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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/38832-8.txt b/38832-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a140f1f --- /dev/null +++ b/38832-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11704 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Life's Secret, by Mrs. Henry Wood + +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's Secret + A Novel + +Author: Mrs. Henry Wood + +Release Date: February 11, 2012 [EBook #38832] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LIFE'S SECRET *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + +A LIFE'S SECRET. + +A Novel. + +By + +MRS. HENRY WOOD, + +AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," ETC. + +[Illustration: Logo] + +_EIGHTH EDITION._ + +LONDON: +RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. +Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty. + +1879. + +[_All Rights of Translation and Reproduction are Reserved._] + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +PART THE FIRST. + +CHAP. PAGE + I. WAS THE LADY MAD? 11 + + II. CHANGES 32 + + III. AWAY TO LONDON 39 + + IV. DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT 52 + + V. MISS GWINN'S VISIT 67 + + VI. TRACKED HOME 83 + + VII. MR. SHUCK AT HOME 103 + +VIII. FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS! 116 + + IX. THE SEPARATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER 127 + + +PART THE SECOND. + + I. A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN 136 + + II. CALLED TO KETTERFORD 153 + + III. TWO THOUSAND POUNDS 168 + + IV. AGITATION 186 + + +PART THE THIRD. + + I. A PREMATURE AVOWAL 204 + + II. MR. COX 221 + + III. 'I THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL' 238 + + IV. SOMEBODY 'PITCHED INTO' 256 + + V. A GLOOMY CHAPTER 274 + + VI. THE LITTLE BOY AT REST 288 + + VII. MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET 294 + +VIII. A DESCENT FOR MR. SHUCK 309 + + IX. ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY 326 + + X. THE YEARS GONE BY 342 + + XI. RELIEF 359 + + XII. CONCLUSION 369 + + + + +A LIFE'S SECRET + + + + +PART THE FIRST. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +WAS THE LADY MAD? + + +On the outskirts of Ketterford, a town of some note in the heart of +England, stood, a few years ago, a white house, its green lawn, +surrounded by shrubs and flowers, sloping down to the high road. It +probably stands there still, looking as if not a day had passed over its +head since, for houses can be renovated and made, so to say, new again, +unlike men and women. A cheerful, bright, handsome house, of moderate +size, the residence of Mr. Thornimett. + +At the distance of a short stone's-throw, towards the open country, were +sundry workshops and sheds--a large yard intervening between them and +the house. They belonged to Mr. Thornimett; and the timber and other +characteristic materials lying about the yard would have proclaimed +their owner's trade without the aid of the lofty sign-board--'Richard +Thornimett, Builder and Contractor.' His business was extensive for a +country town. + +Entering the house by the pillared portico, and crossing the +black-and-white floor-cloth of the hall to the left, you came to a room +whose windows looked towards the timber-yard. It was fitted up as a sort +of study, or counting-house, though the real business counting-house was +at the works. Matting was on its floor; desks and stools stood about; +maps and drawings, plain and coloured, were on its walls; not finished +and beautiful landscapes, such as issue from the hands of modern +artists, or have descended to us from the great masters, but skeleton +designs of various buildings--churches, bridges, terraces--plans to be +worked out in actuality, not to be admired on paper. This room was +chiefly given over to Mr. Thornimett's pupil: and you may see him in it +now. + +A tall, gentlemanly young fellow, active and upright; his name, Austin +Clay. It is Easter Monday in those long-past years--and yet not so very +long past, either--and the works and yard are silent to-day. Strictly +speaking, Austin Clay can no longer be called a pupil, for he is +twenty-one, and his articles are out. The house is his home; Mr. and +Mrs. Thornimett, who have no children of their own, are almost as his +father and mother. They have said nothing to him about leaving, and he +has said nothing to them. The town, in its busy interference, +gratuitously opined that 'Old Thornimett would be taking him into +partnership.' Old Thornimett had given no indication of what he might +intend to do, one way or the other. + +Austin Clay was of good parentage, of gentle birth. Left an orphan at +the age of fourteen, with very small means, not sufficient to complete +his education, Ketterford wondered what was to become of him, and +whether he had not better get rid of himself by running away to sea. Mr. +Thornimett stepped in and solved the difficulty. The late Mrs. +Clay--Austin's mother--and Mrs. Thornimett were distantly related, and +perhaps a certain sense of duty in the matter made itself heard; that, +at least, combined with the great fact that the Thornimett household was +childless. The first thing they did was to take the boy home for the +Christmas holidays; the next, was to tell him he should stay there for +good. Not to be adopted as their son, not to leave him a fortune +hereafter, Mr. Thornimett took pains to explain to him, but to make him +into a man, and teach him to earn his own living. + +'Will you be apprenticed to me, Austin?' subsequently asked Mr. +Thornimett. + +'Can't I be articled, sir?' returned Austin, quickly. + +'Articled?' repeated Mr. Thornimett, with a laugh. He saw what was +running in the boy's mind. He was a plain man himself; had built up his +own fortunes just as he had built the new house he lived in; had risen, +in fact, as many a working man does rise: but Austin's father was a +gentleman. 'Well, yes, you can be articled, if you like it better,' he +said; 'but I shall never call it anything but apprenticed; neither will +the trade. You'll have to work, young sir.' + +'I don't care how hard I work, or what I do,' cried Austin, earnestly. +'There's no degradation in work.' + +Thus it was settled; and Austin Clay became bound pupil to Richard +Thornimett. + +'Old Thornimett and his wife have done it out of charity,' quoth +Ketterford. + +No doubt they had. But as the time passed on they grew very fond of him. +He was an open-hearted, sweet-tempered, generous boy, and one of them at +least, Mr. Thornimett, detected in him the qualities that make a +superior man. Privileges were accorded him from the first: the going on +with certain of his school duties, for which masters came to him out of +business hours--drawing, mathematics, and modern languages chiefly--and +Austin went on himself with Latin and Greek. With the two latter Mrs. +Thornimett waged perpetual war. What would be the use of them to him, +she was always asking, and Austin, in his pleasant, laughing way, would +rejoin that they might help to make him a gentleman. He was that +already: Austin Clay, though he might not know it, was a true gentleman +born. + +Had they repented their bargain? He was twenty-one now, and out of his +articles, or his time, as it was commonly called. No, not for an +instant. Never a better servant had Richard Thornimett; never, he would +have told you, one so good. With all his propensity to be a 'gentleman,' +Austin Clay did not shrink from his work; but did it thoroughly. His +master in his wisdom had caused him to learn his business practically; +but, that accomplished, he kept him to overlooking, and to other light +duties, just as he might have done by a son of his own. It had told +well. + +Easter Monday, and a universal holiday Mr. Thornimett had gone out on +horseback, and Austin was in the pupil's room. He sat at a desk, his +stool on the tilt, one hand unconsciously balancing a ruler, the other +supporting his head, which was bent over a book. + +'Austin!' + +The call, rather a gentle one, came from outside the door. Austin, +buried in his book, did not hear it. + +'Austin Clay!' + +He heard that, and started up. The door opened in the same moment, and +an old lady, dressed in delicate lavender print, came briskly in. Her +cap of a round, old-fashioned shape, was white as snow, and a bunch of +keys hung from her girdle. It was Mrs. Thornimett. + +'So you are here!' she exclaimed, advancing to him with short, quick +steps, a sort of trot. 'Sarah said she was sure Mr. Austin had not gone +out. And now, what do you mean by this?' she added, bending her +spectacles, which she always wore, on his open book. 'Confining yourself +indoors this lovely day over that good-for-nothing Hebrew stuff!' + +Austin turned his eyes upon her with a pleasant smile. Deep-set grey +eyes they were, earnest and truthful, with a great amount of thought in +them for a young man. His face was a pleasing, good-looking face, +without being a handsome one, its complexion pale, clear, and healthy, +and the hair rather dark. There was not much of beauty in the +countenance, but there was plenty of firmness and good sense. + +'It is not Hebrew, Mrs. Thornimett. Hebrew and I are strangers to each +other. I am only indulging myself with a bit of old Homer.' + +'All useless, Austin. I don't care whether it is Greek or Hebrew, or +Latin or French. To pore over those rubbishing dry books whenever you +get the chance, does you no good. If you did not possess a constitution +of iron, you would have been laid upon a sick-bed long ago.' + +Austin laughed outright. Mrs. Thornimett's prejudices against what she +called 'learning,' had grown into a proverb. Never having been troubled +with much herself, she, like the Dutch professor told of by George +Primrose, 'saw no good in it.' She lifted her hand and closed the book. + +'May I not spend my time as I like upon a holiday?' remonstrated Austin, +half vexed, half in good humour. + +'No,' said she, authoritatively; 'not when the day is warm and bright as +this. We do not often get so fair an Easter. Don't you see that I have +put off my winter clothing?' + +'I saw that at breakfast.' + +'Oh, you did notice that, did you? I thought you and Mr. Thornimett were +both buried in that newspaper. Well, Austin, I never make the change +till I think warm weather is really coming in: and so it ought to be, +for Easter is late this year. Come, put that book up.' + +Austin obeyed, a comical look of grievance on his face. 'I declare you +order me about just as you did when I came here first, a miserable +little muff of fourteen. You'll never get another like me, Mrs. +Thornimett. As if I had not enough outdoor work every day in the week! +And I don't know where on earth to go to. It's like turning a fellow out +of house and home!' + +'You are going out for me, Austin. The master left a message for the +Lowland farm, and you shall take it over, and stay the day with them. +They will make as much of you as they would of a king. When Mrs. Milton +was here the other day, she complained that you never went over now; she +said she supposed you were growing above them.' + +'What nonsense!' said Austin, laughing. 'Well, I'll go there for you at +once, without grumbling. I like the Miltons.' + +'You can walk, or you can take the pony gig: whichever you like.' + +'I will walk,' replied Austin, with alacrity, putting his book inside +the large desk. 'What is the message, Mrs. Thornimett?' + +'The message----' + +Mrs. Thornimett came to a sudden pause, very much as if she had fallen +into a dream. Her eyes were gazing from the window into the far +distance, and Austin looked in the same direction: but there was not +anything to be seen. + +'There's nothing there, lad. It is but my own thoughts. Something is +troubling me, Austin. Don't you think the master has seemed very poorly +of late?' + +'N--o,' replied Austin, slowly, and with some hesitation, for he was +half doubting whether something of the sort had not struck him. +Certainly the master--as Mr. Thornimett was styled indiscriminately on +the premises both by servants and workpeople, so that Mrs. Thornimett +often fell into the same habit--was not the brisk man he used to be. 'I +have not noticed it particularly.' + +'That is like the young; they never see anything,' she murmured, as if +speaking to herself. 'Well, Austin, I have; and I can tell you that I do +not like the master's looks, or the signs I detect in him. Especially +did I not like them when he rode forth this morning.' + +'All that I have observed is that of late he seems to be disinclined for +business. He seems heavy, sleepy, as though it were a trouble to him to +rouse himself, and he complains sometimes of headache. But, of +course----' + +'Of course, what?' asked Mrs. Thornimett. 'Why do you hesitate?' + +'I was going to say that Mr. Thornimett is not as young as he was,' +continued Austin, with some deprecation. + +'He is sixty-six, and I am sixty-three. But, you must be going. Talking +of it, will not mend it. And the best part of the day is passing.' + +'You have not given me the message,' he said, taking up his hat which +lay beside him. + +'The message is this,' said Mrs. Thornimett, lowering her voice to a +confidential tone, as she glanced round to see that the door was shut. +'Tell Mr. Milton that Mr. Thornimett cannot answer for that timber +merchant about whom he asked. The master fears he might prove a slippery +customer; he is a man whom he himself would trust as far as he could +see, but no farther. Just say it into Mr. Milton's private ear, you +know.' + +'Certainly. I understand,' replied the young man, turning to depart. + +'You see now why it might not be convenient to despatch any one but +yourself. And, Austin,' added the old lady, following him across the +hall, 'take care not to make yourself ill with their Easter cheesecakes. +The Lowland farm is famous for them.' + +'I will try not,' returned Austin. + +He looked back at her, nodding and laughing as he traversed the lawn, +and from thence struck into the open road. His way led him past the +workshops, closed then, even to the gates, for Easter Monday in that +part of the country is a universal holiday. A few minutes, and he turned +into the fields; a welcome change from the dusty road. The field way +might be a little longer, but it was altogether pleasanter. Easter was +late that year, as Mrs. Thornimett observed, and the season was early. +The sky was blue and clear, the day warm and lovely; the hedges were +budding into leaf, the grass was growing, the clover, the buttercups, +the daisies were springing; and an early butterfly fluttered past +Austin. + +'You have taken wing betimes,' he said, addressing the unconscious +insect. 'I think summer must be at hand.' + +Halting for a moment to watch the flight, he strode on the quicker +afterwards. Supple, active, slender, his steps--the elastic, joyous, +tread of youth--scarcely seemed to touch the earth. He always walked +fast when busy with thought, and his mind was buried in the hint Mrs. +Thornimett had spoken, touching her fears for her husband's health. 'If +he is breaking, it's through his close attention to business,' decided +Austin, as he struck into the common and was nearing the end of his +journey. 'I wish he would take a jolly good holiday this summer. It +would set him up; and I know I could manage things without him.' + +A large common; a broad piece of waste land, owned by the lord of the +manor, but appropriated by anybody and everybody; where gipsies encamped +and donkeys grazed, and geese and children were turned out to roam. A +wide path ran across it, worn by the passage of farmer's carts and other +vehicles. To the left it was bordered in the distance by a row of +cottages; to the right, its extent was limited, and terminated in some +dangerous gravel pits--dangerous, because they were not protected. + +Austin Clay had reached the middle of the path and of the common, when +he overtook a lady whom he slightly knew. A lady of very strange +manners, popularly supposed to be mad, and of whom he once stood in +considerable awe, not to say terror, at which he laughed now. She was a +Miss Gwinn, a tall bony woman of remarkable strength, the sister of +Gwinn, a lawyer of Ketterford. Gwinn the lawyer did not bear the best of +characters, and Ketterford reviled him when they could do it secretly. +'A low, crafty, dishonest practitioner, whose hands couldn't have come +clean had he spent his days and nights in washing them,' was amidst the +complimentary terms applied to him. Miss Gwinn, however, seemed honest +enough, and but for her rancorous manners Ketterford might have grown to +feel a sort of respect for her as a woman of sorrow. She had come +suddenly to the place many years before and taken up her abode with her +brother. She looked and moved and spoke as one half-crazed with grief: +what its cause was, nobody knew; but it was accepted by all, and +mysteriously alluded to by herself on occasion. + +'You have taken a long walk this morning, Miss Gwinn,' said Austin, +courteously raising his hat as he came up with her. + +She threw back her grey cloak with a quick, sharp movement, and turned +upon him. 'Oh, is it you, Austin Clay? You startled me. My thoughts were +far away: deep upon another. _He_ could wear a fair outside, and accost +me in a pleasant voice, like you.' + +'That is rather a doubtful compliment, Miss Gwinn,' he returned, in his +good-humoured way. 'I hope I am no darker inside than out. At any rate, +I don't try to appear different from what I am.' + +'Did I accuse you of it? Boy! you had better go and throw yourself into +one of those gravel pits and die, than grow up to be deceitful,' she +vehemently cried. 'Deceit has been the curse of my days. It has made me +what I am; one whom the boys hoot after, and call----' + +'No, no; not so bad as that,' interrupted Austin, soothingly. 'You have +been cross with them sometimes, and they are insolent, mischievous +little ragamuffins. I am sure every thoughtful person respects you, +feeling for your sorrow.' + +'Sorrow!' she wailed. 'Ay. Sorrow, beyond what falls to the ordinary lot +of man. The blow fell upon _me_, though I was not an actor in it. When +those connected with us do wrong, we suffer; we, more than they. I may +be revenged yet,' she added, her expression changing to anger. 'If I can +only come across _him_.' + +'Across whom?' naturally asked Austin. + +'Who are you, that you should seek to pry into my secrets?' she +passionately resumed. 'I am five-and-fifty to-day--old enough to be your +mother, and you presume to put the question to _me_! Boys are coming to +something.' + +'I beg your pardon; I but spoke heedlessly, Miss Gwinn, in answer to +your remark. Indeed I have no wish to pry into anybody's business. And +as to "secrets," I have eschewed them, since, a little chap in +petticoats, I crept to my mother's room door to listen to one, and got +soundly whipped for my pains.' + +'It is a secret that you will never know, or anybody else; so put its +thoughts from you. Austin Clay,' she added, laying her hand upon his +arm, and bending forward to speak in a whisper, 'it is fifteen years, +this very day, since its horrors came out to me! And I have had to carry +it about since, as I best could, in silence and in pain.' + +She turned round abruptly as she spoke, and continued her way along the +broad path; while Austin Clay struck short off towards the gravel pits, +which was his nearest road to the Lowland farm. Silent and abandoned +were the pits that day; everybody connected with them was enjoying +holiday with the rest of the world. 'What a strange woman she is!' he +thought. + +It has been said that the gravel pits were not far from the path. Austin +was close upon them, when the sound of a horse's footsteps caused him to +turn. A gentleman was riding fast down the common path, from the +opposite side to the one he and Miss Gwinn had come, and Austin shaded +his eyes with his hand to see if it was any one he knew. No; it was a +stranger. A slender man, of some seven-and-thirty years, tall, so far as +could be judged, with thin, prominent aquiline features, and dark eyes. +A fine face; one of those that impress the beholder at first sight, as +it did Austin, and, once seen, remain permanently on the memory. + +'I wonder who he is?' cried Austin Clay to himself. 'He rides well.' + +Possibly Miss Gwinn might be wondering the same. At any rate, she had +fixed her eyes on the stranger, and they seemed to be starting from her +head with the gaze. It would appear that she recognised him, and with no +pleasurable emotion. She grew strangely excited. Her face turned of a +ghastly whiteness, her hands closed involuntarily, and, after standing +for a moment in perfect stillness, as if petrified, she darted forward +in his pathway, and seized the bridle of his horse. + +'So! you have turned up at last! I knew--I knew you were not dead!' she +shrieked, in a voice of wild raving. 'I knew you would some time be +brought face to face with me, to answer for your wickedness.' + +Utterly surprised and perplexed, or seeming to be, at this summary +attack, the gentleman could only stare at his assailant, and endeavour +to get his bridle from her hand. But she held it with a firm grasp. + +'Let go my horse,' he said. 'Are you mad?' + +'_You_ were mad,' she retorted, passionately. 'Mad in those old days; +and you turned another to madness. Not three minutes ago, I said to +myself that the time would come when I should find you. Man! do you +remember that it is fifteen years ago this very day that +the--the--crisis of the sickness came on? Do you know that never +afterwards----' + +'Do not betray your private affairs to me,' interrupted the gentleman. +'They are no concern of mine. I never saw you in my life. Take care! the +horse will do you an injury.' + +'No! you never saw me, and you never saw somebody else!' she panted, in +a tone that would have been mockingly sarcastic, but for its wild +passion. 'You did not change the current of my whole life! you did not +turn another to madness! These equivocations are worthy of _you_.' + +'If you are not insane, you must be mistaking me for some other person,' +he replied, his tone none of the mildest, though perfectly calm. 'I +repeat that, to my knowledge, I never set eyes upon you in my life. +Woman! have you no regard for your own safety? The horse will kill you! +Don't you see that I cannot control him?' + +'So much the better if he kills us both,' she shrieked, swaying up and +down, to and fro, with the fierce motions of the angry horse. 'You will +only meet your deserts: and, for myself, I am tired of life.' + +'Let go!' cried the rider. + +'Not until you have told me where you live, and where you may be found. +I have searched for you in vain. I will have my revenge; I will force +you to do justice. You----' + +In her sad temper, her dogged obstinacy, she still held the bridle. The +horse, a spirited animal, was passionate as she was, and far stronger. +He reared bolt upright, he kicked, he plunged; and, finally, he shook +off the obnoxious control, to dash furiously in the direction of the +gravel pits. Miss Gwinn fell to the ground. + +To fall into the pit would be certain destruction to both man and horse. +Austin Clay had watched the encounter in amazement, though he could not +hear the words of the quarrel. In the humane impulse of the moment, +disregarding the danger to himself, he darted in front of the horse, +arrested him on the very brink of the pit, and threw him back on his +haunches. + +Snorting, panting, the white foam breaking from him, the animal, as if +conscious of the doom he had escaped, now stood in trembling quiet, +obedient to the control of his master. That master threw himself from +his back, and turned to Austin. + +'Young gentleman, you have saved my life.' + +There was little doubt of that. Austin accepted the fact without any +fuss, feeling as thankful as the speaker, and quite unconscious at the +moment of the wrench he had given his own shoulder. + +'It would have been an awkward fall, sir. I am glad I happened to be +here.' + +'It would have been a _killing_ fall,' replied the stranger, stepping to +the brink, and looking down. 'And your being here must be owing to God's +wonderful Providence.' + +He lifted his hat as he spoke, and remained a minute or two silent and +uncovered, his eyes closed. Austin, in the same impulse of reverence, +lifted his. + +'Did you see the strange manner in which that woman attacked me?' +questioned the stranger. + +'Yes.' + +'She must be insane.' + +'She is very strange at times,' said Austin. 'She flies into desperate +passions.' + +'Passions! It is madness, not passion. A woman like that ought to be +shut up in Bedlam. Where would be the satisfaction to my wife and +family, if, through her, I had been lying at this moment at the bottom +there, dead? I never saw her in my life before; never.' + +'Is she hurt? She has fallen down, I perceive.' + +'Hurt! not she. She could call after me pretty fiercely when my horse +shook her off. She possesses the rage and strength of a tiger. Good +fellow! good Salem! did a mad woman frighten and anger you?' added the +stranger, soothing his horse. 'And now, young sir,' turning to Austin, +'how shall I reward you?' + +Austin broke into a smile at the notion. + +'Not at all, thank you,' he said. 'One does not merit reward for such a +thing as this. I should have deserved sending over after you, had I not +interposed. To do my best was a simple matter of duty--of obligation; +but nothing to be rewarded for.' + +'Had he been a common man, I might have done it,' thought the stranger; +'but he is evidently a gentleman. Well, I may be able to repay it in +some manner as you and I pass through life,' he said, aloud, mounting +the now subdued horse. 'Some neglect the opportunities, thrown in their +way, of helping their fellow-creatures; some embrace them, as you have +just done. I believe that whichever we may give--neglect or help--will +be returned to us in kind: like unto a corn of wheat, that must spring +up what it is sown; or a thistle, that must come up a thistle.' + +'As to embracing the opportunity--I should think there's no man living +but would have done his best to save you, had he been standing here.' + +'Ah, well; let it go,' returned the horseman. 'Will you tell me your +name? and something about yourself?' + +'My name is Austin Clay. I have few relatives living, and they are +distant ones, and I shall, I expect, have to make my own way in the +world.' + +'Are you in any profession? or business?' + +'I am with Mr. Thornimett, of Ketterford: the builder and contractor.' + +'Why, I am a builder myself!' cried the stranger, a pleasing accent of +surprise in his tone. 'Shall you ever be visiting London?' + +'I daresay I shall, sir. I should like to do so.' + +'Then, when you do, mind you call upon me the first thing,' he rejoined, +taking a card from a case in his pocket and handing it to Austin. Come +to me should you ever be in want of a berth: I might help you to one. +Will you promise?' + +'Yes, sir; and thank you.' + +'I fancy the thanks are due from the other side, Mr. Clay. Oblige me by +not letting that Bess o' Bedlam obtain sight of my card. I might have +her following me.' + +'No fear,' said Austin, alluding to the caution. + +'She must be lying there to regain the strength exhausted by passion, +carelessly remarked the stranger. 'Poor thing! it is sad to be mad, +though! She is getting up now, I see: I had better be away. That town +beyond, in the distance, is Ketterford, is it not?' + +'It is.' + +'Fare you well, then. I must hasten to catch the twelve o'clock train. +They have horse-boxes, I presume, at the station?' + +'Oh, yes.' + +'All right,' he nodded. 'I have received a summons to town, and cannot +afford the time to ride Salem home. So we must both get conveyed by +train, old fellow'--patting his horse, as he spoke to it. 'By the way, +though--what is the lady's name?' he halted to ask. + +'Gwinn. Miss Gwinn.' + +'Gwinn? Gwinn?' Never heard the name in my life. Fare you well, in all +gratitude.' + +He rode away. Austin Clay looked at the card. It was a private visiting +card--'Mr. Henry Hunter' with an address in the corner. + +'He must be one of the great London building firm, "Hunter and Hunter,"' +thought Austin, depositing the card in his pocket. 'First class people. +And now for Miss Gwinn.' + +For his humanity would not allow him to leave her unlooked-after, as the +molested and angry man had done. She had risen to her feet, though +slowly, as he stepped back across the short worn grass of the common. +The fall had shaken her, without doing material damage. + +'I hope you are not hurt?' said Austin, kindly. + +'A ban light upon the horse!' she fiercely cried. 'At my age, it does +not do to be thrown on the ground violently. I thought my bones were +broken; I could not rise. And he has escaped! Boy! what did he say to +you of me--of my affairs?' + +'Not anything. I do not believe he knows you in the least. He says he +does not.' + +The crimson passion had faded from Miss Gwinn's face, leaving it wan and +white. 'How dare you say you believe it?' + +'Because I do believe it,' replied Austin. 'He declared that he never +saw you in his life; and I think he spoke the truth. I can judge when a +man tells truth, and when he tells a lie. Mr. Thornimett often says he +wishes he could read faces--and people--as I can read them.' + +Miss Gwinn gazed at him; contempt and pity blended in her countenance. +'Have you yet to learn that a bad man can assume the semblance of +goodness?' + +'Yes, I know that; and assume it so as to take in a saint,' hastily +spoke Austin. 'You may be deceived in a bad man; but I do not think you +can in a good one. Where a man possesses innate truth and honour, it +shines out in his countenance, his voice, his manner; and there can be +no mistake. When you are puzzled over a bad man, you say to yourself, +"He _may_ be telling the truth, he _may_ be genuine;" but with a good +man you know it to be so: that is, if you possess the gift of reading +countenances. Miss Gwinn, I am sure there was truth in that stranger.' + +'Listen, Austin Clay. That man, truthful as you deem him, is the very +incarnation of deceit. I know as much of him as one human being can well +know of another. It was he who wrought the terrible wrong upon my house; +it was he who broke up my happy home. I'll find him now. Others said he +must be dead; but I said, "No, he lives yet." And, you see he does live. +I'll find him.' + +Without another word she turned away, and went striding back in the +direction of Ketterford--the same road which the stranger's horse had +taken. Austin stood and looked after her, pondering over the strange +events of the hour. Then he proceeded to the Lowland farm. + +A pleasant day amidst pleasant friends spent he; rich Easter cheesecakes +being the least of the seductions he did _not_ withstand; and Ketterford +clocks were striking half-past ten as he approached Mrs. Thornimett's. +The moonlight walk was delightful; there was no foreboding of ill upon +his spirit, and he turned in at the gate utterly unconscious of the news +that was in store for him. + +Conscious of the late hour--for they were early people--he was passing +across the lawn with a hasty step, when the door was drawn silently +open, as if some one stood there watching, and he saw Sarah, one of the +two old maid-servants, come forth to meet him. Both had lived in the +family for years; had scolded and ordered Austin about when a boy, to +their heart's content, and for his own good. + +'Why, Sarah, is it you?' was his gay greeting. 'Going to take a +moonlight ramble?' + +'Where _have_ you stayed?' whispered the woman in evident excitement. +'To think you should be away this night of all others, Mr. Austin! Have +you heard what has happened to the master?' + +'No. What?' exclaimed Austin, his fears taking alarm. + +'He fell down in a fit, over at the village where he went; and they +brought him home, a-frightening us two and the missis almost into fits +ourselves. Oh, Master Austin!' she concluded, bursting into tears, 'the +doctors don't think he'll live till morning. Poor dear old master!' + +Austin, half paralysed at the news, stood for a moment against the wall +inside the hall. 'Can I go and see him?' he presently asked. + +'Oh, you may go,' was the answer; 'the mistress has been asking for you, +and nothing rouses _him_. It's a heavy blow; but it has its side of +brightness. God never sends a blow but he sends mercy with it.' + +'What is the mercy--the brightness?' Austin waited to ask, thinking she +must allude to some symptom of hope. Sarah put her shrivelled old arm on +his in solemnity, as she answered it. + +'He was fit to be taken. He had lived for the next world while he was +living in this. And those that do, Master Austin, never need shrink from +sudden death.' + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +CHANGES. + + +To reflect upon the change death makes, even in the petty every-day +affairs of life, must always impart a certain awe to the thoughtful +mind. On the Easter Monday, spoken of in the last chapter, Richard +Thornimett, his men, his contracts, and his business in progress, were +all part of the life, the work, the bustle of the town of Ketterford. +In a few weeks from that time, Richard Thornimett--who had not lived to +see the morning light after his attack--was mouldering in the +churchyard; and the business, the workshops, the artisans, all save the +dwelling-house, which Mrs. Thornimett retained for herself, had passed +into other hands. The name, Richard Thornimett, as one of the citizens +of Ketterford, had ceased to be: all things were changed. + +Mrs. Thornimett's friends and acquaintances had assembled to tender +counsel, after the fashion of busybodies of the world. Some recommended +her to continue the business; some, to give it up; some, to take in a +gentleman as partner; some, to pay a handsome salary to an efficient +manager. Mrs. Thornimett listened politely to all, without the least +intention of acting upon anybody's opinion but her own. Her mind had +been made up from the first. Mr. Thornimett had died fairly well off, +and everything was left to her--half of the money to be hers for life, +and then to go to different relatives; the other half was bequeathed to +her absolutely, and was at her own disposal. Rumours were rife in the +town, that, when things came to be realized, she would have about twelve +thousand pounds in money, besides other property. + +But before making known her decision abroad, she spoke to Austin Clay. +They were sitting together one evening when she entered upon the +subject, breaking the silence that reigned with some abruptness. + +'Austin, I shall dispose of the business; everything as it stands. And +the goodwill.' + +'Shall you?' he exclaimed, taken by surprise, and his voice betraying a +curious disappointment. + +Mrs. Thornimett nodded in answer. + +'I would have done my best to carry it on for you, Mrs. Thornimett. The +foreman is a man of experience; one we may trust.' + +'I do not doubt you, Austin; and I do not doubt him. You have got your +head on your shoulders the right way, and you would be faithful and +true. So well do I think of your abilities, that, were you in a position +to pay down only half the purchase-money, I would give you the refusal +of the business, and I am certain success would attend you. But you are +not; so that is out of the question.' + +'Quite out of the question,' assented Austin. 'If ever I get a business +of my own, it must be by working for it. Have you quite resolved upon +giving it up?' + +'So far resolved, that the negotiations are already half concluded,' +replied Mrs. Thornimett. 'What should I, a lone woman, do with an +extensive business? When poor widows are left badly off, they are +obliged to work; but I possess more money than I shall know how to +spend. Why should I worry out my hours and days trying to amass more? It +would not be seemly. Rolt and Ransom wish to purchase it.' + +Austin lifted his head with a quick movement. He did not like Rolt and +Ransom. + +'The only difference we have in the matter, is this: that I wish them to +take you on, Austin, and they think they shall find no room for you. +Were you a common workman, it would be another thing, they say.' + +'Do not allow that to be a difference any longer, Mrs. Thornimett,' he +cried, somewhat eagerly. 'I should not care to be under Rolt and Ransom. +If they offered me a place to-morrow, and _carte blanche_ as to pay, I +do not think I could bring myself to take it.' + +'Why?' asked Mrs. Thornimett, in surprise. + +'Well, they are no favourites of mine. I know nothing against them, +except that they are hard men--grinders; but somehow I have always felt +a prejudice against that firm. We do have our likes and dislikes, you +are well aware. Young Rolt is prominent in the business, too, and I am +sure there's no love lost between him and me; we should be at daggers +drawn. No, I should not serve Rolt and Ransom. If they succeed to your +business, I think I shall go to London and try my fortune there.' + +Mrs. Thornimett pushed back her widow's cap, to which her head had never +yet been able to get reconciled--something like Austin with regard to +Rolt and Ransom. 'London would not be a good place for you, Austin. It +is full of pitfalls for young men.' + +'So are other places,' said Austin, laughingly, 'if young men choose to +step into them. I shall make my way, Mrs. Thornimett, never fear. I am +thorough master of my business in all its branches, higher and lower as +you know, and I am not afraid of putting my own shoulder to the wheel, +if there's necessity for it. As to pitfalls--if I do stumble in the dark +into any, I'll manage to scramble out again; but I will try and take +care not to step into them wilfully. Had you continued the business, of +course I would have remained with you; otherwise, I should like to go to +London.' + +'You can be better trusted, both as to capabilities and steadiness, than +some could at your age,' deliberated Mrs. Thornimett. 'But they are +wrong notions that you young men pick up with regard to London. I +believe there's not one of you but thinks its streets are sprinkled with +diamonds.' + +'_I_ don't,' said Austin. 'And while God gives me hands and brains to +work with, I would rather earn my diamonds, than stoop to pick them up +in idleness.' + +Mrs. Thornimett paused. She settled her spectacles more firmly on her +eyes, turned them full on Austin, and spoke sharply. + +'Were you disappointed when you heard the poor master's will read?' + +Austin, in return, turned his eyes upon her, and opened them to their +utmost width in his surprise. 'Disappointed! No. Why should I be?' + +'Did it never occur to you to think, or to expect, that he might leave +you something?' + +'Never,' earnestly replied Austin. 'The thought never so much as crossed +my mind. Mr. Thornimett had near relatives of his own--and so have you. +Who am I, that I should think to step in before them?' + +'I wish people would mind their own business!' exclaimed the old lady, +in a vexed tone. 'I was gravely assured, Austin, that young Clay felt +grievously ill-used at not being mentioned in the will.' + +'Did you believe it?' he rejoined. + +'No, I did not.' + +'It is utterly untrue, Mrs. Thornimett, whoever said it. I never +expected Mr. Thornimett to leave me anything; therefore, I could not +have been disappointed at the will.' + +'The poor master knew I should not forget you, Austin; that is if you +continue to be deserving. Some time or other, when my old bones are laid +beside him, you may be the better for a trifle from me. Only a trifle, +mind; we must be just before we are generous.' + +'Indeed, you are very kind,' was Austin Clay's reply; 'but I should not +wish you to enrich me at the expense of others who have greater claims.' +And he fully meant what he said. 'I have not the least fear of making my +own way up the world's ladder. Do you happen to know anything of the +London firm, Hunter and Hunter?' + +'Only by reputation,' said Mrs. Thornimett. + +'I shall apply to them, if I go to London. They would interest +themselves for me, perhaps.' + +'You'd be sure to do well if you could get in there. But why should they +help you more than any other firm would?' + +'There's nothing like trying,' replied Austin, too conscious of the +evasive character of his reply. He was candour itself; but he feared to +speak of the circumstances under which he had met Mr. Henry Hunter, +lest Miss Gwinn should find out it was to him he had gone, and so track +Mr. Henry Hunter home. Austin deemed that it was no business of his to +help her to find Mr. Hunter, whether he was or not the _bête noire_ of +whom she had spoken. He might have told of the encounter at the time, +but for the home calamity that supervened upon it; that drove away other +topics. Neither had he mentioned it at the Lowland farm. For all Miss +Gwinn's violence, he felt pity for her, and could not expose the woman. + +'A first-rate firm, that of Hunter and Hunter,' remarked Mrs. +Thornimett. 'Your credentials will be good also, Austin.' + +'Yes; I hope so.' + +It was nearly all that passed upon the subject. Rolt and Ransom took +possession of the business, and Austin Clay prepared to depart for +London. Mrs. Thornimett felt sure he would get on well--always provided +that he kept out of 'pit-falls.' She charged him not to be above his +business, but to _work_ his way upwards: as Austin meant to do. + +A day or two before quitting Ketterford, it chanced that he and Mrs. +Thornimett, who were out together, encountered Miss Gwinn. There was a +speaking acquaintance between the two ladies, and Miss Gwinn stopped to +say a kind word or two of sympathy for the widow and her recent loss. +She could be a lady on occasion, and a gentle one. As the conversation +went on, Mrs. Thornimett incidentally mentioned that Mr. Clay was going +to leave and try his fortune in London. + +'Oh, indeed,' said Miss Gwinn, turning to him, as he stood quietly by +Mrs. Thornimett's side. 'What does he think of doing there?' + +'To get a situation, of course. He means first of all to try at Hunter +and Hunter's.' + +The words had left Mrs. Thornimett's lips before Austin could +interpose--which he would have given the world to do. But there was no +answering emotion on Miss Gwinn's face. + +'Hunter and Hunter?' she carelessly repeated. 'Who are they?' + +'"Hunter Brothers," they are sometimes called,' observed Mrs. +Thornimett. 'It is a building firm of eminence.' + +'Oh,' apathetically returned Miss Gwinn. 'I wish you well,' she added, +to Austin. + +He thanked her as they parted. The subject, the name, evidently bore for +her no interest whatever. Therefore Austin judged, that although she +might have knowledge of Mr. Henry Hunter's person, she could not of his +name. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +AWAY TO LONDON. + + +A heavy train, drawn by two engines, was dashing towards London. +Whitsuntide had come, and the public took advantage of the holiday, and +the trains were crammed. Austin Clay took advantage of it also; it was +a saving to his pocket, the fares having been lowered; and he rather +liked a cram. What he did not like, though, was the being stuffed into a +first-class carriage with its warm mats and cushions. The crowd was so +great that people sat indiscriminately in any carriage that came first. +The day was intensely hot, and he would have preferred one open on all +sides. They were filled, however, before he came. He had left +Ketterford, and was on his road to London to seek his fortune--as old +stories used to say. + +Seated in the same compartment as himself was a lady with a little girl. +The former appeared to be in very delicate health; she remarked more +than once, that she would not have travelled on so crowded a day, had +she given it proper thought. The little girl was chiefly remarkable for +making herself troublesome to Austin; at least, her mamma perpetually +reproached her with doing so. She was a lovely child, with delicately +carved features, slightly aquiline, but inexpressibly sweet and +charming. A bright colour illumined her cheeks, her eyes were large and +dark and soft, and her brown curls were flowing. He judged her to be +perhaps eleven years old; but she was one of those natural, +unsophisticated children, who appear much younger than they are. The +race has pretty nearly gone out of the world now: I hope it will come +back again. + +'Florence, how _can_ you be so tiresome? Pushing yourself before the +gentleman against that dangerous door! it may fly open at any moment. I +am sure he must be tired of holding you.' + +Florence turned her bright eye--sensible, honest eyes, bright though +they were--and her pretty hot cheeks upon the gentleman. + +'Are you tired, sir?' + +Austin smiled. 'It would take rather more than this to tire me,' he +said. 'Pray allow her to look out,' he added, to the lady, opposite to +whom he sat; 'I will take every care of her.' + +'Have you any little girls of your own?' questioned the young damsel. + +Austin laughed outright. 'No.' + +'Nor any sisters?' + +'Nor any sisters. I have scarcely any relatives in the world. I am not +so fortunate as you.' + +'I have a great many relatives, but no brothers or sisters. I had a +little sister once, and she died when she was three years old. Was it +not three, mamma?' + +'And how old are you?' inquired Austin. + +'Oh, pray do not ask,' interposed the lady. 'She is so thoroughly +childish, I am ashamed that anybody should know her age. And yet she +does not want sense.' + +'I was twelve last birthday,' cried the young lady, in defiance of all +conventionalism. 'My cousin Mary is only eleven, but she is a great deal +bigger than I.' + +'Yes,' observed the lady, in a tone of positive resentment. 'Mary is +quite a woman already in ideas and manners: you are a child, and a very +backward one.' + +'Let her be a child, ma'am, while she may,' impulsively spoke Austin; +'childhood does not last too long, and it never comes again. Little +girls are women nowadays: I think it is perfectly delightful to meet +with one like this.' + +Before they reached London other passengers had disappeared from the +carriage, and they were alone. As they neared the terminus, the young +lady was peremptorily ordered to 'keep her head in,' or perhaps she +might lose it. + +'Oh dear! if I must, I must,' returned the child. 'But I wanted to look +out for papa; he is sure to be waiting for us.' + +The train glided into its destination. And the bright quick eyes were +roving amidst the crowd standing on the platform. They rested upon a +gentleman. + +'There's Uncle Henry! there's Uncle Henry! But I don't see papa. Where's +papa?' she called out, as the gentleman saw them and approached. + +'Papa's not come; he has sent me instead, Miss Florence.' And to Austin +Clay's inexpressible surprise, he recognised Mr. Henry Hunter. + +'There is nothing the matter? James is not ill?' exclaimed the lady, +bending forward. + +'No, no; nothing of that. Being a leisure day with us, we thought we +would quietly go over some estimates together. James had not finished +the calculations, and did not care to be disturbed at them. Your +carriage is here.' + +Mr. Henry Hunter was assisting her to alight as he spoke, having already +lifted down Florence. A maid with a couple of carpet-bags appeared +presently, amidst the bustle, and Austin saw them approach a private +carriage. He had not pushed himself forward. He did not intend to do so +then, deeming it not the most fitting moment to challenge the notice of +Mr. Henry Hunter; but that gentleman's eye happened to fall upon him. + +Not at first for recognition. Mr. Hunter felt sure it was a face he had +seen recently; was one he ought to know; but his memory was puzzled. +Florence followed his gaze. + +'That gentleman came up in the same carriage with us, Uncle Henry. He +got in at a place they called Ketterford. I like him so much.' + +Austin came forward as he saw the intent look; and recollection flashed +over the mind of Mr. Henry Hunter. He took both the young man's hands in +his and grasped them. + +'You like him, do you, Miss Florence?' cried he, in a half-joking, +half-fervent tone. 'I can tell you what, young lady; but for this +gentleman, you would no longer have possessed an Uncle Henry to plague; +he would have been dead and forgotten.' + +A word or two of explanation from Austin, touching what brought him to +London, and his intention to ask advice of Mr. Henry Hunter. That +gentleman replied that he would give it willingly, and at once, for he +had leisure on his hands that day, and he could not answer for it that +he would have on another. He gave Austin the address of his office. + +'When shall I come, sir?' asked Austin. + +'Now, if you can. A cab will bring you. I shall not be there later in +the day.' + +So Austin, leaving his portmanteau, all the luggage he had at present +brought with him, in charge at the station, proceeded in a cab to the +address named, Mr. Henry Hunter having driven off in the carriage. + +The offices, yards, buildings, sheds, and other places pertaining to the +business of Hunter and Hunter, were situated in what may be considered a +desirable part of the metropolis. They encroached neither upon the +excessive bustle of the City, nor upon the aristocratic exclusiveness of +the gay West end, but occupied a situation midway between the two. +Sufficiently open was the district in their immediate neighbourhood, +healthy, handsome, and near some fine squares; but a very, very little +way removed, you came upon swarming courts, and close dwellings, and +squalor, and misery, and all the bad features of what we are pleased to +call Arab life. There are many such districts in London, where wealth +and ease contrast with starvation and improvidence, _all but_ within +view of each other; the one gratifying the eye, the other causing it +pain. + +The yard and premises were of great extent. Austin had thought Mr. +Thornimett's pretty fair for size; but he could laugh at them, now that +he saw the Messrs. Hunters'. They were enclosed by a wall, and by light +iron gates. Within the gates on the left-hand side were the offices, +where the in-door business was transacted. A wealthy, important, and +highly considered firm was that of the Messrs. Hunter. Their father had +made the business what it was, and had bequeathed it to them jointly at +his death. James, whose wife and only child you have seen arriving by +the train, after a week's visit to the country, was the elder brother, +and was usually styled Mr. Hunter; the younger was known as Mr. Henry +Hunter, and he had a large family. Each occupied a handsome house in a +contiguous square. + +Mr. Henry Hunter came up almost as Austin did, and they entered the +offices. In a private room, warmly carpeted, stood two gentlemen. The +one, had he not been so stout, would have borne a great likeness to Mr. +Henry Hunter. It was Mr. Hunter. In early life the likeness between the +brothers had been remarkable; the same dark hair and eyes; the +well-formed acquiline features, the same active, tall, light figure; +but, of late years, James had grown fat, and the resemblance was in part +lost. The other gentleman was Dr. Bevary, a spare man of middle height, +the brother of Mrs. James Hunter. Mr. Henry Hunter introduced Austin +Clay, speaking of the service rendered him, and broadly saying as he had +done to Florence, that but for him he should not now have been alive. + +'There you go, Henry,' cried Dr. Bevary. 'That's one of your +exaggerations, that is: you were always given to the marvellous, you +know. Not alive!' + +Mr. Henry Hunter turned to Austin. 'Tell the truth, Mr. Clay. Should I, +or not?' And Austin smiled, and said he believed _not_. + +'I cannot understand it,' exclaimed Dr. Bevary, after some explanation +had been given by Mr. Henry Hunter. 'It is incredible to suppose a +strange woman would attack you in that manner, unless she was mad.' + +'Mad, or not mad, she did it,' returned Mr. Henry Hunter. 'I was riding +Salem--you know I took him with me, in that week's excursion I made at +Easter--and the woman set upon me like a tigress, clutching hold of +Salem, who won't stand such jokes. In his fury, he got loose from her, +dashing he neither knew nor cared whither, and this fine fellow saved us +on the very brink of the yawning pit--risking the chance of getting +killed himself. Had the horse not been arrested, I don't see how he +could have helped being knocked over with us.' + +Mr. Hunter turned a warm grateful look on Austin. 'How was it you never +spoke of this, Henry?' he inquired of his brother. + +'There's another curious phase of the affair,' laughed Mr. Henry Hunter. +'I have had a dislike to speak of it, even to think of it. I cannot tell +you why; certainly not on account of the escaped danger. And it was +over: so, what signified talking of it?' + +'Why did she attack you?' pursued Dr. Bevary. + +'She evidently, if there was reason in her at all, mistook me for +somebody else. All sorts of diabolical things she was beginning to +accuse me of; that of having evaded her for some great number of years, +amongst the rest. I stopped her; telling her I had no mind to be the +depository of other people's secrets.' + +'She solemnly protested to me, after you rode away, sir, that you _were_ +the man who had done her family some wrong,' interposed Austin. 'I told +her I felt certain she was mistaken; and so drew down her anger upon +me.' + +'Of what nature was the wrong?' asked Dr. Bevary. + +'I cannot tell,' said Austin. 'I seemed to gather from her words that +the wrong was upon her family, or upon some portion of her family, +rather than upon her. I remember she made use of the expression, that it +had broken up her happy home.' + +'And you did not know her?' exclaimed the doctor, looking at Mr. Henry +Hunter. + +'Know her?' he returned, 'I never set eyes on her in all my life until +that day. I never was in the place before, or in its neighbourhood. If I +ever did work her wrong, or ill, I must have done it in my sleep; and +with miles of distance intervening. Who is she? What is her name? You +told it me, Mr. Clay, but I forget what it was.' + +'Her name is Gwinn,' replied Austin. 'The brother is a lawyer and has +scraped together a business. One morning, many years ago, a lady arrived +at his house, without warning, and took up her abode with him. She +turned out to be his sister, and the people at Ketterford think she is +mad. It is said they come from Wales. The little boys call after her, +"the mad Welsh woman." Sometimes Miss Gwinn.' + +'What did you say the name was?' interrupted Dr. Bevary, with startling +emphasis. 'Gwinn?--and from Wales?' + +'Yes.' + +Dr. Bevary paused, as if in deep thought. 'What is her Christian name?' +he presently inquired. + +'It is a somewhat uncommon one,' replied Austin. 'Agatha.' + +The doctor nodded his head, as if expecting the answer. 'A tall, spare, +angular woman, of great strength,' he remarked. + +'Why, what do you know of her?' exclaimed Mr. Henry Hunter to the +doctor, in a surprised tone. + +'Not a great deal. We medical men come across all sorts of persons +occasionally,' was the physician's reply. And it was given in a concise, +laconic manner, as if he did not care to be questioned further. Mr. +Henry Hunter pursued the subject. + +'If you know her, Bevary, perhaps you can tell whether she is mad or +sane.' + +'She is sane, I believe: I have no reason to think her otherwise. But +she is one who can allow angry passion to master her at moments: I have +seen it do so. Do you say her brother is a lawyer?' he continued, to +Austin Clay. + +'Yes, he is. And not one of the first water, as to reputation; a +grasping, pettifogging practitioner, who will take up any dirty case +that may be brought to him. And in that, I fancy, he is a contrast to +his sister; for, with all her strange ways, I should not judge her to be +dishonourable. It is said he speculates, and that he is not over +particular whose money he gets to do it with.' + +'I wonder that she never told me about this brother,' dreamily +exclaimed the doctor, in an inward tone, as if forgetting that he spoke +aloud. + +'Where did you meet with her? When did you know her?' interposed Mr. +Henry Hunter. + +'Are you sure that _you_ know nothing about her?' was the doctor's +rejoinder, turning a searching glance upon Mr. Henry Hunter. + +'Come, Bevary, what have you got in your head? I do _not_ know her. I +never met with her until she saw and accosted me. Are you acquainted +with her history?' + +'With a dark page in it.' + +'What is the page?' + +Dr. Bevary shook his head. 'In the course of a physician's practice he +becomes cognisant of many odds and ends of romance, dark or fair; things +that he must hold sacred, and may not give utterance to.' + +Mr. Henry Hunter looked vexed. 'Perhaps you can understand the reason of +her attacking me?' + +'I could understand it, but for your assertion of being a stranger to +her. If it is so, I can only believe that she mistook you for another.' + +'_If_ it is so,' repeated Mr. Henry Hunter. 'I am not in the habit of +asserting an untruth, Bevary.' + +'Nor, on the other hand, is Miss Gwinn one to be deceived. She is keen +as a razor.' + +'Bevary, what are you driving at?' + +'At nothing. Don't be alarmed, Henry. I have no cause to suppose you +know the woman, or she you. I only thought--and think--she is one whom +it is almost impossible to deceive. It must, however, have been a +mistake.' + +'It was a mistake--so far as her suspicion that she knew me went,' +decisively returned Mr. Henry Hunter. + +'Ay,' acquiesced Dr. Bevary. 'But here am I gossiping my morning away, +when a host of patients are waiting for me. We poor doctors never get a +holiday, as you more favoured mortals do.' + +He laughed as he went out, nodding a friendly farewell to Austin. Mr. +Henry Hunter stepped out after him. Then Mr. Hunter, who had not taken +part in the discussion, but had stood looking from the window while they +carried it on, wheeled round to Austin and spoke in a low, earnest tone. + +'What _is_ this tale--this mystery--that my brother and the doctor seem +to be picking up?' + +'Sir, I know no more than you have heard me say. I witnessed her attack +on Mr. Henry Hunter.' + +'I should like to know further about it: about her. Will you----Hush! +here comes my brother back again. Hush!' + +His voice died away in the faintest whisper, for Mr. Henry Hunter was +already within the room. Was Mr. Hunter suspecting that his brother had +more cognisance of the affair than he seemed willing to avow? The +thought, that it must be so, crossed Austin Clay; or why that warning +'hush' twice repeated? + +It happened that business was remarkably brisk that season at Hunter and +Hunter's. They could scarcely get hands enough, or the work done. And +when Austin explained the cause which had brought him to town, and +frankly proffered the question of whether they could recommend him to +employment, they were glad to offer it themselves. He produced his +credentials of capacity and character, and waited. Mr. Henry Hunter +turned to him with a smile. + +'I suppose you are not above your work, Mr. Clay?' + +'I am not above anything in the world that is right, sir. I have come to +seek work.' + +He was engaged forthwith. His duties at present were to lie partly in +the counting-house, partly in overlooking the men; and the salary +offered was twenty-five pounds per quarter. + +'I can rise above that in time, I suppose,' remarked Austin, 'if I give +satisfaction?' + +Mr. Hunter smiled. 'Ay, you can rise above that, if you choose. But when +you get on, you'll be doing, I expect, as some of the rest do.' + +'What is that, sir?' + +'Leaving us, to set up for yourself. Numbers have done so as soon as +they have become valuable. I do not speak of the men, you understand, +but of those who have been with us in a higher capacity. A few of the +men, though, have done the same; some have risen into influence.' + +'How can they do that without capital?' inquired Austin. 'It must take +money, and a good deal of it, to set up for themselves.' + +'Not so much as you may think. They begin in a small way--take +piece-work, and work early and late, often fourteen and fifteen hours a +day, husbanding their earnings, and getting a capital together by slow +but sure degrees. Many of our most important firms have so risen, and +owe their present positions to sheer hard work, patience, and energy.' + +'It was the way in which Mr. Thornimett first rose,' observed Austin. +'He was once a journeyman at fourteen shillings a week. _He_ got +together money by working over hours.' + +'Ay, there's nothing like it for the industrious man,' said Mr. Hunter. + +Preliminaries were settled, advice given to him where he might find +lodgings, and Austin departed, having accepted an invitation to dine at +six at Mr. Henry Hunter's. + +And all through having performed an unpremeditated but almost necessary +act of bravery. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT. + + +Turning to the right after quitting the business premises of the Messrs. +Hunter, you came to an open, handsome part, where the square in which +those gentlemen dwelt was situated, with other desirable squares, +crescents, and houses. But, if you turned to the left instead of to the +right, you very speedily found yourself in the midst of a dense +locality, not so agreeable to the eye or to the senses. + +And yet some parts of this were not much to be complained of, unless +you instituted a comparison between them and those open places; but in +this world all things are estimated by comparison. Take Daffodil's +Delight, for example. 'Daffodil's Delight! what's that?' cries the +puzzled reader, uncertain whether it may be a fine picture or something +to eat. Daffodil's Delight was nothing more than a tolerably long +street, or lane, or double row of houses--wide enough for a street, +dirty enough for a lane, the buildings irregular, not always contiguous, +small gardens before some, and a few trees scattered here and there. +When the locality was mostly fields, and the buildings on them were +scanty, a person of the name of Daffodil ran up a few tenements. He +found that they let well, and he ran up more, and more, and more, until +there was a long, long line of them, and he growing rich. He called the +place Daffodil's Delight--which we may suppose expressed his own +complacent satisfaction at his success--and Daffodil's Delight it had +continued, down to the present day. The houses were of various sizes, +and of fancy appearance; some large, some small; some rising up like a +narrow tower, some but a storey high; some were all windows, some seemed +to have none; some you could only gain by ascending steps; to others you +pitched down as into a cellar; some lay back, with gardens before their +doors, while others projected pretty nearly on to the street gutter. +Nothing in the way of houses could be more irregular, and what Mr. +Daffodil's motive could have been in erecting such cannot be +conjectured--unless he formed an idea that he would make a venture to +suit various tastes and diverse pockets. + +Nearly at the beginning of this locality, in its best part, before the +road became narrow, there stood a detached white house; one of only six +rooms, but superior in appearance, and well kept; indeed, it looked more +like a gentleman's cottage residence than a working man's. Verandah +blinds were outside the windows, and green wire fancy stands held +geraniums and other plants on the stone copings, against their lower +panes, obviating the necessity for inside blinds. In this house lived +Peter Quale. He had begun life carrying hods of mortar for masons, and +covering up bricks with straw--a half-starved urchin, his feet as naked +as his head, and his body pretty nearly the same. But he was steady, +industrious, and persevering--just one of those men that _work on_ for +decent position, and acquire it. From two shillings per week to four, +from four to six, from six to twelve--such had been Peter Quale's +beginnings. At twelve shillings he remained for some time stationary, +and then his advance was rapid. Now, he was one of the superior artisans +of the Messrs. Hunters' yard; was, in fact, in a post of trust, and his +wages had grown in proportion. Daffodil's Delight said that Quale's +earnings could not be less than 150_l._ per annum. A steady, sensible, +honest, but somewhat obstinate man, well-read, and intelligent; for +Peter, while he advanced his circumstances, had not neglected his mind. +He had cultivated that far more than he had his speech or his manner; a +homely tone and grammar, better known to Daffodil's Delight than to +polite ears, Peter favoured still. + +In the afternoon of Whit Monday, the day spoken of already, Peter sat in +the parlour of his house, a pipe in his mouth, and a book in his hand. +He looked about midway between forty and fifty, had a round bald head, +surmounted just now by a paper cap, a fair complexion, grey whiskers, +and a well-marked forehead, especially where lie the perceptive +faculties. His eyes were deeply sunk in his head, and he was by nature a +silent man. In the kitchen behind, 'washing up' after dinner, was his +helpmate, Mrs. Quale. Although so well to do, and having generally a +lodger, she kept no servant--'wouldn't be bothered with 'em,' she +said--but did her own work; a person coming in once a week to clean. + +A rattling commotion in the street caused Peter Quale to look up from +his book. A large pleasure-van was rumbling down it, drawing up at the +next door to his. + +'Nancy!' called out he to his wife. + +'Well?' came forth the answer, in a brisk, bustling voice, from the +depths of the kitchen. + +'The Shucks, and that lot, be actually going off now?' + +The news appeared to excite the curiosity of Mrs. Quale, and she came +hastily in; a dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked little woman, with black curls. +She wore a neat white cap, a fresh-looking plum-coloured striped gown of +some thin woollen material, and a black apron; a coarse apron being +pinned round her. Mrs. Quale was an inveterate busybody, knew every +incident that took place in Daffodil's Delight, and possessed a +free-and-easy tongue; but she was a kindly woman withal, and very +popular. She put her head outside the window above the geraniums, to +reconnoitre. + +'Oh, they be going, sure enough! Well, they are fools! That's just like +Slippery Sam! By to-morrow they won't have a threepenny piece to bless +themselves with. But, if they must have went, they might have started +earlier in the day. There's the Whites! And--why!--there's the Dunns! +The van won't hold 'em all. As for the Dunns, they'll have to pinch for +a month after it. She has got on a dandy new bonnet with pink ribbons. +Aren't some folks idiots, Peter?' + +Peter rejoined, with a sort of a grunt, that it wasn't no business of +his, and applied himself again to his pipe and book. Mrs. Quale made +everybody's business hers, especially their failings and shortcomings; +and she unpinned the coarse apron, flung it aside, and flew off to the +next house. + +It was inhabited by two families, the Shucks and the Baxendales. Samuel +Shuck, usually called Slippery Sam, was an idle, oily-tongued chap, +always slipping from work--hence the nickname--and spending at the +'Bricklayers' Arms' what ought to have been spent upon his wife and +children. John Baxendale was a quiet, reserved man, living respectably +with his wife and daughter, but not saving. It was singular how +improvident most of them were. Daffodil's Delight was chiefly inhabited +by the workmen of the Messrs. Hunter; they seemed to love to congregate +there as in a nest. Some of the houses were crowded with them, a family +on a floor--even in a room; others rented a house to themselves, and +lived in comfort. + +Assembled inside Sam Shuck's front room, which was a kitchen and not a +parlour, and to which the house door opened, were as many people as it +could well hold, all in their holiday attire. Abel White, his wife and +family; Jim Dunn, and his; Patrick Ryan and the childer (Pat's wife was +dead); and John Baxendale and his daughter, besides others; the whole +host of little Shucks, and half-a-dozen outside stragglers. Mrs. Quale +might well wonder how all the lot could be stuffed into the +pleasure-van. She darted into their midst. + +'You never mean to say you be a-going off, like simpletons, at this time +o' day?' quoth she. + +'Yes, we be,' answered Sam Shuck, a lanky, serpent sort of man in frame, +with a prominent black eye, a turned-up nose, and, as has been said, an +oily tongue. 'What have you got to say again it, Mrs. Quale? Come!' + +'Say!' said that lady, undauntedly, but in a tone of reason rather than +rebuke, 'I say you may just as well fling your money in the gutter as to +go off to Epping at three o'clock in the afternoon. Why didn't you start +in the morning? If I hired a pleasure-van I'd have my money's worth out +of it.' + +'It's just this here,' said Sam. 'It was ordered to be here as St. +Paul's great bell was a striking break o' day, but the wheels wasn't +greased; and they have been all this time a greasing 'em with the best +fresh butter at eighteen-pence a pound, had up from Devonshire on +purpose.' + +'You hold your tongue, Sam,' reprimanded Mrs. Quale. 'You have been a +greasing your throat pretty strong, I see, with an extra pot or two; +you'll be in for it as usual before the day's out. How is it you are +going now?' she added, turning to the women. + +'It's just the worst managed thing as I ever had to do with,' volubly +spoke up Jim Dunn's wife, Hannah. 'And it's all the fault o' the men: as +everything as goes wrong always is. There was a quarrel yesterday over +it, and nothing was settled, and this morning when we met they began a +jawing again. Some would go, and some wouldn't; some 'ud have a van to +the Forest, and some 'ud take a omnibus ride to the Zoological Gardens, +and see the beasts, and finish up at the play; some 'ud sit at home, and +smoke, and drink, and wouldn't go nowhere; and most of the men got off +to the "Bricklayers' Arms" and stuck there; and afore the difference was +settled in favour of the van and the Forest, twelve o'clock struck, and +then there was dinner to be had, and us to put ourselves to rights and +the van to be seen after. And there it is, now three o'clock's gone.' + +'It'll be just a ride out, and a ride in,' cried Mrs. Quale; 'you won't +have much time to stop. Money must be plentiful with you, a fooling it +away like that. I thought some of you had better sense.' + +'We spoke against it, father and I,' said quiet Mary Baxendale, in Mrs. +Quale's ear; 'but as we had given our word to join in it and share in +the expense, we didn't like to go from it again. Mother doesn't feel +strong to-day, so she's stopping at home.' + +'It does seem stupid to start at this late hour,' spoke up a comely +woman, mild in speech, Robert Darby's wife. 'Better to have put it off +till to-morrow, and taken another day's holiday, as I told my master. +But when it was decided to go, we didn't say nay, for I couldn't bear to +disappoint the children.' + +The children were already being lifted into the van. Sundry baskets and +bundles, containing provisions for tea, and stone bottles of porter for +the men, were being lifted in also. Then the general company got in; +Daffodil's Delight, those not bound on the expedition, assembling to +witness the ceremony, and Peter casting an eye at it from his parlour. +After much packing, and stowing, and laughing, and jesting, and the +gentlemen declaring the ladies must sit upon their laps three deep, the +van and its four horses moved off, and went lumbering down Daffodil's +Delight. + +Mrs. Quale, after watching the last of it, was turning into her own +gate, when she heard a tapping at the window of the tenement on the +_other_ side of her house. Upon looking round, it was thrown open, and a +portly matron, dressed almost well enough for a lady, put out her head. +She was the wife of George Stevens, a very well-to-do workman, and most +respectable man. + +'Are they going off to the Forest at this hour, that lot?' + +'Ay,' returned Mrs. Quale; 'was ever such nonsense known? I'd have made +a day of it, if I had went. They'll get home at midnight, I expect, fit +to stand on their heads. Some of the men have had a'most as much as is +good for them now.' + +'I say,' continued Mrs. Stevens, 'George says, will you and your master +come in for an hour or two this evening, and eat a bit of supper with +us? We shall have a nice dish o' beefsteaks and onions, or some +relishing thing of that sort, and the Cheeks are coming.' + +'Thank ye,' said Mrs. Quale. 'I'll ask Peter. But don't go and get +anything hot.' + +'I must,' was the answer. 'We had a shoulder of lamb yesterday, and we +finished it up to-day for dinner, with a salad; so there's nothing cold +in the house, and I'm forced to cook a bit of something. I say, don't +make it late; come at six. George--he's off somewhere, but he'll be in.' + +Mrs. Quale nodded acquiescence, and went indoors. Her husband was +reading and smoking still. + +'I'd have put it off till ten at night, and went then!' ironically cried +she, in allusion to the departed pleasure-party. 'A bickering and +contending they have been over it, Hannah Dunn says; couldn't come to an +agreement what they'd do, or what they wouldn't do! Did you ever see +such a load! Them poor horses 'll have enough of it, if the others +don't. I say, the Stevenses want us to go in there to supper to-night. +Beefsteaks and onions.' + +Peter's head was bent attentively over a map in his book, and it +continued so bent for a minute or two. Then he raised it. 'Who's to be +there?' + +'The Cheeks,' she said. 'I'll make haste and put the kettle on, and +we'll have our tea as soon as it boils. She says don't go in later than +six.' + +Pinning on the coarse apron, Mrs. Quale passed into the kitchen to her +work. From the above slight sketch, it may be gathered that Daffodil's +Delight was, take it for all in all, in tolerably comfortable +circumstances. But for the wasteful mode of living generally pervading +it; the improvidence both of husbands and wives; the spending where they +need not have spent, and in things they would have been better +without--it would have been in _very_ comfortable circumstances: for, as +is well known, no class of operatives earn better wages than those +connected with the building trade. + +'Is this Peter Quale's?' + +The question proceeded from a stranger, who had entered the house +passage, and thence the parlour, after knocking at its door. Peter +raised his eyes, and beheld a tall, young, very gentleman-like man, in +grey travelling clothes and a crape band on his black hat. Of courteous +manners also, for he lifted his hat as he spoke, though Peter was only a +workman and had a paper cap on his head. + +'I am Peter Quale,' said Peter, without moving. + +Perhaps you may have already guessed that it was Austin Clay. He stepped +forward with a frank smile. 'I am sent here,' he said, 'by the Messrs. +Hunter. They desired me to inquire for Peter Quale.' + +Peter was not wont to put himself out of the way for strangers: had a +Duke Royal vouchsafed him a visit, I question if Peter would have been +more than barely civil; but he knew his place with respect to his +employers, and what was due to them--none better; and he rose up at +their name, and took off his paper cap, and laid his pipe inside the +fender, and spoke a word of apology to the gentleman before him. + +'Pray do not mention it; do not disturb yourself,' said Austin, kindly. +'My name is Clay. I have just entered into an engagement with the +Messrs. Hunter, and am now in search of lodgings as conveniently near +their yard as may be. Mr. Henry Hunter said he thought you had rooms +which might suit me: hence my intrusion.' + +'Well, sir, I don't know,' returned Peter, rather dubiously. He was one +of those who are apt to grow bewildered with any sudden proposition; +requiring time, as may be said, to take it in, before he could digest +it. + +'You are from the country, sir, maybe?' + +'I am from the country. I arrived in London but an hour ago, and my +portmanteau is yet at the station. I wish to settle where I shall lodge, +before I go to get it. Have you rooms to let?' + +'Here, Nancy, come in!' cried Peter to his wife. 'The rooms are in +readiness to be shown, aren't they?' + +Mrs. Quale required no second call. Hearing a strange voice, and gifted +in a remarkable degree with what we are taught to look upon as her sex's +failing--curiosity--she had already discarded again the apron, and made +her appearance in time to receive the question. + +'Ready and waiting,' answered she. 'And two better rooms for their size +you won't find, sir, search London through,' she said, volubly, turning +to Austin. 'They are on the first floor--a nice sitting-room, and a +bedchamber behind it. The furniture is good, and clean, and handsome; +for, when we were buying of it, we didn't spare a few pounds, knowing +such would keep good to the end. Would you please step up, sir, and take +a look at them?' + +Austin acquiesced, motioning to her to lead the way. She dropped a +curtsey as she passed him, as if in apology for taking it. He followed, +and Peter brought up the rear, a dim notion penetrating Peter's brain +that the attention was due from him to one sent by the Messrs. Hunter. + +Two good rooms, as she had said; small, but well fitted up. 'You'd be +sure to be comfortable, sir,' cried Mrs. Quale to Austin. 'If _I_ can't +make lodgers comfortable, I don't know who can. Our last gentleman came +to us three years ago, and left but a month since. He was a barrister's +clerk, but he didn't get well paid, and he lodged in this part for +cheapness.' + +'The rooms would suit me, so far as I can judge,' said Austin, looking +round; 'suit me very well indeed, if we can agree upon terms. My pocket +is but a shallow one at present,' he laughed. + +'I would make _them_ easy enough for any gentleman sent by the masters,' +struck in Peter. 'Did you say your name was Clay, sir?' + +'Clay,' assented Austin. + +Mrs. Quale wheeled round at this, and took a free, full view of the +gentleman from head to foot. 'Clay? Clay?' she repeated to herself. 'And +there _is_ a likeness, if ever I saw one! Sir,' she hastily inquired, +'do you come from the neighbourhood of Ketterford?' + +'I come from Ketterford itself,' replied he. + +'Ah, but you were not born right in the town. I think you must be Austin +Clay, sir; the orphan son of Mr. Clay and his wife--Miss Austin that +used to be. They lived at the Nash farm. Sir, I have had you upon my lap +scores of times when you were a little one.' + +'Why----who are you?' exclaimed Austin. + +'You can't have forgot old Mr. Austin, the great-uncle, sir? though you +were only seven years old when he died. I was Ann Best, cook to the old +gentleman, and I heard all the ins and outs of the marriage of your +father and mother. The match pleased neither family, and so they just +took the Nash farm for themselves, to be independent and get along +without being beholden for help to anybody. Many a fruit puff have I +made for you, Master Austin; many a currant cake: how things come round +in this world! Do take our rooms, sir--it will seem like serving my old +master over again.' + +'I will take them willingly, and be glad to fall into such good hands. +You will not require references now?' + +Mrs. Quale laughed. Peter grunted resentfully. References from anybody +sent by the Messrs. Hunter! 'I would say eight shillings a week, sir,' +said Peter, looking at his wife. 'Pay as you like; monthly, or +quarterly, or any way.' + +'That's less than I expected,' said Austin, in his candour. 'Mr. Henry +Hunter thought they would be about ten shillings.' + +Peter was candid also. 'There's the neighbourhood to be took into +consideration, sir, which is not a good one, and we can only let +according to it. In some parts--and not far off, neither--you'd pay +eighteen or twenty shillings for such rooms as these; in Daffodil's +Delight it is different, though this is the best quarter of it. The last +gentleman paid us nine. If eight will suit you, sir, it will suit us.' + +So the bargain was struck; and Austin Clay went back to the station for +his luggage. Mrs. Quale, busy as a bee, ran in to tell her next-door +neighbour that she could not be one of the beef-steak-and-onion eaters +that night, though Peter might, for she should have her hands full with +their new lodger. 'The nicest, handsomest young fellow,' she wound up +with; 'one it will be a pleasure to wait on.' + +'Take care what you be at, if he's a stranger,' cried cautious Mrs. +Stevens. 'There's no trusting those country folks: they run away +sometimes. It looks odd, don't it, to come after lodgings one minute, +and enter upon 'em the next?' + +'Very odd,' assented Mrs. Quale, with a laugh. 'Why, it was Mr. Henry +Hunter sent him round here; and he has got a post in their house.' + +'What sort of one?' asked Mrs. Stevens, sceptical still. + +'Who knows? Something superior to the best of us workpeople, you may be +sure. He belongs to gentlefolks,' concluded Mrs. Quale. 'I knew him as a +baby. It was in his mother's family I lived before I married. He's as +like his mother as two peas, and a handsome woman was Mrs. Clay. +Good-bye: I'm going to get the sheets on to his bed now.' + +Mrs. Quale, however, found that she was, after all, able to assist at +the supper; for, when Austin came back, it was only to dress himself and +go out, in pursuance of the invitation he had accepted to dine at Mr. +Henry Hunter's. With all his haste it had struck six some minutes when +he got there. + +Mrs. Henry Hunter, a very pretty and very talkative woman, welcomed him +with both hands, and told her children to do the same, for it was 'the +gentleman who saved papa.' There was no ceremony; he was received quite +_en famille_; no other guest was present, and three or four of the +children dined at table. He appeared to find favour with them all. He +talked on business matters with Mr. Henry Hunter; on lighter topics with +his wife; he pointed out some errors in Mary Hunter's drawings, which +she somewhat ostentatiously exhibited to him, and showed her how to +rectify them. He entered into the school life of the two young boys, +from their classics to their scrapes; and nursed a pretty little lady of +five, who insisted on appropriating his knee--bearing himself throughout +all with the modest reticence--the refinement of the innate gentleman. +Mrs. Henry Hunter was charmed with him. + +'How do you think you shall like your quarters?' she asked. 'Mr. Hunter +told me he recommended you to Peter Quale's.' + +'Very well. At least they will do. Mrs. Quale, it appears, is an old +friend of mine.' + +'An old friend! Of yours!' + +'She claims me as one, and says she has nursed me many a time when I was +a child. I had quite forgotten her, and all about her, though I now +remember her name. She was formerly a servant in my mother's family, +near Ketterford.' + +Thus Austin Clay had succeeded without delay or difficulty in obtaining +employment, and was, moreover, received on a footing of equality in the +house of Mr. Henry Hunter. We shall see how he gets on. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +MISS GWINN'S VISIT. + + +Were there space, it might be well to trace Austin Clay's progress step +by step--his advancements and his drawbacks--his smooth-sailing and his +difficulties; for, that his course was not free from difficulties and +drawbacks you may be very sure. I do not know whose is. If any had +thought he was to be represented as perfection, they were mistaken. Yet +he managed to hold on his way without moral damage, for he was +high-principled in every sense of the word. But there is neither time +nor space to give to these particulars that regard himself alone. + +Austin Clay sat one day in a small room of the office, making +corrections in a certain plan, which had been roughly sketched. It was a +hot day for the beginning of autumn, some three or four months having +elapsed since his installation at Hunter and Hunter's. The office boy +came in to interrupt him. + +'Please, sir, here's a lady outside, asking if she can see young Mr. +Clay.' + +'A lady!' repeated Austin, in some wonder. 'Who is it?' + +'I think she's from the country, sir,' said the sharp boy. 'She have got +a big nosegay in her hand and a brown reticule.' + +'Does she wear widow's weeds?' questioned Austin hastily, an idea +flashing over him that Mrs. Thornimett might have come up to town. + +'Weeds?' replied the boy, staring, as if at a loss to know what 'weeds' +might mean. 'She have got a white veil on, sir.' + +'Oh,' said Austin. 'Well, ask her to come in. But I don't know any lady +that can want me. Or who has any business to come here if she does,' he +added to himself. + +The lady came in: a very tall one. She wore a dark silk dress, a +shepherd's plaid shawl, a straw bonnet, and a white veil. The reticule +spoken of by the boy was in her hand; but the nosegay she laid down on a +bench just outside the door. Austin rose to receive her. + +'You are doubtless surprised to see me, Austin Clay. But, as I was +coming to London on business--I always do at this season of the year--I +got your address from Mrs. Thornimett, having a question to put to you.' + +Without ceremony, without invitation, she sat herself down on a chair. +More by her voice than her features--for she kept her veil before her +face--did Austin recognise her. It was Miss Gwinn. He recognised her +with dismay. Mr. Henry Hunter was about the premises, liable to come in +at any moment, and then might occur a repetition of that violent scene +to which he had been a witness. Often and often had his mind recurred to +the affair; it perplexed him beyond measure. Was Mr. Henry Hunter the +stranger to her he asserted himself to be, or was he not? 'What shall I +do with her?' thought Austin. + +'Will you shut the door?' she said, in a peremptory, short tone, for the +boy had left it open. + +'I beg your pardon, Miss Gwinn,' interrupted Austin, necessity giving +him courage. 'Though glad to see you myself, I am at the present hour so +busy that it is next to impossible for me to give you my attention. If +you will name any place where I can wait upon you after business hours, +this, or any other evening, I shall be happy to meet you.' + +Miss Gwinn ranged her eyes round the room, looking possibly, for +confirmation of his words. 'You are not so busy as to be unable to spare +a minute to me. You were but looking over a plan.' + +'It is a plan that is being waited for.' Which was true. 'And you must +forgive me for reminding you--I do it in all courtesy--that my time and +this room do not belong to me, but to my employers.' + +'Boy! what is your motive for seeking to get rid of me?' she asked, +abruptly. 'That you have one, I can see.' + +Austin was upon thorns. He had not taken a seat. He stood near the door, +pencil in hand, hoping it would induce her to move. At that moment +footsteps were heard, and the office-door was pushed wide open. + +It was Mr. Hunter. He stopped on the threshold, seeing a lady, an +unusual sight there, and came to the conclusion that it must be some +stranger for Mr. Clay. Her features, shaded by the thick white veil, +were indistinct, and Mr. Hunter but glanced at her. Miss Gwinn on the +contrary looked full at him, as she did at most people, and bent her +head as a slight mark of courtesy. He responded by lifting his hat, and +went out again. + +'One of the principals, I suppose?' she remarked. + +'Yes,' he replied, feeling thankful that it was not Mr. Henry. 'I +believe he wants me, Miss Gwinn.' + +'I am not going to keep you from him. The question I wish to put to you +will be answered in a sentence. Austin Clay, have you, since----' + +'Allow me one single instant first, then,' interrupted Austin, resigning +himself to his fate, 'just to speak a word of explanation to Mr. +Hunter.' + +He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Standing at +the outer door, close by, open to the yard, was Mr. Hunter. Austin, in +his haste and earnestness, grasped his arm. + +'Find Mr. Henry, sir,' he whispered. 'Wherever he may be, let him keep +there--out of sight--until she--this person--has gone. It is Miss +Gwinn.' + +'Who? What do you say?' cried Mr. Hunter, staring at Austin. + +'It is that Miss Gwinn. The woman who set upon Mr. Henry in that strange +manner. She----' + +Miss Gwinn opened the door at this juncture, and looked out upon them. +Mr. Hunter walked briskly away in search of his brother. Austin turned +back again. + +She closed the door when he was inside the room, keeping her hand upon +it. She did not sit down, but stood facing Austin, whom she held before +her with the other hand. + +'Have you, since you came to London, seen aught of my enemy?--that man +whom you saved from his death in the gravel pits? Boy! answer me +truthfully.' + +He remained silent, scarcely seeing what his course ought to be; or +whether in such a case a lie of denial might not be justifiable. But the +hesitation spoiled that, for she read it arightly. + +'No need of your affirmative,' she said. 'I see you have met him. Where +is he to be found?' + +There was only one course for him now; and he took it, in all +straightforward openness. + +'It is true I have seen that gentleman, Miss Gwinn, but I can tell you +nothing about him.' + +She looked fixedly at him. 'That you cannot, or that you will not? +Which?' + +'That I will not. Forgive the seeming incivility of the avowal, but I +consider that I ought not to comply with your request--that I should be +doing wrong?' + +'Explain. What do you mean by "wrong?"' + +'In the first place, I believe you were mistaken with regard to the +gentleman: I do not think he was the one for whom you took him. In the +second place, even if he be the one, I cannot make it my business to +bring you into contact with him, and so give rise--as it probably +would--to further violence.' + +There was a pause. She threw up her veil and looked fixedly at him, +struggling for composure, her lips compressed, her face working. + +'You know who he is, and where he lives,' she jerked forth. + +'I acknowledge that.' + +'How dare you take part against me?' she cried, in agitation. + +'I do not take part against you, Miss Gwinn,' he replied, wishing some +friendly balloon would come and whirl her away; for Mr. Hunter might not +find his brother to give the warning. 'I do not take his part more than +I take yours, only in so far as that I decline to tell you who and where +he is. Had he the same ill-feeling towards you, and wished to know where +you might be found, I would not tell him.' + +'Austin Clay, you _shall_ tell me.' + +He drew himself up to his full height, speaking in all the quiet +consciousness of resolution. 'Never of my own free will. And I think, +Miss Gwinn, there are no means by which you can compel me.' + +'Perhaps the law might?' She spoke dreamily, not in answer to him, but +in commune with herself, as if debating the question. 'Fare you well for +the present, young man; but I have not done with you.' + +To his intense satisfaction she turned out of the office, catching up +the flowers as she went. Austin attended her to the outer gate. She +strode straight on, not deigning to cast a glance to the busy yard, with +its sheds, its timber, its implements of work, and its artisans, all +scattered about it. + +'Believe me,' he said, holding out his hand as a peace-offering, 'I am +not willingly discourteous. I wish I could see my way clear to help +you.' + +She did not take the hand; she walked away without another word or look, +and Austin went back again. Mr. Hunter advanced to meet him from the +upper end of the yard, and went with him into the small room. + +'What was all that, Clay? I scarcely understood.' + +'I daresay not, sir, for I had no time to be explanatory. It seems +she--Miss Gwinn--has come to town on business. She procured my address +from Mrs. Thornimett, and came here to ask of me if I had seen anything +of her enemy--meaning Mr. Henry Hunter. I feared lest he should be +coming in; I could only beg of you to find Mr. Henry, and warn him not. +That is all, sir.' + +Mr. Hunter stood with his back to Austin, softly whistling--his habit +when in deep thought. 'What can be her motive for wanting to find him?' +he presently said. + +'She speaks of revenge. Of course I do not know for what: I cannot give +a guess. There's no doubt she is mistaken in the person, when she +accuses Mr. Henry Hunter.' + +'Well,' returned Mr. Hunter, 'I said nothing to my brother, for I did +not understand what there was to say. It will be better not to tell him +now; the woman is gone, and the subject does not appear to be a pleasant +one. Do you hear?' + +'Very well, sir.' + +'I think I understood, when the affair was spoken of some time ago, that +she does not know him as Mr. Hunter?' + +'Of course she does not,' said Austin. 'She would have been here after +him before now if she did. She came this morning to see me, not +suspecting she might meet him.' + +'Ah! Better keep the visit close,' cried Mr. Hunter, as he walked away. + +Now, it had occurred to Austin that it would be better to do just the +opposite thing. _He_ should have told Mr. Henry Hunter, and left that +gentleman to seek out Miss Gwinn, or not, as he might choose. A sudden +meeting between them in the office, in the hearing of the yard, and with +the lady in excitement, was not desirable; but that Mr. Henry Hunter +should clear himself, now that she was following him up, and convince +her it was not he who was the suspected party, was, Austin thought, +needful--that is, if he could do it. However, he could only obey Mr. +Hunter's suggestions. + +Austin resumed his occupation. His brain and fingers were busy over the +plan, when he saw a gig drive into the yard. It contained the great +engineer, Sir Michael Wilson. Mr. Henry Hunter came down the yard to +meet him; they shook hands, and entered the private room together. In a +few minutes Mr. Henry came to Austin. + +'Are you particularly engaged, Clay?' + +'Only with this plan, sir. It is wanted as soon as I can get it done.' + +'You can leave it for a quarter of an hour. I wish you to go round to +Dr. Bevary. I was to have been at his house now--half-past eleven--to +accompany him on a visit to a sick friend. Tell him that Sir Michael has +come, and I have to go out with him, therefore it is impossible for me +to keep my engagement. I am very sorry, tell Bevary: these things always +happen crossly. Go right into his consulting-room, Clay; never mind +patients; or else he will be chafing at my delay, and grumble the +ceiling off.' + +Austin departed. Dr. Bevary occupied a good house in the main street, to +the left of the yard, to gain which he had to pass the turning to +Daffodil's Delight. Had Dr. Bevary lived to the right of the yard, his +practice might have been more exclusive; but doctors cannot always +choose their localities, circumstances more frequently doing that for +them. He had a large connexion, and was often pressed for time. + +Down went Austin, and gained the house. Just inside the open door, +before which a close carriage was standing, was the doctor's servant. + +'Dr. Bevary is engaged, sir, with a lady patient,' said the man. 'He is +very particularly engaged for the moment, but I don't think he'll be +long.' + +'I'll wait,' said Austin, not deeming it well strictly to follow Mr. +Henry Hunter's directions; and he turned, without ceremony, to the +little box of a study on the left of the hall. + +'Not there, sir,' interposed the man hastily, and he showed him into the +drawing-room on the right; Dr. Bevary and his patient being in the +consulting-room. + +Ten minutes of impatience to Austin. What could any lady mean by keeping +him so long, in his own house? Then they came forth. The lady, a very +red and portly one, rather old, was pushed into her carriage by the help +of her footman, Austin watching the process from the window. The +carriage then drove off. + +The doctor did not come in. Austin concluded the servant must have +forgotten to tell him he was there. He crossed the hall to the little +study, the doctor's private room, knocked and entered. + +'I am not to care for patients,' called out he gaily, believing the +doctor was alone; 'Mr. Henry Hunter says so.' But to his surprise, a +patient was sitting there--at least, a lady; sitting, nose and knees +together, with Dr. Bevary, and talking hurriedly and earnestly, as if +they had the whole weight of the nation's affairs on their shoulders. + +It was Miss Gwinn. The flowers had apparently found their home, for +they were in a vase on the table. Austin took it all in at a glance. + +'So it is you, is it, Austin Clay?' she exclaimed. 'I was acquainting +Dr. Bevary with your refusal to give me that man's address, and asking +his opinion whether the law could compel you. Have you come after me to +say you have thought better of it?' + +Austin was decidedly taken aback. It might have been his fancy, but he +thought he saw a look of caution go out to him from Dr. Bevary's eyes. + +'Was your visit to this lady, Mr. Clay?' + +'No, sir, it was to you. Sir Michael Wilson has come down on business, +and Mr. Henry Hunter will not be able to keep his appointment with you. +He desired me to say that he was sorry, but that it was no fault of +his.' + +Dr. Bevary nodded. 'Tell him I was about to send round to say that I +could not keep mine with him so it's all right. Another day will----' + +A sharp cry. A cry of passion, of rage, almost of terror. It came from +Miss Gwinn; and the doctor, breaking off his sentence, turned to her in +amazement. + +It was well he did so; it was well he caught her hands. Another moment, +and she would have dashed them through the window, and perhaps herself +also. Driving by, in the gig, were Sir Michael Wilson and Mr. Henry +Hunter. It was at the latter she gazed, at him she pointed. + +'Do you see him? Do you see him?' she panted to the doctor. 'That's the +man; not the one driving; the other--the one sitting this way. Oh, Dr. +Bevary, will you believe me now? I told you I met him at Ketterford; and +there he is again! Let me go!' + +She was strong almost as a wild animal, wrestling with the doctor to get +from him. He made a motion to Austin to keep the door, and there ensued +a sharp struggle. Dr. Bevary got her into an arm-chair at last, and +stood before her, holding her hands, at first in silence. Then he spoke +calmly, soothingly, as he would to a child. + +'My dear lady, what will become of you if you give way to these fits of +violence? But for me, I really believe you would have been through the +window. A pretty affair of spikes that would be! I should have had you +laid up in my house for a month, covered over with sticking-plaster.' + +'If you had not stopped me I might have caught that gig,' was her +passionate rejoinder. + +'Caught that gig! A gig going at the rate of ten miles an hour, if it +was going one! By the time you had got down the steps of my door it +would have been out of sight. How people can drive at that random rate +in London streets, _I_ can't think.' + +'_How_ can I find him? How can I find him?' + +Her tone was quite a wail of anguish. However they might deprecate her +mistaken violence, it was impossible but that both her hearers should +feel compassion for her. She laid her hand on the doctor's arm. + +'Will you not help me to find him, Dr. Bevary? Did you note him?' + +'So far as to see that there were two persons in the gig, and that they +were men, not women. Do you feel sure it was the man you speak of? It is +so easy to be mistaken in a person who is being whirled along swiftly.' + +'Mistaken!' she returned, in a strangely significant tone. 'Dr. Bevary, +I am sure it was he. I have not kept him in my mind for years, to +mistake him now. Austin Clay,' she fiercely added, turning round upon +Austin, '_you_ speak; speak the truth; I saw you look after them. Was +it, or was it not, the man whom I met at Ketterford?' + +'I believe it was,' was Austin's answer. 'Nevertheless, Miss Gwinn, I do +not believe him to be the enemy you spoke of--the one who worked you +ill. He denies it just as solemnly as you assert it; and I am sure he is +a truthful man.' + +'And that I am a liar?' + +'No. That you believe what you assert is only too apparent. I think it a +case, on your side, of mistaken identity.' + +Happening to raise his eyes, Austin caught those of Dr. Bevary fixed +upon him with a keen, troubled, earnest gaze. It asked, as plainly as a +gaze could ask, '_Do_ you believe so? or is the falsehood on _his_ +side?' + +'Will you disclose to Dr. Bevary the name of that man, if you will not +to me?' + +Again the gentlemen's eyes met, and this time an unmistakeable warning +of caution gleamed forth from Dr. Bevary's. Austin could only obey it. + +'I must decline to speak of him in any way, Miss Gwinn,' said he; 'you +had my reasons before. Dr. Bevary, I have given you the message I was +charged with. I must wish you both good day.' + +Austin walked back, full of thought, his belief somewhat wavering. 'It +is very strange,' he reflected. 'Could a woman, could any one be so +positive as she is, unless thoroughly sure? What _is_ the mystery, I +wonder? That it was no sentimental affair between them, or rubbish of +that sort, is patent by the difference of their ages; she looks pretty +nearly old enough to be his mother. Mr. Henry Hunter's is a remarkable +face--one that would alter little in a score of years.' + +The bell was ringing twelve as he approached the yard, and the workmen +were pouring out of it, on their way home to dinner. Plentiful tables +awaited them; little care was on their minds; flourishing was every +branch of the building trade then. Peter Quale came up to Austin. + +'Sam Shuck have just been up here, sir, a-eating humble pie, and praying +to be took on again. But the masters be both absent; and Mr. Mills, he +said he didn't choose, in a thing like this, to act on his own +responsibility, for he heard Mr. Hunter say Shuck shouldn't again be +employed.' + +'I would not take him on,' replied Austin, 'if it rested with me; an +idle, skulking, deceitful vagabond, drunk and incapable at one time, +striving to spread discontent among the men at another. He has been on +the loose for a fortnight now. But it is not my affair, Quale; Mr. Mills +is manager.' + +The yard, between twelve and one, was pretty nearly deserted. The +gentleman, spoken of as Mr. Mills, and Austin, usually remained; the +principals would sometimes be there, and an odd man or two. The +timekeeper lived in the yard. Austin rather liked that hour; it was +quiet. He was applying to his plan with a zest, when another +interruption came, in the shape of Dr. Bevary. Austin began to think he +might as well put the drawing away altogether. + +'Anybody in the offices, Mr. Clay, except you?' asked the doctor. + +'Not indoors. Mills is about somewhere.' + +Down sat the doctor, and fixed his keen eyes upon Austin. 'What took +place here this morning with Miss Gwinn?' + +'No harm, sir,' replied Austin, briefly explaining. 'As it happened, Mr. +Henry kept away. Mr. Hunter came in and saw her; but that was all.' + +'What is your opinion?' abruptly asked the doctor. 'Come, give it +freely. You have your share of judgment, and of discretion too, or I +should not ask it. Is she mistaken, or is Henry Hunter false?' + +Austin did not immediately reply. Dr. Bevary mistook the cause of his +silence. + +'Don't hesitate, Clay. You know I am trustworthy; and it is not I who +would stir to harm a Hunter. If I seek to come to the bottom of this +affair, it is that I may do what I can to repair damage; to avert some +of the fruits of wrong-doing.' + +'If I hesitated, Dr. Bevary, it was that I am really at a loss what +answer to give. When Mr. Henry Hunter denies that he knows the woman, or +that he ever has known her, he appears to me to speak open truth. On the +other hand, these recognitions of Miss Gwinn's, and her persistency, +are, to say the least of them, suspicious and singular. Until within an +hour I had full trust in Mr. Henry Hunter; now I do not know what to +think. She seemed to recognise him in the gig so surely.' + +'He does not appear'--Dr. Bevary appeared to be speaking to himself, and +his head was bent--'like one who carries about with him some dark +secret.' + +'Mr. Henry Hunter? None less. Never a man whose outside gave indications +of a clearer conscience. But, Dr. Bevary, if her enemy be Mr. Henry +Hunter, how is it she does not know him by name?' + +'Ay, there's another point. She evidently attaches no importance to the +name of Hunter.' + +'What was the name of--of the enemy she talks of?' asked Austin. 'We +must call him "enemy" for want of a better name. Do you know it, +doctor?' + +'No. Can't get it out of her. Never could get it out of her. I asked her +again to-day, but she evaded the question.' + +'Mr. Hunter thought it would be better to keep her visit this morning a +secret from his brother, as they had not met. I, on the contrary, should +have told him of it.' + +'No,' hastily interposed Dr. Bevary, putting up his hand with an +alarmed, warning gesture. 'The only way is, to keep her and Henry Hunter +apart.' + +'I wonder,' mused Austin, 'what brings her to town?' + +The doctor threw his penetrating gaze into Austin's eyes. 'Have you no +idea what it is?' + +'None, sir. She seemed to intimate that she came every year.' + +'Good. Don't try to form any, my young friend. It would not be a +pleasant secret, even for you to hold!' + +He rose as he spoke, nodded, and went out, leaving Austin Clay in a +state of puzzled bewilderment. It was not lessened when, an hour later, +Austin encountered Dr. Bevary's close carriage, driving rapidly along +the street, the doctor seated inside it, and Miss Gwinn beside him. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +TRACKED HOME. + + +I think it has been mentioned that the house next door to the Quales', +detached from it however, was inhabited by two families: the lower part +by Mr. Samuel Shuck, his wife, and children; the upper and best part by +the Baxendales. No two sets of people could be more dissimilar; the one +being as respectable as the other was disreputable. John Baxendale's +wife was an invalid; she had been so, on and off, for a long while. +There was an only daughter, and she and her mother held themselves very +much aloof from the general society of Daffodil's Delight. + +On the morning following the day spoken of in the last chapter as +distinguished by the advent of Miss Gwinn in London, Mrs. Baxendale +found herself considerably worse than usual. Mr. Rice, the apothecary, +who was the general attendant in Daffodil's Delight, and lived at its +corner, had given her medicine, and told her to 'eat well and get up her +strength.' But, somehow, the strength and the appetite did not come; on +the contrary, she got weaker and weaker. She was in very bad spirits +this morning, was quite unable to get up, and cried for some time in +silence. + +'Mother, dear,' said Mary Baxendale, going into her room, 'you'll have +the doctor gone out, I fear.' + +'Oh, Mary! I cannot get up--I cannot go,' was the answer, delivered with +a burst of sobbing sorrow. 'I shall never rise from my bed again.' + +The words fell on the daughter with a terrible shock. Her fears in +regard to her mother's health had long been excited, but this seemed +like a confirmation of a result she had never dared openly to face. She +was not a very capable sort of girl--the reverse of what is called +strong-minded; but the instinct imparted by all true affection warned +her to make light of her mother's words. + +'Nay, mother, it's not so bad as that,' she said, checking her tears. +'You'll get up again fast enough. You are feeling low, maybe, this +morning.' + +'Child, I am too weak to get up--too ill. I don't think I shall ever be +about again.' + +Mary sat down in a sort of helpless perplexity. + +'What is to be done?' she cried. + +Mrs. Baxendale asked herself the same question as she lay. Finding +herself no better under Mr. Rice's treatment, she had at length +determined to do what she ought to have done at first--consult Dr. +Bevary. + +From half-past eight to ten, three mornings in the week, Dr. Bevary gave +advice gratis; and Mrs. Baxendale was on this one to have gone to +him--rather a formidable visit, as it seemed to her, and perhaps the +very thought of it had helped to make her worse. + +'What is to be done?' repeated Mary. + +'Could you not wait upon him, child, and describe my symptoms?' +suggested the sick woman, after weighing the dilemma in her mind. 'It +might do as well. Perhaps he can write for me.' + +'Oh, mother, I don't like to go!' exclaimed Mary, in the impulse of the +moment. + +'But, my dear, what else is to be done?' urged Mrs. Baxendale. 'We can't +ask a great gentleman like that to come to me.' + +'To be sure--true. Oh, yes, I'll go, mother.' + +Mary got herself ready without another word. Mrs. Baxendale, a superior +woman for her station in life, had brought up her daughter to be +thoroughly dutiful. It had seemed a formidable task to the mother, the +going to this physician, this 'great gentleman;' it seemed a far worse +to the daughter, and especially the having to explain symptoms and +ailments at second-hand. But the great physician was a very pleasant +man, and would nod good-humouredly to Mary, when by chance he met her in +the street. + +'Tell him, with my duty, that I am not equal to coming myself,' said +Mrs. Baxendale, when Mary stood ready in her neat straw bonnet and +light shawl. 'I ought to have gone weeks ago, and that's the truth. +Don't forget to describe the pain in my right side, and the flushings of +heat.' + +So Mary went on her way, and was admitted to the presence of Dr. Bevary, +where she told her tale with awkward timidity. + +'Ah! a return of the old weakness that she had years ago,' remarked the +doctor. 'I told her she must be careful. Too ill to get up? Why did she +not come to me before?' + +'I suppose, sir, she did not much like to trouble you,' responded Mary. +'She has been hoping from week to week that Mr. Rice would do her good.' + +'_I_ can't do her good, unless I see her,' cried the doctor. 'I might +prescribe just the wrong thing, you know.' + +Mary repressed her tears. + +'I am afraid, then, she must die, sir. She said this morning she thought +she should never get up from her bed again.' + +'I'll step round some time to-day and see her,' said Dr. Bevary. 'But +now, don't you go chattering that to the whole parish. I should have +every sick person in it expecting me, as a right, to call and visit +them.' + +He laughed pleasantly at Mary as he spoke, and she departed with a glad +heart. The visit had been so much less formidable in reality than in +anticipation. + +As she reached Daffodil's Delight, she did not turn into it, but +continued her way to the house of Mrs. Hunter. Mary Baxendale took in +plain sewing, and had some in hand at present from that lady. She +inquired for Dobson. Dobson was Mrs. Hunter's own maid, and a very +consequential one. + +'Not able to get Miss Hunter's night-dresses home on Saturday!' grumbled +Dobson, when she appeared and heard what Mary had to say. 'But you must, +Mary Baxendale. You promised them, you know.' + +'I should not have promised had I known that my mother would have grown +worse,' said Mary. 'A sick person requires a deal of waiting on, and +there's only me. I'll do what I can to get them home next week, if that +will do.' + +'I don't know that it will do,' snapped Dobson. 'Miss Florence may be +wanting them. A promise is a promise, Mary Baxendale.' + +'Yes, it will do, Mary,' cried Florence Hunter, darting forward from +some forbidden nook, whence she had heard the colloquy, and following +Mary down the steps into the street. A fair sight was that child to look +upon, with her white muslin dress, her blue ribbons, her flowing hair, +and her sweet countenance, radiant as a summer's morning. 'Mamma is not +downstairs yet, or I would ask her--she is ill, too--but I know I do not +want them. Never you mind them, and never mind Dobson either, but nurse +your mother.' + +Dobson drew the young lady back, asking her if such behaviour was not +enough to 'scandalize the square;' and Mary Baxendale returned home. + +Dr. Bevary paid his visit to Mrs. Baxendale about mid-day. His practised +eye saw with certainty what others were only beginning to suspect--that +Death had marked her. He wrote a prescription, gave some general +directions, said he would call again, and told Mrs. Baxendale she would +be better out of bed than in it. + +Accordingly, after his departure, she got up and went into the front +room, which they made their sitting-room. But the exertion caused her to +faint; she was certainly on this day much worse than usual. John +Baxendale was terribly concerned, and did not go back to his work after +dinner. When the bustle was over, and she seemed pretty comfortable +again, somebody burst into the room, without knocking or other ceremony. +It was one of the Shucks, a young man of eight, in tattered clothes, and +a shock head of hair. He came to announce that Mrs. Hunter's maid was +asking for Mary, and little Miss Hunter was there, too, and said, might +she come up and see Mrs. Baxendale. + +Both were requested to walk up. Dobson had brought a gracious message +from her mistress (not graciously delivered, though), that the sewing +might wait till it was quite convenient to do it; and Florence produced +a jar, which she had insisted upon carrying herself, and had thereby +split her grey kid gloves, it being too large for her hands. + +'It is black-currant jelly, Mrs. Baxendale,' she said, with the +prettiest, kindest air, as she freely sat down by the sick woman's side. +'I asked mamma to let me bring some, for I remember when I was ill I +only liked black-currant jelly. Mamma is so sorry to hear you are worse, +and she will come to see you soon.' + +'Bless your little heart, Miss Florence!' exclaimed the invalid. 'The +same dear child as ever--thinking of other people and not of yourself.' + +'I have no need to think for myself,' said Florence. 'Everything I want +is got ready for me. I wish you did not look so ill. I wish you would +have my uncle Bevary to see you. He cures everybody.' + +'He has been kind enough to come round to-day, Miss,' spoke up John +Baxendale, 'and he'll come again, he says. I hope he will be able to do +the missis good. As you be a bit better,' he added to his wife, 'I think +I'll go back to my work.' + +'Ay, do, John. There's no cause for you to stay at home. It was some +sort of weakness, I suppose, that came over me.' + +John Baxendale touched his hair to Florence, nodded to Dobson, and went +downstairs and out. Florence turned to the open window to watch his +departure, ever restless, as a healthy child is apt to be. + +'There's Uncle Henry!' she suddenly called out. + +Mr. Henry Hunter was walking rapidly down Daffodil's Delight. He +encountered John Baxendale as the man went out of his gate. + +'Not back at work yet, Baxendale?' + +'The missis has been taken worse, sir,' was the man's reply. 'She +fainted dead off just now, and I declare I didn't know what to think +about her. She's all right again, and I am going round.' + +At that moment there was heard a tapping at the window panes, and a +pretty little head was pushed out beneath them, nodding and laughing, +'Uncle Henry! How do you do, Uncle Henry?' + +Mr. Henry Hunter nodded in reply, and pursued his way, unconscious that +the lynx eye of Miss Gwinn was following him, like a hawk watching its +prey. + +It happened that she had penetrated Daffodil's Delight, hoping to catch +Austin Clay at his dinner, which she supposed he might be taking about +that hour. She held his address at Peter Quale's from Mrs. Thornimett. +Her object was to make a further effort to get from him what he knew of +the man she sought to find. Scarcely had she turned into Daffodil's +Delight, when she saw Mr. Henry Hunter at a distance. Away she tore +after him, and gained upon him considerably. She reached the house of +John Baxendale just as he, Baxendale, was re-entering it; for he had +forgotten something he must take with him to the yard. Turning her head +upon Baxendale for a minute as she passed, Miss Gwinn lost sight of Mr. +Henry Hunter. + +How had he disappeared? Into the ground? or into a house? or down any +obscure passage that might be a short cut between Daffodil's Delight, +and some other Delight? or into that cab that was now whirling onwards +at such a rate? That he was no longer visible, was certain: and Miss +Gwinn was exceeding wroth. She came to the conclusion that he had seen +her, and hid himself in the cab, though she had not heard it stop. + +But she had seen him spoken to from the window of that house, where the +workman had just gone in, and she determined to make inquiries there, +and so strode up the path. In the Shucks' kitchen there were only three +or four children, too young to give an answer. Miss Gwinn picked her way +through them, over the dirt and grease of the floor, and ascended to the +sitting-room above. She stood a minute to take in its view. + +John Baxendale was on his knees, hunting among some tools at the bottom +of a closet; Mary was meekly exhibiting the progress of the nightgowns +to Dobson, who sat in state, sour enough to turn milk into curd; the +invalid was lying, pale, in her chair; while the young lady appeared to +be assisting at the tool-hunting, on her knees also, and chattering as +fast as her tongue could go. All looked up at the apparition of the +stranger, who stood there gazing in upon them. + +'Can you tell me where a gentleman of the name of Lewis lives?' she +began, in an indirect, diplomatic, pleasant sort of way, for she no +doubt deemed it well to discard violence for tact. In the humour she was +in yesterday, she would have said, sharply and imperiously, 'Tell me the +name of that man I saw now pass your gate.' + +John Baxendale rose. 'Lewis, ma'am? I don't know anybody of the name.' + +A pause. 'It is very unfortunate,' she mildly resumed. 'I am in search +of the gentleman, and have not got his address. I believe he belongs to +this neighbourhood. Indeed, I am almost sure I saw him talking to you +just now at the gate--though my sight is none of the clearest from a +distance. The same gentleman to whom that young lady nodded.' + +'That was my uncle Henry,' called out the child. + +'Who?' cried she, sharply. + +'It was Mr. Henry Hunter, ma'am, that was,' spoke up Baxendale. + +'Mr. Henry Hunter!' she repeated, as she knit her brow on John +Baxendale. 'That gentleman is Mr. Lewis.' + +'No, that he is not,' said John Baxendale. 'I ought to know, ma'am; I +have worked for him for some years.' + +Here the mischief might have ended; there's no telling; but that busy +little tongue of all tongues--ah! what work they make!--began clapping +again. + +'Perhaps you mean my papa? Papa's name is Lewis--James Lewis Hunter. But +he is never called Mr. Lewis. He is brother to my uncle Henry.' + +A wild flush of crimson flashed over Miss Gwinn's sallow face. Something +within her seemed to whisper that her search was over. 'It is possible I +mistook the one for the other in the distance,' she observed, all her +new diplomacy in full play. 'Are they alike in person?' she continued to +John Baxendale. + +'Not so much alike now, ma'am. In years gone by they were the very model +of one another; but Mr. Hunter has grown stout, and it has greatly +altered him. Mr. Henry looks just like what Mr. Hunter used to look.' + +'And who are you, did you say?' she asked of Florence with an emphasis +that would have been quite wild, but that it was in a degree suppressed. +'You are not Mr. Lewis Hunter's daughter?' + +'I am,' said Miss Florence. + +'And----you have a mother?' + +'Of course I have,' repeated the child. + +A pause: the lady looked at John Baxendale. 'Then Mr. Lewis Hunter is a +married man?' + +'To be sure he is,' said John, 'ever so many years ago. Miss Florence is +twelve.' + +'Thank you,' said Miss Gwinn abruptly turning away. 'Good morning.' + +She went down the stairs at a great rate, and did not stay to pick her +steps over the grease of the Shucks' floor. + +'What a mistake to make!' was her inward comment, and she laughed as she +said it. 'I did not sufficiently allow for the lapse of years. If that +younger one had lost his life in the gravel pits, he would have died an +innocent man.' + +Away to the yard now, as fast as her legs would carry her. In turning +in, she ran against Austin Clay. + +'I want to speak with Mr. Hunter,' she imperiously said. 'Mr. Lewis +Hunter--not the one I saw in the gig.' + +'Mr. Hunter is out of town, Miss Gwinn,' was Austin's reply. 'We do not +expect him at the yard to-day; he will not be home in time to come to +it.' + +'Boy! you are deceiving me!' + +'Indeed I am not,' he returned. 'Why should I? Mr. Hunter is not in the +habit of being denied to applicants. You might have spoken to him +yesterday when you saw him, had it pleased you so to do.' + +'I never saw him yesterday.' + +'Yes, you did, Miss Gwinn. That gentleman who came into the office and +bowed to you was Mr. Hunter.' + +She stared Austin full in the face, as if unable to believe what he +said. '_That_ Mr. Hunter?--Lewis Hunter?' + +'It was.' + +'If so, _how_ he is altered!' And, throwing up her arms with a strange, +wild gesture, she turned and strode out of the yard. The next moment +Austin saw her come into it again. + +'I want Mr. Lewis Hunter's private address, Austin Clay.' + +But Austin was on his guard now. He did not relish the idea of giving +anybody's private address to such a person as Miss Gwinn, who might or +might not be mad. + +She detected his reluctance. + +'Keep it from me if you choose, boy,' she said, with a laugh that had a +ring of scorn. 'Better for you perhaps to be on the safe side. The first +workman I meet will give it me, or a court guide.' + +And thus saying, she finally turned away. At any rate for the time +being. + +Austin Clay resumed his work, and the day passed on to evening. When +business was over, he went home to make some alteration in his dress, +for he had to go by appointment to Mr. Hunter's, and on these occasions +he generally remained with them. It was beginning to grow dusk, and a +chillness seemed to be in the air. + +The house occupied by Mr. Hunter was one of the best in the +west-central square. Ascending to it by a flight of steps, and passing +through a pillared portico, you found yourself in a handsome hall, paved +in imitation of mosaic. Two spacious sitting-rooms were on the left: the +front one was used as a dining-room, the other opened to a conservatory. +On the right of the hall, a broad flight of stairs led to the apartments +above, one of which was a fine drawing-room, fitted up with costly +elegance. + +Mr. and Mrs. Hunter were seated in the dining-room. Florence was there +likewise, but not seated; it may be questioned if she ever did sit, +except when compelled. Dinner was over, but they frequently made this +their evening sitting-room. The drawing-room upstairs was grand, the +room behind was dull; this was cheerful, and looked out on the square. +Especially cheerful it looked on this evening, for a fire had been +lighted in the grate, and it cast a warm glow around in the fading +twilight. + +Austin Clay was shown in, and invited to a seat by the fire, near Mrs. +Hunter. He had come in obedience to orders from Mr. Hunter, issued to +him when he, Mr. Hunter, had been going out that morning. His journey +had been connected with certain buildings then in process, and he +thought he might have directions to give with respect to the following +morning's early work. + +A few minutes given by Austin and his master to business matters, and +then the latter left the room, and Austin turned to Mrs. Hunter. +Unusually delicate she looked, as she half sat, half lay back in her +chair, the firelight playing on her features. Florence had dragged +forth a stool, and was sitting on it in a queer sort of fashion, one leg +under her, at Austin's feet. He was a great favourite of hers, and she +made no secret of the liking. + +'You are not looking well this evening,' he observed, in a gentle tone, +to Mrs. Hunter. + +'I am not feeling well. I scarcely ever do feel well; never strong. I +sometimes think, Mr. Clay, what a mercy it is that we are not permitted +to foresee the future. If we could, some of us might be tempted +to--to--' she hesitated, and then went on in a lower tone--'to pray that +God might take us in youth.' + +'The longer we live, the more we become impressed with the wonderful +wisdom that exists in the ordering of all things,' replied Austin. 'My +years have not been many, comparatively speaking; but I see it always, +and I know that I shall see it more and more.' + +'The confirmed invalid, the man of care and sorrow, the incessant battle +for existence with those reduced to extreme poverty--had they seen their +future, as in a mirror, how could they have borne to enter upon it?' +dreamily observed Mrs. Hunter. 'And yet, I have heard people exclaim, +"How I wish I could foresee my destiny, and what is to happen to me!"' + +'But the cares and ills of the world do not come near you, Mrs. Hunter,' +spoke Austin, after a pause of thought. + +Mrs. Hunter smiled. 'From the cares and crosses of the world, as we +generally estimate cares and crosses, I am free. God has spared them to +me. He does not overwhelm us with ills; if one ill is particularly our +portion, we are generally spared from others. Mine lie in my want of +health, and in the thought that--that--I am rarely free from pain and +suffering,' she concluded. But Austin felt that it was not what she had +been about to say. + +'What should we do if _all_ the ills came to us, mamma?' cried Florence, +who had been still, and was listening. + +'My dear, if all the ills came to us, God would show us a way to bear +them. You know that He has promised so much; and His promises cannot +fail.' + +'Clay,' cried Mr. Hunter, returning to the room and resuming his seat, +'did any one in particular call and want me to-day?' + +'No, sir. Several came, but Mr. Henry saw them.' + +'Did Arkwright come?' resumed Mr. Hunter. + +'I think not; I did not see him. That--lady--who was there yesterday, +came again. She asked for you.' + +A pause. Then Mr. Hunter spoke up sharply. 'For my brother, you mean. +She must have wanted him.' + +'She certainly asked for you, sir. For Mr. Lewis Hunter.' + +Those little ears pricked themselves up, and their owner unceremoniously +wheeled herself round on her stool, holding on by Austin's knee, as she +faced her father. + +'There was a lady came to John Baxendale's rooms to-day, when I and +Dobson were there, and she asked for Mr. Lewis Hunter. At least--it was +the funniest thing, papa--she saw Uncle Henry talking to John Baxendale, +and she came up and said he was Mr. Lewis, and asked where he lived. +John Baxendale said it was Mr. Henry Hunter, and she said no, it was not +Mr. Henry Hunter, it was Mr. Lewis. So then we found out that she had +mistaken him for you, and that it was you she wanted. Who was she, +papa?' + +'She--she--her business was with Henry,' spoke Mr. Hunter, in so +confused, so startled a sort of tone, not as if answering the child, +more as if defending himself to any who might be around, that Austin +looked up involuntarily. His face had grown lowering and angry, and he +moved his position, so that his wife's gaze should not fall upon it. +Austin's did, though. + +At that moment there was heard a knock and ring at the house door, the +presumable announcement of a visitor. Florence, much addicted to acting +upon natural impulse, and thereby getting into constant hot water with +her governess, who assured her nothing could be more unbefitting a young +lady, quitted her stool and flew to the window. By dint of flattening +her nose and crushing her curls against a corner of one of its panes, +she contrived to obtain a partial view of the visitor. + +'Oh dear! I hoped it was Uncle Bevary. Mamma's always better when he +comes; he tells her she is not so ill as she fancies. Papa!' + +'What?' cried Mr. Hunter, quickly. + +'I do believe it is that same lady who came to John Baxendale's. She is +as tall as a house.' + +What possessed Mr. Hunter? He started up; he sprung half way across the +room, hesitated there, and glided back again. Glided stealthily as it +were; and stealthily touching Austin Clay, motioned him to follow him. +His hands were trembling; and the dark frown, full of embarrassment, was +still upon his features. Mrs. Hunter noticed nothing unusual; the +apartment was shaded in twilight, and she sat with her head turned to +the fire. + +'Go to that woman, Clay!' came forth in a whisper from Mr. Hunter's +compressed lips, as he drew Austin outside the room. 'I cannot see her. +_You_ go.' + +'What am I to say?' questioned Austin, feeling surprised and bewildered. + +'Anything; anything. Only keep her from me.' + +He turned back into the room as he spoke, and closed the door softly, +for Miss Gwinn was already in the hall. The servant had said his master +was at home, and was conducting her to the room where his master and +mistress sat, supposing it was some friend come to pay an hour's visit. +Austin thought he heard Mr. Hunter slip the bolt of the dining-room, as +he walked forward to receive Miss Gwinn. + +Austin's words were quick and sharp, arresting the servant's footsteps. +'Not there, Mark! Miss Gwinn,' he courteously added, presenting himself +before her, 'Mr. Hunter is unable to see you this evening.' + +'Who gave _you_ authority to interfere, Austin Clay?' was the response, +not spoken in a raving, angry tone, but in one of cold, concentrated +determination. 'I demand an interview with Lewis Hunter. That he is at +home, I know, for I saw him through the window, in the reflection of the +firelight, as I stood on the steps; and here I will remain until I +obtain speech of him, be it until to-morrow morning, be it until days to +come. Do you note my words, meddling boy? I _demand_ the interview; I do +not crave it: he best knows by what right.' + +She sat deliberately down on one of the hall chairs. Austin, desperately +at a loss what to do, and seeing no means of getting rid of her save by +forcible expulsion, knocked gently at the room door again. Mr. Hunter +drew it cautiously open to admit him; then slipped the bolt, entwined +his arm within Austin's, and drew him to the window. Mrs. Hunter's +attention was absorbed by Florence, who was chattering to her. + +'She has taken a seat in the hall, sir,' he whispered. 'She says she +will remain there until she sees you, though she should have to wait +until the morning. I am sure she means it: stop there, she will. She +says she demands the interview as a right.' + +'No,' said Mr. Hunter, 'she possesses no _right_. But--perhaps I had +better see her, and get it over: otherwise she may make a disturbance. +Tell Mark to show her into the drawing-room, Clay; and you stay here and +talk to Mrs. Hunter.' + +'What is the matter, that you are whispering? Does any one want you?' +interrupted Mrs. Hunter, whose attention was at length attracted. + +'I am telling Clay that people have no right to come to my private house +on business matters,' was the reply given by Mr. Hunter. 'However, as +the person is here, I must see her, I suppose. Do not let us be +interrupted, Louisa.' + +'But what does she want?--it was a lady, Florence said. Who is she?' +reiterated Mrs. Hunter. + +'It is a matter of business of Henry's. She ought to have gone to him.' +Mr. Hunter looked at his wife and at Austin as he spoke. The latter was +leaving the room to do his bidding, and Miss Gwinn suffered herself to +be conducted quietly to the drawing-room. + +A full hour did the interview last. The voices seemed occasionally to be +raised in anger, so that the sound penetrated to their ears downstairs, +from the room overhead. Mrs. Hunter grew impatient; the tea waited on +the table, and she wanted it. At length they were heard to descend, and +to cross the hall. + +'James is showing her out himself,' said Mrs. Hunter. 'Will you tell him +we are waiting tea, Mr. Clay?' + +Austin stepped into the hall, and started when he caught sight of the +face of Mr. Hunter. He was turning back from closing the door on Miss +Gwinn, and the bright rays of the hall-lamp fell full upon his +countenance. It was of ghastly whiteness; its expression one living +aspect of terror, of dread. He staggered, rather than walked, to a +chair, and sank into it. Austin hastened to him. + +'Oh, sir, what is it? You are ill?' + +The strong man, the proud master, calm hitherto in his native +self-respect, was for the moment overcome. He leaned his forehead upon +Austin's arm, hiding its pallor, and put up his finger for silence. + +'I have had a stab, Clay,' he whispered. 'Bear with me, lad, for a +minute. I have had a cruel stab.' + +Austin really did not know whether to take the words literally. 'A +stab?' he hesitatingly repeated. + +'Ay; here,' touching his heart. 'I wish I was dead, Clay. I wish I had +died years ago; or that _she_ had. Why was she permitted to live?--to +live to work me this awful wrong?' he dreamily wailed. 'An awful wrong +to me and mine!' + +'What is it?' spoke Austin, upon impulse. 'A wrong? Who has done it?' + +'She has. The woman now gone out. She has done it all.' + +He rose, and appeared to be looking for his hat. 'Mrs. Hunter is waiting +tea, sir,' said the amazed Austin. + +'Tea!' repeated Mr. Hunter, as if his brain were bewildered; 'I cannot +go in again to-night; I cannot see them. Make some excuse for me, +Clay--anything. _Why_ did that woman work me this crying wrong?' + +He took his hat, opened the hall door, and shut it after him with a +bang, leaving Austin in wondering consternation. + +He returned to the dining-room, and said Mr. Hunter had been obliged to +go out on business; he did not know what else to say. Florence was sent +to bed after tea, but Austin sat a short while longer with Mrs. Hunter. +Something led back to the previous conversation, when Mrs. Hunter had +been alluding to her state of health, and to some sorrow that was her +daily portion. + +'What is it?' said Austin, in his impulsive manner. + +'The thought that I shall have to leave Florence without a mother.' + +'Dear Mrs. Hunter, surely it is not so serious as that! You may get +better.' + +'Yes; I know I may. Dr. Bevary tells me that I shall. But, you see, the +very fear of it is hard to bear. Sometimes I think God is reconciling me +to it by slow degrees.' + +Later in the evening, as Austin was going home, he passed a piece of +clear ground, to be let for building purposes, at the end of the square. +There, in its darkest corner, far back from the road, paced a man as if +in some mental agony, his hat carried in his hands, and his head bared +to the winds. Austin peered through the night with his quick sight, and +recognised Mr. Hunter. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +MR. SHUCK AT HOME. + + +Daffodil's Delight was in a state of commotion. It has often been +remarked that there exists more real sympathy between the working +classes, one for another, than amongst those of a higher grade; and +experience generally seems to bear it out. From one end of Daffodil's +Delight to the other, there ran just now a deep feeling of sorrow, of +pity, of commiseration. Men made inquiries of each other as they passed +in the street; women congregated at their doors to talk, concern on +their faces, a question on their lips--'How is she? What does the doctor +say?' + +Yes; the excitement had its rise in one cause alone--the increased +illness of Mrs. Baxendale. The physician had pronounced his opinion +(little need to speak it, though, for the fact was only too apparent to +all who used their eyes), and the news had gone forth to Daffodil's +Delight--Mrs. Baxendale was past recovery; was, in fact, dying! + +The concern, universal as it was, showed itself in various ways. Visits +and neighbourly calls were so incessant, that the Shucks openly rebelled +at the 'trampling up and down through their living-room,' by which route +the Baxendale apartments could alone be gained. The neighbours came to +help; to nurse; to shake up the bed and pillows; to prepare condiments +over the fire; to condole; and, above all, to gossip: with tears in +their eyes and lamentation in their tones, and ominous shakes of the +head, and uplifted hands; but still, to gossip: _that_ lies in human +female nature. They brought offerings of savoury delicacies; or things +that, in their ideas, stood for delicacies--dainties likely to tempt the +sick. Mrs. Cheek made a pint jug of what she called 'buttered beer,' a +miscellaneous compound of scalding-hot porter, gin, eggs, sugar, and +spice. Mrs. Baxendale sipped a little; but it did not agree with her +fevered palate, and she declined it for the future, with 'thanks, all +the same,' and Mrs. Cheek and a crony or two disposed of it themselves +with great satisfaction. All this served to prove two things--that good +feeling ran high in Daffodil's Delight, and that means did not run low. + +Of all the visitors, the most effectual assistant was Mrs. Quale. She +gossiped, it is true, or it had not been Mrs. Quale; but she gave +efficient help; and the invalid was always glad to see her come in, +which could not be said with regard to all. Daffodil's Delight was not +wrong in the judgment it passed upon Mary Baxendale--that she was a +'poor creature.' True; poor as to being clever in a domestic point of +view, and in attending upon the sick. In mind, in cultivation, in +refinement, in gentleness, Mary Baxendale beat Daffodil's Delight +hollow; she was also a beautiful seamstress; but in energy and +capability Mary was sadly wanting. She was timid always--painfully timid +in the sick-room; anxious to do for her mother all that was requisite, +but never knowing how to set about it. Mrs. Quale remedied this; she did +the really efficient part; Mary gave love and gentleness; and, between +the two, Mrs. Baxendale was thankful and happy. + +John Baxendale, not a demonstrative man, was full of concern and grief. +His had been a very happy home, free from domestic storms and clouds; +and, to lose his wife, was anything but a cheering prospect. His wages +were good, and they had wanted for nothing, not even for peace. To such, +when trouble comes, it seems hard to bear--it almost seems as if it came +as a _wrong_. + +'Just hold your tongue, John Baxendale,' cried Mrs. Quale one day, upon +hearing him express something to this effect. 'Because you have never +had no crosses, is it any reason that you never shall? No. Crosses come +to us all sometime in our lives, in one shape or other.' + +'But it's a hard thing for it to come in this shape,' retorted +Baxendale, pointing to the bed. 'I'm not repining or rebelling against +what it pleases God to do; but I can't _see_ the reason of it. Look at +some of the other wives in Daffodil's Delight; shrieking, raving +trollops, turning their homes into a bear-garden with their tempers, and +driving their husbands almost mad. If some of them were taken they'd +never be missed: just the contrary.' + +'John,' interposed Mrs. Baxendale, in her quiet voice, 'when I am gone +up there'--pointing with her finger to the blue October sky--'it may +make you think more of the time when you must come; may help you to be +preparing for it, better than you have done.' + +Mary lifted her wan face, glowing now with the excitement of the +thought. 'Father, _that_ may be the end--the reason. I think that +troubles are sent to us in mercy, not in anger.' + +'Think!' ejaculated Mrs. Quale, tossing back her head with a manner less +reverent than her words. 'Before you shall have come to my age, girl, +it's to be hoped you'll _know_ they are. Isn't it time for the +medicine?' she continued, seeing no other opening for a reprimand just +then. + +It was time for the medicine, and Mrs. Quale poured it out, raised the +invalid from her pillow, and administered it. John Baxendale looked on. +Like his daughter Mary, he was in these matters an incapable man. + +'How long is it since Dr. Bevary was here?' he asked. + +'Let's see?' responded Mrs. Quale, who liked to have most of the talking +to herself, wherever she might be. 'This is Friday. Tuesday, wasn't it, +Mary? Yes, he was here on Tuesday.' + +'But why does he not come oftener?' cried John, in a tone of resentment. +'That's what I was wanting to ask about. When one is as ill as she +is--in danger of dying--is it right that a doctor should never come a +near for three or four days?' + +'Oh, John! a great physician like Dr. Bevary!' remonstrated his wife. +'It is so very good of him to come at all. And for nothing, too! He as +good as said to Mary he didn't mean to charge.' + +'I can pay him; I'm capable of paying him, I hope,' spoke John +Baxendale. 'Who said I wanted my wife to be attended out of charity?' + +'It's not just that, father, I think,' said Mary. 'He comes more in a +friendly way.' + +'Friendly or not, it isn't come to the pass yet, that I can't pay a +doctor,' said John Baxendale. 'Who has let it go abroad that I +couldn't?' + +Taking up his hat, he went out on the spur of the moment, and bent his +steps to Dr. Bevary's. There he was civil and humble enough, for John +Baxendale was courteous by nature. The doctor was at home, and saw him +at once. + +'Listen, my good man,' said Dr. Bevary, when he had caught somewhat of +his errand. 'If, by going round often, I could do any good to your wife, +I should go. Twice a day; three times a day--by night, too, if +necessary. But I cannot do her good: had she a doctor over her bed +constantly, he could render no service. I step round now and then, +because I see that it is a satisfaction to her, and to those about her; +not for any use I can be. I told you a week ago the end was not very far +off, and that she would meet it calmly. She will be in no further +pain--no worse than she is now.' + +'I am able to pay you, sir.' + +'That is not the question. If you paid me a guinea every time I came +round, I should visit her no more frequently than I do.' + +'And, if you please, sir, I'd rather pay you,' continued the man. 'I'm +sure I don't grudge it; and it goes against the grain to have it said +that John Baxendale's wife is attended out of charity. We English +workmen, sir, are independent, and proud of being so.' + +'Very good,' said Dr. Bevary. 'I should be sorry to see the day come +when English workmen lost their independence. As to "charity," we will +talk a bit about that. Look here, Baxendale,' the doctor added, laying +his hand upon his shoulder, in his kind and familiar way, 'you and I can +speak reasonably together, as man to man. We both have to work for our +living--you with the hands, I chiefly with the head--so, in that, we are +equal. I go twice a week to see your wife; I have told you why it is +useless to go oftener. When patients come to me, they pay me a guinea, +and I see them twice for it, which is equivalent to half a guinea a +visit; but, when I go to patients at their own houses, my fee is a +guinea each time. Now, would it seem to you a neighbourly act that I +should take two guineas weekly from your wages?--quite as much, or more, +than you gain. What does my going round cost me? A few minutes' time; a +gossip with Mrs. Quale, touching the doings of Daffodil's Delight, and a +groan at those thriftless Shucks, in their pigsty of a room. That is the +plain statement of facts; and I should like to know what there is in it +that need put your English spirit up. Charity! We might call it by that +name, John Baxendale, if I were the guinea each time out of pocket, +through medicines or other things furnished to you.' + +John Baxendale smiled; but he looked only three parts convinced. + +'Tush, man!' said the doctor; 'I may be asking you to do me some +friendly service, one of these days, and then, you know, we should be +quits. Eh, John?' + +John Baxendale half put out his hand, and the doctor shook it. + +'I think I understand now, sir; and I thank you heartily for what you +have said. I only wish you could do some good to the wife.' + +'I wish I could, Baxendale,' he replied, throwing a kindly glance after +the man as he was moving away. 'I shan't bring an action against you in +the county court for these unpaid fees, Baxendale, for it wouldn't +stand,' called out the doctor. 'I never was called in to see your +wife--I went of my own accord, and have so continued to go, and shall so +continue. Good day.' + +As John Baxendale was descending the steps of the house door, he +encountered Mrs. Hunter. She stopped him to inquire after his wife. + +'Getting weaker daily, ma'am, thank you. The doctor has just told me +again that there's no hope.' + +'I am truly sorry to hear it,' said Mrs. Hunter. 'I will call in and see +her. I did intend to call before, but something or other has caused me +to put it off.' + +John Baxendale touched his hat, and departed. Mrs. Hunter went in to her +brother. + +'Oh, is it you, Louisa?' he exclaimed. 'A visit from you is somewhat a +rarity. Are you feeling worse?' + +'Rather better, I think, than usual. I have just met John Baxendale,' +continued Mrs. Hunter, sitting down, and untying her bonnet strings. 'He +says there is no hope for his wife. Poor woman! I wish it had been +different. Many a worse woman could have been better spared.' + +'Ah,' said the doctor, 'if folks were taken according to our notions of +whom might be best spared, what a world this would be! Where's Miss +Florence?' + +'I did not bring her out with me, Robert. I came round to say a word to +you about James,' resumed Mrs. Hunter, her voice insensibly lowering +itself to a tone of confidence. 'Something is the matter with him, and I +cannot imagine what.' + +'Been eating too many cucumbers again, no doubt,' cried the doctor. 'He +_will_ go in at that cross-grained vegetable, let it be in season, or +out.' + +'Eating!' returned Mrs. Hunter, 'I wish he did eat. For at least a +fortnight--more, I think--he has not eaten enough to support a bird. +That he is ill is evident to all--must be evident; but when I ask him +what is the matter, he persists in it that he is quite well; that I am +fanciful: seems annoyed, in short, that I should allude to it. Has he +been here to consult you?' + +'No,' replied Dr. Bevary; 'this is the first I have heard of it. How +does he seem? What are his symptoms?' + +'It appears to me,' said Mrs. Hunter, almost in a whisper, 'that the +malady is more on the mind. There is no palpable disorder. He is +restless, nervous, agitated; so restless at night, that he has now taken +to sleep in a room apart from mine--not to disturb me, he says. I +fear--I fear he may have been attacked with some dangerous inward +malady, that he is concealing. His father, you know, died of----' + +'Pooh! Nonsense! You are indeed becoming fanciful, Louisa,' interrupted +the doctor. 'Old Mr. Hunter died of an unusual disorder, I admit; but, +if the symptoms of such appeared in either James or Henry, they would +come galloping to me in hot haste, asking if my skill could suggest a +preventive. It is no "inward malady," depend upon it. He has been +smoking too much: or going in at the cucumbers.' + +'Robert, it is something far more serious than that,' quietly rejoined +Mrs. Hunter. + +'When did you first notice him to be ill?' + +'It is, I say, about a fortnight since. One evening there came a +stranger to our house, a lady, and she _would_ see him. He did not want +to see her: he sent young Clay to her, who happened to be with us; but +she insisted upon seeing James. They were closeted together a long while +before she left; and then James went out--on business, Mr. Clay said.' + +'Well?' cried Dr. Bevary. 'What has the lady to do with it?' + +'I am not sure that she has anything to do with it. Florence told an +incomprehensible story about the lady's having gone into Baxendale's +that afternoon, after seeing her uncle Henry in the street and mistaking +him for James. A Miss--what was the name?--Gwinn, I think.' + +Dr. Bevary, who happened to have a small glass phial in his hand, let it +fall to the ground: whether by inadvertence, or that the words startled +him, he best knew. 'Well?' was all he repeated, after he had gathered +the pieces in his hand. + +'I waited up till twelve o'clock, and James never came in. I heard him +let himself in afterwards with his latch-key, and came up into the +dressing-room. I called out to know where he had been, it is so unusual +for him to stay out, and he said he was much occupied, and that I was to +go to sleep, for he had some writing to do. But, Robert, instead of +writing, he was pacing the house all night, out of one room into +another; and in the morning--oh, I wish you could have seen him!--he +looked wild, wan, haggard, as one does who has got up out of a long +illness; and I am positive he had been weeping. From that time I have +noticed the change I tell you of. He seems like one going into his +grave. But, whether the illness is upon the body or the mind, I know +not.' + +Dr. Bevary appeared intent upon putting together the pieces of his +phial, making them fit into each other. + +'It will all come right, Louisa; don't fret yourself: something must +have gone cross in his business. I'll call in at the office and see +him.' + +'Do not say that I have spoken to you. He seems to have quite a nervous +dread of its being observed that anything is wrong with him; has spoken +sharply, not in anger, but in anguish, when I have pressed the +question.' + +'As if the lady could have anything to do with it!' exclaimed Dr. +Bevary, in a tone of satire. + +'I do not suppose she had. I only mentioned the circumstances because it +is since that evening he has changed. You can see what you think of him, +and tell me afterwards.' + +The answer was only a nod; and Mrs. Hunter went out. Dr. Bevary remained +in a brown study. His servant came in with an account that patient after +patient was waiting for him, but the doctor replied by a repelling +gesture, and the man did not again dare to intrude. Perplexity and pain +sat upon his brow; and, when at last he did rouse himself, he raised +aloft his hands, and gave utterance to words that sounded very like a +prayer: + +'I pray heaven it may not be so! It would kill Louisa.' + +The pale, delicate face of Mrs. Hunter was at that moment bending over +the invalid in her bed. In her soft grey silk dress and light shawl, her +simple straw bonnet with its white ribbons, she looked just the right +sort of visitor for a sick-chamber; and her voice was sweet, and her +manner gentle. + +'No, ma'am, don't speak of hope to me,' murmured Mrs. Baxendale. 'I know +that there is none left, and I am quite reconciled to die. I have been +an ailing woman for years, dear lady; and it is wonderful how those that +are so get to look upon death, if they can but presume to hope their +soul is safe, with satisfaction, rather than with dread. Though I dare +not say as much yet to my poor husband.' + +'I have long been ailing, too,' softly replied Mrs. Hunter. 'I am rarely +free from pain, and I know that I shall never be healthy and strong +again. But still--I do fear it would give me pain to die, were the fiat +to come forth.' + +'Never fear, dear lady,' cried the invalid, her eyes brightening. +'Before the fiat does come, be assured that God will have reconciled you +to it. Ah, ma'am, what matters it, after all? It is a journey we must +take; and, when once we are prepared, it seems but the setting off a +little sooner or a little later. I got Mary to read me the burial +service on Sunday: I was always fond of it; but I am past reading now. +In one part thanks are given to God for that he has been pleased to +deliver the dead out of the miseries of this sinful world. Ma'am, if He +did not remove us to a better and a happier home, would the living be +directed to give thanks for our departure from this?' + +'A spirit ripe for heaven,' thought Mrs. Hunter, when she took her +leave. + +It was Mrs. Quale who piloted her through the room of the Shucks. Of all +scenes of disorder and discomfort, about the worst reigned there. Sam +had been--you must excuse the inelegance of the phrase, but it was much +in vogue in Daffodil's Delight--'on the loose' again for a couple of +days. He sat sprawling across the hearth, a pipe in his mouth, and a pot +of porter at his feet. The wife was crying with her hair down; the +children were quarrelling in tatters; the dirt in the place, as Mrs. +Quale expressed it, stood on end; and Mrs. Hunter wondered how people +could bear to live so. + +'Now, Sam Shuck, don't you see who is a standing in your presence?' +sharply cried Mrs. Quale. + +Sam, his back to the staircase door, really had not seen. He threw his +pipe into the grate, started up, and pulled his hair to Mrs. Hunter in a +very humble fashion. In his hurry he turned over a small child, and the +contents of the pewter pot upon it. The child roared; the wife took it +up and shook its clothes in Sam's face, restraining her tongue till the +lady should be gone; and Mrs. Hunter stepped into the garden out of the +_mêlée_--glad to get there: Sam following her in a spirit of politeness. + +'How is it you are not at work to-day, Shuck?' she asked. + +'I am going to-morrow--I shall go for certain, ma'am.' + +'You know, Shuck, I never do interfere with Mr. Hunter's men,' said +Mrs. Hunter. 'I consider that intelligent workmen, as you are, ought to +be above any advice that I could offer. But I cannot help saying how sad +it is that you should waste your time. Were you not discharged a little +while ago, and taken on again under a specific promise, made by you to +Mr. Henry Hunter, that you would be diligent in future?' + +'I am diligent,' grumbled Sam. 'But why, ma'am--a chap must take holiday +now and then. 'Tain't in human nature to be always having the shoulder +at the wheel.' + +'Well, pray be cautious,' said Mrs. Hunter. 'If you offend again, and +get discharged, I know they will not be so ready to take you back. +Remember your little children, and be steady for their sakes.' + +Sam went indoors to his pipe, to his wife's tongue, and to despatch a +child to get the pewter pot replenished. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS! + + +Mrs. Hunter, turning out of Mr. Shuck's gate, stepped inside Mrs. +Quale's, who was astonishing her with the shortcomings of the Shucks, +and prophesying that their destiny would be the workhouse, when Austin +Clay came forth. He had been home to dinner, and was now going back to +the yard. Mrs. Hunter said good morning to her talkative friend, and +walked away by Austin's side--Mrs. Baxendale, Sam Shuck, and Daffodil's +Delight generally, forming themes of converse. Austin raised his hat to +her when they came to the gates of the yard. + +'No, I am not about to part; I am going in with you,' said Mrs. Hunter. +'I want to speak just a word to my husband, if he is at liberty. Will +you find him for me?' + +'He has been in his private room all the morning, and is probably there +still,' said Austin. 'Do you know where Mr. Hunter is?' he inquired of a +man whom they met. + +'In his room, sir,' was the reply, as the man touched his cap to Mrs. +Hunter. + +Austin led the way down the passage, and knocked at the door, Mrs. +Hunter following him. There was no answer; and believing, in +consequence, that it was empty, he opened it. + +Two gentlemen stood within it, near a table, paper and pens and ink +before them, and what looked like a cheque-book. They must have been +deeply absorbed not to have heard the knock. One was Mr. Hunter: the +other--Austin recognised him--Gwinn, the lawyer of Ketterford. 'I will +not sign it!' Mr. Hunter was exclaiming, with passionate vehemence. +'Five thousand pounds! it would cripple me for life.' + +'Then you know the alternative. I go this moment and----' + +'Mrs. Hunter wishes to speak to you, sir,' interposed Austin, drowning +the words and speaking loudly. The gentlemen turned sharply round: and +when Mr. Hunter caught sight of his wife, the red passion of his face +turned to a livid pallor. Lawyer Gwinn nodded familiarly to Austin. + +'How are you, Clay? Getting on, I hope. _Who_ is this person, may I +ask?' + +'This lady is Mrs. Hunter,' haughtily replied Austin, after a pause, +surprised that Mr. Hunter did not take up the words--the offensive +manner in which they were spoken--the insulting look that accompanied +them. But Mr. Hunter did not appear in a state to take anything up just +then. + +Gwinn bent his body to the ground. + +'I beg the lady's pardon. I had no idea she was Mrs. Hunter.' + +But so ultra-courteous were the tones, so low the bow, that Austin +Clay's cheeks burnt at the covert irony. + +'James, you are ill,' said Mrs. Hunter, advancing in her quiet, composed +manner, but taking no notice whatever of the stranger. 'Can I get +anything for you? Shall we send for Dr. Bevary?' + +'No, don't do that; it is going off. You will oblige me by leaving us,' +he whispered to her. 'I am very busy.' + +'You seem too ill for business,' she rejoined. 'Can you not put it off +for an hour? Rest might be of service to you.' + +'No, madam, the business cannot be put off,' spoke up Lawyer Gwinn. + +And down he sat in a chair, with a determined air of conscious +power--just as his sister had sat _her_self down, a fortnight before, in +Mr. Hunter's hall. + +Mrs. Hunter quitted the room at once, leaving her husband and the +stranger in it. Austin followed her. Her face wore a puzzled, vexed +look, as she turned it upon Austin. 'Who is that person?' she asked. +'His manner to me appeared to be strangely insolent.' + +An instinct, for which Austin perhaps could not have accounted had he +tried, caused him to suppress the fact that it was the brother of the +Miss Gwinn who had raised a commotion at Mr. Hunter's house. He answered +that he had not seen the person at the office previously, his tone being +as careless a one as he could assume. And Mrs. Hunter, who was of the +least suspicious nature possible, let it pass. Her mind, too, was filled +with the thought of her husband's suffering state. + +'Does Mr. Hunter appear to you to be ill?' she asked of Austin, somewhat +abruptly. + +'He looked so, I think.' + +'Not now; I am not alluding to the present moment,' she rejoined. 'Have +you noticed before that he does not seem well?' + +'Yes,' replied Austin; 'this week or two past.' + +There was a brief pause. + +'Mr. Clay,' she resumed, in a quiet, kind voice, 'my health, as you are +aware, is not good, and any sort of uneasiness tries me much. I am going +to ask you a confidential question. I would not put it to many, and the +asking it of you proves that my esteem for you is great. That Mr. +Hunter is ill, there is no doubt; but whether mentally or bodily I am +unable to discover. To me he observes a most unusual reticence, his +object probably being to spare me pain; but I can battle better with a +known evil than with an unknown one. Tell me, if you can, whether any +vexation has arisen in business matters?' + +'Not that I am aware of,' promptly replied Austin. 'I feel sure that +nothing is amiss in that quarter.' + +'Then it is as I suspected, and he must be suffering from some illness +that he is concealing.' + +She wished Austin good morning. He saw her out of the gate, and then +proceeded to the room he usually occupied when engaged indoors. +Presently he heard Mr. Hunter and his visitor come forth, and saw the +latter pass the window. Mr. Hunter came into the room. + +'Is Mrs. Hunter gone?' + +'Yes, sir.' + +'Do you know what she wanted?' + +'I do not think it was anything particular. She said she should like to +say a word to you, if you were disengaged.' + +Mr. Hunter did not speak immediately. Austin was making out certain +estimates, and his master looked over his shoulder. Not _to look_; his +mind was evidently all pre-occupied. + +'Did Mrs. Hunter inquire who it was that was with me?' he presently +said. + +'She inquired, sir. I did not say. I told her I had not seen the person +here before.' + +'_You_ knew?' in a quick, sharp accent. + +'Oh, yes.' + +'Then why did you not tell her? What was your motive for concealing it?' + +The inquiry was uttered in a tone that could not be construed as +proceeding from any emotion but that of fear. A flush came into Austin's +ingenuous face. + +'I beg your pardon, sir. I never wish to be otherwise than open. But, as +you had previously desired me not to speak of the lady who came to your +house that night, I did not know but the same wish might apply to the +visit of to-day.' + +'True, true,' murmured Mr. Hunter; 'I do _not_ wish this visit of the +man's spoken of. Never mention his name, especially to Mrs. Hunter. I +suppose he did not impose upon me,' added he, with a poor attempt at a +forced smile: 'it _was_ Gwinn, of Ketterford, was it not?' + +'Certainly,' said Austin, feeling surprised. 'Did you not know him +previously, sir?' + +'Never. And I wish I had not known him now.' + +'If--if--will you forgive my saying, sir, that, should you have any +transaction with him, touching money matters, it is necessary to be +wary. Many a one has had cause to rue the getting into the clutches of +Lawyer Gwinn.' + +A deep, heavy sigh, burst from Mr. Hunter. He had turned from Austin. +The latter spoke again in his ardent sympathy. + +'Sir, is there any way in which I can serve you?--_any_ way? You have +only to command me.' + +'No, no, Clay. I fell into that man's clutches--as you have aptly +termed it--years ago, and the penalty must be paid. There is no help for +it.' + +'Not knowing him, sir?' + +'Not knowing him. And not knowing that I owed it, as I certainly did not +know, until a week or two back. I no more suspected that--that I was +indebted there, than I was indebted to you.' + +Mr. Hunter had grown strangely confused and agitated, and the dew was +rising on his livid face. He made a hollow attempt to laugh it off, and +seemed to shun the gaze of his clerk. + +'This comes of the freaks of young men,' he observed, facing Austin +after a pause, and speaking volubly. 'Austin Clay, I will give you a +piece of advice. Never put your hand to a bill. You may think it an +innocent bit of paper, which can cost you at most but the sum that is +marked upon it: but it may come back to you in after years, and you must +purchase it with thousands. Have nothing to do with bills, in any way; +they will be a thorn in your side.' + +'So, it is a money affair!' thought Austin. 'I might have known it was +nothing else, where Gwinn was concerned. Here's Dr. Bevary coming in, +sir,' he added aloud. + +The physician was inside the room ere the words had left Austin's lips. +Mr. Hunter had seized upon a stray plan, and seemed bent upon its +examination. + +'Rather a keen-looking customer, that, whom I met at your gate,' began +the doctor. 'Who was it?' + +'Keen-looking customer?' repeated Mr. Hunter. + +'A fellow dressed in black, with a squint and a white neckerchief; an +ill-favoured fellow, whoever he is.' + +'How should I know about him?' replied Mr. Hunter, carelessly. 'Somebody +after the men, I suppose.' + +But Austin Clay felt that Mr. Hunter _did_ know; that the description +could only apply to Gwinn of Ketterford. Dr. Bevary entwined his arm +within his brother-in-law's, and led him from the room. + +'James, do you want doctoring?' he inquired, as they entered the one +just vacated by Lawyer Gwinn. + +'No, I don't. What do you mean?' + +'If you don't, you belie your looks; that's all. Can you honestly affirm +to me that you are in robust health?' + +'I am in good health. There is nothing the matter with me.' + +'Then there's something else in the wind. What's the trouble?' + +A flush rose to the face of Mr. Hunter. + +'I am in no trouble that you can relieve; I am quite well. I repeat that +I do not understand your meaning.' + +The doctor gazed at him keenly, and his tone changed to one of solemn +earnestness. + +'James, I suspect that you _are_ in trouble. Now, I do not wish to pry +into it unnecessarily; but I would remind you of the sound wisdom that +lies in the good old proverb: "In the multitude of counsellors there is +safety."' + +'And if there is?' returned Mr. Hunter. + +'If you will confide the trouble to me, I will do what I can to help +you out of it--_whatever it may be_--to advise with you as to what is +best to be done. I am your wife's brother; could you have a truer +friend?' + +'You are very kind, Bevary. I am in no danger. When I am, I will let you +know.' + +The tone--one of playful mockery--grated on the ear of Dr. Bevary. + +'Is it assumed to hide what he dare not betray?' thought he. + +Mr. Hunter cut the matter short by crossing the yard to the +time-keeper's office; and Dr. Bevary went out talking to himself: 'A +wilful man must have his own way.' + +Austin Clay sat up late that night, reading one of the quarterly +reviews; he let the time slip by till the clock struck twelve. Mr. and +Mrs. Quale had been in bed some time; when nothing was wanted for Mr. +Clay, Mrs. Quale was rigid in retiring at ten. Early to bed, and early +to rise, was a maxim she was fond of, both in precept and practice. The +striking of the church clock aroused him; he closed the book, left it on +the table, pulled aside the crimson curtain, and opened the window to +look out at the night before going into his chamber. + +A still, balmy night. The stars shone in the heavens, and Daffodil's +Delight, for aught that could be heard or seen just then, seemed almost +as peaceful as they. Austin leaned from the window; his thoughts ran not +upon the stars or upon the peaceful scene around, but upon the curious +trouble which seemed to be overshadowing Mr. Hunter. 'Five thousand +pounds!' His ears had caught distinctly the ominous sum. 'Could he have +fallen into Lawyer Gwinn's "clutches" to _that_ extent?' + +There was much in it that Austin could not fathom. Mr. Hunter had hinted +at 'bills;' Miss Gwinn had spoken of the 'breaking up of her happy +home;' two calamities apparently distinct and apart. And how was it that +they were in ignorance of his name, his existence, his---- + +A startling interruption came to Austin's thoughts. Mrs. Shuck's door +was pulled hastily open, and some one panting with excitement, uttering +faint, sobbing cries, came running down their garden into Peter Quale's. +It was Mary Baxendale. She knocked sharply at the door with nervous +quickness. + +'What is it, Mary?' asked Austin. + +She had not seen him; but, of course, the words caused her to look up. +'Oh! sir,' the tears streaming from her eyes as she spoke, 'would you +please call Mrs. Quale, and ask her to step in? Mother's on the wing.' + +'I'll call her. Mary!'--for she was speeding back again--'can I get any +other help for you? If I can be of use, step back and tell me.' + +Sam Shuck came out of his house as Austin spoke, and went flying up +Daffodil's Delight. He had gone for Dr. Bevary. The doctor had desired +to be called, should there be any sudden change. Of course, he did not +mean the change of _death_. He could be of no use in that; but how could +they discriminate? + +Mrs. Quale was dressed and in the sick chamber with all speed. Dr. +Bevary was not long before he followed her. Neighbours on either side +put their heads out. + +Ten minutes at the most, and Dr. Bevary was out again. Austin was then +leaning over Peter Quale's gate. He had been in no urgent mood for bed +before, and this little excitement, though it did not immediately +concern him, afforded an excuse for not going to it. + +'How is she, sir?' + +'Is it you?' responded Dr. Bevary. 'She is gone. I thought it would be +sudden at the last.' + +'Poor thing!' ejaculated Austin. + +'Poor thing? Ay, that's what we are all apt to say when our friends die. +But there is little cause when the change has been prepared for, the +spirit made ripe for heaven. She's gone to a world where there's neither +sickness nor pain.' + +Austin made no reply. The doctor spoke again after a pause. + +'Clay--to go from a solemn subject to one that--that may, however, prove +not less solemn in the end--you heard me mention a stranger I met at the +gates of the yard to-day, and Mr. Hunter would not take my question. Was +it Gwinn of Ketterford?' + +The doctor had spoken in a changed, low tone, laying his hand, in his +earnestness, on Austin's shoulder. Austin paused. He did not know +whether he ought to answer. + +'You need not hesitate,' said the doctor, divining his scruples. 'I can +understand that Mr. Hunter may have forbidden you to mention it, and +that you would be faithful to him. Don't speak; your very hesitation +has proved it to me. Good night, my young friend; we would both serve +him if we only knew how.' + +Austin watched him away, and then went indoors, for Daffodil's Delight +began to be astir, and to collect itself around him, Sam Shuck having +assisted in spreading the news touching Mrs. Baxendale. Daffodil's +Delight thought nothing of leaving its bed, and issuing forth in shawls +and pantaloons upon any rising emergency, regarding such interludes of +disturbed rest as socially agreeable. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +THE SEPARATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER. + + +Austin Clay sat at his desk at Hunter and Hunter's, sorting the morning +letters, which little matter of employment formed part of his duties. It +was the morning subsequent to the commotion in Daffodil's Delight. His +thoughts were running more on that than on the letters, when the +postmark 'Ketterford' on two of them caught his eye. + +The one was addressed to himself, the other to 'Mr. Lewis Hunter,' and +the handwriting of both was the same. Disposing of the rest of the +letters as usual, placing those for the Messrs. Hunter in their room, +against they should arrive, and dealing out any others there might be +for the hands employed in the firm, according to their address, he +proceeded to open his own. + +To the very end of it Austin read; and then, and not till then, he began +to suspect that it could not be meant for him. No name whatever was +mentioned in the letter; it began abruptly, and it ended abruptly; not +so much as 'Sir,' or 'Dear Sir,' was it complimented with, and it was +simply signed 'A. G.' He read it a second time, and then its awful +meaning flashed upon him, and a red flush rose to his brow and settled +there, as if burnt into it with a branding iron. He had become possessed +of a dangerous secret. + +There was no doubt that the letter was written by Miss Gwinn to Mr. +Hunter. By some extraordinary mischance, she had misdirected it. +Possibly the letter now lying on Mr. Hunter's desk, might be for Austin. +Though, what could she be writing about to him? + +He sat down. He was quite overcome with the revelation; it was, indeed, +of a terrible nature, and he would have given much not to have become +cognizant of it. 'Bills!' 'Money!' So that had been Mr. Hunter's excuse +for the mystery! No wonder he sought to turn suspicion into any channel +but the real one. + +Austin was poring over the letter like one in a nightmare, when Mr. +Hunter interrupted him. He crushed it into his pocket with all the +aspect of a guilty man; any one might have taken him in his confusion so +to be. Not for himself was he confused, but he feared lest Mr. Hunter +should discover the letter. Although certainly written for him, Austin +did not dare hand it to him, for it would never do to let Mr. Hunter +know that he possessed the secret. Mr. Hunter had come in, holding out +the other letter from Ketterford. + +'This letter is for you, Mr. Clay. It has been addressed to me by +mistake, I conclude.' + +Austin took it, and glanced his eyes over it. It contained a few abrupt +lines, and a smaller note, sealed, was inside it. + + + 'My brother is in London, Austin Clay. I have reason to think he + will be calling upon the Messrs. Hunter. Will you watch for him, + and give him the inclosed note? Had he told me where he should put + up in town, I should have had no occasion to trouble you. + + A. GWINN.' + + +Austin did not lift his eyes to Mr. Hunter's in his usual candid open +manner. He could not bear to look him in the face; he feared lest his +master might read in his the dreadful truth. + +'What am I to do, sir?' he asked. 'Watch for Gwinn, and give him the +note?' + +'Do this with them,' said Mr. Hunter. + +Striking a wax match, he held both Austin's note and the sealed one over +the flame until they were consumed. + +'You could not fulfil the request if you wished, for the man went back +to Ketterford last night.' + +He said no more. He went away again, and Austin lighted another match, +and burnt the crushed letter in his pocket, thankful, so far, that it +had escaped Mr. Hunter. + +Trouble came. Ere many days had elapsed, there was dissension in the +house of Hunter and Hunter. Thoroughly united and cordial the brothers +had always been; but now a cause of dispute arose, and it seemed that it +could not be arranged. Mr. Hunter had drawn out five thousand pounds +from the bank, and refused to state for what, except that it was for a +'private purpose.' The business had been a gradually increasing one, and +nearly all the money possessed by both was invested in it; so much as +was not actually out, lay in the bank in their joint names, 'Hunter and +Hunter.' Each possessed a small private account, but nothing like +sufficient to meet a cheque for five thousand pounds. Words ran high +between them, and the sound penetrated to ears outside their private +room. + +His face pale, his lips compressed, his tone kept mostly subdued, James +Hunter sat at his desk, his eyes falling on a ledger he was not occupied +with, and his hand partially shading his face. Mr. Henry, more excited, +giving way more freely to his anger, paced the carpet, occasionally +stopping before the desk and before his brother. + +'It is the most unaccountable thing in the world,' he reiterated, 'that +you should refuse to say what it has been applied to. Draw out, +surreptitiously, a formidable sum like that, and not account for it! It +is monstrous.' + +'Henry, I have told you all I can tell you,' replied Mr. Hunter, +concealing his countenance more than ever. 'An old debt was brought up +against me, and I was forced to satisfy it.' + +Mr. Henry Hunter curled his lip. + +'A debt to that amount! Were you mad?' + +'I did not--know--I--had--contracted it,' stammered Mr. Hunter, very +nearly losing his self possession. 'At least, I thought it had been +paid. Youth's errors do come home to us sometimes in later life.' + +'Not to the tune of five thousand pounds,' retorted Mr. Henry Hunter. +'It will cripple the business; you know it will. It is next door to +ruin.' + +'Nonsense, Henry! The loss of five thousand pounds will neither cripple +the business nor bring ruin. It will be my own loss: not yours.' + +'How on earth could you think of giving it away? Five thousand pounds!' + +'I could not help myself. Had I refused to pay it----' + +'Well?' for Mr. Hunter had stopped in embarrassment. + +'I should have been compelled to do so. There. Talking of it will not +mend it.' + +Mr. Henry Hunter took a few turns, and then wheeled round sharply. +'Perhaps there are other claims for "youth's follies" to come behind +it?' + +The words seemed to arouse Mr. Hunter. Not to anger; but to what looked +very like fear--almost to an admission that it might be so. + +'Were any such further claim to come, I would not satisfy it,' he cried, +wiping his face. 'No, I would not; I would go into exile first.' + +'We must part,' said Mr. Henry Hunter the expression of his brother's +face quite startling him. 'There is no alternative. I cannot risk the +beggaring of my wife and children.' + +'If it must be so, it must,' was all the reply given. + +'Tell me the truth, James,' urged Mr. Henry in a more conciliatory tone. +I don't want to part. Tell me all, and let me be the judge. Surely, man! +it can't be anything so very dreadful. You didn't set fire to your +neighbour's house, I suppose?' + +'I never thought the claim could come upon me. That is all I can tell +you.' + +'Then we part,' decisively returned Mr. Henry Hunter. + +'Yes, it may be better. If I am to go to ruin, it is of no use to drag +you down into it.' + +'If you are to go to ruin!' echoed Mr. Henry, regarding his brother +attentively. 'James! is that an admission that other mysterious claims +may really follow this one?' + +'No, I think they will not. But we had better part. Only--let the cause +of our separation be kept from the world.' + +'I should be clever to betray the cause, seeing that you leave me in +ignorance of what it may be,' answered Mr. Henry Hunter, who was feeling +vexed, puzzled, and very angry. + +'I mean--let no shadow of the truth get abroad. The business is large +enough for two firms, and we have agreed to carry it on apart. Let that +be the plea.' + +'You take it coolly, James.' + +A strange expression--a _wrung_ expression--passed over the face of +James Hunter. 'I cannot help myself, Henry. The five thousand pounds are +gone, and of course it is right that I should bear the loss alone--or +any other loss it may bring in its train.' + +'But why not impart to me the facts?' + +'No. It could not possibly do good; and it might make matters infinitely +worse. One advantage our separation will have; there is a great deal of +money owing to us from different quarters, and this will call it in.' + +'Or I don't see how you would carry anything on for your part, minus +your five thousand pounds,' retorted Mr. Henry, in a spirit of satire. + +'Will you grant me a favour, Henry?' + +'That depends upon what it may be.' + +'Let the real grounds of our separation--this miserable affair that has +led to it--be equally a secret from your wife, as from the world. I +should not ask it without an urgent reason.' + +'Don't you mean to tell Louisa?' + +'No. The matter is one entirely my own; I do not wish to talk of it even +to my wife. Will you give me the promise?' + +'Very well. If it be of the consequence you seem to intimate. I cannot +fathom you, James.' + +'Let us apply ourselves now to the ways and means of the dissolution. +That, at any rate, may be amicable.' + +It was quite evident that he fully declined further allusion to the +subject. And Mr. Henry Hunter obtained no better elucidation, then or +later. + +It fell upon the world like a thunderbolt--that is, the world connected +with Hunter and Hunter. _They_ separate? so flourishing a firm as that? +The world at first refused to believe it; but the world soon found it +was true. + +Mr. Hunter retained the yard where the business was at present carried +on. Mr. Henry Hunter found other premises to suit him; not far off; a +little more to the west. Considerably surprised were Mrs. Hunter and +Mrs. Henry Hunter; but the same plausible excuse was given to them; and +they were left in ignorance of the true cause. + +'Will you remain with me?' pointedly asked Mr. Hunter of Austin Clay. 'I +particularly wish it.' + +'As you and Mr. Henry may decide, sir,' was the reply given. 'It is not +for me to choose.' + +'We could both do with you, I believe. I had better talk it over with +him.' + +'That will be the best plan,' sir. + +'What do you part for?' abruptly inquired Dr. Bevary one day of the two +brothers, coming into the counting-house and catching them together. + +Mr. Henry raised his eyebrows. Mr. Hunter spoke volubly. + +'The business is getting too large. It will be better divided.' + +'Moonshine!' cried the doctor, quietly. 'That's what you have been +cramming your wives with; it won't do for me. When a concern gets +unwieldy, a man takes a partner to help him on with it; _you_ are +separating. There's many a firm larger than yours. Do you remember the +proverb of the bundle of sticks?' + +But neither Dr. Bevary nor anybody else got at a better reason than that +for the measure. The dissolution of partnership took place; it was duly +gazetted, and the old firm became two. Austin remained with Mr. Hunter, +and he was the only living being who gave a guess, or who could give a +guess, at the real cause of separation--the drawing out of that five +thousand pounds. + +And yet--it was not the drawing out of that first five thousand pounds, +that finally decided Mr. Henry Hunter to enforce the step, so much as +the thought that other thousands might perhaps be following it. He could +not divest his mind of the fear. + + + + +PART THE SECOND. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. + + +For several years after the separation of Hunter and Hunter, things went +on smoothly; at least there was no event sufficiently marked that we +need linger to trace it. Each had a flourishing business, though Mr. +Hunter had some difficulty in staving off embarrassment in the financial +department: a fact which was well known to Austin Clay, who was now +confidential manager--head of all, under Mr. Hunter. + +He, Austin Clay, was getting towards thirty years of age. He enjoyed a +handsome salary, and was putting by money yearly. He still remained at +Peter Quale's, though his position would have warranted a style of +living far superior. Not that it could have brought him more respect: of +that he enjoyed a full share, both from master and men. Clever, +energetic, firm, and friendly, he was thoroughly fitted for his +post--was liked and esteemed. But for him, Mr. Hunter's business might +not have been what it was, and Mr. Hunter knew it. _He_ was a +broken-spirited man, little capable now of devoting energy to anything. +The years, in their progress, had terribly altered James Hunter. + +A hot evening in Daffodil's Delight; and Daffodil's Delight was making +it a busy one. Uninterrupted prosperity is sometimes nearly allied to +danger; or, rather, danger may grow out of it. Prosperity begets +independence, and independence often begets assumption--very often, a +selfish, wrong view of surrounding things. If any workmen had enjoyed of +late years (it may be said) unlimited prosperity, they were those +connected with the building trade. Therefore, being so flourishing, it +struck some of their body, who in a degree gave laws to the rest, that +the best thing they could do was to make themselves more flourishing +still. As a preliminary, they began to agitate for an increase of wages: +this was to be accomplished by reducing the hours of labour, the +proposition being to work nine hours per day instead of ten. They said +nothing about relinquishing the wages of the extra hour: they would be +paid for ten hours and work nine. The proposition was first put by the +men of a leading metropolitan firm to their principals, and, failing to +obtain it, they threatened to strike. This it was that was just now +agitating Daffodil's Delight. + +In the front room of one of the houses that abutted nearly on the +gutter, and to which you must ascend by steps, there might be read in +the window, inscribed on a piece of paper, the following notice: 'The +Misses Dunn's, Milliner and Dressmakers. Ladies own materiels made up.' +The composition of the _affiche_ was that of the two Miss Dunns jointly, +who prided themselves upon being elegant scholars. A twelvemonth's +apprenticeship had initiated them into the mysteries of dressmaking; +millinery had come to them, as Mark Tapley would say, spontaneous, or by +dint of practice. They had set up for themselves in their father's +house, and could boast of a fair share of the patronage of Daffodil's +Delight. Showy damsels were they, with good-humoured, turned-up noses, +and light hair; much given to gadding and gossiping, and fonder of +dressing themselves than of getting home the dresses of their customers. + +On the above evening, they sat in their room, an upper one, stitching +away. A gown was in progress for Mrs. Quale, who often boasted that she +could do any work in the world, save make her own gowns. It had been in +progress for two weeks, and that lady had at length come up in a temper, +as Miss Jemima Dunn expressed it, and had demanded it to be returned, +done or undone. They, with much deprecation, protested it should be home +the first thing in the morning, and went to work. Four or five visitors, +girls of their own age, were performing the part of lookers-on, and much +laughter prevailed. + +'I say,' cried out Martha White--a pleasant-looking girl, who had +perched herself aloft on the edge of a piece of furniture, which +appeared to be a low chest of drawers by day, and turn itself into a bed +at night--'Mary Baxendale was crying yesterday, because of the strike; +saying, it would be bad for all of us, if it came. Ain't she a soft?' + +'Baxendale's again it, too,' exclaimed Miss Ryan, Pat Ryan's eldest +trouble. 'Father says he don't think Baxendale 'll go in for it all.' + +'Mary Baxendale's just one of them timid things as is afraid of their +own shadders,' cried Mary Ann Dunn. 'If she saw a cow a-coming at the +other end of the street, she'd turn tail and run. Jemimer, whatever are +you at? The sleeves is to be in plaits, not gathers.' + +'She do look ill, though, does Mary Baxendale,' said Jemima, after some +attention to the sleeve in hand. 'It's my belief she'll never live to +see Christmas; she's going the way her mother went. Won't it be prime +when the men get ten hours' pay for nine hours' work? I shall think +about getting married then.' + +'You must find somebody to have you first,' quoth Grace Darby. 'You have +not got a sweetheart yet.' + +Miss Jemima tossed her head. 'I needn't to wait long for that. The chaps +be as plentiful as sprats in winter. All you have got to do is to pick +and choose.' + +'What's that?' interrupted Mrs. Dunn, darting into the room, with her +sharp tongue and her dirty fine cap. 'What's that as you're talking +about, miss?' + +'We are a-talking of the strike,' responded Jemima, with a covert glance +to the rest. 'Martha White and Judy Ryan says the Baxendales won't go in +for it.' + +'Not go in for it? What idiots they must be!' returned Mrs. Dunn, the +attractive subject completely diverting her attention from Miss Jemima +and her words. 'Ain't nine hours a-day enough for the men to be at work? +I can tell the Baxendales what--when we have got the nine hours all +straight and sure, we shall next demand eight. 'Taint free-born +Englishers as is going to be put upon. It'll be glorious times, girls, +won't it? We shall get a taste o' fowls and salmon, may be, for dinner +then!' + +'My father says he does not think the masters will come-to, if the men +do strike,' observed Grace Darby. + +'Of course they won't--till they are forced,' retorted Mrs. Dunn, in a +spirit of satire. 'But that's just what they are a-going to be. Don't +you be a fool, Grace Darby!' + +Lotty Cheek rushed in, a girl with a tongue almost as voluble as Mrs. +Dunn's, and rough hair, the colour of a tow-rope. 'What d'ye think?' +cried she, breathlessly. 'There's a-going to be a meeting of the men +to-night in the big room of the Bricklayers' Arms. They are a-filing in +now. I think it must be about the strike.' + +'D'ye suppose it would be about anything else?' retorted Mrs. Dunn. 'I'd +like to be one of 'em! I'd hold out for the day's work of eight hours, +instead of nine, I would. So 'ud they, if they was men.' + +Mrs. Dunn's speech was concluded to an empty room. All the girls had +flown down into the street, leaving the parts of Mrs. Quale's gown in +closer contact with the dusty floor than was altogether to their +benefit. + +The agitation in the trade had hitherto been chiefly smouldering in an +under-current: now, it was rising to the surface. Lotty Cheek's +inference was right; the meeting of this evening had reference to the +strike. It had been hastily arranged in the day; was quite an informal +sort of affair, and confined to the operatives of Mr. Hunter. + +Not in a workman's jacket, but in a brown coat dangling to his heels, +with a slit down the back and ventilating holes for the elbows, first +entered he who had been chiefly instrumental in calling the meeting. It +was Mr. Samuel Shuck; better known, you may remember, as Slippery Sam. +Somehow, Sam and prosperity could not contrive to pull together in the +same boat. He was one of those who like to live on the fat of the land, +but are too lazy to work for their share of it. And how Sam had +contrived to exist until now, and keep himself and his large family out +of the workhouse, was a marvel to all. In his fits of repentance, he +would manage to get in again at one or other of the yards of the Messrs. +Hunter; but they were growing tired of him. + +The room at the Bricklayers' Arms was tolerably commodious, and Sam took +up a conspicuous position in it. + +'Well,' began Sam, when the company had assembled, and were furnished +with pipes and pewter pots, 'you have heard that that firm won't accept +the reduction in the hours of labour, so the men have determined on a +strike. Now, I have got a question to put to you. Is there most power in +one man, or in a few dozens of men?' + +Some laughed, and said, 'In the dozens.' + +'Very good,' glibly went on Sam, whose tongue was smoother than oil, and +who was gifted with a sort of oratory and some learning when he chose to +put it out. 'Then, the measure I wish to urge upon you is, make common +cause with those men; we are not all obliged to strike at the same time; +it will be better not; but by degrees. Let every firm in London strike, +each at its appointed time,' he continued, raising his voice to +vehemence. 'We must stand up for ourselves; for our rights; for our +wives and children. By making common cause together, we shall bowl out +the masters, and bring them to terms.' + +'Hooroar!' put in Pat Ryan. + +'Hooroar!' echoed a few more. + +An aged man, Abel White's father, usually called old White, who was past +work, and had a seat at his son's chimney corner, leaned forward and +spoke, his voice tremulous, but distinct. 'Samuel Shuck, did you ever +know strikes do any good, either to the men or the masters? Friends,' he +added, turning his venerable head around, 'I am in my eightieth year: +and I picked up some experience while them eighty years was passing. +Strikes have ruined some masters, in means; but they have ruined men +wholesale, in means, in body, and in soul.' + +'Hold there,' cried Sam Shuck, who had not brooked the interruption +patiently. 'Just tell us, old White, before you go on, whether coercion +answers for British workmen?' + +'It does not,' replied the old man, lifting his quiet voice to firmness. +'But perhaps you will tell me in your turn, Sam Shuck, whether it's +likely to answer for masters?' + +'It _has_ answered for them,' returned Sam, in a tone of irony. 'I +_have_ heard of back strikes, where the masters were coerced and +coerced, till the men got all they stood out for.' + +'And so brought down ruin on their own heads,' returned the old man, +shaking his. 'Did you ever hear of a lock-out, Shuck?' + +'Ay, ay,' interposed quiet, respectable Robert Darby. 'Did you ever hear +of that, Slippery Sam?' + +Slippery Sam growled. 'Let the masters lock-out if they dare! Let 'em. +The men would hold out to the death.' + +'And death it will be, with some of us, if the strike comes, and lasts. +I came down here to-night, on my son's arm, just for your good, my +friends, not for mine. At your age, I thought as some of you do; but I +have learnt experience now. I can't last long, any way; and it's little +matter to me whether famine from a strike be my end, or----' + +'Famine' derisively retorted Slippery Sam. + +'Yes, famine,' was the quiet answer. 'Strikes never yet brought nothing +but misery in the end. Let me urge upon you all not to be led away. My +voice is but a feeble one; but I think the Lord is sometimes pleased to +show out things clearly to the aged, almost as with a gift of prophecy; +and I could only come and beseech you to keep upon the straight-forrard +path. Don't have anything to do with a strike; keep it away from you at +arm's length, as you would keep away the evil one.' + +'What's the good of listening to him?' cried Slippery Sam, in anger. 'He +is in his dotage.' + +'Will you listen to me then?' spoke up Peter Quale; 'I am not in mine. I +didn't intend to come here, as may be guessed; but when I found so many +of you bending your steps this way to listen to Slippery Sam, I thought +it time to change my mind, and come and tell you what _I_ thought of +strikes.' + +'_You!_' rudely replied Slippery Sam. 'A fellow like you, always in full +work, earning the biggest wages, is sure not to favour strikes. You +can't be much better off than you are.' + +'That admission of yours is worth something, Slippery Sam, if there's +any here have got the sense to see it,' nodded Peter Quale. 'Good +workmen, on full wages, _don't_ favour strikes. I have rose up to what I +am by sticking to my work patiently, and getting on step by step. It's +open to every living man to get on as I have done, if he have got skill +and pluck to work. But if I had done as you do, Sam, gone in for labour +one day and for play two, and for drinking, and strikes, and rebellion, +because money, which I was too lazy to work for didn't drop from the +skies into my hands, then I should just have been where you be.' + +'Is it right to keep a man grinding and sweating his life out for ten +hours a-day?' retorted Sam. The masters would be as well off if we +worked nine, and the surplus men would find employment.' + +'It isn't much of your life that you sweat out, Sam Shuck,' rejoined +Peter Quale, with a cough that especially provoked his antagonist. 'And, +as to the masters being as well off, you had better ask them about that. +Perhaps they'd tell you that to pay ten hours' wages for nine hours' +work would be the hour's wage dead loss to their pockets.' + +'Are you rascal enough to go in for the masters?' demanded Sam, in a +fiery heat. 'Who'd do that, but a traitor?' + +'I go in for myself, Sam,' equably responded Peter Quale. 'I know on +which side my bread's buttered. No skilful workman, possessed of prudent +thought and judgment, ever yet went blindfold into a strike. At least, +not many such.' + +Up rose Robert Darby. 'I'd just say a word, if I can get my meaning out, +but I'm not cute with the tongue. It seems to me, mates, that it would +be a great boon if we could obtain the granting of the nine hours' +movement; and perhaps in the end it would not affect the masters, for +they'd get it out of the public. I'd agitate for this in a peaceful way, +in the shape of reason and argument, and do my best in that way to get +it. But I'd not like, as Peter Quale says, to plunge blindfold into a +strike.' + +'I look at it in this light, Darby,' said Peter Quale, 'and it seems to +me it's the only light as 'll answer to look at it in. Things in this +world are estimated by comparison. There ain't nothing large nor small +_in itself_. I may say, this chair's big: well, so it is, if you match +it by that there bit of a stool in the chimbley corner; but it's very +small if you put it by the side of a omnibus, or of one of the sheds in +our yard. Now, if you compare our wages with those of workmen in most +other trades, they are large. Look at a farm labourer, poor fellow, with +his ten shillings (more or less) a-week, hardly keeping body and soul +together. Look at what a man earns in the malting districts in the +country; fifteen shillings and his beer, is reckoned good wages. Look at +a policeman, with his pound a-week. Look at a postman. Look at----' + +'Look at ourselves,' intemperately interrupted Jim Dunn. 'What's other +folks to us? We work hard, and we ought to be paid according.' + +'So I think we are,' said Peter Quale. 'Thirty-three shillings is _not_ +bad wages, and it is only a delusion to say it is. Neither is ten hours +a-day an unfair or oppressive time to work. I'd be as glad as anybody to +have the hour took off, if it could be done pleasantly; but I am not +going to put myself out of work and into trouble to stand out for it. +It's a thing that I am convinced the masters never will give; and if +Pollock's men strike for it, they'll do it against their own +interests----' + +Hisses, and murmurs of disapprobation from various parts of the room, +interrupted Peter Quale. + +'You'd better wait and understand, afore you begin to hiss,' +phlegmatically recommended Peter Quale, when the noise had subsided. 'I +say it will be against their interests to strike, because, I think, if +they stop on strike for twelve months, they'll be no nearer getting +their end. I may be wrong, but that's my opinion. There's always two +sides to a question--our own, and the opposite one; and the great fault +in most folks is, that they look only at their own side, and it causes +them to see things in a partial view. I have looked as fair as I can at +our own side, trying to put away my bias _for it_; and I have put +myself in thought on the master's side, asking myself, what would _I_ +do, were I one of them. Thus I have tried to judge between them and us, +and the conclusion I have drawed is, that they won't give in.' + +'The masters have been brought to grant demands more unreasonable than +this,' rejoined Sam Shuck. 'If you know anything about back strikes, you +must know that, Quale.' + +'And that's one of the reasons why I argue they won't grant this,' said +Peter. 'If they go on granting and granting, they may get asking +themselves where the demands 'll stop.' + +'Let us go back to 1833,' spoke up old White again, and the man's age +and venerable aspect caused him to be listened to with respect. 'I was +then working in Manchester, and belonged to the Trades' Union; a +powerful Union as ever was formed. In our strength, we thought we should +like a thing or two altered, and we made a formal demand upon the master +builders, requiring them to discontinue the erection of buildings on +sub-contracts. The masters fell in with it. You'll understand, friends,' +he broke off to say, 'that, looking at things now, and looking at 'em +then, is just as if I saw 'em in two opposite aspects. Next, we gave out +a set of various rules for the masters, and required them to abide by +such--about the making of the wages equal; the number of apprentices +they should take; the machinery they should or should not use, and other +things. Well, the masters gave us that also, and it put us all +cock-a-hoop, and we went on to dictate to 'em more and more. If +they--the masters--broke any of our rules, we levied fines on 'em, and +made 'em pay up; we ordered them before us at our meetings, found fault +with 'em, commanded 'em to obey us, to take on such men as we pointed +out, and to turn off others; in short, forced 'em to do as we chose. +People might have thought that we was the masters and they the +operatives. Pretty well, that, wasn't it?' + +The room nodded acquiescence. Slippery Sam snapped his fingers in +delight. + +'The worst was, it did not last,' resumed the old man. 'Like too many +other folks emboldened with success, we wasn't content to let well +alone, but went on a bit too far. The masters took up their own defence +at last; and the wonder to me now, looking back, is, that they didn't do +it before. They formed themselves into a Union, and passed a resolve to +employ no man unless he signed a pledge not to belong to a Trades' +Union. Then we all turned out. Six months the strike was on, and the +buildings was at a standstill, and us out of work.' + +'Were wages bad at that time?' inquired Robert Darby. + +'No. The good workmen among us had been earning in the summer +thirty-five shillings a-week; and the bricklayers had just had a rise of +three shillings. We was just fools: that's my opinion of it now. Awful +misery we were reduced to. Every stick we had went to the pawn-shop; our +wives was skin and bone, our children was in rags; and some of us just +laid our heads down on the stones, clammed to death.' + +'What was the trade in other places about, that it didn't help you?' +indignantly demanded Sam Shuck. + +'They did help us. Money to the tune of eighteen thousand pounds came to +us; but we was a large body--many mouths to feed, and the strike was +prolonged. We had to come-to at last, for the masters wouldn't; and we +voted our combination a nuisance, and went humbly to 'em, like dogs with +their tails between their legs, and craved to be took on again upon +their own terms. But we couldn't get took back; not all of us: the +masters had learnt a lesson. They had got machinery to work, and had +collected workmen from other parts, so that we was not wanted. And +that's all the good the strike brought to us! I came away on the tramp +with my family, and got work in London after a deal of struggle and +privation: and I made a vow never to belong willingly to a strike +again.' + +'Do you see where the fault lay in that case?--the blame?--the whole +gist of the evil?' + +The question came from a gentleman who had entered the room as old White +was speaking. The men would have risen to salute him, but he signed to +them to be still and cause no interruption--a tall, noble man, with +calm, self-reliant countenance. + +'It lay with the masters,' he resumed, nobody replying to him. 'Had +those Manchester masters resisted the first demand of their men--a +demand made in the insolence of power, not in need--and allowed them +fully to understand that they were, and would be, masters, we should, I +believe, have heard less of strikes since, than we have done. I never +think of those Manchester masters but my blood boils. When a principal +suffers himself to be dictated to by his men, he is no longer a master, +or worthy of the name.' + +'Had you been one of them, and not complied, you might have come to +ruin, sir,' cried Robert Darby. 'There's a deal to be said on both +sides.' + +'Ruin!' was the answer. 'I never would have conceded an inch, though I +had known that I must end my days in the workhouse through not doing +it.' + +'Of course, sir, you'd stand up for the masters, being hand in glove +with 'em, and likely to be a master yourself,' grumbled Sam Shuck, a +touch of irony in his tone. + +'I should stand up for whichever side I deemed in the right, whether it +was the masters' or the men's,' was the emphatic answer. 'Is it well--is +it in accordance with the fitness of things, that a master should be +under the control of his men? Come! I ask it of your common sense.' + +'No.' It was readily acknowledged. + +'Those Manchester masters and those Manchester operatives were upon a +par as regards shame and blame.' + +'Sir! Shame and blame?' + +'They were upon a par as regards shame and blame,' was the decisive +repetition; 'and I make no doubt that both equally deemed themselves to +have been so, when they found their senses. The masters came to them: +the men were brought to theirs.' + +'You speak strongly, sir.' + +'Because I feel strongly. When I become a master, I shall, if I know +anything of myself, have my men's interest at heart; but none of them +shall ever presume to dictate to me. If a master cannot exercise his own +authority in firm self-reliance, let him give up business.' + +'Have masters a right to oppress us, sir?--to grind us down?--to work us +into our coffins?' cried Sam Shuck. + +The gentleman raised his eyebrows, and a half smile crossed his lips. +'Since when have you been oppressed, and ground down into your coffins?' + +Some of the men laughed--at Sam's oily tongue. + +'If you _are_--if you have any complaint of that sort to make, let me +hear it now, and I will convey it to Mr. Hunter. He is ever ready, you +know, to----What do you say, Shuck? The nine hours' concession is all +you want? If you can get the masters to give you ten hours' pay for nine +hours' work, so much the better for you. _I_ would not: but it is no +affair of mine. To be paid what you honestly earn, be it five pounds per +week or be it one, is only justice; but to be paid for what you don't +earn, is the opposite thing. I think, too, that the equalization of +wages is a mistaken system, quite wrong in principle: one which can +bring only discontent in the long run. Let me repeat that with +emphasis--the equalization of wages, should it ever take place, can +bring only discontent in the long run.' + +There was a pause. No one spoke, and the speaker resumed-- + +'I conclude you have met here to discuss this agitation at the Messrs. +Pollocks?' + +Pollocks' men are a-going to strike,' said Slippery Sam. + +'Oh, they are, are they?' returned the gentleman, some mockery in his +tone. 'I hope they may find it to their benefit. I don't know what the +Messrs. Pollocks may do in the matter; but I know what I should.' + +'You'd hold out to the last against the men?' + +'I should; to the last and the last: were it for ten years to come. +Force a measure upon _me_! coerce _me_!' he reiterated, drawing his fine +form to its full height, while the red flush mantled in his cheeks. 'No, +my men, I am not made of that yielding stuff. Only let me be persuaded +that my judgment is right, and no body of men on earth should force me +to act against it.' + +The speaker was Austin Clay, as I daresay you have already guessed. He +had not gone to the meeting to interrupt it, or to take part in it, but +in search of Peter Quale. Hearing from Mrs. Quale that her husband was +at the Bricklayers' Arms--a rare occurrence, for Peter was not one who +favoured public-houses--Austin went thither in search of him, and so +found himself in the midst of the meeting. His business with Peter +related to certain orders he required to give for the early morning. +Once there, however, the temptation to have his say was too great to be +resisted. That over, he went out, making a sign to the man to follow +him. + +'What are those men about to rush into, Quale?' he demanded, when his +own matter was over. + +'Ah, what indeed?' returned the man. 'If they do get led into a strike, +they'll repent it, some of them.' + +'You are not one of the malcontents, then?' + +'I?' retorted Peter, utter scorn in his tone. 'No, sir. There's a +proverb which I learnt years ago from an old book as was lent me, and +I've not forgotten it, sir--"Let well alone." But you must not think all +the men you saw sitting there be discontented agitators, Mr. Clay. It's +only Shuck and a few of that stamp. The rest be as steady and cautious +as I am.' + +'If they don't get led away,' replied Austin Clay, and his voice +betrayed a dubious tone. 'Slippery Sam, in spite of his loose +qualifications, is a ringleader more persuasive than prudent. Hark! he +is at it again, hammer and tongs. Are you going back to them?' + +'No, sir. I shall go home now.' + +'We will walk together, then,' observed Austin. 'Afterwards I am going +on to Mr. Hunter's.'[1] + +FOOTNOTE: + +[1] 'It need scarcely be remarked, that Sam Shuck and his +followers represent only the ignorant and unprincipled section of those +who engage in strikes. Working men are perfectly right in combining to +seek the best terms they can get, both as to wages and time; provided +there be no interference with the liberty either of masters or +fellow-workmen.--_Ed._ L. H., February, 1862.' + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +CALLED TO KETTERFORD. + + +Austin Clay was not mistaken. Rid of Peter Quale, who was a worse enemy +of Sam's schemes than even old White, Sam had it nearly his own way, +and went at it 'hammer and tongs.' He poured his eloquent words into the +men's ears--and Sam, as you have heard, really did possess the gift of +eloquence: of a rough and rude sort: but that tells well with the class +now gathered round him. He brought forth argument upon argument, +fallacious as they were plausible; he told the men it depended upon +_them_, whether the boon they were standing out for should be accorded, +not upon the masters. Not that Sam called it a boon; he spoke of it as a +_right_. Let them only be firm and true to themselves, he said, and the +masters must give in: there was no help for it, they would have no other +resource. Sam finally concluded by demanding, with fierce looks all +round, whether they were men, or whether they were slaves, and the men +answered, with a cheer and a shout, that Britons never should be slaves: +and the meeting broke up in excitement and glorious spirits, and went +home elated, some with the anticipation of the fine time that was +dawning for them, others with having consumed a little too much +half-and-half. + +Slippery Sam reeled away to his home. A dozen or so attended him, +listening to his oratory, which was continued still: though not exactly +to the gratification of Daffodil's Delight, who were hushing their +unruly babies to sleep, or striving to get to sleep themselves. Much Sam +cared whom he disturbed! He went along, flinging his arms and his words +at random--inflammatory words, carrying poisoned shafts that told. If +somebody came down upon you and upon me, telling us that, with a little +exertion on our part, we should inevitably drop into a thousand a year, +and showing plausible cause for the same, should we turn a deaf ear? The +men shook hands individually with Slippery Sam, and left him propped +against his own door; for Sam, with all deference be it spoken, was a +little overcome himself--with the talking, of course. + +Sam's better half greeted him with a shrill tongue: she and Mrs. Dunn +might be paired in that respect! and Sam's children, some in the bed in +the corner, some sitting up, greeted him with a shrill cry also, +clamouring for a very common-place article, indeed--'some _bread_!' +Sam's family seemed inconveniently to increase; for the less there +appeared to be to welcome them with, the surer and faster they arrived. +Thirteen Sam could number now; but several of the elder ones were out in +the world 'doing for themselves'--getting on, or starving, as it might +happen to be. + +'You old sot! you have been at that drinking-can again,' were Mrs. Sam's +words of salutation; and I wish I could soften them down to refinement +for polite ears; but if you are to have the truth, you must take them as +they were spoken. + +'Drinking-can!' echoed Sam, who was in too high glee to lose his temper, +'never mind the drinking-can, missis: my fortian's made. I drawed +together that meeting, as I telled ye I should,' he added, discarding +his scholarly eloquence for the familiar home phraseology, 'and they +come to it, every man jack on 'em, save thin-skinned Baxendale +upstairs. Never was such a full meeting knowed in Daffodil's Delight.' + +'Who cares for the meeting!' irascibly responded Mrs. Sam. 'What we +wants is, some'at to fill our insides with. Don't come bothering home +here about a meeting, when the children be a starving. If you'd work +more and talk less, it 'ud become ye better.' + +'I got the ear of the meeting,' said Sam, braving the reproof with a +provoking wink. 'A despicable set our men is, at Hunter's, a humdrumming +on like slaves for ever, taking their paltry wages and making no stir. +But I've put the brand among 'em at last, and sent 'em home all on fire, +to dream of short work and good pay. Quale, he come, and put in his +spoke again' it; and that wretched old skeleton of a White, what's been +cheating the grave this ten year, he come, and put in his; and Mr. +Austin Clay, he must thrust his nose among us, and talk treason to the +men: but I think my tongue have circumvented the lot. If it haven't, my +name's not Sam Shuck.' + +'If you and your circumventions and your tongue was all at the bottom of +the Thames, 'twouldn't be no loss, for all the good they does above it,' +sobbed Mrs. Shuck, whose anger generally ended in tears. 'Here's me and +the children a clemming for want o' bread, and you can waste your time +over a idle good-for-nothing meeting. Ain't you ashamed, not to work as +other men do?' + +'Bread!' loftily returned Sam, with the air of a king, ''tisn't bread I +shall soon be furnishing for you and the children: it's mutton chops. My +fortian's made, I say.' + +'Yah!' retorted Mrs. Sam. 'It have been made forty times in the last +ten year, to listen to you. What good has ever come of the boast? I'd +shut up my mouth if I couldn't talk sense.' + +Sam nodded his head oracularly, and entered upon an explanation. But for +the fact of his being a little 'overcome'--whatever may have been its +cause--he would have been more guarded. 'I've had overtures,' he said, +bending forward his head and lowering his voice, 'and them overtures, +which I accepted, will be the making of you and of me. Work!' he +exclaimed, throwing his arms gracefully from him with a repelling +gesture, 'I've done with work now; I'm superior to it; I'm exalted far +above that lowering sort of toil. The leaders among the London Trade +Union have recognised eloquence, ma'am, let me tell you; and they've +made me one of their picked body--appointed me agitator to the firms of +Hunter. "You get the meeting together, and prime 'em with the best of +your eloquence, and excite 'em to recognise and agitate for their own +rights, and you shall have your appointment, and a good round weekly +salary." Well, Mrs. S., I did it. I got the men together, and I _have_ +primed 'em, and some of 'em's a busting to go off; and all I've got to +do from henceforth is to keep 'em up to the mark, by means of that +tongue which you are so fond of disparaging, and to live like a +gentleman. There's a trifling instalment of the first week's money.' + +Sam threw a sovereign on the table. Mrs. Shuck, with a grunt of +disparagement still, darted forward to seize upon it through her tears. +The children, uttering a wild shriek of wonder, delight, and disbelief, +born of incipient famine, darted forward to seize it too. Sam burst into +a fit of laughter, threw himself back to indulge it, and not being just +then over steady on his legs, lost his equilibrium, and toppled over the +fender into the ashes. + +Leaving Mrs. Shuck to pick him up, or to leave him there--which latter +negative course was the one she would probably take--let us return to +Austin Clay. + +At Peter Quale's gate he was standing a moment to speak to the man +before proceeding onwards, when Mrs. Quale came running down the garden +path. + +'I was coming in search of you, sir,' she said to Austin Clay. 'This has +just been brought, and the man made me sign my name to a paper.' + +Austin took what she held out to him--a telegraphic despatch. He opened +it; read it; then in the prompt, decisive manner usual with him, +requested Mrs. Quale to put him up a change of things in his +portmanteau, which he would return for; and walked away with a rapid +step. + +'Whatever news is it that he has had?' cried Mrs. Quale, as she stood +with her husband, looking after him. 'Where can he have been summoned +to?' + +''Tain't no business of ours,' retorted Peter; 'if it had been, he'd +have enlightened us. Did you ever hear of that offer that's always +pending?--Five hundred a year to anybody as 'll undertake to mind his +own business, and leave other folks's alone.' + +Austin was on his way to Mr. Hunter's. A very frequent evening visitor +there now, was he. But this evening he had an ostensible motive for +going; a boon to crave. That alone may have made his footsteps fleet. + +In the soft twilight of the summer evening, in the room of their own +house that opened to the conservatory, sat Florence Hunter--no longer +the impulsive, charming, and somewhat troublesome child, but the young +and lovely woman. Of middle height and graceful form, her face was one +of great sweetness; the earnest, truthful spirit, the pure innocence, +which had made its charm in youth, made it now: to look on Florence +Hunter, was to love her. + +She appeared to be in deep thought, her cheek resting on her hand, and +her eyes fixed on vacancy. Some movement in the house aroused her, and +she arose, shook her head, as if she would shake care away, and bent +over a rare plant in the room's large opening, lightly touching the +leaves. + +'I fear that mamma is right, and I am wrong, pretty plant!' she +murmured. 'I fear that you will die. Is it that this London, with its +heavy atmosphere----' + +The knock of a visitor at the hall door resounded through the house. Did +Florence _know_ the knock, that her voice should falter, and the soft +pink in her cheeks should deepen to a glowing crimson? The room door +opened, and a servant announced Mr. Clay. + +In that early railway journey when they first met, Florence had taken a +predilection for Austin Clay. 'I like him so much!' had been her +gratuitous announcement to her uncle Harry. The liking had ripened into +an attachment, firm and lasting--a child's attachment: but Florence grew +into a woman, and it could not remain such. Thrown much together, the +feeling had changed, and love mutually arose: they fell into it +unconsciously. Was it quite prudent of Mr. Hunter to sanction, nay, to +court the frequent presence at his house of Austin Clay? Did he overlook +the obvious fact, that he was one who possessed attractions, both of +mind and person, and that Florence was now a woman grown? Or did Mr. +Hunter deem that the social barrier, which he might assume existed +between his daughter and his dependent, would effectually prevent all +approach of danger? Mr. Hunter must himself account for the negligence: +no one else can do it. It was certain that he did have Austin very much +at his house, but it was equally certain that he never cast a thought to +the possibility that his daughter might be learning to love him. + +The strange secret, whatever it may have been, attaching to Mr. Hunter, +had shattered his health to that extent that for days together he would +be unequal to go abroad or to attend to business. Then Austin, who acted +as principal in the absence of Mr. Hunter, would arrive at the house +when the day was over, to report progress, and take orders for the next +day. Or, rather, consult with him what the orders should be; for in +energy, in capability, Austin was now the master spirit, and Mr. Hunter +bent to it. That over, he passed the rest of the evening in the society +of Florence, conversing with her freely, confidentially; on literature, +art, the news of the day; on topics of home interest; listening to her +music, listening to her low voice, as she sang her songs; guiding her +pencil. There they would be. He with his ready eloquence, his fund of +information, his attractive manners, and his fine form, handsome in its +height and strength; she with her sweet fascinations, her gentle +loveliness. What could be the result? But, as is almost invariably the +case, the last person to give a suspicion to it was he who positively +looked on, and might have seen all--Mr. Hunter. Life, in the presence of +the other, had become sweet to each as a summer's dream--a dream that +had stolen over them ere they knew what it meant. But consciousness came +with time. + +Very conscious of it were they both as he entered this evening. Austin +took her hand in greeting; a hand always tremulous now in his. She bent +again over the plant she was tending, her eyelids and her damask cheeks +drooping. + +'You are alone, Florence!' + +'Just now. Mamma is very poorly this evening, and keeps her room. Papa +was here a few minutes ago.' + +He released her hand, and stood looking at her, as she played with the +petals of the flower. Not a word had Austin spoken of his love; not a +word was he sure that he might speak. If he partially divined that it +might be acceptable to her, he did not believe it would be to Mr. +Hunter. + +'The plant looks sickly,' he observed. + +'Yes. It is one that thrives in cold and wind. It came from Scotland. +Mamma feared this close London atmosphere would not suit it; but I said +it looked so hardy, it would be sure to do well. Rather than it should +die, I would send it back to its bleak home.' + +'In tears, Florence? for the sake of a plant?' + +'Not for that,' she answered, twinkling the moisture from her eyelashes, +as she raised them to his with a brave smile. 'I was thinking of mamma; +she appears to be fading rapidly, like the plant.' + +'She may grow stronger when the heat of summer shall have passed.' + +Florence slightly shook her head, as if she could not share in the +suggested hope. 'Mamma herself does not seem to think she shall, Austin. +She has dropped ominous words more than once latterly. This afternoon I +showed her the plant, that it was drooping. "Ay, my dear," she remarked, +"it is like me--on the wane." And I think my uncle Bevary's opinion has +become unfavourable.' + +It was a matter on which Austin could not urge hope, though, for the +sake of tranquillizing Florence, he might suggest it, for he believed +that Mrs. Hunter was fading rapidly. All these years she seemed to have +been getting thinner and weaker; it was some malady connected with the +spine, causing her at times great pain. Austin changed the subject. + +'I hope Mr. Hunter will soon be in, Florence. I am come to ask for leave +of absence.' + +'Papa is not out; he is sitting with mamma. That is another reason why I +fear danger for her. I think papa sees it; he is so solicitous for her +comfort, so anxious to be with her, as if he would guard her from +surprise or agitating topics. He will not suffer a visitor to enter at +hazard; he will not let a note be given her until he has first seen it.' + +'But he has long been thus anxious,' replied Austin, who was aware that +what she spoke of had lasted for years. + +'I know. But still, latterly--however, I must hope against hope,' broke +off Florence. 'I think I do: hope is certainly a very strong ingredient +in my nature, for I cannot realize the parting with my dear mother. Did +you say you have come for leave of absence? Where is it that you wish to +go?' + +'I have had a telegraphic despatch from Ketterford,' he replied, taking +it from his pocket. 'My good old friend, Mrs. Thornimett, is dying, and +I must hasten thither with all speed.' + +'Oh!' uttered Florence, almost reproachfully. 'And you are wasting the +time with me!' + +'Not so. The first train that goes there does not start for an hour yet, +and I can get to Paddington in half of one. The news has grieved me +much. The last time I was at Ketterford--you may remember it--Mrs. +Thornimett was so very well, exhibiting no symptoms whatever of decay.' + +'I remember it,' answered Florence. 'It is two years ago. You stayed a +whole fortnight with her.' + +'And had a battle with her to get away then,' said Austin, smiling with +the reminiscence, or with Florence's word 'whole'--a suggestive word, +spoken in that sense. 'She wished me to remain longer. I wonder what +illness can have stricken her? It must have been sudden.' + +'What is the relationship between you?' + +'A distant one. She and my mother were second cousins. If I----' + +Austin was stopped by the entrance of Mr. Hunter. _So_ changed, _so_ +bent and bowed, since you, reader, last saw him! The stout, upright +figure had grown thin and stooping, the fine dark hair was grey, the +once calm, self-reliant face was worn and haggard. Nor was that all; +there was a constant _restlessness_ in his manner and in the turn of his +eye, giving a spectator the idea that he lived in a state of +ever-present, perpetual fear. + +Austin put the telegraphic message in his hand. 'It is an inconvenient +time, I know, sir, for me to be away, busy as we are, and with this +agitation rising amongst the men; but I cannot help myself. I will +return as soon as it is possible.' + +Mr. Hunter did not hear the words. His eyes had fallen on the word +'Ketterford,' in the despatch, and that seemed to scare away his senses. +His hands shook as he held the paper, and for a few moments he appeared +incapable of collected thought, of understanding anything. Austin +exclaimed again. + +'Oh, yes, yes, it is only--it is Mrs. Thornimett who is ill, and wants +you--I comprehend now.' He spoke in an incoherent manner, and with a +sigh of the most intense relief. 'I--I--saw the word "dying," and it +startled me,' he proceeded, as if anxious to account for his agitation. +'You can go, Austin; you must go. Remain a few days there--a week, if +you find it necessary.' + +'Thank you, sir. I will say farewell now, then.' + +He shook hands with Mr. Hunter, turned to Florence, and took hers. +'Remember me to Mrs. Hunter,' he said in a low tone, which, in spite of +himself, betrayed its own tenderness, 'and tell her I hope to find her +better on my return.' + +A few paces from the house, as he went out, Austin encountered Dr. +Bevary. 'Is she much worse?' he exclaimed to Austin, in a hasty tone. + +'Is who much worse, doctor?' + +'Mrs. Hunter. I have just had a message from her.' + +'Not very much, I fancy. Florence said her mamma was poorly this +evening. I am off to Ketterford, doctor, for a few days.' + +'To Ketterford!' replied Dr. Bevary, with an emphasis that showed the +news had startled him. 'What are you going there for? For--for Mr. +Hunter?' + +'For myself,' said Austin. 'A good old friend is ill--dying, the message +says--and has telegraphed for me.' + +The physician looked at him searchingly. 'Do you speak of Miss Gwinn?' + +'I should not call her a friend,' replied Austin. 'I allude to Mrs. +Thornimett.' + +'A pleasant journey to you, then. And, Clay, steer clear of those +Gwinns; they would bring you no good.' + +It was in the dawn of the early morning that Austin entered Ketterford. +He did not let the grass grow under his feet between the railway +terminus and Mrs. Thornimett's, though he was somewhat dubious about +disturbing the house. If she was really 'dying,' it might be well that +he should do so; if only suffering from a severe illness, it might not +be expected of him; and the wording of the message had been ambiguous, +leaving it an open question. As he drew within view of the house, +however, it exhibited signs of bustle; lights not yet put out in the +dawn, might be discerned through some of the curtained windows, and a +woman, having much the appearance of a nurse, was coming out at the +door, halting on the threshold a moment to hold converse with one +within. + +'Can you tell me how Mrs. Thornimett is?' inquired Austin, addressing +himself to her. + +The woman shook her head. 'She is gone, sir. Not more than an hour ago.' + +Sarah, the old servant whom we have seen before at Mrs. Thornimett's, +came forward, weeping. 'Oh, Mr. Austin! oh, sir: why could not you get +here sooner?' + +'How could I, Sarah?' was his reply. 'I received the message only last +evening, and came off by the first train that started.' + +'I'd have took a engine to myself, and rode upon its chimbley, but what +I'd have got here in time,' retorted Sarah. 'Twice in the very last half +hour of her life she asked after you. "Isn't Austin come?" "Isn't he yet +come?" My dear old mistress!' + +'Why was I not sent for before?' he asked, in return. + +'Because we never thought it was turning serious,' sobbed Sarah. 'She +caught cold some days ago, and it flew to her throat, or her chest, I +hardly know which. The doctor was called in; and it's my belief _he_ +didn't know: the doctors nowadays bain't worth half what they used to +be, and they call things by fine names that nobody can understand. +However it may have been, nobody saw any danger, neither him nor us. But +at mid-day yesterday there was a change, and the doctor said he'd like +further advice to be brought in. And it was had; but they could not do +her any good; and she, poor dear mistress, was the first to say that she +was dying. "Send for Austin," she said to me; and one of the gentlemen, +he went to the wire telegraph place, and wrote the message.' + +Austin made no rejoinder: he seemed to be swallowing down a lump in his +throat. Sarah resumed. 'Will you see her, sir? She is just laid out.' + +He nodded acquiescence, and the servant led the way to the death +chamber. It had been put straight, so to remain until all that was left +of its many years' occupant should be removed. She lay on the bed in +placid stillness; her eyes closed, her pale face calm, a smile upon it; +the calm of a spirit at peace with heaven. Austin leaned over her, +losing himself in solemn thoughts. Whither had the spirit flown? to what +bright unknown world? Had it found the company of sister spirits? had it +seen, face to face, its loving Saviour? Oh! what mattered now the few +fleeting trials of this life that had passed over her! how worse than +unimportant did they seem by the side of death! A little, more or less, +of care; a lot, where shade or sunshine shall have predominated; a few +friends gained or lost; struggle, toil, hope--all must merge in the last +rest. It was over; earth, with its troubles and its petty cares, with +its joys and sorrows, and its 'goods stored up for many years;' as +completely over for Mary Thornimett, as though it had never, been. In +the higher realms whither her spirit had hastened---- + +'I told Mrs. Dubbs to knock up the undertaker, and desire him to come +here at once and take the measure for the coffin.' + +Sarah's interruption recalled Austin to the world. It is impossible, +even in a death-chamber, to run away from the ordinary duties of daily +life. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. + + +'You will stay for the funeral, Mr. Clay?' + +'It is my intention to do so.' + +'Good. Being interested in the will, it may be agreeable to you to hear +it read.' + +'Am I interested?' inquired Austin, in some surprise. + +'Why, of course you are,' replied Mr. Knapley, the legal gentleman with +whom Austin was speaking, and who had the conduct of Mrs. Thornimett's +affairs. 'Did you never know that you were a considerable legatee?' + +'I did not,' said Austin. 'Some years ago--it was at the death of Mr. +Thornimett--Mrs. Thornimett hinted to me that I might be the better some +time for a trifle from her. But she has never alluded to it since: and I +have not reckoned upon it.' + +'Then I can tell you--though it is revealing secrets beforehand--that +you are the better to the tune of two thousand pounds.' + +'Two thousand pounds!' uttered Austin, in sheer amazement. 'How came she +to leave me so much as that?' + +'Do you quarrel with it, young sir?' + +'No, indeed: I feel all possible gratitude. But I am surprised, +nevertheless.' + +'She was a clever, clear-sighted woman, was Mrs. Thornimett,' observed +the lawyer. 'I'll tell you about it--how it is you come to have so much. +When I was taking directions for Mr. Thornimett's will--more than ten +years back now--a discussion arose between him and his wife as to the +propriety of leaving a sum of money to Austin Clay. A thousand pounds +was the amount named. Mr. Thornimett was for leaving you in his wife's +hands, to let her bequeath it to you at her death; Mrs. Thornimett +wished it should be left to you then, in the will I was about to make, +that you might inherit it on the demise of Mr. Thornimett. He took his +own course, and did _not_ leave it, as you are aware.' + +'I did not expect him to leave me anything,' interrupted Austin. + +'My young friend, if you break in with these remarks, I shall not get to +the end of my story. After her husband's burial, Mrs. Thornimett spoke +to me. "I particularly wished the thousand pounds left now to Austin +Clay," she said, "and I shall appropriate it to him at once." +"Appropriate it in what manner?" I asked her. "I should like to put it +out to interest, that it may be accumulating for him," she replied, "so +that at my death he may receive both principal and interest." "Then, if +you live as long as it is to be hoped you will, madam, you may be +bequeathing him two thousand pounds instead of one," I observed to her. +"Mr. Knapley," was her answer, "if I choose to bequeath him three, it is +my own money that I do it with; and I am responsible to no one." She had +taken my remark to be one of remonstrance, you see, in which spirit it +was not made: had Mrs. Thornimett chosen to leave you the whole of her +money she had been welcome to do it for me. "Can you help me to a safe +investment for him?" she resumed; and I promised to look about for it. +The long and the short of it is, Mr. Clay, that I found both a safe and +a profitable investment, and the one thousand pounds _has_ swollen +itself into two--as you will hear when the will is read.' + +'I am truly obliged for her kindness, and for the trouble you have +taken,' exclaimed Austin, with a glowing colour. 'I never thought to get +rich all at once.' + +'You only be prudent and take care of it,' said Mr. Knapley. 'Be as wise +in its use as I and Mrs. Thornimett have been. It is the best advice I +can give you.' + +'It is good advice, I know, and I thank you for it,' warmly responded +Austin. + +'Ay. I can tell you that less than two thousand pounds has laid the +foundation of many a great fortune.' + +To a young man whose salary is only two hundred a year, the unexpected +accession to two thousand pounds, hard cash, seems like a great fortune. +Not that Austin Clay cared so very much for a 'great fortune' in itself; +but he certainly did hope to achieve a competency, and to this end he +made the best use of the talents bestowed upon him. He was not ambitious +to die 'worth a million;' he had the rare good sense to know that excess +of means cannot bring excess of happiness. The richest man on earth +cannot eat two dinners a day, or wear two coats at a time, or sit two +thoroughbred horses at once, or sleep on two beds. To some, riches are a +source of continual trouble. Unless rightly used, they cannot draw a man +to heaven, or help him on his road thither. Austin Clay's ambition lay +in becoming a powerful man of business; such as were the Messrs. Hunter. +He would like to have men under him, of whom he should be the master; +not to control them with an iron hand, to grind them to the dust, to +hold them at a haughty distance, as if they were of one species of +humanity and he of another. No; he would hold intact their relative +positions of master and servant--none more strictly than he; but he +would be their considerate friend, their firm advocate, regardful ever +of their interests as he was of his own. He would like to have capital +sufficient for all necessary business operations, that he might fulfil +every obligation justly and honourably: so far, money would be welcome +to Austin. Very welcome did the two thousand pounds sound in his ears, +for they might be the stepping-stone to this. Not to the 'great fortune' +talked of by Mr. Knapley, who avowed freely his respect for +millionaires: he did not care for that. They might also be a +stepping-stone to something else--the very thought of which caused his +face to glow and his veins to tingle--the winning of Florence Hunter. +That he would win her, Austin fully believed now. + +On the day previous to the funeral, in walking through the streets of +Ketterford, Austin found himself suddenly seized by the shoulder. A +window had been thrown open, and a fair arm (to speak with the gallantry +due to the sex in general, rather than to that one arm in particular) +was pushed out and laid upon him. His captor was Miss Gwinn. + +'Come in,' she briefly said. + +Austin would have been better pleased to avoid her, but as she had thus +summarily caught him, there was no help for it: to enter into a battle +of contention with _her_ might be productive of neither honour nor +profit. He entered her sitting-room, and she motioned him to a chair. + +'So you did not intend to call upon me during your stay in Ketterford, +Austin Clay?' + +'The melancholy occasion on which I am here precludes much visiting,' +was his guarded reply. 'And my sojourn will be a short one.' + +'Don't be a hypocrite, young man, and use those unmeaning words. +"Melancholy occasion!" What did you care for Mrs. Thornimett, that her +death should make you "melancholy?"' + +'Mrs. Thornimett was my dear and valued friend,' he returned, with an +emotion born of anger. 'There are few, living, whom I would not rather +have spared. I shall never cease to regret the not having arrived in +time to see her before she died.' + +Miss Gwinn peered at him from her keen eyes, as if seeking to know +whether this was false or true. Possibly she decided in favour of the +latter, for her face somewhat relaxed its sternness. 'What has Dr. +Bevary told you of me and of my affairs?' she rejoined, passing abruptly +to another subject. + +'Not anything,' replied Austin. He did not lift his eyes, and a scarlet +flush dyed his brow as he spoke; nevertheless it was the strict truth. +Miss Gwinn noted the signs of consciousness. + +'You can equivocate, I see.' + +'Pardon me. I have not equivocated to you. Dr. Bevary has disclosed +nothing; he has never spoken to me of your affairs. Why should he, Miss +Gwinn?' + +'Your face told a different tale.' + +'It did not tell an untruth, at any rate,' he said, with some hauteur. + +'Do you never see Dr. Bevary?' + +'I see him sometimes.' + +'At the house of Mr. Hunter, I presume. How is _she_?' + +Again the flush, whatever may have called it up, crimsoned Austin +Clay's brow. 'I do not know of whom you speak,' he coldly said. + +'Of Mrs. Hunter.' + +'She is in ill-health.' + +'Ill to be in danger of her life? I hear so.' + +'It may be. I cannot say.' + +'Do you know, Austin Clay, that I have a long, long account to settle +with you?' she resumed, after a pause: 'years and years have elapsed +since, and I have never called upon you for it. Why should I?' she +added, relapsing into a dreamy mood, and speaking to herself rather than +to Austin; 'the mischief was done, and could not be recalled. I once +addressed a brief note to you at the office of the Messrs. Hunter, +requesting you to give a letter, enclosed in it, to my brother. Why did +you not?' + +Austin was silent. He retained only too vivid a remembrance of the fact. + +'Why did you not give it him, I ask?' + +'I could not give it him, Miss Gwinn. When your letter reached me, your +brother had already been at the office of the Messrs. Hunter, and was +then on his road back to Ketterford. The enclosure was burnt unopened.' + +'Ay!' she passionately uttered, throwing her arms upwards in mental +pain, as Austin had seen her do in the days gone by, and holding commune +with herself, regardless of his presence, 'such has been my fate through +life. Thwarted, thwarted on all sides. For years and years I had lived +but in the hope of finding him; the hope of it kept life in me: and when +the time came, and I did find him, and was entering upon my revenge, +then this brother of mine, who has been the second bane of my existence, +stepped in and reaped the benefit. It was my fault. Why, in my +exultation, did I tell him the man was found? Did I not know enough of +his avarice, his needs, to have made sure that he would turn it to his +own account? Why,' she continued, battling with her hands as at some +invisible adversary, 'was I born with this strong principle of justice +within me? Why, because he stepped in with his false claims and drew +gold--a fortune--of the man, did I deem it a reason for dropping _my_ +revenge?--for letting it rest in abeyance? In abeyance it is still; and +its unsatisfied claims are wearing out my heart and my life----' + +'Miss Gwinn,' interrupted Austin, at length, 'I fancy you forget that I +am present. Your family affairs have nothing to do with me, and I would +prefer not to hear anything about them. I will wish you good day.' + +'True. They have nothing to do with you. I know not why I spoke before +you, save that your sight angers me.' + +'Why so?' Austin could not forbear asking. + +'Because you live on terms of friendship with that man. You are as his +right hand in business; you are a welcome guest at his house; you regard +and respect the house's mistress. Boy! but that she has not wilfully +injured me; but that she is the sister of Dr. Bevary, I should----' + +'I cannot listen to any discussion involving the name of Hunter,' spoke +Austin, in a repellant, resolute tone, the colour again flaming in his +cheeks. 'Allow me to bid you good day.' + +'Stay,' she resumed, in a softer tone, 'it is not with you personally +that I am angry----' + +An interruption came in the person of Lawyer Gwinn. He entered the room +without his coat, a pen behind each ear, and a dirty straw hat on his +head. It was probably his office attire in warm weather. + +'I thought I heard a strange voice. How do you do, Mr. Clay?' he +exclaimed, with much suavity. + +Austin bowed. He said something to the effect that he was on the point +of departing, and retreated to the door, bowing his final farewell to +Miss Gwinn. Mr. Gwinn followed. + +'Ketterford will have to congratulate you, Mr. Clay,' he said. 'I +understand you inherit a very handsome sum from Mrs. Thornimett.' + +'Indeed!' frigidly replied Austin. 'Mrs. Thornimett's will is not yet +read. But Ketterford always knows everybody's business better than its +own.' + +'Look you, my dear Mr. Clay,' said the lawyer, holding him by the +button-hole. 'Should you require a most advantageous investment for your +money--one that will turn you in cent. per cent. and no risk--I can help +you to one. Should your inheritance be of the value of a thousand +pounds, and you would like to double it--as all men, of course, do +like--just trust it to me; I have the very thing now open.' + +Austin shook himself free--rather too much in the manner that he might +have shaken himself from a serpent. 'Whether my inheritance may be of +the value of one thousand pounds or of ten thousand, Mr. Gwinn, I shall +not require your services in the disposal of it. Good morning.' + +The lawyer looked after him as he strode away. 'So, you carry it with a +high hand to me, do you, my brave gentleman! with your vain person, and +your fine clothes, and your imperious manner! Take you care! I hold your +master under my thumb; I may next hold you!' + +'The vile hypocrite!' ejaculated Austin to himself, walking all the +faster to leave the lawyer's house behind him. 'She is bad enough, with +her hankering after revenge, and her fits of passion; but she is an +angel of light compared to him. Heaven help Mr. Hunter! It would have +been sufficient to have had _her_ to fight, but to have _him_! Ay, +Heaven help him!' + +'How d'ye do, Mr. Clay?' + +Austin returned the nod of the passing acquaintance, and continued his +way, his thoughts reverting to Miss Gwinn. + +'Poor thing! there are times when I pity her! Incomprehensible as the +story is to me, I can feel compassion; for it was a heavy wrong done +her, looking at it in the best light. She is not all bad; but for the +wrong, and for her evil temper, she might have been different. There is +something good in the hint I gathered now from her lips, if it be +true--that she suffered her own revenge to drop into abeyance, because +her brother had pursued Mr. Hunter to drain money from him: she would +not go upon him in both ways. Yes, there was something in it both noble +and generous, if those terms can ever be applied to----' + +'Austin Clay, I am sure! How are you?' + +Austin resigned his hand to the new comer, who claimed it. His thoughts +could not be his own to-day. + +The funeral of Mrs. Thornimett took place. Her mortal remains were laid +beside her husband, there to repose peacefully until the last trump +shall sound. On the return of the mourners to the house, the will was +read, and Austin found himself the undoubted possessor of two thousand +pounds. Several little treasures, in the shape of books, drawings, and +home knicknacks, were also left to him. He saw after the packing of +these, and the day following the funeral he returned to London. + +It was evening when he arrived; and he proceeded without delay to the +house of Mr. Hunter--ostensibly to report himself, really to obtain a +sight of Florence, for which his tired heart was yearning. The +drawing-room was lighted up, by which he judged that they had friends +with them. Mr. Hunter met him in the hall: never did a visitor's knock +sound at his door but Mr. Hunter, in his nervous restlessness, strove to +watch who it might be that entered. Seeing Austin, his face acquired a +shade of brightness, and he came forward with an outstretched hand. + +'But you have visitors,' Austin said, when greetings were over, and Mr. +Hunter was drawing him towards the stairs. He wore deep mourning, but +was not in evening dress. + +'As if anybody will care for the cut of your coat!' cried Mr. Hunter. +'There's Mrs. Hunter wrapped up in a woollen shawl.' + +The room was gay with light and dress, with many voices, and with music. +Florence was seated at the piano, playing, and singing in a glee with +others. Austin, silently greeting those whom he knew as he passed, made +his way to Mrs. Hunter. She was wrapped in a warm shawl, as her husband +had said; but she appeared better than usual. + +'I am so glad to see you looking well,' Austin whispered, his earnest +tone betraying deep feeling. + +'And I am glad to see you here again,' she replied, smiling, as she held +his hand. 'We have missed you, Austin. Yes, I feel better! but it is +only a temporary improvement. So you have lost poor Mrs. Thornimett. She +died before you could reach her.' + +'She did,' replied Austin, with a grave face. 'I wish we could get +transported to places, in case of necessity as quickly as the telegraph +brings us news that we are wanted. A senseless and idle wish, you will +say; but it would have served me in this case. She asked after me twice +in her last half hour.' + +'Austin,' breathed Mrs. Hunter, 'was it a happy death-bed? Was she ready +to go?' + +'Quite, quite,' he answered, a look of enthusiasm illumining his face. +'She had been ready long.' + +'Then we need not mourn for her; rather praise God that she is taken. +Oh, Austin, what a happy thing it must be for such to die! But you are +young and hopeful; you cannot understand that, yet.' + +So, Mrs. Hunter had learnt that great truth! Some years before, she had +not so spoken to the wife of John Baxendale, when _she_ was waiting in +daily expectation of being called on her journey. It had come to her ere +her time of trial--as the dying woman had told her it would. + +The singing ceased, and in the movement which it occasioned in the room, +Austin left Mrs. Hunter's side, and stood within the embrasure of the +window, half hidden by the curtains. The air was pleasant on that warm +summer night, and Florence, resigning her place at the instrument to +some other lady, stole to the window to inhale its freshness. There she +saw Austin. She had not heard him enter the room--did not know, in fact, +that he was back from Ketterford. + +'Oh!' she uttered, in the sudden revulsion of feeling that the sight +brought to her, 'is it you?' + +He quietly took her hands in his, and looked down at her. Had it been to +save her life, she could not have helped betraying emotion. + +'Are you glad to see me, Florence?' he softly whispered. + +She coloured even to tears. Glad! The time might come when she should be +able to tell him so; but that time was not yet. + +'Mrs. Hunter is glad of my return,' he continued, in the same low tone, +sweeter to her ear than all music. 'She says I have been missed. Is it +so, Florence?' + +'And what have you been doing?' asked Florence, not knowing in the least +what she said in her confusion, as she left his question unanswered, and +drew her hands away from him. + +'I have not been doing much, save the seeing a dear old friend laid in +the earth. You know that Mrs. Thornimett is dead. She died before I got +there.' + +'Papa told us that. He heard from you two or three times, I think. How +you must regret it! But why did they not send for you in time?' + +'It was only the last day that danger was apprehended,' replied Austin. +'She grew worse suddenly. You cannot think, Florence, how strangely this +gaiety'--he half turned to the room--'contrasts with the scenes I have +left: the holy calm of her death-chamber, the laying of her in the +grave.' + +'An unwelcome contrast, I am sure it must be.' + +'It jars on the mind. All events, essentially of the world, let them be +ever so necessary or useful, must do so, when contrasted with the solemn +scenes of life's close. But how soon we forget those solemn scenes, and +live in the world again!' + +'Austin,' she gently whispered, 'I do not like to talk of death. It +reminds me of the dread that is ever oppressing me.' + +'She looks so much better as to surprise me,' was his answer, +unconscious that it betrayed his undoubted cognisance of the 'dread' she +spoke of. + +'If it would but last!' sighed Florence. 'To prolong mamma's life, I +think I would sacrifice mine.' + +'No, you would not, Florence--in mercy to her. If called upon to lose +her you would grow reconciled to it; to do so, is in the order of +nature. _She_ could not spare _you_.' + +Florence believed that she never could grow reconciled to it: she often +wondered _how_ she should bear it when the time came. But there rose up +before her now, as she spoke with Austin, one cheering promise, 'As thy +day is, so shall thy strength be.' + +'What should you say, if I tell you I have come into a fortune!' resumed +Austin, in a lighter tone. + +'I should say--But, is it true?' broke off Florence. + +'Not true, as you and Mr. Hunter would count fortunes,' smiled Austin; +'but true, as poor I, born without silver spoons in my mouth, and +expecting to work hard for all I shall ever possess, have looked upon +them. Mrs. Thornimett has behaved to me most kindly, most generously; +she has bequeathed to me two thousand pounds.' + +'I am delighted to hear it,' said Florence, her glad eyes sparkling. +'Never call yourself poor again.' + +'I cannot call myself rich, as Mr. and Mrs. Hunter compute riches. But, +Florence, it may be a stepping-stone to become so.' + +'A stepping-stone to become what?' demanded Dr. Bevary, breaking in upon +the conference. + +'Rich,' said Austin, turning to the doctor. 'I am telling Florence that +I have come into some money since I went away.' + +Mr. Hunter and others were gathering around them, and the conversation +became general. 'What is that, Clay?' asked Mr. Hunter. 'You have come +into a fortune, do you say?' + +'I said, _not_ into a fortune, sir, as those accustomed to fortune would +estimate it. That great physician, standing there and listening to me, +he would laugh at the sum: I daresay he makes more in six months. But +it may prove a stepping-stone to fortune, and to--to other desirable +things.' + +'Do not speak so vaguely,' cried the doctor, in his quaint fashion. +'Define the "desirable things." Come! it's my turn now.' + +'I am not sure that they have taken a sufficiently tangible shape as +yet, to be defined,' returned Austin, in the same tone. 'You might laugh +at them for day-dreams.' + +Unwittingly his eye rested for a moment upon Florence. Did she deem the +day-dreams might refer to her, that her eye-lids should droop, and her +cheeks turn scarlet? Dr. Bevary noticed both the look and the signs; Mr. +Hunter saw neither. + +'Day-dreams would be enchanting as an eastern fairy-tale, only that they +never get realized,' interposed one of the fair guests, with a pretty +simper, directed to Austin Clay and his attractions. + +'I will realize mine,' he returned, rather too confidently, 'Heaven +helping me!' + +'A better stepping-stone, that help, to rely upon, than the money you +have come into,' said Dr. Bevary, with one of his peculiar nods. + +'True, doctor,' replied Austin. 'But may not the money have come from +the same helping source? Heaven, you know, vouchsafes to work with +humble instruments.' + +The last few sentences had been interchanged in a low tone. They now +passed into the general circle, and the evening went on to its close. + +Austin and Dr. Bevary were the last to leave the house. They quitted it +together, and the doctor passed his arm within Austin's as they walked +on. + +'Well,' said he, 'and what have you been doing at Ketterford?' + +'I have told you, doctor. Leaving my dear old friend and relative in her +grave; and, realizing the fact that she has bequeathed to me this +money.' + +'Ah, yes; I heard that,' returned the doctor. 'You've been seeing +friends too, I suppose. Did you happen to meet the Gwinns?' + +'Once. I was passing the house, and Miss Gwinn laid hands upon me from +the window, and commanded me in. I got out again as soon as I could. Her +brother made his appearance as I was leaving.' + +'And what did he say to you?' asked the doctor, in a tone meant to be +especially light and careless. + +'Nothing; except that he told me if I wanted a safe and profitable +investment for the money I had inherited under Mrs. Thornimett's will, +he could help me to one. I cut him very short, sir.' + +'What did _she_ say?' resumed Dr. Bevary. 'Did she begin upon her family +affairs--as she is rather fond of doing?' + +'Well,' said Austin, his tone quite as careless as the doctor's, 'I did +not give her the opportunity. Once, when she seemed inclined to do so, I +stopped her; telling her that her private affairs were no concern of +mine, neither should I listen to them.' + +'Quite right, my young friend,' emphatically spoke the doctor. + +Not another word was said until they came to Daffodil's Delight. Here +they wished each other good night The doctor continued his way to his +home, and Austin turned down towards Peter Quale's. + +But what could be the matter? Had Daffodil's Delight miscalculated the +time, believing it to be day, instead of night? Women leaned out of +their windows in night-caps; children had crept from their beds and come +forth to tumble into the gutter naked, as some of them literally were; +men crowded the doorway of the Bricklayers' Arms, and stood about with +pipes and pint pots; all were in a state of rampant excitement. Austin +laid hold of the first person who appeared sober enough to listen to +him. It happened to be a woman, Mrs. Dunn. + +'What is this?' he exclaimed. 'Have you all come into a fortune?' the +recent conversation at Mr. Hunter's probably helping him to the remark. + +'Better nor that,' shrieked Mrs. Dunn. 'Better nor _that_, a thousand +times! We have circumvented the masters, and got our ends, and now we +shall just have all we want--roast goose and apple pudding for dinner, +and plenty of beer to wash it down with.' + +'But what is it that you have got?' pursued Austin, who was completely +at sea. + +'Got! why, we have got the STRIKE,' she replied, in joyful excitement. +'Pollocks' men struck to-day. Where have you been, sir, not to have +heered on it?' + +At that moment a fresh crowd came jostling down Daffodil's Delight, and +Austin was parted from the lady. Indeed, she rushed up to the mob to +follow in their wake. Many other ladies followed in their wake--half +Daffodil's Delight, if one might judge by numbers. Shouting, singing, +exulting, dancing; it seemed as if they had, for the nonce, gone mad. +Sam Shuck, in his long-tailed coat, ornamented with its holes and its +slits, was leading the van, his voice hoarse, his face red, his legs and +arms executing a war-dance of exaltation. He it was who had got up the +excitement and was keeping it up, shouting fiercely: 'Hurrah for the +work of this day! Rule Britanniar! Britons never shall be slaves! The +Strike has begun, friends! H--o--o--o--o--o--r--rah! Three cheers for +the Strike!' + +Yes. The Strike had begun. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +AGITATION. + + +The men of an influential metropolitan building firm had struck, because +their employers declined to accede to certain demands, and Daffodil's +Delight was, as you have seen, in a high state of excitement, +particularly the female part of it. The men said they struck for a +diminution in the hours of labour; the masters told them they struck for +an increase of wages. Seeing that the non-contents wanted the hours +reduced and _not_ the pay, it appears to me that you may call it which +you like. + +The Messrs. Hunters' men--with whom we have to do, for it was they who +chiefly filled Daffodil's Delight--though continuing their work as +usual, were in a most unsettled state; as was the case in the trade +generally. The smouldering discontent might have died away peacefully +enough, and probably would, but that certain spirits made it their +business to fan it into a flame. + +A few days went on. One evening Sam Shuck posted himself in an angle +formed by the wall at the top of Daffodil's Delight. It was the hour for +the men to quit work; and, as they severally passed him on their road +home, Sam's arm was thrust forward, and a folded bit of paper put into +their hands. A mysterious sort of missive apparently; for, on opening +the paper, it was found to contain only these words, in the long, +sprawling hand of Sam himself: 'Barn at the back of Jim Dunn's. Seven +o'clock.' + +Behind the house tenanted by the Dunns were premises occupied until +recently by a cowkeeper. They comprised, amidst other accommodation, a +large barn, or shed. Being at present empty, and to let, Sam thought he +could do no better than take French leave to make use of it. + +The men hurried over their tea, or supper (some took one on leaving work +for the night, some the other, some a mixture of both, and some +neither), that they might attend to the invitation of Sam. Peter Quale +was seated over a substantial dish of batter pudding, a bit of neck of +mutton baked in the midst of it, when he was interrupted by the entrance +of John Baxendale, who had stepped in from his own rooms next door. + +'Be you a going to this meeting, Quale?' Baxendale asked, as he took a +seat. + +'I don't know nothing about it,' returned Peter. 'I saw Slippery Sam a +giving out papers, so I guessed there was something in the wind. He took +care to pass me over. I expect I'm the greatest eyesore Sam has got just +now. Have a bit?' added Peter, unceremoniously, pointing to the dish +before him with his knife. + +'No, thank ye; I have just had tea at home. That's the paper'--laying it +open on the table-cloth. 'Sam Shuck is just now cock-a-hoop with this +strike.' + +'He is no more cock-a-hoop than the rest of Daffodil's Delight is,' +struck in Mrs. Quale, who had finished her own meal, and was at leisure +to talk. 'The men and women is all a going mad together, I think, and +Slippery Sam's leading 'em on. Suppose you all do strike--which is what +they are hankering after--what good 'll it bring?' + +'That's just it,' replied Baxendale. 'One can't see one's way clear. The +agitation might do us some good, but it might do us a deal of harm; so +that one doesn't know what to be at. Quale, I'll go to the meeting, if +you will?' + +'If I go, it will be to give 'em a piece of my mind,' retorted Peter. + +'Well, it's only right that different sides should be heard. Sam 'll +have it all his own way else.' + +'He'll manage to get that, by the appearance things wears,' said Mrs. +Quale, wrathfully. 'How you men can submit to be led by such a fellow +as him, just because his tongue is capable of persuading you that +black's white, is a marvel to me. Talk of women being soft! let the men +talk of theirselves. Hold up a finger to 'em, and they'll go after it: +like the Swiss cows Peter read of the other day, a flocking in a line +after their leader, behind each other's tails.' + +'I wish I knew what was right,' said Baxendale, 'or which course would +turn out best for us.' + +'I'd be off and listen to what's going on, at any rate,' urged Mrs. +Quale. + +The barn was filling. Sam Shuck, perched upon Mrs. Dunn's washing-tub +turned upside down, which had been rolled in for the occasion, greeted +each group as it arrived with a gracious nod. Sam appeared to be +progressing in the benefits he had boasted to his wife he should derive, +inasmuch as that the dilapidated clothes had been discarded for better +ones: and he stood on the tub's end in all the glory of a black frock +coat, a crimson neck-tie with lace ends, and peg-top pantaloons: the +only attire (as a ready-made outfitting shop had assured him) that a +gentleman could wear. Sam's eye grew less complacent when it rested on +Peter Quale, who was coming in with John Baxendale. + +'This is a pleasure we didn't expect,' said he. + +'Maybe not,' returned Peter Quale, drily. 'The barn's open to all.' + +'Of course it is,' glibly said Sam, putting a good face upon the matter. +'All fair and above board, is our mottor: which is more than them native +enemies of ours, the masters, can say: they hold their meetings in +secret, with closed doors.' + +'Not in secret--do they?' asked Robert Darby. 'I have not heard of +that.' + +'They meet in their own homes, and they shut out strangers,' replied +Sam. 'I'd like to know what you call that, but meeting in secret?' + +'I should not call it secret; I should call it private,' decided Darby, +after a minute's pause, given to realize the question. 'We might do the +same. Our homes are ours, and we can shut out whom we please.' + +'Of course we _might_,' contended Sam. 'But we like better to be open; +and if a few of us assemble together to consult on the present aspect of +affairs, we do it so that the masters, if they choose, might come and +hear us. Things are not equalized in this world. Let us attempt secret +meetings, and see how soon we should be looked up by the law, and +accused of hatching treason and sedition, and all the rest of it. That +sharp-eyed _Times_ newspaper would be the first to set on us. There's +one law for the masters, and another for the men.' + +'Is that Slippery Sam?' ejaculated a new comer, at this juncture. 'Where +did you get that fine new toggery, Shuck?' + +The disrespectful interruption was spoken in simple surprise: no +insidious meaning prompting it. Sam Shuck had appeared in ragged attire +so long, that the change could not fail to be remarkable. Sam loftily +turned a deaf ear to the remark, and continued his address. + +'I am sure that most of you can't fail to see that things have come to +a crisis in our trade. The moment that brought it, was when that great +building firm refused the reasonable demands of their men; and the +natural consequence of which was a strike. Friends, I have been just +_riled_ ever since. I have watched you go to work day after day like +tame cats, the same as if nothing had happened; and I have said to +myself: "Have those men of Hunter's got souls within them, or have they +got none?"' + +'I don't suppose we have parted from our souls,' struck in a voice. + +'You have parted with the feelings of them, at any rate,' rejoined Sam, +beginning to dance in the excitement of contention, but remembering in +time that his _terra firma_ was only a creaky tub. 'What's that you ask +me? How have you parted with them? Why, by not following up the strike. +If you possessed a grain of the independence of free men, you'd have +hoisted your colours before now; what would have been the result? Why, +the men of other firms in the trade would have followed suit, and all +struck in a body. It's the only way that will bring the masters to +reason: the only way by which we can hope to obtain our rights.' + +'You see there's no knowing what would be the end of a strike, Shuck,' +argued John Baxendale. + +'There's no knowing what may be the inside of a pie until you cut him +open,' said Jim Dunn, whose politics were the same as Mr. Shuck's, +red-hot for a strike. 'But 'tain't many as 'ud shrink from putting in +the knife to see.' + +The men laughed, and greeted Jim Dunn with applause. + +'I put it to you all,' resumed Sam, who took his share of laughing with +the rest, 'whether there's sense or not in what I say. Are we likely to +get our grievances redressed by the masters, unless we force it? Never: +not if we prayed our hearts out.' + +'Never,' and 'never,' murmured sundry voices. + +'What _are_ our grievances?' demanded Peter Quale, putting the question +in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he really asked for information. + +'Listen!' ironically ejaculated Sam. 'He asks what our grievances are! +I'll answer you, Quale. They are many and great. Are we not kept to work +like beasts of burden, ten hours a day? Does that leave us time for the +recreation of our wearied bodies, for the improvement of our minds, for +the education of our children, for the social home intercourse in the +bosoms of our families? By docking the day's labour to nine hours--or to +eight, which we shall get, may be, after awhile,' added Sam, with a +wink--'it would leave us the extra hour, and be a blessing.' + +Sam carried the admiring room with him. That hard, disbelieving Peter +Quale, interrupted the cheering. + +'A blessing, or the conterairy, as it might turn out,' cried he. 'It's +easy to talk of education, and self-improvement; but how many is there +that would use the accorded hour that way?' + +'Another grievance is our wages,' resumed Sam, drowning the words, not +caring to court discussion on what might be a weak point. 'We call +ourselves men, and Englishmen, and yet we lie down contented with +five-and-sixpence a day. Do you know what our trade gets in Australia? +Oh, you do, some of you? then I'll tell those that don't. From twelve to +fifteen shillings per day: and even more than that. _Twelve shillings!_ +and that's the minimum rate of pay,' slowly repeated Sam, lifting up his +arm and one peg-top to give emphasis to the words. + +A murmur of envy at the coveted rate of pay in Australia shook the room +to the centre. + +'But the price of provisions and other necessaries is enormous in that +quarter,' debated Abel White. 'So it may come to the same in the end--be +about as broad as long. Old father and me was talking about it last +night.' + +'If everybody went in for your old father's sentiments, we should soon +be like him--in our dotage,' loftily observed Sam. + +'But things are dear there,' persisted Sam's antagonist. 'I have heard +what is sometimes given for shoes there; but I'm afraid to say, it was +so much. The wages in Australia can't be any guide for us.' + +'No, they can't,' said Peter Quale. 'Australia is one place, and this is +another. Where's the use of bringing up that?' + +'Oh, of course not,' sarcastically uttered Sam. 'Anything that tends to +show how we are put upon, and how we might be made more comfortable, +it's of no use bringing up. The long and the short of it is this: we +want to be regarded as MEN: to have our voices considered, and our +plaints attended to; to be put altogether upon a better footing. Little +enough is it we ask at present: only for a modicum of ease in our day's +hard labour, just the thin end of the wedge inserted to give it. That's +all we are agitating for. It depends upon ourselves whether we get it or +not. Let us display manly courage and join the strike, and it is ours +to-morrow.' + +The response did not come so quickly as Sam deemed it ought. He went on +in a persuasive, ringing tone. + +'Consider the wives of your bosoms; consider your little children; +consider yourselves. Were you born into the world to be +slaves--blackymoors; to be ground into the dust with toil? Never.' + +'Never,' uproariously echoed three parts of the room. + +'The motto of a true man is, or ought to be, "Do as little as you can, +and get as much for it;"' said Sam, dancing in his enthusiasm, and +thereby nearly losing his perch on the tub. 'With an hour's work less a +day, and the afternoon holiday on the Saturday, we shall----' + +'What's the good of a afternoon Saturday holiday? We don't want that, +Sam Shuck.' + +This ignominious interruption to the proceedings came from a lady. +Buzzing round the entrance door and thrusting in their heads at a square +hole, which might originally have been intended for a window were a +dozen or two of the gentler sex. This irregularity had not been +unobserved by the chairman, who faced them: the chairman's audience, +densely packed, had their backs that way. It was not an orthodox adjunct +to a trade meeting, that was certain, and the chairman would probably +have ordered the ladies away, had he deemed there was a chance of his +getting obeyed; but too many of them had the reputation of being the +grey mares. So he winked at the irregularity, and had added one or two +flourishes of oratory for their especial ears. The interruption came +from Mrs. Cheek, Timothy Cheek's wife. + +'What's the good of a afternoon Saturday holiday? We don't want that, +Sam Shuck. Just when we be up to our eyes in muck and cleaning, our +places routed out till you can't see the colour of the boards, for +brooms, and pails, and soap and water, and the chairs and things is all +topsy-turvy, one upon another, so as the children have to be sent out to +grub in the gutter, for there ain't no place for 'em indoors, do you +think we want the men poking their noses in? No; and they'd better not +try it on. Women have got tempers given to 'em as well as you.' + +'And tongues too,' rejoined Sam, unmindful of the dignity of his office. + +'It is to be hoped they have,' retorted Mrs. Cheek, not inclined to be +put down; and her sentiments appeared to be warmly joined in by the +ladies generally. 'Don't you men go a agitating for the Saturday's +half-holiday! What 'ud you do with it, do you suppose? Why, just sot it +away at the publics.' + +Some confusion ensued; and the women were peremptorily ordered to mind +their own business, and 'make theirselves scarce,' which not one of them +attempted to obey. When the commotion had subsided, a very respectable +man took up the discourse--George Stevens. + +'The gist of the whole question is this,' he said: 'Will agitation do us +good, or will it do us harm? We look upon ourselves as representing one +interest; the masters consider they represent another. If it comes to +open warfare between the two, the strongest would win.' + +'In other words, whichever side's funds held out the longest,' said +Robert Darby. 'That is as I look upon it.' + +'Just so,' returned Stevens. 'I cannot say, seeing no farther than we +can see at present, that a strike would be advisable.' + +'Stevens, do you want to better yourself, or not?' asked Sam Shuck. + +'I'd be glad enough to better myself, if I saw my way clear to do it,' +was the reply. 'But I don't.' + +'We don't want no strikes,' struck in a shock-headed hard-working man. +'What is it we want to strike for? We have got plenty of work, and full +wages. A strike won't fill our pockets. Them may vote for strikes that +like 'em; I'll keep to my work.' + +Partial applause. + +'It is as I said,' cried Sam. 'There's poor, mean-spirited creatures +among you, as won't risk the loss of a day's pay for the common good, or +put out a hand to help the less fortunate. I'd rather be buried alive, +five feet under the earth, than I'd show cat so selfish.' + +'What is the interest of one of us is the interest of all,' observed +Stevens. 'And a strike, if we went into it, would either benefit us all +in the end, or make us all suffer. It is sheer nonsense to attempt to +make out that one man's interest is different from another's; our +interests are the same. I'd vote for striking to-morrow, if I were sure +we should come out of it with whole skins, and get what we struck for: +but I must see that a bit clearer first.' + +'How can we get it, unless we try for it?' demanded Sam. 'If the masters +find we're all determined, they'll give in to us. I appeal to you +all'--raising his hands over the room--'whether the masters can do +without us?' + +'That has got to be seen,' said Peter Quale, significantly. 'One thing +is plain: we could not do without them.' + +'Nor they without us--nor they without us,' struck in voices from +various parts of the barn. + +'Then why shilly-shally about the question of a strike?' asked Sam of +the barn, in a glib tone of reason. 'If a universal strike were on, the +masters would pretty soon make terms that would end it. Why, a six +months' strike would drive half of them into the _Gazette_----' + +'But it might drive us into the workhouse at the same time,' interrupted +John Baxendale. + +'Let me finish,' went on Sam; 'it's not perlite to take up a man in the +middle of a sentence. I say that a six months' strike would send many of +the masters to the bankruptcy court. Well now, there has been a question +debated among us'--Sam lowered his voice--'whether it would not be +policy to let things go on quietly, as they are, till next spring----' + +'A question among who?' interposed Peter Quale, regardless of the +reproof just administered to John Baxendale. + +'Never you mind who,' returned Sam, with a wink: 'among those that are +hard at work for your interest. With their contracts for the season +signed, and their works in full progress, say about next May, then would +be the time for a strike to tell upon the masters. However, it has been +thought better not to delay it. The future's but an uncertainty: the +present is ours, and so must the strike be. _Have_ you wives?' he +pathetically continued; '_have_ you children? _have_ you spirits of your +own? Then you will all, with one accord, go in for the strike.' + +'But what are our wives and children to do while the strike is on?' +asked Robert Darby. 'You say yourself it might last six months, Shuck. +Who would support them?' + +'Who!' rejoined Sam, with an indignant air, as if the question were a +superfluous one. 'Why the Trades' Unions, of course. _That's_ all +settled. The Unions are prepared to take care of all who are out on +strike, standing up, like brave Britons, for their privileges, and keep +'em like fighting-cocks. Hooroar for that blessed boon, the Trades' +Unions!' + +'Hooroar for the Trades' Unions!' was shouted in chorus. 'Keep us like +fighting-cocks, will they! Hooroar!' + +'Much good you'll get from the Trades' Unions!' burst forth a +dissentient voice. 'They are the greatest pests as ever was allowed in a +free country.' + +The opposition caused no little commotion. Standing by the door, having +pushed his way through the surrounding women, who had _not_ made +themselves 'scarce,' was a man in a flannel jacket, a cap in his hand, +and his head white with mortar. He was looking excited as he spoke. + +'This is not regular,' said Sam Shuck, displaying authority. 'You have +no business here: you don't belong to us.' + +'Regular or irregular, I'll speak my mind,' was the answer. 'I have been +at work for Jones the builder, down yonder. I have done my work steady +and proper, and I have had my pay. A man comes up to me yesterday and +says, "You must join the Trades' Union." "No," says I, "I shan't; I +don't want nothing of the Trades' Union, and the Union don't want +nothing of me." So they goes to my master. "If you keep on employing +this man, your other men will strike," they says to him; and he, being +in a small way, got intimidated, and sent me off to-day. And here I am, +throwed out of work, and I have got a sick wife and nine young children +to keep. Is that justice? or is it tyranny? Talk about emancipating the +slaves! let us emancipate ourselves at home.' + +'Why don't you join the Union?' cried Sam. 'All do, who are good men and +true.' + +'All good men and true _don't_,' dissented the man. 'Many of the best +workmen among us won't have anything to do with Unions; and you know it, +Sam Shuck.' + +'Just clear out of this,' said Sam. + +'When I've had my say,' returned the man, 'not before. If I would join +the Union, I can't. To join it, I must pay five shillings, and I have +not got them to pay. With such a family as mine, you may guess every +shilling is forestalled afore it comes in. I kept myself to myself, +doing my work in quiet, and interfering with nobody. Why should they +interfere with me?' + +'If you have been in full work, five shillings is not much to pay to the +Union,' sneered Sam. + +'If I had my pockets filled with five-shilling pieces, I would not pay +one to it,' fearlessly retorted the man. 'Is it right that a free-born +Englishman should give in to such a system of intimidation? No: I never +will. You talk of the masters being tyrants: it's you who are the +tyrants, one to another. What is one workman better than his fellow, +that he should lay down laws and say, You shall do this, and you shall +do that, or you shan't be allowed to work at all? That rule you want to +get passed--that a skilled, thorough workman shouldn't do a full day's +work because some of his fellows can't--who's agitating for it? Why, +naturally those that can't or won't do the full work. Would an honest, +capable man go in for it? Of course he'd not. I tell you what'--turning +his eyes on the room--'the Trades' Unions have been called a protection +to the working man; but, if you don't take care, they'll grow into a +curse. When Sam Shuck, and other good-for-naughts like him, what never +did a full week's work for their families yet, are paid in gold and +silver to spread incendiarism among you, it's time you looked to +yourselves.' + +He turned away as he spoke; and Sam, in a dance of furious passion, +danced off his tub. The interlude had not tended to increase the feeling +of the men in Sam's favour--that is, in the cause he advocated. Not a +man present but wanted to better himself could he do so with safety, but +they were afraid to enter on aggressive measures. Indiscriminate talking +ensued; diverse opinions were disputed, and the meeting was prolonged to +a late hour. Finally the men dispersed as they came, nothing having been +resolved upon. A few set their faces resolutely against the proposed +strike; a few were red-hot for it; but the majority were undecided, and +liable to be swayed either way. + +'It will come,' nodded Sam Shuck, as he went home to a supper of pork +chops and gin-and-water. + +But Sam was destined to be--as he would have expressed it--circumvented. +It cannot be supposed that this unsatisfactory state of things was +unnoticed by the masters: and they took their measures accordingly. +Forming themselves into an association, they discussed the measures best +to be adopted, and determined upon a lock-out; that is, to close their +yards until the firm, whose workmen had struck, should resume work. They +also resolved to employ only those men who would sign an agreement, or +memorandum, affirming that they were not connected with any society +which interfered with the arrangements of the master whose service they +entered, or with the hours of labour, and acknowledging the rights both +of masters and men to enter into any trade arrangements on which they +might mutually agree. This paper of agreement was not relished by the +men at all; they styled it 'the odious document.' Neither was the +lock-out relished: it was of course equivalent, in one sense, to a +strike; only that the initiative had come from the masters' side, and +not from theirs. It commenced early in August. Some of the masters +closed their works without a word of explanation to their men: in one +sense it was not needed, for the men knew of the measure beforehand. Mr. +Hunter chose to assemble them together, and state what he was about to +do. Somewhat of his old energy appeared to have been restored to him for +the moment, as he stood before them and spoke--Austin Clay by his side. + +'You have brought it upon yourselves,' he said, in answer to a remark +from one who boldly, but respectfully, asked whether it was fair to +resort to a lock-out, and so punish all alike, contents and +non-contents. 'I will meet the question upon your own grounds. When the +Messrs. Pollocks' men struck because their demands, to work nine hours a +day, were not acceded to, was it not in contemplation that you should +join them--that the strike should be universal? Come, answer me +candidly.' + +The men, true and honest, did not deny it. + +'And possibly by this time you would have struck,' said Mr. Hunter. 'How +much more "fair" would that have been towards us, than this locking-out +is towards you? Do you suppose that you alone are to meet and pass your +laws, saying you will coerce the masters, and that the masters will not +pass laws in return? Nonsense, my men!' + +A pause. + +'When have the masters attempted to interfere with your privileges, +either by saying that your day's toil shall consist of longer hours, or +by diminishing your wages, and threatening to turn you off if you do not +fall in with the alteration? Never. Masters have rights as well as men; +but some of you, of late, have appeared to ignore the fact. Let me ask +you another question: Were you well treated under me, or were you not? +Have I shown myself solicitous for your interests, for your welfare? +Have I ever oppressed you, ever put upon you?' + +No, Mr. Hunter had never sought to oppress them: they acknowledged it +freely. He had ever been a good master. + +'My men, let me give you my opinion. While condemning your conduct, your +semblance of discontent--it has been semblance rather than reality--I +have been sorry for you, for it is not with you that the chief blame +lies. You have suffered evil persuaders to get access to your ears, and +have been led away by their pernicious counsels. The root of the evil +lies there. I wish you could bring your own good sense to bear upon +these points, and to see with your own eyes. If so, there will be +nothing to prevent our resuming together amicable relations; and, for my +own part, I care not how soon the time shall come. The works are for the +present closed. + + + + +PART THE THIRD. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A PREMATURE AVOWAL. + + +Daffodil's Delight was in all the glory of the lock-out. The men, having +nothing to do, improved their time by enjoying themselves; they stood +about the street, or lounged at their doors, smoking their short pipes +and quaffing draughts of beer. Let money run ever so short, you will +generally see that the beer and the pipes can be found. As yet, the +evils of being out of work were not felt; for weekly pay, sufficient for +support, was supplied them by the Union Committee. The men were in high +spirits--in that sort of mood implied by the words 'Never say die,' +which phrase was often in their mouths. They expressed themselves +determined to hold out; and this determination was continually fostered +by the agents of the Union, of whom Sam Shuck was the chief: chief as +regarded Daffodil's Delight--inferior as regarded other agents +elsewhere. Many of the more temperate of the men, who had not +particularly urged the strike, were warm supporters now of the general +opinion, for they regarded the lock-out as an unwarrantable piece of +tyranny on the part of the masters. As to the ladies, they were +over-warm partisans, generally speaking, making the excitement, the +unsettled state of Daffodil's Delight, an excuse for their own idleness +(they are only too ready to do so when occasion offers), and collected +in groups round the men, or squatted themselves on door steps, +proclaiming their opinion of existing things, and boasting that they'd +hold out for their rights till death. + +It was almost like a summer's day. Seated in a chair at the bottom of +her garden, just within the gate, was Mary Baxendale. Not that she was +there to join in the gossip of the women, little knots of whom were +dotting the street, or had any intention of joining in it: she was +simply sitting there for air. + +Mary Baxendale was fading. Never very strong, she had, for the last year +or two, been gradually declining, and, with the excessive heat of the +past summer, her remaining strength appeared to have gone out. Her +occupation, that of a seamstress, had not tended to keep her in health; +she had a great deal of work offered her, her skill being superior, and +she had sat at it early and late. Mary was thoughtful and conscientious, +and she was anxious to contribute a full share to the home support. Her +father had married again, had now two young children, and it almost +appeared to Mary as if she were an interloper in the paternal home. Not +that the new Mrs. Baxendale made her feel this: she was a bustling, +hearty woman, fond of show and spending, and of setting off her babies; +but she was kind to Mary. + +The capability of exertion appeared to be past, and Mary's days were +chiefly spent in a quiescent state of rest, and in frequently sitting +out of doors. This day--it was now the beginning of September--was an +unusually bright one, and she drew her invalid shawl round her, and +leaned back in her seat, looking out on the lively scene, at the men and +women congregating in the road, and inhaling the fresh air. At least, as +fresh as it could be got in Daffodil's Delight. + +'How do you feel to-day, Mary?' + +The questioner was Mrs. Quale. She had come out of her house in her +bonnet and shawl, bent on some errand and stopped to accost Mary. + +'I am pretty well to-day. That is, I should be, if it were not for the +weakness.' + +'Weakness, ay!' cried Mrs. Quale, in a snapping sort of tone, for she +was living in a state of chronic tartness, not approving of matters in +general just now. 'And what have you had this morning to fortify you +against the weakness?' + +A faint blush rose to Mary's thin face. The subject was a sore one to +the mind of Mrs. Quale, and that lady was not one to spare her tongue. +The fact was, that at the present moment, and for some little time past, +Mary's condition and appetite had required unusual nourishment; but, +since the lock-out, this had not been procurable by John Baxendale. +Sufficient food the household had as yet, but it was of a plain coarse +sort, not suitable for Mary; and Mrs. Quale, bitter enough against the +existing condition of things before, touching the men and their masters, +was not by this rendered less so. Poor Mary, in her patient meekness, +would have subsided into her grave with famine, rather than complain of +what she saw no help for. + +'Did you have an egg at eleven o'clock?' + +'Not this morning. I did not feel greatly to care for it.' + +'Rubbish!' responded Mrs. Quale. 'I may say I don't care for the moon, +because I know I can't get it.' + +'But I really did not feel to have any appetite just then,' repeated +Mary. + +'And if you had an appetite, I suppose you couldn't have been any the +nearer satisfying it!' returned Mrs. Quale, in a raised voice. 'You let +your stomach get empty, and, after a bit, the craving goes off and +sickness comes on, and then you say you have no appetite. But, there! it +is not your fault; where's the use of my----' + +'Why, Mary, girl, what's the matter?' + +The interruption to Mrs. Quale proceeded from Dr. Bevary. He was passing +the gate with Miss Hunter. They stopped, partly at sight of Mary, who +was looking strikingly ill, partly at the commotion Mrs. Quale was +making. Neither of them had known that Mary was in this state. Mrs. +Quale was the first to take up the discourse. + +'She don't look over flourishing, do she, sir?--do she Miss Florence? +She have been as bad as this--oh, for a fortnight, now.' + +'Why did you not send my uncle word, Mary?' spoke Florence, impulsive in +the cause of kindness, as she had been when a child. 'I am sure he would +have come to see you.' + +'You are very kind, Miss, and Dr. Bevary, also,' said Mary. 'I could +not think of troubling him with my poor ailments, especially as I feel +it would be useless. I don't think anybody can do me good on this side +the grave, sir.' + +'Tush, tush!' interposed Dr. Bevary. 'That's what many sick people say; +but they get well in spite of it. Let us see you a bit closer,' he +added, going inside the gate. 'And now tell me how you feel.' + +'I am just sinking, sir, as it seems to me; sinking out of life, without +much ailment to tell of. I have a great deal of fever at night, and a +dry cough. It is not so much consumption as----' + +'Who told you it was consumption?' interrupted Dr. Bevary. + +'Some of the women about here call it so, sir. My step-mother does: but +I should say it was more of a waste.' + +'Your step-mother is fond of talking of what she knows nothing about, +and so are the women,' remarked Dr. Bevary. 'Have you much appetite?' + +'Yes, and that's the evil of it,' struck in Mrs. Quale, determined to +lose no opportunity of propounding her view of the case. 'A pretty time +this is for folks to have appetites, when there's not a copper being +earned. I wish all strikes and lock-outs was put down by law, I do. +Nothing comes of 'em but empty cubbarts.' + +'Your cupboard need not be any the emptier for a lock-out,' said Dr. +Bevary, who sometimes, when conversing with the women of Daffodil's +Delight, would fall familiarly into their mode of speech. + +'No, I know that; we have been providenter than that, sir,' returned +Mrs. Quale. 'A pity but what others could say the same. You might take a +walk through Daffodil's Delight, sir, from one end of it to the other, +and not find half a dozen cubbarts with plenty in 'em just now. Serve +'em right! they should have put by for a rainy day.' + +'Ah!' returned Dr. Bevary, 'rainy days come to most of us as we go +through life, in one shape or other. It is well to provide for them when +we can.' + +'And it's well to keep out of 'em where it's practicable,' wrathfully +remarked Mrs. Quale. 'There no more need have been this disturbance +between masters and men, than there need be one between you and me, sir, +this moment, afore you walk away. They be just idiots, are the men; the +women be worse, and I'm tired of telling 'em so. Look at 'em,' added +Mrs. Quale, directing the doctor's attention to the female ornaments of +Daffodil's Delight. 'Look at their gowns in jags, and their dirty caps! +they make the men's being out of work an excuse for their idleness, and +they just stick theirselves out there all day, a crowing and a +gossiping.' + +'Crowing?' exclaimed the doctor. + +'Crowing; every female one of 'em, like a cock upon its dunghill,' +responded Mrs. Quale, who was not given to pick her words when wrath was +moving her. 'There isn't one as can see an inch beyond her own nose. If +the lock-out lasts, and starvation comes, let 'em see how they'll crow +then. It'll be on t'other side their mouths, I fancy!' + +'Money is dealt out to them by the Trades' Union, sufficient to live,' +observed Dr. Bevary. + +'Sufficient not to starve,' independently corrected Mrs. Quale. 'What is +it, sir, the bit of money they get, to them that have enjoyed their +thirty-five shillings a-week, and could hardly make that do, some of +'em? Look at the Baxendales. There's Mary, wanting more food than she +did in health; ay, and craving for it. A good bit of meat once or twice +in the day, an egg now and then, a cup of cocoa and milk, or good +tea--not your wishy-washy stuff, bought in by the ounce--how is she to +get it all? The allowance dealt out to John Baxendale keeps 'em in bread +and cheese; I don't think it does in much else.' They were interrupted +by John Baxendale himself. He came out of his house, touching his hat to +the doctor and to Florence. The latter had been leaning over Mary, +inquiring softly into her ailments, and the complaint of Mrs. Quale, +touching the short-comings of Mary's comforts, had not reached her ears; +that lady, out of regard to the invalid, having deemed it well to lower +her tone. + +'I am sorry, sir, you should see her so poorly,' said Baxendale, +alluding to his daughter. 'She'll get better, I hope.' + +'I must try what a little of my skill will do towards it,' replied the +doctor. 'If she had sent me word she was ill, I would have come before.' + +'Thank ye, sir. I don't know as I should have been backward in asking +you to come round and take a look at her; but a man don't like to ask +favours when he has got no money in his pocket; it makes him feel +little, and look little. Things are not in a satisfactory state with us +all just now.' + +'They are not indeed.' + +'I never thought the masters would go to the extreme of a lock-out,' +resumed Baxendale. 'It was a harsh measure.' + +'On the face of it it does seem so,' responded Dr. Bevary. 'But what +else could they have done? Have kept open their works, that those on +strike might have been supported from the wages they paid their men, and +probably have found those men also striking at last? If you and others +had wanted to escape a lock-out, Baxendale, you should have been +cautious not to lend yourselves to the agitation that was smouldering.' + +'Sir, I know there's a great deal to be said on both sides,' was the +reply. 'I never was for the agitation; I did not urge the strike; I set +my face nearly dead against it. The worst is, we all have to suffer for +it alike.' + +'Ay, that is the worst of things in this world,' responded the doctor. +'When people do wrong, the consequences are rarely confined to +themselves, they extend to the innocent. Come, Florence. I will see you +again later, Mary.' + +The doctor and his niece walked away. Mrs. Quale had already departed on +her errand. + +'He was always a kind man,' observed John Baxendale, looking after Dr. +Bevary. 'I hope he will be able to cure you, Mary.' + +'I don't feel that he will, father,' was the low answer. But Baxendale +did not hear it; he was going out at the gate, to join a knot of +neighbours, who were gathered together at a distance. + +'Will Mary Baxendale soon get well, do you think, uncle?' demanded +Florence, as they went along. + +'No, my dear, I do not think she will.' + +There was something in the doctor's tone that startled Florence. 'Uncle +Bevary! you do not fear she will die?' + +'I do fear it, Florence; and that she will not be long first.' + +'Oh!' Then, after she had gone a few paces further, Florence withdrew +her arm from his. 'I must go back and stay with her a little while. I +had no idea of this.' + +'Mind you don't repeat it to her in your chatter,' called out the +doctor; and Florence shook her head by way of answer. + +'I am in no hurry to go home, Mary; I thought I would return and stay a +little longer with you,' was her greeting, when she reached the invalid. +'You must feel it dull, sitting here alone.' + +'Dull! oh no, Miss Florence. I like sitting by myself and thinking.' + +Florence smiled. 'What do you think about?' + +'Oh, miss, I quite lose myself in thinking. I think of my Saviour, of +how kind he was to everybody; and I think of the beautiful life we are +taught to expect after this life. I can hardly believe that I shall soon +be there.' + +Florence paused, feeling as if she did not know what to say. 'You do +not seem to fear death, Mary. You speak rather as if you wished it.' + +'I do not fear it, Miss Florence; I have been learning not to fear it +ever since my poor mother died. Ah, miss! it is a great thing to learn; +a great boon, when once it's learnt.' + +'But surely you do not want to die!' exclaimed Florence, in surprise. + +'Miss Florence, as to that, I feel quite satisfied to let it be as God +pleases. I know I am in His good hands. The world now seems to me to be +full of care and trouble.' + +'It is very strange,' murmured Florence. 'Mamma, too, believes she is +near death, and she expresses no reluctance, no fear. I do not think she +feels any.' + +'Miss Florence, it is only another proof of God's mercies,' returned the +sick girl. 'My mother used to say that you could not be quite ripe for +death until you felt it; that it came of God's goodness and Christ's +love. To such, death seems a blessing instead of a terror, so that when +their time is drawing near, they are glad to die. There's a gentleman +waiting to speak to you, miss.' + +Florence lifted her head hastily, and encountered the smile and the +outstretched hand of Austin Clay. But that Mary Baxendale was +unsuspicious, she might have gathered something from the vivid blush +that overspread her cheeks. + +'I thought it was you, Florence,' he said. 'I caught sight of a young +lady from my sitting-room window; but you kept your head down before +Mary.' + +'I am sorry to see Mary looking so ill. My uncle was here just now, but +he has gone. I suppose you were deep in your books?' she said, with a +smile, her face regaining its less radiant hue. 'This lock-out must be a +fine time for you.' + +'So fine, that I wish it were over,' he answered. 'I am sick of it +already, Florence. A fortnight's idleness will tire out a man worse than +a month's work.' + +'Is there any more chance of its coming to an end, sir?' anxiously +inquired Mary Baxendale. + +'I do not see it,' gravely replied Austin. 'The men appear to be too +blind to come to any reasonable terms.' + +'Oh, sir, don't cast more blame on them than you can help!' she +rejoined, in a tone of intense pain. 'They are all led away by the +Trades' Unions; they are, indeed. If once they enrol under them, they +must only obey.' + +'Well, Mary, it comes to what I say--that they are blinded. They should +have better sense than to be led away.' + +'You speak as a master, sir.' + +'Probably I do; but I have brought my common sense to bear upon the +question, both on the side of the masters and of the men; and I believe +that this time the men are wrong. If they had laboured under any real +grievance, it would have been different; but they did not labour under +any. Their wages were good, work was plentiful----' + +'I say, Mary, I wish you'd just come in and sit by the little ones a +bit, while I go down to the back kitchen and rinse out the clothes.' + +The interruption came from Mrs. Baxendale, who had thrown up her window +to speak. Mary rose at once, took her pillow from the chair, wished +Florence good day, and went indoors. + +Austin held the gate open for Florence to pass out: he was not intending +to accompany her. She stood a moment, speaking to him, when some one, +who had come up rapidly and stealthily, laid his great hand on Austin's +arm. Absorbed in Florence, Austin had not observed him, and he looked up +with a start. It was Lawyer Gwinn, of Ketterford, and he appeared to be +in some anger or excitement. + +'Young Clay, where is your master to-day?' + +Neither the salutation nor the manner of the man pleased Austin; his +appearance, there and then, especially displeased him. His answer was +spoken in haughty defiance. Not in policy: and in a cooler moment he +would have remembered the latter to have been the only safe diplomacy. + +A strangely bitter smile of conscious power parted the man's lips. 'So +you take part with him, do you, sir! It may be better for both you and +him, that you bring me face to face with him. They have denied me to him +at his house; their master is out of town, they say; but I know it to be +a lie: I know that the message was sent out to me by Hunter himself. I +had a great mind to force----' + +Florence, who was looking deadly white, interrupted, her voice haughty +as Austin's had been. + +'You labour under a mistake, sir. My father is out of town. He went this +morning.' + +Mr. Gwinn wheeled round to her. Neither her tone nor Austin's was +calculated to abate his anger. + +'You are his daughter, then!' he uttered, with the same insolent stare, +the same displayed irony he had once used to her mother. 'The young lady +whom people envy as that spoiled and only child, Miss Hunter! What if I +tell you a secret?--that you----' + +'Be still!' shouted Austin, in uncontrollable emotion. 'Are you a man, +or a demon? Miss Hunter, allow me,' he cried, grasping the hand of +Florence, and drawing her peremptorily towards Peter Quale's door, which +he threw open. 'Go upstairs, Florence, to my sitting-room: wait there +until I come to you. I must be alone with this man.' + +Florence looked at him in amazement, as he pushed her into the passage. +He was evidently in the deepest agitation: every vestige of colour had +forsaken his face, and his manner was authoritative as any father's +could have been. She bowed to its power unconsciously, not a thought of +resistance crossing her mind, and went straight upstairs to his sitting +room--although it might not be precisely correct for a young lady so to +do. Not a soul, save herself, appeared to be in the house. + +A short colloquy and an angry one, and then Mr. Gwinn was seen returning +the way he had come. Austin came springing up the stairs three at a +time. + +'Will you forgive me, Florence? I could not do otherwise.' + +What with the suddenness of the proceedings, their strangeness, and her +own doubts and emotion, Florence burst into tears. Austin lost his +head: at least, all of prudence that was in it. In the agitation of the +moment he suffered his long-controlled feelings to get the better of +him, and spoke words that he had hitherto successfully repressed. + +'My darling!' he whispered, taking her hand, 'I wish I could have +shielded you from it! Florence, you know--you must long have known--that +my dearest object in life is you--your happiness, your welfare. I had +not intended to say this so soon; it has been forced from me: you must +pardon me for saying it here and now.' + +She gently disengaged the hand, and he did not attempt to retain it. Her +wet eyelashes fell on her blushing cheeks; they were like a damask rose +glistening in the morning dew. 'But this mystery?--it certainly seems +one,' she exclaimed, striving to speak with matter-of-fact calmness. 'Is +not that man Gwinn, of Ketterford?' + +'Yes.' + +'Brother to the lady who seemed to cause so much emotion to papa. Ah! I +was but a child at the time, but I noticed it. Austin, I think there +must be some dreadful secret. What is it? He comes to our house at +periods and is closeted with papa, and papa is more miserable than ever +after it.' + +'Whether there is or not, it is not for us to inquire into it. Men +engaged in business often have troublesome people to deal with. I +hastened you in,' he quickly went on, not caring to be more explanatory, +and compelled to speak with reserve. 'I know the man of old, and his +language is sometimes coarse, not fitted for a young lady's ears: so I +sent you away. Florence,' he whispered, his tone changing to one of +deepest tenderness, 'this is neither the time nor the place to speak, +but I must say one word. I shall win you if I can.' + +Florence made no answer. She only ran downstairs as quickly as she +could, she and her scarlet cheeks. Austin laughed at her haste, as he +followed her. Mrs. Quale was coming in then, and met them at the door. + +'See what it is to go gadding out!' cried Austin, to her. 'When young +ladies pay you the honour of a morning visit, they might find an empty +house, but for my stay-at-home propensities.' + +Mrs. Quale turned her eyes from one to the other of them in puzzled +doubt. + +'The truth is,' said Austin, vouchsafing an explanation, 'there was a +rude man in the road, talking nonsense, so I sent Miss Hunter indoors, +and stopped to deal with him.' + +'I am sure I am sorry, Miss Florence,' cried unsuspicious Mrs. Quale. +'We often have rude men in this quarter: they get hold of a drop too +much, the simpletons. And when the wine's in, the wit's out, you know, +Miss.' + +Austin piloted her through Daffodil's Delight, possibly lest any more +'rude men' should molest her, leaving her at her own door. + +But when he came to reflect on what he had done, he was full of +contrition and self-blame. The time had _not_ come for him to aspire to +the hand of Florence Hunter, at least in the estimation of the world, +and he ought not to have spoken to her. There was only one course open +to him now in honour; and that was, to tell the whole truth to her +mother. + +That same evening at dusk he was sitting alone with Mrs. Hunter. Mr. +Hunter had not returned: that he had gone out of town for the day was +perfect truth: and Florence escaped from the room when she heard +Austin's knock. + +After taking all the blame on himself for having been premature, he +proceeded to urge his cause and his love, possibly emboldened to do so +by the gentle kindness with which he was listened to. + +'It has been my hope for years,' he avowed, as he held Mrs. Hunter's +hands in his, and spoke of the chance of Mr. Hunter's favour. 'Dear Mrs. +Hunter, do you think he will some time give her to me!' + +'But, Austin----' + +'Not yet; I do not ask for her yet; not until I have made a fitting home +for her,' he impulsively continued, anticipating what might have been +the possible objection of Mrs. Hunter. 'With the two thousand pounds +left to me by Mrs. Thornimett, and a little more added to it, which I +have myself saved, I believe I shall be able to make my way.' + +'Austin, you will make your way,' she replied, in a tone of the utmost +confidence and kindness. 'I have heard Mr. Hunter himself anticipate a +successful career for you. Even when you were, comparatively speaking, +penniless, Mr. Hunter would say that talent and energy, such as yours, +could not fail to find its proper outlet. Now that you have inherited +the money, your success is certain. But--I fear you cannot win +Florence.' + +The words fell on his heart like an icebolt. He had reckoned on Mrs. +Hunter's countenance, though he had not been sure of her husband's. +'What do you object to in me?' he inquired, in a tone of pain. 'I am of +gentle birth.' + +'Austin, _I_ do not object. I have long seen that your coming here so +much--and it was Mr. Hunter's pleasure to have you--was likely to lead +to an attachment between you and Florence. Had I objected to you, I +should have pointed out to Mr. Hunter the impolicy of your coming. I +like _you_: there is no one in the world to whom I would so readily +intrust the happiness of Florence. Other mothers might look to a higher +alliance for her: but, Austin, when we get near the grave, we judge with +a judgment not of this world. Worldly distinctions lose their charm.' + +'Then where lies the doubt--the objection?' he asked. + +'I once--it is not long ago--hinted at this to Mr. Hunter,' she replied. +'He would not hear me out; he would not suffer me to conclude. It was an +utter impossibility that you could ever marry Florence,' he said: +'neither was it likely that either of you would wish it.' + +'But we do wish it; the love has already arisen,' he exclaimed, in +agitation. Dear Mrs. Hunter----' + +'Hush, Austin! calm yourself. Mr. Hunter must have some private +objection. I am sure he has; I could see so far; and one that, as was +evident, he did not choose to disclose to me. I never inquire into his +reasons when I perceive this. You must try and forget her.' + +A commotion was heard in the hall. Austin went out to ascertain its +cause. There stood Gwinn of Ketterford, insisting upon an interview with +Mr. Hunter. + +Austin contrived to get rid of the man by convincing him Mr. Hunter was +really not at home. Gwinn went out grumbling, promising to be there the +first thing in the morning. + +The interlude had broken up the confidence between Austin and Mrs. +Hunter; and he went home in despondency: but vowing to win her, all the +same, sooner or later. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +MR. COX. + + +Time had gone on. It was a gloomy winter's evening. Not that, reckoning +by the seasons, it could be called winter yet; but it was getting near +it, and the night was dark and sloppy, and blowing and rainy. The wind +went booming down Daffodil's Delight, sending the fierce rain before it +in showers, and the pools gleamed in the reflected light of the +gas-lamps, as wayfarers splashed through them and stirred up their muddy +waters. + +The luxurious and comfortable in position--those at ease in the world, +who could issue their orders to attentive tradespeople at their +morning's leisure--had no necessity to be abroad on that inclement +Saturday night. Not so Daffodil's Delight; there was not much chance +(taking it collectively) of a dinner for the morrow, at the best; but, +unless they went abroad, there was none. The men had not gone to work +yet, and times were bad. + +Down the street, to one particular corner shop, which had three +gilt-coloured balls hanging outside it, flocked the stream--chiefly +females. Not together. They mostly walked in units, and, some of them at +least, in a covert sort of manner, keeping in the shade of dead walls, +and of dark houses, as if not caring to be seen. Amongst the latter, +stole one who appeared more especially fearful of being recognised. She +was a young woman, comely once, but pale and hollow-eyed now, her bones +too sharp for her skin. Well wrapped up, was she, against the weather; +her cloth cloak warm, a fur round her neck, and india-rubber shoes. +Choosing her time to approach the shop when the coast should be +tolerably clear, she glanced cautiously in at the window and door, and +entered. + +Laying upon the counter a small parcel, which she carried folded in a +handkerchief, she displayed a cardboard box to the sight of the shop's +master, who came forward to attend to her. It contained a really +handsome set of corals, fashioned like those worn in the days when our +mothers were young; a necklace of six rows of small beads, with a gold +snap made to imitate a rose, a long coral bead set in it. A pair of gold +earrings, with large pendant coral drops, lay beside it, and a large and +handsome gold brooch, set likewise with corals. + +'What, is it _you_, Miss Baxendale?' he exclaimed, his tone expressive +of some surprise. + +'It is, indeed, Mr. Cox,' replied Mary. 'We all have to bend to these +hard times. It's share and share alike in them. Will you please to look +at these jewels?' + +She tenderly drew aside the cotton which was over the trinkets--tenderly +and reverently, almost as if a miniature live baby were lying there. +Very precious were they to Mary. They were dear to her from association; +and she also believed them to be of great value. + +The pawnbroker glanced at them slightly, carelessly lifting one of the +earrings in his hand, to feel its weight. The brooch he honoured with a +closer inspection. + +'What do you want upon them?' he asked. + +'Nay,' said Mary, 'it is not for me to name a sum. What will you lend?' + +'You are not accustomed to our business, or you would know that we like +borrowers to mention their own ideas as to sum; and we give it if we +can,' he rejoined with ready words. 'What do you ask?' + +'If you would let me have four pounds upon them, began Mary, +hesitatingly. But he snapped up the words. + +'Four pounds! Why, Miss Baxendale, you can't know what you are saying. +The fashion of these coral things is over and done with. They are worth +next to nothing.' + +Mary's heart beat quicker in its sickness of disappointment. + +'They are genuine, sir, if you'll please to look. The gold is real gold, +and the coral is the best coral; my poor mother has told me so many a +time. Her godmother was a lady, well-to-do in the world, and the things +were a present from her.' + +'If they were not genuine, I'd not lend as many pence upon them,' said +the man. 'With a little alteration the brooch might be made tolerably +modern; otherwise their value would be no more than old gold. In selling +them, I----' + +'It will not come to that, Mr. Cox,' interrupted Mary. 'Please God +spares me a little while--and, since the hot weather went out, I feel a +bit stronger--I shall soon redeem them.' + +Mr. Cox looked at her thin face; he listened to her short breath; and he +drew his own conclusions. There was a line of pity in his hard face, for +he had long respected Mary Baxendale. + +'By the way the strike seems to be lasting on, there doesn't seem much +promise of a speedy end to it,' quoth he, in answer. 'I never was so +over-done with pledges.' + +'My work does not depend upon that,' said Mary. 'Let me get up a little +strength, and I shall have as much work as I can do. And I am well paid, +Mr. Cox: I have a private connection. I am not like the poor +seamstresses who make skirts for fourpence a-piece.' + +Mr. Cox made no immediate reply to this, and there was a pause. The +open box lay before him. He took up the necklace and examined its clasp. + +'I will lend you a sovereign upon them.' + +She lifted her face pitiably, and the tears glistened in her eyes. + +'It would be of no use to me,' she whispered. 'I want the money for a +particular purpose, otherwise I should never have brought here these +gifts of my mother's. She gave them to me the day I was eighteen, and I +have tenderly kept them from desecration.' + +Poor Mary! From desecration! + +'I have heard her say what they cost; but I forget now. I know it was +over ten pounds.' + +'But the day for this fashion has gone by. To ask four pounds upon them +was preposterous; and you would know it to be so, were you acquainted +with the trade.' + +'Will you lend me two pounds, then?' + +The tone was tremblingly eager, the face beseeching--a wan face, telling +of the coming grave. Possibly the thought struck the pawnbroker, and +awoke some humanity within him. + +'I shall lose by it, I know, if it comes to a sale. I'd not do it for +anybody else, Miss Baxendale.' + +He proceeded to write out the ticket, his thoughts running upon +whether--if it did come to a sale--he could not make three pounds by the +brooch alone. As he was handing her the money, somebody rushed in, close +to the spot occupied by Mary, and dashed down a large-sized paper parcel +on the counter. She wore a black lace bonnet, which had once been +white, frayed, and altogether the worse for wear, independent of its +dirt. It was tilted on the back of her head, displaying a mass of hair +in front, half grey, half black, and exceedingly in disorder; together +with a red face. It was Mrs. Dunn. + +'Well, to be sure! if it's not Mary Baxendale! I thought you was too +much of the lady to put your nose inside a pop-shop. Don't it go again +the grain?' she ironically added, for she did not appear to be in the +sweetest of tempers. + +'It does indeed, Mrs. Dunn,' was the girl's meek answer, as she took her +money and departed. + +'Now then, old Cox, just attend to me,' began Mrs. Dunn. 'I have brought +something as you don't get offered every day.' + +Mr. Cox, accustomed to the scant ceremony bestowed upon him by some of +the ladies of Daffodil's Delight, took the speech with indifference, and +gave his attention to the parcel, from which Mrs. Dunn was rapidly +taking off the twine. + +'What's this--silk?' cried he, as a roll of dress-silk, brown, +cross-barred with gold, came forth to view. + +'Yes, it is silk; and there's fourteen yards of it; and I want thirty +shillings upon it,' volubly replied Mrs. Dunn. + +He took the silk between his fingers, feeling its substance, in his +professionally indifferent and disparaging manner. + +'Where did you get it from?' he asked. + +'Where did I get it from?' retorted Mrs. Dunn. 'What's that to you!' +D'ye think I stole it?' + +'How do I know?' returned he. + +'You insolent fellow! Is it only to-day as you have knowed me, Tom Cox? +My name's Hannah Dunn; and I don't want you to testify to my honesty; I +can hold up my head in Daffodil's Delight just as well as you +can--perhaps a little better. Concern yourself with your own business. I +want thirty shillings upon that.' + +'It isn't worth thirty shillings in the shop, new,' was the rejoinder. + +'What?' shrieked Mrs. Dunn. 'It cost three-and-fourpence halfpenny a +yard, every yard of it, and there's fourteen of 'em, I tell you.' + +'I don't care if it cost six-and-fourpence halfpenny, it's not worth +more than I say. I'll lend you ten shillings upon it, and I should lose +then.' + +'Where do you expect to go to when you die?' demanded Mrs. Dunn, in a +tone that might be heard half over the length and breadth of Daffodil's +Delight. 'I wouldn't tell such lies for the paltry sake of grinding +folks down; no, not if you made me a duchess to-morrow for it.' + +'Here, take the silk off. I have not got time to bother: it's Saturday +night.' + +He swept the parcel, silk, paper, and string, towards her, and was +turning away. She leaned over the counter and seized upon him. + +'You want a opposition in the place, that's what you want, Master Cox! +You have been cock o' the walk over Daffodil's Delight so long, that +you think you can treat folks as if they was dirt. You be over-done with +business, that's what you be; you're a making gold as fast as they makes +it in Aurstraliar; we shall have you a setting up your tandem next. +What'll you give me upon that silk?' + +'I'll give you ten shillings; I have said so. You may take it or not; +it's at your own option.' + +More contending; but the pawnbroker was firm; and Mrs. Dunn was forced +to accept the offer, or else take away her silk. + +'How long is this strike going to last?' he asked, as he made out the +duplicate. + +The words excited the irascibility of Mrs. Dunn. + +'Strike!' she uttered, in a flaming passion. 'Who dares to call it a +strike? It's not a strike; it's a lock-out.' + +'Lock-out, then. The two things come to the same, don't they? Is there a +chance of its coming to an end?' + +'No, they don't come to the same,' shrieked Mrs. Dunn. 'A strike's what +it is--a strike; a act of noble independence which the British workman +may be proud on. A lock-out is a nasty, mean, overbearing tyranny on the +part of the masters. Now, old Cox! call it a strike again.' + +'But I hear the masters' shops are open again--for anybody to go to work +that likes,' replied Mr. Cox, quite imperturbable. + +'They be open for slaves to go to work, not for free-born men,' retorted +Mrs. Dunn, her shrieking voice at a still higher pitch. 'I hope the +men'll hold out for ever, I do! I hope the masters 'll be drove, +everyone of 'em, into the dust and dregs of the bankruptcy court! I hope +their sticks and stones 'll be sold up, down to their children's +cradles----' + +'There, that's enough,' interposed the pawnbroker, as he handed her what +he had to give. 'You'll be collecting a crowd round the door, if you go +on like that. Here's somebody else waiting for your place.' + +It was Mrs. Cheek, an especial friend of the lady's now being dismissed. +Mrs. Cheek was carefully carrying a basket which contained various +chimney ornaments--pretty enough in their places, but not of much value. +The pawnbroker, after some haggling, not so intemperately carried on as +the bargain just concluded, advanced six shillings on them. + +'I had wanted twelve,' she said; 'and I can't do with less.' + +'I am willing to lend it,' returned he, 'if you bring goods +accordingly.' + +'I have stripped the place of a'most all the light things as can be +spared,' said Mrs. Cheek. 'One doesn't care to begin upon the heavy +furniture and the necessaries.' + +'Is there no chance of the present state of affairs coming to an end?' +inquired Mr. Cox, putting the same question to which he had not got a +direct answer from Mrs. Dunn. 'The men can go back to work if they like; +the masters' yards are open again.' + +'Open!' returned Mrs. Cheek, in a guttural tone, as she threw back her +head in disdain; 'they have been open some time, if you call _that_ +opening 'em. If a man likes to go as a sneaking coward, and work upon +the terms offered now, knuckling down to the masters, and putting his +hand to their mean old odious document, severing himself from the Union, +he can do it. It ain't many of our men as you'll find do that dirty +work. If my husband was to attempt it, I'd be ready to skin him alive.' + +'But the men have gone back in some parts of the metropolis.' + +'_Men_, do you call 'em. A few may; one black sheep out of a flock. They +ain't men, they are half-castes. Let them look to theirselves,' +concluded Mrs. Cheek significantly, as she quitted the pawnbroker's shop +with a fling. + +At the butcher's stall, a few paces further, she came up to Mrs. Dunn, +who was standing in the glare of the blazing gaslight, in the incessant +noise of the 'Buy, buy, buy! what'll you buy?' Not less than a dozen +women were congregated there, elbowing each other, as they turned over +the scraps of meat set out for sale in small heaps--sixpence the lot, a +shilling the lot, according to quality and quantity. In the prosperous +time when their husbands were in full work, these ladies had scornfully +disdained such heaps on a Saturday night. They had been wont then to buy +a good joint for the Sunday's dinner. One of the women nudged another in +her vicinity, directing her attention to the inside of the shop. 'Just +twig Mother Shuck; she's a being served, I hope!' + +'Mother Shuck,' Slippery Sam's better half, was making her purchases in +the agreeable confidence of possessing money to pay for them--liver and +bacon for the present evening's supper, and a breast of veal, to be +served with savoury herbs, for the morrow's dinner. In the old times, +while the throng of women now outside had been able to make the same or +similar purchases, _she_ had hovered without like a hungry hyena, +hanging over the cheap portions with covetous eyes and fingers, as many +another poor wife had done, whose husband could not or would not work. +Times were changed. + +'I can't afford nothing, hardly, I can't,' grumbled Mrs. Cheek. 'What's +the good of six shillings for a Saturday night, when everything's +wanted, from the rent down to a potater? The young 'uns have got their +bare feet upon the boards, as may be said, for their shoes be without +toes and heels; and who is to get 'em others? I wish that Cox was a bit +juster. He's a getting rich upon our spoils. Six shillings for that lot +as I took him in!' + +'I wish he was smothered!' struck in Mrs. Dunn. 'He took and asked me if +I'd stole the silk. It was that lovely silk, you know, as I was fool +enough to go and choose the week of the strike, on the strength of the +good times a coming. We have had something else to do since, instead of +making up silk gownds.' + +'The good times ain't come yet,' said Mrs. Cheek, shortly. 'I wish the +old 'uns was back again, if we could get 'em without stooping to the +masters.' + +'It was at the shop where Mary Ann and Jemimar deals, when they has to +get in things for their customers' work,' resumed Mrs. Dunn, continuing +the subject of the silk. 'I shouldn't have had credit at any other +place. Fourteen yards I bought of it, and three-and-fourpence halfpenny +I gave for every yard of it; I did, I protest to you, Elizar Cheek; and +that swindling old screw had the conscience to offer me ten shillings +for the whole!' + +'Is the silk paid for?'--'Paid for!' wrathfully repeated Mrs. Dunn; 'has +it been a time to pay for silk gownds when our husbands be under a +lock-out? Of course it's not paid for, and the shop's a beginning to +bother for it; but they'll be none the nearer getting it. I say, master, +what'll you weigh in these fag ends of mutton and beef at--the two +together?' It will be readily understood, from the above conversation +and signs, that in the several weeks that had elapsed since the +commencement of the lock-out, things, socially speaking, had been going +backwards. The roast goose and other expected luxuries had not come yet. +The masters' works were open--open to any who would go to work in them, +provided they renounced all connection with the Trades' Unions. +Daffodil's Delight, taking it collectively, would not have this at any +price, and held out. The worst aspect in the affair--I mean for the +interests of the men--was, that strange workmen were assembling from +different parts of the country, accepting the work which they refused. +Of course this feature in the dispute was most bitter to the men; they +lavished their abuse upon the masters for employing strange hands; and +they would have been glad to lavish something worse than abuse up on +the hands themselves. One of the masters compared them to the fable of +the dog in the manger--they would not take the work, and they would not +let (by their good will) anybody else take it. Incessant agitation was +maintained. The workmen were in a sufficiently excited state, as it was; +and, to help on that which need not have been helped, the agents of the +Trades' Union kept the ball rolling--an incendiary ball, urging +obstinacy and spreading discontent. But this little history has not so +much to do with the political phases of the unhappy dispute, as with its +social effects. + +As Mary Baxendale was returning home from the pawnbroker's, she passed +Mrs. Darby, who was standing at her own door looking at the weather. +'Mary, girl,' was the salutation, 'this is not a night for you to be +abroad.' + +'I was obliged to go,' was the reply. 'How are the children?' + +'Come in and see them,' said Mrs. Darby. She led the way into a back +room, which, at the first glance, seemed to be covered with mattresses +and children. A large family had Robert Darby--indeed, it was a +complaint prevalent in Daffodil's Delight. They were of various ages; +these, lying on the mattresses, six of them, were from four to twelve +years. The elder ones were not at home. The room had a close, unhealthy +smell, which struck especially on the senses of Mary, rendered sensitive +from illness. + +'What have you got them all in this room for?' she exclaimed, in the +impulse of the moment. + +'I have given up the rooms above,' was Mrs. Darby's reply. + +'But--when the children were ill--was it a time to give up rooms?' +debated Mary. + +'No,' replied Mrs. Darby, who spoke as if she were heart-broken, in a +sad, subdued tone, the very reverse of Mesdames Dunn and Cheek. 'But how +could we keep on the top rooms when we were unable to get together the +rent, to pay for them? I spoke to the landlord, and he is letting the +back rent stand a bit, not to sell us up; and I gave up to him the two +top rooms; and we all sleep in here together.' + +'I wish the men would go back to work!' said Mary, with a sigh. + +'Mary my heart's just failing within me,' said Mrs. Darby, her tone a +sort of wail. 'Here's winter coming on, and all of them out of work. If +it were not for my daughter, who is in service, and brings us her wages +as she gets them, I believe we should just have starved. I _must_ get +medicine, for the children, though we go without bread.' + +'It is not medicine they want: it is nourishment,' said Mary. + +'It is both. Nourishment would have done when they were first ailing, +but now that it has turned to low fever, they must have medicine, or it +will grow into typhus. It's bark they have to take, and it costs----' + +'Mother! mother!' struck up a plaintive voice, that of the eldest of the +children lying there, 'I want more of that nice drink!' + +'I have not got it, Willy. You know that you had it all. Mrs. Quale +brought me round a pot of black currant jelly,' she explained to Mary, +'and I poured boiling water on it to make drink. Their little parched +throats did so relish it, poor things.' + +Mary knelt on the floor and put her hand on the child's moist brow. He +was a pretty boy; fair and delicate, with light curls falling round his +face. A gentle, thoughtful, intelligent boy he had ever been, but less +healthy than some. 'You are thirsty, Willy?' + +He opened his heavy eyelids, and the large round blue eyes glistened +with fever, as they were lifted to see who spoke. + +'How do you do, Mary?' he meekly said. 'Yes, I am so thirsty. Mother +said perhaps she should have a sixpence to-night to buy a pot of jelly +like Mrs. Quale's.' Mrs. Darby coloured slightly; she thought Mary must +reflect on the extravagance implied. Sixpence for jelly, when they were +wanting money for a loaf! + +'I did say it to him,' she whispered, as she was quitting the room with +Mary. 'I thought I might spare a sixpence out of what Darby got from the +society. But I can't; I can't. There's so many things we cannot do +without, unless we just give up, and lie down and don't even try at +keeping body and soul together. Rent, and coals, and candles, and soap; +and we must eat something. Darby, too, of course he wants a trifle for +beer and tobacco. Mary, I say I am just heart-faint. If the poor boy +should die, it'll be upon my mind for ever, that the drink he craved +for in his last illness couldn't be got for him.' + +'Does he crave for it?' + +'Nothing was ever like it. All day long it has been his sad, pitiful +cry. "Have you got the jelly yet, mother? Oh, mother, if I could but +have the drink!"' + +As Mary went through the front room, Robert Darby was in it then. His +chin rested on his hands, his elbows were on the table; altogether he +looked very down-hearted. + +'I have been to see Willy,' she cried. + +'Ah, poor little chap!' It was all he said; but the tone implied more. + +'Things seem to be getting pretty low with us all. I wish there could be +a change,' continued Mary. + +'How can there be, while the masters and the Unions are at loggerheads?' +he asked. 'Us men be between the two, and between the two we come to the +ground. It's like sitting on two stools at once.' + +Mary proceeded to the shop where jelly was sold, an oilman's, bought a +sixpenny pot, and took it back to Mrs. Darby's, handing it in at the +door. 'Why did you do it, Mary? You cannot afford it.' + +'Yes, I can. Give it to Willy, with my love.' + +'He will only be out of a world of care, if God does take him,' sighed +Mary to herself, as she bent her steps homeward. 'Oh, father!' she +continued aloud, encountering John Baxendale at their own gate, 'I wish +this sad state of things could be ended. There's the poor little Darbys +worse instead of better. They are all lying in one room, down with +fever.' + +'God help us if fever should come!' was the reply of John Baxendale. + +'It is not catching fever yet. They have given up their top chambers, +and are all sleeping in that back room. Poor Willie craved for a bit of +jelly, and Mrs. Darby could not get it him.' + +'Better crave for that than for worse things,' returned John Baxendale. +'I am just a walking about here, because I can't bear to stop indoors. I +_can't_ pay the rent, and the things must go.' + +'No, father, they need not. He said if you would get up two pounds +towards it, he would give time for the rest. If----' + +'Two pounds!' ejaculated John Baxendale, 'where am I to get two pounds +from? Borrow of them that have been provident, and so are better off, in +this distress, than me? No, that I never will.' + +Mary opened her hand, and displayed two sovereigns held in its palm. +They sparkled in the gaslight. 'The money is my own, father. Take it.' A +sudden revulsion of feeling came over Baxendale--he seemed to have +passed from despair to hope.--'Child,' he gently said, 'did an angel +send it?' And Mary, worn with weakness, with long-continued insufficient +food, sad with the distress around her, burst into tears, and, bending +her head upon his arm, sobbed aloud. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +'I THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL.' + + +The Shucks had got a supper party. On this same Saturday night, when the +wind was blowing outside, and the rain was making the streets into +pools, two or three friends had dropped into Sam Shuck's--idlers like +Sam himself--and were hospitably invited to remain. Mrs. Shuck was +beginning to fry the liver and bacon she had just brought in, with the +accompaniment of a good peck of onions, and Sam and his friends were +staying their appetites with pipes and porter. When Mary Baxendale and +her father entered--Mary having lingered a minute outside, until her +emotion had passed, and her eyes were dry--they could scarcely find +their way across the kitchen, what with the clouds from the pipes, and +the smoke from the frying-pan. There was a great deal of laughter going +on. Prosperity had not yet caused the Shucks to change their residence +for a better one. Perhaps that was to come: but Sam's natural +improvidence stood in the way of much change. + +'You are merry to-night,' observed Mary, by way of being sociable. + +'It's merrier inside nor out, a-wading through the puddles and the sharp +rain,' replied Mrs. Shuck, without turning round from her employment. +'It's some'at new to see you out such a night as this, Mary Baxendale! +Don't you talk about folks wanting sense again.' + +'I don't know that I ever do talk of it,' was the inoffensive reply of +Mary, as she followed her father up the stairs. + +Mrs. Baxendale was hushing a baby when they entered their room. She +looked very cross. The best-tempered will do so, under the +long-continued embarrassment of empty purses and empty stomachs. 'Who +has been spreading it up and down the place that _we_ are in trouble +about the rent?' she abruptly demanded, in no pleasant voice. 'That girl +of Ryan's was here just now--Judy. She knew it, it seems, and she didn't +forget to speak of it. Mary, what a simpleton you are, to be out in this +rain!' + +'Never mind who speaks of the rent, Mrs. Baxendale, so long as it can be +paid,' said Mary, sitting down in the first chair to get her breath up, +after mounting the stairs. 'Father is going to manage it, so that we +shan't have any trouble at present. It's all right.' + +'However have you contrived it?' demanded Mrs. Baxendale of her husband, +in a changed tone. + +'Mary has contrived it--not I. She has just put two pounds into my hand. +Where did you get it, child?'--'It does not signify your knowing that, +father.' + +'If I don't know it, I shan't use the money,' he answered, +shortly.--'Why, surely, father, you can trust me!' she rejoined. + +'That is not it, Mary,' said John Baxendale. 'I don't like to use +borrowed money, unless I know who it has been borrowed from.' + +'It was not borrowed, in your sense of the word, father. I have only +done what you and Mrs. Baxendale have been doing lately. I pledged that +set of coral ornaments of my mother's. Had you forgotten them?' + +'Why, yes, I had forgot 'em,' cried he. 'Coral ornaments! I declare they +had as much slipped my memory, as if she had never possessed them.' + +'Cox would only lend me two pounds upon them. Father, I hope I shall +some time get them redeemed.' John Baxendale made no reply. He turned to +pace the small room, evidently in deep thought. Mary, her poor short +breath gathered again, took off her wet cloak and bonnet. Presently, +Mrs. Baxendale put the loaf upon the table, and some cold potatoes. + +'Couldn't you have brought in a sausage or two for yourself, Mary, or a +red herring?' she said. 'You had got a shilling in your pocket.' + +'I can eat a potato,' said Mary; 'it don't much matter about me.' + +'It matters about us all, I think,' cried Mrs. Baxendale. 'What a +delicious smell of onions!' she added in a parenthesis. 'Them Shucks +have got the luck of it just now. Us, and the children, and you, are +three parts starved--I know that, Mary. _We_ may weather it--it's to be +hoped we shall; but it will just kill you.' + +'No, it shan't,' said John Baxendale, turning to them with a strangely +stern decision marked upon his countenance. 'This night has decided me, +and I'll go and do it.' + +'Go and do what?' exclaimed his wife, a sort of fear in her tone. + +'I'll go to WORK, please God, Monday morning comes,' he said, with +emphasis. 'The thought has been hovering in my mind this week past.' + +'It's just the thing you ought to have done weeks ago,' observed Mrs. +Baxendale. + +'You never said it.'--'Not I. It's best to let men come to their senses +of their own accord. You mostly act by the rules of contrary, you men; +if I had advised your going to work next Monday morning, you'd just have +stopped away.' + +Passing over this conjugal compliment in silence, John Baxendale +descended the stairs. He possessed a large share of the open honesty of +the genuine English workman. He disdained to do things in a corner. It +would not suit him to return to work the coming Monday morning on what +might be called 'the sly;' he preferred to act openly, and to declare it +to the Trades' Union previously, in the person of their paid agent, Sam +Shuck. This he would do at once, and for that purpose entered the +kitchen. The first instalment of the supper was just served: which was +accomplished by means of a tin dish placed on the table, and the +contents of the frying-pan being turned unceremoniously into it. Sam and +the company deemed the liver and bacon were best served hot and hot, so +they set themselves to eat, while Mrs. Shuck continued to fry. + +'I have got just a word to say, Shuck; I shan't disturb you,' began John +Baxendale. But Shuck interrupted him. + +'It's of no use, Baxendale, your remonstrating about the short +allowance. Think of the many mouths there is to feed. It's hard times, +we all know, thanks to the masters; but our duty, ay, and our pride too, +must lie in putting up with them, like men.' + +'It's not very hard times with you, at any rate,' said John Baxendale, +sniffing involuntarily the savoury odour, and watching the tempting +morsels consumed. 'My business here is not to remonstrate at anything, +but to inform you that I shall resume work on Monday.' + +The announcement took Sam by surprise. He dropped the knife with which +he was cutting the liver, held upon his bread--for the repast was not +served fashionably, with a full complement of plates and dishes--and +stared at Baxendale--'What!' he uttered. + +'I have had enough of it. I shall go back on Monday morning.' + +'Are you a fool, Baxendale? Or a knave?' + +'Sometimes I think I must be a fool,' was the reply, given without +irritation. 'Leastways, I have wondered lately whether I am or not: when +there has been full work and full wages to be had for the asking, and I +have not asked, but have let my wife and children and Mary go down to +starvation point.' + +'You have been holding out for principle,' remonstrated Sam. + +'I know; and principle is a very good thing when you are sure it's the +right principle. But flesh and blood can't stand out for ever.' + +'After standing out as long as this, I'd try and stand out a bit +longer,' cried Sam. 'You _must_, Baxendale; you can't turn traitor now.' + +'You say "a bit," longer, Sam Shuck. It has been "a bit longer," and "a +bit longer," for some time past; but the bit doesn't come to any ending. +There's no more chance of the masters' coming to, than there was at +first, but a great deal less. The getting of these men from the country +will render them independent of us. What is to become of us then?' + +'Rubbish!' said Sam Shuck. 'The masters must come to: they can't stand +against the Unions. Because a sprinkling of poor country workmen have +thrust in their noses, and the masters are keeping open their works on +the show of it, is that a reason why we should knuckle down? They are +doing it to frighten us.' + +'Look here,' said Baxendale. 'I have two women and two children on my +hands, and one of the women is next door to the grave; I am +threatened--_you_ know it, Sam Shuck--with a lodging for them in the +street next week, because I have not been able to pay the rent; I have +parted by selling and pledging, with nearly all there is to part with, +of my household goods. There was what they call a Bible reader round +last week, and he says, pleasantly, "Why don't you kneel down and ask +God to consider your condition, Mr. Baxendale?" Very good. But how can I +do that? Isn't it just a mockery for me to pray for help to provide for +me and mine? If God was pleased to answer us in words, would not the +answer be, "There is work, and to spare; you have only got to do it?"' + +'Well, that's grand,' put in one of Sam's guests, most of whom had been +staring with open mouths. 'As if folks asked God about such things as +this!' + +'Since my late wife died, I have thought about it more than I used to,' +said Baxendale, simply, 'and I have got to see that there's no good to +be done in anything without it. But how can I in reason ask for help +now, when I don't help myself? The work is ready to my hand, and I don't +take it. So, Sam, my mind's made up at last. You'll tell the Union.' + +'No, I shan't. You won't go to work.' + +'You'll see. I shall be glad to go. I haven't had a proper meal +this----' + +'You'll think better of it between now and Monday morning,' interrupted +Sam, drowning the words. 'I'll have a talk with you to-morrow. Have a +bit of supper, Baxendale?' + +'No, thank ye. I didn't come in to eat your victuals,' he added, moving +to the door. + +'We have got plenty,' said Mrs. Shuck, turning round from the +frying-pan. 'Here, eat it up-stairs, if you won't stop, Baxendale.' She +took out a slice of liver and of bacon, and handed them to him on a +saucer. What a temptation it was to the man, sick with hunger! However, +he was about to refuse, when he thought of Mary. + +'Thank ye, Mrs. Shuck. I'll take it, then, if you can spare it. It will +be a treat to Mary.' Like unto the appearance of water in the arid +desert to the parched and exhausted traveller, was the sight of that +saucer of meat to Mary. Terribly did she often crave for it. John +Baxendale positively refused to touch any; so Mary divided it into two +portions, giving one to Mrs. Baxendale. The woman's good-nature--her +sense of Mary's condition--would have led her to refuse it; but she was +not quite made up of self-denial, and she felt faint and sinking. John +Baxendale cut a thick slice of bread, rubbed it over the remains of +gravy in the saucer, and ate that. 'Please God, this shall have an end,' +he mentally repeated. 'I think I _have_ been a fool!' + +Mr. Hunter's yard--as it was familiarly called in the trade--was open +just as were other yards, though as yet he had but few men at work in +it; in fact, so little was doing that it was almost equivalent to a +stand-still. Mr. Henry Hunter was better off. A man of energy, +determined to stand no nonsense, as he himself expressed it, he had gone +down to country places, and engaged many hands. + +On the Monday following the above Saturday night, John Baxendale +presented himself to Austin Clay and requested to be taken on again. +Austin complied at once, glad to do so, and told the man he was wise to +come to his senses. Mr. Hunter was not at business that day; 'too unwell +to leave home' was the message carried to Austin Clay. In the evening +Austin went to the house: as was usual when Mr. Hunter did not make his +appearance at the works in the day. Florence was alone when he entered. +Evidently in distress; though she strove to hide it from him, to turn it +off with gay looks and light words. But he noted the signs. 'What is +your grief, Florence?' he asked, speaking in an earnest tone of +sympathy. + +It caused the tears to come forth again. Austin took her hands and drew +her to him, as either a lover or a brother might have done, leaving her +to take it as she pleased. + +'Let me share it, Florence, whatever it may be.' + +'It is nothing more than usual,' she answered; 'but somehow my spirits +are low this evening. I try to bear up bravely; and I do bear up: but, +indeed, this is an unhappy home. Mamma is sinking fast; I see it daily. +While papa----' But for making the abrupt pause, she would have broken +down. Austin turned away: he did not choose that she should enter upon +any subject connected with Mr. Hunter. This time Florence would not be +checked: as she had been hitherto. 'Austin, I cannot bear it any longer. +What is it that is overshadowing papa?' she continued, her voice, her +whole manner full of dread. 'I am sure that some misfortune hangs over +the house.' + +'I wish I could take you out of it,' was the impulsive and not very +relevant answer. 'I can tell you nothing, Florence,' he concluded more +soberly. 'Mr. Hunter has many cares in business; but the cares are his +own.' + +'Austin, is it kind of you to try to put me off so? I can bear reality, +whatever it may be, better than suspense. It is for papa I grieve. See +how ill he is! And yet he has no ailment of body, only of mind. Night +after night he paces his room, never sleeping.' + +'How do you know that?' Austin inquired. + +'Because I listen to it.'--'You should not do so.' + +'I cannot _help_ listening to him. How is it possible? His room is near +mine, and when his footsteps are sounding in it, in the midnight +silence, hour after hour, my ears grow sensitively quick. I say that +loving him, I cannot help it. Sometimes I think that if I only knew the +cause, the nature of his sorrow, I might soothe it--perhaps help to +remove it.' + +'As if young ladies could ever help or remove the cares of business!' he +cried, speaking lightly. + +'I am not a child, Austin,' she resumed: 'it is not kind of you to make +pretence that I am, and try to put me off as one. Papa's trouble is +_not_ connected with business, and I am sure you know that as well as I +do. Will you not tell me what it is?' + +'Florence, you can have no grounds for assuming that I am cognisant of +it.' + +'I feel very sure that you are. Can you suppose that I should otherwise +speak of it to you?' + +'I say that you can have no grounds for the supposition. By what do you +so judge?' + +'By signs,' she answered. 'I can read it in your countenance, your +actions. I was pretty sure of it before that day when you sent me +hastily into your rooms, lest I should hear what the man Gwinn was about +to say; but I have been fully sure since. What he would have said +related to it; and, in some way, the man is connected with the ill. +Besides, you have been on confidential terms with papa for years.' + +'On business matters only: not on private ones. My dear Florence, I must +request you to let this subject cease, now and always. I know nothing of +its nature from your father; and if my own thoughts have in any way +strayed towards it, it is not fitting that I should give utterance to +them.' + +'Tell me one thing: could I be of any service, in any way?' + +'Hush, Florence,' he uttered, as if the words had struck upon some +painful cord. 'The only service you can render is, by taking no notice +of it. Do not think of it if you can help; do not allude to it to your +mother.' + +'I never do,' she interrupted.--'That is well.' + +'You have sometimes said you cared for me.' + +'Well?' he rejoined, determined to be as contrary as he could. + +'If you did, you would not leave me in this suspense. Only tell me the +nature of papa's trouble, I will not ask further.' + +Austin gathered his wits together, thinking what plea he should invent. +'It is a debt, Florence. Your papa contracted a debt many years ago; he +thought it was paid; but by some devilry--pardon the word; I forgot I +was talking to you--a lawyer, Gwinn of Ketterford, has proved that it +was not paid, and he comes to press for instalments of it. That is all I +know. And now you must give me your promise not to speak of this. I'll +never tell you anything more if you do.' + +Florence had listened attentively, and was satisfied. + +'I will never speak of it,' she said. 'I think I understand it now. Papa +fears he shall have no fortune left for me. Oh, if he only knew----' + +'Hush, Florence!' came the warning whisper, for Mrs. Hunter was standing +at the door. + +'Is it you, Austin? I heard voices here, and wondered who had come in.' + +'How are you, dear Mrs. Hunter?' he said to her as she entered. 'Better +this evening?' + +'Not better,' was Mrs. Hunter's answer, as she retained Austin's hand, +and drew him on the sofa beside her. 'There will be no "better" for me +in this world. Austin, I wish I could have gone from it under happier +circumstances. Florence, I hear your papa calling.' + +'If _you_ are not happy in the prospect of the future, who can be?' +murmured Austin, as Florence left the room. + +'I spoke not of myself. My concern is for Mr. Hunter. Austin, I would +give every minute of my remaining days to know what terrible grief it is +that has been so long upon him.' Austin was silent. Had Mrs. Hunter and +Florence entered into a compact to annoy him? 'It has been like a dark +shade upon our house for years. Florence and I have kept silence upon it +to him, and to each other; to him we dare not speak, to each other we +would not. Latterly it has seemed so much worse, that I was forced to +whisper of it to her: I could not keep it in; the silence was killing +me. We both agree that you are in his confidence; if so, perhaps you +will satisfy me?' + +Austin Clay felt himself in a dilemma. He could not speak of it in the +light manner he had to Florence, or put off so carelessly Mrs. Hunter. +'I am not in his confidence, indeed, Mrs. Hunter,' he broke forth, glad +to be able to say so much. 'That I have observed the signs you speak of +in Mr. Hunter, his embarrassment, his grief----' + +'Say his fear, Austin.' + +'His fear. That I have noticed this it would be vain to deny. But, Mrs. +Hunter, I assure you he has never given me his confidence upon the +subject. Quite the contrary; he has particularly shunned it with me. Of +course I can give a very shrewd guess at the cause--he is pressed for +money. Times are bad; and when a man of Mr. Hunter's thoughtful +temperament begins to be really anxious on the score of money matters, +it shows itself in various ways.' + +Mrs. Hunter quitted the subject, perhaps partially reassured; at any +rate convinced that no end would be answered by continuing it. 'I was +mistaken, I suppose,' she said, with a sigh. 'At least you can tell me, +Austin, how business is going on. How will it go on?' + +Very grave turned Austin's face now. This was an open evil--one to be +openly met and grappled with; and what his countenance gained in +seriousness it lost in annoyance. 'I really do not see how it will go +on,' was his reply, 'unless we can get to work soon. I want to speak to +Mr. Hunter. Can I see him?' + +'He will be in directly. He has not been down to-day yet. But I suppose +you will wish to see him in private; I know he and you like to be alone +when you talk upon business matters.' + +At present it was expedient that Mrs. Hunter, at any rate, should not be +present, if she was to be spared annoyance; for Mr. Hunter's affairs +were growing ominous. This was chiefly owing to the stoppage of works +in process, and partly to the effect of a diminished capital. Austin as +yet did not know all the apprehension, for Mr. Hunter contrived to keep +some of it from him. That the diminishing of the capital was owing to +Gwinn of Ketterford, Austin did know; at least, his surmises amounted to +certainty. When a hundred pounds, or perhaps two hundred pounds, +mysteriously went out, and Austin was not made acquainted with the +money's destination, he drew his own conclusions. + +'Are the men not learning the error of their course yet?' Mrs. Hunter +resumed. + +'They seem further off learning it than ever. One of them, indeed, came +back to-day: Baxendale.' + +'I felt sure he would be amongst the first to do so. He is a sensible +man: how he came to hold out at all, is to me a matter of surprise.' + +'He told me this morning, when he came and asked to be taken on again, +that he wished he never had held out,' said Austin. 'Mary is none the +better for it.' + +'Mary was here to-day,' remarked Mrs. Hunter. 'She came to say that she +was better, and could do some work if I had any. I fear it is a +deceitful improvement. She is terribly thin and wan. No; this state of +things must have been bad for her. She looks as if she were half +famished.' + +'She only looks what she is,' said Austin. + +'Oh, Austin! I should have been so thankful to help her to strengthening +food during this scarcity,' Mrs. Hunter exclaimed, the tears rising in +her eyes. 'But I have not dared. You know what Mr. Hunter's opinion +is--that the men have brought it upon themselves, and that, to help +their families, only in the least degree, would be encouraging them to +hold out, and would tend to prolong the contest. He positively forbade +me helping any of them: and I could only obey. I have kept indoors as +much as possible; that I might avoid the sight of the distress which I +must not relieve. But I ordered Mary a good meal here this morning: Mr. +Hunter did not object to that. Here he is.' Mr. Hunter entered, leaning +upon Florence. He looked like an old man, rather than one of middle age. + +'Baxendale is back, sir,' Austin observed, after a few words on business +matters had passed in an under tone. + +'Come to his senses at last, has he?' cried Mr. Hunter. + +'That is just what I told him he had done, sir.' + +'Has he signed the declaration?' + +'Of course he has. The men have to do that, you know, sir, before they +get any work. He says he wishes he had come back at first.' + +'So do a good many others, in their hearts,' answered Mr. Hunter, +significantly. 'But they can't pluck up the courage to acknowledge it.' + +'The men are most bitter against him--urged on, no doubt, by the Union. +They----' + +'Against Baxendale?' + +'Against Baxendale. He came to speak to me before breakfast. I gave him +the declaration to read and sign, and sent him to work at once. In the +course of the morning it had got wind; though Baxendale told me he had +given Sam Shuck notice of his intention on Saturday night. At dinner +time, when Baxendale was quitting the yard, there were, I should say, a +couple of hundred men assembled there----' + +'The Daffodil Delight people?' interrupted Mr. Hunter. + +'Yes. Our late men chiefly, and a sprinkling of Mr. Henry's. They were +waiting there for Baxendale, and the moment he appeared, the yells, the +hisses, the groans, were dreadful. I suspected what it was, and ran out. +But for my doing so, I believe they would have set upon him.' + +'Mark you, Clay! I will protect my workmen to the very limit of the law. +Let the malcontents lay but a finger upon any one of them, and they +shall assuredly be punished to the uttermost,' reiterated Mr. Hunter, +bringing down his hand forcibly. 'What did you do?' + +'I spoke to them just as you have now spoken,' said Austin. 'Their +threatenings to the man were terrible. I dared them to lay a finger upon +him; I assured them that the language they were using was punishable. +Had the police been in the way--but the more you want them, the less +they are to be seen--I should have handed a few into custody.' + +'Who were the ringleaders?'--'I can scarcely tell. Ryan, the Irishman, +was busy, and so was Jim Dunn; Cheek, also, backed by his wife.' + +'Oh, you had women also!' + +'In plenty,' said Austin. 'One of them--I think it was Cooper's +wife--roared out a challenge to fight _Mrs._ Baxendale, if her man, +Cooper, as she expressed it, was too much of a woman to fight _him_. +There will be bloodshed, I fear, sir, before the thing is over.' + +'If there is, let they who cause it look to themselves,' said Mr. +Hunter, speaking as sternly as he felt. 'How did it end?' + +'I cleared a passage for Baxendale, and they yelled and hooted him +home,' replied Austin. "I suppose they'd like to take my life, sir," he +said to me; "but I think I am only doing right in returning to work. I +could not let my family and Mary quite starve." This afternoon all was +quiet; Quale told me the men were holding a meeting.' + +Florence was sitting with her hands clasped, her colour gradually +rising. 'If they should--set upon Baxendale, and--and injure him!' she +breathed. + +'Then the law would see what it could do towards getting some of them +punished,' sternly spoke Mr. Hunter. + +'Oh, James!' interposed his wife, her pale cheeks flushing, as the words +grated on her ears. 'Can nothing be done to prevent it? Prevention is +better than cure. Austin, will you not give notice to the police, and +tell them to be on the alert?' + +'I have done it,' answered Austin. + +'Papa,' said Florence, 'have you heard that Robert Darby's children are +ill?--likely to die? They are suffering dreadfully from want. Mary +Baxendale said so when she was here this morning.' + +'I know nothing about Robert Darby or his children,' was the +uncompromising reply of Mr. Hunter. 'If a man sees his children +starving before him, and will not work to feed them, he deserves to find +them ill. Florence, I see what you mean--you would like to ask me to +permit you to send them relief. _I will not._' + +Do not judge of Mr. Hunter's humanity by the words, or deem him an +unfeeling man. He was far from that. Had the men been out of work +through misfortune, he would have been the first to forward them +succour; many and many a time had he done it in cases of sickness. He +considered, as did most of the other London masters, that to help the +men or their families in any way, would but tend to prolong the dispute. +And there was certainly reason in their argument--if the men wished to +feed their children, why did they not work for them? + +'Sir,' whispered Austin, when he was going, and Mr. Hunter went with him +into the hall, 'that bill of Lamb's came back to us to-day, noted.' + +'No!'--'It did, indeed. I had to take it up.' + +Mr. Hunter lifted his hands. 'This wretched state of things! It will +bring on ruin, it will bring on ruin. I heard one of the masters curse +the men the other day in his perplexity and anger; there are times when +I am tempted to follow his example. Ruin! for my wife and for Florence!' + +'Mr. Hunter,' exclaimed Austin, greatly agitated, and speaking in the +moment's impulse, 'why will you not give me the hope of winning her? I +will make her a happy home----' + +'Be silent!' sternly interrupted Mr. Hunter. 'I have told you that +Florence can never be yours. If you cannot put away this unthankful +subject, at once and for ever, I must forbid you the house.' + +'Good night, sir,' returned Austin. And he went away, sighing heavily. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +SOMEBODY 'PITCHED INTO.' + + +How do the poor manage to pull through illness? Through distress, +through hunger, through cold, through nakedness; above all, through the +close, unwholesome atmosphere in which too many of them are obliged to +live, they struggle on from sickness back to health. Look at the +children of Robert Darby. The low fever which attacked them had in some +inexplicable way been subdued, without its going on to the dreaded +typhus. If typhus had appeared at that untoward time in Daffodil's +Delight, why, then, no earthly power could have kept many from the +grave. Little pale, pinched forms, but with the disease gone, there sat +Darby's children. Colder weather had come, and they had gathered round +the bit of fire in their close room: fire it could scarcely be called, +for it was only a few decaying embers. All sat on the floor, save Willy; +he was in a chair, leaning his head back on a pillow. The boy had +probably never been fitted by constitution for a prolonged life, though +he might have lasted some years more under favourable surroundings; as +it was, fever and privation had done their work with him, and the +little spirit was nearly worn out. Mrs. Darby had taken him round to Mr. +Rice. 'He does not want me, he wants good nourishment, and plenty of +it,' was the apothecary's announcement! And Mrs. Darby took him home +again. 'Mother, the fire's nearly out.' + +'I can't help it, Willy. There's no coal, and nothing to buy it +with.'--'Take something, mother.' + +You may or may not, as you are acquainted or not with the habits of the +poor, be aware that this sentence referred to the pawnbroker: spoken out +fully it would have been, 'Take something and pledge it, mother.' In +cases of long-continued general distress, the children of a family know +just as much about its ways and means as the heads do. Mrs. Darby cast +her eyes round the kitchen. There was nothing to take, nothing that +would raise them help, to speak of. As she stood over Willy, parting the +hair with her gentle finger upon his little pale brow, her tears dropped +upon his face. The pillow on which his head leaned? Ay; she had thought +of that with longing; but how would his poor aching head do without it? +The last things put in pledge had been Darby's tools. The latch of the +door opened, and Grace entered. She appeared to be in some deep +distress. Flinging herself on a chair, she clasped hold of her mother, +sobbing wildly, clinging to her as if for protection. 'Oh, mother, they +have accused me of theft; the police have been had to me!' were the +confused words that broke from her lips. Grace had taken a service in a +baker's family, where there was an excessively cross mistress. She was +a well-conducted, honest girl, and, since the distress had commenced at +home, had brought her wages straight to her mother, whenever they were +paid her. For the last week or two, the girl had brought something more. +On the days when she believed she could get a minute to run home in the +evening, she had put by her allowance of meat at dinner--they lived well +at the baker's--and made it upon bread and potatoes. Had Grace for a +moment suspected there was anything wrong or dishonest in this, she +would not have done it: she deemed the meat was hers, and she took it to +Willy. On this day, two good slices of mutton were cut for her; she put +them by, ate her potatoes and bread, and after dinner, upon being sent +on an errand past Daffodil's Delight, was taking them out with her. The +mistress pounced upon her. She abused her, she reproached her with +theft, she called her husband to join in the accusation; and finally, a +policeman was brought in from the street, probably more to frighten the +girl than to give her in charge. It did frighten her in no measured +degree. She protested, as well as she could do it for her sobs, that she +had no dishonest thought; that she had believed the meat to be hers to +eat it or not as she pleased, and that she was going to take it to her +little brother, who was dying. The policeman decided that it was not a +case for charge at the police-court, and the baker's wife ended the +matter by turning her out. All this, with sobs and moans, she by degrees +explained now. + +Robert Darby, who had entered during the scene, placed his hand, more +in sorrow than in anger, upon Grace's shoulder, in his stern honesty. +'Daughter, I'd far rather we all dropped down here upon the floor and +died out with starvation, than that you should have brought home what +was not yours to bring.' + +'There's no need for _you_ to scold her, Robert,' spoke Mrs. Darby, with +more temper than she, meek woman that she was, often betrayed: and her +conscience told her that she had purposely kept these little episodes +from her husband. 'It is the bits of meat she has fed him with twice or +thrice a week that has just kept life in him; that's my firm belief.' + +'She shouldn't have done it; it was not hers to bring,' returned Robert +Darby. + +'What else has he had to feed him?' proceeded the wife, determined to +defend the girl. 'What do any of us have? _You_ are getting nothing.' +The tone was a reproachful one. With her starving children before her, +and one of them dying, the poor mother's wrung heart could but speak +out. + +'I know I am getting nothing. Is it my fault? I wish I could get +something. I'd work my fingers to the bone to keep my children.' + +'Robert, let me speak to you,' she said in an imploring tone, the tears +gushing from her eyes. 'I have sat here this week and asked myself, +every hour of it, what we shall do. All our things, that money can be +made on, are gone; the pittance we get allowed by the society does not +keep body and soul together; and this state of affairs gets worse, and +will get worse. What is to become of us? What are we to do?' Robert +Darby leaned in his old jacket--one considerably the worse for +wear--against the kitchen wall, his countenance gloomy, his attitude +bespeaking misery. He knew not what they were to do, therefore he did +not attempt to say. Grace had laid down her inflamed face upon the edge +of Willy's pillow and was sobbing silently. The others sat on the floor: +very quiet; as semi-starved little ones are apt to be. 'You have just +said you would work your fingers to the bone to keep your children,' +resumed Mrs. Darby to her husband. + +'I'd work for them till the flesh dropped off me. I'd ask no better than +to do it,' he vehemently said. 'But where am I to get work to do now?' + +'Baxendale has got it,' she rejoined in a low tone. + +Grace started from her leaning posture. + +'Oh, father, do as Baxendale has done! don't let the children quite +starve. If you had been in work, this dreadful thing would not have +happened. It will be a slur upon me for life.' + +'So I would work, girl, but for the Trades' Unions.' + +'Father, the Trades' Unions seem to bring you no good; nothing but harm. +Don't trust them any longer; trust the masters now.' + +Never was there a better meaning man than Robert Darby; but he was too +easily swayed by others. Latterly it had appeared to him that the +Trades' Unions did bring him harm, and his trust in them was shaken. He +stood for a few moments, revolving the question in his own mind. 'They'd +cast me off, you see, the Trades' Unions would,' he observed to his +wife, in an irresolute tone. + +'What if they did? The masters would take you on. Stand right with the +masters----' + +Mrs. Darby was interrupted by a shriek from Grace. Little Willy, whom +nobody had been giving attention to, was lying back with a white face, +senseless. Whether from the weakness of his condition, or from the +unusual excitement of the scene going on around him, certain it was that +the child had fainted. There was some little bustle in bringing him to, +and Mrs. Darby sat down, the boy upon her lap. + +'What ailed you, deary?' said Robert Darby, bending down to him. + +'I don't know, father,' returned the child. And his voice was fainter +than ever. + +Mrs. Darby pulled her husband's ear close to her lips. 'When the boy's +dead, you'll wish you had cared for him more than for the Trades' +Unions; and worked for him.' + +The words told upon the man. Perhaps for the first time he had fully +realized to his imagination the moment when he should see his boy lying +dead before him. 'I will work,' he exclaimed. 'Willy, boy, father will +go and get work; and he'll soon bring you home something good to eat, as +he used to.' Willy's hot lips parted with a pleasant smile of response; +his blue eyes glistened brightly. Robert Darby bent his rough, unshaven +face, and took a kiss from the child's smooth one. 'Yes, my boy; father +_will_ work.' + +He went out, bending his steps towards Slippery Sam's--who, by the way, +had latterly tried to exact the title of 'Mr. Shuck.' There was a code +of honour--as they regarded it--amidst these operatives of the Hunters, +to do nothing underhanded. That is, not to resume work without first +speaking to the Unions' man, Sam Shuck--as was mentioned in the case of +Baxendale. It happened that Mr. Shuck was standing in the strip of +garden before his house, carrying on a wordy war over the palings with +Mrs. Quale, when Darby came up. Peter Quale had of course been locked +out with the rest, but with the first hour that Mr. Hunter's yard was +opened, Peter returned to his work. He did not belong to the Trades' +Unions--he never had belonged to them and never would; therefore, he was +a free man. Strange to say, he was left to do as he liked in peace; +somehow the Union did not care to interfere with Peter Quale--for one +thing, he occupied a better position in the yard than most of the men. +Peter pursued his own course quietly--going to his work and returning +from it, saying little to the malcontents of Daffodil's Delight. Not so +Mrs. Quale; she exercised her tongue upon them whenever she got the +chance. Her motive was a good one: she was at heart sorry for the +privation at present existing in Daffodil's Delight, and would have +liked to shame the men into going to work again. + +'Now, Robert Darby! how are them children of your'n?' began she. +'Starved out yet?' + +'Next door to it,' was Darby's answer. + +'And whose is the fault?' she went on. 'If I had children, and my +husband wouldn't work to keep 'em out of their graves, through getting +some nasty mistaken crotchet in his head, and holding out when the work +was going a-begging, I'd go before a magistrate and see if I couldn't +have the law of him.' + +'You'd do a good many things if you wore the breeches,' interposed Sam +Shuck, with a sneer; 'but you don't, you know.' + +'You be wearing whole breeches now, which you get out of the blood and +marrow of the poor misguided men,' retorted Mrs. Quale. 'They won't last +out whole for ever, Slippery Sam.' + +'They'll last out as long as I want 'em to, I dare say,' said Sam. 'Have +you come up for anything particular, Darby?' + +'I have come to talk a bit, Shuck,' answered Darby, inwardly shrinking +from his task, and so deferring for a minute the announcement. 'There +seems no chance of this state of things coming to an end.' + +'No, that there doesn't. You men are preventing that.'--'Us men!' +exclaimed Robert Darby in surprise. 'What do you mean?' + +'I don't mean you; I don't mean the sturdy, honest fellows who hold out +for their rights like men--I mean the other lot. If every operative in +the kingdom had held out, to a man, the masters would have given in long +ago--they must have done it; and you would all be back, working in +triumph the nine hours per day. I spoke of those rats who sneak in, and +take the work, to the detriment of the honest man.' + +'At any rate, the rats are getting the best of it just now,' said +Robert Darby. + +'That they are,' said Mrs. Quale, exultingly, who would not lose an +opportunity of putting in her word. She stood facing the men, her arms +resting on the palings that divided the gardens. 'It isn't _their_ +children that are dropping into their winding-sheets through want of +food.' + +'If I had my way, I'd hang every man who in this crisis is putting his +hand to a stroke of work,' exclaimed Sam Shuck. 'Traitors! to turn and +work for the masters after they had resorted to a lock-out! It was that +lock-out floored us.' + +'Of course it was,' assented Mrs. Quale, with marked complaisance. 'If +the Union only had money coming in from the men, they'd hold out for +ever. But the general lock-out stopped that.' + +'Ugh!' growled Sam, with the addition of an ugly word. + +'Well, Shuck, as things seem to be getting worse instead of better, and +prospects look altogether so gloomy, I shall go back to work myself,' +resumed Darby, plucking up courage to say it. + +'Chut,' said Shuck. + +'Will you tell me what I _am_ to do? I'd rather turn a thousand miles +the other way than I'd put my foot indoors at home, and see things as +they are there. If a man can clam himself, he can't watch those +belonging to him clam. Every farthing of allowance I had from the +society last week was----' + +'You had your share,' interrupted Sam, who never cared to contend about +the amount received. 'Think of the thousands there is to divide it +among. The subscriptions have come in very well as yet, but they be +falling off now.' + +'And think of the society's expenses,' interposed Mrs. Quale, with +suavity. 'The scores of gentlemen, like Mr. Shuck, there is to pay, and +keep on the fat of the land. He'll be going into Parliament next!' + +'You shut up, will you?' roared Sam. 'Ryan,' called out he to the +Irishman, who was lounging up, 'here's Darby saying he thinks he shall +go to work.' + +'Oh, but that would be rich,' said Ryan, with a laugh, as he entered the +garden, and took his standing beside Sam Shuck. 'Darby, man, you'd never +desert the society! It couldn't spare you.' + +'I want to do for the best,' said Darby; 'and it seems to me that to +hold out is for the worse. Shuck, just answer me a question or two, as +from man to man. If the masters fill their yards with other operatives, +what is to become of us?' + +'They can't fill their yards with other operatives,' returned Shuck. +'Where's the use of talking nonsense?' + +'But they can. They are doing it.' + +'They are not. They have just got a sprinkling of men for show--not +many. Where are they to get them from?' + +'Do you know what I heard? That Mr. Henry Hunter has been over to +Belgium, and one or two of the other masters have also been, and----' + +'There's no fear of the Beljim workmen,' interrupted Ryan. 'What +English master 'ud employ them half-starved frogs?' + +'I heard that Mr. Henry Hunter was quite thunderstruck at their skill,' +continued Darby, paying no attention to the interruption. Their tools +are bad: they are not to be called tools, compared to ours; but they +turn out finished work. Their decorative work is beautiful. Mr. Henry +Hunter put the question to them, whether they would like to come to +England and earn five-and-sixpence per day, instead of three shillings +as they do there, and they jumped at it. He told them that perhaps he +might be sending for them.' + +'Where did you bear that fine tale?' asked Slippery Sam?' + +'It's going about among us. I dare say you have heard it also, Shuck. +Mr. Henry was away somewhere for nine or ten days.' + +'Let 'em come, them Beljicks,' sneered Ryan. 'Maybe they'd go back with +their heads off. It couldn't take much to split the skull of them French +beggars.' + +'Not when an Irishman holds the stick,' cried Mrs. Quale, looking the +man steadily in the face, as she left the palings. + +Ryan watched her away, and resumed. 'How dare the masters think of +taking on forringers? Leaving us to starve!' + +'The preventing of it lies with us,' said Darby. 'If we go back to work, +there'll be no room for them.' + +'Listen, Darby,' rejoined Shuck, in a persuasive tone of confidence, +the latter in full force, now that his enemy, Mrs. Quale, had gone. 'The +bone of contention is the letting us work nine hours a day instead of +ten: well, why should they not accord it? Isn't there every reason why +they should? Isn't there men, outsiders, willing to work a full day's +work, but can't get it? This extra hour, thrown up by us, would give +employment to them. Would the masters be any the worse off?' + +'They say they'd be the hour's wages out of pocket.' + +'Flam!' ejaculated Sam. 'It would come out of the public's pocket, not +out of the masters'. They would add so much the more on to their +contracts, and nobody would be the worse. It's just a dogged feeling of +obstinacy that's upon 'em; it's nothing else. They'll come-to in the +end, if you men will only let them; they can't help doing it. Hold out, +hold out, Darby! If we are to give into them now, where has been the use +of this struggle? Haven't you waited for it, and starved for it, and +hoped for it?' + +'Very true,' replied Darby, feeling in a perplexing maze of indecision. + +'Don't give in, man, at the eleventh hour,' urged Shuck, with +affectionate eloquence: and to hear him you would have thought he had +nothing in the world at heart so much as the interest of Robert Darby. +'A little longer, and the victory will be ours. You see, it is not the +bare fact of your going back that does the mischief, it's the example it +sets. But for that scoundrel Baxendale's turning tail, you would not +have thought about it.' + +'I don't know that,' said Darby. + +'One bad sheep will spoil a flock,' continued Sam, puffing away at a +cigar which he was smoking. He would have enjoyed a pipe a great deal +more; but gentlemen smoked cigars, and Sam wanted to look as much like a +gentleman as he could; it had been suggested to him that it would add to +his power over the operatives. 'Why, Darby, we have got it all in our +own hands--if you men could but be brought to see it. It's as plain as +the nose before you. Us, builders, taking us in all our branches, might +be the most united and prosperous body of men in the world. Only let us +pull together, and have consideration for our fellows, and put away +selfishness. Binding ourselves to work on an equality, nine hours a day +being the limit; eight, perhaps, after a while----' + +'It's a good thing you have not got much of an audience here, Sam Shuck! +That doctrine of yours is false and pernicious; its in opposition to the +laws of God and man.' The interruption proceeded from Dr. Bevary. He had +come into the garden unperceived by Sam, who was lounging on the side +palings, his back to the gate. The doctor was on his way to pay a visit +to Mary Baxendale. Sam started up. 'What did you say, sir?' + +'What did I say!' repeated Dr. Bevary. 'I think it should be, what did +you say? You would dare to circumscribe the means of usefulness God has +given to man--to set a limit to his talents and his labour! You would +say, "So far shall you work, and no farther!" Who are you, and all such +as you, that you should assume such power, and set yourselves up between +your fellow-men and their responsibilities?' + +'Hear, hear,' interrupted Mrs. Quale, putting her head out at her +window--for she had gone indoors. 'Give him a bit of truth, sir.' + +'I have been a hard worker for years,' continued Dr. Bevary, paying no +attention, it must be confessed, to Mrs. Quale. 'Mentally and +practically I have toiled--_toiled_, Sam Shuck--to improve and make use +of the talents entrusted to me. My days are spent in alleviating, so far +as may be, the sufferings of my fellow-creatures; when I go to rest, I +often lie awake half the night, pondering difficult questions of medical +science. What man living has God endowed with power to come and say to +me, "You shall not do this; you shall only work half your hours; you +shall only earn a limited amount of fees?" Answer me.' + +'It's not a parallel case, sir, with ours,' returned Sam. + +'It is a parallel case,' said Dr. Bevary. 'There's your friend next +door, Peter Quale; take him. By diligence he has made himself into a +finished artizan; by dint of industry in working over hours, he is +amassing a competence that will keep him out of the workhouse in his old +age. What reason or principle of justice can there be in your saying, +"He shall not do this; he shall receive no more than I do, or than Ryan, +there, does? Because Ryan is an inferior workman, and I love idleness +and drink and agitation better than work, Quale and others shall not +work to have an advantage over us; we will share and fare alike." Out +upon you, Slippery Sam, for promulgating doctrines so false! You must be +the incarnation of selfishness, or you could not do it. If ever they +obtain sway in free and enlightened England, the independence of the +workman will be at an end.' The Doctor stepped in to Shuck's house, on +his way to Mary Baxendale, leaving Sam on the gravel. Sam put his arm +within Darby's, and led him down the street, out of the Doctor's way, +who would be coming forth again presently. There he set himself to undo +what the Doctor's words had done, and to breathe persuasive arguments +into Darby's ear. Later, Darby went home. It had grown dusk then, for +Sam had treated him to a glass at the Bricklayers' Arms, where sundry +other friends were taking their glasses. There appeared to be a +commotion in his house as he entered; his wife, Grace, and the young +ones were standing round Willy. + +'He has had another fainting fit,' said Mrs. Darby to her husband, in +explanation. 'And now--I declare illness is the strangest thing!--he +says he is hungry.' The child put out his hot hand. 'Father!' Robert +Darby advanced and took it. 'Be you better, dear? What ails you this +evening?' + +'Father,' whispered the child, hopefully, 'have you got the work?' + +'When do you begin, Robert?' asked the wife. 'To-morrow?' + +Darby's eyes fell, and his face clouded. 'I can't ask for it; I can't go +back to work,' he answered. 'The society won't let me.' + +A great cry. A cry from the mother, from Grace, from the poor little +child. Hope, sprung up once more within them, had been illumining the +past few hours. 'You shall soon have food; father's going to work again, +darlings,' the mother had said to the hungry little ones. And now the +hopes were dashed! The disappointment was hard to bear. 'Is he to _die_ +of hunger?' exclaimed Mrs. Darby, in bitterness, pointing to Willy. 'You +said you would work for him.' + +'So I would, if they'd let me. I'd work the life out of me, but what I'd +get a crust for ye all; but the Trades' Union won't have it,' panted +Darby, his breath short with excitement. 'What am I to do?' + +'Work without the Trades' Union, father,' interposed Grace, taking +courage to speak. She had always been a favourite with her father. +'Baxendale has done it.' + +'They are threatening Baxendale awfully,' he answered. 'But it is not +that I'd care for; it's this. The society would put a mark upon me: I +should be a banned man: and when this struggle's over, they say I should +be let get work by neither masters nor men. My tools are in pledge, +too,' he added, as if that climax must end the contest. + +Mrs. Darby threw her apron over her eyes and burst into tears; Grace was +already crying silently, and the boy had his imploring little hands held +up. 'Robert, they are your own children!' said the wife, meekly. 'I +never thought you'd see them starve.' + +Another minute, and the man would have cried with them. He went out of +doors, perhaps to sob his emotion away. Two or three steps down the +street he encountered John Baxendale. The latter slipped five shillings +into his hand. Darby would have put it back again. + +'Tut, man; don't be squeamish. Take it for the children. You'd do as +much for mine, if you had got it and I hadn't. Mary and I have been +talking about you. She heard you having an argument with that snake, +Shuck.' + +'They be starving, Baxendale, or I wouldn't take it,' returned the man, +the tears running down his pinched face. 'I'll pay you back with the +first work I get. You call Shuck a snake; do you think he is one?' + +'I'm sure of it,' said Baxendale. 'I don't know that he means ill, but +can't you see the temptation it is?--all this distress and agitation +that's ruining us, is making a gentleman of him. He and the other agents +are living on the fat of the land, as Quale's wife calls it, and doing +nothing for their pay, except keeping up the agitation. If we all went +to work again quietly, where would they be? Why, they'd have to go to +work also, for their pay must cease. Darby, I think the eyes of you +union men must be blinded, not to see this.' + +'It seems plain enough to me at times,' assented Darby. 'I say, +Baxendale,' he added, wishing to speak a word of warning to his friend +ere he turned away, 'have a care of yourself; they are going on again +you at a fine rate.' + +Come what would, Darby determined to furnish a home meal with this +relief, which seemed like a very help from heaven. He bought two pounds +of beef, a pound of cheese, some tea, some sugar, two loaves of bread, +and a lemon to make drink for Willy. Turning home with these various +treasures, he became aware that a bustle had arisen in the street. Men +and women were pressing down towards one particular spot. Tongues were +busy; but he could not at first obtain an insight into the cause of the +commotion. + +'An obnoxious man had been set upon in a lonely corner, under cover of +the night's darkness, and pitched into,' was at length explained. +'Beaten to death.' Away flew Darby, a horrible suspicion at his heart. +Pushing his way amidst the crowd collected round the spot, as only a +resolute man can do, he stood face to face with the sight. One, trampled +on and beaten, lay in the dust, his face covered with blood. + +'Is it Baxendale?' shouted Darby, for he was unable to recognise him. + +'It's Baxendale, as sure as a trivet. Who else should it be? He have +caught it at last.' + +But there were pitying faces around. Humanity revolted at the sight; and +quiet, inoffensive John Baxendale, had ever been liked in Daffodil's +Delight. Robert Darby, his voice rising to a shriek with emotion, held +out his armful of provisions. + +'Look here! I wanted to work, but the Union won't let me. My wife and +children be a starving at home, one of them dying: I came out, for I +couldn't bear to stop indoors in the misery. There I met a friend--it +seemed to me more like an angel--and he gave me money to feed my +children; made me take it; he said if I had money and he had not, I'd +do as much for him. See what I bought with it: I was carrying it home +for my poor children when this cry arose. Friends, the one to give it me +was Baxendale. And you have murdered him!' Another great cry, even as +Darby concluded, arose to break the deep stillness. No stillness is so +deep as that caused by emotion. + +'He is not dead!' shouted the crowd. 'See! he is stirring! Who could +have done this!' + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +A GLOOMY CHAPTER. + + +The winter had come in, intensely hard. Frost and snow lay early upon +the ground. Was that infliction in store--a bitter winter--to be added +to the already fearful distress existing in this dense metropolis? The +men held out from work, and the condition of their families was +something sad to look upon. Distress of a different nature existed in +the house of Mr. Hunter. It was a house of sorrow; for its mistress lay +dying. The spark of life had long been flickering, and now its time to +depart had come. Haggard, worn, pale, stood Mr. Hunter in his +drawing-room. He was conversing with his brother Henry. Their topic was +business. In spite of existing domestic woes, men of business cannot +long forget their daily occupation. Mr. Henry Hunter had come in to +inquire news of his sister-in-law, and the conversation insensibly +turned on other matters. + +'Of course I shall weather it,' Mr. Henry was saying, in answer to a +question. 'It will be a fearful loss, with so much money out, and +buildings in process standing still. Did it last very much longer, I +hardly know that I could. And you, James?' Mr. Hunter evaded the +question. Since the time, years back, when they had dissolved +partnership, he had shunned all allusion to his own prosperity, or +non-prosperity, with his brother. Possibly he feared that it might lead +to that other subject--the mysterious paying away of the five thousand +pounds. + +'For my part, I do not feel so sure of the strike's being near its end,' +he remarked. + +'I have positive information that the eligibility of withdrawing the +strike at the Messrs. Pollocks' has been mooted by the central committee +of the Union,' said Mr. Henry. 'If nothing else has brought the men to +their senses, this weather must do it. It will end as nearly all strikes +have ended--in their resuming work upon our terms.' + +'But what an incalculable amount of suffering they have brought upon +themselves!' exclaimed Mr. Hunter. 'I do not see what is to become of +them, either, in future. How are they all to find work again? We shall +not turn off the stranger men who have worked for us in this emergency, +to make room for them.' + +'No, indeed,' replied Mr. Henry. 'And those strangers amount to nearly +half my complement of hands. Do you recollect a fellow of the name of +Moody?' + +'Of course I do. I met him the other day, looking like a walking +skeleton. I asked him whether he was not tired of the strike. He said +_he_ had been tired of it long ago; but the Union would not let him be.' + +'He hung himself yesterday.' + +Mr. Hunter replied only by a gesture. + +'And left a written paper behind him, cursing the strike and the Trades' +Unions, which had brought ruin upon him and his family. 'I saw the +paper,' continued Mr. Henry. 'A decent, quiet man he was; but timorous, +and easily led away.' + +'Is he dead?' + +'He had been dead two hours when he was found. He hung himself in that +shed at the back of Dunn's house, where the men held some meetings in +the commencement of the strike. I wonder how many more souls this +wretched state of affairs will send, or has sent, out of the world!' + +'Hundreds, directly or indirectly. The children are dying off quickly, +as the Registrar-General's returns show. A period of prolonged distress +always tells upon the children. And upon us also, I think,' Mr. Hunter +added, with a sigh. + +'Upon us in a degree,' Mr. Henry assented, somewhat carelessly. He was a +man of substance; and, upon such, the ill effects fall lightly. 'When +the masters act in combination, as we have done, it is not the men who +can do us permanent injury. They must give in, before great harm has +had time to come. James, I saw that man this morning: your _bête noire_, +as I call him. Mr. Hunter changed countenance. He could not be ignorant +that his brother alluded to Gwinn of Ketterford. It happened that Mr. +Henry Hunter had been cognisant of one or two of the unpleasant visits +forced by the man upon his brother during the last few years. But Mr. +Henry had avoided questions: he had the tact to perceive that they would +only go unanswered, and be deemed unpleasant into the bargain. + +'I met him near your yard. Perhaps he was going in there.' + +The sound of the muffled knocker, announcing a visitor, was heard the +moment after Mr. Henry spoke, and Mr. Hunter started as though struck by +a pistol-shot. At a calmer time he might have had more command over +himself; but the sudden announcement of the presence of the man in +town--which fact he had not been cognisant of--had startled him to +tremor. That Gwinn, and nobody else, was knocking for admittance, seemed +a certainty to his shattered nerves. 'I cannot see him: I cannot see +him!' he exclaimed, in agitation; and he backed away from the room door, +unconscious what he did in his confused fear, his lips blanching to a +deadly whiteness. + +Mr. Henry moved up and took his hand. 'James, there has been +estrangement between us on this point for years. As I asked you once +before, I now ask you again: confide in me and let me help you. Whatever +the dreadful secret may be, you shall find me your true brother.' + +'Hush!' breathed Mr. Hunter, moving from his brother in his scared +alarm. 'Dreadful secret! who says it? There is no dreadful secret. Oh +Henry! hush! hush! The man is coming in! You must leave us.' Not the +dreaded Gwinn, but Austin Clay. He was the one who entered. Mr. Hunter +sat down, breathing heavily, the blood coming back to his face; he +nearly fainted in the revulsion of feeling brought by the relief. Broken +in spirit, health and nerves alike shattered, the slightest thing was +now sufficient to agitate him. + +'You are ill, sir!' exclaimed Austin, advancing with concern. + +'No--no--I am not ill. A momentary spasm; that's all. I am subject to +it.' + +Mr. Henry moved to the door in vexation. There was to be no more +brotherly confidence between them now than there had formerly been. He +spoke as he went, without turning round. 'I will come in again +by-and-by, James, and see how Louisa is.' + +The departure seemed a positive relief to Mr. Hunter. He spoke quietly +enough to Austin Clay. 'Who has been at the office to-day?' + +'Let me see,' returned Austin, with a purposed carelessness. 'Lyall +came, and Thompson----' + +'Not men on business, not men on business,' Mr. Hunter interrupted with +feverish eagerness. 'Strangers.' + +'Gwinn of Ketterford,' answered Austin, with the same assumption of +carelessness. 'He came twice. No other strangers have called, I think.' + +Whether his brother's request, that he should be enlightened as to the +'dreadful secret,' had rendered Mr. Hunter suspicious that others might +surmise there was a secret, certain it is that he looked up sharply as +Austin spoke, keenly regarding his countenance, noting the sound of his +voice. 'What did he want?' + +'He wanted you, sir. I said you were not to be seen. I let him suppose +that you were too ill to be seen. Bailey, who was in the counting-house +at the time, gave him the gratuitous information that Mrs. Hunter was +very ill--in danger.' + +Why this answer should have increased Mr. Hunter's suspicions, he best +knew. He rose from his seat, grasped Austin's arm, and spoke with +menace. 'You have been prying into my affairs! You sought out those +Gwinns when you last went to Ketterford! You----' + +Austin withdrew from the grasp, and stood before his master, calm and +upright. 'Mr. Hunter!' + +'Was it not so?' + +'No, sir. I thought you had known me better. I should be the last to +"pry" into anything that you might wish to keep secret.' + +'Austin, I am not myself to-day, I am not myself,' cried the poor +gentleman, feeling how unjustifiable had been his suspicions. 'This +grief, induced by the state of Mrs. Hunter, unmans me.' + +'How is she, sir, by this time?' + +'Calm and collected, but sinking fast. You must go up and see her. She +said she should like to bid you farewell.' Through the warm corridors, +so well protected from the bitter cold reigning without, Austin was +conducted to the room of Mrs. Hunter. Florence, her eyes swollen with +weeping, quitted it as he entered. She lay in bed, her pale face raised +upon pillows; save for that pale face and the laboured breathing, you +would not have suspected the closing scene to be so near. She lifted her +feeble hand and made prisoner of Austin's. The tears gathered in his +eyes as he looked down upon her. + +'Not for me, dear Austin,' she whispered, as she noted the signs of +sorrow. 'Weep rather for those who are left to battle yet with this sad +world.' The words caused Austin to wonder whether she could have become +cognisant of the nature of Mr. Hunter's long-continued trouble. He +swallowed down the emotion that was rising in his throat. + +'Do you feel no better?' he gently inquired. + +'I feel well, save for the weakness. All pain has left me. Austin, I +shall be glad to go. I have only one regret, the leaving Florence. My +husband will not be long after me; I read it in his face.' + +'Dear Mrs. Hunter, will you allow me to say a word to you on the subject +of Florence?' he breathed, seizing on the swiftly-passing opportunity. +'I have wished to do it before we finally part.' + +'Say what you will.' + +'Should time and perseverance on my part be crowned with success, so +that the prejudices of Mr. Hunter become subdued, and I succeed in +winning Florence, will you not say that you bless our union?' + +Mrs. Hunter paused. 'Are we quite alone?' she asked. Austin glanced +round to the closed door. 'Quite,' he answered. + +'Then, Austin, I will say more. My hearty consent and blessing be upon +you both, if you can, indeed, subdue the objection of Mr. Hunter. Not +otherwise: you understand that.' + +'Without her father's consent, I am sure that Florence would not give me +hers. Have you any idea in what that objection lies?' + +'I have not. Mr. Hunter is not a man who will submit to be questioned, +even by me. But, Austin, I cannot help thinking that this objection to +you may fade away--for, that he likes and esteems you greatly, I know. +Should that time come, then tell him that I loved you--that I wished +Florence to become your wife--that I prayed God to bless the union. And +then tell Florence.' + +'Will you not tell her yourself?' + +Mrs. Hunter made a feeble gesture of denial. 'It would seem like an +encouragement to dispute the decision of her father. Austin, will you +say farewell, and send my husband to me? I am growing faint.' He clasped +her attenuated hands in both his; he bent down, and kissed her forehead. +Mrs. Hunter held him to her. 'Cherish and love her always, should she +become yours,' was the feeble whisper. 'And come to me, come to me, both +of you, in eternity.' + +A moment or two in the corridor to compose himself, and Austin met Mr. +Hunter on the stairs, and gave him the message. 'How is Baxendale?' Mr. +Hunter stayed to ask. + +'A trifle better. Not yet out of danger.' + +'You take care to give him the allowance weekly?' + +'Of course I do, sir. It is due to-night, and I am going to take it to +him.' + +'Will he ever be fit for work again?'--'I hope so.' + +Another word or two on the subject of Baxendale, the attack on whom Mr. +Hunter most bitterly resented, and Austin departed. Mr. Hunter entered +his wife's chamber. Florence, who was also entering, Mrs. Hunter feebly +waved away. 'I would be a moment alone with your father, my child. +James,' Mrs. Hunter said to her husband, as Florence retired--but her +voice was now so reduced that he had to bend his ear to catch the +sounds--'there has been estrangement between us on one point for many +years: and it seems--I know not why--to be haunting my death-bed. Will +you not, in this my last hour, tell me its cause?' + +'It would not give you peace, Louisa. It concerns myself alone.' + +'Whatever the secret may be, it has been wearing your life out. I ought +to know it.' + +Mr. Hunter bent lower. 'My dear wife, it would not bring you peace, I +say. I contracted an obligation in my youth,' he whispered, in answer to +the yearning glance thrown up to him, 'and I have had to pay it off--one +sum after another, one after another, until it has nearly drained me. It +will soon be at an end now.' + +'Is it nearly paid?'--'Ay. All but.' + +'But why not have told me this? It would have saved me many a troubled +hour. Suspense, when fancy is at work, is hard to bear. And you, James: +why should simple debt, if it is that, have worked so terrible a fear +upon you?' + +'I did not know that I could stave it off: looking back, I wonder that I +did do it. I could have borne ruin for myself: I could not, for you.' + +'Oh, James!' she fondly said, 'should I have been less brave? While you +and Florence were spared to me, ruin might have done its worst.' Mr. +Hunter turned his face away: strangely wrung and haggard it looked just +then. 'What a mercy that it is over!' + +'All but, I said,' he interrupted. And the words seemed to burst from +him in an uncontrollable impulse, in spite of himself. + +'It is the only thing that has marred our life's peace, James. I shall +soon be at rest. Perfect peace! perfect happiness! May all we have loved +be there! I can see----' + +The words had been spoken disjointedly, in the faintest whisper, and, +with the last one died away. She laid her head upon her husband's arm, +and seemed as if she would sleep. He did not disturb her: he remained +buried in his own thoughts. A short while, and Florence was heard at the +door. Dr. Bevary was there. + +'You can come in,' called out Mr. Hunter. + +They approached the bed. Florence saw a change in her mother's face, and +uttered an exclamation of alarm. The physician's practised eye detected +what had happened: he made a sign to the nurse who had followed him in, +and the woman went forth to carry the news to the household. Mr. Hunter +alone was calm. + +'Thank God!' was his strange ejaculation. + +'Oh, papa! papa! it is death!' sobbed Florence, in her distress. 'Do you +not see that it is death?' + +'Thank God also, Florence,' solemnly said Dr. Bevary. 'She is better +off.' + +Florence sobbed wildly. The words sounded to her ears needlessly +cruel--out of place. Mr. Hunter bent his face on that of the dead, with +a long, fervent kiss. 'My wronged wife!' he mentally uttered. Dr. Bevary +followed him as he left the room. + +'James Hunter, it had been a mercy for you had she been taken years +ago.' + +Mr. Hunter lifted his hands as if beating off the words, and his face +turned white. 'Be still! be still! what can _you_ know?' + +'I know as much as you,' said Dr. Bevary, in a tone which, low though it +was, seemed to penetrate to the very marrow of the unhappy man. 'The +knowledge has disturbed my peace by day, and my rest by night. What, +then, must it have done by yours?' + +James Hunter, his hands held up still to shade his face, and his head +down, turned away. 'It was the fault of another,' he wailed, 'and I have +borne the punishment.' + +'Ay,' said Dr. Bevary, 'or you would have had my reproaches long ago. +Hark! whose voice is that?' It was one known only too well to Mr. +Hunter. He cowered for a moment, as he had hitherto had terrible cause +to do: the next, he raised his head, and shook off the fear. + +'I can dare him now,' he bravely said, turning to the stairs with a +cleared countenance, to meet Gwinn of Ketterford. + +He had obtained entrance in this way. The servants were closing up the +windows of the house, and one of them had gone outside to tell the +gossiping servant of a neighbour that their good lady and ever kind +mistress was dead, when the lawyer arrived. He saw what was being done, +and drew his own conclusions. Nevertheless, he desisted not from the +visit he had come to pay. + +'I wish to see Mr. Hunter,' he said, while the door stood open. + +'I do not think you can see him now, sir,' was the reply of the servant. +'My master is in great affliction.' + +'Your mistress is dead, I suppose.'--'Just dead.' + +'Well, I shall not detain Mr. Hunter many minutes,' rejoined Gwinn, +pushing his way into the hall. 'I must see him.' + +The servant hesitated. But his master's voice was heard. 'You can admit +that person, Richard.' + +The man opened the door of the front room. It was in darkness; the +shutters were closed; so he turned to the door of the other, and showed +the guest in. The soft perfume from the odoriferous plants in the +conservatory was wafted to the senses of Gwinn of Ketterford as he +entered. 'Why do you seek me here?' demanded Mr. Hunter when he +appeared. 'Is it a fitting time and place?' + +'A court of law might perhaps be more fit,' insolently returned the +lawyer. 'Why did you not remit the money, according to promise, and so +obviate the necessity of my coming?' + +'Because I shall remit no more money. Not another farthing, or the value +of one, shall you ever obtain of me. If I have submitted to your ruinous +and swindling demands, you know why I have done it----' + +'Stop!' interrupted Mr. Gwinn. 'You have had your money's +worth--silence.' + +Mr. Hunter was deeply agitated. 'As the breath went out of my wife's +body, I thanked God that He had taken her--that she was removed from the +wicked machinations of you and yours. But for the bitter wrong dealt out +to me by your wicked sister Agatha, I should have mourned for her with +regrets and tears. You have made my life into a curse: I purchased your +silence that you should not render hers one. The fear and the thraldom +are alike over.' + +Mr. Gwinn laughed significantly. 'Your daughter lives.' + +'She does. In saying that I will make her cognisant of this, rather than +supply you with another sixpence, you may judge how firm is my +determination.' + +'It will be startling news for her.' + +'It will: should it come to the telling. Better that she hear it, and +make the best and the worst of it, than that I should reduce her to +utter poverty--and your demands, supplied, would do that. The news will +not kill her--as it might have killed her mother.' + +Did Lawyer Gwinn feel baffled? For a minute or two he seemed to be at a +loss for words. 'I will have money,' he exclaimed at length. 'You have +tried to stand out against it before now.' + +'Man! do you know that I am on the brink of ruin?' uttered Mr. Hunter, +in deep excitement, 'and that it is you who have brought me to it?' But +for the money supplied to you, I could have weathered successfully this +contest with my workmen, as my brother and others are weathering it. If +you have any further claim against me,' he added in a spirit of mocking +bitterness, 'bring it against my bankruptcy, for that is looming near.' + +'I will not stir from your house without a cheque for the money.' + +'This house is sanctified by the presence of the dead,' reverently spoke +Mr. Hunter. 'To have any disturbance in it would be most unseemly. Do +not force me to call in a policeman.' + +'As a policeman was once called into you, in the years gone by,' Lawyer +Gwinn was beginning with a sneer: but Mr. Hunter raised his voice and +his hand. + +'Be still! Coward as I have been, in one sense, in yielding to your +terms, I have never been coward enough to permit _you_ to allude, in my +presence, to the past. I never will. Go from my house quietly, sir: and +do not attempt to re-enter it.' + +Mr. Hunter broke from the man--for Gwinn made an effort to detain +him--opened the door, and called to the servant, who came forward. + +'Show this person to the door, Richard.' + +An instant's hesitation with himself whether it should be compliance or +resistance, and Gwinn of Ketterford went forth. + +'Richard,' said Mr. Hunter, as the servant closed the hall-door.--'Sir?' + +'Should that man ever come here again, do not admit him. And if he shows +himself troublesome, call a policeman to your aid.' And then Mr. Hunter +shut himself in the room, and burst into heavy tears, such as are rarely +shed by man. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE LITTLE BOY AT REST. + + +No clue whatever had been obtained to the assailants of John Baxendale. +The chief injury lay in the ribs. Two or three of them were broken: the +head was also much bruised and cut. He had been taken into his own home +and there attended to: it was nearer than the hospital: though the +latter would have been the better place. Time had gone on since, and he +was now out of danger. Never would John Baxendale talk of the harshness +of masters again--though, indeed, he never much talked of it. The moment +Mr. Hunter heard of the assault, he sent round his own surgeon, directed +Austin to give Baxendale a sovereign weekly, and caused strengthening +delicacies to be served from his own house. And that was the same man +whom you heard forbidding his wife and daughter to forward aid to +Darby's starving children. Yes; but Mr. Hunter denied the aid upon +principle: Darby would not work. It pleased him far more to accord it to +Baxendale than to deny it to Darby: the one course gladdened his heart, +the other pained it. The surgeon who attended was a particular friend of +Dr. Bevary's, and the Doctor, in his quaint, easy manner, contrived to +let Baxendale know that there would be no bill for him to pay. + +It was late when Austin reached Baxendale's room the evening of Mrs. +Hunter's death. Tidings of which had already gone abroad. 'Oh, sir,' +uttered the invalid, straining his eyes on him from the sick-bed, before +Austin had well entered, 'is the news true?' + +'It is,' sadly replied Austin. 'She died this afternoon.' + +'It is a good lady gone from among us. Does the master take on much?' + +'I have not seen him since. Death came on, I believe, rather suddenly at +the last.' + +'Poor Mrs. Hunter!' wailed Baxendale. 'Hers is not the only spirit that +is this evening on the wing,' he added, after a pause. 'That boy of +Darby's is going, Mary'--looking on the bright sovereign put into his +hands by Austin--'suppose you get this changed, and go down there and +take 'em a couple of shillings? It's hard to have a cupboard quite empty +when death's a visitor.' + +Mary came up from the far end of the room, and put on her shawl with +alacrity. She looked but a shadow herself. Austin wondered how Mr. +Hunter would approve of any of his shillings finding their way to +Darby's; but he said nothing against it. But for the strongly expressed +sentiments of Mr. Hunter, Austin would have given away right and left, +to relieve the distress around him: although, put him upon principle, +and he agreed fully with Mr. Hunter. Mary got change for the sovereign, +and took possession of a couple of shillings. It was a bitterly cold +evening; but she was well wrapped up. Though not permanently better, +Mary was feeling stronger of late: in her simple faith, she believed God +had mercifully spared her for a short while, that she might nurse her +father. She knew, just as well as did Dr. Bevary, that it would not be +for long. As she went along she met Mrs. Quale. + +'The child is gone,' said the latter, hearing where Mary was going. + +'Poor child! Is he really dead?' + +Mrs. Quale nodded. Few things upset her equanimity. 'And I am keeping my +eyes open to look out for Darby,' she added. 'His wife asked me if I +would. She is afraid'--dropping her voice--'that he may do something +rash.' + +'Why?' breathed Mary, in a tone of horror, understanding the allusion. + +'Why!' vehemently repeated Mrs. Quale; 'why, because he reflects upon +himself--that's why. When he saw that the breath was really gone out of +the poor little body--and that's not five minutes ago--he broke out like +one mad. Them quiet natures in ordinary be always the worst if they get +upset; though it takes a good deal to do it. He blamed himself, saying +that if he had been in work, and able to get proper food for the boy, +it would not have happened; and he cursed the Trades Unions for +misleading him, and bringing him to what he is. There's many another +cursing the Unions on this inclement night, or my name's not Nancy +Quale.' She turned back with Mary, and they entered the home of the +Darbys. Grace, unable to get another situation, partly through the +baker's wife refusing her a character, partly because her clothes were +in pledge, looked worn and thin, as she stood trying to hush the +youngest child, then crying fretfully. Mrs. Darby sat in front of the +small bit of fire, the dead boy on her knees, pressed to her still, just +as Mrs. Quale had left her. + +'He won't hunger any more,' she said, lifting her face to Mary, the hot +tears running from it. + +Mary stooped and kissed the little cold face. 'Don't grieve,' she +murmured. 'It would be well for us all if we were as happy as he.' + +'Go and speak to him,' whispered the mother to Mrs. Quale, pointing to a +back door, which led to a sort of open scullery. 'He has come in, and is +gone out there.' + +Leaning against the wall, in the cold moonlight, stood Robert Darby. +Mrs. Quale was not very good at consolation: finding fault was more in +her line. 'Come, Darby, don't take on so: it won't do no good,' was the +best she could say. 'Be a man.' He seized hold of her, his shaking hands +trembling, while he spoke bitter words against the Trades Unions. 'Don't +speak so, Robert Darby,' was the rejoinder of Mrs. Quale. 'You are not +obliged to join the Trades' Unions; therefore there's no need to curse +'em. If you and others kept aloof from them, they'd soon die away.' + +'They have proved a curse to me and mine'--and the man's voice rose to a +shriek, in his violent emotion. 'But for them, I should have been at +work long ago.' + +'Then I'd go to work at once, if it was me, and put the curse from me +that way,' concluded Mrs. Quale. + +With the death of the child, things had come to so low an ebb in the +Darby household, as to cause sundry kind gossipers to suggest, and to +spread the suggestion as a fact, that the parish would have the honour +of conducting the interment. Darby would have sold himself first. He was +at Mr. Hunter's yard on the following morning before daylight, and the +instant the gates were opened presented himself to the foreman as a +candidate for work. That functionary would not treat with him. 'We have +had so many of you old hands just coming on for a day or two, and then +withdrawing again, through orders of the society, or through getting +frightened at being threatened, that Mr. Clay said I was to take back no +more shilly-shallyers.' + +'Try me!' feverishly cried Darby. 'I will not go from it again.' + +'No,' said the foreman. 'You can speak to Mr. Clay.' + +'Darby,' said Austin, when the man appeared before him, 'will you pass +your word to me to remain? Here men come; they sign the document, they +have work assigned them; and in a day or so, I hear that they have left +again. It causes no end of confusion to us, for work to be taken up and +laid down in that way.' + +'Take me on, and try me, sir. I'll stick to it as long as there's a +stroke of work to do--unless they tread me to pieces as they did +Baxendale. I never was cordial for the society, sir. I obeyed it, and +yet a doubt was always upon me whether I might not be doing wrong. I am +sure of it now. The society has worked harm to me and mine, and I will +never belong to it again.' + +'Others have said as much of the society, and have returned to it the +next day,' remarked Mr. Clay. + +'Perhaps so, sir. They hadn't seen one of their children die, that +they'd have laid down their own lives to save--but that they had not +_worked_ to save. I have. Take me on, sir! He can't be buried till I +have earned the wherewithal to pay for it. I'll stand to my work from +henceforth--over hours, if I can get it.' + +Austin wrote a word on a card, and desired Darby to carry it to the +foreman. 'You can go to work at once,' he said. + +'I'll take work too, sir, if I can get it,' exclaimed another man, who +had come up in time to hear Austin's last words. + +'What! is it you, Abel White?' exclaimed Austin, with a half-laugh. 'I +thought you made a boast that if the whole lot of hands came back to +work, you never would, except upon your own terms.' + +'So I did, sir. But when I find I have been in the wrong, I am not above +owning it,' was the man's reply, who looked in a far better physical +condition than the pinched, half-starved Darby. 'I could hold out +longer, sir, without much inconvenience; leastways, with a deal less +inconvenience than some of them could, for I and father belong to one or +two provident clubs, and they have helped us weekly, and my wife and +daughters don't do amiss at their umbrella work. But I have come over to +my old father's views at last; and I have made my mind up, as he did +long ago, never to be a Union man again--unless the masters should turn +round and make themselves into a body of tyrants; I don't know what I +might do then. But there's not much danger of that--as father says--in +these go-a-head days. You'll give me work, sir?' + +'Upon certain conditions,' replied Austin. And he sat down and proceeded +to talk to the man. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET. + + +Daffodil's Delight and its environs were in a state of bustle--of public +excitement, as may be said. Daffodil's Delight, however low its +condition might be, never failed to seize hold upon any possible event, +whether of a general public nature, or of a private local nature, as an +excuse for getting up a little steam. On that cold winter's day, two +funerals were appointed to take place: the one, that of Mrs. Hunter; the +other, of little William Darby: and Daffodil's Delight, in spite of the +black frost, turned out in crowds to see. You could not have passed into +the square when the large funeral came forth so many had collected +there. It was a funeral of mutes and plumes and horses and trappings and +carriages and show. The nearer Mr. Hunter had grown to pecuniary +embarrassment, the more jealous was he to guard all suspicion of it from +the world. Hence the display: which the poor unconscious lady they were +attending would have been the first to shrink from. Mr. Hunter, his +brother, and Dr. Bevary were in the first mourning-coach: in the second, +with two of the sons of Henry Hunter, and another relative, sat Austin +Clay. And more followed. That took place in the morning. In the +afternoon, the coffin of the boy, covered by something black--but it +looked like old cloth instead of velvet--was brought out of Darby's +house upon men's shoulders. Part of the family followed, and pretty +nearly the whole of Daffodil's Delight brought up the rear. There it is, +moving slowly down the street. Not over slowly either; for there had +been a delay in some of the arrangements, and the clergyman must have +been waiting for half an hour. It was a week since Darby resumed work; a +long while to keep the child, but the season was winter. Darby had paid +part of the expense, and had been trusted for the rest. It arrived at +the burial place; and the little body was buried, there to remain until +the resurrection at the last day. As Darby stood over the grave, the +regret for his child was nearly lost sight of in that other and far more +bitter regret, the remorse of which was telling upon him. He had kept +the dead starving for months, when work was to be had for the asking! + +'Don't take on so,' whispered a neighbour, who knew his thoughts. 'If +you had gone back to work as soon as the yards were open, you'd only +have been set upon and half-killed, as Baxendale was.' + +'Then it would not, in that case, have been my fault if he had starved,' +returned Darby, with compressed lips. 'His poor hungry face 'll lie upon +my mind for ever.' + +The shades of evening were on Daffodil's Delight when the attendants of +the funeral returned, and Mr. Cox, the pawnbroker, was busily +transacting the business that the dusk hour always brought him. Even the +ladies and gentlemen of Daffodil's Delight, though they were common +sufferers, and all, or nearly all, required to pay visits to Mr. Cox, +imitated their betters in observing that peculiar reticence of manner +which custom has thrown around these delicate negotiations. The +character of their offerings had changed. In the first instance they had +chiefly consisted of ornaments, whether of the house or person, or of +superfluous articles of attire and of furniture. Then had come +necessaries: bedding, and heavier things; and then trifles--irons, +saucepans, frying-pans, gowns, coats, tools--anything; anything by which +a shilling could be obtained. And now had arrived the climax when there +was nothing more to take--nothing, at least, that Mr. Cox would +speculate upon. + +A woman went banging into the shop, and Mr. Cox recognised her for the +most troublesome of his customers--Mrs. Dunn. Of all the miserable +households in Daffodil's Delight, that of the Dunns' was about the +worst: but Mrs. Dunn's manners and temper were fiercer than ever. The +non-realization of her fond hope of good cheer and silk dresses was +looked upon as a private injury, and resented as such. See her as she +turns into the shop: her head, a mass of torn black cap and entangled +hair; her gown, a black stuff once, dirty now, hanging in jags, and +clinging round her with that peculiar cling which indicates that few, if +any, petticoats are underneath; her feet scuffling along in shoes tied +round the instep with white rag, to keep them on! As she was entering, +she encountered a poor woman named Jones, the wife of a carpenter, as +badly reduced as she was. Mrs. Jones held out a small blanket for her +inspection, and spoke with the tears running down her cheeks. +Apparently, her errand to Mr. Cox had been unsuccessful. + +'We have kept it till the last. We said we could not lie on the sack of +straw this awful weather, without the blanket to cover us. But to-day we +haven't got a crumb in the house, or a ember in the grate; and Jones +said, says he, "There ain't no help for it, you must pledge it."' + +'And Cox won't take it in?' shrilly responded Mrs. Dunn. The woman shook +her head, and the tears fell fast on her thin cotton shawl, as she +walked away. 'He says the moths has got into it.' + +'A pity but the moths had got into him! his eyes is sharper than they +need be,' shrieked Mrs. Dunn. 'Here, Cox,' dashing up to the counter, +and flinging on it a pair of boots, 'I want three shillings on them.' + +Mr. Cox took up the offered pledge--a thin pair of woman's boots, black +cloth, with leather tips; new, they had probably cost five shillings, +but they were now considerably the worse for wear. 'What is the use of +bringing these old things?' remonstrated Mr. Cox. 'They are worth +nothing.' + +'Everything's worth nothing, according to you,' retorted Mrs. Dunn. +'Come! I want three shillings on them.' + +'I wouldn't lend you eighteen-pence. They'd not fetch it at an auction.' + +Mrs. Dunn would have very much liked to fling the boots in his face. +After some dispute, she condescended to ask what he would give. 'I'll +lend a shilling, as you are a customer, just to oblige you. But I don't +care to take them in at all.' More dispute; and she brought her demand +down to eighteen-pence. 'Not a penny more than a shilling,' was the +decisive reply. 'I tell you they are not worth that, to me.' The boots +were at length left, and the shilling taken. Mrs. Dunn solaced herself +with a pint of half-and-half in a beer-shop, and went home with the +change. + +Upon no home had the strike acted with worse effects than upon that of +the Dunns: and we are not speaking now as to pecuniary matters. _They_ +were just as bad as they could be. Irregularity had prevailed in it at +the best of times; quarrelling and contention often; embarrassment, the +result of bad management, frequently. Upon such a home, distress, long +continued bitter distress, was not likely to work for good. The father +and a grown-up son were out of work; and the Misses Dunn were also +without employment. Their patronesses, almost without exception, +consisted of the ladies of Daffodil's Delight, and, as may be readily +conjectured, they had no funds just now to expend upon gowns and their +making. Not only this: there was, from one party or another, a good bit +of money owing to the sisters for past work, and this they could not +get. As a set-off to this--on the wrong side--_they_ were owing bills in +various directions for materials that had been long ago made up for +their customers, some of whom had paid them and some not. Any that had +not been paid before the strike came, remained unpaid still. The Miss +Dunns might just as well have asked for the moon as for money, owing or +not owing, from the distressed wives of Daffodil's Delight. So, there +they were, father, mother, sons, daughters, all debarred from earning +money; while all, with the younger children in addition, had to be kept. +It was wearying work, that forced idleness and that forced famine; and +it worked badly, especially on the girls. Quarrelling they were +accustomed to; embarrassment they did not mind; irregularity in domestic +affairs they had lived in all their lives; but they could not bear the +distress that had now come upon them. Added to this, the girls were +unpleasantly pressed for the settlement of the bills above alluded to. +Mrs. Quale had from the first recommended the two sisters to try for +situations: but when was advice well taken? They tossed their heads at +the idea of going out to service, thereby giving up their liberty and +their idleness. They said that it might prevent them getting together +again their business, when things should look up; they urged that they +were not fitted for service, knowing little of any sort of housework; +and, finally, they asked--and there was a great deal in the plea--how +they were to go out while the chief portion of their clothes was in +pledge. + +For the past few days certain mysterious movements on the part of Mary +Ann Dunn had given rise to some talk (the usual expression for gossiping +and scandal) in Daffodil's Delight. She had been almost continually out +from home, and when asked where, had evaded an answer. Ever ready, as +some people are, to put a bad construction upon things, it was not +wanting in this case. Tales were carried home to the father and mother, +and there had been a scene of attack and abuse, on Mary Ann's presenting +herself at home at mid-day. The girl had a fierce temper, inherited +probably from her mother; she returned abuse for abuse, and finally +rushed off in a passion, without having given any satisfactory defence +of herself. Dunn cared for his children after a fashion, and the fear +that the reports must be true, completely beat him down; cowed his +spirit, as he might have put it. Mrs. Dunn, on the contrary, ranted and +raved till she was hoarse; and then, being excessively thirsty, stole +off surreptitiously with the boots to Mr. Cox's, and so obtained a pint +of half-and-half. + +She returned home again, the delightful taste of it still in her mouth. +The room was stripped of all, save a few things, too old or too useless +for Mr. Cox to take; and, except for a little fire, it presented a +complete picture of poverty. The children lay on the boards crying; not +a loud cry, but a distressed moan. Very little, indeed, even of bread, +got those children; for James Dunn and his wife were too fond of beer, +to expend in much else the trifle allowed them by the Trades Union. +James Dunn had just come in. After the scene with his daughter, when he +had a little recovered himself, he went out to keep an appointment. Some +of the workmen, in a similarly distressed condition to himself, had been +that day to one of the police courts, hoping to obtain pecuniary help +from the magistrates. The result had been a complete failure, and Dunn +sat, moody and cross, upon a bench, his depression of spirit having +given place to a sort of savage anger; chiefly at his daughter Mary Ann, +partly at things altogether. The pint of half-and-half upon an empty +stomach had not tended to render Mrs. Dunn of a calmer temper. She +addressed him snappishly. 'What, you have come in! Have you got any +money?' Mr. Dunn made no reply; unless a growl that sounded rather +defiant constituted one. She returned to the charge. 'Have you got any +money, I ask? Or be you come home again with a empty pocket?' + +'No; father hasn't got none: they didn't get any good by going there,' +interposed Jemima Dunn, as though it were a satisfaction to tell out the +bad news, and who appeared to be looking in all sorts of corners and +places, as if in search of something. 'Ted Cheek told me, and he was one +of 'em that went. The magistrate said to the men that there was plenty +of work open for them if they liked to do it; and his opinion was, that +if they did not like to do it, they wanted punishment instead of +assistance.' + +'That's just my opinion,' returned Mrs. Dunn, with intense aggravation. +'There!' + +James Dunn broke out intemperately, with violent words. And then he +relapsed into his gloomy mood again. + +'I can't think what's gone with my boots,' exclaimed Jemima. + +'Mother took 'em out,' cried a little voice from the floor. + +'What's that, Jacky?' asked Jemima. + +'Mother took 'em out,' responded Jacky. + +The girl turned round, and stood still for a moment as if taking in the +sense of the words. Then she attacked her mother, anger flashing from +her eyes. 'If you have been and took 'em to the pawnshop, you shall +fetch 'em back. How dare you interfere with my things? Aren't they my +boots? Didn't I buy 'em with my own money?' + +'If you don't hold your tongue, I'll box your ears,' shrieked Mrs. Dunn, +with a look and gesture as menacing as her tone. 'Hold your tongue! hold +your tongue, I say, miss!' + +'I shan't hold my tongue,' responded Jemima, struggling between anger +and tears. 'I will have my boots! I want to go out, I do! and how can I +go barefoot?' + +'Want to go out, do you!' raved Mrs. Dunn. 'Perhaps you want to go and +follow your sister! The boots be at Cox's, and you may go there and get +'em. Now, then!' + +The words altogether were calculated to increase the ire of Jemima; +they did so in no measured degree. She and her mother commenced a mutual +contest of ranting abuse. It might have come to blows but for the +father's breaking into a storm of rage, so violent as to calm them, and +frighten the children. It almost seemed as if trouble had upset his +brain. + +Long continued hunger--the hunger that for weeks and months never gets +satisfied--will on occasion transform men and women into demons. In the +house of the Dunns, not only hunger but misery of all sorts reigned, and +this day seemed to have brought things to a climax. Added to the trouble +and doubt regarding Mary Ann, was the fear of a prison, Dunn having just +heard that he had been convicted in the Small Debts Court. Summonses had +been out against him, hopeless though it seemed to sue anybody so +helplessly poor. In truth, the man was overwhelmed with misery--as was +many another man in Daffodil's Delight--and did not know where to turn. +After this outburst, he sat down on the bench again, administering a +final threat to his wife for silence. Mrs. Dunn stood against the bare +wooden shelves of the dresser, her hair on end, her face scarlet, her +voice loud enough, in its shrieking sobs, to alarm all the neighbours; +altogether in a state of fury. Disregarding her husband's injunction for +silence, she broke out into reproaches. 'Was he a man, that he should +bring 'em to this state of starvation, and then turn round upon 'em with +threats? Wasn't she his wife? wasn't they his children? If _she_ was a +husband and father, she'd rather break stones till her arms rotted off, +but what she'd find 'em food! A lazy, idle, drunken object! There was +the masters' yards open, and why didn't he go to work? If a man cared +for his own family, he'd look to his interests, and set the Trades Union +at defiance. Was he a going to see 'em took off to the workhouse? When +his young ones lay dead, and she was in the poorhouse, then he'd fold +his hands and be content with his work. If the strike was to bring 'em +all this misery, what the plague business had he to join it? Couldn't he +have seen better? Let him go to work if he was a man, and bring home a +few coals, and a bit of bread, and get out a blanket or two from Cox's, +and her gownds and things, and Jemimar's boots----' + +Dunn, really a peacefully inclined man by nature, and whose own anger +had spent itself, let it go on to this point. He then stood up before +her, and with a clenched fist, but calm voice of suppressed meaning, +asked her what she meant. What, indeed! In the midst of Mrs. Dunn's +reproaches, how was it she did not cast a recollection to the past? To +her own eagerness, public and private, for the strike? how she had urged +her husband on to join it, boasting of the good times it was to bring +them? She could ignore all that now: perhaps really had almost forgotten +it. Anyway, her opinions had changed. Misery and disappointment will +subdue the fiercest obstinacy; and Mrs. Dunn, casting all the blame upon +her husband, would very much have liked to chastise him with hands as +well as tongue. + +Reader! if you think this is an overdrawn picture, go and lay it before +the wives of the workmen who suffered the miseries induced by the +strike, and ask them whether or not it is true. Ay, and it is only part +of the truth. + +'I wish the strike had been buried five-fathom deep, I do!' uttered +Dunn, with a catching up of the breath that told of the emotion he +strove to hide. 'It have been nothing but a curse to us all along. And +where's to be the ending?' + +'Who brought home all this misery but you?' recommenced Mrs. Dunn. 'Have +you done a day's work for weeks and months? No you haven't; you know you +haven't! You have just rowed in the same boat with them nasty lazy +Unionists, and let the work go a begging.' + +'Who edged me on to join the Unionists? who reproached me with being no +man, but a sneak, if I went to work and knuckled down to the masters?' +demanded Dunn, in his sore vexation. 'It was you! You know it was you! +You was fire-hot for the strike: worse than ever the men was.' + +'Can we starve?' said Mrs. Dunn, choking with passion. 'Can we drop into +our coffins with famine? Be our children to be drove, like Mary Ann----' +An interruption--fortunately. Mrs. Cheek came into the room with a +burst. She had a tongue also, on occasions. + +'Whatever has been going on here this last half hour?' she inquired in a +high voice. 'One would think murder was being committed. There's a +dozen listeners collected outside your shutters.' + +'She's a casting it in my teeth, now, for having joined the strike,' +exclaimed Dunn, indicating his wife. 'She! And she was the foremost to +edge us all on.' + +'Can one clam?' fiercely returned Mrs. Dunn, speaking at her husband, +not to him. 'Let him go to work.' + +'Don't be a fool, Hannah Dunn,' said Mrs. Cheek. 'I'd stand up for my +rights till I dropped: and so must the men. It'll never do to bend to +the will of the masters at last. There's enough men turning tail and +going back, without the rest doing of it. I should like to see Cheek +attempting it: I'd be on to him.' + +'Cheek don't want to; he have got no cause to,' said Mrs. Dunn. 'You get +the living now, and find him in beer and bacca.' + +'I do; and I am proud on it,' was Mrs. Cheek's answer. 'I goes washing, +I goes chairing, I goes ironing; nothing comes amiss to me, and I +manages to keep the wolf from the door. It isn't my husband that shall +bend to the masters. He shall stand up with the Unionists for his +rights, or he shall stand up against me.' Having satisfied her curiosity +as to the cause of the disturbance, Mrs. Cheek went out as she came, +with a burst and a bang, for she had been bent on some hasty errand when +arrested by the noise behind the Dunn's closed shutters. What the next +proceedings would have been, it is difficult to say, had not another +interruption occurred. Mrs. Dunn was putting her entangled hair behind +her ears, most probably preparatory to the resuming of the attack on +her husband, when the offending Mary Ann entered, attended by Mrs. +Quale. + +At it she went, the mother, hammer and tongs, turning her resentment on +the girl, her language by no means choice, though the younger children +were present. Dunn was quieter; but he turned his back upon his daughter +and would not look at her. And then Mrs. Quale took a turn, and +exercised _her_ tongue on both the parents: not with quite as much +noise, but with better effect. + +It appeared that the whispered suspicions against Mary Ann Dunn had been +mistaken ones. The girl had been doing right, instead of wrong. Mrs. +Quale had recommended her to a place at a small dressmaker's, partly of +service, chiefly of needlework. Before engaging her, the dressmaker had +insisted on a few days of trial, wishing to see what her skill at work +was; and Mary Ann had kept it secret, intending a pleasant surprise to +her father when the engagement shall be finally made. The suspicions +cast on her were but a poor return for this; and the girl, in her +temper, had carried the grievance to Mrs. Quale, when the day's work was +over. A few words of strong good sense from that talkative friend +subdued Mary Ann, and she had now come back in peace. Mrs. Quale gave +the explanation, interlarding it with a sharp reprimand at their +proneness to think ill of 'their own flesh and blood,' and James Dunn +sat down meekly in glad repentance. Even Mrs. Dunn lowered her tone for +once. Mary Ann held out some money to her father after a quick glance at +Mrs. Quale for approval. 'Take it, father. It'll stop your going to +prison, perhaps. Mrs. Quale has lent it me to get my clothes out, for I +am to enter for good on my place to-morrow. I can manage without my +clothes for a bit.' + +James Dunn put the money back, speaking softly, very much as if he had +tears in his voice. 'No, girl: it'll do you more good than it will me. +Mrs. Quale has been a good friend to you. Enter on your place, and stay +in it. It is the best news I've heard this many a day.' + +'But if the money will keep you out of jail, father!' sobbed Mary Ann, +quite subdued. + +'It wouldn't do that; nor half do it; nor a quarter. Get your clothes +home, child, and go into your place of service. As for me--better I was +in jail than out of it,' he added with a sigh. 'In there, one does get +food.' + +'Are you sure it wouldn't do you good, Jim Dunn?' asked Mrs. Quale, +speaking in the emergency he seemed to be driven to. Not that she would +have helped him, so improvident in conduct and mistaken in opinions, +with a good heart. + +'Sure and certain. If I paid this debt, others that I owe would be put +on to me.' + +'Come along, Mary Ann,' said Mrs. Quale. 'I told you I'd give you a bed +at my house to-night, and I will: so you'll know where she is, Hannah +Dunn. You go on down to Cox's, girl; get out as much as you can for the +money, and come straight back to me: I'm going home now, and we'll set +to work and see the best we can do with the things.' They went out +together. But Mrs. Quale opened the door again and put in her head for +a parting word; remembering perhaps her want of civility in not having +given it. 'Good night to you all. And pleasant dreams--if you can get +'em. You Unionists have brought your pigs to a pretty market.' + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A DESCENT FOR MR. SHUCK. + + +Things were coming to a crisis. The Unionists had done their best to +hold out against the masters; but they found the effort was +untenable--that they must give in at last. The prospect of returning to +work was eagerly welcomed by the greater portion of the men. Rather than +continue longer in the wretched condition to which they were reduced, +they would have gone back almost on any terms. Why, then, not have gone +back before? as many asked. Because they preferred to resume work with +the consent of the Union, rather than without it: and besides, the +privations got worse and worse. A few of the men were bitterly enraged +at the turn affairs seemed to be taking--of whom Sam Shuck was chief. +With the return of the hands to work, Sam foresaw no field for the +exercise of his own peculiar talents, unless it was in stirring up fresh +discontent for the future. However, it was not yet finally arranged that +work should be resumed: a little more agitation might be pleasant first, +and possibly prevent it. + +'It's a few white-livered hounds among yourselves that have spoilt it,' +growled Sam to a knot of hitherto staunch friends, a day or two +subsequent to that conjugal dispute between Mr. and Mrs. Dunn, which we +had the gratification of assisting at in the last chapter. 'When such +men as White, and Baxendale, and Darby, who have held some sway among +you, turn sneaks and go over to the nobs, it's only to be expected that +you'll turn sneaks and follow. One fool makes many. Did you hear how +Darby got out his tools?' + +'No.' + +'The men opposed to the Union, opposed to us, heard of his wanting them, +and they clubbed together, and made up the tin, and Darby is to pay 'em +back so much a-week--two shillings I think it is. Before I'd lie under +obligation to the non-Unionist men, I'd shoot myself. What good has the +struggle done you?' + +'None,' said a voice. 'It have done a good deal of harm.' + +'Ay, it has--if it is to die out in this ignoble way,' said Sam. 'Better +have been slaving like dray-horses all along, than break down in the +effort to escape the slavery, and hug it to your arms again. If you had +only half the spirit of men, you'd stop White's work for awhile, and +Darby's too, as you did Baxendale's. Have you been thinking over what +was said last night?' he continued, in a lower tone. The men nodded. One +of them ventured to express an opinion that it was a 'dangerous game.' + +'That depends upon how it's done,' said Shuck. 'Who has been the worse, +pray, for the pitching into Baxendale? Can he, or anybody else, point a +finger and say, "It was you did it?" or "It was you?" Why, of course he +can't.' + +'One might not come off again with the like luck.' + +'Psha!' returned Sam, evincing a great amount of ridicule. + +'But one mightn't, Shuck,' persisted his adversary. + +'Oh, let the traitors alone, to go their own way in triumph if you like; +get up a piece of plate for them, with their names wrote on it in gold,' +satirically answered Sam. 'Yah! it sickens one to see you true fellows +going over to the oppressionists.' + +'How do you make out that White, and them, be oppressionists?' + +'White, and them? they are worse than oppressionists a thousand times +over,' fiercely cried Sam. 'I can't find words bad enough for _them_. It +isn't of them I spoke: I spoke of the masters.' + +'Well, Shuck, there's oppression on all sides, I think,' rejoined one of +the men. 'I'd be glad to rise in the world if I could, and I'd work over +hours to help me on to it and to educate my children a bit better than +common; but if you come down upon me and say, "You shall not do it, you +shall only work the stated hours laid down, and nobody shall work more," +I call that oppression.' + +'So it is,' assented another voice. 'The masters never oppressed us like +that.' + +'What's fair for one is fair for all,' said Sam. 'We must work and +share alike.' + +'That would be right enough if we all had talents and industry equal,' +was the reply. 'But as we haven't, and never shall have, it can't be +fair to put a limit on us.' + +'There's one question I'd like to have answered, Shuck,' interposed a +former speaker: 'but I'm afeared it never will be answered, with +satisfaction to us. What is to become of those men that the masters +can't find employment for? If every one of us was free to go back to +work to-morrow, and sought to do so, where would we get it? Our old +shops be half filled with strangers, and there'd be thousands of us +rejected--no room for us. Would the Society keep us?' A somewhat +difficult question to answer, even for Slippery Sam. Perhaps for that +reason he suddenly called out 'Hush!' and bent his head and put up his +finger in the attitude of listening. + +'There's something unusual going on in the street,' cried he. 'Let's see +what it is.' + +They hurried out to the street, Sam leading the way. Not a genial street +to gaze upon, that wintry day, taking it with all its accessories. +Half-clothed, half-starved emaciated men stood about in groups, their +pale features and gloomy expression of despair telling a piteous tale. A +different set of men entirely, to look at, from those of the well-to-do +cheerful old days of work, contentment, and freedom from care. + +Being marshalled down the street in as polite a manner as was +consistent with the occasion, was Mr. James Dunn. He was on his road to +prison; and certain choice spirits of Daffodil's Delight, headed by Mrs. +Dunn, were in attendance, some bewailing and lamenting aloud, others +hooting and yelling at the capturers. As if this was not enough cause of +disturbance, news arose that the Dunns' landlord, finding the house +temporarily abandoned by every soul--a chance he had been looking +for--improved the opportunity to lock the street-door and keep them out. +Nothing was before Mrs. Dunn and her children now but the parish Union. + +'I don't care whether it is the masters that have been in fault or +whether it's us; I know which side gets the suffering,' exclaimed a +mechanic, as Mr. Dunn was conveyed beyond view. 'Old Abel White told us +true; strikes never brought nothing but misery yet, and they never +will.' + +Sam Shuck seized upon the circumstance to draw around him a select +audience, and to hold forth to them. Treason, false and pernicious +though it was, that he spoke, his oratory fell persuasively on the +public ear. He excited the men against the masters; he excited them to +his utmost power against the men who had gone back to work; he inflamed +their passions, he perverted their reason. Altogether, ill-feeling and +excitement was smouldering in an unusual degree in Daffodil's Delight, +and it was kept up through the live-long day. Evening came. The bell +rang for the cessation of work at Mr. Hunter's, and the men came pouring +forth, a great many of whom were strangers. The gas-lamp at the gate +shed a brilliant light, as the hands dispersed--some one way, some +another. Those bearing towards Daffodil's Delight became aware, as they +approached an obscure portion of the road which lay past a dead wall, +that it bore an unusual appearance, as if dark forms were hovering +there. What could it be? Not for long were they kept in ignorance. There +arose a terrific din, enough to startle the unwary. Yells, groans, +hootings, hisses, threats were poured forth upon the workmen; and they +knew that they had fallen into an ambush of the Society's men. Of women +also, as it appeared. For shrill notes and delicate words of abuse, +certainly only peculiar to ladies' throats, were pretty freely mingled +with the gruff tones of the men. + +'You be nice nine-hour chaps! Come on, if you're not cowards, and have +it out in a fair fight----' + +'A fair fight!' shrieked a female voice in interruption 'who'd fight +with them? Traitors! cowards! Knock 'em down and trample upon 'em!' + +'Harness 'em together with cords, and drag 'em along like beasts o' +burden in the face and eyes o' London!' 'Stick 'em up on spikes!' 'Hoist +'em on to the lamp-posts!' 'Hold 'em head down'ards in a horse-trough!' +'Pitch into 'em with quicklime and rotten eggs!' 'Strip 'em and give 'em +a coat o' tar!' 'Wring their necks, and have done with 'em!' + +While these several complimentary suggestions were thrown from as many +different quarters of the assailants, one of them had quietly laid hold +of Abel White. There was little doubt--according to what came out +afterwards--that he and Robert Darby were the two men chiefly aimed at +in this night assault. Darby, however, was not there. As it happened, he +had turned the contrary way on leaving the yard, having joined one of +the men who had lent him some of the money to get his tools out of +pledge, and gone towards his home with him. + +'If thee carest for thy life, thee'll stop indoors, and not go a-nigh +Hunter's yard again to work!' + +Such were the words hissed forth in a hoarse whisper into the ear of +Abel White, by the man who had seized upon him. Abel peered at him as +keenly as the darkness would permit. White was no coward, and although +aware that this attack most probably had him for its chief butt, he +retained his composure. He could not recognise the man--a tall man, in a +large loose blue frock, such as is sometimes worn by butchers, with a +red woollen cravat wound roughly round his throat, hiding his chin and +mouth, and a seal-skin cap, its dark 'ears' brought down on the sides of +the face, and tied under the chin. The man may have been so wrapped up +for protection against the weather, or for the purpose of disguise. + +'Let me go,' said White. + +'When thee hast sworn not to go on working till the Union gives leave.' + +'I never will swear it. Or say it.' + +'Then thee shall get every bone in th' body smashed. Thee'st been +reported to Mr. Shuck, and to the Union.' + +'I'd like to know your name and who you are,' exclaimed White. 'If you +are not disguising your voice, it's odd to me.' + +'D'ye remember Baxendale? _He_ wouldn't take the oath, and he's lying +with his ribs stove in.' + +'More shame for you! Look you, man, you can't intimidate me. I am made +of sterner stuff than that.' + +'Swear!' was the menacing retort; 'swear that thee won't touch another +stroke o' work.' + +'I tell you that I never will swear it,' firmly returned White. 'The +Union has hoodwinked me long enough; I'll have nothing to do with it.' + +'There be desperate men around ye--them as won't leave ye with whole +bones. You shall swear.' + +'I'll have nothing more to do with the Union; I'll never again obey it,' +answered White, speaking earnestly. 'There! make your most of it. If I +had but a friendly gleam of light here, I'd know who you are, and let +others know.' + +The confusion around had increased. Hot words were passing everywhere +between the assailants and the assailed--no positive assault as yet, +save that a woman had shaken her fist in a man's face and spit at him. +Abel White strove to get away with the last words, but the man who had +been threatening him struck him a sharp blow between the eyes, and +another blow from the same hand caught him behind. The next instant he +was down. If one blow was dealt him, ten were from as many different +hands. The tall man with the cap was busy with his feet; and it really +seemed, by the manner he carried on the pastime, that his whole heart +went with it, and that it was a heart of revenge. + +But who is this, pushing his way through the crowd with stern authority. +A policeman? The men shrank back, in their fear, to give him place. No; +it is only their master, Mr. Clay. + +'What is this?' exclaimed Austin, when he reached the point of battery. +'Is it you, White?' he added, stooping down. 'I suspected as much. Now, +my men,' he continued in a stern tone, as he faced the excited throng, +'who are you? which of you has done this?' + +'The ringleader was him in the cap, sir--the tall one with the red cloth +round his neck and the fur about his ears,' spoke up White, who, though +much maltreated, retained the use of his brains and his tongue. 'It was +him that threatened me; he was the first to set upon me.' + +'Who are you?' demanded Austin of the tall man. + +The tall man responded by a quiet laugh of derision. He felt himself +perfectly secure from recognition in the dark obscurity; and though Mr. +Clay was of powerful frame, more than a match for him in agility and +strength, let him only dare to lay a finger upon him, and there were +plenty around to come to the rescue. Austin Clay heard the derisive +laugh, subdued though it was, and thought he recognised it. He took his +hand from within the breast of his coat, and raised it with a hasty +motion--not to deal a blow, not with a pistol to startle or menace, but +to turn on a dark lantern! No pistol could have startled them as did +that sudden flash of bright light, thrown full upon the tall man's +face. Off flew the fellow with a yell, and Austin coolly turned the +lantern upon others. + +'Bennet--and Strood--and Ryan--and Cassidy!' he exclaimed, recognising +and telling off the men. 'And _you_, Cheek! I never should have +suspected you of sufficient courage to join in a thing of this nature.' + +Cheek, midway between shaking and tears, sobbed out that it was 'the +wife made him;' and Mrs. Cheek roared out from the rear, 'Yes, it was, +and she'd have shook the bones out of him if he hadn't come.' + +But that light, turning upon them everywhere, was more than they had +bargained for, and the whole lot moved away in the best manner that they +could, putting the stealthiest and the quickest foot foremost; each one +devoutly hoping, save the few whose names had been mentioned, that his +own face had not been recognised. Austin, with some of his workmen who +had remained--the greater portion of them were pursuing the +vanquished--raised Abel White. His head was cut, his body bruised, but +no serious damage appeared to have been done. 'Can you walk with +assistance as far as Mr. Rice's shop?' asked Austin. + +'I daresay I can, sir, in a minute: I'm a bit giddy now,' was White's +reply, as he leaned his back against the wall, being supported on either +side. 'Sir, what a mercy that you had that light with you!' + +'Ay,' shortly replied Austin. 'Quale, there's the blood dripping upon +your sleeve. I will bind my handkerchief round your head, White. +Meanwhile, one of you go and call a cab; it may be better that we get +him at once to the surgeon's.' + +A cab was brought, and White assisted into it. Austin accompanied him. +Mr. Rice was at home, and proceeded to examine into the damage. A few +days' rest from work, and a liberal application of sticking-plaster, +would prove efficacious in effecting a cure, he believed. 'What a pity +but the ruffians could be stopped at this game!' the doctor exclaimed to +Austin. 'It will come to attacks more serious if they are not.' + +'I think this will do something towards stopping it,' replied Austin. + +'Why? do you know any of them?' + +Austin nodded. 'A few. It is not a second case of impossible identity, +as was Baxendale's.' + +'I'm sure I don't know how I am to go in home in this plight,' exclaimed +White, catching sight of his strapped-up face and head, in a small +looking-glass hanging in Mr. Rice's surgery. 'I shall frighten poor old +father into a fit, and the wife too.' + +'I will go on first and prepare them,' said Austin, good-naturedly. +Turning out of the shop on this errand, he found the door blocked up. +The door! nay, the pavement--the street; for it seemed as if all +Daffodil's Delight had collected there. He elbowed his way through them, +and reached White's home. There the news had preceded him, and he found +the deepest distress and excitement reigning, the family having been +informed that Abel was killed. Austin reassured them, made light of the +matter, and departed. + +Outside their closed-up home, squatting on the narrow strip of +pavement, their backs against the dirty wall, were Mrs. Dunn and her +children, howling pitiably. They were surrounded with warm partizans, +who spent their breath sympathizing with them, and abusing the landlord. + +'How much better that they should go into the workhouse,' exclaimed +Austin. 'They will perish with cold if they remain there.' + +'And much you masters 'ud care,' cried a woman who overheard the remark. +'I hope you are satisfied now with the effects of your fine lock-out! +Look at the poor creatur, a sitting there with her helpless children.' + +'A sad sight,' observed Austin; 'but _not_ the effects of the lock-out. +You must look nearer home.' + +The day dawned. Abel White was progressing very satisfactorily. So much +so that Mr. Rice did not keep him in bed. It was by no means so grave a +case as Baxendale's. To the intense edification of Daffodil's Delight, +which had woke up in an unusually low and subdued state, there arrived, +about mid-day, certain officers within its precincts, holding warrants +for the apprehension of some of the previous night's rioters. Bennet, +Strood, Ryan, and Cheek were taken; Cassidy had disappeared. + +'It's a shame to grab us!' exclaimed timid Cheek, shaking from head to +foot. 'White himself said as we was not the ringleaders.' + +While these were secured, a policeman entered the home of Mr. Shuck, +without so much as saying, 'With your leave,' or 'By your leave.' That +gentleman, who had remained in-doors all the morning, in a restless, +humble sort of mood, which imparted much surprise to Mrs. Shuck, was +just sitting down to dinner in the bosom of his family: a savoury +dinner, to judge by the smell, consisting of rabbit and onions. + +'Now, Sam Shuck, I want you,' was the startling interruption. + +Sam turned as white as a sheet. Mrs. Shuck stared, and the children +stared. + +'Want me, do you?' cried Sam, putting as easy a face as he could upon +the matter. 'What do you want me for? To give evidence?' + +'_You_ know. It's about that row last night. I wonder you hadn't better +regard for your liberty than to get into it.' + +'Why, you never was such a fool as to put yourself into that!' exclaimed +Mrs. Shuck, in her surprise. 'What could have possessed you?' + +'I!' retorted Sam; 'I don't know anything about the row, except what +I've heard. I was a good mile off from the spot when it took place.' + +'All very well if you can convince the magistrates of that,' said the +officer. 'Here's the warrant against you, and I must take you upon it.' + +'I won't go,' said Sam, showing fight. 'I wasn't nigh the place, I say.' + +The officer was peremptory--officers generally are so in these +cases--and Sam was very foolish to resist. But that he was scared out of +his senses, he would probably not have resisted. It only made matters +worse; and the result was that he had the handcuffs clapped on. Fancy +Samuel Shuck, Esquire, in his crimson necktie with the lace ends, and +the peg-tops, being thus escorted through Daffodil's Delight, himself +and his hands prisoners, and a tail the length of the street streaming +after him! You could not have got into the police-court. Every avenue, +every inch of ground was occupied; for the men, both Unionists and +non-Unionists, were greatly excited, and came flocking in crowds to hear +the proceedings. The five men were placed at the bar--Shuck, Bennet, +Cheek, Ryan, and Strood: and Abel White and his bandaged head appeared +against them. The man gave his evidence. How he and others--but himself, +he thought, more particularly--had been met by a mob the previous night, +upon leaving work, a knot of the Society's men, who had first threatened +and then beaten him. + +'Can you tell what their motive was for doing this?' asked the +magistrate. + +'Yes, sir,' was the answer of White. 'It was because I went back to +work. I held out as long as I could, in obedience to the Trades' Union; +but I began to think I was in error, and that I ought to return to work; +which I did, a week or two ago. Since then, they have never let me +alone. They have talked to me, and threatened me, and persuaded me; but +I would not listen: and last night they attacked me.' + +'What were the threats they used last night?' + +'It was one man did most of the talking: a tall man in a cap and +comforter, sir. The rest of the crowd abused me and called me names; but +they did not utter any particular threat. This man said, Would I +promise and swear not to do any more work in defiance of the Union; or +else I should get every bone in my body smashed. He told me to remember +how Baxendale had been served, and was lying with his ribs stove in. I +refused; I would not swear; I said I would never belong to the Union +again. And then he struck me.' + +'Where did he strike you?' + +'Here,' putting his hand up to his forehead. 'The first blow staggered +me, and took away my sight, and the second blow knocked me down. Half a +dozen set upon me then, hitting and kicking me: the first man kicked me +also.' + +'Can you swear to that first man?' + +'No, I can't, sir. I think he was disguised.' + +'Was it the prisoner, Shuck?' + +White shook his head. 'It was just his height and figure, sir, but I +can't be sure that it was him. His face was partially covered, and it +was nearly dark, besides; there are no lights about, just there. The +voice, too, seemed disguised: I said so at the time.' + +'Can you swear to the others?' + +'Yes, to all four of them,' said White, stoutly. 'They were not +disguised at all, and I saw them after the light came, and knew their +voices. They helped to beat me after I was on the ground.' + +'Did they threaten you?' + +'No, sir. Only the first one did that.' + +'And him you cannot swear to? Is there any other witness who can swear +to him?' + +It did not appear that there was. Shuck addressed the magistrate, his +tone one of injured innocence. 'It is not to be borne that I should be +dragged up here like a felon, your worship. I was not near the place at +the time; I am as innocent as your worship is. Is it likely _I_ should +lend myself to such a thing? My mission among the men is of a higher +nature than that.' + +'Whether you are innocent or not, I do not know,' said his worship; 'but +I do know that this is a state of things which cannot be tolerated. I +will give my utmost protection to these workmen; and those who dare to +interfere with them shall be punished to the extent of the law: the +ringleaders especially. A person has just as much right to come to me +and say, "You shall not sit on that bench; you shall not transact the +business of a magistrate," as you have to prevent these industrious men +working to earn a living. It is monstrous.' + +'Here's the witness we have waited for, please your worship,' spoke one +of the policemen. + +It was Austin Clay who came forward. He bowed to the magistrate, who +bowed to him: they occasionally met at the house of Mr. Hunter. Austin +was sworn, and gave his evidence up to the point when he turned the +light of the lantern upon the tall assailant of White. + +'Did you recognise the man?' asked the Bench. + +'I did, sir. It was Samuel Shuck.' + +Sam gave a howl, protesting that it was _not_--that he was a mile away +from the spot. + +'I recognised him as distinctly as I recognise him at this moment,' said +Austin. 'He had a woollen scarf on his chin, and a cap covering his +ears, no doubt assumed for disguise, but I knew him instantly. What is +more, he saw that I knew him; I am sure he did, by the way he slunk off. +I also recognised his laugh.' + +'Did you take the lantern with you purposely?' asked the clerk of the +court. + +'I did,' replied Austin. 'A hint was given me in the course of yesterday +afternoon, that an attack upon our men was in agitation. I determined to +discover the ringleaders, if possible, should it take place, and not to +let the darkness baffle justice, as was the case in the attack upon +Baxendale. For this purpose I put the lantern in readiness, and had the +men watched when they left the yard. As soon as the assault began, my +messenger returned to tell me.' + +'You hit upon a good plan, Mr. Clay.' + +Austin smiled. 'I think I did,' he answered. + +Unfortunately for Mr. Samuel Shuck, another witness had seen his face +distinctly when the light was turned on; and his identity with 'the tall +man disguised' was established beyond dispute. In an evil hour, Sam had +originated this attack on White; but, not feeling altogether sure of the +courage of his men, he had determined to disguise himself and take part +in the business, saying not a word to anybody. He had not bargained for +the revelation that might be brought by means of a dark lantern. + +The proceedings in court were prolonged, but they terminated at length. +Bennet, Strood, and Ryan were condemned to pay a fine of £5 each, or be +imprisoned for two months. Cheek managed to get off. Mr. Sam Shuck, to +whom the magistrate was bitterly severe in his remarks--for he knew +perfectly well the part enacted by the man from the first--was sentenced +to six months at the treadmill, without the option of a fine. What a +descent for Slippery Sam! + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY. + + +These violent interruptions to the social routine, to the organised +relations between masters and men, cannot take place without leaving +their effects behind them: not only in the bare cupboards, the +confusion, the bitter feelings while the contest is in actual progress, +but in the results when the dispute is brought to an end, and things +have resumed their natural order. You have seen some of its disastrous +working upon the men: you cannot see it all, for it would take a whole +volume to depicture it. But there was another upon whom it was promising +to work badly; and that was Mr. Hunter. At this, the eleventh hour, when +the dispute was dying out, Mr. Hunter knew that he would be unable to +weather the short remains of the storm. Drained, as he had been at +various periods, of sums paid to Gwinn of Ketterford, he had not the +means necessary to support the long-continued struggle. Capital he +possessed still; and, had there been no disturbance, no strike, no +lock-out--had things, in short, gone on upon their usual course +uninterruptedly, his capital would have been sufficient to carry him on: +not as it was. His money was locked up in arrested works, in buildings +brought to a standstill. He could not fulfil his contracts or meet his +debts; materials were lying idle; and the crisis, so long expected by +him, had come. + +It had not been expected by Austin Clay. Though aware of the shortness +of capital, he believed that with care difficulties would be surmounted. +The fact was, Mr. Hunter had succeeded in keeping the worst from him. It +fell upon Austin one morning like a thunderbolt. Mr. Hunter had come +early to the works. In this hour of embarrassment--ill as he might be, +as he was--he could not be absent from his place of business. When +Austin went into his master's private room he found him alone, poring +over books and accounts, his head leaning on his hand. One glance at +Austin's face told Mr. Hunter that the whispers as to the state of +affairs, which were now becoming public scandal, had reached his ears. + +'Yes, it is quite true,' said Mr. Hunter, before a word had been spoken +by Austin. 'I cannot stave it off.' + +'But it will be ruin, sir!' exclaimed Austin. + +'Of course it will be ruin. I know that, better than you can tell me.' + +'Oh, sir,' continued Austin, with earnest decision, 'it must not be +allowed to come. Your credit must be kept up at any sacrifice.' + +'Can you tell me of any sacrifice that will keep it up?' returned Mr. +Hunter. + +Austin paused in embarrassment. 'If the present difficulty can be got +over, the future will soon redeem itself,' he observed. 'You have +sufficient capital in the aggregate, though it is at present locked up.' + +'There it is,' said Mr. Hunter. 'Were the capital not locked up, but in +my hands, I should be a free man. Who is to unlock it?' + +'The men are returning to their shops,' urged Austin. 'In a few days, at +the most, all will have resumed work. We shall get our contracts +completed, and things will work round. It would be _needless_ ruin, sir, +to stop now.' + +'Am I stopping of my own accord? Shall I put myself into the Gazette, do +you suppose? You talk like a child, Clay.' + +'Not altogether, sir. What I say is, that you are worth more than +sufficient to meet your debts; that, if the momentary pressure can be +lifted, you will surmount embarrassment and regain ease.' + +'Half the bankruptcies we hear of are caused by locked-up capital--not +by positive non-possession of it,' observed Mr. Hunter. 'Were my funds +available, there would be reason in what you say, and I should probably +go on again to ease. Indeed, I know I should; for a certain +heavy--heavy----' Mr. Hunter spoke with perplexed hesitation--'A heavy +private obligation, which I have been paying off at periods, is at an +end now.' + +Austin made no reply. He knew that Mr. Hunter alluded to Gwinn of +Ketterford: and perhaps Mr. Hunter suspected that he knew it. 'Yes, +sir; you would go on to ease--to fortune again; there is no doubt of it. +Mr. Hunter,' he continued with some emotion, 'it _must_ be accomplished +somehow. To let things come to an end for the sake of a thousand or two, +is--is----' + +'Stop!' said Mr. Hunter. 'I see what you are driving at. You think that +I might borrow this "thousand or two," from my brother, or from Dr. +Bevary.' + +'No,' fearlessly replied Austin, 'I was not thinking of either one or +the other. Mr. Henry Hunter has enough to do for himself just now--his +contracts for the season were more extensive than ours: and Dr. Bevary +is not a business man.' + +'Henry _has_ enough to do,' said Mr. Hunter. 'And if a hundred-pound +note would save me, I should not ask Dr. Bevary for its loan. I tell +you, Clay, there is no help for it: ruin must come. I have thought it +over and over, and can see no loophole of escape. It does not much +matter: I can hide my head in obscurity for the short time I shall +probably live. Mine has been an untoward fate.' + +'It matters for your daughter, sir,' rejoined Austin, his face flushing. + +'I cannot help myself, even for her sake,' was the answer, and it was +spoken in a tone that, to a fanciful listener, might have told of a +breaking heart. + +'If you would allow me to suggest a plan, sir----' + +'No, I will not allow any further discussion upon the topic,' +peremptorily interrupted Mr. Hunter. 'The blow must come; and, to talk +of it will neither soothe nor avert it. Now to business. Not another +word, I say.--Is it to-day or to-morrow that Grafton's bill falls due?' + +'To-day,' replied Austin. + +'And its precise amount?--I forget it.' + +'Five hundred and twenty pounds.' + +'Five hundred and twenty! I knew it was somewhere about that. It is that +bill that will floor us--at least, be the first step to it. How closely +has the account been drawn at the bank?' + +'You have the book by you, sir. I think there is little more than thirty +pounds lying in it.' + +'Just so. Thirty pounds to meet a bill of five hundred and twenty. No +other available funds to pay in. And you would talk of staving off the +difficulty?' + +'I think the bank would pay it, were all circumstances laid before them. +They have accommodated us before.' + +'The bank will _not_, Austin. I have had a private note from them this +morning. These flying rumours have reached their ears, and they will not +let me overdraw even by a pound. It had struck me once or twice lately +that they were becoming cautious.' There was a commotion, as of sudden +talking, outside at that moment, and Mr. Hunter turned pale. He supposed +it might be a creditor: and his nerves were so shattered, as was before +remarked, that the slightest thing shook him like a woman. 'I would pay +them all, if I could,' he said, his tone almost a wail. 'I wish to pay +every one.' + +'Sir,' said Austin, 'leave me here to-day to meet these matters. You are +too ill to stay.' + +'If I do not meet them to-day, I must to-morrow. Sooner or later, it is +I who must answer.' + +'But indeed you are ill, sir. You look worse than you have looked at +all.' + +'Can you wonder that I look worse? The striking of the docket against me +is no pleasant matter to anticipate.' The talking outside now subsided +into laughter, in which the tones of a female were distinguishable. Mr. +Hunter thought he recognised them, and his fear of a creditor subsided. +They came from one of his women servants, who, unconscious of the +proximity of her master, had been laughing and joking with some of the +men, whom she had encountered upon entering the yard. + +'What can Susan want?' exclaimed Mr. Hunter, signing to Austin to open +the door. + +'Is that you, Susan?' asked Austin, as he obeyed. + +'Oh, if you please, sir, can I speak a word to my master?' + +'Come in,' called out Mr. Hunter. 'What do you want?' + +'Miss Florence has sent me, sir, to give you this, and to ask you if +you'd please to come round.' + +She handed in a note. Mr. Hunter broke the seal, and ran his eyes over +it. It was from Florence, and contained but a line or two. She informed +her father that the lady who had been so troublesome at the house once +before, in years back, had come again, had taken a seat in the +dining-room, removed her bonnet, and expressed her intention of there +remaining until she should see Mr. Hunter. + +'As if I had not enough upon me without this!' muttered Mr. Hunter. 'Go +back,' he said aloud to the servant, 'and tell Miss Florence that I am +coming.' + +A few minutes given to the papers before him, a few hasty directions to +Austin, touching the business of the hour, and Mr. Hunter rose to +depart. + +'Do not come back, sir,' Austin repeated to him. 'I can manage all.' + +When Mr. Hunter entered his own house, letting himself in with a latch +key, Florence, who had been watching for him, glided forward. + +'She is in there, papa,' pointing to the closed door of the dining-room, +and speaking in a whisper. 'What is her business here? what does she +want? She told me she had as much right in the house as I.' + +'Ha!' exclaimed Mr. Hunter. 'Insolent, has she been?' + +'Not exactly insolent. She spoke civilly. I fancied you would not care +to see her, so I said she could not wait. She replied that she should +wait, and I must not attempt to prevent her. Is she in her senses, +papa?' + +'Go up stairs and put your bonnet and cloak on, Florence,' was the +rejoinder of Mr. Hunter. 'Be quick.' She obeyed, and was down again +almost immediately, in her deep mourning.' 'Now, my dear, go round to +Dr. Bevary, and tell him you have come to spend the day with him.' + +'But, papa----' + +'Florence, go! I will either come for you this evening, or send. Do not +return until I do.' + +The tone, though full of kindness, was one that might not be disobeyed, +and Florence, feeling sick with some uncertain, shadowed-forth trouble, +passed out of the hall door. Mr. Hunter entered the dining-room. + +Tall, gaunt, powerful of frame as ever, rose up Miss Gwinn, turning upon +him her white, corpse-like looking face. Without the ceremony of +greeting, she spoke in her usual abrupt fashion, dashing at once to her +subject. '_Now_ will you render justice, Lewis Hunter?' + +'I have the greater right to ask that justice shall be rendered to me,' +replied Mr. Hunter, speaking sternly, in spite of his agitation. 'Who +has most cause to demand it, you or I?' + +'She who reigned mistress in this house is dead,' cried Miss Gwinn. You +must now acknowledge _her_.' + +'I never will. You may do your best and worst. The worst that can come +is, that it must reach the knowledge of my daughter.' + +'Ay, there it is! The knowledge of the wrong must not even reach her; +but the wrong itself has not been too bad for that other one to bear.' + +'Woman!' continued Mr. Hunter, growing excited almost beyond control, +'who inflicted that wrong? Myself, or you?' + +The reproach told home, if the change to sad humility, passing over Miss +Gwinn's countenance, might be taken as an indication. + +'What I said, I said in self-defence; after you, in your deceit, had +brought wrong upon me and my family,' she answered in a subdued voice. + +'_That_ was no wrong,' retorted Mr. Hunter, 'It was you who wrought all +the wrong afterwards, by uttering the terrible falsehood, that she was +dead.' + +'Well, well, it is of no use going back to that,' she impatiently said. +'I am come here to ask that justice shall be rendered, now that it is in +your power.' + +'You have had more than justice--you have had revenge. Not content with +rendering my days a life's misery, you must also drain me of the money I +had worked hard to save. Do you know how much?' + +'It was not I,' she passionately uttered, in a tone as if she would +deprecate his anger. '_He_ did that.' + +'It comes to the same. I had to find the money. So long as my dear wife +lived, I was forced to temporize: neither he nor you can so force me +again. Go home, go home, Miss Gwinn, and pray for forgiveness for the +injury you have done both her and me. The time for coming to my house +with your intimidations is past.' + +'What did you say?' cried Miss Gwinn. 'Injury upon _you_?' + +'Injury, ay! such as rarely has been inflicted upon mortal man. Not +content with that great injury, you must also deprive me of my +substance. This week the name of James Lewis Hunter will be in the +Gazette, on the list of bankrupts. It is you who have brought me to it.' + +'You know that I have had no hand in that; that it was he: my +brother--and _hers_,' she said. 'He never should have done it had I been +able to prevent him. In an unguarded moment I told him I had discovered +you, and who you were, and--and he came up to you here and sold his +silence. It is that which has kept me quiet.' + +'This interview had better end,' said Mr. Hunter. 'It excites me, and my +health is scarcely in a state to bear it. Your work has told upon me, +Miss Gwinn, as you cannot help seeing, when you look at me. Am I like +the hearty, open man whom you came up to town and discovered a few years +ago?' + +'Am I like the healthy unsuspicious woman whom you saw some years before +that?' she retorted. 'My days have been rendered more bitter than +yours.' + +'It is your own evil passions which have rendered them so. But I say +this interview must end. You----' + +'It shall end when you undertake to render justice. I only ask that you +should acknowledge her in words; I ask no more.' + +'When your brother was here last--it was on the day of my wife's +death--I was forced to warn him of the consequences of remaining in my +house against my will. I must now warn you.' + +'Lewis Hunter,' she passionately resumed, 'for years I have been told +that she--who was here--was fading; and I was content to wait until she +should be gone. Besides, was not he drawing money from you to keep +silence? But it is all over, and my time is come.' + +The door of the room opened and some one entered. Mr. Hunter turned with +marked displeasure, wondering who was daring to intrude upon him. He +saw--not any servant, as he expected, but his brother-in-law, Dr. +Bevary. And the doctor walked into the room and closed the door, just as +if he had as much right there as its master. + +When Florence Hunter reached her uncle's house, she found him absent: +the servants said he had gone out early in the morning. Scarcely had she +entered the drawing-room when his carriage drove up: he saw Florence at +the window and hastened in. 'Uncle Bevary, I have come to stay the day +with you,' was her greeting. 'Will you have me?' + +'I don't know that I will,' returned the doctor, who loved Florence +above every earthly thing. 'How comes it about?' In the explanation, as +she gave it, the doctor detected some embarrassment, quite different +from her usual open manner. He questioned closely, and drew from her +what had occurred. 'Miss Gwinn of Ketterford in town!' he exclaimed, +staring at Florence as if he could not believe her. 'Are you joking?' + +'She is at our house with papa, as I tell you, uncle.' + +'What an extraordinary chance!' muttered the doctor. + +Leaving Florence, he ran out of the house and down the street, calling +after his coachman, who was driving to the stables. Had it been anybody +but Dr. Bevary, the passers-by might have deemed the caller mad. The +coachman heard, and turned his horses again. Dr. Bevary spoke a word in +haste to Florence. + +'Miss Gwinn is the very person I was wanting to see; wishing some +marvellous telegraph wires could convey her to London at a moment's +notice. Make yourself at home, my dear; don't wait dinner for me, I +cannot tell when I shall be back.' He stepped into the carriage and was +driven away very quickly, leaving Florence in some doubt as to whether +he had not gone to Ketterford--for she had but imperfectly understood +him. Not so. The carriage set him down at Mr. Hunter's. Where he broke +in upon the interview, as has been described. + +'I was about to telegraph to Ketterford for you,' he began to Miss +Gwinn, without any other sort of greeting. And the words, coupled with +his abrupt manner, sent her at once into an agitation. Rising, she put +her hand upon the doctor's arm. + +'What has happened? Any ill?' + +'You must come with me now and see her,' was the brief answer. + +Shaking from head to foot, gaunt, strong woman though she was, she +turned docilely to follow the doctor from the room. But suddenly an idea +seemed to strike her, and she stood still. 'It is a _ruse_ to get me out +of the house. Dr. Bevary, I will not quit it until justice shall be +rendered to Emma. I will have her acknowledged by him.' + +'Your going with me now will make no difference to that, one way or the +other,' drily observed Dr. Bevary. + +Mr. Hunter stepped forward in agitation. 'Are you out of your mind, +Bevary? You could not have caught her words correctly.' + +'Psha!' responded the doctor, in a careless tone. 'What I said was, that +Miss Gwinn's going out with me could make no difference to any +acknowledgment.' + +'Only in words,' she stayed to say. 'Just let him say it in words.' But +nobody took any notice of the suggestion. + +His bearing calm and self-possessed, his manner authoritative, Dr. +Bevary passed out to his carriage, motioning the lady before him. +Self-willed as she was by nature and by habit, she appeared to have no +thought of resistance now. 'Step in,' said Dr. Bevary. She obeyed, and +he seated himself by her, after giving an order to the coachman. The +carriage turned towards the west for a short distance, and then branched +off to the north. In a comparatively short time they were clear of the +bustle of London. Miss Gwinn sat in silence; the doctor sat in silence. +It seemed that the former wished, yet dreaded to ask the purport of +their present journey, for her white face was working with emotion, and +she glanced repeatedly at the doctor, with a sharp, yearning look. When +they were clear of the bustle of the streets; and the hedges, bleak and +bare, bounded the road on either side, broken by a house here and there, +then she could bear the silence and suspense no longer. + +'Why do you not speak?' broke from her in a tone of pain. + +'First of all, tell me what brought you to town now,' was his reply. 'It +is not your time for being here.' + +'The recent death of your sister. I came up by the early train this +morning. Dr. Bevary, you are the only living being to whom I lie under +an obligation, or from whom I have experienced kindness. People may +think me ungrateful; some think me mad; but I am grateful to you. But +for the fact of that lady's being your sister I should have insisted +upon another's rights being acknowledged long ago.' + +'You told me you waived them in consequence of your brother's conduct.' + +'Partially so. But that did not weigh with me in comparison with my +feeling of gratitude to you. How impotent we are!' she exclaimed, +throwing up her hands. 'My efforts by day, my dreams by night, were +directed to one single point through long, long years--the finding James +Lewis. I had cherished the thought of revenge until it became part and +parcel of my very existence; I was hoping to expose him to the world. +But when the time came, and I did find him, I found that he had married +your sister, and that I could not touch him without giving pain to you. +I hesitated what to do. I went home to Ketterford, deliberating----' + +'Well?' said the doctor. For she had stopped abruptly. + +'Some spirit of evil prompted me to disclose to my good-for-nothing +brother that the man, Lewis, was found. I told him more than that, +unhappily.' + +'What else did you tell him?' + +'Never mind. I was a fool: and I have had my reward. My brother came up +to town and drew large sums of money out of Mr. Hunter. I could have +stopped it--but I did not.' + +'If I understand you aright, you have come to town now to insist upon +what you call your rights?' remarked the doctor. + +'Upon what _I_ call!' returned Miss Gwinn, and then she paused in +marked hesitation. 'But you must have news to tell me, Dr. Bevary. What +is it?' + +'I received a message early this morning from Dr. Kerr, stating that +something was amiss. I lost no time in going over.' + +'And what was amiss?' she hastily cried. 'Surely there was no repetition +of the violence? Did you see her?' + +'Yes, I saw her.' + +'But of course you would see her,' resumed Miss Gwinn, speaking rather +to herself. 'And what do you think? Is there danger?' + +'The danger is past,' replied Dr. Bevary. 'But here we are.' + +The carriage had driven in through an inclosed avenue, and was stopping +before a large mansion: not a cheerful mansion, for its grounds were +surrounded by dark trees, and some of its windows were barred. It was a +lunatic asylum. It is necessary, even in these modern days of gentle +treatment, to take some precaution of bars and bolts; but the inmates of +this one were thoroughly well cared for, in the best sense of the term. +Dr. Bevary was one of its visiting inspectors. + +Dr. Kerr, the resident manager, came forward, and Dr. Bevary turned to +Miss Gwinn. 'Will you see her, or not?' he asked. + +Strange fears were working within her, Dr. Bevary's manner was so +different from ordinary. 'I think I see it all,' she gasped. 'The worst +has happened.' + +'The best has happened,' responded Dr. Bevary. 'Miss Gwinn, you have +requested me more than once to bring you here without preparation should +the time arrive--for that you could bear certainty, but not suspense. +Will you see her?' + +Her face had grown white and rigid as marble. Unable to speak, she +pointed forward with her hand. Dr. Bevary drew it within his own to +support her. In a clean, cool chamber, on a pallet bed, lay a dead +woman. Dr. Kerr gently drew back the snow-white sheet, with which the +face was covered. A pale, placid face, with a little band of light hair +folded underneath the cap. She--Miss Gwinn--did not stir: she gave way +to neither emotion nor violence; but her bloodless lips were strained +back from her teeth, and her face was as white as that of the dead. + +'God's ways are not as our ways,' whispered Dr. Bevary. 'You have been +acting for revenge: He has sent peace. Whatsoever He does is for the +best.' + +She made no reply: she remained still and rigid. Dr. Bevary stroked the +left hand of the dead, lying in its utter stillness--stroked, as if +unconsciously, the wedding-ring on the third finger. He had been led to +believe that it was placed on that finger, years and years ago, by his +brother-in-law, James Lewis Hunter. And had been led to believe a lie! +And she who had invented the lie, who had wrought the delusion, who had +embittered Mr. Hunter's life with the same dread belief, stood there at +the doctor's side, looking at the dead. + +It is a solemn thing to persist though but tacitly in the acting of a +vile falsehood, in the mysterious presence of death. Even Miss Gwinn +was not strong-minded enough for that. As Dr. Bevary turned to her with +a remark upon the past, she burst forth into a cry, and gave utterance +to words that fell upon the physician's ear like a healing balm, +soothing and binding up a long-open wound. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE YEARS GONE BY. + + +Those readers will be disappointed who look for any very romantic +_dénoûment_ of 'A Life's Secret.' The story is a short and sad one. +Suggesting the wretchedness and evil that may result when truth is +deviated from; the lengths to which a blind, unholy desire for revenge +will carry an ill-regulated spirit; and showing how, in the moral +government of the world, sin casts its baleful consequences upon the +innocent as well as the guilty. + +When the carriage of Dr. Bevary, containing himself and Miss Gwinn, +drove from Mr. Hunter's door on the unknown errand, he--Mr. +Hunter--staggered to a seat, rather than walked to it. That he was very +ill that day, both mentally and bodily, he was only too conscious of. +Austin Clay had said to him, 'Do not return: I will manage,' or words to +that effect. At present Mr. Hunter felt himself incapable of returning. +He sank down in the easy chair, and closed his eyes, his thoughts +thrown back to the past. An ill-starred past: one that had left its bane +on his after life, and whose consequences had clung to him. It is +impossible but that ill-doing must leave its results behind: the laws of +God and man alike demand it. Mr. Hunter, in early life, had been +betrayed into committing a wrong act; and Miss Gwinn, in the +gratification of her passionate revenge, had visited it upon him all too +heavily. Heavily, most heavily was it pressing upon him now. That +unhappy visit to Wales, which had led to all the evil, was especially +present to his mind this day. A handsome young man, in the first dawn of +manhood, he had gone to the fashionable Welsh watering-place--partly to +renew a waste of strength more imaginary than real; partly in the love +of roving natural to youth; partly to enjoy a few weeks' relaxation. 'If +you want good and comfortable lodgings, go to Miss Gwinn's house on the +South Parade,' some friend, whom he encountered at his journey's end, +had said to him. And to Miss Gwinn's he went. He found Miss Gwinn a +cold, proud woman--it was she whom you have seen--bearing the manners of +a lady. The servant who waited upon him was garrulous, and proclaimed, +at the first interview, amidst other gossip, that her mistress had but a +limited income--a hundred, or a hundred and fifty pounds a year, she +believed; that she preferred to eke it out by letting her drawing-room +and adjoining bed-room, and to live well; rather than to rusticate and +pinch. Miss Gwinn and her motives were nothing to the young sojourner, +and he turned a careless, if not a deaf ear, to the gossip. 'She does +it chiefly for the sake of Miss Emma,' added the girl: and the listener +so far roused himself as to ask apathetically who 'Miss Emma' was. It +was her mistress's young sister, the girl replied: there must be twenty +good years between them. Miss Emma was but nineteen, and had just come +home from boarding-school: her mistress had brought her up ever since +her mother died. Miss Emma was not at home now, but was expected on the +morrow, she went on. Miss Emma was not without her good looks, but her +mistress took care they should not be seen by everybody. She'd hardly +let her go about the house when strangers were in it, lest she should be +met in the passages. Mr. Hunter laughed. Good looks had attractions for +him in those days, and he determined to see for himself, in spite of +Miss Gwinn, whether Miss Emma's looks were so good that they might not +be looked at. Now, by the merest accident--at least, it happened by +accident in the first instance, and not by intention--one chief point of +complication in the future ill was unwittingly led to. In this early +stage of the affair, while the servant maid was exercising her tongue in +these items of domestic news, the friend who had recommended Mr. Hunter +to the apartments, arrived at the house and called out to him from the +foot of the stairs, his high clear voice echoing through the house. + +'Lewis! Will you come out and take a stroll?' + +Lewis Hunter hastened down, proclaiming his acquiescence, and the maid +proceeded to the parlour of her mistress. + +'The gentleman's name is Lewis, ma'am. You said you forgot to ask it of +him.' + +Miss Gwinn, methodical in all she did, took a sheet of note-paper and +inscribed the name upon it, 'Mr. Lewis,' as a reminder for the time when +she should require to make out his bill. When Mr. Hunter found out their +error--for the maid henceforth addressed him as 'Mr. Lewis,' or 'Mr. +Lewis, sir'--it rather amused him, and he did not correct the mistake. +He had no motive whatever for concealing his name: he did not wish it +concealed. On the other hand, he deemed it of no importance to set them +right; it signified not a jot to him whether they called him 'Mr. Lewis' +or 'Mr. Hunter.' Thus they knew him as, and believed him to be, Mr. +Lewis only. He never took the trouble to undeceive them, and nothing +occurred to require the mistake to be corrected. The one or two letters +only which arrived for him--for he had gone there for idleness, not to +correspond with his friends--were addressed to the post-office, in +accordance with his primary directions, not having known where he should +lodge. + +Miss Emma came home: a very pretty and agreeable girl. In the narrow +passage of the house--one of those shallow residences built for letting +apartments at the sea-side--she encountered the stranger, who happened +to be going out as she entered. He lifted his hat to her. + +'Who is that, Nancy?' she asked of the chattering maid. + +'It's the new lodger, Miss Emma: Lewis his name is. Did you ever see +such good looks? And he has asked a thousand questions about you.' + +Now, the fact was, Mr. Hunter--stay, we will also call him Mr. Lewis for +the time being, as they had fallen into the error, and it may be +convenient to us--had not asked a single question about the young lady, +save the one when her name was first spoken of, 'Who is Miss Emma?' +Nancy had supplied information enough for a 'thousand' questions, +unasked; and perhaps she saw no difference. + +'Have you made any acquaintance with Mr. Lewis, Agatha?' Emma inquired +of her sister. + +'When do I make acquaintance with the people who take my apartments?' +replied Miss Gwinn, in a tone of reproof. 'They naturally look down upon +me as a letter of lodgings--and I am not one to bear that.' + +Now comes the unhappy tale. It shall be glanced at as briefly as +possible in detail; but it is necessary that parts of it should be +explained. + +Acquaintanceship sprang up between Mr. Lewis and Emma Gwinn. At first, +they met in the town, or on the beach, accidentally; later, I very much +fear that the meetings were tacitly, if not openly, more intentional. +Both were agreeable, both were young; and a liking for each other's +society arose in each of them. Mr. Lewis found his time hang somewhat +heavily on his hands, for his friend had left; and Emma Gwinn was not +prevented from walking out as she pleased. Only one restriction was laid +upon her by her sister: 'Emma, take care that you make no acquaintance +with strangers, or suffer it to be made with you. Speak to none.' + +An injunction which Miss Emma disobeyed. She disobeyed it in a +particularly marked manner. It was not only that she did permit Mr. +Lewis to make acquaintance with her, but she allowed it to ripen into +intimacy. Worse still, the meetings, I say, from having been at first +really accidental, grew to be sought. Sought on the one side as much as +on the other. Ah! young ladies, I wish this little history could be a +warning to you, never to deviate from the strict line of right--never to +stray, by so much as a thoughtless step, from the straight path of duty. +Once allow yourselves to do so, and you know not where it may end. +Slight acts of disobedience, that appear in themselves as the merest +trifles, may yet be fraught with incalculable mischief. The falling into +the habit of passing a pleasant hour of intercourse with Mr. Lewis, +sauntering on the beach in social and intellectual converse--and it was +no worse--appeared a very venial offence to Emma Gwinn. But she did it +in direct disobedience to the command and wish of her sister; and she +knew that she so did it. She knew also that she owed to that sister, who +had brought her up and cared for her from infancy, the allegiance that a +child gives to a mother. In this stage of the affair, she was chiefly to +blame. Mr. Lewis did not suppose that blame attached to him. There was +no reason why he should not while away an occasional hour in pleasant +chat with a young lady; there was no harm in the meetings, taking them +in the abstract. The blame lay with her. It is no excuse to urge that +Miss Gwinn exercised over her a too strict authority, that she kept her +secluded from society with an unusually tight hand. Miss Gwinn had a +motive in this: her sister knew nothing of it, and resented the +restriction as a personal wrong. To elude her vigilance, and walk about +with a handsome young man, seemed a return justifiable, and poor Emma +Gwinn never dreamt of any ill result. At length it was found out by Miss +Gwinn. She did not find out much. Indeed, there was not much to find, +except that there was more friendship between Mr. Lewis and Emma than +there was between Mr. Lewis and herself, and that they often met to +stroll on the beach, and enjoy the agreeable benefit of the sea-breezes. +But that was quite enough for Miss Gwinn. An uncontrollable storm of +passionate anger ensued, which was vented upon Emma. She stood over her, +and forced her to attire herself for travelling, protesting that not +another hour should she pass in the house while Mr. Lewis remained. Then +she started with Emma, to place her under the care of an aunt, who lived +so far off as to be a day's journey. + +'It's a shame!' was the comment of sympathetic Nancy, who deemed Miss +Gwinn the most unreasonable woman under the sun. Nancy was herself +engaged to an enterprising porter, to whom she intended to be married +some fine Easter, when they had saved up sufficient to lay in a stock of +goods and chattels. And she forthwith went straight to Mr. Lewis, and +communicated to him what had occurred, giving him Miss Emma's new +address. + +'He'll follow her if he have got any spirit,' was her inward thought. +'It's what my Joe would do by me, if I was forced off to desert places +by a old dragon.' + +It was precisely what Mr. Lewis did. Upon the return of Miss Gwinn, he +gave notice to quit her house, where he had already stayed longer than +he intended to do originally. Miss Gwinn had no suspicion but that he +returned to his home--wherever that might be. + +You may be inclined to ask why Miss Gwinn had fallen into anger so +great. That she loved her young sister with an intense and jealous love +was certain. Miss Gwinn was of a peculiar temperament, and she could not +bear that one spark of Emma's affection should stray from her. Emma, on +the contrary, scarcely cared for her eldest sister: entertaining for her +a very cool regard indeed, not to be called a sisterly one: and the +cause may have lain in the stern manners of Miss Gwinn. Deeply, ardently +as she loved Emma, her manners were to her invariably cold and stern: +and this does not beget love from the young. Emma also resented the +jealous restrictions imposed on her, lest she should make any +acquaintance that might lead to marriage. It had been better possibly +that Miss Gwinn had disclosed to her the reasons that existed against +it. There was madness in the Gwinn family. One of the parents had died +in an asylum, and the medical men suspected (as Miss Gwinn knew) that +the children might be subject to it. She did not fear it for herself, +but she did fear it for Emma: in point of fact, the young girl had +already, some years back, given indications of it. It was therefore Miss +Gwinn's intention and earnest wish--a very right and proper wish--that +Emma should never marry. There was one other sister, Elizabeth, a year +older than Emma. She had gone on a visit to Jersey some little time +before; and, to Miss Gwinn's dismay and consternation, had married a +farmer there, without asking leave. There was nothing for Miss Gwinn but +to bury the dismay within her, and to resolve that Emma should be +guarded more closely than before. But Emma Gwinn, knowing nothing of the +prompting motives, naturally resented the surveillance. + +Mr. Lewis followed Emma to her place of retirement. He had really grown +to like her: but the pursuit may have had its rise as much in the boyish +desire to thwart Miss Gwinn--or, as he expressed it, 'to pay her +off'--as in love. However that might have been, Emma Gwinn welcomed him +all too gladly, and the walks were renewed. + +It was an old tale, that, which ensued. Thanks to improved manners and +morals, we can say an 'old' tale, in contradistinction to a modern one. +A secret marriage in these days would be looked upon askance by most +people. Under the purest, the most domestic, the wisest court in the +world, manners and customs have taken a turn with us, and society calls +underhand doings by their right name, and turns its back upon them. +Nevertheless, private marriages and run-a-way marriages were not done +away with in the days when James Lewis Hunter contracted his. + +I wonder whether one ever took place--where it was contracted in +disobedience and defiance--that did not bring, in some way or other, its +own punishment? To few, perhaps, was it brought home as it was to Mr. +Hunter. No apology can be offered for the step he took: not even his +youth, or his want of experience, or the attachment which had grown up +in his heart for Emma. He knew that his family would have objected to +the marriage. In fact, he dared not tell his purpose. Her position was +not equal to his--at least, old Mr. Hunter, a proud man, would not have +deemed it to be so--and he would have objected on the score of his son's +youth. The worst bar of all would have been the tendency to insanity of +the Gwinns--but of this James Hunter knew nothing. So he took that one +false, blind, irrevocable step of contracting a private marriage; and +the consequences came bitterly home to him. The marriage was a strictly +legal one. James Hunter was honourable enough to take care of that: and +both of them guarded the secret jealously. Emma remained at her aunt's, +and wore her ring inside her dress, attached to a neck ribbon. Her +husband only saw her sometimes; to avoid suspicion he lived chiefly at +his father's home in London. Six months afterwards, Emma Gwinn--nay, +Emma Hunter--lay upon her death-bed. A fever broke out in the +neighbourhood, which she caught; and a different illness also +supervened. Miss Gwinn, apprised of her danger, hastened to her. She +stood over her in a shock of horror--whence had those symptoms arisen, +and what meant that circle of gold that Emma in her delirium kept hold +of on her neck? Medical skill could not save her, and just before her +death, in a lucid interval, she confessed her marriage--the bare fact +only--none of its details; she loved her husband too truly to expose +him to the dire wrath of her sister. And she died without giving the +slightest clue to his real name--Hunter. It was the fever that killed +her. + +Dire wrath, indeed! That was scarcely the word for it. Insane wrath +would be better. In Miss Gwinn's injustice (violent people always are +unjust) she persisted in attributing Emma's death to Mr. Lewis. In her +bitter grief, she jumped to the belief that the secret must have preyed +upon Emma's brain in the delirium of fever, and that that prevented her +recovery. It is very probable that the secret did prey upon it, though, +it is to be hoped, not to the extent assumed by Miss Gwinn. + +Mr. Lewis knew nothing of the illness. He was in France with his father +at the time it happened, and had not seen his wife for three weeks. +Perhaps the knowledge of his absence abroad, caused Emma not to attempt +to apprise him when first seized; afterwards she was too ill to do so. +But by a strange coincidence he arrived from London the day after the +funeral. + +Nobody need envy him the interview with Miss Gwinn. On her part it was +not a seemly one. Glad to get out of the house and be away from her +reproaches, the stormy interview was concluded almost as soon as it had +begun. He returned straight to London, her last words ringing their +refrain on his ears--that his wife was dead and he had killed her: Miss +Gwinn being still in ignorance that his proper name was anything but +Lewis. Following immediately upon this--it was curious that it should be +so--Miss Gwinn received news that her sister Elizabeth, Mrs. Gardener, +was ill in Jersey. She hastened to her: for Elizabeth was nearly, if +not quite, as dear to her as Emma had been. Mrs. Gardener's was a +peculiar and unusual illness, and it ended in a confirmed and hopeless +affection of the brain. + +Once more Miss Gwinn's injustice came into play. Just as she had +persisted in attributing Emma's death to Mr. Lewis, so did she now +attribute to him Elizabeth's insanity: that is, she regarded him as its +remote cause. That the two young sisters had been much attached to each +other was undoubted: but to think that Elizabeth's madness came on +through sorrow for Emma's death, or at the tidings of what had preceded +it, was absurdly foolish. The poor young lady was placed in an asylum in +London, of which Dr. Bevary was one of the visiting physicians; he was +led to take an unusual interest in the case, and this brought him +acquainted with Miss Gwinn. Within a year of her being placed there, the +husband, Mr. Gardener, died in Jersey. His affairs turned out to be +involved, and from that time the cost of keeping her there devolved on +Miss Gwinn. + +Private asylums are expensive, and Miss Gwinn could only maintain her +sister in one at the cost of giving up her own home. Ill-conditioned +though she was, we must confess she had her troubles. She gave it up +without a murmur: she would have given up her life to benefit either of +those, her young sisters. Retaining but a mere pittance, she devoted all +her means to the comfort of Elizabeth, and found a home with her +brother, in Ketterford. Where she spent her days bemoaning the lost and +cherishing a really insane hatred against Mr. Lewis--a desire for +revenge. She had never come across him, until that Easter Monday, at +Ketterford. And that, you will say, is scarcely correct, since it was +not himself she met then, but his brother. Deceived by the resemblance, +she attacked Mr. Henry Hunter in the manner you remember; and Austin +Clay saved him from the gravel-pit. But the time soon came when she +stood face to face with _him_. It was the hour she had so longed for: +the hour of revenge. What revenge? But for the wicked lie she +subsequently forged, there could have been no revenge. The worst she +could have proclaimed was, that James Lewis Hunter, when he was a young +man, had so far forgotten his duty to himself, and to the world's +decencies, as to contract a secret marriage. He might have got over +that. He had mourned his young wife sincerely at the time, but later +grew to think that all things were for the best--that it was a serious +source of embarrassment removed from his path. Nothing more or less had +he to acknowledge. + +What revenge would Miss Gwinn have reaped from this? None. Certainly +none to satisfy one so vindictive as she. It never was clear to herself +what revenge she had desired: all her efforts had been directed to the +discovering of him. She found him a man of social ties. He had married +Louisa Bevary; he had a fair daughter; he was respected by the world: +all of which excited the anger of Miss Gwinn. + +Remembering her violent nature, it was only to be expected that Mr. +Hunter should shrink from meeting Miss Gwinn when he first knew she had +tracked him and was in London. He had never told his wife the episode in +his early life, and would very much have disliked its tardy disclosure +to her through the agency of Miss Gwinn. Fifty pounds would he have +willingly given to avoid a meeting with her. But she came to his very +home; so to say, into the presence of his wife and child; and he had to +see her, and make the best of it. You must remember the interview. Mr. +Hunter's agitation _previous_ to it, was caused by the dread of the +woman's near presence, of the disturbance she might make in his +household, of the discovery his wife was in close danger of making--that +he was a widower when she married him, and not a bachelor. Any husband +of the present day might show the same agitation I think under similar +circumstances. But Mr. Hunter did not allow this agitation to sway him +when before Miss Gwinn; once shut up with her, he was cool and calm as a +cucumber; rather defied her than not, civilly; and asked what she meant +by intruding upon him, and what she had to complain of: which of course +was but adding fuel to the woman's flame. It was quite true, all he +said, and there was nothing left to hang a peg of revenge upon. And so +she invented one. The demon of mischief put it into her mind to impose +upon him with the lie that his first wife, Emma, was not dead, but +living. She told him that she (she, herself) had imposed upon him with a +false story in that long-past day, in saying that Emma was dead and +buried. It was another sister who had died, she added--not Emma: Emma +had been ill with the fever, but was recovering; and she had said this +to separate her from him. Emma, she continued, was alive still, a +patient in the lunatic asylum. + +It never occurred to Mr. Hunter to doubt the tale. Her passionate +manner, her impressive words, but added to her earnestness, and he came +out from the interview believing that his first wife had not died. His +state of mind cannot be forgotten. Austin Clay saw him pacing the waste +ground in the dark night. His agony and remorse were fearful; the sun of +his life's peace had set: and there could be no retaliation upon her who +had caused it all--Miss Gwinn. + +Miss Gwinn, however, did not follow up her revenge. Not because further +steps might have brought the truth to light, but because after a night's +rest she rather repented of it. Her real nature was honourable, and she +despised herself for what she had done. Once it crossed her to undo it; +but she hated Mr. Hunter with an undying hatred, and so let it alone and +went down to Ketterford. One evening, when she had been at home some +days, a spirit of confidence came over her which was very unusual, and +she told her brother of the revenge she had taken. That was quite enough +for Lawyer Gwinn: a glorious opportunity of enriching himself, not to be +missed. He went up to London, and terrified Mr. Hunter out of five +thousand pounds. 'Or I go and tell your wife, Miss Bevary, that she is +not your wife,' he threatened, in his coarse way. Miss Gwinn suspected +that the worthy lawyer had gone to make the most of the opportunity, and +she wrote him a sharp letter, telling him that if he did so--if he +interfered at all--she would at once confess to Lewis Hunter that Emma +was really dead. Not knowing where he would put up in London, she +enclosed this note to Austin Clay, asking him to give it to Lawyer +Gwinn. She took the opportunity, at the same time, of writing a +reproachful letter to Mr. Hunter, in which his past ill-doings and +Emma's present existence were fully enlarged upon. As the reader may +remember, she misdirected the letters: Austin became acquainted with the +(as he could but suppose) dangerous secret; and the note to Lawyer Gwinn +was set alight, sealed. If Austin or his master had but borrowed a +momentary portion of the principles of Gwinn of Ketterford, and peeped +into the letter! What years of misery it would have saved Mr. Hunter! +But when Miss Gwinn discovered that her brother had used the lie to +obtain money, she did not declare the truth. The sense of justice within +her yielded to revenge. She hated Mr. Hunter as she had ever done, and +would not relieve him. A fine life, between them, did they lead Mr. +Hunter. Miss Gwinn protested against every fresh aggression made by the +lawyer; but protested only. In Mr. Hunter's anguish of mind at the +disgrace cast on his wife and child; in his terror lest the truth (as he +assumed it to be) should reach them--and it seemed to be ever +looming--he had lived, as may be said, a perpetual death. And the +disgrace was of a nature that never could be removed; and the terror had +never left him through all these long years. + +Dr. Bevary had believed the worst. When he first became acquainted with +Miss Gwinn, she (never a communicative woman) had not disclosed the +previous history of the patient in the asylum. She had given hints of a +sad tale, she even said she was living in hope of being revenged on one +who had done herself and family an injury, but she said no more. Later +circumstances connected with Mr. Hunter and his brother, dating from the +account he heard of Miss Gwinn's attack upon Mr. Henry, had impressed +Dr. Bevary with the belief that James Hunter had really married the poor +woman in the asylum. When he questioned Miss Gwinn, that estimable woman +had replied in obscure hints: and they had so frightened Dr. Bevary that +he dared ask no further. For his sister's sake he tacitly ignored the +subject in future, living in daily thankfulness that Mrs. Hunter was +without suspicion. + +But with the dead body of Elizabeth Gardener lying before her, the +enacted lie came to an end. Miss Gwinn freely acknowledged what she had +done, and took little, if any, blame to herself. 'Lewis Hunter spoilt +the happiness of my life,' she said; 'in return I have spoilt his.' + +'And suppose my sister, his lawful wife, had been led to believe this +fine tale?' questioned Dr. Bevary, looking keenly at her. + +'In that case I should have declared the truth,' said Miss Gwinn. 'I had +no animosity to her. She was innocent, she was also your sister, and she +should never have suffered.' + +'How could you know that she remained ignorant?' + +'By my brother being able, whenever he would, to frighten Mr. Hunter,' +was the laconic answer. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +RELIEF. + + +We left Mr. Hunter in the easy chair of his dining-room, buried in these +reminiscences of the unhappy past, and quite unconscious that relief of +any sort could be in store for him. And yet it was very near: relief +from two evils, quite opposite in their source. How long he sat there he +scarcely knew; it seemed for hours. In the afternoon he aroused himself +to his financial difficulties, and went out. He remembered that he had +purposed calling that day upon his bankers, though he had no hope--but +rather the certainty of the contrary--that they would help him out of +his financial embarrassments. There was just time to get there before +the bank closed, and Mr. Hunter had a cab called and went down to +Lombard Street. He was shown into the room of the principal partner. The +banker thought how ill he looked. Mr. Hunter's first question was about +the heavy bill that was due that day. He supposed it had been presented +and dishonoured. + +'No,' said the banker. 'It was presented and paid.' + +A ray of hope lighted up the sadness of Mr. Hunter's face. 'Did you +indeed pay it? It was very kind. You shall be no eventual losers.' + +'We did not pay it from our own funds, Mr. Hunter. It was paid from +yours.' + +Mr. Hunter did not understand. 'I thought my account had been nearly +drawn out,' he said; 'and by the note I received this morning from you, +I understood you would decline to help me.' + +'Your account was drawn very close indeed; but this afternoon, in time +to meet the bill upon its second presentation, there was a large sum +paid in to your credit--two thousand six hundred pounds.' + +A pause of blank astonishment on the part of Mr. Hunter. 'Who paid it +in?' he presently asked. + +'Mr. Clay. He came himself. You will weather the storm now, Mr. Hunter.' + +There was no answering reply. The banker bent forward in the dusk of the +growing evening, and saw that Mr. Hunter was incapable of making one. He +was sinking back in his chair in a fainting fit. Whether it was the +revulsion of feeling caused by the conviction that he _should_ now +weather the storm, or simply the effect of his physical state, Mr. +Hunter had fainted, as quietly as any girl might do. One of the partners +lived at the bank, and Mr. Hunter was conveyed into the dwelling-house. +It was quite evening before he was well enough to leave it. He drove to +the yard. It was just closed for the night, and Mr. Clay was gone. Mr. +Hunter ordered the cab home. He found Austin waiting for him, and he +also found Dr. Bevary. Seeing the latter, he expected next to see Miss +Gwinn, and glanced nervously round. + +'She is gone back to Ketterford,' spoke out Dr. Bevary, divining the +fear. 'The woman will never trouble you again. I thought you must be +lost, Hunter. I have been here twice; been home to dinner with Florence; +been round at the yard worrying Clay; and could not come upon you +anywhere.' + +'I went to the bank, and was taken ill there,' said Mr. Hunter, who +still seemed anything but himself, and looked round in a bewildered +manner. 'The woman, Bevary--are you sure she's gone quite away? She--she +wanted to beg, I think,' he added, as if in apology for pressing the +question. + +'She is _gone_: gone never to return; and you may be at rest,' repeated +the doctor, impressively. 'And so you have been ill at the bankers', +James! Things are going wrong, I suppose.' + +'No, they are going right. Austin'--laying his hand upon the young man's +shoulder--'what am I to say? This money can only have come from you.' + +'Sir!' said Austin, half laughing. + +Mr. Hunter drew Dr. Bevary's attention, pointing to Austin. 'Look at +him, Bevary. He has saved me. But for him, I should have borne a +dishonoured name this day. I went down to Lombard Street, a man without +hope, believing that the blow had been already struck in bills +dishonoured--that my name was on its way to the _Gazette_. I found that +he, Austin Clay, had paid in between two and three thousand pounds to my +credit.' + +'I could not put my money to a better use, sir. The two thousand pounds +were left to me, you know: the rest I saved. I was wishing for something +to turn up that I could invest it in.' + +'Invest!' exclaimed Mr. Hunter, deep feeling in his tone. 'How do you +know you will not lose it?' + +'I have no fear, sir. The strike is at an end, and business will go on +well now.' + +'If I did not believe that it would, I would never consent to use it,' +said Mr. Hunter. + +It was true. Austin Clay, a provident man, had been advancing his money +to save the credit of his master. Suspecting some such a crisis as this +was looming, he had contrived to hold his funds in available readiness. +It had come, though, sooner than he anticipated. + +'How am I to repay you?' asked Mr. Hunter. 'I don't mean the money: but +the obligation.' + +A red flush mounted to Austin's brow. He answered hastily, as if to +cover it. + +'I do not require payment, sir. I do not look for any.' + +Mr. Hunter stood in deep thought, looking at him, but vacantly. Dr. +Bevary was near the mantelpiece, apparently paying no attention to +either of them. 'Will you link your name to mine?' said Mr. Hunter, +moving towards Austin. + +'In what manner, sir?' + +'By letting the firm be from henceforth Hunter and Clay. I have long +wished this; you are of too great use to me to remain anything less than +a partner, and by this last act of yours, you have earned the right to +be so. Will you object to join your name to one which was so near being +dishonoured?' + +He held out his hand as he spoke, and Austin clasped it. 'Oh, Mr. +Hunter!' he exclaimed, in the strong impulse of the moment, 'I wish you +would give me hopes of a dearer reward.' + +'You mean Florence,' said Mr. Hunter. + +'Yes,' returned Austin, in agitation. 'I care not how long I wait, or +what price you may call upon me to pay for her. As Jacob served Laban +seven years for Rachel, so would I serve for Florence, and think it but +a day, for the love I bear her. Sir, Mrs. Hunter would have given her to +me.' + +'My objection is not to you, Austin. Were I to disclose to you certain +particulars connected with Florence--as I should be obliged to do before +she married--you might yourself decline her.' + +'Try me, sir,' said Austin, a bright smile parting his lips. + +'Ay, try him,' said Dr. Bevary, in his quaint manner. 'I have an idea +that he may know as much of the matter as you do, Hunter. You neither of +you know too much,' he significantly added. + +Austin's cheek turned red; and there was that in his tone, his look, +which told Mr. Hunter that he had known the fact, known it for years. +'Oh, sir,' he pleaded, 'give me Florence.' + +'I tell you that you neither of you know too much,' said Dr. Bevary. +'But, look here, Austin. The best thing you can do is, to go to my house +and ask Florence whether she will have you. Then--if you don't find it +too much trouble--escort her home.' Austin laughed as he caught up his +hat. A certain prevision, that he should win Florence, had ever been +within him. + +Dr. Bevary watched the room-door close, and then drew a chair in front +of his brother-in-law. 'Did it ever strike you that Austin Clay knew +your secret, James?' he began. + +'How should it?' returned Mr. Hunter, feeling himself compelled to +answer. + +'I do not know how,' said the doctor, 'any more than I know how the +impression, that he did, fixed itself upon me. I have felt sure, this +many a year past, that he was no stranger to the fact, though he +probably knew nothing of the details.' + +To the fact! Dr. Bevary spoke with strange coolness. + +'When did _you_ become acquainted with it?' asked Mr. Hunter, in a tone +of sharp pain. + +'I became acquainted with your share in it at the time Miss Gwinn +discovered that Mr. Lewis was Mr. Hunter. At least, with as much of the +share as I ever was acquainted with until to-day.' + +Mr. Hunter compressed his lips. It was no use beating about the bush any +longer. + +'James,' resumed the doctor, 'why did you not confide the secret to me? +It would have been much better.' + +'To you! Louisa's brother!' + +'It would have been better, I say. It might not have lifted the sword +that was always hanging over Louisa's head, or have eased it by one jot; +but it might have eased _you_. A sorrow kept within a man's own bosom, +doing its work in silence, will burn his life away: get him to talk of +it, and half the pain is removed. It is also possible that I might have +made better terms than you, with the rapacity of Gwinn.' + +'If you knew it, why did you not speak openly to me?' + +Dr. Bevary suppressed a shudder. 'It was one of those terrible secrets +that a third party cannot interfere in uninvited. No: silence was my +only course, so long as you observed silence to me. Had I interfered, I +might have said "Louisa shall leave you!"' + +'It is over, so far as she is concerned,' said Mr. Hunter, wiping his +damp brow. 'Let her name rest. It is the thought of her that has well +nigh killed me.' + +'Ay, it's over,' responded Dr. Bevary; 'over, in more senses than one. +Do you not wonder that Miss Gwinn should have gone back to Ketterford +without molesting you again?' + +'How can I wonder at anything she does? She comes and she goes, with as +little reason as warning.' + +Dr. Bevary lowered his voice. 'Have you ever been to see that poor +patient in Kerr's asylum?' + +The question excited the anger of Mr. Hunter. 'What do you mean by +asking it?' he cried. 'When I was led to believe her dead, I shaped my +future course according to that belief. I have never acted, nor would I +act, upon any other--save in the giving money to Gwinn, for my wife's +sake. If Louisa was not my wife legally, she was nothing less in the +sight of God.' + +'Louisa was your wife,' said Dr. Bevary, quietly. And Mr. Hunter +responded by a sharp gesture of pain. He wished the subject at an end. +The doctor continued-- + +'James, had you gone, though it had been but for an instant, to see that +unhappy patient of Kerr's, your trammels would have been broken. It was +not Emma, your young wife of years ago.' + +'It was not!----What do you say?' gasped Mr. Hunter. + +'When Agatha Gwinn found you out, here, in this house, she startled you +nearly to death by telling you that Emma was alive--was a patient in +Kerr's asylum. She told you that, when you had been informed in those +past days of Emma's death, you were imposed upon by a lie--a lie +invented by herself. James, the lie was uttered _then_, when she spoke +to you here. Emma, your wife, did die; and the young woman in the asylum +was her sister.' Mr. Hunter rose. His hands were raised imploringly, his +face was stretched forward in its sad yearning. What!--which was true? +which was he to believe?--'In the gratification of her revenge, Miss +Gwinn concocted the tale that Emma was alive,' resumed Dr. Bevary, +'knowing, as she spoke it, that Emma had been dead years and years. She +contrived to foster the same impression upon me; and the same +impression, I cannot tell how, has, I am sure, clung to Austin Clay. +Louisa was your lawful wife, James.' Mr. Hunter, in the plenitude of his +thankfulness, sank upon his chair, a sobbing burst of emotion breaking +from him, and the drops of perspiration gathering again on his brow. +'That other one, the sister, the poor patient, is dead,' pursued the +doctor. 'As we stood together over her, an hour ago, Miss Gwinn +confessed the imposition. It appeared to slip from her involuntarily, in +spite of herself. I inquired her motive, and she answered, "To be +revenged on you, Lewis Hunter, for the wrong you had done." As you had +marred the comfort of her life, so she in return had marred that of +yours. As she stood in her impotence, looking on the dead, I asked her +which, in her opinion, had inflicted the most wrong, she or you?' + +Mr. Hunter lifted his eager face. 'It was a foolish deceit. What did she +hope to gain by it? A word at any time might have exposed it.' + +'It seems she did gain pretty well by it,' significantly replied Dr. +Bevary. 'There's little doubt that it was first spoken in the angry rage +of the moment, as being the most effectual mode of tormenting you: and +the terrible dread with which you received it--as I conclude you so did +receive it--must have encouraged her to persist in the lie. James, you +should have confided in me; I might have brought light to bear on it in +some way or other. Your timorous silence has kept me quiet.' + +'God be thanked that it is over!' fervently ejaculated Mr. Hunter. 'The +loss of my money, the loss of my peace, they seem to be little in +comparison with the joy of this welcome revelation.' + +He sat down as he spoke and bent his head upon his hand. Presently he +looked at his brother-in-law. 'And you think that Clay has suspected +this? And that--suspecting it, he has wished for Florence?' + +'I am sure of one thing--that Florence has been his object, his dearest +hope. What he says has no exaggeration in it--that he would serve for +her seven years, and seven to that, for the love he bears her.' + +'I have been afraid to glance at such a thing as marriage for Florence, +and that is the reason I would not listen to Austin Clay. With this slur +hanging over her----' + +'There is no slur--as it turns out,' interrupted Dr. Bevary. 'Florence +loves him, James; and your wife knew it.' + +'What a relief is all this!' murmured Mr. Hunter. 'The woman gone back +to Ketterford! I think I shall sleep to-night.' + +'She is gone back, never more to trouble you. We must see how her worthy +brother can be brought to account for obtaining money under false +pretences.' + +'I'll make him render back every shilling he has defrauded me of: I'll +bring him to answer for it before the laws of his country,' was the +wronged man's passionate and somewhat confused answer. + +But that is more easy to say than to do, Mr. Hunter! + +For, a few days subsequent to this, Lawyer Gwinn, possibly scenting that +unpleasant consequences might be in store for him, was quietly steaming +to America in a fine ship; taking all his available substance with him; +and leaving Ketterford and his sister behind. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +CONCLUSION. + + +With outward patience and inward wonder, Florence Hunter was remaining +at Dr. Bevary's. That something must be wrong at home, she felt sure: +else why was she kept away from it so long? And where was her uncle? +Invalids were shut up in the waiting-room, like Patience on a monument, +hoping minute by minute to see him appear. And now here was another, she +supposed! No. He had passed the patients' room and was opening the door +of this. Austin Clay! + +'What have you come for?' she exclaimed, in the glad confusion of the +moment. + +'To take you home, for one thing,' he answered, as he approached her. +'Do you dislike the escort, Florence?' He bent forward as he asked the +question. A strange light of happiness shone in his eyes; a sweet smile +parted his lips. Florence Hunter's heart stood still, and then began to +beat as if it would have burst its bounds. + +'What has happened?' she faltered. + +'This,' he said, taking both her hands and drawing her gently before +him. 'The right to hold your hands in mine; the right--soon--to take you +to my heart and keep you there for ever. Your father and uncle have sent +me to tell you this.' + +The words, in their fervent earnestness carried instant truth to her +heart, lighting it as with the brightness of sunshine. 'Oh, what a +recompense!' she impulsively murmured from the depths of her great +love. 'And everything lately has seemed so dark with doubt, so full of +trouble!' + +'No more doubt, no more trouble,' he fondly whispered. 'It shall be my +life's care to guard my wife from all such, Florence--heaven permitting +me.' Anything more that was said may as well be left to the reader's +lively imagination. They arrived at home after awhile; and found Dr. +Bevary there, talking still. + +'How you must have hurried yourselves!' quoth he, turning to them. +'Clay, you ought to be ill from walking fast. What has kept him, +Florence?' + +'Not your patients, Doctor,' retorted Austin, laughing; 'though you are +keeping them. One of them says you made an appointment with him. By the +way he spoke, I think he was inwardly vowing vengeance against you for +not keeping it.' + +'Ah,' said the Doctor, 'we medical men do get detained sometimes. One +patient has had the most of my time this day, poor lady!' + +'Is she better?' quickly asked Florence, who always had ready sympathy +for sickness and suffering: perhaps from having seen so much of it in +her mother. + +'No, my dear, she is dead,' was the answer, gravely spoken. 'And, +therefore,' added the doctor in a different tone, 'I have no further +excuse for absenting myself from those other patients who are alive and +grumbling at me. Will you walk a few steps with me, Mr. Clay?' + +Dr. Bevary linked his arm within Austin's as they crossed the hall, and +they went out together. 'How did you become acquainted with that dark +secret' he breathed. + +'Through a misdirected letter of Miss Gwinn's,' replied Austin. 'After +I had read it, I discovered that it must have been meant for Mr. Hunter, +though addressed to me. It told me all. Dr. Bevary, I have had to carry +the secret all these years, bearing myself as one innocent of the +knowledge; before Mrs. Hunter, before Florence, before him. I would have +given half my savings not to have known it.' + +'You believed that--that--one was living who might have replaced Mrs. +Hunter?' + +'Yes; and that she was in confinement. The letter, a reproachful one, +was too explanatory.' + +'She died this morning. It is with her--at least with her and her +affairs--that my day has been taken up.' + +'What a mercy!' ejaculated Austin. + +'Ay; mercies are showered down every day: a vast many more than we, +self-complaisant mortals, acknowledge or return thanks for,' responded +Dr. Bevary, in the quaint tone he was fond of using. And then, in a few +brief words, he enlightened Austin as to the actual truth. + +'What a fiend she must be!' cried Austin, alluding to Miss Gwinn of +Ketterford. 'Oh, but this is a mercy indeed! And I have been planning +how to guard the secret always from Florence.' Dr. Bevary made no reply. +Austin turned to him, the ingenuous look upon his face that it often +wore. 'You approve of me for Florence? Do you not, sir?' + +'Be you very sure, young gentleman, that you should never have got her, +had I not approved,' oracularly nodded Dr. Bevary. 'I look upon Florence +as part of my belongings; and, if you mind what you are about, perhaps +I may look upon you as the same.' + +Austin laughed. 'How am I to avoid offence?' he asked.--'By loving your +wife with an earnest, lasting love; by making her a better husband than +James Hunter has been enabled to make her poor mother.' + +The tears rose to Austin's eyes with the intensity of his emotion. 'Do +you think there is cause to ask me to do this, Dr. Bevary?' + +'No, my boy, I do not. God bless you both! There! leave me to get home +to those patients of mine. You can be off back to her.' + +But Austin Clay had work on his hands, as well as pleasure, and he +turned towards Daffodil's Delight. It was the evening for taking +Baxendale his week's money, and Austin was not one to neglect it. He +picked his way down amidst the poor people, standing about hungry and +half-naked. All the works were open again, but numbers and numbers of +men could not obtain employment, however good their will was: the +masters had taken on strangers, and there was no room for the old +workmen. John Baxendale was sitting by his bedside dressed. His injuries +were yielding to skill and time: and in a short while he looked to be at +work again. + +'Well, Baxendale?' cried Austin, in his cheery voice. 'Still getting +better?' + +'Oh yes, sir, I'm thankful to say it. The surgeon was here to-day, and +told me there would be no further relapse. I am a bit tired this +evening; I stood a good while at the window, watching the row opposite. +She was giving him such a basting.' + +'What! do you mean the Cheeks? I thought the street seemed in a +commotion.' + +Baxendale laughed. 'It is but just over, sir. She set on and shook him +soundly, and then she scratched him, and then she cuffed him--all +outside the door. I do wonder that Cheek took it from her; but he's just +like a puppy in her hands, and nothing better. Two good hours they were +disputing there.' + +'What was the warfare about?' inquired Austin. + +'About his not getting work, sir. Cheek's wife was just like many of the +other wives in Daffodil's Delight--urging their husbands not to go to +work, and vowing _they'd_ strike if they didn't stand out. I don't know +but Mother Cheek was about the most obstinate of all. The very day that +I was struck down I heard her blowing him up for not "standing firm upon +his rights;" and telling him she'd rather go to his hanging than see him +go back to work. And now she beats him because he can't get any to do.' + +'Is Cheek one that cannot get any?' + +'Cheek's one, sir. Mr. Henry took on more strangers than did you and Mr. +Hunter; so, of course, there's less room for his old men. Cheek has +walked about London these two days, till he's foot-sore, trying +different shops, but he can't get taken on: there are too many men out, +for him to have a chance.' + +'I think some of the wives in Daffodil's Delight are the most +unreasonable women that ever were created,' ejaculated Austin. + +'_She_ is--that wife of Cheek's,' rejoined Baxendale. 'I don't know how +they'll end it. She has shut the door in his face, vowing he shall not +put a foot inside it until he can bring some wages with him. Forbidding +him to take work when it was to be had, and now that it can't be had +turning upon him for not getting it! If Cheek wasn't a donkey, he'd turn +upon her again. There's other women just as contradictory. I think the +bad living has soured their tempers.' + +'Where's Mary this evening?' inquired Austin, quitting the +unsatisfactory topic. Since her father's illness, Mary's place had been +by his side: it was something unusual to find her absent. Baxendale +lowered his voice to reply. + +'She is getting ill again, sir. All her old symptoms have come back, and +I am sure now that she is going fast. She is on her bed, lying down.' + +As he spoke the last word, he stopped, for Mary entered. She seemed +scarcely able to walk; a hectic flush shone on her cheeks, and her +breath was painfully short. 'Mary,' Austin said, with much concern, 'I +am sorry to see you thus.' + +'It is only the old illness come back again, sir,' she answered, as she +sunk back in the pillowed chair. 'I knew it had not gone for good--that +the improvement was but temporary. But now, sir, look how good and +merciful is the hand that guides us--and yet we sometimes doubt it! What +should I have been spared for, and had this returning glimpse of +strength, but that I might nurse my father in his illness, and be a +comfort to him? He is nearly well--will soon be at work again and wants +me no more. Thanks ever be to God!' + +Austin went out, marvelling at the girl's simple and beautiful trust. +It appeared that she would be happy in her removal whenever it should +come. As he was passing up the street he met Dr. Bevary. Austin wondered +what had become of his patients. + +'All had gone away but two; tired of waiting,' said the Doctor, divining +his thoughts. 'I am going to take a look at Mary Baxendale. I hear she +is worse.' + +'Very much worse,' replied Austin. 'I have just left her father.' At +that moment there was a sound of contention and scolding, a woman's +sharp tongue being uppermost. It proceeded from Mrs. Cheek, who was +renewing the contest with her husband. Austin gave Dr. Bevary an outline +of what Baxendale had said. + +'And if, after a short season of prosperity, another strike should come, +these women would be the first again to urge the men on to it--to "stand +up for their rights!"' exclaimed the Doctor. + +'Not all of them.' + +'They have not all done it now. Mark you, Austin! I shall settle a +certain sum upon Florence when she marries, just to keep you in bread +and cheese, should these strikes become the order of the day, and you +get engulfed in them.' + +Austin smiled. 'I think I can take better care than that, Doctor.' + +'Take all the care you please. But you are talking self-sufficient +nonsense, my young friend. I shall put Florence on the safe side, in +spite of your care. I have no fancy to see her reduced to one maid and a +cotton gown. You can tell her so,' added the Doctor, as he continued on +his way. + +Austin turned on his, when a man stole up to him from some side entry--a +cadaverous-looking man, pinched and careworn. It was James Dunn; he had +been discharged out of prison by the charity of some fund at the +disposal of the governor. He humbly begged for work--'just to keep him +from starving.' + +'You ask what I have not to give, Dunn,' was the reply of Austin. 'Our +yard is full; and consider the season! Perhaps when spring comes on----' + +'How am I to exist till spring, sir?' he burst forth in a voice that was +but just kept from tears. 'And the wife and the children?' + +'I wish I could help you, Dunn. Your case is but that of many others.' + +'There have been so many strangers took on, sir!' + +'Of course there have been. To do the work that you and others refused.' + +'I have not a place to lay my head in this night, sir. I have not so +much as a slice of bread. I'd do the meanest work that could be offered +to me.' + +Austin felt in his pocket for a piece of money, and gave it him. 'What +misery they have brought upon themselves!' he thought. + +When the announcement reached Mrs. Henry Hunter of Florence's +engagement, she did not approve of it. Not that she had any objection to +Austin Clay; he had from the first been a favourite with her, though she +had sometimes marked her preference by a somewhat patronizing manner; +but for Florence to marry her father's clerk, though that clerk had now +become partner, was more than she could at the first moment quietly +yield to. + +'It is quite a descent for her,' she said to her husband privately. +'What can James be thinking of? The very idea of her marrying Austin +Clay!' + +'But if she likes him?' + +'That ought not to go for anything. Suppose it had been Mary? I would +not have let her have him.' + +'I would,' decisively returned Mr. Henry Hunter. 'Clay's worth his +weight in gold.' + +Some short while given to preliminaries, and to the re-establishment (in +a degree) of Mr. Hunter's shattered health, and the new firm 'Hunter and +Clay' was duly announced to the business world. Upon an appointed day, +Mr. Hunter stood before his workmen, his arm within Austin's. He was +introducing him to them in his new capacity of partner. The strike was +quite at an end, and the men--so many as could be made room for--had +returned; but Mr. Hunter would not consent to discharge the hands that +had come forward to take work during the emergency. + +'What has the strike brought you?' inquired Mr. Hunter, seizing upon the +occasion to offer a word of advice. 'Any good?' Strictly speaking, the +men could not reply that it had. In the silence that ensued after the +question, one man's voice was at length raised. 'We look back upon it as +a subject of congratulation, sir.' + +'Congratulation!' exclaimed Mr. Hunter. 'Upon what point?' + +'That we have had the pluck to hold out so long in the teeth of +difficulties,' replied the voice. + +'Pluck is a good quality when rightly applied,' observed Mr. Hunter. +'But what good has the "pluck," or the strike, brought to you in this +case?--for that was the question we were upon.' + +'It was a lock-out, sir; not a strike.' + +'In the first instance it was a strike,' said Mr. Hunter. 'Pollocks' men +struck, and you had it in contemplation to follow their example. Oh, +yes! you had, my men; you know as well as I do, that the measure was +under discussion. Upon that state of affairs becoming known, the masters +determined upon a general lock-out. They did it in self-defence; and if +you will put yourselves in thought into their places, judging fairly, +you will not wonder that it was considered the only course open to them. +The lock-out lasted but a short period, and then the yards were again +opened--open to all who would resume work upon the old terms, and sign a +declaration not to be under the dominion of the Trades' Unions. How very +few availed themselves of this you do not need to be reminded.' + +'We acted for what we thought the best,' said another. + +'I know you did,' replied Mr. Hunter. 'You are--speaking of you +collectively--steady, hard-working, well-meaning men, who wish to do the +best for yourselves, your wives, and families. But, looking back now, do +you consider that it was for the best? You have returned to work upon +the same terms that you were offered then. Here we are, in the depth of +winter, and what sort of homes do you possess to fortify yourselves +against its severities!' What sort indeed! Mr. Hunter's delicacy shrank +from depicting them. 'I am not speaking to you now as your master,' he +continued, conscious that men do not like this style of converse from +their employers. 'Consider me for the moment as your friend only; let us +talk together as man and man. I wish I could bring you to see the evil +of these convulsions; I do not wish it from motives of self-interest, +but for your sole good. You may be thinking, "Ah, the master is afraid +of another contest; this one has done him so much damage, and that's why +he is going on at us against them." You are mistaken; that is not why I +speak. My men, were any further contests to take place between us, in +which you held yourselves aloof from work, as you have done in this, we +should at once place ourselves beyond dependence upon you, by bringing +over foreign workmen. In the consultations which have been held between +myself and Mr. Clay, relative to the terms of our partnership, this +point has been fully discussed, and our determination taken. Should we +have a repetition of the past, Hunter and Clay would then import their +own workmen.' + +'And other firms as well?' interrupted a voice. + +'We know nothing of what other firms might do: to attend to our own +interests is enough for us. I hope we shall never have to do this; but +it is only fair to inform you that such would be our course of action. +If you, our native workmen, brothers of the soil, abandon your work from +any crotchets----' + +'Crotchets, sir!' + +'Ay, crotchets--according to my opinion,' repeated Mr. Hunter. 'Could +you show me a real grievance, it might be a different matter. But let us +leave motives alone, and go to effects. When I say that I wish you could +see the evil of these convulsions, I speak solely with reference to your +good, to the well-being of your families. It cannot have escaped your +notice that my health has become greatly shattered--that, in all +probability, my life will not be much prolonged. My friends'--his voice +sunk to a deep, solemn tone--'believing, as I do, that I shall soon +stand before my Maker, to give an account of my doings here, could I, +from any paltry motive of self-interest, deceive you? Could I say one +thing and mean another? No; when I seek to warn you against future +troubles, I do it for your own sakes. Whatever may be the urging motive +of a strike, whether good or bad, it can only bring ill in the working. +I would say, were I not a master, "Put up with a grievance, rather than +enter upon a strike;" but being a master, you might misconstrue the +advice. I am not going into the merits of the measures--to say this past +strike was right, or that was wrong; I speak only of the terrible amount +of suffering they wrought. A man said to me the other day--he was from +the factory districts--"I have a horror of strikes, they have worked so +much evil in our trade." You can get books which tell of them, and read +for yourselves. How many orphans, and widows, and men in prisons are +there, who have cause to rue this strike that has only now just passed? +It has broken up homes that, before it came, were homes of plenty and +content, leaving in them despair and death. Let us try to go on better +for the future. I, for my part, will always be ready to receive and +consider any reasonable proposal from my men; my partner will do the +same. If there is no attempt at intimidation, and no interference on the +part of others, there ought to be little difficulty in discussing and +settling matters, with the help of "the golden rule." Only--it is my +last and earnest word of caution to you--abide by your own good sense, +and do not yield it to those agitators who would lead you away.' + +Every syllable spoken by Mr. Hunter, as to the social state of the +people, Daffodil's Delight, and all other parts of London where the +strike had prevailed, could echo. Whether the men had invoked the +contest needlessly, or whether they were justified, according to the +laws of right and reason, it matters not here to discuss; the effects +were the same, and they stood out broad, and bare, and hideous. Men had +died of want; had been cast into prison, where they still lay; had +committed social crimes, in their great need, against their fellow-men. +Women had been reduced to the lowest extremes of misery and suffering, +had been transformed into viragos, where they once had been pleasant and +peaceful; children had died off by scores. Homes were dismantled; Mr. +Cox had cart-loads of things that stood no chance of being recalled. +Families, united before, were scattered now; young men were driven upon +idleness and evil courses; young women upon worse, for they were +irredeemable. Would wisdom for the future be learnt by all this? It was +uncertain. + +When Austin Clay returned home that evening, he gave Mrs. Quale notice +to quit. She received it in a spirit of resignation, intimating that she +had been expecting it--that lodgings such as hers were not fit for Mr. +Clay, now that he was Mr. Hunter's partner. + +Austin laughed. 'I suppose you think I ought to set up a house of my +own.' + +'I daresay you'll be doing that one of these days, sir,' she responded. + +'I daresay I shall,' said Austin. + +'I wonder whether what Mr. Hunter said to-day will do any of 'em any +service?' interposed Peter Quale. 'What do you think, sir?' + +'I think it ought,' replied Austin. 'Whether it will, is another +question.' + +'It mostly lies in this--in the men's being let alone,' nodded Peter. +'Leave 'em to theirselves, and they'll go on steady enough; but if them +Trade Union folks, Sam Shuck and his lot, get over them again, there'll +be more outbreaks.' + +'Sam Shuck is safe for some months to come.' + +'But there's others of his persuasion that are not, sir. And Sam, he'll +be out some time.' + +'Quale, I give the hands credit for better sense than to suffer +themselves to fall under his yoke again, now that he has shown himself +in his true colours.' + +'I don't give 'em credit for any sense at all, when they get unsettled +notions into their heads,' phlegmatically returned Peter Quale. 'I'd +like to know if it's the Union that's helping Shuck's wife and +children.' + +'Do they help her?' + +'There must be some that help her, sir. The woman lives and feeds her +family. But there was a Trades' Union secretary here this morning, +inquiring about all this disturbance there has been, and saying that the +men were wrong to be led to violence by such a fellow as Sam Shuck: over +eager to say it, he seemed to me. I gave him my opinion back again,' +concluded Peter, pushing the pipe, which he had laid aside at his young +master's entrance, further under the grate. 'That Sam Shuck, and such as +he, that live by agitation, were uncommon 'cute for their own interests, +and those that listen to them were fools. That took him off, sir.' + +'To think of the fools this Daffodil's Delight has turned out this last +six months!' Mrs. Quale emphatically added. 'To have lived upon their +clothes and furniture, their saucepans and kettles, their bedding and +their children's shoes; when they might, most of 'em, have earned +thirty-three shillings a week at their ordinary work! When folks can be +so blind as that, it is of no use talking to them: black looks white, +and white black.' Mr. Clay smiled at the remark, though it had some +rough reason in it, and went out. Taking his way to Mr. Hunter's. + + +'Austin! You must live with me.' + +The words came from Mr. Hunter. Seated in his easy chair, apparently +asleep, he had overheard what Austin was saying in an undertone to +Florence--that he had just been giving Mrs. Quale notice, and should +begin house-hunting on the morrow. They turned to him at the remark. He +had half risen from his chair in his eager earnestness. + +'Do you think I could spare Florence? Where my home is, yours and hers +must be. Is not this house large enough for us? Why should you seek +another?' + +'Quite large enough, sir. But--but I had not thought of it. It shall be +as you and Florence wish.' + +They both looked at her; she was standing underneath the light of the +chandelier, the rich damask colour mantling in her cheeks. + +'I could not give you to him, Florence, if it involved your leaving me.' + +The tears glistened on her eyelashes. In the impulse of the moment she +stretched out a hand to each. 'There is room here for us all, papa,' she +softly whispered. + +Mr. Hunter took both their hands in one of his; he raised the other in +the act of benediction; the tears, which only glistened in the eyes of +Florence, were falling fast from his own. + +'Yes, it shall be the home of all; and--Florence!--the sooner he comes +to it the better. Bless, oh, bless my children!' he murmured. 'And grant +that this may prove a happier, a more peaceful home for them, than it +has for me!' + +'Amen!' answered Austin, in his inmost heart. + +THE END. + +J. OGDEN AND CO., PRINTERS, 172, ST. JOHN STREET, E.C. + + * * * * * + +MRS. HENRY WOOD'S NOVELS. + +Uniformly bound, 6s. each. + + +EAST LYNNE. (85th thousand.) + +THE CHANNINGS. (35th thousand.) + +ROLAND YORKE. A Sequel to "The Channings." + +MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. + +THE SHADOW OF ASHLYDYAT. + +VERNER'S PRIDE. + +LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. + +GEORGE CANTERBURY'S WILL. + +MILDRED ARKELL. + +ST. MARTIN'S EVE. + +THE RED COURT FARM. + +WITHIN THE MAZE. + +LADY ADELAIDE. + +ELSTER'S FOLLY. + +ANNE HEREFORD. + +TREVLYN HOLD. + +OSWALD CRAY. + +A LIFE'S SECRET. + +DENE HOLLOW. + +BESSY RANE. + +THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. + +ORVILLE COLLEGE. + +PARKWATER. + +EDINA. + + +LONDON: +R. BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET, W. +(_Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty._) + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Life's Secret, by Mrs. Henry Wood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LIFE'S SECRET *** + +***** This file should be named 38832-8.txt or 38832-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/8/3/38832/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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's Secret + A Novel + +Author: Mrs. Henry Wood + +Release Date: February 11, 2012 [EBook #38832] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LIFE'S SECRET *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> + +<p class="bold2">A LIFE'S SECRET.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<h1><span>A LIFE'S SECRET.</span><br /><span class="smaller">A Novel.</span><br /><span id="id1">By</span> <span>MRS. HENRY WOOD,</span></h1> + +<p class="center">AUTHOR OF<br />"EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," ETC.</p> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/logo.jpg" width='106' height='120' alt="logo" /></div> + +<p class="center"><i>EIGHTH EDITION.</i></p> + +<p class="center">LONDON:<br /> +RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, <span class="smcap">New Burlington Street</span>.<br /> +Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty.<br />1879.<br /> +[<i>All Rights of Translation and Reproduction are Reserved.</i>]</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CONTENTS</span></h2> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<table summary="CONTENTS"> + <tr> + <td colspan="3" class="center">PART THE FIRST.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="2" class="left"><span class="smaller">CHAP.</span></td> + <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>I.</td> + <td class="left"> WAS THE LADY MAD?</td> + <td><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>II.</td> + <td class="left"> CHANGES</td> + <td><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>III.</td> + <td class="left"> AWAY TO LONDON</td> + <td><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IV.</td> + <td class="left"> DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT</td> + <td><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>V.</td> + <td class="left"> MISS GWINN'S VISIT</td> + <td><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VI.</td> + <td class="left"> TRACKED HOME</td> + <td><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VII.</td> + <td class="left"> MR. SHUCK AT HOME</td> + <td><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VIII.</td> + <td class="left"> FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS!</td> + <td><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IX.</td> + <td class="left"> THE SEPARATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER</td> + <td><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3" class="center"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3" class="center">PART THE SECOND.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3" class="center"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>I.</td> + <td class="left"> A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN</td> + <td><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>II.</td> + <td class="left"> CALLED TO KETTERFORD</td> + <td><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>III.</td> + <td class="left"> TWO THOUSAND POUNDS</td> + <td><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IV.</td> + <td class="left"> AGITATION</td> + <td><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3" class="center"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3" class="center"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>PART THE THIRD.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3" class="center"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>I.</td> + <td class="left"> A PREMATURE AVOWAL</td> + <td><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>II.</td> + <td class="left"> MR. COX</td> + <td><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>III.</td> + <td class="left"> 'I THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL'</td> + <td><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IV.</td> + <td class="left"> SOMEBODY 'PITCHED INTO'</td> + <td><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>V.</td> + <td class="left"> A GLOOMY CHAPTER</td> + <td><a href="#Page_274">274</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VI.</td> + <td class="left"> THE LITTLE BOY AT REST</td> + <td><a href="#Page_288">288</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VII.</td> + <td class="left"> MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET</td> + <td><a href="#Page_294">294</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VIII.</td> + <td class="left"> A DESCENT FOR MR. SHUCK</td> + <td><a href="#Page_309">309</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IX.</td> + <td class="left"> ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY</td> + <td><a href="#Page_326">326</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>X.</td> + <td class="left"> THE YEARS GONE BY</td> + <td><a href="#Page_342">342</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XI.</td> + <td class="left"> RELIEF</td> + <td><a href="#Page_359">359</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XII.</td> + <td class="left"> CONCLUSION</td> + <td><a href="#Page_369">369</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<p class="bold2">A LIFE'S SECRET</p> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<h2><span>PART THE FIRST.</span></h2> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER I.</span> <span class="smaller">WAS THE LADY MAD?</span></h2> + +<p>On the outskirts of Ketterford, a town of some note in the heart of +England, stood, a few years ago, a white house, its green lawn, +surrounded by shrubs and flowers, sloping down to the high road. It +probably stands there still, looking as if not a day had passed over its +head since, for houses can be renovated and made, so to say, new again, +unlike men and women. A cheerful, bright, handsome house, of moderate +size, the residence of Mr. Thornimett.</p> + +<p>At the distance of a short stone's-throw, towards the open country, were +sundry workshops and sheds—a large yard intervening between them and +the house. They belonged to Mr. Thornimett; and the timber and other +characteristic materials lying about the yard would have proclaimed +their owner's trade without the aid of the lofty sign-board—'Richard +Thornimett, Builder and Contractor.' His business was extensive for a +country town.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p><p>Entering the house by the pillared portico, and crossing the +black-and-white floor-cloth of the hall to the left, you came to a room +whose windows looked towards the timber-yard. It was fitted up as a sort +of study, or counting-house, though the real business counting-house was +at the works. Matting was on its floor; desks and stools stood about; +maps and drawings, plain and coloured, were on its walls; not finished +and beautiful landscapes, such as issue from the hands of modern +artists, or have descended to us from the great masters, but skeleton +designs of various buildings—churches, bridges, terraces—plans to be +worked out in actuality, not to be admired on paper. This room was +chiefly given over to Mr. Thornimett's pupil: and you may see him in it +now.</p> + +<p>A tall, gentlemanly young fellow, active and upright; his name, Austin +Clay. It is Easter Monday in those long-past years—and yet not so very +long past, either—and the works and yard are silent to-day. Strictly +speaking, Austin Clay can no longer be called a pupil, for he is +twenty-one, and his articles are out. The house is his home; Mr. and +Mrs. Thornimett, who have no children of their own, are almost as his +father and mother. They have said nothing to him about leaving, and he +has said nothing to them. The town, in its busy interference, +gratuitously opined that 'Old Thornimett would be taking him into +partnership.' Old Thornimett had given no indication of what he might +intend to do, one way or the other.</p> + +<p>Austin Clay was of good parentage, of gentle birth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> Left an orphan at +the age of fourteen, with very small means, not sufficient to complete +his education, Ketterford wondered what was to become of him, and +whether he had not better get rid of himself by running away to sea. Mr. +Thornimett stepped in and solved the difficulty. The late Mrs. +Clay—Austin's mother—and Mrs. Thornimett were distantly related, and +perhaps a certain sense of duty in the matter made itself heard; that, +at least, combined with the great fact that the Thornimett household was +childless. The first thing they did was to take the boy home for the +Christmas holidays; the next, was to tell him he should stay there for +good. Not to be adopted as their son, not to leave him a fortune +hereafter, Mr. Thornimett took pains to explain to him, but to make him +into a man, and teach him to earn his own living.</p> + +<p>'Will you be apprenticed to me, Austin?' subsequently asked Mr. +Thornimett.</p> + +<p>'Can't I be articled, sir?' returned Austin, quickly.</p> + +<p>'Articled?' repeated Mr. Thornimett, with a laugh. He saw what was +running in the boy's mind. He was a plain man himself; had built up his +own fortunes just as he had built the new house he lived in; had risen, +in fact, as many a working man does rise: but Austin's father was a +gentleman. 'Well, yes, you can be articled, if you like it better,' he +said; 'but I shall never call it anything but apprenticed; neither will +the trade. You'll have to work, young sir.'</p> + +<p>'I don't care how hard I work, or what I do,' cried Austin, earnestly. +'There's no degradation in work.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p><p>Thus it was settled; and Austin Clay became bound pupil to Richard +Thornimett.</p> + +<p>'Old Thornimett and his wife have done it out of charity,' quoth +Ketterford.</p> + +<p>No doubt they had. But as the time passed on they grew very fond of him. +He was an open-hearted, sweet-tempered, generous boy, and one of them at +least, Mr. Thornimett, detected in him the qualities that make a +superior man. Privileges were accorded him from the first: the going on +with certain of his school duties, for which masters came to him out of +business hours—drawing, mathematics, and modern languages chiefly—and +Austin went on himself with Latin and Greek. With the two latter Mrs. +Thornimett waged perpetual war. What would be the use of them to him, +she was always asking, and Austin, in his pleasant, laughing way, would +rejoin that they might help to make him a gentleman. He was that +already: Austin Clay, though he might not know it, was a true gentleman +born.</p> + +<p>Had they repented their bargain? He was twenty-one now, and out of his +articles, or his time, as it was commonly called. No, not for an +instant. Never a better servant had Richard Thornimett; never, he would +have told you, one so good. With all his propensity to be a 'gentleman,' +Austin Clay did not shrink from his work; but did it thoroughly. His +master in his wisdom had caused him to learn his business practically; +but, that accomplished, he kept him to overlooking, and to other light +duties, just as he might have done by a son of his own. It had told +well.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p><p>Easter Monday, and a universal holiday Mr. Thornimett had gone out on +horseback, and Austin was in the pupil's room. He sat at a desk, his +stool on the tilt, one hand unconsciously balancing a ruler, the other +supporting his head, which was bent over a book.</p> + +<p>'Austin!'</p> + +<p>The call, rather a gentle one, came from outside the door. Austin, +buried in his book, did not hear it.</p> + +<p>'Austin Clay!'</p> + +<p>He heard that, and started up. The door opened in the same moment, and +an old lady, dressed in delicate lavender print, came briskly in. Her +cap of a round, old-fashioned shape, was white as snow, and a bunch of +keys hung from her girdle. It was Mrs. Thornimett.</p> + +<p>'So you are here!' she exclaimed, advancing to him with short, quick +steps, a sort of trot. 'Sarah said she was sure Mr. Austin had not gone +out. And now, what do you mean by this?' she added, bending her +spectacles, which she always wore, on his open book. 'Confining yourself +indoors this lovely day over that good-for-nothing Hebrew stuff!'</p> + +<p>Austin turned his eyes upon her with a pleasant smile. Deep-set grey +eyes they were, earnest and truthful, with a great amount of thought in +them for a young man. His face was a pleasing, good-looking face, +without being a handsome one, its complexion pale, clear, and healthy, +and the hair rather dark. There was not much of beauty in the +countenance, but there was plenty of firmness and good sense.</p> + +<p>'It is not Hebrew, Mrs. Thornimett. Hebrew and I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> are strangers to each +other. I am only indulging myself with a bit of old Homer.'</p> + +<p>'All useless, Austin. I don't care whether it is Greek or Hebrew, or +Latin or French. To pore over those rubbishing dry books whenever you +get the chance, does you no good. If you did not possess a constitution +of iron, you would have been laid upon a sick-bed long ago.'</p> + +<p>Austin laughed outright. Mrs. Thornimett's prejudices against what she +called 'learning,' had grown into a proverb. Never having been troubled +with much herself, she, like the Dutch professor told of by George +Primrose, 'saw no good in it.' She lifted her hand and closed the book.</p> + +<p>'May I not spend my time as I like upon a holiday?' remonstrated Austin, +half vexed, half in good humour.</p> + +<p>'No,' said she, authoritatively; 'not when the day is warm and bright as +this. We do not often get so fair an Easter. Don't you see that I have +put off my winter clothing?'</p> + +<p>'I saw that at breakfast.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, you did notice that, did you? I thought you and Mr. Thornimett were +both buried in that newspaper. Well, Austin, I never make the change +till I think warm weather is really coming in: and so it ought to be, +for Easter is late this year. Come, put that book up.'</p> + +<p>Austin obeyed, a comical look of grievance on his face. 'I declare you +order me about just as you did when I came here first, a miserable +little muff of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>fourteen. You'll never get another like me, Mrs. +Thornimett. As if I had not enough outdoor work every day in the week! +And I don't know where on earth to go to. It's like turning a fellow out +of house and home!'</p> + +<p>'You are going out for me, Austin. The master left a message for the +Lowland farm, and you shall take it over, and stay the day with them. +They will make as much of you as they would of a king. When Mrs. Milton +was here the other day, she complained that you never went over now; she +said she supposed you were growing above them.'</p> + +<p>'What nonsense!' said Austin, laughing. 'Well, I'll go there for you at +once, without grumbling. I like the Miltons.'</p> + +<p>'You can walk, or you can take the pony gig: whichever you like.'</p> + +<p>'I will walk,' replied Austin, with alacrity, putting his book inside +the large desk. 'What is the message, Mrs. Thornimett?'</p> + +<p>'The message——'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Thornimett came to a sudden pause, very much as if she had fallen +into a dream. Her eyes were gazing from the window into the far +distance, and Austin looked in the same direction: but there was not +anything to be seen.</p> + +<p>'There's nothing there, lad. It is but my own thoughts. Something is +troubling me, Austin. Don't you think the master has seemed very poorly +of late?'</p> + +<p>'N—o,' replied Austin, slowly, and with some <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>hesitation, for he was +half doubting whether something of the sort had not struck him. +Certainly the master—as Mr. Thornimett was styled indiscriminately on +the premises both by servants and workpeople, so that Mrs. Thornimett +often fell into the same habit—was not the brisk man he used to be. 'I +have not noticed it particularly.'</p> + +<p>'That is like the young; they never see anything,' she murmured, as if +speaking to herself. 'Well, Austin, I have; and I can tell you that I do +not like the master's looks, or the signs I detect in him. Especially +did I not like them when he rode forth this morning.'</p> + +<p>'All that I have observed is that of late he seems to be disinclined for +business. He seems heavy, sleepy, as though it were a trouble to him to +rouse himself, and he complains sometimes of headache. But, of +course——'</p> + +<p>'Of course, what?' asked Mrs. Thornimett. 'Why do you hesitate?'</p> + +<p>'I was going to say that Mr. Thornimett is not as young as he was,' +continued Austin, with some deprecation.</p> + +<p>'He is sixty-six, and I am sixty-three. But, you must be going. Talking +of it, will not mend it. And the best part of the day is passing.'</p> + +<p>'You have not given me the message,' he said, taking up his hat which +lay beside him.</p> + +<p>'The message is this,' said Mrs. Thornimett, lowering her voice to a +confidential tone, as she glanced round<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> to see that the door was shut. +'Tell Mr. Milton that Mr. Thornimett cannot answer for that timber +merchant about whom he asked. The master fears he might prove a slippery +customer; he is a man whom he himself would trust as far as he could +see, but no farther. Just say it into Mr. Milton's private ear, you +know.'</p> + +<p>'Certainly. I understand,' replied the young man, turning to depart.</p> + +<p>'You see now why it might not be convenient to despatch any one but +yourself. And, Austin,' added the old lady, following him across the +hall, 'take care not to make yourself ill with their Easter cheesecakes. +The Lowland farm is famous for them.'</p> + +<p>'I will try not,' returned Austin.</p> + +<p>He looked back at her, nodding and laughing as he traversed the lawn, +and from thence struck into the open road. His way led him past the +workshops, closed then, even to the gates, for Easter Monday in that +part of the country is a universal holiday. A few minutes, and he turned +into the fields; a welcome change from the dusty road. The field way +might be a little longer, but it was altogether pleasanter. Easter was +late that year, as Mrs. Thornimett observed, and the season was early. +The sky was blue and clear, the day warm and lovely; the hedges were +budding into leaf, the grass was growing, the clover, the buttercups, +the daisies were springing; and an early butterfly fluttered past +Austin.</p> + +<p>'You have taken wing betimes,' he said, addressing the unconscious +insect. 'I think summer must be at hand.'</p> + +<p>Halting for a moment to watch the flight, he strode<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> on the quicker +afterwards. Supple, active, slender, his steps—the elastic, joyous, +tread of youth—scarcely seemed to touch the earth. He always walked +fast when busy with thought, and his mind was buried in the hint Mrs. +Thornimett had spoken, touching her fears for her husband's health. 'If +he is breaking, it's through his close attention to business,' decided +Austin, as he struck into the common and was nearing the end of his +journey. 'I wish he would take a jolly good holiday this summer. It +would set him up; and I know I could manage things without him.'</p> + +<p>A large common; a broad piece of waste land, owned by the lord of the +manor, but appropriated by anybody and everybody; where gipsies encamped +and donkeys grazed, and geese and children were turned out to roam. A +wide path ran across it, worn by the passage of farmer's carts and other +vehicles. To the left it was bordered in the distance by a row of +cottages; to the right, its extent was limited, and terminated in some +dangerous gravel pits—dangerous, because they were not protected.</p> + +<p>Austin Clay had reached the middle of the path and of the common, when +he overtook a lady whom he slightly knew. A lady of very strange +manners, popularly supposed to be mad, and of whom he once stood in +considerable awe, not to say terror, at which he laughed now. She was a +Miss Gwinn, a tall bony woman of remarkable strength, the sister of +Gwinn, a lawyer of Ketterford. Gwinn the lawyer did not bear the best of +characters, and Ketterford reviled him when they could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> do it secretly. +'A low, crafty, dishonest practitioner, whose hands couldn't have come +clean had he spent his days and nights in washing them,' was amidst the +complimentary terms applied to him. Miss Gwinn, however, seemed honest +enough, and but for her rancorous manners Ketterford might have grown to +feel a sort of respect for her as a woman of sorrow. She had come +suddenly to the place many years before and taken up her abode with her +brother. She looked and moved and spoke as one half-crazed with grief: +what its cause was, nobody knew; but it was accepted by all, and +mysteriously alluded to by herself on occasion.</p> + +<p>'You have taken a long walk this morning, Miss Gwinn,' said Austin, +courteously raising his hat as he came up with her.</p> + +<p>She threw back her grey cloak with a quick, sharp movement, and turned +upon him. 'Oh, is it you, Austin Clay? You startled me. My thoughts were +far away: deep upon another. <i>He</i> could wear a fair outside, and accost +me in a pleasant voice, like you.'</p> + +<p>'That is rather a doubtful compliment, Miss Gwinn,' he returned, in his +good-humoured way. 'I hope I am no darker inside than out. At any rate, +I don't try to appear different from what I am.'</p> + +<p>'Did I accuse you of it? Boy! you had better go and throw yourself into +one of those gravel pits and die, than grow up to be deceitful,' she +vehemently cried. 'Deceit has been the curse of my days. It has made me +what I am; one whom the boys hoot after, and call——'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p><p>'No, no; not so bad as that,' interrupted Austin, soothingly. 'You have +been cross with them sometimes, and they are insolent, mischievous +little ragamuffins. I am sure every thoughtful person respects you, +feeling for your sorrow.'</p> + +<p>'Sorrow!' she wailed. 'Ay. Sorrow, beyond what falls to the ordinary lot +of man. The blow fell upon <i>me</i>, though I was not an actor in it. When +those connected with us do wrong, we suffer; we, more than they. I may +be revenged yet,' she added, her expression changing to anger. 'If I can +only come across <i>him</i>.'</p> + +<p>'Across whom?' naturally asked Austin.</p> + +<p>'Who are you, that you should seek to pry into my secrets?' she +passionately resumed. 'I am five-and-fifty to-day—old enough to be your +mother, and you presume to put the question to <i>me</i>! Boys are coming to +something.'</p> + +<p>'I beg your pardon; I but spoke heedlessly, Miss Gwinn, in answer to +your remark. Indeed I have no wish to pry into anybody's business. And +as to "secrets," I have eschewed them, since, a little chap in +petticoats, I crept to my mother's room door to listen to one, and got +soundly whipped for my pains.'</p> + +<p>'It is a secret that you will never know, or anybody else; so put its +thoughts from you. Austin Clay,' she added, laying her hand upon his +arm, and bending forward to speak in a whisper, 'it is fifteen years, +this very day, since its horrors came out to me! And I have had to carry +it about since, as I best could, in silence and in pain.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p><p>She turned round abruptly as she spoke, and continued her way along the +broad path; while Austin Clay struck short off towards the gravel pits, +which was his nearest road to the Lowland farm. Silent and abandoned +were the pits that day; everybody connected with them was enjoying +holiday with the rest of the world. 'What a strange woman she is!' he +thought.</p> + +<p>It has been said that the gravel pits were not far from the path. Austin +was close upon them, when the sound of a horse's footsteps caused him to +turn. A gentleman was riding fast down the common path, from the +opposite side to the one he and Miss Gwinn had come, and Austin shaded +his eyes with his hand to see if it was any one he knew. No; it was a +stranger. A slender man, of some seven-and-thirty years, tall, so far as +could be judged, with thin, prominent aquiline features, and dark eyes. +A fine face; one of those that impress the beholder at first sight, as +it did Austin, and, once seen, remain permanently on the memory.</p> + +<p>'I wonder who he is?' cried Austin Clay to himself. 'He rides well.'</p> + +<p>Possibly Miss Gwinn might be wondering the same. At any rate, she had +fixed her eyes on the stranger, and they seemed to be starting from her +head with the gaze. It would appear that she recognised him, and with no +pleasurable emotion. She grew strangely excited. Her face turned of a +ghastly whiteness, her hands closed involuntarily, and, after standing +for a moment in perfect stillness, as if petrified, she darted forward +in his pathway, and seized the bridle of his horse.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p><p>'So! you have turned up at last! I knew—I knew you were not dead!' she +shrieked, in a voice of wild raving. 'I knew you would some time be +brought face to face with me, to answer for your wickedness.'</p> + +<p>Utterly surprised and perplexed, or seeming to be, at this summary +attack, the gentleman could only stare at his assailant, and endeavour +to get his bridle from her hand. But she held it with a firm grasp.</p> + +<p>'Let go my horse,' he said. 'Are you mad?'</p> + +<p>'<i>You</i> were mad,' she retorted, passionately. 'Mad in those old days; +and you turned another to madness. Not three minutes ago, I said to +myself that the time would come when I should find you. Man! do you +remember that it is fifteen years ago this very day that +the—the—crisis of the sickness came on? Do you know that never +afterwards——'</p> + +<p>'Do not betray your private affairs to me,' interrupted the gentleman. +'They are no concern of mine. I never saw you in my life. Take care! the +horse will do you an injury.'</p> + +<p>'No! you never saw me, and you never saw somebody else!' she panted, in +a tone that would have been mockingly sarcastic, but for its wild +passion. 'You did not change the current of my whole life! you did not +turn another to madness! These equivocations are worthy of <i>you</i>.'</p> + +<p>'If you are not insane, you must be mistaking me for some other person,' +he replied, his tone none of the mildest, though perfectly calm. 'I +repeat that, to my knowledge, I never set eyes upon you in my life.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +Woman! have you no regard for your own safety? The horse will kill you! +Don't you see that I cannot control him?'</p> + +<p>'So much the better if he kills us both,' she shrieked, swaying up and +down, to and fro, with the fierce motions of the angry horse. 'You will +only meet your deserts: and, for myself, I am tired of life.'</p> + +<p>'Let go!' cried the rider.</p> + +<p>'Not until you have told me where you live, and where you may be found. +I have searched for you in vain. I will have my revenge; I will force +you to do justice. You——'</p> + +<p>In her sad temper, her dogged obstinacy, she still held the bridle. The +horse, a spirited animal, was passionate as she was, and far stronger. +He reared bolt upright, he kicked, he plunged; and, finally, he shook +off the obnoxious control, to dash furiously in the direction of the +gravel pits. Miss Gwinn fell to the ground.</p> + +<p>To fall into the pit would be certain destruction to both man and horse. +Austin Clay had watched the encounter in amazement, though he could not +hear the words of the quarrel. In the humane impulse of the moment, +disregarding the danger to himself, he darted in front of the horse, +arrested him on the very brink of the pit, and threw him back on his +haunches.</p> + +<p>Snorting, panting, the white foam breaking from him, the animal, as if +conscious of the doom he had escaped, now stood in trembling quiet, +obedient to the control of his master. That master threw himself from +his back, and turned to Austin.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p><p>'Young gentleman, you have saved my life.'</p> + +<p>There was little doubt of that. Austin accepted the fact without any +fuss, feeling as thankful as the speaker, and quite unconscious at the +moment of the wrench he had given his own shoulder.</p> + +<p>'It would have been an awkward fall, sir. I am glad I happened to be +here.'</p> + +<p>'It would have been a <i>killing</i> fall,' replied the stranger, stepping to +the brink, and looking down. 'And your being here must be owing to God's +wonderful Providence.'</p> + +<p>He lifted his hat as he spoke, and remained a minute or two silent and +uncovered, his eyes closed. Austin, in the same impulse of reverence, +lifted his.</p> + +<p>'Did you see the strange manner in which that woman attacked me?' +questioned the stranger.</p> + +<p>'Yes.'</p> + +<p>'She must be insane.'</p> + +<p>'She is very strange at times,' said Austin. 'She flies into desperate +passions.'</p> + +<p>'Passions! It is madness, not passion. A woman like that ought to be +shut up in Bedlam. Where would be the satisfaction to my wife and +family, if, through her, I had been lying at this moment at the bottom +there, dead? I never saw her in my life before; never.'</p> + +<p>'Is she hurt? She has fallen down, I perceive.'</p> + +<p>'Hurt! not she. She could call after me pretty fiercely when my horse +shook her off. She possesses the rage and strength of a tiger. Good +fellow! good Salem! did a mad woman frighten and anger you?' added the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +stranger, soothing his horse. 'And now, young sir,' turning to Austin, +'how shall I reward you?'</p> + +<p>Austin broke into a smile at the notion.</p> + +<p>'Not at all, thank you,' he said. 'One does not merit reward for such a +thing as this. I should have deserved sending over after you, had I not +interposed. To do my best was a simple matter of duty—of obligation; +but nothing to be rewarded for.'</p> + +<p>'Had he been a common man, I might have done it,' thought the stranger; +'but he is evidently a gentleman. Well, I may be able to repay it in +some manner as you and I pass through life,' he said, aloud, mounting +the now subdued horse. 'Some neglect the opportunities, thrown in their +way, of helping their fellow-creatures; some embrace them, as you have +just done. I believe that whichever we may give—neglect or help—will +be returned to us in kind: like unto a corn of wheat, that must spring +up what it is sown; or a thistle, that must come up a thistle.'</p> + +<p>'As to embracing the opportunity—I should think there's no man living +but would have done his best to save you, had he been standing here.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, well; let it go,' returned the horseman. 'Will you tell me your +name? and something about yourself?'</p> + +<p>'My name is Austin Clay. I have few relatives living, and they are +distant ones, and I shall, I expect, have to make my own way in the +world.'</p> + +<p>'Are you in any profession? or business?'</p> + +<p>'I am with Mr. Thornimett, of Ketterford: the builder and contractor.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p><p>'Why, I am a builder myself!' cried the stranger, a pleasing accent of +surprise in his tone. 'Shall you ever be visiting London?'</p> + +<p>'I daresay I shall, sir. I should like to do so.'</p> + +<p>'Then, when you do, mind you call upon me the first thing,' he rejoined, +taking a card from a case in his pocket and handing it to Austin. Come +to me should you ever be in want of a berth: I might help you to one. +Will you promise?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, sir; and thank you.'</p> + +<p>'I fancy the thanks are due from the other side, Mr. Clay. Oblige me by +not letting that Bess o' Bedlam obtain sight of my card. I might have +her following me.'</p> + +<p>'No fear,' said Austin, alluding to the caution.</p> + +<p>'She must be lying there to regain the strength exhausted by passion, +carelessly remarked the stranger. 'Poor thing! it is sad to be mad, +though! She is getting up now, I see: I had better be away. That town +beyond, in the distance, is Ketterford, is it not?'</p> + +<p>'It is.'</p> + +<p>'Fare you well, then. I must hasten to catch the twelve o'clock train. +They have horse-boxes, I presume, at the station?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes.'</p> + +<p>'All right,' he nodded. 'I have received a summons to town, and cannot +afford the time to ride Salem home. So we must both get conveyed by +train, old fellow'—patting his horse, as he spoke to it. 'By the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> way, +though—what is the lady's name?' he halted to ask.</p> + +<p>'Gwinn. Miss Gwinn.'</p> + +<p>'Gwinn? Gwinn?' Never heard the name in my life. Fare you well, in all +gratitude.'</p> + +<p>He rode away. Austin Clay looked at the card. It was a private visiting +card—'Mr. Henry Hunter' with an address in the corner.</p> + +<p>'He must be one of the great London building firm, "Hunter and Hunter,"' +thought Austin, depositing the card in his pocket. 'First class people. +And now for Miss Gwinn.'</p> + +<p>For his humanity would not allow him to leave her unlooked-after, as the +molested and angry man had done. She had risen to her feet, though +slowly, as he stepped back across the short worn grass of the common. +The fall had shaken her, without doing material damage.</p> + +<p>'I hope you are not hurt?' said Austin, kindly.</p> + +<p>'A ban light upon the horse!' she fiercely cried. 'At my age, it does +not do to be thrown on the ground violently. I thought my bones were +broken; I could not rise. And he has escaped! Boy! what did he say to +you of me—of my affairs?'</p> + +<p>'Not anything. I do not believe he knows you in the least. He says he +does not.'</p> + +<p>The crimson passion had faded from Miss Gwinn's face, leaving it wan and +white. 'How dare you say you believe it?'</p> + +<p>'Because I do believe it,' replied Austin. 'He declared that he never +saw you in his life; and I think<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> he spoke the truth. I can judge when a +man tells truth, and when he tells a lie. Mr. Thornimett often says he +wishes he could read faces—and people—as I can read them.'</p> + +<p>Miss Gwinn gazed at him; contempt and pity blended in her countenance. +'Have you yet to learn that a bad man can assume the semblance of +goodness?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I know that; and assume it so as to take in a saint,' hastily +spoke Austin. 'You may be deceived in a bad man; but I do not think you +can in a good one. Where a man possesses innate truth and honour, it +shines out in his countenance, his voice, his manner; and there can be +no mistake. When you are puzzled over a bad man, you say to yourself, +"He <i>may</i> be telling the truth, he <i>may</i> be genuine;" but with a good +man you know it to be so: that is, if you possess the gift of reading +countenances. Miss Gwinn, I am sure there was truth in that stranger.'</p> + +<p>'Listen, Austin Clay. That man, truthful as you deem him, is the very +incarnation of deceit. I know as much of him as one human being can well +know of another. It was he who wrought the terrible wrong upon my house; +it was he who broke up my happy home. I'll find him now. Others said he +must be dead; but I said, "No, he lives yet." And, you see he does live. +I'll find him.'</p> + +<p>Without another word she turned away, and went striding back in the +direction of Ketterford—the same road which the stranger's horse had +taken. Austin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> stood and looked after her, pondering over the strange +events of the hour. Then he proceeded to the Lowland farm.</p> + +<p>A pleasant day amidst pleasant friends spent he; rich Easter cheesecakes +being the least of the seductions he did <i>not</i> withstand; and Ketterford +clocks were striking half-past ten as he approached Mrs. Thornimett's. +The moonlight walk was delightful; there was no foreboding of ill upon +his spirit, and he turned in at the gate utterly unconscious of the news +that was in store for him.</p> + +<p>Conscious of the late hour—for they were early people—he was passing +across the lawn with a hasty step, when the door was drawn silently +open, as if some one stood there watching, and he saw Sarah, one of the +two old maid-servants, come forth to meet him. Both had lived in the +family for years; had scolded and ordered Austin about when a boy, to +their heart's content, and for his own good.</p> + +<p>'Why, Sarah, is it you?' was his gay greeting. 'Going to take a +moonlight ramble?'</p> + +<p>'Where <i>have</i> you stayed?' whispered the woman in evident excitement. +'To think you should be away this night of all others, Mr. Austin! Have +you heard what has happened to the master?'</p> + +<p>'No. What?' exclaimed Austin, his fears taking alarm.</p> + +<p>'He fell down in a fit, over at the village where he went; and they +brought him home, a-frightening us two and the missis almost into fits +ourselves. Oh,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> Master Austin!' she concluded, bursting into tears, 'the +doctors don't think he'll live till morning. Poor dear old master!'</p> + +<p>Austin, half paralysed at the news, stood for a moment against the wall +inside the hall. 'Can I go and see him?' he presently asked.</p> + +<p>'Oh, you may go,' was the answer; 'the mistress has been asking for you, +and nothing rouses <i>him</i>. It's a heavy blow; but it has its side of +brightness. God never sends a blow but he sends mercy with it.'</p> + +<p>'What is the mercy—the brightness?' Austin waited to ask, thinking she +must allude to some symptom of hope. Sarah put her shrivelled old arm on +his in solemnity, as she answered it.</p> + +<p>'He was fit to be taken. He had lived for the next world while he was +living in this. And those that do, Master Austin, never need shrink from +sudden death.'</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER II.</span> <span class="smaller">CHANGES.</span></h2> + +<p>To reflect upon the change death makes, even in the petty every-day +affairs of life, must always impart a certain awe to the thoughtful +mind. On the Easter Monday, spoken of in the last chapter, Richard +Thornimett, his men, his contracts, and his business in progress, were +all part of the life, the work, the bustle of the town<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> of Ketterford. +In a few weeks from that time, Richard Thornimett—who had not lived to +see the morning light after his attack—was mouldering in the +churchyard; and the business, the workshops, the artisans, all save the +dwelling-house, which Mrs. Thornimett retained for herself, had passed +into other hands. The name, Richard Thornimett, as one of the citizens +of Ketterford, had ceased to be: all things were changed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Thornimett's friends and acquaintances had assembled to tender +counsel, after the fashion of busybodies of the world. Some recommended +her to continue the business; some, to give it up; some, to take in a +gentleman as partner; some, to pay a handsome salary to an efficient +manager. Mrs. Thornimett listened politely to all, without the least +intention of acting upon anybody's opinion but her own. Her mind had +been made up from the first. Mr. Thornimett had died fairly well off, +and everything was left to her—half of the money to be hers for life, +and then to go to different relatives; the other half was bequeathed to +her absolutely, and was at her own disposal. Rumours were rife in the +town, that, when things came to be realized, she would have about twelve +thousand pounds in money, besides other property.</p> + +<p>But before making known her decision abroad, she spoke to Austin Clay. +They were sitting together one evening when she entered upon the +subject, breaking the silence that reigned with some abruptness.</p> + +<p>'Austin, I shall dispose of the business; everything as it stands. And +the goodwill.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p><p>'Shall you?' he exclaimed, taken by surprise, and his voice betraying a +curious disappointment.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Thornimett nodded in answer.</p> + +<p>'I would have done my best to carry it on for you, Mrs. Thornimett. The +foreman is a man of experience; one we may trust.'</p> + +<p>'I do not doubt you, Austin; and I do not doubt him. You have got your +head on your shoulders the right way, and you would be faithful and +true. So well do I think of your abilities, that, were you in a position +to pay down only half the purchase-money, I would give you the refusal +of the business, and I am certain success would attend you. But you are +not; so that is out of the question.'</p> + +<p>'Quite out of the question,' assented Austin. 'If ever I get a business +of my own, it must be by working for it. Have you quite resolved upon +giving it up?'</p> + +<p>'So far resolved, that the negotiations are already half concluded,' +replied Mrs. Thornimett. 'What should I, a lone woman, do with an +extensive business? When poor widows are left badly off, they are +obliged to work; but I possess more money than I shall know how to +spend. Why should I worry out my hours and days trying to amass more? It +would not be seemly. Rolt and Ransom wish to purchase it.'</p> + +<p>Austin lifted his head with a quick movement. He did not like Rolt and +Ransom.</p> + +<p>'The only difference we have in the matter, is this: that I wish them to +take you on, Austin, and they think they shall find no room for you. +Were you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> a common workman, it would be another thing, they say.'</p> + +<p>'Do not allow that to be a difference any longer, Mrs. Thornimett,' he +cried, somewhat eagerly. 'I should not care to be under Rolt and Ransom. +If they offered me a place to-morrow, and <i>carte blanche</i> as to pay, I +do not think I could bring myself to take it.'</p> + +<p>'Why?' asked Mrs. Thornimett, in surprise.</p> + +<p>'Well, they are no favourites of mine. I know nothing against them, +except that they are hard men—grinders; but somehow I have always felt +a prejudice against that firm. We do have our likes and dislikes, you +are well aware. Young Rolt is prominent in the business, too, and I am +sure there's no love lost between him and me; we should be at daggers +drawn. No, I should not serve Rolt and Ransom. If they succeed to your +business, I think I shall go to London and try my fortune there.'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Thornimett pushed back her widow's cap, to which her head had never +yet been able to get reconciled—something like Austin with regard to +Rolt and Ransom. 'London would not be a good place for you, Austin. It +is full of pitfalls for young men.'</p> + +<p>'So are other places,' said Austin, laughingly, 'if young men choose to +step into them. I shall make my way, Mrs. Thornimett, never fear. I am +thorough master of my business in all its branches, higher and lower as +you know, and I am not afraid of putting my own shoulder to the wheel, +if there's necessity for it. As to pitfalls—if I do stumble in the dark +into any, I'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> manage to scramble out again; but I will try and take +care not to step into them wilfully. Had you continued the business, of +course I would have remained with you; otherwise, I should like to go to +London.'</p> + +<p>'You can be better trusted, both as to capabilities and steadiness, than +some could at your age,' deliberated Mrs. Thornimett. 'But they are +wrong notions that you young men pick up with regard to London. I +believe there's not one of you but thinks its streets are sprinkled with +diamonds.'</p> + +<p>'<i>I</i> don't,' said Austin. 'And while God gives me hands and brains to +work with, I would rather earn my diamonds, than stoop to pick them up +in idleness.'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Thornimett paused. She settled her spectacles more firmly on her +eyes, turned them full on Austin, and spoke sharply.</p> + +<p>'Were you disappointed when you heard the poor master's will read?'</p> + +<p>Austin, in return, turned his eyes upon her, and opened them to their +utmost width in his surprise. 'Disappointed! No. Why should I be?'</p> + +<p>'Did it never occur to you to think, or to expect, that he might leave +you something?'</p> + +<p>'Never,' earnestly replied Austin. 'The thought never so much as crossed +my mind. Mr. Thornimett had near relatives of his own—and so have you. +Who am I, that I should think to step in before them?'</p> + +<p>'I wish people would mind their own business!'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> exclaimed the old lady, +in a vexed tone. 'I was gravely assured, Austin, that young Clay felt +grievously ill-used at not being mentioned in the will.'</p> + +<p>'Did you believe it?' he rejoined.</p> + +<p>'No, I did not.'</p> + +<p>'It is utterly untrue, Mrs. Thornimett, whoever said it. I never +expected Mr. Thornimett to leave me anything; therefore, I could not +have been disappointed at the will.'</p> + +<p>'The poor master knew I should not forget you, Austin; that is if you +continue to be deserving. Some time or other, when my old bones are laid +beside him, you may be the better for a trifle from me. Only a trifle, +mind; we must be just before we are generous.'</p> + +<p>'Indeed, you are very kind,' was Austin Clay's reply; 'but I should not +wish you to enrich me at the expense of others who have greater claims.' +And he fully meant what he said. 'I have not the least fear of making my +own way up the world's ladder. Do you happen to know anything of the +London firm, Hunter and Hunter?'</p> + +<p>'Only by reputation,' said Mrs. Thornimett.</p> + +<p>'I shall apply to them, if I go to London. They would interest +themselves for me, perhaps.'</p> + +<p>'You'd be sure to do well if you could get in there. But why should they +help you more than any other firm would?'</p> + +<p>'There's nothing like trying,' replied Austin, too conscious of the +evasive character of his reply. He was candour itself; but he feared to +speak of the circumstances under which he had met Mr. Henry Hunter, +lest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> Miss Gwinn should find out it was to him he had gone, and so track +Mr. Henry Hunter home. Austin deemed that it was no business of his to +help her to find Mr. Hunter, whether he was or not the <i>bête noire</i> of +whom she had spoken. He might have told of the encounter at the time, +but for the home calamity that supervened upon it; that drove away other +topics. Neither had he mentioned it at the Lowland farm. For all Miss +Gwinn's violence, he felt pity for her, and could not expose the woman.</p> + +<p>'A first-rate firm, that of Hunter and Hunter,' remarked Mrs. +Thornimett. 'Your credentials will be good also, Austin.'</p> + +<p>'Yes; I hope so.'</p> + +<p>It was nearly all that passed upon the subject. Rolt and Ransom took +possession of the business, and Austin Clay prepared to depart for +London. Mrs. Thornimett felt sure he would get on well—always provided +that he kept out of 'pit-falls.' She charged him not to be above his +business, but to <i>work</i> his way upwards: as Austin meant to do.</p> + +<p>A day or two before quitting Ketterford, it chanced that he and Mrs. +Thornimett, who were out together, encountered Miss Gwinn. There was a +speaking acquaintance between the two ladies, and Miss Gwinn stopped to +say a kind word or two of sympathy for the widow and her recent loss. +She could be a lady on occasion, and a gentle one. As the conversation +went on, Mrs. Thornimett incidentally mentioned that Mr. Clay was going +to leave and try his fortune in London.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p><p>'Oh, indeed,' said Miss Gwinn, turning to him, as he stood quietly by +Mrs. Thornimett's side. 'What does he think of doing there?'</p> + +<p>'To get a situation, of course. He means first of all to try at Hunter +and Hunter's.'</p> + +<p>The words had left Mrs. Thornimett's lips before Austin could +interpose—which he would have given the world to do. But there was no +answering emotion on Miss Gwinn's face.</p> + +<p>'Hunter and Hunter?' she carelessly repeated. 'Who are they?'</p> + +<p>'"Hunter Brothers," they are sometimes called,' observed Mrs. +Thornimett. 'It is a building firm of eminence.'</p> + +<p>'Oh,' apathetically returned Miss Gwinn. 'I wish you well,' she added, +to Austin.</p> + +<p>He thanked her as they parted. The subject, the name, evidently bore for +her no interest whatever. Therefore Austin judged, that although she +might have knowledge of Mr. Henry Hunter's person, she could not of his +name.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER III.</span> <span class="smaller">AWAY TO LONDON.</span></h2> + +<p>A heavy train, drawn by two engines, was dashing towards London. +Whitsuntide had come, and the public took advantage of the holiday, and +the trains<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> were crammed. Austin Clay took advantage of it also; it was +a saving to his pocket, the fares having been lowered; and he rather +liked a cram. What he did not like, though, was the being stuffed into a +first-class carriage with its warm mats and cushions. The crowd was so +great that people sat indiscriminately in any carriage that came first. +The day was intensely hot, and he would have preferred one open on all +sides. They were filled, however, before he came. He had left +Ketterford, and was on his road to London to seek his fortune—as old +stories used to say.</p> + +<p>Seated in the same compartment as himself was a lady with a little girl. +The former appeared to be in very delicate health; she remarked more +than once, that she would not have travelled on so crowded a day, had +she given it proper thought. The little girl was chiefly remarkable for +making herself troublesome to Austin; at least, her mamma perpetually +reproached her with doing so. She was a lovely child, with delicately +carved features, slightly aquiline, but inexpressibly sweet and +charming. A bright colour illumined her cheeks, her eyes were large and +dark and soft, and her brown curls were flowing. He judged her to be +perhaps eleven years old; but she was one of those natural, +unsophisticated children, who appear much younger than they are. The +race has pretty nearly gone out of the world now: I hope it will come +back again.</p> + +<p>'Florence, how <i>can</i> you be so tiresome? Pushing yourself before the +gentleman against that dangerous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> door! it may fly open at any moment. I +am sure he must be tired of holding you.'</p> + +<p>Florence turned her bright eye—sensible, honest eyes, bright though +they were—and her pretty hot cheeks upon the gentleman.</p> + +<p>'Are you tired, sir?'</p> + +<p>Austin smiled. 'It would take rather more than this to tire me,' he +said. 'Pray allow her to look out,' he added, to the lady, opposite to +whom he sat; 'I will take every care of her.'</p> + +<p>'Have you any little girls of your own?' questioned the young damsel.</p> + +<p>Austin laughed outright. 'No.'</p> + +<p>'Nor any sisters?'</p> + +<p>'Nor any sisters. I have scarcely any relatives in the world. I am not +so fortunate as you.'</p> + +<p>'I have a great many relatives, but no brothers or sisters. I had a +little sister once, and she died when she was three years old. Was it +not three, mamma?'</p> + +<p>'And how old are you?' inquired Austin.</p> + +<p>'Oh, pray do not ask,' interposed the lady. 'She is so thoroughly +childish, I am ashamed that anybody should know her age. And yet she +does not want sense.'</p> + +<p>'I was twelve last birthday,' cried the young lady, in defiance of all +conventionalism. 'My cousin Mary is only eleven, but she is a great deal +bigger than I.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' observed the lady, in a tone of positive resentment. 'Mary is +quite a woman already in ideas and manners: you are a child, and a very +backward one.'</p> + +<p>'Let her be a child, ma'am, while she may,' <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>impulsively spoke Austin; +'childhood does not last too long, and it never comes again. Little +girls are women nowadays: I think it is perfectly delightful to meet +with one like this.'</p> + +<p>Before they reached London other passengers had disappeared from the +carriage, and they were alone. As they neared the terminus, the young +lady was peremptorily ordered to 'keep her head in,' or perhaps she +might lose it.</p> + +<p>'Oh dear! if I must, I must,' returned the child. 'But I wanted to look +out for papa; he is sure to be waiting for us.'</p> + +<p>The train glided into its destination. And the bright quick eyes were +roving amidst the crowd standing on the platform. They rested upon a +gentleman.</p> + +<p>'There's Uncle Henry! there's Uncle Henry! But I don't see papa. Where's +papa?' she called out, as the gentleman saw them and approached.</p> + +<p>'Papa's not come; he has sent me instead, Miss Florence.' And to Austin +Clay's inexpressible surprise, he recognised Mr. Henry Hunter.</p> + +<p>'There is nothing the matter? James is not ill?' exclaimed the lady, +bending forward.</p> + +<p>'No, no; nothing of that. Being a leisure day with us, we thought we +would quietly go over some estimates together. James had not finished +the calculations, and did not care to be disturbed at them. Your +carriage is here.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Henry Hunter was assisting her to alight as he spoke, having already +lifted down Florence. A maid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> with a couple of carpet-bags appeared +presently, amidst the bustle, and Austin saw them approach a private +carriage. He had not pushed himself forward. He did not intend to do so +then, deeming it not the most fitting moment to challenge the notice of +Mr. Henry Hunter; but that gentleman's eye happened to fall upon him.</p> + +<p>Not at first for recognition. Mr. Hunter felt sure it was a face he had +seen recently; was one he ought to know; but his memory was puzzled. +Florence followed his gaze.</p> + +<p>'That gentleman came up in the same carriage with us, Uncle Henry. He +got in at a place they called Ketterford. I like him so much.'</p> + +<p>Austin came forward as he saw the intent look; and recollection flashed +over the mind of Mr. Henry Hunter. He took both the young man's hands in +his and grasped them.</p> + +<p>'You like him, do you, Miss Florence?' cried he, in a half-joking, +half-fervent tone. 'I can tell you what, young lady; but for this +gentleman, you would no longer have possessed an Uncle Henry to plague; +he would have been dead and forgotten.'</p> + +<p>A word or two of explanation from Austin, touching what brought him to +London, and his intention to ask advice of Mr. Henry Hunter. That +gentleman replied that he would give it willingly, and at once, for he +had leisure on his hands that day, and he could not answer for it that +he would have on another. He gave Austin the address of his office.</p> + +<p>'When shall I come, sir?' asked Austin.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p><p>'Now, if you can. A cab will bring you. I shall not be there later in +the day.'</p> + +<p>So Austin, leaving his portmanteau, all the luggage he had at present +brought with him, in charge at the station, proceeded in a cab to the +address named, Mr. Henry Hunter having driven off in the carriage.</p> + +<p>The offices, yards, buildings, sheds, and other places pertaining to the +business of Hunter and Hunter, were situated in what may be considered a +desirable part of the metropolis. They encroached neither upon the +excessive bustle of the City, nor upon the aristocratic exclusiveness of +the gay West end, but occupied a situation midway between the two. +Sufficiently open was the district in their immediate neighbourhood, +healthy, handsome, and near some fine squares; but a very, very little +way removed, you came upon swarming courts, and close dwellings, and +squalor, and misery, and all the bad features of what we are pleased to +call Arab life. There are many such districts in London, where wealth +and ease contrast with starvation and improvidence, <i>all but</i> within +view of each other; the one gratifying the eye, the other causing it +pain.</p> + +<p>The yard and premises were of great extent. Austin had thought Mr. +Thornimett's pretty fair for size; but he could laugh at them, now that +he saw the Messrs. Hunters'. They were enclosed by a wall, and by light +iron gates. Within the gates on the left-hand side were the offices, +where the in-door business was transacted. A wealthy, important, and +highly considered firm was that of the Messrs. Hunter. Their father had +made the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> business what it was, and had bequeathed it to them jointly at +his death. James, whose wife and only child you have seen arriving by +the train, after a week's visit to the country, was the elder brother, +and was usually styled Mr. Hunter; the younger was known as Mr. Henry +Hunter, and he had a large family. Each occupied a handsome house in a +contiguous square.</p> + +<p>Mr. Henry Hunter came up almost as Austin did, and they entered the +offices. In a private room, warmly carpeted, stood two gentlemen. The +one, had he not been so stout, would have borne a great likeness to Mr. +Henry Hunter. It was Mr. Hunter. In early life the likeness between the +brothers had been remarkable; the same dark hair and eyes; the +well-formed acquiline features, the same active, tall, light figure; +but, of late years, James had grown fat, and the resemblance was in part +lost. The other gentleman was Dr. Bevary, a spare man of middle height, +the brother of Mrs. James Hunter. Mr. Henry Hunter introduced Austin +Clay, speaking of the service rendered him, and broadly saying as he had +done to Florence, that but for him he should not now have been alive.</p> + +<p>'There you go, Henry,' cried Dr. Bevary. 'That's one of your +exaggerations, that is: you were always given to the marvellous, you +know. Not alive!'</p> + +<p>Mr. Henry Hunter turned to Austin. 'Tell the truth, Mr. Clay. Should I, +or not?' And Austin smiled, and said he believed <i>not</i>.</p> + +<p>'I cannot understand it,' exclaimed Dr. Bevary, after some explanation +had been given by Mr. Henry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> Hunter. 'It is incredible to suppose a +strange woman would attack you in that manner, unless she was mad.'</p> + +<p>'Mad, or not mad, she did it,' returned Mr. Henry Hunter. 'I was riding +Salem—you know I took him with me, in that week's excursion I made at +Easter—and the woman set upon me like a tigress, clutching hold of +Salem, who won't stand such jokes. In his fury, he got loose from her, +dashing he neither knew nor cared whither, and this fine fellow saved us +on the very brink of the yawning pit—risking the chance of getting +killed himself. Had the horse not been arrested, I don't see how he +could have helped being knocked over with us.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter turned a warm grateful look on Austin. 'How was it you never +spoke of this, Henry?' he inquired of his brother.</p> + +<p>'There's another curious phase of the affair,' laughed Mr. Henry Hunter. +'I have had a dislike to speak of it, even to think of it. I cannot tell +you why; certainly not on account of the escaped danger. And it was +over: so, what signified talking of it?'</p> + +<p>'Why did she attack you?' pursued Dr. Bevary.</p> + +<p>'She evidently, if there was reason in her at all, mistook me for +somebody else. All sorts of diabolical things she was beginning to +accuse me of; that of having evaded her for some great number of years, +amongst the rest. I stopped her; telling her I had no mind to be the +depository of other people's secrets.'</p> + +<p>'She solemnly protested to me, after you rode away, sir, that you <i>were</i> +the man who had done her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> family some wrong,' interposed Austin. 'I told +her I felt certain she was mistaken; and so drew down her anger upon +me.'</p> + +<p>'Of what nature was the wrong?' asked Dr. Bevary.</p> + +<p>'I cannot tell,' said Austin. 'I seemed to gather from her words that +the wrong was upon her family, or upon some portion of her family, +rather than upon her. I remember she made use of the expression, that it +had broken up her happy home.'</p> + +<p>'And you did not know her?' exclaimed the doctor, looking at Mr. Henry +Hunter.</p> + +<p>'Know her?' he returned, 'I never set eyes on her in all my life until +that day. I never was in the place before, or in its neighbourhood. If I +ever did work her wrong, or ill, I must have done it in my sleep; and +with miles of distance intervening. Who is she? What is her name? You +told it me, Mr. Clay, but I forget what it was.'</p> + +<p>'Her name is Gwinn,' replied Austin. 'The brother is a lawyer and has +scraped together a business. One morning, many years ago, a lady arrived +at his house, without warning, and took up her abode with him. She +turned out to be his sister, and the people at Ketterford think she is +mad. It is said they come from Wales. The little boys call after her, +"the mad Welsh woman." Sometimes Miss Gwinn.'</p> + +<p>'What did you say the name was?' interrupted Dr. Bevary, with startling +emphasis. 'Gwinn?—and from Wales?'</p> + +<p>'Yes.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p><p>Dr. Bevary paused, as if in deep thought. 'What is her Christian name?' +he presently inquired.</p> + +<p>'It is a somewhat uncommon one,' replied Austin. 'Agatha.'</p> + +<p>The doctor nodded his head, as if expecting the answer. 'A tall, spare, +angular woman, of great strength,' he remarked.</p> + +<p>'Why, what do you know of her?' exclaimed Mr. Henry Hunter to the +doctor, in a surprised tone.</p> + +<p>'Not a great deal. We medical men come across all sorts of persons +occasionally,' was the physician's reply. And it was given in a concise, +laconic manner, as if he did not care to be questioned further. Mr. +Henry Hunter pursued the subject.</p> + +<p>'If you know her, Bevary, perhaps you can tell whether she is mad or +sane.'</p> + +<p>'She is sane, I believe: I have no reason to think her otherwise. But +she is one who can allow angry passion to master her at moments: I have +seen it do so. Do you say her brother is a lawyer?' he continued, to +Austin Clay.</p> + +<p>'Yes, he is. And not one of the first water, as to reputation; a +grasping, pettifogging practitioner, who will take up any dirty case +that may be brought to him. And in that, I fancy, he is a contrast to +his sister; for, with all her strange ways, I should not judge her to be +dishonourable. It is said he speculates, and that he is not over +particular whose money he gets to do it with.'</p> + +<p>'I wonder that she never told me about this brother,'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> dreamily +exclaimed the doctor, in an inward tone, as if forgetting that he spoke +aloud.</p> + +<p>'Where did you meet with her? When did you know her?' interposed Mr. +Henry Hunter.</p> + +<p>'Are you sure that <i>you</i> know nothing about her?' was the doctor's +rejoinder, turning a searching glance upon Mr. Henry Hunter.</p> + +<p>'Come, Bevary, what have you got in your head? I do <i>not</i> know her. I +never met with her until she saw and accosted me. Are you acquainted +with her history?'</p> + +<p>'With a dark page in it.'</p> + +<p>'What is the page?'</p> + +<p>Dr. Bevary shook his head. 'In the course of a physician's practice he +becomes cognisant of many odds and ends of romance, dark or fair; things +that he must hold sacred, and may not give utterance to.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Henry Hunter looked vexed. 'Perhaps you can understand the reason of +her attacking me?'</p> + +<p>'I could understand it, but for your assertion of being a stranger to +her. If it is so, I can only believe that she mistook you for another.'</p> + +<p>'<i>If</i> it is so,' repeated Mr. Henry Hunter. 'I am not in the habit of +asserting an untruth, Bevary.'</p> + +<p>'Nor, on the other hand, is Miss Gwinn one to be deceived. She is keen +as a razor.'</p> + +<p>'Bevary, what are you driving at?'</p> + +<p>'At nothing. Don't be alarmed, Henry. I have no cause to suppose you +know the woman, or she you. I only thought—and think—she is one whom +it is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> almost impossible to deceive. It must, however, have been a +mistake.'</p> + +<p>'It was a mistake—so far as her suspicion that she knew me went,' +decisively returned Mr. Henry Hunter.</p> + +<p>'Ay,' acquiesced Dr. Bevary. 'But here am I gossiping my morning away, +when a host of patients are waiting for me. We poor doctors never get a +holiday, as you more favoured mortals do.'</p> + +<p>He laughed as he went out, nodding a friendly farewell to Austin. Mr. +Henry Hunter stepped out after him. Then Mr. Hunter, who had not taken +part in the discussion, but had stood looking from the window while they +carried it on, wheeled round to Austin and spoke in a low, earnest tone.</p> + +<p>'What <i>is</i> this tale—this mystery—that my brother and the doctor seem +to be picking up?'</p> + +<p>'Sir, I know no more than you have heard me say. I witnessed her attack +on Mr. Henry Hunter.'</p> + +<p>'I should like to know further about it: about her. Will you——Hush! +here comes my brother back again. Hush!'</p> + +<p>His voice died away in the faintest whisper, for Mr. Henry Hunter was +already within the room. Was Mr. Hunter suspecting that his brother had +more cognisance of the affair than he seemed willing to avow? The +thought, that it must be so, crossed Austin Clay; or why that warning +'hush' twice repeated?</p> + +<p>It happened that business was remarkably brisk that season at Hunter and +Hunter's. They could scarcely get hands enough, or the work done. And +when Austin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> explained the cause which had brought him to town, and +frankly proffered the question of whether they could recommend him to +employment, they were glad to offer it themselves. He produced his +credentials of capacity and character, and waited. Mr. Henry Hunter +turned to him with a smile.</p> + +<p>'I suppose you are not above your work, Mr. Clay?'</p> + +<p>'I am not above anything in the world that is right, sir. I have come to +seek work.'</p> + +<p>He was engaged forthwith. His duties at present were to lie partly in +the counting-house, partly in overlooking the men; and the salary +offered was twenty-five pounds per quarter.</p> + +<p>'I can rise above that in time, I suppose,' remarked Austin, 'if I give +satisfaction?'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter smiled. 'Ay, you can rise above that, if you choose. But when +you get on, you'll be doing, I expect, as some of the rest do.'</p> + +<p>'What is that, sir?'</p> + +<p>'Leaving us, to set up for yourself. Numbers have done so as soon as +they have become valuable. I do not speak of the men, you understand, +but of those who have been with us in a higher capacity. A few of the +men, though, have done the same; some have risen into influence.'</p> + +<p>'How can they do that without capital?' inquired Austin. 'It must take +money, and a good deal of it, to set up for themselves.'</p> + +<p>'Not so much as you may think. They begin in a small way—take +piece-work, and work early and late,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> often fourteen and fifteen hours a +day, husbanding their earnings, and getting a capital together by slow +but sure degrees. Many of our most important firms have so risen, and +owe their present positions to sheer hard work, patience, and energy.'</p> + +<p>'It was the way in which Mr. Thornimett first rose,' observed Austin. +'He was once a journeyman at fourteen shillings a week. <i>He</i> got +together money by working over hours.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, there's nothing like it for the industrious man,' said Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>Preliminaries were settled, advice given to him where he might find +lodgings, and Austin departed, having accepted an invitation to dine at +six at Mr. Henry Hunter's.</p> + +<p>And all through having performed an unpremeditated but almost necessary +act of bravery.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER IV.</span> <span class="smaller">DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT.</span></h2> + +<p>Turning to the right after quitting the business premises of the Messrs. +Hunter, you came to an open, handsome part, where the square in which +those gentlemen dwelt was situated, with other desirable squares, +crescents, and houses. But, if you turned to the left instead of to the +right, you very speedily found yourself in the midst of a dense +locality, not so agreeable to the eye or to the senses.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p><p>And yet some parts of this were not much to be complained of, unless +you instituted a comparison between them and those open places; but in +this world all things are estimated by comparison. Take Daffodil's +Delight, for example. 'Daffodil's Delight! what's that?' cries the +puzzled reader, uncertain whether it may be a fine picture or something +to eat. Daffodil's Delight was nothing more than a tolerably long +street, or lane, or double row of houses—wide enough for a street, +dirty enough for a lane, the buildings irregular, not always contiguous, +small gardens before some, and a few trees scattered here and there. +When the locality was mostly fields, and the buildings on them were +scanty, a person of the name of Daffodil ran up a few tenements. He +found that they let well, and he ran up more, and more, and more, until +there was a long, long line of them, and he growing rich. He called the +place Daffodil's Delight—which we may suppose expressed his own +complacent satisfaction at his success—and Daffodil's Delight it had +continued, down to the present day. The houses were of various sizes, +and of fancy appearance; some large, some small; some rising up like a +narrow tower, some but a storey high; some were all windows, some seemed +to have none; some you could only gain by ascending steps; to others you +pitched down as into a cellar; some lay back, with gardens before their +doors, while others projected pretty nearly on to the street gutter. +Nothing in the way of houses could be more irregular, and what Mr. +Daffodil's motive could have been in erecting such cannot be +conjectured—unless he formed an idea that he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> would make a venture to +suit various tastes and diverse pockets.</p> + +<p>Nearly at the beginning of this locality, in its best part, before the +road became narrow, there stood a detached white house; one of only six +rooms, but superior in appearance, and well kept; indeed, it looked more +like a gentleman's cottage residence than a working man's. Verandah +blinds were outside the windows, and green wire fancy stands held +geraniums and other plants on the stone copings, against their lower +panes, obviating the necessity for inside blinds. In this house lived +Peter Quale. He had begun life carrying hods of mortar for masons, and +covering up bricks with straw—a half-starved urchin, his feet as naked +as his head, and his body pretty nearly the same. But he was steady, +industrious, and persevering—just one of those men that <i>work on</i> for +decent position, and acquire it. From two shillings per week to four, +from four to six, from six to twelve—such had been Peter Quale's +beginnings. At twelve shillings he remained for some time stationary, +and then his advance was rapid. Now, he was one of the superior artisans +of the Messrs. Hunters' yard; was, in fact, in a post of trust, and his +wages had grown in proportion. Daffodil's Delight said that Quale's +earnings could not be less than 150<i>l.</i> per annum. A steady, sensible, +honest, but somewhat obstinate man, well-read, and intelligent; for +Peter, while he advanced his circumstances, had not neglected his mind. +He had cultivated that far more than he had his speech or his manner; a +homely tone and grammar, better known to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> Daffodil's Delight than to +polite ears, Peter favoured still.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon of Whit Monday, the day spoken of already, Peter sat in +the parlour of his house, a pipe in his mouth, and a book in his hand. +He looked about midway between forty and fifty, had a round bald head, +surmounted just now by a paper cap, a fair complexion, grey whiskers, +and a well-marked forehead, especially where lie the perceptive +faculties. His eyes were deeply sunk in his head, and he was by nature a +silent man. In the kitchen behind, 'washing up' after dinner, was his +helpmate, Mrs. Quale. Although so well to do, and having generally a +lodger, she kept no servant—'wouldn't be bothered with 'em,' she +said—but did her own work; a person coming in once a week to clean.</p> + +<p>A rattling commotion in the street caused Peter Quale to look up from +his book. A large pleasure-van was rumbling down it, drawing up at the +next door to his.</p> + +<p>'Nancy!' called out he to his wife.</p> + +<p>'Well?' came forth the answer, in a brisk, bustling voice, from the +depths of the kitchen.</p> + +<p>'The Shucks, and that lot, be actually going off now?'</p> + +<p>The news appeared to excite the curiosity of Mrs. Quale, and she came +hastily in; a dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked little woman, with black curls. +She wore a neat white cap, a fresh-looking plum-coloured striped gown of +some thin woollen material, and a black apron; a coarse apron being +pinned round her. Mrs. Quale<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> was an inveterate busybody, knew every +incident that took place in Daffodil's Delight, and possessed a +free-and-easy tongue; but she was a kindly woman withal, and very +popular. She put her head outside the window above the geraniums, to +reconnoitre.</p> + +<p>'Oh, they be going, sure enough! Well, they are fools! That's just like +Slippery Sam! By to-morrow they won't have a threepenny piece to bless +themselves with. But, if they must have went, they might have started +earlier in the day. There's the Whites! And—why!—there's the Dunns! +The van won't hold 'em all. As for the Dunns, they'll have to pinch for +a month after it. She has got on a dandy new bonnet with pink ribbons. +Aren't some folks idiots, Peter?'</p> + +<p>Peter rejoined, with a sort of a grunt, that it wasn't no business of +his, and applied himself again to his pipe and book. Mrs. Quale made +everybody's business hers, especially their failings and shortcomings; +and she unpinned the coarse apron, flung it aside, and flew off to the +next house.</p> + +<p>It was inhabited by two families, the Shucks and the Baxendales. Samuel +Shuck, usually called Slippery Sam, was an idle, oily-tongued chap, +always slipping from work—hence the nickname—and spending at the +'Bricklayers' Arms' what ought to have been spent upon his wife and +children. John Baxendale was a quiet, reserved man, living respectably +with his wife and daughter, but not saving. It was singular how +improvident most of them were. Daffodil's Delight was chiefly inhabited +by the workmen of the Messrs. Hunter;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> they seemed to love to congregate +there as in a nest. Some of the houses were crowded with them, a family +on a floor—even in a room; others rented a house to themselves, and +lived in comfort.</p> + +<p>Assembled inside Sam Shuck's front room, which was a kitchen and not a +parlour, and to which the house door opened, were as many people as it +could well hold, all in their holiday attire. Abel White, his wife and +family; Jim Dunn, and his; Patrick Ryan and the childer (Pat's wife was +dead); and John Baxendale and his daughter, besides others; the whole +host of little Shucks, and half-a-dozen outside stragglers. Mrs. Quale +might well wonder how all the lot could be stuffed into the +pleasure-van. She darted into their midst.</p> + +<p>'You never mean to say you be a-going off, like simpletons, at this time +o' day?' quoth she.</p> + +<p>'Yes, we be,' answered Sam Shuck, a lanky, serpent sort of man in frame, +with a prominent black eye, a turned-up nose, and, as has been said, an +oily tongue. 'What have you got to say again it, Mrs. Quale? Come!'</p> + +<p>'Say!' said that lady, undauntedly, but in a tone of reason rather than +rebuke, 'I say you may just as well fling your money in the gutter as to +go off to Epping at three o'clock in the afternoon. Why didn't you start +in the morning? If I hired a pleasure-van I'd have my money's worth out +of it.'</p> + +<p>'It's just this here,' said Sam. 'It was ordered to be here as St. +Paul's great bell was a striking break o' day, but the wheels wasn't +greased; and they have been all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> this time a greasing 'em with the best +fresh butter at eighteen-pence a pound, had up from Devonshire on +purpose.'</p> + +<p>'You hold your tongue, Sam,' reprimanded Mrs. Quale. 'You have been a +greasing your throat pretty strong, I see, with an extra pot or two; +you'll be in for it as usual before the day's out. How is it you are +going now?' she added, turning to the women.</p> + +<p>'It's just the worst managed thing as I ever had to do with,' volubly +spoke up Jim Dunn's wife, Hannah. 'And it's all the fault o' the men: as +everything as goes wrong always is. There was a quarrel yesterday over +it, and nothing was settled, and this morning when we met they began a +jawing again. Some would go, and some wouldn't; some 'ud have a van to +the Forest, and some 'ud take a omnibus ride to the Zoological Gardens, +and see the beasts, and finish up at the play; some 'ud sit at home, and +smoke, and drink, and wouldn't go nowhere; and most of the men got off +to the "Bricklayers' Arms" and stuck there; and afore the difference was +settled in favour of the van and the Forest, twelve o'clock struck, and +then there was dinner to be had, and us to put ourselves to rights and +the van to be seen after. And there it is, now three o'clock's gone.'</p> + +<p>'It'll be just a ride out, and a ride in,' cried Mrs. Quale; 'you won't +have much time to stop. Money must be plentiful with you, a fooling it +away like that. I thought some of you had better sense.'</p> + +<p>'We spoke against it, father and I,' said quiet Mary Baxendale, in Mrs. +Quale's ear; 'but as we had given<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> our word to join in it and share in +the expense, we didn't like to go from it again. Mother doesn't feel +strong to-day, so she's stopping at home.'</p> + +<p>'It does seem stupid to start at this late hour,' spoke up a comely +woman, mild in speech, Robert Darby's wife. 'Better to have put it off +till to-morrow, and taken another day's holiday, as I told my master. +But when it was decided to go, we didn't say nay, for I couldn't bear to +disappoint the children.'</p> + +<p>The children were already being lifted into the van. Sundry baskets and +bundles, containing provisions for tea, and stone bottles of porter for +the men, were being lifted in also. Then the general company got in; +Daffodil's Delight, those not bound on the expedition, assembling to +witness the ceremony, and Peter casting an eye at it from his parlour. +After much packing, and stowing, and laughing, and jesting, and the +gentlemen declaring the ladies must sit upon their laps three deep, the +van and its four horses moved off, and went lumbering down Daffodil's +Delight.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quale, after watching the last of it, was turning into her own +gate, when she heard a tapping at the window of the tenement on the +<i>other</i> side of her house. Upon looking round, it was thrown open, and a +portly matron, dressed almost well enough for a lady, put out her head. +She was the wife of George Stevens, a very well-to-do workman, and most +respectable man.</p> + +<p>'Are they going off to the Forest at this hour, that lot?'</p> + +<p>'Ay,' returned Mrs. Quale; 'was ever such nonsense known? I'd have made +a day of it, if I had went.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> They'll get home at midnight, I expect, fit +to stand on their heads. Some of the men have had a'most as much as is +good for them now.'</p> + +<p>'I say,' continued Mrs. Stevens, 'George says, will you and your master +come in for an hour or two this evening, and eat a bit of supper with +us? We shall have a nice dish o' beefsteaks and onions, or some +relishing thing of that sort, and the Cheeks are coming.'</p> + +<p>'Thank ye,' said Mrs. Quale. 'I'll ask Peter. But don't go and get +anything hot.'</p> + +<p>'I must,' was the answer. 'We had a shoulder of lamb yesterday, and we +finished it up to-day for dinner, with a salad; so there's nothing cold +in the house, and I'm forced to cook a bit of something. I say, don't +make it late; come at six. George—he's off somewhere, but he'll be in.'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quale nodded acquiescence, and went indoors. Her husband was +reading and smoking still.</p> + +<p>'I'd have put it off till ten at night, and went then!' ironically cried +she, in allusion to the departed pleasure-party. 'A bickering and +contending they have been over it, Hannah Dunn says; couldn't come to an +agreement what they'd do, or what they wouldn't do! Did you ever see +such a load! Them poor horses 'll have enough of it, if the others +don't. I say, the Stevenses want us to go in there to supper to-night. +Beefsteaks and onions.'</p> + +<p>Peter's head was bent attentively over a map in his book, and it +continued so bent for a minute or two. Then he raised it. 'Who's to be +there?'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p><p>'The Cheeks,' she said. 'I'll make haste and put the kettle on, and +we'll have our tea as soon as it boils. She says don't go in later than +six.'</p> + +<p>Pinning on the coarse apron, Mrs. Quale passed into the kitchen to her +work. From the above slight sketch, it may be gathered that Daffodil's +Delight was, take it for all in all, in tolerably comfortable +circumstances. But for the wasteful mode of living generally pervading +it; the improvidence both of husbands and wives; the spending where they +need not have spent, and in things they would have been better +without—it would have been in <i>very</i> comfortable circumstances: for, as +is well known, no class of operatives earn better wages than those +connected with the building trade.</p> + +<p>'Is this Peter Quale's?'</p> + +<p>The question proceeded from a stranger, who had entered the house +passage, and thence the parlour, after knocking at its door. Peter +raised his eyes, and beheld a tall, young, very gentleman-like man, in +grey travelling clothes and a crape band on his black hat. Of courteous +manners also, for he lifted his hat as he spoke, though Peter was only a +workman and had a paper cap on his head.</p> + +<p>'I am Peter Quale,' said Peter, without moving.</p> + +<p>Perhaps you may have already guessed that it was Austin Clay. He stepped +forward with a frank smile. 'I am sent here,' he said, 'by the Messrs. +Hunter. They desired me to inquire for Peter Quale.'</p> + +<p>Peter was not wont to put himself out of the way for strangers: had a +Duke Royal vouchsafed him a visit, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> question if Peter would have been +more than barely civil; but he knew his place with respect to his +employers, and what was due to them—none better; and he rose up at +their name, and took off his paper cap, and laid his pipe inside the +fender, and spoke a word of apology to the gentleman before him.</p> + +<p>'Pray do not mention it; do not disturb yourself,' said Austin, kindly. +'My name is Clay. I have just entered into an engagement with the +Messrs. Hunter, and am now in search of lodgings as conveniently near +their yard as may be. Mr. Henry Hunter said he thought you had rooms +which might suit me: hence my intrusion.'</p> + +<p>'Well, sir, I don't know,' returned Peter, rather dubiously. He was one +of those who are apt to grow bewildered with any sudden proposition; +requiring time, as may be said, to take it in, before he could digest +it.</p> + +<p>'You are from the country, sir, maybe?'</p> + +<p>'I am from the country. I arrived in London but an hour ago, and my +portmanteau is yet at the station. I wish to settle where I shall lodge, +before I go to get it. Have you rooms to let?'</p> + +<p>'Here, Nancy, come in!' cried Peter to his wife. 'The rooms are in +readiness to be shown, aren't they?'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quale required no second call. Hearing a strange voice, and gifted +in a remarkable degree with what we are taught to look upon as her sex's +failing—curiosity—she had already discarded again the apron, and made +her appearance in time to receive the question.</p> + +<p>'Ready and waiting,' answered she. 'And two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> better rooms for their size +you won't find, sir, search London through,' she said, volubly, turning +to Austin. 'They are on the first floor—a nice sitting-room, and a +bedchamber behind it. The furniture is good, and clean, and handsome; +for, when we were buying of it, we didn't spare a few pounds, knowing +such would keep good to the end. Would you please step up, sir, and take +a look at them?'</p> + +<p>Austin acquiesced, motioning to her to lead the way. She dropped a +curtsey as she passed him, as if in apology for taking it. He followed, +and Peter brought up the rear, a dim notion penetrating Peter's brain +that the attention was due from him to one sent by the Messrs. Hunter.</p> + +<p>Two good rooms, as she had said; small, but well fitted up. 'You'd be +sure to be comfortable, sir,' cried Mrs. Quale to Austin. 'If <i>I</i> can't +make lodgers comfortable, I don't know who can. Our last gentleman came +to us three years ago, and left but a month since. He was a barrister's +clerk, but he didn't get well paid, and he lodged in this part for +cheapness.'</p> + +<p>'The rooms would suit me, so far as I can judge,' said Austin, looking +round; 'suit me very well indeed, if we can agree upon terms. My pocket +is but a shallow one at present,' he laughed.</p> + +<p>'I would make <i>them</i> easy enough for any gentleman sent by the masters,' +struck in Peter. 'Did you say your name was Clay, sir?'</p> + +<p>'Clay,' assented Austin.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quale wheeled round at this, and took a free,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> full view of the +gentleman from head to foot. 'Clay? Clay?' she repeated to herself. 'And +there <i>is</i> a likeness, if ever I saw one! Sir,' she hastily inquired, +'do you come from the neighbourhood of Ketterford?'</p> + +<p>'I come from Ketterford itself,' replied he.</p> + +<p>'Ah, but you were not born right in the town. I think you must be Austin +Clay, sir; the orphan son of Mr. Clay and his wife—Miss Austin that +used to be. They lived at the Nash farm. Sir, I have had you upon my lap +scores of times when you were a little one.'</p> + +<p>'Why——who are you?' exclaimed Austin.</p> + +<p>'You can't have forgot old Mr. Austin, the great-uncle, sir? though you +were only seven years old when he died. I was Ann Best, cook to the old +gentleman, and I heard all the ins and outs of the marriage of your +father and mother. The match pleased neither family, and so they just +took the Nash farm for themselves, to be independent and get along +without being beholden for help to anybody. Many a fruit puff have I +made for you, Master Austin; many a currant cake: how things come round +in this world! Do take our rooms, sir—it will seem like serving my old +master over again.'</p> + +<p>'I will take them willingly, and be glad to fall into such good hands. +You will not require references now?'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quale laughed. Peter grunted resentfully. References from anybody +sent by the Messrs. Hunter! 'I would say eight shillings a week, sir,' +said Peter, looking at his wife. 'Pay as you like; monthly, or +quarterly, or any way.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p><p>'That's less than I expected,' said Austin, in his candour. 'Mr. Henry +Hunter thought they would be about ten shillings.'</p> + +<p>Peter was candid also. 'There's the neighbourhood to be took into +consideration, sir, which is not a good one, and we can only let +according to it. In some parts—and not far off, neither—you'd pay +eighteen or twenty shillings for such rooms as these; in Daffodil's +Delight it is different, though this is the best quarter of it. The last +gentleman paid us nine. If eight will suit you, sir, it will suit us.'</p> + +<p>So the bargain was struck; and Austin Clay went back to the station for +his luggage. Mrs. Quale, busy as a bee, ran in to tell her next-door +neighbour that she could not be one of the beef-steak-and-onion eaters +that night, though Peter might, for she should have her hands full with +their new lodger. 'The nicest, handsomest young fellow,' she wound up +with; 'one it will be a pleasure to wait on.'</p> + +<p>'Take care what you be at, if he's a stranger,' cried cautious Mrs. +Stevens. 'There's no trusting those country folks: they run away +sometimes. It looks odd, don't it, to come after lodgings one minute, +and enter upon 'em the next?'</p> + +<p>'Very odd,' assented Mrs. Quale, with a laugh. 'Why, it was Mr. Henry +Hunter sent him round here; and he has got a post in their house.'</p> + +<p>'What sort of one?' asked Mrs. Stevens, sceptical still.</p> + +<p>'Who knows? Something superior to the best of us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> workpeople, you may be +sure. He belongs to gentlefolks,' concluded Mrs. Quale. 'I knew him as a +baby. It was in his mother's family I lived before I married. He's as +like his mother as two peas, and a handsome woman was Mrs. Clay. +Good-bye: I'm going to get the sheets on to his bed now.'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quale, however, found that she was, after all, able to assist at +the supper; for, when Austin came back, it was only to dress himself and +go out, in pursuance of the invitation he had accepted to dine at Mr. +Henry Hunter's. With all his haste it had struck six some minutes when +he got there.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Henry Hunter, a very pretty and very talkative woman, welcomed him +with both hands, and told her children to do the same, for it was 'the +gentleman who saved papa.' There was no ceremony; he was received quite +<i>en famille</i>; no other guest was present, and three or four of the +children dined at table. He appeared to find favour with them all. He +talked on business matters with Mr. Henry Hunter; on lighter topics with +his wife; he pointed out some errors in Mary Hunter's drawings, which +she somewhat ostentatiously exhibited to him, and showed her how to +rectify them. He entered into the school life of the two young boys, +from their classics to their scrapes; and nursed a pretty little lady of +five, who insisted on appropriating his knee—bearing himself throughout +all with the modest reticence—the refinement of the innate gentleman. +Mrs. Henry Hunter was charmed with him.</p> + +<p>'How do you think you shall like your quarters?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> she asked. 'Mr. Hunter +told me he recommended you to Peter Quale's.'</p> + +<p>'Very well. At least they will do. Mrs. Quale, it appears, is an old +friend of mine.'</p> + +<p>'An old friend! Of yours!'</p> + +<p>'She claims me as one, and says she has nursed me many a time when I was +a child. I had quite forgotten her, and all about her, though I now +remember her name. She was formerly a servant in my mother's family, +near Ketterford.'</p> + +<p>Thus Austin Clay had succeeded without delay or difficulty in obtaining +employment, and was, moreover, received on a footing of equality in the +house of Mr. Henry Hunter. We shall see how he gets on.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER V.</span> <span class="smaller">MISS GWINN'S VISIT.</span></h2> + +<p>Were there space, it might be well to trace Austin Clay's progress step +by step—his advancements and his drawbacks—his smooth-sailing and his +difficulties; for, that his course was not free from difficulties and +drawbacks you may be very sure. I do not know whose is. If any had +thought he was to be represented as perfection, they were mistaken. Yet +he managed to hold on his way without moral damage, for he was +high-principled in every sense of the word. But there is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> neither time +nor space to give to these particulars that regard himself alone.</p> + +<p>Austin Clay sat one day in a small room of the office, making +corrections in a certain plan, which had been roughly sketched. It was a +hot day for the beginning of autumn, some three or four months having +elapsed since his installation at Hunter and Hunter's. The office boy +came in to interrupt him.</p> + +<p>'Please, sir, here's a lady outside, asking if she can see young Mr. +Clay.'</p> + +<p>'A lady!' repeated Austin, in some wonder. 'Who is it?'</p> + +<p>'I think she's from the country, sir,' said the sharp boy. 'She have got +a big nosegay in her hand and a brown reticule.'</p> + +<p>'Does she wear widow's weeds?' questioned Austin hastily, an idea +flashing over him that Mrs. Thornimett might have come up to town.</p> + +<p>'Weeds?' replied the boy, staring, as if at a loss to know what 'weeds' +might mean. 'She have got a white veil on, sir.'</p> + +<p>'Oh,' said Austin. 'Well, ask her to come in. But I don't know any lady +that can want me. Or who has any business to come here if she does,' he +added to himself.</p> + +<p>The lady came in: a very tall one. She wore a dark silk dress, a +shepherd's plaid shawl, a straw bonnet, and a white veil. The reticule +spoken of by the boy was in her hand; but the nosegay she laid down on a +bench just outside the door. Austin rose to receive her.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p><p>'You are doubtless surprised to see me, Austin Clay. But, as I was +coming to London on business—I always do at this season of the year—I +got your address from Mrs. Thornimett, having a question to put to you.'</p> + +<p>Without ceremony, without invitation, she sat herself down on a chair. +More by her voice than her features—for she kept her veil before her +face—did Austin recognise her. It was Miss Gwinn. He recognised her +with dismay. Mr. Henry Hunter was about the premises, liable to come in +at any moment, and then might occur a repetition of that violent scene +to which he had been a witness. Often and often had his mind recurred to +the affair; it perplexed him beyond measure. Was Mr. Henry Hunter the +stranger to her he asserted himself to be, or was he not? 'What shall I +do with her?' thought Austin.</p> + +<p>'Will you shut the door?' she said, in a peremptory, short tone, for the +boy had left it open.</p> + +<p>'I beg your pardon, Miss Gwinn,' interrupted Austin, necessity giving +him courage. 'Though glad to see you myself, I am at the present hour so +busy that it is next to impossible for me to give you my attention. If +you will name any place where I can wait upon you after business hours, +this, or any other evening, I shall be happy to meet you.'</p> + +<p>Miss Gwinn ranged her eyes round the room, looking possibly, for +confirmation of his words. 'You are not so busy as to be unable to spare +a minute to me. You were but looking over a plan.'</p> + +<p>'It is a plan that is being waited for.' Which was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> true. 'And you must +forgive me for reminding you—I do it in all courtesy—that my time and +this room do not belong to me, but to my employers.'</p> + +<p>'Boy! what is your motive for seeking to get rid of me?' she asked, +abruptly. 'That you have one, I can see.'</p> + +<p>Austin was upon thorns. He had not taken a seat. He stood near the door, +pencil in hand, hoping it would induce her to move. At that moment +footsteps were heard, and the office-door was pushed wide open.</p> + +<p>It was Mr. Hunter. He stopped on the threshold, seeing a lady, an +unusual sight there, and came to the conclusion that it must be some +stranger for Mr. Clay. Her features, shaded by the thick white veil, +were indistinct, and Mr. Hunter but glanced at her. Miss Gwinn on the +contrary looked full at him, as she did at most people, and bent her +head as a slight mark of courtesy. He responded by lifting his hat, and +went out again.</p> + +<p>'One of the principals, I suppose?' she remarked.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' he replied, feeling thankful that it was not Mr. Henry. 'I +believe he wants me, Miss Gwinn.'</p> + +<p>'I am not going to keep you from him. The question I wish to put to you +will be answered in a sentence. Austin Clay, have you, since——'</p> + +<p>'Allow me one single instant first, then,' interrupted Austin, resigning +himself to his fate, 'just to speak a word of explanation to Mr. +Hunter.'</p> + +<p>He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Standing at +the outer door, close by, open<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> to the yard, was Mr. Hunter. Austin, in +his haste and earnestness, grasped his arm.</p> + +<p>'Find Mr. Henry, sir,' he whispered. 'Wherever he may be, let him keep +there—out of sight—until she—this person—has gone. It is Miss +Gwinn.'</p> + +<p>'Who? What do you say?' cried Mr. Hunter, staring at Austin.</p> + +<p>'It is that Miss Gwinn. The woman who set upon Mr. Henry in that strange +manner. She——'</p> + +<p>Miss Gwinn opened the door at this juncture, and looked out upon them. +Mr. Hunter walked briskly away in search of his brother. Austin turned +back again.</p> + +<p>She closed the door when he was inside the room, keeping her hand upon +it. She did not sit down, but stood facing Austin, whom she held before +her with the other hand.</p> + +<p>'Have you, since you came to London, seen aught of my enemy?—that man +whom you saved from his death in the gravel pits? Boy! answer me +truthfully.'</p> + +<p>He remained silent, scarcely seeing what his course ought to be; or +whether in such a case a lie of denial might not be justifiable. But the +hesitation spoiled that, for she read it arightly.</p> + +<p>'No need of your affirmative,' she said. 'I see you have met him. Where +is he to be found?'</p> + +<p>There was only one course for him now; and he took it, in all +straightforward openness.</p> + +<p>'It is true I have seen that gentleman, Miss Gwinn, but I can tell you +nothing about him.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p><p>She looked fixedly at him. 'That you cannot, or that you will not? +Which?'</p> + +<p>'That I will not. Forgive the seeming incivility of the avowal, but I +consider that I ought not to comply with your request—that I should be +doing wrong?'</p> + +<p>'Explain. What do you mean by "wrong?"'</p> + +<p>'In the first place, I believe you were mistaken with regard to the +gentleman: I do not think he was the one for whom you took him. In the +second place, even if he be the one, I cannot make it my business to +bring you into contact with him, and so give rise—as it probably +would—to further violence.'</p> + +<p>There was a pause. She threw up her veil and looked fixedly at him, +struggling for composure, her lips compressed, her face working.</p> + +<p>'You know who he is, and where he lives,' she jerked forth.</p> + +<p>'I acknowledge that.'</p> + +<p>'How dare you take part against me?' she cried, in agitation.</p> + +<p>'I do not take part against you, Miss Gwinn,' he replied, wishing some +friendly balloon would come and whirl her away; for Mr. Hunter might not +find his brother to give the warning. 'I do not take his part more than +I take yours, only in so far as that I decline to tell you who and where +he is. Had he the same ill-feeling towards you, and wished to know where +you might be found, I would not tell him.'</p> + +<p>'Austin Clay, you <i>shall</i> tell me.'</p> + +<p>He drew himself up to his full height, speaking in all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> the quiet +consciousness of resolution. 'Never of my own free will. And I think, +Miss Gwinn, there are no means by which you can compel me.'</p> + +<p>'Perhaps the law might?' She spoke dreamily, not in answer to him, but +in commune with herself, as if debating the question. 'Fare you well for +the present, young man; but I have not done with you.'</p> + +<p>To his intense satisfaction she turned out of the office, catching up +the flowers as she went. Austin attended her to the outer gate. She +strode straight on, not deigning to cast a glance to the busy yard, with +its sheds, its timber, its implements of work, and its artisans, all +scattered about it.</p> + +<p>'Believe me,' he said, holding out his hand as a peace-offering, 'I am +not willingly discourteous. I wish I could see my way clear to help +you.'</p> + +<p>She did not take the hand; she walked away without another word or look, +and Austin went back again. Mr. Hunter advanced to meet him from the +upper end of the yard, and went with him into the small room.</p> + +<p>'What was all that, Clay? I scarcely understood.'</p> + +<p>'I daresay not, sir, for I had no time to be explanatory. It seems +she—Miss Gwinn—has come to town on business. She procured my address +from Mrs. Thornimett, and came here to ask of me if I had seen anything +of her enemy—meaning Mr. Henry Hunter. I feared lest he should be +coming in; I could only beg of you to find Mr. Henry, and warn him not. +That is all, sir.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter stood with his back to Austin, softly whistling—his habit +when in deep thought. 'What<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> can be her motive for wanting to find him?' +he presently said.</p> + +<p>'She speaks of revenge. Of course I do not know for what: I cannot give +a guess. There's no doubt she is mistaken in the person, when she +accuses Mr. Henry Hunter.'</p> + +<p>'Well,' returned Mr. Hunter, 'I said nothing to my brother, for I did +not understand what there was to say. It will be better not to tell him +now; the woman is gone, and the subject does not appear to be a pleasant +one. Do you hear?'</p> + +<p>'Very well, sir.'</p> + +<p>'I think I understood, when the affair was spoken of some time ago, that +she does not know him as Mr. Hunter?'</p> + +<p>'Of course she does not,' said Austin. 'She would have been here after +him before now if she did. She came this morning to see me, not +suspecting she might meet him.'</p> + +<p>'Ah! Better keep the visit close,' cried Mr. Hunter, as he walked away.</p> + +<p>Now, it had occurred to Austin that it would be better to do just the +opposite thing. <i>He</i> should have told Mr. Henry Hunter, and left that +gentleman to seek out Miss Gwinn, or not, as he might choose. A sudden +meeting between them in the office, in the hearing of the yard, and with +the lady in excitement, was not desirable; but that Mr. Henry Hunter +should clear himself, now that she was following him up, and convince +her it was not he who was the suspected party,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> was, Austin thought, +needful—that is, if he could do it. However, he could only obey Mr. +Hunter's suggestions.</p> + +<p>Austin resumed his occupation. His brain and fingers were busy over the +plan, when he saw a gig drive into the yard. It contained the great +engineer, Sir Michael Wilson. Mr. Henry Hunter came down the yard to +meet him; they shook hands, and entered the private room together. In a +few minutes Mr. Henry came to Austin.</p> + +<p>'Are you particularly engaged, Clay?'</p> + +<p>'Only with this plan, sir. It is wanted as soon as I can get it done.'</p> + +<p>'You can leave it for a quarter of an hour. I wish you to go round to +Dr. Bevary. I was to have been at his house now—half-past eleven—to +accompany him on a visit to a sick friend. Tell him that Sir Michael has +come, and I have to go out with him, therefore it is impossible for me +to keep my engagement. I am very sorry, tell Bevary: these things always +happen crossly. Go right into his consulting-room, Clay; never mind +patients; or else he will be chafing at my delay, and grumble the +ceiling off.'</p> + +<p>Austin departed. Dr. Bevary occupied a good house in the main street, to +the left of the yard, to gain which he had to pass the turning to +Daffodil's Delight. Had Dr. Bevary lived to the right of the yard, his +practice might have been more exclusive; but doctors cannot always +choose their localities, circumstances more frequently doing that for +them. He had a large connexion, and was often pressed for time.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p><p>Down went Austin, and gained the house. Just inside the open door, +before which a close carriage was standing, was the doctor's servant.</p> + +<p>'Dr. Bevary is engaged, sir, with a lady patient,' said the man. 'He is +very particularly engaged for the moment, but I don't think he'll be +long.'</p> + +<p>'I'll wait,' said Austin, not deeming it well strictly to follow Mr. +Henry Hunter's directions; and he turned, without ceremony, to the +little box of a study on the left of the hall.</p> + +<p>'Not there, sir,' interposed the man hastily, and he showed him into the +drawing-room on the right; Dr. Bevary and his patient being in the +consulting-room.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes of impatience to Austin. What could any lady mean by keeping +him so long, in his own house? Then they came forth. The lady, a very +red and portly one, rather old, was pushed into her carriage by the help +of her footman, Austin watching the process from the window. The +carriage then drove off.</p> + +<p>The doctor did not come in. Austin concluded the servant must have +forgotten to tell him he was there. He crossed the hall to the little +study, the doctor's private room, knocked and entered.</p> + +<p>'I am not to care for patients,' called out he gaily, believing the +doctor was alone; 'Mr. Henry Hunter says so.' But to his surprise, a +patient was sitting there—at least, a lady; sitting, nose and knees +together, with Dr. Bevary, and talking hurriedly and earnestly, as if +they had the whole weight of the nation's affairs on their shoulders.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p><p>It was Miss Gwinn. The flowers had apparently found their home, for +they were in a vase on the table. Austin took it all in at a glance.</p> + +<p>'So it is you, is it, Austin Clay?' she exclaimed. 'I was acquainting +Dr. Bevary with your refusal to give me that man's address, and asking +his opinion whether the law could compel you. Have you come after me to +say you have thought better of it?'</p> + +<p>Austin was decidedly taken aback. It might have been his fancy, but he +thought he saw a look of caution go out to him from Dr. Bevary's eyes.</p> + +<p>'Was your visit to this lady, Mr. Clay?'</p> + +<p>'No, sir, it was to you. Sir Michael Wilson has come down on business, +and Mr. Henry Hunter will not be able to keep his appointment with you. +He desired me to say that he was sorry, but that it was no fault of +his.'</p> + +<p>Dr. Bevary nodded. 'Tell him I was about to send round to say that I +could not keep mine with him so it's all right. Another day will——'</p> + +<p>A sharp cry. A cry of passion, of rage, almost of terror. It came from +Miss Gwinn; and the doctor, breaking off his sentence, turned to her in +amazement.</p> + +<p>It was well he did so; it was well he caught her hands. Another moment, +and she would have dashed them through the window, and perhaps herself +also. Driving by, in the gig, were Sir Michael Wilson and Mr. Henry +Hunter. It was at the latter she gazed, at him she pointed.</p> + +<p>'Do you see him? Do you see him?' she panted to the doctor. 'That's the +man; not the one driving;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> the other—the one sitting this way. Oh, Dr. +Bevary, will you believe me now? I told you I met him at Ketterford; and +there he is again! Let me go!'</p> + +<p>She was strong almost as a wild animal, wrestling with the doctor to get +from him. He made a motion to Austin to keep the door, and there ensued +a sharp struggle. Dr. Bevary got her into an arm-chair at last, and +stood before her, holding her hands, at first in silence. Then he spoke +calmly, soothingly, as he would to a child.</p> + +<p>'My dear lady, what will become of you if you give way to these fits of +violence? But for me, I really believe you would have been through the +window. A pretty affair of spikes that would be! I should have had you +laid up in my house for a month, covered over with sticking-plaster.'</p> + +<p>'If you had not stopped me I might have caught that gig,' was her +passionate rejoinder.</p> + +<p>'Caught that gig! A gig going at the rate of ten miles an hour, if it +was going one! By the time you had got down the steps of my door it +would have been out of sight. How people can drive at that random rate +in London streets, <i>I</i> can't think.'</p> + +<p>'<i>How</i> can I find him? How can I find him?'</p> + +<p>Her tone was quite a wail of anguish. However they might deprecate her +mistaken violence, it was impossible but that both her hearers should +feel compassion for her. She laid her hand on the doctor's arm.</p> + +<p>'Will you not help me to find him, Dr. Bevary? Did you note him?'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p><p>'So far as to see that there were two persons in the gig, and that they +were men, not women. Do you feel sure it was the man you speak of? It is +so easy to be mistaken in a person who is being whirled along swiftly.'</p> + +<p>'Mistaken!' she returned, in a strangely significant tone. 'Dr. Bevary, +I am sure it was he. I have not kept him in my mind for years, to +mistake him now. Austin Clay,' she fiercely added, turning round upon +Austin, '<i>you</i> speak; speak the truth; I saw you look after them. Was +it, or was it not, the man whom I met at Ketterford?'</p> + +<p>'I believe it was,' was Austin's answer. 'Nevertheless, Miss Gwinn, I do +not believe him to be the enemy you spoke of—the one who worked you +ill. He denies it just as solemnly as you assert it; and I am sure he is +a truthful man.'</p> + +<p>'And that I am a liar?'</p> + +<p>'No. That you believe what you assert is only too apparent. I think it a +case, on your side, of mistaken identity.'</p> + +<p>Happening to raise his eyes, Austin caught those of Dr. Bevary fixed +upon him with a keen, troubled, earnest gaze. It asked, as plainly as a +gaze could ask, '<i>Do</i> you believe so? or is the falsehood on <i>his</i> +side?'</p> + +<p>'Will you disclose to Dr. Bevary the name of that man, if you will not +to me?'</p> + +<p>Again the gentlemen's eyes met, and this time an unmistakeable warning +of caution gleamed forth from Dr. Bevary's. Austin could only obey it.</p> + +<p>'I must decline to speak of him in any way, Miss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> Gwinn,' said he; 'you +had my reasons before. Dr. Bevary, I have given you the message I was +charged with. I must wish you both good day.'</p> + +<p>Austin walked back, full of thought, his belief somewhat wavering. 'It +is very strange,' he reflected. 'Could a woman, could any one be so +positive as she is, unless thoroughly sure? What <i>is</i> the mystery, I +wonder? That it was no sentimental affair between them, or rubbish of +that sort, is patent by the difference of their ages; she looks pretty +nearly old enough to be his mother. Mr. Henry Hunter's is a remarkable +face—one that would alter little in a score of years.'</p> + +<p>The bell was ringing twelve as he approached the yard, and the workmen +were pouring out of it, on their way home to dinner. Plentiful tables +awaited them; little care was on their minds; flourishing was every +branch of the building trade then. Peter Quale came up to Austin.</p> + +<p>'Sam Shuck have just been up here, sir, a-eating humble pie, and praying +to be took on again. But the masters be both absent; and Mr. Mills, he +said he didn't choose, in a thing like this, to act on his own +responsibility, for he heard Mr. Hunter say Shuck shouldn't again be +employed.'</p> + +<p>'I would not take him on,' replied Austin, 'if it rested with me; an +idle, skulking, deceitful vagabond, drunk and incapable at one time, +striving to spread discontent among the men at another. He has been on +the loose for a fortnight now. But it is not my affair, Quale; Mr. Mills +is manager.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p><p>The yard, between twelve and one, was pretty nearly deserted. The +gentleman, spoken of as Mr. Mills, and Austin, usually remained; the +principals would sometimes be there, and an odd man or two. The +timekeeper lived in the yard. Austin rather liked that hour; it was +quiet. He was applying to his plan with a zest, when another +interruption came, in the shape of Dr. Bevary. Austin began to think he +might as well put the drawing away altogether.</p> + +<p>'Anybody in the offices, Mr. Clay, except you?' asked the doctor.</p> + +<p>'Not indoors. Mills is about somewhere.'</p> + +<p>Down sat the doctor, and fixed his keen eyes upon Austin. 'What took +place here this morning with Miss Gwinn?'</p> + +<p>'No harm, sir,' replied Austin, briefly explaining. 'As it happened, Mr. +Henry kept away. Mr. Hunter came in and saw her; but that was all.'</p> + +<p>'What is your opinion?' abruptly asked the doctor. 'Come, give it +freely. You have your share of judgment, and of discretion too, or I +should not ask it. Is she mistaken, or is Henry Hunter false?'</p> + +<p>Austin did not immediately reply. Dr. Bevary mistook the cause of his +silence.</p> + +<p>'Don't hesitate, Clay. You know I am trustworthy; and it is not I who +would stir to harm a Hunter. If I seek to come to the bottom of this +affair, it is that I may do what I can to repair damage; to avert some +of the fruits of wrong-doing.'</p> + +<p>'If I hesitated, Dr. Bevary, it was that I am really at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> a loss what +answer to give. When Mr. Henry Hunter denies that he knows the woman, or +that he ever has known her, he appears to me to speak open truth. On the +other hand, these recognitions of Miss Gwinn's, and her persistency, +are, to say the least of them, suspicious and singular. Until within an +hour I had full trust in Mr. Henry Hunter; now I do not know what to +think. She seemed to recognise him in the gig so surely.'</p> + +<p>'He does not appear'—Dr. Bevary appeared to be speaking to himself, and +his head was bent—'like one who carries about with him some dark +secret.'</p> + +<p>'Mr. Henry Hunter? None less. Never a man whose outside gave indications +of a clearer conscience. But, Dr. Bevary, if her enemy be Mr. Henry +Hunter, how is it she does not know him by name?'</p> + +<p>'Ay, there's another point. She evidently attaches no importance to the +name of Hunter.'</p> + +<p>'What was the name of—of the enemy she talks of?' asked Austin. 'We +must call him "enemy" for want of a better name. Do you know it, +doctor?'</p> + +<p>'No. Can't get it out of her. Never could get it out of her. I asked her +again to-day, but she evaded the question.'</p> + +<p>'Mr. Hunter thought it would be better to keep her visit this morning a +secret from his brother, as they had not met. I, on the contrary, should +have told him of it.'</p> + +<p>'No,' hastily interposed Dr. Bevary, putting up his hand with an +alarmed, warning gesture. 'The only way is, to keep her and Henry Hunter +apart.'</p> + +<p>'I wonder,' mused Austin, 'what brings her to town?'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p><p>The doctor threw his penetrating gaze into Austin's eyes. 'Have you no +idea what it is?'</p> + +<p>'None, sir. She seemed to intimate that she came every year.'</p> + +<p>'Good. Don't try to form any, my young friend. It would not be a +pleasant secret, even for you to hold!'</p> + +<p>He rose as he spoke, nodded, and went out, leaving Austin Clay in a +state of puzzled bewilderment. It was not lessened when, an hour later, +Austin encountered Dr. Bevary's close carriage, driving rapidly along +the street, the doctor seated inside it, and Miss Gwinn beside him.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VI.</span> <span class="smaller">TRACKED HOME.</span></h2> + +<p>I think it has been mentioned that the house next door to the Quales', +detached from it however, was inhabited by two families: the lower part +by Mr. Samuel Shuck, his wife, and children; the upper and best part by +the Baxendales. No two sets of people could be more dissimilar; the one +being as respectable as the other was disreputable. John Baxendale's +wife was an invalid; she had been so, on and off, for a long while. +There was an only daughter, and she and her mother held themselves very +much aloof from the general society of Daffodil's Delight.</p> + +<p>On the morning following the day spoken of in the last chapter as +distinguished by the advent of Miss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> Gwinn in London, Mrs. Baxendale +found herself considerably worse than usual. Mr. Rice, the apothecary, +who was the general attendant in Daffodil's Delight, and lived at its +corner, had given her medicine, and told her to 'eat well and get up her +strength.' But, somehow, the strength and the appetite did not come; on +the contrary, she got weaker and weaker. She was in very bad spirits +this morning, was quite unable to get up, and cried for some time in +silence.</p> + +<p>'Mother, dear,' said Mary Baxendale, going into her room, 'you'll have +the doctor gone out, I fear.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Mary! I cannot get up—I cannot go,' was the answer, delivered with +a burst of sobbing sorrow. 'I shall never rise from my bed again.'</p> + +<p>The words fell on the daughter with a terrible shock. Her fears in +regard to her mother's health had long been excited, but this seemed +like a confirmation of a result she had never dared openly to face. She +was not a very capable sort of girl—the reverse of what is called +strong-minded; but the instinct imparted by all true affection warned +her to make light of her mother's words.</p> + +<p>'Nay, mother, it's not so bad as that,' she said, checking her tears. +'You'll get up again fast enough. You are feeling low, maybe, this +morning.'</p> + +<p>'Child, I am too weak to get up—too ill. I don't think I shall ever be +about again.'</p> + +<p>Mary sat down in a sort of helpless perplexity.</p> + +<p>'What is to be done?' she cried.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Baxendale asked herself the same question as she lay. Finding +herself no better under Mr. Rice's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> treatment, she had at length +determined to do what she ought to have done at first—consult Dr. +Bevary.</p> + +<p>From half-past eight to ten, three mornings in the week, Dr. Bevary gave +advice gratis; and Mrs. Baxendale was on this one to have gone to +him—rather a formidable visit, as it seemed to her, and perhaps the +very thought of it had helped to make her worse.</p> + +<p>'What is to be done?' repeated Mary.</p> + +<p>'Could you not wait upon him, child, and describe my symptoms?' +suggested the sick woman, after weighing the dilemma in her mind. 'It +might do as well. Perhaps he can write for me.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, mother, I don't like to go!' exclaimed Mary, in the impulse of the +moment.</p> + +<p>'But, my dear, what else is to be done?' urged Mrs. Baxendale. 'We can't +ask a great gentleman like that to come to me.'</p> + +<p>'To be sure—true. Oh, yes, I'll go, mother.'</p> + +<p>Mary got herself ready without another word. Mrs. Baxendale, a superior +woman for her station in life, had brought up her daughter to be +thoroughly dutiful. It had seemed a formidable task to the mother, the +going to this physician, this 'great gentleman;' it seemed a far worse +to the daughter, and especially the having to explain symptoms and +ailments at second-hand. But the great physician was a very pleasant +man, and would nod good-humouredly to Mary, when by chance he met her in +the street.</p> + +<p>'Tell him, with my duty, that I am not equal to coming myself,' said +Mrs. Baxendale, when Mary stood<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> ready in her neat straw bonnet and +light shawl. 'I ought to have gone weeks ago, and that's the truth. +Don't forget to describe the pain in my right side, and the flushings of +heat.'</p> + +<p>So Mary went on her way, and was admitted to the presence of Dr. Bevary, +where she told her tale with awkward timidity.</p> + +<p>'Ah! a return of the old weakness that she had years ago,' remarked the +doctor. 'I told her she must be careful. Too ill to get up? Why did she +not come to me before?'</p> + +<p>'I suppose, sir, she did not much like to trouble you,' responded Mary. +'She has been hoping from week to week that Mr. Rice would do her good.'</p> + +<p>'<i>I</i> can't do her good, unless I see her,' cried the doctor. 'I might +prescribe just the wrong thing, you know.'</p> + +<p>Mary repressed her tears.</p> + +<p>'I am afraid, then, she must die, sir. She said this morning she thought +she should never get up from her bed again.'</p> + +<p>'I'll step round some time to-day and see her,' said Dr. Bevary. 'But +now, don't you go chattering that to the whole parish. I should have +every sick person in it expecting me, as a right, to call and visit +them.'</p> + +<p>He laughed pleasantly at Mary as he spoke, and she departed with a glad +heart. The visit had been so much less formidable in reality than in +anticipation.</p> + +<p>As she reached Daffodil's Delight, she did not turn into it, but +continued her way to the house of Mrs. Hunter. Mary Baxendale took in +plain sewing, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> had some in hand at present from that lady. She +inquired for Dobson. Dobson was Mrs. Hunter's own maid, and a very +consequential one.</p> + +<p>'Not able to get Miss Hunter's night-dresses home on Saturday!' grumbled +Dobson, when she appeared and heard what Mary had to say. 'But you must, +Mary Baxendale. You promised them, you know.'</p> + +<p>'I should not have promised had I known that my mother would have grown +worse,' said Mary. 'A sick person requires a deal of waiting on, and +there's only me. I'll do what I can to get them home next week, if that +will do.'</p> + +<p>'I don't know that it will do,' snapped Dobson. 'Miss Florence may be +wanting them. A promise is a promise, Mary Baxendale.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, it will do, Mary,' cried Florence Hunter, darting forward from +some forbidden nook, whence she had heard the colloquy, and following +Mary down the steps into the street. A fair sight was that child to look +upon, with her white muslin dress, her blue ribbons, her flowing hair, +and her sweet countenance, radiant as a summer's morning. 'Mamma is not +downstairs yet, or I would ask her—she is ill, too—but I know I do not +want them. Never you mind them, and never mind Dobson either, but nurse +your mother.'</p> + +<p>Dobson drew the young lady back, asking her if such behaviour was not +enough to 'scandalize the square;' and Mary Baxendale returned home.</p> + +<p>Dr. Bevary paid his visit to Mrs. Baxendale about mid-day. His practised +eye saw with certainty what others were only beginning to suspect—that +Death<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> had marked her. He wrote a prescription, gave some general +directions, said he would call again, and told Mrs. Baxendale she would +be better out of bed than in it.</p> + +<p>Accordingly, after his departure, she got up and went into the front +room, which they made their sitting-room. But the exertion caused her to +faint; she was certainly on this day much worse than usual. John +Baxendale was terribly concerned, and did not go back to his work after +dinner. When the bustle was over, and she seemed pretty comfortable +again, somebody burst into the room, without knocking or other ceremony. +It was one of the Shucks, a young man of eight, in tattered clothes, and +a shock head of hair. He came to announce that Mrs. Hunter's maid was +asking for Mary, and little Miss Hunter was there, too, and said, might +she come up and see Mrs. Baxendale.</p> + +<p>Both were requested to walk up. Dobson had brought a gracious message +from her mistress (not graciously delivered, though), that the sewing +might wait till it was quite convenient to do it; and Florence produced +a jar, which she had insisted upon carrying herself, and had thereby +split her grey kid gloves, it being too large for her hands.</p> + +<p>'It is black-currant jelly, Mrs. Baxendale,' she said, with the +prettiest, kindest air, as she freely sat down by the sick woman's side. +'I asked mamma to let me bring some, for I remember when I was ill I +only liked black-currant jelly. Mamma is so sorry to hear you are worse, +and she will come to see you soon.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p><p>'Bless your little heart, Miss Florence!' exclaimed the invalid. 'The +same dear child as ever—thinking of other people and not of yourself.'</p> + +<p>'I have no need to think for myself,' said Florence. 'Everything I want +is got ready for me. I wish you did not look so ill. I wish you would +have my uncle Bevary to see you. He cures everybody.'</p> + +<p>'He has been kind enough to come round to-day, Miss,' spoke up John +Baxendale, 'and he'll come again, he says. I hope he will be able to do +the missis good. As you be a bit better,' he added to his wife, 'I think +I'll go back to my work.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, do, John. There's no cause for you to stay at home. It was some +sort of weakness, I suppose, that came over me.'</p> + +<p>John Baxendale touched his hair to Florence, nodded to Dobson, and went +downstairs and out. Florence turned to the open window to watch his +departure, ever restless, as a healthy child is apt to be.</p> + +<p>'There's Uncle Henry!' she suddenly called out.</p> + +<p>Mr. Henry Hunter was walking rapidly down Daffodil's Delight. He +encountered John Baxendale as the man went out of his gate.</p> + +<p>'Not back at work yet, Baxendale?'</p> + +<p>'The missis has been taken worse, sir,' was the man's reply. 'She +fainted dead off just now, and I declare I didn't know what to think +about her. She's all right again, and I am going round.'</p> + +<p>At that moment there was heard a tapping at the window panes, and a +pretty little head was pushed out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> beneath them, nodding and laughing, +'Uncle Henry! How do you do, Uncle Henry?'</p> + +<p>Mr. Henry Hunter nodded in reply, and pursued his way, unconscious that +the lynx eye of Miss Gwinn was following him, like a hawk watching its +prey.</p> + +<p>It happened that she had penetrated Daffodil's Delight, hoping to catch +Austin Clay at his dinner, which she supposed he might be taking about +that hour. She held his address at Peter Quale's from Mrs. Thornimett. +Her object was to make a further effort to get from him what he knew of +the man she sought to find. Scarcely had she turned into Daffodil's +Delight, when she saw Mr. Henry Hunter at a distance. Away she tore +after him, and gained upon him considerably. She reached the house of +John Baxendale just as he, Baxendale, was re-entering it; for he had +forgotten something he must take with him to the yard. Turning her head +upon Baxendale for a minute as she passed, Miss Gwinn lost sight of Mr. +Henry Hunter.</p> + +<p>How had he disappeared? Into the ground? or into a house? or down any +obscure passage that might be a short cut between Daffodil's Delight, +and some other Delight? or into that cab that was now whirling onwards +at such a rate? That he was no longer visible, was certain: and Miss +Gwinn was exceeding wroth. She came to the conclusion that he had seen +her, and hid himself in the cab, though she had not heard it stop.</p> + +<p>But she had seen him spoken to from the window of that house, where the +workman had just gone in, and she determined to make inquiries there, +and so strode<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> up the path. In the Shucks' kitchen there were only three +or four children, too young to give an answer. Miss Gwinn picked her way +through them, over the dirt and grease of the floor, and ascended to the +sitting-room above. She stood a minute to take in its view.</p> + +<p>John Baxendale was on his knees, hunting among some tools at the bottom +of a closet; Mary was meekly exhibiting the progress of the nightgowns +to Dobson, who sat in state, sour enough to turn milk into curd; the +invalid was lying, pale, in her chair; while the young lady appeared to +be assisting at the tool-hunting, on her knees also, and chattering as +fast as her tongue could go. All looked up at the apparition of the +stranger, who stood there gazing in upon them.</p> + +<p>'Can you tell me where a gentleman of the name of Lewis lives?' she +began, in an indirect, diplomatic, pleasant sort of way, for she no +doubt deemed it well to discard violence for tact. In the humour she was +in yesterday, she would have said, sharply and imperiously, 'Tell me the +name of that man I saw now pass your gate.'</p> + +<p>John Baxendale rose. 'Lewis, ma'am? I don't know anybody of the name.'</p> + +<p>A pause. 'It is very unfortunate,' she mildly resumed. 'I am in search +of the gentleman, and have not got his address. I believe he belongs to +this neighbourhood. Indeed, I am almost sure I saw him talking to you +just now at the gate—though my sight is none of the clearest from a +distance. The same gentleman to whom that young lady nodded.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p><p>'That was my uncle Henry,' called out the child.</p> + +<p>'Who?' cried she, sharply.</p> + +<p>'It was Mr. Henry Hunter, ma'am, that was,' spoke up Baxendale.</p> + +<p>'Mr. Henry Hunter!' she repeated, as she knit her brow on John +Baxendale. 'That gentleman is Mr. Lewis.'</p> + +<p>'No, that he is not,' said John Baxendale. 'I ought to know, ma'am; I +have worked for him for some years.'</p> + +<p>Here the mischief might have ended; there's no telling; but that busy +little tongue of all tongues—ah! what work they make!—began clapping +again.</p> + +<p>'Perhaps you mean my papa? Papa's name is Lewis—James Lewis Hunter. But +he is never called Mr. Lewis. He is brother to my uncle Henry.'</p> + +<p>A wild flush of crimson flashed over Miss Gwinn's sallow face. Something +within her seemed to whisper that her search was over. 'It is possible I +mistook the one for the other in the distance,' she observed, all her +new diplomacy in full play. 'Are they alike in person?' she continued to +John Baxendale.</p> + +<p>'Not so much alike now, ma'am. In years gone by they were the very model +of one another; but Mr. Hunter has grown stout, and it has greatly +altered him. Mr. Henry looks just like what Mr. Hunter used to look.'</p> + +<p>'And who are you, did you say?' she asked of Florence with an emphasis +that would have been quite wild, but that it was in a degree suppressed. +'You are not Mr. Lewis Hunter's daughter?'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p><p>'I am,' said Miss Florence.</p> + +<p>'And——you have a mother?'</p> + +<p>'Of course I have,' repeated the child.</p> + +<p>A pause: the lady looked at John Baxendale. 'Then Mr. Lewis Hunter is a +married man?'</p> + +<p>'To be sure he is,' said John, 'ever so many years ago. Miss Florence is +twelve.'</p> + +<p>'Thank you,' said Miss Gwinn abruptly turning away. 'Good morning.'</p> + +<p>She went down the stairs at a great rate, and did not stay to pick her +steps over the grease of the Shucks' floor.</p> + +<p>'What a mistake to make!' was her inward comment, and she laughed as she +said it. 'I did not sufficiently allow for the lapse of years. If that +younger one had lost his life in the gravel pits, he would have died an +innocent man.'</p> + +<p>Away to the yard now, as fast as her legs would carry her. In turning +in, she ran against Austin Clay.</p> + +<p>'I want to speak with Mr. Hunter,' she imperiously said. 'Mr. Lewis +Hunter—not the one I saw in the gig.'</p> + +<p>'Mr. Hunter is out of town, Miss Gwinn,' was Austin's reply. 'We do not +expect him at the yard to-day; he will not be home in time to come to +it.'</p> + +<p>'Boy! you are deceiving me!'</p> + +<p>'Indeed I am not,' he returned. 'Why should I? Mr. Hunter is not in the +habit of being denied to applicants. You might have spoken to him +yesterday when you saw him, had it pleased you so to do.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p><p>'I never saw him yesterday.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, you did, Miss Gwinn. That gentleman who came into the office and +bowed to you was Mr. Hunter.'</p> + +<p>She stared Austin full in the face, as if unable to believe what he +said. '<i>That</i> Mr. Hunter?—Lewis Hunter?'</p> + +<p>'It was.'</p> + +<p>'If so, <i>how</i> he is altered!' And, throwing up her arms with a strange, +wild gesture, she turned and strode out of the yard. The next moment +Austin saw her come into it again.</p> + +<p>'I want Mr. Lewis Hunter's private address, Austin Clay.'</p> + +<p>But Austin was on his guard now. He did not relish the idea of giving +anybody's private address to such a person as Miss Gwinn, who might or +might not be mad.</p> + +<p>She detected his reluctance.</p> + +<p>'Keep it from me if you choose, boy,' she said, with a laugh that had a +ring of scorn. 'Better for you perhaps to be on the safe side. The first +workman I meet will give it me, or a court guide.'</p> + +<p>And thus saying, she finally turned away. At any rate for the time +being.</p> + +<p>Austin Clay resumed his work, and the day passed on to evening. When +business was over, he went home to make some alteration in his dress, +for he had to go by appointment to Mr. Hunter's, and on these occasions +he generally remained with them. It was beginning to grow dusk, and a +chillness seemed to be in the air.</p> + +<p>The house occupied by Mr. Hunter was one of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> best in the +west-central square. Ascending to it by a flight of steps, and passing +through a pillared portico, you found yourself in a handsome hall, paved +in imitation of mosaic. Two spacious sitting-rooms were on the left: the +front one was used as a dining-room, the other opened to a conservatory. +On the right of the hall, a broad flight of stairs led to the apartments +above, one of which was a fine drawing-room, fitted up with costly +elegance.</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Hunter were seated in the dining-room. Florence was there +likewise, but not seated; it may be questioned if she ever did sit, +except when compelled. Dinner was over, but they frequently made this +their evening sitting-room. The drawing-room upstairs was grand, the +room behind was dull; this was cheerful, and looked out on the square. +Especially cheerful it looked on this evening, for a fire had been +lighted in the grate, and it cast a warm glow around in the fading +twilight.</p> + +<p>Austin Clay was shown in, and invited to a seat by the fire, near Mrs. +Hunter. He had come in obedience to orders from Mr. Hunter, issued to +him when he, Mr. Hunter, had been going out that morning. His journey +had been connected with certain buildings then in process, and he +thought he might have directions to give with respect to the following +morning's early work.</p> + +<p>A few minutes given by Austin and his master to business matters, and +then the latter left the room, and Austin turned to Mrs. Hunter. +Unusually delicate she looked, as she half sat, half lay back in her +chair, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> firelight playing on her features. Florence had dragged +forth a stool, and was sitting on it in a queer sort of fashion, one leg +under her, at Austin's feet. He was a great favourite of hers, and she +made no secret of the liking.</p> + +<p>'You are not looking well this evening,' he observed, in a gentle tone, +to Mrs. Hunter.</p> + +<p>'I am not feeling well. I scarcely ever do feel well; never strong. I +sometimes think, Mr. Clay, what a mercy it is that we are not permitted +to foresee the future. If we could, some of us might be tempted +to—to—' she hesitated, and then went on in a lower tone—'to pray that +God might take us in youth.'</p> + +<p>'The longer we live, the more we become impressed with the wonderful +wisdom that exists in the ordering of all things,' replied Austin. 'My +years have not been many, comparatively speaking; but I see it always, +and I know that I shall see it more and more.'</p> + +<p>'The confirmed invalid, the man of care and sorrow, the incessant battle +for existence with those reduced to extreme poverty—had they seen their +future, as in a mirror, how could they have borne to enter upon it?' +dreamily observed Mrs. Hunter. 'And yet, I have heard people exclaim, +"How I wish I could foresee my destiny, and what is to happen to me!"'</p> + +<p>'But the cares and ills of the world do not come near you, Mrs. Hunter,' +spoke Austin, after a pause of thought.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hunter smiled. 'From the cares and crosses of the world, as we +generally estimate cares and crosses, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> am free. God has spared them to +me. He does not overwhelm us with ills; if one ill is particularly our +portion, we are generally spared from others. Mine lie in my want of +health, and in the thought that—that—I am rarely free from pain and +suffering,' she concluded. But Austin felt that it was not what she had +been about to say.</p> + +<p>'What should we do if <i>all</i> the ills came to us, mamma?' cried Florence, +who had been still, and was listening.</p> + +<p>'My dear, if all the ills came to us, God would show us a way to bear +them. You know that He has promised so much; and His promises cannot +fail.'</p> + +<p>'Clay,' cried Mr. Hunter, returning to the room and resuming his seat, +'did any one in particular call and want me to-day?'</p> + +<p>'No, sir. Several came, but Mr. Henry saw them.'</p> + +<p>'Did Arkwright come?' resumed Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>'I think not; I did not see him. That—lady—who was there yesterday, +came again. She asked for you.'</p> + +<p>A pause. Then Mr. Hunter spoke up sharply. 'For my brother, you mean. +She must have wanted him.'</p> + +<p>'She certainly asked for you, sir. For Mr. Lewis Hunter.'</p> + +<p>Those little ears pricked themselves up, and their owner unceremoniously +wheeled herself round on her stool, holding on by Austin's knee, as she +faced her father.</p> + +<p>'There was a lady came to John Baxendale's rooms to-day, when I and +Dobson were there, and she asked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> for Mr. Lewis Hunter. At least—it was +the funniest thing, papa—she saw Uncle Henry talking to John Baxendale, +and she came up and said he was Mr. Lewis, and asked where he lived. +John Baxendale said it was Mr. Henry Hunter, and she said no, it was not +Mr. Henry Hunter, it was Mr. Lewis. So then we found out that she had +mistaken him for you, and that it was you she wanted. Who was she, +papa?'</p> + +<p>'She—she—her business was with Henry,' spoke Mr. Hunter, in so +confused, so startled a sort of tone, not as if answering the child, +more as if defending himself to any who might be around, that Austin +looked up involuntarily. His face had grown lowering and angry, and he +moved his position, so that his wife's gaze should not fall upon it. +Austin's did, though.</p> + +<p>At that moment there was heard a knock and ring at the house door, the +presumable announcement of a visitor. Florence, much addicted to acting +upon natural impulse, and thereby getting into constant hot water with +her governess, who assured her nothing could be more unbefitting a young +lady, quitted her stool and flew to the window. By dint of flattening +her nose and crushing her curls against a corner of one of its panes, +she contrived to obtain a partial view of the visitor.</p> + +<p>'Oh dear! I hoped it was Uncle Bevary. Mamma's always better when he +comes; he tells her she is not so ill as she fancies. Papa!'</p> + +<p>'What?' cried Mr. Hunter, quickly.</p> + +<p>'I do believe it is that same lady who came to John Baxendale's. She is +as tall as a house.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p><p>What possessed Mr. Hunter? He started up; he sprung half way across the +room, hesitated there, and glided back again. Glided stealthily as it +were; and stealthily touching Austin Clay, motioned him to follow him. +His hands were trembling; and the dark frown, full of embarrassment, was +still upon his features. Mrs. Hunter noticed nothing unusual; the +apartment was shaded in twilight, and she sat with her head turned to +the fire.</p> + +<p>'Go to that woman, Clay!' came forth in a whisper from Mr. Hunter's +compressed lips, as he drew Austin outside the room. 'I cannot see her. +<i>You</i> go.'</p> + +<p>'What am I to say?' questioned Austin, feeling surprised and bewildered.</p> + +<p>'Anything; anything. Only keep her from me.'</p> + +<p>He turned back into the room as he spoke, and closed the door softly, +for Miss Gwinn was already in the hall. The servant had said his master +was at home, and was conducting her to the room where his master and +mistress sat, supposing it was some friend come to pay an hour's visit. +Austin thought he heard Mr. Hunter slip the bolt of the dining-room, as +he walked forward to receive Miss Gwinn.</p> + +<p>Austin's words were quick and sharp, arresting the servant's footsteps. +'Not there, Mark! Miss Gwinn,' he courteously added, presenting himself +before her, 'Mr. Hunter is unable to see you this evening.'</p> + +<p>'Who gave <i>you</i> authority to interfere, Austin Clay?' was the response, +not spoken in a raving, angry tone, but in one of cold, concentrated +determination. 'I demand an interview with Lewis Hunter. That he is at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +home, I know, for I saw him through the window, in the reflection of the +firelight, as I stood on the steps; and here I will remain until I +obtain speech of him, be it until to-morrow morning, be it until days to +come. Do you note my words, meddling boy? I <i>demand</i> the interview; I do +not crave it: he best knows by what right.'</p> + +<p>She sat deliberately down on one of the hall chairs. Austin, desperately +at a loss what to do, and seeing no means of getting rid of her save by +forcible expulsion, knocked gently at the room door again. Mr. Hunter +drew it cautiously open to admit him; then slipped the bolt, entwined +his arm within Austin's, and drew him to the window. Mrs. Hunter's +attention was absorbed by Florence, who was chattering to her.</p> + +<p>'She has taken a seat in the hall, sir,' he whispered. 'She says she +will remain there until she sees you, though she should have to wait +until the morning. I am sure she means it: stop there, she will. She +says she demands the interview as a right.'</p> + +<p>'No,' said Mr. Hunter, 'she possesses no <i>right</i>. But—perhaps I had +better see her, and get it over: otherwise she may make a disturbance. +Tell Mark to show her into the drawing-room, Clay; and you stay here and +talk to Mrs. Hunter.'</p> + +<p>'What is the matter, that you are whispering? Does any one want you?' +interrupted Mrs. Hunter, whose attention was at length attracted.</p> + +<p>'I am telling Clay that people have no right to come to my private house +on business matters,' was the reply given by Mr. Hunter. 'However, as +the person is here,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> I must see her, I suppose. Do not let us be +interrupted, Louisa.'</p> + +<p>'But what does she want?—it was a lady, Florence said. Who is she?' +reiterated Mrs. Hunter.</p> + +<p>'It is a matter of business of Henry's. She ought to have gone to him.' +Mr. Hunter looked at his wife and at Austin as he spoke. The latter was +leaving the room to do his bidding, and Miss Gwinn suffered herself to +be conducted quietly to the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>A full hour did the interview last. The voices seemed occasionally to be +raised in anger, so that the sound penetrated to their ears downstairs, +from the room overhead. Mrs. Hunter grew impatient; the tea waited on +the table, and she wanted it. At length they were heard to descend, and +to cross the hall.</p> + +<p>'James is showing her out himself,' said Mrs. Hunter. 'Will you tell him +we are waiting tea, Mr. Clay?'</p> + +<p>Austin stepped into the hall, and started when he caught sight of the +face of Mr. Hunter. He was turning back from closing the door on Miss +Gwinn, and the bright rays of the hall-lamp fell full upon his +countenance. It was of ghastly whiteness; its expression one living +aspect of terror, of dread. He staggered, rather than walked, to a +chair, and sank into it. Austin hastened to him.</p> + +<p>'Oh, sir, what is it? You are ill?'</p> + +<p>The strong man, the proud master, calm hitherto in his native +self-respect, was for the moment overcome. He leaned his forehead upon +Austin's arm, hiding its pallor, and put up his finger for silence.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p><p>'I have had a stab, Clay,' he whispered. 'Bear with me, lad, for a +minute. I have had a cruel stab.'</p> + +<p>Austin really did not know whether to take the words literally. 'A +stab?' he hesitatingly repeated.</p> + +<p>'Ay; here,' touching his heart. 'I wish I was dead, Clay. I wish I had +died years ago; or that <i>she</i> had. Why was she permitted to live?—to +live to work me this awful wrong?' he dreamily wailed. 'An awful wrong +to me and mine!'</p> + +<p>'What is it?' spoke Austin, upon impulse. 'A wrong? Who has done it?'</p> + +<p>'She has. The woman now gone out. She has done it all.'</p> + +<p>He rose, and appeared to be looking for his hat. 'Mrs. Hunter is waiting +tea, sir,' said the amazed Austin.</p> + +<p>'Tea!' repeated Mr. Hunter, as if his brain were bewildered; 'I cannot +go in again to-night; I cannot see them. Make some excuse for me, +Clay—anything. <i>Why</i> did that woman work me this crying wrong?'</p> + +<p>He took his hat, opened the hall door, and shut it after him with a +bang, leaving Austin in wondering consternation.</p> + +<p>He returned to the dining-room, and said Mr. Hunter had been obliged to +go out on business; he did not know what else to say. Florence was sent +to bed after tea, but Austin sat a short while longer with Mrs. Hunter. +Something led back to the previous conversation, when Mrs. Hunter had +been alluding to her state of health, and to some sorrow that was her +daily portion.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p><p>'What is it?' said Austin, in his impulsive manner.</p> + +<p>'The thought that I shall have to leave Florence without a mother.'</p> + +<p>'Dear Mrs. Hunter, surely it is not so serious as that! You may get +better.'</p> + +<p>'Yes; I know I may. Dr. Bevary tells me that I shall. But, you see, the +very fear of it is hard to bear. Sometimes I think God is reconciling me +to it by slow degrees.'</p> + +<p>Later in the evening, as Austin was going home, he passed a piece of +clear ground, to be let for building purposes, at the end of the square. +There, in its darkest corner, far back from the road, paced a man as if +in some mental agony, his hat carried in his hands, and his head bared +to the winds. Austin peered through the night with his quick sight, and +recognised Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VII.</span> <span class="smaller">MR. SHUCK AT HOME.</span></h2> + +<p>Daffodil's Delight was in a state of commotion. It has often been +remarked that there exists more real sympathy between the working +classes, one for another, than amongst those of a higher grade; and +experience generally seems to bear it out. From one end of Daffodil's +Delight to the other, there ran just now a deep feeling of sorrow, of +pity, of commiseration. Men made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> inquiries of each other as they passed +in the street; women congregated at their doors to talk, concern on +their faces, a question on their lips—'How is she? What does the doctor +say?'</p> + +<p>Yes; the excitement had its rise in one cause alone—the increased +illness of Mrs. Baxendale. The physician had pronounced his opinion +(little need to speak it, though, for the fact was only too apparent to +all who used their eyes), and the news had gone forth to Daffodil's +Delight—Mrs. Baxendale was past recovery; was, in fact, dying!</p> + +<p>The concern, universal as it was, showed itself in various ways. Visits +and neighbourly calls were so incessant, that the Shucks openly rebelled +at the 'trampling up and down through their living-room,' by which route +the Baxendale apartments could alone be gained. The neighbours came to +help; to nurse; to shake up the bed and pillows; to prepare condiments +over the fire; to condole; and, above all, to gossip: with tears in +their eyes and lamentation in their tones, and ominous shakes of the +head, and uplifted hands; but still, to gossip: <i>that</i> lies in human +female nature. They brought offerings of savoury delicacies; or things +that, in their ideas, stood for delicacies—dainties likely to tempt the +sick. Mrs. Cheek made a pint jug of what she called 'buttered beer,' a +miscellaneous compound of scalding-hot porter, gin, eggs, sugar, and +spice. Mrs. Baxendale sipped a little; but it did not agree with her +fevered palate, and she declined it for the future, with 'thanks, all +the same,' and Mrs. Cheek and a crony or two disposed of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> it themselves +with great satisfaction. All this served to prove two things—that good +feeling ran high in Daffodil's Delight, and that means did not run low.</p> + +<p>Of all the visitors, the most effectual assistant was Mrs. Quale. She +gossiped, it is true, or it had not been Mrs. Quale; but she gave +efficient help; and the invalid was always glad to see her come in, +which could not be said with regard to all. Daffodil's Delight was not +wrong in the judgment it passed upon Mary Baxendale—that she was a +'poor creature.' True; poor as to being clever in a domestic point of +view, and in attending upon the sick. In mind, in cultivation, in +refinement, in gentleness, Mary Baxendale beat Daffodil's Delight +hollow; she was also a beautiful seamstress; but in energy and +capability Mary was sadly wanting. She was timid always—painfully timid +in the sick-room; anxious to do for her mother all that was requisite, +but never knowing how to set about it. Mrs. Quale remedied this; she did +the really efficient part; Mary gave love and gentleness; and, between +the two, Mrs. Baxendale was thankful and happy.</p> + +<p>John Baxendale, not a demonstrative man, was full of concern and grief. +His had been a very happy home, free from domestic storms and clouds; +and, to lose his wife, was anything but a cheering prospect. His wages +were good, and they had wanted for nothing, not even for peace. To such, +when trouble comes, it seems hard to bear—it almost seems as if it came +as a <i>wrong</i>.</p> + +<p>'Just hold your tongue, John Baxendale,' cried Mrs. Quale one day, upon +hearing him express something to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> this effect. 'Because you have never +had no crosses, is it any reason that you never shall? No. Crosses come +to us all sometime in our lives, in one shape or other.'</p> + +<p>'But it's a hard thing for it to come in this shape,' retorted +Baxendale, pointing to the bed. 'I'm not repining or rebelling against +what it pleases God to do; but I can't <i>see</i> the reason of it. Look at +some of the other wives in Daffodil's Delight; shrieking, raving +trollops, turning their homes into a bear-garden with their tempers, and +driving their husbands almost mad. If some of them were taken they'd +never be missed: just the contrary.'</p> + +<p>'John,' interposed Mrs. Baxendale, in her quiet voice, 'when I am gone +up there'—pointing with her finger to the blue October sky—'it may +make you think more of the time when you must come; may help you to be +preparing for it, better than you have done.'</p> + +<p>Mary lifted her wan face, glowing now with the excitement of the +thought. 'Father, <i>that</i> may be the end—the reason. I think that +troubles are sent to us in mercy, not in anger.'</p> + +<p>'Think!' ejaculated Mrs. Quale, tossing back her head with a manner less +reverent than her words. 'Before you shall have come to my age, girl, +it's to be hoped you'll <i>know</i> they are. Isn't it time for the +medicine?' she continued, seeing no other opening for a reprimand just +then.</p> + +<p>It was time for the medicine, and Mrs. Quale poured it out, raised the +invalid from her pillow, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>administered it. John Baxendale looked on. +Like his daughter Mary, he was in these matters an incapable man.</p> + +<p>'How long is it since Dr. Bevary was here?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'Let's see?' responded Mrs. Quale, who liked to have most of the talking +to herself, wherever she might be. 'This is Friday. Tuesday, wasn't it, +Mary? Yes, he was here on Tuesday.'</p> + +<p>'But why does he not come oftener?' cried John, in a tone of resentment. +'That's what I was wanting to ask about. When one is as ill as she +is—in danger of dying—is it right that a doctor should never come a +near for three or four days?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, John! a great physician like Dr. Bevary!' remonstrated his wife. +'It is so very good of him to come at all. And for nothing, too! He as +good as said to Mary he didn't mean to charge.'</p> + +<p>'I can pay him; I'm capable of paying him, I hope,' spoke John +Baxendale. 'Who said I wanted my wife to be attended out of charity?'</p> + +<p>'It's not just that, father, I think,' said Mary. 'He comes more in a +friendly way.'</p> + +<p>'Friendly or not, it isn't come to the pass yet, that I can't pay a +doctor,' said John Baxendale. 'Who has let it go abroad that I +couldn't?'</p> + +<p>Taking up his hat, he went out on the spur of the moment, and bent his +steps to Dr. Bevary's. There he was civil and humble enough, for John +Baxendale was courteous by nature. The doctor was at home, and saw him +at once.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p><p>'Listen, my good man,' said Dr. Bevary, when he had caught somewhat of +his errand. 'If, by going round often, I could do any good to your wife, +I should go. Twice a day; three times a day—by night, too, if +necessary. But I cannot do her good: had she a doctor over her bed +constantly, he could render no service. I step round now and then, +because I see that it is a satisfaction to her, and to those about her; +not for any use I can be. I told you a week ago the end was not very far +off, and that she would meet it calmly. She will be in no further +pain—no worse than she is now.'</p> + +<p>'I am able to pay you, sir.'</p> + +<p>'That is not the question. If you paid me a guinea every time I came +round, I should visit her no more frequently than I do.'</p> + +<p>'And, if you please, sir, I'd rather pay you,' continued the man. 'I'm +sure I don't grudge it; and it goes against the grain to have it said +that John Baxendale's wife is attended out of charity. We English +workmen, sir, are independent, and proud of being so.'</p> + +<p>'Very good,' said Dr. Bevary. 'I should be sorry to see the day come +when English workmen lost their independence. As to "charity," we will +talk a bit about that. Look here, Baxendale,' the doctor added, laying +his hand upon his shoulder, in his kind and familiar way, 'you and I can +speak reasonably together, as man to man. We both have to work for our +living—you with the hands, I chiefly with the head—so, in that, we are +equal. I go twice a week to see your wife; I have told you why it is +useless to go oftener. When patients<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> come to me, they pay me a guinea, +and I see them twice for it, which is equivalent to half a guinea a +visit; but, when I go to patients at their own houses, my fee is a +guinea each time. Now, would it seem to you a neighbourly act that I +should take two guineas weekly from your wages?—quite as much, or more, +than you gain. What does my going round cost me? A few minutes' time; a +gossip with Mrs. Quale, touching the doings of Daffodil's Delight, and a +groan at those thriftless Shucks, in their pigsty of a room. That is the +plain statement of facts; and I should like to know what there is in it +that need put your English spirit up. Charity! We might call it by that +name, John Baxendale, if I were the guinea each time out of pocket, +through medicines or other things furnished to you.'</p> + +<p>John Baxendale smiled; but he looked only three parts convinced.</p> + +<p>'Tush, man!' said the doctor; 'I may be asking you to do me some +friendly service, one of these days, and then, you know, we should be +quits. Eh, John?'</p> + +<p>John Baxendale half put out his hand, and the doctor shook it.</p> + +<p>'I think I understand now, sir; and I thank you heartily for what you +have said. I only wish you could do some good to the wife.'</p> + +<p>'I wish I could, Baxendale,' he replied, throwing a kindly glance after +the man as he was moving away. 'I shan't bring an action against you in +the county court for these unpaid fees, Baxendale, for it wouldn't +stand,' called out the doctor. 'I never was called in to see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> your +wife—I went of my own accord, and have so continued to go, and shall so +continue. Good day.'</p> + +<p>As John Baxendale was descending the steps of the house door, he +encountered Mrs. Hunter. She stopped him to inquire after his wife.</p> + +<p>'Getting weaker daily, ma'am, thank you. The doctor has just told me +again that there's no hope.'</p> + +<p>'I am truly sorry to hear it,' said Mrs. Hunter. 'I will call in and see +her. I did intend to call before, but something or other has caused me +to put it off.'</p> + +<p>John Baxendale touched his hat, and departed. Mrs. Hunter went in to her +brother.</p> + +<p>'Oh, is it you, Louisa?' he exclaimed. 'A visit from you is somewhat a +rarity. Are you feeling worse?'</p> + +<p>'Rather better, I think, than usual. I have just met John Baxendale,' +continued Mrs. Hunter, sitting down, and untying her bonnet strings. 'He +says there is no hope for his wife. Poor woman! I wish it had been +different. Many a worse woman could have been better spared.'</p> + +<p>'Ah,' said the doctor, 'if folks were taken according to our notions of +whom might be best spared, what a world this would be! Where's Miss +Florence?'</p> + +<p>'I did not bring her out with me, Robert. I came round to say a word to +you about James,' resumed Mrs. Hunter, her voice insensibly lowering +itself to a tone of confidence. 'Something is the matter with him, and I +cannot imagine what.'</p> + +<p>'Been eating too many cucumbers again, no doubt,' cried the doctor. 'He +<i>will</i> go in at that cross-grained vegetable, let it be in season, or +out.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p><p>'Eating!' returned Mrs. Hunter, 'I wish he did eat. For at least a +fortnight—more, I think—he has not eaten enough to support a bird. +That he is ill is evident to all—must be evident; but when I ask him +what is the matter, he persists in it that he is quite well; that I am +fanciful: seems annoyed, in short, that I should allude to it. Has he +been here to consult you?'</p> + +<p>'No,' replied Dr. Bevary; 'this is the first I have heard of it. How +does he seem? What are his symptoms?'</p> + +<p>'It appears to me,' said Mrs. Hunter, almost in a whisper, 'that the +malady is more on the mind. There is no palpable disorder. He is +restless, nervous, agitated; so restless at night, that he has now taken +to sleep in a room apart from mine—not to disturb me, he says. I +fear—I fear he may have been attacked with some dangerous inward +malady, that he is concealing. His father, you know, died of——'</p> + +<p>'Pooh! Nonsense! You are indeed becoming fanciful, Louisa,' interrupted +the doctor. 'Old Mr. Hunter died of an unusual disorder, I admit; but, +if the symptoms of such appeared in either James or Henry, they would +come galloping to me in hot haste, asking if my skill could suggest a +preventive. It is no "inward malady," depend upon it. He has been +smoking too much: or going in at the cucumbers.'</p> + +<p>'Robert, it is something far more serious than that,' quietly rejoined +Mrs. Hunter.</p> + +<p>'When did you first notice him to be ill?'</p> + +<p>'It is, I say, about a fortnight since. One evening<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> there came a +stranger to our house, a lady, and she <i>would</i> see him. He did not want +to see her: he sent young Clay to her, who happened to be with us; but +she insisted upon seeing James. They were closeted together a long while +before she left; and then James went out—on business, Mr. Clay said.'</p> + +<p>'Well?' cried Dr. Bevary. 'What has the lady to do with it?'</p> + +<p>'I am not sure that she has anything to do with it. Florence told an +incomprehensible story about the lady's having gone into Baxendale's +that afternoon, after seeing her uncle Henry in the street and mistaking +him for James. A Miss—what was the name?—Gwinn, I think.'</p> + +<p>Dr. Bevary, who happened to have a small glass phial in his hand, let it +fall to the ground: whether by inadvertence, or that the words startled +him, he best knew. 'Well?' was all he repeated, after he had gathered +the pieces in his hand.</p> + +<p>'I waited up till twelve o'clock, and James never came in. I heard him +let himself in afterwards with his latch-key, and came up into the +dressing-room. I called out to know where he had been, it is so unusual +for him to stay out, and he said he was much occupied, and that I was to +go to sleep, for he had some writing to do. But, Robert, instead of +writing, he was pacing the house all night, out of one room into +another; and in the morning—oh, I wish you could have seen him!—he +looked wild, wan, haggard, as one does who has got up out of a long +illness; and I am positive he had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> weeping. From that time I have +noticed the change I tell you of. He seems like one going into his +grave. But, whether the illness is upon the body or the mind, I know +not.'</p> + +<p>Dr. Bevary appeared intent upon putting together the pieces of his +phial, making them fit into each other.</p> + +<p>'It will all come right, Louisa; don't fret yourself: something must +have gone cross in his business. I'll call in at the office and see +him.'</p> + +<p>'Do not say that I have spoken to you. He seems to have quite a nervous +dread of its being observed that anything is wrong with him; has spoken +sharply, not in anger, but in anguish, when I have pressed the +question.'</p> + +<p>'As if the lady could have anything to do with it!' exclaimed Dr. +Bevary, in a tone of satire.</p> + +<p>'I do not suppose she had. I only mentioned the circumstances because it +is since that evening he has changed. You can see what you think of him, +and tell me afterwards.'</p> + +<p>The answer was only a nod; and Mrs. Hunter went out. Dr. Bevary remained +in a brown study. His servant came in with an account that patient after +patient was waiting for him, but the doctor replied by a repelling +gesture, and the man did not again dare to intrude. Perplexity and pain +sat upon his brow; and, when at last he did rouse himself, he raised +aloft his hands, and gave utterance to words that sounded very like a +prayer:</p> + +<p>'I pray heaven it may not be so! It would kill Louisa.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p><p>The pale, delicate face of Mrs. Hunter was at that moment bending over +the invalid in her bed. In her soft grey silk dress and light shawl, her +simple straw bonnet with its white ribbons, she looked just the right +sort of visitor for a sick-chamber; and her voice was sweet, and her +manner gentle.</p> + +<p>'No, ma'am, don't speak of hope to me,' murmured Mrs. Baxendale. 'I know +that there is none left, and I am quite reconciled to die. I have been +an ailing woman for years, dear lady; and it is wonderful how those that +are so get to look upon death, if they can but presume to hope their +soul is safe, with satisfaction, rather than with dread. Though I dare +not say as much yet to my poor husband.'</p> + +<p>'I have long been ailing, too,' softly replied Mrs. Hunter. 'I am rarely +free from pain, and I know that I shall never be healthy and strong +again. But still—I do fear it would give me pain to die, were the fiat +to come forth.'</p> + +<p>'Never fear, dear lady,' cried the invalid, her eyes brightening. +'Before the fiat does come, be assured that God will have reconciled you +to it. Ah, ma'am, what matters it, after all? It is a journey we must +take; and, when once we are prepared, it seems but the setting off a +little sooner or a little later. I got Mary to read me the burial +service on Sunday: I was always fond of it; but I am past reading now. +In one part thanks are given to God for that he has been pleased to +deliver the dead out of the miseries of this sinful world. Ma'am, if He +did not remove us to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> better and a happier home, would the living be +directed to give thanks for our departure from this?'</p> + +<p>'A spirit ripe for heaven,' thought Mrs. Hunter, when she took her +leave.</p> + +<p>It was Mrs. Quale who piloted her through the room of the Shucks. Of all +scenes of disorder and discomfort, about the worst reigned there. Sam +had been—you must excuse the inelegance of the phrase, but it was much +in vogue in Daffodil's Delight—'on the loose' again for a couple of +days. He sat sprawling across the hearth, a pipe in his mouth, and a pot +of porter at his feet. The wife was crying with her hair down; the +children were quarrelling in tatters; the dirt in the place, as Mrs. +Quale expressed it, stood on end; and Mrs. Hunter wondered how people +could bear to live so.</p> + +<p>'Now, Sam Shuck, don't you see who is a standing in your presence?' +sharply cried Mrs. Quale.</p> + +<p>Sam, his back to the staircase door, really had not seen. He threw his +pipe into the grate, started up, and pulled his hair to Mrs. Hunter in a +very humble fashion. In his hurry he turned over a small child, and the +contents of the pewter pot upon it. The child roared; the wife took it +up and shook its clothes in Sam's face, restraining her tongue till the +lady should be gone; and Mrs. Hunter stepped into the garden out of the +<i>mêlée</i>—glad to get there: Sam following her in a spirit of politeness.</p> + +<p>'How is it you are not at work to-day, Shuck?' she asked.</p> + +<p>'I am going to-morrow—I shall go for certain, ma'am.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p><p>'You know, Shuck, I never do interfere with Mr. Hunter's men,' said +Mrs. Hunter. 'I consider that intelligent workmen, as you are, ought to +be above any advice that I could offer. But I cannot help saying how sad +it is that you should waste your time. Were you not discharged a little +while ago, and taken on again under a specific promise, made by you to +Mr. Henry Hunter, that you would be diligent in future?'</p> + +<p>'I am diligent,' grumbled Sam. 'But why, ma'am—a chap must take holiday +now and then. 'Tain't in human nature to be always having the shoulder +at the wheel.'</p> + +<p>'Well, pray be cautious,' said Mrs. Hunter. 'If you offend again, and +get discharged, I know they will not be so ready to take you back. +Remember your little children, and be steady for their sakes.'</p> + +<p>Sam went indoors to his pipe, to his wife's tongue, and to despatch a +child to get the pewter pot replenished.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VIII.</span> <span class="smaller">FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS!</span></h2> + +<p>Mrs. Hunter, turning out of Mr. Shuck's gate, stepped inside Mrs. +Quale's, who was astonishing her with the shortcomings of the Shucks, +and prophesying that their destiny would be the workhouse, when Austin +Clay came forth. He had been home to dinner, and was now going back to +the yard. Mrs. Hunter said good <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>morning to her talkative friend, and +walked away by Austin's side—Mrs. Baxendale, Sam Shuck, and Daffodil's +Delight generally, forming themes of converse. Austin raised his hat to +her when they came to the gates of the yard.</p> + +<p>'No, I am not about to part; I am going in with you,' said Mrs. Hunter. +'I want to speak just a word to my husband, if he is at liberty. Will +you find him for me?'</p> + +<p>'He has been in his private room all the morning, and is probably there +still,' said Austin. 'Do you know where Mr. Hunter is?' he inquired of a +man whom they met.</p> + +<p>'In his room, sir,' was the reply, as the man touched his cap to Mrs. +Hunter.</p> + +<p>Austin led the way down the passage, and knocked at the door, Mrs. +Hunter following him. There was no answer; and believing, in +consequence, that it was empty, he opened it.</p> + +<p>Two gentlemen stood within it, near a table, paper and pens and ink +before them, and what looked like a cheque-book. They must have been +deeply absorbed not to have heard the knock. One was Mr. Hunter: the +other—Austin recognised him—Gwinn, the lawyer of Ketterford. 'I will +not sign it!' Mr. Hunter was exclaiming, with passionate vehemence. +'Five thousand pounds! it would cripple me for life.'</p> + +<p>'Then you know the alternative. I go this moment and——'</p> + +<p>'Mrs. Hunter wishes to speak to you, sir,' interposed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> Austin, drowning +the words and speaking loudly. The gentlemen turned sharply round: and +when Mr. Hunter caught sight of his wife, the red passion of his face +turned to a livid pallor. Lawyer Gwinn nodded familiarly to Austin.</p> + +<p>'How are you, Clay? Getting on, I hope. <i>Who</i> is this person, may I +ask?'</p> + +<p>'This lady is Mrs. Hunter,' haughtily replied Austin, after a pause, +surprised that Mr. Hunter did not take up the words—the offensive +manner in which they were spoken—the insulting look that accompanied +them. But Mr. Hunter did not appear in a state to take anything up just +then.</p> + +<p>Gwinn bent his body to the ground.</p> + +<p>'I beg the lady's pardon. I had no idea she was Mrs. Hunter.'</p> + +<p>But so ultra-courteous were the tones, so low the bow, that Austin +Clay's cheeks burnt at the covert irony.</p> + +<p>'James, you are ill,' said Mrs. Hunter, advancing in her quiet, composed +manner, but taking no notice whatever of the stranger. 'Can I get +anything for you? Shall we send for Dr. Bevary?'</p> + +<p>'No, don't do that; it is going off. You will oblige me by leaving us,' +he whispered to her. 'I am very busy.'</p> + +<p>'You seem too ill for business,' she rejoined. 'Can you not put it off +for an hour? Rest might be of service to you.'</p> + +<p>'No, madam, the business cannot be put off,' spoke up Lawyer Gwinn.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p><p>And down he sat in a chair, with a determined air of conscious +power—just as his sister had sat <i>her</i>self down, a fortnight before, in +Mr. Hunter's hall.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hunter quitted the room at once, leaving her husband and the +stranger in it. Austin followed her. Her face wore a puzzled, vexed +look, as she turned it upon Austin. 'Who is that person?' she asked. +'His manner to me appeared to be strangely insolent.'</p> + +<p>An instinct, for which Austin perhaps could not have accounted had he +tried, caused him to suppress the fact that it was the brother of the +Miss Gwinn who had raised a commotion at Mr. Hunter's house. He answered +that he had not seen the person at the office previously, his tone being +as careless a one as he could assume. And Mrs. Hunter, who was of the +least suspicious nature possible, let it pass. Her mind, too, was filled +with the thought of her husband's suffering state.</p> + +<p>'Does Mr. Hunter appear to you to be ill?' she asked of Austin, somewhat +abruptly.</p> + +<p>'He looked so, I think.'</p> + +<p>'Not now; I am not alluding to the present moment,' she rejoined. 'Have +you noticed before that he does not seem well?'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' replied Austin; 'this week or two past.'</p> + +<p>There was a brief pause.</p> + +<p>'Mr. Clay,' she resumed, in a quiet, kind voice, 'my health, as you are +aware, is not good, and any sort of uneasiness tries me much. I am going +to ask you a confidential question. I would not put it to many, and the +asking it of you proves that my esteem for you is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> great. That Mr. +Hunter is ill, there is no doubt; but whether mentally or bodily I am +unable to discover. To me he observes a most unusual reticence, his +object probably being to spare me pain; but I can battle better with a +known evil than with an unknown one. Tell me, if you can, whether any +vexation has arisen in business matters?'</p> + +<p>'Not that I am aware of,' promptly replied Austin. 'I feel sure that +nothing is amiss in that quarter.'</p> + +<p>'Then it is as I suspected, and he must be suffering from some illness +that he is concealing.'</p> + +<p>She wished Austin good morning. He saw her out of the gate, and then +proceeded to the room he usually occupied when engaged indoors. +Presently he heard Mr. Hunter and his visitor come forth, and saw the +latter pass the window. Mr. Hunter came into the room.</p> + +<p>'Is Mrs. Hunter gone?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, sir.'</p> + +<p>'Do you know what she wanted?'</p> + +<p>'I do not think it was anything particular. She said she should like to +say a word to you, if you were disengaged.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter did not speak immediately. Austin was making out certain +estimates, and his master looked over his shoulder. Not <i>to look</i>; his +mind was evidently all pre-occupied.</p> + +<p>'Did Mrs. Hunter inquire who it was that was with me?' he presently +said.</p> + +<p>'She inquired, sir. I did not say. I told her I had not seen the person +here before.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p><p>'<i>You</i> knew?' in a quick, sharp accent.</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes.'</p> + +<p>'Then why did you not tell her? What was your motive for concealing it?'</p> + +<p>The inquiry was uttered in a tone that could not be construed as +proceeding from any emotion but that of fear. A flush came into Austin's +ingenuous face.</p> + +<p>'I beg your pardon, sir. I never wish to be otherwise than open. But, as +you had previously desired me not to speak of the lady who came to your +house that night, I did not know but the same wish might apply to the +visit of to-day.'</p> + +<p>'True, true,' murmured Mr. Hunter; 'I do <i>not</i> wish this visit of the +man's spoken of. Never mention his name, especially to Mrs. Hunter. I +suppose he did not impose upon me,' added he, with a poor attempt at a +forced smile: 'it <i>was</i> Gwinn, of Ketterford, was it not?'</p> + +<p>'Certainly,' said Austin, feeling surprised. 'Did you not know him +previously, sir?'</p> + +<p>'Never. And I wish I had not known him now.'</p> + +<p>'If—if—will you forgive my saying, sir, that, should you have any +transaction with him, touching money matters, it is necessary to be +wary. Many a one has had cause to rue the getting into the clutches of +Lawyer Gwinn.'</p> + +<p>A deep, heavy sigh, burst from Mr. Hunter. He had turned from Austin. +The latter spoke again in his ardent sympathy.</p> + +<p>'Sir, is there any way in which I can serve you?—<i>any</i> way? You have +only to command me.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p><p>'No, no, Clay. I fell into that man's clutches—as you have aptly +termed it—years ago, and the penalty must be paid. There is no help for +it.'</p> + +<p>'Not knowing him, sir?'</p> + +<p>'Not knowing him. And not knowing that I owed it, as I certainly did not +know, until a week or two back. I no more suspected that—that I was +indebted there, than I was indebted to you.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter had grown strangely confused and agitated, and the dew was +rising on his livid face. He made a hollow attempt to laugh it off, and +seemed to shun the gaze of his clerk.</p> + +<p>'This comes of the freaks of young men,' he observed, facing Austin +after a pause, and speaking volubly. 'Austin Clay, I will give you a +piece of advice. Never put your hand to a bill. You may think it an +innocent bit of paper, which can cost you at most but the sum that is +marked upon it: but it may come back to you in after years, and you must +purchase it with thousands. Have nothing to do with bills, in any way; +they will be a thorn in your side.'</p> + +<p>'So, it is a money affair!' thought Austin. 'I might have known it was +nothing else, where Gwinn was concerned. Here's Dr. Bevary coming in, +sir,' he added aloud.</p> + +<p>The physician was inside the room ere the words had left Austin's lips. +Mr. Hunter had seized upon a stray plan, and seemed bent upon its +examination.</p> + +<p>'Rather a keen-looking customer, that, whom I met at your gate,' began +the doctor. 'Who was it?'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p><p>'Keen-looking customer?' repeated Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>'A fellow dressed in black, with a squint and a white neckerchief; an +ill-favoured fellow, whoever he is.'</p> + +<p>'How should I know about him?' replied Mr. Hunter, carelessly. 'Somebody +after the men, I suppose.'</p> + +<p>But Austin Clay felt that Mr. Hunter <i>did</i> know; that the description +could only apply to Gwinn of Ketterford. Dr. Bevary entwined his arm +within his brother-in-law's, and led him from the room.</p> + +<p>'James, do you want doctoring?' he inquired, as they entered the one +just vacated by Lawyer Gwinn.</p> + +<p>'No, I don't. What do you mean?'</p> + +<p>'If you don't, you belie your looks; that's all. Can you honestly affirm +to me that you are in robust health?'</p> + +<p>'I am in good health. There is nothing the matter with me.'</p> + +<p>'Then there's something else in the wind. What's the trouble?'</p> + +<p>A flush rose to the face of Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>'I am in no trouble that you can relieve; I am quite well. I repeat that +I do not understand your meaning.'</p> + +<p>The doctor gazed at him keenly, and his tone changed to one of solemn +earnestness.</p> + +<p>'James, I suspect that you <i>are</i> in trouble. Now, I do not wish to pry +into it unnecessarily; but I would remind you of the sound wisdom that +lies in the good old proverb: "In the multitude of counsellors there is +safety."'</p> + +<p>'And if there is?' returned Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>'If you will confide the trouble to me, I will do what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> I can to help +you out of it—<i>whatever it may be</i>—to advise with you as to what is +best to be done. I am your wife's brother; could you have a truer +friend?'</p> + +<p>'You are very kind, Bevary. I am in no danger. When I am, I will let you +know.'</p> + +<p>The tone—one of playful mockery—grated on the ear of Dr. Bevary.</p> + +<p>'Is it assumed to hide what he dare not betray?' thought he.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter cut the matter short by crossing the yard to the +time-keeper's office; and Dr. Bevary went out talking to himself: 'A +wilful man must have his own way.'</p> + +<p>Austin Clay sat up late that night, reading one of the quarterly +reviews; he let the time slip by till the clock struck twelve. Mr. and +Mrs. Quale had been in bed some time; when nothing was wanted for Mr. +Clay, Mrs. Quale was rigid in retiring at ten. Early to bed, and early +to rise, was a maxim she was fond of, both in precept and practice. The +striking of the church clock aroused him; he closed the book, left it on +the table, pulled aside the crimson curtain, and opened the window to +look out at the night before going into his chamber.</p> + +<p>A still, balmy night. The stars shone in the heavens, and Daffodil's +Delight, for aught that could be heard or seen just then, seemed almost +as peaceful as they. Austin leaned from the window; his thoughts ran not +upon the stars or upon the peaceful scene around, but upon the curious +trouble which seemed to be overshadowing Mr. Hunter. 'Five thousand +pounds!' His<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> ears had caught distinctly the ominous sum. 'Could he have +fallen into Lawyer Gwinn's "clutches" to <i>that</i> extent?'</p> + +<p>There was much in it that Austin could not fathom. Mr. Hunter had hinted +at 'bills;' Miss Gwinn had spoken of the 'breaking up of her happy +home;' two calamities apparently distinct and apart. And how was it that +they were in ignorance of his name, his existence, his——</p> + +<p>A startling interruption came to Austin's thoughts. Mrs. Shuck's door +was pulled hastily open, and some one panting with excitement, uttering +faint, sobbing cries, came running down their garden into Peter Quale's. +It was Mary Baxendale. She knocked sharply at the door with nervous +quickness.</p> + +<p>'What is it, Mary?' asked Austin.</p> + +<p>She had not seen him; but, of course, the words caused her to look up. +'Oh! sir,' the tears streaming from her eyes as she spoke, 'would you +please call Mrs. Quale, and ask her to step in? Mother's on the wing.'</p> + +<p>'I'll call her. Mary!'—for she was speeding back again—'can I get any +other help for you? If I can be of use, step back and tell me.'</p> + +<p>Sam Shuck came out of his house as Austin spoke, and went flying up +Daffodil's Delight. He had gone for Dr. Bevary. The doctor had desired +to be called, should there be any sudden change. Of course, he did not +mean the change of <i>death</i>. He could be of no use in that; but how could +they discriminate?</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quale was dressed and in the sick chamber with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> all speed. Dr. +Bevary was not long before he followed her. Neighbours on either side +put their heads out.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes at the most, and Dr. Bevary was out again. Austin was then +leaning over Peter Quale's gate. He had been in no urgent mood for bed +before, and this little excitement, though it did not immediately +concern him, afforded an excuse for not going to it.</p> + +<p>'How is she, sir?'</p> + +<p>'Is it you?' responded Dr. Bevary. 'She is gone. I thought it would be +sudden at the last.'</p> + +<p>'Poor thing!' ejaculated Austin.</p> + +<p>'Poor thing? Ay, that's what we are all apt to say when our friends die. +But there is little cause when the change has been prepared for, the +spirit made ripe for heaven. She's gone to a world where there's neither +sickness nor pain.'</p> + +<p>Austin made no reply. The doctor spoke again after a pause.</p> + +<p>'Clay—to go from a solemn subject to one that—that may, however, prove +not less solemn in the end—you heard me mention a stranger I met at the +gates of the yard to-day, and Mr. Hunter would not take my question. Was +it Gwinn of Ketterford?'</p> + +<p>The doctor had spoken in a changed, low tone, laying his hand, in his +earnestness, on Austin's shoulder. Austin paused. He did not know +whether he ought to answer.</p> + +<p>'You need not hesitate,' said the doctor, divining his scruples. 'I can +understand that Mr. Hunter may have forbidden you to mention it, and +that you would be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> faithful to him. Don't speak; your very hesitation +has proved it to me. Good night, my young friend; we would both serve +him if we only knew how.'</p> + +<p>Austin watched him away, and then went indoors, for Daffodil's Delight +began to be astir, and to collect itself around him, Sam Shuck having +assisted in spreading the news touching Mrs. Baxendale. Daffodil's +Delight thought nothing of leaving its bed, and issuing forth in shawls +and pantaloons upon any rising emergency, regarding such interludes of +disturbed rest as socially agreeable.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER IX.</span> <span class="smaller">THE SEPARATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER.</span></h2> + +<p>Austin Clay sat at his desk at Hunter and Hunter's, sorting the morning +letters, which little matter of employment formed part of his duties. It +was the morning subsequent to the commotion in Daffodil's Delight. His +thoughts were running more on that than on the letters, when the +postmark 'Ketterford' on two of them caught his eye.</p> + +<p>The one was addressed to himself, the other to 'Mr. Lewis Hunter,' and +the handwriting of both was the same. Disposing of the rest of the +letters as usual, placing those for the Messrs. Hunter in their room, +against they should arrive, and dealing out any others there might be +for the hands employed in the firm,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> according to their address, he +proceeded to open his own.</p> + +<p>To the very end of it Austin read; and then, and not till then, he began +to suspect that it could not be meant for him. No name whatever was +mentioned in the letter; it began abruptly, and it ended abruptly; not +so much as 'Sir,' or 'Dear Sir,' was it complimented with, and it was +simply signed 'A. G.' He read it a second time, and then its awful +meaning flashed upon him, and a red flush rose to his brow and settled +there, as if burnt into it with a branding iron. He had become possessed +of a dangerous secret.</p> + +<p>There was no doubt that the letter was written by Miss Gwinn to Mr. +Hunter. By some extraordinary mischance, she had misdirected it. +Possibly the letter now lying on Mr. Hunter's desk, might be for Austin. +Though, what could she be writing about to him?</p> + +<p>He sat down. He was quite overcome with the revelation; it was, indeed, +of a terrible nature, and he would have given much not to have become +cognizant of it. 'Bills!' 'Money!' So that had been Mr. Hunter's excuse +for the mystery! No wonder he sought to turn suspicion into any channel +but the real one.</p> + +<p>Austin was poring over the letter like one in a nightmare, when Mr. +Hunter interrupted him. He crushed it into his pocket with all the +aspect of a guilty man; any one might have taken him in his confusion so +to be. Not for himself was he confused, but he feared lest Mr. Hunter +should discover the letter. Although certainly written for him, Austin +did not dare hand it to him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> for it would never do to let Mr. Hunter +know that he possessed the secret. Mr. Hunter had come in, holding out +the other letter from Ketterford.</p> + +<p>'This letter is for you, Mr. Clay. It has been addressed to me by +mistake, I conclude.'</p> + +<p>Austin took it, and glanced his eyes over it. It contained a few abrupt +lines, and a smaller note, sealed, was inside it.</p> + +<blockquote><p>'My brother is in London, Austin Clay. I have reason to think he +will be calling upon the Messrs. Hunter. Will you watch for him, +and give him the inclosed note? Had he told me where he should put +up in town, I should have had no occasion to trouble you.</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">A. Gwinn.</span>'</p></blockquote> + +<p>Austin did not lift his eyes to Mr. Hunter's in his usual candid open +manner. He could not bear to look him in the face; he feared lest his +master might read in his the dreadful truth.</p> + +<p>'What am I to do, sir?' he asked. 'Watch for Gwinn, and give him the +note?'</p> + +<p>'Do this with them,' said Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>Striking a wax match, he held both Austin's note and the sealed one over +the flame until they were consumed.</p> + +<p>'You could not fulfil the request if you wished, for the man went back +to Ketterford last night.'</p> + +<p>He said no more. He went away again, and Austin lighted another match, +and burnt the crushed letter in his pocket, thankful, so far, that it +had escaped Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p><p>Trouble came. Ere many days had elapsed, there was dissension in the +house of Hunter and Hunter. Thoroughly united and cordial the brothers +had always been; but now a cause of dispute arose, and it seemed that it +could not be arranged. Mr. Hunter had drawn out five thousand pounds +from the bank, and refused to state for what, except that it was for a +'private purpose.' The business had been a gradually increasing one, and +nearly all the money possessed by both was invested in it; so much as +was not actually out, lay in the bank in their joint names, 'Hunter and +Hunter.' Each possessed a small private account, but nothing like +sufficient to meet a cheque for five thousand pounds. Words ran high +between them, and the sound penetrated to ears outside their private +room.</p> + +<p>His face pale, his lips compressed, his tone kept mostly subdued, James +Hunter sat at his desk, his eyes falling on a ledger he was not occupied +with, and his hand partially shading his face. Mr. Henry, more excited, +giving way more freely to his anger, paced the carpet, occasionally +stopping before the desk and before his brother.</p> + +<p>'It is the most unaccountable thing in the world,' he reiterated, 'that +you should refuse to say what it has been applied to. Draw out, +surreptitiously, a formidable sum like that, and not account for it! It +is monstrous.'</p> + +<p>'Henry, I have told you all I can tell you,' replied Mr. Hunter, +concealing his countenance more than ever. 'An old debt was brought up +against me, and I was forced to satisfy it.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Henry Hunter curled his lip.</p> + +<p>'A debt to that amount! Were you mad?'</p> + +<p>'I did not—know—I—had—contracted it,' stammered Mr. Hunter, very +nearly losing his self possession. 'At least, I thought it had been +paid. Youth's errors do come home to us sometimes in later life.'</p> + +<p>'Not to the tune of five thousand pounds,' retorted Mr. Henry Hunter. +'It will cripple the business; you know it will. It is next door to +ruin.'</p> + +<p>'Nonsense, Henry! The loss of five thousand pounds will neither cripple +the business nor bring ruin. It will be my own loss: not yours.'</p> + +<p>'How on earth could you think of giving it away? Five thousand pounds!'</p> + +<p>'I could not help myself. Had I refused to pay it——'</p> + +<p>'Well?' for Mr. Hunter had stopped in embarrassment.</p> + +<p>'I should have been compelled to do so. There. Talking of it will not +mend it.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Henry Hunter took a few turns, and then wheeled round sharply. +'Perhaps there are other claims for "youth's follies" to come behind +it?'</p> + +<p>The words seemed to arouse Mr. Hunter. Not to anger; but to what looked +very like fear—almost to an admission that it might be so.</p> + +<p>'Were any such further claim to come, I would not satisfy it,' he cried, +wiping his face. 'No, I would not; I would go into exile first.'</p> + +<p>'We must part,' said Mr. Henry Hunter the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>expression of his brother's +face quite startling him. 'There is no alternative. I cannot risk the +beggaring of my wife and children.'</p> + +<p>'If it must be so, it must,' was all the reply given.</p> + +<p>'Tell me the truth, James,' urged Mr. Henry in a more conciliatory tone. +I don't want to part. Tell me all, and let me be the judge. Surely, man! +it can't be anything so very dreadful. You didn't set fire to your +neighbour's house, I suppose?'</p> + +<p>'I never thought the claim could come upon me. That is all I can tell +you.'</p> + +<p>'Then we part,' decisively returned Mr. Henry Hunter.</p> + +<p>'Yes, it may be better. If I am to go to ruin, it is of no use to drag +you down into it.'</p> + +<p>'If you are to go to ruin!' echoed Mr. Henry, regarding his brother +attentively. 'James! is that an admission that other mysterious claims +may really follow this one?'</p> + +<p>'No, I think they will not. But we had better part. Only—let the cause +of our separation be kept from the world.'</p> + +<p>'I should be clever to betray the cause, seeing that you leave me in +ignorance of what it may be,' answered Mr. Henry Hunter, who was feeling +vexed, puzzled, and very angry.</p> + +<p>'I mean—let no shadow of the truth get abroad. The business is large +enough for two firms, and we have agreed to carry it on apart. Let that +be the plea.'</p> + +<p>'You take it coolly, James.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p><p>A strange expression—a <i>wrung</i> expression—passed over the face of +James Hunter. 'I cannot help myself, Henry. The five thousand pounds are +gone, and of course it is right that I should bear the loss alone—or +any other loss it may bring in its train.'</p> + +<p>'But why not impart to me the facts?'</p> + +<p>'No. It could not possibly do good; and it might make matters infinitely +worse. One advantage our separation will have; there is a great deal of +money owing to us from different quarters, and this will call it in.'</p> + +<p>'Or I don't see how you would carry anything on for your part, minus +your five thousand pounds,' retorted Mr. Henry, in a spirit of satire.</p> + +<p>'Will you grant me a favour, Henry?'</p> + +<p>'That depends upon what it may be.'</p> + +<p>'Let the real grounds of our separation—this miserable affair that has +led to it—be equally a secret from your wife, as from the world. I +should not ask it without an urgent reason.'</p> + +<p>'Don't you mean to tell Louisa?'</p> + +<p>'No. The matter is one entirely my own; I do not wish to talk of it even +to my wife. Will you give me the promise?'</p> + +<p>'Very well. If it be of the consequence you seem to intimate. I cannot +fathom you, James.'</p> + +<p>'Let us apply ourselves now to the ways and means of the dissolution. +That, at any rate, may be amicable.'</p> + +<p>It was quite evident that he fully declined further allusion to the +subject. And Mr. Henry Hunter obtained no better elucidation, then or +later.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p><p>It fell upon the world like a thunderbolt—that is, the world connected +with Hunter and Hunter. <i>They</i> separate? so flourishing a firm as that? +The world at first refused to believe it; but the world soon found it +was true.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter retained the yard where the business was at present carried +on. Mr. Henry Hunter found other premises to suit him; not far off; a +little more to the west. Considerably surprised were Mrs. Hunter and +Mrs. Henry Hunter; but the same plausible excuse was given to them; and +they were left in ignorance of the true cause.</p> + +<p>'Will you remain with me?' pointedly asked Mr. Hunter of Austin Clay. 'I +particularly wish it.'</p> + +<p>'As you and Mr. Henry may decide, sir,' was the reply given. 'It is not +for me to choose.'</p> + +<p>'We could both do with you, I believe. I had better talk it over with +him.'</p> + +<p>'That will be the best plan,' sir.</p> + +<p>'What do you part for?' abruptly inquired Dr. Bevary one day of the two +brothers, coming into the counting-house and catching them together.</p> + +<p>Mr. Henry raised his eyebrows. Mr. Hunter spoke volubly.</p> + +<p>'The business is getting too large. It will be better divided.'</p> + +<p>'Moonshine!' cried the doctor, quietly. 'That's what you have been +cramming your wives with; it won't do for me. When a concern gets +unwieldy, a man takes a partner to help him on with it; <i>you</i> are +separating.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> There's many a firm larger than yours. Do you remember the +proverb of the bundle of sticks?'</p> + +<p>But neither Dr. Bevary nor anybody else got at a better reason than that +for the measure. The dissolution of partnership took place; it was duly +gazetted, and the old firm became two. Austin remained with Mr. Hunter, +and he was the only living being who gave a guess, or who could give a +guess, at the real cause of separation—the drawing out of that five +thousand pounds.</p> + +<p>And yet—it was not the drawing out of that first five thousand pounds, +that finally decided Mr. Henry Hunter to enforce the step, so much as +the thought that other thousands might perhaps be following it. He could +not divest his mind of the fear.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>PART THE SECOND.</span></h2> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER I.</span> <span class="smaller">A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN.</span></h2> + +<p>For several years after the separation of Hunter and Hunter, things went +on smoothly; at least there was no event sufficiently marked that we +need linger to trace it. Each had a flourishing business, though Mr. +Hunter had some difficulty in staving off embarrassment in the financial +department: a fact which was well known to Austin Clay, who was now +confidential manager—head of all, under Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>He, Austin Clay, was getting towards thirty years of age. He enjoyed a +handsome salary, and was putting by money yearly. He still remained at +Peter Quale's, though his position would have warranted a style of +living far superior. Not that it could have brought him more respect: of +that he enjoyed a full share, both from master and men. Clever, +energetic, firm, and friendly, he was thoroughly fitted for his +post—was liked and esteemed. But for him, Mr. Hunter's business might +not have been what it was, and Mr. Hunter knew it. <i>He</i> was a +broken-spirited man, little capable now of devoting energy to anything. +The years, in their progress, had terribly altered James Hunter.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p><p>A hot evening in Daffodil's Delight; and Daffodil's Delight was making +it a busy one. Uninterrupted prosperity is sometimes nearly allied to +danger; or, rather, danger may grow out of it. Prosperity begets +independence, and independence often begets assumption—very often, a +selfish, wrong view of surrounding things. If any workmen had enjoyed of +late years (it may be said) unlimited prosperity, they were those +connected with the building trade. Therefore, being so flourishing, it +struck some of their body, who in a degree gave laws to the rest, that +the best thing they could do was to make themselves more flourishing +still. As a preliminary, they began to agitate for an increase of wages: +this was to be accomplished by reducing the hours of labour, the +proposition being to work nine hours per day instead of ten. They said +nothing about relinquishing the wages of the extra hour: they would be +paid for ten hours and work nine. The proposition was first put by the +men of a leading metropolitan firm to their principals, and, failing to +obtain it, they threatened to strike. This it was that was just now +agitating Daffodil's Delight.</p> + +<p>In the front room of one of the houses that abutted nearly on the +gutter, and to which you must ascend by steps, there might be read in +the window, inscribed on a piece of paper, the following notice: 'The +Misses Dunn's, Milliner and Dressmakers. Ladies own materiels made up.' +The composition of the <i>affiche</i> was that of the two Miss Dunns jointly, +who prided themselves upon being elegant scholars. A twelvemonth's +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>apprenticeship had initiated them into the mysteries of dressmaking; +millinery had come to them, as Mark Tapley would say, spontaneous, or by +dint of practice. They had set up for themselves in their father's +house, and could boast of a fair share of the patronage of Daffodil's +Delight. Showy damsels were they, with good-humoured, turned-up noses, +and light hair; much given to gadding and gossiping, and fonder of +dressing themselves than of getting home the dresses of their customers.</p> + +<p>On the above evening, they sat in their room, an upper one, stitching +away. A gown was in progress for Mrs. Quale, who often boasted that she +could do any work in the world, save make her own gowns. It had been in +progress for two weeks, and that lady had at length come up in a temper, +as Miss Jemima Dunn expressed it, and had demanded it to be returned, +done or undone. They, with much deprecation, protested it should be home +the first thing in the morning, and went to work. Four or five visitors, +girls of their own age, were performing the part of lookers-on, and much +laughter prevailed.</p> + +<p>'I say,' cried out Martha White—a pleasant-looking girl, who had +perched herself aloft on the edge of a piece of furniture, which +appeared to be a low chest of drawers by day, and turn itself into a bed +at night—'Mary Baxendale was crying yesterday, because of the strike; +saying, it would be bad for all of us, if it came. Ain't she a soft?'</p> + +<p>'Baxendale's again it, too,' exclaimed Miss Ryan, Pat Ryan's eldest +trouble. 'Father says he don't think Baxendale 'll go in for it all.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p><p>'Mary Baxendale's just one of them timid things as is afraid of their +own shadders,' cried Mary Ann Dunn. 'If she saw a cow a-coming at the +other end of the street, she'd turn tail and run. Jemimer, whatever are +you at? The sleeves is to be in plaits, not gathers.'</p> + +<p>'She do look ill, though, does Mary Baxendale,' said Jemima, after some +attention to the sleeve in hand. 'It's my belief she'll never live to +see Christmas; she's going the way her mother went. Won't it be prime +when the men get ten hours' pay for nine hours' work? I shall think +about getting married then.'</p> + +<p>'You must find somebody to have you first,' quoth Grace Darby. 'You have +not got a sweetheart yet.'</p> + +<p>Miss Jemima tossed her head. 'I needn't to wait long for that. The chaps +be as plentiful as sprats in winter. All you have got to do is to pick +and choose.'</p> + +<p>'What's that?' interrupted Mrs. Dunn, darting into the room, with her +sharp tongue and her dirty fine cap. 'What's that as you're talking +about, miss?'</p> + +<p>'We are a-talking of the strike,' responded Jemima, with a covert glance +to the rest. 'Martha White and Judy Ryan says the Baxendales won't go in +for it.'</p> + +<p>'Not go in for it? What idiots they must be!' returned Mrs. Dunn, the +attractive subject completely diverting her attention from Miss Jemima +and her words. 'Ain't nine hours a-day enough for the men to be at work? +I can tell the Baxendales what—when we have got the nine hours all +straight and sure, we shall next demand eight. 'Taint free-born +Englishers as is going to be put upon. It'll be glorious times, girls,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +won't it? We shall get a taste o' fowls and salmon, may be, for dinner +then!'</p> + +<p>'My father says he does not think the masters will come-to, if the men +do strike,' observed Grace Darby.</p> + +<p>'Of course they won't—till they are forced,' retorted Mrs. Dunn, in a +spirit of satire. 'But that's just what they are a-going to be. Don't +you be a fool, Grace Darby!'</p> + +<p>Lotty Cheek rushed in, a girl with a tongue almost as voluble as Mrs. +Dunn's, and rough hair, the colour of a tow-rope. 'What d'ye think?' +cried she, breathlessly. 'There's a-going to be a meeting of the men +to-night in the big room of the Bricklayers' Arms. They are a-filing in +now. I think it must be about the strike.'</p> + +<p>'D'ye suppose it would be about anything else?' retorted Mrs. Dunn. 'I'd +like to be one of 'em! I'd hold out for the day's work of eight hours, +instead of nine, I would. So 'ud they, if they was men.'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dunn's speech was concluded to an empty room. All the girls had +flown down into the street, leaving the parts of Mrs. Quale's gown in +closer contact with the dusty floor than was altogether to their +benefit.</p> + +<p>The agitation in the trade had hitherto been chiefly smouldering in an +under-current: now, it was rising to the surface. Lotty Cheek's +inference was right; the meeting of this evening had reference to the +strike. It had been hastily arranged in the day; was quite an informal +sort of affair, and confined to the operatives of Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>Not in a workman's jacket, but in a brown coat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> dangling to his heels, +with a slit down the back and ventilating holes for the elbows, first +entered he who had been chiefly instrumental in calling the meeting. It +was Mr. Samuel Shuck; better known, you may remember, as Slippery Sam. +Somehow, Sam and prosperity could not contrive to pull together in the +same boat. He was one of those who like to live on the fat of the land, +but are too lazy to work for their share of it. And how Sam had +contrived to exist until now, and keep himself and his large family out +of the workhouse, was a marvel to all. In his fits of repentance, he +would manage to get in again at one or other of the yards of the Messrs. +Hunter; but they were growing tired of him.</p> + +<p>The room at the Bricklayers' Arms was tolerably commodious, and Sam took +up a conspicuous position in it.</p> + +<p>'Well,' began Sam, when the company had assembled, and were furnished +with pipes and pewter pots, 'you have heard that that firm won't accept +the reduction in the hours of labour, so the men have determined on a +strike. Now, I have got a question to put to you. Is there most power in +one man, or in a few dozens of men?'</p> + +<p>Some laughed, and said, 'In the dozens.'</p> + +<p>'Very good,' glibly went on Sam, whose tongue was smoother than oil, and +who was gifted with a sort of oratory and some learning when he chose to +put it out. 'Then, the measure I wish to urge upon you is, make common +cause with those men; we are not all obliged to strike at the same time; +it will be better not; but by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> degrees. Let every firm in London strike, +each at its appointed time,' he continued, raising his voice to +vehemence. 'We must stand up for ourselves; for our rights; for our +wives and children. By making common cause together, we shall bowl out +the masters, and bring them to terms.'</p> + +<p>'Hooroar!' put in Pat Ryan.</p> + +<p>'Hooroar!' echoed a few more.</p> + +<p>An aged man, Abel White's father, usually called old White, who was past +work, and had a seat at his son's chimney corner, leaned forward and +spoke, his voice tremulous, but distinct. 'Samuel Shuck, did you ever +know strikes do any good, either to the men or the masters? Friends,' he +added, turning his venerable head around, 'I am in my eightieth year: +and I picked up some experience while them eighty years was passing. +Strikes have ruined some masters, in means; but they have ruined men +wholesale, in means, in body, and in soul.'</p> + +<p>'Hold there,' cried Sam Shuck, who had not brooked the interruption +patiently. 'Just tell us, old White, before you go on, whether coercion +answers for British workmen?'</p> + +<p>'It does not,' replied the old man, lifting his quiet voice to firmness. +'But perhaps you will tell me in your turn, Sam Shuck, whether it's +likely to answer for masters?'</p> + +<p>'It <i>has</i> answered for them,' returned Sam, in a tone of irony. 'I +<i>have</i> heard of back strikes, where the masters were coerced and +coerced, till the men got all they stood out for.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p><p>'And so brought down ruin on their own heads,' returned the old man, +shaking his. 'Did you ever hear of a lock-out, Shuck?'</p> + +<p>'Ay, ay,' interposed quiet, respectable Robert Darby. 'Did you ever hear +of that, Slippery Sam?'</p> + +<p>Slippery Sam growled. 'Let the masters lock-out if they dare! Let 'em. +The men would hold out to the death.'</p> + +<p>'And death it will be, with some of us, if the strike comes, and lasts. +I came down here to-night, on my son's arm, just for your good, my +friends, not for mine. At your age, I thought as some of you do; but I +have learnt experience now. I can't last long, any way; and it's little +matter to me whether famine from a strike be my end, or——'</p> + +<p>'Famine' derisively retorted Slippery Sam.</p> + +<p>'Yes, famine,' was the quiet answer. 'Strikes never yet brought nothing +but misery in the end. Let me urge upon you all not to be led away. My +voice is but a feeble one; but I think the Lord is sometimes pleased to +show out things clearly to the aged, almost as with a gift of prophecy; +and I could only come and beseech you to keep upon the straight-forrard +path. Don't have anything to do with a strike; keep it away from you at +arm's length, as you would keep away the evil one.'</p> + +<p>'What's the good of listening to him?' cried Slippery Sam, in anger. 'He +is in his dotage.'</p> + +<p>'Will you listen to me then?' spoke up Peter Quale; 'I am not in mine. I +didn't intend to come here, as may be guessed; but when I found so many +of you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> bending your steps this way to listen to Slippery Sam, I thought +it time to change my mind, and come and tell you what <i>I</i> thought of +strikes.'</p> + +<p>'<i>You!</i>' rudely replied Slippery Sam. 'A fellow like you, always in full +work, earning the biggest wages, is sure not to favour strikes. You +can't be much better off than you are.'</p> + +<p>'That admission of yours is worth something, Slippery Sam, if there's +any here have got the sense to see it,' nodded Peter Quale. 'Good +workmen, on full wages, <i>don't</i> favour strikes. I have rose up to what I +am by sticking to my work patiently, and getting on step by step. It's +open to every living man to get on as I have done, if he have got skill +and pluck to work. But if I had done as you do, Sam, gone in for labour +one day and for play two, and for drinking, and strikes, and rebellion, +because money, which I was too lazy to work for didn't drop from the +skies into my hands, then I should just have been where you be.'</p> + +<p>'Is it right to keep a man grinding and sweating his life out for ten +hours a-day?' retorted Sam. The masters would be as well off if we +worked nine, and the surplus men would find employment.'</p> + +<p>'It isn't much of your life that you sweat out, Sam Shuck,' rejoined +Peter Quale, with a cough that especially provoked his antagonist. 'And, +as to the masters being as well off, you had better ask them about that. +Perhaps they'd tell you that to pay ten hours' wages for nine hours' +work would be the hour's wage dead loss to their pockets.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p><p>'Are you rascal enough to go in for the masters?' demanded Sam, in a +fiery heat. 'Who'd do that, but a traitor?'</p> + +<p>'I go in for myself, Sam,' equably responded Peter Quale. 'I know on +which side my bread's buttered. No skilful workman, possessed of prudent +thought and judgment, ever yet went blindfold into a strike. At least, +not many such.'</p> + +<p>Up rose Robert Darby. 'I'd just say a word, if I can get my meaning out, +but I'm not cute with the tongue. It seems to me, mates, that it would +be a great boon if we could obtain the granting of the nine hours' +movement; and perhaps in the end it would not affect the masters, for +they'd get it out of the public. I'd agitate for this in a peaceful way, +in the shape of reason and argument, and do my best in that way to get +it. But I'd not like, as Peter Quale says, to plunge blindfold into a +strike.'</p> + +<p>'I look at it in this light, Darby,' said Peter Quale, 'and it seems to +me it's the only light as 'll answer to look at it in. Things in this +world are estimated by comparison. There ain't nothing large nor small +<i>in itself</i>. I may say, this chair's big: well, so it is, if you match +it by that there bit of a stool in the chimbley corner; but it's very +small if you put it by the side of a omnibus, or of one of the sheds in +our yard. Now, if you compare our wages with those of workmen in most +other trades, they are large. Look at a farm labourer, poor fellow, with +his ten shillings (more or less) a-week, hardly keeping body and soul +together. Look at what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> a man earns in the malting districts in the +country; fifteen shillings and his beer, is reckoned good wages. Look at +a policeman, with his pound a-week. Look at a postman. Look at——'</p> + +<p>'Look at ourselves,' intemperately interrupted Jim Dunn. 'What's other +folks to us? We work hard, and we ought to be paid according.'</p> + +<p>'So I think we are,' said Peter Quale. 'Thirty-three shillings is <i>not</i> +bad wages, and it is only a delusion to say it is. Neither is ten hours +a-day an unfair or oppressive time to work. I'd be as glad as anybody to +have the hour took off, if it could be done pleasantly; but I am not +going to put myself out of work and into trouble to stand out for it. +It's a thing that I am convinced the masters never will give; and if +Pollock's men strike for it, they'll do it against their own +interests——'</p> + +<p>Hisses, and murmurs of disapprobation from various parts of the room, +interrupted Peter Quale.</p> + +<p>'You'd better wait and understand, afore you begin to hiss,' +phlegmatically recommended Peter Quale, when the noise had subsided. 'I +say it will be against their interests to strike, because, I think, if +they stop on strike for twelve months, they'll be no nearer getting +their end. I may be wrong, but that's my opinion. There's always two +sides to a question—our own, and the opposite one; and the great fault +in most folks is, that they look only at their own side, and it causes +them to see things in a partial view. I have looked as fair as I can at +our own side, trying to put away my bias <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span><i>for it</i>; and I have put +myself in thought on the master's side, asking myself, what would <i>I</i> +do, were I one of them. Thus I have tried to judge between them and us, +and the conclusion I have drawed is, that they won't give in.'</p> + +<p>'The masters have been brought to grant demands more unreasonable than +this,' rejoined Sam Shuck. 'If you know anything about back strikes, you +must know that, Quale.'</p> + +<p>'And that's one of the reasons why I argue they won't grant this,' said +Peter. 'If they go on granting and granting, they may get asking +themselves where the demands 'll stop.'</p> + +<p>'Let us go back to 1833,' spoke up old White again, and the man's age +and venerable aspect caused him to be listened to with respect. 'I was +then working in Manchester, and belonged to the Trades' Union; a +powerful Union as ever was formed. In our strength, we thought we should +like a thing or two altered, and we made a formal demand upon the master +builders, requiring them to discontinue the erection of buildings on +sub-contracts. The masters fell in with it. You'll understand, friends,' +he broke off to say, 'that, looking at things now, and looking at 'em +then, is just as if I saw 'em in two opposite aspects. Next, we gave out +a set of various rules for the masters, and required them to abide by +such—about the making of the wages equal; the number of apprentices +they should take; the machinery they should or should not use, and other +things. Well, the masters gave us that also, and it put us all +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>cock-a-hoop, and we went on to dictate to 'em more and more. If +they—the masters—broke any of our rules, we levied fines on 'em, and +made 'em pay up; we ordered them before us at our meetings, found fault +with 'em, commanded 'em to obey us, to take on such men as we pointed +out, and to turn off others; in short, forced 'em to do as we chose. +People might have thought that we was the masters and they the +operatives. Pretty well, that, wasn't it?'</p> + +<p>The room nodded acquiescence. Slippery Sam snapped his fingers in +delight.</p> + +<p>'The worst was, it did not last,' resumed the old man. 'Like too many +other folks emboldened with success, we wasn't content to let well +alone, but went on a bit too far. The masters took up their own defence +at last; and the wonder to me now, looking back, is, that they didn't do +it before. They formed themselves into a Union, and passed a resolve to +employ no man unless he signed a pledge not to belong to a Trades' +Union. Then we all turned out. Six months the strike was on, and the +buildings was at a standstill, and us out of work.'</p> + +<p>'Were wages bad at that time?' inquired Robert Darby.</p> + +<p>'No. The good workmen among us had been earning in the summer +thirty-five shillings a-week; and the bricklayers had just had a rise of +three shillings. We was just fools: that's my opinion of it now. Awful +misery we were reduced to. Every stick we had went to the pawn-shop; our +wives was skin and bone, our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> children was in rags; and some of us just +laid our heads down on the stones, clammed to death.'</p> + +<p>'What was the trade in other places about, that it didn't help you?' +indignantly demanded Sam Shuck.</p> + +<p>'They did help us. Money to the tune of eighteen thousand pounds came to +us; but we was a large body—many mouths to feed, and the strike was +prolonged. We had to come-to at last, for the masters wouldn't; and we +voted our combination a nuisance, and went humbly to 'em, like dogs with +their tails between their legs, and craved to be took on again upon +their own terms. But we couldn't get took back; not all of us: the +masters had learnt a lesson. They had got machinery to work, and had +collected workmen from other parts, so that we was not wanted. And +that's all the good the strike brought to us! I came away on the tramp +with my family, and got work in London after a deal of struggle and +privation: and I made a vow never to belong willingly to a strike +again.'</p> + +<p>'Do you see where the fault lay in that case?—the blame?—the whole +gist of the evil?'</p> + +<p>The question came from a gentleman who had entered the room as old White +was speaking. The men would have risen to salute him, but he signed to +them to be still and cause no interruption—a tall, noble man, with +calm, self-reliant countenance.</p> + +<p>'It lay with the masters,' he resumed, nobody replying to him. 'Had +those Manchester masters resisted the first demand of their men—a +demand made in the insolence of power, not in need—and allowed them +fully<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> to understand that they were, and would be, masters, we should, I +believe, have heard less of strikes since, than we have done. I never +think of those Manchester masters but my blood boils. When a principal +suffers himself to be dictated to by his men, he is no longer a master, +or worthy of the name.'</p> + +<p>'Had you been one of them, and not complied, you might have come to +ruin, sir,' cried Robert Darby. 'There's a deal to be said on both +sides.'</p> + +<p>'Ruin!' was the answer. 'I never would have conceded an inch, though I +had known that I must end my days in the workhouse through not doing +it.'</p> + +<p>'Of course, sir, you'd stand up for the masters, being hand in glove +with 'em, and likely to be a master yourself,' grumbled Sam Shuck, a +touch of irony in his tone.</p> + +<p>'I should stand up for whichever side I deemed in the right, whether it +was the masters' or the men's,' was the emphatic answer. 'Is it well—is +it in accordance with the fitness of things, that a master should be +under the control of his men? Come! I ask it of your common sense.'</p> + +<p>'No.' It was readily acknowledged.</p> + +<p>'Those Manchester masters and those Manchester operatives were upon a +par as regards shame and blame.'</p> + +<p>'Sir! Shame and blame?'</p> + +<p>'They were upon a par as regards shame and blame,' was the decisive +repetition; 'and I make no doubt that both equally deemed themselves to +have been so, when they found their senses. The masters came to them: +the men were brought to theirs.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p><p>'You speak strongly, sir.'</p> + +<p>'Because I feel strongly. When I become a master, I shall, if I know +anything of myself, have my men's interest at heart; but none of them +shall ever presume to dictate to me. If a master cannot exercise his own +authority in firm self-reliance, let him give up business.'</p> + +<p>'Have masters a right to oppress us, sir?—to grind us down?—to work us +into our coffins?' cried Sam Shuck.</p> + +<p>The gentleman raised his eyebrows, and a half smile crossed his lips. +'Since when have you been oppressed, and ground down into your coffins?'</p> + +<p>Some of the men laughed—at Sam's oily tongue.</p> + +<p>'If you <i>are</i>—if you have any complaint of that sort to make, let me +hear it now, and I will convey it to Mr. Hunter. He is ever ready, you +know, to——What do you say, Shuck? The nine hours' concession is all +you want? If you can get the masters to give you ten hours' pay for nine +hours' work, so much the better for you. <i>I</i> would not: but it is no +affair of mine. To be paid what you honestly earn, be it five pounds per +week or be it one, is only justice; but to be paid for what you don't +earn, is the opposite thing. I think, too, that the equalization of +wages is a mistaken system, quite wrong in principle: one which can +bring only discontent in the long run. Let me repeat that with +emphasis—the equalization of wages, should it ever take place, can +bring only discontent in the long run.'</p> + +<p>There was a pause. No one spoke, and the speaker resumed—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p><p>'I conclude you have met here to discuss this agitation at the Messrs. +Pollocks?'</p> + +<p>Pollocks' men are a-going to strike,' said Slippery Sam.</p> + +<p>'Oh, they are, are they?' returned the gentleman, some mockery in his +tone. 'I hope they may find it to their benefit. I don't know what the +Messrs. Pollocks may do in the matter; but I know what I should.'</p> + +<p>'You'd hold out to the last against the men?'</p> + +<p>'I should; to the last and the last: were it for ten years to come. +Force a measure upon <i>me</i>! coerce <i>me</i>!' he reiterated, drawing his fine +form to its full height, while the red flush mantled in his cheeks. 'No, +my men, I am not made of that yielding stuff. Only let me be persuaded +that my judgment is right, and no body of men on earth should force me +to act against it.'</p> + +<p>The speaker was Austin Clay, as I daresay you have already guessed. He +had not gone to the meeting to interrupt it, or to take part in it, but +in search of Peter Quale. Hearing from Mrs. Quale that her husband was +at the Bricklayers' Arms—a rare occurrence, for Peter was not one who +favoured public-houses—Austin went thither in search of him, and so +found himself in the midst of the meeting. His business with Peter +related to certain orders he required to give for the early morning. +Once there, however, the temptation to have his say was too great to be +resisted. That over, he went out, making a sign to the man to follow +him.</p> + +<p>'What are those men about to rush into, Quale?' he demanded, when his +own matter was over.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p><p>'Ah, what indeed?' returned the man. 'If they do get led into a strike, +they'll repent it, some of them.'</p> + +<p>'You are not one of the malcontents, then?'</p> + +<p>'I?' retorted Peter, utter scorn in his tone. 'No, sir. There's a +proverb which I learnt years ago from an old book as was lent me, and +I've not forgotten it, sir—"Let well alone." But you must not think all +the men you saw sitting there be discontented agitators, Mr. Clay. It's +only Shuck and a few of that stamp. The rest be as steady and cautious +as I am.'</p> + +<p>'If they don't get led away,' replied Austin Clay, and his voice +betrayed a dubious tone. 'Slippery Sam, in spite of his loose +qualifications, is a ringleader more persuasive than prudent. Hark! he +is at it again, hammer and tongs. Are you going back to them?'</p> + +<p>'No, sir. I shall go home now.'</p> + +<p>'We will walk together, then,' observed Austin. 'Afterwards I am going +on to Mr. Hunter's.'<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> 'It need scarcely be remarked, that Sam Shuck and his +followers represent only the ignorant and unprincipled section of those +who engage in strikes. Working men are perfectly right in combining to +seek the best terms they can get, both as to wages and time; provided +there be no interference with the liberty either of masters or +fellow-workmen.—<i>Ed.</i> L. H., February, 1862.'</p></div></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER II.</span> <span class="smaller">CALLED TO KETTERFORD.</span></h2> + +<p>Austin Clay was not mistaken. Rid of Peter Quale, who was a worse enemy +of Sam's schemes than even old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> White, Sam had it nearly his own way, +and went at it 'hammer and tongs.' He poured his eloquent words into the +men's ears—and Sam, as you have heard, really did possess the gift of +eloquence: of a rough and rude sort: but that tells well with the class +now gathered round him. He brought forth argument upon argument, +fallacious as they were plausible; he told the men it depended upon +<i>them</i>, whether the boon they were standing out for should be accorded, +not upon the masters. Not that Sam called it a boon; he spoke of it as a +<i>right</i>. Let them only be firm and true to themselves, he said, and the +masters must give in: there was no help for it, they would have no other +resource. Sam finally concluded by demanding, with fierce looks all +round, whether they were men, or whether they were slaves, and the men +answered, with a cheer and a shout, that Britons never should be slaves: +and the meeting broke up in excitement and glorious spirits, and went +home elated, some with the anticipation of the fine time that was +dawning for them, others with having consumed a little too much +half-and-half.</p> + +<p>Slippery Sam reeled away to his home. A dozen or so attended him, +listening to his oratory, which was continued still: though not exactly +to the gratification of Daffodil's Delight, who were hushing their +unruly babies to sleep, or striving to get to sleep themselves. Much Sam +cared whom he disturbed! He went along, flinging his arms and his words +at random—inflammatory words, carrying poisoned shafts that told. If +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>somebody came down upon you and upon me, telling us that, with a little +exertion on our part, we should inevitably drop into a thousand a year, +and showing plausible cause for the same, should we turn a deaf ear? The +men shook hands individually with Slippery Sam, and left him propped +against his own door; for Sam, with all deference be it spoken, was a +little overcome himself—with the talking, of course.</p> + +<p>Sam's better half greeted him with a shrill tongue: she and Mrs. Dunn +might be paired in that respect! and Sam's children, some in the bed in +the corner, some sitting up, greeted him with a shrill cry also, +clamouring for a very common-place article, indeed—'some <i>bread</i>!' +Sam's family seemed inconveniently to increase; for the less there +appeared to be to welcome them with, the surer and faster they arrived. +Thirteen Sam could number now; but several of the elder ones were out in +the world 'doing for themselves'—getting on, or starving, as it might +happen to be.</p> + +<p>'You old sot! you have been at that drinking-can again,' were Mrs. Sam's +words of salutation; and I wish I could soften them down to refinement +for polite ears; but if you are to have the truth, you must take them as +they were spoken.</p> + +<p>'Drinking-can!' echoed Sam, who was in too high glee to lose his temper, +'never mind the drinking-can, missis: my fortian's made. I drawed +together that meeting, as I telled ye I should,' he added, discarding +his scholarly eloquence for the familiar home phraseology, 'and they +come to it, every man jack on 'em,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> save thin-skinned Baxendale +upstairs. Never was such a full meeting knowed in Daffodil's Delight.'</p> + +<p>'Who cares for the meeting!' irascibly responded Mrs. Sam. 'What we +wants is, some'at to fill our insides with. Don't come bothering home +here about a meeting, when the children be a starving. If you'd work +more and talk less, it 'ud become ye better.'</p> + +<p>'I got the ear of the meeting,' said Sam, braving the reproof with a +provoking wink. 'A despicable set our men is, at Hunter's, a humdrumming +on like slaves for ever, taking their paltry wages and making no stir. +But I've put the brand among 'em at last, and sent 'em home all on fire, +to dream of short work and good pay. Quale, he come, and put in his +spoke again' it; and that wretched old skeleton of a White, what's been +cheating the grave this ten year, he come, and put in his; and Mr. +Austin Clay, he must thrust his nose among us, and talk treason to the +men: but I think my tongue have circumvented the lot. If it haven't, my +name's not Sam Shuck.'</p> + +<p>'If you and your circumventions and your tongue was all at the bottom of +the Thames, 'twouldn't be no loss, for all the good they does above it,' +sobbed Mrs. Shuck, whose anger generally ended in tears. 'Here's me and +the children a clemming for want o' bread, and you can waste your time +over a idle good-for-nothing meeting. Ain't you ashamed, not to work as +other men do?'</p> + +<p>'Bread!' loftily returned Sam, with the air of a king, ''tisn't bread I +shall soon be furnishing for you and the children: it's mutton chops. My +fortian's made, I say.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p><p>'Yah!' retorted Mrs. Sam. 'It have been made forty times in the last +ten year, to listen to you. What good has ever come of the boast? I'd +shut up my mouth if I couldn't talk sense.'</p> + +<p>Sam nodded his head oracularly, and entered upon an explanation. But for +the fact of his being a little 'overcome'—whatever may have been its +cause—he would have been more guarded. 'I've had overtures,' he said, +bending forward his head and lowering his voice, 'and them overtures, +which I accepted, will be the making of you and of me. Work!' he +exclaimed, throwing his arms gracefully from him with a repelling +gesture, 'I've done with work now; I'm superior to it; I'm exalted far +above that lowering sort of toil. The leaders among the London Trade +Union have recognised eloquence, ma'am, let me tell you; and they've +made me one of their picked body—appointed me agitator to the firms of +Hunter. "You get the meeting together, and prime 'em with the best of +your eloquence, and excite 'em to recognise and agitate for their own +rights, and you shall have your appointment, and a good round weekly +salary." Well, Mrs. S., I did it. I got the men together, and I <i>have</i> +primed 'em, and some of 'em's a busting to go off; and all I've got to +do from henceforth is to keep 'em up to the mark, by means of that +tongue which you are so fond of disparaging, and to live like a +gentleman. There's a trifling instalment of the first week's money.'</p> + +<p>Sam threw a sovereign on the table. Mrs. Shuck, with a grunt of +disparagement still, darted forward to seize upon it through her tears. +The children, uttering<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> a wild shriek of wonder, delight, and disbelief, +born of incipient famine, darted forward to seize it too. Sam burst into +a fit of laughter, threw himself back to indulge it, and not being just +then over steady on his legs, lost his equilibrium, and toppled over the +fender into the ashes.</p> + +<p>Leaving Mrs. Shuck to pick him up, or to leave him there—which latter +negative course was the one she would probably take—let us return to +Austin Clay.</p> + +<p>At Peter Quale's gate he was standing a moment to speak to the man +before proceeding onwards, when Mrs. Quale came running down the garden +path.</p> + +<p>'I was coming in search of you, sir,' she said to Austin Clay. 'This has +just been brought, and the man made me sign my name to a paper.'</p> + +<p>Austin took what she held out to him—a telegraphic despatch. He opened +it; read it; then in the prompt, decisive manner usual with him, +requested Mrs. Quale to put him up a change of things in his +portmanteau, which he would return for; and walked away with a rapid +step.</p> + +<p>'Whatever news is it that he has had?' cried Mrs. Quale, as she stood +with her husband, looking after him. 'Where can he have been summoned +to?'</p> + +<p>''Tain't no business of ours,' retorted Peter; 'if it had been, he'd +have enlightened us. Did you ever hear of that offer that's always +pending?—Five hundred a year to anybody as 'll undertake to mind his +own business, and leave other folks's alone.'</p> + +<p>Austin was on his way to Mr. Hunter's. A very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> frequent evening visitor +there now, was he. But this evening he had an ostensible motive for +going; a boon to crave. That alone may have made his footsteps fleet.</p> + +<p>In the soft twilight of the summer evening, in the room of their own +house that opened to the conservatory, sat Florence Hunter—no longer +the impulsive, charming, and somewhat troublesome child, but the young +and lovely woman. Of middle height and graceful form, her face was one +of great sweetness; the earnest, truthful spirit, the pure innocence, +which had made its charm in youth, made it now: to look on Florence +Hunter, was to love her.</p> + +<p>She appeared to be in deep thought, her cheek resting on her hand, and +her eyes fixed on vacancy. Some movement in the house aroused her, and +she arose, shook her head, as if she would shake care away, and bent +over a rare plant in the room's large opening, lightly touching the +leaves.</p> + +<p>'I fear that mamma is right, and I am wrong, pretty plant!' she +murmured. 'I fear that you will die. Is it that this London, with its +heavy atmosphere——'</p> + +<p>The knock of a visitor at the hall door resounded through the house. Did +Florence <i>know</i> the knock, that her voice should falter, and the soft +pink in her cheeks should deepen to a glowing crimson? The room door +opened, and a servant announced Mr. Clay.</p> + +<p>In that early railway journey when they first met, Florence had taken a +predilection for Austin Clay. 'I like him so much!' had been her +gratuitous <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>announcement to her uncle Harry. The liking had ripened into +an attachment, firm and lasting—a child's attachment: but Florence grew +into a woman, and it could not remain such. Thrown much together, the +feeling had changed, and love mutually arose: they fell into it +unconsciously. Was it quite prudent of Mr. Hunter to sanction, nay, to +court the frequent presence at his house of Austin Clay? Did he overlook +the obvious fact, that he was one who possessed attractions, both of +mind and person, and that Florence was now a woman grown? Or did Mr. +Hunter deem that the social barrier, which he might assume existed +between his daughter and his dependent, would effectually prevent all +approach of danger? Mr. Hunter must himself account for the negligence: +no one else can do it. It was certain that he did have Austin very much +at his house, but it was equally certain that he never cast a thought to +the possibility that his daughter might be learning to love him.</p> + +<p>The strange secret, whatever it may have been, attaching to Mr. Hunter, +had shattered his health to that extent that for days together he would +be unequal to go abroad or to attend to business. Then Austin, who acted +as principal in the absence of Mr. Hunter, would arrive at the house +when the day was over, to report progress, and take orders for the next +day. Or, rather, consult with him what the orders should be; for in +energy, in capability, Austin was now the master spirit, and Mr. Hunter +bent to it. That over, he passed the rest of the evening in the society +of Florence, conversing with her freely, confidentially; on literature, +art, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> news of the day; on topics of home interest; listening to her +music, listening to her low voice, as she sang her songs; guiding her +pencil. There they would be. He with his ready eloquence, his fund of +information, his attractive manners, and his fine form, handsome in its +height and strength; she with her sweet fascinations, her gentle +loveliness. What could be the result? But, as is almost invariably the +case, the last person to give a suspicion to it was he who positively +looked on, and might have seen all—Mr. Hunter. Life, in the presence of +the other, had become sweet to each as a summer's dream—a dream that +had stolen over them ere they knew what it meant. But consciousness came +with time.</p> + +<p>Very conscious of it were they both as he entered this evening. Austin +took her hand in greeting; a hand always tremulous now in his. She bent +again over the plant she was tending, her eyelids and her damask cheeks +drooping.</p> + +<p>'You are alone, Florence!'</p> + +<p>'Just now. Mamma is very poorly this evening, and keeps her room. Papa +was here a few minutes ago.'</p> + +<p>He released her hand, and stood looking at her, as she played with the +petals of the flower. Not a word had Austin spoken of his love; not a +word was he sure that he might speak. If he partially divined that it +might be acceptable to her, he did not believe it would be to Mr. +Hunter.</p> + +<p>'The plant looks sickly,' he observed.</p> + +<p>'Yes. It is one that thrives in cold and wind. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> came from Scotland. +Mamma feared this close London atmosphere would not suit it; but I said +it looked so hardy, it would be sure to do well. Rather than it should +die, I would send it back to its bleak home.'</p> + +<p>'In tears, Florence? for the sake of a plant?'</p> + +<p>'Not for that,' she answered, twinkling the moisture from her eyelashes, +as she raised them to his with a brave smile. 'I was thinking of mamma; +she appears to be fading rapidly, like the plant.'</p> + +<p>'She may grow stronger when the heat of summer shall have passed.'</p> + +<p>Florence slightly shook her head, as if she could not share in the +suggested hope. 'Mamma herself does not seem to think she shall, Austin. +She has dropped ominous words more than once latterly. This afternoon I +showed her the plant, that it was drooping. "Ay, my dear," she remarked, +"it is like me—on the wane." And I think my uncle Bevary's opinion has +become unfavourable.'</p> + +<p>It was a matter on which Austin could not urge hope, though, for the +sake of tranquillizing Florence, he might suggest it, for he believed +that Mrs. Hunter was fading rapidly. All these years she seemed to have +been getting thinner and weaker; it was some malady connected with the +spine, causing her at times great pain. Austin changed the subject.</p> + +<p>'I hope Mr. Hunter will soon be in, Florence. I am come to ask for leave +of absence.'</p> + +<p>'Papa is not out; he is sitting with mamma. That is another reason why I +fear danger for her. I think<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> papa sees it; he is so solicitous for her +comfort, so anxious to be with her, as if he would guard her from +surprise or agitating topics. He will not suffer a visitor to enter at +hazard; he will not let a note be given her until he has first seen it.'</p> + +<p>'But he has long been thus anxious,' replied Austin, who was aware that +what she spoke of had lasted for years.</p> + +<p>'I know. But still, latterly—however, I must hope against hope,' broke +off Florence. 'I think I do: hope is certainly a very strong ingredient +in my nature, for I cannot realize the parting with my dear mother. Did +you say you have come for leave of absence? Where is it that you wish to +go?'</p> + +<p>'I have had a telegraphic despatch from Ketterford,' he replied, taking +it from his pocket. 'My good old friend, Mrs. Thornimett, is dying, and +I must hasten thither with all speed.'</p> + +<p>'Oh!' uttered Florence, almost reproachfully. 'And you are wasting the +time with me!'</p> + +<p>'Not so. The first train that goes there does not start for an hour yet, +and I can get to Paddington in half of one. The news has grieved me +much. The last time I was at Ketterford—you may remember it—Mrs. +Thornimett was so very well, exhibiting no symptoms whatever of decay.'</p> + +<p>'I remember it,' answered Florence. 'It is two years ago. You stayed a +whole fortnight with her.'</p> + +<p>'And had a battle with her to get away then,' said Austin, smiling with +the reminiscence, or with Florence's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> word 'whole'—a suggestive word, +spoken in that sense. 'She wished me to remain longer. I wonder what +illness can have stricken her? It must have been sudden.'</p> + +<p>'What is the relationship between you?'</p> + +<p>'A distant one. She and my mother were second cousins. If I——'</p> + +<p>Austin was stopped by the entrance of Mr. Hunter. <i>So</i> changed, <i>so</i> +bent and bowed, since you, reader, last saw him! The stout, upright +figure had grown thin and stooping, the fine dark hair was grey, the +once calm, self-reliant face was worn and haggard. Nor was that all; +there was a constant <i>restlessness</i> in his manner and in the turn of his +eye, giving a spectator the idea that he lived in a state of +ever-present, perpetual fear.</p> + +<p>Austin put the telegraphic message in his hand. 'It is an inconvenient +time, I know, sir, for me to be away, busy as we are, and with this +agitation rising amongst the men; but I cannot help myself. I will +return as soon as it is possible.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter did not hear the words. His eyes had fallen on the word +'Ketterford,' in the despatch, and that seemed to scare away his senses. +His hands shook as he held the paper, and for a few moments he appeared +incapable of collected thought, of understanding anything. Austin +exclaimed again.</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes, yes, it is only—it is Mrs. Thornimett who is ill, and wants +you—I comprehend now.' He spoke in an incoherent manner, and with a +sigh of the most intense relief. 'I—I—saw the word "dying," and it +startled me,' he proceeded, as if anxious to account<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> for his agitation. +'You can go, Austin; you must go. Remain a few days there—a week, if +you find it necessary.'</p> + +<p>'Thank you, sir. I will say farewell now, then.'</p> + +<p>He shook hands with Mr. Hunter, turned to Florence, and took hers. +'Remember me to Mrs. Hunter,' he said in a low tone, which, in spite of +himself, betrayed its own tenderness, 'and tell her I hope to find her +better on my return.'</p> + +<p>A few paces from the house, as he went out, Austin encountered Dr. +Bevary. 'Is she much worse?' he exclaimed to Austin, in a hasty tone.</p> + +<p>'Is who much worse, doctor?'</p> + +<p>'Mrs. Hunter. I have just had a message from her.'</p> + +<p>'Not very much, I fancy. Florence said her mamma was poorly this +evening. I am off to Ketterford, doctor, for a few days.'</p> + +<p>'To Ketterford!' replied Dr. Bevary, with an emphasis that showed the +news had startled him. 'What are you going there for? For—for Mr. +Hunter?'</p> + +<p>'For myself,' said Austin. 'A good old friend is ill—dying, the message +says—and has telegraphed for me.'</p> + +<p>The physician looked at him searchingly. 'Do you speak of Miss Gwinn?'</p> + +<p>'I should not call her a friend,' replied Austin. 'I allude to Mrs. +Thornimett.'</p> + +<p>'A pleasant journey to you, then. And, Clay, steer clear of those +Gwinns; they would bring you no good.'</p> + +<p>It was in the dawn of the early morning that Austin entered Ketterford. +He did not let the grass grow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> under his feet between the railway +terminus and Mrs. Thornimett's, though he was somewhat dubious about +disturbing the house. If she was really 'dying,' it might be well that +he should do so; if only suffering from a severe illness, it might not +be expected of him; and the wording of the message had been ambiguous, +leaving it an open question. As he drew within view of the house, +however, it exhibited signs of bustle; lights not yet put out in the +dawn, might be discerned through some of the curtained windows, and a +woman, having much the appearance of a nurse, was coming out at the +door, halting on the threshold a moment to hold converse with one +within.</p> + +<p>'Can you tell me how Mrs. Thornimett is?' inquired Austin, addressing +himself to her.</p> + +<p>The woman shook her head. 'She is gone, sir. Not more than an hour ago.'</p> + +<p>Sarah, the old servant whom we have seen before at Mrs. Thornimett's, +came forward, weeping. 'Oh, Mr. Austin! oh, sir: why could not you get +here sooner?'</p> + +<p>'How could I, Sarah?' was his reply. 'I received the message only last +evening, and came off by the first train that started.'</p> + +<p>'I'd have took a engine to myself, and rode upon its chimbley, but what +I'd have got here in time,' retorted Sarah. 'Twice in the very last half +hour of her life she asked after you. "Isn't Austin come?" "Isn't he yet +come?" My dear old mistress!'</p> + +<p>'Why was I not sent for before?' he asked, in return.</p> + +<p>'Because we never thought it was turning serious,'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> sobbed Sarah. 'She +caught cold some days ago, and it flew to her throat, or her chest, I +hardly know which. The doctor was called in; and it's my belief <i>he</i> +didn't know: the doctors nowadays bain't worth half what they used to +be, and they call things by fine names that nobody can understand. +However it may have been, nobody saw any danger, neither him nor us. But +at mid-day yesterday there was a change, and the doctor said he'd like +further advice to be brought in. And it was had; but they could not do +her any good; and she, poor dear mistress, was the first to say that she +was dying. "Send for Austin," she said to me; and one of the gentlemen, +he went to the wire telegraph place, and wrote the message.'</p> + +<p>Austin made no rejoinder: he seemed to be swallowing down a lump in his +throat. Sarah resumed. 'Will you see her, sir? She is just laid out.'</p> + +<p>He nodded acquiescence, and the servant led the way to the death +chamber. It had been put straight, so to remain until all that was left +of its many years' occupant should be removed. She lay on the bed in +placid stillness; her eyes closed, her pale face calm, a smile upon it; +the calm of a spirit at peace with heaven. Austin leaned over her, +losing himself in solemn thoughts. Whither had the spirit flown? to what +bright unknown world? Had it found the company of sister spirits? had it +seen, face to face, its loving Saviour? Oh! what mattered now the few +fleeting trials of this life that had passed over her! how worse than +unimportant did they seem by the side of death!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> A little, more or less, +of care; a lot, where shade or sunshine shall have predominated; a few +friends gained or lost; struggle, toil, hope—all must merge in the last +rest. It was over; earth, with its troubles and its petty cares, with +its joys and sorrows, and its 'goods stored up for many years;' as +completely over for Mary Thornimett, as though it had never, been. In +the higher realms whither her spirit had hastened——</p> + +<p>'I told Mrs. Dubbs to knock up the undertaker, and desire him to come +here at once and take the measure for the coffin.'</p> + +<p>Sarah's interruption recalled Austin to the world. It is impossible, +even in a death-chamber, to run away from the ordinary duties of daily +life.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER III.</span> <span class="smaller">TWO THOUSAND POUNDS.</span></h2> + +<p>'You will stay for the funeral, Mr. Clay?'</p> + +<p>'It is my intention to do so.'</p> + +<p>'Good. Being interested in the will, it may be agreeable to you to hear +it read.'</p> + +<p>'Am I interested?' inquired Austin, in some surprise.</p> + +<p>'Why, of course you are,' replied Mr. Knapley, the legal gentleman with +whom Austin was speaking, and who had the conduct of Mrs. Thornimett's +affairs. 'Did you never know that you were a considerable legatee?'</p> + +<p>'I did not,' said Austin. 'Some years ago—it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> at the death of Mr. +Thornimett—Mrs. Thornimett hinted to me that I might be the better some +time for a trifle from her. But she has never alluded to it since: and I +have not reckoned upon it.'</p> + +<p>'Then I can tell you—though it is revealing secrets beforehand—that +you are the better to the tune of two thousand pounds.'</p> + +<p>'Two thousand pounds!' uttered Austin, in sheer amazement. 'How came she +to leave me so much as that?'</p> + +<p>'Do you quarrel with it, young sir?'</p> + +<p>'No, indeed: I feel all possible gratitude. But I am surprised, +nevertheless.'</p> + +<p>'She was a clever, clear-sighted woman, was Mrs. Thornimett,' observed +the lawyer. 'I'll tell you about it—how it is you come to have so much. +When I was taking directions for Mr. Thornimett's will—more than ten +years back now—a discussion arose between him and his wife as to the +propriety of leaving a sum of money to Austin Clay. A thousand pounds +was the amount named. Mr. Thornimett was for leaving you in his wife's +hands, to let her bequeath it to you at her death; Mrs. Thornimett +wished it should be left to you then, in the will I was about to make, +that you might inherit it on the demise of Mr. Thornimett. He took his +own course, and did <i>not</i> leave it, as you are aware.'</p> + +<p>'I did not expect him to leave me anything,' interrupted Austin.</p> + +<p>'My young friend, if you break in with these remarks, I shall not get to +the end of my story. After<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> her husband's burial, Mrs. Thornimett spoke +to me. "I particularly wished the thousand pounds left now to Austin +Clay," she said, "and I shall appropriate it to him at once." +"Appropriate it in what manner?" I asked her. "I should like to put it +out to interest, that it may be accumulating for him," she replied, "so +that at my death he may receive both principal and interest." "Then, if +you live as long as it is to be hoped you will, madam, you may be +bequeathing him two thousand pounds instead of one," I observed to her. +"Mr. Knapley," was her answer, "if I choose to bequeath him three, it is +my own money that I do it with; and I am responsible to no one." She had +taken my remark to be one of remonstrance, you see, in which spirit it +was not made: had Mrs. Thornimett chosen to leave you the whole of her +money she had been welcome to do it for me. "Can you help me to a safe +investment for him?" she resumed; and I promised to look about for it. +The long and the short of it is, Mr. Clay, that I found both a safe and +a profitable investment, and the one thousand pounds <i>has</i> swollen +itself into two—as you will hear when the will is read.'</p> + +<p>'I am truly obliged for her kindness, and for the trouble you have +taken,' exclaimed Austin, with a glowing colour. 'I never thought to get +rich all at once.'</p> + +<p>'You only be prudent and take care of it,' said Mr. Knapley. 'Be as wise +in its use as I and Mrs. Thornimett have been. It is the best advice I +can give you.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p><p>'It is good advice, I know, and I thank you for it,' warmly responded +Austin.</p> + +<p>'Ay. I can tell you that less than two thousand pounds has laid the +foundation of many a great fortune.'</p> + +<p>To a young man whose salary is only two hundred a year, the unexpected +accession to two thousand pounds, hard cash, seems like a great fortune. +Not that Austin Clay cared so very much for a 'great fortune' in itself; +but he certainly did hope to achieve a competency, and to this end he +made the best use of the talents bestowed upon him. He was not ambitious +to die 'worth a million;' he had the rare good sense to know that excess +of means cannot bring excess of happiness. The richest man on earth +cannot eat two dinners a day, or wear two coats at a time, or sit two +thoroughbred horses at once, or sleep on two beds. To some, riches are a +source of continual trouble. Unless rightly used, they cannot draw a man +to heaven, or help him on his road thither. Austin Clay's ambition lay +in becoming a powerful man of business; such as were the Messrs. Hunter. +He would like to have men under him, of whom he should be the master; +not to control them with an iron hand, to grind them to the dust, to +hold them at a haughty distance, as if they were of one species of +humanity and he of another. No; he would hold intact their relative +positions of master and servant—none more strictly than he; but he +would be their considerate friend, their firm advocate, regardful ever +of their interests as he was of his own. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> would like to have capital +sufficient for all necessary business operations, that he might fulfil +every obligation justly and honourably: so far, money would be welcome +to Austin. Very welcome did the two thousand pounds sound in his ears, +for they might be the stepping-stone to this. Not to the 'great fortune' +talked of by Mr. Knapley, who avowed freely his respect for +millionaires: he did not care for that. They might also be a +stepping-stone to something else—the very thought of which caused his +face to glow and his veins to tingle—the winning of Florence Hunter. +That he would win her, Austin fully believed now.</p> + +<p>On the day previous to the funeral, in walking through the streets of +Ketterford, Austin found himself suddenly seized by the shoulder. A +window had been thrown open, and a fair arm (to speak with the gallantry +due to the sex in general, rather than to that one arm in particular) +was pushed out and laid upon him. His captor was Miss Gwinn.</p> + +<p>'Come in,' she briefly said.</p> + +<p>Austin would have been better pleased to avoid her, but as she had thus +summarily caught him, there was no help for it: to enter into a battle +of contention with <i>her</i> might be productive of neither honour nor +profit. He entered her sitting-room, and she motioned him to a chair.</p> + +<p>'So you did not intend to call upon me during your stay in Ketterford, +Austin Clay?'</p> + +<p>'The melancholy occasion on which I am here precludes much visiting,' +was his guarded reply. 'And my sojourn will be a short one.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p><p>'Don't be a hypocrite, young man, and use those unmeaning words. +"Melancholy occasion!" What did you care for Mrs. Thornimett, that her +death should make you "melancholy?"'</p> + +<p>'Mrs. Thornimett was my dear and valued friend,' he returned, with an +emotion born of anger. 'There are few, living, whom I would not rather +have spared. I shall never cease to regret the not having arrived in +time to see her before she died.'</p> + +<p>Miss Gwinn peered at him from her keen eyes, as if seeking to know +whether this was false or true. Possibly she decided in favour of the +latter, for her face somewhat relaxed its sternness. 'What has Dr. +Bevary told you of me and of my affairs?' she rejoined, passing abruptly +to another subject.</p> + +<p>'Not anything,' replied Austin. He did not lift his eyes, and a scarlet +flush dyed his brow as he spoke; nevertheless it was the strict truth. +Miss Gwinn noted the signs of consciousness.</p> + +<p>'You can equivocate, I see.'</p> + +<p>'Pardon me. I have not equivocated to you. Dr. Bevary has disclosed +nothing; he has never spoken to me of your affairs. Why should he, Miss +Gwinn?'</p> + +<p>'Your face told a different tale.'</p> + +<p>'It did not tell an untruth, at any rate,' he said, with some hauteur.</p> + +<p>'Do you never see Dr. Bevary?'</p> + +<p>'I see him sometimes.'</p> + +<p>'At the house of Mr. Hunter, I presume. How is <i>she</i>?'</p> + +<p>Again the flush, whatever may have called it up,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> crimsoned Austin +Clay's brow. 'I do not know of whom you speak,' he coldly said.</p> + +<p>'Of Mrs. Hunter.'</p> + +<p>'She is in ill-health.'</p> + +<p>'Ill to be in danger of her life? I hear so.'</p> + +<p>'It may be. I cannot say.'</p> + +<p>'Do you know, Austin Clay, that I have a long, long account to settle +with you?' she resumed, after a pause: 'years and years have elapsed +since, and I have never called upon you for it. Why should I?' she +added, relapsing into a dreamy mood, and speaking to herself rather than +to Austin; 'the mischief was done, and could not be recalled. I once +addressed a brief note to you at the office of the Messrs. Hunter, +requesting you to give a letter, enclosed in it, to my brother. Why did +you not?'</p> + +<p>Austin was silent. He retained only too vivid a remembrance of the fact.</p> + +<p>'Why did you not give it him, I ask?'</p> + +<p>'I could not give it him, Miss Gwinn. When your letter reached me, your +brother had already been at the office of the Messrs. Hunter, and was +then on his road back to Ketterford. The enclosure was burnt unopened.'</p> + +<p>'Ay!' she passionately uttered, throwing her arms upwards in mental +pain, as Austin had seen her do in the days gone by, and holding commune +with herself, regardless of his presence, 'such has been my fate through +life. Thwarted, thwarted on all sides. For years and years I had lived +but in the hope of finding him; the hope of it kept life in me: and when +the time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> came, and I did find him, and was entering upon my revenge, +then this brother of mine, who has been the second bane of my existence, +stepped in and reaped the benefit. It was my fault. Why, in my +exultation, did I tell him the man was found? Did I not know enough of +his avarice, his needs, to have made sure that he would turn it to his +own account? Why,' she continued, battling with her hands as at some +invisible adversary, 'was I born with this strong principle of justice +within me? Why, because he stepped in with his false claims and drew +gold—a fortune—of the man, did I deem it a reason for dropping <i>my</i> +revenge?—for letting it rest in abeyance? In abeyance it is still; and +its unsatisfied claims are wearing out my heart and my life——'</p> + +<p>'Miss Gwinn,' interrupted Austin, at length, 'I fancy you forget that I +am present. Your family affairs have nothing to do with me, and I would +prefer not to hear anything about them. I will wish you good day.'</p> + +<p>'True. They have nothing to do with you. I know not why I spoke before +you, save that your sight angers me.'</p> + +<p>'Why so?' Austin could not forbear asking.</p> + +<p>'Because you live on terms of friendship with that man. You are as his +right hand in business; you are a welcome guest at his house; you regard +and respect the house's mistress. Boy! but that she has not wilfully +injured me; but that she is the sister of Dr. Bevary, I should——'</p> + +<p>'I cannot listen to any discussion involving the name<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> of Hunter,' spoke +Austin, in a repellant, resolute tone, the colour again flaming in his +cheeks. 'Allow me to bid you good day.'</p> + +<p>'Stay,' she resumed, in a softer tone, 'it is not with you personally +that I am angry——'</p> + +<p>An interruption came in the person of Lawyer Gwinn. He entered the room +without his coat, a pen behind each ear, and a dirty straw hat on his +head. It was probably his office attire in warm weather.</p> + +<p>'I thought I heard a strange voice. How do you do, Mr. Clay?' he +exclaimed, with much suavity.</p> + +<p>Austin bowed. He said something to the effect that he was on the point +of departing, and retreated to the door, bowing his final farewell to +Miss Gwinn. Mr. Gwinn followed.</p> + +<p>'Ketterford will have to congratulate you, Mr. Clay,' he said. 'I +understand you inherit a very handsome sum from Mrs. Thornimett.'</p> + +<p>'Indeed!' frigidly replied Austin. 'Mrs. Thornimett's will is not yet +read. But Ketterford always knows everybody's business better than its +own.'</p> + +<p>'Look you, my dear Mr. Clay,' said the lawyer, holding him by the +button-hole. 'Should you require a most advantageous investment for your +money—one that will turn you in cent. per cent. and no risk—I can help +you to one. Should your inheritance be of the value of a thousand +pounds, and you would like to double it—as all men, of course, do +like—just trust it to me; I have the very thing now open.'</p> + +<p>Austin shook himself free—rather too much in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> manner that he might +have shaken himself from a serpent. 'Whether my inheritance may be of +the value of one thousand pounds or of ten thousand, Mr. Gwinn, I shall +not require your services in the disposal of it. Good morning.'</p> + +<p>The lawyer looked after him as he strode away. 'So, you carry it with a +high hand to me, do you, my brave gentleman! with your vain person, and +your fine clothes, and your imperious manner! Take you care! I hold your +master under my thumb; I may next hold you!'</p> + +<p>'The vile hypocrite!' ejaculated Austin to himself, walking all the +faster to leave the lawyer's house behind him. 'She is bad enough, with +her hankering after revenge, and her fits of passion; but she is an +angel of light compared to him. Heaven help Mr. Hunter! It would have +been sufficient to have had <i>her</i> to fight, but to have <i>him</i>! Ay, +Heaven help him!'</p> + +<p>'How d'ye do, Mr. Clay?'</p> + +<p>Austin returned the nod of the passing acquaintance, and continued his +way, his thoughts reverting to Miss Gwinn.</p> + +<p>'Poor thing! there are times when I pity her! Incomprehensible as the +story is to me, I can feel compassion; for it was a heavy wrong done +her, looking at it in the best light. She is not all bad; but for the +wrong, and for her evil temper, she might have been different. There is +something good in the hint I gathered now from her lips, if it be +true—that she suffered her own revenge to drop into abeyance, because +her brother had pursued Mr. Hunter to drain money from him: she would +not go upon him in both ways.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> Yes, there was something in it both noble +and generous, if those terms can ever be applied to——'</p> + +<p>'Austin Clay, I am sure! How are you?'</p> + +<p>Austin resigned his hand to the new comer, who claimed it. His thoughts +could not be his own to-day.</p> + +<p>The funeral of Mrs. Thornimett took place. Her mortal remains were laid +beside her husband, there to repose peacefully until the last trump +shall sound. On the return of the mourners to the house, the will was +read, and Austin found himself the undoubted possessor of two thousand +pounds. Several little treasures, in the shape of books, drawings, and +home knicknacks, were also left to him. He saw after the packing of +these, and the day following the funeral he returned to London.</p> + +<p>It was evening when he arrived; and he proceeded without delay to the +house of Mr. Hunter—ostensibly to report himself, really to obtain a +sight of Florence, for which his tired heart was yearning. The +drawing-room was lighted up, by which he judged that they had friends +with them. Mr. Hunter met him in the hall: never did a visitor's knock +sound at his door but Mr. Hunter, in his nervous restlessness, strove to +watch who it might be that entered. Seeing Austin, his face acquired a +shade of brightness, and he came forward with an outstretched hand.</p> + +<p>'But you have visitors,' Austin said, when greetings were over, and Mr. +Hunter was drawing him towards the stairs. He wore deep mourning, but +was not in evening dress.</p> + +<p>'As if anybody will care for the cut of your coat!'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> cried Mr. Hunter. +'There's Mrs. Hunter wrapped up in a woollen shawl.'</p> + +<p>The room was gay with light and dress, with many voices, and with music. +Florence was seated at the piano, playing, and singing in a glee with +others. Austin, silently greeting those whom he knew as he passed, made +his way to Mrs. Hunter. She was wrapped in a warm shawl, as her husband +had said; but she appeared better than usual.</p> + +<p>'I am so glad to see you looking well,' Austin whispered, his earnest +tone betraying deep feeling.</p> + +<p>'And I am glad to see you here again,' she replied, smiling, as she held +his hand. 'We have missed you, Austin. Yes, I feel better! but it is +only a temporary improvement. So you have lost poor Mrs. Thornimett. She +died before you could reach her.'</p> + +<p>'She did,' replied Austin, with a grave face. 'I wish we could get +transported to places, in case of necessity as quickly as the telegraph +brings us news that we are wanted. A senseless and idle wish, you will +say; but it would have served me in this case. She asked after me twice +in her last half hour.'</p> + +<p>'Austin,' breathed Mrs. Hunter, 'was it a happy death-bed? Was she ready +to go?'</p> + +<p>'Quite, quite,' he answered, a look of enthusiasm illumining his face. +'She had been ready long.'</p> + +<p>'Then we need not mourn for her; rather praise God that she is taken. +Oh, Austin, what a happy thing it must be for such to die! But you are +young and hopeful; you cannot understand that, yet.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p><p>So, Mrs. Hunter had learnt that great truth! Some years before, she had +not so spoken to the wife of John Baxendale, when <i>she</i> was waiting in +daily expectation of being called on her journey. It had come to her ere +her time of trial—as the dying woman had told her it would.</p> + +<p>The singing ceased, and in the movement which it occasioned in the room, +Austin left Mrs. Hunter's side, and stood within the embrasure of the +window, half hidden by the curtains. The air was pleasant on that warm +summer night, and Florence, resigning her place at the instrument to +some other lady, stole to the window to inhale its freshness. There she +saw Austin. She had not heard him enter the room—did not know, in fact, +that he was back from Ketterford.</p> + +<p>'Oh!' she uttered, in the sudden revulsion of feeling that the sight +brought to her, 'is it you?'</p> + +<p>He quietly took her hands in his, and looked down at her. Had it been to +save her life, she could not have helped betraying emotion.</p> + +<p>'Are you glad to see me, Florence?' he softly whispered.</p> + +<p>She coloured even to tears. Glad! The time might come when she should be +able to tell him so; but that time was not yet.</p> + +<p>'Mrs. Hunter is glad of my return,' he continued, in the same low tone, +sweeter to her ear than all music. 'She says I have been missed. Is it +so, Florence?'</p> + +<p>'And what have you been doing?' asked Florence, not knowing in the least +what she said in her confusion, as she left his question unanswered, and +drew her hands away from him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p><p>'I have not been doing much, save the seeing a dear old friend laid in +the earth. You know that Mrs. Thornimett is dead. She died before I got +there.'</p> + +<p>'Papa told us that. He heard from you two or three times, I think. How +you must regret it! But why did they not send for you in time?'</p> + +<p>'It was only the last day that danger was apprehended,' replied Austin. +'She grew worse suddenly. You cannot think, Florence, how strangely this +gaiety'—he half turned to the room—'contrasts with the scenes I have +left: the holy calm of her death-chamber, the laying of her in the +grave.'</p> + +<p>'An unwelcome contrast, I am sure it must be.'</p> + +<p>'It jars on the mind. All events, essentially of the world, let them be +ever so necessary or useful, must do so, when contrasted with the solemn +scenes of life's close. But how soon we forget those solemn scenes, and +live in the world again!'</p> + +<p>'Austin,' she gently whispered, 'I do not like to talk of death. It +reminds me of the dread that is ever oppressing me.'</p> + +<p>'She looks so much better as to surprise me,' was his answer, +unconscious that it betrayed his undoubted cognisance of the 'dread' she +spoke of.</p> + +<p>'If it would but last!' sighed Florence. 'To prolong mamma's life, I +think I would sacrifice mine.'</p> + +<p>'No, you would not, Florence—in mercy to her. If called upon to lose +her you would grow reconciled to it; to do so, is in the order of +nature. <i>She</i> could not spare <i>you</i>.'</p> + +<p>Florence believed that she never could grow reconciled to it: she often +wondered <i>how</i> she should bear it when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> the time came. But there rose up +before her now, as she spoke with Austin, one cheering promise, 'As thy +day is, so shall thy strength be.'</p> + +<p>'What should you say, if I tell you I have come into a fortune!' resumed +Austin, in a lighter tone.</p> + +<p>'I should say—But, is it true?' broke off Florence.</p> + +<p>'Not true, as you and Mr. Hunter would count fortunes,' smiled Austin; +'but true, as poor I, born without silver spoons in my mouth, and +expecting to work hard for all I shall ever possess, have looked upon +them. Mrs. Thornimett has behaved to me most kindly, most generously; +she has bequeathed to me two thousand pounds.'</p> + +<p>'I am delighted to hear it,' said Florence, her glad eyes sparkling. +'Never call yourself poor again.'</p> + +<p>'I cannot call myself rich, as Mr. and Mrs. Hunter compute riches. But, +Florence, it may be a stepping-stone to become so.'</p> + +<p>'A stepping-stone to become what?' demanded Dr. Bevary, breaking in upon +the conference.</p> + +<p>'Rich,' said Austin, turning to the doctor. 'I am telling Florence that +I have come into some money since I went away.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter and others were gathering around them, and the conversation +became general. 'What is that, Clay?' asked Mr. Hunter. 'You have come +into a fortune, do you say?'</p> + +<p>'I said, <i>not</i> into a fortune, sir, as those accustomed to fortune would +estimate it. That great physician, standing there and listening to me, +he would laugh at the sum: I daresay he makes more in six months. But +it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> may prove a stepping-stone to fortune, and to—to other desirable +things.'</p> + +<p>'Do not speak so vaguely,' cried the doctor, in his quaint fashion. +'Define the "desirable things." Come! it's my turn now.'</p> + +<p>'I am not sure that they have taken a sufficiently tangible shape as +yet, to be defined,' returned Austin, in the same tone. 'You might laugh +at them for day-dreams.'</p> + +<p>Unwittingly his eye rested for a moment upon Florence. Did she deem the +day-dreams might refer to her, that her eye-lids should droop, and her +cheeks turn scarlet? Dr. Bevary noticed both the look and the signs; Mr. +Hunter saw neither.</p> + +<p>'Day-dreams would be enchanting as an eastern fairy-tale, only that they +never get realized,' interposed one of the fair guests, with a pretty +simper, directed to Austin Clay and his attractions.</p> + +<p>'I will realize mine,' he returned, rather too confidently, 'Heaven +helping me!'</p> + +<p>'A better stepping-stone, that help, to rely upon, than the money you +have come into,' said Dr. Bevary, with one of his peculiar nods.</p> + +<p>'True, doctor,' replied Austin. 'But may not the money have come from +the same helping source? Heaven, you know, vouchsafes to work with +humble instruments.'</p> + +<p>The last few sentences had been interchanged in a low tone. They now +passed into the general circle, and the evening went on to its close.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p><p>Austin and Dr. Bevary were the last to leave the house. They quitted it +together, and the doctor passed his arm within Austin's as they walked +on.</p> + +<p>'Well,' said he, 'and what have you been doing at Ketterford?'</p> + +<p>'I have told you, doctor. Leaving my dear old friend and relative in her +grave; and, realizing the fact that she has bequeathed to me this +money.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, yes; I heard that,' returned the doctor. 'You've been seeing +friends too, I suppose. Did you happen to meet the Gwinns?'</p> + +<p>'Once. I was passing the house, and Miss Gwinn laid hands upon me from +the window, and commanded me in. I got out again as soon as I could. Her +brother made his appearance as I was leaving.'</p> + +<p>'And what did he say to you?' asked the doctor, in a tone meant to be +especially light and careless.</p> + +<p>'Nothing; except that he told me if I wanted a safe and profitable +investment for the money I had inherited under Mrs. Thornimett's will, +he could help me to one. I cut him very short, sir.'</p> + +<p>'What did <i>she</i> say?' resumed Dr. Bevary. 'Did she begin upon her family +affairs—as she is rather fond of doing?'</p> + +<p>'Well,' said Austin, his tone quite as careless as the doctor's, 'I did +not give her the opportunity. Once, when she seemed inclined to do so, I +stopped her; telling her that her private affairs were no concern of +mine, neither should I listen to them.'</p> + +<p>'Quite right, my young friend,' emphatically spoke the doctor.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p><p>Not another word was said until they came to Daffodil's Delight. Here +they wished each other good night The doctor continued his way to his +home, and Austin turned down towards Peter Quale's.</p> + +<p>But what could be the matter? Had Daffodil's Delight miscalculated the +time, believing it to be day, instead of night? Women leaned out of +their windows in night-caps; children had crept from their beds and come +forth to tumble into the gutter naked, as some of them literally were; +men crowded the doorway of the Bricklayers' Arms, and stood about with +pipes and pint pots; all were in a state of rampant excitement. Austin +laid hold of the first person who appeared sober enough to listen to +him. It happened to be a woman, Mrs. Dunn.</p> + +<p>'What is this?' he exclaimed. 'Have you all come into a fortune?' the +recent conversation at Mr. Hunter's probably helping him to the remark.</p> + +<p>'Better nor that,' shrieked Mrs. Dunn. 'Better nor <i>that</i>, a thousand +times! We have circumvented the masters, and got our ends, and now we +shall just have all we want—roast goose and apple pudding for dinner, +and plenty of beer to wash it down with.'</p> + +<p>'But what is it that you have got?' pursued Austin, who was completely +at sea.</p> + +<p>'Got! why, we have got the <span class="smaller">STRIKE</span>,' she replied, in joyful excitement. +'Pollocks' men struck to-day. Where have you been, sir, not to have +heered on it?'</p> + +<p>At that moment a fresh crowd came jostling down Daffodil's Delight, and +Austin was parted from the lady.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> Indeed, she rushed up to the mob to +follow in their wake. Many other ladies followed in their wake—half +Daffodil's Delight, if one might judge by numbers. Shouting, singing, +exulting, dancing; it seemed as if they had, for the nonce, gone mad. +Sam Shuck, in his long-tailed coat, ornamented with its holes and its +slits, was leading the van, his voice hoarse, his face red, his legs and +arms executing a war-dance of exaltation. He it was who had got up the +excitement and was keeping it up, shouting fiercely: 'Hurrah for the +work of this day! Rule Britanniar! Britons never shall be slaves! The +Strike has begun, friends! H—o—o—o—o—o—r—rah! Three cheers for +the Strike!'</p> + +<p>Yes. The Strike had begun.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER IV.</span> <span class="smaller">AGITATION.</span></h2> + +<p>The men of an influential metropolitan building firm had struck, because +their employers declined to accede to certain demands, and Daffodil's +Delight was, as you have seen, in a high state of excitement, +particularly the female part of it. The men said they struck for a +diminution in the hours of labour; the masters told them they struck for +an increase of wages. Seeing that the non-contents wanted the hours +reduced and <i>not</i> the pay, it appears to me that you may call it which +you like.</p> + +<p>The Messrs. Hunters' men—with whom we have to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> do, for it was they who +chiefly filled Daffodil's Delight—though continuing their work as +usual, were in a most unsettled state; as was the case in the trade +generally. The smouldering discontent might have died away peacefully +enough, and probably would, but that certain spirits made it their +business to fan it into a flame.</p> + +<p>A few days went on. One evening Sam Shuck posted himself in an angle +formed by the wall at the top of Daffodil's Delight. It was the hour for +the men to quit work; and, as they severally passed him on their road +home, Sam's arm was thrust forward, and a folded bit of paper put into +their hands. A mysterious sort of missive apparently; for, on opening +the paper, it was found to contain only these words, in the long, +sprawling hand of Sam himself: 'Barn at the back of Jim Dunn's. Seven +o'clock.'</p> + +<p>Behind the house tenanted by the Dunns were premises occupied until +recently by a cowkeeper. They comprised, amidst other accommodation, a +large barn, or shed. Being at present empty, and to let, Sam thought he +could do no better than take French leave to make use of it.</p> + +<p>The men hurried over their tea, or supper (some took one on leaving work +for the night, some the other, some a mixture of both, and some +neither), that they might attend to the invitation of Sam. Peter Quale +was seated over a substantial dish of batter pudding, a bit of neck of +mutton baked in the midst of it, when he was interrupted by the entrance +of John Baxendale, who had stepped in from his own rooms next door.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p><p>'Be you a going to this meeting, Quale?' Baxendale asked, as he took a +seat.</p> + +<p>'I don't know nothing about it,' returned Peter. 'I saw Slippery Sam a +giving out papers, so I guessed there was something in the wind. He took +care to pass me over. I expect I'm the greatest eyesore Sam has got just +now. Have a bit?' added Peter, unceremoniously, pointing to the dish +before him with his knife.</p> + +<p>'No, thank ye; I have just had tea at home. That's the paper'—laying it +open on the table-cloth. 'Sam Shuck is just now cock-a-hoop with this +strike.'</p> + +<p>'He is no more cock-a-hoop than the rest of Daffodil's Delight is,' +struck in Mrs. Quale, who had finished her own meal, and was at leisure +to talk. 'The men and women is all a going mad together, I think, and +Slippery Sam's leading 'em on. Suppose you all do strike—which is what +they are hankering after—what good 'll it bring?'</p> + +<p>'That's just it,' replied Baxendale. 'One can't see one's way clear. The +agitation might do us some good, but it might do us a deal of harm; so +that one doesn't know what to be at. Quale, I'll go to the meeting, if +you will?'</p> + +<p>'If I go, it will be to give 'em a piece of my mind,' retorted Peter.</p> + +<p>'Well, it's only right that different sides should be heard. Sam 'll +have it all his own way else.'</p> + +<p>'He'll manage to get that, by the appearance things wears,' said Mrs. +Quale, wrathfully. 'How you men<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> can submit to be led by such a fellow +as him, just because his tongue is capable of persuading you that +black's white, is a marvel to me. Talk of women being soft! let the men +talk of theirselves. Hold up a finger to 'em, and they'll go after it: +like the Swiss cows Peter read of the other day, a flocking in a line +after their leader, behind each other's tails.'</p> + +<p>'I wish I knew what was right,' said Baxendale, 'or which course would +turn out best for us.'</p> + +<p>'I'd be off and listen to what's going on, at any rate,' urged Mrs. +Quale.</p> + +<p>The barn was filling. Sam Shuck, perched upon Mrs. Dunn's washing-tub +turned upside down, which had been rolled in for the occasion, greeted +each group as it arrived with a gracious nod. Sam appeared to be +progressing in the benefits he had boasted to his wife he should derive, +inasmuch as that the dilapidated clothes had been discarded for better +ones: and he stood on the tub's end in all the glory of a black frock +coat, a crimson neck-tie with lace ends, and peg-top pantaloons: the +only attire (as a ready-made outfitting shop had assured him) that a +gentleman could wear. Sam's eye grew less complacent when it rested on +Peter Quale, who was coming in with John Baxendale.</p> + +<p>'This is a pleasure we didn't expect,' said he.</p> + +<p>'Maybe not,' returned Peter Quale, drily. 'The barn's open to all.'</p> + +<p>'Of course it is,' glibly said Sam, putting a good face upon the matter. +'All fair and above board, is our mottor: which is more than them native +enemies of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> ours, the masters, can say: they hold their meetings in +secret, with closed doors.'</p> + +<p>'Not in secret—do they?' asked Robert Darby. 'I have not heard of +that.'</p> + +<p>'They meet in their own homes, and they shut out strangers,' replied +Sam. 'I'd like to know what you call that, but meeting in secret?'</p> + +<p>'I should not call it secret; I should call it private,' decided Darby, +after a minute's pause, given to realize the question. 'We might do the +same. Our homes are ours, and we can shut out whom we please.'</p> + +<p>'Of course we <i>might</i>,' contended Sam. 'But we like better to be open; +and if a few of us assemble together to consult on the present aspect of +affairs, we do it so that the masters, if they choose, might come and +hear us. Things are not equalized in this world. Let us attempt secret +meetings, and see how soon we should be looked up by the law, and +accused of hatching treason and sedition, and all the rest of it. That +sharp-eyed <i>Times</i> newspaper would be the first to set on us. There's +one law for the masters, and another for the men.'</p> + +<p>'Is that Slippery Sam?' ejaculated a new comer, at this juncture. 'Where +did you get that fine new toggery, Shuck?'</p> + +<p>The disrespectful interruption was spoken in simple surprise: no +insidious meaning prompting it. Sam Shuck had appeared in ragged attire +so long, that the change could not fail to be remarkable. Sam loftily +turned a deaf ear to the remark, and continued his address.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p><p>'I am sure that most of you can't fail to see that things have come to +a crisis in our trade. The moment that brought it, was when that great +building firm refused the reasonable demands of their men; and the +natural consequence of which was a strike. Friends, I have been just +<i>riled</i> ever since. I have watched you go to work day after day like +tame cats, the same as if nothing had happened; and I have said to +myself: "Have those men of Hunter's got souls within them, or have they +got none?"'</p> + +<p>'I don't suppose we have parted from our souls,' struck in a voice.</p> + +<p>'You have parted with the feelings of them, at any rate,' rejoined Sam, +beginning to dance in the excitement of contention, but remembering in +time that his <i>terra firma</i> was only a creaky tub. 'What's that you ask +me? How have you parted with them? Why, by not following up the strike. +If you possessed a grain of the independence of free men, you'd have +hoisted your colours before now; what would have been the result? Why, +the men of other firms in the trade would have followed suit, and all +struck in a body. It's the only way that will bring the masters to +reason: the only way by which we can hope to obtain our rights.'</p> + +<p>'You see there's no knowing what would be the end of a strike, Shuck,' +argued John Baxendale.</p> + +<p>'There's no knowing what may be the inside of a pie until you cut him +open,' said Jim Dunn, whose politics were the same as Mr. Shuck's, +red-hot for a strike. 'But 'tain't many as 'ud shrink from putting in +the knife to see.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p><p>The men laughed, and greeted Jim Dunn with applause.</p> + +<p>'I put it to you all,' resumed Sam, who took his share of laughing with +the rest, 'whether there's sense or not in what I say. Are we likely to +get our grievances redressed by the masters, unless we force it? Never: +not if we prayed our hearts out.'</p> + +<p>'Never,' and 'never,' murmured sundry voices.</p> + +<p>'What <i>are</i> our grievances?' demanded Peter Quale, putting the question +in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he really asked for information.</p> + +<p>'Listen!' ironically ejaculated Sam. 'He asks what our grievances are! +I'll answer you, Quale. They are many and great. Are we not kept to work +like beasts of burden, ten hours a day? Does that leave us time for the +recreation of our wearied bodies, for the improvement of our minds, for +the education of our children, for the social home intercourse in the +bosoms of our families? By docking the day's labour to nine hours—or to +eight, which we shall get, may be, after awhile,' added Sam, with a +wink—'it would leave us the extra hour, and be a blessing.'</p> + +<p>Sam carried the admiring room with him. That hard, disbelieving Peter +Quale, interrupted the cheering.</p> + +<p>'A blessing, or the conterairy, as it might turn out,' cried he. 'It's +easy to talk of education, and self-improvement; but how many is there +that would use the accorded hour that way?'</p> + +<p>'Another grievance is our wages,' resumed Sam, drowning the words, not +caring to court discussion on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> what might be a weak point. 'We call +ourselves men, and Englishmen, and yet we lie down contented with +five-and-sixpence a day. Do you know what our trade gets in Australia? +Oh, you do, some of you? then I'll tell those that don't. From twelve to +fifteen shillings per day: and even more than that. <i>Twelve shillings!</i> +and that's the minimum rate of pay,' slowly repeated Sam, lifting up his +arm and one peg-top to give emphasis to the words.</p> + +<p>A murmur of envy at the coveted rate of pay in Australia shook the room +to the centre.</p> + +<p>'But the price of provisions and other necessaries is enormous in that +quarter,' debated Abel White. 'So it may come to the same in the end—be +about as broad as long. Old father and me was talking about it last +night.'</p> + +<p>'If everybody went in for your old father's sentiments, we should soon +be like him—in our dotage,' loftily observed Sam.</p> + +<p>'But things are dear there,' persisted Sam's antagonist. 'I have heard +what is sometimes given for shoes there; but I'm afraid to say, it was +so much. The wages in Australia can't be any guide for us.'</p> + +<p>'No, they can't,' said Peter Quale. 'Australia is one place, and this is +another. Where's the use of bringing up that?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, of course not,' sarcastically uttered Sam. 'Anything that tends to +show how we are put upon, and how we might be made more comfortable, +it's of no use bringing up. The long and the short of it is this: we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +want to be regarded as <span class="smaller">MEN</span>: to have our voices considered, and our +plaints attended to; to be put altogether upon a better footing. Little +enough is it we ask at present: only for a modicum of ease in our day's +hard labour, just the thin end of the wedge inserted to give it. That's +all we are agitating for. It depends upon ourselves whether we get it or +not. Let us display manly courage and join the strike, and it is ours +to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>The response did not come so quickly as Sam deemed it ought. He went on +in a persuasive, ringing tone.</p> + +<p>'Consider the wives of your bosoms; consider your little children; +consider yourselves. Were you born into the world to be +slaves—blackymoors; to be ground into the dust with toil? Never.'</p> + +<p>'Never,' uproariously echoed three parts of the room.</p> + +<p>'The motto of a true man is, or ought to be, "Do as little as you can, +and get as much for it;"' said Sam, dancing in his enthusiasm, and +thereby nearly losing his perch on the tub. 'With an hour's work less a +day, and the afternoon holiday on the Saturday, we shall——'</p> + +<p>'What's the good of a afternoon Saturday holiday? We don't want that, +Sam Shuck.'</p> + +<p>This ignominious interruption to the proceedings came from a lady. +Buzzing round the entrance door and thrusting in their heads at a square +hole, which might originally have been intended for a window were a +dozen or two of the gentler sex. This irregularity had not been +unobserved by the chairman, who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> faced them: the chairman's audience, +densely packed, had their backs that way. It was not an orthodox adjunct +to a trade meeting, that was certain, and the chairman would probably +have ordered the ladies away, had he deemed there was a chance of his +getting obeyed; but too many of them had the reputation of being the +grey mares. So he winked at the irregularity, and had added one or two +flourishes of oratory for their especial ears. The interruption came +from Mrs. Cheek, Timothy Cheek's wife.</p> + +<p>'What's the good of a afternoon Saturday holiday? We don't want that, +Sam Shuck. Just when we be up to our eyes in muck and cleaning, our +places routed out till you can't see the colour of the boards, for +brooms, and pails, and soap and water, and the chairs and things is all +topsy-turvy, one upon another, so as the children have to be sent out to +grub in the gutter, for there ain't no place for 'em indoors, do you +think we want the men poking their noses in? No; and they'd better not +try it on. Women have got tempers given to 'em as well as you.'</p> + +<p>'And tongues too,' rejoined Sam, unmindful of the dignity of his office.</p> + +<p>'It is to be hoped they have,' retorted Mrs. Cheek, not inclined to be +put down; and her sentiments appeared to be warmly joined in by the +ladies generally. 'Don't you men go a agitating for the Saturday's +half-holiday! What 'ud you do with it, do you suppose? Why, just sot it +away at the publics.'</p> + +<p>Some confusion ensued; and the women were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>peremptorily ordered to mind +their own business, and 'make theirselves scarce,' which not one of them +attempted to obey. When the commotion had subsided, a very respectable +man took up the discourse—George Stevens.</p> + +<p>'The gist of the whole question is this,' he said: 'Will agitation do us +good, or will it do us harm? We look upon ourselves as representing one +interest; the masters consider they represent another. If it comes to +open warfare between the two, the strongest would win.'</p> + +<p>'In other words, whichever side's funds held out the longest,' said +Robert Darby. 'That is as I look upon it.'</p> + +<p>'Just so,' returned Stevens. 'I cannot say, seeing no farther than we +can see at present, that a strike would be advisable.'</p> + +<p>'Stevens, do you want to better yourself, or not?' asked Sam Shuck.</p> + +<p>'I'd be glad enough to better myself, if I saw my way clear to do it,' +was the reply. 'But I don't.'</p> + +<p>'We don't want no strikes,' struck in a shock-headed hard-working man. +'What is it we want to strike for? We have got plenty of work, and full +wages. A strike won't fill our pockets. Them may vote for strikes that +like 'em; I'll keep to my work.'</p> + +<p>Partial applause.</p> + +<p>'It is as I said,' cried Sam. 'There's poor, mean-spirited creatures +among you, as won't risk the loss of a day's pay for the common good, or +put out a hand to help the less fortunate. I'd rather be buried alive, +five feet under the earth, than I'd show cat so selfish.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p><p>'What is the interest of one of us is the interest of all,' observed +Stevens. 'And a strike, if we went into it, would either benefit us all +in the end, or make us all suffer. It is sheer nonsense to attempt to +make out that one man's interest is different from another's; our +interests are the same. I'd vote for striking to-morrow, if I were sure +we should come out of it with whole skins, and get what we struck for: +but I must see that a bit clearer first.'</p> + +<p>'How can we get it, unless we try for it?' demanded Sam. 'If the masters +find we're all determined, they'll give in to us. I appeal to you +all'—raising his hands over the room—'whether the masters can do +without us?'</p> + +<p>'That has got to be seen,' said Peter Quale, significantly. 'One thing +is plain: we could not do without them.'</p> + +<p>'Nor they without us—nor they without us,' struck in voices from +various parts of the barn.</p> + +<p>'Then why shilly-shally about the question of a strike?' asked Sam of +the barn, in a glib tone of reason. 'If a universal strike were on, the +masters would pretty soon make terms that would end it. Why, a six +months' strike would drive half of them into the <i>Gazette</i>——'</p> + +<p>'But it might drive us into the workhouse at the same time,' interrupted +John Baxendale.</p> + +<p>'Let me finish,' went on Sam; 'it's not perlite to take up a man in the +middle of a sentence. I say that a six months' strike would send many of +the masters to the bankruptcy court. Well now, there has been a question +debated among us'—Sam lowered his voice—'whether<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> it would not be +policy to let things go on quietly, as they are, till next spring——'</p> + +<p>'A question among who?' interposed Peter Quale, regardless of the +reproof just administered to John Baxendale.</p> + +<p>'Never you mind who,' returned Sam, with a wink: 'among those that are +hard at work for your interest. With their contracts for the season +signed, and their works in full progress, say about next May, then would +be the time for a strike to tell upon the masters. However, it has been +thought better not to delay it. The future's but an uncertainty: the +present is ours, and so must the strike be. <i>Have</i> you wives?' he +pathetically continued; '<i>have</i> you children? <i>have</i> you spirits of your +own? Then you will all, with one accord, go in for the strike.'</p> + +<p>'But what are our wives and children to do while the strike is on?' +asked Robert Darby. 'You say yourself it might last six months, Shuck. +Who would support them?'</p> + +<p>'Who!' rejoined Sam, with an indignant air, as if the question were a +superfluous one. 'Why the Trades' Unions, of course. <i>That's</i> all +settled. The Unions are prepared to take care of all who are out on +strike, standing up, like brave Britons, for their privileges, and keep +'em like fighting-cocks. Hooroar for that blessed boon, the Trades' +Unions!'</p> + +<p>'Hooroar for the Trades' Unions!' was shouted in chorus. 'Keep us like +fighting-cocks, will they! Hooroar!'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p><p>'Much good you'll get from the Trades' Unions!' burst forth a +dissentient voice. 'They are the greatest pests as ever was allowed in a +free country.'</p> + +<p>The opposition caused no little commotion. Standing by the door, having +pushed his way through the surrounding women, who had <i>not</i> made +themselves 'scarce,' was a man in a flannel jacket, a cap in his hand, +and his head white with mortar. He was looking excited as he spoke.</p> + +<p>'This is not regular,' said Sam Shuck, displaying authority. 'You have +no business here: you don't belong to us.'</p> + +<p>'Regular or irregular, I'll speak my mind,' was the answer. 'I have been +at work for Jones the builder, down yonder. I have done my work steady +and proper, and I have had my pay. A man comes up to me yesterday and +says, "You must join the Trades' Union." "No," says I, "I shan't; I +don't want nothing of the Trades' Union, and the Union don't want +nothing of me." So they goes to my master. "If you keep on employing +this man, your other men will strike," they says to him; and he, being +in a small way, got intimidated, and sent me off to-day. And here I am, +throwed out of work, and I have got a sick wife and nine young children +to keep. Is that justice? or is it tyranny? Talk about emancipating the +slaves! let us emancipate ourselves at home.'</p> + +<p>'Why don't you join the Union?' cried Sam. 'All do, who are good men and +true.'</p> + +<p>'All good men and true <i>don't</i>,' dissented the man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> 'Many of the best +workmen among us won't have anything to do with Unions; and you know it, +Sam Shuck.'</p> + +<p>'Just clear out of this,' said Sam.</p> + +<p>'When I've had my say,' returned the man, 'not before. If I would join +the Union, I can't. To join it, I must pay five shillings, and I have +not got them to pay. With such a family as mine, you may guess every +shilling is forestalled afore it comes in. I kept myself to myself, +doing my work in quiet, and interfering with nobody. Why should they +interfere with me?'</p> + +<p>'If you have been in full work, five shillings is not much to pay to the +Union,' sneered Sam.</p> + +<p>'If I had my pockets filled with five-shilling pieces, I would not pay +one to it,' fearlessly retorted the man. 'Is it right that a free-born +Englishman should give in to such a system of intimidation? No: I never +will. You talk of the masters being tyrants: it's you who are the +tyrants, one to another. What is one workman better than his fellow, +that he should lay down laws and say, You shall do this, and you shall +do that, or you shan't be allowed to work at all? That rule you want to +get passed—that a skilled, thorough workman shouldn't do a full day's +work because some of his fellows can't—who's agitating for it? Why, +naturally those that can't or won't do the full work. Would an honest, +capable man go in for it? Of course he'd not. I tell you what'—turning +his eyes on the room—'the Trades' Unions have been called a protection +to the working man; but, if you don't take care, they'll grow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> into a +curse. When Sam Shuck, and other good-for-naughts like him, what never +did a full week's work for their families yet, are paid in gold and +silver to spread incendiarism among you, it's time you looked to +yourselves.'</p> + +<p>He turned away as he spoke; and Sam, in a dance of furious passion, +danced off his tub. The interlude had not tended to increase the feeling +of the men in Sam's favour—that is, in the cause he advocated. Not a +man present but wanted to better himself could he do so with safety, but +they were afraid to enter on aggressive measures. Indiscriminate talking +ensued; diverse opinions were disputed, and the meeting was prolonged to +a late hour. Finally the men dispersed as they came, nothing having been +resolved upon. A few set their faces resolutely against the proposed +strike; a few were red-hot for it; but the majority were undecided, and +liable to be swayed either way.</p> + +<p>'It will come,' nodded Sam Shuck, as he went home to a supper of pork +chops and gin-and-water.</p> + +<p>But Sam was destined to be—as he would have expressed it—circumvented. +It cannot be supposed that this unsatisfactory state of things was +unnoticed by the masters: and they took their measures accordingly. +Forming themselves into an association, they discussed the measures best +to be adopted, and determined upon a lock-out; that is, to close their +yards until the firm, whose workmen had struck, should resume work. They +also resolved to employ only those men who would sign an agreement, or +memorandum, affirming that they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> were not connected with any society +which interfered with the arrangements of the master whose service they +entered, or with the hours of labour, and acknowledging the rights both +of masters and men to enter into any trade arrangements on which they +might mutually agree. This paper of agreement was not relished by the +men at all; they styled it 'the odious document.' Neither was the +lock-out relished: it was of course equivalent, in one sense, to a +strike; only that the initiative had come from the masters' side, and +not from theirs. It commenced early in August. Some of the masters +closed their works without a word of explanation to their men: in one +sense it was not needed, for the men knew of the measure beforehand. Mr. +Hunter chose to assemble them together, and state what he was about to +do. Somewhat of his old energy appeared to have been restored to him for +the moment, as he stood before them and spoke—Austin Clay by his side.</p> + +<p>'You have brought it upon yourselves,' he said, in answer to a remark +from one who boldly, but respectfully, asked whether it was fair to +resort to a lock-out, and so punish all alike, contents and +non-contents. 'I will meet the question upon your own grounds. When the +Messrs. Pollocks' men struck because their demands, to work nine hours a +day, were not acceded to, was it not in contemplation that you should +join them—that the strike should be universal? Come, answer me +candidly.'</p> + +<p>The men, true and honest, did not deny it.</p> + +<p>'And possibly by this time you would have struck,' said Mr. Hunter. 'How +much more "fair" would that have been towards us, than this locking-out +is towards<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> you? Do you suppose that you alone are to meet and pass your +laws, saying you will coerce the masters, and that the masters will not +pass laws in return? Nonsense, my men!'</p> + +<p>A pause.</p> + +<p>'When have the masters attempted to interfere with your privileges, +either by saying that your day's toil shall consist of longer hours, or +by diminishing your wages, and threatening to turn you off if you do not +fall in with the alteration? Never. Masters have rights as well as men; +but some of you, of late, have appeared to ignore the fact. Let me ask +you another question: Were you well treated under me, or were you not? +Have I shown myself solicitous for your interests, for your welfare? +Have I ever oppressed you, ever put upon you?'</p> + +<p>No, Mr. Hunter had never sought to oppress them: they acknowledged it +freely. He had ever been a good master.</p> + +<p>'My men, let me give you my opinion. While condemning your conduct, your +semblance of discontent—it has been semblance rather than reality—I +have been sorry for you, for it is not with you that the chief blame +lies. You have suffered evil persuaders to get access to your ears, and +have been led away by their pernicious counsels. The root of the evil +lies there. I wish you could bring your own good sense to bear upon +these points, and to see with your own eyes. If so, there will be +nothing to prevent our resuming together amicable relations; and, for my +own part, I care not how soon the time shall come. The works are for the +present closed.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>PART THE THIRD.</span></h2> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER I.</span> <span class="smaller">A PREMATURE AVOWAL.</span></h2> + +<p>Daffodil's Delight was in all the glory of the lock-out. The men, having +nothing to do, improved their time by enjoying themselves; they stood +about the street, or lounged at their doors, smoking their short pipes +and quaffing draughts of beer. Let money run ever so short, you will +generally see that the beer and the pipes can be found. As yet, the +evils of being out of work were not felt; for weekly pay, sufficient for +support, was supplied them by the Union Committee. The men were in high +spirits—in that sort of mood implied by the words 'Never say die,' +which phrase was often in their mouths. They expressed themselves +determined to hold out; and this determination was continually fostered +by the agents of the Union, of whom Sam Shuck was the chief: chief as +regarded Daffodil's Delight—inferior as regarded other agents +elsewhere. Many of the more temperate of the men, who had not +particularly urged the strike, were warm supporters now of the general +opinion, for they regarded the lock-out as an unwarrantable piece of +tyranny on the part of the masters. As to the ladies, they were +over-warm partisans, generally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> speaking, making the excitement, the +unsettled state of Daffodil's Delight, an excuse for their own idleness +(they are only too ready to do so when occasion offers), and collected +in groups round the men, or squatted themselves on door steps, +proclaiming their opinion of existing things, and boasting that they'd +hold out for their rights till death.</p> + +<p>It was almost like a summer's day. Seated in a chair at the bottom of +her garden, just within the gate, was Mary Baxendale. Not that she was +there to join in the gossip of the women, little knots of whom were +dotting the street, or had any intention of joining in it: she was +simply sitting there for air.</p> + +<p>Mary Baxendale was fading. Never very strong, she had, for the last year +or two, been gradually declining, and, with the excessive heat of the +past summer, her remaining strength appeared to have gone out. Her +occupation, that of a seamstress, had not tended to keep her in health; +she had a great deal of work offered her, her skill being superior, and +she had sat at it early and late. Mary was thoughtful and conscientious, +and she was anxious to contribute a full share to the home support. Her +father had married again, had now two young children, and it almost +appeared to Mary as if she were an interloper in the paternal home. Not +that the new Mrs. Baxendale made her feel this: she was a bustling, +hearty woman, fond of show and spending, and of setting off her babies; +but she was kind to Mary.</p> + +<p>The capability of exertion appeared to be past, and Mary's days were +chiefly spent in a quiescent state of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> rest, and in frequently sitting +out of doors. This day—it was now the beginning of September—was an +unusually bright one, and she drew her invalid shawl round her, and +leaned back in her seat, looking out on the lively scene, at the men and +women congregating in the road, and inhaling the fresh air. At least, as +fresh as it could be got in Daffodil's Delight.</p> + +<p>'How do you feel to-day, Mary?'</p> + +<p>The questioner was Mrs. Quale. She had come out of her house in her +bonnet and shawl, bent on some errand and stopped to accost Mary.</p> + +<p>'I am pretty well to-day. That is, I should be, if it were not for the +weakness.'</p> + +<p>'Weakness, ay!' cried Mrs. Quale, in a snapping sort of tone, for she +was living in a state of chronic tartness, not approving of matters in +general just now. 'And what have you had this morning to fortify you +against the weakness?'</p> + +<p>A faint blush rose to Mary's thin face. The subject was a sore one to +the mind of Mrs. Quale, and that lady was not one to spare her tongue. +The fact was, that at the present moment, and for some little time past, +Mary's condition and appetite had required unusual nourishment; but, +since the lock-out, this had not been procurable by John Baxendale. +Sufficient food the household had as yet, but it was of a plain coarse +sort, not suitable for Mary; and Mrs. Quale, bitter enough against the +existing condition of things before, touching the men and their masters, +was not by this rendered less so. Poor Mary, in her patient meekness, +would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> have subsided into her grave with famine, rather than complain of +what she saw no help for.</p> + +<p>'Did you have an egg at eleven o'clock?'</p> + +<p>'Not this morning. I did not feel greatly to care for it.'</p> + +<p>'Rubbish!' responded Mrs. Quale. 'I may say I don't care for the moon, +because I know I can't get it.'</p> + +<p>'But I really did not feel to have any appetite just then,' repeated +Mary.</p> + +<p>'And if you had an appetite, I suppose you couldn't have been any the +nearer satisfying it!' returned Mrs. Quale, in a raised voice. 'You let +your stomach get empty, and, after a bit, the craving goes off and +sickness comes on, and then you say you have no appetite. But, there! it +is not your fault; where's the use of my——'</p> + +<p>'Why, Mary, girl, what's the matter?'</p> + +<p>The interruption to Mrs. Quale proceeded from Dr. Bevary. He was passing +the gate with Miss Hunter. They stopped, partly at sight of Mary, who +was looking strikingly ill, partly at the commotion Mrs. Quale was +making. Neither of them had known that Mary was in this state. Mrs. +Quale was the first to take up the discourse.</p> + +<p>'She don't look over flourishing, do she, sir?—do she Miss Florence? +She have been as bad as this—oh, for a fortnight, now.'</p> + +<p>'Why did you not send my uncle word, Mary?' spoke Florence, impulsive in +the cause of kindness, as she had been when a child. 'I am sure he would +have come to see you.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p><p>'You are very kind, Miss, and Dr. Bevary, also,' said Mary. 'I could +not think of troubling him with my poor ailments, especially as I feel +it would be useless. I don't think anybody can do me good on this side +the grave, sir.'</p> + +<p>'Tush, tush!' interposed Dr. Bevary. 'That's what many sick people say; +but they get well in spite of it. Let us see you a bit closer,' he +added, going inside the gate. 'And now tell me how you feel.'</p> + +<p>'I am just sinking, sir, as it seems to me; sinking out of life, without +much ailment to tell of. I have a great deal of fever at night, and a +dry cough. It is not so much consumption as——'</p> + +<p>'Who told you it was consumption?' interrupted Dr. Bevary.</p> + +<p>'Some of the women about here call it so, sir. My step-mother does: but +I should say it was more of a waste.'</p> + +<p>'Your step-mother is fond of talking of what she knows nothing about, +and so are the women,' remarked Dr. Bevary. 'Have you much appetite?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, and that's the evil of it,' struck in Mrs. Quale, determined to +lose no opportunity of propounding her view of the case. 'A pretty time +this is for folks to have appetites, when there's not a copper being +earned. I wish all strikes and lock-outs was put down by law, I do. +Nothing comes of 'em but empty cubbarts.'</p> + +<p>'Your cupboard need not be any the emptier for a lock-out,' said Dr. +Bevary, who sometimes, when conversing with the women of Daffodil's +Delight, would fall familiarly into their mode of speech.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p><p>'No, I know that; we have been providenter than that, sir,' returned +Mrs. Quale. 'A pity but what others could say the same. You might take a +walk through Daffodil's Delight, sir, from one end of it to the other, +and not find half a dozen cubbarts with plenty in 'em just now. Serve +'em right! they should have put by for a rainy day.'</p> + +<p>'Ah!' returned Dr. Bevary, 'rainy days come to most of us as we go +through life, in one shape or other. It is well to provide for them when +we can.'</p> + +<p>'And it's well to keep out of 'em where it's practicable,' wrathfully +remarked Mrs. Quale. 'There no more need have been this disturbance +between masters and men, than there need be one between you and me, sir, +this moment, afore you walk away. They be just idiots, are the men; the +women be worse, and I'm tired of telling 'em so. Look at 'em,' added +Mrs. Quale, directing the doctor's attention to the female ornaments of +Daffodil's Delight. 'Look at their gowns in jags, and their dirty caps! +they make the men's being out of work an excuse for their idleness, and +they just stick theirselves out there all day, a crowing and a +gossiping.'</p> + +<p>'Crowing?' exclaimed the doctor.</p> + +<p>'Crowing; every female one of 'em, like a cock upon its dunghill,' +responded Mrs. Quale, who was not given to pick her words when wrath was +moving her. 'There isn't one as can see an inch beyond her own nose. If +the lock-out lasts, and starvation comes, let 'em see how they'll crow +then. It'll be on t'other side their mouths, I fancy!'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p><p>'Money is dealt out to them by the Trades' Union, sufficient to live,' +observed Dr. Bevary.</p> + +<p>'Sufficient not to starve,' independently corrected Mrs. Quale. 'What is +it, sir, the bit of money they get, to them that have enjoyed their +thirty-five shillings a-week, and could hardly make that do, some of +'em? Look at the Baxendales. There's Mary, wanting more food than she +did in health; ay, and craving for it. A good bit of meat once or twice +in the day, an egg now and then, a cup of cocoa and milk, or good +tea—not your wishy-washy stuff, bought in by the ounce—how is she to +get it all? The allowance dealt out to John Baxendale keeps 'em in bread +and cheese; I don't think it does in much else.' They were interrupted +by John Baxendale himself. He came out of his house, touching his hat to +the doctor and to Florence. The latter had been leaning over Mary, +inquiring softly into her ailments, and the complaint of Mrs. Quale, +touching the short-comings of Mary's comforts, had not reached her ears; +that lady, out of regard to the invalid, having deemed it well to lower +her tone.</p> + +<p>'I am sorry, sir, you should see her so poorly,' said Baxendale, +alluding to his daughter. 'She'll get better, I hope.'</p> + +<p>'I must try what a little of my skill will do towards it,' replied the +doctor. 'If she had sent me word she was ill, I would have come before.'</p> + +<p>'Thank ye, sir. I don't know as I should have been backward in asking +you to come round and take a look at her; but a man don't like to ask +favours when he has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> got no money in his pocket; it makes him feel +little, and look little. Things are not in a satisfactory state with us +all just now.'</p> + +<p>'They are not indeed.'</p> + +<p>'I never thought the masters would go to the extreme of a lock-out,' +resumed Baxendale. 'It was a harsh measure.'</p> + +<p>'On the face of it it does seem so,' responded Dr. Bevary. 'But what +else could they have done? Have kept open their works, that those on +strike might have been supported from the wages they paid their men, and +probably have found those men also striking at last? If you and others +had wanted to escape a lock-out, Baxendale, you should have been +cautious not to lend yourselves to the agitation that was smouldering.'</p> + +<p>'Sir, I know there's a great deal to be said on both sides,' was the +reply. 'I never was for the agitation; I did not urge the strike; I set +my face nearly dead against it. The worst is, we all have to suffer for +it alike.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, that is the worst of things in this world,' responded the doctor. +'When people do wrong, the consequences are rarely confined to +themselves, they extend to the innocent. Come, Florence. I will see you +again later, Mary.'</p> + +<p>The doctor and his niece walked away. Mrs. Quale had already departed on +her errand.</p> + +<p>'He was always a kind man,' observed John Baxendale, looking after Dr. +Bevary. 'I hope he will be able to cure you, Mary.'</p> + +<p>'I don't feel that he will, father,' was the low answer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> But Baxendale +did not hear it; he was going out at the gate, to join a knot of +neighbours, who were gathered together at a distance.</p> + +<p>'Will Mary Baxendale soon get well, do you think, uncle?' demanded +Florence, as they went along.</p> + +<p>'No, my dear, I do not think she will.'</p> + +<p>There was something in the doctor's tone that startled Florence. 'Uncle +Bevary! you do not fear she will die?'</p> + +<p>'I do fear it, Florence; and that she will not be long first.'</p> + +<p>'Oh!' Then, after she had gone a few paces further, Florence withdrew +her arm from his. 'I must go back and stay with her a little while. I +had no idea of this.'</p> + +<p>'Mind you don't repeat it to her in your chatter,' called out the +doctor; and Florence shook her head by way of answer.</p> + +<p>'I am in no hurry to go home, Mary; I thought I would return and stay a +little longer with you,' was her greeting, when she reached the invalid. +'You must feel it dull, sitting here alone.'</p> + +<p>'Dull! oh no, Miss Florence. I like sitting by myself and thinking.'</p> + +<p>Florence smiled. 'What do you think about?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, miss, I quite lose myself in thinking. I think of my Saviour, of +how kind he was to everybody; and I think of the beautiful life we are +taught to expect after this life. I can hardly believe that I shall soon +be there.'</p> + +<p>Florence paused, feeling as if she did not know what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> to say. 'You do +not seem to fear death, Mary. You speak rather as if you wished it.'</p> + +<p>'I do not fear it, Miss Florence; I have been learning not to fear it +ever since my poor mother died. Ah, miss! it is a great thing to learn; +a great boon, when once it's learnt.'</p> + +<p>'But surely you do not want to die!' exclaimed Florence, in surprise.</p> + +<p>'Miss Florence, as to that, I feel quite satisfied to let it be as God +pleases. I know I am in His good hands. The world now seems to me to be +full of care and trouble.'</p> + +<p>'It is very strange,' murmured Florence. 'Mamma, too, believes she is +near death, and she expresses no reluctance, no fear. I do not think she +feels any.'</p> + +<p>'Miss Florence, it is only another proof of God's mercies,' returned the +sick girl. 'My mother used to say that you could not be quite ripe for +death until you felt it; that it came of God's goodness and Christ's +love. To such, death seems a blessing instead of a terror, so that when +their time is drawing near, they are glad to die. There's a gentleman +waiting to speak to you, miss.'</p> + +<p>Florence lifted her head hastily, and encountered the smile and the +outstretched hand of Austin Clay. But that Mary Baxendale was +unsuspicious, she might have gathered something from the vivid blush +that overspread her cheeks.</p> + +<p>'I thought it was you, Florence,' he said. 'I caught sight of a young +lady from my sitting-room window; but you kept your head down before +Mary.'</p> + +<p>'I am sorry to see Mary looking so ill. My uncle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> was here just now, but +he has gone. I suppose you were deep in your books?' she said, with a +smile, her face regaining its less radiant hue. 'This lock-out must be a +fine time for you.'</p> + +<p>'So fine, that I wish it were over,' he answered. 'I am sick of it +already, Florence. A fortnight's idleness will tire out a man worse than +a month's work.'</p> + +<p>'Is there any more chance of its coming to an end, sir?' anxiously +inquired Mary Baxendale.</p> + +<p>'I do not see it,' gravely replied Austin. 'The men appear to be too +blind to come to any reasonable terms.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, sir, don't cast more blame on them than you can help!' she +rejoined, in a tone of intense pain. 'They are all led away by the +Trades' Unions; they are, indeed. If once they enrol under them, they +must only obey.'</p> + +<p>'Well, Mary, it comes to what I say—that they are blinded. They should +have better sense than to be led away.'</p> + +<p>'You speak as a master, sir.'</p> + +<p>'Probably I do; but I have brought my common sense to bear upon the +question, both on the side of the masters and of the men; and I believe +that this time the men are wrong. If they had laboured under any real +grievance, it would have been different; but they did not labour under +any. Their wages were good, work was plentiful——'</p> + +<p>'I say, Mary, I wish you'd just come in and sit by the little ones a +bit, while I go down to the back kitchen and rinse out the clothes.'</p> + +<p>The interruption came from Mrs. Baxendale, who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> had thrown up her window +to speak. Mary rose at once, took her pillow from the chair, wished +Florence good day, and went indoors.</p> + +<p>Austin held the gate open for Florence to pass out: he was not intending +to accompany her. She stood a moment, speaking to him, when some one, +who had come up rapidly and stealthily, laid his great hand on Austin's +arm. Absorbed in Florence, Austin had not observed him, and he looked up +with a start. It was Lawyer Gwinn, of Ketterford, and he appeared to be +in some anger or excitement.</p> + +<p>'Young Clay, where is your master to-day?'</p> + +<p>Neither the salutation nor the manner of the man pleased Austin; his +appearance, there and then, especially displeased him. His answer was +spoken in haughty defiance. Not in policy: and in a cooler moment he +would have remembered the latter to have been the only safe diplomacy.</p> + +<p>A strangely bitter smile of conscious power parted the man's lips. 'So +you take part with him, do you, sir! It may be better for both you and +him, that you bring me face to face with him. They have denied me to him +at his house; their master is out of town, they say; but I know it to be +a lie: I know that the message was sent out to me by Hunter himself. I +had a great mind to force——'</p> + +<p>Florence, who was looking deadly white, interrupted, her voice haughty +as Austin's had been.</p> + +<p>'You labour under a mistake, sir. My father is out of town. He went this +morning.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Gwinn wheeled round to her. Neither her tone nor Austin's was +calculated to abate his anger.</p> + +<p>'You are his daughter, then!' he uttered, with the same insolent stare, +the same displayed irony he had once used to her mother. 'The young lady +whom people envy as that spoiled and only child, Miss Hunter! What if I +tell you a secret?—that you——'</p> + +<p>'Be still!' shouted Austin, in uncontrollable emotion. 'Are you a man, +or a demon? Miss Hunter, allow me,' he cried, grasping the hand of +Florence, and drawing her peremptorily towards Peter Quale's door, which +he threw open. 'Go upstairs, Florence, to my sitting-room: wait there +until I come to you. I must be alone with this man.'</p> + +<p>Florence looked at him in amazement, as he pushed her into the passage. +He was evidently in the deepest agitation: every vestige of colour had +forsaken his face, and his manner was authoritative as any father's +could have been. She bowed to its power unconsciously, not a thought of +resistance crossing her mind, and went straight upstairs to his sitting +room—although it might not be precisely correct for a young lady so to +do. Not a soul, save herself, appeared to be in the house.</p> + +<p>A short colloquy and an angry one, and then Mr. Gwinn was seen returning +the way he had come. Austin came springing up the stairs three at a +time.</p> + +<p>'Will you forgive me, Florence? I could not do otherwise.'</p> + +<p>What with the suddenness of the proceedings, their strangeness, and her +own doubts and emotion, Florence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> burst into tears. Austin lost his +head: at least, all of prudence that was in it. In the agitation of the +moment he suffered his long-controlled feelings to get the better of +him, and spoke words that he had hitherto successfully repressed.</p> + +<p>'My darling!' he whispered, taking her hand, 'I wish I could have +shielded you from it! Florence, you know—you must long have known—that +my dearest object in life is you—your happiness, your welfare. I had +not intended to say this so soon; it has been forced from me: you must +pardon me for saying it here and now.'</p> + +<p>She gently disengaged the hand, and he did not attempt to retain it. Her +wet eyelashes fell on her blushing cheeks; they were like a damask rose +glistening in the morning dew. 'But this mystery?—it certainly seems +one,' she exclaimed, striving to speak with matter-of-fact calmness. 'Is +not that man Gwinn, of Ketterford?'</p> + +<p>'Yes.'</p> + +<p>'Brother to the lady who seemed to cause so much emotion to papa. Ah! I +was but a child at the time, but I noticed it. Austin, I think there +must be some dreadful secret. What is it? He comes to our house at +periods and is closeted with papa, and papa is more miserable than ever +after it.'</p> + +<p>'Whether there is or not, it is not for us to inquire into it. Men +engaged in business often have troublesome people to deal with. I +hastened you in,' he quickly went on, not caring to be more explanatory, +and compelled to speak with reserve. 'I know the man of old,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> and his +language is sometimes coarse, not fitted for a young lady's ears: so I +sent you away. Florence,' he whispered, his tone changing to one of +deepest tenderness, 'this is neither the time nor the place to speak, +but I must say one word. I shall win you if I can.'</p> + +<p>Florence made no answer. She only ran downstairs as quickly as she +could, she and her scarlet cheeks. Austin laughed at her haste, as he +followed her. Mrs. Quale was coming in then, and met them at the door.</p> + +<p>'See what it is to go gadding out!' cried Austin, to her. 'When young +ladies pay you the honour of a morning visit, they might find an empty +house, but for my stay-at-home propensities.'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quale turned her eyes from one to the other of them in puzzled +doubt.</p> + +<p>'The truth is,' said Austin, vouchsafing an explanation, 'there was a +rude man in the road, talking nonsense, so I sent Miss Hunter indoors, +and stopped to deal with him.'</p> + +<p>'I am sure I am sorry, Miss Florence,' cried unsuspicious Mrs. Quale. +'We often have rude men in this quarter: they get hold of a drop too +much, the simpletons. And when the wine's in, the wit's out, you know, +Miss.'</p> + +<p>Austin piloted her through Daffodil's Delight, possibly lest any more +'rude men' should molest her, leaving her at her own door.</p> + +<p>But when he came to reflect on what he had done, he was full of +contrition and self-blame. The time had <i>not</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> come for him to aspire to +the hand of Florence Hunter, at least in the estimation of the world, +and he ought not to have spoken to her. There was only one course open +to him now in honour; and that was, to tell the whole truth to her +mother.</p> + +<p>That same evening at dusk he was sitting alone with Mrs. Hunter. Mr. +Hunter had not returned: that he had gone out of town for the day was +perfect truth: and Florence escaped from the room when she heard +Austin's knock.</p> + +<p>After taking all the blame on himself for having been premature, he +proceeded to urge his cause and his love, possibly emboldened to do so +by the gentle kindness with which he was listened to.</p> + +<p>'It has been my hope for years,' he avowed, as he held Mrs. Hunter's +hands in his, and spoke of the chance of Mr. Hunter's favour. 'Dear Mrs. +Hunter, do you think he will some time give her to me!'</p> + +<p>'But, Austin——'</p> + +<p>'Not yet; I do not ask for her yet; not until I have made a fitting home +for her,' he impulsively continued, anticipating what might have been +the possible objection of Mrs. Hunter. 'With the two thousand pounds +left to me by Mrs. Thornimett, and a little more added to it, which I +have myself saved, I believe I shall be able to make my way.'</p> + +<p>'Austin, you will make your way,' she replied, in a tone of the utmost +confidence and kindness. 'I have heard Mr. Hunter himself anticipate a +successful career for you. Even when you were, comparatively speaking,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +penniless, Mr. Hunter would say that talent and energy, such as yours, +could not fail to find its proper outlet. Now that you have inherited +the money, your success is certain. But—I fear you cannot win +Florence.'</p> + +<p>The words fell on his heart like an icebolt. He had reckoned on Mrs. +Hunter's countenance, though he had not been sure of her husband's. +'What do you object to in me?' he inquired, in a tone of pain. 'I am of +gentle birth.'</p> + +<p>'Austin, <i>I</i> do not object. I have long seen that your coming here so +much—and it was Mr. Hunter's pleasure to have you—was likely to lead +to an attachment between you and Florence. Had I objected to you, I +should have pointed out to Mr. Hunter the impolicy of your coming. I +like <i>you</i>: there is no one in the world to whom I would so readily +intrust the happiness of Florence. Other mothers might look to a higher +alliance for her: but, Austin, when we get near the grave, we judge with +a judgment not of this world. Worldly distinctions lose their charm.'</p> + +<p>'Then where lies the doubt—the objection?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'I once—it is not long ago—hinted at this to Mr. Hunter,' she replied. +'He would not hear me out; he would not suffer me to conclude. It was an +utter impossibility that you could ever marry Florence,' he said: +'neither was it likely that either of you would wish it.'</p> + +<p>'But we do wish it; the love has already arisen,' he exclaimed, in +agitation. Dear Mrs. Hunter——'</p> + +<p>'Hush, Austin! calm yourself. Mr. Hunter must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> have some private +objection. I am sure he has; I could see so far; and one that, as was +evident, he did not choose to disclose to me. I never inquire into his +reasons when I perceive this. You must try and forget her.'</p> + +<p>A commotion was heard in the hall. Austin went out to ascertain its +cause. There stood Gwinn of Ketterford, insisting upon an interview with +Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>Austin contrived to get rid of the man by convincing him Mr. Hunter was +really not at home. Gwinn went out grumbling, promising to be there the +first thing in the morning.</p> + +<p>The interlude had broken up the confidence between Austin and Mrs. +Hunter; and he went home in despondency: but vowing to win her, all the +same, sooner or later.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER II.</span> <span class="smaller">MR. COX.</span></h2> + +<p>Time had gone on. It was a gloomy winter's evening. Not that, reckoning +by the seasons, it could be called winter yet; but it was getting near +it, and the night was dark and sloppy, and blowing and rainy. The wind +went booming down Daffodil's Delight, sending the fierce rain before it +in showers, and the pools gleamed in the reflected light of the +gas-lamps, as wayfarers splashed through them and stirred up their muddy +waters.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p><p>The luxurious and comfortable in position—those at ease in the world, +who could issue their orders to attentive tradespeople at their +morning's leisure—had no necessity to be abroad on that inclement +Saturday night. Not so Daffodil's Delight; there was not much chance +(taking it collectively) of a dinner for the morrow, at the best; but, +unless they went abroad, there was none. The men had not gone to work +yet, and times were bad.</p> + +<p>Down the street, to one particular corner shop, which had three +gilt-coloured balls hanging outside it, flocked the stream—chiefly +females. Not together. They mostly walked in units, and, some of them at +least, in a covert sort of manner, keeping in the shade of dead walls, +and of dark houses, as if not caring to be seen. Amongst the latter, +stole one who appeared more especially fearful of being recognised. She +was a young woman, comely once, but pale and hollow-eyed now, her bones +too sharp for her skin. Well wrapped up, was she, against the weather; +her cloth cloak warm, a fur round her neck, and india-rubber shoes. +Choosing her time to approach the shop when the coast should be +tolerably clear, she glanced cautiously in at the window and door, and +entered.</p> + +<p>Laying upon the counter a small parcel, which she carried folded in a +handkerchief, she displayed a cardboard box to the sight of the shop's +master, who came forward to attend to her. It contained a really +handsome set of corals, fashioned like those worn in the days when our +mothers were young; a necklace of six rows of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> small beads, with a gold +snap made to imitate a rose, a long coral bead set in it. A pair of gold +earrings, with large pendant coral drops, lay beside it, and a large and +handsome gold brooch, set likewise with corals.</p> + +<p>'What, is it <i>you</i>, Miss Baxendale?' he exclaimed, his tone expressive +of some surprise.</p> + +<p>'It is, indeed, Mr. Cox,' replied Mary. 'We all have to bend to these +hard times. It's share and share alike in them. Will you please to look +at these jewels?'</p> + +<p>She tenderly drew aside the cotton which was over the trinkets—tenderly +and reverently, almost as if a miniature live baby were lying there. +Very precious were they to Mary. They were dear to her from association; +and she also believed them to be of great value.</p> + +<p>The pawnbroker glanced at them slightly, carelessly lifting one of the +earrings in his hand, to feel its weight. The brooch he honoured with a +closer inspection.</p> + +<p>'What do you want upon them?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'Nay,' said Mary, 'it is not for me to name a sum. What will you lend?'</p> + +<p>'You are not accustomed to our business, or you would know that we like +borrowers to mention their own ideas as to sum; and we give it if we +can,' he rejoined with ready words. 'What do you ask?'</p> + +<p>'If you would let me have four pounds upon them, began Mary, +hesitatingly. But he snapped up the words.</p> + +<p>'Four pounds! Why, Miss Baxendale, you can't know what you are saying. +The fashion of these coral things is over and done with. They are worth +next to nothing.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p><p>Mary's heart beat quicker in its sickness of disappointment.</p> + +<p>'They are genuine, sir, if you'll please to look. The gold is real gold, +and the coral is the best coral; my poor mother has told me so many a +time. Her godmother was a lady, well-to-do in the world, and the things +were a present from her.'</p> + +<p>'If they were not genuine, I'd not lend as many pence upon them,' said +the man. 'With a little alteration the brooch might be made tolerably +modern; otherwise their value would be no more than old gold. In selling +them, I——'</p> + +<p>'It will not come to that, Mr. Cox,' interrupted Mary. 'Please God +spares me a little while—and, since the hot weather went out, I feel a +bit stronger—I shall soon redeem them.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Cox looked at her thin face; he listened to her short breath; and he +drew his own conclusions. There was a line of pity in his hard face, for +he had long respected Mary Baxendale.</p> + +<p>'By the way the strike seems to be lasting on, there doesn't seem much +promise of a speedy end to it,' quoth he, in answer. 'I never was so +over-done with pledges.'</p> + +<p>'My work does not depend upon that,' said Mary. 'Let me get up a little +strength, and I shall have as much work as I can do. And I am well paid, +Mr. Cox: I have a private connection. I am not like the poor +seamstresses who make skirts for fourpence a-piece.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Cox made no immediate reply to this, and there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> was a pause. The +open box lay before him. He took up the necklace and examined its clasp.</p> + +<p>'I will lend you a sovereign upon them.'</p> + +<p>She lifted her face pitiably, and the tears glistened in her eyes.</p> + +<p>'It would be of no use to me,' she whispered. 'I want the money for a +particular purpose, otherwise I should never have brought here these +gifts of my mother's. She gave them to me the day I was eighteen, and I +have tenderly kept them from desecration.'</p> + +<p>Poor Mary! From desecration!</p> + +<p>'I have heard her say what they cost; but I forget now. I know it was +over ten pounds.'</p> + +<p>'But the day for this fashion has gone by. To ask four pounds upon them +was preposterous; and you would know it to be so, were you acquainted +with the trade.'</p> + +<p>'Will you lend me two pounds, then?'</p> + +<p>The tone was tremblingly eager, the face beseeching—a wan face, telling +of the coming grave. Possibly the thought struck the pawnbroker, and +awoke some humanity within him.</p> + +<p>'I shall lose by it, I know, if it comes to a sale. I'd not do it for +anybody else, Miss Baxendale.'</p> + +<p>He proceeded to write out the ticket, his thoughts running upon +whether—if it did come to a sale—he could not make three pounds by the +brooch alone. As he was handing her the money, somebody rushed in, close +to the spot occupied by Mary, and dashed down a large-sized paper parcel +on the counter. She wore a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> black lace bonnet, which had once been +white, frayed, and altogether the worse for wear, independent of its +dirt. It was tilted on the back of her head, displaying a mass of hair +in front, half grey, half black, and exceedingly in disorder; together +with a red face. It was Mrs. Dunn.</p> + +<p>'Well, to be sure! if it's not Mary Baxendale! I thought you was too +much of the lady to put your nose inside a pop-shop. Don't it go again +the grain?' she ironically added, for she did not appear to be in the +sweetest of tempers.</p> + +<p>'It does indeed, Mrs. Dunn,' was the girl's meek answer, as she took her +money and departed.</p> + +<p>'Now then, old Cox, just attend to me,' began Mrs. Dunn. 'I have brought +something as you don't get offered every day.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Cox, accustomed to the scant ceremony bestowed upon him by some of +the ladies of Daffodil's Delight, took the speech with indifference, and +gave his attention to the parcel, from which Mrs. Dunn was rapidly +taking off the twine.</p> + +<p>'What's this—silk?' cried he, as a roll of dress-silk, brown, +cross-barred with gold, came forth to view.</p> + +<p>'Yes, it is silk; and there's fourteen yards of it; and I want thirty +shillings upon it,' volubly replied Mrs. Dunn.</p> + +<p>He took the silk between his fingers, feeling its substance, in his +professionally indifferent and disparaging manner.</p> + +<p>'Where did you get it from?' he asked.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p><p>'Where did I get it from?' retorted Mrs. Dunn. 'What's that to you!' +D'ye think I stole it?'</p> + +<p>'How do I know?' returned he.</p> + +<p>'You insolent fellow! Is it only to-day as you have knowed me, Tom Cox? +My name's Hannah Dunn; and I don't want you to testify to my honesty; I +can hold up my head in Daffodil's Delight just as well as you +can—perhaps a little better. Concern yourself with your own business. I +want thirty shillings upon that.'</p> + +<p>'It isn't worth thirty shillings in the shop, new,' was the rejoinder.</p> + +<p>'What?' shrieked Mrs. Dunn. 'It cost three-and-fourpence halfpenny a +yard, every yard of it, and there's fourteen of 'em, I tell you.'</p> + +<p>'I don't care if it cost six-and-fourpence halfpenny, it's not worth +more than I say. I'll lend you ten shillings upon it, and I should lose +then.'</p> + +<p>'Where do you expect to go to when you die?' demanded Mrs. Dunn, in a +tone that might be heard half over the length and breadth of Daffodil's +Delight. 'I wouldn't tell such lies for the paltry sake of grinding +folks down; no, not if you made me a duchess to-morrow for it.'</p> + +<p>'Here, take the silk off. I have not got time to bother: it's Saturday +night.'</p> + +<p>He swept the parcel, silk, paper, and string, towards her, and was +turning away. She leaned over the counter and seized upon him.</p> + +<p>'You want a opposition in the place, that's what you want, Master Cox! +You have been cock o' the walk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> over Daffodil's Delight so long, that +you think you can treat folks as if they was dirt. You be over-done with +business, that's what you be; you're a making gold as fast as they makes +it in Aurstraliar; we shall have you a setting up your tandem next. +What'll you give me upon that silk?'</p> + +<p>'I'll give you ten shillings; I have said so. You may take it or not; +it's at your own option.'</p> + +<p>More contending; but the pawnbroker was firm; and Mrs. Dunn was forced +to accept the offer, or else take away her silk.</p> + +<p>'How long is this strike going to last?' he asked, as he made out the +duplicate.</p> + +<p>The words excited the irascibility of Mrs. Dunn.</p> + +<p>'Strike!' she uttered, in a flaming passion. 'Who dares to call it a +strike? It's not a strike; it's a lock-out.'</p> + +<p>'Lock-out, then. The two things come to the same, don't they? Is there a +chance of its coming to an end?'</p> + +<p>'No, they don't come to the same,' shrieked Mrs. Dunn. 'A strike's what +it is—a strike; a act of noble independence which the British workman +may be proud on. A lock-out is a nasty, mean, overbearing tyranny on the +part of the masters. Now, old Cox! call it a strike again.'</p> + +<p>'But I hear the masters' shops are open again—for anybody to go to work +that likes,' replied Mr. Cox, quite imperturbable.</p> + +<p>'They be open for slaves to go to work, not for free-born men,' retorted +Mrs. Dunn, her shrieking voice at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> a still higher pitch. 'I hope the +men'll hold out for ever, I do! I hope the masters 'll be drove, +everyone of 'em, into the dust and dregs of the bankruptcy court! I hope +their sticks and stones 'll be sold up, down to their children's +cradles——'</p> + +<p>'There, that's enough,' interposed the pawnbroker, as he handed her what +he had to give. 'You'll be collecting a crowd round the door, if you go +on like that. Here's somebody else waiting for your place.'</p> + +<p>It was Mrs. Cheek, an especial friend of the lady's now being dismissed. +Mrs. Cheek was carefully carrying a basket which contained various +chimney ornaments—pretty enough in their places, but not of much value. +The pawnbroker, after some haggling, not so intemperately carried on as +the bargain just concluded, advanced six shillings on them.</p> + +<p>'I had wanted twelve,' she said; 'and I can't do with less.'</p> + +<p>'I am willing to lend it,' returned he, 'if you bring goods +accordingly.'</p> + +<p>'I have stripped the place of a'most all the light things as can be +spared,' said Mrs. Cheek. 'One doesn't care to begin upon the heavy +furniture and the necessaries.'</p> + +<p>'Is there no chance of the present state of affairs coming to an end?' +inquired Mr. Cox, putting the same question to which he had not got a +direct answer from Mrs. Dunn. 'The men can go back to work if they like; +the masters' yards are open again.'</p> + +<p>'Open!' returned Mrs. Cheek, in a guttural tone, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> she threw back her +head in disdain; 'they have been open some time, if you call <i>that</i> +opening 'em. If a man likes to go as a sneaking coward, and work upon +the terms offered now, knuckling down to the masters, and putting his +hand to their mean old odious document, severing himself from the Union, +he can do it. It ain't many of our men as you'll find do that dirty +work. If my husband was to attempt it, I'd be ready to skin him alive.'</p> + +<p>'But the men have gone back in some parts of the metropolis.'</p> + +<p>'<i>Men</i>, do you call 'em. A few may; one black sheep out of a flock. They +ain't men, they are half-castes. Let them look to theirselves,' +concluded Mrs. Cheek significantly, as she quitted the pawnbroker's shop +with a fling.</p> + +<p>At the butcher's stall, a few paces further, she came up to Mrs. Dunn, +who was standing in the glare of the blazing gaslight, in the incessant +noise of the 'Buy, buy, buy! what'll you buy?' Not less than a dozen +women were congregated there, elbowing each other, as they turned over +the scraps of meat set out for sale in small heaps—sixpence the lot, a +shilling the lot, according to quality and quantity. In the prosperous +time when their husbands were in full work, these ladies had scornfully +disdained such heaps on a Saturday night. They had been wont then to buy +a good joint for the Sunday's dinner. One of the women nudged another in +her vicinity, directing her attention to the inside of the shop. 'Just +twig Mother Shuck; she's a being served, I hope!'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p><p>'Mother Shuck,' Slippery Sam's better half, was making her purchases in +the agreeable confidence of possessing money to pay for them—liver and +bacon for the present evening's supper, and a breast of veal, to be +served with savoury herbs, for the morrow's dinner. In the old times, +while the throng of women now outside had been able to make the same or +similar purchases, <i>she</i> had hovered without like a hungry hyena, +hanging over the cheap portions with covetous eyes and fingers, as many +another poor wife had done, whose husband could not or would not work. +Times were changed.</p> + +<p>'I can't afford nothing, hardly, I can't,' grumbled Mrs. Cheek. 'What's +the good of six shillings for a Saturday night, when everything's +wanted, from the rent down to a potater? The young 'uns have got their +bare feet upon the boards, as may be said, for their shoes be without +toes and heels; and who is to get 'em others? I wish that Cox was a bit +juster. He's a getting rich upon our spoils. Six shillings for that lot +as I took him in!'</p> + +<p>'I wish he was smothered!' struck in Mrs. Dunn. 'He took and asked me if +I'd stole the silk. It was that lovely silk, you know, as I was fool +enough to go and choose the week of the strike, on the strength of the +good times a coming. We have had something else to do since, instead of +making up silk gownds.'</p> + +<p>'The good times ain't come yet,' said Mrs. Cheek, shortly. 'I wish the +old 'uns was back again, if we could get 'em without stooping to the +masters.'</p> + +<p>'It was at the shop where Mary Ann and Jemimar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> deals, when they has to +get in things for their customers' work,' resumed Mrs. Dunn, continuing +the subject of the silk. 'I shouldn't have had credit at any other +place. Fourteen yards I bought of it, and three-and-fourpence halfpenny +I gave for every yard of it; I did, I protest to you, Elizar Cheek; and +that swindling old screw had the conscience to offer me ten shillings +for the whole!'</p> + +<p>'Is the silk paid for?'—'Paid for!' wrathfully repeated Mrs. Dunn; 'has +it been a time to pay for silk gownds when our husbands be under a +lock-out? Of course it's not paid for, and the shop's a beginning to +bother for it; but they'll be none the nearer getting it. I say, master, +what'll you weigh in these fag ends of mutton and beef at—the two +together?' It will be readily understood, from the above conversation +and signs, that in the several weeks that had elapsed since the +commencement of the lock-out, things, socially speaking, had been going +backwards. The roast goose and other expected luxuries had not come yet. +The masters' works were open—open to any who would go to work in them, +provided they renounced all connection with the Trades' Unions. +Daffodil's Delight, taking it collectively, would not have this at any +price, and held out. The worst aspect in the affair—I mean for the +interests of the men—was, that strange workmen were assembling from +different parts of the country, accepting the work which they refused. +Of course this feature in the dispute was most bitter to the men; they +lavished their abuse upon the masters for employing strange hands; and +they would have been glad to lavish <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>something worse than abuse up on +the hands themselves. One of the masters compared them to the fable of +the dog in the manger—they would not take the work, and they would not +let (by their good will) anybody else take it. Incessant agitation was +maintained. The workmen were in a sufficiently excited state, as it was; +and, to help on that which need not have been helped, the agents of the +Trades' Union kept the ball rolling—an incendiary ball, urging +obstinacy and spreading discontent. But this little history has not so +much to do with the political phases of the unhappy dispute, as with its +social effects.</p> + +<p>As Mary Baxendale was returning home from the pawnbroker's, she passed +Mrs. Darby, who was standing at her own door looking at the weather. +'Mary, girl,' was the salutation, 'this is not a night for you to be +abroad.'</p> + +<p>'I was obliged to go,' was the reply. 'How are the children?'</p> + +<p>'Come in and see them,' said Mrs. Darby. She led the way into a back +room, which, at the first glance, seemed to be covered with mattresses +and children. A large family had Robert Darby—indeed, it was a +complaint prevalent in Daffodil's Delight. They were of various ages; +these, lying on the mattresses, six of them, were from four to twelve +years. The elder ones were not at home. The room had a close, unhealthy +smell, which struck especially on the senses of Mary, rendered sensitive +from illness.</p> + +<p>'What have you got them all in this room for?' she exclaimed, in the +impulse of the moment.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p><p>'I have given up the rooms above,' was Mrs. Darby's reply.</p> + +<p>'But—when the children were ill—was it a time to give up rooms?' +debated Mary.</p> + +<p>'No,' replied Mrs. Darby, who spoke as if she were heart-broken, in a +sad, subdued tone, the very reverse of Mesdames Dunn and Cheek. 'But how +could we keep on the top rooms when we were unable to get together the +rent, to pay for them? I spoke to the landlord, and he is letting the +back rent stand a bit, not to sell us up; and I gave up to him the two +top rooms; and we all sleep in here together.'</p> + +<p>'I wish the men would go back to work!' said Mary, with a sigh.</p> + +<p>'Mary my heart's just failing within me,' said Mrs. Darby, her tone a +sort of wail. 'Here's winter coming on, and all of them out of work. If +it were not for my daughter, who is in service, and brings us her wages +as she gets them, I believe we should just have starved. I <i>must</i> get +medicine, for the children, though we go without bread.'</p> + +<p>'It is not medicine they want: it is nourishment,' said Mary.</p> + +<p>'It is both. Nourishment would have done when they were first ailing, +but now that it has turned to low fever, they must have medicine, or it +will grow into typhus. It's bark they have to take, and it costs——'</p> + +<p>'Mother! mother!' struck up a plaintive voice, that of the eldest of the +children lying there, 'I want more of that nice drink!'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p><p>'I have not got it, Willy. You know that you had it all. Mrs. Quale +brought me round a pot of black currant jelly,' she explained to Mary, +'and I poured boiling water on it to make drink. Their little parched +throats did so relish it, poor things.'</p> + +<p>Mary knelt on the floor and put her hand on the child's moist brow. He +was a pretty boy; fair and delicate, with light curls falling round his +face. A gentle, thoughtful, intelligent boy he had ever been, but less +healthy than some. 'You are thirsty, Willy?'</p> + +<p>He opened his heavy eyelids, and the large round blue eyes glistened +with fever, as they were lifted to see who spoke.</p> + +<p>'How do you do, Mary?' he meekly said. 'Yes, I am so thirsty. Mother +said perhaps she should have a sixpence to-night to buy a pot of jelly +like Mrs. Quale's.' Mrs. Darby coloured slightly; she thought Mary must +reflect on the extravagance implied. Sixpence for jelly, when they were +wanting money for a loaf!</p> + +<p>'I did say it to him,' she whispered, as she was quitting the room with +Mary. 'I thought I might spare a sixpence out of what Darby got from the +society. But I can't; I can't. There's so many things we cannot do +without, unless we just give up, and lie down and don't even try at +keeping body and soul together. Rent, and coals, and candles, and soap; +and we must eat something. Darby, too, of course he wants a trifle for +beer and tobacco. Mary, I say I am just heart-faint. If the poor boy +should die, it'll be upon my mind for ever,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> that the drink he craved +for in his last illness couldn't be got for him.'</p> + +<p>'Does he crave for it?'</p> + +<p>'Nothing was ever like it. All day long it has been his sad, pitiful +cry. "Have you got the jelly yet, mother? Oh, mother, if I could but +have the drink!"'</p> + +<p>As Mary went through the front room, Robert Darby was in it then. His +chin rested on his hands, his elbows were on the table; altogether he +looked very down-hearted.</p> + +<p>'I have been to see Willy,' she cried.</p> + +<p>'Ah, poor little chap!' It was all he said; but the tone implied more.</p> + +<p>'Things seem to be getting pretty low with us all. I wish there could be +a change,' continued Mary.</p> + +<p>'How can there be, while the masters and the Unions are at loggerheads?' +he asked. 'Us men be between the two, and between the two we come to the +ground. It's like sitting on two stools at once.'</p> + +<p>Mary proceeded to the shop where jelly was sold, an oilman's, bought a +sixpenny pot, and took it back to Mrs. Darby's, handing it in at the +door. 'Why did you do it, Mary? You cannot afford it.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I can. Give it to Willy, with my love.'</p> + +<p>'He will only be out of a world of care, if God does take him,' sighed +Mary to herself, as she bent her steps homeward. 'Oh, father!' she +continued aloud, encountering John Baxendale at their own gate, 'I wish +this sad state of things could be ended. There's the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> poor little Darbys +worse instead of better. They are all lying in one room, down with +fever.'</p> + +<p>'God help us if fever should come!' was the reply of John Baxendale.</p> + +<p>'It is not catching fever yet. They have given up their top chambers, +and are all sleeping in that back room. Poor Willie craved for a bit of +jelly, and Mrs. Darby could not get it him.'</p> + +<p>'Better crave for that than for worse things,' returned John Baxendale. +'I am just a walking about here, because I can't bear to stop indoors. I +<i>can't</i> pay the rent, and the things must go.'</p> + +<p>'No, father, they need not. He said if you would get up two pounds +towards it, he would give time for the rest. If——'</p> + +<p>'Two pounds!' ejaculated John Baxendale, 'where am I to get two pounds +from? Borrow of them that have been provident, and so are better off, in +this distress, than me? No, that I never will.'</p> + +<p>Mary opened her hand, and displayed two sovereigns held in its palm. +They sparkled in the gaslight. 'The money is my own, father. Take it.' A +sudden revulsion of feeling came over Baxendale—he seemed to have +passed from despair to hope.—'Child,' he gently said, 'did an angel +send it?' And Mary, worn with weakness, with long-continued insufficient +food, sad with the distress around her, burst into tears, and, bending +her head upon his arm, sobbed aloud.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER III.</span> <span class="smaller">'I THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL.'</span></h2> + +<p>The Shucks had got a supper party. On this same Saturday night, when the +wind was blowing outside, and the rain was making the streets into +pools, two or three friends had dropped into Sam Shuck's—idlers like +Sam himself—and were hospitably invited to remain. Mrs. Shuck was +beginning to fry the liver and bacon she had just brought in, with the +accompaniment of a good peck of onions, and Sam and his friends were +staying their appetites with pipes and porter. When Mary Baxendale and +her father entered—Mary having lingered a minute outside, until her +emotion had passed, and her eyes were dry—they could scarcely find +their way across the kitchen, what with the clouds from the pipes, and +the smoke from the frying-pan. There was a great deal of laughter going +on. Prosperity had not yet caused the Shucks to change their residence +for a better one. Perhaps that was to come: but Sam's natural +improvidence stood in the way of much change.</p> + +<p>'You are merry to-night,' observed Mary, by way of being sociable.</p> + +<p>'It's merrier inside nor out, a-wading through the puddles and the sharp +rain,' replied Mrs. Shuck, without turning round from her employment. +'It's some'at new to see you out such a night as this, Mary Baxendale! +Don't you talk about folks wanting sense again.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p><p>'I don't know that I ever do talk of it,' was the inoffensive reply of +Mary, as she followed her father up the stairs.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Baxendale was hushing a baby when they entered their room. She +looked very cross. The best-tempered will do so, under the +long-continued embarrassment of empty purses and empty stomachs. 'Who +has been spreading it up and down the place that <i>we</i> are in trouble +about the rent?' she abruptly demanded, in no pleasant voice. 'That girl +of Ryan's was here just now—Judy. She knew it, it seems, and she didn't +forget to speak of it. Mary, what a simpleton you are, to be out in this +rain!'</p> + +<p>'Never mind who speaks of the rent, Mrs. Baxendale, so long as it can be +paid,' said Mary, sitting down in the first chair to get her breath up, +after mounting the stairs. 'Father is going to manage it, so that we +shan't have any trouble at present. It's all right.'</p> + +<p>'However have you contrived it?' demanded Mrs. Baxendale of her husband, +in a changed tone.</p> + +<p>'Mary has contrived it—not I. She has just put two pounds into my hand. +Where did you get it, child?'—'It does not signify your knowing that, +father.'</p> + +<p>'If I don't know it, I shan't use the money,' he answered, +shortly.—'Why, surely, father, you can trust me!' she rejoined.</p> + +<p>'That is not it, Mary,' said John Baxendale. 'I don't like to use +borrowed money, unless I know who it has been borrowed from.'</p> + +<p>'It was not borrowed, in your sense of the word,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> father. I have only +done what you and Mrs. Baxendale have been doing lately. I pledged that +set of coral ornaments of my mother's. Had you forgotten them?'</p> + +<p>'Why, yes, I had forgot 'em,' cried he. 'Coral ornaments! I declare they +had as much slipped my memory, as if she had never possessed them.'</p> + +<p>'Cox would only lend me two pounds upon them. Father, I hope I shall +some time get them redeemed.' John Baxendale made no reply. He turned to +pace the small room, evidently in deep thought. Mary, her poor short +breath gathered again, took off her wet cloak and bonnet. Presently, +Mrs. Baxendale put the loaf upon the table, and some cold potatoes.</p> + +<p>'Couldn't you have brought in a sausage or two for yourself, Mary, or a +red herring?' she said. 'You had got a shilling in your pocket.'</p> + +<p>'I can eat a potato,' said Mary; 'it don't much matter about me.'</p> + +<p>'It matters about us all, I think,' cried Mrs. Baxendale. 'What a +delicious smell of onions!' she added in a parenthesis. 'Them Shucks +have got the luck of it just now. Us, and the children, and you, are +three parts starved—I know that, Mary. <i>We</i> may weather it—it's to be +hoped we shall; but it will just kill you.'</p> + +<p>'No, it shan't,' said John Baxendale, turning to them with a strangely +stern decision marked upon his countenance. 'This night has decided me, +and I'll go and do it.'</p> + +<p>'Go and do what?' exclaimed his wife, a sort of fear in her tone.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p><p>'I'll go to <span class="smaller">WORK</span>, please God, Monday morning comes,' he said, with +emphasis. 'The thought has been hovering in my mind this week past.'</p> + +<p>'It's just the thing you ought to have done weeks ago,' observed Mrs. +Baxendale.</p> + +<p>'You never said it.'—'Not I. It's best to let men come to their senses +of their own accord. You mostly act by the rules of contrary, you men; +if I had advised your going to work next Monday morning, you'd just have +stopped away.'</p> + +<p>Passing over this conjugal compliment in silence, John Baxendale +descended the stairs. He possessed a large share of the open honesty of +the genuine English workman. He disdained to do things in a corner. It +would not suit him to return to work the coming Monday morning on what +might be called 'the sly;' he preferred to act openly, and to declare it +to the Trades' Union previously, in the person of their paid agent, Sam +Shuck. This he would do at once, and for that purpose entered the +kitchen. The first instalment of the supper was just served: which was +accomplished by means of a tin dish placed on the table, and the +contents of the frying-pan being turned unceremoniously into it. Sam and +the company deemed the liver and bacon were best served hot and hot, so +they set themselves to eat, while Mrs. Shuck continued to fry.</p> + +<p>'I have got just a word to say, Shuck; I shan't disturb you,' began John +Baxendale. But Shuck interrupted him.</p> + +<p>'It's of no use, Baxendale, your remonstrating about the short +allowance. Think of the many mouths there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> is to feed. It's hard times, +we all know, thanks to the masters; but our duty, ay, and our pride too, +must lie in putting up with them, like men.'</p> + +<p>'It's not very hard times with you, at any rate,' said John Baxendale, +sniffing involuntarily the savoury odour, and watching the tempting +morsels consumed. 'My business here is not to remonstrate at anything, +but to inform you that I shall resume work on Monday.'</p> + +<p>The announcement took Sam by surprise. He dropped the knife with which +he was cutting the liver, held upon his bread—for the repast was not +served fashionably, with a full complement of plates and dishes—and +stared at Baxendale—'What!' he uttered.</p> + +<p>'I have had enough of it. I shall go back on Monday morning.'</p> + +<p>'Are you a fool, Baxendale? Or a knave?'</p> + +<p>'Sometimes I think I must be a fool,' was the reply, given without +irritation. 'Leastways, I have wondered lately whether I am or not: when +there has been full work and full wages to be had for the asking, and I +have not asked, but have let my wife and children and Mary go down to +starvation point.'</p> + +<p>'You have been holding out for principle,' remonstrated Sam.</p> + +<p>'I know; and principle is a very good thing when you are sure it's the +right principle. But flesh and blood can't stand out for ever.'</p> + +<p>'After standing out as long as this, I'd try and stand out a bit +longer,' cried Sam. 'You <i>must</i>, Baxendale; you can't turn traitor now.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p><p>'You say "a bit," longer, Sam Shuck. It has been "a bit longer," and "a +bit longer," for some time past; but the bit doesn't come to any ending. +There's no more chance of the masters' coming to, than there was at +first, but a great deal less. The getting of these men from the country +will render them independent of us. What is to become of us then?'</p> + +<p>'Rubbish!' said Sam Shuck. 'The masters must come to: they can't stand +against the Unions. Because a sprinkling of poor country workmen have +thrust in their noses, and the masters are keeping open their works on +the show of it, is that a reason why we should knuckle down? They are +doing it to frighten us.'</p> + +<p>'Look here,' said Baxendale. 'I have two women and two children on my +hands, and one of the women is next door to the grave; I am +threatened—<i>you</i> know it, Sam Shuck—with a lodging for them in the +street next week, because I have not been able to pay the rent; I have +parted by selling and pledging, with nearly all there is to part with, +of my household goods. There was what they call a Bible reader round +last week, and he says, pleasantly, "Why don't you kneel down and ask +God to consider your condition, Mr. Baxendale?" Very good. But how can I +do that? Isn't it just a mockery for me to pray for help to provide for +me and mine? If God was pleased to answer us in words, would not the +answer be, "There is work, and to spare; you have only got to do it?"'</p> + +<p>'Well, that's grand,' put in one of Sam's guests, most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> of whom had been +staring with open mouths. 'As if folks asked God about such things as +this!'</p> + +<p>'Since my late wife died, I have thought about it more than I used to,' +said Baxendale, simply, 'and I have got to see that there's no good to +be done in anything without it. But how can I in reason ask for help +now, when I don't help myself? The work is ready to my hand, and I don't +take it. So, Sam, my mind's made up at last. You'll tell the Union.'</p> + +<p>'No, I shan't. You won't go to work.'</p> + +<p>'You'll see. I shall be glad to go. I haven't had a proper meal +this——'</p> + +<p>'You'll think better of it between now and Monday morning,' interrupted +Sam, drowning the words. 'I'll have a talk with you to-morrow. Have a +bit of supper, Baxendale?'</p> + +<p>'No, thank ye. I didn't come in to eat your victuals,' he added, moving +to the door.</p> + +<p>'We have got plenty,' said Mrs. Shuck, turning round from the +frying-pan. 'Here, eat it up-stairs, if you won't stop, Baxendale.' She +took out a slice of liver and of bacon, and handed them to him on a +saucer. What a temptation it was to the man, sick with hunger! However, +he was about to refuse, when he thought of Mary.</p> + +<p>'Thank ye, Mrs. Shuck. I'll take it, then, if you can spare it. It will +be a treat to Mary.' Like unto the appearance of water in the arid +desert to the parched and exhausted traveller, was the sight of that +saucer of meat to Mary. Terribly did she often crave for it. John +Baxendale positively refused to touch any; so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> Mary divided it into two +portions, giving one to Mrs. Baxendale. The woman's good-nature—her +sense of Mary's condition—would have led her to refuse it; but she was +not quite made up of self-denial, and she felt faint and sinking. John +Baxendale cut a thick slice of bread, rubbed it over the remains of +gravy in the saucer, and ate that. 'Please God, this shall have an end,' +he mentally repeated. 'I think I <i>have</i> been a fool!'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter's yard—as it was familiarly called in the trade—was open +just as were other yards, though as yet he had but few men at work in +it; in fact, so little was doing that it was almost equivalent to a +stand-still. Mr. Henry Hunter was better off. A man of energy, +determined to stand no nonsense, as he himself expressed it, he had gone +down to country places, and engaged many hands.</p> + +<p>On the Monday following the above Saturday night, John Baxendale +presented himself to Austin Clay and requested to be taken on again. +Austin complied at once, glad to do so, and told the man he was wise to +come to his senses. Mr. Hunter was not at business that day; 'too unwell +to leave home' was the message carried to Austin Clay. In the evening +Austin went to the house: as was usual when Mr. Hunter did not make his +appearance at the works in the day. Florence was alone when he entered. +Evidently in distress; though she strove to hide it from him, to turn it +off with gay looks and light words. But he noted the signs. 'What is +your grief, Florence?' he asked, speaking in an earnest tone of +sympathy.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p><p>It caused the tears to come forth again. Austin took her hands and drew +her to him, as either a lover or a brother might have done, leaving her +to take it as she pleased.</p> + +<p>'Let me share it, Florence, whatever it may be.'</p> + +<p>'It is nothing more than usual,' she answered; 'but somehow my spirits +are low this evening. I try to bear up bravely; and I do bear up: but, +indeed, this is an unhappy home. Mamma is sinking fast; I see it daily. +While papa——' But for making the abrupt pause, she would have broken +down. Austin turned away: he did not choose that she should enter upon +any subject connected with Mr. Hunter. This time Florence would not be +checked: as she had been hitherto. 'Austin, I cannot bear it any longer. +What is it that is overshadowing papa?' she continued, her voice, her +whole manner full of dread. 'I am sure that some misfortune hangs over +the house.'</p> + +<p>'I wish I could take you out of it,' was the impulsive and not very +relevant answer. 'I can tell you nothing, Florence,' he concluded more +soberly. 'Mr. Hunter has many cares in business; but the cares are his +own.'</p> + +<p>'Austin, is it kind of you to try to put me off so? I can bear reality, +whatever it may be, better than suspense. It is for papa I grieve. See +how ill he is! And yet he has no ailment of body, only of mind. Night +after night he paces his room, never sleeping.'</p> + +<p>'How do you know that?' Austin inquired.</p> + +<p>'Because I listen to it.'—'You should not do so.'</p> + +<p>'I cannot <i>help</i> listening to him. How is it possible? His room is near +mine, and when his footsteps are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> sounding in it, in the midnight +silence, hour after hour, my ears grow sensitively quick. I say that +loving him, I cannot help it. Sometimes I think that if I only knew the +cause, the nature of his sorrow, I might soothe it—perhaps help to +remove it.'</p> + +<p>'As if young ladies could ever help or remove the cares of business!' he +cried, speaking lightly.</p> + +<p>'I am not a child, Austin,' she resumed: 'it is not kind of you to make +pretence that I am, and try to put me off as one. Papa's trouble is +<i>not</i> connected with business, and I am sure you know that as well as I +do. Will you not tell me what it is?'</p> + +<p>'Florence, you can have no grounds for assuming that I am cognisant of +it.'</p> + +<p>'I feel very sure that you are. Can you suppose that I should otherwise +speak of it to you?'</p> + +<p>'I say that you can have no grounds for the supposition. By what do you +so judge?'</p> + +<p>'By signs,' she answered. 'I can read it in your countenance, your +actions. I was pretty sure of it before that day when you sent me +hastily into your rooms, lest I should hear what the man Gwinn was about +to say; but I have been fully sure since. What he would have said +related to it; and, in some way, the man is connected with the ill. +Besides, you have been on confidential terms with papa for years.'</p> + +<p>'On business matters only: not on private ones. My dear Florence, I must +request you to let this subject cease, now and always. I know nothing of +its nature from your father; and if my own thoughts have in any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> way +strayed towards it, it is not fitting that I should give utterance to +them.'</p> + +<p>'Tell me one thing: could I be of any service, in any way?'</p> + +<p>'Hush, Florence,' he uttered, as if the words had struck upon some +painful cord. 'The only service you can render is, by taking no notice +of it. Do not think of it if you can help; do not allude to it to your +mother.'</p> + +<p>'I never do,' she interrupted.—'That is well.'</p> + +<p>'You have sometimes said you cared for me.'</p> + +<p>'Well?' he rejoined, determined to be as contrary as he could.</p> + +<p>'If you did, you would not leave me in this suspense. Only tell me the +nature of papa's trouble, I will not ask further.'</p> + +<p>Austin gathered his wits together, thinking what plea he should invent. +'It is a debt, Florence. Your papa contracted a debt many years ago; he +thought it was paid; but by some devilry—pardon the word; I forgot I +was talking to you—a lawyer, Gwinn of Ketterford, has proved that it +was not paid, and he comes to press for instalments of it. That is all I +know. And now you must give me your promise not to speak of this. I'll +never tell you anything more if you do.'</p> + +<p>Florence had listened attentively, and was satisfied.</p> + +<p>'I will never speak of it,' she said. 'I think I understand it now. Papa +fears he shall have no fortune left for me. Oh, if he only knew——'</p> + +<p>'Hush, Florence!' came the warning whisper, for Mrs. Hunter was standing +at the door.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p><p>'Is it you, Austin? I heard voices here, and wondered who had come in.'</p> + +<p>'How are you, dear Mrs. Hunter?' he said to her as she entered. 'Better +this evening?'</p> + +<p>'Not better,' was Mrs. Hunter's answer, as she retained Austin's hand, +and drew him on the sofa beside her. 'There will be no "better" for me +in this world. Austin, I wish I could have gone from it under happier +circumstances. Florence, I hear your papa calling.'</p> + +<p>'If <i>you</i> are not happy in the prospect of the future, who can be?' +murmured Austin, as Florence left the room.</p> + +<p>'I spoke not of myself. My concern is for Mr. Hunter. Austin, I would +give every minute of my remaining days to know what terrible grief it is +that has been so long upon him.' Austin was silent. Had Mrs. Hunter and +Florence entered into a compact to annoy him? 'It has been like a dark +shade upon our house for years. Florence and I have kept silence upon it +to him, and to each other; to him we dare not speak, to each other we +would not. Latterly it has seemed so much worse, that I was forced to +whisper of it to her: I could not keep it in; the silence was killing +me. We both agree that you are in his confidence; if so, perhaps you +will satisfy me?'</p> + +<p>Austin Clay felt himself in a dilemma. He could not speak of it in the +light manner he had to Florence, or put off so carelessly Mrs. Hunter. +'I am not in his confidence, indeed, Mrs. Hunter,' he broke forth, glad +to be able to say so much. 'That I have observed the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> signs you speak of +in Mr. Hunter, his embarrassment, his grief——'</p> + +<p>'Say his fear, Austin.'</p> + +<p>'His fear. That I have noticed this it would be vain to deny. But, Mrs. +Hunter, I assure you he has never given me his confidence upon the +subject. Quite the contrary; he has particularly shunned it with me. Of +course I can give a very shrewd guess at the cause—he is pressed for +money. Times are bad; and when a man of Mr. Hunter's thoughtful +temperament begins to be really anxious on the score of money matters, +it shows itself in various ways.'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hunter quitted the subject, perhaps partially reassured; at any +rate convinced that no end would be answered by continuing it. 'I was +mistaken, I suppose,' she said, with a sigh. 'At least you can tell me, +Austin, how business is going on. How will it go on?'</p> + +<p>Very grave turned Austin's face now. This was an open evil—one to be +openly met and grappled with; and what his countenance gained in +seriousness it lost in annoyance. 'I really do not see how it will go +on,' was his reply, 'unless we can get to work soon. I want to speak to +Mr. Hunter. Can I see him?'</p> + +<p>'He will be in directly. He has not been down to-day yet. But I suppose +you will wish to see him in private; I know he and you like to be alone +when you talk upon business matters.'</p> + +<p>At present it was expedient that Mrs. Hunter, at any rate, should not be +present, if she was to be spared annoyance; for Mr. Hunter's affairs +were growing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> ominous. This was chiefly owing to the stoppage of works +in process, and partly to the effect of a diminished capital. Austin as +yet did not know all the apprehension, for Mr. Hunter contrived to keep +some of it from him. That the diminishing of the capital was owing to +Gwinn of Ketterford, Austin did know; at least, his surmises amounted to +certainty. When a hundred pounds, or perhaps two hundred pounds, +mysteriously went out, and Austin was not made acquainted with the +money's destination, he drew his own conclusions.</p> + +<p>'Are the men not learning the error of their course yet?' Mrs. Hunter +resumed.</p> + +<p>'They seem further off learning it than ever. One of them, indeed, came +back to-day: Baxendale.'</p> + +<p>'I felt sure he would be amongst the first to do so. He is a sensible +man: how he came to hold out at all, is to me a matter of surprise.'</p> + +<p>'He told me this morning, when he came and asked to be taken on again, +that he wished he never had held out,' said Austin. 'Mary is none the +better for it.'</p> + +<p>'Mary was here to-day,' remarked Mrs. Hunter. 'She came to say that she +was better, and could do some work if I had any. I fear it is a +deceitful improvement. She is terribly thin and wan. No; this state of +things must have been bad for her. She looks as if she were half +famished.'</p> + +<p>'She only looks what she is,' said Austin.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Austin! I should have been so thankful to help her to strengthening +food during this scarcity,' Mrs. Hunter exclaimed, the tears rising in +her eyes. 'But I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> have not dared. You know what Mr. Hunter's opinion +is—that the men have brought it upon themselves, and that, to help +their families, only in the least degree, would be encouraging them to +hold out, and would tend to prolong the contest. He positively forbade +me helping any of them: and I could only obey. I have kept indoors as +much as possible; that I might avoid the sight of the distress which I +must not relieve. But I ordered Mary a good meal here this morning: Mr. +Hunter did not object to that. Here he is.' Mr. Hunter entered, leaning +upon Florence. He looked like an old man, rather than one of middle age.</p> + +<p>'Baxendale is back, sir,' Austin observed, after a few words on business +matters had passed in an under tone.</p> + +<p>'Come to his senses at last, has he?' cried Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>'That is just what I told him he had done, sir.'</p> + +<p>'Has he signed the declaration?'</p> + +<p>'Of course he has. The men have to do that, you know, sir, before they +get any work. He says he wishes he had come back at first.'</p> + +<p>'So do a good many others, in their hearts,' answered Mr. Hunter, +significantly. 'But they can't pluck up the courage to acknowledge it.'</p> + +<p>'The men are most bitter against him—urged on, no doubt, by the Union. +They——'</p> + +<p>'Against Baxendale?'</p> + +<p>'Against Baxendale. He came to speak to me before breakfast. I gave him +the declaration to read and sign, and sent him to work at once. In the +course of the morning it had got wind; though Baxendale told me he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> had +given Sam Shuck notice of his intention on Saturday night. At dinner +time, when Baxendale was quitting the yard, there were, I should say, a +couple of hundred men assembled there——'</p> + +<p>'The Daffodil Delight people?' interrupted Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>'Yes. Our late men chiefly, and a sprinkling of Mr. Henry's. They were +waiting there for Baxendale, and the moment he appeared, the yells, the +hisses, the groans, were dreadful. I suspected what it was, and ran out. +But for my doing so, I believe they would have set upon him.'</p> + +<p>'Mark you, Clay! I will protect my workmen to the very limit of the law. +Let the malcontents lay but a finger upon any one of them, and they +shall assuredly be punished to the uttermost,' reiterated Mr. Hunter, +bringing down his hand forcibly. 'What did you do?'</p> + +<p>'I spoke to them just as you have now spoken,' said Austin. 'Their +threatenings to the man were terrible. I dared them to lay a finger upon +him; I assured them that the language they were using was punishable. +Had the police been in the way—but the more you want them, the less +they are to be seen—I should have handed a few into custody.'</p> + +<p>'Who were the ringleaders?'—'I can scarcely tell. Ryan, the Irishman, +was busy, and so was Jim Dunn; Cheek, also, backed by his wife.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, you had women also!'</p> + +<p>'In plenty,' said Austin. 'One of them—I think it was Cooper's +wife—roared out a challenge to fight <i>Mrs.</i> Baxendale, if her man, +Cooper, as she expressed it, was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> too much of a woman to fight <i>him</i>. +There will be bloodshed, I fear, sir, before the thing is over.'</p> + +<p>'If there is, let they who cause it look to themselves,' said Mr. +Hunter, speaking as sternly as he felt. 'How did it end?'</p> + +<p>'I cleared a passage for Baxendale, and they yelled and hooted him +home,' replied Austin. "I suppose they'd like to take my life, sir," he +said to me; "but I think I am only doing right in returning to work. I +could not let my family and Mary quite starve." This afternoon all was +quiet; Quale told me the men were holding a meeting.'</p> + +<p>Florence was sitting with her hands clasped, her colour gradually +rising. 'If they should—set upon Baxendale, and—and injure him!' she +breathed.</p> + +<p>'Then the law would see what it could do towards getting some of them +punished,' sternly spoke Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>'Oh, James!' interposed his wife, her pale cheeks flushing, as the words +grated on her ears. 'Can nothing be done to prevent it? Prevention is +better than cure. Austin, will you not give notice to the police, and +tell them to be on the alert?'</p> + +<p>'I have done it,' answered Austin.</p> + +<p>'Papa,' said Florence, 'have you heard that Robert Darby's children are +ill?—likely to die? They are suffering dreadfully from want. Mary +Baxendale said so when she was here this morning.'</p> + +<p>'I know nothing about Robert Darby or his children,' was the +uncompromising reply of Mr. Hunter. 'If a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> man sees his children +starving before him, and will not work to feed them, he deserves to find +them ill. Florence, I see what you mean—you would like to ask me to +permit you to send them relief. <i>I will not.</i>'</p> + +<p>Do not judge of Mr. Hunter's humanity by the words, or deem him an +unfeeling man. He was far from that. Had the men been out of work +through misfortune, he would have been the first to forward them +succour; many and many a time had he done it in cases of sickness. He +considered, as did most of the other London masters, that to help the +men or their families in any way, would but tend to prolong the dispute. +And there was certainly reason in their argument—if the men wished to +feed their children, why did they not work for them?</p> + +<p>'Sir,' whispered Austin, when he was going, and Mr. Hunter went with him +into the hall, 'that bill of Lamb's came back to us to-day, noted.'</p> + +<p>'No!'—'It did, indeed. I had to take it up.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter lifted his hands. 'This wretched state of things! It will +bring on ruin, it will bring on ruin. I heard one of the masters curse +the men the other day in his perplexity and anger; there are times when +I am tempted to follow his example. Ruin! for my wife and for Florence!'</p> + +<p>'Mr. Hunter,' exclaimed Austin, greatly agitated, and speaking in the +moment's impulse, 'why will you not give me the hope of winning her? I +will make her a happy home——'</p> + +<p>'Be silent!' sternly interrupted Mr. Hunter. 'I have told you that +Florence can never be yours. If<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> you cannot put away this unthankful +subject, at once and for ever, I must forbid you the house.'</p> + +<p>'Good night, sir,' returned Austin. And he went away, sighing heavily.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER IV.</span> <span class="smaller">SOMEBODY 'PITCHED INTO.'</span></h2> + +<p>How do the poor manage to pull through illness? Through distress, +through hunger, through cold, through nakedness; above all, through the +close, unwholesome atmosphere in which too many of them are obliged to +live, they struggle on from sickness back to health. Look at the +children of Robert Darby. The low fever which attacked them had in some +inexplicable way been subdued, without its going on to the dreaded +typhus. If typhus had appeared at that untoward time in Daffodil's +Delight, why, then, no earthly power could have kept many from the +grave. Little pale, pinched forms, but with the disease gone, there sat +Darby's children. Colder weather had come, and they had gathered round +the bit of fire in their close room: fire it could scarcely be called, +for it was only a few decaying embers. All sat on the floor, save Willy; +he was in a chair, leaning his head back on a pillow. The boy had +probably never been fitted by constitution for a prolonged life, though +he might have lasted some years more under favourable surroundings; as +it was, fever and privation had done<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> their work with him, and the +little spirit was nearly worn out. Mrs. Darby had taken him round to Mr. +Rice. 'He does not want me, he wants good nourishment, and plenty of +it,' was the apothecary's announcement! And Mrs. Darby took him home +again. 'Mother, the fire's nearly out.'</p> + +<p>'I can't help it, Willy. There's no coal, and nothing to buy it +with.'—'Take something, mother.'</p> + +<p>You may or may not, as you are acquainted or not with the habits of the +poor, be aware that this sentence referred to the pawnbroker: spoken out +fully it would have been, 'Take something and pledge it, mother.' In +cases of long-continued general distress, the children of a family know +just as much about its ways and means as the heads do. Mrs. Darby cast +her eyes round the kitchen. There was nothing to take, nothing that +would raise them help, to speak of. As she stood over Willy, parting the +hair with her gentle finger upon his little pale brow, her tears dropped +upon his face. The pillow on which his head leaned? Ay; she had thought +of that with longing; but how would his poor aching head do without it? +The last things put in pledge had been Darby's tools. The latch of the +door opened, and Grace entered. She appeared to be in some deep +distress. Flinging herself on a chair, she clasped hold of her mother, +sobbing wildly, clinging to her as if for protection. 'Oh, mother, they +have accused me of theft; the police have been had to me!' were the +confused words that broke from her lips. Grace had taken a service in a +baker's family, where there was an excessively cross<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> mistress. She was +a well-conducted, honest girl, and, since the distress had commenced at +home, had brought her wages straight to her mother, whenever they were +paid her. For the last week or two, the girl had brought something more. +On the days when she believed she could get a minute to run home in the +evening, she had put by her allowance of meat at dinner—they lived well +at the baker's—and made it upon bread and potatoes. Had Grace for a +moment suspected there was anything wrong or dishonest in this, she +would not have done it: she deemed the meat was hers, and she took it to +Willy. On this day, two good slices of mutton were cut for her; she put +them by, ate her potatoes and bread, and after dinner, upon being sent +on an errand past Daffodil's Delight, was taking them out with her. The +mistress pounced upon her. She abused her, she reproached her with +theft, she called her husband to join in the accusation; and finally, a +policeman was brought in from the street, probably more to frighten the +girl than to give her in charge. It did frighten her in no measured +degree. She protested, as well as she could do it for her sobs, that she +had no dishonest thought; that she had believed the meat to be hers to +eat it or not as she pleased, and that she was going to take it to her +little brother, who was dying. The policeman decided that it was not a +case for charge at the police-court, and the baker's wife ended the +matter by turning her out. All this, with sobs and moans, she by degrees +explained now.</p> + +<p>Robert Darby, who had entered during the scene,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> placed his hand, more +in sorrow than in anger, upon Grace's shoulder, in his stern honesty. +'Daughter, I'd far rather we all dropped down here upon the floor and +died out with starvation, than that you should have brought home what +was not yours to bring.'</p> + +<p>'There's no need for <i>you</i> to scold her, Robert,' spoke Mrs. Darby, with +more temper than she, meek woman that she was, often betrayed: and her +conscience told her that she had purposely kept these little episodes +from her husband. 'It is the bits of meat she has fed him with twice or +thrice a week that has just kept life in him; that's my firm belief.'</p> + +<p>'She shouldn't have done it; it was not hers to bring,' returned Robert +Darby.</p> + +<p>'What else has he had to feed him?' proceeded the wife, determined to +defend the girl. 'What do any of us have? <i>You</i> are getting nothing.' +The tone was a reproachful one. With her starving children before her, +and one of them dying, the poor mother's wrung heart could but speak +out.</p> + +<p>'I know I am getting nothing. Is it my fault? I wish I could get +something. I'd work my fingers to the bone to keep my children.'</p> + +<p>'Robert, let me speak to you,' she said in an imploring tone, the tears +gushing from her eyes. 'I have sat here this week and asked myself, +every hour of it, what we shall do. All our things, that money can be +made on, are gone; the pittance we get allowed by the society does not +keep body and soul together; and this state of affairs gets worse, and +will get worse. What is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> to become of us? What are we to do?' Robert +Darby leaned in his old jacket—one considerably the worse for +wear—against the kitchen wall, his countenance gloomy, his attitude +bespeaking misery. He knew not what they were to do, therefore he did +not attempt to say. Grace had laid down her inflamed face upon the edge +of Willy's pillow and was sobbing silently. The others sat on the floor: +very quiet; as semi-starved little ones are apt to be. 'You have just +said you would work your fingers to the bone to keep your children,' +resumed Mrs. Darby to her husband.</p> + +<p>'I'd work for them till the flesh dropped off me. I'd ask no better than +to do it,' he vehemently said. 'But where am I to get work to do now?'</p> + +<p>'Baxendale has got it,' she rejoined in a low tone.</p> + +<p>Grace started from her leaning posture.</p> + +<p>'Oh, father, do as Baxendale has done! don't let the children quite +starve. If you had been in work, this dreadful thing would not have +happened. It will be a slur upon me for life.'</p> + +<p>'So I would work, girl, but for the Trades' Unions.'</p> + +<p>'Father, the Trades' Unions seem to bring you no good; nothing but harm. +Don't trust them any longer; trust the masters now.'</p> + +<p>Never was there a better meaning man than Robert Darby; but he was too +easily swayed by others. Latterly it had appeared to him that the +Trades' Unions did bring him harm, and his trust in them was shaken. He +stood for a few moments, revolving the question in his own mind. 'They'd +cast me off, you see, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> Trades' Unions would,' he observed to his +wife, in an irresolute tone.</p> + +<p>'What if they did? The masters would take you on. Stand right with the +masters——'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darby was interrupted by a shriek from Grace. Little Willy, whom +nobody had been giving attention to, was lying back with a white face, +senseless. Whether from the weakness of his condition, or from the +unusual excitement of the scene going on around him, certain it was that +the child had fainted. There was some little bustle in bringing him to, +and Mrs. Darby sat down, the boy upon her lap.</p> + +<p>'What ailed you, deary?' said Robert Darby, bending down to him.</p> + +<p>'I don't know, father,' returned the child. And his voice was fainter +than ever.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darby pulled her husband's ear close to her lips. 'When the boy's +dead, you'll wish you had cared for him more than for the Trades' +Unions; and worked for him.'</p> + +<p>The words told upon the man. Perhaps for the first time he had fully +realized to his imagination the moment when he should see his boy lying +dead before him. 'I will work,' he exclaimed. 'Willy, boy, father will +go and get work; and he'll soon bring you home something good to eat, as +he used to.' Willy's hot lips parted with a pleasant smile of response; +his blue eyes glistened brightly. Robert Darby bent his rough, unshaven +face, and took a kiss from the child's smooth one. 'Yes, my boy; father +<i>will</i> work.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p><p>He went out, bending his steps towards Slippery Sam's—who, by the way, +had latterly tried to exact the title of 'Mr. Shuck.' There was a code +of honour—as they regarded it—amidst these operatives of the Hunters, +to do nothing underhanded. That is, not to resume work without first +speaking to the Unions' man, Sam Shuck—as was mentioned in the case of +Baxendale. It happened that Mr. Shuck was standing in the strip of +garden before his house, carrying on a wordy war over the palings with +Mrs. Quale, when Darby came up. Peter Quale had of course been locked +out with the rest, but with the first hour that Mr. Hunter's yard was +opened, Peter returned to his work. He did not belong to the Trades' +Unions—he never had belonged to them and never would; therefore, he was +a free man. Strange to say, he was left to do as he liked in peace; +somehow the Union did not care to interfere with Peter Quale—for one +thing, he occupied a better position in the yard than most of the men. +Peter pursued his own course quietly—going to his work and returning +from it, saying little to the malcontents of Daffodil's Delight. Not so +Mrs. Quale; she exercised her tongue upon them whenever she got the +chance. Her motive was a good one: she was at heart sorry for the +privation at present existing in Daffodil's Delight, and would have +liked to shame the men into going to work again.</p> + +<p>'Now, Robert Darby! how are them children of your'n?' began she. +'Starved out yet?'</p> + +<p>'Next door to it,' was Darby's answer.</p> + +<p>'And whose is the fault?' she went on. 'If I had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> children, and my +husband wouldn't work to keep 'em out of their graves, through getting +some nasty mistaken crotchet in his head, and holding out when the work +was going a-begging, I'd go before a magistrate and see if I couldn't +have the law of him.'</p> + +<p>'You'd do a good many things if you wore the breeches,' interposed Sam +Shuck, with a sneer; 'but you don't, you know.'</p> + +<p>'You be wearing whole breeches now, which you get out of the blood and +marrow of the poor misguided men,' retorted Mrs. Quale. 'They won't last +out whole for ever, Slippery Sam.'</p> + +<p>'They'll last out as long as I want 'em to, I dare say,' said Sam. 'Have +you come up for anything particular, Darby?'</p> + +<p>'I have come to talk a bit, Shuck,' answered Darby, inwardly shrinking +from his task, and so deferring for a minute the announcement. 'There +seems no chance of this state of things coming to an end.'</p> + +<p>'No, that there doesn't. You men are preventing that.'—'Us men!' +exclaimed Robert Darby in surprise. 'What do you mean?'</p> + +<p>'I don't mean you; I don't mean the sturdy, honest fellows who hold out +for their rights like men—I mean the other lot. If every operative in +the kingdom had held out, to a man, the masters would have given in long +ago—they must have done it; and you would all be back, working in +triumph the nine hours per day. I spoke of those rats who sneak in, and +take the work, to the detriment of the honest man.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p><p>'At any rate, the rats are getting the best of it just now,' said +Robert Darby.</p> + +<p>'That they are,' said Mrs. Quale, exultingly, who would not lose an +opportunity of putting in her word. She stood facing the men, her arms +resting on the palings that divided the gardens. 'It isn't <i>their</i> +children that are dropping into their winding-sheets through want of +food.'</p> + +<p>'If I had my way, I'd hang every man who in this crisis is putting his +hand to a stroke of work,' exclaimed Sam Shuck. 'Traitors! to turn and +work for the masters after they had resorted to a lock-out! It was that +lock-out floored us.'</p> + +<p>'Of course it was,' assented Mrs. Quale, with marked complaisance. 'If +the Union only had money coming in from the men, they'd hold out for +ever. But the general lock-out stopped that.'</p> + +<p>'Ugh!' growled Sam, with the addition of an ugly word.</p> + +<p>'Well, Shuck, as things seem to be getting worse instead of better, and +prospects look altogether so gloomy, I shall go back to work myself,' +resumed Darby, plucking up courage to say it.</p> + +<p>'Chut,' said Shuck.</p> + +<p>'Will you tell me what I <i>am</i> to do? I'd rather turn a thousand miles +the other way than I'd put my foot indoors at home, and see things as +they are there. If a man can clam himself, he can't watch those +belonging to him clam. Every farthing of allowance I had from the +society last week was——'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p><p>'You had your share,' interrupted Sam, who never cared to contend about +the amount received. 'Think of the thousands there is to divide it +among. The subscriptions have come in very well as yet, but they be +falling off now.'</p> + +<p>'And think of the society's expenses,' interposed Mrs. Quale, with +suavity. 'The scores of gentlemen, like Mr. Shuck, there is to pay, and +keep on the fat of the land. He'll be going into Parliament next!'</p> + +<p>'You shut up, will you?' roared Sam. 'Ryan,' called out he to the +Irishman, who was lounging up, 'here's Darby saying he thinks he shall +go to work.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, but that would be rich,' said Ryan, with a laugh, as he entered the +garden, and took his standing beside Sam Shuck. 'Darby, man, you'd never +desert the society! It couldn't spare you.'</p> + +<p>'I want to do for the best,' said Darby; 'and it seems to me that to +hold out is for the worse. Shuck, just answer me a question or two, as +from man to man. If the masters fill their yards with other operatives, +what is to become of us?'</p> + +<p>'They can't fill their yards with other operatives,' returned Shuck. +'Where's the use of talking nonsense?'</p> + +<p>'But they can. They are doing it.'</p> + +<p>'They are not. They have just got a sprinkling of men for show—not +many. Where are they to get them from?'</p> + +<p>'Do you know what I heard? That Mr. Henry Hunter has been over to +Belgium, and one or two of the other masters have also been, and——'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p><p>'There's no fear of the Beljim workmen,' interrupted Ryan. 'What +English master 'ud employ them half-starved frogs?'</p> + +<p>'I heard that Mr. Henry Hunter was quite thunderstruck at their skill,' +continued Darby, paying no attention to the interruption. Their tools +are bad: they are not to be called tools, compared to ours; but they +turn out finished work. Their decorative work is beautiful. Mr. Henry +Hunter put the question to them, whether they would like to come to +England and earn five-and-sixpence per day, instead of three shillings +as they do there, and they jumped at it. He told them that perhaps he +might be sending for them.'</p> + +<p>'Where did you bear that fine tale?' asked Slippery Sam?'</p> + +<p>'It's going about among us. I dare say you have heard it also, Shuck. +Mr. Henry was away somewhere for nine or ten days.'</p> + +<p>'Let 'em come, them Beljicks,' sneered Ryan. 'Maybe they'd go back with +their heads off. It couldn't take much to split the skull of them French +beggars.'</p> + +<p>'Not when an Irishman holds the stick,' cried Mrs. Quale, looking the +man steadily in the face, as she left the palings.</p> + +<p>Ryan watched her away, and resumed. 'How dare the masters think of +taking on forringers? Leaving us to starve!'</p> + +<p>'The preventing of it lies with us,' said Darby. 'If we go back to work, +there'll be no room for them.'</p> + +<p>'Listen, Darby,' rejoined Shuck, in a persuasive tone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> of confidence, +the latter in full force, now that his enemy, Mrs. Quale, had gone. 'The +bone of contention is the letting us work nine hours a day instead of +ten: well, why should they not accord it? Isn't there every reason why +they should? Isn't there men, outsiders, willing to work a full day's +work, but can't get it? This extra hour, thrown up by us, would give +employment to them. Would the masters be any the worse off?'</p> + +<p>'They say they'd be the hour's wages out of pocket.'</p> + +<p>'Flam!' ejaculated Sam. 'It would come out of the public's pocket, not +out of the masters'. They would add so much the more on to their +contracts, and nobody would be the worse. It's just a dogged feeling of +obstinacy that's upon 'em; it's nothing else. They'll come-to in the +end, if you men will only let them; they can't help doing it. Hold out, +hold out, Darby! If we are to give into them now, where has been the use +of this struggle? Haven't you waited for it, and starved for it, and +hoped for it?'</p> + +<p>'Very true,' replied Darby, feeling in a perplexing maze of indecision.</p> + +<p>'Don't give in, man, at the eleventh hour,' urged Shuck, with +affectionate eloquence: and to hear him you would have thought he had +nothing in the world at heart so much as the interest of Robert Darby. +'A little longer, and the victory will be ours. You see, it is not the +bare fact of your going back that does the mischief, it's the example it +sets. But for that scoundrel Baxendale's turning tail, you would not +have thought about it.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p><p>'I don't know that,' said Darby.</p> + +<p>'One bad sheep will spoil a flock,' continued Sam, puffing away at a +cigar which he was smoking. He would have enjoyed a pipe a great deal +more; but gentlemen smoked cigars, and Sam wanted to look as much like a +gentleman as he could; it had been suggested to him that it would add to +his power over the operatives. 'Why, Darby, we have got it all in our +own hands—if you men could but be brought to see it. It's as plain as +the nose before you. Us, builders, taking us in all our branches, might +be the most united and prosperous body of men in the world. Only let us +pull together, and have consideration for our fellows, and put away +selfishness. Binding ourselves to work on an equality, nine hours a day +being the limit; eight, perhaps, after a while——'</p> + +<p>'It's a good thing you have not got much of an audience here, Sam Shuck! +That doctrine of yours is false and pernicious; its in opposition to the +laws of God and man.' The interruption proceeded from Dr. Bevary. He had +come into the garden unperceived by Sam, who was lounging on the side +palings, his back to the gate. The doctor was on his way to pay a visit +to Mary Baxendale. Sam started up. 'What did you say, sir?'</p> + +<p>'What did I say!' repeated Dr. Bevary. 'I think it should be, what did +you say? You would dare to circumscribe the means of usefulness God has +given to man—to set a limit to his talents and his labour! You would +say, "So far shall you work, and no farther!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> Who are you, and all such +as you, that you should assume such power, and set yourselves up between +your fellow-men and their responsibilities?'</p> + +<p>'Hear, hear,' interrupted Mrs. Quale, putting her head out at her +window—for she had gone indoors. 'Give him a bit of truth, sir.'</p> + +<p>'I have been a hard worker for years,' continued Dr. Bevary, paying no +attention, it must be confessed, to Mrs. Quale. 'Mentally and +practically I have toiled—<i>toiled</i>, Sam Shuck—to improve and make use +of the talents entrusted to me. My days are spent in alleviating, so far +as may be, the sufferings of my fellow-creatures; when I go to rest, I +often lie awake half the night, pondering difficult questions of medical +science. What man living has God endowed with power to come and say to +me, "You shall not do this; you shall only work half your hours; you +shall only earn a limited amount of fees?" Answer me.'</p> + +<p>'It's not a parallel case, sir, with ours,' returned Sam.</p> + +<p>'It is a parallel case,' said Dr. Bevary. 'There's your friend next +door, Peter Quale; take him. By diligence he has made himself into a +finished artizan; by dint of industry in working over hours, he is +amassing a competence that will keep him out of the workhouse in his old +age. What reason or principle of justice can there be in your saying, +"He shall not do this; he shall receive no more than I do, or than Ryan, +there, does? Because Ryan is an inferior workman, and I love idleness +and drink and agitation better than work, Quale and others shall not +work to have an advantage over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> us; we will share and fare alike." Out +upon you, Slippery Sam, for promulgating doctrines so false! You must be +the incarnation of selfishness, or you could not do it. If ever they +obtain sway in free and enlightened England, the independence of the +workman will be at an end.' The Doctor stepped in to Shuck's house, on +his way to Mary Baxendale, leaving Sam on the gravel. Sam put his arm +within Darby's, and led him down the street, out of the Doctor's way, +who would be coming forth again presently. There he set himself to undo +what the Doctor's words had done, and to breathe persuasive arguments +into Darby's ear. Later, Darby went home. It had grown dusk then, for +Sam had treated him to a glass at the Bricklayers' Arms, where sundry +other friends were taking their glasses. There appeared to be a +commotion in his house as he entered; his wife, Grace, and the young +ones were standing round Willy.</p> + +<p>'He has had another fainting fit,' said Mrs. Darby to her husband, in +explanation. 'And now—I declare illness is the strangest thing!—he +says he is hungry.' The child put out his hot hand. 'Father!' Robert +Darby advanced and took it. 'Be you better, dear? What ails you this +evening?'</p> + +<p>'Father,' whispered the child, hopefully, 'have you got the work?'</p> + +<p>'When do you begin, Robert?' asked the wife. 'To-morrow?'</p> + +<p>Darby's eyes fell, and his face clouded. 'I can't ask for it; I can't go +back to work,' he answered. 'The society won't let me.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p><p>A great cry. A cry from the mother, from Grace, from the poor little +child. Hope, sprung up once more within them, had been illumining the +past few hours. 'You shall soon have food; father's going to work again, +darlings,' the mother had said to the hungry little ones. And now the +hopes were dashed! The disappointment was hard to bear. 'Is he to <i>die</i> +of hunger?' exclaimed Mrs. Darby, in bitterness, pointing to Willy. 'You +said you would work for him.'</p> + +<p>'So I would, if they'd let me. I'd work the life out of me, but what I'd +get a crust for ye all; but the Trades' Union won't have it,' panted +Darby, his breath short with excitement. 'What am I to do?'</p> + +<p>'Work without the Trades' Union, father,' interposed Grace, taking +courage to speak. She had always been a favourite with her father. +'Baxendale has done it.'</p> + +<p>'They are threatening Baxendale awfully,' he answered. 'But it is not +that I'd care for; it's this. The society would put a mark upon me: I +should be a banned man: and when this struggle's over, they say I should +be let get work by neither masters nor men. My tools are in pledge, +too,' he added, as if that climax must end the contest.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Darby threw her apron over her eyes and burst into tears; Grace was +already crying silently, and the boy had his imploring little hands held +up. 'Robert, they are your own children!' said the wife, meekly. 'I +never thought you'd see them starve.'</p> + +<p>Another minute, and the man would have cried with them. He went out of +doors, perhaps to sob his emotion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> away. Two or three steps down the +street he encountered John Baxendale. The latter slipped five shillings +into his hand. Darby would have put it back again.</p> + +<p>'Tut, man; don't be squeamish. Take it for the children. You'd do as +much for mine, if you had got it and I hadn't. Mary and I have been +talking about you. She heard you having an argument with that snake, +Shuck.'</p> + +<p>'They be starving, Baxendale, or I wouldn't take it,' returned the man, +the tears running down his pinched face. 'I'll pay you back with the +first work I get. You call Shuck a snake; do you think he is one?'</p> + +<p>'I'm sure of it,' said Baxendale. 'I don't know that he means ill, but +can't you see the temptation it is?—all this distress and agitation +that's ruining us, is making a gentleman of him. He and the other agents +are living on the fat of the land, as Quale's wife calls it, and doing +nothing for their pay, except keeping up the agitation. If we all went +to work again quietly, where would they be? Why, they'd have to go to +work also, for their pay must cease. Darby, I think the eyes of you +union men must be blinded, not to see this.'</p> + +<p>'It seems plain enough to me at times,' assented Darby. 'I say, +Baxendale,' he added, wishing to speak a word of warning to his friend +ere he turned away, 'have a care of yourself; they are going on again +you at a fine rate.'</p> + +<p>Come what would, Darby determined to furnish a home meal with this +relief, which seemed like a very help from heaven. He bought two pounds +of beef, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> pound of cheese, some tea, some sugar, two loaves of bread, +and a lemon to make drink for Willy. Turning home with these various +treasures, he became aware that a bustle had arisen in the street. Men +and women were pressing down towards one particular spot. Tongues were +busy; but he could not at first obtain an insight into the cause of the +commotion.</p> + +<p>'An obnoxious man had been set upon in a lonely corner, under cover of +the night's darkness, and pitched into,' was at length explained. +'Beaten to death.' Away flew Darby, a horrible suspicion at his heart. +Pushing his way amidst the crowd collected round the spot, as only a +resolute man can do, he stood face to face with the sight. One, trampled +on and beaten, lay in the dust, his face covered with blood.</p> + +<p>'Is it Baxendale?' shouted Darby, for he was unable to recognise him.</p> + +<p>'It's Baxendale, as sure as a trivet. Who else should it be? He have +caught it at last.'</p> + +<p>But there were pitying faces around. Humanity revolted at the sight; and +quiet, inoffensive John Baxendale, had ever been liked in Daffodil's +Delight. Robert Darby, his voice rising to a shriek with emotion, held +out his armful of provisions.</p> + +<p>'Look here! I wanted to work, but the Union won't let me. My wife and +children be a starving at home, one of them dying: I came out, for I +couldn't bear to stop indoors in the misery. There I met a friend—it +seemed to me more like an angel—and he gave me money to feed my +children; made me take it; he said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> if I had money and he had not, I'd +do as much for him. See what I bought with it: I was carrying it home +for my poor children when this cry arose. Friends, the one to give it me +was Baxendale. And you have murdered him!' Another great cry, even as +Darby concluded, arose to break the deep stillness. No stillness is so +deep as that caused by emotion.</p> + +<p>'He is not dead!' shouted the crowd. 'See! he is stirring! Who could +have done this!'</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER V.</span> <span class="smaller">A GLOOMY CHAPTER.</span></h2> + +<p>The winter had come in, intensely hard. Frost and snow lay early upon +the ground. Was that infliction in store—a bitter winter—to be added +to the already fearful distress existing in this dense metropolis? The +men held out from work, and the condition of their families was +something sad to look upon. Distress of a different nature existed in +the house of Mr. Hunter. It was a house of sorrow; for its mistress lay +dying. The spark of life had long been flickering, and now its time to +depart had come. Haggard, worn, pale, stood Mr. Hunter in his +drawing-room. He was conversing with his brother Henry. Their topic was +business. In spite of existing domestic woes, men of business cannot +long forget their daily occupation. Mr. Henry Hunter had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> come in to +inquire news of his sister-in-law, and the conversation insensibly +turned on other matters.</p> + +<p>'Of course I shall weather it,' Mr. Henry was saying, in answer to a +question. 'It will be a fearful loss, with so much money out, and +buildings in process standing still. Did it last very much longer, I +hardly know that I could. And you, James?' Mr. Hunter evaded the +question. Since the time, years back, when they had dissolved +partnership, he had shunned all allusion to his own prosperity, or +non-prosperity, with his brother. Possibly he feared that it might lead +to that other subject—the mysterious paying away of the five thousand +pounds.</p> + +<p>'For my part, I do not feel so sure of the strike's being near its end,' +he remarked.</p> + +<p>'I have positive information that the eligibility of withdrawing the +strike at the Messrs. Pollocks' has been mooted by the central committee +of the Union,' said Mr. Henry. 'If nothing else has brought the men to +their senses, this weather must do it. It will end as nearly all strikes +have ended—in their resuming work upon our terms.'</p> + +<p>'But what an incalculable amount of suffering they have brought upon +themselves!' exclaimed Mr. Hunter. 'I do not see what is to become of +them, either, in future. How are they all to find work again? We shall +not turn off the stranger men who have worked for us in this emergency, +to make room for them.'</p> + +<p>'No, indeed,' replied Mr. Henry. 'And those strangers amount to nearly +half my complement of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> hands. Do you recollect a fellow of the name of +Moody?'</p> + +<p>'Of course I do. I met him the other day, looking like a walking +skeleton. I asked him whether he was not tired of the strike. He said +<i>he</i> had been tired of it long ago; but the Union would not let him be.'</p> + +<p>'He hung himself yesterday.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter replied only by a gesture.</p> + +<p>'And left a written paper behind him, cursing the strike and the Trades' +Unions, which had brought ruin upon him and his family. 'I saw the +paper,' continued Mr. Henry. 'A decent, quiet man he was; but timorous, +and easily led away.'</p> + +<p>'Is he dead?'</p> + +<p>'He had been dead two hours when he was found. He hung himself in that +shed at the back of Dunn's house, where the men held some meetings in +the commencement of the strike. I wonder how many more souls this +wretched state of affairs will send, or has sent, out of the world!'</p> + +<p>'Hundreds, directly or indirectly. The children are dying off quickly, +as the Registrar-General's returns show. A period of prolonged distress +always tells upon the children. And upon us also, I think,' Mr. Hunter +added, with a sigh.</p> + +<p>'Upon us in a degree,' Mr. Henry assented, somewhat carelessly. He was a +man of substance; and, upon such, the ill effects fall lightly. 'When +the masters act in combination, as we have done, it is not the men who +can do us permanent injury. They must give in, before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> great harm has +had time to come. James, I saw that man this morning: your <i>bête noire</i>, +as I call him. Mr. Hunter changed countenance. He could not be ignorant +that his brother alluded to Gwinn of Ketterford. It happened that Mr. +Henry Hunter had been cognisant of one or two of the unpleasant visits +forced by the man upon his brother during the last few years. But Mr. +Henry had avoided questions: he had the tact to perceive that they would +only go unanswered, and be deemed unpleasant into the bargain.</p> + +<p>'I met him near your yard. Perhaps he was going in there.'</p> + +<p>The sound of the muffled knocker, announcing a visitor, was heard the +moment after Mr. Henry spoke, and Mr. Hunter started as though struck by +a pistol-shot. At a calmer time he might have had more command over +himself; but the sudden announcement of the presence of the man in +town—which fact he had not been cognisant of—had startled him to +tremor. That Gwinn, and nobody else, was knocking for admittance, seemed +a certainty to his shattered nerves. 'I cannot see him: I cannot see +him!' he exclaimed, in agitation; and he backed away from the room door, +unconscious what he did in his confused fear, his lips blanching to a +deadly whiteness.</p> + +<p>Mr. Henry moved up and took his hand. 'James, there has been +estrangement between us on this point for years. As I asked you once +before, I now ask you again: confide in me and let me help you. Whatever +the dreadful secret may be, you shall find me your true brother.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p><p>'Hush!' breathed Mr. Hunter, moving from his brother in his scared +alarm. 'Dreadful secret! who says it? There is no dreadful secret. Oh +Henry! hush! hush! The man is coming in! You must leave us.' Not the +dreaded Gwinn, but Austin Clay. He was the one who entered. Mr. Hunter +sat down, breathing heavily, the blood coming back to his face; he +nearly fainted in the revulsion of feeling brought by the relief. Broken +in spirit, health and nerves alike shattered, the slightest thing was +now sufficient to agitate him.</p> + +<p>'You are ill, sir!' exclaimed Austin, advancing with concern.</p> + +<p>'No—no—I am not ill. A momentary spasm; that's all. I am subject to +it.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Henry moved to the door in vexation. There was to be no more +brotherly confidence between them now than there had formerly been. He +spoke as he went, without turning round. 'I will come in again +by-and-by, James, and see how Louisa is.'</p> + +<p>The departure seemed a positive relief to Mr. Hunter. He spoke quietly +enough to Austin Clay. 'Who has been at the office to-day?'</p> + +<p>'Let me see,' returned Austin, with a purposed carelessness. 'Lyall +came, and Thompson——'</p> + +<p>'Not men on business, not men on business,' Mr. Hunter interrupted with +feverish eagerness. 'Strangers.'</p> + +<p>'Gwinn of Ketterford,' answered Austin, with the same assumption of +carelessness. 'He came twice. No other strangers have called, I think.'</p> + +<p>Whether his brother's request, that he should be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>enlightened as to the +'dreadful secret,' had rendered Mr. Hunter suspicious that others might +surmise there was a secret, certain it is that he looked up sharply as +Austin spoke, keenly regarding his countenance, noting the sound of his +voice. 'What did he want?'</p> + +<p>'He wanted you, sir. I said you were not to be seen. I let him suppose +that you were too ill to be seen. Bailey, who was in the counting-house +at the time, gave him the gratuitous information that Mrs. Hunter was +very ill—in danger.'</p> + +<p>Why this answer should have increased Mr. Hunter's suspicions, he best +knew. He rose from his seat, grasped Austin's arm, and spoke with +menace. 'You have been prying into my affairs! You sought out those +Gwinns when you last went to Ketterford! You——'</p> + +<p>Austin withdrew from the grasp, and stood before his master, calm and +upright. 'Mr. Hunter!'</p> + +<p>'Was it not so?'</p> + +<p>'No, sir. I thought you had known me better. I should be the last to +"pry" into anything that you might wish to keep secret.'</p> + +<p>'Austin, I am not myself to-day, I am not myself,' cried the poor +gentleman, feeling how unjustifiable had been his suspicions. 'This +grief, induced by the state of Mrs. Hunter, unmans me.'</p> + +<p>'How is she, sir, by this time?'</p> + +<p>'Calm and collected, but sinking fast. You must go up and see her. She +said she should like to bid you farewell.' Through the warm corridors, +so well protected from the bitter cold reigning without, Austin was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +conducted to the room of Mrs. Hunter. Florence, her eyes swollen with +weeping, quitted it as he entered. She lay in bed, her pale face raised +upon pillows; save for that pale face and the laboured breathing, you +would not have suspected the closing scene to be so near. She lifted her +feeble hand and made prisoner of Austin's. The tears gathered in his +eyes as he looked down upon her.</p> + +<p>'Not for me, dear Austin,' she whispered, as she noted the signs of +sorrow. 'Weep rather for those who are left to battle yet with this sad +world.' The words caused Austin to wonder whether she could have become +cognisant of the nature of Mr. Hunter's long-continued trouble. He +swallowed down the emotion that was rising in his throat.</p> + +<p>'Do you feel no better?' he gently inquired.</p> + +<p>'I feel well, save for the weakness. All pain has left me. Austin, I +shall be glad to go. I have only one regret, the leaving Florence. My +husband will not be long after me; I read it in his face.'</p> + +<p>'Dear Mrs. Hunter, will you allow me to say a word to you on the subject +of Florence?' he breathed, seizing on the swiftly-passing opportunity. +'I have wished to do it before we finally part.'</p> + +<p>'Say what you will.'</p> + +<p>'Should time and perseverance on my part be crowned with success, so +that the prejudices of Mr. Hunter become subdued, and I succeed in +winning Florence, will you not say that you bless our union?'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hunter paused. 'Are we quite alone?' she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> asked. Austin glanced +round to the closed door. 'Quite,' he answered.</p> + +<p>'Then, Austin, I will say more. My hearty consent and blessing be upon +you both, if you can, indeed, subdue the objection of Mr. Hunter. Not +otherwise: you understand that.'</p> + +<p>'Without her father's consent, I am sure that Florence would not give me +hers. Have you any idea in what that objection lies?'</p> + +<p>'I have not. Mr. Hunter is not a man who will submit to be questioned, +even by me. But, Austin, I cannot help thinking that this objection to +you may fade away—for, that he likes and esteems you greatly, I know. +Should that time come, then tell him that I loved you—that I wished +Florence to become your wife—that I prayed God to bless the union. And +then tell Florence.'</p> + +<p>'Will you not tell her yourself?'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hunter made a feeble gesture of denial. 'It would seem like an +encouragement to dispute the decision of her father. Austin, will you +say farewell, and send my husband to me? I am growing faint.' He clasped +her attenuated hands in both his; he bent down, and kissed her forehead. +Mrs. Hunter held him to her. 'Cherish and love her always, should she +become yours,' was the feeble whisper. 'And come to me, come to me, both +of you, in eternity.'</p> + +<p>A moment or two in the corridor to compose himself, and Austin met Mr. +Hunter on the stairs, and gave him the message. 'How is Baxendale?' Mr. +Hunter stayed to ask.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p><p>'A trifle better. Not yet out of danger.'</p> + +<p>'You take care to give him the allowance weekly?'</p> + +<p>'Of course I do, sir. It is due to-night, and I am going to take it to +him.'</p> + +<p>'Will he ever be fit for work again?'—'I hope so.'</p> + +<p>Another word or two on the subject of Baxendale, the attack on whom Mr. +Hunter most bitterly resented, and Austin departed. Mr. Hunter entered +his wife's chamber. Florence, who was also entering, Mrs. Hunter feebly +waved away. 'I would be a moment alone with your father, my child. +James,' Mrs. Hunter said to her husband, as Florence retired—but her +voice was now so reduced that he had to bend his ear to catch the +sounds—'there has been estrangement between us on one point for many +years: and it seems—I know not why—to be haunting my death-bed. Will +you not, in this my last hour, tell me its cause?'</p> + +<p>'It would not give you peace, Louisa. It concerns myself alone.'</p> + +<p>'Whatever the secret may be, it has been wearing your life out. I ought +to know it.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter bent lower. 'My dear wife, it would not bring you peace, I +say. I contracted an obligation in my youth,' he whispered, in answer to +the yearning glance thrown up to him, 'and I have had to pay it off—one +sum after another, one after another, until it has nearly drained me. It +will soon be at an end now.'</p> + +<p>'Is it nearly paid?'—'Ay. All but.'</p> + +<p>'But why not have told me this? It would have saved me many a troubled +hour. Suspense, when fancy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> is at work, is hard to bear. And you, James: +why should simple debt, if it is that, have worked so terrible a fear +upon you?'</p> + +<p>'I did not know that I could stave it off: looking back, I wonder that I +did do it. I could have borne ruin for myself: I could not, for you.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, James!' she fondly said, 'should I have been less brave? While you +and Florence were spared to me, ruin might have done its worst.' Mr. +Hunter turned his face away: strangely wrung and haggard it looked just +then. 'What a mercy that it is over!'</p> + +<p>'All but, I said,' he interrupted. And the words seemed to burst from +him in an uncontrollable impulse, in spite of himself.</p> + +<p>'It is the only thing that has marred our life's peace, James. I shall +soon be at rest. Perfect peace! perfect happiness! May all we have loved +be there! I can see——'</p> + +<p>The words had been spoken disjointedly, in the faintest whisper, and, +with the last one died away. She laid her head upon her husband's arm, +and seemed as if she would sleep. He did not disturb her: he remained +buried in his own thoughts. A short while, and Florence was heard at the +door. Dr. Bevary was there.</p> + +<p>'You can come in,' called out Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>They approached the bed. Florence saw a change in her mother's face, and +uttered an exclamation of alarm. The physician's practised eye detected +what had happened: he made a sign to the nurse who had followed him in, +and the woman went forth to carry the news to the household. Mr. Hunter +alone was calm.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p><p>'Thank God!' was his strange ejaculation.</p> + +<p>'Oh, papa! papa! it is death!' sobbed Florence, in her distress. 'Do you +not see that it is death?'</p> + +<p>'Thank God also, Florence,' solemnly said Dr. Bevary. 'She is better +off.'</p> + +<p>Florence sobbed wildly. The words sounded to her ears needlessly +cruel—out of place. Mr. Hunter bent his face on that of the dead, with +a long, fervent kiss. 'My wronged wife!' he mentally uttered. Dr. Bevary +followed him as he left the room.</p> + +<p>'James Hunter, it had been a mercy for you had she been taken years +ago.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter lifted his hands as if beating off the words, and his face +turned white. 'Be still! be still! what can <i>you</i> know?'</p> + +<p>'I know as much as you,' said Dr. Bevary, in a tone which, low though it +was, seemed to penetrate to the very marrow of the unhappy man. 'The +knowledge has disturbed my peace by day, and my rest by night. What, +then, must it have done by yours?'</p> + +<p>James Hunter, his hands held up still to shade his face, and his head +down, turned away. 'It was the fault of another,' he wailed, 'and I have +borne the punishment.'</p> + +<p>'Ay,' said Dr. Bevary, 'or you would have had my reproaches long ago. +Hark! whose voice is that?' It was one known only too well to Mr. +Hunter. He cowered for a moment, as he had hitherto had terrible cause +to do: the next, he raised his head, and shook off the fear.</p> + +<p>'I can dare him now,' he bravely said, turning to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> stairs with a +cleared countenance, to meet Gwinn of Ketterford.</p> + +<p>He had obtained entrance in this way. The servants were closing up the +windows of the house, and one of them had gone outside to tell the +gossiping servant of a neighbour that their good lady and ever kind +mistress was dead, when the lawyer arrived. He saw what was being done, +and drew his own conclusions. Nevertheless, he desisted not from the +visit he had come to pay.</p> + +<p>'I wish to see Mr. Hunter,' he said, while the door stood open.</p> + +<p>'I do not think you can see him now, sir,' was the reply of the servant. +'My master is in great affliction.'</p> + +<p>'Your mistress is dead, I suppose.'—'Just dead.'</p> + +<p>'Well, I shall not detain Mr. Hunter many minutes,' rejoined Gwinn, +pushing his way into the hall. 'I must see him.'</p> + +<p>The servant hesitated. But his master's voice was heard. 'You can admit +that person, Richard.'</p> + +<p>The man opened the door of the front room. It was in darkness; the +shutters were closed; so he turned to the door of the other, and showed +the guest in. The soft perfume from the odoriferous plants in the +conservatory was wafted to the senses of Gwinn of Ketterford as he +entered. 'Why do you seek me here?' demanded Mr. Hunter when he +appeared. 'Is it a fitting time and place?'</p> + +<p>'A court of law might perhaps be more fit,' insolently returned the +lawyer. 'Why did you not remit the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> money, according to promise, and so +obviate the necessity of my coming?'</p> + +<p>'Because I shall remit no more money. Not another farthing, or the value +of one, shall you ever obtain of me. If I have submitted to your ruinous +and swindling demands, you know why I have done it——'</p> + +<p>'Stop!' interrupted Mr. Gwinn. 'You have had your money's +worth—silence.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter was deeply agitated. 'As the breath went out of my wife's +body, I thanked God that He had taken her—that she was removed from the +wicked machinations of you and yours. But for the bitter wrong dealt out +to me by your wicked sister Agatha, I should have mourned for her with +regrets and tears. You have made my life into a curse: I purchased your +silence that you should not render hers one. The fear and the thraldom +are alike over.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Gwinn laughed significantly. 'Your daughter lives.'</p> + +<p>'She does. In saying that I will make her cognisant of this, rather than +supply you with another sixpence, you may judge how firm is my +determination.'</p> + +<p>'It will be startling news for her.'</p> + +<p>'It will: should it come to the telling. Better that she hear it, and +make the best and the worst of it, than that I should reduce her to +utter poverty—and your demands, supplied, would do that. The news will +not kill her—as it might have killed her mother.'</p> + +<p>Did Lawyer Gwinn feel baffled? For a minute or two he seemed to be at a +loss for words. 'I will have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> money,' he exclaimed at length. 'You have +tried to stand out against it before now.'</p> + +<p>'Man! do you know that I am on the brink of ruin?' uttered Mr. Hunter, +in deep excitement, 'and that it is you who have brought me to it?' But +for the money supplied to you, I could have weathered successfully this +contest with my workmen, as my brother and others are weathering it. If +you have any further claim against me,' he added in a spirit of mocking +bitterness, 'bring it against my bankruptcy, for that is looming near.'</p> + +<p>'I will not stir from your house without a cheque for the money.'</p> + +<p>'This house is sanctified by the presence of the dead,' reverently spoke +Mr. Hunter. 'To have any disturbance in it would be most unseemly. Do +not force me to call in a policeman.'</p> + +<p>'As a policeman was once called into you, in the years gone by,' Lawyer +Gwinn was beginning with a sneer: but Mr. Hunter raised his voice and +his hand.</p> + +<p>'Be still! Coward as I have been, in one sense, in yielding to your +terms, I have never been coward enough to permit <i>you</i> to allude, in my +presence, to the past. I never will. Go from my house quietly, sir: and +do not attempt to re-enter it.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter broke from the man—for Gwinn made an effort to detain +him—opened the door, and called to the servant, who came forward.</p> + +<p>'Show this person to the door, Richard.'</p> + +<p>An instant's hesitation with himself whether it should<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> be compliance or +resistance, and Gwinn of Ketterford went forth.</p> + +<p>'Richard,' said Mr. Hunter, as the servant closed the hall-door.—'Sir?'</p> + +<p>'Should that man ever come here again, do not admit him. And if he shows +himself troublesome, call a policeman to your aid.' And then Mr. Hunter +shut himself in the room, and burst into heavy tears, such as are rarely +shed by man.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VI.</span> <span class="smaller">THE LITTLE BOY AT REST.</span></h2> + +<p>No clue whatever had been obtained to the assailants of John Baxendale. +The chief injury lay in the ribs. Two or three of them were broken: the +head was also much bruised and cut. He had been taken into his own home +and there attended to: it was nearer than the hospital: though the +latter would have been the better place. Time had gone on since, and he +was now out of danger. Never would John Baxendale talk of the harshness +of masters again—though, indeed, he never much talked of it. The moment +Mr. Hunter heard of the assault, he sent round his own surgeon, directed +Austin to give Baxendale a sovereign weekly, and caused strengthening +delicacies to be served from his own house. And that was the same man +whom you heard forbidding his wife and daughter to forward aid to +Darby's starving children.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> Yes; but Mr. Hunter denied the aid upon +principle: Darby would not work. It pleased him far more to accord it to +Baxendale than to deny it to Darby: the one course gladdened his heart, +the other pained it. The surgeon who attended was a particular friend of +Dr. Bevary's, and the Doctor, in his quaint, easy manner, contrived to +let Baxendale know that there would be no bill for him to pay.</p> + +<p>It was late when Austin reached Baxendale's room the evening of Mrs. +Hunter's death. Tidings of which had already gone abroad. 'Oh, sir,' +uttered the invalid, straining his eyes on him from the sick-bed, before +Austin had well entered, 'is the news true?'</p> + +<p>'It is,' sadly replied Austin. 'She died this afternoon.'</p> + +<p>'It is a good lady gone from among us. Does the master take on much?'</p> + +<p>'I have not seen him since. Death came on, I believe, rather suddenly at +the last.'</p> + +<p>'Poor Mrs. Hunter!' wailed Baxendale. 'Hers is not the only spirit that +is this evening on the wing,' he added, after a pause. 'That boy of +Darby's is going, Mary'—looking on the bright sovereign put into his +hands by Austin—'suppose you get this changed, and go down there and +take 'em a couple of shillings? It's hard to have a cupboard quite empty +when death's a visitor.'</p> + +<p>Mary came up from the far end of the room, and put on her shawl with +alacrity. She looked but a shadow herself. Austin wondered how Mr. +Hunter would approve of any of his shillings finding their way to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> +Darby's; but he said nothing against it. But for the strongly expressed +sentiments of Mr. Hunter, Austin would have given away right and left, +to relieve the distress around him: although, put him upon principle, +and he agreed fully with Mr. Hunter. Mary got change for the sovereign, +and took possession of a couple of shillings. It was a bitterly cold +evening; but she was well wrapped up. Though not permanently better, +Mary was feeling stronger of late: in her simple faith, she believed God +had mercifully spared her for a short while, that she might nurse her +father. She knew, just as well as did Dr. Bevary, that it would not be +for long. As she went along she met Mrs. Quale.</p> + +<p>'The child is gone,' said the latter, hearing where Mary was going.</p> + +<p>'Poor child! Is he really dead?'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Quale nodded. Few things upset her equanimity. 'And I am keeping my +eyes open to look out for Darby,' she added. 'His wife asked me if I +would. She is afraid'—dropping her voice—'that he may do something +rash.'</p> + +<p>'Why?' breathed Mary, in a tone of horror, understanding the allusion.</p> + +<p>'Why!' vehemently repeated Mrs. Quale; 'why, because he reflects upon +himself—that's why. When he saw that the breath was really gone out of +the poor little body—and that's not five minutes ago—he broke out like +one mad. Them quiet natures in ordinary be always the worst if they get +upset; though it takes a good deal to do it. He blamed himself, saying +that if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> he had been in work, and able to get proper food for the boy, +it would not have happened; and he cursed the Trades Unions for +misleading him, and bringing him to what he is. There's many another +cursing the Unions on this inclement night, or my name's not Nancy +Quale.' She turned back with Mary, and they entered the home of the +Darbys. Grace, unable to get another situation, partly through the +baker's wife refusing her a character, partly because her clothes were +in pledge, looked worn and thin, as she stood trying to hush the +youngest child, then crying fretfully. Mrs. Darby sat in front of the +small bit of fire, the dead boy on her knees, pressed to her still, just +as Mrs. Quale had left her.</p> + +<p>'He won't hunger any more,' she said, lifting her face to Mary, the hot +tears running from it.</p> + +<p>Mary stooped and kissed the little cold face. 'Don't grieve,' she +murmured. 'It would be well for us all if we were as happy as he.'</p> + +<p>'Go and speak to him,' whispered the mother to Mrs. Quale, pointing to a +back door, which led to a sort of open scullery. 'He has come in, and is +gone out there.'</p> + +<p>Leaning against the wall, in the cold moonlight, stood Robert Darby. +Mrs. Quale was not very good at consolation: finding fault was more in +her line. 'Come, Darby, don't take on so: it won't do no good,' was the +best she could say. 'Be a man.' He seized hold of her, his shaking hands +trembling, while he spoke bitter words against the Trades Unions. 'Don't +speak so, Robert Darby,' was the rejoinder of Mrs. Quale. 'You are not +obliged to join the Trades' Unions; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>therefore there's no need to curse +'em. If you and others kept aloof from them, they'd soon die away.'</p> + +<p>'They have proved a curse to me and mine'—and the man's voice rose to a +shriek, in his violent emotion. 'But for them, I should have been at +work long ago.'</p> + +<p>'Then I'd go to work at once, if it was me, and put the curse from me +that way,' concluded Mrs. Quale.</p> + +<p>With the death of the child, things had come to so low an ebb in the +Darby household, as to cause sundry kind gossipers to suggest, and to +spread the suggestion as a fact, that the parish would have the honour +of conducting the interment. Darby would have sold himself first. He was +at Mr. Hunter's yard on the following morning before daylight, and the +instant the gates were opened presented himself to the foreman as a +candidate for work. That functionary would not treat with him. 'We have +had so many of you old hands just coming on for a day or two, and then +withdrawing again, through orders of the society, or through getting +frightened at being threatened, that Mr. Clay said I was to take back no +more shilly-shallyers.'</p> + +<p>'Try me!' feverishly cried Darby. 'I will not go from it again.'</p> + +<p>'No,' said the foreman. 'You can speak to Mr. Clay.'</p> + +<p>'Darby,' said Austin, when the man appeared before him, 'will you pass +your word to me to remain? Here men come; they sign the document, they +have work assigned them; and in a day or so, I hear that they have left +again. It causes no end of confusion to us, for work to be taken up and +laid down in that way.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p><p>'Take me on, and try me, sir. I'll stick to it as long as there's a +stroke of work to do—unless they tread me to pieces as they did +Baxendale. I never was cordial for the society, sir. I obeyed it, and +yet a doubt was always upon me whether I might not be doing wrong. I am +sure of it now. The society has worked harm to me and mine, and I will +never belong to it again.'</p> + +<p>'Others have said as much of the society, and have returned to it the +next day,' remarked Mr. Clay.</p> + +<p>'Perhaps so, sir. They hadn't seen one of their children die, that +they'd have laid down their own lives to save—but that they had not +<i>worked</i> to save. I have. Take me on, sir! He can't be buried till I +have earned the wherewithal to pay for it. I'll stand to my work from +henceforth—over hours, if I can get it.'</p> + +<p>Austin wrote a word on a card, and desired Darby to carry it to the +foreman. 'You can go to work at once,' he said.</p> + +<p>'I'll take work too, sir, if I can get it,' exclaimed another man, who +had come up in time to hear Austin's last words.</p> + +<p>'What! is it you, Abel White?' exclaimed Austin, with a half-laugh. 'I +thought you made a boast that if the whole lot of hands came back to +work, you never would, except upon your own terms.'</p> + +<p>'So I did, sir. But when I find I have been in the wrong, I am not above +owning it,' was the man's reply, who looked in a far better physical +condition than the pinched, half-starved Darby. 'I could hold out +longer, sir, without much inconvenience; leastways, with a deal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> less +inconvenience than some of them could, for I and father belong to one or +two provident clubs, and they have helped us weekly, and my wife and +daughters don't do amiss at their umbrella work. But I have come over to +my old father's views at last; and I have made my mind up, as he did +long ago, never to be a Union man again—unless the masters should turn +round and make themselves into a body of tyrants; I don't know what I +might do then. But there's not much danger of that—as father says—in +these go-a-head days. You'll give me work, sir?'</p> + +<p>'Upon certain conditions,' replied Austin. And he sat down and proceeded +to talk to the man.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VII.</span> <span class="smaller">MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET.</span></h2> + +<p>Daffodil's Delight and its environs were in a state of bustle—of public +excitement, as may be said. Daffodil's Delight, however low its +condition might be, never failed to seize hold upon any possible event, +whether of a general public nature, or of a private local nature, as an +excuse for getting up a little steam. On that cold winter's day, two +funerals were appointed to take place: the one, that of Mrs. Hunter; the +other, of little William Darby: and Daffodil's Delight, in spite of the +black frost, turned out in crowds to see. You could not have passed into +the square when the large funeral came forth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> so many had collected +there. It was a funeral of mutes and plumes and horses and trappings and +carriages and show. The nearer Mr. Hunter had grown to pecuniary +embarrassment, the more jealous was he to guard all suspicion of it from +the world. Hence the display: which the poor unconscious lady they were +attending would have been the first to shrink from. Mr. Hunter, his +brother, and Dr. Bevary were in the first mourning-coach: in the second, +with two of the sons of Henry Hunter, and another relative, sat Austin +Clay. And more followed. That took place in the morning. In the +afternoon, the coffin of the boy, covered by something black—but it +looked like old cloth instead of velvet—was brought out of Darby's +house upon men's shoulders. Part of the family followed, and pretty +nearly the whole of Daffodil's Delight brought up the rear. There it is, +moving slowly down the street. Not over slowly either; for there had +been a delay in some of the arrangements, and the clergyman must have +been waiting for half an hour. It was a week since Darby resumed work; a +long while to keep the child, but the season was winter. Darby had paid +part of the expense, and had been trusted for the rest. It arrived at +the burial place; and the little body was buried, there to remain until +the resurrection at the last day. As Darby stood over the grave, the +regret for his child was nearly lost sight of in that other and far more +bitter regret, the remorse of which was telling upon him. He had kept +the dead starving for months, when work was to be had for the asking!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></p><p>'Don't take on so,' whispered a neighbour, who knew his thoughts. 'If +you had gone back to work as soon as the yards were open, you'd only +have been set upon and half-killed, as Baxendale was.'</p> + +<p>'Then it would not, in that case, have been my fault if he had starved,' +returned Darby, with compressed lips. 'His poor hungry face 'll lie upon +my mind for ever.'</p> + +<p>The shades of evening were on Daffodil's Delight when the attendants of +the funeral returned, and Mr. Cox, the pawnbroker, was busily +transacting the business that the dusk hour always brought him. Even the +ladies and gentlemen of Daffodil's Delight, though they were common +sufferers, and all, or nearly all, required to pay visits to Mr. Cox, +imitated their betters in observing that peculiar reticence of manner +which custom has thrown around these delicate negotiations. The +character of their offerings had changed. In the first instance they had +chiefly consisted of ornaments, whether of the house or person, or of +superfluous articles of attire and of furniture. Then had come +necessaries: bedding, and heavier things; and then trifles—irons, +saucepans, frying-pans, gowns, coats, tools—anything; anything by which +a shilling could be obtained. And now had arrived the climax when there +was nothing more to take—nothing, at least, that Mr. Cox would +speculate upon.</p> + +<p>A woman went banging into the shop, and Mr. Cox recognised her for the +most troublesome of his customers—Mrs. Dunn. Of all the miserable +households in Daffodil's Delight, that of the Dunns' was about the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> +worst: but Mrs. Dunn's manners and temper were fiercer than ever. The +non-realization of her fond hope of good cheer and silk dresses was +looked upon as a private injury, and resented as such. See her as she +turns into the shop: her head, a mass of torn black cap and entangled +hair; her gown, a black stuff once, dirty now, hanging in jags, and +clinging round her with that peculiar cling which indicates that few, if +any, petticoats are underneath; her feet scuffling along in shoes tied +round the instep with white rag, to keep them on! As she was entering, +she encountered a poor woman named Jones, the wife of a carpenter, as +badly reduced as she was. Mrs. Jones held out a small blanket for her +inspection, and spoke with the tears running down her cheeks. +Apparently, her errand to Mr. Cox had been unsuccessful.</p> + +<p>'We have kept it till the last. We said we could not lie on the sack of +straw this awful weather, without the blanket to cover us. But to-day we +haven't got a crumb in the house, or a ember in the grate; and Jones +said, says he, "There ain't no help for it, you must pledge it."'</p> + +<p>'And Cox won't take it in?' shrilly responded Mrs. Dunn. The woman shook +her head, and the tears fell fast on her thin cotton shawl, as she +walked away. 'He says the moths has got into it.'</p> + +<p>'A pity but the moths had got into him! his eyes is sharper than they +need be,' shrieked Mrs. Dunn. 'Here, Cox,' dashing up to the counter, +and flinging on it a pair of boots, 'I want three shillings on them.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Cox took up the offered pledge—a thin pair of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> woman's boots, black +cloth, with leather tips; new, they had probably cost five shillings, +but they were now considerably the worse for wear. 'What is the use of +bringing these old things?' remonstrated Mr. Cox. 'They are worth +nothing.'</p> + +<p>'Everything's worth nothing, according to you,' retorted Mrs. Dunn. +'Come! I want three shillings on them.'</p> + +<p>'I wouldn't lend you eighteen-pence. They'd not fetch it at an auction.'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dunn would have very much liked to fling the boots in his face. +After some dispute, she condescended to ask what he would give. 'I'll +lend a shilling, as you are a customer, just to oblige you. But I don't +care to take them in at all.' More dispute; and she brought her demand +down to eighteen-pence. 'Not a penny more than a shilling,' was the +decisive reply. 'I tell you they are not worth that, to me.' The boots +were at length left, and the shilling taken. Mrs. Dunn solaced herself +with a pint of half-and-half in a beer-shop, and went home with the +change.</p> + +<p>Upon no home had the strike acted with worse effects than upon that of +the Dunns: and we are not speaking now as to pecuniary matters. <i>They</i> +were just as bad as they could be. Irregularity had prevailed in it at +the best of times; quarrelling and contention often; embarrassment, the +result of bad management, frequently. Upon such a home, distress, long +continued bitter distress, was not likely to work for good. The father +and a grown-up son were out of work; and the Misses<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> Dunn were also +without employment. Their patronesses, almost without exception, +consisted of the ladies of Daffodil's Delight, and, as may be readily +conjectured, they had no funds just now to expend upon gowns and their +making. Not only this: there was, from one party or another, a good bit +of money owing to the sisters for past work, and this they could not +get. As a set-off to this—on the wrong side—<i>they</i> were owing bills in +various directions for materials that had been long ago made up for +their customers, some of whom had paid them and some not. Any that had +not been paid before the strike came, remained unpaid still. The Miss +Dunns might just as well have asked for the moon as for money, owing or +not owing, from the distressed wives of Daffodil's Delight. So, there +they were, father, mother, sons, daughters, all debarred from earning +money; while all, with the younger children in addition, had to be kept. +It was wearying work, that forced idleness and that forced famine; and +it worked badly, especially on the girls. Quarrelling they were +accustomed to; embarrassment they did not mind; irregularity in domestic +affairs they had lived in all their lives; but they could not bear the +distress that had now come upon them. Added to this, the girls were +unpleasantly pressed for the settlement of the bills above alluded to. +Mrs. Quale had from the first recommended the two sisters to try for +situations: but when was advice well taken? They tossed their heads at +the idea of going out to service, thereby giving up their liberty and +their idleness. They said that it might prevent them getting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> together +again their business, when things should look up; they urged that they +were not fitted for service, knowing little of any sort of housework; +and, finally, they asked—and there was a great deal in the plea—how +they were to go out while the chief portion of their clothes was in +pledge.</p> + +<p>For the past few days certain mysterious movements on the part of Mary +Ann Dunn had given rise to some talk (the usual expression for gossiping +and scandal) in Daffodil's Delight. She had been almost continually out +from home, and when asked where, had evaded an answer. Ever ready, as +some people are, to put a bad construction upon things, it was not +wanting in this case. Tales were carried home to the father and mother, +and there had been a scene of attack and abuse, on Mary Ann's presenting +herself at home at mid-day. The girl had a fierce temper, inherited +probably from her mother; she returned abuse for abuse, and finally +rushed off in a passion, without having given any satisfactory defence +of herself. Dunn cared for his children after a fashion, and the fear +that the reports must be true, completely beat him down; cowed his +spirit, as he might have put it. Mrs. Dunn, on the contrary, ranted and +raved till she was hoarse; and then, being excessively thirsty, stole +off surreptitiously with the boots to Mr. Cox's, and so obtained a pint +of half-and-half.</p> + +<p>She returned home again, the delightful taste of it still in her mouth. +The room was stripped of all, save a few things, too old or too useless +for Mr. Cox to take; and, except for a little fire, it presented a +complete picture<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> of poverty. The children lay on the boards crying; not +a loud cry, but a distressed moan. Very little, indeed, even of bread, +got those children; for James Dunn and his wife were too fond of beer, +to expend in much else the trifle allowed them by the Trades Union. +James Dunn had just come in. After the scene with his daughter, when he +had a little recovered himself, he went out to keep an appointment. Some +of the workmen, in a similarly distressed condition to himself, had been +that day to one of the police courts, hoping to obtain pecuniary help +from the magistrates. The result had been a complete failure, and Dunn +sat, moody and cross, upon a bench, his depression of spirit having +given place to a sort of savage anger; chiefly at his daughter Mary Ann, +partly at things altogether. The pint of half-and-half upon an empty +stomach had not tended to render Mrs. Dunn of a calmer temper. She +addressed him snappishly. 'What, you have come in! Have you got any +money?' Mr. Dunn made no reply; unless a growl that sounded rather +defiant constituted one. She returned to the charge. 'Have you got any +money, I ask? Or be you come home again with a empty pocket?'</p> + +<p>'No; father hasn't got none: they didn't get any good by going there,' +interposed Jemima Dunn, as though it were a satisfaction to tell out the +bad news, and who appeared to be looking in all sorts of corners and +places, as if in search of something. 'Ted Cheek told me, and he was one +of 'em that went. The magistrate said to the men that there was plenty +of work open<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> for them if they liked to do it; and his opinion was, that +if they did not like to do it, they wanted punishment instead of +assistance.'</p> + +<p>'That's just my opinion,' returned Mrs. Dunn, with intense aggravation. +'There!'</p> + +<p>James Dunn broke out intemperately, with violent words. And then he +relapsed into his gloomy mood again.</p> + +<p>'I can't think what's gone with my boots,' exclaimed Jemima.</p> + +<p>'Mother took 'em out,' cried a little voice from the floor.</p> + +<p>'What's that, Jacky?' asked Jemima.</p> + +<p>'Mother took 'em out,' responded Jacky.</p> + +<p>The girl turned round, and stood still for a moment as if taking in the +sense of the words. Then she attacked her mother, anger flashing from +her eyes. 'If you have been and took 'em to the pawnshop, you shall +fetch 'em back. How dare you interfere with my things? Aren't they my +boots? Didn't I buy 'em with my own money?'</p> + +<p>'If you don't hold your tongue, I'll box your ears,' shrieked Mrs. Dunn, +with a look and gesture as menacing as her tone. 'Hold your tongue! hold +your tongue, I say, miss!'</p> + +<p>'I shan't hold my tongue,' responded Jemima, struggling between anger +and tears. 'I will have my boots! I want to go out, I do! and how can I +go barefoot?'</p> + +<p>'Want to go out, do you!' raved Mrs. Dunn. 'Perhaps you want to go and +follow your sister! The boots be at Cox's, and you may go there and get +'em. Now, then!'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span></p><p>The words altogether were calculated to increase the ire of Jemima; +they did so in no measured degree. She and her mother commenced a mutual +contest of ranting abuse. It might have come to blows but for the +father's breaking into a storm of rage, so violent as to calm them, and +frighten the children. It almost seemed as if trouble had upset his +brain.</p> + +<p>Long continued hunger—the hunger that for weeks and months never gets +satisfied—will on occasion transform men and women into demons. In the +house of the Dunns, not only hunger but misery of all sorts reigned, and +this day seemed to have brought things to a climax. Added to the trouble +and doubt regarding Mary Ann, was the fear of a prison, Dunn having just +heard that he had been convicted in the Small Debts Court. Summonses had +been out against him, hopeless though it seemed to sue anybody so +helplessly poor. In truth, the man was overwhelmed with misery—as was +many another man in Daffodil's Delight—and did not know where to turn. +After this outburst, he sat down on the bench again, administering a +final threat to his wife for silence. Mrs. Dunn stood against the bare +wooden shelves of the dresser, her hair on end, her face scarlet, her +voice loud enough, in its shrieking sobs, to alarm all the neighbours; +altogether in a state of fury. Disregarding her husband's injunction for +silence, she broke out into reproaches. 'Was he a man, that he should +bring 'em to this state of starvation, and then turn round upon 'em with +threats? Wasn't she his wife? wasn't they his children? If <i>she</i> was a +husband and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> father, she'd rather break stones till her arms rotted off, +but what she'd find 'em food! A lazy, idle, drunken object! There was +the masters' yards open, and why didn't he go to work? If a man cared +for his own family, he'd look to his interests, and set the Trades Union +at defiance. Was he a going to see 'em took off to the workhouse? When +his young ones lay dead, and she was in the poorhouse, then he'd fold +his hands and be content with his work. If the strike was to bring 'em +all this misery, what the plague business had he to join it? Couldn't he +have seen better? Let him go to work if he was a man, and bring home a +few coals, and a bit of bread, and get out a blanket or two from Cox's, +and her gownds and things, and Jemimar's boots——'</p> + +<p>Dunn, really a peacefully inclined man by nature, and whose own anger +had spent itself, let it go on to this point. He then stood up before +her, and with a clenched fist, but calm voice of suppressed meaning, +asked her what she meant. What, indeed! In the midst of Mrs. Dunn's +reproaches, how was it she did not cast a recollection to the past? To +her own eagerness, public and private, for the strike? how she had urged +her husband on to join it, boasting of the good times it was to bring +them? She could ignore all that now: perhaps really had almost forgotten +it. Anyway, her opinions had changed. Misery and disappointment will +subdue the fiercest obstinacy; and Mrs. Dunn, casting all the blame upon +her husband, would very much have liked to chastise him with hands as +well as tongue.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p><p>Reader! if you think this is an overdrawn picture, go and lay it before +the wives of the workmen who suffered the miseries induced by the +strike, and ask them whether or not it is true. Ay, and it is only part +of the truth.</p> + +<p>'I wish the strike had been buried five-fathom deep, I do!' uttered +Dunn, with a catching up of the breath that told of the emotion he +strove to hide. 'It have been nothing but a curse to us all along. And +where's to be the ending?'</p> + +<p>'Who brought home all this misery but you?' recommenced Mrs. Dunn. 'Have +you done a day's work for weeks and months? No you haven't; you know you +haven't! You have just rowed in the same boat with them nasty lazy +Unionists, and let the work go a begging.'</p> + +<p>'Who edged me on to join the Unionists? who reproached me with being no +man, but a sneak, if I went to work and knuckled down to the masters?' +demanded Dunn, in his sore vexation. 'It was you! You know it was you! +You was fire-hot for the strike: worse than ever the men was.'</p> + +<p>'Can we starve?' said Mrs. Dunn, choking with passion. 'Can we drop into +our coffins with famine? Be our children to be drove, like Mary Ann——' +An interruption—fortunately. Mrs. Cheek came into the room with a +burst. She had a tongue also, on occasions.</p> + +<p>'Whatever has been going on here this last half hour?' she inquired in a +high voice. 'One would think<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> murder was being committed. There's a +dozen listeners collected outside your shutters.'</p> + +<p>'She's a casting it in my teeth, now, for having joined the strike,' +exclaimed Dunn, indicating his wife. 'She! And she was the foremost to +edge us all on.'</p> + +<p>'Can one clam?' fiercely returned Mrs. Dunn, speaking at her husband, +not to him. 'Let him go to work.'</p> + +<p>'Don't be a fool, Hannah Dunn,' said Mrs. Cheek. 'I'd stand up for my +rights till I dropped: and so must the men. It'll never do to bend to +the will of the masters at last. There's enough men turning tail and +going back, without the rest doing of it. I should like to see Cheek +attempting it: I'd be on to him.'</p> + +<p>'Cheek don't want to; he have got no cause to,' said Mrs. Dunn. 'You get +the living now, and find him in beer and bacca.'</p> + +<p>'I do; and I am proud on it,' was Mrs. Cheek's answer. 'I goes washing, +I goes chairing, I goes ironing; nothing comes amiss to me, and I +manages to keep the wolf from the door. It isn't my husband that shall +bend to the masters. He shall stand up with the Unionists for his +rights, or he shall stand up against me.' Having satisfied her curiosity +as to the cause of the disturbance, Mrs. Cheek went out as she came, +with a burst and a bang, for she had been bent on some hasty errand when +arrested by the noise behind the Dunn's closed shutters. What the next +proceedings would have been, it is difficult to say, had not another +interruption occurred. Mrs. Dunn was putting her entangled hair behind +her ears, most probably preparatory to the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>resuming of the attack on +her husband, when the offending Mary Ann entered, attended by Mrs. +Quale.</p> + +<p>At it she went, the mother, hammer and tongs, turning her resentment on +the girl, her language by no means choice, though the younger children +were present. Dunn was quieter; but he turned his back upon his daughter +and would not look at her. And then Mrs. Quale took a turn, and +exercised <i>her</i> tongue on both the parents: not with quite as much +noise, but with better effect.</p> + +<p>It appeared that the whispered suspicions against Mary Ann Dunn had been +mistaken ones. The girl had been doing right, instead of wrong. Mrs. +Quale had recommended her to a place at a small dressmaker's, partly of +service, chiefly of needlework. Before engaging her, the dressmaker had +insisted on a few days of trial, wishing to see what her skill at work +was; and Mary Ann had kept it secret, intending a pleasant surprise to +her father when the engagement shall be finally made. The suspicions +cast on her were but a poor return for this; and the girl, in her +temper, had carried the grievance to Mrs. Quale, when the day's work was +over. A few words of strong good sense from that talkative friend +subdued Mary Ann, and she had now come back in peace. Mrs. Quale gave +the explanation, interlarding it with a sharp reprimand at their +proneness to think ill of 'their own flesh and blood,' and James Dunn +sat down meekly in glad repentance. Even Mrs. Dunn lowered her tone for +once. Mary Ann held out some money to her father after a quick glance at +Mrs. Quale<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> for approval. 'Take it, father. It'll stop your going to +prison, perhaps. Mrs. Quale has lent it me to get my clothes out, for I +am to enter for good on my place to-morrow. I can manage without my +clothes for a bit.'</p> + +<p>James Dunn put the money back, speaking softly, very much as if he had +tears in his voice. 'No, girl: it'll do you more good than it will me. +Mrs. Quale has been a good friend to you. Enter on your place, and stay +in it. It is the best news I've heard this many a day.'</p> + +<p>'But if the money will keep you out of jail, father!' sobbed Mary Ann, +quite subdued.</p> + +<p>'It wouldn't do that; nor half do it; nor a quarter. Get your clothes +home, child, and go into your place of service. As for me—better I was +in jail than out of it,' he added with a sigh. 'In there, one does get +food.'</p> + +<p>'Are you sure it wouldn't do you good, Jim Dunn?' asked Mrs. Quale, +speaking in the emergency he seemed to be driven to. Not that she would +have helped him, so improvident in conduct and mistaken in opinions, +with a good heart.</p> + +<p>'Sure and certain. If I paid this debt, others that I owe would be put +on to me.'</p> + +<p>'Come along, Mary Ann,' said Mrs. Quale. 'I told you I'd give you a bed +at my house to-night, and I will: so you'll know where she is, Hannah +Dunn. You go on down to Cox's, girl; get out as much as you can for the +money, and come straight back to me: I'm going home now, and we'll set +to work and see the best we can do with the things.' They went out +together. But Mrs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> Quale opened the door again and put in her head for +a parting word; remembering perhaps her want of civility in not having +given it. 'Good night to you all. And pleasant dreams—if you can get +'em. You Unionists have brought your pigs to a pretty market.'</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VIII.</span> <span class="smaller">A DESCENT FOR MR. SHUCK.</span></h2> + +<p>Things were coming to a crisis. The Unionists had done their best to +hold out against the masters; but they found the effort was +untenable—that they must give in at last. The prospect of returning to +work was eagerly welcomed by the greater portion of the men. Rather than +continue longer in the wretched condition to which they were reduced, +they would have gone back almost on any terms. Why, then, not have gone +back before? as many asked. Because they preferred to resume work with +the consent of the Union, rather than without it: and besides, the +privations got worse and worse. A few of the men were bitterly enraged +at the turn affairs seemed to be taking—of whom Sam Shuck was chief. +With the return of the hands to work, Sam foresaw no field for the +exercise of his own peculiar talents, unless it was in stirring up fresh +discontent for the future. However, it was not yet finally arranged that +work should be resumed: a little more agitation might be pleasant first, +and possibly prevent it.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p><p>'It's a few white-livered hounds among yourselves that have spoilt it,' +growled Sam to a knot of hitherto staunch friends, a day or two +subsequent to that conjugal dispute between Mr. and Mrs. Dunn, which we +had the gratification of assisting at in the last chapter. 'When such +men as White, and Baxendale, and Darby, who have held some sway among +you, turn sneaks and go over to the nobs, it's only to be expected that +you'll turn sneaks and follow. One fool makes many. Did you hear how +Darby got out his tools?'</p> + +<p>'No.'</p> + +<p>'The men opposed to the Union, opposed to us, heard of his wanting them, +and they clubbed together, and made up the tin, and Darby is to pay 'em +back so much a-week—two shillings I think it is. Before I'd lie under +obligation to the non-Unionist men, I'd shoot myself. What good has the +struggle done you?'</p> + +<p>'None,' said a voice. 'It have done a good deal of harm.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, it has—if it is to die out in this ignoble way,' said Sam. 'Better +have been slaving like dray-horses all along, than break down in the +effort to escape the slavery, and hug it to your arms again. If you had +only half the spirit of men, you'd stop White's work for awhile, and +Darby's too, as you did Baxendale's. Have you been thinking over what +was said last night?' he continued, in a lower tone. The men nodded. One +of them ventured to express an opinion that it was a 'dangerous game.'</p> + +<p>'That depends upon how it's done,' said Shuck.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> 'Who has been the worse, +pray, for the pitching into Baxendale? Can he, or anybody else, point a +finger and say, "It was you did it?" or "It was you?" Why, of course he +can't.'</p> + +<p>'One might not come off again with the like luck.'</p> + +<p>'Psha!' returned Sam, evincing a great amount of ridicule.</p> + +<p>'But one mightn't, Shuck,' persisted his adversary.</p> + +<p>'Oh, let the traitors alone, to go their own way in triumph if you like; +get up a piece of plate for them, with their names wrote on it in gold,' +satirically answered Sam. 'Yah! it sickens one to see you true fellows +going over to the oppressionists.'</p> + +<p>'How do you make out that White, and them, be oppressionists?'</p> + +<p>'White, and them? they are worse than oppressionists a thousand times +over,' fiercely cried Sam. 'I can't find words bad enough for <i>them</i>. It +isn't of them I spoke: I spoke of the masters.'</p> + +<p>'Well, Shuck, there's oppression on all sides, I think,' rejoined one of +the men. 'I'd be glad to rise in the world if I could, and I'd work over +hours to help me on to it and to educate my children a bit better than +common; but if you come down upon me and say, "You shall not do it, you +shall only work the stated hours laid down, and nobody shall work more," +I call that oppression.'</p> + +<p>'So it is,' assented another voice. 'The masters never oppressed us like +that.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p><p>'What's fair for one is fair for all,' said Sam. 'We must work and +share alike.'</p> + +<p>'That would be right enough if we all had talents and industry equal,' +was the reply. 'But as we haven't, and never shall have, it can't be +fair to put a limit on us.'</p> + +<p>'There's one question I'd like to have answered, Shuck,' interposed a +former speaker: 'but I'm afeared it never will be answered, with +satisfaction to us. What is to become of those men that the masters +can't find employment for? If every one of us was free to go back to +work to-morrow, and sought to do so, where would we get it? Our old +shops be half filled with strangers, and there'd be thousands of us +rejected—no room for us. Would the Society keep us?' A somewhat +difficult question to answer, even for Slippery Sam. Perhaps for that +reason he suddenly called out 'Hush!' and bent his head and put up his +finger in the attitude of listening.</p> + +<p>'There's something unusual going on in the street,' cried he. 'Let's see +what it is.'</p> + +<p>They hurried out to the street, Sam leading the way. Not a genial street +to gaze upon, that wintry day, taking it with all its accessories. +Half-clothed, half-starved emaciated men stood about in groups, their +pale features and gloomy expression of despair telling a piteous tale. A +different set of men entirely, to look at, from those of the well-to-do +cheerful old days of work, contentment, and freedom from care.</p> + +<p>Being marshalled down the street in as polite a manner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> as was +consistent with the occasion, was Mr. James Dunn. He was on his road to +prison; and certain choice spirits of Daffodil's Delight, headed by Mrs. +Dunn, were in attendance, some bewailing and lamenting aloud, others +hooting and yelling at the capturers. As if this was not enough cause of +disturbance, news arose that the Dunns' landlord, finding the house +temporarily abandoned by every soul—a chance he had been looking +for—improved the opportunity to lock the street-door and keep them out. +Nothing was before Mrs. Dunn and her children now but the parish Union.</p> + +<p>'I don't care whether it is the masters that have been in fault or +whether it's us; I know which side gets the suffering,' exclaimed a +mechanic, as Mr. Dunn was conveyed beyond view. 'Old Abel White told us +true; strikes never brought nothing but misery yet, and they never +will.'</p> + +<p>Sam Shuck seized upon the circumstance to draw around him a select +audience, and to hold forth to them. Treason, false and pernicious +though it was, that he spoke, his oratory fell persuasively on the +public ear. He excited the men against the masters; he excited them to +his utmost power against the men who had gone back to work; he inflamed +their passions, he perverted their reason. Altogether, ill-feeling and +excitement was smouldering in an unusual degree in Daffodil's Delight, +and it was kept up through the live-long day. Evening came. The bell +rang for the cessation of work at Mr. Hunter's, and the men came pouring +forth, a great many of whom were strangers. The gas-lamp at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> the gate +shed a brilliant light, as the hands dispersed—some one way, some +another. Those bearing towards Daffodil's Delight became aware, as they +approached an obscure portion of the road which lay past a dead wall, +that it bore an unusual appearance, as if dark forms were hovering +there. What could it be? Not for long were they kept in ignorance. There +arose a terrific din, enough to startle the unwary. Yells, groans, +hootings, hisses, threats were poured forth upon the workmen; and they +knew that they had fallen into an ambush of the Society's men. Of women +also, as it appeared. For shrill notes and delicate words of abuse, +certainly only peculiar to ladies' throats, were pretty freely mingled +with the gruff tones of the men.</p> + +<p>'You be nice nine-hour chaps! Come on, if you're not cowards, and have +it out in a fair fight——'</p> + +<p>'A fair fight!' shrieked a female voice in interruption 'who'd fight +with them? Traitors! cowards! Knock 'em down and trample upon 'em!'</p> + +<p>'Harness 'em together with cords, and drag 'em along like beasts o' +burden in the face and eyes o' London!' 'Stick 'em up on spikes!' 'Hoist +'em on to the lamp-posts!' 'Hold 'em head down'ards in a horse-trough!' +'Pitch into 'em with quicklime and rotten eggs!' 'Strip 'em and give 'em +a coat o' tar!' 'Wring their necks, and have done with 'em!'</p> + +<p>While these several complimentary suggestions were thrown from as many +different quarters of the assailants, one of them had quietly laid hold +of Abel White. There was little doubt—according to what came out +afterwards<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>—that he and Robert Darby were the two men chiefly aimed at +in this night assault. Darby, however, was not there. As it happened, he +had turned the contrary way on leaving the yard, having joined one of +the men who had lent him some of the money to get his tools out of +pledge, and gone towards his home with him.</p> + +<p>'If thee carest for thy life, thee'll stop indoors, and not go a-nigh +Hunter's yard again to work!'</p> + +<p>Such were the words hissed forth in a hoarse whisper into the ear of +Abel White, by the man who had seized upon him. Abel peered at him as +keenly as the darkness would permit. White was no coward, and although +aware that this attack most probably had him for its chief butt, he +retained his composure. He could not recognise the man—a tall man, in a +large loose blue frock, such as is sometimes worn by butchers, with a +red woollen cravat wound roughly round his throat, hiding his chin and +mouth, and a seal-skin cap, its dark 'ears' brought down on the sides of +the face, and tied under the chin. The man may have been so wrapped up +for protection against the weather, or for the purpose of disguise.</p> + +<p>'Let me go,' said White.</p> + +<p>'When thee hast sworn not to go on working till the Union gives leave.'</p> + +<p>'I never will swear it. Or say it.'</p> + +<p>'Then thee shall get every bone in th' body smashed. Thee'st been +reported to Mr. Shuck, and to the Union.'</p> + +<p>'I'd like to know your name and who you are,' <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>exclaimed White. 'If you +are not disguising your voice, it's odd to me.'</p> + +<p>'D'ye remember Baxendale? <i>He</i> wouldn't take the oath, and he's lying +with his ribs stove in.'</p> + +<p>'More shame for you! Look you, man, you can't intimidate me. I am made +of sterner stuff than that.'</p> + +<p>'Swear!' was the menacing retort; 'swear that thee won't touch another +stroke o' work.'</p> + +<p>'I tell you that I never will swear it,' firmly returned White. 'The +Union has hoodwinked me long enough; I'll have nothing to do with it.'</p> + +<p>'There be desperate men around ye—them as won't leave ye with whole +bones. You shall swear.'</p> + +<p>'I'll have nothing more to do with the Union; I'll never again obey it,' +answered White, speaking earnestly. 'There! make your most of it. If I +had but a friendly gleam of light here, I'd know who you are, and let +others know.'</p> + +<p>The confusion around had increased. Hot words were passing everywhere +between the assailants and the assailed—no positive assault as yet, +save that a woman had shaken her fist in a man's face and spit at him. +Abel White strove to get away with the last words, but the man who had +been threatening him struck him a sharp blow between the eyes, and +another blow from the same hand caught him behind. The next instant he +was down. If one blow was dealt him, ten were from as many different +hands. The tall man with the cap was busy with his feet; and it really +seemed, by the manner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> he carried on the pastime, that his whole heart +went with it, and that it was a heart of revenge.</p> + +<p>But who is this, pushing his way through the crowd with stern authority. +A policeman? The men shrank back, in their fear, to give him place. No; +it is only their master, Mr. Clay.</p> + +<p>'What is this?' exclaimed Austin, when he reached the point of battery. +'Is it you, White?' he added, stooping down. 'I suspected as much. Now, +my men,' he continued in a stern tone, as he faced the excited throng, +'who are you? which of you has done this?'</p> + +<p>'The ringleader was him in the cap, sir—the tall one with the red cloth +round his neck and the fur about his ears,' spoke up White, who, though +much maltreated, retained the use of his brains and his tongue. 'It was +him that threatened me; he was the first to set upon me.'</p> + +<p>'Who are you?' demanded Austin of the tall man.</p> + +<p>The tall man responded by a quiet laugh of derision. He felt himself +perfectly secure from recognition in the dark obscurity; and though Mr. +Clay was of powerful frame, more than a match for him in agility and +strength, let him only dare to lay a finger upon him, and there were +plenty around to come to the rescue. Austin Clay heard the derisive +laugh, subdued though it was, and thought he recognised it. He took his +hand from within the breast of his coat, and raised it with a hasty +motion—not to deal a blow, not with a pistol to startle or menace, but +to turn on a dark lantern! No pistol could have startled them as did +that sudden flash of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> bright light, thrown full upon the tall man's +face. Off flew the fellow with a yell, and Austin coolly turned the +lantern upon others.</p> + +<p>'Bennet—and Strood—and Ryan—and Cassidy!' he exclaimed, recognising +and telling off the men. 'And <i>you</i>, Cheek! I never should have +suspected you of sufficient courage to join in a thing of this nature.'</p> + +<p>Cheek, midway between shaking and tears, sobbed out that it was 'the +wife made him;' and Mrs. Cheek roared out from the rear, 'Yes, it was, +and she'd have shook the bones out of him if he hadn't come.'</p> + +<p>But that light, turning upon them everywhere, was more than they had +bargained for, and the whole lot moved away in the best manner that they +could, putting the stealthiest and the quickest foot foremost; each one +devoutly hoping, save the few whose names had been mentioned, that his +own face had not been recognised. Austin, with some of his workmen who +had remained—the greater portion of them were pursuing the +vanquished—raised Abel White. His head was cut, his body bruised, but +no serious damage appeared to have been done. 'Can you walk with +assistance as far as Mr. Rice's shop?' asked Austin.</p> + +<p>'I daresay I can, sir, in a minute: I'm a bit giddy now,' was White's +reply, as he leaned his back against the wall, being supported on either +side. 'Sir, what a mercy that you had that light with you!'</p> + +<p>'Ay,' shortly replied Austin. 'Quale, there's the blood dripping upon +your sleeve. I will bind my handkerchief round your head, White. +Meanwhile, one of you go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> and call a cab; it may be better that we get +him at once to the surgeon's.'</p> + +<p>A cab was brought, and White assisted into it. Austin accompanied him. +Mr. Rice was at home, and proceeded to examine into the damage. A few +days' rest from work, and a liberal application of sticking-plaster, +would prove efficacious in effecting a cure, he believed. 'What a pity +but the ruffians could be stopped at this game!' the doctor exclaimed to +Austin. 'It will come to attacks more serious if they are not.'</p> + +<p>'I think this will do something towards stopping it,' replied Austin.</p> + +<p>'Why? do you know any of them?'</p> + +<p>Austin nodded. 'A few. It is not a second case of impossible identity, +as was Baxendale's.'</p> + +<p>'I'm sure I don't know how I am to go in home in this plight,' exclaimed +White, catching sight of his strapped-up face and head, in a small +looking-glass hanging in Mr. Rice's surgery. 'I shall frighten poor old +father into a fit, and the wife too.'</p> + +<p>'I will go on first and prepare them,' said Austin, good-naturedly. +Turning out of the shop on this errand, he found the door blocked up. +The door! nay, the pavement—the street; for it seemed as if all +Daffodil's Delight had collected there. He elbowed his way through them, +and reached White's home. There the news had preceded him, and he found +the deepest distress and excitement reigning, the family having been +informed that Abel was killed. Austin reassured them, made light of the +matter, and departed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p><p>Outside their closed-up home, squatting on the narrow strip of +pavement, their backs against the dirty wall, were Mrs. Dunn and her +children, howling pitiably. They were surrounded with warm partizans, +who spent their breath sympathizing with them, and abusing the landlord.</p> + +<p>'How much better that they should go into the workhouse,' exclaimed +Austin. 'They will perish with cold if they remain there.'</p> + +<p>'And much you masters 'ud care,' cried a woman who overheard the remark. +'I hope you are satisfied now with the effects of your fine lock-out! +Look at the poor creatur, a sitting there with her helpless children.'</p> + +<p>'A sad sight,' observed Austin; 'but <i>not</i> the effects of the lock-out. +You must look nearer home.'</p> + +<p>The day dawned. Abel White was progressing very satisfactorily. So much +so that Mr. Rice did not keep him in bed. It was by no means so grave a +case as Baxendale's. To the intense edification of Daffodil's Delight, +which had woke up in an unusually low and subdued state, there arrived, +about mid-day, certain officers within its precincts, holding warrants +for the apprehension of some of the previous night's rioters. Bennet, +Strood, Ryan, and Cheek were taken; Cassidy had disappeared.</p> + +<p>'It's a shame to grab us!' exclaimed timid Cheek, shaking from head to +foot. 'White himself said as we was not the ringleaders.'</p> + +<p>While these were secured, a policeman entered the home of Mr. Shuck, +without so much as saying, 'With your leave,' or 'By your leave.' That +gentleman, who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> had remained in-doors all the morning, in a restless, +humble sort of mood, which imparted much surprise to Mrs. Shuck, was +just sitting down to dinner in the bosom of his family: a savoury +dinner, to judge by the smell, consisting of rabbit and onions.</p> + +<p>'Now, Sam Shuck, I want you,' was the startling interruption.</p> + +<p>Sam turned as white as a sheet. Mrs. Shuck stared, and the children +stared.</p> + +<p>'Want me, do you?' cried Sam, putting as easy a face as he could upon +the matter. 'What do you want me for? To give evidence?'</p> + +<p>'<i>You</i> know. It's about that row last night. I wonder you hadn't better +regard for your liberty than to get into it.'</p> + +<p>'Why, you never was such a fool as to put yourself into that!' exclaimed +Mrs. Shuck, in her surprise. 'What could have possessed you?'</p> + +<p>'I!' retorted Sam; 'I don't know anything about the row, except what +I've heard. I was a good mile off from the spot when it took place.'</p> + +<p>'All very well if you can convince the magistrates of that,' said the +officer. 'Here's the warrant against you, and I must take you upon it.'</p> + +<p>'I won't go,' said Sam, showing fight. 'I wasn't nigh the place, I say.'</p> + +<p>The officer was peremptory—officers generally are so in these +cases—and Sam was very foolish to resist. But that he was scared out of +his senses, he would probably not have resisted. It only made matters +worse; and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> result was that he had the handcuffs clapped on. Fancy +Samuel Shuck, Esquire, in his crimson necktie with the lace ends, and +the peg-tops, being thus escorted through Daffodil's Delight, himself +and his hands prisoners, and a tail the length of the street streaming +after him! You could not have got into the police-court. Every avenue, +every inch of ground was occupied; for the men, both Unionists and +non-Unionists, were greatly excited, and came flocking in crowds to hear +the proceedings. The five men were placed at the bar—Shuck, Bennet, +Cheek, Ryan, and Strood: and Abel White and his bandaged head appeared +against them. The man gave his evidence. How he and others—but himself, +he thought, more particularly—had been met by a mob the previous night, +upon leaving work, a knot of the Society's men, who had first threatened +and then beaten him.</p> + +<p>'Can you tell what their motive was for doing this?' asked the +magistrate.</p> + +<p>'Yes, sir,' was the answer of White. 'It was because I went back to +work. I held out as long as I could, in obedience to the Trades' Union; +but I began to think I was in error, and that I ought to return to work; +which I did, a week or two ago. Since then, they have never let me +alone. They have talked to me, and threatened me, and persuaded me; but +I would not listen: and last night they attacked me.'</p> + +<p>'What were the threats they used last night?'</p> + +<p>'It was one man did most of the talking: a tall man in a cap and +comforter, sir. The rest of the crowd abused me and called me names; but +they did not utter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> any particular threat. This man said, Would I +promise and swear not to do any more work in defiance of the Union; or +else I should get every bone in my body smashed. He told me to remember +how Baxendale had been served, and was lying with his ribs stove in. I +refused; I would not swear; I said I would never belong to the Union +again. And then he struck me.'</p> + +<p>'Where did he strike you?'</p> + +<p>'Here,' putting his hand up to his forehead. 'The first blow staggered +me, and took away my sight, and the second blow knocked me down. Half a +dozen set upon me then, hitting and kicking me: the first man kicked me +also.'</p> + +<p>'Can you swear to that first man?'</p> + +<p>'No, I can't, sir. I think he was disguised.'</p> + +<p>'Was it the prisoner, Shuck?'</p> + +<p>White shook his head. 'It was just his height and figure, sir, but I +can't be sure that it was him. His face was partially covered, and it +was nearly dark, besides; there are no lights about, just there. The +voice, too, seemed disguised: I said so at the time.'</p> + +<p>'Can you swear to the others?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, to all four of them,' said White, stoutly. 'They were not +disguised at all, and I saw them after the light came, and knew their +voices. They helped to beat me after I was on the ground.'</p> + +<p>'Did they threaten you?'</p> + +<p>'No, sir. Only the first one did that.'</p> + +<p>'And him you cannot swear to? Is there any other witness who can swear +to him?'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p><p>It did not appear that there was. Shuck addressed the magistrate, his +tone one of injured innocence. 'It is not to be borne that I should be +dragged up here like a felon, your worship. I was not near the place at +the time; I am as innocent as your worship is. Is it likely <i>I</i> should +lend myself to such a thing? My mission among the men is of a higher +nature than that.'</p> + +<p>'Whether you are innocent or not, I do not know,' said his worship; 'but +I do know that this is a state of things which cannot be tolerated. I +will give my utmost protection to these workmen; and those who dare to +interfere with them shall be punished to the extent of the law: the +ringleaders especially. A person has just as much right to come to me +and say, "You shall not sit on that bench; you shall not transact the +business of a magistrate," as you have to prevent these industrious men +working to earn a living. It is monstrous.'</p> + +<p>'Here's the witness we have waited for, please your worship,' spoke one +of the policemen.</p> + +<p>It was Austin Clay who came forward. He bowed to the magistrate, who +bowed to him: they occasionally met at the house of Mr. Hunter. Austin +was sworn, and gave his evidence up to the point when he turned the +light of the lantern upon the tall assailant of White.</p> + +<p>'Did you recognise the man?' asked the Bench.</p> + +<p>'I did, sir. It was Samuel Shuck.'</p> + +<p>Sam gave a howl, protesting that it was <i>not</i>—that he was a mile away +from the spot.</p> + +<p>'I recognised him as distinctly as I recognise him at this moment,' said +Austin. 'He had a woollen scarf on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> his chin, and a cap covering his +ears, no doubt assumed for disguise, but I knew him instantly. What is +more, he saw that I knew him; I am sure he did, by the way he slunk off. +I also recognised his laugh.'</p> + +<p>'Did you take the lantern with you purposely?' asked the clerk of the +court.</p> + +<p>'I did,' replied Austin. 'A hint was given me in the course of yesterday +afternoon, that an attack upon our men was in agitation. I determined to +discover the ringleaders, if possible, should it take place, and not to +let the darkness baffle justice, as was the case in the attack upon +Baxendale. For this purpose I put the lantern in readiness, and had the +men watched when they left the yard. As soon as the assault began, my +messenger returned to tell me.'</p> + +<p>'You hit upon a good plan, Mr. Clay.'</p> + +<p>Austin smiled. 'I think I did,' he answered.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately for Mr. Samuel Shuck, another witness had seen his face +distinctly when the light was turned on; and his identity with 'the tall +man disguised' was established beyond dispute. In an evil hour, Sam had +originated this attack on White; but, not feeling altogether sure of the +courage of his men, he had determined to disguise himself and take part +in the business, saying not a word to anybody. He had not bargained for +the revelation that might be brought by means of a dark lantern.</p> + +<p>The proceedings in court were prolonged, but they terminated at length. +Bennet, Strood, and Ryan were condemned to pay a fine of £5 each, or be +imprisoned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> for two months. Cheek managed to get off. Mr. Sam Shuck, to +whom the magistrate was bitterly severe in his remarks—for he knew +perfectly well the part enacted by the man from the first—was sentenced +to six months at the treadmill, without the option of a fine. What a +descent for Slippery Sam!</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER IX.</span> <span class="smaller">ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY.</span></h2> + +<p>These violent interruptions to the social routine, to the organised +relations between masters and men, cannot take place without leaving +their effects behind them: not only in the bare cupboards, the +confusion, the bitter feelings while the contest is in actual progress, +but in the results when the dispute is brought to an end, and things +have resumed their natural order. You have seen some of its disastrous +working upon the men: you cannot see it all, for it would take a whole +volume to depicture it. But there was another upon whom it was promising +to work badly; and that was Mr. Hunter. At this, the eleventh hour, when +the dispute was dying out, Mr. Hunter knew that he would be unable to +weather the short remains of the storm. Drained, as he had been at +various periods, of sums paid to Gwinn of Ketterford, he had not the +means necessary to support the long-continued struggle. Capital he +possessed still; and, had there been no disturbance, no strike, no +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>lock-out—had things, in short, gone on upon their usual course +uninterruptedly, his capital would have been sufficient to carry him on: +not as it was. His money was locked up in arrested works, in buildings +brought to a standstill. He could not fulfil his contracts or meet his +debts; materials were lying idle; and the crisis, so long expected by +him, had come.</p> + +<p>It had not been expected by Austin Clay. Though aware of the shortness +of capital, he believed that with care difficulties would be surmounted. +The fact was, Mr. Hunter had succeeded in keeping the worst from him. It +fell upon Austin one morning like a thunderbolt. Mr. Hunter had come +early to the works. In this hour of embarrassment—ill as he might be, +as he was—he could not be absent from his place of business. When +Austin went into his master's private room he found him alone, poring +over books and accounts, his head leaning on his hand. One glance at +Austin's face told Mr. Hunter that the whispers as to the state of +affairs, which were now becoming public scandal, had reached his ears.</p> + +<p>'Yes, it is quite true,' said Mr. Hunter, before a word had been spoken +by Austin. 'I cannot stave it off.'</p> + +<p>'But it will be ruin, sir!' exclaimed Austin.</p> + +<p>'Of course it will be ruin. I know that, better than you can tell me.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, sir,' continued Austin, with earnest decision, 'it must not be +allowed to come. Your credit must be kept up at any sacrifice.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p><p>'Can you tell me of any sacrifice that will keep it up?' returned Mr. +Hunter.</p> + +<p>Austin paused in embarrassment. 'If the present difficulty can be got +over, the future will soon redeem itself,' he observed. 'You have +sufficient capital in the aggregate, though it is at present locked up.'</p> + +<p>'There it is,' said Mr. Hunter. 'Were the capital not locked up, but in +my hands, I should be a free man. Who is to unlock it?'</p> + +<p>'The men are returning to their shops,' urged Austin. 'In a few days, at +the most, all will have resumed work. We shall get our contracts +completed, and things will work round. It would be <i>needless</i> ruin, sir, +to stop now.'</p> + +<p>'Am I stopping of my own accord? Shall I put myself into the Gazette, do +you suppose? You talk like a child, Clay.'</p> + +<p>'Not altogether, sir. What I say is, that you are worth more than +sufficient to meet your debts; that, if the momentary pressure can be +lifted, you will surmount embarrassment and regain ease.'</p> + +<p>'Half the bankruptcies we hear of are caused by locked-up capital—not +by positive non-possession of it,' observed Mr. Hunter. 'Were my funds +available, there would be reason in what you say, and I should probably +go on again to ease. Indeed, I know I should; for a certain +heavy—heavy——' Mr. Hunter spoke with perplexed hesitation—'A heavy +private obligation, which I have been paying off at periods, is at an +end now.'</p> + +<p>Austin made no reply. He knew that Mr. Hunter alluded to Gwinn of +Ketterford: and perhaps Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> Hunter suspected that he knew it. 'Yes, +sir; you would go on to ease—to fortune again; there is no doubt of it. +Mr. Hunter,' he continued with some emotion, 'it <i>must</i> be accomplished +somehow. To let things come to an end for the sake of a thousand or two, +is—is——'</p> + +<p>'Stop!' said Mr. Hunter. 'I see what you are driving at. You think that +I might borrow this "thousand or two," from my brother, or from Dr. +Bevary.'</p> + +<p>'No,' fearlessly replied Austin, 'I was not thinking of either one or +the other. Mr. Henry Hunter has enough to do for himself just now—his +contracts for the season were more extensive than ours: and Dr. Bevary +is not a business man.'</p> + +<p>'Henry <i>has</i> enough to do,' said Mr. Hunter. 'And if a hundred-pound +note would save me, I should not ask Dr. Bevary for its loan. I tell +you, Clay, there is no help for it: ruin must come. I have thought it +over and over, and can see no loophole of escape. It does not much +matter: I can hide my head in obscurity for the short time I shall +probably live. Mine has been an untoward fate.'</p> + +<p>'It matters for your daughter, sir,' rejoined Austin, his face flushing.</p> + +<p>'I cannot help myself, even for her sake,' was the answer, and it was +spoken in a tone that, to a fanciful listener, might have told of a +breaking heart.</p> + +<p>'If you would allow me to suggest a plan, sir——'</p> + +<p>'No, I will not allow any further discussion upon the topic,' +peremptorily interrupted Mr. Hunter. 'The blow must come; and, to talk +of it will neither soothe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> nor avert it. Now to business. Not another +word, I say.—Is it to-day or to-morrow that Grafton's bill falls due?'</p> + +<p>'To-day,' replied Austin.</p> + +<p>'And its precise amount?—I forget it.'</p> + +<p>'Five hundred and twenty pounds.'</p> + +<p>'Five hundred and twenty! I knew it was somewhere about that. It is that +bill that will floor us—at least, be the first step to it. How closely +has the account been drawn at the bank?'</p> + +<p>'You have the book by you, sir. I think there is little more than thirty +pounds lying in it.'</p> + +<p>'Just so. Thirty pounds to meet a bill of five hundred and twenty. No +other available funds to pay in. And you would talk of staving off the +difficulty?'</p> + +<p>'I think the bank would pay it, were all circumstances laid before them. +They have accommodated us before.'</p> + +<p>'The bank will <i>not</i>, Austin. I have had a private note from them this +morning. These flying rumours have reached their ears, and they will not +let me overdraw even by a pound. It had struck me once or twice lately +that they were becoming cautious.' There was a commotion, as of sudden +talking, outside at that moment, and Mr. Hunter turned pale. He supposed +it might be a creditor: and his nerves were so shattered, as was before +remarked, that the slightest thing shook him like a woman. 'I would pay +them all, if I could,' he said, his tone almost a wail. 'I wish to pay +every one.'</p> + +<p>'Sir,' said Austin, 'leave me here to-day to meet these matters. You are +too ill to stay.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span></p><p>'If I do not meet them to-day, I must to-morrow. Sooner or later, it is +I who must answer.'</p> + +<p>'But indeed you are ill, sir. You look worse than you have looked at +all.'</p> + +<p>'Can you wonder that I look worse? The striking of the docket against me +is no pleasant matter to anticipate.' The talking outside now subsided +into laughter, in which the tones of a female were distinguishable. Mr. +Hunter thought he recognised them, and his fear of a creditor subsided. +They came from one of his women servants, who, unconscious of the +proximity of her master, had been laughing and joking with some of the +men, whom she had encountered upon entering the yard.</p> + +<p>'What can Susan want?' exclaimed Mr. Hunter, signing to Austin to open +the door.</p> + +<p>'Is that you, Susan?' asked Austin, as he obeyed.</p> + +<p>'Oh, if you please, sir, can I speak a word to my master?'</p> + +<p>'Come in,' called out Mr. Hunter. 'What do you want?'</p> + +<p>'Miss Florence has sent me, sir, to give you this, and to ask you if +you'd please to come round.'</p> + +<p>She handed in a note. Mr. Hunter broke the seal, and ran his eyes over +it. It was from Florence, and contained but a line or two. She informed +her father that the lady who had been so troublesome at the house once +before, in years back, had come again, had taken a seat in the +dining-room, removed her bonnet, and expressed her intention of there +remaining until she should see Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p><p>'As if I had not enough upon me without this!' muttered Mr. Hunter. 'Go +back,' he said aloud to the servant, 'and tell Miss Florence that I am +coming.'</p> + +<p>A few minutes given to the papers before him, a few hasty directions to +Austin, touching the business of the hour, and Mr. Hunter rose to +depart.</p> + +<p>'Do not come back, sir,' Austin repeated to him. 'I can manage all.'</p> + +<p>When Mr. Hunter entered his own house, letting himself in with a latch +key, Florence, who had been watching for him, glided forward.</p> + +<p>'She is in there, papa,' pointing to the closed door of the dining-room, +and speaking in a whisper. 'What is her business here? what does she +want? She told me she had as much right in the house as I.'</p> + +<p>'Ha!' exclaimed Mr. Hunter. 'Insolent, has she been?'</p> + +<p>'Not exactly insolent. She spoke civilly. I fancied you would not care +to see her, so I said she could not wait. She replied that she should +wait, and I must not attempt to prevent her. Is she in her senses, +papa?'</p> + +<p>'Go up stairs and put your bonnet and cloak on, Florence,' was the +rejoinder of Mr. Hunter. 'Be quick.' She obeyed, and was down again +almost immediately, in her deep mourning.' 'Now, my dear, go round to +Dr. Bevary, and tell him you have come to spend the day with him.'</p> + +<p>'But, papa——'</p> + +<p>'Florence, go! I will either come for you this evening, or send. Do not +return until I do.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span></p><p>The tone, though full of kindness, was one that might not be disobeyed, +and Florence, feeling sick with some uncertain, shadowed-forth trouble, +passed out of the hall door. Mr. Hunter entered the dining-room.</p> + +<p>Tall, gaunt, powerful of frame as ever, rose up Miss Gwinn, turning upon +him her white, corpse-like looking face. Without the ceremony of +greeting, she spoke in her usual abrupt fashion, dashing at once to her +subject. '<i>Now</i> will you render justice, Lewis Hunter?'</p> + +<p>'I have the greater right to ask that justice shall be rendered to me,' +replied Mr. Hunter, speaking sternly, in spite of his agitation. 'Who +has most cause to demand it, you or I?'</p> + +<p>'She who reigned mistress in this house is dead,' cried Miss Gwinn. You +must now acknowledge <i>her</i>.'</p> + +<p>'I never will. You may do your best and worst. The worst that can come +is, that it must reach the knowledge of my daughter.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, there it is! The knowledge of the wrong must not even reach her; +but the wrong itself has not been too bad for that other one to bear.'</p> + +<p>'Woman!' continued Mr. Hunter, growing excited almost beyond control, +'who inflicted that wrong? Myself, or you?'</p> + +<p>The reproach told home, if the change to sad humility, passing over Miss +Gwinn's countenance, might be taken as an indication.</p> + +<p>'What I said, I said in self-defence; after you, in your deceit, had +brought wrong upon me and my family,' she answered in a subdued voice.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p><p>'<i>That</i> was no wrong,' retorted Mr. Hunter, 'It was you who wrought all +the wrong afterwards, by uttering the terrible falsehood, that she was +dead.'</p> + +<p>'Well, well, it is of no use going back to that,' she impatiently said. +'I am come here to ask that justice shall be rendered, now that it is in +your power.'</p> + +<p>'You have had more than justice—you have had revenge. Not content with +rendering my days a life's misery, you must also drain me of the money I +had worked hard to save. Do you know how much?'</p> + +<p>'It was not I,' she passionately uttered, in a tone as if she would +deprecate his anger. '<i>He</i> did that.'</p> + +<p>'It comes to the same. I had to find the money. So long as my dear wife +lived, I was forced to temporize: neither he nor you can so force me +again. Go home, go home, Miss Gwinn, and pray for forgiveness for the +injury you have done both her and me. The time for coming to my house +with your intimidations is past.'</p> + +<p>'What did you say?' cried Miss Gwinn. 'Injury upon <i>you</i>?'</p> + +<p>'Injury, ay! such as rarely has been inflicted upon mortal man. Not +content with that great injury, you must also deprive me of my +substance. This week the name of James Lewis Hunter will be in the +Gazette, on the list of bankrupts. It is you who have brought me to it.'</p> + +<p>'You know that I have had no hand in that; that it was he: my +brother—and <i>hers</i>,' she said. 'He never should have done it had I been +able to prevent him. In an unguarded moment I told him I had discovered +you,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> and who you were, and—and he came up to you here and sold his +silence. It is that which has kept me quiet.'</p> + +<p>'This interview had better end,' said Mr. Hunter. 'It excites me, and my +health is scarcely in a state to bear it. Your work has told upon me, +Miss Gwinn, as you cannot help seeing, when you look at me. Am I like +the hearty, open man whom you came up to town and discovered a few years +ago?'</p> + +<p>'Am I like the healthy unsuspicious woman whom you saw some years before +that?' she retorted. 'My days have been rendered more bitter than +yours.'</p> + +<p>'It is your own evil passions which have rendered them so. But I say +this interview must end. You——'</p> + +<p>'It shall end when you undertake to render justice. I only ask that you +should acknowledge her in words; I ask no more.'</p> + +<p>'When your brother was here last—it was on the day of my wife's +death—I was forced to warn him of the consequences of remaining in my +house against my will. I must now warn you.'</p> + +<p>'Lewis Hunter,' she passionately resumed, 'for years I have been told +that she—who was here—was fading; and I was content to wait until she +should be gone. Besides, was not he drawing money from you to keep +silence? But it is all over, and my time is come.'</p> + +<p>The door of the room opened and some one entered. Mr. Hunter turned with +marked displeasure, wondering who was daring to intrude upon him. He +saw—not any servant, as he expected, but his brother-in-law, Dr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> +Bevary. And the doctor walked into the room and closed the door, just as +if he had as much right there as its master.</p> + +<p>When Florence Hunter reached her uncle's house, she found him absent: +the servants said he had gone out early in the morning. Scarcely had she +entered the drawing-room when his carriage drove up: he saw Florence at +the window and hastened in. 'Uncle Bevary, I have come to stay the day +with you,' was her greeting. 'Will you have me?'</p> + +<p>'I don't know that I will,' returned the doctor, who loved Florence +above every earthly thing. 'How comes it about?' In the explanation, as +she gave it, the doctor detected some embarrassment, quite different +from her usual open manner. He questioned closely, and drew from her +what had occurred. 'Miss Gwinn of Ketterford in town!' he exclaimed, +staring at Florence as if he could not believe her. 'Are you joking?'</p> + +<p>'She is at our house with papa, as I tell you, uncle.'</p> + +<p>'What an extraordinary chance!' muttered the doctor.</p> + +<p>Leaving Florence, he ran out of the house and down the street, calling +after his coachman, who was driving to the stables. Had it been anybody +but Dr. Bevary, the passers-by might have deemed the caller mad. The +coachman heard, and turned his horses again. Dr. Bevary spoke a word in +haste to Florence.</p> + +<p>'Miss Gwinn is the very person I was wanting to see; wishing some +marvellous telegraph wires could convey her to London at a moment's +notice. Make yourself at home, my dear; don't wait dinner for me, I +cannot tell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> when I shall be back.' He stepped into the carriage and was +driven away very quickly, leaving Florence in some doubt as to whether +he had not gone to Ketterford—for she had but imperfectly understood +him. Not so. The carriage set him down at Mr. Hunter's. Where he broke +in upon the interview, as has been described.</p> + +<p>'I was about to telegraph to Ketterford for you,' he began to Miss +Gwinn, without any other sort of greeting. And the words, coupled with +his abrupt manner, sent her at once into an agitation. Rising, she put +her hand upon the doctor's arm.</p> + +<p>'What has happened? Any ill?'</p> + +<p>'You must come with me now and see her,' was the brief answer.</p> + +<p>Shaking from head to foot, gaunt, strong woman though she was, she +turned docilely to follow the doctor from the room. But suddenly an idea +seemed to strike her, and she stood still. 'It is a <i>ruse</i> to get me out +of the house. Dr. Bevary, I will not quit it until justice shall be +rendered to Emma. I will have her acknowledged by him.'</p> + +<p>'Your going with me now will make no difference to that, one way or the +other,' drily observed Dr. Bevary.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter stepped forward in agitation. 'Are you out of your mind, +Bevary? You could not have caught her words correctly.'</p> + +<p>'Psha!' responded the doctor, in a careless tone. 'What I said was, that +Miss Gwinn's going out with me could make no difference to any +acknowledgment.'</p> + +<p>'Only in words,' she stayed to say. 'Just let him say<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> it in words.' But +nobody took any notice of the suggestion.</p> + +<p>His bearing calm and self-possessed, his manner authoritative, Dr. +Bevary passed out to his carriage, motioning the lady before him. +Self-willed as she was by nature and by habit, she appeared to have no +thought of resistance now. 'Step in,' said Dr. Bevary. She obeyed, and +he seated himself by her, after giving an order to the coachman. The +carriage turned towards the west for a short distance, and then branched +off to the north. In a comparatively short time they were clear of the +bustle of London. Miss Gwinn sat in silence; the doctor sat in silence. +It seemed that the former wished, yet dreaded to ask the purport of +their present journey, for her white face was working with emotion, and +she glanced repeatedly at the doctor, with a sharp, yearning look. When +they were clear of the bustle of the streets; and the hedges, bleak and +bare, bounded the road on either side, broken by a house here and there, +then she could bear the silence and suspense no longer.</p> + +<p>'Why do you not speak?' broke from her in a tone of pain.</p> + +<p>'First of all, tell me what brought you to town now,' was his reply. 'It +is not your time for being here.'</p> + +<p>'The recent death of your sister. I came up by the early train this +morning. Dr. Bevary, you are the only living being to whom I lie under +an obligation, or from whom I have experienced kindness. People may +think me ungrateful; some think me mad; but I am grateful to you. But +for the fact of that lady's being your sister<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> I should have insisted +upon another's rights being acknowledged long ago.'</p> + +<p>'You told me you waived them in consequence of your brother's conduct.'</p> + +<p>'Partially so. But that did not weigh with me in comparison with my +feeling of gratitude to you. How impotent we are!' she exclaimed, +throwing up her hands. 'My efforts by day, my dreams by night, were +directed to one single point through long, long years—the finding James +Lewis. I had cherished the thought of revenge until it became part and +parcel of my very existence; I was hoping to expose him to the world. +But when the time came, and I did find him, I found that he had married +your sister, and that I could not touch him without giving pain to you. +I hesitated what to do. I went home to Ketterford, deliberating——'</p> + +<p>'Well?' said the doctor. For she had stopped abruptly.</p> + +<p>'Some spirit of evil prompted me to disclose to my good-for-nothing +brother that the man, Lewis, was found. I told him more than that, +unhappily.'</p> + +<p>'What else did you tell him?'</p> + +<p>'Never mind. I was a fool: and I have had my reward. My brother came up +to town and drew large sums of money out of Mr. Hunter. I could have +stopped it—but I did not.'</p> + +<p>'If I understand you aright, you have come to town now to insist upon +what you call your rights?' remarked the doctor.</p> + +<p>'Upon what <i>I</i> call!' returned Miss Gwinn, and then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> she paused in +marked hesitation. 'But you must have news to tell me, Dr. Bevary. What +is it?'</p> + +<p>'I received a message early this morning from Dr. Kerr, stating that +something was amiss. I lost no time in going over.'</p> + +<p>'And what was amiss?' she hastily cried. 'Surely there was no repetition +of the violence? Did you see her?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I saw her.'</p> + +<p>'But of course you would see her,' resumed Miss Gwinn, speaking rather +to herself. 'And what do you think? Is there danger?'</p> + +<p>'The danger is past,' replied Dr. Bevary. 'But here we are.'</p> + +<p>The carriage had driven in through an inclosed avenue, and was stopping +before a large mansion: not a cheerful mansion, for its grounds were +surrounded by dark trees, and some of its windows were barred. It was a +lunatic asylum. It is necessary, even in these modern days of gentle +treatment, to take some precaution of bars and bolts; but the inmates of +this one were thoroughly well cared for, in the best sense of the term. +Dr. Bevary was one of its visiting inspectors.</p> + +<p>Dr. Kerr, the resident manager, came forward, and Dr. Bevary turned to +Miss Gwinn. 'Will you see her, or not?' he asked.</p> + +<p>Strange fears were working within her, Dr. Bevary's manner was so +different from ordinary. 'I think I see it all,' she gasped. 'The worst +has happened.'</p> + +<p>'The best has happened,' responded Dr. Bevary. 'Miss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> Gwinn, you have +requested me more than once to bring you here without preparation should +the time arrive—for that you could bear certainty, but not suspense. +Will you see her?'</p> + +<p>Her face had grown white and rigid as marble. Unable to speak, she +pointed forward with her hand. Dr. Bevary drew it within his own to +support her. In a clean, cool chamber, on a pallet bed, lay a dead +woman. Dr. Kerr gently drew back the snow-white sheet, with which the +face was covered. A pale, placid face, with a little band of light hair +folded underneath the cap. She—Miss Gwinn—did not stir: she gave way +to neither emotion nor violence; but her bloodless lips were strained +back from her teeth, and her face was as white as that of the dead.</p> + +<p>'God's ways are not as our ways,' whispered Dr. Bevary. 'You have been +acting for revenge: He has sent peace. Whatsoever He does is for the +best.'</p> + +<p>She made no reply: she remained still and rigid. Dr. Bevary stroked the +left hand of the dead, lying in its utter stillness—stroked, as if +unconsciously, the wedding-ring on the third finger. He had been led to +believe that it was placed on that finger, years and years ago, by his +brother-in-law, James Lewis Hunter. And had been led to believe a lie! +And she who had invented the lie, who had wrought the delusion, who had +embittered Mr. Hunter's life with the same dread belief, stood there at +the doctor's side, looking at the dead.</p> + +<p>It is a solemn thing to persist though but tacitly in the acting of a +vile falsehood, in the mysterious <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span>presence of death. Even Miss Gwinn +was not strong-minded enough for that. As Dr. Bevary turned to her with +a remark upon the past, she burst forth into a cry, and gave utterance +to words that fell upon the physician's ear like a healing balm, +soothing and binding up a long-open wound.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER X.</span> <span class="smaller">THE YEARS GONE BY.</span></h2> + +<p>Those readers will be disappointed who look for any very romantic +<i>dénoûment</i> of 'A Life's Secret.' The story is a short and sad one. +Suggesting the wretchedness and evil that may result when truth is +deviated from; the lengths to which a blind, unholy desire for revenge +will carry an ill-regulated spirit; and showing how, in the moral +government of the world, sin casts its baleful consequences upon the +innocent as well as the guilty.</p> + +<p>When the carriage of Dr. Bevary, containing himself and Miss Gwinn, +drove from Mr. Hunter's door on the unknown errand, he—Mr. +Hunter—staggered to a seat, rather than walked to it. That he was very +ill that day, both mentally and bodily, he was only too conscious of. +Austin Clay had said to him, 'Do not return: I will manage,' or words to +that effect. At present Mr. Hunter felt himself incapable of returning. +He sank down in the easy chair, and closed his eyes, his thoughts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> +thrown back to the past. An ill-starred past: one that had left its bane +on his after life, and whose consequences had clung to him. It is +impossible but that ill-doing must leave its results behind: the laws of +God and man alike demand it. Mr. Hunter, in early life, had been +betrayed into committing a wrong act; and Miss Gwinn, in the +gratification of her passionate revenge, had visited it upon him all too +heavily. Heavily, most heavily was it pressing upon him now. That +unhappy visit to Wales, which had led to all the evil, was especially +present to his mind this day. A handsome young man, in the first dawn of +manhood, he had gone to the fashionable Welsh watering-place—partly to +renew a waste of strength more imaginary than real; partly in the love +of roving natural to youth; partly to enjoy a few weeks' relaxation. 'If +you want good and comfortable lodgings, go to Miss Gwinn's house on the +South Parade,' some friend, whom he encountered at his journey's end, +had said to him. And to Miss Gwinn's he went. He found Miss Gwinn a +cold, proud woman—it was she whom you have seen—bearing the manners of +a lady. The servant who waited upon him was garrulous, and proclaimed, +at the first interview, amidst other gossip, that her mistress had but a +limited income—a hundred, or a hundred and fifty pounds a year, she +believed; that she preferred to eke it out by letting her drawing-room +and adjoining bed-room, and to live well; rather than to rusticate and +pinch. Miss Gwinn and her motives were nothing to the young sojourner, +and he turned a careless, if not a deaf ear, to the gossip.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> 'She does +it chiefly for the sake of Miss Emma,' added the girl: and the listener +so far roused himself as to ask apathetically who 'Miss Emma' was. It +was her mistress's young sister, the girl replied: there must be twenty +good years between them. Miss Emma was but nineteen, and had just come +home from boarding-school: her mistress had brought her up ever since +her mother died. Miss Emma was not at home now, but was expected on the +morrow, she went on. Miss Emma was not without her good looks, but her +mistress took care they should not be seen by everybody. She'd hardly +let her go about the house when strangers were in it, lest she should be +met in the passages. Mr. Hunter laughed. Good looks had attractions for +him in those days, and he determined to see for himself, in spite of +Miss Gwinn, whether Miss Emma's looks were so good that they might not +be looked at. Now, by the merest accident—at least, it happened by +accident in the first instance, and not by intention—one chief point of +complication in the future ill was unwittingly led to. In this early +stage of the affair, while the servant maid was exercising her tongue in +these items of domestic news, the friend who had recommended Mr. Hunter +to the apartments, arrived at the house and called out to him from the +foot of the stairs, his high clear voice echoing through the house.</p> + +<p>'Lewis! Will you come out and take a stroll?'</p> + +<p>Lewis Hunter hastened down, proclaiming his acquiescence, and the maid +proceeded to the parlour of her mistress.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p><p>'The gentleman's name is Lewis, ma'am. You said you forgot to ask it of +him.'</p> + +<p>Miss Gwinn, methodical in all she did, took a sheet of note-paper and +inscribed the name upon it, 'Mr. Lewis,' as a reminder for the time when +she should require to make out his bill. When Mr. Hunter found out their +error—for the maid henceforth addressed him as 'Mr. Lewis,' or 'Mr. +Lewis, sir'—it rather amused him, and he did not correct the mistake. +He had no motive whatever for concealing his name: he did not wish it +concealed. On the other hand, he deemed it of no importance to set them +right; it signified not a jot to him whether they called him 'Mr. Lewis' +or 'Mr. Hunter.' Thus they knew him as, and believed him to be, Mr. +Lewis only. He never took the trouble to undeceive them, and nothing +occurred to require the mistake to be corrected. The one or two letters +only which arrived for him—for he had gone there for idleness, not to +correspond with his friends—were addressed to the post-office, in +accordance with his primary directions, not having known where he should +lodge.</p> + +<p>Miss Emma came home: a very pretty and agreeable girl. In the narrow +passage of the house—one of those shallow residences built for letting +apartments at the sea-side—she encountered the stranger, who happened +to be going out as she entered. He lifted his hat to her.</p> + +<p>'Who is that, Nancy?' she asked of the chattering maid.</p> + +<p>'It's the new lodger, Miss Emma: Lewis his name is.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> Did you ever see +such good looks? And he has asked a thousand questions about you.'</p> + +<p>Now, the fact was, Mr. Hunter—stay, we will also call him Mr. Lewis for +the time being, as they had fallen into the error, and it may be +convenient to us—had not asked a single question about the young lady, +save the one when her name was first spoken of, 'Who is Miss Emma?' +Nancy had supplied information enough for a 'thousand' questions, +unasked; and perhaps she saw no difference.</p> + +<p>'Have you made any acquaintance with Mr. Lewis, Agatha?' Emma inquired +of her sister.</p> + +<p>'When do I make acquaintance with the people who take my apartments?' +replied Miss Gwinn, in a tone of reproof. 'They naturally look down upon +me as a letter of lodgings—and I am not one to bear that.'</p> + +<p>Now comes the unhappy tale. It shall be glanced at as briefly as +possible in detail; but it is necessary that parts of it should be +explained.</p> + +<p>Acquaintanceship sprang up between Mr. Lewis and Emma Gwinn. At first, +they met in the town, or on the beach, accidentally; later, I very much +fear that the meetings were tacitly, if not openly, more intentional. +Both were agreeable, both were young; and a liking for each other's +society arose in each of them. Mr. Lewis found his time hang somewhat +heavily on his hands, for his friend had left; and Emma Gwinn was not +prevented from walking out as she pleased. Only one restriction was laid +upon her by her sister: 'Emma, take care that you make no acquaintance +with strangers, or suffer it to be made with you. Speak to none.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p><p>An injunction which Miss Emma disobeyed. She disobeyed it in a +particularly marked manner. It was not only that she did permit Mr. +Lewis to make acquaintance with her, but she allowed it to ripen into +intimacy. Worse still, the meetings, I say, from having been at first +really accidental, grew to be sought. Sought on the one side as much as +on the other. Ah! young ladies, I wish this little history could be a +warning to you, never to deviate from the strict line of right—never to +stray, by so much as a thoughtless step, from the straight path of duty. +Once allow yourselves to do so, and you know not where it may end. +Slight acts of disobedience, that appear in themselves as the merest +trifles, may yet be fraught with incalculable mischief. The falling into +the habit of passing a pleasant hour of intercourse with Mr. Lewis, +sauntering on the beach in social and intellectual converse—and it was +no worse—appeared a very venial offence to Emma Gwinn. But she did it +in direct disobedience to the command and wish of her sister; and she +knew that she so did it. She knew also that she owed to that sister, who +had brought her up and cared for her from infancy, the allegiance that a +child gives to a mother. In this stage of the affair, she was chiefly to +blame. Mr. Lewis did not suppose that blame attached to him. There was +no reason why he should not while away an occasional hour in pleasant +chat with a young lady; there was no harm in the meetings, taking them +in the abstract. The blame lay with her. It is no excuse to urge that +Miss Gwinn exercised over her a too strict authority, that she kept her +secluded from society with an unusually tight hand. Miss Gwinn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> had a +motive in this: her sister knew nothing of it, and resented the +restriction as a personal wrong. To elude her vigilance, and walk about +with a handsome young man, seemed a return justifiable, and poor Emma +Gwinn never dreamt of any ill result. At length it was found out by Miss +Gwinn. She did not find out much. Indeed, there was not much to find, +except that there was more friendship between Mr. Lewis and Emma than +there was between Mr. Lewis and herself, and that they often met to +stroll on the beach, and enjoy the agreeable benefit of the sea-breezes. +But that was quite enough for Miss Gwinn. An uncontrollable storm of +passionate anger ensued, which was vented upon Emma. She stood over her, +and forced her to attire herself for travelling, protesting that not +another hour should she pass in the house while Mr. Lewis remained. Then +she started with Emma, to place her under the care of an aunt, who lived +so far off as to be a day's journey.</p> + +<p>'It's a shame!' was the comment of sympathetic Nancy, who deemed Miss +Gwinn the most unreasonable woman under the sun. Nancy was herself +engaged to an enterprising porter, to whom she intended to be married +some fine Easter, when they had saved up sufficient to lay in a stock of +goods and chattels. And she forthwith went straight to Mr. Lewis, and +communicated to him what had occurred, giving him Miss Emma's new +address.</p> + +<p>'He'll follow her if he have got any spirit,' was her inward thought. +'It's what my Joe would do by me, if I was forced off to desert places +by a old dragon.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span></p><p>It was precisely what Mr. Lewis did. Upon the return of Miss Gwinn, he +gave notice to quit her house, where he had already stayed longer than +he intended to do originally. Miss Gwinn had no suspicion but that he +returned to his home—wherever that might be.</p> + +<p>You may be inclined to ask why Miss Gwinn had fallen into anger so +great. That she loved her young sister with an intense and jealous love +was certain. Miss Gwinn was of a peculiar temperament, and she could not +bear that one spark of Emma's affection should stray from her. Emma, on +the contrary, scarcely cared for her eldest sister: entertaining for her +a very cool regard indeed, not to be called a sisterly one: and the +cause may have lain in the stern manners of Miss Gwinn. Deeply, ardently +as she loved Emma, her manners were to her invariably cold and stern: +and this does not beget love from the young. Emma also resented the +jealous restrictions imposed on her, lest she should make any +acquaintance that might lead to marriage. It had been better possibly +that Miss Gwinn had disclosed to her the reasons that existed against +it. There was madness in the Gwinn family. One of the parents had died +in an asylum, and the medical men suspected (as Miss Gwinn knew) that +the children might be subject to it. She did not fear it for herself, +but she did fear it for Emma: in point of fact, the young girl had +already, some years back, given indications of it. It was therefore Miss +Gwinn's intention and earnest wish—a very right and proper wish—that +Emma should never marry. There was one other sister, Elizabeth, a year +older than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> Emma. She had gone on a visit to Jersey some little time +before; and, to Miss Gwinn's dismay and consternation, had married a +farmer there, without asking leave. There was nothing for Miss Gwinn but +to bury the dismay within her, and to resolve that Emma should be +guarded more closely than before. But Emma Gwinn, knowing nothing of the +prompting motives, naturally resented the surveillance.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lewis followed Emma to her place of retirement. He had really grown +to like her: but the pursuit may have had its rise as much in the boyish +desire to thwart Miss Gwinn—or, as he expressed it, 'to pay her +off'—as in love. However that might have been, Emma Gwinn welcomed him +all too gladly, and the walks were renewed.</p> + +<p>It was an old tale, that, which ensued. Thanks to improved manners and +morals, we can say an 'old' tale, in contradistinction to a modern one. +A secret marriage in these days would be looked upon askance by most +people. Under the purest, the most domestic, the wisest court in the +world, manners and customs have taken a turn with us, and society calls +underhand doings by their right name, and turns its back upon them. +Nevertheless, private marriages and run-a-way marriages were not done +away with in the days when James Lewis Hunter contracted his.</p> + +<p>I wonder whether one ever took place—where it was contracted in +disobedience and defiance—that did not bring, in some way or other, its +own punishment? To few, perhaps, was it brought home as it was to Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> +Hunter. No apology can be offered for the step he took: not even his +youth, or his want of experience, or the attachment which had grown up +in his heart for Emma. He knew that his family would have objected to +the marriage. In fact, he dared not tell his purpose. Her position was +not equal to his—at least, old Mr. Hunter, a proud man, would not have +deemed it to be so—and he would have objected on the score of his son's +youth. The worst bar of all would have been the tendency to insanity of +the Gwinns—but of this James Hunter knew nothing. So he took that one +false, blind, irrevocable step of contracting a private marriage; and +the consequences came bitterly home to him. The marriage was a strictly +legal one. James Hunter was honourable enough to take care of that: and +both of them guarded the secret jealously. Emma remained at her aunt's, +and wore her ring inside her dress, attached to a neck ribbon. Her +husband only saw her sometimes; to avoid suspicion he lived chiefly at +his father's home in London. Six months afterwards, Emma Gwinn—nay, +Emma Hunter—lay upon her death-bed. A fever broke out in the +neighbourhood, which she caught; and a different illness also +supervened. Miss Gwinn, apprised of her danger, hastened to her. She +stood over her in a shock of horror—whence had those symptoms arisen, +and what meant that circle of gold that Emma in her delirium kept hold +of on her neck? Medical skill could not save her, and just before her +death, in a lucid interval, she confessed her marriage—the bare fact +only—none of its details; she loved her husband too truly to expose +him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> to the dire wrath of her sister. And she died without giving the +slightest clue to his real name—Hunter. It was the fever that killed +her.</p> + +<p>Dire wrath, indeed! That was scarcely the word for it. Insane wrath +would be better. In Miss Gwinn's injustice (violent people always are +unjust) she persisted in attributing Emma's death to Mr. Lewis. In her +bitter grief, she jumped to the belief that the secret must have preyed +upon Emma's brain in the delirium of fever, and that that prevented her +recovery. It is very probable that the secret did prey upon it, though, +it is to be hoped, not to the extent assumed by Miss Gwinn.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lewis knew nothing of the illness. He was in France with his father +at the time it happened, and had not seen his wife for three weeks. +Perhaps the knowledge of his absence abroad, caused Emma not to attempt +to apprise him when first seized; afterwards she was too ill to do so. +But by a strange coincidence he arrived from London the day after the +funeral.</p> + +<p>Nobody need envy him the interview with Miss Gwinn. On her part it was +not a seemly one. Glad to get out of the house and be away from her +reproaches, the stormy interview was concluded almost as soon as it had +begun. He returned straight to London, her last words ringing their +refrain on his ears—that his wife was dead and he had killed her: Miss +Gwinn being still in ignorance that his proper name was anything but +Lewis. Following immediately upon this—it was curious that it should be +so—Miss Gwinn received news that her sister Elizabeth, Mrs. Gardener, +was ill in Jersey. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> hastened to her: for Elizabeth was nearly, if +not quite, as dear to her as Emma had been. Mrs. Gardener's was a +peculiar and unusual illness, and it ended in a confirmed and hopeless +affection of the brain.</p> + +<p>Once more Miss Gwinn's injustice came into play. Just as she had +persisted in attributing Emma's death to Mr. Lewis, so did she now +attribute to him Elizabeth's insanity: that is, she regarded him as its +remote cause. That the two young sisters had been much attached to each +other was undoubted: but to think that Elizabeth's madness came on +through sorrow for Emma's death, or at the tidings of what had preceded +it, was absurdly foolish. The poor young lady was placed in an asylum in +London, of which Dr. Bevary was one of the visiting physicians; he was +led to take an unusual interest in the case, and this brought him +acquainted with Miss Gwinn. Within a year of her being placed there, the +husband, Mr. Gardener, died in Jersey. His affairs turned out to be +involved, and from that time the cost of keeping her there devolved on +Miss Gwinn.</p> + +<p>Private asylums are expensive, and Miss Gwinn could only maintain her +sister in one at the cost of giving up her own home. Ill-conditioned +though she was, we must confess she had her troubles. She gave it up +without a murmur: she would have given up her life to benefit either of +those, her young sisters. Retaining but a mere pittance, she devoted all +her means to the comfort of Elizabeth, and found a home with her +brother, in Ketterford. Where she spent her days bemoaning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> the lost and +cherishing a really insane hatred against Mr. Lewis—a desire for +revenge. She had never come across him, until that Easter Monday, at +Ketterford. And that, you will say, is scarcely correct, since it was +not himself she met then, but his brother. Deceived by the resemblance, +she attacked Mr. Henry Hunter in the manner you remember; and Austin +Clay saved him from the gravel-pit. But the time soon came when she +stood face to face with <i>him</i>. It was the hour she had so longed for: +the hour of revenge. What revenge? But for the wicked lie she +subsequently forged, there could have been no revenge. The worst she +could have proclaimed was, that James Lewis Hunter, when he was a young +man, had so far forgotten his duty to himself, and to the world's +decencies, as to contract a secret marriage. He might have got over +that. He had mourned his young wife sincerely at the time, but later +grew to think that all things were for the best—that it was a serious +source of embarrassment removed from his path. Nothing more or less had +he to acknowledge.</p> + +<p>What revenge would Miss Gwinn have reaped from this? None. Certainly +none to satisfy one so vindictive as she. It never was clear to herself +what revenge she had desired: all her efforts had been directed to the +discovering of him. She found him a man of social ties. He had married +Louisa Bevary; he had a fair daughter; he was respected by the world: +all of which excited the anger of Miss Gwinn.</p> + +<p>Remembering her violent nature, it was only to be expected that Mr. +Hunter should shrink from meeting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> Miss Gwinn when he first knew she had +tracked him and was in London. He had never told his wife the episode in +his early life, and would very much have disliked its tardy disclosure +to her through the agency of Miss Gwinn. Fifty pounds would he have +willingly given to avoid a meeting with her. But she came to his very +home; so to say, into the presence of his wife and child; and he had to +see her, and make the best of it. You must remember the interview. Mr. +Hunter's agitation <i>previous</i> to it, was caused by the dread of the +woman's near presence, of the disturbance she might make in his +household, of the discovery his wife was in close danger of making—that +he was a widower when she married him, and not a bachelor. Any husband +of the present day might show the same agitation I think under similar +circumstances. But Mr. Hunter did not allow this agitation to sway him +when before Miss Gwinn; once shut up with her, he was cool and calm as a +cucumber; rather defied her than not, civilly; and asked what she meant +by intruding upon him, and what she had to complain of: which of course +was but adding fuel to the woman's flame. It was quite true, all he +said, and there was nothing left to hang a peg of revenge upon. And so +she invented one. The demon of mischief put it into her mind to impose +upon him with the lie that his first wife, Emma, was not dead, but +living. She told him that she (she, herself) had imposed upon him with a +false story in that long-past day, in saying that Emma was dead and +buried. It was another sister who had died, she added—not Emma: Emma +had been ill with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> the fever, but was recovering; and she had said this +to separate her from him. Emma, she continued, was alive still, a +patient in the lunatic asylum.</p> + +<p>It never occurred to Mr. Hunter to doubt the tale. Her passionate +manner, her impressive words, but added to her earnestness, and he came +out from the interview believing that his first wife had not died. His +state of mind cannot be forgotten. Austin Clay saw him pacing the waste +ground in the dark night. His agony and remorse were fearful; the sun of +his life's peace had set: and there could be no retaliation upon her who +had caused it all—Miss Gwinn.</p> + +<p>Miss Gwinn, however, did not follow up her revenge. Not because further +steps might have brought the truth to light, but because after a night's +rest she rather repented of it. Her real nature was honourable, and she +despised herself for what she had done. Once it crossed her to undo it; +but she hated Mr. Hunter with an undying hatred, and so let it alone and +went down to Ketterford. One evening, when she had been at home some +days, a spirit of confidence came over her which was very unusual, and +she told her brother of the revenge she had taken. That was quite enough +for Lawyer Gwinn: a glorious opportunity of enriching himself, not to be +missed. He went up to London, and terrified Mr. Hunter out of five +thousand pounds. 'Or I go and tell your wife, Miss Bevary, that she is +not your wife,' he threatened, in his coarse way. Miss Gwinn suspected +that the worthy lawyer had gone to make the most of the opportunity, and +she wrote him a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> sharp letter, telling him that if he did so—if he +interfered at all—she would at once confess to Lewis Hunter that Emma +was really dead. Not knowing where he would put up in London, she +enclosed this note to Austin Clay, asking him to give it to Lawyer +Gwinn. She took the opportunity, at the same time, of writing a +reproachful letter to Mr. Hunter, in which his past ill-doings and +Emma's present existence were fully enlarged upon. As the reader may +remember, she misdirected the letters: Austin became acquainted with the +(as he could but suppose) dangerous secret; and the note to Lawyer Gwinn +was set alight, sealed. If Austin or his master had but borrowed a +momentary portion of the principles of Gwinn of Ketterford, and peeped +into the letter! What years of misery it would have saved Mr. Hunter! +But when Miss Gwinn discovered that her brother had used the lie to +obtain money, she did not declare the truth. The sense of justice within +her yielded to revenge. She hated Mr. Hunter as she had ever done, and +would not relieve him. A fine life, between them, did they lead Mr. +Hunter. Miss Gwinn protested against every fresh aggression made by the +lawyer; but protested only. In Mr. Hunter's anguish of mind at the +disgrace cast on his wife and child; in his terror lest the truth (as he +assumed it to be) should reach them—and it seemed to be ever +looming—he had lived, as may be said, a perpetual death. And the +disgrace was of a nature that never could be removed; and the terror had +never left him through all these long years.</p> + +<p>Dr. Bevary had believed the worst. When he first<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> became acquainted with +Miss Gwinn, she (never a communicative woman) had not disclosed the +previous history of the patient in the asylum. She had given hints of a +sad tale, she even said she was living in hope of being revenged on one +who had done herself and family an injury, but she said no more. Later +circumstances connected with Mr. Hunter and his brother, dating from the +account he heard of Miss Gwinn's attack upon Mr. Henry, had impressed +Dr. Bevary with the belief that James Hunter had really married the poor +woman in the asylum. When he questioned Miss Gwinn, that estimable woman +had replied in obscure hints: and they had so frightened Dr. Bevary that +he dared ask no further. For his sister's sake he tacitly ignored the +subject in future, living in daily thankfulness that Mrs. Hunter was +without suspicion.</p> + +<p>But with the dead body of Elizabeth Gardener lying before her, the +enacted lie came to an end. Miss Gwinn freely acknowledged what she had +done, and took little, if any, blame to herself. 'Lewis Hunter spoilt +the happiness of my life,' she said; 'in return I have spoilt his.'</p> + +<p>'And suppose my sister, his lawful wife, had been led to believe this +fine tale?' questioned Dr. Bevary, looking keenly at her.</p> + +<p>'In that case I should have declared the truth,' said Miss Gwinn. 'I had +no animosity to her. She was innocent, she was also your sister, and she +should never have suffered.'</p> + +<p>'How could you know that she remained ignorant?'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span></p><p>'By my brother being able, whenever he would, to frighten Mr. Hunter,' +was the laconic answer.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XI.</span> <span class="smaller">RELIEF.</span></h2> + +<p>We left Mr. Hunter in the easy chair of his dining-room, buried in these +reminiscences of the unhappy past, and quite unconscious that relief of +any sort could be in store for him. And yet it was very near: relief +from two evils, quite opposite in their source. How long he sat there he +scarcely knew; it seemed for hours. In the afternoon he aroused himself +to his financial difficulties, and went out. He remembered that he had +purposed calling that day upon his bankers, though he had no hope—but +rather the certainty of the contrary—that they would help him out of +his financial embarrassments. There was just time to get there before +the bank closed, and Mr. Hunter had a cab called and went down to +Lombard Street. He was shown into the room of the principal partner. The +banker thought how ill he looked. Mr. Hunter's first question was about +the heavy bill that was due that day. He supposed it had been presented +and dishonoured.</p> + +<p>'No,' said the banker. 'It was presented and paid.'</p> + +<p>A ray of hope lighted up the sadness of Mr. Hunter's face. 'Did you +indeed pay it? It was very kind. You shall be no eventual losers.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span></p><p>'We did not pay it from our own funds, Mr. Hunter. It was paid from +yours.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter did not understand. 'I thought my account had been nearly +drawn out,' he said; 'and by the note I received this morning from you, +I understood you would decline to help me.'</p> + +<p>'Your account was drawn very close indeed; but this afternoon, in time +to meet the bill upon its second presentation, there was a large sum +paid in to your credit—two thousand six hundred pounds.'</p> + +<p>A pause of blank astonishment on the part of Mr. Hunter. 'Who paid it +in?' he presently asked.</p> + +<p>'Mr. Clay. He came himself. You will weather the storm now, Mr. Hunter.'</p> + +<p>There was no answering reply. The banker bent forward in the dusk of the +growing evening, and saw that Mr. Hunter was incapable of making one. He +was sinking back in his chair in a fainting fit. Whether it was the +revulsion of feeling caused by the conviction that he <i>should</i> now +weather the storm, or simply the effect of his physical state, Mr. +Hunter had fainted, as quietly as any girl might do. One of the partners +lived at the bank, and Mr. Hunter was conveyed into the dwelling-house. +It was quite evening before he was well enough to leave it. He drove to +the yard. It was just closed for the night, and Mr. Clay was gone. Mr. +Hunter ordered the cab home. He found Austin waiting for him, and he +also found Dr. Bevary. Seeing the latter, he expected next to see Miss +Gwinn, and glanced nervously round.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span></p><p>'She is gone back to Ketterford,' spoke out Dr. Bevary, divining the +fear. 'The woman will never trouble you again. I thought you must be +lost, Hunter. I have been here twice; been home to dinner with Florence; +been round at the yard worrying Clay; and could not come upon you +anywhere.'</p> + +<p>'I went to the bank, and was taken ill there,' said Mr. Hunter, who +still seemed anything but himself, and looked round in a bewildered +manner. 'The woman, Bevary—are you sure she's gone quite away? She—she +wanted to beg, I think,' he added, as if in apology for pressing the +question.</p> + +<p>'She is <i>gone</i>: gone never to return; and you may be at rest,' repeated +the doctor, impressively. 'And so you have been ill at the bankers', +James! Things are going wrong, I suppose.'</p> + +<p>'No, they are going right. Austin'—laying his hand upon the young man's +shoulder—'what am I to say? This money can only have come from you.'</p> + +<p>'Sir!' said Austin, half laughing.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter drew Dr. Bevary's attention, pointing to Austin. 'Look at +him, Bevary. He has saved me. But for him, I should have borne a +dishonoured name this day. I went down to Lombard Street, a man without +hope, believing that the blow had been already struck in bills +dishonoured—that my name was on its way to the <i>Gazette</i>. I found that +he, Austin Clay, had paid in between two and three thousand pounds to my +credit.'</p> + +<p>'I could not put my money to a better use, sir. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> two thousand pounds +were left to me, you know: the rest I saved. I was wishing for something +to turn up that I could invest it in.'</p> + +<p>'Invest!' exclaimed Mr. Hunter, deep feeling in his tone. 'How do you +know you will not lose it?'</p> + +<p>'I have no fear, sir. The strike is at an end, and business will go on +well now.'</p> + +<p>'If I did not believe that it would, I would never consent to use it,' +said Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>It was true. Austin Clay, a provident man, had been advancing his money +to save the credit of his master. Suspecting some such a crisis as this +was looming, he had contrived to hold his funds in available readiness. +It had come, though, sooner than he anticipated.</p> + +<p>'How am I to repay you?' asked Mr. Hunter. 'I don't mean the money: but +the obligation.'</p> + +<p>A red flush mounted to Austin's brow. He answered hastily, as if to +cover it.</p> + +<p>'I do not require payment, sir. I do not look for any.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter stood in deep thought, looking at him, but vacantly. Dr. +Bevary was near the mantelpiece, apparently paying no attention to +either of them. 'Will you link your name to mine?' said Mr. Hunter, +moving towards Austin.</p> + +<p>'In what manner, sir?'</p> + +<p>'By letting the firm be from henceforth Hunter and Clay. I have long +wished this; you are of too great use to me to remain anything less than +a partner, and by this last act of yours, you have earned the right to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> +be so. Will you object to join your name to one which was so near being +dishonoured?'</p> + +<p>He held out his hand as he spoke, and Austin clasped it. 'Oh, Mr. +Hunter!' he exclaimed, in the strong impulse of the moment, 'I wish you +would give me hopes of a dearer reward.'</p> + +<p>'You mean Florence,' said Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' returned Austin, in agitation. 'I care not how long I wait, or +what price you may call upon me to pay for her. As Jacob served Laban +seven years for Rachel, so would I serve for Florence, and think it but +a day, for the love I bear her. Sir, Mrs. Hunter would have given her to +me.'</p> + +<p>'My objection is not to you, Austin. Were I to disclose to you certain +particulars connected with Florence—as I should be obliged to do before +she married—you might yourself decline her.'</p> + +<p>'Try me, sir,' said Austin, a bright smile parting his lips.</p> + +<p>'Ay, try him,' said Dr. Bevary, in his quaint manner. 'I have an idea +that he may know as much of the matter as you do, Hunter. You neither of +you know too much,' he significantly added.</p> + +<p>Austin's cheek turned red; and there was that in his tone, his look, +which told Mr. Hunter that he had known the fact, known it for years. +'Oh, sir,' he pleaded, 'give me Florence.'</p> + +<p>'I tell you that you neither of you know too much,' said Dr. Bevary. +'But, look here, Austin. The best thing you can do is, to go to my house +and ask Florence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> whether she will have you. Then—if you don't find it +too much trouble—escort her home.' Austin laughed as he caught up his +hat. A certain prevision, that he should win Florence, had ever been +within him.</p> + +<p>Dr. Bevary watched the room-door close, and then drew a chair in front +of his brother-in-law. 'Did it ever strike you that Austin Clay knew +your secret, James?' he began.</p> + +<p>'How should it?' returned Mr. Hunter, feeling himself compelled to +answer.</p> + +<p>'I do not know how,' said the doctor, 'any more than I know how the +impression, that he did, fixed itself upon me. I have felt sure, this +many a year past, that he was no stranger to the fact, though he +probably knew nothing of the details.'</p> + +<p>To the fact! Dr. Bevary spoke with strange coolness.</p> + +<p>'When did <i>you</i> become acquainted with it?' asked Mr. Hunter, in a tone +of sharp pain.</p> + +<p>'I became acquainted with your share in it at the time Miss Gwinn +discovered that Mr. Lewis was Mr. Hunter. At least, with as much of the +share as I ever was acquainted with until to-day.'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter compressed his lips. It was no use beating about the bush any +longer.</p> + +<p>'James,' resumed the doctor, 'why did you not confide the secret to me? +It would have been much better.'</p> + +<p>'To you! Louisa's brother!'</p> + +<p>'It would have been better, I say. It might not have lifted the sword +that was always hanging over Louisa's head, or have eased it by one jot; +but it might have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> eased <i>you</i>. A sorrow kept within a man's own bosom, +doing its work in silence, will burn his life away: get him to talk of +it, and half the pain is removed. It is also possible that I might have +made better terms than you, with the rapacity of Gwinn.'</p> + +<p>'If you knew it, why did you not speak openly to me?'</p> + +<p>Dr. Bevary suppressed a shudder. 'It was one of those terrible secrets +that a third party cannot interfere in uninvited. No: silence was my +only course, so long as you observed silence to me. Had I interfered, I +might have said "Louisa shall leave you!"'</p> + +<p>'It is over, so far as she is concerned,' said Mr. Hunter, wiping his +damp brow. 'Let her name rest. It is the thought of her that has well +nigh killed me.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, it's over,' responded Dr. Bevary; 'over, in more senses than one. +Do you not wonder that Miss Gwinn should have gone back to Ketterford +without molesting you again?'</p> + +<p>'How can I wonder at anything she does? She comes and she goes, with as +little reason as warning.'</p> + +<p>Dr. Bevary lowered his voice. 'Have you ever been to see that poor +patient in Kerr's asylum?'</p> + +<p>The question excited the anger of Mr. Hunter. 'What do you mean by +asking it?' he cried. 'When I was led to believe her dead, I shaped my +future course according to that belief. I have never acted, nor would I +act, upon any other—save in the giving money to Gwinn, for my wife's +sake. If Louisa was not my wife legally, she was nothing less in the +sight of God.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span></p><p>'Louisa was your wife,' said Dr. Bevary, quietly. And Mr. Hunter +responded by a sharp gesture of pain. He wished the subject at an end. +The doctor continued—</p> + +<p>'James, had you gone, though it had been but for an instant, to see that +unhappy patient of Kerr's, your trammels would have been broken. It was +not Emma, your young wife of years ago.'</p> + +<p>'It was not!——What do you say?' gasped Mr. Hunter.</p> + +<p>'When Agatha Gwinn found you out, here, in this house, she startled you +nearly to death by telling you that Emma was alive—was a patient in +Kerr's asylum. She told you that, when you had been informed in those +past days of Emma's death, you were imposed upon by a lie—a lie +invented by herself. James, the lie was uttered <i>then</i>, when she spoke +to you here. Emma, your wife, did die; and the young woman in the asylum +was her sister.' Mr. Hunter rose. His hands were raised imploringly, his +face was stretched forward in its sad yearning. What!—which was true? +which was he to believe?—'In the gratification of her revenge, Miss +Gwinn concocted the tale that Emma was alive,' resumed Dr. Bevary, +'knowing, as she spoke it, that Emma had been dead years and years. She +contrived to foster the same impression upon me; and the same +impression, I cannot tell how, has, I am sure, clung to Austin Clay. +Louisa was your lawful wife, James.' Mr. Hunter, in the plenitude of his +thankfulness, sank upon his chair, a sobbing burst of emotion breaking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> +from him, and the drops of perspiration gathering again on his brow. +'That other one, the sister, the poor patient, is dead,' pursued the +doctor. 'As we stood together over her, an hour ago, Miss Gwinn +confessed the imposition. It appeared to slip from her involuntarily, in +spite of herself. I inquired her motive, and she answered, "To be +revenged on you, Lewis Hunter, for the wrong you had done." As you had +marred the comfort of her life, so she in return had marred that of +yours. As she stood in her impotence, looking on the dead, I asked her +which, in her opinion, had inflicted the most wrong, she or you?'</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter lifted his eager face. 'It was a foolish deceit. What did she +hope to gain by it? A word at any time might have exposed it.'</p> + +<p>'It seems she did gain pretty well by it,' significantly replied Dr. +Bevary. 'There's little doubt that it was first spoken in the angry rage +of the moment, as being the most effectual mode of tormenting you: and +the terrible dread with which you received it—as I conclude you so did +receive it—must have encouraged her to persist in the lie. James, you +should have confided in me; I might have brought light to bear on it in +some way or other. Your timorous silence has kept me quiet.'</p> + +<p>'God be thanked that it is over!' fervently ejaculated Mr. Hunter. 'The +loss of my money, the loss of my peace, they seem to be little in +comparison with the joy of this welcome revelation.'</p> + +<p>He sat down as he spoke and bent his head upon his hand. Presently he +looked at his brother-in-law. 'And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> you think that Clay has suspected +this? And that—suspecting it, he has wished for Florence?'</p> + +<p>'I am sure of one thing—that Florence has been his object, his dearest +hope. What he says has no exaggeration in it—that he would serve for +her seven years, and seven to that, for the love he bears her.'</p> + +<p>'I have been afraid to glance at such a thing as marriage for Florence, +and that is the reason I would not listen to Austin Clay. With this slur +hanging over her——'</p> + +<p>'There is no slur—as it turns out,' interrupted Dr. Bevary. 'Florence +loves him, James; and your wife knew it.'</p> + +<p>'What a relief is all this!' murmured Mr. Hunter. 'The woman gone back +to Ketterford! I think I shall sleep to-night.'</p> + +<p>'She is gone back, never more to trouble you. We must see how her worthy +brother can be brought to account for obtaining money under false +pretences.'</p> + +<p>'I'll make him render back every shilling he has defrauded me of: I'll +bring him to answer for it before the laws of his country,' was the +wronged man's passionate and somewhat confused answer.</p> + +<p>But that is more easy to say than to do, Mr. Hunter!</p> + +<p>For, a few days subsequent to this, Lawyer Gwinn, possibly scenting that +unpleasant consequences might be in store for him, was quietly steaming +to America in a fine ship; taking all his available substance with him; +and leaving Ketterford and his sister behind.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XII.</span> <span class="smaller">CONCLUSION.</span></h2> + +<p>With outward patience and inward wonder, Florence Hunter was remaining +at Dr. Bevary's. That something must be wrong at home, she felt sure: +else why was she kept away from it so long? And where was her uncle? +Invalids were shut up in the waiting-room, like Patience on a monument, +hoping minute by minute to see him appear. And now here was another, she +supposed! No. He had passed the patients' room and was opening the door +of this. Austin Clay!</p> + +<p>'What have you come for?' she exclaimed, in the glad confusion of the +moment.</p> + +<p>'To take you home, for one thing,' he answered, as he approached her. +'Do you dislike the escort, Florence?' He bent forward as he asked the +question. A strange light of happiness shone in his eyes; a sweet smile +parted his lips. Florence Hunter's heart stood still, and then began to +beat as if it would have burst its bounds.</p> + +<p>'What has happened?' she faltered.</p> + +<p>'This,' he said, taking both her hands and drawing her gently before +him. 'The right to hold your hands in mine; the right—soon—to take you +to my heart and keep you there for ever. Your father and uncle have sent +me to tell you this.'</p> + +<p>The words, in their fervent earnestness carried instant truth to her +heart, lighting it as with the brightness of sunshine. 'Oh, what a +recompense!' she impulsively<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> murmured from the depths of her great +love. 'And everything lately has seemed so dark with doubt, so full of +trouble!'</p> + +<p>'No more doubt, no more trouble,' he fondly whispered. 'It shall be my +life's care to guard my wife from all such, Florence—heaven permitting +me.' Anything more that was said may as well be left to the reader's +lively imagination. They arrived at home after awhile; and found Dr. +Bevary there, talking still.</p> + +<p>'How you must have hurried yourselves!' quoth he, turning to them. +'Clay, you ought to be ill from walking fast. What has kept him, +Florence?'</p> + +<p>'Not your patients, Doctor,' retorted Austin, laughing; 'though you are +keeping them. One of them says you made an appointment with him. By the +way he spoke, I think he was inwardly vowing vengeance against you for +not keeping it.'</p> + +<p>'Ah,' said the Doctor, 'we medical men do get detained sometimes. One +patient has had the most of my time this day, poor lady!'</p> + +<p>'Is she better?' quickly asked Florence, who always had ready sympathy +for sickness and suffering: perhaps from having seen so much of it in +her mother.</p> + +<p>'No, my dear, she is dead,' was the answer, gravely spoken. 'And, +therefore,' added the doctor in a different tone, 'I have no further +excuse for absenting myself from those other patients who are alive and +grumbling at me. Will you walk a few steps with me, Mr. Clay?'</p> + +<p>Dr. Bevary linked his arm within Austin's as they crossed the hall, and +they went out together. 'How did you become acquainted with that dark +secret' he breathed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span></p><p>'Through a misdirected letter of Miss Gwinn's,' replied Austin. 'After +I had read it, I discovered that it must have been meant for Mr. Hunter, +though addressed to me. It told me all. Dr. Bevary, I have had to carry +the secret all these years, bearing myself as one innocent of the +knowledge; before Mrs. Hunter, before Florence, before him. I would have +given half my savings not to have known it.'</p> + +<p>'You believed that—that—one was living who might have replaced Mrs. +Hunter?'</p> + +<p>'Yes; and that she was in confinement. The letter, a reproachful one, +was too explanatory.'</p> + +<p>'She died this morning. It is with her—at least with her and her +affairs—that my day has been taken up.'</p> + +<p>'What a mercy!' ejaculated Austin.</p> + +<p>'Ay; mercies are showered down every day: a vast many more than we, +self-complaisant mortals, acknowledge or return thanks for,' responded +Dr. Bevary, in the quaint tone he was fond of using. And then, in a few +brief words, he enlightened Austin as to the actual truth.</p> + +<p>'What a fiend she must be!' cried Austin, alluding to Miss Gwinn of +Ketterford. 'Oh, but this is a mercy indeed! And I have been planning +how to guard the secret always from Florence.' Dr. Bevary made no reply. +Austin turned to him, the ingenuous look upon his face that it often +wore. 'You approve of me for Florence? Do you not, sir?'</p> + +<p>'Be you very sure, young gentleman, that you should never have got her, +had I not approved,' oracularly nodded Dr. Bevary. 'I look upon Florence +as part of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> my belongings; and, if you mind what you are about, perhaps +I may look upon you as the same.'</p> + +<p>Austin laughed. 'How am I to avoid offence?' he asked.—'By loving your +wife with an earnest, lasting love; by making her a better husband than +James Hunter has been enabled to make her poor mother.'</p> + +<p>The tears rose to Austin's eyes with the intensity of his emotion. 'Do +you think there is cause to ask me to do this, Dr. Bevary?'</p> + +<p>'No, my boy, I do not. God bless you both! There! leave me to get home +to those patients of mine. You can be off back to her.'</p> + +<p>But Austin Clay had work on his hands, as well as pleasure, and he +turned towards Daffodil's Delight. It was the evening for taking +Baxendale his week's money, and Austin was not one to neglect it. He +picked his way down amidst the poor people, standing about hungry and +half-naked. All the works were open again, but numbers and numbers of +men could not obtain employment, however good their will was: the +masters had taken on strangers, and there was no room for the old +workmen. John Baxendale was sitting by his bedside dressed. His injuries +were yielding to skill and time: and in a short while he looked to be at +work again.</p> + +<p>'Well, Baxendale?' cried Austin, in his cheery voice. 'Still getting +better?'</p> + +<p>'Oh yes, sir, I'm thankful to say it. The surgeon was here to-day, and +told me there would be no further relapse. I am a bit tired this +evening; I stood a good while at the window, watching the row opposite. +She was giving him such a basting.'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span></p><p>'What! do you mean the Cheeks? I thought the street seemed in a +commotion.'</p> + +<p>Baxendale laughed. 'It is but just over, sir. She set on and shook him +soundly, and then she scratched him, and then she cuffed him—all +outside the door. I do wonder that Cheek took it from her; but he's just +like a puppy in her hands, and nothing better. Two good hours they were +disputing there.'</p> + +<p>'What was the warfare about?' inquired Austin.</p> + +<p>'About his not getting work, sir. Cheek's wife was just like many of the +other wives in Daffodil's Delight—urging their husbands not to go to +work, and vowing <i>they'd</i> strike if they didn't stand out. I don't know +but Mother Cheek was about the most obstinate of all. The very day that +I was struck down I heard her blowing him up for not "standing firm upon +his rights;" and telling him she'd rather go to his hanging than see him +go back to work. And now she beats him because he can't get any to do.'</p> + +<p>'Is Cheek one that cannot get any?'</p> + +<p>'Cheek's one, sir. Mr. Henry took on more strangers than did you and Mr. +Hunter; so, of course, there's less room for his old men. Cheek has +walked about London these two days, till he's foot-sore, trying +different shops, but he can't get taken on: there are too many men out, +for him to have a chance.'</p> + +<p>'I think some of the wives in Daffodil's Delight are the most +unreasonable women that ever were created,' ejaculated Austin.</p> + +<p>'<i>She</i> is—that wife of Cheek's,' rejoined Baxendale. 'I don't know how +they'll end it. She has shut the door<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> in his face, vowing he shall not +put a foot inside it until he can bring some wages with him. Forbidding +him to take work when it was to be had, and now that it can't be had +turning upon him for not getting it! If Cheek wasn't a donkey, he'd turn +upon her again. There's other women just as contradictory. I think the +bad living has soured their tempers.'</p> + +<p>'Where's Mary this evening?' inquired Austin, quitting the +unsatisfactory topic. Since her father's illness, Mary's place had been +by his side: it was something unusual to find her absent. Baxendale +lowered his voice to reply.</p> + +<p>'She is getting ill again, sir. All her old symptoms have come back, and +I am sure now that she is going fast. She is on her bed, lying down.'</p> + +<p>As he spoke the last word, he stopped, for Mary entered. She seemed +scarcely able to walk; a hectic flush shone on her cheeks, and her +breath was painfully short. 'Mary,' Austin said, with much concern, 'I +am sorry to see you thus.'</p> + +<p>'It is only the old illness come back again, sir,' she answered, as she +sunk back in the pillowed chair. 'I knew it had not gone for good—that +the improvement was but temporary. But now, sir, look how good and +merciful is the hand that guides us—and yet we sometimes doubt it! What +should I have been spared for, and had this returning glimpse of +strength, but that I might nurse my father in his illness, and be a +comfort to him? He is nearly well—will soon be at work again and wants +me no more. Thanks ever be to God!'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span></p><p>Austin went out, marvelling at the girl's simple and beautiful trust. +It appeared that she would be happy in her removal whenever it should +come. As he was passing up the street he met Dr. Bevary. Austin wondered +what had become of his patients.</p> + +<p>'All had gone away but two; tired of waiting,' said the Doctor, divining +his thoughts. 'I am going to take a look at Mary Baxendale. I hear she +is worse.'</p> + +<p>'Very much worse,' replied Austin. 'I have just left her father.' At +that moment there was a sound of contention and scolding, a woman's +sharp tongue being uppermost. It proceeded from Mrs. Cheek, who was +renewing the contest with her husband. Austin gave Dr. Bevary an outline +of what Baxendale had said.</p> + +<p>'And if, after a short season of prosperity, another strike should come, +these women would be the first again to urge the men on to it—to "stand +up for their rights!"' exclaimed the Doctor.</p> + +<p>'Not all of them.'</p> + +<p>'They have not all done it now. Mark you, Austin! I shall settle a +certain sum upon Florence when she marries, just to keep you in bread +and cheese, should these strikes become the order of the day, and you +get engulfed in them.'</p> + +<p>Austin smiled. 'I think I can take better care than that, Doctor.'</p> + +<p>'Take all the care you please. But you are talking self-sufficient +nonsense, my young friend. I shall put Florence on the safe side, in +spite of your care. I have no fancy to see her reduced to one maid and a +cotton<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> gown. You can tell her so,' added the Doctor, as he continued on +his way.</p> + +<p>Austin turned on his, when a man stole up to him from some side entry—a +cadaverous-looking man, pinched and careworn. It was James Dunn; he had +been discharged out of prison by the charity of some fund at the +disposal of the governor. He humbly begged for work—'just to keep him +from starving.'</p> + +<p>'You ask what I have not to give, Dunn,' was the reply of Austin. 'Our +yard is full; and consider the season! Perhaps when spring comes on——'</p> + +<p>'How am I to exist till spring, sir?' he burst forth in a voice that was +but just kept from tears. 'And the wife and the children?'</p> + +<p>'I wish I could help you, Dunn. Your case is but that of many others.'</p> + +<p>'There have been so many strangers took on, sir!'</p> + +<p>'Of course there have been. To do the work that you and others refused.'</p> + +<p>'I have not a place to lay my head in this night, sir. I have not so +much as a slice of bread. I'd do the meanest work that could be offered +to me.'</p> + +<p>Austin felt in his pocket for a piece of money, and gave it him. 'What +misery they have brought upon themselves!' he thought.</p> + +<p>When the announcement reached Mrs. Henry Hunter of Florence's +engagement, she did not approve of it. Not that she had any objection to +Austin Clay; he had from the first been a favourite with her, though she +had sometimes marked her preference by a somewhat <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span>patronizing manner; +but for Florence to marry her father's clerk, though that clerk had now +become partner, was more than she could at the first moment quietly +yield to.</p> + +<p>'It is quite a descent for her,' she said to her husband privately. +'What can James be thinking of? The very idea of her marrying Austin +Clay!'</p> + +<p>'But if she likes him?'</p> + +<p>'That ought not to go for anything. Suppose it had been Mary? I would +not have let her have him.'</p> + +<p>'I would,' decisively returned Mr. Henry Hunter. 'Clay's worth his +weight in gold.'</p> + +<p>Some short while given to preliminaries, and to the re-establishment (in +a degree) of Mr. Hunter's shattered health, and the new firm 'Hunter and +Clay' was duly announced to the business world. Upon an appointed day, +Mr. Hunter stood before his workmen, his arm within Austin's. He was +introducing him to them in his new capacity of partner. The strike was +quite at an end, and the men—so many as could be made room for—had +returned; but Mr. Hunter would not consent to discharge the hands that +had come forward to take work during the emergency.</p> + +<p>'What has the strike brought you?' inquired Mr. Hunter, seizing upon the +occasion to offer a word of advice. 'Any good?' Strictly speaking, the +men could not reply that it had. In the silence that ensued after the +question, one man's voice was at length raised. 'We look back upon it as +a subject of congratulation, sir.'</p> + +<p>'Congratulation!' exclaimed Mr. Hunter. 'Upon what point?'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span></p><p>'That we have had the pluck to hold out so long in the teeth of +difficulties,' replied the voice.</p> + +<p>'Pluck is a good quality when rightly applied,' observed Mr. Hunter. +'But what good has the "pluck," or the strike, brought to you in this +case?—for that was the question we were upon.'</p> + +<p>'It was a lock-out, sir; not a strike.'</p> + +<p>'In the first instance it was a strike,' said Mr. Hunter. 'Pollocks' men +struck, and you had it in contemplation to follow their example. Oh, +yes! you had, my men; you know as well as I do, that the measure was +under discussion. Upon that state of affairs becoming known, the masters +determined upon a general lock-out. They did it in self-defence; and if +you will put yourselves in thought into their places, judging fairly, +you will not wonder that it was considered the only course open to them. +The lock-out lasted but a short period, and then the yards were again +opened—open to all who would resume work upon the old terms, and sign a +declaration not to be under the dominion of the Trades' Unions. How very +few availed themselves of this you do not need to be reminded.'</p> + +<p>'We acted for what we thought the best,' said another.</p> + +<p>'I know you did,' replied Mr. Hunter. 'You are—speaking of you +collectively—steady, hard-working, well-meaning men, who wish to do the +best for yourselves, your wives, and families. But, looking back now, do +you consider that it was for the best? You have returned to work upon +the same terms that you were offered then. Here we are, in the depth of +winter, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> what sort of homes do you possess to fortify yourselves +against its severities!' What sort indeed! Mr. Hunter's delicacy shrank +from depicting them. 'I am not speaking to you now as your master,' he +continued, conscious that men do not like this style of converse from +their employers. 'Consider me for the moment as your friend only; let us +talk together as man and man. I wish I could bring you to see the evil +of these convulsions; I do not wish it from motives of self-interest, +but for your sole good. You may be thinking, "Ah, the master is afraid +of another contest; this one has done him so much damage, and that's why +he is going on at us against them." You are mistaken; that is not why I +speak. My men, were any further contests to take place between us, in +which you held yourselves aloof from work, as you have done in this, we +should at once place ourselves beyond dependence upon you, by bringing +over foreign workmen. In the consultations which have been held between +myself and Mr. Clay, relative to the terms of our partnership, this +point has been fully discussed, and our determination taken. Should we +have a repetition of the past, Hunter and Clay would then import their +own workmen.'</p> + +<p>'And other firms as well?' interrupted a voice.</p> + +<p>'We know nothing of what other firms might do: to attend to our own +interests is enough for us. I hope we shall never have to do this; but +it is only fair to inform you that such would be our course of action. +If you, our native workmen, brothers of the soil, abandon your work from +any crotchets——'</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span></p><p>'Crotchets, sir!'</p> + +<p>'Ay, crotchets—according to my opinion,' repeated Mr. Hunter. 'Could +you show me a real grievance, it might be a different matter. But let us +leave motives alone, and go to effects. When I say that I wish you could +see the evil of these convulsions, I speak solely with reference to your +good, to the well-being of your families. It cannot have escaped your +notice that my health has become greatly shattered—that, in all +probability, my life will not be much prolonged. My friends'—his voice +sunk to a deep, solemn tone—'believing, as I do, that I shall soon +stand before my Maker, to give an account of my doings here, could I, +from any paltry motive of self-interest, deceive you? Could I say one +thing and mean another? No; when I seek to warn you against future +troubles, I do it for your own sakes. Whatever may be the urging motive +of a strike, whether good or bad, it can only bring ill in the working. +I would say, were I not a master, "Put up with a grievance, rather than +enter upon a strike;" but being a master, you might misconstrue the +advice. I am not going into the merits of the measures—to say this past +strike was right, or that was wrong; I speak only of the terrible amount +of suffering they wrought. A man said to me the other day—he was from +the factory districts—"I have a horror of strikes, they have worked so +much evil in our trade." You can get books which tell of them, and read +for yourselves. How many orphans, and widows, and men in prisons are +there, who have cause to rue this strike that has only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> now just passed? +It has broken up homes that, before it came, were homes of plenty and +content, leaving in them despair and death. Let us try to go on better +for the future. I, for my part, will always be ready to receive and +consider any reasonable proposal from my men; my partner will do the +same. If there is no attempt at intimidation, and no interference on the +part of others, there ought to be little difficulty in discussing and +settling matters, with the help of "the golden rule." Only—it is my +last and earnest word of caution to you—abide by your own good sense, +and do not yield it to those agitators who would lead you away.'</p> + +<p>Every syllable spoken by Mr. Hunter, as to the social state of the +people, Daffodil's Delight, and all other parts of London where the +strike had prevailed, could echo. Whether the men had invoked the +contest needlessly, or whether they were justified, according to the +laws of right and reason, it matters not here to discuss; the effects +were the same, and they stood out broad, and bare, and hideous. Men had +died of want; had been cast into prison, where they still lay; had +committed social crimes, in their great need, against their fellow-men. +Women had been reduced to the lowest extremes of misery and suffering, +had been transformed into viragos, where they once had been pleasant and +peaceful; children had died off by scores. Homes were dismantled; Mr. +Cox had cart-loads of things that stood no chance of being recalled. +Families, united before, were scattered now; young men were driven upon +idleness and evil courses; young women upon worse, for they were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span>irredeemable. Would wisdom for the future be learnt by all this? It was +uncertain.</p> + +<p>When Austin Clay returned home that evening, he gave Mrs. Quale notice +to quit. She received it in a spirit of resignation, intimating that she +had been expecting it—that lodgings such as hers were not fit for Mr. +Clay, now that he was Mr. Hunter's partner.</p> + +<p>Austin laughed. 'I suppose you think I ought to set up a house of my +own.'</p> + +<p>'I daresay you'll be doing that one of these days, sir,' she responded.</p> + +<p>'I daresay I shall,' said Austin.</p> + +<p>'I wonder whether what Mr. Hunter said to-day will do any of 'em any +service?' interposed Peter Quale. 'What do you think, sir?'</p> + +<p>'I think it ought,' replied Austin. 'Whether it will, is another +question.'</p> + +<p>'It mostly lies in this—in the men's being let alone,' nodded Peter. +'Leave 'em to theirselves, and they'll go on steady enough; but if them +Trade Union folks, Sam Shuck and his lot, get over them again, there'll +be more outbreaks.'</p> + +<p>'Sam Shuck is safe for some months to come.'</p> + +<p>'But there's others of his persuasion that are not, sir. And Sam, he'll +be out some time.'</p> + +<p>'Quale, I give the hands credit for better sense than to suffer +themselves to fall under his yoke again, now that he has shown himself +in his true colours.'</p> + +<p>'I don't give 'em credit for any sense at all, when they get unsettled +notions into their heads,' <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span>phlegmatically returned Peter Quale. 'I'd +like to know if it's the Union that's helping Shuck's wife and +children.'</p> + +<p>'Do they help her?'</p> + +<p>'There must be some that help her, sir. The woman lives and feeds her +family. But there was a Trades' Union secretary here this morning, +inquiring about all this disturbance there has been, and saying that the +men were wrong to be led to violence by such a fellow as Sam Shuck: over +eager to say it, he seemed to me. I gave him my opinion back again,' +concluded Peter, pushing the pipe, which he had laid aside at his young +master's entrance, further under the grate. 'That Sam Shuck, and such as +he, that live by agitation, were uncommon 'cute for their own interests, +and those that listen to them were fools. That took him off, sir.'</p> + +<p>'To think of the fools this Daffodil's Delight has turned out this last +six months!' Mrs. Quale emphatically added. 'To have lived upon their +clothes and furniture, their saucepans and kettles, their bedding and +their children's shoes; when they might, most of 'em, have earned +thirty-three shillings a week at their ordinary work! When folks can be +so blind as that, it is of no use talking to them: black looks white, +and white black.' Mr. Clay smiled at the remark, though it had some +rough reason in it, and went out. Taking his way to Mr. Hunter's.</p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p>'Austin! You must live with me.'</p> + +<p>The words came from Mr. Hunter. Seated in his easy chair, apparently +asleep, he had overheard what Austin was saying in an undertone to +Florence—that he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> just been giving Mrs. Quale notice, and should +begin house-hunting on the morrow. They turned to him at the remark. He +had half risen from his chair in his eager earnestness.</p> + +<p>'Do you think I could spare Florence? Where my home is, yours and hers +must be. Is not this house large enough for us? Why should you seek +another?'</p> + +<p>'Quite large enough, sir. But—but I had not thought of it. It shall be +as you and Florence wish.'</p> + +<p>They both looked at her; she was standing underneath the light of the +chandelier, the rich damask colour mantling in her cheeks.</p> + +<p>'I could not give you to him, Florence, if it involved your leaving me.'</p> + +<p>The tears glistened on her eyelashes. In the impulse of the moment she +stretched out a hand to each. 'There is room here for us all, papa,' she +softly whispered.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hunter took both their hands in one of his; he raised the other in +the act of benediction; the tears, which only glistened in the eyes of +Florence, were falling fast from his own.</p> + +<p>'Yes, it shall be the home of all; and—Florence!—the sooner he comes +to it the better. Bless, oh, bless my children!' he murmured. 'And grant +that this may prove a happier, a more peaceful home for them, than it +has for me!'</p> + +<p>'Amen!' answered Austin, in his inmost heart.</p> + +<p class="center">THE END.</p> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<p class="center">J. OGDEN AND CO., PRINTERS, 172, ST. JOHN STREET, E.C.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>MRS. HENRY WOOD'S NOVELS.</span> <span class="smaller">Uniformly bound, 6s. each.</span></h2> + +<blockquote><p>EAST LYNNE. (85th thousand.)<br /><br /> +THE CHANNINGS. (35th thousand.)<br /><br /> +ROLAND YORKE. A Sequel to "The Channings."<br /><br /> +MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES.<br /><br /> +THE SHADOW OF ASHLYDYAT.<br /><br /> +VERNER'S PRIDE.<br /><br /> +LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS.<br /><br /> +GEORGE CANTERBURY'S WILL.<br /><br /> +MILDRED ARKELL.<br /><br /> +ST. MARTIN'S EVE.<br /><br /> +THE RED COURT FARM.<br /><br /> +WITHIN THE MAZE.<br /><br /> +LADY ADELAIDE.<br /><br /> +ELSTER'S FOLLY.<br /><br /> +ANNE HEREFORD.<br /><br /> +TREVLYN HOLD.<br /><br /> +OSWALD CRAY.<br /><br /> +A LIFE'S SECRET.<br /><br /> +DENE HOLLOW.<br /><br /> +BESSY RANE.<br /><br /> +THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS.<br /><br /> +ORVILLE COLLEGE.<br /><br /> +PARKWATER.<br /><br />EDINA.</p></blockquote> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<p class="center">LONDON:<br /> +R. BENTLEY & SON, <span class="smcap">New Burlington Street</span>, W.<br /> +(<i>Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty.</i>)</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Life's Secret, by Mrs. Henry Wood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LIFE'S SECRET *** + +***** This file should be named 38832-h.htm or 38832-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/8/3/38832/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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's Secret + A Novel + +Author: Mrs. Henry Wood + +Release Date: February 11, 2012 [EBook #38832] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LIFE'S SECRET *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + +A LIFE'S SECRET. + +A Novel. + +By + +MRS. HENRY WOOD, + +AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," ETC. + +[Illustration: Logo] + +_EIGHTH EDITION._ + +LONDON: +RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. +Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty. + +1879. + +[_All Rights of Translation and Reproduction are Reserved._] + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +PART THE FIRST. + +CHAP. PAGE + I. WAS THE LADY MAD? 11 + + II. CHANGES 32 + + III. AWAY TO LONDON 39 + + IV. DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT 52 + + V. MISS GWINN'S VISIT 67 + + VI. TRACKED HOME 83 + + VII. MR. SHUCK AT HOME 103 + +VIII. FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS! 116 + + IX. THE SEPARATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER 127 + + +PART THE SECOND. + + I. A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN 136 + + II. CALLED TO KETTERFORD 153 + + III. TWO THOUSAND POUNDS 168 + + IV. AGITATION 186 + + +PART THE THIRD. + + I. A PREMATURE AVOWAL 204 + + II. MR. COX 221 + + III. 'I THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL' 238 + + IV. SOMEBODY 'PITCHED INTO' 256 + + V. A GLOOMY CHAPTER 274 + + VI. THE LITTLE BOY AT REST 288 + + VII. MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET 294 + +VIII. A DESCENT FOR MR. SHUCK 309 + + IX. ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY 326 + + X. THE YEARS GONE BY 342 + + XI. RELIEF 359 + + XII. CONCLUSION 369 + + + + +A LIFE'S SECRET + + + + +PART THE FIRST. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +WAS THE LADY MAD? + + +On the outskirts of Ketterford, a town of some note in the heart of +England, stood, a few years ago, a white house, its green lawn, +surrounded by shrubs and flowers, sloping down to the high road. It +probably stands there still, looking as if not a day had passed over its +head since, for houses can be renovated and made, so to say, new again, +unlike men and women. A cheerful, bright, handsome house, of moderate +size, the residence of Mr. Thornimett. + +At the distance of a short stone's-throw, towards the open country, were +sundry workshops and sheds--a large yard intervening between them and +the house. They belonged to Mr. Thornimett; and the timber and other +characteristic materials lying about the yard would have proclaimed +their owner's trade without the aid of the lofty sign-board--'Richard +Thornimett, Builder and Contractor.' His business was extensive for a +country town. + +Entering the house by the pillared portico, and crossing the +black-and-white floor-cloth of the hall to the left, you came to a room +whose windows looked towards the timber-yard. It was fitted up as a sort +of study, or counting-house, though the real business counting-house was +at the works. Matting was on its floor; desks and stools stood about; +maps and drawings, plain and coloured, were on its walls; not finished +and beautiful landscapes, such as issue from the hands of modern +artists, or have descended to us from the great masters, but skeleton +designs of various buildings--churches, bridges, terraces--plans to be +worked out in actuality, not to be admired on paper. This room was +chiefly given over to Mr. Thornimett's pupil: and you may see him in it +now. + +A tall, gentlemanly young fellow, active and upright; his name, Austin +Clay. It is Easter Monday in those long-past years--and yet not so very +long past, either--and the works and yard are silent to-day. Strictly +speaking, Austin Clay can no longer be called a pupil, for he is +twenty-one, and his articles are out. The house is his home; Mr. and +Mrs. Thornimett, who have no children of their own, are almost as his +father and mother. They have said nothing to him about leaving, and he +has said nothing to them. The town, in its busy interference, +gratuitously opined that 'Old Thornimett would be taking him into +partnership.' Old Thornimett had given no indication of what he might +intend to do, one way or the other. + +Austin Clay was of good parentage, of gentle birth. Left an orphan at +the age of fourteen, with very small means, not sufficient to complete +his education, Ketterford wondered what was to become of him, and +whether he had not better get rid of himself by running away to sea. Mr. +Thornimett stepped in and solved the difficulty. The late Mrs. +Clay--Austin's mother--and Mrs. Thornimett were distantly related, and +perhaps a certain sense of duty in the matter made itself heard; that, +at least, combined with the great fact that the Thornimett household was +childless. The first thing they did was to take the boy home for the +Christmas holidays; the next, was to tell him he should stay there for +good. Not to be adopted as their son, not to leave him a fortune +hereafter, Mr. Thornimett took pains to explain to him, but to make him +into a man, and teach him to earn his own living. + +'Will you be apprenticed to me, Austin?' subsequently asked Mr. +Thornimett. + +'Can't I be articled, sir?' returned Austin, quickly. + +'Articled?' repeated Mr. Thornimett, with a laugh. He saw what was +running in the boy's mind. He was a plain man himself; had built up his +own fortunes just as he had built the new house he lived in; had risen, +in fact, as many a working man does rise: but Austin's father was a +gentleman. 'Well, yes, you can be articled, if you like it better,' he +said; 'but I shall never call it anything but apprenticed; neither will +the trade. You'll have to work, young sir.' + +'I don't care how hard I work, or what I do,' cried Austin, earnestly. +'There's no degradation in work.' + +Thus it was settled; and Austin Clay became bound pupil to Richard +Thornimett. + +'Old Thornimett and his wife have done it out of charity,' quoth +Ketterford. + +No doubt they had. But as the time passed on they grew very fond of him. +He was an open-hearted, sweet-tempered, generous boy, and one of them at +least, Mr. Thornimett, detected in him the qualities that make a +superior man. Privileges were accorded him from the first: the going on +with certain of his school duties, for which masters came to him out of +business hours--drawing, mathematics, and modern languages chiefly--and +Austin went on himself with Latin and Greek. With the two latter Mrs. +Thornimett waged perpetual war. What would be the use of them to him, +she was always asking, and Austin, in his pleasant, laughing way, would +rejoin that they might help to make him a gentleman. He was that +already: Austin Clay, though he might not know it, was a true gentleman +born. + +Had they repented their bargain? He was twenty-one now, and out of his +articles, or his time, as it was commonly called. No, not for an +instant. Never a better servant had Richard Thornimett; never, he would +have told you, one so good. With all his propensity to be a 'gentleman,' +Austin Clay did not shrink from his work; but did it thoroughly. His +master in his wisdom had caused him to learn his business practically; +but, that accomplished, he kept him to overlooking, and to other light +duties, just as he might have done by a son of his own. It had told +well. + +Easter Monday, and a universal holiday Mr. Thornimett had gone out on +horseback, and Austin was in the pupil's room. He sat at a desk, his +stool on the tilt, one hand unconsciously balancing a ruler, the other +supporting his head, which was bent over a book. + +'Austin!' + +The call, rather a gentle one, came from outside the door. Austin, +buried in his book, did not hear it. + +'Austin Clay!' + +He heard that, and started up. The door opened in the same moment, and +an old lady, dressed in delicate lavender print, came briskly in. Her +cap of a round, old-fashioned shape, was white as snow, and a bunch of +keys hung from her girdle. It was Mrs. Thornimett. + +'So you are here!' she exclaimed, advancing to him with short, quick +steps, a sort of trot. 'Sarah said she was sure Mr. Austin had not gone +out. And now, what do you mean by this?' she added, bending her +spectacles, which she always wore, on his open book. 'Confining yourself +indoors this lovely day over that good-for-nothing Hebrew stuff!' + +Austin turned his eyes upon her with a pleasant smile. Deep-set grey +eyes they were, earnest and truthful, with a great amount of thought in +them for a young man. His face was a pleasing, good-looking face, +without being a handsome one, its complexion pale, clear, and healthy, +and the hair rather dark. There was not much of beauty in the +countenance, but there was plenty of firmness and good sense. + +'It is not Hebrew, Mrs. Thornimett. Hebrew and I are strangers to each +other. I am only indulging myself with a bit of old Homer.' + +'All useless, Austin. I don't care whether it is Greek or Hebrew, or +Latin or French. To pore over those rubbishing dry books whenever you +get the chance, does you no good. If you did not possess a constitution +of iron, you would have been laid upon a sick-bed long ago.' + +Austin laughed outright. Mrs. Thornimett's prejudices against what she +called 'learning,' had grown into a proverb. Never having been troubled +with much herself, she, like the Dutch professor told of by George +Primrose, 'saw no good in it.' She lifted her hand and closed the book. + +'May I not spend my time as I like upon a holiday?' remonstrated Austin, +half vexed, half in good humour. + +'No,' said she, authoritatively; 'not when the day is warm and bright as +this. We do not often get so fair an Easter. Don't you see that I have +put off my winter clothing?' + +'I saw that at breakfast.' + +'Oh, you did notice that, did you? I thought you and Mr. Thornimett were +both buried in that newspaper. Well, Austin, I never make the change +till I think warm weather is really coming in: and so it ought to be, +for Easter is late this year. Come, put that book up.' + +Austin obeyed, a comical look of grievance on his face. 'I declare you +order me about just as you did when I came here first, a miserable +little muff of fourteen. You'll never get another like me, Mrs. +Thornimett. As if I had not enough outdoor work every day in the week! +And I don't know where on earth to go to. It's like turning a fellow out +of house and home!' + +'You are going out for me, Austin. The master left a message for the +Lowland farm, and you shall take it over, and stay the day with them. +They will make as much of you as they would of a king. When Mrs. Milton +was here the other day, she complained that you never went over now; she +said she supposed you were growing above them.' + +'What nonsense!' said Austin, laughing. 'Well, I'll go there for you at +once, without grumbling. I like the Miltons.' + +'You can walk, or you can take the pony gig: whichever you like.' + +'I will walk,' replied Austin, with alacrity, putting his book inside +the large desk. 'What is the message, Mrs. Thornimett?' + +'The message----' + +Mrs. Thornimett came to a sudden pause, very much as if she had fallen +into a dream. Her eyes were gazing from the window into the far +distance, and Austin looked in the same direction: but there was not +anything to be seen. + +'There's nothing there, lad. It is but my own thoughts. Something is +troubling me, Austin. Don't you think the master has seemed very poorly +of late?' + +'N--o,' replied Austin, slowly, and with some hesitation, for he was +half doubting whether something of the sort had not struck him. +Certainly the master--as Mr. Thornimett was styled indiscriminately on +the premises both by servants and workpeople, so that Mrs. Thornimett +often fell into the same habit--was not the brisk man he used to be. 'I +have not noticed it particularly.' + +'That is like the young; they never see anything,' she murmured, as if +speaking to herself. 'Well, Austin, I have; and I can tell you that I do +not like the master's looks, or the signs I detect in him. Especially +did I not like them when he rode forth this morning.' + +'All that I have observed is that of late he seems to be disinclined for +business. He seems heavy, sleepy, as though it were a trouble to him to +rouse himself, and he complains sometimes of headache. But, of +course----' + +'Of course, what?' asked Mrs. Thornimett. 'Why do you hesitate?' + +'I was going to say that Mr. Thornimett is not as young as he was,' +continued Austin, with some deprecation. + +'He is sixty-six, and I am sixty-three. But, you must be going. Talking +of it, will not mend it. And the best part of the day is passing.' + +'You have not given me the message,' he said, taking up his hat which +lay beside him. + +'The message is this,' said Mrs. Thornimett, lowering her voice to a +confidential tone, as she glanced round to see that the door was shut. +'Tell Mr. Milton that Mr. Thornimett cannot answer for that timber +merchant about whom he asked. The master fears he might prove a slippery +customer; he is a man whom he himself would trust as far as he could +see, but no farther. Just say it into Mr. Milton's private ear, you +know.' + +'Certainly. I understand,' replied the young man, turning to depart. + +'You see now why it might not be convenient to despatch any one but +yourself. And, Austin,' added the old lady, following him across the +hall, 'take care not to make yourself ill with their Easter cheesecakes. +The Lowland farm is famous for them.' + +'I will try not,' returned Austin. + +He looked back at her, nodding and laughing as he traversed the lawn, +and from thence struck into the open road. His way led him past the +workshops, closed then, even to the gates, for Easter Monday in that +part of the country is a universal holiday. A few minutes, and he turned +into the fields; a welcome change from the dusty road. The field way +might be a little longer, but it was altogether pleasanter. Easter was +late that year, as Mrs. Thornimett observed, and the season was early. +The sky was blue and clear, the day warm and lovely; the hedges were +budding into leaf, the grass was growing, the clover, the buttercups, +the daisies were springing; and an early butterfly fluttered past +Austin. + +'You have taken wing betimes,' he said, addressing the unconscious +insect. 'I think summer must be at hand.' + +Halting for a moment to watch the flight, he strode on the quicker +afterwards. Supple, active, slender, his steps--the elastic, joyous, +tread of youth--scarcely seemed to touch the earth. He always walked +fast when busy with thought, and his mind was buried in the hint Mrs. +Thornimett had spoken, touching her fears for her husband's health. 'If +he is breaking, it's through his close attention to business,' decided +Austin, as he struck into the common and was nearing the end of his +journey. 'I wish he would take a jolly good holiday this summer. It +would set him up; and I know I could manage things without him.' + +A large common; a broad piece of waste land, owned by the lord of the +manor, but appropriated by anybody and everybody; where gipsies encamped +and donkeys grazed, and geese and children were turned out to roam. A +wide path ran across it, worn by the passage of farmer's carts and other +vehicles. To the left it was bordered in the distance by a row of +cottages; to the right, its extent was limited, and terminated in some +dangerous gravel pits--dangerous, because they were not protected. + +Austin Clay had reached the middle of the path and of the common, when +he overtook a lady whom he slightly knew. A lady of very strange +manners, popularly supposed to be mad, and of whom he once stood in +considerable awe, not to say terror, at which he laughed now. She was a +Miss Gwinn, a tall bony woman of remarkable strength, the sister of +Gwinn, a lawyer of Ketterford. Gwinn the lawyer did not bear the best of +characters, and Ketterford reviled him when they could do it secretly. +'A low, crafty, dishonest practitioner, whose hands couldn't have come +clean had he spent his days and nights in washing them,' was amidst the +complimentary terms applied to him. Miss Gwinn, however, seemed honest +enough, and but for her rancorous manners Ketterford might have grown to +feel a sort of respect for her as a woman of sorrow. She had come +suddenly to the place many years before and taken up her abode with her +brother. She looked and moved and spoke as one half-crazed with grief: +what its cause was, nobody knew; but it was accepted by all, and +mysteriously alluded to by herself on occasion. + +'You have taken a long walk this morning, Miss Gwinn,' said Austin, +courteously raising his hat as he came up with her. + +She threw back her grey cloak with a quick, sharp movement, and turned +upon him. 'Oh, is it you, Austin Clay? You startled me. My thoughts were +far away: deep upon another. _He_ could wear a fair outside, and accost +me in a pleasant voice, like you.' + +'That is rather a doubtful compliment, Miss Gwinn,' he returned, in his +good-humoured way. 'I hope I am no darker inside than out. At any rate, +I don't try to appear different from what I am.' + +'Did I accuse you of it? Boy! you had better go and throw yourself into +one of those gravel pits and die, than grow up to be deceitful,' she +vehemently cried. 'Deceit has been the curse of my days. It has made me +what I am; one whom the boys hoot after, and call----' + +'No, no; not so bad as that,' interrupted Austin, soothingly. 'You have +been cross with them sometimes, and they are insolent, mischievous +little ragamuffins. I am sure every thoughtful person respects you, +feeling for your sorrow.' + +'Sorrow!' she wailed. 'Ay. Sorrow, beyond what falls to the ordinary lot +of man. The blow fell upon _me_, though I was not an actor in it. When +those connected with us do wrong, we suffer; we, more than they. I may +be revenged yet,' she added, her expression changing to anger. 'If I can +only come across _him_.' + +'Across whom?' naturally asked Austin. + +'Who are you, that you should seek to pry into my secrets?' she +passionately resumed. 'I am five-and-fifty to-day--old enough to be your +mother, and you presume to put the question to _me_! Boys are coming to +something.' + +'I beg your pardon; I but spoke heedlessly, Miss Gwinn, in answer to +your remark. Indeed I have no wish to pry into anybody's business. And +as to "secrets," I have eschewed them, since, a little chap in +petticoats, I crept to my mother's room door to listen to one, and got +soundly whipped for my pains.' + +'It is a secret that you will never know, or anybody else; so put its +thoughts from you. Austin Clay,' she added, laying her hand upon his +arm, and bending forward to speak in a whisper, 'it is fifteen years, +this very day, since its horrors came out to me! And I have had to carry +it about since, as I best could, in silence and in pain.' + +She turned round abruptly as she spoke, and continued her way along the +broad path; while Austin Clay struck short off towards the gravel pits, +which was his nearest road to the Lowland farm. Silent and abandoned +were the pits that day; everybody connected with them was enjoying +holiday with the rest of the world. 'What a strange woman she is!' he +thought. + +It has been said that the gravel pits were not far from the path. Austin +was close upon them, when the sound of a horse's footsteps caused him to +turn. A gentleman was riding fast down the common path, from the +opposite side to the one he and Miss Gwinn had come, and Austin shaded +his eyes with his hand to see if it was any one he knew. No; it was a +stranger. A slender man, of some seven-and-thirty years, tall, so far as +could be judged, with thin, prominent aquiline features, and dark eyes. +A fine face; one of those that impress the beholder at first sight, as +it did Austin, and, once seen, remain permanently on the memory. + +'I wonder who he is?' cried Austin Clay to himself. 'He rides well.' + +Possibly Miss Gwinn might be wondering the same. At any rate, she had +fixed her eyes on the stranger, and they seemed to be starting from her +head with the gaze. It would appear that she recognised him, and with no +pleasurable emotion. She grew strangely excited. Her face turned of a +ghastly whiteness, her hands closed involuntarily, and, after standing +for a moment in perfect stillness, as if petrified, she darted forward +in his pathway, and seized the bridle of his horse. + +'So! you have turned up at last! I knew--I knew you were not dead!' she +shrieked, in a voice of wild raving. 'I knew you would some time be +brought face to face with me, to answer for your wickedness.' + +Utterly surprised and perplexed, or seeming to be, at this summary +attack, the gentleman could only stare at his assailant, and endeavour +to get his bridle from her hand. But she held it with a firm grasp. + +'Let go my horse,' he said. 'Are you mad?' + +'_You_ were mad,' she retorted, passionately. 'Mad in those old days; +and you turned another to madness. Not three minutes ago, I said to +myself that the time would come when I should find you. Man! do you +remember that it is fifteen years ago this very day that +the--the--crisis of the sickness came on? Do you know that never +afterwards----' + +'Do not betray your private affairs to me,' interrupted the gentleman. +'They are no concern of mine. I never saw you in my life. Take care! the +horse will do you an injury.' + +'No! you never saw me, and you never saw somebody else!' she panted, in +a tone that would have been mockingly sarcastic, but for its wild +passion. 'You did not change the current of my whole life! you did not +turn another to madness! These equivocations are worthy of _you_.' + +'If you are not insane, you must be mistaking me for some other person,' +he replied, his tone none of the mildest, though perfectly calm. 'I +repeat that, to my knowledge, I never set eyes upon you in my life. +Woman! have you no regard for your own safety? The horse will kill you! +Don't you see that I cannot control him?' + +'So much the better if he kills us both,' she shrieked, swaying up and +down, to and fro, with the fierce motions of the angry horse. 'You will +only meet your deserts: and, for myself, I am tired of life.' + +'Let go!' cried the rider. + +'Not until you have told me where you live, and where you may be found. +I have searched for you in vain. I will have my revenge; I will force +you to do justice. You----' + +In her sad temper, her dogged obstinacy, she still held the bridle. The +horse, a spirited animal, was passionate as she was, and far stronger. +He reared bolt upright, he kicked, he plunged; and, finally, he shook +off the obnoxious control, to dash furiously in the direction of the +gravel pits. Miss Gwinn fell to the ground. + +To fall into the pit would be certain destruction to both man and horse. +Austin Clay had watched the encounter in amazement, though he could not +hear the words of the quarrel. In the humane impulse of the moment, +disregarding the danger to himself, he darted in front of the horse, +arrested him on the very brink of the pit, and threw him back on his +haunches. + +Snorting, panting, the white foam breaking from him, the animal, as if +conscious of the doom he had escaped, now stood in trembling quiet, +obedient to the control of his master. That master threw himself from +his back, and turned to Austin. + +'Young gentleman, you have saved my life.' + +There was little doubt of that. Austin accepted the fact without any +fuss, feeling as thankful as the speaker, and quite unconscious at the +moment of the wrench he had given his own shoulder. + +'It would have been an awkward fall, sir. I am glad I happened to be +here.' + +'It would have been a _killing_ fall,' replied the stranger, stepping to +the brink, and looking down. 'And your being here must be owing to God's +wonderful Providence.' + +He lifted his hat as he spoke, and remained a minute or two silent and +uncovered, his eyes closed. Austin, in the same impulse of reverence, +lifted his. + +'Did you see the strange manner in which that woman attacked me?' +questioned the stranger. + +'Yes.' + +'She must be insane.' + +'She is very strange at times,' said Austin. 'She flies into desperate +passions.' + +'Passions! It is madness, not passion. A woman like that ought to be +shut up in Bedlam. Where would be the satisfaction to my wife and +family, if, through her, I had been lying at this moment at the bottom +there, dead? I never saw her in my life before; never.' + +'Is she hurt? She has fallen down, I perceive.' + +'Hurt! not she. She could call after me pretty fiercely when my horse +shook her off. She possesses the rage and strength of a tiger. Good +fellow! good Salem! did a mad woman frighten and anger you?' added the +stranger, soothing his horse. 'And now, young sir,' turning to Austin, +'how shall I reward you?' + +Austin broke into a smile at the notion. + +'Not at all, thank you,' he said. 'One does not merit reward for such a +thing as this. I should have deserved sending over after you, had I not +interposed. To do my best was a simple matter of duty--of obligation; +but nothing to be rewarded for.' + +'Had he been a common man, I might have done it,' thought the stranger; +'but he is evidently a gentleman. Well, I may be able to repay it in +some manner as you and I pass through life,' he said, aloud, mounting +the now subdued horse. 'Some neglect the opportunities, thrown in their +way, of helping their fellow-creatures; some embrace them, as you have +just done. I believe that whichever we may give--neglect or help--will +be returned to us in kind: like unto a corn of wheat, that must spring +up what it is sown; or a thistle, that must come up a thistle.' + +'As to embracing the opportunity--I should think there's no man living +but would have done his best to save you, had he been standing here.' + +'Ah, well; let it go,' returned the horseman. 'Will you tell me your +name? and something about yourself?' + +'My name is Austin Clay. I have few relatives living, and they are +distant ones, and I shall, I expect, have to make my own way in the +world.' + +'Are you in any profession? or business?' + +'I am with Mr. Thornimett, of Ketterford: the builder and contractor.' + +'Why, I am a builder myself!' cried the stranger, a pleasing accent of +surprise in his tone. 'Shall you ever be visiting London?' + +'I daresay I shall, sir. I should like to do so.' + +'Then, when you do, mind you call upon me the first thing,' he rejoined, +taking a card from a case in his pocket and handing it to Austin. Come +to me should you ever be in want of a berth: I might help you to one. +Will you promise?' + +'Yes, sir; and thank you.' + +'I fancy the thanks are due from the other side, Mr. Clay. Oblige me by +not letting that Bess o' Bedlam obtain sight of my card. I might have +her following me.' + +'No fear,' said Austin, alluding to the caution. + +'She must be lying there to regain the strength exhausted by passion, +carelessly remarked the stranger. 'Poor thing! it is sad to be mad, +though! She is getting up now, I see: I had better be away. That town +beyond, in the distance, is Ketterford, is it not?' + +'It is.' + +'Fare you well, then. I must hasten to catch the twelve o'clock train. +They have horse-boxes, I presume, at the station?' + +'Oh, yes.' + +'All right,' he nodded. 'I have received a summons to town, and cannot +afford the time to ride Salem home. So we must both get conveyed by +train, old fellow'--patting his horse, as he spoke to it. 'By the way, +though--what is the lady's name?' he halted to ask. + +'Gwinn. Miss Gwinn.' + +'Gwinn? Gwinn?' Never heard the name in my life. Fare you well, in all +gratitude.' + +He rode away. Austin Clay looked at the card. It was a private visiting +card--'Mr. Henry Hunter' with an address in the corner. + +'He must be one of the great London building firm, "Hunter and Hunter,"' +thought Austin, depositing the card in his pocket. 'First class people. +And now for Miss Gwinn.' + +For his humanity would not allow him to leave her unlooked-after, as the +molested and angry man had done. She had risen to her feet, though +slowly, as he stepped back across the short worn grass of the common. +The fall had shaken her, without doing material damage. + +'I hope you are not hurt?' said Austin, kindly. + +'A ban light upon the horse!' she fiercely cried. 'At my age, it does +not do to be thrown on the ground violently. I thought my bones were +broken; I could not rise. And he has escaped! Boy! what did he say to +you of me--of my affairs?' + +'Not anything. I do not believe he knows you in the least. He says he +does not.' + +The crimson passion had faded from Miss Gwinn's face, leaving it wan and +white. 'How dare you say you believe it?' + +'Because I do believe it,' replied Austin. 'He declared that he never +saw you in his life; and I think he spoke the truth. I can judge when a +man tells truth, and when he tells a lie. Mr. Thornimett often says he +wishes he could read faces--and people--as I can read them.' + +Miss Gwinn gazed at him; contempt and pity blended in her countenance. +'Have you yet to learn that a bad man can assume the semblance of +goodness?' + +'Yes, I know that; and assume it so as to take in a saint,' hastily +spoke Austin. 'You may be deceived in a bad man; but I do not think you +can in a good one. Where a man possesses innate truth and honour, it +shines out in his countenance, his voice, his manner; and there can be +no mistake. When you are puzzled over a bad man, you say to yourself, +"He _may_ be telling the truth, he _may_ be genuine;" but with a good +man you know it to be so: that is, if you possess the gift of reading +countenances. Miss Gwinn, I am sure there was truth in that stranger.' + +'Listen, Austin Clay. That man, truthful as you deem him, is the very +incarnation of deceit. I know as much of him as one human being can well +know of another. It was he who wrought the terrible wrong upon my house; +it was he who broke up my happy home. I'll find him now. Others said he +must be dead; but I said, "No, he lives yet." And, you see he does live. +I'll find him.' + +Without another word she turned away, and went striding back in the +direction of Ketterford--the same road which the stranger's horse had +taken. Austin stood and looked after her, pondering over the strange +events of the hour. Then he proceeded to the Lowland farm. + +A pleasant day amidst pleasant friends spent he; rich Easter cheesecakes +being the least of the seductions he did _not_ withstand; and Ketterford +clocks were striking half-past ten as he approached Mrs. Thornimett's. +The moonlight walk was delightful; there was no foreboding of ill upon +his spirit, and he turned in at the gate utterly unconscious of the news +that was in store for him. + +Conscious of the late hour--for they were early people--he was passing +across the lawn with a hasty step, when the door was drawn silently +open, as if some one stood there watching, and he saw Sarah, one of the +two old maid-servants, come forth to meet him. Both had lived in the +family for years; had scolded and ordered Austin about when a boy, to +their heart's content, and for his own good. + +'Why, Sarah, is it you?' was his gay greeting. 'Going to take a +moonlight ramble?' + +'Where _have_ you stayed?' whispered the woman in evident excitement. +'To think you should be away this night of all others, Mr. Austin! Have +you heard what has happened to the master?' + +'No. What?' exclaimed Austin, his fears taking alarm. + +'He fell down in a fit, over at the village where he went; and they +brought him home, a-frightening us two and the missis almost into fits +ourselves. Oh, Master Austin!' she concluded, bursting into tears, 'the +doctors don't think he'll live till morning. Poor dear old master!' + +Austin, half paralysed at the news, stood for a moment against the wall +inside the hall. 'Can I go and see him?' he presently asked. + +'Oh, you may go,' was the answer; 'the mistress has been asking for you, +and nothing rouses _him_. It's a heavy blow; but it has its side of +brightness. God never sends a blow but he sends mercy with it.' + +'What is the mercy--the brightness?' Austin waited to ask, thinking she +must allude to some symptom of hope. Sarah put her shrivelled old arm on +his in solemnity, as she answered it. + +'He was fit to be taken. He had lived for the next world while he was +living in this. And those that do, Master Austin, never need shrink from +sudden death.' + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +CHANGES. + + +To reflect upon the change death makes, even in the petty every-day +affairs of life, must always impart a certain awe to the thoughtful +mind. On the Easter Monday, spoken of in the last chapter, Richard +Thornimett, his men, his contracts, and his business in progress, were +all part of the life, the work, the bustle of the town of Ketterford. +In a few weeks from that time, Richard Thornimett--who had not lived to +see the morning light after his attack--was mouldering in the +churchyard; and the business, the workshops, the artisans, all save the +dwelling-house, which Mrs. Thornimett retained for herself, had passed +into other hands. The name, Richard Thornimett, as one of the citizens +of Ketterford, had ceased to be: all things were changed. + +Mrs. Thornimett's friends and acquaintances had assembled to tender +counsel, after the fashion of busybodies of the world. Some recommended +her to continue the business; some, to give it up; some, to take in a +gentleman as partner; some, to pay a handsome salary to an efficient +manager. Mrs. Thornimett listened politely to all, without the least +intention of acting upon anybody's opinion but her own. Her mind had +been made up from the first. Mr. Thornimett had died fairly well off, +and everything was left to her--half of the money to be hers for life, +and then to go to different relatives; the other half was bequeathed to +her absolutely, and was at her own disposal. Rumours were rife in the +town, that, when things came to be realized, she would have about twelve +thousand pounds in money, besides other property. + +But before making known her decision abroad, she spoke to Austin Clay. +They were sitting together one evening when she entered upon the +subject, breaking the silence that reigned with some abruptness. + +'Austin, I shall dispose of the business; everything as it stands. And +the goodwill.' + +'Shall you?' he exclaimed, taken by surprise, and his voice betraying a +curious disappointment. + +Mrs. Thornimett nodded in answer. + +'I would have done my best to carry it on for you, Mrs. Thornimett. The +foreman is a man of experience; one we may trust.' + +'I do not doubt you, Austin; and I do not doubt him. You have got your +head on your shoulders the right way, and you would be faithful and +true. So well do I think of your abilities, that, were you in a position +to pay down only half the purchase-money, I would give you the refusal +of the business, and I am certain success would attend you. But you are +not; so that is out of the question.' + +'Quite out of the question,' assented Austin. 'If ever I get a business +of my own, it must be by working for it. Have you quite resolved upon +giving it up?' + +'So far resolved, that the negotiations are already half concluded,' +replied Mrs. Thornimett. 'What should I, a lone woman, do with an +extensive business? When poor widows are left badly off, they are +obliged to work; but I possess more money than I shall know how to +spend. Why should I worry out my hours and days trying to amass more? It +would not be seemly. Rolt and Ransom wish to purchase it.' + +Austin lifted his head with a quick movement. He did not like Rolt and +Ransom. + +'The only difference we have in the matter, is this: that I wish them to +take you on, Austin, and they think they shall find no room for you. +Were you a common workman, it would be another thing, they say.' + +'Do not allow that to be a difference any longer, Mrs. Thornimett,' he +cried, somewhat eagerly. 'I should not care to be under Rolt and Ransom. +If they offered me a place to-morrow, and _carte blanche_ as to pay, I +do not think I could bring myself to take it.' + +'Why?' asked Mrs. Thornimett, in surprise. + +'Well, they are no favourites of mine. I know nothing against them, +except that they are hard men--grinders; but somehow I have always felt +a prejudice against that firm. We do have our likes and dislikes, you +are well aware. Young Rolt is prominent in the business, too, and I am +sure there's no love lost between him and me; we should be at daggers +drawn. No, I should not serve Rolt and Ransom. If they succeed to your +business, I think I shall go to London and try my fortune there.' + +Mrs. Thornimett pushed back her widow's cap, to which her head had never +yet been able to get reconciled--something like Austin with regard to +Rolt and Ransom. 'London would not be a good place for you, Austin. It +is full of pitfalls for young men.' + +'So are other places,' said Austin, laughingly, 'if young men choose to +step into them. I shall make my way, Mrs. Thornimett, never fear. I am +thorough master of my business in all its branches, higher and lower as +you know, and I am not afraid of putting my own shoulder to the wheel, +if there's necessity for it. As to pitfalls--if I do stumble in the dark +into any, I'll manage to scramble out again; but I will try and take +care not to step into them wilfully. Had you continued the business, of +course I would have remained with you; otherwise, I should like to go to +London.' + +'You can be better trusted, both as to capabilities and steadiness, than +some could at your age,' deliberated Mrs. Thornimett. 'But they are +wrong notions that you young men pick up with regard to London. I +believe there's not one of you but thinks its streets are sprinkled with +diamonds.' + +'_I_ don't,' said Austin. 'And while God gives me hands and brains to +work with, I would rather earn my diamonds, than stoop to pick them up +in idleness.' + +Mrs. Thornimett paused. She settled her spectacles more firmly on her +eyes, turned them full on Austin, and spoke sharply. + +'Were you disappointed when you heard the poor master's will read?' + +Austin, in return, turned his eyes upon her, and opened them to their +utmost width in his surprise. 'Disappointed! No. Why should I be?' + +'Did it never occur to you to think, or to expect, that he might leave +you something?' + +'Never,' earnestly replied Austin. 'The thought never so much as crossed +my mind. Mr. Thornimett had near relatives of his own--and so have you. +Who am I, that I should think to step in before them?' + +'I wish people would mind their own business!' exclaimed the old lady, +in a vexed tone. 'I was gravely assured, Austin, that young Clay felt +grievously ill-used at not being mentioned in the will.' + +'Did you believe it?' he rejoined. + +'No, I did not.' + +'It is utterly untrue, Mrs. Thornimett, whoever said it. I never +expected Mr. Thornimett to leave me anything; therefore, I could not +have been disappointed at the will.' + +'The poor master knew I should not forget you, Austin; that is if you +continue to be deserving. Some time or other, when my old bones are laid +beside him, you may be the better for a trifle from me. Only a trifle, +mind; we must be just before we are generous.' + +'Indeed, you are very kind,' was Austin Clay's reply; 'but I should not +wish you to enrich me at the expense of others who have greater claims.' +And he fully meant what he said. 'I have not the least fear of making my +own way up the world's ladder. Do you happen to know anything of the +London firm, Hunter and Hunter?' + +'Only by reputation,' said Mrs. Thornimett. + +'I shall apply to them, if I go to London. They would interest +themselves for me, perhaps.' + +'You'd be sure to do well if you could get in there. But why should they +help you more than any other firm would?' + +'There's nothing like trying,' replied Austin, too conscious of the +evasive character of his reply. He was candour itself; but he feared to +speak of the circumstances under which he had met Mr. Henry Hunter, +lest Miss Gwinn should find out it was to him he had gone, and so track +Mr. Henry Hunter home. Austin deemed that it was no business of his to +help her to find Mr. Hunter, whether he was or not the _bete noire_ of +whom she had spoken. He might have told of the encounter at the time, +but for the home calamity that supervened upon it; that drove away other +topics. Neither had he mentioned it at the Lowland farm. For all Miss +Gwinn's violence, he felt pity for her, and could not expose the woman. + +'A first-rate firm, that of Hunter and Hunter,' remarked Mrs. +Thornimett. 'Your credentials will be good also, Austin.' + +'Yes; I hope so.' + +It was nearly all that passed upon the subject. Rolt and Ransom took +possession of the business, and Austin Clay prepared to depart for +London. Mrs. Thornimett felt sure he would get on well--always provided +that he kept out of 'pit-falls.' She charged him not to be above his +business, but to _work_ his way upwards: as Austin meant to do. + +A day or two before quitting Ketterford, it chanced that he and Mrs. +Thornimett, who were out together, encountered Miss Gwinn. There was a +speaking acquaintance between the two ladies, and Miss Gwinn stopped to +say a kind word or two of sympathy for the widow and her recent loss. +She could be a lady on occasion, and a gentle one. As the conversation +went on, Mrs. Thornimett incidentally mentioned that Mr. Clay was going +to leave and try his fortune in London. + +'Oh, indeed,' said Miss Gwinn, turning to him, as he stood quietly by +Mrs. Thornimett's side. 'What does he think of doing there?' + +'To get a situation, of course. He means first of all to try at Hunter +and Hunter's.' + +The words had left Mrs. Thornimett's lips before Austin could +interpose--which he would have given the world to do. But there was no +answering emotion on Miss Gwinn's face. + +'Hunter and Hunter?' she carelessly repeated. 'Who are they?' + +'"Hunter Brothers," they are sometimes called,' observed Mrs. +Thornimett. 'It is a building firm of eminence.' + +'Oh,' apathetically returned Miss Gwinn. 'I wish you well,' she added, +to Austin. + +He thanked her as they parted. The subject, the name, evidently bore for +her no interest whatever. Therefore Austin judged, that although she +might have knowledge of Mr. Henry Hunter's person, she could not of his +name. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +AWAY TO LONDON. + + +A heavy train, drawn by two engines, was dashing towards London. +Whitsuntide had come, and the public took advantage of the holiday, and +the trains were crammed. Austin Clay took advantage of it also; it was +a saving to his pocket, the fares having been lowered; and he rather +liked a cram. What he did not like, though, was the being stuffed into a +first-class carriage with its warm mats and cushions. The crowd was so +great that people sat indiscriminately in any carriage that came first. +The day was intensely hot, and he would have preferred one open on all +sides. They were filled, however, before he came. He had left +Ketterford, and was on his road to London to seek his fortune--as old +stories used to say. + +Seated in the same compartment as himself was a lady with a little girl. +The former appeared to be in very delicate health; she remarked more +than once, that she would not have travelled on so crowded a day, had +she given it proper thought. The little girl was chiefly remarkable for +making herself troublesome to Austin; at least, her mamma perpetually +reproached her with doing so. She was a lovely child, with delicately +carved features, slightly aquiline, but inexpressibly sweet and +charming. A bright colour illumined her cheeks, her eyes were large and +dark and soft, and her brown curls were flowing. He judged her to be +perhaps eleven years old; but she was one of those natural, +unsophisticated children, who appear much younger than they are. The +race has pretty nearly gone out of the world now: I hope it will come +back again. + +'Florence, how _can_ you be so tiresome? Pushing yourself before the +gentleman against that dangerous door! it may fly open at any moment. I +am sure he must be tired of holding you.' + +Florence turned her bright eye--sensible, honest eyes, bright though +they were--and her pretty hot cheeks upon the gentleman. + +'Are you tired, sir?' + +Austin smiled. 'It would take rather more than this to tire me,' he +said. 'Pray allow her to look out,' he added, to the lady, opposite to +whom he sat; 'I will take every care of her.' + +'Have you any little girls of your own?' questioned the young damsel. + +Austin laughed outright. 'No.' + +'Nor any sisters?' + +'Nor any sisters. I have scarcely any relatives in the world. I am not +so fortunate as you.' + +'I have a great many relatives, but no brothers or sisters. I had a +little sister once, and she died when she was three years old. Was it +not three, mamma?' + +'And how old are you?' inquired Austin. + +'Oh, pray do not ask,' interposed the lady. 'She is so thoroughly +childish, I am ashamed that anybody should know her age. And yet she +does not want sense.' + +'I was twelve last birthday,' cried the young lady, in defiance of all +conventionalism. 'My cousin Mary is only eleven, but she is a great deal +bigger than I.' + +'Yes,' observed the lady, in a tone of positive resentment. 'Mary is +quite a woman already in ideas and manners: you are a child, and a very +backward one.' + +'Let her be a child, ma'am, while she may,' impulsively spoke Austin; +'childhood does not last too long, and it never comes again. Little +girls are women nowadays: I think it is perfectly delightful to meet +with one like this.' + +Before they reached London other passengers had disappeared from the +carriage, and they were alone. As they neared the terminus, the young +lady was peremptorily ordered to 'keep her head in,' or perhaps she +might lose it. + +'Oh dear! if I must, I must,' returned the child. 'But I wanted to look +out for papa; he is sure to be waiting for us.' + +The train glided into its destination. And the bright quick eyes were +roving amidst the crowd standing on the platform. They rested upon a +gentleman. + +'There's Uncle Henry! there's Uncle Henry! But I don't see papa. Where's +papa?' she called out, as the gentleman saw them and approached. + +'Papa's not come; he has sent me instead, Miss Florence.' And to Austin +Clay's inexpressible surprise, he recognised Mr. Henry Hunter. + +'There is nothing the matter? James is not ill?' exclaimed the lady, +bending forward. + +'No, no; nothing of that. Being a leisure day with us, we thought we +would quietly go over some estimates together. James had not finished +the calculations, and did not care to be disturbed at them. Your +carriage is here.' + +Mr. Henry Hunter was assisting her to alight as he spoke, having already +lifted down Florence. A maid with a couple of carpet-bags appeared +presently, amidst the bustle, and Austin saw them approach a private +carriage. He had not pushed himself forward. He did not intend to do so +then, deeming it not the most fitting moment to challenge the notice of +Mr. Henry Hunter; but that gentleman's eye happened to fall upon him. + +Not at first for recognition. Mr. Hunter felt sure it was a face he had +seen recently; was one he ought to know; but his memory was puzzled. +Florence followed his gaze. + +'That gentleman came up in the same carriage with us, Uncle Henry. He +got in at a place they called Ketterford. I like him so much.' + +Austin came forward as he saw the intent look; and recollection flashed +over the mind of Mr. Henry Hunter. He took both the young man's hands in +his and grasped them. + +'You like him, do you, Miss Florence?' cried he, in a half-joking, +half-fervent tone. 'I can tell you what, young lady; but for this +gentleman, you would no longer have possessed an Uncle Henry to plague; +he would have been dead and forgotten.' + +A word or two of explanation from Austin, touching what brought him to +London, and his intention to ask advice of Mr. Henry Hunter. That +gentleman replied that he would give it willingly, and at once, for he +had leisure on his hands that day, and he could not answer for it that +he would have on another. He gave Austin the address of his office. + +'When shall I come, sir?' asked Austin. + +'Now, if you can. A cab will bring you. I shall not be there later in +the day.' + +So Austin, leaving his portmanteau, all the luggage he had at present +brought with him, in charge at the station, proceeded in a cab to the +address named, Mr. Henry Hunter having driven off in the carriage. + +The offices, yards, buildings, sheds, and other places pertaining to the +business of Hunter and Hunter, were situated in what may be considered a +desirable part of the metropolis. They encroached neither upon the +excessive bustle of the City, nor upon the aristocratic exclusiveness of +the gay West end, but occupied a situation midway between the two. +Sufficiently open was the district in their immediate neighbourhood, +healthy, handsome, and near some fine squares; but a very, very little +way removed, you came upon swarming courts, and close dwellings, and +squalor, and misery, and all the bad features of what we are pleased to +call Arab life. There are many such districts in London, where wealth +and ease contrast with starvation and improvidence, _all but_ within +view of each other; the one gratifying the eye, the other causing it +pain. + +The yard and premises were of great extent. Austin had thought Mr. +Thornimett's pretty fair for size; but he could laugh at them, now that +he saw the Messrs. Hunters'. They were enclosed by a wall, and by light +iron gates. Within the gates on the left-hand side were the offices, +where the in-door business was transacted. A wealthy, important, and +highly considered firm was that of the Messrs. Hunter. Their father had +made the business what it was, and had bequeathed it to them jointly at +his death. James, whose wife and only child you have seen arriving by +the train, after a week's visit to the country, was the elder brother, +and was usually styled Mr. Hunter; the younger was known as Mr. Henry +Hunter, and he had a large family. Each occupied a handsome house in a +contiguous square. + +Mr. Henry Hunter came up almost as Austin did, and they entered the +offices. In a private room, warmly carpeted, stood two gentlemen. The +one, had he not been so stout, would have borne a great likeness to Mr. +Henry Hunter. It was Mr. Hunter. In early life the likeness between the +brothers had been remarkable; the same dark hair and eyes; the +well-formed acquiline features, the same active, tall, light figure; +but, of late years, James had grown fat, and the resemblance was in part +lost. The other gentleman was Dr. Bevary, a spare man of middle height, +the brother of Mrs. James Hunter. Mr. Henry Hunter introduced Austin +Clay, speaking of the service rendered him, and broadly saying as he had +done to Florence, that but for him he should not now have been alive. + +'There you go, Henry,' cried Dr. Bevary. 'That's one of your +exaggerations, that is: you were always given to the marvellous, you +know. Not alive!' + +Mr. Henry Hunter turned to Austin. 'Tell the truth, Mr. Clay. Should I, +or not?' And Austin smiled, and said he believed _not_. + +'I cannot understand it,' exclaimed Dr. Bevary, after some explanation +had been given by Mr. Henry Hunter. 'It is incredible to suppose a +strange woman would attack you in that manner, unless she was mad.' + +'Mad, or not mad, she did it,' returned Mr. Henry Hunter. 'I was riding +Salem--you know I took him with me, in that week's excursion I made at +Easter--and the woman set upon me like a tigress, clutching hold of +Salem, who won't stand such jokes. In his fury, he got loose from her, +dashing he neither knew nor cared whither, and this fine fellow saved us +on the very brink of the yawning pit--risking the chance of getting +killed himself. Had the horse not been arrested, I don't see how he +could have helped being knocked over with us.' + +Mr. Hunter turned a warm grateful look on Austin. 'How was it you never +spoke of this, Henry?' he inquired of his brother. + +'There's another curious phase of the affair,' laughed Mr. Henry Hunter. +'I have had a dislike to speak of it, even to think of it. I cannot tell +you why; certainly not on account of the escaped danger. And it was +over: so, what signified talking of it?' + +'Why did she attack you?' pursued Dr. Bevary. + +'She evidently, if there was reason in her at all, mistook me for +somebody else. All sorts of diabolical things she was beginning to +accuse me of; that of having evaded her for some great number of years, +amongst the rest. I stopped her; telling her I had no mind to be the +depository of other people's secrets.' + +'She solemnly protested to me, after you rode away, sir, that you _were_ +the man who had done her family some wrong,' interposed Austin. 'I told +her I felt certain she was mistaken; and so drew down her anger upon +me.' + +'Of what nature was the wrong?' asked Dr. Bevary. + +'I cannot tell,' said Austin. 'I seemed to gather from her words that +the wrong was upon her family, or upon some portion of her family, +rather than upon her. I remember she made use of the expression, that it +had broken up her happy home.' + +'And you did not know her?' exclaimed the doctor, looking at Mr. Henry +Hunter. + +'Know her?' he returned, 'I never set eyes on her in all my life until +that day. I never was in the place before, or in its neighbourhood. If I +ever did work her wrong, or ill, I must have done it in my sleep; and +with miles of distance intervening. Who is she? What is her name? You +told it me, Mr. Clay, but I forget what it was.' + +'Her name is Gwinn,' replied Austin. 'The brother is a lawyer and has +scraped together a business. One morning, many years ago, a lady arrived +at his house, without warning, and took up her abode with him. She +turned out to be his sister, and the people at Ketterford think she is +mad. It is said they come from Wales. The little boys call after her, +"the mad Welsh woman." Sometimes Miss Gwinn.' + +'What did you say the name was?' interrupted Dr. Bevary, with startling +emphasis. 'Gwinn?--and from Wales?' + +'Yes.' + +Dr. Bevary paused, as if in deep thought. 'What is her Christian name?' +he presently inquired. + +'It is a somewhat uncommon one,' replied Austin. 'Agatha.' + +The doctor nodded his head, as if expecting the answer. 'A tall, spare, +angular woman, of great strength,' he remarked. + +'Why, what do you know of her?' exclaimed Mr. Henry Hunter to the +doctor, in a surprised tone. + +'Not a great deal. We medical men come across all sorts of persons +occasionally,' was the physician's reply. And it was given in a concise, +laconic manner, as if he did not care to be questioned further. Mr. +Henry Hunter pursued the subject. + +'If you know her, Bevary, perhaps you can tell whether she is mad or +sane.' + +'She is sane, I believe: I have no reason to think her otherwise. But +she is one who can allow angry passion to master her at moments: I have +seen it do so. Do you say her brother is a lawyer?' he continued, to +Austin Clay. + +'Yes, he is. And not one of the first water, as to reputation; a +grasping, pettifogging practitioner, who will take up any dirty case +that may be brought to him. And in that, I fancy, he is a contrast to +his sister; for, with all her strange ways, I should not judge her to be +dishonourable. It is said he speculates, and that he is not over +particular whose money he gets to do it with.' + +'I wonder that she never told me about this brother,' dreamily +exclaimed the doctor, in an inward tone, as if forgetting that he spoke +aloud. + +'Where did you meet with her? When did you know her?' interposed Mr. +Henry Hunter. + +'Are you sure that _you_ know nothing about her?' was the doctor's +rejoinder, turning a searching glance upon Mr. Henry Hunter. + +'Come, Bevary, what have you got in your head? I do _not_ know her. I +never met with her until she saw and accosted me. Are you acquainted +with her history?' + +'With a dark page in it.' + +'What is the page?' + +Dr. Bevary shook his head. 'In the course of a physician's practice he +becomes cognisant of many odds and ends of romance, dark or fair; things +that he must hold sacred, and may not give utterance to.' + +Mr. Henry Hunter looked vexed. 'Perhaps you can understand the reason of +her attacking me?' + +'I could understand it, but for your assertion of being a stranger to +her. If it is so, I can only believe that she mistook you for another.' + +'_If_ it is so,' repeated Mr. Henry Hunter. 'I am not in the habit of +asserting an untruth, Bevary.' + +'Nor, on the other hand, is Miss Gwinn one to be deceived. She is keen +as a razor.' + +'Bevary, what are you driving at?' + +'At nothing. Don't be alarmed, Henry. I have no cause to suppose you +know the woman, or she you. I only thought--and think--she is one whom +it is almost impossible to deceive. It must, however, have been a +mistake.' + +'It was a mistake--so far as her suspicion that she knew me went,' +decisively returned Mr. Henry Hunter. + +'Ay,' acquiesced Dr. Bevary. 'But here am I gossiping my morning away, +when a host of patients are waiting for me. We poor doctors never get a +holiday, as you more favoured mortals do.' + +He laughed as he went out, nodding a friendly farewell to Austin. Mr. +Henry Hunter stepped out after him. Then Mr. Hunter, who had not taken +part in the discussion, but had stood looking from the window while they +carried it on, wheeled round to Austin and spoke in a low, earnest tone. + +'What _is_ this tale--this mystery--that my brother and the doctor seem +to be picking up?' + +'Sir, I know no more than you have heard me say. I witnessed her attack +on Mr. Henry Hunter.' + +'I should like to know further about it: about her. Will you----Hush! +here comes my brother back again. Hush!' + +His voice died away in the faintest whisper, for Mr. Henry Hunter was +already within the room. Was Mr. Hunter suspecting that his brother had +more cognisance of the affair than he seemed willing to avow? The +thought, that it must be so, crossed Austin Clay; or why that warning +'hush' twice repeated? + +It happened that business was remarkably brisk that season at Hunter and +Hunter's. They could scarcely get hands enough, or the work done. And +when Austin explained the cause which had brought him to town, and +frankly proffered the question of whether they could recommend him to +employment, they were glad to offer it themselves. He produced his +credentials of capacity and character, and waited. Mr. Henry Hunter +turned to him with a smile. + +'I suppose you are not above your work, Mr. Clay?' + +'I am not above anything in the world that is right, sir. I have come to +seek work.' + +He was engaged forthwith. His duties at present were to lie partly in +the counting-house, partly in overlooking the men; and the salary +offered was twenty-five pounds per quarter. + +'I can rise above that in time, I suppose,' remarked Austin, 'if I give +satisfaction?' + +Mr. Hunter smiled. 'Ay, you can rise above that, if you choose. But when +you get on, you'll be doing, I expect, as some of the rest do.' + +'What is that, sir?' + +'Leaving us, to set up for yourself. Numbers have done so as soon as +they have become valuable. I do not speak of the men, you understand, +but of those who have been with us in a higher capacity. A few of the +men, though, have done the same; some have risen into influence.' + +'How can they do that without capital?' inquired Austin. 'It must take +money, and a good deal of it, to set up for themselves.' + +'Not so much as you may think. They begin in a small way--take +piece-work, and work early and late, often fourteen and fifteen hours a +day, husbanding their earnings, and getting a capital together by slow +but sure degrees. Many of our most important firms have so risen, and +owe their present positions to sheer hard work, patience, and energy.' + +'It was the way in which Mr. Thornimett first rose,' observed Austin. +'He was once a journeyman at fourteen shillings a week. _He_ got +together money by working over hours.' + +'Ay, there's nothing like it for the industrious man,' said Mr. Hunter. + +Preliminaries were settled, advice given to him where he might find +lodgings, and Austin departed, having accepted an invitation to dine at +six at Mr. Henry Hunter's. + +And all through having performed an unpremeditated but almost necessary +act of bravery. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT. + + +Turning to the right after quitting the business premises of the Messrs. +Hunter, you came to an open, handsome part, where the square in which +those gentlemen dwelt was situated, with other desirable squares, +crescents, and houses. But, if you turned to the left instead of to the +right, you very speedily found yourself in the midst of a dense +locality, not so agreeable to the eye or to the senses. + +And yet some parts of this were not much to be complained of, unless +you instituted a comparison between them and those open places; but in +this world all things are estimated by comparison. Take Daffodil's +Delight, for example. 'Daffodil's Delight! what's that?' cries the +puzzled reader, uncertain whether it may be a fine picture or something +to eat. Daffodil's Delight was nothing more than a tolerably long +street, or lane, or double row of houses--wide enough for a street, +dirty enough for a lane, the buildings irregular, not always contiguous, +small gardens before some, and a few trees scattered here and there. +When the locality was mostly fields, and the buildings on them were +scanty, a person of the name of Daffodil ran up a few tenements. He +found that they let well, and he ran up more, and more, and more, until +there was a long, long line of them, and he growing rich. He called the +place Daffodil's Delight--which we may suppose expressed his own +complacent satisfaction at his success--and Daffodil's Delight it had +continued, down to the present day. The houses were of various sizes, +and of fancy appearance; some large, some small; some rising up like a +narrow tower, some but a storey high; some were all windows, some seemed +to have none; some you could only gain by ascending steps; to others you +pitched down as into a cellar; some lay back, with gardens before their +doors, while others projected pretty nearly on to the street gutter. +Nothing in the way of houses could be more irregular, and what Mr. +Daffodil's motive could have been in erecting such cannot be +conjectured--unless he formed an idea that he would make a venture to +suit various tastes and diverse pockets. + +Nearly at the beginning of this locality, in its best part, before the +road became narrow, there stood a detached white house; one of only six +rooms, but superior in appearance, and well kept; indeed, it looked more +like a gentleman's cottage residence than a working man's. Verandah +blinds were outside the windows, and green wire fancy stands held +geraniums and other plants on the stone copings, against their lower +panes, obviating the necessity for inside blinds. In this house lived +Peter Quale. He had begun life carrying hods of mortar for masons, and +covering up bricks with straw--a half-starved urchin, his feet as naked +as his head, and his body pretty nearly the same. But he was steady, +industrious, and persevering--just one of those men that _work on_ for +decent position, and acquire it. From two shillings per week to four, +from four to six, from six to twelve--such had been Peter Quale's +beginnings. At twelve shillings he remained for some time stationary, +and then his advance was rapid. Now, he was one of the superior artisans +of the Messrs. Hunters' yard; was, in fact, in a post of trust, and his +wages had grown in proportion. Daffodil's Delight said that Quale's +earnings could not be less than 150_l._ per annum. A steady, sensible, +honest, but somewhat obstinate man, well-read, and intelligent; for +Peter, while he advanced his circumstances, had not neglected his mind. +He had cultivated that far more than he had his speech or his manner; a +homely tone and grammar, better known to Daffodil's Delight than to +polite ears, Peter favoured still. + +In the afternoon of Whit Monday, the day spoken of already, Peter sat in +the parlour of his house, a pipe in his mouth, and a book in his hand. +He looked about midway between forty and fifty, had a round bald head, +surmounted just now by a paper cap, a fair complexion, grey whiskers, +and a well-marked forehead, especially where lie the perceptive +faculties. His eyes were deeply sunk in his head, and he was by nature a +silent man. In the kitchen behind, 'washing up' after dinner, was his +helpmate, Mrs. Quale. Although so well to do, and having generally a +lodger, she kept no servant--'wouldn't be bothered with 'em,' she +said--but did her own work; a person coming in once a week to clean. + +A rattling commotion in the street caused Peter Quale to look up from +his book. A large pleasure-van was rumbling down it, drawing up at the +next door to his. + +'Nancy!' called out he to his wife. + +'Well?' came forth the answer, in a brisk, bustling voice, from the +depths of the kitchen. + +'The Shucks, and that lot, be actually going off now?' + +The news appeared to excite the curiosity of Mrs. Quale, and she came +hastily in; a dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked little woman, with black curls. +She wore a neat white cap, a fresh-looking plum-coloured striped gown of +some thin woollen material, and a black apron; a coarse apron being +pinned round her. Mrs. Quale was an inveterate busybody, knew every +incident that took place in Daffodil's Delight, and possessed a +free-and-easy tongue; but she was a kindly woman withal, and very +popular. She put her head outside the window above the geraniums, to +reconnoitre. + +'Oh, they be going, sure enough! Well, they are fools! That's just like +Slippery Sam! By to-morrow they won't have a threepenny piece to bless +themselves with. But, if they must have went, they might have started +earlier in the day. There's the Whites! And--why!--there's the Dunns! +The van won't hold 'em all. As for the Dunns, they'll have to pinch for +a month after it. She has got on a dandy new bonnet with pink ribbons. +Aren't some folks idiots, Peter?' + +Peter rejoined, with a sort of a grunt, that it wasn't no business of +his, and applied himself again to his pipe and book. Mrs. Quale made +everybody's business hers, especially their failings and shortcomings; +and she unpinned the coarse apron, flung it aside, and flew off to the +next house. + +It was inhabited by two families, the Shucks and the Baxendales. Samuel +Shuck, usually called Slippery Sam, was an idle, oily-tongued chap, +always slipping from work--hence the nickname--and spending at the +'Bricklayers' Arms' what ought to have been spent upon his wife and +children. John Baxendale was a quiet, reserved man, living respectably +with his wife and daughter, but not saving. It was singular how +improvident most of them were. Daffodil's Delight was chiefly inhabited +by the workmen of the Messrs. Hunter; they seemed to love to congregate +there as in a nest. Some of the houses were crowded with them, a family +on a floor--even in a room; others rented a house to themselves, and +lived in comfort. + +Assembled inside Sam Shuck's front room, which was a kitchen and not a +parlour, and to which the house door opened, were as many people as it +could well hold, all in their holiday attire. Abel White, his wife and +family; Jim Dunn, and his; Patrick Ryan and the childer (Pat's wife was +dead); and John Baxendale and his daughter, besides others; the whole +host of little Shucks, and half-a-dozen outside stragglers. Mrs. Quale +might well wonder how all the lot could be stuffed into the +pleasure-van. She darted into their midst. + +'You never mean to say you be a-going off, like simpletons, at this time +o' day?' quoth she. + +'Yes, we be,' answered Sam Shuck, a lanky, serpent sort of man in frame, +with a prominent black eye, a turned-up nose, and, as has been said, an +oily tongue. 'What have you got to say again it, Mrs. Quale? Come!' + +'Say!' said that lady, undauntedly, but in a tone of reason rather than +rebuke, 'I say you may just as well fling your money in the gutter as to +go off to Epping at three o'clock in the afternoon. Why didn't you start +in the morning? If I hired a pleasure-van I'd have my money's worth out +of it.' + +'It's just this here,' said Sam. 'It was ordered to be here as St. +Paul's great bell was a striking break o' day, but the wheels wasn't +greased; and they have been all this time a greasing 'em with the best +fresh butter at eighteen-pence a pound, had up from Devonshire on +purpose.' + +'You hold your tongue, Sam,' reprimanded Mrs. Quale. 'You have been a +greasing your throat pretty strong, I see, with an extra pot or two; +you'll be in for it as usual before the day's out. How is it you are +going now?' she added, turning to the women. + +'It's just the worst managed thing as I ever had to do with,' volubly +spoke up Jim Dunn's wife, Hannah. 'And it's all the fault o' the men: as +everything as goes wrong always is. There was a quarrel yesterday over +it, and nothing was settled, and this morning when we met they began a +jawing again. Some would go, and some wouldn't; some 'ud have a van to +the Forest, and some 'ud take a omnibus ride to the Zoological Gardens, +and see the beasts, and finish up at the play; some 'ud sit at home, and +smoke, and drink, and wouldn't go nowhere; and most of the men got off +to the "Bricklayers' Arms" and stuck there; and afore the difference was +settled in favour of the van and the Forest, twelve o'clock struck, and +then there was dinner to be had, and us to put ourselves to rights and +the van to be seen after. And there it is, now three o'clock's gone.' + +'It'll be just a ride out, and a ride in,' cried Mrs. Quale; 'you won't +have much time to stop. Money must be plentiful with you, a fooling it +away like that. I thought some of you had better sense.' + +'We spoke against it, father and I,' said quiet Mary Baxendale, in Mrs. +Quale's ear; 'but as we had given our word to join in it and share in +the expense, we didn't like to go from it again. Mother doesn't feel +strong to-day, so she's stopping at home.' + +'It does seem stupid to start at this late hour,' spoke up a comely +woman, mild in speech, Robert Darby's wife. 'Better to have put it off +till to-morrow, and taken another day's holiday, as I told my master. +But when it was decided to go, we didn't say nay, for I couldn't bear to +disappoint the children.' + +The children were already being lifted into the van. Sundry baskets and +bundles, containing provisions for tea, and stone bottles of porter for +the men, were being lifted in also. Then the general company got in; +Daffodil's Delight, those not bound on the expedition, assembling to +witness the ceremony, and Peter casting an eye at it from his parlour. +After much packing, and stowing, and laughing, and jesting, and the +gentlemen declaring the ladies must sit upon their laps three deep, the +van and its four horses moved off, and went lumbering down Daffodil's +Delight. + +Mrs. Quale, after watching the last of it, was turning into her own +gate, when she heard a tapping at the window of the tenement on the +_other_ side of her house. Upon looking round, it was thrown open, and a +portly matron, dressed almost well enough for a lady, put out her head. +She was the wife of George Stevens, a very well-to-do workman, and most +respectable man. + +'Are they going off to the Forest at this hour, that lot?' + +'Ay,' returned Mrs. Quale; 'was ever such nonsense known? I'd have made +a day of it, if I had went. They'll get home at midnight, I expect, fit +to stand on their heads. Some of the men have had a'most as much as is +good for them now.' + +'I say,' continued Mrs. Stevens, 'George says, will you and your master +come in for an hour or two this evening, and eat a bit of supper with +us? We shall have a nice dish o' beefsteaks and onions, or some +relishing thing of that sort, and the Cheeks are coming.' + +'Thank ye,' said Mrs. Quale. 'I'll ask Peter. But don't go and get +anything hot.' + +'I must,' was the answer. 'We had a shoulder of lamb yesterday, and we +finished it up to-day for dinner, with a salad; so there's nothing cold +in the house, and I'm forced to cook a bit of something. I say, don't +make it late; come at six. George--he's off somewhere, but he'll be in.' + +Mrs. Quale nodded acquiescence, and went indoors. Her husband was +reading and smoking still. + +'I'd have put it off till ten at night, and went then!' ironically cried +she, in allusion to the departed pleasure-party. 'A bickering and +contending they have been over it, Hannah Dunn says; couldn't come to an +agreement what they'd do, or what they wouldn't do! Did you ever see +such a load! Them poor horses 'll have enough of it, if the others +don't. I say, the Stevenses want us to go in there to supper to-night. +Beefsteaks and onions.' + +Peter's head was bent attentively over a map in his book, and it +continued so bent for a minute or two. Then he raised it. 'Who's to be +there?' + +'The Cheeks,' she said. 'I'll make haste and put the kettle on, and +we'll have our tea as soon as it boils. She says don't go in later than +six.' + +Pinning on the coarse apron, Mrs. Quale passed into the kitchen to her +work. From the above slight sketch, it may be gathered that Daffodil's +Delight was, take it for all in all, in tolerably comfortable +circumstances. But for the wasteful mode of living generally pervading +it; the improvidence both of husbands and wives; the spending where they +need not have spent, and in things they would have been better +without--it would have been in _very_ comfortable circumstances: for, as +is well known, no class of operatives earn better wages than those +connected with the building trade. + +'Is this Peter Quale's?' + +The question proceeded from a stranger, who had entered the house +passage, and thence the parlour, after knocking at its door. Peter +raised his eyes, and beheld a tall, young, very gentleman-like man, in +grey travelling clothes and a crape band on his black hat. Of courteous +manners also, for he lifted his hat as he spoke, though Peter was only a +workman and had a paper cap on his head. + +'I am Peter Quale,' said Peter, without moving. + +Perhaps you may have already guessed that it was Austin Clay. He stepped +forward with a frank smile. 'I am sent here,' he said, 'by the Messrs. +Hunter. They desired me to inquire for Peter Quale.' + +Peter was not wont to put himself out of the way for strangers: had a +Duke Royal vouchsafed him a visit, I question if Peter would have been +more than barely civil; but he knew his place with respect to his +employers, and what was due to them--none better; and he rose up at +their name, and took off his paper cap, and laid his pipe inside the +fender, and spoke a word of apology to the gentleman before him. + +'Pray do not mention it; do not disturb yourself,' said Austin, kindly. +'My name is Clay. I have just entered into an engagement with the +Messrs. Hunter, and am now in search of lodgings as conveniently near +their yard as may be. Mr. Henry Hunter said he thought you had rooms +which might suit me: hence my intrusion.' + +'Well, sir, I don't know,' returned Peter, rather dubiously. He was one +of those who are apt to grow bewildered with any sudden proposition; +requiring time, as may be said, to take it in, before he could digest +it. + +'You are from the country, sir, maybe?' + +'I am from the country. I arrived in London but an hour ago, and my +portmanteau is yet at the station. I wish to settle where I shall lodge, +before I go to get it. Have you rooms to let?' + +'Here, Nancy, come in!' cried Peter to his wife. 'The rooms are in +readiness to be shown, aren't they?' + +Mrs. Quale required no second call. Hearing a strange voice, and gifted +in a remarkable degree with what we are taught to look upon as her sex's +failing--curiosity--she had already discarded again the apron, and made +her appearance in time to receive the question. + +'Ready and waiting,' answered she. 'And two better rooms for their size +you won't find, sir, search London through,' she said, volubly, turning +to Austin. 'They are on the first floor--a nice sitting-room, and a +bedchamber behind it. The furniture is good, and clean, and handsome; +for, when we were buying of it, we didn't spare a few pounds, knowing +such would keep good to the end. Would you please step up, sir, and take +a look at them?' + +Austin acquiesced, motioning to her to lead the way. She dropped a +curtsey as she passed him, as if in apology for taking it. He followed, +and Peter brought up the rear, a dim notion penetrating Peter's brain +that the attention was due from him to one sent by the Messrs. Hunter. + +Two good rooms, as she had said; small, but well fitted up. 'You'd be +sure to be comfortable, sir,' cried Mrs. Quale to Austin. 'If _I_ can't +make lodgers comfortable, I don't know who can. Our last gentleman came +to us three years ago, and left but a month since. He was a barrister's +clerk, but he didn't get well paid, and he lodged in this part for +cheapness.' + +'The rooms would suit me, so far as I can judge,' said Austin, looking +round; 'suit me very well indeed, if we can agree upon terms. My pocket +is but a shallow one at present,' he laughed. + +'I would make _them_ easy enough for any gentleman sent by the masters,' +struck in Peter. 'Did you say your name was Clay, sir?' + +'Clay,' assented Austin. + +Mrs. Quale wheeled round at this, and took a free, full view of the +gentleman from head to foot. 'Clay? Clay?' she repeated to herself. 'And +there _is_ a likeness, if ever I saw one! Sir,' she hastily inquired, +'do you come from the neighbourhood of Ketterford?' + +'I come from Ketterford itself,' replied he. + +'Ah, but you were not born right in the town. I think you must be Austin +Clay, sir; the orphan son of Mr. Clay and his wife--Miss Austin that +used to be. They lived at the Nash farm. Sir, I have had you upon my lap +scores of times when you were a little one.' + +'Why----who are you?' exclaimed Austin. + +'You can't have forgot old Mr. Austin, the great-uncle, sir? though you +were only seven years old when he died. I was Ann Best, cook to the old +gentleman, and I heard all the ins and outs of the marriage of your +father and mother. The match pleased neither family, and so they just +took the Nash farm for themselves, to be independent and get along +without being beholden for help to anybody. Many a fruit puff have I +made for you, Master Austin; many a currant cake: how things come round +in this world! Do take our rooms, sir--it will seem like serving my old +master over again.' + +'I will take them willingly, and be glad to fall into such good hands. +You will not require references now?' + +Mrs. Quale laughed. Peter grunted resentfully. References from anybody +sent by the Messrs. Hunter! 'I would say eight shillings a week, sir,' +said Peter, looking at his wife. 'Pay as you like; monthly, or +quarterly, or any way.' + +'That's less than I expected,' said Austin, in his candour. 'Mr. Henry +Hunter thought they would be about ten shillings.' + +Peter was candid also. 'There's the neighbourhood to be took into +consideration, sir, which is not a good one, and we can only let +according to it. In some parts--and not far off, neither--you'd pay +eighteen or twenty shillings for such rooms as these; in Daffodil's +Delight it is different, though this is the best quarter of it. The last +gentleman paid us nine. If eight will suit you, sir, it will suit us.' + +So the bargain was struck; and Austin Clay went back to the station for +his luggage. Mrs. Quale, busy as a bee, ran in to tell her next-door +neighbour that she could not be one of the beef-steak-and-onion eaters +that night, though Peter might, for she should have her hands full with +their new lodger. 'The nicest, handsomest young fellow,' she wound up +with; 'one it will be a pleasure to wait on.' + +'Take care what you be at, if he's a stranger,' cried cautious Mrs. +Stevens. 'There's no trusting those country folks: they run away +sometimes. It looks odd, don't it, to come after lodgings one minute, +and enter upon 'em the next?' + +'Very odd,' assented Mrs. Quale, with a laugh. 'Why, it was Mr. Henry +Hunter sent him round here; and he has got a post in their house.' + +'What sort of one?' asked Mrs. Stevens, sceptical still. + +'Who knows? Something superior to the best of us workpeople, you may be +sure. He belongs to gentlefolks,' concluded Mrs. Quale. 'I knew him as a +baby. It was in his mother's family I lived before I married. He's as +like his mother as two peas, and a handsome woman was Mrs. Clay. +Good-bye: I'm going to get the sheets on to his bed now.' + +Mrs. Quale, however, found that she was, after all, able to assist at +the supper; for, when Austin came back, it was only to dress himself and +go out, in pursuance of the invitation he had accepted to dine at Mr. +Henry Hunter's. With all his haste it had struck six some minutes when +he got there. + +Mrs. Henry Hunter, a very pretty and very talkative woman, welcomed him +with both hands, and told her children to do the same, for it was 'the +gentleman who saved papa.' There was no ceremony; he was received quite +_en famille_; no other guest was present, and three or four of the +children dined at table. He appeared to find favour with them all. He +talked on business matters with Mr. Henry Hunter; on lighter topics with +his wife; he pointed out some errors in Mary Hunter's drawings, which +she somewhat ostentatiously exhibited to him, and showed her how to +rectify them. He entered into the school life of the two young boys, +from their classics to their scrapes; and nursed a pretty little lady of +five, who insisted on appropriating his knee--bearing himself throughout +all with the modest reticence--the refinement of the innate gentleman. +Mrs. Henry Hunter was charmed with him. + +'How do you think you shall like your quarters?' she asked. 'Mr. Hunter +told me he recommended you to Peter Quale's.' + +'Very well. At least they will do. Mrs. Quale, it appears, is an old +friend of mine.' + +'An old friend! Of yours!' + +'She claims me as one, and says she has nursed me many a time when I was +a child. I had quite forgotten her, and all about her, though I now +remember her name. She was formerly a servant in my mother's family, +near Ketterford.' + +Thus Austin Clay had succeeded without delay or difficulty in obtaining +employment, and was, moreover, received on a footing of equality in the +house of Mr. Henry Hunter. We shall see how he gets on. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +MISS GWINN'S VISIT. + + +Were there space, it might be well to trace Austin Clay's progress step +by step--his advancements and his drawbacks--his smooth-sailing and his +difficulties; for, that his course was not free from difficulties and +drawbacks you may be very sure. I do not know whose is. If any had +thought he was to be represented as perfection, they were mistaken. Yet +he managed to hold on his way without moral damage, for he was +high-principled in every sense of the word. But there is neither time +nor space to give to these particulars that regard himself alone. + +Austin Clay sat one day in a small room of the office, making +corrections in a certain plan, which had been roughly sketched. It was a +hot day for the beginning of autumn, some three or four months having +elapsed since his installation at Hunter and Hunter's. The office boy +came in to interrupt him. + +'Please, sir, here's a lady outside, asking if she can see young Mr. +Clay.' + +'A lady!' repeated Austin, in some wonder. 'Who is it?' + +'I think she's from the country, sir,' said the sharp boy. 'She have got +a big nosegay in her hand and a brown reticule.' + +'Does she wear widow's weeds?' questioned Austin hastily, an idea +flashing over him that Mrs. Thornimett might have come up to town. + +'Weeds?' replied the boy, staring, as if at a loss to know what 'weeds' +might mean. 'She have got a white veil on, sir.' + +'Oh,' said Austin. 'Well, ask her to come in. But I don't know any lady +that can want me. Or who has any business to come here if she does,' he +added to himself. + +The lady came in: a very tall one. She wore a dark silk dress, a +shepherd's plaid shawl, a straw bonnet, and a white veil. The reticule +spoken of by the boy was in her hand; but the nosegay she laid down on a +bench just outside the door. Austin rose to receive her. + +'You are doubtless surprised to see me, Austin Clay. But, as I was +coming to London on business--I always do at this season of the year--I +got your address from Mrs. Thornimett, having a question to put to you.' + +Without ceremony, without invitation, she sat herself down on a chair. +More by her voice than her features--for she kept her veil before her +face--did Austin recognise her. It was Miss Gwinn. He recognised her +with dismay. Mr. Henry Hunter was about the premises, liable to come in +at any moment, and then might occur a repetition of that violent scene +to which he had been a witness. Often and often had his mind recurred to +the affair; it perplexed him beyond measure. Was Mr. Henry Hunter the +stranger to her he asserted himself to be, or was he not? 'What shall I +do with her?' thought Austin. + +'Will you shut the door?' she said, in a peremptory, short tone, for the +boy had left it open. + +'I beg your pardon, Miss Gwinn,' interrupted Austin, necessity giving +him courage. 'Though glad to see you myself, I am at the present hour so +busy that it is next to impossible for me to give you my attention. If +you will name any place where I can wait upon you after business hours, +this, or any other evening, I shall be happy to meet you.' + +Miss Gwinn ranged her eyes round the room, looking possibly, for +confirmation of his words. 'You are not so busy as to be unable to spare +a minute to me. You were but looking over a plan.' + +'It is a plan that is being waited for.' Which was true. 'And you must +forgive me for reminding you--I do it in all courtesy--that my time and +this room do not belong to me, but to my employers.' + +'Boy! what is your motive for seeking to get rid of me?' she asked, +abruptly. 'That you have one, I can see.' + +Austin was upon thorns. He had not taken a seat. He stood near the door, +pencil in hand, hoping it would induce her to move. At that moment +footsteps were heard, and the office-door was pushed wide open. + +It was Mr. Hunter. He stopped on the threshold, seeing a lady, an +unusual sight there, and came to the conclusion that it must be some +stranger for Mr. Clay. Her features, shaded by the thick white veil, +were indistinct, and Mr. Hunter but glanced at her. Miss Gwinn on the +contrary looked full at him, as she did at most people, and bent her +head as a slight mark of courtesy. He responded by lifting his hat, and +went out again. + +'One of the principals, I suppose?' she remarked. + +'Yes,' he replied, feeling thankful that it was not Mr. Henry. 'I +believe he wants me, Miss Gwinn.' + +'I am not going to keep you from him. The question I wish to put to you +will be answered in a sentence. Austin Clay, have you, since----' + +'Allow me one single instant first, then,' interrupted Austin, resigning +himself to his fate, 'just to speak a word of explanation to Mr. +Hunter.' + +He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Standing at +the outer door, close by, open to the yard, was Mr. Hunter. Austin, in +his haste and earnestness, grasped his arm. + +'Find Mr. Henry, sir,' he whispered. 'Wherever he may be, let him keep +there--out of sight--until she--this person--has gone. It is Miss +Gwinn.' + +'Who? What do you say?' cried Mr. Hunter, staring at Austin. + +'It is that Miss Gwinn. The woman who set upon Mr. Henry in that strange +manner. She----' + +Miss Gwinn opened the door at this juncture, and looked out upon them. +Mr. Hunter walked briskly away in search of his brother. Austin turned +back again. + +She closed the door when he was inside the room, keeping her hand upon +it. She did not sit down, but stood facing Austin, whom she held before +her with the other hand. + +'Have you, since you came to London, seen aught of my enemy?--that man +whom you saved from his death in the gravel pits? Boy! answer me +truthfully.' + +He remained silent, scarcely seeing what his course ought to be; or +whether in such a case a lie of denial might not be justifiable. But the +hesitation spoiled that, for she read it arightly. + +'No need of your affirmative,' she said. 'I see you have met him. Where +is he to be found?' + +There was only one course for him now; and he took it, in all +straightforward openness. + +'It is true I have seen that gentleman, Miss Gwinn, but I can tell you +nothing about him.' + +She looked fixedly at him. 'That you cannot, or that you will not? +Which?' + +'That I will not. Forgive the seeming incivility of the avowal, but I +consider that I ought not to comply with your request--that I should be +doing wrong?' + +'Explain. What do you mean by "wrong?"' + +'In the first place, I believe you were mistaken with regard to the +gentleman: I do not think he was the one for whom you took him. In the +second place, even if he be the one, I cannot make it my business to +bring you into contact with him, and so give rise--as it probably +would--to further violence.' + +There was a pause. She threw up her veil and looked fixedly at him, +struggling for composure, her lips compressed, her face working. + +'You know who he is, and where he lives,' she jerked forth. + +'I acknowledge that.' + +'How dare you take part against me?' she cried, in agitation. + +'I do not take part against you, Miss Gwinn,' he replied, wishing some +friendly balloon would come and whirl her away; for Mr. Hunter might not +find his brother to give the warning. 'I do not take his part more than +I take yours, only in so far as that I decline to tell you who and where +he is. Had he the same ill-feeling towards you, and wished to know where +you might be found, I would not tell him.' + +'Austin Clay, you _shall_ tell me.' + +He drew himself up to his full height, speaking in all the quiet +consciousness of resolution. 'Never of my own free will. And I think, +Miss Gwinn, there are no means by which you can compel me.' + +'Perhaps the law might?' She spoke dreamily, not in answer to him, but +in commune with herself, as if debating the question. 'Fare you well for +the present, young man; but I have not done with you.' + +To his intense satisfaction she turned out of the office, catching up +the flowers as she went. Austin attended her to the outer gate. She +strode straight on, not deigning to cast a glance to the busy yard, with +its sheds, its timber, its implements of work, and its artisans, all +scattered about it. + +'Believe me,' he said, holding out his hand as a peace-offering, 'I am +not willingly discourteous. I wish I could see my way clear to help +you.' + +She did not take the hand; she walked away without another word or look, +and Austin went back again. Mr. Hunter advanced to meet him from the +upper end of the yard, and went with him into the small room. + +'What was all that, Clay? I scarcely understood.' + +'I daresay not, sir, for I had no time to be explanatory. It seems +she--Miss Gwinn--has come to town on business. She procured my address +from Mrs. Thornimett, and came here to ask of me if I had seen anything +of her enemy--meaning Mr. Henry Hunter. I feared lest he should be +coming in; I could only beg of you to find Mr. Henry, and warn him not. +That is all, sir.' + +Mr. Hunter stood with his back to Austin, softly whistling--his habit +when in deep thought. 'What can be her motive for wanting to find him?' +he presently said. + +'She speaks of revenge. Of course I do not know for what: I cannot give +a guess. There's no doubt she is mistaken in the person, when she +accuses Mr. Henry Hunter.' + +'Well,' returned Mr. Hunter, 'I said nothing to my brother, for I did +not understand what there was to say. It will be better not to tell him +now; the woman is gone, and the subject does not appear to be a pleasant +one. Do you hear?' + +'Very well, sir.' + +'I think I understood, when the affair was spoken of some time ago, that +she does not know him as Mr. Hunter?' + +'Of course she does not,' said Austin. 'She would have been here after +him before now if she did. She came this morning to see me, not +suspecting she might meet him.' + +'Ah! Better keep the visit close,' cried Mr. Hunter, as he walked away. + +Now, it had occurred to Austin that it would be better to do just the +opposite thing. _He_ should have told Mr. Henry Hunter, and left that +gentleman to seek out Miss Gwinn, or not, as he might choose. A sudden +meeting between them in the office, in the hearing of the yard, and with +the lady in excitement, was not desirable; but that Mr. Henry Hunter +should clear himself, now that she was following him up, and convince +her it was not he who was the suspected party, was, Austin thought, +needful--that is, if he could do it. However, he could only obey Mr. +Hunter's suggestions. + +Austin resumed his occupation. His brain and fingers were busy over the +plan, when he saw a gig drive into the yard. It contained the great +engineer, Sir Michael Wilson. Mr. Henry Hunter came down the yard to +meet him; they shook hands, and entered the private room together. In a +few minutes Mr. Henry came to Austin. + +'Are you particularly engaged, Clay?' + +'Only with this plan, sir. It is wanted as soon as I can get it done.' + +'You can leave it for a quarter of an hour. I wish you to go round to +Dr. Bevary. I was to have been at his house now--half-past eleven--to +accompany him on a visit to a sick friend. Tell him that Sir Michael has +come, and I have to go out with him, therefore it is impossible for me +to keep my engagement. I am very sorry, tell Bevary: these things always +happen crossly. Go right into his consulting-room, Clay; never mind +patients; or else he will be chafing at my delay, and grumble the +ceiling off.' + +Austin departed. Dr. Bevary occupied a good house in the main street, to +the left of the yard, to gain which he had to pass the turning to +Daffodil's Delight. Had Dr. Bevary lived to the right of the yard, his +practice might have been more exclusive; but doctors cannot always +choose their localities, circumstances more frequently doing that for +them. He had a large connexion, and was often pressed for time. + +Down went Austin, and gained the house. Just inside the open door, +before which a close carriage was standing, was the doctor's servant. + +'Dr. Bevary is engaged, sir, with a lady patient,' said the man. 'He is +very particularly engaged for the moment, but I don't think he'll be +long.' + +'I'll wait,' said Austin, not deeming it well strictly to follow Mr. +Henry Hunter's directions; and he turned, without ceremony, to the +little box of a study on the left of the hall. + +'Not there, sir,' interposed the man hastily, and he showed him into the +drawing-room on the right; Dr. Bevary and his patient being in the +consulting-room. + +Ten minutes of impatience to Austin. What could any lady mean by keeping +him so long, in his own house? Then they came forth. The lady, a very +red and portly one, rather old, was pushed into her carriage by the help +of her footman, Austin watching the process from the window. The +carriage then drove off. + +The doctor did not come in. Austin concluded the servant must have +forgotten to tell him he was there. He crossed the hall to the little +study, the doctor's private room, knocked and entered. + +'I am not to care for patients,' called out he gaily, believing the +doctor was alone; 'Mr. Henry Hunter says so.' But to his surprise, a +patient was sitting there--at least, a lady; sitting, nose and knees +together, with Dr. Bevary, and talking hurriedly and earnestly, as if +they had the whole weight of the nation's affairs on their shoulders. + +It was Miss Gwinn. The flowers had apparently found their home, for +they were in a vase on the table. Austin took it all in at a glance. + +'So it is you, is it, Austin Clay?' she exclaimed. 'I was acquainting +Dr. Bevary with your refusal to give me that man's address, and asking +his opinion whether the law could compel you. Have you come after me to +say you have thought better of it?' + +Austin was decidedly taken aback. It might have been his fancy, but he +thought he saw a look of caution go out to him from Dr. Bevary's eyes. + +'Was your visit to this lady, Mr. Clay?' + +'No, sir, it was to you. Sir Michael Wilson has come down on business, +and Mr. Henry Hunter will not be able to keep his appointment with you. +He desired me to say that he was sorry, but that it was no fault of +his.' + +Dr. Bevary nodded. 'Tell him I was about to send round to say that I +could not keep mine with him so it's all right. Another day will----' + +A sharp cry. A cry of passion, of rage, almost of terror. It came from +Miss Gwinn; and the doctor, breaking off his sentence, turned to her in +amazement. + +It was well he did so; it was well he caught her hands. Another moment, +and she would have dashed them through the window, and perhaps herself +also. Driving by, in the gig, were Sir Michael Wilson and Mr. Henry +Hunter. It was at the latter she gazed, at him she pointed. + +'Do you see him? Do you see him?' she panted to the doctor. 'That's the +man; not the one driving; the other--the one sitting this way. Oh, Dr. +Bevary, will you believe me now? I told you I met him at Ketterford; and +there he is again! Let me go!' + +She was strong almost as a wild animal, wrestling with the doctor to get +from him. He made a motion to Austin to keep the door, and there ensued +a sharp struggle. Dr. Bevary got her into an arm-chair at last, and +stood before her, holding her hands, at first in silence. Then he spoke +calmly, soothingly, as he would to a child. + +'My dear lady, what will become of you if you give way to these fits of +violence? But for me, I really believe you would have been through the +window. A pretty affair of spikes that would be! I should have had you +laid up in my house for a month, covered over with sticking-plaster.' + +'If you had not stopped me I might have caught that gig,' was her +passionate rejoinder. + +'Caught that gig! A gig going at the rate of ten miles an hour, if it +was going one! By the time you had got down the steps of my door it +would have been out of sight. How people can drive at that random rate +in London streets, _I_ can't think.' + +'_How_ can I find him? How can I find him?' + +Her tone was quite a wail of anguish. However they might deprecate her +mistaken violence, it was impossible but that both her hearers should +feel compassion for her. She laid her hand on the doctor's arm. + +'Will you not help me to find him, Dr. Bevary? Did you note him?' + +'So far as to see that there were two persons in the gig, and that they +were men, not women. Do you feel sure it was the man you speak of? It is +so easy to be mistaken in a person who is being whirled along swiftly.' + +'Mistaken!' she returned, in a strangely significant tone. 'Dr. Bevary, +I am sure it was he. I have not kept him in my mind for years, to +mistake him now. Austin Clay,' she fiercely added, turning round upon +Austin, '_you_ speak; speak the truth; I saw you look after them. Was +it, or was it not, the man whom I met at Ketterford?' + +'I believe it was,' was Austin's answer. 'Nevertheless, Miss Gwinn, I do +not believe him to be the enemy you spoke of--the one who worked you +ill. He denies it just as solemnly as you assert it; and I am sure he is +a truthful man.' + +'And that I am a liar?' + +'No. That you believe what you assert is only too apparent. I think it a +case, on your side, of mistaken identity.' + +Happening to raise his eyes, Austin caught those of Dr. Bevary fixed +upon him with a keen, troubled, earnest gaze. It asked, as plainly as a +gaze could ask, '_Do_ you believe so? or is the falsehood on _his_ +side?' + +'Will you disclose to Dr. Bevary the name of that man, if you will not +to me?' + +Again the gentlemen's eyes met, and this time an unmistakeable warning +of caution gleamed forth from Dr. Bevary's. Austin could only obey it. + +'I must decline to speak of him in any way, Miss Gwinn,' said he; 'you +had my reasons before. Dr. Bevary, I have given you the message I was +charged with. I must wish you both good day.' + +Austin walked back, full of thought, his belief somewhat wavering. 'It +is very strange,' he reflected. 'Could a woman, could any one be so +positive as she is, unless thoroughly sure? What _is_ the mystery, I +wonder? That it was no sentimental affair between them, or rubbish of +that sort, is patent by the difference of their ages; she looks pretty +nearly old enough to be his mother. Mr. Henry Hunter's is a remarkable +face--one that would alter little in a score of years.' + +The bell was ringing twelve as he approached the yard, and the workmen +were pouring out of it, on their way home to dinner. Plentiful tables +awaited them; little care was on their minds; flourishing was every +branch of the building trade then. Peter Quale came up to Austin. + +'Sam Shuck have just been up here, sir, a-eating humble pie, and praying +to be took on again. But the masters be both absent; and Mr. Mills, he +said he didn't choose, in a thing like this, to act on his own +responsibility, for he heard Mr. Hunter say Shuck shouldn't again be +employed.' + +'I would not take him on,' replied Austin, 'if it rested with me; an +idle, skulking, deceitful vagabond, drunk and incapable at one time, +striving to spread discontent among the men at another. He has been on +the loose for a fortnight now. But it is not my affair, Quale; Mr. Mills +is manager.' + +The yard, between twelve and one, was pretty nearly deserted. The +gentleman, spoken of as Mr. Mills, and Austin, usually remained; the +principals would sometimes be there, and an odd man or two. The +timekeeper lived in the yard. Austin rather liked that hour; it was +quiet. He was applying to his plan with a zest, when another +interruption came, in the shape of Dr. Bevary. Austin began to think he +might as well put the drawing away altogether. + +'Anybody in the offices, Mr. Clay, except you?' asked the doctor. + +'Not indoors. Mills is about somewhere.' + +Down sat the doctor, and fixed his keen eyes upon Austin. 'What took +place here this morning with Miss Gwinn?' + +'No harm, sir,' replied Austin, briefly explaining. 'As it happened, Mr. +Henry kept away. Mr. Hunter came in and saw her; but that was all.' + +'What is your opinion?' abruptly asked the doctor. 'Come, give it +freely. You have your share of judgment, and of discretion too, or I +should not ask it. Is she mistaken, or is Henry Hunter false?' + +Austin did not immediately reply. Dr. Bevary mistook the cause of his +silence. + +'Don't hesitate, Clay. You know I am trustworthy; and it is not I who +would stir to harm a Hunter. If I seek to come to the bottom of this +affair, it is that I may do what I can to repair damage; to avert some +of the fruits of wrong-doing.' + +'If I hesitated, Dr. Bevary, it was that I am really at a loss what +answer to give. When Mr. Henry Hunter denies that he knows the woman, or +that he ever has known her, he appears to me to speak open truth. On the +other hand, these recognitions of Miss Gwinn's, and her persistency, +are, to say the least of them, suspicious and singular. Until within an +hour I had full trust in Mr. Henry Hunter; now I do not know what to +think. She seemed to recognise him in the gig so surely.' + +'He does not appear'--Dr. Bevary appeared to be speaking to himself, and +his head was bent--'like one who carries about with him some dark +secret.' + +'Mr. Henry Hunter? None less. Never a man whose outside gave indications +of a clearer conscience. But, Dr. Bevary, if her enemy be Mr. Henry +Hunter, how is it she does not know him by name?' + +'Ay, there's another point. She evidently attaches no importance to the +name of Hunter.' + +'What was the name of--of the enemy she talks of?' asked Austin. 'We +must call him "enemy" for want of a better name. Do you know it, +doctor?' + +'No. Can't get it out of her. Never could get it out of her. I asked her +again to-day, but she evaded the question.' + +'Mr. Hunter thought it would be better to keep her visit this morning a +secret from his brother, as they had not met. I, on the contrary, should +have told him of it.' + +'No,' hastily interposed Dr. Bevary, putting up his hand with an +alarmed, warning gesture. 'The only way is, to keep her and Henry Hunter +apart.' + +'I wonder,' mused Austin, 'what brings her to town?' + +The doctor threw his penetrating gaze into Austin's eyes. 'Have you no +idea what it is?' + +'None, sir. She seemed to intimate that she came every year.' + +'Good. Don't try to form any, my young friend. It would not be a +pleasant secret, even for you to hold!' + +He rose as he spoke, nodded, and went out, leaving Austin Clay in a +state of puzzled bewilderment. It was not lessened when, an hour later, +Austin encountered Dr. Bevary's close carriage, driving rapidly along +the street, the doctor seated inside it, and Miss Gwinn beside him. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +TRACKED HOME. + + +I think it has been mentioned that the house next door to the Quales', +detached from it however, was inhabited by two families: the lower part +by Mr. Samuel Shuck, his wife, and children; the upper and best part by +the Baxendales. No two sets of people could be more dissimilar; the one +being as respectable as the other was disreputable. John Baxendale's +wife was an invalid; she had been so, on and off, for a long while. +There was an only daughter, and she and her mother held themselves very +much aloof from the general society of Daffodil's Delight. + +On the morning following the day spoken of in the last chapter as +distinguished by the advent of Miss Gwinn in London, Mrs. Baxendale +found herself considerably worse than usual. Mr. Rice, the apothecary, +who was the general attendant in Daffodil's Delight, and lived at its +corner, had given her medicine, and told her to 'eat well and get up her +strength.' But, somehow, the strength and the appetite did not come; on +the contrary, she got weaker and weaker. She was in very bad spirits +this morning, was quite unable to get up, and cried for some time in +silence. + +'Mother, dear,' said Mary Baxendale, going into her room, 'you'll have +the doctor gone out, I fear.' + +'Oh, Mary! I cannot get up--I cannot go,' was the answer, delivered with +a burst of sobbing sorrow. 'I shall never rise from my bed again.' + +The words fell on the daughter with a terrible shock. Her fears in +regard to her mother's health had long been excited, but this seemed +like a confirmation of a result she had never dared openly to face. She +was not a very capable sort of girl--the reverse of what is called +strong-minded; but the instinct imparted by all true affection warned +her to make light of her mother's words. + +'Nay, mother, it's not so bad as that,' she said, checking her tears. +'You'll get up again fast enough. You are feeling low, maybe, this +morning.' + +'Child, I am too weak to get up--too ill. I don't think I shall ever be +about again.' + +Mary sat down in a sort of helpless perplexity. + +'What is to be done?' she cried. + +Mrs. Baxendale asked herself the same question as she lay. Finding +herself no better under Mr. Rice's treatment, she had at length +determined to do what she ought to have done at first--consult Dr. +Bevary. + +From half-past eight to ten, three mornings in the week, Dr. Bevary gave +advice gratis; and Mrs. Baxendale was on this one to have gone to +him--rather a formidable visit, as it seemed to her, and perhaps the +very thought of it had helped to make her worse. + +'What is to be done?' repeated Mary. + +'Could you not wait upon him, child, and describe my symptoms?' +suggested the sick woman, after weighing the dilemma in her mind. 'It +might do as well. Perhaps he can write for me.' + +'Oh, mother, I don't like to go!' exclaimed Mary, in the impulse of the +moment. + +'But, my dear, what else is to be done?' urged Mrs. Baxendale. 'We can't +ask a great gentleman like that to come to me.' + +'To be sure--true. Oh, yes, I'll go, mother.' + +Mary got herself ready without another word. Mrs. Baxendale, a superior +woman for her station in life, had brought up her daughter to be +thoroughly dutiful. It had seemed a formidable task to the mother, the +going to this physician, this 'great gentleman;' it seemed a far worse +to the daughter, and especially the having to explain symptoms and +ailments at second-hand. But the great physician was a very pleasant +man, and would nod good-humouredly to Mary, when by chance he met her in +the street. + +'Tell him, with my duty, that I am not equal to coming myself,' said +Mrs. Baxendale, when Mary stood ready in her neat straw bonnet and +light shawl. 'I ought to have gone weeks ago, and that's the truth. +Don't forget to describe the pain in my right side, and the flushings of +heat.' + +So Mary went on her way, and was admitted to the presence of Dr. Bevary, +where she told her tale with awkward timidity. + +'Ah! a return of the old weakness that she had years ago,' remarked the +doctor. 'I told her she must be careful. Too ill to get up? Why did she +not come to me before?' + +'I suppose, sir, she did not much like to trouble you,' responded Mary. +'She has been hoping from week to week that Mr. Rice would do her good.' + +'_I_ can't do her good, unless I see her,' cried the doctor. 'I might +prescribe just the wrong thing, you know.' + +Mary repressed her tears. + +'I am afraid, then, she must die, sir. She said this morning she thought +she should never get up from her bed again.' + +'I'll step round some time to-day and see her,' said Dr. Bevary. 'But +now, don't you go chattering that to the whole parish. I should have +every sick person in it expecting me, as a right, to call and visit +them.' + +He laughed pleasantly at Mary as he spoke, and she departed with a glad +heart. The visit had been so much less formidable in reality than in +anticipation. + +As she reached Daffodil's Delight, she did not turn into it, but +continued her way to the house of Mrs. Hunter. Mary Baxendale took in +plain sewing, and had some in hand at present from that lady. She +inquired for Dobson. Dobson was Mrs. Hunter's own maid, and a very +consequential one. + +'Not able to get Miss Hunter's night-dresses home on Saturday!' grumbled +Dobson, when she appeared and heard what Mary had to say. 'But you must, +Mary Baxendale. You promised them, you know.' + +'I should not have promised had I known that my mother would have grown +worse,' said Mary. 'A sick person requires a deal of waiting on, and +there's only me. I'll do what I can to get them home next week, if that +will do.' + +'I don't know that it will do,' snapped Dobson. 'Miss Florence may be +wanting them. A promise is a promise, Mary Baxendale.' + +'Yes, it will do, Mary,' cried Florence Hunter, darting forward from +some forbidden nook, whence she had heard the colloquy, and following +Mary down the steps into the street. A fair sight was that child to look +upon, with her white muslin dress, her blue ribbons, her flowing hair, +and her sweet countenance, radiant as a summer's morning. 'Mamma is not +downstairs yet, or I would ask her--she is ill, too--but I know I do not +want them. Never you mind them, and never mind Dobson either, but nurse +your mother.' + +Dobson drew the young lady back, asking her if such behaviour was not +enough to 'scandalize the square;' and Mary Baxendale returned home. + +Dr. Bevary paid his visit to Mrs. Baxendale about mid-day. His practised +eye saw with certainty what others were only beginning to suspect--that +Death had marked her. He wrote a prescription, gave some general +directions, said he would call again, and told Mrs. Baxendale she would +be better out of bed than in it. + +Accordingly, after his departure, she got up and went into the front +room, which they made their sitting-room. But the exertion caused her to +faint; she was certainly on this day much worse than usual. John +Baxendale was terribly concerned, and did not go back to his work after +dinner. When the bustle was over, and she seemed pretty comfortable +again, somebody burst into the room, without knocking or other ceremony. +It was one of the Shucks, a young man of eight, in tattered clothes, and +a shock head of hair. He came to announce that Mrs. Hunter's maid was +asking for Mary, and little Miss Hunter was there, too, and said, might +she come up and see Mrs. Baxendale. + +Both were requested to walk up. Dobson had brought a gracious message +from her mistress (not graciously delivered, though), that the sewing +might wait till it was quite convenient to do it; and Florence produced +a jar, which she had insisted upon carrying herself, and had thereby +split her grey kid gloves, it being too large for her hands. + +'It is black-currant jelly, Mrs. Baxendale,' she said, with the +prettiest, kindest air, as she freely sat down by the sick woman's side. +'I asked mamma to let me bring some, for I remember when I was ill I +only liked black-currant jelly. Mamma is so sorry to hear you are worse, +and she will come to see you soon.' + +'Bless your little heart, Miss Florence!' exclaimed the invalid. 'The +same dear child as ever--thinking of other people and not of yourself.' + +'I have no need to think for myself,' said Florence. 'Everything I want +is got ready for me. I wish you did not look so ill. I wish you would +have my uncle Bevary to see you. He cures everybody.' + +'He has been kind enough to come round to-day, Miss,' spoke up John +Baxendale, 'and he'll come again, he says. I hope he will be able to do +the missis good. As you be a bit better,' he added to his wife, 'I think +I'll go back to my work.' + +'Ay, do, John. There's no cause for you to stay at home. It was some +sort of weakness, I suppose, that came over me.' + +John Baxendale touched his hair to Florence, nodded to Dobson, and went +downstairs and out. Florence turned to the open window to watch his +departure, ever restless, as a healthy child is apt to be. + +'There's Uncle Henry!' she suddenly called out. + +Mr. Henry Hunter was walking rapidly down Daffodil's Delight. He +encountered John Baxendale as the man went out of his gate. + +'Not back at work yet, Baxendale?' + +'The missis has been taken worse, sir,' was the man's reply. 'She +fainted dead off just now, and I declare I didn't know what to think +about her. She's all right again, and I am going round.' + +At that moment there was heard a tapping at the window panes, and a +pretty little head was pushed out beneath them, nodding and laughing, +'Uncle Henry! How do you do, Uncle Henry?' + +Mr. Henry Hunter nodded in reply, and pursued his way, unconscious that +the lynx eye of Miss Gwinn was following him, like a hawk watching its +prey. + +It happened that she had penetrated Daffodil's Delight, hoping to catch +Austin Clay at his dinner, which she supposed he might be taking about +that hour. She held his address at Peter Quale's from Mrs. Thornimett. +Her object was to make a further effort to get from him what he knew of +the man she sought to find. Scarcely had she turned into Daffodil's +Delight, when she saw Mr. Henry Hunter at a distance. Away she tore +after him, and gained upon him considerably. She reached the house of +John Baxendale just as he, Baxendale, was re-entering it; for he had +forgotten something he must take with him to the yard. Turning her head +upon Baxendale for a minute as she passed, Miss Gwinn lost sight of Mr. +Henry Hunter. + +How had he disappeared? Into the ground? or into a house? or down any +obscure passage that might be a short cut between Daffodil's Delight, +and some other Delight? or into that cab that was now whirling onwards +at such a rate? That he was no longer visible, was certain: and Miss +Gwinn was exceeding wroth. She came to the conclusion that he had seen +her, and hid himself in the cab, though she had not heard it stop. + +But she had seen him spoken to from the window of that house, where the +workman had just gone in, and she determined to make inquiries there, +and so strode up the path. In the Shucks' kitchen there were only three +or four children, too young to give an answer. Miss Gwinn picked her way +through them, over the dirt and grease of the floor, and ascended to the +sitting-room above. She stood a minute to take in its view. + +John Baxendale was on his knees, hunting among some tools at the bottom +of a closet; Mary was meekly exhibiting the progress of the nightgowns +to Dobson, who sat in state, sour enough to turn milk into curd; the +invalid was lying, pale, in her chair; while the young lady appeared to +be assisting at the tool-hunting, on her knees also, and chattering as +fast as her tongue could go. All looked up at the apparition of the +stranger, who stood there gazing in upon them. + +'Can you tell me where a gentleman of the name of Lewis lives?' she +began, in an indirect, diplomatic, pleasant sort of way, for she no +doubt deemed it well to discard violence for tact. In the humour she was +in yesterday, she would have said, sharply and imperiously, 'Tell me the +name of that man I saw now pass your gate.' + +John Baxendale rose. 'Lewis, ma'am? I don't know anybody of the name.' + +A pause. 'It is very unfortunate,' she mildly resumed. 'I am in search +of the gentleman, and have not got his address. I believe he belongs to +this neighbourhood. Indeed, I am almost sure I saw him talking to you +just now at the gate--though my sight is none of the clearest from a +distance. The same gentleman to whom that young lady nodded.' + +'That was my uncle Henry,' called out the child. + +'Who?' cried she, sharply. + +'It was Mr. Henry Hunter, ma'am, that was,' spoke up Baxendale. + +'Mr. Henry Hunter!' she repeated, as she knit her brow on John +Baxendale. 'That gentleman is Mr. Lewis.' + +'No, that he is not,' said John Baxendale. 'I ought to know, ma'am; I +have worked for him for some years.' + +Here the mischief might have ended; there's no telling; but that busy +little tongue of all tongues--ah! what work they make!--began clapping +again. + +'Perhaps you mean my papa? Papa's name is Lewis--James Lewis Hunter. But +he is never called Mr. Lewis. He is brother to my uncle Henry.' + +A wild flush of crimson flashed over Miss Gwinn's sallow face. Something +within her seemed to whisper that her search was over. 'It is possible I +mistook the one for the other in the distance,' she observed, all her +new diplomacy in full play. 'Are they alike in person?' she continued to +John Baxendale. + +'Not so much alike now, ma'am. In years gone by they were the very model +of one another; but Mr. Hunter has grown stout, and it has greatly +altered him. Mr. Henry looks just like what Mr. Hunter used to look.' + +'And who are you, did you say?' she asked of Florence with an emphasis +that would have been quite wild, but that it was in a degree suppressed. +'You are not Mr. Lewis Hunter's daughter?' + +'I am,' said Miss Florence. + +'And----you have a mother?' + +'Of course I have,' repeated the child. + +A pause: the lady looked at John Baxendale. 'Then Mr. Lewis Hunter is a +married man?' + +'To be sure he is,' said John, 'ever so many years ago. Miss Florence is +twelve.' + +'Thank you,' said Miss Gwinn abruptly turning away. 'Good morning.' + +She went down the stairs at a great rate, and did not stay to pick her +steps over the grease of the Shucks' floor. + +'What a mistake to make!' was her inward comment, and she laughed as she +said it. 'I did not sufficiently allow for the lapse of years. If that +younger one had lost his life in the gravel pits, he would have died an +innocent man.' + +Away to the yard now, as fast as her legs would carry her. In turning +in, she ran against Austin Clay. + +'I want to speak with Mr. Hunter,' she imperiously said. 'Mr. Lewis +Hunter--not the one I saw in the gig.' + +'Mr. Hunter is out of town, Miss Gwinn,' was Austin's reply. 'We do not +expect him at the yard to-day; he will not be home in time to come to +it.' + +'Boy! you are deceiving me!' + +'Indeed I am not,' he returned. 'Why should I? Mr. Hunter is not in the +habit of being denied to applicants. You might have spoken to him +yesterday when you saw him, had it pleased you so to do.' + +'I never saw him yesterday.' + +'Yes, you did, Miss Gwinn. That gentleman who came into the office and +bowed to you was Mr. Hunter.' + +She stared Austin full in the face, as if unable to believe what he +said. '_That_ Mr. Hunter?--Lewis Hunter?' + +'It was.' + +'If so, _how_ he is altered!' And, throwing up her arms with a strange, +wild gesture, she turned and strode out of the yard. The next moment +Austin saw her come into it again. + +'I want Mr. Lewis Hunter's private address, Austin Clay.' + +But Austin was on his guard now. He did not relish the idea of giving +anybody's private address to such a person as Miss Gwinn, who might or +might not be mad. + +She detected his reluctance. + +'Keep it from me if you choose, boy,' she said, with a laugh that had a +ring of scorn. 'Better for you perhaps to be on the safe side. The first +workman I meet will give it me, or a court guide.' + +And thus saying, she finally turned away. At any rate for the time +being. + +Austin Clay resumed his work, and the day passed on to evening. When +business was over, he went home to make some alteration in his dress, +for he had to go by appointment to Mr. Hunter's, and on these occasions +he generally remained with them. It was beginning to grow dusk, and a +chillness seemed to be in the air. + +The house occupied by Mr. Hunter was one of the best in the +west-central square. Ascending to it by a flight of steps, and passing +through a pillared portico, you found yourself in a handsome hall, paved +in imitation of mosaic. Two spacious sitting-rooms were on the left: the +front one was used as a dining-room, the other opened to a conservatory. +On the right of the hall, a broad flight of stairs led to the apartments +above, one of which was a fine drawing-room, fitted up with costly +elegance. + +Mr. and Mrs. Hunter were seated in the dining-room. Florence was there +likewise, but not seated; it may be questioned if she ever did sit, +except when compelled. Dinner was over, but they frequently made this +their evening sitting-room. The drawing-room upstairs was grand, the +room behind was dull; this was cheerful, and looked out on the square. +Especially cheerful it looked on this evening, for a fire had been +lighted in the grate, and it cast a warm glow around in the fading +twilight. + +Austin Clay was shown in, and invited to a seat by the fire, near Mrs. +Hunter. He had come in obedience to orders from Mr. Hunter, issued to +him when he, Mr. Hunter, had been going out that morning. His journey +had been connected with certain buildings then in process, and he +thought he might have directions to give with respect to the following +morning's early work. + +A few minutes given by Austin and his master to business matters, and +then the latter left the room, and Austin turned to Mrs. Hunter. +Unusually delicate she looked, as she half sat, half lay back in her +chair, the firelight playing on her features. Florence had dragged +forth a stool, and was sitting on it in a queer sort of fashion, one leg +under her, at Austin's feet. He was a great favourite of hers, and she +made no secret of the liking. + +'You are not looking well this evening,' he observed, in a gentle tone, +to Mrs. Hunter. + +'I am not feeling well. I scarcely ever do feel well; never strong. I +sometimes think, Mr. Clay, what a mercy it is that we are not permitted +to foresee the future. If we could, some of us might be tempted +to--to--' she hesitated, and then went on in a lower tone--'to pray that +God might take us in youth.' + +'The longer we live, the more we become impressed with the wonderful +wisdom that exists in the ordering of all things,' replied Austin. 'My +years have not been many, comparatively speaking; but I see it always, +and I know that I shall see it more and more.' + +'The confirmed invalid, the man of care and sorrow, the incessant battle +for existence with those reduced to extreme poverty--had they seen their +future, as in a mirror, how could they have borne to enter upon it?' +dreamily observed Mrs. Hunter. 'And yet, I have heard people exclaim, +"How I wish I could foresee my destiny, and what is to happen to me!"' + +'But the cares and ills of the world do not come near you, Mrs. Hunter,' +spoke Austin, after a pause of thought. + +Mrs. Hunter smiled. 'From the cares and crosses of the world, as we +generally estimate cares and crosses, I am free. God has spared them to +me. He does not overwhelm us with ills; if one ill is particularly our +portion, we are generally spared from others. Mine lie in my want of +health, and in the thought that--that--I am rarely free from pain and +suffering,' she concluded. But Austin felt that it was not what she had +been about to say. + +'What should we do if _all_ the ills came to us, mamma?' cried Florence, +who had been still, and was listening. + +'My dear, if all the ills came to us, God would show us a way to bear +them. You know that He has promised so much; and His promises cannot +fail.' + +'Clay,' cried Mr. Hunter, returning to the room and resuming his seat, +'did any one in particular call and want me to-day?' + +'No, sir. Several came, but Mr. Henry saw them.' + +'Did Arkwright come?' resumed Mr. Hunter. + +'I think not; I did not see him. That--lady--who was there yesterday, +came again. She asked for you.' + +A pause. Then Mr. Hunter spoke up sharply. 'For my brother, you mean. +She must have wanted him.' + +'She certainly asked for you, sir. For Mr. Lewis Hunter.' + +Those little ears pricked themselves up, and their owner unceremoniously +wheeled herself round on her stool, holding on by Austin's knee, as she +faced her father. + +'There was a lady came to John Baxendale's rooms to-day, when I and +Dobson were there, and she asked for Mr. Lewis Hunter. At least--it was +the funniest thing, papa--she saw Uncle Henry talking to John Baxendale, +and she came up and said he was Mr. Lewis, and asked where he lived. +John Baxendale said it was Mr. Henry Hunter, and she said no, it was not +Mr. Henry Hunter, it was Mr. Lewis. So then we found out that she had +mistaken him for you, and that it was you she wanted. Who was she, +papa?' + +'She--she--her business was with Henry,' spoke Mr. Hunter, in so +confused, so startled a sort of tone, not as if answering the child, +more as if defending himself to any who might be around, that Austin +looked up involuntarily. His face had grown lowering and angry, and he +moved his position, so that his wife's gaze should not fall upon it. +Austin's did, though. + +At that moment there was heard a knock and ring at the house door, the +presumable announcement of a visitor. Florence, much addicted to acting +upon natural impulse, and thereby getting into constant hot water with +her governess, who assured her nothing could be more unbefitting a young +lady, quitted her stool and flew to the window. By dint of flattening +her nose and crushing her curls against a corner of one of its panes, +she contrived to obtain a partial view of the visitor. + +'Oh dear! I hoped it was Uncle Bevary. Mamma's always better when he +comes; he tells her she is not so ill as she fancies. Papa!' + +'What?' cried Mr. Hunter, quickly. + +'I do believe it is that same lady who came to John Baxendale's. She is +as tall as a house.' + +What possessed Mr. Hunter? He started up; he sprung half way across the +room, hesitated there, and glided back again. Glided stealthily as it +were; and stealthily touching Austin Clay, motioned him to follow him. +His hands were trembling; and the dark frown, full of embarrassment, was +still upon his features. Mrs. Hunter noticed nothing unusual; the +apartment was shaded in twilight, and she sat with her head turned to +the fire. + +'Go to that woman, Clay!' came forth in a whisper from Mr. Hunter's +compressed lips, as he drew Austin outside the room. 'I cannot see her. +_You_ go.' + +'What am I to say?' questioned Austin, feeling surprised and bewildered. + +'Anything; anything. Only keep her from me.' + +He turned back into the room as he spoke, and closed the door softly, +for Miss Gwinn was already in the hall. The servant had said his master +was at home, and was conducting her to the room where his master and +mistress sat, supposing it was some friend come to pay an hour's visit. +Austin thought he heard Mr. Hunter slip the bolt of the dining-room, as +he walked forward to receive Miss Gwinn. + +Austin's words were quick and sharp, arresting the servant's footsteps. +'Not there, Mark! Miss Gwinn,' he courteously added, presenting himself +before her, 'Mr. Hunter is unable to see you this evening.' + +'Who gave _you_ authority to interfere, Austin Clay?' was the response, +not spoken in a raving, angry tone, but in one of cold, concentrated +determination. 'I demand an interview with Lewis Hunter. That he is at +home, I know, for I saw him through the window, in the reflection of the +firelight, as I stood on the steps; and here I will remain until I +obtain speech of him, be it until to-morrow morning, be it until days to +come. Do you note my words, meddling boy? I _demand_ the interview; I do +not crave it: he best knows by what right.' + +She sat deliberately down on one of the hall chairs. Austin, desperately +at a loss what to do, and seeing no means of getting rid of her save by +forcible expulsion, knocked gently at the room door again. Mr. Hunter +drew it cautiously open to admit him; then slipped the bolt, entwined +his arm within Austin's, and drew him to the window. Mrs. Hunter's +attention was absorbed by Florence, who was chattering to her. + +'She has taken a seat in the hall, sir,' he whispered. 'She says she +will remain there until she sees you, though she should have to wait +until the morning. I am sure she means it: stop there, she will. She +says she demands the interview as a right.' + +'No,' said Mr. Hunter, 'she possesses no _right_. But--perhaps I had +better see her, and get it over: otherwise she may make a disturbance. +Tell Mark to show her into the drawing-room, Clay; and you stay here and +talk to Mrs. Hunter.' + +'What is the matter, that you are whispering? Does any one want you?' +interrupted Mrs. Hunter, whose attention was at length attracted. + +'I am telling Clay that people have no right to come to my private house +on business matters,' was the reply given by Mr. Hunter. 'However, as +the person is here, I must see her, I suppose. Do not let us be +interrupted, Louisa.' + +'But what does she want?--it was a lady, Florence said. Who is she?' +reiterated Mrs. Hunter. + +'It is a matter of business of Henry's. She ought to have gone to him.' +Mr. Hunter looked at his wife and at Austin as he spoke. The latter was +leaving the room to do his bidding, and Miss Gwinn suffered herself to +be conducted quietly to the drawing-room. + +A full hour did the interview last. The voices seemed occasionally to be +raised in anger, so that the sound penetrated to their ears downstairs, +from the room overhead. Mrs. Hunter grew impatient; the tea waited on +the table, and she wanted it. At length they were heard to descend, and +to cross the hall. + +'James is showing her out himself,' said Mrs. Hunter. 'Will you tell him +we are waiting tea, Mr. Clay?' + +Austin stepped into the hall, and started when he caught sight of the +face of Mr. Hunter. He was turning back from closing the door on Miss +Gwinn, and the bright rays of the hall-lamp fell full upon his +countenance. It was of ghastly whiteness; its expression one living +aspect of terror, of dread. He staggered, rather than walked, to a +chair, and sank into it. Austin hastened to him. + +'Oh, sir, what is it? You are ill?' + +The strong man, the proud master, calm hitherto in his native +self-respect, was for the moment overcome. He leaned his forehead upon +Austin's arm, hiding its pallor, and put up his finger for silence. + +'I have had a stab, Clay,' he whispered. 'Bear with me, lad, for a +minute. I have had a cruel stab.' + +Austin really did not know whether to take the words literally. 'A +stab?' he hesitatingly repeated. + +'Ay; here,' touching his heart. 'I wish I was dead, Clay. I wish I had +died years ago; or that _she_ had. Why was she permitted to live?--to +live to work me this awful wrong?' he dreamily wailed. 'An awful wrong +to me and mine!' + +'What is it?' spoke Austin, upon impulse. 'A wrong? Who has done it?' + +'She has. The woman now gone out. She has done it all.' + +He rose, and appeared to be looking for his hat. 'Mrs. Hunter is waiting +tea, sir,' said the amazed Austin. + +'Tea!' repeated Mr. Hunter, as if his brain were bewildered; 'I cannot +go in again to-night; I cannot see them. Make some excuse for me, +Clay--anything. _Why_ did that woman work me this crying wrong?' + +He took his hat, opened the hall door, and shut it after him with a +bang, leaving Austin in wondering consternation. + +He returned to the dining-room, and said Mr. Hunter had been obliged to +go out on business; he did not know what else to say. Florence was sent +to bed after tea, but Austin sat a short while longer with Mrs. Hunter. +Something led back to the previous conversation, when Mrs. Hunter had +been alluding to her state of health, and to some sorrow that was her +daily portion. + +'What is it?' said Austin, in his impulsive manner. + +'The thought that I shall have to leave Florence without a mother.' + +'Dear Mrs. Hunter, surely it is not so serious as that! You may get +better.' + +'Yes; I know I may. Dr. Bevary tells me that I shall. But, you see, the +very fear of it is hard to bear. Sometimes I think God is reconciling me +to it by slow degrees.' + +Later in the evening, as Austin was going home, he passed a piece of +clear ground, to be let for building purposes, at the end of the square. +There, in its darkest corner, far back from the road, paced a man as if +in some mental agony, his hat carried in his hands, and his head bared +to the winds. Austin peered through the night with his quick sight, and +recognised Mr. Hunter. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +MR. SHUCK AT HOME. + + +Daffodil's Delight was in a state of commotion. It has often been +remarked that there exists more real sympathy between the working +classes, one for another, than amongst those of a higher grade; and +experience generally seems to bear it out. From one end of Daffodil's +Delight to the other, there ran just now a deep feeling of sorrow, of +pity, of commiseration. Men made inquiries of each other as they passed +in the street; women congregated at their doors to talk, concern on +their faces, a question on their lips--'How is she? What does the doctor +say?' + +Yes; the excitement had its rise in one cause alone--the increased +illness of Mrs. Baxendale. The physician had pronounced his opinion +(little need to speak it, though, for the fact was only too apparent to +all who used their eyes), and the news had gone forth to Daffodil's +Delight--Mrs. Baxendale was past recovery; was, in fact, dying! + +The concern, universal as it was, showed itself in various ways. Visits +and neighbourly calls were so incessant, that the Shucks openly rebelled +at the 'trampling up and down through their living-room,' by which route +the Baxendale apartments could alone be gained. The neighbours came to +help; to nurse; to shake up the bed and pillows; to prepare condiments +over the fire; to condole; and, above all, to gossip: with tears in +their eyes and lamentation in their tones, and ominous shakes of the +head, and uplifted hands; but still, to gossip: _that_ lies in human +female nature. They brought offerings of savoury delicacies; or things +that, in their ideas, stood for delicacies--dainties likely to tempt the +sick. Mrs. Cheek made a pint jug of what she called 'buttered beer,' a +miscellaneous compound of scalding-hot porter, gin, eggs, sugar, and +spice. Mrs. Baxendale sipped a little; but it did not agree with her +fevered palate, and she declined it for the future, with 'thanks, all +the same,' and Mrs. Cheek and a crony or two disposed of it themselves +with great satisfaction. All this served to prove two things--that good +feeling ran high in Daffodil's Delight, and that means did not run low. + +Of all the visitors, the most effectual assistant was Mrs. Quale. She +gossiped, it is true, or it had not been Mrs. Quale; but she gave +efficient help; and the invalid was always glad to see her come in, +which could not be said with regard to all. Daffodil's Delight was not +wrong in the judgment it passed upon Mary Baxendale--that she was a +'poor creature.' True; poor as to being clever in a domestic point of +view, and in attending upon the sick. In mind, in cultivation, in +refinement, in gentleness, Mary Baxendale beat Daffodil's Delight +hollow; she was also a beautiful seamstress; but in energy and +capability Mary was sadly wanting. She was timid always--painfully timid +in the sick-room; anxious to do for her mother all that was requisite, +but never knowing how to set about it. Mrs. Quale remedied this; she did +the really efficient part; Mary gave love and gentleness; and, between +the two, Mrs. Baxendale was thankful and happy. + +John Baxendale, not a demonstrative man, was full of concern and grief. +His had been a very happy home, free from domestic storms and clouds; +and, to lose his wife, was anything but a cheering prospect. His wages +were good, and they had wanted for nothing, not even for peace. To such, +when trouble comes, it seems hard to bear--it almost seems as if it came +as a _wrong_. + +'Just hold your tongue, John Baxendale,' cried Mrs. Quale one day, upon +hearing him express something to this effect. 'Because you have never +had no crosses, is it any reason that you never shall? No. Crosses come +to us all sometime in our lives, in one shape or other.' + +'But it's a hard thing for it to come in this shape,' retorted +Baxendale, pointing to the bed. 'I'm not repining or rebelling against +what it pleases God to do; but I can't _see_ the reason of it. Look at +some of the other wives in Daffodil's Delight; shrieking, raving +trollops, turning their homes into a bear-garden with their tempers, and +driving their husbands almost mad. If some of them were taken they'd +never be missed: just the contrary.' + +'John,' interposed Mrs. Baxendale, in her quiet voice, 'when I am gone +up there'--pointing with her finger to the blue October sky--'it may +make you think more of the time when you must come; may help you to be +preparing for it, better than you have done.' + +Mary lifted her wan face, glowing now with the excitement of the +thought. 'Father, _that_ may be the end--the reason. I think that +troubles are sent to us in mercy, not in anger.' + +'Think!' ejaculated Mrs. Quale, tossing back her head with a manner less +reverent than her words. 'Before you shall have come to my age, girl, +it's to be hoped you'll _know_ they are. Isn't it time for the +medicine?' she continued, seeing no other opening for a reprimand just +then. + +It was time for the medicine, and Mrs. Quale poured it out, raised the +invalid from her pillow, and administered it. John Baxendale looked on. +Like his daughter Mary, he was in these matters an incapable man. + +'How long is it since Dr. Bevary was here?' he asked. + +'Let's see?' responded Mrs. Quale, who liked to have most of the talking +to herself, wherever she might be. 'This is Friday. Tuesday, wasn't it, +Mary? Yes, he was here on Tuesday.' + +'But why does he not come oftener?' cried John, in a tone of resentment. +'That's what I was wanting to ask about. When one is as ill as she +is--in danger of dying--is it right that a doctor should never come a +near for three or four days?' + +'Oh, John! a great physician like Dr. Bevary!' remonstrated his wife. +'It is so very good of him to come at all. And for nothing, too! He as +good as said to Mary he didn't mean to charge.' + +'I can pay him; I'm capable of paying him, I hope,' spoke John +Baxendale. 'Who said I wanted my wife to be attended out of charity?' + +'It's not just that, father, I think,' said Mary. 'He comes more in a +friendly way.' + +'Friendly or not, it isn't come to the pass yet, that I can't pay a +doctor,' said John Baxendale. 'Who has let it go abroad that I +couldn't?' + +Taking up his hat, he went out on the spur of the moment, and bent his +steps to Dr. Bevary's. There he was civil and humble enough, for John +Baxendale was courteous by nature. The doctor was at home, and saw him +at once. + +'Listen, my good man,' said Dr. Bevary, when he had caught somewhat of +his errand. 'If, by going round often, I could do any good to your wife, +I should go. Twice a day; three times a day--by night, too, if +necessary. But I cannot do her good: had she a doctor over her bed +constantly, he could render no service. I step round now and then, +because I see that it is a satisfaction to her, and to those about her; +not for any use I can be. I told you a week ago the end was not very far +off, and that she would meet it calmly. She will be in no further +pain--no worse than she is now.' + +'I am able to pay you, sir.' + +'That is not the question. If you paid me a guinea every time I came +round, I should visit her no more frequently than I do.' + +'And, if you please, sir, I'd rather pay you,' continued the man. 'I'm +sure I don't grudge it; and it goes against the grain to have it said +that John Baxendale's wife is attended out of charity. We English +workmen, sir, are independent, and proud of being so.' + +'Very good,' said Dr. Bevary. 'I should be sorry to see the day come +when English workmen lost their independence. As to "charity," we will +talk a bit about that. Look here, Baxendale,' the doctor added, laying +his hand upon his shoulder, in his kind and familiar way, 'you and I can +speak reasonably together, as man to man. We both have to work for our +living--you with the hands, I chiefly with the head--so, in that, we are +equal. I go twice a week to see your wife; I have told you why it is +useless to go oftener. When patients come to me, they pay me a guinea, +and I see them twice for it, which is equivalent to half a guinea a +visit; but, when I go to patients at their own houses, my fee is a +guinea each time. Now, would it seem to you a neighbourly act that I +should take two guineas weekly from your wages?--quite as much, or more, +than you gain. What does my going round cost me? A few minutes' time; a +gossip with Mrs. Quale, touching the doings of Daffodil's Delight, and a +groan at those thriftless Shucks, in their pigsty of a room. That is the +plain statement of facts; and I should like to know what there is in it +that need put your English spirit up. Charity! We might call it by that +name, John Baxendale, if I were the guinea each time out of pocket, +through medicines or other things furnished to you.' + +John Baxendale smiled; but he looked only three parts convinced. + +'Tush, man!' said the doctor; 'I may be asking you to do me some +friendly service, one of these days, and then, you know, we should be +quits. Eh, John?' + +John Baxendale half put out his hand, and the doctor shook it. + +'I think I understand now, sir; and I thank you heartily for what you +have said. I only wish you could do some good to the wife.' + +'I wish I could, Baxendale,' he replied, throwing a kindly glance after +the man as he was moving away. 'I shan't bring an action against you in +the county court for these unpaid fees, Baxendale, for it wouldn't +stand,' called out the doctor. 'I never was called in to see your +wife--I went of my own accord, and have so continued to go, and shall so +continue. Good day.' + +As John Baxendale was descending the steps of the house door, he +encountered Mrs. Hunter. She stopped him to inquire after his wife. + +'Getting weaker daily, ma'am, thank you. The doctor has just told me +again that there's no hope.' + +'I am truly sorry to hear it,' said Mrs. Hunter. 'I will call in and see +her. I did intend to call before, but something or other has caused me +to put it off.' + +John Baxendale touched his hat, and departed. Mrs. Hunter went in to her +brother. + +'Oh, is it you, Louisa?' he exclaimed. 'A visit from you is somewhat a +rarity. Are you feeling worse?' + +'Rather better, I think, than usual. I have just met John Baxendale,' +continued Mrs. Hunter, sitting down, and untying her bonnet strings. 'He +says there is no hope for his wife. Poor woman! I wish it had been +different. Many a worse woman could have been better spared.' + +'Ah,' said the doctor, 'if folks were taken according to our notions of +whom might be best spared, what a world this would be! Where's Miss +Florence?' + +'I did not bring her out with me, Robert. I came round to say a word to +you about James,' resumed Mrs. Hunter, her voice insensibly lowering +itself to a tone of confidence. 'Something is the matter with him, and I +cannot imagine what.' + +'Been eating too many cucumbers again, no doubt,' cried the doctor. 'He +_will_ go in at that cross-grained vegetable, let it be in season, or +out.' + +'Eating!' returned Mrs. Hunter, 'I wish he did eat. For at least a +fortnight--more, I think--he has not eaten enough to support a bird. +That he is ill is evident to all--must be evident; but when I ask him +what is the matter, he persists in it that he is quite well; that I am +fanciful: seems annoyed, in short, that I should allude to it. Has he +been here to consult you?' + +'No,' replied Dr. Bevary; 'this is the first I have heard of it. How +does he seem? What are his symptoms?' + +'It appears to me,' said Mrs. Hunter, almost in a whisper, 'that the +malady is more on the mind. There is no palpable disorder. He is +restless, nervous, agitated; so restless at night, that he has now taken +to sleep in a room apart from mine--not to disturb me, he says. I +fear--I fear he may have been attacked with some dangerous inward +malady, that he is concealing. His father, you know, died of----' + +'Pooh! Nonsense! You are indeed becoming fanciful, Louisa,' interrupted +the doctor. 'Old Mr. Hunter died of an unusual disorder, I admit; but, +if the symptoms of such appeared in either James or Henry, they would +come galloping to me in hot haste, asking if my skill could suggest a +preventive. It is no "inward malady," depend upon it. He has been +smoking too much: or going in at the cucumbers.' + +'Robert, it is something far more serious than that,' quietly rejoined +Mrs. Hunter. + +'When did you first notice him to be ill?' + +'It is, I say, about a fortnight since. One evening there came a +stranger to our house, a lady, and she _would_ see him. He did not want +to see her: he sent young Clay to her, who happened to be with us; but +she insisted upon seeing James. They were closeted together a long while +before she left; and then James went out--on business, Mr. Clay said.' + +'Well?' cried Dr. Bevary. 'What has the lady to do with it?' + +'I am not sure that she has anything to do with it. Florence told an +incomprehensible story about the lady's having gone into Baxendale's +that afternoon, after seeing her uncle Henry in the street and mistaking +him for James. A Miss--what was the name?--Gwinn, I think.' + +Dr. Bevary, who happened to have a small glass phial in his hand, let it +fall to the ground: whether by inadvertence, or that the words startled +him, he best knew. 'Well?' was all he repeated, after he had gathered +the pieces in his hand. + +'I waited up till twelve o'clock, and James never came in. I heard him +let himself in afterwards with his latch-key, and came up into the +dressing-room. I called out to know where he had been, it is so unusual +for him to stay out, and he said he was much occupied, and that I was to +go to sleep, for he had some writing to do. But, Robert, instead of +writing, he was pacing the house all night, out of one room into +another; and in the morning--oh, I wish you could have seen him!--he +looked wild, wan, haggard, as one does who has got up out of a long +illness; and I am positive he had been weeping. From that time I have +noticed the change I tell you of. He seems like one going into his +grave. But, whether the illness is upon the body or the mind, I know +not.' + +Dr. Bevary appeared intent upon putting together the pieces of his +phial, making them fit into each other. + +'It will all come right, Louisa; don't fret yourself: something must +have gone cross in his business. I'll call in at the office and see +him.' + +'Do not say that I have spoken to you. He seems to have quite a nervous +dread of its being observed that anything is wrong with him; has spoken +sharply, not in anger, but in anguish, when I have pressed the +question.' + +'As if the lady could have anything to do with it!' exclaimed Dr. +Bevary, in a tone of satire. + +'I do not suppose she had. I only mentioned the circumstances because it +is since that evening he has changed. You can see what you think of him, +and tell me afterwards.' + +The answer was only a nod; and Mrs. Hunter went out. Dr. Bevary remained +in a brown study. His servant came in with an account that patient after +patient was waiting for him, but the doctor replied by a repelling +gesture, and the man did not again dare to intrude. Perplexity and pain +sat upon his brow; and, when at last he did rouse himself, he raised +aloft his hands, and gave utterance to words that sounded very like a +prayer: + +'I pray heaven it may not be so! It would kill Louisa.' + +The pale, delicate face of Mrs. Hunter was at that moment bending over +the invalid in her bed. In her soft grey silk dress and light shawl, her +simple straw bonnet with its white ribbons, she looked just the right +sort of visitor for a sick-chamber; and her voice was sweet, and her +manner gentle. + +'No, ma'am, don't speak of hope to me,' murmured Mrs. Baxendale. 'I know +that there is none left, and I am quite reconciled to die. I have been +an ailing woman for years, dear lady; and it is wonderful how those that +are so get to look upon death, if they can but presume to hope their +soul is safe, with satisfaction, rather than with dread. Though I dare +not say as much yet to my poor husband.' + +'I have long been ailing, too,' softly replied Mrs. Hunter. 'I am rarely +free from pain, and I know that I shall never be healthy and strong +again. But still--I do fear it would give me pain to die, were the fiat +to come forth.' + +'Never fear, dear lady,' cried the invalid, her eyes brightening. +'Before the fiat does come, be assured that God will have reconciled you +to it. Ah, ma'am, what matters it, after all? It is a journey we must +take; and, when once we are prepared, it seems but the setting off a +little sooner or a little later. I got Mary to read me the burial +service on Sunday: I was always fond of it; but I am past reading now. +In one part thanks are given to God for that he has been pleased to +deliver the dead out of the miseries of this sinful world. Ma'am, if He +did not remove us to a better and a happier home, would the living be +directed to give thanks for our departure from this?' + +'A spirit ripe for heaven,' thought Mrs. Hunter, when she took her +leave. + +It was Mrs. Quale who piloted her through the room of the Shucks. Of all +scenes of disorder and discomfort, about the worst reigned there. Sam +had been--you must excuse the inelegance of the phrase, but it was much +in vogue in Daffodil's Delight--'on the loose' again for a couple of +days. He sat sprawling across the hearth, a pipe in his mouth, and a pot +of porter at his feet. The wife was crying with her hair down; the +children were quarrelling in tatters; the dirt in the place, as Mrs. +Quale expressed it, stood on end; and Mrs. Hunter wondered how people +could bear to live so. + +'Now, Sam Shuck, don't you see who is a standing in your presence?' +sharply cried Mrs. Quale. + +Sam, his back to the staircase door, really had not seen. He threw his +pipe into the grate, started up, and pulled his hair to Mrs. Hunter in a +very humble fashion. In his hurry he turned over a small child, and the +contents of the pewter pot upon it. The child roared; the wife took it +up and shook its clothes in Sam's face, restraining her tongue till the +lady should be gone; and Mrs. Hunter stepped into the garden out of the +_melee_--glad to get there: Sam following her in a spirit of politeness. + +'How is it you are not at work to-day, Shuck?' she asked. + +'I am going to-morrow--I shall go for certain, ma'am.' + +'You know, Shuck, I never do interfere with Mr. Hunter's men,' said +Mrs. Hunter. 'I consider that intelligent workmen, as you are, ought to +be above any advice that I could offer. But I cannot help saying how sad +it is that you should waste your time. Were you not discharged a little +while ago, and taken on again under a specific promise, made by you to +Mr. Henry Hunter, that you would be diligent in future?' + +'I am diligent,' grumbled Sam. 'But why, ma'am--a chap must take holiday +now and then. 'Tain't in human nature to be always having the shoulder +at the wheel.' + +'Well, pray be cautious,' said Mrs. Hunter. 'If you offend again, and +get discharged, I know they will not be so ready to take you back. +Remember your little children, and be steady for their sakes.' + +Sam went indoors to his pipe, to his wife's tongue, and to despatch a +child to get the pewter pot replenished. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS! + + +Mrs. Hunter, turning out of Mr. Shuck's gate, stepped inside Mrs. +Quale's, who was astonishing her with the shortcomings of the Shucks, +and prophesying that their destiny would be the workhouse, when Austin +Clay came forth. He had been home to dinner, and was now going back to +the yard. Mrs. Hunter said good morning to her talkative friend, and +walked away by Austin's side--Mrs. Baxendale, Sam Shuck, and Daffodil's +Delight generally, forming themes of converse. Austin raised his hat to +her when they came to the gates of the yard. + +'No, I am not about to part; I am going in with you,' said Mrs. Hunter. +'I want to speak just a word to my husband, if he is at liberty. Will +you find him for me?' + +'He has been in his private room all the morning, and is probably there +still,' said Austin. 'Do you know where Mr. Hunter is?' he inquired of a +man whom they met. + +'In his room, sir,' was the reply, as the man touched his cap to Mrs. +Hunter. + +Austin led the way down the passage, and knocked at the door, Mrs. +Hunter following him. There was no answer; and believing, in +consequence, that it was empty, he opened it. + +Two gentlemen stood within it, near a table, paper and pens and ink +before them, and what looked like a cheque-book. They must have been +deeply absorbed not to have heard the knock. One was Mr. Hunter: the +other--Austin recognised him--Gwinn, the lawyer of Ketterford. 'I will +not sign it!' Mr. Hunter was exclaiming, with passionate vehemence. +'Five thousand pounds! it would cripple me for life.' + +'Then you know the alternative. I go this moment and----' + +'Mrs. Hunter wishes to speak to you, sir,' interposed Austin, drowning +the words and speaking loudly. The gentlemen turned sharply round: and +when Mr. Hunter caught sight of his wife, the red passion of his face +turned to a livid pallor. Lawyer Gwinn nodded familiarly to Austin. + +'How are you, Clay? Getting on, I hope. _Who_ is this person, may I +ask?' + +'This lady is Mrs. Hunter,' haughtily replied Austin, after a pause, +surprised that Mr. Hunter did not take up the words--the offensive +manner in which they were spoken--the insulting look that accompanied +them. But Mr. Hunter did not appear in a state to take anything up just +then. + +Gwinn bent his body to the ground. + +'I beg the lady's pardon. I had no idea she was Mrs. Hunter.' + +But so ultra-courteous were the tones, so low the bow, that Austin +Clay's cheeks burnt at the covert irony. + +'James, you are ill,' said Mrs. Hunter, advancing in her quiet, composed +manner, but taking no notice whatever of the stranger. 'Can I get +anything for you? Shall we send for Dr. Bevary?' + +'No, don't do that; it is going off. You will oblige me by leaving us,' +he whispered to her. 'I am very busy.' + +'You seem too ill for business,' she rejoined. 'Can you not put it off +for an hour? Rest might be of service to you.' + +'No, madam, the business cannot be put off,' spoke up Lawyer Gwinn. + +And down he sat in a chair, with a determined air of conscious +power--just as his sister had sat _her_self down, a fortnight before, in +Mr. Hunter's hall. + +Mrs. Hunter quitted the room at once, leaving her husband and the +stranger in it. Austin followed her. Her face wore a puzzled, vexed +look, as she turned it upon Austin. 'Who is that person?' she asked. +'His manner to me appeared to be strangely insolent.' + +An instinct, for which Austin perhaps could not have accounted had he +tried, caused him to suppress the fact that it was the brother of the +Miss Gwinn who had raised a commotion at Mr. Hunter's house. He answered +that he had not seen the person at the office previously, his tone being +as careless a one as he could assume. And Mrs. Hunter, who was of the +least suspicious nature possible, let it pass. Her mind, too, was filled +with the thought of her husband's suffering state. + +'Does Mr. Hunter appear to you to be ill?' she asked of Austin, somewhat +abruptly. + +'He looked so, I think.' + +'Not now; I am not alluding to the present moment,' she rejoined. 'Have +you noticed before that he does not seem well?' + +'Yes,' replied Austin; 'this week or two past.' + +There was a brief pause. + +'Mr. Clay,' she resumed, in a quiet, kind voice, 'my health, as you are +aware, is not good, and any sort of uneasiness tries me much. I am going +to ask you a confidential question. I would not put it to many, and the +asking it of you proves that my esteem for you is great. That Mr. +Hunter is ill, there is no doubt; but whether mentally or bodily I am +unable to discover. To me he observes a most unusual reticence, his +object probably being to spare me pain; but I can battle better with a +known evil than with an unknown one. Tell me, if you can, whether any +vexation has arisen in business matters?' + +'Not that I am aware of,' promptly replied Austin. 'I feel sure that +nothing is amiss in that quarter.' + +'Then it is as I suspected, and he must be suffering from some illness +that he is concealing.' + +She wished Austin good morning. He saw her out of the gate, and then +proceeded to the room he usually occupied when engaged indoors. +Presently he heard Mr. Hunter and his visitor come forth, and saw the +latter pass the window. Mr. Hunter came into the room. + +'Is Mrs. Hunter gone?' + +'Yes, sir.' + +'Do you know what she wanted?' + +'I do not think it was anything particular. She said she should like to +say a word to you, if you were disengaged.' + +Mr. Hunter did not speak immediately. Austin was making out certain +estimates, and his master looked over his shoulder. Not _to look_; his +mind was evidently all pre-occupied. + +'Did Mrs. Hunter inquire who it was that was with me?' he presently +said. + +'She inquired, sir. I did not say. I told her I had not seen the person +here before.' + +'_You_ knew?' in a quick, sharp accent. + +'Oh, yes.' + +'Then why did you not tell her? What was your motive for concealing it?' + +The inquiry was uttered in a tone that could not be construed as +proceeding from any emotion but that of fear. A flush came into Austin's +ingenuous face. + +'I beg your pardon, sir. I never wish to be otherwise than open. But, as +you had previously desired me not to speak of the lady who came to your +house that night, I did not know but the same wish might apply to the +visit of to-day.' + +'True, true,' murmured Mr. Hunter; 'I do _not_ wish this visit of the +man's spoken of. Never mention his name, especially to Mrs. Hunter. I +suppose he did not impose upon me,' added he, with a poor attempt at a +forced smile: 'it _was_ Gwinn, of Ketterford, was it not?' + +'Certainly,' said Austin, feeling surprised. 'Did you not know him +previously, sir?' + +'Never. And I wish I had not known him now.' + +'If--if--will you forgive my saying, sir, that, should you have any +transaction with him, touching money matters, it is necessary to be +wary. Many a one has had cause to rue the getting into the clutches of +Lawyer Gwinn.' + +A deep, heavy sigh, burst from Mr. Hunter. He had turned from Austin. +The latter spoke again in his ardent sympathy. + +'Sir, is there any way in which I can serve you?--_any_ way? You have +only to command me.' + +'No, no, Clay. I fell into that man's clutches--as you have aptly +termed it--years ago, and the penalty must be paid. There is no help for +it.' + +'Not knowing him, sir?' + +'Not knowing him. And not knowing that I owed it, as I certainly did not +know, until a week or two back. I no more suspected that--that I was +indebted there, than I was indebted to you.' + +Mr. Hunter had grown strangely confused and agitated, and the dew was +rising on his livid face. He made a hollow attempt to laugh it off, and +seemed to shun the gaze of his clerk. + +'This comes of the freaks of young men,' he observed, facing Austin +after a pause, and speaking volubly. 'Austin Clay, I will give you a +piece of advice. Never put your hand to a bill. You may think it an +innocent bit of paper, which can cost you at most but the sum that is +marked upon it: but it may come back to you in after years, and you must +purchase it with thousands. Have nothing to do with bills, in any way; +they will be a thorn in your side.' + +'So, it is a money affair!' thought Austin. 'I might have known it was +nothing else, where Gwinn was concerned. Here's Dr. Bevary coming in, +sir,' he added aloud. + +The physician was inside the room ere the words had left Austin's lips. +Mr. Hunter had seized upon a stray plan, and seemed bent upon its +examination. + +'Rather a keen-looking customer, that, whom I met at your gate,' began +the doctor. 'Who was it?' + +'Keen-looking customer?' repeated Mr. Hunter. + +'A fellow dressed in black, with a squint and a white neckerchief; an +ill-favoured fellow, whoever he is.' + +'How should I know about him?' replied Mr. Hunter, carelessly. 'Somebody +after the men, I suppose.' + +But Austin Clay felt that Mr. Hunter _did_ know; that the description +could only apply to Gwinn of Ketterford. Dr. Bevary entwined his arm +within his brother-in-law's, and led him from the room. + +'James, do you want doctoring?' he inquired, as they entered the one +just vacated by Lawyer Gwinn. + +'No, I don't. What do you mean?' + +'If you don't, you belie your looks; that's all. Can you honestly affirm +to me that you are in robust health?' + +'I am in good health. There is nothing the matter with me.' + +'Then there's something else in the wind. What's the trouble?' + +A flush rose to the face of Mr. Hunter. + +'I am in no trouble that you can relieve; I am quite well. I repeat that +I do not understand your meaning.' + +The doctor gazed at him keenly, and his tone changed to one of solemn +earnestness. + +'James, I suspect that you _are_ in trouble. Now, I do not wish to pry +into it unnecessarily; but I would remind you of the sound wisdom that +lies in the good old proverb: "In the multitude of counsellors there is +safety."' + +'And if there is?' returned Mr. Hunter. + +'If you will confide the trouble to me, I will do what I can to help +you out of it--_whatever it may be_--to advise with you as to what is +best to be done. I am your wife's brother; could you have a truer +friend?' + +'You are very kind, Bevary. I am in no danger. When I am, I will let you +know.' + +The tone--one of playful mockery--grated on the ear of Dr. Bevary. + +'Is it assumed to hide what he dare not betray?' thought he. + +Mr. Hunter cut the matter short by crossing the yard to the +time-keeper's office; and Dr. Bevary went out talking to himself: 'A +wilful man must have his own way.' + +Austin Clay sat up late that night, reading one of the quarterly +reviews; he let the time slip by till the clock struck twelve. Mr. and +Mrs. Quale had been in bed some time; when nothing was wanted for Mr. +Clay, Mrs. Quale was rigid in retiring at ten. Early to bed, and early +to rise, was a maxim she was fond of, both in precept and practice. The +striking of the church clock aroused him; he closed the book, left it on +the table, pulled aside the crimson curtain, and opened the window to +look out at the night before going into his chamber. + +A still, balmy night. The stars shone in the heavens, and Daffodil's +Delight, for aught that could be heard or seen just then, seemed almost +as peaceful as they. Austin leaned from the window; his thoughts ran not +upon the stars or upon the peaceful scene around, but upon the curious +trouble which seemed to be overshadowing Mr. Hunter. 'Five thousand +pounds!' His ears had caught distinctly the ominous sum. 'Could he have +fallen into Lawyer Gwinn's "clutches" to _that_ extent?' + +There was much in it that Austin could not fathom. Mr. Hunter had hinted +at 'bills;' Miss Gwinn had spoken of the 'breaking up of her happy +home;' two calamities apparently distinct and apart. And how was it that +they were in ignorance of his name, his existence, his---- + +A startling interruption came to Austin's thoughts. Mrs. Shuck's door +was pulled hastily open, and some one panting with excitement, uttering +faint, sobbing cries, came running down their garden into Peter Quale's. +It was Mary Baxendale. She knocked sharply at the door with nervous +quickness. + +'What is it, Mary?' asked Austin. + +She had not seen him; but, of course, the words caused her to look up. +'Oh! sir,' the tears streaming from her eyes as she spoke, 'would you +please call Mrs. Quale, and ask her to step in? Mother's on the wing.' + +'I'll call her. Mary!'--for she was speeding back again--'can I get any +other help for you? If I can be of use, step back and tell me.' + +Sam Shuck came out of his house as Austin spoke, and went flying up +Daffodil's Delight. He had gone for Dr. Bevary. The doctor had desired +to be called, should there be any sudden change. Of course, he did not +mean the change of _death_. He could be of no use in that; but how could +they discriminate? + +Mrs. Quale was dressed and in the sick chamber with all speed. Dr. +Bevary was not long before he followed her. Neighbours on either side +put their heads out. + +Ten minutes at the most, and Dr. Bevary was out again. Austin was then +leaning over Peter Quale's gate. He had been in no urgent mood for bed +before, and this little excitement, though it did not immediately +concern him, afforded an excuse for not going to it. + +'How is she, sir?' + +'Is it you?' responded Dr. Bevary. 'She is gone. I thought it would be +sudden at the last.' + +'Poor thing!' ejaculated Austin. + +'Poor thing? Ay, that's what we are all apt to say when our friends die. +But there is little cause when the change has been prepared for, the +spirit made ripe for heaven. She's gone to a world where there's neither +sickness nor pain.' + +Austin made no reply. The doctor spoke again after a pause. + +'Clay--to go from a solemn subject to one that--that may, however, prove +not less solemn in the end--you heard me mention a stranger I met at the +gates of the yard to-day, and Mr. Hunter would not take my question. Was +it Gwinn of Ketterford?' + +The doctor had spoken in a changed, low tone, laying his hand, in his +earnestness, on Austin's shoulder. Austin paused. He did not know +whether he ought to answer. + +'You need not hesitate,' said the doctor, divining his scruples. 'I can +understand that Mr. Hunter may have forbidden you to mention it, and +that you would be faithful to him. Don't speak; your very hesitation +has proved it to me. Good night, my young friend; we would both serve +him if we only knew how.' + +Austin watched him away, and then went indoors, for Daffodil's Delight +began to be astir, and to collect itself around him, Sam Shuck having +assisted in spreading the news touching Mrs. Baxendale. Daffodil's +Delight thought nothing of leaving its bed, and issuing forth in shawls +and pantaloons upon any rising emergency, regarding such interludes of +disturbed rest as socially agreeable. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +THE SEPARATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER. + + +Austin Clay sat at his desk at Hunter and Hunter's, sorting the morning +letters, which little matter of employment formed part of his duties. It +was the morning subsequent to the commotion in Daffodil's Delight. His +thoughts were running more on that than on the letters, when the +postmark 'Ketterford' on two of them caught his eye. + +The one was addressed to himself, the other to 'Mr. Lewis Hunter,' and +the handwriting of both was the same. Disposing of the rest of the +letters as usual, placing those for the Messrs. Hunter in their room, +against they should arrive, and dealing out any others there might be +for the hands employed in the firm, according to their address, he +proceeded to open his own. + +To the very end of it Austin read; and then, and not till then, he began +to suspect that it could not be meant for him. No name whatever was +mentioned in the letter; it began abruptly, and it ended abruptly; not +so much as 'Sir,' or 'Dear Sir,' was it complimented with, and it was +simply signed 'A. G.' He read it a second time, and then its awful +meaning flashed upon him, and a red flush rose to his brow and settled +there, as if burnt into it with a branding iron. He had become possessed +of a dangerous secret. + +There was no doubt that the letter was written by Miss Gwinn to Mr. +Hunter. By some extraordinary mischance, she had misdirected it. +Possibly the letter now lying on Mr. Hunter's desk, might be for Austin. +Though, what could she be writing about to him? + +He sat down. He was quite overcome with the revelation; it was, indeed, +of a terrible nature, and he would have given much not to have become +cognizant of it. 'Bills!' 'Money!' So that had been Mr. Hunter's excuse +for the mystery! No wonder he sought to turn suspicion into any channel +but the real one. + +Austin was poring over the letter like one in a nightmare, when Mr. +Hunter interrupted him. He crushed it into his pocket with all the +aspect of a guilty man; any one might have taken him in his confusion so +to be. Not for himself was he confused, but he feared lest Mr. Hunter +should discover the letter. Although certainly written for him, Austin +did not dare hand it to him, for it would never do to let Mr. Hunter +know that he possessed the secret. Mr. Hunter had come in, holding out +the other letter from Ketterford. + +'This letter is for you, Mr. Clay. It has been addressed to me by +mistake, I conclude.' + +Austin took it, and glanced his eyes over it. It contained a few abrupt +lines, and a smaller note, sealed, was inside it. + + + 'My brother is in London, Austin Clay. I have reason to think he + will be calling upon the Messrs. Hunter. Will you watch for him, + and give him the inclosed note? Had he told me where he should put + up in town, I should have had no occasion to trouble you. + + A. GWINN.' + + +Austin did not lift his eyes to Mr. Hunter's in his usual candid open +manner. He could not bear to look him in the face; he feared lest his +master might read in his the dreadful truth. + +'What am I to do, sir?' he asked. 'Watch for Gwinn, and give him the +note?' + +'Do this with them,' said Mr. Hunter. + +Striking a wax match, he held both Austin's note and the sealed one over +the flame until they were consumed. + +'You could not fulfil the request if you wished, for the man went back +to Ketterford last night.' + +He said no more. He went away again, and Austin lighted another match, +and burnt the crushed letter in his pocket, thankful, so far, that it +had escaped Mr. Hunter. + +Trouble came. Ere many days had elapsed, there was dissension in the +house of Hunter and Hunter. Thoroughly united and cordial the brothers +had always been; but now a cause of dispute arose, and it seemed that it +could not be arranged. Mr. Hunter had drawn out five thousand pounds +from the bank, and refused to state for what, except that it was for a +'private purpose.' The business had been a gradually increasing one, and +nearly all the money possessed by both was invested in it; so much as +was not actually out, lay in the bank in their joint names, 'Hunter and +Hunter.' Each possessed a small private account, but nothing like +sufficient to meet a cheque for five thousand pounds. Words ran high +between them, and the sound penetrated to ears outside their private +room. + +His face pale, his lips compressed, his tone kept mostly subdued, James +Hunter sat at his desk, his eyes falling on a ledger he was not occupied +with, and his hand partially shading his face. Mr. Henry, more excited, +giving way more freely to his anger, paced the carpet, occasionally +stopping before the desk and before his brother. + +'It is the most unaccountable thing in the world,' he reiterated, 'that +you should refuse to say what it has been applied to. Draw out, +surreptitiously, a formidable sum like that, and not account for it! It +is monstrous.' + +'Henry, I have told you all I can tell you,' replied Mr. Hunter, +concealing his countenance more than ever. 'An old debt was brought up +against me, and I was forced to satisfy it.' + +Mr. Henry Hunter curled his lip. + +'A debt to that amount! Were you mad?' + +'I did not--know--I--had--contracted it,' stammered Mr. Hunter, very +nearly losing his self possession. 'At least, I thought it had been +paid. Youth's errors do come home to us sometimes in later life.' + +'Not to the tune of five thousand pounds,' retorted Mr. Henry Hunter. +'It will cripple the business; you know it will. It is next door to +ruin.' + +'Nonsense, Henry! The loss of five thousand pounds will neither cripple +the business nor bring ruin. It will be my own loss: not yours.' + +'How on earth could you think of giving it away? Five thousand pounds!' + +'I could not help myself. Had I refused to pay it----' + +'Well?' for Mr. Hunter had stopped in embarrassment. + +'I should have been compelled to do so. There. Talking of it will not +mend it.' + +Mr. Henry Hunter took a few turns, and then wheeled round sharply. +'Perhaps there are other claims for "youth's follies" to come behind +it?' + +The words seemed to arouse Mr. Hunter. Not to anger; but to what looked +very like fear--almost to an admission that it might be so. + +'Were any such further claim to come, I would not satisfy it,' he cried, +wiping his face. 'No, I would not; I would go into exile first.' + +'We must part,' said Mr. Henry Hunter the expression of his brother's +face quite startling him. 'There is no alternative. I cannot risk the +beggaring of my wife and children.' + +'If it must be so, it must,' was all the reply given. + +'Tell me the truth, James,' urged Mr. Henry in a more conciliatory tone. +I don't want to part. Tell me all, and let me be the judge. Surely, man! +it can't be anything so very dreadful. You didn't set fire to your +neighbour's house, I suppose?' + +'I never thought the claim could come upon me. That is all I can tell +you.' + +'Then we part,' decisively returned Mr. Henry Hunter. + +'Yes, it may be better. If I am to go to ruin, it is of no use to drag +you down into it.' + +'If you are to go to ruin!' echoed Mr. Henry, regarding his brother +attentively. 'James! is that an admission that other mysterious claims +may really follow this one?' + +'No, I think they will not. But we had better part. Only--let the cause +of our separation be kept from the world.' + +'I should be clever to betray the cause, seeing that you leave me in +ignorance of what it may be,' answered Mr. Henry Hunter, who was feeling +vexed, puzzled, and very angry. + +'I mean--let no shadow of the truth get abroad. The business is large +enough for two firms, and we have agreed to carry it on apart. Let that +be the plea.' + +'You take it coolly, James.' + +A strange expression--a _wrung_ expression--passed over the face of +James Hunter. 'I cannot help myself, Henry. The five thousand pounds are +gone, and of course it is right that I should bear the loss alone--or +any other loss it may bring in its train.' + +'But why not impart to me the facts?' + +'No. It could not possibly do good; and it might make matters infinitely +worse. One advantage our separation will have; there is a great deal of +money owing to us from different quarters, and this will call it in.' + +'Or I don't see how you would carry anything on for your part, minus +your five thousand pounds,' retorted Mr. Henry, in a spirit of satire. + +'Will you grant me a favour, Henry?' + +'That depends upon what it may be.' + +'Let the real grounds of our separation--this miserable affair that has +led to it--be equally a secret from your wife, as from the world. I +should not ask it without an urgent reason.' + +'Don't you mean to tell Louisa?' + +'No. The matter is one entirely my own; I do not wish to talk of it even +to my wife. Will you give me the promise?' + +'Very well. If it be of the consequence you seem to intimate. I cannot +fathom you, James.' + +'Let us apply ourselves now to the ways and means of the dissolution. +That, at any rate, may be amicable.' + +It was quite evident that he fully declined further allusion to the +subject. And Mr. Henry Hunter obtained no better elucidation, then or +later. + +It fell upon the world like a thunderbolt--that is, the world connected +with Hunter and Hunter. _They_ separate? so flourishing a firm as that? +The world at first refused to believe it; but the world soon found it +was true. + +Mr. Hunter retained the yard where the business was at present carried +on. Mr. Henry Hunter found other premises to suit him; not far off; a +little more to the west. Considerably surprised were Mrs. Hunter and +Mrs. Henry Hunter; but the same plausible excuse was given to them; and +they were left in ignorance of the true cause. + +'Will you remain with me?' pointedly asked Mr. Hunter of Austin Clay. 'I +particularly wish it.' + +'As you and Mr. Henry may decide, sir,' was the reply given. 'It is not +for me to choose.' + +'We could both do with you, I believe. I had better talk it over with +him.' + +'That will be the best plan,' sir. + +'What do you part for?' abruptly inquired Dr. Bevary one day of the two +brothers, coming into the counting-house and catching them together. + +Mr. Henry raised his eyebrows. Mr. Hunter spoke volubly. + +'The business is getting too large. It will be better divided.' + +'Moonshine!' cried the doctor, quietly. 'That's what you have been +cramming your wives with; it won't do for me. When a concern gets +unwieldy, a man takes a partner to help him on with it; _you_ are +separating. There's many a firm larger than yours. Do you remember the +proverb of the bundle of sticks?' + +But neither Dr. Bevary nor anybody else got at a better reason than that +for the measure. The dissolution of partnership took place; it was duly +gazetted, and the old firm became two. Austin remained with Mr. Hunter, +and he was the only living being who gave a guess, or who could give a +guess, at the real cause of separation--the drawing out of that five +thousand pounds. + +And yet--it was not the drawing out of that first five thousand pounds, +that finally decided Mr. Henry Hunter to enforce the step, so much as +the thought that other thousands might perhaps be following it. He could +not divest his mind of the fear. + + + + +PART THE SECOND. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. + + +For several years after the separation of Hunter and Hunter, things went +on smoothly; at least there was no event sufficiently marked that we +need linger to trace it. Each had a flourishing business, though Mr. +Hunter had some difficulty in staving off embarrassment in the financial +department: a fact which was well known to Austin Clay, who was now +confidential manager--head of all, under Mr. Hunter. + +He, Austin Clay, was getting towards thirty years of age. He enjoyed a +handsome salary, and was putting by money yearly. He still remained at +Peter Quale's, though his position would have warranted a style of +living far superior. Not that it could have brought him more respect: of +that he enjoyed a full share, both from master and men. Clever, +energetic, firm, and friendly, he was thoroughly fitted for his +post--was liked and esteemed. But for him, Mr. Hunter's business might +not have been what it was, and Mr. Hunter knew it. _He_ was a +broken-spirited man, little capable now of devoting energy to anything. +The years, in their progress, had terribly altered James Hunter. + +A hot evening in Daffodil's Delight; and Daffodil's Delight was making +it a busy one. Uninterrupted prosperity is sometimes nearly allied to +danger; or, rather, danger may grow out of it. Prosperity begets +independence, and independence often begets assumption--very often, a +selfish, wrong view of surrounding things. If any workmen had enjoyed of +late years (it may be said) unlimited prosperity, they were those +connected with the building trade. Therefore, being so flourishing, it +struck some of their body, who in a degree gave laws to the rest, that +the best thing they could do was to make themselves more flourishing +still. As a preliminary, they began to agitate for an increase of wages: +this was to be accomplished by reducing the hours of labour, the +proposition being to work nine hours per day instead of ten. They said +nothing about relinquishing the wages of the extra hour: they would be +paid for ten hours and work nine. The proposition was first put by the +men of a leading metropolitan firm to their principals, and, failing to +obtain it, they threatened to strike. This it was that was just now +agitating Daffodil's Delight. + +In the front room of one of the houses that abutted nearly on the +gutter, and to which you must ascend by steps, there might be read in +the window, inscribed on a piece of paper, the following notice: 'The +Misses Dunn's, Milliner and Dressmakers. Ladies own materiels made up.' +The composition of the _affiche_ was that of the two Miss Dunns jointly, +who prided themselves upon being elegant scholars. A twelvemonth's +apprenticeship had initiated them into the mysteries of dressmaking; +millinery had come to them, as Mark Tapley would say, spontaneous, or by +dint of practice. They had set up for themselves in their father's +house, and could boast of a fair share of the patronage of Daffodil's +Delight. Showy damsels were they, with good-humoured, turned-up noses, +and light hair; much given to gadding and gossiping, and fonder of +dressing themselves than of getting home the dresses of their customers. + +On the above evening, they sat in their room, an upper one, stitching +away. A gown was in progress for Mrs. Quale, who often boasted that she +could do any work in the world, save make her own gowns. It had been in +progress for two weeks, and that lady had at length come up in a temper, +as Miss Jemima Dunn expressed it, and had demanded it to be returned, +done or undone. They, with much deprecation, protested it should be home +the first thing in the morning, and went to work. Four or five visitors, +girls of their own age, were performing the part of lookers-on, and much +laughter prevailed. + +'I say,' cried out Martha White--a pleasant-looking girl, who had +perched herself aloft on the edge of a piece of furniture, which +appeared to be a low chest of drawers by day, and turn itself into a bed +at night--'Mary Baxendale was crying yesterday, because of the strike; +saying, it would be bad for all of us, if it came. Ain't she a soft?' + +'Baxendale's again it, too,' exclaimed Miss Ryan, Pat Ryan's eldest +trouble. 'Father says he don't think Baxendale 'll go in for it all.' + +'Mary Baxendale's just one of them timid things as is afraid of their +own shadders,' cried Mary Ann Dunn. 'If she saw a cow a-coming at the +other end of the street, she'd turn tail and run. Jemimer, whatever are +you at? The sleeves is to be in plaits, not gathers.' + +'She do look ill, though, does Mary Baxendale,' said Jemima, after some +attention to the sleeve in hand. 'It's my belief she'll never live to +see Christmas; she's going the way her mother went. Won't it be prime +when the men get ten hours' pay for nine hours' work? I shall think +about getting married then.' + +'You must find somebody to have you first,' quoth Grace Darby. 'You have +not got a sweetheart yet.' + +Miss Jemima tossed her head. 'I needn't to wait long for that. The chaps +be as plentiful as sprats in winter. All you have got to do is to pick +and choose.' + +'What's that?' interrupted Mrs. Dunn, darting into the room, with her +sharp tongue and her dirty fine cap. 'What's that as you're talking +about, miss?' + +'We are a-talking of the strike,' responded Jemima, with a covert glance +to the rest. 'Martha White and Judy Ryan says the Baxendales won't go in +for it.' + +'Not go in for it? What idiots they must be!' returned Mrs. Dunn, the +attractive subject completely diverting her attention from Miss Jemima +and her words. 'Ain't nine hours a-day enough for the men to be at work? +I can tell the Baxendales what--when we have got the nine hours all +straight and sure, we shall next demand eight. 'Taint free-born +Englishers as is going to be put upon. It'll be glorious times, girls, +won't it? We shall get a taste o' fowls and salmon, may be, for dinner +then!' + +'My father says he does not think the masters will come-to, if the men +do strike,' observed Grace Darby. + +'Of course they won't--till they are forced,' retorted Mrs. Dunn, in a +spirit of satire. 'But that's just what they are a-going to be. Don't +you be a fool, Grace Darby!' + +Lotty Cheek rushed in, a girl with a tongue almost as voluble as Mrs. +Dunn's, and rough hair, the colour of a tow-rope. 'What d'ye think?' +cried she, breathlessly. 'There's a-going to be a meeting of the men +to-night in the big room of the Bricklayers' Arms. They are a-filing in +now. I think it must be about the strike.' + +'D'ye suppose it would be about anything else?' retorted Mrs. Dunn. 'I'd +like to be one of 'em! I'd hold out for the day's work of eight hours, +instead of nine, I would. So 'ud they, if they was men.' + +Mrs. Dunn's speech was concluded to an empty room. All the girls had +flown down into the street, leaving the parts of Mrs. Quale's gown in +closer contact with the dusty floor than was altogether to their +benefit. + +The agitation in the trade had hitherto been chiefly smouldering in an +under-current: now, it was rising to the surface. Lotty Cheek's +inference was right; the meeting of this evening had reference to the +strike. It had been hastily arranged in the day; was quite an informal +sort of affair, and confined to the operatives of Mr. Hunter. + +Not in a workman's jacket, but in a brown coat dangling to his heels, +with a slit down the back and ventilating holes for the elbows, first +entered he who had been chiefly instrumental in calling the meeting. It +was Mr. Samuel Shuck; better known, you may remember, as Slippery Sam. +Somehow, Sam and prosperity could not contrive to pull together in the +same boat. He was one of those who like to live on the fat of the land, +but are too lazy to work for their share of it. And how Sam had +contrived to exist until now, and keep himself and his large family out +of the workhouse, was a marvel to all. In his fits of repentance, he +would manage to get in again at one or other of the yards of the Messrs. +Hunter; but they were growing tired of him. + +The room at the Bricklayers' Arms was tolerably commodious, and Sam took +up a conspicuous position in it. + +'Well,' began Sam, when the company had assembled, and were furnished +with pipes and pewter pots, 'you have heard that that firm won't accept +the reduction in the hours of labour, so the men have determined on a +strike. Now, I have got a question to put to you. Is there most power in +one man, or in a few dozens of men?' + +Some laughed, and said, 'In the dozens.' + +'Very good,' glibly went on Sam, whose tongue was smoother than oil, and +who was gifted with a sort of oratory and some learning when he chose to +put it out. 'Then, the measure I wish to urge upon you is, make common +cause with those men; we are not all obliged to strike at the same time; +it will be better not; but by degrees. Let every firm in London strike, +each at its appointed time,' he continued, raising his voice to +vehemence. 'We must stand up for ourselves; for our rights; for our +wives and children. By making common cause together, we shall bowl out +the masters, and bring them to terms.' + +'Hooroar!' put in Pat Ryan. + +'Hooroar!' echoed a few more. + +An aged man, Abel White's father, usually called old White, who was past +work, and had a seat at his son's chimney corner, leaned forward and +spoke, his voice tremulous, but distinct. 'Samuel Shuck, did you ever +know strikes do any good, either to the men or the masters? Friends,' he +added, turning his venerable head around, 'I am in my eightieth year: +and I picked up some experience while them eighty years was passing. +Strikes have ruined some masters, in means; but they have ruined men +wholesale, in means, in body, and in soul.' + +'Hold there,' cried Sam Shuck, who had not brooked the interruption +patiently. 'Just tell us, old White, before you go on, whether coercion +answers for British workmen?' + +'It does not,' replied the old man, lifting his quiet voice to firmness. +'But perhaps you will tell me in your turn, Sam Shuck, whether it's +likely to answer for masters?' + +'It _has_ answered for them,' returned Sam, in a tone of irony. 'I +_have_ heard of back strikes, where the masters were coerced and +coerced, till the men got all they stood out for.' + +'And so brought down ruin on their own heads,' returned the old man, +shaking his. 'Did you ever hear of a lock-out, Shuck?' + +'Ay, ay,' interposed quiet, respectable Robert Darby. 'Did you ever hear +of that, Slippery Sam?' + +Slippery Sam growled. 'Let the masters lock-out if they dare! Let 'em. +The men would hold out to the death.' + +'And death it will be, with some of us, if the strike comes, and lasts. +I came down here to-night, on my son's arm, just for your good, my +friends, not for mine. At your age, I thought as some of you do; but I +have learnt experience now. I can't last long, any way; and it's little +matter to me whether famine from a strike be my end, or----' + +'Famine' derisively retorted Slippery Sam. + +'Yes, famine,' was the quiet answer. 'Strikes never yet brought nothing +but misery in the end. Let me urge upon you all not to be led away. My +voice is but a feeble one; but I think the Lord is sometimes pleased to +show out things clearly to the aged, almost as with a gift of prophecy; +and I could only come and beseech you to keep upon the straight-forrard +path. Don't have anything to do with a strike; keep it away from you at +arm's length, as you would keep away the evil one.' + +'What's the good of listening to him?' cried Slippery Sam, in anger. 'He +is in his dotage.' + +'Will you listen to me then?' spoke up Peter Quale; 'I am not in mine. I +didn't intend to come here, as may be guessed; but when I found so many +of you bending your steps this way to listen to Slippery Sam, I thought +it time to change my mind, and come and tell you what _I_ thought of +strikes.' + +'_You!_' rudely replied Slippery Sam. 'A fellow like you, always in full +work, earning the biggest wages, is sure not to favour strikes. You +can't be much better off than you are.' + +'That admission of yours is worth something, Slippery Sam, if there's +any here have got the sense to see it,' nodded Peter Quale. 'Good +workmen, on full wages, _don't_ favour strikes. I have rose up to what I +am by sticking to my work patiently, and getting on step by step. It's +open to every living man to get on as I have done, if he have got skill +and pluck to work. But if I had done as you do, Sam, gone in for labour +one day and for play two, and for drinking, and strikes, and rebellion, +because money, which I was too lazy to work for didn't drop from the +skies into my hands, then I should just have been where you be.' + +'Is it right to keep a man grinding and sweating his life out for ten +hours a-day?' retorted Sam. The masters would be as well off if we +worked nine, and the surplus men would find employment.' + +'It isn't much of your life that you sweat out, Sam Shuck,' rejoined +Peter Quale, with a cough that especially provoked his antagonist. 'And, +as to the masters being as well off, you had better ask them about that. +Perhaps they'd tell you that to pay ten hours' wages for nine hours' +work would be the hour's wage dead loss to their pockets.' + +'Are you rascal enough to go in for the masters?' demanded Sam, in a +fiery heat. 'Who'd do that, but a traitor?' + +'I go in for myself, Sam,' equably responded Peter Quale. 'I know on +which side my bread's buttered. No skilful workman, possessed of prudent +thought and judgment, ever yet went blindfold into a strike. At least, +not many such.' + +Up rose Robert Darby. 'I'd just say a word, if I can get my meaning out, +but I'm not cute with the tongue. It seems to me, mates, that it would +be a great boon if we could obtain the granting of the nine hours' +movement; and perhaps in the end it would not affect the masters, for +they'd get it out of the public. I'd agitate for this in a peaceful way, +in the shape of reason and argument, and do my best in that way to get +it. But I'd not like, as Peter Quale says, to plunge blindfold into a +strike.' + +'I look at it in this light, Darby,' said Peter Quale, 'and it seems to +me it's the only light as 'll answer to look at it in. Things in this +world are estimated by comparison. There ain't nothing large nor small +_in itself_. I may say, this chair's big: well, so it is, if you match +it by that there bit of a stool in the chimbley corner; but it's very +small if you put it by the side of a omnibus, or of one of the sheds in +our yard. Now, if you compare our wages with those of workmen in most +other trades, they are large. Look at a farm labourer, poor fellow, with +his ten shillings (more or less) a-week, hardly keeping body and soul +together. Look at what a man earns in the malting districts in the +country; fifteen shillings and his beer, is reckoned good wages. Look at +a policeman, with his pound a-week. Look at a postman. Look at----' + +'Look at ourselves,' intemperately interrupted Jim Dunn. 'What's other +folks to us? We work hard, and we ought to be paid according.' + +'So I think we are,' said Peter Quale. 'Thirty-three shillings is _not_ +bad wages, and it is only a delusion to say it is. Neither is ten hours +a-day an unfair or oppressive time to work. I'd be as glad as anybody to +have the hour took off, if it could be done pleasantly; but I am not +going to put myself out of work and into trouble to stand out for it. +It's a thing that I am convinced the masters never will give; and if +Pollock's men strike for it, they'll do it against their own +interests----' + +Hisses, and murmurs of disapprobation from various parts of the room, +interrupted Peter Quale. + +'You'd better wait and understand, afore you begin to hiss,' +phlegmatically recommended Peter Quale, when the noise had subsided. 'I +say it will be against their interests to strike, because, I think, if +they stop on strike for twelve months, they'll be no nearer getting +their end. I may be wrong, but that's my opinion. There's always two +sides to a question--our own, and the opposite one; and the great fault +in most folks is, that they look only at their own side, and it causes +them to see things in a partial view. I have looked as fair as I can at +our own side, trying to put away my bias _for it_; and I have put +myself in thought on the master's side, asking myself, what would _I_ +do, were I one of them. Thus I have tried to judge between them and us, +and the conclusion I have drawed is, that they won't give in.' + +'The masters have been brought to grant demands more unreasonable than +this,' rejoined Sam Shuck. 'If you know anything about back strikes, you +must know that, Quale.' + +'And that's one of the reasons why I argue they won't grant this,' said +Peter. 'If they go on granting and granting, they may get asking +themselves where the demands 'll stop.' + +'Let us go back to 1833,' spoke up old White again, and the man's age +and venerable aspect caused him to be listened to with respect. 'I was +then working in Manchester, and belonged to the Trades' Union; a +powerful Union as ever was formed. In our strength, we thought we should +like a thing or two altered, and we made a formal demand upon the master +builders, requiring them to discontinue the erection of buildings on +sub-contracts. The masters fell in with it. You'll understand, friends,' +he broke off to say, 'that, looking at things now, and looking at 'em +then, is just as if I saw 'em in two opposite aspects. Next, we gave out +a set of various rules for the masters, and required them to abide by +such--about the making of the wages equal; the number of apprentices +they should take; the machinery they should or should not use, and other +things. Well, the masters gave us that also, and it put us all +cock-a-hoop, and we went on to dictate to 'em more and more. If +they--the masters--broke any of our rules, we levied fines on 'em, and +made 'em pay up; we ordered them before us at our meetings, found fault +with 'em, commanded 'em to obey us, to take on such men as we pointed +out, and to turn off others; in short, forced 'em to do as we chose. +People might have thought that we was the masters and they the +operatives. Pretty well, that, wasn't it?' + +The room nodded acquiescence. Slippery Sam snapped his fingers in +delight. + +'The worst was, it did not last,' resumed the old man. 'Like too many +other folks emboldened with success, we wasn't content to let well +alone, but went on a bit too far. The masters took up their own defence +at last; and the wonder to me now, looking back, is, that they didn't do +it before. They formed themselves into a Union, and passed a resolve to +employ no man unless he signed a pledge not to belong to a Trades' +Union. Then we all turned out. Six months the strike was on, and the +buildings was at a standstill, and us out of work.' + +'Were wages bad at that time?' inquired Robert Darby. + +'No. The good workmen among us had been earning in the summer +thirty-five shillings a-week; and the bricklayers had just had a rise of +three shillings. We was just fools: that's my opinion of it now. Awful +misery we were reduced to. Every stick we had went to the pawn-shop; our +wives was skin and bone, our children was in rags; and some of us just +laid our heads down on the stones, clammed to death.' + +'What was the trade in other places about, that it didn't help you?' +indignantly demanded Sam Shuck. + +'They did help us. Money to the tune of eighteen thousand pounds came to +us; but we was a large body--many mouths to feed, and the strike was +prolonged. We had to come-to at last, for the masters wouldn't; and we +voted our combination a nuisance, and went humbly to 'em, like dogs with +their tails between their legs, and craved to be took on again upon +their own terms. But we couldn't get took back; not all of us: the +masters had learnt a lesson. They had got machinery to work, and had +collected workmen from other parts, so that we was not wanted. And +that's all the good the strike brought to us! I came away on the tramp +with my family, and got work in London after a deal of struggle and +privation: and I made a vow never to belong willingly to a strike +again.' + +'Do you see where the fault lay in that case?--the blame?--the whole +gist of the evil?' + +The question came from a gentleman who had entered the room as old White +was speaking. The men would have risen to salute him, but he signed to +them to be still and cause no interruption--a tall, noble man, with +calm, self-reliant countenance. + +'It lay with the masters,' he resumed, nobody replying to him. 'Had +those Manchester masters resisted the first demand of their men--a +demand made in the insolence of power, not in need--and allowed them +fully to understand that they were, and would be, masters, we should, I +believe, have heard less of strikes since, than we have done. I never +think of those Manchester masters but my blood boils. When a principal +suffers himself to be dictated to by his men, he is no longer a master, +or worthy of the name.' + +'Had you been one of them, and not complied, you might have come to +ruin, sir,' cried Robert Darby. 'There's a deal to be said on both +sides.' + +'Ruin!' was the answer. 'I never would have conceded an inch, though I +had known that I must end my days in the workhouse through not doing +it.' + +'Of course, sir, you'd stand up for the masters, being hand in glove +with 'em, and likely to be a master yourself,' grumbled Sam Shuck, a +touch of irony in his tone. + +'I should stand up for whichever side I deemed in the right, whether it +was the masters' or the men's,' was the emphatic answer. 'Is it well--is +it in accordance with the fitness of things, that a master should be +under the control of his men? Come! I ask it of your common sense.' + +'No.' It was readily acknowledged. + +'Those Manchester masters and those Manchester operatives were upon a +par as regards shame and blame.' + +'Sir! Shame and blame?' + +'They were upon a par as regards shame and blame,' was the decisive +repetition; 'and I make no doubt that both equally deemed themselves to +have been so, when they found their senses. The masters came to them: +the men were brought to theirs.' + +'You speak strongly, sir.' + +'Because I feel strongly. When I become a master, I shall, if I know +anything of myself, have my men's interest at heart; but none of them +shall ever presume to dictate to me. If a master cannot exercise his own +authority in firm self-reliance, let him give up business.' + +'Have masters a right to oppress us, sir?--to grind us down?--to work us +into our coffins?' cried Sam Shuck. + +The gentleman raised his eyebrows, and a half smile crossed his lips. +'Since when have you been oppressed, and ground down into your coffins?' + +Some of the men laughed--at Sam's oily tongue. + +'If you _are_--if you have any complaint of that sort to make, let me +hear it now, and I will convey it to Mr. Hunter. He is ever ready, you +know, to----What do you say, Shuck? The nine hours' concession is all +you want? If you can get the masters to give you ten hours' pay for nine +hours' work, so much the better for you. _I_ would not: but it is no +affair of mine. To be paid what you honestly earn, be it five pounds per +week or be it one, is only justice; but to be paid for what you don't +earn, is the opposite thing. I think, too, that the equalization of +wages is a mistaken system, quite wrong in principle: one which can +bring only discontent in the long run. Let me repeat that with +emphasis--the equalization of wages, should it ever take place, can +bring only discontent in the long run.' + +There was a pause. No one spoke, and the speaker resumed-- + +'I conclude you have met here to discuss this agitation at the Messrs. +Pollocks?' + +Pollocks' men are a-going to strike,' said Slippery Sam. + +'Oh, they are, are they?' returned the gentleman, some mockery in his +tone. 'I hope they may find it to their benefit. I don't know what the +Messrs. Pollocks may do in the matter; but I know what I should.' + +'You'd hold out to the last against the men?' + +'I should; to the last and the last: were it for ten years to come. +Force a measure upon _me_! coerce _me_!' he reiterated, drawing his fine +form to its full height, while the red flush mantled in his cheeks. 'No, +my men, I am not made of that yielding stuff. Only let me be persuaded +that my judgment is right, and no body of men on earth should force me +to act against it.' + +The speaker was Austin Clay, as I daresay you have already guessed. He +had not gone to the meeting to interrupt it, or to take part in it, but +in search of Peter Quale. Hearing from Mrs. Quale that her husband was +at the Bricklayers' Arms--a rare occurrence, for Peter was not one who +favoured public-houses--Austin went thither in search of him, and so +found himself in the midst of the meeting. His business with Peter +related to certain orders he required to give for the early morning. +Once there, however, the temptation to have his say was too great to be +resisted. That over, he went out, making a sign to the man to follow +him. + +'What are those men about to rush into, Quale?' he demanded, when his +own matter was over. + +'Ah, what indeed?' returned the man. 'If they do get led into a strike, +they'll repent it, some of them.' + +'You are not one of the malcontents, then?' + +'I?' retorted Peter, utter scorn in his tone. 'No, sir. There's a +proverb which I learnt years ago from an old book as was lent me, and +I've not forgotten it, sir--"Let well alone." But you must not think all +the men you saw sitting there be discontented agitators, Mr. Clay. It's +only Shuck and a few of that stamp. The rest be as steady and cautious +as I am.' + +'If they don't get led away,' replied Austin Clay, and his voice +betrayed a dubious tone. 'Slippery Sam, in spite of his loose +qualifications, is a ringleader more persuasive than prudent. Hark! he +is at it again, hammer and tongs. Are you going back to them?' + +'No, sir. I shall go home now.' + +'We will walk together, then,' observed Austin. 'Afterwards I am going +on to Mr. Hunter's.'[1] + +FOOTNOTE: + +[1] 'It need scarcely be remarked, that Sam Shuck and his +followers represent only the ignorant and unprincipled section of those +who engage in strikes. Working men are perfectly right in combining to +seek the best terms they can get, both as to wages and time; provided +there be no interference with the liberty either of masters or +fellow-workmen.--_Ed._ L. H., February, 1862.' + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +CALLED TO KETTERFORD. + + +Austin Clay was not mistaken. Rid of Peter Quale, who was a worse enemy +of Sam's schemes than even old White, Sam had it nearly his own way, +and went at it 'hammer and tongs.' He poured his eloquent words into the +men's ears--and Sam, as you have heard, really did possess the gift of +eloquence: of a rough and rude sort: but that tells well with the class +now gathered round him. He brought forth argument upon argument, +fallacious as they were plausible; he told the men it depended upon +_them_, whether the boon they were standing out for should be accorded, +not upon the masters. Not that Sam called it a boon; he spoke of it as a +_right_. Let them only be firm and true to themselves, he said, and the +masters must give in: there was no help for it, they would have no other +resource. Sam finally concluded by demanding, with fierce looks all +round, whether they were men, or whether they were slaves, and the men +answered, with a cheer and a shout, that Britons never should be slaves: +and the meeting broke up in excitement and glorious spirits, and went +home elated, some with the anticipation of the fine time that was +dawning for them, others with having consumed a little too much +half-and-half. + +Slippery Sam reeled away to his home. A dozen or so attended him, +listening to his oratory, which was continued still: though not exactly +to the gratification of Daffodil's Delight, who were hushing their +unruly babies to sleep, or striving to get to sleep themselves. Much Sam +cared whom he disturbed! He went along, flinging his arms and his words +at random--inflammatory words, carrying poisoned shafts that told. If +somebody came down upon you and upon me, telling us that, with a little +exertion on our part, we should inevitably drop into a thousand a year, +and showing plausible cause for the same, should we turn a deaf ear? The +men shook hands individually with Slippery Sam, and left him propped +against his own door; for Sam, with all deference be it spoken, was a +little overcome himself--with the talking, of course. + +Sam's better half greeted him with a shrill tongue: she and Mrs. Dunn +might be paired in that respect! and Sam's children, some in the bed in +the corner, some sitting up, greeted him with a shrill cry also, +clamouring for a very common-place article, indeed--'some _bread_!' +Sam's family seemed inconveniently to increase; for the less there +appeared to be to welcome them with, the surer and faster they arrived. +Thirteen Sam could number now; but several of the elder ones were out in +the world 'doing for themselves'--getting on, or starving, as it might +happen to be. + +'You old sot! you have been at that drinking-can again,' were Mrs. Sam's +words of salutation; and I wish I could soften them down to refinement +for polite ears; but if you are to have the truth, you must take them as +they were spoken. + +'Drinking-can!' echoed Sam, who was in too high glee to lose his temper, +'never mind the drinking-can, missis: my fortian's made. I drawed +together that meeting, as I telled ye I should,' he added, discarding +his scholarly eloquence for the familiar home phraseology, 'and they +come to it, every man jack on 'em, save thin-skinned Baxendale +upstairs. Never was such a full meeting knowed in Daffodil's Delight.' + +'Who cares for the meeting!' irascibly responded Mrs. Sam. 'What we +wants is, some'at to fill our insides with. Don't come bothering home +here about a meeting, when the children be a starving. If you'd work +more and talk less, it 'ud become ye better.' + +'I got the ear of the meeting,' said Sam, braving the reproof with a +provoking wink. 'A despicable set our men is, at Hunter's, a humdrumming +on like slaves for ever, taking their paltry wages and making no stir. +But I've put the brand among 'em at last, and sent 'em home all on fire, +to dream of short work and good pay. Quale, he come, and put in his +spoke again' it; and that wretched old skeleton of a White, what's been +cheating the grave this ten year, he come, and put in his; and Mr. +Austin Clay, he must thrust his nose among us, and talk treason to the +men: but I think my tongue have circumvented the lot. If it haven't, my +name's not Sam Shuck.' + +'If you and your circumventions and your tongue was all at the bottom of +the Thames, 'twouldn't be no loss, for all the good they does above it,' +sobbed Mrs. Shuck, whose anger generally ended in tears. 'Here's me and +the children a clemming for want o' bread, and you can waste your time +over a idle good-for-nothing meeting. Ain't you ashamed, not to work as +other men do?' + +'Bread!' loftily returned Sam, with the air of a king, ''tisn't bread I +shall soon be furnishing for you and the children: it's mutton chops. My +fortian's made, I say.' + +'Yah!' retorted Mrs. Sam. 'It have been made forty times in the last +ten year, to listen to you. What good has ever come of the boast? I'd +shut up my mouth if I couldn't talk sense.' + +Sam nodded his head oracularly, and entered upon an explanation. But for +the fact of his being a little 'overcome'--whatever may have been its +cause--he would have been more guarded. 'I've had overtures,' he said, +bending forward his head and lowering his voice, 'and them overtures, +which I accepted, will be the making of you and of me. Work!' he +exclaimed, throwing his arms gracefully from him with a repelling +gesture, 'I've done with work now; I'm superior to it; I'm exalted far +above that lowering sort of toil. The leaders among the London Trade +Union have recognised eloquence, ma'am, let me tell you; and they've +made me one of their picked body--appointed me agitator to the firms of +Hunter. "You get the meeting together, and prime 'em with the best of +your eloquence, and excite 'em to recognise and agitate for their own +rights, and you shall have your appointment, and a good round weekly +salary." Well, Mrs. S., I did it. I got the men together, and I _have_ +primed 'em, and some of 'em's a busting to go off; and all I've got to +do from henceforth is to keep 'em up to the mark, by means of that +tongue which you are so fond of disparaging, and to live like a +gentleman. There's a trifling instalment of the first week's money.' + +Sam threw a sovereign on the table. Mrs. Shuck, with a grunt of +disparagement still, darted forward to seize upon it through her tears. +The children, uttering a wild shriek of wonder, delight, and disbelief, +born of incipient famine, darted forward to seize it too. Sam burst into +a fit of laughter, threw himself back to indulge it, and not being just +then over steady on his legs, lost his equilibrium, and toppled over the +fender into the ashes. + +Leaving Mrs. Shuck to pick him up, or to leave him there--which latter +negative course was the one she would probably take--let us return to +Austin Clay. + +At Peter Quale's gate he was standing a moment to speak to the man +before proceeding onwards, when Mrs. Quale came running down the garden +path. + +'I was coming in search of you, sir,' she said to Austin Clay. 'This has +just been brought, and the man made me sign my name to a paper.' + +Austin took what she held out to him--a telegraphic despatch. He opened +it; read it; then in the prompt, decisive manner usual with him, +requested Mrs. Quale to put him up a change of things in his +portmanteau, which he would return for; and walked away with a rapid +step. + +'Whatever news is it that he has had?' cried Mrs. Quale, as she stood +with her husband, looking after him. 'Where can he have been summoned +to?' + +''Tain't no business of ours,' retorted Peter; 'if it had been, he'd +have enlightened us. Did you ever hear of that offer that's always +pending?--Five hundred a year to anybody as 'll undertake to mind his +own business, and leave other folks's alone.' + +Austin was on his way to Mr. Hunter's. A very frequent evening visitor +there now, was he. But this evening he had an ostensible motive for +going; a boon to crave. That alone may have made his footsteps fleet. + +In the soft twilight of the summer evening, in the room of their own +house that opened to the conservatory, sat Florence Hunter--no longer +the impulsive, charming, and somewhat troublesome child, but the young +and lovely woman. Of middle height and graceful form, her face was one +of great sweetness; the earnest, truthful spirit, the pure innocence, +which had made its charm in youth, made it now: to look on Florence +Hunter, was to love her. + +She appeared to be in deep thought, her cheek resting on her hand, and +her eyes fixed on vacancy. Some movement in the house aroused her, and +she arose, shook her head, as if she would shake care away, and bent +over a rare plant in the room's large opening, lightly touching the +leaves. + +'I fear that mamma is right, and I am wrong, pretty plant!' she +murmured. 'I fear that you will die. Is it that this London, with its +heavy atmosphere----' + +The knock of a visitor at the hall door resounded through the house. Did +Florence _know_ the knock, that her voice should falter, and the soft +pink in her cheeks should deepen to a glowing crimson? The room door +opened, and a servant announced Mr. Clay. + +In that early railway journey when they first met, Florence had taken a +predilection for Austin Clay. 'I like him so much!' had been her +gratuitous announcement to her uncle Harry. The liking had ripened into +an attachment, firm and lasting--a child's attachment: but Florence grew +into a woman, and it could not remain such. Thrown much together, the +feeling had changed, and love mutually arose: they fell into it +unconsciously. Was it quite prudent of Mr. Hunter to sanction, nay, to +court the frequent presence at his house of Austin Clay? Did he overlook +the obvious fact, that he was one who possessed attractions, both of +mind and person, and that Florence was now a woman grown? Or did Mr. +Hunter deem that the social barrier, which he might assume existed +between his daughter and his dependent, would effectually prevent all +approach of danger? Mr. Hunter must himself account for the negligence: +no one else can do it. It was certain that he did have Austin very much +at his house, but it was equally certain that he never cast a thought to +the possibility that his daughter might be learning to love him. + +The strange secret, whatever it may have been, attaching to Mr. Hunter, +had shattered his health to that extent that for days together he would +be unequal to go abroad or to attend to business. Then Austin, who acted +as principal in the absence of Mr. Hunter, would arrive at the house +when the day was over, to report progress, and take orders for the next +day. Or, rather, consult with him what the orders should be; for in +energy, in capability, Austin was now the master spirit, and Mr. Hunter +bent to it. That over, he passed the rest of the evening in the society +of Florence, conversing with her freely, confidentially; on literature, +art, the news of the day; on topics of home interest; listening to her +music, listening to her low voice, as she sang her songs; guiding her +pencil. There they would be. He with his ready eloquence, his fund of +information, his attractive manners, and his fine form, handsome in its +height and strength; she with her sweet fascinations, her gentle +loveliness. What could be the result? But, as is almost invariably the +case, the last person to give a suspicion to it was he who positively +looked on, and might have seen all--Mr. Hunter. Life, in the presence of +the other, had become sweet to each as a summer's dream--a dream that +had stolen over them ere they knew what it meant. But consciousness came +with time. + +Very conscious of it were they both as he entered this evening. Austin +took her hand in greeting; a hand always tremulous now in his. She bent +again over the plant she was tending, her eyelids and her damask cheeks +drooping. + +'You are alone, Florence!' + +'Just now. Mamma is very poorly this evening, and keeps her room. Papa +was here a few minutes ago.' + +He released her hand, and stood looking at her, as she played with the +petals of the flower. Not a word had Austin spoken of his love; not a +word was he sure that he might speak. If he partially divined that it +might be acceptable to her, he did not believe it would be to Mr. +Hunter. + +'The plant looks sickly,' he observed. + +'Yes. It is one that thrives in cold and wind. It came from Scotland. +Mamma feared this close London atmosphere would not suit it; but I said +it looked so hardy, it would be sure to do well. Rather than it should +die, I would send it back to its bleak home.' + +'In tears, Florence? for the sake of a plant?' + +'Not for that,' she answered, twinkling the moisture from her eyelashes, +as she raised them to his with a brave smile. 'I was thinking of mamma; +she appears to be fading rapidly, like the plant.' + +'She may grow stronger when the heat of summer shall have passed.' + +Florence slightly shook her head, as if she could not share in the +suggested hope. 'Mamma herself does not seem to think she shall, Austin. +She has dropped ominous words more than once latterly. This afternoon I +showed her the plant, that it was drooping. "Ay, my dear," she remarked, +"it is like me--on the wane." And I think my uncle Bevary's opinion has +become unfavourable.' + +It was a matter on which Austin could not urge hope, though, for the +sake of tranquillizing Florence, he might suggest it, for he believed +that Mrs. Hunter was fading rapidly. All these years she seemed to have +been getting thinner and weaker; it was some malady connected with the +spine, causing her at times great pain. Austin changed the subject. + +'I hope Mr. Hunter will soon be in, Florence. I am come to ask for leave +of absence.' + +'Papa is not out; he is sitting with mamma. That is another reason why I +fear danger for her. I think papa sees it; he is so solicitous for her +comfort, so anxious to be with her, as if he would guard her from +surprise or agitating topics. He will not suffer a visitor to enter at +hazard; he will not let a note be given her until he has first seen it.' + +'But he has long been thus anxious,' replied Austin, who was aware that +what she spoke of had lasted for years. + +'I know. But still, latterly--however, I must hope against hope,' broke +off Florence. 'I think I do: hope is certainly a very strong ingredient +in my nature, for I cannot realize the parting with my dear mother. Did +you say you have come for leave of absence? Where is it that you wish to +go?' + +'I have had a telegraphic despatch from Ketterford,' he replied, taking +it from his pocket. 'My good old friend, Mrs. Thornimett, is dying, and +I must hasten thither with all speed.' + +'Oh!' uttered Florence, almost reproachfully. 'And you are wasting the +time with me!' + +'Not so. The first train that goes there does not start for an hour yet, +and I can get to Paddington in half of one. The news has grieved me +much. The last time I was at Ketterford--you may remember it--Mrs. +Thornimett was so very well, exhibiting no symptoms whatever of decay.' + +'I remember it,' answered Florence. 'It is two years ago. You stayed a +whole fortnight with her.' + +'And had a battle with her to get away then,' said Austin, smiling with +the reminiscence, or with Florence's word 'whole'--a suggestive word, +spoken in that sense. 'She wished me to remain longer. I wonder what +illness can have stricken her? It must have been sudden.' + +'What is the relationship between you?' + +'A distant one. She and my mother were second cousins. If I----' + +Austin was stopped by the entrance of Mr. Hunter. _So_ changed, _so_ +bent and bowed, since you, reader, last saw him! The stout, upright +figure had grown thin and stooping, the fine dark hair was grey, the +once calm, self-reliant face was worn and haggard. Nor was that all; +there was a constant _restlessness_ in his manner and in the turn of his +eye, giving a spectator the idea that he lived in a state of +ever-present, perpetual fear. + +Austin put the telegraphic message in his hand. 'It is an inconvenient +time, I know, sir, for me to be away, busy as we are, and with this +agitation rising amongst the men; but I cannot help myself. I will +return as soon as it is possible.' + +Mr. Hunter did not hear the words. His eyes had fallen on the word +'Ketterford,' in the despatch, and that seemed to scare away his senses. +His hands shook as he held the paper, and for a few moments he appeared +incapable of collected thought, of understanding anything. Austin +exclaimed again. + +'Oh, yes, yes, it is only--it is Mrs. Thornimett who is ill, and wants +you--I comprehend now.' He spoke in an incoherent manner, and with a +sigh of the most intense relief. 'I--I--saw the word "dying," and it +startled me,' he proceeded, as if anxious to account for his agitation. +'You can go, Austin; you must go. Remain a few days there--a week, if +you find it necessary.' + +'Thank you, sir. I will say farewell now, then.' + +He shook hands with Mr. Hunter, turned to Florence, and took hers. +'Remember me to Mrs. Hunter,' he said in a low tone, which, in spite of +himself, betrayed its own tenderness, 'and tell her I hope to find her +better on my return.' + +A few paces from the house, as he went out, Austin encountered Dr. +Bevary. 'Is she much worse?' he exclaimed to Austin, in a hasty tone. + +'Is who much worse, doctor?' + +'Mrs. Hunter. I have just had a message from her.' + +'Not very much, I fancy. Florence said her mamma was poorly this +evening. I am off to Ketterford, doctor, for a few days.' + +'To Ketterford!' replied Dr. Bevary, with an emphasis that showed the +news had startled him. 'What are you going there for? For--for Mr. +Hunter?' + +'For myself,' said Austin. 'A good old friend is ill--dying, the message +says--and has telegraphed for me.' + +The physician looked at him searchingly. 'Do you speak of Miss Gwinn?' + +'I should not call her a friend,' replied Austin. 'I allude to Mrs. +Thornimett.' + +'A pleasant journey to you, then. And, Clay, steer clear of those +Gwinns; they would bring you no good.' + +It was in the dawn of the early morning that Austin entered Ketterford. +He did not let the grass grow under his feet between the railway +terminus and Mrs. Thornimett's, though he was somewhat dubious about +disturbing the house. If she was really 'dying,' it might be well that +he should do so; if only suffering from a severe illness, it might not +be expected of him; and the wording of the message had been ambiguous, +leaving it an open question. As he drew within view of the house, +however, it exhibited signs of bustle; lights not yet put out in the +dawn, might be discerned through some of the curtained windows, and a +woman, having much the appearance of a nurse, was coming out at the +door, halting on the threshold a moment to hold converse with one +within. + +'Can you tell me how Mrs. Thornimett is?' inquired Austin, addressing +himself to her. + +The woman shook her head. 'She is gone, sir. Not more than an hour ago.' + +Sarah, the old servant whom we have seen before at Mrs. Thornimett's, +came forward, weeping. 'Oh, Mr. Austin! oh, sir: why could not you get +here sooner?' + +'How could I, Sarah?' was his reply. 'I received the message only last +evening, and came off by the first train that started.' + +'I'd have took a engine to myself, and rode upon its chimbley, but what +I'd have got here in time,' retorted Sarah. 'Twice in the very last half +hour of her life she asked after you. "Isn't Austin come?" "Isn't he yet +come?" My dear old mistress!' + +'Why was I not sent for before?' he asked, in return. + +'Because we never thought it was turning serious,' sobbed Sarah. 'She +caught cold some days ago, and it flew to her throat, or her chest, I +hardly know which. The doctor was called in; and it's my belief _he_ +didn't know: the doctors nowadays bain't worth half what they used to +be, and they call things by fine names that nobody can understand. +However it may have been, nobody saw any danger, neither him nor us. But +at mid-day yesterday there was a change, and the doctor said he'd like +further advice to be brought in. And it was had; but they could not do +her any good; and she, poor dear mistress, was the first to say that she +was dying. "Send for Austin," she said to me; and one of the gentlemen, +he went to the wire telegraph place, and wrote the message.' + +Austin made no rejoinder: he seemed to be swallowing down a lump in his +throat. Sarah resumed. 'Will you see her, sir? She is just laid out.' + +He nodded acquiescence, and the servant led the way to the death +chamber. It had been put straight, so to remain until all that was left +of its many years' occupant should be removed. She lay on the bed in +placid stillness; her eyes closed, her pale face calm, a smile upon it; +the calm of a spirit at peace with heaven. Austin leaned over her, +losing himself in solemn thoughts. Whither had the spirit flown? to what +bright unknown world? Had it found the company of sister spirits? had it +seen, face to face, its loving Saviour? Oh! what mattered now the few +fleeting trials of this life that had passed over her! how worse than +unimportant did they seem by the side of death! A little, more or less, +of care; a lot, where shade or sunshine shall have predominated; a few +friends gained or lost; struggle, toil, hope--all must merge in the last +rest. It was over; earth, with its troubles and its petty cares, with +its joys and sorrows, and its 'goods stored up for many years;' as +completely over for Mary Thornimett, as though it had never, been. In +the higher realms whither her spirit had hastened---- + +'I told Mrs. Dubbs to knock up the undertaker, and desire him to come +here at once and take the measure for the coffin.' + +Sarah's interruption recalled Austin to the world. It is impossible, +even in a death-chamber, to run away from the ordinary duties of daily +life. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. + + +'You will stay for the funeral, Mr. Clay?' + +'It is my intention to do so.' + +'Good. Being interested in the will, it may be agreeable to you to hear +it read.' + +'Am I interested?' inquired Austin, in some surprise. + +'Why, of course you are,' replied Mr. Knapley, the legal gentleman with +whom Austin was speaking, and who had the conduct of Mrs. Thornimett's +affairs. 'Did you never know that you were a considerable legatee?' + +'I did not,' said Austin. 'Some years ago--it was at the death of Mr. +Thornimett--Mrs. Thornimett hinted to me that I might be the better some +time for a trifle from her. But she has never alluded to it since: and I +have not reckoned upon it.' + +'Then I can tell you--though it is revealing secrets beforehand--that +you are the better to the tune of two thousand pounds.' + +'Two thousand pounds!' uttered Austin, in sheer amazement. 'How came she +to leave me so much as that?' + +'Do you quarrel with it, young sir?' + +'No, indeed: I feel all possible gratitude. But I am surprised, +nevertheless.' + +'She was a clever, clear-sighted woman, was Mrs. Thornimett,' observed +the lawyer. 'I'll tell you about it--how it is you come to have so much. +When I was taking directions for Mr. Thornimett's will--more than ten +years back now--a discussion arose between him and his wife as to the +propriety of leaving a sum of money to Austin Clay. A thousand pounds +was the amount named. Mr. Thornimett was for leaving you in his wife's +hands, to let her bequeath it to you at her death; Mrs. Thornimett +wished it should be left to you then, in the will I was about to make, +that you might inherit it on the demise of Mr. Thornimett. He took his +own course, and did _not_ leave it, as you are aware.' + +'I did not expect him to leave me anything,' interrupted Austin. + +'My young friend, if you break in with these remarks, I shall not get to +the end of my story. After her husband's burial, Mrs. Thornimett spoke +to me. "I particularly wished the thousand pounds left now to Austin +Clay," she said, "and I shall appropriate it to him at once." +"Appropriate it in what manner?" I asked her. "I should like to put it +out to interest, that it may be accumulating for him," she replied, "so +that at my death he may receive both principal and interest." "Then, if +you live as long as it is to be hoped you will, madam, you may be +bequeathing him two thousand pounds instead of one," I observed to her. +"Mr. Knapley," was her answer, "if I choose to bequeath him three, it is +my own money that I do it with; and I am responsible to no one." She had +taken my remark to be one of remonstrance, you see, in which spirit it +was not made: had Mrs. Thornimett chosen to leave you the whole of her +money she had been welcome to do it for me. "Can you help me to a safe +investment for him?" she resumed; and I promised to look about for it. +The long and the short of it is, Mr. Clay, that I found both a safe and +a profitable investment, and the one thousand pounds _has_ swollen +itself into two--as you will hear when the will is read.' + +'I am truly obliged for her kindness, and for the trouble you have +taken,' exclaimed Austin, with a glowing colour. 'I never thought to get +rich all at once.' + +'You only be prudent and take care of it,' said Mr. Knapley. 'Be as wise +in its use as I and Mrs. Thornimett have been. It is the best advice I +can give you.' + +'It is good advice, I know, and I thank you for it,' warmly responded +Austin. + +'Ay. I can tell you that less than two thousand pounds has laid the +foundation of many a great fortune.' + +To a young man whose salary is only two hundred a year, the unexpected +accession to two thousand pounds, hard cash, seems like a great fortune. +Not that Austin Clay cared so very much for a 'great fortune' in itself; +but he certainly did hope to achieve a competency, and to this end he +made the best use of the talents bestowed upon him. He was not ambitious +to die 'worth a million;' he had the rare good sense to know that excess +of means cannot bring excess of happiness. The richest man on earth +cannot eat two dinners a day, or wear two coats at a time, or sit two +thoroughbred horses at once, or sleep on two beds. To some, riches are a +source of continual trouble. Unless rightly used, they cannot draw a man +to heaven, or help him on his road thither. Austin Clay's ambition lay +in becoming a powerful man of business; such as were the Messrs. Hunter. +He would like to have men under him, of whom he should be the master; +not to control them with an iron hand, to grind them to the dust, to +hold them at a haughty distance, as if they were of one species of +humanity and he of another. No; he would hold intact their relative +positions of master and servant--none more strictly than he; but he +would be their considerate friend, their firm advocate, regardful ever +of their interests as he was of his own. He would like to have capital +sufficient for all necessary business operations, that he might fulfil +every obligation justly and honourably: so far, money would be welcome +to Austin. Very welcome did the two thousand pounds sound in his ears, +for they might be the stepping-stone to this. Not to the 'great fortune' +talked of by Mr. Knapley, who avowed freely his respect for +millionaires: he did not care for that. They might also be a +stepping-stone to something else--the very thought of which caused his +face to glow and his veins to tingle--the winning of Florence Hunter. +That he would win her, Austin fully believed now. + +On the day previous to the funeral, in walking through the streets of +Ketterford, Austin found himself suddenly seized by the shoulder. A +window had been thrown open, and a fair arm (to speak with the gallantry +due to the sex in general, rather than to that one arm in particular) +was pushed out and laid upon him. His captor was Miss Gwinn. + +'Come in,' she briefly said. + +Austin would have been better pleased to avoid her, but as she had thus +summarily caught him, there was no help for it: to enter into a battle +of contention with _her_ might be productive of neither honour nor +profit. He entered her sitting-room, and she motioned him to a chair. + +'So you did not intend to call upon me during your stay in Ketterford, +Austin Clay?' + +'The melancholy occasion on which I am here precludes much visiting,' +was his guarded reply. 'And my sojourn will be a short one.' + +'Don't be a hypocrite, young man, and use those unmeaning words. +"Melancholy occasion!" What did you care for Mrs. Thornimett, that her +death should make you "melancholy?"' + +'Mrs. Thornimett was my dear and valued friend,' he returned, with an +emotion born of anger. 'There are few, living, whom I would not rather +have spared. I shall never cease to regret the not having arrived in +time to see her before she died.' + +Miss Gwinn peered at him from her keen eyes, as if seeking to know +whether this was false or true. Possibly she decided in favour of the +latter, for her face somewhat relaxed its sternness. 'What has Dr. +Bevary told you of me and of my affairs?' she rejoined, passing abruptly +to another subject. + +'Not anything,' replied Austin. He did not lift his eyes, and a scarlet +flush dyed his brow as he spoke; nevertheless it was the strict truth. +Miss Gwinn noted the signs of consciousness. + +'You can equivocate, I see.' + +'Pardon me. I have not equivocated to you. Dr. Bevary has disclosed +nothing; he has never spoken to me of your affairs. Why should he, Miss +Gwinn?' + +'Your face told a different tale.' + +'It did not tell an untruth, at any rate,' he said, with some hauteur. + +'Do you never see Dr. Bevary?' + +'I see him sometimes.' + +'At the house of Mr. Hunter, I presume. How is _she_?' + +Again the flush, whatever may have called it up, crimsoned Austin +Clay's brow. 'I do not know of whom you speak,' he coldly said. + +'Of Mrs. Hunter.' + +'She is in ill-health.' + +'Ill to be in danger of her life? I hear so.' + +'It may be. I cannot say.' + +'Do you know, Austin Clay, that I have a long, long account to settle +with you?' she resumed, after a pause: 'years and years have elapsed +since, and I have never called upon you for it. Why should I?' she +added, relapsing into a dreamy mood, and speaking to herself rather than +to Austin; 'the mischief was done, and could not be recalled. I once +addressed a brief note to you at the office of the Messrs. Hunter, +requesting you to give a letter, enclosed in it, to my brother. Why did +you not?' + +Austin was silent. He retained only too vivid a remembrance of the fact. + +'Why did you not give it him, I ask?' + +'I could not give it him, Miss Gwinn. When your letter reached me, your +brother had already been at the office of the Messrs. Hunter, and was +then on his road back to Ketterford. The enclosure was burnt unopened.' + +'Ay!' she passionately uttered, throwing her arms upwards in mental +pain, as Austin had seen her do in the days gone by, and holding commune +with herself, regardless of his presence, 'such has been my fate through +life. Thwarted, thwarted on all sides. For years and years I had lived +but in the hope of finding him; the hope of it kept life in me: and when +the time came, and I did find him, and was entering upon my revenge, +then this brother of mine, who has been the second bane of my existence, +stepped in and reaped the benefit. It was my fault. Why, in my +exultation, did I tell him the man was found? Did I not know enough of +his avarice, his needs, to have made sure that he would turn it to his +own account? Why,' she continued, battling with her hands as at some +invisible adversary, 'was I born with this strong principle of justice +within me? Why, because he stepped in with his false claims and drew +gold--a fortune--of the man, did I deem it a reason for dropping _my_ +revenge?--for letting it rest in abeyance? In abeyance it is still; and +its unsatisfied claims are wearing out my heart and my life----' + +'Miss Gwinn,' interrupted Austin, at length, 'I fancy you forget that I +am present. Your family affairs have nothing to do with me, and I would +prefer not to hear anything about them. I will wish you good day.' + +'True. They have nothing to do with you. I know not why I spoke before +you, save that your sight angers me.' + +'Why so?' Austin could not forbear asking. + +'Because you live on terms of friendship with that man. You are as his +right hand in business; you are a welcome guest at his house; you regard +and respect the house's mistress. Boy! but that she has not wilfully +injured me; but that she is the sister of Dr. Bevary, I should----' + +'I cannot listen to any discussion involving the name of Hunter,' spoke +Austin, in a repellant, resolute tone, the colour again flaming in his +cheeks. 'Allow me to bid you good day.' + +'Stay,' she resumed, in a softer tone, 'it is not with you personally +that I am angry----' + +An interruption came in the person of Lawyer Gwinn. He entered the room +without his coat, a pen behind each ear, and a dirty straw hat on his +head. It was probably his office attire in warm weather. + +'I thought I heard a strange voice. How do you do, Mr. Clay?' he +exclaimed, with much suavity. + +Austin bowed. He said something to the effect that he was on the point +of departing, and retreated to the door, bowing his final farewell to +Miss Gwinn. Mr. Gwinn followed. + +'Ketterford will have to congratulate you, Mr. Clay,' he said. 'I +understand you inherit a very handsome sum from Mrs. Thornimett.' + +'Indeed!' frigidly replied Austin. 'Mrs. Thornimett's will is not yet +read. But Ketterford always knows everybody's business better than its +own.' + +'Look you, my dear Mr. Clay,' said the lawyer, holding him by the +button-hole. 'Should you require a most advantageous investment for your +money--one that will turn you in cent. per cent. and no risk--I can help +you to one. Should your inheritance be of the value of a thousand +pounds, and you would like to double it--as all men, of course, do +like--just trust it to me; I have the very thing now open.' + +Austin shook himself free--rather too much in the manner that he might +have shaken himself from a serpent. 'Whether my inheritance may be of +the value of one thousand pounds or of ten thousand, Mr. Gwinn, I shall +not require your services in the disposal of it. Good morning.' + +The lawyer looked after him as he strode away. 'So, you carry it with a +high hand to me, do you, my brave gentleman! with your vain person, and +your fine clothes, and your imperious manner! Take you care! I hold your +master under my thumb; I may next hold you!' + +'The vile hypocrite!' ejaculated Austin to himself, walking all the +faster to leave the lawyer's house behind him. 'She is bad enough, with +her hankering after revenge, and her fits of passion; but she is an +angel of light compared to him. Heaven help Mr. Hunter! It would have +been sufficient to have had _her_ to fight, but to have _him_! Ay, +Heaven help him!' + +'How d'ye do, Mr. Clay?' + +Austin returned the nod of the passing acquaintance, and continued his +way, his thoughts reverting to Miss Gwinn. + +'Poor thing! there are times when I pity her! Incomprehensible as the +story is to me, I can feel compassion; for it was a heavy wrong done +her, looking at it in the best light. She is not all bad; but for the +wrong, and for her evil temper, she might have been different. There is +something good in the hint I gathered now from her lips, if it be +true--that she suffered her own revenge to drop into abeyance, because +her brother had pursued Mr. Hunter to drain money from him: she would +not go upon him in both ways. Yes, there was something in it both noble +and generous, if those terms can ever be applied to----' + +'Austin Clay, I am sure! How are you?' + +Austin resigned his hand to the new comer, who claimed it. His thoughts +could not be his own to-day. + +The funeral of Mrs. Thornimett took place. Her mortal remains were laid +beside her husband, there to repose peacefully until the last trump +shall sound. On the return of the mourners to the house, the will was +read, and Austin found himself the undoubted possessor of two thousand +pounds. Several little treasures, in the shape of books, drawings, and +home knicknacks, were also left to him. He saw after the packing of +these, and the day following the funeral he returned to London. + +It was evening when he arrived; and he proceeded without delay to the +house of Mr. Hunter--ostensibly to report himself, really to obtain a +sight of Florence, for which his tired heart was yearning. The +drawing-room was lighted up, by which he judged that they had friends +with them. Mr. Hunter met him in the hall: never did a visitor's knock +sound at his door but Mr. Hunter, in his nervous restlessness, strove to +watch who it might be that entered. Seeing Austin, his face acquired a +shade of brightness, and he came forward with an outstretched hand. + +'But you have visitors,' Austin said, when greetings were over, and Mr. +Hunter was drawing him towards the stairs. He wore deep mourning, but +was not in evening dress. + +'As if anybody will care for the cut of your coat!' cried Mr. Hunter. +'There's Mrs. Hunter wrapped up in a woollen shawl.' + +The room was gay with light and dress, with many voices, and with music. +Florence was seated at the piano, playing, and singing in a glee with +others. Austin, silently greeting those whom he knew as he passed, made +his way to Mrs. Hunter. She was wrapped in a warm shawl, as her husband +had said; but she appeared better than usual. + +'I am so glad to see you looking well,' Austin whispered, his earnest +tone betraying deep feeling. + +'And I am glad to see you here again,' she replied, smiling, as she held +his hand. 'We have missed you, Austin. Yes, I feel better! but it is +only a temporary improvement. So you have lost poor Mrs. Thornimett. She +died before you could reach her.' + +'She did,' replied Austin, with a grave face. 'I wish we could get +transported to places, in case of necessity as quickly as the telegraph +brings us news that we are wanted. A senseless and idle wish, you will +say; but it would have served me in this case. She asked after me twice +in her last half hour.' + +'Austin,' breathed Mrs. Hunter, 'was it a happy death-bed? Was she ready +to go?' + +'Quite, quite,' he answered, a look of enthusiasm illumining his face. +'She had been ready long.' + +'Then we need not mourn for her; rather praise God that she is taken. +Oh, Austin, what a happy thing it must be for such to die! But you are +young and hopeful; you cannot understand that, yet.' + +So, Mrs. Hunter had learnt that great truth! Some years before, she had +not so spoken to the wife of John Baxendale, when _she_ was waiting in +daily expectation of being called on her journey. It had come to her ere +her time of trial--as the dying woman had told her it would. + +The singing ceased, and in the movement which it occasioned in the room, +Austin left Mrs. Hunter's side, and stood within the embrasure of the +window, half hidden by the curtains. The air was pleasant on that warm +summer night, and Florence, resigning her place at the instrument to +some other lady, stole to the window to inhale its freshness. There she +saw Austin. She had not heard him enter the room--did not know, in fact, +that he was back from Ketterford. + +'Oh!' she uttered, in the sudden revulsion of feeling that the sight +brought to her, 'is it you?' + +He quietly took her hands in his, and looked down at her. Had it been to +save her life, she could not have helped betraying emotion. + +'Are you glad to see me, Florence?' he softly whispered. + +She coloured even to tears. Glad! The time might come when she should be +able to tell him so; but that time was not yet. + +'Mrs. Hunter is glad of my return,' he continued, in the same low tone, +sweeter to her ear than all music. 'She says I have been missed. Is it +so, Florence?' + +'And what have you been doing?' asked Florence, not knowing in the least +what she said in her confusion, as she left his question unanswered, and +drew her hands away from him. + +'I have not been doing much, save the seeing a dear old friend laid in +the earth. You know that Mrs. Thornimett is dead. She died before I got +there.' + +'Papa told us that. He heard from you two or three times, I think. How +you must regret it! But why did they not send for you in time?' + +'It was only the last day that danger was apprehended,' replied Austin. +'She grew worse suddenly. You cannot think, Florence, how strangely this +gaiety'--he half turned to the room--'contrasts with the scenes I have +left: the holy calm of her death-chamber, the laying of her in the +grave.' + +'An unwelcome contrast, I am sure it must be.' + +'It jars on the mind. All events, essentially of the world, let them be +ever so necessary or useful, must do so, when contrasted with the solemn +scenes of life's close. But how soon we forget those solemn scenes, and +live in the world again!' + +'Austin,' she gently whispered, 'I do not like to talk of death. It +reminds me of the dread that is ever oppressing me.' + +'She looks so much better as to surprise me,' was his answer, +unconscious that it betrayed his undoubted cognisance of the 'dread' she +spoke of. + +'If it would but last!' sighed Florence. 'To prolong mamma's life, I +think I would sacrifice mine.' + +'No, you would not, Florence--in mercy to her. If called upon to lose +her you would grow reconciled to it; to do so, is in the order of +nature. _She_ could not spare _you_.' + +Florence believed that she never could grow reconciled to it: she often +wondered _how_ she should bear it when the time came. But there rose up +before her now, as she spoke with Austin, one cheering promise, 'As thy +day is, so shall thy strength be.' + +'What should you say, if I tell you I have come into a fortune!' resumed +Austin, in a lighter tone. + +'I should say--But, is it true?' broke off Florence. + +'Not true, as you and Mr. Hunter would count fortunes,' smiled Austin; +'but true, as poor I, born without silver spoons in my mouth, and +expecting to work hard for all I shall ever possess, have looked upon +them. Mrs. Thornimett has behaved to me most kindly, most generously; +she has bequeathed to me two thousand pounds.' + +'I am delighted to hear it,' said Florence, her glad eyes sparkling. +'Never call yourself poor again.' + +'I cannot call myself rich, as Mr. and Mrs. Hunter compute riches. But, +Florence, it may be a stepping-stone to become so.' + +'A stepping-stone to become what?' demanded Dr. Bevary, breaking in upon +the conference. + +'Rich,' said Austin, turning to the doctor. 'I am telling Florence that +I have come into some money since I went away.' + +Mr. Hunter and others were gathering around them, and the conversation +became general. 'What is that, Clay?' asked Mr. Hunter. 'You have come +into a fortune, do you say?' + +'I said, _not_ into a fortune, sir, as those accustomed to fortune would +estimate it. That great physician, standing there and listening to me, +he would laugh at the sum: I daresay he makes more in six months. But +it may prove a stepping-stone to fortune, and to--to other desirable +things.' + +'Do not speak so vaguely,' cried the doctor, in his quaint fashion. +'Define the "desirable things." Come! it's my turn now.' + +'I am not sure that they have taken a sufficiently tangible shape as +yet, to be defined,' returned Austin, in the same tone. 'You might laugh +at them for day-dreams.' + +Unwittingly his eye rested for a moment upon Florence. Did she deem the +day-dreams might refer to her, that her eye-lids should droop, and her +cheeks turn scarlet? Dr. Bevary noticed both the look and the signs; Mr. +Hunter saw neither. + +'Day-dreams would be enchanting as an eastern fairy-tale, only that they +never get realized,' interposed one of the fair guests, with a pretty +simper, directed to Austin Clay and his attractions. + +'I will realize mine,' he returned, rather too confidently, 'Heaven +helping me!' + +'A better stepping-stone, that help, to rely upon, than the money you +have come into,' said Dr. Bevary, with one of his peculiar nods. + +'True, doctor,' replied Austin. 'But may not the money have come from +the same helping source? Heaven, you know, vouchsafes to work with +humble instruments.' + +The last few sentences had been interchanged in a low tone. They now +passed into the general circle, and the evening went on to its close. + +Austin and Dr. Bevary were the last to leave the house. They quitted it +together, and the doctor passed his arm within Austin's as they walked +on. + +'Well,' said he, 'and what have you been doing at Ketterford?' + +'I have told you, doctor. Leaving my dear old friend and relative in her +grave; and, realizing the fact that she has bequeathed to me this +money.' + +'Ah, yes; I heard that,' returned the doctor. 'You've been seeing +friends too, I suppose. Did you happen to meet the Gwinns?' + +'Once. I was passing the house, and Miss Gwinn laid hands upon me from +the window, and commanded me in. I got out again as soon as I could. Her +brother made his appearance as I was leaving.' + +'And what did he say to you?' asked the doctor, in a tone meant to be +especially light and careless. + +'Nothing; except that he told me if I wanted a safe and profitable +investment for the money I had inherited under Mrs. Thornimett's will, +he could help me to one. I cut him very short, sir.' + +'What did _she_ say?' resumed Dr. Bevary. 'Did she begin upon her family +affairs--as she is rather fond of doing?' + +'Well,' said Austin, his tone quite as careless as the doctor's, 'I did +not give her the opportunity. Once, when she seemed inclined to do so, I +stopped her; telling her that her private affairs were no concern of +mine, neither should I listen to them.' + +'Quite right, my young friend,' emphatically spoke the doctor. + +Not another word was said until they came to Daffodil's Delight. Here +they wished each other good night The doctor continued his way to his +home, and Austin turned down towards Peter Quale's. + +But what could be the matter? Had Daffodil's Delight miscalculated the +time, believing it to be day, instead of night? Women leaned out of +their windows in night-caps; children had crept from their beds and come +forth to tumble into the gutter naked, as some of them literally were; +men crowded the doorway of the Bricklayers' Arms, and stood about with +pipes and pint pots; all were in a state of rampant excitement. Austin +laid hold of the first person who appeared sober enough to listen to +him. It happened to be a woman, Mrs. Dunn. + +'What is this?' he exclaimed. 'Have you all come into a fortune?' the +recent conversation at Mr. Hunter's probably helping him to the remark. + +'Better nor that,' shrieked Mrs. Dunn. 'Better nor _that_, a thousand +times! We have circumvented the masters, and got our ends, and now we +shall just have all we want--roast goose and apple pudding for dinner, +and plenty of beer to wash it down with.' + +'But what is it that you have got?' pursued Austin, who was completely +at sea. + +'Got! why, we have got the STRIKE,' she replied, in joyful excitement. +'Pollocks' men struck to-day. Where have you been, sir, not to have +heered on it?' + +At that moment a fresh crowd came jostling down Daffodil's Delight, and +Austin was parted from the lady. Indeed, she rushed up to the mob to +follow in their wake. Many other ladies followed in their wake--half +Daffodil's Delight, if one might judge by numbers. Shouting, singing, +exulting, dancing; it seemed as if they had, for the nonce, gone mad. +Sam Shuck, in his long-tailed coat, ornamented with its holes and its +slits, was leading the van, his voice hoarse, his face red, his legs and +arms executing a war-dance of exaltation. He it was who had got up the +excitement and was keeping it up, shouting fiercely: 'Hurrah for the +work of this day! Rule Britanniar! Britons never shall be slaves! The +Strike has begun, friends! H--o--o--o--o--o--r--rah! Three cheers for +the Strike!' + +Yes. The Strike had begun. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +AGITATION. + + +The men of an influential metropolitan building firm had struck, because +their employers declined to accede to certain demands, and Daffodil's +Delight was, as you have seen, in a high state of excitement, +particularly the female part of it. The men said they struck for a +diminution in the hours of labour; the masters told them they struck for +an increase of wages. Seeing that the non-contents wanted the hours +reduced and _not_ the pay, it appears to me that you may call it which +you like. + +The Messrs. Hunters' men--with whom we have to do, for it was they who +chiefly filled Daffodil's Delight--though continuing their work as +usual, were in a most unsettled state; as was the case in the trade +generally. The smouldering discontent might have died away peacefully +enough, and probably would, but that certain spirits made it their +business to fan it into a flame. + +A few days went on. One evening Sam Shuck posted himself in an angle +formed by the wall at the top of Daffodil's Delight. It was the hour for +the men to quit work; and, as they severally passed him on their road +home, Sam's arm was thrust forward, and a folded bit of paper put into +their hands. A mysterious sort of missive apparently; for, on opening +the paper, it was found to contain only these words, in the long, +sprawling hand of Sam himself: 'Barn at the back of Jim Dunn's. Seven +o'clock.' + +Behind the house tenanted by the Dunns were premises occupied until +recently by a cowkeeper. They comprised, amidst other accommodation, a +large barn, or shed. Being at present empty, and to let, Sam thought he +could do no better than take French leave to make use of it. + +The men hurried over their tea, or supper (some took one on leaving work +for the night, some the other, some a mixture of both, and some +neither), that they might attend to the invitation of Sam. Peter Quale +was seated over a substantial dish of batter pudding, a bit of neck of +mutton baked in the midst of it, when he was interrupted by the entrance +of John Baxendale, who had stepped in from his own rooms next door. + +'Be you a going to this meeting, Quale?' Baxendale asked, as he took a +seat. + +'I don't know nothing about it,' returned Peter. 'I saw Slippery Sam a +giving out papers, so I guessed there was something in the wind. He took +care to pass me over. I expect I'm the greatest eyesore Sam has got just +now. Have a bit?' added Peter, unceremoniously, pointing to the dish +before him with his knife. + +'No, thank ye; I have just had tea at home. That's the paper'--laying it +open on the table-cloth. 'Sam Shuck is just now cock-a-hoop with this +strike.' + +'He is no more cock-a-hoop than the rest of Daffodil's Delight is,' +struck in Mrs. Quale, who had finished her own meal, and was at leisure +to talk. 'The men and women is all a going mad together, I think, and +Slippery Sam's leading 'em on. Suppose you all do strike--which is what +they are hankering after--what good 'll it bring?' + +'That's just it,' replied Baxendale. 'One can't see one's way clear. The +agitation might do us some good, but it might do us a deal of harm; so +that one doesn't know what to be at. Quale, I'll go to the meeting, if +you will?' + +'If I go, it will be to give 'em a piece of my mind,' retorted Peter. + +'Well, it's only right that different sides should be heard. Sam 'll +have it all his own way else.' + +'He'll manage to get that, by the appearance things wears,' said Mrs. +Quale, wrathfully. 'How you men can submit to be led by such a fellow +as him, just because his tongue is capable of persuading you that +black's white, is a marvel to me. Talk of women being soft! let the men +talk of theirselves. Hold up a finger to 'em, and they'll go after it: +like the Swiss cows Peter read of the other day, a flocking in a line +after their leader, behind each other's tails.' + +'I wish I knew what was right,' said Baxendale, 'or which course would +turn out best for us.' + +'I'd be off and listen to what's going on, at any rate,' urged Mrs. +Quale. + +The barn was filling. Sam Shuck, perched upon Mrs. Dunn's washing-tub +turned upside down, which had been rolled in for the occasion, greeted +each group as it arrived with a gracious nod. Sam appeared to be +progressing in the benefits he had boasted to his wife he should derive, +inasmuch as that the dilapidated clothes had been discarded for better +ones: and he stood on the tub's end in all the glory of a black frock +coat, a crimson neck-tie with lace ends, and peg-top pantaloons: the +only attire (as a ready-made outfitting shop had assured him) that a +gentleman could wear. Sam's eye grew less complacent when it rested on +Peter Quale, who was coming in with John Baxendale. + +'This is a pleasure we didn't expect,' said he. + +'Maybe not,' returned Peter Quale, drily. 'The barn's open to all.' + +'Of course it is,' glibly said Sam, putting a good face upon the matter. +'All fair and above board, is our mottor: which is more than them native +enemies of ours, the masters, can say: they hold their meetings in +secret, with closed doors.' + +'Not in secret--do they?' asked Robert Darby. 'I have not heard of +that.' + +'They meet in their own homes, and they shut out strangers,' replied +Sam. 'I'd like to know what you call that, but meeting in secret?' + +'I should not call it secret; I should call it private,' decided Darby, +after a minute's pause, given to realize the question. 'We might do the +same. Our homes are ours, and we can shut out whom we please.' + +'Of course we _might_,' contended Sam. 'But we like better to be open; +and if a few of us assemble together to consult on the present aspect of +affairs, we do it so that the masters, if they choose, might come and +hear us. Things are not equalized in this world. Let us attempt secret +meetings, and see how soon we should be looked up by the law, and +accused of hatching treason and sedition, and all the rest of it. That +sharp-eyed _Times_ newspaper would be the first to set on us. There's +one law for the masters, and another for the men.' + +'Is that Slippery Sam?' ejaculated a new comer, at this juncture. 'Where +did you get that fine new toggery, Shuck?' + +The disrespectful interruption was spoken in simple surprise: no +insidious meaning prompting it. Sam Shuck had appeared in ragged attire +so long, that the change could not fail to be remarkable. Sam loftily +turned a deaf ear to the remark, and continued his address. + +'I am sure that most of you can't fail to see that things have come to +a crisis in our trade. The moment that brought it, was when that great +building firm refused the reasonable demands of their men; and the +natural consequence of which was a strike. Friends, I have been just +_riled_ ever since. I have watched you go to work day after day like +tame cats, the same as if nothing had happened; and I have said to +myself: "Have those men of Hunter's got souls within them, or have they +got none?"' + +'I don't suppose we have parted from our souls,' struck in a voice. + +'You have parted with the feelings of them, at any rate,' rejoined Sam, +beginning to dance in the excitement of contention, but remembering in +time that his _terra firma_ was only a creaky tub. 'What's that you ask +me? How have you parted with them? Why, by not following up the strike. +If you possessed a grain of the independence of free men, you'd have +hoisted your colours before now; what would have been the result? Why, +the men of other firms in the trade would have followed suit, and all +struck in a body. It's the only way that will bring the masters to +reason: the only way by which we can hope to obtain our rights.' + +'You see there's no knowing what would be the end of a strike, Shuck,' +argued John Baxendale. + +'There's no knowing what may be the inside of a pie until you cut him +open,' said Jim Dunn, whose politics were the same as Mr. Shuck's, +red-hot for a strike. 'But 'tain't many as 'ud shrink from putting in +the knife to see.' + +The men laughed, and greeted Jim Dunn with applause. + +'I put it to you all,' resumed Sam, who took his share of laughing with +the rest, 'whether there's sense or not in what I say. Are we likely to +get our grievances redressed by the masters, unless we force it? Never: +not if we prayed our hearts out.' + +'Never,' and 'never,' murmured sundry voices. + +'What _are_ our grievances?' demanded Peter Quale, putting the question +in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he really asked for information. + +'Listen!' ironically ejaculated Sam. 'He asks what our grievances are! +I'll answer you, Quale. They are many and great. Are we not kept to work +like beasts of burden, ten hours a day? Does that leave us time for the +recreation of our wearied bodies, for the improvement of our minds, for +the education of our children, for the social home intercourse in the +bosoms of our families? By docking the day's labour to nine hours--or to +eight, which we shall get, may be, after awhile,' added Sam, with a +wink--'it would leave us the extra hour, and be a blessing.' + +Sam carried the admiring room with him. That hard, disbelieving Peter +Quale, interrupted the cheering. + +'A blessing, or the conterairy, as it might turn out,' cried he. 'It's +easy to talk of education, and self-improvement; but how many is there +that would use the accorded hour that way?' + +'Another grievance is our wages,' resumed Sam, drowning the words, not +caring to court discussion on what might be a weak point. 'We call +ourselves men, and Englishmen, and yet we lie down contented with +five-and-sixpence a day. Do you know what our trade gets in Australia? +Oh, you do, some of you? then I'll tell those that don't. From twelve to +fifteen shillings per day: and even more than that. _Twelve shillings!_ +and that's the minimum rate of pay,' slowly repeated Sam, lifting up his +arm and one peg-top to give emphasis to the words. + +A murmur of envy at the coveted rate of pay in Australia shook the room +to the centre. + +'But the price of provisions and other necessaries is enormous in that +quarter,' debated Abel White. 'So it may come to the same in the end--be +about as broad as long. Old father and me was talking about it last +night.' + +'If everybody went in for your old father's sentiments, we should soon +be like him--in our dotage,' loftily observed Sam. + +'But things are dear there,' persisted Sam's antagonist. 'I have heard +what is sometimes given for shoes there; but I'm afraid to say, it was +so much. The wages in Australia can't be any guide for us.' + +'No, they can't,' said Peter Quale. 'Australia is one place, and this is +another. Where's the use of bringing up that?' + +'Oh, of course not,' sarcastically uttered Sam. 'Anything that tends to +show how we are put upon, and how we might be made more comfortable, +it's of no use bringing up. The long and the short of it is this: we +want to be regarded as MEN: to have our voices considered, and our +plaints attended to; to be put altogether upon a better footing. Little +enough is it we ask at present: only for a modicum of ease in our day's +hard labour, just the thin end of the wedge inserted to give it. That's +all we are agitating for. It depends upon ourselves whether we get it or +not. Let us display manly courage and join the strike, and it is ours +to-morrow.' + +The response did not come so quickly as Sam deemed it ought. He went on +in a persuasive, ringing tone. + +'Consider the wives of your bosoms; consider your little children; +consider yourselves. Were you born into the world to be +slaves--blackymoors; to be ground into the dust with toil? Never.' + +'Never,' uproariously echoed three parts of the room. + +'The motto of a true man is, or ought to be, "Do as little as you can, +and get as much for it;"' said Sam, dancing in his enthusiasm, and +thereby nearly losing his perch on the tub. 'With an hour's work less a +day, and the afternoon holiday on the Saturday, we shall----' + +'What's the good of a afternoon Saturday holiday? We don't want that, +Sam Shuck.' + +This ignominious interruption to the proceedings came from a lady. +Buzzing round the entrance door and thrusting in their heads at a square +hole, which might originally have been intended for a window were a +dozen or two of the gentler sex. This irregularity had not been +unobserved by the chairman, who faced them: the chairman's audience, +densely packed, had their backs that way. It was not an orthodox adjunct +to a trade meeting, that was certain, and the chairman would probably +have ordered the ladies away, had he deemed there was a chance of his +getting obeyed; but too many of them had the reputation of being the +grey mares. So he winked at the irregularity, and had added one or two +flourishes of oratory for their especial ears. The interruption came +from Mrs. Cheek, Timothy Cheek's wife. + +'What's the good of a afternoon Saturday holiday? We don't want that, +Sam Shuck. Just when we be up to our eyes in muck and cleaning, our +places routed out till you can't see the colour of the boards, for +brooms, and pails, and soap and water, and the chairs and things is all +topsy-turvy, one upon another, so as the children have to be sent out to +grub in the gutter, for there ain't no place for 'em indoors, do you +think we want the men poking their noses in? No; and they'd better not +try it on. Women have got tempers given to 'em as well as you.' + +'And tongues too,' rejoined Sam, unmindful of the dignity of his office. + +'It is to be hoped they have,' retorted Mrs. Cheek, not inclined to be +put down; and her sentiments appeared to be warmly joined in by the +ladies generally. 'Don't you men go a agitating for the Saturday's +half-holiday! What 'ud you do with it, do you suppose? Why, just sot it +away at the publics.' + +Some confusion ensued; and the women were peremptorily ordered to mind +their own business, and 'make theirselves scarce,' which not one of them +attempted to obey. When the commotion had subsided, a very respectable +man took up the discourse--George Stevens. + +'The gist of the whole question is this,' he said: 'Will agitation do us +good, or will it do us harm? We look upon ourselves as representing one +interest; the masters consider they represent another. If it comes to +open warfare between the two, the strongest would win.' + +'In other words, whichever side's funds held out the longest,' said +Robert Darby. 'That is as I look upon it.' + +'Just so,' returned Stevens. 'I cannot say, seeing no farther than we +can see at present, that a strike would be advisable.' + +'Stevens, do you want to better yourself, or not?' asked Sam Shuck. + +'I'd be glad enough to better myself, if I saw my way clear to do it,' +was the reply. 'But I don't.' + +'We don't want no strikes,' struck in a shock-headed hard-working man. +'What is it we want to strike for? We have got plenty of work, and full +wages. A strike won't fill our pockets. Them may vote for strikes that +like 'em; I'll keep to my work.' + +Partial applause. + +'It is as I said,' cried Sam. 'There's poor, mean-spirited creatures +among you, as won't risk the loss of a day's pay for the common good, or +put out a hand to help the less fortunate. I'd rather be buried alive, +five feet under the earth, than I'd show cat so selfish.' + +'What is the interest of one of us is the interest of all,' observed +Stevens. 'And a strike, if we went into it, would either benefit us all +in the end, or make us all suffer. It is sheer nonsense to attempt to +make out that one man's interest is different from another's; our +interests are the same. I'd vote for striking to-morrow, if I were sure +we should come out of it with whole skins, and get what we struck for: +but I must see that a bit clearer first.' + +'How can we get it, unless we try for it?' demanded Sam. 'If the masters +find we're all determined, they'll give in to us. I appeal to you +all'--raising his hands over the room--'whether the masters can do +without us?' + +'That has got to be seen,' said Peter Quale, significantly. 'One thing +is plain: we could not do without them.' + +'Nor they without us--nor they without us,' struck in voices from +various parts of the barn. + +'Then why shilly-shally about the question of a strike?' asked Sam of +the barn, in a glib tone of reason. 'If a universal strike were on, the +masters would pretty soon make terms that would end it. Why, a six +months' strike would drive half of them into the _Gazette_----' + +'But it might drive us into the workhouse at the same time,' interrupted +John Baxendale. + +'Let me finish,' went on Sam; 'it's not perlite to take up a man in the +middle of a sentence. I say that a six months' strike would send many of +the masters to the bankruptcy court. Well now, there has been a question +debated among us'--Sam lowered his voice--'whether it would not be +policy to let things go on quietly, as they are, till next spring----' + +'A question among who?' interposed Peter Quale, regardless of the +reproof just administered to John Baxendale. + +'Never you mind who,' returned Sam, with a wink: 'among those that are +hard at work for your interest. With their contracts for the season +signed, and their works in full progress, say about next May, then would +be the time for a strike to tell upon the masters. However, it has been +thought better not to delay it. The future's but an uncertainty: the +present is ours, and so must the strike be. _Have_ you wives?' he +pathetically continued; '_have_ you children? _have_ you spirits of your +own? Then you will all, with one accord, go in for the strike.' + +'But what are our wives and children to do while the strike is on?' +asked Robert Darby. 'You say yourself it might last six months, Shuck. +Who would support them?' + +'Who!' rejoined Sam, with an indignant air, as if the question were a +superfluous one. 'Why the Trades' Unions, of course. _That's_ all +settled. The Unions are prepared to take care of all who are out on +strike, standing up, like brave Britons, for their privileges, and keep +'em like fighting-cocks. Hooroar for that blessed boon, the Trades' +Unions!' + +'Hooroar for the Trades' Unions!' was shouted in chorus. 'Keep us like +fighting-cocks, will they! Hooroar!' + +'Much good you'll get from the Trades' Unions!' burst forth a +dissentient voice. 'They are the greatest pests as ever was allowed in a +free country.' + +The opposition caused no little commotion. Standing by the door, having +pushed his way through the surrounding women, who had _not_ made +themselves 'scarce,' was a man in a flannel jacket, a cap in his hand, +and his head white with mortar. He was looking excited as he spoke. + +'This is not regular,' said Sam Shuck, displaying authority. 'You have +no business here: you don't belong to us.' + +'Regular or irregular, I'll speak my mind,' was the answer. 'I have been +at work for Jones the builder, down yonder. I have done my work steady +and proper, and I have had my pay. A man comes up to me yesterday and +says, "You must join the Trades' Union." "No," says I, "I shan't; I +don't want nothing of the Trades' Union, and the Union don't want +nothing of me." So they goes to my master. "If you keep on employing +this man, your other men will strike," they says to him; and he, being +in a small way, got intimidated, and sent me off to-day. And here I am, +throwed out of work, and I have got a sick wife and nine young children +to keep. Is that justice? or is it tyranny? Talk about emancipating the +slaves! let us emancipate ourselves at home.' + +'Why don't you join the Union?' cried Sam. 'All do, who are good men and +true.' + +'All good men and true _don't_,' dissented the man. 'Many of the best +workmen among us won't have anything to do with Unions; and you know it, +Sam Shuck.' + +'Just clear out of this,' said Sam. + +'When I've had my say,' returned the man, 'not before. If I would join +the Union, I can't. To join it, I must pay five shillings, and I have +not got them to pay. With such a family as mine, you may guess every +shilling is forestalled afore it comes in. I kept myself to myself, +doing my work in quiet, and interfering with nobody. Why should they +interfere with me?' + +'If you have been in full work, five shillings is not much to pay to the +Union,' sneered Sam. + +'If I had my pockets filled with five-shilling pieces, I would not pay +one to it,' fearlessly retorted the man. 'Is it right that a free-born +Englishman should give in to such a system of intimidation? No: I never +will. You talk of the masters being tyrants: it's you who are the +tyrants, one to another. What is one workman better than his fellow, +that he should lay down laws and say, You shall do this, and you shall +do that, or you shan't be allowed to work at all? That rule you want to +get passed--that a skilled, thorough workman shouldn't do a full day's +work because some of his fellows can't--who's agitating for it? Why, +naturally those that can't or won't do the full work. Would an honest, +capable man go in for it? Of course he'd not. I tell you what'--turning +his eyes on the room--'the Trades' Unions have been called a protection +to the working man; but, if you don't take care, they'll grow into a +curse. When Sam Shuck, and other good-for-naughts like him, what never +did a full week's work for their families yet, are paid in gold and +silver to spread incendiarism among you, it's time you looked to +yourselves.' + +He turned away as he spoke; and Sam, in a dance of furious passion, +danced off his tub. The interlude had not tended to increase the feeling +of the men in Sam's favour--that is, in the cause he advocated. Not a +man present but wanted to better himself could he do so with safety, but +they were afraid to enter on aggressive measures. Indiscriminate talking +ensued; diverse opinions were disputed, and the meeting was prolonged to +a late hour. Finally the men dispersed as they came, nothing having been +resolved upon. A few set their faces resolutely against the proposed +strike; a few were red-hot for it; but the majority were undecided, and +liable to be swayed either way. + +'It will come,' nodded Sam Shuck, as he went home to a supper of pork +chops and gin-and-water. + +But Sam was destined to be--as he would have expressed it--circumvented. +It cannot be supposed that this unsatisfactory state of things was +unnoticed by the masters: and they took their measures accordingly. +Forming themselves into an association, they discussed the measures best +to be adopted, and determined upon a lock-out; that is, to close their +yards until the firm, whose workmen had struck, should resume work. They +also resolved to employ only those men who would sign an agreement, or +memorandum, affirming that they were not connected with any society +which interfered with the arrangements of the master whose service they +entered, or with the hours of labour, and acknowledging the rights both +of masters and men to enter into any trade arrangements on which they +might mutually agree. This paper of agreement was not relished by the +men at all; they styled it 'the odious document.' Neither was the +lock-out relished: it was of course equivalent, in one sense, to a +strike; only that the initiative had come from the masters' side, and +not from theirs. It commenced early in August. Some of the masters +closed their works without a word of explanation to their men: in one +sense it was not needed, for the men knew of the measure beforehand. Mr. +Hunter chose to assemble them together, and state what he was about to +do. Somewhat of his old energy appeared to have been restored to him for +the moment, as he stood before them and spoke--Austin Clay by his side. + +'You have brought it upon yourselves,' he said, in answer to a remark +from one who boldly, but respectfully, asked whether it was fair to +resort to a lock-out, and so punish all alike, contents and +non-contents. 'I will meet the question upon your own grounds. When the +Messrs. Pollocks' men struck because their demands, to work nine hours a +day, were not acceded to, was it not in contemplation that you should +join them--that the strike should be universal? Come, answer me +candidly.' + +The men, true and honest, did not deny it. + +'And possibly by this time you would have struck,' said Mr. Hunter. 'How +much more "fair" would that have been towards us, than this locking-out +is towards you? Do you suppose that you alone are to meet and pass your +laws, saying you will coerce the masters, and that the masters will not +pass laws in return? Nonsense, my men!' + +A pause. + +'When have the masters attempted to interfere with your privileges, +either by saying that your day's toil shall consist of longer hours, or +by diminishing your wages, and threatening to turn you off if you do not +fall in with the alteration? Never. Masters have rights as well as men; +but some of you, of late, have appeared to ignore the fact. Let me ask +you another question: Were you well treated under me, or were you not? +Have I shown myself solicitous for your interests, for your welfare? +Have I ever oppressed you, ever put upon you?' + +No, Mr. Hunter had never sought to oppress them: they acknowledged it +freely. He had ever been a good master. + +'My men, let me give you my opinion. While condemning your conduct, your +semblance of discontent--it has been semblance rather than reality--I +have been sorry for you, for it is not with you that the chief blame +lies. You have suffered evil persuaders to get access to your ears, and +have been led away by their pernicious counsels. The root of the evil +lies there. I wish you could bring your own good sense to bear upon +these points, and to see with your own eyes. If so, there will be +nothing to prevent our resuming together amicable relations; and, for my +own part, I care not how soon the time shall come. The works are for the +present closed. + + + + +PART THE THIRD. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A PREMATURE AVOWAL. + + +Daffodil's Delight was in all the glory of the lock-out. The men, having +nothing to do, improved their time by enjoying themselves; they stood +about the street, or lounged at their doors, smoking their short pipes +and quaffing draughts of beer. Let money run ever so short, you will +generally see that the beer and the pipes can be found. As yet, the +evils of being out of work were not felt; for weekly pay, sufficient for +support, was supplied them by the Union Committee. The men were in high +spirits--in that sort of mood implied by the words 'Never say die,' +which phrase was often in their mouths. They expressed themselves +determined to hold out; and this determination was continually fostered +by the agents of the Union, of whom Sam Shuck was the chief: chief as +regarded Daffodil's Delight--inferior as regarded other agents +elsewhere. Many of the more temperate of the men, who had not +particularly urged the strike, were warm supporters now of the general +opinion, for they regarded the lock-out as an unwarrantable piece of +tyranny on the part of the masters. As to the ladies, they were +over-warm partisans, generally speaking, making the excitement, the +unsettled state of Daffodil's Delight, an excuse for their own idleness +(they are only too ready to do so when occasion offers), and collected +in groups round the men, or squatted themselves on door steps, +proclaiming their opinion of existing things, and boasting that they'd +hold out for their rights till death. + +It was almost like a summer's day. Seated in a chair at the bottom of +her garden, just within the gate, was Mary Baxendale. Not that she was +there to join in the gossip of the women, little knots of whom were +dotting the street, or had any intention of joining in it: she was +simply sitting there for air. + +Mary Baxendale was fading. Never very strong, she had, for the last year +or two, been gradually declining, and, with the excessive heat of the +past summer, her remaining strength appeared to have gone out. Her +occupation, that of a seamstress, had not tended to keep her in health; +she had a great deal of work offered her, her skill being superior, and +she had sat at it early and late. Mary was thoughtful and conscientious, +and she was anxious to contribute a full share to the home support. Her +father had married again, had now two young children, and it almost +appeared to Mary as if she were an interloper in the paternal home. Not +that the new Mrs. Baxendale made her feel this: she was a bustling, +hearty woman, fond of show and spending, and of setting off her babies; +but she was kind to Mary. + +The capability of exertion appeared to be past, and Mary's days were +chiefly spent in a quiescent state of rest, and in frequently sitting +out of doors. This day--it was now the beginning of September--was an +unusually bright one, and she drew her invalid shawl round her, and +leaned back in her seat, looking out on the lively scene, at the men and +women congregating in the road, and inhaling the fresh air. At least, as +fresh as it could be got in Daffodil's Delight. + +'How do you feel to-day, Mary?' + +The questioner was Mrs. Quale. She had come out of her house in her +bonnet and shawl, bent on some errand and stopped to accost Mary. + +'I am pretty well to-day. That is, I should be, if it were not for the +weakness.' + +'Weakness, ay!' cried Mrs. Quale, in a snapping sort of tone, for she +was living in a state of chronic tartness, not approving of matters in +general just now. 'And what have you had this morning to fortify you +against the weakness?' + +A faint blush rose to Mary's thin face. The subject was a sore one to +the mind of Mrs. Quale, and that lady was not one to spare her tongue. +The fact was, that at the present moment, and for some little time past, +Mary's condition and appetite had required unusual nourishment; but, +since the lock-out, this had not been procurable by John Baxendale. +Sufficient food the household had as yet, but it was of a plain coarse +sort, not suitable for Mary; and Mrs. Quale, bitter enough against the +existing condition of things before, touching the men and their masters, +was not by this rendered less so. Poor Mary, in her patient meekness, +would have subsided into her grave with famine, rather than complain of +what she saw no help for. + +'Did you have an egg at eleven o'clock?' + +'Not this morning. I did not feel greatly to care for it.' + +'Rubbish!' responded Mrs. Quale. 'I may say I don't care for the moon, +because I know I can't get it.' + +'But I really did not feel to have any appetite just then,' repeated +Mary. + +'And if you had an appetite, I suppose you couldn't have been any the +nearer satisfying it!' returned Mrs. Quale, in a raised voice. 'You let +your stomach get empty, and, after a bit, the craving goes off and +sickness comes on, and then you say you have no appetite. But, there! it +is not your fault; where's the use of my----' + +'Why, Mary, girl, what's the matter?' + +The interruption to Mrs. Quale proceeded from Dr. Bevary. He was passing +the gate with Miss Hunter. They stopped, partly at sight of Mary, who +was looking strikingly ill, partly at the commotion Mrs. Quale was +making. Neither of them had known that Mary was in this state. Mrs. +Quale was the first to take up the discourse. + +'She don't look over flourishing, do she, sir?--do she Miss Florence? +She have been as bad as this--oh, for a fortnight, now.' + +'Why did you not send my uncle word, Mary?' spoke Florence, impulsive in +the cause of kindness, as she had been when a child. 'I am sure he would +have come to see you.' + +'You are very kind, Miss, and Dr. Bevary, also,' said Mary. 'I could +not think of troubling him with my poor ailments, especially as I feel +it would be useless. I don't think anybody can do me good on this side +the grave, sir.' + +'Tush, tush!' interposed Dr. Bevary. 'That's what many sick people say; +but they get well in spite of it. Let us see you a bit closer,' he +added, going inside the gate. 'And now tell me how you feel.' + +'I am just sinking, sir, as it seems to me; sinking out of life, without +much ailment to tell of. I have a great deal of fever at night, and a +dry cough. It is not so much consumption as----' + +'Who told you it was consumption?' interrupted Dr. Bevary. + +'Some of the women about here call it so, sir. My step-mother does: but +I should say it was more of a waste.' + +'Your step-mother is fond of talking of what she knows nothing about, +and so are the women,' remarked Dr. Bevary. 'Have you much appetite?' + +'Yes, and that's the evil of it,' struck in Mrs. Quale, determined to +lose no opportunity of propounding her view of the case. 'A pretty time +this is for folks to have appetites, when there's not a copper being +earned. I wish all strikes and lock-outs was put down by law, I do. +Nothing comes of 'em but empty cubbarts.' + +'Your cupboard need not be any the emptier for a lock-out,' said Dr. +Bevary, who sometimes, when conversing with the women of Daffodil's +Delight, would fall familiarly into their mode of speech. + +'No, I know that; we have been providenter than that, sir,' returned +Mrs. Quale. 'A pity but what others could say the same. You might take a +walk through Daffodil's Delight, sir, from one end of it to the other, +and not find half a dozen cubbarts with plenty in 'em just now. Serve +'em right! they should have put by for a rainy day.' + +'Ah!' returned Dr. Bevary, 'rainy days come to most of us as we go +through life, in one shape or other. It is well to provide for them when +we can.' + +'And it's well to keep out of 'em where it's practicable,' wrathfully +remarked Mrs. Quale. 'There no more need have been this disturbance +between masters and men, than there need be one between you and me, sir, +this moment, afore you walk away. They be just idiots, are the men; the +women be worse, and I'm tired of telling 'em so. Look at 'em,' added +Mrs. Quale, directing the doctor's attention to the female ornaments of +Daffodil's Delight. 'Look at their gowns in jags, and their dirty caps! +they make the men's being out of work an excuse for their idleness, and +they just stick theirselves out there all day, a crowing and a +gossiping.' + +'Crowing?' exclaimed the doctor. + +'Crowing; every female one of 'em, like a cock upon its dunghill,' +responded Mrs. Quale, who was not given to pick her words when wrath was +moving her. 'There isn't one as can see an inch beyond her own nose. If +the lock-out lasts, and starvation comes, let 'em see how they'll crow +then. It'll be on t'other side their mouths, I fancy!' + +'Money is dealt out to them by the Trades' Union, sufficient to live,' +observed Dr. Bevary. + +'Sufficient not to starve,' independently corrected Mrs. Quale. 'What is +it, sir, the bit of money they get, to them that have enjoyed their +thirty-five shillings a-week, and could hardly make that do, some of +'em? Look at the Baxendales. There's Mary, wanting more food than she +did in health; ay, and craving for it. A good bit of meat once or twice +in the day, an egg now and then, a cup of cocoa and milk, or good +tea--not your wishy-washy stuff, bought in by the ounce--how is she to +get it all? The allowance dealt out to John Baxendale keeps 'em in bread +and cheese; I don't think it does in much else.' They were interrupted +by John Baxendale himself. He came out of his house, touching his hat to +the doctor and to Florence. The latter had been leaning over Mary, +inquiring softly into her ailments, and the complaint of Mrs. Quale, +touching the short-comings of Mary's comforts, had not reached her ears; +that lady, out of regard to the invalid, having deemed it well to lower +her tone. + +'I am sorry, sir, you should see her so poorly,' said Baxendale, +alluding to his daughter. 'She'll get better, I hope.' + +'I must try what a little of my skill will do towards it,' replied the +doctor. 'If she had sent me word she was ill, I would have come before.' + +'Thank ye, sir. I don't know as I should have been backward in asking +you to come round and take a look at her; but a man don't like to ask +favours when he has got no money in his pocket; it makes him feel +little, and look little. Things are not in a satisfactory state with us +all just now.' + +'They are not indeed.' + +'I never thought the masters would go to the extreme of a lock-out,' +resumed Baxendale. 'It was a harsh measure.' + +'On the face of it it does seem so,' responded Dr. Bevary. 'But what +else could they have done? Have kept open their works, that those on +strike might have been supported from the wages they paid their men, and +probably have found those men also striking at last? If you and others +had wanted to escape a lock-out, Baxendale, you should have been +cautious not to lend yourselves to the agitation that was smouldering.' + +'Sir, I know there's a great deal to be said on both sides,' was the +reply. 'I never was for the agitation; I did not urge the strike; I set +my face nearly dead against it. The worst is, we all have to suffer for +it alike.' + +'Ay, that is the worst of things in this world,' responded the doctor. +'When people do wrong, the consequences are rarely confined to +themselves, they extend to the innocent. Come, Florence. I will see you +again later, Mary.' + +The doctor and his niece walked away. Mrs. Quale had already departed on +her errand. + +'He was always a kind man,' observed John Baxendale, looking after Dr. +Bevary. 'I hope he will be able to cure you, Mary.' + +'I don't feel that he will, father,' was the low answer. But Baxendale +did not hear it; he was going out at the gate, to join a knot of +neighbours, who were gathered together at a distance. + +'Will Mary Baxendale soon get well, do you think, uncle?' demanded +Florence, as they went along. + +'No, my dear, I do not think she will.' + +There was something in the doctor's tone that startled Florence. 'Uncle +Bevary! you do not fear she will die?' + +'I do fear it, Florence; and that she will not be long first.' + +'Oh!' Then, after she had gone a few paces further, Florence withdrew +her arm from his. 'I must go back and stay with her a little while. I +had no idea of this.' + +'Mind you don't repeat it to her in your chatter,' called out the +doctor; and Florence shook her head by way of answer. + +'I am in no hurry to go home, Mary; I thought I would return and stay a +little longer with you,' was her greeting, when she reached the invalid. +'You must feel it dull, sitting here alone.' + +'Dull! oh no, Miss Florence. I like sitting by myself and thinking.' + +Florence smiled. 'What do you think about?' + +'Oh, miss, I quite lose myself in thinking. I think of my Saviour, of +how kind he was to everybody; and I think of the beautiful life we are +taught to expect after this life. I can hardly believe that I shall soon +be there.' + +Florence paused, feeling as if she did not know what to say. 'You do +not seem to fear death, Mary. You speak rather as if you wished it.' + +'I do not fear it, Miss Florence; I have been learning not to fear it +ever since my poor mother died. Ah, miss! it is a great thing to learn; +a great boon, when once it's learnt.' + +'But surely you do not want to die!' exclaimed Florence, in surprise. + +'Miss Florence, as to that, I feel quite satisfied to let it be as God +pleases. I know I am in His good hands. The world now seems to me to be +full of care and trouble.' + +'It is very strange,' murmured Florence. 'Mamma, too, believes she is +near death, and she expresses no reluctance, no fear. I do not think she +feels any.' + +'Miss Florence, it is only another proof of God's mercies,' returned the +sick girl. 'My mother used to say that you could not be quite ripe for +death until you felt it; that it came of God's goodness and Christ's +love. To such, death seems a blessing instead of a terror, so that when +their time is drawing near, they are glad to die. There's a gentleman +waiting to speak to you, miss.' + +Florence lifted her head hastily, and encountered the smile and the +outstretched hand of Austin Clay. But that Mary Baxendale was +unsuspicious, she might have gathered something from the vivid blush +that overspread her cheeks. + +'I thought it was you, Florence,' he said. 'I caught sight of a young +lady from my sitting-room window; but you kept your head down before +Mary.' + +'I am sorry to see Mary looking so ill. My uncle was here just now, but +he has gone. I suppose you were deep in your books?' she said, with a +smile, her face regaining its less radiant hue. 'This lock-out must be a +fine time for you.' + +'So fine, that I wish it were over,' he answered. 'I am sick of it +already, Florence. A fortnight's idleness will tire out a man worse than +a month's work.' + +'Is there any more chance of its coming to an end, sir?' anxiously +inquired Mary Baxendale. + +'I do not see it,' gravely replied Austin. 'The men appear to be too +blind to come to any reasonable terms.' + +'Oh, sir, don't cast more blame on them than you can help!' she +rejoined, in a tone of intense pain. 'They are all led away by the +Trades' Unions; they are, indeed. If once they enrol under them, they +must only obey.' + +'Well, Mary, it comes to what I say--that they are blinded. They should +have better sense than to be led away.' + +'You speak as a master, sir.' + +'Probably I do; but I have brought my common sense to bear upon the +question, both on the side of the masters and of the men; and I believe +that this time the men are wrong. If they had laboured under any real +grievance, it would have been different; but they did not labour under +any. Their wages were good, work was plentiful----' + +'I say, Mary, I wish you'd just come in and sit by the little ones a +bit, while I go down to the back kitchen and rinse out the clothes.' + +The interruption came from Mrs. Baxendale, who had thrown up her window +to speak. Mary rose at once, took her pillow from the chair, wished +Florence good day, and went indoors. + +Austin held the gate open for Florence to pass out: he was not intending +to accompany her. She stood a moment, speaking to him, when some one, +who had come up rapidly and stealthily, laid his great hand on Austin's +arm. Absorbed in Florence, Austin had not observed him, and he looked up +with a start. It was Lawyer Gwinn, of Ketterford, and he appeared to be +in some anger or excitement. + +'Young Clay, where is your master to-day?' + +Neither the salutation nor the manner of the man pleased Austin; his +appearance, there and then, especially displeased him. His answer was +spoken in haughty defiance. Not in policy: and in a cooler moment he +would have remembered the latter to have been the only safe diplomacy. + +A strangely bitter smile of conscious power parted the man's lips. 'So +you take part with him, do you, sir! It may be better for both you and +him, that you bring me face to face with him. They have denied me to him +at his house; their master is out of town, they say; but I know it to be +a lie: I know that the message was sent out to me by Hunter himself. I +had a great mind to force----' + +Florence, who was looking deadly white, interrupted, her voice haughty +as Austin's had been. + +'You labour under a mistake, sir. My father is out of town. He went this +morning.' + +Mr. Gwinn wheeled round to her. Neither her tone nor Austin's was +calculated to abate his anger. + +'You are his daughter, then!' he uttered, with the same insolent stare, +the same displayed irony he had once used to her mother. 'The young lady +whom people envy as that spoiled and only child, Miss Hunter! What if I +tell you a secret?--that you----' + +'Be still!' shouted Austin, in uncontrollable emotion. 'Are you a man, +or a demon? Miss Hunter, allow me,' he cried, grasping the hand of +Florence, and drawing her peremptorily towards Peter Quale's door, which +he threw open. 'Go upstairs, Florence, to my sitting-room: wait there +until I come to you. I must be alone with this man.' + +Florence looked at him in amazement, as he pushed her into the passage. +He was evidently in the deepest agitation: every vestige of colour had +forsaken his face, and his manner was authoritative as any father's +could have been. She bowed to its power unconsciously, not a thought of +resistance crossing her mind, and went straight upstairs to his sitting +room--although it might not be precisely correct for a young lady so to +do. Not a soul, save herself, appeared to be in the house. + +A short colloquy and an angry one, and then Mr. Gwinn was seen returning +the way he had come. Austin came springing up the stairs three at a +time. + +'Will you forgive me, Florence? I could not do otherwise.' + +What with the suddenness of the proceedings, their strangeness, and her +own doubts and emotion, Florence burst into tears. Austin lost his +head: at least, all of prudence that was in it. In the agitation of the +moment he suffered his long-controlled feelings to get the better of +him, and spoke words that he had hitherto successfully repressed. + +'My darling!' he whispered, taking her hand, 'I wish I could have +shielded you from it! Florence, you know--you must long have known--that +my dearest object in life is you--your happiness, your welfare. I had +not intended to say this so soon; it has been forced from me: you must +pardon me for saying it here and now.' + +She gently disengaged the hand, and he did not attempt to retain it. Her +wet eyelashes fell on her blushing cheeks; they were like a damask rose +glistening in the morning dew. 'But this mystery?--it certainly seems +one,' she exclaimed, striving to speak with matter-of-fact calmness. 'Is +not that man Gwinn, of Ketterford?' + +'Yes.' + +'Brother to the lady who seemed to cause so much emotion to papa. Ah! I +was but a child at the time, but I noticed it. Austin, I think there +must be some dreadful secret. What is it? He comes to our house at +periods and is closeted with papa, and papa is more miserable than ever +after it.' + +'Whether there is or not, it is not for us to inquire into it. Men +engaged in business often have troublesome people to deal with. I +hastened you in,' he quickly went on, not caring to be more explanatory, +and compelled to speak with reserve. 'I know the man of old, and his +language is sometimes coarse, not fitted for a young lady's ears: so I +sent you away. Florence,' he whispered, his tone changing to one of +deepest tenderness, 'this is neither the time nor the place to speak, +but I must say one word. I shall win you if I can.' + +Florence made no answer. She only ran downstairs as quickly as she +could, she and her scarlet cheeks. Austin laughed at her haste, as he +followed her. Mrs. Quale was coming in then, and met them at the door. + +'See what it is to go gadding out!' cried Austin, to her. 'When young +ladies pay you the honour of a morning visit, they might find an empty +house, but for my stay-at-home propensities.' + +Mrs. Quale turned her eyes from one to the other of them in puzzled +doubt. + +'The truth is,' said Austin, vouchsafing an explanation, 'there was a +rude man in the road, talking nonsense, so I sent Miss Hunter indoors, +and stopped to deal with him.' + +'I am sure I am sorry, Miss Florence,' cried unsuspicious Mrs. Quale. +'We often have rude men in this quarter: they get hold of a drop too +much, the simpletons. And when the wine's in, the wit's out, you know, +Miss.' + +Austin piloted her through Daffodil's Delight, possibly lest any more +'rude men' should molest her, leaving her at her own door. + +But when he came to reflect on what he had done, he was full of +contrition and self-blame. The time had _not_ come for him to aspire to +the hand of Florence Hunter, at least in the estimation of the world, +and he ought not to have spoken to her. There was only one course open +to him now in honour; and that was, to tell the whole truth to her +mother. + +That same evening at dusk he was sitting alone with Mrs. Hunter. Mr. +Hunter had not returned: that he had gone out of town for the day was +perfect truth: and Florence escaped from the room when she heard +Austin's knock. + +After taking all the blame on himself for having been premature, he +proceeded to urge his cause and his love, possibly emboldened to do so +by the gentle kindness with which he was listened to. + +'It has been my hope for years,' he avowed, as he held Mrs. Hunter's +hands in his, and spoke of the chance of Mr. Hunter's favour. 'Dear Mrs. +Hunter, do you think he will some time give her to me!' + +'But, Austin----' + +'Not yet; I do not ask for her yet; not until I have made a fitting home +for her,' he impulsively continued, anticipating what might have been +the possible objection of Mrs. Hunter. 'With the two thousand pounds +left to me by Mrs. Thornimett, and a little more added to it, which I +have myself saved, I believe I shall be able to make my way.' + +'Austin, you will make your way,' she replied, in a tone of the utmost +confidence and kindness. 'I have heard Mr. Hunter himself anticipate a +successful career for you. Even when you were, comparatively speaking, +penniless, Mr. Hunter would say that talent and energy, such as yours, +could not fail to find its proper outlet. Now that you have inherited +the money, your success is certain. But--I fear you cannot win +Florence.' + +The words fell on his heart like an icebolt. He had reckoned on Mrs. +Hunter's countenance, though he had not been sure of her husband's. +'What do you object to in me?' he inquired, in a tone of pain. 'I am of +gentle birth.' + +'Austin, _I_ do not object. I have long seen that your coming here so +much--and it was Mr. Hunter's pleasure to have you--was likely to lead +to an attachment between you and Florence. Had I objected to you, I +should have pointed out to Mr. Hunter the impolicy of your coming. I +like _you_: there is no one in the world to whom I would so readily +intrust the happiness of Florence. Other mothers might look to a higher +alliance for her: but, Austin, when we get near the grave, we judge with +a judgment not of this world. Worldly distinctions lose their charm.' + +'Then where lies the doubt--the objection?' he asked. + +'I once--it is not long ago--hinted at this to Mr. Hunter,' she replied. +'He would not hear me out; he would not suffer me to conclude. It was an +utter impossibility that you could ever marry Florence,' he said: +'neither was it likely that either of you would wish it.' + +'But we do wish it; the love has already arisen,' he exclaimed, in +agitation. Dear Mrs. Hunter----' + +'Hush, Austin! calm yourself. Mr. Hunter must have some private +objection. I am sure he has; I could see so far; and one that, as was +evident, he did not choose to disclose to me. I never inquire into his +reasons when I perceive this. You must try and forget her.' + +A commotion was heard in the hall. Austin went out to ascertain its +cause. There stood Gwinn of Ketterford, insisting upon an interview with +Mr. Hunter. + +Austin contrived to get rid of the man by convincing him Mr. Hunter was +really not at home. Gwinn went out grumbling, promising to be there the +first thing in the morning. + +The interlude had broken up the confidence between Austin and Mrs. +Hunter; and he went home in despondency: but vowing to win her, all the +same, sooner or later. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +MR. COX. + + +Time had gone on. It was a gloomy winter's evening. Not that, reckoning +by the seasons, it could be called winter yet; but it was getting near +it, and the night was dark and sloppy, and blowing and rainy. The wind +went booming down Daffodil's Delight, sending the fierce rain before it +in showers, and the pools gleamed in the reflected light of the +gas-lamps, as wayfarers splashed through them and stirred up their muddy +waters. + +The luxurious and comfortable in position--those at ease in the world, +who could issue their orders to attentive tradespeople at their +morning's leisure--had no necessity to be abroad on that inclement +Saturday night. Not so Daffodil's Delight; there was not much chance +(taking it collectively) of a dinner for the morrow, at the best; but, +unless they went abroad, there was none. The men had not gone to work +yet, and times were bad. + +Down the street, to one particular corner shop, which had three +gilt-coloured balls hanging outside it, flocked the stream--chiefly +females. Not together. They mostly walked in units, and, some of them at +least, in a covert sort of manner, keeping in the shade of dead walls, +and of dark houses, as if not caring to be seen. Amongst the latter, +stole one who appeared more especially fearful of being recognised. She +was a young woman, comely once, but pale and hollow-eyed now, her bones +too sharp for her skin. Well wrapped up, was she, against the weather; +her cloth cloak warm, a fur round her neck, and india-rubber shoes. +Choosing her time to approach the shop when the coast should be +tolerably clear, she glanced cautiously in at the window and door, and +entered. + +Laying upon the counter a small parcel, which she carried folded in a +handkerchief, she displayed a cardboard box to the sight of the shop's +master, who came forward to attend to her. It contained a really +handsome set of corals, fashioned like those worn in the days when our +mothers were young; a necklace of six rows of small beads, with a gold +snap made to imitate a rose, a long coral bead set in it. A pair of gold +earrings, with large pendant coral drops, lay beside it, and a large and +handsome gold brooch, set likewise with corals. + +'What, is it _you_, Miss Baxendale?' he exclaimed, his tone expressive +of some surprise. + +'It is, indeed, Mr. Cox,' replied Mary. 'We all have to bend to these +hard times. It's share and share alike in them. Will you please to look +at these jewels?' + +She tenderly drew aside the cotton which was over the trinkets--tenderly +and reverently, almost as if a miniature live baby were lying there. +Very precious were they to Mary. They were dear to her from association; +and she also believed them to be of great value. + +The pawnbroker glanced at them slightly, carelessly lifting one of the +earrings in his hand, to feel its weight. The brooch he honoured with a +closer inspection. + +'What do you want upon them?' he asked. + +'Nay,' said Mary, 'it is not for me to name a sum. What will you lend?' + +'You are not accustomed to our business, or you would know that we like +borrowers to mention their own ideas as to sum; and we give it if we +can,' he rejoined with ready words. 'What do you ask?' + +'If you would let me have four pounds upon them, began Mary, +hesitatingly. But he snapped up the words. + +'Four pounds! Why, Miss Baxendale, you can't know what you are saying. +The fashion of these coral things is over and done with. They are worth +next to nothing.' + +Mary's heart beat quicker in its sickness of disappointment. + +'They are genuine, sir, if you'll please to look. The gold is real gold, +and the coral is the best coral; my poor mother has told me so many a +time. Her godmother was a lady, well-to-do in the world, and the things +were a present from her.' + +'If they were not genuine, I'd not lend as many pence upon them,' said +the man. 'With a little alteration the brooch might be made tolerably +modern; otherwise their value would be no more than old gold. In selling +them, I----' + +'It will not come to that, Mr. Cox,' interrupted Mary. 'Please God +spares me a little while--and, since the hot weather went out, I feel a +bit stronger--I shall soon redeem them.' + +Mr. Cox looked at her thin face; he listened to her short breath; and he +drew his own conclusions. There was a line of pity in his hard face, for +he had long respected Mary Baxendale. + +'By the way the strike seems to be lasting on, there doesn't seem much +promise of a speedy end to it,' quoth he, in answer. 'I never was so +over-done with pledges.' + +'My work does not depend upon that,' said Mary. 'Let me get up a little +strength, and I shall have as much work as I can do. And I am well paid, +Mr. Cox: I have a private connection. I am not like the poor +seamstresses who make skirts for fourpence a-piece.' + +Mr. Cox made no immediate reply to this, and there was a pause. The +open box lay before him. He took up the necklace and examined its clasp. + +'I will lend you a sovereign upon them.' + +She lifted her face pitiably, and the tears glistened in her eyes. + +'It would be of no use to me,' she whispered. 'I want the money for a +particular purpose, otherwise I should never have brought here these +gifts of my mother's. She gave them to me the day I was eighteen, and I +have tenderly kept them from desecration.' + +Poor Mary! From desecration! + +'I have heard her say what they cost; but I forget now. I know it was +over ten pounds.' + +'But the day for this fashion has gone by. To ask four pounds upon them +was preposterous; and you would know it to be so, were you acquainted +with the trade.' + +'Will you lend me two pounds, then?' + +The tone was tremblingly eager, the face beseeching--a wan face, telling +of the coming grave. Possibly the thought struck the pawnbroker, and +awoke some humanity within him. + +'I shall lose by it, I know, if it comes to a sale. I'd not do it for +anybody else, Miss Baxendale.' + +He proceeded to write out the ticket, his thoughts running upon +whether--if it did come to a sale--he could not make three pounds by the +brooch alone. As he was handing her the money, somebody rushed in, close +to the spot occupied by Mary, and dashed down a large-sized paper parcel +on the counter. She wore a black lace bonnet, which had once been +white, frayed, and altogether the worse for wear, independent of its +dirt. It was tilted on the back of her head, displaying a mass of hair +in front, half grey, half black, and exceedingly in disorder; together +with a red face. It was Mrs. Dunn. + +'Well, to be sure! if it's not Mary Baxendale! I thought you was too +much of the lady to put your nose inside a pop-shop. Don't it go again +the grain?' she ironically added, for she did not appear to be in the +sweetest of tempers. + +'It does indeed, Mrs. Dunn,' was the girl's meek answer, as she took her +money and departed. + +'Now then, old Cox, just attend to me,' began Mrs. Dunn. 'I have brought +something as you don't get offered every day.' + +Mr. Cox, accustomed to the scant ceremony bestowed upon him by some of +the ladies of Daffodil's Delight, took the speech with indifference, and +gave his attention to the parcel, from which Mrs. Dunn was rapidly +taking off the twine. + +'What's this--silk?' cried he, as a roll of dress-silk, brown, +cross-barred with gold, came forth to view. + +'Yes, it is silk; and there's fourteen yards of it; and I want thirty +shillings upon it,' volubly replied Mrs. Dunn. + +He took the silk between his fingers, feeling its substance, in his +professionally indifferent and disparaging manner. + +'Where did you get it from?' he asked. + +'Where did I get it from?' retorted Mrs. Dunn. 'What's that to you!' +D'ye think I stole it?' + +'How do I know?' returned he. + +'You insolent fellow! Is it only to-day as you have knowed me, Tom Cox? +My name's Hannah Dunn; and I don't want you to testify to my honesty; I +can hold up my head in Daffodil's Delight just as well as you +can--perhaps a little better. Concern yourself with your own business. I +want thirty shillings upon that.' + +'It isn't worth thirty shillings in the shop, new,' was the rejoinder. + +'What?' shrieked Mrs. Dunn. 'It cost three-and-fourpence halfpenny a +yard, every yard of it, and there's fourteen of 'em, I tell you.' + +'I don't care if it cost six-and-fourpence halfpenny, it's not worth +more than I say. I'll lend you ten shillings upon it, and I should lose +then.' + +'Where do you expect to go to when you die?' demanded Mrs. Dunn, in a +tone that might be heard half over the length and breadth of Daffodil's +Delight. 'I wouldn't tell such lies for the paltry sake of grinding +folks down; no, not if you made me a duchess to-morrow for it.' + +'Here, take the silk off. I have not got time to bother: it's Saturday +night.' + +He swept the parcel, silk, paper, and string, towards her, and was +turning away. She leaned over the counter and seized upon him. + +'You want a opposition in the place, that's what you want, Master Cox! +You have been cock o' the walk over Daffodil's Delight so long, that +you think you can treat folks as if they was dirt. You be over-done with +business, that's what you be; you're a making gold as fast as they makes +it in Aurstraliar; we shall have you a setting up your tandem next. +What'll you give me upon that silk?' + +'I'll give you ten shillings; I have said so. You may take it or not; +it's at your own option.' + +More contending; but the pawnbroker was firm; and Mrs. Dunn was forced +to accept the offer, or else take away her silk. + +'How long is this strike going to last?' he asked, as he made out the +duplicate. + +The words excited the irascibility of Mrs. Dunn. + +'Strike!' she uttered, in a flaming passion. 'Who dares to call it a +strike? It's not a strike; it's a lock-out.' + +'Lock-out, then. The two things come to the same, don't they? Is there a +chance of its coming to an end?' + +'No, they don't come to the same,' shrieked Mrs. Dunn. 'A strike's what +it is--a strike; a act of noble independence which the British workman +may be proud on. A lock-out is a nasty, mean, overbearing tyranny on the +part of the masters. Now, old Cox! call it a strike again.' + +'But I hear the masters' shops are open again--for anybody to go to work +that likes,' replied Mr. Cox, quite imperturbable. + +'They be open for slaves to go to work, not for free-born men,' retorted +Mrs. Dunn, her shrieking voice at a still higher pitch. 'I hope the +men'll hold out for ever, I do! I hope the masters 'll be drove, +everyone of 'em, into the dust and dregs of the bankruptcy court! I hope +their sticks and stones 'll be sold up, down to their children's +cradles----' + +'There, that's enough,' interposed the pawnbroker, as he handed her what +he had to give. 'You'll be collecting a crowd round the door, if you go +on like that. Here's somebody else waiting for your place.' + +It was Mrs. Cheek, an especial friend of the lady's now being dismissed. +Mrs. Cheek was carefully carrying a basket which contained various +chimney ornaments--pretty enough in their places, but not of much value. +The pawnbroker, after some haggling, not so intemperately carried on as +the bargain just concluded, advanced six shillings on them. + +'I had wanted twelve,' she said; 'and I can't do with less.' + +'I am willing to lend it,' returned he, 'if you bring goods +accordingly.' + +'I have stripped the place of a'most all the light things as can be +spared,' said Mrs. Cheek. 'One doesn't care to begin upon the heavy +furniture and the necessaries.' + +'Is there no chance of the present state of affairs coming to an end?' +inquired Mr. Cox, putting the same question to which he had not got a +direct answer from Mrs. Dunn. 'The men can go back to work if they like; +the masters' yards are open again.' + +'Open!' returned Mrs. Cheek, in a guttural tone, as she threw back her +head in disdain; 'they have been open some time, if you call _that_ +opening 'em. If a man likes to go as a sneaking coward, and work upon +the terms offered now, knuckling down to the masters, and putting his +hand to their mean old odious document, severing himself from the Union, +he can do it. It ain't many of our men as you'll find do that dirty +work. If my husband was to attempt it, I'd be ready to skin him alive.' + +'But the men have gone back in some parts of the metropolis.' + +'_Men_, do you call 'em. A few may; one black sheep out of a flock. They +ain't men, they are half-castes. Let them look to theirselves,' +concluded Mrs. Cheek significantly, as she quitted the pawnbroker's shop +with a fling. + +At the butcher's stall, a few paces further, she came up to Mrs. Dunn, +who was standing in the glare of the blazing gaslight, in the incessant +noise of the 'Buy, buy, buy! what'll you buy?' Not less than a dozen +women were congregated there, elbowing each other, as they turned over +the scraps of meat set out for sale in small heaps--sixpence the lot, a +shilling the lot, according to quality and quantity. In the prosperous +time when their husbands were in full work, these ladies had scornfully +disdained such heaps on a Saturday night. They had been wont then to buy +a good joint for the Sunday's dinner. One of the women nudged another in +her vicinity, directing her attention to the inside of the shop. 'Just +twig Mother Shuck; she's a being served, I hope!' + +'Mother Shuck,' Slippery Sam's better half, was making her purchases in +the agreeable confidence of possessing money to pay for them--liver and +bacon for the present evening's supper, and a breast of veal, to be +served with savoury herbs, for the morrow's dinner. In the old times, +while the throng of women now outside had been able to make the same or +similar purchases, _she_ had hovered without like a hungry hyena, +hanging over the cheap portions with covetous eyes and fingers, as many +another poor wife had done, whose husband could not or would not work. +Times were changed. + +'I can't afford nothing, hardly, I can't,' grumbled Mrs. Cheek. 'What's +the good of six shillings for a Saturday night, when everything's +wanted, from the rent down to a potater? The young 'uns have got their +bare feet upon the boards, as may be said, for their shoes be without +toes and heels; and who is to get 'em others? I wish that Cox was a bit +juster. He's a getting rich upon our spoils. Six shillings for that lot +as I took him in!' + +'I wish he was smothered!' struck in Mrs. Dunn. 'He took and asked me if +I'd stole the silk. It was that lovely silk, you know, as I was fool +enough to go and choose the week of the strike, on the strength of the +good times a coming. We have had something else to do since, instead of +making up silk gownds.' + +'The good times ain't come yet,' said Mrs. Cheek, shortly. 'I wish the +old 'uns was back again, if we could get 'em without stooping to the +masters.' + +'It was at the shop where Mary Ann and Jemimar deals, when they has to +get in things for their customers' work,' resumed Mrs. Dunn, continuing +the subject of the silk. 'I shouldn't have had credit at any other +place. Fourteen yards I bought of it, and three-and-fourpence halfpenny +I gave for every yard of it; I did, I protest to you, Elizar Cheek; and +that swindling old screw had the conscience to offer me ten shillings +for the whole!' + +'Is the silk paid for?'--'Paid for!' wrathfully repeated Mrs. Dunn; 'has +it been a time to pay for silk gownds when our husbands be under a +lock-out? Of course it's not paid for, and the shop's a beginning to +bother for it; but they'll be none the nearer getting it. I say, master, +what'll you weigh in these fag ends of mutton and beef at--the two +together?' It will be readily understood, from the above conversation +and signs, that in the several weeks that had elapsed since the +commencement of the lock-out, things, socially speaking, had been going +backwards. The roast goose and other expected luxuries had not come yet. +The masters' works were open--open to any who would go to work in them, +provided they renounced all connection with the Trades' Unions. +Daffodil's Delight, taking it collectively, would not have this at any +price, and held out. The worst aspect in the affair--I mean for the +interests of the men--was, that strange workmen were assembling from +different parts of the country, accepting the work which they refused. +Of course this feature in the dispute was most bitter to the men; they +lavished their abuse upon the masters for employing strange hands; and +they would have been glad to lavish something worse than abuse up on +the hands themselves. One of the masters compared them to the fable of +the dog in the manger--they would not take the work, and they would not +let (by their good will) anybody else take it. Incessant agitation was +maintained. The workmen were in a sufficiently excited state, as it was; +and, to help on that which need not have been helped, the agents of the +Trades' Union kept the ball rolling--an incendiary ball, urging +obstinacy and spreading discontent. But this little history has not so +much to do with the political phases of the unhappy dispute, as with its +social effects. + +As Mary Baxendale was returning home from the pawnbroker's, she passed +Mrs. Darby, who was standing at her own door looking at the weather. +'Mary, girl,' was the salutation, 'this is not a night for you to be +abroad.' + +'I was obliged to go,' was the reply. 'How are the children?' + +'Come in and see them,' said Mrs. Darby. She led the way into a back +room, which, at the first glance, seemed to be covered with mattresses +and children. A large family had Robert Darby--indeed, it was a +complaint prevalent in Daffodil's Delight. They were of various ages; +these, lying on the mattresses, six of them, were from four to twelve +years. The elder ones were not at home. The room had a close, unhealthy +smell, which struck especially on the senses of Mary, rendered sensitive +from illness. + +'What have you got them all in this room for?' she exclaimed, in the +impulse of the moment. + +'I have given up the rooms above,' was Mrs. Darby's reply. + +'But--when the children were ill--was it a time to give up rooms?' +debated Mary. + +'No,' replied Mrs. Darby, who spoke as if she were heart-broken, in a +sad, subdued tone, the very reverse of Mesdames Dunn and Cheek. 'But how +could we keep on the top rooms when we were unable to get together the +rent, to pay for them? I spoke to the landlord, and he is letting the +back rent stand a bit, not to sell us up; and I gave up to him the two +top rooms; and we all sleep in here together.' + +'I wish the men would go back to work!' said Mary, with a sigh. + +'Mary my heart's just failing within me,' said Mrs. Darby, her tone a +sort of wail. 'Here's winter coming on, and all of them out of work. If +it were not for my daughter, who is in service, and brings us her wages +as she gets them, I believe we should just have starved. I _must_ get +medicine, for the children, though we go without bread.' + +'It is not medicine they want: it is nourishment,' said Mary. + +'It is both. Nourishment would have done when they were first ailing, +but now that it has turned to low fever, they must have medicine, or it +will grow into typhus. It's bark they have to take, and it costs----' + +'Mother! mother!' struck up a plaintive voice, that of the eldest of the +children lying there, 'I want more of that nice drink!' + +'I have not got it, Willy. You know that you had it all. Mrs. Quale +brought me round a pot of black currant jelly,' she explained to Mary, +'and I poured boiling water on it to make drink. Their little parched +throats did so relish it, poor things.' + +Mary knelt on the floor and put her hand on the child's moist brow. He +was a pretty boy; fair and delicate, with light curls falling round his +face. A gentle, thoughtful, intelligent boy he had ever been, but less +healthy than some. 'You are thirsty, Willy?' + +He opened his heavy eyelids, and the large round blue eyes glistened +with fever, as they were lifted to see who spoke. + +'How do you do, Mary?' he meekly said. 'Yes, I am so thirsty. Mother +said perhaps she should have a sixpence to-night to buy a pot of jelly +like Mrs. Quale's.' Mrs. Darby coloured slightly; she thought Mary must +reflect on the extravagance implied. Sixpence for jelly, when they were +wanting money for a loaf! + +'I did say it to him,' she whispered, as she was quitting the room with +Mary. 'I thought I might spare a sixpence out of what Darby got from the +society. But I can't; I can't. There's so many things we cannot do +without, unless we just give up, and lie down and don't even try at +keeping body and soul together. Rent, and coals, and candles, and soap; +and we must eat something. Darby, too, of course he wants a trifle for +beer and tobacco. Mary, I say I am just heart-faint. If the poor boy +should die, it'll be upon my mind for ever, that the drink he craved +for in his last illness couldn't be got for him.' + +'Does he crave for it?' + +'Nothing was ever like it. All day long it has been his sad, pitiful +cry. "Have you got the jelly yet, mother? Oh, mother, if I could but +have the drink!"' + +As Mary went through the front room, Robert Darby was in it then. His +chin rested on his hands, his elbows were on the table; altogether he +looked very down-hearted. + +'I have been to see Willy,' she cried. + +'Ah, poor little chap!' It was all he said; but the tone implied more. + +'Things seem to be getting pretty low with us all. I wish there could be +a change,' continued Mary. + +'How can there be, while the masters and the Unions are at loggerheads?' +he asked. 'Us men be between the two, and between the two we come to the +ground. It's like sitting on two stools at once.' + +Mary proceeded to the shop where jelly was sold, an oilman's, bought a +sixpenny pot, and took it back to Mrs. Darby's, handing it in at the +door. 'Why did you do it, Mary? You cannot afford it.' + +'Yes, I can. Give it to Willy, with my love.' + +'He will only be out of a world of care, if God does take him,' sighed +Mary to herself, as she bent her steps homeward. 'Oh, father!' she +continued aloud, encountering John Baxendale at their own gate, 'I wish +this sad state of things could be ended. There's the poor little Darbys +worse instead of better. They are all lying in one room, down with +fever.' + +'God help us if fever should come!' was the reply of John Baxendale. + +'It is not catching fever yet. They have given up their top chambers, +and are all sleeping in that back room. Poor Willie craved for a bit of +jelly, and Mrs. Darby could not get it him.' + +'Better crave for that than for worse things,' returned John Baxendale. +'I am just a walking about here, because I can't bear to stop indoors. I +_can't_ pay the rent, and the things must go.' + +'No, father, they need not. He said if you would get up two pounds +towards it, he would give time for the rest. If----' + +'Two pounds!' ejaculated John Baxendale, 'where am I to get two pounds +from? Borrow of them that have been provident, and so are better off, in +this distress, than me? No, that I never will.' + +Mary opened her hand, and displayed two sovereigns held in its palm. +They sparkled in the gaslight. 'The money is my own, father. Take it.' A +sudden revulsion of feeling came over Baxendale--he seemed to have +passed from despair to hope.--'Child,' he gently said, 'did an angel +send it?' And Mary, worn with weakness, with long-continued insufficient +food, sad with the distress around her, burst into tears, and, bending +her head upon his arm, sobbed aloud. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +'I THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL.' + + +The Shucks had got a supper party. On this same Saturday night, when the +wind was blowing outside, and the rain was making the streets into +pools, two or three friends had dropped into Sam Shuck's--idlers like +Sam himself--and were hospitably invited to remain. Mrs. Shuck was +beginning to fry the liver and bacon she had just brought in, with the +accompaniment of a good peck of onions, and Sam and his friends were +staying their appetites with pipes and porter. When Mary Baxendale and +her father entered--Mary having lingered a minute outside, until her +emotion had passed, and her eyes were dry--they could scarcely find +their way across the kitchen, what with the clouds from the pipes, and +the smoke from the frying-pan. There was a great deal of laughter going +on. Prosperity had not yet caused the Shucks to change their residence +for a better one. Perhaps that was to come: but Sam's natural +improvidence stood in the way of much change. + +'You are merry to-night,' observed Mary, by way of being sociable. + +'It's merrier inside nor out, a-wading through the puddles and the sharp +rain,' replied Mrs. Shuck, without turning round from her employment. +'It's some'at new to see you out such a night as this, Mary Baxendale! +Don't you talk about folks wanting sense again.' + +'I don't know that I ever do talk of it,' was the inoffensive reply of +Mary, as she followed her father up the stairs. + +Mrs. Baxendale was hushing a baby when they entered their room. She +looked very cross. The best-tempered will do so, under the +long-continued embarrassment of empty purses and empty stomachs. 'Who +has been spreading it up and down the place that _we_ are in trouble +about the rent?' she abruptly demanded, in no pleasant voice. 'That girl +of Ryan's was here just now--Judy. She knew it, it seems, and she didn't +forget to speak of it. Mary, what a simpleton you are, to be out in this +rain!' + +'Never mind who speaks of the rent, Mrs. Baxendale, so long as it can be +paid,' said Mary, sitting down in the first chair to get her breath up, +after mounting the stairs. 'Father is going to manage it, so that we +shan't have any trouble at present. It's all right.' + +'However have you contrived it?' demanded Mrs. Baxendale of her husband, +in a changed tone. + +'Mary has contrived it--not I. She has just put two pounds into my hand. +Where did you get it, child?'--'It does not signify your knowing that, +father.' + +'If I don't know it, I shan't use the money,' he answered, +shortly.--'Why, surely, father, you can trust me!' she rejoined. + +'That is not it, Mary,' said John Baxendale. 'I don't like to use +borrowed money, unless I know who it has been borrowed from.' + +'It was not borrowed, in your sense of the word, father. I have only +done what you and Mrs. Baxendale have been doing lately. I pledged that +set of coral ornaments of my mother's. Had you forgotten them?' + +'Why, yes, I had forgot 'em,' cried he. 'Coral ornaments! I declare they +had as much slipped my memory, as if she had never possessed them.' + +'Cox would only lend me two pounds upon them. Father, I hope I shall +some time get them redeemed.' John Baxendale made no reply. He turned to +pace the small room, evidently in deep thought. Mary, her poor short +breath gathered again, took off her wet cloak and bonnet. Presently, +Mrs. Baxendale put the loaf upon the table, and some cold potatoes. + +'Couldn't you have brought in a sausage or two for yourself, Mary, or a +red herring?' she said. 'You had got a shilling in your pocket.' + +'I can eat a potato,' said Mary; 'it don't much matter about me.' + +'It matters about us all, I think,' cried Mrs. Baxendale. 'What a +delicious smell of onions!' she added in a parenthesis. 'Them Shucks +have got the luck of it just now. Us, and the children, and you, are +three parts starved--I know that, Mary. _We_ may weather it--it's to be +hoped we shall; but it will just kill you.' + +'No, it shan't,' said John Baxendale, turning to them with a strangely +stern decision marked upon his countenance. 'This night has decided me, +and I'll go and do it.' + +'Go and do what?' exclaimed his wife, a sort of fear in her tone. + +'I'll go to WORK, please God, Monday morning comes,' he said, with +emphasis. 'The thought has been hovering in my mind this week past.' + +'It's just the thing you ought to have done weeks ago,' observed Mrs. +Baxendale. + +'You never said it.'--'Not I. It's best to let men come to their senses +of their own accord. You mostly act by the rules of contrary, you men; +if I had advised your going to work next Monday morning, you'd just have +stopped away.' + +Passing over this conjugal compliment in silence, John Baxendale +descended the stairs. He possessed a large share of the open honesty of +the genuine English workman. He disdained to do things in a corner. It +would not suit him to return to work the coming Monday morning on what +might be called 'the sly;' he preferred to act openly, and to declare it +to the Trades' Union previously, in the person of their paid agent, Sam +Shuck. This he would do at once, and for that purpose entered the +kitchen. The first instalment of the supper was just served: which was +accomplished by means of a tin dish placed on the table, and the +contents of the frying-pan being turned unceremoniously into it. Sam and +the company deemed the liver and bacon were best served hot and hot, so +they set themselves to eat, while Mrs. Shuck continued to fry. + +'I have got just a word to say, Shuck; I shan't disturb you,' began John +Baxendale. But Shuck interrupted him. + +'It's of no use, Baxendale, your remonstrating about the short +allowance. Think of the many mouths there is to feed. It's hard times, +we all know, thanks to the masters; but our duty, ay, and our pride too, +must lie in putting up with them, like men.' + +'It's not very hard times with you, at any rate,' said John Baxendale, +sniffing involuntarily the savoury odour, and watching the tempting +morsels consumed. 'My business here is not to remonstrate at anything, +but to inform you that I shall resume work on Monday.' + +The announcement took Sam by surprise. He dropped the knife with which +he was cutting the liver, held upon his bread--for the repast was not +served fashionably, with a full complement of plates and dishes--and +stared at Baxendale--'What!' he uttered. + +'I have had enough of it. I shall go back on Monday morning.' + +'Are you a fool, Baxendale? Or a knave?' + +'Sometimes I think I must be a fool,' was the reply, given without +irritation. 'Leastways, I have wondered lately whether I am or not: when +there has been full work and full wages to be had for the asking, and I +have not asked, but have let my wife and children and Mary go down to +starvation point.' + +'You have been holding out for principle,' remonstrated Sam. + +'I know; and principle is a very good thing when you are sure it's the +right principle. But flesh and blood can't stand out for ever.' + +'After standing out as long as this, I'd try and stand out a bit +longer,' cried Sam. 'You _must_, Baxendale; you can't turn traitor now.' + +'You say "a bit," longer, Sam Shuck. It has been "a bit longer," and "a +bit longer," for some time past; but the bit doesn't come to any ending. +There's no more chance of the masters' coming to, than there was at +first, but a great deal less. The getting of these men from the country +will render them independent of us. What is to become of us then?' + +'Rubbish!' said Sam Shuck. 'The masters must come to: they can't stand +against the Unions. Because a sprinkling of poor country workmen have +thrust in their noses, and the masters are keeping open their works on +the show of it, is that a reason why we should knuckle down? They are +doing it to frighten us.' + +'Look here,' said Baxendale. 'I have two women and two children on my +hands, and one of the women is next door to the grave; I am +threatened--_you_ know it, Sam Shuck--with a lodging for them in the +street next week, because I have not been able to pay the rent; I have +parted by selling and pledging, with nearly all there is to part with, +of my household goods. There was what they call a Bible reader round +last week, and he says, pleasantly, "Why don't you kneel down and ask +God to consider your condition, Mr. Baxendale?" Very good. But how can I +do that? Isn't it just a mockery for me to pray for help to provide for +me and mine? If God was pleased to answer us in words, would not the +answer be, "There is work, and to spare; you have only got to do it?"' + +'Well, that's grand,' put in one of Sam's guests, most of whom had been +staring with open mouths. 'As if folks asked God about such things as +this!' + +'Since my late wife died, I have thought about it more than I used to,' +said Baxendale, simply, 'and I have got to see that there's no good to +be done in anything without it. But how can I in reason ask for help +now, when I don't help myself? The work is ready to my hand, and I don't +take it. So, Sam, my mind's made up at last. You'll tell the Union.' + +'No, I shan't. You won't go to work.' + +'You'll see. I shall be glad to go. I haven't had a proper meal +this----' + +'You'll think better of it between now and Monday morning,' interrupted +Sam, drowning the words. 'I'll have a talk with you to-morrow. Have a +bit of supper, Baxendale?' + +'No, thank ye. I didn't come in to eat your victuals,' he added, moving +to the door. + +'We have got plenty,' said Mrs. Shuck, turning round from the +frying-pan. 'Here, eat it up-stairs, if you won't stop, Baxendale.' She +took out a slice of liver and of bacon, and handed them to him on a +saucer. What a temptation it was to the man, sick with hunger! However, +he was about to refuse, when he thought of Mary. + +'Thank ye, Mrs. Shuck. I'll take it, then, if you can spare it. It will +be a treat to Mary.' Like unto the appearance of water in the arid +desert to the parched and exhausted traveller, was the sight of that +saucer of meat to Mary. Terribly did she often crave for it. John +Baxendale positively refused to touch any; so Mary divided it into two +portions, giving one to Mrs. Baxendale. The woman's good-nature--her +sense of Mary's condition--would have led her to refuse it; but she was +not quite made up of self-denial, and she felt faint and sinking. John +Baxendale cut a thick slice of bread, rubbed it over the remains of +gravy in the saucer, and ate that. 'Please God, this shall have an end,' +he mentally repeated. 'I think I _have_ been a fool!' + +Mr. Hunter's yard--as it was familiarly called in the trade--was open +just as were other yards, though as yet he had but few men at work in +it; in fact, so little was doing that it was almost equivalent to a +stand-still. Mr. Henry Hunter was better off. A man of energy, +determined to stand no nonsense, as he himself expressed it, he had gone +down to country places, and engaged many hands. + +On the Monday following the above Saturday night, John Baxendale +presented himself to Austin Clay and requested to be taken on again. +Austin complied at once, glad to do so, and told the man he was wise to +come to his senses. Mr. Hunter was not at business that day; 'too unwell +to leave home' was the message carried to Austin Clay. In the evening +Austin went to the house: as was usual when Mr. Hunter did not make his +appearance at the works in the day. Florence was alone when he entered. +Evidently in distress; though she strove to hide it from him, to turn it +off with gay looks and light words. But he noted the signs. 'What is +your grief, Florence?' he asked, speaking in an earnest tone of +sympathy. + +It caused the tears to come forth again. Austin took her hands and drew +her to him, as either a lover or a brother might have done, leaving her +to take it as she pleased. + +'Let me share it, Florence, whatever it may be.' + +'It is nothing more than usual,' she answered; 'but somehow my spirits +are low this evening. I try to bear up bravely; and I do bear up: but, +indeed, this is an unhappy home. Mamma is sinking fast; I see it daily. +While papa----' But for making the abrupt pause, she would have broken +down. Austin turned away: he did not choose that she should enter upon +any subject connected with Mr. Hunter. This time Florence would not be +checked: as she had been hitherto. 'Austin, I cannot bear it any longer. +What is it that is overshadowing papa?' she continued, her voice, her +whole manner full of dread. 'I am sure that some misfortune hangs over +the house.' + +'I wish I could take you out of it,' was the impulsive and not very +relevant answer. 'I can tell you nothing, Florence,' he concluded more +soberly. 'Mr. Hunter has many cares in business; but the cares are his +own.' + +'Austin, is it kind of you to try to put me off so? I can bear reality, +whatever it may be, better than suspense. It is for papa I grieve. See +how ill he is! And yet he has no ailment of body, only of mind. Night +after night he paces his room, never sleeping.' + +'How do you know that?' Austin inquired. + +'Because I listen to it.'--'You should not do so.' + +'I cannot _help_ listening to him. How is it possible? His room is near +mine, and when his footsteps are sounding in it, in the midnight +silence, hour after hour, my ears grow sensitively quick. I say that +loving him, I cannot help it. Sometimes I think that if I only knew the +cause, the nature of his sorrow, I might soothe it--perhaps help to +remove it.' + +'As if young ladies could ever help or remove the cares of business!' he +cried, speaking lightly. + +'I am not a child, Austin,' she resumed: 'it is not kind of you to make +pretence that I am, and try to put me off as one. Papa's trouble is +_not_ connected with business, and I am sure you know that as well as I +do. Will you not tell me what it is?' + +'Florence, you can have no grounds for assuming that I am cognisant of +it.' + +'I feel very sure that you are. Can you suppose that I should otherwise +speak of it to you?' + +'I say that you can have no grounds for the supposition. By what do you +so judge?' + +'By signs,' she answered. 'I can read it in your countenance, your +actions. I was pretty sure of it before that day when you sent me +hastily into your rooms, lest I should hear what the man Gwinn was about +to say; but I have been fully sure since. What he would have said +related to it; and, in some way, the man is connected with the ill. +Besides, you have been on confidential terms with papa for years.' + +'On business matters only: not on private ones. My dear Florence, I must +request you to let this subject cease, now and always. I know nothing of +its nature from your father; and if my own thoughts have in any way +strayed towards it, it is not fitting that I should give utterance to +them.' + +'Tell me one thing: could I be of any service, in any way?' + +'Hush, Florence,' he uttered, as if the words had struck upon some +painful cord. 'The only service you can render is, by taking no notice +of it. Do not think of it if you can help; do not allude to it to your +mother.' + +'I never do,' she interrupted.--'That is well.' + +'You have sometimes said you cared for me.' + +'Well?' he rejoined, determined to be as contrary as he could. + +'If you did, you would not leave me in this suspense. Only tell me the +nature of papa's trouble, I will not ask further.' + +Austin gathered his wits together, thinking what plea he should invent. +'It is a debt, Florence. Your papa contracted a debt many years ago; he +thought it was paid; but by some devilry--pardon the word; I forgot I +was talking to you--a lawyer, Gwinn of Ketterford, has proved that it +was not paid, and he comes to press for instalments of it. That is all I +know. And now you must give me your promise not to speak of this. I'll +never tell you anything more if you do.' + +Florence had listened attentively, and was satisfied. + +'I will never speak of it,' she said. 'I think I understand it now. Papa +fears he shall have no fortune left for me. Oh, if he only knew----' + +'Hush, Florence!' came the warning whisper, for Mrs. Hunter was standing +at the door. + +'Is it you, Austin? I heard voices here, and wondered who had come in.' + +'How are you, dear Mrs. Hunter?' he said to her as she entered. 'Better +this evening?' + +'Not better,' was Mrs. Hunter's answer, as she retained Austin's hand, +and drew him on the sofa beside her. 'There will be no "better" for me +in this world. Austin, I wish I could have gone from it under happier +circumstances. Florence, I hear your papa calling.' + +'If _you_ are not happy in the prospect of the future, who can be?' +murmured Austin, as Florence left the room. + +'I spoke not of myself. My concern is for Mr. Hunter. Austin, I would +give every minute of my remaining days to know what terrible grief it is +that has been so long upon him.' Austin was silent. Had Mrs. Hunter and +Florence entered into a compact to annoy him? 'It has been like a dark +shade upon our house for years. Florence and I have kept silence upon it +to him, and to each other; to him we dare not speak, to each other we +would not. Latterly it has seemed so much worse, that I was forced to +whisper of it to her: I could not keep it in; the silence was killing +me. We both agree that you are in his confidence; if so, perhaps you +will satisfy me?' + +Austin Clay felt himself in a dilemma. He could not speak of it in the +light manner he had to Florence, or put off so carelessly Mrs. Hunter. +'I am not in his confidence, indeed, Mrs. Hunter,' he broke forth, glad +to be able to say so much. 'That I have observed the signs you speak of +in Mr. Hunter, his embarrassment, his grief----' + +'Say his fear, Austin.' + +'His fear. That I have noticed this it would be vain to deny. But, Mrs. +Hunter, I assure you he has never given me his confidence upon the +subject. Quite the contrary; he has particularly shunned it with me. Of +course I can give a very shrewd guess at the cause--he is pressed for +money. Times are bad; and when a man of Mr. Hunter's thoughtful +temperament begins to be really anxious on the score of money matters, +it shows itself in various ways.' + +Mrs. Hunter quitted the subject, perhaps partially reassured; at any +rate convinced that no end would be answered by continuing it. 'I was +mistaken, I suppose,' she said, with a sigh. 'At least you can tell me, +Austin, how business is going on. How will it go on?' + +Very grave turned Austin's face now. This was an open evil--one to be +openly met and grappled with; and what his countenance gained in +seriousness it lost in annoyance. 'I really do not see how it will go +on,' was his reply, 'unless we can get to work soon. I want to speak to +Mr. Hunter. Can I see him?' + +'He will be in directly. He has not been down to-day yet. But I suppose +you will wish to see him in private; I know he and you like to be alone +when you talk upon business matters.' + +At present it was expedient that Mrs. Hunter, at any rate, should not be +present, if she was to be spared annoyance; for Mr. Hunter's affairs +were growing ominous. This was chiefly owing to the stoppage of works +in process, and partly to the effect of a diminished capital. Austin as +yet did not know all the apprehension, for Mr. Hunter contrived to keep +some of it from him. That the diminishing of the capital was owing to +Gwinn of Ketterford, Austin did know; at least, his surmises amounted to +certainty. When a hundred pounds, or perhaps two hundred pounds, +mysteriously went out, and Austin was not made acquainted with the +money's destination, he drew his own conclusions. + +'Are the men not learning the error of their course yet?' Mrs. Hunter +resumed. + +'They seem further off learning it than ever. One of them, indeed, came +back to-day: Baxendale.' + +'I felt sure he would be amongst the first to do so. He is a sensible +man: how he came to hold out at all, is to me a matter of surprise.' + +'He told me this morning, when he came and asked to be taken on again, +that he wished he never had held out,' said Austin. 'Mary is none the +better for it.' + +'Mary was here to-day,' remarked Mrs. Hunter. 'She came to say that she +was better, and could do some work if I had any. I fear it is a +deceitful improvement. She is terribly thin and wan. No; this state of +things must have been bad for her. She looks as if she were half +famished.' + +'She only looks what she is,' said Austin. + +'Oh, Austin! I should have been so thankful to help her to strengthening +food during this scarcity,' Mrs. Hunter exclaimed, the tears rising in +her eyes. 'But I have not dared. You know what Mr. Hunter's opinion +is--that the men have brought it upon themselves, and that, to help +their families, only in the least degree, would be encouraging them to +hold out, and would tend to prolong the contest. He positively forbade +me helping any of them: and I could only obey. I have kept indoors as +much as possible; that I might avoid the sight of the distress which I +must not relieve. But I ordered Mary a good meal here this morning: Mr. +Hunter did not object to that. Here he is.' Mr. Hunter entered, leaning +upon Florence. He looked like an old man, rather than one of middle age. + +'Baxendale is back, sir,' Austin observed, after a few words on business +matters had passed in an under tone. + +'Come to his senses at last, has he?' cried Mr. Hunter. + +'That is just what I told him he had done, sir.' + +'Has he signed the declaration?' + +'Of course he has. The men have to do that, you know, sir, before they +get any work. He says he wishes he had come back at first.' + +'So do a good many others, in their hearts,' answered Mr. Hunter, +significantly. 'But they can't pluck up the courage to acknowledge it.' + +'The men are most bitter against him--urged on, no doubt, by the Union. +They----' + +'Against Baxendale?' + +'Against Baxendale. He came to speak to me before breakfast. I gave him +the declaration to read and sign, and sent him to work at once. In the +course of the morning it had got wind; though Baxendale told me he had +given Sam Shuck notice of his intention on Saturday night. At dinner +time, when Baxendale was quitting the yard, there were, I should say, a +couple of hundred men assembled there----' + +'The Daffodil Delight people?' interrupted Mr. Hunter. + +'Yes. Our late men chiefly, and a sprinkling of Mr. Henry's. They were +waiting there for Baxendale, and the moment he appeared, the yells, the +hisses, the groans, were dreadful. I suspected what it was, and ran out. +But for my doing so, I believe they would have set upon him.' + +'Mark you, Clay! I will protect my workmen to the very limit of the law. +Let the malcontents lay but a finger upon any one of them, and they +shall assuredly be punished to the uttermost,' reiterated Mr. Hunter, +bringing down his hand forcibly. 'What did you do?' + +'I spoke to them just as you have now spoken,' said Austin. 'Their +threatenings to the man were terrible. I dared them to lay a finger upon +him; I assured them that the language they were using was punishable. +Had the police been in the way--but the more you want them, the less +they are to be seen--I should have handed a few into custody.' + +'Who were the ringleaders?'--'I can scarcely tell. Ryan, the Irishman, +was busy, and so was Jim Dunn; Cheek, also, backed by his wife.' + +'Oh, you had women also!' + +'In plenty,' said Austin. 'One of them--I think it was Cooper's +wife--roared out a challenge to fight _Mrs._ Baxendale, if her man, +Cooper, as she expressed it, was too much of a woman to fight _him_. +There will be bloodshed, I fear, sir, before the thing is over.' + +'If there is, let they who cause it look to themselves,' said Mr. +Hunter, speaking as sternly as he felt. 'How did it end?' + +'I cleared a passage for Baxendale, and they yelled and hooted him +home,' replied Austin. "I suppose they'd like to take my life, sir," he +said to me; "but I think I am only doing right in returning to work. I +could not let my family and Mary quite starve." This afternoon all was +quiet; Quale told me the men were holding a meeting.' + +Florence was sitting with her hands clasped, her colour gradually +rising. 'If they should--set upon Baxendale, and--and injure him!' she +breathed. + +'Then the law would see what it could do towards getting some of them +punished,' sternly spoke Mr. Hunter. + +'Oh, James!' interposed his wife, her pale cheeks flushing, as the words +grated on her ears. 'Can nothing be done to prevent it? Prevention is +better than cure. Austin, will you not give notice to the police, and +tell them to be on the alert?' + +'I have done it,' answered Austin. + +'Papa,' said Florence, 'have you heard that Robert Darby's children are +ill?--likely to die? They are suffering dreadfully from want. Mary +Baxendale said so when she was here this morning.' + +'I know nothing about Robert Darby or his children,' was the +uncompromising reply of Mr. Hunter. 'If a man sees his children +starving before him, and will not work to feed them, he deserves to find +them ill. Florence, I see what you mean--you would like to ask me to +permit you to send them relief. _I will not._' + +Do not judge of Mr. Hunter's humanity by the words, or deem him an +unfeeling man. He was far from that. Had the men been out of work +through misfortune, he would have been the first to forward them +succour; many and many a time had he done it in cases of sickness. He +considered, as did most of the other London masters, that to help the +men or their families in any way, would but tend to prolong the dispute. +And there was certainly reason in their argument--if the men wished to +feed their children, why did they not work for them? + +'Sir,' whispered Austin, when he was going, and Mr. Hunter went with him +into the hall, 'that bill of Lamb's came back to us to-day, noted.' + +'No!'--'It did, indeed. I had to take it up.' + +Mr. Hunter lifted his hands. 'This wretched state of things! It will +bring on ruin, it will bring on ruin. I heard one of the masters curse +the men the other day in his perplexity and anger; there are times when +I am tempted to follow his example. Ruin! for my wife and for Florence!' + +'Mr. Hunter,' exclaimed Austin, greatly agitated, and speaking in the +moment's impulse, 'why will you not give me the hope of winning her? I +will make her a happy home----' + +'Be silent!' sternly interrupted Mr. Hunter. 'I have told you that +Florence can never be yours. If you cannot put away this unthankful +subject, at once and for ever, I must forbid you the house.' + +'Good night, sir,' returned Austin. And he went away, sighing heavily. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +SOMEBODY 'PITCHED INTO.' + + +How do the poor manage to pull through illness? Through distress, +through hunger, through cold, through nakedness; above all, through the +close, unwholesome atmosphere in which too many of them are obliged to +live, they struggle on from sickness back to health. Look at the +children of Robert Darby. The low fever which attacked them had in some +inexplicable way been subdued, without its going on to the dreaded +typhus. If typhus had appeared at that untoward time in Daffodil's +Delight, why, then, no earthly power could have kept many from the +grave. Little pale, pinched forms, but with the disease gone, there sat +Darby's children. Colder weather had come, and they had gathered round +the bit of fire in their close room: fire it could scarcely be called, +for it was only a few decaying embers. All sat on the floor, save Willy; +he was in a chair, leaning his head back on a pillow. The boy had +probably never been fitted by constitution for a prolonged life, though +he might have lasted some years more under favourable surroundings; as +it was, fever and privation had done their work with him, and the +little spirit was nearly worn out. Mrs. Darby had taken him round to Mr. +Rice. 'He does not want me, he wants good nourishment, and plenty of +it,' was the apothecary's announcement! And Mrs. Darby took him home +again. 'Mother, the fire's nearly out.' + +'I can't help it, Willy. There's no coal, and nothing to buy it +with.'--'Take something, mother.' + +You may or may not, as you are acquainted or not with the habits of the +poor, be aware that this sentence referred to the pawnbroker: spoken out +fully it would have been, 'Take something and pledge it, mother.' In +cases of long-continued general distress, the children of a family know +just as much about its ways and means as the heads do. Mrs. Darby cast +her eyes round the kitchen. There was nothing to take, nothing that +would raise them help, to speak of. As she stood over Willy, parting the +hair with her gentle finger upon his little pale brow, her tears dropped +upon his face. The pillow on which his head leaned? Ay; she had thought +of that with longing; but how would his poor aching head do without it? +The last things put in pledge had been Darby's tools. The latch of the +door opened, and Grace entered. She appeared to be in some deep +distress. Flinging herself on a chair, she clasped hold of her mother, +sobbing wildly, clinging to her as if for protection. 'Oh, mother, they +have accused me of theft; the police have been had to me!' were the +confused words that broke from her lips. Grace had taken a service in a +baker's family, where there was an excessively cross mistress. She was +a well-conducted, honest girl, and, since the distress had commenced at +home, had brought her wages straight to her mother, whenever they were +paid her. For the last week or two, the girl had brought something more. +On the days when she believed she could get a minute to run home in the +evening, she had put by her allowance of meat at dinner--they lived well +at the baker's--and made it upon bread and potatoes. Had Grace for a +moment suspected there was anything wrong or dishonest in this, she +would not have done it: she deemed the meat was hers, and she took it to +Willy. On this day, two good slices of mutton were cut for her; she put +them by, ate her potatoes and bread, and after dinner, upon being sent +on an errand past Daffodil's Delight, was taking them out with her. The +mistress pounced upon her. She abused her, she reproached her with +theft, she called her husband to join in the accusation; and finally, a +policeman was brought in from the street, probably more to frighten the +girl than to give her in charge. It did frighten her in no measured +degree. She protested, as well as she could do it for her sobs, that she +had no dishonest thought; that she had believed the meat to be hers to +eat it or not as she pleased, and that she was going to take it to her +little brother, who was dying. The policeman decided that it was not a +case for charge at the police-court, and the baker's wife ended the +matter by turning her out. All this, with sobs and moans, she by degrees +explained now. + +Robert Darby, who had entered during the scene, placed his hand, more +in sorrow than in anger, upon Grace's shoulder, in his stern honesty. +'Daughter, I'd far rather we all dropped down here upon the floor and +died out with starvation, than that you should have brought home what +was not yours to bring.' + +'There's no need for _you_ to scold her, Robert,' spoke Mrs. Darby, with +more temper than she, meek woman that she was, often betrayed: and her +conscience told her that she had purposely kept these little episodes +from her husband. 'It is the bits of meat she has fed him with twice or +thrice a week that has just kept life in him; that's my firm belief.' + +'She shouldn't have done it; it was not hers to bring,' returned Robert +Darby. + +'What else has he had to feed him?' proceeded the wife, determined to +defend the girl. 'What do any of us have? _You_ are getting nothing.' +The tone was a reproachful one. With her starving children before her, +and one of them dying, the poor mother's wrung heart could but speak +out. + +'I know I am getting nothing. Is it my fault? I wish I could get +something. I'd work my fingers to the bone to keep my children.' + +'Robert, let me speak to you,' she said in an imploring tone, the tears +gushing from her eyes. 'I have sat here this week and asked myself, +every hour of it, what we shall do. All our things, that money can be +made on, are gone; the pittance we get allowed by the society does not +keep body and soul together; and this state of affairs gets worse, and +will get worse. What is to become of us? What are we to do?' Robert +Darby leaned in his old jacket--one considerably the worse for +wear--against the kitchen wall, his countenance gloomy, his attitude +bespeaking misery. He knew not what they were to do, therefore he did +not attempt to say. Grace had laid down her inflamed face upon the edge +of Willy's pillow and was sobbing silently. The others sat on the floor: +very quiet; as semi-starved little ones are apt to be. 'You have just +said you would work your fingers to the bone to keep your children,' +resumed Mrs. Darby to her husband. + +'I'd work for them till the flesh dropped off me. I'd ask no better than +to do it,' he vehemently said. 'But where am I to get work to do now?' + +'Baxendale has got it,' she rejoined in a low tone. + +Grace started from her leaning posture. + +'Oh, father, do as Baxendale has done! don't let the children quite +starve. If you had been in work, this dreadful thing would not have +happened. It will be a slur upon me for life.' + +'So I would work, girl, but for the Trades' Unions.' + +'Father, the Trades' Unions seem to bring you no good; nothing but harm. +Don't trust them any longer; trust the masters now.' + +Never was there a better meaning man than Robert Darby; but he was too +easily swayed by others. Latterly it had appeared to him that the +Trades' Unions did bring him harm, and his trust in them was shaken. He +stood for a few moments, revolving the question in his own mind. 'They'd +cast me off, you see, the Trades' Unions would,' he observed to his +wife, in an irresolute tone. + +'What if they did? The masters would take you on. Stand right with the +masters----' + +Mrs. Darby was interrupted by a shriek from Grace. Little Willy, whom +nobody had been giving attention to, was lying back with a white face, +senseless. Whether from the weakness of his condition, or from the +unusual excitement of the scene going on around him, certain it was that +the child had fainted. There was some little bustle in bringing him to, +and Mrs. Darby sat down, the boy upon her lap. + +'What ailed you, deary?' said Robert Darby, bending down to him. + +'I don't know, father,' returned the child. And his voice was fainter +than ever. + +Mrs. Darby pulled her husband's ear close to her lips. 'When the boy's +dead, you'll wish you had cared for him more than for the Trades' +Unions; and worked for him.' + +The words told upon the man. Perhaps for the first time he had fully +realized to his imagination the moment when he should see his boy lying +dead before him. 'I will work,' he exclaimed. 'Willy, boy, father will +go and get work; and he'll soon bring you home something good to eat, as +he used to.' Willy's hot lips parted with a pleasant smile of response; +his blue eyes glistened brightly. Robert Darby bent his rough, unshaven +face, and took a kiss from the child's smooth one. 'Yes, my boy; father +_will_ work.' + +He went out, bending his steps towards Slippery Sam's--who, by the way, +had latterly tried to exact the title of 'Mr. Shuck.' There was a code +of honour--as they regarded it--amidst these operatives of the Hunters, +to do nothing underhanded. That is, not to resume work without first +speaking to the Unions' man, Sam Shuck--as was mentioned in the case of +Baxendale. It happened that Mr. Shuck was standing in the strip of +garden before his house, carrying on a wordy war over the palings with +Mrs. Quale, when Darby came up. Peter Quale had of course been locked +out with the rest, but with the first hour that Mr. Hunter's yard was +opened, Peter returned to his work. He did not belong to the Trades' +Unions--he never had belonged to them and never would; therefore, he was +a free man. Strange to say, he was left to do as he liked in peace; +somehow the Union did not care to interfere with Peter Quale--for one +thing, he occupied a better position in the yard than most of the men. +Peter pursued his own course quietly--going to his work and returning +from it, saying little to the malcontents of Daffodil's Delight. Not so +Mrs. Quale; she exercised her tongue upon them whenever she got the +chance. Her motive was a good one: she was at heart sorry for the +privation at present existing in Daffodil's Delight, and would have +liked to shame the men into going to work again. + +'Now, Robert Darby! how are them children of your'n?' began she. +'Starved out yet?' + +'Next door to it,' was Darby's answer. + +'And whose is the fault?' she went on. 'If I had children, and my +husband wouldn't work to keep 'em out of their graves, through getting +some nasty mistaken crotchet in his head, and holding out when the work +was going a-begging, I'd go before a magistrate and see if I couldn't +have the law of him.' + +'You'd do a good many things if you wore the breeches,' interposed Sam +Shuck, with a sneer; 'but you don't, you know.' + +'You be wearing whole breeches now, which you get out of the blood and +marrow of the poor misguided men,' retorted Mrs. Quale. 'They won't last +out whole for ever, Slippery Sam.' + +'They'll last out as long as I want 'em to, I dare say,' said Sam. 'Have +you come up for anything particular, Darby?' + +'I have come to talk a bit, Shuck,' answered Darby, inwardly shrinking +from his task, and so deferring for a minute the announcement. 'There +seems no chance of this state of things coming to an end.' + +'No, that there doesn't. You men are preventing that.'--'Us men!' +exclaimed Robert Darby in surprise. 'What do you mean?' + +'I don't mean you; I don't mean the sturdy, honest fellows who hold out +for their rights like men--I mean the other lot. If every operative in +the kingdom had held out, to a man, the masters would have given in long +ago--they must have done it; and you would all be back, working in +triumph the nine hours per day. I spoke of those rats who sneak in, and +take the work, to the detriment of the honest man.' + +'At any rate, the rats are getting the best of it just now,' said +Robert Darby. + +'That they are,' said Mrs. Quale, exultingly, who would not lose an +opportunity of putting in her word. She stood facing the men, her arms +resting on the palings that divided the gardens. 'It isn't _their_ +children that are dropping into their winding-sheets through want of +food.' + +'If I had my way, I'd hang every man who in this crisis is putting his +hand to a stroke of work,' exclaimed Sam Shuck. 'Traitors! to turn and +work for the masters after they had resorted to a lock-out! It was that +lock-out floored us.' + +'Of course it was,' assented Mrs. Quale, with marked complaisance. 'If +the Union only had money coming in from the men, they'd hold out for +ever. But the general lock-out stopped that.' + +'Ugh!' growled Sam, with the addition of an ugly word. + +'Well, Shuck, as things seem to be getting worse instead of better, and +prospects look altogether so gloomy, I shall go back to work myself,' +resumed Darby, plucking up courage to say it. + +'Chut,' said Shuck. + +'Will you tell me what I _am_ to do? I'd rather turn a thousand miles +the other way than I'd put my foot indoors at home, and see things as +they are there. If a man can clam himself, he can't watch those +belonging to him clam. Every farthing of allowance I had from the +society last week was----' + +'You had your share,' interrupted Sam, who never cared to contend about +the amount received. 'Think of the thousands there is to divide it +among. The subscriptions have come in very well as yet, but they be +falling off now.' + +'And think of the society's expenses,' interposed Mrs. Quale, with +suavity. 'The scores of gentlemen, like Mr. Shuck, there is to pay, and +keep on the fat of the land. He'll be going into Parliament next!' + +'You shut up, will you?' roared Sam. 'Ryan,' called out he to the +Irishman, who was lounging up, 'here's Darby saying he thinks he shall +go to work.' + +'Oh, but that would be rich,' said Ryan, with a laugh, as he entered the +garden, and took his standing beside Sam Shuck. 'Darby, man, you'd never +desert the society! It couldn't spare you.' + +'I want to do for the best,' said Darby; 'and it seems to me that to +hold out is for the worse. Shuck, just answer me a question or two, as +from man to man. If the masters fill their yards with other operatives, +what is to become of us?' + +'They can't fill their yards with other operatives,' returned Shuck. +'Where's the use of talking nonsense?' + +'But they can. They are doing it.' + +'They are not. They have just got a sprinkling of men for show--not +many. Where are they to get them from?' + +'Do you know what I heard? That Mr. Henry Hunter has been over to +Belgium, and one or two of the other masters have also been, and----' + +'There's no fear of the Beljim workmen,' interrupted Ryan. 'What +English master 'ud employ them half-starved frogs?' + +'I heard that Mr. Henry Hunter was quite thunderstruck at their skill,' +continued Darby, paying no attention to the interruption. Their tools +are bad: they are not to be called tools, compared to ours; but they +turn out finished work. Their decorative work is beautiful. Mr. Henry +Hunter put the question to them, whether they would like to come to +England and earn five-and-sixpence per day, instead of three shillings +as they do there, and they jumped at it. He told them that perhaps he +might be sending for them.' + +'Where did you bear that fine tale?' asked Slippery Sam?' + +'It's going about among us. I dare say you have heard it also, Shuck. +Mr. Henry was away somewhere for nine or ten days.' + +'Let 'em come, them Beljicks,' sneered Ryan. 'Maybe they'd go back with +their heads off. It couldn't take much to split the skull of them French +beggars.' + +'Not when an Irishman holds the stick,' cried Mrs. Quale, looking the +man steadily in the face, as she left the palings. + +Ryan watched her away, and resumed. 'How dare the masters think of +taking on forringers? Leaving us to starve!' + +'The preventing of it lies with us,' said Darby. 'If we go back to work, +there'll be no room for them.' + +'Listen, Darby,' rejoined Shuck, in a persuasive tone of confidence, +the latter in full force, now that his enemy, Mrs. Quale, had gone. 'The +bone of contention is the letting us work nine hours a day instead of +ten: well, why should they not accord it? Isn't there every reason why +they should? Isn't there men, outsiders, willing to work a full day's +work, but can't get it? This extra hour, thrown up by us, would give +employment to them. Would the masters be any the worse off?' + +'They say they'd be the hour's wages out of pocket.' + +'Flam!' ejaculated Sam. 'It would come out of the public's pocket, not +out of the masters'. They would add so much the more on to their +contracts, and nobody would be the worse. It's just a dogged feeling of +obstinacy that's upon 'em; it's nothing else. They'll come-to in the +end, if you men will only let them; they can't help doing it. Hold out, +hold out, Darby! If we are to give into them now, where has been the use +of this struggle? Haven't you waited for it, and starved for it, and +hoped for it?' + +'Very true,' replied Darby, feeling in a perplexing maze of indecision. + +'Don't give in, man, at the eleventh hour,' urged Shuck, with +affectionate eloquence: and to hear him you would have thought he had +nothing in the world at heart so much as the interest of Robert Darby. +'A little longer, and the victory will be ours. You see, it is not the +bare fact of your going back that does the mischief, it's the example it +sets. But for that scoundrel Baxendale's turning tail, you would not +have thought about it.' + +'I don't know that,' said Darby. + +'One bad sheep will spoil a flock,' continued Sam, puffing away at a +cigar which he was smoking. He would have enjoyed a pipe a great deal +more; but gentlemen smoked cigars, and Sam wanted to look as much like a +gentleman as he could; it had been suggested to him that it would add to +his power over the operatives. 'Why, Darby, we have got it all in our +own hands--if you men could but be brought to see it. It's as plain as +the nose before you. Us, builders, taking us in all our branches, might +be the most united and prosperous body of men in the world. Only let us +pull together, and have consideration for our fellows, and put away +selfishness. Binding ourselves to work on an equality, nine hours a day +being the limit; eight, perhaps, after a while----' + +'It's a good thing you have not got much of an audience here, Sam Shuck! +That doctrine of yours is false and pernicious; its in opposition to the +laws of God and man.' The interruption proceeded from Dr. Bevary. He had +come into the garden unperceived by Sam, who was lounging on the side +palings, his back to the gate. The doctor was on his way to pay a visit +to Mary Baxendale. Sam started up. 'What did you say, sir?' + +'What did I say!' repeated Dr. Bevary. 'I think it should be, what did +you say? You would dare to circumscribe the means of usefulness God has +given to man--to set a limit to his talents and his labour! You would +say, "So far shall you work, and no farther!" Who are you, and all such +as you, that you should assume such power, and set yourselves up between +your fellow-men and their responsibilities?' + +'Hear, hear,' interrupted Mrs. Quale, putting her head out at her +window--for she had gone indoors. 'Give him a bit of truth, sir.' + +'I have been a hard worker for years,' continued Dr. Bevary, paying no +attention, it must be confessed, to Mrs. Quale. 'Mentally and +practically I have toiled--_toiled_, Sam Shuck--to improve and make use +of the talents entrusted to me. My days are spent in alleviating, so far +as may be, the sufferings of my fellow-creatures; when I go to rest, I +often lie awake half the night, pondering difficult questions of medical +science. What man living has God endowed with power to come and say to +me, "You shall not do this; you shall only work half your hours; you +shall only earn a limited amount of fees?" Answer me.' + +'It's not a parallel case, sir, with ours,' returned Sam. + +'It is a parallel case,' said Dr. Bevary. 'There's your friend next +door, Peter Quale; take him. By diligence he has made himself into a +finished artizan; by dint of industry in working over hours, he is +amassing a competence that will keep him out of the workhouse in his old +age. What reason or principle of justice can there be in your saying, +"He shall not do this; he shall receive no more than I do, or than Ryan, +there, does? Because Ryan is an inferior workman, and I love idleness +and drink and agitation better than work, Quale and others shall not +work to have an advantage over us; we will share and fare alike." Out +upon you, Slippery Sam, for promulgating doctrines so false! You must be +the incarnation of selfishness, or you could not do it. If ever they +obtain sway in free and enlightened England, the independence of the +workman will be at an end.' The Doctor stepped in to Shuck's house, on +his way to Mary Baxendale, leaving Sam on the gravel. Sam put his arm +within Darby's, and led him down the street, out of the Doctor's way, +who would be coming forth again presently. There he set himself to undo +what the Doctor's words had done, and to breathe persuasive arguments +into Darby's ear. Later, Darby went home. It had grown dusk then, for +Sam had treated him to a glass at the Bricklayers' Arms, where sundry +other friends were taking their glasses. There appeared to be a +commotion in his house as he entered; his wife, Grace, and the young +ones were standing round Willy. + +'He has had another fainting fit,' said Mrs. Darby to her husband, in +explanation. 'And now--I declare illness is the strangest thing!--he +says he is hungry.' The child put out his hot hand. 'Father!' Robert +Darby advanced and took it. 'Be you better, dear? What ails you this +evening?' + +'Father,' whispered the child, hopefully, 'have you got the work?' + +'When do you begin, Robert?' asked the wife. 'To-morrow?' + +Darby's eyes fell, and his face clouded. 'I can't ask for it; I can't go +back to work,' he answered. 'The society won't let me.' + +A great cry. A cry from the mother, from Grace, from the poor little +child. Hope, sprung up once more within them, had been illumining the +past few hours. 'You shall soon have food; father's going to work again, +darlings,' the mother had said to the hungry little ones. And now the +hopes were dashed! The disappointment was hard to bear. 'Is he to _die_ +of hunger?' exclaimed Mrs. Darby, in bitterness, pointing to Willy. 'You +said you would work for him.' + +'So I would, if they'd let me. I'd work the life out of me, but what I'd +get a crust for ye all; but the Trades' Union won't have it,' panted +Darby, his breath short with excitement. 'What am I to do?' + +'Work without the Trades' Union, father,' interposed Grace, taking +courage to speak. She had always been a favourite with her father. +'Baxendale has done it.' + +'They are threatening Baxendale awfully,' he answered. 'But it is not +that I'd care for; it's this. The society would put a mark upon me: I +should be a banned man: and when this struggle's over, they say I should +be let get work by neither masters nor men. My tools are in pledge, +too,' he added, as if that climax must end the contest. + +Mrs. Darby threw her apron over her eyes and burst into tears; Grace was +already crying silently, and the boy had his imploring little hands held +up. 'Robert, they are your own children!' said the wife, meekly. 'I +never thought you'd see them starve.' + +Another minute, and the man would have cried with them. He went out of +doors, perhaps to sob his emotion away. Two or three steps down the +street he encountered John Baxendale. The latter slipped five shillings +into his hand. Darby would have put it back again. + +'Tut, man; don't be squeamish. Take it for the children. You'd do as +much for mine, if you had got it and I hadn't. Mary and I have been +talking about you. She heard you having an argument with that snake, +Shuck.' + +'They be starving, Baxendale, or I wouldn't take it,' returned the man, +the tears running down his pinched face. 'I'll pay you back with the +first work I get. You call Shuck a snake; do you think he is one?' + +'I'm sure of it,' said Baxendale. 'I don't know that he means ill, but +can't you see the temptation it is?--all this distress and agitation +that's ruining us, is making a gentleman of him. He and the other agents +are living on the fat of the land, as Quale's wife calls it, and doing +nothing for their pay, except keeping up the agitation. If we all went +to work again quietly, where would they be? Why, they'd have to go to +work also, for their pay must cease. Darby, I think the eyes of you +union men must be blinded, not to see this.' + +'It seems plain enough to me at times,' assented Darby. 'I say, +Baxendale,' he added, wishing to speak a word of warning to his friend +ere he turned away, 'have a care of yourself; they are going on again +you at a fine rate.' + +Come what would, Darby determined to furnish a home meal with this +relief, which seemed like a very help from heaven. He bought two pounds +of beef, a pound of cheese, some tea, some sugar, two loaves of bread, +and a lemon to make drink for Willy. Turning home with these various +treasures, he became aware that a bustle had arisen in the street. Men +and women were pressing down towards one particular spot. Tongues were +busy; but he could not at first obtain an insight into the cause of the +commotion. + +'An obnoxious man had been set upon in a lonely corner, under cover of +the night's darkness, and pitched into,' was at length explained. +'Beaten to death.' Away flew Darby, a horrible suspicion at his heart. +Pushing his way amidst the crowd collected round the spot, as only a +resolute man can do, he stood face to face with the sight. One, trampled +on and beaten, lay in the dust, his face covered with blood. + +'Is it Baxendale?' shouted Darby, for he was unable to recognise him. + +'It's Baxendale, as sure as a trivet. Who else should it be? He have +caught it at last.' + +But there were pitying faces around. Humanity revolted at the sight; and +quiet, inoffensive John Baxendale, had ever been liked in Daffodil's +Delight. Robert Darby, his voice rising to a shriek with emotion, held +out his armful of provisions. + +'Look here! I wanted to work, but the Union won't let me. My wife and +children be a starving at home, one of them dying: I came out, for I +couldn't bear to stop indoors in the misery. There I met a friend--it +seemed to me more like an angel--and he gave me money to feed my +children; made me take it; he said if I had money and he had not, I'd +do as much for him. See what I bought with it: I was carrying it home +for my poor children when this cry arose. Friends, the one to give it me +was Baxendale. And you have murdered him!' Another great cry, even as +Darby concluded, arose to break the deep stillness. No stillness is so +deep as that caused by emotion. + +'He is not dead!' shouted the crowd. 'See! he is stirring! Who could +have done this!' + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +A GLOOMY CHAPTER. + + +The winter had come in, intensely hard. Frost and snow lay early upon +the ground. Was that infliction in store--a bitter winter--to be added +to the already fearful distress existing in this dense metropolis? The +men held out from work, and the condition of their families was +something sad to look upon. Distress of a different nature existed in +the house of Mr. Hunter. It was a house of sorrow; for its mistress lay +dying. The spark of life had long been flickering, and now its time to +depart had come. Haggard, worn, pale, stood Mr. Hunter in his +drawing-room. He was conversing with his brother Henry. Their topic was +business. In spite of existing domestic woes, men of business cannot +long forget their daily occupation. Mr. Henry Hunter had come in to +inquire news of his sister-in-law, and the conversation insensibly +turned on other matters. + +'Of course I shall weather it,' Mr. Henry was saying, in answer to a +question. 'It will be a fearful loss, with so much money out, and +buildings in process standing still. Did it last very much longer, I +hardly know that I could. And you, James?' Mr. Hunter evaded the +question. Since the time, years back, when they had dissolved +partnership, he had shunned all allusion to his own prosperity, or +non-prosperity, with his brother. Possibly he feared that it might lead +to that other subject--the mysterious paying away of the five thousand +pounds. + +'For my part, I do not feel so sure of the strike's being near its end,' +he remarked. + +'I have positive information that the eligibility of withdrawing the +strike at the Messrs. Pollocks' has been mooted by the central committee +of the Union,' said Mr. Henry. 'If nothing else has brought the men to +their senses, this weather must do it. It will end as nearly all strikes +have ended--in their resuming work upon our terms.' + +'But what an incalculable amount of suffering they have brought upon +themselves!' exclaimed Mr. Hunter. 'I do not see what is to become of +them, either, in future. How are they all to find work again? We shall +not turn off the stranger men who have worked for us in this emergency, +to make room for them.' + +'No, indeed,' replied Mr. Henry. 'And those strangers amount to nearly +half my complement of hands. Do you recollect a fellow of the name of +Moody?' + +'Of course I do. I met him the other day, looking like a walking +skeleton. I asked him whether he was not tired of the strike. He said +_he_ had been tired of it long ago; but the Union would not let him be.' + +'He hung himself yesterday.' + +Mr. Hunter replied only by a gesture. + +'And left a written paper behind him, cursing the strike and the Trades' +Unions, which had brought ruin upon him and his family. 'I saw the +paper,' continued Mr. Henry. 'A decent, quiet man he was; but timorous, +and easily led away.' + +'Is he dead?' + +'He had been dead two hours when he was found. He hung himself in that +shed at the back of Dunn's house, where the men held some meetings in +the commencement of the strike. I wonder how many more souls this +wretched state of affairs will send, or has sent, out of the world!' + +'Hundreds, directly or indirectly. The children are dying off quickly, +as the Registrar-General's returns show. A period of prolonged distress +always tells upon the children. And upon us also, I think,' Mr. Hunter +added, with a sigh. + +'Upon us in a degree,' Mr. Henry assented, somewhat carelessly. He was a +man of substance; and, upon such, the ill effects fall lightly. 'When +the masters act in combination, as we have done, it is not the men who +can do us permanent injury. They must give in, before great harm has +had time to come. James, I saw that man this morning: your _bete noire_, +as I call him. Mr. Hunter changed countenance. He could not be ignorant +that his brother alluded to Gwinn of Ketterford. It happened that Mr. +Henry Hunter had been cognisant of one or two of the unpleasant visits +forced by the man upon his brother during the last few years. But Mr. +Henry had avoided questions: he had the tact to perceive that they would +only go unanswered, and be deemed unpleasant into the bargain. + +'I met him near your yard. Perhaps he was going in there.' + +The sound of the muffled knocker, announcing a visitor, was heard the +moment after Mr. Henry spoke, and Mr. Hunter started as though struck by +a pistol-shot. At a calmer time he might have had more command over +himself; but the sudden announcement of the presence of the man in +town--which fact he had not been cognisant of--had startled him to +tremor. That Gwinn, and nobody else, was knocking for admittance, seemed +a certainty to his shattered nerves. 'I cannot see him: I cannot see +him!' he exclaimed, in agitation; and he backed away from the room door, +unconscious what he did in his confused fear, his lips blanching to a +deadly whiteness. + +Mr. Henry moved up and took his hand. 'James, there has been +estrangement between us on this point for years. As I asked you once +before, I now ask you again: confide in me and let me help you. Whatever +the dreadful secret may be, you shall find me your true brother.' + +'Hush!' breathed Mr. Hunter, moving from his brother in his scared +alarm. 'Dreadful secret! who says it? There is no dreadful secret. Oh +Henry! hush! hush! The man is coming in! You must leave us.' Not the +dreaded Gwinn, but Austin Clay. He was the one who entered. Mr. Hunter +sat down, breathing heavily, the blood coming back to his face; he +nearly fainted in the revulsion of feeling brought by the relief. Broken +in spirit, health and nerves alike shattered, the slightest thing was +now sufficient to agitate him. + +'You are ill, sir!' exclaimed Austin, advancing with concern. + +'No--no--I am not ill. A momentary spasm; that's all. I am subject to +it.' + +Mr. Henry moved to the door in vexation. There was to be no more +brotherly confidence between them now than there had formerly been. He +spoke as he went, without turning round. 'I will come in again +by-and-by, James, and see how Louisa is.' + +The departure seemed a positive relief to Mr. Hunter. He spoke quietly +enough to Austin Clay. 'Who has been at the office to-day?' + +'Let me see,' returned Austin, with a purposed carelessness. 'Lyall +came, and Thompson----' + +'Not men on business, not men on business,' Mr. Hunter interrupted with +feverish eagerness. 'Strangers.' + +'Gwinn of Ketterford,' answered Austin, with the same assumption of +carelessness. 'He came twice. No other strangers have called, I think.' + +Whether his brother's request, that he should be enlightened as to the +'dreadful secret,' had rendered Mr. Hunter suspicious that others might +surmise there was a secret, certain it is that he looked up sharply as +Austin spoke, keenly regarding his countenance, noting the sound of his +voice. 'What did he want?' + +'He wanted you, sir. I said you were not to be seen. I let him suppose +that you were too ill to be seen. Bailey, who was in the counting-house +at the time, gave him the gratuitous information that Mrs. Hunter was +very ill--in danger.' + +Why this answer should have increased Mr. Hunter's suspicions, he best +knew. He rose from his seat, grasped Austin's arm, and spoke with +menace. 'You have been prying into my affairs! You sought out those +Gwinns when you last went to Ketterford! You----' + +Austin withdrew from the grasp, and stood before his master, calm and +upright. 'Mr. Hunter!' + +'Was it not so?' + +'No, sir. I thought you had known me better. I should be the last to +"pry" into anything that you might wish to keep secret.' + +'Austin, I am not myself to-day, I am not myself,' cried the poor +gentleman, feeling how unjustifiable had been his suspicions. 'This +grief, induced by the state of Mrs. Hunter, unmans me.' + +'How is she, sir, by this time?' + +'Calm and collected, but sinking fast. You must go up and see her. She +said she should like to bid you farewell.' Through the warm corridors, +so well protected from the bitter cold reigning without, Austin was +conducted to the room of Mrs. Hunter. Florence, her eyes swollen with +weeping, quitted it as he entered. She lay in bed, her pale face raised +upon pillows; save for that pale face and the laboured breathing, you +would not have suspected the closing scene to be so near. She lifted her +feeble hand and made prisoner of Austin's. The tears gathered in his +eyes as he looked down upon her. + +'Not for me, dear Austin,' she whispered, as she noted the signs of +sorrow. 'Weep rather for those who are left to battle yet with this sad +world.' The words caused Austin to wonder whether she could have become +cognisant of the nature of Mr. Hunter's long-continued trouble. He +swallowed down the emotion that was rising in his throat. + +'Do you feel no better?' he gently inquired. + +'I feel well, save for the weakness. All pain has left me. Austin, I +shall be glad to go. I have only one regret, the leaving Florence. My +husband will not be long after me; I read it in his face.' + +'Dear Mrs. Hunter, will you allow me to say a word to you on the subject +of Florence?' he breathed, seizing on the swiftly-passing opportunity. +'I have wished to do it before we finally part.' + +'Say what you will.' + +'Should time and perseverance on my part be crowned with success, so +that the prejudices of Mr. Hunter become subdued, and I succeed in +winning Florence, will you not say that you bless our union?' + +Mrs. Hunter paused. 'Are we quite alone?' she asked. Austin glanced +round to the closed door. 'Quite,' he answered. + +'Then, Austin, I will say more. My hearty consent and blessing be upon +you both, if you can, indeed, subdue the objection of Mr. Hunter. Not +otherwise: you understand that.' + +'Without her father's consent, I am sure that Florence would not give me +hers. Have you any idea in what that objection lies?' + +'I have not. Mr. Hunter is not a man who will submit to be questioned, +even by me. But, Austin, I cannot help thinking that this objection to +you may fade away--for, that he likes and esteems you greatly, I know. +Should that time come, then tell him that I loved you--that I wished +Florence to become your wife--that I prayed God to bless the union. And +then tell Florence.' + +'Will you not tell her yourself?' + +Mrs. Hunter made a feeble gesture of denial. 'It would seem like an +encouragement to dispute the decision of her father. Austin, will you +say farewell, and send my husband to me? I am growing faint.' He clasped +her attenuated hands in both his; he bent down, and kissed her forehead. +Mrs. Hunter held him to her. 'Cherish and love her always, should she +become yours,' was the feeble whisper. 'And come to me, come to me, both +of you, in eternity.' + +A moment or two in the corridor to compose himself, and Austin met Mr. +Hunter on the stairs, and gave him the message. 'How is Baxendale?' Mr. +Hunter stayed to ask. + +'A trifle better. Not yet out of danger.' + +'You take care to give him the allowance weekly?' + +'Of course I do, sir. It is due to-night, and I am going to take it to +him.' + +'Will he ever be fit for work again?'--'I hope so.' + +Another word or two on the subject of Baxendale, the attack on whom Mr. +Hunter most bitterly resented, and Austin departed. Mr. Hunter entered +his wife's chamber. Florence, who was also entering, Mrs. Hunter feebly +waved away. 'I would be a moment alone with your father, my child. +James,' Mrs. Hunter said to her husband, as Florence retired--but her +voice was now so reduced that he had to bend his ear to catch the +sounds--'there has been estrangement between us on one point for many +years: and it seems--I know not why--to be haunting my death-bed. Will +you not, in this my last hour, tell me its cause?' + +'It would not give you peace, Louisa. It concerns myself alone.' + +'Whatever the secret may be, it has been wearing your life out. I ought +to know it.' + +Mr. Hunter bent lower. 'My dear wife, it would not bring you peace, I +say. I contracted an obligation in my youth,' he whispered, in answer to +the yearning glance thrown up to him, 'and I have had to pay it off--one +sum after another, one after another, until it has nearly drained me. It +will soon be at an end now.' + +'Is it nearly paid?'--'Ay. All but.' + +'But why not have told me this? It would have saved me many a troubled +hour. Suspense, when fancy is at work, is hard to bear. And you, James: +why should simple debt, if it is that, have worked so terrible a fear +upon you?' + +'I did not know that I could stave it off: looking back, I wonder that I +did do it. I could have borne ruin for myself: I could not, for you.' + +'Oh, James!' she fondly said, 'should I have been less brave? While you +and Florence were spared to me, ruin might have done its worst.' Mr. +Hunter turned his face away: strangely wrung and haggard it looked just +then. 'What a mercy that it is over!' + +'All but, I said,' he interrupted. And the words seemed to burst from +him in an uncontrollable impulse, in spite of himself. + +'It is the only thing that has marred our life's peace, James. I shall +soon be at rest. Perfect peace! perfect happiness! May all we have loved +be there! I can see----' + +The words had been spoken disjointedly, in the faintest whisper, and, +with the last one died away. She laid her head upon her husband's arm, +and seemed as if she would sleep. He did not disturb her: he remained +buried in his own thoughts. A short while, and Florence was heard at the +door. Dr. Bevary was there. + +'You can come in,' called out Mr. Hunter. + +They approached the bed. Florence saw a change in her mother's face, and +uttered an exclamation of alarm. The physician's practised eye detected +what had happened: he made a sign to the nurse who had followed him in, +and the woman went forth to carry the news to the household. Mr. Hunter +alone was calm. + +'Thank God!' was his strange ejaculation. + +'Oh, papa! papa! it is death!' sobbed Florence, in her distress. 'Do you +not see that it is death?' + +'Thank God also, Florence,' solemnly said Dr. Bevary. 'She is better +off.' + +Florence sobbed wildly. The words sounded to her ears needlessly +cruel--out of place. Mr. Hunter bent his face on that of the dead, with +a long, fervent kiss. 'My wronged wife!' he mentally uttered. Dr. Bevary +followed him as he left the room. + +'James Hunter, it had been a mercy for you had she been taken years +ago.' + +Mr. Hunter lifted his hands as if beating off the words, and his face +turned white. 'Be still! be still! what can _you_ know?' + +'I know as much as you,' said Dr. Bevary, in a tone which, low though it +was, seemed to penetrate to the very marrow of the unhappy man. 'The +knowledge has disturbed my peace by day, and my rest by night. What, +then, must it have done by yours?' + +James Hunter, his hands held up still to shade his face, and his head +down, turned away. 'It was the fault of another,' he wailed, 'and I have +borne the punishment.' + +'Ay,' said Dr. Bevary, 'or you would have had my reproaches long ago. +Hark! whose voice is that?' It was one known only too well to Mr. +Hunter. He cowered for a moment, as he had hitherto had terrible cause +to do: the next, he raised his head, and shook off the fear. + +'I can dare him now,' he bravely said, turning to the stairs with a +cleared countenance, to meet Gwinn of Ketterford. + +He had obtained entrance in this way. The servants were closing up the +windows of the house, and one of them had gone outside to tell the +gossiping servant of a neighbour that their good lady and ever kind +mistress was dead, when the lawyer arrived. He saw what was being done, +and drew his own conclusions. Nevertheless, he desisted not from the +visit he had come to pay. + +'I wish to see Mr. Hunter,' he said, while the door stood open. + +'I do not think you can see him now, sir,' was the reply of the servant. +'My master is in great affliction.' + +'Your mistress is dead, I suppose.'--'Just dead.' + +'Well, I shall not detain Mr. Hunter many minutes,' rejoined Gwinn, +pushing his way into the hall. 'I must see him.' + +The servant hesitated. But his master's voice was heard. 'You can admit +that person, Richard.' + +The man opened the door of the front room. It was in darkness; the +shutters were closed; so he turned to the door of the other, and showed +the guest in. The soft perfume from the odoriferous plants in the +conservatory was wafted to the senses of Gwinn of Ketterford as he +entered. 'Why do you seek me here?' demanded Mr. Hunter when he +appeared. 'Is it a fitting time and place?' + +'A court of law might perhaps be more fit,' insolently returned the +lawyer. 'Why did you not remit the money, according to promise, and so +obviate the necessity of my coming?' + +'Because I shall remit no more money. Not another farthing, or the value +of one, shall you ever obtain of me. If I have submitted to your ruinous +and swindling demands, you know why I have done it----' + +'Stop!' interrupted Mr. Gwinn. 'You have had your money's +worth--silence.' + +Mr. Hunter was deeply agitated. 'As the breath went out of my wife's +body, I thanked God that He had taken her--that she was removed from the +wicked machinations of you and yours. But for the bitter wrong dealt out +to me by your wicked sister Agatha, I should have mourned for her with +regrets and tears. You have made my life into a curse: I purchased your +silence that you should not render hers one. The fear and the thraldom +are alike over.' + +Mr. Gwinn laughed significantly. 'Your daughter lives.' + +'She does. In saying that I will make her cognisant of this, rather than +supply you with another sixpence, you may judge how firm is my +determination.' + +'It will be startling news for her.' + +'It will: should it come to the telling. Better that she hear it, and +make the best and the worst of it, than that I should reduce her to +utter poverty--and your demands, supplied, would do that. The news will +not kill her--as it might have killed her mother.' + +Did Lawyer Gwinn feel baffled? For a minute or two he seemed to be at a +loss for words. 'I will have money,' he exclaimed at length. 'You have +tried to stand out against it before now.' + +'Man! do you know that I am on the brink of ruin?' uttered Mr. Hunter, +in deep excitement, 'and that it is you who have brought me to it?' But +for the money supplied to you, I could have weathered successfully this +contest with my workmen, as my brother and others are weathering it. If +you have any further claim against me,' he added in a spirit of mocking +bitterness, 'bring it against my bankruptcy, for that is looming near.' + +'I will not stir from your house without a cheque for the money.' + +'This house is sanctified by the presence of the dead,' reverently spoke +Mr. Hunter. 'To have any disturbance in it would be most unseemly. Do +not force me to call in a policeman.' + +'As a policeman was once called into you, in the years gone by,' Lawyer +Gwinn was beginning with a sneer: but Mr. Hunter raised his voice and +his hand. + +'Be still! Coward as I have been, in one sense, in yielding to your +terms, I have never been coward enough to permit _you_ to allude, in my +presence, to the past. I never will. Go from my house quietly, sir: and +do not attempt to re-enter it.' + +Mr. Hunter broke from the man--for Gwinn made an effort to detain +him--opened the door, and called to the servant, who came forward. + +'Show this person to the door, Richard.' + +An instant's hesitation with himself whether it should be compliance or +resistance, and Gwinn of Ketterford went forth. + +'Richard,' said Mr. Hunter, as the servant closed the hall-door.--'Sir?' + +'Should that man ever come here again, do not admit him. And if he shows +himself troublesome, call a policeman to your aid.' And then Mr. Hunter +shut himself in the room, and burst into heavy tears, such as are rarely +shed by man. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE LITTLE BOY AT REST. + + +No clue whatever had been obtained to the assailants of John Baxendale. +The chief injury lay in the ribs. Two or three of them were broken: the +head was also much bruised and cut. He had been taken into his own home +and there attended to: it was nearer than the hospital: though the +latter would have been the better place. Time had gone on since, and he +was now out of danger. Never would John Baxendale talk of the harshness +of masters again--though, indeed, he never much talked of it. The moment +Mr. Hunter heard of the assault, he sent round his own surgeon, directed +Austin to give Baxendale a sovereign weekly, and caused strengthening +delicacies to be served from his own house. And that was the same man +whom you heard forbidding his wife and daughter to forward aid to +Darby's starving children. Yes; but Mr. Hunter denied the aid upon +principle: Darby would not work. It pleased him far more to accord it to +Baxendale than to deny it to Darby: the one course gladdened his heart, +the other pained it. The surgeon who attended was a particular friend of +Dr. Bevary's, and the Doctor, in his quaint, easy manner, contrived to +let Baxendale know that there would be no bill for him to pay. + +It was late when Austin reached Baxendale's room the evening of Mrs. +Hunter's death. Tidings of which had already gone abroad. 'Oh, sir,' +uttered the invalid, straining his eyes on him from the sick-bed, before +Austin had well entered, 'is the news true?' + +'It is,' sadly replied Austin. 'She died this afternoon.' + +'It is a good lady gone from among us. Does the master take on much?' + +'I have not seen him since. Death came on, I believe, rather suddenly at +the last.' + +'Poor Mrs. Hunter!' wailed Baxendale. 'Hers is not the only spirit that +is this evening on the wing,' he added, after a pause. 'That boy of +Darby's is going, Mary'--looking on the bright sovereign put into his +hands by Austin--'suppose you get this changed, and go down there and +take 'em a couple of shillings? It's hard to have a cupboard quite empty +when death's a visitor.' + +Mary came up from the far end of the room, and put on her shawl with +alacrity. She looked but a shadow herself. Austin wondered how Mr. +Hunter would approve of any of his shillings finding their way to +Darby's; but he said nothing against it. But for the strongly expressed +sentiments of Mr. Hunter, Austin would have given away right and left, +to relieve the distress around him: although, put him upon principle, +and he agreed fully with Mr. Hunter. Mary got change for the sovereign, +and took possession of a couple of shillings. It was a bitterly cold +evening; but she was well wrapped up. Though not permanently better, +Mary was feeling stronger of late: in her simple faith, she believed God +had mercifully spared her for a short while, that she might nurse her +father. She knew, just as well as did Dr. Bevary, that it would not be +for long. As she went along she met Mrs. Quale. + +'The child is gone,' said the latter, hearing where Mary was going. + +'Poor child! Is he really dead?' + +Mrs. Quale nodded. Few things upset her equanimity. 'And I am keeping my +eyes open to look out for Darby,' she added. 'His wife asked me if I +would. She is afraid'--dropping her voice--'that he may do something +rash.' + +'Why?' breathed Mary, in a tone of horror, understanding the allusion. + +'Why!' vehemently repeated Mrs. Quale; 'why, because he reflects upon +himself--that's why. When he saw that the breath was really gone out of +the poor little body--and that's not five minutes ago--he broke out like +one mad. Them quiet natures in ordinary be always the worst if they get +upset; though it takes a good deal to do it. He blamed himself, saying +that if he had been in work, and able to get proper food for the boy, +it would not have happened; and he cursed the Trades Unions for +misleading him, and bringing him to what he is. There's many another +cursing the Unions on this inclement night, or my name's not Nancy +Quale.' She turned back with Mary, and they entered the home of the +Darbys. Grace, unable to get another situation, partly through the +baker's wife refusing her a character, partly because her clothes were +in pledge, looked worn and thin, as she stood trying to hush the +youngest child, then crying fretfully. Mrs. Darby sat in front of the +small bit of fire, the dead boy on her knees, pressed to her still, just +as Mrs. Quale had left her. + +'He won't hunger any more,' she said, lifting her face to Mary, the hot +tears running from it. + +Mary stooped and kissed the little cold face. 'Don't grieve,' she +murmured. 'It would be well for us all if we were as happy as he.' + +'Go and speak to him,' whispered the mother to Mrs. Quale, pointing to a +back door, which led to a sort of open scullery. 'He has come in, and is +gone out there.' + +Leaning against the wall, in the cold moonlight, stood Robert Darby. +Mrs. Quale was not very good at consolation: finding fault was more in +her line. 'Come, Darby, don't take on so: it won't do no good,' was the +best she could say. 'Be a man.' He seized hold of her, his shaking hands +trembling, while he spoke bitter words against the Trades Unions. 'Don't +speak so, Robert Darby,' was the rejoinder of Mrs. Quale. 'You are not +obliged to join the Trades' Unions; therefore there's no need to curse +'em. If you and others kept aloof from them, they'd soon die away.' + +'They have proved a curse to me and mine'--and the man's voice rose to a +shriek, in his violent emotion. 'But for them, I should have been at +work long ago.' + +'Then I'd go to work at once, if it was me, and put the curse from me +that way,' concluded Mrs. Quale. + +With the death of the child, things had come to so low an ebb in the +Darby household, as to cause sundry kind gossipers to suggest, and to +spread the suggestion as a fact, that the parish would have the honour +of conducting the interment. Darby would have sold himself first. He was +at Mr. Hunter's yard on the following morning before daylight, and the +instant the gates were opened presented himself to the foreman as a +candidate for work. That functionary would not treat with him. 'We have +had so many of you old hands just coming on for a day or two, and then +withdrawing again, through orders of the society, or through getting +frightened at being threatened, that Mr. Clay said I was to take back no +more shilly-shallyers.' + +'Try me!' feverishly cried Darby. 'I will not go from it again.' + +'No,' said the foreman. 'You can speak to Mr. Clay.' + +'Darby,' said Austin, when the man appeared before him, 'will you pass +your word to me to remain? Here men come; they sign the document, they +have work assigned them; and in a day or so, I hear that they have left +again. It causes no end of confusion to us, for work to be taken up and +laid down in that way.' + +'Take me on, and try me, sir. I'll stick to it as long as there's a +stroke of work to do--unless they tread me to pieces as they did +Baxendale. I never was cordial for the society, sir. I obeyed it, and +yet a doubt was always upon me whether I might not be doing wrong. I am +sure of it now. The society has worked harm to me and mine, and I will +never belong to it again.' + +'Others have said as much of the society, and have returned to it the +next day,' remarked Mr. Clay. + +'Perhaps so, sir. They hadn't seen one of their children die, that +they'd have laid down their own lives to save--but that they had not +_worked_ to save. I have. Take me on, sir! He can't be buried till I +have earned the wherewithal to pay for it. I'll stand to my work from +henceforth--over hours, if I can get it.' + +Austin wrote a word on a card, and desired Darby to carry it to the +foreman. 'You can go to work at once,' he said. + +'I'll take work too, sir, if I can get it,' exclaimed another man, who +had come up in time to hear Austin's last words. + +'What! is it you, Abel White?' exclaimed Austin, with a half-laugh. 'I +thought you made a boast that if the whole lot of hands came back to +work, you never would, except upon your own terms.' + +'So I did, sir. But when I find I have been in the wrong, I am not above +owning it,' was the man's reply, who looked in a far better physical +condition than the pinched, half-starved Darby. 'I could hold out +longer, sir, without much inconvenience; leastways, with a deal less +inconvenience than some of them could, for I and father belong to one or +two provident clubs, and they have helped us weekly, and my wife and +daughters don't do amiss at their umbrella work. But I have come over to +my old father's views at last; and I have made my mind up, as he did +long ago, never to be a Union man again--unless the masters should turn +round and make themselves into a body of tyrants; I don't know what I +might do then. But there's not much danger of that--as father says--in +these go-a-head days. You'll give me work, sir?' + +'Upon certain conditions,' replied Austin. And he sat down and proceeded +to talk to the man. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET. + + +Daffodil's Delight and its environs were in a state of bustle--of public +excitement, as may be said. Daffodil's Delight, however low its +condition might be, never failed to seize hold upon any possible event, +whether of a general public nature, or of a private local nature, as an +excuse for getting up a little steam. On that cold winter's day, two +funerals were appointed to take place: the one, that of Mrs. Hunter; the +other, of little William Darby: and Daffodil's Delight, in spite of the +black frost, turned out in crowds to see. You could not have passed into +the square when the large funeral came forth so many had collected +there. It was a funeral of mutes and plumes and horses and trappings and +carriages and show. The nearer Mr. Hunter had grown to pecuniary +embarrassment, the more jealous was he to guard all suspicion of it from +the world. Hence the display: which the poor unconscious lady they were +attending would have been the first to shrink from. Mr. Hunter, his +brother, and Dr. Bevary were in the first mourning-coach: in the second, +with two of the sons of Henry Hunter, and another relative, sat Austin +Clay. And more followed. That took place in the morning. In the +afternoon, the coffin of the boy, covered by something black--but it +looked like old cloth instead of velvet--was brought out of Darby's +house upon men's shoulders. Part of the family followed, and pretty +nearly the whole of Daffodil's Delight brought up the rear. There it is, +moving slowly down the street. Not over slowly either; for there had +been a delay in some of the arrangements, and the clergyman must have +been waiting for half an hour. It was a week since Darby resumed work; a +long while to keep the child, but the season was winter. Darby had paid +part of the expense, and had been trusted for the rest. It arrived at +the burial place; and the little body was buried, there to remain until +the resurrection at the last day. As Darby stood over the grave, the +regret for his child was nearly lost sight of in that other and far more +bitter regret, the remorse of which was telling upon him. He had kept +the dead starving for months, when work was to be had for the asking! + +'Don't take on so,' whispered a neighbour, who knew his thoughts. 'If +you had gone back to work as soon as the yards were open, you'd only +have been set upon and half-killed, as Baxendale was.' + +'Then it would not, in that case, have been my fault if he had starved,' +returned Darby, with compressed lips. 'His poor hungry face 'll lie upon +my mind for ever.' + +The shades of evening were on Daffodil's Delight when the attendants of +the funeral returned, and Mr. Cox, the pawnbroker, was busily +transacting the business that the dusk hour always brought him. Even the +ladies and gentlemen of Daffodil's Delight, though they were common +sufferers, and all, or nearly all, required to pay visits to Mr. Cox, +imitated their betters in observing that peculiar reticence of manner +which custom has thrown around these delicate negotiations. The +character of their offerings had changed. In the first instance they had +chiefly consisted of ornaments, whether of the house or person, or of +superfluous articles of attire and of furniture. Then had come +necessaries: bedding, and heavier things; and then trifles--irons, +saucepans, frying-pans, gowns, coats, tools--anything; anything by which +a shilling could be obtained. And now had arrived the climax when there +was nothing more to take--nothing, at least, that Mr. Cox would +speculate upon. + +A woman went banging into the shop, and Mr. Cox recognised her for the +most troublesome of his customers--Mrs. Dunn. Of all the miserable +households in Daffodil's Delight, that of the Dunns' was about the +worst: but Mrs. Dunn's manners and temper were fiercer than ever. The +non-realization of her fond hope of good cheer and silk dresses was +looked upon as a private injury, and resented as such. See her as she +turns into the shop: her head, a mass of torn black cap and entangled +hair; her gown, a black stuff once, dirty now, hanging in jags, and +clinging round her with that peculiar cling which indicates that few, if +any, petticoats are underneath; her feet scuffling along in shoes tied +round the instep with white rag, to keep them on! As she was entering, +she encountered a poor woman named Jones, the wife of a carpenter, as +badly reduced as she was. Mrs. Jones held out a small blanket for her +inspection, and spoke with the tears running down her cheeks. +Apparently, her errand to Mr. Cox had been unsuccessful. + +'We have kept it till the last. We said we could not lie on the sack of +straw this awful weather, without the blanket to cover us. But to-day we +haven't got a crumb in the house, or a ember in the grate; and Jones +said, says he, "There ain't no help for it, you must pledge it."' + +'And Cox won't take it in?' shrilly responded Mrs. Dunn. The woman shook +her head, and the tears fell fast on her thin cotton shawl, as she +walked away. 'He says the moths has got into it.' + +'A pity but the moths had got into him! his eyes is sharper than they +need be,' shrieked Mrs. Dunn. 'Here, Cox,' dashing up to the counter, +and flinging on it a pair of boots, 'I want three shillings on them.' + +Mr. Cox took up the offered pledge--a thin pair of woman's boots, black +cloth, with leather tips; new, they had probably cost five shillings, +but they were now considerably the worse for wear. 'What is the use of +bringing these old things?' remonstrated Mr. Cox. 'They are worth +nothing.' + +'Everything's worth nothing, according to you,' retorted Mrs. Dunn. +'Come! I want three shillings on them.' + +'I wouldn't lend you eighteen-pence. They'd not fetch it at an auction.' + +Mrs. Dunn would have very much liked to fling the boots in his face. +After some dispute, she condescended to ask what he would give. 'I'll +lend a shilling, as you are a customer, just to oblige you. But I don't +care to take them in at all.' More dispute; and she brought her demand +down to eighteen-pence. 'Not a penny more than a shilling,' was the +decisive reply. 'I tell you they are not worth that, to me.' The boots +were at length left, and the shilling taken. Mrs. Dunn solaced herself +with a pint of half-and-half in a beer-shop, and went home with the +change. + +Upon no home had the strike acted with worse effects than upon that of +the Dunns: and we are not speaking now as to pecuniary matters. _They_ +were just as bad as they could be. Irregularity had prevailed in it at +the best of times; quarrelling and contention often; embarrassment, the +result of bad management, frequently. Upon such a home, distress, long +continued bitter distress, was not likely to work for good. The father +and a grown-up son were out of work; and the Misses Dunn were also +without employment. Their patronesses, almost without exception, +consisted of the ladies of Daffodil's Delight, and, as may be readily +conjectured, they had no funds just now to expend upon gowns and their +making. Not only this: there was, from one party or another, a good bit +of money owing to the sisters for past work, and this they could not +get. As a set-off to this--on the wrong side--_they_ were owing bills in +various directions for materials that had been long ago made up for +their customers, some of whom had paid them and some not. Any that had +not been paid before the strike came, remained unpaid still. The Miss +Dunns might just as well have asked for the moon as for money, owing or +not owing, from the distressed wives of Daffodil's Delight. So, there +they were, father, mother, sons, daughters, all debarred from earning +money; while all, with the younger children in addition, had to be kept. +It was wearying work, that forced idleness and that forced famine; and +it worked badly, especially on the girls. Quarrelling they were +accustomed to; embarrassment they did not mind; irregularity in domestic +affairs they had lived in all their lives; but they could not bear the +distress that had now come upon them. Added to this, the girls were +unpleasantly pressed for the settlement of the bills above alluded to. +Mrs. Quale had from the first recommended the two sisters to try for +situations: but when was advice well taken? They tossed their heads at +the idea of going out to service, thereby giving up their liberty and +their idleness. They said that it might prevent them getting together +again their business, when things should look up; they urged that they +were not fitted for service, knowing little of any sort of housework; +and, finally, they asked--and there was a great deal in the plea--how +they were to go out while the chief portion of their clothes was in +pledge. + +For the past few days certain mysterious movements on the part of Mary +Ann Dunn had given rise to some talk (the usual expression for gossiping +and scandal) in Daffodil's Delight. She had been almost continually out +from home, and when asked where, had evaded an answer. Ever ready, as +some people are, to put a bad construction upon things, it was not +wanting in this case. Tales were carried home to the father and mother, +and there had been a scene of attack and abuse, on Mary Ann's presenting +herself at home at mid-day. The girl had a fierce temper, inherited +probably from her mother; she returned abuse for abuse, and finally +rushed off in a passion, without having given any satisfactory defence +of herself. Dunn cared for his children after a fashion, and the fear +that the reports must be true, completely beat him down; cowed his +spirit, as he might have put it. Mrs. Dunn, on the contrary, ranted and +raved till she was hoarse; and then, being excessively thirsty, stole +off surreptitiously with the boots to Mr. Cox's, and so obtained a pint +of half-and-half. + +She returned home again, the delightful taste of it still in her mouth. +The room was stripped of all, save a few things, too old or too useless +for Mr. Cox to take; and, except for a little fire, it presented a +complete picture of poverty. The children lay on the boards crying; not +a loud cry, but a distressed moan. Very little, indeed, even of bread, +got those children; for James Dunn and his wife were too fond of beer, +to expend in much else the trifle allowed them by the Trades Union. +James Dunn had just come in. After the scene with his daughter, when he +had a little recovered himself, he went out to keep an appointment. Some +of the workmen, in a similarly distressed condition to himself, had been +that day to one of the police courts, hoping to obtain pecuniary help +from the magistrates. The result had been a complete failure, and Dunn +sat, moody and cross, upon a bench, his depression of spirit having +given place to a sort of savage anger; chiefly at his daughter Mary Ann, +partly at things altogether. The pint of half-and-half upon an empty +stomach had not tended to render Mrs. Dunn of a calmer temper. She +addressed him snappishly. 'What, you have come in! Have you got any +money?' Mr. Dunn made no reply; unless a growl that sounded rather +defiant constituted one. She returned to the charge. 'Have you got any +money, I ask? Or be you come home again with a empty pocket?' + +'No; father hasn't got none: they didn't get any good by going there,' +interposed Jemima Dunn, as though it were a satisfaction to tell out the +bad news, and who appeared to be looking in all sorts of corners and +places, as if in search of something. 'Ted Cheek told me, and he was one +of 'em that went. The magistrate said to the men that there was plenty +of work open for them if they liked to do it; and his opinion was, that +if they did not like to do it, they wanted punishment instead of +assistance.' + +'That's just my opinion,' returned Mrs. Dunn, with intense aggravation. +'There!' + +James Dunn broke out intemperately, with violent words. And then he +relapsed into his gloomy mood again. + +'I can't think what's gone with my boots,' exclaimed Jemima. + +'Mother took 'em out,' cried a little voice from the floor. + +'What's that, Jacky?' asked Jemima. + +'Mother took 'em out,' responded Jacky. + +The girl turned round, and stood still for a moment as if taking in the +sense of the words. Then she attacked her mother, anger flashing from +her eyes. 'If you have been and took 'em to the pawnshop, you shall +fetch 'em back. How dare you interfere with my things? Aren't they my +boots? Didn't I buy 'em with my own money?' + +'If you don't hold your tongue, I'll box your ears,' shrieked Mrs. Dunn, +with a look and gesture as menacing as her tone. 'Hold your tongue! hold +your tongue, I say, miss!' + +'I shan't hold my tongue,' responded Jemima, struggling between anger +and tears. 'I will have my boots! I want to go out, I do! and how can I +go barefoot?' + +'Want to go out, do you!' raved Mrs. Dunn. 'Perhaps you want to go and +follow your sister! The boots be at Cox's, and you may go there and get +'em. Now, then!' + +The words altogether were calculated to increase the ire of Jemima; +they did so in no measured degree. She and her mother commenced a mutual +contest of ranting abuse. It might have come to blows but for the +father's breaking into a storm of rage, so violent as to calm them, and +frighten the children. It almost seemed as if trouble had upset his +brain. + +Long continued hunger--the hunger that for weeks and months never gets +satisfied--will on occasion transform men and women into demons. In the +house of the Dunns, not only hunger but misery of all sorts reigned, and +this day seemed to have brought things to a climax. Added to the trouble +and doubt regarding Mary Ann, was the fear of a prison, Dunn having just +heard that he had been convicted in the Small Debts Court. Summonses had +been out against him, hopeless though it seemed to sue anybody so +helplessly poor. In truth, the man was overwhelmed with misery--as was +many another man in Daffodil's Delight--and did not know where to turn. +After this outburst, he sat down on the bench again, administering a +final threat to his wife for silence. Mrs. Dunn stood against the bare +wooden shelves of the dresser, her hair on end, her face scarlet, her +voice loud enough, in its shrieking sobs, to alarm all the neighbours; +altogether in a state of fury. Disregarding her husband's injunction for +silence, she broke out into reproaches. 'Was he a man, that he should +bring 'em to this state of starvation, and then turn round upon 'em with +threats? Wasn't she his wife? wasn't they his children? If _she_ was a +husband and father, she'd rather break stones till her arms rotted off, +but what she'd find 'em food! A lazy, idle, drunken object! There was +the masters' yards open, and why didn't he go to work? If a man cared +for his own family, he'd look to his interests, and set the Trades Union +at defiance. Was he a going to see 'em took off to the workhouse? When +his young ones lay dead, and she was in the poorhouse, then he'd fold +his hands and be content with his work. If the strike was to bring 'em +all this misery, what the plague business had he to join it? Couldn't he +have seen better? Let him go to work if he was a man, and bring home a +few coals, and a bit of bread, and get out a blanket or two from Cox's, +and her gownds and things, and Jemimar's boots----' + +Dunn, really a peacefully inclined man by nature, and whose own anger +had spent itself, let it go on to this point. He then stood up before +her, and with a clenched fist, but calm voice of suppressed meaning, +asked her what she meant. What, indeed! In the midst of Mrs. Dunn's +reproaches, how was it she did not cast a recollection to the past? To +her own eagerness, public and private, for the strike? how she had urged +her husband on to join it, boasting of the good times it was to bring +them? She could ignore all that now: perhaps really had almost forgotten +it. Anyway, her opinions had changed. Misery and disappointment will +subdue the fiercest obstinacy; and Mrs. Dunn, casting all the blame upon +her husband, would very much have liked to chastise him with hands as +well as tongue. + +Reader! if you think this is an overdrawn picture, go and lay it before +the wives of the workmen who suffered the miseries induced by the +strike, and ask them whether or not it is true. Ay, and it is only part +of the truth. + +'I wish the strike had been buried five-fathom deep, I do!' uttered +Dunn, with a catching up of the breath that told of the emotion he +strove to hide. 'It have been nothing but a curse to us all along. And +where's to be the ending?' + +'Who brought home all this misery but you?' recommenced Mrs. Dunn. 'Have +you done a day's work for weeks and months? No you haven't; you know you +haven't! You have just rowed in the same boat with them nasty lazy +Unionists, and let the work go a begging.' + +'Who edged me on to join the Unionists? who reproached me with being no +man, but a sneak, if I went to work and knuckled down to the masters?' +demanded Dunn, in his sore vexation. 'It was you! You know it was you! +You was fire-hot for the strike: worse than ever the men was.' + +'Can we starve?' said Mrs. Dunn, choking with passion. 'Can we drop into +our coffins with famine? Be our children to be drove, like Mary Ann----' +An interruption--fortunately. Mrs. Cheek came into the room with a +burst. She had a tongue also, on occasions. + +'Whatever has been going on here this last half hour?' she inquired in a +high voice. 'One would think murder was being committed. There's a +dozen listeners collected outside your shutters.' + +'She's a casting it in my teeth, now, for having joined the strike,' +exclaimed Dunn, indicating his wife. 'She! And she was the foremost to +edge us all on.' + +'Can one clam?' fiercely returned Mrs. Dunn, speaking at her husband, +not to him. 'Let him go to work.' + +'Don't be a fool, Hannah Dunn,' said Mrs. Cheek. 'I'd stand up for my +rights till I dropped: and so must the men. It'll never do to bend to +the will of the masters at last. There's enough men turning tail and +going back, without the rest doing of it. I should like to see Cheek +attempting it: I'd be on to him.' + +'Cheek don't want to; he have got no cause to,' said Mrs. Dunn. 'You get +the living now, and find him in beer and bacca.' + +'I do; and I am proud on it,' was Mrs. Cheek's answer. 'I goes washing, +I goes chairing, I goes ironing; nothing comes amiss to me, and I +manages to keep the wolf from the door. It isn't my husband that shall +bend to the masters. He shall stand up with the Unionists for his +rights, or he shall stand up against me.' Having satisfied her curiosity +as to the cause of the disturbance, Mrs. Cheek went out as she came, +with a burst and a bang, for she had been bent on some hasty errand when +arrested by the noise behind the Dunn's closed shutters. What the next +proceedings would have been, it is difficult to say, had not another +interruption occurred. Mrs. Dunn was putting her entangled hair behind +her ears, most probably preparatory to the resuming of the attack on +her husband, when the offending Mary Ann entered, attended by Mrs. +Quale. + +At it she went, the mother, hammer and tongs, turning her resentment on +the girl, her language by no means choice, though the younger children +were present. Dunn was quieter; but he turned his back upon his daughter +and would not look at her. And then Mrs. Quale took a turn, and +exercised _her_ tongue on both the parents: not with quite as much +noise, but with better effect. + +It appeared that the whispered suspicions against Mary Ann Dunn had been +mistaken ones. The girl had been doing right, instead of wrong. Mrs. +Quale had recommended her to a place at a small dressmaker's, partly of +service, chiefly of needlework. Before engaging her, the dressmaker had +insisted on a few days of trial, wishing to see what her skill at work +was; and Mary Ann had kept it secret, intending a pleasant surprise to +her father when the engagement shall be finally made. The suspicions +cast on her were but a poor return for this; and the girl, in her +temper, had carried the grievance to Mrs. Quale, when the day's work was +over. A few words of strong good sense from that talkative friend +subdued Mary Ann, and she had now come back in peace. Mrs. Quale gave +the explanation, interlarding it with a sharp reprimand at their +proneness to think ill of 'their own flesh and blood,' and James Dunn +sat down meekly in glad repentance. Even Mrs. Dunn lowered her tone for +once. Mary Ann held out some money to her father after a quick glance at +Mrs. Quale for approval. 'Take it, father. It'll stop your going to +prison, perhaps. Mrs. Quale has lent it me to get my clothes out, for I +am to enter for good on my place to-morrow. I can manage without my +clothes for a bit.' + +James Dunn put the money back, speaking softly, very much as if he had +tears in his voice. 'No, girl: it'll do you more good than it will me. +Mrs. Quale has been a good friend to you. Enter on your place, and stay +in it. It is the best news I've heard this many a day.' + +'But if the money will keep you out of jail, father!' sobbed Mary Ann, +quite subdued. + +'It wouldn't do that; nor half do it; nor a quarter. Get your clothes +home, child, and go into your place of service. As for me--better I was +in jail than out of it,' he added with a sigh. 'In there, one does get +food.' + +'Are you sure it wouldn't do you good, Jim Dunn?' asked Mrs. Quale, +speaking in the emergency he seemed to be driven to. Not that she would +have helped him, so improvident in conduct and mistaken in opinions, +with a good heart. + +'Sure and certain. If I paid this debt, others that I owe would be put +on to me.' + +'Come along, Mary Ann,' said Mrs. Quale. 'I told you I'd give you a bed +at my house to-night, and I will: so you'll know where she is, Hannah +Dunn. You go on down to Cox's, girl; get out as much as you can for the +money, and come straight back to me: I'm going home now, and we'll set +to work and see the best we can do with the things.' They went out +together. But Mrs. Quale opened the door again and put in her head for +a parting word; remembering perhaps her want of civility in not having +given it. 'Good night to you all. And pleasant dreams--if you can get +'em. You Unionists have brought your pigs to a pretty market.' + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A DESCENT FOR MR. SHUCK. + + +Things were coming to a crisis. The Unionists had done their best to +hold out against the masters; but they found the effort was +untenable--that they must give in at last. The prospect of returning to +work was eagerly welcomed by the greater portion of the men. Rather than +continue longer in the wretched condition to which they were reduced, +they would have gone back almost on any terms. Why, then, not have gone +back before? as many asked. Because they preferred to resume work with +the consent of the Union, rather than without it: and besides, the +privations got worse and worse. A few of the men were bitterly enraged +at the turn affairs seemed to be taking--of whom Sam Shuck was chief. +With the return of the hands to work, Sam foresaw no field for the +exercise of his own peculiar talents, unless it was in stirring up fresh +discontent for the future. However, it was not yet finally arranged that +work should be resumed: a little more agitation might be pleasant first, +and possibly prevent it. + +'It's a few white-livered hounds among yourselves that have spoilt it,' +growled Sam to a knot of hitherto staunch friends, a day or two +subsequent to that conjugal dispute between Mr. and Mrs. Dunn, which we +had the gratification of assisting at in the last chapter. 'When such +men as White, and Baxendale, and Darby, who have held some sway among +you, turn sneaks and go over to the nobs, it's only to be expected that +you'll turn sneaks and follow. One fool makes many. Did you hear how +Darby got out his tools?' + +'No.' + +'The men opposed to the Union, opposed to us, heard of his wanting them, +and they clubbed together, and made up the tin, and Darby is to pay 'em +back so much a-week--two shillings I think it is. Before I'd lie under +obligation to the non-Unionist men, I'd shoot myself. What good has the +struggle done you?' + +'None,' said a voice. 'It have done a good deal of harm.' + +'Ay, it has--if it is to die out in this ignoble way,' said Sam. 'Better +have been slaving like dray-horses all along, than break down in the +effort to escape the slavery, and hug it to your arms again. If you had +only half the spirit of men, you'd stop White's work for awhile, and +Darby's too, as you did Baxendale's. Have you been thinking over what +was said last night?' he continued, in a lower tone. The men nodded. One +of them ventured to express an opinion that it was a 'dangerous game.' + +'That depends upon how it's done,' said Shuck. 'Who has been the worse, +pray, for the pitching into Baxendale? Can he, or anybody else, point a +finger and say, "It was you did it?" or "It was you?" Why, of course he +can't.' + +'One might not come off again with the like luck.' + +'Psha!' returned Sam, evincing a great amount of ridicule. + +'But one mightn't, Shuck,' persisted his adversary. + +'Oh, let the traitors alone, to go their own way in triumph if you like; +get up a piece of plate for them, with their names wrote on it in gold,' +satirically answered Sam. 'Yah! it sickens one to see you true fellows +going over to the oppressionists.' + +'How do you make out that White, and them, be oppressionists?' + +'White, and them? they are worse than oppressionists a thousand times +over,' fiercely cried Sam. 'I can't find words bad enough for _them_. It +isn't of them I spoke: I spoke of the masters.' + +'Well, Shuck, there's oppression on all sides, I think,' rejoined one of +the men. 'I'd be glad to rise in the world if I could, and I'd work over +hours to help me on to it and to educate my children a bit better than +common; but if you come down upon me and say, "You shall not do it, you +shall only work the stated hours laid down, and nobody shall work more," +I call that oppression.' + +'So it is,' assented another voice. 'The masters never oppressed us like +that.' + +'What's fair for one is fair for all,' said Sam. 'We must work and +share alike.' + +'That would be right enough if we all had talents and industry equal,' +was the reply. 'But as we haven't, and never shall have, it can't be +fair to put a limit on us.' + +'There's one question I'd like to have answered, Shuck,' interposed a +former speaker: 'but I'm afeared it never will be answered, with +satisfaction to us. What is to become of those men that the masters +can't find employment for? If every one of us was free to go back to +work to-morrow, and sought to do so, where would we get it? Our old +shops be half filled with strangers, and there'd be thousands of us +rejected--no room for us. Would the Society keep us?' A somewhat +difficult question to answer, even for Slippery Sam. Perhaps for that +reason he suddenly called out 'Hush!' and bent his head and put up his +finger in the attitude of listening. + +'There's something unusual going on in the street,' cried he. 'Let's see +what it is.' + +They hurried out to the street, Sam leading the way. Not a genial street +to gaze upon, that wintry day, taking it with all its accessories. +Half-clothed, half-starved emaciated men stood about in groups, their +pale features and gloomy expression of despair telling a piteous tale. A +different set of men entirely, to look at, from those of the well-to-do +cheerful old days of work, contentment, and freedom from care. + +Being marshalled down the street in as polite a manner as was +consistent with the occasion, was Mr. James Dunn. He was on his road to +prison; and certain choice spirits of Daffodil's Delight, headed by Mrs. +Dunn, were in attendance, some bewailing and lamenting aloud, others +hooting and yelling at the capturers. As if this was not enough cause of +disturbance, news arose that the Dunns' landlord, finding the house +temporarily abandoned by every soul--a chance he had been looking +for--improved the opportunity to lock the street-door and keep them out. +Nothing was before Mrs. Dunn and her children now but the parish Union. + +'I don't care whether it is the masters that have been in fault or +whether it's us; I know which side gets the suffering,' exclaimed a +mechanic, as Mr. Dunn was conveyed beyond view. 'Old Abel White told us +true; strikes never brought nothing but misery yet, and they never +will.' + +Sam Shuck seized upon the circumstance to draw around him a select +audience, and to hold forth to them. Treason, false and pernicious +though it was, that he spoke, his oratory fell persuasively on the +public ear. He excited the men against the masters; he excited them to +his utmost power against the men who had gone back to work; he inflamed +their passions, he perverted their reason. Altogether, ill-feeling and +excitement was smouldering in an unusual degree in Daffodil's Delight, +and it was kept up through the live-long day. Evening came. The bell +rang for the cessation of work at Mr. Hunter's, and the men came pouring +forth, a great many of whom were strangers. The gas-lamp at the gate +shed a brilliant light, as the hands dispersed--some one way, some +another. Those bearing towards Daffodil's Delight became aware, as they +approached an obscure portion of the road which lay past a dead wall, +that it bore an unusual appearance, as if dark forms were hovering +there. What could it be? Not for long were they kept in ignorance. There +arose a terrific din, enough to startle the unwary. Yells, groans, +hootings, hisses, threats were poured forth upon the workmen; and they +knew that they had fallen into an ambush of the Society's men. Of women +also, as it appeared. For shrill notes and delicate words of abuse, +certainly only peculiar to ladies' throats, were pretty freely mingled +with the gruff tones of the men. + +'You be nice nine-hour chaps! Come on, if you're not cowards, and have +it out in a fair fight----' + +'A fair fight!' shrieked a female voice in interruption 'who'd fight +with them? Traitors! cowards! Knock 'em down and trample upon 'em!' + +'Harness 'em together with cords, and drag 'em along like beasts o' +burden in the face and eyes o' London!' 'Stick 'em up on spikes!' 'Hoist +'em on to the lamp-posts!' 'Hold 'em head down'ards in a horse-trough!' +'Pitch into 'em with quicklime and rotten eggs!' 'Strip 'em and give 'em +a coat o' tar!' 'Wring their necks, and have done with 'em!' + +While these several complimentary suggestions were thrown from as many +different quarters of the assailants, one of them had quietly laid hold +of Abel White. There was little doubt--according to what came out +afterwards--that he and Robert Darby were the two men chiefly aimed at +in this night assault. Darby, however, was not there. As it happened, he +had turned the contrary way on leaving the yard, having joined one of +the men who had lent him some of the money to get his tools out of +pledge, and gone towards his home with him. + +'If thee carest for thy life, thee'll stop indoors, and not go a-nigh +Hunter's yard again to work!' + +Such were the words hissed forth in a hoarse whisper into the ear of +Abel White, by the man who had seized upon him. Abel peered at him as +keenly as the darkness would permit. White was no coward, and although +aware that this attack most probably had him for its chief butt, he +retained his composure. He could not recognise the man--a tall man, in a +large loose blue frock, such as is sometimes worn by butchers, with a +red woollen cravat wound roughly round his throat, hiding his chin and +mouth, and a seal-skin cap, its dark 'ears' brought down on the sides of +the face, and tied under the chin. The man may have been so wrapped up +for protection against the weather, or for the purpose of disguise. + +'Let me go,' said White. + +'When thee hast sworn not to go on working till the Union gives leave.' + +'I never will swear it. Or say it.' + +'Then thee shall get every bone in th' body smashed. Thee'st been +reported to Mr. Shuck, and to the Union.' + +'I'd like to know your name and who you are,' exclaimed White. 'If you +are not disguising your voice, it's odd to me.' + +'D'ye remember Baxendale? _He_ wouldn't take the oath, and he's lying +with his ribs stove in.' + +'More shame for you! Look you, man, you can't intimidate me. I am made +of sterner stuff than that.' + +'Swear!' was the menacing retort; 'swear that thee won't touch another +stroke o' work.' + +'I tell you that I never will swear it,' firmly returned White. 'The +Union has hoodwinked me long enough; I'll have nothing to do with it.' + +'There be desperate men around ye--them as won't leave ye with whole +bones. You shall swear.' + +'I'll have nothing more to do with the Union; I'll never again obey it,' +answered White, speaking earnestly. 'There! make your most of it. If I +had but a friendly gleam of light here, I'd know who you are, and let +others know.' + +The confusion around had increased. Hot words were passing everywhere +between the assailants and the assailed--no positive assault as yet, +save that a woman had shaken her fist in a man's face and spit at him. +Abel White strove to get away with the last words, but the man who had +been threatening him struck him a sharp blow between the eyes, and +another blow from the same hand caught him behind. The next instant he +was down. If one blow was dealt him, ten were from as many different +hands. The tall man with the cap was busy with his feet; and it really +seemed, by the manner he carried on the pastime, that his whole heart +went with it, and that it was a heart of revenge. + +But who is this, pushing his way through the crowd with stern authority. +A policeman? The men shrank back, in their fear, to give him place. No; +it is only their master, Mr. Clay. + +'What is this?' exclaimed Austin, when he reached the point of battery. +'Is it you, White?' he added, stooping down. 'I suspected as much. Now, +my men,' he continued in a stern tone, as he faced the excited throng, +'who are you? which of you has done this?' + +'The ringleader was him in the cap, sir--the tall one with the red cloth +round his neck and the fur about his ears,' spoke up White, who, though +much maltreated, retained the use of his brains and his tongue. 'It was +him that threatened me; he was the first to set upon me.' + +'Who are you?' demanded Austin of the tall man. + +The tall man responded by a quiet laugh of derision. He felt himself +perfectly secure from recognition in the dark obscurity; and though Mr. +Clay was of powerful frame, more than a match for him in agility and +strength, let him only dare to lay a finger upon him, and there were +plenty around to come to the rescue. Austin Clay heard the derisive +laugh, subdued though it was, and thought he recognised it. He took his +hand from within the breast of his coat, and raised it with a hasty +motion--not to deal a blow, not with a pistol to startle or menace, but +to turn on a dark lantern! No pistol could have startled them as did +that sudden flash of bright light, thrown full upon the tall man's +face. Off flew the fellow with a yell, and Austin coolly turned the +lantern upon others. + +'Bennet--and Strood--and Ryan--and Cassidy!' he exclaimed, recognising +and telling off the men. 'And _you_, Cheek! I never should have +suspected you of sufficient courage to join in a thing of this nature.' + +Cheek, midway between shaking and tears, sobbed out that it was 'the +wife made him;' and Mrs. Cheek roared out from the rear, 'Yes, it was, +and she'd have shook the bones out of him if he hadn't come.' + +But that light, turning upon them everywhere, was more than they had +bargained for, and the whole lot moved away in the best manner that they +could, putting the stealthiest and the quickest foot foremost; each one +devoutly hoping, save the few whose names had been mentioned, that his +own face had not been recognised. Austin, with some of his workmen who +had remained--the greater portion of them were pursuing the +vanquished--raised Abel White. His head was cut, his body bruised, but +no serious damage appeared to have been done. 'Can you walk with +assistance as far as Mr. Rice's shop?' asked Austin. + +'I daresay I can, sir, in a minute: I'm a bit giddy now,' was White's +reply, as he leaned his back against the wall, being supported on either +side. 'Sir, what a mercy that you had that light with you!' + +'Ay,' shortly replied Austin. 'Quale, there's the blood dripping upon +your sleeve. I will bind my handkerchief round your head, White. +Meanwhile, one of you go and call a cab; it may be better that we get +him at once to the surgeon's.' + +A cab was brought, and White assisted into it. Austin accompanied him. +Mr. Rice was at home, and proceeded to examine into the damage. A few +days' rest from work, and a liberal application of sticking-plaster, +would prove efficacious in effecting a cure, he believed. 'What a pity +but the ruffians could be stopped at this game!' the doctor exclaimed to +Austin. 'It will come to attacks more serious if they are not.' + +'I think this will do something towards stopping it,' replied Austin. + +'Why? do you know any of them?' + +Austin nodded. 'A few. It is not a second case of impossible identity, +as was Baxendale's.' + +'I'm sure I don't know how I am to go in home in this plight,' exclaimed +White, catching sight of his strapped-up face and head, in a small +looking-glass hanging in Mr. Rice's surgery. 'I shall frighten poor old +father into a fit, and the wife too.' + +'I will go on first and prepare them,' said Austin, good-naturedly. +Turning out of the shop on this errand, he found the door blocked up. +The door! nay, the pavement--the street; for it seemed as if all +Daffodil's Delight had collected there. He elbowed his way through them, +and reached White's home. There the news had preceded him, and he found +the deepest distress and excitement reigning, the family having been +informed that Abel was killed. Austin reassured them, made light of the +matter, and departed. + +Outside their closed-up home, squatting on the narrow strip of +pavement, their backs against the dirty wall, were Mrs. Dunn and her +children, howling pitiably. They were surrounded with warm partizans, +who spent their breath sympathizing with them, and abusing the landlord. + +'How much better that they should go into the workhouse,' exclaimed +Austin. 'They will perish with cold if they remain there.' + +'And much you masters 'ud care,' cried a woman who overheard the remark. +'I hope you are satisfied now with the effects of your fine lock-out! +Look at the poor creatur, a sitting there with her helpless children.' + +'A sad sight,' observed Austin; 'but _not_ the effects of the lock-out. +You must look nearer home.' + +The day dawned. Abel White was progressing very satisfactorily. So much +so that Mr. Rice did not keep him in bed. It was by no means so grave a +case as Baxendale's. To the intense edification of Daffodil's Delight, +which had woke up in an unusually low and subdued state, there arrived, +about mid-day, certain officers within its precincts, holding warrants +for the apprehension of some of the previous night's rioters. Bennet, +Strood, Ryan, and Cheek were taken; Cassidy had disappeared. + +'It's a shame to grab us!' exclaimed timid Cheek, shaking from head to +foot. 'White himself said as we was not the ringleaders.' + +While these were secured, a policeman entered the home of Mr. Shuck, +without so much as saying, 'With your leave,' or 'By your leave.' That +gentleman, who had remained in-doors all the morning, in a restless, +humble sort of mood, which imparted much surprise to Mrs. Shuck, was +just sitting down to dinner in the bosom of his family: a savoury +dinner, to judge by the smell, consisting of rabbit and onions. + +'Now, Sam Shuck, I want you,' was the startling interruption. + +Sam turned as white as a sheet. Mrs. Shuck stared, and the children +stared. + +'Want me, do you?' cried Sam, putting as easy a face as he could upon +the matter. 'What do you want me for? To give evidence?' + +'_You_ know. It's about that row last night. I wonder you hadn't better +regard for your liberty than to get into it.' + +'Why, you never was such a fool as to put yourself into that!' exclaimed +Mrs. Shuck, in her surprise. 'What could have possessed you?' + +'I!' retorted Sam; 'I don't know anything about the row, except what +I've heard. I was a good mile off from the spot when it took place.' + +'All very well if you can convince the magistrates of that,' said the +officer. 'Here's the warrant against you, and I must take you upon it.' + +'I won't go,' said Sam, showing fight. 'I wasn't nigh the place, I say.' + +The officer was peremptory--officers generally are so in these +cases--and Sam was very foolish to resist. But that he was scared out of +his senses, he would probably not have resisted. It only made matters +worse; and the result was that he had the handcuffs clapped on. Fancy +Samuel Shuck, Esquire, in his crimson necktie with the lace ends, and +the peg-tops, being thus escorted through Daffodil's Delight, himself +and his hands prisoners, and a tail the length of the street streaming +after him! You could not have got into the police-court. Every avenue, +every inch of ground was occupied; for the men, both Unionists and +non-Unionists, were greatly excited, and came flocking in crowds to hear +the proceedings. The five men were placed at the bar--Shuck, Bennet, +Cheek, Ryan, and Strood: and Abel White and his bandaged head appeared +against them. The man gave his evidence. How he and others--but himself, +he thought, more particularly--had been met by a mob the previous night, +upon leaving work, a knot of the Society's men, who had first threatened +and then beaten him. + +'Can you tell what their motive was for doing this?' asked the +magistrate. + +'Yes, sir,' was the answer of White. 'It was because I went back to +work. I held out as long as I could, in obedience to the Trades' Union; +but I began to think I was in error, and that I ought to return to work; +which I did, a week or two ago. Since then, they have never let me +alone. They have talked to me, and threatened me, and persuaded me; but +I would not listen: and last night they attacked me.' + +'What were the threats they used last night?' + +'It was one man did most of the talking: a tall man in a cap and +comforter, sir. The rest of the crowd abused me and called me names; but +they did not utter any particular threat. This man said, Would I +promise and swear not to do any more work in defiance of the Union; or +else I should get every bone in my body smashed. He told me to remember +how Baxendale had been served, and was lying with his ribs stove in. I +refused; I would not swear; I said I would never belong to the Union +again. And then he struck me.' + +'Where did he strike you?' + +'Here,' putting his hand up to his forehead. 'The first blow staggered +me, and took away my sight, and the second blow knocked me down. Half a +dozen set upon me then, hitting and kicking me: the first man kicked me +also.' + +'Can you swear to that first man?' + +'No, I can't, sir. I think he was disguised.' + +'Was it the prisoner, Shuck?' + +White shook his head. 'It was just his height and figure, sir, but I +can't be sure that it was him. His face was partially covered, and it +was nearly dark, besides; there are no lights about, just there. The +voice, too, seemed disguised: I said so at the time.' + +'Can you swear to the others?' + +'Yes, to all four of them,' said White, stoutly. 'They were not +disguised at all, and I saw them after the light came, and knew their +voices. They helped to beat me after I was on the ground.' + +'Did they threaten you?' + +'No, sir. Only the first one did that.' + +'And him you cannot swear to? Is there any other witness who can swear +to him?' + +It did not appear that there was. Shuck addressed the magistrate, his +tone one of injured innocence. 'It is not to be borne that I should be +dragged up here like a felon, your worship. I was not near the place at +the time; I am as innocent as your worship is. Is it likely _I_ should +lend myself to such a thing? My mission among the men is of a higher +nature than that.' + +'Whether you are innocent or not, I do not know,' said his worship; 'but +I do know that this is a state of things which cannot be tolerated. I +will give my utmost protection to these workmen; and those who dare to +interfere with them shall be punished to the extent of the law: the +ringleaders especially. A person has just as much right to come to me +and say, "You shall not sit on that bench; you shall not transact the +business of a magistrate," as you have to prevent these industrious men +working to earn a living. It is monstrous.' + +'Here's the witness we have waited for, please your worship,' spoke one +of the policemen. + +It was Austin Clay who came forward. He bowed to the magistrate, who +bowed to him: they occasionally met at the house of Mr. Hunter. Austin +was sworn, and gave his evidence up to the point when he turned the +light of the lantern upon the tall assailant of White. + +'Did you recognise the man?' asked the Bench. + +'I did, sir. It was Samuel Shuck.' + +Sam gave a howl, protesting that it was _not_--that he was a mile away +from the spot. + +'I recognised him as distinctly as I recognise him at this moment,' said +Austin. 'He had a woollen scarf on his chin, and a cap covering his +ears, no doubt assumed for disguise, but I knew him instantly. What is +more, he saw that I knew him; I am sure he did, by the way he slunk off. +I also recognised his laugh.' + +'Did you take the lantern with you purposely?' asked the clerk of the +court. + +'I did,' replied Austin. 'A hint was given me in the course of yesterday +afternoon, that an attack upon our men was in agitation. I determined to +discover the ringleaders, if possible, should it take place, and not to +let the darkness baffle justice, as was the case in the attack upon +Baxendale. For this purpose I put the lantern in readiness, and had the +men watched when they left the yard. As soon as the assault began, my +messenger returned to tell me.' + +'You hit upon a good plan, Mr. Clay.' + +Austin smiled. 'I think I did,' he answered. + +Unfortunately for Mr. Samuel Shuck, another witness had seen his face +distinctly when the light was turned on; and his identity with 'the tall +man disguised' was established beyond dispute. In an evil hour, Sam had +originated this attack on White; but, not feeling altogether sure of the +courage of his men, he had determined to disguise himself and take part +in the business, saying not a word to anybody. He had not bargained for +the revelation that might be brought by means of a dark lantern. + +The proceedings in court were prolonged, but they terminated at length. +Bennet, Strood, and Ryan were condemned to pay a fine of L5 each, or be +imprisoned for two months. Cheek managed to get off. Mr. Sam Shuck, to +whom the magistrate was bitterly severe in his remarks--for he knew +perfectly well the part enacted by the man from the first--was sentenced +to six months at the treadmill, without the option of a fine. What a +descent for Slippery Sam! + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY. + + +These violent interruptions to the social routine, to the organised +relations between masters and men, cannot take place without leaving +their effects behind them: not only in the bare cupboards, the +confusion, the bitter feelings while the contest is in actual progress, +but in the results when the dispute is brought to an end, and things +have resumed their natural order. You have seen some of its disastrous +working upon the men: you cannot see it all, for it would take a whole +volume to depicture it. But there was another upon whom it was promising +to work badly; and that was Mr. Hunter. At this, the eleventh hour, when +the dispute was dying out, Mr. Hunter knew that he would be unable to +weather the short remains of the storm. Drained, as he had been at +various periods, of sums paid to Gwinn of Ketterford, he had not the +means necessary to support the long-continued struggle. Capital he +possessed still; and, had there been no disturbance, no strike, no +lock-out--had things, in short, gone on upon their usual course +uninterruptedly, his capital would have been sufficient to carry him on: +not as it was. His money was locked up in arrested works, in buildings +brought to a standstill. He could not fulfil his contracts or meet his +debts; materials were lying idle; and the crisis, so long expected by +him, had come. + +It had not been expected by Austin Clay. Though aware of the shortness +of capital, he believed that with care difficulties would be surmounted. +The fact was, Mr. Hunter had succeeded in keeping the worst from him. It +fell upon Austin one morning like a thunderbolt. Mr. Hunter had come +early to the works. In this hour of embarrassment--ill as he might be, +as he was--he could not be absent from his place of business. When +Austin went into his master's private room he found him alone, poring +over books and accounts, his head leaning on his hand. One glance at +Austin's face told Mr. Hunter that the whispers as to the state of +affairs, which were now becoming public scandal, had reached his ears. + +'Yes, it is quite true,' said Mr. Hunter, before a word had been spoken +by Austin. 'I cannot stave it off.' + +'But it will be ruin, sir!' exclaimed Austin. + +'Of course it will be ruin. I know that, better than you can tell me.' + +'Oh, sir,' continued Austin, with earnest decision, 'it must not be +allowed to come. Your credit must be kept up at any sacrifice.' + +'Can you tell me of any sacrifice that will keep it up?' returned Mr. +Hunter. + +Austin paused in embarrassment. 'If the present difficulty can be got +over, the future will soon redeem itself,' he observed. 'You have +sufficient capital in the aggregate, though it is at present locked up.' + +'There it is,' said Mr. Hunter. 'Were the capital not locked up, but in +my hands, I should be a free man. Who is to unlock it?' + +'The men are returning to their shops,' urged Austin. 'In a few days, at +the most, all will have resumed work. We shall get our contracts +completed, and things will work round. It would be _needless_ ruin, sir, +to stop now.' + +'Am I stopping of my own accord? Shall I put myself into the Gazette, do +you suppose? You talk like a child, Clay.' + +'Not altogether, sir. What I say is, that you are worth more than +sufficient to meet your debts; that, if the momentary pressure can be +lifted, you will surmount embarrassment and regain ease.' + +'Half the bankruptcies we hear of are caused by locked-up capital--not +by positive non-possession of it,' observed Mr. Hunter. 'Were my funds +available, there would be reason in what you say, and I should probably +go on again to ease. Indeed, I know I should; for a certain +heavy--heavy----' Mr. Hunter spoke with perplexed hesitation--'A heavy +private obligation, which I have been paying off at periods, is at an +end now.' + +Austin made no reply. He knew that Mr. Hunter alluded to Gwinn of +Ketterford: and perhaps Mr. Hunter suspected that he knew it. 'Yes, +sir; you would go on to ease--to fortune again; there is no doubt of it. +Mr. Hunter,' he continued with some emotion, 'it _must_ be accomplished +somehow. To let things come to an end for the sake of a thousand or two, +is--is----' + +'Stop!' said Mr. Hunter. 'I see what you are driving at. You think that +I might borrow this "thousand or two," from my brother, or from Dr. +Bevary.' + +'No,' fearlessly replied Austin, 'I was not thinking of either one or +the other. Mr. Henry Hunter has enough to do for himself just now--his +contracts for the season were more extensive than ours: and Dr. Bevary +is not a business man.' + +'Henry _has_ enough to do,' said Mr. Hunter. 'And if a hundred-pound +note would save me, I should not ask Dr. Bevary for its loan. I tell +you, Clay, there is no help for it: ruin must come. I have thought it +over and over, and can see no loophole of escape. It does not much +matter: I can hide my head in obscurity for the short time I shall +probably live. Mine has been an untoward fate.' + +'It matters for your daughter, sir,' rejoined Austin, his face flushing. + +'I cannot help myself, even for her sake,' was the answer, and it was +spoken in a tone that, to a fanciful listener, might have told of a +breaking heart. + +'If you would allow me to suggest a plan, sir----' + +'No, I will not allow any further discussion upon the topic,' +peremptorily interrupted Mr. Hunter. 'The blow must come; and, to talk +of it will neither soothe nor avert it. Now to business. Not another +word, I say.--Is it to-day or to-morrow that Grafton's bill falls due?' + +'To-day,' replied Austin. + +'And its precise amount?--I forget it.' + +'Five hundred and twenty pounds.' + +'Five hundred and twenty! I knew it was somewhere about that. It is that +bill that will floor us--at least, be the first step to it. How closely +has the account been drawn at the bank?' + +'You have the book by you, sir. I think there is little more than thirty +pounds lying in it.' + +'Just so. Thirty pounds to meet a bill of five hundred and twenty. No +other available funds to pay in. And you would talk of staving off the +difficulty?' + +'I think the bank would pay it, were all circumstances laid before them. +They have accommodated us before.' + +'The bank will _not_, Austin. I have had a private note from them this +morning. These flying rumours have reached their ears, and they will not +let me overdraw even by a pound. It had struck me once or twice lately +that they were becoming cautious.' There was a commotion, as of sudden +talking, outside at that moment, and Mr. Hunter turned pale. He supposed +it might be a creditor: and his nerves were so shattered, as was before +remarked, that the slightest thing shook him like a woman. 'I would pay +them all, if I could,' he said, his tone almost a wail. 'I wish to pay +every one.' + +'Sir,' said Austin, 'leave me here to-day to meet these matters. You are +too ill to stay.' + +'If I do not meet them to-day, I must to-morrow. Sooner or later, it is +I who must answer.' + +'But indeed you are ill, sir. You look worse than you have looked at +all.' + +'Can you wonder that I look worse? The striking of the docket against me +is no pleasant matter to anticipate.' The talking outside now subsided +into laughter, in which the tones of a female were distinguishable. Mr. +Hunter thought he recognised them, and his fear of a creditor subsided. +They came from one of his women servants, who, unconscious of the +proximity of her master, had been laughing and joking with some of the +men, whom she had encountered upon entering the yard. + +'What can Susan want?' exclaimed Mr. Hunter, signing to Austin to open +the door. + +'Is that you, Susan?' asked Austin, as he obeyed. + +'Oh, if you please, sir, can I speak a word to my master?' + +'Come in,' called out Mr. Hunter. 'What do you want?' + +'Miss Florence has sent me, sir, to give you this, and to ask you if +you'd please to come round.' + +She handed in a note. Mr. Hunter broke the seal, and ran his eyes over +it. It was from Florence, and contained but a line or two. She informed +her father that the lady who had been so troublesome at the house once +before, in years back, had come again, had taken a seat in the +dining-room, removed her bonnet, and expressed her intention of there +remaining until she should see Mr. Hunter. + +'As if I had not enough upon me without this!' muttered Mr. Hunter. 'Go +back,' he said aloud to the servant, 'and tell Miss Florence that I am +coming.' + +A few minutes given to the papers before him, a few hasty directions to +Austin, touching the business of the hour, and Mr. Hunter rose to +depart. + +'Do not come back, sir,' Austin repeated to him. 'I can manage all.' + +When Mr. Hunter entered his own house, letting himself in with a latch +key, Florence, who had been watching for him, glided forward. + +'She is in there, papa,' pointing to the closed door of the dining-room, +and speaking in a whisper. 'What is her business here? what does she +want? She told me she had as much right in the house as I.' + +'Ha!' exclaimed Mr. Hunter. 'Insolent, has she been?' + +'Not exactly insolent. She spoke civilly. I fancied you would not care +to see her, so I said she could not wait. She replied that she should +wait, and I must not attempt to prevent her. Is she in her senses, +papa?' + +'Go up stairs and put your bonnet and cloak on, Florence,' was the +rejoinder of Mr. Hunter. 'Be quick.' She obeyed, and was down again +almost immediately, in her deep mourning.' 'Now, my dear, go round to +Dr. Bevary, and tell him you have come to spend the day with him.' + +'But, papa----' + +'Florence, go! I will either come for you this evening, or send. Do not +return until I do.' + +The tone, though full of kindness, was one that might not be disobeyed, +and Florence, feeling sick with some uncertain, shadowed-forth trouble, +passed out of the hall door. Mr. Hunter entered the dining-room. + +Tall, gaunt, powerful of frame as ever, rose up Miss Gwinn, turning upon +him her white, corpse-like looking face. Without the ceremony of +greeting, she spoke in her usual abrupt fashion, dashing at once to her +subject. '_Now_ will you render justice, Lewis Hunter?' + +'I have the greater right to ask that justice shall be rendered to me,' +replied Mr. Hunter, speaking sternly, in spite of his agitation. 'Who +has most cause to demand it, you or I?' + +'She who reigned mistress in this house is dead,' cried Miss Gwinn. You +must now acknowledge _her_.' + +'I never will. You may do your best and worst. The worst that can come +is, that it must reach the knowledge of my daughter.' + +'Ay, there it is! The knowledge of the wrong must not even reach her; +but the wrong itself has not been too bad for that other one to bear.' + +'Woman!' continued Mr. Hunter, growing excited almost beyond control, +'who inflicted that wrong? Myself, or you?' + +The reproach told home, if the change to sad humility, passing over Miss +Gwinn's countenance, might be taken as an indication. + +'What I said, I said in self-defence; after you, in your deceit, had +brought wrong upon me and my family,' she answered in a subdued voice. + +'_That_ was no wrong,' retorted Mr. Hunter, 'It was you who wrought all +the wrong afterwards, by uttering the terrible falsehood, that she was +dead.' + +'Well, well, it is of no use going back to that,' she impatiently said. +'I am come here to ask that justice shall be rendered, now that it is in +your power.' + +'You have had more than justice--you have had revenge. Not content with +rendering my days a life's misery, you must also drain me of the money I +had worked hard to save. Do you know how much?' + +'It was not I,' she passionately uttered, in a tone as if she would +deprecate his anger. '_He_ did that.' + +'It comes to the same. I had to find the money. So long as my dear wife +lived, I was forced to temporize: neither he nor you can so force me +again. Go home, go home, Miss Gwinn, and pray for forgiveness for the +injury you have done both her and me. The time for coming to my house +with your intimidations is past.' + +'What did you say?' cried Miss Gwinn. 'Injury upon _you_?' + +'Injury, ay! such as rarely has been inflicted upon mortal man. Not +content with that great injury, you must also deprive me of my +substance. This week the name of James Lewis Hunter will be in the +Gazette, on the list of bankrupts. It is you who have brought me to it.' + +'You know that I have had no hand in that; that it was he: my +brother--and _hers_,' she said. 'He never should have done it had I been +able to prevent him. In an unguarded moment I told him I had discovered +you, and who you were, and--and he came up to you here and sold his +silence. It is that which has kept me quiet.' + +'This interview had better end,' said Mr. Hunter. 'It excites me, and my +health is scarcely in a state to bear it. Your work has told upon me, +Miss Gwinn, as you cannot help seeing, when you look at me. Am I like +the hearty, open man whom you came up to town and discovered a few years +ago?' + +'Am I like the healthy unsuspicious woman whom you saw some years before +that?' she retorted. 'My days have been rendered more bitter than +yours.' + +'It is your own evil passions which have rendered them so. But I say +this interview must end. You----' + +'It shall end when you undertake to render justice. I only ask that you +should acknowledge her in words; I ask no more.' + +'When your brother was here last--it was on the day of my wife's +death--I was forced to warn him of the consequences of remaining in my +house against my will. I must now warn you.' + +'Lewis Hunter,' she passionately resumed, 'for years I have been told +that she--who was here--was fading; and I was content to wait until she +should be gone. Besides, was not he drawing money from you to keep +silence? But it is all over, and my time is come.' + +The door of the room opened and some one entered. Mr. Hunter turned with +marked displeasure, wondering who was daring to intrude upon him. He +saw--not any servant, as he expected, but his brother-in-law, Dr. +Bevary. And the doctor walked into the room and closed the door, just as +if he had as much right there as its master. + +When Florence Hunter reached her uncle's house, she found him absent: +the servants said he had gone out early in the morning. Scarcely had she +entered the drawing-room when his carriage drove up: he saw Florence at +the window and hastened in. 'Uncle Bevary, I have come to stay the day +with you,' was her greeting. 'Will you have me?' + +'I don't know that I will,' returned the doctor, who loved Florence +above every earthly thing. 'How comes it about?' In the explanation, as +she gave it, the doctor detected some embarrassment, quite different +from her usual open manner. He questioned closely, and drew from her +what had occurred. 'Miss Gwinn of Ketterford in town!' he exclaimed, +staring at Florence as if he could not believe her. 'Are you joking?' + +'She is at our house with papa, as I tell you, uncle.' + +'What an extraordinary chance!' muttered the doctor. + +Leaving Florence, he ran out of the house and down the street, calling +after his coachman, who was driving to the stables. Had it been anybody +but Dr. Bevary, the passers-by might have deemed the caller mad. The +coachman heard, and turned his horses again. Dr. Bevary spoke a word in +haste to Florence. + +'Miss Gwinn is the very person I was wanting to see; wishing some +marvellous telegraph wires could convey her to London at a moment's +notice. Make yourself at home, my dear; don't wait dinner for me, I +cannot tell when I shall be back.' He stepped into the carriage and was +driven away very quickly, leaving Florence in some doubt as to whether +he had not gone to Ketterford--for she had but imperfectly understood +him. Not so. The carriage set him down at Mr. Hunter's. Where he broke +in upon the interview, as has been described. + +'I was about to telegraph to Ketterford for you,' he began to Miss +Gwinn, without any other sort of greeting. And the words, coupled with +his abrupt manner, sent her at once into an agitation. Rising, she put +her hand upon the doctor's arm. + +'What has happened? Any ill?' + +'You must come with me now and see her,' was the brief answer. + +Shaking from head to foot, gaunt, strong woman though she was, she +turned docilely to follow the doctor from the room. But suddenly an idea +seemed to strike her, and she stood still. 'It is a _ruse_ to get me out +of the house. Dr. Bevary, I will not quit it until justice shall be +rendered to Emma. I will have her acknowledged by him.' + +'Your going with me now will make no difference to that, one way or the +other,' drily observed Dr. Bevary. + +Mr. Hunter stepped forward in agitation. 'Are you out of your mind, +Bevary? You could not have caught her words correctly.' + +'Psha!' responded the doctor, in a careless tone. 'What I said was, that +Miss Gwinn's going out with me could make no difference to any +acknowledgment.' + +'Only in words,' she stayed to say. 'Just let him say it in words.' But +nobody took any notice of the suggestion. + +His bearing calm and self-possessed, his manner authoritative, Dr. +Bevary passed out to his carriage, motioning the lady before him. +Self-willed as she was by nature and by habit, she appeared to have no +thought of resistance now. 'Step in,' said Dr. Bevary. She obeyed, and +he seated himself by her, after giving an order to the coachman. The +carriage turned towards the west for a short distance, and then branched +off to the north. In a comparatively short time they were clear of the +bustle of London. Miss Gwinn sat in silence; the doctor sat in silence. +It seemed that the former wished, yet dreaded to ask the purport of +their present journey, for her white face was working with emotion, and +she glanced repeatedly at the doctor, with a sharp, yearning look. When +they were clear of the bustle of the streets; and the hedges, bleak and +bare, bounded the road on either side, broken by a house here and there, +then she could bear the silence and suspense no longer. + +'Why do you not speak?' broke from her in a tone of pain. + +'First of all, tell me what brought you to town now,' was his reply. 'It +is not your time for being here.' + +'The recent death of your sister. I came up by the early train this +morning. Dr. Bevary, you are the only living being to whom I lie under +an obligation, or from whom I have experienced kindness. People may +think me ungrateful; some think me mad; but I am grateful to you. But +for the fact of that lady's being your sister I should have insisted +upon another's rights being acknowledged long ago.' + +'You told me you waived them in consequence of your brother's conduct.' + +'Partially so. But that did not weigh with me in comparison with my +feeling of gratitude to you. How impotent we are!' she exclaimed, +throwing up her hands. 'My efforts by day, my dreams by night, were +directed to one single point through long, long years--the finding James +Lewis. I had cherished the thought of revenge until it became part and +parcel of my very existence; I was hoping to expose him to the world. +But when the time came, and I did find him, I found that he had married +your sister, and that I could not touch him without giving pain to you. +I hesitated what to do. I went home to Ketterford, deliberating----' + +'Well?' said the doctor. For she had stopped abruptly. + +'Some spirit of evil prompted me to disclose to my good-for-nothing +brother that the man, Lewis, was found. I told him more than that, +unhappily.' + +'What else did you tell him?' + +'Never mind. I was a fool: and I have had my reward. My brother came up +to town and drew large sums of money out of Mr. Hunter. I could have +stopped it--but I did not.' + +'If I understand you aright, you have come to town now to insist upon +what you call your rights?' remarked the doctor. + +'Upon what _I_ call!' returned Miss Gwinn, and then she paused in +marked hesitation. 'But you must have news to tell me, Dr. Bevary. What +is it?' + +'I received a message early this morning from Dr. Kerr, stating that +something was amiss. I lost no time in going over.' + +'And what was amiss?' she hastily cried. 'Surely there was no repetition +of the violence? Did you see her?' + +'Yes, I saw her.' + +'But of course you would see her,' resumed Miss Gwinn, speaking rather +to herself. 'And what do you think? Is there danger?' + +'The danger is past,' replied Dr. Bevary. 'But here we are.' + +The carriage had driven in through an inclosed avenue, and was stopping +before a large mansion: not a cheerful mansion, for its grounds were +surrounded by dark trees, and some of its windows were barred. It was a +lunatic asylum. It is necessary, even in these modern days of gentle +treatment, to take some precaution of bars and bolts; but the inmates of +this one were thoroughly well cared for, in the best sense of the term. +Dr. Bevary was one of its visiting inspectors. + +Dr. Kerr, the resident manager, came forward, and Dr. Bevary turned to +Miss Gwinn. 'Will you see her, or not?' he asked. + +Strange fears were working within her, Dr. Bevary's manner was so +different from ordinary. 'I think I see it all,' she gasped. 'The worst +has happened.' + +'The best has happened,' responded Dr. Bevary. 'Miss Gwinn, you have +requested me more than once to bring you here without preparation should +the time arrive--for that you could bear certainty, but not suspense. +Will you see her?' + +Her face had grown white and rigid as marble. Unable to speak, she +pointed forward with her hand. Dr. Bevary drew it within his own to +support her. In a clean, cool chamber, on a pallet bed, lay a dead +woman. Dr. Kerr gently drew back the snow-white sheet, with which the +face was covered. A pale, placid face, with a little band of light hair +folded underneath the cap. She--Miss Gwinn--did not stir: she gave way +to neither emotion nor violence; but her bloodless lips were strained +back from her teeth, and her face was as white as that of the dead. + +'God's ways are not as our ways,' whispered Dr. Bevary. 'You have been +acting for revenge: He has sent peace. Whatsoever He does is for the +best.' + +She made no reply: she remained still and rigid. Dr. Bevary stroked the +left hand of the dead, lying in its utter stillness--stroked, as if +unconsciously, the wedding-ring on the third finger. He had been led to +believe that it was placed on that finger, years and years ago, by his +brother-in-law, James Lewis Hunter. And had been led to believe a lie! +And she who had invented the lie, who had wrought the delusion, who had +embittered Mr. Hunter's life with the same dread belief, stood there at +the doctor's side, looking at the dead. + +It is a solemn thing to persist though but tacitly in the acting of a +vile falsehood, in the mysterious presence of death. Even Miss Gwinn +was not strong-minded enough for that. As Dr. Bevary turned to her with +a remark upon the past, she burst forth into a cry, and gave utterance +to words that fell upon the physician's ear like a healing balm, +soothing and binding up a long-open wound. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE YEARS GONE BY. + + +Those readers will be disappointed who look for any very romantic +_denoument_ of 'A Life's Secret.' The story is a short and sad one. +Suggesting the wretchedness and evil that may result when truth is +deviated from; the lengths to which a blind, unholy desire for revenge +will carry an ill-regulated spirit; and showing how, in the moral +government of the world, sin casts its baleful consequences upon the +innocent as well as the guilty. + +When the carriage of Dr. Bevary, containing himself and Miss Gwinn, +drove from Mr. Hunter's door on the unknown errand, he--Mr. +Hunter--staggered to a seat, rather than walked to it. That he was very +ill that day, both mentally and bodily, he was only too conscious of. +Austin Clay had said to him, 'Do not return: I will manage,' or words to +that effect. At present Mr. Hunter felt himself incapable of returning. +He sank down in the easy chair, and closed his eyes, his thoughts +thrown back to the past. An ill-starred past: one that had left its bane +on his after life, and whose consequences had clung to him. It is +impossible but that ill-doing must leave its results behind: the laws of +God and man alike demand it. Mr. Hunter, in early life, had been +betrayed into committing a wrong act; and Miss Gwinn, in the +gratification of her passionate revenge, had visited it upon him all too +heavily. Heavily, most heavily was it pressing upon him now. That +unhappy visit to Wales, which had led to all the evil, was especially +present to his mind this day. A handsome young man, in the first dawn of +manhood, he had gone to the fashionable Welsh watering-place--partly to +renew a waste of strength more imaginary than real; partly in the love +of roving natural to youth; partly to enjoy a few weeks' relaxation. 'If +you want good and comfortable lodgings, go to Miss Gwinn's house on the +South Parade,' some friend, whom he encountered at his journey's end, +had said to him. And to Miss Gwinn's he went. He found Miss Gwinn a +cold, proud woman--it was she whom you have seen--bearing the manners of +a lady. The servant who waited upon him was garrulous, and proclaimed, +at the first interview, amidst other gossip, that her mistress had but a +limited income--a hundred, or a hundred and fifty pounds a year, she +believed; that she preferred to eke it out by letting her drawing-room +and adjoining bed-room, and to live well; rather than to rusticate and +pinch. Miss Gwinn and her motives were nothing to the young sojourner, +and he turned a careless, if not a deaf ear, to the gossip. 'She does +it chiefly for the sake of Miss Emma,' added the girl: and the listener +so far roused himself as to ask apathetically who 'Miss Emma' was. It +was her mistress's young sister, the girl replied: there must be twenty +good years between them. Miss Emma was but nineteen, and had just come +home from boarding-school: her mistress had brought her up ever since +her mother died. Miss Emma was not at home now, but was expected on the +morrow, she went on. Miss Emma was not without her good looks, but her +mistress took care they should not be seen by everybody. She'd hardly +let her go about the house when strangers were in it, lest she should be +met in the passages. Mr. Hunter laughed. Good looks had attractions for +him in those days, and he determined to see for himself, in spite of +Miss Gwinn, whether Miss Emma's looks were so good that they might not +be looked at. Now, by the merest accident--at least, it happened by +accident in the first instance, and not by intention--one chief point of +complication in the future ill was unwittingly led to. In this early +stage of the affair, while the servant maid was exercising her tongue in +these items of domestic news, the friend who had recommended Mr. Hunter +to the apartments, arrived at the house and called out to him from the +foot of the stairs, his high clear voice echoing through the house. + +'Lewis! Will you come out and take a stroll?' + +Lewis Hunter hastened down, proclaiming his acquiescence, and the maid +proceeded to the parlour of her mistress. + +'The gentleman's name is Lewis, ma'am. You said you forgot to ask it of +him.' + +Miss Gwinn, methodical in all she did, took a sheet of note-paper and +inscribed the name upon it, 'Mr. Lewis,' as a reminder for the time when +she should require to make out his bill. When Mr. Hunter found out their +error--for the maid henceforth addressed him as 'Mr. Lewis,' or 'Mr. +Lewis, sir'--it rather amused him, and he did not correct the mistake. +He had no motive whatever for concealing his name: he did not wish it +concealed. On the other hand, he deemed it of no importance to set them +right; it signified not a jot to him whether they called him 'Mr. Lewis' +or 'Mr. Hunter.' Thus they knew him as, and believed him to be, Mr. +Lewis only. He never took the trouble to undeceive them, and nothing +occurred to require the mistake to be corrected. The one or two letters +only which arrived for him--for he had gone there for idleness, not to +correspond with his friends--were addressed to the post-office, in +accordance with his primary directions, not having known where he should +lodge. + +Miss Emma came home: a very pretty and agreeable girl. In the narrow +passage of the house--one of those shallow residences built for letting +apartments at the sea-side--she encountered the stranger, who happened +to be going out as she entered. He lifted his hat to her. + +'Who is that, Nancy?' she asked of the chattering maid. + +'It's the new lodger, Miss Emma: Lewis his name is. Did you ever see +such good looks? And he has asked a thousand questions about you.' + +Now, the fact was, Mr. Hunter--stay, we will also call him Mr. Lewis for +the time being, as they had fallen into the error, and it may be +convenient to us--had not asked a single question about the young lady, +save the one when her name was first spoken of, 'Who is Miss Emma?' +Nancy had supplied information enough for a 'thousand' questions, +unasked; and perhaps she saw no difference. + +'Have you made any acquaintance with Mr. Lewis, Agatha?' Emma inquired +of her sister. + +'When do I make acquaintance with the people who take my apartments?' +replied Miss Gwinn, in a tone of reproof. 'They naturally look down upon +me as a letter of lodgings--and I am not one to bear that.' + +Now comes the unhappy tale. It shall be glanced at as briefly as +possible in detail; but it is necessary that parts of it should be +explained. + +Acquaintanceship sprang up between Mr. Lewis and Emma Gwinn. At first, +they met in the town, or on the beach, accidentally; later, I very much +fear that the meetings were tacitly, if not openly, more intentional. +Both were agreeable, both were young; and a liking for each other's +society arose in each of them. Mr. Lewis found his time hang somewhat +heavily on his hands, for his friend had left; and Emma Gwinn was not +prevented from walking out as she pleased. Only one restriction was laid +upon her by her sister: 'Emma, take care that you make no acquaintance +with strangers, or suffer it to be made with you. Speak to none.' + +An injunction which Miss Emma disobeyed. She disobeyed it in a +particularly marked manner. It was not only that she did permit Mr. +Lewis to make acquaintance with her, but she allowed it to ripen into +intimacy. Worse still, the meetings, I say, from having been at first +really accidental, grew to be sought. Sought on the one side as much as +on the other. Ah! young ladies, I wish this little history could be a +warning to you, never to deviate from the strict line of right--never to +stray, by so much as a thoughtless step, from the straight path of duty. +Once allow yourselves to do so, and you know not where it may end. +Slight acts of disobedience, that appear in themselves as the merest +trifles, may yet be fraught with incalculable mischief. The falling into +the habit of passing a pleasant hour of intercourse with Mr. Lewis, +sauntering on the beach in social and intellectual converse--and it was +no worse--appeared a very venial offence to Emma Gwinn. But she did it +in direct disobedience to the command and wish of her sister; and she +knew that she so did it. She knew also that she owed to that sister, who +had brought her up and cared for her from infancy, the allegiance that a +child gives to a mother. In this stage of the affair, she was chiefly to +blame. Mr. Lewis did not suppose that blame attached to him. There was +no reason why he should not while away an occasional hour in pleasant +chat with a young lady; there was no harm in the meetings, taking them +in the abstract. The blame lay with her. It is no excuse to urge that +Miss Gwinn exercised over her a too strict authority, that she kept her +secluded from society with an unusually tight hand. Miss Gwinn had a +motive in this: her sister knew nothing of it, and resented the +restriction as a personal wrong. To elude her vigilance, and walk about +with a handsome young man, seemed a return justifiable, and poor Emma +Gwinn never dreamt of any ill result. At length it was found out by Miss +Gwinn. She did not find out much. Indeed, there was not much to find, +except that there was more friendship between Mr. Lewis and Emma than +there was between Mr. Lewis and herself, and that they often met to +stroll on the beach, and enjoy the agreeable benefit of the sea-breezes. +But that was quite enough for Miss Gwinn. An uncontrollable storm of +passionate anger ensued, which was vented upon Emma. She stood over her, +and forced her to attire herself for travelling, protesting that not +another hour should she pass in the house while Mr. Lewis remained. Then +she started with Emma, to place her under the care of an aunt, who lived +so far off as to be a day's journey. + +'It's a shame!' was the comment of sympathetic Nancy, who deemed Miss +Gwinn the most unreasonable woman under the sun. Nancy was herself +engaged to an enterprising porter, to whom she intended to be married +some fine Easter, when they had saved up sufficient to lay in a stock of +goods and chattels. And she forthwith went straight to Mr. Lewis, and +communicated to him what had occurred, giving him Miss Emma's new +address. + +'He'll follow her if he have got any spirit,' was her inward thought. +'It's what my Joe would do by me, if I was forced off to desert places +by a old dragon.' + +It was precisely what Mr. Lewis did. Upon the return of Miss Gwinn, he +gave notice to quit her house, where he had already stayed longer than +he intended to do originally. Miss Gwinn had no suspicion but that he +returned to his home--wherever that might be. + +You may be inclined to ask why Miss Gwinn had fallen into anger so +great. That she loved her young sister with an intense and jealous love +was certain. Miss Gwinn was of a peculiar temperament, and she could not +bear that one spark of Emma's affection should stray from her. Emma, on +the contrary, scarcely cared for her eldest sister: entertaining for her +a very cool regard indeed, not to be called a sisterly one: and the +cause may have lain in the stern manners of Miss Gwinn. Deeply, ardently +as she loved Emma, her manners were to her invariably cold and stern: +and this does not beget love from the young. Emma also resented the +jealous restrictions imposed on her, lest she should make any +acquaintance that might lead to marriage. It had been better possibly +that Miss Gwinn had disclosed to her the reasons that existed against +it. There was madness in the Gwinn family. One of the parents had died +in an asylum, and the medical men suspected (as Miss Gwinn knew) that +the children might be subject to it. She did not fear it for herself, +but she did fear it for Emma: in point of fact, the young girl had +already, some years back, given indications of it. It was therefore Miss +Gwinn's intention and earnest wish--a very right and proper wish--that +Emma should never marry. There was one other sister, Elizabeth, a year +older than Emma. She had gone on a visit to Jersey some little time +before; and, to Miss Gwinn's dismay and consternation, had married a +farmer there, without asking leave. There was nothing for Miss Gwinn but +to bury the dismay within her, and to resolve that Emma should be +guarded more closely than before. But Emma Gwinn, knowing nothing of the +prompting motives, naturally resented the surveillance. + +Mr. Lewis followed Emma to her place of retirement. He had really grown +to like her: but the pursuit may have had its rise as much in the boyish +desire to thwart Miss Gwinn--or, as he expressed it, 'to pay her +off'--as in love. However that might have been, Emma Gwinn welcomed him +all too gladly, and the walks were renewed. + +It was an old tale, that, which ensued. Thanks to improved manners and +morals, we can say an 'old' tale, in contradistinction to a modern one. +A secret marriage in these days would be looked upon askance by most +people. Under the purest, the most domestic, the wisest court in the +world, manners and customs have taken a turn with us, and society calls +underhand doings by their right name, and turns its back upon them. +Nevertheless, private marriages and run-a-way marriages were not done +away with in the days when James Lewis Hunter contracted his. + +I wonder whether one ever took place--where it was contracted in +disobedience and defiance--that did not bring, in some way or other, its +own punishment? To few, perhaps, was it brought home as it was to Mr. +Hunter. No apology can be offered for the step he took: not even his +youth, or his want of experience, or the attachment which had grown up +in his heart for Emma. He knew that his family would have objected to +the marriage. In fact, he dared not tell his purpose. Her position was +not equal to his--at least, old Mr. Hunter, a proud man, would not have +deemed it to be so--and he would have objected on the score of his son's +youth. The worst bar of all would have been the tendency to insanity of +the Gwinns--but of this James Hunter knew nothing. So he took that one +false, blind, irrevocable step of contracting a private marriage; and +the consequences came bitterly home to him. The marriage was a strictly +legal one. James Hunter was honourable enough to take care of that: and +both of them guarded the secret jealously. Emma remained at her aunt's, +and wore her ring inside her dress, attached to a neck ribbon. Her +husband only saw her sometimes; to avoid suspicion he lived chiefly at +his father's home in London. Six months afterwards, Emma Gwinn--nay, +Emma Hunter--lay upon her death-bed. A fever broke out in the +neighbourhood, which she caught; and a different illness also +supervened. Miss Gwinn, apprised of her danger, hastened to her. She +stood over her in a shock of horror--whence had those symptoms arisen, +and what meant that circle of gold that Emma in her delirium kept hold +of on her neck? Medical skill could not save her, and just before her +death, in a lucid interval, she confessed her marriage--the bare fact +only--none of its details; she loved her husband too truly to expose +him to the dire wrath of her sister. And she died without giving the +slightest clue to his real name--Hunter. It was the fever that killed +her. + +Dire wrath, indeed! That was scarcely the word for it. Insane wrath +would be better. In Miss Gwinn's injustice (violent people always are +unjust) she persisted in attributing Emma's death to Mr. Lewis. In her +bitter grief, she jumped to the belief that the secret must have preyed +upon Emma's brain in the delirium of fever, and that that prevented her +recovery. It is very probable that the secret did prey upon it, though, +it is to be hoped, not to the extent assumed by Miss Gwinn. + +Mr. Lewis knew nothing of the illness. He was in France with his father +at the time it happened, and had not seen his wife for three weeks. +Perhaps the knowledge of his absence abroad, caused Emma not to attempt +to apprise him when first seized; afterwards she was too ill to do so. +But by a strange coincidence he arrived from London the day after the +funeral. + +Nobody need envy him the interview with Miss Gwinn. On her part it was +not a seemly one. Glad to get out of the house and be away from her +reproaches, the stormy interview was concluded almost as soon as it had +begun. He returned straight to London, her last words ringing their +refrain on his ears--that his wife was dead and he had killed her: Miss +Gwinn being still in ignorance that his proper name was anything but +Lewis. Following immediately upon this--it was curious that it should be +so--Miss Gwinn received news that her sister Elizabeth, Mrs. Gardener, +was ill in Jersey. She hastened to her: for Elizabeth was nearly, if +not quite, as dear to her as Emma had been. Mrs. Gardener's was a +peculiar and unusual illness, and it ended in a confirmed and hopeless +affection of the brain. + +Once more Miss Gwinn's injustice came into play. Just as she had +persisted in attributing Emma's death to Mr. Lewis, so did she now +attribute to him Elizabeth's insanity: that is, she regarded him as its +remote cause. That the two young sisters had been much attached to each +other was undoubted: but to think that Elizabeth's madness came on +through sorrow for Emma's death, or at the tidings of what had preceded +it, was absurdly foolish. The poor young lady was placed in an asylum in +London, of which Dr. Bevary was one of the visiting physicians; he was +led to take an unusual interest in the case, and this brought him +acquainted with Miss Gwinn. Within a year of her being placed there, the +husband, Mr. Gardener, died in Jersey. His affairs turned out to be +involved, and from that time the cost of keeping her there devolved on +Miss Gwinn. + +Private asylums are expensive, and Miss Gwinn could only maintain her +sister in one at the cost of giving up her own home. Ill-conditioned +though she was, we must confess she had her troubles. She gave it up +without a murmur: she would have given up her life to benefit either of +those, her young sisters. Retaining but a mere pittance, she devoted all +her means to the comfort of Elizabeth, and found a home with her +brother, in Ketterford. Where she spent her days bemoaning the lost and +cherishing a really insane hatred against Mr. Lewis--a desire for +revenge. She had never come across him, until that Easter Monday, at +Ketterford. And that, you will say, is scarcely correct, since it was +not himself she met then, but his brother. Deceived by the resemblance, +she attacked Mr. Henry Hunter in the manner you remember; and Austin +Clay saved him from the gravel-pit. But the time soon came when she +stood face to face with _him_. It was the hour she had so longed for: +the hour of revenge. What revenge? But for the wicked lie she +subsequently forged, there could have been no revenge. The worst she +could have proclaimed was, that James Lewis Hunter, when he was a young +man, had so far forgotten his duty to himself, and to the world's +decencies, as to contract a secret marriage. He might have got over +that. He had mourned his young wife sincerely at the time, but later +grew to think that all things were for the best--that it was a serious +source of embarrassment removed from his path. Nothing more or less had +he to acknowledge. + +What revenge would Miss Gwinn have reaped from this? None. Certainly +none to satisfy one so vindictive as she. It never was clear to herself +what revenge she had desired: all her efforts had been directed to the +discovering of him. She found him a man of social ties. He had married +Louisa Bevary; he had a fair daughter; he was respected by the world: +all of which excited the anger of Miss Gwinn. + +Remembering her violent nature, it was only to be expected that Mr. +Hunter should shrink from meeting Miss Gwinn when he first knew she had +tracked him and was in London. He had never told his wife the episode in +his early life, and would very much have disliked its tardy disclosure +to her through the agency of Miss Gwinn. Fifty pounds would he have +willingly given to avoid a meeting with her. But she came to his very +home; so to say, into the presence of his wife and child; and he had to +see her, and make the best of it. You must remember the interview. Mr. +Hunter's agitation _previous_ to it, was caused by the dread of the +woman's near presence, of the disturbance she might make in his +household, of the discovery his wife was in close danger of making--that +he was a widower when she married him, and not a bachelor. Any husband +of the present day might show the same agitation I think under similar +circumstances. But Mr. Hunter did not allow this agitation to sway him +when before Miss Gwinn; once shut up with her, he was cool and calm as a +cucumber; rather defied her than not, civilly; and asked what she meant +by intruding upon him, and what she had to complain of: which of course +was but adding fuel to the woman's flame. It was quite true, all he +said, and there was nothing left to hang a peg of revenge upon. And so +she invented one. The demon of mischief put it into her mind to impose +upon him with the lie that his first wife, Emma, was not dead, but +living. She told him that she (she, herself) had imposed upon him with a +false story in that long-past day, in saying that Emma was dead and +buried. It was another sister who had died, she added--not Emma: Emma +had been ill with the fever, but was recovering; and she had said this +to separate her from him. Emma, she continued, was alive still, a +patient in the lunatic asylum. + +It never occurred to Mr. Hunter to doubt the tale. Her passionate +manner, her impressive words, but added to her earnestness, and he came +out from the interview believing that his first wife had not died. His +state of mind cannot be forgotten. Austin Clay saw him pacing the waste +ground in the dark night. His agony and remorse were fearful; the sun of +his life's peace had set: and there could be no retaliation upon her who +had caused it all--Miss Gwinn. + +Miss Gwinn, however, did not follow up her revenge. Not because further +steps might have brought the truth to light, but because after a night's +rest she rather repented of it. Her real nature was honourable, and she +despised herself for what she had done. Once it crossed her to undo it; +but she hated Mr. Hunter with an undying hatred, and so let it alone and +went down to Ketterford. One evening, when she had been at home some +days, a spirit of confidence came over her which was very unusual, and +she told her brother of the revenge she had taken. That was quite enough +for Lawyer Gwinn: a glorious opportunity of enriching himself, not to be +missed. He went up to London, and terrified Mr. Hunter out of five +thousand pounds. 'Or I go and tell your wife, Miss Bevary, that she is +not your wife,' he threatened, in his coarse way. Miss Gwinn suspected +that the worthy lawyer had gone to make the most of the opportunity, and +she wrote him a sharp letter, telling him that if he did so--if he +interfered at all--she would at once confess to Lewis Hunter that Emma +was really dead. Not knowing where he would put up in London, she +enclosed this note to Austin Clay, asking him to give it to Lawyer +Gwinn. She took the opportunity, at the same time, of writing a +reproachful letter to Mr. Hunter, in which his past ill-doings and +Emma's present existence were fully enlarged upon. As the reader may +remember, she misdirected the letters: Austin became acquainted with the +(as he could but suppose) dangerous secret; and the note to Lawyer Gwinn +was set alight, sealed. If Austin or his master had but borrowed a +momentary portion of the principles of Gwinn of Ketterford, and peeped +into the letter! What years of misery it would have saved Mr. Hunter! +But when Miss Gwinn discovered that her brother had used the lie to +obtain money, she did not declare the truth. The sense of justice within +her yielded to revenge. She hated Mr. Hunter as she had ever done, and +would not relieve him. A fine life, between them, did they lead Mr. +Hunter. Miss Gwinn protested against every fresh aggression made by the +lawyer; but protested only. In Mr. Hunter's anguish of mind at the +disgrace cast on his wife and child; in his terror lest the truth (as he +assumed it to be) should reach them--and it seemed to be ever +looming--he had lived, as may be said, a perpetual death. And the +disgrace was of a nature that never could be removed; and the terror had +never left him through all these long years. + +Dr. Bevary had believed the worst. When he first became acquainted with +Miss Gwinn, she (never a communicative woman) had not disclosed the +previous history of the patient in the asylum. She had given hints of a +sad tale, she even said she was living in hope of being revenged on one +who had done herself and family an injury, but she said no more. Later +circumstances connected with Mr. Hunter and his brother, dating from the +account he heard of Miss Gwinn's attack upon Mr. Henry, had impressed +Dr. Bevary with the belief that James Hunter had really married the poor +woman in the asylum. When he questioned Miss Gwinn, that estimable woman +had replied in obscure hints: and they had so frightened Dr. Bevary that +he dared ask no further. For his sister's sake he tacitly ignored the +subject in future, living in daily thankfulness that Mrs. Hunter was +without suspicion. + +But with the dead body of Elizabeth Gardener lying before her, the +enacted lie came to an end. Miss Gwinn freely acknowledged what she had +done, and took little, if any, blame to herself. 'Lewis Hunter spoilt +the happiness of my life,' she said; 'in return I have spoilt his.' + +'And suppose my sister, his lawful wife, had been led to believe this +fine tale?' questioned Dr. Bevary, looking keenly at her. + +'In that case I should have declared the truth,' said Miss Gwinn. 'I had +no animosity to her. She was innocent, she was also your sister, and she +should never have suffered.' + +'How could you know that she remained ignorant?' + +'By my brother being able, whenever he would, to frighten Mr. Hunter,' +was the laconic answer. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +RELIEF. + + +We left Mr. Hunter in the easy chair of his dining-room, buried in these +reminiscences of the unhappy past, and quite unconscious that relief of +any sort could be in store for him. And yet it was very near: relief +from two evils, quite opposite in their source. How long he sat there he +scarcely knew; it seemed for hours. In the afternoon he aroused himself +to his financial difficulties, and went out. He remembered that he had +purposed calling that day upon his bankers, though he had no hope--but +rather the certainty of the contrary--that they would help him out of +his financial embarrassments. There was just time to get there before +the bank closed, and Mr. Hunter had a cab called and went down to +Lombard Street. He was shown into the room of the principal partner. The +banker thought how ill he looked. Mr. Hunter's first question was about +the heavy bill that was due that day. He supposed it had been presented +and dishonoured. + +'No,' said the banker. 'It was presented and paid.' + +A ray of hope lighted up the sadness of Mr. Hunter's face. 'Did you +indeed pay it? It was very kind. You shall be no eventual losers.' + +'We did not pay it from our own funds, Mr. Hunter. It was paid from +yours.' + +Mr. Hunter did not understand. 'I thought my account had been nearly +drawn out,' he said; 'and by the note I received this morning from you, +I understood you would decline to help me.' + +'Your account was drawn very close indeed; but this afternoon, in time +to meet the bill upon its second presentation, there was a large sum +paid in to your credit--two thousand six hundred pounds.' + +A pause of blank astonishment on the part of Mr. Hunter. 'Who paid it +in?' he presently asked. + +'Mr. Clay. He came himself. You will weather the storm now, Mr. Hunter.' + +There was no answering reply. The banker bent forward in the dusk of the +growing evening, and saw that Mr. Hunter was incapable of making one. He +was sinking back in his chair in a fainting fit. Whether it was the +revulsion of feeling caused by the conviction that he _should_ now +weather the storm, or simply the effect of his physical state, Mr. +Hunter had fainted, as quietly as any girl might do. One of the partners +lived at the bank, and Mr. Hunter was conveyed into the dwelling-house. +It was quite evening before he was well enough to leave it. He drove to +the yard. It was just closed for the night, and Mr. Clay was gone. Mr. +Hunter ordered the cab home. He found Austin waiting for him, and he +also found Dr. Bevary. Seeing the latter, he expected next to see Miss +Gwinn, and glanced nervously round. + +'She is gone back to Ketterford,' spoke out Dr. Bevary, divining the +fear. 'The woman will never trouble you again. I thought you must be +lost, Hunter. I have been here twice; been home to dinner with Florence; +been round at the yard worrying Clay; and could not come upon you +anywhere.' + +'I went to the bank, and was taken ill there,' said Mr. Hunter, who +still seemed anything but himself, and looked round in a bewildered +manner. 'The woman, Bevary--are you sure she's gone quite away? She--she +wanted to beg, I think,' he added, as if in apology for pressing the +question. + +'She is _gone_: gone never to return; and you may be at rest,' repeated +the doctor, impressively. 'And so you have been ill at the bankers', +James! Things are going wrong, I suppose.' + +'No, they are going right. Austin'--laying his hand upon the young man's +shoulder--'what am I to say? This money can only have come from you.' + +'Sir!' said Austin, half laughing. + +Mr. Hunter drew Dr. Bevary's attention, pointing to Austin. 'Look at +him, Bevary. He has saved me. But for him, I should have borne a +dishonoured name this day. I went down to Lombard Street, a man without +hope, believing that the blow had been already struck in bills +dishonoured--that my name was on its way to the _Gazette_. I found that +he, Austin Clay, had paid in between two and three thousand pounds to my +credit.' + +'I could not put my money to a better use, sir. The two thousand pounds +were left to me, you know: the rest I saved. I was wishing for something +to turn up that I could invest it in.' + +'Invest!' exclaimed Mr. Hunter, deep feeling in his tone. 'How do you +know you will not lose it?' + +'I have no fear, sir. The strike is at an end, and business will go on +well now.' + +'If I did not believe that it would, I would never consent to use it,' +said Mr. Hunter. + +It was true. Austin Clay, a provident man, had been advancing his money +to save the credit of his master. Suspecting some such a crisis as this +was looming, he had contrived to hold his funds in available readiness. +It had come, though, sooner than he anticipated. + +'How am I to repay you?' asked Mr. Hunter. 'I don't mean the money: but +the obligation.' + +A red flush mounted to Austin's brow. He answered hastily, as if to +cover it. + +'I do not require payment, sir. I do not look for any.' + +Mr. Hunter stood in deep thought, looking at him, but vacantly. Dr. +Bevary was near the mantelpiece, apparently paying no attention to +either of them. 'Will you link your name to mine?' said Mr. Hunter, +moving towards Austin. + +'In what manner, sir?' + +'By letting the firm be from henceforth Hunter and Clay. I have long +wished this; you are of too great use to me to remain anything less than +a partner, and by this last act of yours, you have earned the right to +be so. Will you object to join your name to one which was so near being +dishonoured?' + +He held out his hand as he spoke, and Austin clasped it. 'Oh, Mr. +Hunter!' he exclaimed, in the strong impulse of the moment, 'I wish you +would give me hopes of a dearer reward.' + +'You mean Florence,' said Mr. Hunter. + +'Yes,' returned Austin, in agitation. 'I care not how long I wait, or +what price you may call upon me to pay for her. As Jacob served Laban +seven years for Rachel, so would I serve for Florence, and think it but +a day, for the love I bear her. Sir, Mrs. Hunter would have given her to +me.' + +'My objection is not to you, Austin. Were I to disclose to you certain +particulars connected with Florence--as I should be obliged to do before +she married--you might yourself decline her.' + +'Try me, sir,' said Austin, a bright smile parting his lips. + +'Ay, try him,' said Dr. Bevary, in his quaint manner. 'I have an idea +that he may know as much of the matter as you do, Hunter. You neither of +you know too much,' he significantly added. + +Austin's cheek turned red; and there was that in his tone, his look, +which told Mr. Hunter that he had known the fact, known it for years. +'Oh, sir,' he pleaded, 'give me Florence.' + +'I tell you that you neither of you know too much,' said Dr. Bevary. +'But, look here, Austin. The best thing you can do is, to go to my house +and ask Florence whether she will have you. Then--if you don't find it +too much trouble--escort her home.' Austin laughed as he caught up his +hat. A certain prevision, that he should win Florence, had ever been +within him. + +Dr. Bevary watched the room-door close, and then drew a chair in front +of his brother-in-law. 'Did it ever strike you that Austin Clay knew +your secret, James?' he began. + +'How should it?' returned Mr. Hunter, feeling himself compelled to +answer. + +'I do not know how,' said the doctor, 'any more than I know how the +impression, that he did, fixed itself upon me. I have felt sure, this +many a year past, that he was no stranger to the fact, though he +probably knew nothing of the details.' + +To the fact! Dr. Bevary spoke with strange coolness. + +'When did _you_ become acquainted with it?' asked Mr. Hunter, in a tone +of sharp pain. + +'I became acquainted with your share in it at the time Miss Gwinn +discovered that Mr. Lewis was Mr. Hunter. At least, with as much of the +share as I ever was acquainted with until to-day.' + +Mr. Hunter compressed his lips. It was no use beating about the bush any +longer. + +'James,' resumed the doctor, 'why did you not confide the secret to me? +It would have been much better.' + +'To you! Louisa's brother!' + +'It would have been better, I say. It might not have lifted the sword +that was always hanging over Louisa's head, or have eased it by one jot; +but it might have eased _you_. A sorrow kept within a man's own bosom, +doing its work in silence, will burn his life away: get him to talk of +it, and half the pain is removed. It is also possible that I might have +made better terms than you, with the rapacity of Gwinn.' + +'If you knew it, why did you not speak openly to me?' + +Dr. Bevary suppressed a shudder. 'It was one of those terrible secrets +that a third party cannot interfere in uninvited. No: silence was my +only course, so long as you observed silence to me. Had I interfered, I +might have said "Louisa shall leave you!"' + +'It is over, so far as she is concerned,' said Mr. Hunter, wiping his +damp brow. 'Let her name rest. It is the thought of her that has well +nigh killed me.' + +'Ay, it's over,' responded Dr. Bevary; 'over, in more senses than one. +Do you not wonder that Miss Gwinn should have gone back to Ketterford +without molesting you again?' + +'How can I wonder at anything she does? She comes and she goes, with as +little reason as warning.' + +Dr. Bevary lowered his voice. 'Have you ever been to see that poor +patient in Kerr's asylum?' + +The question excited the anger of Mr. Hunter. 'What do you mean by +asking it?' he cried. 'When I was led to believe her dead, I shaped my +future course according to that belief. I have never acted, nor would I +act, upon any other--save in the giving money to Gwinn, for my wife's +sake. If Louisa was not my wife legally, she was nothing less in the +sight of God.' + +'Louisa was your wife,' said Dr. Bevary, quietly. And Mr. Hunter +responded by a sharp gesture of pain. He wished the subject at an end. +The doctor continued-- + +'James, had you gone, though it had been but for an instant, to see that +unhappy patient of Kerr's, your trammels would have been broken. It was +not Emma, your young wife of years ago.' + +'It was not!----What do you say?' gasped Mr. Hunter. + +'When Agatha Gwinn found you out, here, in this house, she startled you +nearly to death by telling you that Emma was alive--was a patient in +Kerr's asylum. She told you that, when you had been informed in those +past days of Emma's death, you were imposed upon by a lie--a lie +invented by herself. James, the lie was uttered _then_, when she spoke +to you here. Emma, your wife, did die; and the young woman in the asylum +was her sister.' Mr. Hunter rose. His hands were raised imploringly, his +face was stretched forward in its sad yearning. What!--which was true? +which was he to believe?--'In the gratification of her revenge, Miss +Gwinn concocted the tale that Emma was alive,' resumed Dr. Bevary, +'knowing, as she spoke it, that Emma had been dead years and years. She +contrived to foster the same impression upon me; and the same +impression, I cannot tell how, has, I am sure, clung to Austin Clay. +Louisa was your lawful wife, James.' Mr. Hunter, in the plenitude of his +thankfulness, sank upon his chair, a sobbing burst of emotion breaking +from him, and the drops of perspiration gathering again on his brow. +'That other one, the sister, the poor patient, is dead,' pursued the +doctor. 'As we stood together over her, an hour ago, Miss Gwinn +confessed the imposition. It appeared to slip from her involuntarily, in +spite of herself. I inquired her motive, and she answered, "To be +revenged on you, Lewis Hunter, for the wrong you had done." As you had +marred the comfort of her life, so she in return had marred that of +yours. As she stood in her impotence, looking on the dead, I asked her +which, in her opinion, had inflicted the most wrong, she or you?' + +Mr. Hunter lifted his eager face. 'It was a foolish deceit. What did she +hope to gain by it? A word at any time might have exposed it.' + +'It seems she did gain pretty well by it,' significantly replied Dr. +Bevary. 'There's little doubt that it was first spoken in the angry rage +of the moment, as being the most effectual mode of tormenting you: and +the terrible dread with which you received it--as I conclude you so did +receive it--must have encouraged her to persist in the lie. James, you +should have confided in me; I might have brought light to bear on it in +some way or other. Your timorous silence has kept me quiet.' + +'God be thanked that it is over!' fervently ejaculated Mr. Hunter. 'The +loss of my money, the loss of my peace, they seem to be little in +comparison with the joy of this welcome revelation.' + +He sat down as he spoke and bent his head upon his hand. Presently he +looked at his brother-in-law. 'And you think that Clay has suspected +this? And that--suspecting it, he has wished for Florence?' + +'I am sure of one thing--that Florence has been his object, his dearest +hope. What he says has no exaggeration in it--that he would serve for +her seven years, and seven to that, for the love he bears her.' + +'I have been afraid to glance at such a thing as marriage for Florence, +and that is the reason I would not listen to Austin Clay. With this slur +hanging over her----' + +'There is no slur--as it turns out,' interrupted Dr. Bevary. 'Florence +loves him, James; and your wife knew it.' + +'What a relief is all this!' murmured Mr. Hunter. 'The woman gone back +to Ketterford! I think I shall sleep to-night.' + +'She is gone back, never more to trouble you. We must see how her worthy +brother can be brought to account for obtaining money under false +pretences.' + +'I'll make him render back every shilling he has defrauded me of: I'll +bring him to answer for it before the laws of his country,' was the +wronged man's passionate and somewhat confused answer. + +But that is more easy to say than to do, Mr. Hunter! + +For, a few days subsequent to this, Lawyer Gwinn, possibly scenting that +unpleasant consequences might be in store for him, was quietly steaming +to America in a fine ship; taking all his available substance with him; +and leaving Ketterford and his sister behind. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +CONCLUSION. + + +With outward patience and inward wonder, Florence Hunter was remaining +at Dr. Bevary's. That something must be wrong at home, she felt sure: +else why was she kept away from it so long? And where was her uncle? +Invalids were shut up in the waiting-room, like Patience on a monument, +hoping minute by minute to see him appear. And now here was another, she +supposed! No. He had passed the patients' room and was opening the door +of this. Austin Clay! + +'What have you come for?' she exclaimed, in the glad confusion of the +moment. + +'To take you home, for one thing,' he answered, as he approached her. +'Do you dislike the escort, Florence?' He bent forward as he asked the +question. A strange light of happiness shone in his eyes; a sweet smile +parted his lips. Florence Hunter's heart stood still, and then began to +beat as if it would have burst its bounds. + +'What has happened?' she faltered. + +'This,' he said, taking both her hands and drawing her gently before +him. 'The right to hold your hands in mine; the right--soon--to take you +to my heart and keep you there for ever. Your father and uncle have sent +me to tell you this.' + +The words, in their fervent earnestness carried instant truth to her +heart, lighting it as with the brightness of sunshine. 'Oh, what a +recompense!' she impulsively murmured from the depths of her great +love. 'And everything lately has seemed so dark with doubt, so full of +trouble!' + +'No more doubt, no more trouble,' he fondly whispered. 'It shall be my +life's care to guard my wife from all such, Florence--heaven permitting +me.' Anything more that was said may as well be left to the reader's +lively imagination. They arrived at home after awhile; and found Dr. +Bevary there, talking still. + +'How you must have hurried yourselves!' quoth he, turning to them. +'Clay, you ought to be ill from walking fast. What has kept him, +Florence?' + +'Not your patients, Doctor,' retorted Austin, laughing; 'though you are +keeping them. One of them says you made an appointment with him. By the +way he spoke, I think he was inwardly vowing vengeance against you for +not keeping it.' + +'Ah,' said the Doctor, 'we medical men do get detained sometimes. One +patient has had the most of my time this day, poor lady!' + +'Is she better?' quickly asked Florence, who always had ready sympathy +for sickness and suffering: perhaps from having seen so much of it in +her mother. + +'No, my dear, she is dead,' was the answer, gravely spoken. 'And, +therefore,' added the doctor in a different tone, 'I have no further +excuse for absenting myself from those other patients who are alive and +grumbling at me. Will you walk a few steps with me, Mr. Clay?' + +Dr. Bevary linked his arm within Austin's as they crossed the hall, and +they went out together. 'How did you become acquainted with that dark +secret' he breathed. + +'Through a misdirected letter of Miss Gwinn's,' replied Austin. 'After +I had read it, I discovered that it must have been meant for Mr. Hunter, +though addressed to me. It told me all. Dr. Bevary, I have had to carry +the secret all these years, bearing myself as one innocent of the +knowledge; before Mrs. Hunter, before Florence, before him. I would have +given half my savings not to have known it.' + +'You believed that--that--one was living who might have replaced Mrs. +Hunter?' + +'Yes; and that she was in confinement. The letter, a reproachful one, +was too explanatory.' + +'She died this morning. It is with her--at least with her and her +affairs--that my day has been taken up.' + +'What a mercy!' ejaculated Austin. + +'Ay; mercies are showered down every day: a vast many more than we, +self-complaisant mortals, acknowledge or return thanks for,' responded +Dr. Bevary, in the quaint tone he was fond of using. And then, in a few +brief words, he enlightened Austin as to the actual truth. + +'What a fiend she must be!' cried Austin, alluding to Miss Gwinn of +Ketterford. 'Oh, but this is a mercy indeed! And I have been planning +how to guard the secret always from Florence.' Dr. Bevary made no reply. +Austin turned to him, the ingenuous look upon his face that it often +wore. 'You approve of me for Florence? Do you not, sir?' + +'Be you very sure, young gentleman, that you should never have got her, +had I not approved,' oracularly nodded Dr. Bevary. 'I look upon Florence +as part of my belongings; and, if you mind what you are about, perhaps +I may look upon you as the same.' + +Austin laughed. 'How am I to avoid offence?' he asked.--'By loving your +wife with an earnest, lasting love; by making her a better husband than +James Hunter has been enabled to make her poor mother.' + +The tears rose to Austin's eyes with the intensity of his emotion. 'Do +you think there is cause to ask me to do this, Dr. Bevary?' + +'No, my boy, I do not. God bless you both! There! leave me to get home +to those patients of mine. You can be off back to her.' + +But Austin Clay had work on his hands, as well as pleasure, and he +turned towards Daffodil's Delight. It was the evening for taking +Baxendale his week's money, and Austin was not one to neglect it. He +picked his way down amidst the poor people, standing about hungry and +half-naked. All the works were open again, but numbers and numbers of +men could not obtain employment, however good their will was: the +masters had taken on strangers, and there was no room for the old +workmen. John Baxendale was sitting by his bedside dressed. His injuries +were yielding to skill and time: and in a short while he looked to be at +work again. + +'Well, Baxendale?' cried Austin, in his cheery voice. 'Still getting +better?' + +'Oh yes, sir, I'm thankful to say it. The surgeon was here to-day, and +told me there would be no further relapse. I am a bit tired this +evening; I stood a good while at the window, watching the row opposite. +She was giving him such a basting.' + +'What! do you mean the Cheeks? I thought the street seemed in a +commotion.' + +Baxendale laughed. 'It is but just over, sir. She set on and shook him +soundly, and then she scratched him, and then she cuffed him--all +outside the door. I do wonder that Cheek took it from her; but he's just +like a puppy in her hands, and nothing better. Two good hours they were +disputing there.' + +'What was the warfare about?' inquired Austin. + +'About his not getting work, sir. Cheek's wife was just like many of the +other wives in Daffodil's Delight--urging their husbands not to go to +work, and vowing _they'd_ strike if they didn't stand out. I don't know +but Mother Cheek was about the most obstinate of all. The very day that +I was struck down I heard her blowing him up for not "standing firm upon +his rights;" and telling him she'd rather go to his hanging than see him +go back to work. And now she beats him because he can't get any to do.' + +'Is Cheek one that cannot get any?' + +'Cheek's one, sir. Mr. Henry took on more strangers than did you and Mr. +Hunter; so, of course, there's less room for his old men. Cheek has +walked about London these two days, till he's foot-sore, trying +different shops, but he can't get taken on: there are too many men out, +for him to have a chance.' + +'I think some of the wives in Daffodil's Delight are the most +unreasonable women that ever were created,' ejaculated Austin. + +'_She_ is--that wife of Cheek's,' rejoined Baxendale. 'I don't know how +they'll end it. She has shut the door in his face, vowing he shall not +put a foot inside it until he can bring some wages with him. Forbidding +him to take work when it was to be had, and now that it can't be had +turning upon him for not getting it! If Cheek wasn't a donkey, he'd turn +upon her again. There's other women just as contradictory. I think the +bad living has soured their tempers.' + +'Where's Mary this evening?' inquired Austin, quitting the +unsatisfactory topic. Since her father's illness, Mary's place had been +by his side: it was something unusual to find her absent. Baxendale +lowered his voice to reply. + +'She is getting ill again, sir. All her old symptoms have come back, and +I am sure now that she is going fast. She is on her bed, lying down.' + +As he spoke the last word, he stopped, for Mary entered. She seemed +scarcely able to walk; a hectic flush shone on her cheeks, and her +breath was painfully short. 'Mary,' Austin said, with much concern, 'I +am sorry to see you thus.' + +'It is only the old illness come back again, sir,' she answered, as she +sunk back in the pillowed chair. 'I knew it had not gone for good--that +the improvement was but temporary. But now, sir, look how good and +merciful is the hand that guides us--and yet we sometimes doubt it! What +should I have been spared for, and had this returning glimpse of +strength, but that I might nurse my father in his illness, and be a +comfort to him? He is nearly well--will soon be at work again and wants +me no more. Thanks ever be to God!' + +Austin went out, marvelling at the girl's simple and beautiful trust. +It appeared that she would be happy in her removal whenever it should +come. As he was passing up the street he met Dr. Bevary. Austin wondered +what had become of his patients. + +'All had gone away but two; tired of waiting,' said the Doctor, divining +his thoughts. 'I am going to take a look at Mary Baxendale. I hear she +is worse.' + +'Very much worse,' replied Austin. 'I have just left her father.' At +that moment there was a sound of contention and scolding, a woman's +sharp tongue being uppermost. It proceeded from Mrs. Cheek, who was +renewing the contest with her husband. Austin gave Dr. Bevary an outline +of what Baxendale had said. + +'And if, after a short season of prosperity, another strike should come, +these women would be the first again to urge the men on to it--to "stand +up for their rights!"' exclaimed the Doctor. + +'Not all of them.' + +'They have not all done it now. Mark you, Austin! I shall settle a +certain sum upon Florence when she marries, just to keep you in bread +and cheese, should these strikes become the order of the day, and you +get engulfed in them.' + +Austin smiled. 'I think I can take better care than that, Doctor.' + +'Take all the care you please. But you are talking self-sufficient +nonsense, my young friend. I shall put Florence on the safe side, in +spite of your care. I have no fancy to see her reduced to one maid and a +cotton gown. You can tell her so,' added the Doctor, as he continued on +his way. + +Austin turned on his, when a man stole up to him from some side entry--a +cadaverous-looking man, pinched and careworn. It was James Dunn; he had +been discharged out of prison by the charity of some fund at the +disposal of the governor. He humbly begged for work--'just to keep him +from starving.' + +'You ask what I have not to give, Dunn,' was the reply of Austin. 'Our +yard is full; and consider the season! Perhaps when spring comes on----' + +'How am I to exist till spring, sir?' he burst forth in a voice that was +but just kept from tears. 'And the wife and the children?' + +'I wish I could help you, Dunn. Your case is but that of many others.' + +'There have been so many strangers took on, sir!' + +'Of course there have been. To do the work that you and others refused.' + +'I have not a place to lay my head in this night, sir. I have not so +much as a slice of bread. I'd do the meanest work that could be offered +to me.' + +Austin felt in his pocket for a piece of money, and gave it him. 'What +misery they have brought upon themselves!' he thought. + +When the announcement reached Mrs. Henry Hunter of Florence's +engagement, she did not approve of it. Not that she had any objection to +Austin Clay; he had from the first been a favourite with her, though she +had sometimes marked her preference by a somewhat patronizing manner; +but for Florence to marry her father's clerk, though that clerk had now +become partner, was more than she could at the first moment quietly +yield to. + +'It is quite a descent for her,' she said to her husband privately. +'What can James be thinking of? The very idea of her marrying Austin +Clay!' + +'But if she likes him?' + +'That ought not to go for anything. Suppose it had been Mary? I would +not have let her have him.' + +'I would,' decisively returned Mr. Henry Hunter. 'Clay's worth his +weight in gold.' + +Some short while given to preliminaries, and to the re-establishment (in +a degree) of Mr. Hunter's shattered health, and the new firm 'Hunter and +Clay' was duly announced to the business world. Upon an appointed day, +Mr. Hunter stood before his workmen, his arm within Austin's. He was +introducing him to them in his new capacity of partner. The strike was +quite at an end, and the men--so many as could be made room for--had +returned; but Mr. Hunter would not consent to discharge the hands that +had come forward to take work during the emergency. + +'What has the strike brought you?' inquired Mr. Hunter, seizing upon the +occasion to offer a word of advice. 'Any good?' Strictly speaking, the +men could not reply that it had. In the silence that ensued after the +question, one man's voice was at length raised. 'We look back upon it as +a subject of congratulation, sir.' + +'Congratulation!' exclaimed Mr. Hunter. 'Upon what point?' + +'That we have had the pluck to hold out so long in the teeth of +difficulties,' replied the voice. + +'Pluck is a good quality when rightly applied,' observed Mr. Hunter. +'But what good has the "pluck," or the strike, brought to you in this +case?--for that was the question we were upon.' + +'It was a lock-out, sir; not a strike.' + +'In the first instance it was a strike,' said Mr. Hunter. 'Pollocks' men +struck, and you had it in contemplation to follow their example. Oh, +yes! you had, my men; you know as well as I do, that the measure was +under discussion. Upon that state of affairs becoming known, the masters +determined upon a general lock-out. They did it in self-defence; and if +you will put yourselves in thought into their places, judging fairly, +you will not wonder that it was considered the only course open to them. +The lock-out lasted but a short period, and then the yards were again +opened--open to all who would resume work upon the old terms, and sign a +declaration not to be under the dominion of the Trades' Unions. How very +few availed themselves of this you do not need to be reminded.' + +'We acted for what we thought the best,' said another. + +'I know you did,' replied Mr. Hunter. 'You are--speaking of you +collectively--steady, hard-working, well-meaning men, who wish to do the +best for yourselves, your wives, and families. But, looking back now, do +you consider that it was for the best? You have returned to work upon +the same terms that you were offered then. Here we are, in the depth of +winter, and what sort of homes do you possess to fortify yourselves +against its severities!' What sort indeed! Mr. Hunter's delicacy shrank +from depicting them. 'I am not speaking to you now as your master,' he +continued, conscious that men do not like this style of converse from +their employers. 'Consider me for the moment as your friend only; let us +talk together as man and man. I wish I could bring you to see the evil +of these convulsions; I do not wish it from motives of self-interest, +but for your sole good. You may be thinking, "Ah, the master is afraid +of another contest; this one has done him so much damage, and that's why +he is going on at us against them." You are mistaken; that is not why I +speak. My men, were any further contests to take place between us, in +which you held yourselves aloof from work, as you have done in this, we +should at once place ourselves beyond dependence upon you, by bringing +over foreign workmen. In the consultations which have been held between +myself and Mr. Clay, relative to the terms of our partnership, this +point has been fully discussed, and our determination taken. Should we +have a repetition of the past, Hunter and Clay would then import their +own workmen.' + +'And other firms as well?' interrupted a voice. + +'We know nothing of what other firms might do: to attend to our own +interests is enough for us. I hope we shall never have to do this; but +it is only fair to inform you that such would be our course of action. +If you, our native workmen, brothers of the soil, abandon your work from +any crotchets----' + +'Crotchets, sir!' + +'Ay, crotchets--according to my opinion,' repeated Mr. Hunter. 'Could +you show me a real grievance, it might be a different matter. But let us +leave motives alone, and go to effects. When I say that I wish you could +see the evil of these convulsions, I speak solely with reference to your +good, to the well-being of your families. It cannot have escaped your +notice that my health has become greatly shattered--that, in all +probability, my life will not be much prolonged. My friends'--his voice +sunk to a deep, solemn tone--'believing, as I do, that I shall soon +stand before my Maker, to give an account of my doings here, could I, +from any paltry motive of self-interest, deceive you? Could I say one +thing and mean another? No; when I seek to warn you against future +troubles, I do it for your own sakes. Whatever may be the urging motive +of a strike, whether good or bad, it can only bring ill in the working. +I would say, were I not a master, "Put up with a grievance, rather than +enter upon a strike;" but being a master, you might misconstrue the +advice. I am not going into the merits of the measures--to say this past +strike was right, or that was wrong; I speak only of the terrible amount +of suffering they wrought. A man said to me the other day--he was from +the factory districts--"I have a horror of strikes, they have worked so +much evil in our trade." You can get books which tell of them, and read +for yourselves. How many orphans, and widows, and men in prisons are +there, who have cause to rue this strike that has only now just passed? +It has broken up homes that, before it came, were homes of plenty and +content, leaving in them despair and death. Let us try to go on better +for the future. I, for my part, will always be ready to receive and +consider any reasonable proposal from my men; my partner will do the +same. If there is no attempt at intimidation, and no interference on the +part of others, there ought to be little difficulty in discussing and +settling matters, with the help of "the golden rule." Only--it is my +last and earnest word of caution to you--abide by your own good sense, +and do not yield it to those agitators who would lead you away.' + +Every syllable spoken by Mr. Hunter, as to the social state of the +people, Daffodil's Delight, and all other parts of London where the +strike had prevailed, could echo. Whether the men had invoked the +contest needlessly, or whether they were justified, according to the +laws of right and reason, it matters not here to discuss; the effects +were the same, and they stood out broad, and bare, and hideous. Men had +died of want; had been cast into prison, where they still lay; had +committed social crimes, in their great need, against their fellow-men. +Women had been reduced to the lowest extremes of misery and suffering, +had been transformed into viragos, where they once had been pleasant and +peaceful; children had died off by scores. Homes were dismantled; Mr. +Cox had cart-loads of things that stood no chance of being recalled. +Families, united before, were scattered now; young men were driven upon +idleness and evil courses; young women upon worse, for they were +irredeemable. Would wisdom for the future be learnt by all this? It was +uncertain. + +When Austin Clay returned home that evening, he gave Mrs. Quale notice +to quit. She received it in a spirit of resignation, intimating that she +had been expecting it--that lodgings such as hers were not fit for Mr. +Clay, now that he was Mr. Hunter's partner. + +Austin laughed. 'I suppose you think I ought to set up a house of my +own.' + +'I daresay you'll be doing that one of these days, sir,' she responded. + +'I daresay I shall,' said Austin. + +'I wonder whether what Mr. Hunter said to-day will do any of 'em any +service?' interposed Peter Quale. 'What do you think, sir?' + +'I think it ought,' replied Austin. 'Whether it will, is another +question.' + +'It mostly lies in this--in the men's being let alone,' nodded Peter. +'Leave 'em to theirselves, and they'll go on steady enough; but if them +Trade Union folks, Sam Shuck and his lot, get over them again, there'll +be more outbreaks.' + +'Sam Shuck is safe for some months to come.' + +'But there's others of his persuasion that are not, sir. And Sam, he'll +be out some time.' + +'Quale, I give the hands credit for better sense than to suffer +themselves to fall under his yoke again, now that he has shown himself +in his true colours.' + +'I don't give 'em credit for any sense at all, when they get unsettled +notions into their heads,' phlegmatically returned Peter Quale. 'I'd +like to know if it's the Union that's helping Shuck's wife and +children.' + +'Do they help her?' + +'There must be some that help her, sir. The woman lives and feeds her +family. But there was a Trades' Union secretary here this morning, +inquiring about all this disturbance there has been, and saying that the +men were wrong to be led to violence by such a fellow as Sam Shuck: over +eager to say it, he seemed to me. I gave him my opinion back again,' +concluded Peter, pushing the pipe, which he had laid aside at his young +master's entrance, further under the grate. 'That Sam Shuck, and such as +he, that live by agitation, were uncommon 'cute for their own interests, +and those that listen to them were fools. That took him off, sir.' + +'To think of the fools this Daffodil's Delight has turned out this last +six months!' Mrs. Quale emphatically added. 'To have lived upon their +clothes and furniture, their saucepans and kettles, their bedding and +their children's shoes; when they might, most of 'em, have earned +thirty-three shillings a week at their ordinary work! When folks can be +so blind as that, it is of no use talking to them: black looks white, +and white black.' Mr. Clay smiled at the remark, though it had some +rough reason in it, and went out. Taking his way to Mr. Hunter's. + + +'Austin! You must live with me.' + +The words came from Mr. Hunter. Seated in his easy chair, apparently +asleep, he had overheard what Austin was saying in an undertone to +Florence--that he had just been giving Mrs. Quale notice, and should +begin house-hunting on the morrow. They turned to him at the remark. He +had half risen from his chair in his eager earnestness. + +'Do you think I could spare Florence? Where my home is, yours and hers +must be. Is not this house large enough for us? Why should you seek +another?' + +'Quite large enough, sir. But--but I had not thought of it. It shall be +as you and Florence wish.' + +They both looked at her; she was standing underneath the light of the +chandelier, the rich damask colour mantling in her cheeks. + +'I could not give you to him, Florence, if it involved your leaving me.' + +The tears glistened on her eyelashes. In the impulse of the moment she +stretched out a hand to each. 'There is room here for us all, papa,' she +softly whispered. + +Mr. Hunter took both their hands in one of his; he raised the other in +the act of benediction; the tears, which only glistened in the eyes of +Florence, were falling fast from his own. + +'Yes, it shall be the home of all; and--Florence!--the sooner he comes +to it the better. Bless, oh, bless my children!' he murmured. 'And grant +that this may prove a happier, a more peaceful home for them, than it +has for me!' + +'Amen!' answered Austin, in his inmost heart. + +THE END. + +J. OGDEN AND CO., PRINTERS, 172, ST. JOHN STREET, E.C. + + * * * * * + +MRS. HENRY WOOD'S NOVELS. + +Uniformly bound, 6s. each. + + +EAST LYNNE. (85th thousand.) + +THE CHANNINGS. (35th thousand.) + +ROLAND YORKE. A Sequel to "The Channings." + +MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. + +THE SHADOW OF ASHLYDYAT. + +VERNER'S PRIDE. + +LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. + +GEORGE CANTERBURY'S WILL. + +MILDRED ARKELL. + +ST. MARTIN'S EVE. + +THE RED COURT FARM. + +WITHIN THE MAZE. + +LADY ADELAIDE. + +ELSTER'S FOLLY. + +ANNE HEREFORD. + +TREVLYN HOLD. + +OSWALD CRAY. + +A LIFE'S SECRET. + +DENE HOLLOW. + +BESSY RANE. + +THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. + +ORVILLE COLLEGE. + +PARKWATER. + +EDINA. + + +LONDON: +R. 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