may have changed with the lapse of years; she may have become easier to
+satisfy, better able to sympathize----"
+
+"Does she show that spirit in the way she has spoken of you to your
+daughter? What do you gather from Lesley as to her state of mind?" said
+Mrs. Romaine, keenly.
+
+He paused. She knew very well that the question was a hard one for him
+to answer.
+
+"Ah," he said, with a heavy sigh, "you know as well as I do."
+
+Then he turned aside, and for an instant or two there was a silence.
+
+"I suppose it would not be wise," he continued, at last. "But I wish
+that it could have been done. It would be better in many ways. A man
+and wife ought to live together. A girl ought to live with her parents.
+We are all in false positions. And, perhaps, if any one is to be
+sacrificed, it ought to be myself," he said, with a curious smile.
+
+"You forget," said Mrs. Romaine with emotion, "that you sacrifice others
+in sacrificing yourself."
+
+"Others? No, I don't think so. You allude to my sister?"
+
+"No--not your sister."
+
+"Sophy could go on living with us and managing the household affairs,"
+said Brooke, who had no conception of what poor Mrs. Romaine meant; "and
+she is not a person who would willingly interfere with other people's
+views or opinions. Indeed, she carries the _laisser-faire_ principle
+almost to an extreme. Sophy is no proselytizer, thank God!"
+
+"I did not mean Sophy: I meant your friends--old friends like myself,"
+said Rosalind, desperately. "You will cast us all off--you will forget
+us--forget--_me_!"
+
+There was unusual passion in her voice. Then she hid her face in her
+hands and burst into tears. Brooke made two steps towards her, and
+stopped short.
+
+"Rosalind!" he exclaimed. "You cannot think that! you cannot think that
+I shall ever forget old friends!"
+
+Then he halted, and stood looking down at her, and biting his beard,
+which he was crushing up to his lips with one hand, after his fashion
+when he was embarrassed or perplexed. Some glimmer of the truth had
+begun to manifest itself to him. A hot, red flush crossed his brow.
+
+"Rosalind," he said, in a softer but also a colder tone, "you must not
+take this matter so much to heart. Rest assured that I--and my wife, if
+she comes back, and my daughter also--will always look upon you as a
+very dear and valued friend."
+
+"I am so alone in the world," she said, wiping away her tears and
+slightly lifting her head. "I cannot bear to think that the day will
+come when I----"
+
+She paused--perhaps purposely. But Caspar was resolved to treat the
+subject more lightly now.
+
+"When you are without friends? Oh, that will never be. You are too kind
+and sympathetic to be without as many friends as you choose to have."
+
+"And you--yourself----"
+
+"Oh, I am of a very constant disposition," he said, cheerfully. "I
+suppose it is for that reason that I want Alice back. You know that in
+spite of all our disagreements, I have always held to it that I never
+saw a woman half as charming, half as attractive, as Alice."
+
+This was a speech not calculated to soothe Mrs. Romaine's wounded
+feelings, or to implant in her a liking for Lady Alice. For Mrs. Romaine
+was not very generous, and she was irritated by the thought that she had
+betrayed her own secret. She rose to her feet at once, with a quick and
+rather haughty gesture.
+
+"You are indeed a model of constancy," she said. "Some men would resent
+insults, even if offered to them by wives. You are capable, it seems, of
+much forgetfulness and much forgiveness."
+
+"Do you think that a fault?" asked Brooke, calmly. Her mood changed at
+once. She burst into a shrill little laugh.
+
+"Oh, not at all. Most convenient--for the wife. There is one danger--you
+may incur the censure of more worldly men; but then you are too
+high-minded to care for that!"
+
+Caspar shrugged his broad shoulders.
+
+"I think I can take care of myself," he said, good-humoredly. "And now I
+must go. Pray don't distress yourself on my account. I will not do
+anything rash."
+
+They stood facing each other, she with her eyes down, he looking
+straight into her face. Some instinct told her not to break the spell by
+looking up. There was a conflict going on in Caspar Brooke's mind--a
+conflict between pity (not love) and duty. He was a tender-hearted man,
+and it would have been very easy to him just then to have given her some
+friendly, comforting words, or even----
+
+Yes, he acknowledged to himself, he would have liked to kiss those soft
+lips of hers, those downcast eyelids, slightly reddened by recent tears!
+And he did not think that she would resent the caress.
+
+But how could he ask his wife to return to him if he did this thing? As
+he had indicated by his words, he still loved Lady Alice. He had the
+courage to be faithful to her, too. For Caspar Brooke was a man of
+strong convictions, steadfast will, and stainless honor. However great
+the temptation might be, he was not going to do a thing that he knew he
+should afterwards regret.
+
+"Good-bye, Mrs. Romaine."
+
+"Good-bye, Mr. Brooke."
+
+So they took leave of each other; and Rosalind went to bed with a bad
+headache, while Caspar Brooke returned home to find fault with his
+daughter Lesley.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+THE WIFE OF FRANCIS TRENT.
+
+
+Far away from the eminently respectable quarter of London, adorned by
+the habitation of families like the Brookes, the Kenyons, and the
+Romaines, you may find an unsavory district in Whitechapel which is
+known as Truefit Row. It is a street of tall and mean-looking houses,
+which seem to be toppling to their fall; and the pavement is strewn with
+garbage which is seldom cleared away. Many of the windows of the houses
+are broken; many of the doors hang ajar, for the floors are let out in
+flats, and there is a common stair for at least five and twenty
+families. It is a dreary-looking place, and the dwellers therein look as
+dreary as their own abode.
+
+In one of these houses Mr. Francis Trent had found a resting-place for
+the sole of his foot. It was not a fashionable lodging, not even a
+particularly clean one; but he had come down in the world, and did not
+very much care where he lived, so long as he had plenty to drink, and a
+little money in his pockets. But these commodities were not as plentiful
+as he wanted them to be. Therefore he passed a good deal of his time in
+a state of chronic brooding and discontent.
+
+He had one room on the third storey. The woodwork of this apartment was
+so engrained with grime that scarcely any amount of washing would have
+made it look clean; but it had certainly been washed within a
+comparatively recent date. The wall paper, which had peeled off in
+certain places, had also been repaired by a careful hand; and the
+curtains which shaded the unbroken window were almost spotlessly clean.
+By several other indications it was quite plain that a woman's hand had
+lately been busy in the room; and compared with many other rooms in the
+same building, it was quite a palace of cleanliness and comfort.
+
+But Francis Trent did not think so. He sat over his small and
+smouldering fire one dark November afternoon, and shivered, partly from
+cold and partly from disgust. He had no coals left, and no money
+wherewith to buy them: a few sticks and some coke and cinders were the
+materials out of which he was trying to make a fire, and naturally the
+result was not very inspiriting. The kettle, which was standing on the
+dull embers, showed not the slightest inclination to "sing." Francis
+Trent, outstretched on a basket-chair (the only comfortable article of
+furniture that the room contained), gave the fire an occasional stir
+with his foot, and bestowed upon it a deal of invective.
+
+"It will be out directly," he said at last, sitting up and looking
+dismally about him; "and it's nearly five o'clock. She said she would be
+here at four. Ugh! how cold it is! If she doesn't come in five minutes I
+shall go to the Spotted Dog. There's always a fire there, thank
+goodness, and they'll stand me a glass of something hot, I daresay."
+
+He rose and walked about the room by way of relieving the monotony of
+existence, and causing his blood to circulate a little faster. But this
+mode of activity did not long please him, and he threw himself back in
+his chair at last, and uttered an exclamation of disgust.
+
+"Confound it! I shall go out," he said to himself.
+
+But just at that moment a hand fumbled at the latch. He called out "Come
+in," an unnecessary call, because the door was half open before he
+spoke, and a woman entered the room, shutting the door behind her.
+
+She was slight, trim, not very tall: she had a pale face and dark eyes,
+dark, glossy hair, and delicate features. If Lesley had been there, she
+would have recognized in this woman the ladies' maid who called herself
+Mary Kingston. But in this part of the world she was known as Mrs.
+Trent.
+
+Francis did not give her a warm welcome, and yet his weak, worn face
+lighted up a little at the sight of her. "I thought you were never
+coming," he said, grumblingly, and his eyes fell greedily to the basket
+that she carried on her arm. "What have you got there?"
+
+"Just a few little things for your tea," said Mary, depositing the
+basket on the table. "And, oh--what a wretched fire! Have you no coals?"
+
+"Neither coals nor food nor drink," he answered, sullenly, "nor money in
+my pocket either."
+
+The woman stood and looked at him. "You had two pounds the day before
+yesterday," she said.
+
+"Billiards," he answered, laconically. But he turned away so as not to
+see her face.
+
+She gave a short, sharp exclamation. "You promised to be careful!"
+
+"The luck was against me," he said. "I thought I should win, but my
+hand's taken to shaking so much that I couldn't play. I don't see why
+you should blame me--I've precious few amusements."
+
+She did not answer, but began to take the parcels, one by one, from her
+basket, and place them on the table. Her own hands shook a little as she
+did so. Francis turned again to watch her operations. She took out some
+tea, bread, butter, eggs, and bacon. There was a bottle of brandy and a
+bundle of cigars. Francis Trent's eyes glistened at the sight. He stole
+closer to his wife, and put his arm around her.
+
+"You're a good soul, Mary. You'll forgive me, won't you? Upon my honor,
+I never meant to lose the money."
+
+"I have to work hard enough for it," she said dryly.
+
+"I know you have! It's a shame--a d----d shame! If I had my way, you
+should be dressed in satin, and sit all day with your hands before you,
+and ride in your own carriage--you know you should!"
+
+"I don't know that I should particularly care about that kind of life,"
+said Mary, still coldly, but with a perceptible softening of her eye and
+relaxation of the stiff upper lip. "I would rather live on a farm in the
+country, and do farm-work. It's healthier, yes, and it's happier--to my
+thinking."
+
+"So it is; and that's the life we'll lead by and by, when Oliver pays us
+what he has promised," said Francis, eagerly. "We will have some land of
+our own, and get far away from the temptation of the city. Then you will
+see what a different fellow I'll be, Mary. You shan't have reason to
+complain of me then."
+
+"Well, I hope so, Francis," she said, but not too hopefully. Perhaps she
+noticed that his hand and eye both strayed, as if involuntarily, towards
+the bottle of spirits on the table. And at that moment, the last flicker
+of light from the fire went out.
+
+"Have you no candles?" she asked, abruptly.
+
+"Not one."
+
+"I'll go out and fetch them, and some coal too. Sit down quietly, and
+wait. I won't be long. And as I haven't a corkscrew, I'll take the
+bottle with me, and get it opened downstairs."
+
+Francis dared not object, but his wife's course of action made him
+sulky. He did not see why she should not have left him the bottle during
+her absence: he could have broken its neck on the fender. But he knew
+very well that she could not trust him to drink only in moderation if he
+were left alone with the bottle; and, like a wise woman, she therefore
+took it with her.
+
+She was back again in a few minutes, bringing with her fuel and lights.
+Francis was lying in his bed, his face turned sullenly to the wall. Mary
+poured a little brandy into a glass, and brought it to him to drink.
+
+"You will feel better when you have had that," she said, "and you shall
+have some more in your tea if you want it. Now, I'm going to light up
+the fire."
+
+So well did she perform her task that in a very short time the flames
+were leaping up the chimney, the shadows dancing cheerfully over the
+ceiling, the kettle hissing and puffing on the fire. The sight and sound
+drew Francis once more from his bed to the basket chair, where he sat
+and lazily watched his wife as she cut bread, made tea, fried bacon and
+eggs, with the ease and celerity of a woman to whom domestic offices are
+familiar. When at last the tea-table was arranged, he drew up his chair
+to it with a sigh of positive pleasure.
+
+"How homelike and comfortable it looks: Why don't you always stay with
+me, Mary, and keep me straight?"
+
+"You want so much keeping straight, Francis," she said, but a slight
+smile flickered about the comers of her lips.
+
+It was characteristic of the pair that he allowed her to wait on him,
+hand and foot: he let her cut the bread, pour out the tea, carry his
+plate backwards and forwards, and pour the brandy into his cup, without
+a word of remonstrance. Only when he had been well supplied and was not
+likely to want anything more just then, did he say to her----
+
+"Sit down, Mary, and get yourself a cup of tea."
+
+Mary did not seem to resent the condescending nature of this invitation.
+She thanked him simply, and sat down; pouring out for herself the dregs
+of the tea, and eating a piece of dry bread with it. Francis had the
+grace to remonstrate with her on the poverty of her fare.
+
+"It doesn't matter what I eat now," she said. "I have the best of
+everything where I'm living, and I don't feel hungry."
+
+"I hope you're comfortable where you are," said Mr. Trent, politely.
+
+"Yes, I'm very comfortable, thank you, Francis. Though," said Mrs.
+Trent, deliberately, "I think I should be more comfortable if I wasn't
+in a house where Mr. Oliver visited."
+
+"Oliver! Do you mean my brother Oliver? Why do you call him _Mr._
+Oliver? It is so absurd to keep up these class-distinctions."
+
+"So I think," said Mary, "but when other people keep them up it's not
+much use for me to be the first to cast them over board. Your brother
+Oliver comes to the house where I'm living much oftener than I think he
+ought."
+
+"What house is it? You never told me."
+
+"It's Mr. Brooke's. Mr. Caspar Brooke--him as wrote 'The Unexplored.' I
+brought it to you to read, I remember--a good long time ago."
+
+"Awful rot it was too!" said Francis, contemptuously. "However, I
+suppose it paid. What are you doing there? Wasn't it his wife who ran
+away from him? I remember the row some years ago--before I went under.
+Is she dead?"
+
+"No, she's living with her father, Lord Courtleroy. It's her daughter
+I've come to wait on: Miss Lesley Brooke."
+
+"Brooke's daughter!" said Francis, thoughtfully. "I remember Brooke. Not
+half a bad fellow. Lent me ten pounds once, and never asked for it
+again. So it's _Brooke's_ daughter you--hm--live with. Sort of
+companion, you are, eh, Mary?"
+
+"Maid," said Mary, stolidly. "Ladies' maid. And Miss Lesley's the
+sweetest young lady I ever come across."
+
+Francis shrugged his shoulders. "Your employment is causing you to
+relapse into the manner--and grammar--of your original station, Mary.
+May I suggest 'came' instead of 'come'?"
+
+Mrs. Trent looked at him with a still disdain. "Suggest what you like,"
+she said, "and think what you like of me. I never took myself to be your
+equal in education and all that. I may be your equal in sense and heart
+and morals; but of course that goes for nothing with such as you."
+
+"Don't be savage, Mary," said Francis, in a conciliatory tone. "I only
+want you to improve yourself a little, when you can. You're the best
+woman in the world--nobody knows it better than I do--and you should not
+take offense at a trifle. So you like Brooke's daughter, eh?"
+
+"Yes, I like her. But I don't like your brother Oliver."
+
+"I know that. What is he doing at Brooke's house? Let me see--he isn't
+engaged to _that_ girl? It's the actress he's going to marry, isn't it?"
+
+He had finished his meal by this time, and was smoking one of the cigars
+that his wife had brought him. She, meanwhile, turned up her sleeves,
+and made ready to wash the cups and plates.
+
+"Tell me all about it," said Francis, who was now in high good humor.
+"It sounds quite like the beginning of a romance."
+
+"There's no romance about it that I can see," said Mrs. Trent, grimly.
+"Your brother is engaged to Miss Kenyon--a nice, pretty young lady:
+rich, too, I hear."
+
+"Yes, indeed! As you and I are going to find out by and by, old lady,"
+and he chuckled to himself at the thought of his prospective wealth.
+
+"And he ought to be content with that. Instead of which, he's never out
+of our place; and when he's there he never seems to take his eyes off
+Miss Lesley. Playing the piano while she sings, reading to her,
+whispering, sitting into her pocket, so to speak. I can't think what
+he's about, nor other people neither."
+
+"What does Miss Kenyon say?" asked Francis, with sudden sharpness. For
+it occurred to him that if that match were broken off he would not get
+his two thousand pounds on Oliver's wedding-day.
+
+"She doesn't seem to notice much. Once or twice lately I've seen her
+look at them in a thoughtful, puzzled kind of way, as if something had
+set her thinking. She looks at Miss Lesley as if she could not quite
+make her out--though the two have been friends ever since Miss Lesley
+came home from school."
+
+"And the girl herself?" said Francis, with considerable and increasing
+interest. "What does she do?"
+
+"She looks troubled and puzzled, but I don't think she understands.
+She's as innocent as a baby," said Mrs. Trent, with compassion in her
+tone.
+
+"I wonder what he's doing it for," soliloquized Francis. "He can't marry
+her."
+
+Mary Trent paused for a moment in her housewifely occupations. "Why
+_can_ he not?"
+
+"Because----well, I may as well tell you as not I've never mentioned
+it--I don't know why exactly--but I'll tell you now, Mary. A few weeks
+ago, when we were so down on our luck, you know--just before you began
+to work again--I met Oliver in Russell Square, and told him what I
+wanted and what I thought of him. I brought him to terms, I can tell
+you! He had just got himself engaged to Miss Kenyon; and she has twenty
+thousand pounds besides her profession; and he promised me two thousand
+down on his wedding-day. What do you say to that? And within six months,
+too! And if he doesn't keep his word, I shall not hold my tongue about
+the one or two little secrets of his that I possess--do you see?"
+
+"Perhaps," said Mrs. Trent, slowly, "he thinks he could manage to pay
+you the money even if he married Miss Brooke? So long as you get the two
+thousand, I suppose you don't mind which girl it is?"
+
+"Not a bit," answered her husband frankly. "All I want is the money.
+Then we'll go off to America, old girl, and have the farm you talk
+about. But Brooke's daughter won't have two thousand pounds, so if he
+marries her instead of Miss Kenyon, he'll have to look out."
+
+Mrs. Trent had finished her work by this time. As she stood by the table
+drying her hands there was a look of fixed determination on her features
+which Francis recognized with some uneasiness.
+
+"What do you think about it? What are you going to do?" he asked, almost
+timidly.
+
+"I am not going to see Miss Lesley badly treated, at any rate."
+
+"How can you prevent it?"
+
+"I don't know, but I _shall_ prevent it, please God, if necessary. Your
+brother Oliver is engaged to one girl, and making love to another,
+that's the plain English of it; and sooner than see him break Miss
+Lesley's heart, I'd up and tell everybody what I know of him, and get
+him turned out of the house."
+
+"And spoil my game?" cried Francis, rising to his feet. His faced had
+turned white with anger, and his eyes were aflame. She looked at him
+consideringly, as if she were measuring his strength against her own.
+
+"Well--no," she said at length, "I won't spoil your game if I can help
+it--and I think I can get my own way without doing that. I want you to
+win your game, Francis. For you know"--with a weary smile--"that if you
+win, I win too."
+
+Her husband's face relaxed. "You're not a bad sort, Polly: I always said
+so," he remarked. "Come and give me a kiss. You wouldn't do anything
+rash, would you? Choke Oliver off at Brooke's as much as you like; but
+don't endanger his relations with Ethel Kenyon. His marriage with her is
+our only chance of getting out of this accursed bog we seem to have
+stuck fast in."
+
+"I'll be careful," said Mrs. Trent, drily.
+
+Francis still eyed her with apprehension. "You won't try to stop that
+marriage, will you?"
+
+"No, why should I? Miss Kenyon's nothing to me."
+
+Francis laughed. "I didn't know where your sympathies might be carrying
+you," he said. "Brooke's daughter is no more to you than the other
+girl."
+
+"I suppose not. But I feel different to her. You can't explain these
+things," said Mrs. Trent, philosophically, "but it's certain sure that
+you take a liking to one person and a hate to another, without knowing
+why. I liked Miss Lesley ever since I entered that house. She's kind,
+and talks to me as if I was a woman--not a machine. And I wouldn't like
+to see any harm happen to her."
+
+"Oh, you may indulge your romantic fondness for Miss Brooke as long as
+you like, if you don't let it interfere with Oliver's marriage," said
+Francis, with a rather disagreeable laugh. "It's lucky that you did not
+go to live with Miss Kenyon instead of the fair Lesley. You might have
+felt tempted to tell _her_ your little story."
+
+"Ay, so I might," said the woman, slowly. "For she's a woman, after all.
+And a nice life she'll have of it with Oliver Trent. I'm not sure----"
+
+She stopped, and a sombre light came into her deep-set eyes.
+
+"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't get on that old grievance," said Francis,
+hastily, almost rudely. "Don't think about it--don't mention it to me.
+It's all very well, Polly, for you to take on so much about your sister;
+and, indeed, I'm very sorry for her, and I think that Oliver behaved
+abominably--I do, indeed; but, my dear girl, it's no good crying over
+spilt milk, and Oliver's my brother, after all----"
+
+"And he's going to pay you two thousand pounds on his wedding-day," said
+Mrs. Trent, with cruel curtness. "I know all about it. And I understand.
+Why should I be above making my profit out of him like other people? All
+right, Francis: I won't spoil your little game at present. And now I
+must be getting back."
+
+She took up her bonnet and shawl and began to readjust them. Francis
+watched her hands: he saw that they trembled, and he knew that this was
+an ominous sign. It sometimes betokened anger, and when she was angry he
+did not care to ask her to give him money. And he wanted money now.
+
+But she was not angry in the way that he thought. For after a moment's
+silence her hands grew steady again, and her face recovered its usual
+calm.
+
+"I've got three pounds here for you, Francis," she said. "And I hope
+you'll make it last as long as you can--you will, won't you? For I
+shan't have any more for some little time to come."
+
+He nodded and took the sovereigns from her hand. A touch of compunction
+visited him as he did so.
+
+"Keep one, Polly," he said. "I don't want them all."
+
+"Oh, yes, you do. And I have no need of money where I am. You'll not
+spend it all at billiards, or on brandy, will you?"
+
+"No, Polly, I won't. I promise you."
+
+And he meant to keep his promise. But as matters fell out, he was
+blindly, madly drunk before the same night was out, and he had lost
+every penny that he possessed over a game at cards. And plunging
+recklessly across the street, in the darkness of the foggy night, he was
+knocked down by passing cab, and was carried insensible to the nearest
+hospital. Where let us leave him for a time in good and kindly hands.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+"HER EYES WILL SEND ME MAD."
+
+
+It was true, as Mrs. Trent had said, that Lesley's face often now wore a
+look of perplexity and trouble. This look had many differing causes; but
+amongst them, not the least was the behavior of Oliver Trent.
+
+Oliver was betrothed to her friend, and she had so much faith in the
+honor and constancy of men, that it never occurred to her that he could
+prefer herself to Ethel, or that he should think of behaving as though
+Ethel were not the first person in the world to him. But as a matter of
+fact, he did not conduct himself to Ethel at all as a lover should have
+done. Assured of her love, he neglected her: he failed to appear at the
+Theatre in time to escort her home, he forgot his promises to visit her;
+he let her notes lie unanswered in his pocket. And when she pouted and
+remonstrated, he frowned her into silence, which was not at all the way
+in which her lover ought to behave.
+
+Of course Lesley did not know this, for Ethel had not taken her into her
+confidence on the subject. But she knew very well where Oliver spent his
+time. Early and late, on small excuse or on no excuse at all, he
+presented himself at Mr. Brooke's house, and made himself Lesley's
+companion. At first Lesley did not dislike it. She supposed that Ethel
+must be busy with her theatrical studies, or at rehearsal, and that
+Oliver was in want of something to do. It was pleasant to have the
+companionship of some one younger and more congenial, perhaps, than her
+father or Miss Brooke; and she gained a great deal of interesting
+information from Oliver during the long hours that he spent with her in
+the drawing-room or library. He told her a great deal about London
+society, about modern literature, and the fashions of the day; and all
+this was as fascinating to Lesley as it was novel. He talked to her
+about plays and music and pictures; and he read poetry to her. Modern
+poetry, of course: a little Browning, and a good deal of Rossetti and
+Swinburne. For amorous and passionate poetry pleased him best; and he
+knew that it was likelier to serve his ends than verse of the more
+masculine and intellectual kind. Lesley rather preferred Browning and
+Arnold to Oliver's favorites, but she was never certain of her own
+taste, and was always humbly afraid that she might be making some
+terrible mistake in her preferences.
+
+She certainly found Mr. Trent's aid very valuable in the matter of her
+singing. The best singing-mistress in London had been found for her, and
+she practised diligently every day; but it was delightful to find
+somebody who could always play her accompaniments, and was ready with
+discriminating praise or almost more flattering criticism. Oliver had
+considerable musical knowledge, and he placed it at Lesley's service.
+She made a much quicker and more marked advance in her singing than she
+could possibly have done without his assistance. And for this she was
+grateful.
+
+At the same time she was uneasy. It was contrary to all her previous
+experience that a young man should be allowed to spend so much time with
+her. She did not think that her mother would approve of it. But she
+could not ask Lady Alice, because she had now no communication with her:
+a purely formal letter respecting her health and general welfare was
+all, she had been told, that she would be permitted to write. And sooner
+than write a letter of that kind Lesley had proudly resolved not to
+write at all. But she pined for womanly counsel and assistance in the
+matter.
+
+Miss Brooke was certainly not proving herself an efficient chaperon.
+Aunt Sophy had never risen to a clear view of her duty in the matter.
+She herself had never been chaperoned in her life; but had gone about to
+lectures and dissecting rooms and hospitals with a fine indifference to
+sex. But then Doctor Sophy had never been a pretty woman; and no young
+man had shown a wish to spend his spare hours in her drawing-room. She
+had a strong belief in the wisdom and goodness of women--young and
+old--and declared that they could always take care of themselves when
+they chose. And nothing would induce her to believe that her niece,
+Lesley Brooke, required protection or guardianship. She would have
+thought it an insult to her own family to suggest such a thing.
+
+So she treated Lesley's rather timidly worded suggestions on the subject
+with cheerful contempt, as the conventional notions of a convent-bred
+young woman who had not yet realized the strides made in the progress of
+mankind--and especially of womankind. And Lesley soon felt quite sure
+that any complaint or protest of hers would be dealt with simply as a
+sign of weak-mindedness--a stigma which she could not endure. So she
+said nothing, and submitted to Oliver Trent's frequent visits with
+resignation.
+
+It must be said, however, that Aunt Sophy had not the least notion of
+the frequency of Oliver's visits. She was a busy woman, and a somewhat
+absent-minded one; and Mr. Trent often contrived to call when she was
+out or engaged. And when she asked, as she sometimes did ask of
+Sarah--"Any one called to-day?"--and received the grim answer "Only Mr.
+Trent, as usual"--she simply laughed at Sarah's sour visage, and did not
+calculate the number of these visits in the week. Mr. Brooke himself
+grew uncomfortable about the matter, sooner than did Miss Brooke.
+
+"Sophy," he said, one day, when he happened to find her alone in the
+library, sitting at the very top of the library steps, with an immense
+volume of German science on her knees. "Sophy, have you noticed that
+young Trent has taken to coming here very often of late?"
+
+"No," said Doctor Sophy, absently, "I haven't noticed." Then she went on
+reading.
+
+"My dear Sophy," said her brother, "will you do me the kindness to
+listen to me for a moment?"
+
+"Why, Caspar, I _am_ listening as hard as I can!" exclaimed Miss Brooke,
+with an injured air. "What do you want?"
+
+"I wish to speak about Lesley."
+
+"Oh, I thought it was Mr. Trent."
+
+"Does it not strike you that he comes here to see Lesley a great deal
+too often?"
+
+"Rubbish," cried Miss Brooke, pushing up her eyeglasses. "Why, he's
+engaged to Ethel Kenyon."
+
+"For all that," said Mr. Brooke, and then he paused for a moment. "Did
+it never strike _you_ that he was here very often?"
+
+"No," said Aunt Sophy, stolidly. "Haven't noticed. I suppose he comes to
+help Lesley with her singing. Good gracious, Caspar, the girl can take
+care of herself."
+
+"I dare say she can, but I don't want any trifling--or--or
+flirtation--to go on," said Brooke, rather sharply. "We are responsible
+for her, you know: we have to hand her over in good condition, mind and
+body, at the end of the twelve months. And if you can't look after her,
+I must get her a companion or something. I've been inclined to come up
+and play sheep-dog myself, sometimes, when I have heard them practising
+for an hour together just above my head."
+
+"If they disturb you, Caspar," began Miss Brooke, with real solicitude;
+but her brother did not allow her to finish her sentence.
+
+"No, no, they don't disturb me--in the way you mean. I confess I should
+feel more comfortable if I thought that somebody was with the two young
+people, to play propriety, and all that sort of thing."
+
+"I thought you were above such conventionalism," said Miss Brooke,
+glaring at him through her glasses from her lofty height upon the steps.
+
+"Not at all. Not where my daughter is concerned. Children teach their
+father very new and unexpected lessons, I find; and I don't look with
+equanimity on the prospect of Lesley's being made love to by Oliver
+Trent, or of her going back to her mother and telling her that she was
+left so much to her own devices. I am sure of one thing--that Lady Alice
+would not like it."
+
+"And am I to give up all my engagements for the sake of sitting with two
+silly young people?" said Miss Brooke, the very hair of her head seeming
+to bristle with horror at the idea.
+
+"By no means. I don't see that you need be always there; but be there
+sometimes; don't give occasion to the enemy," said Mr. Brooke; turning
+to go.
+
+"Who is the enemy?" said Doctor Sophy--a spiteful question, as she well
+knew.
+
+"The world," said Caspar Brooke, quite quietly: he did not choose to see
+the spitefulness.
+
+"Oh," said Miss Brooke. "I thought you meant your wife." But she did not
+dare to say this until he was well out of the room, and the door firmly
+closed behind him.
+
+But Miss Brooke was neither malicious nor unreasonable. On consideration
+she came to the conclusion that her brother was substantially right--as
+a matter of fact she always came to that conclusion--and prepared to
+carry out his views of the matter. Only she carried them out in her own
+way. She made a point of being present on the occasion of Mr. Trent's
+next two calls, and although she read a book all the time, she was
+virtuously conscious of the fact that her mere presence "made all the
+difference." But on the third occasion she wanted to go out. What was to
+be done? Miss Brooke's mind was fertile of resource, and she
+triumphantly surmounted the difficulty.
+
+"Kingston," she said to Lesley's maid, "I am obliged to go out, and I
+don't like leaving Miss Lesley so much alone. You may take your work
+down to the library and sit there, and don't go away if visitors come
+in. You can just draw the curtains, you know."
+
+"Am I to stay all the afternoon, ma'am?" Kingston inquired, with
+surprise.
+
+"Yes. I'll speak to Miss Lesley about it. I think she ought to have some
+one at hand when I am out so much." So Kingston--_alias_ Mary
+Trent--took her needlework, and seated herself by the library window,
+whence the half-drawn curtains between library and drawing-room afforded
+her a complete view of all visitors to Miss Lesley.
+
+Oliver Trent was distinctly annoyed by this proceeding, but Lesley,
+although puzzled, was equally well pleased. It was an arrangement all
+the more displeasing to Oliver because the waiting-woman who sat so
+demurely in the library, within earshot of all that he chose to say, was
+his brother's wife. He felt sure that she had contrived it all; that she
+was there simply to act as a spy upon his actions. Francis wanted that
+money, and would not get it until he married Miss Kenyon; and was
+evidently afraid--from information conveyed to him by Kingston--that he
+was going to break off his engagement. Oliver flew into a silent rage at
+the thought of this combination, which he was nevertheless powerless to
+prevent. He went away early that afternoon, and came again next day.
+Kingston was there also with her work. And though he sang and played the
+piano as usual with Lesley, although he chatted and laughed and had tea
+with her as usual, he felt Kingston's presence a restraint And for the
+first time he asked himself, seriously, why this should be.
+
+"Why, of course," he said to himself, "I promised Rosalind to make love
+to her. And I can't make love to her when that woman's there. Curse her!
+she spoils my plans."
+
+He had shut himself up in the luxurious little smoking-room which Mrs.
+Romaine had arranged for him. She knew the value of a room in which a
+man feels himself at liberty to do what he likes. She never came there
+without especial invitation: she always said that she preferred seeing
+her brother in her own drawing-room--that she was not like Miss Brooke,
+and did _not_ smoke cigarettes. But that was one of the little ways in
+which Rosalind used to emphasize the difference between herself and the
+women whom she did not love.
+
+At any rate, Oliver was alone. The curtains were drawn, the lamp was
+lighted, a bright fire burned in the grate. He had drawn up a
+softly-cushioned lounging chair to the fire, and was peacefully smoking
+a remarkably good cigar.
+
+But his frame of mind was anything but peaceful. He had been troubled
+for some days, and he did not know what troubled him. He was now
+beginning to find out.
+
+"What are my plans, I wonder?" he reflected. "To make Lesley fall in
+love with me?--I wish I could! She is as cold as ice; as innocent as a
+child: and yet I think there is a tremendous capacity for passion in
+those dark eyes of hers, those mobile, sensitive lips! What lips to
+kiss! what eyes to flash back fire and feeling! what a splendid woman to
+win and show the world! It would be like loving a goddess--as if Diana
+herself had stooped from Olympus to grace Endymion!"
+
+And then he laughed aloud.
+
+"What a fool I am! Poetizing like a boy; and all about a girl who never
+can be my wife at all. That's the worst part of it. I am
+engaged--engaged! unutterably ridiculous word!--to marry little Ethel
+Kenyon, the pretty actress at the Novelty. The respectable, wealthy,
+well-connected actress, moreover--the product of modern civilization:
+the young woman of our day who aspires to purify the drama and vindicate
+the claims of histrionic art--what rubbish it all is! If Ethel were a
+ballet-dancer, or had taken to opera bouffe, she would be much more
+entertaining! But her enthusiasms, and her belief in herself and her
+mission, along with that _mignonne_, provoking, pretty, little face of
+hers, are altogether too incongruous! No, Ethel bores me, it must be
+confessed; and I have got to marry her--all for a paltry twenty thousand
+pounds! What a fool I was to propose before I had seen Brooke's
+daughter.
+
+"If it weren't for Francis, I would break it off. But how else am I to
+pay that two thousand? And what won't he do if I fail to pay it? No,
+that would be ruin--unless I choke him off in some other way, and I
+don't see how I can do that. No, I must marry Ethel, I suppose, or go to
+the devil. And unless I could take bonny Lesley with me, that would not
+mend matters."
+
+He threw his cigar into the fire, and stood for some minutes looking
+down at it, with gloom imprinted upon his brow.
+
+"I must do something," he said at last. "It's getting too much for me: I
+shall have to stop going to Brooke's house. I suppose this is what
+people call falling in love! Well, I can honestly say I have never done
+it in this fashion before! I have flirted, I have made love scores of
+times, but I never wanted a woman for my own as I want _her_! And I
+think I had better keep out of her way--for her eyes will send me mad!"
+
+So he soliloquized: so he resolved; but inclination was stronger than
+will or judgment. Day after day saw him at the Brookes' house; and day
+after day saw the shadows deepen on Ethel's face, and the fold of
+perplexity grow more distinct between Lesley's tender brows.
+
+Kingston had been looking ill and uneasy for some days past, and one
+afternoon she begged leave to go out for an hour or two to see a friend.
+Miss Brooke let her go, and went out to a meeting with a perfectly
+contented mind. Even if Oliver Trent came to the house that afternoon it
+would not matter: it would be only "once in a way." And Lesley secretly
+hoped that he would not come.
+
+But he came. A little later than usual--about four o'clock in the
+afternoon, when there was no light in the drawing-room but that of the
+ruddy blaze, and the tea-tray had not yet been brought up. When Lesley
+saw him she wished that she had sent down word that she was engaged,
+that she had a headache, or even that she was--conventionally--not at
+home. Anything rather than a t�te-�-t�te with Oliver Trent! And yet she
+would have been puzzled to say why.
+
+His quick eye told him almost at once that she was alone. It told him
+also that she was decidedly nervous and ill-at-ease.
+
+"We must have lights," she said. "Then you can see my new song. I had a
+fresh one this morning."
+
+"Never mind the lights: never mind your song," he said, his voice
+vibrating strangely. "If you are like me, you love this delightful
+twilight."
+
+"I don't like it," said Lesley, with decision. "I will ring for the
+lamps, please."
+
+She moved a step, but by a dexterous movement he interposed himself
+between her and the mantelpiece, beside which hung the bell-handle.
+
+"Shall I ring?" he asked, coolly. It seemed to him that he wanted to
+gain time. And yet--time for what? He had nothing to get by gaining
+time.
+
+"Yes, if you please," Lesley said. She could not get past him without
+seeming rude. A slight tremor shook her frame; she shrank away from him,
+towards the open piano and leaned against it as if for support. The
+flickering firelight showed her that his face was very pale, the lips
+were tightly closed, the brows knitted above his fiercely flaming eye.
+He did not look like himself.
+
+"Lesley," he said, hoarsely, and stretching forward, he put one hand
+upon her arm. But the touch gave the girl strength. She drew her arm
+away, as sharply as if a noxious animal had touched her.
+
+"Mr. Trent, you forget yourself."
+
+"Rather say that I remember myself--that I found myself when I found
+you! Lesley, I love you!"
+
+"This is shameful--intolerable! You are pledged to my friend--you have
+said all this to her before," cried Lesley, in bitter wrath and
+indignation.
+
+"I have said it, but I never knew the meaning of love till I knew you.
+Lesley, you love me in return! Let us leave the world together--you and
+I. Nothing can give me the happiness that your love would bring. Lesley,
+Lesley, my darling!"
+
+He threw his arm round her, and tried to kiss her cold cheek, her
+averted, half-open lips. She would have pushed him from her if she had
+had the strength; but it seemed as if her strength was failing her.
+Suddenly, with a half-smothered oath, he let her go--so suddenly,
+indeed, that she almost fell against the piano near which she had been
+standing. For the door had opened, and the tall figure of Caspar Brooke
+stood on the threshold of the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+MAURICE KENYON'S VIEWS.
+
+
+Mr. Brooke advanced quite quietly into the room. Perhaps he had not seen
+or heard so very much. Certainly he glanced very keenly--first at
+Lesley, who leaned half-fainting against the piano, and then at Oliver
+Trent, who had slunk backwards to the rug before the fire; but he said
+nothing, and for a minute or two an embarrassed silence prevailed in the
+room. Lesley then raised herself up a little, and Oliver began to speak.
+
+"I was just going," he said, with a nervous attempt at a laugh. "I
+haven't much time to-night, and was just hurrying away. I must come in
+another time."
+
+Mr. Brooke took up a commanding position on the rug, put his hands in
+his pockets, and surveyed the room in silence. Perhaps Oliver felt the
+silence to be ominous, for he did not try to shake hands or to utter any
+commonplaces, but took his leave with a hurried "Good-afternoon" that
+neither father nor daughter returned. The door shut behind him: they
+heard the sound of his footsteps on the stairs and the closing of the
+hall door. Then Lesley bestirred herself with the sensation of a wounded
+animal that wishes to hide its hurt: she wanted to get away and seek the
+darkness and solitude of her room upstairs. But before she reached the
+door Mr. Brooke's voice arrested her.
+
+"Lesley."
+
+She stopped short, and looked at him. Her heart beat so suffocatingly
+loud and fast that she could not speak.
+
+"I don't trust that young man, Lesley," was what her father said quite
+quietly.
+
+Then there was a pause. Lesley was still tongue-tied, and Mr. Brooke did
+not seem to know what to do or say. He walked away from the fire and
+began to finger some papers on a table, although it was quite too dark
+to see any of these. Inwardly he was wondering how much or how little he
+ought to say.
+
+"I wish he would not come quite so often," he remarked.
+
+"Oh, so do I!" said Lesley, with heartfelt warmth.
+
+"Do you? Why, child, I thought you liked him!"
+
+"I never liked him much," said Lesley, faltering.
+
+"And yet you have allowed him to come here day after day and practise
+with you? The ways of women are inscrutable," said Mr. Brooke, grimly,
+"and I can't profess to understand them. If you did not wish him to
+come, there was nothing to do but to close your doors against him."
+
+"I shall be only too glad," said Lesley, eagerly.
+
+"Oh--_now_? That is unnecessary: I shall do it myself," said her father,
+with the same dryness of tone that always made Lesley feel as if she
+were withering up to nothingness.
+
+"I don't think he is very likely to come," she said, in a very low tone.
+Then, with a quick impulse to clear herself, and an effort which brought
+the blood in a burning tide to her fair face, she went on,
+hurriedly--"Father, you don't think I forgot that he"--and then she
+almost broke down, and "Ethel" was the only word that struck distinctly
+upon his ear.
+
+"You mean," said Mr. Brooke, "that you do not forget that he is going to
+marry Ethel Kenyon? Perhaps not; but I think that _he_ does."
+
+"I am not to blame for that," said Lesley, with a flash of the hot
+temper that occasionally leaped to light when she was talking with her
+father.
+
+Brooke made no immediate answer. He took a match box from his pocket,
+struck a match, and began to light the wax candles on the
+mantelpiece--partly by way of finding something to do, partly because he
+thought that he should like to see his daughter's face.
+
+It was a very downcast face just then, but it was tinged with the hot
+flush of mingled pride and shame with which she had spoken, and never
+had it looked more lovely. The father considered it for a moment, less
+with admiration than with curiosity: this daughter of his was an unknown
+quantity: he never could predicate what she would do or say. Certainly
+she surprised him once more when she lifted her head, and said,
+quickly--
+
+"I don't think I understand your English ways. I know what we should do
+at the convent; but I never know whether I am right or wrong here. And
+I have no one to ask."
+
+"There is your Aunt Sophy."
+
+"It is almost impossible to ask Aunt Sophy; she never sees where the
+difficulty lies. I know she is kind--but she does not understand what I
+want."
+
+Caspar nodded. "That is one reason why I spoke to you just now," he
+said, much more gently than usual. "I knew that she was a little brusque
+sometimes; and I suppose I am not much better. As a rule a father does
+not talk to his girls as I have been talking to you, I fancy. I am
+almost as ignorant of a father's duties to his daughter as you say you
+are of the habits of English bourgeois society--for I suppose that is
+what you mean?"
+
+He smiled a little--the slight smile of a satire which Lesley always
+dreaded; and yet, she remembered, his voice had been very kind. It
+softened again into its gentlest and most musical tones, as he said--
+
+"You must take us as you find us, child: we shall not do you much harm,
+and it will not be for long."
+
+Lesley was emboldened by the gentle intonation to draw closer to him,
+and to lay an entreating hand upon his arm.
+
+"Oh, father," she said, "if you would but let me write to mamma!"
+
+And then she uttered a little sob, and the tears filled her eyes and ran
+down her cheeks. As for Caspar Brooke, he stood like a man amazed, and
+repeated her words almost stupidly.
+
+"_Write to mamma?_" he said.
+
+"It would do me good: it would not do any harm," said Lesley, hurriedly,
+brokenly, and clasping his arm with both hands to enforce her plea. "I
+would not tell her anything that you did not like: I should never say
+anything but good about you; but, oh, there are so many things that
+puzzle me, and that I should like to consult her about. You see,
+although I was not much with her, I used to write to her twice a week,
+and she wrote to me oftener, sometimes; and I told her everything, and
+she used to advise me and help me! And I miss it so much--it is that
+that makes me unhappy; it seems so hard never to write and never to hear
+from her! I feel sometimes as if I could not bear it; as if I should
+have to run away to her again and tell her everything! Nobody is like
+her--nobody--and to be a year without her is terrible!"
+
+And Lesley put her head down on her father's arm and cried
+unrestrainedly, with a sort of newborn instinct that he sympathised with
+her, and would not repulse her confidence.
+
+As for Caspar Brooke, his face had turned quite pale: he stood like a
+statue, with features rigidly set, listening to Lesley's outburst of
+pleading words. It took him a little time to find his voice, even when
+he had at last assimilated the ideas contained in her speech and
+regained his self-possession. It took him still longer to recover from a
+certain shock of surprise.
+
+"Write to your mother!" he exclaimed. "Well, but, of course--why should
+you not write to your mother?"
+
+And then Lesley raised her head and looked at him with such amazement
+and perplexity that her father felt absolutely annoyed.
+
+"Who on earth put it into your head that you might not write? Am I such
+a tyrant--such an unfeeling monster----? Good heavens! what
+extraordinary idea is this! Who said that you were not to write to her?"
+
+"My mother herself," said Lesley, drawing herself a little away from
+him, and still looking into his face.
+
+"Your _mother_? Absurd! Why, what--what----"
+
+He faltered, frowned, turned away to the mantelpiece, and struck his
+hand heavily upon it.
+
+"I never meant _that_," he said. It seemed as if vexation and
+astonishment prevented him from saying more.
+
+"My mother said that it was agreed--years ago--that when I came to you,
+we were to have no communication," said Lesley, trembling, and yet
+resolute to have her say. "Was not that so?"
+
+"I remember something of the sort," he answered, reluctantly, frowning
+still and looking down. "I did not think at the time of what it implied.
+And when the time drew near for you to make the visit, the question was
+not raised. We corresponded through a third party--the lawyer, you know.
+Perhaps--at the time--I had an idea of preventing letters, but not
+recently. Nobody mentioned it. Why"--his anger rising, as a man's anger
+often does rise when he perceives himself to have been in the
+wrong--"your mother might at least have mentioned it if she felt any
+doubt!"
+
+"I suppose," said Lesley, rather haughtily, "that my mother did not want
+to ask a favor of you."
+
+He flung himself round at that. "Your mother must have given you a
+strange idea of me!" he said, with a mixture of anger and mortification
+which it humiliated him to show, even while he could not manage to hide
+it. "One would have said I was an ogre--a maniac. But she misjudged me
+all her life--it is useless to expect anything else--of course she would
+try to bias you!"
+
+"I never knew that you were even alive until the day that I left the
+convent," said Lesley. "My mother certainly did not try to prejudice me
+before then: she simply kept silence."
+
+"Silence is the worst condemnation? What had I done that I should be
+separated from my child so completely?" said the man, the bitterness of
+years displaying itself in a way as unexpected to him as to his
+daughter. "It is not my fault, I swear, that I have lived without a
+wife, without--well, well! it is not you to whom I ought to say this. We
+will not refer to it again. About this letter writing--I might say, as
+perhaps I did say at the time the arrangement was made, that surely I
+had a right to claim you entirely for one year at least; but I don't--I
+won't. If I did ever say so, Lesley, I regret the words exceedingly.
+Ever since you came to me, I have had no idea but that you were writing
+to her regularly and freely; and I never--never in my right mind--wished
+it otherwise."
+
+"But mamma talked of an agreement----"
+
+"That was years ago. I must have said something in my heat which the
+lawyers--the people who arranged things--interpreted wrongly. And your
+mother, as you say, did not care to ask me for anything. I can only say,
+Lesley, that I am sorry the mistake arose."
+
+His voice was grave and cold again, almost indifferent. He stood with
+his elbow on the mantelpiece, his hand supporting his head, his eyes
+averted from the girl. A close eye might have observed that the veins of
+his forehead were swollen, and the pulse at his temple was beating
+furiously: otherwise he had mastered all signs of agitation. Lesley
+hesitated a moment: then came up to him, and put her slim fingers into
+his hand.
+
+"Father," she said, softly, "if we _have_ misjudged you--mamma and
+I--won't you forgive us?"
+
+For answer he took her face between his two hands, bent down and kissed
+it tenderly.
+
+"You don't remember sitting on my knee when you were a tiny little
+thing, do you?" he asked her. "You would not go to sleep at nights
+without a kiss from me before I went out. You were rather fond of me
+then, child! I wish things had turned out differently!"
+
+He spoke sadly, and Lesley returned his kiss with a new feeling of
+affection of which she had not been conscious before, but which she
+would have found it difficult to translate into words. Before she could
+manage to reply, the handle of the door was turned, and father and
+daughter stood apart as quickly as if they had had no right to stand
+with arms enlaced and faces almost touching: indeed, the situation was
+so new to both of them that they felt something like shame and alarm as
+they turned to meet the expected Doctor Sophy.
+
+But it was not Doctor Sophy. It was Sarah with the tea-tray, very
+resentful at not having had it rung for earlier--she having been
+instructed not to bring it up until Miss Lesley rang the bell. And after
+Sarah came Mr. Maurice Kenyon, unannounced, after his usual fashion. And
+on hearing his voice, Lesley slipped away between the curtains into the
+library, and upstairs, through the library door.
+
+"Why, Brooke, old fellow, you're not often to be found here at this
+hour!" began Maurice. He looked on Caspar Brooke as a prophet and a hero
+in his heart; but his manner before the world was characterized by the
+frankest irreverence. Brooke was one of those men who are never older
+than their companions.
+
+"Well, you must be neglecting your patients shamefully to be here at
+all. What do you want at this feminine meal?"
+
+"I didn't come for tea," said Maurice, actually growing a little redder
+as he spoke. "I came to see Miss Brooke."
+
+"Oh, she's gone to a meeting of some Medical Association or other," said
+Caspar, indifferently, as he sat down in Lesley's place at the dainty
+tea-table, and poured out a cup of tea with the manner of a man who was
+accustomed to serving himself. "Here, help yourself to sugar and cream."
+
+"Thanks, I won't have any tea. I did not mean your sister: I meant Miss
+Lesley--I thought I saw her as I came in."
+
+"Anything important?" said Caspar, blandly. He was certain that Lesley
+had gone away to cry--women always cry!--and he did not want her to be
+disturbed. Although he had quarrelled with his wife, he understood
+feminine susceptibilities better than most men.
+
+"Oh, no. Only to ask her to sing at the Club on Sunday. It's my turn to
+manage the music for that day, you know. Trent is going to sing too."
+
+"Ah," said Mr. Brooke. Then, after a pause: "I will ask her. But I don't
+think she will be able to sing on Sunday. It strikes me she has an
+engagement."
+
+He could not say to Ethel's brother what was in his mind, and yet he was
+troubled by the intensity of his conviction that she was throwing
+herself away upon "a cad." He must take some other method in the future
+of giving Maurice a hint about young Trent.
+
+Maurice thought, not untruly, that there was something odd in his tone.
+
+"Isn't she well?" he asked, with his usual straightforwardness. "I hope
+there is nothing wrong."
+
+"I did not say there was anything wrong, did I?" demanded Caspar. Then,
+squaring his shoulders, and sitting well back in his chair, with his
+hands plunged into the pockets of his old study coat, and his eyes fixed
+on his visitor's face, he thus acquitted himself--"Maurice, my young
+friend, I am and have been a most confounded ass."
+
+"Oh?" said Maurice, interrogatively.
+
+"I think it would relieve me--if I weren't out of practice--to swear.
+But I've preached against 'langwidge' so long at the club that I don't
+think I could get up the necessary stock of expletives."
+
+"I'll supply you. I shouldn't have thought that there was a lack of them
+down in your printing offices about one or two o'clock every morning,
+from what I've heard. What is it, if I may ask? Anything wrong with the
+Football Club?"
+
+"Football Club! My dear fellow, I have a private life, unfortunately, as
+contradistinguished from your everlasting clubs and printing offices."
+
+"It is something about Miss Brooke, is it?" said Maurice, with greater
+interest "I was afraid there was something----"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Oh--well, you must excuse me for mentioning it--but wasn't she--wasn't
+she crying as she went out of the room? And she has not been looking
+well for the last month or so."
+
+"I suppose you mean that she is not particularly happy here, with her
+father?"
+
+Maurice elevated his eyebrows. "Brooke, old man, what have you got into
+your head?" he asked, kindly. "You look put out a good bit. Does she say
+she wants to leave you?"
+
+"Oh, no, no, 'tisn't that. I daresay she does, though. You know the
+whole story--it is no good disguising the details from you. There's been
+a wretched little mistake--all my fault, no doubt, but not intentionally
+so: the girl came here with the idea that she might not write to her
+mother--some nonsense about 'no communication' between them stood in the
+way; and it seems she has been pining to do so ever since she came."
+
+"And she never asked you? never complained, or said anything?"
+
+"She broke down over it to-day. I'm ashamed to look her in the face,"
+said Brooke, vehemently. "I'm ashamed to think of what they--their
+opinion of me is. A domineering, flinty-hearted, unnatural parent, eh,
+Maurice? Ogre and tyrant and all the rest of it. As if I ever meant to
+put a stop to her writing to her mother! I never heard of such an
+unjustifiable proceeding! I never thought of such an absurd idea!"
+
+"Then weren't you very much to blame to allow the mistake to arise?"
+asked Maurice, bluntly.
+
+"Of course I was. That's the abominable and confounded part of it. Some
+hasty words of mine were misinterpreted, of course. I told you I had
+been an ass."
+
+"Well, I hope it is set straight now?"
+
+"As far as I can set it straight. Probably nothing will undo the effect.
+She'll think that I was cruel in the first instance if not in the last."
+
+He sat staring at his boots, with a very discontented expression of
+countenance. But he did not get much sympathy from Mr. Kenyon.
+
+"Well," he said, "I suppose you've yourself to blame. I've no doubt you
+have been very hasty, lots of times. It's my own idea that if you went
+into detail over a good many actions of your past life"--this was very
+significantly said--"you would find that you had been mistaken pretty
+often. We all do. And there's one mistake that I think I can point out
+to you."
+
+Caspar looked at him hard for a moment from under his bushy eyebrows.
+
+"One subject, Kenyon," he said, seriously, "I shall ask you to respect."
+
+"All right," said Maurice. "I am only speaking of your daughter. You
+must allow me to say that I think you have misjudged her, ever since she
+has been in your house for the last three months. I did just the same,
+at first. You see, she came here, as far as I can make out, puzzled,
+ignorant of the world, deprived of her mother's help and care, thrown on
+the tender mercies of a father whom she did not know----"
+
+"And whom she took to be an ogre," said Brooke, with a bitter, little
+laugh.
+
+"Brought into a world that she knew nothing about, and amongst a set of
+people who could not understand why she looked sad and lonely, poor
+child!----"
+
+"I say, Maurice, you are speaking of my daughter, remember."
+
+"Don't be touchy, old man. I speak and I think of her with every
+respect. We have all misjudged and misunderstood her: she is a young
+girl, little more than a child, and a child astray, pining
+uncomplainingly for her mother, doing her best to understand the new
+world she was thrown into, devouring your writings and trying as hard as
+she could to assimilate every good and noble idea that she came
+across--I say that she's a saint and a heroine," said Maurice, with
+sudden passion and enthusiasm, "and we've forgotten that not a girl in a
+thousand could have come through a trying ordeal so well!"
+
+"She hasn't come out of her ordeal at all, Maurice: the ordeal of living
+in the house of a brutal father, who, in her view, probably broke her
+mother's heart: all that has to be proceeded with for nine months
+longer!"
+
+"It need not be an ordeal if she knows that you love her: if she writes
+to her mother and gets the sympathy and aid she needs. Upon my soul,
+Brooke, it seems to me that you are hard upon your daughter!"
+
+"Do you think I need to be taught my duty by you, young man?" said
+Caspar. He spoke with a smile, but his tone was undoubtedly sharp. His
+disciple was not so submissive as he had hitherto appeared to be.
+
+"Yes, I do," said Maurice, undismayed. "Because I appreciate her and
+understand her, which you don't. I was dense at first as you are, but I
+have learnt better now--through loving her."
+
+"Through _what_, man?"
+
+"Through loving her. It's the truth, Brooke, as I stand here. I've known
+it for some little time. It is only because it may seem too sudden to
+her and to you that I haven't spoken before, and I did not mean to do so
+when I came here this afternoon. But the fact remains, I love Lesley,
+and I want her to be my wife."
+
+"Heavens and earth!" said Caspar. "Is the man gone mad!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+LESLEY'S LETTER.
+
+
+"Not a bit of it," said Maurice sturdily. "I speak the words of truth
+and soberness. I've thought about it for some time."
+
+"A week?"
+
+"I'm in earnest, Brooke. Do you consent?"
+
+"My good man," said Caspar, slowly, "you forget that I am probably the
+last person in the world whose consent is of any value."
+
+"Pooh!"
+
+"You may say 'pooh' as much as you like, but the fact remains. When
+Lesley leaves me, say next August or September, she goes to her mother
+and her grandfather, who's an earl, more's the pity. They have the
+guardianship, you understand."
+
+"But you have it legally still."
+
+"Hum--no: we had a formal separation. I named the terms, certainly: I
+was angry at the time, and was inclined to say that if I might not bring
+up the child in my own way, neither should its mother. That was why we
+compromised by sending her to school--but it was to be a school of Lady
+Alice's choice. The year with me afterwards was a suggestion of mine, of
+course. But I can't alter what was agreed on then."
+
+"Naturally. But----"
+
+"And as to money affairs," said Caspar, ruthlessly cutting him short, "I
+have been put all along into the most painful and ridiculous position
+that a man can well be in. I offered to settle a certain income on my
+wife and daughter: Lady Alice and her father refused to accept any money
+from me. I have paid various sums into his bank for Lesley, but I have
+reason to believe that they have never touched a farthing of it. You see
+they've put me at a disadvantage all round. And what is to be done when
+she marries, unless she marries with their consent, I don't quite see.
+She won't like to offend them or seem ungrateful when they have done so
+much for her; and I--according to the account that they will give her--I
+have done nothing. So I don't suppose I shall be consulted about her
+marriage."
+
+"You are her father: you must be consulted."
+
+"Well, as a matter of form! But I expect that she is destined to marry a
+duke, my dear fellow; and I call it sheer folly on your part to have
+fallen in love with her."
+
+"But you don't object, Brooke?"
+
+"I only hope that the destined duke will be half as decent a chap as you
+are. But I can't encourage you--Lesley will have to look out for squalls
+if she engages herself to you."
+
+"May I not speak to her then?" inquired Maurice ruefully. "Not at once,
+perhaps, you know; but if I think that I have a chance?"
+
+"Say what you like," said Brooke, with a genial smile; for his ill-humor
+had vanished in spite of his apparent opposition to Maurice's suit. "I
+should like nothing better--for my own part; but we are both bound to
+consider Lesley. You know you are a shocking bad match for her. Oh, I
+know you are the descendant of kings and all that sort of bosh, but as a
+matter of fact you are only a young medico, a general practitioner, and
+his lordship is bound to think that I am making something for myself out
+of the marriage."
+
+"You don't think he'll consent?"
+
+"Never, my dear boy. One m�salliance was enough for him. He has got rid
+of me, and regained his daughter; but no doubt he intends to repair her
+mistake by a grand match for Lesley."
+
+"But perhaps she would not marry the man he chose for her?"
+
+Brooke laughed. "Can't answer for Lesley, I don't know her well enough,"
+he said. "Have you any notion, now, that she cares for you?"
+
+Maurice shook his head dismally. "Not in the least. I scarcely think she
+even likes me. But I mean to try my chance some day."
+
+"I wish you joy," said Lesley's father, with a slight enigmatical smile.
+"Especially with the Earl of Courtleroy. Hallo! there's the dinner bell.
+We have wasted all our time talking up here: you'll stay and dine?"
+
+"No, thanks--wish I could, but I must dine with Ethel, and go out
+directly afterwards."
+
+"When is the marriage to take place?" said Caspar, directing a keen
+glance to the face of his friend.
+
+"Ethel's? There is nothing settled."
+
+"I say, Maurice, I don't like Trent. He's a slippery customer. I would
+look after him a bit if I were you, and put Ethel on her guard. I think
+I am bound to say as much as that."
+
+"Do you think any harm of him?"
+
+"I _think_ harm of him--unjustly, perhaps. I am not so sure that I know
+of any. I only want you to keep your eyes open. Good-bye, old man."
+
+And Caspar Brooke gave his friend's hand such a pressure that Maurice
+went away satisfied that Lesley's father, at any rate, and in spite of
+protest, was upon his side.
+
+Miss Brooke came into dinner at the last moment, so Mr. Brooke and his
+daughter were saved the embarrassment of dining alone--for it could not
+be denied that it would have been embarrassing after the recent scene,
+if there had been no third person present to whom they could address
+remarks. Miss Brooke's mind was full of the meeting which she had
+attended, and she gave them a glowing account of it. Lesley spoke very
+little, but her face was happier than it had been for a long time,
+although her eyes were red. Mr. Brooke looked at her a good deal in a
+furtive kind of way, and with more interest than usual. She was
+certainly a good-looking girl. But that was not all. Caspar Brooke had
+passed the period of caring for good looks and nothing else. Lesley had
+spirit, intelligence, honesty, endurance, as well as beauty. Well, she
+might make a good wife for Maurice after all. For although he had
+declared that Kenyon was "a shocking bad match," he was inclined to
+think in his own heart that Kenyon was too good for his daughter Lesley.
+
+However, he had a soft corner in his big heart for the little girl who
+used to sit on his knee and refuse to go to sleep without his good-night
+kiss, and he was pleased when she came up to him before he went out that
+evening, and timidly put her face up to be kissed, as if she had still
+been the child he loved. She had never done that before; and he took it
+more as a sign of gratitude for permission to write to Lady Alice than
+actual affection for himself.
+
+"Are you writing your letter?" he said, touching her cheek half
+playfully, half caressingly.
+
+"Yes," said Lesley, looking down. "Is there--have you--no message?"
+
+"Why should I have a message? Your mother and I correspond through our
+lawyer, my dear. But--well, yes, if you like to say that I am sorry for
+this mistake of the last few months, you may do so. I have no doubt that
+she has missed your letters, and I should like her to understand that
+the correspondence was not discontinued at my desire. I regret the
+mistake."
+
+He said it formally and gravely, and in a particularly icy tone of
+voice; but Lesley was for the moment satisfied. She went back to her
+writing-desk and took up her pen. She had already written a couple of
+sheets, but in them her father's name had scarcely been mentioned. Now,
+however, she wrote:--
+
+     "You may be wondering, dearest mamma, why I am writing to you in
+     this way, because you told me that I must not write, and I have put
+     off my explanation until almost the end. I could not bear to be
+     without your letters any longer, and to-day I said so to my father.
+     I could not help telling him, because I was so miserable. And he
+     wishes me to tell you that it was all a mistake, and he is very
+     sorry; he never meant to put a stop to our writing to each other,
+     and he is very, _very_ sorry that we thought so." Lesley's version
+     was not so dignified as her father had intended it to be. "He was
+     terribly distressed when he found out that I was not writing to
+     you; and called himself all sorts of names--a tyrant and an ogre,
+     and asked what we must have thought of him! He was really very much
+     grieved about it, and never meant us to leave off writing. So now I
+     shall write as often as I please, and you, dearest mamma, will
+     write to me too.
+
+     "There is one thing I must say, darling mother, and you will not be
+     angry with me for saying it, will you? I think father must be
+     different now from what he was in the old days; or else--perhaps
+     there _may_ have been a mistake about him, such as there has been
+     about the letters! For he is so clever and gentle and kind--a
+     little sarcastic now and then, but always good! The poor people at
+     the Club (which I told you about in the last sheet) just adore him;
+     and they say that he has saved many of them from worse than death.
+     And you never told me about his book, dear mamma--'The Unexplored.'
+     It is such a beautiful book--surely you think so, although you
+     think ill of the writer? Of course you have read it? I have read it
+     four times, I think; and I want to ask him about some parts of it,
+     but I have never dared--I don't think he even knows that I have
+     read it. It has gone through more than twelve editions, and has
+     been translated into French and German, so you _must_ have seen it.
+     And Mr. Kenyon says it sells by thousands in America.
+
+     "It was Mr. Kenyon who first told me about it, and made me
+     understand how blind I was at first to my father's really _great_
+     qualities. I know he is not like grandpapa--he does sometimes seem
+     a little rough when compared to grandpapa; but then you always said
+     I must not expect every man I met in the world to have grandpapa's
+     courtly manners. And it must have been very lonely for you if he
+     went out at such funny hours as he does now, and did not breakfast
+     or lunch with you! But I am told that all 'journalists keep these
+     hours,' and that it is very provincial of me not to know it! It is
+     a very different house, and different life, from any that I ever
+     saw before; but I am getting accustomed to it now, especially since
+     Mr. Kenyon has talked to me.
+
+     "Dearest mother, don't think that I love you one whit the less
+     because I am away from you, and am learning to love other people a
+     little too. Nobody could be to me what you are, my own dear
+     mother.--Your child,
+
+     "LESLEY."
+
+So Lesley's girlish, emotional, indiscreet letter went upon its way to
+Lady Alice, who was just then in Eaton Square, and Lesley never dreamt
+of the tears that it brought to her mother's eyes.
+
+The letter was a shock to Lady Alice in more ways than one. First, it
+showed her that on one point at least she _had_ been mistaken--and it
+was a point that had long been a very sore one to her. Caspar had not
+meant the correspondence between mother and daughter to cease--so he
+said now; but she was certain that he had spoken very harshly about it
+when the arrangement was first made. He had even affected to doubt
+whether she had heart enough to care whether she heard from her child or
+not. Well, possibly he had altered his views since those days. Lesley
+said that he _must_ be different! Poor Lesley! thought Lady Alice, how
+very little she knew! She seemed to have been as much fascinated by her
+father as Lady Alice had been, in days long past, by Caspar Brooke as a
+lover; but Lady Alice reflected that _she_ had never thought of Caspar
+as good or gentle or "great" in any way. She thought of him chiefly in
+his relation to herself, and in that relation he had not been
+satisfactory. Yes, she remembered well enough the sarcastic remarks, the
+odd hours, the discomfort of her solitary meals. Lesley could see all
+these points, and yet discover good in the man, and not be disgusted?
+Lady Alice could not understand her daughter's impartiality.
+
+Of course--it had occurred to her once or twice--that, being human, she
+_might_ have been mistaken. She could have got over the dreariness and
+discomfort of Caspar's home, if Caspar had but loved her. Suppose--it
+was just a remote possibility--Caspar had loved her all the time!
+
+"The child has infected me with her romantic ideas," said Lady Alice, at
+last, with a faint, sad smile. "Let me see--what does she say about her
+friends? The Kenyons--Ethel Kenyon--Mr. Trent--the clergyman of the
+parish--Mr. Kenyon--Mr. Kenyon I wonder who the Mr. Kenyon is of whom
+she speaks so highly. Surely not a clergyman too? Poor Caspar disliked
+clergymen so much. I wonder if Mrs. Romaine is still living in the
+neighborhood. But no, I remember: she went out to Calcutta and then to
+some German baths with her husband. What became of her, I wonder! If she
+were friendly with Caspar still, Lesley would be sure to mention her to
+me!"
+
+And she read the letter through once more. But Lesley had not said a
+word about Mrs. Romaine: her heart had been too hot and angry with the
+remembrance of what Mrs. Romaine's brother had done, to lead her to say
+one word about the family.
+
+Lady Alice lingered curiously over Lesley's remarks on "The Unexplored."
+She had not read the book herself. She had seen it and heard of it very
+often--so often that she thought she knew all that it contained. But for
+Lesley's sake she resolved to read it now. Perhaps it held strange,
+dangerous doctrines, against which her daughter ought to be cautioned.
+Of course the house did not contain a copy. But early in the day Lady
+Alice went to the nearest bookseller's and bought a copy. The obliging
+book-seller, who did not know her, remarked that "Brooke's 'Unexplored'"
+was always popular, and asked her whether she would like an unbound
+copy, or one bound in neat great cloth. Lady Alice took the latter: she
+had a distaste for paper-covered books.
+
+She read "The Unexplored" in her own room that morning, but of course
+she was not struck by it exactly as Lesley had been. The facts which had
+horrified Lesley were no novelties to her. She was, in truth, slightly
+angry that her innocent Lesley should have so much of the great city's
+misery and shame laid bare to her. She acknowledged the truth of the
+portraiture, the beauty of the descriptions, the eloquence of the
+author's appeals to the higher classes; but she acknowledged it with
+resentment. Why had Caspar written a book of this sort? a book that
+taunted the higher classes with their birth, and reproached the wealthy
+with their riches? It was rather a disgrace than otherwise, in Lady
+Alice's aristocratic eyes, to be connected in any way with the writer of
+"The Unexplored."
+
+Nevertheless, the book stirred in her the desire to vindicate the worth
+of her order and of her sex; and the next day, after having despatched a
+long and tender letter to Lesley (with a formal message of thanks to her
+husband), she went out to call on a lady, who was noted in her circle as
+a great philanthropist, and mentioned to her in a timid way that she
+wished she could be of any use amongst the poor, but she really did not
+see what she could do.
+
+Her friend, Mrs. Bexley, was nothing if not practical.
+
+"But, my dearest Lady Alice, you can be of every use in the world," she
+said. "I am going to drive to the East End to-morrow morning, to
+distribute presents at the London Hospital--it is getting so close to
+Christmas, you know, that we really must not put it off any longer. I
+generally go once a week to visit the children and some of the other
+patients. Won't you come with me?"
+
+"I am afraid I should be of very little use," said Lady Alice.
+
+"But we shall not want you to do anything--only to say a kind word to
+the patients now and then, and give them things."
+
+"I think I could do that," said Lesley's mother, softly.
+
+She went back to her father's house quite cheered by the unexpected
+prospect of something to do--something which should take her out of the
+routine of ordinary work--something which should bring her closer
+(though she did not say it to herself) to the aims and objects of Lesley
+and Caspar Brooke.
+
+The visit was a great success. Lady Alice, with her tall, graceful
+figure, her winning face, her becoming dress, was a pleasant sight for
+the weary eyes of the women and children in the accident wards. Mrs.
+Bexley was wise enough not to take her near any very painful sights.
+Lady Alice talked to some of the little children and gave them toys: she
+made friends, rather shyly, with some of the women, and promised to come
+and see them again. Mrs. Bexley was well known in the hospital, and was
+allowed to stay an unusually long time. So it happened that one of the
+doctors, coming rather hurriedly into one of the wards, paused at the
+sight of a lady bending over one of the children's beds, and looked so
+surprised that one of the nurses hastened to explain that the stranger
+came with old Mrs. Bexley and was going away again directly.
+
+The doctor nodded, and went straight up to the child's bed. Lady Alice,
+raising herself after careful arrangement of some wooden animals on the
+sick child's table, came face to face with a very handsome man of about
+thirty, who seemed to be regarding her with especial interest. He moved
+away with a slight bow when she looked back at him, but he did not go
+far. He paused to chat with another little patient, and Lady Alice
+noticed that all the small faces brightened at the sight of him, and
+that two or three children called him imperiously to their bedsides.
+Something about him vaguely interested her--perhaps it was only his
+pleasant look, perhaps the affection with which he was regarded, perhaps
+the expression which his face had worn when he looked at her. She
+remembered him so well that she was able when she paid a second visit to
+the hospital to describe him to one of the Sisters, and ask his name.
+
+"Kenyon," she repeated, when it was told to her. "I suppose it is not an
+uncommon name?"
+
+Lesley had spoken of a Mr. Kenyon. It was not this Mr. Kenyon, of
+course!
+
+But it _was_ "this Mr. Kenyon;" and thus Maurice met the mother of the
+girl he loved in the ward of a London hospital, whither Lady Alice had
+been urged by that impulse towards "The Unexplored," of which her
+husband was the author. And in another ward of the same hospital lay a
+patient whose destiny was to influence the fates of both--an insensible
+man, whose name was unknown to the nurses, but whom Oliver would have
+recognized as his brother, Francis Trent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+ETHEL REMONSTRATES.
+
+
+The house in which the Kenyons resided was built on the same pattern as
+Mr. Brooke's, but it was in some respects very unlike Mr. Brooke's place
+of residence. Maurice's consulting-room and dining-room corresponded,
+perhaps, to Mr. Brooke's dining-room and study: it was upstairs where
+the difference showed itself. Ethel's drawing-room was like herself--a
+little whimsical, a little bizarre; pretty, withal, and original, and
+somewhat unlike anything one had ever seen before. She was fond of
+novelties, and introduced the latest fashions in draperies or china or
+screens as soon as she could get hold of them; and the result was
+occasionally incongruous, though always bright and cheerful-looking.
+
+It was the incongruity of the ornaments and arrangements which chiefly
+struck the mind of Oliver Trent as he entered Ethel's drawing-room one
+afternoon, and stumbled over a footstool placed where no footstool ought
+to be.
+
+"I wish," he began, somewhat irritably, as he touched Ethel's forehead
+with his lips, "that you would not make your room quite so much like a
+fancy fair, Ethel."
+
+Ethel raised her eyebrows. "Why, Oliver, only the other day you said how
+pretty it was!"
+
+"Pretty! I hate the word. As if 'prettiness' could be taken as a test of
+what was best in art."
+
+"My room isn't 'art,'" pouted Ethel; "it's _me_."
+
+The sentence might be ungrammatical, but it was strictly true. The room
+represented Ethel's character exactly. It was odd, quaint, striking, and
+attractive. But Oliver was not in the mood to see its attractiveness.
+
+"It is certainly a medley," he replied, with some incisiveness. "How
+many styles do you think are represented in the place? Japanese,
+Egyptian, Renaissance, Louis Quinze, Queen Anne, Early Georgian----"
+
+"Oh, no! please don't go on!" cried Ethel, with mock earnestness. "_Not_
+Early Georgian, please! Anything but that!"
+
+"It is all incongruous and out of taste," said Oliver, in an
+ill-tempered tone, and then he threw himself into a deep, comfortable
+lounging chair, and closed his eyes as if the sight of the room were too
+much for his nerves.
+
+Ethel remained standing: her pretty _mignonne_ figure was motionless;
+her bright face was thoughtful and overcast.
+
+"Do you mean," she said, quietly, "that I am incongruous and out of
+taste too!"
+
+There was a new note in her voice. Usually it was light and bird-like:
+now there was something a little more weighty, a little more serious,
+than had been heard in it before. Oliver noted the change, and moved his
+head restlessly; he did not want to quarrel with Ethel, but he was ill
+at ease in her presence, and therefore apt to be exceedingly irritable
+with her.
+
+"You wrest my words, of course," he answered. "You always do. There's no
+arguing with--with--a woman."
+
+"With _me_ you were about to say. Don't spare me. What other accusations
+have you to bring!"
+
+"Accusations! Nonsense!"
+
+"It is not nonsense, Oliver." Her voice trembled. "I have felt for some
+time that all was not right between us. I can't shut my eyes. I must
+believe what I see, and what I feel. We must understand one another."
+
+Oliver's eyes were wide open now. He began to see that he had gone a
+little too far. It would not do to snub Ethel too much--at least before
+the marriage. Afterwards--he said to himself--he should treat her as he
+felt inclined. But now----
+
+"You are mistaken, Ethel," he said, in a tone of half appeased vexation
+which he thought very effective. "What on earth should there be wrong
+between us! Open your eyes and your ears as much as you like, my dear
+child, but don't be misled by what you feel. The wind is in the
+East,--remember. You feel a chill, most probably, and you put your
+_malaise_ down to me."
+
+His tone grew more affectionate as he spoke. He wanted her to believe
+that he had been suffering from a mere passing cloud of ill-temper, and
+that he was already ashamed of it.
+
+"I feel the effects of the weather myself," he said. "I have been
+horribly depressed all day, and I have a headache. Perhaps that is why
+the brightness of your room seemed to hurt my eyes. You know that I
+always like it when I am well."
+
+He looked at her keenly, hoping that this reference to
+possible-ill-health might bring the girl to his feet, as it had often
+done before in the case of other women; but it did not seem to produce
+the least effect. She stood silent, immobile, with her eyes still fixed
+upon the floor. Silence and stillness were so unusual in one of Ethel's
+vivacious temperament, that Oliver began to feel alarmed.
+
+"Ethel," he said, advancing to her, and laying his hand upon hers, "what
+is wrong? What have I done?"
+
+She shook her head hastily, but made no other reply.
+
+"Look at me," he said, softly.
+
+And then she lifted her eyes. But they wore a questioning and not a
+trustful look.
+
+"Ethel, dearest, what have I done to offend you? It cannot be my silly
+comment on your room that makes you look so grave? Believe me, dear, it
+came only from my headache and my bad temper. I am deeply sorry to have
+hurt you. Only speak--scold me if you like--but do not keep me in this
+suspense."
+
+He was skilled in the art of pleading. His pale face, usually so
+expressionless, took on the look of almost passionate entreaty.
+
+Ethel was an actress by profession--perhaps a little by nature also--but
+she was too essentially simple-hearted to suspect her friends of acting
+parts in private life, and indeed trusted them rather more implicitly
+than most people trust their friends. It had been a grief to her to
+doubt Oliver's faith for a moment, and her eyes filled with tears, while
+they flashed also with indignation, as she replied,
+
+"You must know what I mean. I have felt it for a very long time. You do
+not care for me as you used to do."
+
+"Upon my soul, I do!" cried Oliver, very sincerely.
+
+"Then you never cared for me very much."
+
+This was getting serious. Oliver had no mind to break off his
+engagement. He reserved the right to snub Ethel without giving offence.
+If this was an impracticable course to pursue, it was evident that he
+must abandon it and eat humble pie. Anything rather than part from her
+just now. He had lost the woman he loved: it would not do to lose also
+his only chance of winning a competency for himself and immunity from
+fear of want in the future.
+
+"Ethel," he said, softly, "you grieve me very much. I acknowledge my
+faults of temper--I did not think you mistook then for a want of love."
+
+"I do not think I do. It is something more real, more tangible than
+that."
+
+"What is it, dear?"
+
+She paused, then looked keenly into his face. "It seems to me, Oliver,
+that Lesley Brooke has won your heart away from me."
+
+He threw back his head and laughed--a singularly jarring and unpleasant
+laugh, as it seemed to her. "What will you imagine next?" he said.
+
+"Imagine? Have I imagined it? Isn't it true that you have been at her
+house almost every day for the last three or four weeks? Do you come
+here as often? Is it not Lesley that attracts you?--not me!"
+
+"Oh, so you are jealous!"
+
+"Yes, I suppose I am. It is only natural, I think."
+
+They faced each other for a moment, defiantly, almost fiercely. There
+was a proud light in Ethel's eyes, a compression of the lips which told
+that she was not to be trifled with. Oliver stood pale, with frowning
+brows, and eyes that seemed to question both the reality of her feeling
+and the answer that he should make to her demand. It was by a great
+effort of self-control that at last he answered her with calmness--
+
+"I assure you, Ethel, you are utterly mistaken. What have I in common
+with a girl like Miss Brooke--one of the most curiously ignorant and
+wrong-headed persons I ever came across? Can you think for a moment that
+I should compare her with you?--_you_, beautiful and gifted and cultured
+above most women?"
+
+"That is nothing to the point," said Ethel, quickly. "Men don't love
+women because of their gifts and their culture."
+
+"No," he rejoined, "but because of some subtle likeness or
+attractiveness which draws one to the other. I find it in you, without
+knowing why. You--I hoped--found it----"
+
+His voice became troubled; he dropped his eyes. Ethel trembled--she
+loved him, poor girl, and she thought that he suffered as she had
+suffered, and she was sorry for him. But her outraged pride would not
+let her make any advance as yet.
+
+"I may be a fatuous fool," said Oliver, after an agitated pause, "but I
+thought you loved me."
+
+"I do love you," cried Ethel, passionately.
+
+"And yet you suspect me of being false to you."
+
+"Not suspect--not suspect"--she said, incoherently, and then, was
+suddenly folded in Oliver's arms, and felt that the time for reproach or
+inquiry had gone by.
+
+She was not sorry that matters had ended in this way, although she felt
+it to be illogical. With his kisses upon her mouth, with the pressure of
+his arm enfolding her, it was almost impossible for her to maintain, in
+his presence, a doubt of him. It was when he had gone that all the facts
+which he had ignored came back to her with torturing insistence, and
+that she blamed herself for not having refused to be reconciled to him
+until she had ascertained the truth or untruth of a report that had
+reached her ears.
+
+With a truer lover she might have gone unsatisfied to her dying day. A
+faithful-hearted man might never have perceived where she was hurt; he
+would not have been astute enough to discover that he might heal the
+wound by a few timely words of explanation. Oliver, keenly alive to his
+own interests, reopened the subject a few days later of his own accord.
+
+They had completely made up their quarrel--to all outward appearance, at
+any rate--and were sitting together one afternoon in Ethel's obnoxious
+drawing-room. They had been laughing together at some funny story of
+Ethel's associates at the theatre, and to the laughter had succeeded a
+silence, during which Oliver possessed himself of the girl's hand and
+carried it gently to his lips.
+
+"Ethel," he said, softly, "what made you so angry with me the other
+day?"
+
+"Your bad behavior, I suppose!" she said, trying to treat the matter in
+her usual lively fashion.
+
+"But what _was_ my misbehavior? Did it consist in going so often to the
+Brookes'?"
+
+"Oh, what does it matter?" exclaimed Ethel, petulantly. "Didn't we agree
+to forgive and forget? If we didn't, we ought to have done. I don't want
+to look back."
+
+"But you are doing an injustice to me. Ethel, I dare not say to you that
+I _insist_ on knowing what it was. But I very strongly _wish_ that you
+would tell me--so that I might at least try to set your mind at rest."
+
+"Well," said Ethel, quickly, "if you _must_ know--it was only a bit of
+gossip--servants gossip. I know all that can be said respecting the
+foolishness of listening to gossip from such a source--but I can't help
+it. One of the maids at Mr. Brooke's----"
+
+"Sarah?" asked Oliver, with interest. "Sarah never liked me."
+
+"Who, it was not Sarah.--it was that maid of Lesley's--Kingston her name
+is, I believe--who said to one of our servants one day that you went
+there a great deal oftener than she would like, if she were in my place.
+There! I have made a full confession. It was a petty spiteful bit of
+gossip, of course, and I ought not to have listened to it--but then it
+seemed so natural--and I thought it might be true!"
+
+"What seemed natural?" said Oliver, who, against his will, was looking
+very black.
+
+"Why, that you should like Lesley; she is the sweetest girl I ever came
+across."
+
+In his heart Oliver echoed that opinion, but he felt morally bound to
+deny it.
+
+"You say so only because you have never seen yourself! My darling, how
+could you accuse me merely on servants' evidence!"
+
+"Is there _no_ truth in it, Oliver?"
+
+"None in the least."
+
+"But you do go there very often!"
+
+Then Oliver achieved a masterpiece of diplomacy. "My dear Ethel," he
+said, "I will go there no more until you go with me. I will not set foot
+in the house again."
+
+He knew very well that Mr. Brooke would not admit him. It was clever to
+make a virtue of necessity.
+
+"No, no, please don't do that! Go as often as you please."
+
+"It was simply out of kindness to a lonely girl. I played her
+accompaniments for her sometimes, and listened to her singing. But as
+you dislike it, Ethel, I promise you that I will go there no more."
+
+"Oh, Oliver, forgive me! I don't doubt you a bit. Do go to see Lesley as
+often as you can. I should _like_ you to do it. Go for my sake."
+
+But Oliver was quite obdurate. No, he would not go to the Brookes'
+again, since Ethel had once objected to his going. And on this pinnacle
+of austere virtue he remained, thereby reducing Ethel to a state of
+self-abasement, which spoke well for his chances of mastery in the
+married life which loomed before him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+LADY ALICE'S PHILANTHROPY.
+
+
+Meanwhile, Lady Alice Brooke, in pursuit of her new fancy for
+philanthropy and the sick poor, had wandered somewhat aimlessly into
+other wards beside those set apart for women and children--at first the
+object of her search. She strayed--I use the word "strayed" designedly,
+for she certainly did not do it of set purpose--with one of the nurses
+into accident wards, into the men's wards, where her flowers and fruits
+and gentle words made her welcome, and where the bearded masculine
+faces, worn sometimes by pain and privation of long standing, appealed
+to her sensibilities in a new and not altogether unpleasant way.
+
+For Lady Alice was a very feminine creature, and liked, as most women do
+like, to be admired and adored. She had confessed as much when she told
+the story of her life to her daughter Lesley. And she had something less
+than her woman's due in this respect. Caspar Brooke had very honestly
+loved and admired her, but in a protective and slightly "superior" way.
+The earl, her father, belonged to that conservative portion of the
+aristocratic class which treats its womankind with distinguished
+civility and profoundest contempt. In her father's home Lady Alice felt
+herself of no account. As years increased upon her, the charm of her
+graceful manner was marred by advancing self-distrust. In losing (as
+she, at least, thought) her physical attractions, she lost all that
+entitled her to consideration amongst the men and women with whom she
+lived. She had no fixed position, no private fortune, nothing that would
+avail her in the least when her father died; and the gentle coldness of
+her manner did not encourage women to intimacy, or invite men to pay her
+attentions that she would scorn. In any other situation, her natural
+gifts and virtues would have fairer play. As a spinster, she would still
+have had lovers; as a widow, suitors by the dozen; as a happily married
+woman she would have been courted, complimented, flattered, by all the
+world. But, as a woman merely separated from a husband with whom she had
+in the first instance eloped, living on sufferance, as it were, in her
+father's house, "neither maid, wife, nor widow," she was in a situation
+which became more irksome and more untenable every year.
+
+To a woman conscious of such a jar in her private life, it was really a
+new and delightful experience to find herself in a place where she could
+be of some real use, where she was admired and respected and flattered
+by that unconscious flattery given us sometimes by the preference of the
+sick and miserable. The men in one of the accident wards were greatly
+taken with Lady Alice. There was her title, to begin with; there were
+her gracious accents, her graceful figure, her gentle, beautiful face.
+The men liked to see her come in, liked to hear her talk--although she
+was decidedly slow, and a little irresponsive in conversation. It soon
+leaked out, moreover, that material benefits followed in the wake of her
+visits. One man, who left the hospital, returned one day to inform his
+mates that, "the lady" had found work for him on her father's estate,
+and that he considered himself a "made man for life." The attentions of
+such men who were not too ill to be influenced by such matters were
+henceforth concentrated upon Lady Alice; and she, being after all a
+simple creature, believed their devotion to be genuine, and rejoiced in
+it.
+
+With one patient, however, she did not for some time establish any
+friendly relations. He had been run over, while drunk, the nurses told
+her, and very seriously hurt. He lay so long in a semi-comatose
+condition that fears were entertained for his reason, and when the mist
+gradually cleared away from his brain, he was in too confused a state of
+mind for conversation to be possible.
+
+Lady Alice went to look at him from time to time, and spoke to the nurse
+about him; but weeks elapsed before he seemed conscious of the presence
+of any visitor. The nursing sister told the visitor at last that the man
+had spoken and replied to certain questions: that he had seemed
+uncertain about his own name, and could not give any coherent account of
+himself. Later on, it transpired that the man had allowed his name to be
+entered as "John Smith."
+
+"Not his own name, I'm certain," the nurse said, decidedly.
+
+"Why not?" Lady Alice asked, with curiosity.
+
+"It's too common by half for his face and voice," the Sister answered,
+shrewdly. "If you look at him or speak to him, you'll find that that
+man's a gentleman."
+
+"A gentleman--picked up drunk in the street?"
+
+"A gentleman by birth or former position, I mean," said the Sister,
+rather dryly. "No doubt he has come down in the world; but he has been,
+at any rate, what people call an educated man."
+
+Lady Alice's prejudices were, stirred in favor of the broken-down
+drunkard by this characterization; and she made his acquaintance as soon
+as he was able to talk. Her impression coincided with that of the
+Sister. The man had once been a gentleman--a cultivated, well-bred man,
+from whom refinement had never quite departed. Over and above this fact
+there was something about him which utterly puzzled Lady Alice. His face
+recalled to her some one whom she had known, and she could not imagine
+who that some one might be. The features, the contour the face, the
+expression, were strangely familiar to her. For, by the refining forces
+which sickness often applies, the man's face had lost all trace of
+former coarseness or commonness: it had become something like what it
+had been in the days of his first youth. And the likeness which puzzled
+Lady Alice was a very strong resemblance to the patient's sister,
+Rosalind Romaine.
+
+Lady Alice was attracted by him, visited his bedside very often, and
+tried to win his confidence. But "John Smith" had, at present, no
+confidence to give. Questions confused and bewildered him. His brain was
+in a very excitable condition, the doctor said, and he was not to be
+tormented with useless queries. By the time his other injuries had been
+cured, he might perhaps recover the full use of his mind, and could then
+give an account of himself if he liked. Till then he was to be let
+alone; and so Lady Alice contented herself with bringing him such gifts
+as the authorities allowed, and with talking or reading to him a little
+from time to time in soothing and friendly tones. It was to be noted
+that before long his eyes followed her with interest as she crossed the
+ward; that his brow cleared when she spoke to him, and that all her
+movements were watched by him with great intentness. In spite of this
+she could not get him to reply with anything but curtness to her
+inquiries after his health and general welfare; and it was quite a
+surprise to her when one day, on her visit to him, he accosted her of
+his own accord.
+
+"Won't you sit down?" he said suddenly.
+
+"Thank you. Yes, I should like to sit and read to you a little if you
+are able----"
+
+"It isn't for that," he said, interrupting her unceremoniously; "it's
+because I have something special to say to you. If you'll stoop down a
+moment I'll say it--I don't want any one else to hear."
+
+In great surprise, Lady Alice bowed her head. "I want to tell you," he
+said gruffly, "that you're wasting your time and your money. These men
+in the ward are not really grateful to you one bit. They speculate
+before you come as to how much you are likely to give them, and when you
+are gone they compare notes and grumble if you have not given them
+enough."
+
+"I do not wish to hear this," said Lady Alice, with dignity.
+
+"I know you do not; but I think it is only right to tell you. Try them:
+give them nothing for a visit or two, and see whether they won't sulk
+and look gloomy, although you may talk to them as kindly as ever----"
+
+"And if they did," said Lady Alice, with a sudden flash of energy and
+insight which amazed herself, "who could blame them, considering the
+pain they have suffered, and the brutal lives they lead? Why should they
+listen to my poor words, if I go to them without a gift in my hand?"
+
+She spoke as she would have spoken to an equal--an unconscious tribute
+to the refinement which stamped this man as of a higher calibre than his
+fellows.
+
+"It is a convenient doctrine for them," said John Smith, and buried his
+head in the bedclothes as if he wanted to hear nothing more.
+
+For Lady Alice's next two visits he would not look up, or respond when
+she came near him, which she never failed to do; but on the third
+occasion he lifted his head.
+
+"Well, madam," he said, "you have after all been trying my plan, I hear.
+Do you find that it works well?"
+
+Lady Alice hesitated. The averted faces and puzzled, downcast--sometimes
+sullen--looks of the sick men and boys to whom she had of late given
+nothing but kind words, had grieved her sorely.
+
+"I suppose it proves the truth, in part, of what you say," she answered
+gently, "but on the other hand I find that my gifts have been judged
+excessive and unwise. It seems that I have a great deal to learn in the
+art of giving: it does not come by nature, as some suppose. I have
+consulted the doctors and nurses--and I have to thank you for giving me
+a warning."
+
+A look of surprise passed across the man's face.
+
+"You're better than some of them," he said, curtly. "I thought you'd
+never look at me again. I don't know why I should have interfered. But I
+did not like to see you cheated and laughed at."
+
+Lady Alice colored, but she felt no resentment against the man, although
+he had shown her that she had made herself ridiculous when she was bent
+on playing Lady Bountiful, and posing as an angel of light. She said
+after a moment's pause--
+
+"I believe you meant kindly. Is there nothing that I can do for you?"
+
+He shook his head. "I don't think so--I can't remember very well. The
+doctors say I shall remember by and by. Then I shall know."
+
+"And if I can, you will let me help you?"
+
+"I suppose I ought to be only too glad," said the patient, with a sort
+of sullenness, which Lady Alice felt that she could but dimly
+understand. "I suppose I'm the sort of man to _be_ helped; and yet I
+can't help fancying there's a--Past--a Past behind me--a life in which I
+once was proud of my independence. But it strikes me that this was very
+long ago."
+
+He drew the bedclothes over his head again, and made no further reply.
+Lady Alice came to see him after this conversation as often as the rules
+of the hospital would allow her; and, although she seemed to get little
+response from him, the fact really remained that she was establishing an
+ascendancy over the man such as no nurse or doctor in the place had yet
+maintained. Others noticed it beside herself; but she, disheartened a
+little by her disappointment in some of the other patients, did not
+recognize the reality of his attachment to her. And an event occurred
+about the time which put John Smith and hospital matters out of her head
+for a considerable time to come.
+
+Old Lord Courtleroy died suddenly. He was an old man, but so hale and
+hearty that his death had not been expected in the least; but he was
+found dead in his bed one morning, and the doctors pronounced that his
+complaint had been heart disease. The heir to the title and estate was a
+distant cousin whom Lady Alice and her father had never liked; and when
+he entered upon his possessions, Lady Alice knew that the time had come
+for her to seek a home elsewhere. She had sufficient to live upon;
+indeed, for a single woman, she was almost rich; but the loneliness of
+her position once more forced itself upon her, especially as Lesley was
+not by her side to cheer her gradually darkening life.
+
+She wrote the main facts concerning Lord Courtleroy's death and the
+change in her circumstances in short, rather disjointed letters to
+Lesley, and received very tender replies; but even then she felt a vague
+dissatisfaction with the girl's letters. They were full of a wistfulness
+which she could not understand: she felt that something remote had crept
+into them, some aloofness for which she could not account. And as
+Captain Harry Duchesne happened to come across her one day, and inquired
+very particularly after Miss Brooke, she induced him to promise to call
+on Lesley when he was in London, and to report to her all that Lesley
+did or said. If it was a somewhat underhand proceeding, she told herself
+that she was justified by her anxiety as a mother.
+
+Lord Courtleroy had left a considerable sum to Lesley, and when mother
+and daughter were reunited, as Lady Alice hoped that they would shortly
+be, there was no question as to their having means enough and to spare.
+Lady Alice began to dream of a dear little country house in Sussex, with
+an occasional season in London, or a winter at Bagn�res. She was
+recalled from her dreams to the realities of life by a letter from her
+husband. Caspar Brooke wrote to ask whether, under present
+circumstances, she would not return to him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+CAPTAIN DUCHESNE.
+
+
+Lesley's life seemed to her now much less lonely than it had been at
+first. The consciousness of having made friends was pleasant to her,
+although her affection for Ethel had been for a time overshadowed by the
+recollection of Oliver's unfaithfulness. But when this impression passed
+away, as it gradually did, after the scene that had been so painful to
+her, she consoled herself with the belief that Oliver's words and
+actions had proceeded from a temporary derangement of judgment, for
+which he was not altogether responsible, and that he had returned to his
+allegiance; therefore she might continue to be friendly with Ethel
+without any sensation of treachery or shame. An older woman than Lesley
+would not, perhaps, have argued in this way: she would have suspected
+the permanence of Oliver's feelings more than Lesley did. But, being
+only an inexperienced girl, Lesley comforted herself by the fact that
+Oliver now avoided her; and said that it could not be possible for her
+to have attracted him away from Ethel, who was so winning, so sweet, so
+altogether delightful.
+
+Then, apart from the Kenyons, she began to make pleasant acquaintances
+amongst her father's friends. Caspar Brooke's house was a centre of
+interest and entertainment for a large number of intellectual men and
+women; and Lesley had as many opportunities for wearing her pretty
+evening gowns as she could have desired. There were "at homes" to which
+her charming presence and her beautiful voice attracted Caspar's friends
+in greater numbers than ever: there were dinner-parties where her
+interest in the new world around her made everything else interesting;
+and there was a constant coming and going of people who had work to do
+in the world, and who did it with more or less success, which made the
+house in Woburn Place anything but a dull abode.
+
+The death of her grandfather distressed her less from regret for himself
+than from anxiety for her mother's future. Lady Alice's notes to her
+were very short and somewhat vaguely worded. It was, therefore, with
+positive joy that, one afternoon in spring, she was informed by her maid
+that Captain Duchesne was in the drawing-room, for she felt sure that he
+would be able to tell her many details that she did not know. She made
+haste to go down, and yet, before she went, she paused to say a word to
+Kingston, who had brought her the welcome news.
+
+"I wish you would go out, Kingston; you don't look at all well, and this
+spring air might do you good."
+
+It was certainly easy to see that Kingston was not well. During the past
+few weeks her face had become positively emaciated, her eyes were
+sunken, and her lips were white. She looked like a person who had
+recently passed through some illness or misfortune. Lesley had tried,
+delicately and with reserve, to question her; but Kingston had never
+replied to any of her inquiries. She would shut up her lips, and turn
+away with the look of one who could keep a secret to the grave.
+
+"Nothing will do me good, ma'am," she answered dryly.
+
+"Oh, Kingston, I am so sorry!"
+
+"Go down to your visitor, ma'am, and don't mind me," said Kingston,
+turning her back on the girl with unusual abruptness. "It isn't much
+that I've got to be sorry for, after all."
+
+"If there is anything I can do to help you, you will let me know, will
+you not?" said Lesley.
+
+But Kingston's "Yes, ma'am," fell with a despairing cadence on her ear.
+
+Kingston had been to her husband's lodgings only to find that he had
+disappeared. He had left some of his clothes, and the few articles of
+furniture that belonged to his wife, and had never said that he was
+going away. The accident that had made Francis Trent a patient at the
+hospital where Lady Alice visited was of course unknown to his landlady,
+as also to his wife. And as his memory did not return to him speedily,
+poor Mary Trent had been left to suffer all the tortures of anxiety for
+some weeks. At first she thought that some injury had happened to
+him--perhaps that he was dead: then a harder spirit took possession of
+her, and she made up her mind that he had finally abandoned her--had got
+money from Oliver and departed to America without her. She might have
+asked Oliver whether this were so, but she was too proud to ask. She
+preferred to eat out her heart in solitude. She believed herself
+deserted forever, and the only grain of consolation that remained to her
+was the hope of making herself so useful and acceptable to Lesley
+Brooke, that when Lesley married she would ask Mary Kingston to go with
+her to her new home.
+
+Kingston had made up her mind about the man that Lesley was to marry.
+She had seen him come and go: she had seen him look at her dear Miss
+Lesley with ardently admiring eyes: she believed that he would be a true
+and faithful husband to her. But she knew more than Lesley was aware of
+yet.
+
+Lesley went slowly down into the drawing-room. She remembered Captain
+Duchesne very well, and she was glad to think of seeing him again. And
+yet there was an indefinable shrinking--she did not know how or why.
+Harry Duchesne was connected with her old life--with the Paris lights,
+the Paris drawing-rooms, the stately old grandfather, the graceful
+mother--the whole assembly of things that seemed so far away. She did
+not understand her whole feeling, but it suddenly appeared to her as if
+Captain Duchesne's visit was a mistake, and she had better get it over
+as soon as possible.
+
+It must be confessed that this sensation vanished as soon as she came
+into the actual presence of Captain Duchesne. The young man, with his
+grave, handsome features, his drooping, black moustache, his soldierly
+bearing, had an attraction for her after all. He reminded her of the
+mother whom she loved.
+
+It was not very easy to get into conversation with him at first. He
+seemed as ill at ease as Lesley herself had been. But when she fell to
+questioning him about Lady Alice, his tongue became unloosed.
+
+"She does not know exactly what to do. She talks of taking a house in
+London--if you would like it."
+
+"Would mamma care to live in London?"
+
+"Not for her own sake: for yours."
+
+"But I--I do not think I like London so much," said Lesley, with a swift
+blush and some hesitation. Captain Duchesne looked at her searchingly.
+
+"Indeed? I understood that you had become much attached to it. I am sure
+Lady Alice thinks so."
+
+"I do love it--yes, but it is on account of the people who live in
+London," said Lesley.
+
+"Ah, you have made friends?"
+
+"There is my father, you know."
+
+"Yes." And something in his tone made Lesley change the subject
+hurriedly. Captain Duchesne would never have been so ill-bred as to
+speak disparagingly of a lady's father to her face; and yet she felt
+that there was something disparaging in the tone.
+
+"Have you seen the present Lord Courtleroy?" she asked.
+
+"Yes; I have met him once or twice. He is somewhat stiff and rigid in
+appearance, but he is very courteous--more than courteous, Lady Alice
+tells me, for he is kind. He wishes to disturb her as little as
+possible--entreats her to stay at Courtleroy, and so on; but naturally
+she wishes to have a house of her own."
+
+"Of course. But I thought that she would prefer the South of France."
+
+"If I may say so without offence," said Captain Duchesne, smiling, "Lady
+Alice's tastes seem to be changing. She used to love the country and
+inveigh against the ugliness of town; but now she spends her time in
+visiting hospitals and exploring Whitechapel----"
+
+Lesley almost sprang to her feet. "Oh, Captain Duchesne, are you in
+earnest?"
+
+"Quite in earnest."
+
+"Oh, I _am_ so glad!"
+
+"Why, may I ask?" said Duchesne, with real curiosity. But Lesley clasped
+her hands tightly together and hung her head, feeling that she could not
+explain to a comparative stranger how she felt that community of
+interests might tend to a reconciliation between the long separated
+father and mother. And in the rather awkward pause that followed, Miss
+Ethel Kenyon was announced.
+
+Lesley was very glad to see her, and glad to see that she looked
+approvingly at Captain Duchesne, and launched at once into an animated
+conversation with him. Lesley relapsed almost into silence for a time,
+but a satisfied smile played upon her lips. It seemed to her that
+Captain Duchesne's dark eyes lighted up when he talked to Ethel as they
+had not done when he talked to _her_; that Ethel's cheeks dimpled with
+her most irresistible smile, and that her voice was full of pretty
+cadences, delighted laughter, mirth and sweetness. Lesley's nature was
+so thoroughly unselfish, that she could bear to be set aside for a
+friend's sake; and she was so ingenuous and single-minded that she put
+no strained interpretation on the honest admiration which she read in
+Harry Duchesne's eyes. It may have been partly in hopes of drawing her
+once more into the conversation that he turned to her presently with a
+laughing remark anent her love of smoky London.
+
+"Oh, but it is not the smoke I like," Lesley answered. "It is the
+people."
+
+"Especially the poor people," put in Ethel, saucily. "Now, I can't bear
+poor people; can you, Captain Duchesne?"
+
+"I don't care for them much, I'm afraid."
+
+"I like to do them good, and all that sort of thing," said Ethel. "Don't
+look so sober, Lesley! I like to act to them, or sing to them, or give
+them money; but I must say I don't like visiting them in the slums, or
+having to stand too close to them _anywhere_. I am so glad that you
+agree with me, Captain Duchesne!"
+
+And not long afterwards she graciously invited him to call upon her on
+"her day," and promised him a stall at an approaching _matinee_, two
+pieces of especial favor, as Lesley knew.
+
+Captain Duchesne sat on as if fascinated by the brilliant little vision
+that had charmed his eyes; and not until an unconscionable time had
+elapsed did he seem able to tear himself away. When he had gone, Ethel
+expressed herself approvingly of his looks and manners.
+
+"I like those soldierly-looking men," she said. "So well set up and
+distinguished in appearance. Is he an old friend of yours, Lesley?"
+
+"No, I have met him only once before. In Paris, he dined with us--with
+my grandfather, my mother, and myself."
+
+"And he comes from Lady Alice now?"
+
+"Yes, to bring me news of her."
+
+Ethel nodded her bright little head sagaciously.
+
+"It's very plain what Lady Alice wants, then?"
+
+"What?" said Lesley, opening her eyes in wide amaze.
+
+"She wants you to marry him, my dear."
+
+"Nonsense!"
+
+"It's not nonsense: don't get so red about it, you silly girl. What a
+baby you are, Lesley."
+
+"I am sure mamma never thought of anything of the kind," said Lesley,
+with dignity, although her cheeks were still red.
+
+"We shall see what we shall see. Well, I won't put my oar in--isn't that
+kind of me? But, indeed, your Captain Duchesne looks thoroughly ripe for
+a flirtation, and it will be as much as I can do to keep my hands off
+him."
+
+"How would Mr. Trent like that?" said Lesley, trying to carry the war
+into the enemy's camp.
+
+"He would bear it with the same equanimity with which he bears the rest
+of my caprices," said Ethel, merrily; but a shade crossed her brow, and
+she allowed Lesley to lead the conversation to the subject of her
+_trousseau_.
+
+Captain Duchesne did not seem slow to avail himself of the favor
+accorded to him. He presented himself at Ethel's next "at home;" and
+devoted himself to her with curious assiduity. Even the discovery of her
+engagement to Mr. Trent did not change his manner. It was not so much
+that he paid her actual attention, as that he paid none to anybody else.
+When she was not talking to him, he kept silence. He seemed always to be
+observing her, her face, her manner, her dress, her attitude. Yet this
+kind of observation was quite respectful and unobtrusive: it was merely
+its continuity that excited remark. Oliver noticed it at last, and
+professed himself jealous: in fact he was a little bit jealous, although
+he did not love Ethel overmuch. But he had a pride of possession in her
+which would not allow him to look with equanimity on the prospect of her
+being made love to by anybody else.
+
+Ethel enjoyed the attentions, and enjoyed Oliver's jealousy, in her
+usual spirit of childlike gaiety. She was quite assured of Oliver's
+affection for her now; and she looked forward with shy delight to the
+day of her wedding, which had been fixed for the twentieth of March.
+
+Meanwhile, Oliver was devoured with secret anxiety. For what had become
+of Francis, and when would he appear to demand the money which had been
+promised to him on the day when the marriage should take place?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+MR. BROOKE'S DESIRES.
+
+
+Lady Alice's movements were not without interest to Caspar Brooke,
+although Lesley did not suspect the fact. It was quite a surprise to her
+when he entered the library one day, with apparently no other object
+than that of saying abruptly,
+
+"What is your mother going to do, Lesley?"
+
+"To do?" said Lesley, flushing slightly and looking astonished.
+
+"Yes"--impatiently. "Where is she going to live? What will become of
+her? Do you want to go to her? I wish to hear what you know about her
+arrangements."
+
+He planted himself on the hearth-rug in what might be termed an
+aggressive attitude--really the expression of some embarrassment of
+feeling. It certainly seemed hard to him at that moment to have to ask
+his daughter these questions.
+
+"I think," said Lesley, with downcast eyes, "that she is trying to find
+a house to suit her in Mayfair."
+
+"Mayfair. Then half her income will go in rent and taxes. Will she live
+there alone?"
+
+"Yes. At least--unless--until----"
+
+"Until you join her: I understand. Will"--and then he made a long pause
+before continuing--"if she wants you to join her at once; and you wish
+to go, don't let this previous arrangement stand in the way. I shall not
+interfere."
+
+His curtness, his abruptness, would once have startled and terrified
+Lesley. She had of late grown so much less afraid of him, that now she
+only lifted her eyes, with a proud, grieving look in them, and said,
+
+"Do you want me to go away, then?"
+
+"_Want_ you to go? Certainly not, child," and Mr. Brooke stretched out
+his hand, and drew her to him with a caressing gesture. "No: I like to
+have you here. But I thought you wanted to go to her."
+
+"So I do," said Lesley, the tears coming to her eyes. "But--I want to
+stay, too. I want"--and she put both hands on his arms with a gesture as
+affectionate as his own--"I want my father and mother both."
+
+"I'm afraid that is an impossible wish."
+
+"But why should it be?" said Lesley, looking up into his face
+beseechingly.
+
+His features twitched for a moment with unwonted emotion. "You know
+nothing about it," he said--but he did not speak harshly. "You can't
+judge of the circumstances. What can I do? Even if I asked her she would
+not come back to me."
+
+And then he put his daughter gently from him and went down to his study,
+where he paced up and down the floor for a good half-hour, instead of
+settling down as usual to his work.
+
+But Lesley's words were not without their effect, although he had put
+them aside so decidedly. With that young, fair face looking so
+pleadingly into his own, it did not seem impossible that she should form
+a new tie between himself and his wife. Of course he had always known
+that children were conventionally supposed to bind the hearts of husband
+and wife to each other; but in his own case he had not found that a
+daughter produced that result. On the contrary, Lesley had been for many
+years a sort of bone of contention between himself and his wife; and he
+had retained a cynical sense of the futility of such conventional
+utterances, which were every day contradicted by barefaced facts.
+
+But now he began to acknowledge that Lesley was drawing his heart closer
+to his wife. The charm of a family circle began to rise before him.
+Pleasant, indeed, would it be to find that his dingy old house bore once
+more the characteristics of a home; that womankind was represented in it
+by fairer faces and softer voices than the face and voice even of dear
+old Doctor Sophy, with her advanced theories, her committees, and her
+brisk disregard of the amenities of life. Yes, he would give a good deal
+to see Alice--it was long since he had thought of her by that
+name--established in his drawing-room (which she should refurbish and
+adorn to her heart's content), with Lesley by her side, and himself at
+liberty to stroll in and out, to be smiled upon, and--yes, after all,
+this was his dearest wish--to dare to lavish the love of which his great
+heart was full upon the wife and child whose loss had been the
+misfortune of his life.
+
+As he thought of the past years, it seemed to him that they had been
+very bleak and barren. True, he had done many things; he had influenced
+many people, and accomplished some good work; but what had he got out of
+it for himself? He was an Individualist at heart, as most men are, and
+he felt conscious of a claim which the world had not granted. It was
+almost a shock to him to feel the egoistic desire for personal happiness
+stirring strongly within him; the desire had been suppressed for so
+long, that when it once awoke it surprised him by its vitality.
+
+The outcome of these reflections was seen in a letter written that day
+after his talk with Lesley. He seated himself at last at his
+writing-table, and after some minutes' thought dashed off the following
+epistle. He did not stop for a word, he would not hesitate about the
+wording of sentences: it seemed to him that if he paused to consider,
+his resolution might be shaken, his purpose become unfixed.
+
+     "My Dear Alice," he wrote--"I hear from Lesley that you are looking
+     for a house. Would it not be better for us all if you made your
+     home with me again? Things have changed since you left me, and I
+     might now be better able to consult your tastes and wishes than I
+     was then. We are both older and, I hope, wiser. Could we not manage
+     to put aside some of our personal predilections and make a home
+     together for our daughter? I use this argument because I believe it
+     will have more weight with you than any other: at the same time, I
+     may add that it is for my own sake, as well as for Lesley's, that I
+     make the proposition. Your affectionate husband,
+
+     "CASPAR BROOKE."
+
+It was an odd ending, he thought: he had certainly not shown himself an
+affectionate husband to her for many years. But there was truth in the
+epithet: little as she might believe it, or as it might appear. He would
+not stop to re-read the letter: he had said what he wanted to say, and
+she could read his meaning easily enough. He had held out the olive
+branch. It was for her to accept or reject it, as she would.
+
+Lesley could not understand why he was so restless and apparently
+uneasy during the next few days. He seemed to be looking for
+something--expecting something--nobody knew what. He spent more time
+than usual with her, and took a new interest in her affairs. She did not
+know that he was trying to put himself into training for domestic life,
+and that he found it unexpectedly pleasant.
+
+"What's this?" he said one day, picking up a scrap of paper that fell
+from a book that she held in her hand. "Not a letter, I think? Have you
+been making extracts?"
+
+"No," said Lesley, blushing violently, but not trying to take the paper
+from him.
+
+"May I see it? Oh, a sort of essay--description--impressions of London
+in a fog." He murmured a few of the words and phrases as he went on.
+"Why, this is very good. Here's the real literary touch. Where did you
+get this, Lesley? It's not half bad."
+
+As she made no answer, he looked up and saw the guilty laughter in her
+eyes, the conscious blushes on her cheeks.
+
+"You don't mean to say----"
+
+"I only wrote it to amuse myself," said Lesley, meekly. "I've had so
+little to do since I came here, and I thought I would scribble down my
+impressions."
+
+"My dear child," said Mr. Brooke, "if you can write as well as this, you
+ought to have a career before you. Why," he added, surveying her, "I had
+no idea of this. And I always did have a secret wish that a child of
+mine should take to literature. My dear----"
+
+"But I don't want to take to literature, exactly," said Lesley, with a
+little gasp. "I only want to amuse myself sometimes--just when I feel
+inclined, if you don't think it a great waste of time----"
+
+"Waste of time? Certainly not. Go on, by all means. I shall only ask to
+see what you do now and then; I might be able to give you a hint--though
+I don't know. Your style is very good already--wants a little
+compression, perhaps, but you can make sentences--that's a comfort." And
+Mr. Brooke fell to reading the manuscript again, with a very pleased
+look upon his face.
+
+It was while he was still reading that a servant brought in some letters
+which had just arrived. He opened the first that came to hand almost
+unthinkingly, for his mind was quite absorbed in the discovery which he
+had made. It was only when his eye rested on the first page of the letter
+that memory came back to him. He gave a great start, rose up, putting
+Lesley's paper away from him, and went to the other side of the room to
+read his letter. It was as follows:--
+
+     "DEAR MR. BROOKE,--
+
+     "I have already found a house that I think will suit me, and I hope
+     that Lesley will join me there as soon as you can spare her. I am
+     afraid that it is a little too late to change our respective ways
+     of life. It would be no advantage to Lesley to live with parents
+     who were not agreed.
+
+     "Yours very truly,
+
+     "ALICE BROOKE."
+
+Caspar Brooke turned round with a face that had grown strangely pale,
+walked across the room to Lesley, and dropped the letter in her lap.
+
+"There!" he said. "I have done my uttermost. That is your mother's reply
+to me."
+
+He strode out of the room, without deigning to answer her cry of
+surprise and inquiry, and Lesley took up the letter.
+
+It was with a burst of tears that she put it down. "Oh, mother, mother!"
+she cried to herself, "how can you be so unkind, so unjust, so
+unforgiving? He is the best man in the world, and yet you have the heart
+to hurt him."
+
+She did not see her father again until the next day, and then, although
+she made no reference in words to the letter which she restored to him,
+her pale and downcast looks spoke for her, and told the sympathy which
+she did not dare to utter. Mr. Brooke kissed her, and felt vaguely
+comforted; but it began to occur to him that he had made Lesley's
+position a hard one by insisting on her visit to his house, and that it
+might have been happier for her if she had remained hostile to himself,
+or ignorant of his existence. For now, when she went back to her mother,
+would not the affection that she evidently felt for him rise up as a
+barrier between herself and Lady Alice? Would she not try to fight for
+him? She was brave enough, and impetuous enough, to do it. And then
+Alice might justly accuse him of having embittered the relation,
+hitherto so sweet, between mother and daughter, and thereby inflicted on
+her an injury which nothing on earth could repair or justify.
+
+Could nothing be done to remedy this state of things? Caspar Brooke
+began to feel worried by it. His mind was generally so serene that the
+intrusion of a personal anxiety seemed monstrous to him. He found it
+difficult to write in his accustomed manner: he felt a diminution of his
+interest in the club. With masculine impatience of such an unwonted
+condition, he went off at last to Maurice Kenyon, and asked him
+seriously whether his brain, his heart, or his liver were out of order.
+For that something was the matter with him, he felt sure, and he wanted
+the doctor to tell him what it was.
+
+Maurice questioned and examined him carefully, then assured him with a
+hearty laugh that even his digestion was in the best possible working
+order.
+
+Brooke gave himself a shake like a great dog, looked displeased for a
+moment, and then burst out laughing too.
+
+"I suppose it is nothing, after all," he said. "I've been a trifle
+anxious and worried lately. Nothing of any importance, my dear fellow.
+By the by, have you been to see Lesley lately?"
+
+"May I speak to her?" said Maurice, his face brightening. "I
+thought----"
+
+"Speak when you like," Caspar answered, curtly. "I almost wish you would
+get if over. Get it settled, I mean."
+
+"I shall get it settled as soon as I can, certainly," said Maurice.
+
+And Mr. Brooke went away, thinking that after all he had found one way
+of escape from his troubles. For if Lesley accepted Maurice, and lived
+with him in a house opposite her father's, there would always be a
+corner for him at their fireside, and he would not go to the grave
+feeling himself a childless, loveless, desolate old man.
+
+It must be conceded that Mr. Brooke had sunk to a very low pitch of
+dejection when he was dominated by such thoughts as these.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+LESLEY'S PROMISE.
+
+
+Maurice was no backward lover. He made his way to Lesley that very day,
+and found her in the library--not, as usual, bending over a book, but
+standing by the window, from which could be seen a piece of waste ground
+overgrown with grass and weeds, and shaded by some great plane and elm
+trees. There was nothing particularly fascinating in the outlook, which
+partook of the usual grimness of a London atmosphere; but the young
+green of the budding trees spoke, in spite of the blackness of their
+branches, of spring and spring's delight; and there was a brightness in
+the tints of the tangled grass which gave a restful satisfaction to the
+eye. Lesley was looking out upon this scene with a wistfulness which
+struck Maurice with some surprise.
+
+"You like this window?" he said, interrogatively, when they had shaken
+hands and exchanged a word or two of greeting.
+
+"Yes, it reminds me in some way of my old convent home; I don't know why
+it should; but there are trees and grass and greenness."
+
+"Ah, you love the country?"
+
+"Do not you?"
+
+"Yes, but there are better things in the world than even trees and
+grass."
+
+"Ah, yes," said Lesley, eagerly. Then, with a little smile, she added;
+as if quoting--"Souls of men."
+
+"I was thinking of their bodies," said the young doctor. "But that's as
+it should be. You think of the spiritual, I only of the material side.
+Both sides ought to be considered that is where men and women meet, I
+take it."
+
+"I suppose so," said Lesley, a little vaguely.
+
+"I'm afraid," Maurice went on, "that it will be a long time before I
+have a country house of my own: a place where there will be trees and
+green meadows and flowers, such as one loves and sighs for. I have
+often thought"--with a note of agitation in his voice--"how much easier
+it would be to ask any one to share my life if I had these good things
+to offer. My only chance has been to find someone who cares--as I
+care--for the souls and bodies of the men and women around us; who would
+not disdain to help me in my work."
+
+"Who _could_ disdain it?" asked Lesley, innocently indignant.
+
+"Do you mean"--turning suddenly upon her--"that you don't consider a
+hard working doctor's life something inexpressibly beneath you?"
+
+She drew back a little hurt, a little bit astonished.
+
+"Certainly not. Why should I?"
+
+"You are born to a life of luxury and self-indulgence."
+
+"My father is a journalist," said Lesley with a smile, in which
+amusement struggled with offence.
+
+"But your grandfather was an earl! It is possible," with a touch of
+raillery, "that you prefer earls to general practitioners."
+
+"Of the two, it is the doctor that leads the better life, in my
+opinion," said Lesley, rather hotly; but immediately cooling down, she
+added the remark--"My preferences have nothing much, however, to do with
+the matter."
+
+"Have they not? How little you know your own power!"
+
+Lesley looked at him in much amaze. Whither this conversation was
+tending it had not yet occurred to her to inquire. But something in his
+look, as he stood fronting her, brought the color to her cheeks and
+caused her eyes to sink. She became suddenly a little afraid of him, and
+wished herself a thousand miles away. Indeed she made one backward step,
+as if her maidenly instincts were about to manifest themselves in actual
+flight. But Maurice saw the movement, and made two steps forward, which
+brought him so close to her that he could have touched her hand if he
+had wished.
+
+"Don't you understand?" he said, in an agitated voice. "Don't you see
+that your opinion--your preferences--are all the world to me?"
+
+He paused as if expecting her to reply--leaning a little towards her to
+catch the word from her lips. But Lesley did not speak. She remained
+motionless, as pale now as she had been red before--her hands hanging at
+her sides and her eyes fixed upon the ground. She looked as if she were
+stricken dumb with dismay.
+
+"I know that I have not recommended myself to you by anything that I
+have said or done," Maurice went on. "I misjudged you once, and I spoke
+roughly, rudely, brutally; but it was the way you took what I said which
+made me understand you. You were so fine, so noble, so sweet! Instead of
+making my stupidity an excuse for shutting yourself away from what your
+father was doing, you immediately threw yourself into it, you began to
+work with him and for him--as of course I might have seen that you would
+do directly you came to know him. I was a fool, and you were an
+angel--that summarizes the situation."
+
+A faint smile curled Lesley's lips, although she did not look up. "I am
+afraid there is not much of the angel about me," she said.
+
+"Ah, you can't see yourself as others see you," he answered, quite
+ignoring the implication in her remark which a less ardent lover might
+have resented. "To me, at any rate, you are the one woman in the world,
+the only one I have ever loved--shall ever love as long as I live--the
+fulfilment of my ideal--the realization of all my dreams!"
+
+His vehemence made Lesley draw back.
+
+"You exaggerate," she said with a slight shake of the head. "Indeed, I
+am not all that--I could not be. I am very ignorant and full of faults.
+I have a bad temper----"
+
+"You have a temper that is sweetness itself!"
+
+"Oh, Mr. Kenyon, how can you say so?"--with a look of reproach. "You who
+have seen me so angry!"
+
+"Your temper is just like your father's," said Maurice, dogmatically. "A
+little hot, if you like, but sweet----"
+
+"Something like preserved ginger?" asked Lesley.
+
+The two young people looked at each other with laughter in their eyes.
+This was Lesley's way of trying to stave off the inevitable. If
+Maurice's declaration could only be construed into idle compliment, she
+would be rid of the necessity of giving him a plain answer. And what had
+been begun as a proposal of marriage seemed likely to degenerate into a
+fencing match.
+
+Maurice saw the danger, and was too quick-witted to fall unawares into
+the trap which Lesley had laid for him. A war of words was the very
+thing in which he and Ethel most delighted; and it was usually quite
+easy to induce brother and sister to engage upon it. But on this
+occasion he was too much in earnest for word-play. He laughed at
+Lesley's simile, and then became suddenly and almost fiercely grave.
+
+"I can't let you turn the whole thing into a joke," he said. "You know
+that I mean what I say. It is a matter of life and death to me. I love
+you with my whole heart, and I come to-day to know whether there is any
+chance for me--whether you can honor me with your love--whether you will
+one day consent to be my wife."
+
+His voice sank to a pleading tone, and his face was very pale. But he
+felt that a great display of emotion would frighten and repel the girl,
+and he therefore sedulously avoided, as far as possible, any appearance
+of agitation. He could not, however, entirely achieve the calmness which
+he desired, and the very suppression of his agitation, which, in spite
+of himself, made his voice shake, and brought fire to his eyes, had an
+unwontedly unnerving effect upon Lesley.
+
+"Oh, I don't know," she said hurriedly. "I can't tell--I never
+thought----"
+
+"Think now," he said persuasively. "Am I disagreeable to you?"
+
+"No,"--very softly.
+
+"Have you forgiven me for my bad behavior in the past?"
+
+"You never did behave badly."
+
+"But you have forgiven me?"
+
+"Oh, yes."
+
+This was illogical, as she had previously intimated that there was
+nothing to forgive; but, under such circumstances, Lesley may be
+excused.
+
+"And--surely, then--you like me a little!"
+
+"A little," Lesley breathed, rather than spoke, with an unconscious
+smile of happiness.
+
+"Can you not call it 'loving?'" asked Maurice, daring for the first time
+to take her soft little hand in his.
+
+But the question, the look, the touch, suddenly terrified Lesley, and
+brought back to her mind a long-forgotten promise. What was it her mother
+had required of her before she left Paris for her father's house? Was it
+not a pledge that she should not bind herself to marry any man?--that
+she should not engage herself to be married? Lesley had an instinctive
+knowledge of the fact that to proclaim her promise would be to cast
+discredit on Lady Alice; and so, while trying to keep her word, she
+sought for means to avoid telling the whole truth.
+
+"No, oh no," she said, withdrawing her hand at once and turning away.
+"Indeed, I could not. Please do not ask me anymore."
+
+The shock was very great to Maurice. He stood perfectly silent for a
+moment. He had thought that he was making such good progress--and,
+behold! the wind had suddenly changed; the face of the heavens was
+overcast. He tried to think that he had been mistaken, and made another
+attempt to win a favorable hearing.
+
+"Miss Brooke--Lesley--you say you like me a little. Do you not think
+that your liking for me might grow? When you know that I love you so
+tenderly, that I would lay down my very life for you, when you can hear
+all that I can tell you of my hopes, my dreams, my aspirations----"
+
+"I do not want to hear," said Lesley, putting out her hand blindly.
+"Please do not tell me: it makes me miserable--indeed, I must not
+listen."
+
+Again Maurice stood silent for a moment.
+
+"_Must_ not listen?" he repeated at length, with a keen look at her.
+"Why must you not?"
+
+Lesley made no answer.
+
+"You speak strangely," said Kenyon, with some slight coldness beginning
+to manifest itself in his manner. "Why should you not listen to me? If
+you are thinking of your father, I can assure you that he has no
+objection to me. I have consulted him already. He would be honestly
+glad, I believe, if you could care for me--he has told me so. Does his
+opinion go for nothing?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"I can't explain," she said brokenly. "I can only ask you not to say
+anything--at least--I have promised----"
+
+"Promised not to listen to me?"
+
+"To anything of the kind," said Lesley, feeling that she was making a
+terrible mess of the whole affair, and yet unable to loosen her tongue
+sufficiently to explain.
+
+"May I ask to whom you gave this promise?"
+
+"No," said Lesley.
+
+There was another silence, but this time it was a silence charged with
+ominous significance. Maurice's face was very white, and a peculiar
+rigidity showed itself in the lines of his features. He was very much
+disappointed, and he also felt that he had some right to be displeased.
+
+"If you were bound by any such promise, Miss Brooke," he said, "I think
+it would have been better that your friends should have known of it. I
+don't think that Mr. Brooke was aware----"
+
+"Oh, no, he knew nothing about it."
+
+"It was a promise made before you came here?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Of which your mother--Lady Alice--approves?"
+
+"Oh, yes--it was to her--because she----"
+
+Lesley stammered and tried to explain. There was a tremendous oppression
+upon her, such as one feels sometimes in a nightmare dream. She longed
+to speak out, to clear herself in Maurice's eyes, and yet she could not
+frame a single intelligible sentence. It was as though she were
+afflicted with dumbness.
+
+"I think," said Maurice, deliberately, "that your father and your aunt
+had a right to know this fact. You seem to have kept them in ignorance
+of it. And I have been led into a mistake. I can assure you, Miss
+Brooke, that if I had been aware of any previous promise--or--or
+engagement of yours, I should never have presumed to speak as I have
+spoken to-day. I can but apologize and withdraw."
+
+Before Lesley could answer, he had taken his hat, bowed profoundly, and
+left the room.
+
+And Lesley, with lips from which all color had faded, and hands pressed
+tightly together, watched him go, and stood for some minutes in dazed,
+despairing silence before she could say, even to herself, with a burst
+of hot and bitter tears,
+
+"Oh, I did not mean him to think _that_. And now I cannot explain! What
+shall I do? What _can_ I do to make him understand?"
+
+But that was a question for which she found no answer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+CURED.
+
+
+"You are quite well," said the doctor to John Smith, otherwise called
+Francis Trent, at the great hospital one day. "You can go out to-morrow.
+There is nothing more that we can do for you."
+
+Smith raised his dull eyes to their faces.
+
+"Am I--cured?" he asked.
+
+One of the doctors shrugged his shoulders a little. Another answered
+kindly and pityingly,
+
+"You will find that you are not as strong as you used to be. Not the
+same man in many respects. But you will be able to get your own living,
+and we see no reason for detaining you here. What was your trade?"
+
+The patient looked down at his white, thin hands. "I don't know," he
+said.
+
+"Have you friends to go to?"
+
+There was a pause. Some of the medical students who were listening came
+a little nearer. As a matter of fact, Francis Trent's future depended
+very largely on the answer he made to this question. The statement that
+he was "quite well" was hazarded rather by way of experiment than as a
+matter of fact. The doctors wanted to know what he would say and do
+under pressure, for some of them were beginning to suggest that the man
+should be removed to the workhouse infirmary or a lunatic asylum. His
+faculties seemed to be hopelessly beclouded.
+
+Suddenly he lifted his head. A new sharp light had come into his eyes.
+He nodded reassuringly.
+
+"Yes, I have friends," he said.
+
+"You have a home where you can go? Shall we write to your friends to
+meet you?"
+
+"No, thank you, sir. I can find my own way home."
+
+And then they conferred together a little, and left him, and reported
+that he was cured.
+
+Certainly, there seemed to be nothing the matter with him now. His
+wounds and injuries had healed, his bodily strength was returning. But
+the haze which hung over his mind was far more impenetrable than the
+doctors guessed. Something of it had been apparent to them in the
+earlier days of his illness; but his clear and decided answers to their
+questions convinced them that memory had to some extent returned. As a
+matter of fact it was not memory that had returned, but a sharpening of
+his perceptive faculties, awakening him to the fact that he stood in
+danger of being taken for an idiot or a madman if he did not frame some
+answer to the questions which the doctors asked him. This new acuteness
+was perhaps the precursor to a return of his memory; but as yet the Past
+was like a dead wall, an abyss of darkness surrounding him. Now and then
+flashes of light seemed to dart across that darkness: he seemed on the
+point of recalling something--he knew not what; for the flashes faded as
+quickly as they came, and made the darkness all the greater for the
+contrast.
+
+He was possessed now by the idea that if he could get out of hospital,
+and walk along the London streets, he might remember all that he had
+forgotten. His own name, his own history, had become a blank to him. He
+knew in some vague, forlorn fashion, that he had once been what the
+world calls a gentleman. He had not acknowledged so much to the doctors:
+he had not felt that they would believe him. Even when the groping after
+the Past became most painful, he made up his mind that he would not ask
+these scientific men for help: he was afraid of being treated as a
+"case," experimented on, written about in the papers. There was
+something in the Past of which he knew he ought to be ashamed. What
+could it be? He was afraid to ask, lest he might find himself to be a
+criminal.
+
+In these haunting terrors there was, of course, a distinct token of
+possible insanity. The man needed a friendly, guiding hand to steer him
+back to the world of reason and common-sense. But to whom could he go,
+since he had taken up this violent prejudice against the doctors? He
+felt drawn to none of the nurses, although some of them had been very
+kind to him. The only person to whom he might perhaps have disburthened
+himself, if he had had the opportunity, was the sweet-voiced,
+sweet-faced woman whom he had warned of the ill effects of her gifts. He
+did not know her name, or anything about her; but before he left the
+hospital he asked one of the nurses who she was.
+
+"Lady Alice Brooke--daughter of the Lord Courtleroy, who died the other
+day," was the reply.
+
+"Could you give me her address?"
+
+"No; and I don't think that if I could it would be of any use to you.
+She is leaving England, I believe. If you want work or help, why don't
+you speak to Mr. Kenyon? He's the gentleman to find both for you--Mr.
+Maurice Kenyon."
+
+"Which is Mr. Kenyon?"
+
+"There--he's just passing through the next ward; shall I speak to him
+for you?"
+
+"No, thank you: I don't want anything from him: I only wanted the lady's
+name," said John Smith, in a dogged sullen kind of way, which made the
+whitecapped nurse look at him suspiciously.
+
+"Brooke!--Kenyon?"--How oddly familiar the names seemed to him! Of
+course they were not very uncommon names; but there was a distinct
+familiarity about them which had nothing to do with the names
+themselves, as if they had some connection with his own history and his
+own affairs.
+
+He was discharged--"cured." He went out into the streets with
+half-a-crown in his pocket, and a fixed determination to know the truth,
+sooner or later, about himself. At the same time he had a great fear of
+letting any one know the extent of the blanks in his memory. He thought
+that people might shut him up in a madhouse if he told them that he
+could not recollect his own name. A certain amount of intellectual force
+and knowledge remained to him. He could read, and understand what he
+read. But of his own history he had absolutely no idea; and the only
+clue to it that he could find lay in those two names--Brooke and Kenyon.
+
+Could he discover anything about the possessors of these names which
+would help him? He entered a shop where a Post Office Directory was to
+be found, and looked at Maurice Kenyon's name amongst the doctors. He
+found Mr. Kenyon's private address; but as yet it told him nothing.
+Woburn Place? Well, of course he had heard of Woburn Place, it was no
+wonder that he should know it so well; but the name told him nothing
+more.
+
+He sat staring at it so long that the people of the shop grew impatient,
+and asked him to shut the book. He went away, and wandered about the
+streets, vaguely seeking for he knew not what. And after a time he
+bought a newspaper. Here again he found the name that had attracted his
+attention--the name of Kenyon. "Last appearance of Miss Kenyon at the
+Frivolity Theatre--this week only."
+
+"Who's Miss Ethel Kenyon?" he asked--drawing a bow at a venture--of his
+neighbor in the dingy little coffeehouse into which he had turned. It
+was ten to one that the man would not know; but he would ask.
+
+As it happened, the young man did know. "She's an actress," he said. "I
+went to see her the other night. Pretty girl--going to get married and
+leave the stage. My brother's a scene shifter at the Frivolity--knows
+all about her."
+
+"Who is she going to marry?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know--some idle young chap that wants her money, I believe.
+She ain't the common sort of actress, you know. Bit of a swell, with
+sixty thousand pounds of her own."
+
+"Oh," said his interlocutor, vaguely. "And--has she any relations?"
+
+"Well, that I can't tell you. Stop a bit, though: I did hear tell of a
+brother--a doctor, I believe. But I couldn't be sure of it."
+
+"Could you get to know if you wanted?"
+
+The young fellow turned and surveyed his questioner with some doubt.
+"Dare say I could if I chose," he said. "What do you want to know for,
+mate?"
+
+"I've been away--out of England for a long time--and I think they're
+people who used to know me," said Francis Trent, improvising his story
+readily. "I thought they could put me on the way of work if I could come
+across them; but I don't know if it's the same."
+
+"Why don't you go to see her to-night? She's worth a look: she's a
+pretty little thing--but she don't draw crowds: the gallery's never
+full."
+
+"I think I'll go to-night," said Francis, rising suddenly from his seat.
+He fancied that the young man looked at him suspiciously. "Yes, no
+doubt, I should know her if I saw her: I'll go to-night."
+
+He made his way hastily into the street, while his late companion sent a
+puzzled glance after him. "Got a tile loose, that chap has," he said to
+the girl at the counter as he also passed out. "Or else he was a bit
+screwed."
+
+So that night Francis Trent went to the Frivolity, and witnessed, from a
+half-empty gallery, a smart, sparkling little society play, in which
+Ethel Kenyon had elected to say farewell to her admirers.
+
+He saw her, but her face produced no impression upon his mind.
+
+It was not familiar to him, although her name was familiar enough. Those
+gleaming dark eyes in the saucy piquante face, the tiny graceful figure,
+the silvery accents of her voice, were perfectly strange to him. They
+suggested absolutely nothing. It was the name alone that he knew; and he
+was sure that it was in some way connected with his own.
+
+Before the end of the play, he got up and went out. The lights of the
+theatre made him dizzy: his head ached from the hot atmosphere and from
+his own physical weakness. He was afraid that he should cry out or do
+something strange which would make people look at him, if he sat there
+much longer. So he turned into a side street and leaned against a wall
+for a little time, until he felt cool and refreshed. The evening was
+warm, considering that the month was March, and the air that played upon
+his face was soft and balmy. When he had recovered himself a little, he
+noticed a group of young men lighting their cigarettes and loitering
+about a door in the vicinity. Presently he made out that this was the
+stage-door, and that these young men were waiting to see one of the
+actresses come out. By the fragments of their talk that floated to him
+on the still evening air in the quiet side street, Francis Trent
+gathered that they spoke a good deal of Ethel Kenyon.
+
+"So this is the last we shall see of pretty little Ethel," he heard one
+man say. "Who's the man she's hooked, eh?"
+
+Nobody seemed to know.
+
+"Why did she go on the boards at all, I wonder? She's got money, and
+belongs to a pre-eminently respectable family. Her brother's a doctor."
+
+"Stage-struck," said another. "She'll give it up now, of course. Here's
+her carriage. She'll be here directly."
+
+"And the happy man at her heels, I suppose," sneered the first speaker.
+"They say she's madly in love with him, and that he, of course, wants
+her money."
+
+"He's a cad, I know that," growled a younger man.
+
+Impelled by an interest of which he himself did not know the source,
+Francis Trent had drawn nearer to the stage door as the young fellows
+spoke. He was quite close to it, when it opened at last and the pretty
+actress came forth.
+
+She was escorted by a train of admirers, rich and poor. Her maid was
+laden with wraps and bouquets. The manager and the actor who played the
+leading part were on either side of her, and Ethel was laughing the
+merry, unaffected laugh of a perfectly happy woman as she made her
+triumphal exit from the little theatre where she had achieved all her
+artistic success. Another kind of success, she thought, was in store for
+her now. She was to know another sort of happiness. And the whole world
+looked very bright to her, although there was one little cloud--no
+bigger than a man's hand, perhaps--which had already shown itself above
+the horizon, and might one day cloud the noontide of her love.
+
+Francis Trent was so absorbed in watching her lovely face, and in
+wondering why her name had seemed so familiar, that he paid scant
+attention to her followers. It was only as the carriage drove off that
+his eye was caught by the face of a man who sat beside her. A gleam from
+a gas-lamp had fallen full upon it, revealing the regular, passionless
+features, the dark eyes and pale complexion of Ethel's lover. And as
+soon as he saw that face, a great change came over the mental condition
+of Francis Trent. He stood for a moment as if paralyzed, his worn
+features strangely convulsed, a strange lurid light showed itself in his
+haggard eyes. Then he threw his arms wildly in the air, uttered a
+choked, gasping cry, and rushed madly and vainly after the retreating
+carriage, heedless of the shouts which the little crowd sent after him.
+
+"He's mad--he'll never catch up that carriage! What does he run after it
+for, the fool?" said one of the men on the pavement.
+
+And indeed he soon relinquished the attempt, and sat down on a doorstep,
+panting and exhausted, with his face buried upon his arms.
+
+But he was not mad. He was sure of that now. It was only that he
+had--partially and feebly, but to some extent effectually--remembered
+what had happened to him in the dark dead Past.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+DOUBT.
+
+
+It was a difficult matter for Maurice Kenyon so to word his report to
+Caspar Brooke as not to excite his displeasure against Lesley. He felt
+himself bound to respect Lesley's confidences--if such they might be
+called--respecting the promise which kept her from returning his love;
+but he could not help a certain bitterness of tone in referring to his
+interview with her; and his friend observed the bitterness.
+
+"What reason did she give for refusing you?" he asked sharply.
+
+"I suppose she does not care for me."
+
+"There is something else--to judge from your look. Perhaps there
+is--somebody else?" said Brooke.
+
+"Well, I don't know that I'm doing right in telling you--but--God help
+me!--I believe there is," said Maurice, with a groan.
+
+"She did not tell you who?"
+
+"No."
+
+Mr. Brooke knitted his brows. He was inclined to think that Oliver Trent
+had produced an impression on Lesley's susceptible heart. He could not
+ask questions of any of the persons concerned; but he had his
+suspicions, and they made him angry as well as anxious.
+
+He made it his business during the next day or two to find out whether
+Oliver had been to the house since the day when he had interrupted the
+interview; but he could not learn that he had ventured there again. It
+was no use asking Dr. Sophy about Lesley's comings and goings: it was
+almost impossible for him to question Lesley herself.
+
+"What rubbish it all is--this love-making, marrying, and giving in
+marriage!" he said, at last, impatiently, to himself. "I'll think no
+more about these young folks' affairs--let them make or mar their
+happiness in their own way. I'll think of my work and nothing else--I've
+neglected it a good deal of late, I fancy. I must make up for lost time
+now." And sitting down at his table, he turned over the papers upon it,
+and took up a quill pen. But he did not begin to write for some minutes.
+He sat frowning at the paper, biting the feathers of his pen, drumming
+with his fingers on the table. And after a time he muttered to himself,
+"If any man harms Lesley, I'll wring his neck--that's all;" which did
+not sound as though he were giving to his literary work all the
+attention that it required.
+
+As to Lesley, she would have given a great deal at that time for a
+counsellor of some kind. The old feeling of friendlessness had come back
+to her. Her aunt was absorbed by her own affairs, her father looked at
+her with unquiet displeasure in his eyes. Oliver Trent had proved
+himself a false friend indeed. Ethel was a little reserved with her, and
+she had sent Maurice Kenyon away. There was nobody else to whom she
+could turn for comfort. True, she had made many acquaintances by this
+time: her father's circle was a large one, and she knew more people now
+than she had ever spoken to in her quiet convent days. But these were
+all acquaintances--not friends. She could not speak to any one of these
+about Maurice Kenyon, her lover and her friend. Once or twice she
+thought vaguely of writing to her mother about him; but she shrank from
+doing so without quite knowing why. The fact was, she knew her mother's
+criticism beforehand: she expected to be reproached with having broken
+her compact in the spirit if not in the letter; and she did not know how
+to justify herself. Maurice had taken his dismissal as final, and she
+had not meant him to do so. Now, if ever, the girl wanted a friend who
+would either encourage her to explain her position to him, or would do
+it for her. Lady Alice would not fill this post efficiently. And Lesley,
+in her youthful shamefaced pride, felt that nothing would induce her to
+make her own explanation to Maurice. It would seem like asking him to
+ask her again to marry him--an insupportable thought.
+
+So she went about the house pale and heavy-eyed, trying with all her
+might to throw herself into her father's schemes for his club, writing a
+little now and then, occupying herself feverishly with all the projects
+that came in her way, but bearing a sad heart about with her all the
+time. She was not outwardly depressed--her pride would not let her seem
+melancholy. She held her head high, and talked and laughed more than
+usual. But the want of color and brightness in her face and eye could
+not be controlled.
+
+"You pale-faced wretch," she said to herself one Saturday evening, as
+she stood before her glass and surveyed the fair image that met her eye;
+"why cannot you look as usual? It must be this black dress that makes me
+so colorless: I wish that I had a flower to wear with it."
+
+Mr. Brooke and his sister were holding one of their frequent Saturday
+evening parties, when they were "at home" to a large number of guests.
+Lesley was just about to go downstairs. Her dress was black, for she was
+in mourning for her grandfather; and it must be confessed that the
+sombre hue made her look very pale indeed. The wish for a flower was
+gratified, however, almost as soon as formed. Kingston entered her room
+at that moment carrying a bouquet of flowers, chiefly white, but with a
+scarlet blossom here and there, which would give exactly the touch of
+color that Lesley's appearance required.
+
+"These flowers have just come for you, ma'am," Kingston said quietly.
+
+Her subdued voice, her pale face, and heavily shadowed eyes, did not
+make her a cheerful-looking messenger; but Lesley, for the time being,
+thought of nothing but the flowers.
+
+"Where do they come from, Kingston?" she asked, eagerly.
+
+"I was only to say one word, ma'am--that they came from over the way."
+
+There was no want of color now in Lesley's face. Her cheeks were
+rose-tinted, her eyes had grown strangely bright. "Over the way." Of
+course that meant Maurice. Did not he live over the way?--and was there
+any one else at the Kenyons' house who would send her such lovely
+flowers?
+
+If he sent her flowers, she reflected, he could not have yet ceased to
+care for her, although she had behaved so badly to him--in his eyes, at
+least. The thought gave her courage and content. Perhaps he was coming
+that night--he had a standing invitation to all the Brookes' evening
+parties--and when he came he would perhaps "say something" to her,
+something which she could answer suitably, so as to make him
+understand.
+
+She did not know how pretty she looked as she stood looking down at her
+flowers, the color and smile and dimples coming and going in her fair
+young face in very unwonted confusion. But Mary Kingston noted every
+change of tint and expression, and was surprised. For the little mystery
+was quite plain to her. It was not Mr. Kenyon who sent the flowers at
+all. Mr. Kenyon was too busy a man to buy bouquets. It was Oliver Trent
+who had sent them, for Kingston had herself seen him carrying the
+flowers and entrusting them to a commissionnaire with a message for Miss
+Brooke. She believed, too, that Lesley knew from whom they came. But she
+was not sufficiently alert and interested just then to make these
+matters of great importance to her. She did not think it worth her while
+to say how much she knew. With a short quick sigh she turned away, and
+expected to see her young mistress quit the room at once, still with
+that happy smile upon her face. But Lesley had heard the sigh.
+
+"Oh, Kingston," she said, laying her hand on the woman's arm, "I wish
+you would not sigh like that!"
+
+"I beg your pardon, ma'am; I did not mean to annoy you."
+
+"I don't mean _that_: I mean it for your own sake. You seem so sad about
+something--you have been sad so long!"
+
+"I've had a sad life, Miss Lesley."
+
+"But there is surely some special sadness now?"
+
+"Yes," said the woman slowly. "Yes, that is true. I've--lost--a friend."
+
+She put a strong emphasis on the word "lost," and paused before and
+after uttering it, as if it bore a peculiar meaning to her. But Lesley
+took the word in its ordinary sense.
+
+"I am very sorry," she said. "It must be very terrible, I think, when
+one's friends die."
+
+She stood silent for a minute--a shadow from Kingston's grief troubling
+the sweetness of her fair face. It was the maid who broke the silence.
+
+"Excuse me, ma'am; I oughtn't to have troubled you with my affairs
+to-night, just when you're enjoying yourself too. But it's hard
+sometimes to keep quiet."
+
+Moved by a sudden instinct of sympathy, Lesley turned and kissed the
+woman who served her, as if she had been a sister. It was in such ways
+that she showed her kinship with the man who had written "The
+Unexplored." Lady Alice, in spite of all her kindness of heart, would
+never have thought of kissing her ladies' maid.
+
+"Don't grieve--don't be sorrowful," said Lesley. "Perhaps things will
+mend by and by."
+
+"Ah, my dear," said Kingston, forgetting her position, as Lady Alice
+would have said, while that young, soft kiss was warm upon her cheek,
+"the dead don't come back."
+
+And when Lesley had gone downstairs, with the white and scarlet bouquet
+in her hand, Mary Kingston sat down and wept bitterly.
+
+It was not the first time that Lesley had spoken words of consolation to
+her; but on this occasion her gentleness had gone home to Mary
+Kingston's heart as it had never done before. After weeping for herself
+for a time, she fell to weeping for Lesley too, for it seemed inevitable
+to her that Lesley should suffer before very long. She believed that
+Lesley was in love with Oliver, and that for this reason only had she
+refused Maurice Kenyon, which shows that Lesley had kept her own secret
+very well.
+
+"I'd do anything to keep her from harm," said Mary Kingston, with a
+passionate rush of gratitude towards the girl for her kindly words and
+ways. "Francis Trent brought me grief enough, God knows; and if she's
+going to throw herself away on Oliver, she'll have her heart broke
+sooner than mine. For I've been used to sorrow all my days; and
+she--poor, pretty lamb--she don't know what it means. And Miss Brooke
+all taken up with her medicine-fads, and Mr. Brooke only a _man_, after
+all, in spite of his goodness; and my lady, her mother, far away and
+never coming near her--if anybody was friendless and forlorn, it's Miss
+Lesley. Only me between her and her ruin, maybe! But I'll prevent it,"
+said the woman, rising to her feet with a strange look of exaltation in
+her sunken eyes: "I'll guard her from Oliver Trent as I couldn't guard
+my own sister, poor lass! I'll see that she does not come to any harm,
+and if he means ill by her I'll shame him before all the world, even
+though I break more hearts than one by it."
+
+And then she roused herself from her reverie, and went downstairs, where
+she knew that her presence was required in the tea-room. Scarcely had
+she entered it, when she made a short pause and gave a slightly
+perceptible start. For there stood Ethel Kenyon, with Oliver Trent in
+attendance. She had not thought that he would come to the house; a rumor
+had gone about that he had quarreled with Mr. Brooke; yet there he was,
+smiling, bland, irreproachable as ever, with quite the look of one who
+had the right to be present. He was holding Ethel's fan and gloves as
+she drank a cup of tea, and seemed to be paying her every attention in
+his power. Ethel, in the daintiest of costumes, was laughing and talking
+to him as they stood together. _She_ was quite unconscious of any reason
+for his possible absence. Mary Kingston gave them a keen glance as she
+went by, and decided in her own mind that there was more in the
+situation than as yet she had understood.
+
+Oliver was playing a bold game. His marriage was fixed for the following
+Tuesday. From Mr. Brooke's attitude in general towards the Kenyons, he
+felt sure that Caspar would not place them in any painful or perplexing
+situation. He would not, for instance, refuse to welcome Oliver to his
+house again, if Oliver went in Ethel's company. Accordingly, the young
+man put his pride and his delicacy (if he had either--which is doubtful)
+in his pocket, and went with his affianced wife to Mr. Brooke's Saturday
+evening party.
+
+"For I will see Lesley again," he said to himself, "and if I do not go
+to-night I may not have the opportunity. If she would relent, I would
+not mind throwing Ethel over--I could do it so easily now that Francis
+has disappeared. But I would give up Ethel's twenty thousand, if Lesley
+would go with me instead!"
+
+Little did he guess that only on the previous night had he been
+recognized and remembered by that missing brother, whose tottering brain
+was inflamed almost to madness by a conviction of deliberate wrong; or
+that this brother was even now upon his track, ready to demand the
+justice that he thought had been denied him, and to punish the man who
+had brought him to this evil pass! Wild and mad as were the imaginings
+of Francis Trent's bewildered mind, they boded ill to his brother Oliver
+whenever the two should meet.
+
+Meanwhile, Ethel's lover, with a white flower in his button-hole,
+occupied the whole evening in leaning idly against a wall, and feasting
+his eyes on the fair face and form--not of his betrothed, but--of Lesley
+Brooke.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+IN MR. BROOKE'S STUDY.
+
+
+Caspar Brooke's dingy drawing-room looked cheerful enough that night,
+filled by a crowd of men and women, and animated by the buzz of constant
+talk and movement. It was a distinguishing characteristic of his parties
+that they were composed more of men than of women; and the guests were
+often men or women who had done something in the world, and were known
+for some special excellence in their work. Lesley generally enjoyed
+these gatherings very much. The visitors were shabby, unfashionable
+people sometimes: they had eccentricities of dress and manner; but they
+were always interesting in Lesley's eyes. Literary men, professors,
+politicians, travelers, philanthropists, faddists--these were the folk
+that mostly frequented Caspar Brooke's parties. Neither artists nor
+musicians were largely represented: the flow of talk was rather
+political and literary than artistic; and on the whole there were more
+elderly people than young ones. As a rule, Oliver Trent was not disposed
+to frequent these assemblies: he shrugged his shoulders at them and
+called them "slow," but on this occasion he was only too glad to find
+admittance. It was at least a good opportunity for watching Lesley, as
+she passed from one group to another, doing the duties of
+assistant-hostess with grace and tact, giving a smile to one, a word to
+another, entering into low-toned conversation, which brightened her eyes
+and flushed her fair cheek, with another. Oliver thought her perfection.
+Beside her stately proportions, Ethel seemed to him ridiculously tiny
+and insignificant, and her sparkling prettiness was altogether eclipsed
+by Lesley's calmer beauty. He was not in an amiable mood. He had steeled
+himself against the dictates of his own taste and conscience, to
+encounter Caspar Brooke's cold stare and freezing word of conventional
+welcome, because he longed so intensely for a last word with Lesley; but
+he was now almost sorry that he had come. Lesley seemed utterly
+indifferent to his presence. She certainly carried his flowers in her
+hand, but she did not glance his way. On the contrary, she anxiously
+watched the door from time to time, as if she awaited the coming of some
+one who was slow to make his appearance. Who could the person be for
+whom she looked? Oliver asked himself jealously. He had not the
+slightest suspicion that she was watching for Maurice Kenyon. And
+Maurice Kenyon did not come.
+
+It was his absence that, as the evening wore on, made the color slip
+from Lesley's cheeks and robbed her eyes of their first brightness. A
+certain listlessness came over her. And Oliver, watching from his
+corner, exulted in his heart, for he thought to himself--
+
+"It is for me she is looking sad; and if she will but yield her will to
+mine, I will win and wear her yet, in spite of all who would say me
+nay."
+
+It was a veritable love-madness, such as had not come upon him since the
+days of his youth. He had had a fairly wide experience of love-making;
+but never had he been so completely mastered by his passion as he was
+now. The consideration that had once been so potent with him--love of
+ease, money, and position--seemed all to have vanished away. What
+mattered it that to abandon Ethel Kenyon at the last moment would mean
+disgrace and perhaps even beggary? He had no care left for thoughts like
+these. If Lesley would acknowledge her love for him, he was ready to
+throw all other considerations to the winds.
+
+"Sing something, Lesley," her father said to her when the evening was
+well advanced. "You have your music here?"
+
+Oh, yes, Lesley had her music here. But she glanced a little nervously
+in Oliver's direction. "I wonder if Ethel would accompany me," she said.
+She shrank nervously from the thought of Oliver's accompaniments.
+
+But Oliver was too quick for her. He moved forward to the piano as soon
+as he saw Caspar Brooke's eye upon it. And with his hand on the
+key-board, he addressed himself suavely to Lesley.
+
+"You are going to sing, I hope? May I not have the pleasure of
+accompanying you?"
+
+Lesley could not say him nay, but she also could not help a glance, half
+of alarm, half of appeal, towards her father. Mr. Brooke's face wore an
+expression which was not often seen upon it at a social gathering. It
+was distinctly stormy--there was a frown upon the brow, and an ominous
+setting of the lips which more than one person in the room remarked.
+"How savage Brooke looks!" one guest murmured into another's ear. "Isn't
+he friendly with Trent?" And the words were remembered in after days.
+
+But nothing could be said or done to hinder Oliver from taking his place
+at the piano, for Lesley did not openly object, and her father could not
+interfere between her and his own guest. So Lesley sang, and did not
+sing so well as usual, for her heart failed her a little, partly through
+vexation and partly through disappointment at Maurice Kenyon's
+disappearance, but she gave pleasure to her hearers, in spite of what
+seemed to herself a comparative failure, and when she had finished her
+song, she was besieged by requests that she would sing once more.
+
+"Sing 'Thine is my heart,'" Oliver's soft voice murmured in her ear.
+
+"I have not that song here," said Lesley, quietly. She was not very much
+discomposed now, but she did not want to encourage his attention. She
+rose from the music-stool. "My music is downstairs," she said. "I must
+go and fetch it--I have a new song that Ethel has promised to play for
+me."
+
+Oliver bit his lips and stood back as Lesley escaped by the door of the
+front drawing-room. Mr. Brooke's eye was upon him, and he could not
+therefore follow her; but he made his way into the library through the
+folding doors, and there a new mode of attack became visible to him. By
+the library door he gained the landing; and then he softly descended the
+stairs, which were now almost deserted, for the guests had crowded into
+the drawing-room, first to hear Lesley's song and then to listen to a
+recitation by Ethel Kenyon. But where had Lesley gone?
+
+A subtle instinct told him that she had hidden herself for a moment--and
+told him also where to find her. The lights were burning low in her
+father's study, which had been set to rights a little, in order to serve
+as a room where people could lounge and talk if they wanted to escape
+the din of conversation in the larger rooms. He looked in, and at first
+thought it empty. But the movement of a curtain revealed some one's
+presence; and as his eyes became accustomed to the dimmer light, he saw
+that it was Lesley. She was standing between the fireplace and curtained
+window, and her hand was on the mantelpiece.
+
+She started when she saw him in the doorway. It was her start that
+betrayed her. He came forward and shut the door behind him--Lesley
+fancied that she heard the click of the key in the lock. She tried to
+carry matters with a high hand.
+
+"I am afraid I cannot find my music here," she said, "so please do not
+shut the door, Mr. Trent. There is little enough light as it is."
+
+She walked forward, but he had planted himself squarely between her and
+the door. She could not pass.
+
+"Mr. Trent----" she began.
+
+"Wait! don't speak," he said, in a voice so hoarse and stifled that she
+could hardly recognize it as his own. "I must have a word with
+you--forgive me--I won't detain you long----"
+
+"Excuse me, I must go back to the drawing-room."
+
+Lesley spoke civilly but coldly, though some sort of fear of him passed
+shiveringly through her frame.
+
+"You shall not go yet: you shall listen to what I have to say."
+
+"Mr. Trent!"
+
+"Yes, it is all very well to exclaim! You know what I mean, and what I
+want. I had not time to speak the other night; but I will speak now.
+Lesley, I love you!----"
+
+"Mr. Trent, Ethel is upstairs. Have you forgotten her? Let me pass."
+
+"I have not forgotten her: I remember her only too well. She is the
+burden, the incubus of my life. Oh, I know all that you can tell me
+about her: I know her beauty, her gifts, her virtues; but all that does
+not charm me. You, you and no other, are the woman that I love; and,
+beside you, Ethel is nothing to me at all."
+
+"You might at least remember your duty to her," said Lesley, with
+severity. "You have won her heart, and you are about to vow to make her
+happy. I cannot understand how you can be so false to her."
+
+"If I am false to her," said Oliver, pleadingly, "I am true to the
+dictates of my own heart. Hear me, Lesley--pity me! I have promised to
+marry a woman whom I do not love. I acknowledge it frankly. I shall
+never make her happy--strive as I may, her nature will never assimilate
+with mine. She will go through life a disappointed woman; while, if I
+set her free, she will find some man whom she loves and will be happy
+with him. You may as well confess that this is true. You may as well
+acknowledge that her nature is too light, too trivial to be rent asunder
+by any falsity of mine. Ethel will never break her heart; but you might
+break yours, Lesley--and I--I also--have a heart to break."
+
+Lesley smiled scornfully. "Yours will not break very easily," she said,
+"and I can answer for mine."
+
+"You are strong," he said, using the formula by which men know how to
+soften women's hearts, "stronger than I am. Be merciful, Lesley! I am
+very weak, I know; but weakness means suffering. Can you not pity me,
+when you think that my weakness and my suffering come from love of you?"
+
+"I am very sorry, Mr. Trent, but I really cannot help it. It is your own
+fault--not mine," said Lesley, a little hotly. "I never thought of such
+a thing."
+
+"No, you were as innocent and as good as you always are," he broke in,
+"and you did not know what you were doing when you led me on with those
+sweet looks and sweet words of yours. I can believe that. But you did
+the mischief, Lesley, without meaning it; and you must not refuse to
+make amends. You made me think you loved me."
+
+"Oh, no, no," said Lesley, her face aflame with outraged modesty. "I
+never made you think so! You were mistaken--that is all!"
+
+"You made me think you loved me," Oliver repeated, doggedly, "and you
+owe me amends. To say the very least, you have given me great pain: you
+have made me the most miserable of men, and wrecked all chance of
+happiness between Ethel and myself--have you no heart that you can
+refuse to repair a little of the harm that you have done? You are a
+cruel woman--I could almost say a wicked woman: hard, false, and
+cowardly; and I wish my words could blight your life as your coquetry
+has blighted mine."
+
+Lesley trembled. No woman could listen to such words unmoved, when her
+armor of incredulity fell from her as Lesley's armor had fallen.
+Hitherto she had felt a scornful disbelief in the reality of Oliver's
+love for her. But now that disbelief had gone. There was a ring of
+passionate feeling in Oliver's tones which could not be simulated. The
+coldness, the artificiality of the man had disappeared: his passion for
+Lesley had taken possession of him, and stirred his nature to the very
+depths.
+
+"Listen, Lesley," he said, in a low, strained voice, which shook and
+vibrated with the intensity of his emotion, "don't let me feel this.
+Don't let me feel that you have merely played with me, and are ready to
+cast me off like an old shoe when you are tired. Other women do that
+sort of thing, but not you, my darling!--not you--don't let me think it
+of you. Forgive me the harsh things I said, and help me--help me--to
+forget them."
+
+He had grasped the back of a chair with both hands, and was kneeling
+with one knee on the seat. He now stretched out his hands to her, and
+came forward as if to take her in his arms. But Lesley drew back.
+
+"I am very sorry," she said, "but I cannot help it. I did not mean to be
+unkind."
+
+"If you are really sorry for me," he said, still in the deep-shaken
+voice which moved her to so uneasy a sense of pain and wrong-doing, "you
+will do all you can for me. You will help me to begin a new life. I love
+you so much that I am sure I could teach you to love me. I am certain of
+it, Lesley--dearest--let me try!"
+
+Did she falter for a moment? There flashed over her the remembrance of
+Maurice's anger, of his continued absence, of the probability that he
+would never come back to her; and the dream of a tender love that could
+envelop the rest of her lonely life assailed her like a temptation. She
+hesitated, and in that moment's pause Oliver drew nearer to her side.
+
+"Kiss me, Lesley!" he whispered, and his head bent over hers, his lips
+almost touched her own.
+
+Then came the reaction--the awakening.
+
+"Oh, no, no! Do not touch me. Do not come near me. I do not love you.
+And if I did"--said Lesley, almost violently--"if I loved you more than
+all the world, do you think that I would betray Ethel, my friend? that I
+would be so false to her--and to myself?"
+
+"Then you do love me?" he murmured, undisturbed by her vehemence, which
+he did not think boded ill for his chances, after all.
+
+"No, I do not."
+
+"You are mistaken. Kiss me once, Lesley, and you will know. You will
+feel your love then."
+
+"You insult me, Mr. Trent. Love you? Come one step nearer and I shall
+hate you. Oh!" she said, recoiling, as a gleam from the lamp revealed to
+her the wild expression in his eyes, the tension of his white lips and
+nostrils, the strange transformation in those usually impassive features
+which revealed the brutal nature below the polished surface of the man,
+"I hate you now!"
+
+She was close to the wall, and her head came in sudden contact with the
+old-fashioned bell-rope. She seized it firmly.
+
+"Open the door," she said, "or I shall ring this bell and send for my
+father. He will know what to do."
+
+Oliver gazed at her for a minute or two, then, with a smothered oath
+upon his lips, he turned slowly to the door and opened it. Before
+leaving the room, however, he said, in a voice half-stifled by impotent
+passion--
+
+"Is this really your last word?"
+
+"The last I shall ever speak to you," said Lesley, resolutely.
+
+Then he went out, seizing his hat as he passed through the hall and made
+his way into the street. He did not notice, as he retired, that a
+woman's figure was only half-concealed behind the curtains that screened
+a door in the study, and that his interview with Lesley must therefore
+have had an unseen auditor. He forgot that Ethel and Rosalind waited for
+him above. He was mad with rage; deaf to all voices saving those of
+passion: blind to all sights save the visions that floated maddeningly
+before his eyes.
+
+Mad, blind, deaf to reason as he was, he was obliged to come back to
+earth and its realities before very long. For he was stopped in the
+streets by rough hands: a hoarse, passionate voice uttered threats and
+curses in his ear; and he found himself face to face with his
+long-vanished and half-forgotten brother, Francis Trent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+BROTHERS.
+
+
+"What do you want with me?" said Oliver trying to shake off the rude
+grasp.
+
+"I want you--you," gasped the man. He was evidently much excited, and
+his breath came in hard, quick pants. "Have you forgotten your own
+brother?"
+
+The two paused for an instant under a gas lamp. Oliver looked into
+Francis Trent's drawn, livid face--into the wild, bloodshot eyes, and
+for an instant recoiled. It struck him that the face was that of a
+madman. But it was, nevertheless, the face of his brother, and after
+that momentary pause he recovered himself and laughed slightly.
+
+"Forgotten you? I'm not very likely to forget you, my boy. Well, what do
+you want?"
+
+"I want that two thousand pounds."
+
+His hand still clutched Oliver's arm, and the grasp was becoming
+unpleasant.
+
+"Can you not take your hand off my arm?" said the younger man, coolly.
+"I'm not going to run away. Apropos, what have you been doing with
+yourself all these weeks! I thought you had given us the slip
+altogether."
+
+"I want my money," said Francis, doggedly.
+
+Oliver looked at him curiously. What did this persistence mean? What
+money was he thinking about?
+
+"Your money?" he repeated.
+
+"Yes, my money--the money you ought to have given me by this time--where
+is it?"
+
+"You mean the sum I promised you on my wedding-day?"
+
+Francis nodded, with a rather confused look upon his face.
+
+"My wedding-day has not occurred yet," said Oliver, lightly. "Upon my
+word, I doubt whether it ever will occur. Don't alarm yourself, Francis.
+I shall get the money for you before long--I've not forgotten it."
+
+"I want it now. Two thousand pounds," said Francis, thickly.
+
+"Are you drunk, man! Do you think I carry two thousand pounds about with
+me in my pocket? Go home--I'll see you again when you are sober."
+
+"I have touched nothing but water to-day," said his brother. "I swear
+it--so help me, God! I know what I'm about. And I know _you_. I know you
+for the vilest cheat and trickster that ever walked the earth. I've been
+in hospital--I don't know how long. I know that you would cheat me if
+you could. You were to pay me within six months--and it's over six
+months now."
+
+"I tell you I'm not married. I was to pay you on my wedding-day."
+
+"You were to pay me within six months. Have you opened a bank account
+for me and paid in the two thousand pounds?"
+
+"Are you mad, Francis?"
+
+"Mad?--I may well be mad after all you have made me suffer. I tell you I
+want money--money--money--I want two thousand pounds."
+
+His voice rose almost to a shriek, and the sound reverberated along the
+quiet street with startling effect. Oliver shrank into himself a little,
+and gave a hurried glance around him. They were still in Upper Woburn
+Place, and he was afraid that the noise should excite remark. It was
+plain to him that Francis was either drunk or out of his mind, and he
+therefore concentrated his attention on getting quietly away from him,
+or leading him to some more secluded spot.
+
+"Look here," he said, in a conciliatory tone. "You shall have your money
+if you'll be quiet and come away with me. Come to my house and I'll
+explain things to you. You've not seen Rosalind for a long time, have
+you? Come in and talk things over."
+
+"Oh, you want to trap me, do you?" said Francis, sullenly. "No, I'll not
+come to your house. Go in and fetch the money out to me, or I'll make
+you repent it."
+
+Oliver was almost at his wit's end.
+
+"All right," he said, soothingly. "I will fetch it. I can give you a
+cheque, you know. But don't you want a little loose change to go on
+with? Take these."
+
+He held out a handful of gold and silver. Francis looked at it with
+covetous eyes for a minute or two, then thrust his brother's hand aside
+with a jerk which almost sent the coins into the road.
+
+"I want justice, not charity," he said. "I want the money you promised
+me."
+
+Oliver shrugged his shoulders, and slowly returned the money to his
+pocket.
+
+"I am more than ever convinced that you are either mad or drunk, my
+boy," he said. "You should never refuse ten pounds when you can get it,
+and it's not a thing that I should fancy you have often done before.
+However, as you choose."
+
+He walked onward, and Francis walked, heavily and unsteadily, at his
+side, muttering to himself as he went. Oliver glanced curiously at him
+from time to time.
+
+"I wonder what _has_ happened to him," he said to himself. "It's not
+safe to question, but I _should_ like to know. Is it drink? or is it
+brain disease? One thing or the other it must be. He does not look as if
+he would live to spend the two thousand pounds--if ever he gets it. I
+wonder if I could contrive to stave off the payment----"
+
+And then he fell into a gloomy calculation of ways and means,
+possibilities and chances, which lasted until the house in Russell
+Square was reached. Here the brothers paused, and Oliver looked keenly
+into his companion's face, noting that a somewhat remarkable change had
+passed over it. Instead of being flushed and swollen, as if from
+drinking, it had become very pale. His eyes seemed on the point of
+closing, and he wavered unsteadily in his walk. Oliver had to put out
+his hand to save him from falling, and to help him to the steps, where
+he collapsed into a sitting posture, with his head against the railings.
+He seemed to be stupefied, if not asleep.
+
+"Dead drunk," said Oliver to himself. "The danger's over for to-night,
+at any rate. Now, what shall I do with him? I can't get him into the
+house and lock him into a room--that would make talk. I think I had
+better leave him to the tender mercies of the next policeman; if he gets
+run in for being drunk and incapable, so much the better for me."
+
+He took out his latch key and let himself into the house, closing the
+door softly behind him, so as not to awaken the half-sleeping wretch
+upon the steps. Then he ascended the stairs--still softly, as if he
+thought that he was not yet out of danger of awaking him--and locked
+himself into his own room. Then he drew a long breath, and stood
+motionless for a moment, with bent brows and downcast eyes. "There will
+be no end to this," he said to himself, "until Francis is shipped off to
+America or landed safely in a madhouse. One seems to me about as likely
+as another. I wonder whether he was drunk to-night, or insane? Drunk, I
+think: insanity"--with a sinister smile--"would be too great a stroke of
+luck for me!"
+
+But it was perfectly true, as Francis had said, that no drop of
+intoxicating liquor had passed his lips that day. He was suffering from
+brain disease, as Oliver had half suspected, although not to such an
+extent that he could actually be called insane. A certain form of mania
+was gradually taking possession of his mind. He was convinced that he
+had been robbed by his brother of much that was his due; and that Oliver
+was even now withholding money that was his. This fancy had its
+foundation in fact, for Oliver had wronged him more than once, and was
+ready to wrong him again should a suitable opportunity occur; but the
+notion that at present occupied his mind, respecting the payment of the
+two thousand pounds, was largely a figment of his disordered brain.
+Oliver had certainly questioned within himself whether he should be
+called upon to pay this sum, and as Francis seemed to have completely
+disappeared, he began to think that he might evade his promise to do so;
+but he had not as yet sought to free himself from the necessity of
+paying it. Francis' own words and demeanor suggested this idea for the
+first time to his mind. Was it possible, he asked himself, to prove that
+Francis was insane--clap him into a lunatic asylum--get rid of him
+forever without hush-money? True, there was his wife, Mary, to be
+silenced; but she had no influence and no friends. "Power is always in
+the hands of those who have most money," Oliver said to himself, as he
+reviewed the situation, after leaving Francis on the door step. "I have
+more money than Francis, certainly: I ought to be able to control his
+fate a little--and my own."
+
+But Oliver, astute as he thought himself, was occasionally mistaken in
+his conclusions. Francis Trent, as we have said, was not intoxicated;
+and when he had dozed quietly for a few moments on the door-step, he
+came somewhat to himself, as he usually did after these fits of frenzy.
+He felt dazed and bewildered, but he was no longer furious. He could not
+remember very well what he had said to Oliver, or what Oliver had said
+to him. But he knew where he was, and that in this region--between
+Russell Square and St. Pancras Church--he should find his truest friends
+and perhaps also his bitterest foes.
+
+He roused himself, stretched his cramped limbs, and turned back to
+wander towards Upper Woburn Place, hardly knowing, however, why he bent
+his steps in that direction. Instinct, not memory or reflection, guided
+him, and when he halted, he leaned against the railings of the house
+from which he had seen Oliver come forth, without realizing for one
+moment that it was the house in which his faithful and half-forgotten
+Mary was to be found.
+
+The door opened, as he waited, and some of the guests came out. Two or
+three carriages drove up: there was a call for a hansom, a whistle, and
+an answering shout. Francis Trent watched the proceedings with a sort of
+stupid attention. They reminded him of the previous night when he had
+seen Ethel Kenyon coming out of the theatre after her farewell
+performance. But on that occasion he had passed unnoticed and
+unrecognized. This was not now to be the case.
+
+Suddenly a woman on the threshold of Mr. Brooke's house caught sight of
+the weary, shabby figure leaning against the railings. Francis heard a
+little gasp, a little cry, and felt a hand upon his own. "Francis! is it
+you? have you really come back?" It was Mary Kingston who looked him in
+the face.
+
+He returned the gaze with lack-lustre, unseeing eyes. When the fever-fit
+of rage left him, he was still subject to odd lapses of memory. One of
+these had assailed him now. He did not recognize his wife in the very
+least.
+
+"I--I don't know you," he said. "Go away, woman. I'm not doing any
+harm."
+
+There is nothing so piteous as the absence of recognition of the
+patient's best friends in cases of brain-disease. Francis Trent's
+condition sent a stab of pain to Mary's innermost heart. She forgot
+where she was--she forgot her duties as doorkeeper; she remembered only
+that she loved this man, and that he had forgotten her. She cried
+aloud----
+
+"Francis, I am your wife."
+
+"I have no wife," said the distraught man, looking listlessly beyond
+her. "I am here to see Oliver--he is to give me some money."
+
+"Don't you remember Mary, Francis? Look at me--look at me."
+
+"Mary?" he said, doubtfully. "Oh, yes, I remember Mary. But you are not
+Mary, are you?"
+
+"Yes, indeed I am. Where have you been all this time? Oh, my poor dear,
+you can't tell me! You are ill, Francis. Let me take care of you. Can
+you tell me where you live?"
+
+But he could not reply. His head drooped upon his breast: he looked as
+if he neither saw nor heard. What was she to do?
+
+Of one thing Mary was certain. Now that she had found her husband, she
+was not going to lose sight of him again.
+
+She would go with him whithersoever he went, unless he repelled her by
+force. She gave one regretful thought to her young mistress, and to a
+certain project which she had determined to put into effect that night,
+and then she thought of the Brookes no more. She must leave them, and
+follow her husband's fortunes. There was no other way for her.
+
+Fortunately she had money in her pocket. She had also thrown a shawl
+across her arm before she came to the door. The shawl belonged to Miss
+Brooke, and had been offered to one of the guests as a loan; but Mary
+had forgotten all about the guests, and appropriated the shawl, with the
+cool resolution which characterized her in cases of emergency.
+Necessity--especially the necessity entailed by love--knows no law. At
+that moment she knew no law but that of her repressed and stunted, but
+always abiding, affection for the husband who had burdened her life for
+many weary years with toil and anxiety and care. For him she would do
+anything--throw up all friendships, sacrifice her future, her character,
+and, if need be, her life.
+
+She wrapped the shawl round her head, and put her arm through her
+husband's, without once looking back.
+
+"Come, Francis," she said, quietly, "show me where you live now. We will
+go home."
+
+She led him unresistingly away. For a little while he walked as if in a
+dream; but by and by his movements became more assured, and he turned so
+decidedly in one direction that she saw he knew his way and was
+pursuing it. She said nothing, but kept close to his side, with her hand
+resting lightly on his arm. She was not mistaken in her expectations.
+Francis went straight to the wretched lodging in which he had slept for
+the past few nights, and Mary at once assumed the management of his
+affairs.
+
+She was rewarded--as she thought, poor soul!--for her efforts. When she
+had lighted a fire and a candle, and prepared some sort of frugal meal
+for the man she loved, he lifted up his face and looked at her with a
+gleam of returning memory and intelligence in his haggard eyes.
+
+"Mary," he said, in a bewildered tone, "Mary--my wife? How did you come
+here, Mary? How did you find me out?"
+
+"Are you glad to see me, dear?" said Mary.
+
+"Yes--yes, I am. Everything will be right now. You'll manage things for
+me."
+
+It was an acknowledgment of the power of her affection which more than
+recompensed her for the trouble of the last few months.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+MRS. TRENT'S STORY.
+
+
+"I never heard of such an extraordinary thing," said Lesley.
+
+"Then that shows how little you know of the world," said Doctor Sophy,
+amicably. "I've heard of a hundred cases of the kind."
+
+"Well, there are some elements of oddity in this case," remarked Caspar
+Brooke, striking in with unexpected readiness to defend his daughter's
+views. "Kingston was not a giddy young girl, who would go off with any
+man who made love to her. Indeed, I can't quite fancy any man making
+love to her at all. She was remarkably plain, poor woman."
+
+"She had beautiful eyes," said Lesley. "And she was so nice and quiet
+and kind. And I really thought that she was--fond of me." She paused
+before she uttered the last three words, being a little afraid that they
+would be thought sentimental. And indeed Miss Brooke did give a
+contemptuous snort, but Caspar smiled kindly, and patted his daughter's
+hand.
+
+"Don't take it to heart," he said. "'Fondness' is a very indeterminate
+term, and one that you must not scrutinize too closely. This little
+black beast, for instance"--caressing, as he spoke, the head of the
+ebony-hued cat which sat upon the arm of his chair--"which I picked up
+half-starving in the street when it was a kitten, is fond of me because
+I feed it: but suppose that I were too poor to give it milk and
+chicken-bones, do you think it would retain any affection for me? A
+sublimated cupboard-love is all that we can expect now-a-days from
+cats--and servants."
+
+"When you can write as you do about love," said Lesley, who was coming
+to know her father well enough to tease him now and then, "I wonder that
+you dare venture to express yourself in this cold-blooded way in our
+hearing!"
+
+"Ah, but, my dear, I was not talking about love," said Caspar, lightly.
+"I was talking about 'fondness,' which is a very different matter. You
+did not say that your maid, Kingston, _loved_ you--I suppose she was
+hardly likely to go that length--you said that she was fond of you. Very
+probably. But fondness has its limits."
+
+Lesley smiled in reply, and did not utter the thought that occurred to
+her. What she really believed was that Kingston was not only "fond" of
+her, after the instinctive fashion of a dumb creature that one feeds,
+but loved her, as one woman loves another. Although her democratic
+feelings came to her through her father's teaching, or by inheritance
+from him, she did not quite like to say this to him: he might think it
+foolish to believe that a servant whom she had not known for very many
+weeks actually loved her; and yet she had the conviction that Kingston's
+attachment was deeper and more sincere than that of many a woman who
+claimed to be her friend. And she was both grieved and puzzled by
+Kingston's disappearance.
+
+For this was on Monday morning, and the woman had not come back to Mr.
+Brooke's. Great had been the astonishment of every one in the house when
+it was found that the quiet, well-spoken, well-behaved Mary Kingston,
+who had hitherto proved herself so trustworthy and so conscientious, had
+gone away--disappeared utterly and entirely, without leaving a word of
+explanation behind. She had last been seen on the pavement, shortly
+before midnight, assisting a lady to get into a hansom. Nobody had seen
+her re-enter the house. It seemed as if she had been spirited away. She
+had gone without a bonnet or shawl, in her plain black dress and white
+cap and apron, as if she meant to return in a minute or two, and she had
+not appeared again. The shawl that she had taken with her was not
+missed, for Miss Brooke continued for some time under the impression
+that it had been lent to one of the visitors.
+
+The conversation recorded above took place at Mr. Brooke's
+luncheon-table. It was not often that he was present at this meal, but
+on this occasion he had joined his sister and daughter, and questioned
+them with considerable interest about Kingston. After lunch, he put his
+hand gently on Lesley's arm, just as she was leaving the dining-room,
+and said, in a tone where sympathy was veiled with banter--
+
+"Never mind, my dear. We will get you another maid, who will be _less_
+fond of you, and then perhaps she will stay."
+
+"I don't want another maid, thank you, papa. And, indeed, I do think
+Kingston was fond of me," said Lesley earnestly.
+
+Mr. Brooke shrugged his shoulders. "Verily," he said, "the credulity of
+some women----"
+
+"But it isn't credulity," said Lesley, with something between a smile
+and a sigh, "it is faith. And I can't altogether disbelieve in poor
+Kingston--even now."
+
+Mr. Brooke shook his head, but made no rejoinder. Privately he thought
+Lesley foolishly mistaken, but believed that time would do its usual
+office in correcting the mistakes of the young.
+
+His own incredulity received a considerable shock somewhat later in the
+day. About four o'clock a knock came to his study, and the knock was
+followed by the appearance of the sour-visaged Sarah.
+
+"If you please, sir, there's that woman herself wants to see you."
+
+"What woman, Sarah?" said Caspar, carelessly. He was writing and
+smoking, and did not look up from his work.
+
+"The woman, Kingston, that ran away," said Sarah, indignantly. "I nearly
+shut the door in her face, sir, I did."
+
+"That wouldn't have been legal," said Mr. Brooke. "Why doesn't she see
+Miss Brooke or Miss Lesley? I am busy."
+
+"I expect she thinks she can get round you more easy," said Sarah, who
+was a very old servant, and occasionally took liberties with her master
+and mistress.
+
+"She won't do that, Sarah," said Caspar, laughing a little in spite of
+himself. "Show her in."
+
+He laid down his pen and his pipe with a rather weary air. Really, he
+was becoming involved in no end of domestic worries, and with few
+compensations for his trouble! Such was his silent thought. Lesley
+would, shortly leave him: Alice had refused to come back to his house.
+Well, it would be but for a short time. He had almost made up his mind
+that when Lesley was gone he would give up a house altogether, establish
+his sister in a flat, throw journalism to the winds, and go abroad. The
+life that he had led so long, the life of London offices and streets, of
+the study and the committee-room, had become distasteful to him. As he
+thrust away from him the manuscript at which he had been busy, his lips
+were, half unconsciously, murmuring a very well-worn quotation--
+
+    "For I will see before I die,
+    The palms and temples of the South."
+
+And from this passing day-dream he was roused by the entrance of a woman
+whom he knew only as his daughter's maid.
+
+He was struck at once by some indefinable change that had passed over
+her since he had seen her last. He had noticed her, as he noticed
+everybody that came within his ken; and he had remarked the mechanical
+precision of her demeanor, the dull sadness of her lifeless eyes. There
+was a light in her face now, a tremulous quiver of her lips, a slight
+color in her thin cheeks. She looked like a creature who could feel and
+think: not an automaton, worked by ingenious machinery.
+
+He noted the change, but did not estimate it at its true worth. He
+thought she was simply excited by the consciousness of her misdemeanor,
+and by the prospect of an interview with him. He put on his most
+magisterial manner as he spoke to her.
+
+"Well, Kingston," he said, "I hope you have come to explain the cause of
+the great inconvenience you have brought upon Miss Brooke and my
+daughter."
+
+"That is exactly what I have come to do, sir," said Kingston, looking
+him full in the face, and speaking in clear, decided tones, such as he
+had never heard from her before. She generally spoke in a muffled sort
+of way, as though she did not care to exert herself--as though she did
+not want her true voice to be heard.
+
+"Sit down," said Mr. Brooke, more kindly. He had the true gentleman's
+instinct; he could not bear to see a woman stand while he was seated,
+although she was only his daughter's maid, and--presumably--a culprit
+awaiting condemnation. "Now tell me all about it."
+
+"Thank you, sir, I'd prefer to stand," said Kingston, quietly. "At any
+rate, until I've told you one or two things about myself. To begin
+with: my name was Kingston before my marriage, but it's not Kingston
+now."
+
+"Do you mean that you have got married since Saturday?" asked Caspar,
+quietly.
+
+The woman uttered a short, gasping sort of laugh. "Since Saturday? Oh,
+no, sir. I've been married for the last six years, or more. I am Francis
+Trent's wife--Francis the brother of Mr. Oliver Trent, who was here last
+Saturday night."
+
+And then, overcome with her confession, or with the look of mute
+astonishment--which he could not repress--on Caspar Brooke's
+countenance, she dropped into the chair that he had offered her, covered
+her face with her hands and sobbed aloud. It took her hearer some
+seconds before he could adjust his mind to this new revelation.
+
+"Do you mean," he said at last, "that brother of Mr. Trent's"--he had
+nearly said "of Mrs. Romaine's"--"who--who----" He paused, feeling
+unable to put into words the question that was in his mind.
+
+"That got into trouble some years ago, you mean," said Mrs. Trent,
+lifting her face from her hands, and trying to control her trembling
+voice. "Yes, I mean him. I know all about the story. He got into
+trouble, and he's gone from bad to worse ever since. I've done my best
+for him, but it doesn't seem as if I could do much more now."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"He's been ill--I think he's had an accident--but I don't rightly know
+what's been the matter with him. Mr. Brooke, sir, I hope you'll believe
+me in what I say. When I came here first I didn't know that you were
+friends with his sister and his brother, or I wouldn't have come near
+the place. And when I found it out I'd got fond of Miss Lesley, and
+thought it would be no harm to stay."
+
+"But what--what on earth--made you take a situation as ladies'-maid at
+all?" cried Caspar, pulling his beard in his perplexity, as he listened
+to her story.
+
+"I wanted to earn money. _He_ could not work--and I could not bear to
+see him want."
+
+"_Could_ not work? Was it not a matter of the will? He could have worked
+if he had wished to work," said Mr. Brooke, rather sternly. "That
+Francis Trent should let his wife go out as----"
+
+"Oh, well, it was work I was used to," said Francis Trent's wife,
+patiently. "I'd been in service when I was a girl, and knew something
+about it. And it was honest work. There's plenty of ways of earning
+money which are worse than being a servant in your house, and to Miss
+Lesley, too."
+
+Lesley's words came back to Caspar's mind. She had had "faith" in
+Kingston's attachment, and her faith seemed now to be justified. Women's
+instincts, as Caspar acknowledged to himself, are in some ways certainly
+juster than those of men.
+
+"Is he not strong? Is there no sort of work that he can do?" he
+demanded, with asperity. "If you had come to me at the beginning and
+told me who you were, I might have found something for him. It is not
+right that his wife should be waiting upon my daughter. Tell me what he
+can do."
+
+"I don't think he can do much now," was Mary Trent's answer. "He's very
+much broken down. I daresay you wouldn't know him if you saw him. I
+don't think he _could_ do a day's work, so there's all the more reason
+that I should work for both."
+
+She spoke truly enough as regarded the present; but, by a suppression of
+the truth which was almost heroic she concealed the fact that for many
+years Francis had been able but unwilling to work. Now, certainly, he
+was incapacitated, and she spoke as if he had been an invalid for years.
+Thus Caspar Brooke understood her, and his next words were uttered in a
+gentler tone.
+
+"I am very sorry that you should have been brought into these straits,
+Mrs. Trent. Will you give me your address, and let me think over the
+matter? Mrs. Romaine or Mr. Oliver Trent----"
+
+"I'd rather not have anything to do with them," said Mrs. Trent,
+quietly, but with an involuntary lifting of her head. "Mrs. Romaine
+knows I am his wife, but she won't speak to me or see me." Caspar moved
+uneasily in his chair. This account of Rosalind's behavior did not
+coincide with his own idea of her softness and gentleness. "And Oliver
+Trent is the man who has brought more misery on me than any other man in
+the world."
+
+"But if I promise--as I will do--not to give your address to Mrs.
+Romaine or Mr. Trent, will you not let me know where you live?" said
+Caspar, with the gentle intonation that had often won him his way in
+spite of greater obstacles than poor Mary Trent's obstinate will.
+
+She gave him her address, after a little hesitation. It was in a
+Whitechapel slum. Then, seeing in his face that he would have liked to
+ask more questions, she went on hurriedly--
+
+"But I have not come here to take up your time. I only wanted to explain
+to you why I left your house on Saturday--which I'm very sorry to have
+been obliged to do. And one other thing--but I'll tell you that
+afterwards."
+
+"Well? Why did you go on Saturday, Mrs. Trent?" said Mr. Brooke, more
+curious than he would have liked to allow. But she did not reply as
+directly to his question as he wanted her to do.
+
+"I was only a poor girl when Francis married me," she said, "but I loved
+him as true as any one could have loved, and I would have worked my
+fingers to the bone for him. And he was good to me, in his way. He got
+to depend upon me and trust to me; and I used to feel--especially when
+he'd had a little more than he ought to have--as if he was more of a
+child to me than a husband. It was to provide for him that I came here.
+And then--one day when I'd been here a little while--I went to his
+lodgings to give him some money I'd been saving up for him--and I found
+him gone--gone--without a word--without a message--disappeared, so to
+speak, and me left behind to be miserable."
+
+Caspar ejaculated "Scoundrel!" behind his hand, but Mrs. Trent heard and
+caught up the word.
+
+"No, you're wrong, sir, he was no scoundrel," she said calmly. "He'd met
+with an accident and been taken to an hospital. He was there for weeks
+and weeks, not able to give an account of himself, or, as far as I can
+make out, even to give his name. He came out last week, and made his
+way, by sort of instinct, to your house, where he knew I was living. I
+came out on the steps and saw him there--my husband that I'd given up
+for lost. I ran up to him--you'd have done the same in my place--and
+went with him without thinking of anybody else."
+
+"I see. But why did you not leave a word of explanation behind."
+
+"I daren't quit hold of him for a moment, sir. He was so dazed and
+stupid, he didn't even know me at the first. That was why I say it was
+instinct, not knowledge, that guided him to the place. If I had left him
+to speak to any one in the house, he might have gone off, and I never
+seen him again. That was why I felt obliged to go sir, and am very sorry
+for the inconvenience I know I must have caused."
+
+Caspar nodded gravely. "I see," he said. "Of course it _was_
+inconvenient, and we were anxious--there's no denying that. But I can
+see the matter from your point of view. Would you like to see Miss
+Lesley and explain it to her?"
+
+"I'd rather leave it in your hands, sir," said Mary Trent. "Because
+there's one thing more I've got to mention before I go. And Miss Lesley
+may not thank me for mentioning it, although I do it to save her--poor
+lamb--and to save you too, sir, from a great trouble and sorrow and
+disgrace that hangs over you all just now."
+
+Caspar flushed. "Disgrace?" he said, almost angrily.
+
+And Mrs. Trent looked at him full in the face and nodded gravely, as she
+answered--
+
+"Yes, sir, disgrace."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+"A FAIRLY GOOD REASON."
+
+
+Caspar Brooke's attitude stiffened. His features and limbs became
+suddenly rigid.
+
+"I must confess, Mrs. Trent," he said, "that I am unable to conceive the
+possibility of _disgrace_ hanging over me or mine."
+
+"That is because you are a man, and therefore blind to what goes on
+around you," said Mary Trent, with sudden bitterness; "and I am a woman,
+and can use my eyes and ears. There, I'd better tell you my tale at
+once, and you can make what you like of it. Miss Lesley----"
+
+"If you have anything to say about Miss Lesley, it had better be said in
+her hearing," returned Caspar, in hot displeasure. He rose and laid his
+hand upon the bell. "I want no tales about her behind her back."
+
+"For mercy's sake, sir, stop," said the woman, eagerly. "It is only to
+spare her that I ask it! It isn't that she is to blame--no, no, I don't
+mean that; but she is in more danger than she knows."
+
+Caspar's hand fell from the bell rope. His face had turned a trifle
+pale, and his brows looked very stern.
+
+"Tell me exactly what you mean. I do not wish to listen to anything that
+Miss Lesley has not intended me to hear. I have perfect faith in her."
+
+"Faith in her! She's one of the sweetest and truest-hearted ladies I
+ever came across," said Mary Trent, indignantly; "but she may be on the
+brink of a precipice without knowing it. Sir, what I mean is this. Mr.
+Oliver Trent is in love with Miss Lesley, and is doing his best to get
+her to run off with him. Yes, I know what you want to say--that she
+would never do such a thing--but one cannot always say what a girl will
+do under pressure; and, believe me or not as you please, Oliver Trent is
+ready to throw over Miss Kenyon at any moment for the sake of your
+daughter, Mr. Brooke."
+
+"Do you know what you are saying?" thundered Caspar, now white to the
+lips. "Do you know what an aspersion you are casting on my daughter's
+character? Are you aware that Miss Kenyon's marriage with Mr. Trent is
+to take place to-morrow morning? Your remarks are perfectly
+unjustifiable--unless you are in ignorance of the facts of the case."
+
+"I know all, and yet I warn you," said Mrs. Trent, perfectly unmoved by
+this burst of anger. "I tell you what I have seen and heard for myself.
+And I know Oliver Trent only too well. It was Oliver Trent who betrayed
+my only sister, and brought her to a miserable death. She was a good
+girl until she met him. He ruined her, and he had no scruples. He will
+have more outward respect to Miss Lesley and Miss Kenyon, but he is no
+more scrupulous about using his power, when he has any, than he was
+then."
+
+"After making this accusation you must not be surprised if I ask what
+grounds you have for it," said Mr. Brooke.
+
+He was calm enough to all appearance now, but even Mrs. Trent, not very
+observant by nature, could tell that he was very much disturbed. For
+answer, she proceeded to describe the scene that had taken place in the
+very room in which they now stood, on the preceding Saturday night.
+
+"I saw him follow Miss Lesley into this room," she explained. "And I'd
+seen enough to make me fearful of what he was going to do or say. You
+know there are folding-doors between this room and the next--screened by
+curtains. The doors had been partly opened, and I slipped into the space
+between them. I was covered by the curtain, and I could not hear all
+that was said, because I had sounds from the other room in my ears as
+well; but I heard a great deal, and I made up my mind to tell you there
+and then. If I had not seen my husband that night you would have heard
+my story before you slept."
+
+Caspar Brooke's next question took her by surprise. He swung round on
+one heel, so that his back was almost turned to her, and flung the words
+over his shoulder with savage bitterness.
+
+"What business had you to listen to my daughter's conversation with her
+friends?"
+
+This was a distinctly ungrateful speech, and Mrs. Trent felt it so. But
+she replied, quietly--
+
+"Miss Lesley's been kinder to me than any one I ever knew. And I had
+suffered a good deal from Oliver Trent's wicked falseness. He is my
+brother-in-law, as the law puts it, and I don't want to have any quarrel
+with him: but he shall do no more harm than I can help."
+
+By the time she had finished her speech Caspar had recovered himself a
+little.
+
+"You are quite right," he said, "and you have done me a service for
+which I thank you. I don't for a moment suppose that my daughter is not
+capable of taking care of herself. But other people are interested
+beside Lesley. Miss Kenyon's brother is one of my closest friends, and I
+should be very treacherous if I allowed her to marry this man, Oliver
+Trent, after all that I have heard about him to-night--if it be true. I
+don't want to throw doubt on your testimony, Mrs. Trent, but I suppose I
+must have some further proof."
+
+"Miss Lesley could tell you----"
+
+"I shall not ask Miss Lesley, unless I am obliged. Did you not yourself
+beg me to spare her? This other story of his heartless conduct to your
+sister is quite enough to damn him in every right-minded woman's eyes. I
+shall speak to him myself--I will have the truth from his own lips if I
+have to wring it out by main force," said Caspar speaking more to
+himself than to Mary Trent, and quite unaware how truculent an
+appearance he presented at that moment to that quiet woman's eyes.
+
+She smiled stealthily to herself. She had a great faith in Caspar
+Brooke's powers for good or evil. To have him upon her side made her
+support with equanimity the thought that she and Francis might suffer if
+Oliver did not marry a rich wife. _He_ would see that they did not want.
+And she should behold the darling wish of her heart gratified at last.
+For had she not ardently desired, ever since the day of Alice's betrayal
+and Alice's death, to see that false betrayer punished? Caspar Brooke
+would punish him, and she should be the instrument through which his
+punishment had come about.
+
+"I should like to thrash the scoundrel within an inch of his life," said
+Mr. Brooke.
+
+"There is very little time before the wedding, if you mean to do
+anything before then," said Mrs. Trent, softly.
+
+Caspar started. "Yes, that is true. I must see him to-night. H'm"--he
+stopped short, oppressed by the difficulties of the situation. Had he
+not better speak to Maurice Kenyon at once? But, as he recollected,
+Maurice had gone out of town, and would not be back until half an hour
+or so before the hour fixed for his sister's wedding. The ceremony was
+to be performed at an unusually early hour--ten o'clock in the
+morning--for divers reasons: one being that Ethel wanted to begin her
+journey to Paris in very good time. She had never been anxious for a
+fashionable wedding, and had decided to have no formal wedding
+breakfast, and there was no reason for delaying the proceedings until a
+later hour. But, as Mr. Brooke reflected, unless he went to Ethel Kenyon
+herself there was little time in which to take action. Indeed, it seemed
+to him for a moment almost better to let the past sink into oblivion,
+and to hope that Oliver would be kind and faithful to the beautiful and
+gifted girl who was, apparently, the choice of his heart.
+
+But it was not to Mrs. Trent's interest that this mood should last.
+"Poor Miss Kenyon!" she said, in quietly regretful tones. "I'm sorry for
+her, poor young lady. No mother or father to look after her, and no
+friend even who dares to tell her the truth!"
+
+The words stung Caspar. He thought of his own daughter Lesley, placed in
+Ethel's position, and he felt that he could not let Ethel go unwarned.
+And yet--could he believe Oliver Trent to be such a scoundrel on the
+mere strength of this woman's story! It might be all a baseless slander,
+fabricated for the sake of obtaining money. And there was so little time
+before poor Ethel's wedding!
+
+While he hesitated, Mary Trent saw her opportunity, and seized it.
+
+"If you want to see Oliver Trent," she said, "he is coming to our
+lodgings this very night. I have been to Mrs. Romaine's house to ask him
+to come to my husband who wants a few words with him. If you'll
+undertake to come there, I'll let you see what sort of a man Mr. Oliver
+Trent is, and then you can judge for yourself whether or no he is a fit
+husband for Miss Kenyon, or a fit lover for Miss Lesley Brooke."
+
+Caspar raised his hand hastily as if to entreat silence. "Tell me where
+you live," he said shortly, "and the hour when he will be there."
+
+"Half-past nine o'clock this evening, sir. The place--oh, you know the
+place well enough: it is in Whitechapel."
+
+She gave him the address. He cast a keen, sharp glance at her face as he
+took it down. "Not a pleasant neighborhood," he said gravely. "May I ask
+why you have taken a room in that locality?"
+
+She shook her head. "I did not take it," she said. "My husband took it
+before I found him, and I was obliged to stay. Francis is ill--I cannot
+get him away."
+
+"Can I do anything to help----" Caspar was beginning but she interrupted
+him with almost surprising vehemence.
+
+"Oh, no, no. I would not take anything from you. I did not come for
+that. I came to see if I could save Miss Lesley and Miss Kenyon from
+misery, not to beg--either for myself or him."
+
+The earnestness of her tone took from Mr. Brooke a certain uneasy
+suspicion which had begun to steal over him: a suspicion that she was
+using him as a tool for her own ends, that her real motives had been
+concealed from him. Even when she had gone--and she went without making
+any attempt to see Lesley or Miss Brooke--he could not rid himself
+altogether of this suggestion; for with her sad voice no longer echoing
+in his ears, with her deep-set eyes looking no longer into his face, he
+found it easier to doubt and to suspect than to place implicit faith in
+the story that she had told him.
+
+Lesley had heard of Kingston's reappearance, and was very much surprised
+to find that she was not called upon to interview her runaway attendant.
+Still more was she surprised when at last she heard the front door shut,
+and learned from Sarah that the woman had gone without a word. So much
+amazed was she, that shortly before dinner she stole into her father's
+study and attempted to cross-examine him, though with small result.
+
+"Father, Sarah says that Kingston has been to see you."
+
+"Yes, she has," said Caspar, briefly. He was writing away as if for dear
+life, with his left hand grasping his beard, and his pipe lying unfilled
+upon the table--two signs of dire haste, as Lesley had by this time
+learned to know. She remained silent, therefore, feeling herself an
+intruder.
+
+"What do you want to know, my dear?" said her father at last, in a
+quiet, business-like tone. He went on writing all the time.
+
+"Is she coming back to us?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why did she go away?"
+
+"I cannot tell you just now. She had a--a--fairly good reason."
+
+"I thought she must have had that," said Lesley, brightening. "And did
+she come here to explain?"
+
+"Partly."
+
+"But why not to us?"
+
+Caspar laid down his pen suddenly, and laughed. "Oh, the insatiable
+curiosity of women! I thought you were wiser than most, Lesley, but you
+have all the characteristics of your sex. I can't satisfy your
+curiosity, to-day, but I will, if I can, in a short time. Will that do?"
+
+Lesley seemed rather hurt. "I don't think I asked questions out of mere
+curiosity," she said. "I always liked Kingston."
+
+"And she likes you, my dear--so far you were perfectly right," said her
+father, rising, and patting her on the arm. "To use your feminine
+parlance, she is quite as 'fond' of you as you can reasonably desire."
+
+"I don't like to hear so much about 'feminine' ways and
+characteristics," said Lesley, smiling, and recovering her spirits. "I
+always fancy somebody has vexed you when you talk in that cynical
+manner."
+
+"That remark is creditable to your penetration," said Mr. Brooke, in his
+accustomed tone of gentle raillery, "and, you cannot say that it is not
+a very harmless way of letting off steam."
+
+"Who has vexed you then?" said Lesley, looking keenly into his face. It
+was a bold question, but her father did not look displeased.
+
+"Suppose I said--you yourself?" he queried, with a certain real gravity
+which she was not slow to discover.
+
+The color rushed into her face. She thought of Maurice Kenyon, and the
+mistake that he had made. She had long been conscious of her father's
+disappointment, but had not expected him to speak of it. She made an
+effort to be equal to the situation.
+
+"If you are vexed with me, it would be kinder to tell me of it than to
+sneer at all womankind in general," she said, with spirit.
+
+"Right you are, my girl. Well--why have you refused Kenyon?"
+
+Her eyes drooped. "I would rather you did not ask me that, father."
+
+"Nonsense, Lesley. A plain answer to a plain question is easy to give.
+Are you in love with any one else?"
+
+"No, indeed," she answered, vehemently; "I am not----"
+
+And then, for some inexplicable reason, she stopped short.
+
+"'Not in love with any one' was what she was going to say," said Caspar
+to himself, as he watched with keen eyes the changes of color and
+expression in her face. "And she does not dare to say it after all. What
+does that mean?" But he did not say this aloud.
+
+"You don't care for Maurice, then?" he asked her.
+
+She drew herself away from him and colored hotly, but made no other
+reply.
+
+"My dear," said Caspar, half jestingly, half warningly, "you must let me
+remind you that silence is usually taken to mean consent."
+
+And even then she did not speak.
+
+"Really, of all incomprehensible creatures, women are the worst. Well,
+well! Tell me this, at any rate, Lesley: you have not given your heart
+to Oliver Trent?"
+
+"Father! how can you ask?"
+
+"Have you anything to complain of with respect to him? Has he always
+behaved to you with courtesy and consideration?"
+
+"I would rather not say," Lesley answered, bravely. "He--spoke as I did
+not like--once--or twice; but it is his wedding-day to-morrow, and I
+mean to forget it all."
+
+"Once or twice! When was the last time, child? On Saturday? Here in this
+room? Ah, I see the truth in your face. Never mind how I know it. I want
+to know nothing more. Now you can go: I am busy, and shall probably have
+to be out late to-night."
+
+With these words he led the girl gently out of the room, kissed her on
+the forehead before he shut the door, and then returned to his work. He
+did not dine with his sister and daughter, but sent a message of excuse.
+Later in the evening, Sarah reported to Miss Brooke that "Master had
+gone out, looking very much upset about something or other; and he'd
+taken his overcoat and his big stick, which showed, she supposed, that
+he was off to the slums he was so fond of." Sarah did not approve of
+slums.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+ETHEL KENYON'S WEDDING-DAY.
+
+
+The morning of Ethel Kenyon's wedding-day was as bright and sunny as any
+wedding day had need to be. The weather was unusually warm, and the
+trees were already showing the thin veil of green which is one of
+spring's first heralds in smoky London town. The window-boxes in the
+Square were gay with hyacinth and crocus-blossom. The flower-girls'
+baskets were brilliant with "market bunches" of wall-flowers and
+daffodils--these being the signs by which the dwellers in the streets
+know that the winter is over, that the time of the singing of birds has
+come, and that the voice of the turtle is heard in the land. The soft
+breezes blew a fragrance of violets and lilac-blossom from the gardens
+and the parks. London scarcely looked like itself, with the veil of
+smoke lifted away, and a fair blue sky, flecked with light silvery
+cloud, showing above the chimney-tops.
+
+Ethel was up at seven o'clock, busying herself with the last touches to
+her packing and the consideration of her toilet; for she was much too
+active-minded to care for the seclusion in which brides sometimes
+preserve themselves upon their wedding-mornings. Some people might have
+thought that it would not be a very festive day, for her brother was the
+only near relative who remained to her, and an ancient uncle and aunt
+who had been, as Ethel herself phrased it, "routed out" for the
+occasion, were not likely to add much to the gaiety of nations by their
+presence. Mrs. Durant, lately Ethel's companion, was to remain in the
+house as Maurice's housekeeper, and she had nominally the control of
+everything; but Ethel was still the veritable manager of the day's
+arrangements. She had insisted on having her own way in all respects,
+and Oliver was not the man to say her nay--just then.
+
+Mrs. Romaine had offered to stay the night with her, and help her to
+dress; but Ethel had smilingly refused the companionship of her future
+sister-in-law. "Thanks very much," she had said, in the light and airy
+way which took the sting out of words that might otherwise have hurt
+their hearer; "but I don't think there's anything in which I want help,
+and Lesley Brooke is going to act as my maid on the eventful morn
+itself."
+
+"Lesley Brooke?" said Mrs. Romaine. She could not altogether keep the
+astonishment out of her voice.
+
+"Yes, why not?" asked Ethel, with just so much defiance in her voice as
+to put Mrs. Romaine considerably on her guard. "Have you any objection?"
+
+"Dear Ethel, how can you ask such a thing? When you know how fond I am
+of Lesley."
+
+"Are you?" asked Miss Kenyon lightly. "Do you know I should never have
+thought it, somehow. _I_ am exceedingly fond of Lesley, and so"--with a
+little more color in her face than usual--"so is Oliver."
+
+Bravely as she spoke, there was something in the accent which told of
+effort and repression. Mrs. Romaine admired her for that little piece of
+acting more than she had ever admired her upon the stage. She was too
+anxious for her brother's prosperity to say a word to disturb Ethel's
+serenity, whether it was real or assumed.
+
+"I am so glad, dear," she said, sweetly. "Lesley is a dear girl, and
+thoroughly good and loving. I am quite sure you could not have a better
+friend, and she will be delighted to do anything she can for you."
+
+"I don't know about that," said Ethel, with a little pout. "I had a
+great deal of trouble to get her to promise to come. She made all sorts
+of excuses--one would have thought that she did not want to see me
+married at all."
+
+Which, Rosalind thought, might be very true. She had so strong a faith
+in the power of her brother's fascinations that she could not believe
+that he had actually "made love," as he had threatened, to Lesley Brooke
+without success.
+
+Ethel spoke truly when she said that she had had great difficulty in
+persuading Lesley to come. After what had passed between herself and
+Oliver, Lesley felt herself a traitress in Ethel's presence. It seemed
+to her at first impossible to talk to Ethel about her pretty wedding
+gifts, her trousseau and her wedding tour, or to listen while she
+swore fidelity to Oliver Trent, when she knew what she did know
+concerning the bridegroom's faith and honor. On the Sunday after the
+Brookes' evening party she had a very severe headache, and sent word to
+Ethel that she could not possibly come to her on the morrow. But Ethel
+immediately came over to see her, and poured forth questions,
+consolations, and laments in such profusion that Lesley, half blind and
+dazed, was fain to get rid of her by promising again that nothing should
+keep her away. And on Monday the headache had gone, and she had no
+excuse. It was not in Lesley's nature to simulate: she could not pretend
+that she had an illness when she was perfectly well. There was
+absolutely no reason that she could give either to the Kenyons or to
+Miss Brooke for not keeping her promise to sleep at Ethel's house on the
+Monday night, and be present at her wedding on Tuesday morning.
+
+So she wound herself up to make the best it. It seemed to her that no
+girl had ever been placed in so painful a position before. We, who have
+more experience of life than Lesley had, know better than that. Lesley's
+position was painful indeed, but it might in many ways have been worse.
+But she, ignorant of real life, more ignorant even than most girls,
+because she knew so few of the pictures of real life that are to be
+found in the best kind of novels, had nothing but her native instincts
+of truth and courage to fall back upon, together with the strong will
+and power of judgment that she inherited from her father. These
+qualities, however, stood her in good stead that day. "It is no use to
+be weak," she said to herself. "What good shall I do to Ethel if I give
+her cause to suspect Oliver Trent's truth to her? The only question
+is--ought I to tell her--to put her on her guard? Oh, I think not--I
+hope not. If he marries her, he cannot help loving her; and it would
+break her heart--now--if I told her that he was not faithful. I must be
+brave and go to her, and be as sympathetic as usual--take pleasure in
+her pleasure, and try to forget the past! but I wish she were going to
+marry a man that one could trust, like my father, or like--Maurice."
+
+She always called him Maurice when she thought about him now.
+
+It took all the strength that she possessed, however, to go through the
+ordeal of those hours with Ethel. She managed to keep away until nearly
+nine o'clock on Monday night, and then--just after her father had gone
+out--she received a peremptory little note from Ethel. "Why don't you
+come? You said you would come almost directly after dinner, and it is
+ever so late now. Oliver has just left me: he has business in the city,
+so I shall not see him again until to-morrow. Do come at once, or I
+shall begin to feel lonely."
+
+So Lesley went.
+
+She had to look at the wedding-cake, the wedding-gown, the simple little
+breakfast table. She sat up with Ethel until two in the morning, helping
+her to pack up her things, and listening to her praises of Oliver. That
+was the worst of it. Ethel _would_ talk of Oliver, _would_ descant on
+his perfections, and, above all, on his love for her. It was very
+natural talk on Ethel's part, but it was indescribably painful and
+humiliating to Lesley. Every moment of silence seemed to her like an
+implicit lie, and yet she could not bring herself to destroy the fine
+edifice of her friend's hopes, although she knew she could bring it down
+to the ground with a touch--a word.
+
+"And I am so glad there is not to be a fuss," Ethel said at last, when
+St. Pancras' clock was striking two: "for I always thought that a fussy
+wedding would be horrid. You see, Lesley, I have dressed up so often in
+white satin and lace, as a bride, or a girl in a ballroom, or some other
+character not my own, that I feel now as if there would be no reality
+for me in a wedding if I did not wear rather every-day clothes. In a
+bride's conventional dress, I should only fancy myself on the stage
+again."
+
+"You don't call the dress you are to wear to-morrow 'every-day clothes,'
+do you?" said Lesley, with a smiling glance towards the lovely gown in
+which Ethel had elected to be married, and then to wear during the first
+part of her wedding-journey.
+
+"I call it just a nice, pretty frock--nothing else," said Ethel,
+complacently, "one that I can pay calls in afterwards. But I could not
+refuse the lovely lace Maurice insisted on giving me: so I shall wear a
+veil instead of a bonnet--it is the only concession I make to
+conventionality."
+
+"I wish you would go to sleep, Ethel: you will look very pale under your
+veil to-morrow."
+
+"Well, I will try; but I don't feel like it. I hope Maurice will be back
+in good time. It was very tiresome of that patient of his to send for
+him in such a hurry."
+
+Then there was a silence, for both girls were growing sleepy; and it was
+with a yawn that Ethel at last inquired--
+
+"Lesley, why won't your father come to my wedding?"
+
+"Won't he?" said Lesley, with a little start.
+
+"Not he: I asked him again on Saturday, and he refused."
+
+"Perhaps," said Lesley, not very steadily, "it gives him pain to be
+present at a wedding: he speaks sometimes--as if he did not like to hear
+of them."
+
+"Oh, you poor, dear thing, I had forgotten all that trouble," said
+Ethel, giving her friend a hug which nearly strangled her; "but won't it
+come right in the end? Captain Duchesne says that she is so sweet, so
+charming--and your father is just delightful."
+
+"I think I can't talk about it," said Lesley, very quietly.
+
+"Then we won't. Did you know I had asked Captain Duchesne to the
+breakfast?"
+
+"Oh, Ethel, how heartless of you!" Lesley said, laughing in spite of
+herself. For Captain Duchesne's devotion was patent to all the world.
+
+At last they slept in each other's arms; but at seven o'clock Ethel was
+skimming about the room like a busy fairy, and it was Lesley, sleeping
+heavily after two or three wakeful nights, who had to be aroused by the
+little bride-elect, and Ethel laughed merrily to see her friend's start
+of surprise.
+
+"Ethel! Ethel! People should be waiting on you and here you are bringing
+me tea and bread and butter. This is too bad!"
+
+"It's a new departure," Ethel laughed. "There is no law against a
+bride's making herself useful as well as ornamental, is there? You will
+have to hurry up, all the same, Lesley: we are dreadfully late already.
+And it is the loveliest morning you ever saw--and the bouquets have just
+come from the florist--and everything is charming! I feel as if I could
+dance."
+
+But Ethel's mirth did not communicate itself to Lesley. There was
+nothing forced or unnatural in the young bride's happiness, but Lesley
+felt as if some cloud, some shadow, were in the air. Perhaps she had had
+bad dreams. She would not damp Ethel's spirits by a word of warning, but
+the old aunt from the country who came to inspect her niece as soon as
+she was dressed for church was not so considerate.
+
+"You are letting your spirits run away with you, my dear," she said,
+reprovingly. "Even on a wedding-day there should not be too much
+laughter. Tears before night, when there has been laughter before
+breakfast, remember the proverb says."
+
+"Oh, what a cheerful old lady!" said Ethel, brimming over with saucy
+laughter once more, as soon as the old dame's back was turned. "I don't
+care: I don't mean to be anything but a smiling bride--Oliver says that
+he hates tears at a wedding, and I don't mean him to see any."
+
+Maurice arrived just in time to dress and to escort his sister to the
+church. It was not he, but Mrs. Durant, the companion and house-keeper,
+who first received a word of warning that things were not altogether as
+they should be. Others beside Lesley were scenting calamity in the air.
+Mrs. Romaine was to form one of the wedding-party. She made her
+appearance at a quarter to ten, beautifully dressed, but white to the
+very lips, and with a haggard look about her eyes. As soon as she
+entered the house she drew Mrs. Durant aside.
+
+"Has Oliver been sleeping here?" she asked.
+
+"_Here!_" Mrs. Durant's indignant accent was sufficient answer.
+
+"He has not been home all night," Mrs. Romaine whispered.
+
+"Not at home!"
+
+"I suppose he is sleeping at his club and will come on from there," Mrs.
+Romaine answered, trying to reassure herself now that she had given the
+alarm to another. "Everything has been ordered--my bouquet came from
+him, at least from the florist's this morning--and I suppose we shall
+find him at the church. But I have been dreadfully anxious about
+him--quite foolishly, I daresay. Don't say anything to any body else."
+
+Mrs. Durant did not mean to say anything, but--without exactly stating
+facts--she had managed in about three minutes to convey her own and Mrs.
+Romaine's feeling of discomfort, to the whole party. The only exceptions
+were Maurice and Ethel, who, of course, heard nothing. A gloom fell upon
+the guests even while the carriages were standing at the door.
+
+Lesley and Mrs. Romaine happened to be placed in the same carriage,
+facing one another. They looked at one another in silence, but with a
+mutual understanding that they had never felt before. Each read her own
+fear in the other's face. But the fear came from different sources.
+Lesley was afraid that Oliver had felt himself unable to fulfil his
+engagement to Ethel, and had therefore severed his connection with her
+by flight: Rosalind feared that he had been taken ill or met with some
+untoward accident. Only in Rosalind's mind there was always another fear
+in the background where her brothers were concerned--that one or other
+of them would be bringing himself and her to disaster and disgrace. She
+had no faith in them, and not much faith in herself.
+
+There was no bridegroom in waiting at St. Pancras' Church. Mrs. Romaine
+held a hurried consultation with a friend, and a messenger was
+despatched to Oliver's club, where he sometimes slept, and also to the
+rooms which he called his "chambers" in the city. A little silence
+overspread the group of guests from the Kenyons' house. Other visitors,
+of whom there were not many, looked blithe enough; but gloom was plainly
+visible on the faces of the bride's friends. And a little whisper soon
+ran from group to group--"The bridegroom has not come."
+
+If only he would appear before the bride! There was yet time. The
+carriage containing Ethel and her brother had not started from the door.
+But the distance was short, and speedily traversed: still Oliver did not
+come. And there at last was the wedding-chariot with its white silk
+linings and the white favors on the horses--and there was the pretty,
+smiling bride herself upon her brother's arm. How sweet she looked as
+she mounted the broad grey steps, with cheeks a little rosy, eyes
+downcast, and her smiles half concealed by the costly lace in which she
+had veiled herself! There was never a prettier bride than Ethel Kenyon,
+although she had not attired herself in all the bridal finery that many
+women covet.
+
+Something in the expression of the faces that met her at the church door
+startled her a little when she first looked up: she changed color, and
+glanced wonderingly from one to another. Some one spoke in Maurice
+Kenyon's ear.
+
+"What is it?" she asked, quickly. "Is anything wrong?"
+
+"Oliver is late, dear, that is all. Just wait a minute--here by the
+door: he will be here presently."
+
+"Late!" re-echoed the girl, turning suddenly pale. "Oh Maurice, what do
+you mean? _We_ were late too--it is a quarter past ten."
+
+"Hush, my darling, he will be here directly, and more distressed than
+any of us, no doubt."
+
+"I should think so," said Ethel, trying to laugh. "Poor Oliver! what a
+state he will be in!"
+
+But the hand with which she had suddenly clutched Lesley's arm trembled,
+and her lips were very white.
+
+For a minute, for five, for ten minutes, the bridal party waited, but
+Oliver did not come. A messenger came back to say that he had not been
+at the club since the previous day. And then Maurice's hot temper blazed
+up. He left his sister and spoke to his old friend, Miss Brooke.
+
+"Do not let Ethel make herself a laughing-stock," he said. "The man
+insults us by being late, and shall account to me for it, but she must
+be got out of this somehow. Can't you take her away?"
+
+"Let her go to the vestry," said Miss Brooke. "You had better not take
+her away just yet--look at the crowd outside. I will get Lesley to
+persuade her."
+
+Ethel made no opposition. She went quietly into the vestry and sat down
+on a seat that was offered to her, waiting in silence, asking no
+questions. Then there was a short period of whispered consultation, of
+terrible suspense. She herself did not know whether the time was short
+or long. She could not bear even Lesley's arm about her, or the support
+of Maurice's brotherly hand. Harry Duchesne's dark face in the
+background seemed in some inexplicable sort of way the worst of all. For
+she knew that he loved and admired her, and she was shamed by a recreant
+lover before his very eyes.
+
+After a time Maurice was called out. A policeman in plain clothes wanted
+to speak to him. They had five minutes' conversation together, and then
+the young doctor returned to the room where Ethel was still sitting. His
+face was as white as that of his sister now, and she was the first to
+remark the change.
+
+"You have heard something," she said, springing to her feet and fixing
+her great dark eyes upon his face.
+
+"Yes, Ethel, my poor darling, yes. Come home with me."
+
+"Not till you tell me the truth."
+
+"Not here, my darling--wait till we get home. Come at once."
+
+"I must know, Maurice: I cannot bear to wait. Is he--is he--_dead_?"
+
+He would gladly have refused to answer, but his pallid lips spoke for
+him. And from another group a shriek rang out from the lips of Rosalind
+Romaine--a shriek that told her all.
+
+"Dead? Murdered? Oh, no, no--it cannot be?" cried Oliver's sister. "Not
+dead! not dead!"
+
+She fell back in violent hysterics, but Ethel neither wept nor cried
+aloud. She stood erect, her head a little higher than usual, a smile
+that might almost be called proud curving her soft lips.
+
+"You see," she said, unsteadily, but very clearly; "you see--it was not
+his fault. He _would_ have come--if he had been--alive."
+
+And, then, still smiling, she gave her hand to her brother and let him
+lead her away. But before she had crossed the threshold of the room, he
+was obliged to take her in his arms to save her from falling, and it was
+in his arms that she was carried back to the carriage which she had left
+so smilingly.
+
+But for those who were left behind there was more bad news to hear. In
+London no secret can be kept even from the ears of those whose heart it
+breaks to hear it. Before noon the newsboys were crying in the streets--
+
+"Brutal murder of a gentleman on his wedding-day. Arrest of a well-known
+journalist."
+
+And everywhere the name bandied from pillar to post was that of Mr.
+Caspar Brooke, who had been arrested on suspicion of having caused the
+death of Oliver Trent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+IN ETHEL'S ROOM.
+
+
+To those who knew Caspar Brooke best, it seemed ridiculously impossible
+that he should have been accused of any act of violence. But the
+accusation was made with so much circumstantial detail that no course
+seemed open to the police but to arrest him with as little delay as
+possible. And before the ill-fated wedding party had been dispersed,
+before Miss Brooke could hurry home, and long before Lesley suspected
+the blow that was in store for her, he had been taken by two policemen
+in plain clothes to the Bow Street Police station.
+
+The full extent of the misfortune did not burst upon Doctor Sophy all at
+once. When she left the church the accusation was not publicly known,
+and as she walked home she reflected on the account that she must give
+to her brother of the extraordinary events of the day. She wished he had
+been present, and wondered why he had shirked the invitation which had
+been sent him by Ethel. He was not usually out of bed at this hour, but
+she resolved to go to his room and tell him the story at once, for,
+though he had never cared much for poor Oliver Trent, he had always been
+fond of Ethel. Lesley had gone to the Kenyons' house at Maurice's
+earnest request, and might not be back for some time.
+
+She opened the door with her latch-key, and, to her great surprise, was
+confronted at once by Sarah, her face swollen, and her eyes red with
+weeping.
+
+"Sarah! why--have you heard the dreadful news already?" said Miss
+Brooke.
+
+"Have _you_ heard it, is more the question, I'm thinking?" said Sarah,
+grimly.
+
+"Of course you mean--about poor Mr. Trent?"
+
+"More than that, ma'am. However, here's a letter from master to you, and
+that'll tell you more than I can do." And Sarah, handed a note to her
+mistress, and retired to the back of the hall, sniffing audibly.
+
+Miss Brooke walked into the dining-room and opened the note. Caspar had
+gone out, she gathered from the fact of his having written to her at
+all: perhaps he had heard of Oliver Trent's death, and had gone to offer
+his services to Maurice, or to assist in discovering the murderer. So
+she thought to herself; and then she began to read the note.
+
+In another minute Sarah heard a strange, muffled cry; and running into
+the room found that Miss Brooke had sunk down on the sofa, and was
+trembling in every limb. Her brother's letter was crushed within her
+hand.
+
+"What does it mean, Sarah?--what does it mean?" she stammered, with a
+face so white and eyes so terror-stricken that Sarah took her to task at
+once.
+
+"It means a great, big lie, ma'am, that's all it means. Why, you ain't
+going to be put about by that, I hope, when master himself says--as he
+said to me--that he'd be home afore night! I'm ashamed of you, looking
+as pale as you do, and you a doctor and all!"
+
+"Did he say to you he would be home before night?" said Miss Brooke
+collecting herself a little, but still looking very white.
+
+Sarah took a step nearer to her, and spoke in a low voice. "Nobody else
+in the house knows where he's gone," she said, "but I know, for master
+called me himself, and told me what they wanted him for. It was two men
+in plain clothes, and there was a cab outside and a p'liceman on the
+box. 'Of course it's all a mistake, Sarah,' he said to me, as
+light-hearted as you please, 'and don't let Miss Lesley or your Missus
+be anxious. I dare say I shall be back in an hour or two.' And then he
+asked the men if he might write a note, and they let him, though they
+read it as he wrote, the nasty wretches!"--and Sarah snorted
+contemptuously, while she wiped away a tear from her left eye with her
+apron.
+
+"But it is so extraordinary--so ridiculous!" said Miss Brooke. And then,
+with a little more color in her face, she read her brother's letter over
+again.
+
+It consisted only of these words--
+
+     "DEAR SOPHY,--Don't worry yourself. The police have got it into
+     their wise heads that I had something to do with poor Trent's
+     tragic end. I dare say I shall be back soon, but I must go and hear
+     what they've got to say. Take care of Lesley--C. B."
+
+"Take care of Lesley! As if _she_ wanted taking care of!" said Miss
+Brooke, with sudden energy. "Sarah, go over at once to Mr. Kenyon's, and
+tell Miss Lesley to come home. She can't stay _there_ while this is
+going on. It isn't decent."
+
+Sarah was rather glad to execute this order. She was of opinion that
+Miss Lesley needed to be taken down a bit, and that this was the way in
+which the Lord saw fit to do it. And it never occurred to Miss Brooke to
+caution the woman against startling Lesley or hurting her feelings. She
+had been startled certainly, and almost overcome; but she belonged to
+that class of middle-aged women who think that their emotions must
+necessarily be stronger than those of young people, because they are
+older and understand what sorrow means, whereas the reverse is usually
+the case. Besides, Miss Brooke quite underrated the warmth of Lesley's
+attachment to her father, and was not prepared to see her experience
+anything but shallow and commonplace regret.
+
+So Sarah went to the house opposite and knocked at the door. She had to
+knock twice before the door was opened, for the whole household was out
+of joint. The maids were desperately clearing away all signs of
+festivity--flowers, wedding-cake, the charming little breakfast that had
+been prepared for the guests--everything that told of wedding
+preparation, and had now such a ghastly look. Under Mrs. Durant's
+direction the servants were endeavoring to restore to the rooms their
+wonted appearance. Ethel's trunks had been piled into an empty room: she
+would not want her trousseau now, poor child. The uncle from the country
+was pacing up and down the deserted drawing-room; the aunt was fussing
+about Ethel's dressing-room, nervously folding up articles of clothing
+and putting away trifles. All the blinds were down, as if for a funeral.
+And in Ethel's own room, the girl lay on her bed, white and rigid as a
+corpse, with half-shut eyes that did not seem to see, and fingers so
+tightly closed that the nails almost ran into her soft palms. Since she
+had been laid there she had not spoken; no one could quite tell whether
+she were conscious or not; but Lesley, who sat beside her, and sometimes
+laid her cheek softly against the desolate young bride's cold face, or
+kissed the ashen-grey lips, divined by instinct that she was not
+unconscious although stunned by the force of the blow--that she was
+thinking, thinking, thinking all the time--thinking of her lost lover,
+of her lost happiness, and beating herself passionately against the wall
+of darkness which had arisen between her and the future that she had
+planned for herself and Oliver.
+
+Sarah asked at once for Miss Lesley Brooke, and Mrs. Durant came out of
+the dining-room to speak to the messenger.
+
+"Is Miss Brooke wanted very particularly?" she asked. "Miss Kenyon will
+not have anyone else with her."
+
+"I think I must speak to Miss Lesley, ma'am; my mistress said I must,"
+said Sarah, primly. Then, forgetting her loyalty to her employers in her
+desire to be communicative, she went on--"Maybe you haven't heard what's
+happened, ma'am. Mr. Brooke's been taken up on the charge of murder----"
+
+This was not strictly true, but it was the way in which Sarah read the
+facts.
+
+"And Miss Brooke says Miss Lesley _must_ come home, as it is not proper
+for her to stay."
+
+The horror depicted on Mrs. Durant's face was quite as great as Sarah
+had anticipated, and even more so. For Mrs. Durant, a conventional and
+narrow-minded woman, did not know enough of Caspar Brooke's character to
+feel any indignation at the accusation: indeed, she was the sort of
+woman who was likely to put a vulgar construction upon his motives, and
+regard it as probable that he had quarreled with Oliver for not wishing
+to marry Lesley instead of Ethel Kenyon. And she at once grasped the
+situation. Under the circumstances--if Caspar Brooke had killed Ethel's
+lover--it was most improper that Caspar Brooke's daughter should be
+staying in the house.
+
+"Of course!" she said, with a shocked face. "Miss Lesley Brooke must go
+at once--naturally. How very terrible! I am much obliged to Miss Brooke
+for sending--as Ethel's chaperon I couldn't undertake----I'll go
+upstairs and send her down to you."
+
+Sarah was left in the hall, while Mrs. Durant went upstairs. But after a
+time the lady came down with a troubled air.
+
+"I can't get her to come," she said. "You must go up yourself, Sarah,
+and speak to her. She will come into the dressing-room, she says, for a
+minute, but she cannot leave Miss Kenyon for a longer time. You must
+tell her quietly what has happened, and then she will no doubt see the
+advisability of going away."
+
+Sarah went upstairs, therefore, and entered the dressing-room, where the
+old aunt was still busy; and in a minute or two Lesley appeared.
+
+"What is it?" she said, briefly.
+
+"Your aunt sent me to say you must come home at once, miss."
+
+"I cannot come just yet: Miss Kenyon wishes me to stay with her," said
+Lesley, with dignity.
+
+"You'd better come, Miss Lesley. I don't want to tell you the dreadful
+news just now: you'd better hear it at home. Then you'll be glad you
+came. It's your pa, miss."
+
+"My father! Oh, Sarah, what do you mean? Is he ill? is he dead? What is
+it?"
+
+"He's been arrested, miss, for killing Mr. Trent."
+
+Sarah spoke in a whisper, but it seemed to her hearers as if she had
+shouted the words at the top of her voice. Mrs. Durant pressed her hands
+together and uttered a little scream. Lesley turned deadly white, and
+laid one hand on the back of a chair, as if for support. And the old
+aunt immediately ran into the inner room, and burst into tears over
+Ethel's almost inanimate form, bewailing her, and calling her a poor,
+injured, heartbroken girl, until Ethel opened her great dark eyes, and
+fixed them upon the aged, distorted face with a questioning look.
+
+"Lesley!" she breathed. "I want Lesley."
+
+"Oh, my dearest child, you must do without Lesley now. It is not fit
+that she should come to you."
+
+But Ethel's lips again formed the same sounds: "I want Lesley." And the
+old lady continued--
+
+"She must not come, dear: you cannot see Lesley Brooke again. It is her
+father who has done this terrible thing--blighted your life--destroyed
+your happiness----"
+
+And so she would have babbled on had not Ethel all at once raised
+herself in her bed, with white face and flaming eyes, and called in
+tones as clear and resonant as ever--
+
+"Lesley! Lesley! come back!"
+
+And then the old aunt was silent: silent and amazed.
+
+From the next room Lesley came, softly and swiftly as was her wont. Her
+face was pale, but her eyes and lips were steady. She went straight to
+Ethel; was at once encircled by the girl's arms, and drew Ethel's head
+down upon her shoulder.
+
+"Shall I go?" she whispered in Ethel's ear.
+
+"No, no; don't leave me."
+
+"You know what they say? Can you trust my father?"
+
+"I trust you both. Stay with me."
+
+Lesley raised her head and looked back at the little group of meddlesome
+women who had tried to tear her from her friend's side. At the look they
+disappeared. They dared not say another word after meeting the rebuke
+conveyed in Lesley's pale, set face and resolute eyes. They closed the
+door behind them, and left the two girls alone.
+
+For a long time neither spoke. Ethel seemed to have relapsed once more
+into a semi-unconscious state. Lesley sat motionless, pillowing her
+friend's head against her shoulder, and stroking one of her hands with
+her own. Now and then hot tears welled over and dropped upon Ethel's
+dark, curly head, but Lesley did not try to wipe them away. She scarcely
+knew that she was crying: she was only aware of a great weight of
+trouble that had come upon her--trouble that seemed to include in its
+effects all that she held most dear. Trouble not only to her friend, but
+to her father, her mother, her lover. Not a shadow of doubt as to her
+father's innocence rested upon her mind: there was no perplexity, no
+shame--only sorrow and anxiety. Not many women could have borne the
+strain of utter silence with such a burden laid on them to bear. But to
+Lesley, even in that hour, Ethel's trouble was greater than her own.
+
+An hour must have passed away before Ethel murmured,
+
+"Lesley--are you there?"
+
+"Yes, I am with you, darling: I am here."
+
+"You are crying."
+
+"I am crying for you, Ethel, dear."
+
+For the first time, Ethel's hand answered to her pressure. After a
+little silence, she spoke again--
+
+"I wish I could die--too."
+
+"My poor little Ethel."
+
+"I suppose there is no chance of that. People--like me--don't die. They
+only suffer--and suffer--and break their hearts--and live till they are
+eighty. Oh, if you were kind to me, you would give me something to make
+me die."
+
+She shuddered, and crept a little closer to Lesley's bosom. "Oh, why
+must he go--without me--without me?" she cried. And then she burst out
+suddenly into bitter weeping, and with Lesley's arms about her she wept
+away some of the "perilous stuff" of misery which had seemed likely to
+destroy the balance of her brain. When those tears came her reason was
+saved, and Lesley was wise enough to be reassured and not alarmed by
+them.
+
+She was very much exhausted when the burst of tears was over, and Lesley
+was allowed to feed her with strong soup, which she took submissively
+from her friend. "You won't go?" she whispered, when the meal was done.
+And Lesley whispered back: "I will not go, darling, so long as you want
+me here."
+
+"I want you--always." Then with a gleam of returning strength and
+memory: "What was it they said about your father?"
+
+Lesley shivered.
+
+"Never mind, Ethel, dear," she said.
+
+"But--I know--I remember. That he was--a--oh, I can't say the word. But
+that is not true."
+
+"I _know_ it is not true. It is a foolish, cruel mistake."
+
+"It could not be true," Ethel murmured. "He was always kind and good.
+Tell him--from me--that I don't believe it, Lesley. And don't let them
+take you away from me."
+
+Holding Lesley's hand in hers, at last she fell asleep; and sleep was
+the very thing that was likely to restore her. The doctor came and went,
+forbidding the household to disturb the quiet of the sick-room; and
+after a time, Lesley, exhausted by the excitements and anxieties of the
+day, laid her head on the pillow and also slept. It was late in the
+afternoon when Maurice Kenyon, stealing softly into the room, found the
+two heads close together on one pillow, the arms interlaced, the slumber
+of one as deep as of the other. His eyes filled with tears as he looked
+at the sleeping figures. "Poor girls!" he muttered to himself. "Well for
+them if they can sleep; but I fear that theirs will be a sad awakening."
+
+Suddenly Lesley opened her eyes. The color rushed to her pale cheeks as
+she saw who was regarding her, but she had sufficient self-control not
+to start or move too hastily. Ethel altered her position at that moment,
+and left Lesley free to rise, then sank back to slumber. And, obeying a
+silent motion of Maurice Kenyon's hand, Lesley followed him noiselessly
+into the dressing-room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+THE EVIDENCE.
+
+
+"She ought not to be left alone: I promised not to leave her," said
+Lesley in a low tone.
+
+"I have brought a nurse with me. She can go in and sit by the bed until
+you are ready to return," said Maurice, quietly. "Call us, nurse, if my
+sister wakes and asks for us; but be very careful not to disturb her
+unnecessarily."
+
+The nurse, whose face Lesley scanned with involuntary interest, was
+gentle and sensible-looking, with kindly eyes and a strong, well-shaped
+mouth. She looked like a woman to be trusted; and Lesley was therefore
+not sorry to see her pass into Ethel's room. She had felt very conscious
+of her own ignorance of nursing during the past few hours, and had not
+much confidence in the sense or judgment of any woman in the house.
+Maurice made her sit down, and then stood looking at her for a moment.
+
+"You are terribly pale," he said at last. "Will you come downstairs and
+let me give you something to eat and drink?"
+
+"Oh, no, thank you. I want nothing. And Ethel may need me: I cannot bear
+to be far away."
+
+"Have you had nothing all day? It is after five o'clock."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Then you must eat before I talk to you. I have several things to say,
+and you must have strength to listen. Sit still: I will be back
+directly."
+
+He went away, and Lesley leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
+She was very weary, but even in her trouble there was some sweetness for
+her in the knowledge that Maurice was attending to her needs. When he
+returned with wine and food, she roused herself to accept both, knowing
+very well that he would not tell her what she wanted to hear until she
+had done his bidding. The door between bed and dressing room was closed;
+the house was very quiet, and the light was dim. Maurice spoke at last,
+in grave, low tones.
+
+"I have just come from your father," he said. Lesley started and clasped
+her hands. "Is he at home again?"
+
+"No. They would not let him go. But take heart--we, who know him, will
+stand by him until he is a free man."
+
+"Then you believe--as I believe?" she asked, tremulously.
+
+"Would it be possible for me to do otherwise? Hasn't he been my friend
+for many a year? You have surely no need to ask!"
+
+Lesley, looking up at him, stretched out her hand in silence. He took it
+in both his own and kissed it tenderly. Seeing her grief, and seeing
+also her sympathy for another woman who grieved, had, for the time
+being, cured him of his anger against her. He had cherished some bitter
+feeling towards her for a while; but he forgot it now.
+
+"I am as sure," he said, fervently, "that Caspar Brooke could not commit
+murder as I am sure that _you_ could not. It is an absurdity to think of
+it."
+
+"Then what has made people think of it?" asked Lesley. "How has it come
+about?"
+
+Maurice paused. "There is a mystery somewhere," he said slowly, "which
+is a little difficult to fathom. Can you bear to hear the details? Your
+father told me to tell them to you--as gently as I could."
+
+"Tell me all--all, please."
+
+"Poor Oliver Trent was found dead early this morning on the stair of a
+lodging-house in Whitechapel. I have been to the place myself: it is now
+under the care of the police. He had been beaten about the head ... it
+was very horrible ... with a thick oaken staff or walking stick ... the
+stick lay beside him, covered with blood, where he was found. The stick
+was--was your father's, unfortunately: it must have been stolen by some
+ruffian for the purpose--and--and----"
+
+He stopped short, as if the story were too hard to tell. Lesley sat
+watching his face, which was as pale as her own.
+
+"Go on," she said, quickly. "What else?"
+
+"A pocket-book--with gilt letters on the back: C. B. distinctly marked.
+That was also found on the stairs, as if it had dropped from the pocket
+of some man as he went down. And it is proved--indeed, your father tells
+me so--that he went to that house last night and did not leave it until
+nearly midnight."
+
+"But why was he there?"
+
+"He went to see the man and woman who lived in the top room of that
+lodging-house. I think you know the woman. She was once your maid----"
+
+"Mary Kingston? She came to our house that very afternoon. She must have
+asked my father to go to see her--he spoke kindly of her to me. But why
+did Mr. Trent go there too?"
+
+"There have been secrets kept from us which have now come to light,"
+said Maurice, sadly. "Oliver went there to see his brother Francis, who
+was ill in bed; and his brother's wife was no other than the woman who
+acted as your maid, Mary Kingston--or rather Mary Trent. Kingston left
+your house on Saturday, it seems, because she had caught sight of her
+husband in the street: he had been very ill, and she felt herself
+obliged to go home with him and put him to bed. He has been in bed,
+unable to rise, she tells me, ever since."
+
+"But she--_she_," said Lesley eagerly, "can explain the whole matter.
+She must have heard the fight--the scuffle--whatever it was--upon the
+stairs. She ought to be able to tell when father left the house--and
+when Mr. Trent left the house. They did not go together, did they?"
+there was a touch of scorn in her voice.
+
+"No, they did not go together. But what Mrs. Trent alleges is, that your
+father waited for Oliver on the stairs, and attacked him there. It is a
+malicious, wicked lie--I am sure of that. But it is what she says she is
+willing to swear."
+
+"Mrs. Trent!" Lesley repeated vaguely. "Mrs. Trent! Do you
+mean--Kingston? _Kingston_ swears that my father lay in wait for Oliver
+Trent upon the stairs? It is impossible!"
+
+"Yes, Kingston," Maurice answered, in a low, level voice. "It is
+Kingston who has accused your father of the crime."
+
+Lesley covered her face with her hands, and for a moment or two did not
+speak. "It is too terrible," she said at last, not very steadily. "I do
+not know how to believe it. I always trusted her. Is there nobody worth
+trusting in the world? Is there no truth and faith anywhere at all?"
+
+The tears were raining down her cheeks as she spoke. Maurice looked at
+her with wistful tenderness.
+
+"Can you ask that question when you have _such_ a father?" he asked.
+"And I--have I done anything to deserve your want of trust?"
+
+She could only sob out incoherent words by way of answer. "Not you--not
+my father--I was thinking--of others--others I have trusted and been
+deceived in."
+
+"Oliver Trent," he said--not as a question so much as by way of sad
+assertion. She drew her handkerchief away from her eyes immediately, and
+gazed at him through her tears, with flushed cheeks and panting breath.
+What did he mean? He did not leave her long in doubt.
+
+"Kingston--Mrs. Trent--has told a strange story," he said. "She avers
+that Oliver was false--false to my poor little sister who believed in
+him so entirely--false to himself and false to us. They say you knew of
+this. She says that he--he made love to you, that he asked you to marry
+him--to run away with him indeed--so late as last Saturday. She had
+hidden herself between the folding-doors in order to hear what went on.
+Lesley, is this true?"
+
+She was white enough now. She cast one appealing glance at his face, and
+then said, almost inaudibly--
+
+"Don't tell Ethel."
+
+"Then it was true?"
+
+"Quite true!"
+
+"Oh, my God!" cried Maurice, involuntarily. He did not use the words
+with any profane intention: they escaped his lips as a sort of cry of
+agony, of protest, almost of entreaty. He had hoped until this moment
+that Lesley would be able to deny this charge. When she acknowledged its
+truth, the conviction of Oliver's falsity, the suspicion of Lesley's
+faith, smote him like a blow. He drew back from her a little and looked
+at her steadfastly. Lesley raised her candid, innocent eyes to his, and,
+after a moment's silence, made her defence.
+
+"I could not help it. If Kingston speaks the truth, she will tell you
+that. He locked the door so that I could not get out, and then ... I
+said I would never speak to him again. I was never so angry--so
+ashamed--in all my life. You must not think that I--I too--was false to
+Ethel. She is my friend, and I never dreamed of taking him away from
+her. I never cared--in that way--for him, and even if I had----"
+
+"You never cared? Did you not love him, too?"
+
+"No! no, indeed! I hated him. If Kingston says so she is lying about me,
+as she is lying about my father. You say that you do not believe her
+when she speaks against him: surely you won't believe her when she
+speaks against me? Can't you trust my father's daughter, as well as my
+father?"
+
+The voice was almost passionate in its pleading: the lovely eyes were
+eloquent of reproach. Maurice felt his whole being quiver: he was shaken
+to the very depths. Why should she plead to him in this way if she had
+no love at all for _him_? Why should she be so anxious that he should
+trust her? And did he not? He could not look into her face and think for
+one moment that she lied.
+
+"I do trust--your father's daughter," he said, hoarsely. "I trust her
+above all women living!--God knows that I do. You did not love Oliver?
+It was not to _him_ that you made some promise you spoke of--some
+promise against engaging yourself?"
+
+"It was to my mother," said Lesley, simply. "I am sorry that I did not
+make you understand."
+
+He took a quick step nearer. "May I say more?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"But--some day?"
+
+"Not now," she answered, softly. But a very faint and tremulous smile
+quivered for one moment on her lips. "It is very wrong to talk of
+ourselves just now. Go on with your story--tell me about my dear,
+dearest father."
+
+"I will," said Maurice. "I will do exactly what you wish--_just
+now_"--with a great accent on the last two words. "We will talk about
+that promise at a more fitting time, Lesley--I may call you Lesley, may
+I not? There is no harm in that, for you are like a sister to my poor
+Ethel, and you may as well let me be a brother to you, dear, _just now_.
+Well, Lesley"--how he lingered over the name!--"Mrs. Trent says that she
+returned to your house on Monday afternoon in order to warn your father
+of what was going, on----"
+
+"Oh! Did she really?"
+
+"Yes, for your father tells me she did so. She also told him various
+stories of Oliver's baseness, which he felt it his duty to inquire into,
+and in order that, he might have an interview with Oliver, she arranged
+with him to come that night to the house in Whitechapel, where she and
+her husband were living. There she was to confront him with Oliver, and
+she said that in _her_ presence he would not dare to deny that her tales
+were true."
+
+"But why did father agree to that? Why did he want to find out?"
+
+"For Ethel's sake. He wanted to protect her. If Mrs. Trent could prove
+her stories, he meant to expose Oliver to Ethel and myself, if it were
+but an hour before her marriage----"
+
+"And why didn't he?" demanded Lesley, breathlessly.
+
+"Because--here comes in your father's evidence--your father assures me
+that when he reached the house that night and confronted Oliver, the
+woman took back every word that she had uttered, and declared that it
+was all a lie. And Oliver, of course, persisted that he had done nothing
+amiss. Your father says he was so much tempted to strike Oliver to the
+ground--for he did not believe in Kingston's retractation--that he flung
+his stick out upon the landing lest he should use it too effectually. He
+forgot to pick it up, and came away without it. The pocket-book must of
+course have fallen out of his pocket as he left the house."
+
+"Then he could not convict Mr. Trent of anything?"
+
+"No, and so he did not feel justified in meddling. But he wishes that he
+had gone to Ethel at once--or that I had been at home and that he had
+come to me. He is reproaching himself terribly for his silence now."
+
+"As I have been reproaching myself for mine," said Lesley.
+
+"You have no need. Ethel would never have believed the stories--and as
+Mrs. Trent denied them again, I think that Oliver would have carried the
+day. But let her deny them as she will, I believe that they were true,
+and that Oliver was a villain. Our poor Ethel may live to bless the day
+when she was delivered from him."
+
+"I am afraid she will never believe us, or forgive us if she does,"
+sighed Lesley. "But what else happened?"
+
+"Your father left the building, after a long and angry conversation,
+about midnight. Oliver remained behind. Of course your father knows
+nothing more. But Mrs. Trent says that Oliver went away ten minutes
+later, and that she then heard loud words and the sound of a struggle
+upon the stairs. Fights are too common in that neighborhood to excite
+much remark. She, however, feeling anxious, stole down the upper flight
+of stairs, and distinctly saw Mr. Brooke and her brother-in-law
+struggling together. She maintains that Mr. Brooke's stick was in his
+hand."
+
+"How wickedly false! Why did she not scream if she saw such a sight?"
+
+"She was afraid. And she says that she did not think it would come
+to--_murder_. She crept back to her room again, and in a few minutes
+everything was quiet. Only--in the early morning the dead body of Oliver
+Trent was found upon the stairs, and then she gave information as to
+what she had seen and heard."
+
+There was a short silence. Then Lesley said, very tremulously--"It
+sounds like a plot--a plot against my dear father's good name!"
+
+"And a very cleverly concocted plot too," thought Maurice to himself in
+silent rage; but he dared not say so much aloud. He only answered,
+tenderly--
+
+"Such a plot can never come to good, Lesley. You and I together--we will
+unravel it--we will clear your father, and bring him back to the world
+again."
+
+"He is not coming home just yet, then?"
+
+"I am afraid--dear, do not tremble so--he will have to take his trial.
+But he will be acquitted, you will see."
+
+She let him press her fingers to his lips again, and made no outward
+sign; but the two looked into each other's eyes, and each was conscious
+of the presence of a deadly fear.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+A VAIN APPEAL.
+
+
+Lesley went home to sleep, and learned from her aunt the details of her
+father's arrest. "But he will be back in a few hours," said Miss Brooke,
+obstinately. "They will be obliged to let him ago. They will accept
+bail, of course. Mr. Kenyon thinks they will."
+
+"Has Mr. Kenyon been here?"
+
+"Oh, yes; he brought me a message from Caspar. What a horrible thing it
+is! But the ridiculous--absurd--part of it is that your father should be
+accused. Why, your father was very friendly with Oliver Trent--at least
+he used to be!" Then Miss Brooke paused, and fired an unexpected
+question at her niece. "Have you any reason to think he was not?"
+
+Lesley winced and hesitated. "I don't think he liked Mr. Trent very
+much," she said, at last; "but that is a different thing----"
+
+"From killing him? I should think so!" said Doctor Sophy, in a high tone
+of voice. She was in her dressing-gown, and sitting before the fire that
+had been lighted in her own little sanctum upstairs; but she was not
+smoking as she was usually at that hour. The occasion was too serious
+for cigarettes: Doctor Sophy was denying herself. Perhaps that was the
+reason why she looked so haggard and so angry, as she turned suddenly
+and spoke to her niece in a somewhat excited way.
+
+"What made him unfriendly? Do you not know? It was because you flirted
+with Oliver Trent! I really think you did, Lesley. And I know your
+father thought so too."
+
+"Then he ought to have been vexed with me, not with Oliver," said
+Lesley, standing her ground, but turning very pale.
+
+"Yes, yes, but you are a girl, and he did not like to blame you. He
+spoke rather strongly about Oliver Trent to me. However, it is no use
+saying so now. We had better keep that phase of the matter as quiet as
+we can."
+
+"Aunt Sophy," said Lesley, in a tremulous tone, "you don't mean--you
+don't think--that my--my _flirting_, as you call it, with Mr. Trent will
+be spoken of and tend to hurt my father--my father's good name?"
+
+Aunt Sophy stared at her. "Of course it would hurt your father's chances
+if it _were_ talked about," she said, rather, sharply. "I don't see how
+it could do otherwise. People would say that he might have quarrelled
+with Oliver about you, you know. But we must try to keep the matter as
+quiet as we can. _I'm_ prepared to swear that they were bosom-friends,
+and that I never heard Caspar say a word against him; and you had better
+follow my example."
+
+"But, Aunt Sophy--if I can't----"
+
+"If you want to come the Jeanie Deans' business, my dear," said Miss
+Brooke, "you had better reflect that personal application to the Queen
+for a pardon will not help you very much now-a-days. I must confess
+that, although I admire Jeanie Deans very much, I don't intend to
+emulate her. It's my opinion too that most women will tell lies for the
+sake of men they love, but not for the sake of women."
+
+"Oh, Aunt Sophy!"
+
+"It is no good making exclamations," said Aunt Sophy, with unusual
+irritability. "If you are different from all other women, I can't help
+it. I once thought that I was different myself, but I find I am as great
+a fool as any of them. There, go to bed, child! Things will turn out all
+right by and by. Nobody could be so absurd as to believe ill of your
+father."
+
+"You think it will be all right?" said Lesley, wistfully.
+
+"Don't ask me to believe in a God in heaven, if things go badly with
+Caspar," said Miss Brooke, curtly. "Haven't I lived ten years in the
+house with the man, and don't I know that he would not hurt a fly? He's
+the gentlest soul alive, although he looks so big and strong: the
+gentlest, softest-hearted, most generous----But I suppose it is no good
+saying all that to your mother's daughter?"--and Miss Brooke picked up a
+paper-covered volume that had fallen to her feet, and began to read.
+
+"I am my father's daughter too," said Lesley, with rather tremulous
+dignity, as she turned away. She was too indignant with Miss Brooke to
+wish her good-night, and meant to leave the room without another word.
+But Miss Brooke, dropping her book on her red flannel lap, and looking
+uneasily over her shoulder at her niece's retreating figure, would not
+let her go.
+
+"Come, Lesley, don't be angry," she said. "I am so upset that I hardly
+know what I am saying. Come here and kiss me, child, I did not mean to
+vex you."
+
+And Lesley came back and kissed her aunt, but in silence, for her heart
+was sore within her. Was it perhaps true--or partially true--that she
+had been the cause of the misery that had come upon them all? Indirectly
+and partially, unintentionally and without consciousness of
+wrong-doing--and yet she could not altogether acquit herself of blame.
+Had she been more reserved, more guarded in her behavior, Oliver Trent
+would never have fallen in love with her. Would this have mended
+matters? If, as she gathered, the sole reason of her father's visit to
+the Trents had been to assure himself of the true nature of her
+relations with Oliver--her cheeks burned as she put the matter in that
+light, even to herself--why, then, she could not possibly divest herself
+of responsibility. Of course she could not for one moment imagine that
+her father had lifted his hand against Oliver; but his visit to the
+house shortly before the murder gave a certain air of plausibility to
+the tale: and for this Lesley felt herself to blame.
+
+She went to her own room and lay down, but she could not sleep. There
+was a hidden joy at the bottom of her heart--a joy of which she was half
+ashamed. The relief of finding that Maurice was still her friend--it was
+so that she phrased it to herself--was indeed very great. And there was
+a strange and beautiful hope for the future, which she dared not look at
+yet. For it seemed to her as if it would be a sort of treason to dream
+of love and joy and hope for herself when those that she loved best--and
+she herself also--were involved in one common downfall, one common
+misfortune of so terrible a kind. The thought of her father--detained,
+she knew not where: she had a childish vision of a felon's cell, very
+different indeed from the reality of the plain but fairly comfortable
+room with which Mr. Caspar Brooke had been accommodated, and she
+shuddered at the thought of the days before him, of the public
+examinations, of the doubt and shame and mystery in which poor Oliver
+Trent's death was enwrapped. She thought of Ethel, now under the
+influence of a strong narcotic, from which she would not awake until the
+morning; and she shrank in imagination from that awakening to despair.
+And she thought of others who were more or less concerned in the
+tragedy; of Mary Kingston--though she could not remember her without a
+shudder--of Mrs. Romaine, who had loved her brother so tenderly; and of
+Lady Alice, the woman whose husband was in prison for a crime of which
+Lesley was willing to swear that he was innocent.
+
+When her thoughts once reached her mother, they stayed and would not be
+diverted. She could not sleep: she could think of nothing but the mother
+and the father whom she loved. And she wept over the failure of her
+schemes for their reunion. All hope of that was at an end. It was
+impossible that Lady Alice should not believe him guilty. She had always
+judged him harshly, and taken the worst possible view of his behavior.
+Lesley remembered that she had not--in common parlance--"had a good word
+to say for him," when she spoke of him in the convent parlor. What would
+she say now, and how could Lesley make her see the truth?
+
+The fruit of her reflections became evident at breakfast-time next
+morning. Lesley came downstairs with her hat on and a mantle over her
+arm.
+
+"Where are you going?" Miss Brooke asked. "Not to poor Ethel, I hope? I
+am very sorry for her, but really, Lesley----"
+
+"I am going to mamma," said Lesley.
+
+"Going to----Well, upon my word! Lesley, I did think you had a little
+more feeling for your father! Going----Well, I shall not countenance it.
+I shall not let your boxes go out of the house. It is simply
+disgraceful."
+
+"But I don't want my boxes," said Lesley, rather forlornly helping
+herself to a cup of coffee. "What have my boxes to do with it, Aunt
+Sophy? I shall be back in an hour. Mr. Kenyon said we should be able to
+see father to-day, and I do not want to be away when he comes."
+
+"Then--then you don't mean to _stay_ with your mamma?" gasped Aunt
+Sophy.
+
+Lesley could not help a little laugh, but the tears came into her brown
+eyes as she laughed. "Would you mind very much if I did, Aunt Sophy?"
+she asked, setting down her cup of coffee.
+
+"I should mind for this reason," said Miss Brooke, stoutly, "that if you
+ran away from your father's house now, people would say that you thought
+him guilty. It would go against him terribly. Sooner than that, I would
+lock you into your own room and prevent your going by main force."
+
+"I believe you would," said Lesley, "and so would I, in your place, Aunt
+Sophy. But you need not be afraid. I am as proud of my father and as
+full of faith in him as even you can be; and if I go to see my mother,
+it is only that I may tell her so, and let her understand that she has
+no cause to be afraid for him." The color came to her face as she spoke,
+and she lifted her head so proudly that Aunt Sophy felt--for a moment or
+two--slightly abashed.
+
+"I will be back in an hour," Lesley went on, firmly, "and I hope that
+Mr. Kenyon will wait for me if he comes before I return."
+
+"Am I to tell him where you have gone?" asked Miss Brooke, with a slight
+touch of sharpness in her voice.
+
+And Lesley replied, "Certainly. And my father, too, if you see him
+before I do. I am not doing anything wrong."
+
+Greatly to her surprise, Miss Brooke got up and kissed her. "My dear,"
+she said, "you are very like your father, and I am sure you won't do
+anything to hurt his feelings; but are you quite sure that you need go
+to Lady Alice just at present?"
+
+"Quite sure, Aunt Sophy." And then Miss Brooke sighed, shook her head,
+and let her go, with the air of one who sees a person undertake a
+hopeless quest. For she fancied that Lesley was going to make an attempt
+to reconcile the husband and wife who had been so long separated, and
+she did not believe that any such attempt was likely to succeed. But she
+had not fathomed Lesley's plan aright.
+
+The girl took a hansom and drove at once to her mother's house. She knew
+well where it was situated, but she had never visited it before. It was
+a small house, but in a good position, close to the Green Park, and at
+any other moment Lesley would have been struck by the air of
+distinction that it had already achieved. It was painted differently
+from the neighboring houses: the curtains and flower-boxes in the
+windows were remarkably fresh and dainty, the neat maid who opened the
+front door was neater and smarter than other people's maids. Lesley was
+informed that her ladyship was not up yet; and the servant seemed to
+think that she had better go away on receiving this information.
+
+"I will come in," said Lesley, quietly. "I am Miss Brooke. You can take
+my name up to her first, if you like, but I want to see her at once."
+
+The maid looked doubtful, but at this moment Mrs. Dayman was seen
+crossing the hall, and her exclamation of mingled pleasure and dismay
+caused Lesley to be admitted without further parley.
+
+Lady Alice was up, but not fully dressed; she was breakfasting in a
+dressing-room or boudoir, which opened out of her own sleeping
+apartment. As soon as Lesley entered she started up; and the girl
+noticed at the first glance that her mother was looking ill, but perhaps
+the richly-tinted plush morning-gown, that fell round her slender figure
+in long straight folds, made her look taller and thinner than usual.
+Certainly her face was worn, and her eyelids were reddened as if from
+weeping or sleeplessness.
+
+"Lesley! my darling! have you come back to me?"
+
+She folded the girl in her arms and pressed her lips to the soft cheek,
+a little sob breaking from her as she spoke.
+
+"Only for half an hour, mamma. Just to speak to you for a few minutes
+about _him_."
+
+"Him! Your father! Oh, Lesley, what does it all mean?"
+
+"Poor mamma! it must have been a great shock to you. Sit down, and I
+will tell you all that I know."
+
+And gently pressing Lady Alice back into a seat, Lesley took a footstool
+at her mother's knee and told her the story. Lady Alice listened in
+silence. With one hand she stroked Lesley's hair; with the other she
+held Lesley's fingers, and Lesley noticed that it twitched from time to
+time as if in nervous agitation. Otherwise, however, she was very calm.
+
+"And so," she said, at last, "you came to tell me the story as you know
+it.... But, my child, you have told me very little that I did not know
+already. Even in last night's papers the relationship between Oliver
+Trent and these people in Whitechapel was commented on. And your own
+name, my darling--that did not escape. Did you think I should
+misunderstand you?"
+
+"Oh, no, mamma--not misunderstand _me_, but I was afraid lest you might
+misunderstand some one else."
+
+Lady Alice was silent.
+
+"I was afraid," said Lesley, softly, "lest the years that have gone by
+should have made you forget his gentleness and nobleness of soul--lest
+for one moment you should think him capable of a mean or vile action. I
+came to tell you, dearest mother, how impossible it was for us--who
+_know_ him--to credit for one moment an accusation of this kind. If all
+the world said that he was guilty, you and I, mamma, would know that he
+was not."
+
+"My child, my darling, you must speak for yourself. Do not try to speak
+for me!"
+
+"Mother, won't you give me a message for him?"
+
+"Are you going to see him, Lesley?"
+
+"I hope so. Mr. Kenyon said he would take me."
+
+There was a short silence, and then Lesley lifted her eyes to her
+mother's face. She was not encouraged by what she saw there. It was
+pale, sad, immobile, and, as it seemed to Lesley, very cold.
+
+"Mother, I must go. Won't you send him a message?"
+
+"I have no message, Lesley."
+
+"Not one little word?"
+
+"Not one." And then, as if trying to excuse herself Lady Alice added,
+hurriedly, "there is nothing that I can say which would please him. He
+would not care for any message from me."
+
+"He would care to hear that you trusted him!"
+
+"I do not think so," said Lady Alice, with a little shake of her head.
+
+Lesley rose to her feet, silenced for the moment, but not altogether
+vanquished. She put her arms round her mother's neck.
+
+"But you do trust him, mamma? Tell me that, at any rate."
+
+For almost the first time within Lesley's memory Lady Alice made a
+gesture of impatience.
+
+"I cannot be catechised; Lesley. Let me alone. You do not understand."
+
+And Lesley was obliged to go away, feeling sorrowfully that she had
+failed in her mission. Perhaps, however, she had succeeded better than
+she knew.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+"AT YOUR SIDE."
+
+
+Caspar Brooke was not as yet debarred the privilege of seeing his
+friends, and on the morning after his arrest he had a great many
+visitors, including, of course, Maurice Kenyon and his lawyer. Maurice
+was busying himself earnestly on his friend's behalf; and, considering
+the position that Brooke held, the esteem felt for him in high places,
+and the amount of interest that was being brought to bear on the
+authorities, there was little doubt but that he would be let out on bail
+in a day or two, even if the proceedings were not quashed altogether.
+Some delay, however, there was sure to be owing to the pertinacity of
+Mary Trent's assertion that she saw him struggling with Oliver on the
+stairs, but in the meantime his detention was allowed to press as
+lightly upon him as possible.
+
+It was noon before Lesley saw him, and when she sprang to his side and
+threw her arms around his neck, with a new demonstrativeness of manner,
+she noticed that his brows lifted a little, and that he smiled with a
+look of positive pleasure and relief.
+
+"So you have come?" he said, holding her to him as if he did not like to
+let her go. "I began to wonder if you had deserted me!"
+
+"Oh, father! Why, I have been waiting ever so long for Mr. Grierson to
+go."
+
+"And before that----?" he asked, in rather a peculiar tone.
+
+"Before that--I went to see mamma." And Lesley looked bravely up into
+his face.
+
+"That was an infringement of contract, as I suppose you know," said
+Caspar, smiling persistently. "But it does not matter very much. What
+did 'mamma' say to you?"
+
+"I--don't--know," murmured Lesley, confused by the question. "Nothing
+very much."
+
+"Nothing. Ah, I know what that means." He turned away from her, and,
+sitting down, leaned his elbows upon a table, and played with his beard.
+"It was useless, Lesley," he said, quietly, after a few minutes'
+silence. "Your mother is the last person whose sympathies will be
+enlisted on my side."
+
+Lesley tried to speak but suddenly felt her voice fail her; so instead
+of speaking she knelt down by her father, leaned her head upon his
+shoulder, and burst into very heartfelt tears.
+
+"Little one," said Caspar, "I'm afraid we have both got ourselves into a
+mess."
+
+It did not sound comforting, but Lesley stayed her tears to listen.
+
+"I have been talking to Grierson," her father continued, "and we have
+agreed that there must be no suppression of the truth. My dislike to
+Oliver Trent has been commented on already, and I must give a reason for
+it. Lesley, my dear, you will have to contribute your own evidence as to
+the reason."
+
+Lesley looked up with terrified, wide-open eyes. "Do you mean that I
+shall have to say----"
+
+"You will have to go into the witness-box and tell what you know, or
+rather answer the questions that are asked you."
+
+"But will that be--best--for you?" She put the question with some
+difficulty.
+
+"That is not the point. What we have to do is to tell the truth, and
+leave the result to others."
+
+"--To God?" Lesley interposed, almost involuntarily. Caspar Brooke's lip
+moved with a grave smile.
+
+"Well, yes, to God if you will have it so--we use different terms, but
+perhaps we have the same meaning. We must at any rate leave the result
+to the working of various laws which we cannot control, and to fight
+against these laws of nature is wrong-doing--or sin. Therefore, Lesley,
+you will have to tell the truth, whether it may seem to be for my good
+or my harm."
+
+She glanced at him rather piteously, and her eyes filled with tears.
+Aunt Sophy's words recurred to her mind; but they seemed feeble and
+futile in the light of his courage and steadfastness. Aunt Sophy had
+been wrong--so much was clear to Lesley; and truth was best under all
+possible circumstances.
+
+"It is for Ethel I am sorry," she murmured.
+
+"Yes, poor Ethel. It is true then--what that woman said--that Oliver
+Trent was in love with you?"
+
+"I could not help it, father. I don't think it was my fault. I did not
+know till it was too late."
+
+"I am not blaming you, my dear. When I came into the drawing-room that
+day--do you remember?--what had happened then? Can you bear to tell me?"
+
+She hid her face on his shoulder as she answered, "He was speaking
+foolishly. I think he wanted to--to kiss me.... I was very glad that you
+came in."
+
+"Was that the first time?"
+
+"Yes, the first. And I did not even see him again until that Saturday
+night, when he found me in the study--and----"
+
+"And asked you to run away with him?"
+
+"Yes. Indeed, I had not led him to think that I would do any such thing,
+father. I told him never to speak to me again. If it had not been for
+Ethel's sake, I think I should have called someone--but I did not like
+to make a disturbance."
+
+"No, dear, no. And you--yourself--_you_ did not care for him?"
+
+"Oh no, no, no!"
+
+"It has been a terrible tangle--and the knot has been cut very rudely,"
+said Mr. Brooke, in a musing tone. "Of one thing I am quite certain, we
+were not fit to have the care of you, Lesley--your aunt and I. You would
+never have been in this position, my poor child, if we had looked after
+you."
+
+"It isn't _that_ which troubles me," said Lesley, trying to steady her
+voice. "It is--that you have to bear the brunt of it all. If it had not
+been for me you would never have been here. It has been my fault!"
+
+"Not your fault, child," said her father. "The fault did not lie with
+you, but with that unfortunate young man, for whom I am truly sorry.
+Don't be morbid, Lesley; look things straight in the face, and don't
+blame yourself unless you are perfectly sure that you deserve to be
+blamed."
+
+And there the conference ended, for Miss Brooke arrived at that moment,
+and Lesley thought it advisable to leave the choice of a subject of
+conversation in her hands. Caspar had many visitors that day, and many
+letters of advice and condolence, for few men were blessed--or
+cursed--with as many friends as he. Among the letters that reached him
+was a note without signature, which he read hastily, and as hastily
+concealed when he had read it. This note was written in uneven, crooked
+characters, as if the writer's hand had shaken as she wrote, and ran as
+follows:--
+
+"I ought not to write, but how can I keep silence? There is nothing that
+I am not capable of bearing for my friends. If you will but confide in
+me--I am ready to do, to bear, to suffer anything--to forgive anything.
+Let me see you: I can then speak more freely. If you should be set at
+liberty in a day or two, I shall hear. You can then come to me: if not,
+I will come to you. But you need have no fear for me: I shall take means
+to prevent recognition."
+
+The envelope was plain and of common texture; but the note-paper was
+hand-made; with a faint, fine odor as of some sweet-smelling Eastern
+wood, and bore in one corner the letters "R. R.," intertwined in deep
+blue tints. There was no doubt in Caspar's mind as to the person from
+whom it came.
+
+He received it about three o'clock in the afternoon. If he wished to
+decline the proposed interview, he knew that he must write at once. In
+his heart he knew also that it would be better for him and better for
+her that the interview should be declined. What had he to do with
+Rosalind Romaine? He was accused of murdering her brother: it was not
+seemly that she should see him--even although the world were not to know
+of the visit. The world would know sooner or later--that was the worst
+of it: ultimately, the world knows everything. But why should she wish
+to see him? Had she information to impart? If she had, it would be
+foolish, from merely conventional reasons, to refuse her admittance,
+supposing that she really wished to come. And in a day or two at most he
+would certainly be able to go, if necessary, to her.
+
+But the fact was, he did not believe that she had any information to
+impart. She did not say so. Probably she only wished to express her
+faith in him, and to assure him of her friendship. Rosalind had been his
+friend through many a long year. She had always shown herself kind and
+sympathetic--in spite of one or two interludes of coldness and general
+oddity which Caspar had never felt able to understand. It would be
+pleasant enough to hear her say that she trusted him--he could not help
+feeling that. For, although he had passed the matter off very lightly
+when talking to Lesley, he was secretly hurt at the absence of any
+message from his wife. He could almost have worked himself into a rage
+at the thought of it. "Does she, too, think me guilty?" he asked
+himself. "She ought to know me better, although she does not love me!
+She ought to know. And she does know, but she is too cold and too proud
+to say so. Poor, warm-hearted Lesley has tried to win her sympathy for
+me and failed. Well, I never expected otherwise: she never gave me what
+I wanted--sympathy, understanding, or love! And how can she blame
+me"--the thought stole unawares into his mind--"if I turn for sympathy
+to one who offers it?"
+
+Yes, Rosalind would sympathize, and there would be no harm in listening
+to her gentle words. He had the pen in his hand, paper and ink before
+him: a word would be enough, if he wished to stay her visit. But he
+would not write it: if she liked to come, she might come--he would be
+glad to see her. Besides, her letter wanted explanation: for what had
+she to forgive?
+
+He pushed the writing materials away from him, and went to the
+fireplace, where a small fire was burning very dimly. The day was
+cloudy, and the afternoon was drawing in. He crushed the coal with the
+heel of his boot in order to make a flame leap up; then leaned his elbow
+on the narrow mantelpiece and gazed down into the glowing embers.
+
+The door opened and closed again behind him, but at first he did not
+look up. He thought that the attendant had come to light the gas or
+bring him some tea. But when he heard no further sound, he suddenly
+stirred and looked up; and in the dim light he saw beside him the figure
+of a woman, cloaked and veiled.
+
+Was it Rosalind? No, it was too tall for Rosalind Romaine. Not
+Lesley?--though it had a look of her! And then his heart gave a
+tremendous leap (although no one would have suspected it, for his
+massive form and bearded face remained as motionless and calm as ever),
+for it dawned upon him that the visitor was none other than Lesley's
+mother, his wife, Alice Brooke, who had quitted him in anger twelve
+years before.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said, courteously. "I did not see--I had no idea
+who it was. Will you not sit down?"
+
+He handed her a chair, with a bow as formal as that of a complete
+stranger. Perhaps the formality was inevitable. Lady Alice put her hand
+on the back of the chair, and felt that she was trembling.
+
+"I hope I am not intruding," she said, in a voice as formal as his own.
+
+"Not at all. It was most kind of you to come. Pray sit down."
+
+She seated herself in silence, and then put up her veil. He remained
+standing, and for a moment or two the husband and wife looked each other
+steadily in the face, with a sort of curiosity and with a sort of wonder
+too. The years had not dealt unkindly with either of them. Lady Alice
+had kept her slender grace of figure and her gentleness of expression,
+but the traces of sorrow and anxiety were so visible upon her delicate
+face that Caspar felt a sudden impulse of pity towards the woman who had
+suffered in her loneliness more than he had perhaps thought possible. As
+she sat and looked at him, a certain pathetic quality showing itself
+with more than usual vividness in her soft eyes and drooping mouth, he
+was conscious of a desire to take her in his arms and console her for
+all the past. But he caught back the impulse with an inward laugh of
+scorn. She had no doubt come to run needles into him, as she used to do
+in those unlucky days of poverty and struggle. She had a knack of
+looking pretty and sweet while she was doing it, he remembered. It would
+not do to show any weakness now.
+
+And she--what did she think of him? She was less absorbed with the
+consideration of any change in him than with what she intended to say.
+What impressed her most were the inflections of his quiet, musical
+voice--a voice as unroughened and as gentle as when it wooed her in her
+father's Northern Castle years before! She had forgotten its power, but
+it made her tremble now from head to foot with a sort of terror that was
+not without charm. It was so cold a voice--so cold and calm! She felt
+that if it once grew tender and caressing her strength would fail her
+altogether. But there was not much fear of tenderness from him--to her.
+
+After that involuntary and rather awkward pause, Lady Alice recollected
+herself; and spoke first.
+
+"You must be very much surprised to see me?"
+
+"I am delighted, of course. I could wish"--with a slight smile--"that
+the apartment was more worthy of you, and that the circumstances were
+less disagreeable; but I am unfortunately not able to alter these
+details."
+
+"And it is exactly to these details that you owe my visit," said Lady
+Alice, with unexpected calmness.
+
+"Then I ought to be grateful them, no doubt."
+
+She moved uneasily, as if the studied conventionality of his tone jarred
+on her a little; and then she said, with an effort that made her words
+sound brusque,
+
+"I mean that under ordinary circumstances I should not have come to see
+you. But these are so strange--so extraordinary--that you will perhaps
+pardon the intrusion. I felt--on reflection--that it was only right for
+me to come--to express----"
+
+She faltered, and he took advantage of her hesitation to say, with a
+quiet smile--
+
+"I am very much obliged to you. But you should not have taken all this
+trouble. A note would have answered the purpose just as well. I suppose
+you wish to express your indignation at the little care I seem to have
+taken of Lesley. You cannot blame me more severely than I blame myself.
+If she had been under your care I have no doubt we should not be in our
+present dilemma; but it is no use fretting over what is past--or
+inevitable. I can only say that I am exceedingly sorry. Will you not
+loosen your cloak? This room is rather warm. I can't very well ring for
+tea, I am afraid. You should call on me at Woburn Place, if you want
+tea."
+
+She loosened her cloak a little at the throat as he suggested. She had
+taken off her gloves, and he could see that her slender white hands were
+trembling. Somehow it occurred to him that he had spoken unkindly--but
+he did not know how or why. His words were commonplace enough. But it
+was his tone that had been cruel.
+
+"I did not come to make any reproaches or complaints," she said at last,
+in a low voice.
+
+"No. That was very good of you. I have to thank you, then, for your
+forbearance."
+
+There was still coldness, still something perilously like scorn, in his
+tone. It was unbearable to Lady Alice.
+
+"Why do you talk in that way?" she broke out, suddenly. "I came to say
+something quite different; and you speak as if you wanted to taunt
+me--to insult me--to hurt me in every possible way? I do not understand
+what you mean."
+
+"You never did," said Caspar. The scorn had gone now, and the voice had
+grown stern. "It is useless for us to talk together at all. You have
+made intercourse impossible. I have no desire to hurt or taunt or insult
+you, as you phrase it; but, if I am to speak the truth, I must say that
+I feel very strongly that it is to _you_ and _your_ behavior that we owe
+the greater part of this trouble. If you had been at my side, if Lesley
+had been under a mother's wing, sheltered as only a mother could shelter
+her, there never would have been an opportunity for that man Trent's
+clandestine approaches, which will put a stigma on that poor child for
+the rest of her life, and may--for aught I know--endanger my own neck! I
+could put up with the loss and harm to myself; but once and for all let
+me say to you, Alice, that you have neglected your duty as a mother as
+much as I have neglected mine as a father; and that if you had been in
+your proper place all this ruin and disgrace and misery might never have
+come about."
+
+The broken and vehement tones of his voice showed that his feelings were
+powerfully affected. Lady Alice listened in perfect silence, and kept
+silence for some minutes after the conclusion of his speech. Caspar,
+leaning with one shoulder against the mantelpiece, looked frowningly
+before him, as if he were unconscious of the fact that she had taken her
+handkerchief out of her muff, and was pressing it to her cheeks and
+eyes. But in reality he was painfully alive to every one of her
+movements, and expected a plaintive rejoinder to his accusations. But
+none came. The silence irritated him, as it had formerly irritated him
+with Lesley. He was obliged at last to ask a question.
+
+"Since you say you did not come to reproach me, may I ask the motive of
+your visit?" he asked.
+
+"I scarcely think that it is of any use to tell you now," said his wife,
+quietly. She had got rid of her tears now, and had put her handkerchief
+away. "I had a sort of fancy that you might like me to tell you with my
+own lips something that I felt rather strongly, but you would probably
+resent it--and it is only a trifle after all."
+
+She rose from her chair and drew her fur-lined cloak closely round her,
+as if preparing to depart.
+
+"I should like to hear it--if I am not troubling you too much," said
+Caspar.
+
+She averted her eyes and began slowly to draw on her gloves. "It is
+really nothing--I came on a momentary impulse. I have not seen you for a
+good many years, and we parted with very angry words on our lips, did we
+not?--but I wanted to say that--although you were sometimes angry--I
+never knew you do a cruel thing--you were always kind--kindest of all to
+creatures that were weak (except, perhaps to me); and I am quite
+sure--sure as that I stand here--that you never did the thing of which
+they are accusing you. There!"--and she looked straight into his
+face--"it is a little thing, no doubt: you have hosts of friends to say
+the same thing to you: but my tribute is worth having, perhaps, because,
+after all, I am your wife--and in some ways I do understand!"
+
+Caspar's face worked strangely: he bit his lip hard as he looked at her.
+
+"You are generous, Alice," he said, in a low voice, after a pause that
+seemed eternal to her.
+
+"Oh, no. Why should you call it generous? I only wanted to say this--and
+also--that if I can be of any use to you now, I am ready. A little thing
+sometimes turns the course of public opinion. If I were to go to Woburn
+Place--to stay with Lesley, for instance--so that all the world could
+see that I believed in you----"
+
+"But--I shall be at Woburn Place myself in a day or two, on bail; and
+then----"
+
+"I could stay," said Lady Alice, again looking at him. Then her eyes
+dropped and the color mounted to her forehead. He made a sudden step
+towards her.
+
+"Alice--is it possible--after all these years----"
+
+"No, it is not possible," she said, with a little laugh which yet had
+something in it of a sob, "and I don't think we should ever get on
+together--and I don't love you at all, except for Lesley's sake--but
+just until this horrible affair is over, if I might show everybody that
+I have all possible faith in you, and that I know you to be good and
+upright and honorable--just till then, Caspar, I _should_ like to be at
+your side."
+
+But whether Caspar heard the whole of this speech must remain for ever
+doubtful, as, long before its close, he had taken her in his arms and
+was sealing the past between them with a long kiss which might verily be
+called the kiss of peace.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+"OUT ON BAIL."
+
+
+Miss Brooke was electrified. Such a thing had never occurred to her as
+possible. After years of separation, of dispute, of ill-feeling on
+either side, here was Lady Alice appearing in her husband's house, and
+expressing a desire to remain in it. She came to Woburn Place on the
+evening after her interview with Caspar, and at once made known her
+wishes to Doctor Sophy.
+
+It was a curious interview. Miss Brooke sat bolt upright on a sofa, with
+an air of repressed indignation which was exceedingly striking: Lady
+Alice, half enveloped in soft black furs, was leaning back in the lowest
+and most luxurious chair the room afforded, with rather more the air of
+the _grande dame_ than she actually wished to convey. In reality her
+heart was very soft, and there was moisture in her eyes; but it was
+difficult for her to shake off an appearance of cold indifference to all
+the world when Miss Sophia Brooke, M. D., was in her society. She had
+never understood Doctor Sophy, and Miss Brooke had always detested her.
+
+"Am I to understand, Lady Alice," said the spinster, in her stiffest
+voice, "that my brother wishes you to take up your abode in this house
+during his absence?"
+
+"Yes, I think so," said Lady Alice, equably. "He has wished me to take
+up my abode here for some time past."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+The note of incredulity in her voice angered Caspar's wife.
+
+"I think you hardly understand," she said with some quiet dignity, "that
+I have been to see Mr. Brooke this afternoon. Strange circumstances
+demand new treatment, Miss Brooke. I consulted with my husband as to
+what we had better do, and he agreed with me that it would be better for
+Lesley if I came here--at any rate for the present."
+
+"Better for Lesley!" Miss Brooke was evidently offended. "I do not think
+that you need put yourself to any inconvenience--even for Lesley's sake.
+I will take care of her."
+
+"But I happen to be her mother," said Lady Alice, with a touch of
+amusement. It struck her as odd that Miss Brooke only amused her now,
+and did not make her angry at all. "And we have the world to think of,
+besides."
+
+"I scarcely thought you troubled yourself very much about what the world
+said," remarked Aunt Sophy, severely. "It has said a good deal during
+the last ten or twelve years."
+
+"At least it shall not say," responded Lady Alice, "that I believe my
+husband guilty of murder. I have come back to prevent _that_."
+
+Miss Brooke looked at her doubtfully. She was not a person of very quick
+perceptions.
+
+"You mean," she said at last, "that you have come back--because----"
+
+"_Because_ he was accused of murder," said Lady Alice, clearly, "and I
+choose to show the world that I do not believe it."
+
+And Lesley, entering from the library, heard the words, and stood
+transfixed for a moment with pure delight. Then she sprang forward, fell
+on her knees before her mother, and embraced her with such fervor that
+Miss Brooke put up her eye-glasses and gazed in surprise.
+
+"Mother! my own dearest mother! You do believe in him, then! and you
+have come to show us that you do! Oh! how delighted he will be when he
+knows!"
+
+A little color showed itself in Lady Alice's delicate face. "He does
+know," she whispered, almost with the coyness of a girl.
+
+"And he _was_ delighted, was he not? It would be such a comfort to
+him--just now when he wants every kind of comfort. Oh, mamma, it is so
+good of you, and I am so glad. Aunty Sophy, aren't you glad, too?"
+
+Lady Alice tried to stifle this na�ve utterance, but it would not be
+repressed, and Aunt Sophy had to rise to the occasion as best she could,
+with rather a grim face, she rose from her seat upon the sofa and
+advanced towards her brother's wife, holding out a very reluctant hand.
+
+"I appreciate your motives, Lady Alice, and I see that your conduct may
+be of service to my brother." Then she relapsed into a more colloquial
+tone. "But how on earth you mean to live in this part of London, I'm
+sure I can't imagine. No doubt it seems rather smoky and grimy to you
+after Mayfair and Belgravia."
+
+"London is generally a little smoky," said Lady Alice, smiling in spite
+of herself. "Thank you, Sophy: I thought you would do me justice."
+
+And the hands of the two women met in a friendlier grasp than ever in
+the days of yore.
+
+"I must see about your room," said Miss Brooke, practically. It was her
+way of holding out the olive branch. "You would like to be near Lesley,
+I suppose. We shall try to make you comfortable, but, of course, you
+won't expect the luxuries of your own home here."
+
+"I shall be very comfortable, I am sure," said Lady Alice.
+
+"What, does she mean by talking in that tone?" cried Lesley, hotly when
+Doctor Sophy had left the room. "It was almost insulting!"
+
+"No, my darling, no. It is only a memory of old times when I
+was--exacting and dissatisfied. Yes, I see that I must have seemed so,
+then. I had not had much experience in those days; and then your father
+was not a man of substance as he seems to be now," said Lady Alice,
+inspecting the room, with a half-smile. The smile died quickly away,
+however, and was succeeded by a sad look, and a sigh. "Ah, poor Caspar!"
+
+"He will be home in a day or two. Everybody says so."
+
+"I trust so, dearest. And I will stay with--you till he comes home."
+
+"Oh, but now that you have come, mamma you will never be allowed to go
+away again."
+
+"I never said that, Lesley. I have come to maintain a principle, that is
+all. A wife ought to show that she trusts her husband, if he is falsely
+accused."
+
+And then Lady Alice lowered her eyes and changed the subject, for it
+suddenly occurred to her that she had not been very ready, in her
+younger years, to give the trust that now seemed to be her husband's
+due.
+
+But she settled down quite naturally in her husband's home during the
+next few days. Lesley, remembering the discomfort of her own first few
+weeks, expected her to say that the house was hideous and the
+neighborhood detestable. But Lady Alice said nothing of the kind. She
+thought it a fine old house--well-built and roomy--far preferable, she
+said, to the places she had often occupied in the West End. With
+different furniture and a little good taste it might be made absolutely
+charming. And when she got as far as "absolutely charming," uttered with
+her chin pillowed on one hand, and her eyes roving meditatively over the
+drawing-room mantelpiece, Lesley smiled to herself, and gave up all fear
+that she would ever go away again. Lady Alice had evidently come to the
+conclusion that it was her duty to see that Caspar's house was
+thoroughly redecorated from top to bottom.
+
+But she did not come to this conclusion all at once. There were days
+when the minds of mother and daughter were too full of sorrow and
+anxiety to occupy themselves with upholstery and bric-a-brac. And the
+day of the adjourned inquest, when Caspar Brooke was allowed to go to
+his own house on bail, was one of the worst of all.
+
+He came home quietly that afternoon in company with Maurice Kenyon,
+greeted his family affectionately but with something of a melancholy
+air, then went at once to his study, where he shut himself up and began
+to write and read letters. The cloud was hanging over him still. He knew
+well enough that if he had been a poor man, of no account in the world,
+he would at that moment have been occupying a prison cell instead of his
+own comfortable study. For presumption was strong against him; and it
+had taken a great deal of influence and extraordinarily high bail to
+secure his release. At present he stood committed to take his trial for
+manslaughter within a very short space of time. And nobody had
+succeeded, or seemed likely to succeed, in throwing any doubt on the
+testimony of Mary Trent. He was certainly in a very awkward position: it
+might be a very terrible position by-and-bye.
+
+He was aroused from the reverie into which he had fallen by the entry of
+a servant with a note. He opened it, read the contents slowly, and then
+put it into the fire. He stood frowning a little as he watched it burn.
+
+After a few moments of this hesitation he rang the bell, told Sarah that
+he was going out, and left the house. The three women in the
+drawing-room upstairs, already nervous and overstrained from long
+suspense, all started when the reverberation of that closing door made
+itself heard. Lesley felt her mother's hand close on hers with a quick,
+convulsive pressure. She looked up.
+
+"He has gone out!" Lady Alice murmured, so that Lesley alone could hear.
+"He does not come--to _us_!"
+
+Lesley did not know what to say. She was surprised to find that her
+mother expected him to come. But then she was only Caspar Brooke's
+daughter and not his wife.
+
+Lady Alice lay back in her chair, closed her eyes and waited. She had
+once been a jealous woman: there were the seeds of jealousy in her
+still. She sat and wondered whether Caspar had gone for sympathy and
+comfort to any other woman. And after wondering this for half an hour it
+suddenly occurred to her mind with the vividness of a lightning flash
+that if things _were_ so--if her husband _had_ found sympathy
+elsewhere--it was her own fault. She had no right to accuse him, or to
+blame him, when she had left him for a dozen years.
+
+"I have no right to blame him, perhaps, but I have still a right to
+know," she said to herself. And then, disengaging her hand from Lesley's
+clinging fingers, she rose and went downstairs--down to the study which
+she had so seldom visited. She seated herself in Caspar's arm-chair, and
+prepared to wait there for his return. Surely he would not be long!--and
+then she would speak to him, and things should be made clear.
+
+Caspar's note had been written by Mrs. Romaine. It was quite formal, and
+merely contained a request that he would call on her at his earliest
+convenience. And he complied at once, as she had surmised that he would
+do. Her confidential maid opened the door to him, and conducted him to
+the drawing-room. It was dusk, and the blinds were drawn down. Oliver
+Trent's funeral had taken place the day before.
+
+Mr. Brooke did not sit down. He knew that the interview which was about
+to take place was likely to be a painful one, but he could not guess in
+the least what kind of turn it would take. Did Rosalind believe in his
+guilt? Did she know what manner of man her brother Oliver had been? Was
+she going to reproach or to condole? She had done a strange thing in
+asking him to the house at all, and at another time he might have
+thought it wiser not to accede to her request; but he was in the mood in
+which the most extraordinary incidents seem possible, and scarcely
+anything could have seemed to him too bizarre to happen. He felt
+curiously impatient of the ordinary conventionalities of civilized life.
+Since this miraculous thing had come to pass--that he, Caspar Brooke, a
+respectable, sane, healthy-minded man of middle-age, could be accused of
+killing a miserable young scamp like Oliver Trent in a moment of
+passion--the world had certainly seemed somewhat crazy and out of joint.
+It was not worth while to stand very much on ceremony at such a
+conjuncture; and if Rosalind Romaine wanted to talk to him about her
+dead brother, he was willing to go and hear her talk. And yet as he
+stood in her dainty little drawing-room, it came over him very strongly
+that he ought not to be there.
+
+He was still musing when the door opened, and Rosalind stole into the
+room. He did not hear her until she was close upon him, and then he
+turned with a sudden start. She looked different--she was changed. Her
+face was very pale: her eyelids were reddened: she was dressed in the
+deepest black, and over her head she had flung a black lace veil, which
+gave her--perhaps unintentionally--a tragic look. She held the folds
+together with her right hand, and spoke to him quietly.
+
+"It was kind of you to come," she said.
+
+"You summoned me. I should not have come without that," he answered,
+quickly.
+
+"No, I suppose not. And of course--in the ordinary course of things--I
+ought not to have summoned you. The world would say that I was wrong.
+But we have been old friends for many years now, have we not?"
+
+"I always thought so," he answered, gravely. "But now--I fear----"
+
+"You mean"--with a strange vibration in her voice--"you mean that we
+must never be friends again--because--because of Oliver----"
+
+"This accusation must naturally tend to separate the families," he said,
+in a very calm, grave voice. "Even when it is disproved, we shall not
+find it easy to resume old relations. I am very sorry for it, Rosalind,
+just as I need not tell you how sorry I am for the cause----"
+
+She interrupted him hurriedly. "Yes, yes, I know all that; but you speak
+of _disproving_ the charge. Can you do that?"
+
+He was silent for a moment. "I shall do my best," he said at length,
+with some emotion in his voice.
+
+"And if it is not disproved--what then?" she asked. "Suppose they call
+it _murder_?"
+
+Caspar drew himself up: a certain displeasure began to mark itself upon
+his features.
+
+"Need you ask me?"
+
+"Yes, I need. I want you to consider the answer that you would give. I
+have a reason."
+
+Her eager eyes, hot and burning in a face that was strangely white, pled
+for her. Caspar relented a little, but bent his brows as he replied--
+
+"The extreme penalty of the law, I suppose. It is absurd--but, of
+course, it is possible. It is not a case in which I should expect penal
+servitude for life to be substituted, supposing that I were found
+guilty. But I fail to see your motive for asking what must be to me a
+rather painful question."
+
+"Oh, you are strong! You can bear it!" she said, dropping her face upon
+her hands. Caspar gazed at her in amazement. He began to wonder whether
+she were going out of her mind. But before he could find any word of
+calming or consoling tendency, she flung down her hands and spoke again.
+"I want you to fix your mind on it for a moment, even although it hurts
+you," she said. "You are a strong man--you do not shrink from a thing
+because, it is a little painful. Think what it would mean for yourself,
+and not for yourself only; for your friends, for those who love you! A
+perpetual disgrace--a misery!"
+
+"You seem anxious to assume that I shall be convicted," he said, still
+with displeasure.
+
+"I tell you I am doing so on purpose. I want you to think of it. You
+know--you know as well as I do--that the chances are against you!"
+
+"And if they are?"
+
+"If they are--why do you incur such a risk!"
+
+"Mrs. Romaine," said Caspar, gently, but with a steady coldness of tone,
+of which she did not at first feel the import, "I think you hardly know
+the force of what you are saying. I do not incur any risk unnecessarily
+or wantonly: I only wish the truth to be made known. What can I do
+more--or less?"
+
+"You could go away," she said, almost in a whisper.
+
+If the room had been lighter, she might, perhaps, have seen the frown
+that was gathering on his brow, the wrath that darkened his eyes as he
+spoke: but his face was in shadow, and for a moment anger made him
+speechless. She went on eagerly, breathlessly, without waiting for a
+reply.
+
+"You might get off quite easily to--to Spain, perhaps, or some place
+where there was no extradition treaty. You are out on bail, I know; but
+your friends could not complain. Surely it is a natural enough thing for
+a man, situated as you are, to wish to escape: nobody would blame you in
+the long run--they would only say that you were wise. And if you stay,
+everything is against you. You had so much better take your present
+chance!"
+
+Caspar muttered something inarticulate, then seemed to choke back
+further utterance, and kept silence for a minute. When he spoke it was
+in a curiously tranquil tone.
+
+"You do not seem to have heard of the quality that men call their
+honor?"
+
+"Oh, honor! I have heard enough about honor," she answered with
+a nervous, rasping laugh. "And you--_you_ to talk about
+honor--after--after _what you have done_!"
+
+Caspar Brooke fell back a step or two and surveyed her curiously. "Good
+God!" The exclamation broke from him, as if against his will. "You speak
+as though you thought I was guilty--as though I had--_murdered_ Oliver!"
+
+And she, looking at him as intently as he looked at her, said only, in
+the simplest possible way--
+
+"And did you not?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+LOVE OR TRUST.
+
+
+Caspar turned away. For a moment he felt mortally sick, as if from a
+pang of acute physical pain. Distrust from an old friend is always a
+hard thing to bear. And so, for a moment or two, he did not speak.
+
+"I was not surprised," said Mrs. Romaine, quickly. "I had been looking
+for something of the kind. I won't say that you were not justified--in a
+certain sense. Oliver acted abominably, I know. He told me what he was
+going to do beforehand."
+
+"Told you what he was going to do?"
+
+"Yes--to make Lesley fall in love with him. He did not mean to marry
+her. He meant to gain her affections and then to--to--leave her, to
+break her heart. I suppose that is what you found out. I do not wonder
+that you were surprised."
+
+"No doubt you have good authority for what you are saying," said Mr.
+Brooke, very coldly, "but your account does not tally with what I have
+gathered from other sources."
+
+"From Lesley herself?"
+
+Caspar bowed his head. He was conscious of a violent dislike to bringing
+Lesley's name into the discussion. Mrs. Romaine went on rapidly.
+
+"As to Lesley, of course I cannot say. I don't know whether he failed or
+succeeded. Oliver very seldom failed with women when he tried. But, of
+course, he was going to marry Ethel; and that meant that if he _had_
+succeeded Lesley had been thrown over. It is not like me to put things
+so baldly, is it? I see that I disgust you. But I do not know that I
+need apologize. You are man of the world enough to understand that at
+certain crises we are obliged to speak our minds, to face the truth
+boldly and see what it means. Is it not so?"
+
+"It may be so, but I am not aware that the present crisis demands such
+plain speaking."
+
+"Then you must be blind," said his hearer, with a burst of indignation,
+"blind--blind--_blind_! Or mad? is that it? What sort of crisis do you
+expect? What can be worse than the present state of things? Are not your
+life and her character at stake? Why do you not take your present
+opportunity and save her and yourself? Look the matter in the face and
+decide?"
+
+"I would rather not discuss it," said Caspar. "The course you indicate
+is not one that could be taken by any honorable man. It is--it
+is--absurd." The last word was evidently the substitute for a much
+stronger one in his mind. "I see no use in talking about the matter. We
+are only giving ourselves useless pain."
+
+There was a short silence. Mrs. Romaine drew her veil more tightly round
+her face, and seemed to deliberate. Caspar threw a longing glance--which
+she intercepted--towards the door.
+
+"Men are such cowards," she said at last, in a low and bitter tone. "I
+have proved _that_ in every way: I ought to be prepared for
+cowardice--even from you. They want to slip out of every unpleasant
+position, and leave some woman to bear the brunt of it. You, for
+instance, want to go now, this minute, because I have said one or two
+things that pain you. You don't care enough for what I think to make you
+wish to alter my opinion--to fight it out and conquer me; you only want
+to get away and leave me to 'cool down,' as you would call it. You are
+mistaken. I am not speaking from any momentary irritation: what I say to
+you to-day is the result of long thought, long consideration, long
+patience. It would be better for you to have the courage and the
+manliness to listen to me."
+
+"You talk in a very extraordinary way, Rosalind,", said Caspar. "I do
+not understand it, and I fail to see its justice towards me. I have
+never refused to listen to you, have I? As for cowardice--it seemed to
+me that you were trying to persuade me to do a very cowardly thing just
+now; but perhaps I was mistaken. I will hear all that you have to say:
+if I was anxious to go, it was only that I might save you from tiring or
+hurting yourself."
+
+"It matters so much whether I am tired or hurt, does it not?" she said,
+with the faintest possible flicker of a smile on her white lips. "That
+is what you all think of--whether one suffers--suffers physically. It is
+my soul that is hurt, my heart that is tired--but you don't concern
+yourself with that sort of thing."
+
+"I assure you that I am very sorry----," he began, and then he stopped
+short. She had made it very difficult for him to say anything so
+commonplace, and yet so true.
+
+"If you are sorry," she said, in a softer tone, "and if you want to make
+me happier--_save yourself_."
+
+"No," said Caspar, roughly--almost violently--"by Heaven, I won't do
+that."
+
+"You don't wish to save yourself?"
+
+"Not at that price--the price of my honor."
+
+"Listen to me," she said, drawing nearer to him and speaking very
+softly. "I have made it my business during the last day or two--when I
+gathered that you would be let out on bail--to collect all the
+information that might be useful to you. You could get away to-morrow or
+next day by a vessel that leaves Southampton at the time I have marked
+on this paper. It is not an ordinary steamer--not a passenger-ship at
+all--and no one will know that you are on board. It would take you to
+Oporto. You would be safe enough in the interior--a friend of mine who
+went there once told me that there were charming palaces and half-ruined
+castles to let, where one could live as in paradise, amidst the
+loveliest gardens, full of fountains and birds and flowers."
+
+Her voice took on a caressing tone, as if she were dreaming of perfect
+happiness. "How like a woman," thought Caspar to himself, "to think only
+of the material side of life?" Then he corrected himself: "Like some
+women: not like all, thank-God!"
+
+"So you would condemn me to exile and loneliness as well as to
+dishonor?" he said. It was as much as he could do not to laugh outright
+at the chimerical idea.
+
+"It is no exile to a cosmopolitan like yourself to live out of England,"
+she answered, scornfully. "As to dishonor--what will you not have to
+suffer if you stay in England? Where is your reputation now? And as to
+loneliness--don't you know--do you not see--that you need not
+go--alone?"
+
+She put her left hand gently on his arm, and for a moment there was
+silence in the room. Her heart beat so loudly that she was afraid of his
+hearing it. But she need not have feared; his mind was far too much
+occupied with more important matters to be able to take cognizance of
+such a detail as the state of Mrs. Romaine's pulse.
+
+His first impulse was one of intense indignation and anger. His second
+was one of pity. These feelings alternated in him when at last he forced
+himself to speak. Which of the two predominated he hardly knew. Perhaps
+pity: because it drove him, almost as a matter of self-respect, to make
+a pretence of not knowing what she meant.
+
+"Anything is exile to a man who leaves his home," he said sternly. "To a
+man who leaves his wife and daughter--do you understand? As for the
+dishonor of such a course, it seems as if you could not comprehend that:
+my feelings on the subject are evidently beyond your ken. But you can
+understand this--first, that I should go nowhere into no exile, into no
+new home, without my wife; and, secondly, that _she_, at least, trusts
+me--she knows that I have not your brother's blood upon my hands."
+
+Rosalind's fingers had slipped from his arm when he began to speak: she
+knew that if she had not removed them then they would have been shaken
+off. He could see them amongst the folds of black lace at her
+breast--clutching, tearing, as if she had not room to breathe.
+
+"Your wife!" she said, with a gasp. "I did not know.... She has been
+beforehand with me, then! And it is she--she--that you will take--to
+Spain?"
+
+"There is no question of Spain. I mean to stay here in England and fight
+the matter out. My wife would be the first person to tell me so. I
+cannot imagine her speaking to me again if I were coward enough to run
+away."
+
+"She would not do for you what I have done!" cried the unhappy woman,
+now, as it seemed, beside herself. "If she believes you innocent, so
+much the easier for her! But I--I--believe you guilty--yes, Caspar
+Brooke, I believe that you killed my brother--and I do not care! I loved
+him, yes; but I love you--_you_--a thousand times more!"
+
+"You do not know what you are saying. You are mad. Be silent, Rosalind,"
+said Caspar Brooke, in a deep tone of anger. But she raved on.
+
+"Have I not been silent for years? And who is as faithful to you as I
+have been? It is easy to love a man who is innocent; but not a man who
+is guilty! Guilty or not--I do not care. It is you that I care for--and
+you may have as many sins as you please upon your soul--but they are
+nothing to me. I am past anything now but speaking the truth. Have you
+no pity for a woman to whom you are dearer than her own soul?"
+
+She would have thrown herself at his feet, if he had not prevented her.
+He was touched a little by her suffering, but he was also immeasurably
+angered and disgusted. An exhibition of uncontrolled feeling was not the
+way to charm him. His one desire now became the desire to escape.
+
+"I should have no pity," he said, gravely, "for my own selfishness and
+cowardice, if I took advantage of this moment of weakness on your part.
+It _is_ weakness, I hope--I will not call it by any other name. You will
+recover from it when the stress of this painful time is over, and you
+will be glad to forget it as I shall do. Believe me, I will not think of
+it again. It shall be in my mind as though you had not said it; and,
+though it will be impossible for us to continue on our former terms of
+friendship, I shall always wish for your welfare, and hope that time
+will bring you happiness and peace."
+
+She made no answer. She lay where he had placed her, her head buried
+amongst the cushions, crushed to the very earth. She would not look at
+him, would not make semblance to have heard. And he, without hesitation,
+went deliberately to the door and let himself out. He gained the street
+without being intercepted, and drew a long breath of relief when he felt
+the soft night air playing on his heated brow. The moralist would have
+said that he came off victor; but he had a sense, as he went out along
+the pavement, of being only a defeated and degraded man. There was not
+even the excitement of gratified vanity, for an offered love which did
+not include perfect trust in his honor was an insult in itself. And
+Caspar Brooke's integrity of soul was dear to him.
+
+It was perhaps impossible for him--a mere man--to estimate the extent of
+suffering to which his scorn had subjected the woman that he left
+behind. Rosalind remained as he had seen her, crouching on the ground,
+with her head on the sofa cushions, for full two hours or more. When she
+rose she went to her own room and lay upon her bed, refusing for many
+hours either to eat or to speak. She did not sleep: she lay broad awake
+all night, recalling every tone of Caspar's voice, and every passing
+expression of his face. She was bitterly humiliated and ashamed. But she
+was not ashamed in the sense of shame for wrong-doing: she was only
+ashamed because he had rebuffed her. She was sick with mortification.
+She had offered him everything in her power--peace, safety, love: she
+had offered him _herself_ even, and been rejected with scorn. Nothing
+crushes a woman like this humiliation. And in some women's natures such
+an experience will produce dire results; for loss of self-respect is
+resented as the worst injury that man can inflict, and is followed by
+deadly hatred to the man who has inflicted it. It may be argued by the
+more logical male that the woman has brought it all upon herself; but no
+affronted, humiliated, shame-stricken woman will ever allow this to be
+the fact. The sacrifice she conceives to have been all her own; but the
+pain has come from _him_.
+
+This was the way in which Rosalind looked at the matter. And mistaken as
+she was in her view of the moralities and proprieties of the situation,
+she suffered an amount of pain which may well arouse in us more pity
+than Caspar Brooke felt for her. The burning, stinging sense of shame
+seemed to make her whole soul an open wound. It was intolerable. The
+only way out of it, she said to herself at first, is to die. There was
+an old song that rang in her ears continually, as if somebody were
+repeating it over and over again. She could not remember it all--only a
+line here and there. "When lovely woman stoops to folly," it began, what
+art can wash her tears and stains and shame away? And the answer was
+what Rosalind herself had already given: the only way "to rouse his
+pity" was "to die!" She almost laughed at herself for repeating the
+well-worn, hackneyed, century-old ditty. People did not die now-a-days,
+either of broken hearts or of chloral, when their lovers deserted them.
+And Caspar Brooke had never been her lover. No, he had only given her
+pain; and she wished that she could make him suffer, too. "Revenge" was
+too high-flown a word; but if she could see him heartbroken, ruined,
+disgraced, she would be--not satisfied, but she would feel her pain
+allayed.
+
+Caspar Brooke walked for an hour before he was calm enough to remember
+that he ought to go home. When this idea once occurred to him, he felt
+a pang of shame for his own forgetfulness. What would Alice think of
+him? And this was the first day that she had been with him in his house
+for so many years. He must go home and make his apologies. Not that she
+would expect very much attention from him. Had she not said that she was
+only trying to do her duty? Probably she disliked him still.
+
+He let himself in with his latch-key, and walked straight into the
+study. A shaded lamp had been lighted, and but faintly illuminated the
+corners of the room. But there was light enough for him to see that Lady
+Alice was sitting in his chair. He came up to the table, and looked at
+her without speaking. There was a strange tumult of feeling in his
+heart. He wished that he could tell her how gratified he was by her
+trust in him, how much he prized the very things that had once irritated
+him against her--her reserve, her fine perception, her excellent
+fastidiousness of taste, even that little air of coldness that became
+her so well. To come into her presence was like entering a fragrant
+English garden, after stifling for an hour in a conservatory where the
+air was heavy with the perfume of stephanotis.
+
+She rose, as he continued silent, and stood on the rug, almost face to
+face with him. She did not find it easy to speak, and there was
+something in his air which frightened her a little. She made a trivial
+remark at last, but with great difficulty.
+
+"You have been away a long time," she said.
+
+She was not prepared for the answer. He put out his hand and drew her
+close to him. "You were away a great deal longer," he said, looking down
+at her fair, serious face. She could not reply. "Twelve years, is it
+not?" he went on. "That's a long time out of one's life, Alice. I feel
+myself an old man now."
+
+"No, no, Caspar!" she said, tremulously.
+
+"What was it all about, Alice? You know I never really understood it.
+Can't you make me understand? Was it that I was simply unbearable? too
+disagreeable to be put up with any longer."
+
+"No, it was not that. I will speak the truth now, Caspar. I was
+jealous--I thought you cared for Rosalind Romaine."
+
+"But you know now--surely--that that was not true?"
+
+"Could you swear it?" she asked, suddenly and sharply, with a quick look
+into his face.
+
+For a moment he was annoyed. Then his brow cleared, and he answered,
+very gravely--
+
+"I can and will, if you like. But I thought--having trusted me so
+far--that you could trust me without an oath. Alice, I never loved any
+woman but one: and that one was yourself. Have you been as true to me as
+I have been to you?"
+
+"I don't think I ever knew that I loved you until now," said Alice,
+laying her head with a deep sigh upon her husband's breast.
+
+"Love is not enough, though it is a great deal: do you trust me?"
+
+"Implicitly--now that I have looked at you again."
+
+Caspar gave a little laugh.
+
+"Then I must never let you go away from me, or you will begin to
+disbelieve in me," he said.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+TWELVE SILVER SPOONS.
+
+
+Lady Alice was not long in finding out that Maurice Kenyon, her
+husband's chief friend, was the man of whom Lesley had spoken in her
+letters, and also the doctor who had interested her at the hospital. She
+did not speak to Lesley about him: she took a little time to accustom
+herself to her husband's circle before she made any remarks upon its
+members. But she was shrewd enough to see very quickly that Mr. Kenyon
+took even more interest in her daughter than in her husband, and from
+Lesley's shy looks she fancied that the interest was reciprocated. She
+had a twinge of regret for her favorite, Harry Duchesne, and then
+consoled herself by saying that after all Lesley was too young to know
+her own mind, and that probably she would change before she was
+twenty-one.
+
+She did not come particularly into contact with Maurice, however, until
+the Sunday after she had taken up her abode in Woburn Place. And then
+she saw a good deal of him. For Lesley went to sit with Ethel as was her
+wont, and Maurice came to dine at Mr. Brooke's. After the early dinner,
+Lady Alice noticed that there was some parleying between the guest and
+his host.
+
+"I am going," said Maurice in an urgent undertone. To which Caspar
+returned a cheerful answer.
+
+"All right, old man; but I am going too." And then Mr. Kenyon knitted
+his brows and looked vexed.
+
+Caspar at once noted his wife's glance of inquiry. "Has Lesley told you
+nothing about our Sunday meetings at the Club? We generally betake
+ourselves to North London on a Sunday afternoon. Mr. Kenyon thinks I had
+better stay with you, and--I don't."
+
+From Maurice's uncomfortable looks, Lady Alice gathered that there was
+something doubtful in the proceeding. "Will you let me go with you?" she
+said, by way of experiment.
+
+There was an exchange of astonished and rather embarrassed looks all
+round. Caspar elevated his eyebrows and clutched his beard: Miss Brooke
+made a curious sound, something like a snort; and Maurice flushed a deep
+and dusky red; indications which all annoyed Lady Alice, although she
+did not quite know what they signified. She rose from her chair and took
+the matter into her own hands; but all without the slightest change in
+the manner of graceful indifference which had grown natural to her of
+late years.
+
+"That is the place where Lesley used to go," she said. "She tells me she
+sings to the people sometimes. I cannot sing, but I can play the piano a
+little, if that is any good. Sophy is going, is she not? And I should
+like to go too."
+
+"There is no reason why you should not," said Mr. Brooke rather
+abruptly. But the gleam in his eye told of pleasure. "There are some
+very rough characters at the club sometimes, you know. And perhaps the
+reception they give me to-day will not be of the pleasantest."
+
+Lady Alice looked at her husband with a mixture of wonder and
+admiration. The calm way in which he sometimes alluded to his present
+circumstances, without a trace of bitterness or fretfulness, amazed her.
+In old days she would have put it down to "good breeding--good manners,"
+some superficial veneer of good society of which she thoroughly
+approved; but she had seen too much of the seamy side of "good society"
+now to be able to accept this explanation of his calmness. It was not
+want of sensitiveness, she was sure of that: he was by no means obtuse:
+it was simply that his large, strong nature rose above the pettiness of
+resentment and complaint. The suspicion under which he labored was a
+grave thing--a trouble, a blow; but it had not made him sour, nor borne
+him to the earth with a conviction of the injustice of mankind.
+
+His wife looked and marveled, but recollected herself in time to say
+after only a minute's hesitation:
+
+"I know a little more about rough characters than I once did. We saw a
+good many at the East End hospital, did we not, Mr. Kenyon?"
+
+It was the first time that she had shown that she remembered Maurice's
+face. Caspar pricked up his ears.
+
+"_You_ at a hospital, Alice? Why, what were you doing there?"
+
+"Visiting some of the patients," she answered, with a little blush.
+
+"Visits which were much appreciated," put in Maurice, "although we found
+that Lady Alice was too generous."
+
+"Until I was warned by one of the patients that the others abused my
+kindness and traded on it," said Lady Alice, laughing rather nervously,
+"and then I drew in a little."
+
+"What patient was that?"
+
+"The name I think was Smith--the man who lost his memory in that curious
+way."
+
+"Ah yes, I remember." And then Maurice knitted his brows and became very
+thoughtful: he looked as if a thoroughly new idea had been suggested to
+him.
+
+Miss Brooke remarked that it was almost time to set out if they were to
+go to the club that afternoon, and Lady Alice went to her room for her
+cloak. She was before the looking-glass, apparently studying the
+reflection of her own face, when a knock at the door, to which she
+absently said "Come in," was followed by Caspar's entrance. She,
+thinking that it was her maid, did not look round, and he came behind
+her without being perceived. The first token of his presence was
+received by her when his arm was slipped round her waist, and his voice
+said caressingly and almost playfully in her ear, "I don't know that I
+want my dainty piece of china carried down into the slums."
+
+"Am I nothing more to you than that?" said Lady Alice reproachfully.
+
+He made no answer, but as he looked at the fair face in the glass, and
+as their eyes met, she thought that she read a reply in his glance.
+
+"I have been nothing more--I know," she said, with sudden humbleness,
+"but if it is not too late--if I can make up now for the time I have
+lost----"
+
+The tears trembled in her eyes, but he kissed them away with new
+tenderness, saying in a soothing tone--
+
+"We will see, my dear, we will see. I was only in jest."
+
+And she felt that he was thinking not only of the lost years, but of the
+possible gulf before him--that horror of darkness and disgrace which
+they might yet have to face.
+
+She went downstairs to the cab that was waiting, with a new and subduing
+sensation very present to her mind: a sense of something missed out of
+her own life, a sense of having failed in the duty that had once been
+given her to do. Hitherto she had been buoyed up by a certain confidence
+in her own conscientiousness and power of judgment, as most rather
+narrow-minded women are; but it now occurred to her that she might have
+been wrong--not only in a few details, as she had consented to
+admit--but wrong from beginning to end. She had marred not only her own
+life but the lives of her husband and her child.
+
+This consciousness kept her very quiet during the drive to Macclesfield
+Buildings. But nobody spoke much, except Doctor Sophy, who made
+interjectional remarks, half lost in the rattling of the cab, by way of
+trying to keep up everybody's spirits. Caspar sitting opposite his wife,
+with his arms folded and his long legs carefully tucked out of the way,
+had an unusually serious and even anxious expression. Indeed it struck
+Lady Alice for the first time that he was looking haggard and ill. The
+burden was weighing upon him even more than he knew. Maurice, too,
+seemed absorbed in thought, so that the drive was not a particularly
+lively one.
+
+They got out at the block of buildings which had once struck Lesley as
+so particularly ugly. Perhaps their ugliness did not impress Lady Alice
+so much. At any rate she made no remark upon it. Her fingers were
+lightly pressed upon Caspar's arm: her thoughts were occupied by him.
+
+At the door of the block in which the club-rooms were situated, a little
+group of men were standing in somewhat aimless fashion, smoking and
+talking among themselves. Caspar recognized several of the club members
+in this group. "Ah," he said quietly to his wife, "they thought that I
+should not come." She made no answer: as a matter of fact she began to
+feel a trifle frightened. These rough-looking men, with their pipes, who
+nudged each other and laughed as she passed, were of a kind unknown to
+her. But Caspar walked through them easily, nodding here and there, with
+a cheery "Good-afternoon."
+
+Lady Alice did not know it, but the room presented an unusual sight to
+her husband's eyes that afternoon. The fire was burning, and the gas was
+lighted, for the day was cold and damp: the comfortable red-seated
+chairs were as inviting as ever, and the magazines and newspapers lay
+in rows upon the scarlet table-cloth. There were flowers in the vases,
+and a piece of music on the open piano. Lady Alice exclaimed in her
+pleasure, "How pretty it is! how cosy!" and wondered at the gloom that
+sat upon her husband's brow.
+
+The room was cosy and pretty enough--but it was empty.
+
+Caspar looked round mutely, then glanced at his companions. Miss Brooke
+paused in the act of taking off one woollen glove, and opened her mouth
+and forgot to shut it again. Maurice stood frowning, twitching his brows
+and biting his lips in the effort to subdue a torrent of rage that was
+surging up in his heart. He would have sworn, he said afterwards, if
+Lady Alice had not been there--he did not mind Doctor Sophy so much. All
+that he did now, however, was to mutter "Ungrateful rascals," and make
+as if he would turn to flee.
+
+But he was stopped by Caspar's clutch at his arm. Maurice saw that his
+purpose--that of haranguing the men outside--had been divined and
+arrested. He turned to his friend and saw for the first time on Caspar's
+face that the shaft had gone home. He had shown scarcely any sign of
+suffering before.
+
+"I don't deserve this from them," said Brooke quietly, and Maurice could
+tell that he had gone rather white about the lips. Then in a still lower
+voice, "Don't let her know. You were right, Maurice; I had better not
+have come."
+
+"I'll just go and look outside: I won't speak to them, don't be
+afraid--you talk to Lady Alice," said Maurice breaking from him. But
+when he got into the dark little entry, he did not look outside for
+anything or anybody: he only relieved himself by exclaiming. "Oh, d--n
+the fools!" and shaking his first in a very reprehensible way at some
+imaginary crowd of auditors. For Maurice was half an Irishman, and his
+blood was up, and on his friend's behalf he was, as he would just then
+have expressed it, "in a devil of a rage." While he was executing a sort
+of mad war-dance on the jute mat in the passage, relieving his mind by
+some wild gesticulation and still wilder objurgation of the world, Mr.
+Brooke had turned back to his wife with a pleasant word and smile.
+
+"I must show you the photographs," he said. "We are very proud of them.
+There will be plenty of time, for the members seem to be a little late
+in getting together to-day. Possibly they thought I was not coming."
+
+"It is scarcely time yet," said Miss Brooke heroically. She knew it was
+ten minutes past, but she was quite prepared to sacrifice truth for the
+maintenance of her brother's dignity.
+
+"That's a good one of the Parthenon," said Caspar negligently, putting
+his hand within his wife's arm, and leading her from one picture to
+another. "The Coliseum you see: not quite so clear as it might be. These
+frames were made by one of the men in the buildings--given as a present
+to the club. Not bad taste, are they? And this statuette----".
+
+He broke off suddenly. He had been going on hurriedly and feverishly,
+filling up the time as best he might, trying to forget the embarrassing
+situation into which he had brought his wife and himself, when the sound
+of heavy footsteps fell upon his ear. A sound of shuffling, the creak of
+men's boots, a little gruff whispering in the doorway--what was it all
+about? Were the men whom he had helped and guided going to turn against
+him openly--to give him in his wife's presence some other insult beside
+the tacit insult of their absence? He turned round sharply, with the
+feeling that if he was brought to bay the men would have a bad time of
+it. He certainly looked a formidable antagonist. The hair had fallen
+over his forehead, his brows were knotted, his eyes gleamed rather
+fiercely beneath them, his under lip was thrust out aggressively. "As
+fierce as a lion," said one of the observers, afterwards. But even while
+his eyes darted flame and fury at the men who had deserted them, his
+body kept its half-protecting, half-deferential pose with respect to
+Lady Alice; and the hand that held her arm was studiously gentle in its
+touch.
+
+Lady Alice turned round, amazed. There was a little crowd in the
+passage: the room was already half full. Men and women too were there,
+and more crowded in from behind. There must have been nearly fifty, when
+all were seen, and there were more men than women. But they did not sit
+down: they stood, they leaned against the walls; one or two mounted on
+the benches at the back and stood where they could get a good view of
+the proceedings. Caspar's scowl remained fixed, but it was a scowl of
+astonishment. He looked round for Maurice, whom he presently saw
+beckoning to him to take his usual place near the piano. He said a word
+to his wife, and brought her round with him towards his sister and his
+friend. The men still stood, and crowded a little nearer to him as he
+reached his place. There was very little talking in the room, and the
+men's faces looked somewhat solemn: it was evidently a serious occasion.
+
+"Is this--this--what usually goes on?" queried the puzzled Lady Alice.
+
+"This? Oh no!" said Maurice, to whom she had addressed herself, with a
+sudden happy laugh, and a perfectly beaming face. "_This_ is--a
+demonstration. Here, Caspar, old man, you've got to stand here. _Now_,
+Gregson."
+
+Lady Alice accepted the chair offered to her, and Miss Brooke another.
+Caspar began to look utterly perplexed, but a little relieved also, for
+his eye, in straying over the crowd, had recognized two or three faces
+as those of intimate friends who seemed to be mingling with the men, and
+he felt sure that they had no inimical purpose towards him. All that he
+could do was to look down and grasp his beard, as usual, while Jim
+Gregson, the man who had once spoken to Lesley so warmly of her father,
+being pushed forward by the crowd as their spokesman, addressed himself
+to Caspar.
+
+"Mr. Brooke--Sir: We have made bold to change the order of the
+proceedings for this 'ere afternoon. Instead of beginning with the
+music, we just want to say a few words; and that's why we've come in all
+at once, so as to show that we are all of one mind. We think, sir, that
+this is a very suitable opportunity for presenting you with a mark of
+our--our gratitude and esteem. We have always found you a true friend to
+us, and an upright man that would never allow the weak to be trampled
+on, nor the poor to be oppressed, and we wish to show that whatever the
+newspapers may say, sir, we have got heads on our shoulders and know a
+good man when we see him." This sentence was uttered with great
+emphasis, to an accompaniment of "Hear, hear," from the audience, and
+considerable stamping of feet, umbrellas and sticks. "What we wish to
+say, sir," and Mr. Gregson became more and more embarrassed as he came
+to this point, "is that we respect you as a man and as a gentleman, and
+that we take this opportunity of asking you to accept this small tribute
+of our feelings towards you, and we wish to say that there's not a
+member of the club as has not contributed his mite towards it, as well
+as many poor neighbors in the Buildings. It's a small thing to give,
+but that you will excuse on account of the shortness of the notice, so
+to speak: the suggestion having been made amongst ourselves and by
+ourselves only three days ago. We beg you'll accept it as a token of
+respect, sir, from the whole of the Macclesfield Buildings Working Men's
+Club, of which you was the founder, and which we hope you'll continue
+for many long years to be the president _of_." And with a resounding
+emphasis on the preposition, Mr. Gregson finished his speech. A
+tremendous salvo of applause followed his last word, and before it had
+died away a woman was hastily dragged to the front, with a child--a
+blue-eyed fairy of two or three years old--in her arms. The child held a
+brown paper parcel, and presented it with baby solemnity to Mr. Brooke,
+who kissed her as he took it from her hands. And then, under cover of
+more deafening applause, Mr. Brooke turned hurriedly to Maurice and
+said, in a very unheroic manner--
+
+"I say, I can't stand much more of this. I shall make a fool of myself
+directly."
+
+"Do: they'll like it, the beggars!" returned Maurice in high glee.
+
+But he had more sympathy in his eyes than his words expressed, and the
+grip that he gave his friend's hand set the audience once more
+applauding enthusiastically. An audience of Londoners with whom a
+speaker is in touch, is one of the most sympathetic and enthusiastic in
+the world.
+
+While they applauded, the parcel was opened. It contained a morocco
+case, lined with dark blue satin and velvet--an unromantic and prosaic
+expression of as truly high and noble feeling as ever found a vent in
+more poetic ways--and on the velvet cushion lay--twelve silver spoons!
+
+There was an odd little touch of bathos about it, and an outsider might
+perhaps have smiled at the way in which the British workman and his wife
+had chosen to manifest their faith in the man who had been in their eyes
+wrongfully accused; but nobody present in the little assembly saw the
+humorous side of it at all, not even a young gentleman who was hastily
+making a sketch of it for the _Graphic_, for he blew his nose as
+vigorously as anybody else. And there was a good display of
+handkerchiefs and some rather troublesome coughing and choking in the
+course of the afternoon, which showed that the donors of the spoons did
+not look on the gift exactly in the light of a joke.
+
+Mr. Brooke was a practised speaker; and when he opened his lips to
+reply, his sister dried her eyes and put down her handkerchief with a
+gratified smile as much as to say, "Now we shall have a treat." And she
+settled herself so that she could watch the effect of the speech on Lady
+Alice, who had forgotten to wipe her tears away, and sat with eyelashes
+wet and cheeks slightly flushed, looking astoundingly young and pretty
+in the excitement of the moment. But Miss Brooke was doomed to be
+disappointed. Caspar began once, twice, thrice--and broke down
+irrevocably. The only intelligible words he got out were, "My dear
+friends, I can't tell you how I thank you." And that was quite true: he
+couldn't.
+
+But there was all the more applause, and all the more kindly feeling for
+that failure of his to make a speech; and then one or two other men
+spoke of the good that Mr. Brooke had done in that neighborhood, and of
+the help that he had given them all in founding the club, and of the
+brave and encouraging words that he had spoken to them, and so on; and
+the young artist for the _Graphic_ sketched away faster and faster, and
+said to himself, "My eye, there'll be a precious row if they try to hang
+him after this, whatever he's done." But the sensation of the afternoon
+was yet to come.
+
+"I can only say once more, my friends," said Caspar, as the hour wore
+away, "that I thank you for this expression of your confidence in me,
+and that I have never had a prouder moment in my life than this, in
+which you tell me of your own accord that you believe in my innocence of
+the crime attributed to me. Of that, however, I will not speak. I wish
+only, before we separate, to introduce you to my wife, who has never
+been here before, and whom I am sure you will welcome for my sake."
+
+There was a moment of astonishment. Every one knew something of the
+story of Caspar's married life, and was taken aback by the appearance of
+his wife. But when Maurice Kenyon led the way by clapping his hands
+vigorously, someone took up the word, and cried, "Three cheers for Mrs.
+Brooke." And Lady Alice started at the new title, and thought that it
+sounded much better than the one by which she was usually known.
+
+"Shall I say any more?" said Caspar, smiling as he stooped down to her.
+But suddenly she rose to her feet and put her hand within his arm. "No,"
+she said, "I am going to do it myself."
+
+The storm of clapping was renewed and died away when it was perceived
+that Lady Alice was about to speak. She was a little flushed, but
+perfectly self-possessed, and her clear silvery voice could be heard in
+every corner of the room.
+
+"I wish to thank you, too," she said, "for your kindness to my husband
+and myself. I hope I shall know more of his work here by and by, and in
+the meantime I can only tell you that you are right to trust him and
+believe in him--as _I_ trust him and believe in him with all my heart
+and soul!"
+
+She turned to him a little as she spoke, her eyes shining, her face
+transfigured--the faith in her making itself manifest in feature and in
+gesture alike. There was not applause so much as a murmur of assent when
+she had done; and Caspar, laying hold of her hand, looked down at her
+with a new warmth of tenderness, and said half wonderingly,
+
+"Why, Alice!"
+
+"Do you think I could let them go without telling them what you are to
+me?" she said, with a kind of passion in her voice which reminded him of
+Lesley. But there was no time to say more, for every person in the room
+presented himself or herself to shake hands with Caspar and his wife,
+and to admire the spoons, which had been purchased only the night
+before.
+
+"Very glad to see you amongst us, Mrs. Brooke, mum; and hope you'll come
+again," was heard so often that Lady Alice was quite amazed by the
+warmth of the greeting. "And the young lady too--where's she? she ought
+to have been here as well," said one woman; to which Maurice Kenyon
+responded in a pleased growl--
+
+"Yes, confound your blundering, so she ought; and so she would have
+been, if you hadn't nearly made such a blessed mull of the whole
+affair."
+
+He did not think that anybody heard him, and was rather taken aback when
+Lady Alice smiled at him over her shoulder. "What do you mean, Mr.
+Kenyon?" she said.
+
+Maurice was on his good behavior immediately. "Oh, nothing, Lady Alice;
+only that Miss Brooke might have been here if we had only had a hint
+beforehand, and it is a pity she should have missed it."
+
+"A great pity," said Lesley's mother; and she looked quite complacently
+at the twelve silver spoons, which she was guarding so jealously, as if
+she feared they would be taken away from her.
+
+Outside the doors, when the assembly had reluctantly dispersed, after an
+improvised collation, given by Caspar, of hot drinks and plum cake, a
+little crowd of men and boys cheered the departing hero of the day so
+valiantly that Lady Alice was almost glad to find herself once more
+driving through the dusky London streets with her husband at her side.
+Miss Brooke and Maurice had elected to walk home.
+
+"There's one thing," said Caspar, rather later in the day, as a history
+of these experiences was unfolded to Lesley; "we quite, forgot to tell
+the good folks your mother's name and title. She was applauded to the
+echo as 'Mrs. Brooke.'"
+
+"Oh, you must never tell them," said Lady Alice, hastily. "I do not want
+to be anything else, please--now."
+
+"I wish they had let one know beforehand," said Maurice, "they kept it a
+dead secret--even from me."
+
+"All the greater surprise for us," said Mr. Brooke. Then he looked at
+Maurice for a moment, and smiled. But it was long before they mentioned
+to each other what both had thought and felt in that heart-breaking
+minute of suspense when they believed that Caspar was deserted in the
+hour of need.
+
+"Well," said Caspar Brooke, at length, "whatever may happen now"--and he
+made a pause which was fraught with graver meaning than he would have
+cared to put into words--"I can feel at any rate that 'I have had my
+say.' And you, Alice--well, my dear, you will always have those silver
+spoons to look at! So we have not done badly after all."
+
+Like Sir Thomas More, he would have joked when going to the scaffold;
+but jokes under such circumstances have rather a ghastly sound in the
+ears of his family.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL.
+
+CAIN.
+
+
+Maurice Kenyon took an early opportunity of asking Lady Alice whether
+she would recognize the man Smith if she saw him again.
+
+"I think so. Why do you ask? You know I talked to him a good deal."
+
+"I have been very blind," said Maurice seriously. "I never thought until
+to-day of associating him in my mind with someone else--someone whom I
+have seen twice during the past week. May I speak freely to you? You
+know I am as anxious as anyone can possibly be that this mystery should
+be cleared up. I wish to speak of Francis Trent, the brother of Oliver
+Trent, and the husband of the woman who makes this accusation against
+Mr. Brooke."
+
+Lady Alice recoiled. "You cannot mean that John Smith had anything to do
+with him?"
+
+"I have a strong belief that John Smith and Francis Trent are one and
+the same. To my shame be it spoken, I did not recognize him either on
+Wednesday or Friday when I paid him a visit. Ethel wished me to go when
+she heard that he was ill." He said this in a deprecating tone.
+
+"I quite understand. You saw this man--Francis Trent--then?"
+
+"Yes, and could not imagine where I had seen him before. I think it is
+the man I used to see in hospital. Lady Alice--if you saw him
+yourself----"
+
+"I, Mr. Kenyon? What! see the man and woman who accuse my husband of
+murder?"--There was genuine horror in her tone. "How could I speak to
+them?"
+
+"It is just a chance," said Maurice, in a low voice. "If he knew that
+_you_ were the wife of the man who was accused--perhaps something would
+come of it."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Lady Alice, pray do not build too much on what I am going to say. If
+Francis Trent and John Smith be the same, then my knowledge of John
+Smith's previous condition leads me to think it quite possible that it
+was Francis Trent who, in a fit of frenzy, committed the murder of which
+your husband is suspected."
+
+Lady Alice looked at him in silence. "I don't see exactly," she said,
+"that I should be of much use."
+
+"Nor I--exactly," said Maurice. "But I see a vague chance; and I ask
+you--for your husband's sake--to try it."
+
+"Ah, you know I cannot refuse that," she said quickly. And then she
+arranged with him where they should meet on the following afternoon in
+order to drive to the lodgings now occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Francis
+Trent. Whether this proceeding might not be stigmatized as "tampering
+with witnesses," Maurice and Lady Alice neither knew nor cared. If
+Maurice had a doubt, he stifled it by telling himself that they were not
+going to visit the "witness," Mary Trent, but the sick man, John Smith,
+in whom Lady Alice had been interested at the hospital. It was only as a
+precaution that he took with him young Mr. Grierson, junior partner of
+the firm of solicitors to whom Caspar's defence was entrusted. Young
+Grierson was a friend as well as a lawyer, and it was always as well to
+have a friend at hand. But really he hardly knew for what result he
+hoped.
+
+The rooms in which Maurice himself, at Ethel's instance, had located Mr.
+and Mrs. Francis Trent were in Bernard Street. They were plain but
+apparently clean and comfortable. Maurice said a word to the servant,
+and unceremoniously put her aside, and walked straight into the room
+where he knew that Francis Trent was lying.
+
+A thin, spare woman, with a deadly pale face and black sunken eyes, rose
+from a seat beside the bed as they entered. Lady Alice knew, as if by
+instinct, that this was Mary Trent. She averted her eyes from the woman
+who had falsely accused her husband: she could not bear to look at her.
+But Mary Trent scarcely took her eyes off Lady Alice's face.
+
+"Will you look here, Lady Alice, if you please?" said Maurice in his
+most professional tone. She turned towards the bed, and saw--yes, it was
+the face of the man whom she had known in the hospital: thinner,
+yellower, more haggard than ever, but still the face of the patient who
+used to watch her as if her presence were a means of healing in itself.
+
+"Yes," she said slowly, "that is--John Smith."
+
+"His real name is Francis Trent," said Maurice. "Do you know this lady,
+Francis?"
+
+The sick man nodded. There was a curiously vacant look upon his face,
+brightened only at times by gleams of vivid consciousness.
+
+"Yes, yes, I know her. The lady that came to see me in hospital," he
+murmured feebly.
+
+"Do you know who she is?"
+
+"Why do you trouble him, sir?" said Mrs. Trent. "You see how ill he is,
+wouldn't it be better for him to be left in peace?"
+
+She spoke with sedulous calmness; but there was a jar in her voice which
+did not sound quite natural. Maurice simply repeated his question, and
+Francis Trent shook his head.
+
+"She is the wife of Caspar Brooke, the man who, you _say_, killed your
+brother Oliver."
+
+The sick man's eyes dilated, and fixed themselves uneasily on his wife.
+"I did not say it," he answered, almost in a whisper. "Mary said it--not
+I."
+
+"But you heard something, did you not?" said Maurice remorselessly.
+
+"How should he hear anything," said Mary Trent, "and he asleep in his
+bed at the time? Or if not asleep, too ill and weak to notice anything.
+It's a shame to question him like that; and not legal, neither. You'll
+please to leave us to ourselves, sir; we ain't a show. We can but say
+what we saw and heard, whatever the consequences may be, but we need not
+be tortured for all that."
+
+"That's enough, Mary," said the man speaking from the bed in a much more
+natural manner and in a stronger voice than he had yet used. "You're
+overdoing it--you always do. It's no good. This is the last stroke, and
+I give up. It has gone against the grain with me to get anybody into
+trouble," he said, looking attentively at Lady Alice, "and now that I
+know who this lady is, I don't feel inclined to keep up the farce any
+longer. I am much too ill to live to be hanged--Mr. Kenyon can tell you
+so at any minute--and I may as well give you the satisfaction of
+knowing that Caspar Brooke had nothing at all to do with Oliver's death:
+I was his murderer, and no one else: I swear it, so help me God!"
+
+Lady Alice turned very faint. Someone put her in a chair and fanned her,
+and when she came to herself she heard Francis Trent's wife speaking.
+
+"He's mad, I tell you. It's no good paying any attention to what he
+says, gentlemen. I saw him myself in his bed at the time, and----"
+
+"Now, Mary, my dear good soul," said Francis with the old easy
+superiority which he had always assumed to her, "will you just hold your
+tongue, and let me tell my own tale? You have done your best for me, but
+you know I always told you I was not to be trusted to lie about it if
+anybody appealed to me to evidence. I really have not the strength to
+keep it up. I want at least to die like a gentleman."
+
+"I am not at all sure that you are going to die," said Maurice quietly,
+with his finger on the sick man's pulse. Francis had put off the vacant
+expression, and his eyes had lighted up. He was evidently quite himself
+again.
+
+"No?" he said easily. "Well, I would rather die, if it's all the same to
+you; because I fancy I shall have to be put under restraint if I do
+live. I don't always know what I am doing in the least. I know now,
+though. You can bear me out, doctor, isn't my brain in a very queer
+state?"
+
+"I fear it is," said Maurice.
+
+"Just so. I am subject to fits of rage in which I don't know what I am
+doing. And on that night when Oliver came to see me, after Brooke had
+gone away, I got into one of these frenzies and followed him downstairs,
+picking up Brooke's stick on the way and beating poor Oliver about the
+head with it.... You know well enough how he was found. I only came to
+myself when it was done. And then, my wife--with all a woman's
+ingenuity--bundled me into bed, swore that I had never left it, and that
+Caspar Brooke had done it. It was a lie--she told me so afterwards. Eh,
+Mary?--Forgive me, old girl: I've got you into trouble now; but that is
+better than letting an innocent man swing for what I have done,
+especially when that man is the husband of one who was so kind to
+me----"
+
+"And the father of Lesley Brooke," said Maurice, looking steadfastly at
+Mary Trent.
+
+A shudder ran through the woman's frame. Then she covered
+her face with her hands and flung herself down at her husband's side.
+
+"Oh Francis, my dear, my dear!" she said. "I did it for you."
+
+And then for an instant there was silence in the room, save for her
+heavy sobs. Francis lay still but patted her with his thin fingers, and
+looked at Caspar Brooke's wife with his large, unnaturally bright, dark
+eyes.
+
+"She is a good soul in spite of it all," he said, addressing himself to
+Lady Alice. "And she did it out of love for me. You would have done as
+much for your husband, perhaps, if you loved him--but I have heard, that
+you don't."
+
+"Oh, but you are wrong," said Lady Alice. "I love him with all my heart,
+and I thank you deeply--deeply--for saving him."
+
+"That ought to be some payment," said Francis Trent, with his wan, wild
+smile. "And I don't suppose they'll be very hard on me, as I did not
+know what I was doing. You'll speak a word to that effect, won't you,
+doctor?"
+
+"I will indeed. But it would have been better for you as well as for
+others if truth had been told from the beginning," said Kenyon.
+
+"It can't be helped now. Is there anything else I can do? You must have
+my statement taken down. And Mary, my girl, you'll have to make your
+confession too."
+
+"Oh, Francis, Francis!" she moaned. "Not against you, my dear--not
+against you!"
+
+"Yes, against me," said Francis steadily. "And let us finish with the
+formalities as quickly as may be, doctor, as long as my head's clear. I
+killed my brother Oliver--that you must make known as soon as you can.
+Not for malice, poor chap, nor yet for money--though he had cheated me
+many a time--but because I was mad--mad. And I am mad now--mad though
+you do not know it--stark, staring mad!"
+
+And his dark eyes glared at them so strangely that Lady Alice cried out
+and had to be led into another room, for it was the light of madness
+indeed that shone from beneath his sunken brows.
+
+It was while she sat alone for a minute or two while the gentlemen were
+talking in another room, that Mary Trent came creeping to her, with
+folded hands and furtive mien.
+
+"Oh, my lady, my lady, forgive me," she said, sobbing fretfully as she
+spoke. "I thought but of my own--I did not think of you. Nor of Miss
+Lesley, though I did love her--yes, I did, and tried my best to save her
+from that wicked man. Mr. Brooke will tell you what I mean, ma'am. And
+tell him, if you will be so good, that I was frightened into taking back
+the stories I had told him about Oliver--but they were _all true_.
+Everyone of 'em was true. And that I beg he'll forgive me; for a better
+and a kinder gentleman I never see, nor one that loved poor people more.
+And Miss Lesley was just like him--but it was my husband, and I thought
+he'd be hanged for it, and what could I do?"
+
+And then, while Lady Alice still hesitated between pity and a feeling of
+revolt at pity for a woman who had sworn falsely against her dearly
+beloved husband, Caspar Brooke, a cry was heard from the bedroom, and
+Mary turned and fled back to the scene of her duties--sad and painful
+duties indeed, sometimes, when the madman became violent, and likely
+enough to be very speedily terminated by death.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"What can I say to you?" said Lady Alice to Maurice Kenyon, a day or two
+later. "It was your acuteness that brought the matter to light. Now that
+that poor wretched man is hopelessly insane, we might never have learnt
+the truth. Is there any way in which I can thank you? any way in which I
+can give you a reward?"
+
+She looked steadily into his face, and saw that he changed color.
+
+"There is only one way, Lady Alice," he stammered.
+
+"You are not to call me Lady Alice: I like 'Mrs. Brooke' much better.
+Well?"
+
+"I love your daughter," said Maurice bluntly, "and I believe she would
+love me if you would let her."
+
+"_Let_ her?" said Mrs. Brooke, with a smile.
+
+"She made you some promises before she came to London----"
+
+"Ah, not to become engaged before the year was out. Tell her that I
+absolve her from that promise, and--ask her again."
+
+Maurice found that under these conditions Lesley's answer was all that
+could be desired.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI.
+
+VALE!
+
+
+"Now that Ethel has gone to the sea-side, I can have you to myself a
+little while," said Lady Alice to her daughter.
+
+"Poor Ethel! But it is delightful to have you here, mamma: it is so
+home-like and comfortable."
+
+"Ah, you will soon have to make a home for somebody else!"
+
+Lesley grew red, but smiled. "We won't think of that yet," she said
+softly. "Mamma, I want to speak to you on a very serious subject."
+
+"Well, my darling?"
+
+"You won't be angry with me, will you? It is--about Mrs. Romaine."
+
+Lady Alice's brow clouded a little. "Well, Lesley?" she said.
+
+"Mamma, I can't bear Mrs. Romaine myself. Neither can you. Neither can
+papa. And it is very unchristian of all of us, to say the least.
+Because----"
+
+"Neither can papa," repeated Lady Alice, with raised brows. "My dear
+child, Mrs. Romaine is a great friend of your father's. He told me only
+the other day that she used to come here very often--to see your Aunt
+Sophy and yourself."
+
+"So she did," said Lesley, lightly. "But, of course, she can't very well
+come now--at least, it would be awkward. Still I am sure papa does not
+like her, for he looked quite pleased the other day when I told him that
+she was going to give up her house, and said in his short way--'So much
+the better.'"
+
+"Very slight evidence," said Caspar Brooke's wife smiling.
+
+"Well, never mind evidence, mammy dear. What I want to say is that I
+feel very sorry for Mrs. Romaine. You see she must be feeling very much
+alone in the world. Oliver, whom she really cared for, is dead, and
+Francis is out of his mind, and Francis' wife"--with a little
+shudder--"cannot be anything to her--and then, don't you think, mamma,
+that when there has been _one_ case of insanity in the family, she must
+be afraid of herself too?"
+
+"Not necessarily. Francis Trent's insanity was the result of an
+accident."
+
+"Yes, but it is very saddening for her, all the same, and she must be
+terribly lonely in that house in Russell Square. I wanted to know if I
+might go and call upon her?"
+
+"You, dear? I thought you did not like her."
+
+"I don't," said Lesley, frankly, "but I am sorry for her. Ethel asked me
+why I did not go. She thought there must be something wrong, because
+Rosalind never came to see her after Oliver's death--never once. I
+believe she has scarcely been out of the house--not at all since the
+funeral, and that is a month ago. I have not heard that she was ill, so
+I suppose it is just that she is--miserable, poor thing."
+
+Lady Alice stroked her daughter's hair in silence for a minute or two.
+"I think I had better go instead of you, Lesley. There is no reason why
+she should feel she cannot see us. She was not to blame for that
+accusation--though I heard that she believed it. But I will see her
+first, and you can go afterwards if she is able to receive visitors."
+
+"That is very good of you, mamma--especially as you don't like her,"
+said Lesley. "I can't help feeling thankful that Ethel will have nothing
+to do with that family now. And since Maurice told her a little more
+about poor Mr. Trent, I think she sees that she would not have been very
+happy." She was silent for a little while, and then went on, trying to
+give an indifferent sound to her words:--"Captain Duchesne's people live
+near Eastbourne, he told me; and Ethel has gone to Seaford."
+
+"Not far off," said Lady Alice, smiling a little. "I hope that his
+sister Margaret will call on Ethel: I think they would like each other."
+
+And no more was said, for it was as yet too early to wonder even whether
+Harry Duchesne's adoration for Ethel Kenyon was ultimately to meet with
+a return.
+
+True to her new tastes, Lady Alice had had cards printed bearing the
+name "Mrs. Caspar Brooke." She desired, she said, to be identified with
+her husband as much as possible: it was a great mistake to retain a
+mere courtesy title, as if she had interests and station remote from
+those of her husband. Caspar had smilingly opposed this change, but Lady
+Alice had stood firm. Indeed, to her old friends she remained "Lady
+Alice" to the end of the chapter; but to the outer world she was
+henceforth known as Mrs. Brooke.
+
+She sent up one of her new cards when she called upon Mrs. Romaine. She
+paid this visit with considerable shrinking of heart. She had bitter
+memories connected with Mrs. Romaine. Since the day on which she had
+been reconciled to her husband, she had cast from her all suspicion of
+his past--cast it from her in much the same arbitrary and unreasoning
+manner as she had first embraced it. For, like most women, she was
+governed far more by her feelings and instincts than by the laws of
+evidence. As Rosalind had once told her brother, Lady Alice had
+accidentally seen and intercepted a letter of hers to Caspar; and Lady
+Alice had then rushed to the conclusion that it was part of a long
+continued correspondence and not a single communication. And
+now--now----what did she think? She hardly knew; of one thing only was
+she certain that Caspar had never been untrue to her, had never cared
+for any woman but herself.
+
+She was not at all sure that Mrs. Romaine would receive her: she knew
+that she had written to her in a tone that no woman, especially a woman
+like Mrs. Romaine, is likely to forgive; but time, she thought, blunts
+the memory of past injuries, and if Rosalind chose to forget the past,
+she would forget it too. It was with a soft and kindly feeling,
+therefore, that Lady Alice asked for admittance at Mrs. Romaine's door,
+and learned that Mrs. Romaine was at home and would see her.
+
+Before she had been in the drawing-room five minutes, it dawned on Lady
+Alice's mind that there was something odd in her hostess' manner and
+even in her appearance. Of course she was prepared for a change; in the
+twelve years or more that had elapsed since they had met she herself
+must have also changed. But, as a matter of fact, Lady Alice's long,
+elegant figure, shining hair and delicate complexion showed the ravages
+of time far less distinctly than she imagined; while Mrs. Romaine was a
+mere wreck of what she had been in her youth. During the last few
+weeks, Rosalind had grown thin: her features were sharpened, her hands
+white and wasted: her eyes seemed too large for her face, and were
+surmounted by dark and heavy shadows. Lady Alice was reminded of another
+face that she had last seen relieved against the whiteness of a pillow,
+of eyes that had gleamed wildly as they looked at her, of a certain
+oddness of expression that in her own heart she called "a mad look."
+Yes, there was certainly a likeness between her and her brother Francis,
+and it was the sort of likeness that gave Lady Alice a shock.
+
+For a few minutes the two women talked in platitudes of indifferent
+things. Lady Alice noticed that after every sentence or two Mrs. Romaine
+let the subject drop and sat looking at her furtively, as if she
+expected something that did not come. Was it sympathy that she wanted?
+It was with difficulty that Lady Alice could approach the subject. After
+a longer pause than usual, she said softly--
+
+"You must let me tell you how sorry I am for the sorrow that has come
+upon you--upon us all."
+
+Mrs. Romaine stared at her for a moment; an angry light showed itself in
+her eyes.
+
+"You have come to tell me that?" she said, with chill disdain.
+
+"I came to say so--yes," Lady Alice answered, in her surprise.
+
+"I am very much obliged to you, I am sure." The tone was almost
+insolent, but the woman was herself again. The oddness, the awkwardness
+of manner had passed away, and her old grace of bearing had come back.
+Even her beauty returned with the flush of crimson to her face and the
+lustre of her eyes. The prospect of combat brought back the animation
+and the brilliancy that she had lost.
+
+"There were other things I thought that you had perhaps come to
+say--repetitions of what you said to me years ago--before you left your
+husband."
+
+Lady Alice rose at once. "I think you had better not touch on that
+subject," she said gently but with dignity. "I did not come here with
+any such intention. I hoped all that was forgotten by you--as it is by
+me."
+
+"I have not forgotten," said Mrs. Romaine, rising also, and fixing her
+eyes on Lady Alice's face.
+
+"I am sorry for it. You will allow me----"
+
+"No, do not go: stay for a minute or two, I beg of you. I am not
+well--I said more than I meant--do not leave me just yet." She spoke now
+hurriedly and entreatingly.
+
+These extraordinary changes of tone and manner impressed Lady Alice
+disagreeably. And yet she hesitated: she did not like to carry out her
+purpose of leaving the house at once, when she had been entreated to
+remain. Looking at her, Mrs. Romaine seemed to make a great effort over
+herself, and suddenly put on the air that she used most to affect--the
+air of a woman of the world, with peculiarly engaging manners.
+
+"Don't hurry away," she said. "I really have something particular to say
+to you. Will you listen to me for two minutes?"
+
+"Yes--if you wish it."
+
+"I do wish it very much. You will stay? That is kind of you. And I will
+ring for tea."
+
+"No, please do not," said Lady Alice shrinking instinctively from the
+thought of eating and drinking in Rosalind Romaine's drawing-room; "I
+really cannot stay long, and I do not drink tea so early."
+
+Her hostess smiled and withdrew her hand from the bell-handle. "As you
+please," she said indifferently. "It is so long since I had visitors
+that I almost forget how to entertain them. You must excuse me if I have
+seemed _distrait_ or--or peculiar. You see I have had a great deal to
+bear."
+
+"I know it, and I am very sorry," said Lady Alice gently.
+
+"You are very kind." Was there a touch of satire in the tone? "And--as
+you are here--why should we not speak of one or two matters that have
+troubled us sometimes? As two women of the world, we ought to be able to
+come to a sort of compact."
+
+"I do not understand you, Mrs. Romaine."
+
+Rosalind laughed a little wildly. "Of course you don't. But I do not
+mean to talk conventionalism or commonplace. Just for a minute or two,
+let us speak openly. You have come back to your husband--yes, I _will_
+speak, and you shall not interrupt!--and you hope no doubt to be happy
+with him. Don't you know that I could wreck your whole happiness if I
+chose?"
+
+The color rose in Lady Alice's face, but she looked clearly into the
+other's face as she replied--
+
+"My happiness with my husband is not dependent on anything that you may
+do or say. I really cannot discuss the subject with you, Mrs. Romaine,
+it is most unsuitable."
+
+"You are very impatient," said Rosalind satirically. "I only want to
+make a bargain with you. If you will do something that I want, I promise
+you that I will go away from London and never speak to any of your
+family again." Lady Alice's alarm struggled for mastery with her pride
+and her sense of the becoming, both of which told her not to parley with
+this woman. But the temptation to a naturally exacting nature was very
+great. She hesitated for a moment, and Mrs. Romaine went rapidly on.
+
+"I wrote a letter once." The hot color mounted to her cheeks and brow
+while she was speaking. "You wrote to me about it. But you did not send
+it back. You have that letter still."
+
+Lady Alice continued to look at her steadily, but made no reply.
+
+"That letter has been the curse of my life. I repented it as soon as it
+was sent--you may be sure of that: I could repeat it word for word even
+now. Oh, no doubt you made the most of it--jeered at it--laughed over it
+with _him_--but to me----"
+
+"It is the last thing I should ever have mentioned to my husband," said
+Lady Alice, with grave disdain. "He never knew that you wrote it--never
+saw it--never will see or know it from _me_."
+
+"Do you mean that you have kept it to yourself all these years?"
+
+"I mean that I put it into the fire as soon as I had read it. Why are
+you so concerned about it? Was it worse than the others that you must
+have written--before that?"
+
+"I never wrote to him before."
+
+They faced each other with mutual suspicion in their eyes. Lady Alice
+had forgotten her proud reserve: she wanted to know the truth at last.
+
+"I will acknowledge," she said, "that I believed that you had written
+other letters--of a somewhat similar kind--to Mr. Brooke. I was angry
+and disgusted: it was that which formed one of my reasons for leaving
+him years ago. But I have come to a better mind since then. I do not
+care what you wrote, what you said, or what you did: I believe that my
+husband is a good man and I love him. I have come back to him, and
+shall never leave him again. You can do me no harm now."
+
+Mrs. Romaine laughed mockingly. "Can I not?" she said. "Do you know that
+he came to me within an hour after his release? Do you know that he
+asked me to go away with him to Spain, where we could be safe and happy
+together? What do you say to that?"
+
+"I say this," cried Lady Alice, almost violently, "that I do not believe
+a word of it." She drew herself to her full height and turned to leave
+the room. Then she looked at Rosalind and spoke in a gentler tone. "I am
+sorry for you," she said. "But your suffering is partly your own fault.
+What right had you to think of winning my husband's heart away from me?
+You have not succeeded, although you have done your best to make us
+miserable. I have never spoken of you to him--never; but now, when I go
+home, I shall go straight to him and tell him all that you have said to
+me, and I shall know very well whether what you say is false or true."
+
+She left the room proudly and firmly, unheeding of the mocking laugh
+that Rosalind sent after her. She let herself out into the street and
+walked straight back to her home. Caspar was out: she could not go to
+him immediately, as she had said that she would do. She went to her room
+and lay down upon the bed, feeling strangely tired and weak. In spite of
+her haughty rebuttal of the charge against her husband, she was wounded
+and oppressed by it. And as the time went on, she felt more and more the
+difficulty of telling him her story, of asking him to clear himself. How
+could she question him without seeming to doubt?
+
+She fretted herself until a headache came on, and she was unable to go
+down to dinner. Lesley brought her up a cup of tea, but her mother
+refused her company. "I shall be better alone," she said. "Has your
+father come in yet? Isn't he very late?"
+
+It was nearly ten o'clock when Mr. Brooke came in, and, hearing that he
+had been asked for, made his way to his wife's room. He bent over her
+tenderly, asking her how she felt; and she put one hand up to his rough
+cheek, without answering.
+
+"What has made your head ache, my darling?" he asked.
+
+"Caspar, I have been to see Mrs. Romaine."
+
+She felt a sort of start or quiver go through him at the name. He put
+his lips softly to her forehead before he spoke. "Well!" he said, a
+little dryly.
+
+"Did you--did she----"
+
+Then she broke down, and sobbed a little with her face against her
+husband's breast. Caspar's breath grew shorter--a sign of excitement
+with him--but for a time he waited quietly and would not speak. He could
+not all at once make up his mind what to say.
+
+"Alice," he said at last, "if you ask me questions I suppose I must
+answer them in one way or another. But--I think I had rather you did
+not." He felt that every nerve was strained in self-control as she
+listened to him. "Mrs. Romaine," he went on deliberately, "is not a
+woman that I like--or--respect. I would very much prefer not to talk
+about her."
+
+"I must tell you just one thing," she whispered, "it was my feeling
+about her--my jealousy of her--that made me leave you--twelve years
+ago."
+
+She had surprised him now. "Alice! Impossible," he said. "Why, my poor
+girl, there was not the slightest reason. I can most solemnly swear to
+you, Alice, that I never had any other feeling for Mrs. Romaine than
+that of ordinary friendship. My dear, will you never believe that you
+have always been the one woman in all the world for me?"
+
+"Forgive me, Caspar," she murmured, "I do believe it now."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At the same hour, a haggard and despairing woman raised herself from the
+floor where she had lain for many weary hours, trying by passionate
+tears and cries and outbursts of unavailing lamentation to exhaust or
+stifle the anguish which seemed to have reached its most intolerable
+point. Her robes were soiled and crushed, her hair was dishevelled, her
+eyes were red with weeping; and, as she rose, she wrung her hands
+together and then raised them in appeal to the God whom she had so long
+forgotten and forsaken.
+
+"Oh, my God," she cried, "how can I bear it? All that I do is useless. I
+may lie and cheat and plot as much as I like, but all my schemes are in
+vain. I cannot hurt her, as she said: I cannot punish him: I have no
+power left. No power, no beauty, no will! Am I losing my senses, too,
+like Francis?" She shuddered at the thought. "Perhaps I am going
+mad--they have driven me mad, Caspar Brooke and his wife, between
+them--mad, mad, mad!--Oh, God," she said, with a long shivering sigh,
+"Oh, God, avert _that_ doom! Not that punishment of all others, for
+mercy's sake!"
+
+She looked up and down her dimly lighted room with an expression upon
+her face of horror and unrest, which bore some resemblance to the look
+of one whose intellect was becoming unhinged. It seemed as if she were
+afraid that something might leap out upon her from the darkness, or as
+if goblin voices might at any moment mutter in her ear. For a long time
+she stood motionless in the middle of the room, her eyes staring, her
+hands hanging at her sides. Then she moved slowly to a writing-table,
+took a sheet of paper and a pen, and wrote a few lines. When she had
+finished she enclosed the sheet in an envelope, and addressed it to Lady
+Alice Brooke. And when that was done she rang the bell and sent the
+letter to the post. Then she nodded and smiled strangely to herself.
+
+"Perhaps that will atone," she murmured vaguely. "And perhaps God will
+not take away my reason, after all."
+
+And then she began to fumble among the things upon her dressing-table
+for the little bottle that contained her nightly sleeping draught.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mrs. Romaine's letter was brought to Lady Alice before she rose next
+morning. It contained these words:--
+
+     "I told you what was not true to-day. Your husband never asked me
+     to go away with him--he never cared for me. I loved him, that was
+     all. His carelessness drove me mad--I tried to revenge myself on
+     him by making you suffer. But you would not believe me, and you
+     were right. Pity me if you can, and pray for me.
+
+     "ROSALIND ROMAINE."
+
+"Ah, poor soul!" thought Alice Brooke, her eyes filling with tears. "I
+do pity her--I do, with all my heart. God help her!"
+
+And she said those words again--useless as they might be--when, by and
+by, a messenger came hurrying to the house with the news that Mrs.
+Romaine had been found dead that morning--dead, from an overdose of the
+chloral which she kept beside her for sleeplessness. And so the life of
+false aims and perverted longings came to its appointed end.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was never a cloud on Alice Brooke's domestic happiness, never a
+shadow of distrust between her and her husband, after this. For some
+little time they changed their mode of life--giving up the house in
+Bloomsbury and spending long, blissful months in Italy and the Tyrol. It
+was like another honeymoon. And when they returned to London, Caspar
+took a house in a sunnier and pleasanter region than Upper Woburn Place,
+but not so far away as to prevent him from visiting the Macclesfield
+Club on Sundays, and having a chat with Jim Gregson and his other
+workman friends. These workmen and their wives came also in their turn
+to Mr. Brooke's abode, where there was not only a gentle and gracious
+lady to preside at the table (where twelve especially valued silver
+spoons always held a place of honor), but a very remarkable baby in the
+nursery; and it was Mr. Brooke's continual regret that he had not
+insisted on naming his son and heir Macclesfield, after the workmen's
+buildings, instead of the more commonplace Maurice, after Maurice
+Kenyon. But Maurice and Lesley returned the compliment by calling their
+eldest child Caspar, although Lesley did say saucily that she thought it
+a very ugly name.
+
+Francis Trent was in a lunatic asylum, "at Her Majesty's pleasure." His
+wife was allowed to see him now and then; and on this account she would
+not leave England, as some of her friends urged her to do, but occupied
+herself with needlework and some kind of district visiting among the
+poor. The Brookes and the Kenyons were both exceedingly kind to her, and
+would have been kinder if she had felt it possible to accept "their
+kindness"; but, although she cherished in secret a strong affection for
+Lesley, she was too much ashamed of her past conduct ever to present
+herself to them again. She could but live and work in silence, until one
+of the two great healers, Time or Death, should soothe the bitterness of
+her heart away.
+
+And Ethel?--Well, Mrs. Harry Duchesne knows more about Ethel than I do,
+and I shall be happy to refer you to her.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+JELLY OF CUCUMBER AND ROSES.
+
+MADE BY W. A. DYER & CO., MONTREAL, is a delightfully fragrant Toilet
+article. Removes freckles and sunburn, and renders chapped and rough
+skin, after one application, smooth and pleasant. No Toilet-table is
+complete without a tube of Dyer's Jelly of Cucumber and Roses. Sold by
+all Druggists.
+
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+  CASWELL, MASSEY & CO., New York & Newport.*
+
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+
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+
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+Paste, fragrant and delicious. Try it. Druggists keep it.
+
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+
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+
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+Liver, Bowels and Blood, carrying off all humors and impurities from the
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+Sick Headache, Constipation, Rheumatism, Dropsy, Dry Skin, Dizziness,
+Jaundice, Heartburn, Nervous and General Debility, Salt Rheum,
+Erysipelas, Scrofula, etc. It purifies and eradicates from the Blood all
+poisonous humors, from a common Pimple to the worst Scrofulous Sore.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+DYSPEPSINE!
+
+  *The Great American Remedy FOR DYSPEPSIA
+  In all its forms,*
+
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+Constipation, Biliousness,* and all forms of *Dyspepsia*; regulating the
+action of the stomach, and of the digestive organs.
+
+  *Sold Everywhere. 50c. per Bottle.
+  THE DAWSON MEDICINE CO.,--MONTREAL.*
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    DR. CHEVALLIER'S RED SPRUCE GUM PASTE,
+          DR. NELSON'S PRESCRIPTION,
+           _GOUDRON de NORWEGE._
+
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+             For COUGHS and COLDS.
+       Insist upon getting one of them.
+                 25c. each.
+    For Sale by all Respectable Druggists.
+      LAVIOLETTE & NELSON, Druggists,
+  _AGENTS OF FRENCH PATENTS._ 1605 Notre Dame St.*
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+BOOKS IN "STAR" SERIES.
+
+  107. LUCK IN DISGUISE, BY WM. J. ZEXTER                  .30
+  108. THE BONDMAN, BY HALL CAINE                          .30
+  109. A MARCH IN THE RANKS, BY JESSIE FOTHERGILL          .30
+  110. COSETTE, BY KATHERINE S. MACQUAID                   .30
+  111. WHOSE WAS THE HAND? BY MISS BRADDON                 .30
+  112. THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW, BY RUDYARD KIPLING           .25
+  113. THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, BY RUDYARD KIPLING        .25
+  114. SOLDIERS THREE, and other Tales, BY RUDYARD KIPLING .25
+  115. PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS, BY RUDYARD KIPLING      .25
+  116. THE DEMONIAC, BY WALTER BESANT                      .25
+  117. BRAVE HEARTS AND TRUE, BY FLORENCE MARRYAT          .25
+  118. GOOD BYE, BY JOHN STRANGE WINTER                    .25
+
+*For Sale by all Booksellers.*
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+              _Scarff's Marshmallow Cream_
+
+  For the Skin and Complexion, superior to anything in use
+         for roughness, or any irritation of the skin,
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+                      CARBOLATED.
+
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+                   Beautifying the
+                   Teeth and Gums.
+                    PREPARED BY
+
+      *CHAS. E, SCARFF, CHEMIST AND DRUGGIST*
+   _2262 St. Catherine Street, opposite Victoria._
+
+
+
+
+                         CATALOGUE
+                            OF
+                LOVELL'S CANADIAN COPYRIGHT
+                           AND
+                     *"STAR" SERIES.*
+
+
+All the books in the Copyright Series are by arrangement with the
+Authors, to whom a Royalty is paid, and no American reprints can
+lawfully be sold in Canada.
+
+
+CANADIAN COPYRIGHT SERIES.
+
+  1. The Wing of Azrael, by Mona Caird                              .30
+  2. The Fatal Phryne, by F. C. Philips                             .30
+  3. The Search for Basil Lyndhurst, by Rosa Nouchette Carey        .30
+  4. The Luck of the House, by Adeline Sergeant                     .30
+  5. Sophy Carmine, by John Strange Winter                          .30
+  6. Jezebel's Friends, by Dora Russell                             .30
+  7. That Other Woman, by Annie Thomas                              .30
+  8. The Curse of Carne's Hold, by G. A. Henty                      .30
+  9. An I. D. B. in South Africa, by Louise Vescellins Sheldon      .30
+  10. A Life Sentence, by Adeline Sergeant                          .30
+  11. Comedy of a Country House, by Julian Sturgis                  .30
+  12. The Tree of Knowledge, by G. M. Robins                        .30
+  13. Kit Wyndham; or, Fettered for Life, by Frank Barrett          .30
+  14. The Haute Noblesse, by George Manville Fenn                   .30
+  15. Buttons, by John Strange Winter                               .30
+  16. Earth Born, by Spirito Gentil                                 .30
+  17. Mount Eden, by Florence Marryat                               .30
+  18. Hedri; or, Blind Justice, by Helen Mathers                    .30
+  19. Joshua, a Story of Egyptian-Israelitish Life, by Georg Ebers  .30
+  20. Hester Hepworth, by Kate Tannatt Woods                        .30
+  21. Nurse Revel's Mistake, by Florence Warden                     .30
+  22. Sylvia Arden, by Oswall Crawfurd                              .30
+  23. The Mynns Mystery, by George Manville Fenn                    .30
+  24. Was Ever Woman in this Humor Wooed? by Charles Gibbon         .30
+  25. A Girl of the People, by L. T. Meade                          .30
+  26. The Firm of Girdlestone, by A. Conan Doyle                    .30
+  27. April's Lady, by The Duchess                                  .30
+  28. By Order of the Czar, by Joseph Hatton                        .30
+  29. The Lady Egeria, by John Berwick Hardwood                     .30
+  30. Syrlin, by Ouida                                              .50
+  31. The Burnt Million, by James Payn                              .30
+  32. Her Last Throw, by The Duchess                                .30
+  33. A Woman's Heart, by Mrs. Alexander                            .30
+  34. A Scarlet Sin, by Florence Marryat                            .30
+  35. A True Friend, by Adeline Sergeant                            .30
+  36. A Smuggler's Secret, by Frank Barrett                         .30
+  37. The Great Mill Street Mystery, by Adeline Sergeant            .30
+  38. The Moment After, by Robert Buchanan                          .30
+  39. Ruffino, by Ouida                                             .30
+  40. The Chief Justice, by Karl Emil Franzos                       .30
+  41. Lover or Friend, by Rosa Nouchette Carey                      .30
+  42. Heart of Gold, by L. T. Meade                                 .30
+  43. Famous or Infamous                                            .30
+
+
+
+
+JOHN LOVELL & SON'S PUBLICATIONS.
+
+
+=Nurse Revel's Mistake.= By FLORENCE WARDEN.
+
+From first to last it is without a dull page, and is full of thrilling
+adventure, which renders it a most readable volume.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=Sylvia Arden.= By OSWALD CRAWFURD.
+
+This work adds materially to the growing fame of this popular author.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=The Mynns' Mystery.= By GEO. MANVILLE FENN.
+
+An interesting story of life among the richer classes of England, with a
+glimpse into the early western life of the United States, that always
+affords to a wearied mind a few moments of refreshing reading.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=Was Ever Woman in this Humor Wooed?= By CHS. GIBBON.
+
+A novel of more than ordinary merit, with a rather remarkable plot,
+which gives a peculiar charm to lady readers especially.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=A Girl of the People.= By L. T. MEADE.
+
+A story of low life in Liverpool, recounting the trials and troubles of
+a brave young girl, which will be read with much interest.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=The Firm of Girdlestone.= By A. CONAN DOYLE.
+
+The style is free and flowing, the situations startling, the characters
+few and well sustained, the plot original and very clever. It is not a
+love story, but none the less interesting and romantic on that account.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=The Curse of Curne's Gold.= By G. A. HENTY.
+
+A thrilling story of love and adventure. The scene is laid in the late
+Kaffir war, of which the author had a large personal experience, having
+acted as war correspondent, in which position he became thoroughly
+acquainted with the adventures and accidents by flood and field of which
+his story so ably treats.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=An I. D. B. in South Africa.= By LOUISE V. SHELDON.
+
+An interesting story, profusely illustrated. The plot is a clever one,
+and holds the reader's attention throughout.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=A Life Sentence.= By ADELINE SERGEANT.
+
+One of the strongest and most dramatic of this popular author's works.
+The story combines very sensational incidents with interesting
+developments of personal character.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=The Tree of Knowledge.= By G. M. ROBINS.
+
+A fascinating book of fiction which all lovers of light literature
+should read. The work bears a strong stamp of originality and power.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=Kit Wyndham; or, Fettered for Life.= By FRANK BARRETT.
+
+A highly sensational story, which, however, presents a pleasing contrast
+to the evil literature which has of late been spread broadcast. The
+novel is one which once begun will be finished, and the _denouement_ is
+as pleasing as it is unexpected.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+JOHN LOVELL & SON, PUBLISHERS, MONTREAL.
+
+
+
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+                        (Registered.)
+
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+falling, and does not darken it. It should be used daily, after the
+morning bath.
+
+*Price 25c. For Sale at all Chemists.*
+
+Henry R. Gray, Chemist, 122 St. Lawrence, Montreal, Sole Manufacturer.
+
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+
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+                    (Patent applied for.)
+
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+the skin. It will cure chapped hands, and will render rough and dry skin
+as smooth and as soft as velvet.
+
+*In Pots, 25 cents.*
+
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+
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+
+                GRAY'S SAPONACEOUS DENTIFRICE.
+              Antiseptic. Cleansing. Beautifying.
+
+Keeps the teeth free from tartar, deodorizes the breath, and destroys
+bacteria.
+
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+
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+
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+                BECAUSE:
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+
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+Gravies and Soups.
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+
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+
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+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
+
+Inconsistent hyphenation and italicization have been retained
+as-is within the text.
+
+Here is a list of the minor typographical corrections made:
+  - Comma replaced by period after "ETC" on the second page of
+    advertisements.
+  - Comma changed to a period after "cents" on the fourth page of
+    advertisements (the second page of book listing).
+  - Comma changed to a period after "25c" on Page 4.
+  - "loose" changed to "lose" on Page 7.
+  - "had" changed to "Had" on Page 8.
+  - "a a" changed to "a" on Page 17.
+  - Quote added after "mean----" on Page 20.
+  - "show-white" changed to "snow-white" on Page 24.
+  - "a a" changed to "a" on Page 42.
+  - "occurrred" changed to "occurred" on Page 57.
+  - "word" changed to "world" on Page 64.
+  - "fasionably" changed to "fashionably" on Page 65.
+  - "brink" changed to "drink" on Page 78.
+  - Comma changed to period after "doubt" on Page 83.
+  - Quote removed after "I?" on Page 84.
+  - "demeannor" changed to "demeanor" on Page 90.
+  - Period added after "aglow" on Page 90.
+  - "pursued" changed to "pursed" on Page 91.
+  - Quote added after "Club." on Page 114.
+  - Single quote added before the final "t" in "'T'aint"
+    on Page 123.
+  - Comma changed to period after "Romaine" on Page 124.
+  - Comma changed to period after "too" on Page 138.
+  - Quote removed after "even----" on Page 145.
+  - "sonething" changed to "something" on Page 148.
+  - "got" changed to "get" on Page 148.
+  - Quote removed before "Her" on Page 154.
+  - "quitely" changed to "quietly" on Page 165.
+  - "thing" changed to "think" on Page 166.
+  - "Leslie" changed to "Lesley" on Page 180.
+  - "vist" changed to "visit" on Page 181.
+  - Single quote moved to before "prettiness" on Page 184.
+  - Double quote added after "'art'" on Page 184.
+  - Quotation mark removed after "feel." on Page 185.
+  - Comma changed to period after "explanation" on Page 188.
+  - "the the" changed to "the" on Page 191.
+  - "commoness" changed to "commonness" on Page 193.
+  - "Leslie" changed to "Lesley" on Page 199.
+  - Exclamation mark changed to question mark after "Lesley"
+    on Page 201.
+  - Quote added after "dreams!" on Page 211.
+  - "nan" changed to "man" on Page 218.
+  - Quotation mark moved to follow "suppose," on Page 219.
+  - "againt" changed to "against" on Page 221.
+  - Removed quotation mark after "position," on Page 225.
+  - "brough" changed to "brought" on Page 225.
+  - Question mark changed to a period after "seat" and following
+    letter capitalized on Page 232.
+  - "then" changed to "them" on Page 242.
+  - Quote added after "behind." on Page 247.
+  - Quotation mark added after "then?" on Page 254.
+  - Period added after "start" on Page 260.
+  - "back ground" changed to "background" on Page 262.
+  - Quote added after "Trent?" on Page 265.
+  - "draw" changed to "drew" on Page 276.
+  - Quotes removed after "Because" and before "your" on Page 278.
+  - Question mark changed to period after "heard" on Page 279.
+  - Comma changed to a period after "Lesley" on Page 280.
+  - Question mark changed to comma after "accommodated" on Page 282.
+  - Quote added after "him." on Page .284
+  - "night" changed to "night's" on Page 286.
+  - "afaid" changed to "afraid" on Page 289.
+  - Quote removed after "forgive?" on Page 292.
+  - "God God" changed to "Good God" on Page 305.
+  - "need need" changed to "need" on Page 308.
+  - "nowa-days" (hyphenated line-break) changed to "now-a-days" on
+    Page 311.
+  - "sold" changed to "be sold" on Page 344.
+  - ".00" changed to ".30" on Page 344.
+  - "33" changed to "38" on Page 344.
+  - "49" changed to "39" on Page 344.
+  - "30" changed to "40" on Page 344.
+  - "48" changed to "43" on Page 344.
+  - "Barret" changed to "Barrett" on Page 346.
+  - Period added after "Manufacturer" on Page 347.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Brooke's Daughter, by Adeline Sergeant
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Brooke's Daughter, by Adeline Sergeant
+
+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: Brooke's Daughter
+       A Novel
+
+Author: Adeline Sergeant
+
+Release Date: January 28, 2010 [EBook #31106]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROOKE'S DAUGHTER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Linda Hamilton and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+(This file was produced from images generously made
+available by the Canadian Institute for Historical
+Microreproductions (www.canadiana.org))
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="advert newpg">
+<img src="images/ad2_1.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="491" ALT="Have you Teeth?--THEN PRESERVE THEM BY USING--LYMAN'S CHERRY TOOTH PASTE. Whitens the teeth, sweetens the breath, prevents decay.
+In handsome Engraved Pots,--25 cents each."></div>
+
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+ width="700" height="630" ALT="Trade Mark Secured. Lyman's Royal Canadian Perfumes.
+The only CANADIAN PERFUMES on the English Market.
+Cerise. English Violets. Heliotrope. Jockey Club. Prairie Flowers.
+Pond Lily. White Rose. Ylang Ylang. Etc.">
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+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<div class="advert">
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+21 ST. LAWRENCE MAIN ST. 21
+MONTREAL."></div>
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+ width="700" height="564" ALT="Established 1866.
+L. J. A. SURVEYER, 6 ST. LAWRENCE ST. (near Craig Street.)
+HOUSE FURNISHING HARDWARE, Brass, Vienna and Russian Coffee Machines,
+CARPET SWEEPERS, CURTAIN STRETCHERS, BEST ENGLISH CUTLERY, FRENCH MOULDS,
+&amp;c., BUILDERS' HARDWARE, TOOLS, ETC."> <a name="tn_3"></a><!--TN: Comma replaced by period after "ETC"-->
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2>JOHN LOVELL &amp; SON'S PUBLICATIONS.</h2>
+<hr style="width: 75%;margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-top:.5em;">
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/haute_noblesse.png" ALT="The Haute Noblesse."  width="272" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Geo. Manville Fenn</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">A cleverly written book, with exceptional characters. The
+plot and description of scenery are alike inimitable. <span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/buttons.png" ALT="Buttons and Booties' Baby."  width="357" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright">By <span class="smcap">John Strange Winter</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">Two military tales, abounding in the most grotesque situations
+and humorous touches, which will greatly amuse the
+reader. <span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/mount.png" ALT="Mount Eden."  width="174" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Florence Marryat</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">A charming romance of English life, and probably the
+greatest effort of this popular authoress. <span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/hedri.png" ALT="Hedri; or, Blind Justice."  width="317" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Helen Mathers</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">An exciting story in which love plays only a secondary part.
+All who enjoy a first-class story cannot fail to be interested, and
+the many admirers of Helen Mathers will find a new treasure in
+this work.  <span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/joshua.png" ALT="Joshua."  width="104" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Georg Ebers</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">A story of Egyptian-Israelitish life which will bear favorable
+comparison with Ben-Hur and other high-class books of the same
+style. The description of the flight of the children of Israel from
+Egypt, and their subsequent wanderings in the desert, are placed
+before the reader in a startlingly realistic manner. <span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/hester.png" ALT="Hester Hepworth."  width="221" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Kate Tannatt Woods</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">This work treats of the superstitious times of 1692, when
+witchcraft was punished with death. It tends to arouse one's
+sympathy, and will be read with much interest and profit. <span class="keepright">  <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/heart.png" ALT="A Woman's Heart."  width="244" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Mrs. Alexander</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">An exciting and dramatically written story, full of woman's
+tenderness and compassion under the most trying circumstances.
+A captivating romance that is as interesting as it is elevating in
+tone.  <span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/friend.png" ALT="A True Friend."  width="204" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Adeline Sergeant</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">The portrayal not the exaggeration of a noble character, from
+whom the reader can draw healthy inspiration.  <span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/smuggler.png" ALT="A Smuggler's Secret."  width="280" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Frank Barrett</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">An exciting story of the Cornish Coast, full of adventure,
+well put together and of a pure tone.<span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+<a name="tn_5"></a><!-- TN: Comma changed to a period after "cents"-->
+</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/mill.png" ALT="The Great Mill Street Mystery."  width="407" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Adeline Sergeant</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">The author is as usual true to life and true to her own noble
+instincts. Added to a feminine perception, Miss Sergeant has a
+dispassionateness and a sense of humor quite rare in her sex.<span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/moment.png" ALT="The Moment After."  width="250" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Robert Buchanan</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">A thrilling story, giving the experience in the hereafter of a
+man who was hanged. It is weird but not revolting.<span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/bondman.png" ALT="The Bondman."  width="202" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Hall Caine</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">It is vigorous and faithful, portrays with the intimacy of
+entire acquaintanceship, not only the physical features of island
+life in the Northern Seas, but the insular habits of thought of the
+dwellers on those secluded haunts of the old Sea Kings or Vikings
+of the past.<span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+<hr style="width: 75%;margin-bottom: .3em;">
+<p class="center">JOHN LOVELL &amp; SON, PUBLISHERS, MONTREAL.<a name="Page_1"></a></p>
+
+<div id="titlepage" class="newpg">
+
+<h1 style="padding-top: 1.5em;line-height: 2em;">BROOKE'S DAUGHTER.</h1>
+
+<h3 style="padding-top: 2.5em;">A NOVEL.</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class="center">
+<span style="font-size:.8em;">BY<br></span>
+
+<span style="font-size:1.15em;">ADELINE SERGEANT,<br></span>
+<span style="font-size:.8em;"><i>Author of "A True Friend" etc., etc.</i></span>
+
+<hr style="width: 10%;margin-bottom: 5em; margin-top:5em;">
+
+<span style="font-size:.8em;"><span class="smcap">Montreal</span>:<br></span>
+JOHN LOVELL &amp; SON,<br>
+<span style="font-size:.8em;">23 <span class="smcap">St. Nicholas Street</span>.</span>
+</div>
+</div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+
+<a name="Page_2"></a>
+
+<p style="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;">Entered according to Act of Parliament in the year 1891, by
+John Lovell &amp; Son, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture
+and Statistics at Ottawa.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_3"></a>
+<div style="text-align: center;">
+<p style="font-size:1.25em; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline; text-align: center">SECOND EDITION.</p>
+
+<h2 class="smcap" style="font-family:sans-serif">"A Daughter of St. Peter's"</h2>
+
+<span class="smcap" style="font-size: 1.25em">By Janet C. Conger.</span><br>
+<span class="smcap" style="font-size: .8em">(Mrs. Wm. Cox Allen.)<br><br></span>
+</div>
+<div style="font-weight:bold">
+<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="3" align="center" width="50%" summary="Book Price Information">
+<tr valign="top" align="center">
+<td>In&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td>Paper&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td>Cover,&nbsp;</td><td>30</td><td>&nbsp;&nbsp;Cents.</td>
+</tr>
+<tr valign="top" align="center">
+<td>"</td><td>Cloth</td><td>"</td><td>50</td><td>"</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+<h2>Lovell's Canadian Authors' Series, No. 60.</h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 10%;margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top:.2em;">
+
+<p>The authoress is a Canadian, and her story is remarkably well told.&mdash;<i>Advertiser</i>,
+London.</p>
+
+<p>In this work a new aspirant for literary honors in the field of fiction
+makes her first appearance before the public. The story which she tells
+is neither lengthy nor involved. It is a simple, prettily told story of
+love at first sight, with a happy ending, and little to divert the mind of
+the reader from the hero and heroine. Mrs. Conger's literary style is
+pleasing, and her production evidences a well cultured mind and a
+tolerable appreciation of character. Her book will be found very
+pleasant reading.&mdash;"<i>Intelligencer</i>," Belleville.</p>
+
+<p>The plot is ingeniously constructed, and its working out furnishes the
+opportunity for some dramatic situations. The heroine, of whose early
+life the title gives us a hint, is a creature all grace and tenderness, a true
+offspring of the sunny south. The hero is an American, a man of
+wealth, and an artist <i>in posse</i>. The other <i>dramatis person&aelig;</i>, who play
+their parts around these central figures, are mostly Italians or Americans.
+The great question to be solved is: Who is Merlina? In supplying the
+solution, the author takes occasion to introduce us to an obscure but
+interesting class of people. The denouement of "A Daughter of St.
+Peter's" is somewhat startling, but we must not impair the reader's
+pleasure by anticipation. We see from the advanced sheets that it is
+dedicated to the Canadian public, to whom we cordially commend it.&mdash;<i>The
+Gazette</i>, Montreal.</p>
+
+<p>For a first effort, which the authoress in her preface modestly says
+the novel is, "A Daughter of St. Peter's" must be pronounced a very
+promising achievement. The plot is well constructed and the story
+entertaining and well told. The style is light and agreeable, and with
+a little more experience and facility in novel-writing we may expect
+Mrs. Conger, if she essays a second trial, to produce a book that will
+surpass the decided merits of "A Daughter of St. Peter's."&mdash;<i>Free Press</i>,
+London.<a name="Page_4"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<div class="advert">
+<img src="images/ad9_1.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="146" ALT="COVERNTON'S SPECIALTIES.">
+<br>
+<img src="images/ad9_2.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="163" ALT="GOOD MORNING! HAVE you used COVERNTON'S Celebrated">
+<br>
+<img src="images/ad9_3.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="137" ALT="FRAGRANT CARBOLIC TOOTH WASH,
+For Cleansing and Preserving the Teeth, Hardening the
+Gums, etc. Highly recommended by the leading Dentists
+of the City. Price, 25c., 50c. and $1.00 a bottle."><br>
+<img src="images/ad9_4.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="82" ALT="COVERNTON'S SYRUP OF WILD CHERRY,
+For Coughs, Colds, Asthma, Bronchitis, etc. Price 25c."><br>
+<img src="images/ad9_5.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="118" ALT="COVERNTON'S AROMATIC BLACKBERRY
+CARMINATIVE, For Diarrh&oelig;a, Cholera Morbus, Dysentery, etc. Price 25c."><br>
+<img src="images/ad9_6.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="86" ALT="COVERNTON'S NIPPLE OIL,
+For Cracked or Sore Nipples. Price 25c.">
+</div>
+
+<div class="advert">
+<img src="images/ad9_7.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="303" ALT="GOOD EVENING! USE
+COVERNTON'S ALPINE CREAM for Chapped Hands, Sore Lips, Sunburn, Tan, Freckles,
+etc. A most delightful preparation for the Toilet. Price 25c."><a name="tn_9"></a><!-- TN: Comma changed to a period after "25c"-->
+</div>
+<div class="advert">
+<img src="images/ad9_8.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="242" ALT="C. J. COVERNTON &amp; CO.,
+Dispensing Chemists, CORNER OF BLEURY AND DORCHESTER STREETS,
+Branch, 469 St. Lawrence Street,
+MONTREAL.">
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"><a name="Page_5"></a>
+<h1>BROOKE'S DAUGHTER.</h1>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 15%;">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">THE END OF HER CHILDHOOD.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">The</span> Convent of the Annonciades, situated in a secluded
+spot on the outskirts of Paris, has long been well reputed
+as an educational establishment for young ladies of good
+family. The sisters themselves are women of refinement
+and cultivation, and the antecedents of every pupil received
+by them are most carefully inquired into: so carefully, indeed,
+that admission to the Convent School is looked on
+almost as a certificate of noble birth and unimpeachable
+orthodoxy. The Ladies of the Annonciades have indeed
+lately relaxed their rules, so far as to receive as parlor-boarders
+some very rich American girls and the children
+of a Protestant English marquis; but wealth in the first
+instance, and birth in the second, counterbalance the objections
+that might be raised to their origin or their faith.
+These exceptions to the rule are, however, few and far
+between; and, in spite of the levelling tendencies of our
+democratic days, Annonciades Convent is still one of the
+most exclusive and aristocratic establishments of the kind
+in Europe.</p>
+
+<p>Although we know too well that small-minded jealousy,
+strife, and bickering must exist in a community of women
+cut off so entirely from the outer world as in this Convent
+of the Annonciades, it must be confessed that the very
+name and air of the place possess a certain romantic charm.
+The house is old, turreted like a chateau, overgrown with
+clematis and passion-flower. The grounds, enclosed by
+high mossy walls, are of great extent, and beautifully laid<a name="Page_6"></a>
+out. The long chestnut avenue, the sparkling fountains,
+the trim flower-beds, are the delight of the sisters' hearts.
+The green beauty of the garden, and the grey stones of the
+ancient building, form a charming background for the white-veiled
+women who glide with noiseless footsteps along the
+cloisters or the avenue: a background more becoming to
+them even than to the bevy of girls in their everyday grey
+frocks, or their Sunday garb of white and blue. For the
+sisters' quaint and graceful dress harmonizes with the
+antique surroundings of building and ornament as anything
+younger and more modern fails to do.</p>
+
+<p>These women&mdash;shut off from the world, and knowing
+little of its joys or sorrows&mdash;have a strangely tranquil air.
+With some the tranquility verges on childishness. One
+feels that they have not conquered the world, they have
+but escaped it; and, as one pities the soldier who flies the
+battle, so one mourns for the want of courage which has
+condemned these women to an inglorious peace. But here
+and there another kind of face is to be seen. Here and
+there we come across a countenance bearing the tragic
+impress of toil and grief and passion; and we feel it possible
+that in this haven alone perhaps could a nature which
+had striven and suffered so greatly find in the end a lasting
+place. But such faces are fortunately few and far between.</p>
+
+<p>From the wide low window of the great <i>salle d'&eacute;tude</i> a
+flight of steps with carved stone balustrades led into the
+garden. The balustrades were half-covered with clustering
+white roses and purple clematis on the day of which I write;
+and a breath of perfume, almost overpowering in its sweetness,
+was wafted every now and then from the beds of
+mignonette and lilies on either side. The brilliant sunshine
+of an early September day was not yet touched with the
+melancholy of autumn: the leaves of the Virginia creeper
+had not yet changed to scarlet, nor had the chestnuts yellowed
+as if winter was creeping on apace. Everything was
+still, warm and bright.</p>
+
+<p>The stillness was partly accounted for by the fact that
+most of the pupils had gone home for their summer holidays.
+The <i>salle d'&eacute;tude</i> was empty and a little desolate:
+no hum of busy voices came from its open window to the
+garden; and even the tranquil sisters seemed to miss the
+sound, and to look wistfully at the bare desks and unused
+benches of their schoolroom. For they loved their pupils<a name="Page_7"></a>
+and their work; both came, perhaps, as a welcome break
+in the monotony of their barren lives; and they were
+sorry when the day came for their scholars to leave
+them for a time. Still more did they grieve when the
+inevitable day of a final departure arrived. They knew&mdash;some
+by hearsay, some by experience, and some by instinct
+alone&mdash;that the going away from school into the world was
+the beginning of a new life, full, very often, of danger and
+temptation, in which the good sisters and their teaching
+were likely to be forgotten, and it was a sorrow to them to
+be henceforth dissociated from the thoughts and lives of
+those who had often been under their guardianship and
+tuition for many years. Such a parting&mdash;probably a final
+one&mdash;was now imminent, and not a few of the sisters were
+troubled by the prospect, although it was against their rule
+to let any sign of such grief appear.</p>
+
+<p>It was not the hour of recreation, but the ordinary routine
+of the establishment was for a little while suspended,
+partly because it was holiday-time, and partly because an
+unusual event was coming to pass. One of the parlor
+boarders, who had been with the sisters since her childhood,
+first as a boarder and then as a guest, was about to
+leave them. She was to be fetched away by her mother
+and her mother's father, who was an English milord, of
+fabulous wealth and distinction, and, although at present a
+heretic, exceedingly "well-disposed" towards the Catholic
+church. It was not often that a gentleman set foot
+within the precincts of the convent; and although he would
+not be allowed to penetrate farther than the parlor, the
+very fact of his presence sent a thrill of excitement through
+the house. An English milord, a heretic, the grandfather
+of "cette ch&egrave;re Lisa," whom they were to <a name="tn_12"></a><!-- TN: "loose" changed to "lose"-->lose so soon!
+No wonder the most placid of the nuns, the most stolid of
+the lay-sisters, tingled with excitement to the finger-tips!</p>
+
+<p>The girl whose departure from the convent school was
+thus regretted was known amongst her English friends as
+Lesley Brooke. French lips, unaccustomed to a name like
+Lesley, had changed it into Lisa; but Lesley loved her
+own name, which was a heritage in her family, and had
+been handed down to her from her grandmother. She was
+always glad to hear it from friendly English lips. She was
+nineteen now, and had stayed with the sisters an unusually
+long time without exactly knowing why. Family circum<a name="Page_8"></a>stances,
+she was told, had hitherto prevented her mother
+from taking her to an English home. But now the current
+of her life was to be changed. She was to leave Paris: she
+was, she believed, even to leave France. Her mother had
+written that she was to go to London, and that she (Lady
+Alice Brooke) would come for her, in company with Lesley's
+grandfather, Lord Courtleroy, with whom she had
+been traveling abroad for some time past.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley was overjoyed by the news. She had lately come
+to suspect something strange, something abnormal, in her
+own position. She had remained at school when other
+girls went to their homes: she never had been able to answer
+questions respecting her relations and their belongings.
+Her mother, indeed, she knew; for she sometimes spent a
+portion of the holidays with Lady Alice at a quiet watering-place
+in France or Italy. And her mother was all that
+could be desired. Gentle, refined, beautiful, with a slight
+shade of melancholy which only made her delicate face
+more attractive&mdash;at least in Lesley's eyes&mdash;Lady Alice
+Brooke gained love and admiration whithersoever she
+went. But she never spoke of her husband. Lesley had
+gradually learned that she must not mention his name. In
+her younger days she had been wont to ask questions about
+her unknown father. Was he dead?&mdash;was he in another
+country?&mdash;why had she never seen him? She soon found
+that these questions were gently but decidedly checked.
+Her mother did not decline in so many words to answer
+them, but she set them aside. Only once, when Lesley
+was fifteen, and made some timid, wistful reference to the
+father whom she had never known, did Lady Alice make
+her a formal answer.</p>
+
+<p>"I will tell you all about your father when you are old
+enough to hear," she said. "Until then, Lesley, I had
+rather that you did not talk of him."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley shrank into herself abashed, and never mentioned
+his name again.</p>
+
+<p>All the same, as she grew older, her fancy played about
+this unknown father, as the fancy of young girls always
+plays about a mystery. Had he committed some crime?
+<a name="tn_13"></a><!-- TN: "had" changed to "Had"-->Had he disgraced himself and his family that his name
+might not be breathed in Lady Alice's ear? But she could
+not believe that her good, beautiful mother would ever
+have loved and married a wicked man!&mdash;such was the<a name="Page_9"></a>
+phrase that she, in her girlish innocence and ignorance,
+used to herself. As to scandal and tittle-tattle, none of it
+reached the seclusion of her convent-home, or was allowed
+to sully her fair mind. And it was impossible for her to
+connect the idea of folly, guilt, or shame with the pure,
+sweet face of her mother, or the stately pride and dignity
+of her mother's father, the Earl of Courtleroy. There was
+evidently a mystery; but she was sure of one thing, that it
+was a mystery without disgrace.</p>
+
+<p>And now, as she stood waiting on the stone steps, her
+face flushed a little, and her eyes filled at the thought that
+she would now, perhaps, be allowed to hear the story of
+her parents' lives. For she knew that she was going to
+leave the convent, and it had been vaguely hinted by Lady
+Alice in a recent letter that on leaving the convent Lesley
+must be prepared for a great surprise.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley looked over the silent, sweet-scented garden, and
+half-sighed, half-smiled, to think that she should leave it so
+soon, and perhaps for ever. But she was excited rather
+than sad, and when one of the sisters appeared at the door
+of the study, or <i>salle d'&eacute;tude</i>, Lesley turned towards her
+with a quick, eager gesture, which not all the training to
+which she had been subjected since her childhood would
+have availed to suppress.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, sister, tell me, has she come?"</p>
+
+<p>The sister was a tall, spare woman, with a thin face and
+great dark eyes, with eyelids slightly reddened, as though
+by long weeping or sleeplessness. It was an austere face,
+but its severity softened into actual sweetness as she smiled
+at her pupil's eagerness.</p>
+
+<p>"Gently, my child: why so impetuous?" she said, taking
+the girl's hand in her own. "Yes, madame has arrived:
+she is in the parlor, speaking to the Reverend Mother; and
+in five minutes you are to go to her."</p>
+
+<p>"Not for five minutes?" said Lesley; and then, controlling
+herself, she added, penitently. "I know I am
+impatient, Sister Rose."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear child: you are impatient: it is in your nature,
+in your blood," said the sister, looking at her with a sort
+of pity in her eyes&mdash;a pity which Lesley resented, without
+quite knowing why. "And you are going into a world
+where you will find many things sadly different from your
+expectations. If you remember the lessons that we have<a name="Page_10"></a>
+tried to read you here&mdash;lessons of patience, endurance,
+resignation to the will of others, and especially to the will
+of God&mdash;you will be happy in spite of sorrow and tribulation."</p>
+
+<p>The young girl trembled: it seemed as if the sister spoke
+with a purpose, as if she knew of some difficulty, some
+danger that lay before her. She had been trained to ask
+no questions, and therefore she kept silence. But her lips
+trembled, and her beautiful brown eyes filled with tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, my dear child," said Sister Rose, taking her by
+the hand, after a short pause, "I will take you to your
+mother. She will be ready for you now. May God protect
+you and guide you in your way through the world!"</p>
+
+<p>And Lesley lowered her head as if she had received a
+blessing. Sister Rose was a woman whom Lesley honored
+and revered, and her words, therefore, sank deep, and often
+recurred to the young girl's mind in days to come.</p>
+
+<p>They went in silence to the door of the parlor. Here
+Sister Rose relinquished her pupil's hand, tapped three
+times on one of the panels, and signed to Lesley to open
+the door. With a trembling hand Lesley obeyed the sign;
+and in another moment she was in her mother's arms.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice Brooke was a very attractive looking woman.
+She was tall, slight, and graceful, and although she must
+have been close upon forty, she certainly had not the
+appearance of a woman over four or five and thirty. Her
+complexion was untouched by time: her cheeks were
+smooth and fair, her blue eyes clear. Her pretty brown
+hair had perhaps lost a little of the golden tinge of its
+youth, but it was still soft and abundant. But the reason
+why people often turned to look at her did not lie in any
+measure of grace and beauty that she possessed, so much
+as in an indefinable air of distinction and refinement which
+seemed to pervade her whole being, and marked her off
+from the rest of the world as one made of finer clay than
+others.</p>
+
+<p>Many people resented this demeanor&mdash;which was quite
+unconscious on Lady Alice's part&mdash;and thought that it signified
+pride, haughtiness, coldness of heart; but in all this
+they were greatly, if not altogether, mistaken. Lady Alice
+was not of a cold nature, and she was never willingly
+haughty; but in some respects, she was what the world
+calls proud. She was proud of her ancient lineage; of the<a name="Page_11"></a>
+repute of her family, of the stainlessness of its name. And
+she had brought up Lesley, as far as she could, in the same
+old tradition.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley was like her mother, and unlike, too. She had
+her mother's tall, graceful figure; but there was much more
+vivacity in her face than there had ever been in Lady
+Alice's; much more warmth and life and color. There
+was more determination in the lines of her mouth and chin:
+her brow was broader and fuller, and her eyes were dark
+brown instead of blue. But the likeness was there, with a
+diversity of expression and of coloring.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you were never coming," said Lesley at
+length, as she clung fondly to her mother. "I could hardly
+sleep last night for thinking how delightful it would be to
+go away with you!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice gave a little start, and looked at the girl as
+if there had been some hidden meaning in her words.</p>
+
+<p>"Go away with me?" she repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mother darling, and be with you always: to look
+after you and not let grandpapa tire you with long walks
+and long games of backgammon. I shall be his companion
+as well as yours, and I shall take care of you both. I have
+planned ever so many things that I mean to do&mdash;especially
+when we go to Scotland."</p>
+
+<p>"Lesley," said Lady Alice, faintly, "I am tired: let me
+sit down." And then, as the girl made her seat herself in
+the one arm-chair that the room contained, and hung over
+her with affectionate solicitude, she went on, with paling
+lips: "You never said these things in your letter, child!
+I did not know that you were so anxious to come away&mdash;with
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mamma, dear, you surely knew it all the time?"
+said Lesley, thinking the comment a reproach. "You
+surely knew how I longed to be with you? But I would
+not <i>say</i> much in my letters for fear of making you think I
+was unhappy; and I have always been very happy here
+with the dear sisters and the girls. But I thought you
+<i>understood</i> me, mamma&mdash;understood by instinct, as it were,"
+said Lesley, kneeling by her mother's side, and throwing an
+occasional shy glance into her mother's face.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand perfectly, dear, and I see your unselfish
+motive. It makes me all the more sorry to disappoint you
+as I am about to do."<a name="Page_12"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mamma! Am I not to leave school, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear, you will leave school."</p>
+
+<p>"And&mdash;and&mdash;with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"You will come with me, certainly&mdash;until to-morrow,
+darling. But you leave <i>me</i> to-morrow, too."</p>
+
+<p>The color began to fade from Lesley's cheeks, as it had
+already faded from Lady Alice's. The girl felt a great
+swelling in her throat, and a film seemed to dim the clearness
+of her sight. But Sister Rose's words came back to
+her mind with an inspiring thrill which restored her strength.
+"Patience, endurance, resignation!" Was this the occasion
+on which she was to show whether these virtues were
+hers or not? She would not fail in the hour of trial: she
+would be patient and endure!</p>
+
+<p>"If you will explain, mamma dear," she said, entreatingly,
+"I will try to do&mdash;as you would like."</p>
+
+<p>"My darling! My Lesley! What a help it is to me to
+see you so brave!" said her mother, putting her arms
+round the girl's shoulders, and resting her face on the
+bright young head. "If I could keep you with me! but it
+will be only for a time, my child, and then&mdash;then you <i>will</i>
+come back to me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Come back to you, mamma? As if anything would
+keep me away! But what is it? where am I to go? what
+am I to do? Why haven't you told me before?"</p>
+
+<p>She was trembling with excitement. Patience was not
+one of Lesley's virtues. She felt, with sudden heat of
+passion, that she could bear any pain rather than this suspense,
+which her mother's gentle reluctance to give pain
+inflicted upon her.</p>
+
+<p>"I did not tell you before," said Lady Alice, slowly,
+"because I was under a promise not to do so. I have
+been obliged to keep you in the dark about your future for
+many a long year, Lesley, and the concealment has always
+weighed upon my mind. You must forgive me, dearest,
+for this: I did not see the consequence of my promise
+when I made it first."</p>
+
+<p>"What promise was it, mamma?"</p>
+
+<p>"To let you leave me for a time, my dear: to let you
+go from me&mdash;to let you choose your own life&mdash;oh, it seems
+hard and cruel to me now."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me," pleaded Lesley, whose heart was by this
+time beating with painful rapidity, "tell me all&mdash;quickly,
+mamma, and I promise&mdash;&mdash;"<a name="Page_13"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Promise nothing until you have heard what I have to
+say," said her mother, drawing back. "I want you to
+hear the story before you see your grandfather again: that
+is the reason why I begged the Mother to let me speak to
+you here, before you left the convent. I have been forced
+into my present line of action, Lesley: I never took it wilfully.
+You shall judge for yourself if it were likely that I&mdash;&mdash;But
+I will not excuse myself beforehand. I can tell
+you all that is necessary for you to know in very few words;
+and the rest lies in your hands."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice's pale lips quivered as she spoke, but her
+eyes were dry and filled with a light which was singularly
+cold and stern. Lesley, kneeling still, looked up into her
+face, and, fascinated by what she saw there, remained motionless
+and mute.</p>
+
+<p>"I have not let you speak to me of your father," Lady
+Alice began, "because I did not know how to answer your
+questions truthfully. But now I must speak of him. You
+have thought of him sometimes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"And you have thought him dead?"</p>
+
+<p>"I thought so&mdash;yes."</p>
+
+<p>"But he is not dead," said Lady Alice, bitterly. "To
+my exceeding misfortune&mdash;and yours also&mdash;your father,
+Lesley, is alive."<a name="Page_14"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a><h2>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">LADY ALICE'S STORY.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">The</span> girl shrank back a little, but she did not remove her
+eyes from her mother's face. A great dread, however, had
+entered into them. A hot color leaped into her cheeks.
+Scarcely did she yet know what she dreaded; it was something
+intangible, too awful to be uttered&mdash;the terror of
+disgrace.</p>
+
+<p>But Lady Alice saw the look and interpreted it aright.</p>
+
+<p>"No, my darling," she said, "it is not <i>that</i>. It is
+nothing to be ashamed of&mdash;exactly. I do not accuse your
+father of any crime&mdash;unless it be a crime to have married a
+woman that he did not love, and to whom he was not suited,
+and to have been cruel&mdash;yes, cruel&mdash;to her and to her
+child."</p>
+
+<p>And then she burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma, dear mamma!" said Lesley, clasping her and
+sobbing out of sympathy, "it was a crime&mdash;worse than a
+crime&mdash;to be cruel to <i>you</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice sobbed helplessly for a few minutes. Then
+she commanded herself by a great and visible effort and
+dried her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"It is weak to give way before you, child," she said,
+sadly. "But I cannot tell you how much I have dreaded
+this moment&mdash;the moment when I must tell you of the
+great error of my life."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't tell me, mamma. I would rather hear nothing
+that you did not want me to know."</p>
+
+<p>"But I must tell you, Lesley. It is in my bargain with
+my husband that I should tell you. If I say nothing he
+will tell you <i>his</i> side&mdash;and perhaps that would be worse."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley kissed her mother's delicate hand. "Then&mdash;if you
+<i>must</i> tell me&mdash;I should be glad to hear it all now," she
+said, in a shaking voice. "Nothing seems so bad as to
+know half a story&mdash;or only to guess a part&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you have wondered why I told you nothing of
+your father?"<a name="Page_15"></a></p>
+
+<p>"I could not help wondering, mamma."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor child! Well, whatever it costs me I will tell you
+all my story now. Listen carefully, darling: I do not
+want to have to tell it twice."</p>
+
+<p>She pressed her handkerchief to her lips as if to prevent
+them from trembling, and then turning her eyes to another
+part of the room so that they need not rest upon her
+daughter's face Lady Alice began her story.</p>
+
+<p>"My tale is a tale of folly, not of crime," she said.
+"You must remember, Lesley, that I was a motherless girl,
+brought up in a lonely Scotch house in a very haphazard
+way. My dear father loved me tenderly, but he was away
+from home for the greater part of the year; and he understood
+little of a girl's nature or a girl's requirements. When
+I was sixteen he allowed me to dismiss my governess, and
+to live as I liked. I was romantic and dreamy; I spent a
+great deal of time in the library, and he thought that there
+at least I was safe. He would have been more careful of
+me, as he said afterwards, if I had wanted to roam over
+the moors and fields, to fish or shoot as many modern
+women do. I can only say that I think I should have been
+far safer on the hillside or the moor than I was in the
+lonely recesses of that library, pouring over musty volumes
+of chivalry and romance.</p>
+
+<p>"My only change was a few weeks in London with
+friends, during the season. Here, young as I was, I was
+thrown into a whirl of gaiety; but the society that I met
+was of the best sort, and I welcomed it as a pleasant
+relaxation. I saw the pleasant side of everything. You
+see I was very young. I went to the most charming parties;
+I was well introduced: I think I may say that I was
+admired. My first season was almost the happiest&mdash;certainly
+the most joyous&mdash;period of my life. But it was still
+a time of unreality, Lesley: the glitter and glamour of that
+glimpse of London society was as unreal as my dreams of
+love and beauty and nobleness in the old library at home.
+I lacked a mother's guiding hand, my child, and a mother's
+tender voice to tell me what was false and what was true."</p>
+
+<p>Involuntarily Lesley drew closer than ever to her mother.</p>
+
+<p>The ring of pain in Lady Alice's voice saddened and even
+affrighted her. It suggested a passionate yearning, an
+anxiety of love, which almost overwhelmed her. It is
+always alarming to a young and simple nature to be brought<a name="Page_16"></a>
+suddenly into contact with a very strong emotion, either of
+anguish, love, or joy.</p>
+
+<p>"I suffered for my loss," Lady Alice went on, after a
+short pause. "But at first without knowing that I suffered.
+There comes a time in every woman's life, Lesley, when she
+is in need of help and counsel, when, in fact, she is in
+danger. As soon as a woman loves, she stands on the
+brink of a precipice."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought," murmured Lesley, "that love was the
+most beautiful thing in the world?"</p>
+
+<p>"Is that what the nuns have taught you?" asked her
+mother, with a keen glance at the girl's flushing cheek.
+"Well, in one sense it is true. Love is a beautiful thing to
+look at&mdash;an angel to outward show&mdash;with the heart, too
+often, of a fiend; and it is he who leads us to that precipice
+of which I spoke&mdash;the precipice of disillusion and despair."</p>
+
+<p>To Lesley these words were as blasphemy, for they
+contradicted the whole spirit of the teaching which she had
+received. But she did not dare to contradict her mother's
+opinions. She looked down, and reflected dumbly that
+her mother knew more about the subject than she could
+possibly do. The good Sisters had talked to her about
+heavenly love; she had made no fine distinctions in her
+mind as to the kind of love they meant&mdash;possibly there
+were two kinds. And while she was considering this
+knotty point, her mother began to speak again.</p>
+
+<p>"I was between eighteen and nineteen," said Lady Alice,
+"scarcely as old as you are now, when a new interest came
+into my life. My father gave permission to a young literary
+man to examine our archives, which contained much of
+historical value. He never thought of cautioning me to
+leave the library to Mr. Brooke's sole occupation. I was
+accustomed to spend much of my time there: and the
+stranger&mdash;Mr. Brooke&mdash;must have heard this fact from the
+servants, for he begged that he might not disturb me, and
+that I would frequent the library as usual. After a little
+hesitation, I began to do so. My father was in London,
+and my only chaperon was an old lady who was too infirm
+to be of much use. Before long, I began to help Mr.
+Brooke in his researches and inquiries. He was writing a
+book on the great Scottish families of that part of the
+country, and the subject interested me. Need I tell you<a name="Page_17"></a>
+what followed, Lesley? Need I explain to you the heedless
+selfish folly of that time? I forgot my duty to my father,
+my duty to myself. I fancied I loved this man, and I
+promised to marry him."</p>
+
+<p>There was <a name="tn_22"></a><!--TN: "a a" changed to "a"-->a light of interest in Lesley's eyes. She
+did not altogether understand her mother's tone. It
+sounded as though Lady Alice condemned lovers and all
+their ways, and such condemnation puzzled the girl, in
+spite of her convent breeding. During the last few months
+she had been allowed a much wider range of literature
+than was usual in the Sisters' domain; her mother had
+requested that she should be supplied with certain volumes
+of history, fiction, and poetry, that had considerably
+enlarged Lesley's views of life; and yet Lady Alice's words
+seemed to contradict all that the girl had previously heard
+or read of love. The mother read the unspoken question
+in Lesley's eyes, and answered it in a somewhat modified
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, I do not mean that I think it wrong to love.
+So long as the world lasts I suppose people will love&mdash;and
+be miserable. It is right enough, if it is opposed by no
+other law. But in my case, I was wrong from beginning
+to end. I knew that my father would never give his permission
+to my marriage with Mr. Brooke; and, in my
+youthful folly, I thought that my best plan was to take my
+own way. I married Mr. Brooke in private, and then I
+went away with him to London. And it was not long,
+Lesley, before I rued my disobedience and my deceit. It
+was a great mistake."</p>
+
+<p>"But mamma, why were you so sure that grandpapa
+would not give his consent?"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice opened her gentle eyes with a look of profound
+astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"Darling, don't you see? Mr. Brooke was&mdash;nobody."</p>
+
+<p>"But if you loved him&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Lesley, your grandfather would never have heard
+of such a marriage. He had his own plans for me. My
+dear, I am not saying a word against your father in saying
+this. I am only telling you the fact&mdash;that he was what is
+often called a self-made, self-educated man, who could not
+possibly be styled my equal in the eyes of society. His
+father had been a small tradesman in Devonshire. The son
+being clever and&mdash;and&mdash;handsome, made his way a little<a name="Page_18"></a>
+in the world. He became a journalist: he wrote for magazines
+and newspapers and reviews: he was what is called
+a literary hack. He had no certain prospects, no certain
+income, when he married me. I think," said Lady Alice,
+with a sort of cold scorn, which was intensified by the very
+softness of her tones, "that he could not have done a more
+unjustifiable thing than persuade a girl in my position to
+marry him."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley felt a slight diminution of sympathy with her
+mother. Perhaps Lady Alice was conscious of some
+change in her face, for she added hastily.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't misjudge me, Lesley. If there had been between
+us the strong and tender love of which women too often
+dream, poverty might perhaps have been forgotten. It
+sounds terribly worldly to draw attention to the fact that
+poverty is apt to kill a love which was not very strong at
+the beginning. But the fact was that neither Caspar
+Brooke nor I knew our own minds. He was three-and-twenty
+and I was eighteen. We married in haste, and we
+certainly repented very much at leisure."</p>
+
+<p>"Was he not&mdash;kind?" asked Lesley, timidly.</p>
+
+<p>"Kind?" said her mother, with a sigh. "Oh, yes,
+perhaps he was kind&mdash;at first. Until he was tired of me,
+or I was tired of him. I don't know on which side the
+disillusion was felt first. Think where I came from&mdash;from
+the dear old Castle, the moors, the lochs, the free fresh air
+of Scotland, to a dreary lodging of two little rooms in a
+dingy street, where I had to cut and contrive and economize
+to make ends meet. I was an ignorant girl, and I
+could not do it. I got into debt, and my husband was
+angry with me. Why should I tell you the petty, sordid
+details of my life? I soon found out that I was miserable
+and that he was miserable too."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley listened breathlessly with hidden face. The story
+was full of humiliation for her. It seemed like a desecration
+of all that she had hitherto held dear.</p>
+
+<p>"My father and my friends would not forgive me," Lady
+Alice went on. "In our direst straits of poverty, I am
+glad to say that I never appealed to them. We struggled
+on together&mdash;your father and I&mdash;until you were four years
+old. Then a change came&mdash;a change which made it
+impossible for me to bear the misery of my life. Your
+father&mdash;&mdash;"<a name="Page_19"></a></p>
+
+<p>She came to a sudden stop, and sat with eyes fixed on
+the opposite wall, a curious expression of mingled desolation
+and contempt upon her cold, clear-cut face. For some
+reason or other Lesley felt afraid to hear what her mother
+had to say.</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma, don't tell me! Don't look like that," she
+cried. "I can't bear to hear it! Why need you tell me any
+more?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because," said her mother, slowly, "because your
+father exacts this sacrifice from me: that I should tell you&mdash;<i>you</i>,
+my daughter&mdash;the reason why I left him. I promised
+that I would do so, and I will keep my promise.
+The thing that hurts me most, Lesley, is to think that I
+may be injuring you&mdash;staining your innocence&mdash;darkening
+your youth&mdash;by telling you what I have to tell. At your
+age, I would rather that you knew nothing of life but its
+brighter side&mdash;nothing of love but what was fair and sweet.
+But it is the punishment of my first false step that I
+should bring sorrow upon my child. Lesley, in years to
+come remember that I have warned you to be honest and
+true, unless you would make those miserable whom you
+love best. If I had never deceived my father, my husband
+would never perhaps have deceived me; and I should not
+have to tell my child that the last person in the world whom
+she must trust is her father."</p>
+
+<p>There was a little silence, and then she continued in a
+strained and unnatural tone.</p>
+
+<p>"There was a woman&mdash;another woman&mdash;whom he loved.
+That is all."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley shivered and hid her face. To her mind, young
+and innocent as it was, the fact which her mother stated
+seemed like an indelible stain. She hardly dared as yet
+think what it meant. And, after a long pause, Lady Alice
+went on quietly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I do not want to exaggerate. I do not believe that he
+meant to leave me&mdash;even to be untrue to me. I could not
+speak to you of him if I thought him so black-hearted, so
+treacherous. I mean simply this&mdash;take the fact as I state
+it, and inquire no further; I found that my husband cared
+for some one else more than he cared for me. My resolution
+was taken at once: I packed up my things, left his
+house, and threw myself at my father's feet. He was good
+to me and forgave me, and since then ... I have never
+entered my husband's house again."<a name="Page_20"></a></p>
+
+<p>"He must have been wicked&mdash;wicked!" said Lesley, in
+a strangled voice.</p>
+
+<p>"No, he was not wicked. Let me do him so much
+justice. He was upright on the whole, I believe. He
+never meant to give me cause for complaint. But I had
+reason to believe that another woman suited him better
+than I did ... and it was only fair to leave him."</p>
+
+<p>"But did he&mdash;could he&mdash;marry her? I <a name="tn_25"></a><!--TN: Quote added after "mean&mdash;&mdash;"-->mean&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"My poor Lesley, you are very ignorant," said Lady
+Alice, smiling a wan smile, and touching the girl's cheek
+lightly with her hand. "How could he marry another
+woman when I was alive? Your father and I separated
+on account of what is called incompatibility of temper.
+The question of the person whom he apparently preferred
+to me never arose between us."</p>
+
+<p>"Then, is it not possible, mamma, that you may have
+been mistaken?" said Lesley, impetuously.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice shook her head. "Quite impossible, Lesley.
+I accuse your father of nothing. I only mean that another
+woman&mdash;one of his friends&mdash;would have suited him better
+than I, and that he knew it. I have no cause for complaint
+against him. And I would not have told you <i>this</i>, had I not
+felt it a duty to put in the strongest possible light my reasons
+for leaving him, so that a day may never come when
+you turn round upon me and blame me&mdash;as others have
+done&mdash;for fickleness, for ill-temper, for impatience with my
+husband; because now you know&mdash;as no one else knows&mdash;the
+whole truth."</p>
+
+<p>"But I should never blame you, mamma."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not know. I know this&mdash;that your father is a
+man who can persuade and argue and represent his conduct
+in any light that suits his purpose. He is a very
+eloquent&mdash;a very plausible man. He will try to win you
+over to his side."</p>
+
+<p>"But I shall never see him."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Lesley, you will. You are going to him to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"I will not&mdash;I will not"&mdash;said the girl, springing from
+her knees, and involuntarily clenching her right hand. "I
+will not speak to him&mdash;if he treated my darling mother so
+shamefully he must be bad, and I will not acknowledge
+any relationship to him."</p>
+
+<p>A look of apprehension showed itself in Lady Alice's
+eyes.<a name="Page_21"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Darling," she said, "you must not let your generous
+love for me run away with your judgment. I am bound,
+and you must be bound with me. Listen, when your
+father found that I had left him he was exceedingly
+angry. He came to your grandfather's house, he
+clamored to see me, he attempted to justify himself&mdash;oh,
+I cannot tell you the misery that I went through. At last
+I consented to see him. He behaved like a madman.
+He swore that he would have me back&mdash;tyrant that he
+was!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma&mdash;perhaps he cared?"</p>
+
+<p>"Cared! He cared for his reputation," said Lady Alice
+growing rather white about the lips. "For nothing else!
+Not for me, Lesley! When his violence had expended
+itself we came to terms. He agreed to let me live where
+I liked on condition that when you were eight years old
+you were sent to school, and saw me only during the
+holidays&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But why?"</p>
+
+<p>"He said that he dreaded my influence on your mind,"
+said Lady Alice. "That you should be brought up at a
+good school was the first thing. Secondly, that when you
+were nineteen you should spend a year with him, and then
+a year with me; and that when you were twenty-one you
+should choose for yourself with which of the two you preferred
+to cast in your lot."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mamma, I cannot go to him now."</p>
+
+<p>"You must go, Lesley. I am bound, and you are bound
+by my promise. Only for a year, my darling. Then you
+can come back to me for ever. I stipulated that I should
+see you first, and say to you what I chose."</p>
+
+<p>"But cannot I wait a little while?"</p>
+
+<p>"Twenty-four hours, Lesley; that is all. You go to
+your father to-morrow."<a name="Page_22"></a></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">The</span> conversation between Lesley and her mother occupied
+a considerable time, and the sun was sinking westward
+when at last the two ladies left the Convent. Lesley's
+adieux had been made before Lady Alice's arrival, and
+the only persons whom she saw, therefore, after the long
+interview with her mother, were the Mother Superior, and
+the Sister who had summoned her to the parlor.</p>
+
+<p>While Lady Alice and the Reverend Mother exchanged
+a few last words, Lesley drew close to Sister Rose's side,
+and laid her hand on the serge-covered arm.</p>
+
+<p>"You were right," she said. "Sister, I see already
+that I shall need patience and endurance where I am
+going."</p>
+
+<p>"Gentleness and love, also," said the Sister. Then, as
+if in answer to an indefinable change in Lesley's lips and
+eyes, she added gently, "We are told that peacemakers
+are blessed."</p>
+
+<p>"I could not make peace&mdash;&mdash;" Lesley began, hastily,
+and then she stopped short, confused, not knowing how
+much Sister Rose had heard of her mother's story. But
+if Sister Rose were ignorant of it, her next words were
+singularly appropriate. For she said, in a low tone&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Peace is better than war: forgiveness better than
+hatred. Dear child, it may be in your hands to reconcile
+those who have been long divided. Do your best."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley had no time to reply.</p>
+
+<p>It was a long drive from the Convent of the Annonciades
+to the hotel where Lord Courtleroy and Lady Alice
+were staying. The mother and daughter spoke little; each
+seemed wrapped in her own reflections. There were a
+hundred questions which Lesley was longing to ask; but
+she did not like to disturb her mother's silence. Dusk had
+fallen before their destination was reached; and Lesley's
+thoughts were diverted a little from their sad bewilderment
+by what was to her the novel sight of Paris by gaslight,<a name="Page_23"></a>
+and the ever-flowing, opposing currents of human beings
+that filled the streets. Hitherto, when she had left the
+Sisters for her holidays, her mother had wisely kept her
+within certain bounds: she had not gone out of doors after
+dark, she had not seen anything but the quieter sides of
+life. But now all seemed to be changed. Her mother
+mentioned the name of the best hotel in Paris as their
+destination: she said a few words about shopping, dresses,
+and jewellery, which made Lesley's heart beat faster, in
+spite of a conviction that it was very mean and base to
+feel any joy in such trivial matters. Especially under
+present circumstances. But she was young and full of life;
+and there certainly was some excitement in the prospect
+before her.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall not need much where I am going, shall I?" she
+hazarded timidly.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps not, but you must not be in any difficulty.
+There is not time to do a great deal, but you can be fitted
+and have some dresses sent after you, and I can choose
+your hats. And a fur-lined cloak for travelling&mdash;you will
+want that. We must do what we can in the time. It is
+not likely that your father sees much society."</p>
+
+<p>"It will be very lonely," said Lesley, with a little gasp.</p>
+
+<p>"My poor child! I am afraid it will. I can tell some
+friends of mine to call on you; but I don't know whether
+they will be admitted."</p>
+
+<p>"Where is&mdash;the house?" Lesley asked. She did not
+like to say "my father's house."</p>
+
+<p>"In Upper Woburn Place, Bloomsbury. I believe it is
+near Euston Square, or some such neighborhood."</p>
+
+<p>"Then it is not where <i>you</i> lived, mamma?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, dear. We lived further West, in a street near
+Portman Square. I believe that Mr. Brooke finds Bloomsbury
+a convenient district for the kind of work that he has
+to do."</p>
+
+<p>She spoke very formally of her husband; but Lesley
+began to notice an under-current of resentment, of something
+like contempt, in her voice when she spoke of him.
+Lady Alice tried in vain to simulate an indifference which
+she did not feel, and the very effort roughened her voice
+and sharpened her accent in a way of which she was
+unconscious. The effect on a young girl, who had not
+seen much of human emotion, was to induce a passing<a name="Page_24"></a>
+doubt of her mother's judgment, and a transient wonder
+as to whether her father had always been so much in the
+wrong. The sensation was but momentary, for Lesley was
+devotedly attached to her mother, and could not believe
+her to be mistaken. And, while she was repenting of her
+hasty injustice, the carriage stopped between the white
+globes of electric light that fronted a great hotel, and Lesley
+was obliged to give her attention to the things around her
+rather than to her own thoughts and feelings.</p>
+
+<p>A waiter conducted the mother and daughter up one
+flight of stairs and consigned them to the care of a chambermaid.
+The chambermaid led them to the door of a suite
+of rooms, where they were met by Dayman, Lady Alice's
+own woman, whose stolid face relaxed into a smile of
+pleasure at the sight of Lesley.</p>
+
+<p>"Take Miss Brooke to her own room and see that she
+is made nice for dinner," said her mistress. "His Lordship
+has ordered dinner in our own rooms, I suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my lady. Covers for four&mdash;Captain Duchesne is
+here."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," said Lady Alice, with an accent of faint surprise,
+"oh&mdash;well&mdash;Lesley, dear, we must not be late."</p>
+
+<p>To Lesley it seemed hardly worth while to unpack her
+boxes and dress herself for that one evening in the soft
+embroidered white muslin which had hitherto served for
+her best Sunday frock. But Mrs. Dayman insisted on a
+careful toilette, and was well satisfied with the result.</p>
+
+<p>"There, Miss Lesley," she said, "you have just your
+mamma's look&mdash;a sort of finished look, as if you were
+perfect outside and in!"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley laughed. "That compliment might be taken in
+two ways, Dayman," she said, as she turned to meet her
+mother at the door. And in a few minutes she was standing
+in the gay little French <i>salon</i>, where the earl was conversing
+with a much younger man in a glare of waxlights.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Courtleroy was a stately-looking man, with perfectly
+<a name="tn_29"></a><!-- TN: "show-white" changed to "snow-white"-->snow-white hair and beard, an upright carriage, and
+bright, piercing, blue eyes. A striking man in appearance,
+and of exceedingly well-marked characteristics. The
+family pride for which he had long been noted seemed to
+show itself in his bearing and in every feature as he greeted
+his granddaughter, and yet it was softened by a touch of
+personal affection with which family pride had nothing<a name="Page_25"></a>
+whatever to do. For Lord Courtleroy's feelings towards
+Lesley were mixed. He saw in her the child of a man
+whose very name he detested, who stood as a type to him
+of all that was hateful in the bourgeois class. But he also
+saw in her his own granddaughter, "poor Alice's girl,"
+whom fate had used so unkindly in giving her Caspar
+Brooke for a father. The earl had next to no personal
+knowledge of Caspar Brooke. They had not met since
+the one sad and stormy interview which they had held
+together when Lady Alice had left her husband's house.
+And Lord Courtleroy was wont to declare that he did not
+wish to know anything more of Mr. Brooke. That he was
+a Radical journalist, and that he had treated a daughter of
+the Courtleroys with shameful unkindness and neglect,
+was quite enough for the earl. And his manner to Lesley
+varied a little according as his sense of her affinity with
+his own family or his remembrance of her kinship with
+Mr. Brooke was uppermost.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley was too simply filial in disposition to resent or
+even to remark on his changes of mood. She admired her
+grandfather immensely, and was pleased to hear him comment
+on her growth and development since she saw him
+last. And then the visitor was introduced to her; and to
+Lesley's interest and surprise she saw that he was young.</p>
+
+<p>Young men were an unknown quantity to Lesley. She
+could not remember that she had ever spoken to a man so
+young and so good-looking before! Captain Henry
+Duchesne was tall, well-made, well-dressed: he was very
+dark in complexion, and had a rather heavy jaw; but his
+dark eyes were pleasant and honest, and he had a very
+attractive smile. The length of his moustache was almost
+the first thing that struck Lesley: it seemed to her so
+abnormally lengthy, with such very stiffly waxed ends, that
+she could scarcely avert her eyes from them. She was
+not able to tell, save from instinct, whether a man were
+well or ill-dressed, but she felt sure that Captain Duchesne's
+air of smartness was due to the perfection of every detail
+of his attire. She liked his manner: it was easy, well-bred,
+and unassuming; and she felt glad that he was
+present. For after the communication made to her by her
+mother, the evening might have proved an occasion of
+embarrassment. It was a relief to talk to some one for a
+little while who did not know her present circumstances
+and position.<a name="Page_26"></a></p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice watched the two young people with a little
+dawning trouble in her sad eyes. She had known and
+liked Harry Duchesne since his childhood, and she had
+not been free from certain hopes and visions of his future,
+which affected Lesley also, but she thought that her father's
+invitation had been premature. Especially when she heard
+Captain Duchesne say to the girl in the course of the
+evening&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going to London to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I believe so," said Lesley, looking down.</p>
+
+<p>"And you will be in town during the winter, I hope?"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice thought it well to interpose.</p>
+
+<p>"My daughter will not be staying with me. She goes
+to a relation's house for a few months, and will lead a very
+quiet life indeed. When she comes back to Courtleroy it
+will be time enough for her to commence a round of
+gaieties." This with a smile; but, as Henry Duchesne
+knew well enough, with Lady Alice a smile sometimes
+covered a very serious purpose. His quick perceptions
+showed him that he was not wanted to call on Miss Brooke
+during her stay in London, and he adroitly changed the
+subject.</p>
+
+<p>"Unfashionable relations, I suppose," he said to himself,
+reflecting on the matter at a later hour of the evening.
+"Upon my word I shouldn't have thought that Lady Alice
+was so worldly-minded! She certainly didn't want me to
+know where Miss Brooke was going. To some relation
+of that disreputable father of hers, I should fancy. Poor
+girt!"</p>
+
+<p>For, like many other persons in London society, Captain
+Duchesne knew only the name and nothing of the character
+of the man whom Lady Alice had married and left. It
+was vaguely supposed that he was not a very respectable
+character, and that no woman of spirit would have submitted
+to live with him any longer. Lady Alice's reputation
+stood so high that it could not be supposed that any
+one except her husband was in fault. Brooke is not an
+uncommon name. In certain circles the name of Caspar
+Brooke was known well enough; but was not often identified
+with the man who had run away with an earl's
+daughter. He had other claims to repute, but in a world
+to which Lady Alice had not the right of entry.</p>
+
+<p>When Harry Duchesne had departed Lady Alice went
+with Lesley to her bedroom. Mother and daughter sat<a name="Page_27"></a>
+down together, clasping each other's hands, and looking
+wistfully from time to time into each other's faces, but
+saying very little. The wish to ask questions faded out of
+Lesley's mind. She could not ask more than her mother
+chose to tell her.</p>
+
+<p>But Lady Alice thought that she had already said too
+much, and she restrained her tongue. It was after a long
+and pregnant silence that she murmured&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Lesley, my child, I want you to promise me something."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, mamma!"</p>
+
+<p>"I feel like one who is sending a lamb forth into the
+midst of wolves. Not that Mr. Brooke is a wolf&mdash;exactly,"
+said Lady Alice, with a forced laugh, "but I mean that
+you are young and&mdash;and&mdash;unsophisticated, and that there
+may be a mixture of people at his house."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley was silent; she did not quite know what "a
+mixture of people" would be like.</p>
+
+<p>"I am so afraid for you, darling," said her mother,
+pleadingly. "Afraid lest you should be drawn into
+relationships and connections that you might afterwards
+regret: Do you understand me? Will you promise me
+to make no vows of any sort while you are away from me?
+Only for one year, my child&mdash;promise me for the year."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I quite understand you, mamma."</p>
+
+<p>"Must I put it so plainly? I mean this, Lesley. Don't
+engage yourself to be married while you are in your father's
+house."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that is easily promised!" said Lesley, with a smile
+of frank amusement and relief.</p>
+
+<p>"It may not be so easy to carry out as you think. Give
+me your word, darling. You promise not to form any
+engagement of marriage for a year? You promise me
+that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, mamma, I promise," said the girl, so lightly
+that Lady Alice almost felt that she had done an unwarrantable
+thing in exacting a promise only half understood.
+But she swallowed her rising qualms, and went oh, as if
+exculpating herself&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"It is a safeguard. I do not ask you to marry only a
+man that I approve&mdash;I simply ask you to wait until I can
+help you with my advice. It will be no loss to you in any
+way. You are too young to think of these things yet;<a name="Page_28"></a>
+but it is on the young that unscrupulous persons love to
+prey&mdash;and therefore I give you a warning."</p>
+
+<p>"I am quite sure that I shall not need it," said Lesley,
+confidently; "and if I did, I could write and ask your
+advice&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no! Oh, how could I forget to tell you? You
+are not to write to me while you are in your father's house."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mamma, that is cruel."</p>
+
+<p>"It is <i>his</i> doing, not mine. Intercede with <i>him</i>, if you
+like. That was one of the conditions&mdash;that for this one
+year you should have no intercourse with me. And for
+the next year you will have no intercourse with him. And
+after that, you may choose for yourself."</p>
+
+<p>But this deprivation of correspondence affected Lesley
+more powerfully than even the prospect of separation&mdash;to
+which she was used already. She threw herself into her
+mother's arms and wept bitterly for a few moments. Then
+it occurred to her that she was acting neither thoughtfully
+nor courageously, and that her grief would only grieve her
+mother, and could remedy nothing. So she sat up and
+dried her eyes, and tried to respond cheerfully when Lady
+Alice spoke a few soothing words. But in the whole course
+of her short life poor Lesley had never been so miserable
+as she was that night.</p>
+
+<p>The bustle of preparation which had to be gone through
+next day prevented her, however, from thinking too much
+about her troubles. She and Lady Alice, with the faithful
+Dayman, were to leave Paris late in the afternoon; and
+the morning was spent in hurried excursions to shops,
+interviews with milliners and dressmakers, eager discussions
+on color, shape, and fitness. Lesley was glad to see
+that she was not to be sent to London with anything over-fine
+in the way of clothes. The gowns chosen were
+extremely simple, but in good taste; and the <i>modiste</i>
+promised that they should be sent after the young lady in
+the course of a very few days. There was some argument
+as to whether Lesley would require a ball dress, or dinner
+dresses. Lady Alice thought not. But, although nothing
+that could actually be called a ball-dress was ordered, there
+were one or two frocks of lovely shimmering hue and
+delightfully soft texture which would serve for any such
+festivity.<a name="Page_29"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Though in <i>my</i> day," said Lady Alice, smiling, "we
+did not go to balls in Bloomsbury. But, of course, I don't
+know what society Mr. Brooke sees now."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley was conscious of the sarcasm.</p>
+
+<p>The earl remained in Paris, while Lady Alice went with
+her daughter from Havre to Southampton, and thence to
+London. Dayman travelled with them; and a supplementary
+escort appeared in the person of Captain Duchesne,
+who "happened to be travelling that way." Lady Alice
+was not displeased to see him, although she had a guilty
+sense of stealing a march upon her husband in providing
+Lesley with a standard of youthful good-breeding and
+good-looks. It might tend to preserve her from forming
+any silly attachment in her father's circle, Lady Alice
+thought. As a matter of fact, she was singularly ignorant
+of what that circle might comprise. She had left him
+before his more prosperous days began to dawn, and
+she continued therefore to picture him to herself as the
+struggling journalist in murky lodgings&mdash;"the melancholy
+literary man" who smoked strong tobacco far into the
+night, and talked of things in which she had no interest at
+all. If matters were changed with Caspar Brooke since
+then, Lady Alice did not know it.</p>
+
+<p>She had ascertained that Mr. Brooke's sister was living
+in his house, and that she was capable of acting in some
+sort as Lesley's chaperon. Then, a connection of the
+earl's was rector of a neighboring church close to Upper
+Woburn Place&mdash;and he had promised to take Miss Brooke
+under his especial pastoral care;&mdash;although, as he mildly
+insinuated, he was not in the habit of visiting at Number
+Fifty. And with these recommendations and assurances,
+Lady Alice was forced to be content.</p>
+
+<p>She parted from her daughter at Waterloo Station. It
+did not seem possible to her to drive up to her husband's
+house in a cab, and drive away again. She committed her,
+therefore, to the care of Dayman, and put the girl and her
+maid into a four-wheeler, with Lesley's luggage on the top.
+Then she established herself in the ladies' waiting-room,
+until such time as Dayman should return.</p>
+
+<p>With beating heart and flushing cheek Lesley drove
+through the rapidly-darkening streets to her father's house.
+She was terribly nervous at the prospect of meeting him.<a name="Page_30"></a>
+And, even after the history that she had learnt from her
+mother, she felt that she had not the slightest notion as to
+what manner of man Caspar Brooke might turn out to be.<a name="Page_31"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">THE MANNER OF MAN.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">On</span> the day preceding Lesley Brooke's arrival in London,
+a tall, broad-shouldered man was walking along Southampton
+Row. He was a big man&mdash;a man whom people
+turned to look at&mdash;a distinctly noticeable man. He was
+considerably taller and broader than the average of his
+fellows: he was wide-chested and muscular, though without
+any inclination to stoutness; and he had a handsome,
+sunburned face, with a short brown beard and deep-set,
+dark-brown eyes. His hair was not cut quite to the conventional
+shortness, perhaps: there was a lock that would
+fall in an unruly manner across the broad brow with an
+obstinacy no hairdresser could subvert. But, in all other
+respects, he was very much as other men: he dressed well,
+if rather carelessly, and presented to the world a somewhat
+imposing personality. He did not wear gloves, and he had
+no flower at his button-hole; but the respectability of his
+silk hat and well-made coat was unimpeachable, and he had
+all the air of easy command which is so characteristic of the
+well-bred Englishman. The slight roughness about him
+was as inseparable from his build and his character as it is
+to the best-groomed and best-bred staghound or mastiff of
+the highest race.</p>
+
+<p>Southampton Row, as is well known, leads into Russell
+Square. In fact the straight line of the Row merges imperceptibly
+into one side of the Square, whence it continues
+under the name of Woburn Place, the East side of Tavistock
+Square, Upper Woburn Place, and Euston Square,
+losing itself at last in the Northern wilderness of the
+crowded Euston Road. It was at a house which he
+passed in his straight course from Holburn towards St.
+Pancras that this very tall and strong-looking gentleman
+stopped, at about five o'clock on a September afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>He stood on the steps for a moment, and looked up and
+down the house doubtfully, as if seeking for signs of life<a name="Page_32"></a>
+from within. A great many people were still out of town,
+and he was uncertain whether the occupants of this house
+were at home or not. The place had evidently been in
+the hands of painters and cleaners since he saw it last:
+the stone-work was scrupulously white, the wood-work
+was painted a delicate green. The visitor lifted his well-defined
+eyebrows at the lightness of the color, as he turned
+to the door and rang the bell. It was easy to see that he
+was an observant man, upon whose eyes very few things
+were lost.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Romaine in?" he asked the trim maid who appeared
+in answer to his ring. He noticed that she was a
+new maid.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir. What name shall I say, please, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Brooke."</p>
+
+<p>The girl looked intelligent, as if she had heard the name
+before. And Mr. Brooke, following her upstairs to the
+drawing-room, reflected on the quickness with which servants
+make themselves acquainted with their masters' and
+mistresses' affairs, and the disadvantages of a civilization
+in which you were at the mercy of your servants' tongues.</p>
+
+<p>These reflections had no bearing on his own circumstances:
+they proceeded entirely from Mr. Brooke's habit of
+taking general views, and making large applications of
+small things.</p>
+
+<p>The day was cloudy, and, although it was only five
+o'clock, the streets were growing dark. The weather was
+chilly, moreover, and the wind blew from the East. It
+was a pleasant change to enter Mrs. Romaine's drawing-room,
+which was full of soft light from a glowing little
+fire, full of the scent of roses and the lovely tints of Indian
+embroideries, Italian tapestries, dead gold-leaf backgrounds,
+and china that was beautiful as well as rare.
+Lady Alice Brooke, in her narrow isolation from the world,
+would not have believed that so charming a room could be
+found east of Great Portland Street. In which opinion
+she was very much mistaken; for her belief that in
+"society" and society's haunts alone could one find taste,
+culture, and beauty, led her to ignore the vast number of
+intellectual and artistic folk who still sojourn in the dim
+squares of Bloomsbury and Regent's Park. Sooth to say
+Lady Alice knew absolutely nothing of the worlds of intellect
+and art, save by means of an occasional article in the<a name="Page_33"></a>
+magazines, or a stroll through the large picture galleries of
+London during the season. She was a good woman in her
+way, and&mdash;also in her way&mdash;a clever one; but she had
+been brought up in another atmosphere from that which her
+husband loved, elevated in a totally different school, and
+she was not of a nature to adapt herself to what she did
+not thoroughly understand.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine knew well enough that she was quite as
+well able to hold her own in the fashionable world if once
+she obtained an entrance to it as any Lady Alice or Lady
+Anybody of her acquaintance. But then the difficulty of
+entering if was very great. She had not sufficient fortune
+to vie with women who every year spent hundreds on their
+dress and on their dinner. She was handsome, but she
+was middle-aged. She had few friends of sufficient distinction
+to push her forward. And she was a wise woman.
+She thought it better to live where she enjoyed a good
+deal of popularity and consideration; where she could entertain
+in a modest way, where her husband had been well
+known, and she could glow with the reflected light that
+came to her from his shining abilities. These reasons were
+patent to the world: she really made no secret of them.
+But there was another reason, not quite so patent to the
+world, for her living quietly in Russell Square, and this
+reason she kept strictly to herself.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine had been a widow for three years. Her
+husband had been a very learned man&mdash;Professor of numerous
+Oriental languages at University College for some
+years, afterwards a Judge in Calcutta; and as he had
+always lived in the West Central district during his Professorate,
+Mrs. Romaine declared that she loved it and
+could live nowhere else. The house in Russell Square
+was only partly hers. Her brother rented some of the
+rooms (shared the house with her, as Mrs. Romaine
+vaguely phrased it), and lightened the expense. But the
+two drawing-rooms, opening out of one another, were
+entirely at Mrs. Romaine's disposal, and she was generally
+to be found there between four and five o'clock in an afternoon&mdash;a
+fact of which it is to be presumed that Mr. Brooke
+was aware.</p>
+
+<p>"So you have come back to town?" she said, rising to
+meet him, and extending both hands with a pretty air of
+appropriative friendship.<a name="Page_34"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but I hardly expected to find you here so
+early."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine shrugged her shoulders a little.</p>
+
+<p>"I found the country very dull," she said. "And
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I went to Norway. I was well enough off. I
+rather enjoyed myself. Perhaps I required a little bracing
+up for the task that lies before me." He laughed as he
+spoke.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine paused for a moment in her task of pouring
+out the tea.</p>
+
+<p>"You are resolved, then, to assume that responsibility?"
+she said, in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Rosalind! it's in the bond," answered Caspar
+Brooke, very coolly.</p>
+
+<p>He took the cup from her hand, stirred its contents,
+and proceeded to drink them in a leisurely manner,
+glancing at his hostess meanwhile, with a quiet smile.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine's dark eyes dropped before that glance.
+There was an inscrutable look upon her face, but it was a
+look that would have told another woman that Mrs. Romaine
+was disappointed by the news which she had just
+heard. Caspar Brooke, being a man, saw nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry," Mrs. Romaine said presently, with an assumption
+of great candor. "I am afraid you will have an
+uncomfortable time."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no," he answered, with indifference. "I shall not
+be uncomfortable, because it will not affect me in the least.
+When I spoke of bracing myself for the task, I was in jest."
+Mrs. Romaine did not believe this statement. "I shall go
+my own way whether the girl is in the house or not."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, then, did you insist on this arrangement?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is only right to give the girl a chance," said Mr.
+Brooke. "If she has any grit in her the next twelve
+months will bring it out. Besides, it is simple justice. She
+ought to see and judge for herself. If she decides&mdash;as her
+mother did&mdash;that I am an ogre, she can go back to her
+aristocratic friends in the North. I shall not try to keep
+her." There was the suspicion of a grim sneer on his face
+as he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know what she is like?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes: I saw her one day in Paris. She did not know,
+of course, that I was watching her. She is like her
+mother."<a name="Page_35"></a></p>
+
+<p>The tone was unpromising. But perhaps it would have
+been as well if Rosalind Romaine had not murmured so
+pityingly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"My poor friend! What you have suffered&mdash;and oh,
+what you <i>will</i> suffer!"</p>
+
+<p>Brooke looked at her in silence, and his eyes softened.
+Mrs. Romaine seemed to him at that moment the incarnation
+of all that was sweet and womanly. She was slender,
+pale, graceful: she had velvety dark eyes and picturesque
+curling hair, cut short like a Florentine boy's. Her dress
+was harmonious in color and design; her attitude was
+charming, her voice most musical. It crossed Mr.
+Brooke's mind, as it had crossed his mind before, that he
+might have been very happy if Providence had sent him a
+wife like Rosalind Romaine.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall not suffer," he said, after a little silence,
+"because I will not suffer. My daughter will live for a
+year in my house, but she will not trouble my peace, I can
+assure you. She will go her own way, and I shall go
+mine."</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid that she will not be so passive as you
+think," said Mrs. Romaine, with some hesitation. "She
+has been brought up in a very different school from any
+that you would recommend. A girl fresh from a French
+convent is not an easy person to deal with. Whatever
+may be the advantages of these convents, there are certain
+virtues which are not inculcated in them."</p>
+
+<p>"Such as&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Truth and honesty, Caspar, my friend. Your daughter's
+accomplishments will not include candor, I fear."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Brooke was silent for a moment, his face expressing
+more concern than he knew. Mrs. Romaine watched him
+furtively.</p>
+
+<p>"It may be so," he said at last in a rather heavy tone,
+"but it can't be helped. I had no hand in choosing a
+school for her, Rosalind"&mdash;his voice took a pleading tone
+"you will do your best for her? You will be her friend
+in spite of defects in her training?"</p>
+
+<p>"I will do anything that I can. But you will forgive me
+for saying, Caspar, that it is hard for me to forget that she
+is the daughter of the woman who&mdash;practically&mdash;wrecked
+your life."</p>
+
+<p>Brooke's face grew hard again. He uttered a short
+laugh, which had not a very agreeable sound.<a name="Page_36"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Wrecked my life!" he repeated, disdainfully.
+"Excuse me, Rosalind. No woman ever had the power
+of wrecking my life. Indeed, I have been far more fortunate
+and prosperous since Lady Alice chose to leave me
+than before."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine said nothing. She was an adept in the
+art of insinuating by a look, a turn of the head, a gesture,
+what she wished to convey. At this moment she indicated
+very clearly, though without speaking a word, that
+she sympathized deeply with her friend, Caspar Brooke,
+and was exceedingly indignant at the way in which he had
+been treated.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps Mr. Brooke found the atmosphere enervating,
+for with a half smile and shake of the head, he rose up to
+go. Mrs. Romaine rose also.</p>
+
+<p>"She comes to-morrow evening," he said, before he took
+his leave.</p>
+
+<p>"To-morrow evening? You will be out!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, it is Wednesday: I can manage an evening at
+home. Perhaps you will kindly look in on Thursday afternoon?"</p>
+
+<p>And this Mrs. Romaine undertook to do.</p>
+
+<p>Caspar Brooke continued his walk along the Eastern
+side of Russell Square and Woburn Place. His quick
+observant eyes took note of every incident in his way, of
+every man, woman, and child within their range of vision.
+He stopped once to rate a cabman, not too mildly, for
+beating an over-worked horse&mdash;took down his number, and
+threatened to prosecute him for cruelty to animals. A
+ragged boy who asked him for money was brought to a
+standstill by some keenly-worded questions respecting his
+home, his name, his father's occupation, and the school
+which he attended. Of these Mr. Brooke also made a note,
+much to the boy's dismay; but consolation followed in the
+shape of a shilling, although the donor muttered a malediction
+on his own folly as he turned away. His last actions,
+before reaching his own house in Upper Woburn Place,
+were&mdash;first to ring the area-bell for a dog that was waiting
+at another man's gate (an office which the charitable are
+often called upon to perform in the streets of London for
+dogs and cats alike), and then to pick up a bony black
+kitten and take it on his arm to his own door, where he
+delivered it to a servant, with injunctions to feed and<a name="Page_37"></a>
+comfort the starveling. From which facts it may be seen
+that Mr. Caspar Brooke, in spite of all his faults, was a
+lover of dumb animals, and of children, and must therefore
+have possessed a certain amount of kindliness of disposition.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Brooke dined at six o'clock, then smoked a cigar
+and had a cup of black coffee brought to him in the untidy
+little sanctum where he generally did his work. With the
+coffee came the black kitten, which sidled up to him on
+the table, purring, and rubbing her head against his arm
+as if she knew him for a friend. He stroked it occasionally
+as he read his evening papers, and stroked it in the
+caressing way which cats love, from its forehead to the
+tip of its stumpy tail. It was while he was thus engaged
+that a tap at the door was heard, and the tap was followed
+by the entrance of a young man, who looked as if he
+were quite at home.</p>
+
+<p>"Can I come in?" he said, in a perfunctory sort of
+way; and then, without waiting for any reply, went on&mdash;
+"I've no engagement to-night, so I thought I would look
+in here first, and see whether you had started."</p>
+
+<p>"All right. Where have you been?"</p>
+
+<p>"Special meeting&mdash;Church and State Union," said the
+young man with a smile. "I went partly in a medical
+capacity, partly because I was curious to know how they
+managed to unite the two professions."</p>
+
+<p>"Couldn't your sister tell you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't allow Ethel to attend such mixed gatherings,"
+said the visitor, seating himself on the edge of the
+library table, and beginning to play with the cat.</p>
+
+<p>"You are unusually particular," said Mr. Brooke, with
+an amused look. But Maurice Kenyon, as the visitor was
+named, continued to attract the kitten's notice, without the
+answering protest which Caspar Brooke had expected.</p>
+
+<p>Maurice Kenyon was nearly thirty, and had stepped by
+good fortune into the shoes of a medical uncle who had
+left him a large and increasing general practice in the
+West Central district. The young man's popularity was
+not entirely owing to his skill, although he had an exceedingly
+good repute among his brethren in medicine. Neither
+was it attributable to good looks. He owed it rather to a
+sympathetic manner, to the cheerful candor of his dark
+grey eyes, to the mixture of firmness and delicate kindness<a name="Page_38"></a>
+by which his treatment of his patients was characterized.
+He was especially successful in his dealings with children;
+and he had therefore a good deal of adoration from grateful
+mothers to put up with. But of his skill and intellectual
+power there could be no doubt; and these qualities,
+coupled with his winning manner, bade fair to raise him to
+a very high place in his profession.</p>
+
+<p>There was one little check, and one only, to the flow of
+Mr. Kenyon's prosperity. Careful mothers occasionally
+objected that he was not married, and that his sister was
+an actress. Why did he let his sister go on the stage?
+And why, if she was an actress, did he allow her to live in
+his house? It did not seem quite respectable in the eyes
+of some worthy people that these things should be. But
+Mr. Kenyon only laughed when reports of these sayings,
+reached him, and went on his way unmoved, as his sister
+Ethel went on hers. And in London, the question of a
+doctor's relations, his sisters, his cousins, his aunts, and
+what they do for a living, is not so important as it is in the
+country. Maurice Kenyon's care of his sister, and her
+devotion to him, were well known by all their friends; and
+as he sometimes said, it mattered very little to him what
+all the rest of the world might think.</p>
+
+<p>"Talking of your sister, Kenyon," said Mr. Brooke,
+somewhat abruptly, "I suppose you know that my daughter
+comes to me to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>The connection of ideas was not, perhaps, very obvious,
+but Maurice Kenyon nodded as if he understood.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose she will want a companion. Would Ethel
+be so kind as to call on her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly. She will do all she can for Miss Brooke,
+I am sure."</p>
+
+<p>"I have been speaking to Mrs. Romaine, too."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Have</i> you?" Kenyon raised eyebrows a very
+little, but Mr. Brooke did not seem to notice the change
+of expression.</p>
+
+<p>"&mdash;And she promises to do what she can; but a woman
+like Mrs. Romaine is not likely to find many subjects in
+common with a girl fresh from a convent."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose not"&mdash;in the driest of tones.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Romaine," said Brooke, in a more decided tone,
+"is a cultivated woman who has made a mark in literature&mdash;&mdash;"<a name="Page_39"></a></p>
+
+<p>"In literature?" queried the doctor.</p>
+
+<p>"She has written a novel or two. She writes for various
+papers&mdash;well and smartly, I believe. She is a thorough
+woman of the world. Naturally, a girl brought up as
+Lesley has been will&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"&mdash;Will find her detestable," said Kenyon, briskly, "as
+I and Ethel do. You'll excuse this expression of opinion;
+you've heard it before."</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Caspar Brooke's face was overcast; then
+he broke into uneasy laughter, and rose from his chair,
+shaking himself a little as a big dog sometimes does when
+it comes out of the water.</p>
+
+<p>"You are incorrigible," he said. "A veritable heretic
+on the matter of my friend, Mrs. Romaine. By the by, I
+must remind you, Kenyon, that Mrs. Romaine is a very
+old friend of mine."</p>
+
+<p>His manner changed slightly as he spoke. There was
+a little touch of quiet hauteur in his look and tone, as if he
+wished to repel unsolicited criticism. Maurice understood
+the man too well to be offended, and merely changed the
+subject.</p>
+
+<p>But when, after half an hour's chat, the young doctor
+left the house, his mind reverted to the topic which Mr.
+Brooke had broached.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Romaine, indeed! Why, the man's mad&mdash;to
+introduce her as a friend to his daughter! Does not all
+the world know that Mrs. Romaine caused the separation
+between him and his wife? And will the poor girl know?
+or has she been kept in the dark completely as to the state
+of affairs? Upon my word I'm sorry for her. It strikes
+me that she will have a hard row to hoe, if Mrs. Romaine
+is at her father's ear."<a name="Page_40"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">OLIVER.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Mr. Brooke</span> had not long quitted Mrs. Romaine's drawing-room
+when it was entered by another man, whose
+personal resemblance to Mrs. Romaine herself was so
+striking that there could be little doubt as to their close
+relationship to one another. It was one of those curious
+likenesses that exist and thrive upon difference. Rosalind
+was not tall, and she was undeniably plump; while her
+younger brother, Oliver Trent, was above middle height,
+and of a spare habit. The creamy white of Mrs. Romaine's
+complexion had turned to deadly pallor in Oliver's
+thin, hairless face: and her most striking features were
+accentuated, and even exaggerated in his. Her arched
+and mobile eyebrows, her dark eyes, her broad nostrils,
+curved mouth, and finely-shaped chin, were all to be found,
+with a subtle unlikeness, in Oliver's face, and the jetty
+hair, short as it was on the man's head, grew low down on
+the brow and the nape of the neck exactly as hers did&mdash;although
+this resemblance was obscured by the fact that
+Rosalind wore a fringe, and carefully curled all the short
+hairs at the back of her head.</p>
+
+<p>The greatest difference of all lay in the expression of the
+two faces. Mrs. Romaine had certainly no frankness in
+her countenance, but she had plenty of smiling pleasantness
+and play of emotion. Oliver's face was like a sullen
+mask: it was motionless, stolid even, and unamiable.
+There were people who raved about his beauty, and nicknamed
+him Antinous and Adonis. But these were not
+physiognomists....</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine had two brothers, both some years
+younger than herself. Oliver, the youngest and her favorite,
+was about thirty, and called himself a barrister. As
+he had no briefs, however, it was currently reported that
+he lived by means of light literature, play, and judicious
+sponging upon his sister. The elder brother, Francis, was
+a ne'er-do-weel, and seldom appeared upon the scene.<a name="Page_41"></a>
+When he did appear, it was always a sign of trouble and
+want of cash.</p>
+
+<p>"So you have had Brooke here again?" Oliver inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"How did you know, Noll?"</p>
+
+<p>She turned her dark eyes upon him rather anxiously.
+Oliver's views and opinions were of consequence to her.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw him come in. I was coming up, but I turned
+round again and went away. Had a smoke in the Square
+till I saw him come out. Didn't want to spoil your little
+game, whatever it was."</p>
+
+<p>He spoke with a kind of soft drawl, not unpleasing to
+the ear at first, but irritating if too long continued. It
+seemed to irritate his sister now. She tapped impatiently
+on the floor with her toe as she replied&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"How vulgar you are sometimes, Oliver! But all
+society is vulgar now-a-days, and I suppose one ought not
+to complain. I have no 'little game,' as you express it,
+and there was not the slightest need for you to have stayed
+away."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver was sitting on a sofa, with his elbows on his
+knees and the tips of his long white fingers meeting each
+other. When Mrs. Romaine ended her petulant little
+speech he turned his dark eyes upon her and smiled. He
+said nothing, however, and his silence offended his sister
+even more than his speech.</p>
+
+<p>"It is easy to see that you do not believe me," she said,
+"and I think it is very rude of you to be so sceptical. If
+you <i>have</i> any remarks to make on the subject pray make
+them at once."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Rosy, I have no remarks to make at all,"
+said Oliver, easily. "Take your own way and I shall
+take mine. You are good enough to give me plenty of
+rope, and I should be uncivil indeed if I commented on the
+length of yours."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine had been moving restlessly to and fro:
+she now stood still, on the hearthrug, her hands clasped
+before her, her face turned attentively towards her brother.
+Evidently she was struck by his words.</p>
+
+<p>"If you would speak out," she said at last, her smooth
+voice vibrating as if he had touched some chord of passion
+which was usually hushed to silence, "I should know
+better what you mean. You deal too much in hints and
+insinuations. You have said things of this sort before. I
+must know what you mean."<a name="Page_42"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Come, Rosy," said Oliver, rising from his low seat and
+confronting her, "don't be so tragic&mdash;so intense. Plump
+little women like you shouldn't go in for tragedy. Smile,
+Rosy; it is your <i>m&eacute;tier</i> to smile. You have won a good
+many games by smiling. You must smile on now&mdash;to the
+bitter end."</p>
+
+<p>He smiled himself as he looked at her&mdash;an unpleasant
+smile, with thin lips drawn back from white sharp looking
+teeth, which gave him the air of a snarling dog. Mrs.
+Romaine's face belied his words. It was tragic enough,
+intense enough, for a woman who had known mortal
+agony; the suggestion of placidity usually given by her
+smiling lips and rounded unwrinkled cheeks had disappeared;
+she might have stood for an impersonation of
+sorrow and despair. Oliver's mocking voice recalled her
+to herself.</p>
+
+<p>"A very good pose, Rosalind. The Tragic Muse indeed.
+Are you going to rival Ethel Kenyon? I am
+afraid it is rather late for you to go on the stage, that's all.
+Let me see: you have touched forty, have you not? I
+would acknowledge only thirty-nine if I were you. There
+is more than a year's difference between thirty-nine and
+forty."</p>
+
+<p>The strained muscles of her face relaxed: she made <a name="tn_47"></a><!--TN: "a a" changed to "a"-->a
+little impatient gesture with her hands, then turned to
+the fireplace, and with one arm upon the mantelpiece,
+looked down into the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"You drive me nearly mad sometimes, Oliver," she said,
+in a low, passionate voice, "by your habit of saying only
+half a thing at a time. I know well enough that you are
+remonstrating with me now: that you disapprove of something&mdash;and
+will not tell me what. By and by, if I am in
+trouble or perplexity, you will turn round upon me and
+say that you warned me&mdash;told me that you disapproved&mdash;or
+something of that sort. You always do it, and it is not
+fair. Innuendoes are not warnings."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Rosalind," said her brother, coolly, "I hope
+I know my place. I'm ten years younger than you are,
+and have been at various times much indebted to your
+generosity. It does not become me to take exception at
+anything that girls may like to do."</p>
+
+<p>He had the exasperating habit of treating kindness to
+himself with an air of condescension, as if he conferred a<a name="Page_43"></a>
+favor by accepting benefits. His smile of superiority hurt
+Mrs. Romaine.</p>
+
+<p>"When you adopt that tone, Oliver, I hate you!" she
+cried.</p>
+
+<p>"You are very impulsive, Rosy&mdash;in spite of your years,"
+said Oliver, with his usual quietness. "I assure you I do
+not wish to interfere; and you must set it down to
+brotherly affection if I sometimes feel inclined to wonder
+what you mean to do."</p>
+
+<p>"To do?" she queried, looking round at him.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, to do. I don't understand you, that is all. Of
+course, it is not necessary that I should understand."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine did not often change color, but she
+flushed scarlet now, and was glad for a moment that the
+room was almost dark. Yet, as her brother stood close to
+her, and the fire was sending up fitful flashes of ruddy
+light, she felt certain, on reflection, that he had seen that
+blush. This certainly imparted some humility to her voice
+as she spoke again.</p>
+
+<p>"You know, Oliver, that I always like you to approve
+of what I am doing. I like you to understand. Of course,
+whatever I do, it is partly for your sake."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it?" said Oliver, with a laugh. "I shouldn't have
+thought it. As far as I can judge, you have been very
+careful to please yourself all through."</p>
+
+<p>There was a little silence. Then she said, in a low tone,</p>
+
+<p>"<i>How</i> have I pleased myself, I should like to know?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you want a plain statement of facts? Well, my
+dear, you know them as well as I do, though perhaps you
+do not know the light in which they present themselves to
+me. We three, you and Francis and I, were left to earn
+our own living at a somewhat early age. Francis became
+a banker's clerk, and you took to literature and governessing
+and general popularity. By a very clever stroke you
+managed to induce Professor Romaine to marry you. He
+was fifty and you were twenty-four. You did very well for
+yourself&mdash;twisted him round your little finger, and got
+him to leave you all his money; but really I do not see
+how this could be said to be for my sake."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you are very ungrateful, Oliver. You were a boy
+of fourteen when I married, and what would you have
+done but for Mr. Romaine and myself?"</p>
+
+<p>"You forget, my dear," said Oliver, smoothly, "that I
+was never exactly dependent on you for a livelihood. I<a name="Page_44"></a>
+took scholarships at school and college, and there was a
+certain sum of money invested in the Funds for my other
+expenses. It was perhaps not a large sum, but it was
+enough. I have to thank you for some very pleasant
+weeks at your house during the holidays; but there was
+really no necessity for you to marry Peter Romaine in
+order to provide for my holidays."</p>
+
+<p>She winced under his tone of banter, but did not speak.
+She seemed resolved to let him say what he liked. Rosalind
+Romaine might not be perfect in all relations of life,
+but she was certainly a good sister.</p>
+
+<p>"When a few years had elapsed," her brother went on,
+in a light narrative tone, "I'll grant that Romaine was of
+considerable service to us. He got Francis out of several
+scrapes, and he shoved me into a Government office,
+where the duties are not particularly onerous. Oh, yes, I
+owe some thanks to Romaine."</p>
+
+<p>"And none to me for marrying him?"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver laughed. "My dear Rosy," he said, "I have
+mentioned before that I consider you married him to
+please yourself."</p>
+
+<p>She shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing more.</p>
+
+<p>"Romaine became useful to me, of course," said Oliver,
+reflectively; "and then came the first extraordinary
+hitch. We met the Brookes&mdash;how many years ago&mdash;nearly
+twelve, I suppose; and you formed a gushing
+friendship with Lady Alice Brooke and her husband,
+especially with her husband."</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you rake up these old stories?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I want to understand your position. You
+amazed me then, and you seem more than ever disposed
+to amaze me now. You were attracted by Caspar Brooke&mdash;heaven
+knows why! and you made no secret of the fact.
+You liked the man, and he liked you. I don't know how
+far the friendship went&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"There was nothing in it but the most ordinary, innocent
+acquaintanceship!"</p>
+
+<p>"Lady Alice did not think so. Lady Alice made a
+devil of a row about it, as far as I understand. Everyone
+who knows the story blames you, Rosalind, for the quarrel
+and separation between husband and wife."</p>
+
+<p>"It was not my fault."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, was it not? Well, perhaps not. At any rate,
+the husband and wife separated quietly, twelve years ago.<a name="Page_45"></a>
+I don't know whether you hoped that Brooke would give
+his wife any justification for her suspicions&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oliver, you are brutal! You insult me! I have never
+given you reason to think so ill of me."</p>
+
+<p>"I think of you," said Oliver, slowly, "only as I think
+of all women. I don't suppose you are better or worse
+than the rest. As it happened the whole thing seemed to
+die down after that separation. Romaine whisked you off
+to Calcutta with him. Then he fell ill, and you had to
+nurse him: you and your friend Brooke did not often
+meet. Then your husband died, after a long illness, and
+you came here again three years ago&mdash;for what object?"</p>
+
+<p>"I had no object but that of living in a part of London
+which was familiar to me&mdash;and of being amongst friends.
+You have no right at all to call me to account in this
+way."</p>
+
+<p>"So I said a few minutes ago. But you remarked that
+you wished me to understand and approve of your proceedings.
+I am only trying to get at your motives&mdash;if
+you have any."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine was tempted to say that she had no motives.
+But she did not think that Oliver would believe
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"Here you are," he went on, in his soft, slow voice,
+"in friendly&mdash;I might say familiar&mdash;relations with this
+man again. His wife is still living, and as bitter against
+him as ever, but not likely to give him any pretext for a
+divorce. You cannot marry him. Why do you provoke
+people to say ill-natured things about you by continuing
+so aimless a friendship?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think that any one would take the trouble of
+saying ill-natured things about me, Oliver," said Mrs. Romaine,
+forcing a smile. "We are too conventional, too
+advanced, now-a-days, for that kind of thing. Friendship
+between a man and woman is by no means the abnormal
+and unheard-of thing that it used to be."</p>
+
+<p>"You are not so free as you think you are. You are
+still good-looking&mdash;still young. You cannot afford to
+defy the world. And I cannot afford to defy it either. I
+don't mind a reasonable amount of laxity, but I do not
+want my sister to be the heroine of a scandal."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you might trust me to take care of myself."</p>
+
+<p>"I would not say a word if Brooke were a widower.
+Although I don't like him, I acknowledge that he is the<a name="Page_46"></a>
+sort of big blundering brute that suits some women. But
+there's no chance with him, so why should you make a
+fool of yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine turned round with a fierce little gesture
+of contradiction, but restrained herself, and did not speak
+for a minute or two.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want me to do?" she said at last, in
+rather a breathless kind of way.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, my dear Rosy, since you ask me, I should say
+that it would be far wiser to drop Brooke's acquaintance."</p>
+
+<p>"That is impossible."</p>
+
+<p>"And why impossible?"</p>
+
+<p>"His daughter is coming to him for a year: he has been
+here to-night to ask me to call on her&mdash;to chaperone her
+sometimes."</p>
+
+<p>"Is the man a fool?" said Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"I think," Mrs. Romaine answered, somewhat unsteadily,
+"that Mr. Brooke never knew&mdash;exactly&mdash;that his
+wife was jealous of me."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's too much to say. He must have known."</p>
+
+<p>"I am pretty sure that he did not. From things that
+he has said to me, I feel certain that he attributed only a
+passing irritation to her on my account. You do not believe
+me, Oliver; but I think that he is perfectly ignorant
+of the real cause of her leaving him."</p>
+
+<p>"And <i>you</i> know it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know it, and Lady Alice knows it: no one else."</p>
+
+<p>"What was it, then? You mean more than simple
+jealousy, I see."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but&mdash;I am not obliged to tell you what it was."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no. Keep your own counsel, by all means. But
+you are placing yourself in a very risky position. Lady Alice
+Brooke knows something that would, I suppose, compromise
+you in the world's eyes, if it were generally known. Her
+daughter is coming to Brooke's house. You mean&mdash;you
+seriously mean&mdash;to go to his house and visit this girl?
+thereby offending her mother (who is sure to hear of the
+visit) and bringing down the ill-will of all the Courtleroys
+upon your head? Have you no regard for your character
+and your position in the world? You are risking both,
+and you have nothing to gain."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I have."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?"<a name="Page_47"></a></p>
+
+<p>"I cannot tell you."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean you will not tell me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps so."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver Trent deliberately took a match-box from the
+mantelpiece, struck a match, and lighted a wax candle. "I
+should like to see your face," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Rosalind looked at him fully and steadily for a few
+seconds; then her eyelids fell, and for the second time
+that evening the color mounted in her pale cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"I think that I know the truth," said her brother, composedly,
+after a careful study of her face. "You are mad,
+Rosalind, and you will live to rue that madness."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what you mean," she said, turning away
+from the light of the candle. "You speak in riddles."</p>
+
+<p>"I will speak in riddles, then, no longer. I will be very
+plain with you. Rosalind, you are in love with Caspar
+Brooke."</p>
+
+<p>She sank down on a low chair as if her limbs would
+support her no longer and rested her face upon her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"No," she said, in a low voice, "you are wrong: I do
+not love Caspar Brooke."</p>
+
+<p>"What other motive can you have?"</p>
+
+<p>She waited for a moment, and then said, still softly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I may as well tell you. I loved him once.
+In those first days of our acquaintance&mdash;when he was
+disappointed in his wife and seeking for sympathy elsewhere&mdash;I
+thought that he cared for me. I was mistaken.
+Oliver, can you keep my secret? No other soul in the
+world knows of this from me but you. I told him my
+love. I wrote to him&mdash;a wild, mad letter&mdash;offering to fly
+to the ends of the earth with him if he would go."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver stared at her as if he could not believe his ears.</p>
+
+<p>"And what answer did he make?"</p>
+
+<p>"He made none&mdash;because he never saw it. That letter
+fell into Lady Alice's hands. She did not know that it
+was the first that had been written: she took it to be one
+of a series. She wrote a short note to me about it; and
+the next thing I heard was that she had gone. But I
+know that he never saw that letter of mine."</p>
+
+<p>"All this," said Oliver, in a hard contemptuous voice,
+"does not explain your present line of conduct."</p>
+
+<p>She lifted her face from her hands. "Yes, it does," she
+said quickly. "If you were a woman you would under<a name="Page_48"></a>stand!
+Do you think I want her to come back to him?
+No, if he cannot make me happy, he shall not be happy
+at <i>her</i> side. I shall never forgive her for the words she
+wrote to me! If her daughter comes, Oliver, it is all the
+more reason why I should be here, ready to nip any notion
+of reconciliation in the bud. It is hate, not love, that
+dominates me: it is in my hatred for Caspar Brooke's wife
+that you must seek the explanation of my actions. <i>Now</i>,
+do you understand?"</p>
+
+<p>"I understand enough," said Oliver, drily.</p>
+
+<p>"And you will not interfere?"</p>
+
+<p>"For the present I will not interfere. But I will not
+bind myself. I must see more of what you are doing before
+I make any promises. Whatever you do, you must
+not compromise yourself or me."</p>
+
+<p>"Hate!" he repeated to himself scornfully as he left the
+house at a somewhat later hour in the evening. "It is all
+very well to put it down to her hate for Lady Alice. She
+is still in love with Brooke; and that is the beginning and
+the end of it."</p>
+
+<p>And Oliver was not far wrong.<a name="Page_49"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">LESLEY COMES HOME.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Caspar Brooke</span> was a busy man, and he was quite determined
+that his daughter's arrival should make no difference
+in his habits. In this determination he was less selfish
+than stern: he had reason to believe that his wife's treatment
+of him proceeded from folly and fickleness, and that
+his daughter had inherited her foibles. It was not worth
+while, he said to himself, to make any radical change in his
+way of life: Lesley must accommodate herself, if she could,
+to his habits; and if she could not, she must go back to
+her mother. He was not prepared, he told himself, to alter
+his hours, or his friendships, or his peculiarities one whit
+for Lesley's sake.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley arrived an hour later than the time at which she
+had been expected. It was nearly eight o'clock when her
+cab stopped at the door of the house in Upper Woburn
+Place, and the evening was foggy and cold. To Lesley,
+fresh from the clear skies and air of a French city, street,
+house, and atmosphere alike seemed depressing. The
+chimes of St. Pancras' church, woefully out of tune, fell on
+her ear, and made her shiver as she mounted the steps that
+led to the front door. How dear they were to grow to her
+in time she did not then suspect, nor would have easily
+believed! At present their discordance was part of the
+general discordance of all things, and increased the weight
+of dejection which lay upon her. Her mother's maid had
+orders to deliver her over to Mr. Brooke and then to come
+away: she was not to spend an hour in the house, nor to
+partake of food within its walls. She had strict orders
+from Lady Alice on this point.</p>
+
+<p>The house was a very good house, as London dwellings
+go; but to Lesley's eyes it looked strangely mean and
+narrow. It was very tall, and the front was painted a
+chocolate brown. The double front doors, which opened
+to admit Lesley's boxes, showed an ordinary London hall,<a name="Page_50"></a>
+narrow, crowded with an oaken chest, an umbrella and hat
+stand, and lighted by a flaring gas lamp. At these doors
+two persons showed themselves; a neat but hard-featured
+maid-servant, and a lady of uncertain age, whom Lesley
+correctly guessed to be his sister and housekeeper, Miss
+Brooke. There was no sign of her father.</p>
+
+<p>"Is this Mr. Brooke's house?" inquired Dayman, formally.
+She used to know Mr. Brooke by sight, for she had
+lived with Lady Alice for many years.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, this is the house, and this is his daughter, I suppose?"
+said Miss Brooke, coming forward, and taking
+Lesley's limp hand in hers. Miss Brooke had a keen,
+clever, honest face, but she was undeniably plain, and
+Lesley was not in a condition to appreciate the kindness
+of her glance.</p>
+
+<p>"I must see Mr. Brooke himself before I leave my young
+lady," Dayman announced.</p>
+
+<p>"Run and fetch your master, Sarah," said Miss Brooke,
+quickly. "He cannot have heard the cab."</p>
+
+<p>The white-aproned servant disappeared into the back
+premises, and thence, in a moment or two, issued Mr.
+Caspar Brooke himself, at the sight of whom Miss
+Brooke involuntarily frowned and bit her lip. She saw
+at one glance that Caspar was in his "study-coat,"
+that his hair was dishevelled, and that he had just laid
+down his pipe. These were small details in themselves,
+but they meant a good deal. They meant that Caspar
+Brooke would not do a single thing, would not go a single
+step out of his way, to conciliate the affections of Lady
+Alice's daughter. He had never in his life looked more of
+a Bohemian than he did just then. And Miss Brooke suspected
+him of wilful perversity.</p>
+
+<p>The lights swam before Lesley's eyes. The vision of a
+big, brown-bearded man, bigger and broader, it seemed to
+her, than any man she had ever spoken to before, took
+away her senses. As he came up to her she involuntarily
+shrank back; and when he stooped to kiss her, the novel
+sensation of his bristly beard against her face, the strong
+scent of tobacco, and the sense that she was unwelcome,
+all contributed towards complete self-betrayal. Dizzy from
+her voyage; faint, sick, and unhinged, she almost pushed
+him away from her and sank down on a hall-chair with a
+burst of sobbing which she could not control. She was<a name="Page_51"></a>
+terribly ashamed of herself next moment; but the next
+moment was too late. She had made as bad a beginning
+as she had it in her power to make, and no after-apology
+could alter what was done.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment a dead silence fell on the little group.
+Miss Brooke heard her brother mutter something beneath
+his breath in a very angry tone. She wondered whether
+his daughter heard it too. The faithful and officious Dayman
+immediately pressed forward with soothing words and
+offers of help.</p>
+
+<p>"There, there, my dear young lady, don't take on so.
+It won't be for long, remember; and I'll come for you again
+to take you back to your mamma&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You had better leave her alone, Dayman," said Mr.
+Brooke, coldly. "She will probably be more reasonable
+by and bye."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley was on her feet again in a moment. "I am not
+unreasonable," she said distinctly, but with a little catch
+in her voice; "it is only that I am tired and upset with the
+journey&mdash;and the sudden light was too much for me. Give
+mamma my love, Dayman, and say that I am very well."</p>
+
+<p>"Are the boxes all in?" asked Mr. Brooke. "We need
+not detain you, Mrs. Dayman."</p>
+
+<p>Dayman turned and dropped him a mocking curtsey.
+"I have my orders from my mistress, sir. Having seen
+the young lady safe into your hands, I will go back to my
+lady at the railway station, where she now is, and tell her
+how she was received."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brooke, glancing anxiously at her brother, saw him
+bite his lip and frown. He did not speak, but he pointed
+to the door in a manner which Dayman did not see fit to
+disobey.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Miss Lesley&mdash;and I'll look forward to the
+day when I see you back again," said the maid, in a tone
+of profound commiseration.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Dayman, give my love to mamma," said
+Lesley. She would dearly have liked to add, "Don't tell
+her that I cried;" but with that circle of unsympathetic
+faces round her, she did not dare. She pressed her lips
+together, dashed the tears from her eyes, and managed to
+smile, however, as Dayman took her departure.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Miss Brooke had quietly sent the maid for
+a glass of wine, which she administered to the girl without<a name="Page_52"></a>
+further ado. Lesley drank it obediently, and felt reinvigorated:
+but although her courage rose, her spirit remained
+sadly low as she looked at her father's face, and saw that
+it wore an uncompromising frown.</p>
+
+<p>"You had better have these boxes carried upstairs as
+soon as possible," he remarked to his sister. "I will say
+good-night now: I have to go out."</p>
+
+<p>He turned away rather brusquely, and went back into
+his study, which was situated behind the dining-room, on
+the ground-floor. Lesley looked after him helplessly, with
+a mingled feeling of offence and relief. She did not see
+him again, but was conveyed to her room by Miss Brooke,
+who spoke to her kindly indeed, but with a matter-of-fact
+directness which seemed hard and cold to the convent-bred
+girl, whose teachers and guardians had vied with one
+another in sugared sweetness and a tutored amiability of
+demeanor.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley was taken up two flights of stairs to a room which
+seemed close and stuffy to her, although in English eyes it
+might be deemed comfortable and even luxurious. But
+padded arm-chairs and couch, eider-down silken-covered
+quilts, cushions, curtains, and carpets, were things of which
+she had as yet no great appreciation. The room seemed
+to her altogether too full of furniture, and she longed to
+run to the window for a breath of fresh air. Miss Brooke,
+observing how white she looked, asked her if she felt
+faint.</p>
+
+<p>"No, thank, you; I am only tired," said Lesley.</p>
+
+<p>"You would like some tea, perhaps?"</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said the girl, rather hesitatingly. Nobody
+drank tea at the convent, and in her visits to Lady
+Alice she had not cultivated a taste for it. "I think I
+would rather go to bed."</p>
+
+<p>"You must have something to eat before you go," said
+Miss Brooke, drily. "Here, let me feel your pulse. Yes,
+you need food, and I'll send you up a soothing draught as
+well. You need not look so astonished, my dear: don't
+you know that I'm a doctor?"</p>
+
+<p>"A doctor! <i>You!</i>" Lesley looked round the room as
+if seeking for some place in which to hide from such a
+monstrosity.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, a doctor&mdash;a lady doctor," said Miss Brooke, with
+grim but not unmirthful emphasis. "You never saw me<a name="Page_53"></a>
+before, did you? Well, I'm not in general practice just
+now; my health would not stand it, so I am keeping my
+brother's house instead; but I am fully qualified, my dear,
+I assure you, and can prescribe for you if you are ill as
+well as any physician in the land."</p>
+
+<p>She laughed as she spoke, and there was a humorous
+twinkle in her shrewd, kindly eyes, which Lesley did not
+understand. As a matter of fact, her innocent horror and
+amaze tickled Miss Brooke immensely. It was evident
+that this girl, with her foreign, aristocratic, and Catholic
+training knew nothing at all of the strides that have of late
+been made in the direction of female emancipation; and
+her ignorance was amusing to Miss Brooke, who was one
+of the foremost champions of the woman's cause. Miss
+Sophia Brooke, whose name was on every committee under
+the sun, who spoke at meetings and wrote half a dozen
+letters after her name, to have a niece who had never met
+a lady doctor in her life before, and probably did not know
+anything at all about women's franchise! It was quite
+too funny, and Miss Brooke&mdash;or Doctor Brooke, as she
+liked better to be called&mdash;was genuinely amused. But it
+was not an amusing matter to Lesley, who felt as if the
+foundations of the solid world were shaking underneath
+her.</p>
+
+<p>If she had heard of women doctors at all it was in terms
+of bitterest reprobation: she had been told that they were
+not persons of respectability, that they were "without the
+pale," and she had believed all she was told. And here
+she was, shut up for a year with a woman of the very class
+that she had been taught to reprobate&mdash;a woman, too, who,
+although no longer young, had a face which was pleasant
+to look upon, because it expressed refinement and kindliness
+as well as intellectual power, and whose dress, though
+plain, was severely neat, well-fitting, and of rich material.
+In fact, Miss Brooke was so unlike anything in the shape
+of womankind that Lesley had ever encountered, that the
+girl could only gaze at her in speechless amazement, and
+wonder whether <i>she</i> was expected to develop into something
+of the same sort!</p>
+
+<p>She could not deny, however, that her aunt was very
+good-natured. Miss Brooke helped her to undress, put
+her to bed, unpacked her boxes in about half the time that
+a maid would have taken to do the work; then she brought<a name="Page_54"></a>
+her something to eat and drink, and waited on her with
+the care of a woman with a truly kindly heart. Lesley began
+to take courage and to ask questions.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I shall see my father again to-morrow morning,"
+she said.</p>
+
+<p>"About mid-day you may see him," Miss Brooke answered,
+cheerfully. "He will be out till two or three in
+the morning, you know; and of course he can't be disturbed
+very early. You must remember that we keep the
+house very quiet until eleven or twelve, when he generally
+comes down. He breakfasts then, and goes out."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley was mystified. Why did her father keep such
+extraordinary hours? She had not the slightest notion
+that these were the usual arrangements of a journalist's
+life. She thought that he must be very thoughtless, very
+self-indulgent, even very wicked. Surely her mother had
+been more than justified in leaving him. She laid her
+head upon the pillow, feeling rather inclined to cry.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brooke had not much of a clue to her emotions;
+but she was trying hard to fathom what was passing in the
+girl's mind, and she came very near the mark. She stooped
+down and kissed her affectionately.</p>
+
+<p>"I daresay you feel lonely and strange, my dear," she
+said; "but you must remember that you have come to
+your own home, and that we belong to you, and you to us.
+So you must put up with us for a time, and you may&mdash;eventually&mdash;come
+to like us, you know. Stranger things
+than that have happened before now."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley put one arm round her aunt's neck, undeterred
+by Miss Brooke's laugh and the little struggle she made to
+get away.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," she said, "for being so kind. I am sorry
+I cried when I came in."</p>
+
+<p>"You were hysterical and overwrought. I shall tell
+your father so."</p>
+
+<p>"You think he was vexed?"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose," said Miss Brooke, "that a man hardly
+likes to see his daughter burst out crying and shrink away
+when she first looks at him."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I was very stupid!" cried Lesley, remorsefully.
+"It must have looked so bad, and I did not mean anything&mdash;at
+least, I meant only&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I understand all about it," said her aunt, "and I shall
+tell your father what I think if he alludes to the matter.<a name="Page_55"></a>
+In the meantime you had better go to sleep, and wake up
+fresh and bright in the morning. Good-night, my dear."</p>
+
+<p>And Lesley was left to her own reflections.</p>
+
+<p>Although she went early to bed she did not sleep soon
+or soundly. There was not much traffic along the street
+in which her father lived, but the bells of St. Pancras rang
+out the hours and the quarters with painful tunelessness,
+and an occasional rumble of wheels would startle her into
+wakeful terror. At half-past two in the morning she heard
+the opening and shutting of the front door, and her father's
+footsteps on the stairs as he came up to bed. There seemed
+to her something uncanny in these nocturnal habits. The
+life of a journalist, of a literary man, of anybody who did
+any definite work in the world at all, was quite unknown
+to her.</p>
+
+<p>She came down to breakfast at nine o'clock, feeling
+weary and depressed. Miss Brooke was kind but preoccupied;
+she had a committee at twelve, she said, and another
+at four, so she would be obliged to leave Lesley for
+the greater part of the day. "But you will have your own
+little arrangements to make you know," she said, "and
+Sarah will show you or tell you anything you want. You
+might as well fall into our ways as soon as you can."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes," said Lesley. "I only want to be no trouble."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll be no trouble to anybody," said Miss Brooke,
+cheerfully, "so long as you find something to do, and do
+it. There's a good library of books in the house, and a
+piano in the drawing-room; and you ought to go out for
+an hour or two every day. I daresay you will be able to
+occupy yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"Is there any one to go out with me?" queried Lesley,
+timidly. She had never been out alone in the whole course
+of her life.</p>
+
+<p>"Go out with you?" repeated Miss Brooke, rather
+rudely, though with kind intent. "An able-bodied young
+woman of eighteen or nineteen surely can take care of herself!
+You are not in Paris now, my dear, you are in London;
+and girls in London have to be independent and
+courageous."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley felt that she was being somewhat unjustly judged,
+but she did not like to reply. And her aunt, conscious of
+having spoken sharply, became immediately more gentle
+in manner, and told her certain details about the arrange<a name="Page_56"></a>ments
+of the house, which it behoved Lesley to know, with
+considerable thoughtfulness and kind feeling.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Brooke usually rang for his coffee about half-past
+ten, and came down at half-past eleven. He then had
+breakfast served to him in the dining-room, and did not
+join his sister at luncheon at all. In the afternoon he
+walked out, or wrote, or saw friends; dined at six, and
+went down to the office of his paper at eight. From the
+office he did not usually return until the small hours of the
+morning; and then, as Miss Brooke explained, he often
+sat up writing or reading for an hour or two longer.</p>
+
+<p>"Why does he work so late?" asked Lesley, innocently.
+"I should have thought the day-time was pleasanter."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brooke gave a short, explosive laugh, fixed a pair
+of eyeglasses on the bridge of her nose, and looked at Lesley
+as if she were a natural curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you yet to learn," she said, "that we don't do
+what is pleasant in this life, but what we <i>must</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>Then she got up and went away from the breakfast-table,
+leaving Lesley ashamed and confounded. The girl leaned
+her elbows upon the white cloth, and furtively wiped a tear
+away from her eyes. She found herself in a new atmosphere,
+and it did not seem to her a very congenial one.
+She was bewildered; it did not appear possible that she
+could live for a year in a home of this very peculiar kind.
+To her uncultivated imagination, Mr. Brooke and his sister
+looked to her like barbarians. She did not understand
+their ways at all.</p>
+
+<p>She spent the morning in unpacking her things, and
+arranging them, with rather a sad heart, in her room. She
+did not like to go downstairs until the luncheon-bell rang;
+and then she found that she was to lunch alone. Miss
+Brooke was out; Mr. Brooke was in his study.</p>
+
+<p>The white-capped and severe-visaged middle-aged servant,
+who was known as Sarah, came to Lesley after the
+meal with a message.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Brooke says, Miss, that he would like to see you
+in his study, if you can spare him a few minutes."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley flushed hotly as she was shown into the smoky,
+little den. It was a scene of confusion, such as she had
+never beheld before. The table was heaped high with
+papers: books and maps strewed every chair: even the
+floor was littered with bulky tomes and piles of manuscript.<a name="Page_57"></a>
+At a knee-hole table Caspar Brooke was sitting, writing
+hard, as if for dear life, his loose hair falling heavily over
+his big forehead, his left hand grasping his thick brown
+beard. He looked up as Lesley entered, and gave her a
+nod.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-morning," he said. "Wait a minute: I must
+finish this and send it off by the quarter to three post. I
+have just done."</p>
+
+<p>He went on writing, and Lesley stood motionless beside
+the table, with a feeling of dire offence in her proud young
+heart. Why had he sent for her if he did not want her?
+She was half inclined to walk away without another word.
+Only a sense of filial duty restrained her. She thought to
+herself that she had never been treated so unceremoniously&mdash;even
+in her earliest days at school. And she was surprised
+to find that so small a thing could ruffle her so much.
+She had hardly known at the convent, or while visiting her
+mother, that she had such a thing as a "temper." It suddenly
+<a name="tn_62"></a><!-- TN: "occurrred" changed to "occurred"-->occurred to her now that her temper was very bad
+indeed.</p>
+
+<p>And in truth she had a hot, strong temper&mdash;very like
+her father's, if she had but known it&mdash;and a will that was
+prone to dominate, not to submit itself to others. These
+were facts that she had yet to learn.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Lesley," said Caspar Brooke, laying down his
+pen, "I have finished my work at last. Now we can
+talk."<a name="Page_58"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">FRIENDS AND FOES.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Something</span> in the slightly mutinous expression of Lesley's
+face seemed to strike her father. He looked at her
+fixedly for a minute or two, then smiled a little, and
+began to busy himself amongst his papers.</p>
+
+<p>"You are very like your mother," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley felt a thrill of strong indignation. How dared
+he speak of her mother to her without shame and grief
+and repentance? She flushed to her temples and cast
+down her eyes, for she was resolved to say nothing that
+she might afterwards regret.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you sit down?" said Mr. Brooke, indifferently.
+"You must make yourself at home, you know. If you
+don't, I'm afraid you will be uncomfortable. You will
+have to look after yourself."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley made no answer. She was thinking that it would
+be very disagreeable to look after herself. She did not
+know how clearly her face expressed her sentiments.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't much like the prospect, apparently?" said
+her father. "Well"&mdash;for he was becoming a little provoked
+by her silence&mdash;"what <i>would</i> you like? Do you
+want a maid?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, thank you," said Lesley, startled into speech.</p>
+
+<p>"You can have one if you like, you know. Speak to
+your aunt about it. I suppose you have not been accustomed
+to wait upon yourself. Can you do your own
+hair?"</p>
+
+<p>He spoke with a smile, half-indulgent, half-contemptuous.
+Lesley remembered, with intuitive comprehension of his
+mood, that her mother was singularly helpless, and never
+dressed without Dayman's help, or brushed the soft tresses
+that were still so luxuriant and so fair. She rebelled at
+once against the unspoken criticism.</p>
+
+<p>"I can do everything for myself," she said; "I can do
+my own hair and mend my dresses and everything, because<a name="Page_59"></a>
+I am a schoolgirl; but of course when I am older I expect
+to have my own maid, as every lady does."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Brooke's short, hard laugh was distinctly unpleasing
+to her ear.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you will find, when you are older," he said, with
+an emphasis on the words, "that a great many ladies have
+to do without maids&mdash;and very much better for them that
+they should&mdash;but as I do not wish to stint you in anything,
+nor to oppose any fairly reasonable desire of yours, I will
+tell your aunt to get you a maid as soon as possible."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, please!" cried Lesley, more alarmed than
+pleased by the prospect. "I really do not wish for one;
+I do not wish you to have the trouble&mdash;the ex&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She stopped short: she did not quite like to speak of
+the "expense."</p>
+
+<p>"It will not be much trouble to me if Sophia finds you
+a maid," said her father drily; "and as to the expense,
+which is what I suppose you were going to allude to, I am
+quite well able to afford it. Otherwise I should not have
+proposed such a thing."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley felt herself snubbed, and did not like it, but again
+kept silence.</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot promise you much amusement while you stay
+here," Mr. Brooke went on, "but anything that you like to
+see or hear when you are in town can be easily provided for.
+I mean in the way of picture galleries, concerts, theatres&mdash;things
+of that kind. Your Aunt Sophia will probably
+be too much occupied to take you to such places; but if
+you have a maid you will be pretty independent. I wonder
+she did not think of it herself. Of course a maid can go
+about with you, and so relieve her mind."</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry to be troublesome," said Lesley, stiffly.</p>
+
+<p>He cast an amused glance at her. "You won't trouble
+<i>me</i>, my dear. And Mrs. Romaine says that she will call
+and make your acquaintance. I dare say you will find
+her a help to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Is she&mdash;a friend of yours?"</p>
+
+<p>"A very old friend," said Caspar Brooke, with decision.
+"Then there are the Kenyons, who live opposite. Ethel
+Kenyon is a clever girl&mdash;a great favorite of mine. Her
+brother is a doctor."</p>
+
+<p>"And she lives with him and keeps his house?" said
+Lesley, growing interested.<a name="Page_60"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Well, she lives with him. I don't know that she does
+much in the way of keeping his house. I hope I shall not
+shock your prejudices"&mdash;how did he know that she had
+any prejudices?&mdash;"if I tell you that she is an actress."</p>
+
+<p>"An actress!"&mdash;Lesley flushed with surprise, even with
+a little horror, though at the same moment she was conscious
+of a movement of pleasant curiosity and a desire
+to know what an actress was like in private life.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you would be horrified," said her father,
+looking at her with something very like satisfaction. "How
+could you be anything else? How long have you lived in a
+French convent? Eight or ten years, is it not? Ah, well, I
+can't be surprised if you have imbibed the conventional
+idea of what you would call, I suppose, your class." He
+gave a little shrug to his broad shoulders. "It can't be
+helped now. You must make yourself as happy as you can,
+my poor child, as long as you are here, and console yourself
+with visions of your happy future at the Courtleroys'."</p>
+
+<p>It was exactly what Lesley intended to do, and yet she
+felt hurt by the slightly contemptuous pity of his tone.</p>
+
+<p>"I have no doubt that I shall be very happy," she said,
+steadying her voice as well as she could; "and I hope
+that you will not concern yourself about me."</p>
+
+<p>"I should not have time to do so if I wished," he
+answered coolly. "I never concern myself about anything
+but my proper business, which is <i>not</i> to look after girls of
+eighteen&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Then why did you send for me here?" she asked, with
+lightning rapidity.</p>
+
+<p>The question seemed to surprise him. He raised his
+eyebrows as he looked at her.</p>
+
+<p>"That was a family arrangement made many years
+ago," he answered at last deliberately. "And I think it
+was a wise one. There is no reason why you should grow
+up in utter ignorance of your father. And I prefer you to
+come when you have arrived at something like a reasonable
+age, rather than when you were quite a child. As you <i>are</i>
+at a reasonable age, Lesley," with a lightening of his tones,
+"I suppose you have some tastes, some inclinations, of
+your own? What are they?"</p>
+
+<p>It must have been obstinacy that prompted Lesley's
+answer. "I have no taste," she said, looking down. "No
+inclinations."<a name="Page_61"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Are you not fond of music?"</p>
+
+<p>"I play a little&mdash;a very little."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh." The tone was one of disappointment. "Art?
+Drawing&mdash;carving&mdash;modelling&mdash;any of the fads young
+ladies are so fond of now-a-days?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you read much?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you do, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can embroider a little," said Lesley, calmly. "The
+nuns taught me. And I can dance."</p>
+
+<p>She raised her eyes and studied the stormy expressions
+that flitted one after another across her father's face. She
+knew that she had taken a delight in provoking him, and
+she wondered whether he was not going to retaliate by an
+angry word. But after a few moments' pause he only
+said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Would you like any lessons in singing or drawing now
+that you are in town?"</p>
+
+<p>The offer was a temptation to Lesley. Yes, she would
+dearly have liked some good singing lessons; her mother
+even had suggested that she should take them while she
+was in London. She was the fortunate possessor of a
+voice that was worth cultivating, and she longed to make
+the best of her time. But she had come with the notion
+that her father was poor, and that she must not be an
+unnecessary expense to him; and this idea had not
+been counteracted by any appearance of luxury or lavish
+expenditure in her London home. The furniture, except
+in her own room, was heavy, old-fashioned, and decidedly
+shabby. Her father seemed to work very hard. He had
+already promised her a maid; and Lesley could not bear
+to ask him for anything else. So she answered&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"No, I think not, thank you."</p>
+
+<p>There might be generosity, but there was also some
+resentment and hot temper at the bottom of Lesley's reply.
+This was a fact, however, that her father did not discern.
+He merely paused for a moment, nodded his head once or
+twice, and seemed slightly disconcerted. Then he said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Very well; do just as you like. Your aunt has a
+Mudie subscription, I believe"&mdash;what this meant Lesley
+had not the faintest idea&mdash;"and you will find books in the
+library, and a piano in the drawing-room. You must ask<a name="Page_62"></a>
+for anything you want." As if that was likely, Lesley
+thought! "I hope you will make friends and be comfortable.
+And&mdash;a&mdash;" he paused, and hesitated in his speech
+as he went on&mdash;"a&mdash;I hope&mdash;your mother&mdash;Lady Alice&mdash;was
+well when you left her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pretty well," Lesley answered, dropping her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Was she going to Scotland for the winter?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think so."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh." He seemed satisfied with the answer. "By
+the way, Lesley, are you Catholic or Protestant?"</p>
+
+<p>"Protestant. Mamma would not allow the Sisters to
+talk to me about religion. I always drove to the English
+Church on Sundays."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, very well. Do as you please. There are plenty
+of churches near us. But you need not bring more clergy
+than you can help to the house," said Brooke, with a
+peculiar smile. "I am not very fond of the Blacks. I am
+more of a Red myself, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"A Red?" Lesley asked, helplessly.</p>
+
+<p>"A Red Republican&mdash;Radical&mdash;Socialist&mdash;anything you
+like," said Brooke, laughing outright. "You didn't read
+the papers in your convent, I suppose. You had better
+begin to study them straight away. It will be a pleasant
+change from the Lives of the Saints. And now, if we
+have finished all that we have to say&mdash;I am rather busy,
+and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I beg your pardon: I will go," said Lesley, rising
+at once. "I had no wish to intrude upon you," she added,
+with an attempt to be dignified and womanly, which she
+felt to be a miserable failure. Her father simply nodded
+in reply, took up his pen, and allowed her to leave the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>But when she had gone, he put the pen down and sat
+back in his chair, musing. Lesley had surprised him a
+little. She had more force and fire in her composition
+than he had expected to find. She was, as he had said,
+very like her mother in face and figure; and the minute
+differences of line and contour that showed Lesley to be
+strong where Lady Alice had been weak, original where
+Lady Alice had been most conventional, intellectual where
+Lady Alice had been only intelligent, were not perceptible
+at first sight even to a practised observer of men and
+women like Caspar Brooke. But the flash of her brown<a name="Page_63"></a>
+eyes, so like his own, and an occasional intonation in her
+voice, had told him something. She was in arms against
+him, so much he felt; and she had more individuality than
+her mother, in spite of her ignorance. It was a pity that
+her education had been so much neglected! Manlike,
+Caspar Brooke took literally every word that she had
+uttered; and reproached himself for having allowed his
+foolish, frivolous wife to bring up his daughter in a place
+where she had been taught nothing but embroidery and
+dancing.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a pity," he reflected; "but we cannot alter the
+matter now. The poor girl will feel herself sadly out of
+place in this house, I fear; but perhaps it won't do her
+any harm. She may be a better woman all her life&mdash;the
+idle, selfish, self-indulgent life that she is bound by all her
+traditions and her upbringing to lead&mdash;for having seen for
+a few months what honest work is like. She is too handsome
+not to marry well: let us only hope that Alice won't
+secure a duke for her. She will if she can; and I&mdash;well,
+I haven't much opinion of dukes." And so with a laugh
+and a shrug, Caspar Brooke returned to his work.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley went upstairs to the drawing-room with burning
+cheeks and a lump in her throat. She was offended by
+her father's manner towards her, although she could not
+but acknowledge that in essentials he had seemed wishful
+to be kind. And she knew that she had seemed ungracious
+and had felt resentful. But the resentment, she assured
+herself, was all on her mother's account. If he had treated
+Lady Alice as he had treated Lady Alice's daughter&mdash;with
+hardly concealed contempt, with the scornful indifference
+of one looking down from a superior height&mdash;Lesley did
+not wonder that her mother had left him. It was a manner
+which had never been displayed to her before, and she said
+to herself that it was horribly discourteous. And the
+worst of it was that it did not seem to be directed to herself
+alone: it included her friends the nuns, her mother,
+her mother's family, and all the circle of aristocratic
+relations to which she belonged. She was despised as
+part of the class which he despised; and it was difficult
+for her to understand the situation.</p>
+
+<p>It would have been easier if she could have set her
+father down as a mere boor, without refinement or intelligence;
+but there was one item in her impression of him<a name="Page_64"></a>
+which she could not reconcile with a want of culture. She
+was keenly sensitive to sound; and voices were important
+to her in her judgment of acquaintances. Now, Caspar
+Brooke had a delightful voice. It was low, musical, and
+finely modulated: his accent, moreover, was particularly
+delicate and refined. Lesley had, without knowing it, the
+same charmingly modulated intonation; and her father's
+voice was instinctively familiar to her. People had often
+said that it was hard to dislike a man with a voice like
+Caspar Brooke's; and Lesley was not insensible to its
+fascination. No, he could not be a mere insensate clod,
+with that pleasant and cultivated voice, she decided to
+herself; but he might be something worse&mdash;a heartless
+man of the <a name="tn_69"></a><!-- TN: "word" changed to "world"-->world, who cared for nothing but himself and
+his own low ambitions: not a man who was worthy to be
+the husband of a gentle, loving, highly-organized woman
+like the daughter of Lord Courtleroy.</p>
+
+<p>With a deep sigh, Lesley ceased at last to meditate,
+and began to look about her. The room was large and
+lofty, and had three windows, opening upon a balcony.
+There were more books than Lesley had usually seen in
+drawing-rooms, and there was a very handsome Broadwood
+grand piano. The furniture was mostly of the solid type,
+handsome enough, but very heavy. Lesley, noticed, however,
+that the prints and paintings on the walls were really
+good, and that there was some valuable china on the
+mantlepiece. It was not an ugly room after all, and it
+displayed signs of culture on the part of its occupants;
+but Lesley turned from it with an impatient little shake of
+her head, expressive of deep disgust. And, indeed, it
+was sufficiently unlike the rooms to which she was accustomed
+to cause her considerable disappointment.</p>
+
+<p>She drew aside the curtains which hung from the archway
+between the back room and the front; and here her
+brow cleared. The one wide window looked out on a
+space of green grass and trees, inexpressibly refreshing
+to Lesley's eye. The walls were lined with rows of books,
+from floor to ceiling; and some easy chairs and small
+tables gave a look of comfort and purpose to the room.
+It was Mr. Brooke's library, though not the room in which
+he did his work. That was chiefly done in his little den
+downstairs, or at his office in the city.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley looked at the books with great and increasing
+pleasure. Here, indeed, was a joy of which her father<a name="Page_65"></a>
+could not rob her. No one would take any notice of
+what she read. She could "browse undisturbed" over the
+whole field of English literature if she were so minded.
+And the prospect was a delight.</p>
+
+<p>She sauntered back into the front room, and stood at
+one of the windows for a minute or two. Her attention
+was speedily attracted by a little pantomime at a window
+opposite her own&mdash;a drawing-room window, too, with a
+balcony before it, like the window at which she stood. A
+young lady in a white dress was talking to a black poodle,
+who was standing on his hind-legs, and a young man was
+balancing a bit of biscuit on the dog's nose. That was
+all. But the young lady was so extremely pretty, and the
+young man looked so cheerful and bright, and the poodle
+was such an extremely fascinating dog, that Lesley sighed
+in very envy of the felicity of all three. And it never
+crossed her mind that the pretty girl in the white costume,
+who had such a simple and natural look, could possibly be
+Ethel Kenyon, the actress, of whom her father had been
+speaking half an hour before. Yet such was the case.</p>
+
+<p>She was still observing the figures at the window when
+the door opened, and Sarah announced a visitor.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Romaine, please, ma'am."</p>
+
+<p>Whereupon Lesley remembered the "very old friend"
+whom Mr. Brooke had mentioned. But was this the very
+old friend? This young and <a name="tn_70"></a><!-- TN: "fasionably" changed to "fashionably"-->fashionably-dressed woman, with
+short, dark, curling hair, and a white veil to enhance the
+whiteness of her complexion. Mrs. Romaine was very
+handsome, without a doubt, but Lesley did not like her.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Brooke?" said the visitor, in a silvery, flute-like
+voice, which the girl could not but admire. "You will
+forgive me for calling so soon? My old friendship with
+Mr. Brooke&mdash;whom I have known for years&mdash;made me
+anxious to see you, dear, as soon as possible. You will
+receive me also as a friend, I hope&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>There could be but one answer. Lesley was delighted.</p>
+
+<p>"I have heard so much of you," murmured Mrs. Romaine,
+sitting down with the girl's hand in hers and gazing into
+her face with liquid, dreamy eyes; "and I wanted to know
+if I could not be of use to you. Dear Miss Brooke is so
+much occupied. I may call you Lesley, may I not? Dear
+Lesley, it will be the greatest possible pleasure to me to
+assist you in any way."<a name="Page_66"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Thank you very much," said Lesley, rather lamely.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear," said Mrs. Romaine, "may I speak to you
+frankly? I knew your dear mother many years ago&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley turned upon her with suddenly kindled eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"You knew mamma?"</p>
+
+<p>"I did, indeed, and I cannot express to you what my
+feeling was for her. Love, admiration&mdash;these seem cold
+words: worship, Lesley, expresses more nearly what I felt!
+Can you wonder that I hasten to welcome her daughter to
+her home?"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley's innocent heart warmed to the new-comer at
+once. How unjust she had been, she thought, to shrink
+for a moment from the visitor because of her youthful and
+ultra-fashionable appearance. Had she not found a friend?&mdash;a
+woman who loved her mother?</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine saw the impression that she had made,
+and did not try to deepen it just then. She went on more
+lightly:</p>
+
+<p>"I am a widow, you know, and I live in Russell Square.
+I hope that you will come and see me sometimes. Drop
+in whenever you like, and if there is anything that I can
+do for you count on me. You will want to go shopping
+or making calls sometimes when Miss Brooke is too busy
+to take you; then you must come to me. And how was
+dear Lady Alice when you saw her last?"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley did not like these effusive expressions of affection.
+But she answered, gently&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma was quite well, thank you." Which answer
+did not give Mrs. Romaine all the information that she
+desired.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been looking at a pretty poodle dog over the
+way," she went on, conscious of some desire to change the
+subject. "Its mistress has been putting it through all
+sorts of tricks&mdash;ah, there it is again!"</p>
+
+<p>"The Kenyons' dog?" said Mrs. Romaine, smiling, as
+she looked at the little group which had once more formed
+itself upon the balcony. "Oh, I see. That is young Mr.
+Kenyon, the doctor, a great friend of your father's; and
+that is his sister, Ethel Kenyon, the actress."</p>
+
+<p>"My father spoke about her," said Lesley.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, he admires her very much. He wrote a long
+article about her in the <i>Tribune</i> once. Do you see the
+<i>Tribune</i> regularly? Your dear father writes a great deal<a name="Page_67"></a>
+for it, and I am sure you must appreciate his exquisite
+writing."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know Miss Kenyon too?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, I know her very well. And I expect to know
+her better very soon, because I suppose we shall be connections
+before long."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley looked a smiling inquiry.</p>
+
+<p>"I have a younger brother&mdash;my brother Oliver," said
+Mrs. Romaine, with a little laugh; "and younger brothers,
+dear, have a knack of falling in love. He has fallen in love
+with Ethel, who is really a nice girl, as well as a pretty
+and a clever girl, and I believe they will be married by
+and by."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley could not have said why, but somehow at that
+moment she was distinctly glad of the fact.<a name="Page_68"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">OLIVER'S INTENTIONS.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">"Well</span>, what is she like?" Oliver Trent asked, lightly, of
+his sister Rosalind, when they met that evening at dinner.</p>
+
+<p>"Lesley Brooke? She is a handsome girl," said Mrs. Romaine,
+with some reserve of manner.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing more?"</p>
+
+<p>His sister waited until the servant had left the room
+before she replied.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you would be discreet, Oliver. My servants are
+often at the Brookes' with messages. I should not like
+them to repeat what you were saying."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver shrugged his shoulders with the air of a man to
+whom women's caprices are incomprehensible. But he
+was silent until dessert was placed upon the table, and
+Mrs. Romaine's neat parlor-maid had disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>"Now," he said, "you can disburthen your mind in
+peace."</p>
+
+<p>"Oliver," said Mrs. Romaine, abruptly. "I want you
+to make Miss Brooke's acquaintance as soon as you can.
+I don't understand her, and I think that you can help
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"As how!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't be silly. You always get on with girls, and
+you can tell me what you think of her."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver raised his eyebrows, took a peach from the dish
+before him, and began to peel it with great deliberation.</p>
+
+<p>"Handsome, you say?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very."</p>
+
+<p>"Like Lady Alice? I remember her; a willowy, shadowy
+creature, with a sort of ethereal loveliness which
+appealed very strongly to my imagination when I was a
+boy."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine flushed a little. It occurred to her that
+<i>she</i> had never been called shadowy or ethereal-looking.</p>
+
+<p>"She is much more substantial than Lady Alice," she
+said, drily. "I should say that she had more individuality<a name="Page_69"></a>
+about her. She looks to me like a girl of character and
+intellect."</p>
+
+<p>"In which case your task will be the more difficult, you
+mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what you mean by a task. I have not
+set myself to do anything definite."</p>
+
+<p>"No? Then you are very unlike your sex, Rosalind.
+I generally find women much too definite&mdash;damnably
+so."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, I must be an exception. You are always
+trying to entrap me into damaging admissions, Oliver, and
+I won't put up with it. All that I want is to be sure that
+Lady Alice shall not return to her husband. But there is
+nothing definite in that."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, nothing at all," said Oliver, satirically. "All that
+you have got to do is to prejudice father and daughter
+against each other as much as possible, make Brooke believe
+that the girl has been set against him by her mother,
+and persuade Miss Brooke that her father is not the sort of
+man that Lady Alice can return to. Nothing definite in
+that, is there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oliver, you are quite too bad. I never made any
+plans of the kind." But there was a distinctly guilty look
+in Mrs. Romaine's soft eyes. "Besides, that is a piece of
+work which hardly needs doing. Father and daughter are
+too much alike to get on."</p>
+
+<p>"Alike, are they?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, in a sense. The girl is very like her mother, too&mdash;she
+has Lady Alice's features and figure, but the expression
+of her face is her father's. And her eyes and her
+brow are her father's. And she is like her father&mdash;I think&mdash;in
+disposition."</p>
+
+<p>"You have found out so much that I think you scarcely
+need me to interview her in order to tell you more. What
+do you want me to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want to find out more about Lady Alice. Could you
+not get Ethel Kenyon to ask her about her mother, and
+then persuade Ethel to tell you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Can't take <i>Ethel</i> into our confidence," said Oliver
+with a disparaging emphasis upon the name. "She is such
+a little fool." And then he began to roll a cigarette for
+himself.<a name="Page_70"></a></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine watched him thoughtfully for a minute or
+two. "Noll," she said at length, "I thought you were
+really fond of Ethel?"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's eyes were fixed upon the cigarette that he was
+now lighting, and, perhaps, that was the reason why he
+did not answer for a minute or two. At last, he said, in
+his soft, drawling way&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I am very fond of Ethel. And especially of the twenty
+thousand pounds that her uncle left her."</p>
+
+<p>"Ethel Kenyon is handsome enough to be loved for
+something beside her money."</p>
+
+<p>"Handsome? Oh, she's good-looking enough: but she's
+not exactly to my taste. A little too showy, too abrupt
+for me. Personally I like a softer, quieter woman; but as
+a rule the women that I really admire haven't got twenty
+thousand pounds."</p>
+
+<p>"I know who would suit you," said Mrs. Romaine,
+leaning forward and speaking in a very low voice&mdash;"Lesley
+Brooke."</p>
+
+<p>"What is her fortune? If it's a case of her face is her
+fortune, she really won't do for me, Rosy, however suitable
+she might be in other respects."</p>
+
+<p>"But," said Mrs. Romaine, eagerly, "she is sure to have
+plenty of money. Her father is well off&mdash;better off than
+people know&mdash;and would probably settle a considerable
+sum upon her; then think of the Courtleroys&mdash;there is a
+fair amount of wealth in that family, surely&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Which they would be so very likely to give her if she
+married me," said her brother, with irony. "Moonshine,
+my dear. Do you think that Lady Alice would allow her
+daughter to marry your brother?&mdash;knowing what she does,
+and hating you as she does, would she like to be connected
+with you by marriage?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is exactly why I wish that you would marry her,"
+said Mrs. Romaine, almost below her breath. "Think of
+the triumph for me!"</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes glowed, and she breathed more quickly as she
+spoke. "That woman scorned me&mdash;gloated over my sorrow
+and my love," she said; "she dared to reproach me
+for what she called my want of modesty&mdash;my want of
+womanly feeling, and&mdash;oh, I cannot tell you what she said!
+But this I know, that if I could reach her through her
+daughter or her husband, and stab her to the heart as she<a name="Page_71"></a>
+once stabbed me, the dearest wish of my life would be fulfilled!"</p>
+
+<p>"Women are always vindictive," said Oliver, philosophically.
+"The fact is, you want to revenge yourself on Lady
+Alice through me, and yet you don't consider <i>me</i> in the
+very least. If I married this Lesley Brooke, Lady Alice
+and all the Courtleroys would no doubt get into an awful
+rage with her and you and me and everybody; and what
+would be the upshot? Why, they would cut her off with
+a shilling and we should be next door to penniless. Then
+Brooke&mdash;well, he may be fairly prosperous, but he has
+only what he makes, you know; and I doubt if he could
+settle very much upon his daughter, even if he wanted to.
+And he does not like me. I doubt whether even <i>you</i>, my
+dear Rosy, could dispose him to look favorably on my
+advances."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine was perhaps convinced, but she did not
+like to own herself mistaken. She was silent for a minute
+or two, and then said with a sigh and a smile&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You may be right. But it would have been splendid
+if you could have married Lesley Brooke. We should have
+been thorns in Lady Alice's side ever afterwards."</p>
+
+<p>"You are one already, aren't you?" asked Oliver. He
+got up from the table and approached the mantelpiece as
+if to show that the discussion was ended. "No, my dear
+Rosalind," he said, "I'm booked. I am going to woo and
+wed Miss Ethel Kenyon and her twenty thousand pounds.
+She will be sick of her fad for the stage in twelve months.
+And then we shall live very comfortably. But I'll tell you
+what I will do to please you. I'll <i>flirt</i> with this Lesley
+girl, nineteen to the dozen. I'll make love to her: I'll win
+her young affections, and do my best to break her heart, if
+you like. How would that suit you?"</p>
+
+<p>He spoke with a smile, but Rosalind knew that there was
+a ring of serious earnest in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>"It sounds a very cold-blooded sort of thing to do," she
+said.</p>
+
+<p>"Please yourself. I won't do it, then."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Oliver&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I know you would like to see Lady Alice's daughter
+pining away for love of me," said Oliver, with a little
+laugh. "It is not a bad idea. The difficulty will be to
+manage both girls&mdash;seriously, Rosalind, Ethel Kenyon is
+the girl I mean to marry."<a name="Page_72"></a></p>
+
+<p>"You are clever enough for anything if you like."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you. Well, I'll see how far I can go."</p>
+
+<p>"I must tell you, first, however," said Mrs. Romaine,
+with some hesitation, "that I told Lesley Brooke this
+afternoon that you were in love with Ethel. I had not
+thought of this plan, you see, Oliver."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, that complicates matters. Still, I think that we
+can manage&mdash;after a little reflection," said her brother,
+quietly. "Leave me to think it over, and I'll let you know
+what to do. And now I'm going out."</p>
+
+<p>"Where?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why should you ask? Do I generally tell you where
+I am going? Well, if you particularly want to know, I am
+going to the Novelty Theatre."</p>
+
+<p>"To see Ethel act?"</p>
+
+<p>"No&mdash;her part will be over by the time I get there. I
+shall probably see her home."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine made no remonstrance. If she thought
+her brother's conduct a trifle heartless, she did not venture
+to say so. She was sometimes considerably in awe of
+Oliver, although he was only a younger brother.</p>
+
+<p>She went into the drawing-room rather slowly, watching
+him as he put on his hat and overcoat in the hall.</p>
+
+<p>"There is one thing I meant to tell you to-night, but I
+forgot it until now," she said, pausing at the drawing-room
+door. "I am nearly sure that I saw Francis in the Square
+to-day."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver turned round quickly. "The deuce you did! Did
+he see <i>you</i>?&mdash;did he try to speak to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, but I think that he is lying in wait. You made me
+promise to tell you when I saw him next."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, indeed. I won't have him bothering you for
+money. If he wants money he had better come to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you so much, Noll?"</p>
+
+<p>He frowned and turned away. "At any rate he is not
+to annoy you," he said. "And I shall tell him so."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine made no objection. This ne'er-do-weel
+brother of hers&mdash;Francis by name&mdash;had always been a
+trouble and perplexity to her. He had been in the habit
+of appealing periodically to her for help, and she had seldom
+failed to respond to the appeal, although she believed
+that all the money she gave him went for gambling debt or
+drink; but lately Oliver had interfered. He had said that<a name="Page_73"></a>
+Francis must henceforth apply to him and not to Rosalind
+if he wanted help, which sounded kind and brotherly
+enough; but Rosalind had a vague suspicion that there
+was more than met the ear in this declaration. She fancied
+somehow, that Oliver had secret and special reasons for
+preventing Francis' applications to her. But she knew
+very well that it was useless to ask questions or to make
+surmises respecting Oliver's motives and actions, unless he
+chose to show a readiness to make them clear to her. So
+she let him go out of the house without further remark.</p>
+
+<p>As Oliver crossed the road, he noticed that a man was
+leaning against the iron railings of the green enclosure in
+the middle of the Square. The man's form was in shadow,
+but his face seemed to be turned to Mrs. Romaine's house.
+Oliver sedulously averted his eyes and hailed a passing
+hansom cab. He had no mind to be delayed just then,
+and he was almost certain that he recognized in that gaunt
+and shabby figure his disreputable brother. No, by-and-bye
+he would talk to Francis, he said to himself, but not
+to-night. He had other game in view on this particular
+evening in September.</p>
+
+<p>The Novelty Theatre was just then occupied by a company
+that claimed to be the interpreters of a Scandinavian
+play-writer whose dramatic poems were just then the talk
+of London. Ethel Kenyon was playing a very minor part&mdash;a
+smaller <i>r&ocirc;le</i>, indeed, than she was generally supposed
+to take, but one which she had accepted simply as an expression
+of her enthusiastic admiration for the author.
+Oliver knew the state of mind in which she generally came
+away from the representation of this play, and counted on
+her bright and elevated mood as a help to him in the course
+he meant to pursue.</p>
+
+<p>He knew her habits as well as he knew her moods. For
+the last three years, ever since Rosalind had settled in
+London, and he had been able to cultivate Miss Kenyon's
+acquaintance, he had watched her blossom from a saucy,
+laughing girl into a very attractive woman. It was only
+during the past few months, however, that he had thought
+of her as his future wife&mdash;only since she had succeeded to
+that enticing legacy of twenty thousand pounds. Since
+then he had studied her more carefully than ever.</p>
+
+<p>The Scandinavian writer's play was always over by a
+quarter to ten o'clock, and was succeeded by another in<a name="Page_74"></a>
+which Ethel had no share. She never stayed longer than
+was necessary on these nights. She was generally ready
+to leave the theatre soon after ten o'clock with her companion,
+Mrs. Durant, who had the right of entry to her dressing-room,
+and generally acted as her dresser. Maurice
+Kenyon had refused to let his sister go upon the stage unless
+she was always most carefully chaperoned. Mrs.
+Durant was always at hand whenever Ethel went to the
+Novelty Theatre. And Oliver knew exactly what to expect
+when he took up his position&mdash;not for the first time&mdash;at
+the narrow little stage-door.</p>
+
+<p>It was after ten o'clock, and the moon had risen in an
+almost cloudless sky. Even London looked beautiful beneath
+its light. Oliver cast a glance towards it and nodded
+as if in satisfaction. He did not care for the moon one
+jot; but he held a theory that women, being more romantic,
+were more likely to say "yes" to a wooer than "no,"
+where they were wooed beneath a moonlit sky. The
+chances were all in his favor, he said to himself.</p>
+
+<p>A cab was already waiting. Presently the door opened
+and a young lady in hood and cloak came out. The light
+fell on a delicate, piquante face, with a complexion of ivory
+fairness which cosmetics had not had time to destroy, with
+charming scarlet lips, long-lashed dark eyes, a dimpled
+chin, and a great quantity of curling dark hair&mdash;the kind
+of hair which will not lie straight, but twists itself into
+tight rings, and gets into apparently inextricable tangles,
+and looks pretty all the time. And this was Ethel Kenyon.
+Her companion, a woman of forty-five, staid and demure,
+followed close behind her, giving no sign of surprise when
+Oliver raised his hat and gently accosted the two ladies.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-evening, Miss Kenyon. Good-evening, Mrs.
+Durant: I hope you notice what a lovely evening it is!"</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed I do!" said Ethel, fervently. "Oh, how I wish
+I were in the country! I should like a long country
+walk."</p>
+
+<p>"Would not a town walk do as well, for once?" asked
+Oliver, in his most persuasive tones. "I was wondering
+whether you would consent to let me see you home, as it
+is such a lovely night. But I see you have a cab&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I would rather drive, I must say," remarked Mrs.
+Durant. It was what she knew she was expected to say,
+and she was not sorry for it, "I am tired of being on my<a name="Page_75"></a>
+feet so long. But if you would like to walk, Ethel, I daresay
+Mr. Trent would escort you."</p>
+
+<p>"I should be only too pleased," said Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>Ethel laughed happily. "All right, Mrs. Durant. You
+drive, and I'll walk home with Mr. Trent."</p>
+
+<p>She scarcely waited for Oliver to offer his arm. She laid
+her hand in it so naturally, so securely, that even Oliver felt
+an impulse of pleasure. He looked down at the lovely,
+smiling creature at his side with admiration, even with
+tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>At first they did not speak much, for they had to pass
+through some crowded and ill-smelling thoroughfares, where
+conversation was almost impossible. By-and-bye they
+emerged from these into Holborn, and thence they made
+their way into the wider streets and airier squares which
+abound in the West Central district. When they came in
+sight of the white pillars and paved yard of the British
+Museum, they were deep in talk on all sorts of matters&mdash;"Shakespeare
+and the musical glasses," as Oliver afterwards
+laughingly remarked. But he did not choose that
+she should altogether guide the course of conversation.
+Now and then he took the reins into his own hands. And
+it amused him to see how readily she allowed him to direct
+matters. She responded to the slightest hint, was attentive
+to the least check. Such quickness of apprehension, he
+argued, meant only one thing in a woman: not intellectual
+faculty, but love.</p>
+
+<p>"And you still like the stage?" he said to her, after a
+time.</p>
+
+<p>"I like it immensely. I can express myself there as I
+could in no other sphere of life. People used to advise me
+to take to recitations: how glad I am that I stood out
+for what I liked best."</p>
+
+<p>"What one likes best is not always the safest path."</p>
+
+<p>"You might as well say it is not always the easiest path!
+Mine is a very hard life, so far as work is concerned, you
+know. I toil early and late. But how can you be so awfully
+trite, Mr. Trent? I did not expect it of you."</p>
+
+<p>"A good deal of life is rather trite," said Oliver. "I
+know only one thing that can preserve it from commonplaceness
+and dullness and dreariness."</p>
+
+<p>"And that is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Love."<a name="Page_76"></a></p>
+
+<p>A little silence fell on both of them. Oliver's voice had
+sunk almost to a whisper: Ethel's cheeks had grown suddenly
+very hot.</p>
+
+<p>"Love makes everything easy and beautiful. Does not
+your poet say so&mdash;the man whose play you have acted in
+to-night? Ethel, why don't you try the experiment?&mdash;the
+experiment of loving?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do try it," she said, laughing, and trying to regain
+her lost lightness of tone. "I love Maurice and Mrs. Durant
+and hosts of people."</p>
+
+<p>"Add one more to the list," said Oliver. "Love <i>me</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"You?" she said, doubtingly. "I am not sure whether
+you are a person to be loved."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, I am. Seriously, Ethel, may I speak to your
+brother? May I hope that you can love me a little, and
+that you will some day be my wife?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that is <i>very</i> serious!" she said, mockingly. And
+she withdrew her fingers from his arm. "I did not bargain
+for so much solemnity when I set out with you from
+the theatre to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"But I set out, Ethel, with the intention of asking you
+to be my wife. Come, my darling, won't you give me an
+answer? Don't send me away disconsolate! Let me
+teach you what love means&mdash;love and happiness!"</p>
+
+<p>His voice sank once more to its lowest murmur. Ethel
+listened, hesitated, smiled. Her little fingers found their way
+back to his arm again, and were instantly caught and
+pressed, and even kissed, when they came to a dark and
+shady place. And before he parted with her at the door
+of her brother's house, he had put his arms round her and
+kissed her on the lips.</p>
+
+<p>Was it all pretence&mdash;all for the sake of those twenty
+thousand pounds of hers? Oliver swore to himself that it
+was not. She was such a pretty little thing&mdash;such a dear,
+loving little girl, in spite of her fun and merriment and
+spirit&mdash;one could not help feeling fond of her. Not that
+he was going to acknowledge himself capable of such a
+weakness when he next talked to Rosalind.</p>
+
+<p>He was strolling idly along the east side of Russell
+Square as these thoughts passed through his mind. He
+had completely forgotten the stroller whom he had seen
+leaning against the railings of the Square gardens; but he
+was unpleasantly reminded of that gentleman's existence<a name="Page_77"></a>
+when a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a voice said
+in his ear&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I've been waiting here six hours, Oliver, and I must
+have a word or two with you."<a name="Page_78"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">THE ELDER BROTHER.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Oliver</span> turned round sharply, with an air of visible impatience.
+He knew the voice well enough, and the moon-light
+left him no doubt as to the lineaments of a face with
+which he was quite familiar. Francis Trent was not unlike
+either Rosalind or Oliver; but of the two he resembled his
+sister rather than his younger brother. True, he did not
+possess her beauty, but he had her sleepy eyes, her type
+of feature, her colorless skin, and jetty hair. The colorlessness
+had degenerated, however, into an unhealthy
+pallor, and the stubbly beard which covered his cheeks and
+chin did not improve his appearance. Besides he was
+terribly out at elbows; his coat was green with age, his
+boots were broken, and his cuffs frayed and soiled. His
+hat was unnaturally shiny, and dented in two or three
+places. Altogether he looked as unlike a brother of the
+immaculate Oliver and the exquisitely-dressed Rosalind as
+could possibly have been found for either in the world of
+London.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver surveyed him with polite disgust, and waved him
+back a little.</p>
+
+<p>"You have been drinking coarse brandy, Francis," he
+said, coolly; "and you have been smoking bad tobacco.
+I wish you would consult my susceptibilities on those
+points when you come to interview me. You would really
+find it pleasanter in the end."</p>
+
+<p>"Where am I to find the money to consult your susceptibilities
+with?" asked the man, with a burst of what
+seemed like very genuine feeling. "Will you provide me
+with it? If you don't, what remains for me but to <a name="tn_83"></a><!-- TN: "brink" changed to "drink"-->drink
+British brandy and smoke strong shag? I must drink
+something&mdash;I must smoke something. Will you pay the
+piper if I go to more expense?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not if you talk so loudly as to attract the attention of
+every passing policeman," said Oliver, dryly. "If you<a name="Page_79"></a>
+want to talk to me, as you say you do, keep quiet please."</p>
+
+<p>Francis Trent growled something like an imprecation
+on his brother below his breath, and then went on in a
+lowered tone.</p>
+
+<p>"It's easy for you to talk. You are not saddled by a
+wife and a lot of debts. <i>You</i> haven't to keep out of the
+way for fear you should be wanted by the police&mdash;although
+you have not been very particular about keeping
+your hands clean after all. But you've been the lucky
+dog and I the unlucky one, and this is the result."</p>
+
+<p>"If you are going to be abusive, my good friend," said
+Oliver, calmly, "I shall turn round and go home again.
+If you will keep a civil tongue in your head I don't mind
+listening to you for five minutes. What have you got to
+say?"</p>
+
+<p>The man was evidently in a state of only half-repressed
+irritation. His brows twitched, he gnawed savagely at
+his beard, he looked at Oliver with furtive hate from
+under his heavy dark brows. But the younger man's cool
+tones seemed to possess the power of keeping him in
+check. He made a visible effort to calm himself as he
+replied,</p>
+
+<p>"You needn't be so down on me, Oliver. You must
+allow for a fellow's feeling a little out of sorts when he's
+kept waiting about here for hours. I am convinced that
+Rosalind saw me this afternoon; I'm certain that you saw
+me to-night. If I had not caught you now I would have
+gone to the front door and hammered at it till one of you
+came out."</p>
+
+<p>"And you think that you would have advanced your
+cause thereby?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, hang it all, Oliver, one would think that I was
+not your own flesh and blood! Have you no natural
+affection left?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not much. Natural affection is a mistake. You need
+not count on that with me."</p>
+
+<p>"You always were a cold-blooded, half-hearted sort of
+a fellow. Not one to help a friend, or even a brother,"
+said Francis, sullenly.</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose you come to the point," remarked Oliver.
+"It is getting on to eleven o'clock. I really can't stand
+here all night."</p>
+
+<p>"It is nothing to you that I have stood here for hours
+already."<a name="Page_80"></a></p>
+
+<p>"No, it is not." There was a touch of sharpness in his
+tone. "I am in no mood for sentiment. Say what you
+have to say and get done with it, or I shall leave you."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Francis, after a pause, in which he was
+perhaps estimating his own powers of persuasion against
+his brother's powers of resistance, and coming to the conclusion
+that it was not worth his while to contend with him
+any longer, "I have come to say this. I am hard up&mdash;devilish
+hard up. But that's not all. It is not enough to
+offer me a five-pound note or a ten-pound note and tell me
+to spend it as I please. I want something definite. You
+seem to have plenty of money: I have none. I want an
+allowance, or else a sum of money down, sufficient to take
+Mary and myself to the Colonies. I don't think that is
+much to ask."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>The icy tone which Oliver assumed exasperated his
+brother.</p>
+
+<p>"No, be hanged if I think it is!" he said vehemently,
+though still in lowered tones. "I want two hundred a
+year&mdash;it's little enough: or two or three thousand on the
+nail. Give me that, and I'll not trouble you or Rosy any
+more."</p>
+
+<p>"And where do you suppose that I'm to get two or
+three thousand pounds, or two hundred a year?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care where you get it, so long as you hand it
+over to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Very sorry I can't oblige you," said Oliver, nonchalantly
+"but as your proposition is a perfect impossibility,
+I don't see my way to saying anything else."</p>
+
+<p>"You think I don't mean it, do you?" growled his
+brother. "I tell you that I will have it. And if I don't
+have it I'll not hold my tongue any longer. I'll ruin you."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't talk in that melodramatic way," said Oliver,
+quietly. But his lip twitched a little as if something had
+touched him unpleasantly. "You know very well that
+you have no more power of ruining me than you have of
+flying to yonder moon. You can't substantiate any of
+your stories. You can blacken me in the eyes of a few
+persons who know me, perhaps; but really I doubt your
+power of doing that. People wouldn't believe you, you
+know; and they would believe me. There is so much
+moral power in a good hat and patent leather boots."<a name="Page_81"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Do you dare to trifle with me&mdash;&mdash;" the man was beginning,
+furiously, but Oliver checked him with a slight
+pressure on his arm, and went on suavely.</p>
+
+<p>"All this threatening sort of business is out of date, as
+you ought to know. One would think that you had been
+to the Surrey-side Theatres, lately, or the Porte St. Martin,
+and taken lessons of a stage villain. 'Beware! I will be
+revenged,' and all that sort of thing. It doesn't go down
+now, you know. The fact is this&mdash;you can't do me any
+harm, you can only harm yourself; and I think you had
+better be advised by me and hold your tongue."</p>
+
+<p>Francis was silent for a minute or two. He was evidently
+impressed by Oliver's manner.</p>
+
+<p>"You're right in one way," he said, in a much more
+subdued tone. "People wouldn't listen to me because I
+am so badly dressed&mdash;I look so poor. But that could be
+remedied. A new suit of clothes might make all the difference,
+Oliver. And then we could see whether <i>some</i> people
+would believe me or not!"</p>
+
+<p>"And what difference will it make to me if people did
+believe you?" said Oliver, slowly.</p>
+
+<p>The man stared at him open-mouthed. Oliver was taking
+a view of things which was unknown to Francis.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he answered, "considering that you and most
+of my relations and friends have cut me for the last ten
+years because I got into trouble over a few accounts at
+the bank&mdash;and considering the sorry figure I cut now in
+consequence&mdash;I don't know why you should be so careless
+of the possibility of partaking my downfall! I should say
+that it would be rather worse for you than it has been for
+me; and it hasn't been very nice for <i>me</i>, I can assure
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's face grew a trifle paler, but his voice was as
+smooth as ever when he began to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, look here, Francis," he said, "I'll be open and
+plain with you. Of course, I know what you are alluding
+to; it would be weakness to pretend that I did not. But
+I assure you that you are on the wrong track. In your
+case you were found to have embezzled money, falsified
+accounts, and played the devil with old Lawson's affairs
+generally. You were prosecuted for it, and the whole case
+was in the papers. You got off on some technical point,
+but everybody knew that you were guilty, and everybody<a name="Page_82"></a>
+cut you dead&mdash;except, you will remember, your brother
+and sister, who continued to give you money, and were
+exceedingly kind to you. You were publicly disgraced,
+and there was no way of hushing the matter up at all. I
+am sorry to be obliged to put things so disagreeably&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Go on! You needn't apologize," said Francis, with a
+rather husky laugh. "I know it all as well as you do.
+Go on."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to point out the difference between our positions,"
+said Oliver, calmly. "I did something a little
+shady myself, when I was a lad of twenty&mdash;at your instigation,
+mind; I signed old Romaine's name in the wrong
+place, didn't I? Old Romaine found it out, kept the thing
+quiet, and said that he had given me the money. I expressed
+my regret, and the matter blew over. What can
+you make out of that story?"</p>
+
+<p>He spoke very quietly, but there was a watchfulness in
+his eye, a slight twitching of his nostril, which proved him
+to be not entirely at his ease. His elder brother laughed
+aloud.</p>
+
+<p>"If that were all!" he said. "But you forget how
+base the action would seem if all the circumstances were
+known! how black the treachery and ingratitude to a man
+who was, after all, your benefactor. Rosalind never knew
+of that little episode, I believe? And she has a good deal
+of respect for her husband's memory. I should like to see
+what she would say about it."</p>
+
+<p>"She would not believe you, my dear boy."</p>
+
+<p>"But if I could prove it? If I had in my possession a
+full confession signed by yourself&mdash;the confession that
+Romaine insisted on, you will remember? What effect
+would that have upon her mind? And there was that
+other business, you know, about Mary's sister, whom you
+lured away from her home and ruined. <i>She</i> is dead, but
+Mary is alive and can bear witness against you. How
+would you like these facts blazoned abroad and brought
+home to the mind of the pretty girl whom I saw you kissing
+a little while ago on the steps of a house in Upper
+Woburn Place? She is a Miss Kenyon, I know: an
+actress; I have heard all about her. Her brother is a
+doctor; and she has twenty thousand pounds in her own
+right."</p>
+
+<p>"You do seem, indeed, to know everything," said Oliver,
+with a sneer.<a name="Page_83"></a></p>
+
+<p>"I make it my business to know everything about you.
+You've been so confoundedly mean of late that I had begun
+to understand that I must put the screw on you. And
+I warn you, if you don't give me what I ask, or promise
+to do so within a reasonable time, I shall first go to Rosalind,
+and then to these Kenyon people, and Caspar
+Brooke, and all these other friends of yours, and see what
+they will give me for your secrets."</p>
+
+<p>"They'll kick you out of the house, and you'll be called
+a fool for your pains," said the younger man, furiously.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't think so. Not if I play my game properly.
+You are engaged to Miss Kenyon, are you not?"
+Oliver stood silent.</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you that she shall never marry you in ignorance
+of your past unless you shut my mouth first. And you
+are the best judge of whether she will marry you at all or
+not, when she knows what we know."</p>
+
+<p>Then the two brothers were both silent for a little while.
+Oliver stood frowning, tracing a pattern on the pavement
+with the toe of his polished boot, and gazing at it. He
+was evidently considering the situation. Francis stood
+with his back to the railings, his eyes fixed, with a somewhat
+crafty look, upon his brother's face. He was not yet
+sure that his long-cherished scheme for extracting money
+from Oliver would succeed. He believed that it would;
+but there was never any counting upon Oliver. Astute as
+Francis considered himself (in spite of his failure in the
+world), Oliver was astuter still.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Oliver looked up and met Francis' fixed gaze.
+He started a little, and made an odd grimace, intended to
+conceal a nervous twitch of the muscles of his face. Then
+he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"You think yourself very clever, no <a name="tn_88"></a><!-- TN: Comma changed to period after "doubt"-->doubt. Well,
+perhaps you are. I'll acknowledge that, in a certain
+sense, you might spoil my game for me. Not quite in
+the way you think, you know; but up to a certain point.
+As I don't want to have my game spoilt, I am willing to
+make a bargain with you&mdash;is that plain?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fair sailing, so far," said Francis, doggedly. "Go on.
+What will you give?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing just now. The sum you named on the day
+when I marry Ethel Kenyon, on condition that you give
+me back that confession you talk about, swear not to mention
+your wife's sister, and take yourself off to Australia."<a name="Page_84"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Hm!" said Francis considering. "So I have brought
+you to terms, have <a name="tn_89a"></a><!--TN: Quote removed after "I?"-->I? So much the better for you&mdash;and
+perhaps for me. Are you engaged to Miss Kenyon?"</p>
+
+<p>"I asked her to-night to marry me, and she consented."</p>
+
+<p>"You always were a lucky dog, Oliver," said Francis,
+with almost a wistful expression on his crafty face. "I
+never could see how you managed it, for my part. If that
+pretty girl"&mdash;with a laugh&mdash;"knew all that I knew&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly. I don't want her to know all you do. Are
+you going to agree to my terms or not?"</p>
+
+<p>"I should have said they were <i>my</i> terms," said the elder
+brother, "but we won't haggle about names. Say two
+thousand five hundred pounds down?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, two thousand," said Oliver, boldly. "That will
+suit me better than two hundred a year."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you want to get rid of me, don't you? How soon
+is it likely to be?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that I can't tell you. As soon as she fixes the
+day."</p>
+
+<p>"I swear by all that I hold sacred," said Francis, with
+sudden energy, "that I won't wait more than six months,
+and then I'll take two thousand."</p>
+
+<p>"Six? Make it twelve. The girl may want a year's
+freedom."</p>
+
+<p>"I won't wait twelve. I swear I won't. I'm tired of
+this life. I can't get any work to do, though I've tried
+over and over again. And I'm always unlucky at play.
+There's Mary threatening to go out to work again. If we
+were in another country, with a clear start, she should not
+have to do that."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver meditated. It did not seem to him likely that
+Ethel would refuse to marry him in six months' time, but
+of course it was possible. Still he was pretty sure that he
+could get the money advanced as soon as his engagement
+was noised abroad. It was rather a pity that he would
+have to publish it so soon&mdash;especially when his projects
+respecting Lesley Brooke had not been carried out&mdash;but
+it could not be helped. The prospect of ridding himself
+of his brother Francis was most welcome to him. And&mdash;if
+he could quiet him by promises, it might perhaps not be
+necessary to pay him the money after all.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he said, at last, "I promise it within six months,
+Francis. On the conditions I named, of course."<a name="Page_85"></a></p>
+
+<p>"And you will keep your word?" said Francis, looking
+suspiciously into his brother's smooth, pale face.</p>
+
+<p>"If not," answered Oliver, airily, "you have the remedy
+in your own hands, you know. You can easily bring me
+to book. And now that this interesting conversation is
+ended, perhaps you will kindly allow me to go home? The
+night is fine, but I am a good deal chilled with standing&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And what am I, then? I've been waiting for you, off
+and on, for hours. And I haven't got a shilling in my
+pocket, either. Haven't you got a pound or two to spare,
+Oliver? For the sake of old times, you know."</p>
+
+<p>Some men would have found it pitiful to hear poor
+Francis Trent, with his broken-down, cringing, crafty look,
+thus sueing for a sovereign. For he had the air of a ruined
+gentleman, not of an ordinary beggar, and the signs of
+refinement in his face and bearing made his state of abasement
+and destitution more apparent. But Oliver was not
+touched by any such sentimental considerations. He
+looked at first as if he were about to refuse his brother's
+request; but policy dictated another course. He must not
+drive to desperation the man in whose hands lay his character
+and perhaps his future fortune. He put his hand
+into his pocket, brought out a couple of sovereigns, and
+dropped them into Francis' greedily outstretched palm.
+Then he crossed the road towards his sister's house, while
+the elder brother slunk away with an air of anything but
+triumph. It was sad to see him so depressed, so broken-spirited,
+so hopeless. For he had been meant for better
+things. But his will was weak, his principles had never
+been settled, and with his first lapse from honesty all self-respect
+seemed to leave him. Thenceforth he went down
+hill, and would long ago have reached the bottom but for
+the one helping hand that had been held out to stay him
+in his mad career. That hand belonged to none of his
+kith and kin, however. It was seamed and roughened and
+reddened by honest toil; but the toil had at least been
+honest and the toiler's love for the fine gentleman for whom
+she worked was loving and sincere. To cut a long story
+short, Francis Trent had married a dressmaker of the
+lower grade, and a dressmaker, moreover, who had once
+been a ladies'-maid.</p>
+
+<p>While he slouched away to his poverty-stricken home,
+and Oliver solaced himself with a novel and a cigar, and<a name="Page_86"></a>
+Miss Ethel Kenyon sank to sleep in spite of a tumult of
+innocent delight which would have kept a person of less
+healthy mind and body wide awake for hours, Lesley
+Brooke, who was to influence the fate of all these three,
+lay upon her bed bemoaning her loneliness of heart, and
+saying to herself that she should never be happy in her
+father's house. It was not that she had met with any
+positive unkindness: she could accuse nobody of wishing
+to be rude or cold, but the atmosphere was not one to
+which she was accustomed, and it gave her considerable
+discomfort. Even the Mrs. Romaine of whom her father
+spoke as if she would be a friend, was not very congenial
+to her. Rosalind's eyes remained cold, despite their softness,
+and Lesley was vaguely conscious of a repulsion&mdash;such
+as we sometimes feel on touching a toad or a snake&mdash;when
+Mrs. Romaine put her hand on the girl's listless
+fingers. No, what it was Lesley could not tell, but she was
+sure of this, that she could never like Mrs. Romaine.</p>
+
+<p>And she cried herself to sleep, and dreamed of the convent
+and the sunny skies of France.<a name="Page_87"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">KNIGHT-ERRANTRY.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Lesley</span> found that she had unintentionally given great
+offence to Sarah, who was a supreme authority in her
+father's house, and possibly to her aunt as well, by the
+arrangement with her father that she would have a maid
+of her own. In vain she protested that she did not need
+one, and had not really asked for one; the impression
+remained upon Miss Brooke's mind and Sarah's mind that
+she had in some way complained of the treatment which
+she had received, and they were a little prejudiced against
+her in consequence.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brooke was a good woman, and, to some extent,
+a just woman; but it was scarcely possible for her to
+judge Lesley correctly. All Miss Brooke's traditions
+favored the cult of the woman who worked: and Lesley,
+like her mother before her, had the look of a tall, fair lily&mdash;one
+of those who toil not, neither do they spin. Miss
+Brooke was quite too liberal-minded to have any great prejudice
+against a girl because she had been educated in a
+French convent, though naturally she thought it the worst
+place of training that could have been secured for her; and
+she had made up her mind at once, when she saw Lesley,
+that although there might be "no great harm" in the poor
+child, she was probably as frivolous, as shallow-hearted,
+and as ignorant as the ordinary French school-girl was
+supposed to be.</p>
+
+<p>With Sarah the case was different. Sarah was an ardent
+Protestant, of a strict Calvinist type, and she had taken up
+the impression that Miss Lesley must needs be a Romanist.
+Now this was not the case, for Lesley had always
+been allowed to go to her own church, see her own clergyman,
+and hold aloof from the devotional exercises prescribed
+for the other girls. But Sarah believed firmly that
+she belonged to the Church of Rome, and she did not feel
+at all easy in her mind at staying under the same roof with<a name="Page_88"></a>
+her. She made this remark to Miss Brooke on the third
+day after Lesley's arrival, and was offended at the burst of
+laughter with which Miss Brooke received it.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think the house will fall in, Sarah? or that
+you will be corrupted?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think I may hold myself safe, ma'am," said Sarah,
+with dignity. "But I'm not so sure about the house."</p>
+
+<p>She stood with her arms folded, grimly surveying her
+mistress, who, if the truth must be told, was lying on a
+sofa in her bedroom, smoking a cigarette. Sarah knew
+her mistress' tastes, and had grown generally tolerant of
+them, but she still looked on the cigarettes with disapproval.
+Miss Brooke was discreet enough to smoke only in
+her own room or in her brother's study&mdash;a fact which had
+mollified Sarah a little when her mistress first began the
+practice.</p>
+
+<p>"The minute you smoke one o' them nasty things in the
+street, ma'am, I shall give notice," she had said.</p>
+
+<p>And Miss Brooke had quietly answered: "Very well,
+Sarah, we'll wait till then."</p>
+
+<p>It must be added, for the benefit of all who are shocked
+by Miss Brooke's practice, that she had begun it by order
+of a doctor as a cure for neuralgia. She continued it because
+she liked it. Lesley was only just beginning to suspect
+her aunt of the habit, and was inexpressibly startled
+and alarmed at the thought of such a thing. That her
+aunt, who was indisputably kind, clever, benevolent, respectable
+in every way, should smoke cigarettes, seemed to
+Lesley to justify all that she had heard against her father's
+Bohemian household. She could not get over it. Sarah
+<i>had</i> got over this outrage on conventionality, but she was
+not yet prepared to forgive Lesley for having lived in a
+French convent.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you're not sure about the house," said Miss
+Brooke. "Well, I'm sorry for you, Sarah. I'll send in a
+plumber if you think that would be any good."</p>
+
+<p>"No, ma'am, don't; but if it will not ill-convenience you
+I should like to put a few tracts in Miss Lesley's room,
+so that she may look at them sometimes instead of the
+little book of Popish prayers that she has brought with
+her."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brooke wondered for a moment what the book of
+Popish prayers could be; and then remembered a little<a name="Page_89"></a>
+Russia-bound book&mdash;the well-known "Imitation of Christ"
+which she had noticed in Lesley's room, and which Sarah
+had doubtless mistaken for a book of prayer. It would
+not have been at all like Miss Brooke to clear up the mistake.
+She generally let mistakes clear themselves. She
+only gave one of her short, clear, rather hard laughs, and
+told Sarah to put as many tracts as she pleased in Lesley's
+room. Whereon, Lesley shortly afterwards found a bundle
+of these publications in her room, and, as she rather disliked
+their tone and tendency, she requested Sarah to take
+them away.</p>
+
+<p>"They were put there for you to read," said Sarah, with
+stolid displeasure.</p>
+
+<p>"By my aunt?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your aunt knew that I was going to put them there.
+And it would be better for you to sit and read them rather
+than them rubbishy books you gets out of master's libery.
+Your poor, perishing soul ought to be looked after as well
+as your body."</p>
+
+<p>"Take them away, please," said Lesley, wearily. "I do
+not want to read them: I am not accustomed to that sort
+of book." Then, the innate sweetness of her nature gaining
+the day, she added, "Please do not be angry with me,
+Sarah. I would read them if I thought that they would do
+me any good, but I am afraid they will not."</p>
+
+<p>"Just like your mother," Sarah said, sharply. "She
+wouldn't touch 'em with the tips of her fingers, neither.
+And a maid, and all that nonsense. And dresses from
+France. Deary me, this is a sad upsetting for poor master."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't interfere with your master," said Lesley, somewhat
+bitterly. "He does not trouble about me&mdash;and I
+don't see why I should trouble about him."</p>
+
+<p>She said it almost below her breath, not thinking that
+Sarah would hear or understand; but Sarah&mdash;after flouncing
+out of the room with an indignant "Well, I'm sure!"&mdash;went
+straight to Miss Brooke and repeated every word,
+with a few embellishments of her own. Miss Brooke came
+to the conclusion that Lesley was, first of all, very indiscreet
+to take servants so much into her confidence, and,
+secondly, that she was inclined to rebel against her father's
+authority. And it seemed good to her to take counsel
+with Mrs. Romaine in this emergency; and Mrs. Romaine
+soon found an opportunity of pouring a sugared, poisoned
+version of what she had heard into Caspar Brooke's too<a name="Page_90"></a>
+credulous ears. So that he became colder than ever in his
+manner to Lesley, and Lesley wondered vainly how she
+could have offended him.</p>
+
+<p>The sole comfort that she gleaned at this time came from
+the Kenyons. Ethel called on her, and won her heart at
+once by a peculiarly caressing winsomeness that reminded
+one of some tropical bird&mdash;all dainty coquetries and shy,
+sweet playfulness. Not that Ethel was in the least bit shy,
+in reality; but she had a very tiny touch of the stage habit
+of <i>posing</i>, and with strangers she invariably posed as being
+a little shy. But in spite of this innocent little affectation,
+and in spite of a very fashionable style of dress and <a name="tn_95"></a><!-- TN: "demeannor" changed to "demeanor"-->demeanor,
+Ethel was true-hearted and affectionate, and Lesley's
+own heart warmed to the tenderness of Ethel's nature before
+she had been in her company half an hour.</p>
+
+<p>"You know you are not a bit like what I expected you
+to be," Ethel said sagely, when the two girls had talked
+together for some little time.</p>
+
+<p>"What did you expect?" said Lesley, her face <a name="tn_95a"></a><!-- TN: Period added after "aglow"-->aglow.</p>
+
+<p>"I hardly know&mdash;something more French, I think&mdash;a
+girl with airs and graces," said Ethel, who had herself more
+airs and graces than Lesley had ever donned in all her life;
+"nothing so Puritan as you are!"</p>
+
+<p>"Puritan, after so many years of a French convent?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Puritan: no word suits you half so well! There
+is a sort of restrained life and gladness about you, and it is
+the restraint that gives it its attraction! Oh, forgive me for
+speaking so frankly; but when I see you I forget that I
+have not known you for years and years! I feel somehow
+as if we had been friends all our life!"</p>
+
+<p>"And so do I," said Lesley, surrendering herself to the
+spell, and letting Ethel take both her hands and look into
+her face. "But you are not at all like the English girls I
+expected to meet! I thought they were all cold and stiff!"</p>
+
+<p>"Have you never seen an English girl before, dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but I have had no English girl friend. I never
+talked to an English girl before as I am talking to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, how charming!" said Ethel. "And I never before
+talked to a girl who had lived in a convent! We are each
+a new experience to the other! What a basis for friendship!"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think so?" said Lesley. "I should have
+thought the opposite&mdash;that what is old and well-tried and
+established is the best to found a friendship upon."<a name="Page_91"></a></p>
+
+<p>She spoke half sadly, with a memory of her parents and
+her own relations with her father in her mind. Ethel gave
+her a shrewd glance, but made no direct reply. She was
+a young woman of marvellously quick intuitions, and she
+saw at once that Lesley's training had not fitted her to take
+up her position in the Brooke household very easily.</p>
+
+<p>When she went home she turned this matter over in her
+mind a good many times; and was so absorbed in her
+reflections that her brother had to ask her twice what she
+was thinking about before she answered him.</p>
+
+<p>"I was thinking about Lesley Brooke," she answered
+promptly.</p>
+
+<p>"A lively subject. I never saw a girl with a more melancholy
+expression."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, of course, as yet she hates everything," said
+Ethel, comprehensively.</p>
+
+<p>"Hates everything! That's a large order," said the
+young doctor.</p>
+
+<p>They were at dinner&mdash;they dined at six every day on
+account of Ethel's professional engagements; and it was
+not often that Maurice was at home. When he was at
+home Ethel knew that he liked to talk to her, so she abandoned
+her brown studies.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, she hates the fog and the darkness, and the ugly
+buildings and the solid furniture of Mr. Brooke's house,
+which dates back to the Georgian era at the very least.
+I'm sure she hates Sarah. And I shouldn't like to say that
+she hates Doctor Sophy"&mdash;Ethel always called Miss
+Brooke Doctor Sophy&mdash;"but she doesn't like her very
+much. She is awfully shocked because Doctor Sophy
+smokes cigarettes."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite right of Miss Lesley Brooke to be shocked,"
+said Maurice, laughing. "However, she need not despair,
+there is always old Caspar to fall back upon."</p>
+
+<p>Ethel <a name="tn_96"></a><!-- TN: "pursued" changed to "pursed"-->pursed up her lips, looked at her brother very
+hard, and shook her curly head significantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean to say," cried the doctor, "that she
+doesn't appreciate her father?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think she understands him. And how can she
+appreciate him if she doesn't understand?"</p>
+
+<p>Maurice laid down his knife and fork, and simply glared
+at his sister. He was an excitable young man, and had a
+way of expressing himself sometimes in reprehensibly
+strong language. On this occasion, he said<a name="Page_92"></a>&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean to tell me that that girl is such a born
+idiot and fool that she can't see what a grand man her
+father is?"</p>
+
+<p>Ethel nodded. But her eyes brimmed over with mirth.</p>
+
+<p>"Then she deserves to be shut up for life in the convent
+she came from!" said the doctor. "I wouldn't have believed
+it! Is she blind? Doesn't she <i>see</i> what an intellect
+that man has? Can't she understand that his abilities are
+equal to those of any man in Europe?"</p>
+
+<p>"We all know your admiration for Mr. Brooke, dear,"
+said Ethel, saucily. "You had better go and expound
+your views to Lesley. Perhaps she and her father would
+get on better then."</p>
+
+<p>Maurice was silent. He sat and looked aghast at the
+notion thus presented to him. That Caspar Brooke&mdash;his
+friend, his mentor, almost his hero&mdash;should not have been
+able to live with his wife was bad enough! That his
+daughter should not admire him seemed to Maurice a sort
+of profanation! Heavens, what did the girl mean? The
+mother might have been an aristocratic fool; but the girl?&mdash;she
+looked intelligent enough! There must be a misapprehension
+somewhere; and it occurred to Maurice that it
+might be his duty to remove it.</p>
+
+<p>Maurice Kenyon was a born knight-errant. When he
+said that a thing wanted doing, his heart ached until he
+could do it. A Celtic strain of blood in him showed itself
+in the heat of his belief, the impetuosity of his actions. In
+Ethel this strain had taken an artistic turn; but the same
+nature that urged her to dramatic representation urged her
+brother to set to work vehemently on righting anything that
+he thought was wrong. There never was a man who hated
+more than he to leave a matter <i>in statu quo</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Although Ethel said no more concerning Lesley's misunderstanding
+of her father, Maurice was haunted by the echo
+of her remarks. He could not conceive how a girl possessed
+of ordinary faculties could possibly misprize her father's
+gifts. Either she was a girl of extraordinary stupidity, or
+she was wilfully blind. Perhaps there was no one to point
+out to her Caspar Brooke's many virtues. But they
+(thought Maurice) lay on the surface, and could not possibly
+be overlooked. The girl must have been spoiled by
+her residence in a French convent: she must be either
+stupid, frivolous, or base. Then how could Ethel care for<a name="Page_93"></a>
+her? Surely she could not be stupid: she could not be
+base&mdash;she might be frivolous: Maurice could not go so far
+as to think that his sister Ethel would like her the worse
+for being a little frivolous. Yes, that must be it: she was
+frivolous&mdash;a soulless butterfly, who pined for the gaieties
+of Paris. How awfully hard for a man like Caspar Brooke
+to have a daughter who was merely frivolous.</p>
+
+<p>The more he thought of it&mdash;and he thought a good deal
+of it&mdash;the more Mr. Kenyon was concerned. No doubt it
+was no business of his, he said to himself, and he was a
+fool to worry himself. But then Brooke was his friend, in
+spite of the disparity of their years; and he did not like to
+think that his friend had such a heavy burden to bear.
+For, of course, it was a heavy burden to a man like Brooke.
+No doubt Brooke did not show that it was a burden:
+strong men did not cry out when their strength was tried.
+But a man with his power of affection, his tenderness, his
+depth of feeling (as Maurice thought), must be troubled
+when he found that his daughter neither loved nor comprehended
+him!</p>
+
+<p>Maurice reflected that he had seen this extraordinary
+girl once. She had been standing at the window one day
+when he and Ethel were feeding that pampered poodle of
+Ethel's, Scaramouch, and he had been struck by the grace
+of her figure, the queenly pose of her head. He had not
+observed her face particularly, but he believed that it was
+rather pretty. Her dress&mdash;for his practised memory began
+to furnish him with details&mdash;her dress was grey, and if he
+could judge aright, fashionably made. Yes, a little French
+fashion-plate&mdash;a doll, powdered, perhaps, and painted,
+laced up, and perfumed and clothed in dainty raiment, to
+come and make discord in her father's home! It was intolerable.
+Why did not Brooke leave this pestilent creature
+in her own abode, with the insolent, aristocratic friends
+who had done their best already to spoil his life!</p>
+
+<p>Thus he worked himself up to a high pitch of passionate
+excitement on his friend's behalf. It never occurred to him
+that Caspar Brooke might not at all be in need of it. It
+did not seem possible to him that a father could feel indifferent
+to the opinion of his child. And perhaps he was
+right, and Caspar Brooke not quite so indifferent as he
+seemed.</p>
+
+<p>It must be the girl's fault, Maurice thought to himself.
+Could nothing be done? Could he set Ethel to talk to<a name="Page_94"></a>
+her? But no: Ethel was not serious enough in her appreciation
+of Caspar Brooke. Mrs. Romaine? She would
+praise Mr. Brooke, no doubt; but Kenyon had a troubled
+doubt of Mrs. Romaine's motives.</p>
+
+<p>Doctor Sophy? Well, he liked Doctor Sophy immensely,
+especially since she had given up her practice: he
+liked her because she was so frank, so sensible, so practical
+in her dealings. But she was not a very sympathetic
+sort of person: not the kind of person, he acknowledged
+to himself, who would be likely to inspire a young girl with
+enthusiasm for another.</p>
+
+<p>If there was nobody else to perform a needed office, it
+was your plain duty to perform it yourself. That had been
+Maurice Kenyon's motto for many years. It recurred to
+him now with rather disagreeable force.</p>
+
+<p>Why, of course, <i>he</i> could not go and tell Brooke's daughter
+that she was a frivolous fool! What was his conscience
+driving at, he wondered. How could he, who did not
+know her in the least, commit such an act of impertinence
+as tell her how much he disapproved of her? It would be
+the act of a prig, not of a gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>Of course he could not do it. And then he began at the
+beginning again, and condoled with Brooke in his own
+heart, and vituperated Brooke's daughter, and wondered
+whether she was really incapable of being reclaimed to the
+paths of filial reverence, and whether he ought not to
+make an attempt in his friend's favor. All of which proves
+that if any man deserved the name of a Don Quixote, that
+man was Maurice Kenyon, M.R.C.S.</p>
+
+<p>Ethel unconsciously gave him the chance he secretly
+desired. He wanted above all things to make Lesley's
+acquaintance, and to talk to her&mdash;for her good&mdash;about her
+father. And one afternoon his sister begged him, as a
+great favor to her; to go over to Mr. Brooke's house with
+a message and a parcel for Lesley. He had been introduced
+to her one day in the street, therefore there could
+be nothing strange in his going in and asking for her, Ethel
+said. And would he please go about four o'clock, so as
+to catch Miss Lesley Brooke at afternoon tea.</p>
+
+<p>Maurice told himself that it would be an impertinent
+thing to speak to her about her family affairs, and that he
+would only stay three minutes. At four o'clock he knocked
+at the door of Mr. Brooke's chocolate-brown house, and
+inquired solemnly for Miss Brooke.<a name="Page_95"></a></p>
+
+<p>Miss Brooke was not at home.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Lesley Brooke then?"</p>
+
+<p>Miss Lesley Brooke was in the drawing-room. Maurice
+went upstairs.<a name="Page_96"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">BROOKE'S DISCIPLE.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Lesley</span> was sitting in a low chair near a small wood fire,
+which the chillness of the October day made fully acceptable.
+She had a book on her lap, but she did not look as
+if she were reading: her chin was supported by her hand,
+and her brown eyes were gazing out of the window, with,
+as Maurice Kenyon could not fail to see, a slightly blank
+and saddened look. The girl had been now a fortnight in
+London, and her face had paled and thinned since her
+arrival; there was an anxious fold between her brows, and
+her mouth drooped at the corners. If her old friends&mdash;Sister
+Rose of the convent, for instance&mdash;had seen her,
+they could hardly have recognized this spiritless, brooding
+maiden for the joyous "Lisa" of their thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Kenyon had only one moment in which to note the
+significance of her attitude, for Lesley changed it as soon
+as she heard his name. He gave her Ethel's message at
+once and Ethel's parcel, and then stood, a little confused and
+unready for she had risen and was looking as if, when his
+errand was accomplished, he ought to go. Fortunately,
+Doctor Sophy came in and invited him cordially to sit down;
+rang for tea and scolded him roundly for not coming oftener;
+then suddenly remembered that one of her everlasting
+committees was at that moment sitting in a neighboring
+house, and started off at once to join her fellows, calling
+out to Lesley as she went to give Mr. Kenyon some tea,
+and tell her father, who was in the library.</p>
+
+<p>"My father is out: Aunt Sophy does not know that,"
+said Lesley to her visitor.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I ought to go?" said Maurice, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no!"&mdash;Lesley looked disturbed. "I did not
+mean to be so inhospitable. The tea is just coming up."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said Maurice, accepting the unspoken
+invitation and seating himself. "I shall be very glad of
+a cup."<a name="Page_97"></a></p>
+
+<p>She sat down too, veiling the real embarrassment of a
+school-girl by an assumption of great dignity. Maurice
+looked at her and felt perplexed. Somehow he could not
+believe that Brooke's daughter was such a very frivolous
+girl when he came to look at her. She had a fine brow,
+expressive eyes, a very eloquent mouth. He wondered
+what she was reading. Glancing at the title of the book,
+his heart sank within him. She had a yellow-backed novel
+in her hand, of a profoundly light and frivolous type.
+Maurice was fond of certain kinds of novels, but there
+were others that he disliked and despised, and, as it happened,
+Lesley had got hold of one of these.</p>
+
+<p>"You are reading?" he said. "Am I interrupting you
+very much?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no," Lesley answered, smiling and shutting the
+book. "Tea is coming up, you see. I am falling into
+English habits, and beginning to love the hour of tea."</p>
+
+<p>Sarah brought in the tea-tray as she spoke; and even
+Sarah's sour visage relaxed a little at the sight of the
+young doctor. She went downstairs, and presently
+returned with a plate of small, sweet cakes, which she
+placed rather ostentatiously upon the table.</p>
+
+<p>"Sarah must have brought those cakes especially for
+me," said Mr. Kenyon lightly, when she had left the room.
+"She knows they are my especial favorites. And your
+father's too. I don't know how many dozen your father
+and I have not eaten, with our coffee sometimes in an
+evening! I suppose you are learning to like them for his
+sake!"</p>
+
+<p>He was talking against time for the sake of giving her
+back the confidence that she seemed to have lost, for her
+face had flushed and paled again more than once since his
+entry. But perhaps he was wrong, for she answered him
+with a quietness of tone which showed no perturbation.</p>
+
+<p>"These little macaroon things, you mean? I like them
+very much already. I did not know that my father cared
+about them. I have been away so long"&mdash;smilingly&mdash;"that
+I know but little of his tastes."</p>
+
+<p>"I could envy you the pleasure you will have, then?"
+said Maurice, quickly.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley opened her brown eyes. "The&mdash;the pleasure?"
+she faltered in an inquiring tone.<a name="Page_98"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Yes, the pleasure of discovering what are the tastes
+and feelings of a man like your father," said Maurice.</p>
+
+<p>Then, as she looked disconcerted still, and as if she did
+not know quite what he meant, he went on, ardently:</p>
+
+<p>"You have the privilege, you know, of being the only
+daughter of a man who is not only very widely known, but
+very much respected and admired. That doesn't seem much
+to you perhaps?"&mdash;for he thought he saw Lesley's lip curl,
+and his tone became a little sharp. "I assure you it
+means a great deal in a world like ours&mdash;in the world of
+London. It means that your father is a man of great
+ability and of unimpeachable honesty&mdash;I mean honesty of
+thought, honesty of purpose&mdash;intellectual honesty. You
+have no idea how rare that quality is amongst public men&mdash;or
+literary men&mdash;or journalists. Indeed it is a wonder
+that Brooke is so successful as he is, considering that he
+never wrote or said a word that he did not mean. No doubt
+that seems a small thing to you: it is not a small thing to
+say of a journalist now-a-days."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know much about journalists," said Lesley.
+"But all that you are saying would be taken as a matter of
+course amongst <i>gentlemen</i>."</p>
+
+<p>There was a snub for Maurice, and a sly hit at her father,
+too. Maurice began to wax warm.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Brooke," he said, "you entirely fail to understand
+me; and I can imagine that you, perhaps, fail to understand
+your father also."</p>
+
+<p>"If I do," said Lesley, proudly, "I hardly need to be
+set right by a stranger."</p>
+
+<p>The young doctor sprang to his feet. "I a stranger!"
+he said. "I, who have known and appreciated and worked
+with Caspar Brooke for the last half dozen years&mdash;I to be
+called a stranger by his daughter? I don't think that's
+fair: I don't indeed."</p>
+
+<p>He paused and put his tea-cup down upon the table.
+"If you'll only think for a minute, Miss Brooke," he said,
+entreatingly, with such a sudden softening of voice and
+manner that Lesley sat amazed, "I cannot believe but
+that you'll pardon me. I owe so much to your father&mdash;he
+has been a guide, a helper, almost a prophet to me, ever
+since I came across him when I was a medical student at
+King's College Hospital, and I only want everybody to
+see him with my eyes&mdash;loving and reverent eyes, I can tell<a name="Page_99"></a>
+you, though I wouldn't say so to everybody, seeing that
+love and reverence seem to have gone out of fashion! But
+to his daughter&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"His daughter surely does not need to be taught how
+to think of him by another, whether he be an old friend
+or a comparative stranger," said Lesley. "She can learn
+to know him for herself."</p>
+
+<p>"But <i>can</i> she?"&mdash;Maurice Kenyon's Irish strain, which
+always led him to be more eager and explicit in speech
+than if he had been entirely of Anglo-Saxon nationality,
+was running away with him. "Are you sure that she can?
+Look here, Miss Brooke: you come to your father's house
+straight from a French convent, I believe. What <i>can</i> you
+know of English life? of the strife of political parties, of
+literary parties, of faiths and theories and passions? You
+are plunged into the midst of a new world&mdash;it can't help but
+be strange to you at first, and you must feel a trifle forlorn
+and miserable&mdash;at least I should think so&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley was in a dilemma. Kenyon's words were so true,
+so apt, that they brought involuntary tears to her eyes.
+She could get rid of the lump in her throat only by working
+herself up into a rage: she could dissipate the tears only by
+making her eyes flash with anger. The melting mood was
+not to her taste. She chose the more hostile tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Kenyon, excuse me, but you have no right at all
+to talk about my being miserable. You may know my
+father: you do not know me."</p>
+
+<p>"But knowing your father so well&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"That has nothing to do with it. Am I not a separate
+human being? What have you to do with me and my
+feelings? You say that I do not know English ways&mdash;is
+it an English way," cried Lesley, indignantly, "to try to
+thrust yourself into a girl's confidence, and intrude where
+you have not been asked to enter? Then English ways
+are not those that I approve."</p>
+
+<p>Maurice Kenyon felt that his cause was lost. He had
+gone rather white about the lips as he listened to Lesley's
+protest. Of course, he had offended her by his abominable
+want of tact, he told himself&mdash;his intrusive proffer of unneeded
+sympathy and help. But it was not in his nature
+to acknowledge himself beaten, and to take his leave without
+a word. His ardor impelled him to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Brooke, I most sincerely beg your pardon," he
+said, in tones of deep humility. "I see that I have made<a name="Page_100"></a>
+a mistake&mdash;but I assure you that it was from the purest
+motives. I don't"&mdash;forgetting his apologetic attitude for a
+moment&mdash;"I <i>don't</i> think that you realize what a truly
+great man your father is&mdash;how good, as well as great. I
+<i>don't</i> think you understand him. But I beg your pardon
+for seeming to think that I could enlighten you. Of
+course, it must seem like impertinent interference to you.
+But if you knew"&mdash;with a tremor of disappointment in his
+voice&mdash;"what your father has been to me, you would not
+perhaps be so surprised at my wanting his daughter to
+sympathize with me in my feelings. I had no idea"&mdash;this
+was intended to be a Parthian shot&mdash;"that my admiration
+would be thought insulting."</p>
+
+<p>He bowed very low, and turned to depart, vowing to
+himself that nothing would induce him ever to enter that
+drawing-room again; but Lesley, pale and wide-eyed,
+called him back.</p>
+
+<p>"Stay, Mr. Kenyon," she said, rising from her seat.</p>
+
+<p>He halted, his hat in one hand, his fingers still on the
+knob of the door.</p>
+
+<p>"I never meant to say," said Lesley, confronting him,
+"that I was incapable of sympathy with you in admiration
+for my father. With my feeling towards him you have
+nothing to do&mdash;that is all. I am not angry because you
+express your own sentiments, but because&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She stopped and bit her lip.</p>
+
+<p>"&mdash;&mdash;Because I dared divine what yours might be?"
+asked Maurice, boldly, and with an accent of reproach.
+"Is it possible that yours <i>can</i> be like mine? and am I to
+blame for saying so? How can you estimate the worth of
+his work? You, a girl fresh from school! I know it is
+very rude to say so, but I cannot help it. If you were
+more of a woman, Miss Brooke, if you had had a wider
+experience of life and mankind, you would acknowledge
+that you could not possibly know very much of what your
+father had done, and you would be glad of the opportunity
+of learning!"</p>
+
+<p>This was just the speech calculated to make Lesley
+furiously angry, and it was with great difficulty that she
+restrained the words that rose impetuously to her lips. She
+stood motionless and silent, and Maurice mistook her
+silence for that of stupid obstinacy, when it was the silence
+of wounded feeling and passionate resentment. He went<a name="Page_101"></a>
+on hotly, for he began to feel himself once more in the
+right.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you <i>may</i> know all about him: you may
+know as much as I who have lived and worked at his side,
+so to speak, for the last six years! You may be familiar
+with his writings: you may have seen the <i>Tribune</i> every
+week, and you may know that wonderful book of his&mdash;'The
+Unexplored' I mean, not the essays&mdash;by heart;
+there may be nothing that I can tell you, even about his
+gallant fight for one of the hospitals last year, or the splendid
+work he has set going at the Macclesfield Buildings in
+North London, or the way in which his name is blessed
+by hundreds&mdash;yes hundreds&mdash;of men and women and
+children whom he has helped to lead a better life! You
+may know all about these things, and plenty more, but
+you <i>can't</i> know&mdash;coming here without having seen him
+since you were a baby&mdash;you <i>can't</i> know the beauty of his
+character, or the depths of his sympathy for the erring, or
+the tremendous efforts that he has made, and is still making,
+for the laboring poor. You can't know this, or else
+I'd tell you, Miss Brooke, what you would be doing! You
+would be working heart and soul to lighten his burdens
+and relieve him of the incessant drudgery that interferes
+with his higher work, instead of sitting here day after day
+reading yellow-backed novels in a drawing-room."</p>
+
+<p>And then, in a white heat of indignation, Mr. Maurice
+Kenyon took his leave. But he did not know the consternation
+that he had created in Lesley's mind. She was
+positively frightened by his vehemence. But she had never
+seen an angry man before&mdash;never been spoken to in strong
+masculine tones of reprobation and disgust, such as it
+seemed to her that Maurice Kenyon had used. And for
+what? She did not know. She was not aware that she
+had behaved in an unfilial manner to her father. She did
+not realize that her cold demeanor, her puzzled and bewildered
+looks, had told Mr. Kenyon far more than she
+would have cared to confess about the state of her feelings.
+For the rest, Ethel's words and Maurice's vivid imagination
+were to blame. And, angry as Lesley was, she felt
+with a thrill of dismay that Mr. Kenyon's discourteous
+words were perfectly true. She did not appreciate her
+father; she did not know anything about him. All that
+she had hitherto surmised was bad. And here came a<a name="Page_102"></a>
+young man, apparently sane, certainly handsome and
+clever, although disagreeable&mdash;to tell her that Caspar
+Brooke was a hero, a man among ten thousand, an intellectual
+giant, an uncrowned king. It was too ridiculous;
+and Lesley laughed aloud&mdash;although as she laughed she
+found that her eyes were wet with tears.<a name="Page_103"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">"THE UNEXPLORED."</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Lesley</span> retained for some time a feeling of distinct anger
+against Maurice Kenyon, even while she came to acknowledge
+the truth of divers of his words. But their
+truth, she told herself indignantly, was no justification of
+his brutality. He was horribly rude and meddlesome and
+intrusive. What business was it of his whether she gave
+her father or not the meed of praise that he deserved?
+Why should she be lectured for it by a stranger? Maurice
+Kenyon's conduct&mdash;Maurice Kenyon himself&mdash;was intolerable,
+and she should hate him all the days of her life.</p>
+
+<p>And in good sooth, Maurice's behavior is somewhat
+hard to excuse. He certainly had no business at all to
+attack Lesley on the subject of her feelings about her
+father, and his mode of attack was almost ludicrously
+wanting in judgment and discrimination. But that which
+tact and judgment might perhaps have failed to effect, Maurice's
+sledge-hammer blows brought home to Lesley's understanding.
+He was to blame; but he did some good, nevertheless.
+When the first shock was over, Lesley began to
+reflect that her own world had been a narrow one, and that
+possibly there were others equally good. And this was a
+great step to a girl who had been educated in a French
+convent school.</p>
+
+<p>Part of Lesley's inheritance from her father, and a part
+of which she was quite unconscious, was a singularly fair
+mind. She could judge and balance and discriminate with
+an impartiality which was far beyond the power of the
+ordinary woman. Being young her impartiality was now
+and then disturbed by little gusts of passion and prejudice;
+but the faculty was there to be strengthened by every
+opportunity of exercising it. This faculty had been stirred
+within her when Lady Alice first told her of her father's
+existence; but she had tried to stifle it as an accursed
+thing. She held it wicked to be anything but a partizan.<a name="Page_104"></a>
+And now it had revived within her, and was urging her to
+form no rash conclusions, to be careful in her thoughts
+about her new acquaintances, to weigh her opinions before
+expressing them. And all this in spite of a native fire and
+vivacity of temperament which might have led her into
+difficulties but for the counterbalancing power of judgment
+which she had inherited from the father whom she had
+been taught to despise.</p>
+
+<p>So although she raged with all her young heart and
+strength against Mr. Kenyon's construction of her feelings
+and motives, she had the good sense to ask herself whether
+there had not been some truth in what he said. After all,
+what did she know of this strange father of hers, whose
+every action she judged so harshly? She had heard her
+mother's story, which certainly placed him in a very unamiable
+light. But many years had gone by since Lady Alice
+left her husband, and a man's character might be modified
+in a dozen years or so. Lesley was willing to go so far.
+He might even be repentant for the past. Then Sister
+Rose's words came back to her. She, Lesley, might become
+the instrument of reconciliation between two who
+had been long divided!</p>
+
+<p>The color flashed into her face and slowly faded away.
+What chance had she of gaining her father's ear? True,
+she could descant by the hour together, if she had the
+opportunity, on Lady Alice's sweetness and goodness; but
+when could she get the opportunity of speaking about
+them to him? He looked on her with an eye of mistrust,
+almost of contempt. She had been brought up in a school
+of thought which he despised. How far away from her
+now, by the by, seemed the old life with which she had
+been familiar for so many years! the life of simple duties,
+of easy routine, of praise and tenderness and placid contentment.
+She was out in the world now, as other girls
+were who had once shared with her the convent life near
+Paris. Where were they now&mdash;Aglae and Marthe and
+Lucile and Anastasie? Did they all find life in the world
+as difficult as Lesley found it?</p>
+
+<p>No, there was little chance, she decided, of acting as a
+mediatrix between her parents. Her father would not
+listen to any word she might say. And she was quite sure
+that she could never speak of his private affairs to him.
+They had been divided so many years; they were strangers
+now, not father and daughter, as they ought to be.<a name="Page_105"></a></p>
+
+<p>Curious to relate, a feeling of resentment against the
+decree that had so long severed her from him rose up in
+Lesley's heart. It was not exactly a feeling of resentment
+against her mother. Rather it was a protest against fate&mdash;the
+fate that had made that father a sealed book to her,
+although known and read of all the world beside. If there
+<i>were</i> admirable things in his nature, why had she been
+kept in ignorance of them?&mdash;why told the one ugly fact of
+his life which seemed to throw all the rest into shadow?
+It was not fair, Lesley very characteristically remarked to
+herself: it certainly was not fair.</p>
+
+<p>If he was so distinguished a man in literature as Maurice
+Kenyon represented him to be, why had she never been
+allowed to read his books? She wanted, for the first time,
+to read something that he had written. She supposed she
+might; for there was no one now to choose her books for
+her. Only a day or two before she had dutifully asked
+her Aunt Sophia if she might read a book that Ethel had
+lent her (it was the yellow-backed novel, the sight of which
+had made Maurice so angry), and she had said, with her
+horrid little laugh&mdash;oh, how Lesley hated Aunt Sophy's
+laugh!&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Good heavens, child, read what you like! You're old
+enough!"</p>
+
+<p>And Lesley had felt crushed, but resolved to avail herself
+of the permission. But where should she find her
+father's works? She would cut out her tongue before she
+asked Aunt Sophy for them, or her father, or the Kenyons,
+or Mrs. Romaine.</p>
+
+<p>She set to work to search the library shelves, and was
+soon rewarded by the discovery of a set of <i>Tribunes</i>, a
+weekly paper in which she knew that her father wrote.
+She turned over the leaves, with a dazed feeling of bewilderment.
+None of the articles were signed. And she had
+no clue to those that were written by her father or anybody
+else.</p>
+
+<p>She returned the volumes to their places with a heavy
+sigh, and continued to look through the shelves&mdash;especially
+through the rows of ponderous quartos and octavos,
+where she thought that her father's works would probably
+be found. Simple Lesley! It was quite a shock to her
+when at last&mdash;after she had relinquished her search in
+heartsick disappointment&mdash;she suddenly came across a
+little paper volume bearing this legend:<a name="Page_106"></a>&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"The Unexplored. By Caspar Brooke. Price One
+Shilling. Tenth Edition."</p>
+
+<p>She took the book in her hand and gazed at it curiously.
+This was the "wonderful book" of which Maurice Kenyon
+had spoken. This little shilling pamphlet&mdash;really it was
+little more than a pamphlet! It seemed an extraordinary
+thing to her that her father should write <i>shilling books</i>.
+"A shilling shocker" was a name that Lesley happened to
+know, and a thing that she heartily despised. Her taste
+had been formed on the best models, and Lady Alice had
+encouraged her in a critical disparagement of cheap literature.
+Still&mdash;if Caspar Brooke had written it, and Maurice
+Kenyon had recommended it, Lesley felt, with flushing
+cheek and suspicious eyes, that it was a thing which she
+ought to read.</p>
+
+<p>Holding it gingerly, as if it were a dangerous combustible
+which might explode at any moment, she hurried
+away with it to her own room, turned the key in the lock,
+and sat down to read.</p>
+
+<p>At the risk of fatiguing my readers, I must say a word
+or two about Caspar Brooke's romance "The Unexplored."
+It had obtained a wonderful popularity in all English-speaking
+countries, and was well known in every quarter
+of the globe. Even Lady Alice must have seen it advertised
+and reviewed and quoted a hundred times. Possibly
+she had refused to read it, or closed her eyes to its merits.
+Possibly what a man wrote seemed to her of little importance
+compared to that which a man showed himself in his
+daily life. At any rate, she had never mentioned the book
+to her daughter Lesley. She certainly moved in a circle
+which was slightly deaf to the echoes of literary fame.</p>
+
+<p>"The Unexplored" was one of those powerful romances
+of an ideal society with which recent days have made us
+all familiar. But Caspar's book was the forerunner of the
+shoal which the last ten years have cast upon our shores.
+He was one of the first to follow in the steps of Sir Thomas
+More and Sir Philip Sidney, and picture life as it should
+be rather than as it is. His hero, an Englishman of our
+own time, puzzled and distressed at the social misery and
+discord surrounding him, leaves England and joins an
+exploring expedition. In the unexplored recesses of the
+new world he comes across a colony founded in ancient
+days by a people who have preserved an idyllic purity of<a name="Page_107"></a>
+heart and manners, together with a fuller artistic life and
+truer civilization than our own. To these people he
+brings his stories of London as it is to-day, and fills their
+gentle hearts with amazement and dismay. A slender
+thread of love-making gives the book its romantic charm.
+He gains the affections of the king's daughter, a beautiful
+maiden, who has been attracted to him from the very first;
+and with her he hopes to realize all that has been unknown
+to him of noble life in his own country. But the book
+does not end with its hero and heroine lapped in slothful
+content. For the heart of the maiden burns with sorrow
+for the toiling poor of the great European cities of which
+he has told her: to her this region has also the charm of
+"The Unexplored," and the book ends with a hint that
+she and her husband are about to wend their way, with a
+new gospel in their hand, to the very city of which he had
+shaken the dust from his shoes in disgust before he found
+an unexplored Arcadia.</p>
+
+<p>There was not much novelty in the plot&mdash;the charm of
+the book lay in the way the story was told, in the beauty
+of the language; and also&mdash;last but not least&mdash;the burning
+earnestness of the author's tone as he contrasted the hopeless,
+heartless misery of the poor in our great cities with
+the ideal life of man. His pictures of London life, drawn
+from the street, the hospital, the workhouse, were touched
+in with merciless fidelity: his satire on the modern benevolence
+and modern civilization which allows such evils to
+flourish side by side with lecture-rooms, churches, intellectual
+culture, and refined luxury was keen and scathing.
+It was a book which had startled people, but had also
+brought many new truths to their minds. And although
+no one could be more startled, yet no one could be more
+avid for the truth than the author's own daughter, of whom
+he had never thought in the very least when he wrote the
+book.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley rose from her perusal of it with burning cheeks
+and humid eyes. She herself, without knowing it, was in
+much the same position as the heroine of her father's book.
+Like the girl Ione, in "The Unexplored," she had lived in
+a charmed seclusion, far from the roar of modern civilization,
+far from the great cities which are the abomination of
+desolation in our time. Knowledge had come to her
+filtered through the minds of those who closed their eyes<a name="Page_108"></a>
+to evil and their ears to tales of sin. She did not know
+how the poor lived: she had only the vaguest and haziest
+possible notions concerning misery and want and disease.
+She was not only pure and innocent, but she was ignorant.
+She had scarcely ever seen a newspaper. She had read
+very few novels. She had lived almost all her life with
+women, and she had imbibed the notion that her marriage
+was a matter which her mother would arrange without
+particularly consulting her (Lesley's) inclinations.</p>
+
+<p>To a girl brought up in this way there was much to
+shock and repel in Caspar Brooke's romance. More than
+once, indeed, she put it down indignantly: more than once
+she cried out, in the silence of her room, "Oh, but it can't
+be true!" Nevertheless, she knew in her heart of hearts
+that the strong and burning words which she was reading
+could not have been written were they not sincerely felt.
+And as for facts, she could easily put them to the test.
+She could ask other people to tell her whether they were
+true. Were there really so many criminals in London; so
+many people "without visible means of subsistence?" so
+many children going out in a morning to their Board
+Schools without breakfast? But surely something ought
+to be done! How could people sit down and allow these
+things to be? How could her father himself, who wrote
+about such things, live in comfort, even (compared with
+the wretchedly poor) in modest luxury, without lifting a
+finger to help them?</p>
+
+<p>But there Lesley caught herself up. What had Mr.
+Kenyon said? Had he not spoken of the things that
+Caspar Brooke had done? For almost the first time Lesley
+began to wonder what made her father so busy. She
+had never heard a word concerning the pursuits that Mr.
+Kenyon had mentioned as so engrossing. "The splendid
+work at Macclesfield Buildings:" what was that? The
+people whom he had helped: what people? Whom could
+she ask? Not her father himself&mdash;that was out of the
+question. He never spoke to her except on trivial subjects.
+She remembered with a sudden and painful flash of
+insight, that conversations between him and his sister were
+sometimes broken off when she came into the room, or
+carried on in half-phrases and under-tones. Of course she
+<i>had</i> heard of Macclesfield Buildings; and of a club and
+an institute and a hospital, and what not; but the words<a name="Page_109"></a>
+had gone over her head, being destitute of meaning and of
+interest for her. She had been blind and deaf, it seemed
+to her now, ever since she came into the house; but Maurice
+Kenyon and her father's book had opened her eyes
+to the reality of things.</p>
+
+<p>Later on in the day her maid came to help her to dress
+for dinner. Lesley looked at her with new interest. For
+was she not one of the great, poor, struggling mass of
+human beings whom her father called "the People?" Not
+the happy peasant-class, as depicted in sentimental storybooks:
+whether that existed or not, Lesley was not learned
+enough to say: it certainly did not exist in London. She
+looked at the woman who waited on her with keenly
+observant eyes. Her name was Mary Kingston, and Lesley
+knew that she was not one of the prosperous, self-satisfied,
+over-dressed type, so common amongst ladies'
+maids; for she had been "out of a situation" for some
+time, and had fallen into dire straits of poverty. It would
+not have been like Miss Brooke to hire a common-place,
+conventional ladies' maid; she really preferred a servant
+"with a history." Lesley remembered that she had heard
+of Mary Kingston's past difficulties without noting them.</p>
+
+<p>"Kingston," she said, gently, "do you know much
+about the poor?"</p>
+
+<p>Kingston started and colored. She was a woman of
+more than thirty years of age&mdash;pale, thin, flat-chested, not
+very tall; she had fairly good features and dark, expressive
+eyes; but she was not attractive-looking. Her lips were
+too pale and her dark eyes too sunken for beauty. There
+was a gentleness in her manner, however, a patience in her
+low voice, which Lesley had always liked. It reminded
+her, in some undefined way, of her old friend, Sister Rose.</p>
+
+<p>"I've lived among the poor all my life, ma'am," Kingston
+said.</p>
+
+<p>"Do they suffer very much?" Lesley asked.</p>
+
+<p>Kingston looked slightly puzzled. "Suffer, ma'am?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;from hunger and cold, I mean: I have been
+reading about poor people in this book&mdash;and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Kingston cast a rapid glance at the volume. Her face
+kindled at once.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," she said, "I've read that book, ma'am, and what
+a beautiful book it is!"<a name="Page_110"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Do you know it?" Lesley asked, amazed. Then,
+moved by a sudden impulse, "And you know it was
+written by my father?"</p>
+
+<p>Who would have thought that she could say the last
+two words with such an accent of tender pride?</p>
+
+<p>"No, ma'am, I did not know. Is it really <i>this</i> Mr.
+Brooke? The name, you see, is not so uncommon as
+some, and I did not think&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I know, I know," said Lesley, hurriedly. "But just
+tell me this&mdash;is it true? Do the poor people suffer as
+much in England as he says they do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes, ma'am, I'm afraid so, at least. I've seen a
+good deal of suffering in my day."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley was quiet for a little while, and the woman
+brushed out her shining hair. "Tell me," she said, "what
+is the worst suffering of all&mdash;will you? I mean, a suffering
+caused by being poor&mdash;nothing to do with your own life,
+of course. Is it the being hungry, or cold&mdash;or what?"</p>
+
+<p>Kingston considered for a moment. "I think," she
+said at last, "it isn't the being cold or hungry yourself that
+matters so much as seeing those that belong to you cold
+and hungry. That's the worst. If you have children, it
+does go to your heart to hear them ask you for something
+to eat, and you have nothing to give them."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Lesley, softly, "I should think that is the
+worst."</p>
+
+<p>"But I don't know," said Kingston, in a perfectly unmoved
+and stolid tone, "whether it's worse than having no
+candles."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley looked up in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"It's when any one's ill that you feel that," the woman
+went on, in the same level tones. "In winter it's dark,
+maybe, at four o'clock, and not light again till nearly nine
+in the morning. It doesn't matter so much if you can go
+out. But if you have to sit by some one who's ill, and
+you can't see their faces, and if they leave off moaning you
+think they're dead&mdash;and perhaps when the early morning
+light comes it's only a dead face you have to look upon,
+and you never saw them draw their last breath&mdash;why, then,
+you feel mad-like to think of the candles that are wasted in
+big houses and of the bread that's thrown away."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley listened, appalled. A homely detail of this kind
+impressed her more than any appeal to her higher imagin<a name="Page_111"></a>ation.
+The woes of the poor had suddenly become real.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you never had to go through all that, Kingston,"
+she said, very gently.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'am, twice," said Kingston. "Once with my
+mother, and once with my little boy. They were both
+dead in the morning, but I didn't see 'em die."</p>
+
+<p>"But where was your husband? Was he dead?" said
+Lesley, quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, ma'am. But he was amusing himself. He
+was a gentleman, you see&mdash;more shame to me, perhaps
+you'll say. I couldn't expect him to think of things like
+candles."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!&mdash;And is he&mdash;is he dead?"</p>
+
+<p>"No ma'am, he isn't dead," said Kingston. And from
+the shortness of her tone and the steadiness with which
+she averted her face Lesley came to the conclusion that
+she did not want to be questioned any more.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley went down to dinner feeling that she had made
+some new and extraordinary discoveries. She noticed
+that her father and her aunt made several allusions which
+would have seemed mysterious and repellant to her the
+day before, but which now possessed an almost tragic interest.
+When before had she heard her aunt speak casually
+of a Mothers' Meeting and a Lending Library? These
+were common-place matters to the ordinary English girl;
+but to Lesley they possessed the elements of a romance.
+For was it not by means of hackneyed, common-place
+machinery of this kind that cultured men and women put
+themselves into relation with the great, suffering, coarse,
+uncultured, human-hearted poor?<a name="Page_112"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">LESLEY SEEKS ADVICE.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Added</span> to Lesley's new views of life, there was also a new
+feeling for her father. In the first rush of enthusiastic admiration
+for his book, she forgot all that she had heard
+against him, and believed&mdash;for the moment&mdash;that he was
+all Maurice Kenyon represented him to be. But naturally
+this state of mind could not last. The long years of her
+mother's influence told against any claim to love or respect
+on the father's part. Lesley remembered how bitterly
+Lady Alice spoke of him. She could not think that her
+mother had been wrong.</p>
+
+<p>It is a terrible position for a son or daughter&mdash;to have to
+judge between father and mother. It is a wrong position,
+and one in which Lesley felt instinctively that she ought
+never to have been placed. Of course it was impossible
+for her to help it. Father and mother had virtually made
+her their judge. They said to her, "Live for a year with
+each of us, and choose which you prefer. You cannot
+have us both." And as the only true and natural position for
+a child is that in which he or she can have both, Lesley
+Brooke was in a very trying situation. She had begun life
+in her father's house as her mother's ardent partisan; and
+she was her mother's partisan still. Only she was not
+quite sure whether she was not going to find that she
+could love her father too. And in that case, Lesley was
+tremulously certain that Lady Alice would accuse her of
+unfaithfulness to <i>her</i>.</p>
+
+<p>She turned with a sigh from the contemplation of her
+position to her new views of London and modern life. The
+poverty and ignorance of which she read had seemed hateful
+to her. But her impulse&mdash;always the impulse of generous
+souls&mdash;was not to shrink away from this newly-discovered
+misery, but to go down into the midst of it and
+help to cure the evil.<a name="Page_113"></a></p>
+
+<p>Still blindly ignorant of what was already done, or doing,
+she hardly knew in which way to begin a work that was so
+new to her. Indeed, she hardly estimated its difficulties.
+All the poor that she had ever seen were the blue-bloused
+peasants, or brown-faced crones, and quaint little maidens
+with pigtails, who had visited the convent at Fontainebleau.
+She was quite sure that English poor people were not like
+these. Her father knew a great deal about them, but she
+could not ask him. The very way in which he spoke to
+her&mdash;lightly always, and jestingly&mdash;made serious questioning
+impossible. To whom then should she apply? The
+answer presented itself almost immediately, and with extraordinary
+readiness&mdash;to Mr. Oliver Trent.</p>
+
+<p>This decision was not so remarkable as it at first may
+seem. Lesley had run over in her mind a list of the persons
+whom she could not or would not ask. Her father
+and Miss Brooke?&mdash;impossible. Mrs. Romaine?&mdash;certainly
+not. Ethel?&mdash;Lesley did not believe that she knew
+anything about the poor. Maurice Kenyon?&mdash;not for
+worlds. The neighboring clergy?&mdash;Mr. Brooke had said
+that he did not want "the Blacks" about his house. The
+other men and women whom Lesley had seen were mere
+casual acquaintances; not friends of the family, like Oliver
+Trent.</p>
+
+<p>At least, she <i>supposed</i> that Oliver was a friend of the
+family. He was Mrs. Romaine's brother; and Mrs. Romaine
+was a good deal at the house. In her own mind
+Lesley put him on the same footing as Mr. Kenyon&mdash;which
+estimate would have made Caspar Brooke exceedingly
+indignant, could he have known it. For though he did not
+exactly dislike Oliver Trent, he would never have thought
+of classing him with his friend, Maurice Kenyon.</p>
+
+<p>But Oliver had already called twice on some pretext or
+other, since Lesley had come home: and on the latter of
+these occasions he had sat for a full hour with her in the
+drawing-room, talking chiefly of France and Italy&mdash;in low
+and softly modulated tones. Lesley was losing all her
+horror of interviews with young men. If the nuns had seen
+her now they would indeed have thought her lost to all
+sense of propriety. For one of Miss Brooke's chief theories
+was that no self-respecting young woman needs a
+chaperon. And she had flatly refused to chaperone Lesley
+except on inevitable or really desirable occasions. "The<a name="Page_114"></a>
+girl must learn to go about the world by herself," she had
+said. "And I will say this for Lesley, she is not naturally
+timid or helpless&mdash;it is only training that makes her so."
+And under this tuition Lesley soon acquired the self-possession
+in which she had been somewhat wanting when she
+came, newly-fledged, from her convent.</p>
+
+<p>So when Oliver called again&mdash;it was on a message from
+his sister, and it had not yet recurred to Lesley to wonder
+at the readiness shown by English brothers to run on
+messages to their sisters' friends&mdash;he found Lesley alone,
+as usual, in the drawing-room, and she welcomed him with
+considerable warmth&mdash;a warmth that took him by surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Trent: I wanted to ask
+you something," she said, at once.</p>
+
+<p>"Ask me anything&mdash;command me in anything," he replied.</p>
+
+<p>He sank into a low chair at her right hand, and looked
+quite devotionally into her face. Lesley felt a trifle disturbed.
+She could not forget that Oliver was Ethel's lover,
+and she did not think that he ought to look at her so&mdash;<i>eagerly</i>&mdash;she
+did not know what else to call it. It was a
+look that made her uncomfortable. Nobody had ever
+looked at her in that way before. They did not look like
+that in the convent.</p>
+
+<p>"It is nothing very particular," she said, shrinking back
+a little. "Only I have nobody to ask."</p>
+
+<p>"I know&mdash;I understand," said Oliver, in his softest tones.
+Somehow his sympathy did not offend her, as Mr. Kenyon's
+had done.</p>
+
+<p>"It is very stupid of me," Lesley went on, trying to
+smile, "not to ask my father or Aunt Sophy; but I am
+afraid they would only laugh at me."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall not laugh at you," said Oliver, marvelling
+inwardly.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you? You are sure? It is only a little, stupid,
+ordinary question. Do you know anything about Macclesfield
+Buildings?"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver drew himself up in his chair. Was <i>that</i> the question?
+He did not believe it. But he answered her unsmilingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Miss Brooke. They are the blocks of workmen's
+dwellings where your father has founded a <a name="tn_119"></a><!--TN: Quote added after "Club."-->Club."</p>
+
+<p>"Has he?" said Lesley, her eyes dilating. "That is&mdash;very
+good of him, isn't it?"<a name="Page_115"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I suppose so," Oliver answered, with a little laugh.
+"Of course&mdash;but I must not insinuate worldly motives into
+his daughter's ears!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, please, go on: I want to hear!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is nothing wrong. Only if a man wants to stand
+well with the working-people&mdash;if he wants votes, for instance&mdash;it
+isn't at all a bad move to begin with a Working-Men's
+Club."</p>
+
+<p>"Votes, Mr. Trent? What for?"</p>
+
+<p>"School Board, or County Council, or Parliament," said
+Oliver, coolly. "Or even Board of Guardians. I don't
+know what your father's ambitions are, exactly. But
+popularity is always a good thing."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley pondered a little, the color rising in her cheeks.
+"Then," she said, "you think my father does good things
+from&mdash;from what people call 'interested motives?'"</p>
+
+<p>"Good heavens, no, Miss Brooke, I never said anything
+of the kind," declared Oliver, somewhat alarmed by her
+straightforwardness. "I was only thinking of the general
+actions of man, not of your father in particular."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley nodded. "I don't quite understand," she said.
+"But that doesn't matter for the present. I have another
+question to ask you, Mr. Trent. Do you know anything
+about the poor?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm very poor myself," said Oliver, laughing. "Horribly
+poor. 'Pon my word, I don't know any one poorer."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you are laughing at me now," said Lesley, almost
+petulantly. "And you said that you would not laugh."</p>
+
+<p>She leaned back in her chair, with heightened color and
+brightening eyes: her breath came a little more quickly
+than usual, as if her pulses were quickened. There is
+nothing so catching as emotion. Oliver's sluggish pulses
+began to stir at the sight of her. That soft and tender
+face seemed more beautiful to him than the sparkle and
+vivacity of Ethel Kenyon's. If it had not been for Ethel's
+twenty thousand pounds, he did not know but what he
+would have preferred Lesley. Rosy had said that Lesley
+would suit him best.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not laughing; I swear I am not," he said earnestly.
+"I know what you mean&mdash;you are thinking of the
+London poor. Your tender heart has been stirred by the
+sight of them in the streets&mdash;they are dreadful to look at,
+are they not? It is like you to feel their woes so acutely."<a name="Page_116"></a></p>
+
+<p>"I want to know," said Lesley, rather plaintively,
+"whether I cannot do anything for them?"</p>
+
+<p>"You&mdash;do anything&mdash;for the poor?" repeated Oliver.
+Then he scanned her narrowly&mdash;scanned her shining hair,
+delicate features, Paris-made gown, and dainty shoe&mdash;and
+laughed a little. "You can let them look at you&mdash;that
+ought to be enough," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley frowned. "Nonsense, Mr. Trent. What does
+my father do for his Club?"</p>
+
+<p>"Smokes with the men, sometimes, I believe. You
+couldn't do that, you know&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Although&mdash;&mdash;" and then Lesley stopped short and
+laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Although Aunt Sophy does. It's no secret, my dear
+Miss Brooke. Half the women in London smoke now-a-days,
+I believe. Even my sister indulges now and then."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley gave her head a little toss. "What else does my
+father do?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Sings to them. Sunday afternoon, that is, you know.
+The wives are allowed to come to the Club-room then, and
+he has a sort of little concert for them&mdash;good music, sacred
+music, even, I believe. He gets professionals to come now
+and then; they will do anything to oblige your father, you
+know&mdash;and when they don't come, he sings himself. He
+really has a very good bass voice."</p>
+
+<p>"Ladies don't sing, I suppose," said Lesley, after a little
+pause.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, they do. He nearly always has a lady to
+sing. Why don't you go down on a Sunday afternoon?
+The club is open to friends of the founder, if not of the
+members, on Sunday afternoons. Don't Mr. Brooke and
+Miss Brooke always go?"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose they do&mdash;I never asked where they went,"
+said Lesley, with burning cheeks. She remembered that
+they always did disappear on Sunday afternoons. No, she
+had not asked; she had not hitherto felt any curiosity as
+to their doings; and they had not asked her to accompany
+them. She began to resent their lack of readiness to invite
+her to the club.</p>
+
+<p>"You might go down on Sunday afternoon," said Oliver,
+lazily. "I'm going: they have asked me to sing. Though
+you mayn't know it, Miss Brooke, I have a very decent
+tenor voice. Ethel is going with me. Won't you come?"<a name="Page_117"></a></p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," said Lesley, nervously. She bethought
+herself that she could not easily propose to accompany her
+father, and that Ethel and Oliver Trent would not want
+her. She would be one too many in either party. She
+could not go.</p>
+
+<p>But Oliver read the reason of her scruples. "If you
+will allow me," he said, "I will ask my sister to come too.
+Then we shall be a compact little party of four, and we
+can start off without telling Mr. Brooke anything about
+it."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley hesitated a little, but finally consented. She had
+a great desire to see what was going on in Macclesfield
+Buildings. But Oliver, it may be feared, believed in his
+heart that she went because he was going. And he resolved
+to bestow his society on her rather than on Ethel and Mrs.
+Romaine on Sunday. It was decidedly more amusing to
+waken that still sweet face to animation than to engage in
+a war of wit with Ethel.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley thought of Oliver very little. Once or twice he
+had startled her by an assumption of intimacy, a softening
+of his voice, and a look of tenderness in his eyes, which
+made her shrink into herself with an instinctive emotion of
+dislike. But she had then proceeded to scold herself for
+foolish shyness and prudery&mdash;the prudery of a French-school
+girl, who was not accustomed to the ways of men.
+She had begun to feel herself very ignorant of the world
+since she came to her father's house. It would never do
+to offend one of her father's friends by seeming afraid of
+him. So she tried to smile and looked pleased when Oliver
+drew near, and she was all the more gracious to him because
+she had already quarrelled with Maurice Kenyon,
+who was even more her father's friend than Oliver himself.
+But what could she do? Mr. Kenyon had insulted her&mdash;the
+hot blood rose to her cheeks as she thought of some of
+the things that he had said. Insulted her by assuming that
+she could not appreciate her father because she was too
+careless, too frivolous, too foolish to do so. That she was
+ignorant, Lesley was ready to acknowledge; but not that
+she was incapable of learning.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver had no difficulty in persuading his sister to make
+one of the party on Sunday afternoon. Indeed, Mrs. Romaine
+made the expedition easier by inviting Lesley to
+lunch with her beforehand.<a name="Page_118"></a></p>
+
+<p>"I asked Maurice and Ethel Kenyon, too," she said to
+Lesley, "but they would not come. Mr. Kenyon had his
+patients to attend to; and Ethel would not leave him to
+lunch alone."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley did not answer, but privately reflected that if the
+Kenyons had accepted the invitation she would have
+lunched at home.</p>
+
+<p>She went to church by herself on Sunday morning, for
+Mr. Brooke was not up, and Doctor Sophy frequented some
+assembly of eclectic souls, of which Lesley had never heard
+before. So she went demurely to that ugliest of all Protestant
+temples, St. Pancras' Church, and was not very
+much surprised when she perceived that Oliver Trent was
+in the seat behind her, and that he sat so that he could see
+her face.</p>
+
+<p>"I did not know that you went to St. Pancras'," she
+said, innocently, as they stood on the steps together outside
+when the service was over.</p>
+
+<p>"Nor do I," he answered her. "It is the most hideous
+church I ever saw. But there was an attraction this
+morning."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley looked as if she did not understand. And indeed
+she did not.</p>
+
+<p>"You are coming to lunch with us, are you not? Will
+you let me escort you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Mr. Trent. But&mdash;do you mind?&mdash;I shall
+have to call at my father's house on my way. Just to
+leave my prayer-book. It will not take me a minute."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver could not object, although he was not altogether
+pleased. For Mr. Brooke's house was immediately opposite
+the Kenyons', and Miss Ethel was as likely as not to be
+sitting at the drawing-room window. Her sharp eyes
+would espy him from afar, and she might ask Lesley if he
+had been to church with her. Not a very great difficulty,
+but Oliver had a far-seeing mind, and one question might
+lead to others of a more serious kind.</p>
+
+<p>However, there was no help for it. He paused on the
+steps of number fifty, while Lesley rang the bell. She had
+been formally presented with a latch-key, but the use of it
+was so new to her, and the fear of losing it so great, that
+she usually left it on her dressing-table.</p>
+
+<p>A maid opened the door and said something to Lesley
+in an under tone. Oliver was looking across the street<a name="Page_119"></a>
+and neither heard the words nor saw the woman's face.
+But Lesley turned to him hastily.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mr. Trent, I am so sorry to keep you waiting,
+but I must run up to my aunt for a moment."</p>
+
+<p>She disappeared into the house, and then Oliver turned
+and met the eyes of Lesley's waiting-maid. And at the
+same moment he was aware&mdash;as one is sometimes aware
+of what goes on behind one's back&mdash;that Ethel, in her
+pretty autumn dress of fawn-color and deep brown, had
+come out upon the balcony of her house and was observing
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>You</i>, Mary?" said Oliver, in a stifled whisper.</p>
+
+<p>The woman looked at him with hard, defiant eyes. "Yes,
+me," she said. "You ought to know that I couldn't do
+anything else."</p>
+
+<p>He stood looking at her with a frown.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the last place where you ought to have come,"
+he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Because they are friends of yours?" she asked. "I
+can't help that. I didn't know it when I came, but I know
+it now."</p>
+
+<p>"Then leave," said Oliver, still in the lowest possible
+tone, but also with all possible intensity. "Leave as soon
+as you can. I'll find you another place. It is the worst
+thing you can do for your own interest to remain here, where
+you may be recognized."</p>
+
+<p>"I can take care of that," said Mary Kingston, icily.
+"I'll think over it."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver put his hand into his pocket as if in search of a
+coin. But Kingston suddenly shook her head. "No,"
+she said, quickly, "I don't want it. Not from you."</p>
+
+<p>And then Lesley's foot was heard upon the stairs.
+Oliver looked up to Ethel's balcony. Yes, she was there,
+her hand upon the railing, her eyes fixed on him with what
+was evidently a puzzled stare. Oliver smiled and raised
+his hat. Ethel nodded and smiled in return. But he fancied&mdash;though,
+of course, at that distance he could not be
+sure&mdash;that she still looked puzzled as she returned his bow
+and smile.</p>
+
+<p>He walked on with Lesley. But his good-humor was
+gone: the usual suavity of his manner was a little ruffled.
+His recognition of Mary Kingston had evidently been displeasing
+as well as embarrassing to him.<a name="Page_120"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">"HOME, SWEET HOME."</p>
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Mrs. Romaine</span> and Oliver Trent attributed Lesley's desire
+to see Macclesfield Buildings to a young girl's curiosity,
+and, perhaps, to a desire for Oliver's company. They had
+no conception of the new fancies and feelings, aims and
+interests, which were developing in her soul. Only so
+much of these were visible as to lead Oliver to say to his
+sister before they sallied forth that afternoon&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I fancy she is getting up an enthusiasm for her father.
+Won't that be awkward for you?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine was silent for a moment. Then she answered,
+with perfect quietness&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I think it will be more awkward for Lady Alice. It
+may be rather convenient for us."</p>
+
+<p>And Oliver noticed that for the rest of the afternoon she
+took every opportunity of indirectly and directly praising
+Mr. Brooke, his works and ways. But he could not see
+that Lesley looked pleased&mdash;perhaps Mrs. Romaine's words
+had rather an artificial ring.</p>
+
+<p>Somehow, it seemed to Lesley as if she hated the expedition
+on which she came. Was it not a little too like
+spying upon her father's work? He had never invited her
+to Macclesfield Buildings. And he would never know the
+spirit in which she came: it would seem to him as
+though she had been brought in Mrs. Romaine's train,
+perhaps against her will, to laugh, to stare, to criticize.
+She would rather have crept in humbly, and tried to understand,
+by herself, what he was trying to do. What would
+he think of her when he saw her there that afternoon?</p>
+
+<p>She was morbidly afraid of him and of his opinion.
+Caspar Brooke would have been as much hurt as astonished
+if he knew in what ogre-like light she regarded him.</p>
+
+<p>Ethel joined them before they started for Macclesfield
+Buildings, and as rain was beginning to fall, Oliver insisted<a name="Page_121"></a>
+that they should take a cab. It was for his own sake, as
+Rosalind reminded him, rather than for theirs. He had a
+profound dislike of dirty streets, dirty people, unpleasant
+sights and sounds. And there were plenty of these to be
+encountered in the North London district to which they
+were bound that afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>The three Londoners&mdash;for such they virtually were&mdash;could
+hardly refrain from laughing when they saw Lesley's
+horrified face as the cab drove up to the block of buildings
+in which the club was situated. "But this is a prison&mdash;a
+workhouse&mdash;a lunatic asylum!" she exclaimed. "People
+do not live here&mdash;do they&mdash;in this dreary place?"</p>
+
+<p>Ah, me, and a dreary place it was! Three lofty blocks
+of building, all of the same drab hue, with iron-railed balconies
+outside the narrow windows, and a great court-yard
+in which a number of children romped and howled and
+shrieked in play: it was perhaps the most depressingly
+ugly bit of architecture that Lesley had ever seen. In vain
+her friends told her of the superior sanitary arrangements,
+the ventilation, the drainage, the pure water "laid on;"
+all she could do was to clasp her hand, and say, with
+positive tears in her bright eyes, "But <i>why</i> could it not
+all have been made more beautiful?" And indeed it is
+hard to say why not.</p>
+
+<p>"Now we are going down into a coal hole," said Oliver,
+as he helped the ladies to alight. "At least it was once a
+coal hole. Yes, it was. These four rooms were used as
+storehouses for coals and vegetables until your father rented
+them: you will see what they look like now."</p>
+
+<p>"Lesley is horrified," said Ethel, with a little laugh.
+"Not at the coal-hole," Lesley answered, trying also to
+be merry, "but at the ugliness of it all. Don't you think
+this kind of ugliness almost wicked?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oliver thinks all ugliness wicked," said Mrs. Romaine,
+maliciously.</p>
+
+<p>"Then <i>we</i> ought to be very good," said Ethel. But
+Oliver did not answer: he was looking at Lesley, whose
+face had grown pale.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you tired?&mdash;are you ill?" he asked her, in the
+gentlest undertones. They were still picking their way
+over the muddy stones of the court-yards, and rough
+children ran up to them now and then, and clamored for a
+penny. "Is the sight of this place too much for you?"<a name="Page_122"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no," said Lesley, with a sudden, inexplicable flush
+of color: "It is not that&mdash;it is ugly, of course; but I do
+not mind it at all."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver glanced round suspiciously, as if to discover why
+she had blushed. All that he could see was the tall figure
+of Maurice Kenyon, who was standing in a doorway talking
+to somebody on the stairs. Even if Lesley had seen
+him, she surely would not blush for that! What chance
+had Kenyon had of becoming acquainted with her? Oliver
+forgot that other sisters besides his own might send their
+brothers on messages.</p>
+
+<p>Down a flight of stone steps, through a low doorway,
+and into a dark little corridor, was Lesley conducted. She
+noticed that Mrs. Romaine and Ethel were quite accustomed
+to the place. "We have often been before, you know,"
+Ethel explained. "It's your father's hobby, you know;
+his doll's house, or Noah's Ark, or whatever you like to
+call it&mdash;his pet toy. I always call it his Noah's Ark myself.
+The animals walk in two by two. The men may
+bring their wives on Sundays. Oh, by the bye, Lesley, I
+hope you don't mind smoke. The men have their pipes,
+you know."</p>
+
+<p>And then Lesley, dazzled and confounded by her surroundings,
+found herself in a brilliantly lighted room of
+considerable size&mdash;really two ordinary rooms thrown into
+one. Immediately the squalor and ugliness of the outer
+world were thrown into the background. The walls of the
+room were distempered&mdash;Indian red below, warm grey
+above; and on the grey walls were hung fine photographs
+of well-known foreign buildings or of celebrated paintings.
+In one part of the room stood a magnificent billiard-table,
+now neatly covered with a cloth. A neat little piano was
+placed at the other end of the room, near a large table
+covered with a scarlet cloth, strewn with magazines, papers,
+and books, and decorated with flowers. The chairs were
+of solid make, seated with red leather ornamented with
+brass nails. In fact, the whole place was not only comfortable,
+but cheery and pleasant to the eye. Lesley was
+told that there was also a library, beside a kitchen and
+pantry, whence visitors could get tea or coffee, "temperance
+drinks," and rolls or cakes.</p>
+
+<p>A few women in their "Sunday best" were looking at
+the books and periodicals, or gossiping together, but they<a name="Page_123"></a>
+were not so numerous as the men&mdash;respectable working-men
+for the most part; some of them smoking, some reading
+or talking, without their pipes. In one little group
+Lesley recognized, with a start, that her father was the
+centre of attraction. He was sitting, as the other men
+were, and he was talking: the musical notes of his cultivated
+voice rose clearly above the hum of rougher and
+huskier voices. Lesley gathered that some proposition
+had been made which he was combating.</p>
+
+<p>"No," he said, "I won't have it. Look here&mdash;did you
+open this club, or did I?"</p>
+
+<p>"You did, guv'nor," said one of the men.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll have my say in the management. Some of
+you want the women turned out, do you? It's the curse
+of modern life, the curse of English and all other society,
+that you do want the women turned out, you men, where-ever
+you go. And the reason is that women are better
+than you are. They are purer, nobler, more conscientious
+than you, and therefore you don't want them with you
+when you take your pleasures. Eh?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a melodious geniality about the last monosyllable
+which made the men smile in spite of themselves.</p>
+
+<p><a name="tn_128"></a><!--TN: Single quote added before the final "t" of "'T'aint"-->"'T'ain't that," said one of them, awkwardly. "It's
+because they're apt to neglect their 'omes if they come out
+of an afternoon or an evening like we do."</p>
+
+<p>"Not they!" said Mr. Brooke. "To come out now
+and then is to make them love their homes, man. They'll
+put more heart in to their work, if they have a little rest and
+enjoyment now and then, as you do. Besides&mdash;you've got
+hold of a wrong principle. The women are not your slaves
+and servants; they ought not to be. They are your companions,
+your helpers. The more they are in sympathy
+with you, the better they will help you. Don't keep your
+wives out of the brighter moments of your lives, else they
+will forget how to feel with you, and help you when darker
+moments come!"</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause; and then a man, with rather a sullen
+face&mdash;evidently one of the malcontents&mdash;said, with a growl,</p>
+
+<p>"Fine talk, gov'nor. It'll end in our wives leaving us,
+like they say yours done."</p>
+
+<p>There was an instant hiss and groan of disapproval. So
+marked, indeed, that the man rose to shoulder his way to
+the door. Evidently he was not a popular character.<a name="Page_124"></a></p>
+
+<p>"We'll pay him out, if you like, sir," said a youth; and
+some of the older men half rose as if to execute the threat.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down: let him alone," said Mr. Brooke, sharply.
+"He's a poor fool, and he knows it. Every man's a fool
+that does not reverence women. And if women would try
+to be worthy of that reverence, the world would be better
+than it is."</p>
+
+<p>He rose as he spoke, with apparent carelessness, but
+those who knew him best saw that the taunt had stung
+him. And as he moved, he caught Lesley's eye. He had
+not known that she was to be there; and by something in
+her expression&mdash;by her heightened color, perhaps, or her
+startled eye&mdash;he saw at once that she had heard the man's
+rude speech and his reply.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped short, grasped at his beard as his manner
+was, especially when he was perplexed or embarrassed;
+then crossed over towards her, laid his hand on her arm,
+and spoke in a tone of unusual tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>You</i> here, my child?"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley thrilled all over with the novel pleasure of what
+seemed to her like commendation. But she could not
+answer suitably.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Romaine brought me," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Mrs. Romaine?"&mdash;in quite a different tone. "Very
+kind of Mrs. <a name="tn_129"></a><!-- TN: Comma changed to period after "Romaine"-->Romaine. By the bye, Maurice"&mdash;to Mr.
+Kenyon, who had just appeared upon the scene, and was
+looking with curiously anxious eyes at Lesley&mdash;"the music
+ought to begin now. Is Trent ready? And will Ethel
+recite something? That's all right&mdash;I suppose Miss Bellot
+will be here presently."</p>
+
+<p>And leaving Lesley without another glance, he went to
+the piano and opened it. The audience settled itself in its
+place, and gave a little sigh of expectation. Mr. Brooke's
+Sunday afternoon "recitals," from four to five, always
+gave great satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver sang first, then Ethel recited something; then
+Mr. Brooke sang, and then Oliver played&mdash;he was a very
+useful young man in his way&mdash;and then there came a little
+pause.</p>
+
+<p>"A certain Miss Bellot promised to come and sing, but
+she has not appeared," Ethel explained to her friend.
+"Lesley, you can sing: I know you can, for I saw a lot of
+songs in your portfolio the other day. Won't you give
+them something?"<a name="Page_125"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, I couldn't!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's not a critical audience," said Oliver, on her other
+side. "You might try. The people are growing impatient,
+and your father will be disappointed if things do not go
+well&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley flushed deeply. A week ago she would have
+thought&mdash;What is it to me if my father is disappointed?
+But she could not think so to-night.</p>
+
+<p>"I have no music here. And I cannot sing properly
+when I play my own accompaniments."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me something you know and let me see whether I
+can play it," said Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>She paused for a moment, then, with a smile in her eyes,
+she mentioned a name which made him laugh and elevate
+his eyebrows. "Do you know <i>that</i>?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Rather! Is it not a trifle hackneyed? Ah, well, not
+for this audience, perhaps. Yes, I will play." And then,
+just as Caspar Brooke, with a slight gesture of annoyance,
+turned to explain to the people that a singer whom he
+expected had not come, Oliver touched him on the arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Brooke is going to sing, please," he said. "Will
+you announce her?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Brooke stared hard for a moment, then bowed his
+head.</p>
+
+<p>"My daughter will now sing to you," he said, curtly,
+and sat down again, grasping his brown beard with one
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Can</i> she sing?" Mrs. Romaine said in his ear, with an
+accent of veiled surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not know in the least. I hope it will be English,
+at any rate. These good people don't care for French and
+Italian things."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine saw that he looked undoubtedly nervous,
+and just then Oliver began the prelude to Lesley's song.
+It was certainly English enough. It was "Home, Sweet
+Home."</p>
+
+<p>Every one looked up at the sound of the familiar air.
+"Hackneyed" as Oliver had declared it to be, it is a song
+which every audience loves to hear. And Lesley made a
+pretty picture for the eyes to rest upon while she sang.
+She was dressed from top to toe in a delicate shade of
+grey, which suited her fair skin admirably: the grey was
+relieved by some broad white ribbons and a vest of soft<a name="Page_126"></a>
+white silk folds, according to the prevailing fashion. A
+wide-brimmed grey hat, trimmed with drooping grey ostrich
+feathers, also became her extremely well. Mrs. Romaine
+noticed that Caspar Brooke looked at her hard for a minute
+or two, and then sat with his eyes fixed on the ground, his
+right hand forming a pillow for his left elbow, and his left
+hand engaged in stroking his big brown beard. What she
+did not notice was, that Maurice Kenyon had withdrawn
+himself to a post behind Mr. Brooke's chair, where he
+could see and not be seen; and that his eyes were riveted
+upon the fair singer with an expression which betokened
+more perplexity than admiration.</p>
+
+<p>As Lesley's pure, sweet notes floated out upon the air,
+there was an instant stir of approbation and interest among
+the listeners. If the girl had been less intent upon her
+singing, the unmoved and unmoving stare of these men
+and women might have made her a little nervous. It was
+their way of showing attention. The men had even put
+down their pipes. But Lesley did not see them. She had
+chosen her song at haphazard, as one which these people
+were likely to understand; but its painful appropriateness
+to her own case, perhaps to her mother's case as well, only
+came home to her as she continued it.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<span class="firstline">"'Mid pleasures and palaces&mdash;though I may roam&mdash;<br></span>
+<span class="i0">Be it never so humble, there's no place like home.<br></span>
+<span class="i0">A charm from the heart seems to hallow it there,<br></span>
+<span class="i0">Which, seek through the world, is not met with elsewhere."<br></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>If Lesley's voice faltered a little while singing words with
+which she herself felt forced to disagree, and to which her
+mother had given the lie by running away from the home
+Caspar Brooke had provided for her, the hesitation and
+tremulousness were set down by the hearers as a very
+pretty bit of artistic skill, which they were not at all slow
+to appreciate. Mrs. Romaine put up her eye-glass and
+looked narrowly at the girl during the last few notes.</p>
+
+<p>"How well she sings!" she murmured in Mr. Brooke's
+ear. "Positively, as if she felt it!"</p>
+
+<p>Caspar Brooke gave a little start, left off handling his
+beard, and sat up shrugging his shoulders. "A good deal
+of dramatic talent, I fancy," he observed. But he could
+say no more, for the people were clapping their hands and
+stamping with their feet, in their eagerness for another<a name="Page_127"></a>
+song; and he was obliged to be silent until the tumult
+abated.</p>
+
+<p>"You must sing again?" said Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>"Must I? Really? But&mdash;shall I sing what English
+people call a sacred piece? A Sunday piece, you know?
+'Angels ever bright and fair'&mdash;can you play that?"</p>
+
+<p>Oliver could play that. And Lesley sang it with great
+applause.</p>
+
+<p>But, being a keenly observant young person, and also in
+a very sensitive state, she noticed that her father held aloof
+and did not look quite well pleased. And she, remembering
+her refusal to take singing lessons, felt, naturally, a
+little guilty.</p>
+
+<p>She had not time, however, to dwell upon her own feelings.
+The assembly began to disperse, for Mr. Brooke did
+not let the hours of his "meeting" encroach on church
+hours, and it was time to go. But almost every man, and
+certainly every woman, insisted on shaking hands with
+Lesley, most of them saying, with a friendly nod, that they
+hoped she'd come again.</p>
+
+<p>"You're Mr. Brooke's daughter, ain't you, miss?" said
+a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, with honest eyes and a
+pleasant smile, which Lesley liked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I am."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you'll give us a bit of your singing another
+Sunday. 'Tis a treat to hear you, it is."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I shall be glad to come again," said Lesley.</p>
+
+<p>"That's like your father's daughter," said the man,
+heartily. "Meaning no disrespect to you, miss. But Mr.
+Brooke's the life and soul of this place: he's splendid&mdash;just
+splendid; and we can't think too high of him. So it's
+right and fitting that his daughter should take after him."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley stood confused, but pleased. And then the man
+lowered his voice and spoke confidentially.</p>
+
+<p>"There was a bit of a breeze this afternoon, just after
+you came in, I think; but you mustn't suppose that we
+have trouble o' that sort every Sunday, or week-day either.
+It was just one low, blackguardly fellow that got in and
+wanted to make a disturbance. But he won't do it again,
+for we'll have a meeting, and turn him out to-morrow. I
+would just like you to understand, miss, that a good few
+of us in this here club would pretty nigh lay down our
+lives for Mr. Brooke if he wanted them&mdash;for myself I<a name="Page_128"></a>
+wouldn't even say 'pretty nigh,' for I'd do it in a jiffy.
+He's helped to save some of us from worse than death,
+miss, and that's why."</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Jim Gregson," said a cheery voice behind him,
+"you get along home to your tea. Time for shutting up
+just now. Good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>And Caspar Brooke held out his hand for the workman
+to shake. He had only just come up, and could not therefore
+have heard what Gregson was saying; but Lesley preferred
+to turn away without meeting his eye. For in truth
+her own were full of tears.</p>
+
+<p>She broke away from the little group, and went into the
+library, as if she wanted to inspect the books. But in
+reality she wanted a moment's silence and loneliness in
+which to get rid of the swelling in her throat, the tears in
+her eyes. These were caused partly by excitement, partly
+by an expression of feeling brought to her by the earnestness
+of Gregson's words, partly by penitence. And it was
+before she had well got rid of them that Maurice Kenyon
+put his head into the room and found her there.</p>
+
+<p>"We are going now, Miss Brooke," he said. "Will you
+come? I&mdash;I hope I'm not disturbing you&mdash;I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I am just coming," said Lesley, dashing the tears from
+her face. "I am quite ready."</p>
+
+<p>"There is no hurry. You can let them go on first, if
+you like," said Maurice, partly closing the door. Then,
+in the short pause that followed, he advanced a little way
+into the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Brooke," he said, "I hope you will not mind my
+speaking to you again; but I want to say that I wish&mdash;most
+humbly and with all my heart&mdash;to beg your pardon.
+Will you forgive me?"<a name="Page_129"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">MAURICE KENYON'S APOLOGY.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Lesley</span> stood irresolute. In the other room she heard
+the sound of voices calling her own name. "We are just
+going, Lesley," she heard Mrs. Romaine say. She made
+a hurried step towards the door.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't stop," she said. "They will go without me."</p>
+
+<p>"What if they do?" asked Mr. Kenyon. "I'll see you
+home."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley looked amazed, as well she might, at this masterful
+way of settling the question. And while she hesitated
+Maurice acted, as he usually did.</p>
+
+<p>He strode to the door and spoke to Miss Brooke. "I
+am just showing your niece some of the books: I'll follow
+in a minute or two with her if you'll kindly walk on. It
+won't take me more than a minute."</p>
+
+<p>"Then we may as well wait," said Oliver's voice.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley would have been very angry if she had known
+what happened then. Mr. Kenyon, by means of energetic
+pantomime, conveyed to the quick perceptions of Doctor
+Sophy a knowledge of the fact that Lesley was a little agitated
+and overcome, and that he was soothing her. And
+that the departure of the rest of the party would be a
+blessed relief.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Sophy was good-natured, and she had complete
+trust in Maurice Kenyon.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't stay more than a minute or two," she said.
+"We'll just walk on then&mdash;Caspar and I. Mr. Trent is,
+of course, escorting your sister. Mrs. Romaine will
+come with us, and you'll follow?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am quite ready," said Lesley.</p>
+
+<p>"All right," answered Maurice, easily, "I must first
+show you this book." Then he returned to the library,
+and she heard the sounds of retreating steps and voices as
+her father and his party left the building.<a name="Page_130"></a></p>
+
+<p>"You have no book to show me&mdash;you had better come
+at once," Lesley said, severely. But Mr. Kenyon arrested
+her.</p>
+
+<p>"I assure you I have. Look here: the men clubbed
+together a little while ago and presented your father's
+works to the library, all bound, you see, in vellum. I
+need not mention that <i>he</i> had not thought it worth while
+to give his own books to the club."</p>
+
+<p>He showed her the volumes with pride, as if the presentation
+had been made to a member of his own family.
+Lesley touched the books with gentle fingers and reverent
+eyes. "I have been reading 'The Unexplored,'" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"I knew you would! And I knew you would like it!&mdash;I
+am not wrong?"</p>
+
+<p>"I like it very much. But it is all new to me&mdash;so new&mdash;I
+feel like Ione when she first heard of the miseries of
+England&mdash;I have lived in an enchanted world, where everything
+of that sort was kept from me; so&mdash;<i>how</i> could I
+understand?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know! I know!&mdash;You make me doubly ashamed of
+myself. I have lived, metaphorically, in dust and ashes
+ever since we had that talk together. Miss Brooke, I
+must have seemed to you the most intolerable prig! Can
+you ever forgive me for what I said?"</p>
+
+<p>"But," said Lesley, looking straight into his face with
+her clear brown eyes, "if what you said was true?&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I had no right to say it."</p>
+
+<p>"That is true," Lesley answered, coldly; and she turned
+about as though she did not wish to pursue the subject.</p>
+
+<p>"But can you not forgive me for it? I was unjustifiably
+angry I confess; but since I confess it&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Kenyon, we ought to be going home. I see the
+woman is waiting to put the lights out."</p>
+
+<p>"We will go home if you like&mdash;certainly," said Maurice,
+in a tone of vexed disappointment. "Take care of the
+step&mdash;yes, here is the door. I am afraid we cannot get a
+cab in this neighborhood; but as soon as we reach a
+more civilized locality, I will do my best to find one for
+you."</p>
+
+<p>By this time they were in the yard. Night had already
+fallen on the city, whether it had done so in the country
+or not. The lamps were lighted in the streets; a murky
+fog had settled like a pall upon the roads; and in the Sun<a name="Page_131"></a>day
+silence the church bells rang out with a mournful
+cadence which affected Lesley's spirits.</p>
+
+<p>"London is a terrible place," she said, with a little shiver.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you say that," he asked, looking at her curiously,
+"after seeing the good work that is being done here? If it
+is a terrible place, it is also a very noble and inspiring one."</p>
+
+<p>"I know I am ignorant," said Lesley, heavily. "It
+seems terrible to me."</p>
+
+<p>They were silent for a minute or two, for they were passing
+out of the yard belonging to the "model dwellings,"
+as Macclesfield Buildings were called, into the squalid
+street beyond; and in avoiding the group of loafers smoking
+the pipe of idleness, and enjoying the comfortable
+repose of sloth, Lesley and Mr. Kenyon were so far separated
+that conversation became impossible.</p>
+
+<p>"You had better take my arm," said Maurice, shortly,
+almost sternly. "You must, indeed: the place is not fit
+for you. I ought to have gone out and got a cab."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed, I do not need it. I can walk quite well.
+What other people do, I suppose I can do as well."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Brooke, you have not forgiven me."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"What can I say? I have no justification. I simply
+let my tongue and my temper run away with me. I am
+cursed with a hot temper: I do not think before I speak;
+but I never intended to hurt you, Miss Brooke, I am sure
+of that."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Lesley, very quietly, "I understand you.
+If you had not thought me so stupid as not to see your
+meaning, or so callous as not to care if I did, you would
+not have spoken in that way. I don't know that your excuse
+makes matters much better, Mr. Kenyon. But I am
+not offended: you need not concern yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you ought to be offended," said Kenyon, doggedly.
+"And I don't believe you."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't believe me."</p>
+
+<p>"No, indeed I don't."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley's offence was so great now, whatever it had been
+before, that it deprived her of the power of speech. Her
+stately head went up: her mouth set itself in straight, hard
+lines. Maurice saw these tokens, and interpreted them
+aright.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be angry with me again. I mean that you could
+not fail to despise me, to look down on me, for my want<a name="Page_132"></a>
+of tact and sense. I thought that you did not understand
+your father&mdash;I was vexed at that, because I have such a
+respect, such an admiration for him&mdash;but I know now that
+I was mistaken. You ought to be angry with me, for I
+acknowledge that I spoke impertinently; but having been
+angry, you can now be merciful and forgive. I apologize
+from the bottom of my heart."</p>
+
+<p>"How do you know that I understand my father? Why
+have you changed your opinion?" said Lesley, coldly.
+"You have nothing to go upon&mdash;just as in the other case
+you had nothing to go upon. You rushed to one conclusion,
+if you will excuse me for saying so, and now you rush
+to another&mdash;with no better reason."</p>
+
+<p>"You are very severe, Miss Brooke," said Maurice.
+"But you are perfectly right, and I must not complain.
+Only&mdash;if I may make a representation&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, certainly!"</p>
+
+<p>"&mdash;&mdash;I might point out that when I spoke to you first
+you had not read your father's book, you had not, I believe,
+even heard of it; that you knew nothing about the Macclesfield
+Club, and that when I spoke to you about his
+work amongst the poor you were very much inclined to
+murmur, 'Can any good come out of Nazareth?'"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Kenyon&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon, Miss Brooke, but isn't that substantially
+true? If you can honestly say that it is a misapprehension
+on my part, I won't say another word. But
+isn't it all true?"</p>
+
+<p>He turned his eager face and bright blue eyes towards
+her, and read in her pale, troubled face a little of the conflict
+that was going on between her candor and her pride.
+"Now, what will she say?" he thought, with what would
+have seemed to Lesley incomprehensible anxiety. "On
+her answer depends my opinion of her, now and for ever."</p>
+
+<p>And this appeared to Maurice quite an important matter,
+though possibly Lesley might not have thought it so.</p>
+
+<p>She turned to him at last with a frank, decisive gesture.</p>
+
+<p>"It <i>is</i> true," she said. "I knew nothing about his books
+or his works, and so how could I appreciate them? I had
+never heard of 'The Unexplored' before. You are right,
+and I had no business to be so angry. But how do you
+know that I am different now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I know you are," said Maurice, confidently. "You
+have come to the club for one thing, you see; and you<a name="Page_133"></a>
+sang to the people and looked at them&mdash;well, as if you
+cared. And you have read 'The Unexplored' <i>now</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I have," said Lesley, hesitatingly.</p>
+
+<p>"And you like it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;I like it." The girl looked away, and went on
+nervously, hesitatingly. "It is very well done," she said,
+"It is very clever."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, if that is all you can find to say about it!"</p>
+
+<p>"But isn't it a great deal?&mdash;Mr. Kenyon, I don't know
+what to say about it. You see I can't be sure whether it
+is all&mdash;true."</p>
+
+<p>"True? The story? But, of course&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course the <i>story</i> is not true. I am not such a goose
+as that. But is the meaning of it true? the moral, so to
+speak? Is there so much wickedness in the world as my
+father says? So much vice and wealth and selfishness on
+the one side: so much misery and poverty and crime on
+the other? You are a doctor, and you must have seen a
+great deal of London life: you ought to know. Is it an
+exaggeration, or is it true?"</p>
+
+<p>There was such intensity and such pathos in her tones
+that Kenyon was silent for a minute or two, startled by the
+vivid reality which she had attached to her father's views
+and ideas. He could not have answered her lightly, even
+if it had been in his nature to do so.</p>
+
+<p>"Before God," he said, solemnly, "it is all true&mdash;every
+word of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Then what can we do," said Lesley, gently, "but go
+down into the midst of it and help?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Maurice Kenyon, being a man of ardent temperament,
+always vows that he lost his heart to Lesley there
+and then. It is possible that if she had not been a very
+pretty girl, the most noble of sentiments might have fallen
+unheeded from her lips; but as she was "so young, so
+sweet, so delicately fair," Kenyon could not hear his own
+opinions reciprocated without an answering thrill. How
+delightful would it be to walk through life with a woman of
+this kind by one's side! a woman, whose face was a picture,
+whose every movement a poem, whose soul was as finely
+touched to fine issues as that of an angel or a saint! All
+these reflections rushed through his mind in an instant,
+and it was almost a wonder that he did not blurt some of
+them out at once. But Lesley went on speaking in a quiet,
+pensive way.<a name="Page_134"></a></p>
+
+<p>"I wonder whether I can do anything&mdash;while I am here.
+I shall not have so very long a time, but I might try."</p>
+
+<p>"Not so long a time, Miss Brooke? I thought you had
+come home for good."</p>
+
+<p>"Only for a year," said Lesley, coloring hotly. "Then
+I go back to mamma."</p>
+
+<p>Maurice said nothing at first. He felt the hand that
+rested on his arm tremble slightly, and he knew that he
+ought to make no more inquiries. But he could not refrain
+from adding, almost jealously&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You will be glad of that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes! You do not know my mother?" said Lesley,
+half shyly, half boldly.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I never saw her."</p>
+
+<p>"It is very hard to be so long away from her. She is so
+sweet and good."</p>
+
+<p>"But you have your father? You are learning to know
+<i>him</i> now."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, but I want them <i>both</i>," said Lesley, with an
+indescribably gentle and tender intonation. And as they
+reached Euston Road and were obliged to leave off talking
+while they threaded their way through the intricacies of
+vehicular traffic, Mr. Kenyon was revolving in his mind a
+new idea, namely, the possibility of a reconciliation between
+Brooke and his wife. He had never thought much about
+Lady Alice before: she seemed to him to have passed out
+of Caspar Brooke's life entirely; and if it were not for this
+link between the two&mdash;this sweet and noble-spirited and
+lovely girl&mdash;she would not have been likely to come back
+into it. But Lesley might perhaps reunite the two, and
+Maurice's heart began to burn within him with fear for his
+hero's happiness. Why should any Lady Alice trouble the
+peace of a worker for mankind like Caspar Brooke?</p>
+
+<p>They did not talk very much more on their way to Upper
+Woburn Place. They found Ethel and Oliver standing on
+the steps of Mr. Brooke's house, evidently waiting for the
+truants. It struck Lesley as she came up that Oliver
+Trent's brow was ominously dark, and that Ethel's pretty,
+saucy face wore an expression of something like anxiety or
+distress.</p>
+
+<p>"We are almost tired of waiting for you, good people,"
+she began merrily. "Fortunately it is fine and warm, or
+we should have gone and left you to your own devices, as
+Mr. Brooke and Rosalind have done."<a name="Page_135"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Where have they gone?" asked Maurice.</p>
+
+<p>"Walked off to her house. Miss Brooke is at home.
+Lesley, you <i>are</i> an imposition! Think of having a voice
+like that, and keeping it dark all this time."</p>
+
+<p>"We shall requisition Miss Brooke for the club very
+often, I know that," said Maurice.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll come in with us, Lesley?" Ethel asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No, thank you, Ethel. Not to-day. Thanks."</p>
+
+<p>She wondered a little nervously why Oliver was looking
+so vexed and&mdash;yes, so miserable, too! He seemed terribly
+out of spirits. Had he and Ethel quarrelled? The thought
+gave a look of tender inquiry to her eyes as she held out
+her hand to him. And on meeting that sweet glance,
+Oliver's face brightened. He had been feeling an unreasonable
+annoyance with her for walking home with Maurice
+Kenyon, and had even in his heart called her "a little
+French flirt." Though why it should matter to him that she
+was a flirt, did not exactly appear.</p>
+
+<p>They said good-bye to each other, and separated. Maurice
+went off to see a patient; Oliver accompanied Ethel
+to her own house; Lesley entered her own home.</p>
+
+<p>She was alone for an hour or two, and, to tell the truth,
+she felt rather dull. Miss Brooke went away to her circle
+of select souls, and her father, as she knew, had gone to
+Mrs. Romaine's. She took out her much-prized volume of
+"The Unexplored," and began to read it again; wishing
+that she could talk to her mother about it, and explain to
+her how really great and good a man her father was. For&mdash;she
+had got as far as this&mdash;she was sure that her mother
+did not understand him. It would have been impossible
+for him to do a mean, a cruel, a dishonorable action. There
+had been a misunderstanding somewhere; and Lesley
+wished, with her whole soul, that she could clear it up.</p>
+
+<p>The sound of the opening and closing of the front door
+did not arouse her from her dreams. She read on, holding
+the little paper-covered volume on her lap, deep in deepest
+thought, until the door of the drawing-room opened rather
+suddenly, and her father walked in.</p>
+
+<p>It was an unusual hour at which to see him in the
+drawing-room, and Lesley looked up in surprise. Then,
+half unconsciously, half timidly, she drew her filmy
+embroidered handkerchief over the book in her lap. She
+had a shy dislike to letting her father see what she was
+reading.<a name="Page_136"></a></p>
+
+<p>He did not seem, however, to take any notice of her
+occupation. He walked straight to an arm-chair on the
+opposite side of the hearth, sat down, stretching out his
+long legs, and placing his elbows on the arms of the chair.
+The unruly lock of hair, which no hairdresser could tame,
+had fallen right across his broad brow, and heightened the
+effect of a very undeniable frown. Mr. Caspar Brooke was
+in anything but an amiable temper.</p>
+
+<p>It was with a laudable attempt, however, to keep the
+displeasure out of his voice that he said at length&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I thought I understood you to say, Lesley, that you
+were not musical!"</p>
+
+<p>The color flushed Lesley's face to the very roots of her
+hair.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not think I am&mdash;very musical," she said, trying
+to answer bravely. "I play the piano very little."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you must know that that is a quibble," said
+Mr. Brooke, dryly. "A talent for music does not confine
+itself solely to the piano. I presume that you have been
+told that you have a good voice?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I have been told so."</p>
+
+<p>"And you have had lessons?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, a few."</p>
+
+<p>"Then may I ask what was your motive for declining to
+take lessons in London when I asked to do so? You even
+went so far as to make use of a subterfuge: you gave me
+to understand that you had no musical power at all, and
+that you knew nothing and could do nothing?"</p>
+
+<p>He paused as if he expected a reply; but Lesley did not
+say a word.</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot understand it," Mr. Brooke went on; "but,"&mdash;after
+a pause&mdash;"I suppose there is no reason why I
+should. I did not come to say anything much about that
+part of the business. I came rather to suggest that as you
+have a good voice, it is wrong not to cultivate it. And
+your lessons will give you something to do. It seems to
+me rather a pity, my dear, that you should do nothing but
+sit round and read novels&mdash;which, your aunt tells me, is
+your principal occupation. Suppose you try to find something
+more useful to do?"</p>
+
+<p>He spoke with a smile now and in a softer voice; but
+Lesley was much too hurt and depressed to say a word.
+He looked at her steadfastly for a minute or two, and
+decided that she was sullen.<a name="Page_137"></a></p>
+
+<p>"I will see about the lessons for you," he said, getting
+up and speaking decidedly, "and I hope you will make
+the most of your opportunities. How much time have you
+been in the habit of devoting to your singing every day?"</p>
+
+<p>"An hour and a half," said Lesley, in a very low
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>"And you left off practising as soon as you came here?
+That was a great pity; and you must allow me to say, Lesley,
+very silly into the bargain. Surely your own conscience
+tells you that it was wrong? A voice like yours is
+not meant to be hidden."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley wished that at that moment she could find any
+voice at all. She sat like a statue, conscious only of an
+effort to repress her tears. And Mr. Brooke, having said
+all that he wanted to say, took up a book, and thought how
+difficult it was to manage women who met remonstrances
+in silence.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley got up in a few moments and walked quietly out
+of the room. But she forgot her book. It fell noiselessly
+on the soft fur rug, and lay there, with leaves flattened and
+back bent outwards. Caspar Brooke was one of the people
+who cannot bear to see a book treated with anything less
+than reverence. He picked it up, straightened the leaves,
+and looked casually at the title. It was "The Unexplored."</p>
+
+<p>He held it for a minute, gazing before him with wide
+eyes as if he were troubled or perplexed. Then he shook
+his head, sighed, smiled, and put it down upon the nearest
+table. "Poor little girl!" he said. "I wonder if I frightened
+her at all!"<a name="Page_138"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">AT MRS. ROMAINE'S.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">The</span> reason why Caspar Brooke spoke somewhat sharply
+to Lesley was not far to seek. He had been to Mrs. Romaine's
+house to tea. The sequence of cause and effect
+can easily be conjectured.</p>
+
+<p>"How charmingly your daughter sang!" Mrs. Romaine
+began, when she had got Mr. Brooke into his favorite corner,
+and given him a cup of her best China tea.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, she sang very well," said Brooke, carelessly.</p>
+
+<p>"I had no idea that she <i>could</i> sing! Why, by the bye&mdash;did
+you not tell me that she said she was not musical?&mdash;declined
+singing lessons, and so on?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I think I said so. Yes, she did."</p>
+
+<p>"She must be very modest!" said Mrs. Romaine, lifting
+her eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know&mdash;I fancy she did not want to be indebted
+to me for more than she could help."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine looked pained, and kept for a few moments
+a pained silence.</p>
+
+<p>"My poor friend!" she said at last. "This is very sad!
+Could she"&mdash;and Brooke knew that the pronoun referred
+to Lady Alice, not to Lesley&mdash;"could she not be content
+with abandoning you, without poisoning your daughter's
+mind against you?"</p>
+
+<p>Caspar said nothing. He leaned forward, tea-cup in
+hand, and studied the carpet. It was, perhaps, hard for
+him to find a suitable reply.</p>
+
+<p>"It is too much," Rosalind continued, with increasing
+energy. "You have taken not a daughter, but an enemy
+into your house. She sits and criticizes all you do&mdash;sends
+accounts to her mother, doubtless, of all your comings and
+goings. She looks upon you as a tyrant, and a disreputable
+person, <a name="tn_143"></a><!-- TN: Comma changed to period after "too"-->too. She has been taught to hate you, and
+she carries out the teaching&mdash;oh, I can see it in every line
+of her face, every inflection of her voice: she has been<a name="Page_139"></a>
+taught to loathe you, my poor, misjudged friend, and she
+does not disguise her loathing!"</p>
+
+<p>It is not quite pleasant for a man to hear that his daughter
+hates him, and makes no secret of the hatred. Caspar
+immediately concluded that Lesley had made some outspoken
+remarks upon the subject to Mrs. Romaine.
+Secretly he felt hurt and angry: outwardly he smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"What would you have?" he said, lightly but bitterly.
+"Lady Alice has no doubt indoctrinated her daughter, as
+you say; all that I can expect from Lesley is civility. And
+I generally get that."</p>
+
+<p>"Civility? Between father and daughter? When she
+ought to be proud of such a father&mdash;proud of all that you
+are, and all that you have done! She should be adoring
+you, slaving for you, ready to sacrifice herself at your
+smallest word&mdash;and see what she is! A machine, silent,
+useless, unwilling&mdash;from whom all that you can claim is&mdash;civility!
+Oh, women are capable sometimes of taking a
+terrible revenge!"</p>
+
+<p>She threw her hands out with a gesture of despair and
+deprecation, which was really fine in its way; then she
+rose from her chair, went to the mantelpiece, and stood
+with her face bent upon her clasped hands. Caspar rose
+too, and stood on the hearthrug beside her, looking down
+at the pretty ruffled head, with something very like affection
+in his eye.</p>
+
+<p>He did not quite understand this emotion of hers, but
+its sincerity touched as well as puzzled him. For she was
+sincere as far as he was concerned, and this sincerity gave
+her a certain amount of power, such as sincerity always
+gives. The ring of true feeling in her voice could not be
+counterfeited, and Caspar was flattered by it, as any man
+would have been flattered at having excited so much sympathy
+in the heart of a talented and beautiful woman.</p>
+
+<p>He knew that Alice had been jealous of Rosalind Romaine,
+but, he thought, quite unreasonably so. Poor Rosalind, tied
+to a dry old stick of a husband, to whom she did her duty
+most thoroughly, was naturally glad to talk now and then
+to a man who knew something of Art and Life. That was
+simple enough, and he had been glad of her interest and
+sympathy, especially as these were denied to him by his
+wife. There was nothing for Lady Alice to be jealous
+about. And he had dismissed the matter impatiently from<a name="Page_140"></a>
+his thoughts. Alice had left him because she hated his
+opinions, his manner of life, his profession&mdash;not because
+she was jealous of Rosalind Romaine. But Rosalind knew
+better.</p>
+
+<p>The woman's sympathy affected him so far, however,
+that, after standing silent for a minute or two, he laid his
+hand softly upon her arm. It was a foolish thing to do,
+but then Caspar Brooke was never a particularly wise man,
+in spite of his goodness of heart and fertility of brain. And
+Rosalind felt, by the thrill that ran through her at his touch,
+that she had gained more from him than she had ever
+gained before. What would he say next?</p>
+
+<p>Well, he did not say very much. "Your sympathy,
+Rosalind," he said, "is very pleasant&mdash;very dear to me.
+But you must not give me too much of it. Sympathy is
+enervating, as other men have found before me!"</p>
+
+<p>"May I not offer you mine?" she said, plaintively. "It
+is so hard to be silent! If only I could make Lesley understand
+what you are&mdash;how noble&mdash;how good&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Caspar laughed, and took away his hand.
+"Don't talk to her about me; it would do no good," he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>He stood in the firelight, looking so massive, so stern, so
+resolved, that Mrs. Romaine lost herself for a moment in
+admiration of his great frame and leonine head. And as
+she paused he spoke again.</p>
+
+<p>"I have not lately observed much hostility to myself in
+Lesley's demeanor," he said. "At first, of course&mdash;but
+lately&mdash;well, I have been more struck by a sort of languor,
+a want of interest and comprehension, than anything else.
+No doubt she feels that she is in a new world&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah yes, a world of intellect and activity to which she
+has not been accustomed," said Mrs. Romaine, briskly.
+Since Caspar had removed his hand she had been standing
+erect, watchfully observant of him. It was by his moods
+that she intended to regulate her own. "I suppose she
+has been accustomed to nothing but softness and self-indulgence;
+and she does not understand this larger life to
+which she now has access."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor child!" said Mr. Brooke.</p>
+
+<p>But this was not at all the remark that Mrs. Romaine
+wanted him to make. She tried to beat back the tide of
+paternal affection that was evidently setting in.<a name="Page_141"></a></p>
+
+<p>"She wants rousing I am afraid. She ought not to be
+allowed to sink into a dreamy, listless state. It must be
+very trying for you to see it; you must be pained by the
+selfishness and waywardness from which it proceeds&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think it does?" said Mr. Brooke, almost wistfully.
+"I should be sorry to think Lesley selfish. Sophy
+says that she is more ignorant than selfish."</p>
+
+<p>"But what is ignorance save a form of selfishness?"
+cried Rosalind, indignantly. "She might know if she
+chose! She does know the common duties of humanity,
+the duty of every man or woman to labor for others, to gain
+knowledge, to make broad the borders of light! Oh, I
+cannot bear to hear ignorance alleged as an excuse for
+self-love! It is impossible that any one with Lesley's
+faculties should not see her duty, even if she is idle and
+indifferent enough to let it pass when she does see it."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Brooke sat down, regardless of the fact that Mrs.
+Romaine was standing, and looked at the carpet again with
+a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>"You may be right," he said, in a pained tone; "but if
+so, what am I to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"You must speak to her," said Rosalind, energetically.
+"You must tell her not to be idle and obstinate and wayward:
+you must show her her duty, so that she may have
+no excuse for neglecting it."</p>
+
+<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"That's not a man's duty, it seems to me. Woman to
+woman, man to man. I wish you would do it, Rosalind!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no; I have not a <i>mother's</i> right," said she, softly.</p>
+
+<p>But the remark had an effect which she had not anticipated.</p>
+
+<p>"That is true. It is a mother who should tell a girl her
+duty. Poor Lesley's mother has not done all that she
+might do in that respect. Our unhappy quarrel has caused
+her to represent me to the girl in very dark colors, I believe.
+But I have lately been wondering whether that might not
+be amended. Did you hear that man's taunt this afternoon&mdash;about
+the wife that had left me? I can't endure
+that sort of thing. Think of the harm it does. And then
+the child must needs go and sing 'Home, Sweet Home.'
+To me, whose home was broken up by <i>her</i> mother. I had
+the greatest possible difficulty in sitting through that song,
+Rosalind. And I said to myself that I was a great fool to
+put up with this state of things."<a name="Page_142"></a></p>
+
+<p>His sentences were unusually short, his tones abrupt;
+both covered an amount of agitation which Mrs. Romaine
+had not expected to see. She sat down and remained
+silent and motionless: she even held her breath, not well
+knowing what to expect. Presently he resumed, in a lower
+tone&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I know that if I alter existing arrangements I shall
+give myself some pain and discomfort, and inflict more,
+perhaps, upon others; but I think this is inevitable. I am
+determined, if possible, to end my solitary life, and the
+solitary life also of a woman who is&mdash;I may say it now&mdash;dear
+to me." He spoke with deliberate gravity. Mrs.
+Romaine's pulses beat faster: the hot color began to steal
+into her cheeks. "I never wished to inflict pain upon her.
+I have always regretted the years of separation and loneliness
+that we have both spent. So I have resolved&mdash;perhaps
+that is too strong a word&mdash;I am thinking of asking
+her to share my home with me again."</p>
+
+<p>"Again?" The word escaped Rosalind's lips before she
+knew that she had spoken.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, once again," said Caspar, quite unconscious of
+her emotion. "We did not get on very well when we lived
+together, but we are older now, and I think that if we made
+a fresh start it <i>might</i> be possible&mdash;I wonder if Alice would
+consent?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment's pause. Then&mdash;"You think of
+asking Lady Alice to come back to you?" said Mrs. Romaine,
+in a hard, measured voice, which made Caspar
+look at her with some transient feeling of surprise. But
+he put down the change of tone to her astonishment at his
+proposition, and went on unmoved.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought of it&mdash;yes. It would be much better for
+Lesley."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you so devoted to Lesley that you want to sacrifice
+your whole life for her?" asked Rosalind, in the same hard,
+strained voice.</p>
+
+<p>"My whole life? Well, no&mdash;but you exaggerate, Rosalind.
+I do not sacrifice my whole life by having my wife
+and daughter in my house."</p>
+
+<p>"That is plausibly said. But one has to consider what
+sort of wife and daughter yours are, and what part of your
+life will have to be devoted to them."<a name="Page_143"></a></p>
+
+<p>Brooke sat and stroked his beard. He began to wish
+that he had not mentioned his project to Mrs. Romaine.
+But he could not easily tell her to hold her tongue.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not going to presume," said Rosalind, "to say
+anything unkind&mdash;anything harsh of your wife: I know
+I have not the right, and I know that you would&mdash;very
+properly&mdash;resent it. So don't be afraid. But I only want
+to remind you that Lady Alice is not even where she was
+when, as an over-sensitive, easily-offended girl, she fled from
+you. She has had twelve years of life under conditions
+differing most entirely from yours. She has lived in the
+fashionable world&mdash;a world which of all others you dislike.
+What sympathy can there be between you? She may be
+perfect in her own line, but it is not your line: you are
+different; and you will never be happy together."</p>
+
+<p>"That is a hard thing to say, Rosalind."</p>
+
+<p>"It will be a harder thing for you if you try it. Believe
+me, Caspar"&mdash;her voice trembled as she used his Christian
+name, which she very seldom did&mdash;"believe me that if it
+would be for your happiness I would welcome the change!
+But when I remember the discord, the incompatibility, the
+want of sympathy, which used to grieve me in those old
+days, I cannot think&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She stopped short, and put her handkerchief to her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Lady Alice could not understand you&mdash;could not
+appreciate you," she said. "And it was hard&mdash;hard for
+your friends to look on and say&mdash;<i>nothing</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>Brooke rose abruptly from his chair. "No one ever
+had a truer friend than I have in you," he said, huskily.
+"But it seems to me that Alice may have changed with the
+lapse of years; she may have become easier to satisfy,
+better able to sympathize&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Does she show that spirit in the way she has spoken
+of you to your daughter? What do you gather from Lesley
+as to her state of mind?" said Mrs. Romaine, keenly.</p>
+
+<p>He paused. She knew very well that the question was
+a hard one for him to answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," he said, with a heavy sigh, "you know as well as
+I do."</p>
+
+<p>Then he turned aside, and for an instant or two there
+was a silence.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose it would not be wise," he continued, at last.
+"But I wish that it could have been done. It would be<a name="Page_144"></a>
+better in many ways. A man and wife ought to live
+together. A girl ought to live with her parents. We are
+all in false positions. And, perhaps, if any one is to be
+sacrificed, it ought to be myself," he said, with a curious
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>"You forget," said Mrs. Romaine with emotion, "that
+you sacrifice others in sacrificing yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"Others? No, I don't think so. You allude to my
+sister?"</p>
+
+<p>"No&mdash;not your sister."</p>
+
+<p>"Sophy could go on living with us and managing the
+household affairs," said Brooke, who had no conception
+of what poor Mrs. Romaine meant; "and she is not a
+person who would willingly interfere with other people's
+views or opinions. Indeed, she carries the <i>laisser-faire</i>
+principle almost to an extreme. Sophy is no proselytizer,
+thank God!"</p>
+
+<p>"I did not mean Sophy: I meant your friends&mdash;old
+friends like myself," said Rosalind, desperately. "You
+will cast us all off&mdash;you will forget us&mdash;forget&mdash;<i>me</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>There was unusual passion in her voice. Then she hid
+her face in her hands and burst into tears. Brooke made
+two steps towards her, and stopped short.</p>
+
+<p>"Rosalind!" he exclaimed. "You cannot think that!
+you cannot think that I shall ever forget old friends!"</p>
+
+<p>Then he halted, and stood looking down at her, and
+biting his beard, which he was crushing up to his lips with
+one hand, after his fashion when he was embarrassed or
+perplexed. Some glimmer of the truth had begun to manifest
+itself to him. A hot, red flush crossed his brow.</p>
+
+<p>"Rosalind," he said, in a softer but also a colder tone,
+"you must not take this matter so much to heart. Rest
+assured that I&mdash;and my wife, if she comes back, and my
+daughter also&mdash;will always look upon you as a very dear
+and valued friend."</p>
+
+<p>"I am so alone in the world," she said, wiping away her
+tears and slightly lifting her head. "I cannot bear to think
+that the day will come when I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She paused&mdash;perhaps purposely. But Caspar was resolved
+to treat the subject more lightly now.</p>
+
+<p>"When you are without friends? Oh, that will never
+be. You are too kind and sympathetic to be without as
+many friends as you choose to have."</p>
+
+<p>"And you&mdash;yourself&mdash;&mdash;"<a name="Page_145"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I am of a very constant disposition," he said,
+cheerfully. "I suppose it is for that reason that I want
+Alice back. You know that in spite of all our disagreements,
+I have always held to it that I never saw a woman
+half as charming, half as attractive, as Alice."</p>
+
+<p>This was a speech not calculated to soothe Mrs. Romaine's
+wounded feelings, or to implant in her a liking for
+Lady Alice. For Mrs. Romaine was not very generous,
+and she was irritated by the thought that she had betrayed
+her own secret. She rose to her feet at once, with a quick
+and rather haughty gesture.</p>
+
+<p>"You are indeed a model of constancy," she said.
+"Some men would resent insults, even if offered to them
+by wives. You are capable, it seems, of much forgetfulness
+and much forgiveness."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think that a fault?" asked Brooke, calmly.
+Her mood changed at once. She burst into a shrill
+little laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, not at all. Most convenient&mdash;for the wife. There
+is one danger&mdash;you may incur the censure of more worldly
+men; but then you are too high-minded to care for that!"</p>
+
+<p>Caspar shrugged his broad shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I can take care of myself," he said, good-humoredly.
+"And now I must go. Pray don't distress
+yourself on my account. I will not do anything rash."</p>
+
+<p>They stood facing each other, she with her eyes down, he
+looking straight into her face. Some instinct told her not
+to break the spell by looking up. There was a conflict
+going on in Caspar Brooke's mind&mdash;a conflict between pity
+(not love) and duty. He was a tender-hearted man, and
+it would have been very easy to him just then to have given
+her some friendly, comforting words, or <a name="tn_150"></a><!--TN: Quote removed after "even&mdash;&mdash;"-->even&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Yes, he acknowledged to himself, he would have liked
+to kiss those soft lips of hers, those downcast eyelids,
+slightly reddened by recent tears! And he did not think
+that she would resent the caress.</p>
+
+<p>But how could he ask his wife to return to him if he did
+this thing? As he had indicated by his words, he still
+loved Lady Alice. He had the courage to be faithful to
+her, too. For Caspar Brooke was a man of strong convictions,
+steadfast will, and stainless honor. However great
+the temptation might be, he was not going to do a thing
+that he knew he should afterwards regret.<a name="Page_146"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Mrs. Romaine."</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Mr. Brooke."</p>
+
+<p>So they took leave of each other; and Rosalind went to
+bed with a bad headache, while Caspar Brooke returned
+home to find fault with his daughter Lesley.<a name="Page_147"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">THE WIFE OF FRANCIS TRENT.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Far</span> away from the eminently respectable quarter of London,
+adorned by the habitation of families like the
+Brookes, the Kenyons, and the Romaines, you may find
+an unsavory district in Whitechapel which is known as
+Truefit Row. It is a street of tall and mean-looking
+houses, which seem to be toppling to their fall; and the
+pavement is strewn with garbage which is seldom cleared
+away. Many of the windows of the houses are broken;
+many of the doors hang ajar, for the floors are let out in
+flats, and there is a common stair for at least five and
+twenty families. It is a dreary-looking place, and the
+dwellers therein look as dreary as their own abode.</p>
+
+<p>In one of these houses Mr. Francis Trent had found a
+resting-place for the sole of his foot. It was not a fashionable
+lodging, not even a particularly clean one; but he
+had come down in the world, and did not very much care
+where he lived, so long as he had plenty to drink, and a
+little money in his pockets. But these commodities were
+not as plentiful as he wanted them to be. Therefore he
+passed a good deal of his time in a state of chronic brooding
+and discontent.</p>
+
+<p>He had one room on the third storey. The woodwork
+of this apartment was so engrained with grime that scarcely
+any amount of washing would have made it look clean;
+but it had certainly been washed within a comparatively
+recent date. The wall paper, which had peeled off in certain
+places, had also been repaired by a careful hand; and
+the curtains which shaded the unbroken window were
+almost spotlessly clean. By several other indications it
+was quite plain that a woman's hand had lately been busy
+in the room; and compared with many other rooms in the
+same building, it was quite a palace of cleanliness and
+comfort.</p>
+
+<p>But Francis Trent did not think so. He sat over his
+small and smouldering fire one dark November afternoon,<a name="Page_148"></a>
+and shivered, partly from cold and partly from disgust.
+He had no coals left, and no money wherewith to buy
+them: a few sticks and some coke and cinders were the
+materials out of which he was trying to make a fire, and
+naturally the result was not very inspiriting. The kettle,
+which was standing on the dull embers, showed not the
+slightest inclination to "sing." Francis Trent, outstretched
+on a basket-chair (the only comfortable article of furniture
+that the room contained), gave the fire an occasional stir
+with his foot, and bestowed upon it a deal of invective.</p>
+
+<p>"It will be out directly," he said at last, sitting up and
+looking dismally about him; "and it's nearly five o'clock.
+She said she would be here at four. Ugh! how cold it is!
+If she doesn't come in five minutes I shall go to the Spotted
+Dog. There's always a fire there, thank goodness, and
+they'll stand me a glass of <a name="tn_153"></a><!-- TN: "sonething" changed to "something"-->something hot, I daresay."</p>
+
+<p>He rose and walked about the room by way of relieving
+the monotony of existence, and causing his blood to circulate
+a little faster. But this mode of activity did not
+long please him, and he threw himself back in his chair at
+last, and uttered an exclamation of disgust.</p>
+
+<p>"Confound it! I shall go out," he said to himself.</p>
+
+<p>But just at that moment a hand fumbled at the latch.
+He called out "Come in," an unnecessary call, because the
+door was half open before he spoke, and a woman entered
+the room, shutting the door behind her.</p>
+
+<p>She was slight, trim, not very tall: she had a pale face
+and dark eyes, dark, glossy hair, and delicate features. If
+Lesley had been there, she would have recognized in this
+woman the ladies' maid who called herself Mary Kingston.
+But in this part of the world she was known as Mrs.
+Trent.</p>
+
+<p>Francis did not give her a warm welcome, and yet his
+weak, worn face lighted up a little at the sight of her. "I
+thought you were never coming," he said, grumblingly, and
+his eyes fell greedily to the basket that she carried on her
+arm. "What have you <a name="tn_153a"></a><!-- TN: "got" changed to "get"-->got there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just a few little things for your tea," said Mary, depositing
+the basket on the table. "And, oh&mdash;what a wretched
+fire! Have you no coals?"</p>
+
+<p>"Neither coals nor food nor drink," he answered, sullenly,
+"nor money in my pocket either."</p>
+
+<p>The woman stood and looked at him. "You had two
+pounds the day before yesterday," she said.<a name="Page_149"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Billiards," he answered, laconically. But he turned
+away so as not to see her face.</p>
+
+<p>She gave a short, sharp exclamation. "You promised
+to be careful!"</p>
+
+<p>"The luck was against me," he said. "I thought I
+should win, but my hand's taken to shaking so much that
+I couldn't play. I don't see why you should blame me&mdash;I've
+precious few amusements."</p>
+
+<p>She did not answer, but began to take the parcels, one
+by one, from her basket, and place them on the table. Her
+own hands shook a little as she did so. Francis turned
+again to watch her operations. She took out some tea,
+bread, butter, eggs, and bacon. There was a bottle of
+brandy and a bundle of cigars. Francis Trent's eyes glistened
+at the sight. He stole closer to his wife, and put
+his arm around her.</p>
+
+<p>"You're a good soul, Mary. You'll forgive me, won't
+you? Upon my honor, I never meant to lose the money."</p>
+
+<p>"I have to work hard enough for it," she said dryly.</p>
+
+<p>"I know you have! It's a shame&mdash;a d&mdash;&mdash;d shame!
+If I had my way, you should be dressed in satin, and sit
+all day with your hands before you, and ride in your own
+carriage&mdash;you know you should!"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that I should particularly care about that
+kind of life," said Mary, still coldly, but with a perceptible
+softening of her eye and relaxation of the stiff upper lip.
+"I would rather live on a farm in the country, and do farm-work.
+It's healthier, yes, and it's happier&mdash;to my thinking."</p>
+
+<p>"So it is; and that's the life we'll lead by and by, when
+Oliver pays us what he has promised," said Francis, eagerly.
+"We will have some land of our own, and get far away
+from the temptation of the city. Then you will see what
+a different fellow I'll be, Mary. You shan't have reason
+to complain of me then."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I hope so, Francis," she said, but not too hopefully.
+Perhaps she noticed that his hand and eye both
+strayed, as if involuntarily, towards the bottle of spirits on
+the table. And at that moment, the last flicker of light
+from the fire went out.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you no candles?" she asked, abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>"Not one."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go out and fetch them, and some coal too. Sit
+down quietly, and wait. I won't be long. And as I<a name="Page_150"></a>
+haven't a corkscrew, I'll take the bottle with me, and get
+it opened downstairs."</p>
+
+<p>Francis dared not object, but his wife's course of action
+made him sulky. He did not see why she should not have
+left him the bottle during her absence: he could have
+broken its neck on the fender. But he knew very well
+that she could not trust him to drink only in moderation
+if he were left alone with the bottle; and, like a wise
+woman, she therefore took it with her.</p>
+
+<p>She was back again in a few minutes, bringing with her
+fuel and lights. Francis was lying in his bed, his face
+turned sullenly to the wall. Mary poured a little brandy
+into a glass, and brought it to him to drink.</p>
+
+<p>"You will feel better when you have had that," she said,
+"and you shall have some more in your tea if you want it.
+Now, I'm going to light up the fire."</p>
+
+<p>So well did she perform her task that in a very short
+time the flames were leaping up the chimney, the shadows
+dancing cheerfully over the ceiling, the kettle hissing and
+puffing on the fire. The sight and sound drew Francis
+once more from his bed to the basket chair, where he sat
+and lazily watched his wife as she cut bread, made tea,
+fried bacon and eggs, with the ease and celerity of a
+woman to whom domestic offices are familiar. When at
+last the tea-table was arranged, he drew up his chair to it
+with a sigh of positive pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>"How homelike and comfortable it looks: Why don't
+you always stay with me, Mary, and keep me straight?"</p>
+
+<p>"You want so much keeping straight, Francis," she said,
+but a slight smile flickered about the comers of her lips.</p>
+
+<p>It was characteristic of the pair that he allowed her to
+wait on him, hand and foot: he let her cut the bread, pour
+out the tea, carry his plate backwards and forwards, and
+pour the brandy into his cup, without a word of remonstrance.
+Only when he had been well supplied and was not
+likely to want anything more just then, did he say to
+her&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down, Mary, and get yourself a cup of tea."</p>
+
+<p>Mary did not seem to resent the condescending nature
+of this invitation. She thanked him simply, and sat down;
+pouring out for herself the dregs of the tea, and eating a
+piece of dry bread with it. Francis had the grace to remonstrate
+with her on the poverty of her fare.<a name="Page_151"></a></p>
+
+<p>"It doesn't matter what I eat now," she said. "I have
+the best of everything where I'm living, and I don't feel
+hungry."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you're comfortable where you are," said Mr.
+Trent, politely.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I'm very comfortable, thank you, Francis.
+Though," said Mrs. Trent, deliberately, "I think I should
+be more comfortable if I wasn't in a house where Mr.
+Oliver visited."</p>
+
+<p>"Oliver! Do you mean my brother Oliver? Why do
+you call him <i>Mr.</i> Oliver? It is so absurd to keep up these
+class-distinctions."</p>
+
+<p>"So I think," said Mary, "but when other people keep
+them up it's not much use for me to be the first to cast
+them over board. Your brother Oliver comes to the house
+where I'm living much oftener than I think he ought."</p>
+
+<p>"What house is it? You never told me."</p>
+
+<p>"It's Mr. Brooke's. Mr. Caspar Brooke&mdash;him as wrote
+'The Unexplored.' I brought it to you to read, I remember&mdash;a
+good long time ago."</p>
+
+<p>"Awful rot it was too!" said Francis, contemptuously.
+"However, I suppose it paid. What are you doing there?
+Wasn't it his wife who ran away from him? I remember
+the row some years ago&mdash;before I went under. Is she
+dead?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, she's living with her father, Lord Courtleroy. It's
+her daughter I've come to wait on: Miss Lesley Brooke."</p>
+
+<p>"Brooke's daughter!" said Francis, thoughtfully. "I
+remember Brooke. Not half a bad fellow. Lent me ten
+pounds once, and never asked for it again. So it's <i>Brooke's</i>
+daughter you&mdash; hm&mdash;live with. Sort of companion, you
+are, eh, Mary?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maid," said Mary, stolidly. "Ladies' maid. And
+Miss Lesley's the sweetest young lady I ever come
+across."</p>
+
+<p>Francis shrugged his shoulders. "Your employment is
+causing you to relapse into the manner&mdash;and grammar&mdash;of
+your original station, Mary. May I suggest 'came' instead
+of 'come'?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Trent looked at him with a still disdain.
+"Suggest what you like," she said, "and think what you
+like of me. I never took myself to be your equal in education
+and all that. I may be your equal in sense and<a name="Page_152"></a>
+heart and morals; but of course that goes for nothing with
+such as you."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be savage, Mary," said Francis, in a conciliatory
+tone. "I only want you to improve yourself a little, when
+you can. You're the best woman in the world&mdash;nobody
+knows it better than I do&mdash;and you should not take offense
+at a trifle. So you like Brooke's daughter, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I like her. But I don't like your brother Oliver."</p>
+
+<p>"I know that. What is he doing at Brooke's house?
+Let me see&mdash;he isn't engaged to <i>that</i> girl? It's the actress
+he's going to marry, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>He had finished his meal by this time, and was smoking
+one of the cigars that his wife had brought him. She,
+meanwhile, turned up her sleeves, and made ready to wash
+the cups and plates.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me all about it," said Francis, who was now in
+high good humor. "It sounds quite like the beginning of
+a romance."</p>
+
+<p>"There's no romance about it that I can see," said Mrs.
+Trent, grimly. "Your brother is engaged to Miss Kenyon&mdash;a
+nice, pretty young lady: rich, too, I hear."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, indeed! As you and I are going to find out by
+and by, old lady," and he chuckled to himself at the
+thought of his prospective wealth.</p>
+
+<p>"And he ought to be content with that. Instead of
+which, he's never out of our place; and when he's there
+he never seems to take his eyes off Miss Lesley. Playing
+the piano while she sings, reading to her, whispering, sitting
+into her pocket, so to speak. I can't think what he's
+about, nor other people neither."</p>
+
+<p>"What does Miss Kenyon say?" asked Francis, with
+sudden sharpness. For it occurred to him that if that
+match were broken off he would not get his two thousand
+pounds on Oliver's wedding-day.</p>
+
+<p>"She doesn't seem to notice much. Once or twice lately
+I've seen her look at them in a thoughtful, puzzled kind of
+way, as if something had set her thinking. She looks at
+Miss Lesley as if she could not quite make her out&mdash;though
+the two have been friends ever since Miss Lesley came
+home from school."</p>
+
+<p>"And the girl herself?" said Francis, with considerable
+and increasing interest. "What does she do?"<a name="Page_153"></a></p>
+
+<p>"She looks troubled and puzzled, but I don't think she
+understands. She's as innocent as a baby," said Mrs.
+Trent, with compassion in her tone.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder what he's doing it for," soliloquized Francis.
+"He can't marry her."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Trent paused for a moment in her housewifely
+occupations. "Why <i>can</i> he not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because&mdash;&mdash;well, I may as well tell you as not I've
+never mentioned it&mdash;I don't know why exactly&mdash;but I'll
+tell you now, Mary. A few weeks ago, when we were so
+down on our luck, you know&mdash;just before you began to
+work again&mdash;I met Oliver in Russell Square, and told him
+what I wanted and what I thought of him. I brought him
+to terms, I can tell you! He had just got himself engaged
+to Miss Kenyon; and she has twenty thousand
+pounds besides her profession; and he promised me two
+thousand down on his wedding-day. What do you say to
+that? And within six months, too! And if he doesn't
+keep his word, I shall not hold my tongue about the one
+or two little secrets of his that I possess&mdash;do you see?"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps," said Mrs. Trent, slowly, "he thinks he could
+manage to pay you the money even if he married Miss
+Brooke? So long as you get the two thousand, I suppose
+you don't mind which girl it is?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not a bit," answered her husband frankly. "All I
+want is the money. Then we'll go off to America, old girl,
+and have the farm you talk about. But Brooke's daughter
+won't have two thousand pounds, so if he marries her
+instead of Miss Kenyon, he'll have to look out."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Trent had finished her work by this time. As she
+stood by the table drying her hands there was a look of
+fixed determination on her features which Francis recognized
+with some uneasiness.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you think about it? What are you going to
+do?" he asked, almost timidly.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not going to see Miss Lesley badly treated, at any
+rate."</p>
+
+<p>"How can you prevent it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, but I <i>shall</i> prevent it, please God, if
+necessary. Your brother Oliver is engaged to one girl, and
+making love to another, that's the plain English of it; and
+sooner than see him break Miss Lesley's heart, I'd up and
+tell everybody what I know of him, and get him turned
+out of the house."<a name="Page_154"></a></p>
+
+<p>"And spoil my game?" cried Francis, rising to his feet.
+His faced had turned white with anger, and his eyes were
+aflame. She looked at him consideringly, as if she were
+measuring his strength against her own.</p>
+
+<p>"Well&mdash;no," she said at length, "I won't spoil your
+game if I can help it&mdash;and I think I can get my own way
+without doing that. I want you to win your game, Francis.
+For you know"&mdash;with a weary smile&mdash;"that if you
+win, I win too."</p>
+
+<p><a name="tn_159"></a><!--TN: Quote removed before "Her"-->Her husband's face relaxed. "You're not a bad sort,
+Polly: I always said so," he remarked. "Come and give
+me a kiss. You wouldn't do anything rash, would you?
+Choke Oliver off at Brooke's as much as you like; but
+don't endanger his relations with Ethel Kenyon. His
+marriage with her is our only chance of getting out of this
+accursed bog we seem to have stuck fast in."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be careful," said Mrs. Trent, drily.</p>
+
+<p>Francis still eyed her with apprehension. "You won't
+try to stop that marriage, will you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, why should I? Miss Kenyon's nothing to me."</p>
+
+<p>Francis laughed. "I didn't know where your sympathies
+might be carrying you," he said. "Brooke's daughter
+is no more to you than the other girl."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose not. But I feel different to her. You can't
+explain these things," said Mrs. Trent, philosophically,
+"but it's certain sure that you take a liking to one person
+and a hate to another, without knowing why. I liked Miss
+Lesley ever since I entered that house. She's kind, and
+talks to me as if I was a woman&mdash;not a machine. And I
+wouldn't like to see any harm happen to her."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you may indulge your romantic fondness for Miss
+Brooke as long as you like, if you don't let it interfere with
+Oliver's marriage," said Francis, with a rather disagreeable
+laugh. "It's lucky that you did not go to live with Miss
+Kenyon instead of the fair Lesley. You might have felt
+tempted to tell <i>her</i> your little story."</p>
+
+<p>"Ay, so I might," said the woman, slowly. "For she's
+a woman, after all. And a nice life she'll have of it with
+Oliver Trent. I'm not sure&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She stopped, and a sombre light came into her deep-set
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't get on that old grievance,"
+said Francis, hastily, almost rudely. "Don't think<a name="Page_155"></a>
+about it&mdash;don't mention it to me. It's all very well, Polly,
+for you to take on so much about your sister; and, indeed,
+I'm very sorry for her, and I think that Oliver behaved
+abominably&mdash;I do, indeed; but, my dear girl, it's no good
+crying over spilt milk, and Oliver's my brother, after
+all&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And he's going to pay you two thousand pounds on
+his wedding-day," said Mrs. Trent, with cruel curtness. "I
+know all about it. And I understand. Why should I be
+above making my profit out of him like other people? All
+right, Francis: I won't spoil your little game at present.
+And now I must be getting back."</p>
+
+<p>She took up her bonnet and shawl and began to readjust
+them. Francis watched her hands: he saw that they trembled,
+and he knew that this was an ominous sign. It sometimes
+betokened anger, and when she was angry he did
+not care to ask her to give him money. And he wanted
+money now.</p>
+
+<p>But she was not angry in the way that he thought. For
+after a moment's silence her hands grew steady again, and
+her face recovered its usual calm.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got three pounds here for you, Francis," she said.
+"And I hope you'll make it last as long as you can&mdash;you
+will, won't you? For I shan't have any more for some
+little time to come."</p>
+
+<p>He nodded and took the sovereigns from her hand. A
+touch of compunction visited him as he did so.</p>
+
+<p>"Keep one, Polly," he said. "I don't want them all."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, you do. And I have no need of money where
+I am. You'll not spend it all at billiards, or on brandy,
+will you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Polly, I won't. I promise you."</p>
+
+<p>And he meant to keep his promise. But as matters fell
+out, he was blindly, madly drunk before the same night
+was out, and he had lost every penny that he possessed
+over a game at cards. And plunging recklessly across the
+street, in the darkness of the foggy night, he was knocked
+down by passing cab, and was carried insensible to the
+nearest hospital. Where let us leave him for a time in
+good and kindly hands.<a name="Page_156"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">"HER EYES WILL SEND ME MAD."</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">It</span> was true, as Mrs. Trent had said, that Lesley's face often
+now wore a look of perplexity and trouble. This look had
+many differing causes; but amongst them, not the least
+was the behavior of Oliver Trent.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver was betrothed to her friend, and she had so much
+faith in the honor and constancy of men, that it never
+occurred to her that he could prefer herself to Ethel, or
+that he should think of behaving as though Ethel were not
+the first person in the world to him. But as a matter of
+fact, he did not conduct himself to Ethel at all as a lover
+should have done. Assured of her love, he neglected her:
+he failed to appear at the Theatre in time to escort her
+home, he forgot his promises to visit her; he let her notes
+lie unanswered in his pocket. And when she pouted and
+remonstrated, he frowned her into silence, which was not
+at all the way in which her lover ought to behave.</p>
+
+<p>Of course Lesley did not know this, for Ethel had not
+taken her into her confidence on the subject. But she
+knew very well where Oliver spent his time. Early and
+late, on small excuse or on no excuse at all, he presented
+himself at Mr. Brooke's house, and made himself Lesley's
+companion. At first Lesley did not dislike it. She supposed
+that Ethel must be busy with her theatrical studies,
+or at rehearsal, and that Oliver was in want of something
+to do. It was pleasant to have the companionship of some
+one younger and more congenial, perhaps, than her father
+or Miss Brooke; and she gained a great deal of interesting
+information from Oliver during the long hours that he
+spent with her in the drawing-room or library. He told
+her a great deal about London society, about modern
+literature, and the fashions of the day; and all this was as
+fascinating to Lesley as it was novel. He talked to her
+about plays and music and pictures; and he read poetry<a name="Page_157"></a>
+to her. Modern poetry, of course: a little Browning, and
+a good deal of Rossetti and Swinburne. For amorous and
+passionate poetry pleased him best; and he knew that it
+was likelier to serve his ends than verse of the more masculine
+and intellectual kind. Lesley rather preferred Browning
+and Arnold to Oliver's favorites, but she was never
+certain of her own taste, and was always humbly afraid
+that she might be making some terrible mistake in her
+preferences.</p>
+
+<p>She certainly found Mr. Trent's aid very valuable in the
+matter of her singing. The best singing-mistress in London
+had been found for her, and she practised diligently every
+day; but it was delightful to find somebody who could
+always play her accompaniments, and was ready with discriminating
+praise or almost more flattering criticism.
+Oliver had considerable musical knowledge, and he placed
+it at Lesley's service. She made a much quicker and more
+marked advance in her singing than she could possibly have
+done without his assistance. And for this she was grateful.</p>
+
+<p>At the same time she was uneasy. It was contrary to
+all her previous experience that a young man should be
+allowed to spend so much time with her. She did not think
+that her mother would approve of it. But she could not
+ask Lady Alice, because she had now no communication
+with her: a purely formal letter respecting her health and
+general welfare was all, she had been told, that she would
+be permitted to write. And sooner than write a letter of
+that kind Lesley had proudly resolved not to write at all.
+But she pined for womanly counsel and assistance in the
+matter.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brooke was certainly not proving herself an efficient
+chaperon. Aunt Sophy had never risen to a clear
+view of her duty in the matter. She herself had never been
+chaperoned in her life; but had gone about to lectures and
+dissecting rooms and hospitals with a fine indifference to
+sex. But then Doctor Sophy had never been a pretty
+woman; and no young man had shown a wish to spend his
+spare hours in her drawing-room. She had a strong belief
+in the wisdom and goodness of women&mdash;young and old&mdash;and
+declared that they could always take care of themselves
+when they chose. And nothing would induce her to believe
+that her niece, Lesley Brooke, required protection or guar<a name="Page_158"></a>dianship.
+She would have thought it an insult to her own
+family to suggest such a thing.</p>
+
+<p>So she treated Lesley's rather timidly worded suggestions
+on the subject with cheerful contempt, as the conventional
+notions of a convent-bred young woman who had not yet
+realized the strides made in the progress of mankind&mdash;and
+especially of womankind. And Lesley soon felt quite sure
+that any complaint or protest of hers would be dealt with
+simply as a sign of weak-mindedness&mdash;a stigma which she
+could not endure. So she said nothing, and submitted to
+Oliver Trent's frequent visits with resignation.</p>
+
+<p>It must be said, however, that Aunt Sophy had not the
+least notion of the frequency of Oliver's visits. She was a
+busy woman, and a somewhat absent-minded one; and Mr.
+Trent often contrived to call when she was out or engaged.
+And when she asked, as she sometimes did ask of Sarah&mdash;"Any
+one called to-day?"&mdash;and received the grim answer
+"Only Mr. Trent, as usual"&mdash;she simply laughed at
+Sarah's sour visage, and did not calculate the number of
+these visits in the week. Mr. Brooke himself grew uncomfortable
+about the matter, sooner than did Miss Brooke.</p>
+
+<p>"Sophy," he said, one day, when he happened to find
+her alone in the library, sitting at the very top of the library
+steps, with an immense volume of German science on her
+knees. "Sophy, have you noticed that young Trent has
+taken to coming here very often of late?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Doctor Sophy, absently, "I haven't noticed."
+Then she went on reading.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Sophy," said her brother, "will you do me
+the kindness to listen to me for a moment?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Caspar, I <i>am</i> listening as hard as I can!" exclaimed
+Miss Brooke, with an injured air. "What do you
+want?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to speak about Lesley."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I thought it was Mr. Trent."</p>
+
+<p>"Does it not strike you that he comes here to see Lesley
+a great deal too often?"</p>
+
+<p>"Rubbish," cried Miss Brooke, pushing up her eyeglasses.
+"Why, he's engaged to Ethel Kenyon."</p>
+
+<p>"For all that," said Mr. Brooke, and then he paused
+for a moment. "Did it never strike <i>you</i> that he was here
+very often?"<a name="Page_159"></a></p>
+
+<p>"No," said Aunt Sophy, stolidly. "Haven't noticed. I
+suppose he comes to help Lesley with her singing. Good
+gracious, Caspar, the girl can take care of herself."</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say she can, but I don't want any trifling&mdash;or&mdash;or
+flirtation&mdash;to go on," said Brooke, rather sharply. "We
+are responsible for her, you know: we have to hand her
+over in good condition, mind and body, at the end of the
+twelve months. And if you can't look after her, I must get
+her a companion or something. I've been inclined to come
+up and play sheep-dog myself, sometimes, when I have
+heard them practising for an hour together just above my
+head."</p>
+
+<p>"If they disturb you, Caspar," began Miss Brooke, with
+real solicitude; but her brother did not allow her to finish
+her sentence.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, they don't disturb me&mdash;in the way you mean.
+I confess I should feel more comfortable if I thought that
+somebody was with the two young people, to play propriety,
+and all that sort of thing."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you were above such conventionalism," said
+Miss Brooke, glaring at him through her glasses from her
+lofty height upon the steps.</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all. Not where my daughter is concerned.
+Children teach their father very new and unexpected lessons,
+I find; and I don't look with equanimity on the prospect
+of Lesley's being made love to by Oliver Trent, or of
+her going back to her mother and telling her that she was
+left so much to her own devices. I am sure of one thing&mdash;that
+Lady Alice would not like it."</p>
+
+<p>"And am I to give up all my engagements for the sake
+of sitting with two silly young people?" said Miss Brooke,
+the very hair of her head seeming to bristle with horror at
+the idea.</p>
+
+<p>"By no means. I don't see that you need be always
+there; but be there sometimes; don't give occasion to the
+enemy," said Mr. Brooke; turning to go.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is the enemy?" said Doctor Sophy&mdash;a spiteful
+question, as she well knew.</p>
+
+<p>"The world," said Caspar Brooke, quite quietly: he did
+not choose to see the spitefulness.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," said Miss Brooke. "I thought you meant your
+wife." But she did not dare to say this until he was well
+out of the room, and the door firmly closed behind him.<a name="Page_160"></a></p>
+
+<p>But Miss Brooke was neither malicious nor unreasonable.
+On consideration she came to the conclusion that her
+brother was substantially right&mdash;as a matter of fact she
+always came to that conclusion&mdash;and prepared to carry out
+his views of the matter. Only she carried them out in her
+own way. She made a point of being present on the occasion
+of Mr. Trent's next two calls, and although she read
+a book all the time, she was virtuously conscious of the
+fact that her mere presence "made all the difference."
+But on the third occasion she wanted to go out. What was
+to be done? Miss Brooke's mind was fertile of resource,
+and she triumphantly surmounted the difficulty.</p>
+
+<p>"Kingston," she said to Lesley's maid, "I am obliged
+to go out, and I don't like leaving Miss Lesley so much
+alone. You may take your work down to the library and
+sit there, and don't go away if visitors come in. You can
+just draw the curtains, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Am I to stay all the afternoon, ma'am?" Kingston
+inquired, with surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I'll speak to Miss Lesley about it. I think she
+ought to have some one at hand when I am out so much."
+So Kingston&mdash;<i>alias</i> Mary Trent&mdash;took her needlework,
+and seated herself by the library window, whence the half-drawn
+curtains between library and drawing-room afforded
+her a complete view of all visitors to Miss Lesley.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver Trent was distinctly annoyed by this proceeding,
+but Lesley, although puzzled, was equally well pleased. It
+was an arrangement all the more displeasing to Oliver
+because the waiting-woman who sat so demurely in the
+library, within earshot of all that he chose to say, was his
+brother's wife. He felt sure that she had contrived it all;
+that she was there simply to act as a spy upon his actions.
+Francis wanted that money, and would not get it until he
+married Miss Kenyon; and was evidently afraid&mdash;from information
+conveyed to him by Kingston&mdash;that he was
+going to break off his engagement. Oliver flew into a silent
+rage at the thought of this combination, which he was nevertheless
+powerless to prevent. He went away early that
+afternoon, and came again next day. Kingston was there
+also with her work. And though he sang and played the
+piano as usual with Lesley, although he chatted and laughed
+and had tea with her as usual, he felt Kingston's presence a
+restraint And for the first time he asked himself, seriously,
+why this should be.<a name="Page_161"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Why, of course," he said to himself, "I promised Rosalind
+to make love to her. And I can't make love to her
+when that woman's there. Curse her! she spoils my plans."</p>
+
+<p>He had shut himself up in the luxurious little smoking-room
+which Mrs. Romaine had arranged for him. She knew
+the value of a room in which a man feels himself at liberty
+to do what he likes. She never came there without especial
+invitation: she always said that she preferred seeing her
+brother in her own drawing-room&mdash;that she was not like
+Miss Brooke, and did <i>not</i> smoke cigarettes. But that was
+one of the little ways in which Rosalind used to emphasize
+the difference between herself and the women whom she
+did not love.</p>
+
+<p>At any rate, Oliver was alone. The curtains were drawn,
+the lamp was lighted, a bright fire burned in the grate. He
+had drawn up a softly-cushioned lounging chair to the fire,
+and was peacefully smoking a remarkably good cigar.</p>
+
+<p>But his frame of mind was anything but peaceful. He
+had been troubled for some days, and he did not know what
+troubled him. He was now beginning to find out.</p>
+
+<p>"What are my plans, I wonder?" he reflected. "To
+make Lesley fall in love with me?&mdash;I wish I could! She is
+as cold as ice; as innocent as a child: and yet I think
+there is a tremendous capacity for passion in those dark
+eyes of hers, those mobile, sensitive lips! What lips to kiss!
+what eyes to flash back fire and feeling! what a splendid
+woman to win and show the world! It would be like loving
+a goddess&mdash;as if Diana herself had stooped from Olympus
+to grace Endymion!"</p>
+
+<p>And then he laughed aloud.</p>
+
+<p>"What a fool I am! Poetizing like a boy; and all about
+a girl who never can be my wife at all. That's the worst
+part of it. I am engaged&mdash;engaged! unutterably ridiculous
+word!&mdash;to marry little Ethel Kenyon, the pretty actress
+at the Novelty. The respectable, wealthy, well-connected
+actress, moreover&mdash;the product of modern civilization: the
+young woman of our day who aspires to purify the drama
+and vindicate the claims of histrionic art&mdash;what rubbish it
+all is! If Ethel were a ballet-dancer, or had taken to opera
+bouffe, she would be much more entertaining! But her enthusiasms,
+and her belief in herself and her mission, along
+with that <i>mignonne</i>, provoking, pretty, little face of hers,
+are altogether too incongruous! No, Ethel bores me, it<a name="Page_162"></a>
+must be confessed; and I have got to marry her&mdash;all for a
+paltry twenty thousand pounds! What a fool I was to
+propose before I had seen Brooke's daughter.</p>
+
+<p>"If it weren't for Francis, I would break it off. But
+how else am I to pay that two thousand? And what won't
+he do if I fail to pay it? No, that would be ruin&mdash;unless
+I choke him off in some other way, and I don't see how I
+can do that. No, I must marry Ethel, I suppose, or go to
+the devil. And unless I could take bonny Lesley with me,
+that would not mend matters."</p>
+
+<p>He threw his cigar into the fire, and stood for some
+minutes looking down at it, with gloom imprinted upon his
+brow.</p>
+
+<p>"I must do something," he said at last. "It's getting
+too much for me: I shall have to stop going to Brooke's
+house. I suppose this is what people call falling in love!
+Well, I can honestly say I have never done it in this
+fashion before! I have flirted, I have made love scores of
+times, but I never wanted a woman for my own as I want
+<i>her</i>! And I think I had better keep out of her way&mdash;for
+her eyes will send me mad!"</p>
+
+<p>So he soliloquized: so he resolved; but inclination was
+stronger than will or judgment. Day after day saw him at
+the Brookes' house; and day after day saw the shadows
+deepen on Ethel's face, and the fold of perplexity grow more
+distinct between Lesley's tender brows.</p>
+
+<p>Kingston had been looking ill and uneasy for some days
+past, and one afternoon she begged leave to go out for an
+hour or two to see a friend. Miss Brooke let her go, and
+went out to a meeting with a perfectly contented mind.
+Even if Oliver Trent came to the house that afternoon it
+would not matter: it would be only "once in a way." And
+Lesley secretly hoped that he would not come.</p>
+
+<p>But he came. A little later than usual&mdash;about four
+o'clock in the afternoon, when there was no light in the
+drawing-room but that of the ruddy blaze, and the tea-tray
+had not yet been brought up. When Lesley saw him she
+wished that she had sent down word that she was engaged,
+that she had a headache, or even that she was&mdash;conventionally&mdash;not
+at home. Anything rather than a t&ecirc;te-&agrave;-t&ecirc;te
+with Oliver Trent! And yet she would have been puzzled
+to say why.<a name="Page_163"></a></p>
+
+<p>His quick eye told him almost at once that she was alone.
+It told him also that she was decidedly nervous and ill-at-ease.</p>
+
+<p>"We must have lights," she said. "Then you can see
+my new song. I had a fresh one this morning."</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind the lights: never mind your song," he
+said, his voice vibrating strangely. "If you are like me,
+you love this delightful twilight."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't like it," said Lesley, with decision. "I will ring
+for the lamps, please."</p>
+
+<p>She moved a step, but by a dexterous movement he
+interposed himself between her and the mantelpiece, beside
+which hung the bell-handle.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I ring?" he asked, coolly. It seemed to him
+that he wanted to gain time. And yet&mdash;time for what?
+He had nothing to get by gaining time.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, if you please," Lesley said. She could not get
+past him without seeming rude. A slight tremor shook her
+frame; she shrank away from him, towards the open piano
+and leaned against it as if for support. The flickering firelight
+showed her that his face was very pale, the lips were
+tightly closed, the brows knitted above his fiercely flaming
+eye. He did not look like himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Lesley," he said, hoarsely, and stretching forward, he
+put one hand upon her arm. But the touch gave the girl
+strength. She drew her arm away, as sharply as if a
+noxious animal had touched her.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Trent, you forget yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"Rather say that I remember myself&mdash;that I found myself
+when I found you! Lesley, I love you!"</p>
+
+<p>"This is shameful&mdash;intolerable! You are pledged to my
+friend&mdash;you have said all this to her before," cried Lesley,
+in bitter wrath and indignation.</p>
+
+<p>"I have said it, but I never knew the meaning of love
+till I knew you. Lesley, you love me in return! Let us
+leave the world together&mdash;you and I. Nothing can give me
+the happiness that your love would bring. Lesley, Lesley,
+my darling!"</p>
+
+<p>He threw his arm round her, and tried to kiss her cold
+cheek, her averted, half-open lips. She would have pushed
+him from her if she had had the strength; but it seemed
+as if her strength was failing her. Suddenly, with a half-smothered
+oath, he let her go&mdash;so suddenly, indeed, that<a name="Page_164"></a>
+she almost fell against the piano near which she had been
+standing. For the door had opened, and the tall figure of
+Caspar Brooke stood on the threshold of the room.<a name="Page_165"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">MAURICE KENYON'S VIEWS.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Mr. Brooke</span> advanced quite <a name="tn_170"></a><!-- TN: "quitely" changed to "quietly"-->quietly into the room. Perhaps
+he had not seen or heard so very much. Certainly
+he glanced very keenly&mdash;first at Lesley, who leaned half-fainting
+against the piano, and then at Oliver Trent, who
+had slunk backwards to the rug before the fire; but he
+said nothing, and for a minute or two an embarrassed
+silence prevailed in the room. Lesley then raised herself
+up a little, and Oliver began to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"I was just going," he said, with a nervous attempt at a
+laugh. "I haven't much time to-night, and was just hurrying
+away. I must come in another time."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Brooke took up a commanding position on the rug,
+put his hands in his pockets, and surveyed the room in
+silence. Perhaps Oliver felt the silence to be ominous, for
+he did not try to shake hands or to utter any commonplaces,
+but took his leave with a hurried "Good-afternoon"
+that neither father nor daughter returned. The door shut
+behind him: they heard the sound of his footsteps on the
+stairs and the closing of the hall door. Then Lesley bestirred
+herself with the sensation of a wounded animal that wishes
+to hide its hurt: she wanted to get away and seek the darkness
+and solitude of her room upstairs. But before she
+reached the door Mr. Brooke's voice arrested her.</p>
+
+<p>"Lesley."</p>
+
+<p>She stopped short, and looked at him. Her heart beat
+so suffocatingly loud and fast that she could not speak.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't trust that young man, Lesley," was what her
+father said quite quietly.</p>
+
+<p>Then there was a pause. Lesley was still tongue-tied,
+and Mr. Brooke did not seem to know what to do or say.
+He walked away from the fire and began to finger some
+papers on a table, although it was quite too dark to see
+any of these. Inwardly he was wondering how much or
+how little he ought to say.<a name="Page_166"></a></p>
+
+<p>"I wish he would not come quite so often," he remarked.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, so do I!" said Lesley, with heartfelt warmth.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you? Why, child, I thought you liked him!"</p>
+
+<p>"I never liked him much," said Lesley, faltering.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet you have allowed him to come here day after
+day and practise with you? The ways of women are inscrutable,"
+said Mr. Brooke, grimly, "and I can't profess
+to understand them. If you did not wish him to come,
+there was nothing to do but to close your doors against
+him."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall be only too glad," said Lesley, eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh&mdash;<i>now</i>? That is unnecessary: I shall do it myself,"
+said her father, with the same dryness of tone that always
+made Lesley feel as if she were withering up to nothingness.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think he is very likely to come," she said, in a
+very low tone. Then, with a quick impulse to clear herself,
+and an effort which brought the blood in a burning
+tide to her fair face, she went on, hurriedly&mdash;"Father, you
+don't think I forgot that he"&mdash;and then she almost broke
+down, and "Ethel" was the only word that struck distinctly
+upon his ear.</p>
+
+<p>"You mean," said Mr. Brooke, "that you do not forget
+that he is going to marry Ethel Kenyon? Perhaps not;
+but I <a name="tn_171"></a><!-- TN: "thing" changed to "think"-->think that <i>he</i> does."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not to blame for that," said Lesley, with a flash
+of the hot temper that occasionally leaped to light when she
+was talking with her father.</p>
+
+<p>Brooke made no immediate answer. He took a match
+box from his pocket, struck a match, and began to light
+the wax candles on the mantelpiece&mdash;partly by way of finding
+something to do, partly because he thought that he
+should like to see his daughter's face.</p>
+
+<p>It was a very downcast face just then, but it was tinged
+with the hot flush of mingled pride and shame with which
+she had spoken, and never had it looked more lovely. The
+father considered it for a moment, less with admiration
+than with curiosity: this daughter of his was an unknown
+quantity: he never could predicate what she would do or
+say. Certainly she surprised him once more when she
+lifted her head, and said, quickly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I understand your English ways. I know
+what we should do at the convent; but I never know whe<a name="Page_167"></a>ther
+I am right or wrong here. And I have no one to
+ask."</p>
+
+<p>"There is your Aunt Sophy."</p>
+
+<p>"It is almost impossible to ask Aunt Sophy; she never
+sees where the difficulty lies. I know she is kind&mdash;but she
+does not understand what I want."</p>
+
+<p>Caspar nodded. "That is one reason why I spoke to
+you just now," he said, much more gently than usual. "I
+knew that she was a little brusque sometimes; and I suppose
+I am not much better. As a rule a father does not
+talk to his girls as I have been talking to you, I fancy.
+I am almost as ignorant of a father's duties to his daughter
+as you say you are of the habits of English bourgeois
+society&mdash;for I suppose that is what you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>He smiled a little&mdash;the slight smile of a satire which Lesley
+always dreaded; and yet, she remembered, his voice
+had been very kind. It softened again into its gentlest
+and most musical tones, as he said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You must take us as you find us, child: we shall not
+do you much harm, and it will not be for long."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley was emboldened by the gentle intonation to draw
+closer to him, and to lay an entreating hand upon his arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, father," she said, "if you would but let me write to
+mamma!"</p>
+
+<p>And then she uttered a little sob, and the tears filled her
+eyes and ran down her cheeks. As for Caspar Brooke, he
+stood like a man amazed, and repeated her words almost
+stupidly.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Write to mamma?</i>" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"It would do me good: it would not do any harm," said
+Lesley, hurriedly, brokenly, and clasping his arm with both
+hands to enforce her plea. "I would not tell her anything
+that you did not like: I should never say anything but
+good about you; but, oh, there are so many things that
+puzzle me, and that I should like to consult her about. You
+see, although I was not much with her, I used to write to
+her twice a week, and she wrote to me oftener, sometimes;
+and I told her everything, and she used to advise me and
+help me! And I miss it so much&mdash;it is that that makes me
+unhappy; it seems so hard never to write and never to hear
+from her! I feel sometimes as if I could not bear it; as if
+I should have to run away to her again and tell her everything!
+Nobody is like her&mdash;nobody&mdash;and to be a year
+without her is terrible!"<a name="Page_168"></a></p>
+
+<p>And Lesley put her head down on her father's arm and
+cried unrestrainedly, with a sort of newborn instinct that
+he sympathised with her, and would not repulse her confidence.</p>
+
+<p>As for Caspar Brooke, his face had turned quite pale: he
+stood like a statue, with features rigidly set, listening to
+Lesley's outburst of pleading words. It took him a little
+time to find his voice, even when he had at last assimilated
+the ideas contained in her speech and regained his self-possession.
+It took him still longer to recover from a
+certain shock of surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Write to your mother!" he exclaimed. "Well, but,
+of course&mdash;why should you not write to your mother?"</p>
+
+<p>And then Lesley raised her head and looked at him with
+such amazement and perplexity that her father felt absolutely
+annoyed.</p>
+
+<p>"Who on earth put it into your head that you might
+not write? Am I such a tyrant&mdash;such an unfeeling monster&mdash;&mdash;? Good
+heavens! what extraordinary idea is this!
+Who said that you were not to write to her?"</p>
+
+<p>"My mother herself," said Lesley, drawing herself a little
+away from him, and still looking into his face.</p>
+
+<p>"Your <i>mother</i>? Absurd! Why, what&mdash;what&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He faltered, frowned, turned away to the mantelpiece,
+and struck his hand heavily upon it.</p>
+
+<p>"I never meant <i>that</i>," he said. It seemed as if vexation
+and astonishment prevented him from saying more.</p>
+
+<p>"My mother said that it was agreed&mdash;years ago&mdash;that
+when I came to you, we were to have no communication,"
+said Lesley, trembling, and yet resolute to have her say.
+"Was not that so?"</p>
+
+<p>"I remember something of the sort," he answered,
+reluctantly, frowning still and looking down. "I did not
+think at the time of what it implied. And when the time
+drew near for you to make the visit, the question was not
+raised. We corresponded through a third party&mdash;the
+lawyer, you know. Perhaps&mdash;at the time&mdash;I had an idea
+of preventing letters, but not recently. Nobody mentioned
+it. Why"&mdash;his anger rising, as a man's anger often does
+rise when he perceives himself to have been in the wrong&mdash;"your
+mother might at least have mentioned it if she
+felt any doubt!"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose," said Lesley, rather haughtily, "that my
+mother did not want to ask a favor of you."<a name="Page_169"></a></p>
+
+<p>He flung himself round at that. "Your mother must
+have given you a strange idea of me!" he said, with a
+mixture of anger and mortification which it humiliated him
+to show, even while he could not manage to hide it. "One
+would have said I was an ogre&mdash;a maniac. But she misjudged
+me all her life&mdash;it is useless to expect anything else&mdash;of
+course she would try to bias you!"</p>
+
+<p>"I never knew that you were even alive until the day
+that I left the convent," said Lesley. "My mother certainly
+did not try to prejudice me before then: she simply
+kept silence."</p>
+
+<p>"Silence is the worst condemnation? What had I done
+that I should be separated from my child so completely?"
+said the man, the bitterness of years displaying itself in a
+way as unexpected to him as to his daughter. "It is not
+my fault, I swear, that I have lived without a wife, without&mdash;well,
+well! it is not you to whom I ought to say this.
+We will not refer to it again. About this letter writing&mdash;I
+might say, as perhaps I did say at the time the arrangement
+was made, that surely I had a right to claim you
+entirely for one year at least; but I don't&mdash;I won't. If I
+did ever say so, Lesley, I regret the words exceedingly.
+Ever since you came to me, I have had no idea but that
+you were writing to her regularly and freely; and I never&mdash;never
+in my right mind&mdash;wished it otherwise."</p>
+
+<p>"But mamma talked of an agreement&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"That was years ago. I must have said something in
+my heat which the lawyers&mdash;the people who arranged
+things&mdash;interpreted wrongly. And your mother, as you
+say, did not care to ask me for anything. I can only say,
+Lesley, that I am sorry the mistake arose."</p>
+
+<p>His voice was grave and cold again, almost indifferent.
+He stood with his elbow on the mantelpiece, his hand supporting
+his head, his eyes averted from the girl. A close
+eye might have observed that the veins of his forehead were
+swollen, and the pulse at his temple was beating furiously:
+otherwise he had mastered all signs of agitation. Lesley
+hesitated a moment: then came up to him, and put her
+slim fingers into his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Father," she said, softly, "if we <i>have</i> misjudged you&mdash;mamma
+and I&mdash;won't you forgive us?"</p>
+
+<p>For answer he took her face between his two hands,
+bent down and kissed it tenderly.<a name="Page_170"></a></p>
+
+<p>"You don't remember sitting on my knee when you
+were a tiny little thing, do you?" he asked her. "You
+would not go to sleep at nights without a kiss from me
+before I went out. You were rather fond of me then,
+child! I wish things had turned out differently!"</p>
+
+<p>He spoke sadly, and Lesley returned his kiss with a new
+feeling of affection of which she had not been conscious
+before, but which she would have found it difficult to translate
+into words. Before she could manage to reply, the
+handle of the door was turned, and father and daughter
+stood apart as quickly as if they had had no right to stand
+with arms enlaced and faces almost touching: indeed, the
+situation was so new to both of them that they felt something
+like shame and alarm as they turned to meet the
+expected Doctor Sophy.</p>
+
+<p>But it was not Doctor Sophy. It was Sarah with the
+tea-tray, very resentful at not having had it rung for earlier&mdash;she
+having been instructed not to bring it up until Miss
+Lesley rang the bell. And after Sarah came Mr. Maurice
+Kenyon, unannounced, after his usual fashion. And on
+hearing his voice, Lesley slipped away between the curtains
+into the library, and upstairs, through the library door.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Brooke, old fellow, you're not often to be found
+here at this hour!" began Maurice. He looked on Caspar
+Brooke as a prophet and a hero in his heart; but his manner
+before the world was characterized by the frankest
+irreverence. Brooke was one of those men who are never
+older than their companions.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you must be neglecting your patients shamefully
+to be here at all. What do you want at this feminine
+meal?"</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't come for tea," said Maurice, actually growing
+a little redder as he spoke. "I came to see Miss Brooke."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, she's gone to a meeting of some Medical Association
+or other," said Caspar, indifferently, as he sat down
+in Lesley's place at the dainty tea-table, and poured out a cup
+of tea with the manner of a man who was accustomed to
+serving himself. "Here, help yourself to sugar and cream."</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks, I won't have any tea. I did not mean your
+sister: I meant Miss Lesley&mdash;I thought I saw her as I
+came in."</p>
+
+<p>"Anything important?" said Caspar, blandly. He
+was certain that Lesley had gone away to cry&mdash;women<a name="Page_171"></a>
+always cry!&mdash;and he did not want her to be disturbed.
+Although he had quarrelled with his wife, he understood
+feminine susceptibilities better than most men.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no. Only to ask her to sing at the Club on Sunday.
+It's my turn to manage the music for that day, you
+know. Trent is going to sing too."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," said Mr. Brooke. Then, after a pause: "I will
+ask her. But I don't think she will be able to sing on Sunday.
+It strikes me she has an engagement."</p>
+
+<p>He could not say to Ethel's brother what was in his mind,
+and yet he was troubled by the intensity of his conviction
+that she was throwing herself away upon "a cad." He
+must take some other method in the future of giving Maurice
+a hint about young Trent.</p>
+
+<p>Maurice thought, not untruly, that there was something
+odd in his tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't she well?" he asked, with his usual straightforwardness.
+"I hope there is nothing wrong."</p>
+
+<p>"I did not say there was anything wrong, did I?"
+demanded Caspar. Then, squaring his shoulders, and
+sitting well back in his chair, with his hands plunged into
+the pockets of his old study coat, and his eyes fixed on his
+visitor's face, he thus acquitted himself&mdash;"Maurice, my
+young friend, I am and have been a most confounded ass."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh?" said Maurice, interrogatively.</p>
+
+<p>"I think it would relieve me&mdash;if I weren't out of practice&mdash;to
+swear. But I've preached against 'langwidge' so
+long at the club that I don't think I could get up the necessary
+stock of expletives."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll supply you. I shouldn't have thought that there
+was a lack of them down in your printing offices about one
+or two o'clock every morning, from what I've heard. What
+is it, if I may ask? Anything wrong with the Football
+Club?"</p>
+
+<p>"Football Club! My dear fellow, I have a private life,
+unfortunately, as contradistinguished from your everlasting
+clubs and printing offices."</p>
+
+<p>"It is something about Miss Brooke, is it?" said
+Maurice, with greater interest "I was afraid there was
+something&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh&mdash;well, you must excuse me for mentioning it&mdash;but
+wasn't she&mdash;wasn't she crying as she went out of the room?<a name="Page_172"></a>
+And she has not been looking well for the last month
+or so."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you mean that she is not particularly happy
+here, with her father?"</p>
+
+<p>Maurice elevated his eyebrows. "Brooke, old man, what
+have you got into your head?" he asked, kindly. "You
+look put out a good bit. Does she say she wants to leave
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, no, 'tisn't that. I daresay she does, though.
+You know the whole story&mdash;it is no good disguising the
+details from you. There's been a wretched little mistake&mdash;all
+my fault, no doubt, but not intentionally so: the girl
+came here with the idea that she might not write to her
+mother&mdash;some nonsense about 'no communication' between
+them stood in the way; and it seems she has been
+pining to do so ever since she came."</p>
+
+<p>"And she never asked you? never complained, or said
+anything?"</p>
+
+<p>"She broke down over it to-day. I'm ashamed to look
+her in the face," said Brooke, vehemently. "I'm ashamed
+to think of what they&mdash;their opinion of me is. A domineering,
+flinty-hearted, unnatural parent, eh, Maurice? Ogre
+and tyrant and all the rest of it. As if I ever meant to put
+a stop to her writing to her mother! I never heard of such
+an unjustifiable proceeding! I never thought of such an
+absurd idea!"</p>
+
+<p>"Then weren't you very much to blame to allow the
+mistake to arise?" asked Maurice, bluntly.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I was. That's the abominable and confounded
+part of it. Some hasty words of mine were misinterpreted,
+of course. I told you I had been an ass."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I hope it is set straight now?"</p>
+
+<p>"As far as I can set it straight. Probably nothing will
+undo the effect. She'll think that I was cruel in the first
+instance if not in the last."</p>
+
+<p>He sat staring at his boots, with a very discontented
+expression of countenance. But he did not get much
+sympathy from Mr. Kenyon.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he said, "I suppose you've yourself to blame.
+I've no doubt you have been very hasty, lots of times. It's
+my own idea that if you went into detail over a good many
+actions of your past life"&mdash;this was very significantly said&mdash;"you
+would find that you had been mistaken pretty<a name="Page_173"></a>
+often. We all do. And there's one mistake that I think
+I can point out to you."</p>
+
+<p>Caspar looked at him hard for a moment from under
+his bushy eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p>"One subject, Kenyon," he said, seriously, "I shall ask
+you to respect."</p>
+
+<p>"All right," said Maurice. "I am only speaking of
+your daughter. You must allow me to say that I think
+you have misjudged her, ever since she has been in your
+house for the last three months. I did just the same, at
+first. You see, she came here, as far as I can make out,
+puzzled, ignorant of the world, deprived of her mother's
+help and care, thrown on the tender mercies of a father
+whom she did not know&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And whom she took to be an ogre," said Brooke, with
+a bitter, little laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Brought into a world that she knew nothing about, and
+amongst a set of people who could not understand why
+she looked sad and lonely, poor child!&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I say, Maurice, you are speaking of my daughter,
+remember."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be touchy, old man. I speak and I think of
+her with every respect. We have all misjudged and misunderstood
+her: she is a young girl, little more than a
+child, and a child astray, pining uncomplainingly for her
+mother, doing her best to understand the new world she
+was thrown into, devouring your writings and trying as
+hard as she could to assimilate every good and noble idea
+that she came across&mdash;I say that she's a saint and a
+heroine," said Maurice, with sudden passion and enthusiasm,
+"and we've forgotten that not a girl in a thousand
+could have come through a trying ordeal so well!"</p>
+
+<p>"She hasn't come out of her ordeal at all, Maurice: the
+ordeal of living in the house of a brutal father, who, in her
+view, probably broke her mother's heart: all that has to be
+proceeded with for nine months longer!"</p>
+
+<p>"It need not be an ordeal if she knows that you love her:
+if she writes to her mother and gets the sympathy and aid
+she needs. Upon my soul, Brooke, it seems to me that you
+are hard upon your daughter!"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think I need to be taught my duty by you,
+young man?" said Caspar. He spoke with a smile, but
+his tone was undoubtedly sharp. His disciple was not so
+submissive as he had hitherto appeared to be.<a name="Page_174"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I do," said Maurice, undismayed. "Because I
+appreciate her and understand her, which you don't. I was
+dense at first as you are, but I have learnt better now&mdash;through
+loving her."</p>
+
+<p>"Through <i>what</i>, man?"</p>
+
+<p>"Through loving her. It's the truth, Brooke, as I stand
+here. I've known it for some little time. It is only because
+it may seem too sudden to her and to you that I haven't
+spoken before, and I did not mean to do so when I came
+here this afternoon. But the fact remains, I love Lesley,
+and I want her to be my wife."</p>
+
+<p>"Heavens and earth!" said Caspar. "Is the man gone
+mad!"<a name="Page_175"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">LESLEY'S LETTER.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">"Not</span> a bit of it," said Maurice sturdily. "I speak the
+words of truth and soberness. I've thought about it for
+some time."</p>
+
+<p>"A week?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm in earnest, Brooke. Do you consent?"</p>
+
+<p>"My good man," said Caspar, slowly, "you forget that
+I am probably the last person in the world whose consent
+is of any value."</p>
+
+<p>"Pooh!"</p>
+
+<p>"You may say 'pooh' as much as you like, but the fact
+remains. When Lesley leaves me, say next August or
+September, she goes to her mother and her grandfather,
+who's an earl, more's the pity. They have the guardianship,
+you understand."</p>
+
+<p>"But you have it legally still."</p>
+
+<p>"Hum&mdash;no: we had a formal separation. I named the
+terms, certainly: I was angry at the time, and was inclined
+to say that if I might not bring up the child in my
+own way, neither should its mother. That was why we
+compromised by sending her to school&mdash;but it was to be
+a school of Lady Alice's choice. The year with me afterwards
+was a suggestion of mine, of course. But I can't
+alter what was agreed on then."</p>
+
+<p>"Naturally. But&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And as to money affairs," said Caspar, ruthlessly cutting
+him short, "I have been put all along into the most
+painful and ridiculous position that a man can well be in.
+I offered to settle a certain income on my wife and daughter:
+Lady Alice and her father refused to accept any
+money from me. I have paid various sums into his bank
+for Lesley, but I have reason to believe that they have
+never touched a farthing of it. You see they've put me at
+a disadvantage all round. And what is to be done when
+she marries, unless she marries with their consent, I don't<a name="Page_176"></a>
+quite see. She won't like to offend them or seem ungrateful
+when they have done so much for her; and I&mdash;according
+to the account that they will give her&mdash;I have done
+nothing. So I don't suppose I shall be consulted about
+her marriage."</p>
+
+<p>"You are her father: you must be consulted."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, as a matter of form! But I expect that she is
+destined to marry a duke, my dear fellow; and I call it
+sheer folly on your part to have fallen in love with her."</p>
+
+<p>"But you don't object, Brooke?"</p>
+
+<p>"I only hope that the destined duke will be half as
+decent a chap as you are. But I can't encourage you&mdash;Lesley
+will have to look out for squalls if she engages herself
+to you."</p>
+
+<p>"May I not speak to her then?" inquired Maurice ruefully.
+"Not at once, perhaps, you know; but if I think
+that I have a chance?"</p>
+
+<p>"Say what you like," said Brooke, with a genial smile;
+for his ill-humor had vanished in spite of his apparent
+opposition to Maurice's suit. "I should like nothing
+better&mdash;for my own part; but we are both bound to consider
+Lesley. You know you are a shocking bad match
+for her. Oh, I know you are the descendant of kings and
+all that sort of bosh, but as a matter of fact you are only a
+young medico, a general practitioner, and his lordship is
+bound to think that I am making something for myself out
+of the marriage."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't think he'll consent?"</p>
+
+<p>"Never, my dear boy. One m&eacute;salliance was enough for
+him. He has got rid of me, and regained his daughter;
+but no doubt he intends to repair her mistake by a grand
+match for Lesley."</p>
+
+<p>"But perhaps she would not marry the man he chose
+for her?"</p>
+
+<p>Brooke laughed. "Can't answer for Lesley, I don't
+know her well enough," he said. "Have you any notion,
+now, that she cares for you?"</p>
+
+<p>Maurice shook his head dismally. "Not in the least. I
+scarcely think she even likes me. But I mean to try my
+chance some day."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you joy," said Lesley's father, with a slight
+enigmatical smile. "Especially with the Earl of Courtleroy.
+Hallo! there's the dinner bell. We have wasted
+all our time talking up here: you'll stay and dine?"<a name="Page_177"></a></p>
+
+<p>"No, thanks&mdash;wish I could, but I must dine with Ethel,
+and go out directly afterwards."</p>
+
+<p>"When is the marriage to take place?" said Caspar,
+directing a keen glance to the face of his friend.</p>
+
+<p>"Ethel's? There is nothing settled."</p>
+
+<p>"I say, Maurice, I don't like Trent. He's a slippery
+customer. I would look after him a bit if I were you, and
+put Ethel on her guard. I think I am bound to say as
+much as that."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think any harm of him?"</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>think</i> harm of him&mdash;unjustly, perhaps. I am not so
+sure that I know of any. I only want you to keep your
+eyes open. Good-bye, old man."</p>
+
+<p>And Caspar Brooke gave his friend's hand such a pressure
+that Maurice went away satisfied that Lesley's father,
+at any rate, and in spite of protest, was upon his side.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brooke came into dinner at the last moment, so Mr.
+Brooke and his daughter were saved the embarrassment of
+dining alone&mdash;for it could not be denied that it would
+have been embarrassing after the recent scene, if there had
+been no third person present to whom they could address
+remarks. Miss Brooke's mind was full of the meeting
+which she had attended, and she gave them a glowing
+account of it. Lesley spoke very little, but her face was
+happier than it had been for a long time, although her eyes
+were red. Mr. Brooke looked at her a good deal in a furtive
+kind of way, and with more interest than usual. She
+was certainly a good-looking girl. But that was not all.
+Caspar Brooke had passed the period of caring for good
+looks and nothing else. Lesley had spirit, intelligence,
+honesty, endurance, as well as beauty. Well, she might
+make a good wife for Maurice after all. For although he
+had declared that Kenyon was "a shocking bad match,"
+he was inclined to think in his own heart that Kenyon was
+too good for his daughter Lesley.</p>
+
+<p>However, he had a soft corner in his big heart for the
+little girl who used to sit on his knee and refuse to go to
+sleep without his good-night kiss, and he was pleased when
+she came up to him before he went out that evening, and
+timidly put her face up to be kissed, as if she had still been
+the child he loved. She had never done that before; and
+he took it more as a sign of gratitude for permission to
+write to Lady Alice than actual affection for himself.<a name="Page_178"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Are you writing your letter?" he said, touching her
+cheek half playfully, half caressingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Lesley, looking down. "Is there&mdash;have
+you&mdash;no message?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why should I have a message? Your mother and I
+correspond through our lawyer, my dear. But&mdash;well, yes,
+if you like to say that I am sorry for this mistake of the last
+few months, you may do so. I have no doubt that she
+has missed your letters, and I should like her to understand
+that the correspondence was not discontinued at my
+desire. I regret the mistake."</p>
+
+<p>He said it formally and gravely, and in a particularly
+icy tone of voice; but Lesley was for the moment satisfied.
+She went back to her writing-desk and took up her pen.
+She had already written a couple of sheets, but in them
+her father's name had scarcely been mentioned. Now,
+however, she wrote:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"You may be wondering, dearest mamma, why I am
+writing to you in this way, because you told me that I
+must not write, and I have put off my explanation until
+almost the end. I could not bear to be without your
+letters any longer, and to-day I said so to my father. I
+could not help telling him, because I was so miserable.
+And he wishes me to tell you that it was all a mistake, and
+he is very sorry; he never meant to put a stop to our
+writing to each other, and he is very, <i>very</i> sorry that we
+thought so." Lesley's version was not so dignified as her
+father had intended it to be. "He was terribly distressed
+when he found out that I was not writing to you; and
+called himself all sorts of names&mdash;a tyrant and an ogre,
+and asked what we must have thought of him! He was
+really very much grieved about it, and never meant us to
+leave off writing. So now I shall write as often as I
+please, and you, dearest mamma, will write to me too.</p>
+
+<p>"There is one thing I must say, darling mother, and you
+will not be angry with me for saying it, will you? I think
+father must be different now from what he was in the old
+days; or else&mdash;perhaps there <i>may</i> have been a mistake
+about him, such as there has been about the letters! For
+he is so clever and gentle and kind&mdash;a little sarcastic now
+and then, but always good! The poor people at the Club
+(which I told you about in the last sheet) just adore him;
+and they say that he has saved many of them from worse<a name="Page_179"></a>
+than death. And you never told me about his book, dear
+mamma&mdash;'The Unexplored.' It is such a beautiful book&mdash;surely
+you think so, although you think ill of the writer?
+Of course you have read it? I have read it four times, I
+think; and I want to ask him about some parts of it, but
+I have never dared&mdash;I don't think he even knows that I
+have read it. It has gone through more than twelve
+editions, and has been translated into French and German,
+so you <i>must</i> have seen it. And Mr. Kenyon says it sells
+by thousands in America.</p>
+
+<p>"It was Mr. Kenyon who first told me about it, and
+made me understand how blind I was at first to my father's
+really <i>great</i> qualities. I know he is not like grandpapa&mdash;he
+does sometimes seem a little rough when compared to
+grandpapa; but then you always said I must not expect
+every man I met in the world to have grandpapa's courtly
+manners. And it must have been very lonely for you if he
+went out at such funny hours as he does now, and did not
+breakfast or lunch with you! But I am told that all 'journalists
+keep these hours,' and that it is very provincial of
+me not to know it! It is a very different house, and different
+life, from any that I ever saw before; but I am getting
+accustomed to it now, especially since Mr. Kenyon
+has talked to me.</p>
+
+<p>"Dearest mother, don't think that I love you one whit
+the less because I am away from you, and am learning to
+love other people a little too. Nobody could be to me
+what you are, my own dear mother.&mdash;Your child,</p>
+
+<p class="signature">"<span class="smcap">Lesley.</span>"</p></div>
+
+<p>So Lesley's girlish, emotional, indiscreet letter went
+upon its way to Lady Alice, who was just then in Eaton
+Square, and Lesley never dreamt of the tears that it brought
+to her mother's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>The letter was a shock to Lady Alice in more ways than
+one. First, it showed her that on one point at least she
+<i>had</i> been mistaken&mdash;and it was a point that had long been
+a very sore one to her. Caspar had not meant the correspondence
+between mother and daughter to cease&mdash;so he
+said now; but she was certain that he had spoken very
+harshly about it when the arrangement was first made.
+He had even affected to doubt whether she had heart
+enough to care whether she heard from her child or not.<a name="Page_180"></a>
+Well, possibly he had altered his views since those days.
+Lesley said that he <i>must</i> be different! Poor Lesley!
+thought Lady Alice, how very little she knew! She seemed
+to have been as much fascinated by her father as Lady
+Alice had been, in days long past, by Caspar Brooke as a
+lover; but Lady Alice reflected that <i>she</i> had never
+thought of Caspar as good or gentle or "great" in any
+way. She thought of him chiefly in his relation to herself,
+and in that relation he had not been satisfactory. Yes,
+she remembered well enough the sarcastic remarks, the
+odd hours, the discomfort of her solitary meals. Lesley
+could see all these points, and yet discover good in the
+man, and not be disgusted? Lady Alice could not understand
+her daughter's impartiality.</p>
+
+<p>Of course&mdash;it had occurred to her once or twice&mdash;that,
+being human, she <i>might</i> have been mistaken. She could
+have got over the dreariness and discomfort of Caspar's
+home, if Caspar had but loved her. Suppose&mdash;it was just
+a remote possibility&mdash;Caspar had loved her all the time!</p>
+
+<p>"The child has infected me with her romantic ideas,"
+said Lady Alice, at last, with a faint, sad smile. "Let me
+see&mdash;what does she say about her friends? The Kenyons&mdash;Ethel
+Kenyon&mdash;Mr. Trent&mdash;the clergyman of the parish&mdash;Mr.
+Kenyon&mdash;Mr. Kenyon I wonder who the Mr.
+Kenyon is of whom she speaks so highly. Surely not a
+clergyman too? Poor Caspar disliked clergymen so much.
+I wonder if Mrs. Romaine is still living in the neighborhood.
+But no, I remember: she went out to Calcutta and then to
+some German baths with her husband. What became of
+her, I wonder! If she were friendly with Caspar still,
+<a name="tn_185"></a><!--TN: "Leslie" changed to "Lesley"-->Lesley would be sure to mention her to me!"</p>
+
+<p>And she read the letter through once more. But Lesley
+had not said a word about Mrs. Romaine: her heart had
+been too hot and angry with the remembrance of what Mrs.
+Romaine's brother had done, to lead her to say one word
+about the family.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice lingered curiously over Lesley's remarks on
+"The Unexplored." She had not read the book herself.
+She had seen it and heard of it very often&mdash;so often that she
+thought she knew all that it contained. But for Lesley's
+sake she resolved to read it now. Perhaps it held strange,
+dangerous doctrines, against which her daughter ought to
+be cautioned. Of course the house did not contain a copy.<a name="Page_181"></a>
+But early in the day Lady Alice went to the nearest bookseller's
+and bought a copy. The obliging book-seller, who
+did not know her, remarked that "Brooke's 'Unexplored'"
+was always popular, and asked her whether she would like
+an unbound copy, or one bound in neat great cloth. Lady
+Alice took the latter: she had a distaste for paper-covered
+books.</p>
+
+<p>She read "The Unexplored" in her own room that
+morning, but of course she was not struck by it exactly as
+Lesley had been. The facts which had horrified Lesley
+were no novelties to her. She was, in truth, slightly angry
+that her innocent Lesley should have so much of the great
+city's misery and shame laid bare to her. She acknowledged
+the truth of the portraiture, the beauty of the descriptions,
+the eloquence of the author's appeals to the higher
+classes; but she acknowledged it with resentment. Why
+had Caspar written a book of this sort? a book that taunted
+the higher classes with their birth, and reproached the
+wealthy with their riches? It was rather a disgrace than
+otherwise, in Lady Alice's aristocratic eyes, to be connected
+in any way with the writer of "The Unexplored."</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, the book stirred in her the desire to vindicate
+the worth of her order and of her sex; and the next
+day, after having despatched a long and tender letter to
+Lesley (with a formal message of thanks to her husband),
+she went out to call on a lady, who was noted in her circle
+as a great philanthropist, and mentioned to her in a timid
+way that she wished she could be of any use amongst the
+poor, but she really did not see what she could do.</p>
+
+<p>Her friend, Mrs. Bexley, was nothing if not practical.</p>
+
+<p>"But, my dearest Lady Alice, you can be of every use
+in the world," she said. "I am going to drive to the East
+End to-morrow morning, to distribute presents at the
+London Hospital&mdash;it is getting so close to Christmas, you
+know, that we really must not put it off any longer. I
+generally go once a week to <a name="tn_186"></a><!-- TN: "vist" changed to "visit"-->visit the children and some of
+the other patients. Won't you come with me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid I should be of very little use," said Lady
+Alice.</p>
+
+<p>"But we shall not want you to do anything&mdash;only to
+say a kind word to the patients now and then, and give
+them things."</p>
+
+<p>"I think I could do that," said Lesley's mother, softly.<a name="Page_182"></a></p>
+
+<p>She went back to her father's house quite cheered by
+the unexpected prospect of something to do&mdash;something
+which should take her out of the routine of ordinary work&mdash;something
+which should bring her closer (though she
+did not say it to herself) to the aims and objects of Lesley
+and Caspar Brooke.</p>
+
+<p>The visit was a great success. Lady Alice, with her tall,
+graceful figure, her winning face, her becoming dress, was
+a pleasant sight for the weary eyes of the women and
+children in the accident wards. Mrs. Bexley was wise
+enough not to take her near any very painful sights. Lady
+Alice talked to some of the little children and gave them
+toys: she made friends, rather shyly, with some of the
+women, and promised to come and see them again. Mrs.
+Bexley was well known in the hospital, and was allowed to
+stay an unusually long time. So it happened that one of
+the doctors, coming rather hurriedly into one of the wards,
+paused at the sight of a lady bending over one of the
+children's beds, and looked so surprised that one of the
+nurses hastened to explain that the stranger came with old
+Mrs. Bexley and was going away again directly.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor nodded, and went straight up to the child's
+bed. Lady Alice, raising herself after careful arrangement
+of some wooden animals on the sick child's table, came
+face to face with a very handsome man of about thirty,
+who seemed to be regarding her with especial interest. He
+moved away with a slight bow when she looked back at him,
+but he did not go far. He paused to chat with another
+little patient, and Lady Alice noticed that all the small
+faces brightened at the sight of him, and that two or three
+children called him imperiously to their bedsides. Something
+about him vaguely interested her&mdash;perhaps it was
+only his pleasant look, perhaps the affection with which he
+was regarded, perhaps the expression which his face had
+worn when he looked at her. She remembered him so
+well that she was able when she paid a second visit to the
+hospital to describe him to one of the Sisters, and ask
+his name.</p>
+
+<p>"Kenyon," she repeated, when it was told to her. "I
+suppose it is not an uncommon name?"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley had spoken of a Mr. Kenyon. It was not this
+Mr. Kenyon, of course!</p>
+
+<p>But it <i>was</i> "this Mr. Kenyon;" and thus Maurice met
+the mother of the girl he loved in the ward of a London<a name="Page_183"></a>
+hospital, whither Lady Alice had been urged by that impulse
+towards "The Unexplored," of which her husband
+was the author. And in another ward of the same hospital
+lay a patient whose destiny was to influence the fates of
+both&mdash;an insensible man, whose name was unknown to the
+nurses, but whom Oliver would have recognized as his
+brother, Francis Trent.<a name="Page_184"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">ETHEL REMONSTRATES.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">The</span> house in which the Kenyons resided was built on
+the same pattern as Mr. Brooke's, but it was in some respects
+very unlike Mr. Brooke's place of residence. Maurice's
+consulting-room and dining-room corresponded,
+perhaps, to Mr. Brooke's dining-room and study: it was
+upstairs where the difference showed itself. Ethel's
+drawing-room was like herself&mdash;a little whimsical, a little
+bizarre; pretty, withal, and original, and somewhat unlike
+anything one had ever seen before. She was fond of
+novelties, and introduced the latest fashions in draperies or
+china or screens as soon as she could get hold of them; and
+the result was occasionally incongruous, though always
+bright and cheerful-looking.</p>
+
+<p>It was the incongruity of the ornaments and arrangements
+which chiefly struck the mind of Oliver Trent as he entered
+Ethel's drawing-room one afternoon, and stumbled over a
+footstool placed where no footstool ought to be.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish," he began, somewhat irritably, as he touched
+Ethel's forehead with his lips, "that you would not make
+your room quite so much like a fancy fair, Ethel."</p>
+
+<p>Ethel raised her eyebrows. "Why, Oliver, only the
+other day you said how pretty it was!"</p>
+
+<p>"Pretty! I hate the word. As <a name="tn_189"></a><!--TN: Single quote moved to before "prettiness"-->if 'prettiness' could be
+taken as a test of what was best in art."</p>
+
+<p>"My room isn't <a name="tn_189a"></a><!-- TN: Double quote added after "'art'"-->'art,'" pouted Ethel; "it's <i>me</i>."</p>
+
+<p>The sentence might be ungrammatical, but it was strictly
+true. The room represented Ethel's character exactly. It
+was odd, quaint, striking, and attractive. But Oliver was
+not in the mood to see its attractiveness.</p>
+
+<p>"It is certainly a medley," he replied, with some incisiveness.
+"How many styles do you think are represented
+in the place? Japanese, Egyptian, Renaissance, Louis
+Quinze, Queen Anne, Early Georgian&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no! please don't go on!" cried Ethel, with mock
+earnestness. "<i>Not</i> Early Georgian, please! Anything
+but that!"<a name="Page_185"></a></p>
+
+<p>"It is all incongruous and out of taste," said Oliver, in
+an ill-tempered tone, and then he threw himself into a deep,
+comfortable lounging chair, and closed his eyes as if the
+sight of the room were too much for his nerves.</p>
+
+<p>Ethel remained standing: her pretty <i>mignonne</i> figure
+was motionless; her bright face was thoughtful and overcast.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean," she said, quietly, "that I am incongruous
+and out of taste too!"</p>
+
+<p>There was a new note in her voice. Usually it was light
+and bird-like: now there was something a little more
+weighty, a little more serious, than had been heard in it
+before. Oliver noted the change, and moved his head
+restlessly; he did not want to quarrel with Ethel, but he
+was ill at ease in her presence, and therefore apt to be
+exceedingly irritable with her.</p>
+
+<p>"You wrest my words, of course," he answered. "You
+always do. There's no arguing with&mdash;with&mdash;a woman."</p>
+
+<p>"With <i>me</i> you were about to say. Don't spare me.
+What other accusations have you to bring!"</p>
+
+<p>"Accusations! Nonsense!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is not nonsense, Oliver." Her voice trembled. "I
+have felt for some time that all was not right between us.
+I can't shut my eyes. I must believe what I see, and what
+I feel. We must understand one another."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver's eyes were wide open now. He began to see
+that he had gone a little too far. It would not do to snub
+Ethel too much&mdash;at least before the marriage. Afterwards&mdash;he
+said to himself&mdash;he should treat her as he felt inclined.
+But now&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You are mistaken, Ethel," he said, in a tone of half
+appeased vexation which he thought very effective. "What
+on earth should there be wrong between us! Open your
+eyes and your ears as much as you like, my dear child,
+but don't be misled by what you <a name="tn_190"></a><!--TN: Quotation mark removed after "feel."-->feel. The wind is in the
+East,&mdash;remember. You feel a chill, most probably, and
+you put your <i>malaise</i> down to me."</p>
+
+<p>His tone grew more affectionate as he spoke. He wanted
+her to believe that he had been suffering from a mere
+passing cloud of ill-temper, and that he was already
+ashamed of it.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel the effects of the weather myself," he said. "I
+have been horribly depressed all day, and I have a head<a name="Page_186"></a>ache.
+Perhaps that is why the brightness of your room
+seemed to hurt my eyes. You know that I always like it
+when I am well."</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her keenly, hoping that this reference to
+possible-ill-health might bring the girl to his feet, as it had
+often done before in the case of other women; but it did
+not seem to produce the least effect. She stood silent,
+immobile, with her eyes still fixed upon the floor. Silence
+and stillness were so unusual in one of Ethel's vivacious
+temperament, that Oliver began to feel alarmed.</p>
+
+<p>"Ethel," he said, advancing to her, and laying his hand
+upon hers, "what is wrong? What have I done?"</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head hastily, but made no other reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Look at me," he said, softly.</p>
+
+<p>And then she lifted her eyes. But they wore a questioning
+and not a trustful look.</p>
+
+<p>"Ethel, dearest, what have I done to offend you? It
+cannot be my silly comment on your room that makes you
+look so grave? Believe me, dear, it came only from my
+headache and my bad temper. I am deeply sorry to have
+hurt you. Only speak&mdash;scold me if you like&mdash;but do not
+keep me in this suspense."</p>
+
+<p>He was skilled in the art of pleading. His pale face,
+usually so expressionless, took on the look of almost
+passionate entreaty.</p>
+
+<p>Ethel was an actress by profession&mdash;perhaps a little by
+nature also&mdash;but she was too essentially simple-hearted to
+suspect her friends of acting parts in private life, and indeed
+trusted them rather more implicitly than most people
+trust their friends. It had been a grief to her to doubt
+Oliver's faith for a moment, and her eyes filled with
+tears, while they flashed also with indignation, as she replied,</p>
+
+<p>"You must know what I mean. I have felt it for a very
+long time. You do not care for me as you used to do."</p>
+
+<p>"Upon my soul, I do!" cried Oliver, very sincerely.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you never cared for me very much."</p>
+
+<p>This was getting serious. Oliver had no mind to break
+off his engagement. He reserved the right to snub Ethel
+without giving offence. If this was an impracticable course
+to pursue, it was evident that he must abandon it and eat
+humble pie. Anything rather than part from her just now.
+He had lost the woman he loved: it would not do to lose
+also his only chance of winning a competency for himself
+and immunity from fear of want in the future.<a name="Page_187"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Ethel," he said, softly, "you grieve me very much. I
+acknowledge my faults of temper&mdash;I did not think you
+mistook then for a want of love."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not think I do. It is something more real, more
+tangible than that."</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, dear?"</p>
+
+<p>She paused, then looked keenly into his face. "It
+seems to me, Oliver, that Lesley Brooke has won your heart
+away from me."</p>
+
+<p>He threw back his head and laughed&mdash;a singularly
+jarring and unpleasant laugh, as it seemed to her. "What
+will you imagine next?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Imagine? Have I imagined it? Isn't it true that
+you have been at her house almost every day for the last
+three or four weeks? Do you come here as often? Is it
+not Lesley that attracts you?&mdash;not me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, so you are jealous!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I suppose I am. It is only natural, I think."</p>
+
+<p>They faced each other for a moment, defiantly, almost
+fiercely. There was a proud light in Ethel's eyes, a compression
+of the lips which told that she was not to be
+trifled with. Oliver stood pale, with frowning brows, and
+eyes that seemed to question both the reality of her feeling
+and the answer that he should make to her demand. It
+was by a great effort of self-control that at last he answered
+her with calmness&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I assure you, Ethel, you are utterly mistaken. What
+have I in common with a girl like Miss Brooke&mdash;one of
+the most curiously ignorant and wrong-headed persons
+I ever came across? Can you think for a moment that
+I should compare her with you?&mdash;<i>you</i>, beautiful and gifted
+and cultured above most women?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is nothing to the point," said Ethel, quickly.
+"Men don't love women because of their gifts and their
+culture."</p>
+
+<p>"No," he rejoined, "but because of some subtle likeness
+or attractiveness which draws one to the other. I find
+it in you, without knowing why. You&mdash;I hoped&mdash;found
+it&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>His voice became troubled; he dropped his eyes. Ethel
+trembled&mdash;she loved him, poor girl, and she thought that
+he suffered as she had suffered, and she was sorry for him.
+But her outraged pride would not let her make any
+advance as yet.<a name="Page_188"></a></p>
+
+<p>"I may be a fatuous fool," said Oliver, after an agitated
+pause, "but I thought you loved me."</p>
+
+<p>"I do love you," cried Ethel, passionately.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet you suspect me of being false to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Not suspect&mdash;not suspect"&mdash;she said, incoherently,
+and then, was suddenly folded in Oliver's arms, and felt
+that the time for reproach or inquiry had gone by.</p>
+
+<p>She was not sorry that matters had ended in this way,
+although she felt it to be illogical. With his kisses upon
+her mouth, with the pressure of his arm enfolding her, it was
+almost impossible for her to maintain, in his presence, a
+doubt of him. It was when he had gone that all the facts
+which he had ignored came back to her with torturing insistence,
+and that she blamed herself for not having refused
+to be reconciled to him until she had ascertained the truth
+or untruth of a report that had reached her ears.</p>
+
+<p>With a truer lover she might have gone unsatisfied to
+her dying day. A faithful-hearted man might never have
+perceived where she was hurt; he would not have been
+astute enough to discover that he might heal the wound by
+a few timely words of <a name="tn_193"></a><!-- TN: Comma changed to period after "explanation"-->explanation. Oliver, keenly alive
+to his own interests, reopened the subject a few days later
+of his own accord.</p>
+
+<p>They had completely made up their quarrel&mdash;to all outward
+appearance, at any rate&mdash;and were sitting together
+one afternoon in Ethel's obnoxious drawing-room. They
+had been laughing together at some funny story of Ethel's
+associates at the theatre, and to the laughter had succeeded
+a silence, during which Oliver possessed himself of the
+girl's hand and carried it gently to his lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Ethel," he said, softly, "what made you so angry with
+me the other day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your bad behavior, I suppose!" she said, trying to
+treat the matter in her usual lively fashion.</p>
+
+<p>"But what <i>was</i> my misbehavior? Did it consist in
+going so often to the Brookes'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what does it matter?" exclaimed Ethel, petulantly.
+"Didn't we agree to forgive and forget? If we didn't,
+we ought to have done. I don't want to look back."</p>
+
+<p>"But you are doing an injustice to me. Ethel, I dare
+not say to you that I <i>insist</i> on knowing what it was. But
+I very strongly <i>wish</i> that you would tell me&mdash;so that I
+might at least try to set your mind at rest."<a name="Page_189"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Ethel, quickly, "if you <i>must</i> know&mdash;it was
+only a bit of gossip&mdash;servants gossip. I know all that can
+be said respecting the foolishness of listening to gossip
+from such a source&mdash;but I can't help it. One of the maids
+at Mr. Brooke's&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Sarah?" asked Oliver, with interest. "Sarah never
+liked me."</p>
+
+<p>"Who, it was not Sarah.&mdash;it was that maid of Lesley's&mdash;Kingston
+her name is, I believe&mdash;who said to one of our
+servants one day that you went there a great deal oftener
+than she would like, if she were in my place. There! I
+have made a full confession. It was a petty spiteful bit of
+gossip, of course, and I ought not to have listened to it&mdash;but
+then it seemed so natural&mdash;and I thought it might be
+true!"</p>
+
+<p>"What seemed natural?" said Oliver, who, against his
+will, was looking very black.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, that you should like Lesley; she is the sweetest
+girl I ever came across."</p>
+
+<p>In his heart Oliver echoed that opinion, but he felt
+morally bound to deny it.</p>
+
+<p>"You say so only because you have never seen yourself!
+My darling, how could you accuse me merely on servants'
+evidence!"</p>
+
+<p>"Is there <i>no</i> truth in it, Oliver?"</p>
+
+<p>"None in the least."</p>
+
+<p>"But you do go there very often!"</p>
+
+<p>Then Oliver achieved a masterpiece of diplomacy. "My
+dear Ethel," he said, "I will go there no more until you go
+with me. I will not set foot in the house again."</p>
+
+<p>He knew very well that Mr. Brooke would not admit him.
+It was clever to make a virtue of necessity.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, please don't do that! Go as often as you
+please."</p>
+
+<p>"It was simply out of kindness to a lonely girl. I played
+her accompaniments for her sometimes, and listened to her
+singing. But as you dislike it, Ethel, I promise you that I
+will go there no more."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Oliver, forgive me! I don't doubt you a bit. Do
+go to see Lesley as often as you can. I should <i>like</i> you to
+do it. Go for my sake."</p>
+
+<p>But Oliver was quite obdurate. No, he would not go to
+the Brookes' again, since Ethel had once objected to his<a name="Page_190"></a>
+going. And on this pinnacle of austere virtue he remained,
+thereby reducing Ethel to a state of self-abasement, which
+spoke well for his chances of mastery in the married life
+which loomed before him.<a name="Page_191"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">LADY ALICE'S PHILANTHROPY.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Meanwhile</span>, Lady Alice Brooke, in pursuit of her new
+fancy for philanthropy and the sick poor, had wandered
+somewhat aimlessly into other wards beside those set apart
+for women and children&mdash;at first the object of her search.
+She strayed&mdash;I use the word "strayed" designedly, for
+she certainly did not do it of set purpose&mdash;with one of the
+nurses into accident wards, into the men's wards, where
+her flowers and fruits and gentle words made her welcome,
+and where the bearded masculine faces, worn sometimes by
+pain and privation of long standing, appealed to her sensibilities
+in a new and not altogether unpleasant way.</p>
+
+<p>For Lady Alice was a very feminine creature, and liked,
+as most women do like, to be admired and adored. She
+had confessed as much when she told the story of her life
+to her daughter Lesley. And she had something less than
+her woman's due in this respect. Caspar Brooke had very
+honestly loved and admired her, but in a protective and
+slightly "superior" way. The earl, her father, belonged
+to that conservative portion of the aristocratic class which
+treats its womankind with distinguished civility and profoundest
+contempt. In her father's home Lady Alice felt
+herself of no account. As years increased upon her, the
+charm of her graceful manner was marred by advancing
+self-distrust. In losing (as she, at least, thought) her
+physical attractions, she lost all that entitled her to consideration
+amongst the men and women with whom she lived.
+She had no fixed position, no private fortune, nothing that
+would avail her in the least when her father died; and
+the gentle coldness of her manner did not encourage
+women to intimacy, or invite men to pay her attentions
+that she would scorn. In any other situation, her natural
+gifts and virtues would have fairer play. As a spinster,
+she would still have had lovers; as a widow, suitors by <a name="tn_196"></a><!-- TN: "the the" changed to "the"-->the
+dozen; as a happily married woman she would have<a name="Page_192"></a>
+been courted, complimented, flattered, by all the world.
+But, as a woman merely separated from a husband with
+whom she had in the first instance eloped, living on sufferance,
+as it were, in her father's house, "neither maid, wife,
+nor widow," she was in a situation which became more
+irksome and more untenable every year.</p>
+
+<p>To a woman conscious of such a jar in her private life,
+it was really a new and delightful experience to find herself
+in a place where she could be of some real use, where
+she was admired and respected and flattered by that unconscious
+flattery given us sometimes by the preference of
+the sick and miserable. The men in one of the accident
+wards were greatly taken with Lady Alice. There was her
+title, to begin with; there were her gracious accents, her
+graceful figure, her gentle, beautiful face. The men liked
+to see her come in, liked to hear her talk&mdash;although she
+was decidedly slow, and a little irresponsive in conversation.
+It soon leaked out, moreover, that material
+benefits followed in the wake of her visits. One man,
+who left the hospital, returned one day to inform his mates
+that, "the lady" had found work for him on her father's
+estate, and that he considered himself a "made man for
+life." The attentions of such men who were not too ill
+to be influenced by such matters were henceforth concentrated
+upon Lady Alice; and she, being after all a
+simple creature, believed their devotion to be genuine,
+and rejoiced in it.</p>
+
+<p>With one patient, however, she did not for some time
+establish any friendly relations. He had been run over,
+while drunk, the nurses told her, and very seriously hurt.
+He lay so long in a semi-comatose condition that fears
+were entertained for his reason, and when the mist gradually
+cleared away from his brain, he was in too confused a
+state of mind for conversation to be possible.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice went to look at him from time to time, and
+spoke to the nurse about him; but weeks elapsed before
+he seemed conscious of the presence of any visitor. The
+nursing sister told the visitor at last that the man had
+spoken and replied to certain questions: that he had
+seemed uncertain about his own name, and could not
+give any coherent account of himself. Later on, it transpired
+that the man had allowed his name to be entered
+as "John Smith."<a name="Page_193"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Not his own name, I'm certain," the nurse said, decidedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?" Lady Alice asked, with curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>"It's too common by half for his face and voice," the
+Sister answered, shrewdly. "If you look at him or speak
+to him, you'll find that that man's a gentleman."</p>
+
+<p>"A gentleman&mdash;picked up drunk in the street?"</p>
+
+<p>"A gentleman by birth or former position, I mean," said
+the Sister, rather dryly. "No doubt he has come down in
+the world; but he has been, at any rate, what people call
+an educated man."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice's prejudices were, stirred in favor of the
+broken-down drunkard by this characterization; and she
+made his acquaintance as soon as he was able to talk. Her
+impression coincided with that of the Sister. The man had
+once been a gentleman&mdash;a cultivated, well-bred man, from
+whom refinement had never quite departed. Over and
+above this fact there was something about him which utterly
+puzzled Lady Alice. His face recalled to her some one
+whom she had known, and she could not imagine who
+that some one might be. The features, the contour
+the face, the expression, were strangely familiar to her. For,
+by the refining forces which sickness often applies, the
+man's face had lost all trace of former coarseness or <a name="tn_198"></a><!-- TN: "commoness" changed to "commonness"-->commonness:
+it had become something like what it had been in
+the days of his first youth. And the likeness which puzzled
+Lady Alice was a very strong resemblance to the patient's
+sister, Rosalind Romaine.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice was attracted by him, visited his bedside very
+often, and tried to win his confidence. But "John Smith"
+had, at present, no confidence to give. Questions confused
+and bewildered him. His brain was in a very excitable
+condition, the doctor said, and he was not to be tormented
+with useless queries. By the time his other injuries had
+been cured, he might perhaps recover the full use of his
+mind, and could then give an account of himself if he liked.
+Till then he was to be let alone; and so Lady Alice contented
+herself with bringing him such gifts as the authorities
+allowed, and with talking or reading to him a little from time
+to time in soothing and friendly tones. It was to be noted
+that before long his eyes followed her with interest as she
+crossed the ward; that his brow cleared when she spoke to
+him, and that all her movements were watched by him with<a name="Page_194"></a>
+great intentness. In spite of this she could not get him to
+reply with anything but curtness to her inquiries after his
+health and general welfare; and it was quite a surprise to
+her when one day, on her visit to him, he accosted her of his
+own accord.</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you sit down?" he said suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you. Yes, I should like to sit and read to you
+a little if you are able&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't for that," he said, interrupting her unceremoniously;
+"it's because I have something special to say to you.
+If you'll stoop down a moment I'll say it&mdash;I don't want
+any one else to hear."</p>
+
+<p>In great surprise, Lady Alice bowed her head.
+"I want to tell you," he said gruffly, "that you're
+wasting your time and your money. These men in the
+ward are not really grateful to you one bit. They speculate
+before you come as to how much you are likely to
+give them, and when you are gone they compare notes
+and grumble if you have not given them enough."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not wish to hear this," said Lady Alice, with
+dignity.</p>
+
+<p>"I know you do not; but I think it is only right to tell
+you. Try them: give them nothing for a visit or two,
+and see whether they won't sulk and look gloomy, although
+you may talk to them as kindly as ever&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And if they did," said Lady Alice, with a sudden flash
+of energy and insight which amazed herself, "who could
+blame them, considering the pain they have suffered, and
+the brutal lives they lead? Why should they listen to my
+poor words, if I go to them without a gift in my hand?"</p>
+
+<p>She spoke as she would have spoken to an equal&mdash;an
+unconscious tribute to the refinement which stamped this
+man as of a higher calibre than his fellows.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a convenient doctrine for them," said John Smith,
+and buried his head in the bedclothes as if he wanted to
+hear nothing more.</p>
+
+<p>For Lady Alice's next two visits he would not look up,
+or respond when she came near him, which she never
+failed to do; but on the third occasion he lifted his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, madam," he said, "you have after all been trying
+my plan, I hear. Do you find that it works well?"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice hesitated. The averted faces and puzzled,
+downcast&mdash;sometimes sullen&mdash;looks of the sick men and<a name="Page_195"></a>
+boys to whom she had of late given nothing but kind
+words, had grieved her sorely.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose it proves the truth, in part, of what you say,"
+she answered gently, "but on the other hand I find that
+my gifts have been judged excessive and unwise. It
+seems that I have a great deal to learn in the art of giving:
+it does not come by nature, as some suppose. I have
+consulted the doctors and nurses&mdash;and I have to thank
+you for giving me a warning."</p>
+
+<p>A look of surprise passed across the man's face.</p>
+
+<p>"You're better than some of them," he said, curtly. "I
+thought you'd never look at me again. I don't know why
+I should have interfered. But I did not like to see you
+cheated and laughed at."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice colored, but she felt no resentment against
+the man, although he had shown her that she had made
+herself ridiculous when she was bent on playing Lady
+Bountiful, and posing as an angel of light. She said after
+a moment's pause&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I believe you meant kindly. Is there nothing that I
+can do for you?"</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head. "I don't think so&mdash;I can't remember
+very well. The doctors say I shall remember by and
+by. Then I shall know."</p>
+
+<p>"And if I can, you will let me help you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I ought to be only too glad," said the patient,
+with a sort of sullenness, which Lady Alice felt that she
+could but dimly understand. "I suppose I'm the sort of
+man to <i>be</i> helped; and yet I can't help fancying there's a&mdash;Past&mdash;a
+Past behind me&mdash;a life in which I once was
+proud of my independence. But it strikes me that this was
+very long ago."</p>
+
+<p>He drew the bedclothes over his head again, and made no
+further reply. Lady Alice came to see him after this conversation
+as often as the rules of the hospital would allow
+her; and, although she seemed to get little response from
+him, the fact really remained that she was establishing an
+ascendancy over the man such as no nurse or doctor in
+the place had yet maintained. Others noticed it beside
+herself; but she, disheartened a little by her disappointment
+in some of the other patients, did not recognize the
+reality of his attachment to her. And an event occurred
+about the time which put John Smith and hospital matters
+out of her head for a considerable time to come.<a name="Page_196"></a></p>
+
+<p>Old Lord Courtleroy died suddenly. He was an old
+man, but so hale and hearty that his death had not been
+expected in the least; but he was found dead in his bed
+one morning, and the doctors pronounced that his complaint
+had been heart disease. The heir to the title and
+estate was a distant cousin whom Lady Alice and her father
+had never liked; and when he entered upon his possessions,
+Lady Alice knew that the time had come for her to
+seek a home elsewhere. She had sufficient to live upon;
+indeed, for a single woman, she was almost rich; but the
+loneliness of her position once more forced itself upon her,
+especially as Lesley was not by her side to cheer her
+gradually darkening life.</p>
+
+<p>She wrote the main facts concerning Lord Courtleroy's
+death and the change in her circumstances in short, rather
+disjointed letters to Lesley, and received very tender
+replies; but even then she felt a vague dissatisfaction with
+the girl's letters. They were full of a wistfulness which
+she could not understand: she felt that something remote
+had crept into them, some aloofness for which she could
+not account. And as Captain Harry Duchesne happened
+to come across her one day, and inquired very particularly
+after Miss Brooke, she induced him to promise to call on
+Lesley when he was in London, and to report to her all
+that Lesley did or said. If it was a somewhat underhand
+proceeding, she told herself that she was justified by her
+anxiety as a mother.</p>
+
+<p>Lord Courtleroy had left a considerable sum to Lesley,
+and when mother and daughter were reunited, as Lady
+Alice hoped that they would shortly be, there was no
+question as to their having means enough and to spare.
+Lady Alice began to dream of a dear little country house
+in Sussex, with an occasional season in London, or a winter
+at Bagn&egrave;res. She was recalled from her dreams to the
+realities of life by a letter from her husband. Caspar
+Brooke wrote to ask whether, under present circumstances,
+she would not return to him.<a name="Page_197"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">CAPTAIN DUCHESNE.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Lesley's</span> life seemed to her now much less lonely than it
+had been at first. The consciousness of having made
+friends was pleasant to her, although her affection for
+Ethel had been for a time overshadowed by the recollection
+of Oliver's unfaithfulness. But when this impression
+passed away, as it gradually did, after the scene that had
+been so painful to her, she consoled herself with the belief
+that Oliver's words and actions had proceeded from a
+temporary derangement of judgment, for which he was not
+altogether responsible, and that he had returned to his
+allegiance; therefore she might continue to be friendly
+with Ethel without any sensation of treachery or shame.
+An older woman than Lesley would not, perhaps, have
+argued in this way: she would have suspected the permanence
+of Oliver's feelings more than Lesley did. But,
+being only an inexperienced girl, Lesley comforted herself
+by the fact that Oliver now avoided her; and said that it
+could not be possible for her to have attracted him away
+from Ethel, who was so winning, so sweet, so altogether
+delightful.</p>
+
+<p>Then, apart from the Kenyons, she began to make
+pleasant acquaintances amongst her father's friends. Caspar
+Brooke's house was a centre of interest and entertainment
+for a large number of intellectual men and women;
+and Lesley had as many opportunities for wearing her
+pretty evening gowns as she could have desired. There
+were "at homes" to which her charming presence and her
+beautiful voice attracted Caspar's friends in greater numbers
+than ever: there were dinner-parties where her interest
+in the new world around her made everything else
+interesting; and there was a constant coming and going
+of people who had work to do in the world, and who did
+it with more or less success, which made the house in
+Woburn Place anything but a dull abode.<a name="Page_198"></a></p>
+
+<p>The death of her grandfather distressed her less from
+regret for himself than from anxiety for her mother's future.
+Lady Alice's notes to her were very short and somewhat
+vaguely worded. It was, therefore, with positive joy that,
+one afternoon in spring, she was informed by her maid
+that Captain Duchesne was in the drawing-room, for she
+felt sure that he would be able to tell her many details
+that she did not know. She made haste to go down, and
+yet, before she went, she paused to say a word to Kingston,
+who had brought her the welcome news.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you would go out, Kingston; you don't look
+at all well, and this spring air might do you good."</p>
+
+<p>It was certainly easy to see that Kingston was not well.
+During the past few weeks her face had become positively
+emaciated, her eyes were sunken, and her lips were white.
+She looked like a person who had recently passed through
+some illness or misfortune. Lesley had tried, delicately
+and with reserve, to question her; but Kingston had never
+replied to any of her inquiries. She would shut up her
+lips, and turn away with the look of one who could keep a
+secret to the grave.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing will do me good, ma'am," she answered
+dryly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Kingston, I am so sorry!"</p>
+
+<p>"Go down to your visitor, ma'am, and don't mind me,"
+said Kingston, turning her back on the girl with unusual
+abruptness. "It isn't much that I've got to be sorry for,
+after all."</p>
+
+<p>"If there is anything I can do to help you, you will let
+me know, will you not?" said Lesley.</p>
+
+<p>But Kingston's "Yes, ma'am," fell with a despairing
+cadence on her ear.</p>
+
+<p>Kingston had been to her husband's lodgings only to find
+that he had disappeared. He had left some of his clothes,
+and the few articles of furniture that belonged to his wife,
+and had never said that he was going away. The accident
+that had made Francis Trent a patient at the hospital
+where Lady Alice visited was of course unknown to his
+landlady, as also to his wife. And as his memory did not
+return to him speedily, poor Mary Trent had been left to
+suffer all the tortures of anxiety for some weeks. At first
+she thought that some injury had happened to him&mdash;perhaps
+that he was dead: then a harder spirit took posses<a name="Page_199"></a>sion
+of her, and she made up her mind that he had finally
+abandoned her&mdash;had got money from Oliver and departed
+to America without her. She might have asked Oliver
+whether this were so, but she was too proud to ask. She
+preferred to eat out her heart in solitude. She believed
+herself deserted forever, and the only grain of consolation
+that remained to her was the hope of making herself so
+useful and acceptable to Lesley Brooke, that when <a name="tn_204"></a><!--TN: "Leslie" changed to "Lesley"-->Lesley
+married she would ask Mary Kingston to go with her to
+her new home.</p>
+
+<p>Kingston had made up her mind about the man that
+Lesley was to marry. She had seen him come and go:
+she had seen him look at her dear Miss Lesley with
+ardently admiring eyes: she believed that he would be a
+true and faithful husband to her. But she knew more
+than Lesley was aware of yet.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley went slowly down into the drawing-room. She
+remembered Captain Duchesne very well, and she was
+glad to think of seeing him again. And yet there was an
+indefinable shrinking&mdash;she did not know how or why.
+Harry Duchesne was connected with her old life&mdash;with the
+Paris lights, the Paris drawing-rooms, the stately old
+grandfather, the graceful mother&mdash;the whole assembly of
+things that seemed so far away. She did not understand
+her whole feeling, but it suddenly appeared to her as if
+Captain Duchesne's visit was a mistake, and she had better
+get it over as soon as possible.</p>
+
+<p>It must be confessed that this sensation vanished as soon
+as she came into the actual presence of Captain Duchesne.
+The young man, with his grave, handsome features, his
+drooping, black moustache, his soldierly bearing, had an
+attraction for her after all. He reminded her of the mother
+whom she loved.</p>
+
+<p>It was not very easy to get into conversation with him
+at first. He seemed as ill at ease as Lesley herself had
+been. But when she fell to questioning him about Lady
+Alice, his tongue became unloosed.</p>
+
+<p>"She does not know exactly what to do. She talks of
+taking a house in London&mdash;if you would like it."</p>
+
+<p>"Would mamma care to live in London?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not for her own sake: for yours."</p>
+
+<p>"But I&mdash;I do not think I like London so much," said
+Lesley, with a swift blush and some hesitation. Captain
+Duchesne looked at her searchingly.<a name="Page_200"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Indeed? I understood that you had become much
+attached to it. I am sure Lady Alice thinks so."</p>
+
+<p>"I do love it&mdash;yes, but it is on account of the people
+who live in London," said Lesley.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you have made friends?"</p>
+
+<p>"There is my father, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes." And something in his tone made Lesley change
+the subject hurriedly. Captain Duchesne would never
+have been so ill-bred as to speak disparagingly of a lady's
+father to her face; and yet she felt that there was something
+disparaging in the tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you seen the present Lord Courtleroy?" she
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; I have met him once or twice. He is somewhat
+stiff and rigid in appearance, but he is very courteous&mdash;more
+than courteous, Lady Alice tells me, for he is kind.
+He wishes to disturb her as little as possible&mdash;entreats her
+to stay at Courtleroy, and so on; but naturally she wishes
+to have a house of her own."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course. But I thought that she would prefer the
+South of France."</p>
+
+<p>"If I may say so without offence," said Captain Duchesne,
+smiling, "Lady Alice's tastes seem to be changing. She
+used to love the country and inveigh against the ugliness of
+town; but now she spends her time in visiting hospitals
+and exploring Whitechapel&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley almost sprang to her feet. "Oh, Captain Duchesne,
+are you in earnest?"</p>
+
+<p>"Quite in earnest."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I <i>am</i> so glad!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, may I ask?" said Duchesne, with real curiosity.
+But Lesley clasped her hands tightly together and hung
+her head, feeling that she could not explain to a comparative
+stranger how she felt that community of interests
+might tend to a reconciliation between the long separated
+father and mother. And in the rather awkward pause that
+followed, Miss Ethel Kenyon was announced.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley was very glad to see her, and glad to see that
+she looked approvingly at Captain Duchesne, and launched
+at once into an animated conversation with him. Lesley
+relapsed almost into silence for a time, but a satisfied
+smile played upon her lips. It seemed to her that Captain
+Duchesne's dark eyes lighted up when he talked to<a name="Page_201"></a>
+Ethel as they had not done when he talked to <i>her</i>; that
+Ethel's cheeks dimpled with her most irresistible smile,
+and that her voice was full of pretty cadences, delighted
+laughter, mirth and sweetness. Lesley's nature was so
+thoroughly unselfish, that she could bear to be set aside
+for a friend's sake; and she was so ingenuous and single-minded
+that she put no strained interpretation on the
+honest admiration which she read in Harry Duchesne's
+eyes. It may have been partly in hopes of drawing her
+once more into the conversation that he turned to her
+presently with a laughing remark anent her love of smoky
+London.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but it is not the smoke I like," Lesley answered.
+"It is the people."</p>
+
+<p>"Especially the poor people," put in Ethel, saucily.
+"Now, I can't bear poor people; can you, Captain Duchesne?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care for them much, I'm afraid."</p>
+
+<p>"I like to do them good, and all that sort of thing,"
+said Ethel. "Don't look so sober, Lesley! I like to act
+to them, or sing to them, or give them money; but I must
+say I don't like visiting them in the slums, or having to
+stand too close to them <i>anywhere</i>. I am so glad that you
+agree with me, Captain Duchesne!"</p>
+
+<p>And not long afterwards she graciously invited him to
+call upon her on "her day," and promised him a stall at
+an approaching <i>matinee</i>, two pieces of especial favor, as
+Lesley knew.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Duchesne sat on as if fascinated by the brilliant
+little vision that had charmed his eyes; and not until an
+unconscionable time had elapsed did he seem able to tear
+himself away. When he had gone, Ethel expressed herself
+approvingly of his looks and manners.</p>
+
+<p>"I like those soldierly-looking men," she said. "So
+well set up and distinguished in appearance. Is he an old
+friend of yours, <a name="tn_206"></a><!-- TN: Exclamation mark changed to question mark after "Lesley"-->Lesley?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I have met him only once before. In Paris, he
+dined with us&mdash;with my grandfather, my mother, and myself."</p>
+
+<p>"And he comes from Lady Alice now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, to bring me news of her."</p>
+
+<p>Ethel nodded her bright little head sagaciously.</p>
+
+<p>"It's very plain what Lady Alice wants, then?"<a name="Page_202"></a></p>
+
+<p>"What?" said Lesley, opening her eyes in wide amaze.</p>
+
+<p>"She wants you to marry him, my dear."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's not nonsense: don't get so red about it, you silly
+girl. What a baby you are, Lesley."</p>
+
+<p>"I am sure mamma never thought of anything of the
+kind," said Lesley, with dignity, although her cheeks were
+still red.</p>
+
+<p>"We shall see what we shall see. Well, I won't put my
+oar in&mdash;isn't that kind of me? But, indeed, your Captain
+Duchesne looks thoroughly ripe for a flirtation, and it will
+be as much as I can do to keep my hands off him."</p>
+
+<p>"How would Mr. Trent like that?" said Lesley, trying
+to carry the war into the enemy's camp.</p>
+
+<p>"He would bear it with the same equanimity with which
+he bears the rest of my caprices," said Ethel, merrily; but
+a shade crossed her brow, and she allowed Lesley to lead
+the conversation to the subject of her <i>trousseau</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Duchesne did not seem slow to avail himself of
+the favor accorded to him. He presented himself at
+Ethel's next "at home;" and devoted himself to her with
+curious assiduity. Even the discovery of her engagement
+to Mr. Trent did not change his manner. It was not so
+much that he paid her actual attention, as that he paid
+none to anybody else. When she was not talking to him,
+he kept silence. He seemed always to be observing her,
+her face, her manner, her dress, her attitude. Yet this
+kind of observation was quite respectful and unobtrusive:
+it was merely its continuity that excited remark. Oliver
+noticed it at last, and professed himself jealous: in fact he
+was a little bit jealous, although he did not love Ethel
+overmuch. But he had a pride of possession in her which
+would not allow him to look with equanimity on the prospect
+of her being made love to by anybody else.</p>
+
+<p>Ethel enjoyed the attentions, and enjoyed Oliver's jealousy,
+in her usual spirit of childlike gaiety. She was quite
+assured of Oliver's affection for her now; and she looked
+forward with shy delight to the day of her wedding, which
+had been fixed for the twentieth of March.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Oliver was devoured with secret anxiety. For
+what had become of Francis, and when would he appear to
+demand the money which had been promised to him on
+the day when the marriage should take place?<a name="Page_203"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">MR. BROOKE'S DESIRES.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Lady Alice's</span> movements were not without interest to
+Caspar Brooke, although Lesley did not suspect the fact.
+It was quite a surprise to her when he entered the library
+one day, with apparently no other object than that of saying
+abruptly,</p>
+
+<p>"What is your mother going to do, Lesley?"</p>
+
+<p>"To do?" said Lesley, flushing slightly and looking
+astonished.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes"&mdash;impatiently. "Where is she going to live?
+What will become of her? Do you want to go to her? I
+wish to hear what you know about her arrangements."</p>
+
+<p>He planted himself on the hearth-rug in what might be
+termed an aggressive attitude&mdash;really the expression of
+some embarrassment of feeling. It certainly seemed hard
+to him at that moment to have to ask his daughter these
+questions.</p>
+
+<p>"I think," said Lesley, with downcast eyes, "that she
+is trying to find a house to suit her in Mayfair."</p>
+
+<p>"Mayfair. Then half her income will go in rent and
+taxes. Will she live there alone?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. At least&mdash;unless&mdash;until&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Until you join her: I understand. Will"&mdash;and then
+he made a long pause before continuing&mdash;"if she wants
+you to join her at once; and you wish to go, don't let this
+previous arrangement stand in the way. I shall not interfere."</p>
+
+<p>His curtness, his abruptness, would once have startled
+and terrified Lesley. She had of late grown so much less
+afraid of him, that now she only lifted her eyes, with a
+proud, grieving look in them, and said,</p>
+
+<p>"Do you want me to go away, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Want</i> you to go? Certainly not, child," and Mr.
+Brooke stretched out his hand, and drew her to him with a<a name="Page_204"></a>
+caressing gesture. "No: I like to have you here. But I
+thought you wanted to go to her."</p>
+
+<p>"So I do," said Lesley, the tears coming to her eyes.
+"But&mdash;I want to stay, too. I want"&mdash;and she put both
+hands on his arms with a gesture as affectionate as his own&mdash;"I
+want my father and mother both."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid that is an impossible wish."</p>
+
+<p>"But why should it be?" said Lesley, looking up into
+his face beseechingly.</p>
+
+<p>His features twitched for a moment with unwonted
+emotion. "You know nothing about it," he said&mdash;but he
+did not speak harshly. "You can't judge of the circumstances.
+What can I do? Even if I asked her she would
+not come back to me."</p>
+
+<p>And then he put his daughter gently from him and went
+down to his study, where he paced up and down the floor
+for a good half-hour, instead of settling down as usual to
+his work.</p>
+
+<p>But Lesley's words were not without their effect, although
+he had put them aside so decidedly. With that young,
+fair face looking so pleadingly into his own, it did not seem
+impossible that she should form a new tie between himself
+and his wife. Of course he had always known that children
+were conventionally supposed to bind the hearts of husband
+and wife to each other; but in his own case he had
+not found that a daughter produced that result. On the
+contrary, Lesley had been for many years a sort of bone of
+contention between himself and his wife; and he had retained
+a cynical sense of the futility of such conventional
+utterances, which were every day contradicted by barefaced
+facts.</p>
+
+<p>But now he began to acknowledge that Lesley was drawing
+his heart closer to his wife. The charm of a family
+circle began to rise before him. Pleasant, indeed, would
+it be to find that his dingy old house bore once more the
+characteristics of a home; that womankind was represented
+in it by fairer faces and softer voices than the face and
+voice even of dear old Doctor Sophy, with her advanced
+theories, her committees, and her brisk disregard of the
+amenities of life. Yes, he would give a good deal to see
+Alice&mdash;it was long since he had thought of her by that
+name&mdash;established in his drawing-room (which she should
+refurbish and adorn to her heart's content), with Lesley by<a name="Page_205"></a>
+her side, and himself at liberty to stroll in and out, to be
+smiled upon, and&mdash;yes, after all, this was his dearest wish&mdash;to
+dare to lavish the love of which his great heart was
+full upon the wife and child whose loss had been the misfortune
+of his life.</p>
+
+<p>As he thought of the past years, it seemed to him that
+they had been very bleak and barren. True, he had done
+many things; he had influenced many people, and accomplished
+some good work; but what had he got out of it for
+himself? He was an Individualist at heart, as most men
+are, and he felt conscious of a claim which the world had
+not granted. It was almost a shock to him to feel the
+egoistic desire for personal happiness stirring strongly
+within him; the desire had been suppressed for so long,
+that when it once awoke it surprised him by its vitality.</p>
+
+<p>The outcome of these reflections was seen in a letter
+written that day after his talk with Lesley. He seated
+himself at last at his writing-table, and after some minutes'
+thought dashed off the following epistle. He did not stop
+for a word, he would not hesitate about the wording of
+sentences: it seemed to him that if he paused to consider,
+his resolution might be shaken, his purpose become unfixed.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"My Dear Alice," he wrote&mdash;"I hear from Lesley that
+you are looking for a house. Would it not be better for us
+all if you made your home with me again? Things have
+changed since you left me, and I might now be better able
+to consult your tastes and wishes than I was then. We
+are both older and, I hope, wiser. Could we not manage
+to put aside some of our personal predilections and make
+a home together for our daughter? I use this argument
+because I believe it will have more weight with you than
+any other: at the same time, I may add that it is for my
+own sake, as well as for Lesley's, that I make the proposition.
+Your affectionate husband,</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+"<span class="smcap">Caspar Brooke.</span>"
+</p></div>
+
+<p>It was an odd ending, he thought: he had certainly
+not shown himself an affectionate husband to her for many
+years. But there was truth in the epithet: little as she
+might believe it, or as it might appear. He would not<a name="Page_206"></a>
+stop to re-read the letter: he had said what he wanted to
+say, and she could read his meaning easily enough. He
+had held out the olive branch. It was for her to accept
+or reject it, as she would.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley could not understand why he was so restless and
+apparently uneasy during the next few days. He seemed
+to be looking for something&mdash;expecting something&mdash;nobody
+knew what. He spent more time than usual with
+her, and took a new interest in her affairs. She did not
+know that he was trying to put himself into training for
+domestic life, and that he found it unexpectedly pleasant.</p>
+
+<p>"What's this?" he said one day, picking up a scrap of
+paper that fell from a book that she held in her hand.
+"Not a letter, I think? Have you been making extracts?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Lesley, blushing violently, but not trying to
+take the paper from him.</p>
+
+<p>"May I see it? Oh, a sort of essay&mdash;description&mdash;impressions
+of London in a fog." He murmured a few of the
+words and phrases as he went on. "Why, this is very
+good. Here's the real literary touch. Where did you get
+this, Lesley? It's not half bad."</p>
+
+<p>As she made no answer, he looked up and saw the guilty
+laughter in her eyes, the conscious blushes on her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't mean to say&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I only wrote it to amuse myself," said Lesley, meekly.
+"I've had so little to do since I came here, and I thought
+I would scribble down my impressions."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear child," said Mr. Brooke, "if you can write as
+well as this, you ought to have a career before you. Why,"
+he added, surveying her, "I had no idea of this. And I
+always did have a secret wish that a child of mine should
+take to literature. My dear&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But I don't want to take to literature, exactly," said
+Lesley, with a little gasp. "I only want to amuse myself
+sometimes&mdash;just when I feel inclined, if you don't think it
+a great waste of time&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Waste of time? Certainly not. Go on, by all means.
+I shall only ask to see what you do now and then; I might
+be able to give you a hint&mdash;though I don't know. Your
+style is very good already&mdash;wants a little compression,
+perhaps, but you can make sentences&mdash;that's a comfort."
+And Mr. Brooke fell to reading the manuscript again, with
+a very pleased look upon his face.<a name="Page_207"></a></p>
+
+<p>It was while he was still reading that a servant brought
+in some letters which had just arrived. He opened the
+first that came to hand almost unthinkingly, for his mind
+was quite absorbed in the discovery which he had made.
+It was only when his eye rested on the first page of the
+letter that memory came back to him. He gave a great
+start, rose up, putting Lesley's paper away from him, and
+went to the other side of the room to read his letter. It
+was as follows:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>
+"<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Brooke</span>,&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>"I have already found a house that I think will suit me, and I hope
+that Lesley will join me there as soon as you can spare her. I am
+afraid that it is a little too late to change our respective ways of life.
+It would be no advantage to Lesley to live with parents who were not
+agreed.</p>
+
+<p class="presignature">"Yours very truly,</p>
+<p class="signature">"<span class="smcap">Alice Brooke.</span>"</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Caspar Brooke turned round with a face that had grown
+strangely pale, walked across the room to Lesley, and
+dropped the letter in her lap.</p>
+
+<p>"There!" he said. "I have done my uttermost. That
+is your mother's reply to me."</p>
+
+<p>He strode out of the room, without deigning to answer
+her cry of surprise and inquiry, and Lesley took up the
+letter.</p>
+
+<p>It was with a burst of tears that she put it down. "Oh,
+mother, mother!" she cried to herself, "how can you be
+so unkind, so unjust, so unforgiving? He is the best man
+in the world, and yet you have the heart to hurt him."</p>
+
+<p>She did not see her father again until the next day, and
+then, although she made no reference in words to the letter
+which she restored to him, her pale and downcast looks
+spoke for her, and told the sympathy which she did not
+dare to utter. Mr. Brooke kissed her, and felt vaguely
+comforted; but it began to occur to him that he had made
+Lesley's position a hard one by insisting on her visit to his
+house, and that it might have been happier for her if she
+had remained hostile to himself, or ignorant of his existence.
+For now, when she went back to her mother, would not the
+affection that she evidently felt for him rise up as a barrier
+between herself and Lady Alice? Would she not try to
+fight for him? She was brave enough, and impetuous<a name="Page_208"></a>
+enough, to do it. And then Alice might justly accuse him
+of having embittered the relation, hitherto so sweet, between
+mother and daughter, and thereby inflicted on her an injury
+which nothing on earth could repair or justify.</p>
+
+<p>Could nothing be done to remedy this state of things?
+Caspar Brooke began to feel worried by it. His mind was
+generally so serene that the intrusion of a personal anxiety
+seemed monstrous to him. He found it difficult to write
+in his accustomed manner: he felt a diminution of his
+interest in the club. With masculine impatience of such
+an unwonted condition, he went off at last to Maurice
+Kenyon, and asked him seriously whether his brain, his
+heart, or his liver were out of order. For that something
+was the matter with him, he felt sure, and he wanted the
+doctor to tell him what it was.</p>
+
+<p>Maurice questioned and examined him carefully, then
+assured him with a hearty laugh that even his digestion
+was in the best possible working order.</p>
+
+<p>Brooke gave himself a shake like a great dog, looked
+displeased for a moment, and then burst out laughing too.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose it is nothing, after all," he said. "I've been
+a trifle anxious and worried lately. Nothing of any importance,
+my dear fellow. By the by, have you been to see
+Lesley lately?"</p>
+
+<p>"May I speak to her?" said Maurice, his face brightening.
+"I thought&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Speak when you like," Caspar answered, curtly. "I
+almost wish you would get if over. Get it settled, I
+mean."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall get it settled as soon as I can, certainly," said
+Maurice.</p>
+
+<p>And Mr. Brooke went away, thinking that after all he
+had found one way of escape from his troubles. For if
+Lesley accepted Maurice, and lived with him in a house
+opposite her father's, there would always be a corner for
+him at their fireside, and he would not go to the grave feeling
+himself a childless, loveless, desolate old man.</p>
+
+<p>It must be conceded that Mr. Brooke had sunk to a very
+low pitch of dejection when he was dominated by such
+thoughts as these.<a name="Page_209"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">LESLEY'S PROMISE.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Maurice</span> was no backward lover. He made his way to
+Lesley that very day, and found her in the library&mdash;not, as
+usual, bending over a book, but standing by the window,
+from which could be seen a piece of waste ground overgrown
+with grass and weeds, and shaded by some great
+plane and elm trees. There was nothing particularly fascinating
+in the outlook, which partook of the usual grimness
+of a London atmosphere; but the young green of the
+budding trees spoke, in spite of the blackness of their
+branches, of spring and spring's delight; and there was a
+brightness in the tints of the tangled grass which gave a
+restful satisfaction to the eye. Lesley was looking out
+upon this scene with a wistfulness which struck Maurice
+with some surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"You like this window?" he said, interrogatively, when
+they had shaken hands and exchanged a word or two of
+greeting.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it reminds me in some way of my old convent
+home; I don't know why it should; but there are trees
+and grass and greenness."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you love the country?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do not you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but there are better things in the world than even
+trees and grass."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, yes," said Lesley, eagerly. Then, with a little
+smile, she added; as if quoting&mdash;"Souls of men."</p>
+
+<p>"I was thinking of their bodies," said the young doctor.
+"But that's as it should be. You think of the spiritual, I
+only of the material side. Both sides ought to be considered
+that is where men and women meet, I take it."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose so," said Lesley, a little vaguely.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid," Maurice went on, "that it will be a long
+time before I have a country house of my own: a place
+where there will be trees and green meadows and flowers,<a name="Page_210"></a>
+such as one loves and sighs for. I have often thought"&mdash;with
+a note of agitation in his voice&mdash;"how much easier it
+would be to ask any one to share my life if I had these
+good things to offer. My only chance has been to find
+someone who cares&mdash;as I care&mdash;for the souls and bodies
+of the men and women around us; who would not disdain
+to help me in my work."</p>
+
+<p>"Who <i>could</i> disdain it?" asked Lesley, innocently
+indignant.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean"&mdash;turning suddenly upon her&mdash;"that
+you don't consider a hard working doctor's life something
+inexpressibly beneath you?"</p>
+
+<p>She drew back a little hurt, a little bit astonished.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly not. Why should I?"</p>
+
+<p>"You are born to a life of luxury and self-indulgence."</p>
+
+<p>"My father is a journalist," said Lesley with a smile, in
+which amusement struggled with offence.</p>
+
+<p>"But your grandfather was an earl! It is possible,"
+with a touch of raillery, "that you prefer earls to general
+practitioners."</p>
+
+<p>"Of the two, it is the doctor that leads the better life,
+in my opinion," said Lesley, rather hotly; but immediately
+cooling down, she added the remark&mdash;"My preferences
+have nothing much, however, to do with the matter."</p>
+
+<p>"Have they not? How little you know your own power!"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley looked at him in much amaze. Whither this
+conversation was tending it had not yet occurred to her to
+inquire. But something in his look, as he stood fronting
+her, brought the color to her cheeks and caused her eyes
+to sink. She became suddenly a little afraid of him, and
+wished herself a thousand miles away. Indeed she made
+one backward step, as if her maidenly instincts were about
+to manifest themselves in actual flight. But Maurice saw
+the movement, and made two steps forward, which brought
+him so close to her that he could have touched her hand
+if he had wished.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you understand?" he said, in an agitated voice.
+"Don't you see that your opinion&mdash;your preferences&mdash;are
+all the world to me?"</p>
+
+<p>He paused as if expecting her to reply&mdash;leaning a little
+towards her to catch the word from her lips. But Lesley
+did not speak. She remained motionless, as pale now as
+she had been red before&mdash;her hands hanging at her sides<a name="Page_211"></a>
+and her eyes fixed upon the ground. She looked as if she
+were stricken dumb with dismay.</p>
+
+<p>"I know that I have not recommended myself to you by
+anything that I have said or done," Maurice went on. "I
+misjudged you once, and I spoke roughly, rudely, brutally;
+but it was the way you took what I said which made me
+understand you. You were so fine, so noble, so sweet!
+Instead of making my stupidity an excuse for shutting
+yourself away from what your father was doing, you immediately
+threw yourself into it, you began to work with
+him and for him&mdash;as of course I might have seen that
+you would do directly you came to know him. I was a
+fool, and you were an angel&mdash;that summarizes the situation."</p>
+
+<p>A faint smile curled Lesley's lips, although she did not
+look up. "I am afraid there is not much of the angel
+about me," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you can't see yourself as others see you," he
+answered, quite ignoring the implication in her remark
+which a less ardent lover might have resented. "To
+me, at any rate, you are the one woman in the world, the
+only one I have ever loved&mdash;shall ever love as long as I
+live&mdash;the fulfilment of my ideal&mdash;the realization of all my
+<a name="tn_216"></a><!--TN: Quote added after "dreams!"-->dreams!"</p>
+
+<p>His vehemence made Lesley draw back.</p>
+
+<p>"You exaggerate," she said with a slight shake of the
+head. "Indeed, I am not all that&mdash;I could not be. I am
+very ignorant and full of faults. I have a bad temper&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You have a temper that is sweetness itself!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mr. Kenyon, how can you say so?"&mdash;with a look
+of reproach. "You who have seen me so angry!"</p>
+
+<p>"Your temper is just like your father's," said Maurice,
+dogmatically. "A little hot, if you like, but sweet&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Something like preserved ginger?" asked Lesley.</p>
+
+<p>The two young people looked at each other with laughter
+in their eyes. This was Lesley's way of trying to stave off
+the inevitable. If Maurice's declaration could only be
+construed into idle compliment, she would be rid of the
+necessity of giving him a plain answer. And what had
+been begun as a proposal of marriage seemed likely to
+degenerate into a fencing match.</p>
+
+<p>Maurice saw the danger, and was too quick-witted to
+fall unawares into the trap which Lesley had laid for him.
+A war of words was the very thing in which he and Ethel<a name="Page_212"></a>
+most delighted; and it was usually quite easy to induce
+brother and sister to engage upon it. But on this occasion
+he was too much in earnest for word-play. He laughed at
+Lesley's simile, and then became suddenly and almost
+fiercely grave.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't let you turn the whole thing into a joke," he
+said. "You know that I mean what I say. It is a matter
+of life and death to me. I love you with my whole heart,
+and I come to-day to know whether there is any chance for
+me&mdash;whether you can honor me with your love&mdash;whether
+you will one day consent to be my wife."</p>
+
+<p>His voice sank to a pleading tone, and his face was very
+pale. But he felt that a great display of emotion would
+frighten and repel the girl, and he therefore sedulously
+avoided, as far as possible, any appearance of agitation.
+He could not, however, entirely achieve the calmness which
+he desired, and the very suppression of his agitation, which,
+in spite of himself, made his voice shake, and brought
+fire to his eyes, had an unwontedly unnerving effect upon
+Lesley.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't know," she said hurriedly. "I can't tell&mdash;I
+never thought&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Think now," he said persuasively. "Am I disagreeable
+to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No,"&mdash;very softly.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you forgiven me for my bad behavior in the
+past?"</p>
+
+<p>"You never did behave badly."</p>
+
+<p>"But you have forgiven me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes."</p>
+
+<p>This was illogical, as she had previously intimated that
+there was nothing to forgive; but, under such circumstances,
+Lesley may be excused.</p>
+
+<p>"And&mdash;surely, then&mdash;you like me a little!"</p>
+
+<p>"A little," Lesley breathed, rather than spoke, with an
+unconscious smile of happiness.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you not call it 'loving?'" asked Maurice, daring
+for the first time to take her soft little hand in his.</p>
+
+<p>But the question, the look, the touch, suddenly terrified
+Lesley, and brought back to her mind a long-forgotten
+promise. What was it her mother had required of her
+before she left Paris for her father's house? Was it not a
+pledge that she should not bind herself to marry any man?<a name="Page_213"></a>
+&mdash;that she should not engage herself to be married?
+Lesley had an instinctive knowledge of the fact that to
+proclaim her promise would be to cast discredit on Lady
+Alice; and so, while trying to keep her word, she sought
+for means to avoid telling the whole truth.</p>
+
+<p>"No, oh no," she said, withdrawing her hand at once
+and turning away. "Indeed, I could not. Please do not
+ask me anymore."</p>
+
+<p>The shock was very great to Maurice. He stood perfectly
+silent for a moment. He had thought that he was making
+such good progress&mdash;and, behold! the wind had suddenly
+changed; the face of the heavens was overcast. He tried
+to think that he had been mistaken, and made another
+attempt to win a favorable hearing.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Brooke&mdash;Lesley&mdash;you say you like me a little.
+Do you not think that your liking for me might grow?
+When you know that I love you so tenderly, that I would
+lay down my very life for you, when you can hear all that
+I can tell you of my hopes, my dreams, my aspirations&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I do not want to hear," said Lesley, putting out her
+hand blindly. "Please do not tell me: it makes me miserable&mdash;indeed,
+I must not listen."</p>
+
+<p>Again Maurice stood silent for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Must</i> not listen?" he repeated at length, with a keen
+look at her. "Why must you not?"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley made no answer.</p>
+
+<p>"You speak strangely," said Kenyon, with some slight
+coldness beginning to manifest itself in his manner. "Why
+should you not listen to me? If you are thinking of your
+father, I can assure you that he has no objection to me. I
+have consulted him already. He would be honestly glad,
+I believe, if you could care for me&mdash;he has told me so.
+Does his opinion go for nothing?"</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't explain," she said brokenly. "I can only ask
+you not to say anything&mdash;at least&mdash;I have promised&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Promised not to listen to me?"</p>
+
+<p>"To anything of the kind," said Lesley, feeling that she
+was making a terrible mess of the whole affair, and yet
+unable to loosen her tongue sufficiently to explain.</p>
+
+<p>"May I ask to whom you gave this promise?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Lesley.<a name="Page_214"></a></p>
+
+<p>There was another silence, but this time it was a silence
+charged with ominous significance. Maurice's face was very
+white, and a peculiar rigidity showed itself in the lines of
+his features. He was very much disappointed, and he also
+felt that he had some right to be displeased.</p>
+
+<p>"If you were bound by any such promise, Miss Brooke,"
+he said, "I think it would have been better that your
+friends should have known of it. I don't think that Mr.
+Brooke was aware&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, he knew nothing about it."</p>
+
+<p>"It was a promise made before you came here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Of which your mother&mdash;Lady Alice&mdash;approves?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes&mdash;it was to her&mdash;because she&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley stammered and tried to explain. There was a tremendous
+oppression upon her, such as one feels sometimes
+in a nightmare dream. She longed to speak out, to clear
+herself in Maurice's eyes, and yet she could not frame a
+single intelligible sentence. It was as though she were
+afflicted with dumbness.</p>
+
+<p>"I think," said Maurice, deliberately, "that your father
+and your aunt had a right to know this fact. You seem
+to have kept them in ignorance of it. And I have been
+led into a mistake. I can assure you, Miss Brooke, that
+if I had been aware of any previous promise&mdash;or&mdash;or engagement
+of yours, I should never have presumed to speak
+as I have spoken to-day. I can but apologize and withdraw."</p>
+
+<p>Before Lesley could answer, he had taken his hat, bowed
+profoundly, and left the room.</p>
+
+<p>And Lesley, with lips from which all color had faded,
+and hands pressed tightly together, watched him go, and
+stood for some minutes in dazed, despairing silence before
+she could say, even to herself, with a burst of hot and bitter
+tears,</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I did not mean him to think <i>that</i>. And now I
+cannot explain! What shall I do? What <i>can</i> I do to
+make him understand?"</p>
+
+<p>But that was a question for which she found no answer.<a name="Page_215"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">CURED.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">"You</span> are quite well," said the doctor to John Smith,
+otherwise called Francis Trent, at the great hospital one
+day. "You can go out to-morrow. There is nothing more
+that we can do for you."</p>
+
+<p>Smith raised his dull eyes to their faces.</p>
+
+<p>"Am I&mdash;cured?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>One of the doctors shrugged his shoulders a little. Another
+answered kindly and pityingly,</p>
+
+<p>"You will find that you are not as strong as you used
+to be. Not the same man in many respects. But you will
+be able to get your own living, and we see no reason for
+detaining you here. What was your trade?"</p>
+
+<p>The patient looked down at his white, thin hands. "I
+don't know," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you friends to go to?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause. Some of the medical students who
+were listening came a little nearer. As a matter of fact,
+Francis Trent's future depended very largely on the answer
+he made to this question. The statement that he was
+"quite well" was hazarded rather by way of experiment
+than as a matter of fact. The doctors wanted to know
+what he would say and do under pressure, for some of
+them were beginning to suggest that the man should be
+removed to the workhouse infirmary or a lunatic asylum.
+His faculties seemed to be hopelessly beclouded.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he lifted his head. A new sharp light had
+come into his eyes. He nodded reassuringly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I have friends," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"You have a home where you can go? Shall we write
+to your friends to meet you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, thank you, sir. I can find my own way home."</p>
+
+<p>And then they conferred together a little, and left him,
+and reported that he was cured.</p>
+
+<p>Certainly, there seemed to be nothing the matter with
+him now. His wounds and injuries had healed, his bodily<a name="Page_216"></a>
+strength was returning. But the haze which hung over his
+mind was far more impenetrable than the doctors guessed.
+Something of it had been apparent to them in the earlier
+days of his illness; but his clear and decided answers to
+their questions convinced them that memory had to some
+extent returned. As a matter of fact it was not memory
+that had returned, but a sharpening of his perceptive faculties,
+awakening him to the fact that he stood in danger of
+being taken for an idiot or a madman if he did not frame
+some answer to the questions which the doctors asked him.
+This new acuteness was perhaps the precursor to a return
+of his memory; but as yet the Past was like a dead wall,
+an abyss of darkness surrounding him. Now and then
+flashes of light seemed to dart across that darkness: he
+seemed on the point of recalling something&mdash;he knew not
+what; for the flashes faded as quickly as they came, and
+made the darkness all the greater for the contrast.</p>
+
+<p>He was possessed now by the idea that if he could get
+out of hospital, and walk along the London streets, he
+might remember all that he had forgotten. His own name,
+his own history, had become a blank to him. He knew
+in some vague, forlorn fashion, that he had once been what
+the world calls a gentleman. He had not acknowledged so
+much to the doctors: he had not felt that they would
+believe him. Even when the groping after the Past became
+most painful, he made up his mind that he would not ask
+these scientific men for help: he was afraid of being
+treated as a "case," experimented on, written about in the
+papers. There was something in the Past of which he
+knew he ought to be ashamed. What could it be? He was
+afraid to ask, lest he might find himself to be a criminal.</p>
+
+<p>In these haunting terrors there was, of course, a distinct
+token of possible insanity. The man needed a friendly,
+guiding hand to steer him back to the world of reason and
+common-sense. But to whom could he go, since he had
+taken up this violent prejudice against the doctors? He
+felt drawn to none of the nurses, although some of them
+had been very kind to him. The only person to whom
+he might perhaps have disburthened himself, if he had had
+the opportunity, was the sweet-voiced, sweet-faced woman
+whom he had warned of the ill effects of her gifts. He did
+not know her name, or anything about her; but before he
+left the hospital he asked one of the nurses who she was.<a name="Page_217"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Lady Alice Brooke&mdash;daughter of the Lord Courtleroy,
+who died the other day," was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Could you give me her address?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; and I don't think that if I could it would be of
+any use to you. She is leaving England, I believe. If
+you want work or help, why don't you speak to Mr.
+Kenyon? He's the gentleman to find both for you&mdash;Mr.
+Maurice Kenyon."</p>
+
+<p>"Which is Mr. Kenyon?"</p>
+
+<p>"There&mdash;he's just passing through the next ward; shall
+I speak to him for you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, thank you: I don't want anything from him: I
+only wanted the lady's name," said John Smith, in a dogged
+sullen kind of way, which made the whitecapped nurse
+look at him suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p>"Brooke!&mdash;Kenyon?"&mdash;How oddly familiar the names
+seemed to him! Of course they were not very uncommon
+names; but there was a distinct familiarity about them
+which had nothing to do with the names themselves, as if
+they had some connection with his own history and his
+own affairs.</p>
+
+<p>He was discharged&mdash;"cured." He went out into the
+streets with half-a-crown in his pocket, and a fixed determination
+to know the truth, sooner or later, about himself.
+At the same time he had a great fear of letting any one
+know the extent of the blanks in his memory. He thought
+that people might shut him up in a madhouse if he told
+them that he could not recollect his own name. A certain
+amount of intellectual force and knowledge remained to
+him. He could read, and understand what he read. But
+of his own history he had absolutely no idea; and the only
+clue to it that he could find lay in those two names&mdash;Brooke
+and Kenyon.</p>
+
+<p>Could he discover anything about the possessors of
+these names which would help him? He entered a shop
+where a Post Office Directory was to be found, and looked
+at Maurice Kenyon's name amongst the doctors. He
+found Mr. Kenyon's private address; but as yet it told
+him nothing. Woburn Place? Well, of course he had
+heard of Woburn Place, it was no wonder that he should
+know it so well; but the name told him nothing more.</p>
+
+<p>He sat staring at it so long that the people of the shop
+grew impatient, and asked him to shut the book. He went<a name="Page_218"></a>
+away, and wandered about the streets, vaguely seeking for
+he knew not what. And after a time he bought a newspaper.
+Here again he found the name that had attracted
+his attention&mdash;the name of Kenyon. "Last appearance of
+Miss Kenyon at the Frivolity Theatre&mdash;this week only."</p>
+
+<p>"Who's Miss Ethel Kenyon?" he asked&mdash;drawing a
+bow at a venture&mdash;of his neighbor in the dingy little coffeehouse
+into which he had turned. It was ten to one that
+the man would not know; but he would ask.</p>
+
+<p>As it happened, the young <a name="tn_223"></a><!--TN: "nan" changed to "man"-->man did know. "She's an
+actress," he said. "I went to see her the other night.
+Pretty girl&mdash;going to get married and leave the stage. My
+brother's a scene shifter at the Frivolity&mdash;knows all about
+her."</p>
+
+<p>"Who is she going to marry?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't know&mdash;some idle young chap that wants
+her money, I believe. She ain't the common sort of actress,
+you know. Bit of a swell, with sixty thousand pounds of
+her own."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," said his interlocutor, vaguely. "And&mdash;has she
+any relations?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, that I can't tell you. Stop a bit, though: I did
+hear tell of a brother&mdash;a doctor, I believe. But I couldn't
+be sure of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Could you get to know if you wanted?"</p>
+
+<p>The young fellow turned and surveyed his questioner
+with some doubt. "Dare say I could if I chose," he said.
+"What do you want to know for, mate?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've been away&mdash;out of England for a long time&mdash;and
+I think they're people who used to know me," said Francis
+Trent, improvising his story readily. "I thought they
+could put me on the way of work if I could come across
+them; but I don't know if it's the same."</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you go to see her to-night? She's worth a
+look: she's a pretty little thing&mdash;but she don't draw
+crowds: the gallery's never full."</p>
+
+<p>"I think I'll go to-night," said Francis, rising suddenly
+from his seat. He fancied that the young man looked at
+him suspiciously. "Yes, no doubt, I should know her if
+I saw her: I'll go to-night."</p>
+
+<p>He made his way hastily into the street, while his late
+companion sent a puzzled glance after him. "Got a tile
+loose, that chap has," he said to the girl at the counter as
+he also passed out. "Or else he was a bit screwed."<a name="Page_219"></a></p>
+
+<p>So that night Francis Trent went to the Frivolity, and
+witnessed, from a half-empty gallery, a smart, sparkling
+little society play, in which Ethel Kenyon had elected to
+say farewell to her admirers.</p>
+
+<p>He saw her, but her face produced no impression upon
+his mind.</p>
+
+<p>It was not familiar to him, although her name was familiar
+enough. Those gleaming dark eyes in the saucy piquante
+face, the tiny graceful figure, the silvery accents of
+her voice, were perfectly strange to him. They suggested
+absolutely nothing. It was the name alone that he knew;
+and he was sure that it was in some way connected with
+his own.</p>
+
+<p>Before the end of the play, he got up and went out.
+The lights of the theatre made him dizzy: his head ached
+from the hot atmosphere and from his own physical weakness.
+He was afraid that he should cry out or do something
+strange which would make people look at him, if he
+sat there much longer. So he turned into a side street and
+leaned against a wall for a little time, until he felt cool and
+refreshed. The evening was warm, considering that the
+month was March, and the air that played upon his face
+was soft and balmy. When he had recovered himself a
+little, he noticed a group of young men lighting their cigarettes
+and loitering about a door in the vicinity. Presently
+he made out that this was the stage-door, and that these
+young men were waiting to see one of the actresses come
+out. By the fragments of their talk that floated to him on
+the still evening air in the quiet side street, Francis Trent
+gathered that they spoke a good deal of Ethel Kenyon.</p>
+
+<p>"So this is the last we shall see of pretty little Ethel,"
+he heard one man say. "Who's the man she's hooked,
+eh?"</p>
+
+<p>Nobody seemed to know.</p>
+
+<p>"Why did she go on the boards at all, I wonder? She's
+got money, and belongs to a pre-eminently respectable
+family. Her brother's a doctor."</p>
+
+<p>"Stage-struck," said another. "She'll give it up now,
+of course. Here's her carriage. She'll be here directly."</p>
+
+<p>"And the happy man at her heels, I <a name="tn_224"></a><!-- TN: Quotation mark moved to follow "suppose,"-->suppose," sneered
+the first speaker. "They say she's madly in love with him,
+and that he, of course, wants her money."</p>
+
+<p>"He's a cad, I know that," growled a younger man.<a name="Page_220"></a></p>
+
+<p>Impelled by an interest of which he himself did not
+know the source, Francis Trent had drawn nearer to the
+stage door as the young fellows spoke. He was quite close
+to it, when it opened at last and the pretty actress came
+forth.</p>
+
+<p>She was escorted by a train of admirers, rich and poor.
+Her maid was laden with wraps and bouquets. The manager
+and the actor who played the leading part were on
+either side of her, and Ethel was laughing the merry, unaffected
+laugh of a perfectly happy woman as she made her
+triumphal exit from the little theatre where she had achieved
+all her artistic success. Another kind of success, she
+thought, was in store for her now. She was to know another
+sort of happiness. And the whole world looked very
+bright to her, although there was one little cloud&mdash;no bigger
+than a man's hand, perhaps&mdash;which had already shown
+itself above the horizon, and might one day cloud the
+noontide of her love.</p>
+
+<p>Francis Trent was so absorbed in watching her lovely
+face, and in wondering why her name had seemed so familiar,
+that he paid scant attention to her followers. It was
+only as the carriage drove off that his eye was caught by
+the face of a man who sat beside her. A gleam from a gas-lamp
+had fallen full upon it, revealing the regular, passionless
+features, the dark eyes and pale complexion of Ethel's
+lover. And as soon as he saw that face, a great change
+came over the mental condition of Francis Trent. He stood
+for a moment as if paralyzed, his worn features strangely
+convulsed, a strange lurid light showed itself in his haggard
+eyes. Then he threw his arms wildly in the air,
+uttered a choked, gasping cry, and rushed madly and
+vainly after the retreating carriage, heedless of the shouts
+which the little crowd sent after him.</p>
+
+<p>"He's mad&mdash;he'll never catch up that carriage! What
+does he run after it for, the fool?" said one of the men on
+the pavement.</p>
+
+<p>And indeed he soon relinquished the attempt, and sat
+down on a doorstep, panting and exhausted, with his face
+buried upon his arms.</p>
+
+<p>But he was not mad. He was sure of that now. It was
+only that he had&mdash;partially and feebly, but to some extent
+effectually&mdash;remembered what had happened to him in the
+dark dead Past.<a name="Page_221"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">DOUBT.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">It</span> was a difficult matter for Maurice Kenyon so to word
+his report to Caspar Brooke as not to excite his displeasure
+<a name="tn_226"></a><!-- TN: "againt" changed to "against"-->against Lesley. He felt himself bound to respect
+Lesley's confidences&mdash;if such they might be called&mdash;respecting
+the promise which kept her from returning his
+love; but he could not help a certain bitterness of tone in
+referring to his interview with her; and his friend observed
+the bitterness.</p>
+
+<p>"What reason did she give for refusing you?" he asked
+sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose she does not care for me."</p>
+
+<p>"There is something else&mdash;to judge from your look.
+Perhaps there is&mdash;somebody else?" said Brooke.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't know that I'm doing right in telling you&mdash;but&mdash;God
+help me!&mdash;I believe there is," said Maurice,
+with a groan.</p>
+
+<p>"She did not tell you who?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Brooke knitted his brows. He was inclined to think
+that Oliver Trent had produced an impression on Lesley's
+susceptible heart. He could not ask questions of any of
+the persons concerned; but he had his suspicions, and
+they made him angry as well as anxious.</p>
+
+<p>He made it his business during the next day or two to
+find out whether Oliver had been to the house since the
+day when he had interrupted the interview; but he could
+not learn that he had ventured there again. It was no use
+asking Dr. Sophy about Lesley's comings and goings: it
+was almost impossible for him to question Lesley herself.</p>
+
+<p>"What rubbish it all is&mdash;this love-making, marrying,
+and giving in marriage!" he said, at last, impatiently, to
+himself. "I'll think no more about these young folks'
+affairs&mdash;let them make or mar their happiness in their own
+way. I'll think of my work and nothing else&mdash;I've ne<a name="Page_222"></a>glected
+it a good deal of late, I fancy. I must make up for
+lost time now." And sitting down at his table, he turned
+over the papers upon it, and took up a quill pen. But he
+did not begin to write for some minutes. He sat frowning
+at the paper, biting the feathers of his pen, drumming with
+his fingers on the table. And after a time he muttered to
+himself, "If any man harms Lesley, I'll wring his neck&mdash;that's
+all;" which did not sound as though he were giving
+to his literary work all the attention that it required.</p>
+
+<p>As to Lesley, she would have given a great deal at that
+time for a counsellor of some kind. The old feeling of friendlessness
+had come back to her. Her aunt was absorbed
+by her own affairs, her father looked at her with unquiet
+displeasure in his eyes. Oliver Trent had proved himself
+a false friend indeed. Ethel was a little reserved with her,
+and she had sent Maurice Kenyon away. There was
+nobody else to whom she could turn for comfort. True,
+she had made many acquaintances by this time: her father's
+circle was a large one, and she knew more people now than
+she had ever spoken to in her quiet convent days. But
+these were all acquaintances&mdash;not friends. She could not
+speak to any one of these about Maurice Kenyon, her
+lover and her friend. Once or twice she thought vaguely
+of writing to her mother about him; but she shrank from
+doing so without quite knowing why. The fact was, she
+knew her mother's criticism beforehand: she expected to
+be reproached with having broken her compact in the spirit
+if not in the letter; and she did not know how to justify
+herself. Maurice had taken his dismissal as final, and she
+had not meant him to do so. Now, if ever, the girl wanted
+a friend who would either encourage her to explain her position
+to him, or would do it for her. Lady Alice would
+not fill this post efficiently. And Lesley, in her youthful
+shamefaced pride, felt that nothing would induce her to
+make her own explanation to Maurice. It would seem like
+asking him to ask her again to marry him&mdash;an insupportable
+thought.</p>
+
+<p>So she went about the house pale and heavy-eyed, trying
+with all her might to throw herself into her father's schemes
+for his club, writing a little now and then, occupying herself
+feverishly with all the projects that came in her way,
+but bearing a sad heart about with her all the time. She
+was not outwardly depressed&mdash;her pride would not let her<a name="Page_223"></a>
+seem melancholy. She held her head high, and talked and
+laughed more than usual. But the want of color and brightness
+in her face and eye could not be controlled.</p>
+
+<p>"You pale-faced wretch," she said to herself one Saturday
+evening, as she stood before her glass and surveyed the
+fair image that met her eye; "why cannot you look as usual?
+It must be this black dress that makes me so colorless: I
+wish that I had a flower to wear with it."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Brooke and his sister were holding one of their frequent
+Saturday evening parties, when they were "at home"
+to a large number of guests. Lesley was just about to go
+downstairs. Her dress was black, for she was in mourning
+for her grandfather; and it must be confessed that the
+sombre hue made her look very pale indeed. The wish
+for a flower was gratified, however, almost as soon as
+formed. Kingston entered her room at that moment carrying
+a bouquet of flowers, chiefly white, but with a scarlet
+blossom here and there, which would give exactly the
+touch of color that Lesley's appearance required.</p>
+
+<p>"These flowers have just come for you, ma'am," Kingston
+said quietly.</p>
+
+<p>Her subdued voice, her pale face, and heavily shadowed
+eyes, did not make her a cheerful-looking messenger; but
+Lesley, for the time being, thought of nothing but the
+flowers.</p>
+
+<p>"Where do they come from, Kingston?" she asked,
+eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"I was only to say one word, ma'am&mdash;that they came
+from over the way."</p>
+
+<p>There was no want of color now in Lesley's face. Her
+cheeks were rose-tinted, her eyes had grown strangely
+bright. "Over the way." Of course that meant Maurice.
+Did not he live over the way?&mdash;and was there any one else
+at the Kenyons' house who would send her such lovely
+flowers?</p>
+
+<p>If he sent her flowers, she reflected, he could not have
+yet ceased to care for her, although she had behaved so
+badly to him&mdash;in his eyes, at least. The thought gave her
+courage and content. Perhaps he was coming that night&mdash;he
+had a standing invitation to all the Brookes' evening
+parties&mdash;and when he came he would perhaps "say something"
+to her, something which she could answer suitably,
+so as to make him understand.<a name="Page_224"></a></p>
+
+<p>She did not know how pretty she looked as she stood
+looking down at her flowers, the color and smile and dimples
+coming and going in her fair young face in very unwonted
+confusion. But Mary Kingston noted every change of tint
+and expression, and was surprised. For the little mystery
+was quite plain to her. It was not Mr. Kenyon who sent
+the flowers at all. Mr. Kenyon was too busy a man to buy
+bouquets. It was Oliver Trent who had sent them, for
+Kingston had herself seen him carrying the flowers and
+entrusting them to a commissionnaire with a message for
+Miss Brooke. She believed, too, that Lesley knew from
+whom they came. But she was not sufficiently alert and
+interested just then to make these matters of great importance
+to her. She did not think it worth her while to say
+how much she knew. With a short quick sigh she turned
+away, and expected to see her young mistress quit the
+room at once, still with that happy smile upon her face.
+But Lesley had heard the sigh.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Kingston," she said, laying her hand on the
+woman's arm, "I wish you would not sigh like that!"</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon, ma'am; I did not mean to annoy
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't mean <i>that</i>: I mean it for your own sake. You
+seem so sad about something&mdash;you have been sad so long!"</p>
+
+<p>"I've had a sad life, Miss Lesley."</p>
+
+<p>"But there is surely some special sadness now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the woman slowly. "Yes, that is true. I've&mdash;lost&mdash;a
+friend."</p>
+
+<p>She put a strong emphasis on the word "lost," and
+paused before and after uttering it, as if it bore a peculiar
+meaning to her. But Lesley took the word in its ordinary
+sense.</p>
+
+<p>"I am very sorry," she said. "It must be very terrible,
+I think, when one's friends die."</p>
+
+<p>She stood silent for a minute&mdash;a shadow from Kingston's
+grief troubling the sweetness of her fair face. It was the
+maid who broke the silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Excuse me, ma'am; I oughtn't to have troubled you
+with my affairs to-night, just when you're enjoying yourself
+too. But it's hard sometimes to keep quiet."</p>
+
+<p>Moved by a sudden instinct of sympathy, Lesley turned
+and kissed the woman who served her, as if she had been
+a sister. It was in such ways that she showed her kinship<a name="Page_225"></a>
+with the man who had written "The Unexplored." Lady
+Alice, in spite of all her kindness of heart, would never
+have thought of kissing her ladies' maid.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't grieve&mdash;don't be sorrowful," said Lesley. "Perhaps
+things will mend by and by."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, my dear," said Kingston, forgetting her <a name="tn_230"></a><!-- TN: Removed quotation mark after "position,"-->position,
+as Lady Alice would have said, while that young, soft kiss
+was warm upon her cheek, "the dead don't come back."</p>
+
+<p>And when Lesley had gone downstairs, with the white
+and scarlet bouquet in her hand, Mary Kingston sat down
+and wept bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>It was not the first time that Lesley had spoken words of
+consolation to her; but on this occasion her gentleness
+had gone home to Mary Kingston's heart as it had never
+done before. After weeping for herself for a time, she fell
+to weeping for Lesley too, for it seemed inevitable to her
+that Lesley should suffer before very long. She believed
+that Lesley was in love with Oliver, and that for this reason
+only had she refused Maurice Kenyon, which shows that
+Lesley had kept her own secret very well.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd do anything to keep her from harm," said Mary
+Kingston, with a passionate rush of gratitude towards the
+girl for her kindly words and ways. "Francis Trent
+<a name="tn_230a"></a><!-- TN: "brough" changed to "brought"-->brought me grief enough, God knows; and if she's going
+to throw herself away on Oliver, she'll have her heart broke
+sooner than mine. For I've been used to sorrow all my
+days; and she&mdash;poor, pretty lamb&mdash;she don't know what
+it means. And Miss Brooke all taken up with her medicine-fads,
+and Mr. Brooke only a <i>man</i>, after all, in spite of
+his goodness; and my lady, her mother, far away and
+never coming near her&mdash;if anybody was friendless and forlorn,
+it's Miss Lesley. Only me between her and her ruin,
+maybe! But I'll prevent it," said the woman, rising to
+her feet with a strange look of exaltation in her sunken
+eyes: "I'll guard her from Oliver Trent as I couldn't guard
+my own sister, poor lass! I'll see that she does not come
+to any harm, and if he means ill by her I'll shame him before
+all the world, even though I break more hearts than
+one by it."</p>
+
+<p>And then she roused herself from her reverie, and went
+downstairs, where she knew that her presence was required
+in the tea-room. Scarcely had she entered it, when she
+made a short pause and gave a slightly perceptible start.<a name="Page_226"></a>
+For there stood Ethel Kenyon, with Oliver Trent in attendance.
+She had not thought that he would come to the
+house; a rumor had gone about that he had quarreled with
+Mr. Brooke; yet there he was, smiling, bland, irreproachable
+as ever, with quite the look of one who had the right
+to be present. He was holding Ethel's fan and gloves as
+she drank a cup of tea, and seemed to be paying her every
+attention in his power. Ethel, in the daintiest of costumes,
+was laughing and talking to him as they stood together.
+<i>She</i> was quite unconscious of any reason for his possible
+absence. Mary Kingston gave them a keen glance as she
+went by, and decided in her own mind that there was more
+in the situation than as yet she had understood.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver was playing a bold game. His marriage was
+fixed for the following Tuesday. From Mr. Brooke's attitude
+in general towards the Kenyons, he felt sure that
+Caspar would not place them in any painful or perplexing
+situation. He would not, for instance, refuse to welcome
+Oliver to his house again, if Oliver went in Ethel's company.
+Accordingly, the young man put his pride and his
+delicacy (if he had either&mdash;which is doubtful) in his
+pocket, and went with his affianced wife to Mr. Brooke's
+Saturday evening party.</p>
+
+<p>"For I will see Lesley again," he said to himself, "and
+if I do not go to-night I may not have the opportunity. If
+she would relent, I would not mind throwing Ethel over&mdash;I
+could do it so easily now that Francis has disappeared.
+But I would give up Ethel's twenty thousand, if Lesley
+would go with me instead!"</p>
+
+<p>Little did he guess that only on the previous night had
+he been recognized and remembered by that missing brother,
+whose tottering brain was inflamed almost to madness
+by a conviction of deliberate wrong; or that this brother
+was even now upon his track, ready to demand the justice
+that he thought had been denied him, and to punish the
+man who had brought him to this evil pass! Wild and
+mad as were the imaginings of Francis Trent's bewildered
+mind, they boded ill to his brother Oliver whenever the two
+should meet.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Ethel's lover, with a white flower in his button-hole,
+occupied the whole evening in leaning idly against
+a wall, and feasting his eyes on the fair face and form&mdash;not
+of his betrothed, but&mdash;of Lesley Brooke.<a name="Page_227"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">IN MR. BROOKE'S STUDY.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Caspar Brooke's</span> dingy drawing-room looked cheerful
+enough that night, filled by a crowd of men and women,
+and animated by the buzz of constant talk and movement.
+It was a distinguishing characteristic of his parties that
+they were composed more of men than of women; and the
+guests were often men or women who had done something
+in the world, and were known for some special excellence
+in their work. Lesley generally enjoyed these gatherings
+very much. The visitors were shabby, unfashionable people
+sometimes: they had eccentricities of dress and manner;
+but they were always interesting in Lesley's eyes. Literary
+men, professors, politicians, travelers, philanthropists, faddists&mdash;these
+were the folk that mostly frequented Caspar
+Brooke's parties. Neither artists nor musicians were largely
+represented: the flow of talk was rather political and
+literary than artistic; and on the whole there were more
+elderly people than young ones. As a rule, Oliver Trent
+was not disposed to frequent these assemblies: he shrugged
+his shoulders at them and called them "slow," but on this
+occasion he was only too glad to find admittance. It was
+at least a good opportunity for watching Lesley, as she
+passed from one group to another, doing the duties of
+assistant-hostess with grace and tact, giving a smile to one,
+a word to another, entering into low-toned conversation,
+which brightened her eyes and flushed her fair cheek, with
+another. Oliver thought her perfection. Beside her stately
+proportions, Ethel seemed to him ridiculously tiny and
+insignificant, and her sparkling prettiness was altogether
+eclipsed by Lesley's calmer beauty. He was not in an
+amiable mood. He had steeled himself against the dictates
+of his own taste and conscience, to encounter Caspar
+Brooke's cold stare and freezing word of conventional welcome,
+because he longed so intensely for a last word with
+Lesley; but he was now almost sorry that he had come.<a name="Page_228"></a>
+Lesley seemed utterly indifferent to his presence. She certainly
+carried his flowers in her hand, but she did not
+glance his way. On the contrary, she anxiously watched
+the door from time to time, as if she awaited the coming of
+some one who was slow to make his appearance. Who
+could the person be for whom she looked? Oliver asked
+himself jealously. He had not the slightest suspicion that
+she was watching for Maurice Kenyon. And Maurice
+Kenyon did not come.</p>
+
+<p>It was his absence that, as the evening wore on, made
+the color slip from Lesley's cheeks and robbed her eyes of
+their first brightness. A certain listlessness came over her.
+And Oliver, watching from his corner, exulted in his heart,
+for he thought to himself&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"It is for me she is looking sad; and if she will but yield
+her will to mine, I will win and wear her yet, in spite of all
+who would say me nay."</p>
+
+<p>It was a veritable love-madness, such as had not come
+upon him since the days of his youth. He had had a fairly
+wide experience of love-making; but never had he been so
+completely mastered by his passion as he was now. The
+consideration that had once been so potent with him&mdash;love
+of ease, money, and position&mdash;seemed all to have vanished
+away. What mattered it that to abandon Ethel Kenyon
+at the last moment would mean disgrace and perhaps even
+beggary? He had no care left for thoughts like these. If
+Lesley would acknowledge her love for him, he was ready
+to throw all other considerations to the winds.</p>
+
+<p>"Sing something, Lesley," her father said to her when
+the evening was well advanced. "You have your music
+here?"</p>
+
+<p>Oh, yes, Lesley had her music here. But she glanced a
+little nervously in Oliver's direction. "I wonder if Ethel
+would accompany me," she said. She shrank nervously
+from the thought of Oliver's accompaniments.</p>
+
+<p>But Oliver was too quick for her. He moved forward
+to the piano as soon as he saw Caspar Brooke's eye upon
+it. And with his hand on the key-board, he addressed
+himself suavely to Lesley.</p>
+
+<p>"You are going to sing, I hope? May I not have the
+pleasure of accompanying you?"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley could not say him nay, but she also could not
+help a glance, half of alarm, half of appeal, towards her<a name="Page_229"></a>
+father. Mr. Brooke's face wore an expression which was
+not often seen upon it at a social gathering. It was distinctly
+stormy&mdash;there was a frown upon the brow, and an
+ominous setting of the lips which more than one person in
+the room remarked. "How savage Brooke looks!" one
+guest murmured into another's ear. "Isn't he friendly with
+Trent?" And the words were remembered in after days.</p>
+
+<p>But nothing could be said or done to hinder Oliver from
+taking his place at the piano, for Lesley did not openly
+object, and her father could not interfere between her and
+his own guest. So Lesley sang, and did not sing so well
+as usual, for her heart failed her a little, partly through
+vexation and partly through disappointment at Maurice
+Kenyon's disappearance, but she gave pleasure to her
+hearers, in spite of what seemed to herself a comparative
+failure, and when she had finished her song, she was besieged
+by requests that she would sing once more.</p>
+
+<p>"Sing 'Thine is my heart,'" Oliver's soft voice murmured
+in her ear.</p>
+
+<p>"I have not that song here," said Lesley, quietly. She
+was not very much discomposed now, but she did not want
+to encourage his attention. She rose from the music-stool.
+"My music is downstairs," she said. "I must go and
+fetch it&mdash;I have a new song that Ethel has promised to
+play for me."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver bit his lips and stood back as Lesley escaped by
+the door of the front drawing-room. Mr. Brooke's eye
+was upon him, and he could not therefore follow her; but
+he made his way into the library through the folding doors,
+and there a new mode of attack became visible to him.
+By the library door he gained the landing; and then he
+softly descended the stairs, which were now almost deserted,
+for the guests had crowded into the drawing-room, first to
+hear Lesley's song and then to listen to a recitation by
+Ethel Kenyon. But where had Lesley gone?</p>
+
+<p>A subtle instinct told him that she had hidden herself for
+a moment&mdash;and told him also where to find her. The
+lights were burning low in her father's study, which had
+been set to rights a little, in order to serve as a room where
+people could lounge and talk if they wanted to escape the
+din of conversation in the larger rooms. He looked in,
+and at first thought it empty. But the movement of a curtain
+revealed some one's presence; and as his eyes became<a name="Page_230"></a>
+accustomed to the dimmer light, he saw that it was Lesley.
+She was standing between the fireplace and curtained window,
+and her hand was on the mantelpiece.</p>
+
+<p>She started when she saw him in the doorway. It was
+her start that betrayed her. He came forward and shut
+the door behind him&mdash;Lesley fancied that she heard the
+click of the key in the lock. She tried to carry matters
+with a high hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid I cannot find my music here," she said,
+"so please do not shut the door, Mr. Trent. There is little
+enough light as it is."</p>
+
+<p>She walked forward, but he had planted himself squarely
+between her and the door. She could not pass.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Trent&mdash;&mdash;" she began.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait! don't speak," he said, in a voice so hoarse and
+stifled that she could hardly recognize it as his own. "I
+must have a word with you&mdash;forgive me&mdash;I won't detain
+you long&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Excuse me, I must go back to the drawing-room."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley spoke civilly but coldly, though some sort of fear
+of him passed shiveringly through her frame.</p>
+
+<p>"You shall not go yet: you shall listen to what I have
+to say."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Trent!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it is all very well to exclaim! You know what I
+mean, and what I want. I had not time to speak the
+other night; but I will speak now. Lesley, I love you!&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Trent, Ethel is upstairs. Have you forgotten her?
+Let me pass."</p>
+
+<p>"I have not forgotten her: I remember her only too
+well. She is the burden, the incubus of my life. Oh, I
+know all that you can tell me about her: I know her
+beauty, her gifts, her virtues; but all that does not charm
+me. You, you and no other, are the woman that I love;
+and, beside you, Ethel is nothing to me at all."</p>
+
+<p>"You might at least remember your duty to her," said
+Lesley, with severity. "You have won her heart, and you
+are about to vow to make her happy. I cannot understand
+how you can be so false to her."</p>
+
+<p>"If I am false to her," said Oliver, pleadingly, "I am
+true to the dictates of my own heart. Hear me, Lesley&mdash;pity
+me! I have promised to marry a woman whom I do<a name="Page_231"></a>
+not love. I acknowledge it frankly. I shall never make
+her happy&mdash;strive as I may, her nature will never assimilate
+with mine. She will go through life a disappointed
+woman; while, if I set her free, she will find some man
+whom she loves and will be happy with him. You may as
+well confess that this is true. You may as well acknowledge
+that her nature is too light, too trivial to be rent
+asunder by any falsity of mine. Ethel will never break her
+heart; but you might break yours, Lesley&mdash;and I&mdash;I also&mdash;have
+a heart to break."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley smiled scornfully. "Yours will not break very
+easily," she said, "and I can answer for mine."</p>
+
+<p>"You are strong," he said, using the formula by which
+men know how to soften women's hearts, "stronger than
+I am. Be merciful, Lesley! I am very weak, I know;
+but weakness means suffering. Can you not pity me, when
+you think that my weakness and my suffering come from
+love of you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am very sorry, Mr. Trent, but I really cannot help it.
+It is your own fault&mdash;not mine," said Lesley, a little hotly.
+"I never thought of such a thing."</p>
+
+<p>"No, you were as innocent and as good as you always
+are," he broke in, "and you did not know what you were
+doing when you led me on with those sweet looks and sweet
+words of yours. I can believe that. But you did the
+mischief, Lesley, without meaning it; and you must not
+refuse to make amends. You made me think you loved
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, no," said Lesley, her face aflame with outraged
+modesty. "I never made you think so! You were mistaken&mdash;that
+is all!"</p>
+
+<p>"You made me think you loved me," Oliver repeated,
+doggedly, "and you owe me amends. To say the very
+least, you have given me great pain: you have made me the
+most miserable of men, and wrecked all chance of happiness
+between Ethel and myself&mdash;have you no heart that
+you can refuse to repair a little of the harm that you have
+done? You are a cruel woman&mdash;I could almost say a
+wicked woman: hard, false, and cowardly; and I wish my
+words could blight your life as your coquetry has blighted
+mine."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley trembled. No woman could listen to such words
+unmoved, when her armor of incredulity fell from her as
+Lesley's armor had fallen. Hitherto she had felt a scorn<a name="Page_232"></a>ful
+disbelief in the reality of Oliver's love for her. But now
+that disbelief had gone. There was a ring of passionate
+feeling in Oliver's tones which could not be simulated. The
+coldness, the artificiality of the man had disappeared: his
+passion for Lesley had taken possession of him, and stirred
+his nature to the very depths.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Lesley," he said, in a low, strained voice, which
+shook and vibrated with the intensity of his emotion, "don't
+let me feel this. Don't let me feel that you have merely
+played with me, and are ready to cast me off like an old
+shoe when you are tired. Other women do that sort of
+thing, but not you, my darling!&mdash;not you&mdash;don't let me
+think it of you. Forgive me the harsh things I said, and
+help me&mdash;help me&mdash;to forget them."</p>
+
+<p>He had grasped the back of a chair with both hands, and
+was kneeling with one knee on the <a name="tn_237"></a><!-- TN: Question mark changed to a period after "seat" and following letter capitalized-->seat. He now stretched
+out his hands to her, and came forward as if to take her in
+his arms. But Lesley drew back.</p>
+
+<p>"I am very sorry," she said, "but I cannot help it. I
+did not mean to be unkind."</p>
+
+<p>"If you are really sorry for me," he said, still in the
+deep-shaken voice which moved her to so uneasy a sense
+of pain and wrong-doing, "you will do all you can for me.
+You will help me to begin a new life. I love you so much
+that I am sure I could teach you to love me. I am certain
+of it, Lesley&mdash;dearest&mdash;let me try!"</p>
+
+<p>Did she falter for a moment? There flashed over her
+the remembrance of Maurice's anger, of his continued
+absence, of the probability that he would never come back
+to her; and the dream of a tender love that could envelop
+the rest of her lonely life assailed her like a temptation.
+She hesitated, and in that moment's pause Oliver drew
+nearer to her side.</p>
+
+<p>"Kiss me, Lesley!" he whispered, and his head bent
+over hers, his lips almost touched her own.</p>
+
+<p>Then came the reaction&mdash;the awakening.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, no! Do not touch me. Do not come near
+me. I do not love you. And if I did"&mdash;said Lesley,
+almost violently&mdash;"if I loved you more than all the world,
+do you think that I would betray Ethel, my friend? that I
+would be so false to her&mdash;and to myself?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then you do love me?" he murmured, undisturbed by
+her vehemence, which he did not think boded ill for his
+chances, after all.<a name="Page_233"></a></p>
+
+<p>"No, I do not."</p>
+
+<p>"You are mistaken. Kiss me once, Lesley, and you will
+know. You will feel your love then."</p>
+
+<p>"You insult me, Mr. Trent. Love you? Come one step
+nearer and I shall hate you. Oh!" she said, recoiling, as
+a gleam from the lamp revealed to her the wild expression
+in his eyes, the tension of his white lips and nostrils, the
+strange transformation in those usually impassive features
+which revealed the brutal nature below the polished surface
+of the man, "I hate you now!"</p>
+
+<p>She was close to the wall, and her head came in sudden
+contact with the old-fashioned bell-rope. She seized it
+firmly.</p>
+
+<p>"Open the door," she said, "or I shall ring this bell
+and send for my father. He will know what to do."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver gazed at her for a minute or two, then, with a
+smothered oath upon his lips, he turned slowly to the door
+and opened it. Before leaving the room, however, he said,
+in a voice half-stifled by impotent passion&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Is this really your last word?"</p>
+
+<p>"The last I shall ever speak to you," said Lesley, resolutely.</p>
+
+<p>Then he went out, seizing his hat as he passed through
+the hall and made his way into the street. He did not
+notice, as he retired, that a woman's figure was only half-concealed
+behind the curtains that screened a door in the
+study, and that his interview with Lesley must therefore
+have had an unseen auditor. He forgot that Ethel and
+Rosalind waited for him above. He was mad with rage;
+deaf to all voices saving those of passion: blind to all
+sights save the visions that floated maddeningly before his
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Mad, blind, deaf to reason as he was, he was obliged to
+come back to earth and its realities before very long. For
+he was stopped in the streets by rough hands: a hoarse,
+passionate voice uttered threats and curses in his ear; and
+he found himself face to face with his long-vanished and
+half-forgotten brother, Francis Trent.<a name="Page_234"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">BROTHERS.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">"What</span> do you want with me?" said Oliver trying to
+shake off the rude grasp.</p>
+
+<p>"I want you&mdash;you," gasped the man. He was evidently
+much excited, and his breath came in hard, quick pants.
+"Have you forgotten your own brother?"</p>
+
+<p>The two paused for an instant under a gas lamp. Oliver
+looked into Francis Trent's drawn, livid face&mdash;into the
+wild, bloodshot eyes, and for an instant recoiled. It struck
+him that the face was that of a madman. But it was,
+nevertheless, the face of his brother, and after that momentary
+pause he recovered himself and laughed slightly.</p>
+
+<p>"Forgotten you? I'm not very likely to forget you, my
+boy. Well, what do you want?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want that two thousand pounds."</p>
+
+<p>His hand still clutched Oliver's arm, and the grasp was
+becoming unpleasant.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you not take your hand off my arm?" said the
+younger man, coolly. "I'm not going to run away. Apropos,
+what have you been doing with yourself all these
+weeks! I thought you had given us the slip altogether."</p>
+
+<p>"I want my money," said Francis, doggedly.</p>
+
+<p>Oliver looked at him curiously. What did this persistence
+mean? What money was he thinking about?</p>
+
+<p>"Your money?" he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my money&mdash;the money you ought to have given
+me by this time&mdash;where is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"You mean the sum I promised you on my wedding-day?"</p>
+
+<p>Francis nodded, with a rather confused look upon his
+face.</p>
+
+<p>"My wedding-day has not occurred yet," said Oliver,
+lightly. "Upon my word, I doubt whether it ever will
+occur. Don't alarm yourself, Francis. I shall get the
+money for you before long&mdash;I've not forgotten it."<a name="Page_235"></a></p>
+
+<p>"I want it now. Two thousand pounds," said Francis,
+thickly.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you drunk, man! Do you think I carry two
+thousand pounds about with me in my pocket? Go home&mdash;I'll
+see you again when you are sober."</p>
+
+<p>"I have touched nothing but water to-day," said his
+brother. "I swear it&mdash;so help me, God! I know what
+I'm about. And I know <i>you</i>. I know you for the vilest
+cheat and trickster that ever walked the earth. I've been
+in hospital&mdash;I don't know how long. I know that you
+would cheat me if you could. You were to pay me within
+six months&mdash;and it's over six months now."</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you I'm not married. I was to pay you on my
+wedding-day."</p>
+
+<p>"You were to pay me within six months. Have you
+opened a bank account for me and paid in the two thousand
+pounds?"</p>
+
+<p>"Are you mad, Francis?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mad?&mdash;I may well be mad after all you have made me
+suffer. I tell you I want money&mdash;money&mdash;money&mdash;I want
+two thousand pounds."</p>
+
+<p>His voice rose almost to a shriek, and the sound reverberated
+along the quiet street with startling effect. Oliver
+shrank into himself a little, and gave a hurried glance
+around him. They were still in Upper Woburn Place, and
+he was afraid that the noise should excite remark. It was
+plain to him that Francis was either drunk or out of his
+mind, and he therefore concentrated his attention on
+getting quietly away from him, or leading him to some more
+secluded spot.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here," he said, in a conciliatory tone. "You shall
+have your money if you'll be quiet and come away with me.
+Come to my house and I'll explain things to you. You've
+not seen Rosalind for a long time, have you? Come in and
+talk things over."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you want to trap me, do you?" said Francis,
+sullenly. "No, I'll not come to your house. Go in and
+fetch the money out to me, or I'll make you repent it."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver was almost at his wit's end.</p>
+
+<p>"All right," he said, soothingly. "I will fetch it. I can
+give you a cheque, you know. But don't you want a
+little loose change to go on with? Take these."</p>
+
+<p>He held out a handful of gold and silver. Francis looked
+at it with covetous eyes for a minute or two, then thrust<a name="Page_236"></a>
+his brother's hand aside with a jerk which almost sent the
+coins into the road.</p>
+
+<p>"I want justice, not charity," he said. "I want the
+money you promised me."</p>
+
+<p>Oliver shrugged his shoulders, and slowly returned the
+money to his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"I am more than ever convinced that you are either
+mad or drunk, my boy," he said. "You should never
+refuse ten pounds when you can get it, and it's not a
+thing that I should fancy you have often done before.
+However, as you choose."</p>
+
+<p>He walked onward, and Francis walked, heavily and
+unsteadily, at his side, muttering to himself as he went.
+Oliver glanced curiously at him from time to time.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder what <i>has</i> happened to him," he said to himself.
+"It's not safe to question, but I <i>should</i> like to know.
+Is it drink? or is it brain disease? One thing or the
+other it must be. He does not look as if he would live to
+spend the two thousand pounds&mdash;if ever he gets it. I
+wonder if I could contrive to stave off the payment&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>And then he fell into a gloomy calculation of ways and
+means, possibilities and chances, which lasted until the
+house in Russell Square was reached. Here the brothers
+paused, and Oliver looked keenly into his companion's face,
+noting that a somewhat remarkable change had passed
+over it. Instead of being flushed and swollen, as if from
+drinking, it had become very pale. His eyes seemed on
+the point of closing, and he wavered unsteadily in his
+walk. Oliver had to put out his hand to save him from
+falling, and to help him to the steps, where he collapsed
+into a sitting posture, with his head against the railings.
+He seemed to be stupefied, if not asleep.</p>
+
+<p>"Dead drunk," said Oliver to himself. "The danger's
+over for to-night, at any rate. Now, what shall I do with
+him? I can't get him into the house and lock him into a
+room&mdash;that would make talk. I think I had better leave
+him to the tender mercies of the next policeman; if he gets
+run in for being drunk and incapable, so much the better
+for me."</p>
+
+<p>He took out his latch key and let himself into the house,
+closing the door softly behind him, so as not to awaken
+the half-sleeping wretch upon the steps. Then he ascended
+the stairs&mdash;still softly, as if he thought that he was not<a name="Page_237"></a>
+yet out of danger of awaking him&mdash;and locked himself into
+his own room. Then he drew a long breath, and stood
+motionless for a moment, with bent brows and downcast
+eyes. "There will be no end to this," he said to himself,
+"until Francis is shipped off to America or landed safely in
+a madhouse. One seems to me about as likely as another. I
+wonder whether he was drunk to-night, or insane? Drunk,
+I think: insanity"&mdash;with a sinister smile&mdash;"would be too
+great a stroke of luck for me!"</p>
+
+<p>But it was perfectly true, as Francis had said, that no
+drop of intoxicating liquor had passed his lips that day.
+He was suffering from brain disease, as Oliver had half
+suspected, although not to such an extent that he could
+actually be called insane. A certain form of mania was
+gradually taking possession of his mind. He was convinced
+that he had been robbed by his brother of much
+that was his due; and that Oliver was even now withholding
+money that was his. This fancy had its foundation in
+fact, for Oliver had wronged him more than once, and was
+ready to wrong him again should a suitable opportunity
+occur; but the notion that at present occupied his mind,
+respecting the payment of the two thousand pounds, was
+largely a figment of his disordered brain. Oliver had certainly
+questioned within himself whether he should be
+called upon to pay this sum, and as Francis seemed to
+have completely disappeared, he began to think that he
+might evade his promise to do so; but he had not as yet
+sought to free himself from the necessity of paying it.
+Francis' own words and demeanor suggested this idea
+for the first time to his mind. Was it possible, he asked
+himself, to prove that Francis was insane&mdash;clap him into
+a lunatic asylum&mdash;get rid of him forever without hush-money?
+True, there was his wife, Mary, to be silenced;
+but she had no influence and no friends. "Power is
+always in the hands of those who have most money,"
+Oliver said to himself, as he reviewed the situation, after
+leaving Francis on the door step. "I have more money
+than Francis, certainly: I ought to be able to control his
+fate a little&mdash;and my own."</p>
+
+<p>But Oliver, astute as he thought himself, was occasionally
+mistaken in his conclusions. Francis Trent, as we
+have said, was not intoxicated; and when he had dozed
+quietly for a few moments on the door-step, he came some<a name="Page_238"></a>what
+to himself, as he usually did after these fits of frenzy.
+He felt dazed and bewildered, but he was no longer furious.
+He could not remember very well what he had said to
+Oliver, or what Oliver had said to him. But he knew where
+he was, and that in this region&mdash;between Russell Square
+and St. Pancras Church&mdash;he should find his truest friends
+and perhaps also his bitterest foes.</p>
+
+<p>He roused himself, stretched his cramped limbs, and
+turned back to wander towards Upper Woburn Place, hardly
+knowing, however, why he bent his steps in that direction.
+Instinct, not memory or reflection, guided him, and when he
+halted, he leaned against the railings of the house from
+which he had seen Oliver come forth, without realizing
+for one moment that it was the house in which his faithful
+and half-forgotten Mary was to be found.</p>
+
+<p>The door opened, as he waited, and some of the guests
+came out. Two or three carriages drove up: there was a
+call for a hansom, a whistle, and an answering shout. Francis
+Trent watched the proceedings with a sort of stupid
+attention. They reminded him of the previous night when
+he had seen Ethel Kenyon coming out of the theatre after
+her farewell performance. But on that occasion he had
+passed unnoticed and unrecognized. This was not now to
+be the case.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a woman on the threshold of Mr. Brooke's house
+caught sight of the weary, shabby figure leaning against the
+railings. Francis heard a little gasp, a little cry, and felt
+a hand upon his own. "Francis! is it you? have you really
+come back?" It was Mary Kingston who looked him in
+the face.</p>
+
+<p>He returned the gaze with lack-lustre, unseeing eyes.
+When the fever-fit of rage left him, he was still subject to
+odd lapses of memory. One of these had assailed him
+now. He did not recognize his wife in the very least.</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I don't know you," he said. "Go away, woman.
+I'm not doing any harm."</p>
+
+<p>There is nothing so piteous as the absence of recognition
+of the patient's best friends in cases of brain-disease. Francis
+Trent's condition sent a stab of pain to Mary's innermost
+heart. She forgot where she was&mdash;she forgot her duties as
+doorkeeper; she remembered only that she loved this man,
+and that he had forgotten her. She cried aloud&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Francis, I am your wife."<a name="Page_239"></a></p>
+
+<p>"I have no wife," said the distraught man, looking listlessly
+beyond her. "I am here to see Oliver&mdash;he is to
+give me some money."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you remember Mary, Francis? Look at me&mdash;look
+at me."</p>
+
+<p>"Mary?" he said, doubtfully. "Oh, yes, I remember
+Mary. But you are not Mary, are you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, indeed I am. Where have you been all this time?
+Oh, my poor dear, you can't tell me! You are ill, Francis.
+Let me take care of you. Can you tell me where you
+live?"</p>
+
+<p>But he could not reply. His head drooped upon his
+breast: he looked as if he neither saw nor heard. What
+was she to do?</p>
+
+<p>Of one thing Mary was certain. Now that she had found
+her husband, she was not going to lose sight of him again.</p>
+
+<p>She would go with him whithersoever he went, unless he
+repelled her by force. She gave one regretful thought to
+her young mistress, and to a certain project which she had
+determined to put into effect that night, and then she
+thought of the Brookes no more. She must leave them, and
+follow her husband's fortunes. There was no other way
+for her.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately she had money in her pocket. She had also
+thrown a shawl across her arm before she came to the door.
+The shawl belonged to Miss Brooke, and had been offered to
+one of the guests as a loan; but Mary had forgotten all about
+the guests, and appropriated the shawl, with the cool resolution
+which characterized her in cases of emergency. Necessity&mdash;especially
+the necessity entailed by love&mdash;knows
+no law. At that moment she knew no law but that of her
+repressed and stunted, but always abiding, affection for the
+husband who had burdened her life for many weary years
+with toil and anxiety and care. For him she would do anything&mdash;throw
+up all friendships, sacrifice her future, her
+character, and, if need be, her life.</p>
+
+<p>She wrapped the shawl round her head, and put her arm
+through her husband's, without once looking back.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Francis," she said, quietly, "show me where
+you live now. We will go home."</p>
+
+<p>She led him unresistingly away. For a little while he
+walked as if in a dream; but by and by his movements
+became more assured, and he turned so decidedly in one<a name="Page_240"></a>
+direction that she saw he knew his way and was pursuing
+it. She said nothing, but kept close to his side, with her
+hand resting lightly on his arm. She was not mistaken in
+her expectations. Francis went straight to the wretched
+lodging in which he had slept for the past few nights, and
+Mary at once assumed the management of his affairs.</p>
+
+<p>She was rewarded&mdash;as she thought, poor soul!&mdash;for her
+efforts. When she had lighted a fire and a candle, and
+prepared some sort of frugal meal for the man she loved,
+he lifted up his face and looked at her with a gleam of
+returning memory and intelligence in his haggard eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary," he said, in a bewildered tone, "Mary&mdash;my
+wife? How did you come here, Mary? How did you find
+me out?"</p>
+
+<p>"Are you glad to see me, dear?" said Mary.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;yes, I am. Everything will be right now. You'll
+manage things for me."</p>
+
+<p>It was an acknowledgment of the power of her affection
+which more than recompensed her for the trouble of the
+last few months.<a name="Page_241"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">MRS. TRENT'S STORY.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">"I never</span> heard of such an extraordinary thing," said Lesley.</p>
+
+<p>"Then that shows how little you know of the world,"
+said Doctor Sophy, amicably. "I've heard of a hundred
+cases of the kind."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, there are some elements of oddity in this case,"
+remarked Caspar Brooke, striking in with unexpected
+readiness to defend his daughter's views. "Kingston was
+not a giddy young girl, who would go off with any man
+who made love to her. Indeed, I can't quite fancy any
+man making love to her at all. She was remarkably plain,
+poor woman."</p>
+
+<p>"She had beautiful eyes," said Lesley. "And she was
+so nice and quiet and kind. And I really thought that she
+was&mdash;fond of me." She paused before she uttered the last
+three words, being a little afraid that they would be thought
+sentimental. And indeed Miss Brooke did give a contemptuous
+snort, but Caspar smiled kindly, and patted his
+daughter's hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't take it to heart," he said. "'Fondness' is a
+very indeterminate term, and one that you must not scrutinize
+too closely. This little black beast, for instance"&mdash;caressing,
+as he spoke, the head of the ebony-hued cat
+which sat upon the arm of his chair&mdash;"which I picked up
+half-starving in the street when it was a kitten, is fond of
+me because I feed it: but suppose that I were too poor to
+give it milk and chicken-bones, do you think it would retain
+any affection for me? A sublimated cupboard-love is all
+that we can expect now-a-days from cats&mdash;and servants."</p>
+
+<p>"When you can write as you do about love," said Lesley,
+who was coming to know her father well enough to tease
+him now and then, "I wonder that you dare venture to
+express yourself in this cold-blooded way in our hearing!"<a name="Page_242"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Ah, but, my dear, I was not talking about love," said
+Caspar, lightly. "I was talking about 'fondness,' which
+is a very different matter. You did not say that your maid,
+Kingston, <i>loved</i> you&mdash;I suppose she was hardly likely to go
+that length&mdash;you said that she was fond of you. Very
+probably. But fondness has its limits."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley smiled in reply, and did not utter the thought
+that occurred to her. What she really believed was that
+Kingston was not only "fond" of her, after the instinctive
+fashion of a dumb creature that one feeds, but loved her,
+as one woman loves another. Although her democratic
+feelings came to her through her father's teaching, or by
+inheritance from him, she did not quite like to say this to
+him: he might think it foolish to believe that a servant
+whom she had not known for very many weeks actually
+loved her; and yet she had the conviction that Kingston's
+attachment was deeper and more sincere than that of many
+a woman who claimed to be her friend. And she was both
+grieved and puzzled by Kingston's disappearance.</p>
+
+<p>For this was on Monday morning, and the woman had
+not come back to Mr. Brooke's. Great had been the astonishment
+of every one in the house when it was found
+that the quiet, well-spoken, well-behaved Mary Kingston,
+who had hitherto proved herself so trustworthy and so conscientious,
+had gone away&mdash;disappeared utterly and entirely,
+without leaving a word of explanation behind. She
+had last been seen on the pavement, shortly before midnight,
+assisting a lady to get into a hansom. Nobody had
+seen her re-enter the house. It seemed as if she had been
+spirited away. She had gone without a bonnet or shawl,
+in her plain black dress and white cap and apron, as if she
+meant to return in a minute or two, and she had not
+appeared again. The shawl that she had taken with her
+was not missed, for Miss Brooke continued for some time
+under the impression that it had been lent to one of the
+visitors.</p>
+
+<p>The conversation recorded above took place at Mr.
+Brooke's luncheon-table. It was not often that he was
+present at this meal, but on this occasion he had joined his
+sister and daughter, and questioned <a name="tn_247"></a><!-- TN: "then" changed to "them"-->them with considerable
+interest about Kingston. After lunch, he put his hand
+gently on Lesley's arm, just as she was leaving the dining-room,
+and said, in a tone where sympathy was veiled with
+banter<a name="Page_243"></a>&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind, my dear. We will get you another maid,
+who will be <i>less</i> fond of you, and then perhaps she will
+stay."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want another maid, thank you, papa. And,
+indeed, I do think Kingston was fond of me," said Lesley
+earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Brooke shrugged his shoulders. "Verily," he said,
+"the credulity of some women&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But it isn't credulity," said Lesley, with something
+between a smile and a sigh, "it is faith. And I can't
+altogether disbelieve in poor Kingston&mdash;even now."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Brooke shook his head, but made no rejoinder.
+Privately he thought Lesley foolishly mistaken, but believed
+that time would do its usual office in correcting the mistakes
+of the young.</p>
+
+<p>His own incredulity received a considerable shock somewhat
+later in the day. About four o'clock a knock came
+to his study, and the knock was followed by the appearance
+of the sour-visaged Sarah.</p>
+
+<p>"If you please, sir, there's that woman herself wants to
+see you."</p>
+
+<p>"What woman, Sarah?" said Caspar, carelessly. He
+was writing and smoking, and did not look up from his
+work.</p>
+
+<p>"The woman, Kingston, that ran away," said Sarah, indignantly.
+"I nearly shut the door in her face, sir, I
+did."</p>
+
+<p>"That wouldn't have been legal," said Mr. Brooke.
+"Why doesn't she see Miss Brooke or Miss Lesley? I am
+busy."</p>
+
+<p>"I expect she thinks she can get round you more easy,"
+said Sarah, who was a very old servant, and occasionally
+took liberties with her master and mistress.</p>
+
+<p>"She won't do that, Sarah," said Caspar, laughing a little
+in spite of himself. "Show her in."</p>
+
+<p>He laid down his pen and his pipe with a rather weary
+air. Really, he was becoming involved in no end of domestic
+worries, and with few compensations for his trouble!
+Such was his silent thought. Lesley would, shortly leave
+him: Alice had refused to come back to his house. Well, it
+would be but for a short time. He had almost made up his
+mind that when Lesley was gone he would give up a house
+altogether, establish his sister in a flat, throw journalism<a name="Page_244"></a>
+to the winds, and go abroad. The life that he had led so
+long, the life of London offices and streets, of the study and
+the committee-room, had become distasteful to him. As he
+thrust away from him the manuscript at which he had been
+busy, his lips were, half unconsciously, murmuring a very
+well-worn quotation&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<span class="firstline">"For I will see before I die,<br></span>
+<span class="i0">The palms and temples of the South."<br></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>And from this passing day-dream he was roused by the
+entrance of a woman whom he knew only as his daughter's
+maid.</p>
+
+<p>He was struck at once by some indefinable change that
+had passed over her since he had seen her last. He had
+noticed her, as he noticed everybody that came within his
+ken; and he had remarked the mechanical precision of
+her demeanor, the dull sadness of her lifeless eyes. There
+was a light in her face now, a tremulous quiver of her lips,
+a slight color in her thin cheeks. She looked like a creature
+who could feel and think: not an automaton, worked by
+ingenious machinery.</p>
+
+<p>He noted the change, but did not estimate it at its true
+worth. He thought she was simply excited by the consciousness
+of her misdemeanor, and by the prospect of an
+interview with him. He put on his most magisterial
+manner as he spoke to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Kingston," he said, "I hope you have come to
+explain the cause of the great inconvenience you have
+brought upon Miss Brooke and my daughter."</p>
+
+<p>"That is exactly what I have come to do, sir," said
+Kingston, looking him full in the face, and speaking in
+clear, decided tones, such as he had never heard from her
+before. She generally spoke in a muffled sort of way, as
+though she did not care to exert herself&mdash;as though she
+did not want her true voice to be heard.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down," said Mr. Brooke, more kindly. He had
+the true gentleman's instinct; he could not bear to see a
+woman stand while he was seated, although she was only
+his daughter's maid, and&mdash;presumably&mdash;a culprit awaiting
+condemnation. "Now tell me all about it."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, sir, I'd prefer to stand," said Kingston,
+quietly. "At any rate, until I've told you one or two<a name="Page_245"></a>
+things about myself. To begin with: my name was Kingston
+before my marriage, but it's not Kingston now."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean that you have got married since Saturday?"
+asked Caspar, quietly.</p>
+
+<p>The woman uttered a short, gasping sort of laugh.
+"Since Saturday? Oh, no, sir. I've been married for the
+last six years, or more. I am Francis Trent's wife&mdash;Francis
+the brother of Mr. Oliver Trent, who was here
+last Saturday night."</p>
+
+<p>And then, overcome with her confession, or with the
+look of mute astonishment&mdash;which he could not repress&mdash;on
+Caspar Brooke's countenance, she dropped into the
+chair that he had offered her, covered her face with her
+hands and sobbed aloud. It took her hearer some seconds
+before he could adjust his mind to this new revelation.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean," he said at last, "that brother of Mr.
+Trent's"&mdash;he had nearly said "of Mrs. Romaine's"&mdash;"who&mdash;who&mdash;&mdash;" He
+paused, feeling unable to put into words
+the question that was in his mind.</p>
+
+<p>"That got into trouble some years ago, you mean," said
+Mrs. Trent, lifting her face from her hands, and trying to
+control her trembling voice. "Yes, I mean him. I know
+all about the story. He got into trouble, and he's gone
+from bad to worse ever since. I've done my best for him,
+but it doesn't seem as if I could do much more now."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's been ill&mdash;I think he's had an accident&mdash;but I
+don't rightly know what's been the matter with him. Mr.
+Brooke, sir, I hope you'll believe me in what I say. When
+I came here first I didn't know that you were friends with
+his sister and his brother, or I wouldn't have come near
+the place. And when I found it out I'd got fond of Miss
+Lesley, and thought it would be no harm to stay."</p>
+
+<p>"But what&mdash;what on earth&mdash;made you take a situation
+as ladies'-maid at all?" cried Caspar, pulling his beard in
+his perplexity, as he listened to her story.</p>
+
+<p>"I wanted to earn money. <i>He</i> could not work&mdash;and I
+could not bear to see him want."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Could</i> not work? Was it not a matter of the will?
+He could have worked if he had wished to work," said Mr.
+Brooke, rather sternly. "That Francis Trent should let
+his wife go out as&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well, it was work I was used to," said Francis
+Trent's wife, patiently. "I'd been in service when I was<a name="Page_246"></a>
+a girl, and knew something about it. And it was honest
+work. There's plenty of ways of earning money which
+are worse than being a servant in your house, and to Miss
+Lesley, too."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley's words came back to Caspar's mind. She had
+had "faith" in Kingston's attachment, and her faith seemed
+now to be justified. Women's instincts, as Caspar acknowledged
+to himself, are in some ways certainly juster than
+those of men.</p>
+
+<p>"Is he not strong? Is there no sort of work that he can
+do?" he demanded, with asperity. "If you had come to
+me at the beginning and told me who you were, I might
+have found something for him. It is not right that his wife
+should be waiting upon my daughter. Tell me what he can
+do."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think he can do much now," was Mary Trent's
+answer. "He's very much broken down. I daresay you
+wouldn't know him if you saw him. I don't think he <i>could</i>
+do a day's work, so there's all the more reason that I
+should work for both."</p>
+
+<p>She spoke truly enough as regarded the present; but,
+by a suppression of the truth which was almost heroic she
+concealed the fact that for many years Francis had been
+able but unwilling to work. Now, certainly, he was incapacitated,
+and she spoke as if he had been an invalid for
+years. Thus Caspar Brooke understood her, and his next
+words were uttered in a gentler tone.</p>
+
+<p>"I am very sorry that you should have been brought
+into these straits, Mrs. Trent. Will you give me your
+address, and let me think over the matter? Mrs. Romaine
+or Mr. Oliver Trent&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd rather not have anything to do with them," said
+Mrs. Trent, quietly, but with an involuntary lifting of her
+head. "Mrs. Romaine knows I am his wife, but she won't
+speak to me or see me." Caspar moved uneasily in his
+chair. This account of Rosalind's behavior did not coincide
+with his own idea of her softness and gentleness.
+"And Oliver Trent is the man who has brought more
+misery on me than any other man in the world."</p>
+
+<p>"But if I promise&mdash;as I will do&mdash;not to give your address
+to Mrs. Romaine or Mr. Trent, will you not let me know
+where you live?" said Caspar, with the gentle intonation
+that had often won him his way in spite of greater
+obstacles than poor Mary Trent's obstinate will.<a name="Page_247"></a></p>
+
+<p>She gave him her address, after a little hesitation. It
+was in a Whitechapel slum. Then, seeing in his face that
+he would have liked to ask more questions, she went on
+hurriedly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"But I have not come here to take up your time. I
+only wanted to explain to you why I left your house on
+Saturday&mdash;which I'm very sorry to have been obliged to
+do. And one other thing&mdash;but I'll tell you that afterwards."</p>
+
+<p>"Well? Why did you go on Saturday, Mrs. Trent?"
+said Mr. Brooke, more curious than he would have liked
+to allow. But she did not reply as directly to his question
+as he wanted her to do.</p>
+
+<p>"I was only a poor girl when Francis married me," she
+said, "but I loved him as true as any one could have loved,
+and I would have worked my fingers to the bone for him.
+And he was good to me, in his way. He got to depend
+upon me and trust to me; and I used to feel&mdash;especially
+when he'd had a little more than he ought to have&mdash;as if
+he was more of a child to me than a husband. It was to
+provide for him that I came here. And then&mdash;one day
+when I'd been here a little while&mdash;I went to his lodgings
+to give him some money I'd been saving up for him&mdash;and
+I found him gone&mdash;gone&mdash;without a word&mdash;without a
+message&mdash;disappeared, so to speak, and me left behind to
+be miserable."</p>
+
+<p>Caspar ejaculated "Scoundrel!" behind his hand, but
+Mrs. Trent heard and caught up the word.</p>
+
+<p>"No, you're wrong, sir, he was no scoundrel," she said
+calmly. "He'd met with an accident and been taken to
+an hospital. He was there for weeks and weeks, not able
+to give an account of himself, or, as far as I can make out,
+even to give his name. He came out last week, and made
+his way, by sort of instinct, to your house, where he knew
+I was living. I came out on the steps and saw him there&mdash;my
+husband that I'd given up for lost. I ran up to him&mdash;you'd
+have done the same in my place&mdash;and went with
+him without thinking of anybody else."</p>
+
+<p>"I see. But why did you not leave a word of explanation
+<a name="tn_252"></a><!--TN: Quote added after "behind."-->behind."</p>
+
+<p>"I daren't quit hold of him for a moment, sir. He was
+so dazed and stupid, he didn't even know me at the first.
+That was why I say it was instinct, not knowledge, that
+guided him to the place. If I had left him to speak to<a name="Page_248"></a>
+any one in the house, he might have gone off, and I never
+seen him again. That was why I felt obliged to go sir,
+and am very sorry for the inconvenience I know I must
+have caused."</p>
+
+<p>Caspar nodded gravely. "I see," he said. "Of course
+it <i>was</i> inconvenient, and we were anxious&mdash;there's no
+denying that. But I can see the matter from your point
+of view. Would you like to see Miss Lesley and explain
+it to her?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd rather leave it in your hands, sir," said Mary Trent.
+"Because there's one thing more I've got to mention before
+I go. And Miss Lesley may not thank me for mentioning
+it, although I do it to save her&mdash;poor lamb&mdash;and to save
+you too, sir, from a great trouble and sorrow and disgrace
+that hangs over you all just now."</p>
+
+<p>Caspar flushed. "Disgrace?" he said, almost angrily.</p>
+
+<p>And Mrs. Trent looked at him full in the face and
+nodded gravely, as she answered&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir, disgrace."<a name="Page_249"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">"A FAIRLY GOOD REASON."</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Caspar Brooke's</span> attitude stiffened. His features and
+limbs became suddenly rigid.</p>
+
+<p>"I must confess, Mrs. Trent," he said, "that I am unable
+to conceive the possibility of <i>disgrace</i> hanging over me
+or mine."</p>
+
+<p>"That is because you are a man, and therefore blind to
+what goes on around you," said Mary Trent, with sudden
+bitterness; "and I am a woman, and can use my eyes and
+ears. There, I'd better tell you my tale at once, and you
+can make what you like of it. Miss Lesley&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"If you have anything to say about Miss Lesley, it had
+better be said in her hearing," returned Caspar, in hot
+displeasure. He rose and laid his hand upon the bell. "I
+want no tales about her behind her back."</p>
+
+<p>"For mercy's sake, sir, stop," said the woman, eagerly.
+"It is only to spare her that I ask it! It isn't that she is
+to blame&mdash;no, no, I don't mean that; but she is in more
+danger than she knows."</p>
+
+<p>Caspar's hand fell from the bell rope. His face had
+turned a trifle pale, and his brows looked very stern.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me exactly what you mean. I do not wish to listen
+to anything that Miss Lesley has not intended me to hear.
+I have perfect faith in her."</p>
+
+<p>"Faith in her! She's one of the sweetest and truest-hearted
+ladies I ever came across," said Mary Trent,
+indignantly; "but she may be on the brink of a precipice
+without knowing it. Sir, what I mean is this. Mr. Oliver
+Trent is in love with Miss Lesley, and is doing his best to
+get her to run off with him. Yes, I know what you want
+to say&mdash;that she would never do such a thing&mdash;but one cannot
+always say what a girl will do under pressure; and,
+believe me or not as you please, Oliver Trent is ready to
+throw over Miss Kenyon at any moment for the sake of
+your daughter, Mr. Brooke."<a name="Page_250"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Do you know what you are saying?" thundered Caspar,
+now white to the lips. "Do you know what an aspersion
+you are casting on my daughter's character? Are you
+aware that Miss Kenyon's marriage with Mr. Trent is to
+take place to-morrow morning? Your remarks are perfectly
+unjustifiable&mdash;unless you are in ignorance of the facts
+of the case."</p>
+
+<p>"I know all, and yet I warn you," said Mrs. Trent, perfectly
+unmoved by this burst of anger. "I tell you what I
+have seen and heard for myself. And I know Oliver Trent
+only too well. It was Oliver Trent who betrayed my only
+sister, and brought her to a miserable death. She was a
+good girl until she met him. He ruined her, and he had
+no scruples. He will have more outward respect to Miss
+Lesley and Miss Kenyon, but he is no more scrupulous
+about using his power, when he has any, than he was
+then."</p>
+
+<p>"After making this accusation you must not be surprised
+if I ask what grounds you have for it," said Mr. Brooke.</p>
+
+<p>He was calm enough to all appearance now, but even
+Mrs. Trent, not very observant by nature, could tell that
+he was very much disturbed. For answer, she proceeded
+to describe the scene that had taken place in the very
+room in which they now stood, on the preceding Saturday
+night.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw him follow Miss Lesley into this room," she explained.
+"And I'd seen enough to make me fearful of
+what he was going to do or say. You know there are folding-doors
+between this room and the next&mdash;screened by curtains.
+The doors had been partly opened, and I slipped
+into the space between them. I was covered by the curtain,
+and I could not hear all that was said, because I had sounds
+from the other room in my ears as well; but I heard a
+great deal, and I made up my mind to tell you there and
+then. If I had not seen my husband that night you would
+have heard my story before you slept."</p>
+
+<p>Caspar Brooke's next question took her by surprise. He
+swung round on one heel, so that his back was almost
+turned to her, and flung the words over his shoulder with
+savage bitterness.</p>
+
+<p>"What business had you to listen to my daughter's conversation
+with her friends?"</p>
+
+<p>This was a distinctly ungrateful speech, and Mrs. Trent
+felt it so. But she replied, quietly<a name="Page_251"></a>&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Lesley's been kinder to me than any one I ever
+knew. And I had suffered a good deal from Oliver Trent's
+wicked falseness. He is my brother-in-law, as the law puts
+it, and I don't want to have any quarrel with him: but he
+shall do no more harm than I can help."</p>
+
+<p>By the time she had finished her speech Caspar had
+recovered himself a little.</p>
+
+<p>"You are quite right," he said, "and you have done me
+a service for which I thank you. I don't for a moment
+suppose that my daughter is not capable of taking care of
+herself. But other people are interested beside Lesley.
+Miss Kenyon's brother is one of my closest friends, and I
+should be very treacherous if I allowed her to marry this
+man, Oliver Trent, after all that I have heard about him to-night&mdash;if
+it be true. I don't want to throw doubt on your
+testimony, Mrs. Trent, but I suppose I must have some
+further proof."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Lesley could tell you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I shall not ask Miss Lesley, unless I am obliged. Did
+you not yourself beg me to spare her? This other story of
+his heartless conduct to your sister is quite enough to
+damn him in every right-minded woman's eyes. I shall
+speak to him myself&mdash;I will have the truth from his own lips
+if I have to wring it out by main force," said Caspar speaking
+more to himself than to Mary Trent, and quite unaware
+how truculent an appearance he presented at that moment
+to that quiet woman's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>She smiled stealthily to herself. She had a great faith in
+Caspar Brooke's powers for good or evil. To have him
+upon her side made her support with equanimity the
+thought that she and Francis might suffer if Oliver did not
+marry a rich wife. <i>He</i> would see that they did not want. And
+she should behold the darling wish of her heart gratified
+at last. For had she not ardently desired, ever since the
+day of Alice's betrayal and Alice's death, to see that false
+betrayer punished? Caspar Brooke would punish him,
+and she should be the instrument through which his punishment
+had come about.</p>
+
+<p>"I should like to thrash the scoundrel within an inch of
+his life," said Mr. Brooke.</p>
+
+<p>"There is very little time before the wedding, if you
+mean to do anything before then," said Mrs. Trent, softly.</p>
+
+<p>Caspar started. "Yes, that is true. I must see him
+to-night. H'm"&mdash;he stopped short, oppressed by the dif<a name="Page_252"></a>ficulties
+of the situation. Had he not better speak to
+Maurice Kenyon at once? But, as he recollected, Maurice
+had gone out of town, and would not be back until half an
+hour or so before the hour fixed for his sister's wedding.
+The ceremony was to be performed at an unusually early
+hour&mdash;ten o'clock in the morning&mdash;for divers reasons: one
+being that Ethel wanted to begin her journey to Paris in
+very good time. She had never been anxious for a fashionable
+wedding, and had decided to have no formal wedding
+breakfast, and there was no reason for delaying
+the proceedings until a later hour. But, as Mr. Brooke
+reflected, unless he went to Ethel Kenyon herself there
+was little time in which to take action. Indeed, it seemed
+to him for a moment almost better to let the past sink into
+oblivion, and to hope that Oliver would be kind and faithful
+to the beautiful and gifted girl who was, apparently, the
+choice of his heart.</p>
+
+<p>But it was not to Mrs. Trent's interest that this mood
+should last. "Poor Miss Kenyon!" she said, in quietly
+regretful tones. "I'm sorry for her, poor young lady. No
+mother or father to look after her, and no friend even who
+dares to tell her the truth!"</p>
+
+<p>The words stung Caspar. He thought of his own daughter
+Lesley, placed in Ethel's position, and he felt that he
+could not let Ethel go unwarned. And yet&mdash;could he
+believe Oliver Trent to be such a scoundrel on the mere
+strength of this woman's story! It might be all a baseless
+slander, fabricated for the sake of obtaining money. And
+there was so little time before poor Ethel's wedding!</p>
+
+<p>While he hesitated, Mary Trent saw her opportunity,
+and seized it.</p>
+
+<p>"If you want to see Oliver Trent," she said, "he is
+coming to our lodgings this very night. I have been to
+Mrs. Romaine's house to ask him to come to my husband
+who wants a few words with him. If you'll undertake to
+come there, I'll let you see what sort of a man Mr. Oliver
+Trent is, and then you can judge for yourself whether or no
+he is a fit husband for Miss Kenyon, or a fit lover for Miss
+Lesley Brooke."</p>
+
+<p>Caspar raised his hand hastily as if to entreat silence.
+"Tell me where you live," he said shortly, "and the hour
+when he will be there."</p>
+
+<p>"Half-past nine o'clock this evening, sir. The place&mdash;oh,
+you know the place well enough: it is in Whitechapel."<a name="Page_253"></a></p>
+
+<p>She gave him the address. He cast a keen, sharp glance
+at her face as he took it down. "Not a pleasant neighborhood,"
+he said gravely. "May I ask why you have taken
+a room in that locality?"</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head. "I did not take it," she said. "My
+husband took it before I found him, and I was obliged to
+stay. Francis is ill&mdash;I cannot get him away."</p>
+
+<p>"Can I do anything to help&mdash;&mdash;" Caspar was beginning
+but she interrupted him with almost surprising vehemence.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, no. I would not take anything from you. I
+did not come for that. I came to see if I could save Miss
+Lesley and Miss Kenyon from misery, not to beg&mdash;either
+for myself or him."</p>
+
+<p>The earnestness of her tone took from Mr. Brooke a certain
+uneasy suspicion which had begun to steal over him:
+a suspicion that she was using him as a tool for her own
+ends, that her real motives had been concealed from him.
+Even when she had gone&mdash;and she went without making
+any attempt to see Lesley or Miss Brooke&mdash;he could not
+rid himself altogether of this suggestion; for with her sad
+voice no longer echoing in his ears, with her deep-set eyes
+looking no longer into his face, he found it easier to doubt
+and to suspect than to place implicit faith in the story that
+she had told him.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley had heard of Kingston's reappearance, and was
+very much surprised to find that she was not called upon to
+interview her runaway attendant. Still more was she surprised
+when at last she heard the front door shut, and
+learned from Sarah that the woman had gone without a
+word. So much amazed was she, that shortly before dinner
+she stole into her father's study and attempted to cross-examine
+him, though with small result.</p>
+
+<p>"Father, Sarah says that Kingston has been to see you."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, she has," said Caspar, briefly. He was writing
+away as if for dear life, with his left hand grasping his
+beard, and his pipe lying unfilled upon the table&mdash;two signs
+of dire haste, as Lesley had by this time learned to know.
+She remained silent, therefore, feeling herself an intruder.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you want to know, my dear?" said her father
+at last, in a quiet, business-like tone. He went on writing
+all the time.</p>
+
+<p>"Is she coming back to us?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."<a name="Page_254"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Why did she go away?"</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot tell you just now. She had a&mdash;a&mdash;fairly good
+reason."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought she must have had that," said Lesley, brightening.
+"And did she come here to explain?"</p>
+
+<p>"Partly."</p>
+
+<p>"But why not to us?"</p>
+
+<p>Caspar laid down his pen suddenly, and laughed. "Oh,
+the insatiable curiosity of women! I thought you were
+wiser than most, Lesley, but you have all the characteristics
+of your sex. I can't satisfy your curiosity, to-day, but I
+will, if I can, in a short time. Will that do?"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley seemed rather hurt. "I don't think I asked
+questions out of mere curiosity," she said. "I always
+liked Kingston."</p>
+
+<p>"And she likes you, my dear&mdash;so far you were perfectly
+right," said her father, rising, and patting her on the arm.
+"To use your feminine parlance, she is quite as 'fond' of
+you as you can reasonably desire."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't like to hear so much about 'feminine' ways and
+characteristics," said Lesley, smiling, and recovering her
+spirits. "I always fancy somebody has vexed you when
+you talk in that cynical manner."</p>
+
+<p>"That remark is creditable to your penetration," said
+Mr. Brooke, in his accustomed tone of gentle raillery, "and,
+you cannot say that it is not a very harmless way of letting
+off steam."</p>
+
+<p>"Who has vexed you <a name="tn_259"></a><!-- TN: Quotation mark added after "then?"-->then?" said Lesley, looking keenly
+into his face. It was a bold question, but her father did
+not look displeased.</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose I said&mdash;you yourself?" he queried, with a
+certain real gravity which she was not slow to discover.</p>
+
+<p>The color rushed into her face. She thought of Maurice
+Kenyon, and the mistake that he had made. She had long
+been conscious of her father's disappointment, but had not
+expected him to speak of it. She made an effort to be
+equal to the situation.</p>
+
+<p>"If you are vexed with me, it would be kinder to tell me
+of it than to sneer at all womankind in general," she said,
+with spirit.</p>
+
+<p>"Right you are, my girl. Well&mdash;why have you refused
+Kenyon?"</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes drooped. "I would rather you did not ask me
+that, father."<a name="Page_255"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense, Lesley. A plain answer to a plain question
+is easy to give. Are you in love with any one else?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, indeed," she answered, vehemently; "I am not&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>And then, for some inexplicable reason, she stopped
+short.</p>
+
+<p>"'Not in love with any one' was what she was going to
+say," said Caspar to himself, as he watched with keen eyes
+the changes of color and expression in her face. "And she
+does not dare to say it after all. What does that mean?"
+But he did not say this aloud.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't care for Maurice, then?" he asked her.</p>
+
+<p>She drew herself away from him and colored hotly, but
+made no other reply.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear," said Caspar, half jestingly, half warningly,
+"you must let me remind you that silence is usually taken
+to mean consent."</p>
+
+<p>And even then she did not speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Really, of all incomprehensible creatures, women are
+the worst. Well, well! Tell me this, at any rate, Lesley:
+you have not given your heart to Oliver Trent?"</p>
+
+<p>"Father! how can you ask?"</p>
+
+<p>"Have you anything to complain of with respect to
+him? Has he always behaved to you with courtesy and
+consideration?"</p>
+
+<p>"I would rather not say," Lesley answered, bravely.
+"He&mdash;spoke as I did not like&mdash;once&mdash;or twice; but it is
+his wedding-day to-morrow, and I mean to forget it all."</p>
+
+<p>"Once or twice! When was the last time, child? On
+Saturday? Here in this room? Ah, I see the truth in
+your face. Never mind how I know it. I want to know
+nothing more. Now you can go: I am busy, and shall
+probably have to be out late to-night."</p>
+
+<p>With these words he led the girl gently out of the room,
+kissed her on the forehead before he shut the door, and then
+returned to his work. He did not dine with his sister and
+daughter, but sent a message of excuse. Later in the
+evening, Sarah reported to Miss Brooke that "Master had
+gone out, looking very much upset about something or
+other; and he'd taken his overcoat and his big stick, which
+showed, she supposed, that he was off to the slums he was
+so fond of." Sarah did not approve of slums.<a name="Page_256"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">ETHEL KENYON'S WEDDING-DAY.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">The</span> morning of Ethel Kenyon's wedding-day was as
+bright and sunny as any wedding day had need to be.
+The weather was unusually warm, and the trees were already
+showing the thin veil of green which is one of
+spring's first heralds in smoky London town. The window-boxes
+in the Square were gay with hyacinth and crocus-blossom.
+The flower-girls' baskets were brilliant with
+"market bunches" of wall-flowers and daffodils&mdash;these being
+the signs by which the dwellers in the streets know that
+the winter is over, that the time of the singing of birds has
+come, and that the voice of the turtle is heard in the land.
+The soft breezes blew a fragrance of violets and lilac-blossom
+from the gardens and the parks. London scarcely
+looked like itself, with the veil of smoke lifted away, and a
+fair blue sky, flecked with light silvery cloud, showing
+above the chimney-tops.</p>
+
+<p>Ethel was up at seven o'clock, busying herself with the
+last touches to her packing and the consideration of her
+toilet; for she was much too active-minded to care for the
+seclusion in which brides sometimes preserve themselves
+upon their wedding-mornings. Some people might have
+thought that it would not be a very festive day, for her
+brother was the only near relative who remained to her,
+and an ancient uncle and aunt who had been, as Ethel
+herself phrased it, "routed out" for the occasion, were
+not likely to add much to the gaiety of nations by their
+presence. Mrs. Durant, lately Ethel's companion, was to
+remain in the house as Maurice's housekeeper, and she
+had nominally the control of everything; but Ethel was
+still the veritable manager of the day's arrangements. She
+had insisted on having her own way in all respects, and
+Oliver was not the man to say her nay&mdash;just then.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine had offered to stay the night with her,
+and help her to dress; but Ethel had smilingly refused<a name="Page_257"></a>
+the companionship of her future sister-in-law. "Thanks
+very much," she had said, in the light and airy way which
+took the sting out of words that might otherwise have hurt
+their hearer; "but I don't think there's anything in which
+I want help, and Lesley Brooke is going to act as my maid
+on the eventful morn itself."</p>
+
+<p>"Lesley Brooke?" said Mrs. Romaine. She could not
+altogether keep the astonishment out of her voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, why not?" asked Ethel, with just so much defiance
+in her voice as to put Mrs. Romaine considerably on
+her guard. "Have you any objection?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dear Ethel, how can you ask such a thing? When
+you know how fond I am of Lesley."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you?" asked Miss Kenyon lightly. "Do you
+know I should never have thought it, somehow. <i>I</i> am
+exceedingly fond of Lesley, and so"&mdash;with a little more
+color in her face than usual&mdash;"so is Oliver."</p>
+
+<p>Bravely as she spoke, there was something in the accent
+which told of effort and repression. Mrs. Romaine admired
+her for that little piece of acting more than she had
+ever admired her upon the stage. She was too anxious
+for her brother's prosperity to say a word to disturb Ethel's
+serenity, whether it was real or assumed.</p>
+
+<p>"I am so glad, dear," she said, sweetly. "Lesley is a
+dear girl, and thoroughly good and loving. I am quite
+sure you could not have a better friend, and she will be
+delighted to do anything she can for you."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know about that," said Ethel, with a little pout.
+"I had a great deal of trouble to get her to promise to
+come. She made all sorts of excuses&mdash;one would have
+thought that she did not want to see me married at all."</p>
+
+<p>Which, Rosalind thought, might be very true. She had
+so strong a faith in the power of her brother's fascinations
+that she could not believe that he had actually "made
+love," as he had threatened, to Lesley Brooke without
+success.</p>
+
+<p>Ethel spoke truly when she said that she had had great
+difficulty in persuading Lesley to come. After what had
+passed between herself and Oliver, Lesley felt herself a
+traitress in Ethel's presence. It seemed to her at first
+impossible to talk to Ethel about her pretty wedding gifts,
+her trousseau and her wedding tour, or to listen while she
+swore fidelity to Oliver Trent, when she knew what she<a name="Page_258"></a>
+did know concerning the bridegroom's faith and honor.
+On the Sunday after the Brookes' evening party she had a
+very severe headache, and sent word to Ethel that she
+could not possibly come to her on the morrow. But Ethel
+immediately came over to see her, and poured forth questions,
+consolations, and laments in such profusion that
+Lesley, half blind and dazed, was fain to get rid of her by
+promising again that nothing should keep her away. And
+on Monday the headache had gone, and she had no excuse.
+It was not in Lesley's nature to simulate: she could not
+pretend that she had an illness when she was perfectly
+well. There was absolutely no reason that she could give
+either to the Kenyons or to Miss Brooke for not keeping
+her promise to sleep at Ethel's house on the Monday
+night, and be present at her wedding on Tuesday morning.</p>
+
+<p>So she wound herself up to make the best it. It seemed
+to her that no girl had ever been placed in so painful a
+position before. We, who have more experience of life than
+Lesley had, know better than that. Lesley's position was
+painful indeed, but it might in many ways have been worse.
+But she, ignorant of real life, more ignorant even than most
+girls, because she knew so few of the pictures of real life
+that are to be found in the best kind of novels, had nothing
+but her native instincts of truth and courage to fall back
+upon, together with the strong will and power of judgment
+that she inherited from her father. These qualities, however,
+stood her in good stead that day. "It is no use to
+be weak," she said to herself. "What good shall I do to
+Ethel if I give her cause to suspect Oliver Trent's truth to
+her? The only question is&mdash;ought I to tell her&mdash;to put
+her on her guard? Oh, I think not&mdash;I hope not. If he
+marries her, he cannot help loving her; and it would break
+her heart&mdash;now&mdash;if I told her that he was not faithful. I
+must be brave and go to her, and be as sympathetic as usual&mdash;take
+pleasure in her pleasure, and try to forget the past!
+but I wish she were going to marry a man that one could
+trust, like my father, or like&mdash;Maurice."</p>
+
+<p>She always called him Maurice when she thought about
+him now.</p>
+
+<p>It took all the strength that she possessed, however, to go
+through the ordeal of those hours with Ethel. She managed
+to keep away until nearly nine o'clock on Monday night,
+and then&mdash;just after her father had gone out&mdash;she received<a name="Page_259"></a>
+a peremptory little note from Ethel. "Why don't you
+come? You said you would come almost directly after
+dinner, and it is ever so late now. Oliver has just left me:
+he has business in the city, so I shall not see him again
+until to-morrow. Do come at once, or I shall begin to
+feel lonely."</p>
+
+<p>So Lesley went.</p>
+
+<p>She had to look at the wedding-cake, the wedding-gown,
+the simple little breakfast table. She sat up with Ethel
+until two in the morning, helping her to pack up her things,
+and listening to her praises of Oliver. That was the worst
+of it. Ethel <i>would</i> talk of Oliver, <i>would</i> descant on his
+perfections, and, above all, on his love for her. It was
+very natural talk on Ethel's part, but it was indescribably
+painful and humiliating to Lesley. Every moment of silence
+seemed to her like an implicit lie, and yet she could not
+bring herself to destroy the fine edifice of her friend's hopes,
+although she knew she could bring it down to the ground
+with a touch&mdash;a word.</p>
+
+<p>"And I am so glad there is not to be a fuss," Ethel said
+at last, when St. Pancras' clock was striking two: "for I
+always thought that a fussy wedding would be horrid. You
+see, Lesley, I have dressed up so often in white satin and
+lace, as a bride, or a girl in a ballroom, or some other
+character not my own, that I feel now as if there would be
+no reality for me in a wedding if I did not wear rather
+every-day clothes. In a bride's conventional dress, I should
+only fancy myself on the stage again."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't call the dress you are to wear to-morrow
+'every-day clothes,' do you?" said Lesley, with a smiling
+glance towards the lovely gown in which Ethel had elected
+to be married, and then to wear during the first part of her
+wedding-journey.</p>
+
+<p>"I call it just a nice, pretty frock&mdash;nothing else," said
+Ethel, complacently, "one that I can pay calls in afterwards.
+But I could not refuse the lovely lace Maurice insisted
+on giving me: so I shall wear a veil instead of a bonnet&mdash;it
+is the only concession I make to conventionality."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you would go to sleep, Ethel: you will look
+very pale under your veil to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I will try; but I don't feel like it. I hope Maurice
+will be back in good time. It was very tiresome of
+that patient of his to send for him in such a hurry."<a name="Page_260"></a></p>
+
+<p>Then there was a silence, for both girls were growing
+sleepy; and it was with a yawn that Ethel at last inquired&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Lesley, why won't your father come to my wedding?"</p>
+
+<p>"Won't he?" said Lesley, with a little <a name="tn_265"></a><!-- TN: Period added after "start"-->start.</p>
+
+<p>"Not he: I asked him again on Saturday, and he refused."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps," said Lesley, not very steadily, "it gives him
+pain to be present at a wedding: he speaks sometimes&mdash;as
+if he did not like to hear of them."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you poor, dear thing, I had forgotten all that trouble,"
+said Ethel, giving her friend a hug which nearly
+strangled her; "but won't it come right in the end?
+Captain Duchesne says that she is so sweet, so charming&mdash;and
+your father is just delightful."</p>
+
+<p>"I think I can't talk about it," said Lesley, very quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"Then we won't. Did you know I had asked Captain
+Duchesne to the breakfast?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Ethel, how heartless of you!" Lesley said, laughing
+in spite of herself. For Captain Duchesne's devotion
+was patent to all the world.</p>
+
+<p>At last they slept in each other's arms; but at seven
+o'clock Ethel was skimming about the room like a busy
+fairy, and it was Lesley, sleeping heavily after two or three
+wakeful nights, who had to be aroused by the little bride-elect,
+and Ethel laughed merrily to see her friend's start of
+surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Ethel! Ethel! People should be waiting on you and
+here you are bringing me tea and bread and butter. This is
+too bad!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's a new departure," Ethel laughed. "There is no
+law against a bride's making herself useful as well as ornamental,
+is there? You will have to hurry up, all the same,
+Lesley: we are dreadfully late already. And it is the loveliest
+morning you ever saw&mdash;and the bouquets have just
+come from the florist&mdash;and everything is charming! I feel
+as if I could dance."</p>
+
+<p>But Ethel's mirth did not communicate itself to Lesley.
+There was nothing forced or unnatural in the young
+bride's happiness, but Lesley felt as if some cloud, some
+shadow, were in the air. Perhaps she had had bad dreams.
+She would not damp Ethel's spirits by a word of warning,
+but the old aunt from the country who came to inspect her<a name="Page_261"></a>
+niece as soon as she was dressed for church was not so
+considerate.</p>
+
+<p>"You are letting your spirits run away with you, my
+dear," she said, reprovingly. "Even on a wedding-day
+there should not be too much laughter. Tears before
+night, when there has been laughter before breakfast,
+remember the proverb says."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what a cheerful old lady!" said Ethel, brimming
+over with saucy laughter once more, as soon as the old
+dame's back was turned. "I don't care: I don't mean to
+be anything but a smiling bride&mdash;Oliver says that he hates
+tears at a wedding, and I don't mean him to see any."</p>
+
+<p>Maurice arrived just in time to dress and to escort his
+sister to the church. It was not he, but Mrs. Durant, the
+companion and house-keeper, who first received a word of
+warning that things were not altogether as they should be.
+Others beside Lesley were scenting calamity in the air.
+Mrs. Romaine was to form one of the wedding-party. She
+made her appearance at a quarter to ten, beautifully dressed,
+but white to the very lips, and with a haggard look about
+her eyes. As soon as she entered the house she drew
+Mrs. Durant aside.</p>
+
+<p>"Has Oliver been sleeping here?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Here!</i>" Mrs. Durant's indignant accent was sufficient
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>"He has not been home all night," Mrs. Romaine whispered.</p>
+
+<p>"Not at home!"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose he is sleeping at his club and will come on
+from there," Mrs. Romaine answered, trying to reassure herself
+now that she had given the alarm to another. "Everything
+has been ordered&mdash;my bouquet came from him, at
+least from the florist's this morning&mdash;and I suppose we
+shall find him at the church. But I have been dreadfully
+anxious about him&mdash;quite foolishly, I daresay. Don't say
+anything to any body else."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Durant did not mean to say anything, but&mdash;without
+exactly stating facts&mdash;she had managed in about three
+minutes to convey her own and Mrs. Romaine's feeling of
+discomfort, to the whole party. The only exceptions were
+Maurice and Ethel, who, of course, heard nothing. A gloom
+fell upon the guests even while the carriages were standing
+at the door.<a name="Page_262"></a></p>
+
+<p>Lesley and Mrs. Romaine happened to be placed in the
+same carriage, facing one another. They looked at one
+another in silence, but with a mutual understanding that
+they had never felt before. Each read her own fear in the
+other's face. But the fear came from different sources.
+Lesley was afraid that Oliver had felt himself unable to
+fulfil his engagement to Ethel, and had therefore severed
+his connection with her by flight: Rosalind feared that he
+had been taken ill or met with some untoward accident.
+Only in Rosalind's mind there was always another fear in
+the <a name="tn_267"></a><!--TN: "back ground" changed to "background"-->background where her brothers were concerned&mdash;that
+one or other of them would be bringing himself and her to
+disaster and disgrace. She had no faith in them, and not
+much faith in herself.</p>
+
+<p>There was no bridegroom in waiting at St. Pancras'
+Church. Mrs. Romaine held a hurried consultation with a
+friend, and a messenger was despatched to Oliver's club,
+where he sometimes slept, and also to the rooms which he
+called his "chambers" in the city. A little silence overspread
+the group of guests from the Kenyons' house. Other
+visitors, of whom there were not many, looked blithe
+enough; but gloom was plainly visible on the faces of the
+bride's friends. And a little whisper soon ran from group
+to group&mdash;"The bridegroom has not come."</p>
+
+<p>If only he would appear before the bride! There was
+yet time. The carriage containing Ethel and her brother
+had not started from the door. But the distance was short,
+and speedily traversed: still Oliver did not come. And
+there at last was the wedding-chariot with its white silk
+linings and the white favors on the horses&mdash;and there was
+the pretty, smiling bride herself upon her brother's arm.
+How sweet she looked as she mounted the broad grey
+steps, with cheeks a little rosy, eyes downcast, and her
+smiles half concealed by the costly lace in which she had
+veiled herself! There was never a prettier bride than
+Ethel Kenyon, although she had not attired herself in all
+the bridal finery that many women covet.</p>
+
+<p>Something in the expression of the faces that met her at
+the church door startled her a little when she first looked
+up: she changed color, and glanced wonderingly from
+one to another. Some one spoke in Maurice Kenyon's ear.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" she asked, quickly. "Is anything
+wrong?"<a name="Page_263"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Oliver is late, dear, that is all. Just wait a minute&mdash;here
+by the door: he will be here presently."</p>
+
+<p>"Late!" re-echoed the girl, turning suddenly pale.
+"Oh Maurice, what do you mean? <i>We</i> were late too&mdash;it
+is a quarter past ten."</p>
+
+<p>"Hush, my darling, he will be here directly, and more
+distressed than any of us, no doubt."</p>
+
+<p>"I should think so," said Ethel, trying to laugh. "Poor
+Oliver! what a state he will be in!"</p>
+
+<p>But the hand with which she had suddenly clutched
+Lesley's arm trembled, and her lips were very white.</p>
+
+<p>For a minute, for five, for ten minutes, the bridal party
+waited, but Oliver did not come. A messenger came back
+to say that he had not been at the club since the previous
+day. And then Maurice's hot temper blazed up. He left
+his sister and spoke to his old friend, Miss Brooke.</p>
+
+<p>"Do not let Ethel make herself a laughing-stock," he
+said. "The man insults us by being late, and shall account
+to me for it, but she must be got out of this somehow.
+Can't you take her away?"</p>
+
+<p>"Let her go to the vestry," said Miss Brooke. "You
+had better not take her away just yet&mdash;look at the crowd
+outside. I will get Lesley to persuade her."</p>
+
+<p>Ethel made no opposition. She went quietly into the
+vestry and sat down on a seat that was offered to her,
+waiting in silence, asking no questions. Then there was a
+short period of whispered consultation, of terrible suspense.
+She herself did not know whether the time was short or long.
+She could not bear even Lesley's arm about her, or the support
+of Maurice's brotherly hand. Harry Duchesne's dark
+face in the background seemed in some inexplicable sort of
+way the worst of all. For she knew that he loved and
+admired her, and she was shamed by a recreant lover before
+his very eyes.</p>
+
+<p>After a time Maurice was called out. A policeman in
+plain clothes wanted to speak to him. They had five
+minutes' conversation together, and then the young doctor
+returned to the room where Ethel was still sitting. His
+face was as white as that of his sister now, and she was
+the first to remark the change.</p>
+
+<p>"You have heard something," she said, springing to her
+feet and fixing her great dark eyes upon his face.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Ethel, my poor darling, yes. Come home with
+me."<a name="Page_264"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Not till you tell me the truth."</p>
+
+<p>"Not here, my darling&mdash;wait till we get home. Come
+at once."</p>
+
+<p>"I must know, Maurice: I cannot bear to wait. Is he&mdash;is
+he&mdash;<i>dead</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>He would gladly have refused to answer, but his pallid
+lips spoke for him. And from another group a shriek rang
+out from the lips of Rosalind Romaine&mdash;a shriek that told
+her all.</p>
+
+<p>"Dead? Murdered? Oh, no, no&mdash;it cannot be?" cried
+Oliver's sister. "Not dead! not dead!"</p>
+
+<p>She fell back in violent hysterics, but Ethel neither wept
+nor cried aloud. She stood erect, her head a little higher
+than usual, a smile that might almost be called proud curving
+her soft lips.</p>
+
+<p>"You see," she said, unsteadily, but very clearly; "you
+see&mdash;it was not his fault. He <i>would</i> have come&mdash;if he
+had been&mdash;alive."</p>
+
+<p>And, then, still smiling, she gave her hand to her brother
+and let him lead her away. But before she had crossed
+the threshold of the room, he was obliged to take her in
+his arms to save her from falling, and it was in his arms
+that she was carried back to the carriage which she had
+left so smilingly.</p>
+
+<p>But for those who were left behind there was more bad
+news to hear. In London no secret can be kept even from
+the ears of those whose heart it breaks to hear it. Before
+noon the newsboys were crying in the streets&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Brutal murder of a gentleman on his wedding-day.
+Arrest of a well-known journalist."</p>
+
+<p>And everywhere the name bandied from pillar to post
+was that of Mr. Caspar Brooke, who had been arrested
+on suspicion of having caused the death of Oliver Trent.<a name="Page_265"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">IN ETHEL'S ROOM.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">To</span> those who knew Caspar Brooke best, it seemed ridiculously
+impossible that he should have been accused of any
+act of violence. But the accusation was made with so
+much circumstantial detail that no course seemed open to
+the police but to arrest him with as little delay as possible.
+And before the ill-fated wedding party had been dispersed,
+before Miss Brooke could hurry home, and long before
+Lesley suspected the blow that was in store for her, he had
+been taken by two policemen in plain clothes to the Bow
+Street Police station.</p>
+
+<p>The full extent of the misfortune did not burst upon
+Doctor Sophy all at once. When she left the church the
+accusation was not publicly known, and as she walked home
+she reflected on the account that she must give to her brother
+of the extraordinary events of the day. She wished he
+had been present, and wondered why he had shirked the
+invitation which had been sent him by Ethel. He was not
+usually out of bed at this hour, but she resolved to go to
+his room and tell him the story at once, for, though he had
+never cared much for poor Oliver Trent, he had always
+been fond of Ethel. Lesley had gone to the Kenyons'
+house at Maurice's earnest request, and might not be back
+for some time.</p>
+
+<p>She opened the door with her latch-key, and, to her great
+surprise, was confronted at once by Sarah, her face swollen,
+and her eyes red with weeping.</p>
+
+<p>"Sarah! why&mdash;have you heard the dreadful news already?"
+said Miss Brooke.</p>
+
+<p>"Have <i>you</i> heard it, is more the question, I'm thinking?"
+said Sarah, grimly.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you mean&mdash;about poor Mr. <a name="tn_270"></a><!--TN: Quote added after "Trent?"-->Trent?"</p>
+
+<p>"More than that, ma'am. However, here's a letter from
+master to you, and that'll tell you more than I can do."
+And Sarah, handed a note to her mistress, and retired to
+the back of the hall, sniffing audibly.<a name="Page_266"></a></p>
+
+<p>Miss Brooke walked into the dining-room and opened
+the note. Caspar had gone out, she gathered from the
+fact of his having written to her at all: perhaps he had
+heard of Oliver Trent's death, and had gone to offer his
+services to Maurice, or to assist in discovering the murderer.
+So she thought to herself; and then she began to read the
+note.</p>
+
+<p>In another minute Sarah heard a strange, muffled cry;
+and running into the room found that Miss Brooke had
+sunk down on the sofa, and was trembling in every limb.
+Her brother's letter was crushed within her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"What does it mean, Sarah?&mdash;what does it mean?"
+she stammered, with a face so white and eyes so terror-stricken
+that Sarah took her to task at once.</p>
+
+<p>"It means a great, big lie, ma'am, that's all it means.
+Why, you ain't going to be put about by that, I hope, when
+master himself says&mdash;as he said to me&mdash;that he'd be home
+afore night! I'm ashamed of you, looking as pale as you
+do, and you a doctor and all!"</p>
+
+<p>"Did he say to you he would be home before night?"
+said Miss Brooke collecting herself a little, but still looking
+very white.</p>
+
+<p>Sarah took a step nearer to her, and spoke in a low voice.
+"Nobody else in the house knows where he's gone," she
+said, "but I know, for master called me himself, and told
+me what they wanted him for. It was two men in plain
+clothes, and there was a cab outside and a p'liceman on
+the box. 'Of course it's all a mistake, Sarah,' he said to
+me, as light-hearted as you please, 'and don't let Miss
+Lesley or your Missus be anxious. I dare say I shall be
+back in an hour or two.' And then he asked the men if he
+might write a note, and they let him, though they read it
+as he wrote, the nasty wretches!"&mdash;and Sarah snorted
+contemptuously, while she wiped away a tear from her left
+eye with her apron.</p>
+
+<p>"But it is so extraordinary&mdash;so ridiculous!" said Miss
+Brooke. And then, with a little more color in her face, she
+read her brother's letter over again.</p>
+
+<p>It consisted only of these words&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Sophy</span>,&mdash;Don't worry yourself. The police have got it into
+their wise heads that I had something to do with poor Trent's tragic
+end. I dare say I shall be back soon, but I must go and hear what
+they've got to say. Take care of Lesley&mdash;C. B."</p></div><a name="Page_267"></a>
+
+<p>"Take care of Lesley! As if <i>she</i> wanted taking care
+of!" said Miss Brooke, with sudden energy. "Sarah, go
+over at once to Mr. Kenyon's, and tell Miss Lesley to come
+home. She can't stay <i>there</i> while this is going on. It isn't
+decent."</p>
+
+<p>Sarah was rather glad to execute this order. She was of
+opinion that Miss Lesley needed to be taken down a bit,
+and that this was the way in which the Lord saw fit to do
+it. And it never occurred to Miss Brooke to caution the
+woman against startling Lesley or hurting her feelings.
+She had been startled certainly, and almost overcome; but
+she belonged to that class of middle-aged women who think
+that their emotions must necessarily be stronger than those
+of young people, because they are older and understand
+what sorrow means, whereas the reverse is usually the case.
+Besides, Miss Brooke quite underrated the warmth of Lesley's
+attachment to her father, and was not prepared to see
+her experience anything but shallow and commonplace
+regret.</p>
+
+<p>So Sarah went to the house opposite and knocked at the
+door. She had to knock twice before the door was
+opened, for the whole household was out of joint. The
+maids were desperately clearing away all signs of festivity&mdash;flowers,
+wedding-cake, the charming little breakfast that
+had been prepared for the guests&mdash;everything that told of
+wedding preparation, and had now such a ghastly look.
+Under Mrs. Durant's direction the servants were endeavoring
+to restore to the rooms their wonted appearance.
+Ethel's trunks had been piled into an empty room: she
+would not want her trousseau now, poor child. The uncle
+from the country was pacing up and down the deserted
+drawing-room; the aunt was fussing about Ethel's dressing-room,
+nervously folding up articles of clothing and putting
+away trifles. All the blinds were down, as if for a funeral.
+And in Ethel's own room, the girl lay on her bed, white
+and rigid as a corpse, with half-shut eyes that did not seem
+to see, and fingers so tightly closed that the nails almost
+ran into her soft palms. Since she had been laid there she
+had not spoken; no one could quite tell whether she
+were conscious or not; but Lesley, who sat beside her,
+and sometimes laid her cheek softly against the desolate
+young bride's cold face, or kissed the ashen-grey lips,
+divined by instinct that she was not unconscious although<a name="Page_268"></a>
+stunned by the force of the blow&mdash;that she was thinking,
+thinking, thinking all the time&mdash;thinking of her lost lover, of
+her lost happiness, and beating herself passionately against
+the wall of darkness which had arisen between her and
+the future that she had planned for herself and Oliver.</p>
+
+<p>Sarah asked at once for Miss Lesley Brooke, and Mrs.
+Durant came out of the dining-room to speak to the messenger.</p>
+
+<p>"Is Miss Brooke wanted very particularly?" she asked.
+"Miss Kenyon will not have anyone else with her."</p>
+
+<p>"I think I must speak to Miss Lesley, ma'am; my mistress
+said I must," said Sarah, primly. Then, forgetting
+her loyalty to her employers in her desire to be communicative,
+she went on&mdash;"Maybe you haven't heard what's
+happened, ma'am. Mr. Brooke's been taken up on the
+charge of murder&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>This was not strictly true, but it was the way in which
+Sarah read the facts.</p>
+
+<p>"And Miss Brooke says Miss Lesley <i>must</i> come home, as
+it is not proper for her to stay."</p>
+
+<p>The horror depicted on Mrs. Durant's face was quite as
+great as Sarah had anticipated, and even more so. For
+Mrs. Durant, a conventional and narrow-minded woman,
+did not know enough of Caspar Brooke's character to feel
+any indignation at the accusation: indeed, she was the sort
+of woman who was likely to put a vulgar construction upon
+his motives, and regard it as probable that he had quarreled
+with Oliver for not wishing to marry Lesley instead of
+Ethel Kenyon. And she at once grasped the situation.
+Under the circumstances&mdash;if Caspar Brooke had killed
+Ethel's lover&mdash;it was most improper that Caspar Brooke's
+daughter should be staying in the house.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course!" she said, with a shocked face. "Miss
+Lesley Brooke must go at once&mdash;naturally. How very
+terrible! I am much obliged to Miss Brooke for sending&mdash;as
+Ethel's chaperon I couldn't undertake&mdash;&mdash;I'll go
+upstairs and send her down to you."</p>
+
+<p>Sarah was left in the hall, while Mrs. Durant went upstairs.
+But after a time the lady came down with a troubled
+air.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't get her to come," she said. "You must go up
+yourself, Sarah, and speak to her. She will come into the
+dressing-room, she says, for a minute, but she cannot leave<a name="Page_269"></a>
+Miss Kenyon for a longer time. You must tell her quietly
+what has happened, and then she will no doubt see the
+advisability of going away."</p>
+
+<p>Sarah went upstairs, therefore, and entered the dressing-room,
+where the old aunt was still busy; and in a minute
+or two Lesley appeared.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" she said, briefly.</p>
+
+<p>"Your aunt sent me to say you must come home at
+once, miss."</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot come just yet: Miss Kenyon wishes me to
+stay with her," said Lesley, with dignity.</p>
+
+<p>"You'd better come, Miss Lesley. I don't want to tell
+you the dreadful news just now: you'd better hear it at
+home. Then you'll be glad you came. It's your pa,
+miss."</p>
+
+<p>"My father! Oh, Sarah, what do you mean? Is he ill?
+is he dead? What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's been arrested, miss, for killing Mr. Trent."</p>
+
+<p>Sarah spoke in a whisper, but it seemed to her hearers
+as if she had shouted the words at the top of her voice.
+Mrs. Durant pressed her hands together and uttered a
+little scream. Lesley turned deadly white, and laid one
+hand on the back of a chair, as if for support. And the
+old aunt immediately ran into the inner room, and burst
+into tears over Ethel's almost inanimate form, bewailing
+her, and calling her a poor, injured, heartbroken girl, until
+Ethel opened her great dark eyes, and fixed them upon the
+aged, distorted face with a questioning look.</p>
+
+<p>"Lesley!" she breathed. "I want Lesley."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, my dearest child, you must do without Lesley
+now. It is not fit that she should come to you."</p>
+
+<p>But Ethel's lips again formed the same sounds: "I want
+Lesley." And the old lady continued&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"She must not come, dear: you cannot see Lesley
+Brooke again. It is her father who has done this terrible
+thing&mdash;blighted your life&mdash;destroyed your happiness&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>And so she would have babbled on had not Ethel all at
+once raised herself in her bed, with white face and flaming
+eyes, and called in tones as clear and resonant as ever&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Lesley! Lesley! come back!"</p>
+
+<p>And then the old aunt was silent: silent and amazed.</p>
+
+<p>From the next room Lesley came, softly and swiftly as
+was her wont. Her face was pale, but her eyes and lips<a name="Page_270"></a>
+were steady. She went straight to Ethel; was at once
+encircled by the girl's arms, and drew Ethel's head down
+upon her shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I go?" she whispered in Ethel's ear.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no; don't leave me."</p>
+
+<p>"You know what they say? Can you trust my father?"</p>
+
+<p>"I trust you both. Stay with me."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley raised her head and looked back at the little
+group of meddlesome women who had tried to tear her
+from her friend's side. At the look they disappeared.
+They dared not say another word after meeting the rebuke
+conveyed in Lesley's pale, set face and resolute eyes. They
+closed the door behind them, and left the two girls alone.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time neither spoke. Ethel seemed to have
+relapsed once more into a semi-unconscious state. Lesley
+sat motionless, pillowing her friend's head against her
+shoulder, and stroking one of her hands with her own.
+Now and then hot tears welled over and dropped upon
+Ethel's dark, curly head, but Lesley did not try to wipe them
+away. She scarcely knew that she was crying: she was
+only aware of a great weight of trouble that had come
+upon her&mdash;trouble that seemed to include in its effects all
+that she held most dear. Trouble not only to her friend,
+but to her father, her mother, her lover. Not a shadow of
+doubt as to her father's innocence rested upon her mind:
+there was no perplexity, no shame&mdash;only sorrow and
+anxiety. Not many women could have borne the strain
+of utter silence with such a burden laid on them to bear.
+But to Lesley, even in that hour, Ethel's trouble was
+greater than her own.</p>
+
+<p>An hour must have passed away before Ethel murmured,</p>
+
+<p>"Lesley&mdash;are you there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I am with you, darling: I am here."</p>
+
+<p>"You are crying."</p>
+
+<p>"I am crying for you, Ethel, dear."</p>
+
+<p>For the first time, Ethel's hand answered to her pressure.
+After a little silence, she spoke again&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could die&mdash;too."</p>
+
+<p>"My poor little Ethel."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose there is no chance of that. People&mdash;like
+me&mdash;don't die. They only suffer&mdash;and suffer&mdash;and break
+their hearts&mdash;and live till they are eighty. Oh, if you
+were kind to me, you would give me something to make
+me die."<a name="Page_271"></a></p>
+
+<p>She shuddered, and crept a little closer to Lesley's
+bosom. "Oh, why must he go&mdash;without me&mdash;without
+me?" she cried. And then she burst out suddenly into
+bitter weeping, and with Lesley's arms about her she wept
+away some of the "perilous stuff" of misery which had
+seemed likely to destroy the balance of her brain. When
+those tears came her reason was saved, and Lesley was
+wise enough to be reassured and not alarmed by them.</p>
+
+<p>She was very much exhausted when the burst of tears
+was over, and Lesley was allowed to feed her with strong
+soup, which she took submissively from her friend. "You
+won't go?" she whispered, when the meal was done. And
+Lesley whispered back: "I will not go, darling, so long
+as you want me here."</p>
+
+<p>"I want you&mdash;always." Then with a gleam of returning
+strength and memory: "What was it they said about your
+father?"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley shivered.</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind, Ethel, dear," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;I know&mdash;I remember. That he was&mdash;a&mdash;oh, I
+can't say the word. But that is not true."</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>know</i> it is not true. It is a foolish, cruel mistake."</p>
+
+<p>"It could not be true," Ethel murmured. "He was
+always kind and good. Tell him&mdash;from me&mdash;that I don't
+believe it, Lesley. And don't let them take you away
+from me."</p>
+
+<p>Holding Lesley's hand in hers, at last she fell asleep;
+and sleep was the very thing that was likely to restore her.
+The doctor came and went, forbidding the household to
+disturb the quiet of the sick-room; and after a time,
+Lesley, exhausted by the excitements and anxieties of the
+day, laid her head on the pillow and also slept. It was
+late in the afternoon when Maurice Kenyon, stealing softly
+into the room, found the two heads close together on
+one pillow, the arms interlaced, the slumber of one as
+deep as of the other. His eyes filled with tears as he
+looked at the sleeping figures. "Poor girls!" he muttered
+to himself. "Well for them if they can sleep; but
+I fear that theirs will be a sad awakening."</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Lesley opened her eyes. The color rushed
+to her pale cheeks as she saw who was regarding her, but
+she had sufficient self-control not to start or move too
+hastily. Ethel altered her position at that moment, and<a name="Page_272"></a>
+left Lesley free to rise, then sank back to slumber. And,
+obeying a silent motion of Maurice Kenyon's hand, Lesley
+followed him noiselessly into the dressing-room.<a name="Page_273"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">THE EVIDENCE.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">"She</span> ought not to be left alone: I promised not to leave
+her," said Lesley in a low tone.</p>
+
+<p>"I have brought a nurse with me. She can go in and
+sit by the bed until you are ready to return," said Maurice,
+quietly. "Call us, nurse, if my sister wakes and asks for
+us; but be very careful not to disturb her unnecessarily."</p>
+
+<p>The nurse, whose face Lesley scanned with involuntary
+interest, was gentle and sensible-looking, with kindly eyes
+and a strong, well-shaped mouth. She looked like a woman
+to be trusted; and Lesley was therefore not sorry to see
+her pass into Ethel's room. She had felt very conscious
+of her own ignorance of nursing during the past few hours,
+and had not much confidence in the sense or judgment of
+any woman in the house. Maurice made her sit down,
+and then stood looking at her for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"You are terribly pale," he said at last. "Will you
+come downstairs and let me give you something to eat and
+drink?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, thank you. I want nothing. And Ethel may
+need me: I cannot bear to be far away."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you had nothing all day? It is after five o'clock."</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you must eat before I talk to you. I have several
+things to say, and you must have strength to listen. Sit
+still: I will be back directly."</p>
+
+<p>He went away, and Lesley leaned back in her chair and
+closed her eyes. She was very weary, but even in her
+trouble there was some sweetness for her in the knowledge
+that Maurice was attending to her needs. When he returned
+with wine and food, she roused herself to accept both,
+knowing very well that he would not tell her what she
+wanted to hear until she had done his bidding. The door
+between bed and dressing room was closed; the house was
+very quiet, and the light was dim. Maurice spoke at last,
+in grave, low tones.<a name="Page_274"></a></p>
+
+<p>"I have just come from your father," he said.
+Lesley started and clasped her hands. "Is he at home
+again?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. They would not let him go. But take heart&mdash;we,
+who know him, will stand by him until he is a free
+man."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you believe&mdash;as I believe?" she asked, tremulously.</p>
+
+<p>"Would it be possible for me to do otherwise? Hasn't
+he been my friend for many a year? You have surely no
+need to ask!"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley, looking up at him, stretched out her hand in
+silence. He took it in both his own and kissed it tenderly.
+Seeing her grief, and seeing also her sympathy for another
+woman who grieved, had, for the time being, cured him of
+his anger against her. He had cherished some bitter
+feeling towards her for a while; but he forgot it now.</p>
+
+<p>"I am as sure," he said, fervently, "that Caspar Brooke
+could not commit murder as I am sure that <i>you</i> could not.
+It is an absurdity to think of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Then what has made people think of it?" asked
+Lesley. "How has it come about?"</p>
+
+<p>Maurice paused. "There is a mystery somewhere," he
+said slowly, "which is a little difficult to fathom. Can
+you bear to hear the details? Your father told me to tell
+them to you&mdash;as gently as I could."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me all&mdash;all, please."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Oliver Trent was found dead early this morning
+on the stair of a lodging-house in Whitechapel. I have
+been to the place myself: it is now under the care of the
+police. He had been beaten about the head ... it
+was very horrible ... with a thick oaken staff or
+walking stick ... the stick lay beside him, covered
+with blood, where he was found. The stick was&mdash;was your
+father's, unfortunately: it must have been stolen by some
+ruffian for the purpose&mdash;and&mdash;and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>He stopped short, as if the story were too hard to tell.
+Lesley sat watching his face, which was as pale as her own.</p>
+
+<p>"Go on," she said, quickly. "What else?"</p>
+
+<p>"A pocket-book&mdash;with gilt letters on the back: C. B.
+distinctly marked. That was also found on the stairs, as
+if it had dropped from the pocket of some man as he went
+down. And it is proved&mdash;indeed, your father tells me so<a name="Page_275"></a>&mdash;that
+he went to that house last night and did not leave it
+until nearly midnight."</p>
+
+<p>"But why was he there?"</p>
+
+<p>"He went to see the man and woman who lived in the
+top room of that lodging-house. I think you know the
+woman. She was once your maid&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Mary Kingston? She came to our house that very
+afternoon. She must have asked my father to go to see
+her&mdash;he spoke kindly of her to me. But why did Mr.
+Trent go there too?"</p>
+
+<p>"There have been secrets kept from us which have
+now come to light," said Maurice, sadly. "Oliver went
+there to see his brother Francis, who was ill in bed; and
+his brother's wife was no other than the woman who acted
+as your maid, Mary Kingston&mdash;or rather Mary Trent.
+Kingston left your house on Saturday, it seems, because
+she had caught sight of her husband in the street: he had
+been very ill, and she felt herself obliged to go home with
+him and put him to bed. He has been in bed, unable to
+rise, she tells me, ever since."</p>
+
+<p>"But she&mdash;<i>she</i>," said Lesley eagerly, "can explain the
+whole matter. She must have heard the fight&mdash;the scuffle&mdash;whatever
+it was&mdash;upon the stairs. She ought to be able
+to tell when father left the house&mdash;and when Mr. Trent left
+the house. They did not go together, did they?" there
+was a touch of scorn in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>"No, they did not go together. But what Mrs. Trent
+alleges is, that your father waited for Oliver on the stairs,
+and attacked him there. It is a malicious, wicked lie&mdash;I
+am sure of that. But it is what she says she is willing to
+swear."</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Trent!" Lesley repeated vaguely. "Mrs.
+Trent! Do you mean&mdash;Kingston? <i>Kingston</i> swears that
+my father lay in wait for Oliver Trent upon the stairs? It
+is impossible!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Kingston," Maurice answered, in a low, level voice.
+"It is Kingston who has accused your father of the
+crime."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley covered her face with her hands, and for a
+moment or two did not speak. "It is too terrible," she
+said at last, not very steadily. "I do not know how to
+believe it. I always trusted her. Is there nobody worth
+trusting in the world? Is there no truth and faith anywhere
+at all?"<a name="Page_276"></a></p>
+
+<p>The tears were raining down her cheeks as she spoke.
+Maurice looked at her with wistful tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you ask that question when you have <i>such</i> a
+father?" he asked. "And I&mdash;have I done anything to
+deserve your want of trust?"</p>
+
+<p>She could only sob out incoherent words by way of
+answer. "Not you&mdash;not my father&mdash;I was thinking&mdash;of
+others&mdash;others I have trusted and been deceived in."</p>
+
+<p>"Oliver Trent," he said&mdash;not as a question so much as
+by way of sad assertion. She <a name="tn_281"></a><!-- TN: "draw" changed to "drew"-->drew her handkerchief away
+from her eyes immediately, and gazed at him through her
+tears, with flushed cheeks and panting breath. What did
+he mean? He did not leave her long in doubt.</p>
+
+<p>"Kingston&mdash;Mrs. Trent&mdash;has told a strange story," he
+said. "She avers that Oliver was false&mdash;false to my poor
+little sister who believed in him so entirely&mdash;false to himself
+and false to us. They say you knew of this. She says
+that he&mdash;he made love to you, that he asked you to marry
+him&mdash;to run away with him indeed&mdash;so late as last Saturday.
+She had hidden herself between the folding-doors in
+order to hear what went on. Lesley, is this true?"</p>
+
+<p>She was white enough now. She cast one appealing
+glance at his face, and then said, almost inaudibly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Don't tell Ethel."</p>
+
+<p>"Then it was true?"</p>
+
+<p>"Quite true!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, my God!" cried Maurice, involuntarily. He did
+not use the words with any profane intention: they escaped
+his lips as a sort of cry of agony, of protest, almost of
+entreaty. He had hoped until this moment that Lesley
+would be able to deny this charge. When she acknowledged
+its truth, the conviction of Oliver's falsity, the suspicion
+of Lesley's faith, smote him like a blow. He drew
+back from her a little and looked at her steadfastly. Lesley
+raised her candid, innocent eyes to his, and, after a
+moment's silence, made her defence.</p>
+
+<p>"I could not help it. If Kingston speaks the truth, she
+will tell you that. He locked the door so that I could not
+get out, and then ... I said I would never speak to
+him again. I was never so angry&mdash;so ashamed&mdash;in all my
+life. You must not think that I&mdash;I too&mdash;was false to Ethel.
+She is my friend, and I never dreamed of taking him away
+from her. I never cared&mdash;in that way&mdash;for him, and even
+if I had&mdash;&mdash;"<a name="Page_277"></a></p>
+
+<p>"You never cared? Did you not love him, too?"</p>
+
+<p>"No! no, indeed! I hated him. If Kingston says so
+she is lying about me, as she is lying about my father.
+You say that you do not believe her when she speaks
+against him: surely you won't believe her when she speaks
+against me? Can't you trust my father's daughter, as well
+as my father?"</p>
+
+<p>The voice was almost passionate in its pleading: the
+lovely eyes were eloquent of reproach. Maurice felt his
+whole being quiver: he was shaken to the very depths.
+Why should she plead to him in this way if she had no love
+at all for <i>him</i>? Why should she be so anxious that he
+should trust her? And did he not? He could not look
+into her face and think for one moment that she lied.</p>
+
+<p>"I do trust&mdash;your father's daughter," he said, hoarsely.
+"I trust her above all women living!&mdash;God knows that I
+do. You did not love Oliver? It was not to <i>him</i> that you
+made some promise you spoke of&mdash;some promise against
+engaging yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was to my mother," said Lesley, simply. "I am sorry
+that I did not make you understand."</p>
+
+<p>He took a quick step nearer. "May I say more?"</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;some day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not now," she answered, softly. But a very faint and
+tremulous smile quivered for one moment on her lips. "It
+is very wrong to talk of ourselves just now. Go on with
+your story&mdash;tell me about my dear, dearest father."</p>
+
+<p>"I will," said Maurice. "I will do exactly what you
+wish&mdash;<i>just now</i>"&mdash;with a great accent on the last two
+words. "We will talk about that promise at a more fitting
+time, Lesley&mdash;I may call you Lesley, may I not? There
+is no harm in that, for you are like a sister to my poor
+Ethel, and you may as well let me be a brother to you,
+dear, <i>just now</i>. Well, Lesley"&mdash;how he lingered over the
+name!&mdash;"Mrs. Trent says that she returned to your house
+on Monday afternoon in order to warn your father of what
+was going, on&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Did she really?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, for your father tells me she did so. She also told
+him various stories of Oliver's baseness, which he felt it his
+duty to inquire into, and in order that, he might have an
+interview with Oliver, she arranged with him to come that<a name="Page_278"></a>
+night to the house in Whitechapel, where she and her husband
+were living. There she was to confront him with
+Oliver, and she said that in <i>her</i> presence he would not
+dare to deny that her tales were true."</p>
+
+<p>"But why did father agree to that? Why did he want
+to find out?"</p>
+
+<p>"For Ethel's sake. He wanted to protect her. If Mrs.
+Trent could prove her stories, he meant to expose Oliver to
+Ethel and myself, if it were but an hour before her marriage&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And why didn't he?" demanded Lesley, breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>"Because&mdash;<a name="tn_283"></a><!--TN: Quotes removed after "Because" and before "your"-->here comes in your father's evidence&mdash;your
+father assures me that when he reached the house that
+night and confronted Oliver, the woman took back every
+word that she had uttered, and declared that it was all a
+lie. And Oliver, of course, persisted that he had done
+nothing amiss. Your father says he was so much tempted
+to strike Oliver to the ground&mdash;for he did not believe in
+Kingston's retractation&mdash;that he flung his stick out upon
+the landing lest he should use it too effectually. He forgot
+to pick it up, and came away without it. The pocket-book
+must of course have fallen out of his pocket as he left the
+house."</p>
+
+<p>"Then he could not convict Mr. Trent of anything?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, and so he did not feel justified in meddling. But
+he wishes that he had gone to Ethel at once&mdash;or that I had
+been at home and that he had come to me. He is reproaching
+himself terribly for his silence now."</p>
+
+<p>"As I have been reproaching myself for mine," said
+Lesley.</p>
+
+<p>"You have no need. Ethel would never have believed
+the stories&mdash;and as Mrs. Trent denied them again, I think
+that Oliver would have carried the day. But let her deny
+them as she will, I believe that they were true, and that
+Oliver was a villain. Our poor Ethel may live to bless the
+day when she was delivered from him."</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid she will never believe us, or forgive us if
+she does," sighed Lesley. "But what else happened?"</p>
+
+<p>"Your father left the building, after a long and angry
+conversation, about midnight. Oliver remained behind. Of
+course your father knows nothing more. But Mrs. Trent
+says that Oliver went away ten minutes later, and that she
+then heard loud words and the sound of a struggle upon<a name="Page_279"></a>
+the stairs. Fights are too common in that neighborhood
+to excite much remark. She, however, feeling anxious,
+stole down the upper flight of stairs, and distinctly saw Mr.
+Brooke and her brother-in-law struggling together. She
+maintains that Mr. Brooke's stick was in his hand."</p>
+
+<p>"How wickedly false! Why did she not scream if she
+saw such a sight?"</p>
+
+<p>"She was afraid. And she says that she did not think
+it would come to&mdash;<i>murder</i>. She crept back to her room
+again, and in a few minutes everything was quiet. Only&mdash;in
+the early morning the dead body of Oliver Trent was
+found upon the stairs, and then she gave information as
+to what she had seen and <a name="tn_284"></a><!-- TN: Question mark changed to period after "heard"-->heard."</p>
+
+<p>There was a short silence. Then Lesley said, very tremulously&mdash;"It
+sounds like a plot&mdash;a plot against my dear
+father's good name!"</p>
+
+<p>"And a very cleverly concocted plot too," thought
+Maurice to himself in silent rage; but he dared not say so
+much aloud. He only answered, tenderly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Such a plot can never come to good, Lesley. You and
+I together&mdash;we will unravel it&mdash;we will clear your father,
+and bring him back to the world again."</p>
+
+<p>"He is not coming home just yet, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid&mdash;dear, do not tremble so&mdash;he will have to
+take his trial. But he will be acquitted, you will see."</p>
+
+<p>She let him press her fingers to his lips again, and made
+no outward sign; but the two looked into each other's
+eyes, and each was conscious of the presence of a deadly
+fear.<a name="Page_280"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">A VAIN APPEAL.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Lesley</span> went home to sleep, and learned from her aunt
+the details of her father's arrest. "But he will be back in
+a few hours," said Miss Brooke, obstinately. "They will
+be obliged to let him ago. They will accept bail, of course.
+Mr. Kenyon thinks they will."</p>
+
+<p>"Has Mr. Kenyon been here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes; he brought me a message from Caspar.
+What a horrible thing it is! But the ridiculous&mdash;absurd&mdash;part
+of it is that your father should be accused. Why,
+your father was very friendly with Oliver Trent&mdash;at least
+he used to be!" Then Miss Brooke paused, and fired an
+unexpected question at her niece. "Have you any reason
+to think he was not?"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley winced and hesitated. "I don't think he liked
+Mr. Trent very much," she said, at last; "but that is a
+different thing&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"From killing him? I should think so!" said Doctor
+Sophy, in a high tone of voice. She was in her dressing-gown,
+and sitting before the fire that had been lighted in
+her own little sanctum upstairs; but she was not smoking
+as she was usually at that hour. The occasion was too
+serious for cigarettes: Doctor Sophy was denying herself.
+Perhaps that was the reason why she looked so haggard
+and so angry, as she turned suddenly and spoke to her
+niece in a somewhat excited way.</p>
+
+<p>"What made him unfriendly? Do you not know? It
+was because you flirted with Oliver Trent! I really think
+you did, <a name="tn_285"></a><!--TN: Comma changed to a period after "Lesley"-->Lesley. And I know your father thought so
+too."</p>
+
+<p>"Then he ought to have been vexed with me, not with
+Oliver," said Lesley, standing her ground, but turning
+very pale.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, but you are a girl, and he did not like to
+blame you. He spoke rather strongly about Oliver Trent<a name="Page_281"></a>
+to me. However, it is no use saying so now. We had
+better keep that phase of the matter as quiet as we can."</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Sophy," said Lesley, in a tremulous tone, "you
+don't mean&mdash;you don't think&mdash;that my&mdash;my <i>flirting</i>, as
+you call it, with Mr. Trent will be spoken of and tend to
+hurt my father&mdash;my father's good name?"</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Sophy stared at her. "Of course it would hurt
+your father's chances if it <i>were</i> talked about," she said,
+rather, sharply. "I don't see how it could do otherwise.
+People would say that he might have quarrelled with Oliver
+about you, you know. But we must try to keep the matter
+as quiet as we can. <i>I'm</i> prepared to swear that they were
+bosom-friends, and that I never heard Caspar say a word
+against him; and you had better follow my example."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Aunt Sophy&mdash;if I can't&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"If you want to come the Jeanie Deans' business, my
+dear," said Miss Brooke, "you had better reflect that personal
+application to the Queen for a pardon will not help
+you very much now-a-days. I must confess that, although
+I admire Jeanie Deans very much, I don't intend to emulate
+her. It's my opinion too that most women will tell
+lies for the sake of men they love, but not for the sake of
+women."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Aunt Sophy!"</p>
+
+<p>"It is no good making exclamations," said Aunt Sophy,
+with unusual irritability. "If you are different from all
+other women, I can't help it. I once thought that I was
+different myself, but I find I am as great a fool as any of
+them. There, go to bed, child! Things will turn out all
+right by and by. Nobody could be so absurd as to believe
+ill of your father."</p>
+
+<p>"You think it will be all right?" said Lesley, wistfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't ask me to believe in a God in heaven, if things
+go badly with Caspar," said Miss Brooke, curtly. "Haven't
+I lived ten years in the house with the man, and don't I
+know that he would not hurt a fly? He's the gentlest soul
+alive, although he looks so big and strong: the gentlest,
+softest-hearted, most generous&mdash;&mdash;But I suppose it is no
+good saying all that to your mother's daughter?"&mdash;and
+Miss Brooke picked up a paper-covered volume that had
+fallen to her feet, and began to read.</p>
+
+<p>"I am my father's daughter too," said Lesley, with
+rather tremulous dignity, as she turned away. She was too<a name="Page_282"></a>
+indignant with Miss Brooke to wish her good-night, and
+meant to leave the room without another word. But Miss
+Brooke, dropping her book on her red flannel lap, and
+looking uneasily over her shoulder at her niece's retreating
+figure, would not let her go.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, Lesley, don't be angry," she said. "I am so
+upset that I hardly know what I am saying. Come here
+and kiss me, child, I did not mean to vex you."</p>
+
+<p>And Lesley came back and kissed her aunt, but in
+silence, for her heart was sore within her. Was it perhaps
+true&mdash;or partially true&mdash;that she had been the cause of the
+misery that had come upon them all? Indirectly and
+partially, unintentionally and without consciousness of
+wrong-doing&mdash;and yet she could not altogether acquit
+herself of blame. Had she been more reserved, more
+guarded in her behavior, Oliver Trent would never have
+fallen in love with her. Would this have mended
+matters? If, as she gathered, the sole reason of her
+father's visit to the Trents had been to assure himself of
+the true nature of her relations with Oliver&mdash;her cheeks
+burned as she put the matter in that light, even to herself&mdash;why,
+then, she could not possibly divest herself of
+responsibility. Of course she could not for one moment
+imagine that her father had lifted his hand against Oliver;
+but his visit to the house shortly before the murder gave a
+certain air of plausibility to the tale: and for this Lesley
+felt herself to blame.</p>
+
+<p>She went to her own room and lay down, but she could
+not sleep. There was a hidden joy at the bottom of her
+heart&mdash;a joy of which she was half ashamed. The relief
+of finding that Maurice was still her friend&mdash;it was so that
+she phrased it to herself&mdash;was indeed very great. And
+there was a strange and beautiful hope for the future, which
+she dared not look at yet. For it seemed to her as if it
+would be a sort of treason to dream of love and joy and
+hope for herself when those that she loved best&mdash;and she
+herself also&mdash;were involved in one common downfall, one
+common misfortune of so terrible a kind. The thought of
+her father&mdash;detained, she knew not where: she had a
+childish vision of a felon's cell, very different indeed from
+the reality of the plain but fairly comfortable room with
+which Mr. Caspar Brooke had been <a name="tn_287a"></a><!-- TN: Question mark changed to comma after "accommodated"-->accommodated, and
+she shuddered at the thought of the days before him, of<a name="Page_283"></a>
+the public examinations, of the doubt and shame and
+mystery in which poor Oliver Trent's death was enwrapped.
+She thought of Ethel, now under the influence of a strong
+narcotic, from which she would not awake until the morning;
+and she shrank in imagination from that awakening
+to despair. And she thought of others who were more or
+less concerned in the tragedy; of Mary Kingston&mdash;though
+she could not remember her without a shudder&mdash;of Mrs.
+Romaine, who had loved her brother so tenderly; and of
+Lady Alice, the woman whose husband was in prison for
+a crime of which Lesley was willing to swear that he was
+innocent.</p>
+
+<p>When her thoughts once reached her mother, they stayed
+and would not be diverted. She could not sleep: she
+could think of nothing but the mother and the father whom
+she loved. And she wept over the failure of her schemes
+for their reunion. All hope of that was at an end. It was
+impossible that Lady Alice should not believe him guilty.
+She had always judged him harshly, and taken the worst
+possible view of his behavior. Lesley remembered that
+she had not&mdash;in common parlance&mdash;"had a good word to
+say for him," when she spoke of him in the convent parlor.
+What would she say now, and how could Lesley make
+her see the truth?</p>
+
+<p>The fruit of her reflections became evident at breakfast-time
+next morning. Lesley came downstairs with her hat
+on and a mantle over her arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you going?" Miss Brooke asked. "Not
+to poor Ethel, I hope? I am very sorry for her, but really,
+Lesley&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I am going to mamma," said Lesley.</p>
+
+<p>"Going to&mdash;&mdash;Well, upon my word! Lesley, I did
+think you had a little more feeling for your father!
+Going&mdash;&mdash;Well, I shall not countenance it. I shall not
+let your boxes go out of the house. It is simply disgraceful."</p>
+
+<p>"But I don't want my boxes," said Lesley, rather forlornly
+helping herself to a cup of coffee. "What have my
+boxes to do with it, Aunt Sophy? I shall be back in an
+hour. Mr. Kenyon said we should be able to see father
+to-day, and I do not want to be away when he comes."</p>
+
+<p>"Then&mdash;then you don't mean to <i>stay</i> with your
+mamma?" gasped Aunt Sophy.<a name="Page_284"></a></p>
+
+<p>Lesley could not help a little laugh, but the tears came
+into her brown eyes as she laughed. "Would you mind
+very much if I did, Aunt Sophy?" she asked, setting down
+her cup of coffee.</p>
+
+<p>"I should mind for this reason," said Miss Brooke,
+stoutly, "that if you ran away from your father's house
+now, people would say that you thought him guilty. It
+would go against him terribly. Sooner than that, I would
+lock you into your own room and prevent your going by
+main force."</p>
+
+<p>"I believe you would," said Lesley, "and so would I,
+in your place, Aunt Sophy. But you need not be afraid.
+I am as proud of my father and as full of faith in him as
+even you can be; and if I go to see my mother, it is only
+that I may tell her so, and let her understand that she has
+no cause to be afraid for <a name="tn_289"></a><!--TN: Quote added after "him."-->him." The color came to her face
+as she spoke, and she lifted her head so proudly that Aunt
+Sophy felt&mdash;for a moment or two&mdash;slightly abashed.</p>
+
+<p>"I will be back in an hour," Lesley went on, firmly,
+"and I hope that Mr. Kenyon will wait for me if he comes
+before I return."</p>
+
+<p>"Am I to tell him where you have gone?" asked Miss
+Brooke, with a slight touch of sharpness in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>And Lesley replied, "Certainly. And my father, too, if
+you see him before I do. I am not doing anything
+wrong."</p>
+
+<p>Greatly to her surprise, Miss Brooke got up and kissed
+her. "My dear," she said, "you are very like your
+father, and I am sure you won't do anything to hurt his
+feelings; but are you quite sure that you need go to Lady
+Alice just at present?"</p>
+
+<p>"Quite sure, Aunt Sophy." And then Miss Brooke
+sighed, shook her head, and let her go, with the air of one
+who sees a person undertake a hopeless quest. For she
+fancied that Lesley was going to make an attempt to
+reconcile the husband and wife who had been so long separated,
+and she did not believe that any such attempt was
+likely to succeed. But she had not fathomed Lesley's plan
+aright.</p>
+
+<p>The girl took a hansom and drove at once to her mother's
+house. She knew well where it was situated, but she had
+never visited it before. It was a small house, but in a good
+position, close to the Green Park, and at any other moment<a name="Page_285"></a>
+Lesley would have been struck by the air of distinction
+that it had already achieved. It was painted differently
+from the neighboring houses: the curtains and flower-boxes
+in the windows were remarkably fresh and dainty,
+the neat maid who opened the front door was neater and
+smarter than other people's maids. Lesley was informed
+that her ladyship was not up yet; and the servant seemed
+to think that she had better go away on receiving this
+information.</p>
+
+<p>"I will come in," said Lesley, quietly. "I am Miss
+Brooke. You can take my name up to her first, if you like,
+but I want to see her at once."</p>
+
+<p>The maid looked doubtful, but at this moment Mrs.
+Dayman was seen crossing the hall, and her exclamation
+of mingled pleasure and dismay caused Lesley to be
+admitted without further parley.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice was up, but not fully dressed; she was breakfasting
+in a dressing-room or boudoir, which opened out
+of her own sleeping apartment. As soon as Lesley entered
+she started up; and the girl noticed at the first glance that
+her mother was looking ill, but perhaps the richly-tinted
+plush morning-gown, that fell round her slender figure in
+long straight folds, made her look taller and thinner than
+usual. Certainly her face was worn, and her eyelids were
+reddened as if from weeping or sleeplessness.</p>
+
+<p>"Lesley! my darling! have you come back to me?"</p>
+
+<p>She folded the girl in her arms and pressed her lips
+to the soft cheek, a little sob breaking from her as she
+spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Only for half an hour, mamma. Just to speak to you
+for a few minutes about <i>him</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Him! Your father! Oh, Lesley, what does it all
+mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Poor mamma! it must have been a great shock to you.
+Sit down, and I will tell you all that I know."</p>
+
+<p>And gently pressing Lady Alice back into a seat, Lesley
+took a footstool at her mother's knee and told her the story.
+Lady Alice listened in silence. With one hand she stroked
+Lesley's hair; with the other she held Lesley's fingers, and
+Lesley noticed that it twitched from time to time as if in
+nervous agitation. Otherwise, however, she was very
+calm.</p>
+
+<p>"And so," she said, at last, "you came to tell me the
+story as you know it.... But, my child, you have told me<a name="Page_286"></a>
+very little that I did not know already. Even in last <a name="tn_291"></a><!-- TN: "night" changed to "night's"-->night's
+papers the relationship between Oliver Trent and these
+people in Whitechapel was commented on. And your own
+name, my darling&mdash;that did not escape. Did you think I
+should misunderstand you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, mamma&mdash;not misunderstand <i>me</i>, but I was
+afraid lest you might misunderstand some one else."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"I was afraid," said Lesley, softly, "lest the years that
+have gone by should have made you forget his gentleness
+and nobleness of soul&mdash;lest for one moment you should
+think him capable of a mean or vile action. I came to tell
+you, dearest mother, how impossible it was for us&mdash;who
+<i>know</i> him&mdash;to credit for one moment an accusation of this
+kind. If all the world said that he was guilty, you and I,
+mamma, would know that he was not."</p>
+
+<p>"My child, my darling, you must speak for yourself. Do
+not try to speak for me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mother, won't you give me a message for him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going to see him, Lesley?"</p>
+
+<p>"I hope so. Mr. Kenyon said he would take me."</p>
+
+<p>There was a short silence, and then Lesley lifted her
+eyes to her mother's face. She was not encouraged by what
+she saw there. It was pale, sad, immobile, and, as it
+seemed to Lesley, very cold.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother, I must go. Won't you send him a message?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have no message, Lesley."</p>
+
+<p>"Not one little word?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not one." And then, as if trying to excuse herself
+Lady Alice added, hurriedly, "there is nothing that I can
+say which would please him. He would not care for any
+message from me."</p>
+
+<p>"He would care to hear that you trusted him!"</p>
+
+<p>"I do not think so," said Lady Alice, with a little shake
+of her head.</p>
+
+<p>Lesley rose to her feet, silenced for the moment, but not
+altogether vanquished. She put her arms round her
+mother's neck.</p>
+
+<p>"But you do trust him, mamma? Tell me that, at any
+rate."</p>
+
+<p>For almost the first time within Lesley's memory Lady
+Alice made a gesture of impatience.</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot be catechised; Lesley. Let me alone. You
+do not understand."<a name="Page_287"></a></p>
+
+<p>And Lesley was obliged to go away, feeling sorrowfully
+that she had failed in her mission. Perhaps, however, she
+had succeeded better than she knew.<a name="Page_288"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">"AT YOUR SIDE."</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Caspar Brooke</span> was not as yet debarred the privilege of
+seeing his friends, and on the morning after his arrest he
+had a great many visitors, including, of course, Maurice
+Kenyon and his lawyer. Maurice was busying himself
+earnestly on his friend's behalf; and, considering the position
+that Brooke held, the esteem felt for him in high places,
+and the amount of interest that was being brought to bear
+on the authorities, there was little doubt but that he would
+be let out on bail in a day or two, even if the proceedings
+were not quashed altogether. Some delay, however, there
+was sure to be owing to the pertinacity of Mary Trent's assertion
+that she saw him struggling with Oliver on the stairs,
+but in the meantime his detention was allowed to press as
+lightly upon him as possible.</p>
+
+<p>It was noon before Lesley saw him, and when she sprang
+to his side and threw her arms around his neck, with a
+new demonstrativeness of manner, she noticed that his
+brows lifted a little, and that he smiled with a look of positive
+pleasure and relief.</p>
+
+<p>"So you have come?" he said, holding her to him as if
+he did not like to let her go. "I began to wonder if you
+had deserted me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, father! Why, I have been waiting ever so long
+for Mr. Grierson to go."</p>
+
+<p>"And before that&mdash;&mdash;?" he asked, in rather a peculiar
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Before that&mdash;I went to see mamma." And Lesley
+looked bravely up into his face.</p>
+
+<p>"That was an infringement of contract, as I suppose you
+know," said Caspar, smiling persistently. "But it does
+not matter very much. What did 'mamma' say to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;don't&mdash;know," murmured Lesley, confused by the
+question. "Nothing very much."<a name="Page_289"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Nothing. Ah, I know what that means." He turned
+away from her, and, sitting down, leaned his elbows upon
+a table, and played with his beard. "It was useless, Lesley,"
+he said, quietly, after a few minutes' silence. "Your mother
+is the last person whose sympathies will be enlisted on my
+side."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley tried to speak but suddenly felt her voice fail her;
+so instead of speaking she knelt down by her father, leaned
+her head upon his shoulder, and burst into very heartfelt
+tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Little one," said Caspar, "I'm <a name="tn_294"></a><!-- TN: "afaid" changed to "afraid"-->afraid we have both
+got ourselves into a mess."</p>
+
+<p>It did not sound comforting, but Lesley stayed her tears
+to listen.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been talking to Grierson," her father continued,
+"and we have agreed that there must be no suppression of
+the truth. My dislike to Oliver Trent has been commented
+on already, and I must give a reason for it. Lesley, my
+dear, you will have to contribute your own evidence as to
+the reason."</p>
+
+<p>Lesley looked up with terrified, wide-open eyes. "Do
+you mean that I shall have to say&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You will have to go into the witness-box and tell what
+you know, or rather answer the questions that are asked
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"But will that be&mdash;best&mdash;for you?" She put the question
+with some difficulty.</p>
+
+<p>"That is not the point. What we have to do is to tell
+the truth, and leave the result to others."</p>
+
+<p>"&mdash;To God?" Lesley interposed, almost involuntarily.
+Caspar Brooke's lip moved with a grave smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, yes, to God if you will have it so&mdash;we use different
+terms, but perhaps we have the same meaning. We must
+at any rate leave the result to the working of various laws
+which we cannot control, and to fight against these laws of
+nature is wrong-doing&mdash;or sin. Therefore, Lesley, you will
+have to tell the truth, whether it may seem to be for my
+good or my harm."</p>
+
+<p>She glanced at him rather piteously, and her eyes filled
+with tears. Aunt Sophy's words recurred to her mind;
+but they seemed feeble and futile in the light of his courage
+and steadfastness. Aunt Sophy had been wrong&mdash;so much<a name="Page_290"></a>
+was clear to Lesley; and truth was best under all possible
+circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>"It is for Ethel I am sorry," she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, poor Ethel. It is true then&mdash;what that woman
+said&mdash;that Oliver Trent was in love with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I could not help it, father. I don't think it was my
+fault. I did not know till it was too late."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not blaming you, my dear. When I came into
+the drawing-room that day&mdash;do you remember?&mdash;what
+had happened then? Can you bear to tell me?"</p>
+
+<p>She hid her face on his shoulder as she answered, "He
+was speaking foolishly. I think he wanted to&mdash;to kiss me....
+I was very glad that you came in."</p>
+
+<p>"Was that the first time?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, the first. And I did not even see him again until
+that Saturday night, when he found me in the study&mdash;and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And asked you to run away with him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Indeed, I had not led him to think that I would
+do any such thing, father. I told him never to speak to
+me again. If it had not been for Ethel's sake, I think I
+should have called someone&mdash;but I did not like to make a
+disturbance."</p>
+
+<p>"No, dear, no. And you&mdash;yourself&mdash;<i>you</i> did not care
+for him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh no, no, no!"</p>
+
+<p>"It has been a terrible tangle&mdash;and the knot has been
+cut very rudely," said Mr. Brooke, in a musing tone. "Of
+one thing I am quite certain, we were not fit to have the
+care of you, Lesley&mdash;your aunt and I. You would never
+have been in this position, my poor child, if we had looked
+after you."</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't <i>that</i> which troubles me," said Lesley, trying to
+steady her voice. "It is&mdash;that you have to bear the brunt
+of it all. If it had not been for me you would never have
+been here. It has been my fault!"</p>
+
+<p>"Not your fault, child," said her father. "The fault did
+not lie with you, but with that unfortunate young man, for
+whom I am truly sorry. Don't be morbid, Lesley; look
+things straight in the face, and don't blame yourself unless
+you are perfectly sure that you deserve to be blamed."</p>
+
+<p>And there the conference ended, for Miss Brooke
+arrived at that moment, and Lesley thought it advisable to<a name="Page_291"></a>
+leave the choice of a subject of conversation in her hands.
+Caspar had many visitors that day, and many letters of
+advice and condolence, for few men were blessed&mdash;or
+cursed&mdash;with as many friends as he. Among the letters
+that reached him was a note without signature, which he
+read hastily, and as hastily concealed when he had read it.
+This note was written in uneven, crooked characters, as if
+the writer's hand had shaken as she wrote, and ran as
+follows:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I ought not to write, but how can I keep silence?
+There is nothing that I am not capable of bearing for my
+friends. If you will but confide in me&mdash;I am ready to do,
+to bear, to suffer anything&mdash;to forgive anything. Let me
+see you: I can then speak more freely. If you should be
+set at liberty in a day or two, I shall hear. You can then
+come to me: if not, I will come to you. But you need
+have no fear for me: I shall take means to prevent recognition."</p>
+
+<p>The envelope was plain and of common texture; but
+the note-paper was hand-made; with a faint, fine odor as
+of some sweet-smelling Eastern wood, and bore in one corner
+the letters "R. R.," intertwined in deep blue tints.
+There was no doubt in Caspar's mind as to the person from
+whom it came.</p>
+
+<p>He received it about three o'clock in the afternoon. If
+he wished to decline the proposed interview, he knew that
+he must write at once. In his heart he knew also that it
+would be better for him and better for her that the interview
+should be declined. What had he to do with Rosalind
+Romaine? He was accused of murdering her brother: it
+was not seemly that she should see him&mdash;even although the
+world were not to know of the visit. The world would know
+sooner or later&mdash;that was the worst of it: ultimately, the
+world knows everything. But why should she wish to see
+him? Had she information to impart? If she had, it would
+be foolish, from merely conventional reasons, to refuse her
+admittance, supposing that she really wished to come. And
+in a day or two at most he would certainly be able to go, if
+necessary, to her.</p>
+
+<p>But the fact was, he did not believe that she had any
+information to impart. She did not say so. Probably she
+only wished to express her faith in him, and to assure him
+of her friendship. Rosalind had been his friend through<a name="Page_292"></a>
+many a long year. She had always shown herself kind
+and sympathetic&mdash;in spite of one or two interludes of coldness
+and general oddity which Caspar had never felt able
+to understand. It would be pleasant enough to hear her
+say that she trusted him&mdash;he could not help feeling that.
+For, although he had passed the matter off very lightly
+when talking to Lesley, he was secretly hurt at the absence
+of any message from his wife. He could almost have
+worked himself into a rage at the thought of it. "Does
+she, too, think me guilty?" he asked himself. "She ought
+to know me better, although she does not love me! She
+ought to know. And she does know, but she is too cold
+and too proud to say so. Poor, warm-hearted Lesley has
+tried to win her sympathy for me and failed. Well, I never
+expected otherwise: she never gave me what I wanted&mdash;sympathy,
+understanding, or love! And how can she
+blame me"&mdash;the thought stole unawares into his mind&mdash;"if
+I turn for sympathy to one who offers it?"</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Rosalind would sympathize, and there would be no
+harm in listening to her gentle words. He had the pen in
+his hand, paper and ink before him: a word would be
+enough, if he wished to stay her visit. But he would not
+write it: if she liked to come, she might come&mdash;he would
+be glad to see her. Besides, her letter wanted explanation:
+for what had she to <a name="tn_297"></a><!--TN: Quote removed after "forgive?"-->forgive?</p>
+
+<p>He pushed the writing materials away from him, and
+went to the fireplace, where a small fire was burning very
+dimly. The day was cloudy, and the afternoon was drawing
+in. He crushed the coal with the heel of his boot in order
+to make a flame leap up; then leaned his elbow on the
+narrow mantelpiece and gazed down into the glowing
+embers.</p>
+
+<p>The door opened and closed again behind him, but at
+first he did not look up. He thought that the attendant
+had come to light the gas or bring him some tea. But
+when he heard no further sound, he suddenly stirred and
+looked up; and in the dim light he saw beside him the
+figure of a woman, cloaked and veiled.</p>
+
+<p>Was it Rosalind? No, it was too tall for Rosalind Romaine.
+Not Lesley?&mdash;though it had a look of her! And
+then his heart gave a tremendous leap (although no one
+would have suspected it, for his massive form and bearded
+face remained as motionless and calm as ever), for it<a name="Page_293"></a>
+dawned upon him that the visitor was none other than
+Lesley's mother, his wife, Alice Brooke, who had quitted
+him in anger twelve years before.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon," he said, courteously. "I did not
+see&mdash;I had no idea who it was. Will you not sit down?"</p>
+
+<p>He handed her a chair, with a bow as formal as that of
+a complete stranger. Perhaps the formality was inevitable.
+Lady Alice put her hand on the back of the chair, and felt
+that she was trembling.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope I am not intruding," she said, in a voice as
+formal as his own.</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all. It was most kind of you to come. Pray
+sit down."</p>
+
+<p>She seated herself in silence, and then put up her veil.
+He remained standing, and for a moment or two the husband
+and wife looked each other steadily in the face, with
+a sort of curiosity and with a sort of wonder too. The
+years had not dealt unkindly with either of them. Lady
+Alice had kept her slender grace of figure and her gentleness
+of expression, but the traces of sorrow and anxiety
+were so visible upon her delicate face that Caspar felt a
+sudden impulse of pity towards the woman who had suffered
+in her loneliness more than he had perhaps thought possible.
+As she sat and looked at him, a certain pathetic
+quality showing itself with more than usual vividness in her
+soft eyes and drooping mouth, he was conscious of a
+desire to take her in his arms and console her for all the
+past. But he caught back the impulse with an inward
+laugh of scorn. She had no doubt come to run needles
+into him, as she used to do in those unlucky days of poverty
+and struggle. She had a knack of looking pretty and
+sweet while she was doing it, he remembered. It would
+not do to show any weakness now.</p>
+
+<p>And she&mdash;what did she think of him? She was less
+absorbed with the consideration of any change in him than
+with what she intended to say. What impressed her most
+were the inflections of his quiet, musical voice&mdash;a voice as
+unroughened and as gentle as when it wooed her in her
+father's Northern Castle years before! She had forgotten
+its power, but it made her tremble now from head to foot
+with a sort of terror that was not without charm. It was so
+cold a voice&mdash;so cold and calm! She felt that if it once
+grew tender and caressing her strength would fail her alto<a name="Page_294"></a>gether.
+But there was not much fear of tenderness from
+him&mdash;to her.</p>
+
+<p>After that involuntary and rather awkward pause, Lady
+Alice recollected herself; and spoke first.</p>
+
+<p>"You must be very much surprised to see me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am delighted, of course. I could wish"&mdash;with a
+slight smile&mdash;"that the apartment was more worthy of you,
+and that the circumstances were less disagreeable; but I
+am unfortunately not able to alter these details."</p>
+
+<p>"And it is exactly to these details that you owe my
+visit," said Lady Alice, with unexpected calmness.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I ought to be grateful them, no doubt."</p>
+
+<p>She moved uneasily, as if the studied conventionality of
+his tone jarred on her a little; and then she said, with an
+effort that made her words sound brusque,</p>
+
+<p>"I mean that under ordinary circumstances I should
+not have come to see you. But these are so strange&mdash;so
+extraordinary&mdash;that you will perhaps pardon the intrusion.
+I felt&mdash;on reflection&mdash;that it was only right for me to come&mdash;to
+express&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She faltered, and he took advantage of her hesitation to
+say, with a quiet smile&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I am very much obliged to you. But you should not
+have taken all this trouble. A note would have answered
+the purpose just as well. I suppose you wish to express
+your indignation at the little care I seem to have taken of
+Lesley. You cannot blame me more severely than I blame
+myself. If she had been under your care I have no doubt
+we should not be in our present dilemma; but it is no use
+fretting over what is past&mdash;or inevitable. I can only say
+that I am exceedingly sorry. Will you not loosen your
+cloak? This room is rather warm. I can't very well ring
+for tea, I am afraid. You should call on me at Woburn
+Place, if you want tea."</p>
+
+<p>She loosened her cloak a little at the throat as he suggested.
+She had taken off her gloves, and he could see
+that her slender white hands were trembling. Somehow it
+occurred to him that he had spoken unkindly&mdash;but he did
+not know how or why. His words were commonplace
+enough. But it was his tone that had been cruel.</p>
+
+<p>"I did not come to make any reproaches or complaints,"
+she said at last, in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>"No. That was very good of you. I have to thank
+you, then, for your forbearance."<a name="Page_295"></a></p>
+
+<p>There was still coldness, still something perilously like
+scorn, in his tone. It was unbearable to Lady Alice.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you talk in that way?" she broke out, suddenly.
+"I came to say something quite different; and
+you speak as if you wanted to taunt me&mdash;to insult me&mdash;to
+hurt me in every possible way? I do not understand what
+you mean."</p>
+
+<p>"You never did," said Caspar. The scorn had gone
+now, and the voice had grown stern. "It is useless for us
+to talk together at all. You have made intercourse impossible.
+I have no desire to hurt or taunt or insult you,
+as you phrase it; but, if I am to speak the truth, I must
+say that I feel very strongly that it is to <i>you</i> and <i>your</i>
+behavior that we owe the greater part of this trouble. If
+you had been at my side, if Lesley had been under a
+mother's wing, sheltered as only a mother could shelter
+her, there never would have been an opportunity for that
+man Trent's clandestine approaches, which will put a
+stigma on that poor child for the rest of her life, and may&mdash;for
+aught I know&mdash;endanger my own neck! I could put
+up with the loss and harm to myself; but once and for all
+let me say to you, Alice, that you have neglected your
+duty as a mother as much as I have neglected mine as a
+father; and that if you had been in your proper place all
+this ruin and disgrace and misery might never have come
+about."</p>
+
+<p>The broken and vehement tones of his voice showed
+that his feelings were powerfully affected. Lady Alice
+listened in perfect silence, and kept silence for some
+minutes after the conclusion of his speech. Caspar, leaning
+with one shoulder against the mantelpiece, looked
+frowningly before him, as if he were unconscious of the
+fact that she had taken her handkerchief out of her muff,
+and was pressing it to her cheeks and eyes. But in reality
+he was painfully alive to every one of her movements, and
+expected a plaintive rejoinder to his accusations. But
+none came. The silence irritated him, as it had formerly
+irritated him with Lesley. He was obliged at last to ask
+a question.</p>
+
+<p>"Since you say you did not come to reproach me, may
+I ask the motive of your visit?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I scarcely think that it is of any use to tell you now,"
+said his wife, quietly. She had got rid of her tears now,<a name="Page_296"></a>
+and had put her handkerchief away. "I had a sort of
+fancy that you might like me to tell you with my own lips
+something that I felt rather strongly, but you would
+probably resent it&mdash;and it is only a trifle after all."</p>
+
+<p>She rose from her chair and drew her fur-lined cloak
+closely round her, as if preparing to depart.</p>
+
+<p>"I should like to hear it&mdash;if I am not troubling you too
+much," said Caspar.</p>
+
+<p>She averted her eyes and began slowly to draw on her
+gloves. "It is really nothing&mdash;I came on a momentary
+impulse. I have not seen you for a good many years, and
+we parted with very angry words on our lips, did we not?&mdash;but
+I wanted to say that&mdash;although you were sometimes
+angry&mdash;I never knew you do a cruel thing&mdash;you were always
+kind&mdash;kindest of all to creatures that were weak
+(except, perhaps to me); and I am quite sure&mdash;sure as
+that I stand here&mdash;that you never did the thing of which
+they are accusing you. There!"&mdash;and she looked straight
+into his face&mdash;"it is a little thing, no doubt: you have
+hosts of friends to say the same thing to you: but my tribute
+is worth having, perhaps, because, after all, I am
+your wife&mdash;and in some ways I do understand!"</p>
+
+<p>Caspar's face worked strangely: he bit his lip hard as
+he looked at her.</p>
+
+<p>"You are generous, Alice," he said, in a low voice, after
+a pause that seemed eternal to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no. Why should you call it generous? I only
+wanted to say this&mdash;and also&mdash;that if I can be of any use
+to you now, I am ready. A little thing sometimes turns
+the course of public opinion. If I were to go to Woburn
+Place&mdash;to stay with Lesley, for instance&mdash;so that all the
+world could see that I believed in you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;I shall be at Woburn Place myself in a day or
+two, on bail; and then&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I could stay," said Lady Alice, again looking at him.
+Then her eyes dropped and the color mounted to her forehead.
+He made a sudden step towards her.</p>
+
+<p>"Alice&mdash;is it possible&mdash;after all these years&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No, it is not possible," she said, with a little laugh
+which yet had something in it of a sob, "and I don't
+think we should ever get on together&mdash;and I don't love
+you at all, except for Lesley's sake&mdash;but just until this
+horrible affair is over, if I might show everybody that I<a name="Page_297"></a>
+have all possible faith in you, and that I know you to be
+good and upright and honorable&mdash;just till then, Caspar, I
+<i>should</i> like to be at your side."</p>
+
+<p>But whether Caspar heard the whole of this speech must
+remain for ever doubtful, as, long before its close, he had
+taken her in his arms and was sealing the past between
+them with a long kiss which might verily be called the
+kiss of peace.<a name="Page_298"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">"OUT ON BAIL."</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Miss Brooke</span> was electrified. Such a thing had never
+occurred to her as possible. After years of separation, of
+dispute, of ill-feeling on either side, here was Lady Alice
+appearing in her husband's house, and expressing a desire
+to remain in it. She came to Woburn Place on the evening
+after her interview with Caspar, and at once made known
+her wishes to Doctor Sophy.</p>
+
+<p>It was a curious interview. Miss Brooke sat bolt upright
+on a sofa, with an air of repressed indignation which
+was exceedingly striking: Lady Alice, half enveloped in
+soft black furs, was leaning back in the lowest and most
+luxurious chair the room afforded, with rather more the air
+of the <i>grande dame</i> than she actually wished to convey.
+In reality her heart was very soft, and there was moisture
+in her eyes; but it was difficult for her to shake off an
+appearance of cold indifference to all the world when Miss
+Sophia Brooke, M. D., was in her society. She had never
+understood Doctor Sophy, and Miss Brooke had always
+detested her.</p>
+
+<p>"Am I to understand, Lady Alice," said the spinster, in
+her stiffest voice, "that my brother wishes you to take
+up your abode in this house during his absence?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I think so," said Lady Alice, equably. "He has
+wished me to take up my abode here for some time past."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed?"</p>
+
+<p>The note of incredulity in her voice angered Caspar's
+wife.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you hardly understand," she said with some
+quiet dignity, "that I have been to see Mr. Brooke this
+afternoon. Strange circumstances demand new treatment,
+Miss Brooke. I consulted with my husband as to what we
+had better do, and he agreed with me that it would be
+better for Lesley if I came here&mdash;at any rate for the present."<a name="Page_299"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Better for Lesley!" Miss Brooke was evidently
+offended. "I do not think that you need put yourself to
+any inconvenience&mdash;even for Lesley's sake. I will take
+care of her."</p>
+
+<p>"But I happen to be her mother," said Lady Alice, with
+a touch of amusement. It struck her as odd that Miss
+Brooke only amused her now, and did not make her angry
+at all. "And we have the world to think of, besides."</p>
+
+<p>"I scarcely thought you troubled yourself very much
+about what the world said," remarked Aunt Sophy, severely.
+"It has said a good deal during the last ten or twelve
+years."</p>
+
+<p>"At least it shall not say," responded Lady Alice, "that
+I believe my husband guilty of murder. I have come back
+to prevent <i>that</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brooke looked at her doubtfully. She was not a
+person of very quick perceptions.</p>
+
+<p>"You mean," she said at last, "that you have come
+back&mdash;because&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Because</i> he was accused of murder," said Lady Alice,
+clearly, "and I choose to show the world that I do not
+believe it."</p>
+
+<p>And Lesley, entering from the library, heard the words,
+and stood transfixed for a moment with pure delight. Then
+she sprang forward, fell on her knees before her mother,
+and embraced her with such fervor that Miss Brooke put
+up her eye-glasses and gazed in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother! my own dearest mother! You do believe in
+him, then! and you have come to show us that you do!
+Oh! how delighted he will be when he knows!"</p>
+
+<p>A little color showed itself in Lady Alice's delicate face.
+"He does know," she whispered, almost with the coyness
+of a girl.</p>
+
+<p>"And he <i>was</i> delighted, was he not? It would be such
+a comfort to him&mdash;just now when he wants every kind of
+comfort. Oh, mamma, it is so good of you, and I am so
+glad. Aunty Sophy, aren't you glad, too?"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice tried to stifle this na&iuml;ve utterance, but it
+would not be repressed, and Aunt Sophy had to rise to the
+occasion as best she could, with rather a grim face, she
+rose from her seat upon the sofa and advanced towards her
+brother's wife, holding out a very reluctant hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I appreciate your motives, Lady Alice, and I see that
+your conduct may be of service to my brother." Then she<a name="Page_300"></a>
+relapsed into a more colloquial tone. "But how on earth
+you mean to live in this part of London, I'm sure I can't
+imagine. No doubt it seems rather smoky and grimy to
+you after Mayfair and Belgravia."</p>
+
+<p>"London is generally a little smoky," said Lady Alice,
+smiling in spite of herself. "Thank you, Sophy: I thought
+you would do me justice."</p>
+
+<p>And the hands of the two women met in a friendlier grasp
+than ever in the days of yore.</p>
+
+<p>"I must see about your room," said Miss Brooke, practically.
+It was her way of holding out the olive branch.
+"You would like to be near Lesley, I suppose. We shall
+try to make you comfortable, but, of course, you won't
+expect the luxuries of your own home here."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall be very comfortable, I am sure," said Lady
+Alice.</p>
+
+<p>"What, does she mean by talking in that tone?" cried
+Lesley, hotly when Doctor Sophy had left the room. "It
+was almost insulting!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, my darling, no. It is only a memory of old times
+when I was&mdash;exacting and dissatisfied. Yes, I see that I
+must have seemed so, then. I had not had much experience
+in those days; and then your father was not a man of substance
+as he seems to be now," said Lady Alice, inspecting
+the room, with a half-smile. The smile died quickly away,
+however, and was succeeded by a sad look, and a sigh.
+"Ah, poor Caspar!"</p>
+
+<p>"He will be home in a day or two. Everybody says
+so."</p>
+
+<p>"I trust so, dearest. And I will stay with&mdash;you till he
+comes home."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but now that you have come, mamma you will
+never be allowed to go away again."</p>
+
+<p>"I never said that, Lesley. I have come to maintain a
+principle, that is all. A wife ought to show that she trusts
+her husband, if he is falsely accused."</p>
+
+<p>And then Lady Alice lowered her eyes and changed the
+subject, for it suddenly occurred to her that she had not
+been very ready, in her younger years, to give the trust
+that now seemed to be her husband's due.</p>
+
+<p>But she settled down quite naturally in her husband's
+home during the next few days. Lesley, remembering the
+discomfort of her own first few weeks, expected her to say<a name="Page_301"></a>
+that the house was hideous and the neighborhood detestable.
+But Lady Alice said nothing of the kind. She
+thought it a fine old house&mdash;well-built and roomy&mdash;far
+preferable, she said, to the places she had often occupied
+in the West End. With different furniture and a little good
+taste it might be made absolutely charming. And when
+she got as far as "absolutely charming," uttered with her
+chin pillowed on one hand, and her eyes roving meditatively
+over the drawing-room mantelpiece, Lesley smiled to
+herself, and gave up all fear that she would ever go away
+again. Lady Alice had evidently come to the conclusion
+that it was her duty to see that Caspar's house was
+thoroughly redecorated from top to bottom.</p>
+
+<p>But she did not come to this conclusion all at once.
+There were days when the minds of mother and daughter
+were too full of sorrow and anxiety to occupy themselves
+with upholstery and bric-a-brac. And the day of the adjourned
+inquest, when Caspar Brooke was allowed to go to
+his own house on bail, was one of the worst of all.</p>
+
+<p>He came home quietly that afternoon in company with
+Maurice Kenyon, greeted his family affectionately but with
+something of a melancholy air, then went at once to his
+study, where he shut himself up and began to write and
+read letters. The cloud was hanging over him still. He
+knew well enough that if he had been a poor man, of no
+account in the world, he would at that moment have been
+occupying a prison cell instead of his own comfortable
+study. For presumption was strong against him; and it
+had taken a great deal of influence and extraordinarily high
+bail to secure his release. At present he stood committed
+to take his trial for manslaughter within a very short space
+of time. And nobody had succeeded, or seemed likely to
+succeed, in throwing any doubt on the testimony of Mary
+Trent. He was certainly in a very awkward position: it
+might be a very terrible position by-and-bye.</p>
+
+<p>He was aroused from the reverie into which he had fallen
+by the entry of a servant with a note. He opened it, read
+the contents slowly, and then put it into the fire. He stood
+frowning a little as he watched it burn.</p>
+
+<p>After a few moments of this hesitation he rang the bell,
+told Sarah that he was going out, and left the house. The
+three women in the drawing-room upstairs, already nervous
+and overstrained from long suspense, all started when the<a name="Page_302"></a>
+reverberation of that closing door made itself heard. Lesley
+felt her mother's hand close on hers with a quick, convulsive
+pressure. She looked up.</p>
+
+<p>"He has gone out!" Lady Alice murmured, so that
+Lesley alone could hear. "He does not come&mdash;to <i>us</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley did not know what to say. She was surprised to
+find that her mother expected him to come. But then she
+was only Caspar Brooke's daughter and not his wife.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice lay back in her chair, closed her eyes and
+waited. She had once been a jealous woman: there were
+the seeds of jealousy in her still. She sat and wondered
+whether Caspar had gone for sympathy and comfort to any
+other woman. And after wondering this for half an hour
+it suddenly occurred to her mind with the vividness of a
+lightning flash that if things <i>were</i> so&mdash;if her husband <i>had</i>
+found sympathy elsewhere&mdash;it was her own fault. She had
+no right to accuse him, or to blame him, when she had left
+him for a dozen years.</p>
+
+<p>"I have no right to blame him, perhaps, but I have still
+a right to know," she said to herself. And then, disengaging
+her hand from Lesley's clinging fingers, she rose
+and went downstairs&mdash;down to the study which she had
+so seldom visited. She seated herself in Caspar's arm-chair,
+and prepared to wait there for his return. Surely
+he would not be long!&mdash;and then she would speak to him,
+and things should be made clear.</p>
+
+<p>Caspar's note had been written by Mrs. Romaine. It
+was quite formal, and merely contained a request that he
+would call on her at his earliest convenience. And he
+complied at once, as she had surmised that he would do.
+Her confidential maid opened the door to him, and conducted
+him to the drawing-room. It was dusk, and the
+blinds were drawn down. Oliver Trent's funeral had taken
+place the day before.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Brooke did not sit down. He knew that the interview
+which was about to take place was likely to be a painful
+one, but he could not guess in the least what kind of
+turn it would take. Did Rosalind believe in his guilt?
+Did she know what manner of man her brother Oliver had
+been? Was she going to reproach or to condole? She
+had done a strange thing in asking him to the house at all,
+and at another time he might have thought it wiser not to
+accede to her request; but he was in the mood in which<a name="Page_303"></a>
+the most extraordinary incidents seem possible, and scarcely
+anything could have seemed to him too bizarre to happen.
+He felt curiously impatient of the ordinary conventionalities
+of civilized life. Since this miraculous thing had come to
+pass&mdash;that he, Caspar Brooke, a respectable, sane, healthy-minded
+man of middle-age, could be accused of killing a
+miserable young scamp like Oliver Trent in a moment of
+passion&mdash;the world had certainly seemed somewhat crazy
+and out of joint. It was not worth while to stand very
+much on ceremony at such a conjuncture; and if Rosalind
+Romaine wanted to talk to him about her dead brother, he
+was willing to go and hear her talk. And yet as he stood
+in her dainty little drawing-room, it came over him very
+strongly that he ought not to be there.</p>
+
+<p>He was still musing when the door opened, and Rosalind
+stole into the room. He did not hear her until she was
+close upon him, and then he turned with a sudden start.
+She looked different&mdash;she was changed. Her face was
+very pale: her eyelids were reddened: she was dressed in
+the deepest black, and over her head she had flung a black
+lace veil, which gave her&mdash;perhaps unintentionally&mdash;a
+tragic look. She held the folds together with her right
+hand, and spoke to him quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"It was kind of you to come," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"You summoned me. I should not have come without
+that," he answered, quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I suppose not. And of course&mdash;in the ordinary
+course of things&mdash;I ought not to have summoned you.
+The world would say that I was wrong. But we have been
+old friends for many years now, have we not?"</p>
+
+<p>"I always thought so," he answered, gravely. "But
+now&mdash;I fear&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You mean"&mdash;with a strange vibration in her voice&mdash;
+"you mean that we must never be friends again&mdash;because&mdash;because
+of Oliver&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"This accusation must naturally tend to separate the
+families," he said, in a very calm, grave voice. "Even
+when it is disproved, we shall not find it easy to resume
+old relations. I am very sorry for it, Rosalind, just as I
+need not tell you how sorry I am for the cause&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She interrupted him hurriedly. "Yes, yes, I know all
+that; but you speak of <i>disproving</i> the charge. Can you
+do that?"<a name="Page_304"></a></p>
+
+<p>He was silent for a moment. "I shall do my best," he
+said at length, with some emotion in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>"And if it is not disproved&mdash;what then?" she asked.
+"Suppose they call it <i>murder</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>Caspar drew himself up: a certain displeasure began to
+mark itself upon his features.</p>
+
+<p>"Need you ask me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I need. I want you to consider the answer that
+you would give. I have a reason."</p>
+
+<p>Her eager eyes, hot and burning in a face that was
+strangely white, pled for her. Caspar relented a little, but
+bent his brows as he replied&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"The extreme penalty of the law, I suppose. It is
+absurd&mdash;but, of course, it is possible. It is not a case in
+which I should expect penal servitude for life to be substituted,
+supposing that I were found guilty. But I fail to see
+your motive for asking what must be to me a rather painful
+question."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you are strong! You can bear it!" she said,
+dropping her face upon her hands. Caspar gazed at her
+in amazement. He began to wonder whether she were
+going out of her mind. But before he could find any word
+of calming or consoling tendency, she flung down her
+hands and spoke again. "I want you to fix your mind on
+it for a moment, even although it hurts you," she said.
+"You are a strong man&mdash;you do not shrink from a thing
+because, it is a little painful. Think what it would mean
+for yourself, and not for yourself only; for your friends,
+for those who love you! A perpetual disgrace&mdash;a
+misery!"</p>
+
+<p>"You seem anxious to assume that I shall be convicted,"
+he said, still with displeasure.</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you I am doing so on purpose. I want you to
+think of it. You know&mdash;you know as well as I do&mdash;that
+the chances are against you!"</p>
+
+<p>"And if they are?"</p>
+
+<p>"If they are&mdash;why do you incur such a risk!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Romaine," said Caspar, gently, but with a steady
+coldness of tone, of which she did not at first feel the
+import, "I think you hardly know the force of what you
+are saying. I do not incur any risk unnecessarily or wantonly:
+I only wish the truth to be made known. What
+can I do more&mdash;or less?"<a name="Page_305"></a></p>
+
+<p>"You could go away," she said, almost in a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>If the room had been lighter, she might, perhaps, have
+seen the frown that was gathering on his brow, the wrath
+that darkened his eyes as he spoke: but his face was in
+shadow, and for a moment anger made him speechless.
+She went on eagerly, breathlessly, without waiting for a
+reply.</p>
+
+<p>"You might get off quite easily to&mdash;to Spain, perhaps,
+or some place where there was no extradition treaty. You
+are out on bail, I know; but your friends could not complain.
+Surely it is a natural enough thing for a man, situated
+as you are, to wish to escape: nobody would blame
+you in the long run&mdash;they would only say that you were
+wise. And if you stay, everything is against you. You
+had so much better take your present chance!"</p>
+
+<p>Caspar muttered something inarticulate, then seemed to
+choke back further utterance, and kept silence for a minute.
+When he spoke it was in a curiously tranquil tone.</p>
+
+<p>"You do not seem to have heard of the quality that
+men call their honor?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, honor! I have heard enough about honor," she
+answered with a nervous, rasping laugh. "And you&mdash;<i>you</i>
+to talk about honor&mdash;after&mdash;after <i>what you have done</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>Caspar Brooke fell back a step or two and surveyed her
+curiously. <a name="tn_310"></a><!--TN: "God God" changed to "Good God"-->"Good God!" The exclamation broke from
+him, as if against his will. "You speak as though you
+thought I was guilty&mdash;as though I had&mdash;<i>murdered</i>
+Oliver!"</p>
+
+<p>And she, looking at him as intently as he looked at her,
+said only, in the simplest possible way&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"And did you not?"<a name="Page_306"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">LOVE OR TRUST.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Caspar</span> turned away. For a moment he felt mortally sick,
+as if from a pang of acute physical pain. Distrust from
+an old friend is always a hard thing to bear. And so, for
+a moment or two, he did not speak.</p>
+
+<p>"I was not surprised," said Mrs. Romaine, quickly. "I
+had been looking for something of the kind. I won't say
+that you were not justified&mdash;in a certain sense. Oliver
+acted abominably, I know. He told me what he was going
+to do beforehand."</p>
+
+<p>"Told you what he was going to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;to make Lesley fall in love with him. He did
+not mean to marry her. He meant to gain her affections
+and then to&mdash;to&mdash;leave her, to break her heart. I suppose
+that is what you found out. I do not wonder that you
+were surprised."</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt you have good authority for what you are
+saying," said Mr. Brooke, very coldly, "but your account
+does not tally with what I have gathered from other
+sources."</p>
+
+<p>"From Lesley herself?"</p>
+
+<p>Caspar bowed his head. He was conscious of a violent
+dislike to bringing Lesley's name into the discussion. Mrs.
+Romaine went on rapidly.</p>
+
+<p>"As to Lesley, of course I cannot say. I don't know
+whether he failed or succeeded. Oliver very seldom failed
+with women when he tried. But, of course, he was going
+to marry Ethel; and that meant that if he <i>had</i> succeeded
+Lesley had been thrown over. It is not like me to put
+things so baldly, is it? I see that I disgust you. But I
+do not know that I need apologize. You are man of the
+world enough to understand that at certain crises we are
+obliged to speak our minds, to face the truth boldly and
+see what it means. Is it not so?"</p>
+
+<p>"It may be so, but I am not aware that the present crisis
+demands such plain speaking."<a name="Page_307"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Then you must be blind," said his hearer, with a burst
+of indignation, "blind&mdash;blind&mdash;<i>blind</i>! Or mad? is that
+it? What sort of crisis do you expect? What can be
+worse than the present state of things? Are not your life
+and her character at stake? Why do you not take your
+present opportunity and save her and yourself? Look the
+matter in the face and decide?"</p>
+
+<p>"I would rather not discuss it," said Caspar. "The
+course you indicate is not one that could be taken by any
+honorable man. It is&mdash;it is&mdash;absurd." The last word was
+evidently the substitute for a much stronger one in his
+mind. "I see no use in talking about the matter. We are
+only giving ourselves useless pain."</p>
+
+<p>There was a short silence. Mrs. Romaine drew her veil
+more tightly round her face, and seemed to deliberate.
+Caspar threw a longing glance&mdash;which she intercepted&mdash;towards
+the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Men are such cowards," she said at last, in a low and
+bitter tone. "I have proved <i>that</i> in every way: I ought
+to be prepared for cowardice&mdash;even from you. They want
+to slip out of every unpleasant position, and leave some
+woman to bear the brunt of it. You, for instance, want to
+go now, this minute, because I have said one or two things
+that pain you. You don't care enough for what I think to
+make you wish to alter my opinion&mdash;to fight it out and
+conquer me; you only want to get away and leave me to
+'cool down,' as you would call it. You are mistaken. I
+am not speaking from any momentary irritation: what I
+say to you to-day is the result of long thought, long consideration,
+long patience. It would be better for you to
+have the courage and the manliness to listen to me."</p>
+
+<p>"You talk in a very extraordinary way, Rosalind,", said
+Caspar. "I do not understand it, and I fail to see its justice
+towards me. I have never refused to listen to you, have I?
+As for cowardice&mdash;it seemed to me that you were trying to
+persuade me to do a very cowardly thing just now; but
+perhaps I was mistaken. I will hear all that you have to
+say: if I was anxious to go, it was only that I might save
+you from tiring or hurting yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"It matters so much whether I am tired or hurt, does it
+not?" she said, with the faintest possible flicker of a smile
+on her white lips. "That is what you all think of&mdash;whether
+one suffers&mdash;suffers physically. It is my soul that is hurt,<a name="Page_308"></a>
+my heart that is tired&mdash;but you don't concern yourself
+with that sort of thing."</p>
+
+<p>"I assure you that I am very sorry&mdash;&mdash;," he began, and
+then he stopped short. She had made it very difficult for
+him to say anything so commonplace, and yet so true.</p>
+
+<p>"If you are sorry," she said, in a softer tone, "and if
+you want to make me happier&mdash;<i>save yourself</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Caspar, roughly&mdash;almost violently&mdash;"by
+Heaven, I won't do that."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't wish to save yourself?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not at that price&mdash;the price of my honor."</p>
+
+<p>"Listen to me," she said, drawing nearer to him and
+speaking very softly. "I have made it my business during
+the last day or two&mdash;when I gathered that you would be
+let out on bail&mdash;to collect all the information that might be
+useful to you. You could get away to-morrow or next day
+by a vessel that leaves Southampton at the time I have
+marked on this paper. It is not an ordinary steamer&mdash;not
+a passenger-ship at all&mdash;and no one will know that you
+are on board. It would take you to Oporto. You would
+be safe enough in the interior&mdash;a friend of mine who went
+there once told me that there were charming palaces and
+half-ruined castles to let, where one could live as in paradise,
+amidst the loveliest gardens, full of fountains and
+birds and flowers."</p>
+
+<p>Her voice took on a caressing tone, as if she were dreaming
+of perfect happiness. "How like a woman," thought
+Caspar to himself, "to think only of the material side of
+life?" Then he corrected himself: "Like some women:
+not like all, thank-God!"</p>
+
+<p>"So you would condemn me to exile and loneliness as
+well as to dishonor?" he said. It was as much as he
+could do not to laugh outright at the chimerical idea.</p>
+
+<p>"It is no exile to a cosmopolitan like yourself to live
+out of England," she answered, scornfully. "As to dishonor&mdash;what
+will you not have to suffer if you stay in
+England? Where is your reputation now? And as to
+loneliness&mdash;don't you know&mdash;do you not see&mdash;that you
+<a name="tn_313"></a><!--TN: "need need" changed to "need"-->need not go&mdash;alone?"</p>
+
+<p>She put her left hand gently on his arm, and for a
+moment there was silence in the room. Her heart beat so
+loudly that she was afraid of his hearing it. But she need
+not have feared; his mind was far too much occupied with<a name="Page_309"></a>
+more important matters to be able to take cognizance of
+such a detail as the state of Mrs. Romaine's pulse.</p>
+
+<p>His first impulse was one of intense indignation and
+anger. His second was one of pity. These feelings
+alternated in him when at last he forced himself to speak.
+Which of the two predominated he hardly knew. Perhaps
+pity: because it drove him, almost as a matter of self-respect,
+to make a pretence of not knowing what she
+meant.</p>
+
+<p>"Anything is exile to a man who leaves his home," he
+said sternly. "To a man who leaves his wife and daughter&mdash;do
+you understand? As for the dishonor of such a
+course, it seems as if you could not comprehend that: my
+feelings on the subject are evidently beyond your ken.
+But you can understand this&mdash;first, that I should go
+nowhere into no exile, into no new home, without my
+wife; and, secondly, that <i>she</i>, at least, trusts me&mdash;she
+knows that I have not your brother's blood upon my
+hands."</p>
+
+<p>Rosalind's fingers had slipped from his arm when he
+began to speak: she knew that if she had not removed
+them then they would have been shaken off. He could
+see them amongst the folds of black lace at her breast&mdash;clutching,
+tearing, as if she had not room to breathe.</p>
+
+<p>"Your wife!" she said, with a gasp. "I did not know....
+She has been beforehand with me, then! And
+it is she&mdash;she&mdash;that you will take&mdash;to Spain?"</p>
+
+<p>"There is no question of Spain. I mean to stay here
+in England and fight the matter out. My wife would be
+the first person to tell me so. I cannot imagine her speaking
+to me again if I were coward enough to run away."</p>
+
+<p>"She would not do for you what I have done!" cried
+the unhappy woman, now, as it seemed, beside herself.
+"If she believes you innocent, so much the easier for her!
+But I&mdash;I&mdash;believe you guilty&mdash;yes, Caspar Brooke, I
+believe that you killed my brother&mdash;and I do not care! I
+loved him, yes; but I love you&mdash;<i>you</i>&mdash;a thousand times
+more!"</p>
+
+<p>"You do not know what you are saying. You are mad.
+Be silent, Rosalind," said Caspar Brooke, in a deep tone
+of anger. But she raved on.</p>
+
+<p>"Have I not been silent for years? And who is as
+faithful to you as I have been? It is easy to love a man<a name="Page_310"></a>
+who is innocent; but not a man who is guilty! Guilty or
+not&mdash;I do not care. It is you that I care for&mdash;and you
+may have as many sins as you please upon your soul&mdash;but
+they are nothing to me. I am past anything now but
+speaking the truth. Have you no pity for a woman to
+whom you are dearer than her own soul?"</p>
+
+<p>She would have thrown herself at his feet, if he had not
+prevented her. He was touched a little by her suffering,
+but he was also immeasurably angered and disgusted.
+An exhibition of uncontrolled feeling was not the way to
+charm him. His one desire now became the desire to
+escape.</p>
+
+<p>"I should have no pity," he said, gravely, "for my own
+selfishness and cowardice, if I took advantage of this
+moment of weakness on your part. It <i>is</i> weakness, I hope&mdash;I
+will not call it by any other name. You will recover
+from it when the stress of this painful time is over, and
+you will be glad to forget it as I shall do. Believe me, I
+will not think of it again. It shall be in my mind as
+though you had not said it; and, though it will be
+impossible for us to continue on our former terms of
+friendship, I shall always wish for your welfare, and hope
+that time will bring you happiness and peace."</p>
+
+<p>She made no answer. She lay where he had placed her,
+her head buried amongst the cushions, crushed to the very
+earth. She would not look at him, would not make semblance
+to have heard. And he, without hesitation, went
+deliberately to the door and let himself out. He gained the
+street without being intercepted, and drew a long breath
+of relief when he felt the soft night air playing on his
+heated brow. The moralist would have said that he came
+off victor; but he had a sense, as he went out along the
+pavement, of being only a defeated and degraded man.
+There was not even the excitement of gratified vanity, for
+an offered love which did not include perfect trust in his
+honor was an insult in itself. And Caspar Brooke's
+integrity of soul was dear to him.</p>
+
+<p>It was perhaps impossible for him&mdash;a mere man&mdash;to
+estimate the extent of suffering to which his scorn had subjected
+the woman that he left behind. Rosalind remained
+as he had seen her, crouching on the ground, with her
+head on the sofa cushions, for full two hours or more.
+When she rose she went to her own room and lay upon her<a name="Page_311"></a>
+bed, refusing for many hours either to eat or to speak.
+She did not sleep: she lay broad awake all night, recalling
+every tone of Caspar's voice, and every passing expression
+of his face. She was bitterly humiliated and ashamed.
+But she was not ashamed in the sense of shame for wrong-doing:
+she was only ashamed because he had rebuffed
+her. She was sick with mortification. She had offered
+him everything in her power&mdash;peace, safety, love: she had
+offered him <i>herself</i> even, and been rejected with scorn.
+Nothing crushes a woman like this humiliation. And in
+some women's natures such an experience will produce
+dire results; for loss of self-respect is resented as the
+worst injury that man can inflict, and is followed by deadly
+hatred to the man who has inflicted it. It may be argued
+by the more logical male that the woman has brought it all
+upon herself; but no affronted, humiliated, shame-stricken
+woman will ever allow this to be the fact. The sacrifice
+she conceives to have been all her own; but the pain has
+come from <i>him</i>.</p>
+
+<p>This was the way in which Rosalind looked at the matter.
+And mistaken as she was in her view of the moralities and
+proprieties of the situation, she suffered an amount of pain
+which may well arouse in us more pity than Caspar Brooke
+felt for her. The burning, stinging sense of shame seemed to
+make her whole soul an open wound. It was intolerable.
+The only way out of it, she said to herself at first, is to die.
+There was an old song that rang in her ears continually,
+as if somebody were repeating it over and over again.
+She could not remember it all&mdash;only a line here and there.
+"When lovely woman stoops to folly," it began, what art
+can wash her tears and stains and shame away? And the
+answer was what Rosalind herself had already given:
+the only way "to rouse his pity" was "to die!" She
+almost laughed at herself for repeating the well-worn,
+hackneyed, century-old ditty. People did not die <a name="tn_316"></a><!--TN: "nowadays" changed to "now-a-days"-->now-a-days,
+either of broken hearts or of chloral, when their
+lovers deserted them. And Caspar Brooke had never
+been her lover. No, he had only given her pain; and she
+wished that she could make him suffer, too. "Revenge"
+was too high-flown a word; but if she could see him heartbroken,
+ruined, disgraced, she would be&mdash;not satisfied, but
+she would feel her pain allayed.</p>
+
+<p>Caspar Brooke walked for an hour before he was calm
+enough to remember that he ought to go home. When this<a name="Page_312"></a>
+idea once occurred to him, he felt a pang of shame for his
+own forgetfulness. What would Alice think of him? And
+this was the first day that she had been with him in
+his house for so many years. He must go home and
+make his apologies. Not that she would expect very
+much attention from him. Had she not said that she was
+only trying to do her duty? Probably she disliked him
+still.</p>
+
+<p>He let himself in with his latch-key, and walked straight
+into the study. A shaded lamp had been lighted, and
+but faintly illuminated the corners of the room. But
+there was light enough for him to see that Lady Alice
+was sitting in his chair. He came up to the table, and
+looked at her without speaking. There was a strange
+tumult of feeling in his heart. He wished that he could
+tell her how gratified he was by her trust in him, how
+much he prized the very things that had once irritated him
+against her&mdash;her reserve, her fine perception, her excellent
+fastidiousness of taste, even that little air of coldness that
+became her so well. To come into her presence was like
+entering a fragrant English garden, after stifling for an
+hour in a conservatory where the air was heavy with the
+perfume of stephanotis.</p>
+
+<p>She rose, as he continued silent, and stood on the rug,
+almost face to face with him. She did not find it easy to
+speak, and there was something in his air which frightened
+her a little. She made a trivial remark at last, but with
+great difficulty.</p>
+
+<p>"You have been away a long time," she said.</p>
+
+<p>She was not prepared for the answer. He put out his hand
+and drew her close to him. "You were away a great deal
+longer," he said, looking down at her fair, serious face.
+She could not reply. "Twelve years, is it not?" he went
+on. "That's a long time out of one's life, Alice. I feel
+myself an old man now."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, Caspar!" she said, tremulously.</p>
+
+<p>"What was it all about, Alice? You know I never
+really understood it. Can't you make me understand?
+Was it that I was simply unbearable? too disagreeable to
+be put up with any longer."</p>
+
+<p>"No, it was not that. I will speak the truth now,
+Caspar. I was jealous&mdash;I thought you cared for Rosalind
+Romaine."<a name="Page_313"></a></p>
+
+<p>"But you know now&mdash;surely&mdash;that that was not true?"</p>
+
+<p>"Could you swear it?" she asked, suddenly and sharply,
+with a quick look into his face.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment he was annoyed. Then his brow cleared,
+and he answered, very gravely&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I can and will, if you like. But I thought&mdash;having
+trusted me so far&mdash;that you could trust me without an
+oath. Alice, I never loved any woman but one: and that
+one was yourself. Have you been as true to me as I have
+been to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I ever knew that I loved you until now,"
+said Alice, laying her head with a deep sigh upon her
+husband's breast.</p>
+
+<p>"Love is not enough, though it is a great deal: do you
+trust me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Implicitly&mdash;now that I have looked at you again."</p>
+
+<p>Caspar gave a little laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I must never let you go away from me, or you
+will begin to disbelieve in me," he said.<a name="Page_314"></a></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">TWELVE SILVER SPOONS.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Lady Alice</span> was not long in finding out that Maurice Kenyon,
+her husband's chief friend, was the man of whom
+Lesley had spoken in her letters, and also the doctor who
+had interested her at the hospital. She did not speak to
+Lesley about him: she took a little time to accustom herself
+to her husband's circle before she made any remarks
+upon its members. But she was shrewd enough to see very
+quickly that Mr. Kenyon took even more interest in her
+daughter than in her husband, and from Lesley's shy looks
+she fancied that the interest was reciprocated. She had a
+twinge of regret for her favorite, Harry Duchesne, and then
+consoled herself by saying that after all Lesley was too
+young to know her own mind, and that probably she would
+change before she was twenty-one.</p>
+
+<p>She did not come particularly into contact with Maurice,
+however, until the Sunday after she had taken up her abode
+in Woburn Place. And then she saw a good deal of him.
+For Lesley went to sit with Ethel as was her wont, and
+Maurice came to dine at Mr. Brooke's. After the early
+dinner, Lady Alice noticed that there was some parleying
+between the guest and his host.</p>
+
+<p>"I am going," said Maurice in an urgent undertone. To
+which Caspar returned a cheerful answer.</p>
+
+<p>"All right, old man; but I am going too." And then
+Mr. Kenyon knitted his brows and looked vexed.</p>
+
+<p>Caspar at once noted his wife's glance of inquiry. "Has
+Lesley told you nothing about our Sunday meetings at the
+Club? We generally betake ourselves to North London
+on a Sunday afternoon. Mr. Kenyon thinks I had better
+stay with you, and&mdash;I don't."</p>
+
+<p>From Maurice's uncomfortable looks, Lady Alice gathered
+that there was something doubtful in the proceeding. "Will
+you let me go with you?" she said, by way of experiment.</p>
+
+<p>There was an exchange of astonished and rather em<a name="Page_315"></a>barrassed
+looks all round. Caspar elevated his eyebrows
+and clutched his beard: Miss Brooke made a curious
+sound, something like a snort; and Maurice flushed a deep
+and dusky red; indications which all annoyed Lady Alice,
+although she did not quite know what they signified. She
+rose from her chair and took the matter into her own
+hands; but all without the slightest change in the manner
+of graceful indifference which had grown natural to her of
+late years.</p>
+
+<p>"That is the place where Lesley used to go," she said.
+"She tells me she sings to the people sometimes. I cannot
+sing, but I can play the piano a little, if that is any
+good. Sophy is going, is she not? And I should like to
+go too."</p>
+
+<p>"There is no reason why you should not," said Mr.
+Brooke rather abruptly. But the gleam in his eye told of
+pleasure. "There are some very rough characters at the
+club sometimes, you know. And perhaps the reception
+they give me to-day will not be of the pleasantest."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice looked at her husband with a mixture of
+wonder and admiration. The calm way in which he sometimes
+alluded to his present circumstances, without a trace
+of bitterness or fretfulness, amazed her. In old days
+she would have put it down to "good breeding&mdash;good
+manners," some superficial veneer of good society of which
+she thoroughly approved; but she had seen too much of
+the seamy side of "good society" now to be able to
+accept this explanation of his calmness. It was not want
+of sensitiveness, she was sure of that: he was by no means
+obtuse: it was simply that his large, strong nature rose
+above the pettiness of resentment and complaint. The
+suspicion under which he labored was a grave thing&mdash;a
+trouble, a blow; but it had not made him sour, nor borne
+him to the earth with a conviction of the injustice of mankind.</p>
+
+<p>His wife looked and marveled, but recollected herself in
+time to say after only a minute's hesitation:</p>
+
+<p>"I know a little more about rough characters than I once
+did. We saw a good many at the East End hospital, did
+we not, Mr. Kenyon?"</p>
+
+<p>It was the first time that she had shown that she remembered
+Maurice's face. Caspar pricked up his ears.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>You</i> at a hospital, Alice? Why, what were you doing
+there?"<a name="Page_316"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Visiting some of the patients," she answered, with a
+little blush.</p>
+
+<p>"Visits which were much appreciated," put in Maurice,
+"although we found that Lady Alice was too generous."</p>
+
+<p>"Until I was warned by one of the patients that the
+others abused my kindness and traded on it," said Lady
+Alice, laughing rather nervously, "and then I drew in a
+little."</p>
+
+<p>"What patient was that?"</p>
+
+<p>"The name I think was Smith&mdash;the man who lost his
+memory in that curious way."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah yes, I remember." And then Maurice knitted his
+brows and became very thoughtful: he looked as if a
+thoroughly new idea had been suggested to him.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Brooke remarked that it was almost time to set out
+if they were to go to the club that afternoon, and Lady
+Alice went to her room for her cloak. She was before the
+looking-glass, apparently studying the reflection of her own
+face, when a knock at the door, to which she absently said
+"Come in," was followed by Caspar's entrance. She,
+thinking that it was her maid, did not look round, and he
+came behind her without being perceived. The first token
+of his presence was received by her when his arm was
+slipped round her waist, and his voice said caressingly and
+almost playfully in her ear, "I don't know that I want my
+dainty piece of china carried down into the slums."</p>
+
+<p>"Am I nothing more to you than that?" said Lady Alice
+reproachfully.</p>
+
+<p>He made no answer, but as he looked at the fair face in
+the glass, and as their eyes met, she thought that she read
+a reply in his glance.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been nothing more&mdash;I know," she said, with
+sudden humbleness, "but if it is not too late&mdash;if I can make
+up now for the time I have lost&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The tears trembled in her eyes, but he kissed them away
+with new tenderness, saying in a soothing tone&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"We will see, my dear, we will see. I was only in
+jest."</p>
+
+<p>And she felt that he was thinking not only of the lost
+years, but of the possible gulf before him&mdash;that horror of
+darkness and disgrace which they might yet have to face.</p>
+
+<p>She went downstairs to the cab that was waiting, with a
+new and subduing sensation very present to her mind: a<a name="Page_317"></a>
+sense of something missed out of her own life, a sense of
+having failed in the duty that had once been given her to
+do. Hitherto she had been buoyed up by a certain confidence
+in her own conscientiousness and power of judgment,
+as most rather narrow-minded women are; but it now
+occurred to her that she might have been wrong&mdash;not only
+in a few details, as she had consented to admit&mdash;but wrong
+from beginning to end. She had marred not only her own
+life but the lives of her husband and her child.</p>
+
+<p>This consciousness kept her very quiet during the drive
+to Macclesfield Buildings. But nobody spoke much, except
+Doctor Sophy, who made interjectional remarks, half
+lost in the rattling of the cab, by way of trying to keep up
+everybody's spirits. Caspar sitting opposite his wife, with
+his arms folded and his long legs carefully tucked out of
+the way, had an unusually serious and even anxious expression.
+Indeed it struck Lady Alice for the first time that he
+was looking haggard and ill. The burden was weighing
+upon him even more than he knew. Maurice, too, seemed
+absorbed in thought, so that the drive was not a particularly
+lively one.</p>
+
+<p>They got out at the block of buildings which had once
+struck Lesley as so particularly ugly. Perhaps their ugliness
+did not impress Lady Alice so much. At any rate
+she made no remark upon it. Her fingers were lightly
+pressed upon Caspar's arm: her thoughts were occupied
+by him.</p>
+
+<p>At the door of the block in which the club-rooms were
+situated, a little group of men were standing in somewhat
+aimless fashion, smoking and talking among themselves.
+Caspar recognized several of the club members in this
+group. "Ah," he said quietly to his wife, "they thought
+that I should not come." She made no answer: as a matter
+of fact she began to feel a trifle frightened. These
+rough-looking men, with their pipes, who nudged each other
+and laughed as she passed, were of a kind unknown to her.
+But Caspar walked through them easily, nodding here and
+there, with a cheery "Good-afternoon."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice did not know it, but the room presented an
+unusual sight to her husband's eyes that afternoon. The
+fire was burning, and the gas was lighted, for the day was
+cold and damp: the comfortable red-seated chairs were as
+inviting as ever, and the magazines and newspapers lay in<a name="Page_318"></a>
+rows upon the scarlet table-cloth. There were flowers in
+the vases, and a piece of music on the open piano. Lady
+Alice exclaimed in her pleasure, "How pretty it is! how
+cosy!" and wondered at the gloom that sat upon her husband's
+brow.</p>
+
+<p>The room was cosy and pretty enough&mdash;but it was empty.</p>
+
+<p>Caspar looked round mutely, then glanced at his companions.
+Miss Brooke paused in the act of taking off one
+woollen glove, and opened her mouth and forgot to shut it
+again. Maurice stood frowning, twitching his brows and
+biting his lips in the effort to subdue a torrent of rage that
+was surging up in his heart. He would have sworn, he
+said afterwards, if Lady Alice had not been there&mdash;he did
+not mind Doctor Sophy so much. All that he did now,
+however, was to mutter "Ungrateful rascals," and make
+as if he would turn to flee.</p>
+
+<p>But he was stopped by Caspar's clutch at his arm. Maurice
+saw that his purpose&mdash;that of haranguing the men
+outside&mdash;had been divined and arrested. He turned to
+his friend and saw for the first time on Caspar's face that
+the shaft had gone home. He had shown scarcely any sign
+of suffering before.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't deserve this from them," said Brooke quietly,
+and Maurice could tell that he had gone rather white about
+the lips. Then in a still lower voice, "Don't let her know.
+You were right, Maurice; I had better not have come."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll just go and look outside: I won't speak to them,
+don't be afraid&mdash;you talk to Lady Alice," said Maurice
+breaking from him. But when he got into the dark little
+entry, he did not look outside for anything or anybody: he
+only relieved himself by exclaiming. "Oh, d&mdash;n the fools!"
+and shaking his first in a very reprehensible way at some
+imaginary crowd of auditors. For Maurice was half an
+Irishman, and his blood was up, and on his friend's behalf
+he was, as he would just then have expressed it, "in a devil
+of a rage." While he was executing a sort of mad war-dance
+on the jute mat in the passage, relieving his mind by
+some wild gesticulation and still wilder objurgation of
+the world, Mr. Brooke had turned back to his wife with a
+pleasant word and smile.</p>
+
+<p>"I must show you the photographs," he said. "We are
+very proud of them. There will be plenty of time, for the
+members seem to be a little late in getting together to-day.
+Possibly they thought I was not coming."<a name="Page_319"></a></p>
+
+<p>"It is scarcely time yet," said Miss Brooke heroically.
+She knew it was ten minutes past, but she was quite prepared
+to sacrifice truth for the maintenance of her brother's
+dignity.</p>
+
+<p>"That's a good one of the Parthenon," said Caspar
+negligently, putting his hand within his wife's arm, and
+leading her from one picture to another. "The Coliseum
+you see: not quite so clear as it might be. These frames
+were made by one of the men in the buildings&mdash;given as a
+present to the club. Not bad taste, are they? And this
+statuette&mdash;&mdash;".</p>
+
+<p>He broke off suddenly. He had been going on hurriedly
+and feverishly, filling up the time as best he might, trying
+to forget the embarrassing situation into which he had
+brought his wife and himself, when the sound of heavy
+footsteps fell upon his ear. A sound of shuffling, the creak
+of men's boots, a little gruff whispering in the doorway&mdash;what
+was it all about? Were the men whom he had helped
+and guided going to turn against him openly&mdash;to give
+him in his wife's presence some other insult beside the tacit
+insult of their absence? He turned round sharply, with the
+feeling that if he was brought to bay the men would have
+a bad time of it. He certainly looked a formidable antagonist.
+The hair had fallen over his forehead, his brows were
+knotted, his eyes gleamed rather fiercely beneath them, his
+under lip was thrust out aggressively. "As fierce as a lion,"
+said one of the observers, afterwards. But even while his
+eyes darted flame and fury at the men who had deserted
+them, his body kept its half-protecting, half-deferential pose
+with respect to Lady Alice; and the hand that held her arm
+was studiously gentle in its touch.</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice turned round, amazed. There was a little
+crowd in the passage: the room was already half full.
+Men and women too were there, and more crowded in from
+behind. There must have been nearly fifty, when all were
+seen, and there were more men than women. But they
+did not sit down: they stood, they leaned against the walls;
+one or two mounted on the benches at the back and stood
+where they could get a good view of the proceedings. Caspar's
+scowl remained fixed, but it was a scowl of astonishment.
+He looked round for Maurice, whom he presently
+saw beckoning to him to take his usual place near the
+piano. He said a word to his wife, and brought her round<a name="Page_320"></a>
+with him towards his sister and his friend. The men still
+stood, and crowded a little nearer to him as he reached his
+place. There was very little talking in the room, and the
+men's faces looked somewhat solemn: it was evidently a
+serious occasion.</p>
+
+<p>"Is this&mdash;this&mdash;what usually goes on?" queried the
+puzzled Lady Alice.</p>
+
+<p>"This? Oh no!" said Maurice, to whom she had addressed
+herself, with a sudden happy laugh, and a perfectly
+beaming face. "<i>This</i> is&mdash;a demonstration. Here, Caspar,
+old man, you've got to stand here. <i>Now</i>, Gregson."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice accepted the chair offered to her, and Miss
+Brooke another. Caspar began to look utterly perplexed,
+but a little relieved also, for his eye, in straying over the
+crowd, had recognized two or three faces as those of intimate
+friends who seemed to be mingling with the men, and
+he felt sure that they had no inimical purpose towards him.
+All that he could do was to look down and grasp his
+beard, as usual, while Jim Gregson, the man who had once
+spoken to Lesley so warmly of her father, being pushed
+forward by the crowd as their spokesman, addressed himself
+to Caspar.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Brooke&mdash;Sir: We have made bold to change the
+order of the proceedings for this 'ere afternoon. Instead of
+beginning with the music, we just want to say a few words;
+and that's why we've come in all at once, so as to show that
+we are all of one mind. We think, sir, that this is a very suitable
+opportunity for presenting you with a mark of our&mdash;our
+gratitude and esteem. We have always found you a true
+friend to us, and an upright man that would never allow
+the weak to be trampled on, nor the poor to be oppressed,
+and we wish to show that whatever the newspapers may
+say, sir, we have got heads on our shoulders and know a
+good man when we see him." This sentence was uttered
+with great emphasis, to an accompaniment of "Hear, hear,"
+from the audience, and considerable stamping of feet, umbrellas
+and sticks. "What we wish to say, sir," and Mr.
+Gregson became more and more embarrassed as he came
+to this point, "is that we respect you as a man and as a
+gentleman, and that we take this opportunity of asking you
+to accept this small tribute of our feelings towards you,
+and we wish to say that there's not a member of the club
+as has not contributed his mite towards it, as well as many<a name="Page_321"></a>
+poor neighbors in the Buildings. It's a small thing to give,
+but that you will excuse on account of the shortness of the
+notice, so to speak: the suggestion having been made
+amongst ourselves and by ourselves only three days ago.
+We beg you'll accept it as a token of respect, sir, from the
+whole of the Macclesfield Buildings Working Men's Club,
+of which you was the founder, and which we hope you'll continue
+for many long years to be the president <i>of</i>." And with
+a resounding emphasis on the preposition, Mr. Gregson
+finished his speech. A tremendous salvo of applause followed
+his last word, and before it had died away a woman
+was hastily dragged to the front, with a child&mdash;a blue-eyed
+fairy of two or three years old&mdash;in her arms. The child held
+a brown paper parcel, and presented it with baby solemnity
+to Mr. Brooke, who kissed her as he took it from her
+hands. And then, under cover of more deafening applause,
+Mr. Brooke turned hurriedly to Maurice and said, in a very
+unheroic manner&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I say, I can't stand much more of this. I shall make
+a fool of myself directly."</p>
+
+<p>"Do: they'll like it, the beggars!" returned Maurice
+in high glee.</p>
+
+<p>But he had more sympathy in his eyes than his words
+expressed, and the grip that he gave his friend's hand set the
+audience once more applauding enthusiastically. An audience
+of Londoners with whom a speaker is in touch, is one
+of the most sympathetic and enthusiastic in the world.</p>
+
+<p>While they applauded, the parcel was opened. It contained
+a morocco case, lined with dark blue satin and velvet&mdash;an
+unromantic and prosaic expression of as truly high and
+noble feeling as ever found a vent in more poetic ways&mdash;and
+on the velvet cushion lay&mdash;twelve silver spoons!</p>
+
+<p>There was an odd little touch of bathos about it, and an
+outsider might perhaps have smiled at the way in which
+the British workman and his wife had chosen to manifest
+their faith in the man who had been in their eyes wrongfully
+accused; but nobody present in the little assembly
+saw the humorous side of it at all, not even a young gentleman
+who was hastily making a sketch of it for the
+<i>Graphic</i>, for he blew his nose as vigorously as anybody
+else. And there was a good display of handkerchiefs and
+some rather troublesome coughing and choking in the
+course of the afternoon, which showed that the donors of<a name="Page_322"></a>
+the spoons did not look on the gift exactly in the light of a
+joke.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Brooke was a practised speaker; and when he
+opened his lips to reply, his sister dried her eyes and put
+down her handkerchief with a gratified smile as much as
+to say, "Now we shall have a treat." And she settled herself
+so that she could watch the effect of the speech on
+Lady Alice, who had forgotten to wipe her tears away, and
+sat with eyelashes wet and cheeks slightly flushed, looking
+astoundingly young and pretty in the excitement of the
+moment. But Miss Brooke was doomed to be disappointed.
+Caspar began once, twice, thrice&mdash;and broke down irrevocably.
+The only intelligible words he got out were, "My
+dear friends, I can't tell you how I thank you." And that
+was quite true: he couldn't.</p>
+
+<p>But there was all the more applause, and all the more
+kindly feeling for that failure of his to make a speech; and
+then one or two other men spoke of the good that Mr.
+Brooke had done in that neighborhood, and of the help that
+he had given them all in founding the club, and of the brave
+and encouraging words that he had spoken to them, and so
+on; and the young artist for the <i>Graphic</i> sketched away
+faster and faster, and said to himself, "My eye, there'll be
+a precious row if they try to hang him after this, whatever
+he's done." But the sensation of the afternoon was yet to
+come.</p>
+
+<p>"I can only say once more, my friends," said Caspar, as
+the hour wore away, "that I thank you for this expression
+of your confidence in me, and that I have never had a
+prouder moment in my life than this, in which you tell me
+of your own accord that you believe in my innocence of
+the crime attributed to me. Of that, however, I will not
+speak. I wish only, before we separate, to introduce you
+to my wife, who has never been here before, and whom I
+am sure you will welcome for my sake."</p>
+
+<p>There was a moment of astonishment. Every one knew
+something of the story of Caspar's married life, and was
+taken aback by the appearance of his wife. But when
+Maurice Kenyon led the way by clapping his hands vigorously,
+someone took up the word, and cried, "Three cheers
+for Mrs. Brooke." And Lady Alice started at the new
+title, and thought that it sounded much better than the one
+by which she was usually known.<a name="Page_323"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Shall I say any more?" said Caspar, smiling as he
+stooped down to her. But suddenly she rose to her feet
+and put her hand within his arm. "No," she said, "I am
+going to do it myself."</p>
+
+<p>The storm of clapping was renewed and died away when
+it was perceived that Lady Alice was about to speak. She
+was a little flushed, but perfectly self-possessed, and her
+clear silvery voice could be heard in every corner of the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to thank you, too," she said, "for your kindness
+to my husband and myself. I hope I shall know more of
+his work here by and by, and in the meantime I can only
+tell you that you are right to trust him and believe in him&mdash;as
+<i>I</i> trust him and believe in him with all my heart and
+soul!"</p>
+
+<p>She turned to him a little as she spoke, her eyes shining,
+her face transfigured&mdash;the faith in her making itself
+manifest in feature and in gesture alike. There was not
+applause so much as a murmur of assent when she had
+done; and Caspar, laying hold of her hand, looked down
+at her with a new warmth of tenderness, and said half
+wonderingly,</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Alice!"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think I could let them go without telling them
+what you are to me?" she said, with a kind of passion in
+her voice which reminded him of Lesley. But there was
+no time to say more, for every person in the room presented
+himself or herself to shake hands with Caspar and
+his wife, and to admire the spoons, which had been purchased
+only the night before.</p>
+
+<p>"Very glad to see you amongst us, Mrs. Brooke, mum;
+and hope you'll come again," was heard so often that Lady
+Alice was quite amazed by the warmth of the greeting.
+"And the young lady too&mdash;where's she? she ought to
+have been here as well," said one woman; to which Maurice
+Kenyon responded in a pleased growl&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, confound your blundering, so she ought; and so
+she would have been, if you hadn't nearly made such a
+blessed mull of the whole affair."</p>
+
+<p>He did not think that anybody heard him, and was
+rather taken aback when Lady Alice smiled at him over
+her shoulder. "What do you mean, Mr. Kenyon?" she
+said.<a name="Page_324"></a></p>
+
+<p>Maurice was on his good behavior immediately. "Oh,
+nothing, Lady Alice; only that Miss Brooke might have
+been here if we had only had a hint beforehand, and it is
+a pity she should have missed it."</p>
+
+<p>"A great pity," said Lesley's mother; and she looked
+quite complacently at the twelve silver spoons, which she
+was guarding so jealously, as if she feared they would be
+taken away from her.</p>
+
+<p>Outside the doors, when the assembly had reluctantly
+dispersed, after an improvised collation, given by Caspar,
+of hot drinks and plum cake, a little crowd of men and
+boys cheered the departing hero of the day so valiantly
+that Lady Alice was almost glad to find herself once more
+driving through the dusky London streets with her husband
+at her side. Miss Brooke and Maurice had elected
+to walk home.</p>
+
+<p>"There's one thing," said Caspar, rather later in the day,
+as a history of these experiences was unfolded to Lesley;
+"we quite, forgot to tell the good folks your mother's name
+and title. She was applauded to the echo as 'Mrs. Brooke.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you must never tell them," said Lady Alice,
+hastily. "I do not want to be anything else, please&mdash;now."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish they had let one know beforehand," said Maurice,
+"they kept it a dead secret&mdash;even from me."</p>
+
+<p>"All the greater surprise for us," said Mr. Brooke. Then
+he looked at Maurice for a moment, and smiled. But it was
+long before they mentioned to each other what both had
+thought and felt in that heart-breaking minute of suspense
+when they believed that Caspar was deserted in the hour of
+need.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Caspar Brooke, at length, "whatever may
+happen now"&mdash;and he made a pause which was fraught
+with graver meaning than he would have cared to put into
+words&mdash;"I can feel at any rate that 'I have had my say.'
+And you, Alice&mdash;well, my dear, you will always have those
+silver spoons to look at! So we have not done badly after
+all."</p>
+
+<p>Like Sir Thomas More, he would have joked when going
+to the scaffold; but jokes under such circumstances have
+rather a ghastly sound in the ears of his family.<a name="Page_325"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">CAIN.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">Maurice Kenyon</span> took an early opportunity of asking
+Lady Alice whether she would recognize the man Smith if
+she saw him again.</p>
+
+<p>"I think so. Why do you ask? You know I talked to
+him a good deal."</p>
+
+<p>"I have been very blind," said Maurice seriously. "I
+never thought until to-day of associating him in my mind
+with someone else&mdash;someone whom I have seen twice
+during the past week. May I speak freely to you? You
+know I am as anxious as anyone can possibly be that this
+mystery should be cleared up. I wish to speak of Francis
+Trent, the brother of Oliver Trent, and the husband of the
+woman who makes this accusation against Mr. Brooke."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice recoiled. "You cannot mean that John
+Smith had anything to do with him?"</p>
+
+<p>"I have a strong belief that John Smith and Francis
+Trent are one and the same. To my shame be it spoken,
+I did not recognize him either on Wednesday or Friday
+when I paid him a visit. Ethel wished me to go when she
+heard that he was ill." He said this in a deprecating
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>"I quite understand. You saw this man&mdash;Francis Trent&mdash;then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and could not imagine where I had seen him
+before. I think it is the man I used to see in hospital.
+Lady Alice&mdash;if you saw him yourself&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I, Mr. Kenyon? What! see the man and woman who
+accuse my husband of murder?"&mdash;There was genuine
+horror in her tone. "How could I speak to them?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is just a chance," said Maurice, in a low voice. "If
+he knew that <i>you</i> were the wife of the man who was accused&mdash;perhaps
+something would come of it."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?"<a name="Page_326"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Lady Alice, pray do not build too much on what I am
+going to say. If Francis Trent and John Smith be the
+same, then my knowledge of John Smith's previous condition
+leads me to think it quite possible that it was Francis
+Trent who, in a fit of frenzy, committed the murder of
+which your husband is suspected."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice looked at him in silence. "I don't see
+exactly," she said, "that I should be of much use."</p>
+
+<p>"Nor I&mdash;exactly," said Maurice. "But I see a vague
+chance; and I ask you&mdash;for your husband's sake&mdash;to try
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you know I cannot refuse that," she said quickly.
+And then she arranged with him where they should meet
+on the following afternoon in order to drive to the lodgings
+now occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Francis Trent. Whether this
+proceeding might not be stigmatized as "tampering with
+witnesses," Maurice and Lady Alice neither knew nor
+cared. If Maurice had a doubt, he stifled it by telling himself
+that they were not going to visit the "witness," Mary
+Trent, but the sick man, John Smith, in whom Lady Alice
+had been interested at the hospital. It was only as a precaution
+that he took with him young Mr. Grierson, junior
+partner of the firm of solicitors to whom Caspar's defence
+was entrusted. Young Grierson was a friend as well as a
+lawyer, and it was always as well to have a friend at hand.
+But really he hardly knew for what result he hoped.</p>
+
+<p>The rooms in which Maurice himself, at Ethel's instance,
+had located Mr. and Mrs. Francis Trent were in Bernard
+Street. They were plain but apparently clean and comfortable.
+Maurice said a word to the servant, and unceremoniously
+put her aside, and walked straight into the room
+where he knew that Francis Trent was lying.</p>
+
+<p>A thin, spare woman, with a deadly pale face and black
+sunken eyes, rose from a seat beside the bed as they
+entered. Lady Alice knew, as if by instinct, that this was
+Mary Trent. She averted her eyes from the woman who
+had falsely accused her husband: she could not bear to
+look at her. But Mary Trent scarcely took her eyes off
+Lady Alice's face.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you look here, Lady Alice, if you please?" said
+Maurice in his most professional tone. She turned towards
+the bed, and saw&mdash;yes, it was the face of the man whom
+she had known in the hospital: thinner, yellower, more<a name="Page_327"></a>
+haggard than ever, but still the face of the patient who used
+to watch her as if her presence were a means of healing in
+itself.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she said slowly, "that is&mdash;John Smith."</p>
+
+<p>"His real name is Francis Trent," said Maurice. "Do
+you know this lady, Francis?"</p>
+
+<p>The sick man nodded. There was a curiously vacant
+look upon his face, brightened only at times by gleams of
+vivid consciousness.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, I know her. The lady that came to see me
+in hospital," he murmured feebly.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know who she is?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you trouble him, sir?" said Mrs. Trent.
+"You see how ill he is, wouldn't it be better for him to be
+left in peace?"</p>
+
+<p>She spoke with sedulous calmness; but there was a jar
+in her voice which did not sound quite natural. Maurice
+simply repeated his question, and Francis Trent shook his
+head.</p>
+
+<p>"She is the wife of Caspar Brooke, the man who, you
+<i>say</i>, killed your brother Oliver."</p>
+
+<p>The sick man's eyes dilated, and fixed themselves uneasily
+on his wife. "I did not say it," he answered, almost
+in a whisper. "Mary said it&mdash;not I."</p>
+
+<p>"But you heard something, did you not?" said Maurice
+remorselessly.</p>
+
+<p>"How should he hear anything," said Mary Trent, "and
+he asleep in his bed at the time? Or if not asleep, too ill
+and weak to notice anything. It's a shame to question him
+like that; and not legal, neither. You'll please to leave us
+to ourselves, sir; we ain't a show. We can but say what
+we saw and heard, whatever the consequences may be, but
+we need not be tortured for all that."</p>
+
+<p>"That's enough, Mary," said the man speaking from the
+bed in a much more natural manner and in a stronger
+voice than he had yet used. "You're overdoing it&mdash;you
+always do. It's no good. This is the last stroke, and I
+give up. It has gone against the grain with me to get
+anybody into trouble," he said, looking attentively at Lady
+Alice, "and now that I know who this lady is, I don't feel
+inclined to keep up the farce any longer. I am much too
+ill to live to be hanged&mdash;Mr. Kenyon can tell you so at any
+minute&mdash;and I may as well give you the satisfaction of<a name="Page_328"></a>
+knowing that Caspar Brooke had nothing at all to do with
+Oliver's death: I was his murderer, and no one else: I
+swear it, so help me God!"</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice turned very faint. Someone put her in a
+chair and fanned her, and when she came to herself she
+heard Francis Trent's wife speaking.</p>
+
+<p>"He's mad, I tell you. It's no good paying any attention
+to what he says, gentlemen. I saw him myself in his
+bed at the time, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Mary, my dear good soul," said Francis with the
+old easy superiority which he had always assumed to her,
+"will you just hold your tongue, and let me tell my own
+tale? You have done your best for me, but you know I
+always told you I was not to be trusted to lie about it if
+anybody appealed to me to evidence. I really have not
+the strength to keep it up. I want at least to die like a
+gentleman."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not at all sure that you are going to die," said
+Maurice quietly, with his finger on the sick man's pulse.
+Francis had put off the vacant expression, and his eyes had
+lighted up. He was evidently quite himself again.</p>
+
+<p>"No?" he said easily. "Well, I would rather die, if it's
+all the same to you; because I fancy I shall have to be
+put under restraint if I do live. I don't always know what
+I am doing in the least. I know now, though. You can
+bear me out, doctor, isn't my brain in a very queer state?"</p>
+
+<p>"I fear it is," said Maurice.</p>
+
+<p>"Just so. I am subject to fits of rage in which I don't
+know what I am doing. And on that night when Oliver
+came to see me, after Brooke had gone away, I got into one
+of these frenzies and followed him downstairs, picking up
+Brooke's stick on the way and beating poor Oliver about
+the head with it.... You know well enough how he was
+found. I only came to myself when it was done. And
+then, my wife&mdash;with all a woman's ingenuity&mdash;bundled me
+into bed, swore that I had never left it, and that Caspar
+Brooke had done it. It was a lie&mdash;she told me so afterwards.
+Eh, Mary?&mdash;Forgive me, old girl: I've got you
+into trouble now; but that is better than letting an innocent
+man swing for what I have done, especially when that
+man is the husband of one who was so kind to me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"And the father of Lesley Brooke," said Maurice, looking
+steadfastly at Mary Trent.<a name="Page_329"></a></p>
+<p>A shudder ran through the woman's frame. Then she
+covered her face with her hands and flung herself down at
+her husband's side.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh Francis, my dear, my dear!" she said. "I did it
+for you."</p>
+
+<p>And then for an instant there was silence in the room,
+save for her heavy sobs. Francis lay still but patted her
+with his thin fingers, and looked at Caspar Brooke's wife
+with his large, unnaturally bright, dark eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"She is a good soul in spite of it all," he said, addressing
+himself to Lady Alice. "And she did it out of love
+for me. You would have done as much for your husband,
+perhaps, if you loved him&mdash;but I have heard, that you
+don't."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but you are wrong," said Lady Alice. "I love him
+with all my heart, and I thank you deeply&mdash;deeply&mdash;for
+saving him."</p>
+
+<p>"That ought to be some payment," said Francis Trent,
+with his wan, wild smile. "And I don't suppose they'll
+be very hard on me, as I did not know what I was doing.
+You'll speak a word to that effect, won't you, doctor?"</p>
+
+<p>"I will indeed. But it would have been better for you
+as well as for others if truth had been told from the beginning,"
+said Kenyon.</p>
+
+<p>"It can't be helped now. Is there anything else I can
+do? You must have my statement taken down. And
+Mary, my girl, you'll have to make your confession too."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Francis, Francis!" she moaned. "Not against
+you, my dear&mdash;not against you!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, against me," said Francis steadily. "And let us
+finish with the formalities as quickly as may be, doctor, as
+long as my head's clear. I killed my brother Oliver&mdash;that
+you must make known as soon as you can. Not for malice,
+poor chap, nor yet for money&mdash;though he had cheated me
+many a time&mdash;but because I was mad&mdash;mad. And I am
+mad now&mdash;mad though you do not know it&mdash;stark, staring
+mad!"</p>
+
+<p>And his dark eyes glared at them so strangely that Lady
+Alice cried out and had to be led into another room, for it
+was the light of madness indeed that shone from beneath
+his sunken brows.</p>
+
+<p>It was while she sat alone for a minute or two while the
+gentlemen were talking in another room, that Mary Trent<a name="Page_330"></a>
+came creeping to her, with folded hands and furtive mien.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, my lady, my lady, forgive me," she said, sobbing
+fretfully as she spoke. "I thought but of my own&mdash;I did
+not think of you. Nor of Miss Lesley, though I did love
+her&mdash;yes, I did, and tried my best to save her from that
+wicked man. Mr. Brooke will tell you what I mean,
+ma'am. And tell him, if you will be so good, that I was
+frightened into taking back the stories I had told him
+about Oliver&mdash;but they were <i>all true</i>. Everyone of 'em
+was true. And that I beg he'll forgive me; for a better
+and a kinder gentleman I never see, nor one that loved
+poor people more. And Miss Lesley was just like him&mdash;but
+it was my husband, and I thought he'd be hanged for
+it, and what could I do?"</p>
+
+<p>And then, while Lady Alice still hesitated between pity
+and a feeling of revolt at pity for a woman who had
+sworn falsely against her dearly beloved husband, Caspar
+Brooke, a cry was heard from the bedroom, and Mary
+turned and fled back to the scene of her duties&mdash;sad and
+painful duties indeed, sometimes, when the madman became
+violent, and likely enough to be very speedily terminated
+by death.</p>
+
+<hr style="visibility: hidden; margin: 1em;">
+
+
+<p>"What can I say to you?" said Lady Alice to Maurice
+Kenyon, a day or two later. "It was your acuteness that
+brought the matter to light. Now that that poor wretched
+man is hopelessly insane, we might never have learnt the
+truth. Is there any way in which I can thank you? any
+way in which I can give you a reward?"</p>
+
+<p>She looked steadily into his face, and saw that he
+changed color.</p>
+
+<p>"There is only one way, Lady Alice," he stammered.</p>
+
+<p>"You are not to call me Lady Alice: I like 'Mrs.
+Brooke' much better. Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"I love your daughter," said Maurice bluntly, "and I
+believe she would love me if you would let her."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Let</i> her?" said Mrs. Brooke, with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"She made you some promises before she came to London&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, not to become engaged before the year was out.
+Tell her that I absolve her from that promise, and&mdash;ask
+her again."</p>
+
+<p>Maurice found that under these conditions Lesley's
+answer was all that could be desired.<a name="Page_331"></a></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI"></a>CHAPTER XLI.</h2>
+
+<p class="chapterhead">VALE!</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="firstwords">"Now</span> that Ethel has gone to the sea-side, I can have you
+to myself a little while," said Lady Alice to her daughter.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor Ethel! But it is delightful to have you here,
+mamma: it is so home-like and comfortable."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, you will soon have to make a home for somebody
+else!"</p>
+
+<p>Lesley grew red, but smiled. "We won't think of that
+yet," she said softly. "Mamma, I want to speak to you
+on a very serious subject."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, my darling?"</p>
+
+<p>"You won't be angry with me, will you? It is&mdash;about
+Mrs. Romaine."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice's brow clouded a little. "Well, Lesley?"
+she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma, I can't bear Mrs. Romaine myself. Neither
+can you. Neither can papa. And it is very unchristian
+of all of us, to say the least. Because&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Neither can papa," repeated Lady Alice, with raised
+brows. "My dear child, Mrs. Romaine is a great friend
+of your father's. He told me only the other day that she
+used to come here very often&mdash;to see your Aunt Sophy
+and yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"So she did," said Lesley, lightly. "But, of course,
+she can't very well come now&mdash;at least, it would be awkward.
+Still I am sure papa does not like her, for he
+looked quite pleased the other day when I told him that
+she was going to give up her house, and said in his short
+way&mdash;'So much the better.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Very slight evidence," said Caspar Brooke's wife
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, never mind evidence, mammy dear. What I
+want to say is that I feel very sorry for Mrs. Romaine.
+You see she must be feeling very much alone in the world.
+Oliver, whom she really cared for, is dead, and Francis is<a name="Page_332"></a>
+out of his mind, and Francis' wife"&mdash;with a little shudder&mdash;"cannot
+be anything to her&mdash;and then, don't you think,
+mamma, that when there has been <i>one</i> case of insanity in
+the family, she must be afraid of herself too?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not necessarily. Francis Trent's insanity was the
+result of an accident."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but it is very saddening for her, all the same, and
+she must be terribly lonely in that house in Russell Square.
+I wanted to know if I might go and call upon her?"</p>
+
+<p>"You, dear? I thought you did not like her."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't," said Lesley, frankly, "but I am sorry for
+her. Ethel asked me why I did not go. She thought
+there must be something wrong, because Rosalind never
+came to see her after Oliver's death&mdash;never once. I believe
+she has scarcely been out of the house&mdash;not at all
+since the funeral, and that is a month ago. I have not
+heard that she was ill, so I suppose it is just that she is&mdash;miserable,
+poor thing."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice stroked her daughter's hair in silence for a
+minute or two. "I think I had better go instead of you,
+Lesley. There is no reason why she should feel she cannot
+see us. She was not to blame for that accusation&mdash;though
+I heard that she believed it. But I will see her
+first, and you can go afterwards if she is able to receive
+visitors."</p>
+
+<p>"That is very good of you, mamma&mdash;especially as you
+don't like her," said Lesley. "I can't help feeling thankful
+that Ethel will have nothing to do with that family
+now. And since Maurice told her a little more about poor
+Mr. Trent, I think she sees that she would not have been
+very happy." She was silent for a little while, and then
+went on, trying to give an indifferent sound to her words:&mdash;"Captain
+Duchesne's people live near Eastbourne, he told
+me; and Ethel has gone to Seaford."</p>
+
+<p>"Not far off," said Lady Alice, smiling a little. "I hope
+that his sister Margaret will call on Ethel: I think they
+would like each other."</p>
+
+<p>And no more was said, for it was as yet too early
+to wonder even whether Harry Duchesne's adoration
+for Ethel Kenyon was ultimately to meet with a return.</p>
+
+<p>True to her new tastes, Lady Alice had had cards
+printed bearing the name "Mrs. Caspar Brooke." She
+desired, she said, to be identified with her husband as<a name="Page_333"></a>
+much as possible: it was a great mistake to retain a mere
+courtesy title, as if she had interests and station remote
+from those of her husband. Caspar had smilingly opposed
+this change, but Lady Alice had stood firm. Indeed, to
+her old friends she remained "Lady Alice" to the end of
+the chapter; but to the outer world she was henceforth
+known as Mrs. Brooke.</p>
+
+<p>She sent up one of her new cards when she called upon
+Mrs. Romaine. She paid this visit with considerable
+shrinking of heart. She had bitter memories connected
+with Mrs. Romaine. Since the day on which she had
+been reconciled to her husband, she had cast from her all
+suspicion of his past&mdash;cast it from her in much the same
+arbitrary and unreasoning manner as she had first embraced
+it. For, like most women, she was governed far more by her
+feelings and instincts than by the laws of evidence. As
+Rosalind had once told her brother, Lady Alice had accidentally
+seen and intercepted a letter of hers to Caspar;
+and Lady Alice had then rushed to the conclusion that it
+was part of a long continued correspondence and not a
+single communication. And now&mdash;now&mdash;&mdash;what did she
+think? She hardly knew; of one thing only was she certain
+that Caspar had never been untrue to her, had never cared
+for any woman but herself.</p>
+
+<p>She was not at all sure that Mrs. Romaine would receive
+her: she knew that she had written to her in a tone that
+no woman, especially a woman like Mrs. Romaine, is likely
+to forgive; but time, she thought, blunts the memory of
+past injuries, and if Rosalind chose to forget the past, she
+would forget it too. It was with a soft and kindly feeling,
+therefore, that Lady Alice asked for admittance at Mrs.
+Romaine's door, and learned that Mrs. Romaine was at
+home and would see her.</p>
+
+<p>Before she had been in the drawing-room five minutes,
+it dawned on Lady Alice's mind that there was something
+odd in her hostess' manner and even in her appearance.
+Of course she was prepared for a change; in the twelve
+years or more that had elapsed since they had met she herself
+must have also changed. But, as a matter of fact,
+Lady Alice's long, elegant figure, shining hair and delicate
+complexion showed the ravages of time far less distinctly
+than she imagined; while Mrs. Romaine was a mere wreck
+of what she had been in her youth. During the last few<a name="Page_334"></a>
+weeks, Rosalind had grown thin: her features were sharpened,
+her hands white and wasted: her eyes seemed too
+large for her face, and were surmounted by dark and heavy
+shadows. Lady Alice was reminded of another face that
+she had last seen relieved against the whiteness of a pillow,
+of eyes that had gleamed wildly as they looked at her, of a
+certain oddness of expression that in her own heart she
+called "a mad look." Yes, there was certainly a likeness
+between her and her brother Francis, and it was the sort
+of likeness that gave Lady Alice a shock.</p>
+
+<p>For a few minutes the two women talked in platitudes
+of indifferent things. Lady Alice noticed that after every
+sentence or two Mrs. Romaine let the subject drop and sat
+looking at her furtively, as if she expected something that
+did not come. Was it sympathy that she wanted? It was
+with difficulty that Lady Alice could approach the subject.
+After a longer pause than usual, she said softly&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You must let me tell you how sorry I am for the sorrow
+that has come upon you&mdash;upon us all."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine stared at her for a moment; an angry
+light showed itself in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"You have come to tell me that?" she said, with chill
+disdain.</p>
+
+<p>"I came to say so&mdash;yes," Lady Alice answered, in her surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"I am very much obliged to you, I am sure." The tone
+was almost insolent, but the woman was herself again.
+The oddness, the awkwardness of manner had passed away,
+and her old grace of bearing had come back. Even her
+beauty returned with the flush of crimson to her face and
+the lustre of her eyes. The prospect of combat brought
+back the animation and the brilliancy that she had lost.</p>
+
+<p>"There were other things I thought that you had perhaps
+come to say&mdash;repetitions of what you said to me years ago&mdash;before
+you left your husband."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice rose at once. "I think you had better not
+touch on that subject," she said gently but with dignity. "I
+did not come here with any such intention. I hoped all
+that was forgotten by you&mdash;as it is by me."</p>
+
+<p>"I have not forgotten," said Mrs. Romaine, rising also,
+and fixing her eyes on Lady Alice's face.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry for it. You will allow me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No, do not go: stay for a minute or two, I beg of you.<a name="Page_335"></a>
+I am not well&mdash;I said more than I meant&mdash;do not leave
+me just yet." She spoke now hurriedly and entreatingly.</p>
+
+<p>These extraordinary changes of tone and manner impressed
+Lady Alice disagreeably. And yet she hesitated:
+she did not like to carry out her purpose of leaving the
+house at once, when she had been entreated to remain.
+Looking at her, Mrs. Romaine seemed to make a great
+effort over herself, and suddenly put on the air that she
+used most to affect&mdash;the air of a woman of the world, with
+peculiarly engaging manners.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't hurry away," she said. "I really have something
+particular to say to you. Will you listen to me for
+two minutes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes&mdash;if you wish it."</p>
+
+<p>"I do wish it very much. You will stay? That is kind
+of you. And I will ring for tea."</p>
+
+<p>"No, please do not," said Lady Alice shrinking instinctively
+from the thought of eating and drinking in Rosalind
+Romaine's drawing-room; "I really cannot stay long, and
+I do not drink tea so early."</p>
+
+<p>Her hostess smiled and withdrew her hand from the bell-handle.
+"As you please," she said indifferently. "It is
+so long since I had visitors that I almost forget how to
+entertain them. You must excuse me if I have seemed
+<i>distrait</i> or&mdash;or peculiar. You see I have had a great deal
+to bear."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it, and I am very sorry," said Lady Alice
+gently.</p>
+
+<p>"You are very kind." Was there a touch of satire in
+the tone? "And&mdash;as you are here&mdash;why should we not
+speak of one or two matters that have troubled us sometimes?
+As two women of the world, we ought to be able
+to come to a sort of compact."</p>
+
+<p>"I do not understand you, Mrs. Romaine."</p>
+
+<p>Rosalind laughed a little wildly. "Of course you don't.
+But I do not mean to talk conventionalism or commonplace.
+Just for a minute or two, let us speak openly. You
+have come back to your husband&mdash;yes, I <i>will</i> speak, and
+you shall not interrupt!&mdash;and you hope no doubt to be
+happy with him. Don't you know that I could wreck your
+whole happiness if I chose?"</p>
+
+<p>The color rose in Lady Alice's face, but she looked
+clearly into the other's face as she replied<a name="Page_336"></a>&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"My happiness with my husband is not dependent on
+anything that you may do or say. I really cannot discuss
+the subject with you, Mrs. Romaine, it is most unsuitable."</p>
+
+<p>"You are very impatient," said Rosalind satirically.
+"I only want to make a bargain with you. If you will do
+something that I want, I promise you that I will go away
+from London and never speak to any of your family again."
+Lady Alice's alarm struggled for mastery with her pride
+and her sense of the becoming, both of which told her not
+to parley with this woman. But the temptation to a
+naturally exacting nature was very great. She hesitated for
+a moment, and Mrs. Romaine went rapidly on.</p>
+
+<p>"I wrote a letter once." The hot color mounted to her
+cheeks and brow while she was speaking. "You wrote to
+me about it. But you did not send it back. You have
+that letter still."</p>
+
+<p>Lady Alice continued to look at her steadily, but made
+no reply.</p>
+
+<p>"That letter has been the curse of my life. I repented
+it as soon as it was sent&mdash;you may be sure of that: I could
+repeat it word for word even now. Oh, no doubt you made
+the most of it&mdash;jeered at it&mdash;laughed over it with <i>him</i>&mdash;but
+to me&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It is the last thing I should ever have mentioned to my
+husband," said Lady Alice, with grave disdain. "He
+never knew that you wrote it&mdash;never saw it&mdash;never will see
+or know it from <i>me</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean that you have kept it to yourself all
+these years?"</p>
+
+<p>"I mean that I put it into the fire as soon as I had read
+it. Why are you so concerned about it? Was it worse
+than the others that you must have written&mdash;before that?"</p>
+
+<p>"I never wrote to him before."</p>
+
+<p>They faced each other with mutual suspicion in their
+eyes. Lady Alice had forgotten her proud reserve: she
+wanted to know the truth at last.</p>
+
+<p>"I will acknowledge," she said, "that I believed that
+you had written other letters&mdash;of a somewhat similar kind&mdash;to
+Mr. Brooke. I was angry and disgusted: it was that
+which formed one of my reasons for leaving him years ago.
+But I have come to a better mind since then. I do not
+care what you wrote, what you said, or what you did: I
+believe that my husband is a good man and I love him. I<a name="Page_337"></a>
+have come back to him, and shall never leave him again.
+You can do me no harm now."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine laughed mockingly. "Can I not?" she
+said. "Do you know that he came to me within an hour
+after his release? Do you know that he asked me to go
+away with him to Spain, where we could be safe and happy
+together? What do you say to that?"</p>
+
+<p>"I say this," cried Lady Alice, almost violently, "that
+I do not believe a word of it." She drew herself to her full
+height and turned to leave the room. Then she looked at
+Rosalind and spoke in a gentler tone. "I am sorry for
+you," she said. "But your suffering is partly your own
+fault. What right had you to think of winning my husband's
+heart away from me? You have not succeeded, although
+you have done your best to make us miserable. I have
+never spoken of you to him&mdash;never; but now, when I go
+home, I shall go straight to him and tell him all that you
+have said to me, and I shall know very well whether what
+you say is false or true."</p>
+
+<p>She left the room proudly and firmly, unheeding of the
+mocking laugh that Rosalind sent after her. She let herself
+out into the street and walked straight back to her home.
+Caspar was out: she could not go to him immediately, as
+she had said that she would do. She went to her room and
+lay down upon the bed, feeling strangely tired and weak.
+In spite of her haughty rebuttal of the charge against her
+husband, she was wounded and oppressed by it. And as
+the time went on, she felt more and more the difficulty of
+telling him her story, of asking him to clear himself. How
+could she question him without seeming to doubt?</p>
+
+<p>She fretted herself until a headache came on, and she
+was unable to go down to dinner. Lesley brought her up
+a cup of tea, but her mother refused her company. "I
+shall be better alone," she said. "Has your father come
+in yet? Isn't he very late?"</p>
+
+<p>It was nearly ten o'clock when Mr. Brooke came in, and,
+hearing that he had been asked for, made his way to his
+wife's room. He bent over her tenderly, asking her how
+she felt; and she put one hand up to his rough cheek,
+without answering.</p>
+
+<p>"What has made your head ache, my darling?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Caspar, I have been to see Mrs. Romaine."</p>
+
+<p>She felt a sort of start or quiver go through him at the<a name="Page_338"></a>
+name. He put his lips softly to her forehead before he
+spoke. "Well!" he said, a little dryly.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you&mdash;did she&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Then she broke down, and sobbed a little with her face
+against her husband's breast. Caspar's breath grew shorter&mdash;a
+sign of excitement with him&mdash;but for a time he waited
+quietly and would not speak. He could not all at once
+make up his mind what to say.</p>
+
+<p>"Alice," he said at last, "if you ask me questions I
+suppose I must answer them in one way or another. But&mdash;I
+think I had rather you did not." He felt that every
+nerve was strained in self-control as she listened to him.
+"Mrs. Romaine," he went on deliberately, "is not a
+woman that I like&mdash;or&mdash;respect. I would very much prefer
+not to talk about her."</p>
+
+<p>"I must tell you just one thing," she whispered, "it was
+my feeling about her&mdash;my jealousy of her&mdash;that made me
+leave you&mdash;twelve years ago."</p>
+
+<p>She had surprised him now. "Alice! Impossible," he
+said. "Why, my poor girl, there was not the slightest reason.
+I can most solemnly swear to you, Alice, that I never
+had any other feeling for Mrs. Romaine than that of ordinary
+friendship. My dear, will you never believe that you
+have always been the one woman in all the world for me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Forgive me, Caspar," she murmured, "I do believe
+it now."</p>
+
+<hr style="visibility: hidden; margin: 1em;">
+
+<p>At the same hour, a haggard and despairing woman
+raised herself from the floor where she had lain for many
+weary hours, trying by passionate tears and cries and outbursts
+of unavailing lamentation to exhaust or stifle the
+anguish which seemed to have reached its most intolerable
+point. Her robes were soiled and crushed, her hair was
+dishevelled, her eyes were red with weeping; and, as she
+rose, she wrung her hands together and then raised them
+in appeal to the God whom she had so long forgotten and
+forsaken.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, my God," she cried, "how can I bear it? All
+that I do is useless. I may lie and cheat and plot as much
+as I like, but all my schemes are in vain. I cannot hurt
+her, as she said: I cannot punish him: I have no power
+left. No power, no beauty, no will! Am I losing my
+senses, too, like Francis?" She shuddered at the thought.
+"Perhaps I am going mad&mdash;they have driven me mad,<a name="Page_339"></a>
+Caspar Brooke and his wife, between them&mdash;mad, mad,
+mad!&mdash;Oh, God," she said, with a long shivering sigh,
+"Oh, God, avert <i>that</i> doom! Not that punishment of all
+others, for mercy's sake!"</p>
+
+<p>She looked up and down her dimly lighted room with an
+expression upon her face of horror and unrest, which bore
+some resemblance to the look of one whose intellect was
+becoming unhinged. It seemed as if she were afraid that
+something might leap out upon her from the darkness, or
+as if goblin voices might at any moment mutter in her ear.
+For a long time she stood motionless in the middle of the
+room, her eyes staring, her hands hanging at her sides.
+Then she moved slowly to a writing-table, took a sheet of
+paper and a pen, and wrote a few lines. When she had
+finished she enclosed the sheet in an envelope, and addressed
+it to Lady Alice Brooke. And when that was done
+she rang the bell and sent the letter to the post. Then she
+nodded and smiled strangely to herself.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps that will atone," she murmured vaguely.
+"And perhaps God will not take away my reason, after
+all."</p>
+
+<p>And then she began to fumble among the things upon
+her dressing-table for the little bottle that contained her
+nightly sleeping draught.</p>
+
+<hr style="visibility: hidden; margin: 1em;">
+
+<p>Mrs. Romaine's letter was brought to Lady Alice before
+she rose next morning. It contained these words:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"I told you what was not true to-day. Your husband
+never asked me to go away with him&mdash;he never cared for
+me. I loved him, that was all. His carelessness drove
+me mad&mdash;I tried to revenge myself on him by making you
+suffer. But you would not believe me, and you were
+right. Pity me if you can, and pray for me.</p>
+
+<p class="signature">
+"<span class="smcap">Rosalind Romaine.</span>"</p></div>
+
+<p>"Ah, poor soul!" thought Alice Brooke, her eyes filling
+with tears. "I do pity her&mdash;I do, with all my heart. God
+help her!"</p>
+
+<p>And she said those words again&mdash;useless as they might
+be&mdash;when, by and by, a messenger came hurrying to the
+house with the news that Mrs. Romaine had been found
+dead that morning&mdash;dead, from an overdose of the chloral
+which she kept beside her for sleeplessness. And so the<a name="Page_340"></a>
+life of false aims and perverted longings came to its
+appointed end.</p>
+
+<hr style="visibility: hidden; margin: 1em;">
+
+<p>There was never a cloud on Alice Brooke's domestic
+happiness, never a shadow of distrust between her and her
+husband, after this. For some little time they changed
+their mode of life&mdash;giving up the house in Bloomsbury and
+spending long, blissful months in Italy and the Tyrol. It
+was like another honeymoon. And when they returned to
+London, Caspar took a house in a sunnier and pleasanter
+region than Upper Woburn Place, but not so far away as
+to prevent him from visiting the Macclesfield Club on Sundays,
+and having a chat with Jim Gregson and his other
+workman friends. These workmen and their wives came
+also in their turn to Mr. Brooke's abode, where there was
+not only a gentle and gracious lady to preside at the table
+(where twelve especially valued silver spoons always held
+a place of honor), but a very remarkable baby in the nursery;
+and it was Mr. Brooke's continual regret that he had
+not insisted on naming his son and heir Macclesfield, after
+the workmen's buildings, instead of the more commonplace
+Maurice, after Maurice Kenyon. But Maurice and
+Lesley returned the compliment by calling their eldest
+child Caspar, although Lesley did say saucily that she
+thought it a very ugly name.</p>
+
+<p>Francis Trent was in a lunatic asylum, "at Her Majesty's
+pleasure." His wife was allowed to see him now and
+then; and on this account she would not leave England,
+as some of her friends urged her to do, but occupied herself
+with needlework and some kind of district visiting
+among the poor. The Brookes and the Kenyons were
+both exceedingly kind to her, and would have been kinder
+if she had felt it possible to accept "their kindness"; but,
+although she cherished in secret a strong affection for
+Lesley, she was too much ashamed of her past conduct
+ever to present herself to them again. She could but live
+and work in silence, until one of the two great healers,
+Time or Death, should soothe the bitterness of her heart
+away.</p>
+
+<p>And Ethel?&mdash;Well, Mrs. Harry Duchesne knows more
+about Ethel than I do, and I shall be happy to refer you
+to her.</p>
+
+
+<h2>THE END.</h2>
+
+
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+The Great American Remedy
+FOR DYSPEPSIA
+In all its forms, As Indigestion, Flatulency, Heartburn,
+Waterbrash, Sick-Headache, Constipation,
+Biliousness, and all forms of Dyspepsia; regulating
+the action of the stomach, and of the digestive organs.
+Sold Everywhere. 50c. per Bottle. THE DAWSON MEDICINE CO.,&mdash;MONTREAL."></div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;">
+<div class="advert newpg">
+<img src="images/ad347_top.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="506" ALT="DR. CHEVALLIER'S RED SPRUCE GUM PASTE, DR. NELSON'S PRESCRIPTION,
+GOUDRON de NORWEGE. ARE THE BEST REMEDIES For COUGHS and COLDS.
+Insist upon getting one of them. 25c. each. For Sale by all Respectable Druggists.
+LAVIOLETTE &amp; NELSON, Druggists, AGENTS OF FRENCH PATENTS. 1605 Notre Dame St."></div>
+
+
+<div id="booklistbox">
+
+<table border="0" width="80%" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Book Listing" align="center">
+
+<tr>
+<td valign="top" colspan="3" align="center"><div class="advert">
+<img src="images/ad347_mid.png" border="0"
+ width="550" height="53" ALT="BOOKS IN &quot;STAR&quot; SERIES."><br>
+<img src="images/shortline.png" border="0" width="224" height="22" alt="">
+</div></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom" align="left">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklist">107.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">LUCK IN DISGUISE, <span class="smcap">by Wm. J. Zexter</span></span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom" align="left">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklist">108.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">THE BONDMAN, <span class="smcap">by Hall Caine</span></span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom" align="left">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklist">109.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">A MARCH IN THE RANKS, <span class="smcap">by Jessie FOTHERGILL</span></span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+
+<tr valign="bottom" align="left">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklist">110.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">COSETTE, <span class="smcap">by Katherine S. Macquaid</span></span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+
+<tr valign="bottom" align="left">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklist">111.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">WHOSE WAS THE HAND? <span class="smcap">by miss Braddon</span></span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom" align="left">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklist">112.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW, <span class="smcap">by Rudyard Kipling</span></span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.25</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom" align="left">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklist">113.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, <span class="smcap">by Rudyard Kipling</span></span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.25</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom" align="left">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklist">114.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">SOLDIERS THREE, and other Tales, <span class="smcap">by Rudyard Kipling</span></span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.25</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom" align="left">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklist">115.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS, <span class="smcap">by Rudyard Kipling</span></span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.25</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom" align="left">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklist">116.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">THE DEMONIAC, <span class="smcap">by Walter Besant</span></span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.25</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom" align="left">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklist">117.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">BRAVE HEARTS AND TRUE, <span class="smcap">by Florence Marryat</span></span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.25</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom" align="left">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklist">118.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">GOOD BYE, <span class="smcap">by John Strange Winter</span></span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.25</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td colspan="3" align="center"><div class="advert">
+<img src="images/shortline.png" border="0" width="224" height="22" alt=""><br>
+<img src="images/ad347_bottom.png" border="0"
+ width="426" height="44" ALT="For Sale by all Booksellers."></div></td></tr>
+
+
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<a name="Page_343"></a>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<div class="advert">
+<img src="images/ad348_1.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="167" ALT="Scarff's Marshmallow Cream For the Skin and Complexion, superior to anything in use
+for roughness, or any irritation of the skin,
+sunburn, pimples, &amp;c."></div>
+
+<div class="advert">
+<img src="images/ad348_2.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="183" ALT="TRY HOREHOUND AND HONEY COUGH BALSAM For Coughs, Colds, &amp;c., Pleasant, Reliable, Effectual.">
+</div>
+<div class="advert">
+<img src="images/ad348_3.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="351" ALT="SCARFF'S SAPONACEOUS TOOTH WASH CARBOLATED. Is the best preparation for Cleansing, Preserving and
+Beautifying the Teeth and Gums. PREPARED BY CHAS. E, SCARFF, CHEMIST AND DRUGGIST 2262 St. Catherine Street, opposite Victoria.">
+</div>
+
+<a name="Page_344"></a>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;">
+
+<div class="advert newpg">
+<img src="images/ad349.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="229" ALT="CATALOGUE OF LOVELL'S CANADIAN COPYRIGHT AND &quot;STAR&quot; SERIES."></div>
+<h2><a name="CATALOGUE" id="CATALOGUE"></a></h2>
+
+
+
+<p>All the books in the Copyright Series are by arrangement with
+the Authors, to whom a Royalty is paid, and no American reprints can
+lawfully <a name="tn_349"></a><!-- TN: "sold" changed to "be sold"-->be sold in Canada.</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" width="80%" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Book Listing" align="center">
+
+<tr>
+<td valign="top" colspan="3" align="center"><div class="advert">
+<img src="images/ad349_title.png" border="0"
+ width="550" height="43" ALT="CANADIAN COPYRIGHT SERIES."><br>
+</div></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">1.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">The Wing of Azrael, by Mona Caird</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">2.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">The Fatal Phryne, by F. C. Philips</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">3.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">The Search for Basil Lyndhurst, by Rosa Nouchette Carey</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">4.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">The Luck of the House, by Adeline Sergeant</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist"><a name="tn_349a"></a><!-- TN: ".00" changed to ".30"-->.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">5.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">Sophy Carmine, by John Strange Winter</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">6.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">Jezebel's Friends, by Dora Russell</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">7.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">That Other Woman, by Annie Thomas</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">8.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">The Curse of Carne's Hold, by G. A. Henty</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">9.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">An I. D. B. in South Africa, by Louise Vescellins Sheldon</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">10.</span></td>
+<td width="80%">
+<span class="booklist">A Life Sentence, by Adeline Sergeant</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">11.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Comedy of a Country House, by Julian Sturgis</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">12.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">The Tree of Knowledge, by G. M. Robins</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">13.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Kit Wyndham; or, Fettered for Life, by Frank Barrett</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">14.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">The Haute Noblesse, by George Manville Fenn</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">15.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Buttons, by John Strange Winter</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">16.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Earth Born, by Spirito Gentil</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">17.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Mount Eden, by Florence Marryat</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">18.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Hedri; or, Blind Justice, by Helen Mathers</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">19.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Joshua, a Story of Egyptian-Israelitish Life, by Georg Ebers</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">20.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Hester Hepworth, by Kate Tannatt Woods</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">21.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Nurse Revel's Mistake, by Florence Warden</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">22.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Sylvia Arden, by Oswall Crawfurd</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">23.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">The Mynns Mystery, by George Manville Fenn</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">24.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Was Ever Woman in this Humor Wooed? by Charles Gibbon</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">25.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">A Girl of the People, by L. T. Meade</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">26.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">The Firm of Girdlestone, by A. Conan Doyle</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">27.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">April's Lady, by The Duchess</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">28.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">By Order of the Czar, by Joseph Hatton</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">29.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">The Lady Egeria, by John Berwick Hardwood</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">30.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Syrlin, by Ouida</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">30.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Syrlin, by Ouida</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.50</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">31.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">The Burnt Million, by James Payn</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">32.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Her Last Throw, by The Duchess</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">33.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">A Woman's Heart, by Mrs. Alexander</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">34.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">A Scarlet Sin, by Florence Marryat</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">35.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">A True Friend, by Adeline Sergeant</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">36.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">A Smuggler's Secret, by Frank Barrett</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">37.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">The Great Mill Street Mystery, by Adeline Sergeant</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum"><a name="tn_349b"></a><!-- TN: "33" changed to "38"-->38.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">The Moment After, by Robert Buchanan</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum"><a name="tn_349c"></a><!-- TN: "49" changed to "39"-->39.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Ruffino, by Ouida</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum"><a name="tn_349d"></a><!-- TN: "30" changed to "40"-->40.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">The Chief Justice, by Karl Emil Franzos</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">41.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Lover or Friend, by Rosa Nouchette Carey</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum">42.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Heart of Gold, by L. T. Meade</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr valign="bottom">
+<td valign="top" width="10%"><span class="booklistnum"><a name="tn_349e"></a><!-- TN: "48" changed to "43"-->43.</span></td>
+<td width="80%"><span class="booklist">Famous or Infamous</span></td>
+<td width="10%"><span class="booklist">.30</span></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+<a name="Page_345"></a>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2>JOHN LOVELL &amp; SON'S PUBLICATIONS.</h2>
+<hr style="width: 75%;margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-top:.5em;">
+
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/nurse.png" ALT="Nurse Revel's Mistake."  width="277" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright">By <span class="smcap">Florence Warden</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">From first to last it is without a dull page, and is full of
+thrilling adventure, which renders it a most readable volume. <span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/sylvia.png" ALT="Sylvia Arden."  width="172" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Oswald Crawfurd</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">This work adds materially to the growing fame of this popular
+author. <span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/mystery.png" ALT="The Mynns' Mystery."  width="300" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Geo. Manville Fenn</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">An interesting story of life among the richer classes of England,
+with a glimpse into the early western life of the United
+States, that always affords to a wearied mind a few moments of
+refreshing reading. <span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/wooed.png" ALT="Was Ever Woman in this Humor Wooed?"  width="541" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Chs. Gibbon</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">A novel of more than ordinary merit, with a rather remarkable
+plot, which gives a peculiar charm to lady readers especially.<span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/girl.png" ALT="A Girl of the People"  width="286" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">L. T. Meade</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">A story of low life in Liverpool, recounting the trials and
+troubles of a brave young girl, which will be read with much
+interest.<span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/firm.png" ALT="The Firm of Girdlestone"  width="317" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">A. Conan Doyle</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">The style is free and flowing, the situations startling, the
+characters few and well sustained, the plot original and very
+clever. It is not a love story, but none the less interesting and
+romantic on that account.<span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/curse.png" ALT="The Curse of Curne's Gold."  width="325" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">G. A. Henty</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">A thrilling story of love and adventure. The scene is laid in the
+late Kaffir war, of which the author had a large personal experience,
+having acted as war correspondent, in which position he
+became thoroughly acquainted with the adventures and accidents
+by flood and field of which his story so ably treats.<span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/africa.png" ALT="An I. D. B. in South Africa."  width="361" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Louise V. Sheldon</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">An interesting story, profusely illustrated. The plot is a
+clever one, and holds the reader's attention throughout.<span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/life.png" ALT="A life Sentence."  width="205" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Adeline Sergeant</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">One of the strongest and most dramatic of this popular
+author's works. The story combines very sensational incidents
+with interesting developments of personal character.<span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/tree.png" ALT="The Tree of Knowledge."  width="303" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">G. M. Robins</span>.</span></p>
+
+<p class="description">A fascinating book of fiction which all lovers of light literature
+should read. The work bears a strong stamp of originality
+and power.<span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="booklist1">
+<p><img src="images/kit.png" ALT="Kit Wyndham; or, Fettered for Life."  width="431" height="35" border="0">
+<span class="keepright"> By <span class="smcap">Frank <a name="tn_351"></a><!--TN: "Barret" changed to "Barrett"-->Barrett.</span></span></p>
+
+<p class="description">A highly sensational story, which, however, presents a pleasing
+contrast to the evil literature which has of late been spread
+broadcast. The novel is one which once begun will be finished,
+and the <i>denouement</i> is as pleasing as it is unexpected.<span class="keepright"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 75%;margin-bottom: .3em;">
+<p class="center">JOHN LOVELL &amp; SON, PUBLISHERS, MONTREAL.</p>
+<a name="Page_347"></a>
+<hr style="width: 65%;"  class="newpg">
+<div class="advert">
+<img src="images/ad352_1.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="435" ALT="CASTOR-FLUID. (Registered.) A delightfully refreshing and cooling preparation for the
+Hair. It absolutely prevents dandruff, promotes the
+growth, keeps the hair from falling, and does not darken it.
+It should be used daily, after the morning bath.
+Price 25c. For Sale at all Chemists.
+Henry R. Gray, Chemist, 122 St. Lawrence, Montreal, Sole Manufacturer."></div>
+
+<div class="advert">
+<img src="images/ad352_2.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="418" ALT="WHITE ROSE LANOLIN CREAM. (Patent applied for.)
+Much superior to &quot;Cold Cream&quot; as a soothing and
+softening unguent for the skin. It will cure chapped
+hands, and will render rough and dry skin as smooth and
+as soft as velvet. In Pots, 25 cents. Henry R. Gray, Chemist, 122 St. Lawrence, Montreal, Sole Manufacturer."></div>
+
+<div class="advert">
+<img src="images/ad352_3.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="358" ALT="GRAY'S SAPONACEOUS DENTIFRICE. Antiseptic. Cleansing. Beautifying.
+Keeps the teeth free from tartar, deodorizes the breath,
+and destroys bacteria. 25 CENTS.
+Henry R. Gray, Chemist. 122 St. Lawrence, Montreal, Sole Manufacturer."><a name="tn_352"></a><!-- TN: Period added after "Manufacturer"--></div>
+
+<a name="Page_348"></a>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+
+<div class="advert">
+<img src="images/ad353_1.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="623" ALT="JOHNSTON'S FLUID BEEF
+THE GLORY OF A MAN IS HIS STRENGTH
+THE GREAT Strength Giver
+An Invaluable Food FOR Invalids &amp; Convalescents
+BECAUSE: Easily Digested by the WEAKEST STOMACH. Useful in domestic economy
+for making delicious Beef Tea, enriching Gravies and Soups."></div>
+
+<div class="advert">
+<img src="images/ad353_2.png" border="0"
+ width="700" height="573" ALT="NOTMAN 17 BLEURY ST., AND ROOM 116
+WINDSOR HOTEL, MONTREAL. Photographer TO THE QUEEN.
+THE BEST VIEWS OF MONTREAL, OF QUEBEC, OF THE SAGUENAY AND Rocky Mountains
+ETC., ETC. PORTRAITS IN All Sizes AND Styles AT REASONABLE
+PRICES. AMATEUR OUTFITS. Photo-Chemicals KODAK and
+LILIPUT CAMERAS. ETC., ETC. Visitors always Welcome.
+BRANCHES: GEORGE STREET, HALIFAX. 315 MADISON AV.,
+NEW YORK. 3 PARK ST. AND 184 BOYLSTON ST.,
+BOSTON. 48 NORTH PEARL ST., ALBANY."></div>
+
+<a name="Page_349"></a>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg">
+<h2>Transcriber's Note</h2>
+<div style="margin-left:10%;margin-right:10%">
+<p>Inconsistent hyphenation and italicization have been retained as-is within the text.
+Page numbers are documented in the source code.</p>
+
+<p>Here is a list of the minor typographical corrections made:</p>
+</div>
+<div style="margin-left:20%;margin-right:20%">
+
+<ul>
+<li><a href="#tn_3">Comma replaced by period after "ETC"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_5">Comma changed to a period after "cents"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_9">Comma changed to a period after "25c"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_12">"loose" changed to "lose"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_13">"had" changed to "Had"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_22">"a a" changed to "a"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_25">Quote added after "mean&mdash;&mdash;"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_29">"show-white" changed to "snow-white"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_47">"a a" changed to "a"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_62">"occurrred" changed to "occurred"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_69">"word" changed to "world"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_70">"fasionably" changed to "fashionably"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_83">"brink" changed to "drink"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_88">Comma changed to period after "doubt"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_89a">Quote removed after "I?"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_95">"demeannor" changed to "demeanor"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_95a">Period added after "aglow"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_96">"pursued" changed to "pursed"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_119">Quote added after "Club."</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_128">Single quote added before the final "t" in "'T'aint"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_129">Comma changed to period after "Romaine"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_143">Comma changed to period after "too"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_150">Quote removed after "even&mdash;&mdash;"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_153">"sonething" changed to "something"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_153a">"got" changed to "get"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_159">Quote removed before "Her"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_170">"quitely" changed to "quietly"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_171">"thing" changed to "think"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_185">"Leslie" changed to "Lesley"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_186">"vist" changed to "visit"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_189">Single quote moved to before "prettiness"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_189a">Double quote added after "'art'"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_190">Quotation mark removed after "feel."</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_193">Comma changed to period after "explanation"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_196">"the the" changed to "the"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_198">"commoness" changed to "commonness"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_204">"Leslie" changed to "Lesley"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_206">Exclamation mark changed to question mark after "Lesley"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_216">Quote added after "dreams!"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_223">"nan" changed to "man"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_224">Quotation mark moved to follow "suppose,"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_226">"againt" changed to "against"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_230">Removed quotation mark after "position,"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_230a">"brough" changed to "brought"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_237">Question mark changed to a period after "seat" and following letter capitalized</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_247">"then" changed to "them"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_252">Quote added after "behind."</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_259">Quotation mark added after "then?"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_265">Period added after "start"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_267">"back ground" changed to "background"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_270">Quote added after "Trent?"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_281">"draw" changed to "drew"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_283">Quotes removed after "Because" and before "your"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_284">Question mark changed to period after "heard"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_285">Comma changed to a period after "Lesley"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_287a">Question mark changed to comma after "accommodated"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_289">Quote added after "him."</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_291">"night" changed to "night's"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_294">"afaid" changed to "afraid"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_297">Quote removed after "forgive?"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_310">"God God" changed to "Good God"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_313">"need need" changed to "need"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_316">"nowa-days" (hyphenated line-break) changed to "now-a-days"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_349">"sold" changed to "be sold"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_349a">".00" changed to ".30"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_349b">"33" changed to "38"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_349c">"49" changed to "39"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_349d">"30" changed to "40"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_349e">"48" changed to "43"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_351">"Barret" changed to "Barrett"</a></li>
+<li><a href="#tn_352">Period added after "Manufacturer"</a></li>
+</ul>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Brooke's Daughter, by Adeline Sergeant
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROOKE'S DAUGHTER ***
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,15233 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Brooke's Daughter, by Adeline Sergeant
+
+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: Brooke's Daughter
+       A Novel
+
+Author: Adeline Sergeant
+
+Release Date: January 28, 2010 [EBook #31106]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROOKE'S DAUGHTER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Linda Hamilton and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+(This file was produced from images generously made
+available by the Canadian Institute for Historical
+Microreproductions (www.canadiana.org))
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+           *Have you Teeth?*
+    --THEN PRESERVE THEM BY USING--
+              *LYMAN'S
+              CHERRY
+            TOOTH PASTE.*
+
+    Whitens the teeth, sweetens the breath, prevents decay.
+
+  In handsome Engraved Pots,--25 cents each.
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+       Trade Mark Secured.
+         [Illustration]
+           =Lyman's=
+  *Royal Canadian Perfumes.*
+
+   The only CANADIAN PERFUMES on the
+         English Market.
+
+  CERISE.
+  ENGLISH VIOLETS.
+  HELIOTROPE.
+  JOCKEY CLUB.
+  ETC.
+
+  PRAIRIE FLOWERS.
+  POND LILY.
+  WHITE ROSE.
+  YLANG YLANG.
+  ETC.
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+           *ESTABLISHED 1852.
+             LORGE & CO.*
+         HATTERS & FURRIERS.
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+     21 ST. LAWRENCE MAIN ST. 21
+             *MONTREAL.*
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+          _Established 1866._
+          *L. J. A. SURVEYER,*
+          6 ST. LAWRENCE ST.
+         (near Craig Street.)
+
+       HOUSE FURNISHING HARDWARE,
+  Brass, Vienna and Russian Coffee Machines,
+    *CARPET SWEEPERS, CURTAIN STRETCHERS,*
+         BEST ENGLISH CUTLERY,
+          FRENCH MOULDS, &c.,
+     *BUILDERS' HARDWARE, TOOLS, ETC.*
+
+
+
+
+JOHN LOVELL & SON'S PUBLICATIONS.
+
+
+=The Haute Noblesse.= By GEO. MANVILLE FENN.
+
+A cleverly written book, with exceptional characters. The plot and
+description of scenery are alike inimitable.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=Buttons and Booties' Baby.= By JOHN STRANGE WINTER.
+
+Two military tales, abounding in the most grotesque situations and
+humorous touches, which will greatly amuse the reader.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=Mount Eden.= By FLORENCE MARRYAT.
+
+A charming romance of English life, and probably the greatest effort of
+this popular authoress.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=Hedri; or, Blind Justice.= By HELEN MATHERS.
+
+An exciting story in which love plays only a secondary part. All who
+enjoy a first-class story cannot fail to be interested, and the many
+admirers of Helen Mathers will find a new treasure in this work.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=Joshua.= By GEORG EBERS.
+
+A story of Egyptian-Israelitish life which will bear favorable
+comparison with Ben-Hur and other high-class books of the same style.
+The description of the flight of the children of Israel from Egypt, and
+their subsequent wanderings in the desert, are placed before the reader
+in a startlingly realistic manner.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=Hester Hepworth.= By KATE TANNATT WOODS.
+
+This work treats of the superstitious times of 1692, when witchcraft was
+punished with death. It tends to arouse one's sympathy, and will be read
+with much interest and profit.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=A Woman's Heart.= By MRS. ALEXANDER.
+
+An exciting and dramatically written story, full of woman's tenderness
+and compassion under the most trying circumstances. A captivating
+romance that is as interesting as it is elevating in tone.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=A True Friend.= By ADELINE SERGEANT.
+
+The portrayal not the exaggeration of a noble character, from whom the
+reader can draw healthy inspiration.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=A Smuggler's Secret.= By FRANK BARRETT.
+
+An exciting story of the Cornish Coast, full of adventure, well put
+together and of a pure tone.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=The Great Mill Street Mystery.= By ADELINE SERGEANT.
+
+The author is as usual true to life and true to her own noble instincts.
+Added to a feminine perception, Miss Sergeant has a dispassionateness
+and a sense of humor quite rare in her sex.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=The Moment After.= By ROBERT BUCHANAN.
+
+A thrilling story, giving the experience in the hereafter of a man who
+was hanged. It is weird but not revolting.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=The Bondman.= By HALL CAINE.
+
+It is vigorous and faithful, portrays with the intimacy of entire
+acquaintanceship, not only the physical features of island life in the
+Northern Seas, but the insular habits of thought of the dwellers on
+those secluded haunts of the old Sea Kings or Vikings of the past.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+JOHN LOVELL & SON, PUBLISHERS, MONTREAL.
+
+
+
+
+  BROOKE'S DAUGHTER.
+
+  *A NOVEL.*
+
+  BY
+
+  ADELINE SERGEANT,
+  _Author of "A True Friend" etc., etc._
+
+
+  MONTREAL:
+  JOHN LOVELL & SON,
+  23 ST. NICHOLAS STREET.
+
+
+
+
+Entered according to Act of Parliament in the year 1891, by John Lovell
+& Son, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture and Statistics at
+Ottawa.
+
+
+
+
+*SECOND EDITION.*
+
+"A DAUGHTER OF ST. PETER'S"
+
+  BY JANET C. CONGER.
+  (MRS. WM. COX ALLEN.)
+
+  *In Paper Cover, 30 Cents.
+    "  Cloth    "   50   "*
+
+Lovell's Canadian Authors' Series, No. 60.
+
+
+The authoress is a Canadian, and her story is remarkably well
+told.--_Advertiser_, London.
+
+In this work a new aspirant for literary honors in the field of fiction
+makes her first appearance before the public. The story which she tells
+is neither lengthy nor involved. It is a simple, prettily told story of
+love at first sight, with a happy ending, and little to divert the mind
+of the reader from the hero and heroine. Mrs. Conger's literary style is
+pleasing, and her production evidences a well cultured mind and a
+tolerable appreciation of character. Her book will be found very
+pleasant reading.--"_Intelligencer_," Belleville.
+
+The plot is ingeniously constructed, and its working out furnishes the
+opportunity for some dramatic situations. The heroine, of whose early
+life the title gives us a hint, is a creature all grace and tenderness,
+a true offspring of the sunny south. The hero is an American, a man of
+wealth, and an artist _in posse_. The other _dramatis personae_, who play
+their parts around these central figures, are mostly Italians or
+Americans. The great question to be solved is: Who is Merlina? In
+supplying the solution, the author takes occasion to introduce us to an
+obscure but interesting class of people. The denouement of "A Daughter
+of St. Peter's" is somewhat startling, but we must not impair the
+reader's pleasure by anticipation. We see from the advanced sheets that
+it is dedicated to the Canadian public, to whom we cordially commend
+it.--_The Gazette_, Montreal.
+
+For a first effort, which the authoress in her preface modestly says the
+novel is, "A Daughter of St. Peter's" must be pronounced a very
+promising achievement. The plot is well constructed and the story
+entertaining and well told. The style is light and agreeable, and with a
+little more experience and facility in novel-writing we may expect Mrs.
+Conger, if she essays a second trial, to produce a book that will
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+
+BROOKE'S DAUGHTER.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE END OF HER CHILDHOOD.
+
+
+The Convent of the Annonciades, situated in a secluded spot on the
+outskirts of Paris, has long been well reputed as an educational
+establishment for young ladies of good family. The sisters themselves
+are women of refinement and cultivation, and the antecedents of every
+pupil received by them are most carefully inquired into: so carefully,
+indeed, that admission to the Convent School is looked on almost as a
+certificate of noble birth and unimpeachable orthodoxy. The Ladies of
+the Annonciades have indeed lately relaxed their rules, so far as to
+receive as parlor-boarders some very rich American girls and the
+children of a Protestant English marquis; but wealth in the first
+instance, and birth in the second, counterbalance the objections that
+might be raised to their origin or their faith. These exceptions to the
+rule are, however, few and far between; and, in spite of the levelling
+tendencies of our democratic days, Annonciades Convent is still one of
+the most exclusive and aristocratic establishments of the kind in
+Europe.
+
+Although we know too well that small-minded jealousy, strife, and
+bickering must exist in a community of women cut off so entirely from
+the outer world as in this Convent of the Annonciades, it must be
+confessed that the very name and air of the place possess a certain
+romantic charm. The house is old, turreted like a chateau, overgrown
+with clematis and passion-flower. The grounds, enclosed by high mossy
+walls, are of great extent, and beautifully laid out. The long chestnut
+avenue, the sparkling fountains, the trim flower-beds, are the delight
+of the sisters' hearts. The green beauty of the garden, and the grey
+stones of the ancient building, form a charming background for the
+white-veiled women who glide with noiseless footsteps along the
+cloisters or the avenue: a background more becoming to them even than to
+the bevy of girls in their everyday grey frocks, or their Sunday garb of
+white and blue. For the sisters' quaint and graceful dress harmonizes
+with the antique surroundings of building and ornament as anything
+younger and more modern fails to do.
+
+These women--shut off from the world, and knowing little of its joys or
+sorrows--have a strangely tranquil air. With some the tranquility verges
+on childishness. One feels that they have not conquered the world, they
+have but escaped it; and, as one pities the soldier who flies the
+battle, so one mourns for the want of courage which has condemned these
+women to an inglorious peace. But here and there another kind of face is
+to be seen. Here and there we come across a countenance bearing the
+tragic impress of toil and grief and passion; and we feel it possible
+that in this haven alone perhaps could a nature which had striven and
+suffered so greatly find in the end a lasting place. But such faces are
+fortunately few and far between.
+
+From the wide low window of the great _salle d'etude_ a flight of steps
+with carved stone balustrades led into the garden. The balustrades were
+half-covered with clustering white roses and purple clematis on the day
+of which I write; and a breath of perfume, almost overpowering in its
+sweetness, was wafted every now and then from the beds of mignonette and
+lilies on either side. The brilliant sunshine of an early September day
+was not yet touched with the melancholy of autumn: the leaves of the
+Virginia creeper had not yet changed to scarlet, nor had the chestnuts
+yellowed as if winter was creeping on apace. Everything was still, warm
+and bright.
+
+The stillness was partly accounted for by the fact that most of the
+pupils had gone home for their summer holidays. The _salle d'etude_ was
+empty and a little desolate: no hum of busy voices came from its open
+window to the garden; and even the tranquil sisters seemed to miss the
+sound, and to look wistfully at the bare desks and unused benches of
+their schoolroom. For they loved their pupils and their work; both
+came, perhaps, as a welcome break in the monotony of their barren lives;
+and they were sorry when the day came for their scholars to leave them
+for a time. Still more did they grieve when the inevitable day of a
+final departure arrived. They knew--some by hearsay, some by experience,
+and some by instinct alone--that the going away from school into the
+world was the beginning of a new life, full, very often, of danger and
+temptation, in which the good sisters and their teaching were likely to
+be forgotten, and it was a sorrow to them to be henceforth dissociated
+from the thoughts and lives of those who had often been under their
+guardianship and tuition for many years. Such a parting--probably a
+final one--was now imminent, and not a few of the sisters were troubled
+by the prospect, although it was against their rule to let any sign of
+such grief appear.
+
+It was not the hour of recreation, but the ordinary routine of the
+establishment was for a little while suspended, partly because it was
+holiday-time, and partly because an unusual event was coming to pass.
+One of the parlor boarders, who had been with the sisters since her
+childhood, first as a boarder and then as a guest, was about to leave
+them. She was to be fetched away by her mother and her mother's father,
+who was an English milord, of fabulous wealth and distinction, and,
+although at present a heretic, exceedingly "well-disposed" towards the
+Catholic church. It was not often that a gentleman set foot within the
+precincts of the convent; and although he would not be allowed to
+penetrate farther than the parlor, the very fact of his presence sent a
+thrill of excitement through the house. An English milord, a heretic,
+the grandfather of "cette chere Lisa," whom they were to lose so soon!
+No wonder the most placid of the nuns, the most stolid of the
+lay-sisters, tingled with excitement to the finger-tips!
+
+The girl whose departure from the convent school was thus regretted was
+known amongst her English friends as Lesley Brooke. French lips,
+unaccustomed to a name like Lesley, had changed it into Lisa; but Lesley
+loved her own name, which was a heritage in her family, and had been
+handed down to her from her grandmother. She was always glad to hear it
+from friendly English lips. She was nineteen now, and had stayed with
+the sisters an unusually long time without exactly knowing why. Family
+circumstances, she was told, had hitherto prevented her mother from
+taking her to an English home. But now the current of her life was to be
+changed. She was to leave Paris: she was, she believed, even to leave
+France. Her mother had written that she was to go to London, and that
+she (Lady Alice Brooke) would come for her, in company with Lesley's
+grandfather, Lord Courtleroy, with whom she had been traveling abroad
+for some time past.
+
+Lesley was overjoyed by the news. She had lately come to suspect
+something strange, something abnormal, in her own position. She had
+remained at school when other girls went to their homes: she never had
+been able to answer questions respecting her relations and their
+belongings. Her mother, indeed, she knew; for she sometimes spent a
+portion of the holidays with Lady Alice at a quiet watering-place in
+France or Italy. And her mother was all that could be desired. Gentle,
+refined, beautiful, with a slight shade of melancholy which only made
+her delicate face more attractive--at least in Lesley's eyes--Lady Alice
+Brooke gained love and admiration whithersoever she went. But she never
+spoke of her husband. Lesley had gradually learned that she must not
+mention his name. In her younger days she had been wont to ask questions
+about her unknown father. Was he dead?--was he in another country?--why
+had she never seen him? She soon found that these questions were gently
+but decidedly checked. Her mother did not decline in so many words to
+answer them, but she set them aside. Only once, when Lesley was fifteen,
+and made some timid, wistful reference to the father whom she had never
+known, did Lady Alice make her a formal answer.
+
+"I will tell you all about your father when you are old enough to hear,"
+she said. "Until then, Lesley, I had rather that you did not talk of
+him."
+
+Lesley shrank into herself abashed, and never mentioned his name again.
+
+All the same, as she grew older, her fancy played about this unknown
+father, as the fancy of young girls always plays about a mystery. Had he
+committed some crime? Had he disgraced himself and his family that his
+name might not be breathed in Lady Alice's ear? But she could not
+believe that her good, beautiful mother would ever have loved and
+married a wicked man!--such was the phrase that she, in her girlish
+innocence and ignorance, used to herself. As to scandal and
+tittle-tattle, none of it reached the seclusion of her convent-home, or
+was allowed to sully her fair mind. And it was impossible for her to
+connect the idea of folly, guilt, or shame with the pure, sweet face of
+her mother, or the stately pride and dignity of her mother's father, the
+Earl of Courtleroy. There was evidently a mystery; but she was sure of
+one thing, that it was a mystery without disgrace.
+
+And now, as she stood waiting on the stone steps, her face flushed a
+little, and her eyes filled at the thought that she would now, perhaps,
+be allowed to hear the story of her parents' lives. For she knew that
+she was going to leave the convent, and it had been vaguely hinted by
+Lady Alice in a recent letter that on leaving the convent Lesley must be
+prepared for a great surprise.
+
+Lesley looked over the silent, sweet-scented garden, and half-sighed,
+half-smiled, to think that she should leave it so soon, and perhaps for
+ever. But she was excited rather than sad, and when one of the sisters
+appeared at the door of the study, or _salle d'etude_, Lesley turned
+towards her with a quick, eager gesture, which not all the training to
+which she had been subjected since her childhood would have availed to
+suppress.
+
+"Oh, sister, tell me, has she come?"
+
+The sister was a tall, spare woman, with a thin face and great dark
+eyes, with eyelids slightly reddened, as though by long weeping or
+sleeplessness. It was an austere face, but its severity softened into
+actual sweetness as she smiled at her pupil's eagerness.
+
+"Gently, my child: why so impetuous?" she said, taking the girl's hand
+in her own. "Yes, madame has arrived: she is in the parlor, speaking to
+the Reverend Mother; and in five minutes you are to go to her."
+
+"Not for five minutes?" said Lesley; and then, controlling herself, she
+added, penitently. "I know I am impatient, Sister Rose."
+
+"Yes, dear child: you are impatient: it is in your nature, in your
+blood," said the sister, looking at her with a sort of pity in her
+eyes--a pity which Lesley resented, without quite knowing why. "And you
+are going into a world where you will find many things sadly different
+from your expectations. If you remember the lessons that we have tried
+to read you here--lessons of patience, endurance, resignation to the
+will of others, and especially to the will of God--you will be happy in
+spite of sorrow and tribulation."
+
+The young girl trembled: it seemed as if the sister spoke with a
+purpose, as if she knew of some difficulty, some danger that lay before
+her. She had been trained to ask no questions, and therefore she kept
+silence. But her lips trembled, and her beautiful brown eyes filled with
+tears.
+
+"Come, my dear child," said Sister Rose, taking her by the hand, after a
+short pause, "I will take you to your mother. She will be ready for you
+now. May God protect you and guide you in your way through the world!"
+
+And Lesley lowered her head as if she had received a blessing. Sister
+Rose was a woman whom Lesley honored and revered, and her words,
+therefore, sank deep, and often recurred to the young girl's mind in
+days to come.
+
+They went in silence to the door of the parlor. Here Sister Rose
+relinquished her pupil's hand, tapped three times on one of the panels,
+and signed to Lesley to open the door. With a trembling hand Lesley
+obeyed the sign; and in another moment she was in her mother's arms.
+
+Lady Alice Brooke was a very attractive looking woman. She was tall,
+slight, and graceful, and although she must have been close upon forty,
+she certainly had not the appearance of a woman over four or five and
+thirty. Her complexion was untouched by time: her cheeks were smooth and
+fair, her blue eyes clear. Her pretty brown hair had perhaps lost a
+little of the golden tinge of its youth, but it was still soft and
+abundant. But the reason why people often turned to look at her did not
+lie in any measure of grace and beauty that she possessed, so much as in
+an indefinable air of distinction and refinement which seemed to pervade
+her whole being, and marked her off from the rest of the world as one
+made of finer clay than others.
+
+Many people resented this demeanor--which was quite unconscious on Lady
+Alice's part--and thought that it signified pride, haughtiness, coldness
+of heart; but in all this they were greatly, if not altogether,
+mistaken. Lady Alice was not of a cold nature, and she was never
+willingly haughty; but in some respects, she was what the world calls
+proud. She was proud of her ancient lineage; of the repute of her
+family, of the stainlessness of its name. And she had brought up Lesley,
+as far as she could, in the same old tradition.
+
+Lesley was like her mother, and unlike, too. She had her mother's tall,
+graceful figure; but there was much more vivacity in her face than there
+had ever been in Lady Alice's; much more warmth and life and color.
+There was more determination in the lines of her mouth and chin: her
+brow was broader and fuller, and her eyes were dark brown instead of
+blue. But the likeness was there, with a diversity of expression and of
+coloring.
+
+"I thought you were never coming," said Lesley at length, as she clung
+fondly to her mother. "I could hardly sleep last night for thinking how
+delightful it would be to go away with you!"
+
+Lady Alice gave a little start, and looked at the girl as if there had
+been some hidden meaning in her words.
+
+"Go away with me?" she repeated.
+
+"Yes, mother darling, and be with you always: to look after you and not
+let grandpapa tire you with long walks and long games of backgammon. I
+shall be his companion as well as yours, and I shall take care of you
+both. I have planned ever so many things that I mean to do--especially
+when we go to Scotland."
+
+"Lesley," said Lady Alice, faintly, "I am tired: let me sit down." And
+then, as the girl made her seat herself in the one arm-chair that the
+room contained, and hung over her with affectionate solicitude, she went
+on, with paling lips: "You never said these things in your letter,
+child! I did not know that you were so anxious to come away--with me."
+
+"Oh, mamma, dear, you surely knew it all the time?" said Lesley,
+thinking the comment a reproach. "You surely knew how I longed to be
+with you? But I would not _say_ much in my letters for fear of making
+you think I was unhappy; and I have always been very happy here with the
+dear sisters and the girls. But I thought you _understood_ me,
+mamma--understood by instinct, as it were," said Lesley, kneeling by her
+mother's side, and throwing an occasional shy glance into her mother's
+face.
+
+"I understand perfectly, dear, and I see your unselfish motive. It makes
+me all the more sorry to disappoint you as I am about to do."
+
+"Oh, mamma! Am I not to leave school, then?"
+
+"Yes, dear, you will leave school."
+
+"And--and--with you?"
+
+"You will come with me, certainly--until to-morrow, darling. But you
+leave _me_ to-morrow, too."
+
+The color began to fade from Lesley's cheeks, as it had already faded
+from Lady Alice's. The girl felt a great swelling in her throat, and a
+film seemed to dim the clearness of her sight. But Sister Rose's words
+came back to her mind with an inspiring thrill which restored her
+strength. "Patience, endurance, resignation!" Was this the occasion on
+which she was to show whether these virtues were hers or not? She would
+not fail in the hour of trial: she would be patient and endure!
+
+"If you will explain, mamma dear," she said, entreatingly, "I will try
+to do--as you would like."
+
+"My darling! My Lesley! What a help it is to me to see you so brave!"
+said her mother, putting her arms round the girl's shoulders, and
+resting her face on the bright young head. "If I could keep you with me!
+but it will be only for a time, my child, and then--then you _will_ come
+back to me?"
+
+"Come back to you, mamma? As if anything would keep me away! But what is
+it? where am I to go? what am I to do? Why haven't you told me before?"
+
+She was trembling with excitement. Patience was not one of Lesley's
+virtues. She felt, with sudden heat of passion, that she could bear any
+pain rather than this suspense, which her mother's gentle reluctance to
+give pain inflicted upon her.
+
+"I did not tell you before," said Lady Alice, slowly, "because I was
+under a promise not to do so. I have been obliged to keep you in the
+dark about your future for many a long year, Lesley, and the concealment
+has always weighed upon my mind. You must forgive me, dearest, for this:
+I did not see the consequence of my promise when I made it first."
+
+"What promise was it, mamma?"
+
+"To let you leave me for a time, my dear: to let you go from me--to let
+you choose your own life--oh, it seems hard and cruel to me now."
+
+"Tell me," pleaded Lesley, whose heart was by this time beating with
+painful rapidity, "tell me all--quickly, mamma, and I promise----"
+
+"Promise nothing until you have heard what I have to say," said her
+mother, drawing back. "I want you to hear the story before you see your
+grandfather again: that is the reason why I begged the Mother to let me
+speak to you here, before you left the convent. I have been forced into
+my present line of action, Lesley: I never took it wilfully. You shall
+judge for yourself if it were likely that I----But I will not excuse
+myself beforehand. I can tell you all that is necessary for you to know
+in very few words; and the rest lies in your hands."
+
+Lady Alice's pale lips quivered as she spoke, but her eyes were dry and
+filled with a light which was singularly cold and stern. Lesley,
+kneeling still, looked up into her face, and, fascinated by what she saw
+there, remained motionless and mute.
+
+"I have not let you speak to me of your father," Lady Alice began,
+"because I did not know how to answer your questions truthfully. But now
+I must speak of him. You have thought of him sometimes?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you have thought him dead?"
+
+"I thought so--yes."
+
+"But he is not dead," said Lady Alice, bitterly. "To my exceeding
+misfortune--and yours also--your father, Lesley, is alive."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+LADY ALICE'S STORY.
+
+
+The girl shrank back a little, but she did not remove her eyes from her
+mother's face. A great dread, however, had entered into them. A hot
+color leaped into her cheeks. Scarcely did she yet know what she
+dreaded; it was something intangible, too awful to be uttered--the
+terror of disgrace.
+
+But Lady Alice saw the look and interpreted it aright.
+
+"No, my darling," she said, "it is not _that_. It is nothing to be
+ashamed of--exactly. I do not accuse your father of any crime--unless it
+be a crime to have married a woman that he did not love, and to whom he
+was not suited, and to have been cruel--yes, cruel--to her and to her
+child."
+
+And then she burst into tears.
+
+"Mamma, dear mamma!" said Lesley, clasping her and sobbing out of
+sympathy, "it was a crime--worse than a crime--to be cruel to _you_."
+
+Lady Alice sobbed helplessly for a few minutes. Then she commanded
+herself by a great and visible effort and dried her eyes.
+
+"It is weak to give way before you, child," she said, sadly. "But I
+cannot tell you how much I have dreaded this moment--the moment when I
+must tell you of the great error of my life."
+
+"Don't tell me, mamma. I would rather hear nothing that you did not want
+me to know."
+
+"But I must tell you, Lesley. It is in my bargain with my husband that I
+should tell you. If I say nothing he will tell you _his_ side--and
+perhaps that would be worse."
+
+Lesley kissed her mother's delicate hand. "Then--if you _must_ tell
+me--I should be glad to hear it all now," she said, in a shaking voice.
+"Nothing seems so bad as to know half a story--or only to guess a
+part----"
+
+"Ah, you have wondered why I told you nothing of your father?"
+
+"I could not help wondering, mamma."
+
+"Poor child! Well, whatever it costs me I will tell you all my story
+now. Listen carefully, darling: I do not want to have to tell it twice."
+
+She pressed her handkerchief to her lips as if to prevent them from
+trembling, and then turning her eyes to another part of the room so that
+they need not rest upon her daughter's face Lady Alice began her story.
+
+"My tale is a tale of folly, not of crime," she said. "You must
+remember, Lesley, that I was a motherless girl, brought up in a lonely
+Scotch house in a very haphazard way. My dear father loved me tenderly,
+but he was away from home for the greater part of the year; and he
+understood little of a girl's nature or a girl's requirements. When I
+was sixteen he allowed me to dismiss my governess, and to live as I
+liked. I was romantic and dreamy; I spent a great deal of time in the
+library, and he thought that there at least I was safe. He would have
+been more careful of me, as he said afterwards, if I had wanted to roam
+over the moors and fields, to fish or shoot as many modern women do. I
+can only say that I think I should have been far safer on the hillside
+or the moor than I was in the lonely recesses of that library, pouring
+over musty volumes of chivalry and romance.
+
+"My only change was a few weeks in London with friends, during the
+season. Here, young as I was, I was thrown into a whirl of gaiety; but
+the society that I met was of the best sort, and I welcomed it as a
+pleasant relaxation. I saw the pleasant side of everything. You see I
+was very young. I went to the most charming parties; I was well
+introduced: I think I may say that I was admired. My first season was
+almost the happiest--certainly the most joyous--period of my life. But
+it was still a time of unreality, Lesley: the glitter and glamour of
+that glimpse of London society was as unreal as my dreams of love and
+beauty and nobleness in the old library at home. I lacked a mother's
+guiding hand, my child, and a mother's tender voice to tell me what was
+false and what was true."
+
+Involuntarily Lesley drew closer than ever to her mother.
+
+The ring of pain in Lady Alice's voice saddened and even affrighted her.
+It suggested a passionate yearning, an anxiety of love, which almost
+overwhelmed her. It is always alarming to a young and simple nature to
+be brought suddenly into contact with a very strong emotion, either of
+anguish, love, or joy.
+
+"I suffered for my loss," Lady Alice went on, after a short pause. "But
+at first without knowing that I suffered. There comes a time in every
+woman's life, Lesley, when she is in need of help and counsel, when, in
+fact, she is in danger. As soon as a woman loves, she stands on the
+brink of a precipice."
+
+"I thought," murmured Lesley, "that love was the most beautiful thing in
+the world?"
+
+"Is that what the nuns have taught you?" asked her mother, with a keen
+glance at the girl's flushing cheek. "Well, in one sense it is true.
+Love is a beautiful thing to look at--an angel to outward show--with the
+heart, too often, of a fiend; and it is he who leads us to that
+precipice of which I spoke--the precipice of disillusion and despair."
+
+To Lesley these words were as blasphemy, for they contradicted the whole
+spirit of the teaching which she had received. But she did not dare to
+contradict her mother's opinions. She looked down, and reflected dumbly
+that her mother knew more about the subject than she could possibly do.
+The good Sisters had talked to her about heavenly love; she had made no
+fine distinctions in her mind as to the kind of love they
+meant--possibly there were two kinds. And while she was considering this
+knotty point, her mother began to speak again.
+
+"I was between eighteen and nineteen," said Lady Alice, "scarcely as old
+as you are now, when a new interest came into my life. My father gave
+permission to a young literary man to examine our archives, which
+contained much of historical value. He never thought of cautioning me to
+leave the library to Mr. Brooke's sole occupation. I was accustomed to
+spend much of my time there: and the stranger--Mr. Brooke--must have
+heard this fact from the servants, for he begged that he might not
+disturb me, and that I would frequent the library as usual. After a
+little hesitation, I began to do so. My father was in London, and my
+only chaperon was an old lady who was too infirm to be of much use.
+Before long, I began to help Mr. Brooke in his researches and inquiries.
+He was writing a book on the great Scottish families of that part of the
+country, and the subject interested me. Need I tell you what followed,
+Lesley? Need I explain to you the heedless selfish folly of that time? I
+forgot my duty to my father, my duty to myself. I fancied I loved this
+man, and I promised to marry him."
+
+There was a light of interest in Lesley's eyes. She did not altogether
+understand her mother's tone. It sounded as though Lady Alice condemned
+lovers and all their ways, and such condemnation puzzled the girl, in
+spite of her convent breeding. During the last few months she had been
+allowed a much wider range of literature than was usual in the Sisters'
+domain; her mother had requested that she should be supplied with
+certain volumes of history, fiction, and poetry, that had considerably
+enlarged Lesley's views of life; and yet Lady Alice's words seemed to
+contradict all that the girl had previously heard or read of love. The
+mother read the unspoken question in Lesley's eyes, and answered it in a
+somewhat modified tone.
+
+"My dear, I do not mean that I think it wrong to love. So long as the
+world lasts I suppose people will love--and be miserable. It is right
+enough, if it is opposed by no other law. But in my case, I was wrong
+from beginning to end. I knew that my father would never give his
+permission to my marriage with Mr. Brooke; and, in my youthful folly, I
+thought that my best plan was to take my own way. I married Mr. Brooke
+in private, and then I went away with him to London. And it was not
+long, Lesley, before I rued my disobedience and my deceit. It was a
+great mistake."
+
+"But mamma, why were you so sure that grandpapa would not give his
+consent?"
+
+Lady Alice opened her gentle eyes with a look of profound astonishment.
+
+"Darling, don't you see? Mr. Brooke was--nobody."
+
+"But if you loved him----"
+
+"No, Lesley, your grandfather would never have heard of such a
+marriage. He had his own plans for me. My dear, I am not saying a word
+against your father in saying this. I am only telling you the fact--that
+he was what is often called a self-made, self-educated man, who could
+not possibly be styled my equal in the eyes of society. His father
+had been a small tradesman in Devonshire. The son being clever
+and--and--handsome, made his way a little in the world. He became a
+journalist: he wrote for magazines and newspapers and reviews: he was
+what is called a literary hack. He had no certain prospects, no certain
+income, when he married me. I think," said Lady Alice, with a sort of
+cold scorn, which was intensified by the very softness of her tones,
+"that he could not have done a more unjustifiable thing than persuade a
+girl in my position to marry him."
+
+Lesley felt a slight diminution of sympathy with her mother. Perhaps
+Lady Alice was conscious of some change in her face, for she added
+hastily.
+
+"Don't misjudge me, Lesley. If there had been between us the strong and
+tender love of which women too often dream, poverty might perhaps have
+been forgotten. It sounds terribly worldly to draw attention to the fact
+that poverty is apt to kill a love which was not very strong at the
+beginning. But the fact was that neither Caspar Brooke nor I knew our
+own minds. He was three-and-twenty and I was eighteen. We married in
+haste, and we certainly repented very much at leisure."
+
+"Was he not--kind?" asked Lesley, timidly.
+
+"Kind?" said her mother, with a sigh. "Oh, yes, perhaps he was kind--at
+first. Until he was tired of me, or I was tired of him. I don't know on
+which side the disillusion was felt first. Think where I came from--from
+the dear old Castle, the moors, the lochs, the free fresh air of
+Scotland, to a dreary lodging of two little rooms in a dingy street,
+where I had to cut and contrive and economize to make ends meet. I was
+an ignorant girl, and I could not do it. I got into debt, and my husband
+was angry with me. Why should I tell you the petty, sordid details of my
+life? I soon found out that I was miserable and that he was miserable
+too."
+
+Lesley listened breathlessly with hidden face. The story was full of
+humiliation for her. It seemed like a desecration of all that she had
+hitherto held dear.
+
+"My father and my friends would not forgive me," Lady Alice went on. "In
+our direst straits of poverty, I am glad to say that I never appealed to
+them. We struggled on together--your father and I--until you were four
+years old. Then a change came--a change which made it impossible for me
+to bear the misery of my life. Your father----"
+
+She came to a sudden stop, and sat with eyes fixed on the opposite wall,
+a curious expression of mingled desolation and contempt upon her cold,
+clear-cut face. For some reason or other Lesley felt afraid to hear what
+her mother had to say.
+
+"Mamma, don't tell me! Don't look like that," she cried. "I can't bear
+to hear it! Why need you tell me any more?"
+
+"Because," said her mother, slowly, "because your father exacts this
+sacrifice from me: that I should tell you--_you_, my daughter--the
+reason why I left him. I promised that I would do so, and I will keep my
+promise. The thing that hurts me most, Lesley, is to think that I may be
+injuring you--staining your innocence--darkening your youth--by telling
+you what I have to tell. At your age, I would rather that you knew
+nothing of life but its brighter side--nothing of love but what was fair
+and sweet. But it is the punishment of my first false step that I should
+bring sorrow upon my child. Lesley, in years to come remember that I
+have warned you to be honest and true, unless you would make those
+miserable whom you love best. If I had never deceived my father, my
+husband would never perhaps have deceived me; and I should not have to
+tell my child that the last person in the world whom she must trust is
+her father."
+
+There was a little silence, and then she continued in a strained and
+unnatural tone.
+
+"There was a woman--another woman--whom he loved. That is all."
+
+Lesley shivered and hid her face. To her mind, young and innocent as it
+was, the fact which her mother stated seemed like an indelible stain.
+She hardly dared as yet think what it meant. And, after a long pause,
+Lady Alice went on quietly--
+
+"I do not want to exaggerate. I do not believe that he meant to leave
+me--even to be untrue to me. I could not speak to you of him if I
+thought him so black-hearted, so treacherous. I mean simply this--take
+the fact as I state it, and inquire no further; I found that my husband
+cared for some one else more than he cared for me. My resolution was
+taken at once: I packed up my things, left his house, and threw myself
+at my father's feet. He was good to me and forgave me, and since
+then ... I have never entered my husband's house again."
+
+"He must have been wicked--wicked!" said Lesley, in a strangled voice.
+
+"No, he was not wicked. Let me do him so much justice. He was upright
+on the whole, I believe. He never meant to give me cause for complaint.
+But I had reason to believe that another woman suited him better than
+I did ... and it was only fair to leave him."
+
+"But did he--could he--marry her? I mean----"
+
+"My poor Lesley, you are very ignorant," said Lady Alice, smiling a wan
+smile, and touching the girl's cheek lightly with her hand. "How could
+he marry another woman when I was alive? Your father and I separated on
+account of what is called incompatibility of temper. The question of the
+person whom he apparently preferred to me never arose between us."
+
+"Then, is it not possible, mamma, that you may have been mistaken?" said
+Lesley, impetuously.
+
+Lady Alice shook her head. "Quite impossible, Lesley. I accuse your
+father of nothing. I only mean that another woman--one of his
+friends--would have suited him better than I, and that he knew it. I
+have no cause for complaint against him. And I would not have told you
+_this_, had I not felt it a duty to put in the strongest possible light
+my reasons for leaving him, so that a day may never come when you turn
+round upon me and blame me--as others have done--for fickleness, for
+ill-temper, for impatience with my husband; because now you know--as no
+one else knows--the whole truth."
+
+"But I should never blame you, mamma."
+
+"I do not know. I know this--that your father is a man who can persuade
+and argue and represent his conduct in any light that suits his purpose.
+He is a very eloquent--a very plausible man. He will try to win you over
+to his side."
+
+"But I shall never see him."
+
+"Yes, Lesley, you will. You are going to him to-morrow."
+
+"I will not--I will not"--said the girl, springing from her knees, and
+involuntarily clenching her right hand. "I will not speak to him--if he
+treated my darling mother so shamefully he must be bad, and I will not
+acknowledge any relationship to him."
+
+A look of apprehension showed itself in Lady Alice's eyes.
+
+"Darling," she said, "you must not let your generous love for me run
+away with your judgment. I am bound, and you must be bound with me.
+Listen, when your father found that I had left him he was exceedingly
+angry. He came to your grandfather's house, he clamored to see me, he
+attempted to justify himself--oh, I cannot tell you the misery that I
+went through. At last I consented to see him. He behaved like a madman.
+He swore that he would have me back--tyrant that he was!"
+
+"Mamma--perhaps he cared?"
+
+"Cared! He cared for his reputation," said Lady Alice growing rather
+white about the lips. "For nothing else! Not for me, Lesley! When his
+violence had expended itself we came to terms. He agreed to let me live
+where I liked on condition that when you were eight years old you were
+sent to school, and saw me only during the holidays----"
+
+"But why?"
+
+"He said that he dreaded my influence on your mind," said Lady Alice.
+"That you should be brought up at a good school was the first thing.
+Secondly, that when you were nineteen you should spend a year with him,
+and then a year with me; and that when you were twenty-one you should
+choose for yourself with which of the two you preferred to cast in your
+lot."
+
+"Oh, mamma, I cannot go to him now."
+
+"You must go, Lesley. I am bound, and you are bound by my promise. Only
+for a year, my darling. Then you can come back to me for ever. I
+stipulated that I should see you first, and say to you what I chose."
+
+"But cannot I wait a little while?"
+
+"Twenty-four hours, Lesley; that is all. You go to your father
+to-morrow."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
+
+
+The conversation between Lesley and her mother occupied a considerable
+time, and the sun was sinking westward when at last the two ladies left
+the Convent. Lesley's adieux had been made before Lady Alice's arrival,
+and the only persons whom she saw, therefore, after the long interview
+with her mother, were the Mother Superior, and the Sister who had
+summoned her to the parlor.
+
+While Lady Alice and the Reverend Mother exchanged a few last words,
+Lesley drew close to Sister Rose's side, and laid her hand on the
+serge-covered arm.
+
+"You were right," she said. "Sister, I see already that I shall need
+patience and endurance where I am going."
+
+"Gentleness and love, also," said the Sister. Then, as if in answer to
+an indefinable change in Lesley's lips and eyes, she added gently, "We
+are told that peacemakers are blessed."
+
+"I could not make peace----" Lesley began, hastily, and then she stopped
+short, confused, not knowing how much Sister Rose had heard of her
+mother's story. But if Sister Rose were ignorant of it, her next words
+were singularly appropriate. For she said, in a low tone--
+
+"Peace is better than war: forgiveness better than hatred. Dear child,
+it may be in your hands to reconcile those who have been long divided.
+Do your best."
+
+Lesley had no time to reply.
+
+It was a long drive from the Convent of the Annonciades to the hotel
+where Lord Courtleroy and Lady Alice were staying. The mother and
+daughter spoke little; each seemed wrapped in her own reflections. There
+were a hundred questions which Lesley was longing to ask; but she did
+not like to disturb her mother's silence. Dusk had fallen before their
+destination was reached; and Lesley's thoughts were diverted a little
+from their sad bewilderment by what was to her the novel sight of Paris
+by gaslight, and the ever-flowing, opposing currents of human beings
+that filled the streets. Hitherto, when she had left the Sisters for her
+holidays, her mother had wisely kept her within certain bounds: she had
+not gone out of doors after dark, she had not seen anything but the
+quieter sides of life. But now all seemed to be changed. Her mother
+mentioned the name of the best hotel in Paris as their destination: she
+said a few words about shopping, dresses, and jewellery, which made
+Lesley's heart beat faster, in spite of a conviction that it was very
+mean and base to feel any joy in such trivial matters. Especially under
+present circumstances. But she was young and full of life; and there
+certainly was some excitement in the prospect before her.
+
+"I shall not need much where I am going, shall I?" she hazarded timidly.
+
+"Perhaps not, but you must not be in any difficulty. There is not time
+to do a great deal, but you can be fitted and have some dresses sent
+after you, and I can choose your hats. And a fur-lined cloak for
+travelling--you will want that. We must do what we can in the time. It
+is not likely that your father sees much society."
+
+"It will be very lonely," said Lesley, with a little gasp.
+
+"My poor child! I am afraid it will. I can tell some friends of mine to
+call on you; but I don't know whether they will be admitted."
+
+"Where is--the house?" Lesley asked. She did not like to say "my
+father's house."
+
+"In Upper Woburn Place, Bloomsbury. I believe it is near Euston Square,
+or some such neighborhood."
+
+"Then it is not where _you_ lived, mamma?"
+
+"No, dear. We lived further West, in a street near Portman Square. I
+believe that Mr. Brooke finds Bloomsbury a convenient district for the
+kind of work that he has to do."
+
+She spoke very formally of her husband; but Lesley began to notice an
+under-current of resentment, of something like contempt, in her voice
+when she spoke of him. Lady Alice tried in vain to simulate an
+indifference which she did not feel, and the very effort roughened her
+voice and sharpened her accent in a way of which she was unconscious.
+The effect on a young girl, who had not seen much of human emotion, was
+to induce a passing doubt of her mother's judgment, and a transient
+wonder as to whether her father had always been so much in the wrong.
+The sensation was but momentary, for Lesley was devotedly attached to
+her mother, and could not believe her to be mistaken. And, while she was
+repenting of her hasty injustice, the carriage stopped between the white
+globes of electric light that fronted a great hotel, and Lesley was
+obliged to give her attention to the things around her rather than to
+her own thoughts and feelings.
+
+A waiter conducted the mother and daughter up one flight of stairs and
+consigned them to the care of a chambermaid. The chambermaid led them to
+the door of a suite of rooms, where they were met by Dayman, Lady
+Alice's own woman, whose stolid face relaxed into a smile of pleasure at
+the sight of Lesley.
+
+"Take Miss Brooke to her own room and see that she is made nice for
+dinner," said her mistress. "His Lordship has ordered dinner in our own
+rooms, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes, my lady. Covers for four--Captain Duchesne is here."
+
+"Oh," said Lady Alice, with an accent of faint surprise,
+"oh--well--Lesley, dear, we must not be late."
+
+To Lesley it seemed hardly worth while to unpack her boxes and dress
+herself for that one evening in the soft embroidered white muslin which
+had hitherto served for her best Sunday frock. But Mrs. Dayman insisted
+on a careful toilette, and was well satisfied with the result.
+
+"There, Miss Lesley," she said, "you have just your mamma's look--a sort
+of finished look, as if you were perfect outside and in!"
+
+Lesley laughed. "That compliment might be taken in two ways, Dayman,"
+she said, as she turned to meet her mother at the door. And in a few
+minutes she was standing in the gay little French _salon_, where the
+earl was conversing with a much younger man in a glare of waxlights.
+
+Lord Courtleroy was a stately-looking man, with perfectly snow-white
+hair and beard, an upright carriage, and bright, piercing, blue eyes. A
+striking man in appearance, and of exceedingly well-marked
+characteristics. The family pride for which he had long been noted
+seemed to show itself in his bearing and in every feature as he greeted
+his granddaughter, and yet it was softened by a touch of personal
+affection with which family pride had nothing whatever to do. For Lord
+Courtleroy's feelings towards Lesley were mixed. He saw in her the child
+of a man whose very name he detested, who stood as a type to him of all
+that was hateful in the bourgeois class. But he also saw in her his own
+granddaughter, "poor Alice's girl," whom fate had used so unkindly in
+giving her Caspar Brooke for a father. The earl had next to no personal
+knowledge of Caspar Brooke. They had not met since the one sad and
+stormy interview which they had held together when Lady Alice had left
+her husband's house. And Lord Courtleroy was wont to declare that he did
+not wish to know anything more of Mr. Brooke. That he was a Radical
+journalist, and that he had treated a daughter of the Courtleroys with
+shameful unkindness and neglect, was quite enough for the earl. And his
+manner to Lesley varied a little according as his sense of her affinity
+with his own family or his remembrance of her kinship with Mr. Brooke
+was uppermost.
+
+Lesley was too simply filial in disposition to resent or even to remark
+on his changes of mood. She admired her grandfather immensely, and was
+pleased to hear him comment on her growth and development since she saw
+him last. And then the visitor was introduced to her; and to Lesley's
+interest and surprise she saw that he was young.
+
+Young men were an unknown quantity to Lesley. She could not remember
+that she had ever spoken to a man so young and so good-looking before!
+Captain Henry Duchesne was tall, well-made, well-dressed: he was very
+dark in complexion, and had a rather heavy jaw; but his dark eyes were
+pleasant and honest, and he had a very attractive smile. The length of
+his moustache was almost the first thing that struck Lesley: it seemed
+to her so abnormally lengthy, with such very stiffly waxed ends, that
+she could scarcely avert her eyes from them. She was not able to tell,
+save from instinct, whether a man were well or ill-dressed, but she felt
+sure that Captain Duchesne's air of smartness was due to the perfection
+of every detail of his attire. She liked his manner: it was easy,
+well-bred, and unassuming; and she felt glad that he was present. For
+after the communication made to her by her mother, the evening might
+have proved an occasion of embarrassment. It was a relief to talk to
+some one for a little while who did not know her present circumstances
+and position.
+
+Lady Alice watched the two young people with a little dawning trouble in
+her sad eyes. She had known and liked Harry Duchesne since his
+childhood, and she had not been free from certain hopes and visions of
+his future, which affected Lesley also, but she thought that her
+father's invitation had been premature. Especially when she heard
+Captain Duchesne say to the girl in the course of the evening--
+
+"Are you going to London to-morrow?"
+
+"Yes, I believe so," said Lesley, looking down.
+
+"And you will be in town during the winter, I hope?"
+
+Lady Alice thought it well to interpose.
+
+"My daughter will not be staying with me. She goes to a relation's house
+for a few months, and will lead a very quiet life indeed. When she comes
+back to Courtleroy it will be time enough for her to commence a round of
+gaieties." This with a smile; but, as Henry Duchesne knew well enough,
+with Lady Alice a smile sometimes covered a very serious purpose. His
+quick perceptions showed him that he was not wanted to call on Miss
+Brooke during her stay in London, and he adroitly changed the subject.
+
+"Unfashionable relations, I suppose," he said to himself, reflecting on
+the matter at a later hour of the evening. "Upon my word I shouldn't
+have thought that Lady Alice was so worldly-minded! She certainly didn't
+want me to know where Miss Brooke was going. To some relation of that
+disreputable father of hers, I should fancy. Poor girt!"
+
+For, like many other persons in London society, Captain Duchesne knew
+only the name and nothing of the character of the man whom Lady Alice
+had married and left. It was vaguely supposed that he was not a very
+respectable character, and that no woman of spirit would have submitted
+to live with him any longer. Lady Alice's reputation stood so high that
+it could not be supposed that any one except her husband was in fault.
+Brooke is not an uncommon name. In certain circles the name of Caspar
+Brooke was known well enough; but was not often identified with the man
+who had run away with an earl's daughter. He had other claims to repute,
+but in a world to which Lady Alice had not the right of entry.
+
+When Harry Duchesne had departed Lady Alice went with Lesley to her
+bedroom. Mother and daughter sat down together, clasping each other's
+hands, and looking wistfully from time to time into each other's faces,
+but saying very little. The wish to ask questions faded out of Lesley's
+mind. She could not ask more than her mother chose to tell her.
+
+But Lady Alice thought that she had already said too much, and she
+restrained her tongue. It was after a long and pregnant silence that she
+murmured--
+
+"Lesley, my child, I want you to promise me something."
+
+"Oh, yes, mamma!"
+
+"I feel like one who is sending a lamb forth into the midst of wolves.
+Not that Mr. Brooke is a wolf--exactly," said Lady Alice, with a forced
+laugh, "but I mean that you are young and--and--unsophisticated, and
+that there may be a mixture of people at his house."
+
+Lesley was silent; she did not quite know what "a mixture of people"
+would be like.
+
+"I am so afraid for you, darling," said her mother, pleadingly. "Afraid
+lest you should be drawn into relationships and connections that you
+might afterwards regret: Do you understand me? Will you promise me to
+make no vows of any sort while you are away from me? Only for one year,
+my child--promise me for the year."
+
+"I don't think I quite understand you, mamma."
+
+"Must I put it so plainly? I mean this, Lesley. Don't engage yourself to
+be married while you are in your father's house."
+
+"Oh, that is easily promised!" said Lesley, with a smile of frank
+amusement and relief.
+
+"It may not be so easy to carry out as you think. Give me your word,
+darling. You promise not to form any engagement of marriage for a year?
+You promise me that?"
+
+"Oh, yes, mamma, I promise," said the girl, so lightly that Lady Alice
+almost felt that she had done an unwarrantable thing in exacting a
+promise only half understood. But she swallowed her rising qualms, and
+went oh, as if exculpating herself--
+
+"It is a safeguard. I do not ask you to marry only a man that I
+approve--I simply ask you to wait until I can help you with my advice.
+It will be no loss to you in any way. You are too young to think of
+these things yet; but it is on the young that unscrupulous persons love
+to prey--and therefore I give you a warning."
+
+"I am quite sure that I shall not need it," said Lesley, confidently;
+"and if I did, I could write and ask your advice----"
+
+"No, no! Oh, how could I forget to tell you? You are not to write to me
+while you are in your father's house."
+
+"Oh, mamma, that is cruel."
+
+"It is _his_ doing, not mine. Intercede with _him_, if you like. That
+was one of the conditions--that for this one year you should have no
+intercourse with me. And for the next year you will have no intercourse
+with him. And after that, you may choose for yourself."
+
+But this deprivation of correspondence affected Lesley more powerfully
+than even the prospect of separation--to which she was used already. She
+threw herself into her mother's arms and wept bitterly for a few
+moments. Then it occurred to her that she was acting neither
+thoughtfully nor courageously, and that her grief would only grieve her
+mother, and could remedy nothing. So she sat up and dried her eyes, and
+tried to respond cheerfully when Lady Alice spoke a few soothing words.
+But in the whole course of her short life poor Lesley had never been so
+miserable as she was that night.
+
+The bustle of preparation which had to be gone through next day
+prevented her, however, from thinking too much about her troubles. She
+and Lady Alice, with the faithful Dayman, were to leave Paris late in
+the afternoon; and the morning was spent in hurried excursions to shops,
+interviews with milliners and dressmakers, eager discussions on color,
+shape, and fitness. Lesley was glad to see that she was not to be sent
+to London with anything over-fine in the way of clothes. The gowns
+chosen were extremely simple, but in good taste; and the _modiste_
+promised that they should be sent after the young lady in the course of
+a very few days. There was some argument as to whether Lesley would
+require a ball dress, or dinner dresses. Lady Alice thought not. But,
+although nothing that could actually be called a ball-dress was ordered,
+there were one or two frocks of lovely shimmering hue and delightfully
+soft texture which would serve for any such festivity.
+
+"Though in _my_ day," said Lady Alice, smiling, "we did not go to balls
+in Bloomsbury. But, of course, I don't know what society Mr. Brooke sees
+now."
+
+Lesley was conscious of the sarcasm.
+
+The earl remained in Paris, while Lady Alice went with her daughter from
+Havre to Southampton, and thence to London. Dayman travelled with them;
+and a supplementary escort appeared in the person of Captain Duchesne,
+who "happened to be travelling that way." Lady Alice was not displeased
+to see him, although she had a guilty sense of stealing a march upon her
+husband in providing Lesley with a standard of youthful good-breeding
+and good-looks. It might tend to preserve her from forming any silly
+attachment in her father's circle, Lady Alice thought. As a matter of
+fact, she was singularly ignorant of what that circle might comprise.
+She had left him before his more prosperous days began to dawn, and she
+continued therefore to picture him to herself as the struggling
+journalist in murky lodgings--"the melancholy literary man" who smoked
+strong tobacco far into the night, and talked of things in which she had
+no interest at all. If matters were changed with Caspar Brooke since
+then, Lady Alice did not know it.
+
+She had ascertained that Mr. Brooke's sister was living in his house,
+and that she was capable of acting in some sort as Lesley's chaperon.
+Then, a connection of the earl's was rector of a neighboring church
+close to Upper Woburn Place--and he had promised to take Miss Brooke
+under his especial pastoral care;--although, as he mildly insinuated, he
+was not in the habit of visiting at Number Fifty. And with these
+recommendations and assurances, Lady Alice was forced to be content.
+
+She parted from her daughter at Waterloo Station. It did not seem
+possible to her to drive up to her husband's house in a cab, and drive
+away again. She committed her, therefore, to the care of Dayman, and put
+the girl and her maid into a four-wheeler, with Lesley's luggage on the
+top. Then she established herself in the ladies' waiting-room, until
+such time as Dayman should return.
+
+With beating heart and flushing cheek Lesley drove through the
+rapidly-darkening streets to her father's house. She was terribly
+nervous at the prospect of meeting him. And, even after the history
+that she had learnt from her mother, she felt that she had not the
+slightest notion as to what manner of man Caspar Brooke might turn
+out to be.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+THE MANNER OF MAN.
+
+
+On the day preceding Lesley Brooke's arrival in London, a tall,
+broad-shouldered man was walking along Southampton Row. He was a big
+man--a man whom people turned to look at--a distinctly noticeable man.
+He was considerably taller and broader than the average of his fellows:
+he was wide-chested and muscular, though without any inclination to
+stoutness; and he had a handsome, sunburned face, with a short brown
+beard and deep-set, dark-brown eyes. His hair was not cut quite to the
+conventional shortness, perhaps: there was a lock that would fall in an
+unruly manner across the broad brow with an obstinacy no hairdresser
+could subvert. But, in all other respects, he was very much as other
+men: he dressed well, if rather carelessly, and presented to the world a
+somewhat imposing personality. He did not wear gloves, and he had no
+flower at his button-hole; but the respectability of his silk hat and
+well-made coat was unimpeachable, and he had all the air of easy command
+which is so characteristic of the well-bred Englishman. The slight
+roughness about him was as inseparable from his build and his character
+as it is to the best-groomed and best-bred staghound or mastiff of the
+highest race.
+
+Southampton Row, as is well known, leads into Russell Square. In fact
+the straight line of the Row merges imperceptibly into one side of the
+Square, whence it continues under the name of Woburn Place, the East
+side of Tavistock Square, Upper Woburn Place, and Euston Square, losing
+itself at last in the Northern wilderness of the crowded Euston Road. It
+was at a house which he passed in his straight course from Holburn
+towards St. Pancras that this very tall and strong-looking gentleman
+stopped, at about five o'clock on a September afternoon.
+
+He stood on the steps for a moment, and looked up and down the house
+doubtfully, as if seeking for signs of life from within. A great many
+people were still out of town, and he was uncertain whether the
+occupants of this house were at home or not. The place had evidently
+been in the hands of painters and cleaners since he saw it last: the
+stone-work was scrupulously white, the wood-work was painted a delicate
+green. The visitor lifted his well-defined eyebrows at the lightness of
+the color, as he turned to the door and rang the bell. It was easy to
+see that he was an observant man, upon whose eyes very few things were
+lost.
+
+"Mrs. Romaine in?" he asked the trim maid who appeared in answer to his
+ring. He noticed that she was a new maid.
+
+"Yes, sir. What name shall I say, please, sir?"
+
+"Mr. Brooke."
+
+The girl looked intelligent, as if she had heard the name before. And
+Mr. Brooke, following her upstairs to the drawing-room, reflected on the
+quickness with which servants make themselves acquainted with their
+masters' and mistresses' affairs, and the disadvantages of a
+civilization in which you were at the mercy of your servants' tongues.
+
+These reflections had no bearing on his own circumstances: they
+proceeded entirely from Mr. Brooke's habit of taking general views, and
+making large applications of small things.
+
+The day was cloudy, and, although it was only five o'clock, the streets
+were growing dark. The weather was chilly, moreover, and the wind blew
+from the East. It was a pleasant change to enter Mrs. Romaine's
+drawing-room, which was full of soft light from a glowing little fire,
+full of the scent of roses and the lovely tints of Indian embroideries,
+Italian tapestries, dead gold-leaf backgrounds, and china that was
+beautiful as well as rare. Lady Alice Brooke, in her narrow isolation
+from the world, would not have believed that so charming a room could be
+found east of Great Portland Street. In which opinion she was very much
+mistaken; for her belief that in "society" and society's haunts alone
+could one find taste, culture, and beauty, led her to ignore the vast
+number of intellectual and artistic folk who still sojourn in the dim
+squares of Bloomsbury and Regent's Park. Sooth to say Lady Alice knew
+absolutely nothing of the worlds of intellect and art, save by means of
+an occasional article in the magazines, or a stroll through the large
+picture galleries of London during the season. She was a good woman in
+her way, and--also in her way--a clever one; but she had been brought up
+in another atmosphere from that which her husband loved, elevated in a
+totally different school, and she was not of a nature to adapt herself
+to what she did not thoroughly understand.
+
+Mrs. Romaine knew well enough that she was quite as well able to hold
+her own in the fashionable world if once she obtained an entrance to it
+as any Lady Alice or Lady Anybody of her acquaintance. But then the
+difficulty of entering if was very great. She had not sufficient fortune
+to vie with women who every year spent hundreds on their dress and on
+their dinner. She was handsome, but she was middle-aged. She had few
+friends of sufficient distinction to push her forward. And she was a
+wise woman. She thought it better to live where she enjoyed a good deal
+of popularity and consideration; where she could entertain in a modest
+way, where her husband had been well known, and she could glow with the
+reflected light that came to her from his shining abilities. These
+reasons were patent to the world: she really made no secret of them. But
+there was another reason, not quite so patent to the world, for her
+living quietly in Russell Square, and this reason she kept strictly to
+herself.
+
+Mrs. Romaine had been a widow for three years. Her husband had been a
+very learned man--Professor of numerous Oriental languages at University
+College for some years, afterwards a Judge in Calcutta; and as he had
+always lived in the West Central district during his Professorate, Mrs.
+Romaine declared that she loved it and could live nowhere else. The
+house in Russell Square was only partly hers. Her brother rented some of
+the rooms (shared the house with her, as Mrs. Romaine vaguely phrased
+it), and lightened the expense. But the two drawing-rooms, opening out
+of one another, were entirely at Mrs. Romaine's disposal, and she was
+generally to be found there between four and five o'clock in an
+afternoon--a fact of which it is to be presumed that Mr. Brooke was
+aware.
+
+"So you have come back to town?" she said, rising to meet him, and
+extending both hands with a pretty air of appropriative friendship.
+
+"Yes; but I hardly expected to find you here so early."
+
+Mrs. Romaine shrugged her shoulders a little.
+
+"I found the country very dull," she said. "And you?"
+
+"Oh, I went to Norway. I was well enough off. I rather enjoyed myself.
+Perhaps I required a little bracing up for the task that lies before
+me." He laughed as he spoke.
+
+Mrs. Romaine paused for a moment in her task of pouring out the tea.
+
+"You are resolved, then, to assume that responsibility?" she said, in a
+low voice.
+
+"My dear Rosalind! it's in the bond," answered Caspar Brooke, very
+coolly.
+
+He took the cup from her hand, stirred its contents, and proceeded to
+drink them in a leisurely manner, glancing at his hostess meanwhile,
+with a quiet smile.
+
+Mrs. Romaine's dark eyes dropped before that glance. There was an
+inscrutable look upon her face, but it was a look that would have told
+another woman that Mrs. Romaine was disappointed by the news which she
+had just heard. Caspar Brooke, being a man, saw nothing.
+
+"I am sorry," Mrs. Romaine said presently, with an assumption of great
+candor. "I am afraid you will have an uncomfortable time."
+
+"Oh, no," he answered, with indifference. "I shall not be uncomfortable,
+because it will not affect me in the least. When I spoke of bracing
+myself for the task, I was in jest." Mrs. Romaine did not believe this
+statement. "I shall go my own way whether the girl is in the house or
+not."
+
+"Why, then, did you insist on this arrangement?"
+
+"It is only right to give the girl a chance," said Mr. Brooke. "If she
+has any grit in her the next twelve months will bring it out. Besides,
+it is simple justice. She ought to see and judge for herself. If she
+decides--as her mother did--that I am an ogre, she can go back to her
+aristocratic friends in the North. I shall not try to keep her." There
+was the suspicion of a grim sneer on his face as he spoke.
+
+"Do you know what she is like?"
+
+"Yes: I saw her one day in Paris. She did not know, of course, that I
+was watching her. She is like her mother."
+
+The tone was unpromising. But perhaps it would have been as well if
+Rosalind Romaine had not murmured so pityingly--
+
+"My poor friend! What you have suffered--and oh, what you _will_
+suffer!"
+
+Brooke looked at her in silence, and his eyes softened. Mrs. Romaine
+seemed to him at that moment the incarnation of all that was sweet and
+womanly. She was slender, pale, graceful: she had velvety dark eyes and
+picturesque curling hair, cut short like a Florentine boy's. Her dress
+was harmonious in color and design; her attitude was charming, her voice
+most musical. It crossed Mr. Brooke's mind, as it had crossed his mind
+before, that he might have been very happy if Providence had sent him a
+wife like Rosalind Romaine.
+
+"I shall not suffer," he said, after a little silence, "because I will
+not suffer. My daughter will live for a year in my house, but she will
+not trouble my peace, I can assure you. She will go her own way, and I
+shall go mine."
+
+"I am afraid that she will not be so passive as you think," said Mrs.
+Romaine, with some hesitation. "She has been brought up in a very
+different school from any that you would recommend. A girl fresh from a
+French convent is not an easy person to deal with. Whatever may be the
+advantages of these convents, there are certain virtues which are not
+inculcated in them."
+
+"Such as----"
+
+"Truth and honesty, Caspar, my friend. Your daughter's accomplishments
+will not include candor, I fear."
+
+Mr. Brooke was silent for a moment, his face expressing more concern
+than he knew. Mrs. Romaine watched him furtively.
+
+"It may be so," he said at last in a rather heavy tone, "but it can't be
+helped. I had no hand in choosing a school for her, Rosalind"--his voice
+took a pleading tone "you will do your best for her? You will be her
+friend in spite of defects in her training?"
+
+"I will do anything that I can. But you will forgive me for saying,
+Caspar, that it is hard for me to forget that she is the daughter of the
+woman who--practically--wrecked your life."
+
+Brooke's face grew hard again. He uttered a short laugh, which had not a
+very agreeable sound.
+
+"Wrecked my life!" he repeated, disdainfully. "Excuse me, Rosalind. No
+woman ever had the power of wrecking my life. Indeed, I have been far
+more fortunate and prosperous since Lady Alice chose to leave me than
+before."
+
+Mrs. Romaine said nothing. She was an adept in the art of insinuating by
+a look, a turn of the head, a gesture, what she wished to convey. At
+this moment she indicated very clearly, though without speaking a word,
+that she sympathized deeply with her friend, Caspar Brooke, and was
+exceedingly indignant at the way in which he had been treated.
+
+Perhaps Mr. Brooke found the atmosphere enervating, for with a half
+smile and shake of the head, he rose up to go. Mrs. Romaine rose also.
+
+"She comes to-morrow evening," he said, before he took his leave.
+
+"To-morrow evening? You will be out!"
+
+"No, it is Wednesday: I can manage an evening at home. Perhaps you will
+kindly look in on Thursday afternoon?"
+
+And this Mrs. Romaine undertook to do.
+
+Caspar Brooke continued his walk along the Eastern side of Russell
+Square and Woburn Place. His quick observant eyes took note of every
+incident in his way, of every man, woman, and child within their range
+of vision. He stopped once to rate a cabman, not too mildly, for beating
+an over-worked horse--took down his number, and threatened to prosecute
+him for cruelty to animals. A ragged boy who asked him for money was
+brought to a standstill by some keenly-worded questions respecting his
+home, his name, his father's occupation, and the school which he
+attended. Of these Mr. Brooke also made a note, much to the boy's
+dismay; but consolation followed in the shape of a shilling, although
+the donor muttered a malediction on his own folly as he turned away. His
+last actions, before reaching his own house in Upper Woburn Place,
+were--first to ring the area-bell for a dog that was waiting at another
+man's gate (an office which the charitable are often called upon to
+perform in the streets of London for dogs and cats alike), and then to
+pick up a bony black kitten and take it on his arm to his own door,
+where he delivered it to a servant, with injunctions to feed and
+comfort the starveling. From which facts it may be seen that Mr. Caspar
+Brooke, in spite of all his faults, was a lover of dumb animals, and of
+children, and must therefore have possessed a certain amount of
+kindliness of disposition.
+
+Mr. Brooke dined at six o'clock, then smoked a cigar and had a cup of
+black coffee brought to him in the untidy little sanctum where he
+generally did his work. With the coffee came the black kitten, which
+sidled up to him on the table, purring, and rubbing her head against his
+arm as if she knew him for a friend. He stroked it occasionally as he
+read his evening papers, and stroked it in the caressing way which cats
+love, from its forehead to the tip of its stumpy tail. It was while he
+was thus engaged that a tap at the door was heard, and the tap was
+followed by the entrance of a young man, who looked as if he were quite
+at home.
+
+"Can I come in?" he said, in a perfunctory sort of way; and then,
+without waiting for any reply, went on--"I've no engagement to-night, so
+I thought I would look in here first, and see whether you had started."
+
+"All right. Where have you been?"
+
+"Special meeting--Church and State Union," said the young man with a
+smile. "I went partly in a medical capacity, partly because I was
+curious to know how they managed to unite the two professions."
+
+"Couldn't your sister tell you?"
+
+"Oh, I don't allow Ethel to attend such mixed gatherings," said the
+visitor, seating himself on the edge of the library table, and beginning
+to play with the cat.
+
+"You are unusually particular," said Mr. Brooke, with an amused look.
+But Maurice Kenyon, as the visitor was named, continued to attract the
+kitten's notice, without the answering protest which Caspar Brooke had
+expected.
+
+Maurice Kenyon was nearly thirty, and had stepped by good fortune into
+the shoes of a medical uncle who had left him a large and increasing
+general practice in the West Central district. The young man's
+popularity was not entirely owing to his skill, although he had an
+exceedingly good repute among his brethren in medicine. Neither was it
+attributable to good looks. He owed it rather to a sympathetic manner,
+to the cheerful candor of his dark grey eyes, to the mixture of firmness
+and delicate kindness by which his treatment of his patients was
+characterized. He was especially successful in his dealings with
+children; and he had therefore a good deal of adoration from grateful
+mothers to put up with. But of his skill and intellectual power there
+could be no doubt; and these qualities, coupled with his winning manner,
+bade fair to raise him to a very high place in his profession.
+
+There was one little check, and one only, to the flow of Mr. Kenyon's
+prosperity. Careful mothers occasionally objected that he was not
+married, and that his sister was an actress. Why did he let his sister
+go on the stage? And why, if she was an actress, did he allow her to
+live in his house? It did not seem quite respectable in the eyes of some
+worthy people that these things should be. But Mr. Kenyon only laughed
+when reports of these sayings, reached him, and went on his way unmoved,
+as his sister Ethel went on hers. And in London, the question of a
+doctor's relations, his sisters, his cousins, his aunts, and what they
+do for a living, is not so important as it is in the country. Maurice
+Kenyon's care of his sister, and her devotion to him, were well known by
+all their friends; and as he sometimes said, it mattered very little to
+him what all the rest of the world might think.
+
+"Talking of your sister, Kenyon," said Mr. Brooke, somewhat abruptly, "I
+suppose you know that my daughter comes to me to-morrow?"
+
+The connection of ideas was not, perhaps, very obvious, but Maurice
+Kenyon nodded as if he understood.
+
+"I suppose she will want a companion. Would Ethel be so kind as to call
+on her?"
+
+"Certainly. She will do all she can for Miss Brooke, I am sure."
+
+"I have been speaking to Mrs. Romaine, too."
+
+"_Have_ you?" Kenyon raised eyebrows a very little, but Mr. Brooke did
+not seem to notice the change of expression.
+
+"--And she promises to do what she can; but a woman like Mrs. Romaine is
+not likely to find many subjects in common with a girl fresh from a
+convent."
+
+"I suppose not"--in the driest of tones.
+
+"Mrs. Romaine," said Brooke, in a more decided tone, "is a cultivated
+woman who has made a mark in literature----"
+
+"In literature?" queried the doctor.
+
+"She has written a novel or two. She writes for various papers--well and
+smartly, I believe. She is a thorough woman of the world. Naturally, a
+girl brought up as Lesley has been will----"
+
+"--Will find her detestable," said Kenyon, briskly, "as I and Ethel do.
+You'll excuse this expression of opinion; you've heard it before."
+
+For a moment Caspar Brooke's face was overcast; then he broke into
+uneasy laughter, and rose from his chair, shaking himself a little as a
+big dog sometimes does when it comes out of the water.
+
+"You are incorrigible," he said. "A veritable heretic on the matter of
+my friend, Mrs. Romaine. By the by, I must remind you, Kenyon, that Mrs.
+Romaine is a very old friend of mine."
+
+His manner changed slightly as he spoke. There was a little touch of
+quiet hauteur in his look and tone, as if he wished to repel unsolicited
+criticism. Maurice understood the man too well to be offended, and
+merely changed the subject.
+
+But when, after half an hour's chat, the young doctor left the house,
+his mind reverted to the topic which Mr. Brooke had broached.
+
+"Mrs. Romaine, indeed! Why, the man's mad--to introduce her as a friend
+to his daughter! Does not all the world know that Mrs. Romaine caused
+the separation between him and his wife? And will the poor girl know? or
+has she been kept in the dark completely as to the state of affairs?
+Upon my word I'm sorry for her. It strikes me that she will have a hard
+row to hoe, if Mrs. Romaine is at her father's ear."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+OLIVER.
+
+
+Mr. Brooke had not long quitted Mrs. Romaine's drawing-room when it was
+entered by another man, whose personal resemblance to Mrs. Romaine
+herself was so striking that there could be little doubt as to their
+close relationship to one another. It was one of those curious
+likenesses that exist and thrive upon difference. Rosalind was not tall,
+and she was undeniably plump; while her younger brother, Oliver Trent,
+was above middle height, and of a spare habit. The creamy white of Mrs.
+Romaine's complexion had turned to deadly pallor in Oliver's thin,
+hairless face: and her most striking features were accentuated, and even
+exaggerated in his. Her arched and mobile eyebrows, her dark eyes, her
+broad nostrils, curved mouth, and finely-shaped chin, were all to be
+found, with a subtle unlikeness, in Oliver's face, and the jetty hair,
+short as it was on the man's head, grew low down on the brow and the
+nape of the neck exactly as hers did--although this resemblance was
+obscured by the fact that Rosalind wore a fringe, and carefully curled
+all the short hairs at the back of her head.
+
+The greatest difference of all lay in the expression of the two faces.
+Mrs. Romaine had certainly no frankness in her countenance, but she had
+plenty of smiling pleasantness and play of emotion. Oliver's face was
+like a sullen mask: it was motionless, stolid even, and unamiable. There
+were people who raved about his beauty, and nicknamed him Antinous and
+Adonis. But these were not physiognomists....
+
+Mrs. Romaine had two brothers, both some years younger than herself.
+Oliver, the youngest and her favorite, was about thirty, and called
+himself a barrister. As he had no briefs, however, it was currently
+reported that he lived by means of light literature, play, and judicious
+sponging upon his sister. The elder brother, Francis, was a
+ne'er-do-weel, and seldom appeared upon the scene. When he did appear,
+it was always a sign of trouble and want of cash.
+
+"So you have had Brooke here again?" Oliver inquired.
+
+"How did you know, Noll?"
+
+She turned her dark eyes upon him rather anxiously. Oliver's views and
+opinions were of consequence to her.
+
+"I saw him come in. I was coming up, but I turned round again and went
+away. Had a smoke in the Square till I saw him come out. Didn't want to
+spoil your little game, whatever it was."
+
+He spoke with a kind of soft drawl, not unpleasing to the ear at first,
+but irritating if too long continued. It seemed to irritate his sister
+now. She tapped impatiently on the floor with her toe as she replied--
+
+"How vulgar you are sometimes, Oliver! But all society is vulgar
+now-a-days, and I suppose one ought not to complain. I have no 'little
+game,' as you express it, and there was not the slightest need for you
+to have stayed away."
+
+Oliver was sitting on a sofa, with his elbows on his knees and the tips
+of his long white fingers meeting each other. When Mrs. Romaine ended
+her petulant little speech he turned his dark eyes upon her and smiled.
+He said nothing, however, and his silence offended his sister even more
+than his speech.
+
+"It is easy to see that you do not believe me," she said, "and I think
+it is very rude of you to be so sceptical. If you _have_ any remarks to
+make on the subject pray make them at once."
+
+"My dear Rosy, I have no remarks to make at all," said Oliver, easily.
+"Take your own way and I shall take mine. You are good enough to give me
+plenty of rope, and I should be uncivil indeed if I commented on the
+length of yours."
+
+Mrs. Romaine had been moving restlessly to and fro: she now stood still,
+on the hearthrug, her hands clasped before her, her face turned
+attentively towards her brother. Evidently she was struck by his words.
+
+"If you would speak out," she said at last, her smooth voice vibrating
+as if he had touched some chord of passion which was usually hushed to
+silence, "I should know better what you mean. You deal too much in hints
+and insinuations. You have said things of this sort before. I must know
+what you mean."
+
+"Come, Rosy," said Oliver, rising from his low seat and confronting her,
+"don't be so tragic--so intense. Plump little women like you shouldn't
+go in for tragedy. Smile, Rosy; it is your _metier_ to smile. You have
+won a good many games by smiling. You must smile on now--to the bitter
+end."
+
+He smiled himself as he looked at her--an unpleasant smile, with thin
+lips drawn back from white sharp looking teeth, which gave him the air
+of a snarling dog. Mrs. Romaine's face belied his words. It was tragic
+enough, intense enough, for a woman who had known mortal agony; the
+suggestion of placidity usually given by her smiling lips and rounded
+unwrinkled cheeks had disappeared; she might have stood for an
+impersonation of sorrow and despair. Oliver's mocking voice recalled her
+to herself.
+
+"A very good pose, Rosalind. The Tragic Muse indeed. Are you going to
+rival Ethel Kenyon? I am afraid it is rather late for you to go on the
+stage, that's all. Let me see: you have touched forty, have you not? I
+would acknowledge only thirty-nine if I were you. There is more than a
+year's difference between thirty-nine and forty."
+
+The strained muscles of her face relaxed: she made a little impatient
+gesture with her hands, then turned to the fireplace, and with one arm
+upon the mantelpiece, looked down into the fire.
+
+"You drive me nearly mad sometimes, Oliver," she said, in a low,
+passionate voice, "by your habit of saying only half a thing at a time.
+I know well enough that you are remonstrating with me now: that you
+disapprove of something--and will not tell me what. By and by, if I am
+in trouble or perplexity, you will turn round upon me and say that you
+warned me--told me that you disapproved--or something of that sort. You
+always do it, and it is not fair. Innuendoes are not warnings."
+
+"My dear Rosalind," said her brother, coolly, "I hope I know my place.
+I'm ten years younger than you are, and have been at various times much
+indebted to your generosity. It does not become me to take exception at
+anything that girls may like to do."
+
+He had the exasperating habit of treating kindness to himself with an
+air of condescension, as if he conferred a favor by accepting benefits.
+His smile of superiority hurt Mrs. Romaine.
+
+"When you adopt that tone, Oliver, I hate you!" she cried.
+
+"You are very impulsive, Rosy--in spite of your years," said Oliver,
+with his usual quietness. "I assure you I do not wish to interfere; and
+you must set it down to brotherly affection if I sometimes feel inclined
+to wonder what you mean to do."
+
+"To do?" she queried, looking round at him.
+
+"Yes, to do. I don't understand you, that is all. Of course, it is not
+necessary that I should understand."
+
+Mrs. Romaine did not often change color, but she flushed scarlet now,
+and was glad for a moment that the room was almost dark. Yet, as her
+brother stood close to her, and the fire was sending up fitful flashes
+of ruddy light, she felt certain, on reflection, that he had seen that
+blush. This certainly imparted some humility to her voice as she spoke
+again.
+
+"You know, Oliver, that I always like you to approve of what I am doing.
+I like you to understand. Of course, whatever I do, it is partly for
+your sake."
+
+"Is it?" said Oliver, with a laugh. "I shouldn't have thought it. As far
+as I can judge, you have been very careful to please yourself all
+through."
+
+There was a little silence. Then she said, in a low tone,
+
+"_How_ have I pleased myself, I should like to know?"
+
+"Do you want a plain statement of facts? Well, my dear, you know them as
+well as I do, though perhaps you do not know the light in which they
+present themselves to me. We three, you and Francis and I, were left to
+earn our own living at a somewhat early age. Francis became a banker's
+clerk, and you took to literature and governessing and general
+popularity. By a very clever stroke you managed to induce Professor
+Romaine to marry you. He was fifty and you were twenty-four. You did
+very well for yourself--twisted him round your little finger, and got
+him to leave you all his money; but really I do not see how this could
+be said to be for my sake."
+
+"Then you are very ungrateful, Oliver. You were a boy of fourteen when I
+married, and what would you have done but for Mr. Romaine and myself?"
+
+"You forget, my dear," said Oliver, smoothly, "that I was never exactly
+dependent on you for a livelihood. I took scholarships at school and
+college, and there was a certain sum of money invested in the Funds for
+my other expenses. It was perhaps not a large sum, but it was enough. I
+have to thank you for some very pleasant weeks at your house during the
+holidays; but there was really no necessity for you to marry Peter
+Romaine in order to provide for my holidays."
+
+She winced under his tone of banter, but did not speak. She seemed
+resolved to let him say what he liked. Rosalind Romaine might not be
+perfect in all relations of life, but she was certainly a good sister.
+
+"When a few years had elapsed," her brother went on, in a light
+narrative tone, "I'll grant that Romaine was of considerable service to
+us. He got Francis out of several scrapes, and he shoved me into a
+Government office, where the duties are not particularly onerous. Oh,
+yes, I owe some thanks to Romaine."
+
+"And none to me for marrying him?"
+
+Oliver laughed. "My dear Rosy," he said, "I have mentioned before that I
+consider you married him to please yourself."
+
+She shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing more.
+
+"Romaine became useful to me, of course," said Oliver, reflectively;
+"and then came the first extraordinary hitch. We met the Brookes--how
+many years ago--nearly twelve, I suppose; and you formed a gushing
+friendship with Lady Alice Brooke and her husband, especially with her
+husband."
+
+"Why do you rake up these old stories?"
+
+"Because I want to understand your position. You amazed me then, and you
+seem more than ever disposed to amaze me now. You were attracted by
+Caspar Brooke--heaven knows why! and you made no secret of the fact. You
+liked the man, and he liked you. I don't know how far the friendship
+went----"
+
+"There was nothing in it but the most ordinary, innocent
+acquaintanceship!"
+
+"Lady Alice did not think so. Lady Alice made a devil of a row about it,
+as far as I understand. Everyone who knows the story blames you,
+Rosalind, for the quarrel and separation between husband and wife."
+
+"It was not my fault."
+
+"Oh, was it not? Well, perhaps not. At any rate, the husband and wife
+separated quietly, twelve years ago. I don't know whether you hoped
+that Brooke would give his wife any justification for her
+suspicions----"
+
+"Oliver, you are brutal! You insult me! I have never given you reason to
+think so ill of me."
+
+"I think of you," said Oliver, slowly, "only as I think of all women. I
+don't suppose you are better or worse than the rest. As it happened the
+whole thing seemed to die down after that separation. Romaine whisked
+you off to Calcutta with him. Then he fell ill, and you had to nurse
+him: you and your friend Brooke did not often meet. Then your husband
+died, after a long illness, and you came here again three years ago--for
+what object?"
+
+"I had no object but that of living in a part of London which was
+familiar to me--and of being amongst friends. You have no right at all
+to call me to account in this way."
+
+"So I said a few minutes ago. But you remarked that you wished me to
+understand and approve of your proceedings. I am only trying to get at
+your motives--if you have any."
+
+Mrs. Romaine was tempted to say that she had no motives. But she did not
+think that Oliver would believe her.
+
+"Here you are," he went on, in his soft, slow voice, "in friendly--I
+might say familiar--relations with this man again. His wife is still
+living, and as bitter against him as ever, but not likely to give him
+any pretext for a divorce. You cannot marry him. Why do you provoke
+people to say ill-natured things about you by continuing so aimless a
+friendship?"
+
+"I don't think that any one would take the trouble of saying ill-natured
+things about me, Oliver," said Mrs. Romaine, forcing a smile. "We are
+too conventional, too advanced, now-a-days, for that kind of thing.
+Friendship between a man and woman is by no means the abnormal and
+unheard-of thing that it used to be."
+
+"You are not so free as you think you are. You are still
+good-looking--still young. You cannot afford to defy the world. And I
+cannot afford to defy it either. I don't mind a reasonable amount of
+laxity, but I do not want my sister to be the heroine of a scandal."
+
+"I think you might trust me to take care of myself."
+
+"I would not say a word if Brooke were a widower. Although I don't like
+him, I acknowledge that he is the sort of big blundering brute that
+suits some women. But there's no chance with him, so why should you make
+a fool of yourself?"
+
+Mrs. Romaine turned round with a fierce little gesture of contradiction,
+but restrained herself, and did not speak for a minute or two.
+
+"What do you want me to do?" she said at last, in rather a breathless
+kind of way.
+
+"Well, my dear Rosy, since you ask me, I should say that it would be far
+wiser to drop Brooke's acquaintance."
+
+"That is impossible."
+
+"And why impossible?"
+
+"His daughter is coming to him for a year: he has been here to-night to
+ask me to call on her--to chaperone her sometimes."
+
+"Is the man a fool?" said Oliver.
+
+"I think," Mrs. Romaine answered, somewhat unsteadily, "that Mr. Brooke
+never knew--exactly--that his wife was jealous of me."
+
+"Oh, that's too much to say. He must have known."
+
+"I am pretty sure that he did not. From things that he has said to me, I
+feel certain that he attributed only a passing irritation to her on my
+account. You do not believe me, Oliver; but I think that he is perfectly
+ignorant of the real cause of her leaving him."
+
+"And _you_ know it?"
+
+"I know it, and Lady Alice knows it: no one else."
+
+"What was it, then? You mean more than simple jealousy, I see."
+
+"Yes, but--I am not obliged to tell you what it was."
+
+"Oh, no. Keep your own counsel, by all means. But you are placing
+yourself in a very risky position. Lady Alice Brooke knows something
+that would, I suppose, compromise you in the world's eyes, if it were
+generally known. Her daughter is coming to Brooke's house. You mean--you
+seriously mean--to go to his house and visit this girl? thereby
+offending her mother (who is sure to hear of the visit) and bringing
+down the ill-will of all the Courtleroys upon your head? Have you no
+regard for your character and your position in the world? You are
+risking both, and you have nothing to gain."
+
+"Yes, I have."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"I cannot tell you."
+
+"You mean you will not tell me?"
+
+"Perhaps so."
+
+Oliver Trent deliberately took a match-box from the mantelpiece, struck
+a match, and lighted a wax candle. "I should like to see your face," he
+said.
+
+Rosalind looked at him fully and steadily for a few seconds; then her
+eyelids fell, and for the second time that evening the color mounted in
+her pale cheeks.
+
+"I think that I know the truth," said her brother, composedly, after a
+careful study of her face. "You are mad, Rosalind, and you will live to
+rue that madness."
+
+"I don't know what you mean," she said, turning away from the light of
+the candle. "You speak in riddles."
+
+"I will speak in riddles, then, no longer. I will be very plain with
+you. Rosalind, you are in love with Caspar Brooke."
+
+She sank down on a low chair as if her limbs would support her no longer
+and rested her face upon her hands.
+
+"No," she said, in a low voice, "you are wrong: I do not love Caspar
+Brooke."
+
+"What other motive can you have?"
+
+She waited for a moment, and then said, still softly--
+
+"I suppose I may as well tell you. I loved him once. In those first days
+of our acquaintance--when he was disappointed in his wife and seeking
+for sympathy elsewhere--I thought that he cared for me. I was mistaken.
+Oliver, can you keep my secret? No other soul in the world knows of this
+from me but you. I told him my love. I wrote to him--a wild, mad
+letter--offering to fly to the ends of the earth with him if he would
+go."
+
+Oliver stared at her as if he could not believe his ears.
+
+"And what answer did he make?"
+
+"He made none--because he never saw it. That letter fell into Lady
+Alice's hands. She did not know that it was the first that had been
+written: she took it to be one of a series. She wrote a short note to me
+about it; and the next thing I heard was that she had gone. But I know
+that he never saw that letter of mine."
+
+"All this," said Oliver, in a hard contemptuous voice, "does not explain
+your present line of conduct."
+
+She lifted her face from her hands. "Yes, it does," she said quickly.
+"If you were a woman you would understand! Do you think I want her to
+come back to him? No, if he cannot make me happy, he shall not be happy
+at _her_ side. I shall never forgive her for the words she wrote to me!
+If her daughter comes, Oliver, it is all the more reason why I should be
+here, ready to nip any notion of reconciliation in the bud. It is hate,
+not love, that dominates me: it is in my hatred for Caspar Brooke's wife
+that you must seek the explanation of my actions. _Now_, do you
+understand?"
+
+"I understand enough," said Oliver, drily.
+
+"And you will not interfere?"
+
+"For the present I will not interfere. But I will not bind myself. I
+must see more of what you are doing before I make any promises. Whatever
+you do, you must not compromise yourself or me."
+
+"Hate!" he repeated to himself scornfully as he left the house at a
+somewhat later hour in the evening. "It is all very well to put it down
+to her hate for Lady Alice. She is still in love with Brooke; and that
+is the beginning and the end of it."
+
+And Oliver was not far wrong.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+LESLEY COMES HOME.
+
+
+Caspar Brooke was a busy man, and he was quite determined that his
+daughter's arrival should make no difference in his habits. In this
+determination he was less selfish than stern: he had reason to believe
+that his wife's treatment of him proceeded from folly and fickleness,
+and that his daughter had inherited her foibles. It was not worth while,
+he said to himself, to make any radical change in his way of life:
+Lesley must accommodate herself, if she could, to his habits; and if she
+could not, she must go back to her mother. He was not prepared, he told
+himself, to alter his hours, or his friendships, or his peculiarities
+one whit for Lesley's sake.
+
+Lesley arrived an hour later than the time at which she had been
+expected. It was nearly eight o'clock when her cab stopped at the door
+of the house in Upper Woburn Place, and the evening was foggy and cold.
+To Lesley, fresh from the clear skies and air of a French city, street,
+house, and atmosphere alike seemed depressing. The chimes of St.
+Pancras' church, woefully out of tune, fell on her ear, and made her
+shiver as she mounted the steps that led to the front door. How dear
+they were to grow to her in time she did not then suspect, nor would
+have easily believed! At present their discordance was part of the
+general discordance of all things, and increased the weight of dejection
+which lay upon her. Her mother's maid had orders to deliver her over to
+Mr. Brooke and then to come away: she was not to spend an hour in the
+house, nor to partake of food within its walls. She had strict orders
+from Lady Alice on this point.
+
+The house was a very good house, as London dwellings go; but to Lesley's
+eyes it looked strangely mean and narrow. It was very tall, and the
+front was painted a chocolate brown. The double front doors, which
+opened to admit Lesley's boxes, showed an ordinary London hall, narrow,
+crowded with an oaken chest, an umbrella and hat stand, and lighted by a
+flaring gas lamp. At these doors two persons showed themselves; a neat
+but hard-featured maid-servant, and a lady of uncertain age, whom Lesley
+correctly guessed to be his sister and housekeeper, Miss Brooke. There
+was no sign of her father.
+
+"Is this Mr. Brooke's house?" inquired Dayman, formally. She used to
+know Mr. Brooke by sight, for she had lived with Lady Alice for many
+years.
+
+"Yes, this is the house, and this is his daughter, I suppose?" said Miss
+Brooke, coming forward, and taking Lesley's limp hand in hers. Miss
+Brooke had a keen, clever, honest face, but she was undeniably plain,
+and Lesley was not in a condition to appreciate the kindness of her
+glance.
+
+"I must see Mr. Brooke himself before I leave my young lady," Dayman
+announced.
+
+"Run and fetch your master, Sarah," said Miss Brooke, quickly. "He
+cannot have heard the cab."
+
+The white-aproned servant disappeared into the back premises, and
+thence, in a moment or two, issued Mr. Caspar Brooke himself, at the
+sight of whom Miss Brooke involuntarily frowned and bit her lip. She saw
+at one glance that Caspar was in his "study-coat," that his hair was
+dishevelled, and that he had just laid down his pipe. These were small
+details in themselves, but they meant a good deal. They meant that
+Caspar Brooke would not do a single thing, would not go a single step
+out of his way, to conciliate the affections of Lady Alice's daughter.
+He had never in his life looked more of a Bohemian than he did just
+then. And Miss Brooke suspected him of wilful perversity.
+
+The lights swam before Lesley's eyes. The vision of a big, brown-bearded
+man, bigger and broader, it seemed to her, than any man she had ever
+spoken to before, took away her senses. As he came up to her she
+involuntarily shrank back; and when he stooped to kiss her, the novel
+sensation of his bristly beard against her face, the strong scent of
+tobacco, and the sense that she was unwelcome, all contributed towards
+complete self-betrayal. Dizzy from her voyage; faint, sick, and
+unhinged, she almost pushed him away from her and sank down on a
+hall-chair with a burst of sobbing which she could not control. She was
+terribly ashamed of herself next moment; but the next moment was too
+late. She had made as bad a beginning as she had it in her power to
+make, and no after-apology could alter what was done.
+
+For a moment a dead silence fell on the little group. Miss Brooke heard
+her brother mutter something beneath his breath in a very angry tone.
+She wondered whether his daughter heard it too. The faithful and
+officious Dayman immediately pressed forward with soothing words and
+offers of help.
+
+"There, there, my dear young lady, don't take on so. It won't be for
+long, remember; and I'll come for you again to take you back to your
+mamma----"
+
+"You had better leave her alone, Dayman," said Mr. Brooke, coldly. "She
+will probably be more reasonable by and bye."
+
+Lesley was on her feet again in a moment. "I am not unreasonable," she
+said distinctly, but with a little catch in her voice; "it is only that
+I am tired and upset with the journey--and the sudden light was too much
+for me. Give mamma my love, Dayman, and say that I am very well."
+
+"Are the boxes all in?" asked Mr. Brooke. "We need not detain you, Mrs.
+Dayman."
+
+Dayman turned and dropped him a mocking curtsey. "I have my orders from
+my mistress, sir. Having seen the young lady safe into your hands, I
+will go back to my lady at the railway station, where she now is, and
+tell her how she was received."
+
+Miss Brooke, glancing anxiously at her brother, saw him bite his lip and
+frown. He did not speak, but he pointed to the door in a manner which
+Dayman did not see fit to disobey.
+
+"Good-bye, Miss Lesley--and I'll look forward to the day when I see you
+back again," said the maid, in a tone of profound commiseration.
+
+"Good-bye, Dayman, give my love to mamma," said Lesley. She would dearly
+have liked to add, "Don't tell her that I cried;" but with that circle
+of unsympathetic faces round her, she did not dare. She pressed her lips
+together, dashed the tears from her eyes, and managed to smile, however,
+as Dayman took her departure.
+
+Meanwhile, Miss Brooke had quietly sent the maid for a glass of wine,
+which she administered to the girl without further ado. Lesley drank it
+obediently, and felt reinvigorated: but although her courage rose, her
+spirit remained sadly low as she looked at her father's face, and saw
+that it wore an uncompromising frown.
+
+"You had better have these boxes carried upstairs as soon as possible,"
+he remarked to his sister. "I will say good-night now: I have to go
+out."
+
+He turned away rather brusquely, and went back into his study, which was
+situated behind the dining-room, on the ground-floor. Lesley looked
+after him helplessly, with a mingled feeling of offence and relief. She
+did not see him again, but was conveyed to her room by Miss Brooke, who
+spoke to her kindly indeed, but with a matter-of-fact directness which
+seemed hard and cold to the convent-bred girl, whose teachers and
+guardians had vied with one another in sugared sweetness and a tutored
+amiability of demeanor.
+
+Lesley was taken up two flights of stairs to a room which seemed close
+and stuffy to her, although in English eyes it might be deemed
+comfortable and even luxurious. But padded arm-chairs and couch,
+eider-down silken-covered quilts, cushions, curtains, and carpets, were
+things of which she had as yet no great appreciation. The room seemed to
+her altogether too full of furniture, and she longed to run to the
+window for a breath of fresh air. Miss Brooke, observing how white she
+looked, asked her if she felt faint.
+
+"No, thank, you; I am only tired," said Lesley.
+
+"You would like some tea, perhaps?"
+
+"Thank you," said the girl, rather hesitatingly. Nobody drank tea at the
+convent, and in her visits to Lady Alice she had not cultivated a taste
+for it. "I think I would rather go to bed."
+
+"You must have something to eat before you go," said Miss Brooke, drily.
+"Here, let me feel your pulse. Yes, you need food, and I'll send you up
+a soothing draught as well. You need not look so astonished, my dear:
+don't you know that I'm a doctor?"
+
+"A doctor! _You!_" Lesley looked round the room as if seeking for some
+place in which to hide from such a monstrosity.
+
+"Yes, a doctor--a lady doctor," said Miss Brooke, with grim but not
+unmirthful emphasis. "You never saw me before, did you? Well, I'm not
+in general practice just now; my health would not stand it, so I am
+keeping my brother's house instead; but I am fully qualified, my dear, I
+assure you, and can prescribe for you if you are ill as well as any
+physician in the land."
+
+She laughed as she spoke, and there was a humorous twinkle in her
+shrewd, kindly eyes, which Lesley did not understand. As a matter of
+fact, her innocent horror and amaze tickled Miss Brooke immensely. It
+was evident that this girl, with her foreign, aristocratic, and Catholic
+training knew nothing at all of the strides that have of late been made
+in the direction of female emancipation; and her ignorance was amusing
+to Miss Brooke, who was one of the foremost champions of the woman's
+cause. Miss Sophia Brooke, whose name was on every committee under the
+sun, who spoke at meetings and wrote half a dozen letters after her
+name, to have a niece who had never met a lady doctor in her life
+before, and probably did not know anything at all about women's
+franchise! It was quite too funny, and Miss Brooke--or Doctor Brooke, as
+she liked better to be called--was genuinely amused. But it was not an
+amusing matter to Lesley, who felt as if the foundations of the solid
+world were shaking underneath her.
+
+If she had heard of women doctors at all it was in terms of bitterest
+reprobation: she had been told that they were not persons of
+respectability, that they were "without the pale," and she had believed
+all she was told. And here she was, shut up for a year with a woman of
+the very class that she had been taught to reprobate--a woman, too, who,
+although no longer young, had a face which was pleasant to look upon,
+because it expressed refinement and kindliness as well as intellectual
+power, and whose dress, though plain, was severely neat, well-fitting,
+and of rich material. In fact, Miss Brooke was so unlike anything in the
+shape of womankind that Lesley had ever encountered, that the girl could
+only gaze at her in speechless amazement, and wonder whether _she_ was
+expected to develop into something of the same sort!
+
+She could not deny, however, that her aunt was very good-natured. Miss
+Brooke helped her to undress, put her to bed, unpacked her boxes in
+about half the time that a maid would have taken to do the work; then
+she brought her something to eat and drink, and waited on her with the
+care of a woman with a truly kindly heart. Lesley began to take courage
+and to ask questions.
+
+"I suppose I shall see my father again to-morrow morning," she said.
+
+"About mid-day you may see him," Miss Brooke answered, cheerfully. "He
+will be out till two or three in the morning, you know; and of course he
+can't be disturbed very early. You must remember that we keep the house
+very quiet until eleven or twelve, when he generally comes down. He
+breakfasts then, and goes out."
+
+Lesley was mystified. Why did her father keep such extraordinary hours?
+She had not the slightest notion that these were the usual arrangements
+of a journalist's life. She thought that he must be very thoughtless,
+very self-indulgent, even very wicked. Surely her mother had been more
+than justified in leaving him. She laid her head upon the pillow,
+feeling rather inclined to cry.
+
+Miss Brooke had not much of a clue to her emotions; but she was trying
+hard to fathom what was passing in the girl's mind, and she came very
+near the mark. She stooped down and kissed her affectionately.
+
+"I daresay you feel lonely and strange, my dear," she said; "but you
+must remember that you have come to your own home, and that we belong to
+you, and you to us. So you must put up with us for a time, and you
+may--eventually--come to like us, you know. Stranger things than that
+have happened before now."
+
+Lesley put one arm round her aunt's neck, undeterred by Miss Brooke's
+laugh and the little struggle she made to get away.
+
+"Thank you," she said, "for being so kind. I am sorry I cried when I
+came in."
+
+"You were hysterical and overwrought. I shall tell your father so."
+
+"You think he was vexed?"
+
+"I suppose," said Miss Brooke, "that a man hardly likes to see his
+daughter burst out crying and shrink away when she first looks at him."
+
+"Oh, I was very stupid!" cried Lesley, remorsefully. "It must have
+looked so bad, and I did not mean anything--at least, I meant only----"
+
+"I understand all about it," said her aunt, "and I shall tell your
+father what I think if he alludes to the matter. In the meantime you
+had better go to sleep, and wake up fresh and bright in the morning.
+Good-night, my dear."
+
+And Lesley was left to her own reflections.
+
+Although she went early to bed she did not sleep soon or soundly. There
+was not much traffic along the street in which her father lived, but the
+bells of St. Pancras rang out the hours and the quarters with painful
+tunelessness, and an occasional rumble of wheels would startle her into
+wakeful terror. At half-past two in the morning she heard the opening
+and shutting of the front door, and her father's footsteps on the stairs
+as he came up to bed. There seemed to her something uncanny in these
+nocturnal habits. The life of a journalist, of a literary man, of
+anybody who did any definite work in the world at all, was quite unknown
+to her.
+
+She came down to breakfast at nine o'clock, feeling weary and depressed.
+Miss Brooke was kind but preoccupied; she had a committee at twelve, she
+said, and another at four, so she would be obliged to leave Lesley for
+the greater part of the day. "But you will have your own little
+arrangements to make you know," she said, "and Sarah will show you or
+tell you anything you want. You might as well fall into our ways as soon
+as you can."
+
+"Oh, yes," said Lesley. "I only want to be no trouble."
+
+"You'll be no trouble to anybody," said Miss Brooke, cheerfully, "so
+long as you find something to do, and do it. There's a good library of
+books in the house, and a piano in the drawing-room; and you ought to go
+out for an hour or two every day. I daresay you will be able to occupy
+yourself."
+
+"Is there any one to go out with me?" queried Lesley, timidly. She had
+never been out alone in the whole course of her life.
+
+"Go out with you?" repeated Miss Brooke, rather rudely, though with kind
+intent. "An able-bodied young woman of eighteen or nineteen surely can
+take care of herself! You are not in Paris now, my dear, you are in
+London; and girls in London have to be independent and courageous."
+
+Lesley felt that she was being somewhat unjustly judged, but she did not
+like to reply. And her aunt, conscious of having spoken sharply, became
+immediately more gentle in manner, and told her certain details about
+the arrangements of the house, which it behoved Lesley to know, with
+considerable thoughtfulness and kind feeling.
+
+Mr. Brooke usually rang for his coffee about half-past ten, and came
+down at half-past eleven. He then had breakfast served to him in the
+dining-room, and did not join his sister at luncheon at all. In the
+afternoon he walked out, or wrote, or saw friends; dined at six, and
+went down to the office of his paper at eight. From the office he did
+not usually return until the small hours of the morning; and then, as
+Miss Brooke explained, he often sat up writing or reading for an hour or
+two longer.
+
+"Why does he work so late?" asked Lesley, innocently. "I should have
+thought the day-time was pleasanter."
+
+Miss Brooke gave a short, explosive laugh, fixed a pair of eyeglasses on
+the bridge of her nose, and looked at Lesley as if she were a natural
+curiosity.
+
+"Have you yet to learn," she said, "that we don't do what is pleasant in
+this life, but what we _must_?"
+
+Then she got up and went away from the breakfast-table, leaving Lesley
+ashamed and confounded. The girl leaned her elbows upon the white cloth,
+and furtively wiped a tear away from her eyes. She found herself in a
+new atmosphere, and it did not seem to her a very congenial one. She was
+bewildered; it did not appear possible that she could live for a year in
+a home of this very peculiar kind. To her uncultivated imagination, Mr.
+Brooke and his sister looked to her like barbarians. She did not
+understand their ways at all.
+
+She spent the morning in unpacking her things, and arranging them, with
+rather a sad heart, in her room. She did not like to go downstairs until
+the luncheon-bell rang; and then she found that she was to lunch alone.
+Miss Brooke was out; Mr. Brooke was in his study.
+
+The white-capped and severe-visaged middle-aged servant, who was known
+as Sarah, came to Lesley after the meal with a message.
+
+"Mr. Brooke says, Miss, that he would like to see you in his study, if
+you can spare him a few minutes."
+
+Lesley flushed hotly as she was shown into the smoky, little den. It was
+a scene of confusion, such as she had never beheld before. The table was
+heaped high with papers: books and maps strewed every chair: even the
+floor was littered with bulky tomes and piles of manuscript. At a
+knee-hole table Caspar Brooke was sitting, writing hard, as if for dear
+life, his loose hair falling heavily over his big forehead, his left
+hand grasping his thick brown beard. He looked up as Lesley entered, and
+gave her a nod.
+
+"Good-morning," he said. "Wait a minute: I must finish this and send it
+off by the quarter to three post. I have just done."
+
+He went on writing, and Lesley stood motionless beside the table, with a
+feeling of dire offence in her proud young heart. Why had he sent for
+her if he did not want her? She was half inclined to walk away without
+another word. Only a sense of filial duty restrained her. She thought to
+herself that she had never been treated so unceremoniously--even in her
+earliest days at school. And she was surprised to find that so small a
+thing could ruffle her so much. She had hardly known at the convent, or
+while visiting her mother, that she had such a thing as a "temper." It
+suddenly occurred to her now that her temper was very bad indeed.
+
+And in truth she had a hot, strong temper--very like her father's, if
+she had but known it--and a will that was prone to dominate, not to
+submit itself to others. These were facts that she had yet to learn.
+
+"Well, Lesley," said Caspar Brooke, laying down his pen, "I have
+finished my work at last. Now we can talk."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+FRIENDS AND FOES.
+
+
+Something in the slightly mutinous expression of Lesley's face seemed to
+strike her father. He looked at her fixedly for a minute or two, then
+smiled a little, and began to busy himself amongst his papers.
+
+"You are very like your mother," he said.
+
+Lesley felt a thrill of strong indignation. How dared he speak of her
+mother to her without shame and grief and repentance? She flushed to her
+temples and cast down her eyes, for she was resolved to say nothing that
+she might afterwards regret.
+
+"Won't you sit down?" said Mr. Brooke, indifferently. "You must make
+yourself at home, you know. If you don't, I'm afraid you will be
+uncomfortable. You will have to look after yourself."
+
+Lesley made no answer. She was thinking that it would be very
+disagreeable to look after herself. She did not know how clearly her
+face expressed her sentiments.
+
+"You don't much like the prospect, apparently?" said her father.
+"Well"--for he was becoming a little provoked by her silence--"what
+_would_ you like? Do you want a maid?"
+
+"Oh, no, thank you," said Lesley, startled into speech.
+
+"You can have one if you like, you know. Speak to your aunt about it. I
+suppose you have not been accustomed to wait upon yourself. Can you do
+your own hair?"
+
+He spoke with a smile, half-indulgent, half-contemptuous. Lesley
+remembered, with intuitive comprehension of his mood, that her mother
+was singularly helpless, and never dressed without Dayman's help, or
+brushed the soft tresses that were still so luxuriant and so fair. She
+rebelled at once against the unspoken criticism.
+
+"I can do everything for myself," she said; "I can do my own hair and
+mend my dresses and everything, because I am a schoolgirl; but of
+course when I am older I expect to have my own maid, as every lady
+does."
+
+Mr. Brooke's short, hard laugh was distinctly unpleasing to her ear.
+
+"I think you will find, when you are older," he said, with an emphasis
+on the words, "that a great many ladies have to do without maids--and
+very much better for them that they should--but as I do not wish to
+stint you in anything, nor to oppose any fairly reasonable desire of
+yours, I will tell your aunt to get you a maid as soon as possible."
+
+"Oh, no, please!" cried Lesley, more alarmed than pleased by the
+prospect. "I really do not wish for one; I do not wish you to have the
+trouble--the ex----"
+
+She stopped short: she did not quite like to speak of the "expense."
+
+"It will not be much trouble to me if Sophia finds you a maid," said her
+father drily; "and as to the expense, which is what I suppose you were
+going to allude to, I am quite well able to afford it. Otherwise I
+should not have proposed such a thing."
+
+Lesley felt herself snubbed, and did not like it, but again kept
+silence.
+
+"I cannot promise you much amusement while you stay here," Mr. Brooke
+went on, "but anything that you like to see or hear when you are in town
+can be easily provided for. I mean in the way of picture galleries,
+concerts, theatres--things of that kind. Your Aunt Sophia will probably
+be too much occupied to take you to such places; but if you have a maid
+you will be pretty independent. I wonder she did not think of it
+herself. Of course a maid can go about with you, and so relieve her
+mind."
+
+"I am sorry to be troublesome," said Lesley, stiffly.
+
+He cast an amused glance at her. "You won't trouble _me_, my dear. And
+Mrs. Romaine says that she will call and make your acquaintance. I dare
+say you will find her a help to you."
+
+"Is she--a friend of yours?"
+
+"A very old friend," said Caspar Brooke, with decision. "Then there are
+the Kenyons, who live opposite. Ethel Kenyon is a clever girl--a great
+favorite of mine. Her brother is a doctor."
+
+"And she lives with him and keeps his house?" said Lesley, growing
+interested.
+
+"Well, she lives with him. I don't know that she does much in the way of
+keeping his house. I hope I shall not shock your prejudices"--how did he
+know that she had any prejudices?--"if I tell you that she is an
+actress."
+
+"An actress!"--Lesley flushed with surprise, even with a little horror,
+though at the same moment she was conscious of a movement of pleasant
+curiosity and a desire to know what an actress was like in private life.
+
+"I thought you would be horrified," said her father, looking at her with
+something very like satisfaction. "How could you be anything else? How
+long have you lived in a French convent? Eight or ten years, is it not?
+Ah, well, I can't be surprised if you have imbibed the conventional idea
+of what you would call, I suppose, your class." He gave a little shrug
+to his broad shoulders. "It can't be helped now. You must make yourself
+as happy as you can, my poor child, as long as you are here, and console
+yourself with visions of your happy future at the Courtleroys'."
+
+It was exactly what Lesley intended to do, and yet she felt hurt by the
+slightly contemptuous pity of his tone.
+
+"I have no doubt that I shall be very happy," she said, steadying her
+voice as well as she could; "and I hope that you will not concern
+yourself about me."
+
+"I should not have time to do so if I wished," he answered coolly. "I
+never concern myself about anything but my proper business, which is
+_not_ to look after girls of eighteen----"
+
+"Then why did you send for me here?" she asked, with lightning rapidity.
+
+The question seemed to surprise him. He raised his eyebrows as he looked
+at her.
+
+"That was a family arrangement made many years ago," he answered at last
+deliberately. "And I think it was a wise one. There is no reason why you
+should grow up in utter ignorance of your father. And I prefer you to
+come when you have arrived at something like a reasonable age, rather
+than when you were quite a child. As you _are_ at a reasonable age,
+Lesley," with a lightening of his tones, "I suppose you have some
+tastes, some inclinations, of your own? What are they?"
+
+It must have been obstinacy that prompted Lesley's answer. "I have no
+taste," she said, looking down. "No inclinations."
+
+"Are you not fond of music?"
+
+"I play a little--a very little."
+
+"Oh." The tone was one of disappointment. "Art?
+Drawing--carving--modelling--any of the fads young ladies are so fond of
+now-a-days?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Do you read much?"
+
+"No."
+
+"What do you do, then?"
+
+"I can embroider a little," said Lesley, calmly. "The nuns taught me.
+And I can dance."
+
+She raised her eyes and studied the stormy expressions that flitted one
+after another across her father's face. She knew that she had taken a
+delight in provoking him, and she wondered whether he was not going to
+retaliate by an angry word. But after a few moments' pause he only
+said--
+
+"Would you like any lessons in singing or drawing now that you are in
+town?"
+
+The offer was a temptation to Lesley. Yes, she would dearly have liked
+some good singing lessons; her mother even had suggested that she should
+take them while she was in London. She was the fortunate possessor of a
+voice that was worth cultivating, and she longed to make the best of her
+time. But she had come with the notion that her father was poor, and
+that she must not be an unnecessary expense to him; and this idea had
+not been counteracted by any appearance of luxury or lavish expenditure
+in her London home. The furniture, except in her own room, was heavy,
+old-fashioned, and decidedly shabby. Her father seemed to work very
+hard. He had already promised her a maid; and Lesley could not bear to
+ask him for anything else. So she answered--
+
+"No, I think not, thank you."
+
+There might be generosity, but there was also some resentment and hot
+temper at the bottom of Lesley's reply. This was a fact, however, that
+her father did not discern. He merely paused for a moment, nodded his
+head once or twice, and seemed slightly disconcerted. Then he said--
+
+"Very well; do just as you like. Your aunt has a Mudie subscription, I
+believe"--what this meant Lesley had not the faintest idea--"and you
+will find books in the library, and a piano in the drawing-room. You
+must ask for anything you want." As if that was likely, Lesley thought!
+"I hope you will make friends and be comfortable. And--a--" he paused,
+and hesitated in his speech as he went on--"a--I hope--your mother--Lady
+Alice--was well when you left her?"
+
+"Pretty well," Lesley answered, dropping her eyes.
+
+"Was she going to Scotland for the winter?"
+
+"I think so."
+
+"Oh." He seemed satisfied with the answer. "By the way, Lesley, are you
+Catholic or Protestant?"
+
+"Protestant. Mamma would not allow the Sisters to talk to me about
+religion. I always drove to the English Church on Sundays."
+
+"Oh, very well. Do as you please. There are plenty of churches near us.
+But you need not bring more clergy than you can help to the house," said
+Brooke, with a peculiar smile. "I am not very fond of the Blacks. I am
+more of a Red myself, you know."
+
+"A Red?" Lesley asked, helplessly.
+
+"A Red Republican--Radical--Socialist--anything you like," said Brooke,
+laughing outright. "You didn't read the papers in your convent, I
+suppose. You had better begin to study them straight away. It will be a
+pleasant change from the Lives of the Saints. And now, if we have
+finished all that we have to say--I am rather busy, and----"
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon: I will go," said Lesley, rising at once. "I had
+no wish to intrude upon you," she added, with an attempt to be dignified
+and womanly, which she felt to be a miserable failure. Her father simply
+nodded in reply, took up his pen, and allowed her to leave the room.
+
+But when she had gone, he put the pen down and sat back in his chair,
+musing. Lesley had surprised him a little. She had more force and fire
+in her composition than he had expected to find. She was, as he had
+said, very like her mother in face and figure; and the minute
+differences of line and contour that showed Lesley to be strong where
+Lady Alice had been weak, original where Lady Alice had been most
+conventional, intellectual where Lady Alice had been only intelligent,
+were not perceptible at first sight even to a practised observer of men
+and women like Caspar Brooke. But the flash of her brown eyes, so like
+his own, and an occasional intonation in her voice, had told him
+something. She was in arms against him, so much he felt; and she had
+more individuality than her mother, in spite of her ignorance. It was a
+pity that her education had been so much neglected! Manlike, Caspar
+Brooke took literally every word that she had uttered; and reproached
+himself for having allowed his foolish, frivolous wife to bring up his
+daughter in a place where she had been taught nothing but embroidery and
+dancing.
+
+"It is a pity," he reflected; "but we cannot alter the matter now. The
+poor girl will feel herself sadly out of place in this house, I fear;
+but perhaps it won't do her any harm. She may be a better woman all her
+life--the idle, selfish, self-indulgent life that she is bound by all
+her traditions and her upbringing to lead--for having seen for a few
+months what honest work is like. She is too handsome not to marry well:
+let us only hope that Alice won't secure a duke for her. She will if she
+can; and I--well, I haven't much opinion of dukes." And so with a laugh
+and a shrug, Caspar Brooke returned to his work.
+
+Lesley went upstairs to the drawing-room with burning cheeks and a lump
+in her throat. She was offended by her father's manner towards her,
+although she could not but acknowledge that in essentials he had seemed
+wishful to be kind. And she knew that she had seemed ungracious and had
+felt resentful. But the resentment, she assured herself, was all on her
+mother's account. If he had treated Lady Alice as he had treated Lady
+Alice's daughter--with hardly concealed contempt, with the scornful
+indifference of one looking down from a superior height--Lesley did not
+wonder that her mother had left him. It was a manner which had never
+been displayed to her before, and she said to herself that it was
+horribly discourteous. And the worst of it was that it did not seem to
+be directed to herself alone: it included her friends the nuns, her
+mother, her mother's family, and all the circle of aristocratic
+relations to which she belonged. She was despised as part of the class
+which he despised; and it was difficult for her to understand the
+situation.
+
+It would have been easier if she could have set her father down as a
+mere boor, without refinement or intelligence; but there was one item in
+her impression of him which she could not reconcile with a want of
+culture. She was keenly sensitive to sound; and voices were important to
+her in her judgment of acquaintances. Now, Caspar Brooke had a
+delightful voice. It was low, musical, and finely modulated: his accent,
+moreover, was particularly delicate and refined. Lesley had, without
+knowing it, the same charmingly modulated intonation; and her father's
+voice was instinctively familiar to her. People had often said that it
+was hard to dislike a man with a voice like Caspar Brooke's; and Lesley
+was not insensible to its fascination. No, he could not be a mere
+insensate clod, with that pleasant and cultivated voice, she decided to
+herself; but he might be something worse--a heartless man of the world,
+who cared for nothing but himself and his own low ambitions: not a man
+who was worthy to be the husband of a gentle, loving, highly-organized
+woman like the daughter of Lord Courtleroy.
+
+With a deep sigh, Lesley ceased at last to meditate, and began to look
+about her. The room was large and lofty, and had three windows, opening
+upon a balcony. There were more books than Lesley had usually seen in
+drawing-rooms, and there was a very handsome Broadwood grand piano. The
+furniture was mostly of the solid type, handsome enough, but very heavy.
+Lesley, noticed, however, that the prints and paintings on the walls
+were really good, and that there was some valuable china on the
+mantlepiece. It was not an ugly room after all, and it displayed signs
+of culture on the part of its occupants; but Lesley turned from it with
+an impatient little shake of her head, expressive of deep disgust. And,
+indeed, it was sufficiently unlike the rooms to which she was accustomed
+to cause her considerable disappointment.
+
+She drew aside the curtains which hung from the archway between the back
+room and the front; and here her brow cleared. The one wide window
+looked out on a space of green grass and trees, inexpressibly refreshing
+to Lesley's eye. The walls were lined with rows of books, from floor to
+ceiling; and some easy chairs and small tables gave a look of comfort
+and purpose to the room. It was Mr. Brooke's library, though not the
+room in which he did his work. That was chiefly done in his little den
+downstairs, or at his office in the city.
+
+Lesley looked at the books with great and increasing pleasure. Here,
+indeed, was a joy of which her father could not rob her. No one would
+take any notice of what she read. She could "browse undisturbed" over
+the whole field of English literature if she were so minded. And the
+prospect was a delight.
+
+She sauntered back into the front room, and stood at one of the windows
+for a minute or two. Her attention was speedily attracted by a little
+pantomime at a window opposite her own--a drawing-room window, too, with
+a balcony before it, like the window at which she stood. A young lady in
+a white dress was talking to a black poodle, who was standing on his
+hind-legs, and a young man was balancing a bit of biscuit on the dog's
+nose. That was all. But the young lady was so extremely pretty, and the
+young man looked so cheerful and bright, and the poodle was such an
+extremely fascinating dog, that Lesley sighed in very envy of the
+felicity of all three. And it never crossed her mind that the pretty
+girl in the white costume, who had such a simple and natural look, could
+possibly be Ethel Kenyon, the actress, of whom her father had been
+speaking half an hour before. Yet such was the case.
+
+She was still observing the figures at the window when the door opened,
+and Sarah announced a visitor.
+
+"Mrs. Romaine, please, ma'am."
+
+Whereupon Lesley remembered the "very old friend" whom Mr. Brooke had
+mentioned. But was this the very old friend? This young and
+fashionably-dressed woman, with short, dark, curling hair, and a white
+veil to enhance the whiteness of her complexion. Mrs. Romaine was very
+handsome, without a doubt, but Lesley did not like her.
+
+"Miss Brooke?" said the visitor, in a silvery, flute-like voice, which
+the girl could not but admire. "You will forgive me for calling so soon?
+My old friendship with Mr. Brooke--whom I have known for years--made me
+anxious to see you, dear, as soon as possible. You will receive me also
+as a friend, I hope----"
+
+There could be but one answer. Lesley was delighted.
+
+"I have heard so much of you," murmured Mrs. Romaine, sitting down with
+the girl's hand in hers and gazing into her face with liquid, dreamy
+eyes; "and I wanted to know if I could not be of use to you. Dear Miss
+Brooke is so much occupied. I may call you Lesley, may I not? Dear
+Lesley, it will be the greatest possible pleasure to me to assist you in
+any way."
+
+"Thank you very much," said Lesley, rather lamely.
+
+"Dear," said Mrs. Romaine, "may I speak to you frankly? I knew your dear
+mother many years ago----"
+
+Lesley turned upon her with suddenly kindled eyes.
+
+"You knew mamma?"
+
+"I did, indeed, and I cannot express to you what my feeling was for her.
+Love, admiration--these seem cold words: worship, Lesley, expresses more
+nearly what I felt! Can you wonder that I hasten to welcome her daughter
+to her home?"
+
+Lesley's innocent heart warmed to the new-comer at once. How unjust she
+had been, she thought, to shrink for a moment from the visitor because
+of her youthful and ultra-fashionable appearance. Had she not found a
+friend?--a woman who loved her mother?
+
+Mrs. Romaine saw the impression that she had made, and did not try to
+deepen it just then. She went on more lightly:
+
+"I am a widow, you know, and I live in Russell Square. I hope that you
+will come and see me sometimes. Drop in whenever you like, and if there
+is anything that I can do for you count on me. You will want to go
+shopping or making calls sometimes when Miss Brooke is too busy to take
+you; then you must come to me. And how was dear Lady Alice when you saw
+her last?"
+
+Lesley did not like these effusive expressions of affection. But she
+answered, gently--
+
+"Mamma was quite well, thank you." Which answer did not give Mrs.
+Romaine all the information that she desired.
+
+"I have been looking at a pretty poodle dog over the way," she went on,
+conscious of some desire to change the subject. "Its mistress has been
+putting it through all sorts of tricks--ah, there it is again!"
+
+"The Kenyons' dog?" said Mrs. Romaine, smiling, as she looked at the
+little group which had once more formed itself upon the balcony. "Oh, I
+see. That is young Mr. Kenyon, the doctor, a great friend of your
+father's; and that is his sister, Ethel Kenyon, the actress."
+
+"My father spoke about her," said Lesley.
+
+"Oh, yes, he admires her very much. He wrote a long article about her in
+the _Tribune_ once. Do you see the _Tribune_ regularly? Your dear father
+writes a great deal for it, and I am sure you must appreciate his
+exquisite writing."
+
+"Do you know Miss Kenyon too?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I know her very well. And I expect to know her better very
+soon, because I suppose we shall be connections before long."
+
+Lesley looked a smiling inquiry.
+
+"I have a younger brother--my brother Oliver," said Mrs. Romaine, with a
+little laugh; "and younger brothers, dear, have a knack of falling in
+love. He has fallen in love with Ethel, who is really a nice girl, as
+well as a pretty and a clever girl, and I believe they will be married
+by and by."
+
+Lesley could not have said why, but somehow at that moment she was
+distinctly glad of the fact.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+OLIVER'S INTENTIONS.
+
+
+"Well, what is she like?" Oliver Trent asked, lightly, of his sister
+Rosalind, when they met that evening at dinner.
+
+"Lesley Brooke? She is a handsome girl," said Mrs. Romaine, with some
+reserve of manner.
+
+"Nothing more?"
+
+His sister waited until the servant had left the room before she
+replied.
+
+"I wish you would be discreet, Oliver. My servants are often at the
+Brookes' with messages. I should not like them to repeat what you were
+saying."
+
+Oliver shrugged his shoulders with the air of a man to whom women's
+caprices are incomprehensible. But he was silent until dessert was
+placed upon the table, and Mrs. Romaine's neat parlor-maid had
+disappeared.
+
+"Now," he said, "you can disburthen your mind in peace."
+
+"Oliver," said Mrs. Romaine, abruptly. "I want you to make Miss Brooke's
+acquaintance as soon as you can. I don't understand her, and I think
+that you can help me."
+
+"As how!"
+
+"Oh, don't be silly. You always get on with girls, and you can tell me
+what you think of her."
+
+Oliver raised his eyebrows, took a peach from the dish before him, and
+began to peel it with great deliberation.
+
+"Handsome, you say?"
+
+"Very."
+
+"Like Lady Alice? I remember her; a willowy, shadowy creature, with a
+sort of ethereal loveliness which appealed very strongly to my
+imagination when I was a boy."
+
+Mrs. Romaine flushed a little. It occurred to her that _she_ had never
+been called shadowy or ethereal-looking.
+
+"She is much more substantial than Lady Alice," she said, drily. "I
+should say that she had more individuality about her. She looks to me
+like a girl of character and intellect."
+
+"In which case your task will be the more difficult, you mean?"
+
+"I don't know what you mean by a task. I have not set myself to do
+anything definite."
+
+"No? Then you are very unlike your sex, Rosalind. I generally find women
+much too definite--damnably so."
+
+"Well, then, I must be an exception. You are always trying to entrap me
+into damaging admissions, Oliver, and I won't put up with it. All that I
+want is to be sure that Lady Alice shall not return to her husband. But
+there is nothing definite in that."
+
+"Oh, nothing at all," said Oliver, satirically. "All that you have got
+to do is to prejudice father and daughter against each other as much as
+possible, make Brooke believe that the girl has been set against him by
+her mother, and persuade Miss Brooke that her father is not the sort of
+man that Lady Alice can return to. Nothing definite in that, is there?"
+
+"Oliver, you are quite too bad. I never made any plans of the kind." But
+there was a distinctly guilty look in Mrs. Romaine's soft eyes.
+"Besides, that is a piece of work which hardly needs doing. Father and
+daughter are too much alike to get on."
+
+"Alike, are they?"
+
+"Yes, in a sense. The girl is very like her mother, too--she has Lady
+Alice's features and figure, but the expression of her face is her
+father's. And her eyes and her brow are her father's. And she is like
+her father--I think--in disposition."
+
+"You have found out so much that I think you scarcely need me to
+interview her in order to tell you more. What do you want me to do?"
+
+"I want to find out more about Lady Alice. Could you not get Ethel
+Kenyon to ask her about her mother, and then persuade Ethel to tell
+you?"
+
+"Can't take _Ethel_ into our confidence," said Oliver with a disparaging
+emphasis upon the name. "She is such a little fool." And then he began
+to roll a cigarette for himself.
+
+Mrs. Romaine watched him thoughtfully for a minute or two. "Noll," she
+said at length, "I thought you were really fond of Ethel?"
+
+Oliver's eyes were fixed upon the cigarette that he was now lighting,
+and, perhaps, that was the reason why he did not answer for a minute or
+two. At last, he said, in his soft, drawling way--
+
+"I am very fond of Ethel. And especially of the twenty thousand pounds
+that her uncle left her."
+
+"Ethel Kenyon is handsome enough to be loved for something beside her
+money."
+
+"Handsome? Oh, she's good-looking enough: but she's not exactly to my
+taste. A little too showy, too abrupt for me. Personally I like a
+softer, quieter woman; but as a rule the women that I really admire
+haven't got twenty thousand pounds."
+
+"I know who would suit you," said Mrs. Romaine, leaning forward and
+speaking in a very low voice--"Lesley Brooke."
+
+"What is her fortune? If it's a case of her face is her fortune, she
+really won't do for me, Rosy, however suitable she might be in other
+respects."
+
+"But," said Mrs. Romaine, eagerly, "she is sure to have plenty of money.
+Her father is well off--better off than people know--and would probably
+settle a considerable sum upon her; then think of the Courtleroys--there
+is a fair amount of wealth in that family, surely----"
+
+"Which they would be so very likely to give her if she married me," said
+her brother, with irony. "Moonshine, my dear. Do you think that Lady
+Alice would allow her daughter to marry your brother?--knowing what she
+does, and hating you as she does, would she like to be connected with
+you by marriage?"
+
+"That is exactly why I wish that you would marry her," said Mrs.
+Romaine, almost below her breath. "Think of the triumph for me!"
+
+Her eyes glowed, and she breathed more quickly as she spoke. "That woman
+scorned me--gloated over my sorrow and my love," she said; "she dared to
+reproach me for what she called my want of modesty--my want of womanly
+feeling, and--oh, I cannot tell you what she said! But this I know, that
+if I could reach her through her daughter or her husband, and stab her
+to the heart as she once stabbed me, the dearest wish of my life would
+be fulfilled!"
+
+"Women are always vindictive," said Oliver, philosophically. "The fact
+is, you want to revenge yourself on Lady Alice through me, and yet you
+don't consider _me_ in the very least. If I married this Lesley Brooke,
+Lady Alice and all the Courtleroys would no doubt get into an awful rage
+with her and you and me and everybody; and what would be the upshot?
+Why, they would cut her off with a shilling and we should be next door
+to penniless. Then Brooke--well, he may be fairly prosperous, but he has
+only what he makes, you know; and I doubt if he could settle very much
+upon his daughter, even if he wanted to. And he does not like me. I
+doubt whether even _you_, my dear Rosy, could dispose him to look
+favorably on my advances."
+
+Mrs. Romaine was perhaps convinced, but she did not like to own herself
+mistaken. She was silent for a minute or two, and then said with a sigh
+and a smile--
+
+"You may be right. But it would have been splendid if you could have
+married Lesley Brooke. We should have been thorns in Lady Alice's side
+ever afterwards."
+
+"You are one already, aren't you?" asked Oliver. He got up from the
+table and approached the mantelpiece as if to show that the discussion
+was ended. "No, my dear Rosalind," he said, "I'm booked. I am going to
+woo and wed Miss Ethel Kenyon and her twenty thousand pounds. She will
+be sick of her fad for the stage in twelve months. And then we shall
+live very comfortably. But I'll tell you what I will do to please you.
+I'll _flirt_ with this Lesley girl, nineteen to the dozen. I'll make
+love to her: I'll win her young affections, and do my best to break her
+heart, if you like. How would that suit you?"
+
+He spoke with a smile, but Rosalind knew that there was a ring of
+serious earnest in his voice.
+
+"It sounds a very cold-blooded sort of thing to do," she said.
+
+"Please yourself. I won't do it, then."
+
+"Oh, Oliver----"
+
+"Yes, I know you would like to see Lady Alice's daughter pining away for
+love of me," said Oliver, with a little laugh. "It is not a bad idea.
+The difficulty will be to manage both girls--seriously, Rosalind, Ethel
+Kenyon is the girl I mean to marry."
+
+"You are clever enough for anything if you like."
+
+"Thank you. Well, I'll see how far I can go."
+
+"I must tell you, first, however," said Mrs. Romaine, with some
+hesitation, "that I told Lesley Brooke this afternoon that you were in
+love with Ethel. I had not thought of this plan, you see, Oliver."
+
+"Ah, that complicates matters. Still, I think that we can manage--after
+a little reflection," said her brother, quietly. "Leave me to think it
+over, and I'll let you know what to do. And now I'm going out."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"Why should you ask? Do I generally tell you where I am going? Well, if
+you particularly want to know, I am going to the Novelty Theatre."
+
+"To see Ethel act?"
+
+"No--her part will be over by the time I get there. I shall probably see
+her home."
+
+Mrs. Romaine made no remonstrance. If she thought her brother's conduct
+a trifle heartless, she did not venture to say so. She was sometimes
+considerably in awe of Oliver, although he was only a younger brother.
+
+She went into the drawing-room rather slowly, watching him as he put on
+his hat and overcoat in the hall.
+
+"There is one thing I meant to tell you to-night, but I forgot it until
+now," she said, pausing at the drawing-room door. "I am nearly sure that
+I saw Francis in the Square to-day."
+
+Oliver turned round quickly. "The deuce you did! Did he see _you_?--did
+he try to speak to you?"
+
+"No, but I think that he is lying in wait. You made me promise to tell
+you when I saw him next."
+
+"Yes, indeed. I won't have him bothering you for money. If he wants
+money he had better come to me."
+
+"Have you so much, Noll?"
+
+He frowned and turned away. "At any rate he is not to annoy you," he
+said. "And I shall tell him so."
+
+Mrs. Romaine made no objection. This ne'er-do-weel brother of
+hers--Francis by name--had always been a trouble and perplexity to her.
+He had been in the habit of appealing periodically to her for help, and
+she had seldom failed to respond to the appeal, although she believed
+that all the money she gave him went for gambling debt or drink; but
+lately Oliver had interfered. He had said that Francis must henceforth
+apply to him and not to Rosalind if he wanted help, which sounded kind
+and brotherly enough; but Rosalind had a vague suspicion that there was
+more than met the ear in this declaration. She fancied somehow, that
+Oliver had secret and special reasons for preventing Francis'
+applications to her. But she knew very well that it was useless to ask
+questions or to make surmises respecting Oliver's motives and actions,
+unless he chose to show a readiness to make them clear to her. So she
+let him go out of the house without further remark.
+
+As Oliver crossed the road, he noticed that a man was leaning against
+the iron railings of the green enclosure in the middle of the Square.
+The man's form was in shadow, but his face seemed to be turned to Mrs.
+Romaine's house. Oliver sedulously averted his eyes and hailed a passing
+hansom cab. He had no mind to be delayed just then, and he was almost
+certain that he recognized in that gaunt and shabby figure his
+disreputable brother. No, by-and-bye he would talk to Francis, he said
+to himself, but not to-night. He had other game in view on this
+particular evening in September.
+
+The Novelty Theatre was just then occupied by a company that claimed to
+be the interpreters of a Scandinavian play-writer whose dramatic poems
+were just then the talk of London. Ethel Kenyon was playing a very minor
+part--a smaller _role_, indeed, than she was generally supposed to take,
+but one which she had accepted simply as an expression of her
+enthusiastic admiration for the author. Oliver knew the state of mind in
+which she generally came away from the representation of this play, and
+counted on her bright and elevated mood as a help to him in the course
+he meant to pursue.
+
+He knew her habits as well as he knew her moods. For the last three
+years, ever since Rosalind had settled in London, and he had been able
+to cultivate Miss Kenyon's acquaintance, he had watched her blossom from
+a saucy, laughing girl into a very attractive woman. It was only during
+the past few months, however, that he had thought of her as his future
+wife--only since she had succeeded to that enticing legacy of twenty
+thousand pounds. Since then he had studied her more carefully than ever.
+
+The Scandinavian writer's play was always over by a quarter to ten
+o'clock, and was succeeded by another in which Ethel had no share. She
+never stayed longer than was necessary on these nights. She was
+generally ready to leave the theatre soon after ten o'clock with her
+companion, Mrs. Durant, who had the right of entry to her dressing-room,
+and generally acted as her dresser. Maurice Kenyon had refused to let
+his sister go upon the stage unless she was always most carefully
+chaperoned. Mrs. Durant was always at hand whenever Ethel went to the
+Novelty Theatre. And Oliver knew exactly what to expect when he took up
+his position--not for the first time--at the narrow little stage-door.
+
+It was after ten o'clock, and the moon had risen in an almost cloudless
+sky. Even London looked beautiful beneath its light. Oliver cast a
+glance towards it and nodded as if in satisfaction. He did not care for
+the moon one jot; but he held a theory that women, being more romantic,
+were more likely to say "yes" to a wooer than "no," where they were
+wooed beneath a moonlit sky. The chances were all in his favor, he said
+to himself.
+
+A cab was already waiting. Presently the door opened and a young lady in
+hood and cloak came out. The light fell on a delicate, piquante face,
+with a complexion of ivory fairness which cosmetics had not had time to
+destroy, with charming scarlet lips, long-lashed dark eyes, a dimpled
+chin, and a great quantity of curling dark hair--the kind of hair which
+will not lie straight, but twists itself into tight rings, and gets into
+apparently inextricable tangles, and looks pretty all the time. And this
+was Ethel Kenyon. Her companion, a woman of forty-five, staid and
+demure, followed close behind her, giving no sign of surprise when
+Oliver raised his hat and gently accosted the two ladies.
+
+"Good-evening, Miss Kenyon. Good-evening, Mrs. Durant: I hope you notice
+what a lovely evening it is!"
+
+"Indeed I do!" said Ethel, fervently. "Oh, how I wish I were in the
+country! I should like a long country walk."
+
+"Would not a town walk do as well, for once?" asked Oliver, in his most
+persuasive tones. "I was wondering whether you would consent to let me
+see you home, as it is such a lovely night. But I see you have a
+cab----"
+
+"I would rather drive, I must say," remarked Mrs. Durant. It was what
+she knew she was expected to say, and she was not sorry for it, "I am
+tired of being on my feet so long. But if you would like to walk,
+Ethel, I daresay Mr. Trent would escort you."
+
+"I should be only too pleased," said Oliver.
+
+Ethel laughed happily. "All right, Mrs. Durant. You drive, and I'll walk
+home with Mr. Trent."
+
+She scarcely waited for Oliver to offer his arm. She laid her hand in it
+so naturally, so securely, that even Oliver felt an impulse of pleasure.
+He looked down at the lovely, smiling creature at his side with
+admiration, even with tenderness.
+
+At first they did not speak much, for they had to pass through some
+crowded and ill-smelling thoroughfares, where conversation was almost
+impossible. By-and-bye they emerged from these into Holborn, and thence
+they made their way into the wider streets and airier squares which
+abound in the West Central district. When they came in sight of the
+white pillars and paved yard of the British Museum, they were deep in
+talk on all sorts of matters--"Shakespeare and the musical glasses," as
+Oliver afterwards laughingly remarked. But he did not choose that she
+should altogether guide the course of conversation. Now and then he took
+the reins into his own hands. And it amused him to see how readily she
+allowed him to direct matters. She responded to the slightest hint, was
+attentive to the least check. Such quickness of apprehension, he argued,
+meant only one thing in a woman: not intellectual faculty, but love.
+
+"And you still like the stage?" he said to her, after a time.
+
+"I like it immensely. I can express myself there as I could in no other
+sphere of life. People used to advise me to take to recitations: how
+glad I am that I stood out for what I liked best."
+
+"What one likes best is not always the safest path."
+
+"You might as well say it is not always the easiest path! Mine is a very
+hard life, so far as work is concerned, you know. I toil early and late.
+But how can you be so awfully trite, Mr. Trent? I did not expect it of
+you."
+
+"A good deal of life is rather trite," said Oliver. "I know only one
+thing that can preserve it from commonplaceness and dullness and
+dreariness."
+
+"And that is----"
+
+"Love."
+
+A little silence fell on both of them. Oliver's voice had sunk almost to
+a whisper: Ethel's cheeks had grown suddenly very hot.
+
+"Love makes everything easy and beautiful. Does not your poet say
+so--the man whose play you have acted in to-night? Ethel, why don't you
+try the experiment?--the experiment of loving?"
+
+"I do try it," she said, laughing, and trying to regain her lost
+lightness of tone. "I love Maurice and Mrs. Durant and hosts of people."
+
+"Add one more to the list," said Oliver. "Love _me_."
+
+"You?" she said, doubtingly. "I am not sure whether you are a person to
+be loved."
+
+"Oh, yes, I am. Seriously, Ethel, may I speak to your brother? May I
+hope that you can love me a little, and that you will some day be my
+wife?"
+
+"Oh, that is _very_ serious!" she said, mockingly. And she withdrew her
+fingers from his arm. "I did not bargain for so much solemnity when I
+set out with you from the theatre to-night."
+
+"But I set out, Ethel, with the intention of asking you to be my wife.
+Come, my darling, won't you give me an answer? Don't send me away
+disconsolate! Let me teach you what love means--love and happiness!"
+
+His voice sank once more to its lowest murmur. Ethel listened,
+hesitated, smiled. Her little fingers found their way back to his arm
+again, and were instantly caught and pressed, and even kissed, when they
+came to a dark and shady place. And before he parted with her at the
+door of her brother's house, he had put his arms round her and kissed
+her on the lips.
+
+Was it all pretence--all for the sake of those twenty thousand pounds of
+hers? Oliver swore to himself that it was not. She was such a pretty
+little thing--such a dear, loving little girl, in spite of her fun and
+merriment and spirit--one could not help feeling fond of her. Not that
+he was going to acknowledge himself capable of such a weakness when he
+next talked to Rosalind.
+
+He was strolling idly along the east side of Russell Square as these
+thoughts passed through his mind. He had completely forgotten the
+stroller whom he had seen leaning against the railings of the Square
+gardens; but he was unpleasantly reminded of that gentleman's existence
+when a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a voice said in his ear--
+
+"I've been waiting here six hours, Oliver, and I must have a word or two
+with you."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+THE ELDER BROTHER.
+
+
+Oliver turned round sharply, with an air of visible impatience. He knew
+the voice well enough, and the moon-light left him no doubt as to the
+lineaments of a face with which he was quite familiar. Francis Trent was
+not unlike either Rosalind or Oliver; but of the two he resembled his
+sister rather than his younger brother. True, he did not possess her
+beauty, but he had her sleepy eyes, her type of feature, her colorless
+skin, and jetty hair. The colorlessness had degenerated, however, into
+an unhealthy pallor, and the stubbly beard which covered his cheeks and
+chin did not improve his appearance. Besides he was terribly out at
+elbows; his coat was green with age, his boots were broken, and his
+cuffs frayed and soiled. His hat was unnaturally shiny, and dented in
+two or three places. Altogether he looked as unlike a brother of the
+immaculate Oliver and the exquisitely-dressed Rosalind as could possibly
+have been found for either in the world of London.
+
+Oliver surveyed him with polite disgust, and waved him back a little.
+
+"You have been drinking coarse brandy, Francis," he said, coolly; "and
+you have been smoking bad tobacco. I wish you would consult my
+susceptibilities on those points when you come to interview me. You
+would really find it pleasanter in the end."
+
+"Where am I to find the money to consult your susceptibilities with?"
+asked the man, with a burst of what seemed like very genuine feeling.
+"Will you provide me with it? If you don't, what remains for me but to
+drink British brandy and smoke strong shag? I must drink something--I
+must smoke something. Will you pay the piper if I go to more expense?"
+
+"Not if you talk so loudly as to attract the attention of every passing
+policeman," said Oliver, dryly. "If you want to talk to me, as you say
+you do, keep quiet please."
+
+Francis Trent growled something like an imprecation on his brother below
+his breath, and then went on in a lowered tone.
+
+"It's easy for you to talk. You are not saddled by a wife and a lot of
+debts. _You_ haven't to keep out of the way for fear you should be
+wanted by the police--although you have not been very particular about
+keeping your hands clean after all. But you've been the lucky dog and I
+the unlucky one, and this is the result."
+
+"If you are going to be abusive, my good friend," said Oliver, calmly,
+"I shall turn round and go home again. If you will keep a civil tongue
+in your head I don't mind listening to you for five minutes. What have
+you got to say?"
+
+The man was evidently in a state of only half-repressed irritation. His
+brows twitched, he gnawed savagely at his beard, he looked at Oliver
+with furtive hate from under his heavy dark brows. But the younger man's
+cool tones seemed to possess the power of keeping him in check. He made
+a visible effort to calm himself as he replied,
+
+"You needn't be so down on me, Oliver. You must allow for a fellow's
+feeling a little out of sorts when he's kept waiting about here for
+hours. I am convinced that Rosalind saw me this afternoon; I'm certain
+that you saw me to-night. If I had not caught you now I would have gone
+to the front door and hammered at it till one of you came out."
+
+"And you think that you would have advanced your cause thereby?"
+
+"Why, hang it all, Oliver, one would think that I was not your own flesh
+and blood! Have you no natural affection left?"
+
+"Not much. Natural affection is a mistake. You need not count on that
+with me."
+
+"You always were a cold-blooded, half-hearted sort of a fellow. Not one
+to help a friend, or even a brother," said Francis, sullenly.
+
+"Suppose you come to the point," remarked Oliver. "It is getting on to
+eleven o'clock. I really can't stand here all night."
+
+"It is nothing to you that I have stood here for hours already."
+
+"No, it is not." There was a touch of sharpness in his tone. "I am in no
+mood for sentiment. Say what you have to say and get done with it, or I
+shall leave you."
+
+"Well," said Francis, after a pause, in which he was perhaps estimating
+his own powers of persuasion against his brother's powers of resistance,
+and coming to the conclusion that it was not worth his while to contend
+with him any longer, "I have come to say this. I am hard up--devilish
+hard up. But that's not all. It is not enough to offer me a five-pound
+note or a ten-pound note and tell me to spend it as I please. I want
+something definite. You seem to have plenty of money: I have none. I
+want an allowance, or else a sum of money down, sufficient to take Mary
+and myself to the Colonies. I don't think that is much to ask."
+
+"Don't you?"
+
+The icy tone which Oliver assumed exasperated his brother.
+
+"No, be hanged if I think it is!" he said vehemently, though still in
+lowered tones. "I want two hundred a year--it's little enough: or two or
+three thousand on the nail. Give me that, and I'll not trouble you or
+Rosy any more."
+
+"And where do you suppose that I'm to get two or three thousand pounds,
+or two hundred a year?"
+
+"I don't care where you get it, so long as you hand it over to me."
+
+"Very sorry I can't oblige you," said Oliver, nonchalantly "but as your
+proposition is a perfect impossibility, I don't see my way to saying
+anything else."
+
+"You think I don't mean it, do you?" growled his brother. "I tell you
+that I will have it. And if I don't have it I'll not hold my tongue any
+longer. I'll ruin you."
+
+"Don't talk in that melodramatic way," said Oliver, quietly. But his lip
+twitched a little as if something had touched him unpleasantly. "You
+know very well that you have no more power of ruining me than you have
+of flying to yonder moon. You can't substantiate any of your stories.
+You can blacken me in the eyes of a few persons who know me, perhaps;
+but really I doubt your power of doing that. People wouldn't believe
+you, you know; and they would believe me. There is so much moral power
+in a good hat and patent leather boots."
+
+"Do you dare to trifle with me----" the man was beginning, furiously,
+but Oliver checked him with a slight pressure on his arm, and went on
+suavely.
+
+"All this threatening sort of business is out of date, as you ought to
+know. One would think that you had been to the Surrey-side Theatres,
+lately, or the Porte St. Martin, and taken lessons of a stage villain.
+'Beware! I will be revenged,' and all that sort of thing. It doesn't go
+down now, you know. The fact is this--you can't do me any harm, you can
+only harm yourself; and I think you had better be advised by me and hold
+your tongue."
+
+Francis was silent for a minute or two. He was evidently impressed by
+Oliver's manner.
+
+"You're right in one way," he said, in a much more subdued tone. "People
+wouldn't listen to me because I am so badly dressed--I look so poor. But
+that could be remedied. A new suit of clothes might make all the
+difference, Oliver. And then we could see whether _some_ people would
+believe me or not!"
+
+"And what difference will it make to me if people did believe you?" said
+Oliver, slowly.
+
+The man stared at him open-mouthed. Oliver was taking a view of things
+which was unknown to Francis.
+
+"Well," he answered, "considering that you and most of my relations and
+friends have cut me for the last ten years because I got into trouble
+over a few accounts at the bank--and considering the sorry figure I cut
+now in consequence--I don't know why you should be so careless of the
+possibility of partaking my downfall! I should say that it would be
+rather worse for you than it has been for me; and it hasn't been very
+nice for _me_, I can assure you!"
+
+Oliver's face grew a trifle paler, but his voice was as smooth as ever
+when he began to speak.
+
+"Now, look here, Francis," he said, "I'll be open and plain with you. Of
+course, I know what you are alluding to; it would be weakness to pretend
+that I did not. But I assure you that you are on the wrong track. In
+your case you were found to have embezzled money, falsified accounts,
+and played the devil with old Lawson's affairs generally. You were
+prosecuted for it, and the whole case was in the papers. You got off on
+some technical point, but everybody knew that you were guilty, and
+everybody cut you dead--except, you will remember, your brother and
+sister, who continued to give you money, and were exceedingly kind to
+you. You were publicly disgraced, and there was no way of hushing the
+matter up at all. I am sorry to be obliged to put things so
+disagreeably----"
+
+"Go on! You needn't apologize," said Francis, with a rather husky laugh.
+"I know it all as well as you do. Go on."
+
+"I wish to point out the difference between our positions," said Oliver,
+calmly. "I did something a little shady myself, when I was a lad of
+twenty--at your instigation, mind; I signed old Romaine's name in the
+wrong place, didn't I? Old Romaine found it out, kept the thing quiet,
+and said that he had given me the money. I expressed my regret, and the
+matter blew over. What can you make out of that story?"
+
+He spoke very quietly, but there was a watchfulness in his eye, a slight
+twitching of his nostril, which proved him to be not entirely at his
+ease. His elder brother laughed aloud.
+
+"If that were all!" he said. "But you forget how base the action would
+seem if all the circumstances were known! how black the treachery and
+ingratitude to a man who was, after all, your benefactor. Rosalind never
+knew of that little episode, I believe? And she has a good deal of
+respect for her husband's memory. I should like to see what she would
+say about it."
+
+"She would not believe you, my dear boy."
+
+"But if I could prove it? If I had in my possession a full confession
+signed by yourself--the confession that Romaine insisted on, you will
+remember? What effect would that have upon her mind? And there was that
+other business, you know, about Mary's sister, whom you lured away from
+her home and ruined. _She_ is dead, but Mary is alive and can bear
+witness against you. How would you like these facts blazoned abroad and
+brought home to the mind of the pretty girl whom I saw you kissing a
+little while ago on the steps of a house in Upper Woburn Place? She is a
+Miss Kenyon, I know: an actress; I have heard all about her. Her brother
+is a doctor; and she has twenty thousand pounds in her own right."
+
+"You do seem, indeed, to know everything," said Oliver, with a sneer.
+
+"I make it my business to know everything about you. You've been so
+confoundedly mean of late that I had begun to understand that I must put
+the screw on you. And I warn you, if you don't give me what I ask, or
+promise to do so within a reasonable time, I shall first go to Rosalind,
+and then to these Kenyon people, and Caspar Brooke, and all these other
+friends of yours, and see what they will give me for your secrets."
+
+"They'll kick you out of the house, and you'll be called a fool for your
+pains," said the younger man, furiously.
+
+"No, I don't think so. Not if I play my game properly. You are engaged
+to Miss Kenyon, are you not?" Oliver stood silent.
+
+"I tell you that she shall never marry you in ignorance of your past
+unless you shut my mouth first. And you are the best judge of whether
+she will marry you at all or not, when she knows what we know."
+
+Then the two brothers were both silent for a little while. Oliver stood
+frowning, tracing a pattern on the pavement with the toe of his polished
+boot, and gazing at it. He was evidently considering the situation.
+Francis stood with his back to the railings, his eyes fixed, with a
+somewhat crafty look, upon his brother's face. He was not yet sure that
+his long-cherished scheme for extracting money from Oliver would
+succeed. He believed that it would; but there was never any counting
+upon Oliver. Astute as Francis considered himself (in spite of his
+failure in the world), Oliver was astuter still.
+
+Presently Oliver looked up and met Francis' fixed gaze. He started a
+little, and made an odd grimace, intended to conceal a nervous twitch of
+the muscles of his face. Then he spoke.
+
+"You think yourself very clever, no doubt. Well, perhaps you are. I'll
+acknowledge that, in a certain sense, you might spoil my game for me.
+Not quite in the way you think, you know; but up to a certain point. As
+I don't want to have my game spoilt, I am willing to make a bargain with
+you--is that plain?"
+
+"Fair sailing, so far," said Francis, doggedly. "Go on. What will you
+give?"
+
+"Nothing just now. The sum you named on the day when I marry Ethel
+Kenyon, on condition that you give me back that confession you talk
+about, swear not to mention your wife's sister, and take yourself off to
+Australia."
+
+"Hm!" said Francis considering. "So I have brought you to terms, have I?
+So much the better for you--and perhaps for me. Are you engaged to Miss
+Kenyon?"
+
+"I asked her to-night to marry me, and she consented."
+
+"You always were a lucky dog, Oliver," said Francis, with almost a
+wistful expression on his crafty face. "I never could see how you
+managed it, for my part. If that pretty girl"--with a laugh--"knew all
+that I knew----"
+
+"Exactly. I don't want her to know all you do. Are you going to agree to
+my terms or not?"
+
+"I should have said they were _my_ terms," said the elder brother, "but
+we won't haggle about names. Say two thousand five hundred pounds down?"
+
+"No, two thousand," said Oliver, boldly. "That will suit me better than
+two hundred a year."
+
+"Ah, you want to get rid of me, don't you? How soon is it likely to be?"
+
+"Oh, that I can't tell you. As soon as she fixes the day."
+
+"I swear by all that I hold sacred," said Francis, with sudden energy,
+"that I won't wait more than six months, and then I'll take two
+thousand."
+
+"Six? Make it twelve. The girl may want a year's freedom."
+
+"I won't wait twelve. I swear I won't. I'm tired of this life. I can't
+get any work to do, though I've tried over and over again. And I'm
+always unlucky at play. There's Mary threatening to go out to work
+again. If we were in another country, with a clear start, she should not
+have to do that."
+
+Oliver meditated. It did not seem to him likely that Ethel would refuse
+to marry him in six months' time, but of course it was possible. Still
+he was pretty sure that he could get the money advanced as soon as his
+engagement was noised abroad. It was rather a pity that he would have to
+publish it so soon--especially when his projects respecting Lesley
+Brooke had not been carried out--but it could not be helped. The
+prospect of ridding himself of his brother Francis was most welcome to
+him. And--if he could quiet him by promises, it might perhaps not be
+necessary to pay him the money after all.
+
+"Well," he said, at last, "I promise it within six months, Francis. On
+the conditions I named, of course."
+
+"And you will keep your word?" said Francis, looking suspiciously into
+his brother's smooth, pale face.
+
+"If not," answered Oliver, airily, "you have the remedy in your own
+hands, you know. You can easily bring me to book. And now that this
+interesting conversation is ended, perhaps you will kindly allow me to
+go home? The night is fine, but I am a good deal chilled with
+standing----"
+
+"And what am I, then? I've been waiting for you, off and on, for hours.
+And I haven't got a shilling in my pocket, either. Haven't you got a
+pound or two to spare, Oliver? For the sake of old times, you know."
+
+Some men would have found it pitiful to hear poor Francis Trent, with
+his broken-down, cringing, crafty look, thus sueing for a sovereign. For
+he had the air of a ruined gentleman, not of an ordinary beggar, and the
+signs of refinement in his face and bearing made his state of abasement
+and destitution more apparent. But Oliver was not touched by any such
+sentimental considerations. He looked at first as if he were about to
+refuse his brother's request; but policy dictated another course. He
+must not drive to desperation the man in whose hands lay his character
+and perhaps his future fortune. He put his hand into his pocket, brought
+out a couple of sovereigns, and dropped them into Francis' greedily
+outstretched palm. Then he crossed the road towards his sister's house,
+while the elder brother slunk away with an air of anything but triumph.
+It was sad to see him so depressed, so broken-spirited, so hopeless. For
+he had been meant for better things. But his will was weak, his
+principles had never been settled, and with his first lapse from honesty
+all self-respect seemed to leave him. Thenceforth he went down hill, and
+would long ago have reached the bottom but for the one helping hand that
+had been held out to stay him in his mad career. That hand belonged to
+none of his kith and kin, however. It was seamed and roughened and
+reddened by honest toil; but the toil had at least been honest and the
+toiler's love for the fine gentleman for whom she worked was loving and
+sincere. To cut a long story short, Francis Trent had married a
+dressmaker of the lower grade, and a dressmaker, moreover, who had once
+been a ladies'-maid.
+
+While he slouched away to his poverty-stricken home, and Oliver solaced
+himself with a novel and a cigar, and Miss Ethel Kenyon sank to sleep
+in spite of a tumult of innocent delight which would have kept a person
+of less healthy mind and body wide awake for hours, Lesley Brooke, who
+was to influence the fate of all these three, lay upon her bed bemoaning
+her loneliness of heart, and saying to herself that she should never be
+happy in her father's house. It was not that she had met with any
+positive unkindness: she could accuse nobody of wishing to be rude or
+cold, but the atmosphere was not one to which she was accustomed, and it
+gave her considerable discomfort. Even the Mrs. Romaine of whom her
+father spoke as if she would be a friend, was not very congenial to her.
+Rosalind's eyes remained cold, despite their softness, and Lesley was
+vaguely conscious of a repulsion--such as we sometimes feel on touching
+a toad or a snake--when Mrs. Romaine put her hand on the girl's listless
+fingers. No, what it was Lesley could not tell, but she was sure of
+this, that she could never like Mrs. Romaine.
+
+And she cried herself to sleep, and dreamed of the convent and the sunny
+skies of France.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+KNIGHT-ERRANTRY.
+
+
+Lesley found that she had unintentionally given great offence to Sarah,
+who was a supreme authority in her father's house, and possibly to her
+aunt as well, by the arrangement with her father that she would have a
+maid of her own. In vain she protested that she did not need one, and
+had not really asked for one; the impression remained upon Miss Brooke's
+mind and Sarah's mind that she had in some way complained of the
+treatment which she had received, and they were a little prejudiced
+against her in consequence.
+
+Miss Brooke was a good woman, and, to some extent, a just woman; but it
+was scarcely possible for her to judge Lesley correctly. All Miss
+Brooke's traditions favored the cult of the woman who worked: and
+Lesley, like her mother before her, had the look of a tall, fair
+lily--one of those who toil not, neither do they spin. Miss Brooke was
+quite too liberal-minded to have any great prejudice against a girl
+because she had been educated in a French convent, though naturally she
+thought it the worst place of training that could have been secured for
+her; and she had made up her mind at once, when she saw Lesley, that
+although there might be "no great harm" in the poor child, she was
+probably as frivolous, as shallow-hearted, and as ignorant as the
+ordinary French school-girl was supposed to be.
+
+With Sarah the case was different. Sarah was an ardent Protestant, of a
+strict Calvinist type, and she had taken up the impression that Miss
+Lesley must needs be a Romanist. Now this was not the case, for Lesley
+had always been allowed to go to her own church, see her own clergyman,
+and hold aloof from the devotional exercises prescribed for the other
+girls. But Sarah believed firmly that she belonged to the Church of
+Rome, and she did not feel at all easy in her mind at staying under the
+same roof with her. She made this remark to Miss Brooke on the third
+day after Lesley's arrival, and was offended at the burst of laughter
+with which Miss Brooke received it.
+
+"Do you think the house will fall in, Sarah? or that you will be
+corrupted?"
+
+"I think I may hold myself safe, ma'am," said Sarah, with dignity. "But
+I'm not so sure about the house."
+
+She stood with her arms folded, grimly surveying her mistress, who, if
+the truth must be told, was lying on a sofa in her bedroom, smoking a
+cigarette. Sarah knew her mistress' tastes, and had grown generally
+tolerant of them, but she still looked on the cigarettes with
+disapproval. Miss Brooke was discreet enough to smoke only in her own
+room or in her brother's study--a fact which had mollified Sarah a
+little when her mistress first began the practice.
+
+"The minute you smoke one o' them nasty things in the street, ma'am, I
+shall give notice," she had said.
+
+And Miss Brooke had quietly answered: "Very well, Sarah, we'll wait till
+then."
+
+It must be added, for the benefit of all who are shocked by Miss
+Brooke's practice, that she had begun it by order of a doctor as a cure
+for neuralgia. She continued it because she liked it. Lesley was only
+just beginning to suspect her aunt of the habit, and was inexpressibly
+startled and alarmed at the thought of such a thing. That her aunt, who
+was indisputably kind, clever, benevolent, respectable in every way,
+should smoke cigarettes, seemed to Lesley to justify all that she had
+heard against her father's Bohemian household. She could not get over
+it. Sarah _had_ got over this outrage on conventionality, but she was
+not yet prepared to forgive Lesley for having lived in a French convent.
+
+"Oh, you're not sure about the house," said Miss Brooke. "Well, I'm
+sorry for you, Sarah. I'll send in a plumber if you think that would be
+any good."
+
+"No, ma'am, don't; but if it will not ill-convenience you I should like
+to put a few tracts in Miss Lesley's room, so that she may look at them
+sometimes instead of the little book of Popish prayers that she has
+brought with her."
+
+Miss Brooke wondered for a moment what the book of Popish prayers could
+be; and then remembered a little Russia-bound book--the well-known
+"Imitation of Christ" which she had noticed in Lesley's room, and which
+Sarah had doubtless mistaken for a book of prayer. It would not have
+been at all like Miss Brooke to clear up the mistake. She generally let
+mistakes clear themselves. She only gave one of her short, clear, rather
+hard laughs, and told Sarah to put as many tracts as she pleased in
+Lesley's room. Whereon, Lesley shortly afterwards found a bundle of
+these publications in her room, and, as she rather disliked their tone
+and tendency, she requested Sarah to take them away.
+
+"They were put there for you to read," said Sarah, with stolid
+displeasure.
+
+"By my aunt?"
+
+"Your aunt knew that I was going to put them there. And it would be
+better for you to sit and read them rather than them rubbishy books you
+gets out of master's libery. Your poor, perishing soul ought to be
+looked after as well as your body."
+
+"Take them away, please," said Lesley, wearily. "I do not want to read
+them: I am not accustomed to that sort of book." Then, the innate
+sweetness of her nature gaining the day, she added, "Please do not be
+angry with me, Sarah. I would read them if I thought that they would do
+me any good, but I am afraid they will not."
+
+"Just like your mother," Sarah said, sharply. "She wouldn't touch 'em
+with the tips of her fingers, neither. And a maid, and all that
+nonsense. And dresses from France. Deary me, this is a sad upsetting for
+poor master."
+
+"I don't interfere with your master," said Lesley, somewhat bitterly.
+"He does not trouble about me--and I don't see why I should trouble
+about him."
+
+She said it almost below her breath, not thinking that Sarah would hear
+or understand; but Sarah--after flouncing out of the room with an
+indignant "Well, I'm sure!"--went straight to Miss Brooke and repeated
+every word, with a few embellishments of her own. Miss Brooke came to
+the conclusion that Lesley was, first of all, very indiscreet to take
+servants so much into her confidence, and, secondly, that she was
+inclined to rebel against her father's authority. And it seemed good to
+her to take counsel with Mrs. Romaine in this emergency; and Mrs.
+Romaine soon found an opportunity of pouring a sugared, poisoned version
+of what she had heard into Caspar Brooke's too credulous ears. So that
+he became colder than ever in his manner to Lesley, and Lesley wondered
+vainly how she could have offended him.
+
+The sole comfort that she gleaned at this time came from the Kenyons.
+Ethel called on her, and won her heart at once by a peculiarly caressing
+winsomeness that reminded one of some tropical bird--all dainty
+coquetries and shy, sweet playfulness. Not that Ethel was in the least
+bit shy, in reality; but she had a very tiny touch of the stage habit of
+_posing_, and with strangers she invariably posed as being a little shy.
+But in spite of this innocent little affectation, and in spite of a very
+fashionable style of dress and demeanor, Ethel was true-hearted and
+affectionate, and Lesley's own heart warmed to the tenderness of Ethel's
+nature before she had been in her company half an hour.
+
+"You know you are not a bit like what I expected you to be," Ethel said
+sagely, when the two girls had talked together for some little time.
+
+"What did you expect?" said Lesley, her face aglow.
+
+"I hardly know--something more French, I think--a girl with airs and
+graces," said Ethel, who had herself more airs and graces than Lesley
+had ever donned in all her life; "nothing so Puritan as you are!"
+
+"Puritan, after so many years of a French convent?"
+
+"Yes, Puritan: no word suits you half so well! There is a sort of
+restrained life and gladness about you, and it is the restraint that
+gives it its attraction! Oh, forgive me for speaking so frankly; but
+when I see you I forget that I have not known you for years and years! I
+feel somehow as if we had been friends all our life!"
+
+"And so do I," said Lesley, surrendering herself to the spell, and
+letting Ethel take both her hands and look into her face. "But you are
+not at all like the English girls I expected to meet! I thought they
+were all cold and stiff!"
+
+"Have you never seen an English girl before, dear?"
+
+"Yes, but I have had no English girl friend. I never talked to an
+English girl before as I am talking to you."
+
+"Oh, how charming!" said Ethel. "And I never before talked to a girl who
+had lived in a convent! We are each a new experience to the other! What
+a basis for friendship!"
+
+"Do you think so?" said Lesley. "I should have thought the
+opposite--that what is old and well-tried and established is the best to
+found a friendship upon."
+
+She spoke half sadly, with a memory of her parents and her own relations
+with her father in her mind. Ethel gave her a shrewd glance, but made no
+direct reply. She was a young woman of marvellously quick intuitions,
+and she saw at once that Lesley's training had not fitted her to take up
+her position in the Brooke household very easily.
+
+When she went home she turned this matter over in her mind a good many
+times; and was so absorbed in her reflections that her brother had to
+ask her twice what she was thinking about before she answered him.
+
+"I was thinking about Lesley Brooke," she answered promptly.
+
+"A lively subject. I never saw a girl with a more melancholy
+expression."
+
+"Well, of course, as yet she hates everything," said Ethel,
+comprehensively.
+
+"Hates everything! That's a large order," said the young doctor.
+
+They were at dinner--they dined at six every day on account of Ethel's
+professional engagements; and it was not often that Maurice was at home.
+When he was at home Ethel knew that he liked to talk to her, so she
+abandoned her brown studies.
+
+"Well, she hates the fog and the darkness, and the ugly buildings and
+the solid furniture of Mr. Brooke's house, which dates back to the
+Georgian era at the very least. I'm sure she hates Sarah. And I
+shouldn't like to say that she hates Doctor Sophy"--Ethel always called
+Miss Brooke Doctor Sophy--"but she doesn't like her very much. She is
+awfully shocked because Doctor Sophy smokes cigarettes."
+
+"Quite right of Miss Lesley Brooke to be shocked," said Maurice,
+laughing. "However, she need not despair, there is always old Caspar to
+fall back upon."
+
+Ethel pursed up her lips, looked at her brother very hard, and shook her
+curly head significantly.
+
+"Do you mean to say," cried the doctor, "that she doesn't appreciate her
+father?"
+
+"I don't think she understands him. And how can she appreciate him if
+she doesn't understand?"
+
+Maurice laid down his knife and fork, and simply glared at his sister.
+He was an excitable young man, and had a way of expressing himself
+sometimes in reprehensibly strong language. On this occasion, he said--
+
+"Do you mean to tell me that that girl is such a born idiot and fool
+that she can't see what a grand man her father is?"
+
+Ethel nodded. But her eyes brimmed over with mirth.
+
+"Then she deserves to be shut up for life in the convent she came from!"
+said the doctor. "I wouldn't have believed it! Is she blind? Doesn't she
+_see_ what an intellect that man has? Can't she understand that his
+abilities are equal to those of any man in Europe?"
+
+"We all know your admiration for Mr. Brooke, dear," said Ethel, saucily.
+"You had better go and expound your views to Lesley. Perhaps she and her
+father would get on better then."
+
+Maurice was silent. He sat and looked aghast at the notion thus
+presented to him. That Caspar Brooke--his friend, his mentor, almost his
+hero--should not have been able to live with his wife was bad enough!
+That his daughter should not admire him seemed to Maurice a sort of
+profanation! Heavens, what did the girl mean? The mother might have been
+an aristocratic fool; but the girl?--she looked intelligent enough!
+There must be a misapprehension somewhere; and it occurred to Maurice
+that it might be his duty to remove it.
+
+Maurice Kenyon was a born knight-errant. When he said that a thing
+wanted doing, his heart ached until he could do it. A Celtic strain of
+blood in him showed itself in the heat of his belief, the impetuosity of
+his actions. In Ethel this strain had taken an artistic turn; but the
+same nature that urged her to dramatic representation urged her brother
+to set to work vehemently on righting anything that he thought was
+wrong. There never was a man who hated more than he to leave a matter
+_in statu quo_.
+
+Although Ethel said no more concerning Lesley's misunderstanding of her
+father, Maurice was haunted by the echo of her remarks. He could not
+conceive how a girl possessed of ordinary faculties could possibly
+misprize her father's gifts. Either she was a girl of extraordinary
+stupidity, or she was wilfully blind. Perhaps there was no one to point
+out to her Caspar Brooke's many virtues. But they (thought Maurice) lay
+on the surface, and could not possibly be overlooked. The girl must have
+been spoiled by her residence in a French convent: she must be either
+stupid, frivolous, or base. Then how could Ethel care for her? Surely
+she could not be stupid: she could not be base--she might be frivolous:
+Maurice could not go so far as to think that his sister Ethel would like
+her the worse for being a little frivolous. Yes, that must be it: she
+was frivolous--a soulless butterfly, who pined for the gaieties of
+Paris. How awfully hard for a man like Caspar Brooke to have a daughter
+who was merely frivolous.
+
+The more he thought of it--and he thought a good deal of it--the more
+Mr. Kenyon was concerned. No doubt it was no business of his, he said to
+himself, and he was a fool to worry himself. But then Brooke was his
+friend, in spite of the disparity of their years; and he did not like to
+think that his friend had such a heavy burden to bear. For, of course,
+it was a heavy burden to a man like Brooke. No doubt Brooke did not show
+that it was a burden: strong men did not cry out when their strength was
+tried. But a man with his power of affection, his tenderness, his depth
+of feeling (as Maurice thought), must be troubled when he found that his
+daughter neither loved nor comprehended him!
+
+Maurice reflected that he had seen this extraordinary girl once. She had
+been standing at the window one day when he and Ethel were feeding that
+pampered poodle of Ethel's, Scaramouch, and he had been struck by the
+grace of her figure, the queenly pose of her head. He had not observed
+her face particularly, but he believed that it was rather pretty. Her
+dress--for his practised memory began to furnish him with details--her
+dress was grey, and if he could judge aright, fashionably made. Yes, a
+little French fashion-plate--a doll, powdered, perhaps, and painted,
+laced up, and perfumed and clothed in dainty raiment, to come and make
+discord in her father's home! It was intolerable. Why did not Brooke
+leave this pestilent creature in her own abode, with the insolent,
+aristocratic friends who had done their best already to spoil his life!
+
+Thus he worked himself up to a high pitch of passionate excitement on
+his friend's behalf. It never occurred to him that Caspar Brooke might
+not at all be in need of it. It did not seem possible to him that a
+father could feel indifferent to the opinion of his child. And perhaps
+he was right, and Caspar Brooke not quite so indifferent as he seemed.
+
+It must be the girl's fault, Maurice thought to himself. Could nothing
+be done? Could he set Ethel to talk to her? But no: Ethel was not
+serious enough in her appreciation of Caspar Brooke. Mrs. Romaine? She
+would praise Mr. Brooke, no doubt; but Kenyon had a troubled doubt of
+Mrs. Romaine's motives.
+
+Doctor Sophy? Well, he liked Doctor Sophy immensely, especially since
+she had given up her practice: he liked her because she was so frank, so
+sensible, so practical in her dealings. But she was not a very
+sympathetic sort of person: not the kind of person, he acknowledged to
+himself, who would be likely to inspire a young girl with enthusiasm for
+another.
+
+If there was nobody else to perform a needed office, it was your plain
+duty to perform it yourself. That had been Maurice Kenyon's motto for
+many years. It recurred to him now with rather disagreeable force.
+
+Why, of course, _he_ could not go and tell Brooke's daughter that she
+was a frivolous fool! What was his conscience driving at, he wondered.
+How could he, who did not know her in the least, commit such an act of
+impertinence as tell her how much he disapproved of her? It would be the
+act of a prig, not of a gentleman.
+
+Of course he could not do it. And then he began at the beginning again,
+and condoled with Brooke in his own heart, and vituperated Brooke's
+daughter, and wondered whether she was really incapable of being
+reclaimed to the paths of filial reverence, and whether he ought not to
+make an attempt in his friend's favor. All of which proves that if any
+man deserved the name of a Don Quixote, that man was Maurice Kenyon,
+M.R.C.S.
+
+Ethel unconsciously gave him the chance he secretly desired. He wanted
+above all things to make Lesley's acquaintance, and to talk to her--for
+her good--about her father. And one afternoon his sister begged him, as
+a great favor to her; to go over to Mr. Brooke's house with a message
+and a parcel for Lesley. He had been introduced to her one day in the
+street, therefore there could be nothing strange in his going in and
+asking for her, Ethel said. And would he please go about four o'clock,
+so as to catch Miss Lesley Brooke at afternoon tea.
+
+Maurice told himself that it would be an impertinent thing to speak to
+her about her family affairs, and that he would only stay three minutes.
+At four o'clock he knocked at the door of Mr. Brooke's chocolate-brown
+house, and inquired solemnly for Miss Brooke.
+
+Miss Brooke was not at home.
+
+"Miss Lesley Brooke then?"
+
+Miss Lesley Brooke was in the drawing-room. Maurice went upstairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+BROOKE'S DISCIPLE.
+
+
+Lesley was sitting in a low chair near a small wood fire, which the
+chillness of the October day made fully acceptable. She had a book on
+her lap, but she did not look as if she were reading: her chin was
+supported by her hand, and her brown eyes were gazing out of the window,
+with, as Maurice Kenyon could not fail to see, a slightly blank and
+saddened look. The girl had been now a fortnight in London, and her face
+had paled and thinned since her arrival; there was an anxious fold
+between her brows, and her mouth drooped at the corners. If her old
+friends--Sister Rose of the convent, for instance--had seen her, they
+could hardly have recognized this spiritless, brooding maiden for the
+joyous "Lisa" of their thoughts.
+
+Mr. Kenyon had only one moment in which to note the significance of her
+attitude, for Lesley changed it as soon as she heard his name. He gave
+her Ethel's message at once and Ethel's parcel, and then stood, a little
+confused and unready for she had risen and was looking as if, when his
+errand was accomplished, he ought to go. Fortunately, Doctor Sophy came
+in and invited him cordially to sit down; rang for tea and scolded him
+roundly for not coming oftener; then suddenly remembered that one of her
+everlasting committees was at that moment sitting in a neighboring
+house, and started off at once to join her fellows, calling out to
+Lesley as she went to give Mr. Kenyon some tea, and tell her father, who
+was in the library.
+
+"My father is out: Aunt Sophy does not know that," said Lesley to her
+visitor.
+
+"Then I ought to go?" said Maurice, smiling.
+
+"Oh, no!"--Lesley looked disturbed. "I did not mean to be so
+inhospitable. The tea is just coming up."
+
+"Thank you," said Maurice, accepting the unspoken invitation and seating
+himself. "I shall be very glad of a cup."
+
+She sat down too, veiling the real embarrassment of a school-girl by an
+assumption of great dignity. Maurice looked at her and felt perplexed.
+Somehow he could not believe that Brooke's daughter was such a very
+frivolous girl when he came to look at her. She had a fine brow,
+expressive eyes, a very eloquent mouth. He wondered what she was
+reading. Glancing at the title of the book, his heart sank within him.
+She had a yellow-backed novel in her hand, of a profoundly light and
+frivolous type. Maurice was fond of certain kinds of novels, but there
+were others that he disliked and despised, and, as it happened, Lesley
+had got hold of one of these.
+
+"You are reading?" he said. "Am I interrupting you very much?"
+
+"Oh, no," Lesley answered, smiling and shutting the book. "Tea is coming
+up, you see. I am falling into English habits, and beginning to love the
+hour of tea."
+
+Sarah brought in the tea-tray as she spoke; and even Sarah's sour visage
+relaxed a little at the sight of the young doctor. She went downstairs,
+and presently returned with a plate of small, sweet cakes, which she
+placed rather ostentatiously upon the table.
+
+"Sarah must have brought those cakes especially for me," said Mr. Kenyon
+lightly, when she had left the room. "She knows they are my especial
+favorites. And your father's too. I don't know how many dozen your
+father and I have not eaten, with our coffee sometimes in an evening! I
+suppose you are learning to like them for his sake!"
+
+He was talking against time for the sake of giving her back the
+confidence that she seemed to have lost, for her face had flushed and
+paled again more than once since his entry. But perhaps he was wrong,
+for she answered him with a quietness of tone which showed no
+perturbation.
+
+"These little macaroon things, you mean? I like them very much already.
+I did not know that my father cared about them. I have been away so
+long"--smilingly--"that I know but little of his tastes."
+
+"I could envy you the pleasure you will have, then?" said Maurice,
+quickly.
+
+Lesley opened her brown eyes. "The--the pleasure?" she faltered in an
+inquiring tone.
+
+"Yes, the pleasure of discovering what are the tastes and feelings of a
+man like your father," said Maurice.
+
+Then, as she looked disconcerted still, and as if she did not know quite
+what he meant, he went on, ardently:
+
+"You have the privilege, you know, of being the only daughter of a man
+who is not only very widely known, but very much respected and admired.
+That doesn't seem much to you perhaps?"--for he thought he saw Lesley's
+lip curl, and his tone became a little sharp. "I assure you it means a
+great deal in a world like ours--in the world of London. It means that
+your father is a man of great ability and of unimpeachable honesty--I
+mean honesty of thought, honesty of purpose--intellectual honesty. You
+have no idea how rare that quality is amongst public men--or literary
+men--or journalists. Indeed it is a wonder that Brooke is so successful
+as he is, considering that he never wrote or said a word that he did not
+mean. No doubt that seems a small thing to you: it is not a small thing
+to say of a journalist now-a-days."
+
+"I don't know much about journalists," said Lesley. "But all that you
+are saying would be taken as a matter of course amongst _gentlemen_."
+
+There was a snub for Maurice, and a sly hit at her father, too. Maurice
+began to wax warm.
+
+"Miss Brooke," he said, "you entirely fail to understand me; and I can
+imagine that you, perhaps, fail to understand your father also."
+
+"If I do," said Lesley, proudly, "I hardly need to be set right by a
+stranger."
+
+The young doctor sprang to his feet. "I a stranger!" he said. "I, who
+have known and appreciated and worked with Caspar Brooke for the last
+half dozen years--I to be called a stranger by his daughter? I don't
+think that's fair: I don't indeed."
+
+He paused and put his tea-cup down upon the table. "If you'll only think
+for a minute, Miss Brooke," he said, entreatingly, with such a sudden
+softening of voice and manner that Lesley sat amazed, "I cannot believe
+but that you'll pardon me. I owe so much to your father--he has been a
+guide, a helper, almost a prophet to me, ever since I came across him
+when I was a medical student at King's College Hospital, and I only want
+everybody to see him with my eyes--loving and reverent eyes, I can tell
+you, though I wouldn't say so to everybody, seeing that love and
+reverence seem to have gone out of fashion! But to his daughter----"
+
+"His daughter surely does not need to be taught how to think of him by
+another, whether he be an old friend or a comparative stranger," said
+Lesley. "She can learn to know him for herself."
+
+"But _can_ she?"--Maurice Kenyon's Irish strain, which always led him to
+be more eager and explicit in speech than if he had been entirely of
+Anglo-Saxon nationality, was running away with him. "Are you sure that
+she can? Look here, Miss Brooke: you come to your father's house
+straight from a French convent, I believe. What _can_ you know of
+English life? of the strife of political parties, of literary parties,
+of faiths and theories and passions? You are plunged into the midst of a
+new world--it can't help but be strange to you at first, and you must
+feel a trifle forlorn and miserable--at least I should think so----"
+
+Lesley was in a dilemma. Kenyon's words were so true, so apt, that they
+brought involuntary tears to her eyes. She could get rid of the lump in
+her throat only by working herself up into a rage: she could dissipate
+the tears only by making her eyes flash with anger. The melting mood was
+not to her taste. She chose the more hostile tone.
+
+"Mr. Kenyon, excuse me, but you have no right at all to talk about my
+being miserable. You may know my father: you do not know me."
+
+"But knowing your father so well----"
+
+"That has nothing to do with it. Am I not a separate human being? What
+have you to do with me and my feelings? You say that I do not know
+English ways--is it an English way," cried Lesley, indignantly, "to try
+to thrust yourself into a girl's confidence, and intrude where you have
+not been asked to enter? Then English ways are not those that I
+approve."
+
+Maurice Kenyon felt that his cause was lost. He had gone rather white
+about the lips as he listened to Lesley's protest. Of course, he had
+offended her by his abominable want of tact, he told himself--his
+intrusive proffer of unneeded sympathy and help. But it was not in his
+nature to acknowledge himself beaten, and to take his leave without a
+word. His ardor impelled him to speak.
+
+"Miss Brooke, I most sincerely beg your pardon," he said, in tones of
+deep humility. "I see that I have made a mistake--but I assure you that
+it was from the purest motives. I don't"--forgetting his apologetic
+attitude for a moment--"I _don't_ think that you realize what a truly
+great man your father is--how good, as well as great. I _don't_ think
+you understand him. But I beg your pardon for seeming to think that I
+could enlighten you. Of course, it must seem like impertinent
+interference to you. But if you knew"--with a tremor of disappointment
+in his voice--"what your father has been to me, you would not perhaps be
+so surprised at my wanting his daughter to sympathize with me in my
+feelings. I had no idea"--this was intended to be a Parthian shot--"that
+my admiration would be thought insulting."
+
+He bowed very low, and turned to depart, vowing to himself that nothing
+would induce him ever to enter that drawing-room again; but Lesley, pale
+and wide-eyed, called him back.
+
+"Stay, Mr. Kenyon," she said, rising from her seat.
+
+He halted, his hat in one hand, his fingers still on the knob of the
+door.
+
+"I never meant to say," said Lesley, confronting him, "that I was
+incapable of sympathy with you in admiration for my father. With my
+feeling towards him you have nothing to do--that is all. I am not angry
+because you express your own sentiments, but because----"
+
+She stopped and bit her lip.
+
+"----Because I dared divine what yours might be?" asked Maurice, boldly,
+and with an accent of reproach. "Is it possible that yours _can_ be like
+mine? and am I to blame for saying so? How can you estimate the worth of
+his work? You, a girl fresh from school! I know it is very rude to say
+so, but I cannot help it. If you were more of a woman, Miss Brooke, if
+you had had a wider experience of life and mankind, you would
+acknowledge that you could not possibly know very much of what your
+father had done, and you would be glad of the opportunity of learning!"
+
+This was just the speech calculated to make Lesley furiously angry, and
+it was with great difficulty that she restrained the words that rose
+impetuously to her lips. She stood motionless and silent, and Maurice
+mistook her silence for that of stupid obstinacy, when it was the
+silence of wounded feeling and passionate resentment. He went on hotly,
+for he began to feel himself once more in the right.
+
+"Of course you _may_ know all about him: you may know as much as I who
+have lived and worked at his side, so to speak, for the last six years!
+You may be familiar with his writings: you may have seen the _Tribune_
+every week, and you may know that wonderful book of his--'The
+Unexplored' I mean, not the essays--by heart; there may be nothing that
+I can tell you, even about his gallant fight for one of the hospitals
+last year, or the splendid work he has set going at the Macclesfield
+Buildings in North London, or the way in which his name is blessed by
+hundreds--yes hundreds--of men and women and children whom he has helped
+to lead a better life! You may know all about these things, and plenty
+more, but you _can't_ know--coming here without having seen him since
+you were a baby--you _can't_ know the beauty of his character, or the
+depths of his sympathy for the erring, or the tremendous efforts that he
+has made, and is still making, for the laboring poor. You can't know
+this, or else I'd tell you, Miss Brooke, what you would be doing! You
+would be working heart and soul to lighten his burdens and relieve him
+of the incessant drudgery that interferes with his higher work, instead
+of sitting here day after day reading yellow-backed novels in a
+drawing-room."
+
+And then, in a white heat of indignation, Mr. Maurice Kenyon took his
+leave. But he did not know the consternation that he had created in
+Lesley's mind. She was positively frightened by his vehemence. But she
+had never seen an angry man before--never been spoken to in strong
+masculine tones of reprobation and disgust, such as it seemed to her
+that Maurice Kenyon had used. And for what? She did not know. She was
+not aware that she had behaved in an unfilial manner to her father. She
+did not realize that her cold demeanor, her puzzled and bewildered
+looks, had told Mr. Kenyon far more than she would have cared to confess
+about the state of her feelings. For the rest, Ethel's words and
+Maurice's vivid imagination were to blame. And, angry as Lesley was, she
+felt with a thrill of dismay that Mr. Kenyon's discourteous words were
+perfectly true. She did not appreciate her father; she did not know
+anything about him. All that she had hitherto surmised was bad. And here
+came a young man, apparently sane, certainly handsome and clever,
+although disagreeable--to tell her that Caspar Brooke was a hero, a man
+among ten thousand, an intellectual giant, an uncrowned king. It was too
+ridiculous; and Lesley laughed aloud--although as she laughed she found
+that her eyes were wet with tears.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+"THE UNEXPLORED."
+
+
+Lesley retained for some time a feeling of distinct anger against
+Maurice Kenyon, even while she came to acknowledge the truth of divers
+of his words. But their truth, she told herself indignantly, was no
+justification of his brutality. He was horribly rude and meddlesome and
+intrusive. What business was it of his whether she gave her father or
+not the meed of praise that he deserved? Why should she be lectured for
+it by a stranger? Maurice Kenyon's conduct--Maurice Kenyon himself--was
+intolerable, and she should hate him all the days of her life.
+
+And in good sooth, Maurice's behavior is somewhat hard to excuse. He
+certainly had no business at all to attack Lesley on the subject of her
+feelings about her father, and his mode of attack was almost ludicrously
+wanting in judgment and discrimination. But that which tact and judgment
+might perhaps have failed to effect, Maurice's sledge-hammer blows
+brought home to Lesley's understanding. He was to blame; but he did some
+good, nevertheless. When the first shock was over, Lesley began to
+reflect that her own world had been a narrow one, and that possibly
+there were others equally good. And this was a great step to a girl who
+had been educated in a French convent school.
+
+Part of Lesley's inheritance from her father, and a part of which she
+was quite unconscious, was a singularly fair mind. She could judge and
+balance and discriminate with an impartiality which was far beyond the
+power of the ordinary woman. Being young her impartiality was now and
+then disturbed by little gusts of passion and prejudice; but the faculty
+was there to be strengthened by every opportunity of exercising it. This
+faculty had been stirred within her when Lady Alice first told her of
+her father's existence; but she had tried to stifle it as an accursed
+thing. She held it wicked to be anything but a partizan. And now it had
+revived within her, and was urging her to form no rash conclusions, to
+be careful in her thoughts about her new acquaintances, to weigh her
+opinions before expressing them. And all this in spite of a native fire
+and vivacity of temperament which might have led her into difficulties
+but for the counterbalancing power of judgment which she had inherited
+from the father whom she had been taught to despise.
+
+So although she raged with all her young heart and strength against Mr.
+Kenyon's construction of her feelings and motives, she had the good
+sense to ask herself whether there had not been some truth in what he
+said. After all, what did she know of this strange father of hers, whose
+every action she judged so harshly? She had heard her mother's story,
+which certainly placed him in a very unamiable light. But many years had
+gone by since Lady Alice left her husband, and a man's character might
+be modified in a dozen years or so. Lesley was willing to go so far. He
+might even be repentant for the past. Then Sister Rose's words came back
+to her. She, Lesley, might become the instrument of reconciliation
+between two who had been long divided!
+
+The color flashed into her face and slowly faded away. What chance had
+she of gaining her father's ear? True, she could descant by the hour
+together, if she had the opportunity, on Lady Alice's sweetness and
+goodness; but when could she get the opportunity of speaking about them
+to him? He looked on her with an eye of mistrust, almost of contempt.
+She had been brought up in a school of thought which he despised. How
+far away from her now, by the by, seemed the old life with which she had
+been familiar for so many years! the life of simple duties, of easy
+routine, of praise and tenderness and placid contentment. She was out in
+the world now, as other girls were who had once shared with her the
+convent life near Paris. Where were they now--Aglae and Marthe and
+Lucile and Anastasie? Did they all find life in the world as difficult
+as Lesley found it?
+
+No, there was little chance, she decided, of acting as a mediatrix
+between her parents. Her father would not listen to any word she might
+say. And she was quite sure that she could never speak of his private
+affairs to him. They had been divided so many years; they were strangers
+now, not father and daughter, as they ought to be.
+
+Curious to relate, a feeling of resentment against the decree that had
+so long severed her from him rose up in Lesley's heart. It was not exactly
+a feeling of resentment against her mother. Rather it was a protest against
+fate--the fate that had made that father a sealed book to her, although
+known and read of all the world beside. If there _were_ admirable things in
+his nature, why had she been kept in ignorance of them?--why told the one
+ugly fact of his life which seemed to throw all the rest into shadow? It
+was not fair, Lesley very characteristically remarked to herself: it
+certainly was not fair.
+
+If he was so distinguished a man in literature as Maurice Kenyon
+represented him to be, why had she never been allowed to read his books?
+She wanted, for the first time, to read something that he had written.
+She supposed she might; for there was no one now to choose her books for
+her. Only a day or two before she had dutifully asked her Aunt Sophia if
+she might read a book that Ethel had lent her (it was the yellow-backed
+novel, the sight of which had made Maurice so angry), and she had said,
+with her horrid little laugh--oh, how Lesley hated Aunt Sophy's
+laugh!----
+
+"Good heavens, child, read what you like! You're old enough!"
+
+And Lesley had felt crushed, but resolved to avail herself of the
+permission. But where should she find her father's works? She would cut
+out her tongue before she asked Aunt Sophy for them, or her father, or
+the Kenyons, or Mrs. Romaine.
+
+She set to work to search the library shelves, and was soon rewarded by
+the discovery of a set of _Tribunes_, a weekly paper in which she knew
+that her father wrote. She turned over the leaves, with a dazed feeling
+of bewilderment. None of the articles were signed. And she had no clue
+to those that were written by her father or anybody else.
+
+She returned the volumes to their places with a heavy sigh, and
+continued to look through the shelves--especially through the rows of
+ponderous quartos and octavos, where she thought that her father's works
+would probably be found. Simple Lesley! It was quite a shock to her when
+at last--after she had relinquished her search in heartsick
+disappointment--she suddenly came across a little paper volume bearing
+this legend:--
+
+"The Unexplored. By Caspar Brooke. Price One Shilling. Tenth Edition."
+
+She took the book in her hand and gazed at it curiously. This was the
+"wonderful book" of which Maurice Kenyon had spoken. This little
+shilling pamphlet--really it was little more than a pamphlet! It seemed
+an extraordinary thing to her that her father should write _shilling
+books_. "A shilling shocker" was a name that Lesley happened to know,
+and a thing that she heartily despised. Her taste had been formed on the
+best models, and Lady Alice had encouraged her in a critical
+disparagement of cheap literature. Still--if Caspar Brooke had written
+it, and Maurice Kenyon had recommended it, Lesley felt, with flushing
+cheek and suspicious eyes, that it was a thing which she ought to read.
+
+Holding it gingerly, as if it were a dangerous combustible which might
+explode at any moment, she hurried away with it to her own room, turned
+the key in the lock, and sat down to read.
+
+At the risk of fatiguing my readers, I must say a word or two about
+Caspar Brooke's romance "The Unexplored." It had obtained a wonderful
+popularity in all English-speaking countries, and was well known in
+every quarter of the globe. Even Lady Alice must have seen it advertised
+and reviewed and quoted a hundred times. Possibly she had refused to
+read it, or closed her eyes to its merits. Possibly what a man wrote
+seemed to her of little importance compared to that which a man showed
+himself in his daily life. At any rate, she had never mentioned the book
+to her daughter Lesley. She certainly moved in a circle which was
+slightly deaf to the echoes of literary fame.
+
+"The Unexplored" was one of those powerful romances of an ideal society
+with which recent days have made us all familiar. But Caspar's book was
+the forerunner of the shoal which the last ten years have cast upon our
+shores. He was one of the first to follow in the steps of Sir Thomas
+More and Sir Philip Sidney, and picture life as it should be rather than
+as it is. His hero, an Englishman of our own time, puzzled and
+distressed at the social misery and discord surrounding him, leaves
+England and joins an exploring expedition. In the unexplored recesses of
+the new world he comes across a colony founded in ancient days by a
+people who have preserved an idyllic purity of heart and manners,
+together with a fuller artistic life and truer civilization than our
+own. To these people he brings his stories of London as it is to-day,
+and fills their gentle hearts with amazement and dismay. A slender
+thread of love-making gives the book its romantic charm. He gains the
+affections of the king's daughter, a beautiful maiden, who has been
+attracted to him from the very first; and with her he hopes to realize
+all that has been unknown to him of noble life in his own country. But
+the book does not end with its hero and heroine lapped in slothful
+content. For the heart of the maiden burns with sorrow for the toiling
+poor of the great European cities of which he has told her: to her this
+region has also the charm of "The Unexplored," and the book ends with a
+hint that she and her husband are about to wend their way, with a new
+gospel in their hand, to the very city of which he had shaken the dust
+from his shoes in disgust before he found an unexplored Arcadia.
+
+There was not much novelty in the plot--the charm of the book lay in the
+way the story was told, in the beauty of the language; and also--last
+but not least--the burning earnestness of the author's tone as he
+contrasted the hopeless, heartless misery of the poor in our great
+cities with the ideal life of man. His pictures of London life, drawn
+from the street, the hospital, the workhouse, were touched in with
+merciless fidelity: his satire on the modern benevolence and modern
+civilization which allows such evils to flourish side by side with
+lecture-rooms, churches, intellectual culture, and refined luxury was
+keen and scathing. It was a book which had startled people, but had also
+brought many new truths to their minds. And although no one could be
+more startled, yet no one could be more avid for the truth than the
+author's own daughter, of whom he had never thought in the very least
+when he wrote the book.
+
+Lesley rose from her perusal of it with burning cheeks and humid eyes.
+She herself, without knowing it, was in much the same position as the
+heroine of her father's book. Like the girl Ione, in "The Unexplored,"
+she had lived in a charmed seclusion, far from the roar of modern
+civilization, far from the great cities which are the abomination of
+desolation in our time. Knowledge had come to her filtered through the
+minds of those who closed their eyes to evil and their ears to tales of
+sin. She did not know how the poor lived: she had only the vaguest and
+haziest possible notions concerning misery and want and disease. She was
+not only pure and innocent, but she was ignorant. She had scarcely ever
+seen a newspaper. She had read very few novels. She had lived almost all
+her life with women, and she had imbibed the notion that her marriage
+was a matter which her mother would arrange without particularly
+consulting her (Lesley's) inclinations.
+
+To a girl brought up in this way there was much to shock and repel in
+Caspar Brooke's romance. More than once, indeed, she put it down
+indignantly: more than once she cried out, in the silence of her room,
+"Oh, but it can't be true!" Nevertheless, she knew in her heart of
+hearts that the strong and burning words which she was reading could not
+have been written were they not sincerely felt. And as for facts, she
+could easily put them to the test. She could ask other people to tell
+her whether they were true. Were there really so many criminals in
+London; so many people "without visible means of subsistence?" so many
+children going out in a morning to their Board Schools without
+breakfast? But surely something ought to be done! How could people sit
+down and allow these things to be? How could her father himself, who
+wrote about such things, live in comfort, even (compared with the
+wretchedly poor) in modest luxury, without lifting a finger to help
+them?
+
+But there Lesley caught herself up. What had Mr. Kenyon said? Had he not
+spoken of the things that Caspar Brooke had done? For almost the first
+time Lesley began to wonder what made her father so busy. She had never
+heard a word concerning the pursuits that Mr. Kenyon had mentioned as so
+engrossing. "The splendid work at Macclesfield Buildings:" what was
+that? The people whom he had helped: what people? Whom could she ask?
+Not her father himself--that was out of the question. He never spoke to
+her except on trivial subjects. She remembered with a sudden and painful
+flash of insight, that conversations between him and his sister were
+sometimes broken off when she came into the room, or carried on in
+half-phrases and under-tones. Of course she _had_ heard of Macclesfield
+Buildings; and of a club and an institute and a hospital, and what not;
+but the words had gone over her head, being destitute of meaning and of
+interest for her. She had been blind and deaf, it seemed to her now,
+ever since she came into the house; but Maurice Kenyon and her father's
+book had opened her eyes to the reality of things.
+
+Later on in the day her maid came to help her to dress for dinner.
+Lesley looked at her with new interest. For was she not one of the
+great, poor, struggling mass of human beings whom her father called "the
+People?" Not the happy peasant-class, as depicted in sentimental
+storybooks: whether that existed or not, Lesley was not learned enough
+to say: it certainly did not exist in London. She looked at the woman
+who waited on her with keenly observant eyes. Her name was Mary
+Kingston, and Lesley knew that she was not one of the prosperous,
+self-satisfied, over-dressed type, so common amongst ladies' maids; for
+she had been "out of a situation" for some time, and had fallen into
+dire straits of poverty. It would not have been like Miss Brooke to hire
+a common-place, conventional ladies' maid; she really preferred a
+servant "with a history." Lesley remembered that she had heard of Mary
+Kingston's past difficulties without noting them.
+
+"Kingston," she said, gently, "do you know much about the poor?"
+
+Kingston started and colored. She was a woman of more than thirty years
+of age--pale, thin, flat-chested, not very tall; she had fairly good
+features and dark, expressive eyes; but she was not attractive-looking.
+Her lips were too pale and her dark eyes too sunken for beauty. There
+was a gentleness in her manner, however, a patience in her low voice,
+which Lesley had always liked. It reminded her, in some undefined way,
+of her old friend, Sister Rose.
+
+"I've lived among the poor all my life, ma'am," Kingston said.
+
+"Do they suffer very much?" Lesley asked.
+
+Kingston looked slightly puzzled. "Suffer, ma'am?"
+
+"Yes--from hunger and cold, I mean: I have been reading about poor
+people in this book--and----"
+
+Kingston cast a rapid glance at the volume. Her face kindled at once.
+
+"Oh," she said, "I've read that book, ma'am, and what a beautiful book
+it is!"
+
+"Do you know it?" Lesley asked, amazed. Then, moved by a sudden impulse,
+"And you know it was written by my father?"
+
+Who would have thought that she could say the last two words with such
+an accent of tender pride?
+
+"No, ma'am, I did not know. Is it really _this_ Mr. Brooke? The name,
+you see, is not so uncommon as some, and I did not think----"
+
+"I know, I know," said Lesley, hurriedly. "But just tell me this--is it
+true? Do the poor people suffer as much in England as he says they do?"
+
+"Oh yes, ma'am, I'm afraid so, at least. I've seen a good deal of
+suffering in my day."
+
+Lesley was quiet for a little while, and the woman brushed out her
+shining hair. "Tell me," she said, "what is the worst suffering of
+all--will you? I mean, a suffering caused by being poor--nothing to do
+with your own life, of course. Is it the being hungry, or cold--or
+what?"
+
+Kingston considered for a moment. "I think," she said at last, "it isn't
+the being cold or hungry yourself that matters so much as seeing those
+that belong to you cold and hungry. That's the worst. If you have
+children, it does go to your heart to hear them ask you for something to
+eat, and you have nothing to give them."
+
+"Yes," said Lesley, softly, "I should think that is the worst."
+
+"But I don't know," said Kingston, in a perfectly unmoved and stolid
+tone, "whether it's worse than having no candles."
+
+Lesley looked up in astonishment.
+
+"It's when any one's ill that you feel that," the woman went on, in the
+same level tones. "In winter it's dark, maybe, at four o'clock, and not
+light again till nearly nine in the morning. It doesn't matter so much
+if you can go out. But if you have to sit by some one who's ill, and you
+can't see their faces, and if they leave off moaning you think they're
+dead--and perhaps when the early morning light comes it's only a dead
+face you have to look upon, and you never saw them draw their last
+breath--why, then, you feel mad-like to think of the candles that are
+wasted in big houses and of the bread that's thrown away."
+
+Lesley listened, appalled. A homely detail of this kind impressed her
+more than any appeal to her higher imagination. The woes of the poor
+had suddenly become real.
+
+"I hope you never had to go through all that, Kingston," she said, very
+gently.
+
+"Yes, ma'am, twice," said Kingston. "Once with my mother, and once with
+my little boy. They were both dead in the morning, but I didn't see 'em
+die."
+
+"But where was your husband? Was he dead?" said Lesley, quickly.
+
+"Oh, no, ma'am. But he was amusing himself. He was a gentleman, you
+see--more shame to me, perhaps you'll say. I couldn't expect him to
+think of things like candles."
+
+"Oh!--And is he--is he dead?"
+
+"No ma'am, he isn't dead," said Kingston. And from the shortness of her
+tone and the steadiness with which she averted her face Lesley came to
+the conclusion that she did not want to be questioned any more.
+
+Lesley went down to dinner feeling that she had made some new and
+extraordinary discoveries. She noticed that her father and her aunt made
+several allusions which would have seemed mysterious and repellant to
+her the day before, but which now possessed an almost tragic interest.
+When before had she heard her aunt speak casually of a Mothers' Meeting
+and a Lending Library? These were common-place matters to the ordinary
+English girl; but to Lesley they possessed the elements of a romance.
+For was it not by means of hackneyed, common-place machinery of this
+kind that cultured men and women put themselves into relation with the
+great, suffering, coarse, uncultured, human-hearted poor?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+LESLEY SEEKS ADVICE.
+
+
+Added to Lesley's new views of life, there was also a new feeling for
+her father. In the first rush of enthusiastic admiration for his book,
+she forgot all that she had heard against him, and believed--for the
+moment--that he was all Maurice Kenyon represented him to be. But
+naturally this state of mind could not last. The long years of her
+mother's influence told against any claim to love or respect on the
+father's part. Lesley remembered how bitterly Lady Alice spoke of him.
+She could not think that her mother had been wrong.
+
+It is a terrible position for a son or daughter--to have to judge
+between father and mother. It is a wrong position, and one in which
+Lesley felt instinctively that she ought never to have been placed. Of
+course it was impossible for her to help it. Father and mother had
+virtually made her their judge. They said to her, "Live for a year with
+each of us, and choose which you prefer. You cannot have us both." And
+as the only true and natural position for a child is that in which he or
+she can have both, Lesley Brooke was in a very trying situation. She had
+begun life in her father's house as her mother's ardent partisan; and
+she was her mother's partisan still. Only she was not quite sure whether
+she was not going to find that she could love her father too. And in
+that case, Lesley was tremulously certain that Lady Alice would accuse
+her of unfaithfulness to _her_.
+
+She turned with a sigh from the contemplation of her position to her new
+views of London and modern life. The poverty and ignorance of which she
+read had seemed hateful to her. But her impulse--always the impulse of
+generous souls--was not to shrink away from this newly-discovered
+misery, but to go down into the midst of it and help to cure the evil.
+
+Still blindly ignorant of what was already done, or doing, she hardly
+knew in which way to begin a work that was so new to her. Indeed, she
+hardly estimated its difficulties. All the poor that she had ever seen
+were the blue-bloused peasants, or brown-faced crones, and quaint little
+maidens with pigtails, who had visited the convent at Fontainebleau. She
+was quite sure that English poor people were not like these. Her father
+knew a great deal about them, but she could not ask him. The very way in
+which he spoke to her--lightly always, and jestingly--made serious
+questioning impossible. To whom then should she apply? The answer
+presented itself almost immediately, and with extraordinary
+readiness--to Mr. Oliver Trent.
+
+This decision was not so remarkable as it at first may seem. Lesley
+had run over in her mind a list of the persons whom she could not
+or would not ask. Her father and Miss Brooke?--impossible. Mrs.
+Romaine?--certainly not. Ethel?--Lesley did not believe that she knew
+anything about the poor. Maurice Kenyon?--not for worlds. The
+neighboring clergy?--Mr. Brooke had said that he did not want "the
+Blacks" about his house. The other men and women whom Lesley had seen
+were mere casual acquaintances; not friends of the family, like Oliver
+Trent.
+
+At least, she _supposed_ that Oliver was a friend of the family. He was
+Mrs. Romaine's brother; and Mrs. Romaine was a good deal at the house.
+In her own mind Lesley put him on the same footing as Mr. Kenyon--which
+estimate would have made Caspar Brooke exceedingly indignant, could he
+have known it. For though he did not exactly dislike Oliver Trent, he
+would never have thought of classing him with his friend, Maurice
+Kenyon.
+
+But Oliver had already called twice on some pretext or other, since
+Lesley had come home: and on the latter of these occasions he had sat
+for a full hour with her in the drawing-room, talking chiefly of France
+and Italy--in low and softly modulated tones. Lesley was losing all her
+horror of interviews with young men. If the nuns had seen her now they
+would indeed have thought her lost to all sense of propriety. For one of
+Miss Brooke's chief theories was that no self-respecting young woman
+needs a chaperon. And she had flatly refused to chaperone Lesley except
+on inevitable or really desirable occasions. "The girl must learn to go
+about the world by herself," she had said. "And I will say this for
+Lesley, she is not naturally timid or helpless--it is only training that
+makes her so." And under this tuition Lesley soon acquired the
+self-possession in which she had been somewhat wanting when she came,
+newly-fledged, from her convent.
+
+So when Oliver called again--it was on a message from his sister, and it
+had not yet recurred to Lesley to wonder at the readiness shown by
+English brothers to run on messages to their sisters' friends--he found
+Lesley alone, as usual, in the drawing-room, and she welcomed him with
+considerable warmth--a warmth that took him by surprise.
+
+"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Trent: I wanted to ask you something," she
+said, at once.
+
+"Ask me anything--command me in anything," he replied.
+
+He sank into a low chair at her right hand, and looked quite
+devotionally into her face. Lesley felt a trifle disturbed. She could
+not forget that Oliver was Ethel's lover, and she did not think that he
+ought to look at her so--_eagerly_--she did not know what else to call
+it. It was a look that made her uncomfortable. Nobody had ever looked at
+her in that way before. They did not look like that in the convent.
+
+"It is nothing very particular," she said, shrinking back a little.
+"Only I have nobody to ask."
+
+"I know--I understand," said Oliver, in his softest tones. Somehow his
+sympathy did not offend her, as Mr. Kenyon's had done.
+
+"It is very stupid of me," Lesley went on, trying to smile, "not to ask
+my father or Aunt Sophy; but I am afraid they would only laugh at me."
+
+"I shall not laugh at you," said Oliver, marvelling inwardly.
+
+"Won't you? You are sure? It is only a little, stupid, ordinary
+question. Do you know anything about Macclesfield Buildings?"
+
+Oliver drew himself up in his chair. Was _that_ the question? He did not
+believe it. But he answered her unsmilingly.
+
+"Yes, Miss Brooke. They are the blocks of workmen's dwellings where your
+father has founded a Club."
+
+"Has he?" said Lesley, her eyes dilating. "That is--very good of him,
+isn't it?"
+
+"Oh, I suppose so," Oliver answered, with a little laugh. "Of
+course--but I must not insinuate worldly motives into his daughter's
+ears!"
+
+"Oh, please, go on: I want to hear!"
+
+"It is nothing wrong. Only if a man wants to stand well with the
+working-people--if he wants votes, for instance--it isn't at all a bad
+move to begin with a Working-Men's Club."
+
+"Votes, Mr. Trent? What for?"
+
+"School Board, or County Council, or Parliament," said Oliver, coolly.
+"Or even Board of Guardians. I don't know what your father's ambitions
+are, exactly. But popularity is always a good thing."
+
+Lesley pondered a little, the color rising in her cheeks. "Then," she
+said, "you think my father does good things from--from what people call
+'interested motives?'"
+
+"Good heavens, no, Miss Brooke, I never said anything of the kind,"
+declared Oliver, somewhat alarmed by her straightforwardness. "I was
+only thinking of the general actions of man, not of your father in
+particular."
+
+Lesley nodded. "I don't quite understand," she said. "But that doesn't
+matter for the present. I have another question to ask you, Mr. Trent.
+Do you know anything about the poor?"
+
+"I'm very poor myself," said Oliver, laughing. "Horribly poor. 'Pon my
+word, I don't know any one poorer."
+
+"Oh, you are laughing at me now," said Lesley, almost petulantly. "And
+you said that you would not laugh."
+
+She leaned back in her chair, with heightened color and brightening
+eyes: her breath came a little more quickly than usual, as if her pulses
+were quickened. There is nothing so catching as emotion. Oliver's
+sluggish pulses began to stir at the sight of her. That soft and tender
+face seemed more beautiful to him than the sparkle and vivacity of Ethel
+Kenyon's. If it had not been for Ethel's twenty thousand pounds, he did
+not know but what he would have preferred Lesley. Rosy had said that
+Lesley would suit him best.
+
+"I am not laughing; I swear I am not," he said earnestly. "I know what
+you mean--you are thinking of the London poor. Your tender heart has
+been stirred by the sight of them in the streets--they are dreadful to
+look at, are they not? It is like you to feel their woes so acutely."
+
+"I want to know," said Lesley, rather plaintively, "whether I cannot do
+anything for them?"
+
+"You--do anything--for the poor?" repeated Oliver. Then he scanned her
+narrowly--scanned her shining hair, delicate features, Paris-made gown,
+and dainty shoe--and laughed a little. "You can let them look at
+you--that ought to be enough," he said.
+
+Lesley frowned. "Nonsense, Mr. Trent. What does my father do for his
+Club?"
+
+"Smokes with the men, sometimes, I believe. You couldn't do that, you
+know----"
+
+"Although----" and then Lesley stopped short and laughed.
+
+"Although Aunt Sophy does. It's no secret, my dear Miss Brooke. Half the
+women in London smoke now-a-days, I believe. Even my sister indulges now
+and then."
+
+Lesley gave her head a little toss. "What else does my father do?" she
+asked.
+
+"Sings to them. Sunday afternoon, that is, you know. The wives are
+allowed to come to the Club-room then, and he has a sort of little
+concert for them--good music, sacred music, even, I believe. He gets
+professionals to come now and then; they will do anything to oblige your
+father, you know--and when they don't come, he sings himself. He really
+has a very good bass voice."
+
+"Ladies don't sing, I suppose," said Lesley, after a little pause.
+
+"Oh, yes, they do. He nearly always has a lady to sing. Why don't you go
+down on a Sunday afternoon? The club is open to friends of the founder,
+if not of the members, on Sunday afternoons. Don't Mr. Brooke and Miss
+Brooke always go?"
+
+"I suppose they do--I never asked where they went," said Lesley, with
+burning cheeks. She remembered that they always did disappear on Sunday
+afternoons. No, she had not asked; she had not hitherto felt any
+curiosity as to their doings; and they had not asked her to accompany
+them. She began to resent their lack of readiness to invite her to the
+club.
+
+"You might go down on Sunday afternoon," said Oliver, lazily. "I'm
+going: they have asked me to sing. Though you mayn't know it, Miss
+Brooke, I have a very decent tenor voice. Ethel is going with me. Won't
+you come?"
+
+"I don't know," said Lesley, nervously. She bethought herself that she
+could not easily propose to accompany her father, and that Ethel and
+Oliver Trent would not want her. She would be one too many in either
+party. She could not go.
+
+But Oliver read the reason of her scruples. "If you will allow me," he
+said, "I will ask my sister to come too. Then we shall be a compact
+little party of four, and we can start off without telling Mr. Brooke
+anything about it."
+
+Lesley hesitated a little, but finally consented. She had a great desire
+to see what was going on in Macclesfield Buildings. But Oliver, it may
+be feared, believed in his heart that she went because he was going. And
+he resolved to bestow his society on her rather than on Ethel and Mrs.
+Romaine on Sunday. It was decidedly more amusing to waken that still
+sweet face to animation than to engage in a war of wit with Ethel.
+
+Lesley thought of Oliver very little. Once or twice he had startled her
+by an assumption of intimacy, a softening of his voice, and a look of
+tenderness in his eyes, which made her shrink into herself with an
+instinctive emotion of dislike. But she had then proceeded to scold
+herself for foolish shyness and prudery--the prudery of a French-school
+girl, who was not accustomed to the ways of men. She had begun to feel
+herself very ignorant of the world since she came to her father's house.
+It would never do to offend one of her father's friends by seeming
+afraid of him. So she tried to smile and looked pleased when Oliver drew
+near, and she was all the more gracious to him because she had already
+quarrelled with Maurice Kenyon, who was even more her father's friend
+than Oliver himself. But what could she do? Mr. Kenyon had insulted
+her--the hot blood rose to her cheeks as she thought of some of the
+things that he had said. Insulted her by assuming that she could not
+appreciate her father because she was too careless, too frivolous, too
+foolish to do so. That she was ignorant, Lesley was ready to
+acknowledge; but not that she was incapable of learning.
+
+Oliver had no difficulty in persuading his sister to make one of the
+party on Sunday afternoon. Indeed, Mrs. Romaine made the expedition
+easier by inviting Lesley to lunch with her beforehand.
+
+"I asked Maurice and Ethel Kenyon, too," she said to Lesley, "but they
+would not come. Mr. Kenyon had his patients to attend to; and Ethel
+would not leave him to lunch alone."
+
+Lesley did not answer, but privately reflected that if the Kenyons had
+accepted the invitation she would have lunched at home.
+
+She went to church by herself on Sunday morning, for Mr. Brooke was not
+up, and Doctor Sophy frequented some assembly of eclectic souls, of
+which Lesley had never heard before. So she went demurely to that
+ugliest of all Protestant temples, St. Pancras' Church, and was not very
+much surprised when she perceived that Oliver Trent was in the seat
+behind her, and that he sat so that he could see her face.
+
+"I did not know that you went to St. Pancras'," she said, innocently, as
+they stood on the steps together outside when the service was over.
+
+"Nor do I," he answered her. "It is the most hideous church I ever saw.
+But there was an attraction this morning."
+
+Lesley looked as if she did not understand. And indeed she did not.
+
+"You are coming to lunch with us, are you not? Will you let me escort
+you?"
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Trent. But--do you mind?--I shall have to call at my
+father's house on my way. Just to leave my prayer-book. It will not take
+me a minute."
+
+Oliver could not object, although he was not altogether pleased. For Mr.
+Brooke's house was immediately opposite the Kenyons', and Miss Ethel was
+as likely as not to be sitting at the drawing-room window. Her sharp
+eyes would espy him from afar, and she might ask Lesley if he had been
+to church with her. Not a very great difficulty, but Oliver had a
+far-seeing mind, and one question might lead to others of a more serious
+kind.
+
+However, there was no help for it. He paused on the steps of number
+fifty, while Lesley rang the bell. She had been formally presented with
+a latch-key, but the use of it was so new to her, and the fear of losing
+it so great, that she usually left it on her dressing-table.
+
+A maid opened the door and said something to Lesley in an under tone.
+Oliver was looking across the street and neither heard the words nor
+saw the woman's face. But Lesley turned to him hastily.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Trent, I am so sorry to keep you waiting, but I must run up to
+my aunt for a moment."
+
+She disappeared into the house, and then Oliver turned and met the eyes
+of Lesley's waiting-maid. And at the same moment he was aware--as one is
+sometimes aware of what goes on behind one's back--that Ethel, in her
+pretty autumn dress of fawn-color and deep brown, had come out upon the
+balcony of her house and was observing him.
+
+"_You_, Mary?" said Oliver, in a stifled whisper.
+
+The woman looked at him with hard, defiant eyes. "Yes, me," she said.
+"You ought to know that I couldn't do anything else."
+
+He stood looking at her with a frown.
+
+"This is the last place where you ought to have come," he said.
+
+"Because they are friends of yours?" she asked. "I can't help that. I
+didn't know it when I came, but I know it now."
+
+"Then leave," said Oliver, still in the lowest possible tone, but also
+with all possible intensity. "Leave as soon as you can. I'll find you
+another place. It is the worst thing you can do for your own interest to
+remain here, where you may be recognized."
+
+"I can take care of that," said Mary Kingston, icily. "I'll think over
+it."
+
+Oliver put his hand into his pocket as if in search of a coin. But
+Kingston suddenly shook her head. "No," she said, quickly, "I don't want
+it. Not from you."
+
+And then Lesley's foot was heard upon the stairs. Oliver looked up to
+Ethel's balcony. Yes, she was there, her hand upon the railing, her eyes
+fixed on him with what was evidently a puzzled stare. Oliver smiled and
+raised his hat. Ethel nodded and smiled in return. But he
+fancied--though, of course, at that distance he could not be sure--that
+she still looked puzzled as she returned his bow and smile.
+
+He walked on with Lesley. But his good-humor was gone: the usual suavity
+of his manner was a little ruffled. His recognition of Mary Kingston had
+evidently been displeasing as well as embarrassing to him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+"HOME, SWEET HOME."
+
+
+Mrs. Romaine and Oliver Trent attributed Lesley's desire to see
+Macclesfield Buildings to a young girl's curiosity, and, perhaps, to a
+desire for Oliver's company. They had no conception of the new fancies
+and feelings, aims and interests, which were developing in her soul.
+Only so much of these were visible as to lead Oliver to say to his
+sister before they sallied forth that afternoon--
+
+"I fancy she is getting up an enthusiasm for her father. Won't that be
+awkward for you?"
+
+Mrs. Romaine was silent for a moment. Then she answered, with perfect
+quietness--
+
+"I think it will be more awkward for Lady Alice. It may be rather
+convenient for us."
+
+And Oliver noticed that for the rest of the afternoon she took every
+opportunity of indirectly and directly praising Mr. Brooke, his works
+and ways. But he could not see that Lesley looked pleased--perhaps Mrs.
+Romaine's words had rather an artificial ring.
+
+Somehow, it seemed to Lesley as if she hated the expedition on which she
+came. Was it not a little too like spying upon her father's work? He had
+never invited her to Macclesfield Buildings. And he would never know the
+spirit in which she came: it would seem to him as though she had been
+brought in Mrs. Romaine's train, perhaps against her will, to laugh, to
+stare, to criticize. She would rather have crept in humbly, and tried to
+understand, by herself, what he was trying to do. What would he think of
+her when he saw her there that afternoon?
+
+She was morbidly afraid of him and of his opinion. Caspar Brooke would
+have been as much hurt as astonished if he knew in what ogre-like light
+she regarded him.
+
+Ethel joined them before they started for Macclesfield Buildings, and as
+rain was beginning to fall, Oliver insisted that they should take a
+cab. It was for his own sake, as Rosalind reminded him, rather than for
+theirs. He had a profound dislike of dirty streets, dirty people,
+unpleasant sights and sounds. And there were plenty of these to be
+encountered in the North London district to which they were bound that
+afternoon.
+
+The three Londoners--for such they virtually were--could hardly refrain
+from laughing when they saw Lesley's horrified face as the cab drove up
+to the block of buildings in which the club was situated. "But this is a
+prison--a workhouse--a lunatic asylum!" she exclaimed. "People do not
+live here--do they--in this dreary place?"
+
+Ah, me, and a dreary place it was! Three lofty blocks of building, all
+of the same drab hue, with iron-railed balconies outside the narrow
+windows, and a great court-yard in which a number of children romped and
+howled and shrieked in play: it was perhaps the most depressingly ugly
+bit of architecture that Lesley had ever seen. In vain her friends told
+her of the superior sanitary arrangements, the ventilation, the
+drainage, the pure water "laid on;" all she could do was to clasp her
+hand, and say, with positive tears in her bright eyes, "But _why_ could
+it not all have been made more beautiful?" And indeed it is hard to say
+why not.
+
+"Now we are going down into a coal hole," said Oliver, as he helped the
+ladies to alight. "At least it was once a coal hole. Yes, it was. These
+four rooms were used as storehouses for coals and vegetables until your
+father rented them: you will see what they look like now."
+
+"Lesley is horrified," said Ethel, with a little laugh. "Not at the
+coal-hole," Lesley answered, trying also to be merry, "but at the
+ugliness of it all. Don't you think this kind of ugliness almost
+wicked?"
+
+"Oliver thinks all ugliness wicked," said Mrs. Romaine, maliciously.
+
+"Then _we_ ought to be very good," said Ethel. But Oliver did not
+answer: he was looking at Lesley, whose face had grown pale.
+
+"Are you tired?--are you ill?" he asked her, in the gentlest undertones.
+They were still picking their way over the muddy stones of the
+court-yards, and rough children ran up to them now and then, and
+clamored for a penny. "Is the sight of this place too much for you?"
+
+"Oh, no," said Lesley, with a sudden, inexplicable flush of color: "It
+is not that--it is ugly, of course; but I do not mind it at all."
+
+Oliver glanced round suspiciously, as if to discover why she had
+blushed. All that he could see was the tall figure of Maurice Kenyon,
+who was standing in a doorway talking to somebody on the stairs. Even if
+Lesley had seen him, she surely would not blush for that! What chance
+had Kenyon had of becoming acquainted with her? Oliver forgot that other
+sisters besides his own might send their brothers on messages.
+
+Down a flight of stone steps, through a low doorway, and into a dark
+little corridor, was Lesley conducted. She noticed that Mrs. Romaine and
+Ethel were quite accustomed to the place. "We have often been before,
+you know," Ethel explained. "It's your father's hobby, you know; his
+doll's house, or Noah's Ark, or whatever you like to call it--his pet
+toy. I always call it his Noah's Ark myself. The animals walk in two by
+two. The men may bring their wives on Sundays. Oh, by the bye, Lesley, I
+hope you don't mind smoke. The men have their pipes, you know."
+
+And then Lesley, dazzled and confounded by her surroundings, found
+herself in a brilliantly lighted room of considerable size--really two
+ordinary rooms thrown into one. Immediately the squalor and ugliness of
+the outer world were thrown into the background. The walls of the room
+were distempered--Indian red below, warm grey above; and on the grey
+walls were hung fine photographs of well-known foreign buildings or of
+celebrated paintings. In one part of the room stood a magnificent
+billiard-table, now neatly covered with a cloth. A neat little piano was
+placed at the other end of the room, near a large table covered with a
+scarlet cloth, strewn with magazines, papers, and books, and decorated
+with flowers. The chairs were of solid make, seated with red leather
+ornamented with brass nails. In fact, the whole place was not only
+comfortable, but cheery and pleasant to the eye. Lesley was told that
+there was also a library, beside a kitchen and pantry, whence visitors
+could get tea or coffee, "temperance drinks," and rolls or cakes.
+
+A few women in their "Sunday best" were looking at the books and
+periodicals, or gossiping together, but they were not so numerous as
+the men--respectable working-men for the most part; some of them
+smoking, some reading or talking, without their pipes. In one little
+group Lesley recognized, with a start, that her father was the centre of
+attraction. He was sitting, as the other men were, and he was talking:
+the musical notes of his cultivated voice rose clearly above the hum of
+rougher and huskier voices. Lesley gathered that some proposition had
+been made which he was combating.
+
+"No," he said, "I won't have it. Look here--did you open this club, or
+did I?"
+
+"You did, guv'nor," said one of the men.
+
+"Then I'll have my say in the management. Some of you want the women
+turned out, do you? It's the curse of modern life, the curse of English
+and all other society, that you do want the women turned out, you men,
+where-ever you go. And the reason is that women are better than you are.
+They are purer, nobler, more conscientious than you, and therefore you
+don't want them with you when you take your pleasures. Eh?"
+
+There was a melodious geniality about the last monosyllable which made
+the men smile in spite of themselves.
+
+"'T'ain't that," said one of them, awkwardly. "It's because they're apt
+to neglect their 'omes if they come out of an afternoon or an evening
+like we do."
+
+"Not they!" said Mr. Brooke. "To come out now and then is to make them
+love their homes, man. They'll put more heart in to their work, if they
+have a little rest and enjoyment now and then, as you do.
+Besides--you've got hold of a wrong principle. The women are not your
+slaves and servants; they ought not to be. They are your companions,
+your helpers. The more they are in sympathy with you, the better they
+will help you. Don't keep your wives out of the brighter moments of your
+lives, else they will forget how to feel with you, and help you when
+darker moments come!"
+
+There was a pause; and then a man, with rather a sullen face--evidently
+one of the malcontents--said, with a growl,
+
+"Fine talk, gov'nor. It'll end in our wives leaving us, like they say
+yours done."
+
+There was an instant hiss and groan of disapproval. So marked, indeed,
+that the man rose to shoulder his way to the door. Evidently he was not
+a popular character.
+
+"We'll pay him out, if you like, sir," said a youth; and some of the
+older men half rose as if to execute the threat.
+
+"Sit down: let him alone," said Mr. Brooke, sharply. "He's a poor fool,
+and he knows it. Every man's a fool that does not reverence women. And
+if women would try to be worthy of that reverence, the world would be
+better than it is."
+
+He rose as he spoke, with apparent carelessness, but those who knew him
+best saw that the taunt had stung him. And as he moved, he caught
+Lesley's eye. He had not known that she was to be there; and by
+something in her expression--by her heightened color, perhaps, or her
+startled eye--he saw at once that she had heard the man's rude speech
+and his reply.
+
+He stopped short, grasped at his beard as his manner was, especially
+when he was perplexed or embarrassed; then crossed over towards her,
+laid his hand on her arm, and spoke in a tone of unusual tenderness.
+
+"_You_ here, my child?"
+
+Lesley thrilled all over with the novel pleasure of what seemed to her
+like commendation. But she could not answer suitably.
+
+"Mrs. Romaine brought me," she said.
+
+"Ah! Mrs. Romaine?"--in quite a different tone. "Very kind of Mrs.
+Romaine. By the bye, Maurice"--to Mr. Kenyon, who had just appeared upon
+the scene, and was looking with curiously anxious eyes at Lesley--"the
+music ought to begin now. Is Trent ready? And will Ethel recite
+something? That's all right--I suppose Miss Bellot will be here
+presently."
+
+And leaving Lesley without another glance, he went to the piano and
+opened it. The audience settled itself in its place, and gave a little
+sigh of expectation. Mr. Brooke's Sunday afternoon "recitals," from four
+to five, always gave great satisfaction.
+
+Oliver sang first, then Ethel recited something; then Mr. Brooke sang,
+and then Oliver played--he was a very useful young man in his way--and
+then there came a little pause.
+
+"A certain Miss Bellot promised to come and sing, but she has not
+appeared," Ethel explained to her friend. "Lesley, you can sing: I know
+you can, for I saw a lot of songs in your portfolio the other day. Won't
+you give them something?"
+
+"Oh, no, I couldn't!"
+
+"It's not a critical audience," said Oliver, on her other side. "You
+might try. The people are growing impatient, and your father will be
+disappointed if things do not go well----"
+
+Lesley flushed deeply. A week ago she would have thought--What is it to
+me if my father is disappointed? But she could not think so to-night.
+
+"I have no music here. And I cannot sing properly when I play my own
+accompaniments."
+
+"Tell me something you know and let me see whether I can play it," said
+Oliver.
+
+She paused for a moment, then, with a smile in her eyes, she mentioned a
+name which made him laugh and elevate his eyebrows. "Do you know
+_that_?" she said.
+
+"Rather! Is it not a trifle hackneyed? Ah, well, not for this audience,
+perhaps. Yes, I will play." And then, just as Caspar Brooke, with a
+slight gesture of annoyance, turned to explain to the people that a
+singer whom he expected had not come, Oliver touched him on the arm.
+
+"Miss Brooke is going to sing, please," he said. "Will you announce
+her?"
+
+Mr. Brooke stared hard for a moment, then bowed his head.
+
+"My daughter will now sing to you," he said, curtly, and sat down again,
+grasping his brown beard with one hand.
+
+"_Can_ she sing?" Mrs. Romaine said in his ear, with an accent of veiled
+surprise.
+
+"I do not know in the least. I hope it will be English, at any rate.
+These good people don't care for French and Italian things."
+
+Mrs. Romaine saw that he looked undoubtedly nervous, and just then
+Oliver began the prelude to Lesley's song. It was certainly English
+enough. It was "Home, Sweet Home."
+
+Every one looked up at the sound of the familiar air. "Hackneyed" as
+Oliver had declared it to be, it is a song which every audience loves to
+hear. And Lesley made a pretty picture for the eyes to rest upon while
+she sang. She was dressed from top to toe in a delicate shade of grey,
+which suited her fair skin admirably: the grey was relieved by some
+broad white ribbons and a vest of soft white silk folds, according to
+the prevailing fashion. A wide-brimmed grey hat, trimmed with drooping
+grey ostrich feathers, also became her extremely well. Mrs. Romaine
+noticed that Caspar Brooke looked at her hard for a minute or two, and
+then sat with his eyes fixed on the ground, his right hand forming a
+pillow for his left elbow, and his left hand engaged in stroking his big
+brown beard. What she did not notice was, that Maurice Kenyon had
+withdrawn himself to a post behind Mr. Brooke's chair, where he could
+see and not be seen; and that his eyes were riveted upon the fair singer
+with an expression which betokened more perplexity than admiration.
+
+As Lesley's pure, sweet notes floated out upon the air, there was an
+instant stir of approbation and interest among the listeners. If the
+girl had been less intent upon her singing, the unmoved and unmoving
+stare of these men and women might have made her a little nervous. It
+was their way of showing attention. The men had even put down their
+pipes. But Lesley did not see them. She had chosen her song at
+haphazard, as one which these people were likely to understand; but its
+painful appropriateness to her own case, perhaps to her mother's case as
+well, only came home to her as she continued it.
+
+    "'Mid pleasures and palaces--though I may roam--
+    Be it never so humble, there's no place like home.
+    A charm from the heart seems to hallow it there,
+    Which, seek through the world, is not met with elsewhere."
+
+If Lesley's voice faltered a little while singing words with which she
+herself felt forced to disagree, and to which her mother had given the
+lie by running away from the home Caspar Brooke had provided for her,
+the hesitation and tremulousness were set down by the hearers as a very
+pretty bit of artistic skill, which they were not at all slow to
+appreciate. Mrs. Romaine put up her eye-glass and looked narrowly at the
+girl during the last few notes.
+
+"How well she sings!" she murmured in Mr. Brooke's ear. "Positively, as
+if she felt it!"
+
+Caspar Brooke gave a little start, left off handling his beard, and sat
+up shrugging his shoulders. "A good deal of dramatic talent, I fancy,"
+he observed. But he could say no more, for the people were clapping
+their hands and stamping with their feet, in their eagerness for
+another song; and he was obliged to be silent until the tumult abated.
+
+"You must sing again?" said Oliver.
+
+"Must I? Really? But--shall I sing what English people call a sacred
+piece? A Sunday piece, you know? 'Angels ever bright and fair'--can you
+play that?"
+
+Oliver could play that. And Lesley sang it with great applause.
+
+But, being a keenly observant young person, and also in a very sensitive
+state, she noticed that her father held aloof and did not look quite
+well pleased. And she, remembering her refusal to take singing lessons,
+felt, naturally, a little guilty.
+
+She had not time, however, to dwell upon her own feelings. The assembly
+began to disperse, for Mr. Brooke did not let the hours of his "meeting"
+encroach on church hours, and it was time to go. But almost every man,
+and certainly every woman, insisted on shaking hands with Lesley, most
+of them saying, with a friendly nod, that they hoped she'd come again.
+
+"You're Mr. Brooke's daughter, ain't you, miss?" said a tall,
+broad-shouldered fellow, with honest eyes and a pleasant smile, which
+Lesley liked.
+
+"Yes, I am."
+
+"I hope you'll give us a bit of your singing another Sunday. 'Tis a
+treat to hear you, it is."
+
+"Yes, I shall be glad to come again," said Lesley.
+
+"That's like your father's daughter," said the man, heartily. "Meaning
+no disrespect to you, miss. But Mr. Brooke's the life and soul of this
+place: he's splendid--just splendid; and we can't think too high of him.
+So it's right and fitting that his daughter should take after him."
+
+Lesley stood confused, but pleased. And then the man lowered his voice
+and spoke confidentially.
+
+"There was a bit of a breeze this afternoon, just after you came in, I
+think; but you mustn't suppose that we have trouble o' that sort every
+Sunday, or week-day either. It was just one low, blackguardly fellow
+that got in and wanted to make a disturbance. But he won't do it again,
+for we'll have a meeting, and turn him out to-morrow. I would just like
+you to understand, miss, that a good few of us in this here club would
+pretty nigh lay down our lives for Mr. Brooke if he wanted them--for
+myself I wouldn't even say 'pretty nigh,' for I'd do it in a jiffy.
+He's helped to save some of us from worse than death, miss, and that's
+why."
+
+"Come, Jim Gregson," said a cheery voice behind him, "you get along home
+to your tea. Time for shutting up just now. Good-bye."
+
+And Caspar Brooke held out his hand for the workman to shake. He had
+only just come up, and could not therefore have heard what Gregson was
+saying; but Lesley preferred to turn away without meeting his eye. For
+in truth her own were full of tears.
+
+She broke away from the little group, and went into the library, as if
+she wanted to inspect the books. But in reality she wanted a moment's
+silence and loneliness in which to get rid of the swelling in her
+throat, the tears in her eyes. These were caused partly by excitement,
+partly by an expression of feeling brought to her by the earnestness of
+Gregson's words, partly by penitence. And it was before she had well got
+rid of them that Maurice Kenyon put his head into the room and found her
+there.
+
+"We are going now, Miss Brooke," he said. "Will you come? I--I hope I'm
+not disturbing you--I----"
+
+"I am just coming," said Lesley, dashing the tears from her face. "I am
+quite ready."
+
+"There is no hurry. You can let them go on first, if you like," said
+Maurice, partly closing the door. Then, in the short pause that
+followed, he advanced a little way into the room.
+
+"Miss Brooke," he said, "I hope you will not mind my speaking to you
+again; but I want to say that I wish--most humbly and with all my
+heart--to beg your pardon. Will you forgive me?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+MAURICE KENYON'S APOLOGY.
+
+
+Lesley stood irresolute. In the other room she heard the sound of voices
+calling her own name. "We are just going, Lesley," she heard Mrs.
+Romaine say. She made a hurried step towards the door.
+
+"I can't stop," she said. "They will go without me."
+
+"What if they do?" asked Mr. Kenyon. "I'll see you home."
+
+Lesley looked amazed, as well she might, at this masterful way of
+settling the question. And while she hesitated Maurice acted, as he
+usually did.
+
+He strode to the door and spoke to Miss Brooke. "I am just showing your
+niece some of the books: I'll follow in a minute or two with her if
+you'll kindly walk on. It won't take me more than a minute."
+
+"Then we may as well wait," said Oliver's voice.
+
+Lesley would have been very angry if she had known what happened then.
+Mr. Kenyon, by means of energetic pantomime, conveyed to the quick
+perceptions of Doctor Sophy a knowledge of the fact that Lesley was a
+little agitated and overcome, and that he was soothing her. And that the
+departure of the rest of the party would be a blessed relief.
+
+Aunt Sophy was good-natured, and she had complete trust in Maurice
+Kenyon.
+
+"Don't stay more than a minute or two," she said. "We'll just walk on
+then--Caspar and I. Mr. Trent is, of course, escorting your sister. Mrs.
+Romaine will come with us, and you'll follow?"
+
+"I am quite ready," said Lesley.
+
+"All right," answered Maurice, easily, "I must first show you this
+book." Then he returned to the library, and she heard the sounds of
+retreating steps and voices as her father and his party left the
+building.
+
+"You have no book to show me--you had better come at once," Lesley said,
+severely. But Mr. Kenyon arrested her.
+
+"I assure you I have. Look here: the men clubbed together a little while
+ago and presented your father's works to the library, all bound, you
+see, in vellum. I need not mention that _he_ had not thought it worth
+while to give his own books to the club."
+
+He showed her the volumes with pride, as if the presentation had been
+made to a member of his own family. Lesley touched the books with gentle
+fingers and reverent eyes. "I have been reading 'The Unexplored,'" she
+said.
+
+"I knew you would! And I knew you would like it!--I am not wrong?"
+
+"I like it very much. But it is all new to me--so new--I feel like Ione
+when she first heard of the miseries of England--I have lived in an
+enchanted world, where everything of that sort was kept from me;
+so--_how_ could I understand?"
+
+"I know! I know!--You make me doubly ashamed of myself. I have lived,
+metaphorically, in dust and ashes ever since we had that talk together.
+Miss Brooke, I must have seemed to you the most intolerable prig! Can
+you ever forgive me for what I said?"
+
+"But," said Lesley, looking straight into his face with her clear brown
+eyes, "if what you said was true?----"
+
+"I had no right to say it."
+
+"That is true," Lesley answered, coldly; and she turned about as though
+she did not wish to pursue the subject.
+
+"But can you not forgive me for it? I was unjustifiably angry I confess;
+but since I confess it----"
+
+"Mr. Kenyon, we ought to be going home. I see the woman is waiting to
+put the lights out."
+
+"We will go home if you like--certainly," said Maurice, in a tone of
+vexed disappointment. "Take care of the step--yes, here is the door. I
+am afraid we cannot get a cab in this neighborhood; but as soon as we
+reach a more civilized locality, I will do my best to find one for you."
+
+By this time they were in the yard. Night had already fallen on the
+city, whether it had done so in the country or not. The lamps were
+lighted in the streets; a murky fog had settled like a pall upon the
+roads; and in the Sunday silence the church bells rang out with a
+mournful cadence which affected Lesley's spirits.
+
+"London is a terrible place," she said, with a little shiver.
+
+"Can you say that," he asked, looking at her curiously, "after seeing
+the good work that is being done here? If it is a terrible place, it is
+also a very noble and inspiring one."
+
+"I know I am ignorant," said Lesley, heavily. "It seems terrible to me."
+
+They were silent for a minute or two, for they were passing out of the
+yard belonging to the "model dwellings," as Macclesfield Buildings were
+called, into the squalid street beyond; and in avoiding the group of
+loafers smoking the pipe of idleness, and enjoying the comfortable
+repose of sloth, Lesley and Mr. Kenyon were so far separated that
+conversation became impossible.
+
+"You had better take my arm," said Maurice, shortly, almost sternly.
+"You must, indeed: the place is not fit for you. I ought to have gone
+out and got a cab."
+
+"Indeed, I do not need it. I can walk quite well. What other people do,
+I suppose I can do as well."
+
+"Miss Brooke, you have not forgiven me."
+
+Lesley was silent.
+
+"What can I say? I have no justification. I simply let my tongue and my
+temper run away with me. I am cursed with a hot temper: I do not think
+before I speak; but I never intended to hurt you, Miss Brooke, I am sure
+of that."
+
+"No," said Lesley, very quietly, "I understand you. If you had not
+thought me so stupid as not to see your meaning, or so callous as not to
+care if I did, you would not have spoken in that way. I don't know that
+your excuse makes matters much better, Mr. Kenyon. But I am not
+offended: you need not concern yourself."
+
+"Then you ought to be offended," said Kenyon, doggedly. "And I don't
+believe you."
+
+"You don't believe me."
+
+"No, indeed I don't."
+
+Lesley's offence was so great now, whatever it had been before, that it
+deprived her of the power of speech. Her stately head went up: her mouth
+set itself in straight, hard lines. Maurice saw these tokens, and
+interpreted them aright.
+
+"Don't be angry with me again. I mean that you could not fail to despise
+me, to look down on me, for my want of tact and sense. I thought that
+you did not understand your father--I was vexed at that, because I have
+such a respect, such an admiration for him--but I know now that I was
+mistaken. You ought to be angry with me, for I acknowledge that I spoke
+impertinently; but having been angry, you can now be merciful and
+forgive. I apologize from the bottom of my heart."
+
+"How do you know that I understand my father? Why have you changed your
+opinion?" said Lesley, coldly. "You have nothing to go upon--just as in
+the other case you had nothing to go upon. You rushed to one conclusion,
+if you will excuse me for saying so, and now you rush to another--with
+no better reason."
+
+"You are very severe, Miss Brooke," said Maurice. "But you are
+perfectly right, and I must not complain. Only--if I may make a
+representation----"
+
+"Oh, certainly!"
+
+"----I might point out that when I spoke to you first you had not read
+your father's book, you had not, I believe, even heard of it; that you
+knew nothing about the Macclesfield Club, and that when I spoke to you
+about his work amongst the poor you were very much inclined to murmur,
+'Can any good come out of Nazareth?'"
+
+"Mr. Kenyon----"
+
+"I beg your pardon, Miss Brooke, but isn't that substantially true? If
+you can honestly say that it is a misapprehension on my part, I won't
+say another word. But isn't it all true?"
+
+He turned his eager face and bright blue eyes towards her, and read in
+her pale, troubled face a little of the conflict that was going on
+between her candor and her pride. "Now, what will she say?" he thought,
+with what would have seemed to Lesley incomprehensible anxiety. "On her
+answer depends my opinion of her, now and for ever."
+
+And this appeared to Maurice quite an important matter, though possibly
+Lesley might not have thought it so.
+
+She turned to him at last with a frank, decisive gesture.
+
+"It _is_ true," she said. "I knew nothing about his books or his works,
+and so how could I appreciate them? I had never heard of 'The
+Unexplored' before. You are right, and I had no business to be so angry.
+But how do you know that I am different now?"
+
+"Oh, I know you are," said Maurice, confidently. "You have come to the
+club for one thing, you see; and you sang to the people and looked at
+them--well, as if you cared. And you have read 'The Unexplored' _now_?"
+
+"Yes. I have," said Lesley, hesitatingly.
+
+"And you like it?"
+
+"Yes--I like it." The girl looked away, and went on nervously,
+hesitatingly. "It is very well done," she said, "It is very clever."
+
+"Oh, if that is all you can find to say about it!"
+
+"But isn't it a great deal?--Mr. Kenyon, I don't know what to say about
+it. You see I can't be sure whether it is all--true."
+
+"True? The story? But, of course----"
+
+"Of course the _story_ is not true. I am not such a goose as that. But
+is the meaning of it true? the moral, so to speak? Is there so much
+wickedness in the world as my father says? So much vice and wealth and
+selfishness on the one side: so much misery and poverty and crime on the
+other? You are a doctor, and you must have seen a great deal of London
+life: you ought to know. Is it an exaggeration, or is it true?"
+
+There was such intensity and such pathos in her tones that Kenyon was
+silent for a minute or two, startled by the vivid reality which she had
+attached to her father's views and ideas. He could not have answered her
+lightly, even if it had been in his nature to do so.
+
+"Before God," he said, solemnly, "it is all true--every word of it."
+
+"Then what can we do," said Lesley, gently, "but go down into the midst
+of it and help?"
+
+Mr. Maurice Kenyon, being a man of ardent temperament, always vows that
+he lost his heart to Lesley there and then. It is possible that if she
+had not been a very pretty girl, the most noble of sentiments might have
+fallen unheeded from her lips; but as she was "so young, so sweet, so
+delicately fair," Kenyon could not hear his own opinions reciprocated
+without an answering thrill. How delightful would it be to walk through
+life with a woman of this kind by one's side! a woman, whose face was a
+picture, whose every movement a poem, whose soul was as finely touched
+to fine issues as that of an angel or a saint! All these reflections
+rushed through his mind in an instant, and it was almost a wonder that
+he did not blurt some of them out at once. But Lesley went on speaking
+in a quiet, pensive way.
+
+"I wonder whether I can do anything--while I am here. I shall not have
+so very long a time, but I might try."
+
+"Not so long a time, Miss Brooke? I thought you had come home for good."
+
+"Only for a year," said Lesley, coloring hotly. "Then I go back to
+mamma."
+
+Maurice said nothing at first. He felt the hand that rested on his arm
+tremble slightly, and he knew that he ought to make no more inquiries.
+But he could not refrain from adding, almost jealously--
+
+"You will be glad of that?"
+
+"Oh, yes! You do not know my mother?" said Lesley, half shyly, half
+boldly.
+
+"No, I never saw her."
+
+"It is very hard to be so long away from her. She is so sweet and good."
+
+"But you have your father? You are learning to know _him_ now."
+
+"Oh, yes, but I want them _both_," said Lesley, with an indescribably
+gentle and tender intonation. And as they reached Euston Road and were
+obliged to leave off talking while they threaded their way through the
+intricacies of vehicular traffic, Mr. Kenyon was revolving in his mind a
+new idea, namely, the possibility of a reconciliation between Brooke and
+his wife. He had never thought much about Lady Alice before: she seemed
+to him to have passed out of Caspar Brooke's life entirely; and if it
+were not for this link between the two--this sweet and noble-spirited
+and lovely girl--she would not have been likely to come back into it.
+But Lesley might perhaps reunite the two, and Maurice's heart began to
+burn within him with fear for his hero's happiness. Why should any Lady
+Alice trouble the peace of a worker for mankind like Caspar Brooke?
+
+They did not talk very much more on their way to Upper Woburn Place.
+They found Ethel and Oliver standing on the steps of Mr. Brooke's house,
+evidently waiting for the truants. It struck Lesley as she came up that
+Oliver Trent's brow was ominously dark, and that Ethel's pretty, saucy
+face wore an expression of something like anxiety or distress.
+
+"We are almost tired of waiting for you, good people," she began
+merrily. "Fortunately it is fine and warm, or we should have gone and
+left you to your own devices, as Mr. Brooke and Rosalind have done."
+
+"Where have they gone?" asked Maurice.
+
+"Walked off to her house. Miss Brooke is at home. Lesley, you _are_ an
+imposition! Think of having a voice like that, and keeping it dark all
+this time."
+
+"We shall requisition Miss Brooke for the club very often, I know that,"
+said Maurice.
+
+"You'll come in with us, Lesley?" Ethel asked.
+
+"No, thank you, Ethel. Not to-day. Thanks."
+
+She wondered a little nervously why Oliver was looking so vexed
+and--yes, so miserable, too! He seemed terribly out of spirits. Had he
+and Ethel quarrelled? The thought gave a look of tender inquiry to her
+eyes as she held out her hand to him. And on meeting that sweet glance,
+Oliver's face brightened. He had been feeling an unreasonable annoyance
+with her for walking home with Maurice Kenyon, and had even in his heart
+called her "a little French flirt." Though why it should matter to him
+that she was a flirt, did not exactly appear.
+
+They said good-bye to each other, and separated. Maurice went off to see
+a patient; Oliver accompanied Ethel to her own house; Lesley entered her
+own home.
+
+She was alone for an hour or two, and, to tell the truth, she felt
+rather dull. Miss Brooke went away to her circle of select souls, and
+her father, as she knew, had gone to Mrs. Romaine's. She took out her
+much-prized volume of "The Unexplored," and began to read it again;
+wishing that she could talk to her mother about it, and explain to her
+how really great and good a man her father was. For--she had got as far
+as this--she was sure that her mother did not understand him. It would
+have been impossible for him to do a mean, a cruel, a dishonorable
+action. There had been a misunderstanding somewhere; and Lesley wished,
+with her whole soul, that she could clear it up.
+
+The sound of the opening and closing of the front door did not arouse
+her from her dreams. She read on, holding the little paper-covered
+volume on her lap, deep in deepest thought, until the door of the
+drawing-room opened rather suddenly, and her father walked in.
+
+It was an unusual hour at which to see him in the drawing-room, and
+Lesley looked up in surprise. Then, half unconsciously, half timidly,
+she drew her filmy embroidered handkerchief over the book in her lap.
+She had a shy dislike to letting her father see what she was reading.
+
+He did not seem, however, to take any notice of her occupation. He
+walked straight to an arm-chair on the opposite side of the hearth, sat
+down, stretching out his long legs, and placing his elbows on the arms
+of the chair. The unruly lock of hair, which no hairdresser could tame,
+had fallen right across his broad brow, and heightened the effect of a
+very undeniable frown. Mr. Caspar Brooke was in anything but an amiable
+temper.
+
+It was with a laudable attempt, however, to keep the displeasure out of
+his voice that he said at length--
+
+"I thought I understood you to say, Lesley, that you were not musical!"
+
+The color flushed Lesley's face to the very roots of her hair.
+
+"I do not think I am--very musical," she said, trying to answer bravely.
+"I play the piano very little."
+
+"Of course you must know that that is a quibble," said Mr. Brooke,
+dryly. "A talent for music does not confine itself solely to the piano.
+I presume that you have been told that you have a good voice?"
+
+"Yes, I have been told so."
+
+"And you have had lessons?"
+
+"Yes, a few."
+
+"Then may I ask what was your motive for declining to take lessons in
+London when I asked to do so? You even went so far as to make use of a
+subterfuge: you gave me to understand that you had no musical power at
+all, and that you knew nothing and could do nothing?"
+
+He paused as if he expected a reply; but Lesley did not say a word.
+
+"I cannot understand it," Mr. Brooke went on; "but,"--after a pause--"I
+suppose there is no reason why I should. I did not come to say anything
+much about that part of the business. I came rather to suggest that as
+you have a good voice, it is wrong not to cultivate it. And your lessons
+will give you something to do. It seems to me rather a pity, my dear,
+that you should do nothing but sit round and read novels--which, your
+aunt tells me, is your principal occupation. Suppose you try to find
+something more useful to do?"
+
+He spoke with a smile now and in a softer voice; but Lesley was much too
+hurt and depressed to say a word. He looked at her steadfastly for a
+minute or two, and decided that she was sullen.
+
+"I will see about the lessons for you," he said, getting up and speaking
+decidedly, "and I hope you will make the most of your opportunities. How
+much time have you been in the habit of devoting to your singing every
+day?"
+
+"An hour and a half," said Lesley, in a very low voice.
+
+"And you left off practising as soon as you came here? That was a great
+pity; and you must allow me to say, Lesley, very silly into the bargain.
+Surely your own conscience tells you that it was wrong? A voice like
+yours is not meant to be hidden."
+
+Lesley wished that at that moment she could find any voice at all. She
+sat like a statue, conscious only of an effort to repress her tears. And
+Mr. Brooke, having said all that he wanted to say, took up a book, and
+thought how difficult it was to manage women who met remonstrances in
+silence.
+
+Lesley got up in a few moments and walked quietly out of the room. But
+she forgot her book. It fell noiselessly on the soft fur rug, and lay
+there, with leaves flattened and back bent outwards. Caspar Brooke was
+one of the people who cannot bear to see a book treated with anything
+less than reverence. He picked it up, straightened the leaves, and
+looked casually at the title. It was "The Unexplored."
+
+He held it for a minute, gazing before him with wide eyes as if he were
+troubled or perplexed. Then he shook his head, sighed, smiled, and put
+it down upon the nearest table. "Poor little girl!" he said. "I wonder
+if I frightened her at all!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+AT MRS. ROMAINE'S.
+
+
+The reason why Caspar Brooke spoke somewhat sharply to Lesley was not
+far to seek. He had been to Mrs. Romaine's house to tea. The sequence of
+cause and effect can easily be conjectured.
+
+"How charmingly your daughter sang!" Mrs. Romaine began, when she had
+got Mr. Brooke into his favorite corner, and given him a cup of her best
+China tea.
+
+"Yes, she sang very well," said Brooke, carelessly.
+
+"I had no idea that she _could_ sing! Why, by the bye--did you not tell
+me that she said she was not musical?--declined singing lessons, and so
+on?"
+
+"Yes, I think I said so. Yes, she did."
+
+"She must be very modest!" said Mrs. Romaine, lifting her eyebrows.
+
+"I don't know--I fancy she did not want to be indebted to me for more
+than she could help."
+
+Mrs. Romaine looked pained, and kept for a few moments a pained silence.
+
+"My poor friend!" she said at last. "This is very sad! Could she"--and
+Brooke knew that the pronoun referred to Lady Alice, not to
+Lesley--"could she not be content with abandoning you, without poisoning
+your daughter's mind against you?"
+
+Caspar said nothing. He leaned forward, tea-cup in hand, and studied the
+carpet. It was, perhaps, hard for him to find a suitable reply.
+
+"It is too much," Rosalind continued, with increasing energy. "You have
+taken not a daughter, but an enemy into your house. She sits and
+criticizes all you do--sends accounts to her mother, doubtless, of all
+your comings and goings. She looks upon you as a tyrant, and a
+disreputable person, too. She has been taught to hate you, and she
+carries out the teaching--oh, I can see it in every line of her face,
+every inflection of her voice: she has been taught to loathe you, my
+poor, misjudged friend, and she does not disguise her loathing!"
+
+It is not quite pleasant for a man to hear that his daughter hates him,
+and makes no secret of the hatred. Caspar immediately concluded that
+Lesley had made some outspoken remarks upon the subject to Mrs. Romaine.
+Secretly he felt hurt and angry: outwardly he smiled.
+
+"What would you have?" he said, lightly but bitterly. "Lady Alice has no
+doubt indoctrinated her daughter, as you say; all that I can expect from
+Lesley is civility. And I generally get that."
+
+"Civility? Between father and daughter? When she ought to be proud of
+such a father--proud of all that you are, and all that you have done!
+She should be adoring you, slaving for you, ready to sacrifice herself
+at your smallest word--and see what she is! A machine, silent, useless,
+unwilling--from whom all that you can claim is--civility! Oh, women are
+capable sometimes of taking a terrible revenge!"
+
+She threw her hands out with a gesture of despair and deprecation, which
+was really fine in its way; then she rose from her chair, went to the
+mantelpiece, and stood with her face bent upon her clasped hands. Caspar
+rose too, and stood on the hearthrug beside her, looking down at the
+pretty ruffled head, with something very like affection in his eye.
+
+He did not quite understand this emotion of hers, but its sincerity
+touched as well as puzzled him. For she was sincere as far as he was
+concerned, and this sincerity gave her a certain amount of power, such
+as sincerity always gives. The ring of true feeling in her voice could
+not be counterfeited, and Caspar was flattered by it, as any man would
+have been flattered at having excited so much sympathy in the heart of a
+talented and beautiful woman.
+
+He knew that Alice had been jealous of Rosalind Romaine, but, he
+thought, quite unreasonably so. Poor Rosalind, tied to a dry old stick
+of a husband, to whom she did her duty most thoroughly, was naturally
+glad to talk now and then to a man who knew something of Art and Life.
+That was simple enough, and he had been glad of her interest and
+sympathy, especially as these were denied to him by his wife. There was
+nothing for Lady Alice to be jealous about. And he had dismissed the
+matter impatiently from his thoughts. Alice had left him because she
+hated his opinions, his manner of life, his profession--not because she
+was jealous of Rosalind Romaine. But Rosalind knew better.
+
+The woman's sympathy affected him so far, however, that, after standing
+silent for a minute or two, he laid his hand softly upon her arm. It was
+a foolish thing to do, but then Caspar Brooke was never a particularly
+wise man, in spite of his goodness of heart and fertility of brain. And
+Rosalind felt, by the thrill that ran through her at his touch, that she
+had gained more from him than she had ever gained before. What would he
+say next?
+
+Well, he did not say very much. "Your sympathy, Rosalind," he said, "is
+very pleasant--very dear to me. But you must not give me too much of it.
+Sympathy is enervating, as other men have found before me!"
+
+"May I not offer you mine?" she said, plaintively. "It is so hard to be
+silent! If only I could make Lesley understand what you are--how
+noble--how good----"
+
+Caspar laughed, and took away his hand. "Don't talk to her about me; it
+would do no good," he said.
+
+He stood in the firelight, looking so massive, so stern, so resolved,
+that Mrs. Romaine lost herself for a moment in admiration of his great
+frame and leonine head. And as she paused he spoke again.
+
+"I have not lately observed much hostility to myself in Lesley's
+demeanor," he said. "At first, of course--but lately--well, I have been
+more struck by a sort of languor, a want of interest and comprehension,
+than anything else. No doubt she feels that she is in a new world----"
+
+"Ah yes, a world of intellect and activity to which she has not been
+accustomed," said Mrs. Romaine, briskly. Since Caspar had removed his
+hand she had been standing erect, watchfully observant of him. It was by
+his moods that she intended to regulate her own. "I suppose she has been
+accustomed to nothing but softness and self-indulgence; and she does not
+understand this larger life to which she now has access."
+
+"Poor child!" said Mr. Brooke.
+
+But this was not at all the remark that Mrs. Romaine wanted him to make.
+She tried to beat back the tide of paternal affection that was evidently
+setting in.
+
+"She wants rousing I am afraid. She ought not to be allowed to sink into
+a dreamy, listless state. It must be very trying for you to see it; you
+must be pained by the selfishness and waywardness from which it
+proceeds----"
+
+"Do you think it does?" said Mr. Brooke, almost wistfully. "I should be
+sorry to think Lesley selfish. Sophy says that she is more ignorant than
+selfish."
+
+"But what is ignorance save a form of selfishness?" cried Rosalind,
+indignantly. "She might know if she chose! She does know the common
+duties of humanity, the duty of every man or woman to labor for others,
+to gain knowledge, to make broad the borders of light! Oh, I cannot bear
+to hear ignorance alleged as an excuse for self-love! It is impossible
+that any one with Lesley's faculties should not see her duty, even if
+she is idle and indifferent enough to let it pass when she does see it."
+
+Mr. Brooke sat down, regardless of the fact that Mrs. Romaine was
+standing, and looked at the carpet again with a sigh.
+
+"You may be right," he said, in a pained tone; "but if so, what am I to
+do?"
+
+"You must speak to her," said Rosalind, energetically. "You must tell
+her not to be idle and obstinate and wayward: you must show her her
+duty, so that she may have no excuse for neglecting it."
+
+He shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"That's not a man's duty, it seems to me. Woman to woman, man to man. I
+wish you would do it, Rosalind!"
+
+"Oh, no; I have not a _mother's_ right," said she, softly.
+
+But the remark had an effect which she had not anticipated.
+
+"That is true. It is a mother who should tell a girl her duty. Poor
+Lesley's mother has not done all that she might do in that respect. Our
+unhappy quarrel has caused her to represent me to the girl in very dark
+colors, I believe. But I have lately been wondering whether that might
+not be amended. Did you hear that man's taunt this afternoon--about the
+wife that had left me? I can't endure that sort of thing. Think of the
+harm it does. And then the child must needs go and sing 'Home, Sweet
+Home.' To me, whose home was broken up by _her_ mother. I had the
+greatest possible difficulty in sitting through that song, Rosalind. And
+I said to myself that I was a great fool to put up with this state of
+things."
+
+His sentences were unusually short, his tones abrupt; both covered an
+amount of agitation which Mrs. Romaine had not expected to see. She sat
+down and remained silent and motionless: she even held her breath, not
+well knowing what to expect. Presently he resumed, in a lower tone--
+
+"I know that if I alter existing arrangements I shall give myself some
+pain and discomfort, and inflict more, perhaps, upon others; but I think
+this is inevitable. I am determined, if possible, to end my solitary
+life, and the solitary life also of a woman who is--I may say it
+now--dear to me." He spoke with deliberate gravity. Mrs. Romaine's
+pulses beat faster: the hot color began to steal into her cheeks. "I
+never wished to inflict pain upon her. I have always regretted the years
+of separation and loneliness that we have both spent. So I have
+resolved--perhaps that is too strong a word--I am thinking of asking her
+to share my home with me again."
+
+"Again?" The word escaped Rosalind's lips before she knew that she had
+spoken.
+
+"Yes, once again," said Caspar, quite unconscious of her emotion. "We
+did not get on very well when we lived together, but we are older now,
+and I think that if we made a fresh start it _might_ be possible--I
+wonder if Alice would consent?"
+
+There was a moment's pause. Then--"You think of asking Lady Alice to
+come back to you?" said Mrs. Romaine, in a hard, measured voice, which
+made Caspar look at her with some transient feeling of surprise. But he
+put down the change of tone to her astonishment at his proposition, and
+went on unmoved.
+
+"I thought of it--yes. It would be much better for Lesley."
+
+"Are you so devoted to Lesley that you want to sacrifice your whole life
+for her?" asked Rosalind, in the same hard, strained voice.
+
+"My whole life? Well, no--but you exaggerate, Rosalind. I do not
+sacrifice my whole life by having my wife and daughter in my house."
+
+"That is plausibly said. But one has to consider what sort of wife and
+daughter yours are, and what part of your life will have to be devoted
+to them."
+
+Brooke sat and stroked his beard. He began to wish that he had not
+mentioned his project to Mrs. Romaine. But he could not easily tell her
+to hold her tongue.
+
+"I am not going to presume," said Rosalind, "to say anything
+unkind--anything harsh of your wife: I know I have not the right, and I
+know that you would--very properly--resent it. So don't be afraid. But I
+only want to remind you that Lady Alice is not even where she was when,
+as an over-sensitive, easily-offended girl, she fled from you. She has
+had twelve years of life under conditions differing most entirely from
+yours. She has lived in the fashionable world--a world which of all
+others you dislike. What sympathy can there be between you? She may be
+perfect in her own line, but it is not your line: you are different; and
+you will never be happy together."
+
+"That is a hard thing to say, Rosalind."
+
+"It will be a harder thing for you if you try it. Believe me,
+Caspar"--her voice trembled as she used his Christian name, which she
+very seldom did--"believe me that if it would be for your happiness I
+would welcome the change! But when I remember the discord, the
+incompatibility, the want of sympathy, which used to grieve me in those
+old days, I cannot think----"
+
+She stopped short, and put her handkerchief to her eyes.
+
+"Lady Alice could not understand you--could not appreciate you," she
+said. "And it was hard--hard for your friends to look on and
+say--_nothing_!"
+
+Brooke rose abruptly from his chair. "No one ever had a truer friend
+than I have in you," he said, huskily. "But it seems to me that Alice
+may have changed with the lapse of years; she may have become easier to
+satisfy, better able to sympathize----"
+
+"Does she show that spirit in the way she has spoken of you to your
+daughter? What do you gather from Lesley as to her state of mind?" said
+Mrs. Romaine, keenly.
+
+He paused. She knew very well that the question was a hard one for him
+to answer.
+
+"Ah," he said, with a heavy sigh, "you know as well as I do."
+
+Then he turned aside, and for an instant or two there was a silence.
+
+"I suppose it would not be wise," he continued, at last. "But I wish
+that it could have been done. It would be better in many ways. A man
+and wife ought to live together. A girl ought to live with her parents.
+We are all in false positions. And, perhaps, if any one is to be
+sacrificed, it ought to be myself," he said, with a curious smile.
+
+"You forget," said Mrs. Romaine with emotion, "that you sacrifice others
+in sacrificing yourself."
+
+"Others? No, I don't think so. You allude to my sister?"
+
+"No--not your sister."
+
+"Sophy could go on living with us and managing the household affairs,"
+said Brooke, who had no conception of what poor Mrs. Romaine meant; "and
+she is not a person who would willingly interfere with other people's
+views or opinions. Indeed, she carries the _laisser-faire_ principle
+almost to an extreme. Sophy is no proselytizer, thank God!"
+
+"I did not mean Sophy: I meant your friends--old friends like myself,"
+said Rosalind, desperately. "You will cast us all off--you will forget
+us--forget--_me_!"
+
+There was unusual passion in her voice. Then she hid her face in her
+hands and burst into tears. Brooke made two steps towards her, and
+stopped short.
+
+"Rosalind!" he exclaimed. "You cannot think that! you cannot think that
+I shall ever forget old friends!"
+
+Then he halted, and stood looking down at her, and biting his beard,
+which he was crushing up to his lips with one hand, after his fashion
+when he was embarrassed or perplexed. Some glimmer of the truth had
+begun to manifest itself to him. A hot, red flush crossed his brow.
+
+"Rosalind," he said, in a softer but also a colder tone, "you must not
+take this matter so much to heart. Rest assured that I--and my wife, if
+she comes back, and my daughter also--will always look upon you as a
+very dear and valued friend."
+
+"I am so alone in the world," she said, wiping away her tears and
+slightly lifting her head. "I cannot bear to think that the day will
+come when I----"
+
+She paused--perhaps purposely. But Caspar was resolved to treat the
+subject more lightly now.
+
+"When you are without friends? Oh, that will never be. You are too kind
+and sympathetic to be without as many friends as you choose to have."
+
+"And you--yourself----"
+
+"Oh, I am of a very constant disposition," he said, cheerfully. "I
+suppose it is for that reason that I want Alice back. You know that in
+spite of all our disagreements, I have always held to it that I never
+saw a woman half as charming, half as attractive, as Alice."
+
+This was a speech not calculated to soothe Mrs. Romaine's wounded
+feelings, or to implant in her a liking for Lady Alice. For Mrs. Romaine
+was not very generous, and she was irritated by the thought that she had
+betrayed her own secret. She rose to her feet at once, with a quick and
+rather haughty gesture.
+
+"You are indeed a model of constancy," she said. "Some men would resent
+insults, even if offered to them by wives. You are capable, it seems, of
+much forgetfulness and much forgiveness."
+
+"Do you think that a fault?" asked Brooke, calmly. Her mood changed at
+once. She burst into a shrill little laugh.
+
+"Oh, not at all. Most convenient--for the wife. There is one danger--you
+may incur the censure of more worldly men; but then you are too
+high-minded to care for that!"
+
+Caspar shrugged his broad shoulders.
+
+"I think I can take care of myself," he said, good-humoredly. "And now I
+must go. Pray don't distress yourself on my account. I will not do
+anything rash."
+
+They stood facing each other, she with her eyes down, he looking
+straight into her face. Some instinct told her not to break the spell by
+looking up. There was a conflict going on in Caspar Brooke's mind--a
+conflict between pity (not love) and duty. He was a tender-hearted man,
+and it would have been very easy to him just then to have given her some
+friendly, comforting words, or even----
+
+Yes, he acknowledged to himself, he would have liked to kiss those soft
+lips of hers, those downcast eyelids, slightly reddened by recent tears!
+And he did not think that she would resent the caress.
+
+But how could he ask his wife to return to him if he did this thing? As
+he had indicated by his words, he still loved Lady Alice. He had the
+courage to be faithful to her, too. For Caspar Brooke was a man of
+strong convictions, steadfast will, and stainless honor. However great
+the temptation might be, he was not going to do a thing that he knew he
+should afterwards regret.
+
+"Good-bye, Mrs. Romaine."
+
+"Good-bye, Mr. Brooke."
+
+So they took leave of each other; and Rosalind went to bed with a bad
+headache, while Caspar Brooke returned home to find fault with his
+daughter Lesley.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+THE WIFE OF FRANCIS TRENT.
+
+
+Far away from the eminently respectable quarter of London, adorned by
+the habitation of families like the Brookes, the Kenyons, and the
+Romaines, you may find an unsavory district in Whitechapel which is
+known as Truefit Row. It is a street of tall and mean-looking houses,
+which seem to be toppling to their fall; and the pavement is strewn with
+garbage which is seldom cleared away. Many of the windows of the houses
+are broken; many of the doors hang ajar, for the floors are let out in
+flats, and there is a common stair for at least five and twenty
+families. It is a dreary-looking place, and the dwellers therein look as
+dreary as their own abode.
+
+In one of these houses Mr. Francis Trent had found a resting-place for
+the sole of his foot. It was not a fashionable lodging, not even a
+particularly clean one; but he had come down in the world, and did not
+very much care where he lived, so long as he had plenty to drink, and a
+little money in his pockets. But these commodities were not as plentiful
+as he wanted them to be. Therefore he passed a good deal of his time in
+a state of chronic brooding and discontent.
+
+He had one room on the third storey. The woodwork of this apartment was
+so engrained with grime that scarcely any amount of washing would have
+made it look clean; but it had certainly been washed within a
+comparatively recent date. The wall paper, which had peeled off in
+certain places, had also been repaired by a careful hand; and the
+curtains which shaded the unbroken window were almost spotlessly clean.
+By several other indications it was quite plain that a woman's hand had
+lately been busy in the room; and compared with many other rooms in the
+same building, it was quite a palace of cleanliness and comfort.
+
+But Francis Trent did not think so. He sat over his small and
+smouldering fire one dark November afternoon, and shivered, partly from
+cold and partly from disgust. He had no coals left, and no money
+wherewith to buy them: a few sticks and some coke and cinders were the
+materials out of which he was trying to make a fire, and naturally the
+result was not very inspiriting. The kettle, which was standing on the
+dull embers, showed not the slightest inclination to "sing." Francis
+Trent, outstretched on a basket-chair (the only comfortable article of
+furniture that the room contained), gave the fire an occasional stir
+with his foot, and bestowed upon it a deal of invective.
+
+"It will be out directly," he said at last, sitting up and looking
+dismally about him; "and it's nearly five o'clock. She said she would be
+here at four. Ugh! how cold it is! If she doesn't come in five minutes I
+shall go to the Spotted Dog. There's always a fire there, thank
+goodness, and they'll stand me a glass of something hot, I daresay."
+
+He rose and walked about the room by way of relieving the monotony of
+existence, and causing his blood to circulate a little faster. But this
+mode of activity did not long please him, and he threw himself back in
+his chair at last, and uttered an exclamation of disgust.
+
+"Confound it! I shall go out," he said to himself.
+
+But just at that moment a hand fumbled at the latch. He called out "Come
+in," an unnecessary call, because the door was half open before he
+spoke, and a woman entered the room, shutting the door behind her.
+
+She was slight, trim, not very tall: she had a pale face and dark eyes,
+dark, glossy hair, and delicate features. If Lesley had been there, she
+would have recognized in this woman the ladies' maid who called herself
+Mary Kingston. But in this part of the world she was known as Mrs.
+Trent.
+
+Francis did not give her a warm welcome, and yet his weak, worn face
+lighted up a little at the sight of her. "I thought you were never
+coming," he said, grumblingly, and his eyes fell greedily to the basket
+that she carried on her arm. "What have you got there?"
+
+"Just a few little things for your tea," said Mary, depositing the
+basket on the table. "And, oh--what a wretched fire! Have you no coals?"
+
+"Neither coals nor food nor drink," he answered, sullenly, "nor money in
+my pocket either."
+
+The woman stood and looked at him. "You had two pounds the day before
+yesterday," she said.
+
+"Billiards," he answered, laconically. But he turned away so as not to
+see her face.
+
+She gave a short, sharp exclamation. "You promised to be careful!"
+
+"The luck was against me," he said. "I thought I should win, but my
+hand's taken to shaking so much that I couldn't play. I don't see why
+you should blame me--I've precious few amusements."
+
+She did not answer, but began to take the parcels, one by one, from her
+basket, and place them on the table. Her own hands shook a little as she
+did so. Francis turned again to watch her operations. She took out some
+tea, bread, butter, eggs, and bacon. There was a bottle of brandy and a
+bundle of cigars. Francis Trent's eyes glistened at the sight. He stole
+closer to his wife, and put his arm around her.
+
+"You're a good soul, Mary. You'll forgive me, won't you? Upon my honor,
+I never meant to lose the money."
+
+"I have to work hard enough for it," she said dryly.
+
+"I know you have! It's a shame--a d----d shame! If I had my way, you
+should be dressed in satin, and sit all day with your hands before you,
+and ride in your own carriage--you know you should!"
+
+"I don't know that I should particularly care about that kind of life,"
+said Mary, still coldly, but with a perceptible softening of her eye and
+relaxation of the stiff upper lip. "I would rather live on a farm in the
+country, and do farm-work. It's healthier, yes, and it's happier--to my
+thinking."
+
+"So it is; and that's the life we'll lead by and by, when Oliver pays us
+what he has promised," said Francis, eagerly. "We will have some land of
+our own, and get far away from the temptation of the city. Then you will
+see what a different fellow I'll be, Mary. You shan't have reason to
+complain of me then."
+
+"Well, I hope so, Francis," she said, but not too hopefully. Perhaps she
+noticed that his hand and eye both strayed, as if involuntarily, towards
+the bottle of spirits on the table. And at that moment, the last flicker
+of light from the fire went out.
+
+"Have you no candles?" she asked, abruptly.
+
+"Not one."
+
+"I'll go out and fetch them, and some coal too. Sit down quietly, and
+wait. I won't be long. And as I haven't a corkscrew, I'll take the
+bottle with me, and get it opened downstairs."
+
+Francis dared not object, but his wife's course of action made him
+sulky. He did not see why she should not have left him the bottle during
+her absence: he could have broken its neck on the fender. But he knew
+very well that she could not trust him to drink only in moderation if he
+were left alone with the bottle; and, like a wise woman, she therefore
+took it with her.
+
+She was back again in a few minutes, bringing with her fuel and lights.
+Francis was lying in his bed, his face turned sullenly to the wall. Mary
+poured a little brandy into a glass, and brought it to him to drink.
+
+"You will feel better when you have had that," she said, "and you shall
+have some more in your tea if you want it. Now, I'm going to light up
+the fire."
+
+So well did she perform her task that in a very short time the flames
+were leaping up the chimney, the shadows dancing cheerfully over the
+ceiling, the kettle hissing and puffing on the fire. The sight and sound
+drew Francis once more from his bed to the basket chair, where he sat
+and lazily watched his wife as she cut bread, made tea, fried bacon and
+eggs, with the ease and celerity of a woman to whom domestic offices are
+familiar. When at last the tea-table was arranged, he drew up his chair
+to it with a sigh of positive pleasure.
+
+"How homelike and comfortable it looks: Why don't you always stay with
+me, Mary, and keep me straight?"
+
+"You want so much keeping straight, Francis," she said, but a slight
+smile flickered about the comers of her lips.
+
+It was characteristic of the pair that he allowed her to wait on him,
+hand and foot: he let her cut the bread, pour out the tea, carry his
+plate backwards and forwards, and pour the brandy into his cup, without
+a word of remonstrance. Only when he had been well supplied and was not
+likely to want anything more just then, did he say to her----
+
+"Sit down, Mary, and get yourself a cup of tea."
+
+Mary did not seem to resent the condescending nature of this invitation.
+She thanked him simply, and sat down; pouring out for herself the dregs
+of the tea, and eating a piece of dry bread with it. Francis had the
+grace to remonstrate with her on the poverty of her fare.
+
+"It doesn't matter what I eat now," she said. "I have the best of
+everything where I'm living, and I don't feel hungry."
+
+"I hope you're comfortable where you are," said Mr. Trent, politely.
+
+"Yes, I'm very comfortable, thank you, Francis. Though," said Mrs.
+Trent, deliberately, "I think I should be more comfortable if I wasn't
+in a house where Mr. Oliver visited."
+
+"Oliver! Do you mean my brother Oliver? Why do you call him _Mr._
+Oliver? It is so absurd to keep up these class-distinctions."
+
+"So I think," said Mary, "but when other people keep them up it's not
+much use for me to be the first to cast them over board. Your brother
+Oliver comes to the house where I'm living much oftener than I think he
+ought."
+
+"What house is it? You never told me."
+
+"It's Mr. Brooke's. Mr. Caspar Brooke--him as wrote 'The Unexplored.' I
+brought it to you to read, I remember--a good long time ago."
+
+"Awful rot it was too!" said Francis, contemptuously. "However, I
+suppose it paid. What are you doing there? Wasn't it his wife who ran
+away from him? I remember the row some years ago--before I went under.
+Is she dead?"
+
+"No, she's living with her father, Lord Courtleroy. It's her daughter
+I've come to wait on: Miss Lesley Brooke."
+
+"Brooke's daughter!" said Francis, thoughtfully. "I remember Brooke. Not
+half a bad fellow. Lent me ten pounds once, and never asked for it
+again. So it's _Brooke's_ daughter you--hm--live with. Sort of
+companion, you are, eh, Mary?"
+
+"Maid," said Mary, stolidly. "Ladies' maid. And Miss Lesley's the
+sweetest young lady I ever come across."
+
+Francis shrugged his shoulders. "Your employment is causing you to
+relapse into the manner--and grammar--of your original station, Mary.
+May I suggest 'came' instead of 'come'?"
+
+Mrs. Trent looked at him with a still disdain. "Suggest what you like,"
+she said, "and think what you like of me. I never took myself to be your
+equal in education and all that. I may be your equal in sense and heart
+and morals; but of course that goes for nothing with such as you."
+
+"Don't be savage, Mary," said Francis, in a conciliatory tone. "I only
+want you to improve yourself a little, when you can. You're the best
+woman in the world--nobody knows it better than I do--and you should not
+take offense at a trifle. So you like Brooke's daughter, eh?"
+
+"Yes, I like her. But I don't like your brother Oliver."
+
+"I know that. What is he doing at Brooke's house? Let me see--he isn't
+engaged to _that_ girl? It's the actress he's going to marry, isn't it?"
+
+He had finished his meal by this time, and was smoking one of the cigars
+that his wife had brought him. She, meanwhile, turned up her sleeves,
+and made ready to wash the cups and plates.
+
+"Tell me all about it," said Francis, who was now in high good humor.
+"It sounds quite like the beginning of a romance."
+
+"There's no romance about it that I can see," said Mrs. Trent, grimly.
+"Your brother is engaged to Miss Kenyon--a nice, pretty young lady:
+rich, too, I hear."
+
+"Yes, indeed! As you and I are going to find out by and by, old lady,"
+and he chuckled to himself at the thought of his prospective wealth.
+
+"And he ought to be content with that. Instead of which, he's never out
+of our place; and when he's there he never seems to take his eyes off
+Miss Lesley. Playing the piano while she sings, reading to her,
+whispering, sitting into her pocket, so to speak. I can't think what
+he's about, nor other people neither."
+
+"What does Miss Kenyon say?" asked Francis, with sudden sharpness. For
+it occurred to him that if that match were broken off he would not get
+his two thousand pounds on Oliver's wedding-day.
+
+"She doesn't seem to notice much. Once or twice lately I've seen her
+look at them in a thoughtful, puzzled kind of way, as if something had
+set her thinking. She looks at Miss Lesley as if she could not quite
+make her out--though the two have been friends ever since Miss Lesley
+came home from school."
+
+"And the girl herself?" said Francis, with considerable and increasing
+interest. "What does she do?"
+
+"She looks troubled and puzzled, but I don't think she understands.
+She's as innocent as a baby," said Mrs. Trent, with compassion in her
+tone.
+
+"I wonder what he's doing it for," soliloquized Francis. "He can't marry
+her."
+
+Mary Trent paused for a moment in her housewifely occupations. "Why
+_can_ he not?"
+
+"Because----well, I may as well tell you as not I've never mentioned
+it--I don't know why exactly--but I'll tell you now, Mary. A few weeks
+ago, when we were so down on our luck, you know--just before you began
+to work again--I met Oliver in Russell Square, and told him what I
+wanted and what I thought of him. I brought him to terms, I can tell
+you! He had just got himself engaged to Miss Kenyon; and she has twenty
+thousand pounds besides her profession; and he promised me two thousand
+down on his wedding-day. What do you say to that? And within six months,
+too! And if he doesn't keep his word, I shall not hold my tongue about
+the one or two little secrets of his that I possess--do you see?"
+
+"Perhaps," said Mrs. Trent, slowly, "he thinks he could manage to pay
+you the money even if he married Miss Brooke? So long as you get the two
+thousand, I suppose you don't mind which girl it is?"
+
+"Not a bit," answered her husband frankly. "All I want is the money.
+Then we'll go off to America, old girl, and have the farm you talk
+about. But Brooke's daughter won't have two thousand pounds, so if he
+marries her instead of Miss Kenyon, he'll have to look out."
+
+Mrs. Trent had finished her work by this time. As she stood by the table
+drying her hands there was a look of fixed determination on her features
+which Francis recognized with some uneasiness.
+
+"What do you think about it? What are you going to do?" he asked, almost
+timidly.
+
+"I am not going to see Miss Lesley badly treated, at any rate."
+
+"How can you prevent it?"
+
+"I don't know, but I _shall_ prevent it, please God, if necessary. Your
+brother Oliver is engaged to one girl, and making love to another,
+that's the plain English of it; and sooner than see him break Miss
+Lesley's heart, I'd up and tell everybody what I know of him, and get
+him turned out of the house."
+
+"And spoil my game?" cried Francis, rising to his feet. His faced had
+turned white with anger, and his eyes were aflame. She looked at him
+consideringly, as if she were measuring his strength against her own.
+
+"Well--no," she said at length, "I won't spoil your game if I can help
+it--and I think I can get my own way without doing that. I want you to
+win your game, Francis. For you know"--with a weary smile--"that if you
+win, I win too."
+
+Her husband's face relaxed. "You're not a bad sort, Polly: I always said
+so," he remarked. "Come and give me a kiss. You wouldn't do anything
+rash, would you? Choke Oliver off at Brooke's as much as you like; but
+don't endanger his relations with Ethel Kenyon. His marriage with her is
+our only chance of getting out of this accursed bog we seem to have
+stuck fast in."
+
+"I'll be careful," said Mrs. Trent, drily.
+
+Francis still eyed her with apprehension. "You won't try to stop that
+marriage, will you?"
+
+"No, why should I? Miss Kenyon's nothing to me."
+
+Francis laughed. "I didn't know where your sympathies might be carrying
+you," he said. "Brooke's daughter is no more to you than the other
+girl."
+
+"I suppose not. But I feel different to her. You can't explain these
+things," said Mrs. Trent, philosophically, "but it's certain sure that
+you take a liking to one person and a hate to another, without knowing
+why. I liked Miss Lesley ever since I entered that house. She's kind,
+and talks to me as if I was a woman--not a machine. And I wouldn't like
+to see any harm happen to her."
+
+"Oh, you may indulge your romantic fondness for Miss Brooke as long as
+you like, if you don't let it interfere with Oliver's marriage," said
+Francis, with a rather disagreeable laugh. "It's lucky that you did not
+go to live with Miss Kenyon instead of the fair Lesley. You might have
+felt tempted to tell _her_ your little story."
+
+"Ay, so I might," said the woman, slowly. "For she's a woman, after all.
+And a nice life she'll have of it with Oliver Trent. I'm not sure----"
+
+She stopped, and a sombre light came into her deep-set eyes.
+
+"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't get on that old grievance," said Francis,
+hastily, almost rudely. "Don't think about it--don't mention it to me.
+It's all very well, Polly, for you to take on so much about your sister;
+and, indeed, I'm very sorry for her, and I think that Oliver behaved
+abominably--I do, indeed; but, my dear girl, it's no good crying over
+spilt milk, and Oliver's my brother, after all----"
+
+"And he's going to pay you two thousand pounds on his wedding-day," said
+Mrs. Trent, with cruel curtness. "I know all about it. And I understand.
+Why should I be above making my profit out of him like other people? All
+right, Francis: I won't spoil your little game at present. And now I
+must be getting back."
+
+She took up her bonnet and shawl and began to readjust them. Francis
+watched her hands: he saw that they trembled, and he knew that this was
+an ominous sign. It sometimes betokened anger, and when she was angry he
+did not care to ask her to give him money. And he wanted money now.
+
+But she was not angry in the way that he thought. For after a moment's
+silence her hands grew steady again, and her face recovered its usual
+calm.
+
+"I've got three pounds here for you, Francis," she said. "And I hope
+you'll make it last as long as you can--you will, won't you? For I
+shan't have any more for some little time to come."
+
+He nodded and took the sovereigns from her hand. A touch of compunction
+visited him as he did so.
+
+"Keep one, Polly," he said. "I don't want them all."
+
+"Oh, yes, you do. And I have no need of money where I am. You'll not
+spend it all at billiards, or on brandy, will you?"
+
+"No, Polly, I won't. I promise you."
+
+And he meant to keep his promise. But as matters fell out, he was
+blindly, madly drunk before the same night was out, and he had lost
+every penny that he possessed over a game at cards. And plunging
+recklessly across the street, in the darkness of the foggy night, he was
+knocked down by passing cab, and was carried insensible to the nearest
+hospital. Where let us leave him for a time in good and kindly hands.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+"HER EYES WILL SEND ME MAD."
+
+
+It was true, as Mrs. Trent had said, that Lesley's face often now wore a
+look of perplexity and trouble. This look had many differing causes; but
+amongst them, not the least was the behavior of Oliver Trent.
+
+Oliver was betrothed to her friend, and she had so much faith in the
+honor and constancy of men, that it never occurred to her that he could
+prefer herself to Ethel, or that he should think of behaving as though
+Ethel were not the first person in the world to him. But as a matter of
+fact, he did not conduct himself to Ethel at all as a lover should have
+done. Assured of her love, he neglected her: he failed to appear at the
+Theatre in time to escort her home, he forgot his promises to visit her;
+he let her notes lie unanswered in his pocket. And when she pouted and
+remonstrated, he frowned her into silence, which was not at all the way
+in which her lover ought to behave.
+
+Of course Lesley did not know this, for Ethel had not taken her into her
+confidence on the subject. But she knew very well where Oliver spent his
+time. Early and late, on small excuse or on no excuse at all, he
+presented himself at Mr. Brooke's house, and made himself Lesley's
+companion. At first Lesley did not dislike it. She supposed that Ethel
+must be busy with her theatrical studies, or at rehearsal, and that
+Oliver was in want of something to do. It was pleasant to have the
+companionship of some one younger and more congenial, perhaps, than her
+father or Miss Brooke; and she gained a great deal of interesting
+information from Oliver during the long hours that he spent with her in
+the drawing-room or library. He told her a great deal about London
+society, about modern literature, and the fashions of the day; and all
+this was as fascinating to Lesley as it was novel. He talked to her
+about plays and music and pictures; and he read poetry to her. Modern
+poetry, of course: a little Browning, and a good deal of Rossetti and
+Swinburne. For amorous and passionate poetry pleased him best; and he
+knew that it was likelier to serve his ends than verse of the more
+masculine and intellectual kind. Lesley rather preferred Browning and
+Arnold to Oliver's favorites, but she was never certain of her own
+taste, and was always humbly afraid that she might be making some
+terrible mistake in her preferences.
+
+She certainly found Mr. Trent's aid very valuable in the matter of her
+singing. The best singing-mistress in London had been found for her, and
+she practised diligently every day; but it was delightful to find
+somebody who could always play her accompaniments, and was ready with
+discriminating praise or almost more flattering criticism. Oliver had
+considerable musical knowledge, and he placed it at Lesley's service.
+She made a much quicker and more marked advance in her singing than she
+could possibly have done without his assistance. And for this she was
+grateful.
+
+At the same time she was uneasy. It was contrary to all her previous
+experience that a young man should be allowed to spend so much time with
+her. She did not think that her mother would approve of it. But she
+could not ask Lady Alice, because she had now no communication with her:
+a purely formal letter respecting her health and general welfare was
+all, she had been told, that she would be permitted to write. And sooner
+than write a letter of that kind Lesley had proudly resolved not to
+write at all. But she pined for womanly counsel and assistance in the
+matter.
+
+Miss Brooke was certainly not proving herself an efficient chaperon.
+Aunt Sophy had never risen to a clear view of her duty in the matter.
+She herself had never been chaperoned in her life; but had gone about to
+lectures and dissecting rooms and hospitals with a fine indifference to
+sex. But then Doctor Sophy had never been a pretty woman; and no young
+man had shown a wish to spend his spare hours in her drawing-room. She
+had a strong belief in the wisdom and goodness of women--young and
+old--and declared that they could always take care of themselves when
+they chose. And nothing would induce her to believe that her niece,
+Lesley Brooke, required protection or guardianship. She would have
+thought it an insult to her own family to suggest such a thing.
+
+So she treated Lesley's rather timidly worded suggestions on the subject
+with cheerful contempt, as the conventional notions of a convent-bred
+young woman who had not yet realized the strides made in the progress of
+mankind--and especially of womankind. And Lesley soon felt quite sure
+that any complaint or protest of hers would be dealt with simply as a
+sign of weak-mindedness--a stigma which she could not endure. So she
+said nothing, and submitted to Oliver Trent's frequent visits with
+resignation.
+
+It must be said, however, that Aunt Sophy had not the least notion of
+the frequency of Oliver's visits. She was a busy woman, and a somewhat
+absent-minded one; and Mr. Trent often contrived to call when she was
+out or engaged. And when she asked, as she sometimes did ask of
+Sarah--"Any one called to-day?"--and received the grim answer "Only Mr.
+Trent, as usual"--she simply laughed at Sarah's sour visage, and did not
+calculate the number of these visits in the week. Mr. Brooke himself
+grew uncomfortable about the matter, sooner than did Miss Brooke.
+
+"Sophy," he said, one day, when he happened to find her alone in the
+library, sitting at the very top of the library steps, with an immense
+volume of German science on her knees. "Sophy, have you noticed that
+young Trent has taken to coming here very often of late?"
+
+"No," said Doctor Sophy, absently, "I haven't noticed." Then she went on
+reading.
+
+"My dear Sophy," said her brother, "will you do me the kindness to
+listen to me for a moment?"
+
+"Why, Caspar, I _am_ listening as hard as I can!" exclaimed Miss Brooke,
+with an injured air. "What do you want?"
+
+"I wish to speak about Lesley."
+
+"Oh, I thought it was Mr. Trent."
+
+"Does it not strike you that he comes here to see Lesley a great deal
+too often?"
+
+"Rubbish," cried Miss Brooke, pushing up her eyeglasses. "Why, he's
+engaged to Ethel Kenyon."
+
+"For all that," said Mr. Brooke, and then he paused for a moment. "Did
+it never strike _you_ that he was here very often?"
+
+"No," said Aunt Sophy, stolidly. "Haven't noticed. I suppose he comes to
+help Lesley with her singing. Good gracious, Caspar, the girl can take
+care of herself."
+
+"I dare say she can, but I don't want any trifling--or--or
+flirtation--to go on," said Brooke, rather sharply. "We are responsible
+for her, you know: we have to hand her over in good condition, mind and
+body, at the end of the twelve months. And if you can't look after her,
+I must get her a companion or something. I've been inclined to come up
+and play sheep-dog myself, sometimes, when I have heard them practising
+for an hour together just above my head."
+
+"If they disturb you, Caspar," began Miss Brooke, with real solicitude;
+but her brother did not allow her to finish her sentence.
+
+"No, no, they don't disturb me--in the way you mean. I confess I should
+feel more comfortable if I thought that somebody was with the two young
+people, to play propriety, and all that sort of thing."
+
+"I thought you were above such conventionalism," said Miss Brooke,
+glaring at him through her glasses from her lofty height upon the steps.
+
+"Not at all. Not where my daughter is concerned. Children teach their
+father very new and unexpected lessons, I find; and I don't look with
+equanimity on the prospect of Lesley's being made love to by Oliver
+Trent, or of her going back to her mother and telling her that she was
+left so much to her own devices. I am sure of one thing--that Lady Alice
+would not like it."
+
+"And am I to give up all my engagements for the sake of sitting with two
+silly young people?" said Miss Brooke, the very hair of her head seeming
+to bristle with horror at the idea.
+
+"By no means. I don't see that you need be always there; but be there
+sometimes; don't give occasion to the enemy," said Mr. Brooke; turning
+to go.
+
+"Who is the enemy?" said Doctor Sophy--a spiteful question, as she well
+knew.
+
+"The world," said Caspar Brooke, quite quietly: he did not choose to see
+the spitefulness.
+
+"Oh," said Miss Brooke. "I thought you meant your wife." But she did not
+dare to say this until he was well out of the room, and the door firmly
+closed behind him.
+
+But Miss Brooke was neither malicious nor unreasonable. On consideration
+she came to the conclusion that her brother was substantially right--as
+a matter of fact she always came to that conclusion--and prepared to
+carry out his views of the matter. Only she carried them out in her own
+way. She made a point of being present on the occasion of Mr. Trent's
+next two calls, and although she read a book all the time, she was
+virtuously conscious of the fact that her mere presence "made all the
+difference." But on the third occasion she wanted to go out. What was to
+be done? Miss Brooke's mind was fertile of resource, and she
+triumphantly surmounted the difficulty.
+
+"Kingston," she said to Lesley's maid, "I am obliged to go out, and I
+don't like leaving Miss Lesley so much alone. You may take your work
+down to the library and sit there, and don't go away if visitors come
+in. You can just draw the curtains, you know."
+
+"Am I to stay all the afternoon, ma'am?" Kingston inquired, with
+surprise.
+
+"Yes. I'll speak to Miss Lesley about it. I think she ought to have some
+one at hand when I am out so much." So Kingston--_alias_ Mary
+Trent--took her needlework, and seated herself by the library window,
+whence the half-drawn curtains between library and drawing-room afforded
+her a complete view of all visitors to Miss Lesley.
+
+Oliver Trent was distinctly annoyed by this proceeding, but Lesley,
+although puzzled, was equally well pleased. It was an arrangement all
+the more displeasing to Oliver because the waiting-woman who sat so
+demurely in the library, within earshot of all that he chose to say, was
+his brother's wife. He felt sure that she had contrived it all; that she
+was there simply to act as a spy upon his actions. Francis wanted that
+money, and would not get it until he married Miss Kenyon; and was
+evidently afraid--from information conveyed to him by Kingston--that he
+was going to break off his engagement. Oliver flew into a silent rage at
+the thought of this combination, which he was nevertheless powerless to
+prevent. He went away early that afternoon, and came again next day.
+Kingston was there also with her work. And though he sang and played the
+piano as usual with Lesley, although he chatted and laughed and had tea
+with her as usual, he felt Kingston's presence a restraint And for the
+first time he asked himself, seriously, why this should be.
+
+"Why, of course," he said to himself, "I promised Rosalind to make love
+to her. And I can't make love to her when that woman's there. Curse her!
+she spoils my plans."
+
+He had shut himself up in the luxurious little smoking-room which Mrs.
+Romaine had arranged for him. She knew the value of a room in which a
+man feels himself at liberty to do what he likes. She never came there
+without especial invitation: she always said that she preferred seeing
+her brother in her own drawing-room--that she was not like Miss Brooke,
+and did _not_ smoke cigarettes. But that was one of the little ways in
+which Rosalind used to emphasize the difference between herself and the
+women whom she did not love.
+
+At any rate, Oliver was alone. The curtains were drawn, the lamp was
+lighted, a bright fire burned in the grate. He had drawn up a
+softly-cushioned lounging chair to the fire, and was peacefully smoking
+a remarkably good cigar.
+
+But his frame of mind was anything but peaceful. He had been troubled
+for some days, and he did not know what troubled him. He was now
+beginning to find out.
+
+"What are my plans, I wonder?" he reflected. "To make Lesley fall in
+love with me?--I wish I could! She is as cold as ice; as innocent as a
+child: and yet I think there is a tremendous capacity for passion in
+those dark eyes of hers, those mobile, sensitive lips! What lips to
+kiss! what eyes to flash back fire and feeling! what a splendid woman to
+win and show the world! It would be like loving a goddess--as if Diana
+herself had stooped from Olympus to grace Endymion!"
+
+And then he laughed aloud.
+
+"What a fool I am! Poetizing like a boy; and all about a girl who never
+can be my wife at all. That's the worst part of it. I am
+engaged--engaged! unutterably ridiculous word!--to marry little Ethel
+Kenyon, the pretty actress at the Novelty. The respectable, wealthy,
+well-connected actress, moreover--the product of modern civilization:
+the young woman of our day who aspires to purify the drama and vindicate
+the claims of histrionic art--what rubbish it all is! If Ethel were a
+ballet-dancer, or had taken to opera bouffe, she would be much more
+entertaining! But her enthusiasms, and her belief in herself and her
+mission, along with that _mignonne_, provoking, pretty, little face of
+hers, are altogether too incongruous! No, Ethel bores me, it must be
+confessed; and I have got to marry her--all for a paltry twenty thousand
+pounds! What a fool I was to propose before I had seen Brooke's
+daughter.
+
+"If it weren't for Francis, I would break it off. But how else am I to
+pay that two thousand? And what won't he do if I fail to pay it? No,
+that would be ruin--unless I choke him off in some other way, and I
+don't see how I can do that. No, I must marry Ethel, I suppose, or go to
+the devil. And unless I could take bonny Lesley with me, that would not
+mend matters."
+
+He threw his cigar into the fire, and stood for some minutes looking
+down at it, with gloom imprinted upon his brow.
+
+"I must do something," he said at last. "It's getting too much for me: I
+shall have to stop going to Brooke's house. I suppose this is what
+people call falling in love! Well, I can honestly say I have never done
+it in this fashion before! I have flirted, I have made love scores of
+times, but I never wanted a woman for my own as I want _her_! And I
+think I had better keep out of her way--for her eyes will send me mad!"
+
+So he soliloquized: so he resolved; but inclination was stronger than
+will or judgment. Day after day saw him at the Brookes' house; and day
+after day saw the shadows deepen on Ethel's face, and the fold of
+perplexity grow more distinct between Lesley's tender brows.
+
+Kingston had been looking ill and uneasy for some days past, and one
+afternoon she begged leave to go out for an hour or two to see a friend.
+Miss Brooke let her go, and went out to a meeting with a perfectly
+contented mind. Even if Oliver Trent came to the house that afternoon it
+would not matter: it would be only "once in a way." And Lesley secretly
+hoped that he would not come.
+
+But he came. A little later than usual--about four o'clock in the
+afternoon, when there was no light in the drawing-room but that of the
+ruddy blaze, and the tea-tray had not yet been brought up. When Lesley
+saw him she wished that she had sent down word that she was engaged,
+that she had a headache, or even that she was--conventionally--not at
+home. Anything rather than a tete-a-tete with Oliver Trent! And yet she
+would have been puzzled to say why.
+
+His quick eye told him almost at once that she was alone. It told him
+also that she was decidedly nervous and ill-at-ease.
+
+"We must have lights," she said. "Then you can see my new song. I had a
+fresh one this morning."
+
+"Never mind the lights: never mind your song," he said, his voice
+vibrating strangely. "If you are like me, you love this delightful
+twilight."
+
+"I don't like it," said Lesley, with decision. "I will ring for the
+lamps, please."
+
+She moved a step, but by a dexterous movement he interposed himself
+between her and the mantelpiece, beside which hung the bell-handle.
+
+"Shall I ring?" he asked, coolly. It seemed to him that he wanted to
+gain time. And yet--time for what? He had nothing to get by gaining
+time.
+
+"Yes, if you please," Lesley said. She could not get past him without
+seeming rude. A slight tremor shook her frame; she shrank away from him,
+towards the open piano and leaned against it as if for support. The
+flickering firelight showed her that his face was very pale, the lips
+were tightly closed, the brows knitted above his fiercely flaming eye.
+He did not look like himself.
+
+"Lesley," he said, hoarsely, and stretching forward, he put one hand
+upon her arm. But the touch gave the girl strength. She drew her arm
+away, as sharply as if a noxious animal had touched her.
+
+"Mr. Trent, you forget yourself."
+
+"Rather say that I remember myself--that I found myself when I found
+you! Lesley, I love you!"
+
+"This is shameful--intolerable! You are pledged to my friend--you have
+said all this to her before," cried Lesley, in bitter wrath and
+indignation.
+
+"I have said it, but I never knew the meaning of love till I knew you.
+Lesley, you love me in return! Let us leave the world together--you and
+I. Nothing can give me the happiness that your love would bring. Lesley,
+Lesley, my darling!"
+
+He threw his arm round her, and tried to kiss her cold cheek, her
+averted, half-open lips. She would have pushed him from her if she had
+had the strength; but it seemed as if her strength was failing her.
+Suddenly, with a half-smothered oath, he let her go--so suddenly,
+indeed, that she almost fell against the piano near which she had been
+standing. For the door had opened, and the tall figure of Caspar Brooke
+stood on the threshold of the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+MAURICE KENYON'S VIEWS.
+
+
+Mr. Brooke advanced quite quietly into the room. Perhaps he had not seen
+or heard so very much. Certainly he glanced very keenly--first at
+Lesley, who leaned half-fainting against the piano, and then at Oliver
+Trent, who had slunk backwards to the rug before the fire; but he said
+nothing, and for a minute or two an embarrassed silence prevailed in the
+room. Lesley then raised herself up a little, and Oliver began to speak.
+
+"I was just going," he said, with a nervous attempt at a laugh. "I
+haven't much time to-night, and was just hurrying away. I must come in
+another time."
+
+Mr. Brooke took up a commanding position on the rug, put his hands in
+his pockets, and surveyed the room in silence. Perhaps Oliver felt the
+silence to be ominous, for he did not try to shake hands or to utter any
+commonplaces, but took his leave with a hurried "Good-afternoon" that
+neither father nor daughter returned. The door shut behind him: they
+heard the sound of his footsteps on the stairs and the closing of the
+hall door. Then Lesley bestirred herself with the sensation of a wounded
+animal that wishes to hide its hurt: she wanted to get away and seek the
+darkness and solitude of her room upstairs. But before she reached the
+door Mr. Brooke's voice arrested her.
+
+"Lesley."
+
+She stopped short, and looked at him. Her heart beat so suffocatingly
+loud and fast that she could not speak.
+
+"I don't trust that young man, Lesley," was what her father said quite
+quietly.
+
+Then there was a pause. Lesley was still tongue-tied, and Mr. Brooke did
+not seem to know what to do or say. He walked away from the fire and
+began to finger some papers on a table, although it was quite too dark
+to see any of these. Inwardly he was wondering how much or how little he
+ought to say.
+
+"I wish he would not come quite so often," he remarked.
+
+"Oh, so do I!" said Lesley, with heartfelt warmth.
+
+"Do you? Why, child, I thought you liked him!"
+
+"I never liked him much," said Lesley, faltering.
+
+"And yet you have allowed him to come here day after day and practise
+with you? The ways of women are inscrutable," said Mr. Brooke, grimly,
+"and I can't profess to understand them. If you did not wish him to
+come, there was nothing to do but to close your doors against him."
+
+"I shall be only too glad," said Lesley, eagerly.
+
+"Oh--_now_? That is unnecessary: I shall do it myself," said her father,
+with the same dryness of tone that always made Lesley feel as if she
+were withering up to nothingness.
+
+"I don't think he is very likely to come," she said, in a very low tone.
+Then, with a quick impulse to clear herself, and an effort which brought
+the blood in a burning tide to her fair face, she went on,
+hurriedly--"Father, you don't think I forgot that he"--and then she
+almost broke down, and "Ethel" was the only word that struck distinctly
+upon his ear.
+
+"You mean," said Mr. Brooke, "that you do not forget that he is going to
+marry Ethel Kenyon? Perhaps not; but I think that _he_ does."
+
+"I am not to blame for that," said Lesley, with a flash of the hot
+temper that occasionally leaped to light when she was talking with her
+father.
+
+Brooke made no immediate answer. He took a match box from his pocket,
+struck a match, and began to light the wax candles on the
+mantelpiece--partly by way of finding something to do, partly because he
+thought that he should like to see his daughter's face.
+
+It was a very downcast face just then, but it was tinged with the hot
+flush of mingled pride and shame with which she had spoken, and never
+had it looked more lovely. The father considered it for a moment, less
+with admiration than with curiosity: this daughter of his was an unknown
+quantity: he never could predicate what she would do or say. Certainly
+she surprised him once more when she lifted her head, and said,
+quickly--
+
+"I don't think I understand your English ways. I know what we should do
+at the convent; but I never know whether I am right or wrong here. And
+I have no one to ask."
+
+"There is your Aunt Sophy."
+
+"It is almost impossible to ask Aunt Sophy; she never sees where the
+difficulty lies. I know she is kind--but she does not understand what I
+want."
+
+Caspar nodded. "That is one reason why I spoke to you just now," he
+said, much more gently than usual. "I knew that she was a little brusque
+sometimes; and I suppose I am not much better. As a rule a father does
+not talk to his girls as I have been talking to you, I fancy. I am
+almost as ignorant of a father's duties to his daughter as you say you
+are of the habits of English bourgeois society--for I suppose that is
+what you mean?"
+
+He smiled a little--the slight smile of a satire which Lesley always
+dreaded; and yet, she remembered, his voice had been very kind. It
+softened again into its gentlest and most musical tones, as he said--
+
+"You must take us as you find us, child: we shall not do you much harm,
+and it will not be for long."
+
+Lesley was emboldened by the gentle intonation to draw closer to him,
+and to lay an entreating hand upon his arm.
+
+"Oh, father," she said, "if you would but let me write to mamma!"
+
+And then she uttered a little sob, and the tears filled her eyes and ran
+down her cheeks. As for Caspar Brooke, he stood like a man amazed, and
+repeated her words almost stupidly.
+
+"_Write to mamma?_" he said.
+
+"It would do me good: it would not do any harm," said Lesley, hurriedly,
+brokenly, and clasping his arm with both hands to enforce her plea. "I
+would not tell her anything that you did not like: I should never say
+anything but good about you; but, oh, there are so many things that
+puzzle me, and that I should like to consult her about. You see,
+although I was not much with her, I used to write to her twice a week,
+and she wrote to me oftener, sometimes; and I told her everything, and
+she used to advise me and help me! And I miss it so much--it is that
+that makes me unhappy; it seems so hard never to write and never to hear
+from her! I feel sometimes as if I could not bear it; as if I should
+have to run away to her again and tell her everything! Nobody is like
+her--nobody--and to be a year without her is terrible!"
+
+And Lesley put her head down on her father's arm and cried
+unrestrainedly, with a sort of newborn instinct that he sympathised with
+her, and would not repulse her confidence.
+
+As for Caspar Brooke, his face had turned quite pale: he stood like a
+statue, with features rigidly set, listening to Lesley's outburst of
+pleading words. It took him a little time to find his voice, even when
+he had at last assimilated the ideas contained in her speech and
+regained his self-possession. It took him still longer to recover from a
+certain shock of surprise.
+
+"Write to your mother!" he exclaimed. "Well, but, of course--why should
+you not write to your mother?"
+
+And then Lesley raised her head and looked at him with such amazement
+and perplexity that her father felt absolutely annoyed.
+
+"Who on earth put it into your head that you might not write? Am I such
+a tyrant--such an unfeeling monster----? Good heavens! what
+extraordinary idea is this! Who said that you were not to write to her?"
+
+"My mother herself," said Lesley, drawing herself a little away from
+him, and still looking into his face.
+
+"Your _mother_? Absurd! Why, what--what----"
+
+He faltered, frowned, turned away to the mantelpiece, and struck his
+hand heavily upon it.
+
+"I never meant _that_," he said. It seemed as if vexation and
+astonishment prevented him from saying more.
+
+"My mother said that it was agreed--years ago--that when I came to you,
+we were to have no communication," said Lesley, trembling, and yet
+resolute to have her say. "Was not that so?"
+
+"I remember something of the sort," he answered, reluctantly, frowning
+still and looking down. "I did not think at the time of what it implied.
+And when the time drew near for you to make the visit, the question was
+not raised. We corresponded through a third party--the lawyer, you know.
+Perhaps--at the time--I had an idea of preventing letters, but not
+recently. Nobody mentioned it. Why"--his anger rising, as a man's anger
+often does rise when he perceives himself to have been in the
+wrong--"your mother might at least have mentioned it if she felt any
+doubt!"
+
+"I suppose," said Lesley, rather haughtily, "that my mother did not want
+to ask a favor of you."
+
+He flung himself round at that. "Your mother must have given you a
+strange idea of me!" he said, with a mixture of anger and mortification
+which it humiliated him to show, even while he could not manage to hide
+it. "One would have said I was an ogre--a maniac. But she misjudged me
+all her life--it is useless to expect anything else--of course she would
+try to bias you!"
+
+"I never knew that you were even alive until the day that I left the
+convent," said Lesley. "My mother certainly did not try to prejudice me
+before then: she simply kept silence."
+
+"Silence is the worst condemnation? What had I done that I should be
+separated from my child so completely?" said the man, the bitterness of
+years displaying itself in a way as unexpected to him as to his
+daughter. "It is not my fault, I swear, that I have lived without a
+wife, without--well, well! it is not you to whom I ought to say this. We
+will not refer to it again. About this letter writing--I might say, as
+perhaps I did say at the time the arrangement was made, that surely I
+had a right to claim you entirely for one year at least; but I don't--I
+won't. If I did ever say so, Lesley, I regret the words exceedingly.
+Ever since you came to me, I have had no idea but that you were writing
+to her regularly and freely; and I never--never in my right mind--wished
+it otherwise."
+
+"But mamma talked of an agreement----"
+
+"That was years ago. I must have said something in my heat which the
+lawyers--the people who arranged things--interpreted wrongly. And your
+mother, as you say, did not care to ask me for anything. I can only say,
+Lesley, that I am sorry the mistake arose."
+
+His voice was grave and cold again, almost indifferent. He stood with
+his elbow on the mantelpiece, his hand supporting his head, his eyes
+averted from the girl. A close eye might have observed that the veins of
+his forehead were swollen, and the pulse at his temple was beating
+furiously: otherwise he had mastered all signs of agitation. Lesley
+hesitated a moment: then came up to him, and put her slim fingers into
+his hand.
+
+"Father," she said, softly, "if we _have_ misjudged you--mamma and
+I--won't you forgive us?"
+
+For answer he took her face between his two hands, bent down and kissed
+it tenderly.
+
+"You don't remember sitting on my knee when you were a tiny little
+thing, do you?" he asked her. "You would not go to sleep at nights
+without a kiss from me before I went out. You were rather fond of me
+then, child! I wish things had turned out differently!"
+
+He spoke sadly, and Lesley returned his kiss with a new feeling of
+affection of which she had not been conscious before, but which she
+would have found it difficult to translate into words. Before she could
+manage to reply, the handle of the door was turned, and father and
+daughter stood apart as quickly as if they had had no right to stand
+with arms enlaced and faces almost touching: indeed, the situation was
+so new to both of them that they felt something like shame and alarm as
+they turned to meet the expected Doctor Sophy.
+
+But it was not Doctor Sophy. It was Sarah with the tea-tray, very
+resentful at not having had it rung for earlier--she having been
+instructed not to bring it up until Miss Lesley rang the bell. And after
+Sarah came Mr. Maurice Kenyon, unannounced, after his usual fashion. And
+on hearing his voice, Lesley slipped away between the curtains into the
+library, and upstairs, through the library door.
+
+"Why, Brooke, old fellow, you're not often to be found here at this
+hour!" began Maurice. He looked on Caspar Brooke as a prophet and a hero
+in his heart; but his manner before the world was characterized by the
+frankest irreverence. Brooke was one of those men who are never older
+than their companions.
+
+"Well, you must be neglecting your patients shamefully to be here at
+all. What do you want at this feminine meal?"
+
+"I didn't come for tea," said Maurice, actually growing a little redder
+as he spoke. "I came to see Miss Brooke."
+
+"Oh, she's gone to a meeting of some Medical Association or other," said
+Caspar, indifferently, as he sat down in Lesley's place at the dainty
+tea-table, and poured out a cup of tea with the manner of a man who was
+accustomed to serving himself. "Here, help yourself to sugar and cream."
+
+"Thanks, I won't have any tea. I did not mean your sister: I meant Miss
+Lesley--I thought I saw her as I came in."
+
+"Anything important?" said Caspar, blandly. He was certain that Lesley
+had gone away to cry--women always cry!--and he did not want her to be
+disturbed. Although he had quarrelled with his wife, he understood
+feminine susceptibilities better than most men.
+
+"Oh, no. Only to ask her to sing at the Club on Sunday. It's my turn to
+manage the music for that day, you know. Trent is going to sing too."
+
+"Ah," said Mr. Brooke. Then, after a pause: "I will ask her. But I don't
+think she will be able to sing on Sunday. It strikes me she has an
+engagement."
+
+He could not say to Ethel's brother what was in his mind, and yet he was
+troubled by the intensity of his conviction that she was throwing
+herself away upon "a cad." He must take some other method in the future
+of giving Maurice a hint about young Trent.
+
+Maurice thought, not untruly, that there was something odd in his tone.
+
+"Isn't she well?" he asked, with his usual straightforwardness. "I hope
+there is nothing wrong."
+
+"I did not say there was anything wrong, did I?" demanded Caspar. Then,
+squaring his shoulders, and sitting well back in his chair, with his
+hands plunged into the pockets of his old study coat, and his eyes fixed
+on his visitor's face, he thus acquitted himself--"Maurice, my young
+friend, I am and have been a most confounded ass."
+
+"Oh?" said Maurice, interrogatively.
+
+"I think it would relieve me--if I weren't out of practice--to swear.
+But I've preached against 'langwidge' so long at the club that I don't
+think I could get up the necessary stock of expletives."
+
+"I'll supply you. I shouldn't have thought that there was a lack of them
+down in your printing offices about one or two o'clock every morning,
+from what I've heard. What is it, if I may ask? Anything wrong with the
+Football Club?"
+
+"Football Club! My dear fellow, I have a private life, unfortunately, as
+contradistinguished from your everlasting clubs and printing offices."
+
+"It is something about Miss Brooke, is it?" said Maurice, with greater
+interest "I was afraid there was something----"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Oh--well, you must excuse me for mentioning it--but wasn't she--wasn't
+she crying as she went out of the room? And she has not been looking
+well for the last month or so."
+
+"I suppose you mean that she is not particularly happy here, with her
+father?"
+
+Maurice elevated his eyebrows. "Brooke, old man, what have you got into
+your head?" he asked, kindly. "You look put out a good bit. Does she say
+she wants to leave you?"
+
+"Oh, no, no, 'tisn't that. I daresay she does, though. You know the
+whole story--it is no good disguising the details from you. There's been
+a wretched little mistake--all my fault, no doubt, but not intentionally
+so: the girl came here with the idea that she might not write to her
+mother--some nonsense about 'no communication' between them stood in the
+way; and it seems she has been pining to do so ever since she came."
+
+"And she never asked you? never complained, or said anything?"
+
+"She broke down over it to-day. I'm ashamed to look her in the face,"
+said Brooke, vehemently. "I'm ashamed to think of what they--their
+opinion of me is. A domineering, flinty-hearted, unnatural parent, eh,
+Maurice? Ogre and tyrant and all the rest of it. As if I ever meant to
+put a stop to her writing to her mother! I never heard of such an
+unjustifiable proceeding! I never thought of such an absurd idea!"
+
+"Then weren't you very much to blame to allow the mistake to arise?"
+asked Maurice, bluntly.
+
+"Of course I was. That's the abominable and confounded part of it. Some
+hasty words of mine were misinterpreted, of course. I told you I had
+been an ass."
+
+"Well, I hope it is set straight now?"
+
+"As far as I can set it straight. Probably nothing will undo the effect.
+She'll think that I was cruel in the first instance if not in the last."
+
+He sat staring at his boots, with a very discontented expression of
+countenance. But he did not get much sympathy from Mr. Kenyon.
+
+"Well," he said, "I suppose you've yourself to blame. I've no doubt you
+have been very hasty, lots of times. It's my own idea that if you went
+into detail over a good many actions of your past life"--this was very
+significantly said--"you would find that you had been mistaken pretty
+often. We all do. And there's one mistake that I think I can point out
+to you."
+
+Caspar looked at him hard for a moment from under his bushy eyebrows.
+
+"One subject, Kenyon," he said, seriously, "I shall ask you to respect."
+
+"All right," said Maurice. "I am only speaking of your daughter. You
+must allow me to say that I think you have misjudged her, ever since she
+has been in your house for the last three months. I did just the same,
+at first. You see, she came here, as far as I can make out, puzzled,
+ignorant of the world, deprived of her mother's help and care, thrown on
+the tender mercies of a father whom she did not know----"
+
+"And whom she took to be an ogre," said Brooke, with a bitter, little
+laugh.
+
+"Brought into a world that she knew nothing about, and amongst a set of
+people who could not understand why she looked sad and lonely, poor
+child!----"
+
+"I say, Maurice, you are speaking of my daughter, remember."
+
+"Don't be touchy, old man. I speak and I think of her with every
+respect. We have all misjudged and misunderstood her: she is a young
+girl, little more than a child, and a child astray, pining
+uncomplainingly for her mother, doing her best to understand the new
+world she was thrown into, devouring your writings and trying as hard as
+she could to assimilate every good and noble idea that she came
+across--I say that she's a saint and a heroine," said Maurice, with
+sudden passion and enthusiasm, "and we've forgotten that not a girl in a
+thousand could have come through a trying ordeal so well!"
+
+"She hasn't come out of her ordeal at all, Maurice: the ordeal of living
+in the house of a brutal father, who, in her view, probably broke her
+mother's heart: all that has to be proceeded with for nine months
+longer!"
+
+"It need not be an ordeal if she knows that you love her: if she writes
+to her mother and gets the sympathy and aid she needs. Upon my soul,
+Brooke, it seems to me that you are hard upon your daughter!"
+
+"Do you think I need to be taught my duty by you, young man?" said
+Caspar. He spoke with a smile, but his tone was undoubtedly sharp. His
+disciple was not so submissive as he had hitherto appeared to be.
+
+"Yes, I do," said Maurice, undismayed. "Because I appreciate her and
+understand her, which you don't. I was dense at first as you are, but I
+have learnt better now--through loving her."
+
+"Through _what_, man?"
+
+"Through loving her. It's the truth, Brooke, as I stand here. I've known
+it for some little time. It is only because it may seem too sudden to
+her and to you that I haven't spoken before, and I did not mean to do so
+when I came here this afternoon. But the fact remains, I love Lesley,
+and I want her to be my wife."
+
+"Heavens and earth!" said Caspar. "Is the man gone mad!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+LESLEY'S LETTER.
+
+
+"Not a bit of it," said Maurice sturdily. "I speak the words of truth
+and soberness. I've thought about it for some time."
+
+"A week?"
+
+"I'm in earnest, Brooke. Do you consent?"
+
+"My good man," said Caspar, slowly, "you forget that I am probably the
+last person in the world whose consent is of any value."
+
+"Pooh!"
+
+"You may say 'pooh' as much as you like, but the fact remains. When
+Lesley leaves me, say next August or September, she goes to her mother
+and her grandfather, who's an earl, more's the pity. They have the
+guardianship, you understand."
+
+"But you have it legally still."
+
+"Hum--no: we had a formal separation. I named the terms, certainly: I
+was angry at the time, and was inclined to say that if I might not bring
+up the child in my own way, neither should its mother. That was why we
+compromised by sending her to school--but it was to be a school of Lady
+Alice's choice. The year with me afterwards was a suggestion of mine, of
+course. But I can't alter what was agreed on then."
+
+"Naturally. But----"
+
+"And as to money affairs," said Caspar, ruthlessly cutting him short, "I
+have been put all along into the most painful and ridiculous position
+that a man can well be in. I offered to settle a certain income on my
+wife and daughter: Lady Alice and her father refused to accept any money
+from me. I have paid various sums into his bank for Lesley, but I have
+reason to believe that they have never touched a farthing of it. You see
+they've put me at a disadvantage all round. And what is to be done when
+she marries, unless she marries with their consent, I don't quite see.
+She won't like to offend them or seem ungrateful when they have done so
+much for her; and I--according to the account that they will give her--I
+have done nothing. So I don't suppose I shall be consulted about her
+marriage."
+
+"You are her father: you must be consulted."
+
+"Well, as a matter of form! But I expect that she is destined to marry a
+duke, my dear fellow; and I call it sheer folly on your part to have
+fallen in love with her."
+
+"But you don't object, Brooke?"
+
+"I only hope that the destined duke will be half as decent a chap as you
+are. But I can't encourage you--Lesley will have to look out for squalls
+if she engages herself to you."
+
+"May I not speak to her then?" inquired Maurice ruefully. "Not at once,
+perhaps, you know; but if I think that I have a chance?"
+
+"Say what you like," said Brooke, with a genial smile; for his ill-humor
+had vanished in spite of his apparent opposition to Maurice's suit. "I
+should like nothing better--for my own part; but we are both bound to
+consider Lesley. You know you are a shocking bad match for her. Oh, I
+know you are the descendant of kings and all that sort of bosh, but as a
+matter of fact you are only a young medico, a general practitioner, and
+his lordship is bound to think that I am making something for myself out
+of the marriage."
+
+"You don't think he'll consent?"
+
+"Never, my dear boy. One mesalliance was enough for him. He has got rid
+of me, and regained his daughter; but no doubt he intends to repair her
+mistake by a grand match for Lesley."
+
+"But perhaps she would not marry the man he chose for her?"
+
+Brooke laughed. "Can't answer for Lesley, I don't know her well enough,"
+he said. "Have you any notion, now, that she cares for you?"
+
+Maurice shook his head dismally. "Not in the least. I scarcely think she
+even likes me. But I mean to try my chance some day."
+
+"I wish you joy," said Lesley's father, with a slight enigmatical smile.
+"Especially with the Earl of Courtleroy. Hallo! there's the dinner bell.
+We have wasted all our time talking up here: you'll stay and dine?"
+
+"No, thanks--wish I could, but I must dine with Ethel, and go out
+directly afterwards."
+
+"When is the marriage to take place?" said Caspar, directing a keen
+glance to the face of his friend.
+
+"Ethel's? There is nothing settled."
+
+"I say, Maurice, I don't like Trent. He's a slippery customer. I would
+look after him a bit if I were you, and put Ethel on her guard. I think
+I am bound to say as much as that."
+
+"Do you think any harm of him?"
+
+"I _think_ harm of him--unjustly, perhaps. I am not so sure that I know
+of any. I only want you to keep your eyes open. Good-bye, old man."
+
+And Caspar Brooke gave his friend's hand such a pressure that Maurice
+went away satisfied that Lesley's father, at any rate, and in spite of
+protest, was upon his side.
+
+Miss Brooke came into dinner at the last moment, so Mr. Brooke and his
+daughter were saved the embarrassment of dining alone--for it could not
+be denied that it would have been embarrassing after the recent scene,
+if there had been no third person present to whom they could address
+remarks. Miss Brooke's mind was full of the meeting which she had
+attended, and she gave them a glowing account of it. Lesley spoke very
+little, but her face was happier than it had been for a long time,
+although her eyes were red. Mr. Brooke looked at her a good deal in a
+furtive kind of way, and with more interest than usual. She was
+certainly a good-looking girl. But that was not all. Caspar Brooke had
+passed the period of caring for good looks and nothing else. Lesley had
+spirit, intelligence, honesty, endurance, as well as beauty. Well, she
+might make a good wife for Maurice after all. For although he had
+declared that Kenyon was "a shocking bad match," he was inclined to
+think in his own heart that Kenyon was too good for his daughter Lesley.
+
+However, he had a soft corner in his big heart for the little girl who
+used to sit on his knee and refuse to go to sleep without his good-night
+kiss, and he was pleased when she came up to him before he went out that
+evening, and timidly put her face up to be kissed, as if she had still
+been the child he loved. She had never done that before; and he took it
+more as a sign of gratitude for permission to write to Lady Alice than
+actual affection for himself.
+
+"Are you writing your letter?" he said, touching her cheek half
+playfully, half caressingly.
+
+"Yes," said Lesley, looking down. "Is there--have you--no message?"
+
+"Why should I have a message? Your mother and I correspond through our
+lawyer, my dear. But--well, yes, if you like to say that I am sorry for
+this mistake of the last few months, you may do so. I have no doubt that
+she has missed your letters, and I should like her to understand that
+the correspondence was not discontinued at my desire. I regret the
+mistake."
+
+He said it formally and gravely, and in a particularly icy tone of
+voice; but Lesley was for the moment satisfied. She went back to her
+writing-desk and took up her pen. She had already written a couple of
+sheets, but in them her father's name had scarcely been mentioned. Now,
+however, she wrote:--
+
+     "You may be wondering, dearest mamma, why I am writing to you in
+     this way, because you told me that I must not write, and I have put
+     off my explanation until almost the end. I could not bear to be
+     without your letters any longer, and to-day I said so to my father.
+     I could not help telling him, because I was so miserable. And he
+     wishes me to tell you that it was all a mistake, and he is very
+     sorry; he never meant to put a stop to our writing to each other,
+     and he is very, _very_ sorry that we thought so." Lesley's version
+     was not so dignified as her father had intended it to be. "He was
+     terribly distressed when he found out that I was not writing to
+     you; and called himself all sorts of names--a tyrant and an ogre,
+     and asked what we must have thought of him! He was really very much
+     grieved about it, and never meant us to leave off writing. So now I
+     shall write as often as I please, and you, dearest mamma, will
+     write to me too.
+
+     "There is one thing I must say, darling mother, and you will not be
+     angry with me for saying it, will you? I think father must be
+     different now from what he was in the old days; or else--perhaps
+     there _may_ have been a mistake about him, such as there has been
+     about the letters! For he is so clever and gentle and kind--a
+     little sarcastic now and then, but always good! The poor people at
+     the Club (which I told you about in the last sheet) just adore him;
+     and they say that he has saved many of them from worse than death.
+     And you never told me about his book, dear mamma--'The Unexplored.'
+     It is such a beautiful book--surely you think so, although you
+     think ill of the writer? Of course you have read it? I have read it
+     four times, I think; and I want to ask him about some parts of it,
+     but I have never dared--I don't think he even knows that I have
+     read it. It has gone through more than twelve editions, and has
+     been translated into French and German, so you _must_ have seen it.
+     And Mr. Kenyon says it sells by thousands in America.
+
+     "It was Mr. Kenyon who first told me about it, and made me
+     understand how blind I was at first to my father's really _great_
+     qualities. I know he is not like grandpapa--he does sometimes seem
+     a little rough when compared to grandpapa; but then you always said
+     I must not expect every man I met in the world to have grandpapa's
+     courtly manners. And it must have been very lonely for you if he
+     went out at such funny hours as he does now, and did not breakfast
+     or lunch with you! But I am told that all 'journalists keep these
+     hours,' and that it is very provincial of me not to know it! It is
+     a very different house, and different life, from any that I ever
+     saw before; but I am getting accustomed to it now, especially since
+     Mr. Kenyon has talked to me.
+
+     "Dearest mother, don't think that I love you one whit the less
+     because I am away from you, and am learning to love other people a
+     little too. Nobody could be to me what you are, my own dear
+     mother.--Your child,
+
+     "LESLEY."
+
+So Lesley's girlish, emotional, indiscreet letter went upon its way to
+Lady Alice, who was just then in Eaton Square, and Lesley never dreamt
+of the tears that it brought to her mother's eyes.
+
+The letter was a shock to Lady Alice in more ways than one. First, it
+showed her that on one point at least she _had_ been mistaken--and it
+was a point that had long been a very sore one to her. Caspar had not
+meant the correspondence between mother and daughter to cease--so he
+said now; but she was certain that he had spoken very harshly about it
+when the arrangement was first made. He had even affected to doubt
+whether she had heart enough to care whether she heard from her child or
+not. Well, possibly he had altered his views since those days. Lesley
+said that he _must_ be different! Poor Lesley! thought Lady Alice, how
+very little she knew! She seemed to have been as much fascinated by her
+father as Lady Alice had been, in days long past, by Caspar Brooke as a
+lover; but Lady Alice reflected that _she_ had never thought of Caspar
+as good or gentle or "great" in any way. She thought of him chiefly in
+his relation to herself, and in that relation he had not been
+satisfactory. Yes, she remembered well enough the sarcastic remarks, the
+odd hours, the discomfort of her solitary meals. Lesley could see all
+these points, and yet discover good in the man, and not be disgusted?
+Lady Alice could not understand her daughter's impartiality.
+
+Of course--it had occurred to her once or twice--that, being human, she
+_might_ have been mistaken. She could have got over the dreariness and
+discomfort of Caspar's home, if Caspar had but loved her. Suppose--it
+was just a remote possibility--Caspar had loved her all the time!
+
+"The child has infected me with her romantic ideas," said Lady Alice, at
+last, with a faint, sad smile. "Let me see--what does she say about her
+friends? The Kenyons--Ethel Kenyon--Mr. Trent--the clergyman of the
+parish--Mr. Kenyon--Mr. Kenyon I wonder who the Mr. Kenyon is of whom
+she speaks so highly. Surely not a clergyman too? Poor Caspar disliked
+clergymen so much. I wonder if Mrs. Romaine is still living in the
+neighborhood. But no, I remember: she went out to Calcutta and then to
+some German baths with her husband. What became of her, I wonder! If she
+were friendly with Caspar still, Lesley would be sure to mention her to
+me!"
+
+And she read the letter through once more. But Lesley had not said a
+word about Mrs. Romaine: her heart had been too hot and angry with the
+remembrance of what Mrs. Romaine's brother had done, to lead her to say
+one word about the family.
+
+Lady Alice lingered curiously over Lesley's remarks on "The Unexplored."
+She had not read the book herself. She had seen it and heard of it very
+often--so often that she thought she knew all that it contained. But for
+Lesley's sake she resolved to read it now. Perhaps it held strange,
+dangerous doctrines, against which her daughter ought to be cautioned.
+Of course the house did not contain a copy. But early in the day Lady
+Alice went to the nearest bookseller's and bought a copy. The obliging
+book-seller, who did not know her, remarked that "Brooke's 'Unexplored'"
+was always popular, and asked her whether she would like an unbound
+copy, or one bound in neat great cloth. Lady Alice took the latter: she
+had a distaste for paper-covered books.
+
+She read "The Unexplored" in her own room that morning, but of course
+she was not struck by it exactly as Lesley had been. The facts which had
+horrified Lesley were no novelties to her. She was, in truth, slightly
+angry that her innocent Lesley should have so much of the great city's
+misery and shame laid bare to her. She acknowledged the truth of the
+portraiture, the beauty of the descriptions, the eloquence of the
+author's appeals to the higher classes; but she acknowledged it with
+resentment. Why had Caspar written a book of this sort? a book that
+taunted the higher classes with their birth, and reproached the wealthy
+with their riches? It was rather a disgrace than otherwise, in Lady
+Alice's aristocratic eyes, to be connected in any way with the writer of
+"The Unexplored."
+
+Nevertheless, the book stirred in her the desire to vindicate the worth
+of her order and of her sex; and the next day, after having despatched a
+long and tender letter to Lesley (with a formal message of thanks to her
+husband), she went out to call on a lady, who was noted in her circle as
+a great philanthropist, and mentioned to her in a timid way that she
+wished she could be of any use amongst the poor, but she really did not
+see what she could do.
+
+Her friend, Mrs. Bexley, was nothing if not practical.
+
+"But, my dearest Lady Alice, you can be of every use in the world," she
+said. "I am going to drive to the East End to-morrow morning, to
+distribute presents at the London Hospital--it is getting so close to
+Christmas, you know, that we really must not put it off any longer. I
+generally go once a week to visit the children and some of the other
+patients. Won't you come with me?"
+
+"I am afraid I should be of very little use," said Lady Alice.
+
+"But we shall not want you to do anything--only to say a kind word to
+the patients now and then, and give them things."
+
+"I think I could do that," said Lesley's mother, softly.
+
+She went back to her father's house quite cheered by the unexpected
+prospect of something to do--something which should take her out of the
+routine of ordinary work--something which should bring her closer
+(though she did not say it to herself) to the aims and objects of Lesley
+and Caspar Brooke.
+
+The visit was a great success. Lady Alice, with her tall, graceful
+figure, her winning face, her becoming dress, was a pleasant sight for
+the weary eyes of the women and children in the accident wards. Mrs.
+Bexley was wise enough not to take her near any very painful sights.
+Lady Alice talked to some of the little children and gave them toys: she
+made friends, rather shyly, with some of the women, and promised to come
+and see them again. Mrs. Bexley was well known in the hospital, and was
+allowed to stay an unusually long time. So it happened that one of the
+doctors, coming rather hurriedly into one of the wards, paused at the
+sight of a lady bending over one of the children's beds, and looked so
+surprised that one of the nurses hastened to explain that the stranger
+came with old Mrs. Bexley and was going away again directly.
+
+The doctor nodded, and went straight up to the child's bed. Lady Alice,
+raising herself after careful arrangement of some wooden animals on the
+sick child's table, came face to face with a very handsome man of about
+thirty, who seemed to be regarding her with especial interest. He moved
+away with a slight bow when she looked back at him, but he did not go
+far. He paused to chat with another little patient, and Lady Alice
+noticed that all the small faces brightened at the sight of him, and
+that two or three children called him imperiously to their bedsides.
+Something about him vaguely interested her--perhaps it was only his
+pleasant look, perhaps the affection with which he was regarded, perhaps
+the expression which his face had worn when he looked at her. She
+remembered him so well that she was able when she paid a second visit to
+the hospital to describe him to one of the Sisters, and ask his name.
+
+"Kenyon," she repeated, when it was told to her. "I suppose it is not an
+uncommon name?"
+
+Lesley had spoken of a Mr. Kenyon. It was not this Mr. Kenyon, of
+course!
+
+But it _was_ "this Mr. Kenyon;" and thus Maurice met the mother of the
+girl he loved in the ward of a London hospital, whither Lady Alice had
+been urged by that impulse towards "The Unexplored," of which her
+husband was the author. And in another ward of the same hospital lay a
+patient whose destiny was to influence the fates of both--an insensible
+man, whose name was unknown to the nurses, but whom Oliver would have
+recognized as his brother, Francis Trent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+ETHEL REMONSTRATES.
+
+
+The house in which the Kenyons resided was built on the same pattern as
+Mr. Brooke's, but it was in some respects very unlike Mr. Brooke's place
+of residence. Maurice's consulting-room and dining-room corresponded,
+perhaps, to Mr. Brooke's dining-room and study: it was upstairs where
+the difference showed itself. Ethel's drawing-room was like herself--a
+little whimsical, a little bizarre; pretty, withal, and original, and
+somewhat unlike anything one had ever seen before. She was fond of
+novelties, and introduced the latest fashions in draperies or china or
+screens as soon as she could get hold of them; and the result was
+occasionally incongruous, though always bright and cheerful-looking.
+
+It was the incongruity of the ornaments and arrangements which chiefly
+struck the mind of Oliver Trent as he entered Ethel's drawing-room one
+afternoon, and stumbled over a footstool placed where no footstool ought
+to be.
+
+"I wish," he began, somewhat irritably, as he touched Ethel's forehead
+with his lips, "that you would not make your room quite so much like a
+fancy fair, Ethel."
+
+Ethel raised her eyebrows. "Why, Oliver, only the other day you said how
+pretty it was!"
+
+"Pretty! I hate the word. As if 'prettiness' could be taken as a test of
+what was best in art."
+
+"My room isn't 'art,'" pouted Ethel; "it's _me_."
+
+The sentence might be ungrammatical, but it was strictly true. The room
+represented Ethel's character exactly. It was odd, quaint, striking, and
+attractive. But Oliver was not in the mood to see its attractiveness.
+
+"It is certainly a medley," he replied, with some incisiveness. "How
+many styles do you think are represented in the place? Japanese,
+Egyptian, Renaissance, Louis Quinze, Queen Anne, Early Georgian----"
+
+"Oh, no! please don't go on!" cried Ethel, with mock earnestness. "_Not_
+Early Georgian, please! Anything but that!"
+
+"It is all incongruous and out of taste," said Oliver, in an
+ill-tempered tone, and then he threw himself into a deep, comfortable
+lounging chair, and closed his eyes as if the sight of the room were too
+much for his nerves.
+
+Ethel remained standing: her pretty _mignonne_ figure was motionless;
+her bright face was thoughtful and overcast.
+
+"Do you mean," she said, quietly, "that I am incongruous and out of
+taste too!"
+
+There was a new note in her voice. Usually it was light and bird-like:
+now there was something a little more weighty, a little more serious,
+than had been heard in it before. Oliver noted the change, and moved his
+head restlessly; he did not want to quarrel with Ethel, but he was ill
+at ease in her presence, and therefore apt to be exceedingly irritable
+with her.
+
+"You wrest my words, of course," he answered. "You always do. There's no
+arguing with--with--a woman."
+
+"With _me_ you were about to say. Don't spare me. What other accusations
+have you to bring!"
+
+"Accusations! Nonsense!"
+
+"It is not nonsense, Oliver." Her voice trembled. "I have felt for some
+time that all was not right between us. I can't shut my eyes. I must
+believe what I see, and what I feel. We must understand one another."
+
+Oliver's eyes were wide open now. He began to see that he had gone a
+little too far. It would not do to snub Ethel too much--at least before
+the marriage. Afterwards--he said to himself--he should treat her as he
+felt inclined. But now----
+
+"You are mistaken, Ethel," he said, in a tone of half appeased vexation
+which he thought very effective. "What on earth should there be wrong
+between us! Open your eyes and your ears as much as you like, my dear
+child, but don't be misled by what you feel. The wind is in the
+East,--remember. You feel a chill, most probably, and you put your
+_malaise_ down to me."
+
+His tone grew more affectionate as he spoke. He wanted her to believe
+that he had been suffering from a mere passing cloud of ill-temper, and
+that he was already ashamed of it.
+
+"I feel the effects of the weather myself," he said. "I have been
+horribly depressed all day, and I have a headache. Perhaps that is why
+the brightness of your room seemed to hurt my eyes. You know that I
+always like it when I am well."
+
+He looked at her keenly, hoping that this reference to
+possible-ill-health might bring the girl to his feet, as it had often
+done before in the case of other women; but it did not seem to produce
+the least effect. She stood silent, immobile, with her eyes still fixed
+upon the floor. Silence and stillness were so unusual in one of Ethel's
+vivacious temperament, that Oliver began to feel alarmed.
+
+"Ethel," he said, advancing to her, and laying his hand upon hers, "what
+is wrong? What have I done?"
+
+She shook her head hastily, but made no other reply.
+
+"Look at me," he said, softly.
+
+And then she lifted her eyes. But they wore a questioning and not a
+trustful look.
+
+"Ethel, dearest, what have I done to offend you? It cannot be my silly
+comment on your room that makes you look so grave? Believe me, dear, it
+came only from my headache and my bad temper. I am deeply sorry to have
+hurt you. Only speak--scold me if you like--but do not keep me in this
+suspense."
+
+He was skilled in the art of pleading. His pale face, usually so
+expressionless, took on the look of almost passionate entreaty.
+
+Ethel was an actress by profession--perhaps a little by nature also--but
+she was too essentially simple-hearted to suspect her friends of acting
+parts in private life, and indeed trusted them rather more implicitly
+than most people trust their friends. It had been a grief to her to
+doubt Oliver's faith for a moment, and her eyes filled with tears, while
+they flashed also with indignation, as she replied,
+
+"You must know what I mean. I have felt it for a very long time. You do
+not care for me as you used to do."
+
+"Upon my soul, I do!" cried Oliver, very sincerely.
+
+"Then you never cared for me very much."
+
+This was getting serious. Oliver had no mind to break off his
+engagement. He reserved the right to snub Ethel without giving offence.
+If this was an impracticable course to pursue, it was evident that he
+must abandon it and eat humble pie. Anything rather than part from her
+just now. He had lost the woman he loved: it would not do to lose also
+his only chance of winning a competency for himself and immunity from
+fear of want in the future.
+
+"Ethel," he said, softly, "you grieve me very much. I acknowledge my
+faults of temper--I did not think you mistook then for a want of love."
+
+"I do not think I do. It is something more real, more tangible than
+that."
+
+"What is it, dear?"
+
+She paused, then looked keenly into his face. "It seems to me, Oliver,
+that Lesley Brooke has won your heart away from me."
+
+He threw back his head and laughed--a singularly jarring and unpleasant
+laugh, as it seemed to her. "What will you imagine next?" he said.
+
+"Imagine? Have I imagined it? Isn't it true that you have been at her
+house almost every day for the last three or four weeks? Do you come
+here as often? Is it not Lesley that attracts you?--not me!"
+
+"Oh, so you are jealous!"
+
+"Yes, I suppose I am. It is only natural, I think."
+
+They faced each other for a moment, defiantly, almost fiercely. There
+was a proud light in Ethel's eyes, a compression of the lips which told
+that she was not to be trifled with. Oliver stood pale, with frowning
+brows, and eyes that seemed to question both the reality of her feeling
+and the answer that he should make to her demand. It was by a great
+effort of self-control that at last he answered her with calmness--
+
+"I assure you, Ethel, you are utterly mistaken. What have I in common
+with a girl like Miss Brooke--one of the most curiously ignorant and
+wrong-headed persons I ever came across? Can you think for a moment that
+I should compare her with you?--_you_, beautiful and gifted and cultured
+above most women?"
+
+"That is nothing to the point," said Ethel, quickly. "Men don't love
+women because of their gifts and their culture."
+
+"No," he rejoined, "but because of some subtle likeness or
+attractiveness which draws one to the other. I find it in you, without
+knowing why. You--I hoped--found it----"
+
+His voice became troubled; he dropped his eyes. Ethel trembled--she
+loved him, poor girl, and she thought that he suffered as she had
+suffered, and she was sorry for him. But her outraged pride would not
+let her make any advance as yet.
+
+"I may be a fatuous fool," said Oliver, after an agitated pause, "but I
+thought you loved me."
+
+"I do love you," cried Ethel, passionately.
+
+"And yet you suspect me of being false to you."
+
+"Not suspect--not suspect"--she said, incoherently, and then, was
+suddenly folded in Oliver's arms, and felt that the time for reproach or
+inquiry had gone by.
+
+She was not sorry that matters had ended in this way, although she felt
+it to be illogical. With his kisses upon her mouth, with the pressure of
+his arm enfolding her, it was almost impossible for her to maintain, in
+his presence, a doubt of him. It was when he had gone that all the facts
+which he had ignored came back to her with torturing insistence, and
+that she blamed herself for not having refused to be reconciled to him
+until she had ascertained the truth or untruth of a report that had
+reached her ears.
+
+With a truer lover she might have gone unsatisfied to her dying day. A
+faithful-hearted man might never have perceived where she was hurt; he
+would not have been astute enough to discover that he might heal the
+wound by a few timely words of explanation. Oliver, keenly alive to his
+own interests, reopened the subject a few days later of his own accord.
+
+They had completely made up their quarrel--to all outward appearance, at
+any rate--and were sitting together one afternoon in Ethel's obnoxious
+drawing-room. They had been laughing together at some funny story of
+Ethel's associates at the theatre, and to the laughter had succeeded a
+silence, during which Oliver possessed himself of the girl's hand and
+carried it gently to his lips.
+
+"Ethel," he said, softly, "what made you so angry with me the other
+day?"
+
+"Your bad behavior, I suppose!" she said, trying to treat the matter in
+her usual lively fashion.
+
+"But what _was_ my misbehavior? Did it consist in going so often to the
+Brookes'?"
+
+"Oh, what does it matter?" exclaimed Ethel, petulantly. "Didn't we agree
+to forgive and forget? If we didn't, we ought to have done. I don't want
+to look back."
+
+"But you are doing an injustice to me. Ethel, I dare not say to you that
+I _insist_ on knowing what it was. But I very strongly _wish_ that you
+would tell me--so that I might at least try to set your mind at rest."
+
+"Well," said Ethel, quickly, "if you _must_ know--it was only a bit of
+gossip--servants gossip. I know all that can be said respecting the
+foolishness of listening to gossip from such a source--but I can't help
+it. One of the maids at Mr. Brooke's----"
+
+"Sarah?" asked Oliver, with interest. "Sarah never liked me."
+
+"Who, it was not Sarah.--it was that maid of Lesley's--Kingston her name
+is, I believe--who said to one of our servants one day that you went
+there a great deal oftener than she would like, if she were in my place.
+There! I have made a full confession. It was a petty spiteful bit of
+gossip, of course, and I ought not to have listened to it--but then it
+seemed so natural--and I thought it might be true!"
+
+"What seemed natural?" said Oliver, who, against his will, was looking
+very black.
+
+"Why, that you should like Lesley; she is the sweetest girl I ever came
+across."
+
+In his heart Oliver echoed that opinion, but he felt morally bound to
+deny it.
+
+"You say so only because you have never seen yourself! My darling, how
+could you accuse me merely on servants' evidence!"
+
+"Is there _no_ truth in it, Oliver?"
+
+"None in the least."
+
+"But you do go there very often!"
+
+Then Oliver achieved a masterpiece of diplomacy. "My dear Ethel," he
+said, "I will go there no more until you go with me. I will not set foot
+in the house again."
+
+He knew very well that Mr. Brooke would not admit him. It was clever to
+make a virtue of necessity.
+
+"No, no, please don't do that! Go as often as you please."
+
+"It was simply out of kindness to a lonely girl. I played her
+accompaniments for her sometimes, and listened to her singing. But as
+you dislike it, Ethel, I promise you that I will go there no more."
+
+"Oh, Oliver, forgive me! I don't doubt you a bit. Do go to see Lesley as
+often as you can. I should _like_ you to do it. Go for my sake."
+
+But Oliver was quite obdurate. No, he would not go to the Brookes'
+again, since Ethel had once objected to his going. And on this pinnacle
+of austere virtue he remained, thereby reducing Ethel to a state of
+self-abasement, which spoke well for his chances of mastery in the
+married life which loomed before him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+LADY ALICE'S PHILANTHROPY.
+
+
+Meanwhile, Lady Alice Brooke, in pursuit of her new fancy for
+philanthropy and the sick poor, had wandered somewhat aimlessly into
+other wards beside those set apart for women and children--at first the
+object of her search. She strayed--I use the word "strayed" designedly,
+for she certainly did not do it of set purpose--with one of the nurses
+into accident wards, into the men's wards, where her flowers and fruits
+and gentle words made her welcome, and where the bearded masculine
+faces, worn sometimes by pain and privation of long standing, appealed
+to her sensibilities in a new and not altogether unpleasant way.
+
+For Lady Alice was a very feminine creature, and liked, as most women do
+like, to be admired and adored. She had confessed as much when she told
+the story of her life to her daughter Lesley. And she had something less
+than her woman's due in this respect. Caspar Brooke had very honestly
+loved and admired her, but in a protective and slightly "superior" way.
+The earl, her father, belonged to that conservative portion of the
+aristocratic class which treats its womankind with distinguished
+civility and profoundest contempt. In her father's home Lady Alice felt
+herself of no account. As years increased upon her, the charm of her
+graceful manner was marred by advancing self-distrust. In losing (as
+she, at least, thought) her physical attractions, she lost all that
+entitled her to consideration amongst the men and women with whom she
+lived. She had no fixed position, no private fortune, nothing that would
+avail her in the least when her father died; and the gentle coldness of
+her manner did not encourage women to intimacy, or invite men to pay her
+attentions that she would scorn. In any other situation, her natural
+gifts and virtues would have fairer play. As a spinster, she would still
+have had lovers; as a widow, suitors by the dozen; as a happily married
+woman she would have been courted, complimented, flattered, by all the
+world. But, as a woman merely separated from a husband with whom she had
+in the first instance eloped, living on sufferance, as it were, in her
+father's house, "neither maid, wife, nor widow," she was in a situation
+which became more irksome and more untenable every year.
+
+To a woman conscious of such a jar in her private life, it was really a
+new and delightful experience to find herself in a place where she could
+be of some real use, where she was admired and respected and flattered
+by that unconscious flattery given us sometimes by the preference of the
+sick and miserable. The men in one of the accident wards were greatly
+taken with Lady Alice. There was her title, to begin with; there were
+her gracious accents, her graceful figure, her gentle, beautiful face.
+The men liked to see her come in, liked to hear her talk--although she
+was decidedly slow, and a little irresponsive in conversation. It soon
+leaked out, moreover, that material benefits followed in the wake of her
+visits. One man, who left the hospital, returned one day to inform his
+mates that, "the lady" had found work for him on her father's estate,
+and that he considered himself a "made man for life." The attentions of
+such men who were not too ill to be influenced by such matters were
+henceforth concentrated upon Lady Alice; and she, being after all a
+simple creature, believed their devotion to be genuine, and rejoiced in
+it.
+
+With one patient, however, she did not for some time establish any
+friendly relations. He had been run over, while drunk, the nurses told
+her, and very seriously hurt. He lay so long in a semi-comatose
+condition that fears were entertained for his reason, and when the mist
+gradually cleared away from his brain, he was in too confused a state of
+mind for conversation to be possible.
+
+Lady Alice went to look at him from time to time, and spoke to the nurse
+about him; but weeks elapsed before he seemed conscious of the presence
+of any visitor. The nursing sister told the visitor at last that the man
+had spoken and replied to certain questions: that he had seemed
+uncertain about his own name, and could not give any coherent account of
+himself. Later on, it transpired that the man had allowed his name to be
+entered as "John Smith."
+
+"Not his own name, I'm certain," the nurse said, decidedly.
+
+"Why not?" Lady Alice asked, with curiosity.
+
+"It's too common by half for his face and voice," the Sister answered,
+shrewdly. "If you look at him or speak to him, you'll find that that
+man's a gentleman."
+
+"A gentleman--picked up drunk in the street?"
+
+"A gentleman by birth or former position, I mean," said the Sister,
+rather dryly. "No doubt he has come down in the world; but he has been,
+at any rate, what people call an educated man."
+
+Lady Alice's prejudices were, stirred in favor of the broken-down
+drunkard by this characterization; and she made his acquaintance as soon
+as he was able to talk. Her impression coincided with that of the
+Sister. The man had once been a gentleman--a cultivated, well-bred man,
+from whom refinement had never quite departed. Over and above this fact
+there was something about him which utterly puzzled Lady Alice. His face
+recalled to her some one whom she had known, and she could not imagine
+who that some one might be. The features, the contour the face, the
+expression, were strangely familiar to her. For, by the refining forces
+which sickness often applies, the man's face had lost all trace of
+former coarseness or commonness: it had become something like what it
+had been in the days of his first youth. And the likeness which puzzled
+Lady Alice was a very strong resemblance to the patient's sister,
+Rosalind Romaine.
+
+Lady Alice was attracted by him, visited his bedside very often, and
+tried to win his confidence. But "John Smith" had, at present, no
+confidence to give. Questions confused and bewildered him. His brain was
+in a very excitable condition, the doctor said, and he was not to be
+tormented with useless queries. By the time his other injuries had been
+cured, he might perhaps recover the full use of his mind, and could then
+give an account of himself if he liked. Till then he was to be let
+alone; and so Lady Alice contented herself with bringing him such gifts
+as the authorities allowed, and with talking or reading to him a little
+from time to time in soothing and friendly tones. It was to be noted
+that before long his eyes followed her with interest as she crossed the
+ward; that his brow cleared when she spoke to him, and that all her
+movements were watched by him with great intentness. In spite of this
+she could not get him to reply with anything but curtness to her
+inquiries after his health and general welfare; and it was quite a
+surprise to her when one day, on her visit to him, he accosted her of
+his own accord.
+
+"Won't you sit down?" he said suddenly.
+
+"Thank you. Yes, I should like to sit and read to you a little if you
+are able----"
+
+"It isn't for that," he said, interrupting her unceremoniously; "it's
+because I have something special to say to you. If you'll stoop down a
+moment I'll say it--I don't want any one else to hear."
+
+In great surprise, Lady Alice bowed her head. "I want to tell you," he
+said gruffly, "that you're wasting your time and your money. These men
+in the ward are not really grateful to you one bit. They speculate
+before you come as to how much you are likely to give them, and when you
+are gone they compare notes and grumble if you have not given them
+enough."
+
+"I do not wish to hear this," said Lady Alice, with dignity.
+
+"I know you do not; but I think it is only right to tell you. Try them:
+give them nothing for a visit or two, and see whether they won't sulk
+and look gloomy, although you may talk to them as kindly as ever----"
+
+"And if they did," said Lady Alice, with a sudden flash of energy and
+insight which amazed herself, "who could blame them, considering the
+pain they have suffered, and the brutal lives they lead? Why should they
+listen to my poor words, if I go to them without a gift in my hand?"
+
+She spoke as she would have spoken to an equal--an unconscious tribute
+to the refinement which stamped this man as of a higher calibre than his
+fellows.
+
+"It is a convenient doctrine for them," said John Smith, and buried his
+head in the bedclothes as if he wanted to hear nothing more.
+
+For Lady Alice's next two visits he would not look up, or respond when
+she came near him, which she never failed to do; but on the third
+occasion he lifted his head.
+
+"Well, madam," he said, "you have after all been trying my plan, I hear.
+Do you find that it works well?"
+
+Lady Alice hesitated. The averted faces and puzzled, downcast--sometimes
+sullen--looks of the sick men and boys to whom she had of late given
+nothing but kind words, had grieved her sorely.
+
+"I suppose it proves the truth, in part, of what you say," she answered
+gently, "but on the other hand I find that my gifts have been judged
+excessive and unwise. It seems that I have a great deal to learn in the
+art of giving: it does not come by nature, as some suppose. I have
+consulted the doctors and nurses--and I have to thank you for giving me
+a warning."
+
+A look of surprise passed across the man's face.
+
+"You're better than some of them," he said, curtly. "I thought you'd
+never look at me again. I don't know why I should have interfered. But I
+did not like to see you cheated and laughed at."
+
+Lady Alice colored, but she felt no resentment against the man, although
+he had shown her that she had made herself ridiculous when she was bent
+on playing Lady Bountiful, and posing as an angel of light. She said
+after a moment's pause--
+
+"I believe you meant kindly. Is there nothing that I can do for you?"
+
+He shook his head. "I don't think so--I can't remember very well. The
+doctors say I shall remember by and by. Then I shall know."
+
+"And if I can, you will let me help you?"
+
+"I suppose I ought to be only too glad," said the patient, with a sort
+of sullenness, which Lady Alice felt that she could but dimly
+understand. "I suppose I'm the sort of man to _be_ helped; and yet I
+can't help fancying there's a--Past--a Past behind me--a life in which I
+once was proud of my independence. But it strikes me that this was very
+long ago."
+
+He drew the bedclothes over his head again, and made no further reply.
+Lady Alice came to see him after this conversation as often as the rules
+of the hospital would allow her; and, although she seemed to get little
+response from him, the fact really remained that she was establishing an
+ascendancy over the man such as no nurse or doctor in the place had yet
+maintained. Others noticed it beside herself; but she, disheartened a
+little by her disappointment in some of the other patients, did not
+recognize the reality of his attachment to her. And an event occurred
+about the time which put John Smith and hospital matters out of her head
+for a considerable time to come.
+
+Old Lord Courtleroy died suddenly. He was an old man, but so hale and
+hearty that his death had not been expected in the least; but he was
+found dead in his bed one morning, and the doctors pronounced that his
+complaint had been heart disease. The heir to the title and estate was a
+distant cousin whom Lady Alice and her father had never liked; and when
+he entered upon his possessions, Lady Alice knew that the time had come
+for her to seek a home elsewhere. She had sufficient to live upon;
+indeed, for a single woman, she was almost rich; but the loneliness of
+her position once more forced itself upon her, especially as Lesley was
+not by her side to cheer her gradually darkening life.
+
+She wrote the main facts concerning Lord Courtleroy's death and the
+change in her circumstances in short, rather disjointed letters to
+Lesley, and received very tender replies; but even then she felt a vague
+dissatisfaction with the girl's letters. They were full of a wistfulness
+which she could not understand: she felt that something remote had crept
+into them, some aloofness for which she could not account. And as
+Captain Harry Duchesne happened to come across her one day, and inquired
+very particularly after Miss Brooke, she induced him to promise to call
+on Lesley when he was in London, and to report to her all that Lesley
+did or said. If it was a somewhat underhand proceeding, she told herself
+that she was justified by her anxiety as a mother.
+
+Lord Courtleroy had left a considerable sum to Lesley, and when mother
+and daughter were reunited, as Lady Alice hoped that they would shortly
+be, there was no question as to their having means enough and to spare.
+Lady Alice began to dream of a dear little country house in Sussex, with
+an occasional season in London, or a winter at Bagneres. She was
+recalled from her dreams to the realities of life by a letter from her
+husband. Caspar Brooke wrote to ask whether, under present
+circumstances, she would not return to him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+CAPTAIN DUCHESNE.
+
+
+Lesley's life seemed to her now much less lonely than it had been at
+first. The consciousness of having made friends was pleasant to her,
+although her affection for Ethel had been for a time overshadowed by the
+recollection of Oliver's unfaithfulness. But when this impression passed
+away, as it gradually did, after the scene that had been so painful to
+her, she consoled herself with the belief that Oliver's words and
+actions had proceeded from a temporary derangement of judgment, for
+which he was not altogether responsible, and that he had returned to his
+allegiance; therefore she might continue to be friendly with Ethel
+without any sensation of treachery or shame. An older woman than Lesley
+would not, perhaps, have argued in this way: she would have suspected
+the permanence of Oliver's feelings more than Lesley did. But, being
+only an inexperienced girl, Lesley comforted herself by the fact that
+Oliver now avoided her; and said that it could not be possible for her
+to have attracted him away from Ethel, who was so winning, so sweet, so
+altogether delightful.
+
+Then, apart from the Kenyons, she began to make pleasant acquaintances
+amongst her father's friends. Caspar Brooke's house was a centre of
+interest and entertainment for a large number of intellectual men and
+women; and Lesley had as many opportunities for wearing her pretty
+evening gowns as she could have desired. There were "at homes" to which
+her charming presence and her beautiful voice attracted Caspar's friends
+in greater numbers than ever: there were dinner-parties where her
+interest in the new world around her made everything else interesting;
+and there was a constant coming and going of people who had work to do
+in the world, and who did it with more or less success, which made the
+house in Woburn Place anything but a dull abode.
+
+The death of her grandfather distressed her less from regret for himself
+than from anxiety for her mother's future. Lady Alice's notes to her
+were very short and somewhat vaguely worded. It was, therefore, with
+positive joy that, one afternoon in spring, she was informed by her maid
+that Captain Duchesne was in the drawing-room, for she felt sure that he
+would be able to tell her many details that she did not know. She made
+haste to go down, and yet, before she went, she paused to say a word to
+Kingston, who had brought her the welcome news.
+
+"I wish you would go out, Kingston; you don't look at all well, and this
+spring air might do you good."
+
+It was certainly easy to see that Kingston was not well. During the past
+few weeks her face had become positively emaciated, her eyes were
+sunken, and her lips were white. She looked like a person who had
+recently passed through some illness or misfortune. Lesley had tried,
+delicately and with reserve, to question her; but Kingston had never
+replied to any of her inquiries. She would shut up her lips, and turn
+away with the look of one who could keep a secret to the grave.
+
+"Nothing will do me good, ma'am," she answered dryly.
+
+"Oh, Kingston, I am so sorry!"
+
+"Go down to your visitor, ma'am, and don't mind me," said Kingston,
+turning her back on the girl with unusual abruptness. "It isn't much
+that I've got to be sorry for, after all."
+
+"If there is anything I can do to help you, you will let me know, will
+you not?" said Lesley.
+
+But Kingston's "Yes, ma'am," fell with a despairing cadence on her ear.
+
+Kingston had been to her husband's lodgings only to find that he had
+disappeared. He had left some of his clothes, and the few articles of
+furniture that belonged to his wife, and had never said that he was
+going away. The accident that had made Francis Trent a patient at the
+hospital where Lady Alice visited was of course unknown to his landlady,
+as also to his wife. And as his memory did not return to him speedily,
+poor Mary Trent had been left to suffer all the tortures of anxiety for
+some weeks. At first she thought that some injury had happened to
+him--perhaps that he was dead: then a harder spirit took possession of
+her, and she made up her mind that he had finally abandoned her--had got
+money from Oliver and departed to America without her. She might have
+asked Oliver whether this were so, but she was too proud to ask. She
+preferred to eat out her heart in solitude. She believed herself
+deserted forever, and the only grain of consolation that remained to her
+was the hope of making herself so useful and acceptable to Lesley
+Brooke, that when Lesley married she would ask Mary Kingston to go with
+her to her new home.
+
+Kingston had made up her mind about the man that Lesley was to marry.
+She had seen him come and go: she had seen him look at her dear Miss
+Lesley with ardently admiring eyes: she believed that he would be a true
+and faithful husband to her. But she knew more than Lesley was aware of
+yet.
+
+Lesley went slowly down into the drawing-room. She remembered Captain
+Duchesne very well, and she was glad to think of seeing him again. And
+yet there was an indefinable shrinking--she did not know how or why.
+Harry Duchesne was connected with her old life--with the Paris lights,
+the Paris drawing-rooms, the stately old grandfather, the graceful
+mother--the whole assembly of things that seemed so far away. She did
+not understand her whole feeling, but it suddenly appeared to her as if
+Captain Duchesne's visit was a mistake, and she had better get it over
+as soon as possible.
+
+It must be confessed that this sensation vanished as soon as she came
+into the actual presence of Captain Duchesne. The young man, with his
+grave, handsome features, his drooping, black moustache, his soldierly
+bearing, had an attraction for her after all. He reminded her of the
+mother whom she loved.
+
+It was not very easy to get into conversation with him at first. He
+seemed as ill at ease as Lesley herself had been. But when she fell to
+questioning him about Lady Alice, his tongue became unloosed.
+
+"She does not know exactly what to do. She talks of taking a house in
+London--if you would like it."
+
+"Would mamma care to live in London?"
+
+"Not for her own sake: for yours."
+
+"But I--I do not think I like London so much," said Lesley, with a swift
+blush and some hesitation. Captain Duchesne looked at her searchingly.
+
+"Indeed? I understood that you had become much attached to it. I am sure
+Lady Alice thinks so."
+
+"I do love it--yes, but it is on account of the people who live in
+London," said Lesley.
+
+"Ah, you have made friends?"
+
+"There is my father, you know."
+
+"Yes." And something in his tone made Lesley change the subject
+hurriedly. Captain Duchesne would never have been so ill-bred as to
+speak disparagingly of a lady's father to her face; and yet she felt
+that there was something disparaging in the tone.
+
+"Have you seen the present Lord Courtleroy?" she asked.
+
+"Yes; I have met him once or twice. He is somewhat stiff and rigid in
+appearance, but he is very courteous--more than courteous, Lady Alice
+tells me, for he is kind. He wishes to disturb her as little as
+possible--entreats her to stay at Courtleroy, and so on; but naturally
+she wishes to have a house of her own."
+
+"Of course. But I thought that she would prefer the South of France."
+
+"If I may say so without offence," said Captain Duchesne, smiling, "Lady
+Alice's tastes seem to be changing. She used to love the country and
+inveigh against the ugliness of town; but now she spends her time in
+visiting hospitals and exploring Whitechapel----"
+
+Lesley almost sprang to her feet. "Oh, Captain Duchesne, are you in
+earnest?"
+
+"Quite in earnest."
+
+"Oh, I _am_ so glad!"
+
+"Why, may I ask?" said Duchesne, with real curiosity. But Lesley clasped
+her hands tightly together and hung her head, feeling that she could not
+explain to a comparative stranger how she felt that community of
+interests might tend to a reconciliation between the long separated
+father and mother. And in the rather awkward pause that followed, Miss
+Ethel Kenyon was announced.
+
+Lesley was very glad to see her, and glad to see that she looked
+approvingly at Captain Duchesne, and launched at once into an animated
+conversation with him. Lesley relapsed almost into silence for a time,
+but a satisfied smile played upon her lips. It seemed to her that
+Captain Duchesne's dark eyes lighted up when he talked to Ethel as they
+had not done when he talked to _her_; that Ethel's cheeks dimpled with
+her most irresistible smile, and that her voice was full of pretty
+cadences, delighted laughter, mirth and sweetness. Lesley's nature was
+so thoroughly unselfish, that she could bear to be set aside for a
+friend's sake; and she was so ingenuous and single-minded that she put
+no strained interpretation on the honest admiration which she read in
+Harry Duchesne's eyes. It may have been partly in hopes of drawing her
+once more into the conversation that he turned to her presently with a
+laughing remark anent her love of smoky London.
+
+"Oh, but it is not the smoke I like," Lesley answered. "It is the
+people."
+
+"Especially the poor people," put in Ethel, saucily. "Now, I can't bear
+poor people; can you, Captain Duchesne?"
+
+"I don't care for them much, I'm afraid."
+
+"I like to do them good, and all that sort of thing," said Ethel. "Don't
+look so sober, Lesley! I like to act to them, or sing to them, or give
+them money; but I must say I don't like visiting them in the slums, or
+having to stand too close to them _anywhere_. I am so glad that you
+agree with me, Captain Duchesne!"
+
+And not long afterwards she graciously invited him to call upon her on
+"her day," and promised him a stall at an approaching _matinee_, two
+pieces of especial favor, as Lesley knew.
+
+Captain Duchesne sat on as if fascinated by the brilliant little vision
+that had charmed his eyes; and not until an unconscionable time had
+elapsed did he seem able to tear himself away. When he had gone, Ethel
+expressed herself approvingly of his looks and manners.
+
+"I like those soldierly-looking men," she said. "So well set up and
+distinguished in appearance. Is he an old friend of yours, Lesley?"
+
+"No, I have met him only once before. In Paris, he dined with us--with
+my grandfather, my mother, and myself."
+
+"And he comes from Lady Alice now?"
+
+"Yes, to bring me news of her."
+
+Ethel nodded her bright little head sagaciously.
+
+"It's very plain what Lady Alice wants, then?"
+
+"What?" said Lesley, opening her eyes in wide amaze.
+
+"She wants you to marry him, my dear."
+
+"Nonsense!"
+
+"It's not nonsense: don't get so red about it, you silly girl. What a
+baby you are, Lesley."
+
+"I am sure mamma never thought of anything of the kind," said Lesley,
+with dignity, although her cheeks were still red.
+
+"We shall see what we shall see. Well, I won't put my oar in--isn't that
+kind of me? But, indeed, your Captain Duchesne looks thoroughly ripe for
+a flirtation, and it will be as much as I can do to keep my hands off
+him."
+
+"How would Mr. Trent like that?" said Lesley, trying to carry the war
+into the enemy's camp.
+
+"He would bear it with the same equanimity with which he bears the rest
+of my caprices," said Ethel, merrily; but a shade crossed her brow, and
+she allowed Lesley to lead the conversation to the subject of her
+_trousseau_.
+
+Captain Duchesne did not seem slow to avail himself of the favor
+accorded to him. He presented himself at Ethel's next "at home;" and
+devoted himself to her with curious assiduity. Even the discovery of her
+engagement to Mr. Trent did not change his manner. It was not so much
+that he paid her actual attention, as that he paid none to anybody else.
+When she was not talking to him, he kept silence. He seemed always to be
+observing her, her face, her manner, her dress, her attitude. Yet this
+kind of observation was quite respectful and unobtrusive: it was merely
+its continuity that excited remark. Oliver noticed it at last, and
+professed himself jealous: in fact he was a little bit jealous, although
+he did not love Ethel overmuch. But he had a pride of possession in her
+which would not allow him to look with equanimity on the prospect of her
+being made love to by anybody else.
+
+Ethel enjoyed the attentions, and enjoyed Oliver's jealousy, in her
+usual spirit of childlike gaiety. She was quite assured of Oliver's
+affection for her now; and she looked forward with shy delight to the
+day of her wedding, which had been fixed for the twentieth of March.
+
+Meanwhile, Oliver was devoured with secret anxiety. For what had become
+of Francis, and when would he appear to demand the money which had been
+promised to him on the day when the marriage should take place?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+MR. BROOKE'S DESIRES.
+
+
+Lady Alice's movements were not without interest to Caspar Brooke,
+although Lesley did not suspect the fact. It was quite a surprise to her
+when he entered the library one day, with apparently no other object
+than that of saying abruptly,
+
+"What is your mother going to do, Lesley?"
+
+"To do?" said Lesley, flushing slightly and looking astonished.
+
+"Yes"--impatiently. "Where is she going to live? What will become of
+her? Do you want to go to her? I wish to hear what you know about her
+arrangements."
+
+He planted himself on the hearth-rug in what might be termed an
+aggressive attitude--really the expression of some embarrassment of
+feeling. It certainly seemed hard to him at that moment to have to ask
+his daughter these questions.
+
+"I think," said Lesley, with downcast eyes, "that she is trying to find
+a house to suit her in Mayfair."
+
+"Mayfair. Then half her income will go in rent and taxes. Will she live
+there alone?"
+
+"Yes. At least--unless--until----"
+
+"Until you join her: I understand. Will"--and then he made a long pause
+before continuing--"if she wants you to join her at once; and you wish
+to go, don't let this previous arrangement stand in the way. I shall not
+interfere."
+
+His curtness, his abruptness, would once have startled and terrified
+Lesley. She had of late grown so much less afraid of him, that now she
+only lifted her eyes, with a proud, grieving look in them, and said,
+
+"Do you want me to go away, then?"
+
+"_Want_ you to go? Certainly not, child," and Mr. Brooke stretched out
+his hand, and drew her to him with a caressing gesture. "No: I like to
+have you here. But I thought you wanted to go to her."
+
+"So I do," said Lesley, the tears coming to her eyes. "But--I want to
+stay, too. I want"--and she put both hands on his arms with a gesture as
+affectionate as his own--"I want my father and mother both."
+
+"I'm afraid that is an impossible wish."
+
+"But why should it be?" said Lesley, looking up into his face
+beseechingly.
+
+His features twitched for a moment with unwonted emotion. "You know
+nothing about it," he said--but he did not speak harshly. "You can't
+judge of the circumstances. What can I do? Even if I asked her she would
+not come back to me."
+
+And then he put his daughter gently from him and went down to his study,
+where he paced up and down the floor for a good half-hour, instead of
+settling down as usual to his work.
+
+But Lesley's words were not without their effect, although he had put
+them aside so decidedly. With that young, fair face looking so
+pleadingly into his own, it did not seem impossible that she should form
+a new tie between himself and his wife. Of course he had always known
+that children were conventionally supposed to bind the hearts of husband
+and wife to each other; but in his own case he had not found that a
+daughter produced that result. On the contrary, Lesley had been for many
+years a sort of bone of contention between himself and his wife; and he
+had retained a cynical sense of the futility of such conventional
+utterances, which were every day contradicted by barefaced facts.
+
+But now he began to acknowledge that Lesley was drawing his heart closer
+to his wife. The charm of a family circle began to rise before him.
+Pleasant, indeed, would it be to find that his dingy old house bore once
+more the characteristics of a home; that womankind was represented in it
+by fairer faces and softer voices than the face and voice even of dear
+old Doctor Sophy, with her advanced theories, her committees, and her
+brisk disregard of the amenities of life. Yes, he would give a good deal
+to see Alice--it was long since he had thought of her by that
+name--established in his drawing-room (which she should refurbish and
+adorn to her heart's content), with Lesley by her side, and himself at
+liberty to stroll in and out, to be smiled upon, and--yes, after all,
+this was his dearest wish--to dare to lavish the love of which his great
+heart was full upon the wife and child whose loss had been the
+misfortune of his life.
+
+As he thought of the past years, it seemed to him that they had been
+very bleak and barren. True, he had done many things; he had influenced
+many people, and accomplished some good work; but what had he got out of
+it for himself? He was an Individualist at heart, as most men are, and
+he felt conscious of a claim which the world had not granted. It was
+almost a shock to him to feel the egoistic desire for personal happiness
+stirring strongly within him; the desire had been suppressed for so
+long, that when it once awoke it surprised him by its vitality.
+
+The outcome of these reflections was seen in a letter written that day
+after his talk with Lesley. He seated himself at last at his
+writing-table, and after some minutes' thought dashed off the following
+epistle. He did not stop for a word, he would not hesitate about the
+wording of sentences: it seemed to him that if he paused to consider,
+his resolution might be shaken, his purpose become unfixed.
+
+     "My Dear Alice," he wrote--"I hear from Lesley that you are looking
+     for a house. Would it not be better for us all if you made your
+     home with me again? Things have changed since you left me, and I
+     might now be better able to consult your tastes and wishes than I
+     was then. We are both older and, I hope, wiser. Could we not manage
+     to put aside some of our personal predilections and make a home
+     together for our daughter? I use this argument because I believe it
+     will have more weight with you than any other: at the same time, I
+     may add that it is for my own sake, as well as for Lesley's, that I
+     make the proposition. Your affectionate husband,
+
+     "CASPAR BROOKE."
+
+It was an odd ending, he thought: he had certainly not shown himself an
+affectionate husband to her for many years. But there was truth in the
+epithet: little as she might believe it, or as it might appear. He would
+not stop to re-read the letter: he had said what he wanted to say, and
+she could read his meaning easily enough. He had held out the olive
+branch. It was for her to accept or reject it, as she would.
+
+Lesley could not understand why he was so restless and apparently
+uneasy during the next few days. He seemed to be looking for
+something--expecting something--nobody knew what. He spent more time
+than usual with her, and took a new interest in her affairs. She did not
+know that he was trying to put himself into training for domestic life,
+and that he found it unexpectedly pleasant.
+
+"What's this?" he said one day, picking up a scrap of paper that fell
+from a book that she held in her hand. "Not a letter, I think? Have you
+been making extracts?"
+
+"No," said Lesley, blushing violently, but not trying to take the paper
+from him.
+
+"May I see it? Oh, a sort of essay--description--impressions of London
+in a fog." He murmured a few of the words and phrases as he went on.
+"Why, this is very good. Here's the real literary touch. Where did you
+get this, Lesley? It's not half bad."
+
+As she made no answer, he looked up and saw the guilty laughter in her
+eyes, the conscious blushes on her cheeks.
+
+"You don't mean to say----"
+
+"I only wrote it to amuse myself," said Lesley, meekly. "I've had so
+little to do since I came here, and I thought I would scribble down my
+impressions."
+
+"My dear child," said Mr. Brooke, "if you can write as well as this, you
+ought to have a career before you. Why," he added, surveying her, "I had
+no idea of this. And I always did have a secret wish that a child of
+mine should take to literature. My dear----"
+
+"But I don't want to take to literature, exactly," said Lesley, with a
+little gasp. "I only want to amuse myself sometimes--just when I feel
+inclined, if you don't think it a great waste of time----"
+
+"Waste of time? Certainly not. Go on, by all means. I shall only ask to
+see what you do now and then; I might be able to give you a hint--though
+I don't know. Your style is very good already--wants a little
+compression, perhaps, but you can make sentences--that's a comfort." And
+Mr. Brooke fell to reading the manuscript again, with a very pleased
+look upon his face.
+
+It was while he was still reading that a servant brought in some letters
+which had just arrived. He opened the first that came to hand almost
+unthinkingly, for his mind was quite absorbed in the discovery which he
+had made. It was only when his eye rested on the first page of the letter
+that memory came back to him. He gave a great start, rose up, putting
+Lesley's paper away from him, and went to the other side of the room to
+read his letter. It was as follows:--
+
+     "DEAR MR. BROOKE,--
+
+     "I have already found a house that I think will suit me, and I hope
+     that Lesley will join me there as soon as you can spare her. I am
+     afraid that it is a little too late to change our respective ways
+     of life. It would be no advantage to Lesley to live with parents
+     who were not agreed.
+
+     "Yours very truly,
+
+     "ALICE BROOKE."
+
+Caspar Brooke turned round with a face that had grown strangely pale,
+walked across the room to Lesley, and dropped the letter in her lap.
+
+"There!" he said. "I have done my uttermost. That is your mother's reply
+to me."
+
+He strode out of the room, without deigning to answer her cry of
+surprise and inquiry, and Lesley took up the letter.
+
+It was with a burst of tears that she put it down. "Oh, mother, mother!"
+she cried to herself, "how can you be so unkind, so unjust, so
+unforgiving? He is the best man in the world, and yet you have the heart
+to hurt him."
+
+She did not see her father again until the next day, and then, although
+she made no reference in words to the letter which she restored to him,
+her pale and downcast looks spoke for her, and told the sympathy which
+she did not dare to utter. Mr. Brooke kissed her, and felt vaguely
+comforted; but it began to occur to him that he had made Lesley's
+position a hard one by insisting on her visit to his house, and that it
+might have been happier for her if she had remained hostile to himself,
+or ignorant of his existence. For now, when she went back to her mother,
+would not the affection that she evidently felt for him rise up as a
+barrier between herself and Lady Alice? Would she not try to fight for
+him? She was brave enough, and impetuous enough, to do it. And then
+Alice might justly accuse him of having embittered the relation,
+hitherto so sweet, between mother and daughter, and thereby inflicted on
+her an injury which nothing on earth could repair or justify.
+
+Could nothing be done to remedy this state of things? Caspar Brooke
+began to feel worried by it. His mind was generally so serene that the
+intrusion of a personal anxiety seemed monstrous to him. He found it
+difficult to write in his accustomed manner: he felt a diminution of his
+interest in the club. With masculine impatience of such an unwonted
+condition, he went off at last to Maurice Kenyon, and asked him
+seriously whether his brain, his heart, or his liver were out of order.
+For that something was the matter with him, he felt sure, and he wanted
+the doctor to tell him what it was.
+
+Maurice questioned and examined him carefully, then assured him with a
+hearty laugh that even his digestion was in the best possible working
+order.
+
+Brooke gave himself a shake like a great dog, looked displeased for a
+moment, and then burst out laughing too.
+
+"I suppose it is nothing, after all," he said. "I've been a trifle
+anxious and worried lately. Nothing of any importance, my dear fellow.
+By the by, have you been to see Lesley lately?"
+
+"May I speak to her?" said Maurice, his face brightening. "I
+thought----"
+
+"Speak when you like," Caspar answered, curtly. "I almost wish you would
+get if over. Get it settled, I mean."
+
+"I shall get it settled as soon as I can, certainly," said Maurice.
+
+And Mr. Brooke went away, thinking that after all he had found one way
+of escape from his troubles. For if Lesley accepted Maurice, and lived
+with him in a house opposite her father's, there would always be a
+corner for him at their fireside, and he would not go to the grave
+feeling himself a childless, loveless, desolate old man.
+
+It must be conceded that Mr. Brooke had sunk to a very low pitch of
+dejection when he was dominated by such thoughts as these.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+LESLEY'S PROMISE.
+
+
+Maurice was no backward lover. He made his way to Lesley that very day,
+and found her in the library--not, as usual, bending over a book, but
+standing by the window, from which could be seen a piece of waste ground
+overgrown with grass and weeds, and shaded by some great plane and elm
+trees. There was nothing particularly fascinating in the outlook, which
+partook of the usual grimness of a London atmosphere; but the young
+green of the budding trees spoke, in spite of the blackness of their
+branches, of spring and spring's delight; and there was a brightness in
+the tints of the tangled grass which gave a restful satisfaction to the
+eye. Lesley was looking out upon this scene with a wistfulness which
+struck Maurice with some surprise.
+
+"You like this window?" he said, interrogatively, when they had shaken
+hands and exchanged a word or two of greeting.
+
+"Yes, it reminds me in some way of my old convent home; I don't know why
+it should; but there are trees and grass and greenness."
+
+"Ah, you love the country?"
+
+"Do not you?"
+
+"Yes, but there are better things in the world than even trees and
+grass."
+
+"Ah, yes," said Lesley, eagerly. Then, with a little smile, she added;
+as if quoting--"Souls of men."
+
+"I was thinking of their bodies," said the young doctor. "But that's as
+it should be. You think of the spiritual, I only of the material side.
+Both sides ought to be considered that is where men and women meet, I
+take it."
+
+"I suppose so," said Lesley, a little vaguely.
+
+"I'm afraid," Maurice went on, "that it will be a long time before I
+have a country house of my own: a place where there will be trees and
+green meadows and flowers, such as one loves and sighs for. I have
+often thought"--with a note of agitation in his voice--"how much easier
+it would be to ask any one to share my life if I had these good things
+to offer. My only chance has been to find someone who cares--as I
+care--for the souls and bodies of the men and women around us; who would
+not disdain to help me in my work."
+
+"Who _could_ disdain it?" asked Lesley, innocently indignant.
+
+"Do you mean"--turning suddenly upon her--"that you don't consider a
+hard working doctor's life something inexpressibly beneath you?"
+
+She drew back a little hurt, a little bit astonished.
+
+"Certainly not. Why should I?"
+
+"You are born to a life of luxury and self-indulgence."
+
+"My father is a journalist," said Lesley with a smile, in which
+amusement struggled with offence.
+
+"But your grandfather was an earl! It is possible," with a touch of
+raillery, "that you prefer earls to general practitioners."
+
+"Of the two, it is the doctor that leads the better life, in my
+opinion," said Lesley, rather hotly; but immediately cooling down, she
+added the remark--"My preferences have nothing much, however, to do with
+the matter."
+
+"Have they not? How little you know your own power!"
+
+Lesley looked at him in much amaze. Whither this conversation was
+tending it had not yet occurred to her to inquire. But something in his
+look, as he stood fronting her, brought the color to her cheeks and
+caused her eyes to sink. She became suddenly a little afraid of him, and
+wished herself a thousand miles away. Indeed she made one backward step,
+as if her maidenly instincts were about to manifest themselves in actual
+flight. But Maurice saw the movement, and made two steps forward, which
+brought him so close to her that he could have touched her hand if he
+had wished.
+
+"Don't you understand?" he said, in an agitated voice. "Don't you see
+that your opinion--your preferences--are all the world to me?"
+
+He paused as if expecting her to reply--leaning a little towards her to
+catch the word from her lips. But Lesley did not speak. She remained
+motionless, as pale now as she had been red before--her hands hanging at
+her sides and her eyes fixed upon the ground. She looked as if she were
+stricken dumb with dismay.
+
+"I know that I have not recommended myself to you by anything that I
+have said or done," Maurice went on. "I misjudged you once, and I spoke
+roughly, rudely, brutally; but it was the way you took what I said which
+made me understand you. You were so fine, so noble, so sweet! Instead of
+making my stupidity an excuse for shutting yourself away from what your
+father was doing, you immediately threw yourself into it, you began to
+work with him and for him--as of course I might have seen that you would
+do directly you came to know him. I was a fool, and you were an
+angel--that summarizes the situation."
+
+A faint smile curled Lesley's lips, although she did not look up. "I am
+afraid there is not much of the angel about me," she said.
+
+"Ah, you can't see yourself as others see you," he answered, quite
+ignoring the implication in her remark which a less ardent lover might
+have resented. "To me, at any rate, you are the one woman in the world,
+the only one I have ever loved--shall ever love as long as I live--the
+fulfilment of my ideal--the realization of all my dreams!"
+
+His vehemence made Lesley draw back.
+
+"You exaggerate," she said with a slight shake of the head. "Indeed, I
+am not all that--I could not be. I am very ignorant and full of faults.
+I have a bad temper----"
+
+"You have a temper that is sweetness itself!"
+
+"Oh, Mr. Kenyon, how can you say so?"--with a look of reproach. "You who
+have seen me so angry!"
+
+"Your temper is just like your father's," said Maurice, dogmatically. "A
+little hot, if you like, but sweet----"
+
+"Something like preserved ginger?" asked Lesley.
+
+The two young people looked at each other with laughter in their eyes.
+This was Lesley's way of trying to stave off the inevitable. If
+Maurice's declaration could only be construed into idle compliment, she
+would be rid of the necessity of giving him a plain answer. And what had
+been begun as a proposal of marriage seemed likely to degenerate into a
+fencing match.
+
+Maurice saw the danger, and was too quick-witted to fall unawares into
+the trap which Lesley had laid for him. A war of words was the very
+thing in which he and Ethel most delighted; and it was usually quite
+easy to induce brother and sister to engage upon it. But on this
+occasion he was too much in earnest for word-play. He laughed at
+Lesley's simile, and then became suddenly and almost fiercely grave.
+
+"I can't let you turn the whole thing into a joke," he said. "You know
+that I mean what I say. It is a matter of life and death to me. I love
+you with my whole heart, and I come to-day to know whether there is any
+chance for me--whether you can honor me with your love--whether you will
+one day consent to be my wife."
+
+His voice sank to a pleading tone, and his face was very pale. But he
+felt that a great display of emotion would frighten and repel the girl,
+and he therefore sedulously avoided, as far as possible, any appearance
+of agitation. He could not, however, entirely achieve the calmness which
+he desired, and the very suppression of his agitation, which, in spite
+of himself, made his voice shake, and brought fire to his eyes, had an
+unwontedly unnerving effect upon Lesley.
+
+"Oh, I don't know," she said hurriedly. "I can't tell--I never
+thought----"
+
+"Think now," he said persuasively. "Am I disagreeable to you?"
+
+"No,"--very softly.
+
+"Have you forgiven me for my bad behavior in the past?"
+
+"You never did behave badly."
+
+"But you have forgiven me?"
+
+"Oh, yes."
+
+This was illogical, as she had previously intimated that there was
+nothing to forgive; but, under such circumstances, Lesley may be
+excused.
+
+"And--surely, then--you like me a little!"
+
+"A little," Lesley breathed, rather than spoke, with an unconscious
+smile of happiness.
+
+"Can you not call it 'loving?'" asked Maurice, daring for the first time
+to take her soft little hand in his.
+
+But the question, the look, the touch, suddenly terrified Lesley, and
+brought back to her mind a long-forgotten promise. What was it her mother
+had required of her before she left Paris for her father's house? Was it
+not a pledge that she should not bind herself to marry any man?--that
+she should not engage herself to be married? Lesley had an instinctive
+knowledge of the fact that to proclaim her promise would be to cast
+discredit on Lady Alice; and so, while trying to keep her word, she
+sought for means to avoid telling the whole truth.
+
+"No, oh no," she said, withdrawing her hand at once and turning away.
+"Indeed, I could not. Please do not ask me anymore."
+
+The shock was very great to Maurice. He stood perfectly silent for a
+moment. He had thought that he was making such good progress--and,
+behold! the wind had suddenly changed; the face of the heavens was
+overcast. He tried to think that he had been mistaken, and made another
+attempt to win a favorable hearing.
+
+"Miss Brooke--Lesley--you say you like me a little. Do you not think
+that your liking for me might grow? When you know that I love you so
+tenderly, that I would lay down my very life for you, when you can hear
+all that I can tell you of my hopes, my dreams, my aspirations----"
+
+"I do not want to hear," said Lesley, putting out her hand blindly.
+"Please do not tell me: it makes me miserable--indeed, I must not
+listen."
+
+Again Maurice stood silent for a moment.
+
+"_Must_ not listen?" he repeated at length, with a keen look at her.
+"Why must you not?"
+
+Lesley made no answer.
+
+"You speak strangely," said Kenyon, with some slight coldness beginning
+to manifest itself in his manner. "Why should you not listen to me? If
+you are thinking of your father, I can assure you that he has no
+objection to me. I have consulted him already. He would be honestly
+glad, I believe, if you could care for me--he has told me so. Does his
+opinion go for nothing?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"I can't explain," she said brokenly. "I can only ask you not to say
+anything--at least--I have promised----"
+
+"Promised not to listen to me?"
+
+"To anything of the kind," said Lesley, feeling that she was making a
+terrible mess of the whole affair, and yet unable to loosen her tongue
+sufficiently to explain.
+
+"May I ask to whom you gave this promise?"
+
+"No," said Lesley.
+
+There was another silence, but this time it was a silence charged with
+ominous significance. Maurice's face was very white, and a peculiar
+rigidity showed itself in the lines of his features. He was very much
+disappointed, and he also felt that he had some right to be displeased.
+
+"If you were bound by any such promise, Miss Brooke," he said, "I think
+it would have been better that your friends should have known of it. I
+don't think that Mr. Brooke was aware----"
+
+"Oh, no, he knew nothing about it."
+
+"It was a promise made before you came here?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Of which your mother--Lady Alice--approves?"
+
+"Oh, yes--it was to her--because she----"
+
+Lesley stammered and tried to explain. There was a tremendous oppression
+upon her, such as one feels sometimes in a nightmare dream. She longed
+to speak out, to clear herself in Maurice's eyes, and yet she could not
+frame a single intelligible sentence. It was as though she were
+afflicted with dumbness.
+
+"I think," said Maurice, deliberately, "that your father and your aunt
+had a right to know this fact. You seem to have kept them in ignorance
+of it. And I have been led into a mistake. I can assure you, Miss
+Brooke, that if I had been aware of any previous promise--or--or
+engagement of yours, I should never have presumed to speak as I have
+spoken to-day. I can but apologize and withdraw."
+
+Before Lesley could answer, he had taken his hat, bowed profoundly, and
+left the room.
+
+And Lesley, with lips from which all color had faded, and hands pressed
+tightly together, watched him go, and stood for some minutes in dazed,
+despairing silence before she could say, even to herself, with a burst
+of hot and bitter tears,
+
+"Oh, I did not mean him to think _that_. And now I cannot explain! What
+shall I do? What _can_ I do to make him understand?"
+
+But that was a question for which she found no answer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+CURED.
+
+
+"You are quite well," said the doctor to John Smith, otherwise called
+Francis Trent, at the great hospital one day. "You can go out to-morrow.
+There is nothing more that we can do for you."
+
+Smith raised his dull eyes to their faces.
+
+"Am I--cured?" he asked.
+
+One of the doctors shrugged his shoulders a little. Another answered
+kindly and pityingly,
+
+"You will find that you are not as strong as you used to be. Not the
+same man in many respects. But you will be able to get your own living,
+and we see no reason for detaining you here. What was your trade?"
+
+The patient looked down at his white, thin hands. "I don't know," he
+said.
+
+"Have you friends to go to?"
+
+There was a pause. Some of the medical students who were listening came
+a little nearer. As a matter of fact, Francis Trent's future depended
+very largely on the answer he made to this question. The statement that
+he was "quite well" was hazarded rather by way of experiment than as a
+matter of fact. The doctors wanted to know what he would say and do
+under pressure, for some of them were beginning to suggest that the man
+should be removed to the workhouse infirmary or a lunatic asylum. His
+faculties seemed to be hopelessly beclouded.
+
+Suddenly he lifted his head. A new sharp light had come into his eyes.
+He nodded reassuringly.
+
+"Yes, I have friends," he said.
+
+"You have a home where you can go? Shall we write to your friends to
+meet you?"
+
+"No, thank you, sir. I can find my own way home."
+
+And then they conferred together a little, and left him, and reported
+that he was cured.
+
+Certainly, there seemed to be nothing the matter with him now. His
+wounds and injuries had healed, his bodily strength was returning. But
+the haze which hung over his mind was far more impenetrable than the
+doctors guessed. Something of it had been apparent to them in the
+earlier days of his illness; but his clear and decided answers to their
+questions convinced them that memory had to some extent returned. As a
+matter of fact it was not memory that had returned, but a sharpening of
+his perceptive faculties, awakening him to the fact that he stood in
+danger of being taken for an idiot or a madman if he did not frame some
+answer to the questions which the doctors asked him. This new acuteness
+was perhaps the precursor to a return of his memory; but as yet the Past
+was like a dead wall, an abyss of darkness surrounding him. Now and then
+flashes of light seemed to dart across that darkness: he seemed on the
+point of recalling something--he knew not what; for the flashes faded as
+quickly as they came, and made the darkness all the greater for the
+contrast.
+
+He was possessed now by the idea that if he could get out of hospital,
+and walk along the London streets, he might remember all that he had
+forgotten. His own name, his own history, had become a blank to him. He
+knew in some vague, forlorn fashion, that he had once been what the
+world calls a gentleman. He had not acknowledged so much to the doctors:
+he had not felt that they would believe him. Even when the groping after
+the Past became most painful, he made up his mind that he would not ask
+these scientific men for help: he was afraid of being treated as a
+"case," experimented on, written about in the papers. There was
+something in the Past of which he knew he ought to be ashamed. What
+could it be? He was afraid to ask, lest he might find himself to be a
+criminal.
+
+In these haunting terrors there was, of course, a distinct token of
+possible insanity. The man needed a friendly, guiding hand to steer him
+back to the world of reason and common-sense. But to whom could he go,
+since he had taken up this violent prejudice against the doctors? He
+felt drawn to none of the nurses, although some of them had been very
+kind to him. The only person to whom he might perhaps have disburthened
+himself, if he had had the opportunity, was the sweet-voiced,
+sweet-faced woman whom he had warned of the ill effects of her gifts. He
+did not know her name, or anything about her; but before he left the
+hospital he asked one of the nurses who she was.
+
+"Lady Alice Brooke--daughter of the Lord Courtleroy, who died the other
+day," was the reply.
+
+"Could you give me her address?"
+
+"No; and I don't think that if I could it would be of any use to you.
+She is leaving England, I believe. If you want work or help, why don't
+you speak to Mr. Kenyon? He's the gentleman to find both for you--Mr.
+Maurice Kenyon."
+
+"Which is Mr. Kenyon?"
+
+"There--he's just passing through the next ward; shall I speak to him
+for you?"
+
+"No, thank you: I don't want anything from him: I only wanted the lady's
+name," said John Smith, in a dogged sullen kind of way, which made the
+whitecapped nurse look at him suspiciously.
+
+"Brooke!--Kenyon?"--How oddly familiar the names seemed to him! Of
+course they were not very uncommon names; but there was a distinct
+familiarity about them which had nothing to do with the names
+themselves, as if they had some connection with his own history and his
+own affairs.
+
+He was discharged--"cured." He went out into the streets with
+half-a-crown in his pocket, and a fixed determination to know the truth,
+sooner or later, about himself. At the same time he had a great fear of
+letting any one know the extent of the blanks in his memory. He thought
+that people might shut him up in a madhouse if he told them that he
+could not recollect his own name. A certain amount of intellectual force
+and knowledge remained to him. He could read, and understand what he
+read. But of his own history he had absolutely no idea; and the only
+clue to it that he could find lay in those two names--Brooke and Kenyon.
+
+Could he discover anything about the possessors of these names which
+would help him? He entered a shop where a Post Office Directory was to
+be found, and looked at Maurice Kenyon's name amongst the doctors. He
+found Mr. Kenyon's private address; but as yet it told him nothing.
+Woburn Place? Well, of course he had heard of Woburn Place, it was no
+wonder that he should know it so well; but the name told him nothing
+more.
+
+He sat staring at it so long that the people of the shop grew impatient,
+and asked him to shut the book. He went away, and wandered about the
+streets, vaguely seeking for he knew not what. And after a time he
+bought a newspaper. Here again he found the name that had attracted his
+attention--the name of Kenyon. "Last appearance of Miss Kenyon at the
+Frivolity Theatre--this week only."
+
+"Who's Miss Ethel Kenyon?" he asked--drawing a bow at a venture--of his
+neighbor in the dingy little coffeehouse into which he had turned. It
+was ten to one that the man would not know; but he would ask.
+
+As it happened, the young man did know. "She's an actress," he said. "I
+went to see her the other night. Pretty girl--going to get married and
+leave the stage. My brother's a scene shifter at the Frivolity--knows
+all about her."
+
+"Who is she going to marry?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know--some idle young chap that wants her money, I believe.
+She ain't the common sort of actress, you know. Bit of a swell, with
+sixty thousand pounds of her own."
+
+"Oh," said his interlocutor, vaguely. "And--has she any relations?"
+
+"Well, that I can't tell you. Stop a bit, though: I did hear tell of a
+brother--a doctor, I believe. But I couldn't be sure of it."
+
+"Could you get to know if you wanted?"
+
+The young fellow turned and surveyed his questioner with some doubt.
+"Dare say I could if I chose," he said. "What do you want to know for,
+mate?"
+
+"I've been away--out of England for a long time--and I think they're
+people who used to know me," said Francis Trent, improvising his story
+readily. "I thought they could put me on the way of work if I could come
+across them; but I don't know if it's the same."
+
+"Why don't you go to see her to-night? She's worth a look: she's a
+pretty little thing--but she don't draw crowds: the gallery's never
+full."
+
+"I think I'll go to-night," said Francis, rising suddenly from his seat.
+He fancied that the young man looked at him suspiciously. "Yes, no
+doubt, I should know her if I saw her: I'll go to-night."
+
+He made his way hastily into the street, while his late companion sent a
+puzzled glance after him. "Got a tile loose, that chap has," he said to
+the girl at the counter as he also passed out. "Or else he was a bit
+screwed."
+
+So that night Francis Trent went to the Frivolity, and witnessed, from a
+half-empty gallery, a smart, sparkling little society play, in which
+Ethel Kenyon had elected to say farewell to her admirers.
+
+He saw her, but her face produced no impression upon his mind.
+
+It was not familiar to him, although her name was familiar enough. Those
+gleaming dark eyes in the saucy piquante face, the tiny graceful figure,
+the silvery accents of her voice, were perfectly strange to him. They
+suggested absolutely nothing. It was the name alone that he knew; and he
+was sure that it was in some way connected with his own.
+
+Before the end of the play, he got up and went out. The lights of the
+theatre made him dizzy: his head ached from the hot atmosphere and from
+his own physical weakness. He was afraid that he should cry out or do
+something strange which would make people look at him, if he sat there
+much longer. So he turned into a side street and leaned against a wall
+for a little time, until he felt cool and refreshed. The evening was
+warm, considering that the month was March, and the air that played upon
+his face was soft and balmy. When he had recovered himself a little, he
+noticed a group of young men lighting their cigarettes and loitering
+about a door in the vicinity. Presently he made out that this was the
+stage-door, and that these young men were waiting to see one of the
+actresses come out. By the fragments of their talk that floated to him
+on the still evening air in the quiet side street, Francis Trent
+gathered that they spoke a good deal of Ethel Kenyon.
+
+"So this is the last we shall see of pretty little Ethel," he heard one
+man say. "Who's the man she's hooked, eh?"
+
+Nobody seemed to know.
+
+"Why did she go on the boards at all, I wonder? She's got money, and
+belongs to a pre-eminently respectable family. Her brother's a doctor."
+
+"Stage-struck," said another. "She'll give it up now, of course. Here's
+her carriage. She'll be here directly."
+
+"And the happy man at her heels, I suppose," sneered the first speaker.
+"They say she's madly in love with him, and that he, of course, wants
+her money."
+
+"He's a cad, I know that," growled a younger man.
+
+Impelled by an interest of which he himself did not know the source,
+Francis Trent had drawn nearer to the stage door as the young fellows
+spoke. He was quite close to it, when it opened at last and the pretty
+actress came forth.
+
+She was escorted by a train of admirers, rich and poor. Her maid was
+laden with wraps and bouquets. The manager and the actor who played the
+leading part were on either side of her, and Ethel was laughing the
+merry, unaffected laugh of a perfectly happy woman as she made her
+triumphal exit from the little theatre where she had achieved all her
+artistic success. Another kind of success, she thought, was in store for
+her now. She was to know another sort of happiness. And the whole world
+looked very bright to her, although there was one little cloud--no
+bigger than a man's hand, perhaps--which had already shown itself above
+the horizon, and might one day cloud the noontide of her love.
+
+Francis Trent was so absorbed in watching her lovely face, and in
+wondering why her name had seemed so familiar, that he paid scant
+attention to her followers. It was only as the carriage drove off that
+his eye was caught by the face of a man who sat beside her. A gleam from
+a gas-lamp had fallen full upon it, revealing the regular, passionless
+features, the dark eyes and pale complexion of Ethel's lover. And as
+soon as he saw that face, a great change came over the mental condition
+of Francis Trent. He stood for a moment as if paralyzed, his worn
+features strangely convulsed, a strange lurid light showed itself in his
+haggard eyes. Then he threw his arms wildly in the air, uttered a
+choked, gasping cry, and rushed madly and vainly after the retreating
+carriage, heedless of the shouts which the little crowd sent after him.
+
+"He's mad--he'll never catch up that carriage! What does he run after it
+for, the fool?" said one of the men on the pavement.
+
+And indeed he soon relinquished the attempt, and sat down on a doorstep,
+panting and exhausted, with his face buried upon his arms.
+
+But he was not mad. He was sure of that now. It was only that he
+had--partially and feebly, but to some extent effectually--remembered
+what had happened to him in the dark dead Past.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+DOUBT.
+
+
+It was a difficult matter for Maurice Kenyon so to word his report to
+Caspar Brooke as not to excite his displeasure against Lesley. He felt
+himself bound to respect Lesley's confidences--if such they might be
+called--respecting the promise which kept her from returning his love;
+but he could not help a certain bitterness of tone in referring to his
+interview with her; and his friend observed the bitterness.
+
+"What reason did she give for refusing you?" he asked sharply.
+
+"I suppose she does not care for me."
+
+"There is something else--to judge from your look. Perhaps there
+is--somebody else?" said Brooke.
+
+"Well, I don't know that I'm doing right in telling you--but--God help
+me!--I believe there is," said Maurice, with a groan.
+
+"She did not tell you who?"
+
+"No."
+
+Mr. Brooke knitted his brows. He was inclined to think that Oliver Trent
+had produced an impression on Lesley's susceptible heart. He could not
+ask questions of any of the persons concerned; but he had his
+suspicions, and they made him angry as well as anxious.
+
+He made it his business during the next day or two to find out whether
+Oliver had been to the house since the day when he had interrupted the
+interview; but he could not learn that he had ventured there again. It
+was no use asking Dr. Sophy about Lesley's comings and goings: it was
+almost impossible for him to question Lesley herself.
+
+"What rubbish it all is--this love-making, marrying, and giving in
+marriage!" he said, at last, impatiently, to himself. "I'll think no
+more about these young folks' affairs--let them make or mar their
+happiness in their own way. I'll think of my work and nothing else--I've
+neglected it a good deal of late, I fancy. I must make up for lost time
+now." And sitting down at his table, he turned over the papers upon it,
+and took up a quill pen. But he did not begin to write for some minutes.
+He sat frowning at the paper, biting the feathers of his pen, drumming
+with his fingers on the table. And after a time he muttered to himself,
+"If any man harms Lesley, I'll wring his neck--that's all;" which did
+not sound as though he were giving to his literary work all the
+attention that it required.
+
+As to Lesley, she would have given a great deal at that time for a
+counsellor of some kind. The old feeling of friendlessness had come back
+to her. Her aunt was absorbed by her own affairs, her father looked at
+her with unquiet displeasure in his eyes. Oliver Trent had proved
+himself a false friend indeed. Ethel was a little reserved with her, and
+she had sent Maurice Kenyon away. There was nobody else to whom she
+could turn for comfort. True, she had made many acquaintances by this
+time: her father's circle was a large one, and she knew more people now
+than she had ever spoken to in her quiet convent days. But these were
+all acquaintances--not friends. She could not speak to any one of these
+about Maurice Kenyon, her lover and her friend. Once or twice she
+thought vaguely of writing to her mother about him; but she shrank from
+doing so without quite knowing why. The fact was, she knew her mother's
+criticism beforehand: she expected to be reproached with having broken
+her compact in the spirit if not in the letter; and she did not know how
+to justify herself. Maurice had taken his dismissal as final, and she
+had not meant him to do so. Now, if ever, the girl wanted a friend who
+would either encourage her to explain her position to him, or would do
+it for her. Lady Alice would not fill this post efficiently. And Lesley,
+in her youthful shamefaced pride, felt that nothing would induce her to
+make her own explanation to Maurice. It would seem like asking him to
+ask her again to marry him--an insupportable thought.
+
+So she went about the house pale and heavy-eyed, trying with all her
+might to throw herself into her father's schemes for his club, writing a
+little now and then, occupying herself feverishly with all the projects
+that came in her way, but bearing a sad heart about with her all the
+time. She was not outwardly depressed--her pride would not let her seem
+melancholy. She held her head high, and talked and laughed more than
+usual. But the want of color and brightness in her face and eye could
+not be controlled.
+
+"You pale-faced wretch," she said to herself one Saturday evening, as
+she stood before her glass and surveyed the fair image that met her eye;
+"why cannot you look as usual? It must be this black dress that makes me
+so colorless: I wish that I had a flower to wear with it."
+
+Mr. Brooke and his sister were holding one of their frequent Saturday
+evening parties, when they were "at home" to a large number of guests.
+Lesley was just about to go downstairs. Her dress was black, for she was
+in mourning for her grandfather; and it must be confessed that the
+sombre hue made her look very pale indeed. The wish for a flower was
+gratified, however, almost as soon as formed. Kingston entered her room
+at that moment carrying a bouquet of flowers, chiefly white, but with a
+scarlet blossom here and there, which would give exactly the touch of
+color that Lesley's appearance required.
+
+"These flowers have just come for you, ma'am," Kingston said quietly.
+
+Her subdued voice, her pale face, and heavily shadowed eyes, did not
+make her a cheerful-looking messenger; but Lesley, for the time being,
+thought of nothing but the flowers.
+
+"Where do they come from, Kingston?" she asked, eagerly.
+
+"I was only to say one word, ma'am--that they came from over the way."
+
+There was no want of color now in Lesley's face. Her cheeks were
+rose-tinted, her eyes had grown strangely bright. "Over the way." Of
+course that meant Maurice. Did not he live over the way?--and was there
+any one else at the Kenyons' house who would send her such lovely
+flowers?
+
+If he sent her flowers, she reflected, he could not have yet ceased to
+care for her, although she had behaved so badly to him--in his eyes, at
+least. The thought gave her courage and content. Perhaps he was coming
+that night--he had a standing invitation to all the Brookes' evening
+parties--and when he came he would perhaps "say something" to her,
+something which she could answer suitably, so as to make him
+understand.
+
+She did not know how pretty she looked as she stood looking down at her
+flowers, the color and smile and dimples coming and going in her fair
+young face in very unwonted confusion. But Mary Kingston noted every
+change of tint and expression, and was surprised. For the little mystery
+was quite plain to her. It was not Mr. Kenyon who sent the flowers at
+all. Mr. Kenyon was too busy a man to buy bouquets. It was Oliver Trent
+who had sent them, for Kingston had herself seen him carrying the
+flowers and entrusting them to a commissionnaire with a message for Miss
+Brooke. She believed, too, that Lesley knew from whom they came. But she
+was not sufficiently alert and interested just then to make these
+matters of great importance to her. She did not think it worth her while
+to say how much she knew. With a short quick sigh she turned away, and
+expected to see her young mistress quit the room at once, still with
+that happy smile upon her face. But Lesley had heard the sigh.
+
+"Oh, Kingston," she said, laying her hand on the woman's arm, "I wish
+you would not sigh like that!"
+
+"I beg your pardon, ma'am; I did not mean to annoy you."
+
+"I don't mean _that_: I mean it for your own sake. You seem so sad about
+something--you have been sad so long!"
+
+"I've had a sad life, Miss Lesley."
+
+"But there is surely some special sadness now?"
+
+"Yes," said the woman slowly. "Yes, that is true. I've--lost--a friend."
+
+She put a strong emphasis on the word "lost," and paused before and
+after uttering it, as if it bore a peculiar meaning to her. But Lesley
+took the word in its ordinary sense.
+
+"I am very sorry," she said. "It must be very terrible, I think, when
+one's friends die."
+
+She stood silent for a minute--a shadow from Kingston's grief troubling
+the sweetness of her fair face. It was the maid who broke the silence.
+
+"Excuse me, ma'am; I oughtn't to have troubled you with my affairs
+to-night, just when you're enjoying yourself too. But it's hard
+sometimes to keep quiet."
+
+Moved by a sudden instinct of sympathy, Lesley turned and kissed the
+woman who served her, as if she had been a sister. It was in such ways
+that she showed her kinship with the man who had written "The
+Unexplored." Lady Alice, in spite of all her kindness of heart, would
+never have thought of kissing her ladies' maid.
+
+"Don't grieve--don't be sorrowful," said Lesley. "Perhaps things will
+mend by and by."
+
+"Ah, my dear," said Kingston, forgetting her position, as Lady Alice
+would have said, while that young, soft kiss was warm upon her cheek,
+"the dead don't come back."
+
+And when Lesley had gone downstairs, with the white and scarlet bouquet
+in her hand, Mary Kingston sat down and wept bitterly.
+
+It was not the first time that Lesley had spoken words of consolation to
+her; but on this occasion her gentleness had gone home to Mary
+Kingston's heart as it had never done before. After weeping for herself
+for a time, she fell to weeping for Lesley too, for it seemed inevitable
+to her that Lesley should suffer before very long. She believed that
+Lesley was in love with Oliver, and that for this reason only had she
+refused Maurice Kenyon, which shows that Lesley had kept her own secret
+very well.
+
+"I'd do anything to keep her from harm," said Mary Kingston, with a
+passionate rush of gratitude towards the girl for her kindly words and
+ways. "Francis Trent brought me grief enough, God knows; and if she's
+going to throw herself away on Oliver, she'll have her heart broke
+sooner than mine. For I've been used to sorrow all my days; and
+she--poor, pretty lamb--she don't know what it means. And Miss Brooke
+all taken up with her medicine-fads, and Mr. Brooke only a _man_, after
+all, in spite of his goodness; and my lady, her mother, far away and
+never coming near her--if anybody was friendless and forlorn, it's Miss
+Lesley. Only me between her and her ruin, maybe! But I'll prevent it,"
+said the woman, rising to her feet with a strange look of exaltation in
+her sunken eyes: "I'll guard her from Oliver Trent as I couldn't guard
+my own sister, poor lass! I'll see that she does not come to any harm,
+and if he means ill by her I'll shame him before all the world, even
+though I break more hearts than one by it."
+
+And then she roused herself from her reverie, and went downstairs, where
+she knew that her presence was required in the tea-room. Scarcely had
+she entered it, when she made a short pause and gave a slightly
+perceptible start. For there stood Ethel Kenyon, with Oliver Trent in
+attendance. She had not thought that he would come to the house; a rumor
+had gone about that he had quarreled with Mr. Brooke; yet there he was,
+smiling, bland, irreproachable as ever, with quite the look of one who
+had the right to be present. He was holding Ethel's fan and gloves as
+she drank a cup of tea, and seemed to be paying her every attention in
+his power. Ethel, in the daintiest of costumes, was laughing and talking
+to him as they stood together. _She_ was quite unconscious of any reason
+for his possible absence. Mary Kingston gave them a keen glance as she
+went by, and decided in her own mind that there was more in the
+situation than as yet she had understood.
+
+Oliver was playing a bold game. His marriage was fixed for the following
+Tuesday. From Mr. Brooke's attitude in general towards the Kenyons, he
+felt sure that Caspar would not place them in any painful or perplexing
+situation. He would not, for instance, refuse to welcome Oliver to his
+house again, if Oliver went in Ethel's company. Accordingly, the young
+man put his pride and his delicacy (if he had either--which is doubtful)
+in his pocket, and went with his affianced wife to Mr. Brooke's Saturday
+evening party.
+
+"For I will see Lesley again," he said to himself, "and if I do not go
+to-night I may not have the opportunity. If she would relent, I would
+not mind throwing Ethel over--I could do it so easily now that Francis
+has disappeared. But I would give up Ethel's twenty thousand, if Lesley
+would go with me instead!"
+
+Little did he guess that only on the previous night had he been
+recognized and remembered by that missing brother, whose tottering brain
+was inflamed almost to madness by a conviction of deliberate wrong; or
+that this brother was even now upon his track, ready to demand the
+justice that he thought had been denied him, and to punish the man who
+had brought him to this evil pass! Wild and mad as were the imaginings
+of Francis Trent's bewildered mind, they boded ill to his brother Oliver
+whenever the two should meet.
+
+Meanwhile, Ethel's lover, with a white flower in his button-hole,
+occupied the whole evening in leaning idly against a wall, and feasting
+his eyes on the fair face and form--not of his betrothed, but--of Lesley
+Brooke.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+IN MR. BROOKE'S STUDY.
+
+
+Caspar Brooke's dingy drawing-room looked cheerful enough that night,
+filled by a crowd of men and women, and animated by the buzz of constant
+talk and movement. It was a distinguishing characteristic of his parties
+that they were composed more of men than of women; and the guests were
+often men or women who had done something in the world, and were known
+for some special excellence in their work. Lesley generally enjoyed
+these gatherings very much. The visitors were shabby, unfashionable
+people sometimes: they had eccentricities of dress and manner; but they
+were always interesting in Lesley's eyes. Literary men, professors,
+politicians, travelers, philanthropists, faddists--these were the folk
+that mostly frequented Caspar Brooke's parties. Neither artists nor
+musicians were largely represented: the flow of talk was rather
+political and literary than artistic; and on the whole there were more
+elderly people than young ones. As a rule, Oliver Trent was not disposed
+to frequent these assemblies: he shrugged his shoulders at them and
+called them "slow," but on this occasion he was only too glad to find
+admittance. It was at least a good opportunity for watching Lesley, as
+she passed from one group to another, doing the duties of
+assistant-hostess with grace and tact, giving a smile to one, a word to
+another, entering into low-toned conversation, which brightened her eyes
+and flushed her fair cheek, with another. Oliver thought her perfection.
+Beside her stately proportions, Ethel seemed to him ridiculously tiny
+and insignificant, and her sparkling prettiness was altogether eclipsed
+by Lesley's calmer beauty. He was not in an amiable mood. He had steeled
+himself against the dictates of his own taste and conscience, to
+encounter Caspar Brooke's cold stare and freezing word of conventional
+welcome, because he longed so intensely for a last word with Lesley; but
+he was now almost sorry that he had come. Lesley seemed utterly
+indifferent to his presence. She certainly carried his flowers in her
+hand, but she did not glance his way. On the contrary, she anxiously
+watched the door from time to time, as if she awaited the coming of some
+one who was slow to make his appearance. Who could the person be for
+whom she looked? Oliver asked himself jealously. He had not the
+slightest suspicion that she was watching for Maurice Kenyon. And
+Maurice Kenyon did not come.
+
+It was his absence that, as the evening wore on, made the color slip
+from Lesley's cheeks and robbed her eyes of their first brightness. A
+certain listlessness came over her. And Oliver, watching from his
+corner, exulted in his heart, for he thought to himself--
+
+"It is for me she is looking sad; and if she will but yield her will to
+mine, I will win and wear her yet, in spite of all who would say me
+nay."
+
+It was a veritable love-madness, such as had not come upon him since the
+days of his youth. He had had a fairly wide experience of love-making;
+but never had he been so completely mastered by his passion as he was
+now. The consideration that had once been so potent with him--love of
+ease, money, and position--seemed all to have vanished away. What
+mattered it that to abandon Ethel Kenyon at the last moment would mean
+disgrace and perhaps even beggary? He had no care left for thoughts like
+these. If Lesley would acknowledge her love for him, he was ready to
+throw all other considerations to the winds.
+
+"Sing something, Lesley," her father said to her when the evening was
+well advanced. "You have your music here?"
+
+Oh, yes, Lesley had her music here. But she glanced a little nervously
+in Oliver's direction. "I wonder if Ethel would accompany me," she said.
+She shrank nervously from the thought of Oliver's accompaniments.
+
+But Oliver was too quick for her. He moved forward to the piano as soon
+as he saw Caspar Brooke's eye upon it. And with his hand on the
+key-board, he addressed himself suavely to Lesley.
+
+"You are going to sing, I hope? May I not have the pleasure of
+accompanying you?"
+
+Lesley could not say him nay, but she also could not help a glance, half
+of alarm, half of appeal, towards her father. Mr. Brooke's face wore an
+expression which was not often seen upon it at a social gathering. It
+was distinctly stormy--there was a frown upon the brow, and an ominous
+setting of the lips which more than one person in the room remarked.
+"How savage Brooke looks!" one guest murmured into another's ear. "Isn't
+he friendly with Trent?" And the words were remembered in after days.
+
+But nothing could be said or done to hinder Oliver from taking his place
+at the piano, for Lesley did not openly object, and her father could not
+interfere between her and his own guest. So Lesley sang, and did not
+sing so well as usual, for her heart failed her a little, partly through
+vexation and partly through disappointment at Maurice Kenyon's
+disappearance, but she gave pleasure to her hearers, in spite of what
+seemed to herself a comparative failure, and when she had finished her
+song, she was besieged by requests that she would sing once more.
+
+"Sing 'Thine is my heart,'" Oliver's soft voice murmured in her ear.
+
+"I have not that song here," said Lesley, quietly. She was not very much
+discomposed now, but she did not want to encourage his attention. She
+rose from the music-stool. "My music is downstairs," she said. "I must
+go and fetch it--I have a new song that Ethel has promised to play for
+me."
+
+Oliver bit his lips and stood back as Lesley escaped by the door of the
+front drawing-room. Mr. Brooke's eye was upon him, and he could not
+therefore follow her; but he made his way into the library through the
+folding doors, and there a new mode of attack became visible to him. By
+the library door he gained the landing; and then he softly descended the
+stairs, which were now almost deserted, for the guests had crowded into
+the drawing-room, first to hear Lesley's song and then to listen to a
+recitation by Ethel Kenyon. But where had Lesley gone?
+
+A subtle instinct told him that she had hidden herself for a moment--and
+told him also where to find her. The lights were burning low in her
+father's study, which had been set to rights a little, in order to serve
+as a room where people could lounge and talk if they wanted to escape
+the din of conversation in the larger rooms. He looked in, and at first
+thought it empty. But the movement of a curtain revealed some one's
+presence; and as his eyes became accustomed to the dimmer light, he saw
+that it was Lesley. She was standing between the fireplace and curtained
+window, and her hand was on the mantelpiece.
+
+She started when she saw him in the doorway. It was her start that
+betrayed her. He came forward and shut the door behind him--Lesley
+fancied that she heard the click of the key in the lock. She tried to
+carry matters with a high hand.
+
+"I am afraid I cannot find my music here," she said, "so please do not
+shut the door, Mr. Trent. There is little enough light as it is."
+
+She walked forward, but he had planted himself squarely between her and
+the door. She could not pass.
+
+"Mr. Trent----" she began.
+
+"Wait! don't speak," he said, in a voice so hoarse and stifled that she
+could hardly recognize it as his own. "I must have a word with
+you--forgive me--I won't detain you long----"
+
+"Excuse me, I must go back to the drawing-room."
+
+Lesley spoke civilly but coldly, though some sort of fear of him passed
+shiveringly through her frame.
+
+"You shall not go yet: you shall listen to what I have to say."
+
+"Mr. Trent!"
+
+"Yes, it is all very well to exclaim! You know what I mean, and what I
+want. I had not time to speak the other night; but I will speak now.
+Lesley, I love you!----"
+
+"Mr. Trent, Ethel is upstairs. Have you forgotten her? Let me pass."
+
+"I have not forgotten her: I remember her only too well. She is the
+burden, the incubus of my life. Oh, I know all that you can tell me
+about her: I know her beauty, her gifts, her virtues; but all that does
+not charm me. You, you and no other, are the woman that I love; and,
+beside you, Ethel is nothing to me at all."
+
+"You might at least remember your duty to her," said Lesley, with
+severity. "You have won her heart, and you are about to vow to make her
+happy. I cannot understand how you can be so false to her."
+
+"If I am false to her," said Oliver, pleadingly, "I am true to the
+dictates of my own heart. Hear me, Lesley--pity me! I have promised to
+marry a woman whom I do not love. I acknowledge it frankly. I shall
+never make her happy--strive as I may, her nature will never assimilate
+with mine. She will go through life a disappointed woman; while, if I
+set her free, she will find some man whom she loves and will be happy
+with him. You may as well confess that this is true. You may as well
+acknowledge that her nature is too light, too trivial to be rent asunder
+by any falsity of mine. Ethel will never break her heart; but you might
+break yours, Lesley--and I--I also--have a heart to break."
+
+Lesley smiled scornfully. "Yours will not break very easily," she said,
+"and I can answer for mine."
+
+"You are strong," he said, using the formula by which men know how to
+soften women's hearts, "stronger than I am. Be merciful, Lesley! I am
+very weak, I know; but weakness means suffering. Can you not pity me,
+when you think that my weakness and my suffering come from love of you?"
+
+"I am very sorry, Mr. Trent, but I really cannot help it. It is your own
+fault--not mine," said Lesley, a little hotly. "I never thought of such
+a thing."
+
+"No, you were as innocent and as good as you always are," he broke in,
+"and you did not know what you were doing when you led me on with those
+sweet looks and sweet words of yours. I can believe that. But you did
+the mischief, Lesley, without meaning it; and you must not refuse to
+make amends. You made me think you loved me."
+
+"Oh, no, no," said Lesley, her face aflame with outraged modesty. "I
+never made you think so! You were mistaken--that is all!"
+
+"You made me think you loved me," Oliver repeated, doggedly, "and you
+owe me amends. To say the very least, you have given me great pain: you
+have made me the most miserable of men, and wrecked all chance of
+happiness between Ethel and myself--have you no heart that you can
+refuse to repair a little of the harm that you have done? You are a
+cruel woman--I could almost say a wicked woman: hard, false, and
+cowardly; and I wish my words could blight your life as your coquetry
+has blighted mine."
+
+Lesley trembled. No woman could listen to such words unmoved, when her
+armor of incredulity fell from her as Lesley's armor had fallen.
+Hitherto she had felt a scornful disbelief in the reality of Oliver's
+love for her. But now that disbelief had gone. There was a ring of
+passionate feeling in Oliver's tones which could not be simulated. The
+coldness, the artificiality of the man had disappeared: his passion for
+Lesley had taken possession of him, and stirred his nature to the very
+depths.
+
+"Listen, Lesley," he said, in a low, strained voice, which shook and
+vibrated with the intensity of his emotion, "don't let me feel this.
+Don't let me feel that you have merely played with me, and are ready to
+cast me off like an old shoe when you are tired. Other women do that
+sort of thing, but not you, my darling!--not you--don't let me think it
+of you. Forgive me the harsh things I said, and help me--help me--to
+forget them."
+
+He had grasped the back of a chair with both hands, and was kneeling
+with one knee on the seat. He now stretched out his hands to her, and
+came forward as if to take her in his arms. But Lesley drew back.
+
+"I am very sorry," she said, "but I cannot help it. I did not mean to be
+unkind."
+
+"If you are really sorry for me," he said, still in the deep-shaken
+voice which moved her to so uneasy a sense of pain and wrong-doing, "you
+will do all you can for me. You will help me to begin a new life. I love
+you so much that I am sure I could teach you to love me. I am certain of
+it, Lesley--dearest--let me try!"
+
+Did she falter for a moment? There flashed over her the remembrance of
+Maurice's anger, of his continued absence, of the probability that he
+would never come back to her; and the dream of a tender love that could
+envelop the rest of her lonely life assailed her like a temptation. She
+hesitated, and in that moment's pause Oliver drew nearer to her side.
+
+"Kiss me, Lesley!" he whispered, and his head bent over hers, his lips
+almost touched her own.
+
+Then came the reaction--the awakening.
+
+"Oh, no, no! Do not touch me. Do not come near me. I do not love you.
+And if I did"--said Lesley, almost violently--"if I loved you more than
+all the world, do you think that I would betray Ethel, my friend? that I
+would be so false to her--and to myself?"
+
+"Then you do love me?" he murmured, undisturbed by her vehemence, which
+he did not think boded ill for his chances, after all.
+
+"No, I do not."
+
+"You are mistaken. Kiss me once, Lesley, and you will know. You will
+feel your love then."
+
+"You insult me, Mr. Trent. Love you? Come one step nearer and I shall
+hate you. Oh!" she said, recoiling, as a gleam from the lamp revealed to
+her the wild expression in his eyes, the tension of his white lips and
+nostrils, the strange transformation in those usually impassive features
+which revealed the brutal nature below the polished surface of the man,
+"I hate you now!"
+
+She was close to the wall, and her head came in sudden contact with the
+old-fashioned bell-rope. She seized it firmly.
+
+"Open the door," she said, "or I shall ring this bell and send for my
+father. He will know what to do."
+
+Oliver gazed at her for a minute or two, then, with a smothered oath
+upon his lips, he turned slowly to the door and opened it. Before
+leaving the room, however, he said, in a voice half-stifled by impotent
+passion--
+
+"Is this really your last word?"
+
+"The last I shall ever speak to you," said Lesley, resolutely.
+
+Then he went out, seizing his hat as he passed through the hall and made
+his way into the street. He did not notice, as he retired, that a
+woman's figure was only half-concealed behind the curtains that screened
+a door in the study, and that his interview with Lesley must therefore
+have had an unseen auditor. He forgot that Ethel and Rosalind waited for
+him above. He was mad with rage; deaf to all voices saving those of
+passion: blind to all sights save the visions that floated maddeningly
+before his eyes.
+
+Mad, blind, deaf to reason as he was, he was obliged to come back to
+earth and its realities before very long. For he was stopped in the
+streets by rough hands: a hoarse, passionate voice uttered threats and
+curses in his ear; and he found himself face to face with his
+long-vanished and half-forgotten brother, Francis Trent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+BROTHERS.
+
+
+"What do you want with me?" said Oliver trying to shake off the rude
+grasp.
+
+"I want you--you," gasped the man. He was evidently much excited, and
+his breath came in hard, quick pants. "Have you forgotten your own
+brother?"
+
+The two paused for an instant under a gas lamp. Oliver looked into
+Francis Trent's drawn, livid face--into the wild, bloodshot eyes, and
+for an instant recoiled. It struck him that the face was that of a
+madman. But it was, nevertheless, the face of his brother, and after
+that momentary pause he recovered himself and laughed slightly.
+
+"Forgotten you? I'm not very likely to forget you, my boy. Well, what do
+you want?"
+
+"I want that two thousand pounds."
+
+His hand still clutched Oliver's arm, and the grasp was becoming
+unpleasant.
+
+"Can you not take your hand off my arm?" said the younger man, coolly.
+"I'm not going to run away. Apropos, what have you been doing with
+yourself all these weeks! I thought you had given us the slip
+altogether."
+
+"I want my money," said Francis, doggedly.
+
+Oliver looked at him curiously. What did this persistence mean? What
+money was he thinking about?
+
+"Your money?" he repeated.
+
+"Yes, my money--the money you ought to have given me by this time--where
+is it?"
+
+"You mean the sum I promised you on my wedding-day?"
+
+Francis nodded, with a rather confused look upon his face.
+
+"My wedding-day has not occurred yet," said Oliver, lightly. "Upon my
+word, I doubt whether it ever will occur. Don't alarm yourself, Francis.
+I shall get the money for you before long--I've not forgotten it."
+
+"I want it now. Two thousand pounds," said Francis, thickly.
+
+"Are you drunk, man! Do you think I carry two thousand pounds about with
+me in my pocket? Go home--I'll see you again when you are sober."
+
+"I have touched nothing but water to-day," said his brother. "I swear
+it--so help me, God! I know what I'm about. And I know _you_. I know you
+for the vilest cheat and trickster that ever walked the earth. I've been
+in hospital--I don't know how long. I know that you would cheat me if
+you could. You were to pay me within six months--and it's over six
+months now."
+
+"I tell you I'm not married. I was to pay you on my wedding-day."
+
+"You were to pay me within six months. Have you opened a bank account
+for me and paid in the two thousand pounds?"
+
+"Are you mad, Francis?"
+
+"Mad?--I may well be mad after all you have made me suffer. I tell you I
+want money--money--money--I want two thousand pounds."
+
+His voice rose almost to a shriek, and the sound reverberated along the
+quiet street with startling effect. Oliver shrank into himself a little,
+and gave a hurried glance around him. They were still in Upper Woburn
+Place, and he was afraid that the noise should excite remark. It was
+plain to him that Francis was either drunk or out of his mind, and he
+therefore concentrated his attention on getting quietly away from him,
+or leading him to some more secluded spot.
+
+"Look here," he said, in a conciliatory tone. "You shall have your money
+if you'll be quiet and come away with me. Come to my house and I'll
+explain things to you. You've not seen Rosalind for a long time, have
+you? Come in and talk things over."
+
+"Oh, you want to trap me, do you?" said Francis, sullenly. "No, I'll not
+come to your house. Go in and fetch the money out to me, or I'll make
+you repent it."
+
+Oliver was almost at his wit's end.
+
+"All right," he said, soothingly. "I will fetch it. I can give you a
+cheque, you know. But don't you want a little loose change to go on
+with? Take these."
+
+He held out a handful of gold and silver. Francis looked at it with
+covetous eyes for a minute or two, then thrust his brother's hand aside
+with a jerk which almost sent the coins into the road.
+
+"I want justice, not charity," he said. "I want the money you promised
+me."
+
+Oliver shrugged his shoulders, and slowly returned the money to his
+pocket.
+
+"I am more than ever convinced that you are either mad or drunk, my
+boy," he said. "You should never refuse ten pounds when you can get it,
+and it's not a thing that I should fancy you have often done before.
+However, as you choose."
+
+He walked onward, and Francis walked, heavily and unsteadily, at his
+side, muttering to himself as he went. Oliver glanced curiously at him
+from time to time.
+
+"I wonder what _has_ happened to him," he said to himself. "It's not
+safe to question, but I _should_ like to know. Is it drink? or is it
+brain disease? One thing or the other it must be. He does not look as if
+he would live to spend the two thousand pounds--if ever he gets it. I
+wonder if I could contrive to stave off the payment----"
+
+And then he fell into a gloomy calculation of ways and means,
+possibilities and chances, which lasted until the house in Russell
+Square was reached. Here the brothers paused, and Oliver looked keenly
+into his companion's face, noting that a somewhat remarkable change had
+passed over it. Instead of being flushed and swollen, as if from
+drinking, it had become very pale. His eyes seemed on the point of
+closing, and he wavered unsteadily in his walk. Oliver had to put out
+his hand to save him from falling, and to help him to the steps, where
+he collapsed into a sitting posture, with his head against the railings.
+He seemed to be stupefied, if not asleep.
+
+"Dead drunk," said Oliver to himself. "The danger's over for to-night,
+at any rate. Now, what shall I do with him? I can't get him into the
+house and lock him into a room--that would make talk. I think I had
+better leave him to the tender mercies of the next policeman; if he gets
+run in for being drunk and incapable, so much the better for me."
+
+He took out his latch key and let himself into the house, closing the
+door softly behind him, so as not to awaken the half-sleeping wretch
+upon the steps. Then he ascended the stairs--still softly, as if he
+thought that he was not yet out of danger of awaking him--and locked
+himself into his own room. Then he drew a long breath, and stood
+motionless for a moment, with bent brows and downcast eyes. "There will
+be no end to this," he said to himself, "until Francis is shipped off to
+America or landed safely in a madhouse. One seems to me about as likely
+as another. I wonder whether he was drunk to-night, or insane? Drunk, I
+think: insanity"--with a sinister smile--"would be too great a stroke of
+luck for me!"
+
+But it was perfectly true, as Francis had said, that no drop of
+intoxicating liquor had passed his lips that day. He was suffering from
+brain disease, as Oliver had half suspected, although not to such an
+extent that he could actually be called insane. A certain form of mania
+was gradually taking possession of his mind. He was convinced that he
+had been robbed by his brother of much that was his due; and that Oliver
+was even now withholding money that was his. This fancy had its
+foundation in fact, for Oliver had wronged him more than once, and was
+ready to wrong him again should a suitable opportunity occur; but the
+notion that at present occupied his mind, respecting the payment of the
+two thousand pounds, was largely a figment of his disordered brain.
+Oliver had certainly questioned within himself whether he should be
+called upon to pay this sum, and as Francis seemed to have completely
+disappeared, he began to think that he might evade his promise to do so;
+but he had not as yet sought to free himself from the necessity of
+paying it. Francis' own words and demeanor suggested this idea for the
+first time to his mind. Was it possible, he asked himself, to prove that
+Francis was insane--clap him into a lunatic asylum--get rid of him
+forever without hush-money? True, there was his wife, Mary, to be
+silenced; but she had no influence and no friends. "Power is always in
+the hands of those who have most money," Oliver said to himself, as he
+reviewed the situation, after leaving Francis on the door step. "I have
+more money than Francis, certainly: I ought to be able to control his
+fate a little--and my own."
+
+But Oliver, astute as he thought himself, was occasionally mistaken in
+his conclusions. Francis Trent, as we have said, was not intoxicated;
+and when he had dozed quietly for a few moments on the door-step, he
+came somewhat to himself, as he usually did after these fits of frenzy.
+He felt dazed and bewildered, but he was no longer furious. He could not
+remember very well what he had said to Oliver, or what Oliver had said
+to him. But he knew where he was, and that in this region--between
+Russell Square and St. Pancras Church--he should find his truest friends
+and perhaps also his bitterest foes.
+
+He roused himself, stretched his cramped limbs, and turned back to
+wander towards Upper Woburn Place, hardly knowing, however, why he bent
+his steps in that direction. Instinct, not memory or reflection, guided
+him, and when he halted, he leaned against the railings of the house
+from which he had seen Oliver come forth, without realizing for one
+moment that it was the house in which his faithful and half-forgotten
+Mary was to be found.
+
+The door opened, as he waited, and some of the guests came out. Two or
+three carriages drove up: there was a call for a hansom, a whistle, and
+an answering shout. Francis Trent watched the proceedings with a sort of
+stupid attention. They reminded him of the previous night when he had
+seen Ethel Kenyon coming out of the theatre after her farewell
+performance. But on that occasion he had passed unnoticed and
+unrecognized. This was not now to be the case.
+
+Suddenly a woman on the threshold of Mr. Brooke's house caught sight of
+the weary, shabby figure leaning against the railings. Francis heard a
+little gasp, a little cry, and felt a hand upon his own. "Francis! is it
+you? have you really come back?" It was Mary Kingston who looked him in
+the face.
+
+He returned the gaze with lack-lustre, unseeing eyes. When the fever-fit
+of rage left him, he was still subject to odd lapses of memory. One of
+these had assailed him now. He did not recognize his wife in the very
+least.
+
+"I--I don't know you," he said. "Go away, woman. I'm not doing any
+harm."
+
+There is nothing so piteous as the absence of recognition of the
+patient's best friends in cases of brain-disease. Francis Trent's
+condition sent a stab of pain to Mary's innermost heart. She forgot
+where she was--she forgot her duties as doorkeeper; she remembered only
+that she loved this man, and that he had forgotten her. She cried
+aloud----
+
+"Francis, I am your wife."
+
+"I have no wife," said the distraught man, looking listlessly beyond
+her. "I am here to see Oliver--he is to give me some money."
+
+"Don't you remember Mary, Francis? Look at me--look at me."
+
+"Mary?" he said, doubtfully. "Oh, yes, I remember Mary. But you are not
+Mary, are you?"
+
+"Yes, indeed I am. Where have you been all this time? Oh, my poor dear,
+you can't tell me! You are ill, Francis. Let me take care of you. Can
+you tell me where you live?"
+
+But he could not reply. His head drooped upon his breast: he looked as
+if he neither saw nor heard. What was she to do?
+
+Of one thing Mary was certain. Now that she had found her husband, she
+was not going to lose sight of him again.
+
+She would go with him whithersoever he went, unless he repelled her by
+force. She gave one regretful thought to her young mistress, and to a
+certain project which she had determined to put into effect that night,
+and then she thought of the Brookes no more. She must leave them, and
+follow her husband's fortunes. There was no other way for her.
+
+Fortunately she had money in her pocket. She had also thrown a shawl
+across her arm before she came to the door. The shawl belonged to Miss
+Brooke, and had been offered to one of the guests as a loan; but Mary
+had forgotten all about the guests, and appropriated the shawl, with the
+cool resolution which characterized her in cases of emergency.
+Necessity--especially the necessity entailed by love--knows no law. At
+that moment she knew no law but that of her repressed and stunted, but
+always abiding, affection for the husband who had burdened her life for
+many weary years with toil and anxiety and care. For him she would do
+anything--throw up all friendships, sacrifice her future, her character,
+and, if need be, her life.
+
+She wrapped the shawl round her head, and put her arm through her
+husband's, without once looking back.
+
+"Come, Francis," she said, quietly, "show me where you live now. We will
+go home."
+
+She led him unresistingly away. For a little while he walked as if in a
+dream; but by and by his movements became more assured, and he turned so
+decidedly in one direction that she saw he knew his way and was
+pursuing it. She said nothing, but kept close to his side, with her hand
+resting lightly on his arm. She was not mistaken in her expectations.
+Francis went straight to the wretched lodging in which he had slept for
+the past few nights, and Mary at once assumed the management of his
+affairs.
+
+She was rewarded--as she thought, poor soul!--for her efforts. When she
+had lighted a fire and a candle, and prepared some sort of frugal meal
+for the man she loved, he lifted up his face and looked at her with a
+gleam of returning memory and intelligence in his haggard eyes.
+
+"Mary," he said, in a bewildered tone, "Mary--my wife? How did you come
+here, Mary? How did you find me out?"
+
+"Are you glad to see me, dear?" said Mary.
+
+"Yes--yes, I am. Everything will be right now. You'll manage things for
+me."
+
+It was an acknowledgment of the power of her affection which more than
+recompensed her for the trouble of the last few months.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+MRS. TRENT'S STORY.
+
+
+"I never heard of such an extraordinary thing," said Lesley.
+
+"Then that shows how little you know of the world," said Doctor Sophy,
+amicably. "I've heard of a hundred cases of the kind."
+
+"Well, there are some elements of oddity in this case," remarked Caspar
+Brooke, striking in with unexpected readiness to defend his daughter's
+views. "Kingston was not a giddy young girl, who would go off with any
+man who made love to her. Indeed, I can't quite fancy any man making
+love to her at all. She was remarkably plain, poor woman."
+
+"She had beautiful eyes," said Lesley. "And she was so nice and quiet
+and kind. And I really thought that she was--fond of me." She paused
+before she uttered the last three words, being a little afraid that they
+would be thought sentimental. And indeed Miss Brooke did give a
+contemptuous snort, but Caspar smiled kindly, and patted his daughter's
+hand.
+
+"Don't take it to heart," he said. "'Fondness' is a very indeterminate
+term, and one that you must not scrutinize too closely. This little
+black beast, for instance"--caressing, as he spoke, the head of the
+ebony-hued cat which sat upon the arm of his chair--"which I picked up
+half-starving in the street when it was a kitten, is fond of me because
+I feed it: but suppose that I were too poor to give it milk and
+chicken-bones, do you think it would retain any affection for me? A
+sublimated cupboard-love is all that we can expect now-a-days from
+cats--and servants."
+
+"When you can write as you do about love," said Lesley, who was coming
+to know her father well enough to tease him now and then, "I wonder that
+you dare venture to express yourself in this cold-blooded way in our
+hearing!"
+
+"Ah, but, my dear, I was not talking about love," said Caspar, lightly.
+"I was talking about 'fondness,' which is a very different matter. You
+did not say that your maid, Kingston, _loved_ you--I suppose she was
+hardly likely to go that length--you said that she was fond of you. Very
+probably. But fondness has its limits."
+
+Lesley smiled in reply, and did not utter the thought that occurred to
+her. What she really believed was that Kingston was not only "fond" of
+her, after the instinctive fashion of a dumb creature that one feeds,
+but loved her, as one woman loves another. Although her democratic
+feelings came to her through her father's teaching, or by inheritance
+from him, she did not quite like to say this to him: he might think it
+foolish to believe that a servant whom she had not known for very many
+weeks actually loved her; and yet she had the conviction that Kingston's
+attachment was deeper and more sincere than that of many a woman who
+claimed to be her friend. And she was both grieved and puzzled by
+Kingston's disappearance.
+
+For this was on Monday morning, and the woman had not come back to Mr.
+Brooke's. Great had been the astonishment of every one in the house when
+it was found that the quiet, well-spoken, well-behaved Mary Kingston,
+who had hitherto proved herself so trustworthy and so conscientious, had
+gone away--disappeared utterly and entirely, without leaving a word of
+explanation behind. She had last been seen on the pavement, shortly
+before midnight, assisting a lady to get into a hansom. Nobody had seen
+her re-enter the house. It seemed as if she had been spirited away. She
+had gone without a bonnet or shawl, in her plain black dress and white
+cap and apron, as if she meant to return in a minute or two, and she had
+not appeared again. The shawl that she had taken with her was not
+missed, for Miss Brooke continued for some time under the impression
+that it had been lent to one of the visitors.
+
+The conversation recorded above took place at Mr. Brooke's
+luncheon-table. It was not often that he was present at this meal, but
+on this occasion he had joined his sister and daughter, and questioned
+them with considerable interest about Kingston. After lunch, he put his
+hand gently on Lesley's arm, just as she was leaving the dining-room,
+and said, in a tone where sympathy was veiled with banter--
+
+"Never mind, my dear. We will get you another maid, who will be _less_
+fond of you, and then perhaps she will stay."
+
+"I don't want another maid, thank you, papa. And, indeed, I do think
+Kingston was fond of me," said Lesley earnestly.
+
+Mr. Brooke shrugged his shoulders. "Verily," he said, "the credulity of
+some women----"
+
+"But it isn't credulity," said Lesley, with something between a smile
+and a sigh, "it is faith. And I can't altogether disbelieve in poor
+Kingston--even now."
+
+Mr. Brooke shook his head, but made no rejoinder. Privately he thought
+Lesley foolishly mistaken, but believed that time would do its usual
+office in correcting the mistakes of the young.
+
+His own incredulity received a considerable shock somewhat later in the
+day. About four o'clock a knock came to his study, and the knock was
+followed by the appearance of the sour-visaged Sarah.
+
+"If you please, sir, there's that woman herself wants to see you."
+
+"What woman, Sarah?" said Caspar, carelessly. He was writing and
+smoking, and did not look up from his work.
+
+"The woman, Kingston, that ran away," said Sarah, indignantly. "I nearly
+shut the door in her face, sir, I did."
+
+"That wouldn't have been legal," said Mr. Brooke. "Why doesn't she see
+Miss Brooke or Miss Lesley? I am busy."
+
+"I expect she thinks she can get round you more easy," said Sarah, who
+was a very old servant, and occasionally took liberties with her master
+and mistress.
+
+"She won't do that, Sarah," said Caspar, laughing a little in spite of
+himself. "Show her in."
+
+He laid down his pen and his pipe with a rather weary air. Really, he
+was becoming involved in no end of domestic worries, and with few
+compensations for his trouble! Such was his silent thought. Lesley
+would, shortly leave him: Alice had refused to come back to his house.
+Well, it would be but for a short time. He had almost made up his mind
+that when Lesley was gone he would give up a house altogether, establish
+his sister in a flat, throw journalism to the winds, and go abroad. The
+life that he had led so long, the life of London offices and streets, of
+the study and the committee-room, had become distasteful to him. As he
+thrust away from him the manuscript at which he had been busy, his lips
+were, half unconsciously, murmuring a very well-worn quotation--
+
+    "For I will see before I die,
+    The palms and temples of the South."
+
+And from this passing day-dream he was roused by the entrance of a woman
+whom he knew only as his daughter's maid.
+
+He was struck at once by some indefinable change that had passed over
+her since he had seen her last. He had noticed her, as he noticed
+everybody that came within his ken; and he had remarked the mechanical
+precision of her demeanor, the dull sadness of her lifeless eyes. There
+was a light in her face now, a tremulous quiver of her lips, a slight
+color in her thin cheeks. She looked like a creature who could feel and
+think: not an automaton, worked by ingenious machinery.
+
+He noted the change, but did not estimate it at its true worth. He
+thought she was simply excited by the consciousness of her misdemeanor,
+and by the prospect of an interview with him. He put on his most
+magisterial manner as he spoke to her.
+
+"Well, Kingston," he said, "I hope you have come to explain the cause of
+the great inconvenience you have brought upon Miss Brooke and my
+daughter."
+
+"That is exactly what I have come to do, sir," said Kingston, looking
+him full in the face, and speaking in clear, decided tones, such as he
+had never heard from her before. She generally spoke in a muffled sort
+of way, as though she did not care to exert herself--as though she did
+not want her true voice to be heard.
+
+"Sit down," said Mr. Brooke, more kindly. He had the true gentleman's
+instinct; he could not bear to see a woman stand while he was seated,
+although she was only his daughter's maid, and--presumably--a culprit
+awaiting condemnation. "Now tell me all about it."
+
+"Thank you, sir, I'd prefer to stand," said Kingston, quietly. "At any
+rate, until I've told you one or two things about myself. To begin
+with: my name was Kingston before my marriage, but it's not Kingston
+now."
+
+"Do you mean that you have got married since Saturday?" asked Caspar,
+quietly.
+
+The woman uttered a short, gasping sort of laugh. "Since Saturday? Oh,
+no, sir. I've been married for the last six years, or more. I am Francis
+Trent's wife--Francis the brother of Mr. Oliver Trent, who was here last
+Saturday night."
+
+And then, overcome with her confession, or with the look of mute
+astonishment--which he could not repress--on Caspar Brooke's
+countenance, she dropped into the chair that he had offered her, covered
+her face with her hands and sobbed aloud. It took her hearer some
+seconds before he could adjust his mind to this new revelation.
+
+"Do you mean," he said at last, "that brother of Mr. Trent's"--he had
+nearly said "of Mrs. Romaine's"--"who--who----" He paused, feeling
+unable to put into words the question that was in his mind.
+
+"That got into trouble some years ago, you mean," said Mrs. Trent,
+lifting her face from her hands, and trying to control her trembling
+voice. "Yes, I mean him. I know all about the story. He got into
+trouble, and he's gone from bad to worse ever since. I've done my best
+for him, but it doesn't seem as if I could do much more now."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"He's been ill--I think he's had an accident--but I don't rightly know
+what's been the matter with him. Mr. Brooke, sir, I hope you'll believe
+me in what I say. When I came here first I didn't know that you were
+friends with his sister and his brother, or I wouldn't have come near
+the place. And when I found it out I'd got fond of Miss Lesley, and
+thought it would be no harm to stay."
+
+"But what--what on earth--made you take a situation as ladies'-maid at
+all?" cried Caspar, pulling his beard in his perplexity, as he listened
+to her story.
+
+"I wanted to earn money. _He_ could not work--and I could not bear to
+see him want."
+
+"_Could_ not work? Was it not a matter of the will? He could have worked
+if he had wished to work," said Mr. Brooke, rather sternly. "That
+Francis Trent should let his wife go out as----"
+
+"Oh, well, it was work I was used to," said Francis Trent's wife,
+patiently. "I'd been in service when I was a girl, and knew something
+about it. And it was honest work. There's plenty of ways of earning
+money which are worse than being a servant in your house, and to Miss
+Lesley, too."
+
+Lesley's words came back to Caspar's mind. She had had "faith" in
+Kingston's attachment, and her faith seemed now to be justified. Women's
+instincts, as Caspar acknowledged to himself, are in some ways certainly
+juster than those of men.
+
+"Is he not strong? Is there no sort of work that he can do?" he
+demanded, with asperity. "If you had come to me at the beginning and
+told me who you were, I might have found something for him. It is not
+right that his wife should be waiting upon my daughter. Tell me what he
+can do."
+
+"I don't think he can do much now," was Mary Trent's answer. "He's very
+much broken down. I daresay you wouldn't know him if you saw him. I
+don't think he _could_ do a day's work, so there's all the more reason
+that I should work for both."
+
+She spoke truly enough as regarded the present; but, by a suppression of
+the truth which was almost heroic she concealed the fact that for many
+years Francis had been able but unwilling to work. Now, certainly, he
+was incapacitated, and she spoke as if he had been an invalid for years.
+Thus Caspar Brooke understood her, and his next words were uttered in a
+gentler tone.
+
+"I am very sorry that you should have been brought into these straits,
+Mrs. Trent. Will you give me your address, and let me think over the
+matter? Mrs. Romaine or Mr. Oliver Trent----"
+
+"I'd rather not have anything to do with them," said Mrs. Trent,
+quietly, but with an involuntary lifting of her head. "Mrs. Romaine
+knows I am his wife, but she won't speak to me or see me." Caspar moved
+uneasily in his chair. This account of Rosalind's behavior did not
+coincide with his own idea of her softness and gentleness. "And Oliver
+Trent is the man who has brought more misery on me than any other man in
+the world."
+
+"But if I promise--as I will do--not to give your address to Mrs.
+Romaine or Mr. Trent, will you not let me know where you live?" said
+Caspar, with the gentle intonation that had often won him his way in
+spite of greater obstacles than poor Mary Trent's obstinate will.
+
+She gave him her address, after a little hesitation. It was in a
+Whitechapel slum. Then, seeing in his face that he would have liked to
+ask more questions, she went on hurriedly--
+
+"But I have not come here to take up your time. I only wanted to explain
+to you why I left your house on Saturday--which I'm very sorry to have
+been obliged to do. And one other thing--but I'll tell you that
+afterwards."
+
+"Well? Why did you go on Saturday, Mrs. Trent?" said Mr. Brooke, more
+curious than he would have liked to allow. But she did not reply as
+directly to his question as he wanted her to do.
+
+"I was only a poor girl when Francis married me," she said, "but I loved
+him as true as any one could have loved, and I would have worked my
+fingers to the bone for him. And he was good to me, in his way. He got
+to depend upon me and trust to me; and I used to feel--especially when
+he'd had a little more than he ought to have--as if he was more of a
+child to me than a husband. It was to provide for him that I came here.
+And then--one day when I'd been here a little while--I went to his
+lodgings to give him some money I'd been saving up for him--and I found
+him gone--gone--without a word--without a message--disappeared, so to
+speak, and me left behind to be miserable."
+
+Caspar ejaculated "Scoundrel!" behind his hand, but Mrs. Trent heard and
+caught up the word.
+
+"No, you're wrong, sir, he was no scoundrel," she said calmly. "He'd met
+with an accident and been taken to an hospital. He was there for weeks
+and weeks, not able to give an account of himself, or, as far as I can
+make out, even to give his name. He came out last week, and made his
+way, by sort of instinct, to your house, where he knew I was living. I
+came out on the steps and saw him there--my husband that I'd given up
+for lost. I ran up to him--you'd have done the same in my place--and
+went with him without thinking of anybody else."
+
+"I see. But why did you not leave a word of explanation behind."
+
+"I daren't quit hold of him for a moment, sir. He was so dazed and
+stupid, he didn't even know me at the first. That was why I say it was
+instinct, not knowledge, that guided him to the place. If I had left him
+to speak to any one in the house, he might have gone off, and I never
+seen him again. That was why I felt obliged to go sir, and am very sorry
+for the inconvenience I know I must have caused."
+
+Caspar nodded gravely. "I see," he said. "Of course it _was_
+inconvenient, and we were anxious--there's no denying that. But I can
+see the matter from your point of view. Would you like to see Miss
+Lesley and explain it to her?"
+
+"I'd rather leave it in your hands, sir," said Mary Trent. "Because
+there's one thing more I've got to mention before I go. And Miss Lesley
+may not thank me for mentioning it, although I do it to save her--poor
+lamb--and to save you too, sir, from a great trouble and sorrow and
+disgrace that hangs over you all just now."
+
+Caspar flushed. "Disgrace?" he said, almost angrily.
+
+And Mrs. Trent looked at him full in the face and nodded gravely, as she
+answered--
+
+"Yes, sir, disgrace."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+"A FAIRLY GOOD REASON."
+
+
+Caspar Brooke's attitude stiffened. His features and limbs became
+suddenly rigid.
+
+"I must confess, Mrs. Trent," he said, "that I am unable to conceive the
+possibility of _disgrace_ hanging over me or mine."
+
+"That is because you are a man, and therefore blind to what goes on
+around you," said Mary Trent, with sudden bitterness; "and I am a woman,
+and can use my eyes and ears. There, I'd better tell you my tale at
+once, and you can make what you like of it. Miss Lesley----"
+
+"If you have anything to say about Miss Lesley, it had better be said in
+her hearing," returned Caspar, in hot displeasure. He rose and laid his
+hand upon the bell. "I want no tales about her behind her back."
+
+"For mercy's sake, sir, stop," said the woman, eagerly. "It is only to
+spare her that I ask it! It isn't that she is to blame--no, no, I don't
+mean that; but she is in more danger than she knows."
+
+Caspar's hand fell from the bell rope. His face had turned a trifle
+pale, and his brows looked very stern.
+
+"Tell me exactly what you mean. I do not wish to listen to anything that
+Miss Lesley has not intended me to hear. I have perfect faith in her."
+
+"Faith in her! She's one of the sweetest and truest-hearted ladies I
+ever came across," said Mary Trent, indignantly; "but she may be on the
+brink of a precipice without knowing it. Sir, what I mean is this. Mr.
+Oliver Trent is in love with Miss Lesley, and is doing his best to get
+her to run off with him. Yes, I know what you want to say--that she
+would never do such a thing--but one cannot always say what a girl will
+do under pressure; and, believe me or not as you please, Oliver Trent is
+ready to throw over Miss Kenyon at any moment for the sake of your
+daughter, Mr. Brooke."
+
+"Do you know what you are saying?" thundered Caspar, now white to the
+lips. "Do you know what an aspersion you are casting on my daughter's
+character? Are you aware that Miss Kenyon's marriage with Mr. Trent is
+to take place to-morrow morning? Your remarks are perfectly
+unjustifiable--unless you are in ignorance of the facts of the case."
+
+"I know all, and yet I warn you," said Mrs. Trent, perfectly unmoved by
+this burst of anger. "I tell you what I have seen and heard for myself.
+And I know Oliver Trent only too well. It was Oliver Trent who betrayed
+my only sister, and brought her to a miserable death. She was a good
+girl until she met him. He ruined her, and he had no scruples. He will
+have more outward respect to Miss Lesley and Miss Kenyon, but he is no
+more scrupulous about using his power, when he has any, than he was
+then."
+
+"After making this accusation you must not be surprised if I ask what
+grounds you have for it," said Mr. Brooke.
+
+He was calm enough to all appearance now, but even Mrs. Trent, not very
+observant by nature, could tell that he was very much disturbed. For
+answer, she proceeded to describe the scene that had taken place in the
+very room in which they now stood, on the preceding Saturday night.
+
+"I saw him follow Miss Lesley into this room," she explained. "And I'd
+seen enough to make me fearful of what he was going to do or say. You
+know there are folding-doors between this room and the next--screened by
+curtains. The doors had been partly opened, and I slipped into the space
+between them. I was covered by the curtain, and I could not hear all
+that was said, because I had sounds from the other room in my ears as
+well; but I heard a great deal, and I made up my mind to tell you there
+and then. If I had not seen my husband that night you would have heard
+my story before you slept."
+
+Caspar Brooke's next question took her by surprise. He swung round on
+one heel, so that his back was almost turned to her, and flung the words
+over his shoulder with savage bitterness.
+
+"What business had you to listen to my daughter's conversation with her
+friends?"
+
+This was a distinctly ungrateful speech, and Mrs. Trent felt it so. But
+she replied, quietly--
+
+"Miss Lesley's been kinder to me than any one I ever knew. And I had
+suffered a good deal from Oliver Trent's wicked falseness. He is my
+brother-in-law, as the law puts it, and I don't want to have any quarrel
+with him: but he shall do no more harm than I can help."
+
+By the time she had finished her speech Caspar had recovered himself a
+little.
+
+"You are quite right," he said, "and you have done me a service for
+which I thank you. I don't for a moment suppose that my daughter is not
+capable of taking care of herself. But other people are interested
+beside Lesley. Miss Kenyon's brother is one of my closest friends, and I
+should be very treacherous if I allowed her to marry this man, Oliver
+Trent, after all that I have heard about him to-night--if it be true. I
+don't want to throw doubt on your testimony, Mrs. Trent, but I suppose I
+must have some further proof."
+
+"Miss Lesley could tell you----"
+
+"I shall not ask Miss Lesley, unless I am obliged. Did you not yourself
+beg me to spare her? This other story of his heartless conduct to your
+sister is quite enough to damn him in every right-minded woman's eyes. I
+shall speak to him myself--I will have the truth from his own lips if I
+have to wring it out by main force," said Caspar speaking more to
+himself than to Mary Trent, and quite unaware how truculent an
+appearance he presented at that moment to that quiet woman's eyes.
+
+She smiled stealthily to herself. She had a great faith in Caspar
+Brooke's powers for good or evil. To have him upon her side made her
+support with equanimity the thought that she and Francis might suffer if
+Oliver did not marry a rich wife. _He_ would see that they did not want.
+And she should behold the darling wish of her heart gratified at last.
+For had she not ardently desired, ever since the day of Alice's betrayal
+and Alice's death, to see that false betrayer punished? Caspar Brooke
+would punish him, and she should be the instrument through which his
+punishment had come about.
+
+"I should like to thrash the scoundrel within an inch of his life," said
+Mr. Brooke.
+
+"There is very little time before the wedding, if you mean to do
+anything before then," said Mrs. Trent, softly.
+
+Caspar started. "Yes, that is true. I must see him to-night. H'm"--he
+stopped short, oppressed by the difficulties of the situation. Had he
+not better speak to Maurice Kenyon at once? But, as he recollected,
+Maurice had gone out of town, and would not be back until half an hour
+or so before the hour fixed for his sister's wedding. The ceremony was
+to be performed at an unusually early hour--ten o'clock in the
+morning--for divers reasons: one being that Ethel wanted to begin her
+journey to Paris in very good time. She had never been anxious for a
+fashionable wedding, and had decided to have no formal wedding
+breakfast, and there was no reason for delaying the proceedings until a
+later hour. But, as Mr. Brooke reflected, unless he went to Ethel Kenyon
+herself there was little time in which to take action. Indeed, it seemed
+to him for a moment almost better to let the past sink into oblivion,
+and to hope that Oliver would be kind and faithful to the beautiful and
+gifted girl who was, apparently, the choice of his heart.
+
+But it was not to Mrs. Trent's interest that this mood should last.
+"Poor Miss Kenyon!" she said, in quietly regretful tones. "I'm sorry for
+her, poor young lady. No mother or father to look after her, and no
+friend even who dares to tell her the truth!"
+
+The words stung Caspar. He thought of his own daughter Lesley, placed in
+Ethel's position, and he felt that he could not let Ethel go unwarned.
+And yet--could he believe Oliver Trent to be such a scoundrel on the
+mere strength of this woman's story! It might be all a baseless slander,
+fabricated for the sake of obtaining money. And there was so little time
+before poor Ethel's wedding!
+
+While he hesitated, Mary Trent saw her opportunity, and seized it.
+
+"If you want to see Oliver Trent," she said, "he is coming to our
+lodgings this very night. I have been to Mrs. Romaine's house to ask him
+to come to my husband who wants a few words with him. If you'll
+undertake to come there, I'll let you see what sort of a man Mr. Oliver
+Trent is, and then you can judge for yourself whether or no he is a fit
+husband for Miss Kenyon, or a fit lover for Miss Lesley Brooke."
+
+Caspar raised his hand hastily as if to entreat silence. "Tell me where
+you live," he said shortly, "and the hour when he will be there."
+
+"Half-past nine o'clock this evening, sir. The place--oh, you know the
+place well enough: it is in Whitechapel."
+
+She gave him the address. He cast a keen, sharp glance at her face as he
+took it down. "Not a pleasant neighborhood," he said gravely. "May I ask
+why you have taken a room in that locality?"
+
+She shook her head. "I did not take it," she said. "My husband took it
+before I found him, and I was obliged to stay. Francis is ill--I cannot
+get him away."
+
+"Can I do anything to help----" Caspar was beginning but she interrupted
+him with almost surprising vehemence.
+
+"Oh, no, no. I would not take anything from you. I did not come for
+that. I came to see if I could save Miss Lesley and Miss Kenyon from
+misery, not to beg--either for myself or him."
+
+The earnestness of her tone took from Mr. Brooke a certain uneasy
+suspicion which had begun to steal over him: a suspicion that she was
+using him as a tool for her own ends, that her real motives had been
+concealed from him. Even when she had gone--and she went without making
+any attempt to see Lesley or Miss Brooke--he could not rid himself
+altogether of this suggestion; for with her sad voice no longer echoing
+in his ears, with her deep-set eyes looking no longer into his face, he
+found it easier to doubt and to suspect than to place implicit faith in
+the story that she had told him.
+
+Lesley had heard of Kingston's reappearance, and was very much surprised
+to find that she was not called upon to interview her runaway attendant.
+Still more was she surprised when at last she heard the front door shut,
+and learned from Sarah that the woman had gone without a word. So much
+amazed was she, that shortly before dinner she stole into her father's
+study and attempted to cross-examine him, though with small result.
+
+"Father, Sarah says that Kingston has been to see you."
+
+"Yes, she has," said Caspar, briefly. He was writing away as if for dear
+life, with his left hand grasping his beard, and his pipe lying unfilled
+upon the table--two signs of dire haste, as Lesley had by this time
+learned to know. She remained silent, therefore, feeling herself an
+intruder.
+
+"What do you want to know, my dear?" said her father at last, in a
+quiet, business-like tone. He went on writing all the time.
+
+"Is she coming back to us?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why did she go away?"
+
+"I cannot tell you just now. She had a--a--fairly good reason."
+
+"I thought she must have had that," said Lesley, brightening. "And did
+she come here to explain?"
+
+"Partly."
+
+"But why not to us?"
+
+Caspar laid down his pen suddenly, and laughed. "Oh, the insatiable
+curiosity of women! I thought you were wiser than most, Lesley, but you
+have all the characteristics of your sex. I can't satisfy your
+curiosity, to-day, but I will, if I can, in a short time. Will that do?"
+
+Lesley seemed rather hurt. "I don't think I asked questions out of mere
+curiosity," she said. "I always liked Kingston."
+
+"And she likes you, my dear--so far you were perfectly right," said her
+father, rising, and patting her on the arm. "To use your feminine
+parlance, she is quite as 'fond' of you as you can reasonably desire."
+
+"I don't like to hear so much about 'feminine' ways and
+characteristics," said Lesley, smiling, and recovering her spirits. "I
+always fancy somebody has vexed you when you talk in that cynical
+manner."
+
+"That remark is creditable to your penetration," said Mr. Brooke, in his
+accustomed tone of gentle raillery, "and, you cannot say that it is not
+a very harmless way of letting off steam."
+
+"Who has vexed you then?" said Lesley, looking keenly into his face. It
+was a bold question, but her father did not look displeased.
+
+"Suppose I said--you yourself?" he queried, with a certain real gravity
+which she was not slow to discover.
+
+The color rushed into her face. She thought of Maurice Kenyon, and the
+mistake that he had made. She had long been conscious of her father's
+disappointment, but had not expected him to speak of it. She made an
+effort to be equal to the situation.
+
+"If you are vexed with me, it would be kinder to tell me of it than to
+sneer at all womankind in general," she said, with spirit.
+
+"Right you are, my girl. Well--why have you refused Kenyon?"
+
+Her eyes drooped. "I would rather you did not ask me that, father."
+
+"Nonsense, Lesley. A plain answer to a plain question is easy to give.
+Are you in love with any one else?"
+
+"No, indeed," she answered, vehemently; "I am not----"
+
+And then, for some inexplicable reason, she stopped short.
+
+"'Not in love with any one' was what she was going to say," said Caspar
+to himself, as he watched with keen eyes the changes of color and
+expression in her face. "And she does not dare to say it after all. What
+does that mean?" But he did not say this aloud.
+
+"You don't care for Maurice, then?" he asked her.
+
+She drew herself away from him and colored hotly, but made no other
+reply.
+
+"My dear," said Caspar, half jestingly, half warningly, "you must let me
+remind you that silence is usually taken to mean consent."
+
+And even then she did not speak.
+
+"Really, of all incomprehensible creatures, women are the worst. Well,
+well! Tell me this, at any rate, Lesley: you have not given your heart
+to Oliver Trent?"
+
+"Father! how can you ask?"
+
+"Have you anything to complain of with respect to him? Has he always
+behaved to you with courtesy and consideration?"
+
+"I would rather not say," Lesley answered, bravely. "He--spoke as I did
+not like--once--or twice; but it is his wedding-day to-morrow, and I
+mean to forget it all."
+
+"Once or twice! When was the last time, child? On Saturday? Here in this
+room? Ah, I see the truth in your face. Never mind how I know it. I want
+to know nothing more. Now you can go: I am busy, and shall probably have
+to be out late to-night."
+
+With these words he led the girl gently out of the room, kissed her on
+the forehead before he shut the door, and then returned to his work. He
+did not dine with his sister and daughter, but sent a message of excuse.
+Later in the evening, Sarah reported to Miss Brooke that "Master had
+gone out, looking very much upset about something or other; and he'd
+taken his overcoat and his big stick, which showed, she supposed, that
+he was off to the slums he was so fond of." Sarah did not approve of
+slums.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+ETHEL KENYON'S WEDDING-DAY.
+
+
+The morning of Ethel Kenyon's wedding-day was as bright and sunny as any
+wedding day had need to be. The weather was unusually warm, and the
+trees were already showing the thin veil of green which is one of
+spring's first heralds in smoky London town. The window-boxes in the
+Square were gay with hyacinth and crocus-blossom. The flower-girls'
+baskets were brilliant with "market bunches" of wall-flowers and
+daffodils--these being the signs by which the dwellers in the streets
+know that the winter is over, that the time of the singing of birds has
+come, and that the voice of the turtle is heard in the land. The soft
+breezes blew a fragrance of violets and lilac-blossom from the gardens
+and the parks. London scarcely looked like itself, with the veil of
+smoke lifted away, and a fair blue sky, flecked with light silvery
+cloud, showing above the chimney-tops.
+
+Ethel was up at seven o'clock, busying herself with the last touches to
+her packing and the consideration of her toilet; for she was much too
+active-minded to care for the seclusion in which brides sometimes
+preserve themselves upon their wedding-mornings. Some people might have
+thought that it would not be a very festive day, for her brother was the
+only near relative who remained to her, and an ancient uncle and aunt
+who had been, as Ethel herself phrased it, "routed out" for the
+occasion, were not likely to add much to the gaiety of nations by their
+presence. Mrs. Durant, lately Ethel's companion, was to remain in the
+house as Maurice's housekeeper, and she had nominally the control of
+everything; but Ethel was still the veritable manager of the day's
+arrangements. She had insisted on having her own way in all respects,
+and Oliver was not the man to say her nay--just then.
+
+Mrs. Romaine had offered to stay the night with her, and help her to
+dress; but Ethel had smilingly refused the companionship of her future
+sister-in-law. "Thanks very much," she had said, in the light and airy
+way which took the sting out of words that might otherwise have hurt
+their hearer; "but I don't think there's anything in which I want help,
+and Lesley Brooke is going to act as my maid on the eventful morn
+itself."
+
+"Lesley Brooke?" said Mrs. Romaine. She could not altogether keep the
+astonishment out of her voice.
+
+"Yes, why not?" asked Ethel, with just so much defiance in her voice as
+to put Mrs. Romaine considerably on her guard. "Have you any objection?"
+
+"Dear Ethel, how can you ask such a thing? When you know how fond I am
+of Lesley."
+
+"Are you?" asked Miss Kenyon lightly. "Do you know I should never have
+thought it, somehow. _I_ am exceedingly fond of Lesley, and so"--with a
+little more color in her face than usual--"so is Oliver."
+
+Bravely as she spoke, there was something in the accent which told of
+effort and repression. Mrs. Romaine admired her for that little piece of
+acting more than she had ever admired her upon the stage. She was too
+anxious for her brother's prosperity to say a word to disturb Ethel's
+serenity, whether it was real or assumed.
+
+"I am so glad, dear," she said, sweetly. "Lesley is a dear girl, and
+thoroughly good and loving. I am quite sure you could not have a better
+friend, and she will be delighted to do anything she can for you."
+
+"I don't know about that," said Ethel, with a little pout. "I had a
+great deal of trouble to get her to promise to come. She made all sorts
+of excuses--one would have thought that she did not want to see me
+married at all."
+
+Which, Rosalind thought, might be very true. She had so strong a faith
+in the power of her brother's fascinations that she could not believe
+that he had actually "made love," as he had threatened, to Lesley Brooke
+without success.
+
+Ethel spoke truly when she said that she had had great difficulty in
+persuading Lesley to come. After what had passed between herself and
+Oliver, Lesley felt herself a traitress in Ethel's presence. It seemed
+to her at first impossible to talk to Ethel about her pretty wedding
+gifts, her trousseau and her wedding tour, or to listen while she
+swore fidelity to Oliver Trent, when she knew what she did know
+concerning the bridegroom's faith and honor. On the Sunday after the
+Brookes' evening party she had a very severe headache, and sent word to
+Ethel that she could not possibly come to her on the morrow. But Ethel
+immediately came over to see her, and poured forth questions,
+consolations, and laments in such profusion that Lesley, half blind and
+dazed, was fain to get rid of her by promising again that nothing should
+keep her away. And on Monday the headache had gone, and she had no
+excuse. It was not in Lesley's nature to simulate: she could not pretend
+that she had an illness when she was perfectly well. There was
+absolutely no reason that she could give either to the Kenyons or to
+Miss Brooke for not keeping her promise to sleep at Ethel's house on the
+Monday night, and be present at her wedding on Tuesday morning.
+
+So she wound herself up to make the best it. It seemed to her that no
+girl had ever been placed in so painful a position before. We, who have
+more experience of life than Lesley had, know better than that. Lesley's
+position was painful indeed, but it might in many ways have been worse.
+But she, ignorant of real life, more ignorant even than most girls,
+because she knew so few of the pictures of real life that are to be
+found in the best kind of novels, had nothing but her native instincts
+of truth and courage to fall back upon, together with the strong will
+and power of judgment that she inherited from her father. These
+qualities, however, stood her in good stead that day. "It is no use to
+be weak," she said to herself. "What good shall I do to Ethel if I give
+her cause to suspect Oliver Trent's truth to her? The only question
+is--ought I to tell her--to put her on her guard? Oh, I think not--I
+hope not. If he marries her, he cannot help loving her; and it would
+break her heart--now--if I told her that he was not faithful. I must be
+brave and go to her, and be as sympathetic as usual--take pleasure in
+her pleasure, and try to forget the past! but I wish she were going to
+marry a man that one could trust, like my father, or like--Maurice."
+
+She always called him Maurice when she thought about him now.
+
+It took all the strength that she possessed, however, to go through the
+ordeal of those hours with Ethel. She managed to keep away until nearly
+nine o'clock on Monday night, and then--just after her father had gone
+out--she received a peremptory little note from Ethel. "Why don't you
+come? You said you would come almost directly after dinner, and it is
+ever so late now. Oliver has just left me: he has business in the city,
+so I shall not see him again until to-morrow. Do come at once, or I
+shall begin to feel lonely."
+
+So Lesley went.
+
+She had to look at the wedding-cake, the wedding-gown, the simple little
+breakfast table. She sat up with Ethel until two in the morning, helping
+her to pack up her things, and listening to her praises of Oliver. That
+was the worst of it. Ethel _would_ talk of Oliver, _would_ descant on
+his perfections, and, above all, on his love for her. It was very
+natural talk on Ethel's part, but it was indescribably painful and
+humiliating to Lesley. Every moment of silence seemed to her like an
+implicit lie, and yet she could not bring herself to destroy the fine
+edifice of her friend's hopes, although she knew she could bring it down
+to the ground with a touch--a word.
+
+"And I am so glad there is not to be a fuss," Ethel said at last, when
+St. Pancras' clock was striking two: "for I always thought that a fussy
+wedding would be horrid. You see, Lesley, I have dressed up so often in
+white satin and lace, as a bride, or a girl in a ballroom, or some other
+character not my own, that I feel now as if there would be no reality
+for me in a wedding if I did not wear rather every-day clothes. In a
+bride's conventional dress, I should only fancy myself on the stage
+again."
+
+"You don't call the dress you are to wear to-morrow 'every-day clothes,'
+do you?" said Lesley, with a smiling glance towards the lovely gown in
+which Ethel had elected to be married, and then to wear during the first
+part of her wedding-journey.
+
+"I call it just a nice, pretty frock--nothing else," said Ethel,
+complacently, "one that I can pay calls in afterwards. But I could not
+refuse the lovely lace Maurice insisted on giving me: so I shall wear a
+veil instead of a bonnet--it is the only concession I make to
+conventionality."
+
+"I wish you would go to sleep, Ethel: you will look very pale under your
+veil to-morrow."
+
+"Well, I will try; but I don't feel like it. I hope Maurice will be back
+in good time. It was very tiresome of that patient of his to send for
+him in such a hurry."
+
+Then there was a silence, for both girls were growing sleepy; and it was
+with a yawn that Ethel at last inquired--
+
+"Lesley, why won't your father come to my wedding?"
+
+"Won't he?" said Lesley, with a little start.
+
+"Not he: I asked him again on Saturday, and he refused."
+
+"Perhaps," said Lesley, not very steadily, "it gives him pain to be
+present at a wedding: he speaks sometimes--as if he did not like to hear
+of them."
+
+"Oh, you poor, dear thing, I had forgotten all that trouble," said
+Ethel, giving her friend a hug which nearly strangled her; "but won't it
+come right in the end? Captain Duchesne says that she is so sweet, so
+charming--and your father is just delightful."
+
+"I think I can't talk about it," said Lesley, very quietly.
+
+"Then we won't. Did you know I had asked Captain Duchesne to the
+breakfast?"
+
+"Oh, Ethel, how heartless of you!" Lesley said, laughing in spite of
+herself. For Captain Duchesne's devotion was patent to all the world.
+
+At last they slept in each other's arms; but at seven o'clock Ethel was
+skimming about the room like a busy fairy, and it was Lesley, sleeping
+heavily after two or three wakeful nights, who had to be aroused by the
+little bride-elect, and Ethel laughed merrily to see her friend's start
+of surprise.
+
+"Ethel! Ethel! People should be waiting on you and here you are bringing
+me tea and bread and butter. This is too bad!"
+
+"It's a new departure," Ethel laughed. "There is no law against a
+bride's making herself useful as well as ornamental, is there? You will
+have to hurry up, all the same, Lesley: we are dreadfully late already.
+And it is the loveliest morning you ever saw--and the bouquets have just
+come from the florist--and everything is charming! I feel as if I could
+dance."
+
+But Ethel's mirth did not communicate itself to Lesley. There was
+nothing forced or unnatural in the young bride's happiness, but Lesley
+felt as if some cloud, some shadow, were in the air. Perhaps she had had
+bad dreams. She would not damp Ethel's spirits by a word of warning, but
+the old aunt from the country who came to inspect her niece as soon as
+she was dressed for church was not so considerate.
+
+"You are letting your spirits run away with you, my dear," she said,
+reprovingly. "Even on a wedding-day there should not be too much
+laughter. Tears before night, when there has been laughter before
+breakfast, remember the proverb says."
+
+"Oh, what a cheerful old lady!" said Ethel, brimming over with saucy
+laughter once more, as soon as the old dame's back was turned. "I don't
+care: I don't mean to be anything but a smiling bride--Oliver says that
+he hates tears at a wedding, and I don't mean him to see any."
+
+Maurice arrived just in time to dress and to escort his sister to the
+church. It was not he, but Mrs. Durant, the companion and house-keeper,
+who first received a word of warning that things were not altogether as
+they should be. Others beside Lesley were scenting calamity in the air.
+Mrs. Romaine was to form one of the wedding-party. She made her
+appearance at a quarter to ten, beautifully dressed, but white to the
+very lips, and with a haggard look about her eyes. As soon as she
+entered the house she drew Mrs. Durant aside.
+
+"Has Oliver been sleeping here?" she asked.
+
+"_Here!_" Mrs. Durant's indignant accent was sufficient answer.
+
+"He has not been home all night," Mrs. Romaine whispered.
+
+"Not at home!"
+
+"I suppose he is sleeping at his club and will come on from there," Mrs.
+Romaine answered, trying to reassure herself now that she had given the
+alarm to another. "Everything has been ordered--my bouquet came from
+him, at least from the florist's this morning--and I suppose we shall
+find him at the church. But I have been dreadfully anxious about
+him--quite foolishly, I daresay. Don't say anything to any body else."
+
+Mrs. Durant did not mean to say anything, but--without exactly stating
+facts--she had managed in about three minutes to convey her own and Mrs.
+Romaine's feeling of discomfort, to the whole party. The only exceptions
+were Maurice and Ethel, who, of course, heard nothing. A gloom fell upon
+the guests even while the carriages were standing at the door.
+
+Lesley and Mrs. Romaine happened to be placed in the same carriage,
+facing one another. They looked at one another in silence, but with a
+mutual understanding that they had never felt before. Each read her own
+fear in the other's face. But the fear came from different sources.
+Lesley was afraid that Oliver had felt himself unable to fulfil his
+engagement to Ethel, and had therefore severed his connection with her
+by flight: Rosalind feared that he had been taken ill or met with some
+untoward accident. Only in Rosalind's mind there was always another fear
+in the background where her brothers were concerned--that one or other
+of them would be bringing himself and her to disaster and disgrace. She
+had no faith in them, and not much faith in herself.
+
+There was no bridegroom in waiting at St. Pancras' Church. Mrs. Romaine
+held a hurried consultation with a friend, and a messenger was
+despatched to Oliver's club, where he sometimes slept, and also to the
+rooms which he called his "chambers" in the city. A little silence
+overspread the group of guests from the Kenyons' house. Other visitors,
+of whom there were not many, looked blithe enough; but gloom was plainly
+visible on the faces of the bride's friends. And a little whisper soon
+ran from group to group--"The bridegroom has not come."
+
+If only he would appear before the bride! There was yet time. The
+carriage containing Ethel and her brother had not started from the door.
+But the distance was short, and speedily traversed: still Oliver did not
+come. And there at last was the wedding-chariot with its white silk
+linings and the white favors on the horses--and there was the pretty,
+smiling bride herself upon her brother's arm. How sweet she looked as
+she mounted the broad grey steps, with cheeks a little rosy, eyes
+downcast, and her smiles half concealed by the costly lace in which she
+had veiled herself! There was never a prettier bride than Ethel Kenyon,
+although she had not attired herself in all the bridal finery that many
+women covet.
+
+Something in the expression of the faces that met her at the church door
+startled her a little when she first looked up: she changed color, and
+glanced wonderingly from one to another. Some one spoke in Maurice
+Kenyon's ear.
+
+"What is it?" she asked, quickly. "Is anything wrong?"
+
+"Oliver is late, dear, that is all. Just wait a minute--here by the
+door: he will be here presently."
+
+"Late!" re-echoed the girl, turning suddenly pale. "Oh Maurice, what do
+you mean? _We_ were late too--it is a quarter past ten."
+
+"Hush, my darling, he will be here directly, and more distressed than
+any of us, no doubt."
+
+"I should think so," said Ethel, trying to laugh. "Poor Oliver! what a
+state he will be in!"
+
+But the hand with which she had suddenly clutched Lesley's arm trembled,
+and her lips were very white.
+
+For a minute, for five, for ten minutes, the bridal party waited, but
+Oliver did not come. A messenger came back to say that he had not been
+at the club since the previous day. And then Maurice's hot temper blazed
+up. He left his sister and spoke to his old friend, Miss Brooke.
+
+"Do not let Ethel make herself a laughing-stock," he said. "The man
+insults us by being late, and shall account to me for it, but she must
+be got out of this somehow. Can't you take her away?"
+
+"Let her go to the vestry," said Miss Brooke. "You had better not take
+her away just yet--look at the crowd outside. I will get Lesley to
+persuade her."
+
+Ethel made no opposition. She went quietly into the vestry and sat down
+on a seat that was offered to her, waiting in silence, asking no
+questions. Then there was a short period of whispered consultation, of
+terrible suspense. She herself did not know whether the time was short
+or long. She could not bear even Lesley's arm about her, or the support
+of Maurice's brotherly hand. Harry Duchesne's dark face in the
+background seemed in some inexplicable sort of way the worst of all. For
+she knew that he loved and admired her, and she was shamed by a recreant
+lover before his very eyes.
+
+After a time Maurice was called out. A policeman in plain clothes wanted
+to speak to him. They had five minutes' conversation together, and then
+the young doctor returned to the room where Ethel was still sitting. His
+face was as white as that of his sister now, and she was the first to
+remark the change.
+
+"You have heard something," she said, springing to her feet and fixing
+her great dark eyes upon his face.
+
+"Yes, Ethel, my poor darling, yes. Come home with me."
+
+"Not till you tell me the truth."
+
+"Not here, my darling--wait till we get home. Come at once."
+
+"I must know, Maurice: I cannot bear to wait. Is he--is he--_dead_?"
+
+He would gladly have refused to answer, but his pallid lips spoke for
+him. And from another group a shriek rang out from the lips of Rosalind
+Romaine--a shriek that told her all.
+
+"Dead? Murdered? Oh, no, no--it cannot be?" cried Oliver's sister. "Not
+dead! not dead!"
+
+She fell back in violent hysterics, but Ethel neither wept nor cried
+aloud. She stood erect, her head a little higher than usual, a smile
+that might almost be called proud curving her soft lips.
+
+"You see," she said, unsteadily, but very clearly; "you see--it was not
+his fault. He _would_ have come--if he had been--alive."
+
+And, then, still smiling, she gave her hand to her brother and let him
+lead her away. But before she had crossed the threshold of the room, he
+was obliged to take her in his arms to save her from falling, and it was
+in his arms that she was carried back to the carriage which she had left
+so smilingly.
+
+But for those who were left behind there was more bad news to hear. In
+London no secret can be kept even from the ears of those whose heart it
+breaks to hear it. Before noon the newsboys were crying in the streets--
+
+"Brutal murder of a gentleman on his wedding-day. Arrest of a well-known
+journalist."
+
+And everywhere the name bandied from pillar to post was that of Mr.
+Caspar Brooke, who had been arrested on suspicion of having caused the
+death of Oliver Trent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+IN ETHEL'S ROOM.
+
+
+To those who knew Caspar Brooke best, it seemed ridiculously impossible
+that he should have been accused of any act of violence. But the
+accusation was made with so much circumstantial detail that no course
+seemed open to the police but to arrest him with as little delay as
+possible. And before the ill-fated wedding party had been dispersed,
+before Miss Brooke could hurry home, and long before Lesley suspected
+the blow that was in store for her, he had been taken by two policemen
+in plain clothes to the Bow Street Police station.
+
+The full extent of the misfortune did not burst upon Doctor Sophy all at
+once. When she left the church the accusation was not publicly known,
+and as she walked home she reflected on the account that she must give
+to her brother of the extraordinary events of the day. She wished he had
+been present, and wondered why he had shirked the invitation which had
+been sent him by Ethel. He was not usually out of bed at this hour, but
+she resolved to go to his room and tell him the story at once, for,
+though he had never cared much for poor Oliver Trent, he had always been
+fond of Ethel. Lesley had gone to the Kenyons' house at Maurice's
+earnest request, and might not be back for some time.
+
+She opened the door with her latch-key, and, to her great surprise, was
+confronted at once by Sarah, her face swollen, and her eyes red with
+weeping.
+
+"Sarah! why--have you heard the dreadful news already?" said Miss
+Brooke.
+
+"Have _you_ heard it, is more the question, I'm thinking?" said Sarah,
+grimly.
+
+"Of course you mean--about poor Mr. Trent?"
+
+"More than that, ma'am. However, here's a letter from master to you, and
+that'll tell you more than I can do." And Sarah, handed a note to her
+mistress, and retired to the back of the hall, sniffing audibly.
+
+Miss Brooke walked into the dining-room and opened the note. Caspar had
+gone out, she gathered from the fact of his having written to her at
+all: perhaps he had heard of Oliver Trent's death, and had gone to offer
+his services to Maurice, or to assist in discovering the murderer. So
+she thought to herself; and then she began to read the note.
+
+In another minute Sarah heard a strange, muffled cry; and running into
+the room found that Miss Brooke had sunk down on the sofa, and was
+trembling in every limb. Her brother's letter was crushed within her
+hand.
+
+"What does it mean, Sarah?--what does it mean?" she stammered, with a
+face so white and eyes so terror-stricken that Sarah took her to task at
+once.
+
+"It means a great, big lie, ma'am, that's all it means. Why, you ain't
+going to be put about by that, I hope, when master himself says--as he
+said to me--that he'd be home afore night! I'm ashamed of you, looking
+as pale as you do, and you a doctor and all!"
+
+"Did he say to you he would be home before night?" said Miss Brooke
+collecting herself a little, but still looking very white.
+
+Sarah took a step nearer to her, and spoke in a low voice. "Nobody else
+in the house knows where he's gone," she said, "but I know, for master
+called me himself, and told me what they wanted him for. It was two men
+in plain clothes, and there was a cab outside and a p'liceman on the
+box. 'Of course it's all a mistake, Sarah,' he said to me, as
+light-hearted as you please, 'and don't let Miss Lesley or your Missus
+be anxious. I dare say I shall be back in an hour or two.' And then he
+asked the men if he might write a note, and they let him, though they
+read it as he wrote, the nasty wretches!"--and Sarah snorted
+contemptuously, while she wiped away a tear from her left eye with her
+apron.
+
+"But it is so extraordinary--so ridiculous!" said Miss Brooke. And then,
+with a little more color in her face, she read her brother's letter over
+again.
+
+It consisted only of these words--
+
+     "DEAR SOPHY,--Don't worry yourself. The police have got it into
+     their wise heads that I had something to do with poor Trent's
+     tragic end. I dare say I shall be back soon, but I must go and hear
+     what they've got to say. Take care of Lesley--C. B."
+
+"Take care of Lesley! As if _she_ wanted taking care of!" said Miss
+Brooke, with sudden energy. "Sarah, go over at once to Mr. Kenyon's, and
+tell Miss Lesley to come home. She can't stay _there_ while this is
+going on. It isn't decent."
+
+Sarah was rather glad to execute this order. She was of opinion that
+Miss Lesley needed to be taken down a bit, and that this was the way in
+which the Lord saw fit to do it. And it never occurred to Miss Brooke to
+caution the woman against startling Lesley or hurting her feelings. She
+had been startled certainly, and almost overcome; but she belonged to
+that class of middle-aged women who think that their emotions must
+necessarily be stronger than those of young people, because they are
+older and understand what sorrow means, whereas the reverse is usually
+the case. Besides, Miss Brooke quite underrated the warmth of Lesley's
+attachment to her father, and was not prepared to see her experience
+anything but shallow and commonplace regret.
+
+So Sarah went to the house opposite and knocked at the door. She had to
+knock twice before the door was opened, for the whole household was out
+of joint. The maids were desperately clearing away all signs of
+festivity--flowers, wedding-cake, the charming little breakfast that had
+been prepared for the guests--everything that told of wedding
+preparation, and had now such a ghastly look. Under Mrs. Durant's
+direction the servants were endeavoring to restore to the rooms their
+wonted appearance. Ethel's trunks had been piled into an empty room: she
+would not want her trousseau now, poor child. The uncle from the country
+was pacing up and down the deserted drawing-room; the aunt was fussing
+about Ethel's dressing-room, nervously folding up articles of clothing
+and putting away trifles. All the blinds were down, as if for a funeral.
+And in Ethel's own room, the girl lay on her bed, white and rigid as a
+corpse, with half-shut eyes that did not seem to see, and fingers so
+tightly closed that the nails almost ran into her soft palms. Since she
+had been laid there she had not spoken; no one could quite tell whether
+she were conscious or not; but Lesley, who sat beside her, and sometimes
+laid her cheek softly against the desolate young bride's cold face, or
+kissed the ashen-grey lips, divined by instinct that she was not
+unconscious although stunned by the force of the blow--that she was
+thinking, thinking, thinking all the time--thinking of her lost lover,
+of her lost happiness, and beating herself passionately against the wall
+of darkness which had arisen between her and the future that she had
+planned for herself and Oliver.
+
+Sarah asked at once for Miss Lesley Brooke, and Mrs. Durant came out of
+the dining-room to speak to the messenger.
+
+"Is Miss Brooke wanted very particularly?" she asked. "Miss Kenyon will
+not have anyone else with her."
+
+"I think I must speak to Miss Lesley, ma'am; my mistress said I must,"
+said Sarah, primly. Then, forgetting her loyalty to her employers in her
+desire to be communicative, she went on--"Maybe you haven't heard what's
+happened, ma'am. Mr. Brooke's been taken up on the charge of murder----"
+
+This was not strictly true, but it was the way in which Sarah read the
+facts.
+
+"And Miss Brooke says Miss Lesley _must_ come home, as it is not proper
+for her to stay."
+
+The horror depicted on Mrs. Durant's face was quite as great as Sarah
+had anticipated, and even more so. For Mrs. Durant, a conventional and
+narrow-minded woman, did not know enough of Caspar Brooke's character to
+feel any indignation at the accusation: indeed, she was the sort of
+woman who was likely to put a vulgar construction upon his motives, and
+regard it as probable that he had quarreled with Oliver for not wishing
+to marry Lesley instead of Ethel Kenyon. And she at once grasped the
+situation. Under the circumstances--if Caspar Brooke had killed Ethel's
+lover--it was most improper that Caspar Brooke's daughter should be
+staying in the house.
+
+"Of course!" she said, with a shocked face. "Miss Lesley Brooke must go
+at once--naturally. How very terrible! I am much obliged to Miss Brooke
+for sending--as Ethel's chaperon I couldn't undertake----I'll go
+upstairs and send her down to you."
+
+Sarah was left in the hall, while Mrs. Durant went upstairs. But after a
+time the lady came down with a troubled air.
+
+"I can't get her to come," she said. "You must go up yourself, Sarah,
+and speak to her. She will come into the dressing-room, she says, for a
+minute, but she cannot leave Miss Kenyon for a longer time. You must
+tell her quietly what has happened, and then she will no doubt see the
+advisability of going away."
+
+Sarah went upstairs, therefore, and entered the dressing-room, where the
+old aunt was still busy; and in a minute or two Lesley appeared.
+
+"What is it?" she said, briefly.
+
+"Your aunt sent me to say you must come home at once, miss."
+
+"I cannot come just yet: Miss Kenyon wishes me to stay with her," said
+Lesley, with dignity.
+
+"You'd better come, Miss Lesley. I don't want to tell you the dreadful
+news just now: you'd better hear it at home. Then you'll be glad you
+came. It's your pa, miss."
+
+"My father! Oh, Sarah, what do you mean? Is he ill? is he dead? What is
+it?"
+
+"He's been arrested, miss, for killing Mr. Trent."
+
+Sarah spoke in a whisper, but it seemed to her hearers as if she had
+shouted the words at the top of her voice. Mrs. Durant pressed her hands
+together and uttered a little scream. Lesley turned deadly white, and
+laid one hand on the back of a chair, as if for support. And the old
+aunt immediately ran into the inner room, and burst into tears over
+Ethel's almost inanimate form, bewailing her, and calling her a poor,
+injured, heartbroken girl, until Ethel opened her great dark eyes, and
+fixed them upon the aged, distorted face with a questioning look.
+
+"Lesley!" she breathed. "I want Lesley."
+
+"Oh, my dearest child, you must do without Lesley now. It is not fit
+that she should come to you."
+
+But Ethel's lips again formed the same sounds: "I want Lesley." And the
+old lady continued--
+
+"She must not come, dear: you cannot see Lesley Brooke again. It is her
+father who has done this terrible thing--blighted your life--destroyed
+your happiness----"
+
+And so she would have babbled on had not Ethel all at once raised
+herself in her bed, with white face and flaming eyes, and called in
+tones as clear and resonant as ever--
+
+"Lesley! Lesley! come back!"
+
+And then the old aunt was silent: silent and amazed.
+
+From the next room Lesley came, softly and swiftly as was her wont. Her
+face was pale, but her eyes and lips were steady. She went straight to
+Ethel; was at once encircled by the girl's arms, and drew Ethel's head
+down upon her shoulder.
+
+"Shall I go?" she whispered in Ethel's ear.
+
+"No, no; don't leave me."
+
+"You know what they say? Can you trust my father?"
+
+"I trust you both. Stay with me."
+
+Lesley raised her head and looked back at the little group of meddlesome
+women who had tried to tear her from her friend's side. At the look they
+disappeared. They dared not say another word after meeting the rebuke
+conveyed in Lesley's pale, set face and resolute eyes. They closed the
+door behind them, and left the two girls alone.
+
+For a long time neither spoke. Ethel seemed to have relapsed once more
+into a semi-unconscious state. Lesley sat motionless, pillowing her
+friend's head against her shoulder, and stroking one of her hands with
+her own. Now and then hot tears welled over and dropped upon Ethel's
+dark, curly head, but Lesley did not try to wipe them away. She scarcely
+knew that she was crying: she was only aware of a great weight of
+trouble that had come upon her--trouble that seemed to include in its
+effects all that she held most dear. Trouble not only to her friend, but
+to her father, her mother, her lover. Not a shadow of doubt as to her
+father's innocence rested upon her mind: there was no perplexity, no
+shame--only sorrow and anxiety. Not many women could have borne the
+strain of utter silence with such a burden laid on them to bear. But to
+Lesley, even in that hour, Ethel's trouble was greater than her own.
+
+An hour must have passed away before Ethel murmured,
+
+"Lesley--are you there?"
+
+"Yes, I am with you, darling: I am here."
+
+"You are crying."
+
+"I am crying for you, Ethel, dear."
+
+For the first time, Ethel's hand answered to her pressure. After a
+little silence, she spoke again--
+
+"I wish I could die--too."
+
+"My poor little Ethel."
+
+"I suppose there is no chance of that. People--like me--don't die. They
+only suffer--and suffer--and break their hearts--and live till they are
+eighty. Oh, if you were kind to me, you would give me something to make
+me die."
+
+She shuddered, and crept a little closer to Lesley's bosom. "Oh, why
+must he go--without me--without me?" she cried. And then she burst out
+suddenly into bitter weeping, and with Lesley's arms about her she wept
+away some of the "perilous stuff" of misery which had seemed likely to
+destroy the balance of her brain. When those tears came her reason was
+saved, and Lesley was wise enough to be reassured and not alarmed by
+them.
+
+She was very much exhausted when the burst of tears was over, and Lesley
+was allowed to feed her with strong soup, which she took submissively
+from her friend. "You won't go?" she whispered, when the meal was done.
+And Lesley whispered back: "I will not go, darling, so long as you want
+me here."
+
+"I want you--always." Then with a gleam of returning strength and
+memory: "What was it they said about your father?"
+
+Lesley shivered.
+
+"Never mind, Ethel, dear," she said.
+
+"But--I know--I remember. That he was--a--oh, I can't say the word. But
+that is not true."
+
+"I _know_ it is not true. It is a foolish, cruel mistake."
+
+"It could not be true," Ethel murmured. "He was always kind and good.
+Tell him--from me--that I don't believe it, Lesley. And don't let them
+take you away from me."
+
+Holding Lesley's hand in hers, at last she fell asleep; and sleep was
+the very thing that was likely to restore her. The doctor came and went,
+forbidding the household to disturb the quiet of the sick-room; and
+after a time, Lesley, exhausted by the excitements and anxieties of the
+day, laid her head on the pillow and also slept. It was late in the
+afternoon when Maurice Kenyon, stealing softly into the room, found the
+two heads close together on one pillow, the arms interlaced, the slumber
+of one as deep as of the other. His eyes filled with tears as he looked
+at the sleeping figures. "Poor girls!" he muttered to himself. "Well for
+them if they can sleep; but I fear that theirs will be a sad awakening."
+
+Suddenly Lesley opened her eyes. The color rushed to her pale cheeks as
+she saw who was regarding her, but she had sufficient self-control not
+to start or move too hastily. Ethel altered her position at that moment,
+and left Lesley free to rise, then sank back to slumber. And, obeying a
+silent motion of Maurice Kenyon's hand, Lesley followed him noiselessly
+into the dressing-room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+THE EVIDENCE.
+
+
+"She ought not to be left alone: I promised not to leave her," said
+Lesley in a low tone.
+
+"I have brought a nurse with me. She can go in and sit by the bed until
+you are ready to return," said Maurice, quietly. "Call us, nurse, if my
+sister wakes and asks for us; but be very careful not to disturb her
+unnecessarily."
+
+The nurse, whose face Lesley scanned with involuntary interest, was
+gentle and sensible-looking, with kindly eyes and a strong, well-shaped
+mouth. She looked like a woman to be trusted; and Lesley was therefore
+not sorry to see her pass into Ethel's room. She had felt very conscious
+of her own ignorance of nursing during the past few hours, and had not
+much confidence in the sense or judgment of any woman in the house.
+Maurice made her sit down, and then stood looking at her for a moment.
+
+"You are terribly pale," he said at last. "Will you come downstairs and
+let me give you something to eat and drink?"
+
+"Oh, no, thank you. I want nothing. And Ethel may need me: I cannot bear
+to be far away."
+
+"Have you had nothing all day? It is after five o'clock."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"Then you must eat before I talk to you. I have several things to say,
+and you must have strength to listen. Sit still: I will be back
+directly."
+
+He went away, and Lesley leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
+She was very weary, but even in her trouble there was some sweetness for
+her in the knowledge that Maurice was attending to her needs. When he
+returned with wine and food, she roused herself to accept both, knowing
+very well that he would not tell her what she wanted to hear until she
+had done his bidding. The door between bed and dressing room was closed;
+the house was very quiet, and the light was dim. Maurice spoke at last,
+in grave, low tones.
+
+"I have just come from your father," he said. Lesley started and clasped
+her hands. "Is he at home again?"
+
+"No. They would not let him go. But take heart--we, who know him, will
+stand by him until he is a free man."
+
+"Then you believe--as I believe?" she asked, tremulously.
+
+"Would it be possible for me to do otherwise? Hasn't he been my friend
+for many a year? You have surely no need to ask!"
+
+Lesley, looking up at him, stretched out her hand in silence. He took it
+in both his own and kissed it tenderly. Seeing her grief, and seeing
+also her sympathy for another woman who grieved, had, for the time
+being, cured him of his anger against her. He had cherished some bitter
+feeling towards her for a while; but he forgot it now.
+
+"I am as sure," he said, fervently, "that Caspar Brooke could not commit
+murder as I am sure that _you_ could not. It is an absurdity to think of
+it."
+
+"Then what has made people think of it?" asked Lesley. "How has it come
+about?"
+
+Maurice paused. "There is a mystery somewhere," he said slowly, "which
+is a little difficult to fathom. Can you bear to hear the details? Your
+father told me to tell them to you--as gently as I could."
+
+"Tell me all--all, please."
+
+"Poor Oliver Trent was found dead early this morning on the stair of a
+lodging-house in Whitechapel. I have been to the place myself: it is now
+under the care of the police. He had been beaten about the head ... it
+was very horrible ... with a thick oaken staff or walking stick ... the
+stick lay beside him, covered with blood, where he was found. The stick
+was--was your father's, unfortunately: it must have been stolen by some
+ruffian for the purpose--and--and----"
+
+He stopped short, as if the story were too hard to tell. Lesley sat
+watching his face, which was as pale as her own.
+
+"Go on," she said, quickly. "What else?"
+
+"A pocket-book--with gilt letters on the back: C. B. distinctly marked.
+That was also found on the stairs, as if it had dropped from the pocket
+of some man as he went down. And it is proved--indeed, your father tells
+me so--that he went to that house last night and did not leave it until
+nearly midnight."
+
+"But why was he there?"
+
+"He went to see the man and woman who lived in the top room of that
+lodging-house. I think you know the woman. She was once your maid----"
+
+"Mary Kingston? She came to our house that very afternoon. She must have
+asked my father to go to see her--he spoke kindly of her to me. But why
+did Mr. Trent go there too?"
+
+"There have been secrets kept from us which have now come to light,"
+said Maurice, sadly. "Oliver went there to see his brother Francis, who
+was ill in bed; and his brother's wife was no other than the woman who
+acted as your maid, Mary Kingston--or rather Mary Trent. Kingston left
+your house on Saturday, it seems, because she had caught sight of her
+husband in the street: he had been very ill, and she felt herself
+obliged to go home with him and put him to bed. He has been in bed,
+unable to rise, she tells me, ever since."
+
+"But she--_she_," said Lesley eagerly, "can explain the whole matter.
+She must have heard the fight--the scuffle--whatever it was--upon the
+stairs. She ought to be able to tell when father left the house--and
+when Mr. Trent left the house. They did not go together, did they?"
+there was a touch of scorn in her voice.
+
+"No, they did not go together. But what Mrs. Trent alleges is, that your
+father waited for Oliver on the stairs, and attacked him there. It is a
+malicious, wicked lie--I am sure of that. But it is what she says she is
+willing to swear."
+
+"Mrs. Trent!" Lesley repeated vaguely. "Mrs. Trent! Do you
+mean--Kingston? _Kingston_ swears that my father lay in wait for Oliver
+Trent upon the stairs? It is impossible!"
+
+"Yes, Kingston," Maurice answered, in a low, level voice. "It is
+Kingston who has accused your father of the crime."
+
+Lesley covered her face with her hands, and for a moment or two did not
+speak. "It is too terrible," she said at last, not very steadily. "I do
+not know how to believe it. I always trusted her. Is there nobody worth
+trusting in the world? Is there no truth and faith anywhere at all?"
+
+The tears were raining down her cheeks as she spoke. Maurice looked at
+her with wistful tenderness.
+
+"Can you ask that question when you have _such_ a father?" he asked.
+"And I--have I done anything to deserve your want of trust?"
+
+She could only sob out incoherent words by way of answer. "Not you--not
+my father--I was thinking--of others--others I have trusted and been
+deceived in."
+
+"Oliver Trent," he said--not as a question so much as by way of sad
+assertion. She drew her handkerchief away from her eyes immediately, and
+gazed at him through her tears, with flushed cheeks and panting breath.
+What did he mean? He did not leave her long in doubt.
+
+"Kingston--Mrs. Trent--has told a strange story," he said. "She avers
+that Oliver was false--false to my poor little sister who believed in
+him so entirely--false to himself and false to us. They say you knew of
+this. She says that he--he made love to you, that he asked you to marry
+him--to run away with him indeed--so late as last Saturday. She had
+hidden herself between the folding-doors in order to hear what went on.
+Lesley, is this true?"
+
+She was white enough now. She cast one appealing glance at his face, and
+then said, almost inaudibly--
+
+"Don't tell Ethel."
+
+"Then it was true?"
+
+"Quite true!"
+
+"Oh, my God!" cried Maurice, involuntarily. He did not use the words
+with any profane intention: they escaped his lips as a sort of cry of
+agony, of protest, almost of entreaty. He had hoped until this moment
+that Lesley would be able to deny this charge. When she acknowledged its
+truth, the conviction of Oliver's falsity, the suspicion of Lesley's
+faith, smote him like a blow. He drew back from her a little and looked
+at her steadfastly. Lesley raised her candid, innocent eyes to his, and,
+after a moment's silence, made her defence.
+
+"I could not help it. If Kingston speaks the truth, she will tell you
+that. He locked the door so that I could not get out, and then ... I
+said I would never speak to him again. I was never so angry--so
+ashamed--in all my life. You must not think that I--I too--was false to
+Ethel. She is my friend, and I never dreamed of taking him away from
+her. I never cared--in that way--for him, and even if I had----"
+
+"You never cared? Did you not love him, too?"
+
+"No! no, indeed! I hated him. If Kingston says so she is lying about me,
+as she is lying about my father. You say that you do not believe her
+when she speaks against him: surely you won't believe her when she
+speaks against me? Can't you trust my father's daughter, as well as my
+father?"
+
+The voice was almost passionate in its pleading: the lovely eyes were
+eloquent of reproach. Maurice felt his whole being quiver: he was shaken
+to the very depths. Why should she plead to him in this way if she had
+no love at all for _him_? Why should she be so anxious that he should
+trust her? And did he not? He could not look into her face and think for
+one moment that she lied.
+
+"I do trust--your father's daughter," he said, hoarsely. "I trust her
+above all women living!--God knows that I do. You did not love Oliver?
+It was not to _him_ that you made some promise you spoke of--some
+promise against engaging yourself?"
+
+"It was to my mother," said Lesley, simply. "I am sorry that I did not
+make you understand."
+
+He took a quick step nearer. "May I say more?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"But--some day?"
+
+"Not now," she answered, softly. But a very faint and tremulous smile
+quivered for one moment on her lips. "It is very wrong to talk of
+ourselves just now. Go on with your story--tell me about my dear,
+dearest father."
+
+"I will," said Maurice. "I will do exactly what you wish--_just
+now_"--with a great accent on the last two words. "We will talk about
+that promise at a more fitting time, Lesley--I may call you Lesley, may
+I not? There is no harm in that, for you are like a sister to my poor
+Ethel, and you may as well let me be a brother to you, dear, _just now_.
+Well, Lesley"--how he lingered over the name!--"Mrs. Trent says that she
+returned to your house on Monday afternoon in order to warn your father
+of what was going, on----"
+
+"Oh! Did she really?"
+
+"Yes, for your father tells me she did so. She also told him various
+stories of Oliver's baseness, which he felt it his duty to inquire into,
+and in order that, he might have an interview with Oliver, she arranged
+with him to come that night to the house in Whitechapel, where she and
+her husband were living. There she was to confront him with Oliver, and
+she said that in _her_ presence he would not dare to deny that her tales
+were true."
+
+"But why did father agree to that? Why did he want to find out?"
+
+"For Ethel's sake. He wanted to protect her. If Mrs. Trent could prove
+her stories, he meant to expose Oliver to Ethel and myself, if it were
+but an hour before her marriage----"
+
+"And why didn't he?" demanded Lesley, breathlessly.
+
+"Because--here comes in your father's evidence--your father assures me
+that when he reached the house that night and confronted Oliver, the
+woman took back every word that she had uttered, and declared that it
+was all a lie. And Oliver, of course, persisted that he had done nothing
+amiss. Your father says he was so much tempted to strike Oliver to the
+ground--for he did not believe in Kingston's retractation--that he flung
+his stick out upon the landing lest he should use it too effectually. He
+forgot to pick it up, and came away without it. The pocket-book must of
+course have fallen out of his pocket as he left the house."
+
+"Then he could not convict Mr. Trent of anything?"
+
+"No, and so he did not feel justified in meddling. But he wishes that he
+had gone to Ethel at once--or that I had been at home and that he had
+come to me. He is reproaching himself terribly for his silence now."
+
+"As I have been reproaching myself for mine," said Lesley.
+
+"You have no need. Ethel would never have believed the stories--and as
+Mrs. Trent denied them again, I think that Oliver would have carried the
+day. But let her deny them as she will, I believe that they were true,
+and that Oliver was a villain. Our poor Ethel may live to bless the day
+when she was delivered from him."
+
+"I am afraid she will never believe us, or forgive us if she does,"
+sighed Lesley. "But what else happened?"
+
+"Your father left the building, after a long and angry conversation,
+about midnight. Oliver remained behind. Of course your father knows
+nothing more. But Mrs. Trent says that Oliver went away ten minutes
+later, and that she then heard loud words and the sound of a struggle
+upon the stairs. Fights are too common in that neighborhood to excite
+much remark. She, however, feeling anxious, stole down the upper flight
+of stairs, and distinctly saw Mr. Brooke and her brother-in-law
+struggling together. She maintains that Mr. Brooke's stick was in his
+hand."
+
+"How wickedly false! Why did she not scream if she saw such a sight?"
+
+"She was afraid. And she says that she did not think it would come
+to--_murder_. She crept back to her room again, and in a few minutes
+everything was quiet. Only--in the early morning the dead body of Oliver
+Trent was found upon the stairs, and then she gave information as to
+what she had seen and heard."
+
+There was a short silence. Then Lesley said, very tremulously--"It
+sounds like a plot--a plot against my dear father's good name!"
+
+"And a very cleverly concocted plot too," thought Maurice to himself in
+silent rage; but he dared not say so much aloud. He only answered,
+tenderly--
+
+"Such a plot can never come to good, Lesley. You and I together--we will
+unravel it--we will clear your father, and bring him back to the world
+again."
+
+"He is not coming home just yet, then?"
+
+"I am afraid--dear, do not tremble so--he will have to take his trial.
+But he will be acquitted, you will see."
+
+She let him press her fingers to his lips again, and made no outward
+sign; but the two looked into each other's eyes, and each was conscious
+of the presence of a deadly fear.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+A VAIN APPEAL.
+
+
+Lesley went home to sleep, and learned from her aunt the details of her
+father's arrest. "But he will be back in a few hours," said Miss Brooke,
+obstinately. "They will be obliged to let him ago. They will accept
+bail, of course. Mr. Kenyon thinks they will."
+
+"Has Mr. Kenyon been here?"
+
+"Oh, yes; he brought me a message from Caspar. What a horrible thing it
+is! But the ridiculous--absurd--part of it is that your father should be
+accused. Why, your father was very friendly with Oliver Trent--at least
+he used to be!" Then Miss Brooke paused, and fired an unexpected
+question at her niece. "Have you any reason to think he was not?"
+
+Lesley winced and hesitated. "I don't think he liked Mr. Trent very
+much," she said, at last; "but that is a different thing----"
+
+"From killing him? I should think so!" said Doctor Sophy, in a high tone
+of voice. She was in her dressing-gown, and sitting before the fire that
+had been lighted in her own little sanctum upstairs; but she was not
+smoking as she was usually at that hour. The occasion was too serious
+for cigarettes: Doctor Sophy was denying herself. Perhaps that was the
+reason why she looked so haggard and so angry, as she turned suddenly
+and spoke to her niece in a somewhat excited way.
+
+"What made him unfriendly? Do you not know? It was because you flirted
+with Oliver Trent! I really think you did, Lesley. And I know your
+father thought so too."
+
+"Then he ought to have been vexed with me, not with Oliver," said
+Lesley, standing her ground, but turning very pale.
+
+"Yes, yes, but you are a girl, and he did not like to blame you. He
+spoke rather strongly about Oliver Trent to me. However, it is no use
+saying so now. We had better keep that phase of the matter as quiet as
+we can."
+
+"Aunt Sophy," said Lesley, in a tremulous tone, "you don't mean--you
+don't think--that my--my _flirting_, as you call it, with Mr. Trent will
+be spoken of and tend to hurt my father--my father's good name?"
+
+Aunt Sophy stared at her. "Of course it would hurt your father's chances
+if it _were_ talked about," she said, rather, sharply. "I don't see how
+it could do otherwise. People would say that he might have quarrelled
+with Oliver about you, you know. But we must try to keep the matter as
+quiet as we can. _I'm_ prepared to swear that they were bosom-friends,
+and that I never heard Caspar say a word against him; and you had better
+follow my example."
+
+"But, Aunt Sophy--if I can't----"
+
+"If you want to come the Jeanie Deans' business, my dear," said Miss
+Brooke, "you had better reflect that personal application to the Queen
+for a pardon will not help you very much now-a-days. I must confess
+that, although I admire Jeanie Deans very much, I don't intend to
+emulate her. It's my opinion too that most women will tell lies for the
+sake of men they love, but not for the sake of women."
+
+"Oh, Aunt Sophy!"
+
+"It is no good making exclamations," said Aunt Sophy, with unusual
+irritability. "If you are different from all other women, I can't help
+it. I once thought that I was different myself, but I find I am as great
+a fool as any of them. There, go to bed, child! Things will turn out all
+right by and by. Nobody could be so absurd as to believe ill of your
+father."
+
+"You think it will be all right?" said Lesley, wistfully.
+
+"Don't ask me to believe in a God in heaven, if things go badly with
+Caspar," said Miss Brooke, curtly. "Haven't I lived ten years in the
+house with the man, and don't I know that he would not hurt a fly? He's
+the gentlest soul alive, although he looks so big and strong: the
+gentlest, softest-hearted, most generous----But I suppose it is no good
+saying all that to your mother's daughter?"--and Miss Brooke picked up a
+paper-covered volume that had fallen to her feet, and began to read.
+
+"I am my father's daughter too," said Lesley, with rather tremulous
+dignity, as she turned away. She was too indignant with Miss Brooke to
+wish her good-night, and meant to leave the room without another word.
+But Miss Brooke, dropping her book on her red flannel lap, and looking
+uneasily over her shoulder at her niece's retreating figure, would not
+let her go.
+
+"Come, Lesley, don't be angry," she said. "I am so upset that I hardly
+know what I am saying. Come here and kiss me, child, I did not mean to
+vex you."
+
+And Lesley came back and kissed her aunt, but in silence, for her heart
+was sore within her. Was it perhaps true--or partially true--that she
+had been the cause of the misery that had come upon them all? Indirectly
+and partially, unintentionally and without consciousness of
+wrong-doing--and yet she could not altogether acquit herself of blame.
+Had she been more reserved, more guarded in her behavior, Oliver Trent
+would never have fallen in love with her. Would this have mended
+matters? If, as she gathered, the sole reason of her father's visit to
+the Trents had been to assure himself of the true nature of her
+relations with Oliver--her cheeks burned as she put the matter in that
+light, even to herself--why, then, she could not possibly divest herself
+of responsibility. Of course she could not for one moment imagine that
+her father had lifted his hand against Oliver; but his visit to the
+house shortly before the murder gave a certain air of plausibility to
+the tale: and for this Lesley felt herself to blame.
+
+She went to her own room and lay down, but she could not sleep. There
+was a hidden joy at the bottom of her heart--a joy of which she was half
+ashamed. The relief of finding that Maurice was still her friend--it was
+so that she phrased it to herself--was indeed very great. And there was
+a strange and beautiful hope for the future, which she dared not look at
+yet. For it seemed to her as if it would be a sort of treason to dream
+of love and joy and hope for herself when those that she loved best--and
+she herself also--were involved in one common downfall, one common
+misfortune of so terrible a kind. The thought of her father--detained,
+she knew not where: she had a childish vision of a felon's cell, very
+different indeed from the reality of the plain but fairly comfortable
+room with which Mr. Caspar Brooke had been accommodated, and she
+shuddered at the thought of the days before him, of the public
+examinations, of the doubt and shame and mystery in which poor Oliver
+Trent's death was enwrapped. She thought of Ethel, now under the
+influence of a strong narcotic, from which she would not awake until the
+morning; and she shrank in imagination from that awakening to despair.
+And she thought of others who were more or less concerned in the
+tragedy; of Mary Kingston--though she could not remember her without a
+shudder--of Mrs. Romaine, who had loved her brother so tenderly; and of
+Lady Alice, the woman whose husband was in prison for a crime of which
+Lesley was willing to swear that he was innocent.
+
+When her thoughts once reached her mother, they stayed and would not be
+diverted. She could not sleep: she could think of nothing but the mother
+and the father whom she loved. And she wept over the failure of her
+schemes for their reunion. All hope of that was at an end. It was
+impossible that Lady Alice should not believe him guilty. She had always
+judged him harshly, and taken the worst possible view of his behavior.
+Lesley remembered that she had not--in common parlance--"had a good word
+to say for him," when she spoke of him in the convent parlor. What would
+she say now, and how could Lesley make her see the truth?
+
+The fruit of her reflections became evident at breakfast-time next
+morning. Lesley came downstairs with her hat on and a mantle over her
+arm.
+
+"Where are you going?" Miss Brooke asked. "Not to poor Ethel, I hope? I
+am very sorry for her, but really, Lesley----"
+
+"I am going to mamma," said Lesley.
+
+"Going to----Well, upon my word! Lesley, I did think you had a little
+more feeling for your father! Going----Well, I shall not countenance it.
+I shall not let your boxes go out of the house. It is simply
+disgraceful."
+
+"But I don't want my boxes," said Lesley, rather forlornly helping
+herself to a cup of coffee. "What have my boxes to do with it, Aunt
+Sophy? I shall be back in an hour. Mr. Kenyon said we should be able to
+see father to-day, and I do not want to be away when he comes."
+
+"Then--then you don't mean to _stay_ with your mamma?" gasped Aunt
+Sophy.
+
+Lesley could not help a little laugh, but the tears came into her brown
+eyes as she laughed. "Would you mind very much if I did, Aunt Sophy?"
+she asked, setting down her cup of coffee.
+
+"I should mind for this reason," said Miss Brooke, stoutly, "that if you
+ran away from your father's house now, people would say that you thought
+him guilty. It would go against him terribly. Sooner than that, I would
+lock you into your own room and prevent your going by main force."
+
+"I believe you would," said Lesley, "and so would I, in your place, Aunt
+Sophy. But you need not be afraid. I am as proud of my father and as
+full of faith in him as even you can be; and if I go to see my mother,
+it is only that I may tell her so, and let her understand that she has
+no cause to be afraid for him." The color came to her face as she spoke,
+and she lifted her head so proudly that Aunt Sophy felt--for a moment or
+two--slightly abashed.
+
+"I will be back in an hour," Lesley went on, firmly, "and I hope that
+Mr. Kenyon will wait for me if he comes before I return."
+
+"Am I to tell him where you have gone?" asked Miss Brooke, with a slight
+touch of sharpness in her voice.
+
+And Lesley replied, "Certainly. And my father, too, if you see him
+before I do. I am not doing anything wrong."
+
+Greatly to her surprise, Miss Brooke got up and kissed her. "My dear,"
+she said, "you are very like your father, and I am sure you won't do
+anything to hurt his feelings; but are you quite sure that you need go
+to Lady Alice just at present?"
+
+"Quite sure, Aunt Sophy." And then Miss Brooke sighed, shook her head,
+and let her go, with the air of one who sees a person undertake a
+hopeless quest. For she fancied that Lesley was going to make an attempt
+to reconcile the husband and wife who had been so long separated, and
+she did not believe that any such attempt was likely to succeed. But she
+had not fathomed Lesley's plan aright.
+
+The girl took a hansom and drove at once to her mother's house. She knew
+well where it was situated, but she had never visited it before. It was
+a small house, but in a good position, close to the Green Park, and at
+any other moment Lesley would have been struck by the air of
+distinction that it had already achieved. It was painted differently
+from the neighboring houses: the curtains and flower-boxes in the
+windows were remarkably fresh and dainty, the neat maid who opened the
+front door was neater and smarter than other people's maids. Lesley was
+informed that her ladyship was not up yet; and the servant seemed to
+think that she had better go away on receiving this information.
+
+"I will come in," said Lesley, quietly. "I am Miss Brooke. You can take
+my name up to her first, if you like, but I want to see her at once."
+
+The maid looked doubtful, but at this moment Mrs. Dayman was seen
+crossing the hall, and her exclamation of mingled pleasure and dismay
+caused Lesley to be admitted without further parley.
+
+Lady Alice was up, but not fully dressed; she was breakfasting in a
+dressing-room or boudoir, which opened out of her own sleeping
+apartment. As soon as Lesley entered she started up; and the girl
+noticed at the first glance that her mother was looking ill, but perhaps
+the richly-tinted plush morning-gown, that fell round her slender figure
+in long straight folds, made her look taller and thinner than usual.
+Certainly her face was worn, and her eyelids were reddened as if from
+weeping or sleeplessness.
+
+"Lesley! my darling! have you come back to me?"
+
+She folded the girl in her arms and pressed her lips to the soft cheek,
+a little sob breaking from her as she spoke.
+
+"Only for half an hour, mamma. Just to speak to you for a few minutes
+about _him_."
+
+"Him! Your father! Oh, Lesley, what does it all mean?"
+
+"Poor mamma! it must have been a great shock to you. Sit down, and I
+will tell you all that I know."
+
+And gently pressing Lady Alice back into a seat, Lesley took a footstool
+at her mother's knee and told her the story. Lady Alice listened in
+silence. With one hand she stroked Lesley's hair; with the other she
+held Lesley's fingers, and Lesley noticed that it twitched from time to
+time as if in nervous agitation. Otherwise, however, she was very calm.
+
+"And so," she said, at last, "you came to tell me the story as you know
+it.... But, my child, you have told me very little that I did not know
+already. Even in last night's papers the relationship between Oliver
+Trent and these people in Whitechapel was commented on. And your own
+name, my darling--that did not escape. Did you think I should
+misunderstand you?"
+
+"Oh, no, mamma--not misunderstand _me_, but I was afraid lest you might
+misunderstand some one else."
+
+Lady Alice was silent.
+
+"I was afraid," said Lesley, softly, "lest the years that have gone by
+should have made you forget his gentleness and nobleness of soul--lest
+for one moment you should think him capable of a mean or vile action. I
+came to tell you, dearest mother, how impossible it was for us--who
+_know_ him--to credit for one moment an accusation of this kind. If all
+the world said that he was guilty, you and I, mamma, would know that he
+was not."
+
+"My child, my darling, you must speak for yourself. Do not try to speak
+for me!"
+
+"Mother, won't you give me a message for him?"
+
+"Are you going to see him, Lesley?"
+
+"I hope so. Mr. Kenyon said he would take me."
+
+There was a short silence, and then Lesley lifted her eyes to her
+mother's face. She was not encouraged by what she saw there. It was
+pale, sad, immobile, and, as it seemed to Lesley, very cold.
+
+"Mother, I must go. Won't you send him a message?"
+
+"I have no message, Lesley."
+
+"Not one little word?"
+
+"Not one." And then, as if trying to excuse herself Lady Alice added,
+hurriedly, "there is nothing that I can say which would please him. He
+would not care for any message from me."
+
+"He would care to hear that you trusted him!"
+
+"I do not think so," said Lady Alice, with a little shake of her head.
+
+Lesley rose to her feet, silenced for the moment, but not altogether
+vanquished. She put her arms round her mother's neck.
+
+"But you do trust him, mamma? Tell me that, at any rate."
+
+For almost the first time within Lesley's memory Lady Alice made a
+gesture of impatience.
+
+"I cannot be catechised; Lesley. Let me alone. You do not understand."
+
+And Lesley was obliged to go away, feeling sorrowfully that she had
+failed in her mission. Perhaps, however, she had succeeded better than
+she knew.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+"AT YOUR SIDE."
+
+
+Caspar Brooke was not as yet debarred the privilege of seeing his
+friends, and on the morning after his arrest he had a great many
+visitors, including, of course, Maurice Kenyon and his lawyer. Maurice
+was busying himself earnestly on his friend's behalf; and, considering
+the position that Brooke held, the esteem felt for him in high places,
+and the amount of interest that was being brought to bear on the
+authorities, there was little doubt but that he would be let out on bail
+in a day or two, even if the proceedings were not quashed altogether.
+Some delay, however, there was sure to be owing to the pertinacity of
+Mary Trent's assertion that she saw him struggling with Oliver on the
+stairs, but in the meantime his detention was allowed to press as
+lightly upon him as possible.
+
+It was noon before Lesley saw him, and when she sprang to his side and
+threw her arms around his neck, with a new demonstrativeness of manner,
+she noticed that his brows lifted a little, and that he smiled with a
+look of positive pleasure and relief.
+
+"So you have come?" he said, holding her to him as if he did not like to
+let her go. "I began to wonder if you had deserted me!"
+
+"Oh, father! Why, I have been waiting ever so long for Mr. Grierson to
+go."
+
+"And before that----?" he asked, in rather a peculiar tone.
+
+"Before that--I went to see mamma." And Lesley looked bravely up into
+his face.
+
+"That was an infringement of contract, as I suppose you know," said
+Caspar, smiling persistently. "But it does not matter very much. What
+did 'mamma' say to you?"
+
+"I--don't--know," murmured Lesley, confused by the question. "Nothing
+very much."
+
+"Nothing. Ah, I know what that means." He turned away from her, and,
+sitting down, leaned his elbows upon a table, and played with his beard.
+"It was useless, Lesley," he said, quietly, after a few minutes'
+silence. "Your mother is the last person whose sympathies will be
+enlisted on my side."
+
+Lesley tried to speak but suddenly felt her voice fail her; so instead
+of speaking she knelt down by her father, leaned her head upon his
+shoulder, and burst into very heartfelt tears.
+
+"Little one," said Caspar, "I'm afraid we have both got ourselves into a
+mess."
+
+It did not sound comforting, but Lesley stayed her tears to listen.
+
+"I have been talking to Grierson," her father continued, "and we have
+agreed that there must be no suppression of the truth. My dislike to
+Oliver Trent has been commented on already, and I must give a reason for
+it. Lesley, my dear, you will have to contribute your own evidence as to
+the reason."
+
+Lesley looked up with terrified, wide-open eyes. "Do you mean that I
+shall have to say----"
+
+"You will have to go into the witness-box and tell what you know, or
+rather answer the questions that are asked you."
+
+"But will that be--best--for you?" She put the question with some
+difficulty.
+
+"That is not the point. What we have to do is to tell the truth, and
+leave the result to others."
+
+"--To God?" Lesley interposed, almost involuntarily. Caspar Brooke's lip
+moved with a grave smile.
+
+"Well, yes, to God if you will have it so--we use different terms, but
+perhaps we have the same meaning. We must at any rate leave the result
+to the working of various laws which we cannot control, and to fight
+against these laws of nature is wrong-doing--or sin. Therefore, Lesley,
+you will have to tell the truth, whether it may seem to be for my good
+or my harm."
+
+She glanced at him rather piteously, and her eyes filled with tears.
+Aunt Sophy's words recurred to her mind; but they seemed feeble and
+futile in the light of his courage and steadfastness. Aunt Sophy had
+been wrong--so much was clear to Lesley; and truth was best under all
+possible circumstances.
+
+"It is for Ethel I am sorry," she murmured.
+
+"Yes, poor Ethel. It is true then--what that woman said--that Oliver
+Trent was in love with you?"
+
+"I could not help it, father. I don't think it was my fault. I did not
+know till it was too late."
+
+"I am not blaming you, my dear. When I came into the drawing-room that
+day--do you remember?--what had happened then? Can you bear to tell me?"
+
+She hid her face on his shoulder as she answered, "He was speaking
+foolishly. I think he wanted to--to kiss me.... I was very glad that you
+came in."
+
+"Was that the first time?"
+
+"Yes, the first. And I did not even see him again until that Saturday
+night, when he found me in the study--and----"
+
+"And asked you to run away with him?"
+
+"Yes. Indeed, I had not led him to think that I would do any such thing,
+father. I told him never to speak to me again. If it had not been for
+Ethel's sake, I think I should have called someone--but I did not like
+to make a disturbance."
+
+"No, dear, no. And you--yourself--_you_ did not care for him?"
+
+"Oh no, no, no!"
+
+"It has been a terrible tangle--and the knot has been cut very rudely,"
+said Mr. Brooke, in a musing tone. "Of one thing I am quite certain, we
+were not fit to have the care of you, Lesley--your aunt and I. You would
+never have been in this position, my poor child, if we had looked after
+you."
+
+"It isn't _that_ which troubles me," said Lesley, trying to steady her
+voice. "It is--that you have to bear the brunt of it all. If it had not
+been for me you would never have been here. It has been my fault!"
+
+"Not your fault, child," said her father. "The fault did not lie with
+you, but with that unfortunate young man, for whom I am truly sorry.
+Don't be morbid, Lesley; look things straight in the face, and don't
+blame yourself unless you are perfectly sure that you deserve to be
+blamed."
+
+And there the conference ended, for Miss Brooke arrived at that moment,
+and Lesley thought it advisable to leave the choice of a subject of
+conversation in her hands. Caspar had many visitors that day, and many
+letters of advice and condolence, for few men were blessed--or
+cursed--with as many friends as he. Among the letters that reached him
+was a note without signature, which he read hastily, and as hastily
+concealed when he had read it. This note was written in uneven, crooked
+characters, as if the writer's hand had shaken as she wrote, and ran as
+follows:--
+
+"I ought not to write, but how can I keep silence? There is nothing that
+I am not capable of bearing for my friends. If you will but confide in
+me--I am ready to do, to bear, to suffer anything--to forgive anything.
+Let me see you: I can then speak more freely. If you should be set at
+liberty in a day or two, I shall hear. You can then come to me: if not,
+I will come to you. But you need have no fear for me: I shall take means
+to prevent recognition."
+
+The envelope was plain and of common texture; but the note-paper was
+hand-made; with a faint, fine odor as of some sweet-smelling Eastern
+wood, and bore in one corner the letters "R. R.," intertwined in deep
+blue tints. There was no doubt in Caspar's mind as to the person from
+whom it came.
+
+He received it about three o'clock in the afternoon. If he wished to
+decline the proposed interview, he knew that he must write at once. In
+his heart he knew also that it would be better for him and better for
+her that the interview should be declined. What had he to do with
+Rosalind Romaine? He was accused of murdering her brother: it was not
+seemly that she should see him--even although the world were not to know
+of the visit. The world would know sooner or later--that was the worst
+of it: ultimately, the world knows everything. But why should she wish
+to see him? Had she information to impart? If she had, it would be
+foolish, from merely conventional reasons, to refuse her admittance,
+supposing that she really wished to come. And in a day or two at most he
+would certainly be able to go, if necessary, to her.
+
+But the fact was, he did not believe that she had any information to
+impart. She did not say so. Probably she only wished to express her
+faith in him, and to assure him of her friendship. Rosalind had been his
+friend through many a long year. She had always shown herself kind and
+sympathetic--in spite of one or two interludes of coldness and general
+oddity which Caspar had never felt able to understand. It would be
+pleasant enough to hear her say that she trusted him--he could not help
+feeling that. For, although he had passed the matter off very lightly
+when talking to Lesley, he was secretly hurt at the absence of any
+message from his wife. He could almost have worked himself into a rage
+at the thought of it. "Does she, too, think me guilty?" he asked
+himself. "She ought to know me better, although she does not love me!
+She ought to know. And she does know, but she is too cold and too proud
+to say so. Poor, warm-hearted Lesley has tried to win her sympathy for
+me and failed. Well, I never expected otherwise: she never gave me what
+I wanted--sympathy, understanding, or love! And how can she blame
+me"--the thought stole unawares into his mind--"if I turn for sympathy
+to one who offers it?"
+
+Yes, Rosalind would sympathize, and there would be no harm in listening
+to her gentle words. He had the pen in his hand, paper and ink before
+him: a word would be enough, if he wished to stay her visit. But he
+would not write it: if she liked to come, she might come--he would be
+glad to see her. Besides, her letter wanted explanation: for what had
+she to forgive?
+
+He pushed the writing materials away from him, and went to the
+fireplace, where a small fire was burning very dimly. The day was
+cloudy, and the afternoon was drawing in. He crushed the coal with the
+heel of his boot in order to make a flame leap up; then leaned his elbow
+on the narrow mantelpiece and gazed down into the glowing embers.
+
+The door opened and closed again behind him, but at first he did not
+look up. He thought that the attendant had come to light the gas or
+bring him some tea. But when he heard no further sound, he suddenly
+stirred and looked up; and in the dim light he saw beside him the figure
+of a woman, cloaked and veiled.
+
+Was it Rosalind? No, it was too tall for Rosalind Romaine. Not
+Lesley?--though it had a look of her! And then his heart gave a
+tremendous leap (although no one would have suspected it, for his
+massive form and bearded face remained as motionless and calm as ever),
+for it dawned upon him that the visitor was none other than Lesley's
+mother, his wife, Alice Brooke, who had quitted him in anger twelve
+years before.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said, courteously. "I did not see--I had no idea
+who it was. Will you not sit down?"
+
+He handed her a chair, with a bow as formal as that of a complete
+stranger. Perhaps the formality was inevitable. Lady Alice put her hand
+on the back of the chair, and felt that she was trembling.
+
+"I hope I am not intruding," she said, in a voice as formal as his own.
+
+"Not at all. It was most kind of you to come. Pray sit down."
+
+She seated herself in silence, and then put up her veil. He remained
+standing, and for a moment or two the husband and wife looked each other
+steadily in the face, with a sort of curiosity and with a sort of wonder
+too. The years had not dealt unkindly with either of them. Lady Alice
+had kept her slender grace of figure and her gentleness of expression,
+but the traces of sorrow and anxiety were so visible upon her delicate
+face that Caspar felt a sudden impulse of pity towards the woman who had
+suffered in her loneliness more than he had perhaps thought possible. As
+she sat and looked at him, a certain pathetic quality showing itself
+with more than usual vividness in her soft eyes and drooping mouth, he
+was conscious of a desire to take her in his arms and console her for
+all the past. But he caught back the impulse with an inward laugh of
+scorn. She had no doubt come to run needles into him, as she used to do
+in those unlucky days of poverty and struggle. She had a knack of
+looking pretty and sweet while she was doing it, he remembered. It would
+not do to show any weakness now.
+
+And she--what did she think of him? She was less absorbed with the
+consideration of any change in him than with what she intended to say.
+What impressed her most were the inflections of his quiet, musical
+voice--a voice as unroughened and as gentle as when it wooed her in her
+father's Northern Castle years before! She had forgotten its power, but
+it made her tremble now from head to foot with a sort of terror that was
+not without charm. It was so cold a voice--so cold and calm! She felt
+that if it once grew tender and caressing her strength would fail her
+altogether. But there was not much fear of tenderness from him--to her.
+
+After that involuntary and rather awkward pause, Lady Alice recollected
+herself; and spoke first.
+
+"You must be very much surprised to see me?"
+
+"I am delighted, of course. I could wish"--with a slight smile--"that
+the apartment was more worthy of you, and that the circumstances were
+less disagreeable; but I am unfortunately not able to alter these
+details."
+
+"And it is exactly to these details that you owe my visit," said Lady
+Alice, with unexpected calmness.
+
+"Then I ought to be grateful them, no doubt."
+
+She moved uneasily, as if the studied conventionality of his tone jarred
+on her a little; and then she said, with an effort that made her words
+sound brusque,
+
+"I mean that under ordinary circumstances I should not have come to see
+you. But these are so strange--so extraordinary--that you will perhaps
+pardon the intrusion. I felt--on reflection--that it was only right for
+me to come--to express----"
+
+She faltered, and he took advantage of her hesitation to say, with a
+quiet smile--
+
+"I am very much obliged to you. But you should not have taken all this
+trouble. A note would have answered the purpose just as well. I suppose
+you wish to express your indignation at the little care I seem to have
+taken of Lesley. You cannot blame me more severely than I blame myself.
+If she had been under your care I have no doubt we should not be in our
+present dilemma; but it is no use fretting over what is past--or
+inevitable. I can only say that I am exceedingly sorry. Will you not
+loosen your cloak? This room is rather warm. I can't very well ring for
+tea, I am afraid. You should call on me at Woburn Place, if you want
+tea."
+
+She loosened her cloak a little at the throat as he suggested. She had
+taken off her gloves, and he could see that her slender white hands were
+trembling. Somehow it occurred to him that he had spoken unkindly--but
+he did not know how or why. His words were commonplace enough. But it
+was his tone that had been cruel.
+
+"I did not come to make any reproaches or complaints," she said at last,
+in a low voice.
+
+"No. That was very good of you. I have to thank you, then, for your
+forbearance."
+
+There was still coldness, still something perilously like scorn, in his
+tone. It was unbearable to Lady Alice.
+
+"Why do you talk in that way?" she broke out, suddenly. "I came to say
+something quite different; and you speak as if you wanted to taunt
+me--to insult me--to hurt me in every possible way? I do not understand
+what you mean."
+
+"You never did," said Caspar. The scorn had gone now, and the voice had
+grown stern. "It is useless for us to talk together at all. You have
+made intercourse impossible. I have no desire to hurt or taunt or insult
+you, as you phrase it; but, if I am to speak the truth, I must say that
+I feel very strongly that it is to _you_ and _your_ behavior that we owe
+the greater part of this trouble. If you had been at my side, if Lesley
+had been under a mother's wing, sheltered as only a mother could shelter
+her, there never would have been an opportunity for that man Trent's
+clandestine approaches, which will put a stigma on that poor child for
+the rest of her life, and may--for aught I know--endanger my own neck! I
+could put up with the loss and harm to myself; but once and for all let
+me say to you, Alice, that you have neglected your duty as a mother as
+much as I have neglected mine as a father; and that if you had been in
+your proper place all this ruin and disgrace and misery might never have
+come about."
+
+The broken and vehement tones of his voice showed that his feelings were
+powerfully affected. Lady Alice listened in perfect silence, and kept
+silence for some minutes after the conclusion of his speech. Caspar,
+leaning with one shoulder against the mantelpiece, looked frowningly
+before him, as if he were unconscious of the fact that she had taken her
+handkerchief out of her muff, and was pressing it to her cheeks and
+eyes. But in reality he was painfully alive to every one of her
+movements, and expected a plaintive rejoinder to his accusations. But
+none came. The silence irritated him, as it had formerly irritated him
+with Lesley. He was obliged at last to ask a question.
+
+"Since you say you did not come to reproach me, may I ask the motive of
+your visit?" he asked.
+
+"I scarcely think that it is of any use to tell you now," said his wife,
+quietly. She had got rid of her tears now, and had put her handkerchief
+away. "I had a sort of fancy that you might like me to tell you with my
+own lips something that I felt rather strongly, but you would probably
+resent it--and it is only a trifle after all."
+
+She rose from her chair and drew her fur-lined cloak closely round her,
+as if preparing to depart.
+
+"I should like to hear it--if I am not troubling you too much," said
+Caspar.
+
+She averted her eyes and began slowly to draw on her gloves. "It is
+really nothing--I came on a momentary impulse. I have not seen you for a
+good many years, and we parted with very angry words on our lips, did we
+not?--but I wanted to say that--although you were sometimes angry--I
+never knew you do a cruel thing--you were always kind--kindest of all to
+creatures that were weak (except, perhaps to me); and I am quite
+sure--sure as that I stand here--that you never did the thing of which
+they are accusing you. There!"--and she looked straight into his
+face--"it is a little thing, no doubt: you have hosts of friends to say
+the same thing to you: but my tribute is worth having, perhaps, because,
+after all, I am your wife--and in some ways I do understand!"
+
+Caspar's face worked strangely: he bit his lip hard as he looked at her.
+
+"You are generous, Alice," he said, in a low voice, after a pause that
+seemed eternal to her.
+
+"Oh, no. Why should you call it generous? I only wanted to say this--and
+also--that if I can be of any use to you now, I am ready. A little thing
+sometimes turns the course of public opinion. If I were to go to Woburn
+Place--to stay with Lesley, for instance--so that all the world could
+see that I believed in you----"
+
+"But--I shall be at Woburn Place myself in a day or two, on bail; and
+then----"
+
+"I could stay," said Lady Alice, again looking at him. Then her eyes
+dropped and the color mounted to her forehead. He made a sudden step
+towards her.
+
+"Alice--is it possible--after all these years----"
+
+"No, it is not possible," she said, with a little laugh which yet had
+something in it of a sob, "and I don't think we should ever get on
+together--and I don't love you at all, except for Lesley's sake--but
+just until this horrible affair is over, if I might show everybody that
+I have all possible faith in you, and that I know you to be good and
+upright and honorable--just till then, Caspar, I _should_ like to be at
+your side."
+
+But whether Caspar heard the whole of this speech must remain for ever
+doubtful, as, long before its close, he had taken her in his arms and
+was sealing the past between them with a long kiss which might verily be
+called the kiss of peace.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+"OUT ON BAIL."
+
+
+Miss Brooke was electrified. Such a thing had never occurred to her as
+possible. After years of separation, of dispute, of ill-feeling on
+either side, here was Lady Alice appearing in her husband's house, and
+expressing a desire to remain in it. She came to Woburn Place on the
+evening after her interview with Caspar, and at once made known her
+wishes to Doctor Sophy.
+
+It was a curious interview. Miss Brooke sat bolt upright on a sofa, with
+an air of repressed indignation which was exceedingly striking: Lady
+Alice, half enveloped in soft black furs, was leaning back in the lowest
+and most luxurious chair the room afforded, with rather more the air of
+the _grande dame_ than she actually wished to convey. In reality her
+heart was very soft, and there was moisture in her eyes; but it was
+difficult for her to shake off an appearance of cold indifference to all
+the world when Miss Sophia Brooke, M. D., was in her society. She had
+never understood Doctor Sophy, and Miss Brooke had always detested her.
+
+"Am I to understand, Lady Alice," said the spinster, in her stiffest
+voice, "that my brother wishes you to take up your abode in this house
+during his absence?"
+
+"Yes, I think so," said Lady Alice, equably. "He has wished me to take
+up my abode here for some time past."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+The note of incredulity in her voice angered Caspar's wife.
+
+"I think you hardly understand," she said with some quiet dignity, "that
+I have been to see Mr. Brooke this afternoon. Strange circumstances
+demand new treatment, Miss Brooke. I consulted with my husband as to
+what we had better do, and he agreed with me that it would be better for
+Lesley if I came here--at any rate for the present."
+
+"Better for Lesley!" Miss Brooke was evidently offended. "I do not think
+that you need put yourself to any inconvenience--even for Lesley's sake.
+I will take care of her."
+
+"But I happen to be her mother," said Lady Alice, with a touch of
+amusement. It struck her as odd that Miss Brooke only amused her now,
+and did not make her angry at all. "And we have the world to think of,
+besides."
+
+"I scarcely thought you troubled yourself very much about what the world
+said," remarked Aunt Sophy, severely. "It has said a good deal during
+the last ten or twelve years."
+
+"At least it shall not say," responded Lady Alice, "that I believe my
+husband guilty of murder. I have come back to prevent _that_."
+
+Miss Brooke looked at her doubtfully. She was not a person of very quick
+perceptions.
+
+"You mean," she said at last, "that you have come back--because----"
+
+"_Because_ he was accused of murder," said Lady Alice, clearly, "and I
+choose to show the world that I do not believe it."
+
+And Lesley, entering from the library, heard the words, and stood
+transfixed for a moment with pure delight. Then she sprang forward, fell
+on her knees before her mother, and embraced her with such fervor that
+Miss Brooke put up her eye-glasses and gazed in surprise.
+
+"Mother! my own dearest mother! You do believe in him, then! and you
+have come to show us that you do! Oh! how delighted he will be when he
+knows!"
+
+A little color showed itself in Lady Alice's delicate face. "He does
+know," she whispered, almost with the coyness of a girl.
+
+"And he _was_ delighted, was he not? It would be such a comfort to
+him--just now when he wants every kind of comfort. Oh, mamma, it is so
+good of you, and I am so glad. Aunty Sophy, aren't you glad, too?"
+
+Lady Alice tried to stifle this naive utterance, but it would not be
+repressed, and Aunt Sophy had to rise to the occasion as best she could,
+with rather a grim face, she rose from her seat upon the sofa and
+advanced towards her brother's wife, holding out a very reluctant hand.
+
+"I appreciate your motives, Lady Alice, and I see that your conduct may
+be of service to my brother." Then she relapsed into a more colloquial
+tone. "But how on earth you mean to live in this part of London, I'm
+sure I can't imagine. No doubt it seems rather smoky and grimy to you
+after Mayfair and Belgravia."
+
+"London is generally a little smoky," said Lady Alice, smiling in spite
+of herself. "Thank you, Sophy: I thought you would do me justice."
+
+And the hands of the two women met in a friendlier grasp than ever in
+the days of yore.
+
+"I must see about your room," said Miss Brooke, practically. It was her
+way of holding out the olive branch. "You would like to be near Lesley,
+I suppose. We shall try to make you comfortable, but, of course, you
+won't expect the luxuries of your own home here."
+
+"I shall be very comfortable, I am sure," said Lady Alice.
+
+"What, does she mean by talking in that tone?" cried Lesley, hotly when
+Doctor Sophy had left the room. "It was almost insulting!"
+
+"No, my darling, no. It is only a memory of old times when I
+was--exacting and dissatisfied. Yes, I see that I must have seemed so,
+then. I had not had much experience in those days; and then your father
+was not a man of substance as he seems to be now," said Lady Alice,
+inspecting the room, with a half-smile. The smile died quickly away,
+however, and was succeeded by a sad look, and a sigh. "Ah, poor Caspar!"
+
+"He will be home in a day or two. Everybody says so."
+
+"I trust so, dearest. And I will stay with--you till he comes home."
+
+"Oh, but now that you have come, mamma you will never be allowed to go
+away again."
+
+"I never said that, Lesley. I have come to maintain a principle, that is
+all. A wife ought to show that she trusts her husband, if he is falsely
+accused."
+
+And then Lady Alice lowered her eyes and changed the subject, for it
+suddenly occurred to her that she had not been very ready, in her
+younger years, to give the trust that now seemed to be her husband's
+due.
+
+But she settled down quite naturally in her husband's home during the
+next few days. Lesley, remembering the discomfort of her own first few
+weeks, expected her to say that the house was hideous and the
+neighborhood detestable. But Lady Alice said nothing of the kind. She
+thought it a fine old house--well-built and roomy--far preferable, she
+said, to the places she had often occupied in the West End. With
+different furniture and a little good taste it might be made absolutely
+charming. And when she got as far as "absolutely charming," uttered with
+her chin pillowed on one hand, and her eyes roving meditatively over the
+drawing-room mantelpiece, Lesley smiled to herself, and gave up all fear
+that she would ever go away again. Lady Alice had evidently come to the
+conclusion that it was her duty to see that Caspar's house was
+thoroughly redecorated from top to bottom.
+
+But she did not come to this conclusion all at once. There were days
+when the minds of mother and daughter were too full of sorrow and
+anxiety to occupy themselves with upholstery and bric-a-brac. And the
+day of the adjourned inquest, when Caspar Brooke was allowed to go to
+his own house on bail, was one of the worst of all.
+
+He came home quietly that afternoon in company with Maurice Kenyon,
+greeted his family affectionately but with something of a melancholy
+air, then went at once to his study, where he shut himself up and began
+to write and read letters. The cloud was hanging over him still. He knew
+well enough that if he had been a poor man, of no account in the world,
+he would at that moment have been occupying a prison cell instead of his
+own comfortable study. For presumption was strong against him; and it
+had taken a great deal of influence and extraordinarily high bail to
+secure his release. At present he stood committed to take his trial for
+manslaughter within a very short space of time. And nobody had
+succeeded, or seemed likely to succeed, in throwing any doubt on the
+testimony of Mary Trent. He was certainly in a very awkward position: it
+might be a very terrible position by-and-bye.
+
+He was aroused from the reverie into which he had fallen by the entry of
+a servant with a note. He opened it, read the contents slowly, and then
+put it into the fire. He stood frowning a little as he watched it burn.
+
+After a few moments of this hesitation he rang the bell, told Sarah that
+he was going out, and left the house. The three women in the
+drawing-room upstairs, already nervous and overstrained from long
+suspense, all started when the reverberation of that closing door made
+itself heard. Lesley felt her mother's hand close on hers with a quick,
+convulsive pressure. She looked up.
+
+"He has gone out!" Lady Alice murmured, so that Lesley alone could hear.
+"He does not come--to _us_!"
+
+Lesley did not know what to say. She was surprised to find that her
+mother expected him to come. But then she was only Caspar Brooke's
+daughter and not his wife.
+
+Lady Alice lay back in her chair, closed her eyes and waited. She had
+once been a jealous woman: there were the seeds of jealousy in her
+still. She sat and wondered whether Caspar had gone for sympathy and
+comfort to any other woman. And after wondering this for half an hour it
+suddenly occurred to her mind with the vividness of a lightning flash
+that if things _were_ so--if her husband _had_ found sympathy
+elsewhere--it was her own fault. She had no right to accuse him, or to
+blame him, when she had left him for a dozen years.
+
+"I have no right to blame him, perhaps, but I have still a right to
+know," she said to herself. And then, disengaging her hand from Lesley's
+clinging fingers, she rose and went downstairs--down to the study which
+she had so seldom visited. She seated herself in Caspar's arm-chair, and
+prepared to wait there for his return. Surely he would not be long!--and
+then she would speak to him, and things should be made clear.
+
+Caspar's note had been written by Mrs. Romaine. It was quite formal, and
+merely contained a request that he would call on her at his earliest
+convenience. And he complied at once, as she had surmised that he would
+do. Her confidential maid opened the door to him, and conducted him to
+the drawing-room. It was dusk, and the blinds were drawn down. Oliver
+Trent's funeral had taken place the day before.
+
+Mr. Brooke did not sit down. He knew that the interview which was about
+to take place was likely to be a painful one, but he could not guess in
+the least what kind of turn it would take. Did Rosalind believe in his
+guilt? Did she know what manner of man her brother Oliver had been? Was
+she going to reproach or to condole? She had done a strange thing in
+asking him to the house at all, and at another time he might have
+thought it wiser not to accede to her request; but he was in the mood in
+which the most extraordinary incidents seem possible, and scarcely
+anything could have seemed to him too bizarre to happen. He felt
+curiously impatient of the ordinary conventionalities of civilized life.
+Since this miraculous thing had come to pass--that he, Caspar Brooke, a
+respectable, sane, healthy-minded man of middle-age, could be accused of
+killing a miserable young scamp like Oliver Trent in a moment of
+passion--the world had certainly seemed somewhat crazy and out of joint.
+It was not worth while to stand very much on ceremony at such a
+conjuncture; and if Rosalind Romaine wanted to talk to him about her
+dead brother, he was willing to go and hear her talk. And yet as he
+stood in her dainty little drawing-room, it came over him very strongly
+that he ought not to be there.
+
+He was still musing when the door opened, and Rosalind stole into the
+room. He did not hear her until she was close upon him, and then he
+turned with a sudden start. She looked different--she was changed. Her
+face was very pale: her eyelids were reddened: she was dressed in the
+deepest black, and over her head she had flung a black lace veil, which
+gave her--perhaps unintentionally--a tragic look. She held the folds
+together with her right hand, and spoke to him quietly.
+
+"It was kind of you to come," she said.
+
+"You summoned me. I should not have come without that," he answered,
+quickly.
+
+"No, I suppose not. And of course--in the ordinary course of things--I
+ought not to have summoned you. The world would say that I was wrong.
+But we have been old friends for many years now, have we not?"
+
+"I always thought so," he answered, gravely. "But now--I fear----"
+
+"You mean"--with a strange vibration in her voice--"you mean that we
+must never be friends again--because--because of Oliver----"
+
+"This accusation must naturally tend to separate the families," he said,
+in a very calm, grave voice. "Even when it is disproved, we shall not
+find it easy to resume old relations. I am very sorry for it, Rosalind,
+just as I need not tell you how sorry I am for the cause----"
+
+She interrupted him hurriedly. "Yes, yes, I know all that; but you speak
+of _disproving_ the charge. Can you do that?"
+
+He was silent for a moment. "I shall do my best," he said at length,
+with some emotion in his voice.
+
+"And if it is not disproved--what then?" she asked. "Suppose they call
+it _murder_?"
+
+Caspar drew himself up: a certain displeasure began to mark itself upon
+his features.
+
+"Need you ask me?"
+
+"Yes, I need. I want you to consider the answer that you would give. I
+have a reason."
+
+Her eager eyes, hot and burning in a face that was strangely white, pled
+for her. Caspar relented a little, but bent his brows as he replied--
+
+"The extreme penalty of the law, I suppose. It is absurd--but, of
+course, it is possible. It is not a case in which I should expect penal
+servitude for life to be substituted, supposing that I were found
+guilty. But I fail to see your motive for asking what must be to me a
+rather painful question."
+
+"Oh, you are strong! You can bear it!" she said, dropping her face upon
+her hands. Caspar gazed at her in amazement. He began to wonder whether
+she were going out of her mind. But before he could find any word of
+calming or consoling tendency, she flung down her hands and spoke again.
+"I want you to fix your mind on it for a moment, even although it hurts
+you," she said. "You are a strong man--you do not shrink from a thing
+because, it is a little painful. Think what it would mean for yourself,
+and not for yourself only; for your friends, for those who love you! A
+perpetual disgrace--a misery!"
+
+"You seem anxious to assume that I shall be convicted," he said, still
+with displeasure.
+
+"I tell you I am doing so on purpose. I want you to think of it. You
+know--you know as well as I do--that the chances are against you!"
+
+"And if they are?"
+
+"If they are--why do you incur such a risk!"
+
+"Mrs. Romaine," said Caspar, gently, but with a steady coldness of tone,
+of which she did not at first feel the import, "I think you hardly know
+the force of what you are saying. I do not incur any risk unnecessarily
+or wantonly: I only wish the truth to be made known. What can I do
+more--or less?"
+
+"You could go away," she said, almost in a whisper.
+
+If the room had been lighter, she might, perhaps, have seen the frown
+that was gathering on his brow, the wrath that darkened his eyes as he
+spoke: but his face was in shadow, and for a moment anger made him
+speechless. She went on eagerly, breathlessly, without waiting for a
+reply.
+
+"You might get off quite easily to--to Spain, perhaps, or some place
+where there was no extradition treaty. You are out on bail, I know; but
+your friends could not complain. Surely it is a natural enough thing for
+a man, situated as you are, to wish to escape: nobody would blame you in
+the long run--they would only say that you were wise. And if you stay,
+everything is against you. You had so much better take your present
+chance!"
+
+Caspar muttered something inarticulate, then seemed to choke back
+further utterance, and kept silence for a minute. When he spoke it was
+in a curiously tranquil tone.
+
+"You do not seem to have heard of the quality that men call their
+honor?"
+
+"Oh, honor! I have heard enough about honor," she answered with
+a nervous, rasping laugh. "And you--_you_ to talk about
+honor--after--after _what you have done_!"
+
+Caspar Brooke fell back a step or two and surveyed her curiously. "Good
+God!" The exclamation broke from him, as if against his will. "You speak
+as though you thought I was guilty--as though I had--_murdered_ Oliver!"
+
+And she, looking at him as intently as he looked at her, said only, in
+the simplest possible way--
+
+"And did you not?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+LOVE OR TRUST.
+
+
+Caspar turned away. For a moment he felt mortally sick, as if from a
+pang of acute physical pain. Distrust from an old friend is always a
+hard thing to bear. And so, for a moment or two, he did not speak.
+
+"I was not surprised," said Mrs. Romaine, quickly. "I had been looking
+for something of the kind. I won't say that you were not justified--in a
+certain sense. Oliver acted abominably, I know. He told me what he was
+going to do beforehand."
+
+"Told you what he was going to do?"
+
+"Yes--to make Lesley fall in love with him. He did not mean to marry
+her. He meant to gain her affections and then to--to--leave her, to
+break her heart. I suppose that is what you found out. I do not wonder
+that you were surprised."
+
+"No doubt you have good authority for what you are saying," said Mr.
+Brooke, very coldly, "but your account does not tally with what I have
+gathered from other sources."
+
+"From Lesley herself?"
+
+Caspar bowed his head. He was conscious of a violent dislike to bringing
+Lesley's name into the discussion. Mrs. Romaine went on rapidly.
+
+"As to Lesley, of course I cannot say. I don't know whether he failed or
+succeeded. Oliver very seldom failed with women when he tried. But, of
+course, he was going to marry Ethel; and that meant that if he _had_
+succeeded Lesley had been thrown over. It is not like me to put things
+so baldly, is it? I see that I disgust you. But I do not know that I
+need apologize. You are man of the world enough to understand that at
+certain crises we are obliged to speak our minds, to face the truth
+boldly and see what it means. Is it not so?"
+
+"It may be so, but I am not aware that the present crisis demands such
+plain speaking."
+
+"Then you must be blind," said his hearer, with a burst of indignation,
+"blind--blind--_blind_! Or mad? is that it? What sort of crisis do you
+expect? What can be worse than the present state of things? Are not your
+life and her character at stake? Why do you not take your present
+opportunity and save her and yourself? Look the matter in the face and
+decide?"
+
+"I would rather not discuss it," said Caspar. "The course you indicate
+is not one that could be taken by any honorable man. It is--it
+is--absurd." The last word was evidently the substitute for a much
+stronger one in his mind. "I see no use in talking about the matter. We
+are only giving ourselves useless pain."
+
+There was a short silence. Mrs. Romaine drew her veil more tightly round
+her face, and seemed to deliberate. Caspar threw a longing glance--which
+she intercepted--towards the door.
+
+"Men are such cowards," she said at last, in a low and bitter tone. "I
+have proved _that_ in every way: I ought to be prepared for
+cowardice--even from you. They want to slip out of every unpleasant
+position, and leave some woman to bear the brunt of it. You, for
+instance, want to go now, this minute, because I have said one or two
+things that pain you. You don't care enough for what I think to make you
+wish to alter my opinion--to fight it out and conquer me; you only want
+to get away and leave me to 'cool down,' as you would call it. You are
+mistaken. I am not speaking from any momentary irritation: what I say to
+you to-day is the result of long thought, long consideration, long
+patience. It would be better for you to have the courage and the
+manliness to listen to me."
+
+"You talk in a very extraordinary way, Rosalind,", said Caspar. "I do
+not understand it, and I fail to see its justice towards me. I have
+never refused to listen to you, have I? As for cowardice--it seemed to
+me that you were trying to persuade me to do a very cowardly thing just
+now; but perhaps I was mistaken. I will hear all that you have to say:
+if I was anxious to go, it was only that I might save you from tiring or
+hurting yourself."
+
+"It matters so much whether I am tired or hurt, does it not?" she said,
+with the faintest possible flicker of a smile on her white lips. "That
+is what you all think of--whether one suffers--suffers physically. It is
+my soul that is hurt, my heart that is tired--but you don't concern
+yourself with that sort of thing."
+
+"I assure you that I am very sorry----," he began, and then he stopped
+short. She had made it very difficult for him to say anything so
+commonplace, and yet so true.
+
+"If you are sorry," she said, in a softer tone, "and if you want to make
+me happier--_save yourself_."
+
+"No," said Caspar, roughly--almost violently--"by Heaven, I won't do
+that."
+
+"You don't wish to save yourself?"
+
+"Not at that price--the price of my honor."
+
+"Listen to me," she said, drawing nearer to him and speaking very
+softly. "I have made it my business during the last day or two--when I
+gathered that you would be let out on bail--to collect all the
+information that might be useful to you. You could get away to-morrow or
+next day by a vessel that leaves Southampton at the time I have marked
+on this paper. It is not an ordinary steamer--not a passenger-ship at
+all--and no one will know that you are on board. It would take you to
+Oporto. You would be safe enough in the interior--a friend of mine who
+went there once told me that there were charming palaces and half-ruined
+castles to let, where one could live as in paradise, amidst the
+loveliest gardens, full of fountains and birds and flowers."
+
+Her voice took on a caressing tone, as if she were dreaming of perfect
+happiness. "How like a woman," thought Caspar to himself, "to think only
+of the material side of life?" Then he corrected himself: "Like some
+women: not like all, thank-God!"
+
+"So you would condemn me to exile and loneliness as well as to
+dishonor?" he said. It was as much as he could do not to laugh outright
+at the chimerical idea.
+
+"It is no exile to a cosmopolitan like yourself to live out of England,"
+she answered, scornfully. "As to dishonor--what will you not have to
+suffer if you stay in England? Where is your reputation now? And as to
+loneliness--don't you know--do you not see--that you need not
+go--alone?"
+
+She put her left hand gently on his arm, and for a moment there was
+silence in the room. Her heart beat so loudly that she was afraid of his
+hearing it. But she need not have feared; his mind was far too much
+occupied with more important matters to be able to take cognizance of
+such a detail as the state of Mrs. Romaine's pulse.
+
+His first impulse was one of intense indignation and anger. His second
+was one of pity. These feelings alternated in him when at last he forced
+himself to speak. Which of the two predominated he hardly knew. Perhaps
+pity: because it drove him, almost as a matter of self-respect, to make
+a pretence of not knowing what she meant.
+
+"Anything is exile to a man who leaves his home," he said sternly. "To a
+man who leaves his wife and daughter--do you understand? As for the
+dishonor of such a course, it seems as if you could not comprehend that:
+my feelings on the subject are evidently beyond your ken. But you can
+understand this--first, that I should go nowhere into no exile, into no
+new home, without my wife; and, secondly, that _she_, at least, trusts
+me--she knows that I have not your brother's blood upon my hands."
+
+Rosalind's fingers had slipped from his arm when he began to speak: she
+knew that if she had not removed them then they would have been shaken
+off. He could see them amongst the folds of black lace at her
+breast--clutching, tearing, as if she had not room to breathe.
+
+"Your wife!" she said, with a gasp. "I did not know.... She has been
+beforehand with me, then! And it is she--she--that you will take--to
+Spain?"
+
+"There is no question of Spain. I mean to stay here in England and fight
+the matter out. My wife would be the first person to tell me so. I
+cannot imagine her speaking to me again if I were coward enough to run
+away."
+
+"She would not do for you what I have done!" cried the unhappy woman,
+now, as it seemed, beside herself. "If she believes you innocent, so
+much the easier for her! But I--I--believe you guilty--yes, Caspar
+Brooke, I believe that you killed my brother--and I do not care! I loved
+him, yes; but I love you--_you_--a thousand times more!"
+
+"You do not know what you are saying. You are mad. Be silent, Rosalind,"
+said Caspar Brooke, in a deep tone of anger. But she raved on.
+
+"Have I not been silent for years? And who is as faithful to you as I
+have been? It is easy to love a man who is innocent; but not a man who
+is guilty! Guilty or not--I do not care. It is you that I care for--and
+you may have as many sins as you please upon your soul--but they are
+nothing to me. I am past anything now but speaking the truth. Have you
+no pity for a woman to whom you are dearer than her own soul?"
+
+She would have thrown herself at his feet, if he had not prevented her.
+He was touched a little by her suffering, but he was also immeasurably
+angered and disgusted. An exhibition of uncontrolled feeling was not the
+way to charm him. His one desire now became the desire to escape.
+
+"I should have no pity," he said, gravely, "for my own selfishness and
+cowardice, if I took advantage of this moment of weakness on your part.
+It _is_ weakness, I hope--I will not call it by any other name. You will
+recover from it when the stress of this painful time is over, and you
+will be glad to forget it as I shall do. Believe me, I will not think of
+it again. It shall be in my mind as though you had not said it; and,
+though it will be impossible for us to continue on our former terms of
+friendship, I shall always wish for your welfare, and hope that time
+will bring you happiness and peace."
+
+She made no answer. She lay where he had placed her, her head buried
+amongst the cushions, crushed to the very earth. She would not look at
+him, would not make semblance to have heard. And he, without hesitation,
+went deliberately to the door and let himself out. He gained the street
+without being intercepted, and drew a long breath of relief when he felt
+the soft night air playing on his heated brow. The moralist would have
+said that he came off victor; but he had a sense, as he went out along
+the pavement, of being only a defeated and degraded man. There was not
+even the excitement of gratified vanity, for an offered love which did
+not include perfect trust in his honor was an insult in itself. And
+Caspar Brooke's integrity of soul was dear to him.
+
+It was perhaps impossible for him--a mere man--to estimate the extent of
+suffering to which his scorn had subjected the woman that he left
+behind. Rosalind remained as he had seen her, crouching on the ground,
+with her head on the sofa cushions, for full two hours or more. When she
+rose she went to her own room and lay upon her bed, refusing for many
+hours either to eat or to speak. She did not sleep: she lay broad awake
+all night, recalling every tone of Caspar's voice, and every passing
+expression of his face. She was bitterly humiliated and ashamed. But she
+was not ashamed in the sense of shame for wrong-doing: she was only
+ashamed because he had rebuffed her. She was sick with mortification.
+She had offered him everything in her power--peace, safety, love: she
+had offered him _herself_ even, and been rejected with scorn. Nothing
+crushes a woman like this humiliation. And in some women's natures such
+an experience will produce dire results; for loss of self-respect is
+resented as the worst injury that man can inflict, and is followed by
+deadly hatred to the man who has inflicted it. It may be argued by the
+more logical male that the woman has brought it all upon herself; but no
+affronted, humiliated, shame-stricken woman will ever allow this to be
+the fact. The sacrifice she conceives to have been all her own; but the
+pain has come from _him_.
+
+This was the way in which Rosalind looked at the matter. And mistaken as
+she was in her view of the moralities and proprieties of the situation,
+she suffered an amount of pain which may well arouse in us more pity
+than Caspar Brooke felt for her. The burning, stinging sense of shame
+seemed to make her whole soul an open wound. It was intolerable. The
+only way out of it, she said to herself at first, is to die. There was
+an old song that rang in her ears continually, as if somebody were
+repeating it over and over again. She could not remember it all--only a
+line here and there. "When lovely woman stoops to folly," it began, what
+art can wash her tears and stains and shame away? And the answer was
+what Rosalind herself had already given: the only way "to rouse his
+pity" was "to die!" She almost laughed at herself for repeating the
+well-worn, hackneyed, century-old ditty. People did not die now-a-days,
+either of broken hearts or of chloral, when their lovers deserted them.
+And Caspar Brooke had never been her lover. No, he had only given her
+pain; and she wished that she could make him suffer, too. "Revenge" was
+too high-flown a word; but if she could see him heartbroken, ruined,
+disgraced, she would be--not satisfied, but she would feel her pain
+allayed.
+
+Caspar Brooke walked for an hour before he was calm enough to remember
+that he ought to go home. When this idea once occurred to him, he felt
+a pang of shame for his own forgetfulness. What would Alice think of
+him? And this was the first day that she had been with him in his house
+for so many years. He must go home and make his apologies. Not that she
+would expect very much attention from him. Had she not said that she was
+only trying to do her duty? Probably she disliked him still.
+
+He let himself in with his latch-key, and walked straight into the
+study. A shaded lamp had been lighted, and but faintly illuminated the
+corners of the room. But there was light enough for him to see that Lady
+Alice was sitting in his chair. He came up to the table, and looked at
+her without speaking. There was a strange tumult of feeling in his
+heart. He wished that he could tell her how gratified he was by her
+trust in him, how much he prized the very things that had once irritated
+him against her--her reserve, her fine perception, her excellent
+fastidiousness of taste, even that little air of coldness that became
+her so well. To come into her presence was like entering a fragrant
+English garden, after stifling for an hour in a conservatory where the
+air was heavy with the perfume of stephanotis.
+
+She rose, as he continued silent, and stood on the rug, almost face to
+face with him. She did not find it easy to speak, and there was
+something in his air which frightened her a little. She made a trivial
+remark at last, but with great difficulty.
+
+"You have been away a long time," she said.
+
+She was not prepared for the answer. He put out his hand and drew her
+close to him. "You were away a great deal longer," he said, looking down
+at her fair, serious face. She could not reply. "Twelve years, is it
+not?" he went on. "That's a long time out of one's life, Alice. I feel
+myself an old man now."
+
+"No, no, Caspar!" she said, tremulously.
+
+"What was it all about, Alice? You know I never really understood it.
+Can't you make me understand? Was it that I was simply unbearable? too
+disagreeable to be put up with any longer."
+
+"No, it was not that. I will speak the truth now, Caspar. I was
+jealous--I thought you cared for Rosalind Romaine."
+
+"But you know now--surely--that that was not true?"
+
+"Could you swear it?" she asked, suddenly and sharply, with a quick look
+into his face.
+
+For a moment he was annoyed. Then his brow cleared, and he answered,
+very gravely--
+
+"I can and will, if you like. But I thought--having trusted me so
+far--that you could trust me without an oath. Alice, I never loved any
+woman but one: and that one was yourself. Have you been as true to me as
+I have been to you?"
+
+"I don't think I ever knew that I loved you until now," said Alice,
+laying her head with a deep sigh upon her husband's breast.
+
+"Love is not enough, though it is a great deal: do you trust me?"
+
+"Implicitly--now that I have looked at you again."
+
+Caspar gave a little laugh.
+
+"Then I must never let you go away from me, or you will begin to
+disbelieve in me," he said.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+TWELVE SILVER SPOONS.
+
+
+Lady Alice was not long in finding out that Maurice Kenyon, her
+husband's chief friend, was the man of whom Lesley had spoken in her
+letters, and also the doctor who had interested her at the hospital. She
+did not speak to Lesley about him: she took a little time to accustom
+herself to her husband's circle before she made any remarks upon its
+members. But she was shrewd enough to see very quickly that Mr. Kenyon
+took even more interest in her daughter than in her husband, and from
+Lesley's shy looks she fancied that the interest was reciprocated. She
+had a twinge of regret for her favorite, Harry Duchesne, and then
+consoled herself by saying that after all Lesley was too young to know
+her own mind, and that probably she would change before she was
+twenty-one.
+
+She did not come particularly into contact with Maurice, however, until
+the Sunday after she had taken up her abode in Woburn Place. And then
+she saw a good deal of him. For Lesley went to sit with Ethel as was her
+wont, and Maurice came to dine at Mr. Brooke's. After the early dinner,
+Lady Alice noticed that there was some parleying between the guest and
+his host.
+
+"I am going," said Maurice in an urgent undertone. To which Caspar
+returned a cheerful answer.
+
+"All right, old man; but I am going too." And then Mr. Kenyon knitted
+his brows and looked vexed.
+
+Caspar at once noted his wife's glance of inquiry. "Has Lesley told you
+nothing about our Sunday meetings at the Club? We generally betake
+ourselves to North London on a Sunday afternoon. Mr. Kenyon thinks I had
+better stay with you, and--I don't."
+
+From Maurice's uncomfortable looks, Lady Alice gathered that there was
+something doubtful in the proceeding. "Will you let me go with you?" she
+said, by way of experiment.
+
+There was an exchange of astonished and rather embarrassed looks all
+round. Caspar elevated his eyebrows and clutched his beard: Miss Brooke
+made a curious sound, something like a snort; and Maurice flushed a deep
+and dusky red; indications which all annoyed Lady Alice, although she
+did not quite know what they signified. She rose from her chair and took
+the matter into her own hands; but all without the slightest change in
+the manner of graceful indifference which had grown natural to her of
+late years.
+
+"That is the place where Lesley used to go," she said. "She tells me she
+sings to the people sometimes. I cannot sing, but I can play the piano a
+little, if that is any good. Sophy is going, is she not? And I should
+like to go too."
+
+"There is no reason why you should not," said Mr. Brooke rather
+abruptly. But the gleam in his eye told of pleasure. "There are some
+very rough characters at the club sometimes, you know. And perhaps the
+reception they give me to-day will not be of the pleasantest."
+
+Lady Alice looked at her husband with a mixture of wonder and
+admiration. The calm way in which he sometimes alluded to his present
+circumstances, without a trace of bitterness or fretfulness, amazed her.
+In old days she would have put it down to "good breeding--good manners,"
+some superficial veneer of good society of which she thoroughly
+approved; but she had seen too much of the seamy side of "good society"
+now to be able to accept this explanation of his calmness. It was not
+want of sensitiveness, she was sure of that: he was by no means obtuse:
+it was simply that his large, strong nature rose above the pettiness of
+resentment and complaint. The suspicion under which he labored was a
+grave thing--a trouble, a blow; but it had not made him sour, nor borne
+him to the earth with a conviction of the injustice of mankind.
+
+His wife looked and marveled, but recollected herself in time to say
+after only a minute's hesitation:
+
+"I know a little more about rough characters than I once did. We saw a
+good many at the East End hospital, did we not, Mr. Kenyon?"
+
+It was the first time that she had shown that she remembered Maurice's
+face. Caspar pricked up his ears.
+
+"_You_ at a hospital, Alice? Why, what were you doing there?"
+
+"Visiting some of the patients," she answered, with a little blush.
+
+"Visits which were much appreciated," put in Maurice, "although we found
+that Lady Alice was too generous."
+
+"Until I was warned by one of the patients that the others abused my
+kindness and traded on it," said Lady Alice, laughing rather nervously,
+"and then I drew in a little."
+
+"What patient was that?"
+
+"The name I think was Smith--the man who lost his memory in that curious
+way."
+
+"Ah yes, I remember." And then Maurice knitted his brows and became very
+thoughtful: he looked as if a thoroughly new idea had been suggested to
+him.
+
+Miss Brooke remarked that it was almost time to set out if they were to
+go to the club that afternoon, and Lady Alice went to her room for her
+cloak. She was before the looking-glass, apparently studying the
+reflection of her own face, when a knock at the door, to which she
+absently said "Come in," was followed by Caspar's entrance. She,
+thinking that it was her maid, did not look round, and he came behind
+her without being perceived. The first token of his presence was
+received by her when his arm was slipped round her waist, and his voice
+said caressingly and almost playfully in her ear, "I don't know that I
+want my dainty piece of china carried down into the slums."
+
+"Am I nothing more to you than that?" said Lady Alice reproachfully.
+
+He made no answer, but as he looked at the fair face in the glass, and
+as their eyes met, she thought that she read a reply in his glance.
+
+"I have been nothing more--I know," she said, with sudden humbleness,
+"but if it is not too late--if I can make up now for the time I have
+lost----"
+
+The tears trembled in her eyes, but he kissed them away with new
+tenderness, saying in a soothing tone--
+
+"We will see, my dear, we will see. I was only in jest."
+
+And she felt that he was thinking not only of the lost years, but of the
+possible gulf before him--that horror of darkness and disgrace which
+they might yet have to face.
+
+She went downstairs to the cab that was waiting, with a new and subduing
+sensation very present to her mind: a sense of something missed out of
+her own life, a sense of having failed in the duty that had once been
+given her to do. Hitherto she had been buoyed up by a certain confidence
+in her own conscientiousness and power of judgment, as most rather
+narrow-minded women are; but it now occurred to her that she might have
+been wrong--not only in a few details, as she had consented to
+admit--but wrong from beginning to end. She had marred not only her own
+life but the lives of her husband and her child.
+
+This consciousness kept her very quiet during the drive to Macclesfield
+Buildings. But nobody spoke much, except Doctor Sophy, who made
+interjectional remarks, half lost in the rattling of the cab, by way of
+trying to keep up everybody's spirits. Caspar sitting opposite his wife,
+with his arms folded and his long legs carefully tucked out of the way,
+had an unusually serious and even anxious expression. Indeed it struck
+Lady Alice for the first time that he was looking haggard and ill. The
+burden was weighing upon him even more than he knew. Maurice, too,
+seemed absorbed in thought, so that the drive was not a particularly
+lively one.
+
+They got out at the block of buildings which had once struck Lesley as
+so particularly ugly. Perhaps their ugliness did not impress Lady Alice
+so much. At any rate she made no remark upon it. Her fingers were
+lightly pressed upon Caspar's arm: her thoughts were occupied by him.
+
+At the door of the block in which the club-rooms were situated, a little
+group of men were standing in somewhat aimless fashion, smoking and
+talking among themselves. Caspar recognized several of the club members
+in this group. "Ah," he said quietly to his wife, "they thought that I
+should not come." She made no answer: as a matter of fact she began to
+feel a trifle frightened. These rough-looking men, with their pipes, who
+nudged each other and laughed as she passed, were of a kind unknown to
+her. But Caspar walked through them easily, nodding here and there, with
+a cheery "Good-afternoon."
+
+Lady Alice did not know it, but the room presented an unusual sight to
+her husband's eyes that afternoon. The fire was burning, and the gas was
+lighted, for the day was cold and damp: the comfortable red-seated
+chairs were as inviting as ever, and the magazines and newspapers lay
+in rows upon the scarlet table-cloth. There were flowers in the vases,
+and a piece of music on the open piano. Lady Alice exclaimed in her
+pleasure, "How pretty it is! how cosy!" and wondered at the gloom that
+sat upon her husband's brow.
+
+The room was cosy and pretty enough--but it was empty.
+
+Caspar looked round mutely, then glanced at his companions. Miss Brooke
+paused in the act of taking off one woollen glove, and opened her mouth
+and forgot to shut it again. Maurice stood frowning, twitching his brows
+and biting his lips in the effort to subdue a torrent of rage that was
+surging up in his heart. He would have sworn, he said afterwards, if
+Lady Alice had not been there--he did not mind Doctor Sophy so much. All
+that he did now, however, was to mutter "Ungrateful rascals," and make
+as if he would turn to flee.
+
+But he was stopped by Caspar's clutch at his arm. Maurice saw that his
+purpose--that of haranguing the men outside--had been divined and
+arrested. He turned to his friend and saw for the first time on Caspar's
+face that the shaft had gone home. He had shown scarcely any sign of
+suffering before.
+
+"I don't deserve this from them," said Brooke quietly, and Maurice could
+tell that he had gone rather white about the lips. Then in a still lower
+voice, "Don't let her know. You were right, Maurice; I had better not
+have come."
+
+"I'll just go and look outside: I won't speak to them, don't be
+afraid--you talk to Lady Alice," said Maurice breaking from him. But
+when he got into the dark little entry, he did not look outside for
+anything or anybody: he only relieved himself by exclaiming. "Oh, d--n
+the fools!" and shaking his first in a very reprehensible way at some
+imaginary crowd of auditors. For Maurice was half an Irishman, and his
+blood was up, and on his friend's behalf he was, as he would just then
+have expressed it, "in a devil of a rage." While he was executing a sort
+of mad war-dance on the jute mat in the passage, relieving his mind by
+some wild gesticulation and still wilder objurgation of the world, Mr.
+Brooke had turned back to his wife with a pleasant word and smile.
+
+"I must show you the photographs," he said. "We are very proud of them.
+There will be plenty of time, for the members seem to be a little late
+in getting together to-day. Possibly they thought I was not coming."
+
+"It is scarcely time yet," said Miss Brooke heroically. She knew it was
+ten minutes past, but she was quite prepared to sacrifice truth for the
+maintenance of her brother's dignity.
+
+"That's a good one of the Parthenon," said Caspar negligently, putting
+his hand within his wife's arm, and leading her from one picture to
+another. "The Coliseum you see: not quite so clear as it might be. These
+frames were made by one of the men in the buildings--given as a present
+to the club. Not bad taste, are they? And this statuette----".
+
+He broke off suddenly. He had been going on hurriedly and feverishly,
+filling up the time as best he might, trying to forget the embarrassing
+situation into which he had brought his wife and himself, when the sound
+of heavy footsteps fell upon his ear. A sound of shuffling, the creak of
+men's boots, a little gruff whispering in the doorway--what was it all
+about? Were the men whom he had helped and guided going to turn against
+him openly--to give him in his wife's presence some other insult beside
+the tacit insult of their absence? He turned round sharply, with the
+feeling that if he was brought to bay the men would have a bad time of
+it. He certainly looked a formidable antagonist. The hair had fallen
+over his forehead, his brows were knotted, his eyes gleamed rather
+fiercely beneath them, his under lip was thrust out aggressively. "As
+fierce as a lion," said one of the observers, afterwards. But even while
+his eyes darted flame and fury at the men who had deserted them, his
+body kept its half-protecting, half-deferential pose with respect to
+Lady Alice; and the hand that held her arm was studiously gentle in its
+touch.
+
+Lady Alice turned round, amazed. There was a little crowd in the
+passage: the room was already half full. Men and women too were there,
+and more crowded in from behind. There must have been nearly fifty, when
+all were seen, and there were more men than women. But they did not sit
+down: they stood, they leaned against the walls; one or two mounted on
+the benches at the back and stood where they could get a good view of
+the proceedings. Caspar's scowl remained fixed, but it was a scowl of
+astonishment. He looked round for Maurice, whom he presently saw
+beckoning to him to take his usual place near the piano. He said a word
+to his wife, and brought her round with him towards his sister and his
+friend. The men still stood, and crowded a little nearer to him as he
+reached his place. There was very little talking in the room, and the
+men's faces looked somewhat solemn: it was evidently a serious occasion.
+
+"Is this--this--what usually goes on?" queried the puzzled Lady Alice.
+
+"This? Oh no!" said Maurice, to whom she had addressed herself, with a
+sudden happy laugh, and a perfectly beaming face. "_This_ is--a
+demonstration. Here, Caspar, old man, you've got to stand here. _Now_,
+Gregson."
+
+Lady Alice accepted the chair offered to her, and Miss Brooke another.
+Caspar began to look utterly perplexed, but a little relieved also, for
+his eye, in straying over the crowd, had recognized two or three faces
+as those of intimate friends who seemed to be mingling with the men, and
+he felt sure that they had no inimical purpose towards him. All that he
+could do was to look down and grasp his beard, as usual, while Jim
+Gregson, the man who had once spoken to Lesley so warmly of her father,
+being pushed forward by the crowd as their spokesman, addressed himself
+to Caspar.
+
+"Mr. Brooke--Sir: We have made bold to change the order of the
+proceedings for this 'ere afternoon. Instead of beginning with the
+music, we just want to say a few words; and that's why we've come in all
+at once, so as to show that we are all of one mind. We think, sir, that
+this is a very suitable opportunity for presenting you with a mark of
+our--our gratitude and esteem. We have always found you a true friend to
+us, and an upright man that would never allow the weak to be trampled
+on, nor the poor to be oppressed, and we wish to show that whatever the
+newspapers may say, sir, we have got heads on our shoulders and know a
+good man when we see him." This sentence was uttered with great
+emphasis, to an accompaniment of "Hear, hear," from the audience, and
+considerable stamping of feet, umbrellas and sticks. "What we wish to
+say, sir," and Mr. Gregson became more and more embarrassed as he came
+to this point, "is that we respect you as a man and as a gentleman, and
+that we take this opportunity of asking you to accept this small tribute
+of our feelings towards you, and we wish to say that there's not a
+member of the club as has not contributed his mite towards it, as well
+as many poor neighbors in the Buildings. It's a small thing to give,
+but that you will excuse on account of the shortness of the notice, so
+to speak: the suggestion having been made amongst ourselves and by
+ourselves only three days ago. We beg you'll accept it as a token of
+respect, sir, from the whole of the Macclesfield Buildings Working Men's
+Club, of which you was the founder, and which we hope you'll continue
+for many long years to be the president _of_." And with a resounding
+emphasis on the preposition, Mr. Gregson finished his speech. A
+tremendous salvo of applause followed his last word, and before it had
+died away a woman was hastily dragged to the front, with a child--a
+blue-eyed fairy of two or three years old--in her arms. The child held a
+brown paper parcel, and presented it with baby solemnity to Mr. Brooke,
+who kissed her as he took it from her hands. And then, under cover of
+more deafening applause, Mr. Brooke turned hurriedly to Maurice and
+said, in a very unheroic manner--
+
+"I say, I can't stand much more of this. I shall make a fool of myself
+directly."
+
+"Do: they'll like it, the beggars!" returned Maurice in high glee.
+
+But he had more sympathy in his eyes than his words expressed, and the
+grip that he gave his friend's hand set the audience once more
+applauding enthusiastically. An audience of Londoners with whom a
+speaker is in touch, is one of the most sympathetic and enthusiastic in
+the world.
+
+While they applauded, the parcel was opened. It contained a morocco
+case, lined with dark blue satin and velvet--an unromantic and prosaic
+expression of as truly high and noble feeling as ever found a vent in
+more poetic ways--and on the velvet cushion lay--twelve silver spoons!
+
+There was an odd little touch of bathos about it, and an outsider might
+perhaps have smiled at the way in which the British workman and his wife
+had chosen to manifest their faith in the man who had been in their eyes
+wrongfully accused; but nobody present in the little assembly saw the
+humorous side of it at all, not even a young gentleman who was hastily
+making a sketch of it for the _Graphic_, for he blew his nose as
+vigorously as anybody else. And there was a good display of
+handkerchiefs and some rather troublesome coughing and choking in the
+course of the afternoon, which showed that the donors of the spoons did
+not look on the gift exactly in the light of a joke.
+
+Mr. Brooke was a practised speaker; and when he opened his lips to
+reply, his sister dried her eyes and put down her handkerchief with a
+gratified smile as much as to say, "Now we shall have a treat." And she
+settled herself so that she could watch the effect of the speech on Lady
+Alice, who had forgotten to wipe her tears away, and sat with eyelashes
+wet and cheeks slightly flushed, looking astoundingly young and pretty
+in the excitement of the moment. But Miss Brooke was doomed to be
+disappointed. Caspar began once, twice, thrice--and broke down
+irrevocably. The only intelligible words he got out were, "My dear
+friends, I can't tell you how I thank you." And that was quite true: he
+couldn't.
+
+But there was all the more applause, and all the more kindly feeling for
+that failure of his to make a speech; and then one or two other men
+spoke of the good that Mr. Brooke had done in that neighborhood, and of
+the help that he had given them all in founding the club, and of the
+brave and encouraging words that he had spoken to them, and so on; and
+the young artist for the _Graphic_ sketched away faster and faster, and
+said to himself, "My eye, there'll be a precious row if they try to hang
+him after this, whatever he's done." But the sensation of the afternoon
+was yet to come.
+
+"I can only say once more, my friends," said Caspar, as the hour wore
+away, "that I thank you for this expression of your confidence in me,
+and that I have never had a prouder moment in my life than this, in
+which you tell me of your own accord that you believe in my innocence of
+the crime attributed to me. Of that, however, I will not speak. I wish
+only, before we separate, to introduce you to my wife, who has never
+been here before, and whom I am sure you will welcome for my sake."
+
+There was a moment of astonishment. Every one knew something of the
+story of Caspar's married life, and was taken aback by the appearance of
+his wife. But when Maurice Kenyon led the way by clapping his hands
+vigorously, someone took up the word, and cried, "Three cheers for Mrs.
+Brooke." And Lady Alice started at the new title, and thought that it
+sounded much better than the one by which she was usually known.
+
+"Shall I say any more?" said Caspar, smiling as he stooped down to her.
+But suddenly she rose to her feet and put her hand within his arm. "No,"
+she said, "I am going to do it myself."
+
+The storm of clapping was renewed and died away when it was perceived
+that Lady Alice was about to speak. She was a little flushed, but
+perfectly self-possessed, and her clear silvery voice could be heard in
+every corner of the room.
+
+"I wish to thank you, too," she said, "for your kindness to my husband
+and myself. I hope I shall know more of his work here by and by, and in
+the meantime I can only tell you that you are right to trust him and
+believe in him--as _I_ trust him and believe in him with all my heart
+and soul!"
+
+She turned to him a little as she spoke, her eyes shining, her face
+transfigured--the faith in her making itself manifest in feature and in
+gesture alike. There was not applause so much as a murmur of assent when
+she had done; and Caspar, laying hold of her hand, looked down at her
+with a new warmth of tenderness, and said half wonderingly,
+
+"Why, Alice!"
+
+"Do you think I could let them go without telling them what you are to
+me?" she said, with a kind of passion in her voice which reminded him of
+Lesley. But there was no time to say more, for every person in the room
+presented himself or herself to shake hands with Caspar and his wife,
+and to admire the spoons, which had been purchased only the night
+before.
+
+"Very glad to see you amongst us, Mrs. Brooke, mum; and hope you'll come
+again," was heard so often that Lady Alice was quite amazed by the
+warmth of the greeting. "And the young lady too--where's she? she ought
+to have been here as well," said one woman; to which Maurice Kenyon
+responded in a pleased growl--
+
+"Yes, confound your blundering, so she ought; and so she would have
+been, if you hadn't nearly made such a blessed mull of the whole
+affair."
+
+He did not think that anybody heard him, and was rather taken aback when
+Lady Alice smiled at him over her shoulder. "What do you mean, Mr.
+Kenyon?" she said.
+
+Maurice was on his good behavior immediately. "Oh, nothing, Lady Alice;
+only that Miss Brooke might have been here if we had only had a hint
+beforehand, and it is a pity she should have missed it."
+
+"A great pity," said Lesley's mother; and she looked quite complacently
+at the twelve silver spoons, which she was guarding so jealously, as if
+she feared they would be taken away from her.
+
+Outside the doors, when the assembly had reluctantly dispersed, after an
+improvised collation, given by Caspar, of hot drinks and plum cake, a
+little crowd of men and boys cheered the departing hero of the day so
+valiantly that Lady Alice was almost glad to find herself once more
+driving through the dusky London streets with her husband at her side.
+Miss Brooke and Maurice had elected to walk home.
+
+"There's one thing," said Caspar, rather later in the day, as a history
+of these experiences was unfolded to Lesley; "we quite, forgot to tell
+the good folks your mother's name and title. She was applauded to the
+echo as 'Mrs. Brooke.'"
+
+"Oh, you must never tell them," said Lady Alice, hastily. "I do not want
+to be anything else, please--now."
+
+"I wish they had let one know beforehand," said Maurice, "they kept it a
+dead secret--even from me."
+
+"All the greater surprise for us," said Mr. Brooke. Then he looked at
+Maurice for a moment, and smiled. But it was long before they mentioned
+to each other what both had thought and felt in that heart-breaking
+minute of suspense when they believed that Caspar was deserted in the
+hour of need.
+
+"Well," said Caspar Brooke, at length, "whatever may happen now"--and he
+made a pause which was fraught with graver meaning than he would have
+cared to put into words--"I can feel at any rate that 'I have had my
+say.' And you, Alice--well, my dear, you will always have those silver
+spoons to look at! So we have not done badly after all."
+
+Like Sir Thomas More, he would have joked when going to the scaffold;
+but jokes under such circumstances have rather a ghastly sound in the
+ears of his family.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL.
+
+CAIN.
+
+
+Maurice Kenyon took an early opportunity of asking Lady Alice whether
+she would recognize the man Smith if she saw him again.
+
+"I think so. Why do you ask? You know I talked to him a good deal."
+
+"I have been very blind," said Maurice seriously. "I never thought until
+to-day of associating him in my mind with someone else--someone whom I
+have seen twice during the past week. May I speak freely to you? You
+know I am as anxious as anyone can possibly be that this mystery should
+be cleared up. I wish to speak of Francis Trent, the brother of Oliver
+Trent, and the husband of the woman who makes this accusation against
+Mr. Brooke."
+
+Lady Alice recoiled. "You cannot mean that John Smith had anything to do
+with him?"
+
+"I have a strong belief that John Smith and Francis Trent are one and
+the same. To my shame be it spoken, I did not recognize him either on
+Wednesday or Friday when I paid him a visit. Ethel wished me to go when
+she heard that he was ill." He said this in a deprecating tone.
+
+"I quite understand. You saw this man--Francis Trent--then?"
+
+"Yes, and could not imagine where I had seen him before. I think it is
+the man I used to see in hospital. Lady Alice--if you saw him
+yourself----"
+
+"I, Mr. Kenyon? What! see the man and woman who accuse my husband of
+murder?"--There was genuine horror in her tone. "How could I speak to
+them?"
+
+"It is just a chance," said Maurice, in a low voice. "If he knew that
+_you_ were the wife of the man who was accused--perhaps something would
+come of it."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Lady Alice, pray do not build too much on what I am going to say. If
+Francis Trent and John Smith be the same, then my knowledge of John
+Smith's previous condition leads me to think it quite possible that it
+was Francis Trent who, in a fit of frenzy, committed the murder of which
+your husband is suspected."
+
+Lady Alice looked at him in silence. "I don't see exactly," she said,
+"that I should be of much use."
+
+"Nor I--exactly," said Maurice. "But I see a vague chance; and I ask
+you--for your husband's sake--to try it."
+
+"Ah, you know I cannot refuse that," she said quickly. And then she
+arranged with him where they should meet on the following afternoon in
+order to drive to the lodgings now occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Francis
+Trent. Whether this proceeding might not be stigmatized as "tampering
+with witnesses," Maurice and Lady Alice neither knew nor cared. If
+Maurice had a doubt, he stifled it by telling himself that they were not
+going to visit the "witness," Mary Trent, but the sick man, John Smith,
+in whom Lady Alice had been interested at the hospital. It was only as a
+precaution that he took with him young Mr. Grierson, junior partner of
+the firm of solicitors to whom Caspar's defence was entrusted. Young
+Grierson was a friend as well as a lawyer, and it was always as well to
+have a friend at hand. But really he hardly knew for what result he
+hoped.
+
+The rooms in which Maurice himself, at Ethel's instance, had located Mr.
+and Mrs. Francis Trent were in Bernard Street. They were plain but
+apparently clean and comfortable. Maurice said a word to the servant,
+and unceremoniously put her aside, and walked straight into the room
+where he knew that Francis Trent was lying.
+
+A thin, spare woman, with a deadly pale face and black sunken eyes, rose
+from a seat beside the bed as they entered. Lady Alice knew, as if by
+instinct, that this was Mary Trent. She averted her eyes from the woman
+who had falsely accused her husband: she could not bear to look at her.
+But Mary Trent scarcely took her eyes off Lady Alice's face.
+
+"Will you look here, Lady Alice, if you please?" said Maurice in his
+most professional tone. She turned towards the bed, and saw--yes, it was
+the face of the man whom she had known in the hospital: thinner,
+yellower, more haggard than ever, but still the face of the patient who
+used to watch her as if her presence were a means of healing in itself.
+
+"Yes," she said slowly, "that is--John Smith."
+
+"His real name is Francis Trent," said Maurice. "Do you know this lady,
+Francis?"
+
+The sick man nodded. There was a curiously vacant look upon his face,
+brightened only at times by gleams of vivid consciousness.
+
+"Yes, yes, I know her. The lady that came to see me in hospital," he
+murmured feebly.
+
+"Do you know who she is?"
+
+"Why do you trouble him, sir?" said Mrs. Trent. "You see how ill he is,
+wouldn't it be better for him to be left in peace?"
+
+She spoke with sedulous calmness; but there was a jar in her voice which
+did not sound quite natural. Maurice simply repeated his question, and
+Francis Trent shook his head.
+
+"She is the wife of Caspar Brooke, the man who, you _say_, killed your
+brother Oliver."
+
+The sick man's eyes dilated, and fixed themselves uneasily on his wife.
+"I did not say it," he answered, almost in a whisper. "Mary said it--not
+I."
+
+"But you heard something, did you not?" said Maurice remorselessly.
+
+"How should he hear anything," said Mary Trent, "and he asleep in his
+bed at the time? Or if not asleep, too ill and weak to notice anything.
+It's a shame to question him like that; and not legal, neither. You'll
+please to leave us to ourselves, sir; we ain't a show. We can but say
+what we saw and heard, whatever the consequences may be, but we need not
+be tortured for all that."
+
+"That's enough, Mary," said the man speaking from the bed in a much more
+natural manner and in a stronger voice than he had yet used. "You're
+overdoing it--you always do. It's no good. This is the last stroke, and
+I give up. It has gone against the grain with me to get anybody into
+trouble," he said, looking attentively at Lady Alice, "and now that I
+know who this lady is, I don't feel inclined to keep up the farce any
+longer. I am much too ill to live to be hanged--Mr. Kenyon can tell you
+so at any minute--and I may as well give you the satisfaction of
+knowing that Caspar Brooke had nothing at all to do with Oliver's death:
+I was his murderer, and no one else: I swear it, so help me God!"
+
+Lady Alice turned very faint. Someone put her in a chair and fanned her,
+and when she came to herself she heard Francis Trent's wife speaking.
+
+"He's mad, I tell you. It's no good paying any attention to what he
+says, gentlemen. I saw him myself in his bed at the time, and----"
+
+"Now, Mary, my dear good soul," said Francis with the old easy
+superiority which he had always assumed to her, "will you just hold your
+tongue, and let me tell my own tale? You have done your best for me, but
+you know I always told you I was not to be trusted to lie about it if
+anybody appealed to me to evidence. I really have not the strength to
+keep it up. I want at least to die like a gentleman."
+
+"I am not at all sure that you are going to die," said Maurice quietly,
+with his finger on the sick man's pulse. Francis had put off the vacant
+expression, and his eyes had lighted up. He was evidently quite himself
+again.
+
+"No?" he said easily. "Well, I would rather die, if it's all the same to
+you; because I fancy I shall have to be put under restraint if I do
+live. I don't always know what I am doing in the least. I know now,
+though. You can bear me out, doctor, isn't my brain in a very queer
+state?"
+
+"I fear it is," said Maurice.
+
+"Just so. I am subject to fits of rage in which I don't know what I am
+doing. And on that night when Oliver came to see me, after Brooke had
+gone away, I got into one of these frenzies and followed him downstairs,
+picking up Brooke's stick on the way and beating poor Oliver about the
+head with it.... You know well enough how he was found. I only came to
+myself when it was done. And then, my wife--with all a woman's
+ingenuity--bundled me into bed, swore that I had never left it, and that
+Caspar Brooke had done it. It was a lie--she told me so afterwards. Eh,
+Mary?--Forgive me, old girl: I've got you into trouble now; but that is
+better than letting an innocent man swing for what I have done,
+especially when that man is the husband of one who was so kind to
+me----"
+
+"And the father of Lesley Brooke," said Maurice, looking steadfastly at
+Mary Trent.
+
+A shudder ran through the woman's frame. Then she covered
+her face with her hands and flung herself down at her husband's side.
+
+"Oh Francis, my dear, my dear!" she said. "I did it for you."
+
+And then for an instant there was silence in the room, save for her
+heavy sobs. Francis lay still but patted her with his thin fingers, and
+looked at Caspar Brooke's wife with his large, unnaturally bright, dark
+eyes.
+
+"She is a good soul in spite of it all," he said, addressing himself to
+Lady Alice. "And she did it out of love for me. You would have done as
+much for your husband, perhaps, if you loved him--but I have heard, that
+you don't."
+
+"Oh, but you are wrong," said Lady Alice. "I love him with all my heart,
+and I thank you deeply--deeply--for saving him."
+
+"That ought to be some payment," said Francis Trent, with his wan, wild
+smile. "And I don't suppose they'll be very hard on me, as I did not
+know what I was doing. You'll speak a word to that effect, won't you,
+doctor?"
+
+"I will indeed. But it would have been better for you as well as for
+others if truth had been told from the beginning," said Kenyon.
+
+"It can't be helped now. Is there anything else I can do? You must have
+my statement taken down. And Mary, my girl, you'll have to make your
+confession too."
+
+"Oh, Francis, Francis!" she moaned. "Not against you, my dear--not
+against you!"
+
+"Yes, against me," said Francis steadily. "And let us finish with the
+formalities as quickly as may be, doctor, as long as my head's clear. I
+killed my brother Oliver--that you must make known as soon as you can.
+Not for malice, poor chap, nor yet for money--though he had cheated me
+many a time--but because I was mad--mad. And I am mad now--mad though
+you do not know it--stark, staring mad!"
+
+And his dark eyes glared at them so strangely that Lady Alice cried out
+and had to be led into another room, for it was the light of madness
+indeed that shone from beneath his sunken brows.
+
+It was while she sat alone for a minute or two while the gentlemen were
+talking in another room, that Mary Trent came creeping to her, with
+folded hands and furtive mien.
+
+"Oh, my lady, my lady, forgive me," she said, sobbing fretfully as she
+spoke. "I thought but of my own--I did not think of you. Nor of Miss
+Lesley, though I did love her--yes, I did, and tried my best to save her
+from that wicked man. Mr. Brooke will tell you what I mean, ma'am. And
+tell him, if you will be so good, that I was frightened into taking back
+the stories I had told him about Oliver--but they were _all true_.
+Everyone of 'em was true. And that I beg he'll forgive me; for a better
+and a kinder gentleman I never see, nor one that loved poor people more.
+And Miss Lesley was just like him--but it was my husband, and I thought
+he'd be hanged for it, and what could I do?"
+
+And then, while Lady Alice still hesitated between pity and a feeling of
+revolt at pity for a woman who had sworn falsely against her dearly
+beloved husband, Caspar Brooke, a cry was heard from the bedroom, and
+Mary turned and fled back to the scene of her duties--sad and painful
+duties indeed, sometimes, when the madman became violent, and likely
+enough to be very speedily terminated by death.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"What can I say to you?" said Lady Alice to Maurice Kenyon, a day or two
+later. "It was your acuteness that brought the matter to light. Now that
+that poor wretched man is hopelessly insane, we might never have learnt
+the truth. Is there any way in which I can thank you? any way in which I
+can give you a reward?"
+
+She looked steadily into his face, and saw that he changed color.
+
+"There is only one way, Lady Alice," he stammered.
+
+"You are not to call me Lady Alice: I like 'Mrs. Brooke' much better.
+Well?"
+
+"I love your daughter," said Maurice bluntly, "and I believe she would
+love me if you would let her."
+
+"_Let_ her?" said Mrs. Brooke, with a smile.
+
+"She made you some promises before she came to London----"
+
+"Ah, not to become engaged before the year was out. Tell her that I
+absolve her from that promise, and--ask her again."
+
+Maurice found that under these conditions Lesley's answer was all that
+could be desired.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI.
+
+VALE!
+
+
+"Now that Ethel has gone to the sea-side, I can have you to myself a
+little while," said Lady Alice to her daughter.
+
+"Poor Ethel! But it is delightful to have you here, mamma: it is so
+home-like and comfortable."
+
+"Ah, you will soon have to make a home for somebody else!"
+
+Lesley grew red, but smiled. "We won't think of that yet," she said
+softly. "Mamma, I want to speak to you on a very serious subject."
+
+"Well, my darling?"
+
+"You won't be angry with me, will you? It is--about Mrs. Romaine."
+
+Lady Alice's brow clouded a little. "Well, Lesley?" she said.
+
+"Mamma, I can't bear Mrs. Romaine myself. Neither can you. Neither can
+papa. And it is very unchristian of all of us, to say the least.
+Because----"
+
+"Neither can papa," repeated Lady Alice, with raised brows. "My dear
+child, Mrs. Romaine is a great friend of your father's. He told me only
+the other day that she used to come here very often--to see your Aunt
+Sophy and yourself."
+
+"So she did," said Lesley, lightly. "But, of course, she can't very well
+come now--at least, it would be awkward. Still I am sure papa does not
+like her, for he looked quite pleased the other day when I told him that
+she was going to give up her house, and said in his short way--'So much
+the better.'"
+
+"Very slight evidence," said Caspar Brooke's wife smiling.
+
+"Well, never mind evidence, mammy dear. What I want to say is that I
+feel very sorry for Mrs. Romaine. You see she must be feeling very much
+alone in the world. Oliver, whom she really cared for, is dead, and
+Francis is out of his mind, and Francis' wife"--with a little
+shudder--"cannot be anything to her--and then, don't you think, mamma,
+that when there has been _one_ case of insanity in the family, she must
+be afraid of herself too?"
+
+"Not necessarily. Francis Trent's insanity was the result of an
+accident."
+
+"Yes, but it is very saddening for her, all the same, and she must be
+terribly lonely in that house in Russell Square. I wanted to know if I
+might go and call upon her?"
+
+"You, dear? I thought you did not like her."
+
+"I don't," said Lesley, frankly, "but I am sorry for her. Ethel asked me
+why I did not go. She thought there must be something wrong, because
+Rosalind never came to see her after Oliver's death--never once. I
+believe she has scarcely been out of the house--not at all since the
+funeral, and that is a month ago. I have not heard that she was ill, so
+I suppose it is just that she is--miserable, poor thing."
+
+Lady Alice stroked her daughter's hair in silence for a minute or two.
+"I think I had better go instead of you, Lesley. There is no reason why
+she should feel she cannot see us. She was not to blame for that
+accusation--though I heard that she believed it. But I will see her
+first, and you can go afterwards if she is able to receive visitors."
+
+"That is very good of you, mamma--especially as you don't like her,"
+said Lesley. "I can't help feeling thankful that Ethel will have nothing
+to do with that family now. And since Maurice told her a little more
+about poor Mr. Trent, I think she sees that she would not have been very
+happy." She was silent for a little while, and then went on, trying to
+give an indifferent sound to her words:--"Captain Duchesne's people live
+near Eastbourne, he told me; and Ethel has gone to Seaford."
+
+"Not far off," said Lady Alice, smiling a little. "I hope that his
+sister Margaret will call on Ethel: I think they would like each other."
+
+And no more was said, for it was as yet too early to wonder even whether
+Harry Duchesne's adoration for Ethel Kenyon was ultimately to meet with
+a return.
+
+True to her new tastes, Lady Alice had had cards printed bearing the
+name "Mrs. Caspar Brooke." She desired, she said, to be identified with
+her husband as much as possible: it was a great mistake to retain a
+mere courtesy title, as if she had interests and station remote from
+those of her husband. Caspar had smilingly opposed this change, but Lady
+Alice had stood firm. Indeed, to her old friends she remained "Lady
+Alice" to the end of the chapter; but to the outer world she was
+henceforth known as Mrs. Brooke.
+
+She sent up one of her new cards when she called upon Mrs. Romaine. She
+paid this visit with considerable shrinking of heart. She had bitter
+memories connected with Mrs. Romaine. Since the day on which she had
+been reconciled to her husband, she had cast from her all suspicion of
+his past--cast it from her in much the same arbitrary and unreasoning
+manner as she had first embraced it. For, like most women, she was
+governed far more by her feelings and instincts than by the laws of
+evidence. As Rosalind had once told her brother, Lady Alice had
+accidentally seen and intercepted a letter of hers to Caspar; and Lady
+Alice had then rushed to the conclusion that it was part of a long
+continued correspondence and not a single communication. And
+now--now----what did she think? She hardly knew; of one thing only was
+she certain that Caspar had never been untrue to her, had never cared
+for any woman but herself.
+
+She was not at all sure that Mrs. Romaine would receive her: she knew
+that she had written to her in a tone that no woman, especially a woman
+like Mrs. Romaine, is likely to forgive; but time, she thought, blunts
+the memory of past injuries, and if Rosalind chose to forget the past,
+she would forget it too. It was with a soft and kindly feeling,
+therefore, that Lady Alice asked for admittance at Mrs. Romaine's door,
+and learned that Mrs. Romaine was at home and would see her.
+
+Before she had been in the drawing-room five minutes, it dawned on Lady
+Alice's mind that there was something odd in her hostess' manner and
+even in her appearance. Of course she was prepared for a change; in the
+twelve years or more that had elapsed since they had met she herself
+must have also changed. But, as a matter of fact, Lady Alice's long,
+elegant figure, shining hair and delicate complexion showed the ravages
+of time far less distinctly than she imagined; while Mrs. Romaine was a
+mere wreck of what she had been in her youth. During the last few
+weeks, Rosalind had grown thin: her features were sharpened, her hands
+white and wasted: her eyes seemed too large for her face, and were
+surmounted by dark and heavy shadows. Lady Alice was reminded of another
+face that she had last seen relieved against the whiteness of a pillow,
+of eyes that had gleamed wildly as they looked at her, of a certain
+oddness of expression that in her own heart she called "a mad look."
+Yes, there was certainly a likeness between her and her brother Francis,
+and it was the sort of likeness that gave Lady Alice a shock.
+
+For a few minutes the two women talked in platitudes of indifferent
+things. Lady Alice noticed that after every sentence or two Mrs. Romaine
+let the subject drop and sat looking at her furtively, as if she
+expected something that did not come. Was it sympathy that she wanted?
+It was with difficulty that Lady Alice could approach the subject. After
+a longer pause than usual, she said softly--
+
+"You must let me tell you how sorry I am for the sorrow that has come
+upon you--upon us all."
+
+Mrs. Romaine stared at her for a moment; an angry light showed itself in
+her eyes.
+
+"You have come to tell me that?" she said, with chill disdain.
+
+"I came to say so--yes," Lady Alice answered, in her surprise.
+
+"I am very much obliged to you, I am sure." The tone was almost
+insolent, but the woman was herself again. The oddness, the awkwardness
+of manner had passed away, and her old grace of bearing had come back.
+Even her beauty returned with the flush of crimson to her face and the
+lustre of her eyes. The prospect of combat brought back the animation
+and the brilliancy that she had lost.
+
+"There were other things I thought that you had perhaps come to
+say--repetitions of what you said to me years ago--before you left your
+husband."
+
+Lady Alice rose at once. "I think you had better not touch on that
+subject," she said gently but with dignity. "I did not come here with
+any such intention. I hoped all that was forgotten by you--as it is by
+me."
+
+"I have not forgotten," said Mrs. Romaine, rising also, and fixing her
+eyes on Lady Alice's face.
+
+"I am sorry for it. You will allow me----"
+
+"No, do not go: stay for a minute or two, I beg of you. I am not
+well--I said more than I meant--do not leave me just yet." She spoke now
+hurriedly and entreatingly.
+
+These extraordinary changes of tone and manner impressed Lady Alice
+disagreeably. And yet she hesitated: she did not like to carry out her
+purpose of leaving the house at once, when she had been entreated to
+remain. Looking at her, Mrs. Romaine seemed to make a great effort over
+herself, and suddenly put on the air that she used most to affect--the
+air of a woman of the world, with peculiarly engaging manners.
+
+"Don't hurry away," she said. "I really have something particular to say
+to you. Will you listen to me for two minutes?"
+
+"Yes--if you wish it."
+
+"I do wish it very much. You will stay? That is kind of you. And I will
+ring for tea."
+
+"No, please do not," said Lady Alice shrinking instinctively from the
+thought of eating and drinking in Rosalind Romaine's drawing-room; "I
+really cannot stay long, and I do not drink tea so early."
+
+Her hostess smiled and withdrew her hand from the bell-handle. "As you
+please," she said indifferently. "It is so long since I had visitors
+that I almost forget how to entertain them. You must excuse me if I have
+seemed _distrait_ or--or peculiar. You see I have had a great deal to
+bear."
+
+"I know it, and I am very sorry," said Lady Alice gently.
+
+"You are very kind." Was there a touch of satire in the tone? "And--as
+you are here--why should we not speak of one or two matters that have
+troubled us sometimes? As two women of the world, we ought to be able to
+come to a sort of compact."
+
+"I do not understand you, Mrs. Romaine."
+
+Rosalind laughed a little wildly. "Of course you don't. But I do not
+mean to talk conventionalism or commonplace. Just for a minute or two,
+let us speak openly. You have come back to your husband--yes, I _will_
+speak, and you shall not interrupt!--and you hope no doubt to be happy
+with him. Don't you know that I could wreck your whole happiness if I
+chose?"
+
+The color rose in Lady Alice's face, but she looked clearly into the
+other's face as she replied--
+
+"My happiness with my husband is not dependent on anything that you may
+do or say. I really cannot discuss the subject with you, Mrs. Romaine,
+it is most unsuitable."
+
+"You are very impatient," said Rosalind satirically. "I only want to
+make a bargain with you. If you will do something that I want, I promise
+you that I will go away from London and never speak to any of your
+family again." Lady Alice's alarm struggled for mastery with her pride
+and her sense of the becoming, both of which told her not to parley with
+this woman. But the temptation to a naturally exacting nature was very
+great. She hesitated for a moment, and Mrs. Romaine went rapidly on.
+
+"I wrote a letter once." The hot color mounted to her cheeks and brow
+while she was speaking. "You wrote to me about it. But you did not send
+it back. You have that letter still."
+
+Lady Alice continued to look at her steadily, but made no reply.
+
+"That letter has been the curse of my life. I repented it as soon as it
+was sent--you may be sure of that: I could repeat it word for word even
+now. Oh, no doubt you made the most of it--jeered at it--laughed over it
+with _him_--but to me----"
+
+"It is the last thing I should ever have mentioned to my husband," said
+Lady Alice, with grave disdain. "He never knew that you wrote it--never
+saw it--never will see or know it from _me_."
+
+"Do you mean that you have kept it to yourself all these years?"
+
+"I mean that I put it into the fire as soon as I had read it. Why are
+you so concerned about it? Was it worse than the others that you must
+have written--before that?"
+
+"I never wrote to him before."
+
+They faced each other with mutual suspicion in their eyes. Lady Alice
+had forgotten her proud reserve: she wanted to know the truth at last.
+
+"I will acknowledge," she said, "that I believed that you had written
+other letters--of a somewhat similar kind--to Mr. Brooke. I was angry
+and disgusted: it was that which formed one of my reasons for leaving
+him years ago. But I have come to a better mind since then. I do not
+care what you wrote, what you said, or what you did: I believe that my
+husband is a good man and I love him. I have come back to him, and
+shall never leave him again. You can do me no harm now."
+
+Mrs. Romaine laughed mockingly. "Can I not?" she said. "Do you know that
+he came to me within an hour after his release? Do you know that he
+asked me to go away with him to Spain, where we could be safe and happy
+together? What do you say to that?"
+
+"I say this," cried Lady Alice, almost violently, "that I do not believe
+a word of it." She drew herself to her full height and turned to leave
+the room. Then she looked at Rosalind and spoke in a gentler tone. "I am
+sorry for you," she said. "But your suffering is partly your own fault.
+What right had you to think of winning my husband's heart away from me?
+You have not succeeded, although you have done your best to make us
+miserable. I have never spoken of you to him--never; but now, when I go
+home, I shall go straight to him and tell him all that you have said to
+me, and I shall know very well whether what you say is false or true."
+
+She left the room proudly and firmly, unheeding of the mocking laugh
+that Rosalind sent after her. She let herself out into the street and
+walked straight back to her home. Caspar was out: she could not go to
+him immediately, as she had said that she would do. She went to her room
+and lay down upon the bed, feeling strangely tired and weak. In spite of
+her haughty rebuttal of the charge against her husband, she was wounded
+and oppressed by it. And as the time went on, she felt more and more the
+difficulty of telling him her story, of asking him to clear himself. How
+could she question him without seeming to doubt?
+
+She fretted herself until a headache came on, and she was unable to go
+down to dinner. Lesley brought her up a cup of tea, but her mother
+refused her company. "I shall be better alone," she said. "Has your
+father come in yet? Isn't he very late?"
+
+It was nearly ten o'clock when Mr. Brooke came in, and, hearing that he
+had been asked for, made his way to his wife's room. He bent over her
+tenderly, asking her how she felt; and she put one hand up to his rough
+cheek, without answering.
+
+"What has made your head ache, my darling?" he asked.
+
+"Caspar, I have been to see Mrs. Romaine."
+
+She felt a sort of start or quiver go through him at the name. He put
+his lips softly to her forehead before he spoke. "Well!" he said, a
+little dryly.
+
+"Did you--did she----"
+
+Then she broke down, and sobbed a little with her face against her
+husband's breast. Caspar's breath grew shorter--a sign of excitement
+with him--but for a time he waited quietly and would not speak. He could
+not all at once make up his mind what to say.
+
+"Alice," he said at last, "if you ask me questions I suppose I must
+answer them in one way or another. But--I think I had rather you did
+not." He felt that every nerve was strained in self-control as she
+listened to him. "Mrs. Romaine," he went on deliberately, "is not a
+woman that I like--or--respect. I would very much prefer not to talk
+about her."
+
+"I must tell you just one thing," she whispered, "it was my feeling
+about her--my jealousy of her--that made me leave you--twelve years
+ago."
+
+She had surprised him now. "Alice! Impossible," he said. "Why, my poor
+girl, there was not the slightest reason. I can most solemnly swear to
+you, Alice, that I never had any other feeling for Mrs. Romaine than
+that of ordinary friendship. My dear, will you never believe that you
+have always been the one woman in all the world for me?"
+
+"Forgive me, Caspar," she murmured, "I do believe it now."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At the same hour, a haggard and despairing woman raised herself from the
+floor where she had lain for many weary hours, trying by passionate
+tears and cries and outbursts of unavailing lamentation to exhaust or
+stifle the anguish which seemed to have reached its most intolerable
+point. Her robes were soiled and crushed, her hair was dishevelled, her
+eyes were red with weeping; and, as she rose, she wrung her hands
+together and then raised them in appeal to the God whom she had so long
+forgotten and forsaken.
+
+"Oh, my God," she cried, "how can I bear it? All that I do is useless. I
+may lie and cheat and plot as much as I like, but all my schemes are in
+vain. I cannot hurt her, as she said: I cannot punish him: I have no
+power left. No power, no beauty, no will! Am I losing my senses, too,
+like Francis?" She shuddered at the thought. "Perhaps I am going
+mad--they have driven me mad, Caspar Brooke and his wife, between
+them--mad, mad, mad!--Oh, God," she said, with a long shivering sigh,
+"Oh, God, avert _that_ doom! Not that punishment of all others, for
+mercy's sake!"
+
+She looked up and down her dimly lighted room with an expression upon
+her face of horror and unrest, which bore some resemblance to the look
+of one whose intellect was becoming unhinged. It seemed as if she were
+afraid that something might leap out upon her from the darkness, or as
+if goblin voices might at any moment mutter in her ear. For a long time
+she stood motionless in the middle of the room, her eyes staring, her
+hands hanging at her sides. Then she moved slowly to a writing-table,
+took a sheet of paper and a pen, and wrote a few lines. When she had
+finished she enclosed the sheet in an envelope, and addressed it to Lady
+Alice Brooke. And when that was done she rang the bell and sent the
+letter to the post. Then she nodded and smiled strangely to herself.
+
+"Perhaps that will atone," she murmured vaguely. "And perhaps God will
+not take away my reason, after all."
+
+And then she began to fumble among the things upon her dressing-table
+for the little bottle that contained her nightly sleeping draught.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mrs. Romaine's letter was brought to Lady Alice before she rose next
+morning. It contained these words:--
+
+     "I told you what was not true to-day. Your husband never asked me
+     to go away with him--he never cared for me. I loved him, that was
+     all. His carelessness drove me mad--I tried to revenge myself on
+     him by making you suffer. But you would not believe me, and you
+     were right. Pity me if you can, and pray for me.
+
+     "ROSALIND ROMAINE."
+
+"Ah, poor soul!" thought Alice Brooke, her eyes filling with tears. "I
+do pity her--I do, with all my heart. God help her!"
+
+And she said those words again--useless as they might be--when, by and
+by, a messenger came hurrying to the house with the news that Mrs.
+Romaine had been found dead that morning--dead, from an overdose of the
+chloral which she kept beside her for sleeplessness. And so the life of
+false aims and perverted longings came to its appointed end.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was never a cloud on Alice Brooke's domestic happiness, never a
+shadow of distrust between her and her husband, after this. For some
+little time they changed their mode of life--giving up the house in
+Bloomsbury and spending long, blissful months in Italy and the Tyrol. It
+was like another honeymoon. And when they returned to London, Caspar
+took a house in a sunnier and pleasanter region than Upper Woburn Place,
+but not so far away as to prevent him from visiting the Macclesfield
+Club on Sundays, and having a chat with Jim Gregson and his other
+workman friends. These workmen and their wives came also in their turn
+to Mr. Brooke's abode, where there was not only a gentle and gracious
+lady to preside at the table (where twelve especially valued silver
+spoons always held a place of honor), but a very remarkable baby in the
+nursery; and it was Mr. Brooke's continual regret that he had not
+insisted on naming his son and heir Macclesfield, after the workmen's
+buildings, instead of the more commonplace Maurice, after Maurice
+Kenyon. But Maurice and Lesley returned the compliment by calling their
+eldest child Caspar, although Lesley did say saucily that she thought it
+a very ugly name.
+
+Francis Trent was in a lunatic asylum, "at Her Majesty's pleasure." His
+wife was allowed to see him now and then; and on this account she would
+not leave England, as some of her friends urged her to do, but occupied
+herself with needlework and some kind of district visiting among the
+poor. The Brookes and the Kenyons were both exceedingly kind to her, and
+would have been kinder if she had felt it possible to accept "their
+kindness"; but, although she cherished in secret a strong affection for
+Lesley, she was too much ashamed of her past conduct ever to present
+herself to them again. She could but live and work in silence, until one
+of the two great healers, Time or Death, should soothe the bitterness of
+her heart away.
+
+And Ethel?--Well, Mrs. Harry Duchesne knows more about Ethel than I do,
+and I shall be happy to refer you to her.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+JELLY OF CUCUMBER AND ROSES.
+
+MADE BY W. A. DYER & CO., MONTREAL, is a delightfully fragrant Toilet
+article. Removes freckles and sunburn, and renders chapped and rough
+skin, after one application, smooth and pleasant. No Toilet-table is
+complete without a tube of Dyer's Jelly of Cucumber and Roses. Sold by
+all Druggists.
+
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+  CASWELL, MASSEY & CO., New York & Newport.*
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+Paste, fragrant and delicious. Try it. Druggists keep it.
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+Jaundice, Heartburn, Nervous and General Debility, Salt Rheum,
+Erysipelas, Scrofula, etc. It purifies and eradicates from the Blood all
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+
+  *The Great American Remedy FOR DYSPEPSIA
+  In all its forms,*
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+action of the stomach, and of the digestive organs.
+
+  *Sold Everywhere. 50c. per Bottle.
+  THE DAWSON MEDICINE CO.,--MONTREAL.*
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    DR. CHEVALLIER'S RED SPRUCE GUM PASTE,
+          DR. NELSON'S PRESCRIPTION,
+           _GOUDRON de NORWEGE._
+
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+             For COUGHS and COLDS.
+       Insist upon getting one of them.
+                 25c. each.
+    For Sale by all Respectable Druggists.
+      LAVIOLETTE & NELSON, Druggists,
+  _AGENTS OF FRENCH PATENTS._ 1605 Notre Dame St.*
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
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+
+  107. LUCK IN DISGUISE, BY WM. J. ZEXTER                  .30
+  108. THE BONDMAN, BY HALL CAINE                          .30
+  109. A MARCH IN THE RANKS, BY JESSIE FOTHERGILL          .30
+  110. COSETTE, BY KATHERINE S. MACQUAID                   .30
+  111. WHOSE WAS THE HAND? BY MISS BRADDON                 .30
+  112. THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW, BY RUDYARD KIPLING           .25
+  113. THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, BY RUDYARD KIPLING        .25
+  114. SOLDIERS THREE, and other Tales, BY RUDYARD KIPLING .25
+  115. PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS, BY RUDYARD KIPLING      .25
+  116. THE DEMONIAC, BY WALTER BESANT                      .25
+  117. BRAVE HEARTS AND TRUE, BY FLORENCE MARRYAT          .25
+  118. GOOD BYE, BY JOHN STRANGE WINTER                    .25
+
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+                      CARBOLATED.
+
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+                   Beautifying the
+                   Teeth and Gums.
+                    PREPARED BY
+
+      *CHAS. E, SCARFF, CHEMIST AND DRUGGIST*
+   _2262 St. Catherine Street, opposite Victoria._
+
+
+
+
+                         CATALOGUE
+                            OF
+                LOVELL'S CANADIAN COPYRIGHT
+                           AND
+                     *"STAR" SERIES.*
+
+
+All the books in the Copyright Series are by arrangement with the
+Authors, to whom a Royalty is paid, and no American reprints can
+lawfully be sold in Canada.
+
+
+CANADIAN COPYRIGHT SERIES.
+
+  1. The Wing of Azrael, by Mona Caird                              .30
+  2. The Fatal Phryne, by F. C. Philips                             .30
+  3. The Search for Basil Lyndhurst, by Rosa Nouchette Carey        .30
+  4. The Luck of the House, by Adeline Sergeant                     .30
+  5. Sophy Carmine, by John Strange Winter                          .30
+  6. Jezebel's Friends, by Dora Russell                             .30
+  7. That Other Woman, by Annie Thomas                              .30
+  8. The Curse of Carne's Hold, by G. A. Henty                      .30
+  9. An I. D. B. in South Africa, by Louise Vescellins Sheldon      .30
+  10. A Life Sentence, by Adeline Sergeant                          .30
+  11. Comedy of a Country House, by Julian Sturgis                  .30
+  12. The Tree of Knowledge, by G. M. Robins                        .30
+  13. Kit Wyndham; or, Fettered for Life, by Frank Barrett          .30
+  14. The Haute Noblesse, by George Manville Fenn                   .30
+  15. Buttons, by John Strange Winter                               .30
+  16. Earth Born, by Spirito Gentil                                 .30
+  17. Mount Eden, by Florence Marryat                               .30
+  18. Hedri; or, Blind Justice, by Helen Mathers                    .30
+  19. Joshua, a Story of Egyptian-Israelitish Life, by Georg Ebers  .30
+  20. Hester Hepworth, by Kate Tannatt Woods                        .30
+  21. Nurse Revel's Mistake, by Florence Warden                     .30
+  22. Sylvia Arden, by Oswall Crawfurd                              .30
+  23. The Mynns Mystery, by George Manville Fenn                    .30
+  24. Was Ever Woman in this Humor Wooed? by Charles Gibbon         .30
+  25. A Girl of the People, by L. T. Meade                          .30
+  26. The Firm of Girdlestone, by A. Conan Doyle                    .30
+  27. April's Lady, by The Duchess                                  .30
+  28. By Order of the Czar, by Joseph Hatton                        .30
+  29. The Lady Egeria, by John Berwick Hardwood                     .30
+  30. Syrlin, by Ouida                                              .50
+  31. The Burnt Million, by James Payn                              .30
+  32. Her Last Throw, by The Duchess                                .30
+  33. A Woman's Heart, by Mrs. Alexander                            .30
+  34. A Scarlet Sin, by Florence Marryat                            .30
+  35. A True Friend, by Adeline Sergeant                            .30
+  36. A Smuggler's Secret, by Frank Barrett                         .30
+  37. The Great Mill Street Mystery, by Adeline Sergeant            .30
+  38. The Moment After, by Robert Buchanan                          .30
+  39. Ruffino, by Ouida                                             .30
+  40. The Chief Justice, by Karl Emil Franzos                       .30
+  41. Lover or Friend, by Rosa Nouchette Carey                      .30
+  42. Heart of Gold, by L. T. Meade                                 .30
+  43. Famous or Infamous                                            .30
+
+
+
+
+JOHN LOVELL & SON'S PUBLICATIONS.
+
+
+=Nurse Revel's Mistake.= By FLORENCE WARDEN.
+
+From first to last it is without a dull page, and is full of thrilling
+adventure, which renders it a most readable volume.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=Sylvia Arden.= By OSWALD CRAWFURD.
+
+This work adds materially to the growing fame of this popular author.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=The Mynns' Mystery.= By GEO. MANVILLE FENN.
+
+An interesting story of life among the richer classes of England, with a
+glimpse into the early western life of the United States, that always
+affords to a wearied mind a few moments of refreshing reading.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=Was Ever Woman in this Humor Wooed?= By CHS. GIBBON.
+
+A novel of more than ordinary merit, with a rather remarkable plot,
+which gives a peculiar charm to lady readers especially.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=A Girl of the People.= By L. T. MEADE.
+
+A story of low life in Liverpool, recounting the trials and troubles of
+a brave young girl, which will be read with much interest.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=The Firm of Girdlestone.= By A. CONAN DOYLE.
+
+The style is free and flowing, the situations startling, the characters
+few and well sustained, the plot original and very clever. It is not a
+love story, but none the less interesting and romantic on that account.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=The Curse of Curne's Gold.= By G. A. HENTY.
+
+A thrilling story of love and adventure. The scene is laid in the late
+Kaffir war, of which the author had a large personal experience, having
+acted as war correspondent, in which position he became thoroughly
+acquainted with the adventures and accidents by flood and field of which
+his story so ably treats.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=An I. D. B. in South Africa.= By LOUISE V. SHELDON.
+
+An interesting story, profusely illustrated. The plot is a clever one,
+and holds the reader's attention throughout.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=A Life Sentence.= By ADELINE SERGEANT.
+
+One of the strongest and most dramatic of this popular author's works.
+The story combines very sensational incidents with interesting
+developments of personal character.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
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+
+A fascinating book of fiction which all lovers of light literature
+should read. The work bears a strong stamp of originality and power.
+
+PRICE 30 cents.
+
+
+=Kit Wyndham; or, Fettered for Life.= By FRANK BARRETT.
+
+A highly sensational story, which, however, presents a pleasing contrast
+to the evil literature which has of late been spread broadcast. The
+novel is one which once begun will be finished, and the _denouement_ is
+as pleasing as it is unexpected.
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+                    (Patent applied for.)
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+              Antiseptic. Cleansing. Beautifying.
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+
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+Gravies and Soups.
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+  48 NORTH PEARL ST., ALBANY.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
+
+Inconsistent hyphenation and italicization have been retained
+as-is within the text.
+
+Here is a list of the minor typographical corrections made:
+  - Comma replaced by period after "ETC" on the second page of
+    advertisements.
+  - Comma changed to a period after "cents" on the fourth page of
+    advertisements (the second page of book listing).
+  - Comma changed to a period after "25c" on Page 4.
+  - "loose" changed to "lose" on Page 7.
+  - "had" changed to "Had" on Page 8.
+  - "a a" changed to "a" on Page 17.
+  - Quote added after "mean----" on Page 20.
+  - "show-white" changed to "snow-white" on Page 24.
+  - "a a" changed to "a" on Page 42.
+  - "occurrred" changed to "occurred" on Page 57.
+  - "word" changed to "world" on Page 64.
+  - "fasionably" changed to "fashionably" on Page 65.
+  - "brink" changed to "drink" on Page 78.
+  - Comma changed to period after "doubt" on Page 83.
+  - Quote removed after "I?" on Page 84.
+  - "demeannor" changed to "demeanor" on Page 90.
+  - Period added after "aglow" on Page 90.
+  - "pursued" changed to "pursed" on Page 91.
+  - Quote added after "Club." on Page 114.
+  - Single quote added before the final "t" in "'T'aint"
+    on Page 123.
+  - Comma changed to period after "Romaine" on Page 124.
+  - Comma changed to period after "too" on Page 138.
+  - Quote removed after "even----" on Page 145.
+  - "sonething" changed to "something" on Page 148.
+  - "got" changed to "get" on Page 148.
+  - Quote removed before "Her" on Page 154.
+  - "quitely" changed to "quietly" on Page 165.
+  - "thing" changed to "think" on Page 166.
+  - "Leslie" changed to "Lesley" on Page 180.
+  - "vist" changed to "visit" on Page 181.
+  - Single quote moved to before "prettiness" on Page 184.
+  - Double quote added after "'art'" on Page 184.
+  - Quotation mark removed after "feel." on Page 185.
+  - Comma changed to period after "explanation" on Page 188.
+  - "the the" changed to "the" on Page 191.
+  - "commoness" changed to "commonness" on Page 193.
+  - "Leslie" changed to "Lesley" on Page 199.
+  - Exclamation mark changed to question mark after "Lesley"
+    on Page 201.
+  - Quote added after "dreams!" on Page 211.
+  - "nan" changed to "man" on Page 218.
+  - Quotation mark moved to follow "suppose," on Page 219.
+  - "againt" changed to "against" on Page 221.
+  - Removed quotation mark after "position," on Page 225.
+  - "brough" changed to "brought" on Page 225.
+  - Question mark changed to a period after "seat" and following
+    letter capitalized on Page 232.
+  - "then" changed to "them" on Page 242.
+  - Quote added after "behind." on Page 247.
+  - Quotation mark added after "then?" on Page 254.
+  - Period added after "start" on Page 260.
+  - "back ground" changed to "background" on Page 262.
+  - Quote added after "Trent?" on Page 265.
+  - "draw" changed to "drew" on Page 276.
+  - Quotes removed after "Because" and before "your" on Page 278.
+  - Question mark changed to period after "heard" on Page 279.
+  - Comma changed to a period after "Lesley" on Page 280.
+  - Question mark changed to comma after "accommodated" on Page 282.
+  - Quote added after "him." on Page .284
+  - "night" changed to "night's" on Page 286.
+  - "afaid" changed to "afraid" on Page 289.
+  - Quote removed after "forgive?" on Page 292.
+  - "God God" changed to "Good God" on Page 305.
+  - "need need" changed to "need" on Page 308.
+  - "nowa-days" (hyphenated line-break) changed to "now-a-days" on
+    Page 311.
+  - "sold" changed to "be sold" on Page 344.
+  - ".00" changed to ".30" on Page 344.
+  - "33" changed to "38" on Page 344.
+  - "49" changed to "39" on Page 344.
+  - "30" changed to "40" on Page 344.
+  - "48" changed to "43" on Page 344.
+  - "Barret" changed to "Barrett" on Page 346.
+  - Period added after "Manufacturer" on Page 347.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Brooke's Daughter, by Adeline Sergeant
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