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diff --git a/37107-h/37107-h.htm b/37107-h/37107-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..589d9fb --- /dev/null +++ b/37107-h/37107-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14531 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Life For A Love, by L.T. Meade. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} +hr.double { + /* width and margins inherited from default rule */ + padding: 4px 0 0 0; /* pad value creates inter-border space */ + border-top: 1px solid black; + border-bottom: 1px solid black; + border-left: none; border-right:none; +} + +.lg { + font-size: 150%; + letter-spacing: 3px; +} + +.sm { + font-size: 65%; + letter-spacing: 1px; +} +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.price { + position: absolute; + font-variant: small-caps; + left: 78%; + text-align: right; + margin-top: -1em; +} +.price1 { + position: absolute; + + left: 78%; + text-align: right; + +} +.price2 { + position: absolute; + + left: 75%; + text-align: right; + +} +.author { + position: absolute; + left: 74%; + text-align: right; + margin-top:-1.5em; +} +.right { + position: absolute; + left: 50%; + text-align: right; + +} +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 15%; + padding-bottom: 1.5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 0em; + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-top: 0em; + font-size: 150%; + color: black; + + +} + + + + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {width: 30%; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + border: solid 2px;} + +.cbox {width: 70%; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + border: solid 2px;} + +.dbox {width: 70%; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3.5em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 1em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .poem span.i5 { + display: block; + margin-left: 5em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .poem span.i12 { + display: block; + margin-left: 12em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Life For a Love, by L. T. Meade + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Life For a Love + A Novel + +Author: L. T. Meade + +Release Date: August 16, 2011 [EBook #37107] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LIFE FOR A LOVE *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Ron Stephens and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions +(www.canadiana.org)) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + + + + + + +<h1>A LIFE FOR A LOVE.</h1> + +<p class="center">A NOVEL</p> + +<h5>BY</h5> + +<h2>L.T. MEADE,</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Author of "Heart of Gold," "A Girl of the People," +etc., etc.</i><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<p class="center"><br /><br /><br /><br /><span class="smcap">Montreal</span>:</p> + +<p class="center">JOHN LOVELL & SON,</p> + +<p class="center">23 <span class="smcap">St. Nicholas Street</span>.<br /><br /></p> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p class="center">Entered according to Act of Parliament in the year 1891, by +John Lovell & Son, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture +and Statistics at Ottawa.<br /><br /><br /></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>JOHN LOVELL & SON'S PUBLICATIONS.</h2> + + +<div><big><b>April's Lady.</b></big></div><div class="author">By<span class="smcap"> The Duchess.</span></div> + + +<p>A story written in the author's most striking vein, highly +original and deeply interesting, and certainly not the least entertaining +of her works.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>By Order of the Czar.</b></big></div><div class="author">By<span class="smcap"> Jos. Hatton.</span></div> +<p>A thrilling story of Russian outrages on the Jews, of Nihilistic +plotting and revenge. It admirably supplements the papers +of George Kennan, which have filled so much of the public eye of +late.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>The Lady Egeria.</b></big></div><div class="author">By <span class="smcap">John Berwick Howard.</span></div> + +<p>This book is avowedly of the sensational kind, and of a different +class of fiction from the author's previous story of "Paul Knox. +Pitman;" the dramatic passages and vivid description of Indian +life and scenery are exceptionally fine.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>Syrlin.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Ouida</span>.</div> + +<p>A tale of London social and political life. A characteristic +Ouida novel, not too highly spiced, and holds the attention +throughout.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>The Burnt Million.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">James Payn</span>.</div> + +<p>The delicate suggestive humor and quiet sarcasm, combined +with a good plot, makes every chapter of this book a delight. +</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>Her Last Throw.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">The Duchess</span>.</div> + +<p>Like all the works from the pen of this popular author, this +little book is a gem in the ocean of fiction. </p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>A Scarlet Sin.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Florence Marryat</span>.</div> + +<p>An exceedingly interesting and readable book. +</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + + +<div><big><b>The Haute Noblesse.</b></big></div><div class="author">By <span class="smcap">Geo. Manville Fenn</span>.</div> + +<p>A cleverly written book, with exceptional characters. The +plot and description of scenery are alike inimitable.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>Buttons and Bootles' Baby.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">John Strange Winter</span>.</div> + +<p>Two military tales, abounding in the most grotesque situations +and humorous touches, which will greatly amuse the +reader.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>Mount Eden.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Florence Marryat</span>.</div> + +<p>A charming romance of English life, and probably the +greatest effort of this popular authoress.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>Hedri, or Blind Justice.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Helen Mathers</span>.</div> + +<p>An exciting story in which love plays only a secondary part. +All who enjoy a first-class story cannot fail to be interested, and +the many admirers of Helen Mathers will find a new treasure in +this work.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>Joshua.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Georg Ebers</span>.</div> + +<p>A story of Egyptian-Israelitish life which will bear favorable +comparison with Ben-Hur and other high-class books of the same +style. The description of the flight of the children of Israel from +Egypt, and their subsequent wanderings in the desert, are placed +before the reader in a startlingly realistic manner.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>Hester Hepworth.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Kate Tannatt Woods</span>.</div> + +<p>This work treats of the superstitious times of 1692, when +witchcraft was punished with death. It tends to arouse one's +sympathy, and will be read with much interest and profit.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + +<h2>LOVELL'S</h2> +<h1>CANADIAN COPYRIGHT SERIES</h1> +<h3>OF CHOICE FICTION.</h3> + + +<p>The Series now numbers over 60 books, and contains the latest +jewels of such well-known authors as</p> + +<p> +<b>Ouida, The Duchess, Geo. Manville Fenn.<br /> + Rosa Nouchette Carey, Florence Marryat,<br /> + A. Conan Doyle, Georg Ebers, James Payn,<br /> + Miss Braddon, Frank Barrett, Mrs. Alexander,<br /> +Edna Lyall, Katherine S. Macquoid, G.M. Robins,<br /> + G.A. Henty, Adeline Sergeant, Mona Caird,<br /> + John Strange Winter, Joseph Hatton,<br /> + Dora Russell, Julian Sturgis,<br /> + Kate Tannatt Woods,<br /> +Florence Warden, Annie Thomas,<br /> + W.E. Norris, Helen Mathers,<br /> + Jessie Fothergill, Hall Caine,<br /> + Oswald Crawfurd, Rhoda Broughton,<br /> + F.C. Phillips, Robert Buchanan,<br /> +Charles Gibbon, L.T. Meade, John Berwick Harwood,<br /></b> +</p> + +<p>From whose pens books have been issued during the past year, and +others now in preparation, make the Series the best in the Dominion.</p> + +<p>The books are printed on good paper with new type.</p> + +<p>All the books are published by arrangement with the authors, +to whom a royalty is paid, and are issued simultaneously with +their publication in England.</p> + +<p>For sale at all Bookstores.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + +<h2>COVERNTON'S SPECIALTIES.</h2> + +<div class="bbox"><p class="center"><big><b>Good Morning!</b></big></p></div> + +<p class="center">HAVE you used <span class="smcap">Covernton's</span> Celebrated</p> + +<p class="center"><big>FRAGRANT CARBOLIC TOOTH WASH.</big></p> + +<p class="center">For Cleansing and Preserving the Teeth, Hardening the +Gums, etc. Highly recommended by the leading Dentists +of the City. Price, 25c., 50c. and $1.00 a bottle.</p> + +<p class="center"><big>COVERNTON'S SYRUP OF WILD CHERRY.</big></p> + +<p class="center">For Coughs, Colds, Asthma, Bronchitis, etc. Price <b>25c.</b></p> + +<p class="center"><big>COVERNTON'S AROMATIC BLACKBERRY +CARMINATIVE.</big></p> + +<p class="center">For Diarrhœa, Cholera Morbus, Dysentery, etc. Price <b>25c.</b></p> + +<p class="center"><big>COVERNTON'S NIPPLE OIL.</big></p> + +<p class="center">For Cracked or Sore Nipples. Price <b>25c.</b></p> + + +<div class="bbox"><p class="center"><big><b>GOOD EVENING!</b></big></p></div> + +<p class="center">USE</p> + +<p class="center">COVERNTON'S ALPINE CREAM</p> + +<p class="center">for Chapped Hands, Sore Lips, Sunburn, Tan, Freckles, +etc. A most delightful preparation for the Toilet. Price <b>25c.</b></p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p class="center"> +<big><b>C.J. COVERNTON & CO.,</b></big><br /> +<b>Dispensing Chemists.<br /> +CORNER OF BLEURY AND DORCHESTER STREETS,</b><br /> +<i>Branch, 469 St. Lawrence Street,</i>,<br /> +<b>MONTREAL</b>.<br /></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + + + +<h1>A LIFE FOR A LOVE.</h1> + + + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + + +<p>The time was July, and the roses were out in great profusion +in the rectory garden. The garden was large, +somewhat untidily kept, but it abounded in all sweet old-fashioned +flowers; there was the invariable tennis-court, +empty just now, and a sweet sound of children laughing and +playing together, in a hay-field near by. The roses were +showering their petals all over the grass, and two girls, +sisters evidently, were pacing up the broad walk in the +centre of the garden arm-in-arm. They were dark-eyed +girls, with chestnut, curling hair, rosy lips full of curves +and smiles, and round, good-humored faces. They were +talking eagerly and excitedly one to the other, not taking +the smallest notice of the scene around them—not even +replying when some children in the hay-field shouted their +names, but coming at last to a full stand-still before the +open window of the old-fashioned rectory study. Two +men were standing under the deep-mullioned window; one +tall, slightly bent, with silvery-white hair, aquiline features, +and dark brown eyes like the girls. He was the Rector of +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and the man he was addressing was +his only son, and the brother of the eager bright-looking +girls.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can't understand it, Gerald," he was saying. "No, +don't come in at present, my dears;" he waved his white, +delicate hand to his daughters. "We'll join you in the +tennis-court presently. Yes, Gerald, as I was saying, it +seems the most incomprehensible and unheard-of arrangement."</p> + +<p>The girls smiled gently, first into their brother's face, +then at one another. They moved away, going through a +little shrubbery, and passing out into a large kitchen garden, +where Betty, the old cook, was now standing, picking +raspberries and currants into a pie-dish.</p> + +<p>"Betty," said Lilias, the eldest girl, "has Martha dusted +our trunks and taken them upstairs yet? And has Susan +sent up the laces and the frilled things? We want to set +to work packing, as soon as ever the children are in bed."</p> + +<p>"Bless your hearts, then," said old Betty, laying her pie-dish +on the ground, and dropping huge ripe raspberries into +it with a slow deliberate movement, "if you think that +children will go to bed on the finest day of the year any +time within reason, you're fine and mistook, that's all. +Why, Miss Joey, she was round in the garden but now, +and they're all a-going to have tea in the hay-field, and no +end of butter they'll eat, and a whole batch of my fresh +cakes. Oh, weary, weary me, but children's mouths are +never full—chattering, restless, untoward things are children. +Don't you never go to get married, Miss Marjory."</p> + +<p>"I'll follow your example, Betty," laughed back Marjory +Wyndham. "I knew that would fetch the old thing," +she continued, turning to her sister. "She does hate to +be reminded that she's an old maid, but she brings it on +herself by abusing matrimony in that ridiculous fashion."</p> + +<p>"It's all because of Gerald," answered Lilias—"she is +perfectly wild to think of Gerald's going away from us, and +taking up his abode in London with those rich Pagets. I +call it odious, too—I almost feel to-night as if I hated Va<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>lentine. +If Gerald had not fallen in love with her, things +would have been different. He'd have taken Holy Orders, +and he'd have been ordained for the curacy of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, +and then he need never have gone away. Oh. +I hate—I detest to think of the rectory without Gerald."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lilias," replied Marjory, "you really are—you +really—you really are——"</p> + +<p>"What, miss? Speak out, or I'll shake you, or pinch +you, or do something malicious. I warn you that I am +quite in the mood."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll stand here," said Marjory, springing to the +other side of a great glowing bed of many-colored sweet-williams. +"Here your arm can't reach across these. I +will say of you, Lilias Wyndham, that you are without exception +the most contradictory and inconsistent person of +my acquaintance. Here were you, a year ago, crying and +sobbing on your knees because Gerald couldn't marry +Valentine, and now, when it's all arranged, and the wedding +is to be the day after to-morrow, and we have got our promised +trip to London, and those lovely brides-maid dresses—made +by Valentine's own express desire at Elise's—you +turn round and are grumpy and discontented. Don't you +know, you foolish silly Lilias, that if Gerald had never +fallen in love with Valentine Paget he'd have met someone +else, and if he was father's curate, those horrid Mortimer +girls and those ugly Pelhams would have one and all tried +to get him. We can't keep Gerald to ourselves for ever, +so there's no use fretting about the inevitable, say I."</p> + +<p>Lilias' full red lips were pouting; she stooped, and recklessly +gathering a handful of sweet-williams, flung them at +her sister.</p> + +<p>"I own to being inconsistent," she said, "I own to +being cross—I own to hating Valentine for this night at +least, for it just tears my heart to give Gerald up."</p> + +<p>There were real tears now in the bright, curly-fringed +eyes and the would-be-defiant voice trembled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> + +<p>Marjory shook the sweet-william petals off her dress.</p> + +<p>"Come into the house," she said in a softened tone. +"Father and Gerald must have finished that prosy discussion +by now. Oh, do hark to those children's voices; +what rampageous, excitable creatures they are. Lilly, did +we ever shout in such shrill tones? That must be Augusta: +no one else has a voice which sounds like the scraping of +a coal-scoop in an empty coal-hod. Oh, of course that +high laugh belongs to Joey. Aren't they feeding, and +wrangling, and fighting? I am quite sure, Lil, that Betty +is right, and they won't turn in for hours; we had better +go and do our packing now."</p> + +<p>"No, I see Gerald," exclaimed Lilias. And she flew up +the narrow box-lined path to meet her brother.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + + +<p>Gerald Wyndham was not in the least like his rosy, +fresh-looking sisters. He was tall and slenderly made, with +very thick and rather light-brown hair, which stood up +high over his low, white forehead—his eyes were large, but +were deeply set, they were grey, not brown, in repose were +dreaming in expression, but when he spoke, or when any +special thought came to him, they grew intensely earnest, +luminous and beautiful. The changing expression of his +eyes was the chief charm of a highly sensitive and refined +face—a face remarkable in many ways, for the breadth of +his forehead alone gave it character, but with some weak +lines about the finely cut lips. This weakness was now, +however, hidden by a long, silken moustache. Lilias and +Marjory thought Gerald's face the most beautiful in the +world, and most people acknowledged him to be handsome, +although his shoulders were scarcely broad enough for his +height, and his whole figure was somewhat loosely hung +together.</p> + +<p>"Here you are at last," exclaimed Lilias, linking her +hand in her brother's arm. "Here, take his other arm. +Maggie. Oh, when, and oh, when, and oh, when shall we +have him to ourselves again, I wonder?"</p> + +<p>"You little goose," said Gerald. He shook himself as +if he were half in a dream, and looked fondly down into +Lilias' pretty dimpled, excitable face. "Well, girls, are the +trunks packed, and have you put in plenty of finery? I +promise you Mr. Paget will give a dinner-party every night—you'll +want heaps of fine clothes while you stay at +Queen's Gate."</p> + +<p>Marjory began to count on her fingers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We arrive on Wednesday," she said. "On Wednesday +evening, dinner number one, we wear our white Indian +muslins, with the Liberty sashes, and flowers brought up +from the dear old garden. Thursday evening, dinner number +two, and evening of wedding day, our bridesmaids' +toggery must suffice; Friday, dinner number three, those +blue nun's veiling dresses will appear and charm the eyes. +That's all. Three dresses for three dinners, for it's home, +sweet home again on Saturday—isn't it, Lilias?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Lilias, "that is, I suppose so," she +added, glancing at her brother.</p> + +<p>"Valentine wanted to know if you would stay in town +for a week or ten days, and try to cheer up her father," +said Gerald. "Mr. Paget and Valentine have scarcely +been parted for a single day since she was born. Valentine +is quite in a state at having to leave him for a month, +and she thinks two bright little girls like you may comfort +him somewhat."</p> + +<p>"But we have our own father to see to," pouted Marjory; +"and Sunday school, and choir practising, and the library +books——"</p> + +<p>"And I don't see how Valentine can mind leaving her +father—if he were the very dearest father in the world—when +she goes away with you," interrupted Lilias.</p> + +<p>Gerald sighed, just the faintest shadow of an impatient +sigh, accompanied by the slightest shrug of his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Augusta can give out the library books," he said. +"Miss Queen can manage the choir. I will ask Jones to +take your class, Lilias, and Miss Peters can manage yours +with her own, Marjory. As to the rector, what is the use +of having five young daughters, if they cannot be made +available for once in a way? And here they come, and +there's the governor in the midst of them. He doesn't +look as if he were likely to taste the sweets of solitude, eh. +Marjory?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<p>Not at that moment, certainly, for a girl hung on each +arm, and a smaller girl sat aloft on each square shoulder, +while a fifth shouted and raced, now in front, now behind, +pelting this moving pyramid of human beings with flowers, +and screaming even more shrilly than her sisters, with eager +exclamation and bubbling laughter.</p> + +<p>"There's Gerry," exclaimed Augusta.</p> + +<p>She was the tallest of the party, with a great stretch of +stockinged legs, and a decided scarcity of skirts. She flew +at her brother, flung her arms round his neck and kissed +him rapturously.</p> + +<p>"You darling old Gerry—don't we all just hate and +detest that horrible Valentine Paget."</p> + +<p>"Hush, Gussie," responded Gerald, in his quiet voice. +"You don't know Valentine, and you pain me when you +talk of her in that senseless fashion. Here, have a race +with your big brother to the other end of the garden. +Girls," turning to his elder sisters—"seriously speaking I +should like you to spend about a fortnight with the Pagets. +And had you not better go and pack, for we must catch +the eleven o'clock train to-morrow morning. Now, Gussie—one, +two, three, and away."</p> + +<p>Two pairs of long legs, each working hard to come off +victorious in the race, flew past the group—the rector and +the little girls cheered and shouted—Marjory and Lilias, +laughing at the sight, turned slowly and went into the +house; Gerald won the race by a foot or two, and Gussie +flung herself panting and laughing on the grass at the other +end of the long walk.</p> + +<p>"Well done, Augusta," said her brother. "You study +athletics to a purpose. Now, Gussie, can't you manage to +give away the library books on Sunday?"</p> + +<p>"I? You don't mean it?" said Augusta. Her black +eyes sparkled; she recovered her breath, and the full +dignity of her five feet five and a-half of growth on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +instant. "Am I to give away the library books, Gerry?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I want Lilias to stay in London for a few days +longer than she intended."</p> + +<p>"And Marjory too?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. The girls would not like to be parted."</p> + +<p>"Galuptions! Won't I have a time of it all round! +Won't I give old Peters a novel instead of his favorite +Sunday magazines? And won't I smuggle Pailey's Evidences +of Christianity into the hand of Alice Jones, the +dressmaker. She says the only books she cares for are +Wilkie Collins 'Woman in White,' and the 'Dead Secret,' +so she'll have a lively time of it with the Evidences. Then +there's 'Butler's Analogy,' it isn't in the parish library, +but I'll borrow it for once from father's study. That will +exactly suit Rhoda Fleming. Oh, what fun, what fun. I +won't take a single story-book with me, except the 'Woman +in White,' for Peters. He says novels are 'rank poison,' so +he shall have his dose."</p> + +<p>"Now look here, Gussie," said Gerald, taking his sister's +two hands in his, and holding them tight—"you've got to +please me about the library books, and not to play pranks, +and make things disagreeable for Lilias when she comes +back. You're thirteen now, and a big girl, and you ought +to act like one. You're to make things comfortable for the +dear old pater while we are all away, and you'll do it if +you care for me, Gussie."</p> + +<p>"Care for you!" echoed Augusta. "I love you, Gerry. +I love you, and I hate——"</p> + +<p>"No, don't say that," said Gerald, putting his hand on +the girl's mouth.</p> + +<p>Gussie looked droll and submissive.</p> + +<p>"It is so funny," she exclaimed at length.</p> + +<p>"You can explain that as we walk back to the house," +responded her brother.</p> + +<p>"Why, Gerry, to see you so frightfully in love! You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[ 13]</a></span> +are, aren't you? You have all the symptoms—oh, before +I——"</p> + +<p>"I love Valentine," responded Gerald. "That is a subject +I cannot discuss with you, Augusta. When you know +her you will love her too. I am going to bring her here in +the autumn, and then I shall want you all to be good to her, +and to let her feel that she has a great number of real sisters +at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, who will be good to her if she +needs them, by-and-bye."</p> + +<p>"As if she ever could need us," responded Gussie. +"She'll have you. Yes, I'll do my best about the books—good-night. +Gerald. Good-night, dear old darling king. +That's Miss Queen's voice. Coming, Miss Queen, coming! +Good-night, old Gerry. My love to that Val of yours. Oh, +what a nuisance it is to have ever to go to bed."</p> + +<p>Gussie's long legs soon bore her out of sight, and Gerald +stepped into the silent and now empty study. To an +initiated eye this room bore one or two marks of having +lately witnessed a mental storm. Close to the rector's +leather armchair lay a pile of carefully torn-up papers—the +family Bible, which usually occupied a place of honor on +his desk, had been pushed ruthlessly on one side, and a +valuable work on theology lay wide open and face downwards +on the floor. Otherwise the room was in perfect +order—the only absolutely neat apartment in the large old +house. Not the most daring of all the young Wyndhams +would disturb a volume here, or play any wild pranks in +the sacred precincts of the rector's study. As Gerald now +entered the room and saw these signs of mental disquiet +round Mr. Wyndham's chair, the pleasant and somewhat +cheerful look left his face, his eyes grew dark, earnest and +full of trouble, and flinging himself on the sofa, he shaded +them with his white long fingers. There was an oil painting +of a lady over the mantel-piece, and this lady had +Gerald's face. From her he inherited those peculiar and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +sensitive eyes, those somewhat hollow cheeks, and that +noble and broad white brow. From her, too, came the lips +which were curved and beautiful, and yet a little, a little +wanting in firmness. In Mrs. Wyndham the expressive +mouth only added the final touch of womanliness to a +beautiful face. In her son it would have revealed, could it +have been seen, a nature which might be led astray from +the strictest paths of honor.</p> + +<p>Wyndham sat motionless for a few moments, then springing +to his feet, he paced restlessly up and down the empty +study.</p> + +<p>"Everything is fixed and settled now," he said, under +his breath. "I'm not the first fellow who has sold himself +for the sake of a year's happiness. If my mother were +alive, though, I couldn't have done it, no, not even for +Valentine. Poor mother! She felt sure I'd have taken +Holy Orders, and worked on here with the governor in this +sleepy little corner of the world. It's a blessing she can't +be hurt by anything now, and as to the governor, he has +seven girls to comfort him. No, if I'm sorry for anyone +it's Lilias, but the thing's done now. The day +after to-morrow Val will be mine. A whole year! My +God, how short it is. My God, save and pity me, for +afterwards comes hell."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> + + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + + +<p>The human face has been often spoken of as an index of +the mind. There are people who boldly declare that they +know a man by the height of his forehead, by the set of +his eyes, by the shape of his head, and by the general expression +of his countenance. Whether this rule is true or +not, it certainly has its exceptions. As far as outward +expression goes some minds remain locked, and Satan himself +can now and then appear transformed as an angel of +light.</p> + +<p>Mortimer Paget, Esq., the head and now sole representative +of the once great ship-broking firm of Paget Brothers, +was one of the handsomest and most striking-looking +men in the city. On more than one occasion sculptors +of renown had asked to be permitted to take a cast of his +head to represent Humanity, Benevolence, Integrity, or +some other cardinal virtue. He had a high forehead, calm +velvety brown eyes, perfectly even and classical features, +and firm lips with a sweet expression. His lips were perfectly +hidden by his silvery moustache, and the shape of +his chin was not discernible, owing to his long flowing +beard. But had the beard and moustache both been removed, +no fault could have been found with the features +now hidden—they were firmly and well-moulded. On this +beautiful face no trace of a sinister cast lurked.</p> + +<p>Mortimer Paget in his business transactions was the +soul of honor. No man in the city was more looked up to +than he. He was very shrewd with regard to all money +matters, but he was also generous and kind. The old +servants belonging to the firm never cared to leave him;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +when they died off he pensioned their widows and provided +for their orphans. He was a religious man, of the +evangelical type, and he conducted his household in every +way from a religious point of view. Family prayers were +held night and morning in the great house in Queen's +Gate, and the servants were expected each and all to +attend church twice on Sundays. Mr. Paget had found a +church where the ritual was sufficiently low to please his +religious views. To this church he went himself twice on +Sundays, invariably accompanied by a tall girl, richly +dressed, who clung to his side and read out of the same +book with him, singing when he sang, and very often slipping +her little hand into his, and closing her bright eyes +when he napped unconsciously during the prosy sermon.</p> + +<p>This girl was his only child, and while he professed to +be actuated by the purest love for both God and his fellow +creatures, the one being for whom his heart really beat +warmly, the one being for whom he could gladly have +sacrificed himself was this solitary girl.</p> + +<p>Valentine's mother had died at her birth, and since that +day Valentine and her father had literally never been +parted. She was his shadow, like him in appearance, and +as far as those who knew her could guess like him in +character.</p> + +<p>The house in Queen's Gate was full of all the accompaniments +of wealth. It was richly and splendidly furnished; +the drawing-rooms were spacious, the reception +rooms were all large. Valentine had her own boudoir, +her own special school-room, her own bedroom +and dressing-room. Her father had provided a suite +of rooms for her, each communicating with the other, +but except that she tossed off her handsome dresses in the +dressing-room, and submitted at intervals during the day +with an unwilling grace to the services of her maid, and +except that she laid her bright little curling head each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +evening on the softest of down-pillows, Valentine's suite of +rooms saw very little of their young mistress.</p> + +<p>There was an old library in the back part of the house—an +essentially dull room, with windows fitted with +painted glass, and shelves lined with books, most of them +in tarnished and worm-eaten bindings, where Mr. Paget +sat whenever he was at home, and where in consequence +Valentine was to be found. Her sunny head, with its +golden wavy hair, made a bright spot in the old room. +She was fond of perching herself on the top of the step-ladder, +and so seated burrowing eagerly into the contents +of some musty old volume. She devoured the novels of +Smollett and Fielding, and many other books which were +supposed not to be at all good for her, in this fashion—they +did her no harm, the bad part falling away, and not +touching her, for her nature was very pure and bright, and +although she saw many shades of life in one way or +another, and with all her expensive education, was allowed +to grow up in a somewhat wild fashion, and according to +her own sweet will, yet she was a perfectly innocent and +unsophisticated creature.</p> + +<p>When she was seventeen, Mr. Paget told her that he +was going to inaugurate a new state of things.</p> + +<p>"You must go into society, Val," he said. "In these +days the daughters of city men of old standing like myself +are received everywhere. I will get your mother's third +cousin, Lady Prince, to present you at the next Drawing-room, +and then you must go the usual round, I suppose. +We must get some lady to come here to chaperon you, +and you will go out to balls and assemblies, and during the +London season turn night into day."</p> + +<p>Val was seated on the third rung of the step-ladder +when her father made this announcement. She sprang +lightly from her perch now, and ran to his side.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I won't go anywhere without you, dad; so that's +settled. Poor old man!—dear old man!"</p> + +<p>She put her arms round his neck, and his white moustache +and beard swept across her soft, peach-like cheek.</p> + +<p>"But I hate going out in the evening, Val. I'm getting +an old man—sixty next birthday, my dear—and I work +hard all day. There's no place so sweet to me in the +evening as this worm-eaten, old armchair;—I should find +myself lost in a crowd. Time was when I was the gayest +of the gay. People used to speak of me as the life and +soul of every party I went to, but that time is over for me. +Val; for you it is beginning."</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken, father. I perch myself on the arm +of this wretched, worm-eaten, old chair, and stay here with +you, or I go into society with you. It's all the same to +me—you can please yourself."</p> + +<p>"Don't you know that you are a very saucy lass, miss?"</p> + +<p>"Am I? I really don't care—I go with you, or I stay +with you—that's understood. Dad—father dear—that's +always to be the way, you understand. You and I are to +be always together—all our lives. You quite see what I +mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my darling. But some day you will have a husband. +Val. I want you to marry, and have a good husband, +child; and then we'll see if your old father still comes +first."</p> + +<p>Valentine laughed gaily.</p> + +<p>"We'll see," she repeated. "Father, if you are not +awfully busy, I must read you this bit out of Roderick +Random—listen, is not it droll?"</p> + +<p>She fetched the volume with its old-fashioned type and +obsolete s'es, and the two faces so alike and so beautiful, +and so full of love for one another, bent over the page.</p> + +<p>Valentine Paget had her way, and when she made her +<i>début</i> in the world of fashion she was accompanied by no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +other chaperon than her handsome father. A Mrs. Johnstone, +a distant relative of Valentine's mother had been +asked to come to drive with the young lady in the Parks, +and to exercise a very mild surveillance over her conduct +generally, when she received her visitors at five o'clock +tea, but in the evenings Mr. Paget alone took her into +society. The pair were striking enough to make an instant +success. Each acted as a foil and heightener to the beauty +of the other. Mortimer Paget was recognized by some of +his old cronies—fair ladies who had known him when he +was young, reproached him gently for having worn so well, +professed to take a great interest in his girl, and watched +her with narrow, critical, but not unkindly eyes. The girl +was fresh and <i>naïve</i>, perfectly free and untrammelled, a +tiny bit reckless, a little out of the common. Her handsome +face, her somewhat isolated position, and her reputed +fortune, for Mortimer Paget was supposed to be one of the +richest men in the city, soon made her the fashion. Valentine +Paget, in her first season, was spoken about, talked +over, acknowledged to be a beauty, and had, of course, +plenty of lovers.</p> + +<p>No one could have taken a daughter's success with +more apparent calmness than did her father. He never +interfered with her—he never curbed her light and graceful, +although somewhat eccentric, ways; but when any particular +young man had paid her marked attention for more +than two nights running, had anyone watched closely they +might have seen a queer, alert, anxious look come into the +fine old face. The sleepy brown eyes would awake, and +be almost eagle-like in the keenness of their glance. No +one knew how it was done, but about that possible suitor +inquiries of the closest and most delicate nature were +instantly set on foot; and as these inquiries, from Mr. +Paget's point of view, in each case proved eminently +unsatisfactory, when next the ardent lover met the beauti<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>ful +Miss Paget, a thin but impenetrable wall of ice seemed +to have started up between them. Scarcely any of Valentine's +lovers came to the point of proposing for her; +they were quietly shelved, they scarcely knew how, long +before matters arrived at this crisis. Young men who in +all respects seemed eligible of the eligible—men with good +names and rent-rolls, alike were given a sort of invisible +<i>congé</i>. The news was therefore received as a most startling +piece of information at the end of Valentine's first season, +that she was engaged, with the full consent and approval +of her most fastidious father, to about the poorest man of +her acquaintance.</p> + +<p>Gerald Wyndham was the only son of a country clergyman—he +was young, only twenty-two; he was spoken about +as clever, but in the eyes of Valentine's friends seemed to +have no one special thing to entitle him to aspire to the +hand of one of the wealthiest and most beautiful girls of +their acquaintance.</p> + +<p>It was reported among Mr. Paget's friends that this +excellent, honorable and worthy gentleman must surely +have taken leave of his senses, for Gerald Wyndham had +literally not a penny, and before his engagement to Valentine, +the modest career opening up before him was that of +Holy Orders in one of its humblest walks.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + + +<p>Wyndham before his engagement was one of the most +boyish of men. All the sunshine, the petting, the warmth, +the love, which encircled him as the prime favorite of many +sisters and an adoring father at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, +seemed to have grown into his face. His deep grey-blue +changeful eyes were always laughing—he was witty, and he +said witty and laughable things by the score. The young +man had plenty of talent, and a public school and university +education had developed these abilities to a fine point of +culture. His high spirits, and a certain Irish way which he +inherited from his mother, made him a universal favorite, +but at all times he had his grave moments. A look, a word +would change that beaming, expressive face, bring sadness +to the eyes, and seriousness to the finely curved lips. The +shadows passed as quickly as they came. Before Wyndham +met Valentine they were simply indications of the +sensitiveness of a soul which was as keenly strung to pain +as to joy.</p> + +<p>It is a trite saying that what is easily attained is esteemed +of little value. Valentine found lovers by the score; in +consequence, the fact of a man paying her attention, looking +at her with admiration, and saying pretty nothings in +her ear, gave her before her first season was over only a +slightly added feeling of ennui. At this juncture in her +life she was neither in love with her lovers nor with society. +She was younger than most girls when they make their +entrance into the world, and she would infinitely have +preferred the sort of half school-room, half nursery existence +she used to lead. She yawned openly and wished for bed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +when she was dragged out night after night, and when fresh +suitors appeared she began really to regard them as a +weariness to the flesh.</p> + +<p>Gerald Wyndham did not meet Valentine in quite the +ordinary fashion.</p> + +<p>On a certain hot day in July, she had been absolutely +naughty, the heat had enervated her, the languor of summer +was over her, and after a late dinner, instead of going dutifully +upstairs to receive some final touches from her maid, +before starting for a great crush at the house of a city +magnate near by, she had flown away to the library, turned +on the electric light, and mounting the book-ladder +perched herself on her favorite topmost rung, took down +her still more favorite "Evelina," and buried herself in its +fascinating pages. Past and present were both alike forgotten +by the young reader, she hated society for herself, +but she loved to read of Evelina's little triumphs, and Lord +Orville was quite to her taste.</p> + +<p>"If I could only meet a man like him," she murmured, +flinging down her book, and looking across the old library +with her starry eyes, "Oh, father, dear, how you startled +me! Now, listen, please. I will not go out to-night—I am +sleepy—I am tired—I am yawning dreadfully. Oh, what +have I said?—how rude of you, sir, to come and startle +me in that fashion!"</p> + +<p>For Valentine's light words had not been addressed to +Mr. Paget, but to a young man in evening dress, a perfect +stranger, who came into the room, and was now looking up +and actually laughing at her.</p> + +<p>"How rude of you," said Valentine, and she began hastily +to descend from her elevated position. In doing so she +slipped, and would have fallen if Wyndham had not come +to the rescue, coolly lifting the enraged young lady into his +arms and setting her on the floor.</p> + +<p>"Now I will beg your pardon as often as you like," he +said. "I was shown in here by a servant. I am waiting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +for Mr. Paget—I was introduced to him this morning—my +father turns out to be an old friend, and he was good enough +to ask me to go with you both to the Terrells to-night."</p> + +<p>"Delightful!" said Valentine. "I'll forgive you, of +course; you'll take the dear old man, and I'll stay snugly +at home. I'm so anxious to finish 'Evelina.' Have you +ever read the book?—Don't you love Lord Orville?"</p> + +<p>"No, I love Evelina best," replied Gerald.</p> + +<p>The two pairs of eyes met, both were full of laughter, and +both pairs of lips were indulging in merry peals of mirth +when Mr. Paget entered the room.</p> + +<p>"There you are, Val," he said. "You have introduced +yourself to Wyndham. Quite right. Now, was there ever +anything more provoking? I have just received a telegram." +Here Mr. Paget showed a yellow envelope. "I +must meet a business man at Charing Cross in an hour, on +a matter of some importance. I can't put it off, and so. +Val, I don't see how I am to send you to the Terrells all +alone. It is too bad—why, what is the matter, child?"</p> + +<p>"Too delightful, you mean," said Valentine. "I wasn't +going. I meant to commit high treason to-night. I was quite +determined to—now I needn't. Do you mean to go to the +Terrells by yourself, Mr. Wyndham?"</p> + +<p>"The pleasure held out was to go with you and your +father," responded Wyndham, with an old-fashioned bow, +and again that laughing look in his eyes.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget's benevolent face beamed all over.</p> + +<p>"Go up to the drawing-room, then, young folks, and +amuse yourselves," he said. "Our good friend, Mrs. Johnstone, +will bear you company. Val, you can sing something +to Wyndham to make up for his disappointment. +She sings like a bird, and is vain of it, little puss. Yes, go +away, both of you, and make the best of things."</p> + +<p>"The best of things is to remain here," said Valentine. +"I hate the drawing-room, and that dear, good Mrs. Johnstone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +if she must act chaperon, can bring her knitting down +here. I am so sorry for you, Mr. Wyndham, but I don't +mean to sing a single song to-night. Had you not better +go to the Terrells?"</p> + +<p>"No, I mean to stay and read 'Evelina,'" replied the +obdurate young man.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget laughed again.</p> + +<p>"I will send our good friend, Mrs. Johnstone, to make +tea for you," he said, and he hurried out of the room.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> + + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + + +<p>This was the very light and airy beginning of a friendship +which was to ripen into serious and even appalling results. +Wyndham was a man who found it very easy to make girls +like him. He had so many sisters of his own that he understood +their idiosyncrasies, and knew how to humor their +little failings, how to be kind to their small foibles, and how +to flatter their weaknesses. More than one girl had fallen +in love with this handsome and attractive young man. +Wyndham was aware of these passionate attachments, but +as he could not feel himself particularly guilty in having +inspired them, and as he did not in the slightest degree +return them, he did not make himself unhappy over what +could not be cured. It puzzled him not a little to know +why girls should be so silly, and how hearts could be so +easily parted with—he did not know when he questioned +his own spirit lightly on the matter that the day of retribution +was at hand. He lost his own heart to Valentine without +apparently having made the smallest impression upon +this bright and seemingly volatile girl.</p> + +<p>On that very first night in the old library Wyndham left +his heart at the gay girl's feet. He was seriously in love. +Before a week was out he had taken the malady desperately, +and in its most acute form. It was then that a +change came over his face, it was then for the first time +that he became aware of the depths of his own nature. +Great abysses of pain were opened up to him—he found +himself all sensitiveness, all nerves. He had been proud +of his rather athletic bringing-up, of his intellectual training. +He had thought poorly of other men who had given<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +up all for the sake of a girl's smile, and for the rather +doubtful possession of a girl's fickle heart. He did not +laugh at them any longer. He spent his nights pacing his +room, and his days haunting the house at Queen's Gate. If +he could not go in he could linger near the house. He could +lounge in the park and see Valentine as she drove past, +and nodded and smiled to him brightly. His own face +turned pale when she gave him those quick gay glances. +She was absolutely heart-whole—a certain intuition told him +this, whereas he—he found himself drivelling into a state +bordering on idiotcy.</p> + +<p>Almost all men have gone through similar crises, but +Wyndham at this time was making awful discoveries. He +was finding out day by day the depths of weakness as well +as pain within him.</p> + +<p>"I'm the greatest fool that ever breathed," he would say +to himself. "What would Lilias say if she saw me now? +How often she and I have laughed over this great momentous +matter—how often we have declared that we at least +would never lose ourselves in so absurd a fashion. Poor +Lilias, I suppose her turn will come as mine has come—I +cannot understand myself—I really must be raving mad. +How dare I go to Mr. Paget and ask him to give me Valentine? +I have not got a halfpenny in the world. This +money in my pocket is my father's—I have to come to him +for every sixpence! I am no better off than my little sister +Joan. When I am ordained, and have secured the curacy +of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, I shall have exactly £160 a +year. A large sum truly. And yet I want to marry Valentine +Paget—the youngest heiress of the season—the most +beautiful—the most wealthy! Oh, of course I must be mad—quite +mad. I ought to shun her like the plague. She +does not in the least care for me—not in the least. I often +wonder if she has got a heart anywhere. She acts as a sort +of siren to me—luring me on—weakening and enfeebling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +my whole nature. She is a little flirt in her way, but an +unconscious one. She means nothing by that bright look +in her eyes, and that sparkling smile, and that gay clear +laugh. I wonder if any other man has felt as badly about +her as I do. Oh, I ought to shun her—I am simply mad +to go there as I do. When I get an invitation—when I have +the ghost of a chance of seeing her—it seems as if thousands +of invisible ropes pulled me to her side. What is to come +of it all? Nothing—nothing but my own undoing. I can +never marry her—and yet I must—I will. I would go +through fire and water to hold her to my heart for a moment. +There, I must have been quite mad when I said that—I +didn't mean it. I'm sane now, absolutely sane. I know +what I'll do. I won't dine there to-night. I'll send an +excuse, and I'll run down to the old rectory until Monday, +and get Lilias to cure me."</p> + +<p>The infatuated young man seized a sheet of notepaper, +dashed off an incoherent and decidedly lame excuse to +Mr. Paget, and trembling with fear that his resolution +would fail him even at the eleventh hour, rushed out and +dropped the letter into the nearest pillar-box. This action +was bracing, he felt better, and in almost gay spirits, for +his nature was wonderfully elastic. He took the next train +to Jewsbury, and arrived unexpectedly at the pleasant old +rectory late on Saturday evening.</p> + +<p>The man who is made nothing of in one place, and finds +himself absolutely the hero of the hour in another, cannot +help experiencing a very soothed sensation. Valentine +Paget had favored Gerald with the coolest of nods, the +lightest of words, the most indifferent of actions. She met +him constantly, she was always stumbling up against him, +and when she wanted him to do anything for her she issued +a brief and lordly command. Her abject slave flew to do +her bidding.</p> + +<p>Now at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold the slave was in the position +of master, and he could not help enjoying the change.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Augusta, wheel that chair round for Gerald. Sit there. +Gerald, darling—oh, you are in a draught. Shut the door, +please, Marjory. Joan, run to the kitchen, and tell Betty +to make some of Gerald's favorite cakes for supper. Is +your tea quite right, Gerry; have you sugar enough—and—and +cream?"</p> + +<p>Gerald briefly expressed himself satisfied. Lilias was +superintending the tea-tray with a delicate flush of pleasure +on her cheeks, and her bright eyes glancing moment by +moment in admiration at her handsome brother. Marjory +had placed herself on a footstool at the hero's feet, and +Augusta, tall and gawky, all stockinged-legs, and abnormally +thin long arms, was standing at the back of his +chair, now and then venturing to caress one of his crisp +light waves of hair with the tips of her fingers.</p> + +<p>"It is too provoking!" burst from Marjory,—"you +know, Lilias, we can't put Gerald into his old room, it is +being papered, and you haven't half-finished decorating the +door. Gerry, darling, you might have let us know you +were coming and we'd have worked at it day and night. +Do you mind awfully sleeping in the spare room? We'll +promise to make it as fresh as possible for you?"</p> + +<p>"I'll—I'll—fill the vases with flowers—" burst spasmodically +from Augusta. "Do you like roses or hollyhocks +best in the tall vases on the mantel-piece, Gerry?"</p> + +<p>"By the way, Gerald," remarked the rector, who was +standing leaning against the mantel-piece, gazing complacently +at his son and daughters, "I should like to ask +your opinion with regard to that notice on Herring's book +in the <i>Saturday</i>. Have you read it? It struck me as over +critical, but I should like to have your opinion."</p> + +<p>So the conversation went on, all adoring, all making much +of the darling of the house. Years afterwards, Gerald +Wyndham remembered that summer's evening, the scent +of the roses coming in at the open window, the touch of +Marjory's little white hand as it rested on his knee, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +kind of half-irritated, half-pleased thrill which went through +him when Augusta touched his hair, the courteous and +proud look on the rector's face when he addressed him, +above all the glow of love in Lilias' beautiful eyes. He +remembered that evening—he was not likely ever to forget +it, for it was one of the last of his happy boyhood, before +he took upon him his manhood's burden of sin and sorrow +and shame.</p> + +<p>After tea Lilias and Gerald walked about the garden arm-in-arm.</p> + +<p>"I am going to confess something to you," said the +brother. "I want your advice, Lilly. I want you to cure +me, by showing me that I am the greatest fool that ever +lived."</p> + +<p>"But you are not, Gerald; I can't say it when I +look up to you, and think there is no one like you. You +are first in all the world to me—you know that, don't +you?"</p> + +<p>"Poor Lil, that is just the point—that is where the arrow +will pierce you. I am going to aim a blow at you, dear. +Take me down from your pedestal at once—I love someone +else much, much better than I love you."</p> + +<p>Lilias' hand as it rested on Gerald's arm trembled very +slightly. He looked at her, and saw that her lips were +moving, and that her eyes were looking downwards. +She did not make any audible sound, however, and he went +on hastily:—</p> + +<p>"And you and I, we always promised each other that +such a day should not come—no wonder you are angry +with me, Lil."</p> + +<p>"But I'm not, dear Gerald—I just got a nasty bit of +jealous pain for a minute, but it is over. I always knew +that such a day would come, that it would have to come—if +not for me, at least for you. Tell me about her, Gerry. +Is she nice—is she half—or a quarter nice enough for +you?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then Gerald launched into his subject, forgetting what +he supposed could only be a very brief sorrow on Lilias' +part in the enthralling interest of his theme. Valentine +Paget would not have recognized the portrait which was +drawn of her, for this young and ardent lover crowned her +with all that was noble, and decked her with attributes +little short of divine.</p> + +<p>"I am absolutely unworthy of her," he said in conclusion, +and when Lilias shook her head, and refused to +believe this latter statement, he felt almost angry with +her.</p> + +<p>The two walked about and talked together until darkness +fell, but, although they discussed the subject in all its +bearings, Gerald felt by no means cured when he retired to +rest, while Lilias absolutely cried herself to sleep.</p> + +<p>Marjory and she slept in little white beds, side by side.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lil, what's the matter?" exclaimed the younger +sister, disturbed out of her own sweet slumbers by those +unusual tokens of distress.</p> + +<p>"Nothing much," replied Lilias, "only—only—I am a +little lonely—don't ask me any questions, Maggie, I'll be +all right in the morning."</p> + +<p>Marjory was too wise to say anything further, but she +lay awake herself and wondered. What could ail Lilias?—Lilias, +the brightest, the gayest of them all. Was she +fretting about their mother. But it was seven years now +since the mother had been taken away from the rectory +children, and Lilias had got over the grief which had nearly +broken her child-heart at the time.</p> + +<p>Marjory felt puzzled and a little fearful,—the evening before +had been so sweet,—Gerald had been so delightful. +Surely in all the world there was not a happier home than +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. Why should Lilias cry, and say +that she was lonely?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + + +<p>On Monday morning Wyndham returned to town. His +father had strained a point to give his only son the season in +London, and Gerald was paying part of the expenses by +coaching one or two young fellows for the next Cambridge +term. He had just concluded his own University course, +and was only waiting until his twenty-third birthday had +passed, to be ordained for the curacy which his father was +keeping for him. Gerald's birthday would be in September, +and the rectory girls were looking forward to this date +as though it were the beginning of the millennium.</p> + +<p>"Even the cats won't fight, nor the dogs bark when +Gerald is in the room," whispered little Joan. "I 'spect +they know he don't like it."</p> + +<p>Wyndham returned to London feeling both low and excited. +His conversation with Lilias and the rather pallid +look of her face, the black shadows under her eyes, and +the pathetic expression which the shedding of so many +tears had given to them, could not cure him nor extinguish +the flame which was burning into his heart, and making all +the other good things of life seem but as dust and ashes to +his taste.</p> + +<p>He arrived in town, went straight to his lodgings, preparatory +to keeping his engagement with one of his young +pupils, and there saw waiting for him a letter in the firm +upright handwriting of Mortimer Paget. He tore the +envelope open in feverish haste. The lines within were +very few:—</p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Dear Wyndham</span>.</p> + +<p>Val and I were disappointed at your not putting in an appearance at +her dinner-party last night, but no doubt you had good reasons for going +in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>to the country. This note will meet you on your return. Can you +come and lunch with me in the City on Monday at two o'clock? Come +to my place in Billiter-square. I shall expect you and won't keep you +waiting. I have a matter of some importance I should like to discuss +with you.—Yours, my dear Wyndham, sincerely,</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +"<span class="smcap">Mortimer Paget</span>."<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Wyndham put the letter into his pocket, flew to keep +his appointment with his pupil, and at two o'clock precisely +was inquiring for Mr. Paget at the offices of the shipping +firm in Billiter-square.</p> + +<p>Mortimer Paget was now head of the large establishment. +He was the sole surviving partner out of many, and on him +alone devolved the carrying out of one of the largest +business concerns in the city.</p> + +<p>Wyndham never felt smaller than when he entered those +great doors, and found himself passed on from one clerk +to another, until at last he was admitted to the ante-room +of the chief himself.</p> + +<p>Here there was a hush and stillness, and the young man +sank down into one of the easy chairs, and looked around +him expectantly. He was in the ante chamber of one of +the great kings of commerce, the depressing influence of +wealth when we have no share in it came over him. He +longed to turn and fly, and but that his fingers, even now, +fiddled with Mr. Paget's very pressing note he would have +done so. What could the great man possibly want with +him? With his secret in his breast, with the knowledge +that he, a poor young expectant curate, had dared to lift +up his eyes to the only daughter of this great house, he +could not but feel ill at ease.</p> + +<p>When Wyndham was not at home with any one he instantly +lost his charm. He was painfully conscious of this +himself, and felt sure that he would be on stilts while he ate +his lunch with Mr. Paget. Nay more, he was almost sure +that that astute personage would read his secret in his eyes.</p> + +<p>A clerk came into the room, an elderly man, with reddish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +whiskers, small, deep-set eyes, and thin hair rapidly +turning white. He stared inquisitively at young Wyndham, +walked past him, drew up the blinds, arranged some papers +on the table, and then as he passed him again said in a quick, +half-frightened aside:</p> + +<p>"If I was you, young man, I'd go."</p> + +<p>The tone in which this was said was both anxious and +familiar. Wyndham started aside from the familiarity. +His face flushed and he gazed haughtily at the speaker.</p> + +<p>"Did you address me?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I did, young man, don't say nothing, for the good +Lord's sake, don't say nothing. My name is Jonathan +Helps. I have been here man and boy for close on forty +years. I know the old house. Sound! no house in the +whole city sounder, sound as a nut, or as an apple when +<i>it's rotten at the core</i>. You keep that to yourself, young +man—why I'd venture every penny I have in this yer establishment. +I'm confidential clerk here! I'm a rough +sort—and not what you'd expect from a big house, nor +from a master like Mr. Paget. Now, young man, you go +away, and believe that there ain't a sounder house in all the +city than that of Paget, Brake and Carter. I, Jonathan +Helps, say it, and surely I ought to know."</p> + +<p>An electric bell sounded in the other room. Wiping his +brow with his handkerchief as though the queer words he +had uttered had cost him an effort, Helps flew to answer +the summons.</p> + +<p>"Ask Mr. Wyndham to walk in and have lunch served +in my room," said an authoritative voice. "And see here. +Helps, you are not to disturb us on any excuse before +three o'clock."</p> + +<p>Shutting the door behind him, Helps came back again +to Gerald's side.</p> + +<p>"If you don't want to run away at once you're to go in +there," he said. "Remember, there isn't a sounder house +in all London than that of Paget, Brake and Carter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +Paget's head of the whole concern now. Don't he boss +it over us though! Oh, you're going in?—you've made +up your mind not to run away. Surely in vain is the net +spread in the sight of any bird. Good Lord, if that ain't +the least true word that David ever writ. Well, here you +are. Don't forget that this house is sound—sound as an +apple when it is—Mr. Wyndham, sir."</p> + +<p>"You seem to have got a very extraordinary clerk," +said Gerald, when he had shaken hands with his host, who +had expressed himself delighted to see him.</p> + +<p>"Helps?" responded Mr. Paget. "Yes, poor fellow—has +he been entertaining you—telling you about the soundness +of the house, eh? Poor Helps—the best fellow in the +world, but just a little—a very little—touched in the head."</p> + +<p>"So I should think," said Gerald, laughing; "he compared +me to a bird in the fowler's net, and all kinds of +ridiculous similes. What a snug room you have here."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you think it so. I have a still snugger +room at the other side of this curtain, which I hope to +introduce to you. Come along and see it. This was furnished +at Val's suggestion. She comes here to have lunch +with me once a week. Friday is her day. Will you come +and join us here next Friday at two o'clock?"</p> + +<p>"I—I shall be delighted," stammered Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"She has good taste, hasn't she, little puss? All these +arrangements are hers. I never saw any one with a better +eye for color, and she has that true sympathy with her +surroundings which teaches her to adapt rooms to their +circumstances. Now, for instance, at Queen's Gate we +are all cool greys and blues—plenty of sunshine comes +into the house at Queen's Gate. Into this room the sun +never shows his face. Val accordingly substitutes for his +brightness golden tones and warm colors. Artistic, is it +not? She is very proud of the remark which invariably +falls from the lips of each person who visits this sanct<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>um +sanctorum, that it does not look the least like an office."</p> + +<p>"Nor does it," responded Gerald. "It is a lovely +room. What a beautiful portrait that is of your daughter—how +well those warm greys suit her complexion."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is Richmond's, he painted her two years ago. +Sit down at this side of the table, Wyndham, where you +can have a good view of the saucy puss. Does she not +look alive, as if she meant to say something very impertinent +to us both. Thanks, Helps, you can leave us now. +Pray see that we are not disturbed."</p> + +<p>Helps withdrew with noiseless slippered feet. A curtain +was drawn in front of the door, which the clerk closed +softly after him.</p> + +<p>"Excellent fellow, Helps," said Mr. Paget, "but mortal, +decidedly mortal. If you will excuse me, Wyndham. +I will take the precaution of turning the key in that door. +This little room, Val's room, I call it, has often been privileged +to listen to state secrets. That being the case one +must take due precautions against eaves-droppers. Now, +my dear fellow, I hope you are hungry. Help yourself to +some of those cutlets—I can recommend this champagne."</p> + +<p>The lunch proceeded, the elder man eating with real +appetite, the younger with effort. He was excited, his +mind was full of trouble—he avoided looking at Valentine's +picture, and wished himself at the other side of those +locked doors.</p> + +<p>"You don't seem quite the thing," said Mr. Paget, +presently. "I hope you have had no trouble at home. +Wyndham. Is your father well? Let me see, he must be +about my age—we were at Trinity College, Cambridge, +some time in the forties."</p> + +<p>"My father is very well, sir," said Gerald. "He is a +hale man, he does not look his years."</p> + +<p>"Have some more champagne? I think you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> told me +you had several sisters."</p> + +<p>"Yes, there are seven girls at home."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens—Wyndham is a lucky man. Fancy +seven Valentines filling a house with mirth! And you are +the only son—and your mother is dead."</p> + +<p>"My mother is not living," responded Wyndham with a +flush. "And—yes, I am the only son. I won't have any +more champagne, thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>"Try one of these cigars—I can recommend them. +Wyndham, I am going to say something very frank. I +have taken a fancy to you. There, I don't often take +fancies. Why, what is the matter, my dear fellow?"</p> + +<p>Gerald had suddenly risen to his feet, his face was +white. There was a strained, eager, pained look in his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't, if you knew," he stammered. "I—I +have made a fool of myself, sir. I oughtn't to be sitting +here, your hospitality chokes me. I—I have made the +greatest fool of myself in all Christendom, sir."</p> + +<p>"I think I know what you mean," said Mr. Paget, also +rising to his feet. His voice was perfectly calm, quiet, +friendly.</p> + +<p>"I am not sorry you have let it out in this fashion, my +poor lad. You have—shall I tell you that I know your +secret, Wyndham?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir; don't let us talk of it. You cannot rate me +for my folly more severely than I rate myself. I'll go away +now if you have no objection. Thank you for being kind +to me. Try and forget that I made an ass of myself."</p> + +<p>"Sit down again, Wyndham. I am not angry—I don't +look upon you as a fool. I should have done just the +same were I in your shoes. You are in love with Valentine—you +would like to make her your wife."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, sir, don't let us say anything more +about it."</p> + +<p>"Why not? <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>Under certain conditions I think you +would make her a suitable husband. I guessed your secret +some weeks ago. Since then I have been watching you +carefully. I have also made private inquiries about you. +All that I hear pleases me. I asked you to lunch with me, +to-day, on purpose that we should talk the matter over."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget spoke in a calm, almost drawling, voice. The +young man opposite to him, his face deadly white, his +hands nervously clutching at a paper-knife, his burning +eyes fixed upon the older man's face, drank in every word. +It was an intoxicating draught, going straight to Gerald +Wyndham's brain.</p> + +<p>"God bless you!" he said, when the other had ceased +to speak. He turned his head away, for absolute tears of +joy had softened the burning feverish light in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"No, don't say that, Wyndham," responded Mr. Paget, +his own voice for the first time a little shaken. "We'll +leave God altogether out of this business, if you have no +objection. It is simply a question of how much a man +will give up for love. Will he sell himself, body and soul, +for it? That is the question of questions. I know all +about you, Wyndham; I know that you have not a penny to +bless yourself with; I know that you are about to embrace +a beggarly profession. Oh, yes, we'll leave out the religious +aspect of the question. A curacy in the Church of +England is a beggarly profession in these days. I know +too that you are your father's only son, and that you have +seven sisters, who will one day look to you to protect them. +I know all that; nevertheless I believe you to be the kind +of man who will dare all for love. If you win Valentine, +you have got to pay a price for her. It is a heavy one—I +won't tell you about it yet. When you agree to pay +this price, for the sake of a brief joy for yourself, for +necessarily it must be brief; and for her life-long good +and well-being, then you rise to be her equal in every +sense of the word, and you earn my undying gratitude. +Wyndham."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't understand you, sir. You speak very darkly, +and you hint at things which—which shock me."</p> + +<p>"I must shock you more before you hold Valentine in +your arms. You have heard enough for to-day. Hark, +someone is knocking at the door."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget rose to open it, a gay voice sounded in the +passage, and the next moment a brilliant, lovely apparition +entered the room.</p> + +<p>"Val herself!" exclaimed her father. "No, my darling. +I cannot go for a drive with you just now, but you and +Mrs. Johnstone shall take Wyndham. You will like a drive +in the park, Wyndham. You have got to scold this young +man, Val, for acting truant on Saturday night. Now go +off, both of you, I am frightfully busy. Yes, Helps, coming, +coming. Valentine, be sure you ask Mr. Wyndham +home to tea. If you can induce him to dine, so much the +better, and afterwards we can go to the play together."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + + +<p>On a certain evening about ten days after the events related +in the last chapter, Valentine Paget and her father +were seated together in the old library. Good-natured +Mrs. Johnstone had popped in her head at the door, but +seeing the girl's face bent over a book, and Mr. Paget apparently +absorbed in the advertisement sheet of the <i>Times</i>, +she had discreetly withdrawn.</p> + +<p>"They look very snug," soliloquized the widowed and +childless woman with a sigh. "I wonder what Mortimer +Paget will do when that poor handsome Mr. Wyndham +proposes for Val? I never saw anyone so far gone. Even +my poor Geoffrey long ago, who said his passion consumed +him to tatters—yes, these were poor dear Geoffrey's very +words—was nothing to Mr. Wyndham. Val is a desperately +saucy girl—does not she see that she is breaking that +poor fellow's heart? Such a nice young fellow, too. He +looks exactly the sort of young man who would commit +suicide. Dear me, what is the world coming to? That +girl seems not in the very least troubled about the matter. +How indifferent and easy-going she is! I know <i>I</i> could +not calmly sit and read a novel when I knew that I was +consuming the vitals out of poor dear Geoffrey. But it's +all one to Val. I am very much afraid that girl is developing +into a regular flirt. How she did go on and amuse +herself with Mr. Carr at the cricket match to-day. Adrian +Carr has a stronger face than poor young Wyndham—not +half as devoted to Val—I doubt if he even admires her, +and yet how white Gerald Wyndham turned when he +walked her off across the field. Poor Val—it is a great +pity Mr. Paget spoils her so dreadfully. It is plain to be +seen she has never had the advantage of a mother's bring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>ing +up."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Johnstone entered the beautifully-furnished drawing-room, +seated herself by the open window, and taking +up the third volume of a novel, soon forgot Valentine's +love affairs.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile that young lady with her cheeks pressed on +her hands, and her eyes devouring the final pages of "Jane +Eyre," gave no thought to any uncomfortable combinations. +Her present life was so full and happy that she did +not, like most girls, look far ahead—she never indulged in +day-dreams, and had an angel come to her with the promise +of any golden boon she liked to ask for, she would +have begged of him to leave her always as happy as she +was now.</p> + +<p>She came to the last page of her book, and, drumming +with her little fingers on the cover, she raised her eyes in +a half-dreaming fashion.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget had dropped his sheet of the <i>Times</i>—his hand +had fallen back in the old leathern armchair—his eyes were +closed—he was fast asleep.</p> + +<p>In his sleep this astute and careful and keen man of +business dropped his mask—the smiling smooth face +showed wrinkles, the gay expression was succeeded by a +careworn look—lines of sadness were about the mouth, and +deep crow's-feet wrinkled and aged the expression round the +eyes.</p> + +<p>The mantle of care had never yet touched Valentine. +For the first time in all her life a pang of keen mental pain +went through her as she gazed at her sleeping father. For +the first time in her young existence the awful possibility +stared her in the face that some time she might have to live +in a cold and dreary world without him.</p> + +<p>"Why, my father looks quite old," she half stammered. +"Old, and—yes, unhappy. What does it mean?"</p> + +<p>She rose very gently, moved her chair until <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>it touched +his, and then nestling up close to him laid her soft little +hand on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Paget slept on, and the immediate contact of Valentine's +warm, loving presence, made itself felt in his dreams—his +wrinkles disappeared, and his handsome lips again half +smiled. Val laid her hand on his—she noticed the altered +expression, and her slightly roused fears slumbered. There +was no one to her like her father. She had made a mistake +just then in imagining that he looked old and unhappy. +No people in all the world were happier than he and she. +He was not old—he was the personification in her eyes of +all that was manly and strong and beautiful.</p> + +<p>The tired man slept on, and the girl, all her fears at rest, +began idly to review the events of the past day. There +had been gay doings during that long summer's afternoon, +and Valentine, in the prettiest of summer costumes, had +thoroughly enjoyed her life. She had spent some hours at +Lords, and had entered with zest into the interest of the +Oxford and Cambridge Cricket Match. She lay back in +her chair now with her eyes half closed, reviewing in a lazy +fashion the events of the bygone hours. A stalwart and +very attractive young man in cricketing flannels mingled +in these dreams. He spoke to her with strength and +decision. His dark eyes looked keenly into her face, he +never expressed the smallest admiration for her either by +look or gesture, but at the same time he had a way of +taking possession of her which roused her interest, and +which secured her approbation. She laughed softly to +herself now at some of the idle nothings said to her by +Adrian Carr, and she never once gave a thought to Wyndham, +who had also been at Lords.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + + +<p>"Val, child, what are you humming under your breath?" +said her father, suddenly rousing himself from his slumbers +and looking into his daughter's pretty face. "Your voice +is like that of a bird, my darling. I think it has gained in +sweetness a good deal lately. Have you and Wyndham +been practising much together. Wyndham has one of the +purest tenor voices I ever heard in an amateur."</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a worry Mr. Wyndham is," said Valentine, +rising from her seat and shaking out her muslin dress. +"Everybody talks to me of his perfections. I'm perfectly +tired of them. I wish he wouldn't come here so often. +No, I was not thinking of any of his songs. I was humming +some words Mr. Carr sings—'Bid me to Live'—you +know the words—I like Mr. Carr so much—don't you, +dad, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Adrian Carr—yes," replied Mr. Paget in a slow deliberate +voice. "Yes, a good sort of fellow, I've no doubt. I +heard some gossip about him at my club yesterday—what +was it? Oh, that he was engaged, or about to be engaged, +to Lady Mabel Pennant. You know the Pennants, don't +you, Val? Have you seen Lady Mabel? She is one of +the youngest, I think."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she's a fright," responded Valentine, with a decided +show of temper in her voice.</p> + +<p>Her face had flushed too, she could not tell why.</p> + +<p>"I did not know Lady Mabel was such a plain girl," +responded Mr. Paget drily. "At any rate it is a good connection +for Carr. He seems a fairly clever fellow. Valentine, +my child, I have something of importance to talk to +you about. Don't let us worry about Carr just now—I have +something to say to you, something that I'm troubled to +have to say. You love your old father very much, don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +you, darling?"</p> + +<p>"Love you, daddy! Oh, you know—need you ask? +I was frightened about you a few minutes ago, father. +When you were asleep just now, your face looked old, and +there were lines about it. It frightens me to think of you +ever growing old."</p> + +<p>"Sit close to me, my dear daughter. I have a great deal +to say. We will leave the subject of my looks just at +present. It is true that I am not young, but I may have +many years before me yet. It greatly depends on you."</p> + +<p>"On me, father?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I will explain to you by-and-bye. Now I want +to talk about yourself. You have never had a care all your +life, have you, my little Val?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so, daddy—at least only pin-pricks. You +know I used to hate my spelling lessons long ago, and +Mdlle. Lacount used to worry me over the French irregular +verbs. But such things were only pin-pricks. Yes, I am +seventeen, and I have never had a real care all my life."</p> + +<p>"You are seventeen and four months, Valentine. You +were born on the 14th of February, and your mother and +I called you after St. Valentine. Your mother died when +you were a week old. I promised her then that her baby +should never know a sorrow if I could help it."</p> + +<p>"You have helped it, daddy; I am as happy as the day +is long. I don't wish for a thing in the wide world. I just +want us both to live together as we are doing now. Of +course we will—why not? Shall we go up to the drawing-room +now, father?"</p> + +<p>"My dear child, in a little time. I have not said yet +what I want to say. Valentine, you were quite right when +you watched my face as I slumbered. Child, I have got a +care upon me. I can't speak of it to anybody—only it +could crush me—and—and—part us, Valentine. If it fell +upon you, it—it—would crush you, my child."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Paget rose. Valentine, deadly white and frightened, +clung to him. She was half crying. The effect of such +terrible and sudden words nearly paralyzed her; but when +she felt the arm which her father put round her tremble, +she made a valiant and brave effort—the tears which filled +her brown eyes were arrested, and she looked up with courage +in her face.</p> + +<p>"You speak of my doing something," she whispered. +"What is it? Tell me. Nothing shall part us. I don't +mind anything else, but nothing shall ever part us."</p> + +<p>"Val, I have not spoken of this care to any one but +you."</p> + +<p>"No, father."</p> + +<p>"And I don't show it in my face as a rule, do I?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! Oh, no! You always seem bright and cheerful."</p> + +<p>Her tears were raining fast now. She took his hand and +pressed it to her lips.</p> + +<p>"But I have had this trouble for some time, my little +girl."</p> + +<p>"You will tell me all about it, please, dad?"</p> + +<p>"No, my darling, you would not understand, and my +keenest pain would be that you should ever know. You +can remove this trouble, little Val, and then we need not +be parted. Now, sit down by my side."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget sank again into the leathern armchair. He +was still trembling visibly. This moment through which +he was passing was one of the most bitter of his life.</p> + +<p>"You will not breathe a word of what I have told you +to any mortal, Valentine?"</p> + +<p>"Death itself should not drag it from me," replied the +girl.</p> + +<p>She set her lips, her eyes shone fiercely. Then she looked +at her trembling father, and they glowed with love and +pity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can save you," she whispered, going on her knees +by his side. "It is lovely to think of saving you. What +can I do?"</p> + +<p>"My little Val—my little precious darling!"</p> + +<p>"What can I do to save you, father?"</p> + +<p>"Valentine, dear—you can marry Gerald Wyndham."</p> + +<p>Valentine had put her arms round her father's neck, now +they dropped slowly away—her eyes grew big and +frightened.</p> + +<p>"I don't love him," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, he loves you—he is a good fellow—he +will treat you well. If you marry him you need not be +parted from me. You and he can live together here—here, +in this house. There need be no difference at all, +except that you will have saved your father."</p> + +<p>Paget spoke with outward calmness, but the anxiety +under his words made them thrill. Each slowly uttered +sentence fell like a hammer of pain on the girl's head.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," she said again in a husky tone. +"I would, I will do anything to save you. But Mr. Wyndham +is poor and young—in some things he is younger than +I am. How can my marrying him take the load off your +heart, father? Father, dear, speak."</p> + +<p>"I can give you no reason, Valentine, you must take it +on trust. It is all a question of your faith in me. I do not +see any loophole of salvation but through you, my little +girl. If you marry Wyndham I see peace and rest ahead, +otherwise we are amongst the breakers. If you do this +thing for your old father, Valentine, you will have to do it +in the dark, for never, never, I pray, until Eternity comes, +must you know what you have done."</p> + +<p>Valentine Paget had always a delicate and bright color +in her cheeks. It was soft as the innermost blush of a rose, +and this delicate and lovely color was one of her chief +charms. Now it faded, leaving her young face pinched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +and small and drawn. She sank down on the hearthrug, +clasping her hands in her lap, her eyes looking straight +before her.</p> + +<p>"I never wanted to marry," she said at last. "Certainly +not yet, for I am only a child. I am only seventeen, but +other girls of seventeen are old compared to me. When you +are only a child, it is dreadful to marry some one you don't +care about, and it is dreadful to do a deed in the dark. If you +trusted me, father—if you told me all the dreadful truth +whatever it is, it might turn me into a woman—an old +woman even—but it would be less bad than this. This +seems to crush me—and oh, it does frighten me so dreadfully."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget rose from his seat and walked up and down +the room.</p> + +<p>"You shan't be crushed or frightened," he said. "I +will give it up."</p> + +<p>"And then the blow will fall on <i>you</i>?"</p> + +<p>"I may be able to avert it. I will see. Forget what I +said to-night, little girl."</p> + +<p>Mortimer Paget's face just now was a good deal whiter +than his daughter's, but there was a new light in his eyes—a +momentary gleam of nobility.</p> + +<p>"I won't crush you, Val," he said, and he meant his +words.</p> + +<p>"And <i>I</i> won't crush <i>you</i>," said the girl.</p> + +<p>She went up to his side, and, taking his hand, slipped his +arm round her neck.</p> + +<p>"We will live together, and I will have perfect faith in +you, and I'll marry Mr. Wyndham. He is good—oh, yes, +he is good and kind; and if he did not love me so much, if +he did not frighten me with just being too loving when I +don't care at all, I might get on very well with him. Now +dismiss your cares, father. If this can save you, your little +Val has done it. Let us come up to the drawing-room.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +Mrs. Johnstone must think herself forsaken. Shall I sing +to you to-night, daddy, some of the old-fashioned songs? +Come, you have got to smile and look cheerful for Val's +sake. If I give myself up for you, you must do as much +for me. Come, a smile if you please, sir. 'Begone, dull +care.' You and I will never agree."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + + +<p>It was soon after this that Valentine Paget's world became +electrified with the news of her engagement. Wyndham +was congratulated on all sides, and those people who had +hitherto not taken the slightest notice of a rather boyish +and unpretentious young man, now found much to say in +his favor.</p> + +<p>Yes, he was undoubtedly good-looking—a remarkable +face, full of interest—he must be clever too—he looked it. +And then as to his youth—why was it that people a couple +of months ago had considered him a lad, a boy—why, he +was absolutely old for his two-and-twenty years. A grave +thoughtful man with a wonderfully sweet expression.</p> + +<p>It was plain to be seen that Wyndham, the expectant +curate of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and Wyndham, the promised +husband of Valentine Paget, were totally different +individuals. Wyndham's prospects were changed, so was +his appearance—so, in very truth, was the man himself.</p> + +<p>Where he had been too young he was now almost too +old, that was the principal thing outsiders noticed. But +at twenty-two one can afford such a change, and his gravity, +his seriousness, and a certain proud thoughtful look, which +could not be classified by any one as a sad look, was vastly +becoming to Wyndham.</p> + +<p>His future father-in-law could not make enough of him, +and even Valentine caught herself looking at him with a +shy pride which was not very far removed from affection.</p> + +<p>Wyndham had given up the promised curacy—this was +one of Mr. Paget's most stringent conditions. On the day +he married Valentine he was to enter the great shipping +firm of Paget, Brake and Carter as a junior partner, and in +the interim he went there daily to become acquainted—t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>he +world said—with the ins and outs of his new profession.</p> + +<p>It was all a great step in the direction of fortune and +fame, and the Rectory people ought, of course, to have +rejoiced.</p> + +<p>They were curious and unworldly, however, at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, +and somehow the news of the great match +Gerald was about to contract brought them only sorrow and +distress. Lilias alone stood out against the storm of woe +which greeted the receipt of Wyndham's last letter.</p> + +<p>"It is a real trouble," she said, her voice shaking a good +deal; "but we have got to make the best of it. It is for +Gerald's happiness. It is selfish for us just to fret because +we cannot always have him by our side."</p> + +<p>"There'll be no millennium," said Augusta in a savage +voice. "I might have guessed it. That horrid selfish, selfish +girl has got the whole of our Gerald. I suppose he'll make +her happy, nasty, spiteful thing; but she has wrecked the +happiness of seven other girls—horrid creature! I might +have known there was never going to be a millennium. +Where are the dogs? Let me set them fighting. Get out of +that, madame puss—you and Rover and Drake will quarrel +now to the end of the chapter, for Gerald is never +coming home to live."</p> + +<p>Augusta's sentiments were warmly shared by the younger +girls, and to a great extent she even secured the sympathy +of Marjory and the rector.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand you, Lilias," said her pet sister. "I +thought you would have been the worst of us all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't," said Lilias, tears springing to her eyes. +"Don't you see, Marjory, that I really feel the worst, so I +must keep it all in? Don't let us talk it over, it is useless. +If Valentine makes Gerald happy I have not a word to say, +and if I am not glad I must pretend to be glad for his sake."</p> + +<p>"Poor old Lil!" said Marjory.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p>And after this little speech she teased her sister no +more.</p> + +<p>A fortnight after his engagement Gerald came to the rectory +for a brief visit. He was apparently in high spirits, +and never made himself more agreeable to his sisters. He +had no confidential talks, however, with Lilly, and they all +noticed how grave and quiet and handsome he had grown.</p> + +<p>"He's exactly like my idea of the god Apollo," remarked +Augusta. "No wonder that girl is in love with him. Oh, +couldn't I just pull her hair for her. I can't think how +Lilly sits by and hears Gerald praise her! I'd like to give +her a piece of my mind, and tell her what I think of her +carrying off our ewe-lamb. Yes, she's just like David in +the Bible, and I only wish I were the prophet Nathan, to +go and have it out with her!"</p> + +<p>Augusta was evidently mixed in her metaphors, for it +was undoubtedly difficult to compare the same person to +Apollo and a ewe-lamb. Nevertheless, she carried her +audience with her, and when now and then Gerald spoke of +Valentine he received but scant sympathy.</p> + +<p>On the day he went away, the rector called Lilias into +his study.</p> + +<p>"My dear," he said, "I want to have a little talk with +you. What do you think of all this? Has Gerald made +you many confidences? You and he were always great +chums. He was reserved with me, remarkably so, for he +was always such an open sort of a lad. But of course you +and he had it all out, my dear."</p> + +<p>"No, father," replied Lilias. "That is just it. We hadn't +anything out."</p> + +<p>"What—eh—nothing? And the boy is in love. Oh, +yes, anyone can see that—in love, and no confidences. +Then, my dear, I was afraid of it—now I am sure—there +must be something wrong. Gerald is greatly changed. +Lilias."</p> + +<p>"Yes," s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>aid Lilias. "I can't quite define the change, +but it is there."</p> + +<p>"My dear girl, he was a boy—now he is a man. I don't +say that he is unhappy, but he has a good weight of responsibility +on his shoulders. He was a rather heedless boy, +and in the matter of concealment or keeping anything back, +a perfect sieve. Now he's a closed book. Closed?—locked +I should say. Lilias, neither you nor I can understand +him. I wish to God your mother was alive!"</p> + +<p>"He told me," said Lilias, "that he had talked over +matters with you—that—that there was nothing much to +say—that he was perfectly satisfied, and that Valentine was +like no other girl in the wide world. To all intents and +purposes Gerald was a sealed book to me, father; but I +don't understand your considering him so, for he said that +he had spoken to you very openly."</p> + +<p>"Oh, about the arrangements between him and Paget. +Yes, I consider it a most unprecedented and extraordinary +sort of thing. Gerald gives up the Church, goes into Paget's +business—early next summer marries his daughter, and on +the day of his wedding signs the deeds of partnership. He +receives no salary—not so much as sixpence—but he and +his wife take up their abode at the Pagets' house in Queen's +Gate, Paget making himself responsible for all expenses. +Gerald, in lieu of providing his wife with a fortune, makes +a marriage settlement on her, and for this purpose is required +to insure his life very heavily—for thousands, I am +told—but the exact sum is not yet clearly defined. Paget +undertakes to provide for the insurance premium. I call +the whole thing unpleasant and derogatory, and I cannot +imagine how the lad has consented. Liberty? What will +he know of liberty when he is that rich fellow's slave? +Better love in a cottage, with a hundred a year, say I."</p> + +<p>"But, father, Mr. Paget would not have given Val to +Gerald to live in a cottage with her—and Gerald, he has +consented to this—this that you call degradation, because +he loves Val so very, very much."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I suppose so, child. I was in love once myself—your +mother was the noblest and most beautiful of women; that +lad is the image of her. Well, so he never confided in you. +Lil? Very strange, I call it very strange. I tell you what. +Lilias, I'll run up to town next week, and have a talk with +Paget, and see what sort of girl this is who has bewitched +the boy. That's the best way. I'll have a talk with Paget, +and get to the bottom of things. I used to know him long +ago at Trinity. Now run away, child. I must prepare my +sermon for to-morrow."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> + + +<p>At this period of her life Valentine was certainly not in +the least in love with the man to whom she was engaged—she +disliked caresses and what she was pleased to call +honeyed words of flattery. Wyndham, who found himself +able to read her moods like a book, soon learned to accommodate +himself to her wishes. He came to see her +daily, but he kissed her seldom—he never took her hand, +nor put his arm round her slim waist; they sat together +and talked, and soon discovered that they had many subjects +of interest in common—they both loved music, they +both adored novels and poetry. Wyndham could read +aloud beautifully, and at these times Valentine liked to lie +back in her easy chair and steal shy glances at him, and +wonder, as she never ceased to wonder, from morning to +night, why he loved her so much, and why her father +wanted her to marry him.</p> + +<p>If Valentine was cold to this young man, she was, however, +quite the opposite to the rector of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. +Mr. Wyndham came to town, and of course partook +of the hospitality of the house in Queen's Gate. In +Valentine's eyes the rector was old, older than her father—she +delighted for her father's sake in all old men, and being +really a very loveable and fascinating girl soon won the +rector's heart.</p> + +<p>"I'm not a bit surprised, Gerald," the good man said to +his son on the day of his return to his parish duties. +"She's a wilful lass, and has a spirit of her own, but she's +a good girl, too, and a sweet, and a young fellow might do +worse than lose his heart to her. Valentine is open as the +day, and when she comes to me as a daughter, I'll give +her a daughter's place in my heart. Yes, Valentine is all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +right enough, and I'll tell Lilias so, and put her heart at rest, +poor girl, but I'm not so sure about Paget. I think you +are putting yourself in a very invidious position, if you +will allow me to say so, my boy, coming into Paget's +house as a sort of dependent, even though you are his girl's +husband. I don't like the sound of it, and you won't care +for the position, Gerald, when you've experienced it for a +short time. However—oh, there's my train—yes, porter, +yes, two bugs and a rag—I mean two bags and a rug—Here, +this way, this way. Dear, dear, how confused one +gets! Yes, Gerald, what was I saying? Oh, of course +you're of age, my boy, you are at liberty to choose for +yourself. Yes, I like the girl thoroughly. God bless you. +Gerry; come down to the old place whenever you have a +spare Saturday."</p> + +<p>The younger Wyndham smiled in a very grave fashion, +saw to his father's creature comforts, as regarded wraps, +newspapers, etc., tipped the porter, who had not yet done +laughing at the reverend gentleman's mistake, and left the +station.</p> + +<p>He hailed a cab and drove at once to his future father-in-law's +business address. He was quite at home now in +the big shipping office, the several clerks regarding him +with mixed feelings of respect and envy. Gerald had a +gracious way with everyone, he was never distant with his +fellow-creatures, but there was also a slight indescribable +touch about him which kept those who were beneath him +in the social scale from showing the smallest trace of +familiarity. He was sympathetic, but he had a knack of +making those who came in contact with him treat him as a +gentleman. The clerks liked Wyndham, and with one exception +were extremely civil to him. Helps alone held +himself aloof from the new-comer, watching him far more +anxiously than the other clerks did, but, nevertheless, keeping +his own counsel, and daring whenever he had the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +opportunity to use covert words of warning.</p> + +<p>On his arrival, to-day, Wyndham sent a message to the +chief, asking to see him as soon as convenient. While he +waited in the ante-room, for in reality he had little or +nothing to do in the place, the door was opened to admit +another visitor, and then Adrian Carr, the young man whom +Valentine had once spoken of with admiration, stepped +across the threshold. The two young men were slightly +acquainted, and while they waited they chatted together.</p> + +<p>Carr was a great contrast to Wyndham—he was rather +short, but thin and wiry, without an atom of superfluous +flesh anywhere—his shoulders were broad, he was firmly +knit and had a very erect carriage. Wyndham, tall, loosely +built, with the suspicion of a stoop, looked frail beside the +other man. Wyndham's dark grey eyes were too sensitive +for perfect mental health. His face was pallid, but at times +it would flush vividly—his lips had a look of repression +about them—the whole attitude of the man to a very keen +observer was tense and watchful.</p> + +<p>Carr had dark eyes, closely cropped hair, a smooth face +but for his moustache, and a keen, resolute, bold glance. +He was not nearly as handsome as Wyndham, beside Wyndham +he might even have been considered commonplace, +but his every gesture, his every glance betokened the perfection +of mental health and physical vigor.</p> + +<p>After a few desultory nothings had been exchanged between +the two, Carr alluded to Wyndham's engagement, +and offered him his congratulations. He did this with a +certain guardedness of tone which caused Gerald to look +at him keenly.</p> + +<p>"Thank you—yes, I am very lucky," he replied. "But +can we not exchange good wishes, Carr? I heard a +rumor somewhere, that you also were about to be married."</p> + +<p>Carr laughed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + +<p>"These rumors are always getting about," he said, "half +of them end in smoke. In my case you yourself destroyed +the ghost of the chance of such a possibility coming +about."</p> + +<p>"I? What do you mean?" said Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the least consequence. As matters have +turned out I am perfectly heart-whole, but the fact is, the +only girl I ever took the slightest fancy to is going to be +your wife. Oh, I am not in love with her! You stopped +me in time. I really only tell you this to show you how +much I appreciate the excellence of your taste."</p> + +<p>Wyndham did not utter a word, and just then Helps +came to say that Mr. Paget would see Mr. Carr for a few +moments. Carr instantly left the room, and Wyndham +went over to the dusty window, leant his elbow against one +of the panes, and peered out.</p> + +<p>Apparently there was nothing for him to see—the window +looked into a tiny square yard, in the centre of which +was a table, which contained a dish of empty peapods, and +two cabbages in a large basin of cold water. Not a soul +was in the yard, and Wyndham staring out ought in the +usual order of things soon to have grown weary of the +objects of his scrutiny. Far from that, his fixed gaze +seemed to see something of peculiar and intense interest. +When he turned away at last, his face was ghastly white, +and taking out his handkerchief he wiped some drops of +moisture from his forehead.</p> + +<p>"My master will see you now, sir," said Helps, in a +quiet voice. He had been watching Wyndham all the +time, and now he looked up at him with a queer significant +glance of sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Oh, ain't you a fool, young man?" he said. "Why, +nothing ain't worth what you're a-gwine through."</p> + +<p>"Is Carr gone?" asked Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, sir, he's a gent as k<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>nows what he's after. No +putting his foot into holes with him. He knows what +ground he'll walk on. Come along, sir, here you are."</p> + +<p>Helps always showed Wyndham into the chief's presence +with great parade. Mr. Paget was in a genial humor. When +he greeted the young man he actually laughed.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Gerald; sit down, my dear boy. Now, you'll +never guess what our friend Adrian Carr came to see me +about. 'Pon my word, it's quite a joke—you'll never guess +it, Gerald."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure of that, sir, I never guessed a riddle in my +life."</p> + +<p>Something in the hopeless tone in which these few words +were uttered made Mr. Paget cease smiling. He favored +Gerald with a lightning glance, then said quietly:</p> + +<p>"I suppose I ought not to have laughed, but somehow +I never thought Carr would have taken to the job. He +wants me to introduce him to your father, Gerald. He is +anxious to be ordained for the curacy which you have +missed. Fancy a man like Carr in the Church! He says +he never thought of such a profession until you put it into +his head—now he is quite keen after it. Well, perhaps he +will make an excellent clergyman—I rather fancy I should +like to hear him preach."</p> + +<p>"If I were you," said Gerald, "I would refuse to give +him that introduction."</p> + +<p>"Refuse to give it him! My dear boy, what do you +mean? I am not quite such a churl. Why, I have given it +him. I wrote a long letter to your excellent father, saying +all sorts of nice things about Carr, and he has taken it +away in his pocket. Her Majesty's post has the charge of +it by this time, I expect. What is the matter, Wyndham? +You look quite strange."</p> + +<p>"I feel it, sir—I don't like this at all. Carr and I have +got mixed somehow. He takes my curacy, and he confessed +that but for me he'd have gone in for Val. Now you see +what I mean. He oughtn't to have the curacy."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Paget looked really puzzled.</p> + +<p>"You are talking in a strange way, Gerald," he said. "If +poor Carr was unfortunate enough to fall in love with a +girl whom you have won, surely you don't grudge him that +poor little curacy too. My dear lad, you are getting positively +morbid. There, I don't think I want you for anything +special to day. Go home to Val—get her to cheer +your low spirits."</p> + +<p>"She cannot," replied Gerald. "You don't see, sir, +because you won't. Carr is not in love with Valentine, +and Valentine is not in love with him, but they both might +be. I have heard Val talk of him—once. I heard him +speak of her—to day. By-and-bye, sir—in the future, they +may meet. You know what I mean. Carr ought not to go to +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold—it is wrong. I will not allow it. I +will myself write to the rector. I will take the responsibility, +whoever gets my old berth it must not be Adrian +Carr."</p> + +<p>Wyndham rose as he spoke—he looked determined, all +trace of weakness or irresolution left his face. Paget had +never before seen this young man in his present mood. +Somehow the sight gave him intense pleasure. A latent +fear which he had scarcely dared to whisper even to his +own heart that Wyndham had not sufficient pluck for what +lay before him vanished now. He too rose to his feet, and +laid his hand almost caressingly on the lad's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"My boy, you have no cause to fear in this matter. In +the future I myself will take care of Valentine, but I love +you for your thoughtfulness, Gerald."</p> + +<p>"You need not, sir. I have something on my mind which +I must say now. I have entered into your scheme. I +have——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes—let me shut and lock the door, my boy."</p> + +<p>Wyndham, arrested in his speech, drew one or two h<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>eavy +breaths.</p> + +<p>He spoke again in a sort of panting way. His eyes grew +bright and almost wild.</p> + +<p>"I have promised you," he continued. "I'll go through +with it. It's a million times worse fate for me than if I had +killed someone, and then was hung up by the neck until I +died. That, in comparison to this, would be—well, like +the sting of a gnat. I'll go through with it, however, and +you need not be afraid that I'll change my mind. I do it +solely and entirely because I love your daughter, because +I believe that the touch of dishonor would blight her, +because unfortunately for herself she loves you better than +any other soul in the world. If she did not, if she gave +me even half of the great heart which she bestows upon +you, then I would risk all, and feel sure that dishonor and +poverty with me would be better than honor and riches +with you. You're a happy man during these last six weeks. +Mr. Paget. You have found your victim, and you see a +way of salvation for yourself, and a prosperous future for +Valentine. She won't grieve long—oh, no, not long for +the husband she never loved—but look here, you have to +guard her against the possibility in the future of falling in +love with another—of being won by another man, who will +ask her to be his wife and the mother of his children. +Though she does not love me, she must remain my widow +all her days, for if she does not, if I hear that she, thinking +herself free, is about to contract marriage with another, I +will return—yes, I will return from the dead—from the +grave, and say that it shall not be, and I will show all the +world that you are—what you have proved yourself to be +to me—a devil. That is all. I wanted to say this to you. +Carr has given me the opportunity. I won't see Val to-day, +for I am upset—to-morrow I shall have regained my +composure."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + + +<p>Wyndham was engaged to Valentine Paget very nearly a +year before their wedding. One of the young lady's stipulations +was that under no circumstances would she enter +into the holy estate of matrimony before she was eighteen. +Paget made no objection to this proviso on Val's part. +In these days he humored her slightest wish, and no happier +pair to all appearance could have been seen driving +in the Park, or riding in the Row, than this handsome +father and daughter.</p> + +<p>"What a beautiful expression he has," remarked many +people. And when they said this to the daughter she +smiled, and a sweet proud light came into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"My father is a darling," she would say. "No one +knows him as I do. I believe he is about the greatest and +the best of men."</p> + +<p>When Val made enthusiastic remarks of this kind. +Wyndham looked at her sorrowfully. She was very fond +of him by this time—he had learned to fit himself to her +ways, to accommodate himself to her caprices, and +although she frankly admitted that she could not for an +instant compare him to her father, she always owned that +she loved him next best, and that she thought it would be +a very happy thing to be his wife.</p> + +<p>No girl could look sweeter than Val when she made little +speeches of this kind, but they had always a queer effect +upon her lover, causing him to experience an excitement +which was scarcely joy, for nothing could have more fatally +upset Mr. Paget's plans than Valentine really to fall in love +with Wyndham.</p> + +<p>The wedding d<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>ay was fixed for the first week in July, +and Valentine was accompanied to the altar by no less than +eight bridesmaids. It was a grand wedding—quite one of +the events of the season, and those who saw it spoke of +the bride as beautiful, and of the bridegroom as a grave, +striking-looking man.</p> + +<p>If a man constantly practises self-repression there comes +a time when, in this special art, he almost reaches perfection. +Wyndham had come to this stage, as even Lilias, +who read her brother like a book, could see nothing amiss +with him on his wedding day. All, therefore, went merrily +on this auspicious occasion, and the bride and bridegroom +started for the continent amid a shower of blessings and +good wishes.</p> + +<p>"Gerald, dear, I quite forgive you," said Lilias, as at the +very last minute she put her arms round her brother's +neck.</p> + +<p>"What for, Lilly?" he asked, looking down at her.</p> + +<p>Then a shadow of great bitterness crossed the sunshine +of his face. He stooped and kissed her forehead.</p> + +<p>"You don't know my sin, so you cannot forgive it, Lilly," +he continued.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my darling, I know you," she said. "I don't +think you could sin. I meant that I have learned already +to love Valentine a little, and I am not surprised at your +choice. I forgive you fully, Gerald, for loving another girl +better than your sister Lilias. Good-bye, dear old Gerry. +God bless you!"</p> + +<p>"He won't do that, Lilly—he can't. Oh, forgive me, +dear, I didn't mean those words. Of course I'm the happiest +fellow in the world."</p> + +<p>Gerald turned away, and Lilias kissed Valentine, and +then watched with a queer feeling of pain at her heart as +the bridal pair amid cheers and blessings drove away.</p> + +<p>Gerald's last few words had renewed Lilias' anxiety. She +felt restless in the great, grand house, and longed to be +back in the rectory.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What's the matter, Lil?" said Marjory; "your face +is a yard long, and you are quite white and have dark lines +under your eyes. For my part I did not think Gerald's +wedding would be half so jolly, and what a nice unaffected +girl Valentine is."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I'm not bothering my head about her," said +Lilias. "She's all right, just what father said she was. I +wish we were at home again, Maggie."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course, so do I," said Marjory. "But then we +can't be, for we promised Gerald to try and make things +bright for Mr. Paget. Isn't he a handsome man, Lilly? I +don't think I ever saw anyone with such a beaming sort of +benevolent expression."</p> + +<p>"He is certainly very fond of Valentine, and she of +him," answered Lilias. "No, I did not particularly notice +his expression. The fact is I did not look at anyone much +except our Gerald. Marjory, I think it is an awful thing +for girls like us to have an only brother—he becomes +almost too precious. Marjory, I cannot sympathize with +Mr. Paget. I wish we were at home. I know our dear +old dad will want us, and there is no saying what mess +Augusta will put things into."</p> + +<p>"Father heard from Mr. Carr on the morning we left," +responded Marjory. "I think he is coming to the rectory +on Saturday. If so, father won't miss us: he'll be quite +taken up showing him over the place."</p> + +<p>"I shall hate him," responded Lilias, in a very tart +voice. "Fancy his taking our Gerald's place. Oh. +Maggie, this room stifles me—can't we change our +dresses, and go out for a stroll somewhere? Oh, what +folly you talk of it's not being the correct thing! What +a hateful place this London is! Oh, for a breath of the +air in the garden at home. Yes, what is it, Mrs. Johnstone?"</p> + +<p>Lilias' pretty face looked almost grumpy, and a decidedly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +discontented expression lurked in the dark, sweet +eyes she turned upon the good lady of the establishment.</p> + +<p>"Lilly has an attack of the fidgets," said Marjory. "She +wants to go out for a walk."</p> + +<p>"You shall both come in the carriage with me, my dears. +I was coming in to propose it to you. We won't dine until +quite late this evening."</p> + +<p>"Delightful," exclaimed Marjory, and the two girls ran +out of the room to get ready. Mrs. Johnstone followed +them, and a few moments later a couple of young men +who were staying in the house sauntered lazily into the +drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of Wyndham's sisters, Exham?" +said one to the other.</p> + +<p>Exham, a delicate youth of about nineteen, gave a long +expressive whistle.</p> + +<p>"The girls are handsome enough," he said. "But not +in my style. The one they call Lilias is too brusque. As +to Wyndham, well—"</p> + +<p>"What a significant 'well,' old fellow—explain yourself."</p> + +<p>"Nothing," returned Exham, who seemed to draw out +of any further confidences he was beginning to make. +"Nothing—only, I wouldn't be in Wyndham's shoes."</p> + +<p>The other man, whose name was Power, gave a short +laugh.</p> + +<p>"You need not pretend to be so wise and close, Exham," +he retorted. "Anyone can see with half an eye that +Wyndham's wife is not in love with him. All the same. +Wyndham has not done a bad thing for himself—stepping +into a business like this. Why, he'll have everything by-and-bye. +I don't see how he can help it."</p> + +<p>"Did you hear that funny story," retorted Exham, +"about Wyndham's life being insured?"</p> + +<p>"No, what?—Most men insure their lives when they +marry."</p> + +<p>"Yes, b<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>ut this is quite out of the common. At four +offices, and heavily. It filtered to me through one of the +clerks at the office. He said it was all Paget's doing."</p> + +<p>"What a villain that clerk must be to let out family +secrets," responded Power. "I don't believe there's anything +in it, Exham. Ah, here comes the young ladies. +Yes, Mrs. Johnstone, I should like to go for a drive very +much."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + + +<p>Some people concern themselves vey much with the mysteries +of life, others take what good things fall into their +way without question or wonder. These latter folk are +not of a speculating or strongly reasoning turn; if sorrow +arrives they accept it as wise, painful, inevitable—if joy +visits them they rejoice, but with simplicity. They are +the people who are naturally endowed with faith—faith +first of all in a guiding providence, which as a rule is +accompanied by a faith in their fellow men. The world is +kind to such individuals, for the world is very fond of +giving what is expected of it—to one hate and distrust, to +another open-handed benevolence and cordiality. People +so endowed are usually fortunate, and of them it may be +said, that it was good for them to be born.</p> + +<p>All people are not so constituted—there is such a thing +as a noble discontent, and the souls that in the end often +attain to the highest, have nearly suffered shipwreck, have +spent with St. Paul a day and a night in the deep—being +saved in the end with a great deliverance—they have often +on the road been all but lost. Such people often sin very +deeply—temptation assails them in the most subtle forms, +many of them go down really into the deep, and are never +in this life heard of again—they are spoken of as "lost," +utterly lost, and their names are held up to others as +terrible warnings, as examples to be shunned, as reprobates +to be spoken of with bated breath.</p> + +<p>It may be that some of these so-called lost souls will +appear as victors in another state; having gone into the +lowest depths of all they may also attain to the highest +heights; this, however, is a mystery which no one can +fathom.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gerald Wyndham was one of the men of whom no +one could quite say it was good for him to have been +born. His nature was not very easily read, and even his +favorite sister Lilias did not quite know him. From his +earliest days he was so far unfortunate as never to be able +to take things easily; even in his childhood this characteristic +marked him. Sorrows with Gerald were never trivial; +when he was six years old he became seriously ill because +a pet canary died. He would not talk of his trouble, nor +wail for his pet like an ordinary child, but sat apart, and +refused to eat, and only his mother at last could draw him +away from his grief, and show him it was unmanly to be +rebellious.</p> + +<p>His joys were as intense as his woes—he was an intense +child in every sense of the word; eager, enthusiastic, with +many noble impulses. All might have gone well with him +but for a rather strange accompaniment to his special +character; he was as reserved as most such boys would be +open. It was only by the changing expression of his eyes +that on many occasions people knew whether a certain +proposition would plunge him in the depths of woe or +raise him to the heights of joy. He was innately very unselfish, +and this characteristic must have been most strongly +marked in him, for his father and his mother and his +seven sisters did their utmost to make him the reverse. +Lilias said afterwards that they failed ignobly. Gerald +would never see it, she would say. Talk of easy-chairs—he +would stand all the evening rather than take one +until every other soul in the room was comfortably provided. +Talk of the best in anything,—you might give it to +Gerald, but in five minutes he would have given it away to +the person who wanted it least. It was aggravating beyond +words, Lilias Wyndham often exclaimed, but before you +could even attempt to make old Gerry decently comfortable +you had to attend to the wants of even the cats and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +dogs.</p> + +<p>Wyndham carrying all his peculiarities with him went to +school and then to Cambridge. He was liked in both +places, and was clever enough to win distinction, but for +the same characteristic which often caused him at the last +moment to fail, because he thought another man should +win the honor, or another schoolboy the prize.</p> + +<p>His mother wished him to take holy orders, and although +he had no very strong leaning in that direction he expressed +himself satisfied with her choice, and decided for the first +few years of his life as deacon and priest to help his father +at the dear old parish of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold.</p> + +<p>Then came his meeting with Valentine Paget, the complete +upheaval of every idea, the revolution which shook +his nature to its depths. His hour had come, and he took +the malady of young love—first, earnest, passionate love—as +anyone who knew him thoroughly, and scarcely anyone +did know the real Wyndham, might have expected.</p> + +<p>One pair of eyes, however, looked at this speaking face, +and one keen mental vision pierced down into the depths +of an earnest and chivalrous soul. Mortimer Paget had +been long looking for a man like Wyndham. It was not a +very difficult matter to make such a lad his victim, hence +his story became one of the most sorrowful that could be +written, as far as this life is concerned. Had his mother, +who was now in her grave for over seven years, known +what fate lay before this bright beautiful boy of hers, she +would have cursed the day of his birth. Fortunately for +mothers, and sisters too, the future lies in darkness, for +knowledge in such cases would make daily life unendurable.</p> + +<p>Valentine and her husband extended their wedding tour +considerably over the original month. They often wrote +home, and nothing could exceed the cheerfulness of the +letters which Mr. Paget read with anxiety and absorbin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>g +interest—the rectory folks with all the interest minus the +anxiety. Valentine frankly declared that she had never +been so happy in her life, and it was at last, at her father's +express request, almost command, that the young couple +consented to take up their abode in Queen's Gate early in +the November which followed their wedding. They spent +a fortnight first at the old rectory, where Valentine appeared +in an altogether new character, and commenced +her career by swearing an eternal friendship with Augusta. +She was in almost wild spirits, and they played pranks +together, and went everywhere arm-in-arm, accompanied +by the entire bevy of little sisters.</p> + +<p>Lilias and Marjory began by being rather scandalized, +but ended by thoroughly appreciating the arrangement, as it +left them free to monopolize Gerald, who on this occasion +seemed to have quite recovered his normal spirits. He +was neither depressed nor particularly exultant, he did not +talk a great deal either about himself or his wife, but was +full of the most delighted interest in his father's and sisters' +concerns. The new curate, Mr. Carr, was now in full +force, and Gerald and he found a great deal to say to one +another. The days were those delicious ones of late autumn, +when nature quiet and exhausted, as she is after her +time of flower and fruit, is in her most soothing mood. The +family at the rectory were never indoors until the shades +of night drove them into the long, low, picturesque, untidy +drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Then Gerald sang with his sisters—they had all sweet +voices, and his was a pure and very sympathetic tenor. Valentine's +songs were not the same as those culled from old +volumes of ballads, and selected from the musical mothers' +and grandmothers' store, which the rectory folk delighted +in. Hers were drawing-room melodies of the present day, +fashionable, but short-lived.</p> + +<p>The first night the young bri<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>de was silent, for even Augusta +had left her to join the singers round the piano. +Gerald was playing an accompaniment for his sisters, and +the rector, standing in the back ground, joined the swell of +harmony with his rich bass notes. Valentine and Carr, +who was also in the room, were the silent and only listeners. +Valentine wore a soft white dress, her bright wavy +locks of golden hair were a little roughened, and her starry +eyes were fixed on her husband. Carr, who looked almost +monastic in his clerical dress, was gazing at her—her lips +were partly open, she kept gentle time to the music with +her little hand. A very spirited glee was in full tide, when +there came a horrid discordant crash on the piano—everyone +stopped singing, and Gerald, very white, went up to +Val, and took her arm.</p> + +<p>"Come over here and join us," he said almost roughly.</p> + +<p>"But I don't know any of that music, Gerald, and it is +so delicious to listen."</p> + +<p>"Folly," responded her husband. "It looks absurd to +see two people gaping at one. I beg your pardon, Carr—I +am positively sensitive, abnormally so, on the subject of +being stared at. Girls, shall we have a round game? I +will teach Val some of Bishop's melodies to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>"I am going home," said Carr, quietly. "I did not +know that anyone was looking at you except your wife. +Wyndham. Good-night?"</p> + +<p>It was an uncomfortable little scene, and even the innocent, +unsophisticated rectory girls felt embarrassed without +knowing why. Marjory almost blamed Gerald afterwards, +and would have done so roundly, but Lilias would not +listen to her.</p> + +<p>At the next night's concert, Valentine sang almost as +sweetly as the others, but Carr did not come back to the +rectory for a couple of days.</p> + +<p>"I evidently acted like a bru<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>te, and must have appeared +one," said Gerald to himself. "But God alone +knows what all this means to me."</p> + +<p>It was a small jar, the only one in that happy fortnight, +when the girls seemed to have quite got their brother back, +and to have found a new sister in pretty, bright Valentine.</p> + +<p>It was the second of November when the bride and +bridegroom appeared at a big dinner party made in their +honor at the house in Queen's Gate.</p> + +<p>All her friends congratulated Valentine on her improved +looks, and told Wyndham frankly that matrimony had made +a new man of him. He was certainly bright and pleasant, +and took his part quite naturally as the son of the house. +No one could detect the shadow of a care on his face, and +as to Val, she sat almost in her father's pocket, scarcely +turning her bright eyes away from his face.</p> + +<p>"I always thought that dear Mr. Paget the best and +noblest and most Christian of men," remarked a certain +Lady Valery to her daughter as they drove home that evening. +"I am now more convinced of the truth of my views +than ever."</p> + +<p>"Why so, mother?" asked her daughter.</p> + +<p>"My dear, can you not see for yourself? He gave that +girl of his—that beautiful girl, with all her fortune—to a +young man with neither position nor money, simply and +entirely because she fell in love with him. Was there ever +anything more disinterested? Yes, my dear, talk to me +of every Christian virtue embodied, and I shall invariably +mention my old friend, Mortimer Paget."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + + +<p>"Valentine," said her husband, as they stood together +by the fire in their bedroom that night, "I have a great +favor to ask of you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Gerald—a favor! I like to grant favors. Is it +that I must wear that soft white dress you like so much +to-morrow evening? Or that I must sing no songs but the +rectory songs for father's visitors in the drawing-room. +How solemn you look, Gerald. What is the favor?"</p> + +<p>Gerald's face did look careworn. The easy light-hearted +expression which had characterized it downstairs had left +him. When Valentine laid her hand lovingly on his +shoulder, he slipped his arm round her waist, however, and +drew her fondly to his side.</p> + +<p>"Val, the favor is this," he said. "You can do anything +you like with your father. I want you to persuade +him to let us live in a little house of our own for a time, +until, say next summer."</p> + +<p>Valentine sprang away from Gerald's encircling arm.</p> + +<p>"I won't ask that favor," she said, her eyes flashing. "It +is mean of you, Gerald. I married you on condition that +I should live with my father."</p> + +<p>"Very well, dear, if you feel it like that, we won't say +anything more about it. It is not of real consequence."</p> + +<p>Gerald took a letter out of his pocket, and opening the +envelope began leisurely to read its contents. Valentine +still, however, felt ruffled and annoyed.</p> + +<p>"It is so queer of you to make such a request," she said. +"I wonder what father would say. He would think I had +taken leave of my senses, and just now too when I have +been away from him for months. And when it is such a +joy, such a deep, deep joy, to be with him again."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is of no consequence, darling. I am sorry I mentioned +it. See, Valentine, this letter is from a great friend +of mine, a Mrs. Price—she wants to call on you; she is +coming to-morrow. You will be at home in the afternoon, +will you not?"</p> + +<p>Valentine nodded.</p> + +<p>"I will be in," she said. Then she added, her eyes filling +with tears—"You don't really want to take me away +from my father, Gerald?"</p> + +<p>"I did wish to do so, dear, but we need not think of it +again. The one and only object of my life is to make you +happy, Val. Now go to bed, and to sleep, dearest. I am +going downstairs to have a smoke."</p> + +<p>The next morning, very much to her surprise, Mr. Paget +called his daughter into his study, and made the same proposition +to her which Gerald had made the night before.</p> + +<p>"I must not be a selfish old man, Val," he said. "And +I think it is best for young married folks to live alone. I +know how you love me, my child, and I will promise to pay +you a daily visit. Or at least when you don't come to me, I +will look you up. But all things considered, it is best for +your husband and you to have your own house. Why, +what is it, Valentine, you look quite queer, child."</p> + +<p>"This is Gerald's doing," said Valentine—her face had +a white set look—never before had her father seen this +expression on it. "No, father, I will not leave you; I +refuse to do so; it is breaking our compact; it is unfair."</p> + +<p>She went up to him, and put her arms round his neck, +and again her golden locks touched his silvered head, and +her soft cheek pressed his.</p> + +<p>"Father darling, you won't break your own Val's heart—you +couldn't; it would be telling a lie. I won't live away +from you—I won't, so there."</p> + +<p>Just at this moment Wyndham e<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>ntered the room.</p> + +<p>"What is it, sir?" he said, almost fiercely. "What are +you doing with Val? Why, she is crying. What have you +been saying to her?"</p> + +<p>"My father said nothing," answered Valentine for him. +"How dare you speak to my father in that tone? It is you. +Gerald; you have been mean and shabby. You went to +my father to try to get him on your side—to try and get +him—to try and get him to aid you in going away—to live +in another house. Oh, it was a mean, cowardly thing to do, +but you shan't have your way, for I'm not going; only +I'm ashamed of you, Gerald, I'm ashamed of you."</p> + +<p>Here Valentine burst into a tempest of angry, girlish +tears.</p> + +<p>"Don't be silly, Val," said her husband, in a quiet voice. +"I said nothing about this to Mr. Paget. I wished for it, +but as I told you last night, when you disapproved, I gave +it up. I don't tell lies. Will you explain to Valentine, +please, sir, that I'm guiltless of anything mean, or, as she +expresses it, shabby, in this matter."</p> + +<p>"Of course, Wyndham—of course, you are," said Paget. +"My dear little Val, what a goose you have made of yourself. +Now run away, Wyndham, there's a good fellow, and +I'll soothe her down. You might as well go to the office +for me. Ask Helps for my private letters, and bring them +back with you. Now, Valentine, you and I are going to +have a drive together. Good-bye, Wyndham."</p> + +<p>Wyndham slowly left the room—Valentine's head was +still on her father's shoulder—as her husband went away +he looked back at her, but she did not return his glance.</p> + +<p>"The old man is right," he soliloquized bitterly. "I +have not a chance of winning her heart. No doubt under +the circumstances this is the only thing to be desired, and +yet it very nearly maddens me."</p> + +<p>Wyndham did not return to Queen's Gate until quite +late; he had only time to run up to his room and change +his dress hastily for dinner. Valentine had already gone +downstairs, and he sighed heavily as he noticed this, o<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>r +he felt that unwittingly he had managed to hurt her in her +tenderest feelings that morning.</p> + +<p>"If there is much of this sort of thing," he said to himself. +"I shall not be so sorry when the year is up. When +once the plunge is over I may come up another man, and +anything is better than perpetually standing on the brink." +Yet half an hour later Wyndham had completely changed +his mind, for when he entered the drawing-room, a girlish +figure jumped up at once out of an easy-chair, and ran to +meet him, and Valentine's arms were flung about his neck +and several of her sweetest kisses printed on his lips.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me for being cross this morning, dear old darling. +Father has made me see everything in quite a new +light, and has shown me that I acted quite like a little +fiend, and that you are very nearly the best of men. And +do you know, Gerry, he wishes us so much to live alone, +and thinks it the only right and proper thing to do, that I +have given in, and I quite agree with him, quite. And we +have almost taken the sweetest, darlingest little bijou residence +in Park-lane that you can imagine. It is like a doll's +house compared to this, but so exquisite, and furnished +with such taste. It will feel like playing in a baby-house +all day long, and I am almost in love with it already. You +must come with me and see it the first thing in the morning. +Gerry, for if we both like it, father will arrange at once +with the agent, and then, do you know the very first thing +I mean to do for you, Gerry? Oh, you need not guess, I'll +tell you. Lilias shall come up to spend the winter with us. +Oh, you need not say a word. I'm not jealous, but I can +see how you idolize Lilias, Gerry."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + + +<p>At the end of a week the Wyndhams were settled in their +new home, and Valentine began her duties as wife and +housekeeper in earnest. She, too, was more or less impulsive, +and beginning by hating the idea she ended by adopting +it with enthusiasm. After all it was her father's plan, +not Gerald's, and that in her heart of hearts made all the +difference.</p> + +<p>For the first time in her life, Valentine had more to get +through than she could well accomplish. Her days, therefore, +just now were one long delight to her, and even Gerald +felt himself more or less infected by her high spirits. It +was pretty to see her girlish efforts at housekeeping, and +even her failures became subjects of good-humored merriment. +Mr. Paget came over every day to see her, but he +generally chose the hours when her husband was absent, +and Wyndham and his young wife were in consequence +able to spend many happy evenings alone.</p> + +<p>By-and-bye this girlish and thoughtless wife was to look +back on these evenings, and wonder with vain sighs of +unavailing regret if life could ever again bring her back +such sweetness. Now she enjoyed them unthinkingly, for +her time for wakening had not come.</p> + +<p>When the young couple were quite settled in their own +establishment, Lilias Wyndham came up from the country +to spend a week with them. Nothing would induce her +to stay longer away from home. Although Valentine +pleaded and coaxed, and even Gerald added a word or two +of entreaty, she was quite firm.</p> + +<p>"No," she said, "nothing would m<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>ake me become the +obnoxious sister-in-law, about whom so much has been +written in all the story books I have ever read."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lilias, you darling, as if you could!" exclaimed +Val, flying at her and kissing her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, my dear, I could," calmly responded Lilly—"and +I may just as well warn you at once that my ways +are not your ways in a great many particulars, and that +you'd find that out if I lived too long with you. No, I'm +going home to-morrow—to my own life, and you and +Gerald must live yours without me. I am ready to come, +if ever either of you want me, but just now no one does +that as much as Marjory and my father."</p> + +<p>Lilias returned to Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and Valentine +for some days continued to talk of her with enthusiasm, +and to quote her name on all possible occasions.</p> + +<p>"Lilias says that I'll never make a good housekeeper, +unless I bring my wants into a fixed allowance, Gerald. +She says I ought to know what I have got to spend each +week, and not to exceed it, whether it is a large or small +sum. She says that's what she and Marjory always do. +About how much do you think I ought to spend a week on +housekeeping, Gerry?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, darling. I have not the most remote +idea."</p> + +<p>"But how much have we to spend altogether? We are +very rich, are we not?"</p> + +<p>"No, Valentine, we are very poor. In fact we have got +nothing at all."</p> + +<p>"Why, what a crease has come between your brows; +let me smooth it out—there, now you look much nicer. +You have got a look of Lilias, only your eyes are not so +dark. Gerald, I think Lilias so pretty. I think she is the +very sweetest girl I ever met. But what do you mean by +saying we are poor? Of course we are not poor. We +would not live in a house like this, and have such jolly, +cosy, little dinners if we were poor. Why, I know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> that +champagne that we have a tiny bottle of every evening is +really most costly. I thought poor people lived in attics, +and ate bread and American cheese. What do you mean +by being poor, Gerald?"</p> + +<p>"Only that we have nothing of our own, dearest; we +depend on your father for everything."</p> + +<p>"You speak in quite a bitter tone. It is sweet to depend +on my father. But doesn't he give us an allowance?"</p> + +<p>"No, Valentine, I just take him all the bills, and he pays +them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't like that plan. I think it is much more +important and interesting to pay one's own bills, and I can +never learn to be a housekeeper if I don't understand the +value of money. I'll speak to father about this when he +comes to-morrow. I'll ask him to give me an allowance."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't," replied Gerald. He spoke lazily, and +yawned as he uttered the words.</p> + +<p>"There's no use in taking up things that one must leave +off again," he added, somewhat enigmatically. Then he +opened a copy of Browning which lay near, and forgot +Valentine and her troubles, at least she thought he forgot +her.</p> + +<p>She looked at him for a moment, with a half-pleased, +half-puzzled expression coming into her face.</p> + +<p>"He is very handsome and interesting," she murmured +under her breath. "I like him, I certainly do like him, +not as well as my father of course—I'm not sorry I married +him now. I like him quite as well as I could ever have +cared for the other man—the man who wore white flannels +and had a determined voice, and now has been turned into +a dreadful prosy curate. Yes, I do like Gerald. He perplexes +me a good deal, but that is interesting. He is +mysterious, and that is captivating—yes, yes—yes. Now, +what did he mean by that queer remark about my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> housekeeping—'that +it wasn't worth while?' I hope he's not +superstitious—if anything could be worth while it would +be well for a young girl like me to learn something useful +and definite. I'll ask him what he means."</p> + +<p>She drew a footstool to her husband's side, and taking +one of his hands laid her cheek against it. Wyndham +dropped his book and smiled down at her.</p> + +<p>"Gerry, do you believe in omens?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Gerald gave a slight start. Circumstances inclined him +to superstition—then he laughed. He must not encourage +his wife in any such folly.</p> + +<p>"I don't quite understand you, my love," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Only you said it was not worth my while to learn to +housekeep. Why do you say that? I am very young, +you are young. If we are to go on always together, I ought +to become wise and sensible. I ought to have knowledge. +What do you mean, Gerald? Have you had an omen? +Do you think you will die? Or perhaps that I shall die? +I should not at all like it. I hope—I trust—no token of +death has been sent to you about me."</p> + +<p>"None, my very dearest, none. I see before you a life +of—of peace. Peace and plenty—and—and—honor—a +good life, Valentine, a guarded life."</p> + +<p>"How white you are, Gerald. And why do you say +'you' all the time? The life, the peaceful life, and it +sounds rather dull, is for us both, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know—I can't say. You wouldn't care, would +you, Val—I mean—I mean——"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>Valentine had risen, her arms were thrown round +Gerald's neck.</p> + +<p>"Are you trying to tell me that I could be happy now +without you?" she whispered. "Then I couldn't, darling. +I don't mind telling you I couldn't. I—I——"</p> + +<p>"What, Val, what?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I like you, Gerald. Yes, I know it—I do like you—much."</p> + +<p>It ought to have been the most dreadful sound to him, +and yet it wasn't. Wyndham strained his wife to his heart. +Then he raised his eyes, and with a start Valentine and he +stepped asunder.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget had come into the room. He had come in +softly, and he must have heard Valentine's words, and seen +that close embrace.</p> + +<p>With a glad cry the girl flew to his side, but when he +kissed her his lips trembled, he sank down on the nearest +chair like a man who had received a great shock.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't help it, sir," said Wyndham.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget and his son-in-law were standing together in +the very comfortable private room before alluded to in the +office of the former.</p> + +<p>Wyndham was standing with his back to the mantel-piece; +Valentine's lovely picture was over his head. Her +eyes, which were almost dancing with life, seemed to have +something mocking in them to Mr. Paget, as he encountered +their gaze now. As eyes will in a picture, they followed +him wherever he moved. He was restless and ill at +ease, and he wished either that the picture might be removed, +or that he could take up Wyndham's position with +his back to it.</p> + +<p>"I tell you," he said, in a voice that betrayed his perturbation, +"that you must help it. It's a clear breaking +of contract to do otherwise."</p> + +<p>"You see," said Wyndham, with a slow smile, "you +under-rated my attractions. I was not the man for your +purpose after all."</p> + +<p>"Sit down for God's sake, Wyndham. Don't stand +there looking so provokingly indifferent. One would think +the whole matter was nothing to you."</p> + +<p>"I am not sure that it is much; that is, I am not at all +sure that I shall not take my full meed of pleasure out of +the short time allotted to me."</p> + +<p>"Sit down, take that chair, no, not that one—that—ah, +that's better. Valentine's eyes are positively uncomfortable +the way they pursue me this evening. Wyndham, you +must feel for me—you must see that it will be a perfectly +awful thing if my—my child loses her heart to you."</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Paget, you can judge for yourself how mat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>ters +stand. I—I cannot quite agree with you about what +you fear being a catastrophe."</p> + +<p>"You must be mad, Wyndham—you must either be +mad, or you mean to cheat me after all."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't. I have a certain amount of honor left—not +much, or I shouldn't have lent myself to this, but the +rag remaining is at your service. Seriously now, I don't +think you have grave cause for alarm. Valentine is affectionate, +but I am not to her as you are."</p> + +<p>"You are growing dearer to her every day. I am not +blind, I have watched her face. She follows you with her +eyes—when you don't eat she is anxious, when you look +dismal—you have an infernally dismal face at times, Wyndham—she +is puzzled. It wasn't only what I saw last night. +Valentine is waking up. It was in the contract that she +was not to wake up. I gave you a child for your wife. +She was to remain a child when——"</p> + +<p>"When she became my widow," Wyndham answered +calmly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. My God, it is awful to think of it. We must go +in, we daren't turn back, and she may suffer, she may suffer +horribly, she has a great heart—a deep heart. It is playing +with edged tools to make it live."</p> + +<p>"Can't you shorten the time of probation?" asked Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"I wish to heaven I could, but I am powerless. Wyndham, +my good friend, my son—something must be done."</p> + +<p>"Don't call me your son," said the younger man, rising +and shaking himself. "I have a father who besides you +is—there, I won't name what I think of you. I have a +mother—through your machinations I shall never see her +face any more. Don't call me your son. You are very +wise, you have the wisdom of a devil, but even you can +overreach yourself. You thought you had found everything +you needed, when you found me—the weak young +fool, the despairing idiotic lover. Poor? Yes, curs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>edly +poor, and with a certain sense of generosity, but nothing +at all in myself to win the heart of a beautiful young girl. +You should have gone down to Jewsbury-on-the-Wold for +a little, before you summed up your estimate of my character, +for the one thing I have always found lying at my +feet is—love. Even the cats and dogs loved me—those to +whom I gave nothing regarded me with affection. Alack—and +alas—my wife only follows the universal example."</p> + +<p>"But it must be stopped, Wyndham. You cannot fail +to see that it must be stopped. Can you not help me—can +you not devise some plan?"</p> + +<p>Wyndham dropped his head on his hands.</p> + +<p>"Hasten the crisis," he said. "I want the plunge over; +hasten it."</p> + +<p>There came a tap at the room door. Mr. Paget drew +back the curtain which stood before it, slipped the bolts, +and opened it.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I guessed you were here!" said Valentine's gay +voice; "yes, and Gerald too. This is delightful," added +she, as she stepped into the room.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Val?" asked her father. "I was busy—I +was talking to your husband. I am very much occupied +this afternoon. I forgot it was the day you generally called +for me. No, I'm afraid I can't go with you, my pet."</p> + +<p>Valentine was looking radiant in winter furs.</p> + +<p>"I'll go with Gerald, then," she said. "He's not too +busy."</p> + +<p>She smiled at him.</p> + +<p>"No, my dear, I'll go with you," said the younger man. +"I don't think, sir," he added, turning round, with a desperately +white but smiling face, "that we can advance +business much by prolonging this interview, and if you +have no objection, I should like to take a drive with my +wife as she has called."</p> + +<p>Valentine instinctively <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>felt that these smoothly spoken +words were meant to hide something. She glanced from +the face of one man to another; then she went up to her +father and linked her hand in his arm.</p> + +<p>"Come, too, daddy," she said. "You used always to +be able to make horrid business wait upon your own Valentine's +pleasure."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget hesitated for a moment. Then he stooped +and lightly kissed his daughter's blooming cheek.</p> + +<p>"Go with your husband, dear," he said, gently. "I am +really busy, and we shall meet at dinner time."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we are to dine with you to-night—I've a most +important request to make after dinner. You know what +it is, Gerry. Won't father be electrified? Promise beforehand +that you'll grant it, dad."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my child, yes. Now run away both of you. I +am really much occupied."</p> + +<p>Valentine and her husband disappeared. Mr. Paget +shut and locked the door behind them—he drew the velvet +curtains to insure perfect privacy. Then he sank down in +his easy-chair to indulge in anxious meditation.</p> + +<p>He thought some of those hard thoughts, some of those +abstruse, worrying, almost despairing thoughts, which add +years to a man's life.</p> + +<p>As he thought the mask dropped from his handsome +face; he looked old and wicked.</p> + +<p>After about a quarter-of-an-hour of these meditations, he +moved slightly and touched an electric bell in the wall. +His signal was answered in about a minute by a tap at the +room door. He slipped the bolts again, and admitted his +confidential clerk, Helps.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Helps. Yes, bolt the door, quite right. Now, +sit down. Helps, I am worried."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry to observe it, sir," said Helps. "Worries +is nat'ral, but not agreeable. They come to the good and +they come to the bad alike; worries is like the sun—they +shines upon all."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A particularly agreeable kind of glare they make," +responded Mr. Paget, testily. "Your similes are remarkable +for their aptitude, Helps. Now, have the goodness +to confine yourself to briefly replying to my questions. +Has there been any news from India since last week?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing fresh, sir."</p> + +<p>"No sign of stir; no awakening of interest—of—of—suspicion?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet, sir. It isn't to be expected, is it?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose not. Sometimes I get impatient, Helps."</p> + +<p>"You needn't now, sir. Your train is, so to speak, laid. +Any moment you can apply the match. Any moment, Mr. +Paget. Sometimes, if you'll excuse me for speaking of +that same, I have a heart in my bosom that pities the victim. +You shouldn't have done it from among the clergy. +Mr. Paget, and him an only son, too."</p> + +<p>"Hush, it's done. There is no help now. Helps, you +are the only soul in the world who knows everything. +Helps, there may be two victims."</p> + +<p>Helps had a sallow face. It grew sickly now.</p> + +<p>"I don't like it," he muttered. "I never did approve +of meddling with the clergy—he was meant for the Church, +and them is the Lord's anointed."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk so much," thundered Mr. Paget. "I tell +you there are two victims—and one of them is my child. +She is falling in love with her husband. It is true—it is +awful. It must be prevented. Helps, you and I have got +to prevent it."</p> + +<p>Helps sat perfectly still. His eyes were lowered; they +were following the patterns of the carpet. He moved his +lips softly.</p> + +<p>"It must be prevented," said Mr. Paget. "Why do +you sit like that? Will you help me, or will you not?"</p> + +<p>Helps raised his greeny-blue eyes with great deliberat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>ion.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that I will help you, Mr. Paget," he +replied; and then he lowered them again.</p> + +<p>"You won't help me? You don't know what you are +saying, Helps. Did you understand my words? I told +you that my daughter was falling in love with that scamp +Wyndham."</p> + +<p>"He ain't a scamp," replied the clerk. "He's in the +conspiracy, poor lad, he's the victim of the conspiracy, +but he's no scamp. Now I never liked it. I may as well +own to you, Mr. Paget, that I never liked your meddling +with the clergy. I said, from the first, as no good would +come of it. It's my opinion, sir—" here Helps rose, and +raising one thin hand shook it feebly at his employer, "it's +my opinion as the Lord is agen you—agen us both for that +matter. We can't do nothing if He is, you know. I had +a dream last night—I didn't like the dream, it was a hominous +dream. I didn't like your scheme, Mr. Paget, and I +don't think I'll help you more'n I have done."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you don't? You are a wicked old scoundrel. You +think you can have things all your own way. You are a +thief. You know the kind of accommodation thieves get +when their follies get found out. Of course, it's inexpensive, +but it's scarcely agreeable."</p> + +<p>Helps smiled slightly.</p> + +<p>"No one could lock me up but you, and you wouldn't +dare," he replied.</p> + +<p>These words seemed somehow or other to have a very +calming effect on Mr. Paget. He did not speak for a full +moment, then he said quietly—</p> + +<p>"We won't go into painful scenes of the past, Helps. +Yes; we have both committed folly, and must stand or fall +together. We have both got only daughters—it is our life's +work to shield them from dishonor, to guard them from +pain. Suppose, Helps, suppose your Esther was in the +position of my child? Suppose she was learning to lov<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>e +her husband, and you knew what that husband had before +him, how would you feel, Helps? Put yourself in my place, +and tell me how you'd feel."</p> + +<p>"It 'ud all turn on one point," said Helps. "Whether +I loved the girl or myself most. Ef I saw that the girl was +going deep in love with her husband—deep, mind you—mortal +deep—so I was nothing at all to her beside him, +why then, maybe, I'd save the young man for her sake, and +go under myself. I might do that, it 'ud depend on how +much I loved."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense; you would bring dishonor and ruin on her. +How could she ever hold up her head again?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe he'd comfort her through it. There's no saying. +Love, deep love, mind you, does wonders."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget began to pace up and down the room.</p> + +<p>"You are the greatest old fool I ever came across," he +said. "Now, mind you, your sentiments with regard to +your low-born daughter are nothing at all to me. <i>Noblesse +oblige</i> doesn't come into the case with you as it does +with my child. Dishonor shall never touch her; it would +kill her. She must be guarded against it. Listen, Helps. +We have talked folly and sentiment enough. Now to business. +That young man must not rise in my daughter's +esteem. There is such a thing—listen, Helps, come close—such +a thing as blackening a man's character. You think +it over—you're a crafty old dog. Go home and look at +Esther, and think it over. God bless me, I'd not an idea +how late it was. Here's a five pound note for your pretty +girl, Helps. Now go home and think it over."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> +<p>Helps buttoned on his great coat, said a few words to one +of the clerks, and stepped out into the foggy night. He +hailed a passing omnibus, and in the course of half-an-hour +found himself fumbling with his latch-key in the door of a +neat little house, which, however, was at the same moment +thrown wide open from within, and a tall girl with a pale +face, clear grey eyes, and a quantity of dark hair coiled +about her head stood before him.</p> + +<p>"It's father, Cherry," she said to a little cousin who +popped round the corner. "Put the sausages on, and dish +up the potatoes. Now don't be awkward. I'm glad you're +in good time, father—here, give us a kiss. Do I look nice +in this dress? I made it all myself. Here, come up to +the gas, and have a good look at it. How does it fit? +Neat, eh?"</p> + +<p>The dress was a dark green velveteen, made without +attempt at ornament, but fitting the slim and lissom figure +like a glove.</p> + +<p>"It's neat, but plain, surely," replied Helps, looking +puzzled, proud, and at the same time dissatisfied. "A +bit more color now,—more flouncing—Why, what's the +matter, Essie? How you do frown, my girl."</p> + +<p>"Come in out of the cold, father. Oh, no, not the +kitchen, I've ordered supper to be laid in the dining-room. +Well, perhaps the room it does smoke, but that will soon +clear off. Now, father, I want to ask you an important +question. Do I look like a lady in this dress?"</p> + +<p>She held herself very erect, the pure outline of her grand +figure was shown to the best advantage, her massive head +had a queenly pose, and the delicate purity of her complexion +heightened the effect. Her accent was wrong, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +words betrayed her—could she have become dumb, she +might have passed for a princess.</p> + +<p>"Do I look like a lady?" she repeated.</p> + +<p>Little Helps stepped back a pace or two—he was +puzzled and annoyed.</p> + +<p>"You look all right, Essie," he said. "A lady? Oh, well—but +you ain't a lady, my girl. Look here, Esther, this +room is mortal cold—I'd a sight rather have my supper +cosy in the kitchen."</p> + +<p>"You can't then, father. You must take up with the +genteel ways. After supper we're going into the drawing-room, +and I'll play to you on the pianner, pa; I have been +practising all day. Perhaps, too, we'll have company—there's +no saying."</p> + +<p>"Company?" repeated Helps. "Who—what?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not going to say, maybe he won't come. I met +him in the park—I was skating with the Johnsons, and I +fell, and he picked me up. I might have been hurt but for +him. Then he heard George Johnson calling me by my +name, and it turned out that he knew you. Oh, wasn't +he a swell, and didn't he look it! And hadn't he a name +worth boasting of! 'Mr. Gerald Wyndham.' Why, what's +the matter, father? He said that he had often promised +to look you up some evening, to bring you some stupid +book or other. He said maybe he would come to-night. +That's why I had the drawing-room and dining-room all +done up. He said perhaps he'd call, and took off his hat +most refined. I took an awful fancy to him—his ways was +so aspiring. He said he might come to-night, but he wasn't +sure. I didn't know you had young men like that at your +office, father. And what is the matter?—why, you're quite +white!"</p> + +<p>"I never talk of what goes on at the place of business," +replied Helps, in quite a brusque voice for him. "And as +to that young gent, Esther, he's our Miss Valentine's hu<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>sband."</p> + +<p>"Married? Oh, lor, he didn't look it! And who is +'our Miss Valentine?' if I may be bold enough to ask."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Paget's daughter. I said I didn't mention matters +connected with the place of business."</p> + +<p>"You always were precious close, father. But you're a +dear, good, old dad, all the same, and Cherry and I would +sooner die than have you scolded about anything. Cherry, +my fine beau's a married man—pity, aint it? I thought +maybe he'd suit me."</p> + +<p>"Then you needn't have lit the fire in the drawing-room," +answered Cherry, a very practical and stoutly-built little +maid of fifteen.</p> + +<p>"Maybe I needn't, but there's no harm done. I suppose +I can talk to him, even if he is married. Won't I draw +him out about Miss Valentine, and tell him how father +always kept her a secret from us."</p> + +<p>"Supper's ready, uncle," said Cherry. "Oh, bother that +fire! It's quite out. Don't the sausages smell good, uncle? +I cooked them myself."</p> + +<p>The three sat down to the table, poor Helps shivering +not a little, and casting more than one regretful glance at +the warm and cosy kitchen. He was feeling depressed for +more than one reason this evening, and a sense of dismay +stole over him at Esther's having accidentally made Wyndham's +acquaintance.</p> + +<p>"It's a bad omen," he said, under his breath, "and +Esther's that contrary, and so taken up with making a +lady of herself, and she's beautiful as a picter, except when +she talks folly.</p> + +<p>"I liked that young man from the first," he murmured. +"I took, so to speak, a fancy to him, and warned him, +and I quoted scripter to him. All to no good. The glint +of a gel's eye was too much for him, he sold himself for her—body +and soul he sold himself for her. Still, I went +on keeping up a fancy for him, and I axed him to look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +me up some evening, and have a pipe—he's wonderful on +words too—he can derivate almost as many as I can. I'm +sorry now I asked him—Esther's that wilful, and as beautiful +as a picter. She talks too much to young men that's +above her. She's set on being a lady. Mr. Wyndham's +married, of course, but Esther wouldn't think nothing of +trying to flirt with him for all that."</p> + +<p>"Esther," he said, suddenly, raising his deep-set eyes, +and fixing them on his daughter, "ef the young man calls, +it's to see me, mind you—he's a married man, and he has +got the most beautiful wife in the world, and he loves her. +My word, I never heard tell of nobody loving their wife so +much!"</p> + +<p>Esther's big grey eyes opened wide.</p> + +<p>"How you look at me, dad," she said. "One would +think I wanted to steal Mr. Wyndham from his wife! I'm +glad he loves her, it's romantic, it pleases me."</p> + +<p>"And there's his ring at the door," suddenly exclaimed +Cherry. "Esther was right to prepare the drawing-room. +I'm glad he have come. I like to look at handsome gents, +particular when they are in love."</p> + +<p>Gerald's arrival was accidental after all. He and his wife +were dining in Queen's Gate, and after dinner he remembered +his adventure on the ice, and told the story in an +amusing way.</p> + +<p>"A most beautiful girl, but with such an accent and +manner," he said. "And who do you think she turned +out to be, sir?" he added, turning to his father-in-law. +"Why, your cracked clerk's daughter. She told me her +name was Esther Helps, and I found they were father and +daughter."</p> + +<p>"Has old Helps got a daughter?" exclaimed Valentine.</p> + +<p>"How funny that I should never have known it. I have +always been rather fond of old Helps."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He has an only daughter, as I have an only daughter," +replied Mr. Paget. Valentine was sitting close to him; he +put his arm around her waist as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"How queer that I should never have known," continued +Valentine. "And her name is Esther? It is a pretty +name. And you say that she is handsome, Gerry? What +is she like?"</p> + +<p>"Tall and pale, with an expressive face," replied Wyndham, +lightly. "She is lady-like, and even striking-looking +until she opens her lips—then——" he made an expressive +grimace.</p> + +<p>"Poor girl, as if she could help that," replied Val. "She +has never been educated, you know. Her father is poor, +and he can't give her advantages. Does old Helps love +his daughter very much, dad?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so, Val. Yes, I think I may say I am sure +he does."</p> + +<p>"I am so interested in only girls with fathers," continued +Mrs. Wyndham. "I wish I had seen Esther Helps. I +hope you were kind to her, Gerald."</p> + +<p>"I picked her up, dear, and gave her to her friends. +By-the-way, I said I'd call to see old Helps this evening. +He has a passion for the derivation of words, and I have +Trench's book on the subject. Shall I take Esther a message +from you, Val?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, say something nice. I am not good at making +up messages. Tell her I am interested in her, and the +more she loves her father, the greater my interest must be. +See, this is much better than any mere message—take her +this bunch of lilies—say I sent them. Now, Gerald, is it +likely I should be lonely? Father and I are going to have +two hours all to ourselves."</p> + +<p>But as Valentine said these light words, her hand lingered +on her husband's shoulder, and her full brown eyes +rested on his face. Something in their gaze made his heart +throb. He put his arm round her neck and kissed her +forehead.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I shan't be two hours away," he said.</p> + +<p>He took up the flowers, put "Trench on Words" into +his pocket, and went out.</p> + +<p>Wyndham had a pleasant way with all people. His words, +his manner, his gentle courteous smile won for him hearts +in all directions. He was meant to be greatly beloved; +he was born to win the most dangerous popularity of all—that +which brought to him blind and almost unreasoning +affection.</p> + +<p>He was received at No. 5 Acadia Terrace with enthusiasm. +Esther and Cherry were open-eyed in their admiration, +and Helps, a little sorrowful—somehow Helps if he +wasn't cynical was always sorrowful—felt proud of the visit.</p> + +<p>Gerald insisted on adjourning to the kitchen. He and +Helps had a long discussion on words—Cherry moved +softly about, putting everything in order—Esther sat silent +and lovely, glancing up now and then at Gerald from under +her black eyelashes. Valentine's flowers lay in her +lap. They were dazzlingly white, and made an effective +contrast to her dark green dress. It was a peaceful little +scene—nothing at all remarkable about it. Gerald fell +more contented than he had done for many a day. Who +would have thought that out of such innocent materials +mischief of the deadliest sort might be wrought to him and +his.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + + +<p>When Wyndham came back to Queen's Gate his wife +met him with sparkling eyes.</p> + +<p>"How much time can you give me to-morrow?" she +said. "I want to go out with you. I have been speaking +to father, and he accedes to all our wishes—he will give us +an income. He says he thinks a thousand a year will be +enough. Oh, he is kind, and I feel so excited. Don't let +us drive, let us walk home, Gerry. I know the night is fine. +I feel that everything is bright just now, and you will come +with me to-morrow, won't you, Gerry? Father, could you +spare Gerald from business to-morrow? You know it is +so important."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget was standing a little in the shadow, his face +was beaming, his eyes smiling. When Valentine turned to +him, he laid his hand lightly on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"You are an inconsistent little girl," he said. "You +want to become a business woman yourself. You want to +be practical, and clever, and managing, and yet you encourage +that husband of yours to neglect his work."</p> + +<p>Gerald flushed.</p> + +<p>"I don't neglect my work," he said. "My heavy work +has never a chance of being neglected, it is too crushing."</p> + +<p>Valentine looked up in alarm, but instantly Mr. Paget's +smiling face was turned to the young man, and his other +hand touched his arm.</p> + +<p>"Your work to-morrow is to go with your wife," he said +gently. "She wants to shop—to spend—to learn saving +by expenditure. You have to go with her to give her the +benefit of your experience. Look out for cheap sales, my +dear child—go to Whiteley's, and purchase what you don't +want, provided it is a remnant, and sold under cost price. +Save by learning, Val, and, Gerald, you help her to the best +of your ability. Now good-night, my children, good-night,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +both of you, bless you."</p> + +<p>"It almost seemed to me," said Valentine, as they walked +home together—it was a starry night and she clung affectionately +to her husband's arm—"it almost seemed to me +that father was put out with you, and you with him. He +was so sweet while you were out, but although he smiled +all the time after you returned I don't think he was really +sweet, and you didn't speak nicely to him, Gerald, about +the work I mean. Is the work at the office very heavy. +Gerald? You never spend more than about two hours a +day there."</p> + +<p>"The work is heavy, Val, and it will grow more so. I +don't complain, however—I have not the shadow of a right +to complain. I am sorry I spoke to your father so as to vex +you, dearest—- I won't do so again."</p> + +<p>"I want you to love him, Gerry; I want you to feel for +him a little bit, as I do, as if he were the first of men, you +understand. Don't you think you could try. I wish you +would."</p> + +<p>"You see I have my own father, darling."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, but really now—the rector is a nice old man, +but, Gerry, if you were to speak from your inmost heart, +without any prejudice, you know; if you could detach +from your mind the fact that you are the son of the rector, +you would not compare them, Gerry, you could not."</p> + +<p>"As you say, Valentine, I could not. They stand on +different pedestals. Now let us change the subject. So +you are the happy possessor of a thousand a year."</p> + +<p>"We both possess that income, Gerry. Is not it sweet +of father—he felt for me at once. He said he was proud +of me, that I was going to make a capital wife—he said you +were a lucky fellow, Gerry."</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling, so I am, so I am."</p> + +<p>"Then he spoke of a thousand a year to begin with. He +mentioned a lot more, but he said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> a thousand was an income +on which I might begin to learn to save. And he gave +me a cheque for the first quarter to-night. He said we had +better open a banking account. As soon as we get in, I'm +going to give you the cheque, I'm afraid to keep it. Father +said we might open a separate account in his bank."</p> + +<p>"My father has always banked at the Westminster," +said Gerald. "It would suit me best to take the money +there."</p> + +<p>They had reached the house by this time. Gerald opened +the door with a latch-key, and the two went into the pretty, +cosy drawing-room. Valentine threw off her white fur wrap, +and sank down into an easy-chair. Her dinner dress was +white, and made in a very simple girlish fashion—her hair, +which was always short and curled in little rings about her +head and face, added to the extreme youth of her appearance. +She raised her eyes to her husband, who stood by +the mantel-piece. The expression she wore was that of a +happy, excited, half-spoiled child, a creature who had been +somebody's darling from her birth. This was the predominating +expression of her face, and yet—and yet—Gerald +seemed to read something more in the gaze of the sweet +eyes to-night; a question was half coming into them, the +dawn of a possible awakening might even be discerned in +them.</p> + +<p>"My darling," he said, suddenly coming up to her, putting +his arm about her, and kissing her with passion, "I +love you better than my life—better—better than my hope +of heaven. Can you love me a little, Valentine—just a +little?"</p> + +<p>"I do love you, Gerald." But she spoke quietly, and +without any answering fire.</p> + +<p>His arms dropped, the enthusiasm went out of his face; +he went back again to his old position with his back to the +fire.</p> + +<p>"What kind of girl is Esther Helps, Gerald?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> +<p>"A beautiful girl."</p> + +<p>"As beautiful as I am?"</p> + +<p>"In her way quite as beautiful."</p> + +<p>"Why do you say 'in her way?' Beauty must always +be beauty."</p> + +<p>"It has degrees, Esther Helps is not a lady."</p> + +<p>Valentine was silent for half a minute.</p> + +<p>"I should like to know her," she said then. "I wonder +how much she cares for old Helps."</p> + +<p>"Look here, Valentine, Esther Helps is not the least like +you. I don't know that she has any romantic attachment +for that old man. She is a very ordinary girl—a most +commonplace person with just a beautiful face."</p> + +<p>"How queerly you speak, Gerald. As if it were something +strange for an only daughter to be attached to her +father."</p> + +<p>"The amount of attachment you feel, darling, is uncommon."</p> + +<p>"Is it? Well, I have got a very uncommon father."</p> + +<p>"My dear Valentine, God knows you have."</p> + +<p>Gerald sank down into a chair by the fire. He turned +his face, dreary, white and worn, to the blaze. Valentine +detected no hidden sarcasm in his tones. After a time she +took the cheque out of her purse and handed it to him.</p> + +<p>"Here, Gerry, you will put this into your bank to-morrow, +won't you? We will open an account in our joint +names, won't we? And then we can calculate how much +we are to spend weekly and monthly. Oh, won't it be +interesting and exciting. So much for my clothes, so +much for yours, so much for servants, so much for food—we +need not spend so much on food, need we? So much +for pleasures—I want to go to the theatre at least twice +a week—oh, we can manage it all and have something to +spare. And no debts, remember, Gerry—ready money will +be our system. We'll go in omnibuses, too, to save cabs—I +shall love to feel that I am doing for a penny what +might cost a shilling. Gerald darling, do you know tha<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>t +just in one way you have vexed my father a little?"</p> + +<p>"Vexed him—how, Valentine?"</p> + +<p>"He says it is very wrong of you to croak, and have +gloomy prognostications. You know you said it was not +worth while for me to learn to housekeep. Just as if +you were going to die, or I were going to die. Father was +quite vexed when I told him. Now you look vexed, Gerry. +Really between such a husband and such a father, a poor +girl may sometimes feel puzzled. Well, have you nothing +to say?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I have nothing to say, Valentine."</p> + +<p>"Then you won't croak any more."</p> + +<p>"Not for you—I have never croaked for you."</p> + +<p>"Nor for yourself."</p> + +<p>"I cannot promise. Sometimes fits of depression come +over me. There, good-night, sweet. Go to bed. I am +not sleepy. I shall read for a time. Your future is all +right, Valentine."</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + + +<p>"I don't like it," said Lilias.</p> + +<p>She was sitting in the sunny front parlor, the room which +was known as the children's room at the rectory. An open +letter lay on her dark winter dress; her sunny hair was +piled up high on her shapely head, and her eyes, wistful +and questioning, were raised to Marjory's brisker, brighter +face, with a world of trouble in them.</p> + +<p>The snow lay thick outside, covering the flower beds +and the grassy lawn, and laying in piles against the low +rectory windows. Marjory was standing by a piled up +fire, one of those perfect fires composed of great knobs of +sparkling coal and well dried logs of wood. She, too, had +on a dark dress, but it was nearly covered by a large holland +apron with a bib. Her sleeves were protected by +cuffs of the same, on her hands she wore chamois leather +gloves with the tips cut off. She looked all bright, and +active, and sparkling, and round her on the table and on +the floor lay piles and bales of unbleached calico, of coarse +red flannel, of bright dark blue and crimson merino. In +one of Marjory's capable hands was a large pair of cutting-out +scissors, and she paused, holding this implement +slightly open, to listen to Lilias' lugubrious words.</p> + +<p>"If you must croak to-day," she said, "get it over +quickly, and come and help me. Twenty-four blue frocks +and twenty-four red to be ready by the time the girls come +at four o'clock, besides the old women's flannel and this +unlimited supply of unbleached calico. If there is a thing +which ruffles my equanimity it is unbleached calico, it fluffs +so, and makes one so messy. Now, what do you want to +say, Lilias?"</p> + +<p>"I'm troubled," said Lilias, "it's about Gerald. I've the +queerest feel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>ing about him—three times lately I've dreamt—intangible +dreams, of course, but all dark and foreboding."</p> + +<p>"Is that a letter from Gerry in your lap, Lilias?"</p> + +<p>"No, it is from Val—a nice little letter, too, poor child. +I am sure she is doing her best to be a good wife to Gerald. +Do you know that she has taken up housekeeping in real +earnest."</p> + +<p>"Does she say that Gerald is ill?"</p> + +<p>"No, she scarcely mentions his name at all."</p> + +<p>"Then what in the name of goodness are you going into +the dismals for on this morning of all mornings. Twenty-four +blue frocks and twenty-four red between noon and +four o'clock, and the old women coming for them to the +moment. Really, Lilias, you are too provoking. You are +not half the girl you were before Gerald's marriage. I +don't know what has come to you. Oh, there's Mr. Carr +passing the window, I'll get him to come in and help us. +Forgive me, Lil, I'll just open this window a tiny bit and +speak to him. How do you do, Mr. Carr? You can step +in this way—you need not go round through all the slush +to the front door. There, you can wipe your feet on that +mat. Lilias, say 'how do you do' to Mr. Carr, that is if +you are not too dazed."</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Miss Wyndham? How do you do. +Miss Lilias?" said Carr in a brisk tone. "It is very good +of you both to let me into this pleasant room after the cold +and snow outside. And how busy you are! Surely, Miss +Wyndham, your family don't require such a vast amount +of re-clothing."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Marjory, "these bales of goods are for my +shivering widows," and she pointed to the red flannel and +unbleached calico. "And those are for my pretty orphans—our +pretty orphans, Lilly darling, twenty-four +in the West Refuge, twenty-four in the East; the Easterns +are apparelled in red, the Westerns in blue. Now, Mr. +Carr, I'll put it to you as our spiritual <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>pastor, is it right +for Lilias to sit and croak instead of helping me with all +this prodigious work?"</p> + +<p>"But croaking for nothing is not Miss Lilias' way," said +Carr, favoring her with a quick glance, a little anxious, a +little surprised.</p> + +<p>Lilias sprang up with almost a look of vexation. Valentine's +letter fell unheeded on the floor.</p> + +<p>"You are too bad, Maggie," she said, with almost a +forced laugh. "I suppose there are few people in this +troublesome world who are not now and then attacked +with a fit of the blues. But here goes. I'll shake them +off. I'll help you all I can."</p> + +<p>"You must help, too," said Marjory in a gay voice, +turning to Carr. "Please take off your great coat—put it +anywhere. Now then, are your hands strong? are your +arms steady? You have got to hold this bale of red +merino while Lilly cuts dress lengths from it. Don't forget. +Lil, nine lengths of three-and-a-half yards each, nine +lengths of four yards each, and six lengths of five yards each. +Oh, thank you, Mr. Carr, that will be a great assistance."</p> + +<p>Carr was a very energetic, wide-awake, useful man. He +could put his hands to anything. No work, provided it +was useful, was derogatory in his eyes—he was always +cheerful, always bright and obliging. Even Gerald Wyndham +could scarcely have made a more popular curate at +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold than did this young man.</p> + +<p>"If anything could provoke me about him, it is that he +is too sunny," Marjory said one day to her sister.</p> + +<p>Lilias was silent. It occurred to her, only she was not +sure, that in those dark, quick, keen eyes there could come +something which might sustain and strengthen on a day of +clouds as well as sunshine.</p> + +<p>It came now, when Marjory suddenly left the room, and +Carr abruptly let the great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> bale of merino drop at his +feet.</p> + +<p>"Are you worried about anything?" he asked, in that +direct fashion of his which made people trust him very +quickly.</p> + +<p>Lilias colored all over her face.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I ought not to be silly," she said, "but my +brother—you see he is my only brother—his marriage has +made a great gulf between us."</p> + +<p>Carr looked at her sharply.</p> + +<p>"You are not jealous?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I don't know—we used to be great chums. I think if +I were sure he was happy I should not be jealous?"</p> + +<p>Carr walked to the fireplace.</p> + +<p>"It would not be folly if you were," he said. "All +sisters must face the fact of their brothers taking to themselves +wives, and, of course, loving the wives best. It is +the rule of nature, and it would be foolish of you to fret +against the inevitable."</p> + +<p>He spoke abruptly, and with a certain coldness, which +might have offended some girls. Lilias' slow earnest answer +startled him.</p> + +<p>"I don't fret against the inevitable," she said. "But I +do fret against the intangible. There is a mystery about +Gerald which I can't attempt to fathom. I know it is there, +but I can't grapple with it in any direction."</p> + +<p>"You must have some thought about it, though, or it +would not have entered into your head."</p> + +<p>"I have many thoughts, but no clues. Oh, it would +take me a long, long time to tell you what I fear, to bring +my shadowy dread into life and being. I have just had a +letter from Valentine, a sweet nice letter, and yet it seems +to me full of mystery, although I am sure she does not know +it herself. Yes, it is all intangible—it is kind of you to +listen to me. Marjory would say I was talking folly."</p> + +<p>"You are talking as if your nerves were a little out of +sorts. Could you not have a change? Even granted that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +there is trouble, and I don't suppose for an instant that +anything of the kind is in store for your brother, it is a great +waste of life to meet it half way."</p> + +<p>Lilias smiled faintly.</p> + +<p>"I am silly," she said. And just then Marjory came +into the room, followed by Augusta, and the cutting out +proceeded briskly.</p> + +<p>Carr was an invaluable help. Some people would have +said that he was a great deal too gay and cheerful—a great +deal too athletic and well-knit and keen-eyed for a curate.</p> + +<p>This was not the case; he made an excellent clergyman, +but he had a great sense of the fitness of things, and he +believed fully in a time for everything.</p> + +<p>Helping three merry girls to cut out red and blue merino +frocks, on a cold day in January, seemed to him a very +cheerful occupation. Gay laughter and light and innocent +chatter filled the room, and Lilias soon became one of the +merriest of the party.</p> + +<p>In the midst of their chatter the rector entered.</p> + +<p>"I want you, Carr," he said, abruptly; he was usually +a very polite man, almost too ceremonious. Now his +words came with a jerk, and the moment he had uttered +them he vanished.</p> + +<p>As Carr left the room in obedience to this quick summons. +Lilias' face became once more clouded.</p> + +<p>The rector was pacing up and down his study. When +Carr entered he asked him to bolt the door.</p> + +<p>"Is anything the matter, sir?" asked the young man.</p> + +<p>Mr. Wyndham's manner was so perturbed, so unlike +himself, that it was scarcely wonderful that Carr should +ask this question. It received, however, a short and sharp +reply.</p> + +<p>"I hope to goodness, Carr, you are not one of those +imaginative people who are always foreboding a lion in the +path. What I sent for you was—well——" the rector +paused. He raised his eyes slowly until they rested upon +the picture of Gerald's mother; the face very like Gerald'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>s +seemed to appeal to him; his lips trembled.</p> + +<p>"I can't keep it up, Carr," he said, with an abandon +which touched the younger man to the heart. "I'm not +satisfied about my son. Nothing wrong, oh, no—and yet—and +yet—you understand, Carr, I have only one son—a +lot of girls, God bless them all!—and only one son."</p> + +<p>Carr came over and stood by the mantel-piece. If he +felt any surprise, he showed none. His words came out +gently, and in a matter-of-fact style.</p> + +<p>"If you have any cause to be worried, Mr. Wyndham—and—and—you +think I can help you, I shall be proud to +be trusted." Then his thoughts flew to Lilias, and his +firm, rather thin lips, took a faint smile.</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt I am very foolish," replied the rector. +"I had a letter this morning from Gerald. He tells me in +it that he is going to Australia in March, on some special +business for his father-in-law's firm—you know he is a +partner in the firm. His wife is not to accompany him."</p> + +<p>The rector paused.</p> + +<p>Carr made no answer for a moment. Then he said, feeling +his way—</p> + +<p>"This will be a trial for Mrs. Wyndham."</p> + +<p>"One would suppose so. Gerald doesn't say anything +on the subject."</p> + +<p>"Well," said the rector, "how does it strike you? Perhaps +I'm nervous—Lilly, poor girl, is the same, and Marjory +laughs at us both. How does this intelligence strike you +as an outsider, Carr? Pray give me your opinion."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Carr, simply. "I do not think my opinion +need startle anyone. Doubtless, sir, you know facts which +throw a different complexion on the thing. It all seems to +me a commonplace affair. In big business houses partners +have often to go away at short notice. It will certainly +be a trial for Mrs. Wyndham to do without her husband. +I don't like to prescribe change of air for you, Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> Wyndham, +as I did for Miss Lilias just now, but I should like +to ask you if your nerves are quite in order?"</p> + +<p>The rector laughed.</p> + +<p>"You are a daring fellow to talk of nerves to me, Carr," +he said. "Have not I prided myself all my life on having +no nerves? Well, well, the fact is, a great change has +come over the lad's face. He used to be such a boy, too +light-hearted, if anything, too young, if anything, for his +years—the most unselfish fellow from his birth. Give away? +Bless you, there was nothing Gerald wouldn't give away. +Why, look here, Carr, we all tried to spoil the boy amongst +us—he was the only one—and his mother taken away +when he so young—and he the image of her. Yes, all the +girls resemble me, but Gerald is the image of his mother. +We all tried to teach him selfishness, but we couldn't. Now. +Carr, you will be surprised at what I am going to say, but +if a man can be unselfish to a <i>fault</i>, to a fault mind you—to +the verge of a crime—it's my son Gerald. I know this. +I have always seen it in him. Now my boy's father-in-law. +Mortimer Paget, is as selfish as my lad is the reverse. Why +did he want a poor lad like mine to marry his rich and +only daughter? Why did he make him a partner in his +house of business, and why did he insure my boy's life? +Insure it heavily? Answer me that. My boy would have +taken your place here, Carr; humbly but worthily would +he have served the Divine Master, no man happier than he. +Is he happy now? Is he young for his years now? Tell +me, Carr, what you really think?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sir. I have not looked at things from +your light. You are evidently much troubled, and I am +deeply troubled for you. I don't know Wyndham very +well but I know him a little. I think that marriage and +the cares of a house of business and all his fresh responsibilities +may be enough to age your son's face. As to the +insurance question, all business is so fluctuating that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> Mr. +Paget was doubtless right in securing his daughter and her +children from possible want in the future. See here, Mr. +Wyndham, I am going up to town this evening for two or +three days. Shall I call at Park-lane and bring you my +own impressions with regard to your son?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Carr, that is an excellent thought, and +what is more you shall escort Lilias or Marjory up to town. +They have a standing invitation to my boy's house, and a +little change just now would do—shall I say Lilias?—good."</p> + +<p>"Miss Lilias wants a change, sir. She is affected like +yourself with, may I call it, an attack of the nerves."</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + + +<p>Valentine really made an excellent housekeeper. Nobody +expected it of her; her friends, the ladies, old and young, the +girls, married or otherwise, who knew Valentine as they +supposed very intimately, considered the idea of settling +this remarkably ignorant young person down with a fixed +income and telling her to buy with it, and contrive with it, +and make two ends meet with it, quite one of the best jokes +of the day.</p> + +<p>Valentine did not regard it as a joke at all. She honestly +tried, honestly studied, and honestly made a success as +housekeeper and household manager.</p> + +<p>She was a most undeveloped creature, undeveloped both +in mind and heart; but she not only possessed intense +latent affections, but latent capacities of all sorts. She +scarcely knew the name of poverty, she had no experience +with regard to the value of money, but nature had given +her an instinct which taught her to spend it wisely and +well. She found a thousand a year a larger income than +she and Gerald with their modest wants needed. She +scarcely used half of what she received, and yet her home +was cheerful, her servants happy, her table all that was comfortable.</p> + +<p>When she brought her housekeeping books to her husband +to balance at the end of the first month, he looked at +her with admiration, and then said in a voice of great sadness:—</p> + +<p>"God help me, Valentine, have I made a mistake altogether +about you? Am I dreaming, Valentine, are you +meant for a poor man's wife after all?"</p> + +<p>"For your wife, whether rich or poor," she said; and +she knelt down by his side, and put her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> hand into his.</p> + +<p>She had always possessed a sweet and beautiful face, +but for the last few weeks it had altered; the sweetness had +not gone, but resolution had grown round the curved +pretty lips, and the eyes had a soft happiness in them.</p> + +<p>"Pretty, charming creature!" people used to say of her. +"But just a trifle commonplace and doll-like."</p> + +<p>This doll-like expression was no longer discernible in +Valentine.</p> + +<p>Gerald touched her hair tenderly.</p> + +<p>"My little darling!" he said. His voice shook. Then +he rose abruptly, with a gesture which was almost rough. +"Come upstairs, Val; the housekeeping progresses admirably. +No, my dear, you made a mistake, you were never +meant for a poor man's wife."</p> + +<p>Valentine kissed his brow: she looked at him in a +puzzled way.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," she said, laying her hands on his, with +a gesture half timid, half appealing; "don't go up to the +drawing-room for a moment, Gerald, I want to say a thing, +something I have observed. I am loved by two men, by +my father and by you. I am loved by them very much—by +both of them very much. Oh, yes, Gerald, I know +what you feel for me, and yet I can't make either of them +happy. My father is not happy. Oh, yes, I can see—love +isn't blind. I never remembered my father quite, quite +happy, and he is certainly less so than ever now. He tries +to look all right when people are by; even succeeds, for +he is so unselfish, and brave, and noble. But when he is +alone—ah, then. Once he fell asleep when I was in the +room, he looked terrible in that sleep; his face was haggard—he +sighed—there was moisture on his brow. When he +woke he asked me to marry you. I didn't care for you +then, Gerald, but I said yes because of my father. He said +if I married you he would be perfectly happy. I did so—he +is not happy."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> +<p>Gerald did not say a word.</p> + +<p>"And you aren't happy, dear," she continued, coming a +little nearer to him. "You used to be; before we were +engaged you had such a gay face. I could never call you +gay since, Gerald. You are so thin, and sometimes at night +I lie awake, and I hear you sigh. Why, what is the matter. +Gerald? You look ghastly now. Am I hurting you? I +wouldn't hurt you, darling."</p> + +<p>Wyndham turned round quickly. He had been white +almost to fainting, now a great light seemed to leap out of +his eyes.</p> + +<p>"What did you say? What did you call me? Say it +again."</p> + +<p>"Darling."</p> + +<p>"Then I thank my God—everything has not been in +vain."</p> + +<p>He sank down on the nearest chair and burst into tears. +Tragedies go on where least expected. The servants in the +servants' hall thought their young master and mistress +quite the happiest people in the world. Were they not gay, +young, rich? Did they not adore one another? Gerald's +devotion to Valentine was almost a joke with them, and +Valentine's increasing regard for him was very observable +to those watchful outsiders.</p> + +<p>Certainly the pair stayed in a good deal in the evenings, +and why to-night in particular did they linger so long in +the dining-room, rather to the inconvenience of the kitchen +regime. But presently their steps were heard going upstairs, +and then Valentine accompanied Gerald's violin on +the piano.</p> + +<p>Wyndham played very well for an amateur, so well that +with a little extra practice he might almost have taken his +place as a professional of no mean ability. He had exquisite +taste and a sensitive ear. Music always excited him, +and perhaps was not the safest recreation for such a highly +strung nature.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> + +<p>Valentine could accompany well; she, too, loved music, +but had not her husband's facility nor grace of execution. +In his happiest moments Gerald could compose, and +sometimes even improvise with success.</p> + +<p>During their honeymoon it seemed to him one day as he +looked at the somewhat impassive face of the girl for whom +he had sold himself body and soul—as he looked and felt that +not yet at least did her heart echo even faintly to any beat +of his, it occurred to him that he might tell his story in its +pain and its longing best through the medium of music. +He composed a little piece which, for want of another title, +he called "Waves." It was very sweet in melody, and had +some minor notes of such pathos that when Valentine first +heard him play it on the violin she burst into tears. He +told her quite simply then that it was his story about her, +that all the sweetness was her share, all the graceful melody, +the sparkling joyous notes which coming from Gerald's +violin seemed to speak like a gay and happy voice, represented +his ideal of her. The deeper notes and the pain +belonged to him; pain must ever come with love when it +is strongest, she would understand this presently.</p> + +<p>Then he put his little piece away—he only played it once +for her when they were in Switzerland; he forgot it, but +she did not.</p> + +<p>To-night, after her confession, when they went up to the +drawing-room, his heart immeasurably soothed and healed, +and hers soft with a wonderful joy which the beginning of +true love can give, he remembered "Waves," and thought +he would play it for her again. It did not sound so melancholy +this time, but strange to say the gay notes were not +quite so gay, the warble of a light heart had deepened. +As Wyndham played and Valentine sat silent, for she +offered no accompaniment to this little fugitive piece, he +found that he must slightly reconstruct the melody. The +minor keys were still minor, but there was a ring o<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>f victory +through them now; they were solemn, but not despairing.</p> + +<p>"He that loseth his life shall find it," Wyndham said +suddenly, looking full into her eyes.</p> + +<p>The violin slipped from his hand, coming down with a +discordant crash, the door was flung open by the servant, +as Lilias Wyndham and Adrian Carr came into the room.</p> + +<p>In a minute all was gay bustle and confusion. Gerald +forgot his cares, and Valentine was only too anxious to +show herself as the hospitable and attentive hostess.</p> + +<p>A kind of improvised meal between dinner and tea was +actually brought up into the drawing-room. Lilias ate +chicken and ham holding her plate on her lap. Carr, more +of a stranger, was not allowed to feel this fact. In short, +no four could have looked merrier or more free from +trouble.</p> + +<p>"It is delightful to have you here—delightful, Lilias," +said Valentine, taking her sister-in-law's hand and squeezing +it affectionately.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Lil," said Gerald, "that this little girl-wife +of mine, with no experience whatever, makes a most +capable housekeeper. With all your years of knowledge +I should not like you to enter the lists with her."</p> + +<p>"With all my years of failure, you mean," answered +Lilias. "I always was and always will be the most +incompetent woman with regard to beef and mutton and +pounds, shillings and pence who walks this earth."</p> + +<p>She laughed as she spoke; her face was cloudless, her +dark eyes serene. For one moment before he went away +Carr found time to say a word to her.</p> + +<p>"Did I not tell you it was simply a case of nerves?" +he remarked.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + + +<p>Esther Helps was certainly neither a prudent nor a careful +young woman. She meant no harm, she would have +shuddered at the thought of actual sin, but she was reckless, +a little defiant of all authority, even her father's most +gentle and loving control, and very discontented with her +position in life.</p> + +<p>Morning, noon, and night, Esther's dream of dreams, +longing of longings, was to be a lady. She had some little +foundation for this desire. The mother who had died at +her birth had been a poor half-educated little governess, +whose mother before her had been a clergyman's daughter. +Esther quickly discovered that she was beautiful, and her +dream of dreams was to marry a gentleman, and so go +back to that station in life where her mother had moved.</p> + +<p>Esther had no real instincts of ladyhood. She spoke +loudly, her education had been of a very flashy and superficial +order. From the time she left the fourth-rate boarding-school +where her father alone had the means to place +her, she had stayed at home and idled. Idling was very +bad for a character like hers; she was naturally active and +energetic—she had plenty of ability, and would have made +a capital shopwoman or dressmaker. But Esther thought +it quite beneath her to work, and her father, who could +support her at home, was only too delighted to have her +there. He was inordinately proud of her—she was the one +sunbeam in his dull, clouded timorous life. He adored +her beauty, he found no fault with her Cockney twang, and +he gave her in double measure the love which had lain +buried for many years with his young wife.</p> + +<p>Esther, therefore, when she left school, sat at home, and +made her own dresses, and chatted with her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> cousin Cherry, +who was an orphan, and belonged to Helps' side of the +house. Cherry was a very capable, matter-of-fact hearty +little girl, and Esther thought it an excellent arrangement +that she should live with them, and take the drudgery and +the cooking, and in short all the household work off her +hands. Esther was very fond of Cherry, and Cherry, in +her turn, thought there was never anyone quite so grand +and magnificent as her tall, stately cousin.</p> + +<p>"Well, Cherry," said Esther, as the two were going to +bed on the night after Wyndham's visit, "what do you +think of him? Oh, I needn't ask, there's but one thing +to be thought of him."</p> + +<p>"Elegant, I say," interrupted Cherry. She was looking +particularly round and dumpy herself, and her broad face +with her light grey eyes was all one smile. "An elegant +young man, Essie—a sort of chevalier, now, wouldn't you +say so?"</p> + +<p>"It's just like you, Cherry, you take up all your odd +moments with those poetry books. Mr. Wyndham ain't a +chevalier—he's just a gentleman, neither more nor less—a +real gentleman, oh dear. I call it a cruel disappointment. +Cherry," and she heaved a profound sigh.</p> + +<p>"What's a disappointment?" asked unsuspicious Cherry, +as she tumbled into bed.</p> + +<p>"Why, that he's married, my dear. He'd have suited +me fine. Well, there's an end of that."</p> + +<p>Cherry thought there was sufficiently an end to allow +her to drop off to sleep, and Esther, after lying awake for +a little, presently followed her example.</p> + +<p>The next day she was more restless than ever, once or +twice even openly complaining to Cherry of the dullness +of her lot, and loudly proclaiming her determination to +become a lady in spite of everybody.</p> + +<p>"You can't, Essie," said her father, in his meek, though +somewhat high-pitched voice, when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> overheard some of +her words that evening. "It ain't your lot, child—you +warn't born in the genteel line; there's all lines and all +grooves, and yours is the narrowing one of the poverty-struck +clerk's child."</p> + +<p>"I think it's mean of you to talk like that, father," said +Esther, her eyes flashing. "It's mean of you, and unkind +to my poor mother, who was a lady born."</p> + +<p>"I don't know much about that," replied Helps, looking +more despondent than ever. "She was the best of +little wives, and if she was born a lady, which I ain't going +to deny, for I don't know she warn't a lady bred, I mind +me she thought it a fine bit of a rise to leave off teaching +the baker's children, and come home to me. Poor little +Essie—poor, dear little Essie. You don't take much after +her, Esther, my girl."</p> + +<p>"If she was spiritless, and had no mind for her duties, +which were in my opinion to uphold her station in life, I +don't want to take after her," answered Esther, and she +flounced out of the room.</p> + +<p>Helps looked round in an appealing way at Cherry.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to part with her," he said, "but it will be +a good thing for us all when Essie is wed. I must try and +find some decent young fellow who will be likely to take a +fancy to her. Her words fret me on account of their ambition. +Cherry, child."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't be put out if I was you, uncle," responded +Cherry in her even, matter-of-fact voice. "Esther is took +up with a whim, and it will pass. It's all on account of +the chevalier."</p> + +<p>"The what, child?"</p> + +<p>"The chevalier. Oh, my sakes alive, there's the milk +boiling all over the place, and my hearth done up so beautiful. +Here, catch hold of this saucepan, uncle, while I fetch +a cloth to wipe up. My word, ain't this provoking. I +thought to get time to learn a verse or two out of the +poetry book to-night; but no such luck—I'll be brushin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>g +and blacking till bed-time."</p> + +<p>In the confusion which ensued, Helps forgot to ask +Cherry whom she meant by the chevalier.</p> + +<p>A few days after this, as Helps was coming home late, +he was rather dismayed to find his daughter returning also, +accompanied by a young man who was no better dressed +than half the young men with whom she walked, but who +had a certain air and a certain manner which smote upon +the father's heart with a dull sense of apprehension.</p> + +<p>"Essie, my girl," he said, when she had bidden her +swain good-bye, and had come into the house, with her eyes +sparkling and her whole face looking so bright and beautiful, +that even Cherry dropped her poetry book to gaze +in admiration. "Essie," said Helps, all the tenderness of +the love he bore her trembling in his voice, "come here. +Kiss your old father. You love him, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, dad, what a question. I should rather think I +did."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't hurt him now, Essie? You wouldn't +break his heart, for instance?"</p> + +<p>"I break your heart, dad? Is it likely? Now, what +can the old man be driving at?" she said, looking across +at Cherry.</p> + +<p>"It's this," responded Helps, "I want to know the name +of the fellow—yes, the—the fellow, who saw you home just +now?"</p> + +<p>"Now, father, mightn't he be Mr. Gray, or Mr. Jones, +or Mr. Abbott; some of those nice young men you bring +up now and then from the city? Why mightn't he be one +of them, father?"</p> + +<p>"But he wasn't, my dear. The young men you speak of +are honest lads, every one of them. I wouldn't have no +sort of objection to your walking with them, Esther. It +wasn't none of my friends from the city I saw you with to-night. +Essie."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And why shouldn't this be an honest fellow, too?" +answered Esther, her eyes sparkling dangerously.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, my dear. I didn't like the looks of him. +What's his name, Essie, my love?"</p> + +<p>"Captain Herriot, of the —— Hussars."</p> + +<p>"There! Esther, you're not to walk with Captain +Herriot any more. You're not to know him. I won't +have it—so now."</p> + +<p>"Highty-tighty!" said Esther. "There are two to say +a word to that bargain, father. And pray, why may I walk +with Mr. Jones and not with Captain Herriot? Captain +Herriot's a real gentleman, and Mr. Jones ain't."</p> + +<p>"And that's the reason, my child. If Jones walked with +you, he'd maybe—yes, I'm sure of it—he'd want all his +heart and soul to make you his honest wife some day. Do +you suppose Captain Herriot wants to make you his wife. +Essie?"</p> + +<p>"I don't say. I won't be questioned like that." Her +whole pale face was in a flame. "Maybe we never thought +of such a thing, but just to be friends, and to have a pleasant +time. It's cruel of you to talk like that, father."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I won't, my darling, I won't. Just promise +you'll have nothing more to say to the fellow. I'd believe +your word against the world, Essie."</p> + +<p>"Against the world? Would you really, dad? I +wouldn't, though, if I were you. No, I ain't going to make +a promise I might break." She went out of the room, she +was crying.</p> + +<p>A short time after this, indeed the very day after Lilias +Wyndham's visit to London, Gerald noticed that Helps +followed his every movement as he came rather languidly +in and out of the office, with dull imploring eyes. The +old clerk was particularly busy that morning, he was kept +going here, there, and everywhere. Work of all kinds, +work of the most unexpected and unlooked for nature<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +seemed to descend to-day with the force of a sledge hammer +on his devoted head.</p> + +<p>Gerald saw that he was dying to speak to him, and at +the first opportunity he took him aside, and asked him if +there was anything he could do for him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, Mr. Wyndham, you can, you can. Oh, thank +the good Lord for bringing you over to speak to me when +no one was looking. You can save Esther for me—that's +what you can do, Mr. Wyndham. No one can save her +but you. So you will, sir; oh, you will. She's my only +child, Mr. Wyndham."</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + + +<p>"I will certainly do what I can," responded Wyndham, +in his grave, courteous voice.</p> + +<p>He was leaning against the window-ledge in a careless +attitude; Helps, looking up at him anxiously, noticed how +pale and wan his face was.</p> + +<p>"Ah," he responded, rising from his seat, and going up +to the younger man. "'Tis them as bears burdens knows +how to pity. Thank the Lord there's compensation in all +things. Now look here, Mr. Wyndham, this is how things +are. You have seen my Essie, she's troublesome and +spirited—oh, no one more so."</p> + +<p>Helps paused.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Gerald, in a quiet, waiting voice. He +was not particularly interested in the discussion of Esther +Helps' character.</p> + +<p>"And she's beautiful, Mr. Wyndham. Aye, there's her +curse. Beautiful and hambitious and not a lady, and dying +to be one. You understand, Mr. Wyndham—you must +understand."</p> + +<p>Wyndham said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Well, a month or so ago I found out there was a gentleman—at +least a man who called himself a gentleman—walking +with her, and filling her head with nonsense. His +name was Herriot, a captain in the Hussars. I told +her she was to have nought to say to him, but I soon found +that she disobeyed me. Then I had to spy on her—you +may think how I felt, but it had to be done. I found that +she walked with him, and met him at all hours. I made +inquiries about his character, and I found he was a +scoundrel, a bad fellow out and out. He'd be sure to break +my Essie's heart if he did no worse. Then I was in a +taking, for the girl kept everything in, and would scarcely +brook me so much as to look at her. I was that upset<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +that I took Cherry into my confidence. She's a very good +girl, is Cherry—the Lord hasn't cursed her with no beauty. +Last week she brought me word that Esther was going to +the Gaiety with Captain Herriot, that he had taken two +stalls and they were to have a fine time. She said Esther +was almost out of her mind with delight, as it was always +her dream to be seen at the theatre, beautifully dressed, +with a real gentleman. She had shown the tickets to +Cherry, and Cherry was smart enough to take the numbers +and keep them in the back of her head. She told me, and +I can tell you, Mr. Wyndham, I was fit to kill someone. I +went straight off to the Gaiety office, and by good luck or +the grace of God, I found there was a vacant stall next +to Esther's—just one, and no more. I paid for that stall, +here's the ticket in my pocket."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Wyndham, "and you mean to go with +Esther to-night? A very good idea—excellent. But how +will she take it?"</p> + +<p>"How will she take it, Mr. Wyndham? I feel fit to pull +my grey hairs out. How would she have taken it, you +mean? For it's all a thing of the past, sir. Oh, I had it all +planned fine. I was to wait until she and that fellow had +taken their places, and then I'd come in quite natural, and +sit down beside her, and answer none of her questions, +only never leave her, no, not for a quarter of a minute. +And if he spoke up, the ruffian, I had my reply for him. I'd +stay quiet enough till we got outside, and then just one +blow in the middle of his face—yes, just one, to relieve a +father's feelings. Then home with my girl, and I think it's +more than likely we wouldn't have been troubled with no +more of Captain Herriot's attentions."</p> + +<p>Helps paused again.</p> + +<p>"You speak in the past tense," said Gerald. "Why +cannot you carry ou<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>t this excellent programme?"</p> + +<p>"That's it, sir, that's what about maddens me. I came +to the office this morning, and what has happened hasn't +happened this three months past. There's business come +in of a nature that no one can tackle but myself. Business +of a private character, and yet what may mean the loss or +gain of thousands. Oh, I can't explain it, Mr. Wyndham, +even though you are a partner; there are things that confidential +clerks know that are hid from junior partners. I +can't leave here till eleven o'clock to-night, Mr. Wyndham, +and if you don't help me Esther may be a lost girl. Yes, +there's no mincing matters—lost, beyond hope. Will you +help me, Mr. Wyndham? I'll go mad if my only girl, my +beautiful girl, comes to that."</p> + +<p>"I? Can I help you?" asked Wyndham. There was +hesitation and distress in his voice. He saw that he was +going to be asked to do something unpleasant.</p> + +<p>"You can do this, sir. You can make it all right. Bless +you, sir, who's there to see? And you go with the best +intentions. You go in a noble cause. You can afford to +risk that much, Mr. Wyndham. I want you to take my +place at the Gaiety to-night; take my ticket and go there. +Talk pleasant to Esther: not much, but just a little, +nothing to rouse her suspicions. Let her think it was just +a coincidence your being there. Then, just at the end, +give her this letter from me. I've said a thing in it that +will startle her. She'll get a fright and turn to you. Put +her into a cab then, and bring her here. You can sit on +the box if you like. That's all. Put her into my arms +and your task is done. Here's the ticket and the letter. +Do it, Mr. Wyndham, and God will bless you. Yes, yes, +my poor young sir—He'll bless you."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk of God when you speak of me," said Wyndham. +"Something has happened which closes the door of +religion for me. The door between God and me is closed. +I am still open, however, to the call of humanity. You +want me to go to the Gaiety to-night to save you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>r daughter. +It is very probable that if I went I should save her. I am +engaged, however, for to-night. My sister is in town. We +are going to make a party to the Haymarket."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, what of that? Send a telegram to say you +have an engagement. Think of Esther. Think what it +means if you fail me now."</p> + +<p>"I do think of it, Helps. I will do what you want. +Give me the letter and the theatre ticket."</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + + +<p>Valentine was delighted to have Lilias as her companion. +She was in excellent spirits just now, and Lilias and she +enjoyed going about together. They had adventures +which pleased them both, such simple adventures as +come to poorer girls every day—a ride in an omnibus to +Kew, an excursion up the river to Battersea in a penny +steamer, and many other mild intoxicants of this nature. +Sometimes Gerald came with them, but oftener they went +alone. They laughed and chatted at these times, and +people looked at them, and thought them two particularly +merry good-looking school-girls.</p> + +<p>Valentine was very fond of going to the theatre, and of +course one of the principal treats in store for Lilias was a +visit to the play. Valentine decided that they would go to +some entertainment of a theatrical character nearly every +evening. On the day of Helps' strange request to Wyndham +they were to see <i>Captain Swift</i> at the Haymarket. +Mr. Paget had taken a box for the occasion, and Valentine's +last injunction to her husband was to beg of him +to be home in good time so that they might have dinner +in peace, and reach the Haymarket before the curtain +rose.</p> + +<p>Lilias and she trotted about most of the morning, and +sat cosily now in the pretty drawing-room in Park-Lane, +sipping their tea, examining their purchases, or chatting +about dress, and sundry other trivial matters after the +fashion of light-hearted girls.</p> + +<p>Presently Valentine pulled a tiny watch out of her +belt.</p> + +<p>"Gerald is late," she said. "He promised faithfully to +be in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> to tea, and it is now six o'clock. We dine at half-past. +Had we not better go and dress, Lilias?"</p> + +<p>Lilias was standing on the hearthrug, she glanced at +the clock, then into the ruddy flames, then half-impatiently +towards the door.</p> + +<p>"Oh, wait a moment or two," she said. "If Gerald +promised to come he is safe to be here directly. I never +met such a painfully conscientious fellow; he would not +break his word even in a trifle like this for all the world. +Give him three minutes longer. You surely will not take +half-an-hour to dress."</p> + +<p>"How solemnly you speak, Lilias," responded Valentine. +"If Gerald is late, that could scarcely be considered +a breaking of his word. I mean in a promise of +that kind one never knows how one may be kept. That +is always understood, of course."</p> + +<p>There came a pealing ring and a double knock at the +door, and a moment after the page entered with a telegram +which he handed to his mistress. Valentine tore the yellow +envelope open, and read the contents of the pink sheet.</p> + +<p>"No answer, Masters," she said to the boy. Then she +she turned to Lilias. "Gerald can't go with us to-night. +He is engaged. You see, of course, he would not break +his word, Lilias. He is unavoidably prevented coming. +It is too bad."</p> + +<p>Some of the brightness went out of her face, and her +spirits went down a very little.</p> + +<p>"Well, it can't be helped," she said, "only I am disappointed."</p> + +<p>"So am I, awfully disappointed," responded Lilias.</p> + +<p>Then the two went slowly upstairs to change their +dresses.</p> + +<p>When they came down again, Mr. Paget, who was to +dine with them, was waiting in the drawing-room. There +was a suppressed excitement, a suppressed triumph in his +eyes, which, however, only made him look more particularly +bright and charming.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> + +<p>When Valentine came in in the pure white which gave her +such a girlish and even pathetically innocent air, he went +up and kissed her almost fiercely. He put his arm round +her waist and drew her close to him, and looked into +her eyes with a sense of possession which frightened her. +For the first time in all her existence she half shrank from +the father whom she idolized. She was scarcely conscious +of her own shrinking, of the undefinable something which +made her set herself free, and stand on the hearthrug by +Lilias' side.</p> + +<p>"I don't see your husband, my pet," said Mr. Paget. +"He ought to have come home long before now, that is, if +he means to come with us to-night."</p> + +<p>"But he doesn't, father," said Valentine. "That's just +the grief. I had a telegram from him, half-an-hour ago; +he is unavoidably detained."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget raised his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"Not at the office," he said, in a markedly grave voice, +and with another significant raise of his brows. "That I +know, for he left before I did. Ah, well, young men will +be young men."</p> + +<p>Neither Valentine nor Lilias knew why they both flushed +up hotly, and left a wider space between them and Valentine's +handsome father.</p> + +<p>He did not take the least notice of this movement on +both their parts, but went on in a very smooth, cheerful +voice.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps Gerald does not miss as much as he thought," +he said. "Since I saw you this morning, Val, our programme +has been completely altered. We go to <i>Captain +Swift</i> to-morrow night. I went to the office and exchanged +the box. To-night we go to the Gaiety. I have been +fortunate in securing one of the best boxes in the whole +house, and <i>Monte Christo Junior</i> is well worth seeing."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> +<p>"I don't know that I particularly care for the Gaiety, +father," said Valentine. "How very funny of you to +change our programme."</p> + +<p>"Well, the fact is, some business friends of mine who +were just passing through town were particularly anxious +to see <i>Captain Swift</i>, so as I could oblige them, I did. It +is all the better for your husband, Valentine; he won't miss +this fine piece of drama."</p> + +<p>"No, that is something to be thankful for," responded +Valentine. "But I'm sorry you selected the Gaiety as an +exchange. I don't think Lilias will care for <i>Monte Christo</i>. +However, it can't be helped now, and dinner waits. Shall +we go downstairs?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget and his party were in good time in their +places. Valentine took a seat rather far back in the box, +but her father presently coaxed her to come to the +front, supplied both her and Lilias with opera glasses, and +encouraged both girls to look about them, and watch the +different people who were gradually filing into their places +in the stalls.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget himself neither wore glasses nor aided his +vision with an opera glass. His face was slightly flushed, +and his eyes, keen and bright, travelled round the house, +taking in everything, not passing over a single individual.</p> + +<p>Valentine was never particularly curious about her neighbors, +and as Lilias knew no one, they both soon leant back +in their chairs, and talked softly to one another.</p> + +<p>The curtain rose, and each girl bent forward to see and +enjoy. The rest of the house was now comparatively dark, +but just before the lights were lowered, Mr. Paget might +have been heard to give a faint quick sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>A tall girl in cream-color and soft furs walked slowly +down the length of stalls, and took her place in such a +position that Valentine could scarcely look down without +seeing her. This girl's beauty was so marked that many +eyes were turned in her direction as she appeared. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +was very regal looking, very quiet and dignified in manner. +Her features were classical and pure in outline, and her +head, with its wealth of raven black hair, was splendidly +set.</p> + +<p>She was accompanied by a tall, fairly good-looking man +who sat next to her.</p> + +<p>When the curtain rose and the lights were lowered the +stall at her other side was vacant.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget felt his heart beat a trifle too fast. Would +that stall be full or empty when the curtain dropped at the +close of the first act? Would his heart's desire, his wicked +and treacherous heart's desire be torn from him in the very +moment of apparent fruition. Suppose Gerald did not put +in an appearance at the Gaiety? Suppose at the eleventh +hour he changed his mind and resolved to leave Esther +Helps to her fate? Suppose—pshaw!—where was the use +of supposing? To leave a girl to her fate would not be his +chivalrous fool of a son-in-law's way. No, it was all right; +even now he could dimly discern a faint commotion in the +neighborhood of Esther Helps—the kind of commotion +incident on the arrival of a fresh person, the gentle soft +little movement made by the other occupants of the stalls +to let the new comer, who was both late and tiresome, take +his reserved seat in comfort. Mr. Paget sank back in his +seat with a sensation of relief; he had not listened for +nothing behind an artfully concealed curtain that morning.</p> + +<p>The play proceeded. Much as he had said about it +beforehand, it had no interest for Mr. Paget. He scarcely +troubled to look at the stage. There was no room in his +heart that moment for burlesque: he was too busily engaged +over his own terrible life's drama. On the result of this +night more or less depended all his future happiness.</p> + +<p>"If she turns back to me after what she sees to-night +then I can endure," he said to himself. "I can go on <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>to +the bitter end—if not—well, there are more expedients +than one for a ruined man to throw up the sponge."</p> + +<p>The curtain fell, the theatre was in a blaze of light; +Valentine and Lilias sank back in their seats and began to +fan themselves. They had been pleased and amused. +Lilias, indeed, had laughed so heartily that the tears came +to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I hate to cry when I laugh," she said, taking out her +handkerchief to wipe them away. "It's a tiresome trick +we all have in our family, Gerald and all."</p> + +<p>She had a habit of bringing in Gerald's name whenever +she spoke of her family, as if he were the topmost stone, +the crowning pride and delight.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget had his back slightly turned to the girls. Once +more he was devouring the stalls with his eager bright eyes. +Yes, Gerald Wyndham was in his stall. He was leaning +back, not exerting himself much; he looked nonchalant and +strikingly handsome. Mr. Paget did not wish him to appear +too nonchalant when Valentine first caught sight of him. +No—ah, that was better. Esther was turning to speak to +him. By Jove, what a face the girl had!</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget had often seen Helps' only daughter, for he +found it convenient occasionally to call to see Helps at +Acadia Villa. But he had never before seen her dress +becomingly, and he was positively startled at the pure, high +type of her beauty. At this distance her common accent, +her poor uneducated words, could not grate. All her gestures +were graceful; she looked up at Gerald, said something, +smiled, then lowered her heavy black lashes.</p> + +<p>It was at that moment, just as Wyndham was bending +forward to reply to her remark, and she was leaning +slightly away from her other cavalier, so that he scarcely +seemed to belong to her party, that Valentine, tired of doing +nothing, came close to her father, and allowed her eyes to +wander round the house. Suddenly she uttered a surprised +exclamation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Look, father, look! Is that Gerald? Who is with him? +Who is he talking to? How is it that he comes to be here? +Yes, it is Gerald! Oh, what a lovely girl he is talking +to!"</p> + +<p>Valentine's words were emphatic and slightly agitated, +for she was simply overpowered with astonishment, but +they were spoken in a low key. Lilias did not hear them. +She was reading her programme over for the twentieth +time, and wondering when the curtain would rise and the +play go on.</p> + +<p>"Look, father," continued Valentine, clutching her +father's arm. "Isn't that Gerald? How strange of him to +be here. Who can he be talking to? I don't know her—do +you? Do you see him, father? Won't you go down and +tell him we are here, and bring him up—and—and—the +lady who is with him. Go, please, father, you see where he +is, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I do, my child. I have seen him for some time past. +Would you like to come home, Valentine?"</p> + +<p>"Home! What in the world do you mean? How queer +you look! Is there anything wrong? Who is with Gerald? +Who is he talking to? How lovely she is. I wish she +would look up again."</p> + +<p>"That girl is not a lady, Valentine. She is Esther Helps—you +have heard of her. Yes, now I understand why +your husband could not come with us to the Haymarket +to-night. My poor child! Don't look at them again. +Valentine, my darling."</p> + +<p>Valentine looked full into her father's eyes; full, long, +and steadily she gazed. Then slowly, very slowly, a crimson +flood of color suffused her whole face; it receded, leaving +her deathly pale. She moved away from her father and +took a back seat behind Lilias.</p> + +<p>The curtain rose again, the play continued. Lilias was +excited, and wanted to pull Val<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>entine to the front.</p> + +<p>"No," she said. "My head aches; I don't care to look +any more."</p> + +<p>She sat back in her seat, very white and very calm.</p> + +<p>"Would you like to come home?" said her father, bending +across to her, and speaking in a voice which almost +trembled with the emotion he felt.</p> + +<p>"No," she said in reply, and without raising her eyes. +"I will sit the play out till the end."</p> + +<p>When the curtain fell again she roused herself with an +effort and coaxed Lilias to come into the back of the box +with her. The only keen anxiety she was conscious of was +to protect her husband from Lilias' astonished eyes.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget felt well satisfied. He had managed to convey +his meaning to his innocent child's heart; an insinuation, +a fall of the voice, a look in the eyes, had opened up a gulf +on the brink of which Valentine drew back shuddering.</p> + +<p>"I was only beginning to love him; it doesn't so much +matter," she said many times to herself. Even now she +thought no very bad things of her husband; that is no +very bad things according to the world's code. To her, +however, they were black. He had deceived her—he had +made her a promise and broken it. Why? Because he +liked to spend the evening with another girl more beautiful +than herself.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, I am not jealous," said Valentine, softly under +her breath. "I won't say anything to him either about it, +poor fellow. It does not matter to me, not greatly. I was +only beginning to love him. Thank God there is always +my dear old father."</p> + +<p>When the curtain rose for the final act of the play. +Valentine moved her chair so that she could slightly lean +against Mr. Paget. He took her hand and squeezed it. +He felt that he had won the victory.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + + +<p>Gerald had found his task most uncongenial. In the first +place he was disappointed at not spending the evening with +Valentine and Lilias. In the second the close proximity of +such a girl as Esther Helps could not but be repugnant to +him. Still she was a woman, a woman in danger, and her +father had appealed to him to save her. Had he been ordained +for the Church, such work—ah, no, he must not think +of what his life would have been then. After all, it was good +of the distracted father to trust him, and he must not +betray the trust.</p> + +<p>He went to the theatre and acquitted himself with extreme +tact and diplomacy. When Gerald chose to exert himself +his manner had a quieting effect, a compelling, and almost +a commanding effect on women. Esther became quiet and +gentle; she talked to Captain Herriot, but not noisily; she +laughed, her laugh was low and almost musical. Now and +then her quick eyes glanced at Wyndham; she felt thirsty +for even his faintest approval—he bestowed it by neither +word nor movement.</p> + +<p>As they were leaving the theatre, however, and the gallant +captain, who inwardly cursed that insufferable prig who +happened to have a slight acquaintance with his beautiful +Esther, grew cheerful under the impression that now his +time for enjoyment was come, Gerald said in a low, grave +voice:—</p> + +<p>"Your father has given me a letter for you. Pray be +quiet, don't excite yourself. It is necessary that you should +go to your father directly. Allow me to see you into a cab. +Your father is waiting for you—it is urgent that you should +join him at once."</p> + +<p>Scarcely knowing why she did it, Esther obeyed. She +murmured some eage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>r agitated words to Captain Herriot; +she was subdued, frightened, shaken; as Gerald helped her +into a cab he felt her slim fingers tremble in his. He took +his seat upon the box beside the driver, and ten minutes +later had delivered Esther safely to her father. His task +was done, he did not wait to hear a word of Helps' profuse +thanks. He drew a sigh of relief as he hurried home. +Soon he would be with his wife—the wife whom he idolized—the +wife who was beginning to return his love. Suppose +her passion went on and deepened? Suppose a day +came when to part from him would be a sorer trial than +poverty or dishonor! Oh, if such a day came—he might—ah, +he must not think in that direction. He pushed his +hand through his thick hair, leant back in his cab, and +shut his eyes.</p> + +<p>When he reached the little house in Park-lane he found +that the lights in the drawing-room were out, and the gas +turned low in the hall. He was later even than he had +intended to be. The other theatre-goers had returned +home and gone to bed. He wondered how they had +enjoyed <i>Captain Swift</i>. For himself he had not the least +idea of what he had been looking at at the Gaiety.</p> + +<p>He let himself in with a latch-key, and ran up at once to +his room. He wanted to kiss Valentine, to look into her +eyes, which seemed to him to grow sweeter and softer +every day. He opened the door eagerly and looked round +the cheerful bedroom.</p> + +<p>Valentine was not there.</p> + +<p>He called her. She was not in the dressing-room.</p> + +<p>"She is with Lilias," he said to himself. "How these +two young things love to chatter."</p> + +<p>He sat down in an easy chair by the fire, content to +wait until his wife should return. He was half inclined to +tell her what he had been doing; he had a great longing +to confide in her in all possible ways, for she had both +brains and sense, but he restrained himself. The subject +was not one he cared to discuss with his young wife, an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>d, +besides, the secret belonged to Esther and to her father.</p> + +<p>He made up his mind to say nothing about it. He had +no conception then what this silence was to cost him, and +how different all his future life might have been had he +told his wife the truth that night.</p> + +<p>Presently Valentine returned. Her face was flushed, +and her eyes had an unquiet troubled expression. She +had been to Lilias with a somewhat strange request.</p> + +<p>"Lilias, I want you to promise me something, to ask no +questions, but just like a kind and truthful sister to make +me a faithful promise."</p> + +<p>"You look strange, Valentine; what do you want me to +promise?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Will</i> you promise it?"</p> + +<p>"If I can, I will promise, to please you; but I never +make promises in the dark."</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's Gerald's step, I must go. Lilias, I've a very +particular reason, I cannot explain it to you. I want you +not to tell Gerald, now or at any time, that we were at the +Gaiety to-night."</p> + +<p>"My dear Val, how queer! Why shouldn't poor Gerald +know? And you look so strange. You are trembling."</p> + +<p>"I am. I'm in desperate earnest. Will you promise?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, you silly child, if you set such store on an +utterly ridiculous promise you shall have it. Only if I were +you, Valentine, I wouldn't begin even to have such tiny +little secrets as that from my husband. I wouldn't, Val; +it isn't wise—it isn't really."</p> + +<p>Valentine neither heard nor heeded these last words. +She gave Lilias a hasty, frantic kiss, and rushed back to +her own room.</p> + +<p>"Now," she said to herself, "now—now—now—if he +tells me everything, every single thing, all may be well. I +won't ask him a question; but if he tells, tells of his own +accord, all may be quite well yet. Oh, how my heart +beats! It is good I have not learned to love him any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +better."</p> + +<p>Gerald rose up at her entrance and went to meet her +eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Ah, here's my bright little wife," he said. "Give me a +kiss, Valentine."</p> + +<p>She gave it, and allowed him to fold her in his arms. She +was almost passive, but her heart beat hard—she was so +eagerly waiting for him to speak.</p> + +<p>"Sit down by the fire, darling. I don't like long evenings +spent away from you, Val. How did you enjoy <i>Captain +Swift</i>?"</p> + +<p>"We didn't go to the Haymarket; no, we are going to-morrow. +Father thought it a pity you should miss such a +good play."</p> + +<p>"Then where did you go? You and Lil did not stay at +home the whole evening?"</p> + +<p>"No, father took us to another theatre. I can't tell you +the name; don't ask me. I hate theatres—I detest them. +I never want to go inside one again as long as I live!"</p> + +<p>"How strongly you talk, my dear little Val. Perhaps +you found it dull to-night because your husband was not +with you."</p> + +<p>She moved away with a slight little petulant gesture. +When would he begin to speak?</p> + +<p>Gerald wondered vaguely what had put his sweet-tempered +Valentine out. He stirred the fire, and then stood +with his back to it. She looked up at him, his face was +very grave, very calm. Her own Gerald—he had a nice +face. Surely there was nothing bad behind that face. Why +was he silent? Why didn't he begin to tell his story? Well +she would—she would—help him a little.</p> + +<p>She cleared her throat, she essayed twice to find her +voice. When it came out at last it was small and timorous.</p> + +<p>"Was it—was it business kept you from coming with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +me to-night, Gerry?"</p> + +<p>"Business? Yes, my darling, certainly."</p> + +<p>Her heart went down with a great bound. But she would +give him another chance.</p> + +<p>"Was it—was it business connected with the office?"</p> + +<p>"You speak in quite a queer voice, Valentine. In a +measure it was business connected with the office—in a +measure it was not. What is it, Valentine? What is it, +my dear?"</p> + +<p>She had risen from her seat, put her arms round his neck, +and laid her soft young head on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Tell me the business, Gerry, Tell your own Val."</p> + +<p>He kissed her many times.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't concern you, my dear wife," he said. "I +would tell you gladly, were I not betraying a trust. I had +some painful work to do to-night, Valentine. Yes, business, +certainly. I cannot tell it, dear. Yes, what was that you +said?"</p> + +<p>For she had murmured "Hypocrite!" under her breath. +Very low she had said it, too faintly for him to catch the +word. But he felt her loving arms relax. He saw her +face grow grave and cold, something seemed to go out of +her eyes which had rendered them most lovely. It was +the wounded soul going back into solitude, and hiding its +grief and shame in an inmost recess of her being.</p> + +<p>Would Gerald ever see the soul, the soul of love, in his +wife's eyes again?</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + + +<p>A few days after the events related in the last chapter Mr. +Paget asked his son-in-law to have a few minutes' private +conversation with him. Once more the young man found +himself in that inner room at the rich merchant's office +which represented more or less a torture-chamber to him. +Once more Valentine's untroubled girlish innocent eyes +looked out of Richmond's beautiful picture of her.</p> + +<p>Wyndham hated this room, he almost hated that picture; +it had surrounded itself with terrible memories. He +turned his head away from it now as he obeyed Mr. Paget's +summons.</p> + +<p>"It's this, Gerald," said his father-in-law. "When a +thing has to be done the sooner the better. I mean nobody +cares to make a long operation of the drawing of a +tooth for instance!"</p> + +<p>"An insufficient metaphor," interrupted Wyndham +roughly. "Say, rather, the plucking out of a right eye, or +the cutting off a right hand. As you say, these operations +had better be got quickly over."</p> + +<p>"I think so—I honestly think so. It would convenience +me if you sailed in the <i>Esperance</i> on the 25th of March +for Sydney. There is a <i>bonâ fide</i> reason for your going. +I want you to sample——"</p> + +<p>"Hush," interrupted Wyndham. "The technicalities +and the gloss and all that kind of humbug can come later. +You want me to sail on the 25th of March. That is the +main point. When last you spoke of it, I begged of you +as a boon to give me an extension of grace, say until May +or June. It was understood by us, although there was no +sealed bond in the matter, that my wife and I should spend +a year together before this—this <i>temporary</i> parting took +place. I asked you at one time to shorten my season of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +grace, but a few weeks ago I asked you to extend it."</p> + +<p>"Precisely, Wyndham, and I told you I would grant +your wish, if possible. I asked you to announce to your +own relatives that you would probably have to go away in +March, for a time; but I said I would do my utmost to +defer the evil hour. I am sorry to say that I cannot do so. +I have had news from India which obliges me to hasten +matters. Such a good opportunity as the business which +takes you out in the <i>Esperance</i> will probably not occur +again. It would be madness not to avail ourselves of it. +Do not you think so? My dear fellow, do take a chair."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I prefer to stand. This day—what is this +day?" He raised his eyes; they rested on the office +calendar. "This day is the 24th of February. A spring-like +day, isn't it? Wonderful for the time of year. I have, +then, one month and one day to live. Are these Valentine's +violets? I will help myself to a few. Let me say +good-morning, sir."</p> + +<p>He bowed courteously—no one could be more courteous +than Gerald Wyndham—and left the room.</p> + +<p>His astonished father in-law almost gasped when he +found himself alone.</p> + +<p>"Upon my word," he said to himself, "there's something +about that fellow that's positively uncanny. I only trust +I'll be preserved from being haunted by his ghost. My +God! what a retribution that would be. Wyndham would +be awful as a ghost. I suppose I shall have retribution +some day. I know I'm a wicked man. Hypocritical, cunning, +devilish. Yes, I'm all that. Who'd have thought that +soft-looking lad would turn out to be all steel and venom. +I hate him—and yet, upon my soul, I admire him. He +does more for the woman he loves than I do—than I could +do. The woman <i>we both love</i>. His wife—<i>my child</i>."</p> + +<p>"There, I'll get soft myself if I indulge in these thoughts +any longer. Now is the time for him to go. Valentine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +has turned from him; any fool can see that. Now is the +time to get him out of the way. How lucky that I overheard +Helps that day. Never was there a more opportune +thing."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget went home early that evening. Valentine +was dining with him. Lately, within the last few weeks, +she often came over alone to spend the evening with her +father.</p> + +<p>"Where's your husband, my pet?" the old man used to +say to her on these occasions.</p> + +<p>And she always answered him in a bright though somewhat +hard little voice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Gerald is such a book-worm—he is devouring one +of those abstruse treatises on music. I left him buried in +it," or, "Gerald is going out this evening," or, "Gerald +isn't well, and would like to stay quiet, so"—the end was +invariably the same—"I thought I'd come and have a cosy +chat with you, dad."</p> + +<p>"And no one more welcome—no one in all the wide +world more welcome," Mortimer Paget would answer, +glancing, with apparent pleased unconcern, but with secret +anxiety, at his daughter's face.</p> + +<p>The glance always satisfied him; she looked bright and +well—a little hard, perhaps—well, the blow must affect her +in some way. What had taken place at the Gaiety would +leave some results even on the most indifferent heart. The +main result, however, was well. Valentine's dawning love +had changed to indifference. Had she cared for her husband +passionately, had her whole heart been given into his +keeping, she must have been angry; she must have +mourned.</p> + +<p>As, evening after evening, Mr. Paget came to this conclusion, +he invariably gave vent to a sigh of relief. He +never guessed that if he could wear a mask, so also could +his child. He never even suspected that beneath Valentine's +gay laughter, under the soft shining of her clear eyes, +under her smiles, her light easy words, lay a pain, lay a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>n +ache, which ceased not to trouble her day and night.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget came home early. Valentine was waiting for +him in the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"We shall have a cosy evening, father," she said. "Oh, +no, Gerald can't come. He says he has some letters to +write. I think he has a headache, too. I'd have stayed +with him, only he prefers being quiet. Well, we'll have a +jolly evening together. Kiss me, dad."</p> + +<p>He did kiss her, then she linked his hand in her arm, +and they went downstairs and dined together, as they used +to do in the old days before either of them had heard of +Gerald Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"Let us come into the library to-night," said Valentine. +"You know there is no room like the library to me."</p> + +<p>"Nor to me," said Mr. Paget brightly. "It reminds me +of when you were a child, my darling."</p> + +<p>"Ah, well, I'm not a child now, I'm a woman."</p> + +<p>She kept back the sigh which rose to her lips.</p> + +<p>"I think I like being a child best, only one never can +have the old childish time back again."</p> + +<p>"Who knows, Val? Perhaps we may. If you have +spoiled your teeth enough over those filberts, shall we go +into the library? I have something to tell you—a little +bit of news."</p> + +<p>"All right, you shall tell it sitting in your old armchair."</p> + +<p>She flitted on in front, looking quite like the child she +more or less still was.</p> + +<p>"Now isn't this perfect?" she said, when the door was +shut, Mr. Paget established in his armchair, and the two +pairs of eyes fixed upon the glowing fire. "Isn't this +perfect?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my darling—perfect. Valentine, there is no love +in all th<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>e world like a father's for his child."</p> + +<p>"No greater love has come to me," replied Valentine +slowly; and now some of the pain at her heart, notwithstanding +all her brave endeavors, did come into her face. +"No greater love has come to me, but I can imagine, yes. +I can imagine a mightier."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, child?"</p> + +<p>"For instance—if you loved your husband perfectly, +and he—he loved you, and there was nothing at all between—and +the joy of all joys was to be with him, and you were +to feel that in thought—in word—in deed—you were one, +not two. There, what am I saying? The wildest nonsense. +There isn't such a thing as a love of that sort. +What's your news, father?"</p> + +<p>"My dear child, how intensely you speak!"</p> + +<p>"Never mind! Tell me what is your news, father."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget laughed, his laugh was not very comfortable.</p> + +<p>"Has Gerald told you anything, Valentine?"</p> + +<p>"Gerald? No, nothing special; he had a headache this +evening."</p> + +<p>"You know, Val—at least we often talked the matter +over—that Gerald might have to go away for a time. He +is my partner, and partners in such a firm as mine have +often to go to the other side of the world to transact +important business."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you and Gerald have both spoken of it. He's not +going soon, is he?"</p> + +<p>"That's it, my pet. The necessity has arisen rather +suddenly. Gerald has to sail for Sydney in about a +month."</p> + +<p>Valentine was sitting a little behind her father. He could +not see the pallor of her face; her voice was quite clear +and quiet.</p> + +<p>"Poor old Gerry," she said; "he won't take me, will he, +father?"</p> + +<p>"Impossible, my dear—absolutely. You surely don't +want to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>go."</p> + +<p>"No, not particularly."</p> + +<p>Valentine yawned with admirable effect.</p> + +<p>"She really can't care for him at all. What a wonderful +piece of luck," muttered her father.</p> + +<p>"I daresay Gerald will enjoy Sydney," continued his +wife. "Is he likely to be long away?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps six months—perhaps not so long. Time is +always a matter of some uncertainty in cases of this kind."</p> + +<p>"I could come back to you while he is away, couldn't I, +dad?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course, my dear one, I always intended that. +It would be old times over again—old times over again for +you and your father, Valentine."</p> + +<p>"Not quite, I think," replied Valentine. "We can't +go back really. Things happen, and we can't undo them. +Do you know, father, I think Gerald must have infected +me with his headache. If you don't mind, I'll go home."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget saw his daughter back to Park-lane, but he +did not go into the house. Valentine rang the bell, and +when Masters opened the door she asked him where her +husband was.</p> + +<p>"In the library, ma'am; you can hear him can't you? +He's practising of the violin."</p> + +<p>Yes, the music of this most soul-speaking, soul-stirring +instrument filled the house. Valentine put her finger to +her lips to enjoin silence, and went softly along the passage +which led to the library. The door was a little ajar—she +could look in without being herself seen. Some sheets of +music were scattered about on the table, but Wyndham was +not playing from any written score. The queer melody +which he called Waves was filling the room. Valentine +had heard it twice before—she started and clasped her +hands as its passion, its unutterable sadness, its despair, +reached her. Where were the triumph notes which had +come into it six weeks ago?</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> +<p>She turned and fled up to her room, and locking the +door, threw herself by her bedside and burst into bitter +weeping.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Gerald, I love you! I do love you; but I'll never +show it. No, never, until you tell me the truth."</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + + +<p>"Yes," said Augusta Wyndham, "if there is a young man +who suits me all round it's Mr. Carr. Yes," she said, +standing very upright in her short skirts, with her hair in +a tight pig-tail hanging down her back, and her determined, +wide open, bright eyes fixed upon an admiring audience +of younger sisters. "He suits me exactly. He's a kind +of hail-fellow-well-met; he has no nonsensical languishing +airs about him; he preaches nice short sermons, and +never bothers you to remember what they are about afterwards; +he's not bad at tennis or cricket, and he really can +cannon quite decently at billiards; but for all that, if <i>you</i> +think, you young 'uns, that he's going to get inside of +Gerry, or that he's going to try to pretend to know better +than Gerry what I can or can't do, why you're all finely +mistaken, so there!"</p> + +<p>Augusta turned on her heel, pirouetted a step or two, +whistled in a loud, free, unrestrained fashion, and once +more faced her audience.</p> + +<p>"Gerry said that I <i>could</i> give out the library books. +Now is it likely that Mr. Carr knows more of my capacities +after six months' study than Gerry found out after fifteen +years?"</p> + +<p>"But Mr. Carr doesn't study <i>you</i>, Gus. It's Lilias he's +always looking at," interrupted little Rosie.</p> + +<p>"You're not pretty, are you, Gus?" asked Betty. +"Your cheeks are too red, aren't they? And nurse says +your eyes are as round as an owl's!"</p> + +<p>"Pretty!" answered Augusta, in a lofty voice. "Who +cares for being pretty? Who cares for being simply pink +and white? I'm for intellect. I'm for the march of mind. +Gerry believes in me. Hurrah for Gerry! Now, girls, off +with your caps, throw them in the air, and shout hurrah<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> for +Gerry three times, as loud as you can!"</p> + +<p>"What an extraordinary noise the children are making +on the lawn," said Lilias to Marjory. "I hear Gerald's +name. What can they be saying about Gerald? One +would almost think he was coming down the avenue to see +the state of excitement they are in! Do look, Meg, do."</p> + +<p>"It's only one of Gussie's storms in a tea-cup," responded +Marjory, cheerfully. "I am so glad, Lil, that you +found Gerald and Val hitting it off so nicely. You consider +them quite a model pair for affection and all that, +don't you, pet?"</p> + +<p>"Quite," said Lilias. "My mind is absolutely at rest. +One night Val puzzled me a little. Oh, nothing to speak +of—nothing came of it, I mean. Yes, my mind is absolutely +at rest, thank God! What are all the children doing. +Maggie? They are flying in a body to the house. What +can it mean?"</p> + +<p>"We'll know in less than no time," responded Marjory, +calmly. And they did.</p> + +<p>Four little girls, all out of breath, all dressed alike, all +looking alike, dashed into the drawing-room, and in one +breath poured out the direful intelligence that Augusta had +mutinied.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carr forbade her to give away the library books," +they said, "and she has gone up now to the school-room +in spite of him. She's off; she said Gerry said she might +do it, long ago. Isn't it awful of her? She says beauty's +nothing, and she's only going to obey Gerry," continued +Betty. "What shall we do? She'll give all the books +away wrong, and Mr. Carr will be angry."</p> + +<p>They all paused for want of breath. Rosie went up and +laid her fat red hand on Lilias' knee.</p> + +<p>"I said it was you he stared at," she remarked. "<i>You</i> +wouldn't like him to be vexed, would y<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>ou?"</p> + +<p>The words had scarcely passed her lips before the door +was opened, and the object of the children's universal +commiseration entered. A deep and awful silence took +possession of them. Lilias clutched Rosie's hand, and felt +an inane desire to rush from the room with her.</p> + +<p>Too late. The terrible infant flew to Adrian Carr, and +clasping her arms around his legs, looked up into his face.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," she said, "it <i>is</i> wrong of Gussie, but it +isn't Lilias' fault. She wouldn't like to vex you, 'cause you +stare so at her."</p> + +<p>"Nursie says that you admire Lilias; do you?" asked +Betty.</p> + +<p>"Oh, poor Gussie!" exclaimed the others, their interest +in Lilias and Carr being after all but a very secondary +matter. "We all do hope you won't do anything dreadful +to her. You can, you know. You can excommunicate +her, can't you?"</p> + +<p>"But what has Augusta done?" exclaimed Carr, turning +a somewhat flushed face in the direction not of Lilias, but +of Marjory. "What a frightful confusion—and what +does it mean?"</p> + +<p>Marjory explained as well as she was able. Carr had +lately taken upon himself to overhaul the books of the lending +library. He believed in literature as a very elevating +lever, but he thought that books should not only be +carefully selected in the mass, but in lending should be +given with a special view to the needs of the individual who +borrowed. Before Gerald's marriage Marjory had given +away the books, but since then, for various reasons, they +had drifted into Augusta's hands, and through their means +this rather spirited and daring young lady had been able to +inflict a small succession of mild tyrannies. For instance, +poor Miss Yates, the weak-eyed and weak-spirited village +dressmaker, was dosed with a series of profound and dull +theology; and Macallister, the sexton and shoemaker, a +canny Scot, who looked upon all fiction as the "work of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>the +de'il," was put into a weekly passion with the novels of +Charles Reade and Wilkie Collins.</p> + +<p>These were extreme cases, but Augusta certainly had +the knack of giving the wrong book to the wrong person. +Carr heard mutterings and grumbling. The yearly subscriptions +of a shilling a piece diminished, and he thought it +full time to take the matter in hand. He himself would +distribute the village literature every Saturday, at twelve +o'clock.</p> + +<p>The day and the hour arrived, and behold Miss Augusta +Wyndham had forestalled him, and was probably at this +very moment putting "The Woman in White" into the +enraged Macallister's hand. Carr's temper was not altogether +immaculate; he detached the children's clinging +hands from his person, and said he would pursue the truant, +publicly take the reins of authority from her, and send her +home humiliated. He left the rectory, walking fast, and +letting his annoyance rather increase than diminish, for +few young men care to be placed in a ridiculous situation, +and he could not but feel that such was his in the present +instance.</p> + +<p>The school-house was nearly half a mile from the rectory, +along a straight and dusty piece of road; very dusty it +was to-day, and a cutting March east wind blew in Carr's +face and stung it. He approached the school-house—no, +what a relief—the patient aspirants after literature were +most of them waiting outside. Augusta, then, could not +have gone into the school-room.</p> + +<p>"Has Miss Augusta Wyndham gone upstairs?" he asked +of a rosy-cheeked girl who adored the "Sunday At Home."</p> + +<p>"No, please, sir. Mr. Gerald's come, please, Mr. Carr, +sir," raising two eyes which nearly blazed with excitement. +"He shook 'ands with me, he did, and with Old Ben, there; +and Miss Augusta, she give a sort of a whoop, and she +had her arms round his neck, and was a-hugging of him +before us all, and they has gone down through the fields<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +to the rectory."</p> + +<p>"About the books," said Carr; "has Miss Augusta +given you the books?"</p> + +<p>"Bless your 'eart, sir," here interrupted Old Ben, "we +ain't of a mind for books to-day. Mr. Gerald said he'd +come up this evening to the Club, and have a chat with us +all, and Sue and me, we was waiting here to tell the news. +Litteratoor ain't in our line to-day, thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>"Here's Mr. Macallister," said Sue. "Mr. Macallister. +Mr. Gerald's back. He is, truly. I seen him, and so did +Old Ben."</p> + +<p>"And he'll be at the Club to-night," said Ben, turning +his wrinkled face upwards towards the elongated visage of +the canny Scot.</p> + +<p>"The Lord be praised for a' His mercies," pronounced +Macallister, slowly, with an upward wave of his hand, as if +he were returning thanks for a satisfying meal. "Na, na. +Mr. Carr, na books the day."</p> + +<p>Finding that his services were really useless, Carr went +away. The villagers were slowly collecting from different +quarters, and all faces were broadening into smiles, and all +the somewhat indifferent sleepy tones becoming perceptibly +brighter, and Gerald Wyndham's name was passed from +lip to lip. Old Miss Bates wiped her tearful eyes, as she +hurried home to put on her best cap. Widow Simpkins +determined to make up a good fire in her cottage, and not +to spare the coals; the festive air was unmistakeable. Carr +felt smitten with a kind of envy. What wonders could not +Wyndham have effected in this place, he commented, as he +walked slowly back to his lodgings. Later in the day he +called at the rectory to find the hero surrounded by his +adoring family, and bearing his honors gracefully.</p> + +<p>Gerald was talking rather more than his wont; for some +reason or other his face had more color than usual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>, his eyes +were bright, he smiled, and even laughed. Lilias ceased +to watch him anxiously, a sense of jubilation filled the +breast of every worshipping sister, and no one thought of +parting or sorrow.</p> + +<p>Perhaps even Gerald himself forgot the bitterness which +lay before him just then; perhaps his efforts were not all +efforts, and that he really felt some of the old home peace +and rest with its sustaining power.</p> + +<p>You can know a thing and yet not always realize it. +Gerald knew that he should never spend another Saturday +in the old rectory of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. That Lilias' +bright head and Lilias' tender, steadfast earnest eyes would +be in future only a memory. He could never hope again +to touch that hair, or answer back the smile on that +beloved and happy face. The others, too—but Lilias, +after his wife, was most dear of all living creatures to +Gerald. Well, he must not think; he resolved to take +all the sweetness, if possible, out of this Saturday and Sunday. +He resolved not to tell any of his people of the coming +parting until just before he left.</p> + +<p>The small sisters squatted in a semicircle on the floor +round their hero; Augusta, as usual, stood behind him, +keeping religious guard of the back of his head.</p> + +<p>"If there is a thing I simply adore," that vigorous young +lady was often heard to say, "it's the back of Gerry's +head."</p> + +<p>Lilias sat at his feet, her slim hand and arm lying across +his knee; Marjory flitted about, too restless and happy to +be quiet, and the tall rector stood on the hearthrug with his +back to the fire.</p> + +<p>"It is good to be home again," said Gerald. Whereupon +a sigh of content echoed from all the other throats, and it +was at this moment that Carr came into the room.</p> + +<p>"Come in, Carr, come in," said the rector. "There's a +place for you, too. You're quite like one of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> family, +you know. Oh, of course you are, my dear fellow, of +course you are. We have got my son back, unexpectedly. +Gerald, you know Carr, don't you."</p> + +<p>Gerald stood up, gave Carr's hand a hearty grip, and +offered him his chair.</p> + +<p>"Oh, not that seat, Gerry," groaned Augusta, "it's the +only one in the room I can stand at comfortably. I can't +fiddle with your curls if I stand at the back of any other +chair."</p> + +<p>Gerald patted her cheek.</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps, Carr, you'll oblige Augusta by occupying +another chair. I am sorry that I am obliged to withhold +the most comfortable from you."</p> + +<p>Carr was very much at home with the Wyndhams by +now. He pulled forward a cane chair, shook his head at +Augusta, and glanced almost timidly at Lilias. He feared +the eight sharp eyes of the younger children if he did more +than look very furtively, but she made such a sweet picture +just then that his eyes sought hers by a sort of fascination. +For the first time, too, he noticed that she had a look of +Gerald. Her face lacked the almost spiritualized expression +of his, but undoubtedly there was a likeness.</p> + +<p>The voices, interrupted for a moment by the curate's +entrance, soon resumed their vigorous flow.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you bring my dear little sister Valentine +down, Gerald?" It was Lilias who spoke.</p> + +<p>He rewarded her loving speech by a flash, half of pleasure, +half of pain in his eyes. Aloud he said:—</p> + +<p>"We thought it scarcely worth while for both of us to +come. I must go away again on Monday."</p> + +<p>A sepulchral groan from Augusta. Rosie, Betty and Joan +exclaimed almost in a breath:—</p> + +<p>"And we like you much better by yourself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, hush, children," said Marjory. "We are all very +fond of Val."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You have brought a great deal of delight into the village. +Wyndham," said Carr, and he related the little scene which +had taken place around the school-house. "I'd give a good +deal to be even half as popular," he said with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"You might give all you possessed in all the world, and +you wouldn't succeed," snapped Gussie.</p> + +<p>"Augusta, you really are too rude," said Lilias with a +flush on her face.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not, Lil. Oh, you needn't stare at me. I like +him, and he knows it," nodding with her head in the direction +of Adrian Carr; "but you have to be born in a place, +and taught to walk in it, and you have had to steal apples +in it and eggs out of birds' nests, and to get nearly drowned +when fishing, and to get some shot in your ankle, and +you've got to know every soul in all the country round, and +to come back from school to them in the holidays, and for +them first to see your moustache coming; and then, beyond +and above all that, you've got just to be <i>Gerry</i>, to have his +way of looking, and his way of walking, and his way of +shaking your hand, and to have his voice and his heart, to +be loved as well. So how <i>could</i> Mr. Carr expect it?"</p> + +<p>"Bravo, Augusta," said Adrian Carr. "I'd like you +for a friend better than any girl I know."</p> + +<p>"Please, Gerry, tell us a story," exclaimed the younger +children. They did not want Augusta to have all the talking.</p> + +<p>"Let it be about a mouse, and a cricket on the hearth, +and a white elephant, and a roaring bull, and a grizzly +bear."</p> + +<p>"And let the ten little nigger-boys come into it," said +Betty.</p> + +<p>"And Bo-Peep," said Rosie.</p> + +<p>"And the Old Man who wouldn't say his prayers," exclaimed +Joan.</p> + +<p>"And let it last for hours," exclaimed they all.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> +<p>Gerald begged the rest of the audience to go away, but +they refused to budge an inch. So the story began. All +the characters appeared in due order; it lasted a long time, +and everybody was delighted.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + + +<p>Lilias Wyndham never forgot that last Sunday with +Gerald spent at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. The day in itself +was perfect, the air blew softly from the west, the sun +shone in a nearly cloudless heaven; the gentle breezes, the +opening flowers, the first faint buds of spring on tree and +hedge-row seemed all to give a foretaste of summer. Nobody +knew, none could guess, that in one sense they foretold +the desolation of dark winter.</p> + +<p>It was in this light that Wyndham himself regarded the +lovely day.</p> + +<p>"I leap from calm to storm," he said to himself. "Never +mind, I will enjoy the present bliss!"</p> + +<p>He did enjoy it, really, not seemingly. He took every +scrap of sweetness out of it, almost forgetting Valentine for +the time being, and living over again the days when he +was a light-hearted boy.</p> + +<p>He went to church twice, and sat in the corner of the +square family pew which had always been reserved for him. +As of old, Lilias sat by his side, and when the sermon came +he lifted little Joan into his arms, and she fell asleep with +her golden head on his breast. The rector preached and +Gerald listened. It was an old-fashioned sermon, somewhat +long for the taste of the present day. It had been carefully +prepared, and was read aloud, for the benefit of the congregation, +in a clear, gentlemanly voice.</p> + +<p>Gerald almost forgot that he was a man with an unusual +load of suffering upon him, as he listened to the time-honored +softly-flowing sentences.</p> + +<p>"Blessed are the pure in heart," was the rector's text, +and it seemed to more than one of that little village congregation +that he was describing his own son when he drew +his picture of the man of purity.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> +<p>In the evening Carr preached. He was as modern as +the rector was the reverse. He used neither M.S. nor +notes, and his sermon scarcely occupied ten minutes.</p> + +<p>"To die is gain" was his text. There were some in +the congregation who scarcely understood the vigorous +words, but they seemed to one weary man like the first +trumpet notes of coming battle. They spoke of a fight +which led to a victory. Wyndham remembered them by-and-bye.</p> + +<p>It was the custom at the rectory to have a kind of open +house on Sunday evening, and to-night many of Gerald's +friends dropped in. The large party seemed a happy one. +The merriment of the night before had deepened into something +better. Lilias spoke of it afterwards as bliss.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember," she said to Marjory, in the desolate +days which followed, "how Gerald looked when he +played the organ in the hall? Do you remember his face +when we sang 'Sun of my soul?'"</p> + +<p>The happiest days come to an end. The children went +to bed, the friends one by one departed. Even Lilias and +Marjory kissed their brother and bade him good-night. +He was to leave before they were up in the morning. This +he insisted on, against their will.</p> + +<p>"But we shall see you soon in London," they both said, +for they were coming up in a few weeks to stay with an +aunt. Then they told him to kiss Valentine for them, and +went upstairs, chatting lightly to one another.</p> + +<p>The rector and his son were alone.</p> + +<p>"We have had a happy day," said Gerald, abruptly.</p> + +<p>"We have, my son. It does us all good to have you +with us, Gerald. I could have wished—but there's no good +regretting now. Each man must choose his own path, +and you seem happy, my dear son; that is the main thing."</p> + +<p>"I never thought primarily of happiness," responded +Gerald. "Did you listen to Carr's sermon to-night? He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +proved his case well. To die <i>is</i> sometimes gain."</p> + +<p>The rector, who was seated by the fire, softly patted his +knee with one hand.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," he said, "Carr proved his case ably. He's +a good fellow. A <i>little</i> inclined to the broad church, don't +you think?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so."</p> + +<p>Gerald stood up. His face had suddenly grown deadly +white.</p> + +<p>"Father, I kept a secret from you all day. I did not +wish to do anything to mar the bliss of this perfect Sunday. +You—you'll break it to Lilias and Maggie, and the younger +children. I'm going to Sydney on Wednesday. I came +down to say good-bye."</p> + +<p>He held out his hand. The rector stood up and grasped +it.</p> + +<p>"My dear lad—my boy. Well—well—you'll come back +again. Of course, I did know that you expected to go +abroad on business for your firm. My dear son. Yes, my +boy—aye—you'll come back again soon. How queer you +look, Gerald. Sit down. I'm afraid you're a little overdone."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, father. You're an old man, and Sydney is +a long way off. Good-bye. I have a queer request to +make. Grant it, and don't think me weak or foolish. Give +me your blessing before I go."</p> + +<p>Suddenly Wyndham fell on his knees, and taking his +father's hand laid it on his head.</p> + +<p>"I am like Esau," he said. "Is there not one blessing +left for me?"</p> + +<p>The rector was deeply moved.</p> + +<p>"Heaven above bless you, my boy," he said. "Your +mother's God go with you. There, Gerald, you are mor +bid. You will be back with me before the snows of next +winter fall. But God bless you, my boy, wherever you are +and whatever you do!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + + +<p>Valentine was sitting in her pretty drawing-room. It +was dinner time, but she had not changed her dress. She +was too young, too fresh, and unused to trouble, for it yet +to leave any strong marks on her face. The delicate color +in her cheeks had slightly paled, it is true, her bright hair +was in confusion, and her eyes looked larger and more +wistful than their wont, but otherwise no one could tell +that her heart was beating heavily and that she was listening +eagerly for a footstep.</p> + +<p>Seven o'clock came—half-past seven. This was Gerald's +last night at home; he was to sail in the <i>Esperance</i> for +Sydney to-morrow. Valentine felt stunned and cold, +though she kept on repeating to herself over and over:—</p> + +<p>"This parting is nothing. He's sure to be home in six +months at the latest. Six months at the very latest. In +these days there is really no such thing as distance. What +is a six months' parting? Besides, it is not as if I were +really in love with him. Father asked me the question +direct last night, and I said I wasn't. How could I love +him with all my heart when I remember that scene at the +Gaiety? Oh, that scene! It burns into me like fire, and +father's look—I almost hated father that night. I did +really. Fancy, Valentine hating her father! Oh, of course +it passed. There is no one like my father. Husbands +aren't like fathers, not in the long run. Oh, Gerald, you +might have told me the truth? I'd have forgiven you, I +would really, if you had told me the truth. Oh, why don't +you come? <i>Why</i> don't you come? You might be in time +this last evening. It is a quarter to eight now. I am +impatient—I am frightened. Oh, there's a ring at the +hall door. Oh, thank God. No, of course, Gerald, I don't +love you—not as I could have loved—and yet I do—I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span><i>do</i> +love you—I <i>do</i>!"</p> + +<p>She clasped her hands—a footstep was on the stairs. +The door was opened, Masters brought her a thick letter +on a salver.</p> + +<p>"Has not Mr. Wyndham come? Was not that ring Mr. +Wyndham's?"</p> + +<p>"No, madam, a messenger brought this letter. He said +there was no answer."</p> + +<p>The page withdrew, and Valentine tore open the envelope. +A letter somewhat blotted, bearing strong marks of agitation, +but in her husband's writing, lay in her hand. Her +eager eyes devoured the contents.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"I can't say good-bye, my darling—there are limits even +to my endurance—I can't look at you and hear you say +'Good-bye, Gerald.' I bade you farewell this morning +when you were asleep. I am not coming home to-night, +but your father will spend the evening with you. You love +him better than me, and I pray the God of all mercy that +he may soften any little pang that may come to you in this +separation. When you are reading this I shall be on my +way to Southampton. I have bid your father good-bye, +and he will tell you everything there is to tell about me. +The <i>Esperance</i> sails at noon to-morrow, and it is a good +plan to be on board in good time. I cannot tell you. +Valentine, what my own feelings are. I cannot gauge my +love for you. I don't think anything could probe it to its +depths. I am a sinful man, but I sometimes hope that +God will forgive me, because I have loved as much as the +human heart is capable of loving. You must remember +that, dear. You must always know that you have inspired +in one man's breast the extreme of love!</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, my darling. It is my comfort to know that +the bitterness of this six months' separation falls on me. +If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> I thought otherwise, if I thought even for a moment that +you cared more for your husband than you do for the world's +opinion, or for riches, or for honor, that you would rather +have him with poverty and shame, that he was more to you +even than the father who gave you your being, then I would +say even now, at the eleventh hour, 'fly to me, Valentine. +Let us go away together on board the <i>Esperance</i>, and forget +all promises and all honor, and all truth.' Yes, I would say +it. But that is a mad dream. Forget this part of my letter. +Valentine. It has been wrung from a tortured and almost +maddened heart. Good-bye, my wife. Be thankful that +you have not it in you to love recklessly.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +"Your husband, <br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Gerald Wyndham</span>."<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>"But I have!" said Valentine. She raised her eyes. +Her father was in the room.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I can love—I too can give back the extreme of +love. Father, I am going to my husband. I am going to +Southampton. What's the matter? What are you looking +at me like that for? Why did you send Gerald away without +letting him come to say good-bye? Not that it matters, +for I am going to him. I shall take the very next train to +Southampton."</p> + +<p>"My darling," began Mr. Paget.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, father, yes. But there's no time for loving +words just now. I've had a letter from my husband, and +I'm going to him. I'm going to Sydney with him. Yes—you +can't prevent me!"</p> + +<p>"You are talking folly, Valentine," said Mr. Paget. +"You are excited, my child; you are talking wildly. Going +with your husband? My poor little girl. There, dear, +there. He'll soon be back. You can't go with him, you +know, my love. Show me his letter. What has he dared +to say to excite you like this?"</p> + +<p>"No, you shan't see a word of his dear letter. No, not +for all the world. I understand him at last, and I lo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>ve him +with all my heart and soul. Yes, I do. Oh, no, I don't +love you as I love my husband."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget stepped back a pace or two. There was no +doubting Valentine's words, no doubting the look on her +face. She was no longer a child. She was a woman, a +woman aroused to passion, almost to fury.</p> + +<p>"I am going to my husband," she said. And she took +no notice of her father when he sank into the nearest chair +and pressed his hand to his heart.</p> + +<p>"I have got a blow," he said. "I have got an awful +blow."</p> + +<p>But Valentine did not heed him.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + + +<p>"Yes, my darling," said Mr. Paget, two hours later; his +arms were round his daughter, and her head was on his +shoulder. "Oh, yes, my dear one, certainly, if you wish +it."</p> + +<p>"And you'll go with me, father? Father, couldn't you +come too? Couldn't we three go? Yes, that would be +nice, that would be happiness."</p> + +<p>"A good idea," said Mr. Paget, reflectively. "But +really, Val, really now, don't you think Wyndham and I +rather spoil you? You discover at the eleventh hour that +you can't live without your husband, that as he must cross +to the other side of the world, you must go there too. And +now in addition <i>I</i> have to accompany you. Do you think +you are worth all this? That any girl in the world is worth +all this?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not, father."</p> + +<p>Valentine was strangely subdued and quiet.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it would be selfish to bring you," she said; +"and we shall be back in six months."</p> + +<p>"True," said Mr. Paget in a thoughtful voice; "and +even for my daughter's sake my business must not go +absolutely to the dogs. Well, child, a wilful woman—you +know the proverb—a wilful woman must have her way. I +own I'm disappointed. I looked forward to six months +all alone with you. Six months with my own child—a last +six months, for of course I always guessed that when Wyndham +came back you'd give yourself up to him body and +soul. Oh, no, my dear, I'm not going to disappoint you. +A wife fretting and mourning for her husband is the last +person I should consider a desirable companion. Run +upstairs now and get your maid to put your things together. +I shall take you down to Southampton by an early train in +the morning, and in the meantime, if you'll excuse me. +Valentine, I'll go out and send a telegram to your husba<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>nd."</p> + +<p>"To tell him that I'm coming?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, are you not pleased?"</p> + +<p>"No, don't do that. I will meet him on board the boat. +I know exactly what the scene will be. He'll be looking—no. +I shan't say how he'll be looking—but I'll steal up +behind him, and slip my hand through his arm, and then—and +then! Father, kiss me. I love you for making me +so happy."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget pressed his lips to his daughter's forehead. +For a brief moment his eyes looked into hers. She +remembered by-and-bye their queer expression. Just now, +however, she was too overwrought and excited to have +room for any ideas except the one supreme longing and +passion which was drawing her to her husband.</p> + +<p>"Shall we have dinner?" said Mr. Paget after another +pause.</p> + +<p>Valentine laughed rather wildly.</p> + +<p>"Dinner? I can't eat. Had not you better go home +and have something? Perhaps I did order dinner, but I +can't remember. My head feels queer; I can't think properly. +Go home and have something to eat, father. You +can come back later on. I am going upstairs now to +pack."</p> + +<p>She left the room without a word, and Mortimer Paget +heard her light step as she ran up to her bedroom. He +began to talk vehemently to himself.</p> + +<p>"Does that child, that little girl, whom I reared and +fostered—that creature whom I brought into existence—think +she will checkmate me now at the supreme moment. +No, there are limits. I find that even my love for Valentine +has a bottom, and I reach it when I see the prisoner's +cell, solitary confinement, penal servitude, looming +large on the horizon. Even your heart must suffer, little +Valentine, to keep such a fate as that from my d<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>oor. Poor +little Val! Well, the best schemes, the most carefully laid +plans sometimes meet with defeat. It did not enter into +my calculations that Val would fall madly in love with that +long-faced fellow. Pah! where's her taste? What men +women will admire. Well, Valentine, you must pay the +penalty, for my plans cannot be disturbed at the eleventh +hour!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget went softly out of the house, but he did not +go, as Valentine innocently supposed, home to dinner. No, +he had something far more important to attend to. Something +in which he could be very largely assisted by that +confidential clerk of his, Jonathan Helps.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Valentine and her maid were having a busy +time. Dresses were pulled out, trunks dusted and brought +into the middle of the room, and hasty preparations were +made for a journey.</p> + +<p>Valentine's low spirits had changed to high ones. She +was as happy as some hours ago she had been miserable. +Her heart was now at rest, it had acknowledged its own +need—it had given expression to the love which was fast +becoming its life.</p> + +<p>"You are surprised, Suzanne," said Mrs. Wyndham to +her maid. "Yes, it is a hurried journey. I had no idea +of going with Mr. Wyndham, but he—poor fellow—he +can't do without me, Suzanne, so I am going. I shall join +him on board the <i>Esperance</i> in the morning. You can +fancy his surprise—his pleasure. Put in plenty of dinner +dresses, Suzanne. Those white dresses that Mr. Wyndham +likes—yes, that is right. Of course I shall dress every +evening for dinner on board the <i>Esperance</i>. I wonder if +many other ladies are going. Not that it matters—I shall +have my husband. What are you saying, Suzanne?"</p> + +<p>"That it is beautiful to lof," replied the maid, looking +up with adoring eyes at her pretty animated young mistress.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> + +<p>She was both young and pretty herself, and she sympathized +with Valentine, and admired her immensely for her +sudden resolve.</p> + +<p>"Yes, love is beautiful," answered Valentine gravely. +Her eyes filled with sudden soft tears of happiness. "And +there is something better even than love," she said, looking +at Suzanne, and speaking with a sudden burst of confidence. +"The highest bliss of all is to give joy to those +who love you."</p> + +<p>"And you will do that to-morrow, madame," replied +Suzanne fervently. "Oh, this lof, so beautiful, so rare—you +will lay it at monsieur's feet—he is goot, monsieur is, +and how great is his passion for madame."</p> + +<p>The young Swiss girl flitted gaily about, and by-and-bye +the packing even for this sudden voyage was accomplished.</p> + +<p>"You will take me with you, madame?" said Suzanne.</p> + +<p>"No, Suzanne, there is no time to arrange that, nor +shall I really want you. We may have to rough it a little, +my husband and I; not that we mind, it will be like a +continual picnic—quite delicious."</p> + +<p>"But madame must be careful of her precious health."</p> + +<p>The color flushed into Valentine's cheeks.</p> + +<p>"My husband will take care of me," she said. "No. +Suzanne, I shall not take you with me. You will stay +here for the present, and my father will arrange matters +for you. Now you can go downstairs and have some +supper. I shall not want you again to-night."</p> + +<p>The girl withdrew, and Valentine stood by the fire, gazing +into its cheerful depths, and seeing many happy dream +pictures.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I shall certainly go with him. Even if what I +dread and hope and long for is the case, I shall be with +him. I can whisper it first to him. I ought to be with +<i>him</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>>—I ought to be with my husband then. Why did +Suzanne speak about my health? No one will take such +care of me as Gerald. Even my father cannot approach +Gerald for tenderness, for sympathy when one is out of +sorts. How soothing is Gerald's hand; how quieting. +Once I was ill for a few hours. Only a bad headache, but +it went when he made me lie very still, and when he +clasped my two hands in one of his. Yes, I quite believe +in Gerald. Even though I do not understand that night +at the Gaiety, still I absolutely believe in my husband. He +is too noble to tell a lie; he had a reason for not explaining +what looked so strange that night. He had a right reason, +probably a good and great one. Perhaps I'll ask him again +some day. Perhaps when he knows there's a little—little +<i>child</i> coming he'll tell me himself. Oh, God, kind, good, +beautiful God, if you are going to give me a child of my +very own, help me to be worthy of it. Help me to be +worthy of the child, and of the child's father."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget's ring was heard at the hall door, and Valentine +ran down to meet him. He had made all arrangements +he told her. They would catch the 8.5 train in the +morning from Waterloo, and he would call for her in a cab +at a sufficiently early hour to catch it.</p> + +<p>His words were brief, but he was quite quiet and business-like. +He kissed his daughter affectionately, told her +to go to bed at once, and soon after left the house.</p> + +<p>Valentine gave directions for the morning and went back +to her room. She got quickly into bed, for she was determined +to be well rested for what lay before her on the +following day. She laid her head on the pillow, closed her +eyes, and prepared to go to sleep. Does not everybody +know what happens on these occasions? Does not each +individual who in his or her turn has especially desired for +the best and most excellent reason a long sleep, a deep +sleep, an unbroken and dreamless sleep found it recede +further and further away—found eyes more watchful—brain +more active, limbs more restless, as the precious m<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>oments +fly by? How loud the watch ticks, how audible are the +minutest sounds!</p> + +<p>It was thus with Valentine Wyndham that night. No +sleep came near her, and by slow degrees as the fire grew +faint and the night deepened in silence and solemnity, her +happy excitement, her childish joy, gave place to vague +apprehensions. All kinds of nameless terrors came over +her. Suppose an accident happened to the train? Suppose +the <i>Esperance</i> sailed before its time? Above all, and +this idea was agonizing, was so repellant that she absolutely +pushed it from her—suppose her father was deceiving +her. She was horrified as this thought came, and came. +It would come, it would not be banished. Suppose her +father was deceiving her?</p> + +<p>She went over in the silence of the night the whole scene +of that evening. Her own sudden and fierce resolve, her +father's opposition, his disappointment—then his sudden +yielding. The more she thought, the more apprehensive +she grew; the more she pondered, the longer, the more +real grew her fears. At last she could bear them no +longer.</p> + +<p>She lit a candle and looked at her watch. Three o'clock. +Had ever passed a night so long and dreadful? There +would not be even a ray of daylight for some time. She +could not endure that hot and restless pillow. She would +get up and dress.</p> + +<p>All the time she was putting on her clothes the dread +that her father was deceiving her kept strengthening—strengthening. +At last it almost reached a panic. What +a fool she had been not to go to Southampton the night +before. Suppose Gerald's ship sailed before she reached +it or him.</p> + +<p>Suddenly an idea came like a ray of light. Why should +she wait for her father? Why should she not take an ea<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>rlier +train to Southampton? The relative depths of Valentine's +two loves were clearly shown when she did not reject this +thought. It mattered nothing at all to her at this supreme +moment whether she offended her father or not. She +determined to go to Southampton by the first train that +left Waterloo that morning. She ran downstairs, found a +time-table, saw that a train left at 5.50, and resolved to +catch it. She would take Suzanne with her, and leave +a message for her father; he could follow by the 8.5 train +if he liked.</p> + +<p>She went upstairs and woke her maid.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne, get up at once. Dress yourself, and come to +me, to my room."</p> + +<p>In an incredible short time Suzanne had obeyed this +mandate.</p> + +<p>"I am going to take you with me to Southampton. +Suzanne. I mean to catch the train which leaves here at +ten minutes to six. We have plenty of time, but not too +much. Can you make some coffee for us both? And then +either you or Masters must find a cab."</p> + +<p>Suzanne opened her bright eyes wide.</p> + +<p>"I will go with you, my goot madam," she said to herself. +"The early hour is noting, the strangeness is noting. +That olt man—I hate that olt man! I will go alone with +you, mine goot mistress, to find the goot husband what is +so devoted. Ach! Suzanne does not like that olt man!"</p> + +<p>Coffee was served in Valentine's bedroom. Mistress +and maid partook of it together. Masters was aroused, +was fortunate enough in procuring a cab, and at five +o'clock, for Valentine's impatience could brook no longer +delay, she and Suzanne had started together for Waterloo.</p> + +<p>Once more her spirits were high. She had dared something +for Gerald. It was already sweet to her to be brave +for his sake.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> +<p>Before she left she wrote a short letter to her father—a +constrained little note—for her fears stood between her +and him.</p> + +<p>She and Suzanne arrived at Waterloo long before the +train started.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how impatient I am!" whispered Mrs. Wyndham +to her maid. "Will time never pass? I am sure all the +clocks in London must be wrong, this last night has been +like three."</p> + +<p>The longest hours, however, do come to an end, and +presently Valentine and Suzanne found themselves being +whirled out of London, and into the early morning of a +bright clear March day.</p> + +<p>The two occupied a compartment to themselves. Suzanne +felt wide awake, talkative, and full of intense curiosity; +but Valentine was strangely silent. She ceased either to +laugh or to talk. She drew down her veil, and establishing +herself in a corner kept looking out at the swiftly passing +landscape. Once more the fear which had haunted her +during the night returned. Even now, perhaps, she would +not be in time!</p> + +<p>Then she set to work chiding herself. She must be +growing silly. The <i>Esperance</i> did not leave the dock until +noon, and her train was due at Southampton soon after +eight. Of course there would be lots of time. Even her +father who was to follow by the later train could reach the +<i>Esperance</i> before she sailed.</p> + +<p>The train flew quickly through the country, the slow +moments dropped into space one by one. Presently the +train slackened speed—presently it reached its destination.</p> + +<p>Then for the first time Valentine's real difficulties began. +She had not an idea from which dock the <i>Esperance</i> was +to sail. A porter placed her luggage on a fly. She and +Suzanne got in, and the driver asked for directions. No, +the <i>Esperance</i> was not known to the owner of the hackney +coach.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> +<p>When the porter and the cabman questioned Mrs. Wyndham +she suddenly felt as if she had come up against a +blank wall. There were miles of ships all around. If she +could afford no clue to the whereabouts of the <i>Esperance</i> +the noon of another day might come before she could reach +the dock where it was now lying at anchor.</p> + +<p>At last it occurred to her to give the name of her father's +shipping firm. It was a great name in the city, but neither +the porter nor the cabman had come under its influence. +They suggested, however, that most likely the firm of Paget +Brothers had an office somewhere near. They said further +that if there was such an office the clerks in it could +give the lady the information she wanted.</p> + +<p>Valentine was standing by her cab, trying not to show +the bewilderment and distress which had seized her, when +a man who must have been listening came up, touched his +hat, and said civilly:—</p> + +<p>"Pardon, madam. If you will drive or walk down to +the quay, this quay quite close, there is an office, you cannot +fail to see it, where they can give you the information you +desire, as they are always posted up with regard to the out-going +and in-coming vessels. That quay, quite near, +cabby. Messrs. Gilling and Gilling's office."</p> + +<p>He touched his hat again and vanished, being rewarded +by Valentine with a look which he considered a blessing.</p> + +<p>"Now," she said, "now, I will give you double fare, +cabman, treble fare, if you will help me to get to the <i>Esperance</i> +in time; and first of all, let us obey that good +man's directions and go to Messrs. Gilling and Gilling."</p> + +<p>The quay was close, and so was the office. In two +minutes Valentine was standing, alas, by its closed doors. +A sudden fierce impatience came over her, she rang the +office bell loudly. Three times she rang before any one answered +her summons. Then a rather dishevelled and +sleepy-looking boy opened the door wide enough to poke +his head out and asked her her business.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I want to get news of the ship called the <i>Esperance</i>."</p> + +<p>"Office don't open till nine."</p> + +<p>He would have pushed the door to, but Suzanne stepping +forward deftly put her foot in.</p> + +<p>"Mine goot boy, be civil," she said. "This lady has +come a long way, and she wants the tidings she asks very +sore."</p> + +<p>The office boy looked again at Valentine. She certainly +was pretty; so was Suzanne. But the office really did not +open till nine, and the boy could not himself give any +tidings.</p> + +<p>"You had better step in," he said. "Mr. Jones will be +here at nine. No, I don't know nothing about the ship."</p> + +<p>It was now twenty-five minutes past eight. Valentine +sank down on the dusty chair which the boy pushed forward +for her, and Suzanne stood impatiently by her side.</p> + +<p>Outside, the cabman whistled a cheerful air and stamped +his feet. The morning was cold; but what of that? He +himself was doing a good business; he was certain of an +excellent fare.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne," said Valentine suddenly. "Do you mind +going outside and waiting in the cab. I cannot bear anyone +to stare at me just now."</p> + +<p>Suzanne obeyed. She was not offended. She was too +deeply interested and sympathetic.</p> + +<p>The slow minutes passed. Nine o'clock sounded from a +great church near, and then more gently from the office +clock. At three minutes past nine a bilious-looking clerk +came in and took his place at one of the desks. He started +when he saw Valentine, opened a ledger, and pretended to +be very busy.</p> + +<p>"Can you tell me, at once, please, from which dock the +<i>Esperance</i> sails?" asked Mrs. Wyndham.</p> + +<p>Her voice was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> impressive, and sharp with pain and waiting. +The clerk thought he might at least stare at her. Things +were slow and dull at this hour of the morning, and she was +a novelty. He could have given the information at once, +but it suited him best to dawdle over it. Valentine could +have stamped with her increasing impatience.</p> + +<p>The clerk, turning the leaves of a big book slowly, at last +put his finger on an entry.</p> + +<p>"<i>Esperance</i> sails for Sydney 25th inst., noon. Albert +and Victoria Docks."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, thank you," said Valentine. "Are these +docks far away?"</p> + +<p>"Three miles off, madam."</p> + +<p>"Thank you."</p> + +<p>She was out of the office and in the cab almost before he +had time to close his book.</p> + +<p>"Drive to the Albert and Victoria Docks, instantly, +coachman. I will give you a sovereign if you take me there +in less than half an hour."</p> + +<p>Never was horse beaten like that cabby's, and Valentine, +the most tender-hearted of mortals, saw the whip +raised without a pang. Now she was certain to be in time; +even allowing for delay she would reach the <i>Esperance</i> +before ten o'clock, and it did not sail until noon. Yes, +there was now not the most remote doubt she was in good +time. And yet, and yet—still she felt miserable. Still her +heart beat with a strange overpowering sense of coming +defeat and disaster. Good cabman—go faster yet, and +faster. Ah, yes, how they were flying! How pleasant it +was to be bumped and shaken, and jolted—to feel the +ground flying under the horse's feet, for each moment +brought her nearer to the <i>Esperance</i> and to Gerald.</p> + +<p>At last they reached the dock. Valentine sprang out of +the cab. A sailor came forward to help with her luggage. +Valentine put a sovereign into the cabman's hand.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said, "oh, thank you. Yes, I am in +good time."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her eyes were full of happy tears, and the cabman, a +rather hardened old villain, was surprised to find a lump +rising in his throat.</p> + +<p>"Which ship, lady?" asked the sailor, touching his +cap.</p> + +<p>"The <i>Esperance</i>, one of Paget Brothers' trading vessels. +I want to go on board at once; show it to me. Suzanne, +you can follow with the luggage. Show me the <i>Esperance</i>, +good man, my husband is waiting for me."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean the <i>Experiance</i>, bound for Sydney?" +asked the man. "One of Paget Brothers' big ships?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes; do you know her? Point her out to me."</p> + +<p>"Ay, I know her. I was helping to lade her till twelve +last night."</p> + +<p>"Just show her to me. I am in a frightful hurry. She +is here—this is the right dock."</p> + +<p>"Ay, the Albert and Victoria. The <i>Experiance</i> sailing +for Sydney, noon, on the 25th."</p> + +<p>"Well, where is she? I will go and look for her by +myself."</p> + +<p>"You can't, lady, she's gone."</p> + +<p>"What—what do you mean? It isn't twelve o'clock. +Suzanne, it isn't twelve o'clock."</p> + +<p>"No, lady."</p> + +<p>The old sailor looked compassionate enough.</p> + +<p>"Poor young thing," he soliloquized under his breath, +"some one has gone and done her. The <i>Experiance</i> was to +sail at noon," he continued, "and she's a bunny tidy ship, +too. I was lading her up till midnight; for last night there +came an order, and the captain—Captain Jellyby's is his +name—he was all flustered and in a taking, and he said we +was to finish and lade up, and she was to go out of port +sharp at eight this morning. She did, too, sharp to the +minute. I seen her weigh anchor. That's her, lady—look +out there—level with the horizon—she's a fast going ship +and she's making good way. Let me hold you up, lady—now,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +can you see her now? <i>That's</i> the <i>Experiance</i>."</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + + +<p>The <i>Esperance</i> was a well-made boat; she was about four +thousand tons, with improved engines which went at great +speed. She was a trading ship, one of the largest and +most important of those belonging to Paget Brothers, but +she sometimes took out emigrants, and had room for a few +saloon passengers; old travellers, who knew what comfort +was, sometimes preferred to go in such ships as the <i>Esperance</i> +to the more conventional lines of steamers. There +was less crowding, less fuss; there was also more room +and more comfort. The meals were good and abundant, +and the few passengers, provided they were in any sense +of the word congenial spirits, became quickly friends.</p> + +<p>Gerald, as one of the members of the firm, was of course +accommodated with the very best the <i>Esperance</i> could +offer. He had a large state room, well furnished, to himself; +he was treated with every possible respect, and even +consulted with regard to trivial matters. Only, however, +with regard to very trivial matters.</p> + +<p>When he arrived at Southampton on the evening of the +24th, he went at once on board the <i>Esperance.</i></p> + +<p>"We shall sail at noon to-morrow," he said to the captain.</p> + +<p>Captain Jellyby was a pleasant old salt, with a genial, +open, sunburnt face, and those bright peculiar blue eyes +which men who spend most of their lives on the sea often +have, as though the reflection of some of its blue had got +into them.</p> + +<p>"At noon to-morrow," replied the captain. "Yes, and +that is somewhat late; but we shan't have finished coaling +before."</p> + +<p>"But we stop at Plymouth surely?"</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps. I cannot positively say. We may be +able to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>go straight on to Teneriffe."</p> + +<p>Gerald did not make any further comments. He retired +to his cabin and unpacked one or two things, then +he went into the saloon, and taking up a book appeared +to be absorbed with its contents.</p> + +<p>In reality he was not reading. He had written a desperate +letter that morning, and he was upheld even now in +this moment of bitterness by a desperate hope.</p> + +<p>Suppose Valentine suddenly found her slumbering heart +awake? Suppose his words, his wild, weak and foolish +words, stung it into action? Suppose the wife cried out +for her husband, the awakened heart for its mate. Suppose +she threw all prudence to the winds, and came to him? +She could reach him in time.</p> + +<p>He could not help thinking of this as he sat with his hand +shading his eyes, pretending to read in the state saloon of +the <i>Esperance</i>, the vessel which was to carry him away to +a living death.</p> + +<p>If Valentine came, oh yes, if Valentine came, there +would be no death. There might be exile, there might be +poverty, there might be dishonor, but no death. It would +be all life then—life, and the flush of a stained victory.</p> + +<p>He owned to himself that if the temptation came he +would take it. If his wife loved him enough to come to +him he would tell her all. He would tell her of the cruel +promise wrung from him, and ask her if he must keep it.</p> + +<p>The hours flew by; he raised his head and looked at the +clock. Nine, it was striking nine. He heard a sound on +board, and his pulses quickened. It passed—it was +nothing. The clock struck ten, it was a beautiful starlight +night. All the other passengers who had already come on +board were amusing themselves on deck.</p> + +<p>Gerald was alone in the saloon. Again there was a +sound a little different from the constant cries of the +sailors.</p> + +<p>Captain Jellyby's name was shouted, and there was a +rush, followed by renewed activity. Gerald rose s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>lowly, +shut his book, and went on deck. It was a dark night +although the sky was clear and full of stars. A man in an +overcoat and collar turned well up over his ears brushed +past Wyndham, made for the gangway and disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens—how like that man was to old Helps," +soliloquized Gerald.</p> + +<p>He stayed on deck a little longer; he thought his imagination +had played him a trick, for what could bring Helps +on board the <i>Esperance</i>. Presently the captain joined +him.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + + +<p>"I am sorry, Mr. Wyndham," said Captain Jellyby, "to +have to offer you on your very first night on board my +good ship very broken slumbers. We shall be lading with +coals all night. Are you easily disturbed by noise! But +I need scarcely ask, for that noise would almost rouse the +dead."</p> + +<p>Gerald smiled.</p> + +<p>"A broken night is nothing," he said; "at least to me. +I suppose there always is a great commotion the last night +before a vessel sails on a long voyage."</p> + +<p>"Not as a rule—at least that isn't my way. We meant +to break off and have a quiet time at midnight, and start +operations again at six o'clock in the morning. But I've +had directions from head quarters which oblige me to +quicken my movements. Doocid inconvenient, too!"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" said Gerald, the pulses round +his heart suddenly quickening. "We sail at noon to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"We sail at eight in the morning, my good sir, and I, +for one, call it doocid inconvenient. (Yes, Cadgers, what +do you want? Get all hands possible on board.) I beg +your pardon, Mr. Wyndham. (Yes, Cadgers.) Back with +you presently, sir."</p> + +<p>The captain disappeared, and Wyndham went down to +his cabin.</p> + +<p>What did this sudden change mean? Who had given +the order? Was that really Helps who had been on board? +Well, Wyndham was in a manner master on this vessel. It +was his own, part of his property; he had been told over +and over again by his father-in-law that on this voyage, +this pleasant voyage, he could give his own orders, and +short of anything which would jeopardize the safety of the +boat, the captain would humor his wishes. He would +countermand an order which was putting everybody out;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +he did not choose to leave his native shore before the time +specified—noon on the following day. In such a short life +as his even four hours were of moment. He would not +lose the four hours of hope, of the possibility of hope yet +left to him.</p> + +<p>He went on deck, sought out the captain where he was +standing, shouting out hoarse directions to gangs of energetic +looking sailors.</p> + +<p>"A word with you, Captain Jellyby," he said. "There is +some mistake in the order which you have received. I +mean that I am in a position to cancel it. I do not wish +the <i>Esperance</i> to sail before noon to-morrow."</p> + +<p>His voice was very distinct and penetrating, and the +sailors stopped work and looked at him. Astonishment +was written legibly on their faces.</p> + +<p>"Lade away boys, work with a will," said the captain. +Then he put his hand on Gerald's shoulder, turned him +round, and walked a pace or two away.</p> + +<p>"I quite understand your position, Mr. Wyndham," he +said. "And in all possible matters I shall yield you due +deference. But——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"But—we sail at eight to-morrow morning, sharp."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? Who has given you the order?"</p> + +<p>"I am not prepared to say. My orders are explicit. +Another time, when Captain Jellyby can meet the wishes +of Mr. Wyndham with a clear conscience, his orders shall +also be explicit."</p> + +<p>The captain bowed, laid his hand across his heart and +turned away.</p> + +<p>Wyndham went back to his own cabin, and was tortured +all night by a desire, sane or otherwise, he could not +tell which, to leave the <i>Esperance</i> and return to London +and Valentin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>e.</p> + +<p>The lading of the vessel went on ceaselessly, and sharp +at eight the following morning she weighed anchor and +steamed away. Wyndham had lain awake all night, but at +seven in the morning he fell into a doze. The doze deepened +into quietness, into peaceful and refreshing slumber: +the lines departed from his young face; he had not undressed, +but flung himself as he was on his berth. When +the <i>Esperance</i> was flying merrily through the water, Captain +Jellyby had time to give Wyndham a thought.</p> + +<p>"That is a nice lad," he said to himself. "He has a nice +face, young too. I don't suppose he has seen five-and-twenty, +but he knows what trouble means. My name +is not Jack Jellyby if that young man does not know +what pretty sharp trouble means. Odd, too, for he's +rich and has married the chief's daughter, and what a +fuss the chief made about his reception here. No expense +to be spared; every comfort given, every attention +shown, and his orders to be obeyed within reason. +Ay, my pretty lad, there's the rub—within reason. You +looked keen and vexed enough last night when I had to +hasten the hour for the departure of the <i>Esperance</i>. I +wonder what the chief meant by that. Well, I'll go and +have a look at young Wyndham; he may as well come with +me and see the last of his native shore. As the morning is +fine it will be a pretty sight."</p> + +<p>The captain went and begged for admission to Wyndham's +cabin. There was no answer, so he opened the +door and poked his red smiling face round.</p> + +<p>"Bless me, the boy's asleep," he said; and he came up +and took a good look at his new passenger.</p> + +<p>Gerald was dreaming now, and a smile played about his +lips. Suddenly he opened his eyes and said:—</p> + +<p>"Yes, Valentine, yes, I'm coming!" and sprang to his +feet.</p> + +<p>The captain was standing with his legs a litt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>le apart, +looking at him. The vessel gave a lurch, and Wyndham +staggered.</p> + +<p>"Are we off?" he said. "Good God, are we really +off?"</p> + +<p>"We were off an hour ago, young sir. Come up on +deck and see what a pretty coast line we have just here."</p> + +<p>Wyndham put his hand to his forehead.</p> + +<p>"I have been cheated," he said suddenly. "Yes. I've +been cheated. I can't speak about it; things weren't +clear to me last night, but I had a dream, and I know now +what it all means. I woke with some words on my lips. +What did I say, captain?"</p> + +<p>"You called to some fellow of the name of Valentine—your +brother, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"I haven't a brother. The person to whom I called was +a woman—my wife. She was coming on board. She +would have sailed with me if we had waited. Now it is +too late."</p> + +<p>The captain raised his shaggy brows the tenth of an +inch.</p> + +<p>"They must be sending him on this voyage on account +of his health," he mentally soliloquized. "Now I see daylight. +A little touched, poor fellow. Pity—nice fellow. +Well, the chief might have trusted me. Of course I must +humor him, poor lad. Come on deck," he said aloud. +"It's beastly close down here. You should have the porthole +open, the sea is like glass. Come on deck and get +a breath of fresh air. Isn't Valentine a rather uncommon +name for a woman? Yes, of course, I heard you were +married. Well, well, you'll be home again in six months. +Now come on deck and look around you."</p> + +<p>"Look here, captain," said Gerald suddenly. "I can't +explain matters. I daresay you think me queer, but you're +mistaken."</p> + +<p>"They all go on that tack," muttered the captain. +"Another symptom. Well, I must humor him. I don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +think you queer," he said, aloud. "You're finely mistaken. +You had a dream, and you called on your wife, whom you +have just parted from. What more natural? Bless you. +I know all about it. I was married myself."</p> + +<p>"And you left your wife?"</p> + +<p>"I left her, and what is worse she left me. She went +up to the angels. Bless her memory, she was a young +thing. I see her yet, as she bade me good-bye. Come on +deck, lad."</p> + +<p>"Yes; come on deck," said Gerald hoarsely.</p> + +<p>All that day he was silent, sitting mostly apart and by +himself.</p> + +<p>But the captain had his eye on him. In the evening he +came again to Captain Jellyby.</p> + +<p>"You touch at Plymouth, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes."</p> + +<p>"This voyage, I mean."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"I wish you to stop at Plymouth."</p> + +<p>"Look here, my lad. 'No' is the only word I can give +you. We don't touch land till we get to Teneriffe. Go and +lie down and have a sleep. We shall have a calm sea to-night, +and you look fagged out."</p> + +<p>"Are you a man to be bribed?" began Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"I am ashamed of you. I am not."</p> + +<p>The captain turned his back on him. Wyndham caught +him by his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Are you a man to be moved to pity?"</p> + +<p>"Look here, my lad, I can pity to any extent; but if you +think any amount of compassion will turn me from my +duty, you're in the wrong box. It's my duty, clear as the +sky above, to go straight on to Teneriffe, and on I shall go. +You understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Gerald, "I understand. Thank you, captain. +I won't bother you further."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<p>His voice had altered, his brow had cleared. He +walked away to the further end of the deck, whistling a +light air. The captain saw him stop to pay some small +attention to a lady passenger.</p> + +<p>"Bless me, if I understand the fellow!" he muttered.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + + +<p>When a die has been cast—cast irrevocably—as a rule +there follows a calm. It is sometimes the calm of peace, +sometimes that of despair; but there is always a stillness, +effort is over, words don't avail, actions are paralyzed.</p> + +<p>Gerald Wyndham sat on deck most of that evening. +There was a married lady, a certain Mrs. Harvey, on board, +she was going to Australia with her husband and one little +girl. She was about thirty, and very delicate. Gerald's +face took her fancy, and they struck up an acquaintance.</p> + +<p>The evening was so calm, so mild, the water so still, the +sky above so clear that the passengers brought wraps and +lingered long on deck. Mrs. Harvey talked all the time +to Gerald. He answered her not only politely but with +interest. She was an interesting woman, she could talk +well, she had great sympathy, and she wanted to draw +Wyndham out. In this she failed, although she imagined +she succeeded. He learned much of her history, for she +was very communicative, but when she joined her husband +downstairs later that evening she could not tell him a single +thing about their fellow-passenger.</p> + +<p>"He has a nice face," they both remarked, and they +wondered who he was.</p> + +<p>It did not occur to them to speak of him as sad-looking. +On the contrary, Mrs. Harvey spoke of his cheerful smile +and of his strong appreciation of humor.</p> + +<p>"It is delightful to meet a man who can see a joke," she +said. "Most of them are so dense."</p> + +<p>"I wonder which family of Wyndhams he belongs to," +remarked the husband.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if he is married," added the wife.</p> + +<p>Then they both resolved that they would find out to-morrow. +But they did not, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> the next day Wyndham +did not come on deck at all. He stayed in his own cabin, +and had one or two interviews with the captain.</p> + +<p>"You know very little about me, Captain Jellyby," he +said, once.</p> + +<p>"I know that you are married to Miss Paget," replied +the captain, "and I am given to understand that she is a +very charming young lady."</p> + +<p>"I want you to keep the fact of my marriage to yourself."</p> + +<p>The captain looked a little surprised.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, if you wish it," he said.</p> + +<p>"I do wish it. I am knocked over to-day, for the fact is. +I—I have gone through some trouble, but I don't mean +to inflict my troubles on you or my fellow-passengers. +I hope I shall prove an acquisition rather than otherwise +on board the <i>Esperance</i>. But what I do not want, what +would be particularly repellant to me, is that the other +saloon passengers should gossip about me. When they +find that I don't talk about myself, or my people, or my +wife, they will become curious, and ply you with questions. +Will you be mum on the subject?"</p> + +<p>"Mum as the grave," said the captain rising and +stretching himself. "Lord, we'll have some fun over +this. If there are a deadly curious, gossiping, wrangling, +hole-picking set in this wide world, it's the saloon passengers +on board a boat of this kind. I'll make up a +beautiful mystery about you, my fine fellow. Won't they +enjoy it! Why, it will be the saving of them."</p> + +<p>"Make up any mystery you like," replied Wyndham, +"only don't tell them the truth. That is, I mean, what +you know of the truth."</p> + +<p>"And that's nothing," muttered the captain to himself +as he went away. "Bless me, he is a queer fellow. +Touched—he must be touched."</p> + +<p>Gerald spent twenty-four hours in God only knows what +deep waters of mental agony. The other passengers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +thought he was suffering from an attack of sea-sickness, +for they were just now meeting the heavy channel sea, +and the captain did not undeceive them. They passed +Plymouth before Gerald again appeared on deck, and +when he once more joined his fellow-passengers they +were outside the Bay of Biscay.</p> + +<p>Gerald had not suffered from any bodily discomfort, +but others on board the <i>Esperance</i> were less fortunate, and +when he once more took his place in the saloon, and went +up on deck, he found that work, which all his life long +seemed to fall to his share, once more waiting for him. +It was the work of making other people comfortable. +The Harveys' little girl was very weak and fretful. She +had gone through a bad time, but when Wyndham lifted +her in his arms, sat down with her in a sheltered part of +the deck, and told her some funny fairy tales, his influence +worked like the wand of a good magician. She +smiled, told Mr. Wyndham he was a very nice man, gave +him a kiss, and ran downstairs presently to eat her supper +with appetite.</p> + +<p>Little Cecily Harvey was not the only person who came +under Wyndham's soothing influence. During this first +evening he found himself more or less in the position of +a sort of general sick-nurse. But the next day people +were better, and then he appeared in another <i>rôle</i>. He +could entertain, with stories, with music, with song. He +could recite; above all things he could organize, and had +a knack of showing off other people to the best advantage. +Long before a week had passed, Wyndham was the most +popular person on board. He was not only popular with +saloon passengers, but with the emigrants. There were +several on board, and he often spent some hours with +them, playing with the children, and talking with the +mothers, or, rather, getting the mothers to talk to him.</p> + +<p>They were flying south now, and every day the air gre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>w +more balmy and the sea smoother. The emigrants, boys +and girls, fathers and mothers, used to lie out on the deck +in the sun, and a very pretty picture they made; the +children rolling about laughing and playing, and the +mothers, most of them were young mothers, looking on +and regarding them with pride.</p> + +<p>There was scarcely an emigrant mother on board that +ship who had not confided her story, her hopes and her +fears to Wyndham, before the voyage was over.</p> + +<p>Soon that thing happened which had happened long ago +at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, which had happened in the +small house in Park-lane, which had happened even with +the odds against him to his wife—everybody loved Wyndham. +Hearts warmed as he came near, eyes brightened +when they looked at him. He was in the position of a +universal favorite. That sometimes is a dangerous position. +But not in his case, for he was too unselfish to make +enemies.</p> + +<p>All this time, while his life was apparently drifting, while +the hours were apparently gliding on to no definite or +especial goal, to a landing at Melbourne—to a journey +across a new Continent—while his days were going by to +all intents and purposes like anybody else's days, he knew +that between him and them lay an immeasurable gulf. He +knew that he was not drifting, but going very rapidly +down a hill. The fact is, Wyndham knew that the end, +as far as he was concerned, was near.</p> + +<p>His father-in-law had planned one thing, but he had +planned another. He told no one of this, he never +whispered this to a living creature, but his own mind was +inexorably made up. He knew it when he bade his father +good-bye that last Sunday; when he looked at Lilias and +Marjory, and the other children, he knew it; he knew it +when he kissed his wife's cheek that last morning when +she slept. In his own way he could be a man of iron will. +His will was as iron in this special matter. Only once<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +had his determination been shaken, and that was when he +pleaded with Valentine, and when he hoped against hope +that she would listen to his prayer. The last lingering +sparks of that hope died away when the captain refused +to touch at Plymouth. After that moment his own fixed +will never wavered.</p> + +<p>His father-in-law had asked him for half a death; he +should have a whole one. That was all. Many another +man had done what he meant to do before. Still it was +the End—the great End. No one could go beyond it.</p> + +<p>He made his plans very carefully; he knew to effect his +object he must be extremely careful. He would die, but it +must never be supposed, never breathed by mortal soul +that he had passed out of this world except by accident. +He knew perfectly what the captain thought of him during +the first couple of days of his residence on board the +<i>Esperance</i>.</p> + +<p>"Captain Jellyby is positive that I am touched in the +head," thought Wyndham. "I must undo that suspicion."</p> + +<p>He took pains, and he succeeded admirably. Wyndham +was not only a favorite on board, but he was cheerful, he +was gay. People remarked not on his high but on his +good spirits.</p> + +<p>"Such a merry, light-hearted fellow," they said of him.</p> + +<p>Wyndham overheard these remarks now and then. The +captain openly delighted in him.</p> + +<p>"The ship will never be lucky again when you leave +her," he said. "You're worth a free passage to any captain. +Why you keep us all in good humor. Passengers, +emigrants, sailors and all. Here, come along. I thought +you rather a gloomy young chap when first I set eyes on +you; but now—ah, well, you were homesick. Quite +accountable. Here, I have a request from the second +mate, and one or two more of the jack tars down there. +They want you to sing them a song after supper. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +say it isn't fair that we should have you to ourselves in the +saloon."</p> + +<p>Gerald laughed, said he would be happy to oblige the +sailors, and walked away.</p> + +<p>"As jolly a chap as ever I laid eyes on," muttered the +captain. "I liked him from the first, but I was mistaken +in him. I thought him gloomy. Not a bit. I wonder +his wife could bear to let him out of her sight. I wouldn't +if I were a lass. There, hark to him now! Bless me, we +are having a pleasant voyage this time."</p> + +<p>So they were. No one was ill; the amount of rough +weather was decidedly below the average, and cheerfulness +and contentment reigned on board.</p> + +<p>The ship touched at Teneriffe, but only for a few hours, +and then sped on her way to the Cape. It was now getting +very hot, and an awning was spread over the deck. Under +this the saloon passengers sat, and smoked and read. No +one suspected, no one had the faintest shadow of a suspicion +that black care lurked anywhere on board that happy +ship, least of all in the breast of the merriest of its crew. +Gerald Wyndham.</p> + +<p>The <i>Esperance</i> reached the Cape in safety, there some +of the passengers, Gerald amongst them, landed, for the +captain intended to lie at anchor for twenty-four hours. +Then again they were away, and now they were told they +must expect colder weather for they were entering the +Southern Ocean, and were approaching high latitudes of +polar cold. They would have to go through the rough +sea of the "Roaring Forties," and then again they would +emerge into tropical sunshine.</p> + +<p>Soon after they left the Cape, little Cecily Harvey fell +ill. She caught a chill and was feverish, and the doctor +and her mother forbade her to go on deck. She was only +eight years old, a pretty, win<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>some child. Gerald felt a +special tenderness for her, for she reminded him of his own +little sister Joan. During this illness she often lay for +hours in his arms, with her little feverish cheek pressed +against his, and her tiny hot hand comforted by his firm +cool clasp.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wyndham," she said on one of these occasions. +"I wish you wouldn't do it."</p> + +<p>"Do what, Cecily?"</p> + +<p>"Run up the rigging as you do. I heard one of the +sailors talking to Mrs. Meyrich the other day, and he said +you were too daring, and some day you'd have a slip, and +be overboard, if you did not look sharp."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll take care of myself, Cecily. At one time I +thought of being a sailor, and I was always climbing, always +climbing at home. There isn't the least fear. I'm not +rash. I'm a very careful fellow."</p> + +<p>"Are you? I'm glad of that. Had you tall trees at your +home?"</p> + +<p>Gerald gave the little hand a squeeze.</p> + +<p>"They were like other trees," he said. "Don't let us +talk of them."</p> + +<p>"Mustn't we? I'm sorry. I wanted to hear all about +your home."</p> + +<p>"I haven't a home, Cecily. Once I had one, but you can +understand that it is painful to speak of what one has +lost."</p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry for you, dear Mr. Wyndham. Did you +lose a little sister, too? Is that why you squeeze me so +tight?"</p> + +<p>"I have lost many little sisters; we won't talk of them, +either. What is the matter, Cecily? Do you feel faint?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I hate this rough, choppy sea. I want it to be +smooth again as it used to be. Then I can go on deck, +and lie under the awning, and you can sit near me, and tell +me stories. Will you?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gerald did not answer.</p> + +<p>"<i>Will</i> you, Mr. Wyndham?"</p> + +<p>"I can lie to everyone else but not to the child," muttered +Gerald.</p> + +<p>He roused himself, and sought to divert her attention.</p> + +<p>"We are in the 'Roaring Forties' now," he said. "Isn't +that a funny name? The sea is always very choppy and +rough here, but it won't last long. You will soon be in +pleasant weather and smooth seas again."</p> + +<p>Cecily was not satisfied, and Gerald presently left her +and went on deck.</p> + +<p>The weather was not pleasant just now, it was cold and +squally, always veering about and causing a choppy and +disagreeable motion with the ship. Some of the ladies +took again to their beds, and went through another spell +of sea-sickness; the more fortunate ones sat and chatted +in the great saloon—not one of them ventured on deck. +Gerald, who was not in the least indisposed in body, found +plenty to do in his <i>rôle</i> of general cheerer and comforter. +When he was not nursing little Cecily he spent some time +with the emigrants, amongst whom he was a great favorite.</p> + +<p>On this particular day a round-faced young woman of +five and twenty, a certain Mrs. Notley, came up to him +the moment he appeared on the lower deck.</p> + +<p>"They do say it, sir, and I thought I'd speak to you, so +that you wouldn't mind. They do say you're over rash +in helping the sailors—over rash, and none so sure-footed +as you think yourself."</p> + +<p>"Folly," said Gerald, laughing good-humoredly. "So +I can't run up a rope or tighten a rigging without people +imagining that I am putting my precious life in jeopardy. +Don't you listen to any foolish tales, Mrs. Notley. I'm a +great deal too fond of myself to run any risks. I shan't +slip, if that's what you mean—for that matter I have +always been climbing, since I was a little chap no bigger +than that urchin of yours there."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ay, sir, that's all very well, but it's different for all that +on board ship; there may come a lurch when you least +look for it, and then the surest-footed and the surest-handed +is sometimes outwitted. You'll excuse my mentioning of +it, sir, but you're a bonny young gentleman, and you has +the goodwill of everyone on board."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mrs. Notley, I like to hear you say so. +It is pleasant to be liked."</p> + +<p>"Ah, sure you are that, and no mistake, and you'll forgive +me mentioning it, sir, but you'll be careful, won't you? +You ain't married for sure, for your face is too lightsome +for that of a married man. But maybe you has a mother +and a sweetheart, and you might think of them, sir, and +not be over daring."</p> + +<p>Wyndham's face grew suddenly white.</p> + +<p>"As it happens I have neither a mother nor sweetheart," +he said. Then he turned away somewhat abruptly, and +Mrs. Notley feared she had offended him.</p> + +<p>The sailors prophesied "dirty weather;" they expected +it, for this was the roughest part of the voyage. Gerald +was very fond of talking to the sailors and getting their +opinions. He strolled over to where a group of them were +standing now, and they pointed to some ugly looking +clouds, and told him that the storm would be on them by +night.</p> + +<p>Nothing very bad, or to be alarmed at, they said, still +a rough and nasty sea, with a bit of a gale blowing. The +women and children wouldn't like it, poor things, and it +would be a dark night too, no moon.</p> + +<p>Gerald asked a few more questions.</p> + +<p>"I have a great anxiety to see a storm," he said. "If +it gets really stormy, I'll come up; I can shelter beside +the man at the wheel."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> +<p>"Better not, sir," one or two said. "The vessel is sure +to lurch over a good bit, and it takes more sea-weather +legs than yours to keep their footing at such a time."</p> + +<p>"All the same," remarked a burly-looking sailor, who +was to take his place at the wheel for some hours that +night, and thought Gerald's company would be a decided +acquisition, "I could put the gent into a corner where he'd +be safe enough round here, and it's something to see a gale +in these parts—something to live for—not that there'll be +much to-night, only a bit of a dirty sea; but still——"</p> + +<p>"Expect me, Loggan, if it does come," said Wyndham. +He laughed and turned away. He walked slowly along +the upper deck. Captain Jellyby came up and had a word +with him.</p> + +<p>"Yes, we're in for a dirty night," he remarked.</p> + +<p>Then Wyndham went downstairs. He chatted for a +little with the ladies in the saloon. Then he went into his +own cabin. He shut the door. The time had arrived—the +hour had come.</p> + +<p>He felt wonderfully calm and quiet; he was not excited, +nor did his conscience smite him with a sense of any special +wrong-doing. Right or wrong he was going to do something +on which no blessing could be asked, over which no +prayer could be uttered. He had been brought up in a +house where prayers had been many; he had whispered his +own baby prayers to his mother when he was a little child. +Well, well, he would not think of these things now. The +hour was come, the moment for action was ripe. There +was a little daylight, and during that time he meant to +occupy himself with one last task; he would write a letter +to his wife, a cheerful, bright everyday letter, to the wife +for whose sake he was about to rush unbidden into the +arms of death. He had a part to act, and this letter was +in the programme. To make all things safe and above +suspicion he must write it, and leave it carelessly on his +table, so that the next ship they touched should convey it +to her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p> + +<p>He took out a sheet of foreign notepaper, and wrote +steadily. His hand did not shake, he covered the whole +sheet of paper; his words were bright, contented; no +shadow of gloom touched them. They were full of anticipation, +of pleasure in the moment—of pleasure in the +coming reunion.</p> + +<p>The writing of this letter was the very hardest task of +the man's whole life. When it was over great drops of +sweat stood on his forehead. He read it steadily, from +beginning to end, however, and his only fear was that it +was too bright, and that she might see through it, as in a +mirror, the anguish beneath.</p> + +<p>The letter was written, and now Wyndham had nothing +to do. He had but to sit with his hands before him, and +wait for the gathering darkness and the ever-increasing +gale.</p> + +<p>He sat for nearly an hour in his own cabin, he was past +any consecutive thought now; still, so great was the constraint +he was able to put over himself that outwardly he +was quite calm. Presently he went into the saloon. Cecily +Harvey alone was there, all the ladies having gone in to +dinner. She sprang up with a cry of delight when she saw +Gerald.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wyndham, have you come to stay with me? Why +aren't you at dinner? How white you look."</p> + +<p>"I am not hungry, Cecily. I thought you would be +alone, and I came out to see you. I wanted you to give +me a kiss."</p> + +<p>"Of course I will—of course I will," said the affectionate +child, throwing her arms around his neck.</p> + +<p>"You remind me of one of the little sisters I have lost," +he said hurriedly. "Thank you, Cecily, thank you. Be +a good child, always. I would say 'God bless you' if I +dared."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why don't you dare? You are a good man, a very +good man, the best I know."</p> + +<p>"Hush, Cecily, you don't know what you are talking +about. Give me another kiss. Thank you sweet little +girl."</p> + +<p>He went back again to his own cabin. The longing for +compassion at this crucial moment had made him run a +risk in talking so to Cecily. He blamed himself, but +scarcely regretted the act.</p> + +<p>It was certainly going to be a dirty night, and already +the sailors were busy overhead. The good ship creaked +and strained as she to fought her way through the waters. +The ladies loudly expressed their uneasiness, and the +gentleman-passengers fought down some qualms which +they considered unmanly.</p> + +<p>Wyndham rose from his seat in the dark, pressed his +lips to the letter he had written to his wife, suddenly he +started, reeled a step and fell back.</p> + +<p>There is no accounting for what happened—but happen +it did.</p> + +<p><i>Valentine herself stood beside him, stretched out her +arms to him, uttered a brief cry, and then vanished.</i></p> + +<p>He felt like a madman; he pressed his hands to his head +and rushed on deck.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Stand there, Mr. Wyndham, there," said the sailor +Loggan. "You'll be safe enough. Oh, yes, more than +one wave will wash us. Shall I lash you to the wheel, sir? +Maybe it would be safer."</p> + +<p>"No, no, thank you."</p> + +<p>The voice was quite quiet and calm again.</p> + +<p>Certainly the night was a rough one, but between and +under the loud voice of the storm, Loggan and his companion +exchanged some cheerful phrases.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> +<p>"No, sir, I ain't never afeared."</p> + +<p>"What if you were to go to the bottom?"</p> + +<p>"The will of the good God be done, sir. I'd go a-doing +of my duty."</p> + +<p>"You're an honest fellow, Loggan; shake hands with +me."</p> + +<p>"That I will, Mr. Wyndham. What are you doing +with that rope, sir? It's cold, it's slippery—oh, the knot +has got loose, I'll call a man to tighten it, sir; let me—let +me. You'll be over, sir, if you don't look out; we're going +to lunge this way. Take care, sir—take care—<i>for God's +sake, take care</i>!"</p> + +<p>Wyndham took care.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + + +<p>The summer came early that year. The rectory was a +charming place in the summer, and on this particular +bright day in June one of the numerous school-feasts was +in course of preparation, and all the young Wyndhams +were working with a will and energy which could scarcely +be surpassed. The feast was in full progress; the village +children consumed tea and buns, as only village children +can. Augusta was refusing to help the babies to any +more; Joan and Betty were half-crying because she +snatched the rich currant buns out of their hands; Marjory +was leading the most obstreporous members of her +flock away to the other end of the long meadow, where +they could play orange and lemons, nuts in May, and +other festive games; and Lilias, as she helped to pack +away the remnants of the feast, was answering some questions +of Carr's.</p> + +<p>"We ought to have heard by now," she was saying. +"My father is a little uneasy, but I am not—at least, of +course, I am anxious for Valentine. The suspense must +be very trying for her!"</p> + +<p>"When did your brother's ship sail?"</p> + +<p>"On the 25th of March."</p> + +<p>"And this is the 15th of June. The <i>Esperance</i> must +have been reported at Lloyd's long ago."</p> + +<p>"How stupid of me never to think of that," said Lilias, +her face brightening. "But would they not put the arrivals +in the papers? I have certainly looked and never +seen it."</p> + +<p>"You have probably overlooked it. I will write and inquire +for you. The <i>Esperance</i>, even allowing for delays, +has probably reached its destination some weeks ago. On +the other hand it would be scarcely possible for you to +have had a letter from your brother. Yes, you are right +not to be anxious; I will go and have a chat with your +father presently. Is Mrs. Wyndham well?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I think so—fairly well. She is coming to stay with us +next week."</p> + +<p>Carr strolled away.</p> + +<p>"What a nice comfortable young man he is turning +into," said Marjory, who came up at that moment. "Ah, +yes, your face is brighter already for having had an interview +with him. Whisper no secrets to me. I know—I +know."</p> + +<p>Lilias' clear brown skin was transfused with color.</p> + +<p>"Don't be silly, Marjory," she said. "I don't mind +owning that Mr. Carr <i>is</i> a comfortable person to talk to. +He has just been removing my fears about Gerald."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I thought you had no fears."</p> + +<p>"Well, father's fears, then. He has been saying things +to me which will remove my father's fears completely."</p> + +<p>"That is right—Heaven be praised. You and the rector +are nothing but a pair of old croaks lately. Hey-ho! I +am perfectly weary of your long faces and your apprehensions. +Thank goodness. Val is coming; she'll wake us up +a little."</p> + +<p>Lilias opened her dark eyes.</p> + +<p>"I did not know you cared so much for Valentine," she +said.</p> + +<p>"I admired her very much the last time I saw her. +That was a month ago—she seemed so spirited and courageous. +I used to think her something of a doll, but she's +a woman now, and a fine one. Perhaps it's the thought of +the baby coming."</p> + +<p>"Or perhaps," said Lilias, "she has found out at last +what our Gerald is."</p> + +<p>"Both, most likely," said Marjory. "Anyhow, she's +changed; and the funniest part is that that old man——"</p> + +<p>"What old man, Marjo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>ry?"</p> + +<p>"Don't interrupt me—her father. I always call him +that old man—well, I think he's afraid of her. She doesn't +pet him the way she used, but she's very gentle with him. +Oh, she's a good bit altered; there's something in her now."</p> + +<p>"I suppose there was always something in her," said +Lilias. "For Gerald"—her lips trembled—"gave up so +much for her."</p> + +<p>"No more than any man gives up for any woman," said +Marjory. "A man shall leave his father and mother. Oh, +yes, poor old Lil, I know how you felt it. You always +made an idol of Gerald. I suppose you'll marry some +day; you are so pretty—and h'm—h'm—there's somebody +waiting for somebody—there, I don't want to tease, only +when you do marry, my pretty sister, I wonder if he'll +come inside Gerald in your heart."</p> + +<p>"I won't marry until I love some one even better than +my only brother," replied Lilias in a grave voice. "That +time has not come yet," she added, and then she turned +away.</p> + +<p>The games went on as fast as ever; Marjory romped +with the merriest. Lilias was graver than her sister, not +so fond of pastimes, perhaps not quite so generally popular. +She went into the house, sat down by the organ in +the hall and began to play. She had almost as much +talent as Gerald; her fingers wandered over the keys, she +was in a dreamy mood, and her thoughts were carrying her +back to a bygone scene—to Gerald's face on that Sunday +night. She heard again the rich tones of his voice, and +heard his words:—</p> + +<p> +"Till in the ocean of Thy love<br /> +We loose ourselves in Heaven above."<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Oh, Gerald," she said with a kind of sob, "things have +been hard for me since you went away. It was not your +marriage alone, I had prepared myself for that; but it was +mo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>re—it was more. The Church of God—you gave that +up. Yes, yes. There has been a shut door between us. +Gerald, since you and Valentine first met; and where are +you now—where are you now?"</p> + +<p>"Lilias," said little Joan running in breathlessly, "father +wants you in his study, quickly. I don't think he's quite +well. He has just had a letter, and he looks so queer."</p> + +<p>"I'll go to him at once," said Lilias.</p> + +<p>She could be apprehensive enough, but in real danger, +in times of real anxiety, her head could be cool and her +steps firm.</p> + +<p>"Yes, father," she said, motioning the frightened little +Joan away.</p> + +<p>She shut the library door behind her.</p> + +<p>"Yes, father. What is it? Jo says that you have got +a letter, and that you want me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't suppose it's anything," said the rector. +"That is, I don't mean to be uneasy. Here's the letter. +Lilias. You ought to read it, perhaps. It's from Paget. +He is evidently nervous himself, but I don't suppose there +is any need. Read it, and tell me what you think."</p> + +<p>The rector thrust a sheet of paper into his daughter's +hand. Then went over to one of his book shelves and +pretended to be busy rummaging up some folios. Lilias +read as follows:—</p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">My Dear Sir</span>,—I write on a subject of some little anxiety. I +did not wish to trouble you before it was necessary, but now I confess +that we—I refer to my house of business—have cause to feel uneasiness +with regard to the fate of the <i>Esperance.</i> She is quite a month overdue at +Sydney; even allowing for all possible delays, she is at least that time +overdue. The last tidings of her were from the Cape, and it is feared +from their date that she must have encountered rough weather in the +Southern Ocean. Nothing is known, however, and every hour we look +for a cable announcing her arrival at Melbourne if not at Sydney. It +is possible she may have been injured, which will account for the delay, +but I scarcely apprehend anything worse. I ought scarcely to say that +I am anxious; up to the present there is no real cause to apprehend +anything worse than an accident to the vessel. Vessels are often a +mo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>nth behind their time, and all is satisfactorily explained at the end. +I am now troubling you with regard to another matter. I do not want +my daughter and your son's wife to be needlessly alarmed. It is most +important that her mind should be kept free from apprehension until +after the birth of their child. You kindly asked her to go to see you. +Can you have her at the rectory at once? And will you send Lilias +to fetch her? I know you and yours will keep all fears from her, and, +poor child, she reads my face like a book.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +Yours faithfully, <br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Mortimer Paget</span>."<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>"Well, Lilias," said the rector. "Well? He's a little +over nervous, isn't he, eh? Vessels are often a month +overdue. Eh, Lilias? But of course they are. Somehow +I'm not nervous since I got that letter. I was before, but +not now."</p> + +<p>He rubbed his hands together as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"It's summer now, and we'll have Gerald back before +the next snow comes. I told the boy so when he bid me +good-bye; he was a bit upset that night after you girls +went to bed. Poor fellow, I had quite to cheer him; he's +a very affectionate lad. No, I'm not nervous, and I wonder +at Paget. But what do <i>you</i> think, Lilias?"</p> + +<p>Lilias folded up the letter, and put it back in her old +father's hand. Then she stole her arm round his neck, +and kissed him.</p> + +<p>"We will be brave," she said. "If we have fears we +won't speak of them; we have got to think of Valentine +now, not of ourselves."</p> + +<p>The rector almost shook Lilias' hand from his neck.</p> + +<p>"Fears," he said, in a light and cheerful voice, a voice +which was belied by his tremulous hands, and by his almost +petulant movement. "Fears! my dear girl, they really +don't exist. At this moment, were we clairvoyant, we +should see Gerald either rising leisurely from a good night's +rest, or sitting down to his breakfast in one of those luxurious +houses one reads of in Froude's 'Oceana.' Vessels +like the <i>Esperance</i> don't go to the bottom. Now, Lil, at +what hour will you go to fetch Valentine? You will go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +up to town to-morrow, of course."</p> + +<p>"By the first train," replied Lilias. Her lips quivered. +She turned away; there was nothing more to be said. Her +father's manner did not in the least deceive her.</p> + +<p>"Dear old man!" she said to herself. "If he can be +brave, so will I. But oh, Gerald, does any heart ache +more for you than the heart of your sister Lilias?"</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + + +<p>Valentine had got a blow. The first real great blow +which had ever been dealt to her. It had a most curious +effect. Instead of stunning or rendering her weak and incapable, +it suddenly changed her from a child into a +practical and clever and wide-awake woman. The very +quality of her voice changed. It became full, and inspired +respect the moment she spoke. She was quite aware that +her father had deceived her, that he did not mean her to +accompany Gerald to Sydney.</p> + +<p>She said nothing about this knowledge—not even that +evening when she got home and found her father looking +ten years older, but standing on the step of her own little +home waiting for her.</p> + +<p>"I was too late," she said, quietly. "The <i>Esperance</i> +sailed four hours before its time. I must do without +Gerald for six months; in six months he will be home."</p> + +<p>"In six months," echoed Mr. Paget, following her upstairs +to the drawing-room. "Kiss me, my darling," he +said. "Valentine, you will come back to your own home +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Valentine raised her cheek to meet her father's lips.</p> + +<p>"I think I would rather remain here," she said. "This, +after all, is my only real home; you don't mind my keeping +the house, do you, father?"</p> + +<p>"No, my dear, if you wish it. Only I thought——" +His last words came out almost tremulously.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes we are mistaken in our thoughts," responded +Valentine. "I should like best to stay on in my husband's +house. Six months will not be long passing; and—father. +I have some news for you. In July—if I live until +July—God is going to give me a child—Gerald's child and +mine. I should like it to be born here."</p> + +<p>"Thank God," exclaimed Mr. Paget. "I am very glad +of this, Valentine," he said. "This—this—is an inestimable +mercy. I hope your child will be a son. My dear +daughter, this news lifts a great weight off my mi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>nd."</p> + +<p>He looked what he felt, delighted.</p> + +<p>"Of course you must live wherever you like best," he +said. "July—this is March—the child's father will be——" +but he did not finish this sentence.</p> + +<p>He went away soon afterwards. Ten years had been +added to his life in that one single day.</p> + +<p>He knew, one glance into Valentine's eyes told him, that +she no longer believed in him. What was any success +with the heart of his darling turned aside?</p> + +<p>He walked home feeling tottering and feeble; he had +had a blow, but also a strong consolation—his daughter's +child—his grandson. Of course the child should be a +boy. There was something to live for in such news as +this. A boy to step into his shoes by-and-bye—to keep +up the credit of the old house; a boy who should have no +shame on him, and no dark history. Yes, yes, this was +very good news, and unlooked for; he had much to live +for yet.</p> + +<p>After this Mr. Paget followed his daughter about like a +shadow. Every day her mind and her powers were developing +in fresh directions. She had certainly lost some of the +charm of her childish ways, but her gain had been greater +than her loss. Her face had always been spirituelle, the +expression sprightly, the eyes under their arched brows full +of light. People had spoken of the girlish face as beautiful, +but now that it belonged to a grave and patient, in +some respects a suffering woman, they found that it possessed +more than ordinary loveliness. The soul had come +back again into Valentine's eyes. She knew two things. +She was loved—her husband told her that no woman had +ever been loved so well before. She was also to become +a mother. She considered herself, notwithstanding her +crosses, blessed among women, and she resolved to live +worthily.</p> + +<p>Patience and faith both were hers, and whenever she fe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>lt +inclined to rebel, to fret, to fume, she thought of the day +when she should show her baby to her husband, and tell +him face to face that all her heart, all her best affections +were divided between him and their child.</p> + +<p>She kept to her resolution of living on in the little house +in Park-Lane. She led a busy life, interesting herself a +good deal in the anxieties and cares of others. When a +woman takes up that <i>rôle</i> she always finds abundance to +do, for there are few pairs of shoulders that have not a +burden to carry. She also wrote by every mail to her husband. +She had already received one letter from him, +posted at Teneriffe. This letter was affectionate—cheerful. +Valentine read it over and over. It was a very nice letter, +but its words did not reach down into her heart as that +other letter of Gerald's, written before he sailed, had done. +She was puzzled by it. Still she owned to herself that it +was just the letter she ought to receive, just the pleasant +happy words of a man who was leading a busy and useful +life; who was going away for a definite object, and hoped +soon to return to his wife and his home.</p> + +<p>All went well with Valentine until a certain day. She +rose as usual on the morning of that day, went down to +breakfast, opened one or two letters, attended to a couple +of domestic matters, and went slowly back to the drawing-room. +She liked to dust and tidy her little drawing-room +herself. She had put it in order this morning, had arranged +fresh flowers in the vases, and was finally giving one or two +fresh touches to Gerald's violin, which she always kept +near her own piano, when she was startled by the consciousness +that she was not alone.</p> + +<p>She raised her head, turned quickly, a cold air seemed +to blow on her face.</p> + +<p>"Valentine!" said her husbands voice, in a tone of +unspeakable agony.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span></p> +<p>She fancied she even saw his shadowy outline. She +stretched out her arms to him—he faded away.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>That afternoon Mrs. Wyndham paid her father a visit +in the City. She was shown into his private room by +Helps, who eyed her from head to foot with great anxiety.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget looked into her face and grew perceptibly +paler. He was certainly nervous in these days—nervous, +and very much aged in appearance.</p> + +<p>"Is anything wrong, Valentine?" he could not help saying +to his daughter. It was the last sentence he wished to +pass his lips—he bit them with vexation after the words +had escaped them.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, my dear; have you come to take me for a +drive, like—like—old times?"</p> + +<p>"I have not, father. I have come to know when you +expect to hear tidings of the arrival of the <i>Esperance</i> at +Sydney."</p> + +<p>"Not yet, Valentine. Impossible so soon. In any case +we shall have a cable from Melbourne first—the vessel will +touch there."</p> + +<p>"When are you likely to hear from Melbourne?"</p> + +<p>"Not for some days yet."</p> + +<p>"But you know the probable time. Can you not ascertain +it? Will you hear in ten days? In a week? In three +days?"</p> + +<p>"You are persistent, Valentine."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget raised his eyes and looked at her from head +to foot.</p> + +<p>"I will ascertain," he said in an almost cold voice, as +he sounded an electric bell by his side.</p> + +<p>Helps answered the summons.</p> + +<p>"Helps, when is the <i>Esperance</i> due at Melbourne?"</p> + +<p>Again Helps glanced quickly at Mrs. Wyndham; he +was standing rather behind her, but coul<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>d catch a glimpse +of her face.</p> + +<p>"By the end of May," he said, speaking slowly. His +quick eyes sought his chief's; they took their cue. "Not +sooner," he continued. "Possibly by the end of May."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Valentine.</p> + +<p>The man withdrew.</p> + +<p>"I have nearly a month to wait," she said, rising and +looking at her father. "I did not know that the voyage +would be such a lengthy one. When you do hear the news +will be bad, father; yes, the news will be bad. I have +nothing to say about it, no explanation to offer, only I +know."</p> + +<p>Before Mr. Paget could make a single reply, Valentine +had left him. He was decidedly alarmed about her.</p> + +<p>"Can she be going out of her mind?" he soliloquized. +"Women sometimes do before the birth of their children. +What did she mean? It is impossible for her to know anything. +Pshaw! What is there to know? I verily believe I +am cultivating that abomination of the age—nerves!"</p> + +<p>Whatever Valentine did mean, she met her father that +evening as if nothing had happened. She was bright, even +cheerful; she played and sang for him. He concluded that +she was not out of her mind, that she had simply had a fit +of the dismals, and dismissed the matter.</p> + +<p>The month passed by, slowly for Valentine—very slowly, +also, for her father. It passed into space, and there was +no news of the <i>Esperance</i>. More days went by, no news, +no tidings of any sort. Valentine thought the vessel was a +fortnight overdue. Her father knew that it was at least +a month behind its time. When he wrote his letter to the +rector of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold he felt even more anxious +than his words seemed to admit.</p> + +<p>The day after the receipt of this letter Lilias came to +town and took Valentine home with her. The next morning +Mr. Paget went as usual to his office. His first inquiry +was for news of the <i>Esperance</i>. The invariable answer +awaited him.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> +<p>"No tidings as yet."</p> + +<p>He went into the snug inner room where he lunched, +where Valentine's picture hung, and where he had made +terms with Gerald Wyndham. He sank down into an easy-chair, +and covered his face with his hands.</p> + +<p>"Would to God this suspense were at an end," he said.</p> + +<p>The words had scarcely passed his lips when Helps +knocked for admission at the inner door, he opened it, +caught a glimpse of his servant's face, and fell back.</p> + +<p>"You heard," he said. "Come in and tell me quick. +The <i>Esperance</i> is lost, and every soul on board——"</p> + +<p>"Hush, sir," said Helps. "There's no news of the +<i>Esperance</i>. Command yourself, sir. It isn't that—it's the +other thing. The young gentleman from India, he's outside—he +wants to see you."</p> + +<p>"Good God, Helps. Positively I'm faint. Shut the +door for a moment; he has come, then. You are sure?"</p> + +<p>"This is his card, sir. Mr. George Carmichael."</p> + +<p>"Give me a moment's time, Helps. So he has come. +It would have been all right but for this confounded +uncertainty with regard to the <i>Esperance</i>. But it is all +right, of course. Plans such as mine don't fail, they are +too carefully made. All the same, I am shaken, Helps. +Helps, I am growing into an old man."</p> + +<p>"You do look queer, Mr. Paget; have a little brandy, +sir; you'd better."</p> + +<p>"Thank you; a little, then. Open that cupboard, you +will find the flask. Brandy steadies the nerves. Now I +am better. Helps, it was in this room I made terms with +young Wyndham."</p> + +<p>"God forgive you, sir, it was."</p> + +<p>"Why do you say that? You did not disapprove at +the time."</p> + +<p>"I didn't know Mr. Wyndham, sir; had I known, I +wouldn't have allowed breathing man to harm a hair of +his head."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How would you have prevented it?"</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>The old clerk's face took an ugly look.</p> + +<p>"Split on you, and gone to prison, of course," he said. +"Now, shall I send Mr. George Carmichael in? It was for +his sake you did it. My God, what a sin you sinned! I +see Mr. Wyndham's face every night of my life. Good +God, why should men like him be hurled out of the world +because of sinners like you and me?"</p> + +<p>"He's not hurled out of the world," exclaimed Mr. +Paget.</p> + +<p>He rose and swore a great oath. Then he said in a +quieter voice:—</p> + +<p>"Ask Mr. Carmichael to step into my office."</p> + +<p>"Into this room, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Into this room. Go, fool."</p> + +<p>Certainly Mr. Paget had some admirable qualities. By +the time a pale-faced, slight, languid-looking man made +his appearance, he was perfectly calm and self-possessed. +He spoke in a courteous tone to his visitor, and bade him +be seated.</p> + +<p>They exchanged a few common-places. Then Mr. George +Carmichael, who showed far more uneasiness than his host, +explained the motive of his visit.</p> + +<p>"You knew my father," he said. "Owing to a strange +circumstance, which perhaps you are aware of, but which +scarcely concerns the object of this call, certain papers of +importance did not come into my hands until I was of +age. These are the papers."</p> + +<p>He placed two yellow documents on the table.</p> + +<p>"I find by these that I am entitled to money which you +hold in trust."</p> + +<p>"You are," said Mr. Paget, with a kindly smile.</p> + +<p>"I am puzzled to know why I was never made a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>ware of +the fact. I was brought up as a poor man. I had no +expectations. I have not been educated to meet the +position which in reality awaited me. Somebody has done +me a wrong."</p> + +<p>"I assure you not me, Mr. Carmichael. Perhaps, +however, I can throw some light on the subject. If you +will do me the favor of dining with me some evening we +can talk the matter over at our leisure."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I have very little leisure."</p> + +<p>The stranger was wonderfully restless.</p> + +<p>"After a struggle I have succeeded in obtaining a good +post in Calcutta. I hurried over to see you. I must hurry +back to my work. Oh, yes, thanks, I like India. The +main point is, when can you hand me over my money. +With interest it amounts to——"</p> + +<p>"Including interest it amounts to eighty thousand +pounds, Mr. Carmichael. Allow me to congratulate you, +sir, as a man of fortune. There is no need to hurry back +to that beggarly clerkship."</p> + +<p>"It's not a clerkship, Mr. Paget, nor beggarly. I'm a +partner in a rising concern. The other man's name is +Parr; he has a wife and children, and I wouldn't desert +him for the world. Eighty thousand pounds! By Jove, +won't Parr open his eyes."</p> + +<p>Mr. George Carmichael was now so excited that his +shyness vanished.</p> + +<p>"When can I have my money, sir?"</p> + +<p>"In a month's time."</p> + +<p>"Not until then? I wanted to go back to India next +week."</p> + +<p>"It can be sent after you."</p> + +<p>A slow suspicious smile crept round the young man's +lips; he looked more well-bred than he was.</p> + +<p>"None of that," he said. "I don't stir until I get the +cheque. I say, can't you give it me at once? It's mine."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> +<p>"Not a day sooner than a month. I must take that +time to realize so large a sum. You shall have it this day +month."</p> + +<p>"Beastly inconvenient. Parr will be in no end of a +taking. I suppose there's no help for it, however."</p> + +<p>"None."</p> + +<p>"This is the 17th of June. Now you're not playing me +a trick, are you? You'll pay me over that money all +square on the 17th of July."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget had an imposing presence. He rose now, +slowly, stood on the hearthrug, under his daughter's picture, +and looked down at his guest.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry for you," he said. "Your education has +certainly been imperfect. Your father was a gentleman, +and my friend. You, I regret to say, are not a gentleman. +I don't repeat my invitation to dine at my house. With +regard to the money it shall be in your hands on the 17th +July. I am rather pressed for time this morning, Mr. +Carmichael, and must ask you to leave me. Stay, however, +a moment. You are, of course, prepared to give me all +proofs of identity?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, sir?"</p> + +<p>"What I say. The certificate of the marriage of your +parents and certificate of the proof that you are the person +you represent yourself to be must be forthcoming. I must +also have letters from your friends in India. No doubt, +of course—no doubt who you are, but these things are +necessary."</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding that he was the owner of eighty thousand +pounds, Mr. George Carmichael left the august +presence of the head of Paget Brothers feeling somewhat +crestfallen.</p> + +<p>He had scarcely done so before Helps rushed in.</p> + +<p>"A cable, sir! Praise the Lord, a cable at last!"</p> + +<p>He thrust the sheet of paper into his employer's hands. +It came from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> Melbourne, and bore the date of the day +before.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<i>Esperance</i> arrived safely. Delay caused by broken machinery. +Accident of a painful nature on board. Full particulars by mail.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Jellyby.</span>"</p></blockquote> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + + +<p>Mr. Paget was most careful that the full contents of the +cable did not go to his daughter at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. +He read it three or four times, then he took up a telegraph +form and wired to her as follows:—</p> + +<p> +"<i>Esperance</i> arrived safely. Delay caused by injury to machinery."<br /> +</p> + +<p>This telegram caused intense rejoicing at the rectory, +and Mr. Paget had his gloomy part to himself. He conned +that part over and over.</p> + +<p>A serious accident. To whom? About whom? What +a fool that Jellyby was not to have given him more particulars. +Why did that part of the cablegram fill him with +consternation? Why should he feel so certain that the +accident in question referred to his son-in-law? Well, he +must wait over a month for news, and during that month +he must collect together eighty thousand pounds. Surely +he had enough to think of. Why should his thoughts revert +to Wyndham with an ever-increasing dread?</p> + +<p>"Wyndham is safe enough," he said. "Jolly enough, +too, I make no doubt. His money waits for him at Ballarat. +Of course bad news will come, but <i>I</i> shall see through +it. Oh, yes, <i>I</i> shall see through it fast enough."</p> + +<p>Days of suspense are hard days—long and weary days. +As these days crept one by one away Mr. Paget became +by no means an easy person to live with. His temper +grew morose, he was irritable, manifestly ill at ease, and +he would often for hours scarcely utter a word.</p> + +<p>The 17th of July passed. Mr. Carmichael again called +for his money. A part was paid to him, the balance the +head of the great shipping firm assured the young man +could not possibly be forthcoming for another month or +six weeks.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," Mr. Paget said, "extremely sorry not to +be able to fulfil my word to the letter. But I must have +time to realize such a large sum, and I greatly fear I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> must +claim it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Carmichael had a cheque in his hand for ten thousand +pounds. He could scarcely feel discontented at such +a moment, and took his departure grumbling but elated.</p> + +<p>"Helps," said Mr. Paget, "I have taken that ten +thousand pounds out of the business, and it can ill afford +to lose it. If news does not come soon we are undone, and +all our plotting and planning won't save the old place +nor the honor of the old house."</p> + +<p>"No fear," muttered Helps. "The news will come. I +have bad dreams at night. The house will be saved. Don't +you fret, Mr. Paget."</p> + +<p>He went out of the room looking as morose and ugly as +possible, and Mortimer Paget hurled no blessings after +him.</p> + +<p>The next day was fraught with tidings. A thick packet +lay on the chief's desk, bearing the imprint of the <i>Esperance</i> +on it. By the side of the packet was a telegram. +He opened the telegram first:—</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + + +<span class="i12">"Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, 10 a.m.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Valentine had a son this morning. Both doing well."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The tears absolutely sprang to Mr. Paget's eyes. His +hands trembled; he looked round furtively; there was no +one by. Then he raised the telegram to his lips and kissed +it. Valentine had a son—he had a grandson. Another +head of the old house had arisen on the horizon.</p> + +<p>He rang his electric bell; he was so excited that he +could not keep these tidings to himself.</p> + +<p>"I have sent for you to receive your congratulations. +Helps," he said; "and—and here's a cheque for ten +pounds. You must go home early and have a good supper—champagne +and all that sort of thing. Not a word, Helps, +my good fellow, you deserve it. You quite deserve it!"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> +<p>"May I ask what for, Mr. Paget? Forgive me, sir. I see +that the packet from the <i>Esperance</i> has come."</p> + +<p>"So it has. It can wait. Take your money, Helps, and +drink my grandson's health. He arrived this morning, +bless him—my daughter had a son this morning."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, sir. It's a pity the father isn't there. It would +have been pretty to have seen Mr. Wyndham as a father. +Yes, sir. I'm glad your young lady is doing well. Babes +come with trouble, and it seems to me they mostly go with +trouble. All the same, we make a fuss of them—and the +world's too full as it is."</p> + +<p>"This child supplies a long felt need," replied the baby's +grandfather, frowning. "He is the future head of the +house."</p> + +<p>"Poor innocent. Yes, sir, I congratulate you as in duty +bound. You'll soon read that packet, won't you, sir. It +seems a sort of a coincidence like, getting news of the +father and the babe in one breath."</p> + +<p>"I'll read the packet presently," said Mr. Paget. "Go +away now, Helps; don't disturb me."</p> + +<p>Left alone, the pleased man spread out the pink sheet +of paper in such a position that his eye could constantly +rest on it. Then he broke the seal of Captain Jellyby's +yarn, and began to read.</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + + +<blockquote><p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Esperance</i>, April 10.<br /> +</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Sir</span>,—</p> + +<p>"I begin a letter to you under peculiarly afflicting circumstances. +Your son-in-law, the favorite of every one on board, one of the nicest +young gentlemen I have had the luck to meet, fell overboard last night, +between nine and ten o'clock, when a very heavy sea was running. He +was standing at the wheel, talking to a sailor of the name of Loggan. +Loggan said he was very cheerful and keen to watch the storm. He +was helping to tighten up a bit of rope when the boat gave a lurch. +Loggan shouted to him to take care, but he was taken off his feet, and +the next moment was in the water. We put out the boats and did all +in our power, but in addition to the storm the night was very dark, and +we never saw nor heard anything more of the unfortunate young gentleman. +The night was so rough he must have gone to the bottom almost +directly. I cannot express to you, sir, what a gloom this has cast upon +all on board. As I said already, your son-in-law was beloved by passengers +and sailors alike. His death was due to the most ordinary +accident.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, regrets are useless, but if regrets would bring Mr. Wyndham +back, he would be safe and well now; he was one of the most +taking young men I ever came across, and also one of the best. Please +give my respectful condolences to his poor young widow——"</p></blockquote> + +<p>Here there was a break in the narrative. It was taken +up some days later.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"I had scarcely written the last when an awful thing happened. +There was a fearful crash on board, and in short, sir, our funnel was +blown down. I can scarcely go into particulars now, but for many +days we lay at the mercy of the waves, and I never thought to see land +any more. It speaks well for the worthiness of the <i>Esperance</i> that she +weathered such a gale. But for many days and nights the destruction +to your property, for the water poured in in all parts, and the miserable +state of the passengers, baffles description. The ship was in such a condition +that we could not use steam, and when the storm abated had to +drift as best we could. For our main masts were also broken, and we +could put on scarcely any sail. Our provisions were also becoming +short.</p> + +<p>"A week ago, by the mercy of God, we came within hail of the +steamer <i>Salamanca</i>, which towed us into port, and the <i>Esperance</i> has +been put into dock at Melbourne for repairs.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> +<p>"Under these appalling circumstances, Mr. Wyndham's loss has +not been forgotten, but to a certain extent cast on one side. Perhaps I +ought to say here; sir, that when your son-in-law commenced his voyage +to Sydney under my auspices, he appeared to be in such a state of +agitation, and in such distress of mind, that I feared for his brain, and +wondered if you had sent him on this voyage by a doctor's orders. He +made also a request to me which seemed to confirm this view. He +begged me not to let out to anyone on board the smallest particulars (I +really did not know any) of his history. In especial he did not wish +his wife spoken of. He looked strange when he made these requests, +and even now I can see the despair in his eyes when I refused—you will +remember, sir, by your express desire—to touch at Plymouth. I may +as well say frankly, that had Mr. Wyndham continued as depressed as +he was the first few days of the voyage, I should have scarcely considered +his untimely end altogether due to accident. But I am happy +to be able to reassure your mind on that point. That he felt the separation +from his wife terribly at first there is no doubt, but there is also +no doubt that he got over this feeling, that he was healthily happy, and +altogether the brightest fellow on board. In short, sir, he was the life +of the ship; even now we are never done lamenting him. Untimely +as his fate was, no one could have been more ready to rush suddenly +into the presence of his Maker. I enclose with this a formal certificate +of Mr. Wyndham's death, with the latitude and longitude of the exact +spot where he must have gone down accurately described. This certificate +is duly attested by the Consul here, and I delayed one day in +writing to you in order that it should go.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +"I remain, sir. <br /> + +"Yours respectfully, <br /> + +"<span class="smcap">Harry Jellyby</span>."<br /></p> +<p> +"P.S.—I forgot to mention that two of our boats have been absolutely +lost; but I will send you a full list of casualties by next mail."<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Helps had never felt more restless than he did that +morning; he could not attend to his ordinary avocations. +Truth to tell, Helps' position in the house of Paget Brothers +had always been more or less a dubious one. It was patent +to all that he was confided in to a remarkable degree by +the head of the house. It was also observed that he had +no special or defined post. In short that he did a little +of everybody's work, and seemed to have nothing absolutely +depending on himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> + +<p>All the same, when Helps was away the whole establishment +felt a loss. If the old clerk was useful for no other +purpose, he was at least valuable as a scape-goat. He could +bear blame which belonged to others. It was convenient +to make excuses, and to shift uncomfortable omissions of +all sorts from one's own shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I thought Helps would have seen to that."</p> + +<p>Helps saw to a great deal, and was perfectly indifferent +to these inuendoes. Of one thing he was certain, that they +would never reach the chief's ears.</p> + +<p>On this particular morning Helps would assist no one; +he had ten pounds in his pocket, and he knew that the +future owner of the great business lay in his cradle at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. +Little cared he for that.</p> + +<p>"What news of Mr. Wyndham?" This was his thought of +thoughts. "What secret lies hidden within that sealed +packet? What is my master doing now? When will he +ring for me? How soon shall I know the best and the +worst? Oh, God, why did I let that young man go? Why +didn't I split? What's prison, after all? My God, what +<i>is</i> prison compared to a heart on fire!"</p> + +<p>Helps pottered about. He was a very wizened grey +little fellow. The clerks found him decidedly in the way. +They muttered to one another about him, and Mr. Manners, +one of the juniors, requested him in a very cutting +voice to shut the door and go away.</p> + +<p>Helps obeyed the command to the very letter. By this +time his state of mind might have been described as on the +rack. For two hours Mr. Paget had been reading that +letter. Impossible; no letter would take that time to read. +Why had he not rung? Surely he must know what Helps +was enduring. Surely at this crisis of his fate—at this +crisis of both their fates—he must want to see his faithful +servant. Why then did he not ring?</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> +<p>At last in despair Helps knocked at the door of the outer +office. There was no answer. He turned the handle, +pushed the door ajar and went in. The room was empty. +Mr. Paget's pile of ordinary business letters lay unopened +on his desk. Helps went up to the door of the inner room, +and pressed his ear against the keyhole. There was not a +stir within. He knocked against a chair, and threw down +a book on purpose. If anything living would bring Mr. +Paget out it was the idea of anyone entering, or disarranging +matters in his office. Helps disarranged matters +wildly; he threw down several books, he upset more than +one chair; still the master did not appear. At last he +knocked at the door of the inner room. There was no +response. Then he knocked again, louder. Then he hammered +with his fists. Then he shook the door. No response. +The inner room might as well have been a grave. +He rushed away at last for tools to break open the door. +He was terribly frightened, but even now he had sufficient +presence of mind not to bring a third person to share his +master's secret. He came back with a pick-lock, a hammer +and one or two other implements. He locked the door +of the outer office, and then he set boldly to work. He +did not care what din he made; he was past all thought +of that now. The clerks outside got into a frantic state of +excitement; but that fact, had he known it, would have +made no difference to Helps.</p> + +<p>At last his efforts were crowned with success. The +heavy door yielded, and flew open with a bang. Helps +fell forward into the room himself. He jumped up hastily. +A quiet, orderly, snug room! The picture of a fair and +lovely girl looking down from the wall! a man with grey +hair stretched on the hearthrug under the picture! a man +with no life, nor motion, nor movement. Helps flew to his +master. Was he dead? No, the eyes were wide open; +they looked at Helps, and one of the hands was stretched +out, and clutched at Helps' arm, and pulled it wildly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +aside.</p> + +<p>"What is it, my dear master?" said the man, for there +was that in the face which would have melted any heart to +pity.</p> + +<p>"Don't! Stand out of my light," said Mr. Paget. "Hold +me—steady me—let me get up. He's there—there by the +window!"</p> + +<p>"Who, my dear sir? Who?"</p> + +<p>"The man I've murdered! He's there. Between me +and the light. It's done. He's standing between me and +the light. Tell him to move away. I have murdered him! +I know that. Between me and the light—the <i>light</i>! Tell +him to move away—tell him—tell him!"</p> + +<p>Mortimer Paget gave a great shriek, and covered his +terrified eyes with his trembling hands!</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> + + +<p>"What is the matter, Lilias? I did not do anything +wrong."</p> + +<p>The speaker was Augusta Wyndham.</p> + +<p>Three years have passed away since she last appeared +in this story; she is grown up now, somewhat lanky still, +with rather fierce dark eyes, and a somewhat thin pronounced +face. She is the kind of girl who at eighteen is +still all angles, but there are possibilities for her, and at +five and twenty, if time deals kindly with her, and circumstances +are not too disastrous, she might be rounded, softened, +she might have developed into a handsome woman.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Lilias?" she said now. "Why do you +look at me like that?"</p> + +<p>"It is the same old story, Gussie," replied Lilias, whose +brown cheeks were paler, and her sweet eyes larger than of +old; "you are always wanting in thought. It was thoughtless +of you to make Valentine walk home, and with little +Gerry, too. She will come in fagged and have a headache. +I relied on your seeing to her, Gussie; when I asked you +to take the pony chaise I thought of her more than you, +and now you've come back in it all alone, without even +fetching baby."</p> + +<p>"Well, Lilias." Augusta paused, drew herself up, leant +against the nearest paling, crossed her legs, and in a provokingly +petulant voice began to speak.</p> + +<p>"With how much more of all that is careless and all that +is odious are you going to charge me?" she said. "Oh, +of course, 'Gussie never can think.' Now I'll tell you what +this objectionable young woman Augusta did, and then you +can judge for yourself. I drove to Netley Farm, and got +the butter and the eggs, and then I went on to see old +James Holt, the gardener, for I thought he might have +those bulbs we wanted ready. Then I drew up at the turnstile, +and waited for that precious Mrs. Val of yours."</p> + +<p>"Don't," said Lilias. "Remember whose——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> + +<p>"As if I ever forget—but he—he had others beside her—he +never had any Augusta except me," two great tears +gathered in the great brown eyes; they were dashed hastily +aside, and the speaker went on.</p> + +<p>"There's twice too much made of her, and that's a fact. +You live for her, you're her slave, Lilias. It's perfectly +ridiculous—it's absurd. You have sunk your whole life +into hers, and since Marjory's wedding things have been +worse. You simply have no life but in her. He wouldn't +wish it; he hated anyone to be unselfish except himself. +Well, then—oh, then, I won't vex the dear old thing. Have +you forgiven me, Lil? I know I'm such a chatter-pate. I +hope you have forgiven me."</p> + +<p>"Of course I have, Gussie. I'm not angry with you, +there's nothing to be angry about. You are a faulty +creature, I admit, but I also declare you to be one of the +greatest comforts of my life."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's all right—that's as it should be. Now for +my narrative. I waited by the turnpike. Valentine and +baby were to meet me there. No sign of them. I waited +a long time. Then I tied Bob to the gate, and started on +discovery bent. You know it is a pretty lane beyond the +turnpike, the hedges hid me. I walked along, whistling and +shaking my whip. Presently I was assailed by the tuneful +duet of two voices. I climbed the hedge and peeped over. +I looked into a field. What did I see? Now, Lilias the +wise, guess what I saw?"</p> + +<p>"Valentine and our little Gerald," responded Lilias. +"She was talking to him; she has a sweet voice, and surely +there never was a dearer little pipe than wee Gerry's. They +must have looked pretty sitting on the grass."</p> + +<p>"They looked very pretty—but your picture is not quite +correct. For instance, baby was sound asleep."</p> + +<p>"Oh, then, she had him in her arms, and was cooing to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +him. A lovelier scene than ever, Augusta."</p> + +<p>"A very lovely scene, Lilias; only, one woman's voice +would not make a duet."</p> + +<p>Something in Augusta's eyes caused Lilias to droop her +own. She turned aside to pick a spray of briony.</p> + +<p>"Tell me what you saw," she said abruptly.</p> + +<p>"I saw Valentine and Adrian Carr. They were sitting +close together, and baby was asleep on <i>his</i> breast, not on +hers, and he was comforting her, for when I peeped over I +saw him touch her hand, and then I saw her raise her handkerchief +and wipe away some tears. Crocodile's tears, I +call them. Now, Lilias, out of my way. I mean to vault +over this gate."</p> + +<p>"What for, dear?"</p> + +<p>"To relieve my feelings. Now I'm better. Won't you +have a try?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you, I don't vault gates."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you going to show anything? Good gracious, I +should simply explode if I had to keep in things the way +you do. Now, what's the matter? You look white all the +same; whiter than you did ten minutes ago. Oh, if it was +me, I couldn't keep still. I should roar like a wounded +lion."</p> + +<p>"But I am not a wounded lion, Augusta, dear."</p> + +<p>Lilias laid her hand on her sister's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I am older than you," she continued, "and perhaps +quieter. Life has made me quieter. We won't say anything +about what you saw, Augusta. Perhaps none of us +have such a burden to bear as Valentine."</p> + +<p>"Now, Lilias, what stuff you talk. Oh, she's a humbug, +and I hate her. There, I will say it, just for once. She +took Gerald away, and now she wants to take Adrian from +you. Oh, I know you're an angel—you'd bear anything, +but I'm not quite a fool."</p> + +<p>"They are coming; you <i>must</i> hush," said Lilias, putting +her hand across her young sister's lips.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> +<p>Augusta cast two wrathful eyes behind her, lightly +vaulted back over the gate, and vanished from view round +the first corner. Lilias opened the gate, and went slowly to +meet the group who were coming down the dusty country +road.</p> + +<p>Valentine was in black, but not in widow's weeds. She +had a shady hat over her clustering bright hair, and round +this hat, the baby, little Gerry, had stuck quantities of +leaves and grasses and what wild flowers his baby fingers +could clutch. With one hand she was holding up her long +dress; her other held a basket of primroses, and her face, +bright now with color in the cheeks, laughter on the lips, +and the fire of affection in the eyes, was raised to where her +sturdy little son sat on Carr's broad shoulder.</p> + +<p>The child was a handsome little fellow, cast in a far more +masculine mould than his father, to whom he bore scarcely +any resemblance.</p> + +<p>As Lilias, in her dark grey dress, approached, she +looked altogether a more sorrowful and grief-touched figure +than the graceful, almost childish young widow who came +to meet her.</p> + +<p>So Carr thought, as with a softened light in his eyes he +glanced at Lilias.</p> + +<p>"A certain part of her heart was broken three years +ago," he inwardly commented. "Can I—is it in my +power—will it ever be in my power to comfort her?"</p> + +<p>But Lilias, knowing nothing of these feelings, only noted +the happy-looking picture.</p> + +<p>"Here we are!" said Carr, catching the boy from his +shoulder and letting him jump to the ground. "Run to +your auntie now, little man."</p> + +<p>Off waddled the small fat legs. Lilias stooped and +received the somewhat dusty embrace of two rounded arms, +while cherub lips were pressed on hers.</p> + +<p>"You do comfort me, little Gerry," she gasped under +her breath.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then she rose, almost staggering under his weight.</p> + +<p>"Let me carry him for you," said Carr, coming up to +her.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you, I like to have him," she said; and she +turned and walked by Valentine's side.</p> + +<p>"Are you tired, Val? I did not mean you to walk home. +I sent Augusta with Bob and the basket chaise. I thought +you knew they were to meet you at the turnpike."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I forgot," answered Valentine. "I met Mr. +Carr, and we came to a delicious field, full of primroses, and +baby wanted to pick lots, didn't you, treasure? We sat and +had a rest; I am not very tired, and Mr. Carr carried this +big boy all the way home. Hey-ho," she continued, throwing +off her hat, and showing a head as full of clustering +richly-colored hair as of old, "what a lovely day it is, it +makes me feel young. Come along, baby, we'll race together +to the house. It's time for you to go to sleep, little +master. Now, then—baby first, mother after—one, two, +three and away!"</p> + +<p>The child shouted with glee, the mother raced after him, +they disappeared through the rose-covered porch of the +old rectory. Lilias raised two eyes full of pain to Carr's.</p> + +<p>"Is she beginning to forget?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No; why should you say so? She will never forget."</p> + +<p>"She looked so young just now—so like a child. Poor +Val! She was only twenty-two her last birthday. Mr. Carr. +I don't want her to forget."</p> + +<p>"In one sense rest assured she never will—in another—would +you wish her to endure a life-long pain?"</p> + +<p>"I would—I would. It was done for her—she must +never forget."</p> + +<p>"You always allow me to say plain words, don't you?" +said Carr. "May I say some now?"</p> + +<p>"Say anything you please, only don't teach her to +forget."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>The man's eyes blazed. Lilias colored all over her +face.</p> + +<p>"I mean nothing," she said hurriedly. "Come into the +flower-garden. We shall have a great show of roses this +year. Come and look at the buds. You were going to say +something to me," she added presently.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I was going to prepare you for what may come +by-and-bye. It is possible that in the future—remember. +I don't know anything—but it is possible that in the future +your young sister-in-law may once more be happy. I don't +know how—I am not going to prognosticate anything, but +I think as a rule one may safely infer that the very bitterest +grief, the most poignant sorrows which come before twenty +are not abiding. Mrs. Wyndham has her child. It would +not do for the child to associate only sorrow with the +mother's face. Some time in the future she will be happy +again. It is my opinion that your brother would be glad +of this."</p> + +<p>"Hush; you don't know. My brother—my only brother! +I at least can never be the Lilias of old."</p> + +<p>"I believe you," said Carr much moved by her tone. +"You, too, are very young; but in your heart, Miss Wyndham, +in your heart, you were an older woman, a woman +more acquainted with the grave side of life, than that poor +young thing was when the blow fell."</p> + +<p>Lilias did not answer for a moment or two.</p> + +<p>"I am glad Marjory is out of it all," she said then. +"You know what a long nervous illness she had at the time. +Dear old Marjory, she was such a tempestuous darling."</p> + +<p>"But she is happy now."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, she has her husband. Philip is very good, +he suits Marjory. Yes, she is quite happy now, and I am +not miserable—you mustn't think it. I know in whom I +have believed."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were raised to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> the sky overhead.</p> + +<p>"I know He won't fail me. Some day Gerald and I +shall meet."</p> + +<p>"Some day, assuredly," answered Carr.</p> + +<p>"And in the meantime, I am not unhappy, only I don't +intend ever to forget. Nor shall she."</p> + +<p>"One question," said Carr. "Have you heard news +lately of Mrs. Wyndham's father?"</p> + +<p>"I believe he has recovered. He never comes here. I +must own I have a great antipathy to Valentine's father. I +don't want to hear of him nor to think of him."</p> + +<p>"I can understand that. Still, if it will not trouble you +greatly I should like to ask you a question or two with +regard to him. He was very ill, at the—at the time, wasn't +he?"</p> + +<p>"He was very ill, mentally, he was quite off his head +for several months."</p> + +<p>"Don't you think that was rather strange?"</p> + +<p>"I never thought much about it, as far as he was concerned. +Of course he must have had a dreadful shock."</p> + +<p>"But not such a shock as you had. Not a shock to be +named with what that poor girl, his daughter, went through. +Your brother was not his own son, and—and——"</p> + +<p>"I never thought about it, Mr. Carr. I heard that he +was ill, and that the illness was mental. He has been quite +well again for some time."</p> + +<p>"I assure you you're mistaken. I met him a fortnight +ago in town. I never saw a man so completely altered in +the whole course of my life."</p> + +<p>"Please don't tell me about him. It never was, nor +could be, an interesting subject. Ah, there is my dear +father calling me. I must run to him."</p> + +<p>The rector was seen approaching. His figure was +slightly more bent, and his hair whiter than of old. Lilias +linked her hand within his arm, and Carr turned away.</p> + +<p>"I can never have it out with her," he said to himself. +"I never seem to have the courage when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> I'm with her. +And besides, I don't believe she'd leave her father. But +if she did—if I ever could hope to win her for my wife, +then I might venture to whisper to her some of my suspicions. +How little she guesses what my thoughts are. +Can I act in any way without consulting her? I have a +good mind to try."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> + + +<p>The house of Paget Brothers was never more flourishing +than during the spring and summer of 18—. It was three +years since the death of its junior partner, Gerald Wyndham, +and three years since Mortimer Paget had paid away +in full the trust money of eighty thousand pounds which +he owed to George Carmichael, of the firm of Carmichael. +Parr and Co., Calcutta. Although none of the parties +concerned quite intended it, certain portions of the story +of this trust got abroad, and became the subject of a nine +days' gossip in the City and elsewhere. It had never even +been whispered that Paget Brothers were in difficulties. +Still such a sum would not be easy to find even in the +wealthiest concern. Then the fact also trickled out that +Wyndham's life had been insured, heavily insured, in three +or four different offices. His death must have come in +handily, people said, and they said no more—just then.</p> + +<p>The fact was, that had one been even inclined to suspect +foul play, Mr. Paget's dangerous illness at the time would +have prevented their doing so. Surely no man ever before +grieved so bitterly for a dead son-in-law as did this man. +The blow had felled him with a stroke. For many months +his mind gave way utterly. The words spoken in delirium +are seldom considered valuable. What Mr. Paget did or +said during the dark summer which followed Wyndham's +death never got known. In the autumn he was better; +that winter he went abroad, and the following spring he +once more was seen in the City.</p> + +<p>He looked very old, people said, but he was as shrewd +and careful a business man as ever.</p> + +<p>"I have to put things in order for my grandson," he +would say.</p> + +<p>Nobody ever saw him smile just then, but a light used +to come into his sunken dark eyes when the child's name +was mentioned.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> + +<p>Valentine and the boy spent most of their time in the +old house in Park-Lane. She was very gentle with her +father, but the relations they had once borne to each other +were completely altered. He now rather shrank from her +society. She had to seek him, not he her. He was manifestly +ill at ease when in her presence. It was almost +impossible to get him to come to see her in her own house. +When he did so he was attacked by a curious nervousness. +He could seldom sit still; he often started and looked +behind him. Once or twice he perceptibly changed color, +and on all occasions he gave a sigh of relief when he said +good-bye.</p> + +<p>The child visited his grandfather oftener than the mother +did. With the child Mortimer Paget was absolutely at +home and happy.</p> + +<p>The third summer after Wyndham's death passed away. +Valentine spent most of the time at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. +Mr. Paget went abroad, as he always did, during August +and September. In October he was once more in town. +Valentine came back to London, and their small world +settled down for its usual winter routine.</p> + +<p>On all sides there were talks of this special winter proving +a hard one, the cold commenced early and lasted long. +In all the poorer quarters of the great city there were +signs of distress. Want is a haggard dame. Once known +her face is dreaded. As the days grew short, the darkness +deepened, and the fogs became frequent, she was often +seen stalking about the streets. Poorly clad children, +shivering women, despairing defiant-looking men all trembled +and fled before her. The cold was intense, work +became slack, and then, to increase all other evils, the +great cruel monster, Strike, put down his iron heel. Want +is his invariable handmaid. Between them they did much +havoc.</p> + +<p>It was on a certain short November day of this special +winter that Mortimer Paget arrived early at his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> office. +He drove there in his comfortable brougham, and stepped +out into the winter cold and fog, wrapped up in his rich +furs. As he did so a woman with two small children came +hastily up, cast a furtive glance to right and left, saw no +policeman near, and begged in a high piteous whining +voice for alms.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget had never been known to give alms indiscriminately. +He was not an uncharitable man, but he hated +beggars. He took not the least notice of the woman, +although she pushed one of the hungry children forward +who raised two piteous blue eyes to the hard man's face.</p> + +<p>"Even a couple of pence!" she implored. "The +father's on strike, and they've had nothing to eat since +yesterday morning."</p> + +<p>"I don't give indiscriminate charity," said Mr. Paget. +"If your case is genuine, you had better apply at the +nearest office of the Charity Organization."</p> + +<p>He was pushing open the outer office door when something +arrested his attention.</p> + +<p>A man came hurriedly up from a side street, touched the +woman on the shoulder, lifted one of the hungry children +into his arms, and the whole party hurried away. The +man was painfully thin, very shabbily dressed, in a long +frock coat, which was buttoned tight. He had a beard and +moustache, and a soft slouch hat was pushed well forward +over his eyes.</p> + +<p>The woman's face lit up when she saw him. Both the +children smiled, and the whole group moved rapidly away.</p> + +<p>The effect of this shabby man's presence on those three +helpless and starving creatures was as if the sun had come +out. Mr. Paget staggered to his office, walked through +the outer rooms as if he were dazed, sought his sanctum, +and sat down shaking in every limb.</p> + +<p>Since his strange illness of three years ago, Helps had +been more like a servant and nurse to him than an ordinary +clerk. It was his custom to attend his master on his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +first arrival, to see to his creature comforts, to watch his +moods.</p> + +<p>Helps came in as usual this morning. Mr. Paget had +removed his hat, and was gazing in a dull vacant way +straight before him.</p> + +<p>"You are not yourself this morning, sir," said the clerk.</p> + +<p>He pushed a footstool under the old man's feet, removed +the fur-lined overcoat and took it away. Then standing +in front of him he again said:—</p> + +<p>"Sir, you are not yourself to-day."</p> + +<p>"The old thing, Helps," said Mr. Paget. He shook +himself free of some kind of trance with an effort. "The +doctors said I should be quite well again, as well as ever. +They are mistaken, I shall never be quite well. I saw him +in the street just now, Helps."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, sir?"</p> + +<p>It was Helps' <i>rôle</i> as much as possible to humor his +patient.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I saw him just now—he takes many guises; he +was in a new one to-day—a starved clerk out of employment. +That was his guise to-day. I should not have recognized +him but for his hand. Perhaps you remember +Wyndham's hand, Helps? Very slender, long and tapered—the +hand of a musician. He took a ragged child in his +arms, and his hand—there was nothing weak about it—clasped +another child who was also starved and hungry. +Undoubtedly it was Wyndham—Wyndham in a new guise—he +will never leave me alone."</p> + +<p>"If I were you, Mr. Paget," said Helps after a pause. +"I'd open the letters that are waiting for replies. You +know what the doctor said, that when the fancy came you +mustn't dwell on it. You must be sure and certain not to +let it take a hold on you, sir. Now you know, just as well as +I do, that you didn't see poor Mr. Wyndham—may Heaven +preserve his soul! Is it likely now, sir, that a spirit like +Mr. Wyndham's, happy above the sky with the angels, +would come down on earth to trouble and haunt you? Is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> +it likely now, sir? If I were you I'd cast the fancy from +me!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget raised his hand to sweep back the white hair +from his hollow, lined face.</p> + +<p>"You believe in heaven then, Helps?"</p> + +<p>"I do for some folks, sir. I believe in it for Mr. Gerald +Wyndham."</p> + +<p>"Fudge; you thought too well of the fellow. Do you +believe in heaven for suicides?"</p> + +<p>"Sir—no, sir—his death came by accident."</p> + +<p>"It did not; he couldn't go through with the sacrifice, +so he ended his life, and he haunts me, curse him!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Paget, I hope God will forgive you."</p> + +<p>"He won't, so you needn't waste your hopes. A man +has cast his blood upon my soul. Nothing can wash the +blood away. Helps, I'm the most miserable being on earth. +I walk through hell fire every day."</p> + +<p>"Have your quieting mixture, sir; you know the doctor +said you must not excite yourself. There, now you +are better. Shall I help you to open your letters, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Helps, do; you're a good soul, Helps. Don't +leave me this morning; he'll come in at the door if you +do."</p> + +<p>There came a tap at the outer office. Some one wanted +to speak to the chief. A great name was announced.</p> + +<p>In a moment Mr. Paget, from being the limp, abject +wretch whom Helps had daily to comfort and sustain, became +erect and rigid. From head to foot he clothed himself +as in a mask. Erect as in his younger days he walked +into the outer room, and for two hours discussed a matter +which involved the loss or gain of thousands.</p> + +<p>When his visitor left him he did so with the inward remark:—</p> + +<p>"Certainly Paget's intellect and nerve may be con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>sidered +colossal."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + + +<p>Esther Helps still took charge of her father's house in +Acacia Villas. She was still Esther Helps. Perhaps a +more beautiful Esther than of old; a little steadier, too, +a little graver—altogether a better girl.</p> + +<p>For some unaccountable reason, after that night at the +theatre when Wyndham had sat by her side and taken her +back from destruction to her father's arms, she had almost +ceased to flirt. She said nothing now about marrying a +gentleman some day, and as the men who were not gentlemen +found she would have nothing to do with them, it +began to be an almost understood thing among her friends +that Esther, lovely as she was, would not marry. This +resolve on her part, for it amounted to an unspoken +resolve, was followed by other changes. She turned her +attention to her hitherto sadly neglected mind. She read +poetry with Cherry, and history and literature generally by +herself. Then she tried to improve her mode of speech, +and studied works on etiquette, and for a short time became +frightfully stilted and artificial. This phase, however, +did hot last long. The girl had really a warm and +affectionate heart, and that heart all of a sudden had been +set on fire. The flame never went out. It was a holy +flame, and it raised and purified her whole nature.</p> + +<p>She loved Wyndham as she might have loved Christ +had He been on earth. Wyndham seemed to her to be the +embodiment of all nobility. He had saved her, none knew +better than she did from how much. It was the least she +could do to make her whole life worthy of her savior. She +guessed by instinct that he liked refinement, and gentle +speech, and womanly ways. So it became her aim in life +to seek after those things, and as far as possible to acquire +them.</p> + +<p>Then the news of his death reached her. Only Cherry +knew how night after night Esther cried herself to +sleep. Only Cherry guessed why Esther's cheeks were so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +sunken and her eyes so heavy. Her violent grief, however, +soon found consolation. Gerald had always been +only a star to be gazed at from a distance; he was still +that. When she thought of heaven she pictured seeing +him there first of all. She thought that when the time +came for her to go there he might stand somewhere near +the gates and smile to see how she, too, had conquered, +and was worthy.</p> + +<p>Now she turned her attention to works of charity, to a +life of religion. It was all done for the sake of an idol, but +the result had turned this flippant, worldly, vain creature +into a sweet woman, strong in the singleness of her aim.</p> + +<p>Esther cared nothing at all about dress now. She would +have joined a Deaconess' Institution but she did not care +to leave her father. She did a great deal of work, however, +amongst the poor, and at the beginning of this severe +winter she joined a band of working sisters in East London +as an associate. She usually went away to her work +immediately after breakfast, returning often not until late +at night, but as she wore the uniform of the association, +beautiful as she was she could venture into the lowest +quarters, and almost come home at any hour without rendering +herself liable to insult.</p> + +<p>One night as Cherry was preparing supper she was surprised +to hear Esther's step in the passage two or three +hours before her usual time of returning. Cherry was +still the same strange mixture of poet and cook that she +had ever been. With the "Lays of Ancient Rome" in +one hand and her frying-pan held aloft in the other, she +rushed out to know what was the matter.</p> + +<p>"Why, Essie," she exclaimed, catching sight of her cousin's +face. "You're ill, Essie; come in and sit down by +the fire. I do hope to goodness you haven't gone and +caught nothing."</p> + +<p>"I have caught nothing," said Esther. "<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>I am not ill."</p> + +<p>She untied her bonnet strings and loosened her long +straight cloak.</p> + +<p>"Is father in, Cherry? I want to see him the minute +he returns."</p> + +<p>"You'll have to wait then," said Cherry, turning away +in a half offended manner. If Esther did not choose to +confide in her she was not going to force confidence.</p> + +<p>She resumed her cooking with vigor, reading aloud portions +from the volume on her knees as she did so.</p> + +<p> +"The Lady Jane was tall and slim;<br /> +The Lady Jane was fair——"<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Essie, I wish you wouldn't fidget so. Whatever is the +matter?"</p> + +<p>"I want my father," repeated Esther.</p> + +<p>"Well, he's not in. Uncle's never back till an hour after +this. I tell him he's more and more of a nurse and less +and less of a clerk every day of his life; he don't like it, +but it's true. That old Mr. Paget is past bearing."</p> + +<p>Esther rose with a sigh, folded her cloak, laid it on a +chair, placed her bonnet on top of it, and going over to the +fireplace gazed into the flames.</p> + +<p>Cherry's cooking frizzled and bubbled in the pan, Cherry's +own head was bent over her book.</p> + +<p>"This is the rarest fun," she exclaimed suddenly. +"Didn't Lady Jane pay Sir Thomas out? Lord, it were +prime. You never will read the 'Ingoldsby Legends,' +Esther. Now I call them about the best things going. +How white you do look. Well, it's a good thing you are +in time for a bit of supper. I have fried eggs and tomatoes +to-night, browned up a new way. Why don't you take +your cloak and bonnet upstairs, Essie, and sit down easy +like? It fidgets one to see you shifting from one foot to +another all the time."</p> + +<p>"I'm going out again in a minute," said Esther. "I +came in early because I wanted my father. Oh, there's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +his latch-key in the door at last. Don't you come, Cherry. +I want to speak to him by myself."</p> + +<p>Cherry's hot face grew a little redder.</p> + +<p>"I like that," she said to herself. "It's drudge, drudge +with me—drudge, drudge from morning till night; and +now she won't even tell me her secrets. I never has no +livening up. I liked her better when she was flighty +and flirty, that I did—a deal better. We'll, I'll see what +comes of that poor Sir Thomas."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Esther, with one hand on her father's +shoulder, was talking to him earnestly.</p> + +<p>"I want you to come back with me, father—back this +very minute."</p> + +<p>"Where to, child?"</p> + +<p>"To Commercial Road. There's to be a big meeting of +the unemployed, and the Sisters and I, we was to give supper +to some of the women and children. The meeting +will be in the room below, and the supper above. I want +you to come. Some gentlemen are going to speak to them; +it won't be riotous."</p> + +<p>Helps drew a deep sigh. It was a damp drizzling night, +and he was tired.</p> + +<p>"Can't you let me be this time, Essie?" he said.</p> + +<p>"No, father, no, you must come to-night."</p> + +<p>"But I can't do nothing for the poor fellows. I pity +them, of course, but what can I do?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, only come to the meeting."</p> + +<p>"But what for, Essie?"</p> + +<p>"To please me, if for no other reason."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you put it in that way."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I put it that way. You needn't take off your great +coat. I'll have my cloak and bonnet on again in a jiffy."</p> + +<p>"What, child, am I to have no supper?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p> + +<p>Poor Helps found the smell from the kitchen very appetising.</p> + +<p>"Afterwards, when you come back. Everything good +when you come back. Now, do come. It is so important."</p> + +<p>She almost dragged him away. Cherry heard the house +door bang after the two.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm done," she exclaimed! "See if I'll cook for +nobody another time."</p> + +<p>Esther and her father found an omnibus at the corner +of their street. In a little over half-an-hour they were in +Commercial Road; a few minutes later they found themselves +in the large barn-like building which was devoted +to this particular mission.</p> + +<p>The ground floor consisted of one huge room, which was +already packed with hungry-looking men and half-grown +boys.</p> + +<p>"Stand near the door," said Esther, giving her father +explicit directions. "Don't stay where the light will fall +on your face. Stand where you can look but can't be +seen."</p> + +<p>"You don't want me to be a spy, child. What is the +meaning of all this?"</p> + +<p>"You can put any meaning you like on it. Only do +what I tell you. I want you to watch the men as they +come in and out of the room. Watch them all; don't let +one escape you. Stay until the meeting is over. Then +tell me afterwards if there is any one here whom you +know."</p> + +<p>"What is the girl up to?" muttered Helps.</p> + +<p>But Esther had already slipped upstairs. He heard +sounds overhead, and women and children going up the +stairs in groups; he saw more than one bright-looking +Sister rushing about, busy, eager, and hopeful. Then the +sounds within the large lower room showed him that the +meeting had begun, and he turned his attention to the +task set him by his daughter.</p> + +<p>Certainly Esther was a queer girl, a dear, beautiful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> girl, +but queer all the same. In what a ridiculous position she +had placed him in; a tired elderly clerk. He was hungry, +and he wanted his supper; he was weary, and he sighed +for his pipe and his easy-chair. What had he in common +with the men who filled this room. Some of them, undoubtedly, +were greatly to be pitied, but many of them only +came for the sake of making a fuss and getting noticed. +Anyhow, <i>he</i> could not help them, and what did Esther +mean by getting him to stand in this draughty doorway on +the chance of seeing an old acquaintance; he was not so +much interested in old acquaintances as she imagined.</p> + +<p>The room was now packed, and the gentleman who +occupied the platform, a very earnest, energetic, thoughtful +speaker, had evidently gained full attention. Helps almost +forgot Esther in the interest with which he listened. One +or two men offered to make way for him to go further into +the room; but this he declined. He did not suppose any +friend of Esther's would appear; still he must be true to +the girl, and keep the draughty post she had assigned him.</p> + +<p>At the close of the first address, just when a vociferous +clapping was at its height, Helps observed a tall very thin +man elbowing his way through the crowd. This crowd of +working men and boys would not as a rule be prepared to +show either forbearance or politeness. But the stranger +with a word whispered here, or a nod directed there, +seemed to find "open sesame" wherever he turned. Soon +he had piloted his way through this great crowd of human +beings almost to the platform. Finally he arrested his +progress near a pillar against which he leaned with his +arms folded. He was more poorly dressed than most of +the men present, but he had one peculiarity which rendered +him distinguishable; he persistently kept his soft felt hat +on, and well pushed forward over his eyes.</p> + +<p>Helps noticed him, he could scarcely himself tell why. +The man was poor, thin. Helps could not get a glimpse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +of his face, but there was something in his bearing which +was at once familiar and bespoke the gentleman.</p> + +<p>"Poor chap, he has seen better days," muttered Helps. +"Somehow, he don't seem altogether strange, either."</p> + +<p>Then he turned his attention once more to watch for the +acquaintance whom Esther did not want him to miss.</p> + +<p>The meeting came to an end and the men began to +stream out. Helps kept his post. Suddenly he felt a +light hand touch his arm; he turned; his daughter, her +eyes gleaming with the wildest excitement, was standing +by his side.</p> + +<p>"Have you seen him, father?"</p> + +<p>"Who, child—who? I'm precious hungry, and that's +the truth, Esther."</p> + +<p>"Never mind your hunger now—you have not let him +escape—oh, don't tell me that."</p> + +<p>"Essie, I think you have taken leave of your senses +to-night. Who is it that I have not let escape?"</p> + +<p>"A tall man in a frock coat, different from the others; +he has a beard, and he wears his hat well pushed forward; +his hands are white. You must have noticed him; he is +certain to be here. You did not let him go?"</p> + +<p>"I know now whom you mean," said Helps. "I saw the +fellow. Yes, he is still in the room."</p> + +<p>"You did not recognize him, father?"</p> + +<p>"No, child. That is, I seem to know something about +him. Whatever are you driving at, Esther?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing—nothing—nothing. Go, follow the man +with the frock coat. Don't let him see you. Find out +where he lives, then bring me word. Go. Go. You'll +miss him if you don't."</p> + +<p>She disappeared, flying upstairs again, light as a feather.</p> + +<p>Helps found himself impelled against his will to obey +her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Here's a pretty state of things," he muttered. "Here +am I, faint for want of food, set to follow a chap nobody +knows nothing about through the slums."</p> + +<p>It never occurred to Helps, however, not to obey the +earnest dictates of his daughter.</p> + +<p>He was to give chase. Accordingly he did so. He did +so warily. Dodging sometimes into the road, sometimes +behind a lamp post in case the tall man should see him. +Soon he became interested in the work. The figure on +in the front, which never by any chance looked back, but +pursued its course undeviatingly, struck Helps once more +with that strange sense of familiarity.</p> + +<p>Where had he seen a back like that? Those steps, too, the +very way the man walked gave him a queer sensation. He +was as poor looking a chap as Helps had ever glanced at, +and yet the steps were not unknown—the figure must have +haunted the little clerk in some of his dreams.</p> + +<p>The pursuer and pursued soon found themselves in +quarters altogether new to Helps. More and more squalid +grew the streets, more and more ruffianly grew the people. +There never was a little man less likely to attract attention +than this clerk with his humble unpretentious dress and +mien. But in these streets he felt himself remarkable. A +whole coat, unpatched trousers, were things to wonder at +here. The men and the women, too, took to jostling him as +he passed. One bold-faced girl tilted his hat well forward +over his eyes, and ran away with a loud laugh.</p> + +<p>Helps felt that even for Esther's sake he could not proceed +any further. He was about to turn back when another +glance at the figure before him brought such a rush +of dazed wonderment, of uncanny familiarity, that all +thought of his own possible danger deserted him, and he +walked on, eager as Esther herself now in pursuit.</p> + +<p>All this time they had been going in the direction of the +docks. Suddenly they turned down a very badly lighted +side street. There was a great brewery here, and th<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>e wall +of the brewery formed for a long way one side of the street. +It was so narrow as to be little better than a lane, and +instead of being a crowded thoroughfare was now almost +deserted. Here and there in the brewery wall were niches. +Not one of these niches was empty. Each held its human +being—man, woman, or child. It seemed to be with a +purpose that the tall stranger came here. He slackened +his pace, pushed his hat a little back, and began to perform +certain small ministrations for the poor creatures who were +to pass the night on the cold damp pavement.</p> + +<p>A little girl was asleep in one of the niches; he wrapped +her shawl more closely round her, tucking it in so as to +protect her feet. Her hair hung in a tangled mass over her +forehead. He pushed it back with a tender hand. Finally +he pressed into the little thin palm two lollypops; they +would give comfort to the child when she awoke.</p> + +<p>Helps kept behind, well in the shadow; he was absolutely +trembling now with suppressed excitement. He had +seen by the glitter of the flaring gas the white hand of the +man as he pushed back the child's elf-locks. The two went +on again a few steps. The man in front stopped suddenly—they +were passing another niche. It had its occupant. +A girl was stretched prone on the ground—a girl whose +only covering was rags. As they approached, she groaned. +In an instant the stranger was bending over her.</p> + +<p>"You are very ill, I fear. Can I help you?"</p> + +<p>"Eh? What's that?" exclaimed the girl.</p> + +<p>She raised her head, stretching out something which was +more like a claw than a hand.</p> + +<p>"What's that noise?" she repeated.</p> + +<p>The noise had been made by Helps. It was an amazed +terrified outcry when he heard the voice of the man who was +bending over the girl. The man himself had observed +nothing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are very ill," he repeated. "You ought to be in +a hospital."</p> + +<p>"No, no, none of that," she said, clutching hold of his +hand. "I ha' lain down to die. Let me die. I wor starving—the +pain wor awful. Now I'm easy. Don't touch me—don't +lift me; I'm easy—I'm a-goin' to die."</p> + +<p>The stranger knelt a little lower.</p> + +<p>"I won't hurt you," he said. "I will sit here by +your side. Don't be frightened. I am going to raise your +head—a little—a very little. Now it rests on my knee. +That is better."</p> + +<p>"Eh, you're a good man; yes, that's nice."</p> + +<p>Her breath came in great pants. Presently she began to +wander.</p> + +<p>"Is that you, mother? Mother, I've been such a bad gel—bad +every way. The Almighty's punishing me. I'm dying, +and He's a sending me to hell."</p> + +<p>"No," said the quiet voice of the man. "No; <i>you</i> are +the one He wants. He is seeking <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" she said. Once more her clouded brain cleared. +"Eh, how my breath does go. I'm a-going to hell!"</p> + +<p>"No. He has sent me to find you; you are not going +there."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?"</p> + +<p>She turned herself an inch or two in her astonishment +and stared up at him.</p> + +<p>Something in his face seemed to fill her with astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Take off your hat," she said. "Are you Jesus Christ?"</p> + +<p>It was at this juncture that Helps turned and fled.</p> + +<p>He ran as he never ran before in the whole course of his +life. Nobody saw him go, and nobody obstructed him in +his headlong flight. Presently he got back to the Mission +Hall. The place was closed and dark. He was turning +away when a woman came out of the deep shelter of the +doorway and touched his arm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Essie, is that you? My God, Essie, I've seen a ghost!"</p> + +<p>"No, father, no—a living man."</p> + +<p>"This is awful, child. I'm shaking all over. I'd sooner +be in my grave than go through such a thing again."</p> + +<p>"Lean on me, father. We'll walk a bit, and soon find +a cab-stand. We'll have a cab home. It's about time you +had your supper. Don't talk a bit. Get back your poor +breath."</p> + +<p>As they were driving home a few minutes later, in a +hansom, she turned suddenly.</p> + +<p>"And you've got Mr. Wyndham's address?"</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, Essie, don't say his name like that! I +suppose it's a sign of the end that I should have seen a +spirit."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, father, you saw no spirit. That's Mr. Gerald +Wyndham in the flesh, as much as you and I are in the +flesh. You saw no spirit, but a living man. I recognized +him this morning, but I wasn't going to take my own word +for it, so I got you to look him up. They call him Brother +Jerome down here. Nobody knows anything at all about +him, how he lives, nor nothing; only that he goes in and +out amongst the people, and is always comforting this one +or cheering that, and quieting down rows, and soothing +people, and—and—doing more in a day than the Sisters +or I could do in a week. I've heard of him for a month +past, but I only saw him to-day. He's a mystery, and +people wonder about him, and no one can tell how he +lives, nor where he sleeps. <i>I</i> know, though. He sleeps +out of doors, and he starves. He shan't starve any longer."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + + +<p>"Esther," said Helps, late that night, after Cherry, in a +very sulky humor, had gone to bed, "Esther, this is a very +terrible, a very awful thing for me!"</p> + +<p>"How so, father!"</p> + +<p>She was kneeling by his side. Now she put her arm +round his neck, and looked into his face. Her beating, +throbbing, exulting heart told her that her discovery of +that day was new life to her.</p> + +<p>"I am glad," she continued, after a solemn pause; "yes. +I don't mind owning I am very glad that a good man like +Mr. Wyndham still lives."</p> + +<p>"Child, you don't know what you are talking about. It +is awful—awful—his coming back. Even if he is alive he +ought to have stayed away. His coming back like this is +terrible. It means, it means——"</p> + +<p>"What, father?"</p> + +<p>"Child, it must never be known: he must be warned; +he must go away at once. Suppose anybody else saw +him?"</p> + +<p>"Father," said Esther.</p> + +<p>She rose and stood over the shrinking old man.</p> + +<p>"You have got to tell me the meaning of those queer +words of yours. I guessed there was a mystery about Mr. +Wyndham; now I am certain. If I don't know it before +I leave the room to-night, I'll make mischief. There!"</p> + +<p>"Essie—Essie—I thought you had turned into a good +girl."</p> + +<p>"I'll turn bad again. Listen. I love that man. Not +as a girl loves her lover—not as a wife cares for her husband. +He is married, and I should not be ashamed to tell +his wife how I love him. I glory in my love; he saved me. +Father, I wasn't coming home at all that night. He saved +me; you can understand how I feel for him. My life +wouldn't be a great deal to give up for him. There has +been mischief done to him, that I am sure. Now tell me +the truth; then I'll know how to act. Oh, father, you're<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +the dearest and the kindest. Tell me the truth and you +won't repent it."</p> + +<p>"No, Essie, child, I don't suppose I shall repent. Sit +there. You know too much, you may as well know all. +Mr. Wyndham's life was insured."</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Heavily, mark you, heavily."</p> + +<p>"Yes." She covered her face with her hands. "Let +me think. Say, father"—she flung her hands into her lap—"was +this done on purpose?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, child, ay; and a better man never lived. Ay, it +was done on purpose."</p> + +<p>"He was meant not to come back?"</p> + +<p>"That's it, Essie, my dear. That's it."</p> + +<p>"I see; yes, I see. Was the insurance money paid?"</p> + +<p>"Every farthing of it, child. A large sum paid in full."</p> + +<p>"If he appeared again it would have to be refunded?"</p> + +<p>"If it could be, child."</p> + +<p>"If it couldn't?"</p> + +<p>"Then the story, the black story of why it was wanted, +would have to come out; and—and—Esther, is the door +locked? Come close, Essie. Your old father and my +master would end our days in penal servitude."</p> + +<p>"Now I see," said Esther.</p> + +<p>She did not scream nor utter any loud exclamation, but +began to pace softly up and down the room. Mentally +she was a strong girl; her calm in this emergency proved +her mettle.</p> + +<p>After a few moments Helps began to speak; his words +were wild and broken.</p> + +<p>"Over and over I thought I'd rather," he said. "Over, +and over, and over—when I saw what it meant for him, +poor young <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>gentleman. But I can't, Essie, I can't. When +it comes to the pinch I can't do it. We thought he was +dead, my master and I, and my master he went off his +head. And over he said, yes, over and over—'Helps, a +clean cell and a clean heart would be heaven to this.' +But, bless you, Essie, he couldn't stand it either at the +pinch. We thought Mr. Wyndham lying under the sea. +Oh, poor young gentleman, he had no right to come back."</p> + +<p>"No right? He has a wife and a child."</p> + +<p>"A widow and orphan, you mean. No, Esther, he +should have stayed away. He made a vow, and he should +have stuck to it."</p> + +<p>"He has not broken his vow, father. Oh, father, what +a wicked thing you have done; you and that master to +whom you have given your life. Now let me think."</p> + +<p>"You won't send me to prison, Esther?"</p> + +<p>"No, no. Sit down. I must think things out. Even +now I don't know clearly about Mr. Wyndham; you have +only treated me to half-confidences. Stay, though, I don't +wish to hear more. You mustn't go to prison. Mr. +Wyndham mustn't starve. I have it. Mr. Wyndham shall +come here."</p> + +<p>"Esther!"</p> + +<p>Poor old Helps uttered a shriek, which caused Cherry +to turn uneasily on her pillow.</p> + +<p>"Keep yourself quiet, father. I'm a determined woman, +and this thing shall be. Mr. Wyndham shall eat of our +bread, and we will shelter him; and I—I, Esther Helps—will +undertake to guard his secret and yours. No one +living shall guess who he is."</p> + +<p>"You forget—oh, this is an awful thing to do. You +forget—there's Cherry."</p> + +<p>"I'll blind Cherry. If I can't, she must go. I shall +bring Mr. Wyndham home to-morrow night!"</p> + +<p>"Esther, this will kill me."</p> + +<p>"No, it won't. On the co<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>ntrary, you'll be a better and +a happier man. You wouldn't have him starve, when +through him you have your liberty? I'm ashamed of +you."</p> + +<p>She lit her candle and walked away.</p> + +<p>Old Helps never went to bed that night.</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XL.</h2> + + +<p>Esther did not go out next morning. Cherry was surprised +at this. Helps went off at his usual hour. Cherry noticed +that he ate little or no breakfast; but Esther did not stir. +She sat quietly by the breakfast table. She ate well and +deliberately. Her eyes were bright, her whole face was full +of light and expression.</p> + +<p>"Ain't you going down as usual to these dirty slums?" +quoth Cherry. "I'm sick of them. You and your clothes +both coming in so draggled like at night. I'm sick of the +slums. But perhaps you mean to give them up."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Esther, waking from a reverie into which +she had fallen, "but I'm not going this morning. I've +something else to attend to."</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps, Esther," said Cherry, with her round +eyes sparkling, "you'd maybe think to remember your +promise of getting that pink gauze dress out of your trunk; +you know you promised it to me, and I've a mind to make +it up with yellow bows. I'm sure to want it for something +about Christmas."</p> + +<p>"You shall have it," said Esther, in a sharp, short +voice.</p> + +<p>The abstracted look returned to her face. She gazed +out of the window.</p> + +<p>"Law, Essie, ain't you changed, and for the worse, I +take it!" remarked Cherry. "I liked you a sight better +when you were flighty and frivolous. Do you remember +the night you went to the theatre with that Captain something +or other? My word, wasn't uncle in a taking. 'Twas +I found your tickets, and put uncle up to getting a seat near +you. Weren't you struck all of a heap when you found +him there? I never heard how you took it."</p> + +<p>"Hush," said Esther, rising to her feet, her face growing +very white. "I was mad, then, but I was saved. That's +enough about it. Cherry, you know the box-room?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> +<p>"Yes," said Cherry. "It's stuffed pretty well, too. +Mostly with your trunks, what you say belonged to your +mother."</p> + +<p>"So they did. Well, they must go downstairs."</p> + +<p>"Wherever to? There isn't a corner for them in this +scrap of a house."</p> + +<p>"Corners must be found. Some of the trunks can go +in our bedroom—some into father's; some into the passage, +some into the drawing-room if necessary. You +needn't stare, it has got to be done."</p> + +<p>Esther stamped her foot and looked so imperious that +Cherry shrank away.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you're a bit mad again," she muttered, and +she began to collect the breakfast things on a tray.</p> + +<p>"Stop, Cherry, we may as well talk this out. I'll go +upstairs now and help you with the boxes. Then we'll clean +out the attic; if I had time I'd paper it, but there ain't. +Then I'm going out to buy a bedstead and bedding, and a +table and washhand stand. The attic is to be made into +a bedroom for——"</p> + +<p>Here she paused.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Cherry, "for whom, in the name of goodness?"</p> + +<p>Esther gulped something down in her throat.</p> + +<p>"There's a good man in the East of London, a very good +man; he has no money, and he's starving, and he has to +sleep out of doors; and—and—I can't stand it, Cherry—and +I spoke to father, and we have agreed that he shall +have the attic and his food. That's it, his name is Brother +Jerome; he's a sort of an angel for goodness."</p> + +<p>"Slums again," said Cherry; "I'll have nothing to do +with it."</p> + +<p>She took up her tray and marched into the kitchen. +Esther waited a minute or two, then she went to her room, +put on a coarse check apron, and mounted the n<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>arrow +attic stairs. She commenced pulling the trunks about; she +could not lift them alone, but she intended to push them to +the head of the stairs and then shove them down.</p> + +<p>Presently a thumping step was heard, and Cherry's +round face appeared.</p> + +<p>"Disgusting job, I call it," she said; "but if I must +help you, I suppose I must. I was going to learn 'Lord +Tom Noddy' this morning. I thought I might wear the +pink gauze with yellow bows, and recite it at Uncle Dan's +Christmas party. Cousin Tom says I'm real dramatic when +I'm excited, and that's a beautiful piece, so rhythmic and +flowing. But then we all have to bend to you, Esther, and +if I must help you I suppose I must."</p> + +<p>"I think you had better, dear, and some day perhaps +you won't be sorry. He's a good man, Brother Jerome is, +he won't be no trouble. I'll clean his room for him myself +once it's put in order, and he's sure to go out early in the +morning. He'll breakfast upstairs, and I'll take him his +breakfast, and his supper shall be ready for him here +at night. We must see if that chimney will draw, Cherry, +for of course he'll want his bit of fire."</p> + +<p>After this the two girls worked with a will; they cleaned +and polished the tiny window, they scrubbed the floor and +brushed down the walls, and polished the little grate. Then +Esther went out and made her purchases. The greater +part of a five pound note was expended, and by the afternoon +Gerald Wyndham's room was ready for him.</p> + +<p>"Brother Jerome will come home with me to-night. +Cherry," said Esther. "I may be late—I'm sure to be late—you +needn't sit up."</p> + +<p>"But I'd like to see him. Slums or no slums, he has +given me a pair of stiff arms, and I want to find out if he's +worth them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he's nothing to look at. Just a tall, thin, starved-looking +man. He'll be sh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>y, maybe, of coming, and you'd +much better go to bed. You'll leave some supper ready in +his room."</p> + +<p>"What shall I leave?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, a jug of beer and some cheese, and the cold meat +and some bread and butter. That's all, he's accustomed +to roughing it."</p> + +<p>"My word, you call that roughing. Then the slums +can't be so bad. I always thought there was an uncommon +fuss made about them. Now I'll get to 'Lord Tom +Noddy,' and learn off a good bit before tea time; you +might hear me recite if you had a mind, Essie."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLI.</h2> + + +<p>"Oh, yes, she's the sweetest missus in the world!"</p> + +<p>That was the universal opinion of the servants who +worked for Valentine Wyndham. They never wanted to +leave her, they never grumbled about her, nor thought her +gentle orders hard. The nurse, the cook, the housemaid, +stayed on, the idea of change did not occur to them.</p> + +<p>Valentine and her little son came back to the house in +town at the end of October. Lilias came with them, and +Adrian Carr often ran up to town and paid a visit to the +two.</p> + +<p>One day he came with a piece of news. He had got the +offer of an incumbency not very far from Park-Lane. A +fashionable church wanted a good preacher. Carr had +long ago developed unusual powers as a pulpit orator, and +the post, with a good emolument, was offered to him. He +came to consult Lilias and Valentine in the matter.</p> + +<p>"Of course you must go," said Lilias. "My father will +miss you—we shall all—but that isn't the point. This is +a good thing for you—a great thing—you must certainly +go."</p> + +<p>"And I can often see you," responded Carr, eagerly. +"Mrs. Wyndham will let me come here, I hope, and you +will often be here."</p> + +<p>"I wish you would spend the winter with me, Lilias," +said Valentine. She had interpreted aright the expression +in Carr's eyes, and soon afterwards she left the room.</p> + +<p>She went up to her own room, shut and locked the door, +and then stood gazing into the fire with her hands tightly +locked together. She inherited one gift from her father. +She, too, could wear a mask. Now it dropped from her, +and her young face looked lined and old.</p> + +<p>"It isn't the grief of losing him," she murmured under +her breath. "It's the pain—the haunting fear—that things +are wrong. Have I known my father all these years not +to note the change in him? He shrinks from me—he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +dreads me. Why? His conscience is guilty. Oh, Gerald, +if I had only let you look into my heart, perhaps you would +not have gone away. Oh, if only I had been in time to go +on board the <i>Esperance</i> you would have been living now. +Yes, Gerald, the terror never leaves me day and night; +you are dead, but God did not mean you to die. My own +Gerald—my heart would have been broken, or I should +have lost my reason, if I had not confided my fears to Mr. +Carr. Some people perhaps think I have forgotten—some +again that I have ceased to love my husband. How little +they know! Of course I am bright outwardly. But my +heart is old and broken. I have had a very sad life—I am +a very unhappy woman. Only for little Gerry I couldn't +live. He is sweet, but I wish he were more like his father. +Ah, there is nurse's knock at the door. Coming, nurse. +Is baby with you?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyndham unlocked her door, and a little round, +dimpled, brown-tinted child scampered in. He was followed +by his nurse, a grave, nice-looking woman of about +thirty. She was a widow, and had a son of her own.</p> + +<p>"Has baby come to say good-night, Annette? Come +here, sweet. Come into mother's arms."</p> + +<p>She sat down on a low chair by the fire, and the little +man climbed on her knee.</p> + +<p>"I don't <i>'ike</i> oo. I <i>'ove</i> oo," he said.</p> + +<p>"He's always saying that, ma'am," remarked the nurse. +"He likes his toys—he loves his mother."</p> + +<p>"Course I 'ove my mother."</p> + +<p>He laid his brown curly head on her breast.</p> + +<p>"Nurse, is anything the matter? You don't look well."</p> + +<p>"That's it, madam. I'm not ill in body, but I'm sore +fretted in mind. Now, baby, darling, don't you pull your +dear ma to bits! The fact is, ma'am, and sore I am to say +it, I'm afraid I must leave this precious c<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>hild."</p> + +<p>"Nurse!"</p> + +<p>Valentine's arms dropped away from baby; baby raised +his own curly head, and fixed his brown eyes on the woman, +his rosy lips pouted.</p> + +<p>"Sore I am to say it, ma'am," repeated Annette, "but +there's no help. I've put off the evil day all I could, +ma'am; but my mother's old, and my own boy has been ill, +and she says I must go home and see after them both. Of +course, madam, I'll suit your convenience as to the time +of my going, and I hope you'll get some one else as will +love the dear child. Come to bed, master baby, dear; +your mother wants to go down to dinner."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>A few days after this, as Helps was taking his comfortable +breakfast, cooked to perfection by Cherry's willing +hands, he raised his eyes suddenly, looked across at his +daughter Esther, and made a remark.</p> + +<p>"I'm told poor young madam is in no end of a taking."</p> + +<p>"What young madam, father?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Wyndham. The nurse is going and the child has +got whooping cough. He's bad, too, poor little 'un, and +frets about the nurse like anything. My master's in a way, +too; he's wrapped up in that little lad. It was he told +me; he said perhaps you'd know of a nurse as would suit. +Esther."</p> + +<p>"Don't stare so, Cherry," said Esther. "Anybody +would think father was talking of ghosts, to see the bigness +of your eyes. Well, father, yes, I'll think about a +nurse. I'm sorry the child is ill."</p> + +<p>"Don't you go and get a nurse from the slums," retorted +Cherry. "You're all slums, you are. My word, I am +having a time since that new lodger took possession."</p> + +<p>Here Cherry paused to pour fresh water into the tea-pot. +Esther and her father exchanged fri<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>ghtened glances.</p> + +<p>"Brother Jerome, indeed!" proceeded this energetic +young person. "He's a mighty uneasy sort of Brother +Jerome. His good deeds don't seem to quieten him, anyway. +And why does he always keep a hat stuck on his +head, and never raise it when he passes me on the stairs. +I know I'm broad and I'm stout, and I've no looks to +boast of, but it's meant for men to raise their hats to women, +and I don't see why he shouldn't. Then at night he walks +the boards overhead fit to work on anybody's nerves. I +don't recite half so dramatic as I did, because I can't get +my sleep unbroken."</p> + +<p>"Your tongue ain't stopped, anyway," said her uncle, +almost crossly. "Esther, you'll think about the nurse for +young madam."</p> + +<p>He rose and left the room.</p> + +<p>Esther sat still a little longer. She heard Cherry rattling +the plates in the kitchen. Presently, she got up, put +on her bonnet and cloak, called good-bye to her cousin, +and went out. There could scarcely be a better Sister of +the Poor than Esther Helps. She was near enough to +them socially to understand their sorrows. She had never +known starvation, but she could take in what tiny means +meant—their mode of speech was comprehensible to her, she +was sufficiently unfastidious to go into their dirty rooms, to +witness their uncouth, semi-savage ways without repulsion. +She liked the life, it suited her, and her it. She was the +kind of woman to be popular as a district visitor. She had +abundance of both sympathy and tact. When her sympathies +were aroused, her manners could be affectionate. In +addition, she had a very lovely face. The poor of East +London adore beauty; it comes so rarely near them in +any case that they look upon it as an inestimable treasure. +The women and children liked to watch Esther when she +talked and when she smiled. The men treated her with +the respect due to a regal presence.</p> + +<p>Esther went down as usual to her mission work to-day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +Sister Josephine, the head of this branch of work, greeted +the handsome girl with a smile when she came in, drew +her aside, and spoke to her about a particularly difficult +undertaking which was soon to be commenced. This +undertaking would require the utmost tact and talent; the +sister asked Esther if she would be willing to become the +head of the movement.</p> + +<p>"I don't know anyone more suitable," she said in conclusion. +"Only if you come, you must consent to sleep +away from home. Some of our work—our principal work—will +take place at night."</p> + +<p>Esther's clear ivory-tinted skin became a shade paler. +She looked full at the sister with troubled but unshrinking +eyes.</p> + +<p>"You do me a great honor," she said. "But I am +afraid I must decline it. At present I cannot sleep away +from home. It is also possible—yes, it is quite possible—that +I may have to give up the work altogether for a time."</p> + +<p>"Esther, are you putting your hand to the plough and +looking back?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, Sister Josephine. Perhaps I am."</p> + +<p>The sister laid her hand solemnly on the girl's arm.</p> + +<p>"Esther, if you love anyone better than God, you have +no right to come here," she said.</p> + +<p>Then she turned away and walked sorrowfully down the +long mission room. She was disappointed in Esther +Helps, and though Esther's own heart never faltered, she +felt a sharp pang pierce it.</p> + +<p>That night she came home late.</p> + +<p>"Has Brother Jerome come in?" she asked Cherry.</p> + +<p>"No. How you do fash about that man! His supper's +waiting for him, and I saw to his fire. Now I'm going to +bed. I'm dead tired."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> +<p>"Do, Cherry. I'll sit up for Brother Jerome."</p> + +<p>"Ask him, for goodness sake, not to march the boards +so frequent. He'll have my grey hairs to account for. +He's picked up a cough, too, and between the creaking of +the boards, and the coughing, I have nice nights lately."</p> + +<p>"You study too much, Cherry, or you wouldn't mind +such little noises. Now go to bed, dear. I'll give Brother +Jerome a hint."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Esther. Uncle's been in bed an hour or +more. I hope that brother of the slums won't keep you +long."</p> + +<p>Cherry ran upstairs, and Esther went into the bright +warm little kitchen. She left the door wide open, and +then she sat and waited.</p> + +<p>The substance of Sister Josephine's words rang in her +ears.</p> + +<p>"If you love another better than God, you have no +right to come here."</p> + +<p>Did she love another better than God? No, no, impossible. +A man had influenced her life, and because of his +influence she had given herself up, soul and body, to God's +service. How could she love the man best? He had +only pointed to the higher way.</p> + +<p>Then she heard his step outside; his latch-key in the +door, and she felt herself tremble. He went straight upstairs, +never glancing in the direction of the kitchen; as +he went he coughed, and his cough sounded hollow. His +figure, never remarkably upright, was much bent.</p> + +<p>Esther waited a few minutes; then, her heart going pit-a-pat, +she crept very softly upstairs, passed her own room +and Cherry's, and knocked at Wyndham's door.</p> + +<p>He came and opened it.</p> + +<p>"Can I speak with you, brother?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Come in, Esther?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> +<p>The attic had been converted into a wonderfully snug +apartment. The bed and washing apparatus were curtained +off, and the part of the room which surrounded the +hearth revealed a bright fire, a little table on which a +tempting cold supper was spread, and a deep easy chair.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, brother," said Esther, "and eat. Let me +help you. I can talk while you eat your supper. Are you +very tired to-night? Yes, I am afraid you are dreadfully +tired."</p> + +<p>"I am always tired, Esther. That is in the condition +of things."</p> + +<p>He sank back into his chair as if he were too weary to +keep out of it. Then, with a flash of the old Gerald Wyndham +in his eyes and manner, he sprang up.</p> + +<p>"I was forgetting myself. Will you sit here!"</p> + +<p>"What do you take me for, Mr.—Brother Jerome, I +mean. I have come up here to see you eat, to see you +rest, and to—to—talk to you."</p> + +<p>"Esther, I have no words to thank you. You are, yes, +you are the noblest woman I know."</p> + +<p>She flushed all over; her eyes shone.</p> + +<p>"And isn't that thanks for ever and ever?" she said +in a voice in which passion trembled.</p> + +<p>Wyndham did not notice. He had taken off his hat, +and Cherry's good supper stood by his side. He ate a +little, then put down his knife and fork.</p> + +<p>"Ain't you hungry, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No. At first, when I came here, I was so starved that +I never could eat enough. Now I am the other way, not +hungry at all."</p> + +<p>"And, sir, you have got a cough."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I had a very bad wetting last week, and a cough +is the result. Strange. I had no cough when I slept out +of doors."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wynd—Brother Jerome, I mean, you wouldn't go +back to that old life? Say you wouldn't go back."</p> + +<p>The almost anguish in her voice penetrated for the fi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>rst +time to Wyndham's ear. He gave her a startled glance, +then said with warmth:—</p> + +<p>"Esther, you and your father have been good Samaritans +to me; as long as it is safe I will stay with you."</p> + +<p>"It shall and must be safe. Who would look for you +here, of all places, when they think you are buried under +the waves of the sea?"</p> + +<p>"That is true. I expect it is perfectly safe for me to +stay."</p> + +<p>He lay back in his chair, and gazed into the fire; he had +almost forgotten Esther's presence.</p> + +<p>"And you like it—you feel happier since you came?" +she asked, presently, in a timid voice.</p> + +<p>"What did you say?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wyndham," the forbidden name came out with a +burst, "do tell poor Esther Helps that you are happier +since she found you."</p> + +<p>She had fallen on her knees, the tears were streaming +from her eyes; she held out her hands to him.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, "I would give my life for yours."</p> + +<p>In a moment Wyndham's dreamy attitude left him; he +sprang to his feet, all alive and keen and watchful. He +was the old Wyndham; his eyes were full of pity, which +made his whole face radiant.</p> + +<p>"Hush," he said. "Get up. Don't say any more. Not +another word—not a syllable. You forget yourself. Esther. +I saved you once—I must save you again. Sit there, yes, +there; I am quite strong. I must tell you the truth. +Esther, I said just now that you were the noblest woman I +know. You must go on being noble. I will stay here on +that condition."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, will you?" Poor Esther would have liked to +shrink through the very boards. "Will you forgive me, +sir?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p> +<p>"Hush; don't talk about forgiveness. There is nothing +to forgive. Esther, I will show you how much I trust you. +I will talk to you about my wife. I will tell you a little of +my story; I mean the part I can tell without implicating +others."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLII.</h2> + + +<p>Esther was now seated in the easy-chair; Wyndham stood +by the mantel-piece. He had got a shock, and that shock +had given him strength, and a good deal of his old manner.</p> + +<p>"Esther," he said, "I cannot tell you all the story, but +some of it I should like you to hear. You are a friend to +me, Esther, and the part that relates to myself I will confide +to you."</p> + +<p>"Sir, I know the other part; you have been the victim +of a wicked man."</p> + +<p>"Hush; I don't wish to speak about anyone but myself. +I don't blame anyone but myself. I loved a woman, Esther +Helps, so much better than myself that for her sake I +resolved to die to the world. I need not give you the reason +of this. It seemed to me necessary for her happiness that I +should do this; and I did not think it too much to do. I +married my wife knowing that the great love I had for +her was not returned. This seemed all for the best, as +when I died, as die to all appearance I should, her heart +would not be broken. She could continue to live happy and +honored. Do you follow me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, yes. Are you tired? Will you sit, Mr. Wyndham?"</p> + +<p>"I was never less tired. When I speak of my wife I feel +as if a fresh vigor were coming into me. We were married, +and I soon found that I had overtaxed my own resolve. +In one particular I could not complete the sacrifice I had +undertaken. I tried to make her love me, and for a time—a +short time—I thought I had succeeded."</p> + +<p>The speaker paused, and the eagerness of his tone +changed.</p> + +<p>"I failed. The heart that I most craved for was not to +be mine. I tested it, but it did not respond. This was best, +no doubt, but the fact preyed on me dreadfully. I went +on board the <i>Esperance</i>, and, then, God forgive me, the +thought took possession of me, the idea overmastered me, +that I w<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>ould make my fictitious death real. Everything had +been carefully arranged with regard to my apparent death. +That part implicates others, so I will not touch upon it. I +resolved to make certainty doubly certain by dying in +earnest. Thus my wife's future would be assured. My +death would be real, the thing that might come upon her +would be averted for ever. I was in a condition when I +could not balance right and wrong; but my intellect was +sufficiently keen and sensible to make me prepare for the +deed I contemplated. I took steps which would prevent +anyone on board thinking that I had fallen overboard by +design. My death would be attributed to the merest accident. +Thus all was made absolutely safe. What is the +matter, Esther?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Wyndham! Oh; you frighten me. Did you—did +you think of your soul, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I did, Esther. But I loved my wife better than my +hope of heaven. I resolved to risk even that for her. As +I tell you, I had no sense of personal right or wrong at that +time. You see that I am a very wicked man, Esther—no +hero—a man who yielded to a dire temptation. I won't +talk about this. The night came, and I dropped into the +water. There was a storm that night. It was dark, but +now and then the stars could be seen through the rifts of +the clouds. As I leapt overboard I looked up, and saw +the brightness of the Southern Cross. Then I went under. +The great waves closed over my head. The next instant +I came to the surface only possessed with one fierce frantic +desire, to save the life I meant to throw away. Better be +a living dog than a dead lion, I said to myself. Yes, I would +live—if only like the miserable dogs of Eastern towns, +w ould live as the outcast, as the scum of the earth—I would +live. I had done a horrible thing in seeking to throw +away my life. I cried aloud in an anguish of terror:—'God +spare me! God leave my breath in my body! Don't +take my spirit before the judgment seat!' Through the +rifts in the clouds I saw a boat at a little distance +manned by some of the sailors who were looking for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +me. I shouted, but no living voice could be heard in the +gale. Then I resolved to husband my strength. I was an +excellent swimmer, and I could always float like a cork. I +could not swim in that sea, but I could lie quite passive on +the waves. I turned on my back, and waited for the issue +of events. I closed my eyes and felt myself being moved +up and down. The motion in itself was not unpleasant. +The waves were wonderfully buoyant. Instead of losing +my strength I was rested. My heart beat steadily. I knew +that my chance of life depended on my keeping very cool. +Presently something struck me. I put out my hand and +grasped a floating oar. By means of the oar I knew that +unless I froze with the cold I could keep above the water +for hours. I placed it under my arms and kept above the +water with very little effort.</p> + +<p>"The cold, however, was intense, and I doubt that I +could have lived till morning had not another chance of +deliverance just then appeared. The clouds had almost +cleared from the sky, and by the brightness of the southern +constellations I saw something gleaming white a little +further off. It was not the ship, which must have been a +league or two away by now, but something I could see in +my present horizontal position. I ventured to raise my +head a very little, and saw a boat—a boat painted white—which, +strange to say, had not been overturned by the +roughness of the waves. It was gently floating onwards in +my direction. The name <i>Esperance</i> was painted in gold +letters on the outside of the boat, near the bow. I guessed +at once what had happened. One of the ships' boats had +got loose from its moorings in the gale, and was now sent +to me as an ark of deliverance. It was evidently on one of +the ship's oars, too, that I was supporting my head.</p> + +<p>"Then I saw that God did not mean me to die, and a +great glow of gratitude and even happiness ran through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> +me. You will wonder at this, but you don't know how +horrible death looked in the jaws of that angry sea.</p> + +<p>"The boat came nearer, and nearer and my happiness and +sense of relief grew to almost rapture. I cried aloud:—'God. +I thank Thee! Take the life you have thought worth preserving +almost through a miracle, as your own absolutely. +Take my body, take my spirit, to spend, to worship, to lose +myself in Thee!' Then the boat came up, and I had to +duck under to avoid being stunned by her.</p> + +<p>"It is no easy matter to get into an empty boat in a rough +sea. My hands were almost numb, too, for I had been a +couple of hours in the water. I felt, however, quite cool, +self-possessed and quiet. I could think clearly, and bring +my little knowledge of boats to my aid. I knew my only +chance of not upsetting the boat was to climb over by the +stern. This, after tremendous difficulties, I accomplished. +I lay in the bottom of the boat for some time quite unconscious. +When at last I was able to rouse myself, daylight +had come and the storm had gone down. My clothes were +drenched through with salt water. I could not keep from +shivering, and every bone ached. I was not the least hungry, +but I was consumed with thirst. There were two or +three oars lashed to the side of the boat. I could row, +therefore, and the exercise warmed me. Presently the sun +came up in the heavens. I was glad of this, but its rays +beating on my uncovered head soon produced headache, +which in its turn brought on a queer giddiness and a feeling +of sickness. I saw now that I was going to be very ill, +and I wondered how long I should retain my senses. I +knew that it behoved me to be very careful. I was alive, +but for my wife's sake I must appear to be dead. I saw +that I had taken the very best possible step to insure this +end, and if I could only carry on my purpose to its conclusion +I should have adopted a far better plan for securing +the establishment of my own apparent death than the +one originally devised for me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Aching as I did from head to foot I found it difficult +to keep my thoughts collected. I managed, however, to +do so, and also to scratch out the name of the <i>Esperance</i> +from the bows of the boat. This I accomplished with my +pocket knife. I also cut away my own name from my linen, +and from two handkerchiefs which I found in my pockets. +These handkerchiefs had been marked by my wife. After +this I knew there was no more I could do. I must drift +along and take my chance of being picked up. I cannot +recall how I passed the day. I believe I rowed a little +when I felt cold; but the greater part of the time I simply +allowed the boat to drift.</p> + +<p>"That evening I was picked up by a trading vessel bound +for the Cape. Its crew were mostly Dutch, and several of +the sailors were black. I faintly remember going on board +the vessel. Then all memory leaves me. I had a long +illness—a fever which changed me, turning my hair very +grey. I grew a beard in my illness, and would not allow +it to be removed when I got better, as I knew that in the +future I must live under the shadow of death, I must completely +sink the identity which made life of value.</p> + +<p>"I was put into hospital when we arrived at Cape Town, +and when I got better was given a small purse of money, +which had been collected by some people who professed +to take an interest in me. On the day I left the hospital +I really commenced my new life.</p> + +<p>"It is unnecessary to tell you all that followed. I had +not forgotten my vow—the vow I made to God verily out +of the deeps. I determined, as far as it was in me, absolutely +to renounce myself and to live for God as He reveals +himself in suffering man. I did not resolve to do this with +any ulterior motive of saving my own soul, and atoning for +the sin of the past. I felt that God deserved all that I +could possibly give Him, and to give it absolutely and +without reservation kept me, I believe, from losing my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +senses. For a time all went well. Then the hunger which +had been my curse came back. You will ask what that was. +It was a sense of utter starvation which no physical food +could satisfy, which no mental food could appease. I <i>must</i> +get near my wife. I had sinned for her, and now I could +not keep away from her. I must at least live in the same +country. I prayed against this hunger; I fought with it. +I struggled with it, but I could not beat it down. A year +ago I came back to England. I came to London, to the +safest place for a man who must hide. Willing hands are +always needed to help to lighten some of the load of misery +in this great city. I called myself Brother Jerome, and +presently I found my niche. I worked, and I could have +been happy. Yes, starving in body, with nowhere to lay +my head, I could have been happy following <i>The</i> Blessed +example, but for the hunger which always drove me mad, +which was gnawing at my heart, which gnaws there still—which—Esther—Esther +Helps—is—killing me!"</p> + +<p>Wyndham dropped his head on his hands. He uttered +one groan. When he raised his head again his eyes were +wet.</p> + +<p>"I am close to my wife," he said; "but I have never +heard of her once—not once since I returned."</p> + +<p>Then he sat down in the chair which Esther rose from. +He began to cough again, and Esther saw the drops of +sweat standing large on his forehead.</p> + +<p>It was now her turn to speak. She stood upright—a tall, +slim woman—a woman who had gone through a change so +great as almost to amount to a new birth—while Wyndham +had been telling his story.</p> + +<p>"Now," she said, "I am happy. I praise God for His +mercies, for it is given to me to comfort you."</p> + +<p>Wyndham raised his head; he was too exhausted to ask<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +her what she meant, except with his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Your wife is well, and from this day forth you shall +hear news of her, fresh news, once a week. Every Sunday +you shall hear."</p> + +<p>"Esther, don't torture me. Are you telling me truth?"</p> + +<p>"I am telling you the solemn truth. Would I lie to a +man like you? Mr. Wyndham, do you know, has anyone +ever told you that you have a child?"</p> + +<p>"Nobody. Is this the case? My God, a child!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, a little boy; he is called after you. He is +three years old. You'd like to see him, maybe?"</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, Esther, this is like new wine to me. I +have a son of my own—Valentine's son!"</p> + +<p>He began to pace the floor.</p> + +<p>"And you would like to see him, wouldn't you, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—no—the joy might kill me. People have died of +joy."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't die of joy, sir. It has always been the +other way with you. Joy would make you live, would +cure that cough, and that sinking feeling you have told me +of."</p> + +<p>"And the hunger, Esther—the hunger which gnaws and +gnaws. Esther, you are a wonderful woman."</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Mr. Wyndham. Keep quiet. Don't get +excited. I'll do this for you. I made up the plan this +morning. It was about that I came to speak to you. The +baby wants a new nurse. To-morrow I am going to offer +for the place. I shall get it, too, no fear of that. I shall +live in the same house as your wife, every night your son +will sleep in my arms. Each Sunday I come here with my +news—my weekful of news. Some day I bring your son. +What more natural than that I should come to my father +once a week. Who will suspect? Mr. Wyndham, that +hunger of yours shall have one weekly meal. No fear, no +fear. And now, sir, go to bed, and may God Almighty +bless you!"</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> + +<p>Valentine Wyndham had often said that no greater +treasure of a nurse could be found than the one who +came to her when little Gerald was a month old. When +she saw Est<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>her, however, she changed her mind. Esther +was superior to Annette in personal appearance, in intellect, +and in a curious unspoken intangible sympathy which +brought a strange sense of comfort to Valentine's strained +and worn heart. Esther was full of tact. She was not +demonstrative, but her every look and word expressed +loving interest. Baby very soon ceased to fret for Annette. +With a child's fickleness he boldly declared that he liked +"noo nurse better than old nurse." His most loving +word for Esther was "noo nurse," and he was always contented +and happy when he lay in noo nurse's arms and +listened to her stories. She had wonderful stories for him, +stories which she never dreamt of telling in his mother's +presence, stories which always led to one termination—a +termination which had a wonderful fascination for baby. +They were about little fatherless boys, who in the most unlooked +for ways found their fathers. Baby revelled in these +tales.</p> + +<p>"I'se not got a farwer, noo nursie," he would generally +end sorrowfully.</p> + +<p>Then Esther would kiss him, and tell him to wait, and +to watch for the good fairies who were so kind to little +boys.</p> + +<p>His whooping cough soon got better, and he was able to +go out. One day Esther took him early into the Park. +He was dressed all in white fur. Esther told him he looked +like Baby Bunting.</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">"But I haven't got a farwer to buy me a wabbit-skin,"</span><br /> +quoth baby.</p> + +<p>That day, however, the father he did not know pressed +two or three burning kisses on his round cheek. Esther +sat down on a chai<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>r near a very worn and shabby-looking +man. His back was partly to her. She said a word and +he turned round. He looked at the child. Suddenly a +light filled his sunken eyes—a beautiful light. He stretched +out his arms, and straight as an arrow from a bow, Baby +Bunting found a shelter in their close embrace.</p> + +<p>"Kiss me," said the man.</p> + +<p>The little lips pressed his cheek.</p> + +<p>"I 'ove oo," said baby, in his contented voice. "Has +'oo little boys of 'oo own?"</p> + +<p>"One little boy."</p> + +<p>"Oo 'ove him, I pose?"</p> + +<p>"Ay."</p> + +<p>Three kisses were pressed on baby's face and he was +returned to Esther.</p> + +<p>"Nice man," he said patronizingly, by-and-bye. "But +he gived raver hard kisses when he crunched me up."</p> + +<p>That evening baby told his mother that a man met him +in the Park, who kissed him and looked sad, and said he +had a little boy of his own.</p> + +<p>"And he crunched me up with kisses, mover," concluded +baby.</p> + +<p>"Was this man a friend of yours, Esther?" queried Mrs. +Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"Yes, madam, a friend of mine, and of my father's. A +gentleman with a very sorrowful story. I think it comforted +him to kiss master baby."</p> + +<p>Esther was a woman of acute observation. It seemed +to her that if there was an individual on earth to be envied +it was Valentine Wyndham. What matter though she +thought herself a widow? Still she had won a love of a +quality and depth which surely must satisfy the most +exacting heart. Esther often said to herself that if she +were Valentine she must surely rest content. As to her forgetting +Wyndham that could surely, surely never be.</p> + +<p>These were Esther's thoughts, always supposing the case +to be her own; but she had not been many weeks in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +house in Park-Lane before she began to open her eyes and +to suspect that matters were otherwise with her young +mistress. Valentine, although still a wife, supposed herself +a widow. All the world thought her such. What more +natural than that she should turn her thoughts once more +to love. At the time of her supposed widowhood she was +under twenty years of age. Why should she mourn for her +young husband all her days? Surely there was somebody +who considered that she ought not to mourn—somebody +who came almost daily to the house, whom Mrs. Wyndham +liked to talk to. For Esther noticed that her eyes +were bright after Adrian Carr went away. She did not +guess that their brightness was generally caused by the +shedding of tears.</p> + +<p>Esther began to feel very uncomfortable. Should she or +should she not tell Wyndham of the danger which was +threatening Valentine?</p> + +<p>There came a Sunday when Mrs. Wyndham entered her +nursery with a request.</p> + +<p>"Nurse, my head aches dreadfully. I know you stipulated +to have every Sunday afternoon to yourself, but if you +could stay at home to-day I should be grateful."</p> + +<p>No one could make requests more sweetly than Valentine, +and Esther felt herself coloring up with the pain +of refusing.</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry, madam," she said in a low constrained +voice; "but—but—my father will expect me. You know +it was an understood thing, madam, that I was to see him +once a week. You remember my telling you I am his only +child."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Valentine, "and I have thought of that. +If you will take care of Gerry this one afternoon I will send +the page in a cab to your home to fetch your father here." +Esther changed color, from red to white.</p> + +<p>"I am m<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>ore sorry than I can express, my dear madam, +but it would make all the difference to my father seeing me +in my own little home and here. My father is very humble +in his ways, dear madam. I think, perhaps, if you have a +headache, Jane, the under housemaid, might be trusted for +once with master baby."</p> + +<p>"Jane has already gone out," replied Valentine coldly. +Then with an effort she swallowed down her resentment. +"I will be frank with you, Esther," she said. "If it was +simply a headache I could certainly take care of my little +boy, even at some inconvenience. But there is more +behind. I promised Miss Wyndham, who is now in town, +to meet her this afternoon at Mr. Carr's new church. She +is most anxious to hear him preach, and I should be sorry +to disappoint her."</p> + +<p>"You mean <i>you</i> are anxious to hear him preach," quoth +Esther, under her breath. "And is it on that account I +will leave a hungry heart to starve?" Aloud she said: +"Do you object to my taking master baby with me, +madam?"</p> + +<p>"I do object. The child must not be out so late. Then +you distinctly refuse to accommodate me, Esther?"</p> + +<p>"I am obliged to adhere to our arrangement, Mrs. +Wyndham. I am truly sorry."</p> + +<p>Valentine held out her hand to her little boy.</p> + +<p>"Come, then, Baby Bunting," she said. "Mother will +play with her boy; and poor Aunt Lilias must go to church +alone."</p> + +<p>She did not look at Esther, but went quietly away, holding +the child's hand.</p> + +<p>"What a brute I am," soliloquized the nurse. "And +yet, she, poor young lady, how can she—how can she forget?"</p> + +<p>Esther's home was in all its Sunday quiet when she +reached it. Helps was having his afternoon siesta in the +kitchen. Cherry was spending the day with the cousins +who admired her recitations. Helps started out of his +slumbers when his daughter came in.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Essie," he said, "I'm glad you've come. That young +man upstairs is very ill."</p> + +<p>Esther felt her heart sinking down. She pressed her hand +to her side.</p> + +<p>"Is he worse, father?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know that he's worse; he's bad enough as +it is, without going in for being worse. He coughs constant, +and Cherry says he don't eat enough to keep a robin +going. Esther, I wish to goodness we could get him out +of this."</p> + +<p>"Why so, father? He doesn't hurt you. Even Cherry +can't name any fault in him."</p> + +<p>"No, but suppose he was to die here. There'd be an +inquest, maybe, and all kinds of questions. Well, I'm not +hard-hearted, but I do wish he'd go."</p> + +<p>Esther sank down into the nearest chair.</p> + +<p>"You speak cruel words now and then, father," she said. +"Who talks of dying? <i>He</i> won't die. If it comes to that, +or any chance of it, I'll come back and nurse him to life +again."</p> + +<p>"Essie, you think a sight of that young man."</p> + +<p>"Well, I do. I'm not going to deny it. I'm going upstairs +to see him now."</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> + +<h4>AT THE SOUND OF THE CLOCK.</h4> + + +<p>She left the room, tripping lightly upstairs in her neat +nurse's dress. When she got to Wyndham's door and +knocked gently for admission her heart, however, was beating +so wildly that she feared he might notice it.</p> + +<p>"Come in," said his voice; she entered.</p> + +<p>He was lying back in his easy-chair. When he saw +Esther he took off the soft hat which he always wore in +Cherry's presence, and greeted her with that brightness in +his eyes which was the greatest reward he could possibly +offer her.</p> + +<p>"You are a little late," he said; "but I thought you +would not fail me."</p> + +<p>"I won't ever fail you, Mr. Wyndham; you know that."</p> + +<p>"Esther, it is safer to call me Brother Jerome."</p> + +<p>"Not at the present moment. The house is empty but +for my father. Still, if you wish it, sir."</p> + +<p>"I think I do wish it. A habit is a habit. The name +may slip out at a wrong moment, and then—my God, think +what would happen then!"</p> + +<p>"Don't excite yourself, sir. Esther Helps is never +likely to forget herself. Still I see the sense of your wishes. +You are Brother Jerome to me always from this out. And +now, before I go any further, I want to state a fact. Brother +Jerome, you are ill."</p> + +<p>"I am ill, Esther. Ill, nigh unto death."</p> + +<p>"My God, you shan't die!"</p> + +<p>"Hush; the question of dying does not rest with you +or me. I want to die, so probably I shall live."</p> + +<p>"You look like dying. Does Cherry feed you well?"</p> + +<p>"Better than well. I want for nothing."</p> + +<p>"Is your fire kept up all night?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p> +<p>"Esther, I have not come to requiring a night nurse yet. +My fire goes out in the early hours before the dawn."</p> + +<p>"The coldest part of the twenty-four hours. Brother +Jerome, you must give up visiting in East London at +present."</p> + +<p>"No, not while I can crawl. You forget that on a +certain night I surrendered my body as well as my spirit +to the service of comfort. While I can comfort others I will. +There is nothing else left to me."</p> + +<p>"Then, sir, you will die—you will deliberately kill yourself."</p> + +<p>"No, I tried that once. I won't again. Esther, what is +the matter? You are a good girl. It is a mistake for you +to waste your pity on me."</p> + +<p>"You must forgive me, sir. Pity comes to one unbidden. +Pity—and—and sympathy. If you get worse, I shall +leave my situation and come home and nurse you."</p> + +<p>"Then you will indeed kill me. You will take away my +last hope. My one goblet of new wine will be denied me. +Then I shall truly die. Esther, what is your budget of news? +How is my wife? Begin—go on—tell me everything."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Wyndham is well, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well? Do you mean by that that she is happy? Does +she laugh much? Does she sing?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes she laughs. Once I heard her sing."</p> + +<p>"Only once, Esther? She had a very sweet voice. I +used sometimes to tell her that it was never silent."</p> + +<p>"Once, sir, I heard her sing."</p> + +<p>"Oh, once? Was it a cheerful song?"</p> + +<p>"It was on a Sunday evening. She was singing to your +little boy. I think she sang the 'Happy Land.' I don't +quite remember. I came to fetch the boy to bed, and she +was singing to him. She took her hands off the piano +suddenly when I came in, and there were tears in her eyes."</p> + +<p>"Tears? She was always sensitive to music. And yet +you say she does not look sad."</p> + +<p>"I should not call her sad, Brother Jerome. Her face<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> +is calm and quiet. I think she is a very good young lady."</p> + +<p>"You need not tell me that, Esther; you managed very +well about the boy."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir. I think I did. What did you feel +when you saw him, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Rapture. All my blood flowed swiftly. I lived and +breathed. I had an exquisite five minutes."</p> + +<p>"The boy is not like his mother, sir."</p> + +<p>"No, nor like me. He resembles my sister Lilias. +Esther, I must see him again."</p> + +<p>"You shall, by-and-bye, but not too soon. We must +not run any risks."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. I will have much patience. Hold out +the hope only, and I will cling to it indefinitely."</p> + +<p>"You shall see the child again, Brother Jerome."</p> + +<p>"God abundantly bless you. Now go on. Tell me more. +How does my wife spend her time? Has she many +visitors?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes her father."</p> + +<p>"Only sometimes? They used to be inseparable."</p> + +<p>"Not now, sir. There is something wrong between +them. When they meet they are constrained with one +another, and they don't meet very often. I have orders, +though, to take the child every morning to see Mr. Paget."</p> + +<p>"Have you? I am sorry for that. He kisses my son, +does he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. He seems wrapped up in him; he——"</p> + +<p>"Don't talk of him. That subject turns my blood into +vinegar. Go on. Tell me more. What other visitor has +my wife?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes your sister, Miss Lilias Wyndham."</p> + +<p>"My sister? Esther, you don't know what that name +recalls. All the old innocent days; the little hymns before +we went to bed, and the little prayers at our mother's knee. +I don't <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>think I can bear to hear much about Lilias; but I +am glad she loves my wife."</p> + +<p>"She does, sir. She is devoted to Mrs. Wyndham. I don't +think any other visitors come except Mr. Carr."</p> + +<p>"Adrian Carr, a clergyman?"</p> + +<p>Wyndham's tone had suddenly become alert and wakeful.</p> + +<p>"I believe the gentleman's name is the Rev. Adrian Carr. +Brother Jerome."</p> + +<p>"Why do you speak in that guarded voice, Esther? +Have you anything to conceal?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, no. Don't excite yourself. I conceal nothing; +he comes, that is all."</p> + +<p>"But surely, not often? He is my father's curate; he +cannot often come to London."</p> + +<p>"He is not Mr. Wyndham's curate now, sir; he has a +church of his own, St. Jude's they call it, at the corner of +Butler-street."</p> + +<p>"And he comes constantly to my house? To—to see +my wife?"</p> + +<p>"Your—your widow, sir."</p> + +<p>"God help me, Esther! God help me! How am I +to endure this! My poor—my beloved—my sweet—and +are you exposed to this? Esther, Esther, this care turns +me into a madman."</p> + +<p>"You must stay quiet, Brother Jerome. Mr. Carr comes, +and your—your widow sees him."</p> + +<p>"Do you think she likes him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, I would rather die than have to tell it to you."</p> + +<p>"I cannot listen to your sentimentalisms. Does my wife +seem happy when Adrian Carr calls upon her?"</p> + +<p>"I think she is interested in him, Brother Jerome."</p> + +<p>"Does she see him alone?"</p> + +<p>"Often alone."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> +<p>"And you say she seems pleased?"</p> + +<p>"I think so. It is incomprehensible to me."</p> + +<p>"Never mind whether you understand it or not. Do +you know that by this news you are turning me into a +devil? I'll risk everything—everything. I'll expose the +whole vile conspiracy if my wife is entrapped into engaging +herself to Adrian Carr."</p> + +<p>Brother Jerome was no longer a weak-looking invalid; +he began to pace his attic floor; a fire burnt in his sunken +eyes, and he clenched his thin hands. For the time he was +strong.</p> + +<p>"Listen to me, Esther Helps. My wife shall run no risk +of that kind. It was in the contract that <i>that</i> should be +prevented. I sinned for her—yes, I willingly sinned for +her—but she shall never sin for me. Rather than that we'll +all go to penal servitude. I, and your father, and her +father."</p> + +<p>"Do quiet yourself, Mr. Wyndham. There may be +nothing in what I told you."</p> + +<p>Esther felt really frightened.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps the gentleman comes to see your sister, Miss +Wyndham. He certainly comes, but—but——"</p> + +<p>"Esther, the whole thing must be put a stop to—the faintest +shadow of risk must not be run. My wife thinks herself +a widow, but she must retain the feelings of a wife. It must +be impossible for her, while I live, to think of another +man."</p> + +<p>"Can you not bring yourself back to her memory, sir? +Is there no way?"</p> + +<p>"That is a good thought. Don't speak for a little. Let +me think."</p> + +<p>Wyndham continued to pace the floor. Esther softly +built up the fire with trembling fingers. In this mood she +was afraid of Wyndham. That fire in his eyes was new to +her. She was cowed—she shivered. With her mental +vision she already saw her grey-headed father in the prisoner's +dock.</p> + +<p>"Esther," said Wyndham, coming up to her suddenly. +"I have thought of a plan. It won't implicate anyone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> +and if a chord in Valentine's heart still beats true to me +this must touch it. At what hour does Carr generally call +to see my wife?"</p> + +<p>"He is a busy man; he comes mostly at night, about +nine o'clock. He has a cup of tea, and goes away at ten. +When Miss Wyndham is there he sometimes stays on till +nearly eleven."</p> + +<p>"He comes every night?"</p> + +<p>"Almost every night."</p> + +<p>"And he leaves at ten?"</p> + +<p>"A few minutes after ten. When the clock strikes ten +it seems to be a sort of a signal to him, and he gets up and +goes away."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. Ten, then, will be the hour. Esther, something +else may happen at ten of the clock. You need not +look so white. I said no risk would be run. It is possible, +however, that my wife may be agitated. No, you don't +suppose I am going to reveal myself to her—nothing of the +sort. Still, something will happen which may break down +her nerve and her calm. In that case she may even appeal +to you, Esther, you will be very guarded. You must remember +that on the success of this scheme of mine depends +your father's safety, for if she engages herself to Carr I +swear by the God above me that we three, Paget, your +father, and I, go to prison."</p> + +<p>"Sir, I must own that I feel dreadfully frightened."</p> + +<p>"Poor Esther! And you don't deserve it, for you are +the best of girls and quite innocent. But that is ever the +way. The innocent bear the sins of the guilty. In this +matter, however, Esther, you must trust me, and keep your +own counsel. Now, I want to know if you have any money +you can lend me?"</p> + +<p>"I have two sovereigns in my purse, sir. Will that +do?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p> +<p>"Plentifully. I will tell you what I want the money +for. I want to hire a violin—a good one. Once, Esther. +I used to express my feelings through the violin. It talked +for me. It revealed some of the tortures of my soul. The +violin shall speak again and to my wife. Now you are prepared +at all points. Good-bye. Be as brave as you are +good, and the worst may be averted."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLV.</h2> + + +<p>On the following night, as Esther was preparing to go to +bed, the nursery door was suddenly opened and Mrs. +Wyndham entered.</p> + +<p>"Esther," she said, "I want baby."</p> + +<p>"He is sound asleep, madam. You would not wake +him?"</p> + +<p>"He can be moved without disturbing him. I want +him to sleep in my bed. I want his company. My little +child?"</p> + +<p>She was trembling. She caught hold of the rails of the +baby's cot.</p> + +<p>"Little children are sacred innocent things, aren't they, +nurse? I want my little child to-night."</p> + +<p>"Strange," thought Esther. "I listened with all my +might, and I could not hear anything except the usual +barrel organs and German bands in the street. But she +has heard something, there isn't a doubt. How queer and +shaken she looks. Poor young thing, I do pity her; she +can't help thinking she is a widow when she is a wife."</p> + +<p>Aloud Esther complied with Mrs. Wyndham's request +cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, madam. The child will never know that +we are moving him. If you will go on to your room, +ma'am, I'll follow with master baby."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyndham turned away at once.</p> + +<p>When the nurse entered her mistress' room with the +child, there was a soft nest made in the big bed to receive +him, and the fire in the grate cast a cheerful glow over +everything.</p> + +<p>"Let me kiss him," said the mother. "My darling, my +beloved. I'll take him into my arms presently, nurse, and +then all fears will fly away."</p> + +<p>"Fears, Mrs. Wyndham? No one ought to fear in this +cheerful ro<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>om."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not, nurse; but sometimes I am superstitious—painfully +so. Yes, put baby there. Is he not a handsome +boy? Although I could wish he were more like his +father."</p> + +<p>"He seems to feature your sister-in-law, Miss Lilias +Wyndham, madam."</p> + +<p>"How queer that you should find that out! He is not +like what Lilias is now, but they all say she was just such +another little child. Nurse, I hate high winds—there is +going to be a storm to-night."</p> + +<p>"Would you like me to sleep on the sofa in your room, +madam?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, no—yes, oh, yes."</p> + +<p>"I will bring a shawl, and wrap it round me and lie +down."</p> + +<p>"No, don't, nurse, don't. I must not yield to this nameless +thing. I must—I will be brave. And the child, my +own little child, will comfort me."</p> + +<p>"What is the nameless thing, dear madam?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot—I won't speak of it. Esther, are you—are +you <i>going</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not, Mrs. Wyndham. I mean, not yet."</p> + +<p>"That is right. Take this chair; warm yourself. Esther. +I don't look on you as an ordinary nurse. Long ago I +used to be so much interested in you."</p> + +<p>"It was very kind of you, madam; young ladies, as a +rule, have no time to interest themselves in poor girls."</p> + +<p>"But I had plenty of time, and did interest myself. My +father was always so much attached to yours. I was an only +child and you were an only child. I used to wonder if +you and your father cared for each other as passionately, +as loyally, as I and my father cared."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that, madam; we did love each other. +Our love remains unchanged. True love ought never to +change, ought it?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p> +<p>"It ought never to change," repeated Mrs. Wyndham. +Her face grew white, her lips trembled. "Sometimes true +love is killed by a blow," she said suddenly. Then her +expression changed again, she tried to look cheerful. "I +won't talk any more. I am sleepy, and that nest near +baby looks inviting. Good-night, dear nurse."</p> + +<p>"Let me undress you, ma'am. Let me see you in your +nest beside the child."</p> + +<p>"No. Go now. Or rather—rather—<i>stay a moment or +two longer</i>. Esther, had you ever the heartache?"</p> + +<p>"There are a few women, madam, who don't know what +the heartache means."</p> + +<p>"I suppose that is true. Once I knew nothing about it. +Esther, you are lucky never to have married."</p> + +<p>Esther Helps made no response.</p> + +<p>"To marry—to love—and then to lose," dreamily +murmured Mrs. Wyndham. "To love, and then to lose. +Esther, it is a dreadful thing to be a widow, when you are +young."</p> + +<p>"But the widow can become a wife again," suddenly replied +Esther.</p> + +<p>The words seemed forced from her lips; she was sorry +the moment she had uttered them.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyndham opened her big eyes wide.</p> + +<p>"I suppose the widows who can become wives again +have not lost much," she responded in a cold voice.</p> + +<p>Then she moved over to the bedside and began to undress.</p> + +<p>A few moments later Esther left her. She felt puzzled, +perplexed, unhappy. She had no key to the thoughts which +were passing in her mistress' mind. Her impression was +that Valentine loved Carr, but felt a certain shame at the +fact.</p> + +<p>The next evening the vicar of St. Jude's called again. +He came hurriedly to the door, ran up the stairs without +being shown the way, and entered Valentine's presence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +with a brisk step. Esther leant over the banisters to watch +him as he entered the drawing-room. It was half-past nine +when he arrived; he had been conducting a prayer meeting +and was later than usual.</p> + +<p>The drawing-room door was shut on the two, and Esther, +who had been sitting with the child, now crept softly +downstairs and entered a small bedroom at the back of +the drawing-room. This bedroom also looked on the +street. It was the room occupied by Lilias when she visited +her sister-in-law. Esther closed the door softly behind her. +The room was dark. She went up to the window and looked +eagerly up and down the gaily-lighted street.</p> + +<p>She could distinguish no words, but the soft murmur of +voices came to her through the drawing-room wall.</p> + +<p>"You are better to-night?" said Carr, in a cheery, confident +tone; "although you took it upon yourself to disobey +me."</p> + +<p>"I could not go to the prayer-meeting. I could not."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, you must act as you think best; only I +don't think staying at home is the best thing for you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I shan't get over-nervous; and Lilias is coming to +me next week."</p> + +<p>Carr's eyes brightened.</p> + +<p>"That is good," he said. "Well, I must not stay. I +just looked in for a moment. I knew you would not let +these superstitious fears get the better of you. Good-night."</p> + +<p>He held out his hand. Valentine put hers behind her.</p> + +<p>"No," she said; "you always stay until past ten. It +was at ten o'clock last night——" She trembled—more +words would not come.</p> + +<p>"And I will stay until past ten to-night," responded Carr +resuming his seat. "Now, don't look at the clock. Turn +your thoughts to me and my affairs. So Miss Wyndham +comes here next week?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She does."</p> + +<p>"Shall I put everything to the test, then?"</p> + +<p>Valentine's face grew bright.</p> + +<p>"Oh how earnestly I wish you would," she cried, clasping +her hands.</p> + +<p>"Do you, indeed? Then you must think there is some +chance for me. The fact is, Mrs. Wyndham, I am the +veriest coward that ever breathed. If I win, I win for ever. +I mean that I am made, body, soul, and spirit. If I lose, I +think morally I shall go under. A main spring will be +broken which has kept me right, kept my eyes looking +upwards ever since I knew your sister Lilias."</p> + +<p>"But even if she refuses you, you will live on," said Valentine, +in a dreamy voice. "We often have to live on +when the main spring is broken. We creep instead of running, +that is all."</p> + +<p>"Now you are getting gloomy again. As your spiritual +adviser I cannot permit it. You have put a daring thought +into my head, and you are bound to think of me, not yourself, +at present. Will you sing something to me before I +go? You know Lilias' song of triumph; you taught it to +her. Sing it to me to-night, it will be a good omen."</p> + +<p>Valentine hesitated for a moment. Then she went over +to the piano and opened it. Her fingers touched one or +two chords tremblingly. Suddenly she stopped, her face +worked. She looked at Carr with a piteous expression.</p> + +<p>"I cannot sing the triumph song," she said, "it is not +in me. I should do it no justice. This must take its place. +But it is not for you, remember. Oh, no, I pray God never +for you. Listen, don't scold me afterwards. Listen."</p> + +<p>Her fingers ran over the keys, her voice swelled and filled +the room:—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"The murmur of the mourning ghost<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That keeps the shadowy kine.<br /></span> +<span>Oh, Keith of Ravelston.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sorrows of thy line!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Ravelston, Ravelston.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The merry path that leads<br /></span> +<span>Down the golden morning hill.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And through the silver meads.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Ravelston, Ravelston.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The stile beneath the tree.<br /></span> +<span>The maid that kept her mother's kine.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The song that sang she.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>She sang her song, she kept her kine.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She sat beneath the thorn.<br /></span> +<span>When Andrew Keith of Ravelston<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rode through the Monday morn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>His henchmen sing, his hawk bells ring.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His belted jewels shine—<br /></span> +<span>O, Keith of Ravelston.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sorrows of thy line!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div></div> +<p><br /></p> +<p>"Now, good-night," said Valentine, springing to her +feet. "Don't question me about the song. I sang it, but +I cannot speak of it. The clock is about to strike. It is +your hour for farewell. Oh, yes, I wish you all luck—all +luck. The clock is striking——! Oh, what a noise there +is in the street!"</p> + +<p>"What a silence you mean," said Carr, as he took her +hand.</p> + +<p>It was true. The thunderous rattle of a heavy waggon, +the discordant notes of a brass band, the din of a hurdy-gurdy +frightfully out of tune, suddenly stopped. It was as +if a wave of sound had been arrested, and in the quiet +floated up the passionate wail of a soul. There are no +other words to describe what the sound meant. It had a +voice and an interpretation. It was beautiful, but its +beauty was torture. Trembling in every limb, Valentine +sprang away from Carr, flew to one of the French windows, +wrested it open, and stepped on to the balcony. She was +in white, and the people in the street could see her. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>She +pressed to the front of the balcony and looked eagerly up +and down.</p> + +<p>The wailing of the lost soul grew more feeble—more +faint. It stopped. There was a pause of half a minute, +and then the waggon lumbered on, and the hurdy-gurdy +crashed out its discordant notes.</p> + +<p>"I saw nothing," said Carr, who had followed Mrs. +Wyndham on to the balcony and now led her back to the +drawing-room. "I saw nothing," he repeated. "I mean. +I did not see the man who played."</p> + +<p>"But you heard?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I heard."</p> + +<p>"You could not see. That was spirit music. My husband +played. Don't speak to me; don't touch me; you +tried to argue me out of my belief last night, but even <i>you</i> +heard to-night. My husband has come back in the spirit, +and he has played for me. Only <i>he</i> knows that air—only +he in all the world. That was 'Waves.' Once I told you +the story of 'Music waves.'"</p> + +<p>She did not faint, she crouched down by the fire; but +no face to be alive could be whiter than hers.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, Mr. Carr?" she said suddenly. +"Why cannot my husband's spirit rest? They say that +those spirits that are hurried out of life before their time +cannot rest. O, tell me what you think. O, tell me what +it means. You heard the music yourself to-night."</p> + +<p>"I did. I certainly heard it."</p> + +<p>"And at the same hour. When the clock struck."</p> + +<p>"That is a mere coincidence, not worth considering."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe in its being a coincidence."</p> + +<p>She beat her hands passionately together.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span></p> +<p>"The thing was planned—he planned it. He will come +again to-morrow night when the clock strikes ten."</p> + +<p>Again she beat her hands together; then she covered her +face with them.</p> + +<p>Carr looked at her anxiously. The weird soft wailing +music had affected even his nerves. Of course he did not +believe in the supernatural element, but he was touched by +the distress of the woman who was crouching at his feet. +This mental unrest, this superstitious terror, might have a +disastrous effect. He must do his utmost to check it. If +necessary he must even be cruel to be kind.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Wyndham," he said, "you must go away to-morrow; +you must go into the country for a few days."</p> + +<p>"I will not. I won't stir a step."</p> + +<p>"You ought, your nerves are shaken. There is nothing +for shaken nerves like change of air. Go to Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, +and talk to Lilias. She, too, loved your husband; +she will sympathize, but she will not lose sight of common-sense."</p> + +<p>"I will not stir from here."</p> + +<p>"I think for your child's sake you ought. The child +belongs to your husband as well as you, to your dead +husband. The child is fatherless as far as this world is +concerned. You have no right—it is very, very wicked of +you to do anything to make him motherless."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? Why do you speak to me in that +tone? I don't deserve it."</p> + +<p>"You do."</p> + +<p>"I think you are cruel."</p> + +<p>Valentine's eyes filled with sudden tears.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by saying that I will leave baby +motherless?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that if you encourage the fancy which has now +taken possession of you you are extremely likely to lose +your senses—to become, in short, insane. How can you +train your child if you are insane?"</p> + +<p>Valentine sh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>uddered.</p> + +<p>"But I did hear the music," she said. "The old story +music that he only played. How can I doubt the evidence +of my senses? Last night at ten o'clock I heard 'Waves' +played on the violin, my husband's favorite instrument—the +melody which he made, the harmony and melody with +all the passion and its story, which he made about himself +and me. No one else could produce those sounds. I +heard them last night at ten o'clock, you were here, but +you heard nothing. To-night there was silence in the +street, and we both heard—we both heard."</p> + +<p>"I certainly heard some very melancholy music."</p> + +<p>"Played on the violin?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, played on the violin."</p> + +<p>"In short, you heard 'Waves.'"</p> + +<p>"I heard something which I never heard before. I cannot +tell the name."</p> + +<p>"No. What you heard was 'Waves,' in other words +the cry of a soul."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Wyndham, get up. Give me your hand. Look +me in the face. Now, that is better. I am going to talk +common-sense to you. You have been from the first impressed +with the idea that foul play was done to your +husband. For a time I own I shared your apprehension. +I discovered one or two things in connection with his +death which far more than your words inclined me to this +belief. Since I came to London I have thought a great +deal over the matter. Last week a lucky chance brought +me in communication with Captain Jellyby of the <i>Esperance</i>. +Ah, you start. I saw him. I think you would +like me to bring him here some night. He entered into +minute particulars of Wyndham's last days. He would +like to tell you the story himself. I can only say that a +fairer story could not be recorded of any man. He was +beloved by every one on board the ship. 'We all loved +him,' said Captain Jellyby. 'Emigrants, passengers, sailors, +all alike. Sir,' he said, 'when Mr. Wyndham was +washed over, there wasn't a dry eye on board. But if <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>ever +a man humbly and cheerfully went forth to meet his Creator, +he was the man, sir. He met his death trying to help +the man at the wheel. Bless his heart, he spent all his life +trying to help other people.'"</p> + +<p>Valentine was silently crying.</p> + +<p>"You comfort me," she said; "you comfort me much. +Go on."</p> + +<p>"That is all, my dear friend, that is all. It set my mind +at rest with regard to your husband. It ought to set yours +at rest also. He is a glorious, and happy spirit in heaven +now. Is it likely that he would come back from there to +frighten you for no object or purpose? No, you must +dismiss the idea from your mind."</p> + +<p>"But the music—the unearthly music."</p> + +<p>"Played by a strolling musician with a talent for the +thing. That was all."</p> + +<p>"His air and mine—'Waves.' The air that no one else +knew, that was never written down."</p> + +<p>"You imagined the likeness to the air you mention. +Our imaginations play strange tricks with us. The air +played to-night was of a very minor character, and had +notes in common with the one your husband composed. +Hence a fleeting resemblance. It is more natural and in +accordance with sense to believe this than to suppose that +your husband came back from heaven to torture you. Now, +good-night. You are good. You will try and be brave. +I ask you to be brave for the sake of your noble husband's +child."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> + + +<p>As Carr was leaving the house he came across Esther, +who, very white, but with a resolute look on her face, met +him on the stairs.</p> + +<p>"How is my mistress, sir?"</p> + +<p>Carr felt nettled at her tone.</p> + +<p>"Why do you ask?" he said shortly; "when last you +saw her I presume she was well."</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"No?"</p> + +<p>Carr paused. He gave Esther a quick piercing look, +and his manner changed. Her face was strong, it could be +relied on.</p> + +<p>"You are the little boy's nurse, are you not?"</p> + +<p>"I am, Mr. Carr."</p> + +<p>"And you are attached to your mistress?"</p> + +<p>Esther hesitated.</p> + +<p>"I—I am," she said, but her voice trembled.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Wyndham wants some one who can be kind and +sympathetic near her. Some one who can be tactful, and +full of common-sense. Her nerves are greatly shaken. +For instance she was much agitated at some music she +heard in the street to-night."</p> + +<p>"I heard it, sir. I was surprised. It wasn't like ordinary +music."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you thought so, did you? For heaven's sake +don't repeat your thoughts to Mrs. Wyndham. You look +a sensible young woman."</p> + +<p>Esther dropped a curtsey.</p> + +<p>"I hope I am," she said in a demure voice.</p> + +<p>"Has your mistress a maid—a maid she likes?"</p> + +<p>"No. I render her what little services are necessary."</p> + +<p>"Can you stay in her room to-night? She ought not to +be alone."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I will sleep on the sofa in my mistress' room."</p> + +<p>"That is right. Don't allude to the music in the street +if you can help it."</p> + +<p>Carr ran downstairs and went away, and Esther, slowly +and hesitatingly, entered the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyndham was standing with her two arms clasped +round her husband's violin. The tears were raining from +her eyes. Before she could disengage herself Esther saw +the action, and a queer pang, half of pleasure, half of pain, +shot through her. She saw at a glance that Gerald Wyndham's +wife cared for no one but her husband. She stepped +across the room quickly, and without any thought of the +familiarity of the action put her hand through her mistress' +arm, and led her towards the door.</p> + +<p>"Come," she said, "you are tired and weak. Master +baby is in his nest, and he wants you. Come, I am going +to put you to bed."</p> + +<p>Valentine raised no objection. She was trembling and +cold. The tears were undried on her cheeks; the look of +infinite pathetic patience in her eyes almost crushed Esther +Helps.</p> + +<p>"What a fool I was to suppose she didn't love her husband," +she murmured. "As if any woman could be much +with him and not love him. Ah, lucky Mrs. Wyndham—notwithstanding +all your sorrow you are the woman I envy +most on earth."</p> + +<p>Valentine did not object to her maid's attentions. She +felt shaken and worn out, and was glad passively to submit. +When she was in bed she spoke for the first time.</p> + +<p>"Esther, get a shawl, and lie here, outside the clothes. +It comforts me to have you near."</p> + +<p>Esther obeyed without any comment. She wrapped a +thick shawl around her, and lay down near the edge of the +big bed. Valentine took her little rosy boy into her arms.</p> + +<p>"Now you must go to sleep, Mrs. Wyndham," said the +maid, and she resolutely shut her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> own dark eyes.</p> + +<p>For an hour she lay motionless, every nerve keenly +awake, and on tension. For an hour she never lifted her +eyelids. At the end of that time she opened them, and +glanced at her mistress. Valentine was lying as still as if +she were carved in marble. Her eyes were wide open. +They were looking straight before her out into the big +room. She scarcely seemed to breathe, and never saw +Esther when she glanced at her.</p> + +<p>"This won't do," thought the maid. "Poor little soul, +she has got an awful shock. She will be very ill if I don't +do something to rouse and interest her. I know she +loves her husband—I will speak of him."</p> + +<p>Esther moved on purpose somewhat aggressively. Valentine's +wide-open eyes never flinched or changed their +expression. The maid touched her mistress on the +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"This isn't good of you," she said; "you ought to be +asleep."</p> + +<p>Valentine started and shivered violently.</p> + +<p>"I thought I was asleep," she said. "At any rate I was +far away."</p> + +<p>"When people sleep they shut their eyes," quoth +Esther.</p> + +<p>"Were mine open? I did not know it. I was looking +at a picture—a picture in real life. It was lovely."</p> + +<p>"I like beautiful pictures," said Esther. "Tell me what +you saw."</p> + +<p>By this time these two women had forgotten the relative +positions they bore to each other. Valentine observed +no familiarity in Esther's tone. Esther spoke and thought +as though she were Valentine's social equal. She knew +she was above her mentally just then; it was necessary +for her to take the lead.</p> + +<p>"Tell me what you saw, madam," she said. "Describe +your beautiful picture."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p> +<p>Valentine obeyed with the docility of a child.</p> + +<p>"It was a seaside picture," she began. "The sun was +setting, and there was a path of light across the waters. +The path seemed to go right up into the sky, and melt, +and end there. And I—I thought of Jacob's ladder, from +earth to heaven, and the angels walking up and down. +On the shore a man and a girl sat. He had his arm round +her waist; and she was filling her hands with the warm +soft sand and letting it dribble away through her fingers. +She was happy. She felt warm and contented, and protected +against the whole world. Although she did not +know that she loved it so much, it was the arm that +encircled her that gave her that feeling."</p> + +<p>Valentine stopped suddenly.</p> + +<p>"That was a pretty picture, madam," said Esther. "A +pretty picture, and you described it well. I suppose the +gentleman was the girl's lover or husband."</p> + +<p>"Her lover and husband in one. They were married. +They sat like that once during their honeymoon. Presently +he, the husband, took up his violin, which he had beside +him, and began to play."</p> + +<p>"Don't go into the music part, please, Mrs. Wyndham. +I want just to keep to the picture alone. I want to guess +something. I am good at guessing. You were the happy +young girl."</p> + +<p>"I was; oh, I was."</p> + +<p>"And the gentleman was your husband; yes, your +husband, whom you dearly loved."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk of him, he is lost, gone. Esther, I'm a +miserable, miserable woman."</p> + +<p>Her icy quiet was broken up. Long-drawn sobs escaped +her; she shivered as she wept.</p> + +<p>"It is an awful thing to love too late—to love loo late," +she moaned.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> +<p>"Madam, I'm going to give you some sal-volatile and +water: when you have taken it you shall tell me the whole +story from first to last. Yes, you had better; you have +said too much or too little. I may be able to comfort you +if I know all."</p> + +<p>Esther administered the restorative. When the distressful +sobs were quieted, and Mrs. Wyndham lay back +exhausted on her pillow, she took her hand, and said with +infinite tact and tenderness:—</p> + +<p>"You love him you have lost very deeply. Is that not +so?"</p> + +<p>"Beyond words to describe."</p> + +<p>"You were young when you were married, Mrs. Wyndham; +you are a very young woman still. Perhaps, as a +young girl, as almost a child-girl, you did not know what +great love meant."</p> + +<p>"I always knew what great love meant. As a little girl +I used to idolize my father. I remember when I was very +young, not much older than baby here, lying down on the +floor and kissing the carpet over which his steps had walked. +I used to steal into his study and sit like a mouse; perfectly +happy while I was watching him. When I saw his face +that was bliss; when he took me in his arms I thought +Heaven could give me no more. You are an only child. +Esther Helps. Did you feel like that for your father?"</p> + +<p>"No, madam, I always loved my father after a quiet +fashion; I love him after a quiet fashion still. That kind +of intense love I did not know. And you feel it still for +Mr. Paget? I suppose it is natural. He is a handsome +gentleman; he has a way about him that attracts people. +For instance, my father would do anything for him. It is +still bliss to you, Mrs. Wyndham, to watch your father's +face."</p> + +<p>"Come near to me, Esther; let me whisper to you. +That love which I thought unquenchable is—dead!"</p> + +<p>"Madam, you astonish me! Dead?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It died, Esther Helps, on the morning my husband +sailed away."</p> + +<p>"Then you only love your husband now?"</p> + +<p>"I love many people. For instance, this little child; +for instance, my sister Lilias. What I feel for my husband +is high above all these things. I cannot describe it. It +lies here—in my heart—and my heart aches, and aches."</p> + +<p>"It would make Mr. Wyndham very happy to hear +you," said Esther.</p> + +<p>Her words were unguarded. Valentine began to sob +feebly.</p> + +<p>"He can never hear me," she said. "That is the dreadful +part. I loved him when we were married, but I did +not know it. Then the knowledge came to me, and I was +so happy. One evening I told him so. I said, 'I love +you!' I shall never forget his face. Often he was sad, +but his face seemed to shine when I said those words, and +he took me in his arms, and I saw a little way into the +depth of his great heart. Soon after that something happened—I +am not going to tell it, it doesn't matter—please +don't hold my hand, Esther. It is very queer that <i>you</i> +should be with me to-night."</p> + +<p>"Why, dear madam? Don't you like to have me with +you?"</p> + +<p>"I think I do. I really quite think I do. Still it is +strange that you should be here."</p> + +<p>"Your story interests me wonderfully, Mrs. Wyndham. +Will you tell me more?"</p> + +<p>"There is not a great deal to tell. For a time I misunderstood +my husband, and the love which really filled my +heart seemed to go back and back and back like the +waves when the tide is going out. Then the time came +for him to go to Sydney. He could not say good-bye; he +wrote good-bye. He said a strange thing in the middle of +the letter; he asked me if I really loved him to join him the +next morning on board the <i>Esperance</i>. Loved him! Of +course I loved him! I was so relieved. Everythi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>ng was +made clear to me. He was first—all others everywhere +were second. My father came in, and I told him what I +meant to do. He was angry, and tried to dissuade me. +When he saw that I would not yield he appeared to +consent, and promised to go with me the next morning to +Southampton. The <i>Esperance</i> was not to sail until noon. +There seemed lots of time. Still, for the first time, I began +to doubt my father. I determined not to wait for the train +he had arranged to travel by with me, but to go down by +a much earlier one. I went to Southampton with a German +maid I had at the time. We arrived there at eight in +the morning, we reached the docks soon after nine, the +<i>Esperance</i> was away—she had sailed at eight. Don't question +me about that day, Esther Helps. It was on that day +my love for my father died."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> + + +<p>It was nearly morning before Mrs. Wyndham fell asleep. +Before then, Esther had said a good deal.</p> + +<p>"I am not surprised at your loving your husband," she +began. "Men like your husband are worth loving. They +are loyal, true, and noble. They make the world a better +place. Once your husband helped me. I am going to +tell you the story.</p> + +<p>"Three years ago, Mrs. Wyndham, I was a very different +girl from the one who now is by your side. I was handsome, +and vain, and empty-headed. I thought most of +dress and of flirting. I had the silliest form of ambition. I +wanted to be a gentleman's wife. My mother had been a +lady by birth, and I thought it was only due to me to be +the same. My only chance of becoming a lady was by +marrying a gentleman, and I thought surely someone would +be found who would make me his wife for the sake of my +handsome face. I had nothing else to recommend me. +Mrs. Wyndham, for I was empty-headed and untrained, and +I had a shallow, vulgar soul.</p> + +<p>"One day I was skating in Regent's Park with some +friends. I fell on the ice and hurt my foot. A gentleman +picked me up. I looked into his face in the bold way I +had, and then all of a sudden I felt ashamed of myself, and +I looked down, and a modest, humble womanly feeling +crept over me. The gentleman was your husband, Mr. +Wyndham; the expression on his face impressed me, and +I could not forget it. He came to our house that evening +and brought a book to my father, and a present of flowers +from you to me. I felt quite silent and queer when he was +in the room; I did not talk, but I listened to every word +he said. He was so uncommon. I thought what a clergyman +he'd make, and how, if he were as eloquent in his +words as in his looks, he might make us all good in spite +of ourselves. He made a great impression on me, and I did +not like to think my low silly thoughts after he had gone.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span></p> +<p>"Soon afterwards I made the acquaintance of a Captain +Herriot, in the —th Hussars; he was a very fine gentleman, +and had very fine words, and although I did not love him a +bit nor a scrap, he turned my head with his flattery. He +did go on about my face—I don't know how I ever was +goose enough to believe him. He managed to get my +secrets out of me though, and when I told him that I meant +to be a gentleman's wife some day, he said that he was the +gentleman, and that I should marry him, and him alone. I +thought that would be fine, and I believed him. He made +all arrangements—oh, how I hate to think of what I afterwards +saw was his real meaning.</p> + +<p>"I was not to let out a thing to my father, and on a certain +night we were to go together to the Gaiety, and he was +to take me home afterwards, and the next morning we were +to go to church and be married. He showed me the +license and the ring, and I believed everything, and thought +it would be fine to be the wife of Captain Herriot.</p> + +<p>"I kept my secret from my father, but Cherry, a cousin +who lives with us, got some of it out of me, for I was mad +with vain triumph, and it was indirectly through her that +I came to be delivered. The night arrived, and I went away +from my home thinking how proudly I'd come back +to show myself in a day or two; and how Cherry would +open her eyes when I told her I was the wife of Captain +Herriot, of the—th Hussars. I reached the theatre, and +Captain Herriot gave me his arm, and led me into the house, +and we took our places in the stalls. People turned and +looked at me, and Captain Herriot said it was no wonder, +for I was the most beautiful woman in the Gaiety that +night.</p> + +<p>"Then the curtain rose, the house was darkened, and +some one took the empty stall at my other side. I turned +my head, Mr. Wyndham was sitting near me. He said a +courteous word or two. I bowed my head; I could not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +speak. Madam, I did not see that play; I was there, +looking on, but I saw nothing. Captain Herriot whispered +in my ear; I pushed away from him. Suddenly he was +horrible to me. I felt like a girl who was placed between +an angel and a devil. Instantly the mask fell from my +eyes. Captain Herriot meant to ruin me, never to marry +me. Mr. Wyndham scarcely said a word to me till the +play was over, then he spoke.</p> + +<p>"'Your father wants you,' he said. 'Here is a cab, +get into it. I will take you to your father.'</p> + +<p>"He spoke out, quite loud and clear. I thought Captain +Herriot would have fought him. Not a bit of it. His +face turned an ugly color. He took off his hat to me, and +slunk away through the crowd. That was the last straw. +He had not even spirit to fight for the girl who thought +she was about to become his wife.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wyndham got on the box of the cab, and took +me to Mr. Paget's offices. My old father came out, and +helped me out of the cab, and put his arms round me. +He wrung Mr. Wyndham's hand, and said 'God bless you, +sir;' and then he led me inside, and told me how Cherry +had betrayed me, and how he (my father) had taken that +stall ticket intending to sit beside me that night, and give +Captain Herriot a blow in his face afterwards, as he was +known to be one of the greatest scoundrels going. Pressing +business kept my father at the office that night, and +Mr. Wyndham promised to go in his place.</p> + +<p>"'There isn't another young gentleman who would do +it,' said my father. 'No not another.'</p> + +<p>"After that, madam, I was changed; yes, a good bit. +I thought I'd live more worthy. Mr. Wyndham's face +used to come between me and frivolous ways and vain +sins. It seemed as if his were the hand to lead me up. +You don't mind, do you, madam, that he should have +rescued one poor girl from the pit of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>destruction, and +that she should love him—yes, love him for what he has +done?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Esther, do I mind? Come here, Esther, come +here. Let me put my arms round you. Kiss me. You +have lifted something from my heart—how much you can +never know. Esther, <i>I</i> was at the Gaiety that night, and +I saw my husband with you, and I—I doubted him."</p> + +<p>"Madam—<i>you</i>?" Esther sprang away—her whole face +became crimson.</p> + +<p>"I did, Esther; and that was when my love went away +like the tide going out; but now—now——Esther, lie +down. Let me hold your hand. I am sleepy. I can +sleep sweetly now."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2> + + +<p>When the wandering minstrel, with his violin under his +arm, left the neighborhood of Park-lane, he walked with a +somewhat feeble and faltering step through Grosvenor-square +and into Bond-street. A few people looked at him +as he passed, and a hungry-looking girl who was leaning +against a wall suddenly asked him to play for her. He +stopped at the sound of her voice and said a word or two.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry my violin only knows one air, and I have +played it."</p> + +<p>"Can you not play it again?"</p> + +<p>"It is not meant for you, poor girl. Good-night."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, kind sir. I'll say a prayer for you if you +like; you look miserable enough."</p> + +<p>The minstrel removed his soft hat, made a gesture of +thanks, and hurried on. He was going to Queen's Gate. +The walk was long, and he was very feeble. He had a few +coins in his pocket from the change of Esther's sovereigns; +he determined to ride, and mounted on the roof of a Hammersmith +omnibus in Piccadilly.</p> + +<p>By-and-bye he reached his destination, and found himself +in familiar ground. He walked slowly now, hesitating—sometimes +inclined to turn back. Presently he reached +a house; he went up the steps, and took shelter for a +moment from the biting east winds under the portico. It +was late, but the lights were still shining in the great mansion.</p> + +<p>He was glad of this; he could not have done what he +meant to do except under strong excitement, and sheltered +by the friendly gas light. He turned and gave the visitor's +bell a full peal. The door was opened almost instantly by +a liveried footman.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Paget within?"</p> + +<p>The man stared. The voice was not only refined, but to +a certain extent familiar. The voice, oh, yes; but then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> +the figure, the thin, long reed-like figure, slouching forward +with weakness, buttoned up tight in the seedy frock coat +whose better days must have been a matter of the very +distant past.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Paget within?"</p> + +<p>The tone was so assured and even peremptory that the +servant, in spite of himself, was overawed.</p> + +<p>"I believe so, sir," he said.</p> + +<p>"Ask if I can see him."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Paget is not very well, sir, and it is late."</p> + +<p>"Ask if I can see him."</p> + +<p>The footman turned a little surly.</p> + +<p>"I'll inquire," he said; "he's sure to say no, but I'll +inquire. Your name, if you please. My master will +require to know your name."</p> + +<p>"I am known as Brother Jerome. Tell your master +that my business is urgent. Go; I am in a hurry."</p> + +<p>"Rum party, that," murmured the servant. "Don't +understand him; don't like him. All the same, I can't +shut the door in his face. He's the sort of party as has +seen better days; 'ope as the umbrellas is safe."</p> + +<p>Then he walked across the hall and entered his master's +study.</p> + +<p>The room, with its old oak and painted glass, and electric +light, looked the perfection of comfort. The tall, +white-headed man who sat crushed up in the big armchair +was the envied of many.</p> + +<p>"If you please, sir," said the servant.</p> + +<p>"Yes; don't leave the door open. Who were you chatting +to in the hall?"</p> + +<p>"A man who has called, and wants to see you very particular, +sir."</p> + +<p>"I can't see him."</p> + +<p>"He says his nam<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>e is Brother Jerome."</p> + +<p>"I can't see him. Go away, and shut the door."</p> + +<p>"I knew it would be no use," muttered the footman. +"Only he seems a sort of a gentleman, sir, and in trouble +like."</p> + +<p>"I can't see him. Shut the door and go away!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you can see me," said a voice.</p> + +<p>The minstrel walked into the room.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!"</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIX.</h2> + + +<p>At the sound of his voice the footman fell back as white +as a sheet. Mr. Paget rose, walked over to him, took him +by the shoulders, and pushed him out of the room. He +locked the door behind him. Then he turned, and backing +step by step almost as far as the window, raised his +hands, and looked at his forbidden visitor with a frozen +expression of horror.</p> + +<p>Wyndham took his hat off and laid it on the table. Mr. +Paget raised his hands, covered his face with them, and +groaned.</p> + +<p>"Spirit!" he said. "Spirit, why have you come to torment +me before the time?"</p> + +<p>"I am no spirit," replied Wyndham, "I am a living man—a +defrauded and injured man—but as much alive as you +are."</p> + +<p>"It is false—don't touch me—don't come a step nearer—you +are dead—you have been dead for the last three +years. On the 25th April, 18—, you committed suicide by +jumping into the sea; you did it on purpose to revenge +yourself, and since then you have haunted me, and made +my life as hell. I always said, Wyndham, you would make +an awful ghost—you do, you do."</p> + +<p>"I am not a ghost," said Wyndham. "Touch me, and +you will see. This wrist and hand are thin enough, but +they are alive. I fell into the sea, but I was rescued. I +came to you to-night—I troubled you to-night because you +have broken our contract, because——What is the +matter? Touch me, you will see I am no ghost."</p> + +<p>Wyndham came nearer; Mr. Paget uttered a piercing +shriek.</p> + +<p>"Don't—don't!" he implored. "You are a lying +spirit; you have often lied—often—to me. You want to +take me with you; you know if you touch me I shall have +to go. Don't—oh, I beseech of you, leave me the little time +longer that I've got to live. Don't torment me before the +time."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span></p> + +<p>He dropped on his knees; his streaming white hair fell +behind him, his hands were raised in supplication.</p> + +<p>"Don't," said Wyndham, terribly distressed. "You +have wronged me bitterly, but I, too, am a sinner; I would +not willingly hurt mortal on this earth. Get up, don't degrade +yourself. I am a living man like yourself. I have +come to speak to you of my wife—of Valentine."</p> + +<p>"Don't breathe her name. I lost her through you. No, +you are dead—I have murdered you—your blood is on my +soul—but I won't go with you yet, not yet. Ha! ha! I'll +outwit you. Don't touch me!"</p> + +<p>He gave another scream, an awful scream, half of +triumph, half of despair, sprang to the door, unlocked it +and vanished.</p> + +<p>Wyndham took up his violin and left the house.</p> + +<p>"Mad, poor fellow!" he muttered to himself. "Who'd +have thought it? Even from a worldly point of view what +fools people are to sin! What luck does it ever bring +them? He made me his accomplice, his victim, in order +to keep his daughter's love, in order to escape dishonor +and penal servitude. He told me the whole story of that +trust money—to be his if there was no child—to be +kept for a child if there was. He was a good fellow +before he got the trust money I have no doubt. The friend +died, and soon afterwards Paget learned that he had left a +son behind him. Mr. Paget told me—how well I remember +his face when he told me how he felt about the son, +who was then only an infant, but to whom he must deliver +the trust money when he came of age. 'I wanted that +money badly,' he said, 'and I resolved to suppress the +trust papers and use the money. I thought the chances +were that the child would never know.'"</p> + +<p>The chances, however, were against Mr. Paget. The +friend who had left him the money in trust had not so absolutely +believed in him as he supposed. He had left duplica<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>te +papers, and these papers were in the boy's possession. +One day Mr. Paget learned this fact. When he +knew this he knew also that when his friend's son came of +age he should have to repay the trust with interest; in +short, he would have to give the young man the enormous +sum of eighty thousand pounds or be branded as a thief +and a criminal.</p> + +<p>"I remember the night he told me this story," concluded +Wyndham with a sigh.</p> + +<p>He was walking slowly now in the direction of the Embankment.</p> + +<p>"So the plot was made up," he continued. "The insurance +on my life was to pay back the trust. Valentine +would never know her father's dishonor. She would continue +to love him best of all men, and he would escape +shame, ruin—penal servitude. How have matters turned +out? For the love of a woman I performed my part: for +the love of a woman and self combined, he performed his. +How has he fared? The woman ceases to love him, and +he is mad. I—how have matters fared with me? How? +The wages of sin are hard. I saw a sight to-night which +might well turn a stronger brain than mine. I saw my wife, +and the man who may soon be her husband. I must not +dwell on that, I dare not."</p> + +<p>Wyndham walked on, a burning fever gave him false +strength. He reached the Embankment and presently sat +down near a girl who looked even poorer and more miserable +than himself. There were several men and girls occupying +the same bench. It was a bitter cold, frosty night; +all the seats along the Embankment were full, some poor +creatures even lay about on the pavement. Wyndham +turned to look at the slight young creature by his side. +She was very young, rather fair in appearance, and very +poorly clad.</p> + +<p>"You are shivering," said Wyndham, in the voice whi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>ch +still could be one of the kindest in the world.</p> + +<p>The poor worn young face turned to look at him in surprise +and even confidence.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the girl. "I'm bitter cold, and numb, and +starved. It's a cruel world, and I hate God Almighty for +having made me."</p> + +<p>"Hush, don't say that. It does no good to speak +against the one who loves you. Lean against me. Let +me put my arm round you. Think of me as a brother for +the next hour or two. I would not harm a hair of your +head."</p> + +<p>"I believe you," said the girl, beginning to sob.</p> + +<p>With a touching movement of absolute confidence she +laid her faded face against his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"That is better, is it not?" said Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"Yes, thank you, sir. I'm desperate sleepy, and I +shan't slip off the bench now. I was afraid to go to sleep +before, for if I slipped off somebody else would get my +seat, and I know I'd be dead if I lay on the pavement till +morning."</p> + +<p>"Well, go to sleep, now. I shan't let you slip off."</p> + +<p>"Sir, how badly you are coughing."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry if my cough disturbs you. I cannot help +giving way to it now and then."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, it is not that; you seem like a good angel to +me. I even love the sound of your cough, for it is kind. +But have you not a home, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I certainly have a shelter for the night. Not a home +in the true sense of the word."</p> + +<p>"Ought you not to go to your shelter, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No, I shall stay here with you until you have had a +good sleep. Now shut your eyes."</p> + +<p>The girl tried to obey. For abo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span>ut ten minutes she sat +quiet, and Wyndham held her close, trying to impart some +of the warmth from his own body to her frozen frame. +Suddenly the girl raised her eyes, looked him in the face, +and smiled.</p> + +<p>"Sir, you are an angel."</p> + +<p>"You make a great mistake. On the contrary I have +sinned more deeply than most."</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>"It is true."</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to preach to me, sir; but I know +from your face however you have sinned you have been +forgiven."</p> + +<p>"You make another mistake; my sin is unabsolved."</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>The girl's astonishment showed itself in her tone.</p> + +<p>"Don't talk about me," continued Wyndham. "It is a +curious fact that I love God, although it is impossible for +Him to forgive me until I do something which I find impossible +to do. I go unforgiven through life, still I love +God. I delight in His justice, I glory in the love He has +even for me, and still more for those who like you can repent +and come to Him, and be really forgiven."</p> + +<p>He paused, he saw that he was talking over the girl's +head. Presently he resumed in a very gentle pleading +voice:—</p> + +<p>"I don't want to hear your story, but——"</p> + +<p>The girl interrupted him with a sort of cry.</p> + +<p>"It is the usual story, sir. There is nothing to conceal. +Once I was innocent, now I am what men and women +call <i>lost</i>. Lost and fallen. That's what they say of girls +like me."</p> + +<p>"God can say something quite different to you. He +can say found and restored. Listen. No one loves you +like God. Loving He forgives. All things are possible to +love."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>; when you speak like that you make me +weep."</p> + +<p>"Crying will do you good. Poor little girl, we are +never likely to meet again in this world. I want you to +promise me that you won't turn against God Almighty. +He is your best friend."</p> + +<p>"Sir! And He leaves me to starve. To starve, and +sin."</p> + +<p>"He wants you not to sin. The starving, even if it must +come, is only a small matter, for there is the whole of eternity +to make up for it. Now I won't say another word, except +to assure you from the lips of a dying man, for I know I +am dying, that God is your best friend, and that He loves +you. Go to sleep."</p> + +<p>The girl smiled again, and presently dropped off into an +uneasy slumber with her head on Wyndham's shoulder.</p> + +<p>By-and-bye a stout woman, with a basket on her arm, +came up. She looked curiously at Wyndham. He saw at +a glance that she must have walked from a long distance, +and would like his seat. He beckoned her over.</p> + +<p>"You are tired. Shall I give you my seat?"</p> + +<p>"Eh, sir, you are kind. I have come a long way and +am fair spent."</p> + +<p>"You shall sit here, if you will let this tired girl lay her +head on your breast."</p> + +<p>"Eh, but she don't look as good as she might be!"</p> + +<p>"Never mind. Jesus Christ would have let her put her +head on His breast. Thank you, I knew you were a kind +hearted woman. She will be much better near you than +near me. Here is a shilling. Give it her when she +wakes. Good-night."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER L.</h2> + + +<p>Esther longed to go to Acacia Villas during the week. +She often felt on the point of asking Mrs. Wyndham to give +her leave, but then again she felt afraid to raise suspicions; +and besides her mistress was ill, and clung to her. +Although Esther listened with a kind of terror on the following +evening, the sound of the violin was not again +heard.</p> + +<p>Sunday came at last, and she could claim her privilege +of going home. She arrived at Acacia Villas with her +heart in a tumult. How much she would have to tell +Wyndham! It was in her power to make him happy, to +relieve his heart of its worst load.</p> + +<p>Cherry alone was in the kitchen when she arrived, and +Cherry was in a very snappish humor.</p> + +<p>"No, Esther, I don't know where uncle is. He's not +often at home now. I hear say that Mr. Paget is very bad—gone +in the head you know. They'll have to put him +into an asylum, and that'll be a good thing for poor uncle. +Take off your bonnet and cloak, Esther, and have a cup of +tea cosy-like. I'm learning one of Macaulay's Lays now +for a recitation. Maybe you'd hear me a few of the stanzas +when you're drinking your tea."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Cherry, dear, but I want to go up to Brother +Jerome first. I can see him while you're getting the kettle +to boil. I've a little parcel here which I want him to take +down to Sister Josephine to the Mission House to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Cherry laughed in a half-startled way.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Don't I know what?"</p> + +<p>"Why Brother Jerome ain't here; he went out on Tuesday +evening and never came home. I thought, for sure, +uncle would have gone and told you."</p> + +<p>"Never came home since Tuesday? No, I didn't hear."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span></p> +<p>Esther sat down and put her hand to her heart. Her +face was ghastly.</p> + +<p>"I knew it," murmured Cherry under her breath. "She +have gone and fallen in love with a chap from one of them +slums."</p> + +<p>Aloud she said in a brisk tone:—</p> + +<p>"Yes, he's gone. I don't suppose there's much in it. +He were tired of the attic, that's all. I sleep easy of nights +now. No more pacing the boards overhead, nor hack, hack, +hack coughing fit to wake the seven sleepers. What's the +matter, Esther?"</p> + +<p>"You are the most heartless girl I ever met," said Esther. +"No, I don't want your tea."</p> + +<p>She tied her bonnet strings and left the house without +glancing at her crestfallen cousin.</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p>That very same afternoon, as Mrs. Wyndham was sitting +in her bedroom, trying to amuse baby, who was in a slightly +refractory humor, there came a sudden message for her. +One of the maids came into the room with the information +that Helps was downstairs and wanted to speak to her +directly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyndham had not left her room since Tuesday +evening. There was nothing apparently the matter with +her, and yet all through the week her pulse had beat too +quickly, and a hectic color came and went on her cheeks. +She ate very little, she slept badly, and the watchful +expression in her eyes took from their beauty and gave +them a strained appearance. She did not know herself +why she was watchful, or what she was waiting for, but she +was consciously nervous and ill at ease.</p> + +<p>When the maid brought the information that Helps was +downstairs, her mistress instantly started to her feet, almost +pushing the astonished and indignant baby aside.</p> + +<p>"Take care of Master Gerry," she said to the girl. "I +will go and speak to Mr. Helps; where is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> he?"</p> + +<p>"I showed him into the study, ma'am."</p> + +<p>Valentine ran downstairs; her eagerness and impatience +and growing presentiment that something was at hand +increased with each step she took. She entered the study, +and said in a brusque voice, and with a bright color in her +cheeks:—</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Paget has sent me to you, Mrs. Wyndham," said +Helps, in his uniformly weak tones. "Mr. Paget is ill, and +he wants to see you at once."</p> + +<p>Valentine stepped back a pace.</p> + +<p>"My father!" she said. "But he knows I do not care +to go to the house."</p> + +<p>"He knows that fact very well, Mrs. Wyndham."</p> + +<p>"Still he sent for me?"</p> + +<p>"He did, madam."</p> + +<p>"Is my father worse than usual?"</p> + +<p>"In some ways he is worse—in some better," replied +Helps in a dubious sort of voice. "If I were you I'd come. +Miss Valentine—Mrs. Wyndham, I mean."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Helps, I'll come; I'll come instantly. Will you +fetch a cab for me?"</p> + +<p>"There's one waiting at the door, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I won't even go upstairs. Fetch me my +cloak from the stand in the hall, will you? Now I am +ready."</p> + +<p>The two got into the cab and drove away. No one in +the house even knew that they had gone.</p> + +<p>When they arrived at Queen's Gate, Helps still took the +lead.</p> + +<p>"Is my father in the library?" asked the daughter.</p> + +<p>"No, Mrs. Wyndham. Mr. Paget has been in his room +for the last day or two. I'll take you to him, if you please, +at once."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p> +<p>"Thank you, Helps."</p> + +<p>Valentine left her cloak in the hall, and followed the old +servant upstairs.</p> + +<p>"Here's Mrs. Wyndham," said Helps, opening the door +of the sick man's room, and then shutting it and going +away himself.</p> + +<p>"Here's Valentine," said Mrs. Wyndham, coming forward. +"I did not know you were so ill, father."</p> + +<p>He was dressed, and sitting in a chair. She went up to +him and laid her hand gravely on his arm.</p> + +<p>"You have come, Valentine, you have come. Kneel +down by me. Let me look at you. Valentine, you have +come."</p> + +<p>"I have come."</p> + +<p>Never did hungrier eyes look into hers.</p> + +<p>"Kiss me."</p> + +<p>She bent forward at once, and pressed a light kiss on his +cheek.</p> + +<p>"Don't do it again," he said.</p> + +<p>He put up his hand and rubbed the place that her lips +had touched.</p> + +<p>"There's no love in a kiss like that. Don't give me such +another."</p> + +<p>"You are ill, father; I did not know you were so very +ill," replied his daughter in the quiet voice in which she +would soothe a little child.</p> + +<p>"I am ill in mind, Valentine, and sometimes my mind +affects my body. It did for the last few days. This afternoon +I'm better—I mean I am better in mind, and I sent +for you that I might get the thing over."</p> + +<p>"What thing, father?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind for a moment or two. You used to be so +fond of me, little Val."</p> + +<p>"I used—truly I used!"</p> + +<p>The tears filled her <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span>eyes.</p> + +<p>"I thought you'd give me one of the old kisses."</p> + +<p>"I can't. Don't ask it."</p> + +<p>"Is your love dead, child, quite dead?"</p> + +<p>"Don't ask."</p> + +<p>"My God," said the sick man; "her love is dead before +she knows—even before she knows. What a punishment +is here?"</p> + +<p>A queer light filled his eyes; Valentine remembered that +whispers had reached her with regard to her father's sanity. +She tried again to soothe him.</p> + +<p>"Let us talk common-places; it does not do every +moment to gauge one's feelings. Shall I tell you about +baby?"</p> + +<p>"No, no; don't drag the child's name into the conversation +of this hour. Valentine, one of two things is about +to happen to me. I am either going to die or to become +quite hopelessly mad. Before either thing happens I have +a confession to make."</p> + +<p>"Confession? Father!"</p> + +<p>Her face grew very white.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I want to confess to you. It won't pain me so +much as it would have done had any of your love for me +survived. It is right you should know. I have not the +least doubt when you do know you will see justice done. +Of late you have not troubled yourself much about my +affairs. Perhaps you do not know that I have practically +retired from my business, and that I have taken steps to +vest the whole concern absolutely in your hands. When +you know all you will probably sell it; but that is your +affair. I shall either be in my grave or a madhouse, so it +won't concern me. If any fragment of money survives +afterwards—I mean after you have done what you absolutely +consider just—you must hold it in trust for your son. Now +I am ready to begin. What is the matter, Valentine?"</p> + +<p>"Only that you frighten me very much. I have not been +quite—quite well lately. Do you mind my fetching a +chair?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I did not know you were ill, child. Yes, take that +chair. Oh, Valentine, for you my love was true."</p> + +<p>"Father, don't let us go back to that subject. Now I +am ready. I will listen. What have you got to say?"</p> + +<p>"In the first place, I am perfectly sane at this moment."</p> + +<p>"I am sure of that."</p> + +<p>"Now listen. Look away from me, Valentine, while I +speak. That is all I ask."</p> + +<p>Valentine slightly turned her chair; her trembling and +excitement had grown and grown.</p> + +<p>"I am ready. Don't make the story longer than you +can help," she said in a choked voice.</p> + +<p>"Years and years ago, child, before you were born, I +was a happy man. I was honorable then and good; I was +the sort of man I pretended to be afterwards. I married +your mother, who died at your birth. I had loved your +mother very dearly. After her death you filled her place. +Soon you did more than fill it; you were everything to me; +you gave early promise of being a more spirited and brilliant +woman than your mother. I lived for you; you were +my whole and entire world.</p> + +<p>"Before your birth, Valentine, a friend, a great friend of +mine, left me a large sum of money. He was dying at the +time he made his will; his wife was in New Zealand; he +thought it possible that she might soon give birth to a child. +If the child lived, the money was to be kept in trust for it +until its majority. If it died it was to be mine absolutely. +I may as well tell you that my friend's wife was a very +worthless woman, and he was determined she should have +nothing to say to the money. He died—I took possession—a +son was born. I knew this fact, but I was hard +pressed at the time, and I stole the money.</p> + +<p>"My belief was that neither the child nor the mother +could ever trace the money. Soon I was disappointed. I +received a letter from the boy's mother which showed m<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>e +that she knew all, and although not a farthing could be +claimed until the lad came of age, then I must deliver to +him the entire sum with interest.</p> + +<p>"From that moment my punishment began. The trust +fund, with interest, would amount to eighty thousand +pounds. Even if I made myself a beggar I could not restore +the whole of this great sum. If I did not restore it +at the coming of age of this young man, I should be +doomed to a felon's cell, and penal servitude. I looked +into your face; you loved me then; you worshipped me. +I idolized you. I resolved that disgrace and ruin should +not touch you.</p> + +<p>"Helps and I between us concocted a diabolical plot. +Helps was like wax in my hands; he had helped me to +appropriate the money; he knew my secrets right through. +We made the plot, and waited for results. I took you into +society, I wanted you to marry. My object was that you +should marry a man whom you did not love. Wyndham +came on the scene; he seemed a weak sort of fellow—weak, +pliable—passionately in love with you—cursedly +poor. Did you speak, Valentine?"</p> + +<p>"No; you must make this story brief, if you please."</p> + +<p>"It can be told in a few more words. I thought I could +make Wyndham my tool. I saw that his passion for you +blinded him to almost everything. Otherwise, he was the +most selfless person I ever met. I saw that his unselfishness +would make him strong to endure. His overpowering +love for you would induce him to sacrifice everything for +present bliss. Such a combination of strength and weakness +was what I had been looking for. I told Helps that I had +found my man. Helps did not like it; he had taken an +insane fancy for the fellow. What is the matter, Valentine? +How you fidget."</p> + +<p>"You had better be brief. My patience is nearly exhausted."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span></p> +<p>"I am very brief. I spoke to Wyndham. I made my +bargain; he was to marry you. Before marriage, with the +plausible excuse that the insurance was to be effected by +way of settlement, I paid premiums for insurances on the +young man's life for eighty thousand pounds. I insured +his life in four offices. You were married. He knew +what he had undertaken, and everything went well, except +for one cursed fact—you learned to love the fellow. I nearly +went mad when I saw the love for him growing into your +eyes. He was to sail on board the <i>Esperance</i>. He knew, +and I knew that he was never coming back. He was to +feign death. Our plans were made carefully. I was to +receive a proper certificate, and with that in my hand I +could claim the insurance money. Thus he was to save +you and me from dishonor, which is worse than death.</p> + +<p>"All our plans were laid. I waited for news. Valentine, +you make me strangely nervous. What is the +matter with you, child? Are you going to faint?"</p> + +<p>"No—no—no! Go on—go on! Don't speak to me—don't +address me again by my name. Just go on, or I——Oh. +God, I am a desperate woman! Go on, I must hear +the end."</p> + +<p>As Valentine grew excited her father became cool and +quiet: he waited until she had done speaking, then +dropping his head he continued his narrative in a dreary +monotone.</p> + +<p>"I waited for news—it was long in coming. At last it +arrived on the day my grandson was born. Wyndham had +outwitted me. He could not bear the load of a living death. +Shame on him. He could take his bliss, but not his punishment. +He leaped overboard the <i>Esperance</i>—he committed +suicide."</p> + +<p>"What? No, never. Don't dare to say such words."</p> + +<p>"I must say them, although they are cruel. He committed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> +suicide, and then he came to haunt me; he knew +that his blood would rest on my soul; he knew how best +to torture me for what I had done to him."</p> + +<p>"One question. Was the insurance money paid?"</p> + +<p>"Was it? Yes. I believe so. That part seemed all of +minor importance afterwards. But I believe it was paid. +I think Helps saw to it."</p> + +<p>"You believe that my husband committed suicide, and +yet you allowed the insurance offices to pay."</p> + +<p>"What of that? No one else knew my thoughts."</p> + +<p>"As you say, what of that? Is your story finished?"</p> + +<p>"Nearly. I lost your love, and for the last three years +I have been haunted by Wyndham. I see his shadow +everywhere. Once I met him in the street. A few nights +ago he came into the library and confronted me; he spoke +to me and tried to touch me; he pretended he was not +dead."</p> + +<p>"What night was that?"</p> + +<p>Valentine's voice had changed; there was a new ring in +it. Her father roused himself from his lethargic attitude to +look into her face. "What night did my husband come to +you?"</p> + +<p>"I forget—no, I remember. It was Tuesday night."</p> + +<p>"Did he carry a violin? Speak—did he?"</p> + +<p>"He carried something. It may have been a violin. +Do they use such instruments in the other world? He was +a spirit, you know, child. How queer, how very queer you +look!"</p> + +<p>"I feel queer."</p> + +<p>"He wanted me to touch him, child, but I wouldn't. I +was too knowing for that. If you touch a spirit you must +go with him. No, no, I knew a thing worth two of that. +He went on telling me he was alive. But I knew better, +he couldn't take me in. Valentine, everything seems so +far away. Valentine, I am faint, faint. Ah, there he is +again by the door. Look! No, he must not touch me—he +must not!"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span></p> +<p>Valentine glanced round. There was no one present. +Then she rang the bell. It was answered by the old housekeeper.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Marsh, my father is ill. Will you give him some +restorative at once? And send for the doctor, if necessary. +I must go, but I'll come back if possible to-night."</p> + +<p>She left the room without glancing at the sick man, who +followed her to the door with his dim eyes. She went +downstairs, put on her cloak and left the house.</p> + +<p>She had to walk a little distance before she met a hansom, +and one or two people stared at the tall, slim figure, +which was still young and girlish, but which bore on its +proud face such a hard expression, such a burning defiant +light in the eyes. Valentine soon reached home. Everything +was in a whirl in her brain. Esther Helps was standing +on the steps. She flew to Esther, clasped her hands +in a grasp of iron, and said in a husky choked voice:—</p> + +<p>"Esther, my husband is alive!"</p> + +<p>"He is, dear madam, he is, and I have come to take +you to him!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Esther, thank God!"</p> + +<p>"Come indoors, madam, you have not a moment to lose. +We will keep that cab, if you please. I have only just +come back. I was going to seek you. Stay one moment. +Mrs. Wyndham. You are in black; will you put on your +white dress—the one you wore on Tuesday night."</p> + +<p>"Oh, what does it matter? Let me go to him."</p> + +<p>"Little things sometimes matter a great deal; he saw +you last in your white dress."</p> + +<p>"He was really there on Tuesday night?"</p> + +<p>"He was there. Come, I will fly for the dress and put +it on you."</p> + +<p>She did so. Valentine put her <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span>cloak over it, and the +two drove away in the hansom. Valentine had no ears for +the direction given to the cabman.</p> + +<p>"I am in heaven," she said once, under her breath. +"He lives. Now I can forgive my father!"</p> + +<p>"Madam, your husband is very ill."</p> + +<p>Valentine turned her great shining eyes towards Esther.</p> + +<p>"All the better. I can nurse him," she said, with a smile, +and then she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head +and did not speak another word.</p> + +<p>The cab drew up at one of the entrances to St. Thomas' +Hospital.</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LI.</h2> + + +<p>"What place is this?" asked the wife.</p> + +<p>She was unacquainted with hospitals and sickness.</p> + +<p>"This is a place where they cure the sick, and succour +the dying, dear Mrs. Wyndham," gently remarked Esther +Helps.</p> + +<p>"They cure the sick here, do they? But I will cure +my husband myself. I know the way." She smiled. +"Take me to him, Esther. How slow you are. Beloved +Esther—I don't thank you—I have no words to say thank +you—but my heart is so happy I think it will burst."</p> + +<p>The porter came forward, then a nurse. Several ceremonies +had to be gone through, several remarks made, +several questions asked. Valentine heard and saw nothing. +Esther helped Valentine to take off her cloak; and she +stood in her simple long plain white dress, with her bright +hair like a glory round her happy face.</p> + +<p>The nurse who finally conducted them to the ward where +Wyndham lay looked at her in a sort of bewilderment. +Esther and the nurse went first, and Valentine slowly followed +between the long rows of beds; some of the men +said afterwards that an angel had gone through the ward +on the night that the strolling minstrel, poor fellow, died. +The sister who had charge of the ward turned and whispered +a word to Esther, then she pushed aside a screen +which surrounded one of the beds.</p> + +<p>"Your husband is very ill," she said, looking with a world +of pity into Valentine's bright eyes. "You ought to be +prepared; he is <i>very</i> ill."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I am quite prepared. I have come to cure +him."</p> + +<p>Then she went inside the screen, and Esther and the +nurse remained without.</p> + +<p>Wyndham was lying with his eyes closed; his sunken +cheeks, his deathly pallor, his quick and hurried breath +might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> have prepared the young wife for the worst. They +did not. She stood for a moment at the foot of the bed, +her hands clasped in ecstasy, her eyes shining, a wonderful +smile bringing back the beauty to her lips. Then she +came forward and lay gently down by the side of the dying +man. She slipped her hand under his head and laid her +cheek to his.</p> + +<p>"At last, Gerald," she said, "at last you have come +back! You didn't die. You are changed, greatly changed; +but you didn't die, Gerald."</p> + +<p>He opened his eyes and looked her full in the face.</p> + +<p>"Valentine!"</p> + +<p>"Hush, you are too weak to talk. Stay quiet, I am with +you. I will nurse you back to strength. Oh, my darling, +you didn't die."</p> + +<p>"Your darling, Valentine? Did you call me your darling?"</p> + +<p>"I said it. I say it. You are all the world to me; without +you the world is empty. Oh, how I love you—how I have +loved you for years."</p> + +<p>"Then it was good I didn't die," said Wyndham, he +raised his eyes, looked up and smiled. His smile was one +of ecstasy.</p> + +<p>"Of course it was good that you didn't die, and now +you are going to get well. Lie still. Do you like my +hand under your head?"</p> + +<p>"Like it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; you need not tell me. Let me talk to you; +don't answer me. Gerald, my father told me. He told +me what he had done; he told me what you had done. +He wants me to forgive him, but I'm not going to forgive +him. I'll never forgive him, Gerald. I have ceased to +love him, and I'll never forgive him; all my love is for +you."</p> + +<p>"Not all, wife—not quite all. Give him back a little, +and—forgive."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span></p> +<p>"How weak you are, Gerald, and your voice sounds +miles away."</p> + +<p>"Forgive him, Valentine."</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you wish it. Lie still, darling."</p> + +<p>"Valentine—that money."</p> + +<p>"I know about it—that blood-money. The price of your +precious life. It shall be paid back at once."</p> + +<p>"Then God will forgive me. I thank Him, unspeakably."</p> + +<p>"Gerald, you are very weak. I can scarcely hear your +words. Does it tire you dreadfully to talk? See, I will +hold your hand; when you are too tired to speak your fingers +can press mine. Gerald, you were outside our house +on Tuesday night. Yes, I feel the pressure of your hand; +you were there. Gerald, you were very unhappy that +night."</p> + +<p>"But not now, darling," replied Wyndham. He had +found his voice; his words came out with sudden strength +and joy. "I made a mistake that night, wife. I won't +tell it to you. I made a mistake."</p> + +<p>"And you are really quite, quite happy now."</p> + +<p>"Happy! Sorrow is put behind me—the former things +are done away."</p> + +<p>"You will be happier still when you come home to baby +and me."</p> + +<p>"You'll come to me, Val; you and the boy."</p> + +<p>"What do you say? I can't hear you."</p> + +<p>"You'll come to me."</p> + +<p>"I am with you."</p> + +<p>"You'll come—<i>up</i>—to me."</p> + +<p>Then she began to understand.</p> + +<p>Half-an-hour later the nurse and Esther drew the screen +aside and came in. Valentine's face was nearly as white +as Wyndham's. She did not see the two as they came in. +Her eyes were fixed on her husband's, her hand still held +his.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p> +<p>"He wants a stimulant," said the nurse.</p> + +<p>She poured something out of a bottle and put it between +the dying man's lips. He opened his eyes when she did +this, and looked at Valentine.</p> + +<p>"Are you still there? Hold my hand."</p> + +<p>"Do you think I would let it go? I have been wanting +this hand to clasp mine for <i>so</i> long, oh, for <i>so</i> long."</p> + +<p>The nurse again put some stimulant between Gerald's +lips.</p> + +<p>"You must not tire his strength, madam," she said. +"Even emotion, even joyful emotion is more than he can +bear just now."</p> + +<p>"Is it, nurse? Then I will sit quiet, and not speak. I +don't mind how long I stay, nor how quiet I keep, if only +I can save him. Nurse, I know he is very ill, but, but——"</p> + +<p>Her lips quivered, and her eyes, dry and bright and hungry, +were fixed on the nurse. Wyndham, too, was looking +at the nurse with a question written on his face. She bent +down low, and caught his faint whisper.</p> + +<p>"Your husband bids you hope," she said then, turning +to Valentine. "He bids you take courage; he bids you +to have the best hope of all—the hope eternal. Madam, +when you clasp hands up there you need not part."</p> + +<p>"Did you tell her to say that to me, Gerald?" asked +the wife. "Oh, no, you couldn't have told her to say +those words. Oh, no, you love me too well to go away."</p> + +<p>"God loves you, Valentine," suddenly said Gerald. +"God loves <i>you</i>, and He loves me, and His eternal love +will surround us. I up there, you here. In that love we +shall be one."</p> + +<p>Only the nurse knew with what difficulty Wyndham +uttered these words, but Valentine saw the light in his +eyes. She bowed her head on his thin hand, her lips kissed +it—she did not speak.</p> + +<p>To the surpris<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span>e of the sister who had charge of the ward. +Wyndham lingered on for hours—during the greater part +of the night. Valentine and Esther never left him. Esther +sat a little in the shadow where her pale face could scarcely +be seen. If she felt personal grief she kept it under. The +chief actors in the tragedy, the cruelly-wronged husband +and wife, absorbed all her thoughts. No, she had no time, +no room, to think of herself.</p> + +<p>Wyndham was going—Brother Jerome would no longer +be known in the streets of East London; the poor, the +sorrowful, would grieve at not seeing his face again. The +touch of his hand could no longer comfort—the light in his +eyes could no longer bless. The Mission would have to do +without Brother Jerome—this missioner was about to +render up his account to the Judge of all.</p> + +<p>The little attic in Acacia Villas would also be empty; +the tired man would not need the few comforts that Esther +had collected round him—the tiresome cough, the weary +restless step would cease to disturb Cherry's rest, and +Esther's chief object in life would be withdrawn.</p> + +<p>He who for so long was supposed to be dead would be +dead in earnest. Valentine would be a real widow, little +Gerald truly an orphan.</p> + +<p>All these thoughts thronged through Esther's mind as +she sat in the shadow behind the screen and listened to +the chimes outside as they proclaimed the passing time, +and the passing away also of a life.</p> + +<p>Every moment lives of men go away—souls enter the +unknown country. Some go with regret, some with rejoicing. +In some cases there are many left behind to +sorrow—in other cases no one mourns.</p> + +<p>Wyndham had sinned, he had yielded to temptation; he +had been weak—a victim it is true—still a victim who with +his eyes open had done a great wrong. Yet Esther felt +that for some at least it was a good thing that Wyndham +was born.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span></p> +<p>"I, for one, thank God that I knew him," she murmured. +"He has caused me suffering, but he has raised me. I +thank God that I was permitted to know such a man. The +world would, I suppose, speak of him as a sinner, but to +my way of thinking, if ever there was a saint he is one."</p> + +<p>So the night passed on, and Valentine remained motionless +by the dying man's bed. What her thoughts were, +none might read.</p> + +<p>At last, towards the break of day, the time when so many +souls go away, Wyndham stirred faintly and opened his +eyes. Valentine moved forward with an eager gesture. He +looked at her, but there was no comprehension in his glance.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter?" said Valentine to the nurse. "I +scarcely know him—his face has altered."</p> + +<p>"It looks young, madam. Dying faces often do so. +Hark, he is saying something."</p> + +<p>"Lilias," said Wyndham. "Lilly—mother calls us—we +are to sing our evening hymn.</p> + +<p> +'Bright in the happy land!'<br /> +</p> + +<p>Lilias, do you <i>hear</i> mother; she is calling? Kneel down—our +evening prayers—by mother—we always say our +prayers by mother's knee. Kneel, Lilias, see, my hands are +folded—'Our Father'——"</p> + +<p>There was a long pause after the last words, a pause +followed by one more breath of infinite content, and then +the nurse closed the dead man's eyes.</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LII.</h2> + +<h4>TWO YEARS AFTER.</h4> + + +<p>Augusta Wyndham was pacing up and down the broad +gravel walk which ran down the centre of the rectory garden +in a state of great excitement. She was walking quickly, +her hands clasped loosely before her, her tall and rather +angular figure drawn up to its full height, her bright black +eyes alert and watchful in their expression.</p> + +<p>"Now, if only they are not interrupted," she said, "if +only I can keep people from going near the rose-walk, he'll +do it—I know he'll do it—I saw it in his eyes when he +came up and asked me where Lilias was. He hasn't been +here for six months, and I had given up all hope; but hope +has revived to-day—hope springs eternal in the human +breast. Tra la, la—la, la. Now, Gerry, boy, what do you +want?"</p> + +<p>A sturdy little fellow in a sailor suit stood for a moment +in the porch of the old rectory, then ran with a gleeful +shout down the gravel walk towards Augusta. She held +out her arms to detain him.</p> + +<p>"Well caught, Gerry," she said.</p> + +<p>"It isn't well caught," he replied with an angry flush. "I +don't want to stay with you, Auntie Gussie; I want to go +to my—my own auntie. Let me pass, please."</p> + +<p>"You saucy boy, auntie's busy; you shall stay with me."</p> + +<p>"I won't. I'll beat you—I won't stay."</p> + +<p>"If I whisper something to you, Gerry—something about +Auntie Lil. Now be quiet, mannikin, and let me say my +say. You love Auntie Lil, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"You know that; you do talk nonsense sometimes. I +love father in heaven, and mother, and Auntie Lil."</p> + +<p>"And me, you little wretch."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes. Let me go to Auntie Lil n<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span>ow."</p> + +<p>"I want to whisper something to you, Gerry. Auntie +Lil is talking to someone she loves much better than you +or me or anyone else in the world, and it would be very +unkind to interrupt her."</p> + +<p>Gerry was sitting on Augusta's shoulder. From this +elevated position he could catch a glimpse of a certain +grey dress, and a quick flash of chestnut hair, as the sun +shone on it—that dress and that hair belonged to Auntie +Lil. It was no matter at all to Gerry that someone else +walked by her side, that someone was bending his dark +head somewhat close to hers, and that as she listened her +steps faltered and grew slow.</p> + +<p>Gerry's whole soul was wounded by Augusta's words. +His Aunt Lilias did not love anyone better than him. It +was his bounden duty, his first duty in life, to have such +an erroneous statement put right at once.</p> + +<p>He put forth all his strength, struggled down from Augusta's +shoulders, and before she was aware of it was speeding +like an arrow from a bow to his target, Lilias.</p> + +<p>"There, now, I give it up," said Augusta. "Awful child, +what mischief may he not make? Don't I hear his shrill +voice even here! Oh, I give it up now; I shall go into +the house. The full heat of the sun in July does not suit +me, and if in addition to all other troubles Lilias is to have +a broken heart, I may as well keep in sufficient health to +nurse her."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Gerry was having a very comfortable time +on Carr's shoulder; his dark eyes were looking at his +Aunt Lilias, and his little fat, hot hand was clasped in hers.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said suddenly, "which is it?"</p> + +<p>"Which is what, Gerry? I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"I think you are stoopid, Auntie Lil. Is it him or +me?"</p> + +<p>Then he laid his other fat hand on Carr's forehead.</p> + +<p>"Is it him or me?" said Gerry, "that you lo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span>ve the +most of all the peoples in the world?"</p> + +<p>"It's me, Gerry, it's me," suddenly said Adrian Carr; +"but you come next, dear little man. Kiss him, Lilias, and +tell him that he comes next."</p> + +<p>"Gerald's dear little boy," said Lilias. She took him in +her arms and pressed her head against his chubby neck.</p> + +<p>"Dear, dear little boy," she said. "I think you'll always +come second."</p> + +<p>She looked so solemn when she spoke, and so beautiful +was the light in her eyes when she raised her face to look +at Gerry, that even he, most despotic of little mortals, +could not but feel satisfied.</p> + +<p>He ran away presently to announce to all and everyone +within reach that Mr. Carr had kissed Auntie Lil like anything, +and the newly-betrothed pair were left alone.</p> + +<p>"At last, Lilias," said Carr.</p> + +<p>She looked shyly into his face.</p> + +<p>"I thought I should never win you," he continued. "I +have loved you for years, and I never had courage to tell +you so until to-day."</p> + +<p>"And I have loved you for years," replied Lilias Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"But not best, Lilly. Oh, I have read you like a book. +I never came before Gerald in your heart."</p> + +<p>"No," she said letting go his hand, and moving a step +or two away, so that she should face him. "I love you +well, beyond all living men, but Gerald stands alone. His +place can never be filled."</p> + +<p>The tears sprang into her eyes and rolled down her +cheeks.</p> + +<p>"And I love you better for loving him so, my darling," +answered her lover. He put his arms round her, and she +laid her head on his breast.</p> + +<p>For a long time they paced up and down the Rose-walk. +They had much to say, much to feel, much to be silent +over. The air was balmy overhead, and the rose-leaves +were tossed by the light summer breeze against Lilias'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> grey +dress.</p> + +<p>Presently she began to talk of the past. Carr asked +tenderly for Valentine.</p> + +<p>"Valentine is so noble," replied her sister-in-law. "You +don't know what she has been to me since that day when +she and I looked together at Gerald's dead face. Oh, that +day, that dreadful day!"</p> + +<p>"It is past, Lilias. Think of the future, the bright +future, and he is in that brightness now."</p> + +<p>"I know."</p> + +<p>She wiped the tears again from her eyes. Then she continued +in a changed voice:—</p> + +<p>"I will try and forget that day, which, as you say, is +behind Gerald and me. At the time I could scarcely think +of myself. I was so overcome with the wonderful brave +way in which Valentine acted. You know her father died +a month afterwards, and she was so sweet to him. She +nursed him day and night, and did all that woman could +do to comfort and forgive him. His brain was dreadfully +clouded, however, and he died at last in a state of unconsciousness. +Then Valentine came out in a new light. She +went to the insurance offices and told the whole story of +the fraud that had been practised on them, and of her +husband's part in it. She told the story in such a way that +hard business men, as most of these men were, wept. +Then she sold her father's great shipping business, which +had all been left absolutely to her, and paid back every +penny of the money.</p> + +<p>"Since then, as you know, she and Gerry live here. She +is really the idol of my old father's life; he and she are +scarcely ever parted. Yes, she is a noble woman. When I +look at her I say to myself, Gerald, at least, did not love +unworthily."</p> + +<p>"Then she is poor now?"</p> + +<p>"As the world speaks of poverty she is poor. Do you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> +think Valentine minds that? Oh, how little her father understood +her when he thought that riches were essential to +her happiness. No one has simpler tastes than Valentine. +Do you know that she housekeeps now at the rectory, and +we are really much better off than we used to be. Alack +and alas! Adrian, you ought to know in time, I am such +a bad housekeeper."</p> + +<p>Lilias laughed quite merrily as she spoke, and Carr's dark +face glowed.</p> + +<p>"It is a bargain," he said, "that I take you with your +faults and don't reproach you with them. And what has +become of that fine creature, Esther Helps?" he asked +presently.</p> + +<p>"She works in East London, and comes here for her +holidays. Sometimes I think Valentine loves Esther Helps +better than anyone in the world after Gerry."</p> + +<p>"That is scarcely to be wondered at, is it?"</p> + +<p>Just then their conversation was interrupted by some +gleeful shouts, and the four little girls, no longer so very +small, came flying round the corner in hot pursuit of +Gerry.</p> + +<p>"Here they is!" exclaimed the small tyrant, gazing +round at his devoted subjects, and pointing with a lofty and +condescending air to Adrian and Lilias. "Here they is!" +he said, "and I 'spose they'll do it again if we ask them."</p> + +<p>"Do what again?" asked Lilias innocently.</p> + +<p>"Why, kiss one another," replied Gerry. "I saw you +do it, so don't tell stories. Joan and Betty they wouldn't +believe me. Please do it again, please do. Mr. Carr, +please kiss Auntie Lil again."</p> + +<p>"Oh, fie, Gerry," replied Lilias. She tried to turn away, +but Carr went up to her gravely, and he kissed her brow.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing in it," he continued, looking round at +the astonished little girls. "We are going to be husband +and wife in a week or two, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> husbands and wives always +kiss one another."</p> + +<p>"Then I was right," said Betty. "Joan and Rosie +wouldn't believe me, but I was right after all. I am glad +of that."</p> + +<p>"I believed you, Betty. I always believed you," said +Violet.</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps you did. The others didn't. I'm glad +I was right."</p> + +<p>"How were you right, Betty?" asked Carr.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't ask her, Adrian. Let us come into the +house," interrupted Lilias.</p> + +<p>"Yes, we'll come into the house, of course. But I should +like to know how Betty was right."</p> + +<p>"Why you wanted to kiss her years ago. I knew it, and +I said it. Didn't you, now?"</p> + +<p>"Speak the trufe," suddenly commanded Gerry.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did," replied Carr.</p> + +<p>When Adrian Carr left the rectory that evening he had +to walk down the dusty road which led straight past the +church and the little village school-house to the railway +station. This road was full of associations to him, and he +walked slowly, thinking of past scenes, thanking God for +his present blessings.</p> + +<p>"It was here, by the turnstile, I first saw Lilias," he +said to himself. "She and Marjory were standing together, +and she came forward and looked at me, and asked me in +that sweet voice of hers if I were not Mr. Carr. She +reminded me of her brother, whom I just barely knew. It +was a fleeting likeness, seen more at first than afterwards.</p> + +<p>"Here, by this little old school-house the villagers stood +and rejoiced the last day Gerald came home. Poor Wyndham—most +blessed and most miserable of men. Well, he is +at rest now, and even here I see the cross which throws a +shadow over his grave!"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span></p> +<p>Carr looked at his watch. There was time. He entered +the little church-yard. A green mound, a white cross, +several wreaths of flowers, marked the spot where one who +had been much loved in life lay until the resurrection. The +cross was so placed as to bend slightly over the grave as +though to protect it. It bore a very brief inscription:—</p> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">In Peace.</span><br /> +<br /> +<big>GERALD WYNDHAM.</big><br /> +<span class="smcap">Aged 27.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 5%;" /> +<p class="center">THE END.</p> + + + +<hr class="double" /> +<h1>JELLY OF CUCUMBER AND ROSES.</h1> + + +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap"><b>MADE BY W.A. DYER & CO., MONTREAL</b></span>, is a delightfully +fragrant Toilet article. Removes freckles and sunburn, +and renders chapped and rough skin, after +one application, smooth and pleasant. No Toilet-table is +complete without a tube of Dyer's Jelly of Cucumber and +Roses. 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PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS, <span class="smcap">by Rudyard Kipling</span> <span class="price2"> .25</span><br /> +116. THE DEMONIAC, <span class="smcap">by Walter Besant</span><span class="price2"> .25</span><br /> +117. BRAVE HEART AND TRUE, <span class="smcap">by Florence Marryat</span><span class="price2"> .25</span><br /> +118. WORMWOOD, <span class="smcap">by Marie Corelli</span> <span class="price2">.25</span><br /> +119. GOOD BYE, <span class="smcap">by John Strange Winter</span><span class="price2"> .25</span><br /> +</p> +<hr style="width: 30%;" /> +<h3>For Sale by all Booksellers.</h3></div> +<p><br/><br/><br/></p> + +<h2><i>Scarff's Marshmallow Cream</i></h2> +<blockquote> +<p>For the Skin and Complexion, superior to anything in use +for roughness, or any irritation of the skin, +sunburn, pimples, &c.</p></blockquote> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h3>TRY</h3> + +<h1>HOREHOUND AND HONEY</h1> + +<h2>COUGH BALSAM</h2> + +<p class="center">For Coughs, Colds, &c., Pleasant, Reliable, Effectual.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h2>SCARFF'S</h2> + +<h1>SAPONACEOUS TOOTH WASH</h1> + +<p class="center">CARBOLATED.</p> + +<p class="center">Is the best preparation for Cleansing, Preserving and<br /> +Beautifying the Teeth and Gums.</p> + +<p class="center">PREPARED BY</p> + +<p class="center">CHAS. E. SCARFF, CHEMIST AND DRUGGIST</p> + +<p class="center"><i>2262 St. Catherine Street, opposite Victoria.</i></p> + +<hr class="double" /> +<h3>CATALOGUE</h3> + +<h3>OF LOVELL'S</h3> + +<h2>CANADIAN COPYRIGHT SERIES</h2> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<blockquote> +<p>All the books in the Copyright Series are by arrangement with +the Authors, to whom a Royalty is paid, and no American reprints can +lawfully be sold in Canada.</p> + +<p> +54. A Hidden Foe, by G.A. Henty <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +53. Lady Maude's Mania, by George Manville Fenn <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +51. A Double Knot, by Geo. Manville Fenn <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +49. Alas, by Rhoda Broughton <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +48. Name and Fame, by Adeline Sergeant <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +47. Marcia, by W.E. Norris <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +46. Black Box Murder, by Maarten Maartens <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +45. Famous or Infamous, by Bertha Thomas <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +44. Heart of Gold, by L.T. Meade <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +43. Lover or Friend, by Rosa Nouchette Carey <span class="price1"> .50</span><br /> +42. The Chief Justice, by Karl Emil Franzos <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +41. Ruffino, by Ouida <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +40. The Moment After, by Robert Buchanan <span class="price1"> .25</span><br /> +39. The Great Mill Street Mystery, by Adeline Sergeant <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +38. A Smuggler's Secret, by Frank Barrett <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +37. A True Friend, by Adeline Sergeant <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +36. A Scarlet Sin, by Florence Marryat <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +35. A Woman's Heart, by Mrs. Alexander <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +34. Her Last Throw, by The Duchess <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +33. The Burnt Million, by James Payn <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +32. Syrlin, by Ouida <span class="price1"> .50</span><br /> +31. The Lady Egeria, by John Berwick Harwood <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +30. By Order of the Czar, by Joseph Hatton <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +29. April's Lady, by The Duchess <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +28. The Firm of Girdlestone, by A. Conan Doyle <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +27. A Girl of the People, by L.T. Meade <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +26. Was Ever Woman in this Humor Wooed? by Charles Gibbon <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +25. The Mynns' Mystery, by George Manville Fenn <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +24. Sylvia Arden, by Oswald Crawford <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +23. Nurse Revel's Mistake, by Florence Warden <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +22. Hester Hepworth, by Kate Tannatt Woods <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +21. Joshua, a Story of Egyptian-Israelitish Life, by Georg Ebers <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +20. Hedri; or, Blind Justice, by Helen Mathers <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +19. Mount Eden, by Florence Marryat <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +18. Earth Born, by Spirito Gentil <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +17. Buttons and Bootles' Baby, by John Strange Winter <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +16. The Haute Noblesse, by George Manville Fenn <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +15. Kit Wyndham; or, Fettered for Life, by Frank Barrett <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +14. The Tree of Knowledge, by G.M. Robins <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +13. Comedy of a Country House, by Julian Sturgis <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +12. A Life Sentence, by Adeline Sergeant <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +11. An I.D.B. in South Africa, by Louise Vescelius Sheldon <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +10. The Curse of Carne's Hold, by G.A. Henty <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +9. That Other Woman, by Annie Thomas <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +8. Jezebel's Friends, by Dora Russell <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +7. Sophy Carmine, by John Strange Winter <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +5. The Luck of the House, by Adeline Sergeant <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +4. The Search for Basil Lyndhurst, by Rosa Nouchette Carey <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +2. The Fatal Phryne, by F.C. Phillips <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +1. The Wing of Azrael, by Mona Caird <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p><br /><br /></p> +<p class="center">JOHN LOVELL & SON'S PUBLICATIONS.</p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b><i>A Woman's Heart.</i></b></p> <div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Mrs. Alexander</span>.</div> +<blockquote> +<p>An exciting and dramatically written story, full of woman's<br /> +tenderness and compassion under the most trying circumstances.<br /> +A captivating romance that is as interesting as it is elevating in<br /> +tone.</p> <div class="price"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.<br /></div></blockquote> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b><i>A True Friend.</i></b></p> <div class="author">By <span class="smcap">Adeline Sergeant</span>.</div> +<blockquote> +<p>The portrayal not the exaggeration of a noble character, from<br /> +whom the reader can draw healthy inspiration. </p> <div class="price"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.<br /></div></blockquote> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b><i>A Smuggler's Secret.</i></b> </p> <div class="author">By <span class="smcap">Frank Barrett</span>. </div> +<p><br /></p> +<blockquote><p>An exciting story of the Cornish Coast, full of adventure<br /> +well put together and of a pure tone.</p> <div class="price"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.<br /> </div></blockquote> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b><i>The Great Mill Street Mystery.</i></b></p> <div class="author">By <span class="smcap">Adeline Sergeant</span>.</div> +<p><br /></p> +<blockquote><p>The author is as usual true to life and true to her own noble<br /> +instincts. Added to a feminine perception, Miss Sergeant has a<br /> +dispassionateness and a sense of humor quite rare in her sex.</p> <div class="price"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.<br /> </div></blockquote> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b><i>The Moment After.</i></b></p> <div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Robert Buchanan</span>.</div> +<p><br /></p> +<blockquote><p>A thrilling story, giving the experience in the hereafter of a<br /> +man who was hanged. It is weird but not revolting.</p> <div class="price"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 25 cents.<br /> </div></blockquote> +<p><b><i><br /> +The Bondman.</i> </b></p> <div class="author">By <span class="smcap">Hall Caine</span>.</div> +<p><br /></p> +<blockquote><p>It is vigorous and faithful, portrays with the intimacy of<br /> +entire acquaintanceship, not only the physical features of island<br /> +life in the Northern Seas, but the insular habits of thought of the<br /> +dwellers on those secluded haunts of the old Sea Kings or Vikings<br /> +of the past.</p> <div class="price"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.<br /> </div></blockquote> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center">JOHN LOVELL & SON, PUBLISHERS, MONTREAL.</p> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + + +<h2>SECOND EDITION.</h2> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h1>"<span class="smcap">A Daughter of St. Peter's</span>"</h1> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Janet C. Conger.</span><br /> + +(<span class="smcap">Mrs. Wm. Cox Allen.</span>)</p> + +<p class="center"> +In Paper Cover, 30 Cents,<br /> +In Cloth Cover, 50 Cents,<br /> +</p> + +<h2>Lovell's Canadian Authors' Series, No. 60.</h2> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<p>The authoress is a Canadian, and her story is remarkably well told.—<i>Advertiser</i>. +London.</p> + +<p>In this work a new aspirant for literary honors in the field of fiction +makes her first appearance before the public. The story which she tells +is neither lengthy nor involved. It is a simple, prettily told story of +love at first sight, with a happy ending, and little to divert the mind of +the reader from the hero and heroine. Mrs. Conger's literary style is +pleasing, and her production evidences a well cultured mind and a +tolerable appreciation of character. Her book will be found very +pleasant reading.—"<i>Intelligencer</i>," Belleville.</p> + +<p>The plot is ingeniously constructed, and its working out furnishes the +opportunity for some dramatic situations. The heroine, of whose early +life the title gives us a hint, is a creature all grace and tenderness, a true +offspring of the sunny south. The hero is an American, a man of +wealth, and an artist <i>in posse</i>. The other <i>dramatis personæ</i>, who play +their parts around these central figures, are mostly Italians or Americans. +The great question to be solved is: Who is Merlina? In supplying the +solution, the author takes occasion to introduce us to an obscure but +interesting class of people. The denouement of "A Daughter of St. +Peter's" is somewhat startling, but we must not impair the reader's +pleasure by anticipation. We see from the advanced sheets that it is +dedicated to the Canadian public, to whom we cordially commend it.—<i>The +Gazette</i>, Montreal.</p> + +<p>For a first effort, which the authoress in her preface modestly says +the novel is, "A Daughter of St. Peter's" must be pronounced a very +promising achievement. The plot is well constructed and the story +entertaining and well told. The style is light and agreeable, and with +a little more experience and facility in novel-writing we may expect +Mrs. Conger, if she essays a second trial, to produce a book that will +surpass the decided merits of "A Daughter of St. Peter's."—<i>Free Press</i>. +London.</p> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<div class="dbox"><br /> + <big>Transcriber's Note:</big><br /><br /> Punctuation has been normalized.<br /><br /> + + Page 66; removed extra "one" (Wyndham was one one).<br /> + Page 336; inserted "be" (lawfully be sold in Canada).<br /><br /> + + The list of titles on page 336 is incomplete in the original,<br /> + i.e. mlssing: 52, 50, etc.<br /><br /> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Life For a Love, by L. T. 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