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diff --git a/37079-h/37079-h.htm b/37079-h/37079-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c32c3c8 --- /dev/null +++ b/37079-h/37079-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16785 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of World's End, by Richard Jefferies</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of World’s End, by Richard Jefferies</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: World’s End<br /> +A Story in Three Books</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Richard Jefferies</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 14, 2011 [eBook #37079]<br /> +[Most recently updated: August 6, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Nick Hodson</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD’S END ***</div> + +<h1>World’s End</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Richard Jefferies</h2> + +<h3>A Story in Three Books</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#book01"><b>Book I. Facts</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_1_chap_01">Chapter 1</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_1_chap_02">Chapter 2</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_1_chap_03">Chapter 3</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_1_chap_04">Chapter 4</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_1_chap_05">Chapter 5</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_1_chap_06">Chapter 6</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_1_chap_07">Chapter 7</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_1_chap_08">Chapter 8</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_1_chap_09">Chapter 9</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_1_chap_10">Chapter 10</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_1_chap_11">Chapter 11</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_1_chap_12">Chapter 12</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_1_chap_13">Chapter 13</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_1_chap_14">Chapter 14</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_1_chap_15">Chapter 15</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#book02"><b>Book II. Persons</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_2_chap_01">Chapter 1</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_2_chap_02">Chapter 2</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_2_chap_03">Chapter 3</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_2_chap_04">Chapter 4</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_2_chap_05">Chapter 5</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_2_chap_06">Chapter 6</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_2_chap_07">Chapter 7</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_2_chap_08">Chapter 8</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_2_chap_09">Chapter 9</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_2_chap_10">Chapter 10</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_2_chap_11">Chapter 11</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_2_chap_12">Chapter 12</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_2_chap_13">Chapter 13</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_2_chap_14">Chapter 14</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_2_chap_15">Chapter 15</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#book03"><b>Book III. Results</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_3_chap_01">Chapter 1</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_3_chap_02">Chapter 2</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_3_chap_03">Chapter 3</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_3_chap_04">Chapter 4</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_3_chap_05">Chapter 5</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_3_chap_06">Chapter 6</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_3_chap_07">Chapter 7</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_3_chap_08">Chapter 8</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_3_chap_09">Chapter 9</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_3_chap_10">Chapter 10</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_3_chap_11">Chapter 11</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_3_chap_12">Chapter 12</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_3_chap_13">Chapter 13</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol_3_chap_14">Chapter 14</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="book01"></a>Book I. Facts.</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_1_chap_01"></a>Chapter One.</h2> + +<p> +It is not generally known that the mighty city of Stirmingham owes its +existence to a water-rat. Stirmingham has a population of half a million, and +is the workshop of the earth. It is a proud city, and its press-men have traced +its origin back into the dim vista of the past, far before Alfred the +Great’s time, somewhere in the days of those monarchs who came from Troy, +and whose deeds Holinshed so minutely chronicles. +</p> + +<p> +But this is all trash and nonsense, and is a cunning device of the able editors +aforesaid, who confound—for their own purposes—the city proper with +the tiny hamlet of Wolf’s Glow. This little village or cluster of houses, +which now forms a part, and the dirtiest part, of the city, can indeed be +traced through Hundred Rolls, Domesday Book, and Saxon Charters, almost down to +the time of the Romans. But Stirmingham, the prosperous and proud Stirmingham, +which thinks that the world could not exist without its watches and guns, its +plated goods, its monster factories and mills, which sends cargoes to +Timbuctoo, and supplies Java and Malabar with idols—this vast place, +whose nickname is a by-word for cheating, for fair outward show and no real +solidity, owes its existence to a water-rat. This is a fact. And it happened in +this way. +</p> + +<p> +Once upon a time there was a wide expanse of utterly useless land, flat as this +sheet of paper, without a trace of subsoil or any kind of earth in which so +much as a blade of grass could grow. It was utterly dry and sterile—not a +tree nor a shrub to shelter a cow or a horse, and all men avoided it as a waste +and desolate place. It was the very abomination of desolation, and no one would +have been surprised to have seen satyrs and other strange creatures diverting +themselves thereon. Around one edge of this plain there flowed a brook, so +small that one could hardly call it by that name. A dainty lady from Belgravia +could have easily stepped across it without soiling the sole of her boot. +</p> + +<p> +At one spot beside this brook there grew a willow tree. This tree was a picture +in itself, and would have made the fortune of any artist who would have +condescended to make a loving study of it. The trunk had been of very large +size, but now resembled a canoe standing upon end, for nearly one half had +decayed, and the crumbling wood had disappeared, leaving a hollow stem. The +stem was itself dead and decaying, except one thin streak of green, up which +the golden sap of life still ran, and invigorated the ancient head of the tree +to send forth yellow buds and pointed leaves. Up one side of the hollow trunk +an ivy creeper had climbed to the top, and was fast hanging festoons from bough +to bough. +</p> + +<p> +In the vast mass of decaying wood at the top or head of the tree a briar had +taken root—its seed no doubt dropped by some thrush—and its prickly +shoots hung over and drooped to the ground in luxuriance of growth. The hardy +fern had also found a lodging here, and its dull green leaves, which they say +grow most by moonlight, formed a species of crown to the dying tree. +</p> + +<p> +This willow was the paradise of such birds as live upon insects, for they +abounded in the decaying wood; and at the top a wild pigeon had built its nest. +As years went by, the willow bent more and more over the brook. The water +washing the soil out from between its roots formed a hollow space, where a +slight eddy scooped out a deeper hole, in which the vermillion—throated +stickleback or minnow disported and watched the mouth of its nest. This eddy +also weakened the tree by undermining it at its foundation. The ivy grew +thicker till it formed a perfect bush upon the top, and this in the winter +afforded a hold for the wind to shake the tree by. The wind would have passed +harmlessly through the slender branches, but the ivy, even in winter, the +season of storms, left something against which it could rage with effect. +Finally came the water-rat. +</p> + +<p> +If Stirmingham objects to owe its origin to a water-rat, it may at least +congratulate itself upon the fact that it was a good old English rat—none +of your modern parvenu, grey Hanoverian rascals. It was, in fact, before the +Norwegian rat, which had been imported in the holds of vessels, had obtained +undisputed sway over the country. It had, however, already driven the darker +aboriginal inhabitants away from the cultivated places to take refuge in the +woods and streams. It is odd that in the animal kingdom also, even in the rat +economy, the darker hued race should give way to the lighter. However, as in +Stirmingham the smoke is so great that the ladies when they walk abroad carry +parasols up to keep the blacks from falling on and disfiguring their +complexion, there can after all be no disgrace in the water-rat ancestry. +</p> + +<p> +This dark coloured water-rat, finding his position less and less secure at the +adjacent barn on account of the attacks of the grey invaders, one fine day +migrated, with Mrs Rat and all the Master and Missy rats, down to the stream. +Peeping and sniffing about for a pleasant retreat, he chose the neighbourhood +of the willow tree. I cannot stay here to discuss whether or no he was led to +the tree by some mystic beckoning hand—some supernatural presentiment; +but to the tree he went, and Stirmingham was founded. Two or three +burrows—small round holes—sufficed to house Mr Rat and his family, +but these ran right under the willow, and of course still further weakened it. +</p> + +<p> +In course of time the family flourished exceedingly, and Mr Rat became a +great-great-great-grandpapa to ever so many minor Frisky Tails. These Frisky +Tails finding the ancient quarter too much straightened for comfort, began to +scratch further tunnels, and succeeded pretty well in opening additional +honeycombs, till presently progress was stayed by a root of the tree. Now they +had gnawed through and scratched away half a dozen other roots, and never +paused to sniff more particularly at this than the others. But it so happened +that this root was the one which supplied the green streak up the trunk of the +tree with the golden sap of life drawn by mysterious chemical processes from +the earth. Frisky Tails gnawed this root asunder, and cut off the supply of +sap. The green streak up the trunk withered and died, and the last stay of the +willow was gone. It only remained for the first savage south-wester of winter +to finish the mischief. +</p> + +<p> +The south-wester came, and over went the trunk, crash across the brook. At +first this was very awkward for the rats, as thereby most of their subterranean +dwellings became torn up and exposed. But very soon a geological change +occurred. +</p> + +<p> +The tree had fallen obliquely across the stream, and its ponderous head, or +top, choked up the bed, or very nearly. The sand and small sticks, leaves, and +so on, brought down by the current, filled up the crevices left by the tree, +and a perfect dam was formed. +</p> + +<p> +Now, as stated before, the ground thereabout was nearly level, and so worthless +in character that no man ever troubled his head about it. No one came to see +the dam or remove it. The result was the brook overflowed, and then finding +this level plateau, instead of eating out a new channel, it spread abroad, and +formed first a good-sized puddle, then a pond, then something like a flood, +and, as time went by, a marsh. This marsh extended over a space of ground fully +a mile long, and altogether covered some nine hundred acres. +</p> + +<p> +The rats, sagacious creatures, instead of deserting their colony, showed that +they possessed that species of wisdom which the Greek sage said was superior to +all other knowledge—namely, the knowledge how to turn an evil to a good. +Exploring this shallow lake which their carelessness had caused, they found +several places still unsubmerged—islands, in fact. To one of these they +swam, dug out new catacombs, and being now quite safe from interruption, and +protected upon all sides, the Malthusian laws of population had full play, and +soon proved its force, for the whole place swarmed with them. The axiom, +however, that at the very point when empires are apparently most prosperous, +their destruction is near at hand, to some extent applied even to the dominion +of the water-rat. They were no longer to be the sole undisturbed possessors. +</p> + +<p> +Arguing <i>à priori</i>, one would have concluded that if this waste +land was worthless before, now it was a marsh, and miasmatic vapours arose from +it, it would be still more avoided. But the facts were exactly opposite. So +soon as ever the water had spread over the level plain, and had well soaked +into the sterile soil, there began to spring up tough aquatic grasses, commonly +called bull-polls, from a supposed resemblance between their tangled appearance +and the rough hair that hangs over the poll of a bull. +</p> + +<p> +These grasses are gregarious—that is to say, they prefer to grow in huge +bunches. Each bunch increasing year after year, forms in time a small hillock +or tuft, and, the roots spreading and spreading, these hillocks of grass almost +covered the lake, leaving only narrow channels of water between. Upon these +innumerable frogs and toads crawled up out of the water, and they were the +chosen resorts of newts. +</p> + +<p> +In summer time the blue dragon-fly wheeled in mazes over them, or, while +settled on the stiff blades of grass, looked like a species of blossom. The +current of the brook brought down seeds, and soon the tall reed began to rear +its slender stem, and rustle its feathery head in the breeze. The sedges came +also, and fringed the marsh with a border of green. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, the root which the rats had gnawed asunder beneath the ancient willow +tree, felt the power of spring, and made one more effort. Freed from the +incubus of the dead trunk, it threw out a shoot of its own. From this shoot +there proceeded other shoots; and, in short, after a while the islands in the +marsh became covered with willow trees and osier-beds. The reeds grew apace, +and by the time the islands were clothed with willow, the rest of the marsh was +occupied by them, saving only the fringe of sedge, and the almost immortal +bull-polls, which were as tough as leather, and which nothing could kill. +</p> + +<p> +Now, also, animal life began to people the once-deserted waste. With the sedges +came the sedge-warblers; with the willows came the brook-sparrows; and above +all, came the wild-fowl. The heron stalked to and fro between the bull-polls; +the ducks swam in and out; the moor-hens took up their residence; and in winter +the widgeons and snipes visited the place in myriads. +</p> + +<p> +It was now time for man. And man came. He came first in the person of here and +there a cotter, who cut himself a huge bundle of reeds for fuel, to mend his +thatch, or litter his pig; then in the person of the poacher—if it could +be called poaching to hunt where no one preserved—who, with +long-barrelled gun, brass-fitted and flint-locked, brought down half a dozen +ducks at once, and then waded in after them. +</p> + +<p> +One day a travelling gipsy tribe came by, and encamped for the night close to +the marsh. In this tribe there was a man who, in his way, possessed the genius +of Alexander the Great. Alexander chancing to pass a landlocked harbour utterly +neglected, saw at a glance its capabilities, and built a city which is renowned +to this day. +</p> + +<p> +This gipsy fellow, who was only a gipsy by marriage, saw this unoccupied marsh, +with its wild-fowl, its fish, and, above all, its willows, and at once fixed +upon it as a promising spot. +</p> + +<p> +He was a basket-maker by trade. +</p> + +<p> +He waded in to one of the islets, carrying his infant in his arms, and followed +by his wife, who carried his tools. He set up his tent-pole, and in time +superseded it with a cottage of sod, roofed with reeds. All day he made baskets +of willow and flags, in the evening he shot ducks and widgeon. The baskets he +sold in the towns, the ducks he ate. One or two others followed his example. +</p> + +<p> +The gipsy tribe made it a rule to come that way twice a year to purchase the +baskets and retail them all over the country. The original settlers had sons, +and the sons took possession of other islets, built sod cottages, of +wattle-and-daub, and married wives, till there were ten or twelve settlements +upon the islands; and these ten or twelve, all in a rude sort of way, gave the +chieftainship to the original basket-maker, whose name happened to be Baskette. +</p> + +<p> +These people, in the heart of a midland county, lived almost exactly the life +that was led at the same period by the dwellers in the fen countries to the +eastward. It was a rude existence, but it was free and independent, and not +without a charm to those who had been born and bred in it. Even this unenviable +life was, however, to be disturbed. Two mighty giants were preparing, like the +ogres in the fairy tales, to eat up the defenceless population. The lid of a +certain tea-kettle had puffed up and down, and Steam had been born. The other +ogre was called Legal Rights, and began to bite first. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_1_chap_02"></a>Chapter Two.</h2> + +<p> +So long as this waste land was tenanted only by the “owl and the +bittern,” Legal Rights slumbered. The moment man put his foot upon it the +ogre woke up, for it is not permitted to that miserable two-legged creature to +rest in peace anywhere in this realm. +</p> + +<p> +The village of Wolf’s Glow was distant about a mile and a quarter from +the old willow tree whose fall had dammed up the brook and caused the marsh. +The brook, in fact, ran past the village, and supplied more than one farmhouse +with water. These farms were of the poorest class—mere stretches of +pasture-land, and such pasture which a well-fed donkey would despise! +</p> + +<p> +The poorest farm, in appearance at all events, was Wick—a large but +tumbledown place, roofed with grey slates, which, stood apart from the village. +It was the largest house in the place, and yet seemed the most +poverty-stricken. The grey slates were falling off. The roof-tree had cracked +and bent, the lattice windows were broken, and the holes stuffed up with +bundles of hay and straw. The garden was choked with weeds, and the very apple +trees in the orchard were withering away. +</p> + +<p> +Old Sibbold, the owner and occupier, was detested by the entire village, and by +no one more than his two sons. He was a miser, and yet nothing seemed to +prosper with him; and pare and save as much as he would he could make no +accumulation. His sons were the only labourers he employed, though his farm was +the largest thereabouts, and he paid them only in lodging and food, and not +much of the latter. +</p> + +<p> +The eldest, Arthur, chafed bitterly under this treatment, for he appears, from +the scanty records that remain of him, to have been a lad of spirit and energy. +</p> + +<p> +The second son, James, was of a grosser nature, and his mind was chiefly +occupied with eating and drinking. He had an implicit faith in the wealth of +his father, and submitted patiently to all these hardships and rough treatment +in the hope of ingratiating himself with the old man, and perhaps supplanting +Arthur in his will—that is, so far as his money was concerned, for the +land, as the villagers said, “went by heirship”—i.e. was +entailed—but who would care for such land? +</p> + +<p> +Arthur saw the game and did nothing to prevent it; on the contrary, he took a +certain pleasure in irritating the savage and morose old man, whom he +thoroughly despised. Perhaps what happened in the future was a punishment for +this unfilial conduct, however much it was provoked. +</p> + +<p> +The mother, it must be understood, had long been dead, and there was no +mediator between the stern old man and his fiery-tempered son. Old Sibbold was +descended of a good family—one that had once held a position, not only in +the county but in the country—and he dwelt much on the past, recalling +the time when a Sibbold had held a bishop a prisoner for King John. +</p> + +<p> +He pored over the deeds in his old oak chest—a press, which stood on four +carved legs, and was closed with a ponderous padlock. That chest, if it could +be found now, would be worth its weight, not in gold merely, but in diamonds. +At that time these deeds and parchments were of little value; they related +mostly to by-gone days, and Arthur ridiculed his father’s patient study +of their crabbed handwriting. +</p> + +<p> +What was the use of dwelling on the past?—up and speculate on the +present! +</p> + +<p> +Irritated beyond measure, old Sibbold would reply that half the county belonged +to him, and he could prove it. All that they could see from that window was +his. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said Arthur, “all we can see is the Lea, which is as +barren as the crown of my hat, except in weeds and bulrushes!” +</p> + +<p> +“Barren or not, they’re mine,” said Sibbold, closing his +chest; “and I will make those squatters pay!” +</p> + +<p> +For the Lea was that piece of waste ground which the brook had overflowed, and +in a sense rendered fertile. +</p> + +<p> +From that hour began a persecution of the basket-makers who had settled on the +little islets in the marsh. Sibbold had an undoubted parchment +right—whether he had a moral and true right to a place he had never +touched with spade or plough is a different matter. He claimed a rent. The +cotters refused to pay. Their chieftain, old Will Baskette, wanted to +compromise matters, and offered a small quit-rent. +</p> + +<p> +Now every one knows that quit-rent and rent are very different things in a +legal point of view. A man who pays rent can be served with notice to quit. A +man who pays quit-rent has a claim upon the soil, and cannot be ejected. +Sibbold refused the quit-rent, and had the squatters served with a notice. They +went on cutting reeds, weaving baskets, and shooting wild-fowl, just the same; +till one day old Sibbold, accompanied with a posse of constables (there were no +police in those days), walked into the marsh with his jack-boots on; and, while +one of the cotters was absent selling his baskets, began to tear the little hut +down, despite the curses of the women and the wailing of the children. But the +hut, as it happened, was stronger in reality than appearance, and resisted the +attack, till one of the constables suggested fire. +</p> + +<p> +A burning brand from the cottage hearth was applied by old Sibbold himself to +the reed thatch, and in a moment up shot a fierce blaze which left nothing but +ashes, and sod walls two feet high. One can imagine the temper a man of gipsy +blood would be in when, on returning home, he found his children crying and the +women silent, sitting among the ruins. From that hour a spirit of revenge took +possession of the dwellers in this Dismal Swamp of hostility to the village. +</p> + +<p> +Hitherto these half savage people had paid of their own free will a kind of +tribute to the regular house-folk of Wolf’s Glow. The farmers’ +wives received useful presents of baskets and clothes-pegs, and every now and +then half a dozen wild ducks were found on the threshold in the morning. The +clergyman was treated in a similar manner; and being known to have a penchant +for snipes and woodcocks, his table was well supplied in the season. Sometimes +there were other things left in a mysterious way at the door—such as a +bladder full of the finest brandy or Hollands gin, or a packet of tobacco or +snuff. +</p> + +<p> +This was generally after the visit of the gipsy tribe, who were smugglers to a +considerable extent. No farmer ever missed a lamb or a horse: such property was +far safer since the settlement of the Dismal Swamp. +</p> + +<p> +But now the village had attacked the Swamp, the Swamp retaliated on the +village, and a regular war commenced. The farmers’ sheep began to +disappear—none so often as old Sibbold’s. Once a valuable horse of +his was lost. This drove him to the verge of frenzy. He went down to the Swamp, +and presently returned swearing and vowing vengeance—he had been shot at. +This aroused the clergyman into action. He went to the Swamp, and was received +with respect. He talked of conciliation, and reproved them, especially speaking +of the sin of murder. They listened, but utterly scouted the idea. +</p> + +<p> +“We steal,” they said, openly. “It is our revenge; but we do +not murder. Sibbold was not fired at. One of our young men was seeking +ducks—he did not know that Sibbold at the same moment was creeping +noiselessly through the reeds to fire our huts. He shot at the ducks, and some +of the pellets glanced off Sibbold’s jack-boots. That’s the +truth.” +</p> + +<p> +And it was the truth. But Sibbold vowed vengeance, and was heard to say that he +would have their blood. He refused to see the clergyman who came to mediate and +explain. He accused him of complicity, and reviled him. +</p> + +<p> +James, as usual, agreed with and seconded him. Arthur sided with the squatters, +and said so openly. Sibbold cursed him. Arthur said pointedly that when he +inherited the land the squatters should be unmolested. Sibbold struck him with +an ash stick. +</p> + +<p> +Arthur left the house and went to the Swamp. He called on old Will Baskette, +and expressed his hatred of his father’s tyranny. He asked to be taught +to make baskets, and to be initiated into the gipsy mysteries. He was a quick +lad, and they took an interest in teaching him. He soon knew how to make two or +three kinds of baskets, learnt the gipsy language, and imbibed their singular +traditions. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the war continued. At first the farmers and villagers put up with +patience with their thefts, considering that it was Sibbold’s fault. But +repeated losses exasperated them. If one of the Dismal Swamp people was seen +abroad he was set upon and maltreated, beaten black and blue. Savage dogs were +hounded at them. Sibbold was encouraged to eject them. He tried to get a posse +of constables to do so, but the constables hung back. They had heard the story +of the shooting at Sibbold; they knew these men to be desperate characters; and +most of them had had presents of brandy and tobacco, and ribbons for their +wives. +</p> + +<p> +They could not be got to move. That was a lawless age in outlying places. +Finding this, the village began to contemplate a raid <i>en masse</i> upon the +Swamp. Nothing was talked of in the alehouse but fighting. Men compared the +length of their gun-barrels, and put up marks to prove the range of their shot. +The younger men were ready for the fray, the elders hesitated. They looked at +their thatched houses, at their barns and ricks. The insurance companies had +not then penetrated into the most obscure nooks and corners. +</p> + +<p> +After all, the Swamp people were not unsupported: they were a branch of a +tribe. If they were seriously injured the tribe might return, and no one could +calculate the consequences. +</p> + +<p> +So the foray was put off from day to day. But the news that it was meditated +soon reached the Swamp, and made the dwellers there more desperate than ever. +Their thefts grew to such a height that nothing was safe. The geese and turkeys +disappeared; wheat was stolen from the barns; sheep were taken by the dozen, +and no trace could be found. Now and then a horse disappeared. It came to such +a pitch that the very beer in the barrels, the cider in the cellar, was not +safe, but was taken nightly. +</p> + +<p> +Old Sibbold, of course, suffered most. Tapping a cider barrel, he found it +quite empty. The old man was beside himself with rage; but he said nothing. He +studied retaliation. He watched his barns—the wheat seemed to disappear +under his very eyes. One night as he was returning from his barn, carrying his +long-barrelled flint-lock under his arm, he fancied he saw a gleam of light in +the ivy, which almost hid the cellar window. Stealthily he peeped through. +There was a man stooping down, drawing off the cider from a barrel into a +bucket. +</p> + +<p> +Old Sibbold’s lips compressed; a fire came into his eyes. He grasped his +gun. Just then the thief held up the candle in his left hand, and revealed the +features of old Will Baskette, the very chief of the Swamp. Sibbold hated him +more particularly because he knew that Arthur frequented his hut. Up went the +long gun. The gleam of light from the candle guided the aim. The muzzle was +close to the lattice window. A cruel eye glanced along the barrel, a finger was +on the trigger. The flint struck the steel with a sharp snick—a spark +flew out—an explosion—the window-glass smashed—a cloud of +smoke—one groan, and all was still. +</p> + +<p> +Sibbold rushed round the house, opened the door gently, locked it behind him, +and stole upstairs. On the landing he met his youngest son James. For a moment +they looked at one another. The young man spoke first. +</p> + +<p> +“Quick, and load your gun,” he said. “Then put it in the rack +and get into bed. Give me your breeches.” +</p> + +<p> +They wore breeches and gaiters in those days. +</p> + +<p> +The old man did as he was bid. The gun was put in the rack; old Sibbold got +into bed. James took his breeches, poured a bucket of water on them, and hung +them up in the wide chimney—the embers still glowed on the hearth. Then +he stole upstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Arthur is out,” he whispered, as he passed the old man’s +bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes passed. Then there arose clatter of feet and a shouting. +</p> + +<p> +“Farmer! farmer! your house is a-fire. The thatch be caught +alight.” +</p> + +<p> +James opened the window, yawned, and asked what was the matter. +</p> + +<p> +“Father’s asleep,” he said, as if not comprehending them. +“He got wet in the brook, and went to bed early. Can’t ye come in +the morning?” +</p> + +<p> +But the others soon roused the house. +</p> + +<p> +The thatch had indeed caught over the cellar window; but fortunately it was +nearly covered with moss and weeds, and was easily put out. +</p> + +<p> +Then some one noticed the smashed window. “Who was it fired?” they +asked. “We heard a shot, and thought it was the swampers. We were +watching our sheep and barns. Then we saw this fire in your thatch, and ran. +Who was it fired? How came the window smashed like this? How came the thatch +alight?” James answered, “He really did not know. He had heard no +shot, he slept sound, knew nothing of the thatch being on fire, and they would +have been burnt in their beds if it had not been for their kind +neighbours.” Old Sibbold stood and shivered in his shirt, his breeches +were wet. The neighbours came in. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go upstairs and fetch father a blanket to wrap his knees +in,” said James. “Father, thee blow the embers up; John Andrews, +thee knows where the cellar is: give ’em the key, father, and do you go, +John, and draw some cider.” +</p> + +<p> +Away went John Andrews with the lantern, and came back with a face white as a +sheet, just as James got downstairs. There was a dead man in the cellar, in a +flood of gore and cider! +</p> + +<p> +The result was a coroner’s inquiry; the thefts and so forth might have +gone on for ever, but death could not be disregarded. Even in that lawless age, +death was attended to. An inquest was held, and the jury was composed of the +farmers of the village. Suspicion fell very strongly upon old Sibbold. The +Swamp people openly denounced him as the murderer. His neighbours, much as they +hated the Swamp, believed in their hearts that they were right; and not all +their class prejudice could overcome the innate horror they felt in his +presence. More than one had heard him say he would have blood. Now there was +blood enough. +</p> + +<p> +Still there was not enough evidence to arrest Sibbold. The Swamp people said he +would run away, and if he did they would watch him and bring him back. But +Sibbold did nothing of the kind. He faced the inquiry with a stern dignity +which imposed on some. +</p> + +<p> +First came the medical evidence. The doctor proved that the shot had entered +the left side, just below the heart, and had passed downwards. It had entered +all together—the pellets not spread about, but close together, like a +bullet, which proved that the gun had been fired very close. Death must have +been absolutely instantaneous. Deceased was in a stooping posture when he +received the charge. +</p> + +<p> +The constable who had examined the premises, declared it as his +belief—as, indeed, it was the belief of everyone present—that the +shot had been fired from without the window. The shot itself could not have +smashed every pane—that was the concussion. The thatch had been doubtless +set on fire by a piece of the paper which had been used as wadding. +</p> + +<p> +When this had been said there was nothing more to be done, at least so the jury +thought. Suspect Sibbold as much as they would, they were determined to protect +him if possible. This was partly class-feeling, and partly remembrance of the +provocation. +</p> + +<p> +But the Coroner was not to be put off so easily. He had Sibbold called, and +questioned him closely. He called James also, but they both stuck to their +tale; they had never heard the shot, etc. The Coroner sent for Sibbold’s +gun, keeping Sibbold and James at the inn where the inquest was held meantime. +It was brought. It told no tales: it was loaded. Finally, the Coroner, still +dissatisfied and vaguely suspicious, called <i>Arthur</i> Sibbold, who, white +as a sheet, was sitting near on a bench watching the proceedings. +</p> + +<p> +He started at his name and looked round, but finally came forward. Where had he +been that night? He was at Bassett, a small town six miles distant. What was +his business there? what time did he leave? and so on. Arthur answered, but not +so clearly as was desired. He contradicted himself as to the time at which he +left Bassett, and got confused. +</p> + +<p> +The Coroner’s suspicions shifted upon him. He must have arrived about the +time the shot was heard, yet he did not go indoors, did not show himself till +breakfast-time next morning. James vouched for that, unasked. What was he doing +all night? +</p> + +<p> +Suspicion fell very strong on Arthur. But at this moment the wife of the +deceased started forward and declared her belief in his innocence, recounting +how he had learnt basket-making, etc, of the dead man, and they had been on the +most friendly terms. +</p> + +<p> +Still, said the Coroner, he might have mistaken his man in the uncertain light. +Had he a gun? It was shown that the three Sibbolds had but one gun; that Arthur +never used a gun, being of a tender nature, and often expressing his dislike to +see birds wantonly slaughtered. +</p> + +<p> +The Sibbolds were then, with the other witnesses, ordered out, and the Coroner +addressed the jury. +</p> + +<p> +He told them plainly where his suspicions lay: one of the Sibbolds, he was +certain, did the deed, but which? Two were in bed, or at least were to all +appearance in bed, and one point in their favour was that the thatch was +alight. Now, if they had known that, they would hardly have lain till the +neighbours came up. The third was out that night, and, according to his own +showing, must have returned about the time the murder was committed. But in his +favour it was urged that he was on the best of terms with the deceased; that he +had no gun of his own; that he disliked the use of a gun. He said much more, +but these were the chief points, and particularly he laid down the law. They +must not imagine because a man was stealing that thereby his life was at any +one’s mercy. If a struggle took place, and the thief was killed in the +struggle, there were then several loopholes of escape from the penalty of the +law. First, it might be called chance-medley; next, there would be a doubt +whether the stab or shot was not given in self-defence, and was not intended to +kill. But in this case there was every appearance of deliberate murder. The +thief had been spied at the cask; the murderer had coolly aimed along his gun +and fired, hitting his man in a vital part, evidently of design and +aforethought. +</p> + +<p> +He then left the jury to their deliberations. They talked it over half an hour +in a sullen manner, and then <i>returned an open verdict</i>—“Found +dead.” The Coroner remonstrated, and recommended that at least it should +be “Wilful murder against persons unknown,” but they were +obstinate. +</p> + +<p> +That verdict stands to this day. The dread spectre of the gallows vanished from +Wolf’s Glow. Old Will Baskette was buried in the churchyard, and his +funeral was attended by the whole of the Swamp people and half the village. And +over their ale the farmers whispered that it served the old thief right, but +they avoided old Sibbold. The work of the rats had already brought fruit in +bloodshed. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_1_chap_03"></a>Chapter Three.</h2> + +<p> +In these days such a verdict and such an ending to a tragedy would be out of +the question; but there were no police in those times to take up a case if it +chanced to slip by the Coroner. Once past the Coroner, and the criminal was +practically safe. The county officers were never in a hurry for such +prosecutions, for a gallows cost at least 300 pounds. They wanted a public +prosecutor then ten times more than we do now. Sibbold was shunned by the very +men who had acquitted him; but there is no reason to suppose he ever felt +remorse. He was made of that kind of stuff of which the men in armour, his +ancestors, were composed, who thought little or nothing of human life. But one +day he met Arthur, his eldest son, face to face upon the stairs. It was the +first time they had met since the inquest—Arthur had avoided the place, +and wandered about a good deal by himself, till some simple folk began to think +that it was he who had committed the deed, and that his conscience was +troubling him. +</p> + +<p> +This meeting on the stairs took place by accident one morning—Sibbold was +going to pass, but Arthur put his hand on his shoulder, “I saw you do +it,” he said. He had just entered the rick yard when the shot was fired. +He had held his peace, but his mind could not rest. “I cannot stay +here,” he said, “I am going. I shall never see you again.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Sibbold stood like a stone; but presently put his hand in his pocket and +held out his purse. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Arthur; “not a penny of that, it would be blood +money.” +</p> + +<p> +He went, and evil report went after him. Perhaps it was James who fanned the +flame, but for years afterwards it was always believed that Arthur had shot the +basket-maker. Only the Swamp people combated the notion. Arthur was one of +them, and understood their language—it was impossible. Not to have to +return to these times, it will be, perhaps, best to at once finish with old +Sibbold; though the event did not really happen till some time after +Arthur’s departure. +</p> + +<p> +Sibbold went to a fair at some twenty miles distance—a yearly custom of +his; and returning home in the evening, he was met by highwaymen, it is +supposed, and refusing to give up his money bag, was shot. At all events his +horse came home riderless, and the body of the old man was found on the heath +divested of every article of value. Suspicion at once fell on his known +enemies, the Swamp people. Their cottages were searched and nothing found. +Their men were interrogated, but had all been either at home or in another +direction. Calm reason put down Sibbold’s death to misadventure with +highwaymen, common enough in those times; but there were those who always held +that it was done in revenge, as it was believed that the gipsies retained the +old vendetta creed. +</p> + +<p> +As Arthur did not return, James took possession, and went on as usual; but he +did not disturb the Swamp settlement. He avoided them, and they avoided him. +</p> + +<p> +When Will Baskette was shot he left a widow and two sons, one of them was +strong and hardy, the other, about sixteen, was delicate and unfit for rough +outdoor life. This fact was well-known to the clergyman at Wolf’s Glow, +the Rev. Ralph Boteler, who was really a benevolently-minded man. +</p> + +<p> +The widow and her eldest son joined the gipsy tribe and abandoned the Swamp. +The Rev. Ralph Boteler took the delicate Romy Baskette into his service as man +of all work, meaning to help in the garden and clean the parson’s nag. +Romy could not read, and the parson taught him—also to write. Being quiet +and good-looking, the lad won on the vicar, who after a time found himself +taking a deep interest in the friendless orphan. It ended in Romy leaving the +garden and the stable, and being domiciled in the studio, where the parson +filled his head with learning, not forgetting Latin and Greek. +</p> + +<p> +The vicar was a single man, middle-aged, with very little thought beyond his +own personal comfort, except that he liked to see the hounds throw off, being +too stout to follow them. He had, however, one hobby; and, like other men who +are moderate enough upon other topics, he was violence itself upon this. Of all +the hobbies in the world, this parson’s fancy was geology—then just +beginning to emerge as a real science. +</p> + +<p> +The neighbours thought the vicar was as mad as a March hare on this one point. +He grubbed up the earth in forty places with a small mattock he had made on +purpose at the village blacksmith’s. He broke every stone in the district +with a hammer which the same artisan made for him. +</p> + +<p> +His craze was that the neighbourhood of Wolf’s Glow was rich in the two +great stores of nature which make countries powerful—i.e. in Coal and +Iron. He proved it in twenty ways. First, the very taste of the water, and the +colour of the earth in the streams; by the nodules of dark, heavy stone which +abounded; by the oily substance often found floating on the surface of +ponds—rock oil; by the strata and the character of the fossils; by actual +analysis of materials picked up by himself; lastly, by archaeology. +</p> + +<p> +Wolf’s Glow! What was the meaning of that singular name? The only Glow in +the county. Wolf was, perhaps, a man’s name in the centuries since. But +Glow? Glow was, without a doubt, the ancient British for <i>coal</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The people who argued against him—and they were all he +met—ridiculed the idea of the ancient Britons knowing anything of coal. +Boteler produced his authorities to show that they, and their conquerors the +Romans, were perfectly familiar with that mineral. Wolf’s Glow was, in +fact, Wolf’s Coal Pit. “Very well,” said the Objectors, +“show us the coal pit, and we’ll believe.” This the vicar +could not do, and was held to be mad accordingly. +</p> + +<p> +But all this talking, and searching, and analysing made a deep impression upon +the mind of young Romy Baskette, who was now hard upon twenty years of age. +Boteler, really desirous of pushing the lad on, sent him to London, whither +Arthur Sibbold had preceded him, and placed him, at a high premium, in the care +of a friend of his, who was in the iron trade. Romy grew and prospered, and +being of a serious disposition saved all the money he could lay hands on. +Presently old Boteler died, and left him, not all, but a great share of his +worldly wealth. With this he bought a share in the iron business, and became a +partner. Wealth rolled in upon him, and at an early period of life he retired +from active labour, married, and bought an estate a few miles from Wolf’s +Glow. +</p> + +<p> +In his leisure hours the memory of the old days with the vicar returned. He +resolved to test the vicar’s theory. He purchased a small piece of land +in Wolf’s Glow parish, sank a shaft, and sure enough came upon +<i>coal</i>. +</p> + +<p> +This discovery revivified the whole man. He cast off sloth, forgot all about +retirement, and plunged into business again. Another search, conducted by +practical hands, proved the existence of iron. +</p> + +<p> +There was a <i>furore</i>. Collieries were started; iron furnaces set going. It +was just at the dawn of the great iron and coal trade. The railways had been +started, and the demand was greater than the supply. Romy Baskette and Company +soon employed two thousand hands coal-digging and iron-smelting. The man, in +fact, wore himself out at the trade of money-making. He could not rest. Night +and day his brain was at work: An accidental conversation with one of his +workmen suggested to him a new idea. The smiths of the time could not make +nails fast enough for all the building that was going on. This workman had been +a sailor in his day, and had seen nails abroad which were made in batches by +machinery, instead of slowly and laboriously, one by one, by hand. +</p> + +<p> +Baskette caught at the idea. He studied and learnt what he could. He made a +voyage himself abroad, and soon mastered the secret. He erected machinery, and +<i>cut</i> nails were first made. The consumption was enormous. The business of +this Baskette and Company became so large that it almost passed out of control. +Meantime other firms had come and settled, bought land, dug up coal, and set up +smelting furnaces. In ten years the population from being absolutely nil rose +to thirty-five thousand people. By this time Romy had killed himself. But that +mattered little, for he had left a son, and a son who inherited all his genius, +and was—if anything still “harder in the mouth.” He was +named, from his mother’s family, Sternhold Baskette. +</p> + +<p> +Sternhold picked up the plough-handle which had dropped from his father’s +grasp, and continued the good work, never once looking back. But although +equally clever, the bent of his genius was different from that of old Romy. +Romy was at heart a speculator, and believed in personal property. Sternhold +was a Conservative, and put his faith in real property, houses, and land. He +kept up the old forges and collieries, but he started no new ones. He invested +the money in land and houses, particularly the latter. His life may be summed +up in two strokes of genius—the first was bringing the iron horse to +Stirmingham, as the new town was called; the second was the building lease +investment. +</p> + +<p> +It is hard to give the pre-eminence to either. They were both profound +schemes—neither would have been complete without the other. He did not +originate the idea of the railway—that was done for him—but he put +it on its legs, and he brought it to the centre of the town. +</p> + +<p> +The original scheme almost omitted Stirmingham. Railways were not then fully +understood; their projectors had such vast ideas in their heads, they aimed at +long trunk lines, and so this railroad was to connect London, the sea, and a +certain large town—larger than Stirmingham then, but now nothing beside +the modern city. +</p> + +<p> +Sternhold, as the largest shareholder, and as finding the capital to get +through Parliament, prevailed to have the course altered so as to sweep by +Stirmingham. He knew that this would improve his property there at least fifty +per cent. But he had other ideas in his head. The line could not be finished +under three years, and in those three years it was his intention to become +possessed of the whole ground upon which the town of Stirmingham stood. He +foresaw that it would become a mighty centre. He braced up his nerves, and +prepared to spend his darling hoards like water. +</p> + +<p> +One by one the fields, the plots, the houses, became his; and the greed growing +on him, he cast longing eyes on the adjacent marsh, now called Glow’s +Lea. +</p> + +<p> +The solicitors he employed tried to restrain his infatuation. They represented +to him that even his vast wealth could not sustain this more than kingly +expenditure, and as to the marsh, it was sheer madness to purchase it. In vain. +Perhaps a tinge of pride had something to do with it. He would buy up the +rotten old Swamp where his progenitor had dwelt, drain it, and cover it with +mansions. +</p> + +<p> +But now came a difficulty—the title to the ground was not all that could +be wished. James had been dead some years, but it was well-known that had +Arthur returned—if Arthur still lived, or his heirs—that James had +no right. He had enjoyed the farm and the land, such as it was, unmolested, all +his life. He had married, and had eight sons. Six of these had married since, +and most of them had children. +</p> + +<p> +As none could claim the property, they all found a miserable livelihood upon +it, somehow or other. They had degenerated into a condition little better than +that of the squatters in the Swamp. +</p> + +<p> +Three families lived in the farmhouse, constantly quarrelling; two made their +dwelling in the cowsheds, slightly improved; one boiled the pot in the great +carthouse, and the two single men slept in the barn. Such a condition of +slovenliness and dirt it would be hard to equal. And the language, the +fighting, and the immorality are better left undescribed! The clergyman of +Wolfs Glow wished them further. +</p> + +<p> +To these wretches the offers of Sternhold Baskette came like the promised land. +He held out 300 pounds apiece, on condition that they would jointly sign the +deed and then go to America. They jumped at it. The solicitor warned Baskette +that the contract was not sound. He asked, in reply, if any one could produce +the deed under which the property descended by “heirship.” No one +could. Somehow or other it had been lost. +</p> + +<p> +In less than a month eight Sibbolds, with their wives and families, were <i>en +route</i> to the United States, and Sternhold took possession. Then came the +Swamp settlement difficulty. +</p> + +<p> +At first Baskette thought of carrying matters with a high hand. The squatters +said they had lived there for two generations, or nearly so, and had paid no +rent. They had a right. Sternhold remembered that they were of his clan. He +gave them the same terms as the Sibbolds—and they took them. Three +hundred pounds to such miserable wretches seemed an El Dorado. +</p> + +<p> +They signed a deed, and went to America, filling up half a vessel, for there +were seventeen heads of families, and children <i>ad libitum</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Thus Sternhold bought the farm and the Swamp for 7500 pounds. His aim in +getting them to America was that no question of right might crop up—for +the Cunard line was not then what it is now, and the passage was expensive and +protracted. He reckoned that they would spend the money soon after landing, and +never have a chance of returning. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the railway came to a standstill. There had been inflation—vast +sums of promotion money had been squandered in the usual reckless manner, and +ruin stared the shareholders in the face. To Sternhold it meant absolute loss +of all, and above everything, of prestige. +</p> + +<p> +Already the keen business men of the place began to sneer at him. At any cost +the railway must be kept on its legs. He sacrificed a large share of his +wealth, and the works recommenced. The old swamp, or marsh, was drained. +</p> + +<p> +Sternhold had determined to make this the Belgravia of Stirmingham, and had the +plans prepared accordingly. They were something gigantic in costliness and +magnificence. His best friends warned and begged him to desist. No; he would go +on. Stirmingham would become the finest city in England, and he should be the +richest man in Europe. Up rose palatial mansions, broad streets, splendid +club-houses—even the foundations of a theatre were laid. And all this was +begun at once. Otherwise, Sternhold was afraid that the compass of an ordinary +life would not enable him to see these vast designs finished. So that one might +walk through streets with whole blocks of houses only one story high. +</p> + +<p> +Everything went on swimmingly, till suddenly the mania for speculation which +had taken possession of all the kingdom received a sudden check by the failure +of a certain famous railway king. +</p> + +<p> +As if by magic, all the mighty works at Stirmingham ceased, and Sternhold grew +sombre, and wandered about with dejected step. His friends, men of business, +reminded him of their former warnings. He bent his head, bit his lip, and said +only, “Wait!” +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the line had been constructed, but was not opened. The metals were +down, but the stations were not built, and the locomotives had not arrived. +Everybody was going smash. Several collieries failed; land and houses became +cheap. Sternhold invested his uttermost in the same property—bought +houses, till he had barely enough to keep him in bread and cheese. Still they +laughed and jeered at him, and still he said only, “Wait!” +</p> + +<p> +This place, this swamp, seemed to be fated to demonstrate over and over again +at one time the futility of human calculation, and at another what enormous +things can be accomplished by the efforts of a clever man. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_1_chap_04"></a>Chapter Four.</h2> + +<p> +The owner of three parts of Stirmingham—now a monstrous overgrown city, +just building a cathedral—actually had nothing but a little bread and +cheese for supper. There were people who condoled with him, and offered to lend +him sums of money—not large, but very useful to a starving man, one would +have thought. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Thank you; I’ll +wait.” +</p> + +<p> +Certain keen speculators tried to come round him in twenty different ways. They +represented that all this mass of bricks and mortar—this unfinished +Belgravia—really was not worth owning; no one could ever find the coin to +finish the plans, and house property had depreciated ninety per cent. +</p> + +<p> +“Very true,” said Sternhold. “Good morning, gentlemen.” +</p> + +<p> +He held on like grim death. Men of genius always do—mark Caesar, and all +of them. ’Tis the bulldog that wins. +</p> + +<p> +By-and-by things began to take a turn. The markets looked up. Iron and coal got +brisker. The first locomotive was put on the line, then another, and another; +London could be reached in two hours, goods could be transmitted in six, +instead of thirty by the old canal or turnpike. +</p> + +<p> +The Stock Exchange got busy again. You could hear the masons and +bricklayers—chink, tink, tinkle, as their trowels chipped off the +edges—singing away in chorus. The whistle of the engines was never +silent. Vast clouds of smoke hung over the country from the factories and +furnaces. Two or three new trades were introduced—among others, the +placed goods, cheap jewellery, and idol-making businesses, and trade-guns for +Africa. Rents began to rise; in two years they went up forty per cent. The +place got a name throughout the length and breadth of the kingdom, and a Name +is everything to a town as well as to an individual. +</p> + +<p> +But by a curious contradiction, just as his property began to rise in value, +and his investment looked promising, Sternhold grew melancholy and walked about +more wretched than ever. The truth soon leaked out—he had no money to +complete his half-finished streets and blocks of houses. Nothing could induce +him to borrow; not a halfpenny would he take from any man. +</p> + +<p> +There the streets and houses, the theatres, club-houses, magnificent mansions, +huge hotels, languished, half-finished, some a story, some two stories high, +exposed to wind and weather. In the midst of a great city there was all this +desolation, as if an enemy had wreaked his vengeance on this quarter only. +</p> + +<p> +Large as were the sums derived from his other properties—houses and shops +and land, which were occupied—it was all eaten up in the attempt to +finish this <i>marble</i> Rome in the middle of a brick Babylon. Heavy amounts +too had to be disbursed to keep the railway going, for it did not pay a +fraction of dividend yet. Men of business pressed on Sternhold. “Let us +complete the place,” they said. “Sell it to us on building leases; +no one man can do the whole. Then we will form three or four companies or +syndicates, lease it of you, complete the buildings, and after seventy years +the whole will revert to you or your heirs.” +</p> + +<p> +Still Sternhold hesitated. At last he did lease a street or two in this way to +a company, who went to work like mad, paid the masons and bricklayers double +wages, kept them at it day and night, and speedily were paying twenty per cent, +dividends on their shares out of the rents of the completed buildings. This +caused a rush. Company after company was formed. They gave Sternhold heavy +premiums for the privilege to buy of him; even then it was difficult to get him +to grant the leases. When he did accept the terms and the ready cash, every +halfpenny of it went to complete streets on his own account; and so he lived, +as it were, from hand to mouth. +</p> + +<p> +After all this excitement and rush, after some thousands of workmen were put at +it, they did not seem to make much impression upon the huge desolation of brick +and mortar. Streets and squares rose up, and still there were acres upon acres +of wilderness, foundations half-dug out and full of dirty water, walls three +feet high, cellars extending heaven only knew where. +</p> + +<p> +People came for miles to see it, and called it “Baskette’s +Folly.” After a while, however, they carefully avoided it, and called it +something worse—i.e. “The Rookery;” for all the scum and +ruffianism of an exceptionally scummy and ruffianly residuum chose it as their +stronghold. Thieves and worse—ill-conditioned women—crowds of lads, +gipsies, pedlars—the catalogue would be as long as +Homer’s—took up their residence in these foundations and cellars. +They seized on the planks which were lying about in enormous piles, and roofed +over the low walls; and where planks would not do they got canvas. +</p> + +<p> +Now, it is well-known that this class of people do not do much harm when they +are scattered about and separated here, there, and everywhere over a city; but +as soon as they are concentrated in one spot, then it becomes serious. Gangs +are formed, they increase in boldness; the police are defied, and not a house +is safe. +</p> + +<p> +This place became a crying evil. The papers raved about it, the police (there +were police now) complained and reported it to head-quarters. There was a +universal clamour. By this time Stirmingham had got a corporation, aldermen, +and mayor, who met in a gorgeous Guildhall, and were all sharp men of business. +Now the corporation began to move in this matter of “Baskette’s +Folly.” Outside people gave them the credit of being good citizens, +animated by patriotic motives, anxious for the honour of their town, and +desirous of repressing crime. Keen thinkers knew better—the Corporation +was not above a good stroke of business. However, what they did was this: After +a great deal of talk and palaver, and passing resolutions, and consulting +attorneys, and goodness knows what, one morning a deputation waited upon +Sternhold Baskette, Esq, at his hotel (he always lived at an hotel), and laid +before him a handsome proposition. It was to the effect that he should lease +them the said “Folly,” or incomplete embryo city, for a term of +years, in consideration whereof they would pay down a certain sum, and contract +to erect buildings according to plans and specifications agreed upon, the whole +to revert in seventy years to Sternhold or his heirs. +</p> + +<p> +Sternhold fought hard—he asked for extravagant terms, and had to be +brought to reason by a threat of an appeal by the Corporation to Parliament for +a private Act. +</p> + +<p> +This sobered him, for he was never quite happy in his secret mind about his +title. Terms were agreed upon, the earnest money paid, and the masons began to +work. Then suddenly there was an uproar. The companies or syndicates who had +leased portions of the estate grew alarmed lest this enormous undertaking +should, when finished, depreciate their property. They cast about for means of +opposing it. It is said—but I cannot believe it—that they gave +secret pay to the thieves and ruffians in the cellars to fight the masons and +bricklayers, and drive them off. +</p> + +<p> +At all events serious collisions occurred. But the Corporation was too strong. +They telegraphed to London and got reinforcements, and carried the +entrenchments by storm. +</p> + +<p> +Then, so goes the discreditable rumour, the companies bribed the masons and +bricklayers, who built so badly that every now and then houses fell in, and +there was a fine loss! Finally they got up an agitation, cried down the +Corporation for wasting public funds, and, what was far more serious, brought +high legal authority to prove that <i>as a Corporation</i> they had no power to +pledge themselves to such terms as they had, or indeed to enter into such a +contract without polling the whole city. +</p> + +<p> +This alarmed the Corporation. There were secret meetings and long faces. But if +one lawyer discovers a difficulty, another can always suggest a way round the +corner. The Corporation went to Parliament, and got a private Act; but they did +not go as a body. They went through Sternhold, who was persuaded; and indeed it +looked plausible, that by so doing, and by getting the sanction of the House of +Commons, he improved his own title. +</p> + +<p> +Then the Corporation smiled, and built away faster than ever. In the course of +an almost incredibly short time the vast plans of Sternhold were completed by +the various companies, by the Corporation, and by himself; for every penny he +got as premium, every penny of ground-rent, every penny from his collieries, +iron furnaces, and cut-nail factories, went in bricks and mortar. It was the +most magnificent scheme, perhaps, ever started by a single man. The city was +proud of it. Like Augustus, he had found it brick, and left it marble. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, in reality, he was no richer. The largest owner, probably, of house +property in the world, he could but just pay his way at his hotel. Although he +had a fine country house (which old Romy had purchased) in the suburbs, he +never used it—it was let. He preferred a hotel as a single man because +there was no trouble to look after servants, etc. He lived in the most +economical manner—being obliged to, in fact. +</p> + +<p> +Yet this very economy increased the popular belief in his riches. He was a +miser. Give a man that name, let it once stick to him, and there is no limit to +the fables that will be eagerly received as truth. Give a dog a bad name and +hang him. Call a man a miser, and, if he is so inclined, he can roll in +borrowed money, dine every day on presents of game and fish, and marry any one +he chooses. I only wish I had the reputation. +</p> + +<p> +No one listened to Sternhold’s constant reiteration of what was +true—that he was really poor. It was looked upon as the usual +stock-in-trade language of a miser. His fame spread. Popular rumour magnified +and magnified the tale till it became like a chapter from the Arabian Nights. +</p> + +<p> +After all, there was some grain of truth in it. If he could have grasped all +that was his, he would have surpassed all that was said about his riches. +</p> + +<p> +At last the <i>Stirmingham Daily News</i> hit upon a good idea to out-distance +its great rival the <i>Stirmingham Daily Post</i>. This idea was a “Life +of Sternhold Baskette, the Miser of Stirmingham.” After, the editor had +considered a little, he struck out “miser,” and wrote +“capitalist”—it had a bigger sound. +</p> + +<p> +The manuscript was carefully got up in secret by the able editor and two of his +staff, who watched Sternhold like detectives, and noted all his peculiarities +of physiognomy and manner. They knew—these able editors know +everything—that the public are particularly curious how much salt and +pepper their heroes use, what colour necktie they wear, and so on. As the +editor said, they wanted to make Sternhold the one grand central +figure—perfect, complete in every detail. And they did it. +</p> + +<p> +They traced his origin and pedigree—this last was not quite accurate, but +near enough. They devoted 150 pages to a mere catalogue of his houses, his +streets, his squares, club-houses, theatres, hotels, railways, collieries, +ironworks, nail factories, estates, country mansions, etc. They wrote 200 pages +of speculations as to the actual value of this enormous property; and modestly +put the total figure at “something under twenty millions, and will be +worth half as much again in ten years.” They did not forget the building +leases; when these fell in, said the memoir, he or his heirs would have an +income of 750,000 pounds per annum. +</p> + +<p> +They carefully chronicled the fact that the capitalist had never married, that +he had no son or daughter, that he was growing old, or, at least, past middle +age, and had never been known to recognise any one as his relation (having, in +fact, shipped the whole family to America). What a glorious thing this would be +for some lucky fellow! They finished up with a photograph of Sternhold himself. +This was difficult to obtain. He was a morose, retiring man—he had never, +so far as was known, had his portrait taken. It was quite certain that no +persuasion would induce him to sit for it. The able editor, however, was not to +be done. On some pretext or other Sternhold was got to the office of the paper, +and while he sat conversing with the editor, the photographer “took +him” through a hole made for the purpose in the wooden partition between +the editor’s and sub-editor’s room. As Sternhold was quite +unconscious, the portrait was really a very good one. Suddenly the world was +taken by storm with a “Life of Sternhold Baskette, the Capitalist of +Stirmingham. His enormous riches, pedigree, etc, 500 pages, post octavo, +illustrated, price 7 shillings 6 pence.” +</p> + +<p> +The able editor did not confine himself to Stirmingham. Before the book was +announced he made his London arrangements, also with the lessees of the railway +bookstalls. At one and the same moment of time, one morning Stirmingham woke up +to find itself placarded with huge yellow bills (the <i>News</i> was Liberal +then—it turned its coat later on—and boasted that John Bright had +been to the office), boys ran about distributing handbills at every door, men +stood at the street corners handing them to everybody who passed. +</p> + +<p> +Flaring posters were stuck up at every railway station in the kingdom; ditto in +London. The dead walls and hoardings were covered with yellow paper printed in +letters a foot long. Three hundred agents, boys, girls, and men, walked all +over the metropolis crying incessantly “Twenty Millions of Money,” +and handing bills and cards to every one. The <i>Athenaeum, Saturday Review, +Spectator</i>, and <i>Times</i>; every paper, magazine, review; every large +paper in the country had an advertisement. The result was something +extraordinary. +</p> + +<p> +The name of Sternhold Baskette was on everybody’s lips. His “Twenty +Millions of Money” echoed from mouth to mouth, from Land’s End to +John o’ Groats. It crossed the Channel, it crossed the Alps, it crossed +the Atlantic and the Pacific. It was heard on the Peak of Teneriffe, and in the +cities of India. +</p> + +<p> +The New York firms seized on it as a mine of wealth. The book, reprinted, was +sold from the Hudson River to the Rocky Mountains, and to the mouth of the +Mississippi for twenty cents. The circulation was even larger in the United +States than in Britain, for there everybody worshipped the dollar. The able +editor made his fortune. The book ran through thirty editions, and wore out two +printing machines and three sets of type. The two gentlemen of the staff who +had assisted in the compilation had a fair share, and speedily put on airs. +They claimed the authorship, though the idea had certainly originated with the +editor. There was a quarrel. They left, being offered higher salaries in this +way:—The other paper, the <i>Post</i>, though blue in principles, grew +green with envy, and tried to disparage as much as possible. They offered these +respectable gentlemen large incomes to cut the book to pieces that they +themselves had written. No one could do it better—no one understood the +weak points, and the humbug of the thing so well. The fellows went to work with +a will. The upshot was a little warfare between the Sternholders and the +anti-Sternholders. The <i>News</i> upheld Sternhold, stuck to everything it had +stated, and added more. The <i>Post</i> disparaged him in every possible way. +This newspaper war had its results, as we shall presently see. For the present +these two noble principled young men, who first wrote a book for pay and then +engaged to chop it into mincemeat for pay, may be left to search and search +into the Baskette by-gone history for fresh foul matter to pour forth on the +hero of Stirmingham. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_1_chap_05"></a>Chapter Five.</h2> + +<p> +“The Hero of Stirmingham;” so the <i>News</i> dubbed him; so it +became the fashion, either in ridicule or in earnest, to call him. People came +from all parts to see him. Every one who, on business or pleasure, came to the +city, tried to lodge at the hotel where he lived, or at least called there on +the chance of meeting the mortal representative of Twenty Millions Sterling. +The hotel proprietor, who had previously lost money by him, and execrated his +economy, now reaped a golden harvest, and found his business so large that he +set about building a monster place at one side of the original premises, for he +was afraid to pull it down lest the capitalist should leave. +</p> + +<p> +Now a curious psychological change was wrought by all this in old +Sternhold’s character. Up till this period of his life he had been one of +the most retiring and reserved of men, morose, self-absorbed, shrinking from +observation. He now became devoured with an insatiable vanity. He could not +shake off the habit of economy, the frugal manner of living, which, he had so +long practised; but his mind underwent a complete revolution. +</p> + +<p> +It has often been observed that when a man makes one particular subject his +study, in course of time that which was once clear grows obscure, and instead +of acquiring extraordinary insight, he loses all method, and wanders. +</p> + +<p> +Something of the kind was the case with Sternhold. All his life had been +devoted to the one great object of owning a city, of being the largest +proprietor of houses and streets in the world. His whole thought, energy, +strength, patience—his entire being—had been concentrated upon this +end. In actual fact, it was not attained yet, for he was practically only the +nominal owner; but the publication of this book acted in a singular manner upon +his brain. He grew to believe that he really was all that the +“Life” represented him to be—i.e. the most extraordinary man +the world had ever seen. +</p> + +<p> +He attempted no state, he set up no carriage; he stuck to his old confined +apartments at the hotel he had always frequented; but he lived in an ideal life +of sovereign grandeur. He talked as though he were a monarch—an absolute +autocrat—as if all the inhabitants of Stirmingham were his subjects; and +boasted that he could turn two hundred thousand people out of doors by a single +word. +</p> + +<p> +In plain language, he lost his head; in still plainer language, he went +harmlessly mad—not so mad that any one even hinted at such a thing. There +was no lunacy in his appearance or daily life; but the great chords of the mind +were undoubtedly at this period of his existence quite deranged. +</p> + +<p> +He really was getting rich now. The houses he had himself completed, with the +premiums paid for building leases, began to return a considerable profit. The +income from his collieries and factories was so large, that even bricks and +mortar could not altogether absorb it. Perhaps he was in receipt of three +thousand pounds per annum, or more. But now, unfortunately, just as the fruits +of his labour were fast ripening, this abominable book upset it all. +</p> + +<p> +There can be no doubt that the editor of the <i>Stirmingham Daily News</i>, +with the best intentions in the world, dealt his Hero two mortal wounds. In the +first place, he drove him mad. Sternhold spent days and nights studying how he +could exceed what he had already done. +</p> + +<p> +Dressed in a workman’s garb for disguise, he explored the whole +neighbourhood of Stirmingham, seeking fresh land to purchase. His object was to +get it cheap, for he knew that if there was the slightest suspicion that he was +after it, a high price would be asked. In some instances he succeeded. One or +two cases are known where he bought, with singular judgment and remarkable +shrewdness, large tracts for very small sums. He paid only one-fifth on +completion, leaving the remainder on mortgage. This enabled him to buy five +times as much at once as would have otherwise been possible. +</p> + +<p> +But there were sharp fellows in Stirmingham, who watched the capitalist like +hawks, and soon spied out what was going on. Their game was to first discover +in what direction Sternhold was buying in secret, then to forestall him, and +nearly double the price when he arrived. +</p> + +<p> +In this way Sternhold got rid of every shilling of his income. Even then he +might have prospered; but, as bad luck would have it, the railway, after two +millions of money had been sunk on it, actually began to pay dividends of three +and a half per cent, then four, then six; for a clever fellow had got at the +helm, and was forcing up the market so as to make hay while the sun shone. +</p> + +<p> +Sternhold was in raptures with railways. Some sharp young men of forty-five and +fifty immediately laid their heads together, and projected a second railway at +almost right angles—not such a bad idea, but one likely to cause enormous +outlay. They represented to Sternhold that this new line would treble the value +of the property he had recently bought, extending for some miles beyond the +city. He jumped at it. The Bill was got through Parliament. One half of these +sharp young men were lawyers, the other half engineers and contractors. +</p> + +<p> +Sternhold deposited the money, and they shared it between them. When the money +was exhausted the railway languished. This exasperated old Baskette. For the +first time in his life he borrowed money, and did it on a royal scale;—I +am almost afraid to say how much, and certainly it seems odd how people could +advance so much knowing his circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +However, he got it. He bought up all the shares, and became practically owner +of the new line. He completed it, and rode on the first locomotive in triumph, +surrounded by his parasites. For alas! he had yielded to parasites at last, who +flattered and fooled him to perfection. This was the state of affairs when the +second mortal wound was given. +</p> + +<p> +It happened in this way. The “Life of Sternhold Baskette, Esq,” +had, as was stated, got abroad, and penetrated even to the Rocky Mountains. It +was quoted, and long extracts made from it in the cheap press—they had a +cheap press in the United States thirty years before we had, which accounts for +the larger proportion of educated or partly educated people, and the wider +spread of intelligence. After a while, somehow or other, the marvellous story +reached the ears of one or two persons who happened to sign their names +Baskette, and they began to say to themselves, “What the deuce is this? +We rather guess we come from Stirmingham or somewhere thereabouts. Now, why +shouldn’t we share in this mine of wealth?” +</p> + +<p> +The sharp Yankee intellect began to have “idees.” Most of the +cotters whom Sternhold had transhipped to America thirty years or more +previous, were dead and buried—that is to say, the old people were. +</p> + +<p> +The air of America is too thin and fine, and the life too fast, for middle-aged +men who have been accustomed to the foggy atmosphere and the slow passage of +events in the Old Country. But it is a tremendous place for increase of +population. +</p> + +<p> +The United States are only just a century old, and they have a population +larger than Great Britain, which has a history of twenty centuries, or nearly +so. +</p> + +<p> +So it happened that, although the old people were dead, the tribe had +marvellously increased. Half who were transhipped had borne the name of +Baskette. This same question was asked in forty or fifty places at +once—“My name is Baskette; why should not I share?” +</p> + +<p> +These people had, of course, little or no recollection of the deed signed by +their forefathers: and if they had had a perfect knowledge, such a trifling +difficulty as that was not one calculated to appal a Yankee’s ingenuity. +When once the question had been asked it was repeated, and grew and grew, and +passed from man to man, made its appearance in the newspapers, who even went so +far as to say that the finest city in England, the very workshop of the +Britishers, belonged to United States citizens. +</p> + +<p> +Some editor keener than the rest, or who had read the book more carefully, +pointed out that the capitalist had no heirs living, that he had never been +married, and no one knew to whom all this vast wealth would descend. +</p> + +<p> +Twenty millions sterling begging a heir! This was enough to set the American +mind aflame. It was just like applying a lighted match to one of their +petroleum wells. +</p> + +<p> +The paragraph flew from paper to paper, was quoted, conned, and talked over. +Men grew excited. Presently, here and there one who considered that he had some +claim began to steal off to England to make inquiries. The Cunard were running +now, though they had not yet invented the “ocean highway,” by +keeping to a course nothing to the north or south of a certain line. Passage +was very quick, and not dear. In a little time the fact that one or two had +started oozed out, then others followed, and were joined by a lawyer or so, +till at last fourteen or fifteen keen fellows reached Stirmingham. +</p> + +<p> +Now mark the acuteness of the American mind! Instead of announcing their +arrival, every one of these fellows kept quiet, and said not a word! When they +met each other in the streets they only smiled. They were not going to alarm +the game. +</p> + +<p> +These gentlemen were not long in Stirmingham before they found out that the +<i>Stirmingham Daily Post</i> was a deadly enemy of old Sternhold. To the +office of the second able editor they tramped accordingly. +</p> + +<p> +There they learnt a good deal; but in return the editor pumped something out of +them, and, being well up in the matter, sniffed out their objects. He chuckled +and rubbed his hands together. Here was a chance for an awful smash at the +<i>News</i>. +</p> + +<p> +One fine morning out came a leading article referring also to several columns +of other matter on the same subject, headed “The Heirs of +Stirmingham.” +</p> + +<p> +Being Blue, you see, the <i>Post</i> affected to abominate United States’ +Republicanism and all the American institutions. This article recounted the +visit of the dozen or so of possible claimants, described them so minutely that +no one could help recognising them, and wound up with a tremendous peroration +calling upon all good citizens to do their best to prevent the renowned city of +Stirmingham falling into the hands of the Yankees! +</p> + +<p> +Such property as Sternhold’s, the article argued, was of national +importance; and although the individual should not be interfered with, the +nation should see that its rights were not tampered with. There was danger of +such tampering, for who knew what an <i>infirm, old</i> man like Sternhold +might not be led to sign by interested parties? At his age he could not be +expected to possess the decision and mental firmness of earlier years. This was +a cruel hit at Sternhold’s mental weakness, which had begun to grow +apparent. +</p> + +<p> +An endeavour should be made to find an English heir, and that there was such an +heir they (the staff of the <i>Post</i>) firmly believed. Two gentlemen of the +staff (meaning thereby the late writers for the <i>News</i>), who had devoted +some time to the matter, had made a certain important discovery. This was +nothing less than the fact that Sternhold had had an uncle! This in big capital +letters. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +An Uncle. Then followed a little bit of genealogy, in approved fashion, with +dashes, lines, etc—the meaning of which was that Sternhold’s +father, old Romy Baskette, had had a brother, who, when the original Will +Baskette was shot, had departed into the unknown with his mother. +</p> + +<p> +What had become of Romy’s brother? The probability was that by this time +he was dead and buried. But there was also the probability that he had married +and had children. Those children, if they existed, were undoubtedly the nearest +heirs of Sternhold Baskette, Esq, now residing at Dodd’s Hotel, South +Street. As an earnest of the anxiety of the <i>Post</i> to preserve the good +city of Stirmingham from Yankee contamination, they now offered three +rewards:—First, fifty pounds for proof of Romy’s brother’s +death; secondly, one hundred pounds for proof of Romy’s brother’s +marriage, if he had married; thirdly, one hundred and fifty pounds for the +identification of his child or children. This was repeated as an advertisement +in the outer sheet, and was kept in type for months. +</p> + +<p> +It deserves notice as being the first advertisement which appeared in the Great +Baskette Claim Case—the first of a crop of advertisements which in time +became a regular source of income to newspaper proprietors. +</p> + +<p> +When this leading article and advertisement, supported by several columns of +descriptive matter and genealogies was laid on the breakfast tables of half +Stirmingham, it caused a sensation. The city suddenly woke up to the fact that +as soon as old Sternhold died half the place would have no owner. +</p> + +<p> +The Yankee visitors now had no further reason for concealment. They went about +openly making inquiries. They were fêted at hotel bars and in billiard +rooms. They called upon Sternhold bodily—<i>en masse</i>—forced +themselves into his apartment, though, he shut the door with his own hands in +their faces, shook him by the hand, patted him on the shoulder, called him +“Colonel,” and asked him what he would take to drink! +</p> + +<p> +They walked round him, admired him from every point of view, stuck their +fingers in his ribs, and really meant no harm, though their manners were not +quite of the drawing-room order. +</p> + +<p> +They cut up the old man’s favourite armchair, whittled it up, to carry +away as souvenirs. They appropriated his books—his own particular +penholder, with which he had written every letter and signed every deed for +fifty years, disappeared, and was afterwards advertised as on show at +Barnum’s in New York City, as the Pen which could sign a cheque for +Twenty Millions! +</p> + +<p> +When at last they did leave, one popped back, and asked if the +“Colonel” believed this story about his <i>Uncle</i>? He was sure +he had never had an uncle, wasn’t he? The old man sat silent, which the +inquirer took for once as a negative, and wrote a letter to the <i>News</i>, +denying the existence of Romy’s brother. +</p> + +<p> +Poor old Sternhold was found by the landlord, old Dodd, sitting in his chair, +which was all cut and slashed, two hours afterwards, staring straight at the +wall. +</p> + +<p> +Dodd feared he had an attack of paralysis, and ran for the nearest doctor; but +it was nothing but literally speechless indignation. After a while he got up +and walked about the room, and took a little dry sherry—his favourite +wine. But the mortal wound Number 2 had been given. Henceforth the one great +question in Sternhold’s mind was his heir. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_1_chap_06"></a>Chapter Six.</h2> + +<p> +His heir! Sternhold seriously believed that he had no living relations. It is +often said that poor people have plenty of children, while the rich, to whom +they would be welcome, have few or none. This was certainly a case in point. +The poor Baskettes, who had been shipped to America, had a whole tribe of +descendants. Here was a man who, nominally at least, was the largest owner of +property known, who was childless, and had already reached and exceeded the +allotted age of man. +</p> + +<p> +Sternhold was seventy-two. He looked back and ransacked his memory. He had +never heard anything of this uncle, his father’s brother; his +mother’s friends were all dead. There was not a soul for whom he cared a +snap of his fingers. Firstly, he had no relations; secondly, he had no friends, +for Sternhold, wide as was his circle of acquaintances, had never been known to +visit any one. His life had been solitary and self-absorbed. +</p> + +<p> +Now, for the first time, he felt his loneliness, and understood that he was a +solitary being. Who should be his heir? Who should succeed to that mighty +edifice he had slowly built up? The architect had been obliged to be content +with gazing upon the outside of his work only; but the successor, if he only +lived the usual time, would revel in realised magnificence unsurpassed. The old +man was quite staggered, and went about as in a dream. +</p> + +<p> +The idea once started, there were plenty who improved upon it. The Corporation +at their meetings incidentally alluded to the matter, and it was delicately +suggested that Sternhold would crown his memory with ineffable glory if he +devised his vast estate to the city. Such a bequest in a few years would make +the place absolutely free from taxation. The rents would meet +poor’s-rates, gas-rates, water-rates, sanitary-rates, and all. One +gentleman read an elaborate series of statistics, proving that the income from +the property, when once the building leases fell in, would not only free the +city from local, but almost, if not quite, from imperial taxation. There were +many instances in history of kings, as rewards for great services, issuing an +order that certain towns should be exempt from the payment of taxes for a +series of years. Sternhold had it thus in his power to display really regal +munificence. +</p> + +<p> +Other gentlemen of more radical leanings cried “Shame!” on the mere +fact of one man being permitted to attain such powers. It was absurd for one +man to possess such gigantic wealth, and for several hundred thousand to live +from hand to mouth. The people should share it, not as a gift, but as a right; +it should be seized for the benefit of the community. +</p> + +<p> +The Corporation people were much too knowing to talk like this. They went to +work in a clever way. First, they contrived various great banquets, to which +Sternhold was invited, and at which he was put in the seat of honour and lauded +to the skies. Next, they formed a committee and erected a statue in a prominent +place to the founder of Stirmingham, and unveiled it with immense ceremony. +Certain funds had been previously set apart for the building of a public +library; this being completed about that time, was named the Sternhold +Institute. An open space or “park,” which the Corporation had been +obliged to provide for the seething multitudes who were so closely crowded +together, was called the Sternhold Public Park. Yet Sternhold never subscribed +a farthing to either of these. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing was left undone to turn his head. His portrait, life-size, painted in +oil, was hung up in the Council-hall; medals were struck to commemorate his +birthday. The Corporation were not alone in their endeavours; other +disinterested parties were hard at work. Most energetic of all were the +religious people. Chapel projectors, preachers, church extension societies, +missionary associations, flew at his throat. His letter-box was flooded; his +door was for ever resounding with knocking and ringing. The sound of the true +clerical nasal twang was never silent in his anteroom. The hospitals came down +on him flat in one lump, more particularly those establishments which publicly +boast that they never solicit assistance, and are supported by voluntary +contributions caused by prayer. +</p> + +<p> +The dodge is to publish the <i>fact</i> as loudly as possible. To proclaim that +the institution urgently wants a few thousands is not begging. A list of all +the charities that recommended themselves to his notice would fill three +chapters: then the patentees—the literary people who were prepared to +write memoirs, biographies, etc—would have to be omitted. +</p> + +<p> +Now here is a singular paradox. If a poor wretched mortal, barely clothed in +rags, his shoes off his feet, starring with hunger, houseless, homeless, who +hath not where to lay his head, asks you for a copper, it means seven +days’ imprisonment as a rogue. If all the clergymen and ministers, the +secretaries, and so forth, come in crowds begging for hundreds and thousands, +it is meritorious, and is applauded. +</p> + +<p> +Now this is worthy of study as a phenomenon of society. But these were not all. +Sternhold had another class of applicants, whom we will not call ladies, or +even women, but <i>females</i> (what a hateful word female is), who approached +him pretty much as the Shah was approached by every post while in London and +Paris. +</p> + +<p> +He was deluged with photographs of females. Not disreputable characters +either—not of Drury Lane or Haymarket distinction, but of that class who +use the columns of the newspapers to advertise their matrimonial propensities. +Tall, short, dark, light, stout, thin, they poured in upon him by hundreds; all +ready, willing, and waiting. +</p> + +<p> +Most were “thoroughly domesticated and musical;” some were +penetrated with the serious responsibilities of the position of a wife; others +were filled with hopes of the life to come (having failed in this). +</p> + +<p> +Some men would have enjoyed all this; some would have smiled; others would have +flung the lot into the waste-basket. Sternhold was too methodical and too much +imbued with business habits to take anything as a good joke. He read every +letter, looked at every photograph, numbered and docketed them, and carefully +put them away. +</p> + +<p> +Other efforts were made to get at him. He had parasites—men who hung on +him—lickspittles. To a certain extent he yielded to the titillation of +incessant laudation; and, if he did not encourage, did not repel them. They +never ceased to fan his now predominant vanity. They argued that the +Corporation and all the rest were influenced by selfish motives (which was +true). They begged him not to forget what was due to himself—not to +annihilate and obliterate himself. It was true he was aged; but aged +men—especially men who had led temperate lives like +himself—frequently had children. In plain words, they one and all +persuaded him to marry; and they one and all had a petticoated friend who would +just suit him. +</p> + +<p> +Sternhold seemed very impassive and immoveable; but the fact was that all this +had stirred him deeply. He began to seriously contemplate marriage. He brooded +over the idea. He was not a sentimental man; he had not even a spark of what is +called human nature in the sense of desiring to see merry children playing +around him. But he looked upon himself as a mighty monarch; and as a mighty +monarch he wished more and more every day to found not only a kingdom, but a +dynasty. +</p> + +<p> +This appears to be a weakness from which even the greatest of men are not +exempt. Napoleon the Great could not resist the idea. It is the one sole object +of almost all such men whose history is recorded. Occasionally they succeed; +more often it destroys them. Some say Cromwell had hopes in that direction. +</p> + +<p> +So far the parasites, the photographs, the stir that was made about it, +affected Sternhold. But if he was mad, he was mad in his own way. He was not to +be led by the nose; but those who knew him best could see that he was +meditating action. +</p> + +<p> +Dodd, the landlord of the hotel, was constantly bothered and worried for his +opinion on the subject. At last, said Dodd, “I think the Corporation have +wasted their money.” And they had. +</p> + +<p> +In this unromantic country the human form divine has not that opportunity to +display itself which was graciously afforded to the youth of both sexes in the +classic days of Greece, when the virgins of Sparta, their lovely limbs anointed +with oil, wrestled nude in the arena. +</p> + +<p> +The nearest approach to those “good old times” which our modern +prudery admits, is the short skirts and the “tights” of the ballet. +</p> + +<p> +Sternhold, deeply pondering, arrived at the notion, true or false, that the +wife for him must possess physical development. +</p> + +<p> +This is a delicate subject to dwell on; but I think he was mistaken when he +visited the theatres seeking such a person. He might have found ladies, not +<i>females</i> nor women, but ladies in a rank of life nearer or above his own, +who exulted in the beauty of their form, and were endowed with Nature’s +richest gifts of shape. But he was a child in such a search: his ideas were +rude and primitive to the last degree. At all events, the fact remains. +</p> + +<p> +It was found out afterwards that he had visited every theatre in London, but +finally was suited on the boards of a fourth-rate “gaff” in +Stirmingham itself. +</p> + +<p> +There was a girl there—or rather a woman, for she was all +five-and-twenty—who was certainly as fine a specimen of <i>female</i> +humanity as ever walked. Tall, but not too tall, she presented a splendid +development of bust, torso, and limbs. Her skin was of that peculiar dusky +hue—not dark, but dusky—which gives the idea of intense vitality. +Her eyes were as coals of fire—large, black, deep-set, under heavy +eyebrows. Her hair at a distance was superb—like night in hue, and +glossy, curling in rich masses. Examined closer it was coarse, like wire. Her +nose was the worse feature; it wanted shape, definition. It was a decided +<i>retroussé</i>, and <i>thick</i>; but in the flush of her brilliant +colour, her really grand carriage, this was passed over. Her lips were scarlet, +and pouted with a tempting impudence. +</p> + +<p> +This was the very woman Sternhold sought. She was vitality itself +impersonified. He saw her, offered his hand, and was instantly accepted. He +wished her to keep it quiet; and notwithstanding her feminine triumph she +managed to do so, and not a soul in Stirmingham guessed what was in the wind. +</p> + +<p> +Sternhold went to London, got a special licence, and the pair were married in +Sternhold’s private apartments at his hotel in the presence of three +people only, one of whom was the astounded Dodd. They left by the next train +for London, where the bride went to Regent Street to choose her trousseau, with +her husband at her side. +</p> + +<p> +Not a bell was rung in Stirmingham. The news spread like wildfire, and +confounded the city. People gathered at the corners of the streets. +</p> + +<p> +“He is certainly mad,” they said. Most of them were in some way +disappointed. +</p> + +<p> +“He may be,” said a keener one than the rest; “he may +be—but <i>she</i> is not.” +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_1_chap_07"></a>Chapter Seven.</h2> + +<p> +Lucia Marese, now Mrs Sternhold Baskette, was the daughter of an Italian father +and an English mother, and had a tolerably accurate acquaintance with Leicester +Square and Soho. She was not an absolutely bad woman in the coarsest sense of +the term—at least not at that time, she had far too much ambition to +destroy her chance so early in life. Physiologists may here discuss the +question as to whether any latent trace of the old gipsy blood of the Baskettes +had in any way influenced Sternhold in his choice. Ambitious as she was, and +possessed of that species of beauty which always takes with the multitude, +Lucia had hitherto been a failure. Just as in literature and in art, the +greatest genius has to wait till opportunity offers, and often eats its own +heart in the misery of waiting, so she had striven and fought to get to the +front, and yet was still a stroller when Sternhold saw her. She knew that if +only once she could have made her appearance on the London boards, with her +gorgeous beauty fully displayed, and assisted by dress and music, that she +should certainly triumph. But she could not get there. +</p> + +<p> +Other girls less favoured by Nature, but more by circumstance, and by the +fickle and unaccountable tastes of certain wealthy individuals, had forestalled +her, and she stored up in her mind bitter hatred of several of these who had +snubbed and sneered at her. +</p> + +<p> +The fairy prince of her dream, however, came at last in the person of an old +man of three score years and ten, and she snapped him up in a trice. No doubt, +like all Stirmingham, she entertained the most fabulous ideas of +Sternhold’s wealth. +</p> + +<p> +These dreams were destined to be rudely shattered. She seems to have had pretty +much her own way at first. Doubtless the old man was as wax in her hands, till +his former habits began to pull at him. She had one good trait at all events, +if it could be called good—the first use she made of her new position was +to provide for her family, or rather for the only member of it in England. +</p> + +<p> +This was Aurelian Marese, her brother, who must have been a man of some talent +and energy, for despite all obstacles of poverty he contrived to pass his +examination and obtain a diploma from the College of Surgeons. He came to +Stirmingham, and with the assistance of Sternhold’s purse set up as a mad +doctor, in plain parlance, or in softer language, established a private lunatic +asylum. Oddly enough, it would seem that notwithstanding the immense population +of the city, there was not till that time any establishment of the kind in the +place, and the result was that Aurelian prospered. He certainly was a clever +fellow, as will be presently seen, though some fancy he over-reached himself. +When at last Sternhold, worn out with the unwonted gaieties into which Lucia +plunged him, showed unmistakable signs of weariness, and desired to return to +Stirmingham, she yielded with a good grace. She reckoned that he could not last +long, and it was her game to keep him in good temper; for she had learnt by +this time that he had the power to dispose of his property just as he chose. +</p> + +<p> +We can easily imagine the restlessness of this creature confined in the dull +atmosphere of three or four rooms at Dodd’s Hotel, South Street. But she +bore it, and to her it was a species of martyrdom—the very reverse of +what she had pictured. +</p> + +<p> +After a while, as time went on, whispers began to fly about—people +elevated their eyebrows and asked questions under their breath, exchanged nods +and winks. The fact was apparent; Sternhold could scarce contain himself for +joy. There was an undoubted prospect of The Heir. The old man got madder than +ever—that is, in the sense of self-laudation. He could not admire himself +sufficiently. The artful woman played upon him, you may be sure; at all events +there was a deed of gift executed at this time conveying to her certain +valuable estates lying outside the city, and tolerably unencumbered. Why she +came to select those particular estates which were not half so valuable as +others she might have had, was known only to herself then; but doubtless +Aurelian had heard about the Yankee claims, and advised her to take what was +safe. These estates were, in fact, bought with old Romy’s money made by +the nail factory, and were quite apart from the rest. +</p> + +<p> +About this time, also, Sternhold left Dodd’s Hotel. This was another +evidence of her power over him. The best joke was, that although there was old +Romy’s country mansion about five miles from Stirmingham, although +Sternhold had since purchased four other mansions, and had nominally street +upon street of houses in the town, he had not a place to take his wife to. He +was obliged to rent one of his own houses of the company who had built it on a +building lease. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs Sternhold now had her great wish gratified to some extent. She was the +observed of all observers. They tell you tales now in Stirmingham of her +extravagance, and the lengths she went. Her carriages, her horses, her +servants, her dinners, parties, and what not, were the one topic of +conversation. Even old-fashioned, straitlaced people found their objections +overcome by curiosity, and accepted her invitations. +</p> + +<p> +Old Sternhold was never visible at these gatherings; but he rejoiced in them. +He was proud of his wife. He looked upon her as a prodigy. He gave her the +reins. But personally he practically returned to his old habits. He still +retained his old apartments at Dodd’s; and there he might be found, at +almost all hours, sitting at his desk, and eagerly, joyously receiving every +visitor who came to tell him of some fresh extravagance, some fresh frolic of +his wife’s! +</p> + +<p> +How was all this expenditure supported, since his actual income was so small? +By a series of loans, which there were always men ready to offer, and whose +terms Sternhold always signed. Once or twice he did remonstrate, but darling +Lucia went into tears, and her brother Aurelian assured him that, in her state +of health, any vexation was dangerous, etc. Aurelian, through the Sternhold +connexion, was now a fashionable physician. +</p> + +<p> +At last the event happened, and a son was born. The memory of the week +succeeding that day will not soon pass away in Stirmingham. +</p> + +<p> +Old Sternhold, himself a most temperate man, declared that he would make every +one in the city tipsy; and he practically succeeded. He had barrels of ale and +gallons of spirits and wine offered free to all comers at every public-house +and tavern. He had booths erected in an open field just outside the town, for +dancing and other amusements, and here refreshments of all kinds were served +out gratis. +</p> + +<p> +The police were in despair. The cells overflowed, and would hold no more, and +the streets reeled with drunken men, and still more drunken women. +</p> + +<p> +This saturnalia reigned for four days, and would soon have culminated—at +least, so the police declared—in a general sack of the city by the +congregated ruffians. A detachment of dragoons was actually sent for, and +encamped in Saint George’s Square, with their horses and arms ready at a +moment’s notice. But it all passed off quietly; and from that hour +Sternhold, and more particularly the infant son, became the idol of the +populace. +</p> + +<p> +They still look back with regret to those four days of unlimited licence, and +swear by the son of Sternhold. +</p> + +<p> +This boy was named John Marese Baskette, but was always called Marese. +Singularly enough, the birth of this child, which one would have prophesied +would have completed the hold Lucia had over the father, was the beginning of +the difficulties between them. It began in his very nursery. Proud of her +handsome figure, and still looking forward to popular triumphs, Lucia flatly +refused to nurse the infant herself. +</p> + +<p> +This caused a terrible quarrel. Old Sternhold had old-fashioned ideas. But +there is no need to linger on this. Lucia, of course, had her own way, and +Sternhold retired to sulk at Dodd’s Hotel. From that time the chink +widened, and the mutual distrust strengthened. +</p> + +<p> +There never was any real doubt that the boy was legitimate; but some devil +whispered the question in Sternhold’s mind, and, he brooded over it. I +say some devil, but, in actual fact, it was one of those parasites who have +been once or twice alluded to. Is there anything that class will stop at in the +hope of a few formal lines in a rich man’s will? +</p> + +<p> +It was their game to destroy Lucia. The plan was cunningly formed. As if by +accident, passages in Lucia’s previous life, when she was a stroller, +were alluded to in Sternhold’s presence. +</p> + +<p> +He grew excited, and eager to hear more; to probe her supposed dishonour. The +parasites distinctly refused; it was too serious a matter. Still, if he wished +to hear—it was common talk—all he had to do was to go into the +billiard rooms. Some of the fellows there did not know him by sight, and they +were sure to talk about it. +</p> + +<p> +Sternhold went. Of all the sights in the world, to see that old man making a +miserable attempt to play billiards while his ears were acutely listening to +the infamous tales purposely started to inflame him, nothing could be more +deplorable. The upshot was he grew downright mad, but not so mad that anything +could be done with him. He watched over Lucia like a hawk. She could not move; +her life became really burdensome. +</p> + +<p> +It must be remembered that at that time she really was, though wild enough in +blood, perfectly stainless in fact. The temper in the woman was long +restrained. In the first place, she wanted his money; in the next place, there +was her son, whom she loved with all the vigour of her nature. She bore it for +a year or two, then the devil in her began to stir. +</p> + +<p> +Old Sternhold, who had watched and inquired hour by hour all this time, had +found nothing wrong; but this very fact was turned against her by those devils, +his lickspittles. They represented that this was part of her cunning—that +she had determined he should have no hold upon her, in order that her son might +inherit. They reminded Sternhold that, although he could not divorce her, he +could alter his will. Here they rather overshot the mark, because he began to +reflect that if he cut off his son the old question would arise—To whom +should he leave his city, as he called it? +</p> + +<p> +The miserable dilemma haunted and worried his already weakened brain and body +till he grew a shadow, and Lucia had hopes that he would die. But he did not; +in a month or two the natural strength of his constitution brought him round. +</p> + +<p> +All this time Lucia was in dread about his will. Aurelian astute and cunning as +he was hardly knew what to advise or how to act. He had his spies—for he +was wealthy now to a certain degree, and could afford it. He had his strong +suspicions that some of the companies who had leased the property for building +had a hand in the persecution of Lucia, and in the inflammation of +Sternhold’s jealousy. It was certainly their interest to get the boy +disinherited. Aurelian began to grow seriously alarmed. Sternhold was stronger +and better—perhaps if he had had Aurelian for physician he would not have +recovered so fast; but with his distrust of Lucia, came an equal distrust of +her brother, and he would not acknowledge him. +</p> + +<p> +Aurelian looked at it like this: Sternhold was now about seventy-five, and had +no organic disease. His father, Romy, had lived to a ripe old age; his +grandfather, the basket-maker, though shot in the prime of life, came of a +hardy, half-gipsy stock. The chances were that Sternhold, with all the comforts +that money could buy, would live another ten years. This very worry, this +jealousy, by keeping his mental faculties alive, might contribute to longevity. +In ten years, in a year, in a month, what might not happen? +</p> + +<p> +His greatest fear was in Lucia herself, who had shown signs of late that she +must burst forth. If she did, and without his being near her, there was no +knowing what indiscretion she might not commit. It was even suspicious that +Sternhold had recovered. It looked as if he had made up his mind, and had +signed a will averse to Lucia’s interest and his son’s—had +settled it and dismissed it. This was a terrible thought, this last. When he +suggested the possibility of it to Lucia, you should have seen her. She raved; +her features swelled up and grew inflamed; her frame dilated; her blood seemed +as if it would burst the veins: till at last she hissed out, “I’ll +kill him!” and fell fainting. +</p> + +<p> +Aurelian determined one point at once. There must be no more delay; action was +the order. But what? Suppose the worst. Suppose the will already made, and +against Lucia’s interests, what was the course to be taken? Why, to +accumulate evidence to invalidate it. <i>Prove him mad</i>! +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_1_chap_08"></a>Chapter Eight.</h2> + +<p> +The idea having been once entertained, grew and grew, till it overshadowed +everything else. The singular circumstance then happened of one man slowly and +carefully collecting evidence during another’s lifetime to prove him +insane the moment he died. +</p> + +<p> +Aurelian placed his principal reliance upon the violent jealousy Sternhold had +exhibited. So vehement and irregulated a passion founded upon mere phantasms of +the imagination, was in itself strong presumptive proof of an unsound mind. He +had no difficulty in finding witnesses to Sternhold’s outrageous conduct. +The old man had been seen walking up and down the street, on the opposite side +of the pavement to the house in which Lucia lived, for hours and hours at a +time, simply watching. He had been heard to use violent and threatening +language. He had made himself ill. The mind was so overwrought by excitement +that it reacted upon the body, and it was some time before the balance was +restored—if indeed it could ever be restored. +</p> + +<p> +There were many trifling little things of manner—of +fidgetiness—absurd personal habits—which, taken in conjunction with +the bad temper he had displayed, went to make up the case. Aurelian added to +this the vanity Sternhold had of late openly indulged in. This was notorious, +and had become a by-word. +</p> + +<p> +But when Aurelian had written all this out upon paper—when he had, as it +were, prepared his brief—his shrewd sense told him that in truth it was +very weak evidence. Any lawyer employed for the defence could easily find +arguments to upset the whole. +</p> + +<p> +Day by day, as he thought it over, his reliance upon the insanity resource grew +less and less—and yet he could not see what else there was to do. He +racked his brain. The man, like others, was in fact fascinated by the enormous +property at stake: he could not get it out of his mind. It haunted him day and +night. He ransacked his memory, called up all his reading, all his observation, +all that he had heard—every expedient and plan that had come under his +notice for gaining an end. +</p> + +<p> +For a time, however, it was in vain. It is often the case that when we seek an +idea it flies from us, and will not be constrained, not even by weeks of the +deeply-pondering state. Often the more we think upon a subject, the less we +seem to see our way clear. And so it was with him. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes a little change of scene, even a little manual exercise, will +stimulate the imagination. So it was with him. +</p> + +<p> +He had an important and serious case to attend—a rich patient underwent +an operation at his hands, and the physician grew so absorbed with his delicate +manipulation and in genuine delight in his own skill, that Lucia and the +property passed for a day or two completely out of his memory. This was +followed by profound slumber, and next morning he awoke with the answer to the +great question staring him in the face. +</p> + +<p> +If Sternhold was not mad enough now, why not drive him mad? If he was driven +frantic and shut up in an asylum, Lucia’s son would to a certainty +inherit the property. Possibly he (Aurelian) might be appointed +trustee—he, as uncle, would be a guardian, and probably the only one. He +might also have the pleasure of receiving Sternhold into his own retreat for +lunatics; and so, while furthering the interests of his sister and nephew, do +himself a good turn. The idea enraptured him. +</p> + +<p> +Aurelian possessed the true scientific mind which is incapable of feeling. Some +thinkers believe that the true artistic mind, the highest artistic mind, is +also incapable of feeling. It is so absorbed in its own realisation of one +idea, that it loses all consciousness of possible suffering in others. He never +doubted for an instant that it was in his power to attain the proposed +object—it was only to <i>let Lucia loose</i>. Let her loose—a +little way. Let her loose under strict supervision—under the constant +surveillance of himself, his son, a youth of twenty whom he was training up in +the right road, and perhaps of other witnesses. +</p> + +<p> +There was such a thing as divorce—this might not destroy the +child’s right, but it would place him out of Lucia’s hands. There +must be no handle for Lucia’s enemies to grasp at. She must be manoeuvred +so as to make Sternhold frantic without committing herself. +</p> + +<p> +Lucia was aflame for such a course. She had restrained herself for years. She +was burning to be free, on fire for “life” and excitement; above +all, for admiration, for praise—the intoxicating breath of the multitude +that cheers to the echo! The Stage! the dance—music—the fiery gaze +of a thousand eyes following each motion! There must have been something of the +true artist in her. The grandest position, the most unlimited wealth, would not +have satisfied her without the stage. +</p> + +<p> +She had married Sternhold in the hope of appearing as other women did in the +theatres owned by their lovers. She had tried to broach the subject to +Sternhold; he had held up his hands in horror, and she constrained herself and +bided her time. +</p> + +<p> +Nearly four years now—four years! The coarse jests, the loud laughter, +the shouts and screams and cat-calls of the low threepenny gaff or music hall +from which she had been snatched—even such a life as that seemed to her +far, far superior to this irksome confinement, this slavery which was not even +gilded. Aurelian was right in his conjecture that she could not be much longer +held in—she must burst out. +</p> + +<p> +Half-formed schemes had been working themselves into shape in her mind for +months past. She would leave her boy with Aurelian, take her jewels and sables, +sell them, borrow money upon the estate which Sternhold had made hers by deed +of gift, go to London or Paris, and plunge headlong into “life,” +paying any price for the one grand ambition of her existence. +</p> + +<p> +The craving—the <i>fury</i>, it might almost be called—the furious +desire for admiration from men which seized upon her at times, would certainly, +sooner or later, have hurled her on to a desperate step. +</p> + +<p> +At this moment Aurelian came with his carefully-considered plan. She met him +open-armed. With one blow she could avenge herself upon Sternhold, with one +blow gratify herself and destroy him—destroy him body and soul. This +moment—this hour! +</p> + +<p> +But not so fast. First, Aurelian obtained the money—no small sum. Next, +said he, this thing must not be done by halves. It was useless for her to +appear on some small stage; she must at one bound become the talk of all the +town. This required care, thought, and organisation. Those great successes that +seemed so suddenly attained without an effort, as by a wave of the hand, had +really been preceded by months and months of preparation, and depended in great +part upon the matured judgment and clever advice of men who had watched the +public for years. +</p> + +<p> +Impatient as she was, Lucia again controlled herself, and did as she was bid. +Aurelian made it his business first to discover where she could appear with +most effect. He soon selected the place, Paris! he obtained an interview with +the proper authorities, and confided to them a part of his secret. They saw +their way to profit, and agreed. +</p> + +<p> +The next thing was the character she should take, and the second, the season. +This last the manager, or rather owner, who was in raptures with the thing, +easily decided. It must be at the height of the Paris season. He was a popular +man, who could gather together a mighty crowd of his own acquaintances. +</p> + +<p> +If poor Sternhold, sitting in his apartment at Dodd’s Hotel, could have +heard these “fast” young men discussing the approaching appearance +of his wife, Aurelian would have gone no further. +</p> + +<p> +The choice of character Aurelian insisted upon deciding, and he chose Lady +Godiva. As has been stated, Lucia had extraordinary hair, both for length and +abundance, and, unlike long hair generally, it was curly. Had it been fine and +delicate hair she could have boasted that few women in Europe could equal her. +The coarseness of its texture would not be visible upon the stage. +</p> + +<p> +She had really a magnificent figure. The character of Lady Godiva was one +exactly fitted for her. It is needless to say that there was little or no +acting—no study of parts, no insight into the meaning required, as in the +case of Shakespeare’s heroines. The piece was simply a spectacle devised +to bring out one central figure into the boldest relief. +</p> + +<p> +The greatest difficulty the conspirators—for so they may be fairly +called—had to contend with was the necessity of keeping Sternhold +completely in the dark, and yet at the same time getting together a large +audience, which could only be done by advertising. But Aurelian was capable of +dealing with more difficult dilemmas than this. His plan was very simple and +yet effective. The manager had a piece in his <i>répertoire</i> which, +owing to the fame or infamy of a certain fascinating lady, was the rage of the +town. Suddenly this creature disappeared—went off to Vienna with a titled +gentleman—and after blazing as a meteor of the first water there for a +short time, as suddenly dropped out of sight altogether. +</p> + +<p> +The manager, at Aurelian’s suggestion, gave out that this lady had turned +up, and was going to again act at his house on a certain night. +</p> + +<p> +The excitement was intense. It was an awful falsehood, for the poor girl was in +reality dead. (She met with her death under some strange and suspicious +circumstances, which were, by influence, suppressed.) Her beauty, great as it +was, had lost its charm in the tomb; yet her name, in flaring letters, was +prominent all over Paris. +</p> + +<p> +The deception was kept up to the very end; and the company of the theatre, by +dint of double pay, were got to carry it out to perfection. An exceptional +number of waiters were, however, hired, and no one but the manager and Aurelian +had any idea what the object of this troop of apparently idle fellows could be. +</p> + +<p> +The house filled to the last seat. The poor dead girl’s name was on every +lip—her frailties were discussed with horrid flippancy; the orchestra +began, and Lucia Marese Baskette robed, or rather unrobed, as Lady Godiva. +</p> + +<p> +The owner of the theatre was there, and with him a whole host of men about +town, most of whom were partly in the secret, but not quite. +</p> + +<p> +Just before the time arrived for the curtain to rise, this troop of idle +waiters entered the arena, swarmed into the boxes, into the galleries and pit, +distributing to every single individual who had entered a handbill, announcing +that, instead of Miss, “Mrs Sternhold Baskette, the beautiful wife of +Sternhold Baskette, Esq, the richest man in the world, the owner of twenty +millions sterling worth of property, would appear as Lady Godiva; a part for +which her splendid physique and magnificent hair peculiarly fitted her.” +At the same moment a large poster was put out in front of the curtain, bearing +the same announcement. +</p> + +<p> +The effect was singular. The house, which had been full of noise before, became +as still as death. People were astounded. They could not believe it possible; +yet, at the same time, they knew that the manager dared not play a trick. +Theatres had been wrecked before now by indignant audiences. They waited in +silence. +</p> + +<p> +The curtain rose. I cannot pause to describe the gradual enthusiasm which +arose, nor to draw a picture of the grand <i>tableau</i>. But there are many +living who remember that memorable night, who declare that anything equal to it +has never been seen upon the stage. +</p> + +<p> +Lucia rode on a milk-white palfrey, and looked extraordinarily handsome. The +house rose—the audience went mad. Recalled and recalled, again and again +that white palfrey paced to and fro, and the mighty multitude would not allow +the scene to pass. +</p> + +<p> +The mesmeric influence of the excitement filled Lucia with a glowing beauty; +with a brilliance which made her seem a goddess—of her order. No one +remarked whether the piece was properly gone through after this. I think it was +not. From all that I can learn, I believe the audience watched Godiva to and +fro till the palfrey or its rider grew exhausted, and then left <i>en +masse</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Paris was aflame next day. The papers said nothing—they were wise. There +is, however, something more powerful even than the newspaper—it is +conversation. Lucia had got conversation—her name was heard everywhere. +It was not only the acting, or show—it could not be called +acting—it was the fact of her position as Sternhold’s wife. She +stood upon the pinnacle of his fame for wealth, brazen and shameless in the +eyes of the world. Brazen and shameless, yet secure; for Aurelian never left +her. He watched her himself. His son—his paid servants—did the +same; not from fear of her indiscretion, but in order to appear as witnesses if +any proceedings should take place. +</p> + +<p> +Next night and next night, and again on the third night, this extraordinary +spectacle was repeated. The crowds that came to the doors could not be +admitted. But by this time the leading papers had felt the pulse of the +people—not the excitable populace, but the steady <i>people</i>. With one +consent they rushed at the exhibition with lance in rest. Improper was the +softest insinuation. They were undoubtedly right. The moment they took this +tone all the press followed, and before the week was over those who had the +power had prohibited the performance. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_1_chap_09"></a>Chapter Nine.</h2> + +<p> +The exhibition was stopped, but the end had been attained—Lucia was +famous. The manager and Aurelian had foreseen the inevitable official veto, and +had prepared for it. They had arranged for her to appear as Cleopatra; it was a +part which could be made to suit her admirably by leaving Shakespeare’s +text out of the question, and studying spectacle instead. +</p> + +<p> +It is a singular fact that Sternhold had no idea of what was going on until the +fourth or fifth day. He was told that Lucia had left Stirmingham with her +brother for a short visit to Paris, and paid little or no attention to it. For +the first day or two the papers had been silent. At last the news reached him. +</p> + +<p> +What Dodd had previously feared now happened—he was struck down with a +slight attack of paralysis, which affected one side. Some persons said it was a +merciful infliction, as it prevented him from witnessing his wife’s +disgrace with his own eyes. They were wrong. His body was bent, but his mind +was torn with contending and frenzied passions. The sense of outrage—of +outrage upon his dignity—was perhaps the strongest. That after all his +labour and self-denial, after long, long years of slowly building up a property +such as his, which rendered him in his own estimation not one whit inferior to +a king; that he should be insulted, his name dragged in the dirt, his wife a +spectacle for all Paris! +</p> + +<p> +Sternhold had the vaguest ideas of stage proprieties and theatrical morality. +He had not a doubt but that Lucia was already an abandoned woman. There were +plenty who urged upon him to commence a suit for divorce, though in reality it +was extremely doubtful whether there were sufficient grounds for anything +beyond a judicial separation. +</p> + +<p> +But Sternhold was filled with one consuming desire—to see her with his +own eyes. Whether it was this passion, or whether it was the natural strength +of his constitution, certain it is that in a marvellously short time after the +attack, he had himself conveyed to Paris, and sat, a miserable, haggard, +broken-down old man, in a box at the theatre the same night, watching his wife +upon the stage. He did this night after night. A species of fascination seemed +to carry him there to sit silent, brooding over the utter wreck of his great +schemes. +</p> + +<p> +After a while he went suddenly back to Stirmingham without a word, without so +much as seeking an interview with Lucia, or issuing any instructions as to what +was to be done. He went back to his old apartments at Dodd’s Hotel. He +shut himself up, refusing to see even the wretched parasites who had sown the +seed of this mischief. It was an instinctive attempt to return to the old, old +habit, the ancient self-concentration, apart from the world. But it failed. So +soon as ever he began to read his letters, to look into his accounts, every +figure, every transaction reminded him of Lucia and her extravagance; the +follies she had been guilty of, and the no less greater folly he had himself +yielded to in granting her every wish, thereby involving his affairs in the +most hopeless confusion. The attempt failed. He rushed again from his retreat +to seek her. Then he heard that she was in Vienna performing. He got there, +supported by his attendants. Doubtless the physical fatigue of the journey +irritated his nerves; at all events, there seems no doubt that when he reached +Vienna he was for the time absolutely mad. +</p> + +<p> +He went to the theatre. He saw Lucia as Godiva, just as she had been seen in +Paris. He was alone in his box. Deliberately he levelled a pistol, resting the +barrel upon the edge of the balustrade. As the incense of praise and adulation +rose up, as the pageant moved to and fro, the deadly weapon was aimed at the +central figure. He fired, and the house was in commotion. +</p> + +<p> +Those who know what happens when a full theatre is alarmed and excited will +require no description; those who have not seen it cannot imagine it. +</p> + +<p> +A second report, and the curling smoke caused a rush to the box, and the +occupant was found upon the floor, as was thought, dead. Lucia alone was calm +and cool. The bullet had not passed even near her; the distance was great and +the aim unsteady; the ball had struck a screen, and did no injury. She +dismounted and advanced to the footlights, extended her hands, and in a few +words begged the audience to be calm. Speedily they saw her thus, as it were, +in their very arms. +</p> + +<p> +The theatre rang with acclamation. If it had been a scene prepared it could not +have succeeded better. +</p> + +<p> +There were threats and loud cries of rage against the man who had fired at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not injure him,” she said, at the top of her full, deep voice; +“he is mad!” For she guessed in a moment who it was. +</p> + +<p> +In a few minutes the whole thing was understood. Continental people are quick +at comprehending—an old husband, a young wife—bah! An attempt first +at murder, then at suicide—bah! What could he have done better calculated +to put Lucia upon the pedestal of fame? +</p> + +<p> +Sternhold was not dead; not even injured. The ball he had fired at himself had +not touched him. He had fallen exhausted. When he became physically conscious, +he was raving mad. +</p> + +<p> +There was no doubt about it this time. It was a pitiable sight. +</p> + +<p> +Aurelian insisted upon seeing him: even he shuddered. The old man was muttering +gibberish to himself. Half his grey hair was gone, for before he could be +stayed he had dragged it out. His arms and limbs were pinioned, but his body +shook with a trembling convulsive movement. The deed was done. +</p> + +<p> +Aurelian braced himself up, and hastened at once to Lucia. He knew he should +have a struggle with her, and hoped that in the conflict he should forget the +sight he had left. He had determined to at once withdraw her from the stage. +The victory was won; there must be no more risk. +</p> + +<p> +The conflict between the brother and sister was terrible. She raged, her frame +swelled; she had tasted triumph, and the draught is more intoxicating even than +the taste of blood. She would go on. +</p> + +<p> +But he was resolute, and he won. That very day he took her to +England—took is the right word, for it was necessary to use physical +force at times. He got her to her house at Stirmingham, and never left her till +she had grown more composed. +</p> + +<p> +Sternhold was in an asylum. Aurelian thought that he would surely die; but he +did not. +</p> + +<p> +Aurelian then began to scheme to get him in his own “retreat.” +Possession was nine points of the law. He went to Vienna at once before any one +guessed his object, obtained the proper permit, and in six days deposited the +wretched being in his asylum in the suburbs of Stirmingham. Once there, thought +Aurelian, let them get him out if they can. +</p> + +<p> +The fact was soon known; and there was an excitement. The parasites, +disappointed and raging, did their best to inflame the populace. There was a +growl, and the police began to prepare for an attack upon the asylum; but, +after all, the moment any of them reflected, they said, “Why, it’s +all right; the poor fellow is mad. He could not be in better hands.” The +plan of a popular tumult fell through. +</p> + +<p> +The parasites next tried the law, but found that Aurelian had been before them: +he had all the proper documents; he could not be touched. +</p> + +<p> +Next the companies began to stir. They were uncertain what to do, and whether +it was better for their interests that Sternhold should be in his +brother-in-law’s custody or not. +</p> + +<p> +That astute gentleman very soon learnt what was passing in their minds, and he +had a very good conception of what could be effected by powerful combination. +</p> + +<p> +He opened negotiations with them. He pointed out to them privately that the +real point at issue was not Sternhold, but the boy—the heir—for no +one doubted the legitimacy. Who was to have the custody of the heir? +</p> + +<p> +Clever Aurelian hoped that by making friends with the companies who held the +building leases that there would be no opposition to his holding the +boy—to his guardianship of the estate. He had strong grounds to go upon. +To all intents and purposes he was the nearest relation. If the boy died, and +no son of the phantom brother of Romy turned up, <i>perhaps</i> he might have a +claim to the estate. +</p> + +<p> +He gave the companies to understand that if he had the guardianship of the boy +their interests should be most carefully studied. +</p> + +<p> +They appeared favourable. The step was taken. The boy remained with his mother; +his mother remained in her house, seeing Aurelian daily, and indeed watched by +his <i>employés</i>. +</p> + +<p> +No change took place. Aurelian congratulated himself that all was going on +favourably. The boy, who had little or no idea of the meaning of the word +“father,” was constantly at Aurelian’s residence—the +asylum where his parent was confined—playing with Aurelian’s son, +who was carefully instructed to please him, and indeed was sharp enough already +to require little instruction. +</p> + +<p> +Sternhold lingered in his melancholy state. He was no longer +violent—simply dejected. He did not seem able to answer the simplest +question. If asked if he was hungry, he would stare, and say something relating +to his school-days. +</p> + +<p> +And this was the man who had built Stirmingham. For five years he remained in +this state, and then suddenly brightened up; and it was thought and +<i>feared</i> that he would recover the use of his faculties. It lasted but +three days. In that short time he wrote three important documents. +</p> + +<p> +The first was a statement to the effect that he had wronged Lucia. He now saw +his folly—he had been led into his persecution of her by designing +people, and blamed himself for his subsequent conduct. He earnestly entreated +her forgiveness. The second was a species of family history, short but +complete, refuting the claims of the American Baskettes. They were indeed of +the same name, he wrote, but not of the same blood. The truth was that the +cotters who had lived in the Swamp, now covered with mansions, had no name. +They were half gipsies; they had no registered or baptismal name. +</p> + +<p> +Will Baskette, who had been shot, was the chief man among them, and gradually +they came by the country people to be called by his name. They were not blood +relations in any sense of the term. This paper also gave the writer’s +views of his transactions with the Sibbolds and the cotters or +“Baskettes,” and concluded with the firmly expressed +conviction—the honest statement of a man near his end—that his +title was irrefutable, and he knew of no genuine claim. +</p> + +<p> +The third document was his Will. For now it appeared that hitherto he had never +made a will at all. It was extremely short, but terse and unmistakable. It left +the whole of his property, real and personal (with the single exception of the +gift to Lucia), to his son, John Marese Baskette. +</p> + +<p> +The will Aurelian took care was properly attested, and by independent witnesses +whom he sent for. +</p> + +<p> +On the fourth day old Sternhold died, quietly and without a word. He was +buried, and hardly was he in the tomb before the battle began. The companies at +once cut off all connection with Aurelian. They had reckoned upon his managing +to get their terms at all events extended, as he had promised. The Corporation +refused any honours to the dead king, and all eagerly sought about for the +means of dividing the spoil. +</p> + +<p> +After all their consultations, not all the subtlety of twenty solicitors could +suggest any feasible plan—the old man had baffled them at last. It was +useless to plead that he was insane, and actually in an asylum at the moment of +executing the will. What was the good even if such a plea was +successful—if the will was upset, the property would descend to the boy +just the same. There seemed no way of getting at it. +</p> + +<p> +But at last a weak point was found. It was a time when a great deal of +commotion was made about the Roman Catholic question and the religious +education of minors. Now Lucia was certainly half a foreigner, and it was +believed she was a Catholic. Aurelian was certainly a Catholic. With all his +cunning he had not foreseen this, and he had allowed himself to become a +somewhat prominent member of the Catholic community in Stirmingham. He had no +religion, but it paid him. Catholics are rich people, and when rich people go +insane they are profitable. So he was caught in his own trap. +</p> + +<p> +There was an agitation got up among the ultra-Protestant community. Funds were +started to release the heir from the clasp of Rome. The companies, the +Corporation, all joined in the outcry. The question was made a national one by +the newspapers. But there was one difficulty: the law required that there +should be a person to sue. After much trouble this person was selected in one +of the Baskettes of American origin, who had settled in Stirmingham, and +claimed to be a nearer relation than Aurelian. +</p> + +<p> +The battle was long and furious, and cost heavy sums. No expense was spared on +either side, and the estate got still further encumbered. It promised to be a +drawn battle; but at last, having passed all the tribunals, it began to +approach the place of power, and to be discussed in the Ministerial Cabinet. +There was a man there who desired to obtain the Catholic vote of Ireland, and +the Aurelian party began to boast already of success. But this very boasting +spoilt their game. The Ministry lost the confidence of the people, the House +followed suit, a new Ministry came into place, and the final decision was +against the Catholic, or, as they termed themselves, legitimate party—for +they said the uncle and the mother were the legitimate guardians. +</p> + +<p> +The result was in truth disappointing to all the parties. The boy was made a +ward of Chancery, proper receivers of the estate were appointed, and the +companies who had begun to exult were entrapped. The lad was taken from his +mother and uncle, and sent to Eton to prepare for college. +</p> + +<p> +Thus a new element of complexity was added to the already chaotic state of this +vast estate. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_1_chap_10"></a>Chapter Ten.</h2> + +<p> +If ever there was a life that illustrated the oft-quoted phrase “poor +humanity,” it was that of Sternhold Baskette. But this is not the place +to moralise—we must hasten on. The orchestra has nearly finished the +overture; the play will soon begin. +</p> + +<p> +Lucia had now no longer any reason for restraint. Her boy was safe—safe +as the laws of a great country could make him—certain to inherit a +property which by the time he was forty would be of value surpassing +calculation. She rejoiced in it, gloried in it. To her it was more welcome than +the confirmed guardianship of Aurelian would have been, because it left her +free. +</p> + +<p> +The lad was at Eton, and happy—far happier than he could have been +elsewhere. His mother immediately commenced a course which led her by a rapid +descent to the lowest degradation. +</p> + +<p> +She returned to Paris. Aurelian felt it was useless now to interfere, neither +could he afford more expense. +</p> + +<p> +She easily got upon the stage again, and became more popular than ever. At the +age of forty she was even more handsome than in her youth. Her features had +been refined by the passage of time and by the restraint to which she had been +subjected. Her form was more fully developed. +</p> + +<p> +It is unpleasant to linger on this woman’s disgrace. She formed a +<i>liaison</i> with a rich foreign gentleman, retired with him from Paris after +a time, and the <i>Stirmingham Daily Post</i>, which pursued the Baskettes with +unmitigated hatred year after year, did not fail to chronicle the birth of a +son. +</p> + +<p> +Aurelian, baffled, was not beaten. He was a resolute and patient man. Like the +famous Carthaginian father, he brought up his son and educated him to consider +the Baskette estates as the one object of his attention—only in this case +it was not for destruction, but for preservation. +</p> + +<p> +When young John Marese Baskette, the heir, after distinguishing himself at +Eton, was sent higher up the Thames to Oxford, Aurelian immediately placed his +son, Theodore Marese, at the same college. +</p> + +<p> +The result was exactly as he had foreseen. The heir formed a bond of +friendship—such as it is in these days—with Theodore. Their one +topic of conversation was the estate. +</p> + +<p> +John was full of the most romantic notions. He was in youth a really exemplary +lad—clever, hard-working, winning to himself the good will of all men. +Theodore had a genuine liking for his cousin—then, at all events, though +probably in after life the attachment he professed was chiefly caused by self +interest. +</p> + +<p> +John was full of ambitious dreams. His vivid imagination had been worked upon +by the talk among his companions about the famous owner of twenty millions +sterling—his father. Upon an old bookstall he obtained a copy of +“The Life of Sternhold Baskette,” now out of print. It inflamed him +to the uttermost. There was good metal in the boy if he had only had friends +and parents to put it to proper use. He formed the most extraordinary schemes +as to what he would do with this wealth when he became of age, and stepped at +one bound into the full enjoyment of it, as he supposed he should. +</p> + +<p> +It was all to be used for the alleviation of the misery of the world, for the +relief of the poor, for the succouring of the afflicted, the advancement of all +means that could mitigate the penalties attaching to human existence. +</p> + +<p> +As time wore on, however, these benevolent intentions received their first +check. +</p> + +<p> +He reached his twenty-first birthday. He claimed his birthright, and was +refused. Briefly, the reason was because the companies and the American +claimants had entered pleas, and because also the property was terribly +encumbered, and would require long years of nursing yet before it could be +cleared, and this nursing the higher Courts insisted upon. +</p> + +<p> +Instead of the magnificent income he expected, the young man received two +thousand pounds per annum only. It struck his nature a heavy blow, and did much +to pervert it, for he looked upon it in the sense of a shameful injustice. With +Theodore he left college; at all events he was now his own master, and entered +“life.” +</p> + +<p> +Every one knows what “life” is to a young man of twenty-one with +two thousand a year certain—the power of borrowing to a wide margin, and +no monitor to check and retard the inevitable course. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore was much older—fully thirty at this time; but he was as eager +for enjoyment, and perhaps more so. +</p> + +<p> +To make the story short, they ran through every species of +extravagance—visited Paris, Vienna, and all the continental centres of +dissipation. +</p> + +<p> +Ten whole years passed away. John Marese Baskette was by this time a thorough +man of the world, deeply in debt, brilliant and fascinating in manner, false +and selfish to the backbone. He inherited his mother’s beauty. A tall, +broad, well-made man, dark curling hair, large dark eyes, and large eyelashes, +bronzed complexion, which, when he was excited, glowed with almost womanly +brilliance; strong as a lion, gentle in manner, and fierce as a tiger under the +velvet glove. Polished and plausible, there were those who deemed him shallow +and wholly concerned with the pleasure of the hour; but they were mistaken. +</p> + +<p> +John Marese Baskette had rubbed off all the soft and good aspirations of his +boyhood; but the ambition which was at the bottom of those schemes remained, +and had intensified tenfold. He was burning with ambition. The hereditary mind +of the Baskettes, their brain power, had descended to him in full vigour +(though hitherto he had wasted it), and he also inherited their thirst for +wealth. But his idea of obtaining it was totally opposed to the family +tradition. The family tradition was a private life devoted with the patience +and self-denial of a martyr to the accumulation of gold. +</p> + +<p> +Marese’s one absorbing idea was power. To be a ruler, a statesman, a +leader, was his one consuming desire. As a ruler he thought, as a member of the +Cabinet, it would be easy for him to affect the market in his favour, for +Marese was a gambler already upon a gigantic scale. The Stock Exchange and the +Bourse were his arena. +</p> + +<p> +The intense vanity of the man, which led him to seriously hope even for the +English Premiership, was, doubtless, a <i>trait</i> derived from his mother. +“If I had my rights,” he was accustomed to say to Theodore, +“I should be not only the wealthiest man in England, but in Europe and +America. My father’s property has more than doubled in value. In England +the wealthiest man at once takes a position above crowds of clever people who +have nothing but their talents. Without any conceit, I can safely say that I am +clever. A clever, wealthy man is so great a rarity that my elevation is a +certainty. But nothing can be done without money. At present my wealth is a +shadow only. The one thing, Theodore, is money. Our Stock Exchange labour is, +in a sense, wasted; our operations are not large enough. What we make is barely +sufficient to provide us with common luxuries (he did not pretend to say +necessities) and to keep our creditors quiet. Nothing remains for bolder +actions. I am thirty, and I have not yet entered the House.” +</p> + +<p> +This last remark was always the conclusion of his reflections. In a sense, it +was like Caesar lamenting upon seeing a statue of Alexander—that he had +done nothing at an age when Alexander had conquered the world. He had not even +the means to fight the enemies who withheld his birthright from him. The +bitterness engendered of these wrongs, the constant brooding over the career +that was lost to him, obscured what little moral sense had been left in him +after the course of life he had been through; and the once gentle boy was now +ripe for any guilt. The verse so often upon the lips of the tyrant was for ever +in his mind, and perpetually escaped him unconsciously— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Be just, unless a kingdom tempt to break the laws,<br/> +For sovereign power alone can justify the cause. +</p> + +<p> +Like his father Sternhold, he looked upon the undisputed possession of such an +estate as conferring powers and position nothing inferior to that of a monarch. +His dislike to all things American—in consequence of the claims, now more +loudly proclaimed than ever, of the Baskettes from the States—grew to be +almost a monomania. He wished that the United States people had but one neck, +that he might destroy them all at once—applying the Roman emperor’s +saying to his own affairs. +</p> + +<p> +His especially favourite study was “The Prince” of Machiavelli, +which he always carried with him. His copy was annotated with a scheme for +applying the instructions therein given to modern times—the outline of +the original requiring much modification to suit the changes in the +constitution of society. Some day he hoped to utilise the labours of the man +whose name has become the familiar soubriquet of the Devil. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore, whom Aurelian had made qualify as a surgeon, was imbued with an +inherited taste for recondite research. He would return from a wild scene of +debauchery at early dawn, and drawing the curtains and lighting his lamp to +exclude daylight, plunge into the devious paths of forbidden science. Keen and +shrewd as he was, he did not disdain even alchemy, bringing to the crude ideas +of the ancients all the knowledge of the moderns. Cruel by nature, he excelled +in the manipulation of the dissecting knife, and in the cities upon the +Continent where their wanderings led them, lost no opportunity of practising +with the resident medical men, or of studying those wonderful museums which are +concealed in certain places abroad. Marese was the fiery charger, ready to dash +at every obstacle Theodore was the charioteer—the head which guided and +suggested. Yet all their concentrated thought could not devise a method by +which Marese might obtain the full enjoyment of his estate. Briefly, this was +the condition of Marese’s mind and his position, when the death of +Aurelian took place, and a letter reached them written by him in his last +hours, entreating their return to Stirmingham for reasons connected with the +estate. They went, and a woman went with them as far as London—a woman +whom we must meet hereafter, but who shall be avoided as much as possible. +</p> + +<p> +They arrived at Stirmingham unannounced, and examined the papers which the +deceased had particularly recommended to their study. Aurelian, as has been +said, was baffled but not beaten. The fascination of the vast estate held his +mind, as it held so many others, in an iron vice. The whole of his life was +devoted to it. He had searched and searched back into the past, groping from +point to point, and he had accumulated such a mass of evidence as had never +been suspected. +</p> + +<p> +He knew far more even than poor Sternhold, who had occupied himself exclusively +with the future. +</p> + +<p> +Marese and Theodore, living quietly in the residence attached to the asylum for +the insane, which Aurelian had continued to keep, carefully studied these +papers by the light of the lucid commentary the dead man had left. It is +needless to recount the whole of the contents—most of them are known +already to the reader. But the substance of it all was that three great dangers +menaced the estate. The first was the claims of the Baskettes from America. +</p> + +<p> +The evidence which Aurelian had collected was clear that the land they had +occupied in the Swamp had been practically theirs, since they had paid no rent; +but as to their power of handing it over to Sternhold, it was extremely +questionable. The second great danger was the claim of a new tribe that had +recently started up—the descendants of James Sibbold, who had also +expatriated themselves. +</p> + +<p> +It was doubtful if the transfer made by their ancestors could be maintained, +and for this simple reason—it was doubtful whether James Sibbold himself +had any right to the property his sons sold to Sternhold. He was not the eldest +son. The eldest son, Arthur, had disappeared for a number of years; but there +was not the slightest proof that he had died childless. Far from it. Aurelian, +incessantly searching, had found out what no one else yet knew—that +Arthur had married, had had children, and that one at least of his descendants +was living but a short time since. +</p> + +<p> +When Marese had read thus far his countenance turned livid, and Theodore feared +he would have fallen in a fit. The savage passions inherited from his mother +surged up in his frame, and overmastered him. He was ill for days, almost +unconscious—the shock was so great, his passion so fierce—but +presently recovering, read on. +</p> + +<p> +Aurelian had traced Arthur in his wanderings, had traced his marriage—but +there was one loophole. Do what he might, Aurelian could not discover +<i>where</i> Arthur had married. It was in London, but a minute search failed +to discover the church, and the register could not be found. +</p> + +<p> +This fact, and the fact of the long silence, the absence of any claim being put +forward, led Aurelian to believe that there really was no legal +marriage—that it was only reputed. He hoped as much, at all events. +</p> + +<p> +There was another loophole—the deed which old Sibbold had so treasured in +his padlocked oaken chest—the deed which settled the inheritance (on the +female as well as the male)—had disappeared. Sternhold had searched for +it and failed. It was lost. If the marriage could not be proved, and if the +deed was really lost, then there was no danger from Arthur Sibbold’s +descendants; but there remained those “ifs.” Also, if +Arthur’s claim was put aside, then the succession would of course belong +to his brother James Sibbold’s descendants: but then again came in the +question—Could these Sibbolds sign away (to Sternhold) an inheritance +which at the time was <i>entailed</i>? +</p> + +<p> +Aurelian finished with several hints and schemes which need not be gone into +here, and indeed were never carried out. But his one great point throughout was +a warning against the living descendant of Arthur Sibbold, whose name and +present address he had discovered and left for Marese, and against the +companies who held the leases. “For,” said he, “these +companies would foster any and every claim against the estate; anything to bar +the succession of Marese, the heir, in order to obtain a grant or extension of +time from the courts of law, to enable them to hold the property till the +succession to the estate was established.” These companies were so rich +and powerful that it was difficult to contend against them. Their strength was +money, their weapons were the various claimants. +</p> + +<p> +“Therefore,” wrote Aurelian, “the first thing is money, and I +wish my property to be used freely for this end, convinced that you will do +Theodore full justice; and I bid you, if possible, to take the <i>weapons</i> +of the companies out of their hands. Without the claimants they are +powerless.” +</p> + +<p> +These papers, and the facts and reflections they contained, made the deepest +impression upon Marese and Theodore. In secret they walked through the city of +Stirmingham, and marked its wealth, its vastness, its trade and population. +</p> + +<p> +“And nearly all this is mine,” whispered Marese, pale as death in +his subdued excitement. He had to hold Theodore’s arm to sustain his +body, for, strong as he was, he trembled. +</p> + +<p> +Next day they left for London, for Marese could not bear the Tantalus-like view +of the wealth which was and was not his. In London they thought and planned as +only such men seeking such an end can think and plan. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_1_chap_11"></a>Chapter Eleven.</h2> + +<p> +While Marese and Theodore are maturing their plans, it will conduce to the +easier comprehension of the horrible, complicated events which followed, if the +past history of the estate be briefly summed up in such a manner that this +chapter can be used for reference. +</p> + +<p> +In the commencement, nearly a century previous to the present time, we have +seen old Sibbold, the morose miser, gloating over his money, and studying his +title-deeds. These gave him an unquestioned right to the farm he occupied, and +to the Swamp, or waste land, which had been squatted on by Will Baskette and +his companions. This right mainly depended, though not entirely, upon a certain +deed of entail. Without that deed Sibbold had still sufficient evidence to +prove his right to his farm, but not to the Swamp; without that deed there was +no fixed succession—that is to say, he could have devised it to any one +he chose. +</p> + +<p> +There was, therefore, just the possibility that, hating his eldest son Arthur, +he had himself destroyed this deed, in order to prepare the way for his second +son, James. But against this supposition there was the known character of the +man, which led one to imagine that he would rather have died than give up the +smallest fraction of his possessions. At all events, this deed was missing, as +were several others of little or no value, such as expired leases of fields to +tenants, which had once been kept in Sibbold’s oaken press, under padlock +and key. +</p> + +<p> +When Sibbold met with his death at the hands of highwaymen, the farm and waste +lands, in the natural course of things, would have passed to his eldest son, +Arthur, but he having disappeared, and not appearing to make a claim, James +Sibbold, the younger son, took the property. The majority of people always +thought, from the fact of Arthur’s not returning to claim his birthright, +that he had had a hand in the slaughter of old Will Baskette, and that his +conscience drove him away. +</p> + +<p> +James Sibbold, after a while, married, and had several sons. In time he died, +and these sons, though married, still all remained living on the farmstead, or +in the outhouses; for as it was known that James’ right was doubtful, +they could not agree about the succession, and preferred to live like pigs +rather than go to law and have it settled, since the result was so uncertain. +At the same time the squatters, basket-makers, reed-cutters, clothes-peg +makers, etc, who resided in the Swamp which the rat had caused, had +considerably increased in numbers, and were always called, after their former +chief, by the name of Baskette. +</p> + +<p> +This chief at the date of his death had two sons. The eldest went off with his +mother, and joined the original gipsy tribe; the youngest, whose name or +nickname was Romy, entered the service of the clergyman. The eldest was never +heard of more; but Romy prospered, and in early middle age bought an estate and +country mansion, not far from his birthplace. +</p> + +<p> +It was he who opened up the concealed mineral wealth of coal and iron, and +thus, as everything goes by contradiction in this world, it happened that the +descendant of gipsies, notorious for their wandering habits and dislike of +houses, was the founder of one of the largest cities in the world. +</p> + +<p> +He married with every legal formality, and his son, Sternhold Baskette, imbued +with the firmest convictions that in the future the young city would prosper to +an unprecedented extent, employed the whole of the wealth he inherited in +purchasing land and erecting houses. +</p> + +<p> +In the course of his transactions he desired to purchase the Wick Farm, where +old Sibbold had dwelt, and the Swamp where the Baskette tribe flourished. +Finding the title of the vendors imperfect, he devised the strongest safeguard +he could think of, which was to make all the Sibbolds then living or known, to +sign one document, and all the reputed Baskettes to sign another. He then +transhipped them all to America—first, to get complete possession; +secondly, in the hope that they would never return to trouble him. +</p> + +<p> +He proceeded to drain the Swamp, and to convert it into the Belgravia of +Stirmingham. But this project required an enormous expenditure, and just at +that moment the first railway to the place, which he had largely supported, +came to a standstill, and ate up all his available capital. When, therefore, a +return of commercial prosperity took place, he found it impossible alone to +complete the vast scheme of streets, squares, etc, which had been commenced. +</p> + +<p> +Then the building lease plan was resorted to—the very keystone of all +this curious history. First, the Corporation of the city took a large slice of +the uncompleted property of him on a building lease for a term of years, on the +expiration of which the whole reverted to him or his heirs (practically his +heirs, as he was not likely to live to the age of 120 years). +</p> + +<p> +After they had commenced building some uncertainty arose as to whether or no +they had the power to enter into such an agreement; they could bind themselves, +but could they bind their successors in office? This took place, it must be +remembered, long, long before the recent sanitary legislation, which gives such +extensive powers to local bodies. +</p> + +<p> +In order to confirm their proceedings they obtained a private Act of +Parliament, which, when it was drawn up, seemed to be worded clearly enough. +But every one knows that after the lapse of thirty years or less, words in an +inexplicable manner seem to lose their meaning, and to become capable of more +than one interpretation. This is perhaps because the persons who read them are +influenced unconsciously by a series of circumstances which did not exist at +the time the document was composed. +</p> + +<p> +At any rate, at the date when Marese and Theodore were thinking and scheming, +there had already been a great deal of contention over the precise scope of +several sentences in this Act: a part of which arose over the question of +repairs to the buildings, and partly as to whether, by a little straining, the +seventy years of the lease might not be construed to mean practically for ever. +</p> + +<p> +This little straining was managed in this way. When did the lease commence? Had +not each successive Mayor got the right to say, “This lease, as +interpreted by the Private Act, means, not seventy years from the days of my +predecessor, but seventy years from the commencement of my term of +office.” By this way of looking at it, so long as there was a Mayor the +Corporation would always have seventy years to look forward to. +</p> + +<p> +Of course all such reasoning was nothing but pure sophistry; but then most law +is sophistry, and sophistry when supported by a rich body of men and called +Vested Interest, is often much stronger than the highly belauded and really +feeble truth. +</p> + +<p> +Here was a tough Gordian knot, to add to the already difficult question of +original title. But this was only the preface to the complications to follow. +There still remained, after the Corporation had taken a part, a huge howling +wilderness of streets with walls two feet high. Companies or syndicates were +formed (eight companies in all)—perhaps they had better be called in +modern parlance building societies—who took this howling wilderness on +the same system of building leases, to fall in at a certain date. +</p> + +<p> +Apparently in this case it was all plain, straightforward sailing; but not so. +Sternhold Baskette got into difficulties over Railway Number 2, and had to +borrow money. He also had to borrow money to complete portions of the estate +which he had kept in his own hands, and to acquire lands just outside the city. +Lastly, he had to borrow money to support the extravagance of his wife. In the +aggregate these sums were something enormous. +</p> + +<p> +At the moment of borrowing he was under the impression that he had dealt with +independent persons—with financiers, in fact, of London, being so assured +by his solicitors. These solicitors had had a pretty picking out of his +railways and estates; they had grown fat and prosperous upon him, and might, +one would have thought, have been trusted to serve him honestly. +</p> + +<p> +But no—whenever was there a friendship formed in business? Ostensibly, +the financiers who advanced the cash were independent; in reality, they acted +for certain of these very aforesaid building societies who had taken the +building leases! Four at least of them had their money thus out upon good +security; and Sternhold, unknowingly at first, owed them a large fortune. +</p> + +<p> +For their own interest they had proved easy creditors. They had not called in +the loans; not a fraction of the original sums borrowed from them to complete +Railway Number 2, to finish houses, buy fresh lands, to pay for Lucia’s +extravagance, had been repaid. Very little of the interest had been cleared +off; none while Sternhold lived. They knew that they were safe. The railway was +now paying a fair dividend, the houses and lands had trebled in value; as for +Lucia’s waste it was small in comparison—when they chose to call in +their money they could seize upon property to twice the amount due, even with +added interest. +</p> + +<p> +But they did not choose to call in their money. The leases were now approaching +the day of expiration. They knew that the trustees of Sternhold’s estate +had not one tithe of the cash required to meet their demands: they would be +compelled to submit to one of two things—first, they must yield up a good +part of the estate, or they must grant an extension of the leases—either +of which would suit the societies exactly. +</p> + +<p> +They intended to push matters in such a way as to compel the trustees to extend +the term, in order to retain both halves, as it were, of the estate under their +control. This was Gordian knot Number 3. How was the heir to come by his own +through all this? It was impossible, unless he could scrape together sufficient +money to pay off the loans which had been contracted by his father. He would +then be in a position to claim the property held by the trustees at the +expiration of the leases, which was now fast approaching. +</p> + +<p> +The other four companies had got wind of this nice little arrangement, and it +upset them extremely. They had not been half so shrewd as their fellows, and +that was a bitter reflection. They foresaw their valuable properties passing +away from them, while the other societies held fast to their share. It was gall +and wormwood. +</p> + +<p> +But they were not to be outdone in the Art of Entanglement. Sternhold was dead; +they could not lend him money. But the heir, our friend Marese, was living, and +living “fast;” and not only that, he was speculating heavily upon +the Stock Exchange. Here was a fine opening. With careful and judicious +management they bought up all Marese’s debts; they lent him money to a +large amount through their agents, keeping themselves in the background out of +sight; and they had gentlemen always on the watch on the Exchange, whose +business it was to tempt Marese into apparently good bargains with floating +paper. +</p> + +<p> +Not content with this, they had still further secured themselves. They had +allied themselves with a certain powerful and enterprising railway company. +This company had hitherto been shut out of Stirmingham, and were extremely +desirous of getting access to it. These second four societies combined, and +declared that in the interests of the properties committed to their charge +(save the mark!) it was essential that there should be more direct railway +communication with a certain district which it is immaterial to name, and that +there should be a station close to their portion of the estate, the other +stations being at some distance. The enterprising railway company would +guarantee good terms if the trustees of the estate would enter into agreement +with them. +</p> + +<p> +The upshot was that another Act of Parliament was obtained by the influence of +the said powerful railway company, authorising this line, station, and +agreement. It was now argued that this Act and agreement would override the +original building leases; especially as the railway company were prepared to +prove that they had not yet reaped any reasonable benefit, and, unless the +leases were extended, would be serious losers. As they had immense interest in +the House, they were likely enough to gain their point. Here were two more +Gordian knots, Numbers 4 and 5! +</p> + +<p> +Then there was the list of claimants to the estate, which had now been swelled +from all parts of the world, and the series of suits and pleas, and Heaven +knows what other litigation threatened by them, making Gordian knot Number 6. +Finally, the estate was in Chancery. Knot Number 7. +</p> + +<p> +Here was a pleasant prospect for the heir! To put all the rest on one side, on +the day that the building leases expired, and he stepped forward to claim his +rights, the building societies would present him with the following neat little +bill:— +</p> + +<img src="images/world179.jpg" alt=""></img> + +<p> +“After all,” said Marese to Theodore, as they planned and schemed, +and smoked cigars at 120 shillings the hundred, “after all, old fellow, +this is but one year’s income if I could only get possession. And I +believe we could finance the thing and raise the money without difficulty, if +it were not for those cursed, hateful claimants from America and elsewhere. The +Jews fight shy on account of the title difficulty. If we could but get rid of +those claimants!” +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_1_chap_12"></a>Chapter Twelve.</h2> + +<p> +There was once a very wise man who invented what was considered a saying almost +inspired, which was afterwards inculcated as a most important lesson by mighty +princes upon their sons, and continues to be constantly quoted in our day with +approval—it is, that “Unity is strength.” But the strength of +the claimants to the Baskette estate consisted in the number of their scattered +forces. +</p> + +<p> +All that Marese, the heir, could have desired was that by some means they could +be condensed into one person, and thus destroyed at a blow. They had increased +as the years went by in a geometrical ratio, till the total formed a small +battalion. +</p> + +<p> +When the idea of making claims upon the estate first arose in America, there +were already quite fifty families who in one way or another thought they had +“rights.” About a dozen visited Stirmingham, and all but drove poor +old Sternhold frantic. That was a generation ago, and the tribe had nearly +trebled. Mothers of children who had the remotest possible chance of a share in +the prize took care to have them christened Baskette or Sternhold. There were +Sternhold Baskette Browns, Baskette Johnsons, Baskette Stirmingham Slicks, +English Baskette Williamsons, and every possible combination of Baskette. +</p> + +<p> +Those who, either by the male or female side, really could show some species of +proof that they were descended from the seventeen squatters who were +transhipped to the States now numbered no less than one hundred and forty-three +individuals—men, women, and children. To distinguish themselves from +other claimants, they called themselves “The True Swampers.” +</p> + +<p> +But in addition to these, there was a host of other Baskettes, who in one way +or another foisted in their names. There were Baskets, Bascots, Buscots, +Biscuits, Buschcotts, Bosquettes—every conceivable variation of spelling +from every State and territory, who declared that they were related to the +parent stem of Will Baskette, the squatter, who was shot by old Sibbold. These +might be called for distinction the pseudo-Baskettes. +</p> + +<p> +Then among the True Swampers there was an inner circle, who professed to have +prominent “rights” on account of their progenitors having been more +nearly related to the original Will Baskette. They argued that the others were +not true Baskettes, and had only adopted that name from the chief, while they +were real blood Baskettes. +</p> + +<p> +In addition, there was another host of people who made a virtue of proclaiming +that they were not named Baskette. They did not profess to be named +Baskette—they did not take a name which was not theirs! They were +Washingtons, Curries, Bolters, Gregorys, Jamesons, and so on. But they had +claims because their father’s wives were of the Baskette blood. +</p> + +<p> +Finally, there was another sub-division who loudly maintained that half of the +original cotters who landed in New York were not Baskettes, but Gibbs, Webbes, +Colborns, and so on, and that they were the descendants of these people. And +there were some who went the length of declaring that they were descended from +two alleged illegitimate sons of old Romy Baskette! +</p> + +<p> +The Baskette Battalion was therefore made up of—1st. The Pure Blood +Baskettes; 2nd. The True Swampers; 3rd. Demi-Baskettes, who had that name added +to another; 4th. Nominal Baskettes, whose names had an accidental resemblance; +5th. The Feminine Baskettes, descended from women of Baskette strain; 6th. +Independent Squatters, not Baskettes, but companions; 7th. Illegitimate +Baskettes! +</p> + +<p> +Then there were the Sibbolds—such a catalogue! These had been slower to +wake up to their “rights” than the Baskettes, but when they did +discover them they came in crowds. First, there were the descendants, in a +straight line, of the eight sons of James Sibbold, shipped (six with families) +to New York. They had multiplied exceedingly, and there was no end to them. The +simply Sibbolds, as we may call them, numbered no less than two hundred and +eighteen, all told—men, women, and children. Every one of these had some +register, some old book—many of these books were worm-eaten copies of Tom +Paine’s “Rights of Man”—some piece of paper or other to +prove that they had the blood of James Sibbold in their veins. +</p> + +<p> +Then there were all the ramifications, pretty much like the Baskette branches; +innumerable cadets distantly related, innumerable people whose wife’s +uncle’s mother or cousin’s name was Sibbold; and all the various +Sibbolde, Sibboldes, Sibald, Sigbeld, Sybels, Sibils, Sibelus, Sibilsons, <i>ad +libitum</i>. Illegitimate Sibbolds were as plentiful as blackberries, and all +ready to argue the merits of the case with revolver and bowie. If the Baskettes +made up a battalion, the Sibbolds formed an army! +</p> + +<p> +Between these two great divisions there was the bitterest enmity. The Baskettes +derided the claims of the Sibbolds; the Sibbolds derided those of the +Baskettes. The Sibbolds told the Baskettes that they were an ill-conditioned +lot; if they had been respectable people, and really his relations, old +Sternhold would never have shipped them to America out of his sight. The +Baskettes retorted that the Sibbolds were ashamed to stay in England, for they +were the sons of a murderer; they were the descendants of a dastardly coward, +who shot a man through a window. The Sibbolds snarled, and pointed out that the +great chief of the Baskettes was nothing but a thief, caught in the act and +deservedly punished; a lot of semi-gipsies, rogues, and vagabonds. Their very +name showed that they were but basket-makers; they were not even pure gipsy +blood—miserable squatters on another man’s property. +</p> + +<p> +Blows were not unfrequently exchanged in the saloons and drinking-stores over +these quarrels. The result was the formation of two distinct societies, each +determined to prosecute its own claim and to oust the other at all hazards. The +Baskette battalion relied upon the admitted non-payment of rent by their +forefathers to upset all subsequent agreements, and they agreed also that this +agreement which their forefathers had signed was not binding on the remote +descendants. The document was obtained by trickery, and the land was not put to +the use the vendors had understood it was to be put, as the representatives now +alleged, to simple agricultural purposes. Further, each of those who signed the +document only gave up his cottage and the small plot of garden round it; they +did not sell the waste land between the islands. +</p> + +<p> +The Sibbolds principal argument was that their forefathers could not sign away +an entailed estate without previously cutting off the entail, and it was +acknowledged that this had not been done. But, said the Baskettes, there was a +question if the land ever was entailed; let the Sibbolds produce the deed, and +if it was not entailed, where was their claim? +</p> + +<p> +Each of these divisions formed itself into a society, with a regular committee +and place of meeting, a minute-book to record accumulated evidence, legal +gentlemen to advise, corresponding secretaries, and Heaven knows what. They +actually issued gazettes—printed sheets of intelligence. There was the +<i>Baskette Gazette</i> and the <i>Sibbold Gazette</i>, which papers carefully +recorded all deaths, marriages, and new claims. There was a complete +organisation, and a—fine thing it was for the lawyers and some few sharp +young men. +</p> + +<p> +Of late these societies had received more or less cordial overtures from the +eight building societies at Stirmingham who held the leases. The first four +societies encouraged the Baskette battalion, the second held out hopes to the +Sibbolds. The cunning building societies, without committing themselves, +desired nothing better than protracted litigation between these claimants and +the heir, in the certainty that meantime they should reap the benefit. +</p> + +<p> +Among the American corps of claimants there were men of all classes—from +common labourers, saloon-keepers, etc, up to judges, editors, financiers, +merchants; and many of them were clever, far-seeing persons, who, without +putting any weight upon the somewhat strained “rights” they +professed to believe in, still thought that there was “something in it, +you know,” and money might be got by persistent agitation, if it was only +hush-money. +</p> + +<p> +Throughout many turbulent States there was at one time quite a feeling aroused +against England (which added its venom to the unfortunate <i>Alabama</i> +business), as having unjustly kept what was due to American citizens. These +societies had their regular agents in Stirmingham and London, whose duty it was +to report every change that took place, every variation of the case, and to +accumulate evidence and transmit it. These bulletins were received by the +“caucuses,” and sometimes printed in the <i>Gazettes</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Besides these regular organisations, who had money at disposal and were really +formidable, there were several free lances careering over the country, +representing themselves as the sons of the elder brother of Romy Baskette, the +brother who had disappeared with the gipsies. These were downright impostors, +and yet got a living out of the case. Several lecturers also promenaded the +States, who made a good thing of it by giving a popular version of the story, +illustrated by a diorama of incidents in the lives of the principal actors, +from the shooting of Will Baskette to the appearance of Lucia Marese as Lady +Godiva. It was singular that no one presented himself as a descendant of Arthur +Sibbold; he seemed to have been quite forgotten. So much for America. +</p> + +<p> +From Australia there came, time after time, the most startling reports, as is +usual when any <i>cause célèbre</i> is proceeding in the Old +World. Now, it was a miner at the diggings who had made extraordinary +disclosures; now, some shepherd on a sheep-run, after a fit of illness, found +his memory returned, and recollected where important deeds were deposited. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing, however, came of it. The principal seats of disturbance were America +and England; for England produced a crop of what we may call Provisional, or +Partial Claimants. Here and there, scattered all over the country—from +Kent to Cornwall, from Hampshire to Northumberland—were people of the +name of Baskette, which is a very ancient English cognomen, and to be found in +every collection of surnames. +</p> + +<p> +Most of these were of little or no consequence, but one or two held good +positions as gentlemen or merchants. None of these latter made the shadow of a +pretence to the estate, but they were fond of speculating as to their possible +remote connection with the now famous Baskette stock; and some said that if +anything did turn up, if any practical results followed the American attempt, +it would be as well to be prepared to take a share in the spoil. +</p> + +<p> +There were also at least three impostors—utter scoundrels, who obtained a +profusion of drink and some sustenance from credulous fools in tap-rooms by +pretending that they were descendants of the elder brother of Romy Baskette. +They had not the shadow of a proof, and ought to have been treated to a dose of +“cell.” +</p> + +<p> +A gipsy tribe, a travelling clan which went about the country with shooting +galleries, merry-go-rounds, peep-shows, and so on, were in the habit of +proclaiming that they were the very identical tribe from whom offshoots settled +in the historical swamp at Wolf’s Glow, in order to attract custom. +</p> + +<p> +Certain persons in and around Stirmingham, whose fathers or ancestors had sold +lands to Sternhold Baskette—lands now worth ten, and in some cases a +thousand, times the price he had given for them—had a fallacious idea +that if the title of the heir was upset, they would have a chance of regaining +possession, or at least of an additional payment for the property. +</p> + +<p> +They formed themselves into a loosely-compacted society to protect their +interest. It was remarkable that in England, as in America, no one set up a +claim to be the descendant of Arthur Sibbold. The real danger was from America, +the land of organisation. +</p> + +<p> +But in England there was a class of persons who, without possessing any +personal interest in the matter, made it their especial business to collect all +the “ana” that could be discovered, and gained a livelihood out of +their study of the case. More than one private inquiry office in London +received large fees from New York clients to make special investigations. The +credulity of mankind is exhibited in a striking manner in the support given to +these offices. How should they be supposed to be so devotedly attached to the +cause of one client? What is to prevent them having fifty, all with the same +end, and from selling the information gained from one to the other? +</p> + +<p> +There were men who made it a speciality of their trade to collect all books, +pamphlets, pictures, lectures, genealogies, deeds, documents, letters, papers, +<i>souvenirs</i>—anything and everything, from Sternhold Baskette’s +old hat upwards, that could be twisted into relation with the case. +</p> + +<p> +Those who have never had any leaning towards antiquarian research have no idea +of the enormous business done in this way—not only in reference to great +cases of this kind, but in reference to matters that would appear to an +outsider as absolutely not worth a thought. There is scarcely a scrap of +written or printed paper of the last century, or up to within fifty years of +the present date, which has not got its value to such a collector, for he knows +there will be fools to buy them. Sometimes it happens that an apparently +worthless piece of paper or parchment, bought as waste, turns out, under his +sharp eye, to be a really awkward thing for some owner of property unless he +purchases it. +</p> + +<p> +There were lawyers in a peculiar way of business who did not disdain this +species of work, and presently they may cross our path. Such men were in +constant communication with people on the other side of the Atlantic, where +there is, year by year, an increasing desire manifested to trace out +genealogies. +</p> + +<p> +The year in which, in the ordinary course of events, the building societies and +the Corporation must relinquish their expired leases was now fast approaching. +Some such person as has been described was seized with a brilliant idea, and +made haste to advertise it. Why should not all the claimants to the estate meet +on the disputed spot at this critical moment? Why should there not be a regular +family council, the largest and most important that had ever taken place? The +idea was a good one, and spread like wildfire. The newspapers took it up; the +American societies thought highly of it. Nothing like a grand demonstration. +</p> + +<p> +The upshot was that Stirmingham began to look forward to the assembling of +these would-be monarchs of the city, which was finally, after much discussion, +fixed for the next New Year’s Day. +</p> + +<p> +This New Year’s Day was fast approaching, while Marese and Theodore +planned. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_1_chap_13"></a>Chapter Thirteen.</h2> + +<p> +The grand family council was to be held at Stirmingham on the coming New +Year’s Day. How difficult it is to trace the genesis of an idea! It does +not seem to have any regular growth—to begin with a seed and cast out +roots, a stem, branches, leaves; it shoots now one way, now this, like those +curious creatures revealed by the microscope, or like the germs of fungi. Upon +the original thought odd branches are engrafted, accidental circumstances +suggest new developments, till at last the full completed idea bears no sort of +resemblance to what might have been expected from the embryo. +</p> + +<p> +How the idea was first started neither Marese nor Theodore could tell, nor how +it was communicated from one to the other. There is a method of communication +which is not dependent upon direct speech; there is a way of talking at a +subject without mentioning it. When two clever men’s minds are full of +one absorbing topic it does not require formal sentences to convey their +conceptions. They did not seem even to actually talk of it, and yet it grew and +grew, till it overshadowed them like a vast gloomy mountain. +</p> + +<p> +It would not be just to so much as hint at a latent insanity in these +men’s minds, for it would partly absolve them from responsibility, and +would dispose their judges to regard their crimes leniently. Certainly no one, +if asked to do so, could have pointed out two keener men of the world than +these. Yet, somehow, despite one’s reluctance to afford them the shadow +of an excuse, there does creep in the conviction that such a ghastly conception +could only be formed in a brain lacking the moral organs, if such an expression +may be used, in a brain unbalanced with natural human sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +Marese’s father, old Sternhold, had certainly been mad at one period of +his career. His mother, Lucia, had exhibited a vanity so overweening, and a +temper so intense, that at times it resembled lunacy. It may have been that, +along with the mental powers of calculation and invention which distinguished +old Romy and Sternhold, Marese had also inherited the mental weakness of +Sternhold and Lucia. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore had shown a taste for extraordinary studies usually avoided by +healthy-minded men. His father, Aurelian, had passed the whole of his time with +insane patients, and it is said that too much contact with mad people reacts +upon the sane. He had early initiated his son into the mysteries of that sad +science of the mind which deals with its deficiencies. The son’s youth +had been passed in constant intercourse with those harmless and, so to say, +<i>reasonable</i> lunatics who are to be met with in the homes and at the +dinner-tables of medical men, and whose partial sanity and occasional singular +flashes of unnatural intelligence are perhaps more calculated to affect the +minds of others than the vagaries of the downright mad. +</p> + +<p> +In one short sentence, this terrible crime, which was looming over Marese and +Theodore, was nothing less than the deliberate intention to destroy the whole +of the claimants to the estate at once. How it originated it is difficult to +imagine, but it did. It might perhaps be partly traced to the injunction in +Aurelian’s papers to take the weapons out of the hands of the companies; +or partly to the oft-expressed wish of Marese’s, after the Roman emperor, +that all the claimants had but one neck, so that he might cut it. The said +emperor has much to answer for. +</p> + +<p> +The announced gathering of the claimants at Stirmingham certainly seemed to +bring them all within the reach of the fowler’s net, if he could but cast +it aright. Marese and Theodore had half-formed ideas of blowing the whole +company into the air as they sat at council in the Sternhold Hall on New +Year’s Day, something after the fashion of Guy Fawkes, but with a +deadlier compound than he had at his disposal—nitro-glycerine or +dynamite; especially the first might be trusted to do the work much more +effectually than gunpowder, which was also more difficult to conceal on account +of its bulk. +</p> + +<p> +It will barely be believed that these two men, in the height of the nineteenth +century, calmly examined the vault under that famous hall, in order to see if +it was fitted for the purpose. This hall or assembly-room had been finished +about the time that the agitation commenced over the heir to the estate, just +before Sternhold had married, when the Corporation heaped flattery upon him. It +had been named after him. +</p> + +<p> +It was a fine room, not too large, and yet of sufficient size to seat an +audience. The object was to afford a concert-room for dramatic and theatrical +performances, and also for balls. As the site was valuable, and every particle +of space had to be utilised in the centre of this mighty city, it had been +built over vaults, which were intended for bonded warehouses; but partly on +account of the high rent asked, and partly because of the dampness of the +cellars—the site was the very centre of the old Swamp—had never +been occupied. The access was bad, and there was no place for a display or +advertisement, which was another reason why the cellars had not let. There was +a certain amount of propriety in holding what was to be called “The Grand +Centennial Family Council” in this hall, built upon the centre of the +ancient Swamp, and named after the founder of the city. +</p> + +<p> +Marese and Theodore, in disguise, examined the vaults, under the pretence of +being agents for London merchants desirous of opening business in Stirmingham. +There was hardly any necessity for this precaution, for it was so many years +since they had openly resided in the place that few would have recognised them. +</p> + +<p> +To their great surprise, these vaults, whose gloomy darkness they explored by +the light of lanterns, extended in one vast cavern, under the whole of the +hall. Instead of a series of cellars, there was one huge cavern. This was +occasioned by the flooring not being supported upon brick arches, as would have +been architecturally preferable, but upon timber posts, or pillars. The place +had, in fact, been put up hastily, and the vaults were never completed. The +timber pillars were placed in regular order, and it had been intended to build +brick partitions; but as no one seemed to care to occupy the cellars, this had +never been done. The floor was extremely damp, and the whole appearance of the +place repulsive. Snails, toads, and slimy reptiles crawled about, and this +under the very stage above, upon which music, song, and dance were wont to +enliven the gay hearts of the audiences. +</p> + +<p> +One great obstacle to the idea of blowing up the place was the height of these +timber posts, which was full eighteen feet, so that the roof of the vault was +high over head, and any explosives, to produce the full effect, would have to +be piled up on casks or stands. Then the hall was larger than they had +supposed, and it was apparent that the coming council would occupy but a +portion of it, and perhaps change that portion now and then, so that it would +be uncertain where to place the nitro-glycerine. +</p> + +<p> +The idea, looked at from a distance and in the abstract, seemed feasible +enough; but when they came to face the physical difficulties, it was found to +be hard of realisation. There was the danger of getting the explosives into the +place, the danger of detection, and, finally, the chance of an accident +hoisting the engineer with his own petard, especially at that time of the year +when nitro-glycerine was notoriously dangerous on account of the crystals which +cold formed upon its surface, and the least jar or shake was sufficient to +cause an explosion. Obviously, the plan was a cumbrous one, and without +hesitation it was abandoned. +</p> + +<p> +But the main idea, that of getting rid of the claimants at one blow, was not +abandoned; it grew and grew, and occupied their minds day and night. At last +the thought of transferring the Guy Fawkes expedient from the land to the +ocean, which, once the deed was successfully accomplished, would tell no tale, +occurred to them. +</p> + +<p> +The claimants must come over on shipboard, if only they could be got into one +or even two ships; and if these vessels sank upon the voyage suddenly without a +warning! This was certainly much safer for the conspirators, as no trace would +be left, and it was surer of success, because in the hall some of the victims +might escape—at sea they could scarcely do so. They ran over in their +minds the various methods of scuttling ships which have been invented from time +to time. +</p> + +<p> +There was the good old simple plan of boring holes in the bottom with augurs. +There was the devilish coal-shell. A box painted to resemble coal, but really +containing powder, was thrown among the coal, and when placed in the furnace +blew up the boiler, and destroyed the ship. There was the ship-rat—a +contrivance by which the very motion of the vessel caused an augur in a box to +bore its way through, and so cause a leak. Some benevolent socialists, anxious +for the welfare of man, had also promulgated a notion of exploding +nitro-glycerine by clockwork, arranged to go so long, and set to act just as +the vessel was farthest from land. +</p> + +<p> +But all these seemed to Marese and Theodore clumsy, risky, and, what was worse, +uncertain of operation. It was reserved for Marese to suggest the deadliest of +all destructive engines, and he arrived at its conception in this way. He had, +as it were, a double mind. He was liable to flashes of inspiration—such +as it was—to sudden ideas which shot through him without endeavour. He +had also the power of concentrating his thoughts, and bringing the regular +forms of logic to his assistance. But this latter method he could only practise +with the aid of pen and ink; and it was his constant habit, whenever +contemplating an important step, such as a coup upon the Exchange, to write out +his plans in a regular sequence, just as he wished them to take place. +</p> + +<p> +This written guide he corrected and enlarged until it seemed beyond any further +improvement; and then shutting his eyes to all consequences, resolutely +avoiding those secret promptings which suggest that something has been left +undone, he was accustomed to rush at the matter in hand, and dispose of it with +bold, unhesitating strokes. This method certainly had its advantages, but it +had also the disadvantage that if by any accident his notes fell into other +hands, he was lost. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, after thinking and thinking in vain over this great problem, and +failing of any very brilliant flash of intelligence, Marese at last resorted to +his favourite system, and sought the solution by the aid of pen and ink. First +he wrote at the top of his rough draft— +</p> + +<p> +“What is it that I desire? Define it. Definition: to destroy the +claimants. Who are the claimants? A body of men. How is a body of men to be +destroyed? In the same way as a single person. How is man destroyed? By the +knife, by bullets, by explosives, by garotting, by fire, by water, by poison, +narcotics.” +</p> + +<p> +Such were his rough premises. Then he laid the pen down and thought. Why not +set the vessels these men were coming over in on fire? That at first seemed to +him a most feasible plan, far superior to the uncertain action of explosives. +It required some arrangement, which he felt confident the scientific knowledge +of Theodore could easily supply, to cause the flames to break out at the proper +moment. +</p> + +<p> +He began to grow enraptured with it. It seemed so easy and sure. Then, +picturing in his mind the vessel sinking, the thought occurred to him that if +the risk was to be run, something might as well be got out of it. Why not put a +cargo on board insured far beyond its value, and so kill two birds with one +stone? +</p> + +<p> +At one blow to destroy his enemies and fill his own pockets was superb triumph! +He called Theodore and explained the idea to him. Theodore was struck with +it—especially with the notion of making a profit out of the risk. He was, +however, considerably opposed to the insurance dodge, on the ground that it had +been tried so often, and people had got so keen that it was ten to one if some +suspicion did not arise, especially when it was seen what an object it would be +to Marese to secure the destruction of the passengers. Some other plan must be +adopted. Suppose, for instance, they took Marese’s yacht and followed the +vessel, and after its partial destruction, if they could secure only partial +destruction, put in a claim for salvage. To do this they must encounter serious +difficulties, but it would be far less risky. +</p> + +<p> +Marese wished to know what substances they could employ to produce a fire which +could not be extinguished without some special chemical composition. Theodore +produced a series of manuscript volumes containing the notes which he had +accumulated during his long and curious studies. He turned them over one by +one, extracting such information as appeared applicable to their purpose, while +Marese, waiting for his friend’s reply, amused himself by reading pieces +here and there. It was while thus employed that the devilish means by which +their end could be obtained occurred to him. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_1_chap_14"></a>Chapter Fourteen.</h2> + +<p> +He happened to light on a volume of notes made upon the remarkable properties +of gases. They began with a description of those curious caves and even meadows +abroad wherein no animal can live, and the place is strewn with the bones of +birds and beasts who have incautiously entered the infected circle. This effect +was proved to proceed from a vapour which rose up from the earth, and was no +sooner breathed than it produced asphyxiation. Animals who inhaled it fell as +if shot, so sudden was the action. +</p> + +<p> +Gases as deleterious were often generated in wells, caves, and confined places, +such as the huge tuns or casks used by brewers to keep their beer in, and which +had often proved fatal to the men who attempted to scour them out. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore believed that the cold shiver which some persons affected to feel upon +entering a churchyard and passing over the graves of the dead, was caused by +the presence of a gas in small quantities, evolved from the decaying remains +beneath the feet. Then there were gases which upon inhalation caused a profound +slumber; others which had precisely an opposite result, and made the patient +lively and brisk; and others which rendered the person who took them perfectly +insensible to surgical operations. +</p> + +<p> +Marese, a man who had never paid the least regard to science, was deeply struck +with these facts, with which the veriest tyro in chemistry is well acquainted. +But he did what no tyro or even advanced student would perhaps have +done—he applied his discovery—for so it was to him—to his own +circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +There are, says Bacon, three modes of reading—one to pass away an idle +hour, one to acquire a knowledge of a subject, and the third and the most +advantageous method is always to keep your own ends in view, and to apply +everything to your object. +</p> + +<p> +In these gases Marese found his desideratum. His engine of destruction burst +upon his mind, as it were, complete in a moment. Some such poisonous gas should +be shipped on board these vessels, closely confined in a box or other +receptacle, and at the proper moment liberated, to spread throughout the +steamer a subtle vapour which no man could see coming, and against which +strength, skill, and discipline would be perfectly powerless. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore, looking up, saw a change upon Marese’s countenance, and +immediately knew that something had occurred to him. The heir was pale as +death; his own conception, so ghastly and treacherous, filled him with a +nameless horror at the same moment that he never hesitated in his purpose. +</p> + +<p> +After a while he took up a pen and added to his already written premises the +conclusion—his idea in a few brief sentences—and handed it to +Theodore. He left it to Theodore to select the gas, and to arrange the +mechanical details. He had sown the seed, the other must patiently tend it. And +the other did patiently tend it; and this is what it grew to. +</p> + +<p> +The name of the gas which Theodore at last, after much thought, fixed upon +shall not be here disclosed; for although it is well-known to chemists, and any +one who can read could easily find it, there is no knowing what imitations +might not spring up if they were aware of the means being so ready at hand. +</p> + +<p> +Though suicide is such a simple and obvious expedient in difficulties, yet +there are scores who do not commit it because they never think of it. If some +kind friend suggested the pistol or the knife they would at once employ it. +</p> + +<p> +Gas had one property which rendered it peculiarly fitted for the purpose in +view. Being elastic, it could be compressed to a great extent, and thus an +immense volume might be contained in a small compass. Therefore the case or +receptacle to hold the vapour poison need not be of large dimensions; and this +was a matter of some importance. +</p> + +<p> +The gas chosen was not in any way explosive; on the contrary, it had the +property of extinguishing any light which was placed in it—there was thus +no danger of any accidental circumstance causing an explosion at an awkward +moment. It was absolutely safe—the operator ran no risk, provided always +that he did not inhale the vapour. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore sketched out a case about three feet square, which was to be formed of +an outer box of deal, and an inner skin of thin iron. Into this case, which +would be tolerably strong, he proposed to pump a vast volume of gas, taking +care that the pressure should not exceed the power of the box to withstand. The +aperture through which it had been pumped was then to be hermetically sealed +with molten lead. +</p> + +<p> +The greatest difficulty was to provide for the escape of the devilish vapour at +the proper moment; and this caused the projectors much reflection. Clockwork +was objectionable; it was liable to injury from jars and shakes. Cases of this +character, which looked strong and substantial, and would be placed in the +hold, would be certain to receive the roughest of usage. +</p> + +<p> +At one time he conceived the idea of relying upon the cupidity of the seamen. +It was suspected that many of the accidents which had taken place at sea, and +caused the destruction of hundreds by fire, had arisen through dishonest seamen +or <i>employés</i> on board going at night with a candle into the +compartment where valuable goods were stowed, and dropping sparks. +</p> + +<p> +Why not utilise this propensity? Mark the case “watches,” +“jewellery,” or “bullion,” cause it to be surrounded +with a certain amount of mystery and precaution enough to engender suspicion; +and leave the rest to the chisel and drill of the would-be thief. +</p> + +<p> +But this, though clever, was too uncertain. Another idea which occurred to him +was to have a wooden case only, but a strong one, and to confine in a small +hole prepared for the purpose one of the boring insects, which in a certain +time would be sure to eat its way through and leave an aperture. +</p> + +<p> +This, too, was more ingenious than practicable. He was delayed for a time. +Accident solved the difficulty. Passing through the streets, he was stopped by +a crowd which had collected around a quack doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“See,” cried the vendor of patent vegetable pills, “here is +the horrid stuff the allopathists, the doctors and physicians sell to you at +high prices. Here is a common drug used by them in this phial. I will pour some +of the liquid upon the hard stone pavement—just see how it acts upon the +granite, and then guess how your wretched stomachs must be abused.” +</p> + +<p> +He poured it on the stone—the crowd pressed forward, and saw it eat a +hole. “Aquafortis,” thought Theodore, and the idea was +his—aquafortis was the agent he wanted. +</p> + +<p> +He passed on, and left the crowd thoroughly convinced of the tricks played by +the medical faculty, and purchasing largely of the vegetable pills. Theodore +had found a substance which would eat through his iron and wood cases, and +leave an aperture—a substance, too, whose action was equal, and could be +regulated to a sufficiently accurate extent. +</p> + +<p> +Upon reflection, however, and after making several experiments, he did not +employ ordinary aquafortis, but another acid equally powerful, and which was +still more regular in its action. He tried the experiment time after time, till +at last he obtained the proper strength, and fixed the requisite amount of acid +to eat through a given thickness of iron and wood in a certain time. He +repeated the experiment till he was absolutely certain of the result. +</p> + +<p> +The plan had now grown delightfully clear and well-defined—the infernal +machine became of the simplest construction. All that had to be done was to +place the acid in the case confined in a small and very thin copper vessel +(lined with an enamel to resist it), which was to be screwed to one side of the +case, then pump the gas in, hermetically seal it, heave the whole thing on +board the steamer, and leave it to work its way. Delightfully simple! +</p> + +<p> +He called Marese to look over his drawings, and to witness his experiments with +the acid. Marese was enchanted; his confidence in Theodore’s scientific +resources was confirmed. There was, however, one question he asked—Was +the gas so strong and so poisonous that the small quantity confined in a case +three feet square would destroy a whole ship’s company? Would not the gas +escape, rise up, and dissipate itself through the port-holes, up the hatchways, +and be further weakened by the breezes that blew and caused draught in various +places between decks? These ocean steamers were very roomy. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore was delighted to have an opportunity of explaining the properties and +nature of the vapour to his friend. The peculiarity of this gas was that, +although an invisible fluid, it was extremely heavy—it was heavier far +than atmospheric air. He easily proved that a gas might be heavier than air by +a well-known experiment with a vapour (not the one to be used in this case) +which he poured out of a glass phial over a candle. The invisible gas descended +and extinguished the candle; There was not the slightest chance of the +poison-vapour escaping quickly through ports or up hatchways. It would, as it +were, cling to the vessel. The pressure inside the case would cause it to issue +rapidly from the aperture eaten out by the acid. It would then diffuse itself +laterally, and gradually penetrate into every crevice and corner of the ship. +The effect would be that one by one every person on board would inhale it, and +in an instant, let the quantity breathed be never so small, down he would drop, +or grow rigid as he sat—unconscious was the word Theodore used as an +euphemism for death. He did not mention another effect it would have, lest the +horror of it should cause even Marese to falter. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore traced out the probable course of events on board the fated vessel. +First, the persons working or living in the cabins and places nearest the case +would feel the effect and succumb. Then there would be alarm and +excitement—others would rush to the spot, and they would immediately +fall, just as the birds and beast did who entered those fatal caves abroad. One +man on board, perhaps, might detect the cause—the surgeon, or any doctor +who chanced to be a passenger—and might cry out to man the boats and +escape; but who, in the hurry and excitement, would heed him?—he would +not have time to escape himself, much less to explain the danger to others. It +was doubtful whether even so much as a signal of distress would be hoisted. The +crew, the officers, the passengers would be so completely puzzled, so utterly +at their wit’s end, that no course would suggest itself to them before it +was too late. +</p> + +<p> +In this respect the gas had an immense advantage over any apparatus which would +set the ship on fire. Let the fire be never so rapid, one boat at least might +get away, and on that boat the very person whom it was most desirable should +seek the floor of the ocean. Moreover, fire could be seen from a vast distance, +and might attract attention from other vessels, who by day would observe the +smoke, and by night the glare of the flames. +</p> + +<p> +But in this case probably not so much as a flag would be hoisted. One by one +the seamen and passengers, the captain and officers, would succumb to the +invisible vapour, first becoming weak and helpless, and next +“unconscious.” The steersman would fall at the wheel. The engineer +would drop at his engine; the stoker as he shovelled up the coal; the passenger +would lie in his berth. And the steamer, so long as the fuel in the furnace +lasted, would pursue her way unguided over the waves; finally, after a few +hours, to float a derelict at the mercy of the wind. +</p> + +<p> +There was a completeness, a finish, an elaboration of detail about this scheme +which fascinated the conspirators. It was so novel, daring, and yet safe, it +enchanted them. When at last the great horror was discovered, what risk would +there be? Nothing on board would excite suspicion. The gas had actually no +smell; besides, long before anything was discovered, it would have dissipated +itself. +</p> + +<p> +Even if the whole of the cargo was examined, the case itself would offer, no +handle to an inquirer. The powerful acid would have eaten its way out, and +nothing would be left but a small empty case with a hole in it. Nothing need +show who consigned the case. Better still: Marese’s yacht would follow +the doomed steamer, keeping close on pretence of the safety of having company +in a voyage across the Atlantic. +</p> + +<p> +They would easily know when the desired result was obtained by the view of the +steamer rolling helplessly in the trough of the waves. By the time that was the +case some hours would have elapsed after the catastrophe, and various pretences +could be arranged to avoid immediately proceeding on board—especially as +from a distance nothing would look the matter—and by then the poisonous +vapour would have dissipated itself, or so mixed with the air as to have lost +its fatal power. They would then take charge of the vessel and bring it into +port, and claim the salvage. +</p> + +<p> +If they contrived to select a vessel which carried a valuable cargo, that +salvage money would be something extremely large in amount, added to the value +of the steamer itself. They might manoeuvre to get such a cargo stored. This +would be far superior to the clumsy dodge of sinking the ship and claiming the +insurance money. +</p> + +<p> +As to getting the case on board, it was as easy as could be. Having proceeded +to New York in Marese’s yacht, taking with them the necessary apparatus +for producing the gas (which was very simple), and pumping it into the case, +they could ascertain the hour of the steamer’s departure, fill the case, +regulate the acid for say four, or perhaps three days, and send it on board +only a little while before she started. They would then, on board the yacht, +proceed to sea on a cruise and keep the steamer in sight. +</p> + +<p> +Delightfully simple! Perfectly complete and scientific in every detail! +</p> + +<p> +Marese once again asked if the gas was really so powerful? Theodore referred to +his note-books, and showed him an extract from a newspaper not of so very +remote a date, wherein it was stated that at a conference of the various +leading European Powers it had been resolved not to employ certain implements +in warfare, such as explosive shells or bullets under a certain size, and +poisonous gases or vapours which could be thrown into a fortress or town in +shells. Marese was convinced, and regarded the engine as perfect. +</p> + +<p> +Thus did two men deliberately plan out the destruction of several hundreds of +their fellow-beings without one single thought or reflection upon the misery +and suffering they would cause, or upon the intrinsic villainy of the act. +</p> + +<p> +Well was it suggested by a French thinker that certain natures are incapable of +feeling, incapable of remorse so long as they remain “faithful to the +logic of their type”—i.e. faithful to their own selfish interests +and passions. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_1_chap_15"></a>Chapter Fifteen.</h2> + +<p> +With his own hands Theodore constructed the infernal machine and prepared the +materials for generating the deadly vapour at the shortest notice. This, the +first part of the scheme, having been settled, there remained two great +difficulties to overcome. The first was to get the claimants on board one +vessel—travelling in a body; and the second was to secure their passage +by a steamer carrying a valuable cargo, so as to increase the gain of salvage +money to the utmost. +</p> + +<p> +It was not easy to manage the first matter; the latter Marese thought he saw +his way through. It happened just then that the payment of the war indemnity to +Germany caused a great drain of gold from this country; the value of the +precious metals consequently rose, and the imports increased to meet the +demand. Gold and silver came in large quantities from New York, both in coin +and bullion—especially silver. +</p> + +<p> +Marese intended to take advantage of this fact. By means of certain Stock +Exchange operations, with which he was perfectly familiar, having employed them +previously on several occasions, he arranged that a very large amount of +bullion should be transmitted to London from New York by the splendid steamer +<i>Lucca</i>, due to start on December 3rd. +</p> + +<p> +It must be understood that this bullion was not to be despatched to Marese, and +that he did not appear in the transaction as having any direct connection with +it. He had, in fact, arranged to lose a small sum of money, in order to render +the importation of bullion particularly profitable in the week ending December +17th—profitable not to him, but to those speculators who deal in precious +metal just as others do in corn or calico. Marese omitted no precaution, Spared +no pains, and used the whole of his natural and acquired cunning to render this +operation a certainty. +</p> + +<p> +The next thing was to tempt the claimants to travel by the steamer +<i>Lucca</i>. After considerable hesitation, Marese at last determined to open +negotiations with the leading men amongst them. He did not do this in his own +person, but through his solicitors. It was represented to the managers of the +Baskette and Sibbold Lodges that really their claims and the interests of the +heir—i.e. Marese—were not so divergent as had been supposed. The +heir was quite as much excluded from the enjoyment of the property as they +were, and finding the building societies determined, by every means in their +power, to put off the day when they must yield up possession, he wished to make +common cause against these companies. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was this statement altogether fictitious. The idea of strengthening the +hands of the claimants, and making common cause with them, had often occurred +to Marese, for the sole purpose of taking the weapons of the companies out of +their hands, as Aurelian had advised. +</p> + +<p> +No sooner was this overture on the part of the heir received in America than +both Lodges at once responded, and without a moment’s hesitation fell +into the snare laid for them. To us, who are acquainted with the infamous +designs of Marese, such conduct seems almost senile; but it must be remembered +that these men on the other side of the Atlantic had not the slightest +suspicion of the deadly engine which had been preparing. +</p> + +<p> +To some extent the sudden overture of the heir caused a cessation of +hostilities between the two Lodges, and when Marese’s second offer +arrived they held a species of jubilee. This offer was nothing less than to +convey the whole of the claimants at his own expense, and added that he had +already notified to the owners of the <i>Lucca</i> that he might require the +entire passage accommodation, or nearly, of that vessel. To the Americans this +came as an immense boon. There were many of them comparatively poor men, to +whom the cost of the voyage was a serious matter, and who had already begun to +hesitate at the prospect before them. +</p> + +<p> +The diabolical foresight of Marese and Theodore had guessed as much. They said +to each other, “Half the claimants will not come—only those who are +tolerably well off. Then what will be the use of our scheme? We shall destroy +only a few, and from the remaining individuals a new crop will spring up to vex +us. We must get them all—all!” +</p> + +<p> +This offer was accepted with a <i>fanfaronnade</i> of gratitude. It had one +inestimable advantage—it secured the passage of the claimants by the +vessel Marese had chosen. The enthusiasm on the other side of the Atlantic was +raised to its highest pitch when the heir announced his intention of coming to +New York in his yacht, to see that the arrangements, for his friends were +properly carried out. +</p> + +<p> +Preparations were at once made to give him an ovation. The authorities of New +York city gave orders to do him honour. The papers published biographies of +“this distinguished man, upon whom the eyes of all the world were +fixed,” and who had lately “covered himself with glory by +displaying a grand generosity towards the offshoots of the parent stem.” +</p> + +<p> +It often happens that in America the descendants of particular families are +gathered in and around certain districts, where they form the main part of the +population. This was the case with the Baskettes and Sibbolds. The Baskettes +chiefly inhabited Caben, a small township west of Philadelphia, and the +Sibbolds were mostly to be found at Tandanap, near the shores of Lake Michigan. +Numbers of both tribes of course were scattered over the whole country, but +these were the strongholds. To suit both parties, and to tend to remove the +jealousies which had so long raged, it was arranged that all should meet at +Imola, a place about midway and within a hundred and twenty miles of New York, +about a week previous to the embarkation. +</p> + +<p> +At Imola (named after a Continental town) there resided perhaps the wealthiest +member of the Baskette and Sibbold tribes, for he could claim relationship with +both—he offered hospitality to them all; and in return it was agreed that +this Reginald Bunker Sibbold Baskette, Esq, should be instituted the leader or +president of the expedition. After the mobilisation of the forces at Imola, the +army was to move on New York on the 2nd December, and embark the same evening +on board the <i>Lucca</i> steamship. +</p> + +<p> +The whole scheme was now complete, and extremely promising it looked; +everything had turned out well. Marese had ascertained by secret inquiries that +the bullion had been ordered, and that the owners of the <i>Lucca</i> had +contracted, under a heavy bond, to deliver it at a certain date. The Lodges +had, for a time at least, fused their differences. The engine of destruction +was finished, together with a duplicate in case of accident. How extremely +simple it looked! Nothing in the world but a strong deal box, apparently nailed +together in the usual manner, about a yard square, or a little less. Just such +a box as a seaman or passenger, if it chanced to lie about, would choose to sit +down on and smoke a pipe. The rough deal planks of which it was made were not +even planed smooth—simply a strong packing-case. The conspirators +congratulated themselves upon the approaching execution of their schemes, and +the success which seemed certain to attend them. +</p> + +<p> +But now Theodore discovered a serious oversight. Reading through +Aurelian’s papers a second time, he came upon that passage which detailed +all that could be learnt of the descendants of Arthur Sibbold. This Arthur, +Aurelian wrote, or his descendants, was the most dangerous of all. He was the +man who ought to have succeeded to the farm which James Sibbold took possession +of. James, or James’s sons, had not the slightest right to dispose of the +farm to Sternhold Baskette; they were selling what did not belong to them. +Arthur was of course dead, but Arthur’s heirs still lived; and then +followed the address and further particulars. +</p> + +<p> +These heirs were at present quiet; but if they discovered the register of +Arthur’s marriage, Aurelian could not see what was to prevent them from +putting in a claim far superior either to Marese’s or to that of any +other person. Even if they could not get possession, the Courts would certainly +order an immense sum to be paid to them, as compensation; and Aurelian thought +himself that nothing in the world could prevent them taking the property which +stood on the site of the farm, if not the Swamp. The property on the site of +the farm, he thought, must go. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Theodore, “what is the use of destroying the +American claimants <i>en masse</i> if this even greater danger is to be allowed +to remain close at home, within easy reach of the estate, ready at any moment +to burst upon us and render nugatory all our risk and labour?” +</p> + +<p> +Marese was thunderstruck. For a time it seemed that their enemies were +hydra-headed—no sooner was one head cut off than three sprouted up in the +place. But the man was not one to be daunted. This also must be done, he said. +They had not much time now to lose. It was already the middle of September, and +a fortnight must be reckoned for the passage of the yacht to New York. They +spent anxious days and nights considering a variety of plans. There is not time +to unravel the strange mazes of the mind and trace the genesis of the idea +which at last suggested itself to Theodore. It was only one degree less +ingenious, and if anything still more horrible, than the infernal machine of +Marese. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore still continued the asylum at Stirmingham. It was an important source +of income, in fact. In that asylum there were confined lunatics of all degrees +of insanity, most of them having wealthy friends, and some the representatives +of large properties. Among these was one more remarkable than the rest. He was +the representative of a long line of lunatics, or semi-lunatics. Popular +tradition accused a progenitor living two centuries before of a crime too dark +to be mentioned, and believed that the lunacy of his descendants was a special +punishment from heaven. This particular individual had seemed tolerably sane +till he was permitted to marry—a cruel thing. He then rapidly developed +his inherited tendencies, living as a married man, left more free from +restraint by friends and others. +</p> + +<p> +Though the owner of broad acres and lovely woodlands, he delighted in the +society of tinkers, and was himself a clever hand at mending pots and kettles. +He had such a fancy for tinkering that he actually promenaded the country for +miles in company with gipsies, calling at the farmhouses—on his own +tenants—asking for things to mend. +</p> + +<p> +He was also absurdly fond of dogs, and filled the house with +them—especially the large mastiff breed, of which he was particularly +enraptured, till no one could approach it, and his poor wife was frightened out +of her senses. Tinkering, fondling these dogs, and playing the tin whistle +occupied his time. His money he scattered far and wide among the gipsies, +pedlars, and tinkers, and gave enormous sums for the pure-bred mastiffs. +</p> + +<p> +The countenance of the man expressed the most intense melancholy—that +hopeless incurable vacancy of look which is seen on the features of some +monkeys while in captivity. His face, and the shape of his head, in fact, much +resembled a monkey’s; and the ears protruding from the side of the skull, +very large and ill-formed, completed the resemblance. He had a favourite resort +in one of the woods surrounding the family mansion. Through this wood there ran +a stream, and a tree had fallen across it, making a natural bridge. +</p> + +<p> +On this tree, over the stream, he would perch himself astride, his feet nearly +in the water, and play for hours upon the tin whistle, while his troop of dogs +disported in the woods around. He had a wonderful instinct of music, and really +played in a marvellous manner upon this simple instrument, exhibiting skill +even in the choice of the whistle—for it is difficult to find one that +has a mellow tone. +</p> + +<p> +The spectacle of this being, sitting on the tree trunk in the gloom of the +woods, his long legs dangling down to the water, with his melancholy baboon +face, performing extraordinary fantasias upon a tin whistle, could hardly be +matched. +</p> + +<p> +But he was as cunning as he was mad. Probably from his companions, the gipsies, +he had learnt that his ancestors had all been confined in the madhouse. He had +sufficient sense to foresee that the moment a son was born to his wife he would +himself be confined. But, with the inherent insanity of his nature, he thought +that by killing the wife or the son he should escape this danger. +</p> + +<p> +So soon as ever the wretched wife’s confinement approached he slew +her—and slew her in true fantastic fashion. With his tinker’s +hammer he drove a nail into her head as she slept. He fled from the place, but +was captured; and that was the last time Odo Lechester used his tinker’s +hammer for some time to come. The dreadful deed, the sight of blood, had +developed in him the homicidal tendency—he tried hard to stab his +captors. In Aurelian’s asylum at Stirmingham he desperately wounded a +warder. +</p> + +<p> +This was the being Theodore selected for his purpose. The man had made many +violent attempts to escape—he was like a wild beast in a cage, pacing to +and fro. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore went down to Stirmingham to his private residence, which adjoined the +asylum, to prepare his tool for the deed. It was easy for him, as a physician +and the owner of the establishment, to have full and private access to Odo +Lechester. He had a fortnight for his task. In that time he succeeded in +impressing upon Odo’s mind that the persons whose name and address he +gave him were those who were responsible for his confinement. +</p> + +<p> +It was not his (Theodore’s) fault that he was confined—it was the +fault of these persons, and upon them the punishment should fall. The man +imbibed the idea thoroughly: he brooded over revenge if ever he should get +free. His one-sided mind became absorbed in two great overmastering +passions—to revenge his captivity, and to recover his favourite dogs. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore assured him that if ever these persons were out of the way he would be +at once reinstalled in his position, and might wander at his sweet will, +tinkering and playing his whistle. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore’s plan was to let this irresponsible murderer out at large upon +the world. The obnoxious persons would be removed, and no one could be +punished. He arranged for the escape of Odo Lechester at about the date he and +Marese would start for New York. +</p> + +<p> +Their plans were now complete. Theodore, in order to obtain the lunatic’s +goodwill, had restored to him his whistle; and he roamed to and fro in the +court of the asylum, examining the high walls, stone by stone, for a crevice of +escape, while his rapid fingers manipulated interminable airs of the merriest +kind. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +When the engineer approached the ancient Swamp with his level and theodolite, +and was followed by an army of workmen in short corduroys and slops, who +cleared away the rushes and bull-polls, swept off the willow-beds and +watercress, drove the waterfowl away and plucked up the reeds and sedges, then +the water-rat knew that his time was come. The teeth that had nibbled away at +the willow-tree root till it fell and blocked up the stream, would nibble no +more. The nimble feet and black eyes would be seen no more biding among the +flags, or plunging out of sight into the water as a footstep was heard. +</p> + +<p> +The lake which the water-rat had made, with its islands and its cotters, was in +its way useful, and not altogether despicable. The poor basket-makers, humble +as they were, made good and useful baskets, mended pots and pans, split good +clothes-pegs, and injured no man till Sibbold fired that fatal shot. +</p> + +<p> +From that hour a curse seemed to hang over the place. A vast city, full of +seething human life, had taken the place of the swamp and the bullrushes; the +hearths of the poor cotters were gone, and huge hotels, club-houses, theatres, +were there instead. Progress and development—yes; but with development +came crime. +</p> + +<p> +Under that overgrown city there extended a system of tunnels, sewers—some +large enough to drive a horse and cart down them, others hardly large enough to +admit the band. But they extended everywhere. Under the busy street, under the +quiet office where the only sound was the scratching of the pen, or the buzz of +a fly “in th’ pane;” under the gay theatre and the gossiping +club-house there was not a spot that was not undermined. +</p> + +<p> +And in these subterranean catacombs there dwelt a race nearly as numerous as +the human hive above, who worked and gnawed in the dark; they were the domains +of the successors of the little furred creatures which nibbled down the ancient +willow tree. The grey sewer-rat worked and multiplied exceedingly beneath this +mighty city. The grey rat was worse than the water-rat. +</p> + +<p> +He had his human prototypes. What were Marese and Theodore but sewer-rats +working in secret, in the dark underground, out of sight, whose presence could +hardly be detected by a faint occasional scratching or rustle? +</p> + +<p> +Beside these there were a numerous company of lesser men and masculine brutes, +and female fiends, burrowing, fighting in the dark places of this mighty city, +whose presence was made known at times by faint sounds of shrieking or devilish +glee which rose up, as it were, from the bowels of the earth. The reign of the +harmless water-rat was over. The rule of the sewer-rat was now in full force. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +End of Volume One. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="book02"></a>Book II.—Persons.</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_2_chap_01"></a>Chapter One.</h2> + +<p> +Forty-three miles as the crow flies, south of Stirmingham, there stands upon +the lonely Downs a solitary, lichen-grown post, originally intended to direct +wayfarers upon those trackless wastes. +</p> + +<p> +In winter, when the herbage, always short, was shortest, and when the ground +was softened by rain, there might be detected the ruts left by waggon wheels +crossing each other in various directions; but road, or path properly +so-called, there was none, and a stranger might as well have been placed on the +desert of the Sahara. For time, and the rain blown with tremendous force across +these open Downs by the wind, had all but obliterated the painted letters upon +the cross-arms, and none but those acquainted with the country could have +understood the fragmentary inscriptions. +</p> + +<p> +Some mischievous ploughboys or shepherd lads, tired of arranging flints in +fanciful rows, or cutting their names upon the turf, had improved the shining +hour by climbing up this post, pulling out the arms, and inserting them in the +opposite mortices, thereby making the poor post an unwitting liar. This same +section of the population had also energetically pelted all the milestones for +far around with flints, till the graven letters upon them were beaten out. Such +wooden wit was their only resource in a place where <i>Punch</i> never +penetrated; for this lonesome spot was appropriately named World’s End, +or, it was locally pronounced, Wurdel’s End. +</p> + +<p> +The undulating downs surrounded it upon every side, dotted here and there at +long distances with farmsteads and a few cottages, and now and then a small +village or hamlet of ten or a dozen houses grouped together in a +“combe,” or narrow valley, where there happened to be a spring of +water and a “bourne” or stream. Yet World’s End was not +altogether to be despised. In this out-of-the-way place there was perhaps the +finest natural racecourse in England, to which the uneven uphill course at +Epsom, made famous by the Derby, was but an exercise ground. +</p> + +<p> +A level stretch of sweet, elastic turf, half a mile wide, ran in a line +something like half a horse-shoe, under the steep Downs, for a distance of two +miles, unimpeded by hedge, ditch, or enclosed field, and obstructed only in a +few spots by thick bushes of furze and a few scattered hawthorn trees. +</p> + +<p> +A spectator standing upon the Downs had the whole of this Plain, as it was +called, at once under his eye; could see a horse start and watch it gallop to +the goal. From an ancient earthwork camp or “castle,” this Down was +known as Berbury Hill, and the level plain was often called Berbury racecourse. +</p> + +<p> +For from time immemorial rustic sports, and local races between the horses of +the neighbouring farmers, had taken place twice a year under the Berbury Hill. +The sports were held in the early spring; the races proper, according to +custom, came off in October. They were of the most primitive character, as may +be judged from the following poster, which the kindness of a printer and +bookbinder at Barnham—the nearest town—enables us to present to the +reader. He had preserved a copy of it, having returned the original to the +committee, who sat at the Shepherd’s Bush Inn upon the Downs:— +</p> + +<p> +“Take Notiss. The Public is hereby Invite to the Grand open and Hurdle +Rases and Steple-Chaces at Wurdel’s End which is to come off on Wensday +after old Michelmuss Day. All particlars of the Stewards which is Martin Brown, +William Smith, Philip Lewis, Ted Pontin. Illegul Beting is stoped.” +</p> + +<p> +This copy had in the corner, “Please print two Score and send by +Carrier,” and the unfortunate printer, ashamed to issue such a circular, +sent it back with an amended form for approval; but the carrier forgot the +letter, and it was not delivered till a week after the event—not that +much was lost by the failure to give this species of publicity to the races. +The day was well-known to all those who were likely to attend. The half-dozen +gipsies, with the cocoanut sticks and gingerbread stall, duly arrived, and took +up their quarters in a fir copse where the ground was dry, and the tree-trunks +sheltered them somewhat from the breeze which always blows over the Downs. +</p> + +<p> +Most of the spectators were hill men. There still lingers the old feud between +the hill and vale—not so fierce, toned down to an occasional +growl—but Nature herself seems to have provided a never-ceasing ground of +quarrel. These two races, the hill and the vale men, must always put up +opposing prayers to heaven. The vale prays for fine and dry weather; the hill +prays for wet. How then can they possibly agree? Not more than three knots of +men and half a dozen wenches came up from the vale, and these gave pretty good +evidence that they had called <i>en route</i> at the Shepherd’s Bush, for +they were singing in chorus the lament of the young woman who went to the +trysting place to meet her faithless swain:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But what was there to make her sad?<br/> +The gate was there, but not the lad;<br/> +Which made poor Mary to sigh and to say<br/> +Young William shan’t be mine! +</p> + +<p> +The committee were in a moveable shepherd’s hut on wheels, where also was +the weighing-room and the weights, some of which were stone +“quarters.” +</p> + +<p> +Just where the judges post was erected the course was roped for a hundred yards +to ensure the horses arriving at the right place, but otherwise it was open. By +the side of these ropes the traps and four-wheelers and ramshackle gigs of the +farmers were drawn up, with their wives and daughters, who had come to see the +fun. +</p> + +<p> +Among these there was one pony-carriage drawn by two handsome ponies, with a +peacock’s feather behind their ears and silver bells on the harness, +which, simple enough in itself, had a stylish look beside these battered and +worn-out vehicles. It belonged to Jason Waldron, who was generally credited +with “Esquire” after his name, and the lady who sat alone in it was +his daughter Violet. Mr Waldron was not there. +</p> + +<p> +Violet was attended by a young man, plainly dressed, very pale, whose slight +frame gave him an effeminate appearance in contrast with the burly forms, and +weather-beaten faces of those acquaintances who from time to time nodded and +spoke as they passed. The pony-carriage was drawn up under an ancient hawthorn +tree, whose gnarled and twisted trunk, slow in growth, may have witnessed the +formation of the entrenchment on the hill by the Britons themselves. The first +frosts of autumn had blackened the leaves, and the mingling of the grey of the +trunk and its lichen with the dark colour of the leaves and the red peggles or +berries, under a warm, glowing, mellow sunshine, caused the tree to assume a +peculiar bronze-like tint. +</p> + +<p> +It may be that the sun in all his broad domains did not shine that day upon a +more lovely being than Violet Waldron. Aymer Malet, the young man at her +side—whose Norman name ill-assorted with his coarse garments, too plainly +speaking of poverty—would have sworn that her equal did not walk the +earth, and he would have had good warrant for his belief. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Aymer was out of place in that rude throng, and tormented himself with +fears lest he should appear despicable in her eyes, as so inferior to those +stalwart men in size and strength. He should have known better; but he was +young and had lived so long with those who despised him that a habit of +self-depreciation had insensibly grown upon him. It is needless to go back into +his pedigree. He was well descended, but an orphan and friendless, except for +the single uncle who had given a roof and a bed to lie on to his sister’s +child. +</p> + +<p> +Martin Brown was a well-meaning man, honest and sturdy, but totally incapable +of comprehending that all men are not absorbed in sheep and turnips. He was +moderately well off, but, like all true farmers, frugal to the extreme. Never a +penny did Aymer get from him. Martin would have said: “Thee doesn’t +work; thee doesn’t even mind a few ewes. If thee’ll go bird-keeping +I’ll pay thee.” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer wished for work, but not work of that class. He remembered one golden +year spent in London with a friend of his dead father (who had lost his all by +horse-racing), where he was permitted to read at will in a magnificent library, +and was supplied with money to visit those art-galleries and collections in +which his heart delighted. The friend died; the widow had no interest in him, +and Aymer returned to the turnips, and sheep. But even in that brief period the +impulse had been given; the seed had been sown and had fallen in fertile +ground, which gave increase a hundredfold. +</p> + +<p> +The boy—he was but twenty then—was a born genius. He could not help +it; it would force him on. What he wanted was books. He could get no money to +purchase them; circulating libraries had not yet established agencies upon the +open Downs. By a strange contradiction he became a poacher, and the cleverest +hand at setting a wire for miles. Tenants were not allowed to shoot in that +district, but they might course hares as much as they pleased. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer wired the ground game, sold them to the carriers who went by, and through +the carriers got books slowly and one by one from the county town. In this way +he bought many of Bohn’s fine series—the finest and most useful, +perhaps, ever issued—he read Plato and Aristotle, Livy, +Xenophon—the poets, the philosophers, the dramatists of ancient Rome and +Greece; and although it was not in their original tongue, the vivid imagination +of the man carried him back to their day, and enabled him to realise those +stirring scenes, to feel their passions, and comprehend their arguments. He +bought also most of the English poets, a few historians, and a large number of +scientific works, for he was devoured with an eager curiosity to understand the +stars that shone so brilliantly upon those hills—the phenomena of Nature +with which he was brought in daily contact. When he had mastered a book, his +friends the carriers, who called at the Shepherd’s Bush, took it back to +the county town and resold it for half-price, and these small sums went towards +fresh purchases. +</p> + +<p> +It may have been that these very untoward circumstances which would, to all +appearance, have checked the growth of his mind, actually tended to assist it. +He saw—he felt Nature. The wind, that whistled through the grass and +sighed in the tops of the dark fir trees, spoke to him in a mystic language. +The great sun, in unclouded splendour slowly passing over the wide, endless +hills, told him a part of the secret. His books were not read, in the common +sense of the term: they were <i>thought</i> through. Not a sentence but was +thought over, examined, and its full meaning grasped and firmly imprinted on +the memory. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Aymer! How desperately he longed to escape! How the soft summer breeze +seemed to woo him onwards he knew not whither! How the sun seemed to beckon, +till he fancied he could hear the echo of the surge as it roared on the +far-distant beach! +</p> + +<p> +He did escape once—only for a little while, to be forced ignominiously +back again, amid the jeers of his acquaintances. This happened before he knew +Violet. By dint of catching hares and rabbits, and by selling off an +accumulation of books, and by disposing of his gold watch—his only +property—he managed to get some twenty pounds, and with that sum went +straight to Florence. +</p> + +<p> +It was in spring, just before the warm summer comes, and he revelled in the +beauty of Italian skies and landscapes as he travelled. But his destination was +the Palazzo, which contains the statue of ideal woman, known as the Venus de +Medici. He stood before the living marble, rapt in thought, and then suddenly +burst into tears. +</p> + +<p> +This was perhaps childish. He had his faults; he was extremely proud and +oversensitive. The sudden transition from the harsh and rude life at +World’s End, among the weather-beaten and rough-speaking rustics, to this +new world of inexpressible beauty, overcame him. Hastily he brushed those tears +away, and recovered himself; but not so quickly as to escape the observation of +two sad grey eyes. Inadvertently, as he stood before the statue, he had +interfered with the line of sight of a lady who was engaged in sketching. She +had paused, and noticing his rapt attention, made no sign that he had +interrupted her work. Thus she witnessed his weakness; and being a person of a +thoughtful, perhaps too thoughtful, turn, she wondered at and pondered over it. +</p> + +<p> +Day by day Aymer, while his funds lasted and he could stay in Florence, came +and stood before the statue, lingering for hours in its close vicinity; so that +the artist, as she sketched, had the fullest opportunity of noting the strong +contrast between his delicate, intellectual features and slight, tall frame, +and the coarse dress he wore. Growing interested, she instructed her attendants +to make inquiries, and they easily elicited the name of the stranger, and the +place from which he had come. +</p> + +<p> +By a curious coincidence, it so happened that the lady-artist herself was the +owner of a family mansion, and moderately large estate but a few miles from +Aymer’s home. He was, in fact, perfectly familiar with her name, which +was a household word at World’s End, where distinguished names were few; +but moving in his low sphere he had never seen her face. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Lechester—Agnes Lechester to her friends—was “lord of +herself, that heritage of woe,” and being of an artistic turn of mind, +had spent much of her time upon the Continent; another reason being certain +unhappy matters connected with the history of the family mansion. She was much +struck with the singularity of a mere lad of low and poor estate thus coming to +Florence, obviously from pure love of the beautiful. Nothing approaching to +affection sprang up in her mind; it must be distinctly understood that her +interest was of a different character entirely. But from that moment Aymer +unconsciously became the subject of a certain amount of surveillance. He deemed +himself despised and unnoticed by all; but there was one who had not forgotten +him. +</p> + +<p> +Those happy days in lovely Florence passed like a dream. Even by living on a +few fruits and a little bread alone, the scanty stock of money he had carried +with him could not be made to last for ever. Barely a month of pure, unalloyed +pleasure—pure in every sense of the term—and poor Aymer, who knew +not how to get employment in a foreign city, was obliged to return, and Agnes +Lechester saw him no more standing in rapt admiration before the famous statue. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer reached Dover with five shillings in his pocket, and walked the whole of +the distance, one hundred and fifty miles, to World’s End, often sleeping +out at night under a rick. Slight as he was in frame, he possessed considerable +power of enduring fatigue, and had a way of lounging idly along the road, +abstracted in thought, and so walking mile after mile, till he woke up at his +destination. +</p> + +<p> +They laughed him to scorn at World’s End. The poor fellow wandered about +in the daytime on the Downs, hiding in the fir copses, lying on the ancient +earthwork entrenchment, and dreaming of his fair Florence, so many hundreds of +miles away. He grew dejected and hopeless till he saw Violet. Then in time, the +very destiny he deemed so harsh in confining him to that rude spot seemed even +superior to the glorious possibilities he had hoped for. For Violet took the +place of the marble goddess; yet there never was a beauty less like the Venus +de Medici. Lovely as are the ideals men have created for themselves, it +sometimes happens that Nature presents us with a rare gem, surpassing those +cold conceptions of the mind as far as the sun is above the earth. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_2_chap_02"></a>Chapter Two.</h2> + +<p> +Violet returned from a long visit to friends near London just about the time +that Aymer reached home, weary and footsore, from Dover. Although The Place, as +Jason Waldron’s house was called, was but two miles from World’s +End, Aymer had never seen her. She was but rarely at home, for Waldron had +given her the best education money could buy, and this necessitated much +absence from her native hills. But, education and visits over, Violet, with a +happy heart, returned to the dear old home at last. +</p> + +<p> +It was on one lovely afternoon in May that Aymer saw her for the first time. He +was lying upon the ground hidden in the brake which grew round the hedge of a +fir copse on the Downs. Through this copse there ran a narrow green lane or +track. He was reading his favourite little book of poetry—one that he +always carried in his pocket—the tiny edition of Shakespeare’s +Poems and Sonnets, published by William James Brown, thirty years since, and +now out of print. +</p> + +<p> +Somehow the spirit of those sonnets and that peculiar poetry had penetrated +into his mind. The little book was annotated on its narrow margin with notes in +his own handwriting, and he knew the greater part of it by heart. He had just +read the sonnet beginning— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;<br/> +Coral is far more red than her lips’ red.<br/> +* * * * *<br/> +And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare<br/> +As she belied with false compare, +</p> + +<p> +when the sound of horse’s hoofs made him look up. +</p> + +<p> +A lady, riding on a black horse, had entered the green lane, and was passing +slowly at a walk. It was Violet. Waldron. All that English beauty which seemed +to pervade the poetry of wonderful Will, to Aymer’s fancy appeared to be +hers. She passed him, and was gone, but her presence was left behind. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer could not have analysed her then—if asked, he could have barely +recounted the colour of her hair. Yet she dwelt with him—hovered about +him; he fed upon the remembrance of her until he had seen her again. By slow +degrees he grew to understand the reason of her surpassing loveliness—to +note the separate features, to examine the colours and the lines that composed +this enchanting picture. A new life dawned upon him—a new worship, so to +say. +</p> + +<p> +It happened that Martin Brown had some business to transact with Jason Waldron. +Waldron bore the reputation of being a “scholard;” he was known to +be comparatively wealthy; he did not mix with the society of World’s End; +and he was held in some sort of awe by the rude and uneducated residents in the +locality. +</p> + +<p> +Much as he despised that useless Aymer Malet, Martin in his secret heart felt +that he was better fitted to meet and talk with Mr Waldron than himself. Aymer +was, therefore, accredited to The Place. He went with no little trepidation, +knowing that it was Violet’s home, and sharing to some extent the local +hesitation to meet Waldron, who, being an invalid, he had never seen. Mr +Waldron received him with a cordial courtesy, which quickly put him at his +ease. When the grey-haired, handsome old man, sitting in his Bath-chair in the +shadow of a sycamore tree, extended his hand and said: “I had some slight +knowledge of your father, Mr Malet—he came of a good family,” poor +Aymer forgot his coarse dress, and exhibited the bearing of a born gentleman. +He could not help admiring the garden in which he found his host. This +evidently genuine admiration pleased Waldron extremely, for the garden had been +the solace of his retired manhood, and of his helpless age. He began to talk +about it directly. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the trees,” he said; “it is the trees that make it +look well. Trees are really far more beautiful than flowers. I planted most of +them; you have heard the Eastern saying, Mr Malet—that those who plant +trees live long. That yew-hedge?—no; I did not plant that. Such hedges +are rare now—that hedge has been growing fully a hundred years—the +stems, if you will look, are of immense size. To my mind, the old English yew +is a greater favourite than the many foreign evergreens now introduced. The +filbert walk?—yes; I planted that. Come and see me in a few months’ +time, and you shall crack as many as you choose. The old house +picturesque?—it is: I wish I had a sketch of it. You draw?—a +little; now try. Take out your pocket-book—ah! I see you have a regular +artist’s sketchbook.” +</p> + +<p> +To tell the honest truth, Aymer was not a little pleased to have the +opportunity of exhibiting his skill before some one who could appreciate it. He +was a natural draughtsman. I do not think he ever, even in later and more +fortunate days, attempted colours; but with pencil and crayon, or pen and ink, +he was inimitable. Once at work with his pencil, Aymer grew absorbed and forgot +everything—even the presence of the invalid, who watched him with +interest. The gables and the roof, the curious mullioned windows, the +chimney-stacks, the coat of arms and fantastic gargoyles, then the trees and +arbours grew upon the paper. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! that’s my window,” said a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +His pencil slipped and made a thick stroke—he looked round, it was +Violet. +</p> + +<p> +For the first time he looked into her eyes and met her face to face. He could +not draw. His hand would not keep steady; he blamed it to the heat of the +summer sun. Violet declared it was her fault. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Waldron seized the incomplete sketch, and insisted upon Mr Malet (the title, +humble as it was, was pleasant to Aymer’s ears) returning to finish it +next day. +</p> + +<p> +In his confusion Aymer somehow got away, and then remembered that the +sketchbook he had left behind was full of drawings, and amongst them there were +two that brought a flush to his brow as he thought of them. One was Violet on +horseback; the other a profile of her face. He wished to return and claim his +book, and yet he hesitated. A sweet uncertainty as to what she would think +mastered him. He dared not venture back. The next day passed, and the +next—still he did not go—a week, a fortnight. +</p> + +<p> +He could not summon up courage. Then came a note for “A. Malet, +Esq”—that “Esq” subjected him to bitter ridicule from +rude old Martin—from Mr Waldron, inquiring if he had been ill, and +begging him to visit at The Place, according to promise. +</p> + +<p> +There was no escape. He went; and from that hour the intimacy increased and +ripened till not a day passed without some part of it being spent with the +Waldrons. Violet had seen her portrait in the sketchbook, but she said not a +word. She made Aymer draw everything that took her fancy. Once he was bold +enough to ask to sketch her hand. She blushed, and became all dignity; Aymer +cowered. He was not bold enough. How could he be? With barely a shilling in his +pocket, rough corduroy trousers, an old battered hat, a black coat almost green +from long exposure to sun and rain;—after years of ridicule and jeering +how could he face her? +</p> + +<p> +His heart was full, but his lips dared not speak. His timidity and +over-sensitiveness made him blind to signs and tokens that would have been +instantly apparent to others of harder mould. He never saw the overtures that +the growing love in Violet’s breast compelled her to offer. He tormented +himself day and night with thinking how to compass and obtain her love, when it +was his already. +</p> + +<p> +The one great difficulty was his poverty. Think how he would, he could discover +no method by which it could be remedied. He had no means of obtaining +employment, and employment would imply absence from her. How could he make her +love him? He turned to his faithful friend and adviser, dear old Will. The tiny +volume of poems was carefully scanned, and he lit upon those verses +commencing— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +When as thine eye hath chose the dame<br/> +And stall’d the deer that thou shouldst strike. +</p> + +<p> +He asked himself if he had done as the lover was advised— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And when thou com’st thy tale to tell<br/> +Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk. +</p> + +<p> +Certainly he had not attempted to beguile her with insinuating flattery— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But plainly say thou lov’st her well,<br/> +And set her person forth to sale. +</p> + +<p> +This he had not done. How dare he say he loved her well? He had not the courage +to praise her person. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And to her will frame all thy ways. +</p> + +<p> +This he was willing and ready enough to do. He believed he had done so already; +but read on— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Spare not to spend, and chiefly there<br/> +Where thy desert may merit praise<br/> +By ringing in thy lady’s ear. +</p> + +<p> +Here he was at a standstill. He could not spend; he could not even dress as a +gentleman. He could not make her rich and beautiful presents. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The strongest castle, tower, and town<br/> +The golden bullet beats it down. +</p> + +<p> +He had no golden bullets—to him the castle was therefore impregnable. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Serve always with assured trust,<br/> +And in thy suit be humble, true— +</p> + +<p> +Advice such as this last he could and did follow conscientiously. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Have you not heard it said full oft,<br/> +A woman’s nay doth stand for nought?— +</p> + +<p> +Encouraging to those who could press the question, but he had not even courage +to get the first nay. It was the “golden bullet”—the lack of +the power to spend—the miserable poverty which pressed upon him with a +leaden weight. He did his best to follow infallible Will’s advice. He +snared twenty hares and sold them; he had still a small gold pencil-case +left—it had belonged to his mother. He sold that also. +</p> + +<p> +On foot he walked forty miles to Reading, and spent the whole proceeds in the +purchase of a pair of fine jet bracelets, which his instinct told him would +look well upon Violet’s white wrist. When he had got them, came the +difficulty—how could he give them to her? At last he employed a shepherd +lad to leave a parcel for Miss Waldron. +</p> + +<p> +He kept away several days, but love was more powerful than shame. He went. +</p> + +<p> +With Violet he strolled up the long shady filbert walk, with the clusters, now +ripe, hanging overhead. His heart beat fast, but he said nothing. On her part +she was silent. Suddenly she lifted up her arm and reached after a cluster of +the nuts high up. Her sleeve fell down; the beautiful arm was bare to the +elbow, and there was the bracelet! +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes met his; a lovely colour suffused her cheek. An uncontrollable impulse +seized him. He caught her hand and kissed it. Why linger? No one can tell how +these things come about. Their lips met, and it is enough. +</p> + +<p> +That was the happiest autumn Aymer ever knew. Even now he looks back at its +sweetness with a species of regret. The sunshine was warmer, the blue of the +sky richer, the yellow mist that hung over the landscape softer, the bee went +by with a joyous hum, the crimson-and-gold of the dying leaves was more +brilliant than ever it had been before or since. Love lent his palette to +Nature, and the world was aglow with colour. How delicious it is to see +everything through the medium, and in the company of a noble girl just ripening +into womanhood! I remember one such summer— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But age with his stealing steps<br/> +Has clawed me in his clutch. +</p> + +<p> +She was very beautiful; it is hard to describe her. It was not perhaps so much +the features, the hue of the hair, the colour of the eye, the complexion, or +even the shape, as the life, the vitality, the wonderful freshness which seemed +to throw a sudden light over her, as when the sunshine falls upon a bed of +flowers:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Idalian +Aphrodite, beautiful,<br/> +Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells,<br/> +With rosy, slender fingers backward drew<br/> +From her warm brows and bosom, her deep hair<br/> +Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat<br/> +And shoulder: from the violets her light foot<br/> +Shone rosy-white, and o’er her rounded form<br/> +Between the shadows of the vine-bunches<br/> +Floated the glowing sunlights as she moved. +</p> + +<p> +The modern taste for catalogues compels me to name the colour of her eye and +hair. Her eye was full, large, and lustrous; that deep black so rarely +seen—an eye that gave quick expression to the emotions of the +heart—that flashed with laughter, or melted with tenderness. Her hair was +not quite golden; it was properly brown, but so near the true golden that a +little sunlight lit it up with a glossy radiance impossible to express in +words. The complexion was that lovely mingling of red and white, which the +prince in the fairy tale prayed his lady-love might have, when he saw the +crimson blood of a raven he had slain, staining the translucent marble slab +upon which it had fallen. The nose was nearly straight; the lips full and +scarlet. She was tall, but not too tall. It is difficult for a woman to have a +good carriage unless she be of moderate height. Enough of the catalogue system. +</p> + +<p> +They visited all the places in the neighbourhood where Aymer’s pencil +could find a subject. Now it was a grand old beech tree; now only a grey stone, +set up centuries and centuries since as a “stone of memorial” by +races long reduced to ashes; now The Towers, the home of Lady Lechester. With +them always went Dando, Waldron’s favourite dog, a huge mastiff, who +gambolled about in unwieldly antics at Violet’s feet. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer listened to her as she played. He sat by the invalid under the shadow of +the sycamore tree near the open window, where he could see her sitting at the +piano, pouring forth the music of Mendelssohn in that peculiar monotonous +cadence which marks the master’s works and fills the mind with a pleasant +melancholy. Now and then her head turned, a glance met his, and then the long +eyelashes drooped again. Presently out she would come with a rush, making old +Dando (short for Dandolo) bound and bark with delight as he raced her round the +green, tearing her flowing dress with his teeth, and whisking away when she +tried to catch him. +</p> + +<p> +The grace of her motions, the suppleness of her lithe form, filled +Aymer’s heart with a fierce desire to clasp her waist and devour her +lips, while the invalid laughed aloud at the heavy bounds of his dog. The old +man saw clearly what was going forward, yet he did not put forth his hand to +stay it. They were a happy trio that summer and autumn at World’s End. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_2_chap_03"></a>Chapter Three.</h2> + +<p> +The summer passed away, as all things do, the winter, and the spring blossomed +afresh, and still the course of true love ran smooth with Aymer and Violet. +</p> + +<p> +The winter had been only one degree less pleasant than the summer. Violet had a +beautiful voice; Aymer’s was not nearly so fine: still, it was fairly +good, and scarcely an evening passed without duets and solos on the pianoforte, +while old Waldron, animated for the time beyond his wont, accompanied them upon +the violin. He had an instrument which, next to his daughter and his dog Dando, +he valued above all things. It was by Guarnerius, and he handled it with more +care than a mother does her infant, expatiating upon the quality of the wood, +the sycamore and pine, the beauty of the varnish, the peculiar, inimitable curl +of the scroll, which had genius in its very twist. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer was a ready listener. In the first place, he had grown to look upon +Waldron in the light that he would have regarded an affectionate and beneficent +father. Then he was, above all things, anxious to please Violet, and he knew +that she adored the Silver Fleece, as she called him, in laughing allusion to +his odd Christian name, Jason, and to his grey hairs. And, lastly, he really +did feel a curiosity and a desire to learn. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes Aymer gave Violet lessons in drawing, and she repaid him with lessons +in French and music, being proficient in both. +</p> + +<p> +After a while Waldron discovered that this boy, without means or friends, had +made himself acquainted with the classics, and had even journeyed as a pilgrim +to the shrines of ancient art at Florence. +</p> + +<p> +At this he was highly pleased. He at once set to work to ground Aymer in the +original languages in which Plato and Livy wrote. He taught him to appreciate +the delicate allusions, and exquisite turn of diction, of Horace. He corrected +the crude ideas which the self-instructed student had formed, and opened to him +the wide field of modern criticism. The effect upon Aymer’s mind was most +beneficial, and the old man, while teaching the youth, felt his heart, already +predisposed, yearning towards him more and more. +</p> + +<p> +To Violet this was especially a happy omen, for she, above all things, loved +her only parent, and had not ceased to fear lest her affection for Aymer should +be met by his disapproval. As time went on, the ties of intimacy still further +strengthened. +</p> + +<p> +Waldron was now often seen in deep thought, and left the young people more to +themselves. He busied himself with pen and ink, with calculations and figures, +to the subject-matter of which he did not ask their attention. +</p> + +<p> +Even yet Aymer had not thought of marriage; even yet he had not overcome his +constitutional sensitiveness so much as to contemplate such a possibility. It +was enough to dwell in the sunshine of her presence. Thoroughly happy in her +love, he never thought of to-morrow. Perhaps it is a matter to be regretted +that we cannot always remain in this state—ever enjoying the ideal +without approaching nearer to the realisation, for the realisation, let it be +never so glorious, is of the earth, earthy. +</p> + +<p> +It is quite true that women like courage, and that boldness often goes a long +way; but it is questionable whether with high-bred natures a subdued, quiet, +and delicate manner does not go still further. Aymer was incapable of +self-laudation, of that detestable conceit which some think it proper to show +when they have made what they are pleased to call “a conquest.” +Pity the poor castles that have stooped to them! +</p> + +<p> +His happiness had but one alloy—the perpetual remembrance of his own +unworthiness, the immeasurable difference in his worldly position, which made +it a presumption in him even to frequent her presence, much less to bask in her +love. There were plenty who did not fail to remind him of this discrepancy in +their mutual positions, for his intimacy at The Place could not, of course, +pass unnoticed. +</p> + +<p> +Martin Brown said nothing whatever. If there was any alteration in his manner +as the truth dawned on him, it was in favour of Aymer. With such men everything +is judged by results. While Aymer went about sketching alone, he despised him +and his pencil; the moment the very same talent obtained him the notice of +those in a superior station, then Aymer was do longer such a fool. Martin said +nothing. He refrained from his former jeers, and abstained from telling Aymer +to go and mind the sheep. +</p> + +<p> +It was also to his advantage that Aymer should get rich acquaintances, and so +possibly obtain a livelihood, and relieve him of an expense, which, however +small, was always a bitter subject with him. +</p> + +<p> +But there were others—farmers’ sons—in the district who did +not spare Aymer. They despised him; they could not understand him; and they +hated him for his luck in carrying off the squire’s daughter. They +credited him with the most mercenary motives, and called him a beggarly +upstart. If Aymer chanced to pass near them he was saluted with ironical bows +and cheers, and hats were obsequiously doffed to “My Lord Muck,” or +“My Lord Would-Be.” +</p> + +<p> +He made no reply, but the insult went home. He knew that there was a great deal +of ground for this treatment. He knew that his conduct must appear in such a +light to others; and yet how welcome they always made him at The Place. He +questioned himself if he was doing right; sometimes his pride said “Go; +carve yourself a fortune, and then return for her;” but love, strong love +always conquered and drove him forward. He deemed that, with the exception of +Violet and Waldron, all the world looked upon him with contempt. He was wrong. +</p> + +<p> +In the spring, Violet began to ride again over the Downs. This habit for a +moment again lowered Aymer in his own estimation, for he had no horse to +accompany her. What was his delight and astonishment when one day Violet took +him to the stables and asked him how he liked the new grey horse. It was a +handsome animal—Aymer admired it, as in duty bound, and as, indeed, he +could not help, yet with a heart full of mortification, when Violet whispered +that papa had bought it for him to ride with her. She flung her arms, in her +own impulsive way, round his neck, kissed him, and rushed away to don her +riding-habit before he could recover from his astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +It was true. In an hour’s time they were galloping over the soft springy +turf of the Downs, trying the paces of the grey, who proved faster than the +black. The rides were repeated day by day; and it often happened that, while +thus enjoying themselves, they passed one or more of those very persons who had +so often insulted Aymer. +</p> + +<p> +Instead of sitting firmer and with pride in his saddle, Aymer felt that he all +the more deserved their censure, and looked the other way as he went by. +</p> + +<p> +He did not know that there was one eye at least that watched him with pleasure, +and with something like a quiet envy. It was the same grey eye that had +observed, him in the Palazzo at Florence. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes Lechester had returned to England to spend some time at the old Towers, +and had not failed to make inquiries for the young pilgrim who, in coarse garb, +she had seen at the shrine of art. She heard of the intimacy with Waldron, whom +she had once or twice spoken to; and as the lovers rode slowly beneath her +grand and comfortless home, she sat at her window, and paused in her art-work, +and looked down upon them and sighed. She could not but envy them their joy and +youth, their path strewn with roses and lighted by love. She had no need to +envy Violet’s beauty, for, although no longer young, Agnes Lechester was +a fine woman. It was the life, the full glowing life, she deemed so desirable. +And she rejoiced that the poor pilgrim had found so fair a lady-love. So that +there was one eye at least which, unknown to Aymer, watched him with a quiet +pleasure and approval. Had he known it, it would have encouraged him greatly. +By precipitating matters it might have prevented—but let us proceed. +</p> + +<p> +Jason Waldron knew that his daughter loved, and was beloved. He was no ordinary +man. His life had been spent far from those money-making centres where, in +time, the best of natures loses its original bias, and sees nothing but gold. +Age, he believed, had given him some power of penetration; and in Aymer he +thought he had found one in a thousand—one with whom his darling +daughter’s future would be safe. “He will not follow the universal +idol,” thought the old man. “He will be content with art and +literature, with nature and with Violet. I can see nothing in store for them +but the happiest of lives.” He waited long, expecting Aymer to approach +the subject in some distant manner. At last he comprehended his reluctance. +“He is poor and proud—he is afraid, and no wonder,” he +thought. “He shall not suffer for that.” +</p> + +<p> +The benevolent old man, anxious only to complete the happiness of those he +loved, resolved to be the first, and to hold out a welcoming hand. One day he +called for Aymer to his study, and motioning him to a seat, averted his face, +not to confuse him, and said that he had long seen the mutual affection between +Violet and him. He understood why Aymer had refrained from taking him into his +confidence—he could appreciate the difficulties of his position. Without +any hesitation, he approved of Violet’s choice. His own years had now +begun to weigh upon him, and he grew daily more anxious that Violet should be +settled. He proposed, therefore, that if Aymer would not mind the arrangement, +they should be united as speedily as possible, and that after a short trip they +should return and live with him at The Place. He could not spare Violet +entirely—he must hear the sound of her voice, and see the light of her +eyes, while yet the power to do so remained with him. He was not really rich. +In that poor district, indeed, he appeared so, but it was only by comparison. +Were he to be placed in some great city, side by side with the men whose trade +was gold, his little all would sink into the utmost insignificance. Beside rude +rustics, who lived from hand to mouth, content if they paid the rent, and +perhaps put by a hundred guineas in the county bant, he was well off; but not +when weighed against the world. +</p> + +<p> +He had but the house he dwelt in, a few acres of surrounding pasture, and three +thousand pounds placed out on loan. This money brought in a good interest, but +he had lately thought of calling it in for greater safety, as he felt himself +to be getting old in every sense of the term. +</p> + +<p> +It was obvious, therefore, that on the score of expense alone it would be +difficult for him to give a dower to Violet sufficient to support a second +home. If they could be happy with him, why he should be content. +</p> + +<p> +He turned and held out his hand to Aymer. Aymer took it, but could say nothing. +He was literally overwhelmed. To him, after so long a solitude, after so much +contempt, this marvellous good fortune was overpowering. Jason pretended not to +notice his confusion. +</p> + +<p> +“We understand one another,” he said. “It is agreed, is it +not?” +</p> + +<p> +Despite all his attempts, Aymer could but incline his head. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a lovely day—take Violet for a ride to Berbury camp.” +</p> + +<p> +How Aymer managed to convey what had passed to Violet he never knew, but that +was the longest ride they ever had together, and it was dark before The Place +was reached. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer did not go home after quitting Violet. He walked away upon the Downs +until safe from observation, then threw himself upon the sward, and poured out +his heart in thanksgiving. When he had grown a little calmer he leant against a +beech-trunk and gazed at the stars. In that short hour upon the solitary Downs +he lived a whole lifetime of happiness. There are some of us who can remember +such hours—they occur but once to any human being. +</p> + +<p> +To do the rough residents of the district justice, so soon as it was understood +to be settled that they were to be married, then the tone of the place changed, +and they no longer insulted and annoyed him. Some wished him joy and happiness: +not without a tinge of envy at his good fortune, expressed in the rude language +of the hills, “I wish I had thee luck, lad.” +</p> + +<p> +It was generally agreed that when the marriage took place there should be an +arch erected and decorated with flowers, for the bride and bridegroom to pass +under; that the path through the churchyard should be strewn with roses, that +volleys of firearms should be discharged, and the day kept as a holiday. This +was settled at the Shepherd’s Bush over foaming jugs of ale. +</p> + +<p> +“Arter all,” said an old fellow, “he bean’t such a bad +sort o’ chap. A’ mind a’ tuk a main bit o’ trouble +loike to pull a ewe o’ mine out of a ditch where hur laid on hur +back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay!” said another; “and a’ drawed my little Kittie +on the kitchen wall wi’ a bit o’ charcoal as natural as ever hur +walked—zo let’s gie ’un a rouser, chaps, and no +mistake!” +</p> + +<p> +This was how it happened that at World’s End Races that fateful year, +early in October, a delicate-looking young man, commonly dressed, stood beside +the pretty pony-carriage under the hawthorn tree. The marriage was fixed for +that day week. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_2_chap_04"></a>Chapter Four.</h2> + +<p> +The marriage would have taken place earlier but for two circumstances: first, +the difficulty of obtaining the wedding outfit for Violet in that +out-of-the-way place; and secondly, because Jason insisted upon some important +alterations being made in the old house, in order to render it more comfortable +for his children. +</p> + +<p> +There is no event in life which causes so much discussion, such pleasant +anticipation, as the marriage-day; and at The Place there was not a single +thing left unmentioned; every detail of the ceremony was talked over, and it +was a standing joke of Jason’s to tell Violet to study her prayer-book, a +remark that never failed to make the blood mount to her forehead. +</p> + +<p> +She grew somewhat pensive as the final moment approached—with all her +youth and spirits, with all the happy omens that accompanied the course of her +love, she could not view this, the most important step she would ever take, +always with thoughtless levity. She became silent and thoughtful, gave up +riding, and devoted herself almost exclusively to attending upon Jason, till +Aymer—silly fellow!—grew jealous, and declared it was unkind of her +to look forward to the wedding-day as if it was a sentence of imprisonment. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Waldron had lived so retired that there was some little difficulty in fixing +upon a representative to give Violet away, for as an invalid he could not +himself go to the church; and this was the only thing he was heard to +regret—that he should not see Violet married. However, he consoled +himself with the thought that he should see her immediately afterwards, as the +church was hardly half a mile distant, down in a narrow combe or valley. After +some reflection, Mr Waldron decided upon asking his solicitor, Mr Merton, of +Barnham, to act as his representative and give the bride away. +</p> + +<p> +Merton, who was an old bachelor, was really delighted at the idea, but with +true professional mendacity made an immense virtue of the sacrifice of time it +entailed. He really was so busy with a great law case just coming on that +really—but then his old friend Waldron, and lovely Miss Violet—duty +pulled him one way and inclination another, and beauty, as was proper, +triumphed. +</p> + +<p> +Violet had few acquaintances, and it was more difficult still to find her a +bridesmaid—not that there were not plenty ready to fill that onerous +post—but she disliked the idea of a stranger. Mr Merton, the solicitor, +solved the difficulty by suggesting a niece of his, a merry girl whom Violet +had met once or twice. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer could not do less than ask old Martin Brown to stand as his best man, +never dreaming that he would accept the task. But what was his surprise when +Martin declared that he should enjoy the fun, and would rather miss Barnham +fair than not be there. He came out tolerably handsome for him; he offered +Aymer a five-pound note to purchase a suitable dress! This note Aymer very +respectfully declined to take, and the farmer, half repenting of his +generosity, did not press him too hard. Yet he could not help expressing his +wonder as to how Aymer meant to appear at church. “Thee bisn’t +a-goin’ to marry th’ squire’s darter in thee ould hat?” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer smiled and said nothing. Fortune had aided him in this way too. After +endless disappointments and “returned with thanks,” he had suddenly +received a cheque for a sketch of his which had been accepted by an illustrated +paper. Immediately afterwards came another cheque for a short story accepted by +a magazine. This success, small as it was, elated him, if anything, more than +the approaching marriage-day. He had tried, and tried, and tried, and failed +again and again, till he despaired and ceased to make the attempt, till the +necessity of obtaining some clothes drove him to the last desperate venture. He +was elated beyond measure. A successful author, a successful artist, and just +about to marry the most beautiful woman in the world! +</p> + +<p> +He resolved to tell Violet nothing about it, but to show her the sketch and the +story as they were upon their trip. Thus it was that he was independent of +Martini grudging generosity. Fortune did not stop even here. As if determined +to shower delight upon him—to make up at one blow for the cruel +isolation, the miserable restraint he had undergone—she never seemed to +tire of opening up fresh vistas of pleasure. Both Violet and Aymer would have +been satisfied, and more than satisfied, with a simple visit to the seaside; +but Jason was not so easily pleased. His daughter was his life—nothing +was too good for her—and, besides, such an event happened but once in a +lifetime, and it was fit and proper that it be accompanied with memorable +circumstances. He announced his intention of sending his children to Florence. +</p> + +<p> +To Florence, the beautiful city, which dwelt for ever in Aymer’s +dreams—the city he had described time after time to Violet, till the girl +thought it the finest upon earth. He was to revisit Florence, and to revisit it +with Violet! His heart was full—it would have been impossible to add +another blessing. +</p> + +<p> +Violet raced about the house and the garden, teasing Dando to +distraction—all her pensiveness dispelled, murmuring +“Florence” at every turn. What further joy could there be in +store?—it was impossible. It is almost safe to say that these two were +the happiest in England. Well they might be. They had all upon their +side—i.e., youth. +</p> + +<p> +Violet was to be married upon her twenty-first birthday; Aymer was twenty-three +only. Money—not riches—but sufficient for an easy life. Italy in +view—the land of the artist and the poet! It was like a fairy dream! +</p> + +<p> +The days flew by. The dresses came—oh, what eager discussions and +conferences there were over the dresses! All the farmers’ daughters and +wives in the neighbourhood to whom Violet was even distantly known, claimed the +privilege to see the trousseau. In London it would have been +overlooked—there all things are upon a grand scale. +</p> + +<p> +At World’s End the ladies were never tired of descanting upon the glories +of the silk and satin, the lace and tulle. How can a wretched, unsympathising +man describe the sensation produced by Violet’s wedding outfit? +</p> + +<p> +The dear girl was in ecstasies. Waldron had gone to the utmost limit of his +purse—his friend Merton even frowned a little—but he argued it was +only for once—just this once—he must be permitted a little +extravagance on Violet’s marriage-day. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer was again plagued with his old tormentors—they did not sneer or +jeer at him, but he had to run the gauntlet of rude jokes and rustic wit. He +forgave them, and asked as many as he could to the breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +The breakfast was to be laid out in that very apartment the window of which +opened upon the garden near the sycamore tree, where he had sat so many times +listening to Violet playing upon the pianoforte. There was of course a cake, +and there was to be what had never before been seen or tasted at World’s +End from time immemorial—i.e., several dozens of champagne. +</p> + +<p> +If the wedding outfit caused a sensation among the ladies, this champagne was +all the talk among the men. They thought of nothing else—it was the +subject of endless allusions and unabating anticipation. Here and there was one +who could say he had tasted the wine—when after a good hunting spin Lord +So-and-So had asked the sportsmen to refresh themselves at his mansion. But the +majority had not the faintest notion of what it was like, and formed the most +fantastic expectations. There were a few who doubted whether there would be any +champagne, and treated it as a myth, till the servants at The Place, proud of +their importance, admitted some favoured individuals who were regaled in secret +with—the taste?—no, but the view only of certain tall bottles +dressed in rosy tissue paper, upon the removal of which stood out the far-famed +silver-foil, and doubt was no more. World’s End was full of its first +champagne treat. +</p> + +<p> +Old Martin Brown swelled up into a person of enormous importance, as being the +nearest relative of the bridegroom; he was looked upon as an oracle, and his +remarks listened to with intense interest at the nightly tobacco parliament at +the Shepherd’s Bush. +</p> + +<p> +The carriers took fabulous reports of what was to happen at World’s End +all over the district, and scores of honest people made up their minds to +trudge to Bury Wick Church. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer was no longer knocked up at five in the morning, as was the custom, to +breakfast at six. He was undisturbed. No more jeers and contempt—he was +treated with deference. “My nevvy” was a success; Martin spoke of +his “nevvy” as if the connection did him honour. +</p> + +<p> +I hope among the readers of this history there will be many ladies who can +remember their feelings on the approach of the marriage-day. Let them kindly +recall those moments of wild excitement, of trepidation lest some accident +should happen, of a half-hesitation, of a desire to plunge at once and get it +over—and approximately they will understand Violet’s heart. +</p> + +<p> +Even yet Fortune had not exhausted her favours. On the morning of World’s +End Races, just one short week before the day, there came a letter in an +unknown handwriting, addressed to Aymer Malet, Esq, enclosing five ten-pound +notes from an anonymous donor, who wished him every felicity, and advised him +to persevere in his art studies. +</p> + +<p> +This extraordinary gift, so totally unexpected, filled Aymer with astonishment. +It seemed as if it had dropped from the skies, for he had not the remotest +suspicion that Lady Lechester was watching him with interest. +</p> + +<p> +At last the day came. Violet was awake at the earliest dawn, and saw the sun +rise, clear and cloudless, from the window. It was one of those days which +sometimes occur in autumn, with all the beauty and warmth of summer, without +its burning heat, and made still more delicious by the sensation of idle +drowsiness—a day for lotos eating. The beech trees already showed an +orange tint in places; the maples were turning scarlet; the oaks had a trace of +buff. The rooks lazily cawed as they flew off with the acorns, the hills were +half hidden with a yellowy vapour, and a few distant fleecy clouds, far up, +floated in the azure. A dream-like, luxurious day, such as happens but once a +year! +</p> + +<p> +Violet was up with the sun—how could she rest? Miss Merton was with her, +chatting gaily. Oh, the mysteries of the toilet! my feeble pen must leave that +topic to imagination. All I can say is, that it seemed as if it never would be +completed, notwithstanding the reiterated warnings of Jason that the time was +going fast. +</p> + +<p> +There came one more pleasant surprise. +</p> + +<p> +A strange man on horseback was seen riding up to The Place. This was so rare an +event that Violet’s heart beat fast, fearing lest even at the eleventh +hour something should happen to cause delay. She waited; her hands trembled. +Even the delicious toilet had to be suspended. +</p> + +<p> +Footsteps came up the staircase, and then the maidservant, bearing in her hand +a small parcel, advanced to Miss Waldron. With trembling fingers she cut the +string—it was a delicate casket of mother-of-pearl. The key was in it; +she opened the lid, and an involuntary exclamation of surprise and admiration +burst from her lips. +</p> + +<p> +There lay the loveliest necklace of pearls that ever the sun had shone upon. +Rich, costly pearls—pearls that were exactly fitted above all jewels for +her—pearls that she had always wished for—pearls! They were round +her neck in a moment. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Merton was in raptures; the maidservant lost her wits, and ran downstairs +calling every one to go up and see Miss Vi’let “in them +shiners!” +</p> + +<p> +For a while, in the surprise and wonder, the donor had been forgotten. Under +the necklace was a delicate pink note, offering Lady Lechester’s sincere +desire that Miss Waldron would long wear her little present, and wishing her +every good thing. When the wedding trip was over, would <i>Mrs</i> Aymer Malet +let her know that she might call? +</p> + +<p> +Violet was not perfect any more than other girls; she had naturally a vein of +pride; she did feel no little elation at this auspicious mark of attention and +regard from a person in Lady Lechester’s position. The rank of the donor +added to the value of the gift. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Waldron was much affected by this token of esteem. He could not express his +pleasure to the giver, because her messenger had galloped off the moment he had +delivered the parcel. The importance of the bride, great enough before, +immediately rose ninety per cent, in the eyes of Miss Merton, and a hundred and +fifty per cent, in the eyes of the lower classes. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Waldron, examining the pearls with the eye of a connoisseur, valued them at +the very lowest at two hundred guineas. The involuntary tears of the poor +pilgrim at the shrine of art had indeed solidified into gems! +</p> + +<p> +The news flew over the adjacent village of Bury Wick; the servants at The Place +spread it abroad, and in ten minutes it was known far and wide. The excitement +was intense. Champagne was grand enough—but pearls! World’s End +went wild! Champagne and pearls in one day! The whole place turned out to give +the bride a triumphant reception. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer was forgotten in the excitement over Violet: forgotten, but not by the +bride. All she wished was to be able to show him her present—but +etiquette forbade his being sent for on that particular morning; he must meet +her at the church. +</p> + +<p> +At the church—goodness! these pearls had delayed the toilet, and ten +o’clock had struck. At eleven—ah! at eleven! +</p> + +<p> +Mr Merton had not arrived yet. He had arranged to bring his carriage; at The +Place they had nothing grander than the pony-carriage. Mr Merton, anxious to do +the thing well, as he expressed it, had sent word that he should bring his +carriage and pair of greys, to take the bride to the church. +</p> + +<p> +From the earliest dawn the bells at Bury Church had been going from time to +time; and every now and then there was a scattered fire of musketry, like +skirmishing; it was the young farmers and their friends arriving with their +guns, and saluting. +</p> + +<p> +But at a quarter-past ten there was a commotion. The bells burst out merrier +than ever; there was volley after volley of musketry, and cheering which +penetrated even to the chamber of the bride, where she sat before the mirror +with the pearls round her neck. It was Merton driving up in style, with his +greys decorated with wedding favours. +</p> + +<p> +Bang! clang! shout, and hurrah! The hand from Barnham struck up. “See the +Conquering Hero comes!” There never was such a glorious day before or +since at World’s End. +</p> + +<p> +“Nevvy,” said old Martin, already a little warm, and slapping Aymer +on the back, “nevvy, my buoy! Thee bist th’ luckiest dog in +Inglandt—champagne and purls—Ha! ha! ha!” +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_2_chap_05"></a>Chapter Five.</h2> + +<p> +There was an attempt at order, but it was an utter failure. The men came +crowding after Merton’s carriage shouting and firing guns, the horses +snorted, and when Violet glanced from the window, the excitement of the scene +made her hesitate and draw back. +</p> + +<p> +Merton—a regular <i>lady’s bachelor</i>, so to say—was equal +to the occasion; it was not the first at which he had assisted. He at once +became the soul of the ceremonies. He congratulated Waldron, hastened +everybody, went into the apartment where the breakfast was laid out, and with +his own hands re-arranged it to his satisfaction, shouting out all the time to +the bride to make haste. +</p> + +<p> +She came at last. How few brides look well in their wedding-dresses. Even girls +who are undeniably handsome fail to stand the trying ordeal; but Violet was so +happy, so radiant, she could not help but appear to the best advantage. +</p> + +<p> +Poor old Jason’s lip quivered as he gazed at his girl’s +face—for the last time as <i>his</i>—his lip quivered, and the +words of his blessing would not come; his throat swelled, and a tear gathered +in his eye. She bent and kissed him, turned and crossed the threshold. +</p> + +<p> +Waldron wheeled himself to the large open window, and watched her walk to the +carriage along the carpet, put down that her feet might not touch the ground. +</p> + +<p> +Who shall presume to analyse the feelings of that proud and happy old man? The +carriage moved, the crowd shouted, the guns fired; he wheeled his chair a +little round, and his head leant forward. Was he thinking of a day twenty-two +years ago, when he—not a young man, but still full of hope—led +another fair bride to the altar; a bride who had long since left him? +</p> + +<p> +It was an ovation—a triumph all the way along that short half-mile to the +church: particularly as they entered the village. The greys pranced slowly, +lifting their hoofs well up, champing the bit, proud of their burden. The bride +and Miss Merton sat on one seat, Mr Merton on the other. All the men and boys +and children, all the shepherds and ploughboys for miles and miles, who had +gathered together, set up a shout. The bells rang merrily, the guns popped and +banged, handkerchiefs were waved. Across the village street, but a few yards +from the churchyard lych-gate, they had erected an arch—as had been +determined on at the Shepherd’s Bush—an arch that would have done +credit to more pretentious places, with the motto, “Joy be with +you.” +</p> + +<p> +The bride dismounted at the lych-gate, which was itself covered with flowers, +and set her foot upon the scarlet cloth which the good old vicar had himself +provided, and which was laid down right to the porch. +</p> + +<p> +The churchyard was full of children, chiefly girls, all carrying roses and +flowers to strew the path of the happy couple when they emerged united. In the +porch the ringers stood, four on each side, with their hands upon the ropes +ready to clash forth the news that the deed was done. The old old clerk was +there, in his black suit, which had done duty on so many occasions. +</p> + +<p> +She entered the little church—small, but extremely ancient. She passed +the antique font, her light footstep pressed upon the recumbent brazen image of +a knight of other days. The venerable vicar advanced to meet her, the sunshine +falling on his grey head. But where was Aymer? Surely all must be well: but she +could not see him—not for the moment. True-hearted, loving Violet had +looked for Aymer with his old battered hat, in the corduroy trousers and the +green coat she had known him in so long. +</p> + +<p> +For the moment she barely recognised the handsome, gentlemanly man before her. +It was Aymer—oh yes, it was Aymer—and how noble he looked now that +he was dressed as became him. Her heart gave another bound of +joy—involuntarily she stepped forward; what could be wanting to complete +her happiness that day? Certainly it would have been hard to have named one +single thing as lacking—not one. The pews were full of women of all +classes—they had been mostly reserved for them—the men finding +standing room as best they could; and a buzz of admiration went round the +church as Violet came into fall view. Her dress was good—it was nothing +to belles who flourish in Belgravia; but at World’s End—goodness, +it was Paris itself. +</p> + +<p> +That costume formed the one great topic of conversation for years afterwards. I +know nothing of these things; but Miss Merton told me a few days ago that the +bride wore a wreath of white rosebuds and myrtle upon her lovely head, and a +veil of real Brussels lace. Her earrings were of rubies and diamonds—a +present that morning from gallant Mr Merton. She had a plain locket (with a +portrait of Waldron), and wore the splendid necklace of pearls, the gift of +Lady Lechester. +</p> + +<p> +Her dress was white satin, trimmed with Brussels lace, and her feet were shod +in satin boots. Of course the “rosy, slender fingers” were cased in +the traditional white kid, and around her wrist was a bracelet of solid dull +gold—the bridegroom’s present, only delivered just as she stepped +into the carriage. She carried a bouquet of stephanotis, orange, and myrtle. +</p> + +<p> +It is very likely I have misunderstood Miss Merton’s lively description, +but I think that the above was something like it. Miss Merton herself wore a +white silk trimmed with turquoise, blue, a gold locket with monogram in +turquoise and pearls, and earrings to match—a gift from Mr +Waldron—and a bouquet, I think, chiefly of white roses and jessamine. +</p> + +<p> +It was a lovely sight. The sunshine fell upon the bride as she advanced up the +aisle—fell upon her through the antique panes which softened and mellowed +the light. Never did a fairer bride mount the chancel steps. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer waited for her. Till now Violet had been comparatively calm; but now, +face to face with the clergyman robed in white, near to the altar and its holy +associations, as the first tones of his sonorous voice fell upon her ear, what +wonder that her knees trembled and the blood forsook her cheek. Aymer +surreptitiously, and before he had a right in etiquette to do so, touched her +hand gently—it strengthened and revived her; she blushed slightly, and +the vicar’s voice, as he gazed upon her beauty, involuntarily softened +and fell. While his lips uttered the oft-repeated words, so known by heart that +the book in his hand was unneeded, his soul offered up a prayer that this fair +creature—yes, just this one—should be spared those pains and +miseries which were ordained upon the human race. +</p> + +<p> +The flag upon the church tower waved in the gentle breeze; the children were +marshalled beside the path in two long rows, with their hands full of flowers; +the women in the cottages were hunting up the old slippers and shoes; the men +looked to the caps upon the nipples of their guns; the handsome greys snorted +at the gate; and the grand old sun, above all, bathed the village in a flood of +light. I cannot linger over it longer. +</p> + +<p> +The solemn adjuration was put, the question asked, and Aymer in an audible +voice replied, “I will.” The still more solemn adjuration to the +woman was repeated—it is but a few words, but it conveys a world of +meaning, it sums up a lifetime—and Violet’s answer was upon her +lips, when, before she could form the words, the chancel side-door burst open, +and there— +</p> + +<p> +There before her very eyes, before the bride to whom that day was consecrated, +who for that one day was by all law human and divine to be kept from all +miserable things, there stood an awe-struck, gasping man, whose white +shirt-front was one broad sheet of crimson blood. +</p> + +<p> +It is difficult to gather together, from the confused narratives of those who +were present, what really happened in consecutive order, but this is nearly it. +Not only was his shirt-front blood, but his grey hair and partially bald head +were spotted that awful red, and his trembling hands dripped—the blood +literally dripped from them on to the stone pavement. For one awful moment +there was a pause—utter silence. The man staggered forward and said in +broken tones, but audible over the whole church— +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Violet; your father is <i>dead</i>!” And the bride dropped +like a stone before Aymer at her side, or Merton just behind, could grasp her +arm. She was down upon the cold stone floor, her wedding-dress all crumpled up, +her wreath fallen off, the light of life and love gone from her eyes, the happy +glow from her cheek. Even in that moment the clergyman’s heart smote him. +His impious prayer! That this one because of her beauty should be +spared—and struck down before his very eyes in the midst of her joy and +triumph. All that they could see in the body of the church was a shapeless heap +of satin where but a moment before had stood the most envied of them all. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer knelt and lifted her head; it lay helpless upon his hands. As he did so +the wedding-ring, which he had ready, slipped unnoticed from his grasp and was +lost. When it was missed, days afterwards, and a search was instituted, it +could not be found, and this the superstitious treasured up as a remarkable +fact. +</p> + +<p> +Merton raised her up; her frame was limp and helpless in their arms. They +carried her to the vestry and brought water. Miss Merton, trembling as she was, +did not faint; but, good, brave girl, did her best. +</p> + +<p> +In the excitement over the bride, even the man who had brought this awful news +was for the moment forgotten. When they looked for him he was leaning against +the altar-rails, as if about to fall, and some of the blood was spotted on the +sacred altar-cloth. The men rushed at him; the women, afraid, held back and +watched what new harm must come. They deemed that it was some horrible +creature; they could not believe that it was only the old gardener at The +Place—Waldron’s oldest servant. +</p> + +<p> +Only the gardener. He was as helpless as themselves. He had over-exerted +himself running to the church with his dreadful tidings, and being subject to +heart disease, he could barely stand, and only gasp out that “Master was +killed, and quite dead!” +</p> + +<p> +The men, finding nothing could be got from him, ran out, and made direct for +The Place. Some leapt on their horses, but those on foot crossing the meadow, +as the gardener had done, got there first. All the men made for The +Place—all the women stayed to see what would become of the bride. +</p> + +<p> +It was a dead faint, but it was not long before she came to, and immediately +insisted upon being taken home. They would have detained her in the vestry till +at least confirmation of the dreadful intelligence had arrived. But no, she +begged and prayed them to take her; and fearing lest uncertainty should do more +harm than certainty, they half-led, half-carried her from the church. +</p> + +<p> +There was not a dry eye among the sympathising women who had remained—not +one among those rude, half-educated people whose heart was not bursting with +sorrow for the poor shrinking form that was borne through their midst. +</p> + +<p> +But a few short moments since, and how proud and happy had she been advancing +up the aisle! The children were gone from the churchyard; their flowers cast +away, not in the pathway of the bride, but on the graves. In their haste, they +had trod upon the scarlet cloth laid down, and discoloured and stained it. The +ringers had deserted the bell-ropes, the village street was empty and +silent—only the unconscious flag waved upon the tower, and the arch stood +for them to pass beneath, with its motto—now a bitter +mockery—“Joy be with you!” +</p> + +<p> +The carriage rolled along the road, and as they approached The Place, Merton +began to recover his professional calm; and the return of his mind to a more +normal state was marked by doubt—Was it true? +</p> + +<p> +But no sooner had they entered the garden than he saw it was. The faces of the +knots of men, their low, hushed voices, all told but one tale—death had +been there! +</p> + +<p> +They tried to get Violet to go upstairs to her own room, but she would not. +“I must see him!” was her cry. “I must see him!” +</p> + +<p> +She pushed through them. All gave way before her. Not <i>there</i>, surely? +Yes, there—in the very room where the wedding-breakfast was laid out, +where the cake stood upon the table, and the champagne-bottles at the side; +there, in the place of joy, was the dead—dead in his armchair, close to +the window, with a ghastly wound upon the once-peaceful brow! +</p> + +<p> +She threw up her hands—she uttered a great cry. Those that heard it say +it rings even now in their ears. She threw herself upon him. The crimson blood +dyed her veil, as it hung loose and torn, and tinged the innocent pearls around +her neck with its terrible hue. She fainted the second time, and would have +fallen, but Aymer caught her; and they bore her upstairs, unconscious even of +her misery. +</p> + +<p> +The Place was silent. The guns were not fired, the bells were stilled. Men +moved with careful footsteps, women hushed their voices, and in the stillness +they heard the church clock slowly striking the hour of noon. At that moment +she should have been returning, radiant and blissful in triumph, to meet the +welcome from her father’s lips. +</p> + +<p> +There was one that could not understand it—one dumb beast that could not +be driven away. It was Dando, the mastiff dog. Strangely enough, he avoided the +chamber of the dead, and crouched at the door of Violet’s room. +</p> + +<p> +When Merton saw it he said, “Let the dog go in; maybe, he will relieve +her a little.” +</p> + +<p> +But Violet, lying on a couch, conscious now and tearless, despairing in the +darkened room, motioned him away. “Take him away,” she said. +“If he had been faithful, he would have watched and guarded.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a natural thought, but it was not just. Poor Dando, like the rest, had +gone to the church with the crowd; and just at the moment when he was most +wanted, then he was absent from his duty. +</p> + +<p> +The great sun still bathed the village in a flood of light, the fleecy clouds +sailed slowly in the azure, the yellow mist hung over the distant hills, and +the leaves now and again rustled to the ground. But the chamber that should +have resounded with laughter and joy was darkened. One more human leaf had +fallen from the earthly tree of life. Once more those that were left behind +were worse off than those that were taken. In the words of the dear old +ballad— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +My summer’s day, in lusty May,<br/> +Is darked afore the noon. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_2_chap_06"></a>Chapter Six.</h2> + +<p> +Great horror fell upon the whole neighbourhood of World’s End. Not the +oldest man or woman could remember such a deed in their midst. Hitherto the +spectre of Murder had avoided those grand old hills. There was no memory of +such a thing. The nearest approach to it, which the gossips at the +Shepherd’s Bush could recall to mind, had happened long before the days +of the oldest of them all. +</p> + +<p> +There was one, and one only, who declared that in his youth his father left him +in charge of the hayfield one beautiful summer’s day, to go and see a man +hung on the gallows. It was the custom then to erect the gallows at, or very +near, the spot where the crime was supposed to have been committed; often at +the cross roads. +</p> + +<p> +His father told him—and having heard the tale so often it was still fresh +in his memory—that the gallows in this case was built in a narrow lane, +close to a gateway, through which the murderer had fired the fatal shot at his +victim. The spot was known to that day as Deadman’s Gate. +</p> + +<p> +There was an immense crowd collected to witness the execution, and the sun +shone brilliantly on the ghastly machine. The murderer, as seems to have been +the fashion in those times, at the foot of the gallows declared his innocence; +and there were not wanting people who, in despite of the evidence, believed +him. +</p> + +<p> +Just after the horrible ceremony was finished, and the lifeless body swung to +and fro, there burst a thunderstorm upon the crowd, which scattered in all +directions. +</p> + +<p> +Two men took refuge under a tall tree. One said, “This is +dangerous,” and went out into the field; before the other could follow he +was struck dead by the lightning, so that there were now two corpses. +</p> + +<p> +This man chanced to be one of the principal witnesses against the murderer, and +superstition firmly believed that the thunderstorm marked the Divine wrath at +the execution of an innocent man. +</p> + +<p> +“The moment before,” said the narrator, “the sky was +perfectly clear; the storm came without the slightest warning.” The fact +being that the crowd were so intent upon the spectacle before them that they +had not noticed the gathering clouds. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” concluded the narrator, who evidently shared in the +superstition, “it be an awful thing to bear witness about blood. There be +them about here as I wouldn’t stand in their shoes!” +</p> + +<p> +A dead silence followed. Men understood what he meant. Already public suspicion +had fallen upon the gardener. +</p> + +<p> +And Violet? Violet was calm and tearless, but heart-broken. She would not see +Aymer till the third day—it was the morning of the inquest, though she +did not know it. She saw him in her own room, still darkened. A thrush was +singing loud and clear in the tree below the window. The sun still shone as it +had done upon the bridal day, but the room was dark. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Merton, despite her horror, had remained by her friend. She left the +apartment as Aymer entered, Violet could not speak to him. Her head drooped on +his shoulder, and convulsive sobs shook her form. +</p> + +<p> +It is better to leave them together. The soled wedding-dress, the beautiful +pearl necklace tinged with the horrible hue of blood, had been carefully put +out of sight. People were searching for the wedding-ring in the chancel at the +church, but could not find it. +</p> + +<p> +The inquest was held at the Shepherd’s Bush. As had been the case at +another inquest a century before, held at a place then almost as +retired—at Wolf’s Glow—so here the jury was formed of the +farmers of the district. +</p> + +<p> +Bury Wick village was so small it had no inn, which was accounted for by the +fact that no through road ran by it. The village inn was half a mile from the +houses, alone by itself, on the edge of the highway. The Shepherd’s Bush +was small, merely a cottage made into a tavern, and the largest room barely +held the jury. +</p> + +<p> +It is not material to us to go into every detail; the main features of that +painful inquiry will be sufficient. +</p> + +<p> +The jury having been sworn, proceeded in solemn procession to The Place. They +entered noiselessly, not to disturb “Miss Vi’let,” for whom +the sympathy was heartfelt. They viewed the body of the good old man, cut down +at the very hour when the crowning desire of his heart was in the act of +realisation. +</p> + +<p> +Such juries usually hurry through their task, shrinking from the view of the +dead which the law compels upon them—a miserable duty, and often quite +useless. But in this case they lingered in the room. +</p> + +<p> +Saying little or nothing, they collected in groups of two or three around the +coffin, wistfully gazing upon the features of the dead. For the features were +placid, notwithstanding the terrible wound upon the top of the head. The peace +of his life clung to him even in a violent death. +</p> + +<p> +There was not one man there who could remember a single word or deed by which +the dead had injured any human being. Quiet, retired, benevolent, largely +subscribing in an unostentatious manner to the village charities, ready always +with a helping hand to the poor—surely he ought to have been secure? What +motive could there be? +</p> + +<p> +They returned to the Shepherd’s Bush. The Coroner asked for the evidence +of the person who had last seen the deceased alive. It was at once apparent +that numbers had seen him. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Merton, who attended, self-employed, to watch the case for Violet, and from +attachment to his deceased friend—was selected as a representative of the +many. He deposed that he had last seen the deceased alive at quarter to eleven +on the marriage-day, at the moment that the bride took leave of her father, and +received his blessing. This simple statement produced a profound impression. +The deceased, who little thought that that parting would last for ever, was +then sitting as usual in his armchair, which he could wheel about as he chose, +close to the open window—almost <i>in</i> the window—and as witness +escorted the bride to her carriage, he looked back and saw the deceased had +partly turned round, so that the back of his head was towards the window. He +had then his velvet skullcap off, and witness believed that he was engaged in +silent prayer. This statement also naturally produced a profound effect. The +deceased’s head was partially bald, and the little hair he had was grey. +The day was very warm and sultry. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Merton paused, and the next witness was the first person who had seen the +deceased after the fatal attack. This was the gardener. He appeared in court, +visibly shaking, bearing the marks of recent excitement upon his countenance. +He was an aged man, clad in corduroys and grey, much-worn coat—not the +suit he had worn on the wedding-day. His name was Edward Jenkins. His wife +pressed hard to be admitted to the court, but was forbidden, and remained +without, wringing her hands and sobbing. This witness was much confused, and +his answers were difficult to get—not from reluctance to speak, but from +excitement and fear. He produced an unfavourable impression upon the Coroner, +which the medical man in court observing, remarked that he had recently +attended the witness for heart disease at the request of the deceased, who took +a great interest in his old servant. Even this, however, did not altogether +succeed—there was an evident feeling against the man. +</p> + +<p> +His evidence, when reduced to writing, was singularly simple, vague, and +unsatisfactory. Why had he not gone to the church to see the wedding, as it +appeared every single person had done, not even excepting the dog Dando? He had +much desired to see the marriage of his young mistress; but being the only +man-servant, it was his duty to see to the wines and to the table; and at the +time when the carriage started he was in the garden cutting fresh flowers, for +the purpose of strewing the lady’s footpath when she returned and +descended from the carriage, and also to decorate the breakfast table. How long +was it after the carriage started that anything happened? It seemed barely a +minute. He was in a remote part of the garden, hastily working, +when—almost immediately after the carriage started—he happened to +look up, and saw a stranger on the green in front of the house. +</p> + +<p> +“Stay,” said the Coroner. “Describe that person.” +</p> + +<p> +This he could not do. The glimpse he had caught was obtained through the boughs +and branches of several trees and shrubs. He could not say whether the stranger +was tall or short, dark or light, or what dress he wore; but he had a vague +idea that he had a dirty, grey coat on. +</p> + +<p> +This was an unfortunate remark, for the witness at that moment wore such a +coat. +</p> + +<p> +He could not say whether he had a hat or a cap on, nor what colour trousers he +wore. The stranger appeared to cross the green diagonally towards the house. +</p> + +<p> +“What did witness do?” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment he did nothing—it did not strike him as anything +extraordinary. That morning there had been scores of people about the house, +and numbers of strangers whom he did not know. They were attracted by the talk +about the wedding, and he thought no harm. He went on with his work as hastily +as he could, for he still hoped to have finished in time to make a short cut +across the fields, and see a part of the marriage ceremony. +</p> + +<p> +He became so excited with the wish to see the ceremony that he left part of his +work undone. As he went he had to pass the open window of the dining-room, +where “master” was sitting. He was running, and actually passed the +window without noticing anything; but before he had got to the front door he +heard a groan. He ran back, and found his master prone on the floor of the +apartment, in a pool of blood. He had evidently fallen out of his armchair +forwards—started up and fallen. Witness, excessively frightened, lifted +him up, and placed him in the chair, and it was in so doing that his +shirt-front became saturated with the sanguinary stream, which also dyed his +hands. He had on a shirt-front and a black suit, in order to wait at table at +the wedding-breakfast. “Master” never spoke or groaned again. So +soon as he was placed in the armchair his head dropped on one side as if quite +dead, and witness then ran as fast as he could to the church, and crossed the +fields by a short cut which brought him to the chancel-door. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger, who had crossed, the narrow “green” or lawn before +the house, had entirely disappeared, and he saw nothing of him in the house. In +his haste and confusion, he did not see with what the deed had been committed. +</p> + +<p> +This was the substance of his evidence. Cross-examine him as they might, +neither the Coroner nor the jury, nor Mr Merton, could get any further light. +The witness was evidently much perturbed. There were those who thought his +manner that of a guilty man—or, at least, of a man who knew more than he +chose to tell. On the other hand, it might be the manner of an aged and weakly +man, greatly upset in mind and body by the frightful discovery he had made. All +the jury knew the relations between the witness and the deceased. Jenkins had +lived in the service of the Waldrons all his life, as had his father before +him, and the deceased had always exhibited the greatest interest in his +welfare. He had good wages, an easy occupation, and was well cared for in every +way. The most suspicious could conceive of no ground of quarrel or ill-will. +</p> + +<p> +The Coroner directed the witness to remain in attendance, and the first person +who had seen the deceased after the alarm was given was called. +</p> + +<p> +This was Phillip Lewis, a farmer’s son (one of the stewards at +World’s End Races), who being swift of foot had outstripped the others in +the run from the church to The Place. +</p> + +<p> +Phillip Lewis found the deceased in his armchair, with his head drooping on one +side—just as the gardener Jenkins described; only this witness at once +caught sight of the weapon with which the fatal blow was given. It was lying on +the ground, just outside the open window, stained with blood, and was now +produced by the constable who had taken charge of it. It was a small bill-hook, +not so large as would be used in cutting hedges, but much the same shape. +</p> + +<p> +The edge of a bill-hook, as every one knows, curves inward like a sickle, and +at the end the blade forms a sharp point, or spike. It is, therefore, a fearful +instrument with which to deliver a blow upon a bare head. +</p> + +<p> +Phillip Lewis said that the gardener Jenkins recognised this hook as +his—the one he usually employed to lop the yew trees, and other favourite +trees of the deceased, and for general work in the shrubberies. +</p> + +<p> +This piece of evidence made the jury look very sternly upon Jenkins. He was +asked if it was his, and at once admitted it. Where had he left it last? He +would not be quite sure, but he believed in the tool-house, which was close to +the gate in the garden wall, which led out into the fields. He had used it that +morning. +</p> + +<p> +There was a distinct movement among the jury. They evidently began to suspect +Jenkins. +</p> + +<p> +The medical man, Dr Parker, was the last witness. He had examined the wound the +deceased had received. There was first an incised wound, three inches long, on +the top of the skull, extending along the very crown of the head. This wound +was not deep, and, though serious, might not have proved mortal. At the end of +this wound there was a small space not cut at all, but an inch farther, just at +the top of the forehead, was a deep wound, which had penetrated to the brain, +and must have caused almost instantaneous death. +</p> + +<p> +These peculiar wounds were precisely such as would have been made if a person +had approached the deceased from behind, and struck him on the bare head with +the bill-hook produced. He did not think that there was more than one blow. He +thought that the deceased when he received the blow must have started up +mechanically, and, losing power, fell forward on to the floor. He did not think +that the deceased had suffered much pain. There would not be time. The point or +spike-like end of the hook had stuck deep into the brain. He had examined the +hook, and found clotted gore and a few grey hairs upon the blade. +</p> + +<p> +This concluded the evidence, and the court was cleared—after the Coroner +had whispered a few words to the police, several members of which force were +present. +</p> + +<p> +The Coroner then summed up the evidence, and in a few brief but terribly +powerful sentences pointed out that suspicion could only attach to one man. +This man was left alone. He had every opportunity. The tale of the alleged +stranger on the lawn bore every mark of being apocryphal. It was obviously a +clumsy invention. The witness, who at first could not give any idea whatever as +to how the stranger was dressed, had, when pressed, in a manner identified +himself as the stranger, by describing him as wearing a grey coat. +</p> + +<p> +In conclusion, he would add that the country had been scoured by the police in +the three days that had elapsed, and they had failed to find any trace of the +supposed stranger. He then left the jury to deliberate, and going out into the +air, met Mr Merton, who was more firmly convinced than the Coroner as to the +guilt of Jenkins. +</p> + +<p> +“There was no motive,” he admitted, as they talked it over, walking +slowly down the road; “but crimes were not always committed from apparent +motives. On the contrary, out of ten such crimes seven would, if investigated, +seem to be committed from very inadequate motives. How could they tell that +Waldron had not called to the gardener <i>after</i> the carriage had left, and +that then a quarrel took place?” He was determined to see that justice +was done to his dead friend. +</p> + +<p> +But while the Coroner and Merton thus strolled along together a new complexion +had been put upon affairs. The wretched wife of Jenkins, who had heard the +muttered communications of the police, and saw that they kept a close look-out +upon her husband, had listened as near the door as she could get, and so heard +the summing-up of the Coroner. Distracted and out of her mind with terror, a +resource occurred to her that would never have been thought of by one less +excited. She rushed from the place like mad. “Poor old Sally has lost her +head,” said the hangers about. She ran across the fields, scrambled +through the hedges, reached The Place, tore upstairs, and threw herself upon +Violet, beseeching her for the love of God to save her poor husband. +</p> + +<p> +Till that moment Violet had not the least idea that Jenkins, who had carried +her in his arms many a time when she was a child, and was more like an old +friend than a servant, was under any suspicion. She rose up at once and went +downstairs, the first time since the wedding-day. Aymer and Miss Merton tried +to stay her. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” she said; “it is my duty.” +</p> + +<p> +She was obliged to pass the fatal window; she burst into tears, but hurried on. +Aymer went with her, and assisted her along the very same route that Sally had +come—over ditches and through the gaps in the hedges. Violet reached the +Shepherd’s Bush bareheaded, panting. Involuntarily, the crowd hanging +about, one and all, boors that they were, took off their hats. She knocked at +the door where the jury sat astounded, they admitted her. Strung up to the +highest pitch she burst upon them, cowed them, overcame them. +</p> + +<p> +“He is innocent!” she cried, in the full tones of her beautiful +voice. “He is innocent; let him go free! He served the dead for fifty +years; they never quarrelled; they were, like old friends, not master and man. +I am the daughter of the dead. I tell you with my whole heart and soul that +that man <i>must</i> be innocent; if you injure him, it is you who are +murderers!” +</p> + +<p> +She turned and left the room; many started forward to help her, but she clung +to Aymer’s arm and he got her home as quickly as he might. +</p> + +<p> +It was a noble thing. It was a truly great spectacle to see that young girl +standing there and defending the poor fellow upon whom cruel suspicion had +fallen, notwithstanding her own irreparable loss. Its effect upon the jury was +immediate and irremovable. They were silent for a time. Then one after another +found twenty loopholes of doubt where before they had been so positive. After +all, why should not the gardener’s story be true? It was a simple, +artless tale; not one that would be concocted. +</p> + +<p> +One juryman, who had served on the jury at the Quarter Sessions, remembered a +great counsel in some important case laying it down as an axiom, that if a man +made up a story to defend himself it was always too complete, too full of +detail. Said the juryman: “If Jenkins had made up his story, he would +have told us what the stranger wore, what colour hat, what sort of trousers, +and every particular. There was a total absence of motive. Jenkins was a quiet, +inoffensive man, whom they had all known for years and years. Very likely, +indeed, for strangers to come to The Place on that day, the fame of which had +been talked of everywhere. Perhaps the fellow wished to steal the plate on the +breakfast table, and was surprised to find the invalid there. Hearing the +gardener coming, he would make off at once, which accounted for the fact that +not a single thing was stolen. Why should they condemn one of their own parish +on such trivial evidence?” This was the right key, the <i>local</i> one. +</p> + +<p> +When the Coroner was at last called in, he was astounded at the verdict +delivered to him by the foreman—“Wilful murder against a person, or +persons, unknown.” He argued with them, but in vain; the twelve had made +up their minds and were firm as a rock. He had to submit with a bad grace! +</p> + +<p> +Poor Sally had a moment of joy, and clasped her husband’s neck, but it +was of brief duration. A minute afterwards the police sergeant present tapped +Jenkins on the shoulder, and took him in custody on a charge of murder. +</p> + +<p> +This is the peculiarity of the law in such cases. A suspected person has to run +the gauntlet of two bodies—first, the coroner’s jury; next, the +magistrates. Many a wretch who has escaped the one has been trapped by the +other to his doom. +</p> + +<p> +The handcuffs were slipped on the gardener’s wrists and he was led away +unresistingly, followed by his weeping wife and a crowd of the villagers. +</p> + +<p> +As the jury emerged from the Shepherd’s Bush, which was not till +afternoon—for they had stayed to spend their ninepenny fees—there +struck on their ears a mournful sound. It was the tolling of the village bell. +The medical man had recommended immediate interment. Only three days before +those bells had merrily rung for the daughter’s bridal; now they tolled +for the father’s burial. They hastened to the church and watched the +solemn ceremony. The low broken voice of the vicar failed at the words, as they +stood by the open vault—“He cometh up, and is cut down, like a +flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow... In the midst of life we are in +death;” and the rest of the service was nearly inaudible. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_2_chap_07"></a>Chapter Seven.</h2> + +<p> +Every one knows what a dull monotony of sorrow succeeds to a great loss. +Perhaps it was fortunate for Violet that her mind was in some small measure +withdrawn from too consuming grief by the unfortunate position of the poor old +gardener. Over the very grave of the dead, as it were, she quarrelled—the +word is hardly too strong—with Merton. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Merton was bitter against Jenkins. His professional mind, always ready to +put the worst aspect upon anything, quick to suspect and slow to relinquish an +idea, was convinced of the gardener’s guilt. In his zeal for the memory +of his poor friend, he forgot that he might be injuring an innocent man. He +even went so far as to speak strongly to Violet about her visit to the jury. +Surely she should have been the last to protect the murderer. He said something +like this in the heat of his temper, and regretted it afterwards. It was cruel, +unjust, and inconsiderate. Violet simply left the room and refused to see him. +</p> + +<p> +Merton left the house in a rage, and resolved to spare nothing to convict the +miserable gardener. Now this quarrel produced certain events—it set on +foot another chain of circumstances. Violet was now alone at The Place. Miss +Merton could not stay longer. Before she went she asked if she should send back +the dog Dando, which Merton had taken to Barnham. Violet, still bitter, in an +unreasoning way, against the dog, said no. +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said Miss Merton, “may I take him with me to +Torquay?” +</p> + +<p> +She had taken a fancy to the dog. Violet was quite willing—anything so +that he did not return to vex her with memories of the dead. Miss Merton took +him home, sorry for her friend, and yet glad to quit that dismal house and +neighbourhood. +</p> + +<p> +Next day there came a note from Mr Merton, in which the writer, in a formal +way, expressed regret if he had uttered anything which had annoyed her, and +asked her to accompany Miss Merton to Torquay for change of scene. Violet +thanked him, but refused. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer saw her every day. She did not give way to tears and fits of excited +sorrow, but a dull weakness seemed to have taken possession of her. All the old +spirit and joy had left her. She wandered about listlessly, stunned, in fact. +All the interest she took was in poor Jenkins’ fate. Aymer, at her wish, +went to Barnham, and engaged a lawyer to defend him. This soon reached +Merton’s ears, and annoyed him exceedingly; though, to do him justice, he +was at that very hour striving to put Violet’s affairs into order. +</p> + +<p> +Those affairs were—unknown to her—in a most critical state. The +deceased, as he had told Aymer, had three thousand pounds out at interest, as +he believed, upon good security, but which he thought of calling in. This money +had been advanced to a Mr Joseph Herring, a large farmer at Belthrop, some ten +miles from World’s End. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Herring was a successful man and a good man; at all events he had no worse +failing than an inordinate love of foxhunting. He had a large family, six sons +and eight daughters, but there always seemed to be plenty for them. They lived +and dressed well, rode out to the Meet, and one by one, as the sons grew older, +they were placed in farms. Foxhunting men, with the reputation of some means, +can always find favour in the eyes of landlords. If any one had been asked to +point out a fortunate family in that county, he would at once have placed his +finger upon the name of Herring. +</p> + +<p> +The original home farm, where dwelt old Herring and his wife, four of the +daughters, and one son, who really managed it, was of good size, fertile, and +easily rented. The eldest son, Albert Herring, who was married and had +children, occupied a fine farm at no great distance; and the two other sons had +a smaller farm between them, and with them lived the other four sisters. Of +course it was understood that these farms had been stocked partly with borrowed +money; but that was a common thing, and there was every indication that all the +family were prospering. +</p> + +<p> +It was to this Joseph Herring that Mr Waldron had advanced three thousand +pounds, taking ample security, as was believed, upon stock, and upon a small +estate which belonged to Herring’s wife. Merton recommended this Herring +as a client of his, and conducted the operation. Waldron had given Merton +notice that he wished to withdraw the money; but Merton, not thinking there was +any hurry, had not mentioned it to Joseph, when there came this awful +catastrophe at World’s End and drove the matter entirely out of his head. +But his attention was drawn back to it in an equally sudden manner. Old Joseph +Herring, the foxhunter, while out with the hounds, put his horse at a double +mound where there appeared to be a gap. This gap had been caused by cutting +down an elm tree, and he imagined that the trunk had been removed. +</p> + +<p> +The morning had been cold, and although the ground was not hard there had been +what is called a “duck’s frost” in places. The horse’s +hoofs slipped upon the level butt of the tree, which had been sawn off; the +animal fell heavily, and upon his side. +</p> + +<p> +In all probability, even then he would not have been much injured—for +falls in the hunting-field are as common as blackberries—had it not been +for the trunk of the elm tree. His back, in some way, came against and across +the trunk with the weight of the horse upon him, and the spine was broken. He +was carried home upon a hurdle, still living, and quite conscious. +</p> + +<p> +A more terrible spectacle could not be conceived than this strong burly man +lying upon his bed, conscious, and speaking at times faintly, without a visible +wound, and yet with the certainty of death. +</p> + +<p> +His sons and daughters gathered round him; all were at hand except the eldest, +Albert, and he was sent for. Joseph, who had seen too many accidents not to +know he was doomed, even if it had not been visible upon the faces of his wife +and children, betrayed the greatest uneasiness. He kept asking for +“Albert” and for “Merton.” Messenger after messenger +was despatched after both, and still they did not come. +</p> + +<p> +Merton, when the messenger reached him, was in the Petty Sessional Court at +Barnham, watching the preliminary proceedings against poor Jenkins, which +happened to take place that day. He was much excited. +</p> + +<p> +The lawyer whom Aymer had engaged to defend Jenkins was a professional +rival—a keen and clever man, and he had so worked up the case, and +suggested so many doubts and probabilities that the Bench of magistrates +hesitated to commit him. +</p> + +<p> +It was in the thick of the fight that the messenger from the death-bed arrived. +Will it be believed, so great was the professional rivalry between these men, +and so determined was Merton to succeed in committing poor Jenkins, that he +paused, he hesitated, finally he waited till the case was finished. +</p> + +<p> +“After all,” he said to himself, “very likely the accident to +Joseph is much exaggerated—people always lose their heads at such times. +At all events his neck’s not broken, and he’s alive; the messenger +doesn’t know exactly where he’s hurt. There’s no particular +hurry.” +</p> + +<p> +But it so happened that there <i>was</i> a particular cause for hurry. While +Merton persuaded himself that he was looking after the cause of his murdered +friend and revenging him, that friend’s dearest one—his +Violet—was fast losing her patrimony. Even when the second messenger came +with more exact intelligence, Merton thought—“Sometimes men lie for +days with broken backs, and what does he want me for? His will is made; +I’ve got it in my office, and a very just will it is. All his affairs are +arranged, I believe. It’s all fuss and fidget.” +</p> + +<p> +However, he ordered his carriage to wait at the door of the Court, and half an +hour afterwards the Bench reappeared. +</p> + +<p> +The Chairman said that although there was very little evidence against the +prisoner Jenkins, although his character had been proved excellent, and +although his solicitor had most ably conducted the defence, yet the Bench felt +that the crime was one too serious for them to think of dismissing a suspected +person. The prisoner would be committed for trial at the Assizes, which +fortunately for him came on that day fortnight. +</p> + +<p> +A smile of triumph lit up Merton’s face as he gathered up his papers. The +rival solicitor smiled too, and assured Aymer who was present to tell Violet +what happened, that the grand jury would be certain to throw out the bill. +There was not a tittle of evidence against the prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +With this assurance Aymer mounted and rode back to Violet. At the same time +Merton, telling his coachman not to distress the horses, drove leisurely +towards the death-bed, where he had been so anxiously expected for hours. +</p> + +<p> +The scene at that death-bed was extremely dreadful. The poor dying man +gradually became more and more restless and excited; nor could all the efforts +of Dr Parker, the persuasions of the clergyman, nor the tears of his wife and +children, keep him calm. +</p> + +<p> +The thought of death—the idea of preparing for the hereafter never seemed +to occur to him. His one wish was to see “Albert” and +“Merton;” till feverish and his eye glittering with excitement, all +that he could ejaculate was those two names. +</p> + +<p> +He remained for four hours quite conscious, and able to converse; then suddenly +there was a change, and he lost the power of answering questions, though still +faintly repeating those names. The scene was very shocking. +</p> + +<p> +“Why doesn’t Albert come?” said poor Mrs Herring. “He +might have been here two hours ago. If Merton would not, Albert, my son, might +have come.” +</p> + +<p> +What do you suppose Albert was doing at that moment? It is incredible, but it +is true. He was in the field superintending the placing of two new steam +ploughing engines and their tackle, watching the trial of the new engines, as +they tore up the soil with the deep plough. They had arrived that morning, just +purchased; and had it not been for their coming, he would have been in the +hunting-field with his father when the accident happened. +</p> + +<p> +He could not, or would not, leave his engines. He busied about with +them—now riding himself upon the plough, now watching the drivers of the +engines, now causing experiments to be made with the scarifier. He paid little +attention to the first messenger. “Tell them I’ll be there,” +he said. Another and another messenger, still Albert remained with his plough. +</p> + +<p> +“He asks for me, does he?” he said. “I’ll be there +directly.” Still he made no haste. After quitting the engines he went out +of his path to visit a flock of fat sheep, and putting up a covey of partridges +in the stubble, stayed to mark them down. +</p> + +<p> +At the house he calmly refreshed himself with cheese and ale. As he mounted his +horse another messenger came, this time with a note from Dr Parker. Albert +mounted with much bustle, and made off at a gallop. Two miles on the way he +pulled up to a walk, met his shepherd, and had a talk with him about the ewes; +then the farrier on his nag, and described to him the lameness of a carthorse. +All this time his father lay dying. Strange and unaccountable indifference! +</p> + +<p> +Merton reached Belthrop Farm first, and was too late. Joseph Herring was dead. +He had died without even so much as listening to the words of the +clergyman—yet he had to all appearance been a good, and even pious man +while in health. Why was he so strangely warped upon his death-bed? +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Albert—Albert, my son, my son! Why did you linger?” +cried poor Mrs Herring as he entered. +</p> + +<p> +“Father?” said Albert, questioningly. +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said the son; and it sounded like a sigh of relief. +</p> + +<p> +Let the grief for the dead be never so great, there quickly follows the +commonplace realities of money and affairs to be settled. +</p> + +<p> +The dead man’s will was read by Merton. It was a fair and just will. Next +came the investigation into his effects, and then came the revelation. Joseph +Herring left no effects. This discovery fell upon his wife, three of the sons, +and all the daughters, like a thunderbolt. They had always believed they should +be left tolerably provided for. But when all the debts were paid there would +not be a ten-pound note. +</p> + +<p> +They began to murmur, and to question, as well they might. What had become of +the three thousand pounds Herring had had of Waldron? They did not know that +their father had borrowed so much as that; they knew there was a loan from +Waldron, but never suspected the amount. +</p> + +<p> +Merton, hard as it was, felt that he must draw that money in; and who was to +pay it? Why, there were no effects whatever. To pay the other debts would take +all the money that could be got, and part of the stock must be sold even then. +</p> + +<p> +But this three thousand pounds. To make that good all the stock, the corn, the +implements—everything would have to be sold; including Mrs +Herring’s little estate, and the small sums that had been advanced to the +two sons who lived on one farm must be withdrawn. It was complete +ruin—ruin without reserve. +</p> + +<p> +They were literally stunned, and knew not which way to turn. They could not +understand, neither could Merton, what had become of the three thousand pounds; +there was not a scrap of paper to show. Joseph had never been a good +accountant—few farmers are; but one would have thought that he would have +preserved some record of such a sum. But no—not a scrap. +</p> + +<p> +Then, as said before, these children began to murmur, as well they might. Then +they began to understand, or guess dimly at the extraordinary excitement of the +dying man. It was this that weighed upon his mind, and caused him to +continually call for his eldest son and for Merton, in order that he might make +some provision. +</p> + +<p> +There grew up a certain feeling against Albert. Why had he not come at +once—if he had done so, perhaps this might have been averted. A vague +distrust and suspicion of him arose. It was intensified by the knowledge that +he alone was safe. He had had a longer start and a better farm; he had the +reputation of having even saved a little money. No injury could befall him. Yet +they had not got the slightest evidence against him in any way; but a +coolness—a decided coolness arose between the brothers and sisters, and +Albert, which Albert, on his part, made no effort to remove. Ill-natured people +said he was only too glad to quarrel with them, so as to have a pretext for +refusing them assistance. +</p> + +<p> +It happened, however, that one day a strange gentleman called upon Robert and +John, the two brothers, who worked one farm together. He was an agent of an +agricultural implement manufactory in a distant county, and his object was to +induce them to purchase implements of him—especially steam traction +engines. The poor brothers smiled in a melancholy way at the very idea. They +buy engines—they should soon scarcely be able to buy bread! The agent +expressed his surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“But your brother seems a wealthy man,” he said. “He paid for +his engines in cash.” +</p> + +<p> +“In cash!” they cried. “He told us that he paid one-fifth +only, and the rest remained in bills.” +</p> + +<p> +The agent saw he had got on delicate ground; but they pressed him, and he could +not very well escape. It then came out that Albert had paid sixteen hundred +pounds in hard cash for the engines, by which, as the factory had been pressed +for money, he got them at little more than two-thirds of the value, which was +considered to be two thousand three hundred pounds. +</p> + +<p> +The brothers were simply astounded. They went home and talked it over with the +fourth son, who managed the Belthrop Farm. They could not understand how Albert +came to have so much ready cash. At last the conclusion forced itself upon +them—the three thousand pounds borrowed from Waldron must have been lent +by their father to Albert. They remembered that something had been said of an +opening Albert had heard of, to add another farm to his already large tenancy. +</p> + +<p> +This was the secret—poor old Joseph, a bad accountant, had given the +money to Albert, and, never thinking of dying, had postponed drawing up the +proper deeds. Without a moment’s delay they proceeded in a body to +Albert’s residence. He received them in an off-hand manner—utterly +denied that he had had the money, challenged them to find the proof, and +finally threatened if they set such a tale about the county to prosecute them +for slander. This was too much. +</p> + +<p> +It is wretched to chronicle these things; but they must be written. High words +were followed by blows; there was a fight between the eldest and the next in +succession, and both being strong men, they were much knocked about. The other +brothers, maddened with their loss, actually cheered on their representative, +and stripped to take his place as soon as he should be fatigued. But at that +moment poor old Mrs Joseph Herring, who had feared this, arrived, driving up in +a pony-carriage, and sprang between the combatants. She received a severe blow, +but she separated them, and they parted with menacing gestures. +</p> + +<p> +Once back at Belthrop, a kind of family council was held. Merton was sent for, +but nothing could be done. There was not a scrap of proof that Albert had had +the money. Mrs Joseph, went to him, reasoned with him, entreated him. He turned +a deaf ear to her remonstrances, and cursed her to her face. The miserable +woman returned to her despairing younger children, and never recovered the +terrible blow which the selfish, and inhuman conduct of her eldest son had +inflicted upon her. Ruin stared them in the face. Waldron’s loan was due, +and everything was already advertised for sale. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_2_chap_08"></a>Chapter Eight.</h2> + +<p> +How suddenly the leaves go in the autumn! They linger on the trees till we +almost cheat ourselves into the belief that we shall escape the inevitable +winter; that for once the inexorable march of events will be stayed, till some +morning we wake up and look forth, and lo! a wind has arisen, and the leaves +are gone. +</p> + +<p> +Absorbed in the one miserable topic—the one thought of Waldron’s +terrible fate—Violet and Aymer spent several weeks almost unconsciously. +When at last they, as it were, woke up and looked forth, the actual tangible +leaves upon the trees had disappeared, and, like them, the green leaves of +their lives had been shaken down and had perished. +</p> + +<p> +Even yet they had one consolation—they had themselves. The catastrophe +that had happened at the very eleventh hour, at the moment when their affection +and their hope was about to be realised, after all had only drawn them closer +together. She was more dependent upon him than ever. There was no kind Jason to +fly to now; the resources he could command were gone for ever. Had Aymer been +as selfish as he was unselfish, that very fact would not have been without its +pleasure. She could come to him only now in trouble, and she did come to him. +</p> + +<p> +It may be that all that happy summer which they had spent together, strolling +about, sketching under the beech and fir; all that happy winter, with its music +and song; all the merry spring, with its rides, had not called forth such deep +and abiding love between these two as was brought into existence by these weeks +of sorrow, the first frosts of their year. They were constantly together; they +were both orphans now; they had nothing but themselves. It was natural that +they should grow all in all to each other. +</p> + +<p> +There was one subject that was never alluded to between them, and that was the +interrupted marriage. It was too painful for Violet, too delicate a subject for +Aymer to mention. It was in both their minds, yet neither spoke of it. They +were, and they were not, married. In a sense—in the sense of the +publication of the banns; in the sense of the public procession to the church, +the sanction of friends, the presence of the people—in this sense they +were married. But the words “I will” had never left Violet’s +lips, however willing they were to utter the phrase; and, above all, the ring +had never been placed upon her finger. Nor could that ring be found. They were +half married. +</p> + +<p> +It was a strange and exceptional case, perhaps unequalled. Morally, Violet felt +that she was his legally, Aymer feared that she was not his. He feared it, +because he knew that it would be impossible to persuade Violet to undergo the +ceremony a second time, till the memory of that dreadful day had softened and +somewhat faded. It might be months, perhaps years. The disappointment to him +was almost more than he could bear. To be so near, to have the prize within his +reach, and then to be dashed aside with the merciless hand of fate. +</p> + +<p> +It would not be well that the ancient belief in destiny should again bear sway +in our time; it is contrary to the thought of the period, and yet hourly, +daily, weekly, all our lives, we seem to move, and live, and have our being +amidst circumstances that march on and on, and are utterly beyond our power to +control or guide. “Circumstances beyond my power to control” is a +household phrase—we hear it at the hearth, on the mart, in the +council-chamber. And what <i>are</i> circumstances? Why are these apparently +trivial things out of our power? Why do they perpetually evolve other +circumstances, till a chain forms itself—a net, a web—as visible, +and as tangible, as if it had been actually woven by the three sisters of +antique mythology. +</p> + +<p> +The unseen, awful, inscrutable <i>necessity</i> which, heedless alike of gods +and men, marches with irresistible tread through the wonderful dramas of +Sophocles, seems to have survived the twilight of the gods, survived the age of +miracles and supernatural events. Of all that the ancients venerated and +feared, necessity alone remains a factor in modern life. What can our brightest +flashes of intelligence, our inventions, our steam engine and telegraph, effect +when confronted with those “circumstances over which we have no +control?” It is our nineteenth-century euphemism for the Fate of the +ancient world. +</p> + +<p> +It is not well that we should scrutinise too closely the state of poor +Aymer’s mind. His joy and elation before that terrible day were too great +not for the fall to be felt severely. The iron of it entered into his soul. For +one moment he almost hoped against hope. +</p> + +<p> +The clergyman who had officiated at the interrupted bridal came daily to see +Violet, and his true piety, his quiet parental manner, soothed and comforted +her. He whispered to Aymer that it would be well if the marriage ceremony were +completed in private, as could be done by special licence. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer naturally grasped at the idea. He had still twenty pounds left of the +gift which had been sent to him anonymously. He was eager to spend it upon the +special licence, but he confessed that he dared not mention it to Violet. +</p> + +<p> +The vicar undertook that task, but failed completely. Violet begged him to +spare her—to desist; she could not—not yet. +</p> + +<p> +After that day she was more and more tender and affectionate to Aymer, as if to +make up to him for his loss. She said that he must take heart—they had no +need to be unhappy. In a little while, but not yet—not yet, while that +fearful vision was still floating before her eyes. But Aymer must be happy. +They had sufficient. <i>He</i> had left them all he had. That was another +reason why they should wait, in affection for his memory. They could see each +other daily—their future would be together. And Aymer, miserable as he +was, was forced to be content. +</p> + +<p> +Merton had not been to The Place. Not one word had he said about the difficulty +in Herring’s affairs, and the loss of the three thousand pounds. Violet +was utterly ignorant that her fortune was gone. She spoke very bitterly of +Merton. “If he had loved poor papa,” she said, “he would +never have persecuted his faithful servant,” for nothing could shake her +belief in Jenkins’ innocence, and she did all she could to comfort the +poor gardener’s desolate wife. +</p> + +<p> +Merton, on his part, did not care to approach her after the share he had had in +the commitment of Jenkins, and because he hesitated, he dreaded to face her, +and to tell her that her fortune, entrusted to his hands, was gone. He blamed +himself greatly, and yet he would not own it. He ought to have hastened to +Herring’s death-bed. Had that dying man but left one written word, to say +that Albert had had the money, all would have been well. +</p> + +<p> +In the fierce attempt to revenge his old friend, he had irreparably injured +that friend’s daughter, and he dreaded the inevitable disclosure. He put +it off till the last, hoping against hope, and doing all that his +lawyer’s ingenuity could suggest to recover some part of the amount. In +endeavouring to succeed in this, he pressed hard—very hard—upon the +Herring family. He pushed them sorely, and spared not. He was bitterly +exasperated against them. Unjustly, he openly accused them of a plot to rob his +client and dishonour him. +</p> + +<p> +He abused the dead man as one who had repented too late upon his death-bed. He +would take everything—down to the smallest article. Neither the +persuasions of the sons, the tears of the daughters, nor the silent despair of +the widow could move him. Of all this Violet knew nothing. +</p> + +<p> +It happened that one evening not long after the lamp had been lit at The Place, +that there was heard a slight tapping or knocking at the front door. Now, this +door was close to the window where the terrible deed had been committed. By +this door the bride had stepped forth in all her gay attire; by this door the +corpse of her father had been carried forth. Villagers, and all isolated +people, are superstitious; the beliefs of those days, when all people were more +isolated than they are now, linger amongst them. By common consent, this door +was avoided by day and night. A dread destiny seemed to hang over those who +passed beneath its portal. It had been kept locked since the funeral—no +one had used it. +</p> + +<p> +Violet and Aymer, sitting in the breakfast-parlour—which was the most +comfortable room in the house—were reading, and looked up mutually at the +sound of those unwonted knocks. They listened. There was a pause; and then the +taps were repeated. They were so gentle, so muffled, that they doubted the +evidence of their ears—and yet surely it was a knocking. +</p> + +<p> +The servants in the kitchen heard the taps, and they cowered over the fire and +looked fearfully at each other. +</p> + +<p> +One thing was certain—no person who knew The Place, no one from the +village, would come to that door. If it was any mortal man or woman, it must be +a stranger; and the last time a stranger had crossed the “green,” +all knew what had happened. If it was not a stranger, then it must be the +spirit of poor “master.” They were determined not to hear. +</p> + +<p> +The taps were repeated. Violet and Aymer looked at each other. +</p> + +<p> +Something very like a moan penetrated into the apartment. Aymer immediately +rose and went to the front door. He asked if any one was without; there was no +answer. He opened the door; the bitter wind, bearing with it flakes of snow, +drove into his face. For a moment, in the darkness, he could distinguish +nothing; the next, brave as he was, he recoiled; for there lay what looked like +a body at his feet. Overcoming his dread he stooped and touched—a +woman’s dress. He lifted her up—the form was heavy and inanimate in +his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Violet, dear!” he said, “it is a woman—she has +fainted; may I bring her in?” +</p> + +<p> +Violet’s sympathies were at once on the alert. The woman was carried in +and laid upon the rug before the fire, the servant came crowding in to render +assistance brandy was brought, and the stranger opened her eyes and moaned +faintly. Then they saw that, although stained with travel and damp from +exposure to the drifting snow her dress was that of a lady. +</p> + +<p> +Under the influence of the warm fire and the brandy she soon recovered +sufficiently to sit up. She was not handsome nor young her best features were a +broad, intellectual looking forehead, and fine dark eyes. So soon as ever she +was strong enough to speak she turned to Violet, and begged to be alone with +her for a little while. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer, with all a lover’s suspicions, demurred, but Violet insisted, and +he had to be content with remaining within easy call. +</p> + +<p> +He had no sooner left the room than the lady, for such she appeared to be, fell +upon her knees at Violet’s feet, and begged her for the sake of her +father’s memory to show mercy. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! spare us,” cried the unhappy creature, bursting into tears, +and wringing her hands, “spare us—we are penniless. Indeed we did +not do it purposely. We never knew—I am Esther Herring!” +</p> + +<p> +It was long before Violet could gather her meaning from these incoherent +sentences. At last, under her kind words and gentle questions, Esther became +calmer and explained the miserable state of affairs. Violet sighed deeply. In +one moment her hopes were dashed to the ground: her money was gone; how could +she and Aymer— +</p> + +<p> +But she bore up bravely, and listened patiently to Esther’s story. How +the widow’s heart was breaking, how the sons were despairing, and the +daughters looking forward to begging their bread. How the sale +approached—only five days more; and that thinking, and thinking day and +night over the misery of it, Esther had at last fled to Violet for +mercy—to Violet, who was ignorant of the whole matter. Fled on +foot—for all their horses were seized—on that wild winter +afternoon, facing the bitter wind, the snow, and the steep hills for ten long +miles to World’s End. Fled to fling herself at Violet’s feet, and +beg for mercy upon the widow and the fatherless children. The fatigue and her +excitement had proved too much, and she had fainted at the very door. Esther +dwelt much upon Mr Merton’s cruelty, for his insults had out her to the +quick. +</p> + +<p> +Violet became very pale. She went to the door and called softly, +“Aymer.” He came, and Esther attempted to dry her tears. Violet +told him all, and took his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“This cannot be,” she said; “this surely must not be. I will +do—we will do—as of a surety my father would have done. The +innocent shall not suffer for the guilty. We, Aymer and I, will give up our +claim. Tell them at your home to be comforted and to fear not.” +</p> + +<p> +Esther saw that her mission was accomplished, and the reaction set in. She +became ill and feverish. Violet had her taken upstairs and waited upon her. +Aymer was left alone. He walked to the window, opened the shutters, and looked +forth. The scud flew over the sky, and the wan moon was now hidden, and now +shone forth with a pale feeble light. The heart within him was very bitter. He +did not repent the renunciation which he had confirmed; he felt that it was +right and just. But it was a terrible blow. It cut away the very ground from +beneath his feet. +</p> + +<p> +The poor fellow—he was poor Aymer again now—looked forward to the +future. What could he do? The talents he possessed were useless, or nearly +useless, in a pecuniary sense. Unable to earn sufficient to support himself, +how could he marry Violet? The thought was maddening. To continue in the old, +old life at Wick Farm without a prospect was impossible. To wander a beggar +from door to door would be preferable. When he found that Violet could not +leave Esther, he walked home to Wick Farm; over the wild and open Downs, and +his heart went up in a great and bitter cry. +</p> + +<p> +The blow that had struck down poor Waldron had struck him down also. It is ever +thus with evil. The circle widens, and no man knows where it will end. Yet he +did not falter. +</p> + +<p> +Next day Violet wrote a curt letter to Mr Merton, requesting him to forbear +proceedings, and upbraiding him for his cruelty. She desired that he would +relinquish the charge of her affairs. +</p> + +<p> +Merton, had he so chosen, might have made a difficulty about this—under +the will of Waldron—but he did not. He was, to say truth, glad of a +pretext to wash his hands of a matter in which he had figured so ill. +</p> + +<p> +Violet sent for the same solicitor who had defended Jenkins, Mr Broughton, and +desired him to see that proceedings were stayed. The Herrings were saved. +Esther was sent home in the pony-carriage with the good tidings. Other debts, +unsuspected before, ate up most of the effects of Joseph Herring. The +widow’s little property had to be sold to meet them. With the trifle that +was left they removed to the farm where the two brothers worked together, and +by dint of careful management escaped starvation. Neither were they unhappy, +for misfortune and a common injury bound them closer together—all but the +widow, who never overcame the duplicity of her eldest son. +</p> + +<p> +Their conduct towards Violet appears extremely selfish, but it must be +remembered that Waldron had borne the reputation of being a rich man. They +never dreamt that they had taken Violet’s all. But so it was. The dear, +dear ponies had to be sold, the servants dismissed; Violet could not keep the +house on, and in that isolated position it was difficult to let it, even at a +nominal rent. +</p> + +<p> +Her friends in London made no sign. She had been a favoured guest while Waldron +lived and was reputed wealthy. Now they had lost sight of her. +</p> + +<p> +To Aymer all this was as gall and wormwood. It was a comment upon his own +weakness, and impotency to aid the only one he loved. He wrote, he sketched; +but now with the strange inconsistency of fortune these works were returned, as +“not up to the standard required.” Perhaps his misfortunes affected +his skilfulness. He knew not which way to turn. At home—if Wick Farm +could be called home—the old state of things began to gradually return. +The old covert sneers and hints at his uselessness crept again into the daily +conversation. Martin, like Hercules— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Rude, unrefined in speech.<br/> +Judging all wisdom by its last results, +</p> + +<p> +looked upon him as a failure, and treated him accordingly. To do the young men +justice, those who had formerly taunted him now never lost an opportunity of +expressing their regret. Poor Aymer felt this worse than their sneers and +gibes. He had the fault of pride, and yet he depreciated himself habitually. He +was punished severely for his brief period of elation. What hurt him most was +his helplessness to aid Violet. And Violet, noble girl! was calm, resigned, +fearless in her trust—strong in her love of Aymer. +</p> + +<p> +But the inevitable approached—“the circumstances over which we have +no control.” The day was coming when she must go, and go—whither? +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_2_chap_09"></a>Chapter Nine.</h2> + +<p> +Down to one firm faith in this day of scepticism and cynicism. It may be a +despicable weakness—that cannot be helped—but nothing will ever +overthrow it. My faith is firm in the good which is possible in woman. +</p> + +<p> +There is much vice, much evil, much folly; but, after all, these faults are +chiefly caused by weakness, therefore they are more or less excusable. It is +difficult for women to do good—so many and so complex are the restraints +which surround them as in a net—yet they do it. Were I in sorrow, in +trouble, or in fear, to them I should go, as hundreds—ay, countless +numbers—have previously gone, certain of assistance if assistance were +possible, and of compassion and sympathy, even if my crimes were too evil to +speak of. +</p> + +<p> +There was heard one afternoon at The Place the roll of carriage-wheels—a +sound that had not been heard since the fatal bridal day. It was a damp, cold +day, and Violet had been unable to go out. A fog hung over the fields, creeping +slowly along the fallows, clinging in shapeless clouds upon the hill tops. +There was no rain, but the bare hedges were dripping large drops of water +condensed from the mist, and the dead leaves upon the ground were soddened with +damp. On such days as these, when she could not walk out and dispel her gloom +by exercise, Violet naturally felt the loss of poor Jason the more. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer could not be always with her. Although their intercourse was little, if +at all, fettered by the etiquette which would have barred it in more civilised +neighbourhoods, yet he could not be always at The Place, and of late he had +been working hard at sketches and literary matters, which occupied time and +kept him from her side. +</p> + +<p> +She was very lonely, longing for the evening, when he would be certain to come. +The roll of these carriage-wheels was therefore an event. Looking from the +window upstairs—that very window whence, in all the splendour of her +beauty and her wedding-dress, she had timidly glanced forth to watch the +approach of the greys—she saw a stylish brougham rapidly nearing the +house, and as it came nearer recognised the horses, and knew it was Lady +Lechester’s. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes, not waiting for the footman to announce her visit, sprang out, and +walked at once to the front door. Once more there came a tapping at that dread +portal. +</p> + +<p> +Conquering her fluttering heart, Violet, in a maze of bewilderment, opened it +herself. Agnes held out her hand, and kissed her twice upon the cheek and +forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive me!” she said. “Forgive me for coming so soon +after—. But I wanted to see you; I had much to say to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Violet began to thank her in a confused way for the pearl necklace. Agnes +stopped her; it was not that—it was about Violet herself that she had +come to talk. Even in her surprise and confusion, Violet could not help +thinking that Agnes was very beautiful. It was a species of beauty that was +precisely the opposite of Violet’s. Both gained by the contrast of the +other’s style. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes Lechester was at least thirty—she might have been a year or two +older—and there hovered over her countenance an indefinable air of +melancholy, as if the memory of a past sorrow was for ever before her mind. +There was not a wrinkle, not a groove upon her pale brow, but the impress of +pain was none the less unmistakable upon her features. Her hair was very dark, +as near as possible to the raven’s hue, so often spoken of, so rarely +seen. Her eyes were large and grey, deep-set under delicate eyebrows, +well-marked, and slightly arching. Her forehead high and intellectual. The +features, the nose and mouth, were small and well-made, the ears especially +delicate. High blood and long descent spoke out clearly in her every aspect, +down even to the quiet subdued manner—the exquisite tact, and +consideration for others, which distinguished her in conversation and in daily +life. +</p> + +<p> +She was about the same height as Violet, but appeared taller, being more +slightly made. She wore a simple black-silk, extremely plain, and one +mourning-ring—no other jewellery. +</p> + +<p> +Violet, whose position was not a little embarrassing, found herself in a few +moments entirely at her ease, and conversing as with an old friend. Agnes did +not in a direct manner recall the terrible past, but she had a way of asking +what may be called sympathising questions, which quickly drew forth +Violet’s confidence. +</p> + +<p> +For the first time she found a sister to whom she could express her feelings +unrestrainedly; and even that brief hour of companionship did her much good. +Not till all trace of distant formality had been removed, not till there had +been a certain degree of familiarity established between them, did Agnes allude +to the real object of her visit. She had come to ask Violet as a +favour—so she put it—to spend a little time with her. The Towers +were so very, very lonely—she said this in a tone that was evidently +sincere—she had so few visitors, practically none, and she should be so +glad if Violet would come. Violet saw in an instant that it was really out of +kindness to her that the invitation was given; she wished to accept it, and yet +hesitated. Agnes pressed her. Then she remembered Aymer—what would he +say? If she went, he would be alone—he would not see her, and she would +not see him. Thinking of him, a slight blush rose to her cheek. Perhaps Agnes +guessed what was passing in her mind, for she said— +</p> + +<p> +“Mr Malet will, of course, come and see us—often. You must ask his +permission, you know. I will come again to-morrow and fetch you in the +brougham.” +</p> + +<p> +So it was practically settled, and Agnes, after a warm farewell, departed. +Violet waited for Aymer, almost fearing he would upbraid her; but then the +separation would only be for a little time. A little time! +</p> + +<p> +When Agnes Lechester came to ask her to The Towers, she came with a full +knowledge of Violet’s position—of her monetary loss, and of the +noble self-sacrifice she had made. +</p> + +<p> +It chanced—“circumstances over which we have no control” +again—that Mr Broughton, to whom Violet had transferred her affairs, had +succeeded to the business of an uncle, an elder Mr Broughton, who was almost +the hereditary solicitor of the Lechester family. The position was one of great +emolument, and gave some social precedence; hence, perhaps, part of the +jealousy exhibited towards him by Mr Merton—an older man, and not so +fortunate. From him Agnes learnt the whole of the details. The frightful +catastrophe—the mystery of the murder of poor Waldron—had greatly +impressed her, and the sad circumstances of the interrupted bridal trebled the +interest she had taken in Violet and Aymer. She had instructed Broughton to +inform her of everything, and especially of how matters stood with Violet now +her father was no more. As he had now the charge of Violet’s affairs, it +was easy for him to do this; and being a comparatively young man, and with a +heart not yet quite dead to feeling, he was himself much interested in the +woman who could so willingly give up the last fragment of her fortune. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes Lechester was deeply impressed by Violet’s generosity and +abrogation of self—she felt the warmest sympathy and desire to assist +her—she really was anxious to make her acquaintance, and the result was +her visit to The Place. Ostensibly the invitation was for a little time only; +but Agnes knew that the house, which alone was left to Violet, could not +support her, and intended to prolong the invitation indefinitely. She really +was lonely, and really did look forward to a companion in whom she could trust. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer was overjoyed when he heard what had happened, and insisted upon Violet +accepting the invitation. Violet’s isolation, and the daily increasing +awkwardness of her position, troubled him greatly. He knew not what to do for +her. Here was a resource—a haven of safety for a while at least. Never +mind about himself—doubtless he could see her sometimes; so long as she +was safe and comfortable he should be happy, much happier even than in their +present unrestricted intercourse—though this was said with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +He lingered long with her that evening, longer than he had ever done before; it +was the last, perhaps, they should ever spend together in that house, which was +still very dear to them, notwithstanding the tragedy it had witnessed. The time +came at last when they must separate. It was the saddest walk that night that +he had ever had across the Downs. They were enveloped in a thick +mist—only instinct and long use kept him in the path—an +impenetrable gloom hung over him. Even the fir trees were silent; there was no +breeze to stir them, to produce that low sighing sound that seems to mean so +much to those who will pause and listen. +</p> + +<p> +The morrow was brighter; there was a little sunshine, clouded and feeble, but +still there was a little. It would be difficult to explain the process by which +it came about. There are means of communication between persons without direct +words. Thus it happened that almost by a species of volition, Agnes Lechester, +Violet, and Aymer, before the hour to depart arrived, walked slowly and +mournfully to the old, old church, across the meadows by the well-worn path, +which the morning’s frost had left hard and dry. Since that terrible day +Violet had never been—she could not. But now, somehow, with this +newly-found companion, strengthened by two loving hearts, one on either side, +it seemed to her as if a holy peace might perhaps descend upon her if she could +visit her father’s tomb. +</p> + +<p> +With her face hidden by a thick veil, the tears standing in her eyes, the poor +girl walked between them. Few words passed—silence was more natural and +fitting than speech. They met two or three persons, all of whom knew Violet and +Aymer; but these paid the homage to sorrow which the rudest tender, and went by +silently, raising their hats. No one interrupted them; no one stared with +vulgar curiosity. These three were alone—alone with the memory of the +dead. And strangely enough, all three were orphans. It was Agnes Lechester who +reminded them of that fact as they stood before the tomb; it was, she said in a +low voice, another bond of union between them. +</p> + +<p> +The inscription had not yet been put up; the slab was plain. Their visit was +very short; it was more than Violet could bear. The tomb was just without the +church. Agnes motioned to Aymer to leave them; he walked away a few paces. +Together the two women entered the church; they were alone in the sacred +edifice. With slow steps poor Violet, leaning on Agnes’s arm and sobbing +bitterly, walked up that very aisle, over that very figure of the ancient +knight in brass, past the antique font—the very aisle where she had gone +in all her wedding splendour amid the admiration of the gathered crowd. And now +she came again—came with a stranger—in silence and sorrow, to kneel +on the steps that led up to the chancel to pray as best her throbbing heart +would permit. Was that prayer more for the living, or the dead? +</p> + +<p> +Violet had been reared a Protestant in the Articles of the Church of England, +yet I question whether in that supreme moment her soul was not fuller of prayer +for him who had gone before, than for herself and those who still lingered on +earth. Those among us who can remember bitter hours of agony, say truly for +whom have <i>they</i> prayed? Let us not penetrate further into the sanctuary +of sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +The carriage rolled away, and Aymer was alone. He watched it go down into the +valley out of sight. He turned and ascended the Downs, not daring to look back +upon the old, old house. At the summit he could command an extended view. Far +away the white road ran up over a hill, and he could see a black dot crawling +slowly up it. He knew it was the carriage; he watched it reach the top and +disappear over the brow—then she was gone. +</p> + +<p> +For the first time since love had arisen in his heart he was separated from +her. It was true that it was not total separation. They were bound together by +ties which nothing could sever, and yet—the happy past was gone, to +return no more. He was at liberty to see her at The Towers; Agnes Lechester had +done her best to impress upon him that he could come whenever he chose, and +would be always welcome. But Aymer had the vaguest ideas of what life with the +upper ranks was like; he had a vague shrinking from entering this house; he +felt that he should be restrained and at a loss. There could never be that free +intercourse between him and Violet that had existed. He felt in his heart that +she would never more return to The Place. The house was to be closed that +evening; would it ever be opened again? +</p> + +<p> +He crushed back his despair as best he could, and went home to his cold, lonely +room at the Wick Farm. Martin grudged him a fire even. Aymer crushed back his +heart, and tried to work. It was very difficult. When the hand and the body are +numbed with physical cold, when the heart is chilled with grief, it is hard +indeed to call the fancy into play and to amuse others. Was it not Goldsmith +who wrote the “Vicar of Wakefield” to pay the expenses of his +parent’s funeral? +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps no greater proof of his wonderful genius could be given than is +presented by that oft-repeated and simple anecdote. Only a transcendant genius +could have forced itself out under such miserable circumstances. Aymer +certainly had talent, perhaps even genius, but he had not yet found his +opportunity—he was not quite certain wherein his ability really lay. All +his efforts were tentative. They failed one and all—failed just at the +moment when what he most wanted was a little encouragement. He did not spare +himself; he worked the whole day, saving only an hour put aside to walk upon +the Downs for health’s sake. +</p> + +<p> +He had still fifteen pounds remaining of the munificent, and anonymous present +he had received. This he husbanded with the utmost care; it was his capital, +his all. With it he formed schemes of reaching London, and finding employment. +He only waited till a work upon which he was now engaged was finished before he +started. Now Violet was gone, there was no inducement to remain at +World’s End; far better to go out and face hard facts, and conquer them. +</p> + +<p> +But as the days went by, and the work was half finished, a deadly despair +seemed to seize him. Of what use was it? Every slow post that reached that +almost forgotten spot returned to him work rejected and despised. His sketches, +he was told, “wanted spirit;” his literary labours “wanted +finish, and bore marks of haste.” +</p> + +<p> +If these were useless, of what good was it to complete this book he was +writing? It would only end in another disappointment. He ceased to open his +letters; he flung them on one side. For a day or two he did nothing—he +wandered about on the open Downs, seeking consolation from Nature, and finding +none. At last, accusing himself of a lack of energy and fortitude, he set to +work again. So it was not till two days after date that he read the following +letter, which had been cast upon one side with the rest:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“2, Market Cross, Barnham.<br/> + “Dear Sir,—I am requested by Mr Broughton to ask you to call +upon him at your earliest convenience. He has some employment to offer +you.<br/> + “With esteem, etc, etc.” +</p> + +<p> +He went. Broughton received him kindly, and explained that he wanted a clerk, +not so much for technical work as for correspondence, and to give general +assistance. Aymer being a novice and completely ignorant of such duties, could +not of course expect much salary. However, he would have thirty-five shillings +per week. This offer was made partly through Lady Lechester’s influence, +partly out of the interest he himself took in Aymer. But a true lawyer, he +could not help doing even good as cheaply as possible. Aymer thanked him, and +accepted the post. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_2_chap_10"></a>Chapter Ten.</h2> + +<p> +Aymer would in times gone by have regarded the employment he had now obtained +as a great step in advance, and have rejoiced accordingly. But he had been too +near the prize for it to give him even so much as hope for the future. He +<i>wished</i> to be grateful for what he had got; he tried to look upon it as a +wonderful thing, but it was impossible. The contrast between the actual, and +what had been within his very grasp was too intense. +</p> + +<p> +It was an easy place. Beyond a little correspondence to write for Mr Broughton, +and sometimes a little copying, he had practically nothing to do. His hours +were short for the business—only from ten till four; he had plenty of +time at his own disposal. +</p> + +<p> +The fact was that his salary came, not directly, but indirectly from Lady +Lechester, and he was favoured accordingly. If he had known this he would have +been still more dissatisfied. +</p> + +<p> +The office in which he was placed was a kind of library or retiring apartment, +opening by double doors into Mr Broughton’s private room; and he was +often called upon to bear witness to certain transactions of a strictly private +nature, and in which the solicitor told him he relied upon his honour as a +gentleman, to preserve secrecy. +</p> + +<p> +Broughton really meant him well, and did his best now and then to start him on +in the acquisition of a knowledge of the law. Books were put into his hands, +and he was told what parts of them to study, and had to prepare extracts from +them occasionally. Aymer did his best, conscientiously, but he hated +it—he hated it most thoroughly. It was not altogether that the reading in +these books was dry and uninteresting to the last degree. Flat, tame, +spiritless, meaningless,—a mere collection of decisions, interpretations, +precedents—such they appeared at first. Aymer had talent and insight +sufficient to speedily observe that this forbidding aspect was not the true +one. +</p> + +<p> +All these precedents, rules, decisions—these ten thousand subtle +distinctions—were much like the laws or rules of a game at chess. They +decided in what way a pawn should be moved or a bishop replaced. The science of +law seemed to him like a momentous game at chess, only the pieces were living +human creatures. +</p> + +<p> +These subtle distinctions and technical divisions, formalities though they +appeared, had a meaning, and a deep one. Following his employer, Mr Broughton, +into the petty law courts at Barnham, he saw how the right and the wrong, the +sorrow or the joy of human beings depended almost upon the quibble of a word, +the incident of a slip of the pen. It was a game—a game requiring long +study, an iron memory, quick observation, and quicker decision; and he hated +it—hated it because the right appeared to be of no consequence. Truth, +and what he had always thought was meant by justice, were left entirely out of +sight. +</p> + +<p> +It was not the man who had the right upon his side who won. If that was the +case, what use would there be for lawyers? Too often it was the man who had the +law upon his side, and the law only. He actually heard magistrates, and even +judges, expressing their regret that the law compelled them to give decisions +contrary to the true justice of the cause before them. +</p> + +<p> +By degrees he became aware of the extraordinary fact, that with all the +cumbrous system of law phrases—a system that requires a special +dictionary—there was not even a word to express what he understood as +justice; not even a word to express it! +</p> + +<p> +Justice meant a decision according to the law, and not according to the right +or wrong of the particular case proceeding; equity meant a decision based upon +a complex, antiquated, unreasonable jumble of obsolete customs. The sense of +the word “equity”—as it is used in the sublime prophecy, +“With equity shall he judge the world”—was entirely lost. +</p> + +<p> +In the brief time that he had sat beside Mr Broughton in these Courts, Aymer +conceived an intense loathing for the whole system. After all, what was the +law, upon which so much was based, which over-rode equity, justice, truth, and +even conscience? What was this great fetish to which every one bowed the +knee—from the distinguished and learned judge downwards, the judge who, +in point of fact, admitted and regretted that he decided against his +conscience? It was principally precedent. Because a man had once been hung for +a murder committed in a certain manner, men must always be hung for murder. +Because a judge had once given a verdict which, under the circumstances, was as +<i>near the right</i> as he dared to go (and our judges do this), then every +one who came after must be dealt with by this immovable standard. +</p> + +<p> +The very passage of time itself—the changes introduced into society, +custom, and modes of thought in the course of the years—was in itself a +strong and all-sufficient argument against this fetish precedent. +</p> + +<p> +That was not all. Aymer in his position—to a certain extent +confidential—had a glimpse behind the scenes. Quick of observation and +comprehension, he saw that even this game of argument, and precedent, and +quibble was not conducted honestly. He had heard and read so much of the +freedom, the liberty of England, the safety of the subject, the equal justice +meted out to all, that he was literally confounded when the bare facts stared +him in the face. +</p> + +<p> +There was jobbery, corruption under the whole of it; there was class prejudice +operating in the minds of those on the judgment-seat; there were a +thousand-and-one small, invisible strings, which palled this way and that +behind the scenes. It was, after all, a species of Punch and Judy show, moved +by wires, and learnt by rote by the exhibitor. +</p> + +<p> +It sickened and wearied him. Sitting on those hard benches, he longed for +liberty—longed to escape from the depressing influence of the atmosphere +of chicanery in which he was plunged. The very sight of those hideous faces +which are sure to congregate in the criminal justice-room, seemed to weaken the +fresh young spirit within him. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, as said before, Mr Broughton used him kindly. He found Aymer lodgings +cheap and fairly comfortable. Aymer had often desired to escape from his +solitary room at Wick Farm; but even that cold, lonely apartment was better +than this. These four walls had no association—they were walls +only—partly concealed with a few common prints. One of these, over the +mantelpiece, looked down upon him as he sat by his fire in the evening. He saw +it night after night, till at last that engraving seemed to almost live, and he +watched to see when the labour of the prisoner should be completed. For it was +the picture of the prisoner sitting in his cell upon a stone bench, painfully +chiselling out upon the stone wall—just where a single beam of sunlight +fell—the figure of Christ upon the Cross, with the rude tool of a common +iron nail. +</p> + +<p> +He grew to understand the feelings and the thought, to sympathise in the work +of the prisoner in his dungeon. The solitary ray of sunshine that fell upon his +life was the love of Violet. He was himself confined, imprisoned by the iron +bars and the strong walls of poverty, and the tools he had at hand for his +labour of love were scanty and rude. How could he in that contracted sphere, +without travel, without change of scene and conversation with other men, ever +hope to find materials for works with which to please the world, and obtain for +himself fame and position? He understood now the deep meaning of the words put +in Ulysses’ mouth—“I am a part of all that I have met.” +They applied with tenfold force to the artistic, and to the literary career. It +was only by extended experience, by contact with the wide, wide world, that he +could hope to comprehend what it wanted. Yet it sometimes happened that even +the prisoner in his cell, by sheer self-concentration, and with the aid of the +rude tools and material within his reach, produced a work which could not be +surpassed. The poor prisoner of the picture reminded him constantly of this. He +tried. He thought and thought, till at last, in the quiet and solitude of his +lonely room, an idea did occur to him—not a very great or remarkable idea +either, but still one which, he felt, if properly carried out, might produce +substantial results. +</p> + +<p> +Evening after evening, upon leaving the office, he laboured at his new +conception, illustrating his book with his own pencil, spending hour after hour +upon it far into the night. So absorbed was he upon it, that he almost +neglected Violet’s letters—almost, he could not quite—but his +notes were so short and so unlike his usual style, that she, with her knowledge +of his character, saw at once what he was doing, and kept begging him not to +overwork himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Circumstances over which we have no control.” There are other +circumstances still more powerful—i.e., those circumstances which we +never even think of controlling, which happen so quietly and whose true +significance is so little apparent at the time, that we pass them by without a +thought. +</p> + +<p> +It happened that Mr Broughton was engaged in a cause which necessitated +extracts to be made from a file of old newspapers. Being overworked himself, +and his staff also in full employment, he asked Aymer to do this, and to do it +especially well and carefully. Aymer began the work, and at first found it dry +enough, but as he got deeper into it, the strange contrast presented by this +contemporary chronicle with the present day gradually forced itself upon him, +and he ceased to cast aside the papers so soon as the particular extract +required was made. +</p> + +<p> +Presently the idea occurred to him of writing an article for the London papers, +founded upon the curiosities of these old sheets of news. With this view, after +he had finished the work he was set to do, he got into the habit of carrying +two or three of the papers home, and re-reading and studying them, and making +notes by his own fireside. The file was really interesting. It began in the +year 1710. The <i>Barnham Chronicle</i> was one of those extremely old papers +published in county towns, which live on from year to year without an effort, +because they meet with no opposition. The circle of its readers, in all +probability, at that date—more than a century and a half after its +establishment—was scarcely larger than in the first year of publication. +It had been taken and read by whole generations. The son found it taken by his +father, and when he succeeded to the farm, to the mill, or to the shop, +continued the old subscription. +</p> + +<p> +Looked at in the light of the present day, when intelligence is flashed from +end to end of the kingdom in a few hours, the <i>Barnham Chronicle</i> was all +but ridiculous. Its news was a week old or more, stale and unprofitable. It did +not even advance so far as to have a London letter; but perhaps that was no +great loss to its readers. +</p> + +<p> +Yet the <i>Barnham Chronicle</i> was a “property” in more than one +sense; it paid, as well it might, at fourpence per copy, and with the monopoly +of auctioneer’s and lawyer’s advertisements in that district. And +it could boast of a more than patriarchal age. +</p> + +<p> +Reading slowly, paragraph by paragraph, through this enormous file, his +note-book at his side, Aymer came upon one advertisement, simply worded, and +with no meretricious advantage given to it by large type or other +printer’s resource, yet which he read with a special interest. It +contained the name of Waldron, of The Place, Bury Wick; and that name was +sufficient to attract him. It ran thus:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“Notice of Change of Name.—I, Arthur Sibbold, tea-dealer, of the +City of London, in the county of Middlesex, do hereby give notice, that it is +my intention to apply for permission to add to my present baptismal names the +name of Waldron, upon the occasion of my approaching marriage with Miss Annica +Waldron, of The Place, Bury Wick, co. B—, etc, etc. And that I shall be +henceforward known, called, and designated by the name of Arthur Sibbold +Waldron in all deeds, writings, etc, etc.” +</p> + +<p> +To us who are acquainted with the history of the city of Stirmingham, this +entry has a wide significance; to Aymer it had none beyond the mere fact of the +mention of Waldron. He copied it into his note-book with a mental resolve to +show it to Violet, and thought no more of it. An event that happened about this +time made him forget all about what appeared to him a trivial matter. This was +the trial of Jenkins, the gardener, for the murder of Jason Waldron. Mr +Broughton, who was engaged for the defence, to instruct counsel, naturally made +much use of Aymer’s local knowledge and perfect acquaintance with the +details of that terrible day, and was thereby furnished with fresh and +overwhelming arguments. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer worked with a will, for he knew that Violet was much concerned and +extremely anxious as to the result, and he watched the proceedings on the +fateful day with intense interest. It is needless to recapitulate the details +of the case, which have been already given. The result was an acquittal. The +Judge summed up in favour of the prisoner, observing that it was monstrous if a +man must be condemned to the last penalty of the law, because it so chanced +that a tool belonging to him had been snatched up as the readiest instrument +for a murderous attack. To his experience the murder did not appear at all in +the light of an ordinary crime. In the first place, there was an apparent +absence of motive. So far as was known, Waldron had no enemies and no quarrel +with any man. Evidently it was not committed with the intention of theft, as +not a single article had been missed. It appeared to him like the unaccountable +impulse of an unreasoning being; in plain words, like the act of <i>a lunatic +with homicidal tendencies</i>. The jury unanimously acquitted the prisoner, and +Aymer hastened to send the news to Violet. He could not post with it himself, +as Mr Broughton had other cases to attend to. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Jenkins was free—and lost. The shock had stunned him, and he was too +old and too much weakened by disease to ever recover from it. He could not face +his native village, the place where his family, though humble, had for +generations borne a good character. He had an almost childish dread of meeting +any one from Bury Wick or World’s End, and even avoided Aymer, who sought +him in the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +How truly was it said that “service is no inheritance!” After two +generations of faithful service, these poor people were practically exiled from +home and friends, and this without fault of their own. Violet would have gladly +done what she could for the aged couple. They might have, at all events, lived +at The Place and taken care of the old house, but she and Aymer lost sight of +them entirely. +</p> + +<p> +All that was known was that a few weeks after the acquittal, a waggon came and +fetched away their goods from the cottage, and Jenkins was heard of no +more—for the time. He had, in fact, found work, and buried himself, as he +hoped, for ever out of sight. There was a certain natural pride in him, and it +had been cruelly trampled upon. Suffer what he might, he would not ask for +aid—not even from Violet. And he did suffer—he and his poor +shattered wife. With not exactly a bad character, but the stigma of +“murder” clinging to him, he wandered about seeking work, and +nearly starved. +</p> + +<p> +Even in Bury Wick, where he was so well-known, had he returned, he would have +found a certain amount of reluctance to receive him into the old grooves. In +distant villages where the dreadful tale of blood had penetrated, and where the +people had had little or no opportunity of hearing the facts, there was still a +strong prejudice against him; and it must be owned that from an +outsider’s point of view, it <i>did</i> look suspicious that he should +have been alone near the house when the deed was committed. So it was that he +found it hard to get employment, especially now the winter was come, and labour +less in demand. +</p> + +<p> +At length, worn-out and exhausted with hunger and wandering, he accepted the +wages of a boy from Albert Herring, and a waggon was sent to fetch his goods. +</p> + +<p> +Albert Herring had the reputation of being a hard master, and it was well +deserved. Hard work, long hours, small pay, and that given grudgingly, and +withheld on trivial pretences—these were the practices which gained for +him the hatred of the labouring population. Yet with singular inconsistency +they were always willing to work for him. This is a phenomenon commonly to be +observed—the worst of masters can always command plenty of men. +</p> + +<p> +With Jenkins it was a matter of necessity. If he could not get work he must +starve or go into the union—dreaded almost as much as the prison. Albert +kept him several days after his application—he would see about +it—he was in no hurry. He laid much stress upon the gardener’s age, +though the other assured him that willingness would compensate for that Jenkins +had been a gardener, not a labourer. It was doubtful if he would understand his +duties if he was put on to cut a hedge. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes!” said the old man, eagerly; “I can use an axe or a +bill-hook.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay,” said Albert, brutally. “Thee can <i>use a +bill-hook</i>, so I’ve heard say.” +</p> + +<p> +Jenkins bowed his head, and his lip quivered. +</p> + +<p> +The upshot was that he was put on at nine shillings per week—one shilling +to be deducted for rent of a small cottage. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_2_chap_11"></a>Chapter Eleven.</h2> + +<p> +This trial of poor Jenkins took up Aymer’s time, so that he had no +leisure for his new book, which had to be laid aside; and when he was in hopes +of returning to it, another incident again interrupted him. The work he had to +do was very little after all; it was not the amount, but the character of it, +that he disliked. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, notwithstanding his hatred of the law, he could not help imbibing some +small smattering which afterwards proved extremely serviceable. The change from +World’s End was also beneficial in another manner—it opened his +eyes to much that he had never suspected. If anything, his inclination hitherto +would have been to have taken most people pretty much at their word. This may +sound childish to the young men of the period, who—in the habit of +frequenting billiard saloons, horse-races, card parties, hotels, and all places +where people congregate—naturally pick up a good deal of knowledge of the +world sufficient to astonish their parents, at all events. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer certainly was not a model young man. Without a doubt, if he had been +placed where such amusements were easily accessible, he would have done much as +others of his age did; but it so happened that living at World’s End, +entirely out of society, he had no such opportunities. After a month or so at +Broughton’s office his eyes began to open, and he saw that things are +very different under the surface to what they appear outwardly. He became less +ready to accept what people said, or did in the sense they wished others to see +them, and commenced a habit of deducting a large percentage from the price they +put upon themselves. +</p> + +<p> +He had been three times to see Violet—staying only a few hours—and +was agreeably surprised with the pleasant reception he received from Lady +Lechester, who took an opportunity of informing him privately that she wished +Violet to continue with her. Violet was well, but dull. She was no sentimental +heroine to pine away at separation from Aymer; but it was only natural that she +should miss the old associations. Particularly she begged Aymer not to overwork +himself at night with his private labour. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Lechester seconded this, saying that she had known a gentleman who, much +of the same disposition as Aymer, had lost his wits through incessant +application. He was a relation of hers, and was now confined in an asylum at +Stirmingham. To save speculation, it will be as well to at once mention that +this person was not Odo Lechester. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer’s reply was that he feared he should never complete his book, for +something always seemed to happen to delay it, and now he should soon have to +accompany Mr Broughton to Stirmingham. +</p> + +<p> +It was in this way. Mr Broughton, before removing to Barnham, where he +inherited the practice and most of the fortune of a deceased uncle, had lived +in Stirmingham, working as the junior partner in a firm there. He was no longer +a partner, but still continued on friendly relations with the firm; and having +much confidence in his ability, they frequently sent for him in difficult +cases. +</p> + +<p> +Now this firm—Messrs Shaw, Shaw, and Simson—had one very good +client, who had been to them almost equal to an estate, bringing in a yearly +income, and paying cash without dispute. This client, or rather these clients, +was one of those very building societies which had leased old Sternhold +Baskette’s incomplete houses for a term of years. +</p> + +<p> +House property is, as every one knows, fruitful in causes of +litigation—repairs, defaulting tenants, disputes, and what not; and, in +addition, there is the task of collecting the rents, and a vast variety of +smaller pickings. All these Shaw, Shaw, and Simson had enjoyed for fully half a +century, till they had come to look upon them as their legitimate right, and as +certain to descend into the hands of their successors. But as time went on, +they began to get anxious, and to perceive that there was a great deal of truth +in the ancient maxim, “This too shall pass away,” for the term of +the lease, long as it was, rapidly approached expiration. +</p> + +<p> +Obviously, it was their interest to delay the delivering up of the property to +the heir, John Marese Baskette, as long as possible; and they felt the stake to +be so great, that they did not spare their own money in the effort to oust him +from his just claim. +</p> + +<p> +Messrs Shaw, Shaw, and Simson were all three old and experienced men—safe +men, in every sense; but they hesitated to trust entirely to their own +ingenuity in this complicated business. They had, in fact, entrusted it to Mr +Broughton, who was not only more energetic, but was full of resources which +would never have occurred to such steady persons as the three partners. +</p> + +<p> +So it happened that, as the fall of the year advanced, Broughton had his hands +full of the building societies’ business, and had engaged to proceed to +Stirmingham as their legal representative, at the great family council of the +claimants in the Sternhold Hall, which was to open in three or four days. +</p> + +<p> +Another circumstance that brought Aymer into still closer contact with the +great case, was the fact that this firm of Shaw, Shaw, and Simson had an +American client, who was himself one of the claimants. His name was another +variation upon the old stem. +</p> + +<p> +Anthony Baskelette was tolerably well to do. He had a great business, and had +large transactions with manufacturers in Stirmingham. These necessitated an +agent there, and Shaw, Shaw, and Simson had for years looked after his affairs. +He was one of the Original Swampers. He really could prove his direct descent +from one of old Will Baskette’s cousins, and held ample documentary +evidence; and being moderately wealthy, thought he would have a trial at the +monster estate at Stirmingham. He instructed Shaw, Shaw, and Simson to get up +his claim in a legal form, and announced his intention of accompanying the body +of the claimants to England in the steamer <i>Lucca</i>, which had been so +generously chartered by Marese. +</p> + +<p> +All the correspondence from him to Shaw and Company was sent on to Barnham; and +in this way Aymer, who had much to do with Broughton’s correspondence, +began to have some idea of the magnitude of the interests at stake. Though +constitutionally averse to the law, and hating its formalities, he could not +help feeling some considerable excitement about this tremendous case, and +perhaps showed more genuine alacrity in executing Broughton’s +instructions relating to it, than he had with other matters. +</p> + +<p> +At all events, Broughton told him that he should want him to act as his clerk, +or notary, during his approaching visit to Stirmingham. The lawyer had begun to +feel a certain amount of trust and confidence in Aymer, who never failed to +fulfil his orders, though obviously against the grain, and especially as +Aymer’s demeanour was quiet and gentlemanly. If he did venture to throw +out a suggestion, it was in the most respectful and diffident manner. +</p> + +<p> +In this way it happened that Aymer became well up in the <i>latter</i> part of +the history of Stirmingham, especially in that section of the case which +concerned the Baskettes, and in time it grew to be almost the leading thought +in his mind. His letters to Violet were full of it. The history was so +romantic—so extraordinary, and yet so true—that it took strong hold +upon his imagination. +</p> + +<p> +He looked forward with pleasure to his approaching visit to Stirmingham. Like +all men with any pretence to brains, though he delighted in Nature and loved +the country, there was a strong, almost irresistible, desire within him to +mingle in the vast crowds of cities, to feel that indefinable +“life” which animates the mass. A great city to such a man as Aymer +was like a wonderful book—an Arabian Night’s tale, an endless +romance which would afford inexhaustible pleasure in the study of its +characteristics. +</p> + +<p> +Though it would involve at least a month’s absence from Violet, he looked +forward to the visit with impatience—not without a secret hope that he +might in some unexpected manner find a chance of rising in the scale, and +getting a little nearer to the object of his life. +</p> + +<p> +He had a number of commissions to execute for Lady Lechester—particularly +one. This was to search the old bookstalls and the curiosity shops, in +out-of-the-way corners, for antique Bibles. Agnes had a weakness, if it may be +so-called, for collecting old editions of the Bible, and possessed a large and +extremely interesting library filled with them. One or two particularly rare +copies had hitherto escaped her search, and if there was such a thing to be +found in Stirmingham she felt sure that Aymer would be precisely the man to +find it. +</p> + +<p> +He had also a commission to purchase for her a few pictures, with which to +decorate the walls of a new wing she was adding to The Towers. She had a +curious dislike to the old family mansion, and yet wished to live in the +neighbourhood from a sense of duty. She held it as a doctrine that the owners +of large estates should pass a part of their time, at all events, at +home—there were so many ways in which they could do good, not only by +charity, but by encouraging local industries. +</p> + +<p> +The new wing was being built to enable her to reside at home, and yet gratify +the innate dislike to The Towers which she cherished. Aymer’s artistic +taste was so marked that she felt confident he would select her suitable +pictures. There were plenty of old paintings in the galleries of The Towers +which could have been spared for the new wing, but she preferred to be +surrounded with fresh objects, even down to the very footstool. +</p> + +<p> +The day for the assembling of the great family council came nearer and nearer, +and the letters from Anthony Baskelette more frequent. The daily papers, which +Aymer saw now and read with the closest attention, began to devote a space to +notes upon the preparations, and some sent specials to Stirmingham in advance, +who described the city in a series of sketches, which excited Aymer’s +curiosity to the highest pitch. +</p> + +<p> +News came at last that the claimants were assembling at Imola; then the date of +the sailing of the <i>Lucca</i> came and passed. They knew that she must sail +upon that day, because her owners were under contract to deliver the bullion +entrusted to them on a fixed date in London, where its approaching arrival had +already had an appreciable effect upon the money-market. Seven hundred thousand +pounds in coin, in gold bars and Mexican dollars, is a sum which cannot be +transferred from one country to another at once, without causing some +fluctuations upon the Exchange. The owners of the <i>Lucca</i> were under a +bond by which they forfeited a heavy sum if the vessel did not start to time. +Therefore there was no doubt that the <i>Lucca</i> had sailed, though no +announcement had reached London of the event, for it happened that the Atlantic +cables were out of order, and there were not then such a number of cables as at +present. Still, no one doubted for an instant that she was upon the seas; and +one well-known illustrated paper announced that a special artist of theirs was +on board, who, the moment he landed, would present the public with sketches of +the incidents of the voyage, portraits of the claimants, and other subjects of +interest. It was also generally understood that the heir, in his yacht, had +started from New York to accompany the steamer. +</p> + +<p> +What was Aymer’s surprise and regret, upon opening the paper on the +second morning after, to see the following telegram, one of the cables having +got into partial working order again:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“New York, Tuesday Night.<br/> + “The <i>Lucca</i> sailed on Friday at noon, but <i>without</i> the +claimants. She brings the specie announced.” +</p> + +<p> +Then there was an editorial note to the effect that several other words of the +telegram could not be read, on account of the unsatisfactory state of the +wires. The evening papers had further particulars:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“The <i>Lucca</i>, and the yacht of John Marese Baskette, Esq, have +passed Sandy Hook. All well. A snow-storm blocked the line from Imola to New +York, and the claimants could not arrive in time. They follow per +<i>Saskatchewan</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +Next day additional particulars came to hand. It appeared that the heir, +Marese, had on the Wednesday gone to Imola, and received an ovation from the +assembled claimants. He was to accompany them to New York on the Friday, and to +follow the <i>Lucca</i> in his yacht. On Thursday night there came a heavy fall +of snow—and a strong wind, which caused immense drifts. Notwithstanding +these the special train, with Marese and one hundred and fifty claimants, +started from Imola with a pilot-engine in front, the station-masters along the +line having telegraphed that they would clear it in time. They did partially +succeed in the attempt; but the storm came on again, the wires were blown down; +and telegraphic communication for a part of the way interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +In the thick snow the special crept along, with the pilot in front; but, +despite of all their caution, the pilot-engine ran into a drift and stuck fast. +The special came up, but there was no collision. To proceed was, however, +impossible; every moment made it more so, and they began to fear lest the +return to Imola should be also blocked up. +</p> + +<p> +After much consultation it was decided to run back to Imola, and proceed by a +more circuitous route. There was just a chance that, if this other route was +clear of snow, they might get to New York in time. They put on steam and pushed +as fast as possible, and the consequence was a narrow escape from a serious +disaster. The wind, since they had passed, had blown down a large pine tree, +which fell across the line. The engine of the special struck this tree, but +being provided with cow-guards, was not thrown off the line. Some of the +machinery was, however, damaged, and the special came to a standstill. After a +long delay, consequent on the interruption of telegraphic communication, a +second train was sent up, and the passengers re-embarked in it, and at last got +back to Imola. It was now, however, too late to reach New York in time, +especially as the longer route was equally encumbered with drifts of snow. The +result was that the <i>Lucca</i> was obliged to start without them. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_2_chap_12"></a>Chapter Twelve.</h2> + +<p> +The <i>Saskatchewan</i> was to start on the next Friday. The claimants had +arrived at New York on the Sunday, after much trouble and a long journey, +having to make an immense détour. The council could not now hold its +first meeting on New Year’s Day, but was expected to assemble on the 6th +January (Twelfth Day). +</p> + +<p> +For two days they were without intelligence at Barnham and Stirmingham, the +cables being wrong again, but on the third Aymer was sent for to the private +residence of Mr Broughton at seven in the morning. The London dailies had not +yet arrived, but he had received a private telegram from Shaw, Shaw, and +Simson, with the most extraordinary news. The yacht of Mr Marese Baskette had +brought the steamship <i>Lucca</i> back to port a derelict, having found her +helpless on the high seas, with every passenger and every one of the crew dead. +</p> + +<p> +Presently the papers came and contained the same announcement, though they one +and all expressed a strong doubt as to the accuracy of the news. By-and-by down +came a second edition of the <i>Telegraph</i>, repeating the former telegram, +with additional particulars. By night it was known as a fact over the length +and breadth of the world, that the <i>Lucca</i> had been found lying like a log +upon the waste of waters with a crew of corpses—a veritable ship of the +Dead. The ghastly news was only too true. Excitement rose to the highest pitch; +edition after edition of the papers sold out; men congregated in groups, +discussing this new horror which had saddened civilisation. All were completely +in the dark as to how it had happened, and in the eagerness for further insight +the brief telegram announcing that the claimants had started on board the +<i>Saskatchewan</i> was overlooked. There were plenty, however, who pointed out +to each other the fortunate escape the claimants had had. If the snow had not +fallen on that particular night; if the wires had not been broken by the +falling posts; if the pine tree had fallen on one side instead of crossing the +line, they would in all human probability have one and all shared the fate of +those on board the <i>Lucca</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Only one circumstance caused any abatement of the intense alarm which this +fearful occurrence created. It was this: The greater portion of the space +allotted for passenger accommodation on the <i>Lucca</i> had been taken by +Marese for the claimants, and as it was not certain up to the last moment +whether they would come or not, the ship started with less than a third of her +full complement of passengers. There was not, therefore, such a death-roll as +might have been; but, even as it was, it was extended enough. +</p> + +<p> +No one could understand how it had happened; not the slightest explanation was +given, and the public mind was exercised in speculating upon the cause of the +disaster. The passage from America to England had long lost the character of a +voyage. The height to which perfection had been carried in the great steamship +lines, was such that it had become a mere ocean promenade. No one thought of +danger; the perils of the deep had been so thoroughly overcome. In the midst of +this security came a shattering blow, which dispelled the confidence slowly +built up by such an expenditure of skill and money as had perhaps never been +equalled in the history of the world. The mystery seemed impenetrable. If the +vessel had disappeared like the <i>City of Boston</i>; if it had sunk, there +would have been several explanations possible. But to be brought back into port +perfect, uninjured, and yet a derelict, with a dead crew—it was +inexplicable. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>Saskatchewan</i> arrived on the 2nd January, and with her came the +claimants—all but Marese—and these immediately proceeded to +Stirmingham. It was hoped that she would have brought fuller particulars as to +the fate of the <i>Lucca</i>; but having started on the very day that the +<i>Lucca</i> returned to port, nothing more was known on board than the simple +fact. +</p> + +<p> +On the 4th, however, another steamer came into Liverpool, bringing the New York +papers up to date, and the contents of these were at once published in London. +</p> + +<p> +By the steamer came a letter from Anthony Baskelette. He had left the +<i>Saskatchewan</i> on hearing of the <i>Lucca’s</i> return, in great +anxiety about some consignment he had made by her to his agent in Stirmingham. +He had met the heir, and had been invited to accompany him to England on board +his yacht, which would not reach Liverpool till the 9th. He was full of the +<i>Lucca</i> catastrophe, and his long letter contained more particulars than +four papers. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer read it with the deepest interest. It ran:— +</p> + +<p> +“You will of course attend the council on the 6th, both in the interest +of the building society and of myself. I am delayed by the necessity of seeing +after the consignment I had made on board the unfortunate <i>Lucca</i>, which +consignment is too valuable to be left to agents. I am in the greatest anxiety, +because it is uncertain yet in what light the rescue of the <i>Lucca</i> will +be regarded. +</p> + +<p> +“There can be no doubt that if the owner of the yacht—Mr Marese +Baskette—likes, he can put in a heavy claim for salvage. The question +is—whether in his position as the ostensible heir, and as a gentleman, he +will insist upon his right, or, at all events, moderate his demands? +</p> + +<p> +“I have met and conversed with him, and I gather from him that personally +he is averse to making any claim at all. He considers that his yacht simply +performed a duly, and a duly that was imperative upon her captain. To take +money from those unfortunate persons who had consigned goods, or bullion in the +<i>Lucca</i> he thought would be contrary to every sentiment of honour and +humanity. +</p> + +<p> +“But, unfortunately, he is not altogether a free agent. It appears that +at the time when the salvage of the <i>Lucca</i> was effected, there was on +board the yacht a certain Mr Theodore Marese—a cousin of Mr +Baskette’s, who is only in moderate circumstances, and naturally looks +upon the event as a windfall which may never occur again—as I hope and +pray it never will. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr Theodore Marese, it seems, performed some personal service in +rescuing the <i>Lucca</i>, and was considered to have run considerable risk to +his life. +</p> + +<p> +“A certain sum will have no doubt to be paid to Mr Theodore, and I cannot +blame him if he insists upon his right. He was practically the master of the +yacht at the time, and it seems was on his way—with Mr Baskette’s +permission—to London, to attend to some very urgent business there, which +the catastrophe of the <i>Lucca</i> has delayed and greatly injured, causing +him pecuniary loss. +</p> + +<p> +“Then there is the captain of the yacht, and the crew. It is a fine +vessel—some 300 tons or more, I should think—a screw steamer, and +very fast. She carries a rather numerous crew, and all these are ravenous for +plunder, and it is hard to see how these claims are to be avoided. Still +further, it seems that Mr Baskette himself is not altogether a free agent. He +freely admitted to me that he was not without his debts—as is probable +enough to a man of fashion, with a certain position to maintain. +</p> + +<p> +“These creditors may take advantage of the <i>Lucca</i> business to push +him, and say that he must take the salvage in order to meet their demands. Of +this he is greatly afraid. +</p> + +<p> +“Baskette is a most pleasant man, easy to converse with, very open and +straightforward—quite a different person to what I should have expected. +He has been particularly agreeable to me, promising his best efforts to curtail +my loss, and has given me a cabin in his now famous yacht, the <i>Gloire de +Dijon</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot drive the subject of the salvage from my mind. The saloons, +bars, hotels—everywhere people talk of nothing else. It has quite +eclipsed the tragedy, as well it might, from the magnitude of the sums +involved. +</p> + +<p> +“First of all, there is the vessel herself—found upon the high +seas, a derelict, without a hand at the wheel or at the engines. She is a +splendid steamer, fully 3000 tons, and estimated at half a million of dollars, +or, say, 100,000 pounds. The cargo she carried was immensely valuable—the +bullion you know about: it was 718,000 pounds in exact figures—but the +cargo must be worth at least another 75,000 pounds. +</p> + +<p> +“Then there is a very large amount of personal property, for half the +claimants who were to go by her had forwarded their luggage previously; and +there are the effects of the poor creatures who died. But these last, Mr +Baskette declares, shall under no circumstances be touched. Happen what may, +they are to be returned to the owners of their heirs undiminished. +</p> + +<p> +“Putting it all at the lowest estimate, the value of the vessel, the +bullion, and cargo cannot be less than 893,000 pounds; and the salvage will +equal a gigantic fortune. +</p> + +<p> +“So far I have dealt only with the salvage question. I will now proceed +to give you a more detailed account than you will be able to get from the +papers, of the terrible fate which overtook the <i>Lucca</i>. These I have +learnt from Mr Baskette and from Mr Theodore Marese, who was on the yacht. +</p> + +<p> +“The reporters are, of course, incessant in their inquiries, but there is +much that has escaped them, as a certain amount of reticence must of necessity +be observed. These gentlemen have, however, made no reserve to me—I must +beg of you not to publish this letter, or any part of it, lest there should +appear to be a breach of confidence. +</p> + +<p> +“It appears that the <i>Lucca</i> started at noon on the Friday, as per +bond, with a full complement of crew, but a short list of passengers. About two +hours after she had left, the <i>Gloire de Dijon</i> put out to sea. Mr +Baskette was at that time still at Imola, unable to get to New York. He and his +cousin, Mr T. Marese, were to have gone together in the yacht to London, where +Mr Theodore’s business was very pressing. +</p> + +<p> +“When Mr Baskette found himself unable to reach New York, he telegraphed +to Mr Theodore telling him to take the yacht and go on to London as had been +previously arranged, thereby showing the same character of consideration for +others which he has since exhibited to me. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr Theodore put to sea in the <i>Gloire de Dijon</i>, and says that next +morning they overtook the <i>Lucca</i>, or nearly so, the yacht being extremely +swift. It occurred to him that, after all, as the Atlantic is still the +Atlantic, notwithstanding steam, and there are such things as breaking +machinery, it would be well to keep in company with a powerful vessel like the +<i>Lucca</i> as far as the coast of Ireland. +</p> + +<p> +“They did so, and even once spoke the steamship, which replied, +‘All well.’ All that day the two ships were not half a mile apart, +and the night being moonlit, the <i>Gloire de Dijon</i> followed close in the +other’s wake till about four in the morning, when, as often happens at +thick fog came on. Afraid of collision, the captain of the yacht now slackened +speed to about six knots, and kept a course a little to the starboard of the +steamer ahead. +</p> + +<p> +“The fog continued very thick till past noon, and then suddenly lifted, +and they saw seven or eight sail in sight, one of which was the <i>Lucca</i> on +their port bow, and about four miles off. She was running, as usual, at a good +pace, and the sea being quiet, was making all thirteen knots. The <i>Gloire de +Dijon</i> increased speed, and drew up to within a mile and a half by three in +the afternoon. The <i>Lucca</i> then bore due east, and they were in her wake. +The wind was west, with a little southerly, and just ahead of the <i>Lucca</i> +was a large square-rigged ship, with all sail set, but making very little way +on account of the trifling breeze. +</p> + +<p> +“An extraordinary thing now happened. The <i>Lucca</i> was observed by +the captain of the yacht to be making straight for the sailing ship ahead, and +had now got so close that a collision appeared inevitable. He called to Mr +Theodore, who came up from below. The <i>Lucca</i> ran dead at the sailing +ship, though she was making thirteen knots to the other’s four, and the +slightest turn of her wheel would have carried her free. On account of the +direction of the wind, the ship was sailing almost right before it, and the +steamer appeared to be aiming at her stern. +</p> + +<p> +“On the yacht they could see the crew of the sailing ship making frantic +signs over the quarter to the steamer, but not the slightest notice was taken. +The captain of the sailing ship had relied upon the steamer giving way, as is +usual, and had allowed her to come so close that, it seems, he lost his head. +Seeing this, the mate sang out to put the helm a-starboard, and run straight +before the wind. This was done, and only just in time, for the steamer actually +grazed her quarter, and carried away their boom. Knowing that the captain of +the <i>Lucca</i> was an old sailor, and a steady, experienced man, they were +astonished at this behaviour, especially as, without staying to inquire what +damage had been done, she kept on her course at still greater speed. +</p> + +<p> +“The captain of the yacht now put on speed, being desirous of speaking +the steamer; but after an hour or two it was evident that the <i>Lucca</i> was +drawing ahead, and had increased her lead by at least a mile. They could not +understand this, as the yacht was notoriously faster, and it became evident +that the engineer of the <i>Lucca</i> must have got his safety-valve +screwed-down. +</p> + +<p> +“Night, as every one knows, falls rapidly at this time of the year, and +the darkness was increased by the fog, which now came on again. During the +evening all their conversation was upon the <i>Lucca</i>. Surely she would not +keep up her speed in such a fog as this? The yacht had slackened, and was +doing, as before, about six knots. +</p> + +<p> +“The night wore on, till about two o’clock, when the wind +freshened, and blew half a gale. At four the fog cleared, and the watch +reported that the <i>Lucca</i> was on their starboard quarter, a mile astern, +with her engines stopped. Mr Theodore was called, and came on deck. There lay +the steamer in the trough of the sea, rolling, heaving—so much so that +they wondered her sticks did not go. No smoke issued from her funnel, and the +steam-pipe gave no sign. The usual flag was flying, but no signal was shown in +answer to the <i>Gloire de Dijon’s</i> inquiry. There was no sail on her. +</p> + +<p> +“It was at once evident that something was wrong, and Mr Theodore ordered +the yacht to be put about. They tried the signals, but, as I said, no notice +was taken. On approaching the <i>Lucca</i>, which had to be done with some +caution, as she slewed about in a helpless manner, and was drifting before the +sea, an extraordinary spectacle presented itself. As she rolled, her deck came +partly into view, and they saw, with what feelings may be imagined, several men +lying on the deck, and thrown now this way, now that, as the rollers went under +her, evidently either dead or unconscious. +</p> + +<p> +“Filled with alarm and excitement, they attempted to board the vessel, +but found it impossible. The waves made all but a clean breach over her. She +staggered like a drunken man, and swung now this way, now that. Some of the +standing rigging had given way, and they could hear the masts creak. They were +afraid to get under her lee in case they should fall. +</p> + +<p> +“At length the captain of the yacht thought of a plan. He got a hawser +ready with a loop, and watching his opportunity, ran the yacht close to her +bow, and with his own hand, at great risk, hurled the rope, and by good luck +the loop caught in the fluke of one of her anchors. They paid the hawser out +over the yacht’s stern, and gradually got her in tow. It strained +fearfully; but as soon as they had got the <i>Lucca</i> before the wind, they +had her right enough, though there was even then some danger of being pooped. +The sea was high, but not so high that the jolly-boat could live, and they +manned her and boarded the <i>Lucca</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“The sailors were eager enough to get on board, but so soon as they were +on deck the superstition of the sea seemed to seize them, and not one would +venture from the gangway; for towards the stern there lay the bodies that they +had seen, still and motionless, and evidently dead. +</p> + +<p> +“A terrible mystery hung over the ship—terrible, indeed!” +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_2_chap_13"></a>Chapter Thirteen.</h2> + +<p> +“Not one of the seamen could be got to go below, or to approach the +corpses on the deck; and even the mate, who did touch these last, had a +reluctance to descend. It was, however, necessary to get another hawser +attached to the <i>Lucca</i>, and this occupied some little time; and by then +the men became more accustomed to the ship, and at last, led by the mate, they +went down. +</p> + +<p> +“At the foot of the staircase a terrible sight met their gaze. A heap of +people—seamen, passengers, all classes—lay huddled up +together—dead. They were piled one over the other in ghastly profusion, +having been probably flung about by the rolling of the ship when she got +broadside on. So great was the heap that they could not advance without either +stepping upon the bodies, or removing them; and in this emergency they +signalled to the yacht, which sent another boat, and in it came Mr Theodore. +</p> + +<p> +“He at once gave orders to make a passage and to explore the steamer +thoroughly, which was done, and done speedily, for the sailors, having now +conquered their superstitious fears, worked with a will. From that heap +thirty-five bodies were carried up on deck, and laid upon one side in an awful +row. They exhibited no traces of violence whatever. Their faces were quite +calm; though one or two had the eyeballs staring from the head, as if they had +struggled to escape suffocation. +</p> + +<p> +“A search through the steamer revealed a cargo of the dead. Passengers +lay at the doors of their berths, some half-dressed; and five or six were +discovered in their berths, having evidently died while asleep. The engineer +lay on the floor of the engine-room with three assistants—stiff, and with +features grimly distorted. They had apparently suffered more than the rest. +</p> + +<p> +“The crew were found in various places. The captain lay near the +engine-room, as if he had been on his way to consult with the engineer when +death overtook him. Bodies were found all over the ship, and exclamations +constantly arose as the men discovered fresh corpses. The air between decks was +close and confined, and there was a fetid odour which they supposed to arise +from the bodies, and which forced them sometimes to run on deck to breathe. +This odour caused many of the sailors to vomit, and one or two were really ill +for a time. +</p> + +<p> +“It appeared that the whole ship’s crew and all the passengers had +perished; but one of the sailors searching about found a man in the wheelhouse +on deck, who on being lifted up showed some slight trace of life. The sailors +crowded round, and the excitement was intense. Mr Theodore, who is a physician +by profession, lent the aid of his skill, and after a while the man began to +come round, though unable to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“The captain of the yacht had now come on board, and a consultation was +held, at which it was decided to run back to New York. But as the wind was +strong and the sea high, and the hawsers strained a good deal, it was arranged +to put a part of the crew of the yacht on board the <i>Lucca</i>, to get up +steam in her boilers, and shape a course for the States. To this the crew of +the yacht strongly objected—they came aft in a body and respectfully +begged not to be asked to stay on board the <i>Lucca</i>. They dreaded a +similar fate to that which befel the crew and passengers of that unfortunate +steamer. +</p> + +<p> +“The end of it was that Mr Theodore ordered the hawsers to be kept +attached, and the yacht was to partly tow the steamer and she was to partly +steam ahead herself—the steam was to be got up, and the engines driven at +half speed. This would ease the hawsers and the yacht, and at the same time the +crew on board the <i>Lucca</i> would be in communication with the yacht, and +able to convey their wishes at once. +</p> + +<p> +“All agreed to this. Steam was easily got up, and the +<i>Lucca’s</i> boilers and her engines were soon working, for the +machinery was found to be in perfect order. By the time that this arrangement +was perfected, and the ships were, got well under weigh, the short day was +nearly over, and with the night came anew the superstitions of the sailors. +They murmured, and demurred to working a ship with a whole cargo of dead +bodies. They would not move even across the deck alone, and as to going below +it required them at once to face the mystery. +</p> + +<p> +“After an hour or so a clamour arose to pitch the dead overboard. What on +earth was the use of keeping them? An abominable stench came up from between +decks, and many of them could barely stand it. Mr Theodore and the captain +begged them to be calm, but it was in vain. They rose <i>en masse</i>, and in a +short space of time every one of these dead bodies had been heaved overboard. +</p> + +<p> +“The gale had moderated, and the splash of each corpse as it fell into +the water could be distinctly heard on board the yacht ahead. Such conduct +cannot be too much deplored, and there was a talk of prosecuting the men for +mutiny; but, on the other hand, there appears to be some excuse in the +extraordinary and unprecedented horrors of the situation. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr Theodore remained on board the <i>Lucca</i>, doing all that science +and patience could do for the sole survivor, who proved to be the third +officer. Towards sunrise he rallied considerably, but Mr Theodore never had any +hopes, and advised the captain to take a note of his depositions, which was +done. +</p> + +<p> +“His name, he said, was William Burrows, of Maine. He could only speak a +few sentences at a time, and that very faintly, but the substance of it was +that all went well with the <i>Lucca</i> up till early that morning, when first +the fog came on. Very soon after the mist settled down, and speed was reduced, +there was a commotion below, and a report spread through the ship that three +men were dying. In ten minutes half a dozen more were taken in this manner. +They complained merely of inability to breathe, and of a deadly weakness, and +prayed to be taken on deck. This was done; but then ten or twelve more were +affected, and those who went below to assist them up on deck fell victims at +once to the same strange disorder. Every one throughout the ship complained of +a faint, sickly odour, and no sooner was this inhaled than a deadly lethargy +seized upon them, and increased till they fell down and died. He happened to be +on deck in the wheelhouse at the time, and saw half a dozen sailors and three +of the passengers brought up, but remembered no more, for the sickly smell +invaded the deck. He heard a singing in his ears, and the blood seemed to press +heavily, as if driven upwards against the roof of his skull. He remembered no +more for some hours. Then he, as it were, awoke, and got up on his legs, but +again felt the same lethargy, and fell. When the disorder first attacked the +ship’s company, the captain talked of stopping the steamer and signalling +for assistance; but it appeared to be useless, for the fog was so thick that +any flag, or rocket, or light would have been unnoticed at half a cable’s +distance. Preparations were made to fire a gun, and the steam blast was +ordered, but the engineer was dead, and no one would go below. The captain then +descended to go to the engine-room, and was seen no more. Meantime the steamer +continued her way. When he got on his legs in the wheelhouse, it was just after +the bow of the <i>Lucca</i> had carried away the boom of an unknown sailing +ship, and he could feel that she was then going at a tremendous speed. The fog +had cleared, and if he had had strength enough he could have made signals, but +the deadly sleep came over him again, and he was unconscious till picked up by +the crew of the <i>Gloire de Dijon</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“This was all he could tell, and it threw no light upon the cause of the +disaster. After he had signed this in a shaky hand—I have seen the +original document—he sank rapidly, and, despite of every remedy and +stimulant, died before noon. His body was the only one brought into port, and +it was interred yesterday in the presence of a vast assembly. A +<i>post-mortem</i> examination failed to detect the slightest trace of poison +or indication of disease; and all those who assisted in removing the dead +bodies on board the <i>Lucca</i>, declare that they presented no known symptoms +of any epidemic—for the prevailing belief in New York at first was that +some epidemic had broken out—a kind of plague, which destroyed its +victims almost as soon as attacked. But for this there seems no foundation +whatever. None of the sailors of the yacht caught the epidemic. One or two were +unwell for a day or so, but are now well and hearty. +</p> + +<p> +“I think Mr Theodore’s suggestion the best that has been +made—and it gradually gains ground with educated men, though the mass +cling to the fanciful notion of foul play in some unheard-of way—Mr +Theodore thinks that it was caused by the generation of coal-damp, or some +similar and fatal gas, in the coal-bunkers of the <i>Lucca</i>; and everything +seems to favour this supposition. It is well-known that in cold +weather—especially in cold weather accompanied by fog—coal-damp in +mines is especially active and fatal. Most of the great explosions which have +destroyed hundreds at once have occurred in such a state of the atmosphere. +</p> + +<p> +“Now the fog which came on that fatal morning was peculiarly thick and +heavy, and it so happens that the coal in the <i>Lucca’s</i> bunkers came +from a colliery where, only a fortnight ago, there was an explosion. The +vapour, or gas, or whatever it was that was thus generated, was not the true +coal-damp, or it would have been ignited by the furnaces of the boilers, or at +the cook’s fires; but in all probability it was something very near akin +to it. All the symptoms described by poor Burrows, are those of blood-poisoning +combined with suffocation, and such would be the effects of a gas or vapour +arising from coal. Fatal effects arising from damp coal in close bunkers are on +record; but this is the worst ever heard of. +</p> + +<p> +“It would seem that after the engineer and the crew fell into their fatal +slumbers, the steam in the boilers must have reached almost a bursting +pressure—the boilers being untended—and the engineer, in falling, +had opened the valve to the full, which accounts for the extraordinary speed of +the <i>Lucca</i> when pursued by the yacht. Being a very long vessel and sharp +in the bows, and going at a very high speed, she would naturally keep nearly a +direct course, as there was little wind or sea to interfere with her rudder. So +soon as the fires burned out the engines stopped, and the sea rising, she +became entirely at the mercy of the waves. +</p> + +<p> +“When Burrows fell a victim he saw nine or ten men on deck lying prone in +a fatal sleep—when the <i>Gloire de Dijon</i> sent a boat’s crew on +board there were but three bodies on deck; the rest had rolled, or been washed, +overboard. +</p> + +<p> +“These are the principal particulars of this unprecedented catastrophe. +This is a long letter, but I am sure that you will be eager for news upon the +subject, and, to tell the truth, I cannot get it out of my mind, and it +relieves me to write it down. +</p> + +<p> +“What a narrow escape we have all had. And especially me, for I came on +to New York from Imola before the rest started, and got clear through without +any snow. When it was found that they could not reach New York in time, I was +in doubt whether to go by the <i>Lucca</i>, or remain and accompany the main +body in the <i>Saskatchewan</i>. Accident decided. I met an old friend whom I +had not seen for years, and resolved to take advantage of the delay, and spend +a day or two with him. So I escaped. +</p> + +<p> +“But had it not been for the snow-storm, which caused so much cursing at +the time, we should one and all have perished miserably. The impression made +upon us was so deep that just before the <i>Saskatchewan</i> started the whole +body of the claimants attended a special service at a church here, when +thanksgivings were offered for the escape they had had, and prayers offered up +for future safety. +</p> + +<p> +“I look forward with much pleasure to my voyage in the <i>Gloire de +Dijon</i> yacht, at Mr Baskette’s invitation. A finer, more gentlemanly +man does not exist; and I am greatly impressed with the learning of Mr +Theodore.” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer was much struck with the contents of this letter of Anthony +Baskelette’s. The whole tragedy seemed to pass before his mind; his vivid +imagination called up a picture of the <i>Lucca</i>, steaming as fast as +bursting pressure could drive her with a crew of corpses across the winter sea. +He made an extract from it, and sent it to Violet. Next day they were <i>en +route</i> for Stirmingham. +</p> + +<p> +At the same moment the designer of this horrible event was steaming across the +Atlantic in his splendid yacht, gulling weak-minded, simple Baskelette with +highest notions of honour, and what not. When Marese found that the snow had +blocked the line and prevented access to New York, his rage and disappointment +knew no bounds; but he was sufficiently master of himself to think and decide +upon the course to be pursued. +</p> + +<p> +Although that part of the diabolical scheme which aimed at the wholesale +destruction of the claimants had failed, all the other sections of it were in +train to succeed. The bullion was shipped, the cargo a rich one, the steamer +herself valuable—no better prize could ever fall to him. Therefore he +telegraphed to Theodore in cypher to proceed as had been arranged. +</p> + +<p> +The infernal machine, concealed in the simple aspect of an ordinary strong +deal-box, was sent on board the <i>Lucca</i>, and everything happened just as +Theodore had foreseen. If the conspirators were somewhat disturbed in their +calculations by the snow-storm, on the other hand their designs were assisted +by the heavy fog which had occurred at sea. Undoubtedly this fog rendered the +poisonous gas escaping from the case still more effective, as it would prevent +it dispersing so rapidly, and at the same time it hid any signals the +<i>Lucca</i> might have made. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing more fortunate for the conspirators than this fog could have happened, +for its service did not end here—it furnished a plausible explanation of +what would have otherwise been inexplicable. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore easily contrived the removal of the fatal case, now empty, on board +the <i>Gloire de Dijon</i> after the <i>Lucca</i> had returned to port. The +case had been consigned to Liverpool, which was the port the <i>Lucca</i> was +bound for, and the excuse for sending it by the <i>Lucca</i> was all cut and +dried—i.e., that the <i>Gloire de Dijon</i> was for London. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing was more natural than that, after this narrow escape, it should be +wished to transfer the case to the <i>Gloire de Dijon</i>. This was done; and +while at sea Theodore quietly removed his machine and pitched it into the water +at night, and it sank in the abyss, being lined with iron inside. +</p> + +<p> +The question of salvage bid fair to occupy the Courts in New York for some +considerable time, and to be a boon to the lawyers; but the two conspirators +were far too keen to let their prize slip from them in that way. They managed +to have the matter referred to arbitration, and the final result was that +400,000 pounds was awarded. This amount they at once transferred to London, and +with it plunged at once into fresh schemes. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_2_chap_14"></a>Chapter Fourteen.</h2> + +<p> +The great city whose ownership was at stake, knew that the eagles were gathered +to the living carcase, and yet did not feel their presence. What are one +hundred and fifty people in a population of half a million? They are lost, +unless they march in order and attract attention by blocking up the streets. +Disband a regiment of the Line in Saint Paul’s Churchyard at London, and +in ten minutes it would disappear, and no one would notice any unusual +prevalence of red coats on the pavements. +</p> + +<p> +The newspaper people were woefully disappointed, for the Press were not +admitted. They revenged themselves with caricature portraits of the claimants, +and grotesque sketches of their manners and conduct. Although the Press were +excluded; there were several present who could write shorthand, and amongst +these was a clerk from the office of Shaw, Shaw, and Simson, whose notes I have +had the opportunity of consulting. +</p> + +<p> +The Sternhold Hall, in which the council was held, was built, as has been +stated, upon a spot once the very centre of the Swamp, now surrounded with +noble streets of mansions and club-houses, theatres, +picture-galleries—the social centre of Stirmingham. The front—you +can buy a photograph of it for a shilling—is of the Ionic order of +architecture—that is, the modern mock Ionic—i.e., the basement is +supported by columns of that order, and above these the <i>façade</i> +consists of windows in the Gothic style, which are, after all, dumb windows +only. The guide-books call it magnificent; it is really simply incongruous. +</p> + +<p> +The whole of the first two days was spent by the one hundred and fifty +claimants in wrangling as to who should take the chair, how the business should +be conducted, who should be admitted and who should not. All the minor +differences suppressed while on the voyage broke out afresh, the moment the +eagles had scented the carcase. Two days’ glimpse at the wealth of +Stirmingham, was sufficient to upset all the artificial calm and friendship, +which had been introduced by the generous offers of Marese Baskette. One +gentleman proposed that a certain section of claimants should be wholly +excluded from the hall. This caused a hubbub, and if the incident had happened +in the States revolvers might have been used. The Original Swampers declared +that they would not sit under a chairman drawn from any other body but +themselves. The outer circle of Baskettes considered that the conceit of the +Swampers was something unbearable, and declined to support them in any way. The +Illegitimate Swampers alone supported the Originals, in the hope of getting up +by clinging to their coat-tails. The Primitive Sibbolds were quite as +determined to sit under no president but their own, and, the ranks of the other +Sibbolds were split up into twenty parties. The clamour of tongues, the +excitement, the hubbub was astounding. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer, as clerk to Mr Broughton, had a first-rate view of the whole, for Shaw, +Shaw, and Simson had provided for the comfort of their representative by +purchasing for the time the right to use the stage entrance of the room. Their +offices were for the nonce established in the green-room. Their clients mounted +upon the platform or stage, and passed behind the curtain to private +consultation. This astute management upset the other seven companies, whose +representatives had to locate themselves as best they might in the midst of a +stormy sea of contending people. From the rear of the stage, just where the +stage-manager was accustomed to look out upon the audience and watch the effect +upon them of the play, Aymer had a good view of the crowd below, and beheld men +in every shade of cloth, with rolls of paper, yellow deeds, or old books and +quill pens in their hands, gesticulating and chattering like the starlings at +World’s End. +</p> + +<p> +For two whole days the storm continued, till at last Mr Broughton suggested +that the debate should be conducted in sections; each party to have its own +president, secretary, committee, and reporter of progress; each to sit apart +from the others by means of screens, and that there should be a central +committee-room, to receive the reports and tabulate them in order. This scheme +was adopted, and something like order began to prevail. Anthony Baskelette, +Esq, who had now arrived per the <i>Gloire de Dijon</i>, was pretty unanimously +voted to the presidentship of the central committee, or section, the members of +which were composed of representatives from every party. Screens were provided +at no little expense, and the great hall was portioned out into thirty or forty +pens, not unlike the high pews used of old in village churches. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer was intensely interested and amused, as he stood at his peep-hole on the +stage, from which he could see into every one of these pens, or pews, and watch +the eagerness of the disputes going on between the actors in each. +</p> + +<p> +The first great object the sections had in view was to reduce their claims to +something like shape and order; for this purpose each section was numbered from +1 to 37, and was to deliver to the central section, Number 38, a report or +summary of the general principles and facts upon which the members of the +section based their claim. This summary of claim, as it was called, was to be +short, succinct, and clear; and to be supported by minute extracts of evidence, +by the vouchers of the separate individuals, so to say, showing that the +summary was correct. +</p> + +<p> +These extracts of evidence attached to the summary were really not extracts, +but full copies, and had to contain the dates, names, method of identification, +and references to church registers, tombstones, family Bibles, and so forth. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer was astounded at the magnitude of these volumes of evidence—for +such, in fact, they were. He had an opportunity of just glancing at them, as +they were laid upon the table of the central section one after another. The +summaries were reasonable and tolerably well expressed. The minutes of evidence +were something overwhelming. A section would send up in the course of a +day—first, its summary and a pile of folios—seventy or eighty large +lawyer’s folios of evidence to be attached to it. On the morrow it would +beg for permission to add to its evidence, and towards the afternoon up would +come another huge bundle of closely-written manuscript. +</p> + +<p> +This would go on for several days, till the central committee at last issued an +order to receive no more evidence from section Number —. +</p> + +<p> +Then section Number — would hold an indignation meeting and protest, till +the central committee was obliged to receive additional bundles of so-called +evidence. Half of this evidence was nothing better than personal recollection. +</p> + +<p> +The method pursued in the sections was delightfully simple and gratifying to +every member’s vanity. He was supplied with pen and ink, and told to put +down all he could recollect about his family. The result was that in each +section there were five or six people—and in some more—all busily +at work, writing autobiographies; and as everybody considered himself of quite +as much consequence as his neighbour, the bulk of these autobiographies can +easily be imagined. +</p> + +<p> +If any one had taken the trouble to wade through these personal histories, he +would have been highly gratified with the fertility of the United States in +breeding truly benevolent, upright, and distinguished men! +</p> + +<p> +Out of all that one hundred and fifty there was not one who did not merit the +gratitude of his township at least, and some were fully worthy of the +President’s chair at the White House. Their labours for the good of +others were most carefully recorded—the subscriptions they had made to +local charities far away on the other side of the Atlantic, to schoolhouses, +and chapels, town-halls, and what not. +</p> + +<p> +“There,” ran many a proud record,—“you will see my +initials upon the corner-stone—‘J.I.B.,’ for ‘Jonathan +Ithuriel Baskette,’ and the date (186-), which is in itself good evidence +towards my case.” +</p> + +<p> +All this mass of rubbish had to be sifted by the central, committee, to be +docketed, indexed, arranged, and a general analysis made of it. +</p> + +<p> +They worked for a while without a murmur, and suddenly collapsed. It was +impossible to meet the flood of writing. Fancy one hundred and fifty people +writing their autobiographies all at once, and each determined to do himself +justice! Such a spectacle was never witnessed since the world began, and was +worthy of the nineteenth century. The central committee flung up their hands in +despair. A resource was presently found in the printing-press. +</p> + +<p> +When once the idea was started, the cry spread to all corners of the hall, and +rose in a volume of sound to be echoed from the roof. The Press! The Spirit +evoked by Faust which he could not control, nor any who have followed him. +</p> + +<p> +It was unanimously decided that everything should be printed—sectional +summaries, minutes of evidence, central committees analysis, solicitors +arguments, references and all. There was rejoicing in the printing offices at +Stirmingham that day. Now the <i>Stirmingham Daily Post</i> reaped the reward +of its long attack upon the family of the heir, upon Sternhold Baskette, and +Marese, his son. The contract was offered to the <i>Daily Post</i>, the +<i>Daily Post</i> accepted it, and set to work, but soon found it necessary to +obtain the aid of other local printers. +</p> + +<p> +Now a new source of delay and worry arose. The moment everybody knew they were +going into print—why is it print sounds so much better than +manuscript?—each and all wanted to revise and add to their histories. +First, all the sections had to receive back their summaries and minutes of +evidence, to be re-written, corrected, revised, and above all extended. The +scribbling of pens recommenced with redoubled vigour, and now the +printer’s devils appeared upon the scene. The cost of printing the +enormous mass of verbiage must have been something immense, but it was +cheerfully submitted to—because each man looked forward to the pleasure +of seeing himself in print. +</p> + +<p> +Acres upon acres of proofs went in and out of the Sternhold Hall, and meantime +Aymer grew impatient and weary of it. His time was much more occupied than at +Barnham. He had to conduct all Broughton’s correspondence, and when that +was finished lend a hand in arranging the minutes of evidence for the +committee, who had applied for assistance to the solicitors. He had only +reckoned on a month at Stirmingham at the outside. Already a fortnight had +elapsed, and there seemed no sign of the end. +</p> + +<p> +His letters to Violet became tinged with a species of dull despair. All this +scribbling was to him the very acme of misery, the very winter of +discontent—meaningless, insufferable. There was no progress in it for +him: he could not find a minute’s spare time now to proceed with his +private work. Not a step was gained nearer Violet. +</p> + +<p> +When at last the scribbling was over; when the proofs had been read and re-read +and corrected till the compositors went mad; then the speechifying had to +begin. This to Aymer was even more wearisome than the other. For Mr Broughton +having discovered his literary talent, employed him to listen to the debate and +write a daily <i>précis</i> of its progress, which it would be less +trouble to him to read than the copious and interminable notes of the shorthand +writer. +</p> + +<p> +This order compelled Aymer to pay close attention to every speech from first to +last; and as they one and all followed the American plan of writing out their +speeches and reading them, most were of inordinate length. To suit the speakers +a new arrangement of the hall had to be made. The screens were now removed, and +the sections placed in a kind of semi-circle, with the central section in +front. Those who desired to speak gave in their names, and were called upon by +the president in regular rotation. +</p> + +<p> +The first subject discussed was the method to be pursued. Some recommended that +the whole body of claimants should combine and present their claims <i>en +masse</i>. Others thought that this plan might sacrifice those who had good +claims to those who had bad ones. Many were for forming a committee, chosen +from the various sections, to remain in England and instruct the solicitors; +others were for forming at once a committee of solicitors. +</p> + +<p> +After four or five days of fierce discussion the subject was still unsettled, +and a new one occupied its place. This was—how should the plunder be +divided? Such a topic seemed to outsiders very much like reckoning the chickens +before they were hatched. But not so to these enthusiastic gentlemen. They were +certain of wresting the properly from the hands of the +“Britishers,” who had so long kept them out of their +rights—the Stars and Stripes would yet float over the city of +Stirmingham, and the President of the United States should be invited to a +grand dinner in that very hall! +</p> + +<p> +The division of the property caused more dissension than everything else taken +together. One section—that of the Original Swampers—declared that +it <i>would</i> have, nothing should prevent its having, the whole of the +streets, etc, built on the site of the Swamp. The Sibbolds cared not a rap for +the Swamp; they <i>would</i> have all the property which had grown upon the +site of old Sibbold’s farm at Wolfs Glow. The Illegitimates claimed +pieces here and there, corresponding to the islands of the Swamp. Some one +proposed that the meeting should be provided with maps of Stirmingham, and the +idea was unanimously adopted. +</p> + +<p> +Then came the day of the surveyors. One vast map was ordered—it had to be +made in sections—and was estimated to cover, when extended, a mile in +length by three hundred yards in breadth; and then it did not satisfy some of +the claimants. Then followed a terrible wrangle over the maps. Everybody wanted +to mark his possession upon it with red ink, and these red ink lines invariably +interfered with one another. One gentleman proposed, with true American +ingenuity, to have the map traced in squares—like the outlying +territories and backwoods of America—and to assign to each section a +square! But this was too equal a mode to satisfy the more grasping. +</p> + +<p> +Finally, it was resolved that all the minutes of evidence should be gone +through by the central committee, and that they should sketch out those +portions of the city to which each section was entitled. This took some time. +At the end of that time the great Sternhold Hall presented an extraordinary +spectacle. The walls of the hall, from the ceiling to the floor, and all round, +and the very ceiling itself, were papered with these sections of the map, each +strongly marked with lines in red ink. Near the stage there was a vast library +of books, reaching half-way to the ceiling; this was composed of the summaries, +minutes of evidence, etc. +</p> + +<p> +All round the room wandered the claimants in knots of two or three, examining +their claims as marked upon the sections of the map. Many had opera-glasses to +distinguish the claims which were “skyed;” some affected to lie +down on their backs and examine the ceiling with telescopes; scores had their +volume of evidence in their hands, and were trying to discover upon what +principle the central committee had apportioned out the city. +</p> + +<p> +Of course there was a general outcry of dissatisfaction—one section had +too much, another too little, and some sections, it was contended, had no right +to any. The meeting then resolved that each section should visit the spaces +marked out for its claim, and should report to the central committee upon its +value. Away went the sections, and there might have been seen five or six +gentlemen in one street, and ten or twelve round the corner, with maps and +pencils, talking eagerly, and curiously scanning the shops and +houses—poking their noses into back courts and alleys—measuring the +frontage of club-houses and theatres. The result was an uproar, for each +section declared that the other had had a more valuable portion of the city +given to it; and one utterly rejected its section, for it had got the +Wolf’s Glow district—the lowest den in Stirmingham! +</p> + +<p> +After a long discussion, it was at last arranged that each section should +retain, <i>pro tem</i>, its claim as marked out, and that <i>token the property +was realised</i>, any excess of one section over the other should be equally +divided. These people actually contemplated the possibility of putting the city +up to auction! To such lengths will the desire of wealth drive the astutest of +men, blinding their eyes to their own absurdity. +</p> + +<p> +After these preliminary points were settled, the meeting at last resolved +itself into a committee of the whole house, and proceeded to business. The +first business was to verify the evidence. This necessitated visits to the +churches, and public record office to make extracts, etc, and two days were set +apart for that purpose. It was a rich harvest for the parish clerks of +Stirmingham, and especially for the fortunate clerk at Wolf’s Glow. After +this the meeting, beginning to be alarmed at the enormous expense it had +incurred, resolved on action, and with that object it decided to hold a secret +session, and to exclude all persons not strictly claimants. +</p> + +<p> +This relieved Aymer from his wearisome task of chronicling the proceedings; but +he could not leave or get a day to visit Violet. As he left the hall he stopped +a moment to look at the stock-in-trade of an itinerant bookseller, who had +established his track in front of the building since the family congress began. +His stock was principally genealogical, antiquarian, and +topographical—mostly old rubbish, that no one would imagine to be worth a +sixpence, and yet which, among a certain class, commands a good sale. +</p> + +<p> +The title of a more modern-looking volume caught Aymer’s eye. It was +“A Fortune for a Shilling,” and consisted of a list of unclaimed +estates, next of kin, persons advertised for, etc. He weighed it in his +hand—it tempted him; yet he despised himself for his weakness. But +Violet? He should serve her best by saving his shilling. He put it down, and +went his way. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_2_chap_15"></a>Chapter Fifteen.</h2> + +<p> +Their mouths watered for the great city, yet it seemed no nearer to them than +when three thousand miles away on the other side of the Atlantic. They talked +loudly of their rights, but there was the little difficulty of possession, +which is sometimes a trifle more than nine points of the law. I have conversed +with unreasonable members of a certain Church, which claims to be universal, +who considered that half England—half the vast domains owned by lords and +ladies, by the two hundred and fifty proprietors of Great Britain—was +really the property of the Church, if she had her rights. +</p> + +<p> +There are those who consider that Algeria ought to belong to the Arabs, that +Africa belongs to the blacks, and India to the Hindoos. Sat there comes this +awkward item of possession. You have to buy the man in possession out, or else +pitch him out; and the difficulty in this case was that there were so many in +possession. Eight companies and a Corporation are not easily ejected. +</p> + +<p> +The fact was, the grand family council was a farce, and fell through. Even as a +demonstration it completely failed. The members of it might just as well have +stayed at home, and sent a monster petition to the House of Lords, several +hundred yards long (as per the usual custom now-a-days), and their progress +would have been about as great. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>Stirmingham Daily News</i>, which had published the life of Sternhold +Baskette, and defended his legitimate line, poured bitter satire upon it, and +held the whole business up to ridicule—as well it might. The <i>News</i> +was now Conservative. The intense self-conceit of the Yankees—to imagine +that they were going to quietly take possession of a great English city, and +hoist the Stars and Stripes on Saint George’s Cathedral at Stirmingham! +</p> + +<p> +The American gentlemen fumed and fussed, and uttered threats of making the +Stirmingham claim a feature in the next Presidential election—it should +“leave the low sphere of personal contention, and enter the arena of +political discussion;” so they said. It should be a new <i>Alabama</i> +case; and if they could not have Stirmingham, they would have—the +Dollars! +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the dollars disappeared rather rapidly, and, after a month or six +weeks of these endless wranglings in the Sternhold Hall, there began to be +symptoms of an early break-up. First, three or four, then ten, then a dozen, +crept off, and quietly sailed for New York, lighter in pocket, and looking +rather foolish. The body, however, of the claimants could not break up in that +ignominious manner. It was necessary for them to do something to mark the fact +that they had been there, at all events. +</p> + +<p> +The final result was that they appointed a committee of solicitors—one +for each section that chose to be represented. Twenty-two sections did choose, +and twenty-two solicitors formed the English committee who were to promote the +claims of one hundred and fifty able-bodied Baskettes and Sibboldians, who +represented about three times that number of women and children. Then they held +a banquet in the Sternhold Hall, and invited the Mayor of Stirmingham, who, +however, was very busy that evening, and “deeply regretted” his +inability to be present. The council then broke up, and departed for New York. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer was indeed glad; now he should be able to see Violet again, and resume +his book so long laid aside. But no; there came a new surprise. A certain +recalcitrant borough in the West returned unexpectedly a member of the wrong +colour to Parliament, and the House was dissolved, and writs were issued for a +general election. Three days afterwards an address appeared in the +<i>Stirmingham Daily News</i>, announcing Marese Baskette as a candidate for +that place in the Conservative interest. The heir had resolved to enter the +House if possible, and his proclamation fell on Stirmingham, not like a +thunderbolt, but like the very apple of discord dropped from heaven. +</p> + +<p> +First, it upset poor Aymer’s little plans and hopes. The companies were +desperately alarmed, and not without reason; for if Marese got into Parliament +he would, no doubt, very quickly become in himself a power, and would be +supported by his party in his claim upon the building societies. It would be to +the interest of his party that he should obtain his property—it would be +so much substantial gain to them. Practically, Marese Baskette would have the +important borough of Stirmingham in his pocket; therefore the party would be +sure to do all they could to get his claim fully admitted. Imagine that party +in power; fancy the chief at the head of Government! +</p> + +<p> +Every one knows that justice and equity are immaculate in England, and that no +strain is ever put upon them for political purposes, or to gratify political +supporters. The fact is so well understood, so patent, that it is unnecessary +to adduce any proof of it. But there is, nevertheless, a certain indefinite +feeling that the complexion of the political party in power extends very +widely, and penetrates into quarters supposed to be remote from its centre. +Whichever happens to be uppermost—but let us not even think such +treasonable things. +</p> + +<p> +At all events the companies had a real dread—a heartfelt fear—lest +Marese Baskette should get into Parliament, and so obtain political support to +his claim. They had foreseen something of the kind; they had dreaded its +happening any time ever since he came of age; but they had reckoned that his +known poverty would keep him out, especially as there was a very popular +landlord in the county, Sir Jasper Norton, who, with another prominent +supporter of the Liberal Government, had hitherto proved invincible. It had +hung over their heads for years; now it had fallen, and fallen, of all other +times, just at the very moment when their leases were on the point of expiring. +A more unfortunate moment for them could not have been chosen. With one consent +they resolved to fight him tooth and nail. This was fatal to poor Aymer’s +hopes. For the company (Number 6) which employed Shaw, Shaw, and Simson could +not possibly spare Mr Broughton’s energetic spirit; he must help them +fight the coming man. Broughton, seeing good fees and some sport, resolved, to +stay, and with him poor Aymer had to remain. +</p> + +<p> +The whole city was in a ferment. Marese Baskette’s name was upon every +lip, and as the murmur swelled into a roar it grew into something very like a +cheer for the heir. That cheer penetrated the thick walls of many a fashionable +villa and mansion, and was listened to with ill-concealed anxiety. Many a +portly gentleman, dressed in the tailor’s best, with broad shirt-front, +gold studs, and heavy ring, rubicund with good living, as he stood upon his +hearth-rug, with his back to the fire, in the midst of his family circle, +surrounded with luxury, grew thoughtful and absent as that dull distant roar +reached his ears. Banker and speculator, city man, merchant, ironworker, +coalowner, millowner, heard and trembled. For the first time they began to +comprehend the meaning of the word Mob. +</p> + +<p> +That word is well understood in America; twice it has been thoroughly spelt and +learnt by heart in France. Will it ever be learnt in England? Outside those +thick walls and strong shutters in the dingy street or dimly-lit suburban road, +where the bitter winter wind drove the cold rain and sleet along, there roamed +abroad a mighty monster roused from his den. They heard and trembled. Before +that monster the safeguards of civilisation are as cobwebs. He may be scotched +with Horse Guards and Snider rifles, beaten back into his caverns; but of what +avail is that after the mischief is done? In sober earnest, the middle classes +began to fear for the safety of Stirmingham. You see, the grey sewer-rats had +undermined it from end to end! +</p> + +<p> +It happened that the ironmasters and the coalowners, and some of the +millowners, had held out long and successfully against a mighty strike: a +strike that extended almost to a million of hearths and homes. They had won in +the struggle, but the mind of the monster was bitter against them. They were +Liberal—nearly all. Let them and their candidates keep a good look-out! +</p> + +<p> +It happened also that the winter was hard and cold, work scarce, provisions +dear; everything was wrong. It is at such times that, in exact opposition to +all rules, the grey rat flourishes! +</p> + +<p> +Finally, it happened that the party who had so strangely abdicated power just +at the time when they seemed so firmly fixed, had committed a singularly, an +exceptionally, unpopular act. They had robbed the poor man of his beer! They +had curtailed his hours for drinking it, and to all appearance in an arbitrary +way. Rumour said that they contemplated an alliance with the Cold Water +Pump—that horror of horrors, the Temperance party. They had robbed the +poor man of his beer! And the grey rat showed his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +Marese Baskette issued his <i>pronunciamento</i>, and at once opened the +campaign. Everybody read it, from the club-house to the grimy bar of the lowest +public-house. The club-house smiled, and said, “Clever;” the +pot-house cheered, and cried, “He’s our man.” He <i>was</i> +their man. Even yet, at this distance of time, there lingered in the minds of +the populace a distinct recollection of the great saturnalia which had been +held in the days of old Sternhold Baskette, when their candidate was born. +</p> + +<p> +History magnifies itself as time rolls on; the memory of that brief hour of +unlimited riot had grown till it remained the one green spot in the life of the +Stirmingham populace. This was the very man—this was the very infant +whose advent, almost a generation ago, had been celebrated with rejoicings such +as no king or queen in these degenerate days ever offered to the people. +</p> + +<p> +When old Sternhold Baskette in the joy of his heart poured out wine in gallons, +spirits in casks, and beer in rivers, he baptised his son Marese, the Child of +the People. And it bore fruit at this great distance of time. +</p> + +<p> +John Marese Baskette was, as we know, a clever man; he had a still more subtle +man at his elbow. Between them they composed his address and his first oration. +Be sure they did not forget the memory so dear to the people. Not one single +thing was omitted which could tend to identify Marese Baskette with the +populace. The combination of capital against them, the hard winter and price of +provisions, all were skilfully turned to advantage; and, above all, the beer. +When the publicans had read his address they one and all said, +“He’s our man.” Licensed victuallers, beer-house keepers, +“off the premises” men, gin-palace, eating-house, restaurant, +hotel—all joined hands and marched in chorus, praising the man who +promised to turn on the beer. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +For he’s a jolly good fellow,<br/> +And so say all of us! +</p> + +<p> +But Marese Baskette did not wholly rely upon the poorer classes: he gained the +goodwill, or at least the neutrality, of two-thirds of the middle classes, by +openly declaring that when he came into his property, as he grandly designated +half the city, he should devote one-third of it to the relief of local +taxation, to form a kind of common fund for sewers, gas, water, poor-rates, +paving, etc. He went further—this he did not promulgate openly, but he +caused it to be spread industriously abroad from house to house—and said +that, when he inherited his rights, the house rents should be reduced from +their present exorbitant figure. +</p> + +<p> +Now it was notorious that the companies only waited to see whether they could +tide over the year of expiration of their leases before they raised the rents. +The arrow therefore went home. Baskette had hit the nail upon the head. The +other party began to threaten petitions for bribery—contending that these +promises were nothing short of it. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>Daily Post</i> published a leader on “Glaring Corruption and +Wholesale Venality.” Baskette and Theodore smiled. What would be the use +of unseating him if, as they clearly saw, the opposite party was gone to utter +destruction? +</p> + +<p> +Baskette met with a triumphant reception at his first meeting. Whenever he +appeared in the streets he was cheered to the echo. +</p> + +<p> +The building societies and the Corporation were desperately alarmed. Though so +bitterly opposed to each other at ordinary times, a common fear gave them +unity. They held a secret meeting—at least they thought it was secret, +but such things are impossible in our time. The pen is everywhere—its +sharp point penetrates through the thickest wall. They united, formed +themselves into an association, voted funds—secret also—hired +speakers and hired roughs. +</p> + +<p> +It all leaked out. The <i>Stirmingham Daily News</i>—Baskette’s +paper—came out with a report and a leader, and held up the poor heir to +the commiseration of the people. See what a combination against +him!—anything to keep him out of his rights. Hired speakers to talk him +down—hired roughs to knock him on the head. Vested interests arrayed +against him—poor heir! How deeply to be pitied! How greatly to be +sympathised with! The paper used stronger language than this, and hinted at +“gangs of foul conspirators,” but that was not gentlemanly. +</p> + +<p> +The exposure was worth a thousand votes to Baskette. But though exposed, the +Corporation and the companies never ceased their efforts. Between them they +comprised almost all of the rich employers of labour. They had one terrible +engine—a fearful instrument of oppression and torture—invented in +our modern days, in order that we may not get free and “become as +gods.” They put on the screw. +</p> + +<p> +There is not a working man in England, from the hedger and ditcher, and the +wretch who breaks the flints by the roadside, up to the best paid clerk or +manager of a bank—not one single man who receives wages from +another—who does not know the meaning of that word. +</p> + +<p> +Let no one imagine that the “screw” is confined in its operation to +the needy artisan or the labourer. It extends into all ranks of society, +poisons every family circle, tortures every tenant and householder—all +who in any way depend for comfort, luxury, or peace upon another person. There +is but one rank who are free—the few who, whether for wages or as +tenants, never have to look to others. +</p> + +<p> +Society is divided into two sections—the first, infinitely numerous, and +the second, infinitely few—i.e., the Screwed-down, and the Screw-drivers. +Now, the Corporation and the companies were the screw-drivers, and they twisted +the horrible engine up tight. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps they gave it one turn too many; at all events the mob set up a yell. +They formed processions and marched about the streets with bundles of screws, +strung like bunches of keys, at the end of poles. Squibs flew in all +directions—too personal to be quoted here. Somebody wrote a parody on +“John Brown’s Knapsack”—representing old Sternhold +Baskette as John Brown, and his soul as marching on. This, set to music, +resounded in every corner. +</p> + +<p> +It is sad, but it is true. Everything might still have gone off pretty quiet, +had it not been for religion, or rather pseudo-religion. There were in the city +vast numbers of workmen of the lowest class from Ireland, and when the +watchwords “Orangemen” and “Papists” are mentioned, +every one will understand. Fights occurred hourly—a grand battle-royal +was imminent. The grey rats did all they could to foster the animosity, and got +up sham quarrels to set fire to the excited passions of the mob. Their game was +riot, in order that they might plunder. While the fools were fighting and the +wise men trying to put them down, the grey rats meant to make off with all they +could get. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer, having by this time made for himself some little reputation for +intelligence and quick observation, was sent out by the committee, of which +Broughton was chairman, to watch the temper of the people; to penetrate into +all the corners and out-of-the-way places; to hang on the skirts of the crowd +and pick up their hopes and wishes, and to make reports from time to time as +anything struck him. He was even to bring in the lampoons and squibs that were +circulated, and, if possible, to spy out the secret doings of the other +party—a commission which gave him liberty to roam. He wished to be gone, +but this was better than the close office-work. He should see something of +life; he should see man face to face. (In gilded salons and well-bred society +it is only the profile one sees—the full face is averted.) He put on his +roughest suit, took his note-book, and strolled out into the city. +</p> + +<p> +The first thing he had to report was that an insinuation which had been spread +abroad against Baskette was actually working in his favour. It had been thrown +out that he was upon too familiar terms with a certain lady, singer and +actress, the fame of whose wonderful beauty was sullied with suspicions of her +frailty. With a certain section of the people, who prided themselves upon being +“English to the backbone,” this was resented as unfair. With a far +larger portion it was at once believed, and, amid sly nods and winks, taken as +another proof that Baskette was one of themselves. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer wandered about the city; he saw its horrors, its crime. At such a period +the sin, the wickedness and misery which commonly lurks in corners, came out +and flaunted in the daylight. A great horror fell upon him—a horror of +the drunkenness, the cursing, the immorality, the fierce brutishness. He +shuddered. Not that he was himself pure, but he was sensitive and quick to +understand, to see beneath the surface. He was of an age when the mind deals +with broad generalities. If this was the state of one city only—then, +poor England! +</p> + +<p> +His imagination pictured a time when this monster might be uppermost. One night +he ascended the tower of a great brewery and looked down upon the city, all +flaring with gas. Up from the depth came the shouting, the hum of thousands, +the tramp of the multitudes. He looked afar. The horizon was bright with +blazing fires—the sky red with a crimson and yellow glow. Not a star, was +visible, a dense cloud of smoke hid everything. The iron furnaces shot forth +their glowing flames, the engines puffed and snorted. He thought of Violet and +trembled: when the monster was let loose, what then? +</p> + +<p> +He descended and wandered away he knew not exactly whither, but he found +himself towards midnight mixed in a crowd around the police station. Jammed in +amid, the throng he was shoved against the wall, but fortunately a lamp-post +preserved him from the crush. However, he could not move. The gas-light fell +upon the wall and lit up the proclamations of “V.R.”—the +advertisements of missing and lost, the descriptions of persons who were +wanted, etc. +</p> + +<p> +One sheet, half-defaced with the wind and rain and mud splashed against it, +caught his eye— +</p> + +<p> +“Escaped,” so ran the fragment, “from... mingham Asylum, a +lunatic of homicidal tendencies... Stabbed a warder... killed his wife by +driving a nail into her head... Is at large. His description—Long grey +hair, restless eye, peculiar ears, walks with a shambling gait, and has a +melancholy expression of countenance. Plays fantastic airs upon a tin whistle, +and is particularly fond of tinkering.” +</p> + +<p> +A new bill, “Two Hundred Pounds Reward,” for the apprehension of a +defaulting bank manager, blotted out the rest. +</p> + +<p> +But Aymer had read enough. A sickening sensation seized him—this horrible +being loose upon society, tinkering, playing upon a tin whistle, and driving +nails into women’s heads! In his ears sounded the din of tremendous +shouts, “Baskette for ever!” and he saw a carriage go by from which +the horses had been taken, and in which a man was standing upright, with his +hat off, bowing. It was Marese Baskette returning from an evening meeting, and +dragged in his carriage by the mob to his hotel. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer caught a glance of his dark eye flashing with triumph, and it left an +unpleasant impression upon him. But the shouts rose up to the thick cloud of +smoke overhead—“Baskette for ever! Baskette for ever!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! my love,” wrote Aymer to Violet, “this is, indeed, an +awful place. I begin to live in dread of my fellow-creatures. Not for +worlds—no, not for worlds, would I be the owner of this city (as so many +are striving to be), lest I should be held, partly at least, responsible +hereafter for its miseries, its crimes, its drunkenness, its nameless, +indefinable horrors.” +</p> + +<p> +These words, read by what afterwards happened, are remarkable. Aymer’s +last vision of Stirmingham was the same man drawn again in his carriage amid +tenfold louder shouts than before, “Baskette for ever!” He headed +the poll by over 1000 votes. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +The grey rats were triumphant. +</p> + +<p> +End of Volume Two. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="book03"></a>Book III.—Results.</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_3_chap_01"></a>Chapter One.</h2> + +<p> +After a life in which each day was spent in happy anticipation of the pleasures +of the next, the calm, quiet existence at The Towers would have been dull and +cheerless to Violet. But following so soon upon the death of Waldron, under +such awful circumstances, the life with Lady Lechester seemed to her, for a +while at least, like that in a haven of refuge where the storm without could +not reach. And had Aymer been there, or near at hand, she would in a quiet way +have been happy. +</p> + +<p> +For Lady Lechester was singularly kind. She made no show of sympathy, she did +not ask, as some pretentiously hospitable people do every morning, if she were +comfortable and had all she wished. But Agnes possessed a rare and delicate +tact, the power of perceiving what others felt, of anticipating their smallest +fancies. +</p> + +<p> +She accommodated herself and her habits to Violet, and there grew up between +them a firm friendship, and more than that—a companionship. Agnes kept no +secret from Violet. Violet had none to hide from her. +</p> + +<p> +There was one topic only which Violet never of her own volition approached, but +she was perfectly aware that something of the kind was going on. In an +indefinable manner she had learnt that Agnes had a suitor. It came to her +knowledge that he was extremely wealthy, but low born in comparison with her +long descent. How Agnes looked upon him it was hard to say. She was fully +five-and-thirty, and that is an age at which women begin to feel that now, if +ever, is the time when they must choose a companion. +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand it is an age when the glamour of early hope and youthful +fancy, are hardly likely to gild the first figure that approaches with a beauty +not really its own. It is an age when the mind can choose calmly and +deliberately, in the true sense of the word. Violet had never seen this man, or +heard his name, but she knew that there was correspondence between them, for +she had seen the letters with a foreign postmark. She gathered that he was in +America. After which Agnes whispered that he would shortly be home, and would +visit her. +</p> + +<p> +“He is very handsome,” she said, for the first time speaking +directly upon the subject. “He is a man who could not be passed in a +crowd, even were it not for exceptional circumstances surrounding him. And yet. +I do not know—I do not know.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she was silent again for several days, but presently approached the +inevitable topic again. +</p> + +<p> +Would it be possible for a woman to really banish that topic from her mind? +Agnes could the more easily confide in Violet, because she was fully aware of +her love for Aymer. It is easier to speak to those who have had similar +experiences, than to those who are as yet ignorant. +</p> + +<p> +“He is in England, now,” said Agnes, one day. “He is not far +distant. Why should I conceal it any longer? Your friend Mr Malet meets him +daily, I daresay; he is a candidate for Stirmingham. It is Mr Marese +Baskette.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must congratulate you,” said Violet. “He is the richest +man in the world, is he not?” +</p> + +<p> +“He will be if he succeeds in obtaining his rights. To tell you the +truth, I think the great battle he is fighting with these companies and +claimants, gives me more interest in him than—than—well, I +don’t know. You will see him soon. He will come directly the election is +over. Now you know why I took so much interest in your letters from Mr Malet, +describing the course of the family council. But I think he is wrong, dear, in +the last that you showed me. I think I should like to be the owner of that +great city—it is true there would be responsibilities, but then there +would be opportunities, he forgets that. Think what one could do—the +misery to be alleviated, the crime to be hunted out, the great work that would +be possible.” +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes flashed, her form dilated. It was easy to see that to the ambition +innate in her nature, the idea of having an immense city to reign over, as it +were, like the princesses of old, was almost irresistible. A true, good woman +she was, but it would have been impossible for her not to have been ambitions. +</p> + +<p> +“With <i>his</i> talent,” she said—becoming freer upon the +subject the longer she dwelt upon it—“with <i>his</i> talent, for +he is undoubtedly a clever man, with the love the populace there have for him, +with my long descent—perhaps the longest in the county—which +enables me to claim kindred with powerful families, with a seat in Parliament, +there seems no reasonable limit to what we might not do. That is the way to put +it. You shall see his letters.” +</p> + +<p> +Violet read them. Marese Baskette was gifted with the power of detecting the +points which pleased those he conversed or corresponded with, and upon these he +dwelt and dilated. It was this that made his speeches so successful in +Stirmingham. As he spoke he noted those passages and allusions which awoke the +enthusiasm of the audience. Next time he omitted those sentiments which had +failed to attract attention, and confined himself to those which were +applauded. In half a dozen trials he produced a speech, every word of which was +cheered to the echo. +</p> + +<p> +So, in his intercourse with Agnes Lechester, the same faculty of perceiving +what pleased, led him to disregard the ordinary method of lovers; he avoided +all mention, or almost avoided, expressions of affection, or of love, and +harped upon the string which he had found vibrated most willingly in her +breast. The theme was ample and he did not hesitate to work upon it. He +compared his position and that of Agnes when united, and when his rights were +conceded, to that of the royal reigning dukes of Italy a hundred years +ago—dukes whose territory in area was not large, but whose power within +that area was absolute. +</p> + +<p> +The city of Stirmingham was in effect a grander possession than Parma or Milan; +far more valuable estimated in coin, far more influential estimated by the +extent of its commerce. Without a doubt, when once he had obtained possession, +the Government would soon recognise his claims and confer upon him a coronet, +unless indeed Agnes preferred a career of perhaps greater power in the House of +Commons. He candidly admitted his ignoble descent. +</p> + +<p> +“My ancestor,” he wrote, “was a poor basket-maker; there is +no attempt on my part to conceal the fact. I am perfectly well aware that upon +the score of blood I am far, far, your inferior, and unable to offer a single +claim to equality. The Lechesters, I know, were powerful auxiliaries of +William, the Conqueror of England. The name is preserved in the Roll of Battle +Abbey; it occupies an important place in the ‘early chronicles.’ +Heralds have blazoned its arms, genealogists recorded its descent, poets have +sung its fame. Yet remember, even in this view of the matter, that the great +William himself, the feudal lord of the Lechesters, was descended upon the +mother’s side from a tanner. I cannot compare my father, grand old +Sternhold, with William the Conqueror; and yet, in this age when wealth is what +provinces and conquered countries used to be, perhaps there may be some faint +resemblance.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he went on:—“I will not disguise from you the fact that in +your long descent, and in your connections with the highest families in the +land—not even excepting ancient royalty—I place much of my hope for +recovering my legitimate possessions and for fighting my myriad enemies. To me +the alliance is simply invaluable. To yourself I would fain hope it would not +be without its charms. I do not approach you with a boy’s silly affection +expressed in rhyme and love-sick glances. I do not follow your footsteps from +place to place. It is long since I have had even ten minutes conversation with +you. I have treated you as I should an equal (not in position, for there you +are superior), but as my equal in mind and ability; not as your sex is commonly +treated. I have not wooed you as a woman. I have asked you to be my partner, +something more than my partner in the kingdom—for so in fact it +is—which is mine by right.” +</p> + +<p> +This tone was exactly fitted to the mind of the person he addressed. Delicate +and full of benevolence, kind, thoughtful, anxious always for others good, +there was still at the root of Agnes Lechester’s mind a strong vaulting +ambition. An ambition which some said had warped her mind with overweening +pride, which had cut her off from the natural sphere in which she should have +moved, leaving her with little or no society, and which, if rumour spoke +correctly, had in earlier days forced her to stifle the heart that beat +responsive to another’s love. +</p> + +<p> +To Violet, this calm, reasoning courtship, full of coronets and crowns, +thinking of nothing but power, was inexplicable. Her heart wrapped up in Aymer, +she could not understand this species of barter—of long descent and good +family against wealth and property. It seemed unnatural—almost a kind of +sacrilege. She fancied that Agnes was not without twinges of conscience, not +without hesitation, and naturally put down her apparent vacillation to +feelings, similar to those which would have animated herself under the same +circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +This is not the place to argue upon marriage; but in passing it does appear +that both sides are right and both wrong. It does not of necessity follow that +marriage must be for love only; but on the other hand it does not follow that +marriage should be for convenience always, and never for affection. In the +present instance, to all appearance the parties were exactly fitted to each +other. It was notorious that although Lady Lechester had a sufficient income +for all her purposes, and even a superfluity, that the revenue from her large +estates was greatly reduced by encumbrances upon it. There were surmises that +this comparatively inadequate income was one reason why Agnes saw so little +society; she was too proud to mingle in a circle for which her purse was +unfitted. +</p> + +<p> +Marese, the moment he had an opportunity, did not lose this chance either. In a +letter, which Violet was permitted to read, he gradually and by degrees +approached the subject of the mortgages and other encumbrances upon the +Lechester estates. Instead of being an obstacle, this very fact, he argued, was +one reason why their union was singularly appropriate. At the same moment that +her family and connections gave him a position for which otherwise he might +have striven in vain, his wealth (Marese always kept up the belief in others +that he was, even at present, extremely wealthy) would free those ancient +estates, and restore them to their pristine splendour. +</p> + +<p> +Then came a brief telegram, announcing that he had won the representation of +Stirmingham by a majority of 1000 votes. Agnes was visibly elated. She moved +with a prouder step—there was a slight flush upon her usually pale cheek. +It was a proof of his genius—of that godlike genius which commands men. +He possessed the same qualities which in the ages past had made the Lechesters +members of the ruling race. +</p> + +<p> +Violet saw that the balance bowed in his favour. If he were to come +now—and he did come. +</p> + +<p> +Scarcely three days after the election, Marese drove up to The Towers, and was +received with a stately courtesy—a proud indifference which bewildered +Violet. She knew, or thought she knew, that Agnes’s heart was beating +with excitement—yet how calm, how distant and formal she appeared. +</p> + +<p> +Violet looked with interest upon Marese, having heard so much of him from Aymer +and Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +On his part, meeting her attentive gaze and hearing her name, Marese slightly +started, recovered himself, and bowed profoundly. His attention was wholly +bestowed upon Lechester; the conversation between them seemed to Violet +constrained and cold to the last degree. She could not help acknowledging that +Marese was a handsome man—far handsomer in features and figure than was +Aymer. But how different! In her heart of hearts she pitied poor Agnes if such +was her choice. +</p> + +<p> +They betrayed no desire whatever to be alone; on the contrary, Agnes +particularly desired Violet to remain in the apartment with them. Their talk +was of distant things, till it travelled round to the scene of Marese’s +candidature, and finally fixed itself upon the great case. Marese was extremely +sanguine in his language, and indeed he was so in reality. He had gained two +important steps he said. In the first place he had partly paid off the claims +of the companies for expenses incurred during their tenure of the leases, on +the pretence of improving the estate. These expenses reached a preposterous +figure; he had succeeded in getting them taxed and considerably reduced, and he +had also succeeded in obtaining an order from the Court of Chancery that the +payment of these claims should be made by instalments. He casually mentioned +that the first instalment of 100,000 pounds had been paid yesterday. The second +step was his admittance to Parliament, which, properly worked, would enable him +to obtain the support of the party now in power. +</p> + +<p> +Still further, the great family council had blown over without result. The +mountain had been in labour, and a mouse had sprung forth. That spectre which +had hovered over the city of Stirmingham so long—the spectre of the +American claims—had at last put in its appearance, and was found to be +hollow and unsubstantial. He did not think there was anything more to be +dreaded from that spectral host. The building societies even, despaired of +being able to prolong the contest by supporting the American claims. They could +no longer refuse to give up possession on the ground that they did not know who +was the true heir. It could not be denied who was the heir. +</p> + +<p> +Marese stayed but one afternoon. He was too wise to make himself common. Before +he went he formally asked for a private interview. What passed Violet easily +gathered from what Agnes said to her afterwards. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr Broughton will be here in a day or two,” she said; “tell +Mr Malet to come with him. The mortgages I have told you of are to be paid off; +Broughton will manage it.” +</p> + +<p> +From which it was evident that a definite understanding had been come to with +Marese. Agnes was silent and thoughtful all the evening. Towards the hour when +they usually retired, she called Violet to the window, and put her arm round +her neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose,” she said, “all the meadows and hills you see out +there were yours, and had been your ancestors for so many +centuries—remember, too, that we may die however well we +feel—should you like to think that the estate would then fall into the +helpless hands of one of two lunatics?” +</p> + +<p> +It was clear that the natural hope of children to inherit had influenced her. +Violet had heard something of the lunacy inherent in certain branches of the +Lechester family: +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_3_chap_02"></a>Chapter Two.</h2> + +<p> +The manner in which Marese Baskette became acquainted with Lady Lechester +affords another instance of those “circumstances over which we have no +control,” which have already been so strongly illustrated in this +history. In the course of his purchases of land and property, old Sternhold +Baskette was so shrewd and far-seeing, and so difficult to impose upon, that +only once did he make any considerable mistake. +</p> + +<p> +It happened that among other land which he bought at no great distance from +Stirmingham, there was a small plot of not much more than two acres, which was +included in a large area, and not specified particularly in the agreement. This +plot had been in the hands of tenants who had lived so long upon it that they +believed they had acquired a prescriptive right. They sold their right to a +person whom we may call A, and A sold it in common with other property to +Sternhold Baskette. The thing was done, no questions asked, and apparently no +one thought anything more about it. But what piece of land is there so small +that it can escape the eagle eye of an English lawyer? And especially when that +lawyer is a new broom, and a rising man determined to make his mark. +</p> + +<p> +So it happened that Mr Broughton, Lady Lechester’s new solicitor (and +successor to his uncle’s practice), in going over the map of the estate, +and comparing it with older maps, found out that there was a certain two-acre +piece missing; and being anxious to recommend himself to so good a client as +Lady Agnes, lost no time in tracing out the clue to it. +</p> + +<p> +He had not much difficulty in discovering the facts of the case, but it was +very soon apparent to his legal knowledge that although the documentary claim +of Lady Agnes, and her moral right, were indisputable, yet the whole value of +the little property would probably be swallowed up in costs, if an attempt was +made to recover it. He represented the fact to her, but Lady Agnes at once +instructed him to proceed. +</p> + +<p> +The same over-mastering pride which was the one fault of her character, lent an +almost sacred value to every piece of land, however small, which had once +formed part of the estate of her ancestors. Not one rood of ground would she +have parted with, not one perch should remain in the hands of strangers whilst +she had the means of disputing possession. Yet this was the very woman who, +with open-handed generosity, was ever ready to succour or assist the poor, and +would not hesitate to spend large sums of money to give another person a +pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Broughton went to law and quickly found it a tough job, for this was one of +those small properties which old Sternhold had been able to keep in his own +hands, and his son Marese was not disposed to part with it, especially as with +lapse of time—although situated far from the city proper—it had +increased in value some twenty-five per cent. +</p> + +<p> +Broughton advised Lady Agnes not to go to the inevitable expense of protracted +litigation; but she was firm, and the battle began in the Courts, when +suddenly, as the forces advanced to the fight, the enemy gave in and +surrendered without firing a shot. +</p> + +<p> +It was a piece of Theodore’s work. That subtle brain of his had perceived +a means by which Marese might, if he played his cards rightly, obtain the value +of this little plot of land ten times over. Why not marry this Lady Lechester? +She would give him exactly what he wanted—a position and connections +among the nobility which all the wealth of old Sternhold could not buy. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is Lady Lechester?” asked Marese. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore told him. He knew, because in the asylum at Stirmingham there were two +lunatics of that family, the most profitable of the patients the asylum +contained. +</p> + +<p> +“If any accident should happen to either of those patients,” said +Theodore, “Lady Lechester’s property would be doubled; if an +accident happen to both of them, it would be trebled. Accidents sometimes +happen in the best regulated asylums. The easiest way to get rid of a lunatic +who exhibits homicidal tendencies is—to let him escape. He kills two or +three, and then—he cuts his own throat. With a lunatic who has not got +homicidal tendencies, and whose madness is, between ourselves, a <i>matter of +opinion</i>—with such persons there are other methods; but no matter, get +Lady Lechester first.” And Marese, seeing that his (Theodore’s) +words were good, did as he was advised. +</p> + +<p> +One day there called at The Towers a gentleman, who was received by Lady Agnes +in the most distant manner, for she recognised his name as that of her +opponent. Marese met her with a species of mingled deference and pride, exactly +suited to the person he addressed. He begged pardon for his intrusion; he felt +that an apology was due to Lady Lechester which written words could not convey. +His lawyers had involved him in a mistaken and ungentlemanly contest. When he +had learnt that his antagonist was a lady, and a lady of distinguished +position, he had looked into the matter personally, and at once saw that +whatever claim the chicanery of the law gave him, was far over-balanced by the +moral and social right of Lady Lechester. He had at once stayed proceedings, +had ordered his solicitors to immediately restore possession to Lady Lechester, +and had come in person to offer his sincere apology for the trouble he had +inadvertently caused. +</p> + +<p> +Be sure that Marese’s personal appearance had something to do with his +success. At all events Lady Agnes was deeply impressed with his conduct, which +she easily ascribed to a nobility of mind; and not to be outdone, while she +freely accepted the land, she insisted upon disbursing a sum sufficient to +cover the money that had been spent on it. +</p> + +<p> +From that hour Marese was a favoured visitor at The Towers. He came but rarely, +but when he came his presence lingered after him. His name, as the heir of +Stirmingham, was constantly before her in the papers and on everyone’s +lips. Add to this his own deep artifice, and it is not to be wondered at that +he made progress. +</p> + +<p> +At last it came to pass that Broughton was engaged in arranging the clearing +off of certain heavy incumbrances upon the Lechester estate, with money which +Marese had received for salvage of the <i>Lucca</i>. Such an arrangement could +only mean marriage. +</p> + +<p> +Not long after Marese’s visit to The Towers, Aymer arrived with +Broughton, bringing with him a collection of pictures, old Bibles, and some few +bronzes for Lady Lechester, and a heart full of affection for Violet. He was +invited to stay several days, and did so, and for that brief time the joys they +had shared at The Place seemed to return. The weather of early spring was too +chilly for much out-of-door exercise; but they had all the vast structure of +The Towers to wander over—galleries and corridors, vast rooms where they +were unlikely to be interrupted, for now the new wing had been built, very few +of the servants ever entered the old rooms, and Lady Agnes never. Aymer had +come with his mind full of a thousand things he had to say—of love, of +hope, of projects that he had formed, and yet when they were together, and the +silent rooms invited him to speak, he found himself instead listening to +Violet’s low voice as she told him all about her life at The Towers, and +her feelings for him. It was natural that, the first pleasures of their meeting +over, Violet should speak of Lady Agnes, and Aymer of the heir, with whose +fortunes he had of late seemed to be mixed up. Violet was full of a subject +which she had long wanted to confide to Aymer, and yet hardly liked to write. +It was about some singularities of Lady Agnes. +</p> + +<p> +She was very kind, very affectionate and considerate, and yet, Violet said, it +seemed to those who lived with her constantly that she had something for ever +preying upon her mind. She was subject to fits of silence and abstraction, +which would seize her at unaccountable times, and she would then rise and +withdraw, and shut herself up in her own room for hours; and once for as long +an two days she remained thus secluded. +</p> + +<p> +At such times she generally used a small room in the new wing, the key of which +never left her hands, and which no one entered but herself. Another singular +habit which she had was going out at night, or after dusk, into the most +unfrequented portion of the park. She would seem to be seized with a sudden +desire to escape all notice and observation, would put on her hat, wrap herself +in a plain shawl, and let the weather be what it might, go forth alone. The +servants were so well acquainted with this habit that they never offered to +accompany her—indeed, it was part of the household etiquette to affect +not to notice her at these times. Her absence rarely exceeded an hour, but +knowing that poachers were often abroad, Violet owned that these nocturnal +rambles filled her with alarm while they lasted. Another peculiar thing was +that Lady Agnes seemed at times as if she believed there was a third person in +the room, invisible to others. Once, Violet going into her apartment, surprised +her talking in an excited tone, and found to her astonishment that there was no +one near her. She was about to retire, when she was transfixed with +astonishment to see that Agnes held a naked sword in her hand, which she would +point at some invisible object, and then speak softly in a tongue that Violet +did not understand, but believed to be Latin. Violet saw that she was not +perceived. Agnes’ eyes were wide open, but fixed and staring, as if she +saw and yet did not see. Afraid, and yet unwilling to call assistance, Violet +remained in the ante-chamber, and presently there was a profound silence. She +cautiously went in and found the sword returned to its position over the +mantelpiece, and Lady Agnes fast asleep in her armchair. +</p> + +<p> +What ought she to do? Ought the family physician, Dr Parker, to be made +acquainted with these facts, or was it best to pass them unnoticed? Violet was +half afraid to say so, but at these times an ill-defined dread would arise lest +Agnes’ mind was partly affected. Insanity was well known to run in the +Lechester family. Violet’s gentle and affectionate mind was filled with +fear lest her benefactress should suffer some injury. What had she better do? +</p> + +<p> +It was a difficult question, and Aymer could not answer it. To him, Lady +Lechester appeared to be of perfectly sound mind; he could hardly believe the +strange things Violet had told him. At all events it would be best not to take +any action at present; better wait and watch if these symptoms developed +themselves. Violet should keep as close a watch upon Lady Agnes as was +compatible with not arousing her suspicions, and yet— +</p> + +<p> +The selfishness of the true lover came to the surface. He did not like to leave +his love in a house where the mistress was certainly given to odd habits, and +might possibly be really insane—not even though that mistress had shown +the most disinterested and affectionate interest in her. But what could he do? +His time was up, he must return to Broughton and recommence the old dreary +round of labour, to recommence the book he was writing in his solitary +apartments. The poor fellow was very miserable at parting, though Agnes asked +him to come when he chose. +</p> + +<p> +Violet was less moved than her lover. The truth was she had an unlimited +confidence in Aymer’s genius, and believed it would triumph over every +obstacle. +</p> + +<p> +It was very strange, but these symptoms she had described to Aymer, seemed to +increase and strengthen directly afterwards. Lady Lechester seemed to desire +more and more to be alone: she wandered more frequently out into the park, not +only by night but in the open daylight; and Violet watching her, and yet +ashamed to watch, learnt which way her steps tended, and was always prepared, +if any alarm was given, to start at once for the spot. +</p> + +<p> +That spot was about half-a-mile, perhaps a little more, from The Towers, and +just within the park walls. It was concealed from The Towers by the intervening +trees which dotted the park, but there was no wood or copse to pass through in +reaching it. +</p> + +<p> +Wherever a rapid river eats its way through a hilly country, and where streams +dash down from the hills to join it, there singular tunnels, or whatever the +proper name may be, are often found. The Ise (obviously a corruption of Ouse) +was a narrow, clear stream, extremely rapid, and confined between high banks, +which made it, for two-thirds of its career, practically inaccessible. +</p> + +<p> +At this particular place, in days gone by, it appeared as if a stream, perhaps +flowing from some long extinct glacier, had cut its way down to the river by +boring a narrow, circular tunnel through the bank of the river. This tunnel was +narrow at the top, not larger than would admit the body of a man, but widened +as it descended, till where it reached the river there was a considerable cave, +and any one kneeling on the sward above could look down upon the water of the +river in the dim light, and hear its gurgling, murmuring sound rise up, greatly +increased in volume by the acoustic properties of the tunnel, which somewhat +resembled the famed Ear of Dionysius, though of course irregular in shape. When +the river was swollen with rain or snow, the water came halfway up the tunnel, +and the gurgling noise then rose into a hissing, bubbling sound, like that from +a huge cauldron of boiling water. Hence, perhaps, its popular name of +“Pot.” Such “Pots” are to be found, more or less varied +in construction, in many parts of England, and generally associated with some +local tradition of supernatural beings, or of ancient heroes. +</p> + +<p> +This particular funnel was known as Kickwell Pot—an apparently unmeaning +name. The antiquaries, however, would have it that Kickwell was a degenerate +form of Cwichhelm, the name of a famous chieftain in the days when the Saxons +and Britons fought for the fairest isle of the sea. Probably, they added, +Cwichhelm, in one of his numerous battles, was defeated, and perhaps forced to +take refuge in this very cave, which was accessible in a canoe or small boat +from below, and may have been larger and more capable of habitation then than +in our time. At all events, Kickwell Pot had a bad name in the neighbourhood, +and there were traditions that more than one man had lost his life, by +attempting to descend its precipitous sides in search of treasure temptingly +displayed by a dwarf. This may or may not have been founded upon some old +worship of a water-spirit or cave-god. The effect was that the common people +shunned the spot. +</p> + +<p> +It was a wild place. The beech trees and the great hawthorns, which half-filled +that side of the park, completely hid all view of the mansion, and on the right +and left were steep downs, so thinly clad with vegetation that the chalk was +bare in places. In front swirled along the dark river, whose bank rose twenty +feet almost sheer cliff, and opposite was a plantation of fir. On the left +hand, facing the fir plantation, was the low stone wall of the park which ended +here. Near the mouth of “The Pot,” round which some one had built +up a loosely-compacted wall of a few stones without mortar, to keep sheep from +falling in, was the trunk of a decayed oak tree, once vast in size and reaching +to a noble height, now a mere stump, but still retaining a certain weird +grandeur. Its hollow trunk formed a natural hut, facing “The Pot” +and the dark fir plantation. +</p> + +<p> +This was a singular spot for the mistress of that fair estate to frequent +almost at all hours of the day and night. No wonder that Violet, having +ascertained its character, grew more and more alarmed, and kept a closer watch. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_3_chap_03"></a>Chapter Three.</h2> + +<p> +When even the most strictly logical mind looks round and investigates the +phenomena attending its own existence, perhaps the first fact to attract +attention by its strongly marked prominence, is the remarkable loneliness of +man. He stands alone. He may have brethren, but they are far below, and like +Joseph’s seen in the dream, must bow the knee to his state. There +extends, as it were, behind him a vast army of bird, beast, reptile, fish, and +insect, thronging the broad earth in countless myriads, whose ancestry goes +back into periods of time which cannot be expressed by notation. And every one +of these, from the tiniest insect to the majestic elephant, is man’s +intellectual inferior; so that he stands alone on a pedestal on the apex of a +huge pyramid of animal life. He looks back—there are millions of inferior +creatures. He looks forward—where is his superior? His mind easily grasps +the idea of a superior, but where is it? He cannot see, feel, touch, or in any +way indisputably prove the existence of a superior being, or race of beings. +Yet the mind within is so wonderful and so complex, that it <i>will</i> not +accept the conclusion that he really stands alone; that he is the completion +and the keystone of creation. A little thought convinces him of his own +shortcomings, tells him how far he is from perfection, and the analogy of all +things teaches him almost instinctively to look above into the Unknown for a +superior being, or a race of beings. It is contrary to all reason and logic, to +all analogy and all imagination, that there should be so many myriads behind, +and nothing in <i>front</i>. There must be beings in front of him in the scale +of existence, just as he is in front of the beings in his rear. Where are they? +</p> + +<p> +The answer to that question has peopled the whole universe with invisible +beings. The solid earth beneath our feet has, according to one form of +mythology, its gnomes and dwarfs, low of stature, grimy of aspect, but mighty +in strength; or it has its Pluto and its Proserpine, its Titans struggling +under Etna. The air and the sky above us teem with such shapes; they follow us +night and day as our good and evil genii, or they engage in mighty +battles—Armageddons of the angels in the empyrean, echoes of whose +thundering charges reach our ears on earth. +</p> + +<p> +Such a belief has existed from the earliest days; it has spread over the whole +world, it dwells in our midst at this very hour; for what is the so-called +spiritualism but a new development of the oldest of all creeds? Even the very +atheists, or those who deny the existence of a Supreme +Deity—all-creating, all-sustaining—even these admit that there is +no logical argument conclusively proving that there are not races of beings +superior to our imperfect bodies. Modern science goes a step farther, and all +but positively asserts that there are such creatures. It has long speculated as +to the possibility of life in some shape or another in the stars and suns of +the firmament. One grey-headed veteran, foremost in the ranks of the hardest of +all science (anatomy), gravely, and step by step, argues out and demonstrates +the fact, that all known living beings are developed, as it were, from one +archetypal skeleton. And he concludes with the remarkable statement that, +according to all laws of geometry (another hard science), this archetypal +skeleton is not exhausted yet; it is still capable of further modification, of +fresh development—nay, even that the strange beings with wings and wheels +seen by Ezekiel in his vision, are possibilities of the same skeleton. The +belief in itself is therefore not a matter for ridicule, however much we may +deplore some of the forms which it has taken. +</p> + +<p> +Violet, watch how she might, never learnt the whole secret of Agnes +Lechester’s apparent vagaries. The genesis of an idea in the mind is +difficult to trace; but substantially the circumstances were these. +</p> + +<p> +Fifteen years since, Lady Agnes Lechester was seen and loved by a certain +Walter de Warren, a cornet in a dragoon regiment: a lad of good family but +miserably poor. Agnes returned his affection: her heart responded to his love, +but her pride forbade a marriage. He was not only poor, but had no kind of +distinction: nothing whatever to mark him out from the common herd of men +except a handsome face and figure. Even then the innate pride of the Lechesters +was stirring in Agnes’s inner mind, and love as she might, nothing would +induce her to listen to him. +</p> + +<p> +This disposition on her part was encouraged by the trustees of the estate, or +rather guardians, who, under pretence of keeping up the dignity of the family, +represented to her that such a union would be disgraceful. Let the young man +win his spurs, and then his poverty would be no obstacle in their sight. They +had an object in view in retarding the marriage of their ward. It was true that +no salary or commission was allowed for the management of the estate; but all +wise men know that there are ways and means of making a profit in an indirect +manner. Evil report said that more than one of the mortgages which encumbered +the property had been incurred, not from necessity, or from the consequences of +extravagance, but simply in order that these parties might receive a handsome +gratuity for the permission given to put out large sums at a safe interest. +</p> + +<p> +De Warren was deeply affected when Agnes calmly told him her view of the +matter, admitted without reserve that she liked him—loved she could not +say, though that was the truth—but added that marriage or further +intercourse was impossible, so long as he remained unknown and unheard of among +men. +</p> + +<p> +He kissed her hand, and swore to win distinction or to perish. He at once +exchanged or volunteered—I forget which, but I think the +latter—into a detachment going to China. +</p> + +<p> +When once Agnes had received a letter, which had travelled with its message of +love and admiration over those thousands and thousands of miles of ocean, then +she realised how she had cut herself off from her own darling; and her heart, +before so cold and hard, softened, and was full of miserable forebodings. She +lost much of her youthful beauty—the incessant anxiety that gnawed at her +heart deprived her cheeks of their bloom, and her form of its graceful lines. +She grew pale, even haggard, and people whispered that the heiress was fast +going into a decline. Hours and hours she spent alone in the room of the old +mansion where the parting had taken place. Sitting there in the Blue Room, as +it was called, her mind filled with pictures of war and its dangers, her soul +ever strung up to the highest pitch of anxious waiting, what wonder was it that +Agnes began to see visions and to dream dreams—visions that she never +mentioned, dreams that she never told. It would be easy to argue that what +happened was a mere coincidence; that her fears had excited her mind; and that +if the actual event had not lent a factitious importance to the affair, it +would have passed as a mental delusion. +</p> + +<p> +Certain it was that in May, about ten months after De Warren’s departure, +Agnes grew suddenly cheerful—the very opposite to what she had been. She +sang and played, and danced about the old house. She said that something had +told her that De Warren was coming home. No letter had reached her to that +effect; the war was still going on, and yet she was perfectly certain that for +some reason or other the cornet was returning—and, what was better, was +returning covered with honours. Those in the house looked upon this sudden +change of spirits and manner as a certain sign that something would happen to +the heiress, and her faithful old nurse (dead before Violet’s advent) +kept a close watch upon her. +</p> + +<p> +One day, a curious thing happened. In the midst of lunch, Lady Agnes sprang up +from table with a joyful but hysterical laugh, and declared that Walter was +coming on horseback, and she must go and meet him. Quick as thought she had her +hat on, and rushed out of the house, the nurse following at a little distance, +anxious to see what would happen. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Agnes walked swiftly across the park to a little wicket-gate in the wall, +where Warren used to meet her. Then she stopped and looked along the path, +while the nurse hid behind the trunk of a beech tree at a short distance. In a +few minutes Agnes cried out, “I hear him—I hear him; it is his +footstep.” Then a minute afterwards she flung out her arms as if +embracing some one, and cried, and seemed to kiss the air, uttering warm words +of affection. The nurse saw nothing—only a light puff of wind stirred the +leaves and caused a rustling. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes in a few moments turned to the right, and began to walk, or rather glide, +as it seemed to the excited fancy of the nurse, at a swift pace, all the while +talking as if to some person who accompanied her, and every now and then +pausing to throw her arms round his neck, and uttering an hysterical sob. She +made straight for “The Pot,” and went quickly round the oak stump. +The nurse followed rapidly, and as she peeped round the oak there was Lady +Agnes facing her on the other side of “The Pot,” with both arms +extended and her face white as death. “Walter,” she said, +distinctly; “Walter, what does that red spot on your forehead mean? Are +you angry?” Then she fell prone on the grass in a dead faint, and the +nurse had immense trouble to get her home again. +</p> + +<p> +Just a month afterwards came the news that Walter was dead, having been shot in +the <i>forehead</i> with a ball from a matchlock while leading on his men. He +had won much praise by his desperate courage, and the last despatch recommended +him for promotion, and for the Cross for saving life under heavy fire. +</p> + +<p> +Now, looked at dispassionately by others, the whole incident resolves itself +into a case of excitement and over-anxiety acting upon a naturally sensitive +organisation. But it was easy to see how to Lady Agnes the affair wore a very +different light. To her the imaginary shape, invisible to others, which had met +her at the little wicket-gate, was real—the spirit of her lover, which +had come from the wilds of China, over thousands of miles, to acquaint her in +dumb show of the destruction of its body. +</p> + +<p> +From that moment she became a devout believer in the power of the dead to +revisit their friends. She was not alarmed. On the contrary, the thought +soothed her. She expected and waited for Walter’s second approach, and +spoke lovingly when he came again. For he, or the unsubstantial vision in his +form, did come again and again, and always in one of two places—in the +Blue Room, or beside “The Pot.” That strange freak of Nature had +been the favourite resort of the lovers in the bygone time. Agnes counted the +time for the approach of the spirit; those who waited upon her could tell when +she believed the time for the appearance was near, by the peculiar light in her +eyes, and the glow upon her cheek. At such times the superstitious servants +hastened to get out of the room. After a while Agnes became conscious that +these things were noticed and commented upon, and it became her practice, when +she felt the time coming, to retire to her own room and lock herself in. +</p> + +<p> +Reflecting upon these periodical visits of what she really believed was the +spirit of her dead lover, Agnes naturally went on to consider the whole +question of the existence of supernatural beings. She purchased works upon +demonology and witchcraft, and being an accomplished scholar did not confine +her studies to her own language, but read deeply in Agrippa, and the +necromancers of the Middle Ages. There were those who said that while upon the +Continent she plunged into these forbidden mysteries, and found in the recesses +of foreign capitals, men with whom there still lingered the knowledge how to +control the spirits of the air. In part this was true; whether self-deceived or +not, it was certain that Agnes really believed there were genii with whom she +could converse almost at pleasure. How was it then that, always anxious for +Warren’s presence, she yet disliked The Towers? +</p> + +<p> +Soon after she began to study these magical books, and to attempt to penetrate +the veil which covers the ethereal world from the eyes of poor humanity, it +appeared to her that whenever Walter came, his face wore a sad aspect, almost +of upbraiding. And beside him there rose up a Darkness: something without form +and void, and yet which was there—something which chilled her blood. +After a while it began to take the shape of a thin column of darkness; even in +the broad sunlight there was this spot where no light would penetrate. It came +too without Walter; it rose up in the middle of the room where she sat—a +dark presence, a shadow which haunted her everywhere. +</p> + +<p> +I cannot explain this; I can only record that it was the case. It was this that +made Agnes dislike The Towers, and live in the new wing. Yet even there she did +not escape. The shadow took a shape. +</p> + +<p> +There is a sentence in a certain grand old book, which prays that we may be +delivered from the pestilence which walketh in darkness. The thought of that is +awful enough. But there is something more awful still. Ancient books, which +mention such things in a far-off manner, as if one were speaking under the +breath, refer in a dim way to the noonday phantom—the phantom which meets +the huntsman at midday in the green and shady wood; which stops the maiden at +the fountain with her pitcher, in the glare of the sunbeams; which addresses +the shepherd suddenly upon the hillside as he watches his sheep under the blue +vault of the sky. To the darkness and the night, the spirits seem to have a +natural claim—it is their realm; the boldest of us have sometimes felt an +unaccountable creeping in the thick darkness. But at noonday, when one would +naturally feel safe, by one’s side in the daylight, this is a thousand +times worse. The noonday phantom came to Agnes. The dark shadow, the thin +column of darkness like smoke, took to itself a shape. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_3_chap_04"></a>Chapter Four.</h2> + +<p> +Ever since the world began it has been the belief of mankind that desolate +places are the special haunt of supernatural beings. To this day the merchants +who travel upon camels across the deserts of the East, are firmly persuaded +that they can hear strange voices calling them from among the sandhills, and +that at dusk wild figures may be seen gliding over the ruins of long-lost +cities. It is useless to demonstrate that the curious noises of the desert, are +caused by the tension which the dead silence causes upon the nerves of the ear, +or by the shifting of the sand, and the currents of air which the heated +surface of the sand makes whirl about. The belief is so natural that it cannot +be entirely eradicated. In the olden times in our own fair England, and not so +very long ago either, there was not a wild and unfrequented place which had not +got its spirit. The woods had their elves and wild huntsmen, the meadows their +fairies, the fountains their nymphs, the rocks and caves their dwarfs, and the +air at night was crowded with witches travelling to and fro. +</p> + +<p> +Let any one who possesses a vivid imagination and a highly-wrought nervous +system, even now, in this nineteenth century, with all the advantages of +learning and science, go and sit among the rocks, or in the depths of the wood +and think of immortality, and all that that word really means, and by-and-by a +mysterious awe will creep into the mind, and it will half believe in the +possibility of seeing or meeting something—<i>something</i>—it +knows not exactly what. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes Lechester went into the desolate places fully expecting to meet her +lover, and she met— +</p> + +<p> +A more desolate place than the Kickwell Pot could not easily be found in +highly-cultivated England, so near to an inhabited mansion. Even in winter, +when the leaves were off the trees, there was not a place where a view could be +got of it from the mansion, and when there the visitor was, to all intents and +purposes, isolated from the world. In summer it was still more hidden, for the +thick leaves above, and the tall brake fern growing luxuriantly beneath, +obstructed the view, and it was impossible to see for more than a dozen yards. +There was but one spot from whence it was possible to overlook “The +Pot,” and that was from the summit of the Down on the right. But this +Down was totally deserted. The very sheep kept aloof from it. Its steep sides +were almost inaccessible even to their nimble feet, and the soil was so +thin—that no herbage grew to reward the bold climber. Shepherds kept +their flocks away from that neighbourhood, for if a sheep lost its footing and +stumbled, there was no escape. The body must roll and rebound till it reached +the swift river below, which running between steep banks was not easy to get +at, and death by drowning was certain. In the course of time many had been lost +in this way, and now care was taken that the flocks should not travel in that +direction. Animal life almost entirely avoided the bare chalk cliffs. Sometimes +a hawk would linger on the edge, as it were, poising himself on his wings but a +few feet above the ridge, as if glorying in defiance of the depth below. +Sometimes a solitary crow would alight upon the hill, to devour the spoil it +had carried off, in peace and undisturbed. In the fir plantation on the other +side of the river a few pigeons built, and now and then a loud jay chattered, +and a squirrel peeped out from the topmost branches among the cones. The +woodpecker might be heard now and then tapping in the great beech trees, and a +brown rabbit would start out from among the fern. But so far as man was +concerned the spot was totally desolate: no path passed near, the common people +avoided it. It was a desolate place. +</p> + +<p> +In summer time a place to meditate in. To sit upon the sward, leaning back +against the vast trunk of the dead oak tree, listening to the gentle murmur of +the river, as it rose up out of the mouth of “The Pot” close to the +feet. In winter a weird and sinister spot, when the trees were bare and dark, +the fir trees gloomy and black, when the snow lodged in great drifts upon the +Downs, and the murmur of the river rose to a dull, sullen roar, resounding up +the strange, natural funnel. When the grey clouds hung over the sky, and the +mist clung to the hill, and the occasional gusts of bitter wind rustled the +dead beech leaves—then indeed it was a desolate place. It was here that +the darkness, the thin column of smoke-like darkness, began to grow into form +and shape; and as it took to itself a figure, so the vision of poor Walter +faded away, and lost its distinctness of outline. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes saw before her a something that was half-human and half-divine; and yet +which a species of instinct told her was not wholly good, perhaps only +apparently good. The face was human and yet not human—so much grander, +nobler, full of passions, stronger, more irresistible than ever yet played upon +the features of a man. The brow spoke of power illimitable, of foresight +infinite, of design, and deep, fathomless thought. The chin and mouth spoke of +iron will, of strength to rive the solid rock and overthrow a tower, of a +purpose relentlessly pursued. The eyes were unbearable, searching, burning like +a flame of fire. The form uncertain, ill-defined, yet full of a flowing grace +and majestic grandeur. It was winged. There was a general resemblance between +this being and those strange creatures—half man, half deity—which +are depicted upon the slabs from the palace at Nineveh; only that those +pictures are flat and tame, spiritless, mere outline representations. This was +full of an intense vitality—a magnetic vigour. +</p> + +<p> +It did not speak; yet she understood its thoughts and its wishes. They filled +her with a swelling hope, and yet with unutterable dread:—to place +herself willingly, unhesitatingly, without a grain of distrust, within those +arms; to be folded to its breast; to feel the wings spread out, and to rush +with breathless haste into space, seeking the home of the immortals, the bride +of a spirit. The pride of her mind found an unspeakable joy in the belief that +such a fate was possible for her—nay, was ever waiting for her—it +was but for her to step forward, and in a moment— +</p> + +<p> +The illimitable ambition of her soul urged her on. She never doubted the +possibility—“And the sons of God saw that the daughters of men were +fair”—what happened then could happen now. Yet something held her +back, and that something was Walter—the faint indistinct vision of +Walter. He seemed to shake his head mournfully, to beckon with his hand, to +grow paler and unhappy, as her frame of mind disposed her more and more to join +the ineffable being which stood before her. The warfare, as it were; the +struggle between the two grew insupportable; she was torn with conflicting +thoughts, doubts, and fears. This was one reason why she so earnestly desired +companionship; and in the presence of Violet she found temporary relief. +</p> + +<p> +The offer of Marese Baskette introduced a new element of trouble and confusion +in her mind. She had, as it were, a double existence; she lived two lives. One, +visible to others with men and woman, mortal like herself; the other, unseen, +was spent with the spirit of the dead, and with a spirit which had never known +mortality. Yet it was not two minds, but one mind; for all through this dual +nature there ran the same master chord. As in the physical life, so in the +mental. In the physical life, the proud position Marese offered her attracted +her irresistibly; so, in the mental life, the figure of Walter grew fainter and +fainter, and that of the Genius, offering supremacy and superiority, became +more distinct, larger, and more powerful. The struggle now lay between Marese +and the Genius—the vision of the dead Walter faded entirely away. Which +should she choose—an earthly kingdom, or little less, with opportunities +such as had never before fallen to the lot of a mortal; or should she soar up +into the empyrean on the breast of that wonderful and glorious being who grew +brighter, more lovely, the longer she gazed upon him? +</p> + +<p> +It was the spirit she went to meet by day and night at the side of “The +Pot.” +</p> + +<p> +It was the belief among the ancients that persons afflicted with certain +diseases, or of unsound mind, were possessed by spirits; and still further, +they seem to have quite understood that the possessed person had, as it were, +two evils at once. The disease was not the spirit, nor the spirit the disease. +These were distinct. Those who could exorcise the spirit had also to cure the +disease, though the one generally followed the other. +</p> + +<p> +It is hard to understand the intense reality of the vision seen by Agnes, +except upon some similar theory. That the inherent insanity of the Lechester +family had developed itself in her mind, unsuspected by others, there can be no +doubt; but even to the persons who are subject to illusions of the mind, the +reality of their visions is seldom, if ever, so absolutely believed in as these +were by Lady Agnes. There is just the possibility, even atheists will not deny +the <i>possibility</i>—but it is better not to argue the matter. It is +sad, indeed, to record the affliction which had fallen upon this most estimable +and generous woman, if we regard it as insanity only; if we go a step further, +and admit the possibility alluded to, it is sadder still. +</p> + +<p> +At home, in the new wing, the darkness rarely came now, though there was the +sense of a presence. It was by the side of “The Pot” that the +figure showed itself fully. It rose up from the strange funnel, as if a mist +hardened and solidified into shape. It stood before her silent, yet speaking +unutterable things. +</p> + +<p> +In the cold winter, when the sky was grey with cloud, the firs black and +gloomy, and the drifted snow lay in heaps upon the Downs, there mingled with +the sullen roar of the river resounding up “The Pot,” a voice from +this mysterious being, which in the savage, fierce desolation of that place +spoke of a pride, of an ambition, which rose above even utter failure and +degradation. Of a strength of mind which gloried even in its fall; which defied +the very heavens in its grandeur; which could not be subdued—immortal in +its pride. +</p> + +<p> +As the spring stole on and the soft rain fell, as the buds sprang forth and the +thrush sang with joy, the figure grew brighter; an intense vitality seemed to +pass from it to her—a glow of life which said, “Come with me; we +will wander amid forests such as earth even in its youth never saw, by the +shore of lakes such as mortal eye never gazed upon; we will revel in an +immortal youth—in a sunshine inconceivable in beauty.” +</p> + +<p> +It was but a step to those arms; she longed, yet she did not take it. At night, +when the sky glittered with stars and a solitary planet beamed in the west, the +eyes of the shape grew into blazing coals, and her soul was aware that it was +thinking of unutterable mysteries, of knowledge locked up for ages and ages, in +the infinite space beyond those points of light. Oh, to penetrate into that +silent chamber, to walk with reverent footsteps in that library of the +universe, to read the wondrous truths written there—to read which was, in +itself, life eternal! This, in brief, the spirit spoke to her. +</p> + +<p> +It will now be understood why the strange behaviour of Lady Agnes seemed to +grow stranger after the last visit of Marese Baskette and her practical +acceptance of his offer. The moment she had in a manner given her hand to him, +the claims of the other and supernatural life appeared to be infinitely +superior—as is the common case when one has decided, the other course +always seems preferable. Yet she could not easily withdraw from her word, nor +indeed did she altogether wish to do so; and this indecision drove her into a +restless frame of mind. Her visits to “The Pot” became more and +more frequent—some times she would go there four times in the course of +the day, and once again in the evening. She shut herself in her private +room—the one room Violet was never asked to enter—for hours almost +every day. There was a restless gleam in her eyes, usually so mild and +pleasant. +</p> + +<p> +One evening, after a more than ordinarily restless day had been spent, Agnes +suddenly rose up, and retired to her private room. This was usually her custom +before going out alone into the park, but on this occasion, Violet watching +her, saw to her intense surprise that, instead of leaving the house, she +unlocked a door which led into the old mansion, and entered the long deserted +apartments of The Towers proper. Such a step would have been under any ordinary +circumstances nothing to take notice of, but Violet had gradually worked +herself up into a state of alarm, and this unusual proceeding created more +surmises in her mind even than the lonely walks in the darkness. She slipped +out of the house thinking to watch Agnes’ progress through The Towers by +the light she carried, which would show which rooms she went into. It fell out +exactly as she had supposed—she saw the light of the little lamp flit +about from window to window and along the corridors, now disappearing from +sight entirely, and now suddenly flickering out again, till at last it stopped +in what Violet well knew was the Blue Room. This room was so called from the +colour employed in decorating the walls. They were painted instead of being +papered, much in the same style as the houses at Pompeii, only in larger +panels, and the ground colour was blue. From the lawn in front of the house +Violet could just see Agnes seated at a table in this room, and before her was +a small desk—a desk she had often noticed in that room, thinking how +incongruous a plain gentleman’s writing-desk, with brass handles, looked +amidst the elegant furniture and decorations. +</p> + +<p> +Out of this desk Agnes was taking what, at that distance, Violet could only +conjecture were letters, and burning them one by one in the flame of the lamp. +</p> + +<p> +Presently she paused, and Violet saw her kiss something which looked like a +curl of chestnut hair. Then not fancying her self-imposed task of watching her +benefactress, and convinced that there was no danger, Violet stole away. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes was, in fact, destroying her memorials of Walter De Warren, which she had +kept in his own desk in the room in which she had last seen him alive. She had +determined to cast aside all remembrance of him; his memory should not +embarrass her in the course she would pursue. Freed from the slightest control +by him, she thought that she would be the better able to choose between the +earthly and the immortal destinies offered to her. Yet she still lingered, +still hesitated. She could not say to Marese “I will,” nor could +she say “I will not.” She permitted his money to be used in freeing +her estate of encumbrance, and this gave him a moral claim upon her hand. After +that was done, it seemed to her that the spirit who visited her at “The +Pot” visibly frowned, and the great eyes were full of reproach. +</p> + +<p> +What was this feeble earthly glory to that which was offered to her in the sky? +She had chosen wrongly, contrary to the spirit of the proud and ambitious +Lechesters; she was acting in opposition to the traditions of her race. Marese, +after all, was a low-born upstart. The ancestry of the spirit had no beginning +and no end. Again she hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +About this time there came a letter from Miss Merton, dated Torquay, written in +a formal but polite manner, begging to be informed what she had better do with +the dog Dando. She did not wish to get rid of him—she had become quite +attached to the dog and he to her—but she was not the actual owner, and +she did not like the responsibility of having so valuable an animal with her. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed as if the value of the dog was well known, for at least two +deliberate attempts had been made to steal it within a few days. And these +attempts had not a little alarmed Miss Merton. To find that her steps were +watched and followed by a wild-looking tramp, or tinker fellow, bent upon +carrying off the dog was, to say the least, extremely unpleasant. +</p> + +<p> +The man—an ill-looking fellow—was always about the house, and would +not go away. He played a tin whistle, and whenever the dog heard some peculiar +notes, he became greatly excited, and began to dance about in a curious manner. +Not only that, but if the tramp varied the tune in some way, then the dog grew +frantic to run after him, and twice she had the utmost difficulty to recover +him. +</p> + +<p> +What was she to do? She did not like to part with the dog, and yet really it +was very awkward. +</p> + +<p> +Violet in reply asked Miss Merton to send her Dando. She had now got over her +prejudice against him and felt that her anger had been unjust. She should like +to have him back again. As to the tramp, she was not surprised, for she +remembered that her poor father had bought the dog, when quite young, from a +band of strolling gipsies, and there were certain tunes which had always +excited him to dance and frisk about as if he had been trained to do so. +</p> + +<p> +Violet, of course, asked Lady Lechester’s permission, whose reply was +that she should be glad to have the dog; there was plenty of room for him, and +he would be company, and add to the safety of the somewhat lonely Towers. +Violet herself thought that it would be a great advantage if Dando should +happen to please Agnes’ fancy; he might be allowed to accompany her in +her lonely dark walks, and would be some protection. +</p> + +<p> +A week afterwards Dando came, and at once recognised Violet. He had grown +considerably larger, and was a fine, noble animal. +</p> + +<p> +As Violet had hoped, Agnes took a great fancy to him, and the dog returning it, +they became inseparable companions. This <i>relieved</i> Violet of much of her +anxiety. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_3_chap_05"></a>Chapter Five.</h2> + +<p> +A fortnight after Dando’s establishment at The Towers, Aymer came. He +looked ill, pale, and careworn, and at once announced that he had left Mr +Broughton, and was going to London, literally to seek his fortune. +</p> + +<p> +The monotony had at last proved too much for him, and worse than that was the +miserable thought that, after all this work and patience, he was no nearer to +Violet. Perhaps after ten or fifteen years of unremitting labour, nine-tenths +of which time must be spent at a distance from her, he might, if his health +lasted and no accident happened, be in receipt of one hundred and fifty pounds +per annum; and how much more forward would he be then? +</p> + +<p> +Not all the poverty and restraint of the years upon Wick Farm at World’s +End, not all the terrible disappointment on the very day when every hope seemed +on the point of realisation; nothing could dull his vivid imagination, or make +him abate one iota of the future which he had marked out for Violet. +</p> + +<p> +In truth, she wondered why he had never asked her to come to him—to be +married and live with him in his humble lodgings at Barnham. She would have +been happy and content. But to Aymer the idea was impossible. All the romance +of his life was woven around her head; he would not bring her to miserable back +rooms, to a confined narrow life in a third-class street. It would have been to +admit that his whole being was a failure; that he had formed hopes and dreamed +dreams beyond his power ever to grasp, and his spirit was not yet broken to +that. No, he would struggle and work, and bear anything for Violet’s +sake. Anything but this miserable monotony without progress. Had there been +progress, however slow, he might have tamed his impatient mind and forced +himself to endure it. +</p> + +<p> +Day after day passed, the nights came and went, and each morning found him +precisely in the same position as before. His organisation was too sensitive, +too highly wrought, eager, nervous, for the dull plodding of daily life. He +chafed against it, till dark circles formed themselves under his +eyelids—circles which sleep would not remove. These were partly caused by +overwork. +</p> + +<p> +Broughton, on returning from Stirmingham, found his affairs at Barnham had got +into a fearful state of muddle, and Aymer had to assist him to clear the Augean +stable of accumulated correspondence, and satisfy neglected clients. Often, +after a long day’s work, he had to carry accounts or correspondence home +with him and finish it there, and then after that he would open his own plain +simple desk—much such a desk as the one that had belonged to poor Cornet +De Warren—and resume his interrupted MS. +</p> + +<p> +After a while it became unbearable; the poor fellow grew desperate. He might +not have so soon given way, had not a slight attack of illness, not sufficient +to confine him in-doors, added to the tension of his nerves. He determined to +stay on until his MS was finished—till the last word had been written, +and the last sketch elaborated—then he would go to London, no matter what +became of him. If all else failed he could, at the last, return to Wick Farm; +they would give him a bed and a crust, and he would be no worse off than +before. +</p> + +<p> +He toiled at his book at midnight, and long hours afterwards, when the good +people of Barnham town were calmly sleeping the sleep of the just, and +permitting the talent in their midst to eat its own heart. At last it was +finished, and he left. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Broughton wished him to stay, offered to increase his salary, said that he +had become really useful, and even, as a personal favour, begged him to remain. +Aymer thanked him sincerely, but was firm—he must go. So far as was +possible he explained to Broughton the reason, and the lawyer, hard as he was, +had sufficient power of understanding others to perceive the real state of +affairs. He warned Aymer that certain disappointment awaited him in London, +that no publisher would issue a book by an unknown author unless paid for it. +Aymer shook his head sadly—he had known that well enough long ago, but he +must go. +</p> + +<p> +Broughton shook hands with him, gave him a five-pound note over and above his +salary, and told him if in distress, as he prophesied he would certainly soon +be, to write to him, or else return. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer again thanked him, packed his modest little portmanteau, and taking with +him his manuscript, went to The Towers to say farewell to Violet. +</p> + +<p> +When Agnes understood the course he had decided on, she said that she thought +he had done right. To any other she should have said differently; to any other +of a less highly organised mind she should have said, “Why, you cannot +find a better opening.” But what would have been meat to others was +poison to Aymer. Therefore she applauded his resolution, and told him to go +forth and conquer, but first to stay a few days with Violet. +</p> + +<p> +This language greatly cheered poor Aymer, and for a few days he was in a +species of Paradise. +</p> + +<p> +It was not even yet fully spring—the wind was cold at times, but still +they could go out freely; and with Violet at his side, and Dando bounding along +in front, it seemed almost like a return to the old joyous times at +World’s End. +</p> + +<p> +The hours flew by, and when the last day came it seemed as if but a few minutes +had elapsed. It happened to be a wet day—the spring showers were falling +steadily, and, unable to go out, they rambled into the old mansion, and +strolled from room to room. +</p> + +<p> +The groom had been ordered to get the dog-cart out by a certain time to take +Aymer seven miles to the nearest railway station. That station was but a small +one, and two up-trains only stopped there in the course of the day—if he +missed this he would not reach London that night. +</p> + +<p> +Forgetful of time, perhaps half purposely forgetful, Aymer lingered on, and +could not tear himself away. +</p> + +<p> +At length the groom, tired of waiting in the rain, and anxious about the time, +waived all ceremony, and came to seek his passenger. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer pressed Violet’s hand, kissed it, and was gone, not daring to look +back. +</p> + +<p> +The wheels grated on the gravel, and Violet remained where he had left her. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes came presently and found her, and started. The farewell had been given in +the Blue Room. +</p> + +<p> +“You did not say farewell here?” said Agnes, with emphasis. +</p> + +<p> +Violet admitted it. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Heavens—what an evil omen!” muttered Agnes, and drew +her from the spot. +</p> + +<p> +From that very room De Warren had gone, forth to his fate: from that room Aymer +had started to win himself a way in the world. +</p> + +<p> +It was late at night when he reached London. Nothing could be done till the +morning. As he had no experience of the ways of the metropolis, Aymer naturally +paid about half as much again as was necessary, and reckoning up his slender +stock of money, foresaw that he could not long remain in town at this rate. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Broughton had given him a written introduction to a firm of law-publishers +and stationers with whom he dealt—not that they would be of any use to +him in themselves, but in the idea that they might have connections who could +serve him. +</p> + +<p> +Upon these gentlemen he waited in the morning, and was fairly well received. +They gave him a note to another firm who were in a more popular line of +business. Aymer trudged thither, and found these people very off-handed and +very busy. They glanced at his manuscript—not in their line. Had he +anything that would be likely to take with boys?—illustrated fiction sold +best for boys and girls. Ah, well! they were sorry and very busy. Suppose he +tried so-and-so? +</p> + +<p> +This process, or pretty much the same process, was repeated for two or three +days, until poor Aymer, naturally enough, lost heart. +</p> + +<p> +As he left one publisher’s shop, a clerk, who was writing at his desk +near the door, noticed his careworn look, and having once gone through a +somewhat similar experience, and seeing “gentleman” marked upon his +features, asked him if he would show him the work. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer did so. The clerk, an experienced man, turned over the illustrations +carefully, and then appeared to ponder. +</p> + +<p> +“These are good,” he said; “they would certainly take if they +were published. But so also would a great many other things. The difficulty is +to get them published, unless you have a name. Now take my advice—It is +useless carrying the MS from door to door. You may tramp over London without +success. Your best plan will be to bring it out at your own cost; once out you +will get a reputation, and then you can sell your next. I don’t want to +be personal, but have you any money? I see—you have a little. Well, you +need not pay all the cost. Go to so-and-so—offer them, let me see, +such-and-such a sum, and not a shilling more, and your business is done.” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer, as he walked along busy Fleet Street and up into the Strand, thought +over this advice, and it sounded reasonable enough—too reasonable. For he +had so little money. When all he had saved from the gift of fifty pounds, his +salary, and Broughton’s present, were added together, he had but +forty-seven pounds. Out of this he was advised to expend forty pounds in one +lump; to him it seemed like risking a fortune. But Violet? His book? He could +not help, even after all his disappointments, feeling a certain faith in his +book. +</p> + +<p> +Westwards he walked, past the famous bronze lions, and the idea came into his +mind—How did the hero of Trafalgar win his fame? Was it not by courage +only—simple courage? On, then. He went to the firm mentioned. They +haggled for a larger sum; but Aymer was firm, for the simple reason that he had +no more to give. Then they wanted a few days to consider. +</p> + +<p> +This he could not refuse; and these days passed slowly, while his stock of +money diminished every hour. Finally they agreed to publish the work, but bound +him down to such conditions, that it was hard to see how he could recover a +tenth part of his investment, much less obtain a profit. He signed the +agreement, paid the money, and walked forth. +</p> + +<p> +He went up the steps to the National Gallery, barely knowing what he did. He +stood and gazed down upon the great square, with the lions and the fountains, +and the busy stream of human life flowing for ever round it. A proud feeling +swelled up within. At last his book would be seen and read, his name would be +known, and then—Violet! +</p> + +<p> +Days and weeks went by, and yet no proofs came to his humble lodgings, or +rather sleeping place, for all day he wandered to and fro in the great city. +When he called at the publishers’ office they treated him with +supercilious indifference, and—“Really did not know that the +immediate appearance of the little book was so important.” There were +other works they had had in hand previously, and which must have priority. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer wandered about, not only into the great thoroughfares and the famous +streets of the City and West End, but eastwards down to the docks, filled with +curiosity, observing everything, storing his mind with facts and +characteristics for future use, and meantime starving—for it was rapidly +coming to that; and the descent was facilitated by a misfortune which befell +him in Shoreditch, where, as he was standing near a passage or court in a +crowd, a thief made off with three pounds out of his remaining five. +</p> + +<p> +It is easy to say—Why did not Aymer get work? But how was he to do so +with no money to advertise, no introductions, no kind of security to give, a +perfect stranger? He did try. He called upon some firms who advertised in the +<i>Telegraph</i>. The very first question was—Where do you come from? The +country! That answer was sufficient. They wanted a man up to London work and to +the ways of the City. Aymer modestly said he could learn. “Yes,” +they replied, “and we must pay for your education. Good morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Economise as much as he would, the two pounds left dwindled and dwindled, till +the inevitable end came, and the last half sovereign melted into five +shillings, the five shillings into half-a-crown, the half-a-crown into a single +solitary shilling. Driven to the last extremity, Aymer hit upon the idea of +manual labour. He was not a powerful man, he could not lift a heavy weight, but +he could bear a great deal of fatigue. He looked round him, he saw hundreds at +work, and yet there did not seem any place where he could go and ask for +employment. +</p> + +<p> +By a kind of instinct he wandered down to the river and along the wharves. +There he saw men busy unloading the barges and smaller craft. Summoning up +courage, he spoke to one of the labourers, who stared, and then burst into a +broad grin. Aymer turned away, but was called back. The ganger looked him up +and down and offered him half-a-crown a day; the others earned three shillings +and sixpence and four shillings, but they were strong, strapping fellows. Aymer +accepted it, for indeed he could not help himself and in a few minutes the +poet, author, artist, with his coat off, was rolling small casks across the +wharf. At first he was awkward, and hurt himself; the rest laughed at him, but +good-humouredly. Some offered him beer. +</p> + +<p> +At six o’clock he, with the rest, was called to a small office and +received his day’s wages—two shillings and sixpence. He made a +meal, the first that day, at a cheap eating-house, and then set out to return +to his wretched lodgings, tired, worn out, miserable, yet not despairing, for +he had found a means which would enable him to live, and to wait—to wait +till the book came out. +</p> + +<p> +For a fortnight Aymer worked at the wharf, and had become a favourite with the +men. Noting his handiness and activity, and seeing that he was well educated, +he was now put into an office of some little trust, to check the goods as they +were landed, and received an advance of eighteen-pence, making a daily wage of +four shillings. This seemed an immense improvement; but he was obliged to +borrow a week’s extra salary in advance to buy a new pair of boots, and +was therefore very little better off. +</p> + +<p> +Strolling slowly one evening up Cannon Street, Aymer met the great stream of +city men and merchants, clerks and agents, which at that time pours out of the +warehouses and offices, setting across London Bridge towards the suburbs. +</p> + +<p> +He walked slowly, all but despondently. It was already a week since he had +written to Violet—that in itself was a strong proof of his condition of +mind. It is very easy for those who have got everything, to pray each Sunday +against envy, and to repeat with unction the response after the command not to +covet thy neighbour’s goods. It is a different matter when one is +practically destitute, when the mere value of the chain that hangs so daintily +from my lady’s neck—ay, the price of the muff that warms her +delicate hands—would be as a fortune, and lift the heart up out of the +mire. +</p> + +<p> +He could not help thinking that if he had but the money, the value, of a single +much-despised pony that drew a greengrocer’s cart he should be almost a +prince. +</p> + +<p> +He passed under Temple Bar, and entered the busy Strand, walking, as it +happened—events always happen, and no one can say what that word really +means—on the right hand pavement, facing westwards. Painfully and wearily +walking, he came to the church where the pavement makes a détour, and +hesitated for a moment whether to cross to the other side or go round the +church, and decided, as the road was dirty, and his old boots thin and full of +holes, to follow the pavement. “Circumstances over which we have no +control”—these circumstances generally commence in the smallest, +least noticeable trifles. It so happened—there it is again—will +anyone explain why it so happened?—that as he reached the entrance to +Holywell Street, he glanced up it, and saw for the first time that avenue of +old books. The author’s instinct made him first pause, and then go up +it—he was tired, but he must go and look. Dingy and dirty, but tempting +to a man whose library had been obtained by wiring hares. He thought, with a +sigh, how many more books he could have bought with his money had he known of +the existence of this cheap mart, or had he had any access to it. Here was +Bohn’s Plato—for which he had paid a hardly got thirty +shillings—marked up at fifteen shillings, slightly soiled it was true, +but what did that matter? Here was old +Herodotus—Bohn’s—marked at eighteen-pence, the very book +which had cost him three hares, including carriage. The margins were all +scribbled over—odd faces and odder animals rudely sketched in pen and +ink, evidently some schoolboy’s crib. But what did that matter, so long +as the text was complete—he cared for nothing but the text. As he +lingered and heard the bells chiming seven o’clock, his eye caught sight +of a little book called “A Fortune for a Shilling.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a catching title; he remembered seeing it lying upon the itinerant +bookseller’s stall in front of the Sternhold Hall. He looked at it, +weighed it in his hand. He smiled sadly at his own folly. He had but fifteen +pence in his pocket, and to think of throwing a whole shilling away upon such a +lottery! It was absurd—childish; and yet the book fascinated him. The +bookseller’s assistant came out, ostensibly to dust the +books—really to see that none were pocketed. Aymer ran his eye down the +pages of the book, feeling all the while as if he were cheating the bookseller +of his money. The assistant said, “Only one shilling, sir; a chance for +everybody, sir, in that book.” Aymer shut his eyes to his own folly, paid +the money, and returned into the Strand with threepence left. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_3_chap_06"></a>Chapter Six.</h2> + +<p> +He repented his folly very speedily, for the landlady had advanced him +half-a-crown two days before for some necessaries, and now asked him for the +money. +</p> + +<p> +Not all the hunger and thirst of downright destitution is so hard to bear to a +proud spirit as the insults of a petty creditor. He could not taste his tea; +the dry bread—he could not afford butter—stuck in his throat. If he +had not spent that shilling, he might have paid a part at least of his debt. +</p> + +<p> +He took up the book—the cause of his depression—and, still ashamed +of himself, began to search it for any reference to his own name. In vain; +Malet was not mentioned, there were no unclaimed legacies, no bank dividends +accumulating, no estates without an owner waiting for him to take +possession—it was an absolute blank. The shilling had been utterly +wasted. +</p> + +<p> +As he sat thinking over his position, the idea occurred to him to see what +mention the book made of the great estate at Stirmingham. +</p> + +<p> +There were pages upon pages devoted to Sibbolds and Baskettes, just as he +expected. Aymer ran down the list, recalling, as he went, the scenes he had +witnessed in the Sternhold Hall. +</p> + +<p> +At the foot of one page was a short note in small type, and a name which caught +his eye—“Bury Wick Church.” He read it—it stated that +it was uncertain what had become of Arthur Sibbold, the heir by the entail, and +that inquiries had failed to elucidate his fate. There was a statement, made on +very little authority, that he had been buried in Bury Wick Church, co. +B—, but researches there had revealed nothing. Either he had died a +pauper, and had been interred without a tombstone, or else <i>he had changed +his name</i>. It was this last sentence that in an instant threw a flood of +light, as it were, into Aymer’s mind—<i>changed his name</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Full of excitement, he rushed to his little portmanteau, tore out his +note-book, and quickly found the memorandum made in the office of Mr Broughton, +at Barnham. +</p> + +<p> +There was the explanation of the disappearance of Arthur Sibbold—there +was the advertisement in a small local newspaper of his intended marriage and +change of name. Doubtless he had afterwards been known as Mr Waldron—had +been buried as Waldron, and his death registered as Waldron. As Waldron of The +Place, World’s End! Then poor old Jason Waldron, the kindest man that +ever lived, was in reality the true heir to the vast estate at Stirmingham. +</p> + +<p> +Jason was dead, but Violet remained. Violet was the heiress. He sat, perfectly +overwhelmed with his own discovery, of which he never entertained a +moment’s doubt. He ransacked his memory of what he had heard at the +family council; tried to recall the evidence that had been produced at that +memorable <i>fiasco</i>; but found it hard to do so, for at the time his mind +was far away with Violet, and he had no personal interest in the proceedings. +Had he only known—what an opportunity he would have had—he might +have learnt the smallest particulars. +</p> + +<p> +Thinking intently upon it, it seemed to him that the name of Arthur Sibbold was +rarely, if ever, mentioned at that conference, it was always <i>James</i> +Sibbold; Arthur seemed to have dropped out of the list altogether. +</p> + +<p> +If he could read a copy of the “Life of Sternhold Baskette,” +perhaps he might be able to get a better understanding of the facts. +</p> + +<p> +He deeply regretted now that he had not purchased a copy, as he might have done +so easily at Stirmingham, on the stall of the itinerant bookseller. Then he had +a little money; now he had none. +</p> + +<p> +He called his landlady, took up his great coat, and gave it to her—could +she sell it? She looked it over, found many faults, but finally went out with +it. In half an hour she returned with eighteen shillings. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer had given three pounds for it just before his wedding-day. He paid the +old lady her half-crown, and hurried back to Holywell Street. The book he +wanted, however, was not so easily to be found. All had heard of it—but +no one had it. +</p> + +<p> +In time he was directed to a man who dealt in genealogical works, sold deeds, +autographs, and similar trash. Here he found the book, and had a haggle for it, +finally securing it for seven shillings and sixpence; the fellow would have +been glad of three shillings, for it had been on his shelves for years, but +Aymer was burning with impatience. In the preface he found a scanty account of +the Sibbolds, not one-fifth as much as he had reckoned upon, for the book was +devoted to Sternhold, the representative man of the Baskettes. There was, +however, a pretty accurate narrative of the murder of Will Baskette, and from +that Aymer incidentally obtained much that he wanted. Reflecting upon the +murder, and trying to put himself in Arthur Sibbold’s place, Aymer +arrived at a nearly perfect conception of the causes which led him to bury +himself, as it were, out of sight. +</p> + +<p> +One of two things was clear—either Arthur Sibbold had actually +participated in the murder, and was afraid of evidence unexpectedly turning up +against him; or else he had been deeply hurt with the suspicion that was cast +upon him, and had resolved for ever to abandon the home of his ancestors. +</p> + +<p> +Probably he had travelled as far as possible from the scene of the +murder—perhaps to London (this was the case)—got employment, and, +being successful, finally married into the Waldron family, and changed his +name. He would naturally be reticent about his ancestors. The next generation +would forget all about it, and the third would never think to inquire. +</p> + +<p> +Had the vast estate been in existence before Arthur Sibbold’s death, most +probably he would have made himself known; but it was clear that it had not +grown to one-fiftieth part of its present magnificence till long after. +</p> + +<p> +The silence of Arthur Sibbold, and Arthur Sibbold’s descendant, was thus +readily and reasonably accounted for. Reading further, Aymer came to the +bargain which Sternhold Baskette had made with the sons of James Sibbold, and +of their transhipment to America. Here the legal knowledge that he had picked +up in the office of Mr Broughton enabled him to perceive several points that +would not otherwise have occurred to him. That transaction was obviously null +and void, if at the time it was concluded either Arthur Sibbold, or Arthur +Sibbold’s descendants, were living. They were the lawful owners of the +old farm at Wolf’s Glow, and of the Dismal Swamp, and it was impossible +for James Sibbold’s children to transfer the estate to another person. +All then that it was necessary to prove was that Violet was the direct +descendant of Arthur Sibbold, and her claim would be at once irresistible. Then +it occurred to him that at the family council he had often heard mention made +of a certain deed of entail which was missing, and for which the members of the +Sibbold detachment had offered large sums of money. +</p> + +<p> +The long, long hours and days that he had spent in the Sternhold Hall +chronicling the proceedings of the council, and which he had at the time so +heartily hated soon proved of the utmost value. He could at once understand +what was wanted, and perceive the value of the smallest link of evidence. Here +was one link obviously wanting—the deed. Without that deed the descent of +Violet from Arthur Sibbold was comparatively of small account. It was possible +that even then she might be a co-heiress; but without that deed—which +specially included female heiresses—she would not be able to claim the +entire estate. Yet even then, as the direct descendant of the elder brother, +her claim would be extremely valuable, and far more likely to succeed than the +very distant chance of the American Sibbolds or Baskettes, all of whom laboured +under the disadvantage that their forefathers had sold their birthright for a +mess of pottage. Another and far more serious difficulty which occurred to him +as he thought over the matter, far into the night, was the absence of proof of +Arthur Sibbold’s marriage. It was clear from the little book whose notes +had opened his eyes, that the register of the church at Bury Wick, +World’s End, had been searched, and no record found. His memorandum of +the advertisement of change of name described Arthur Sibbold as of Middlesex; +the marriage therefore might have taken place in London. Probably Sibbold had +met the Miss Waldron he had afterwards married in town. Where then was he to +find the register of marriage? Middlesex was a wide definition. How many +churches were there in Middlesex? What a Herculean labour to search through +them all! +</p> + +<p> +He was too much excited to sleep. Despite of all these drawbacks—the +disappearance of the deed, and the absence of the marriage +certificate—there was no reasonable doubt that Violet was the heiress of +the Stirmingham estates. The difficulties that were in the way appeared to him +as nothing; he would force his way through them. She should have her +rights—and then! He would search every church in London till he did find +the register of Arthur Sibbold’s marriage. It must be in existence +somewhere. If it was in existence he would find it. Towards two o’clock +in the morning he fell asleep, and, as a result, did not wake till ten next +day. Hurrying to his daily task, he was met with frowns and curses for neglect, +and venturing to remonstrate, was discharged upon the spot. +</p> + +<p> +Here seemed an end at once to all his golden dreams. He walked back into the +City, and passing along Fleet Street, was stopped for a moment by a crowd of +people staring into the window of a print and bookshop, and talking excitedly. +A momentary curiosity led him to press through the crowd, till he could obtain +a view of the window. There he saw—wonder of wonders—one of his own +sketches, an illustration from his book, greatly enlarged, and printed in +colours. It was this that had attracted the crowd. The humour and yet the +pathos of the picture—the touch of Nature which makes the whole world +kin—had gone straight to their hearts. On every side he heard the +question, “Whose is it?”—“Who drew +it?”—“What’s the artist’s name?” Then the +title of the book was repeated, and “Who’s it +by?”—“Who wrote it?”—“I’ll get a +copy! Third Edition already—it must be good.” +</p> + +<p> +Gratified, wonder-stricken, proud, and yet bewildered, Aymer at last got into +the shop and made inquiries. Then he learnt that the publisher had stolen a +march upon him. They had never sent him the proofs; they had in fact thought +very little of the book, till one day it happened (it happened again) a famous +artist came into the office, and chanced to turn over a leaf of the MS, which +was lying where Aymer had left it, on the publisher’s wide desk. This man +had a world-wide reputation, and feared no competitor; he could therefore do +justice to others. He was greatly struck with the sketches. +</p> + +<p> +“This man will make hid fortune,” he said. “Why on earth do +you let the book lie here mouldering?” +</p> + +<p> +The publisher said nothing, but next day the manuscript was put in hand, +hurried out, and well advertised. The first and second edition sold out in a +week, and Aymer heard nothing of it till accident led him into the crowd round +the shop window in Fleet Street. +</p> + +<p> +It will be pardoned if I say that Aymer was prouder that day than ever he had +been in his life. He went straight to the publisher’s with a glowing +heart. The agreement had been that the publisher should have two editions for +his trouble and the use of his name; in the third, the author and artist was to +share. In point of fact, the publisher had never dreamt of the book reaching +even a second edition. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer was received coldly. He asked for his share. Impossible—the +booksellers had not paid yet—the expense had been +enormous—advertising, etc, there would barely be a balance when all was +said and done. Aymer lost his temper, as well he might, and was very politely +requested to leave the premises. He did so, but hastened at once to his +adviser—the clerk who had told him to publish at his own risk. This man, +or rather gentleman, said he had expected him for days, and wondered why he had +not come. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait till one o’clock,” said he, “and I will accompany +you.” +</p> + +<p> +At one they revisited the offices of the publisher. The upshot was that Aymer +was presented with a cheque for fifty pounds, being his own forty pounds, and +ten pounds additional. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said his friend, “you call on my employers—I +will mention your name—and offer them a work you have in hand.” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer did so, and obtained a commission to write a work for them, to be +illustrated by himself, and was presented with a twenty-pound note as +earnest-money. Thus in a few hours, from a penniless outcast, he found himself +with seventy pounds in his pocket—with a name, and with a prospect of +constant and highly remunerative employment. If this continued, and of course +it would—not all his disappointments could quench his faith in his +destiny—he would marry Violet almost immediately. With this money he +could search out, and establish her claim; he would employ her own late +employer, Mr Broughton. He was anxious to write to Violet, but he had not +tasted food that day yet. He entered a restaurant and treated himself to a +really good dinner, with a little of the generous juice of the grape. Towards +five o’clock he sat himself down in his old room to write to Violet, and +to Mr Broughton. +</p> + +<p> +He wrote and wrote and wrote, and still he could not conclude; his heart was +full, and he knew that there was a loving pair of eyes which would read every +line with delight. First about his book—sending, of course, two copies by +the same post—one for Violet, one for Lady Lechester—telling Violet +of the excitement it had caused, of the crowd in the street, of the anxiety to +learn the author’s name, of the first, second, third edition, and the +fourth in the press. Was it to be wondered at that he dilated upon this +subject? +</p> + +<p> +Then he told her of his troubles, of his work at the wharf, and explained why +he had not written, and finally came to the discovery that Violet was the +heiress of Stirmingham. He had a difficult task to explain to her how this +arose; he had to review the whole history of the case in as short a compass as +possible, and to put the links of evidence clearly, so that a non-technical +mind could grasp them. He finished with a declaration of his intention to spare +neither trouble, time, nor expense to establish Violet’s right; he would +search every church register in London; she should ride in her carriage yet. If +only poor Jason had been alive to rejoice in all this! +</p> + +<p> +This was the same man, remember, who not many weeks before had written to +Violet from Stirmingham in the midst of the turmoil of the election, expressing +his deep sense of the responsibility that must of necessity fall upon the owner +of that marvellous city; he would not be that man for worlds. The self-same man +was now intent on nothing less than becoming, through Violet, the very thing he +had said he would not be at any price. Still the same omnipotent circumstances +over which we have no control, and which can alter cases, and change the whole +course of man’s nature. +</p> + +<p> +To Broughton he wrote in more businesslike style. He could not help triumphing +a little after the other’s positive prophecy of his failure; he sent him +also a copy of the third edition. But the mass of his letter referred to +Violet’s claim upon the estate, and went as fully into details as he +could possibly do. He referred Mr Broughton to the number and date of the +Barnham newspaper, which contained the advertisement of Arthur Sibbold’s +change of name. Would Mr Broughton take up the case? +</p> + +<p> +Who can trace the wonderful processes of the mind, especially when that mind is +excited by unusual events, by unusual indulgence, and by a long previous course +of hard thinking? That evening Aymer treated himself to the theatre, and saw +his beloved Shakespeare performed for the first time. It was +<i>Hamlet</i>—the greatest of all tragedies. Who can tell? It may be that +the intricate course of crime and bloodshed, he had seen displayed upon the +stage, had preternaturally excited him; had caused him to think of such things. +Perhaps the wine he had taken—a small quantity indeed, but almost +unprecedented for him—had quickened his mental powers. Be it what it +might, towards the grey dawn Aymer dreamt a dream—inchoate, wild, +frenzied, horrible, impossible to describe. But he awoke with the drops of cold +perspiration upon his forehead, with a great horror clinging to him, and he +asked himself the question—Who murdered Jason Waldron, true heir to +Stirmingham city? His legal knowledge suggested the immediate reply—Those +who had an interest and a motive so to do. The man who had an interest +was—John Marese Baskette. +</p> + +<p> +There was not a shadow of proof, but Aymer rose that morning weighed down with +the firm moral conviction that it was he and no other who had instigated the +deed. He recalled to his mind the circumstances of that mysterious +crime—a crime which had never been even partially cleared up. He thought +of Violet—his Violet—the next heir. Oh, God! if she were taken too. +Should he go down to her at once? No; it was the fancy of his distempered mind. +He would conquer it. She was perfectly safe at The Towers; and yet Marese came +their sometimes. No; where could she be safer than amid that household and +troop of servants? But he wrote and hinted his dark suspicions to her; warned +her to be on her guard. This, he said, he was determined upon—he would +establish her right, and he would punish the murderer of poor Jason. That very +day he had commenced his search among the churches. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_3_chap_07"></a>Chapter Seven.</h2> + +<p> +When Aymer’s first and longest letter reached The Towers, together with +the copy of his book, Violet could hardly contain herself with pleasure. His +triumph was her triumph—his fame her fame—and in the excitement of +the moment she but barely skimmed the remainder of his letter, and did not +realise the fact that she was the heiress to the most valuable property in +England. Her faith in Aymer had proved to be well-founded; he had justified her +confidence; his genius had conquered every obstacle. As she had read +Marese’s letters to Agnes, so it was only natural that she should proudly +show this letter to her. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes fully sympathised with her, and declared that the sketches (she had +already looked cursorily through the copy of his book which Aymer had sent her) +were wonderfully good. But it was natural for her to be less excited than +Violet, and therefore it was that the second part of the letter made a greater +impression upon her. Violet the heiress of the Stirmingham estate? It was +impossible—a marvel undreamt of. Marese was the heir—there could +not be two—and in Marese she was personally interested. Together they +re-read that portion of Aymer’s letter, and wondered and wondered still +more. His line of argument seemed laid down with remarkable precision, and +there was no escape from his conclusions—but were his premises correct; +was he not mistaken in the identity? +</p> + +<p> +The whole thing appeared so strange and <i>bizarre</i>, that Agnes said she +really thought he must be romancing—drawing on his imagination, as he had +in the book she held in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +Violet knew not what to think. She could not doubt Aymer. She warmly defended +him, and declared that he was incapable of playing such practical jokes. She +had a faint recollection of poor old Jason once telling her that her +great-grandfather’s name was Sibbold, or something like that—she +could not quite be sure of the name. She remembered it, because Jason had +instanced it as an example of the long periods of time, that may be bridged by +three or four persons’ successive memories. He said that his father had +conversed with this Sibbold, or Sibald, and <i>he</i> again had met in his +youth an old man, who had fought at Culloden in ’45. If it had not been +for that circumstance, the name would have escaped her altogether. +</p> + +<p> +The more Agnes thought of it, the more she inclined to the view that Aymer, +overworked and poorly-fed, had become the subject of an hallucination. It was +impossible that Marese could lay open claim to be the heir if this were the +case—perfectly impossible. A gentleman of the highest and most sensitive +honour like Marese, would at once have renounced all thought of the +inheritance; he would have been only eager to make compensation. Why, even +Aymer said that the matter had never been mentioned at the family +council—surely that was in itself sufficient proof. It was an insult to +Marese—to herself—to credit such nonsense. Aymer must be +ill—over-excited. +</p> + +<p> +Violet kept silence, with difficulty, from deference to her generous friend; +but she read the letter the third time, and it seemed to her that, whether +mistaken or not, Aymer had given good grounds for his statement. She was +silent, and this irritated Agnes, who had of late been less considerate than +was her wont. It seemed as if some inward struggle had warped her +nature—as if in vigorously, aggressively defending Marese, she was +defending herself. +</p> + +<p> +The incident caused a coolness between them—the first that had sprung up +since Violet had been at The Towers. Violet was certainly as free from false +pride as Lady Lechester was eaten up with it; but even she could not help +dreaming over the fascinating idea that she was the heiress of that vast +estate, or at least a part of it. How happy they would be! What books Aymer +could write; what countries they could visit together; what pleasures one +hundredth part of that wealth would enable them to enjoy! Thinking like this, +her mind also became thoroughly saturated with the idea of the Stirmingham +estate. Like a vast whirlpool, that estate seemed to have the power of +gradually attracting to itself atoms floating at an apparently safe distance, +and of engulfing them in the seething waters of contention. +</p> + +<p> +In the morning came Aymer’s second letter, imputing the worst of all +crimes to Marese Baskette, or to his instigation. +</p> + +<p> +Violet turned pale as she read it. Her lips quivered. All the whole scene +passed again before her eyes—the terrible scene in the dining-room, where +the wedding breakfast was laid out—the pool of blood upon the +carpet—Jason’s head lying helplessly against the back of the +armchair—the ghastly wound, upon the brow. Poor girl! Swift events and +the change of life, and her interest in Agnes, had in a manner chased away the +memory of that gloomy hour. Now it came back to her with full force, and she +reproached herself with a too ready forgetfulness—reproached herself with +neglecting the sacred duty of endeavouring to discover the murderer. To her, +the facts given by Aymer—the interest, the motive—seemed +irresistible. Not for a moment did she question his conclusion. She thought of +Marese as she had seen him for a few hours: she remembered his start as he +heard her name—it was the start of conscious guilt, there was no doubt. +</p> + +<p> +A great horror fell upon her—a horror only less great than had fallen +that miserable wedding-day. She had been in the presence of her father’s +murderer—she had eaten at the same table—she had shaken hands with +him. Above the loathing and detestation, the hatred and abhorrence, there rose +a horror—almost a fear. Next to being in the presence of the corpse, +being in the presence of the murderer was most awful. She could not stay at The +Towers—she could not remain, when at any hour he might come, with blood +upon his conscience if not upon his actual hands—the blood of her beloved +and kindly father. A bitter dislike to The Towers fell upon her—a hatred +of the place. It seemed as if she had been entrapped into a position, where she +was compelled to associate with the one person of all others whom love, duty, +religion—all taught her to avoid. She must go—no matter where. She +had a little money—the remnant left after all. Jason’s debts had +been paid—only some fifty pounds, but it was enough. Mr Merton had sent +it to her with a formal note, after the affairs were wound up. At first the +idea occurred to her that she would go back and live at The Place which was +still hers; but no, that could not be—she could not, could not live +there; the spirit of the dead would cry out to her from the very walls. She +would go to some small village where living was cheap; where she could take a +little cottage; where her fifty pounds, and the few pounds she received for the +rent of the meadow at The Place, would keep her—till Aymer succeeded, and +could get her a home. She hesitated to write to him—she half decided to +keep her new address a secret; for she knew that if he understood her purpose +he would deprive himself of necessaries to give her luxuries. +</p> + +<p> +That very day she set to work to pack her trunk, pausing at times to ask +herself if she should, or should not, tell Lady Agnes that her lover was a +murderer. Well she knew that Agnes would draw herself up in bitter +scorn—would not deign even to listen to her—and yet it was wrong to +let her go on in the belief that Marese Baskette was the soul of honour. +Clearly it was her duty to warn Agnes of the terrible fate which hung over +her—to warn her from accepting a hand stained with the blood of an +innocent, unoffending man. One course was open to her, and upon that she +finally decided—it was to leave a note for Agnes, enclosing Aymer’s +letter. +</p> + +<p> +It was Agnes’ constant practice to go for a drive about three in the +afternoon; Violet usually accompanied her. This day she feigned a headache, and +as soon as the carriage was out of sight sent for the groom, and asked him to +take her to the railway station. +</p> + +<p> +The man at once got the dog-cart ready, and in half an hour, with her trunk +behind her, Violet was driving along the road. She would not look +back—she would not take a last glance at that horrible place. The groom, +in a respectful manner, hoped that Miss Waldron was not going to leave +them—she had made herself liked by all the servants at The Towers. She +said she must, and offered him a crown from her slender store. The man lifted +his hat, but refused to take the money. +</p> + +<p> +This incident touched her deeply—she had forgotten that, in leaving The +Towers, she might also leave hearts that loved her. The groom wished to stay +and get her ticket, but she dismissed him, anxious that he should not know her +destination. Two hours afterwards she alighted at a little station, or +“road,” as it was called. “Belthrop Road” was two and a +half miles from Belthrop village; but she got a boy to carry her trunk, and +reached the place on foot just before dusk. +</p> + +<p> +On the outskirts of Belthrop dwelt an old woman who in her youth had lived at +World’s End, and had carried Violet in her arms many and many a time. She +married, and removed to her husband’s parish, and was now a widow. +</p> + +<p> +Astonished beyond measure, but also delighted, the honest old lady jumped at +Violet’s proposal that she should be her lodger. The modest sum per week +which Violet offered seemed in that outlying spot a mine of silver. Hannah Bond +was only afraid lest her humble cottage should be too small—she had +really good furniture for a cottage, having had many presents from the persons +she had nursed, and particularly prided herself upon her feather beds. Here +Violet found an asylum—quiet and retired, and yet not altogether +uncomfortable. Her only fear was lest Aymer should be alarmed, and she tried to +devise some means of assuring him of her safety, without letting him know her +whereabouts. +</p> + +<p> +Circumstances over which no one as usual had had any control, made that spring +a memorable one in the quiet annals of Belthrop. The great agricultural +labourers’ movement of the Eastern counties had extended even to this +village; a branch of the Union had been formed, meetings held, and fiery +language indulged in. The delegate despatched to organise the branch, looked +about him for a labourer of some little education to officiate as secretary, +and to receive the monthly contributions from the members. +</p> + +<p> +Chance again led him to fix upon poor old Edward Jenkins, the gardener, who +still worked for Mr Albert Herring, doing a man’s labour for a +boy’s pay. The gardener could write and read and cipher; he was a man of +some little intelligence, and, though a new comer, the working men regarded him +as a kind of “scholar.” He was just the very man, for he was a man +with a grievance. He very naturally resented what he considered the harsh +treatment he had met with after so many years faithful service, and he equally +resented the low pay which circumstances compelled him to put up with. Jenkins +became the secretary of the branch, and this did not improve his relations with +Albert Herring. Always a harsh and unjust man, his temper of late had been +aroused by repeated losses—cattle had died, crops gone wrong; above all, +an investment he had made of a thousand pounds of the money that should have +been Violet’s, in some shares that promised well, had turned out an utter +failure. He therefore felt the gradual rise in wages more severely than he +would have done, and was particularly sore against the Union. He abused Jenkins +right and left, and yet did not discharge him, for Jenkins was a cheap machine. +His insults were so coarse and so frequent that the poor old man lost his +temper, and so far forgot himself (as indeed he might very easily do) as to +hope that the Almighty would punish his tormentor, and <i>burn down, his home +over his head</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Early in the spring the labourers struck, and the strike extended to Belthrop. +The months passed on, the farmers were in difficulty, and meantime the wretched +labourers were half-starved. Albert was furious, for he could not get his wheat +sown, and upon that crop he depended to meet his engagements. Yet he was the +one of all others, at a meeting which was called, to persuade the farmers to +hold out; and above all he abused Jenkins, the secretary; called him a traitor, +a firebrand, an incendiary. The meeting broke up without result; and it was on +that very evening that Violet arrived. The third evening afterwards she was +suddenly called out by gossiping old Hannah Bond, who rushed in, in a state of +intense excitement— +</p> + +<p> +“Farmer Herring’s ricks be all ablaze!” +</p> + +<p> +Violet was dragged out by the old woman, and beheld a magnificent, and yet a +sad sight. Eight and thirty ricks, placed in a double row, were on fire. About +half had caught when she came out. As she stood watching, with the glare in the +sky reflected upon her face, she saw the flames run along from one to another, +till the whole rickyard was one mass of roaring fire. The outbuildings, the +stables, and cow-houses, all thatched, caught soon after—finally the +dwelling-house. +</p> + +<p> +The farm being situated upon the Downs, the flames and sparks were seen for +miles and miles in the darkness of the night, and the glare in the sky still +farther. The whole countryside turned out in wonder and alarm; hundreds and +hundreds trooped over Down and meadow to the spot. Efforts were made by scores +of willing hands to stay the flames—efforts which seemed ridiculously +futile before that fearful blast; for with the fire there rose a wind caused by +the heated column of air ascending, and the draught was like that of a furnace. +Nothing could have saved the place—not all the engines in London, even +had there been water; and the soil being chalky, and the situation elevated, +there was but one deep well. As it was, no engine reached the spot till long +after the fire was practically over—Barnham engine came in the grey of +the morning, having been raced over the hills fully fifteen miles. By that +time, all that was left of that noble farmhouse and rickyard, was some +two-score heaps of smoking ashes, smouldering and emitting intense heat. +</p> + +<p> +Hundreds upon hundreds stood looking on, and among them there moved dark +figures:—policemen—who had hastily gathered together. +</p> + +<p> +And where was Albert Herring? Was he ruined? He at that moment recked nothing +of the fire. He was stooping—in a lowly cottage at a little +distance—over the form of his only son, a boy of ten. The family had +easily escaped before the dwelling-house took fire, and were, to all intents +and purposes, safe; but this lad slipped off, as a lad would do, to follow his +father, and watch the flames. A burning beam from one of the outhouses struck +him down. Albert heard a scream; turned, and saw his boy beneath the flaring, +glowing timber. He shrieked—literally shrieked—and tore at the beam +with his scorched hands till the flesh came off. +</p> + +<p> +At last the on-lookers lifted the beam. The lad was fearfully burnt—one +whole shoulder seemed injured—and the doctors gave no hope of his life. +(As I cannot return to this matter, it may be as well to state that he did not +die—he recovered slowly, but perfectly.) Yet what must the agony of that +man’s mind have been while the child lay upon the bed in the lowly +cottage? Let the fire roar and hiss, let roof-tree fall and ruin +come—life, flickering life more precious than the whole world—only +save him this one little life. +</p> + +<p> +In the morning Albert turned like a wild beast at bay, shouting and crying for +vengeance. “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord;” but when did man +ever hearken to that? He marked out Jenkins, the gardener; he pointed him out +to all. That was the man—had they not heard him say he hoped Heaven would +burn the farm over his head? +</p> + +<p> +That was true; several had heard it. Jenkins had been the last to leave the +premises that night. +</p> + +<p> +The gardener, utterly confounded, could not defend himself. The leader of the +Unionists! The police looked grave, and the upshot was he was taken into +custody. +</p> + +<p> +Feeling ran high in the neighbourhood, as well it might. There were grievances +on both sides, and the great fire had stirred up all uncharitableness. The +justices’ room was crowded, and a riot was feared. The Union had taken up +poor Jenkins’ defence, and had sent down a shrewd lawyer who put a bold +face on it, but had little hope in his heart. Suspicion was so strong against +the prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +His poor old wife was perhaps even more frenzied than she had been at the +coroner’s inquest. Such a circumstance as Violet’s arrival at +Belthrop, though trivial in itself, was, of course, known in the village; she +once again rushed to Violet for help. Violet, though anxious to keep quiet, +could not resist the appeal, she was herself much excited and upset about the +matter. She went with the miserable wife to the Court, and being a lady, was +accommodated with a good seat. Out of her little stock she would have willingly +paid for a lawyer, but that was unnecessary. The counsel retained by the Union +was a clever man; but he could make no head against the unfortunate facts, and +in his anxiety to save the prisoner he made one great mistake—justifiable +perhaps—but a mistake. He asked who would profit by the fire, whose +interest was it? Was not hard cash better than ricks, and an uncertain and +falling market? In a word, he hinted that Albert himself had fired the ricks. +</p> + +<p> +A roar of denial rose from the farmers present, a deafening cheer from the +labourers. It was with difficulty that the crowd was silenced, and when the +proceedings were resumed, it was easy to see that the Bench had been annoyed by +this remark. +</p> + +<p> +The solicitor on the other side got up, and asked the justices to consider the +previous character of this man the prisoner—who had been on his trial for +murder—was there a single person who would speak to his good character? +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Violet, standing up. Amid intense surprise she was +sworn. “My name is Violet Waldron,” she said, nerving herself to +the effort. “I am the daughter of—of—the person who +was—you understand me? I have known this man for years—since I was +a child. He and his served us faithfully for two generations. He is incapable +of such a crime—I believe him innocent—he is a good man, but most +unfortunate.” +</p> + +<p> +She could not go further, her courage broke down. They did not cross-examine +her. +</p> + +<p> +The prosecution professed great respect for Miss Waldron, whose misfortunes +were well known, but of what value was her testimony in this case? She had not +even seen Jenkins for a long time; circumstances warped the best of natures. +</p> + +<p> +The end was, that Jenkins was committed for trial at the assizes within two +months. Thus did circumstances again involve this victim of fate in an iron +net. Here again I must anticipate. Jenkins was sentenced at the assizes to +twelve months imprisonment with hard labour. Nevertheless the imputation +against Albert Herring was never quite forgotten; to this day the poor believe +it, and even the police shake their heads. At all events he profited largely by +it. The corn had been kept in the hope that the markets would rise, but they +had fallen. The insurance-money saved him from irretrievable ruin. +</p> + +<p> +The prisoner’s poor wife was reduced to utter beggary. Violet did her +best to keep her, but she could not pay the debts the gardener, with his +miserable pay, had of necessity contracted. Ten pounds still remained unpaid. +At last the poor woman bethought her of an ancient treasure, an old +bible;—would Miss Violet buy it? It really was Violet’s—it +had been lent by Violet’s grandmother to the poor woman, and never +returned. Violet at once remembered Lady Lechester’s fancy for such +books, and recommended her to take it to The Towers. The woman went, and +returned with the money. +</p> + +<p> +Now, the immediate effect upon our history of this fire was that Violet Waldron +became a prominent name in the local paper published at Barnham, and that local +paper had been taken for years regularly at The Towers. And at The Towers at +that time Theodore Marese was temporarily staying, under circumstances that +will shortly appear. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_3_chap_08"></a>Chapter Eight.</h2> + +<p> +When Lady Lechester returned from her drive and learnt with intense surprise +that Violet was gone, her first thought was that she had been hurt by the +remarks made upon Aymer’s hallucination the previous evening. Agnes +reproached herself for her momentary irritation; but when she found a note for +her from Violet on her dressing-table, and had read both it and the enclosed +letter from Aymer, her anger was thoroughly aroused. +</p> + +<p> +Not unnaturally she took it in the worst sense, and looked upon it as a +downright insult. To pretend that a gentlemen of Marese’s position and +character was not the heir that he affirmed himself to be—that he had +wooed her under false pretences—that was bad taste enough, and utterly +unjustifiable. Still, it might have passed as the hallucination of an +over-tasked mind. But to deliberately accuse the same gentleman of the blackest +crime it was possible for human beings to commit, was inexcusable. +</p> + +<p> +All the pride of her nature rose up in almost savage resentment. Her first +impulse was to tear up the letters and burn them; but this she refrained from +doing, for on second thoughts they might be instrumental in obtaining the +punishment of the slanderer. It was all the more bitter, because she felt that +she had done her best both for Aymer and Violet, and the latter she had really +loved. Certainly Agnes was far too proud and high-minded to regret for one +moment a single shilling that she had spent for the benefit of others; but the +reflection of Violet’s ingratitude did add a sharper sting. Agnes was in +truth touched in her tenderest place—her pride:—she engaged, or +partially engaged to a pretender, and worse than that, to a murderer—a +Lechester, impossible! +</p> + +<p> +Before she had decided what to do, Mr Broughton arrived from Barnham, bringing +with him Aymer’s letter to him. He was utterly unprepared for the mood in +which he found Agnes, and unwittingly added fuel to the fire by saying that he +had searched the file of old newspapers, and found the very advertisement +mentioned by Aymer. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Agnes’ indignation knew no bounds. She reproached him for even so +much as daring to investigate the matter—for deeming it possible that +anything of the kind could be. Let him leave the house immediately—she +regretted that she had demeaned herself so much as to admit him to see her. +</p> + +<p> +This aroused Mr Broughton—who was not without his professional +pride—and he answered rather smartly, that Lady Lechester seemed to be +forgetting the very dignity to which, she laid claim; and added that if he +should mention Aymer’s discovery to the building society in Stirmingham, +who were his clients, <i>they</i> at least would think Miss Waldron’s +claim one well worth supporting. With this parting shot he bowed and left the +room. +</p> + +<p> +No sooner was he gone, than Agnes took up her pen and wrote direct to Marese +Baskette, enclosing Aymer’s second letter—which accused Marese of +being the instigator of the murder—and giving the fullest particulars she +could remember of his first—relating to Violet’s claim. She did not +forget to describe her interview with Mr Broughton, nor to mention his threat +of the building society taking the matter up. She assured him that she looked +upon the matter as a hoax and an insult; and only related the story to him in +order that he might take the proper proceedings to punish the author of the +calumny. +</p> + +<p> +This letter reached Marese at his club in London, and, hardened man that he +was, it filled him with well-founded alarm. Till that moment he had believed +that no one on earth was aware of the Waldron claims but himself and Theodore, +who had learnt it from perusal of his father Aurelian’s papers. As for +any one suspecting him of complicity in the death of Jason Waldron, he had +never dreamt that detection was possible. +</p> + +<p> +If ever a crime was managed skilfully, that had been; and as to the old story +that “murder will out,” it was of course an exploded superstition. +Had it been Aymer alone who was on his track, he would not so much have cared; +but Aymer had not kept the secret to himself: he had written to a lawyer, +giving his proofs; the lawyer had verified one of them, at least, and Marese +well knew what lawyers were. Then there was the threat of the building society, +just as he was on the point of making a favourable composition with them, and +was actually to receive a surrender of some part of the property in a few +weeks’ time. He appreciated the full force of Broughton’s remark, +repeated by Lady Agnes, that the building society, his client, would be sure to +support Violet Waldron’s claim. Of course they would. A fresh litigation +would be set on foot, and possession of the estate indefinitely delayed; if +that was delayed, his marriage with Lady Lechester would be also thrown back. +</p> + +<p> +Yet despite all these serious reflections, Marese would have made comparatively +light of the matter had it not been for the accusation of crime—for the +fact that Aymer had obtained a faint glimpse of the truth. He was not the man +to hesitate one moment at crime, or to regret it after it was done; but he +dreaded detection, as well he might, for from the height to which he had risen, +and was about to rise, his fall would be great indeed. He smiled at Lady +Agnes’ suggestion that he should prosecute Aymer for libel or slander. +Prosecute him in open court, and at once fix ten thousand eyes upon that dark +story; perhaps bring a hundred detectives, eager to hunt out the secrets of a +rich man, upon his track! That would be folly indeed. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer must be silenced, and Violet removed; but not like that. The first thing +he did was to telegraph for Theodore, who came up by the express from +Stirmingham. +</p> + +<p> +They had a long and anxious consultation. Theodore persuaded Marese to go at +once to The Towers to see Agnes and deny the imputation—to secure her, in +fact. Marese thought that this would hardly do; he knew Agnes better than +Theodore. She would think that he had put himself out unnecessarily, that he +had taken it too greatly to heart, and would simply ask him why he had not at +once instituted legal proceedings against Aymer. +</p> + +<p> +In his secret heart of hearts, Marese did not care to visit that neighbourhood +more often than was absolutely necessary. And he really did think that +Agnes’ transcendent pride would be better suited if he treated the matter +in an off-hand way, and dispatched only an agent to represent him—a +species of ambassador. Another reason was that Broughton, if he was on the +watch, would take Marese’s visit to The Towers as a proof that there was +something in it, else why should he be so anxious to deny it? +</p> + +<p> +Theodore was willing to go, and he did not long delay his departure. “For +all the time that we waste in thinking,” said Marese, “this fellow, +Malet, is at work. It will take him some time to search all the London +churches; but it may so happen that he may hit upon the very entry he wants at +the first church chance leads him to.” +</p> + +<p> +There was no time to be lost. Very probably Aymer himself, of whose whereabouts +in London they were quite ignorant, might go down to The Towers expecting to +see his affianced, Violet. Theodore might meet him there, and— +</p> + +<p> +Above all things, Theodore was to so work upon Lady Agnes’ mind as to +turn this apparent disadvantage to a real good, and use it to precipitate the +marriage. Could not she be brought to see that her proudest course would be to +marry Marese, in despite of all these foul calumnies, at once, in defiance? It +would be difficult for Marese to put this himself, but his agent could do so. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore went to The Towers, and it fell out much as Marese had foreseen. Agnes +was gratified. Theodore said that Marese looked upon the whole affair with the +deepest contempt, and disdained to proceed. The hallucination of that +unfortunate young man, Aymer, would prove in itself sufficient punishment for +him. Marese desired no vengeance upon a poverty-stricken youth whose brains +were not very clear. Then he delicately hinted at a more immediate marriage, +and saw with satisfaction that Agnes did not resent the idea, but seemed to +ponder over it. +</p> + +<p> +But where was Violet? She had left The Towers, and no one there knew her place +of abode. +</p> + +<p> +This disturbed Theodore. He wished to know what the enemy was doing; if he +could foresee their designs, then Marese was safe, because they could be +outwitted. It was awkward to have these persons working against them in the +dark—i.e., Violet, Aymer, and Broughton. +</p> + +<p> +Violet had left no address. Agnes remembered Aymer’s, but Theodore found +on secret inquiry that he had moved. He waited at The Towers in the hope that +Malet might come. Being a man of versatile talent, and clever in conversation, +Lady Agnes was pleased with him, and invited him to stay as long as was +convenient. +</p> + +<p> +While Theodore was at The Towers, the great fire happened at Belthrop, and the +flames were visible from the upper windows of the mansion, where Lady Agnes, +Theodore, and the servants watched them with interest. +</p> + +<p> +Shortly afterwards the Barnham paper was published, with a special account of +the preliminary examination of the supposed incendiary, poor Jenkins, before +the justices, and Theodore came across the name of Violet Waldron. In this way +he learnt that one of the parties, and the most important, was at that moment +living in an obscure village, not much more than fifteen miles distant. +</p> + +<p> +He was preparing to pay a visit to Belthrop—ostensibly to see the ruins +of the fire—when Aymer Malet arrived at The Towers. +</p> + +<p> +His coming was very natural. He could not understand why he did not hear from +Violet. He had written to her fully twenty times, addressing his letters to The +Towers, and had received no answer. This greatly alarmed him, and he resolved +to go down and see her. All these letters were meantime at the General Post +Office in London. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Agnes, determined to cut off every connection with Malet and Violet, had +given the servants strict orders not to take in any letters addressed to either +of them. Aymer’s letters, therefore, went back to the local post office, +and from thence to London, and doubtless in due time they would have returned +to him. +</p> + +<p> +When he found himself with seventy pounds in his pocket, he had taken a better +lodging, having previously written to Violet to apprise her of his removal, but +as she never had his letter, her note to him was delivered at the old address, +and Aymer’s old landlady, irritated at his leaving her, coolly put it on +the fire. +</p> + +<p> +Violet had only written once, for she too was astonished, and a little hurt, +because Aymer did not write to her, and in addition, she had been much +disturbed by the great fire and the trial of poor Jenkins. The upshot was, that +Aymer leaving his monotonous labour in the London churches, took train and came +down to the nearest station to The Towers. +</p> + +<p> +Never doubting his reception, he drove up to the mansion, and was surprised +beyond measure when the servants, respectfully and regretfully, but firmly +announced that Lady Lechester would not see him. Where was Miss Waldron? Miss +Waldron had left—the newspaper said she was at Belthrop, but that was a +day or two ago. +</p> + +<p> +Bewildered, and not a little upset, Aymer mechanically turned on his +heel—he had dismissed his fly at the park gates—and set out to walk +to Belthrop. He had almost reached that very little wicket-gate where Lady +Lechester had met the apparition of Cornet De Warren, when he heard a voice +calling his name, and saw a gentleman hastily following him. It was Theodore, +who had requested the servants, and enforced his request by a bribe, to at once +inform him when Mr Malet called. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore had a difficult task before him; but he approached it with full +confidence in himself. Without a moment’s delay he introduced himself as +Marese Baskette’s cousin, and at once noted the change that passed over +Aymer’s countenance. Ah!—then Mr Malet was aware of the previous +intimacy that had existed between him and Mr Baskette? That intimacy was now at +an end. He frankly admitted that he had come to The Towers in the interest of +Marese; but upon his arrival he had heard, to his intense surprise, of Mr +Malet’s discovery of the Waldron claim. To him that claim appeared +indisputable: he had written as much to Mr Baskette, and the consequence was a +quarrel. They had parted: and he was now endeavouring to persuade Lady +Lechester to break off her association with that man. +</p> + +<p> +He had heard with great interest the career of Mr Malet—he had seen his +book; and while he regretted his misfortunes, he rejoiced that circumstances +enabled him to offer Mr Malet a most lucrative and remunerative post—a +post that would at once give him ease and leisure to promote his literary +labours; which would supply him with funds to continue his researches into the +Waldron claims—and perhaps to bring the guilty to justice; which would +even—this in a delicate manner—it would even permit of an immediate +union with Miss Waldron. +</p> + +<p> +Further, as this post was in the city of Stirmingham, Mr Malet would be on the +very spot, and within easy reach of London. The only difficulty was that it +required Mr Malet’s immediate presence in Stirmingham, as it would be +necessary to fill the place at once. Probably from the direction of Mr +Malet’s steps he was on his way to visit Belthrop, and to congratulate +the truly heroic Miss Waldron upon her gallant attempt to save an innocent man +from punishment. At the same time, perhaps, Mr Malet would really serve Miss +Waldron’s interest better by at once proceeding to Stirmingham that very +afternoon with Theodore. +</p> + +<p> +What was this post? Mr Malet had been in Stirmingham, and was aware that he +(Theodore) had inherited a very large asylum for the insane there. As he was +himself averse to the science of the mind, he had rarely resided on his +property, but left the chief management to a physician, and the accounts to a +secretary. His secretary had left about a month ago, and the affairs were in +much confusion. He had great pleasure in offering Mr Malet the place. The +salary was seven hundred and fifty pounds per annum, and residence. This +residence was sufficiently large for a married man. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer modestly objected that he was hardly fit for so important a trust. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore said that he had read his book, and a man who was capable of writing +like that was capable of anything. Besides, he had heard of his ability while +in Mr Broughton’s service. +</p> + +<p> +The end was that Aymer accepted the engagement, as indeed he could hardly +refuse it. Still he wished to see Violet. That was certainly unfortunate; but +could not Mr Malet write from the railway station and send it by a messenger. +On arrival in Stirmingham, and taking possession of his place of trust, Mr +Malet could at once write to Miss Waldron to come, and there was plenty of room +at the asylum, and more than one respectable matron residing there with whom +she could remain until the marriage could take place. He was so sorry that Lady +Lechester cherished a prejudice against Mr Malet—that would wear +off—he had done his best to remove it. Still, at present, Mr Malet was +not welcome at The Towers. Would he so far stretch politeness as to stroll +gently on the road to the station? He (Theodore) would speedily overtake him +with a carriage. +</p> + +<p> +An hour and a half afterwards Theodore and Aymer were <i>en route</i> to +Stirmingham. Theodore had explained his sudden departure by a telegram. He had +received a telegram, it was true, as he constantly did; but it was as usual a +Stock Exchange report of no importance. +</p> + +<p> +From the station Aymer sent a short note to Violet at Belthrop, by special +messenger, acquainting her with his good fortune. +</p> + +<p> +They reached Stirmingham the same evening, and next day Aymer was formally +installed in possession of a bundle of papers, ledgers, and account books, +which he was to balance up. He was shown the secretary’s +residence—a fine house, closely adjoining the asylum—and at night +he wrote a glowing letter to Violet, enclosing money to pay her fare +first-class, and begging her to come at once. +</p> + +<p> +On the second morning came a note telling him that she should start that very +day, and full of joyful anticipations. She would arrive towards night. Aymer +dined with Theodore, and took wine with him afterwards. Presently he rose to +prepare to go to the railway and meet Violet. He reached his private room with +a singular sensation in the head, a swimming in his eyes, and a dryness of the +tongue. He plunged his face in cold water to recover himself; but it seemed to +increase the disorder. His head seemed to swell to an enormous size, and yet to +grow extremely light, till it felt like an inflated balloon, and seemed as if +it would lift him to the ceiling. Sitting down to try and steady himself, he +fancied that the chair rose in the air, and cried out in alarm. He managed to +pull the bell, and then felt as if he was carried away to an immense distance, +and could look down upon his body in the room beneath. +</p> + +<p> +A servant answered the bell, who stared at him, smiled, and +said—“Ah, your fit’s on at last.” Aymer’s last +consciousness was that he was talking very fast, without exactly knowing what +he was saying. After that there was a blank. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime Violet was met by Theodore Marese at the railway station; and a +message in cipher flew along the wires to a certain club in London. Marese +Baskette breathed again, for the cipher read—“They are here.” +A simple sentence, but enough. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_3_chap_09"></a>Chapter Nine.</h2> + +<p> +A fashionable London newspaper came out one morning with the statement that a +marriage had been arranged in high life, and that preparations were already in +progress. J. Marese Baskette, Esq, of Stirmingham, and Lady Agnes Lechester +were to be shortly united in holy matrimony. This announcement was of the very +greatest value to Marese. Not all the wealth, or reputed wealth he +possessed—not even the honour of representing so important a city, could +obtain for him the position in society which was secured by an alliance with +the blue blood of Lechester. His money affairs wore at once a more roseate +aspect. +</p> + +<p> +It was well known that Lady Lechester owned large estates, and they were +naturally reported to be even larger than they were. It was whispered abroad +that, under careful nursing, certain incumbrances had been paid off, and that +the rent-roll was now something extremely heavy even for England, the land of +long rent-rolls. +</p> + +<p> +People who had previously fought a little shy of the handsome heir, and asked +hard terms to discount his paper, now pressed forward, and were anxious to +obtrude their services. At the clubs, persons who had affected to ignore the +richest man in the world as a matter of principle, on account of his ignoble +descent, now began to acknowledge his existence, and to extend the tips of +their aristocratic fingers. It was remembered that the doubts and difficulties +which had beset his claim to the vast Stirmingham estate like a dark cloud, had +of late in great part cleared away. The family council had “burst +up,” and there were really no competitors in the field. Marese Baskette, +Esq, in the course of a year or two, so soon as the law affairs could be +settled, would be the richest man in the world. +</p> + +<p> +At the clubs they freely discussed his wealth. When realised it would put the +Rothschilds, and Coutts, and Barings, and all the other famous names—the +Astors of New York and even the princes of India—into the shade. +</p> + +<p> +Stirmingham, the busiest city in England, surrounded with a triple belt of iron +furnaces, undermined with hundreds of miles of coal galleries, was it possible +to estimate the value of that wonderful place? Why, the estate in the time of +old Sternhold Baskette was roughly put at twenty millions sterling—that +was thirty years ago or more—what must it be worth now? There really was +no calculating it. Suppose he got but one quarter of what he was entitled +to—say property worth only five millions—there was a fine thing. +What on earth had the ladies been thinking of all these years that they had not +secured so rich a prize? +</p> + +<p> +Lady Lechester was not a little envied. County families and others, from whom +she had kept aloof for years, overlooked the disrespect, and called upon her +with their congratulations. Invitations poured in upon her; the whole county +talked of nothing else but Lady Lechester’s wedding; even the great fire +was forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +In London circles the name of Agnes Lechester, which from long retirement had +almost dropped out of memory, was revived, and the old story of the attachment +to the dragoon and his untimely end in the East, was dug up and sent on its way +from mansion to mansion. It was nothing but pride that made her refuse poor De +Warren who was a handsomer man than Baskette, and came of quite as good a +family as her own. However, fortune seemed to favour these creatures—why, +she must be five-and-thirty; five-and-thirty, ay, closer on forty; older than +Marese—much older. +</p> + +<p> +To Agnes, all the conversation that went on around, and the echo of which +reached her, was happiness itself. The intense pride and ambition of her +nature, which had partly kept her in retirement, blazed out in all its native +vigour. Her step was slow and stately; her manner grew cold and haughty; her +conversation distant. When poor old Jenkins’s wife came with the ancient +Bible, she bought it, indeed, and put it on the library table, but barely +looked at it. Six months before she would have criticised it carefully, and +entered a descriptive record of it in the catalogue which she kept with her own +hand. Now it was disdainfully tossed upon one side. +</p> + +<p> +A point that was sometimes discussed between these formal and distant lovers +was the place of their future residence, and as Lady Lechester hated The +Towers, and Marese said that the country house near Stirmingham had of late +been closely approached by the coal mines, it was finally settled that they +should reside in a mansion near Regent’s Park, which belonged to Lady +Lechester, until Marese could build a suitable place. This he announced his +intention of doing upon a magnificent scale. +</p> + +<p> +It was singular that old Sternhold, whose life was spent in adding stone to +stone and brick to brick, had never contemplated the idea of building himself a +palace. +</p> + +<p> +His son determined to surpass all the mansions of England; and the plans, when +once they had been decided upon, were sent down to Lady Lechester for her +approval. They were placed upon a table in the reception room, so that every +visitor who called could not avoid seeing them; and it became one of the +pleasures of Agnes’ daily life to point out the beauties of the new +mansion, and to show her own sketches for improvements. To such littleness did +this once noble and generous nature descend. The Stirmingham estate seemed to +be endowed with the power of degrading every character that came into contact +with it. +</p> + +<p> +It was understood that Lady Lechester was to lay the first stone of this grand +mansion when they returned from the wedding trip. They were to go to Italy, and +make excursions in the Mediterranean in Marese’s yacht <i>Gloire de +Dijon</i>, the name of which he now altered to <i>Agnes</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Marese’s life at this time was one long continued triumph. The only +danger that had threatened him was crushed; both Aymer and Violet were in safe +keeping. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore was still at Stirmingham watching them; perhaps a sterner keeper than +Theodore might turn the key upon one or both ere long. He set his teeth firmly +with a frown as he thought of that possibility. Marese was not the man to be +threatened with impunity. At all events they were quite safe for a good length +of time—till long after his marriage. The marriage once over and he +feared nothing. No scandal could seriously injure him after that. He should be +secured with a triple wall of brass—of wealth, power, position. +</p> + +<p> +The property at Stirmingham was falling into his hands like an over-ripe pear. +Let the companies strive how they might, they could no longer discover any +pretext to delay its surrender. The American claimants had vanished into the +distance—that great dread had departed. He had paid off in hard cash a +large share of the claims the building societies made upon him, for expenses +they had incurred in improving the property. He had obtained a rule that the +remainder of the claims should be discharged by instalments; and as now in a +short time he should enjoy almost unlimited credit, there would be no +difficulty in raising the necessary sums. +</p> + +<p> +With other societies he had corresponded; with the Corporation he was on the +best of terms, having used his influence in Parliament already to pass a +private bill of theirs, and they had no legal power to prevent his seizure of +his rights. With the rest of his creditors he was not only on good +terms—he was pressed to borrow more. Literally he felt himself, as he +surveyed his monetary affairs, the richest man in the world. +</p> + +<p> +Another success came to him. He had delivered his maiden speech in the House, +and whether it really was clever or appropriate, or whether people were +predisposed in his favour, certain it was that it had produced an impression. +The papers were full of it; the reviewers considered it an omen of an +honourable parliamentary career. It was quoted from one end of the kingdom to +the other. His party begun to cast an eye upon him. Here was that rare +combination—a rich man with talent. Could they not turn him to account? +</p> + +<p> +Then came the announcement of the engagement with Lechester, and they went a +step further, and said something must be done. Something was forthwith done. An +office was offered to him—not a high office, nor very remunerative, but +still an office; and one only a degree beneath that of a Minister. It was well +understood that no man ever filled that post without subsequently becoming a +Minister. It was a kind of political cadetship. Marese accepted the office, and +wrote to Lady Lechester, who saw in this a new proof of the career in store for +her; and he received in reply the warmest note he had hitherto had. +</p> + +<p> +Lastly, he was about to marry into one of the oldest families in England. This +marriage was the sure and certain prelude to a coronet; not that he would take +it till he had exhausted his powers, and felt it time to retire to the House of +Lords. Yet it was this marriage that alone caused any anxiety to Marese. He +grew, for him, nervously anxious as the time approached. It certainly was not +affection for her personally; it was the extraordinary good fortune which now +smiled upon him. Once a gamester—still largely gambling upon the Stock +Exchange—he had imbibed a little of the superstition of the race. Hard as +he was—cool, self-possessed, and equal to any emergency—there arose +in his mind a certain feverish eagerness to get it over; not sufficient to +curtail his rest, or cause him to exhibit any outward sign, or even to diminish +his glory in his success; but there was just this dash of uncertain bitter in +the cup that was rising to his lip. He dared not hurry on the ceremony, knowing +Lady Lechester’s temperament too well: he must await the arrival of the +date that she herself had fixed. +</p> + +<p> +There was some little difficulty at The Towers as to where the marriage should +take place. The church at Bury Wick was the natural resort, easiest of access, +and nearest; but Agnes, even in her pride and self-will, could not altogether +make up her mind to be married in that church. The memory of the wedding-party +so strangely and fearfully interrupted there, had not yet died away. It would +seem like a bad omen to be married there. +</p> + +<p> +Barnham was so far, and the vicar a Low Churchman, and not to her taste. Marese +suggested Stirmingham: but no, that would not do. My lady would be married from +her own ancestral Towers; and finally hit upon the plan of resuscitating the +ancient family chapel at The Towers, and having the ceremony performed in it. +This could be done by a special licence: which, of course, was no obstacle. It +was true that she disliked and even hated The Towers; but the pride of family +and long descent overcame that feeling. She would be married in the old chapel. +Accordingly, workmen were sent for, and the sound of hammer and plane resounded +through the place. The chapel, disused ever since the Lechesters left the +Church of Rome—about a century ago—was completely renovated, +cleaned, painted, gilded, and adorned in every possible manner. +</p> + +<p> +Time flew, and Agnes’ pen was busy in marking the list of names of those +who were eligible to receive an invitation to the marriage. The dresses were +ordered. Agnes was very hard to please—even a simple village maiden likes +to exercise her choice for that once in her life. Judge, then, of the +difficulty of pleasing the mistress of The Towers, soon to be the richest lady +in the world. Nothing was good enough: the orders were countermanded day after +day, and nothing but the enormous sums that were to be expended could have +reconciled the tradesmen to her incessant caprices. +</p> + +<p> +Yet through all this loud sound of preparation, through all this silk and +satin, through everything that could be devised to make the heart content, +there penetrated a trouble. Agnes would at times retire to her private room, +and remain secluded for hours. After these solitary fits her step was slower, +and her countenance pale and melancholy, till she gradually recovered herself. +She had broken off her habit of visiting the Kickwell Pot. It had been a great +trial to her to do so; but she had at last firmly made up her mind, and had +conquered the singular fascination which drew her thither. She had decided upon +the earthly career: she would close her eyes to the immortal one. But the +memory of the spirit was not so easily effaced: she mused on its shape, its +graceful, swaying elegance of motion, the glow in its wonderful eyes, and felt +at times the thrill of its electric touch. It required immense strength of mind +to resist the temptation to converse once more with her phantom-lover. +</p> + +<p> +Who that had for a moment contemplated the proud and happy position of Lady +Lechester, the observed of all observers, would have credited that such a +hankering, such an extraordinary belief, still possessed her mind? +</p> + +<p> +Time flew, and there remained but one brief week till the marriage day. Marese +was to come to The Towers on the morrow, and stay till the day previous to the +ceremony when he was, in obedience to the old etiquette, to sleep at Barnham. +For one day only would she be alone at The Towers. Marese came; the hours flew; +some little warmth infused itself even into their cold intercourse. Just before +dinner he left The Towers for Barnham. After dark, Lady Agnes went out alone, +wrapped in her plaid shawl, and made her way to “The Pot.” +</p> + +<p> +The morrow was her wedding-day, yet the old fascination had conquered—she +could not resist it. Once more, for the last time, she would look upon the face +of that glorious being, and beg his forgiveness. It was May now—beautiful +May. The beech trees were covered with foliage, the air was soft and warm, and +there was a delicate odour at times of the hawthorn blossom borne upon the +gentle breeze. Only in places there was a low white mist, a dew hanging like a +light cloud a few feet above the earth. A thin column of such a mist hung over +the mouth of “The Pot,” spectral, ghost-like. There had been heavy +rains previously, and the river was swollen and turbid. Its roar came up in a +sullen hoarse murmur through the narrow tunnel. Over the steep down or cliff +there shone one lucent planet—the evening star. +</p> + +<p> +Agnes stole out from among the fern and beech trees, and stood beside the great +decaying oak trunk, leaning lightly against it. Before her but two steps was +the mouth of “The Pot,” and over it hovered the thin mist. +</p> + +<p> +The old, old fascination fell upon her, the same half unconsciousness of all +surrounding things. The star grew dim, the roar of the river receded to an +immense distance, and then arose the spirit. What intercourse they had cannot +be told: whether she half yielded to the desire to soar above this earthly +ball, and stepped forward to his embrace—whether she eagerly implored for +pardon for her weakness, dazzled by worldly glory. +</p> + +<p> +The dog Dando had followed her unchidden. He alone of all that had pertained to +Aymer and Violet, Agnes had retained. He knew the old path so well. He crouched +so still at the foot of the great oak trunk. So quietly, so heedlessly, taking +no heed of the figure, the shadow that stole onward in the dark beneath the +beech trees—stole forward from trunk to trunk, from bunch of fern to +hawthorn bush. +</p> + +<p> +A grey shadow in the form of a man—a crouching, stealthy, gliding +approach—yet the dog Dando made no sign. And Agnes stood with arms +extended almost over the mouth of “The Pot.” And the grey shadow +reached the hollow oak trunk. +</p> + +<p> +In the left hand of this shadow was a <i>tin whistle</i>. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_3_chap_10"></a>Chapter Ten.</h2> + +<p> +After a while, Aymer awoke from the stupor into which the drug that had been +administered to him had thrown his senses. His awakening was more painful than +the first effects of the poison. His head felt as heavy as lead, and there was +a dull pain across his brow. A languid helplessness seemed to possess his +limbs, he could not walk across the room, and with difficulty stretched out his +hand to the bell-rope. Then all the designs upon the wall-papering got mixed up +before his eyes in a fantastic dance, which made him giddy, till he was obliged +to shut them. His consciousness had as yet barely sufficiently returned for him +to notice that he was in a different apartment to any he had hitherto occupied +at the asylum. He must have had partial returns to consciousness previously, +for he found himself sitting in a large armchair, half clad, and wearing a +dressing-gown. A second pull at the bell-rope brought footsteps outside the +door, which sounded heavy upon the boards, evidently uncarpeted. Then a key +turned in the lock outside, at the sound of that Aymer opened his eyes quickly, +and a strong-looking man, whom he had never seen before, peered in. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Mr Theodore?” said Aymer. “Is Miss Waldron come? +Tell them I am better. Ask her to see me. What has been the matter with +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve had one of your fits, sir,” replied the man, very +civilly, but in an indifferent tone. +</p> + +<p> +“My fits! I never have fits. Why do you stand in the doorway? Why was the +door locked?” +</p> + +<p> +“All right sir—don’t excite yourself. There, you see you +can’t stand. It’s your head, sir, your head.” +</p> + +<p> +“Send me a doctor instantly,” said Aymer. +</p> + +<p> +“A doctor? He’s been to see you three or four times.” +</p> + +<p> +“Three or four times! How long have I been ill, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, five days, I think. Let’s see, you were brought over here on +the Tuesday I remember—yes, five days.” +</p> + +<p> +“Brought over here? What do you mean? Who the deuce <i>are</i> +you?” said Aymer, for the first time growing suspicious, and standing up +by dint of effort. +</p> + +<p> +“Do sit still, sir, and keep calm, or you’ll have another fit. My +name’s Davidson; I’m a warder; and I’ll take good care of +you, sir, if you’ll only keep quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +The truth flashed into Aymer’s mind in an instant. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say I am in the madhouse?” he asked, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, no, sir, not quite so bad as that. This is an asylum, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did I get here?” +</p> + +<p> +“You were carried over in your fit.” +</p> + +<p> +“And where’s Miss Waldron? Tell her to come to me at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no Miss Waldron, sir; your head is not quite clear +yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! you don’t mean to say that <i>you</i> believe me mad?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, your papers is all right, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer lost his temper, as well he might. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr Theodore must be mad,” he said. “Tell him to come at +once; no, I’ll go to him.” +</p> + +<p> +With an effort he reached the door; but Davidson easily kept him back with one +hand, in his weak state. +</p> + +<p> +“Now do keep quiet, sir—do sit down.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you I’m the secretary,” said Aymer, his breath coming +fast and thick, for he began to feel that he was trapped. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay, sir; they all say that, or something like it. You see, we likes +to get people to come quiet, without any noise. One gent came here thinking it +was his family mansion, and he was a duke. If you’ll sit down, sir, +I’ll get you anything you want.” +</p> + +<p> +Poor Aymer was obliged to totter to his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“And where’s Violet—where’s Miss Waldron?” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +“There isn’t no such person, sir. ’Tis your head; +you’ll be better presently. I’ll look in again by-and-by.” +</p> + +<p> +The door shut, the lock turned. Aymer knew that he was a prisoner. For a few +minutes he really was mad, frenzied with unusual passion and indignation, to be +trapped like an animal lured on by provender, and for what purpose? Ah, for +what purpose? Violet—it must be Violet—her claim to the Stirmingham +estate. He was trapped that he might not follow up the clue. Where was she? +Doubtless spirited away somewhere, or perhaps expecting him at Belthrop, +thinking he was coming to her. They would be sure to keep them as far apart as +possible. Theodore was Marese Baskette’s cousin, his friend, his +confidant; he saw it all—he had been drugged, stupefied, made to utter +every species of nonsense, to appear literally mad. He looked round the room; +it was to all appearance an ordinary apartment, except that the door was +strong, and without panels to weaken it. He staggered to the window, he put it +up; there were no bars, no iron rods to prevent him getting out; but he looked +down—a drop of twenty feet—into a narrow, stone-paved courtyard. A +bitter thought entered his mind: they would rather like him to commit suicide +out of that window. Opposite, about ten feet distant, ran an immensely high +stone wall, crenelated on the top, and over that he could catch a glimpse of +the blue May sky. He understood now why the corridor was evidently uncarpeted; +if by any means he should get out at the door, his steps would sound, and give +the alarm at once. He sat down and tried to think; either the excitement, or +the natural strength of his constitution was fast overcoming the poison. His +head was clearer, and he could see distinctly, but his limbs were still feeble. +What could he do? +</p> + +<p> +At this moment the key again turned in the lock, and Davidson entered, bearing +a tray with an appetising dinner. +</p> + +<p> +“How do I know these things are not drugged also?” said Aymer. +</p> + +<p> +“Drugged, sir? That’s always their delusion. Them’s good +victuals. I’ll taste if you like.” And he did so. +</p> + +<p> +While his head was turned, Aymer, weak as he was, made a rush at the door. The +warder turned and seized him, and led him back to his chair like a child. +Aymer, mad with passion, threatened him, and snatched at a knife upon the +table. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay; steady, sir,” said the warder, quite coolly; +“that’s no use, my waistcoat is padded on purpose. I’ve had +him padded ever since Mr Odo made a stab at me. Now, now, sir, do be quiet; +you’re only a hurting yourself. Eat your dinner and get stronger, and +maybe then you can have a wrestle with me.” +</p> + +<p> +He glanced with a half smile at Aymer’s slight, panting figure, and then +at his own sturdy proportions, winked, and withdrew. +</p> + +<p> +As his steps died away in the passage, Aymer started to his feet in intense +astonishment. He had heard his own name; he could not believe his +senses—was he really mad? +</p> + +<p> +“Aymer Malet, Esq.” +</p> + +<p> +The voice was low, but distinct. It might come from the doorway, the window, +the wall, the ceiling. He was startled, but replied— +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I am here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Young man,” said the voice, very low, but quite audible, +“take my advice: control your temper. If you stab a warder they will have +a pretext to keep you here all your lifetime.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Aymer; “thank you, I understand. But who are +you?—who <i>are</i> you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am a young old man. Who are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am a young man,” said Aymer, growing curious, and for the moment +forgetting his position. “My name you know—I can’t tell how. +I come from World’s End.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said the voice, sadly; “I had hoped you were +sane.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why then say you came from the world’s end?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not. I said from World’s End; it is a place near Bury +Wick.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are sane then so far. I know <i>that</i> World’s End very +well. I only tried you. I overheard your name when you were carried in. Now, +answer me. Why are you here?” +</p> + +<p> +“There, that is what I want to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you do not know, you are not sane. Cannot you see the motive for your +confinement?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly I can. It is easy to see that.” +</p> + +<p> +And Aymer briefly related the circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +“And where is your Violet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Doubtless at Belthrop, or spirited away—perhaps abroad. Far enough +from me, at all events.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so: she is in this very place.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe it. They would keep her away.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure of it. What should you do if you got out?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should go straight to Belthrop—or, stay, perhaps I should go to +Mr Broughton. He would protect me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Broughton—ah! he is a lawyer. I see you are sane. I must have a +look at you. Turn your face towards the picture of the ‘Last +Supper.’” +</p> + +<p> +Wondering and yet curious, Aymer did as he was bid. On the wall above a +side-board was a large copy of Vinci’s “Last Supper.” In a +few seconds the voice came again; and soon he found it came from the picture. +</p> + +<p> +“I see you. I have read you. You have talent, perhaps genius; but your +chin is weak. You know not how to fight men. You do not comprehend that men are +beasts, and that it is necessary to be always fighting them. Still you are +sane, you are young—eat, and get strong—you will do. Your name is +familiar to me. Who was your father?” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer told him. The voice replied—“I knew him—a clever man, +and, excuse me, a fool. How came you to reside at World’s End?” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer told him. “But who are you?” he said, eagerly. “Let me +see you also.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Look at the dog under the table in the picture. Now.” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer saw a slender white finger suddenly protruded through the body of the +dog. +</p> + +<p> +“But I only see your finger.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that is me. Don’t you know that the hand is the man, and the +claw is the beast? You can see by my finger that I have a hand.” +</p> + +<p> +It was evident that the stranger was proud of his white hand and slender +finger. +</p> + +<p> +“Who on earth are you?” said Aymer, beginning to get excited. +“If you do not answer me I will pull the picture down.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you do, you will ruin us both.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, tell me who you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am a prisoner like yourself. My name is, or was, for I am dead now, +Fulk Lechester.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fulk Lechester—Lady Agnes’ cousin! Ah! I have heard of +you,” said Aymer. “You were very clever, and you went—well, I +mean—” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha! ha! I will convince you that I am as sane as +yourself—saner; for what a goose you were to be so easily trapped.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I certainly was.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you like to get out? Of course. So should I. Let me see. First, I +have seen you—your physiognomy is good; next, I have read of your book, +for I see the papers; thirdly, I knew your father, at least I knew all about +his career; fourthly, you come from World’s End, and that is my +neighbourhood; fifthly, you are young; sixthly, you are in love, which is a +strong stimulus to exertion. Yes, you will do. Now eat your dinner; you must +get strong.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will not touch it till I see you. I will tear the picture down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, rash, headstrong! Lift it up instead.” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer tried. “I can’t,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“No, because I have fixed it. Now try.” +</p> + +<p> +The picture lifted easily, and Aymer was face to face with the stranger. He saw +a little man, a head and a half shorter than himself, elegantly made, and +dressed in the fashion. His brow was very broad and high, his eyes dark and +large, deeply set; his lips perfect. He had a small moustache but no beard or +whiskers. His complexion was the worst part of his appearance; it was almost +yellow. Fulk smiled, and showed good teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“I am yellow, I know,” he said. “So would you be if you had +not been out of doors for two years. I look forty, I know; I am really just +thirty-three. Nipped in the bud. Ha! ha! However, there is no time to +waste—the warder will return. Eat your dinner. Let us shake hands.” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer readily extended his hand. Suddenly he said— +</p> + +<p> +“How do I know that this is not a new trap?” +</p> + +<p> +Fulk smiled sadly. “A week ago you believed everybody,” he said; +“now you run to the other extreme. That is youth. I am young; but I am +also old. Trouble makes men old, thought perhaps still older. For seven years I +have done nothing but think.” +</p> + +<p> +“For seven years!” echoed Aymer, in horror. “Have you been +here seven years?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I was then twenty-six, now I am thirty-three. Ah! I blossomed too +fast. It is a bad sign, friend Aymer, when life is all roses too early; the +frosts are sure to come.” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” said Aymer, thinking of his wedding-day, so strangely, so +dreadfully interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“I was a Secretary of State at twenty-six. I had everything—money, +youth, power, a career, a loving wife. A few hours changed it.” +</p> + +<p> +“May I ask, how?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly; companions in misfortune have no secrets. My wife was thrown +from her horse; her beautiful neck was broken. I had no son. We Lechesters are +perhaps a little wild. Odo was certainly wild. Well, grief made me eccentric. I +threw up my career. I was young then, like you. I resigned; I went down to +Cornwall; I built a hut among the rocks, and said I would live a hermit’s +life. I did so. I began to feel better. The sea soothed me; I learnt much from +Nature. You see, I had lived hitherto all my days with men. If I had stayed +there, I should have written something great. But there were men who had their +eyes on me. My property is large, you know; trustees or guardians do not get +pay direct; but there are indirect profits in managing estates. My wife was +dead; her friends did not trouble to protect me. Perhaps I did seem eccentric. +Hermits are out of date. For years it has been the custom to put Lechesters in +an asylum. I was put here; but not so easily as you. I fought; it was no use. I +might as well have been calm.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you have been here all these years?” +</p> + +<p> +“All these years, but not without trying to escape. I pretended to be +harmlessly mad—quite satisfied with my condition. I was allowed to wander +in the grounds. One day I got up a tree, and before they could follow I was on +the wall, I dropped over but broke my leg. Well, I recovered, but I still limp +a little; after a while, I went into the grounds with a keeper. I tried +cunning. I became harmlessly mad again—my fancy was to fly kites. To one +kite I attached a long letter with an account of my imprisonment. I let it +loose, and it fell in the midst of Stirmingham. But it was no good—it +made a stir—people came here, and I answered their questions calmly. No +good. They were determined to see that I was mad. If I misspelt a single word +in a sentence, it was a proof that a highly-educated mind had partially broken +down. Like you, I got violent—I tried to despatch a warder and get out. +Ever since then I have been in this room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Two years?” +</p> + +<p> +“Two years. Hush—eat your dinner—Davidson comes.” +</p> + +<p> +The picture fell into its place, and Aymer tried to eat the dinner, which had +grown cold. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_3_chap_11"></a>Chapter Eleven.</h2> + +<p> +After Davidson was gone with the tray, Aymer could hear him opening other doors +along the corridor, and waited till all was quiet. +</p> + +<p> +“Fulk!” +</p> + +<p> +“Aymer!” +</p> + +<p> +The picture was lifted, and Fulk’s head appeared in the orifice. +</p> + +<p> +“Remember,” he said, “your first object is to get strong; +unless you get strong, neither of us can escape. Therefore, eat and drink, and +above all, sleep. If you fidget yourself, you will waste away. The sooner you +get strong, the sooner you will get out and find your Violet. Push your +armchair up close under this picture, and speak low, lest a warder should steal +along on tiptoe. Take a book in your hand as if reading.” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer did as he was told. Fulk’s head receded. “It is difficult for +me to keep long in that position,” he said; “I am not tall enough. +But we can talk just as well.” +</p> + +<p> +“How came that hole in the wall?” asked Aymer. +</p> + +<p> +“How came your book published?” said Fulk. “By the same +process—patience and perseverance. No credit to me though. When a man is +confined for two years in one room, he is glad enough of something to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you make such a hole—how did you do it? It was very +clever.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was very easy. The poker did a part, the steel to sharpen the dinner +knife did another part!” +</p> + +<p> +“But were they not afraid to leave such instruments in your room?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not they. Theodore knows very well that I am not mad. He knows that I +have too much mind to attempt suicide. As to the warders, they are strong, +their clothes are impenetrable to an ordinary stab. Besides, I feign to be +harmless, and at last worn out.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no poker in my room,” said Aymer, “and they have +taken the knives away.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is because, as yet, they do not know your temperament. They think +they know mine. So far as conveniences, and even luxuries, are concerned, +certainly Theodore does not treat me amiss. I have everything I could have if I +were free—papers, books—everything but tools or liberty—but I +can improvise tools.” +</p> + +<p> +“How is it they do not discover this hole in the wall?” +</p> + +<p> +“Simply because on your side it is hidden by the picture, and behind the +picture I have preserved the papering. On my side, it is hidden by a mirror; +when I open the aperture, I unscrew the mirror.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how did you know there was a picture on this side?” +</p> + +<p> +“A person who was confined as you are told me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was he sane then? What became of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t ask me. He was sane. It was a terrible disappointment when +he went.” +</p> + +<p> +“But did he not return to get you out?” +</p> + +<p> +“You do not comprehend. He lies in the grave. It is my belief—but I +should alarm you.” +</p> + +<p> +“They killed him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, not so violent as that. He died—that is it—before our +arrangements were complete.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you have tried to escape with others?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, three times, and three times accident has baulked it. For that +reason I wish you to get strong speedily, lest you should be removed to another +room—” +</p> + +<p> +“Or the grave!” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us talk on other subjects. You do not ask how the hole was made, nor +why. I will tell you. In the first place, it was made because I had hopes of +escaping through your room, which was then unoccupied, and the door left open. +That was vain, for it was afterwards occupied; then the hole was enlarged to +let me and one of your predecessors converse, and to let him get into my room, +as you will have to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because your window is a French one; mine has a bar or upright up the +centre, which is an essential element of escape.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on—how did you make the hole?” +</p> + +<p> +“With the steel and with the poker—grinding the bricks into dust, +and mingling the dust with the ashes of the fire, so that the warder himself +carried them away.” +</p> + +<p> +“And why not escape this way?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because, in the first place, the door of that room is kept locked; +secondly, because it opens also into the same corridor, and at the end of that +corridor is the guard-room, where there is always a warder. Your bell rings in +that room.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you learn all these things?” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you learn all the little traits of human nature, which the +reviewers say you put in your book? By observation, of course. I had to walk +along that corridor to reach the grounds, when I was allowed to go out.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you could bore a hole into the corridor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and the bits of broken plaster would tell the story—that +would be simple. Besides, to what end? Once I thought of boring <i>under</i> +the corridor.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do that?” +</p> + +<p> +“By lifting up one of the planks of the floor here; there is a space +between the flooring and the ceiling, and that corridor has a kind of tunnel +along under it. What for? why the hot-water pipes, to warm the cells, are +carried along it—the cells of the violent, whose rooms have no +fire-grates—that is of no use, for the tunnel at one end comes to the +furnaces, where there is usually a man, neither could I get through the heat. +At the other there is the thick outer wall of stone, and just beneath is +Theodore’s own room—his ears are sharp. Useless, my friend. This +knowledge of the premises seems to you wonderful, simply because you have been +here so short a time. Why, I have never seen the outside of this side of the +building, except a partial glimpse when I was brought, gagged and bound, in a +closed carriage; yet look at this.” +</p> + +<p> +He handed to Aymer a sheet of paper, on which was an elevation plan. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t see how you got at this,” said Aymer, beginning to +have a high opinion of the other’s ability. +</p> + +<p> +“It was difficult; but patience and observation will accomplish all +things. I learnt much of the outline by the shadow on the ground. Here is +another plan, more minute; this is a ground plan.” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer examined it. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you have got even the locks and bolts of the doors,” he said, +in admiration. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I should have made a splendid burglar—what a career +lost!” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” said Aymer, “I see here ‘water-canal’ +marked. I have seen that canal; why, it runs just outside the high wall just +across the courtyard here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, and that is the awkward part of it. First, a narrow courtyard or +chasm to bridge; then a high wall to surmount; then a broad and deep +canal—especially broad here, for, as you will see on the plan, there is a +double width of water for the barges to turn round in. Finally, an unknown maze +of streets.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not unknown,” said Aymer. “I can be of some use +there;” and he told Fulk of his residence in Stirmingham during the +family council and the election. He had a fair knowledge of the streets. +</p> + +<p> +“That is extremely fortunate,” said Fulk. “You must trace out +a plan for me, in case we should get separated. So you were at the family +council—I read much of it in the papers which they allow me. By-the-by, +Marese Baskette is about to marry my cousin. I wonder she has escaped the +asylum so long—the common fate of us poor Lechesters. Tell me now about +your Violet’s claim.” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer did so. +</p> + +<p> +Fulk mused a little while. +</p> + +<p> +“I begin to see daylight,” he said. “I see much that I did +not previously comprehend. If we only wait, and keep watching, everything comes +plain in time. Waldron—I knew the Waldrons well—very respectable +people, and well descended. Waldron is mentioned in Domesday—Waleran +Venator—i.e., Walron, the Huntsman. Jason Waldron—I wonder if I had +better tell you what I know?—he was murdered, and—but you will not +rest nor eat.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall certainly not eat or sleep unless you tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, but do keep calm; we shall be out all the sooner, unless +indeed some unforeseen circumstance stops it, as it has hitherto done. <i>Ay di +me</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know anything of Jason Waldron’s murder?” asked +Aymer, impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“I do; you have yourself told me. I had my suspicions—almost +certainty—before, but I could not see the motive; now I see the +motive—poor, miserable Odo!” +</p> + +<p> +“Odo! what has Odo, to do with it? Do go on; I am wild.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Odo Lechester murdered your friend Jason Waldron!” +</p> + +<p> +“But Odo Lechester is in a lunatic asylum, incurable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Odo Lechester was in this very asylum, but he escaped nearly a year ago. +He escaped by permission.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am in the dark—explain.” +</p> + +<p> +“By permission, directed to destroy Jason Waldron. He had homicidal +tendencies, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Homicidal tendencies!—escaped! Stay a minute, let me think. I +remember now. Oh! what a fool I have been. Why, I saw the description of him +posted up against the police station in Stirmingham, during the election; it +was partly destroyed—evidently an old bill. I see—I see. But why +should Odo Lechester kill Jason?” +</p> + +<p> +“He was instructed to do so. Your dear friend Theodore, who so kindly +offered you a secretaryship at seven hundred and fifty pounds a year, told him +to do so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why—how—how could he—” +</p> + +<p> +“Work on Odo’s mind? Easily enough. Poor Odo—he is a beast, +born in the shape of a man: it is not his fault—he is not responsible. +Odo is a tinker and a whistler; he is at home among the gipsies and the woods, +playing on his tin whistle, mending pots and kettles. His three great passions +are tinkering, dogs, and—liberty. Theodore simply assured him that it was +Waldron who was the cause of his confinement. Jason dead, Odo would be for ever +free. Shall I add one more word? If Jason’s daughter were also dead, Odo +would be still safer in his freedom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good God! he may be killing her now. Let me out—help me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Silence! Be quiet. She is safe—your cries will ruin all. She is +safe in this very building.” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible—I can’t believe it; it is all a blind. I must go +to Belthrop; I must see Broughton. Good God, how weak I am!” +</p> + +<p> +He fell exhausted back into his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“How foolish of you!” said Fulk, gently. “But I can +understand it. Now, I will tell you how I learnt all this. It was very simple. +When I found that there was no escape through your room, I tried the other +wall. I removed the clock from the bracket, and bored a small hole. Frequently +I had to stop, because I heard voices. I found the next room to mine was one of +Theodore’s own private apartments: it is the sitting-room, in fact. +Beyond it is his laboratory. I should like to know what is in that laboratory: +if we escape, I <i>will</i> know. He and Marese used to meet here and converse. +I heard them; I listened. I tell you I heard things that would make your flesh +creep. Are you better?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; oh, that I was stronger! There is wine on the table. Do you think I +might drink it safely?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not; but you had better pretend that you have. Pour some +behind the grate; get rid of it somehow, or they will put the poison in your +food. Well, I heard things about a certain ship, the <i>Lucca</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“The <i>Lucca</i>—she was found a derelict.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know; I could tell you how she became a derelict. But Odo. Well, +I heard them discuss that plan. He was to be instructed, and then allowed to +escape. He did escape. I only wish I was strong, and could climb like him. What +he did, you know. If he is still at large, I will wager a hundred pounds I find +him. I know his old haunts. But I could not understand the object +of—of—I see now. Waldron was the descendant of Arthur Sibbold. Are +you superstitious? No. Well, I am—a little. In this case, now, does it +not seem as if the blood of old Will Baskette, shot at the cider barrel, had +revenged itself from generation to generation? Stirmingham was, as it were, +founded with blood. Your poor friend Jason was a descendant of the murderer +Sibbold, who shot the thief; and here is a Baskette continuing the +vendetta.” +</p> + +<p> +“For God’s sake, tell me how to escape.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will. But is it not Fate? Look at the chain of +events—‘circumstances’ they are called now: the ancients +called them Fate, Sophocles called them Necessity. But you are eager about +escaping. Hush—they are coming!” +</p> + +<p> +The picture dropped; Aymer looked down at his book. Davidson entered, and asked +him how he felt. He replied better, and asked if Miss Waldron was in the +asylum? +</p> + +<p> +Davidson smiled. “Still on that, sir? I tell you honestly that no such +person is here.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked Aymer in the face, and Aymer believed him. Davidson lit the gas, left +several newspapers and books, and retired. So soon as his steps had died away, +the picture was lifted again. +</p> + +<p> +“I told you so,” said Aymer; “she is not here. He evidently +spoke the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“He did so—so far as he knew. But this is an immense building; and +you forget—you were not brought here at first—there is a residence, +as they call it, detached. Davidson’s duties never take him there, unless +specially sent for.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well; let me escape, that is all.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have looked out of window; you have seen the courtyard—the +wall. You know that beyond the wall is the canal: all that is plain in your +mind?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is. First, we must get across the courtyard, then we must climb the +wall, then descend and swim the canal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Fulk, “I cannot swim.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can,” said Aymer; “I learnt in the sea.” He +remembered his few bright months of wandering before he had met Violet. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad of it, though I had provided for that. The bladders that would +have supported you, can carry our dry clothes to change.” +</p> + +<p> +“The bladders—have you got some to float you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have; but, first of all, the courtyard and the wall. We must not +descend into the courtyard, because at one end there is a +window—Theodore’s window—and he is here now; at the other it +opens on the grounds, and warders are sometimes about. It is the wall we must +attack.” +</p> + +<p> +“All we want now is a rope and a grapnel.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have a rope and a grapnel. Where? In my bed. What rope? Bell-rope +partly, partly bed cording. How did I get it? By being mad. By picking +everything to pieces with my fingers, as mad people will. They humoured me, and +I secreted half the pieces while they carelessly removed the other. I have a +long, strong rope; long enough to go up the wall and down the other side. I +have also a grapnel.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is fortunate. How did you make a grapnel?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not make it; the warder brought it to me. You wonder. But you +noticed the crenelated wall: that is the secret. My grapnel is simply a very +long, strong ruler, such as are used in keeping ledgers, and in some mechanical +drawing; I had it ostensibly for drawing. This ruler must be tied across the +rope; when the rope is flung over the wall, the ruler will catch across the +crenelation. There is the grapnel. The rope at its lower end will be fastened +to the upright pillar, or whatever the technical name may be, which divides my +window into two. There’s the ladder.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the swimming bladders?” +</p> + +<p> +“I made them out of an old Macintosh, which I also tore up: I sewed them +together. Mad people have whims: one of mine was to mend my own clothes; so I +got needles and thread. They are also in my bed. They have simply to be +inflated with air; they have cords to fasten to the body.” +</p> + +<p> +“How clever! I should never have thought of such things. But why did you +not escape before I came? You had all the materials required.” +</p> + +<p> +“True—all the means; but not the physical strength, nor the +physical courage. I could not do it without a companion to assist me. You +forget my leg was broken; it is still weak. You forget that I have been +confined without exercise for two years—enough to weaken any man; and I +was never strong. I used to envy Odo as he climbed trees, like the wild man of +the woods he is by nature. Besides, I wanted courage; don’t despise me. I +have moral courage, but I have no physical courage. I jumped from the +wall—yes; but under extreme excitement—this must be done coolly; +and I could not climb the rope. You must climb first, and drag me up by sheer +force.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will do it somehow,” said Aymer. “But why not tie loops in +the rope for your feet and hands? Is it long enough?” +</p> + +<p> +“Plenty; I never thought of that. Two heads are better than one. I will +do that this very night. How long do you think it will take you to recover +yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will try it to-morrow,” said Aymer. +</p> + +<p> +“No; that is too soon. Say the night after. We must go as early in the +evening as is compatible with being unseen, so as to have the whole night to +escape in. Now sleep. I shall not say another word.” +</p> + +<p> +He withdrew, and Aymer vainly tried to slumber. He could not sleep till +morning, and he did not wake till far into the day. His breakfast was waiting +for him. As he sat down to it with a better appetite, Fulk spoke to him from +the picture. +</p> + +<p> +“You look better,” he said; “your long sleep has refreshed +you. Shall we try it to-night? I own I am afraid lest some trifle should delay +us.” +</p> + +<p> +“To-night, certainly,” said Aymer. “I feel quite well now. It +was simply a heaviness—a drowsiness—a narcotic, perhaps. Let it be +to-night. I must go to Violet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Violet!” sighed Fulk. “That was my poor wife’s +name too. I shall love your Violet. I will help you. I know more of the world +than you do.” +</p> + +<p> +The day passed slowly. They conversed in low tones nearly all the time. Aymer, +led on by Fulk’s gentle ways, frankly told him all his struggles, his +disappointments, his hopes. Fulk was deeply interested. At last he said— +</p> + +<p> +“At ten we will do it, or perish. I have a mind,” he said, +“to let you go alone; you are stronger than I am. Very likely my +nervousness or weakness will spoil the whole enterprise; but you could do it +certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will not hear of such a thing,” said Aymer; “I will not +attempt it without you. Do you think I am a cur?” +</p> + +<p> +The dusk fell gradually—so slowly that it tried Aymer’s patience +terribly. Davidson lit the gas, and left him the evening paper. +</p> + +<p> +“Glad to see you getting better, sir,” he said, civilly. +</p> + +<p> +He withdrew, and nothing now remained between them and the task except the +twilight. Aymer kept urging to commence. Fulk thought it was not dark enough. +At half-past nine a cloud came over the sky. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Now</i>,” said Fulk; “I have got the rope ready. Take the +picture down, and scramble through the hole. No; hand me your change of dress +first. There is the rope.” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer had no difficulty in getting through, and at once picked up the rope. At +one end he found a heavy knob of coal fastened. +</p> + +<p> +“That is to throw it up by,” said Fulk, “and to make the rope +hang down the other side. I hid it for that purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +Fulk put the window open, shading the gas by the blind. Aymer coiled up the +rope on his left arm to let it run out easily; and was glad now of the physical +education he had unwillingly imbibed at old Martin Brown’s. Many a time +he had cast the cart-line over a tall waggon-load of straw. He looked out, +measured the height, and hurled the knob of coal. It flew straight up into the +air, carrying with it the destinies of two men, like a shot from a mortar over +a ship in distress. A moment of suspense—it cleared the wall, the rope +ran out quickly, till but a few feet were left in Aymer’s hands. Fulk +opened the other half of the window; the rope was passed round the upright and +secured. Next the air-belt had to be fastened under Fulk’s chest and +inflated. Aymer tied his change of clothes and Fulk’s in the other +air-belt, and adjusted them to his back. These incumbrances gave him some +little uneasiness. He pulled at the rope—it was firm; the ruler had +caught the crenelations. Then arose the difficulty as to who should go first; +Aymer, with a lurking suspicion lest Fulk’s heart should fail, compelled +him to take the lead. He helped him at the window, and saw a new danger. Their +shadows were projected on the wall opposite; if any one looked that way it +would be seen in an instant that something was going forward. Below on the +right was a bow window, and from this bow window a stream of light fell upon +the rope. However it was too late to hesitate. +</p> + +<p> +Folk clung like a cat till he got his foot into the first loop, then he went up +fairly well. As soon as he was up, and Aymer could see his form dimly astride +of the wall, he followed. Halfway up, as he looked down, he saw a man in the +bow window approach and draw down the blind. If he had looked out he must have +seen the rope and Aymer, but he did not. When the blinds were down the rope +became invisible. With a beating heart Aymer found himself at the top of the +wall, astride, facing Fulk, who pressed his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I feel all right now we have started,” he whispered; “I +think I shall manage it yet.” +</p> + +<p> +There were no loops for the descent. Aymer, after one glance at the city lights +before him, slid down first, and let himself into the water gently. He adjusted +the load on his back on the float: then shook the line as a signal to Fulk, who +came halfway down well, but his nervous excitement overcame him, and he rather +fell than slid the remainder, reaching the water with a splash. His head did +not go under, but they feared lest any one had heard it. In a few seconds, as +all was quiet, Aymer struck out, pushing the float in front and dragging Fulk +behind. He had no load to support, but simply to force his way through the +water. It was chilly, but not so cold as he had feared. It smelt +unpleasant—some chemical works discharged into it. Though a fairly good +swimmer, Aymer had a hard struggle to cross the broad canal, and more than once +paused to recover his strength. At last they landed on the towing path, and +without a moment’s delay got over a low wall into some back garden and +changed their clothes, wrapping the wet things round a loose brick from the +wall and dropping them in the water. They then made haste along the towing +path, Aymer leading, and emerged at a bridge into a broad thoroughfare, gaslit +but deserted. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on,” whispered Aymer. “There is the station; we shall +catch the up 10:15 train to London.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the station?” said Fulk. “Then here we part. +Good-by.” +</p> + +<p> +“Part? What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean this: that I owe you my liberty—I shall repay you. I shall +stay here and watch for your Violet—I am sure she is here.” +</p> + +<p> +It was useless arguing with him: Fulk was determined. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall easily hide in this great city,” he said. “We shall +be on the watch in two places at once—you at Belthrop and World’s +End, and I here. Make haste. By-the-by, can you lend me a pound or two? I have +no money with me.” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer insisted upon dividing the sixty-five pounds he had left. Then they shook +hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Stay,” said Fulk, “our rendezvous?—Where shall we meet +again? Quick!—your train.” +</p> + +<p> +“At The Place, World’s End,” said Aymer at a venture, and +with one more rapid handshake ran off. He caught his train, and by one in the +morning was in London. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Fulk, wandering he hardly knew where on the look out for a quiet inn, came +suddenly into a crowded street, and amidst a number of carriages evidently +waiting. He looked up—it was some theatre or other. There was a large +poster announcing that the famous singer Mademoiselle F—o would perform +that evening in the Sternhold Hall, and as he read, he heard a loud encore +which reached even to the street. +</p> + +<p> +“I remember her,” he thought. “I saw her at Vienna the year +before I was captured. They said she was this Marese Baskette’s +mistress—a splendid creature. I’ve half a mind—I +haven’t heard a song for so long—” +</p> + +<p> +He hesitated. Prudence told him to go away; but talk of prudence to a man who +has just escaped into liberty! He walked in; the performance was nearly over, +but he paid and went into the pit. “After all,” he tried to +persuade himself, “there’s more safety in a crowd. When I go out, I +can take a cab and drive to an hotel and say I’ve lost my train through +the theatre; that will account for my having no luggage.” +</p> + +<p> +As he struggled in among the crowd, he glanced up at the boxes; his pushing +caused a little movement, and people in the boxes looked down. He caught an eye +watching him—he turned pale. It was Theodore, who rose at once and left +his box. Poor Fulk gasped for breath; he pushed to get out. The audience was +annoyed at the movement and disturbance—some gentlemen held him +down—the notes of the singer’s voice floated over, musically sweet. +Poor Fulk! +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_3_chap_12"></a>Chapter Twelve.</h2> + +<p> +Science, as illustrated by the printing press, the telegraph, the railway, is a +double-edged sword. At the same moment that it puts an enormous power in the +hands of the good man, it also offers an equal advantage to the evil disposed. +</p> + +<p> +Theodore Marese was a man of science; and he was a typical man of +science—hard, clear, bright, pitiless as the dissecting knife. +Unfortunately, he applied his knowledge and his undoubted ability to the worst +of uses. One pursuit to which he had devoted special effort, and over which he +had spent many thoughtful hours, was the problem how to dispose of a dead human +body. There was an old superstitious saying that the earth will not hide +blood—it will out. Theodore was of a different opinion. Science had +conquered everything: science could conquer this. Yet it certainly was a +difficult task. Did you ever contemplate the difficulty? Suppose you slay your +enemy—slay him secretly, effectually: now, what next? Try to bury it: the +loose earth speaks for itself. Exhalations will rise. Quicklime it, and hasten +its decomposition: there will remain, perhaps, only a brass button, or some +coin left in the pocket. Throw it into the water: it will rise to the surface. +Burn it, and all the city will know from the odour. The more you think over it, +the more difficult it will appear. But Theodore had found the solution. +</p> + +<p> +In that laboratory of his which Fulk wished to explore, and which was a +harmless-looking room—without so much as a phial or a microscope in view, +there was at one corner, not very far from the fireplace, a long upright +cupboard, reaching from the floor to the ceiling. Or, rather, the cupboard rose +about halfway, and a bookcase reached the remainder. It was a shallow cupboard. +There were no locks to the doors. Any one could pull them open, and see a few +trifles within—such trifles as might be found in any bachelor’s +room. The bookcase was also shallow, but there was depth enough back for some +rows of books. The books were harmless enough—mostly medical works, just +such works as any one can purchase who cares to. Nothing certainly here to +excite suspicion. Yet behind that cupboard and bookcase was concealed the most +deadly, insidious, awful engine ever constructed by man—an engine about +which no secrecy exists either, and which living men have seen in operation; +which has been described in the papers; and which the legislature must put +down, or strictly regulate. +</p> + +<p> +Upon removing one of the books, Theodore had merely to push aside a small brass +plate, which looked like part of a hinge, and there was a keyhole; turn the +key, and the whole cupboard swung bodily out into the room. It was, in fact, a +blind, placed in front of a narrow inner door, which rose to the ceiling. When +the door was open, there stood revealed an iron box, not unlike an extremely +long coffin, placed on end. There was a keyhole—two key-holes—to +this iron box. Open the first, and there was a large cavity, tall enough for a +man to sit on a bar which went across it, without his head touching the iron +roof. In this iron roof there was an opening, not unlike a small grating. Put +the key in the second keyhole, above the first, and there was the apparatus, +greatly improved by Theodore, but in substance the same as used in other +places—the apparatus for absorbing the smell of the gases which arise +from a human body when consumed by heat. Every one knows that if the smoke of a +pipe be passed through water in a peculiar way, it loses its pungency, and you +can inhale it with more comfort: this is the hookah. Everybody also knows that +manufacturers in great towns are compelled to consume their own smoke, and all +have seen a lump of loaf sugar suck up a spoonful of tea. A combination of +these principles formed Theodore’s deadly engine, which was nothing more +or less than a private cremation stove. The ordinary fire in the +harmless-looking fireplace produced sufficient heat, when a draught was caused +by turning a winch with a multiplying wheel placed at the lower part of the +cupboard, just beneath the cavity which was to receive the body. This body, +made thoroughly insensible and unconscious by being saturated with chloroform +or strong drugs—or, if you like, still more insensible with a trifle of +arsenic—had merely to be lifted into its iron coffin, the door closed, +the blast applied, and in a couple of hours or so there would remain a little +heap of ashes, and a little melted metal, brass buttons, coins, and such like, +things easily dropped into a canal, dust easily mixed with the ashes under the +grate. Now, where was all that superstitious nonsense about the difficulty of +getting rid of a dead body? +</p> + +<p> +Whether Theodore had ever used this awful engine was never known; but it +existed, and it may exist at this present hour in other equally unsuspected +places. What I say is, that the legislature should take cremation in hand. If +any one had been shut up in that iron box alive—only stupefied for a few +minutes with a drug, put in asleep; if they had been awakened by the red-hot +iron, of what use would their screams have been—deadened by the +confinement, deadened by thick walls? +</p> + +<p> +“I am extremely sorry,” said Theodore Marese, meeting Violet at the +railway station, and handing her to a carriage; “I regret very much that +Mr Malet could not come. He has, in fact, gone upon a special mission. A +gentleman in the Isle of Man, who owed us a large sum, died suddenly; his +affairs are in confusion, and Mr Malet was obliged to start this afternoon to +see to our debt. I am the bearer of his regrets. At all events, he will not be +absent more than a week.” +</p> + +<p> +Violet was naturally much disappointed, but after all, it was only a week or +ten days, and they treated her with great courtesy at the residence at the +asylum. A matron was always ready to afford her companionship; no intrusion was +made upon her privacy. Theodore occasionally called upon her in the most +respectful way. Books, papers, anything she seemed to wish for came at once. +The matron, a lady-like person, took her into the town to do some shopping. +Everything but a letter from Aymer. However, that was easily +explained—the sea-post was always uncertain. Theodore took her over a +great part of the asylum; she was astonished at its size, and the number of its +inmates. It saddened her, and she still more longed for Aymer to return. +</p> + +<p> +Why it was that she was not confined like Aymer was never wholly explained, but +there is some reason to think that Marese Baskette had a faint idea of marrying +her himself. He was, as we have seen, nervous about his marriage with Lady +Lechester: lest anything should happen to prevent or delay it. This girl, +Violet, he well knew, had a good claim to the estate; suppose he married her? +She was a second string to his bow. As to the rumour of his being her +father’s murderer, he would trust to his own wit and handsome face to +overcome that. He never questioned his power to have her if he chose—but +Lady Lechester first. Theodore had therefore his instructions to treat her +well, and give her seeming liberty, and above all to keep her in good temper. +Theodore did as he was bid. This seems the natural solution of the problem. If +she had known that Aymer was so near! +</p> + +<p> +It happened at this time that, on the seventh day after Violet’s arrival, +the famous singer, Mademoiselle F—o, of whom all the world was talking, +was to sing for one night only in the Sternhold Hall. Theodore, finding that +she was getting restless and thoughtful, seized upon this opportunity to while +away her gloom. He proposed that she should accompany him to the theatre or +hall, and Violet, who had never heard an opera in her life, was naturally +enough delighted to go. They went, and as it chanced it was the very night that +Aymer and poor Fulk chose to make their escape. Thus it was that +Theodore’s eye caught sight of Fulk, the moment the commotion caused by +his late entrance attracted his attention. Violet was extremely pleased; the +notes of the music and song filled her with an exquisite enjoyment. She was +very beautiful, leaning over the front of her box, and scores of glasses were +directed at her. Had she known that at that very moment Aymer was risking his +life to escape! +</p> + +<p> +The difficulty in this history-writing is to describe two or three events at +the same moment. The eye can only read one line at a time, how then are you to +bring two scenes at once before it? Some allowance must be made for the +infirmities of the pen. There were two scenes proceeding at the moment that +Theodore’s eye fell upon Fulk—three scenes, if you reckon the opera +on the stage. First, poor Fulk shivering with terror, struggling to escape, the +crowd round execrating him, his mind in a whirl, reproaching himself with his +folly, and the tall figure of Theodore, who had come down from the box, +pointing him out to an attendant and pushing forward to seize him. On the +stage, La Sonnambula was uttering her sweetest trill; Marese Baskette’s +mistress in the full height of her glory, with hundreds upon hundreds of the +élite of that great city intent upon her every accent—hundreds +upon hundreds of well-dressed, fashionable, wealthy ladies and gentlemen, most +of whom knew her connection with Marese, the popular M.P., were there. This +very knowledge attracted them in shoals. This was scene two. +</p> + +<p> +The third scene was underneath. There in the darkness and gloom of the cellars, +amid the slimy pools of water, the hideous fungi, the loathsome toads and +creeping things, the grey sewer-rats were at work. You have seen a ship +launched—she stands firm as a rock till the last wedge is knocked away, +then glides into the water. Something of the same kind was going on here +beneath the feet of several hundred human beings. These musty cellars and +vaults under the Sternhold Hall, with their awkward approach, had been let at +last. A London firm had given a small sum for them, and established a store of +whisky casks. A dozen or so of whisky casks had been rolled down, a name put +upon the door, and an advertisement in the newspaper. Nobody could do business +with this firm, their terms were too high. The whisky casks, in truth, +contained pure spring water. It was an excuse, however, for men in rough +jackets, who had evidently been at work, to go in and out of these vaults, and +to take with them saws and chisels, hammers, and other harmless tools. The firm +was, in fact, composed of a dozen or more of the sharpest sewer-rats in +Stirmingham. Their little game was so delightfully simple—only a little +gnawing to be done! When Theodore and Baskette went down into this place, they +found the floor supported by timber pillars. Their idea was to blow it up. The +sewer-rats were much cleverer—their idea was to saw through the wooden +pillars, and let the roof or floor down, and with it many hundred shrieking, +maimed, and mutilated human beings. How simple great ideas appear when once +they are described! There is nothing novel in the idea either: the holy Saint +Dunstan tried it at Calne, and found it answer admirably. +</p> + +<p> +Some say odd accidents have happened to grand stands at race meetings, through +iron bolts being inadvertently removed. When hundreds of well-dressed, +fashionable people, ladies and gentlemen, with gold rings and diamonds, +earrings and bracelets, watches, money, bank-notes, and similar valuables about +them, not to mention rich cloaks and perhaps furs, were shrieking, struggling, +groaning, maimed, mutilated, and broken to pieces, with jagged ends and +splinters of deal sticking into their bodies, how nice and benevolent it would +be to go in among and assist them; to lift up the broken arm, and lighten it of +the massive gold bracelet; to pull the horrid splinter out of the leg, and +extract the well-filled purse; to alleviate the agony of the bruised shoulder +or the broken back, and remove the choice fur or necklace of diamonds! +Thoughtful of the sewer-rats to provide this banquet of Christian charity! +</p> + +<p> +The one difficulty had been to get the several hundred people there. They had +all in readiness for months, watching. They had it ready while the family +council sat, and had deliberated about knocking the last wedge out at that +time, but on reflection it was doubtful whether the Americans had much coin +about them. Finally, one shrewd sewer-rat hit upon the idea of engaging +Mademoiselle F—o to come down and sing. They paid her one hundred pounds +in advance, with travelling expenses to come afterwards; and it would have been +a good speculation in itself, for they took three hundred and fifty pounds, +including the boxes. These boxes were a worry. They could not be let down, they +were not built on wooden pillars; however, it was easy to shut one of the +folding-doors at the entrance, and let the bolt drop into the stone—easy +to raise a cry of “Fire!”—easy to imagine the crush at the +door. +</p> + +<p> +Easy also for me to enter into a catalogue of broken limbs, ribs, fractures, +contusions, gashes, etc, etc—I shall leave it to the surgical +imagination. But when hundreds of people, closely packed, are suddenly +precipitated eighteen feet, amid splintering planks and crushing beams, it is +probable that the hospitals will be full. This was the third scene preparing +underneath. +</p> + +<p> +Just as Fulk felt Theodore close to him—just as F—o uttered her +sweetest trill—just as Violet was in the height of her +enjoyment—the grey rat gave his last nibble—the last wedge was +knocked away; and the floor went down. Poor Violet saw it all. She saw fourteen +hundred hands suddenly thrown up into the air; she heard one awful cry, she +felt the box tremble and vibrate, and the whole audience sank—sank as +into one great pit. She turned deadly pale; she clung with both hands to the +balustrade; but she did not faint. It was all too quick. +</p> + +<p> +Fulk was in a stooping position, struggling to escape. That saved him. He fell +with his body across a joist, which with a few others had not been +sawn—some few had to be left to keep the floor apparently safe. His arms +flew out in front, his legs struggling behind; he was poised on the centre of +his body. At any other time one might have laughed. In that terrible moment the +instinctive love of life endowed him with unusual strength. He knew not how he +did it, but he got astride of the joist; he worked himself along it; he reached +one of the slender iron columns or shafts which supported the boxes and +gallery. He who mistrusted his power to climb a rope, in that hour of horrors +went up that shaft with ease, assisted by the scroll-work on it. He got into +the very box where Violet sat, with straining eyes gazing into that bottomless +pit. Exhausted, he fell on his knees beside her. Exhausted, he heard the cry of +“Fire!”—heard the rush to the doors. He remained on his +knees, gazing, like her, down into the pit. +</p> + +<p> +The cry that rose up—the shouts, the groans, the shrieks—will ring +in Fulk’s ears till his death. Violet never heard a sound; her whole +faculties were concentrated in her eyes. Heaps of human beings striving, +heaving; fragments of dresses, opera cloaks fluttering from joists in mid-air; +splinters with pieces of torn coats—Ah! I cannot write it; and she dares +not tell me. One dares not dwell on this scene. One more word only. Fulk +glanced at the stage: still the lights burnt there; the painted scene was +untouched; the singer, F—o, had fled by the stage staircase. +</p> + +<p> +It is odd, but the idea since came to me—she was the cheese; the hall, +the trap. The simile will hardly bear close investigation. +</p> + +<p> +It was those few minutes that Fulk and Violet spent in motionless horror that +saved them. They thereby escaped the crush at the door; that is to say, they +escaped being in it; it was impossible to go out without seeing it. Fulk +recovered himself a little: his first instinct was that of a +gentleman—the lady beside him. He caught her arm, and dragged her up from +her seat; and she came with him unresistingly out of the box into the corridor: +he could feel her whole frame tremble. Perhaps, reasoning after the event, they +might as well have sat still; but remember the awful cry of fire, the +instinctive desire to escape, and that Fulk was still fearful of being +re-captured! They reached the staircase—descended it to within a few feet +of the passage. There they saw a black mass, writhing, heaving: it was a mass +of men and women who had fallen, and been trodden down. It extended along the +whole passage to the open air. Then Violet fainted, and hung in his arms inert, +helpless. Poor girl! it was enough to unnerve the boldest man. Fulk grasped her +round the waist—he was short remember—he struggled with her; got +his feet on that awful floor of moving bodies; he stumbled, and staggered +towards the air, gasping for breath, dragging, half-trailing her behind him. He +cried for help—his arms failed him; his poor, weak leg—the one that +had been broken—slipped down into a crevice between two fallen men, and +strive how he would he could not get it out. A mist swam before his eyes; but +he did not let go—gallant little Fulk! +</p> + +<p> +Strong arms seized him. Cabmen, police, coachmen, grooms—idlers who had +rushed to the doors—seized him, and pulled him out, and set him on his +legs, and pushed the brandy flask between his teeth. And still Fulk +instinctively held tight to his burden. +</p> + +<p> +“Where shall I drive you, sir?” said one cabman. +</p> + +<p> +“To—I don’t know. Where is a good hotel?” +</p> + +<p> +“The ‘Dragon,’ sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Help to lift her in.” +</p> + +<p> +Fifteen minutes afterwards they were at the “Dragon.” Fortunate, +indeed; for all the city—the great city—was pouring in vast crowds +to that horrible doorway; and those who were extricated found it difficult to +get away. +</p> + +<p> +Fulk and Violet were well cared for at the “Dragon,” as, indeed, +they would be after so terrible a catastrophe had brought out all the sympathy +there was latent in that city. Besides, they were well-dressed, and Fulk was +found to have money in his pocket-money, to do them justice, not one farthing +of which was touched while he and Violet lay in adjoining rooms +helpless—for they were helpless, utterly exhausted for six whole days. +When Fulk, conscious that he must be stirring, did pull himself together and +got out of bed, and into the sitting apartment, the first thing he saw was a +newspaper on the table, the <i>Stirmingham Daily News</i>, which had come out +with a deep line of black round every page, and in which was a list of the dead +and wounded; the killed were very few in proportion to the injured. Fulk looked +for Theodore Marese; he found his name among the dead. Theodore was gone to his +account; he had been found on the floor of the vault face downwards, quite +dead. There was a deep wound in his forehead, and it was thought that, in +falling, his head had struck the iron-bound edge of one of the supposed whisky +casks. +</p> + +<p> +Violet, when she heard that Fulk was up, came out of her room and held out her +hand. She was still dreadfully pale; but Fulk thought he had never seen a more +beautiful face. She thanked him with tears in her eyes; and Fulk in vain tried +to make her think that he had done nothing. “I was up yesterday,” +she said, “but I could not go till you were better. Now, will you please +take me back to the asylum?” +</p> + +<p> +“The asylum?” said Fulk, in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; Mr Theodore will be anxious about me. I sent a message yesterday to +him, but I have had no reply.” +</p> + +<p> +“Theodore Marese is dead,” said Fulk, quietly. “I trust you +have had nothing to do with him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dead!” Violet shuddered. “But I must go to the asylum; +perhaps Aymer has returned.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aymer—what Aymer?” +</p> + +<p> +An explanation followed, which will be readily understood. It was long before +Violet could believe him; till at last his reiterated statements, and the +little incidents he related, shook her incredulity. Even then she was partially +doubtful, till Fulk chanced to look at the paper on the table. There was an +advertisement in large type—“Escaped from the Asylum, Fulk +Lechester and Aymer Malet.” She could no longer doubt. +</p> + +<p> +“How miserably I have been deceived,” she said, and burst into +tears. +</p> + +<p> +Fulk was greatly shocked. +</p> + +<p> +“You see now that I must hasten away,” he said. “Doubtless +this great catastrophe has occupied men’s minds, and interfered to +prevent a strict search; but now I have found you it is a folly to remain here. +My rendezvous with Aymer is at The Place, World’s End. We will go to +World’s End at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aymer will be there?” said Violet, brightening a little. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Aymer will be there,” said Fulk. +</p> + +<p> +That evening they paid the bill—to the honour of the +“Dragon,” it was a very small one—and reached the station in +a fly. The same train that had taken Aymer to London took them also. They +stayed that night at an hotel, and next afternoon travelled down to the little +station nearest to World’s End. Another fly took them to the outskirts of +Bury Wick village; and from thence they walked to The Place. Violet’s +heart sank; it was dark, not a light in the window, not a sign of life; the +doors were fast. They broke a pane of glass, and Fulk opened the window, got +in, and unbolted one of the back doors. Fulk had taken the precaution to bring +with him a few provisions, and had also bought the local paper—<i>The +Barnham Chronicle</i>—and stuffed it in with the ham in the basket, for +he was anxious to read about his cousin Lady Agnes’ marriage. Violet made +a fire, and got some tea: she had provided that. Where was Aymer? +</p> + +<p> +A strange night that at The Place. Fulk felt safer now he was out of the city: +but Violet had too vivid a memory of the past. In the very house where so many +happy hours had been passed she was alone with a perfect stranger, or one who +was a stranger but a little while before. And Aymer? +</p> + +<p> +“Where could Aymer be?” was the question she constantly asked. +</p> + +<p> +Fulk said, “Aymer was doubtless at Belthrop, trying to find her.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Hannah Bond knows I started for Stirmingham,” objected Violet. +“If Aymer should see her, and go back to Stirmingham. I must write to +her—or will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will go and see her,” said Fulk; “certainly I will. But +remember that I am in hiding; it must be at night. Wait till to-morrow night. +Give Aymer that little time to come, then I will go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hannah must come and live here with me,” said Violet, musingly. +“I think I shall stay at The Place till—till—where is your +newspaper?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I—burnt it,” said Fulk. “I burnt it helping +you to light the fire.” +</p> + +<p> +It was the truth, yet it was a lie. He had burnt it, that Violet might not see +something in it. Aymer was not at Belthrop. Aymer’s name was in the +paper. +</p> + +<p> +“How shall I amuse you?” said Violet. “This is my home; I +must amuse you. I will play to you one of the airs that Aymer likes. Poor +Aymer!” she added, half to herself. +</p> + +<p> +The gentle, melancholy music of Mendelssohn filled the room from the long +unused piano. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor Aymer!” repeated Fulk to himself. Poor Aymer, indeed! +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_3_chap_13"></a>Chapter Thirteen.</h2> + +<p> +At twelve o’clock of the night before his wedding-day, Marese Baskette +was galloping, fast as his best thorough-bred could carry him, from Barnham +town to The Towers. Barely had he settled himself at his hotel to think over +the coming day, than a message summoned him to return. It was a splendid +night—warm, still, the sky full of stars, and a faint odour of the +hawthorn blossom in the air. The thin mist that Lady Lechester had seen had +descended into the hollows, and as Marese rode through it, it reached to his +saddle-bow. The horse rushed on, hidden in the cloud that covered the earth; +the rider sat above it. Far behind clattered the groom, who had fetched him in +hot haste. +</p> + +<p> +“Lady Lechester is lost!” Such was his brief message, and not all +Marese’s sharp questioning could elicit anything more, for the simple +reason that nothing more was known. About eight o’clock she had been seen +to leave the house, and the servants took no particular notice of it, expecting +her to return in a short time, as she usually did. As she usually did +I—this was the first time Marese had heard of the nocturnal walks of his +bride. It was a mystery to him: it angered him. A man of plots and stratagems, +he was always more or less suspicious of others. An hour had passed, and Lady +Lechester did not return. The guests—and they were numerous that night at +The Towers—asked for her; the household still kept their mistress’s +secret, but two ventured out to seek her. They went to the well-known spot, +they saw the oak trunk, they heard the roar of the river—but Lady +Lechester was not there. An anxious consultation took place; butler, footmen, +the upper servants held a whispered discussion. At last the gamekeeper was sent +for: if Lady Lechester happened to see him, she would not be annoyed; if she +met any of the others, and fancied they had been watching her, it would cost +them their places. The guests were put off with various excuses. Time passed: +the gamekeeper reported the park clear, and not a trace of Lady Agnes. The +truth could no longer be concealed. The alarm and excitement among the wedding +guests may easily be imagined. All the gentlemen at once put on their hats, and +with lanterns and brandy flasks proceeded to search the park in every +direction. A man was despatched post-haste on the swiftest horse for the +bridegroom. One gentleman rode with him to Barnham, woke up the police, and +instructed them to be on the alert, but, if possible, to keep matters quiet. +Especially they were to look out for the dog Dando, who was known to have +accompanied Lady Agnes, but had not returned. +</p> + +<p> +Marese reached The Towers about one in the morning. During his ride he had +mastered his feelings; he had crushed down the superstitious presentiment which +warned him that all was in vain. He had not felt so unusually nervous about +this marriage for nothing. But he mastered himself. One of his maxims was never +to regret the past, but to apply the mind with iron will to make the best of +the present. He called the servants, naturally taking the lead, and made them +tell him all they knew. Then for the first time Lady Agnes’ strange +visits to “The Pot” became known; and at once the gloomiest +forebodings filled the minds of the guests. She was drowned; she had fallen +down “The Pot.” The idea grew and grew, till it became the one +belief. Marese himself could not doubt it. It was a strange and solemn conclave +they held, at that hour of the night, in the hall at The Towers, Marese +standing in the midst, his face pale but composed, the guests crowding round +him, the servants coming up one by one to be examined. The great clock at The +Towers tolled two, and there stepped silently into the room a stranger, plainly +dressed, but remarkably upright, with an air of authority—the +Superintendent of police from Barnham. A silence followed his entrance. He +marked it, and said that he had brought drags to search the river—was +there a boat anywhere to be obtained? +</p> + +<p> +There was no boat. The Ise ran so swift and was so shallow at ordinary times, +and lay so deep down between its banks, that no one cared to keep a boat. The +nearest known was a little punt four miles down the river, where it enlarged +into a small lake. A man was despatched to borrow it, and pole it up the rapid +stream; he could not reach “The Pot,” work as hard as he might, +under three hours. All the gentlemen and not a few of the ladies, too excited +to sit quietly within, went with the Superintendent across the park to +“The Pot,” and watched the drags used. The Superintendent asked +them to stand back a moment while he examined the ground round the mouth of the +funnel. He did so carefully; the grass had left no mark of a footstep, there +was not a trace of a struggle, not a scrap of dress hanging to a twig, or a +broken ornament. Then the drags were dropped down the strange funnel into the +roaring water, and under the quiet stars the wedding guests gathered in a +circle, watching the police as they searched the cave in vain. Neither drag nor +pole could detect anything at the bottom; the light of the strongest +bull’s-eye failed to show any trace that a body had fallen down that +narrow crevice; no stones or earth recently dislodged, not a particle of dress +or shawl here either. +</p> + +<p> +By this time the ladies were tired, and shivered in the early morning breeze; +they retired, but the gentlemen, greatly excited, stayed and assisted to fish +the river Ise downwards for miles. The body would surely be carried with the +current: but no, not a trace. The bright sun of the glorious May morning found +them still at the mournful task. This was the wedding morning. The thrushes +burst into song; the cuckoo flew over with his merry cry; dewdrops glittered +like gems upon the bushes, and the lovely May bloom scented the breeze. A +wedding morn indeed!—but where was the bride? More than one glanced for a +moment from the turbid river up to the deep azure of the sky, and the natural +thought that followed need not be described. They met the punt at +last—but it was useless. The man who poled it up had kept a close look +out; nothing had floated by. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall not find it,” said the Superintendent, “till the +flood subsides.” +</p> + +<p> +Even yet there was one hope as they walked sadly back to The Towers: the dog +Dando—where was he? It was reasonable to think that if Lady Lechester had +fallen into the river, the dog would presently return to The Towers. If he did +not return, there was still hope that she had wandered in some other direction, +or had met with an accident—sprained her ankle, or broken her leg in the +woods, perhaps. This idea had occurred to the Superintendent and to Marese long +before, and the gamekeeper, with eight or ten willing assistants, had been +searching the woods for hours. As they neared The Towers it was obvious from +the group of people talking excitedly before the entrance that something had +happened. A policeman came towards them, leading Dando in a leash. +</p> + +<p> +He had but just arrived in a trap from Barnham town. Questions poured out from +a hundred lips; it was difficult to get an explanation, but it was understood +at last. The Superintendent on leaving Barnham had not omitted to warn the men +on their heats in the town to look out for a dog—Lady Lechester’s +well-known dog—merely as a forlorn hope, never dreaming that Dando would +wander thither. But a little after sunrise, perhaps about six o’clock, +the dog Dando walked up the high street of Barnham behind a man wearing a grey +suit, who knocked at the door of Mr Broughton’s private residence. Before +the knock was answered the man in the grey suit was in custody, and the dog +secured. The man in the grey suit struggled violently—fought like a wild +beast, which still further prejudiced the police against him, and was with +difficulty handcuffed, manacled, and conveyed to the station-house on a +stretcher. No one to look at his slight figure would have thought him capable +of such savage battling. He asked perpetually for Mr Broughton, declared that +he was not mad—which was strange, as no one had accused him of that +failing, and refused to give his name—another trait that looked ill. When +asked if he had seen Lady Lechester he denied all knowledge of such a person. +The dog had followed him just as any other dog might. As to the road he had +come he was obstinately silent. The police had not waited to waste further +inquiries upon him, but hastened to The Towers with the news for their chief. +</p> + +<p> +His face fell immediately. “I fear,” he said, “that Lady +Lechester is indeed lost. The dog would never have left her unless. However, we +have now got a clue.” +</p> + +<p> +Marese gave up all hope; yet with his old cool self-possession before he +started with the Superintendent for Barnham, he wrote out a telegram and +despatched it to Theodore, briefly acquainting him with what had happened, and +asking him to be especially agreeable <i>to that person</i>—meaning +Violet, whose value as a second string to the bow had risen at once. This +telegram was despatched to a dead man: Theodore had been killed the night +before in the Sternhold Hall, but in the confusion and the difficulty of at +once identifying bodies, no news had been sent to Marese. +</p> + +<p> +With the Superintendent, Marese went into the cell at the police station, and +saw Aymer Malet handcuffed and manacled. Poor Aymer, indeed! His hair was rough +over his forehead, his cheeks stained with blood from a scratch received in the +struggle, his whole look wild in the extreme. He saw Marese Baskette, the +murderer, the man who had confined him. Is it to be wondered at that he grew +excited? He said nothing, but his face worked, and his teeth ground together. +Marese looked at him steadily, almost with a smile. In that moment, swift as it +passed, he debated upon his best course. Truth, or what he called truth, was +the safest, although it would save Aymer’s life. +</p> + +<p> +“I know this man,” he said. “He is a lunatic; he has escaped +from my cousin’s asylum at Stirmingham. He is very dangerous: without a +doubt, this is the guilty party.” +</p> + +<p> +Aymer denied it. All his efforts were to make people believe that he was not +mad. As yet he had no conception of the darker shadow hanging over him: his one +idea was, that he had been pursued and captured—that he should be sent +back to the asylum. Therefore he had refused to give his name, or to describe +the road by which he had come to Barnham. This very mistake increased the +suspicion against him of a knowledge of Lady Lechester’s disappearance. +It will now be understood why Fulk burnt the paper that Violet might not read +it, and why The Place was dark and cheerless when they reached it. These events +had happened just before they arrived. +</p> + +<p> +Marese never lost his presence of mind for a moment, not even when he heard of +Theodore’s awful death. Turn the mind to the present, was his maxim: do +the best with it you can. His one concern was the disappearance of Violet: +still he felt certain that he should be able to trace her. At present, the one +thing needful was to crush Aymer Malet. He held that enemy now in the hollow of +his hand: he should “taste his finger,” as the Orientals say. +</p> + +<p> +The magistrates on hearing the evidence at once made out a warrant, and Aymer +was remanded, while the search went on for the body, which still eluded all +search. Upon the third day, however, some important evidence turned up, and it +was thought best to take it in the presence of the prisoner. Aymer was in +consequence led into the large apartment used for such purposes at the police +station, still wearing the handcuffs, for Marese had industriously spread the +belief that he was a dangerous lunatic. The general public were not admitted; +but a few gentlemen were present, and among these was Mr Broughton, who at once +recognised Aymer, rough as his present appearance wan, and came forward and +spoke to him. Aymer asked him to defend him, and Broughton, to his credit, said +he would. To his credit, for his interest in the Lechester estates was large. +</p> + +<p> +The magistrates seeing so respectable a solicitor as Mr Broughton taking an +interest in the prisoner, consulted, and to Marese’s intense disgust +offered to allow the prisoner half an hour to confer with his attorney. In that +brief period poor Aymer had to relate his confinement and his escape. Broughton +listened attentively; then he said— +</p> + +<p> +“Your story is strange, almost incredible; still you are in a position +where nothing will do you much good but public opinion. My usual advice would +be to reserve your defence; my present advice to you is to tell the Bench +exactly what you have told me, only much more fully. There are no reporters +admitted; but I will see that your statement is published. I believe you +myself. If the public show any signs of believing you, the prosecutors will +withdraw. It is your only chance; for, to be candid, the evidence is terribly +against you.” +</p> + +<p> +They returned to the justice-room. The first witness called was the policeman +who had detected Aymer and the dog in the street. He described Aymer as walking +very fast, and dodging from house to house as if trying to escape notice. This +was point Number 1 against him. Then came the evidence as to his furious +struggle with the police. One constable could barely make himself understood; a +blow straight from the shoulder had knocked a tooth out, and his voice sounded +hollow and indistinct. Such a violent resistance obviously indicated a guilty +conscience. This was point Number 2 against him. Next it was stated, and stated +with perfect truth, that the prisoner had refused to give his name, his place +of residence, or any information about himself; and that, finally, he had +totally denied even so much as knowing that there was such a person as Lady +Lechester. He had tried to conceal his identity in every way, and had +deliberately told an untruth, for after living so long at World’s End, +how could he have failed to know Lady Lechester? This was point Number 3. Then +he gave a very vague, unsatisfactory account of how the dog had followed him. +He declared that the dog was a strange dog to him—that he had never seen +it before. Now this must be also a wilful falsehood. Point Number 4. But the +darkest evidence of all was reserved to the last. There was brought into the +room an “iron-witted” ploughboy, with a shock head of light hair, +small eyes, heavy jowl, and low forehead—the very class of witness most +to be dreaded, for nothing on earth can make them understand that it is +possible for them to be mistaken. +</p> + +<p> +The ploughboy, Andrew Hornblow by name, told his story straightforwardly +enough. He said that he had been to the “Shepherd’s Bush” +that fateful evening, after work; that he had a pint and a half of ale, but was +not any the worse for liquor. That at about half-past seven, or a little +earlier, he left the “Shepherd’s Bush” inn to return to the +farmhouse where he slept. He went across the fields and Downs, and his path led +him over a section of the park. As he passed a fir copse he heard some one +playing on a tin whistle in a most peculiar way. He was curious: to see who it +was, and got into the copse. The moment his footsteps were heard the whistle +stopped; but pushing aside the boughs, he caught a glimpse of a tallish man, in +a grey suit—a dirty-grey suit—who seemed anxious to avoid +observation, and plunged into the dark recesses of the copse. He didn’t +think much of it at the time; but it so happened that the spot where he had +seen the man was within a hundred yards of “The Pot;” and talking +of the disappearance of Lady Lechester to his master, the fact had got to the +knowledge of the police. Had he seen that man since? Not till he had come into +the room; and he pointed at the prisoner, who indeed wore a grey suit, somewhat +travel-stained and frayed in places, as if from passage through hedges or +woods. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Broughton cross-examined this witness at great length, and with his +accustomed shrewdness—but in vain, the ploughboy was certain the prisoner +was the man. All that could be got from him was, that he had not distinctly +seen the face of the man in the copse, but he was tallish, and wore a +dirty-grey suit. This established the fact that the prisoner was near about the +spot, where Lady Lechester had disappeared somewhere within half an hour of +that mysterious event. +</p> + +<p> +Point Number 6 was still more convincing. Upon the prisoner being searched, +there was found upon him a tin whistle. The whistle was produced, and was of a +peculiar construction: when blown, it gave a singular sound, more musical than +the ordinary whistle. It was covered with sketches—apparently engraved +with a sharp tool—of dogs, some of them very spirited and faithful +outline representations. It was well known that the prisoner was a good +draughtsman. The only point that remained to be established was the death of +Lady Lechester. The body had not been found. +</p> + +<p> +Upon this evidence the police very properly asked for a remand till the body +was discovered. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Broughton immediately applied for bail. +</p> + +<p> +The Bench asked upon what grounds, and this gave Aymer an opportunity to tell +his tale. Remember, that all this time Marese Baskette was sitting side by side +with the magistrates, who naturally felt for his position, and treated him with +exceptional courtesy. +</p> + +<p> +When Aymer began, Marese objected on the ground that the prisoner was a lunatic +escaped from Stirmingham Asylum, and that these wild statements, if they got +into print, would do him harm. The Bench assured him that nothing the +prisoner—whose wild appearance proved the condition of his +mind—could say would prejudice him in their estimation, and as there were +no reporters present nothing could get abroad. It was better to let the +prisoner tell his tale; he might inadvertently disclose the fate of poor Lady +Lechester. It was true that the prisoner being a lunatic would escape the +extreme penalty of the law, but it was very desirable to learn all that could +be known of poor Lady Agnes. Marese had to be satisfied, and to listen while +Aymer, in clear, forcible language, told his story, hinting broadly at +Marese’s complicity in the death of Jason Waldron, and describing the +manner in which he had been trapped, and his escape. The Bench listened with an +incredulous air, as well they might. The man was evidently mad—quite mad. +Finally, Aymer came to his arrival at Belthrop late in the afternoon of the day +after he had got out of the asylum. Finding Violet was not at Hannah +Bond’s, and greatly alarmed, he was at a loss what to do. To go back to +Stirmingham was extremely dangerous for fear of re-capture, and he hesitated +for a while. At last, after partaking of refreshment given to him by old +Hannah, he had started for Barnham with the intention of calling on Mr +Broughton and taking his advice. Halfway to Barnham it had occurred to him that +perhaps Violet after all was at The Towers, and he diverged from his course and +approached the mansion, as he supposed, about one in the morning. He saw a +number of people about and in commotion, and afraid of being recognised and +captured altered his mind again, and turned to go to Barnham across the Downs. +In doing so he admitted that he had passed near “The Pot,” but not +at the time stated by the ploughboy—half-past seven in the +evening—but half-past one in the morning. As he walked through the grass +he saw something glistening, and picked up the tin whistle found upon him. He +should not have taken the trouble to carry it away had it not been for the +curious figures on it, which, being a light night, he could just distinguish. +As he came up the side of the Downs, just as he passed The Giant’s +Ring—i.e., a circle of stones set on edge—some ancient +monument—he was overtaken by the dog Dando, who jumped and fawned upon +him with delight as an old friend, and followed him to Barnham where he was +captured by the police. He had resisted them because he thought they were under +orders to return him to the asylum. The dog Dando limped a little, and he had +noticed that his back showed signs of a severe recent beating. Hannah Bond +could prove that he did not leave Belthrop till nearly or quite eight, and it +was impossible for him to get to “The Pot,” ten miles, in less than +three hours, across a rough country. His dress was dirty and torn because he +had walked quite twenty miles when arrested, and passed through several +coppices. Upon this Mr Broughton asked for bail, and offered himself in any sum +they might name. But the Bench could not get over the fact of the +asylum—the prisoner was a dangerous lunatic; even if his story was true +he was a lunatic. No; the prisoner was removed to his cell pending the +discovery of the body of Lady Lechester. All that Broughton could do was to +order his carriage and set out for Belthrop to find Hannah Bond. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Aymer. It was Violet he thought of still. But events press so quickly, it +is impossible to pause and analyse his emotion. The next day about noon, Mr +Broughton came into the cell with a grave look upon his face, and carrying a +large parcel in his hand. Aymer begged him to tell him the truth at once. Mr +Broughton told him that first the body of Lady Lechester had been found. A more +careful search by boat near “The Pot” had discovered it. Instead of +being carried down by the current, an eddy at the cave had thrown it up against +the course of the stream a few yards, and lodged it behind a boulder. There +were no marks of violence: she had simply been drowned. Secondly, he had been +to Belthrop, and found Hannah Bond’s cottage shut up, the old lady gone, +and not a trace of her to be found, though he had searched the villages for +miles round. Thirdly, the book parcel in his hand had been to London to +Aymer’s address there, and had been returned to him, Aymer having left +instructions that his letters should be sent to Mr Broughton. Upon removing the +outer wrapper, there was the name and address of Aymer Malet, Esq, written in +the handwriting of the dead Lady Lechester. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol_3_chap_14"></a>Chapter Fourteen.</h2> + +<p> +Fulk had a difficult game to play. In the first place, his motions were +restricted by the dread of Marese’s emissaries: he could only go out at +night. He wished to preserve Violet from a knowledge of Aymer’s +misfortune, and yet to go to work himself to release his friend. The first +thing to do was to get Hannah Bond to The Place, for clearly Violet could not +remain there alone with him. Knowing the country well, he had no difficulty on +the night after their arrival—the very night after the preliminary +examination of Aymer Malet—in finding his way to Belthrop. He explained +the circumstances to Hannah, who at once packed up a few things, and walked +back with him over the Downs to The Place, without awakening one of her +neighbours. This was how Hannah Bond disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +Fulk’s knowledge of the circumstances under which Aymer had been arrested +was very meagre, but on the third day the <i>Barnham Chronicle</i> came out, +and Hannah got him a copy. In it was a full, almost verbatim, account of the +preliminary examination, furnished, in fact, by Mr Broughton. Over this paper +Fulk spent the greater part of the night thinking. He shut himself up in a room +at The Place on the pretence that he had letters to write, and studied the +report, line for line and word for word. After an hour or two, his eye became +irresistibly attracted by a little paragraph in small type, evidently added at +the last moment before going to press. It was but a few lines, announcing that +the dog Dando had again disappeared from The Towers. He had been chained up +carefully as was supposed, but he had gone in the night. This little paragraph +fixed Fulk’s attention. He tried to follow the dog’s motions. Why, +when Lady Lechester fell down “The Pot,” did not the dog return to +The Towers? Why did he turn up at The Giant’s Ring, with a limp in one +leg, as if from a kick, and his back bearing marks of a severe beating? How +came that odd and peculiar whistle in the grass—how came there to be two +men in grey, one at half-past seven, the other at half-past one? The ploughboy +had heard a peculiar whistling. By degrees the conviction forced itself into +his mind that the other than in grey—the half-past seven man—must +have been no other than his cousin Odo. All the facts answered to such a +theory. A tallish man, playing upon a tin whistle; the dog—the dog was of +the very breed that Odo had such a fancy for. The beating—doubtless the +dog had been attracted by Odo, but had refused to obey him, and had been kicked +and thrashed till he ran off, and crossed Aymer’s path. The Giant’s +Ring had actually been one of Odo’s favourite haunts before he was +confined. It was a wild and desolate spot. Fulk saw it all now clearly. +Obviously Odo was still lingering about, perhaps trying to find the whistle he +had dropped—obviously Odo had stolen the dog Dando from the The Towers a +second time. If he could find Dando, he could find Odo; and Odo found, then +Aymer’s release was a matter of time only. Fulk meditated, and at last +resolved upon his course—he would visit the haunts which he knew Odo used +to favour. But Odo was a strong and powerful man, endowed with singular +physical strength, Fulk was little, and by no means strong. Art must conquer +Nature. Fulk prepared a cord with a noose, the use of which he had learnt years +and years before in a trip to South America. It was a lasso, in fact. +</p> + +<p> +Then followed an anxious time. Violet grew more and more restless. Although The +Place was so retired, yet people began to know that it was again inhabited. +Fulk had heard of strangers being seen about, and he at once guessed that +Marese had his spies searching for Aymer Malet’s companion in the escape. +Every night he went out upon his strange errand, hunting the wild man of the +woods. Meantime, an inquest was held upon poor Lady Lechester, and a verdict of +murder returned against Aymer Malet. Days and nights passed, and hunt and +search how he would, still Odo eluded him. +</p> + +<p> +It was a warm, beautiful evening. The same lucent planet that had so often +shone upon Lady Lechester during her visit to the fatal “Pot,” +glittered in the western sky: but its beams were somewhat dimmed by the new +moon, whose crescent was on the point of disappearing below the horizon. Fulk, +pushing slowly and sadly through the woods and copses, inhaled the fragrance of +the pine tree. The rabbits scattered at his approach; now and then a wood +pigeon rose into the air, with a tremendous clatter. In the open it was still +light; under the trees a dusky shadow brooded. At a distance, he could faintly +hear the sound of rushing water, and the fidgety chirping of the restless +brook-sparrows and sedge-warblers. Suddenly there rose a shrill, piping sound; +and Fulk started, and his heart for a moment stood still. He listened; then +came a strange weird music—if music it could be called—for in its +indescribable cadences it reminded him of the playing of the savages in far-off +shores, visited years ago. But he recognised it in an instant. He had heard Odo +play similar notes when they were boys. Gently, gently, he crept through the +brushwood, and holding a branch aside, looked down from the bank upon the +stream. It rushed along swiftly with a murmuring sound, reflecting upon its +surface the image of the bright planet. The sedges and reeds rustled in the +light breeze; and there was Odo. Across the stream there was a fallen +tree—the very tree Odo had loved in his youth—and astride upon that +tree sat the Beast-Man, his feet nearly touching the water, playing upon a tin +whistle. Before him was the dog Dando, standing on his hind legs, and moving in +grotesque time to the music. Odo reproached the dog, and told him that he was +an unworthy son of his father, and could not dance half so well—had he +already forgotten his beating? But perhaps it was the fault of his whistle. Ah, +he had lost his best whistle—the one he had made with selected tin, and +ornamented with pictures of his dogs—among them Dando’s father, who +danced so much better. Then he muttered incoherent, half-articulate sounds to +the dog, sighed deeply, and began to play again. Poor Odo! +</p> + +<p> +Fulk hesitated. There was a large soul in his little body—he pitied the +poor fellow before him from the bottom of his heart. All that singular being +wanted was the open air, and freedom to play his tin whistle, fondle his dogs, +roam in the woods, and tinker up pots and kettles. Had he been permitted to +follow these inclinations, it was doubtful if he would ever have committed +crime; but civilisation would not permit it. For a whole year he had been +roaming from wood to wood, from wilderness to wilderness, whistling, tinkering +sometimes, always happy in simple freedom. Probably he had destroyed Lady Agnes +to obtain the dog, the progenitor of which appeared to have been a favourite in +old times. But Fulk reflected that, while he hesitated, Aymer languished in the +cell, Violet was wearing her heart out, and his own liberty was endangered. +Moreover, there was a duty to society: such beings must not go wholly at large, +or no one would be safe. +</p> + +<p> +The lasso hissed through the air, the noose dropped round Odo’s neck, and +was drawn tight in an instant. It had taken his neck and one shoulder. He +roared aloud with pain and anger, but the cord choked him. His arms struck out, +but he had nothing to grasp. He was dragged on shore in a moment. He +floundered—leapt up, and fell again, tearing at the rope like a wild +beast taken in the toils. With a swift, dexterous turn of the hand, Fulk wound +the cord about his arms and legs, much as a spider might its web about a fly, +till Odo lay panting on the sward, helpless, but still hoarsely murmuring and +grunting. Then Fulk loosened the lasso round his neck, and proceeded to tie the +limbs tighten, finally binding him hard and fast to a tree. Odo’s frame +quivered; and Fulk, in the dim light, fancied that great tears gathered in his +eyes. After binding Odo, there was still a piece of the rope left: with this +Fulk secured the dog, which, frightened and astonished, had cowered on the +earth. Dando evidently had no affection for Odo: he had been wiled away by +gipsy arts only. Then, leading Dando, Fulk set off at a run, tearing through +wood and hedge, mounting the steep Downs, fast as his strength could carry him, +away for Barnham town. +</p> + +<p> +At that very time, late into the night, Mr Broughton was conferring with the +prisoner in his cell. He had been sent for in haste, and went quickly fearing +lest Aymer should be ill. The parcel addressed to Aymer Malet in Lady +Lechester’s handwriting was a large antique Bible, which Aymer recognised +in a moment as having belonged to old Jenkins, the gardener at The Place. He +had seen it lying about, but had taken no notice of it. It was in fact the very +Bible Lady Agnes had purchased of the gardener’s wife when left in +destitution by her husband’s imprisonment. Inside the Bible was a short +formal note, dated the very day in the evening of which Lady Agnes was drowned, +stating that the writer when she bought the book was unaware to whom it had +belonged, and therefore returned it to Aymer’s address—not knowing +Violet’s—as she desired to retain nothing of theirs. She added that +she would return the dog Dando if they would receive it, and tell her where to +send it. Aymer, having no occupation in his cell but melancholy thoughts and +anxious cares about Violet, naturally turned over the leaves of the noble old +book, and looking at it closer than before he found at the end, upon one of the +spare leaves, a curious inscription which purported to be a copy from a tomb. +It was in Latin, English, and Greek—a strange, fantastic +mixture—and when translated, read to the effect that Arthur Sibbold +Waldron, whilom of Wolf’s Glow, born Sibbold, afterwards Sibbold Waldron, +was married at Saint S— Church, Middlesex, and was buried at Penge in +Kent—with dates, and the usual sentiments. The entry in the Bible simply +added: “Copy of ye inscription, now defaced. Mem. To have the same +re-cut. B.W.” Here was the clue Aymer had searched for in vain, thrown +into his hands, by the operation of those strange and mysterious circumstances +over which no one has any control. He sent for Mr Broughton; and so it was that +when Fulk found that gentleman it was in the cell. The surprise of Aymer, and +his pleasure at seeing Fulk, his still greater joy and relief when Fulk in his +first sentence announced that Violet was safe, can easily be imagined. Mr +Broughton had no sooner heard Fulk’s explanation than he at once +comprehended the importance of securing Odo. He and Fulk with two assistants +drove as near the wood as practicable, and after much trouble safely lodged the +unfortunate lunatic in the hands of the police. Fulk remained with Broughton, +who very considerately went in his carriage in the morning over to The Place, +and brought Violet and Hannah Bond to his own private residence in Barnham. +</p> + +<p> +At the inquiry that followed, the first step was the release of Aymer on bail, +on the testimony of Hannah Bond, that he had not left the cottage at Belthrop +till eight o’clock. The ploughboy, when shown Odo, at once declared that +this was the man he had seen—“A’ had such mortal big +ears—a’ minded that, now.” And Marese? His position became +extremely awkward. It was easy to declare that Aymer was a lunatic; but when +Fulk was produced—when the clever escape was related in exactly the same +manner by both—when Fulk added what he had overheard about the murder of +Jason Waldron, Marese could not but notice that the magistrates and the Court +looked coldly upon him. He claimed them both as escaped lunatics. Said the +Bench— +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t see what right you have to them. The owner of the asylum +is dead. We will take it upon ourselves to say, that the lunatics, for +lunatics, have a remarkably sane way of talking.” +</p> + +<p> +The result was, that Marese withdrew; the more he meddled with the matter, the +worse it became for him. To add to the evil complexion of affairs, Odo +confessed in his cell to the murder of Jason Waldron. He strenuously denied +having touched Lady Agnes; he declared that his sole object was the dog. The +dog was the descendant of an old favourite, and he had once followed Miss +Merton to Torquay to get it. But as he stole round from behind the oak trunk to +seize the dog, Lady Agnes saw him, started, missed her footing, and fell down +“The Pot.” He knew her—she was his cousin, and he had no +feeling against her. In all probability this story was true, as no marks of +violence were found on the body. But he frankly confessed hitting Jason Waldron +on the head with the bill-hook; and stated exactly what Fulk had already +said—that he was told by Theodore Marese, if he killed that man, <i>and +his daughter</i> (Aymer shuddered), he should be always free. He had laid in +wait for the daughter; but she was out of his reach at The Towers. +</p> + +<p> +Odo concluded with a cunning wink, and called Mr Broughton to come near. He +whispered to him that he should be the richest man in the world if he would +give him liberty. Broughton humoured the miserable creature, and told the rest +to leave the cell. +</p> + +<p> +Then Odo disclosed his bribe. He said that years ago the gipsies with whom he +consorted had shown him a deed, to which they attached a species of +superstitious reverence, and asked him to read it, it being in law characters, +and in Latin. It was a deed conferring an entail upon the estate at Wolfs +Glow—“the very estate,” whispered Odo, “that all the +people are trying for.” +</p> + +<p> +Odo ascertained that this deed had been stolen by Romy Baskette’s elder +brother—the man who, with his mother, left the Swamp when old Will +Baskette was shot—stolen with the intention of injuring the Sibbolds, his +father’s murderers. He had watched old Sibbold poring over this deed, +therefore thought it valuable, seized his opportunity, and stole it. With the +strangest, maddest mixture of shrewdness and lunacy, Odo in his turn stole the +deed from the gipsies who had preserved it, and held it, to be used as a bribe +in case he should be captured. He now offered it to Broughton, if Broughton +would only let him go free. +</p> + +<p> +The lawyer must be forgiven if he told a falsehood, and promised. Odo told him +where the deed was hidden; and, as he had described, so they found it. In that +tree which had fallen across the stream where he had used to sit astride and +whistle, halfway across was a knot. This knot with his tools he had cut +out—excavated a cavity, and used the knot to hide it; so that the closest +inspection must have failed to find it. They found the tree and the knot. They +got the knot out; there was a small tin box—Odo’s own +workmanship—and in the box was the long-lost deed. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Odo of course never got his freedom; but there were friends who saw that +he was as well cared for as under the circumstances was possible. Who could +harbour revenge against such a creature? He was but the instrument in the hands +of others, and not truly guilty of poor Jason’s death. That lay at the +door of Marese and Theodore. Theodore was dead. Morally speaking, Fulk slew +Marese. He wrote a full account of what he had overheard, and it was published +in a great London paper. The asylum was searched, and the holes in the wall +found as described. By this letter Fulk secured two objects: first his own +liberty in future—for popular opinion rose with irresistible violence in +his favour; secondly, he destroyed Marese. Yet it was not the murder of Jason +Waldron which did it; it was the <i>Lucca</i>. There were people who had lost +heavily over the <i>Lucca</i>, these people pursued Marese Baskette, threatened +him with criminal, civil, and every kind of proceedings. He fled, escaping +arrest by a few hours only, taking with him five thousand pounds in gold. He is +believed to have reached California, but has not been heard of since. Whether +the Nemesis of these modern days—“circumstances over which we have +no control”—engulfed him in still deadlier ruin, was never known. +His fall, as it was, was great indeed. +</p> + +<p> +By the death of Lady Agnes Lechester, Fulk succeeded to her estates, which, +added to those already his, made him one of the largest landholders in the +county. If he survives Odo, he will be a still more wealthy man. He never left +Aymer’s side till all was well. +</p> + +<p> +Aymer and Violet were married in the autumn—married in the quietest +manner, and, aided pecuniarily by Fulk, left for the south of France, there to +try and efface the memory of the awful event that had embittered the path of +their love. Fulk joined them with a yacht two months later on. They are very, +very happy, but it is in a subdued and quiet manner. It is hardly possible for +them yet, even in the sunny south, to feel so abundantly joyous as would be +natural to their youth. But as the time rolls on they will gradually supplant +the old unhappy memories with fresh and pleasant pictures. +</p> + +<p> +The last letter from Fulk announced that the sea breezes and the fresh air had +begun to work wonders with his complexion, and that he hoped ere long to throw +off the horrid yellow produced by his confinement, and resume his proper +colour. That was natural in Fulk; the proverb says that little men are often +conceited. Yellow or rosy, or brown, he will always be the dearest friend of +Aymer and Violet. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +And the great estate—the city of Stirmingham? To this very hour that +Gordian knot remains untied; to this very hour claimants every now and then +startle the world with extraordinary statements; and the companies having +nothing else to do, have fallen to loggerheads between themselves, and spend +their vast incomes in litigation. But aided by Fulk’s money, and the +influence his family connections possessed, Violet did at last receive a +portion of her rights; the chain of evidence proving her descent from Arthur +Sibbold was completed down to the smallest link. +</p> + +<p> +The Corporation of Stirmingham, after much law and talk, were finally compelled +to acknowledge her claim. By arbitration it was settled that they were to pay +her eight thousand pounds per annum for ten years, and at the expiration of +that period, ten thousand pounds per annum to herself and heirs, in perpetual +ground rent. The companies still hold out, but it is only as to the amount they +shall contribute in the same way; and they will have to come to terms. Violet +will thus receive a large income without compromising her rights, which are +specially reserved. She has not forgotten poor Jenkins, whose Bible gave the +clue to the register of Arthur Sibbold’s marriage. The old man is at last +recompensed for his long-suffering—the imprisonment expired in due time. +He and his wife live in the old cottage at The Place, tending the gardens as of +yore, being made comfortable with an ample provision from Violet. +</p> + +<p> +Violet and Aymer once a year visit The Place and the tomb of poor Jason. They +have taken a mansion at Tunbridge Wells, but spend much time in Aymer’s +beloved Florence, with Fulk. They love the old house, and yet they do not care +to live where everything recalls such gloomy memories as at The Place. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +The End. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD’S END ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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