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diff --git a/31106-h/31106-h.htm b/31106-h/31106-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..426ac60 --- /dev/null +++ b/31106-h/31106-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,17934 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/html4/loose.dtd"> + + <head> + + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> + + <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Brooke's Daughter, by Adeline Sergeant.</title> + <style type="text/css"> +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + #titlepage {margin:2em 0; padding:2em; border:4px double black;} + #booklistbox {margin:.5em 0; padding:.5em; border:4px black; border-style:solid;} + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: .9em;} + .presignature {text-align: right; margin-right: 14em;} + .signature {text-align: right; margin-right:3%;} + + .firstwords {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;} + .advert {margin-right: -5%; margin-left: -5%; text-align: center;padding-top:.2em;padding-bottom:.2em;} + + .keepright {float: right;} + .description {margin-left: 5%;display: block; text-indent: 1.5em;} + + .chapterhead {margin: auto; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;} + .newpg {page-break-before: always;} + .booklist1 {padding-top:.5em; padding-bottom:.5em;} + .booklist {text-align: left; + font-size: 1em; + display: block; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -2em; + padding-top: 0em; + padding-bottom: .2em;} + + .booklistnum {text-align: right; + font-size: 1em; + display: block; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -2em; + padding-top: 0em; + padding-bottom: .2em;} + + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .poem {margin-left:22%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;font-size: .9em;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem span.firstline {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 2.6em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + --> + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<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> + +<div class="advert"> +<img src="images/ad2_2.png" border="0" + width="650" height="80" ALT=""></div> + +<div class="advert"> +<img src="images/ad2_3.png" border="0" + 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."> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"> +<div class="advert"> +<img src="images/ad3_1.png" border="0" + width="700" height="578" ALT="ESTABLISHED 1852. +LORGE & CO. HATTERS & FURRIERS. +21 ST. LAWRENCE MAIN ST. 21 +MONTREAL."></div> + +<div class="advert"> +<img src="images/ad3_2.png" border="0" + width="700" height="32" ALT=""></div> + +<div class="advert"> +<img src="images/ad3_3.png" border="0" + 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, +&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 & 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 & 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> </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 & 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 & 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 </td><td>Paper </td><td>Cover, </td><td>30</td><td> 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.—<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.—"<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 personæ</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.—<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."—<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 Diarrhœa, 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 & CO., +Dispensing Chemists, CORNER OF BLEURY AND DORCHESTER STREETS, +Branch, 469 St. Lawrence Street, +MONTREAL."> +</div> +<p> </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—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.</p> + +<p>From the wide low window of the great <i>salle d'étude</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'étude</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—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.</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 chère 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—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.</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!—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'étude</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—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—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."</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—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<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—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—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—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—and—with you?"</p> + +<p>"You will come with me, certainly—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—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—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—to let you choose your own life—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—quickly, +mamma, and I promise——"<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——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—yes."</p> + +<p>"But he is not dead," said Lady Alice, bitterly. "To +my exceeding misfortune—and yours also—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—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—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."</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—worse than a +crime—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—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—and perhaps that would be worse."</p> + +<p>Lesley kissed her mother's delicate hand. "Then—if you +<i>must</i> 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——"</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—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."</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—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."</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—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—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<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—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—nobody."</p> + +<p>"But if you loved him——"</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—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<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—kind?" asked Lesley, timidly.</p> + +<p>"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."</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—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——"<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—<i>you</i>, +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."</p> + +<p>There was a little silence, and then she continued in a +strained and unnatural tone.</p> + +<p>"There was a woman—another woman—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—</p> + +<p>"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."<a name="Page_20"></a></p> + +<p>"He must have been wicked—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—could he—marry her? I <a name="tn_25"></a><!--TN: Quote added after "mean——"-->mean——"</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—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 <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—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."</p> + +<p>"But I should never blame you, mamma."</p> + +<p>"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."</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—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."</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—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!"</p> + +<p>"Mamma—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——"</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——" 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—</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—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—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—Captain Duchesne is +here."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Lady Alice, with an accent of faint surprise, +"oh—well—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—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—</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—</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—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."</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—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—</p> + +<p>"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;<a name="Page_28"></a> +but it is on the young that unscrupulous persons love to +prey—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——"</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—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—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—"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—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.</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—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.</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—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.</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—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.</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—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.</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—</p> + +<p>"My poor friend! What you have suffered—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——"</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"—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—practically—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—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<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— +"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—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>"—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"—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——"<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—well and smartly, I believe. She is a thorough +woman of the world. Naturally, a girl brought up as +Lesley has been will——"</p> + +<p>"—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—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—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—</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—so intense. Plump +little women like you shouldn't go in for tragedy. Smile, +Rosy; it is your <i>métier</i> to smile. You have won a good +many games by smiling. You must smile on now—to the +bitter end."</p> + +<p>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.</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—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."</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—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—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—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."</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—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——"</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——"</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—for what object?"</p> + +<p>"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."</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—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—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?"</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—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—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—exactly—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—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—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."</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—</p> + +<p>"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."</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—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——"</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—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—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—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—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.</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—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—eventually—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—at +least, I meant only——"</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—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—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.</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"—for he was becoming a little provoked +by her silence—"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—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."</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—the ex——"</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—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—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—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"—how did he know that she had +any prejudices?—"if I tell you that she is an actress."</p> + +<p>"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.</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——"</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—a very little."</p> + +<p>"Oh." The tone was one of disappointment. "Art? +Drawing—carving—modelling—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—</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—</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—</p> + +<p>"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<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—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?"</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—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——"</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—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.</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—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.</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—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—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—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——"</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——"</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—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?—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—</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—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—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—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—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."</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—</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—"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—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——"</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?—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—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<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—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—</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——"</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—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—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—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>?—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—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<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—a +smaller <i>rôle</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—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—not for the first time—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—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——"</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—"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——"</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—the man whose play you have acted in +to-night? Ethel, why don't you try the experiment?—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—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—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.</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—</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—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—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—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—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——" 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—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—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—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 <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—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——"</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—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—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—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—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"—with a laugh—"knew all that I knew——"</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—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.</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——"</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—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.</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—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—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—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—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—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<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—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—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!"</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—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—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"—Ethel always called Miss +Brooke Doctor Sophy—"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>—</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—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.</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—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.</p> + +<p>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!</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—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!</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—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.</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—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.</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!"—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"—smilingly—"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—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?"—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."</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—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—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<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——"</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?"—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—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——"</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——"</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—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—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—but I assure you that it was from the purest +motives. I don't"—forgetting his apologetic attitude for a +moment—"I <i>don't</i> think that you realize what a truly +great man your father is—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"—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."</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—that is all. I am not angry because you +express your own sentiments, but because——"</p> + +<p>She stopped and bit her lip.</p> + +<p>"——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—'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 <i>can't</i> know—coming here without having seen him +since you were a baby—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—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—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.<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—Maurice Kenyon himself—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—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—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?—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—oh, how Lesley hated Aunt Sophy's +laugh!——</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—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:<a name="Page_106"></a>—</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—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—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—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.</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—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—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—from hunger and cold, I mean: I have been +reading about poor people in this book—and——"</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——"</p> + +<p>"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?"</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—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?"</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—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."</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—more shame to me, perhaps +you'll say. I couldn't expect him to think of things like +candles."</p> + +<p>"Oh!—And is he—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—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.</p> + +<p>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 <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—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.<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—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.</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?—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.</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—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—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—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—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.</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—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—<i>eagerly</i>—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—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—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—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—if he wants votes, for instance—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—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—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."<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—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.</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——"</p> + +<p>"Although——" 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—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."</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—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—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.</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—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."</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—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.</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—though, +of course, at that distance he could not be +sure—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—</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—</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—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—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?"</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?—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—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—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—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.</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—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—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—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—evidently one of the malcontents—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—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.</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?"—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"—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."</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—he was a very +useful young man in his way—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——"</p> + +<p>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.</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—though I may roam—<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—shall I sing what English +people call a sacred piece? A Sunday piece, you know? +'Angels ever bright and fair'—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—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—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—I hope I'm not disturbing you—I——"</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—most +humbly and with all my heart—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—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—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!—I +am not wrong?"</p> + +<p>"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—<i>how</i> could I +understand?"</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"But," said Lesley, looking straight into his face with +her clear brown eyes, "if what you said was true?——"</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——"</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—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."</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—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."</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—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."</p> + +<p>"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——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly!"</p> + +<p>"——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——"</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—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—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?—Mr. Kenyon, I don't know +what to say about it. You see I can't be sure whether it +is all—true."</p> + +<p>"True? The story? But, of course——"</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—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—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—</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—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?</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—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—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.</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—</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—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,"—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?"</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—did +you not tell me that she said she was not musical?—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—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"—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?"</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—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—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—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!"</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—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—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—how noble—how good——"</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—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——"</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——"</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—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—</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—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."</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—I wonder if Alice would +consent?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I thought of it—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—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—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."</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"—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——"</p> + +<p>She stopped short, and put her handkerchief to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"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—<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——"</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—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—old +friends like myself," said Rosalind, desperately. "You +will cast us all off—you will forget us—forget—<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—and my wife, if she comes back, and my +daughter also—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——"</p> + +<p>She paused—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—yourself——"<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—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!"</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—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——"-->even——</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—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—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—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!"</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—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——</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—him as wrote +'The Unexplored.' I brought it to you to read, I remember—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—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— hm—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—and grammar—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—nobody +knows it better than I do—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—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—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—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——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?"</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—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."</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—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——"</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—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——"</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—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—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 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—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.</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—"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.</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—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."</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—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—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—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—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.</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—<i>alias</i> 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.</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—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.<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—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?—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!"</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—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 <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—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—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—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—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 tête-à-tête +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—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—that I found myself +when I found you! Lesley, I love you!"</p> + +<p>"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.</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—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—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—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—<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—"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.</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—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—</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—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—for I suppose that is what you mean?"</p> + +<p>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—</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—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!"<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—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—such an unfeeling monster——? 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—what——"</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—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?"</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—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!"</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—a maniac. But she misjudged +me all her life—it is useless to expect anything else—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—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."</p> + +<p>"But mamma talked of an agreement——"</p> + +<p>"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."</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—mamma +and I—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—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—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—women<a name="Page_171"></a> +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.</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—"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—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."</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——"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—well, you must excuse me for mentioning it—but +wasn't she—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—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."</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—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"—this was very significantly said—"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——"</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!—"</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—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—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—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."</p> + +<p>"Naturally. But——"</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—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."</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—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—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 mésalliance 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—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—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—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—have +you—no message?"</p> + +<p>"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."</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:—</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—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—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—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—'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 <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—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.—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—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.<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—it had occurred to her once or twice—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—it was just +a remote possibility—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—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, +<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—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—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—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—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.</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—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—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—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——"</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—with—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—at least before the marriage. Afterwards—he +said to himself—he should treat her as he felt inclined. +But now——</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,—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—scold me if you like—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—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,</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—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—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?—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—</p> + +<p>"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?—<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—I hoped—found +it——"</p> + +<p>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.<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—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.</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—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.</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—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—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——"</p> + +<p>"Sarah?" asked Oliver, with interest. "Sarah never +liked me."</p> + +<p>"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!"</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—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.</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—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—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—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——"</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—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——"</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—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—sometimes sullen—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—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—</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—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—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."</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 Bagnères. 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—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—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—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.</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—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—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—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—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."</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——"</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—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—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"—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—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—unless—until——"</p> + +<p>"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."</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—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."</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—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—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<a name="Page_205"></a> +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.</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—"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—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.</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—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."</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——"</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——"</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—just when I feel inclined, if you don't think it +a great waste of time——"</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—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.<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:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Brooke</span>,— +</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——"</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—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—"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"—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."</p> + +<p>"Who <i>could</i> disdain it?" asked Lesley, innocently +indignant.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean"—turning suddenly upon her—"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—"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—your preferences—are +all the world to me?"</p> + +<p>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<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—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."</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—shall ever love as long as I +live—the fulfilment of my ideal—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—I could not be. I am +very ignorant and full of faults. I have a bad temper——"</p> + +<p>"You have a temper that is sweetness itself!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Kenyon, how can you say so?"—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——"</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—whether you can honor me with your love—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—I +never thought——"</p> + +<p>"Think now," he said persuasively. "Am I disagreeable +to you?"</p> + +<p>"No,"—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—surely, then—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> +—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—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—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——"</p> + +<p>"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."</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—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—at least—I have promised——"</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——"</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—Lady Alice—approves?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes—it was to her—because she——"</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—or—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—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—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—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—Mr. +Maurice Kenyon."</p> + +<p>"Which is Mr. Kenyon?"</p> + +<p>"There—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!—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.</p> + +<p>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.</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—the name of Kenyon. "Last appearance of +Miss Kenyon at the Frivolity Theatre—this week only."</p> + +<p>"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.</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—going to get married and leave the stage. My +brother's a scene shifter at the Frivolity—knows all about +her."</p> + +<p>"Who is she going to marry?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said his interlocutor, vaguely. "And—has she +any relations?"</p> + +<p>"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."</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—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."</p> + +<p>"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."</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—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.</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—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—partially and feebly, but to some extent +effectually—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—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.</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—to judge from your look. +Perhaps there is—somebody else?" said Brooke.</p> + +<p>"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.</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—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 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—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—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.</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—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—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?—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—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.<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—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—lost—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—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—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—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 <i>man</i>, 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."</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—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—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—not +of his betrothed, but—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—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—</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—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.</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—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—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—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—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——" 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—forgive me—I won't detain +you long——"</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!—"</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—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—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."</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—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—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—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."</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!—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."</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—dearest—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—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"—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?"</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—</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—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—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—the money you ought to have given +me by this time—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—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—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—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—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."</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?—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."</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—if ever he gets it. I +wonder if I could contrive to stave off the payment——"</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—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—still softly, as if he thought that he was not<a name="Page_237"></a> +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!"</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—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."</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—between Russell Square +and St. Pancras Church—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—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—she forgot her duties as +doorkeeper; she remembered only that she loved this man, +and that he had forgotten her. She cried aloud——</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—he is to +give me some money."</p> + +<p>"Don't you remember Mary, Francis? Look at me—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—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.</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—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.</p> + +<p>"Mary," he said, in a bewildered tone, "Mary—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—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—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"—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."</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—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."</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—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>—</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——"</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—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—</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—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—presumably—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—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—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.</p> + +<p>"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.</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—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."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to earn money. <i>He</i> could not work—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——"</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——"</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—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.<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—</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—which I'm very sorry to have been obliged to +do. And one other thing—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—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."</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—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."</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—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—poor lamb—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—</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——"</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—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—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."<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—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—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>—</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—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——"</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—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"—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—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.</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—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—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—I cannot get him away."</p> + +<p>"Can I do anything to help——" 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—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—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.</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—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—a—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—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—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—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——"</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—spoke as I did not like—once—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—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—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"—with a little more +color in her face than usual—"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—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—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."</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—just after her father had gone out—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—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—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."</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—</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—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—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—and the bouquets have just +come from the florist—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—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—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."</p> + +<p>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.<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—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—"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—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—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—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—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—wait till we get home. Come +at once."</p> + +<p>"I must know, Maurice: I cannot bear to wait. Is he—is +he—<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—a shriek that told +her all.</p> + +<p>"Dead? Murdered? Oh, no, no—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—it was not his fault. He <i>would</i> have come—if he +had been—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—</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—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—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?—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—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!"</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!"—and Sarah snorted +contemptuously, while she wiped away a tear from her left +eye with her apron.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>It consisted only of these words—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Sophy</span>,—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."</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—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<a name="Page_268"></a> +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.</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—"Maybe you haven't heard what's +happened, ma'am. Mr. Brooke's been taken up on the +charge of murder——"</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—if Caspar Brooke had killed +Ethel's lover—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—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."</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—</p> + +<p>"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——"</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—</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—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.</p> + +<p>An hour must have passed away before Ethel murmured,</p> + +<p>"Lesley—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—</p> + +<p>"I wish I could die—too."</p> + +<p>"My poor little Ethel."</p> + +<p>"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."<a name="Page_271"></a></p> + +<p>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.</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—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—I know—I remember. That he was—a—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—from me—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—we, +who know him, will stand by him until he is a free +man."</p> + +<p>"Then you believe—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—as gently as I could."</p> + +<p>"Tell me all—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—was your +father's, unfortunately: it must have been stolen by some +ruffian for the purpose—and—and——"</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—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<a name="Page_275"></a>—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——"</p> + +<p>"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?"</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—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—<i>she</i>," 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.</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—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—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—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—not my father—I was thinking—of +others—others I have trusted and been deceived in."</p> + +<p>"Oliver Trent," he said—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—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?"</p> + +<p>She was white enough now. She cast one appealing +glance at his face, and then said, almost inaudibly—</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—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——"<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—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 <i>him</i> that you +made some promise you spoke of—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—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—tell me about my dear, dearest father."</p> + +<p>"I will," said Maurice. "I will do exactly what you +wish—<i>just now</i>"—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, <i>just now</i>. 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——"</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——"</p> + +<p>"And why didn't he?" demanded Lesley, breathlessly.</p> + +<p>"Because—<a name="tn_283"></a><!--TN: Quotes removed after "Because" and before "your"-->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."</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—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—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—<i>murder</i>. 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 <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—"It +sounds like a plot—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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"He is not coming home just yet, then?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid—dear, do not tremble so—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—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?"</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——"</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—you don't think—that my—my <i>flirting</i>, as +you call it, with Mr. Trent will be spoken of and tend to +hurt my father—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—if I can't——"</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——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.</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—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.</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—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 <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—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.</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—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?</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——"</p> + +<p>"I am going to mamma," said Lesley.</p> + +<p>"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."</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—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—for a moment or two—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—that did not escape. Did you think I +should misunderstand you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, mamma—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—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 +<i>know</i> 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."</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——?" he asked, in rather a peculiar +tone.</p> + +<p>"Before that—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—don't—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——"</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—best—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>"—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—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."</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—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—what that woman +said—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—do you remember?—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—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—and——"</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—but I did not like to make a +disturbance."</p> + +<p>"No, dear, no. And you—yourself—<i>you</i> did not care +for him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no, no, no!"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"It isn't <i>that</i> 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!"</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—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:—</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—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."</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—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.</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—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?"</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—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?—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—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—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 alto<a name="Page_294"></a>gether. +But there was not much fear of tenderness from +him—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"—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."</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—so +extraordinary—that you will perhaps pardon the intrusion. +I felt—on reflection—that it was only right for me to come—to +express——"</p> + +<p>She faltered, and he took advantage of her hesitation to +say, with a quiet smile—</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—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—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—to insult me—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—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."</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—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—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—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!"</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—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——"</p> + +<p>"But—I shall be at Woburn Place myself in a day or +two, on bail; and then——"</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—is it possible—after all these years——"</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—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<a name="Page_297"></a> +have all possible faith in you, and that I know you to be +good and upright and honorable—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—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—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—because——"</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—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 naïve 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—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—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—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.</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—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—if her husband <i>had</i> +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.</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—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.</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—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.</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—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.</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—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?"</p> + +<p>"I always thought so," he answered, gravely. "But +now—I fear——"</p> + +<p>"You mean"—with a strange vibration in her voice— +"you mean that we must never be friends again—because—because +of Oliver——"</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——"</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—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—</p> + +<p>"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."</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—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!"</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—you know as well as I do—that +the chances are against you!"</p> + +<p>"And if they are?"</p> + +<p>"If they are—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—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—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!"</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—<i>you</i> +to talk about honor—after—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—as though I had—<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—</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—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—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."</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—blind—<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—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."</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—which she intercepted—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—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."</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—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—whether +one suffers—suffers physically. It is my soul that is hurt,<a name="Page_308"></a> +my heart that is tired—but you don't concern yourself +with that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"If you are sorry," she said, in a softer tone, "and if +you want to make me happier—<i>save yourself</i>."</p> + +<p>"No," said Caspar, roughly—almost violently—"by +Heaven, I won't do that."</p> + +<p>"You don't wish to save yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Not at that price—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—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."</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—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 +<a name="tn_313"></a><!--TN: "need need" changed to "need"-->need not go—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—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 <i>she</i>, at least, trusts me—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—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—she—that you will take—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—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—<i>you</i>—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—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?"</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—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—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<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—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—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—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—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—I thought you cared for Rosalind +Romaine."<a name="Page_313"></a></p> + +<p>"But you know now—surely—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—</p> + +<p>"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?"</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—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—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—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.</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—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—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——"</p> + +<p>The tears trembled in her eyes, but he kissed them away +with new tenderness, saying in a soothing tone—</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—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—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.</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—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—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—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.</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—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.</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—given as a +present to the club. Not bad taste, are they? And this +statuette——".</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—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.</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—this—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—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—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<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—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—</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—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!</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—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—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—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—where's she? she ought to +have been here as well," said one woman; to which Maurice +Kenyon responded in a pleased growl—</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—now."</p> + +<p>"I wish they had let one know beforehand," said Maurice, +"they kept it a dead secret—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"—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."</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—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—Francis Trent—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—if you saw him yourself——"</p> + +<p>"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?"</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—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—exactly," said Maurice. "But I see a vague +chance; and I ask you—for your husband's sake—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—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—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—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—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<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——"</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—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——"</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—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—deeply—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—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—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!"</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—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 <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—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—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——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, not to become engaged before the year was out. +Tell her that I absolve her from that promise, and—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—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——"</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—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—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.'"</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"—with a little shudder—"cannot +be anything to her—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—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."</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—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—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."</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—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.</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—</p> + +<p>"You must let me tell you how sorry I am for the sorrow +that has come upon you—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—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—repetitions of what you said to me years ago—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—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——"</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—I said more than I meant—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—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—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—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—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."</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—yes, I <i>will</i> 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?"</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>—</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—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 <i>him</i>—but +to me——"</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—never saw it—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—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—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<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—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—did she——"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</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—they have driven me mad,<a name="Page_339"></a> +Caspar Brooke and his wife, between them—mad, mad, +mad!—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:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"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.</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—I do, with all my heart. God +help her!"</p> + +<p>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<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—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?—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> + + + +<a name="Page_341"></a> +<hr style="width: 65%;" class="newpg"> +<div class="advert"> +<img src="images/ad346_1.png" border="0" + width="700" height="272" ALT="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. Agents for United States— +CASWELL, MASSEY & CO., New York & Newport."></div> + +<div class="advert newpg"> +<img src="images/ad346_2.png" border="0" + width="700" height="185" ALT="Teeth Like Pearls! IS A COMMON EXPRESSION. +The way to obtain it, use Dyer's Arnicated Tooth Paste, fragrant and delicious. +Try it. Druggists keep it. W. A. 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THE DAWSON MEDICINE CO.,—MONTREAL."></div> +<p> </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 & 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 "STAR" 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, &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, &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 "STAR" 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 & 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 & 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 "Cold Cream" 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 & 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——"</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——"</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 *** + +***** This file should be named 31106-h.htm or 31106-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/1/0/31106/ + +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)) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) 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