diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/39294-8.txt | 14728 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/39294-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 273185 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/39294.txt | 14728 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/39294.zip | bin | 0 -> 273103 bytes |
4 files changed, 29456 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/39294-8.txt b/old/39294-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8fd1fb9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/39294-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14728 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great House, by Stanley J. Weyman + +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: The Great House + +Author: Stanley J. Weyman + +Release Date: March 28, 2012 [EBook #39294] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT HOUSE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the +Web Archive (University of Michigan) + + + + + + + + + + + +Transcriber's Notes: + + 1. Page scan source: + http://www.archive.org/details/greathouseastor00weymgoog + (University of Michigan) + + 2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. + + + + + + + THE GREAT HOUSE + + + + + + + BY THE SAME AUTHOR + + THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF + THE NEW RECTOR + THE STORY OF FRANCIS CLUDDE + A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE + THE MAN IN BLACK + UNDER THE RED ROBE + MY LADY ROTHA + MEMOIRS OF A MINISTER OF FRANCE + THE RED COCKADE + SHREWSBURY + THE CASTLE INN + SOPHIA + COUNT HANNIBAL + IN KINGS' BYWAYS + THE LONG NIGHT + THE ABBESS OF VLAYE + STARVECROW FARM + CHIPPINGE + LAID UP IN LAVENDER + THE WILD GEESE + + + + + + + THE GREAT HOUSE + + + + + BY + + STANLEY J. WEYMAN + + Author of "The Castle Inn," "Chippinge," + "A Gentleman of France," etc., etc. + + + + + + NEW YORK + LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. + FOURTH AVENUE AND 30th STREET + 1919 + + + + + + + Copyright, 1919 + BY + STANLEY J. WEYMAN + + + + + + + CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER + + I. The Hôtel Lambert--Upstairs. + + II. The Hôtel Lambert--Downstairs. + + III. The Lawyer Abroad. + + IV. Homeward Bound. + + V. The London Packet. + + VI. Field and Forge. + + VII. Mr. John Audley. + + VIII. The Gatehouse. + + IX. Old Things. + + X. New Things. + + XI. Tact and Temper. + + XII. The Yew Walk. + + XIII. Peter Pauper. + + XIV. The Manchester Men. + + XV. Strange Bedfellows. + + XVI. The Great House at Beaudelays. + + XVII. To the Rescue. + + XVIII. Masks and Faces. + + XIX. The Corn Law Crisis. + + XX. Peter's Return. + + XXI. Toft at the Butterflies. + + XXII. My Lord Speaks. + + XXIII. Blore Under Weaver. + + XXIV. An Agent of the Old School. + + XXV. Mary is Lonely. + + XXVI. Missing. + + XXVII. A Footstep in the Hall. + + XXVIII. The News from Riddsley. + + XXIX. The Audley Bible. + + XXX. A Friend in Need. + + XXXI. Ben Bosham. + + XXXII. Mary Makes a Discovery. + + XXXIII. The Meeting at the Maypole. + + XXXIV. By the Canal. + + XXXV. My Lord Speaks Out. + + XXXVI. The Riddsley Election. + + XXXVII. A Turn of the Wheel. + + XXXVIII. Toft's Little Surprise. + + XXXIX. The Deed of Renunciation. + + XL. "Let Us Make Others Thankful." + + + + + + + THE GREAT HOUSE + + + + + CHAPTER I + + THE HÔTEL LAMBERT--UPSTAIRS + + +On an evening in March in the 'forties of last century a girl looked +down on the Seine from an attic window on the Ile St. Louis. The +room behind her--or beside her, for she sat on the window-ledge, with +her back against one side of the opening and her feet against the +other--was long, whitewashed from floor to ceiling, lighted by five +gaunt windows, and as cold to the eye as charity to the recipient. +Along each side of the chamber ran ten pallet beds. A black door broke +the wall at one end, and above the door hung a crucifix. A painting of +a Station of the Cross adorned the wall at the other end. Beyond this +picture the room had no ornament; it is almost true to say that beyond +what has been named it had no furniture. One bed--the bed beside the +window at which the girl sat--was screened by a thin curtain which did +not reach the floor. This was her bed. + +But in early spring no window in Paris looked on a scene more cheerful +than this window; which as from an eyrie commanded a shining reach of +the Seine bordered by the lawns and foliage of the King's Garden, and +closed by the graceful arches of the Bridge of Austerlitz. On the +water boats shot to and fro. The quays were gay with the red trousers +of soldiers and the coquettish caps of soubrettes, with students in +strange cloaks, and the twin kling wheels of yellow cabriolets. The +first swallows were hawking hither and thither above the water, and a +pleasant hum rose from the Boulevard Bourdon. + +Yet the girl sighed. For it was her birthday, she was twenty this +twenty-fifth of March, and there was not a soul in the world to know +this and to wish her joy. A life of dependence, toned to the key of +the whitewashed room and the thin pallets, lay before her; and though +she had good reason to be thankful for the safety which dependence +bought, still she was only twenty, and springtime, viewed from prison +windows, beckons to its cousin, youth. She saw family groups walking +the quays, and father, mother, children, all, seen from a distance, +were happy. She saw lovers loitering in the garden or pacing to and +fro, and romance walked with every one of them; none came late, or +fell to words. She sighed more deeply; and on the sound the door +opened. + +"_Hola!_" cried a shrill voice, speaking in French, fluent, but oddly +accented. "Who is here? The Princess desires that the English +Mademoiselle will descend this evening." + +"Very good," the girl in the window replied pleasantly. "At the same +hour, Joséphine?" + +"Why not, Mademoiselle?" A trim maid, with a plain face and the +faultless figure of a Pole, came a few steps into the room. "But you +are alone?" + +"The children are walking. I stayed at home." + +"To be alone? As if I did not understand that! To be alone--it is the +luxury of the rich." + +The girl nodded. "None but a Pole would have thought of that," she +said. + +"Ah, the crafty English Miss!" the maid retorted. "How she flatters! +Perhaps she needs a touch of the tongs to-night? Or the loan of a pair +of red-heeled shoes, worn no more than thrice by the Princess--and +with the black which is convenable for Mademoiselle, oh, so neat! Of +the _ancien régime_, absolutely!" + +The other laughed. "The _ancien régime_, Joséphine--and this!" she +replied, with a gesture that embraced the room, the pallets, her own +bed. "A curled head--and this! You are truly a cabbage----" + +"But Mademoiselle descends!" + +"A cabbage of--foolishness!" + +"Ah, well, if I descended, you would see," the maid retorted. "I am +but the Princess's second maid, and I know nothing! But if I descended +it would not be to this dormitory I should return! Nor to the +tartines! Nor to the daughters of Poland! Trust me for that--and I +know but my prayers. While Mademoiselle, she is an artist's daughter." + +"There spoke the Pole again," the girl struck in with a smile. + +"The English Miss knows how to flatter," Joséphine laughed. "That is +one for the touch of the tongs," she continued, ticking them off on +her fingers. "And one for the red-heeled shoes. And--but no more! Let +me begone before I am bankrupt!" She turned about with a flirt of her +short petticoats, but paused and looked back, with her hand on the +door. "None the less, mark you well, Mademoiselle, from the whitewash +to the ceiling of Lebrun, from the dortoir of the Jeunes Filles to the +Gallery of Hercules, there are but twenty stairs, and easy, oh, so +easy to descend! If Mademoiselle instead of flattering Joséphine, the +Cracovienne, flattered some pretty gentleman--who knows? Not I! I know +but my prayers!" And with a light laugh the maid clapped to the door +and was gone. + +The girl in the window had not throughout the parley changed her pose +or moved more than her head, and this was characteristic of her. For +even in her playfulness there was gravity, and a measure of stillness. +Now, left alone, she dropped her feet to the floor, turned, and knelt +on the sill with her brow pressed against the glass. The sun had set, +mists were rising from the river, the quays were gray and cold. Here +and there a lamp began to shine through the twilight. But the girl's +thoughts were no longer on the scene beneath her eyes. + +"There goes the third who has been good to me," she pondered. "First +the Polish lodger who lived on the floor below, and saved me from that +woman. Then the Princess's daughter. Now Joséphine. There are still +kind people in the world--God grant that I may not forget it! But how +much better to give than to take, to be strong than to be weak, to be +the mistress and not the puppet of fortune! How much better--and, were +I a man, how easy!" + +But on that there came into her remembrance one to whom it had not +been easy, one who had signally failed to master fortune, or to +grapple with circumstances. "Poor father!" she whispered. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + THE HÔTEL LAMBERT--DOWNSTAIRS + + +When ladies were at home to their intimates in the Paris of the +'forties, they seated their guests about large round tables with a +view to that common exchange of wit and fancy which is the French +ideal. The mode crossed to England, and in many houses these round +tables, fallen to the uses of the dining-room or the nursery, may +still be seen. But when the Princess Czartoriski entertained in the +Hôtel Lambert, under the ceiling painted by Lebrun, which had looked +down on the arm-chair of Madame de Châtelet and the tabouret of +Voltaire, she was, as became a Pole, a law to herself. In that +beautiful room, softly lit by wax candles, her guests were free to +follow their bent, to fall into groups, or to admire at their ease the +Watteaus and Bouchers which the Princess's father-in-law, old Prince +Adam, had restored to their native panels. + +Thanks to his taste and under her rule the gallery of Hercules +presented on this evening a scene not unworthy of its past. The +silks and satins of the old régime were indeed replaced by the +high-shouldered coats, the stocks, the pins and velvet vests of the +dandies; and Thiers beaming through his glasses, or Lamartine, though +beauty, melted by the woes of Poland, hung upon his lips, might have +been thought by some unequal to the dead. But they were now what those +had been; and the women peacocked it as of old. At any rate the effect +was good, and a guest who came late, and paused a moment on the +threshold to observe the scene, thought that he had never before done +the room full justice. Presently the Princess saw him and he went +forward. The man who was talking to her made his bow, and she pointed +with her fan to the vacant place. "Felicitations, my lord," she said. +She held out her gloved hand. + +"A thousands thanks," he said, as he bent over it. "But on what, +Princess?" + +"On the success of a friend. On what we have all seen in the +_Journal_. Is it not true that you have won your suit?" + +"I won, yes." He shrugged his shoulders. "But what, Madame? A bare +title, an empty rent-roll." + +"For shame!" she answered. "But I suppose that this is your English +phlegm. Is it not a thing to be proud of--an old title? That which +money cannot buy and the wisest would fain wear? M. Guizot, what would +he not give to be Chien de Race? Your Peel, also?" + +"And your Thiers?" he returned, with a sly glance at the little man in +the shining glasses. + +"He, too! But he has the passion of humanity, which is a title in +itself. Whereas you English, turning in your unending circle, one out, +one in, one in, one out, are but playing a game--marking time! You +have not a desire to go forward!" + +"Surely, Princess, you forget our Reform Bill, scarce ten years old." + +"Which bought off your cotton lords and your fat bourgeois, and left +the people without leaders and more helpless than before. No, my lord, +if your Russell--Lord John, do you call him?--had one jot of M. +Thiers' enthusiasm! Or your Peel--but I look for nothing there!" + +He shrugged his shoulders. "I admit," he said, "that M. Thiers has an +enthusiasm beyond the ordinary." + +"You do? Wonderful!" + +"But," with a smile, "it is, I fancy, an enthusiasm of which the +object is--M. Thiers!" + +"Ah!" she cried, fanning herself more quickly. "Now there spoke not +Mr. Audley, the attaché--he had not been so imprudent! But--how do you +call yourself now?" + +"On days of ceremony," he replied, "Lord Audley of Beaudelays." + +"There spoke my lord, unattached! Oh, you English, you have no +enthusiasm. You have only traditions. Poor were Poland if her fate +hung on you!" + +"There are still bright spots," he said slyly. And his glance returned +to the little statesman in spectacles on whom the Princess rested the +hopes of Poland. + +"No!" she cried vividly. "Don't say it again or I shall be displeased. +Turn your eyes elsewhere. There is one here about whom I wish to +consult you. Do you see the tall girl in black who is engaged with the +miniatures?" + +"I saw her some time ago." + +"I suppose so. You are a man. I dare say you would call her handsome?" + +"I think it possible, were she not in this company. What of her, +Princess?" + +"Do you notice anything beyond her looks?" + +"The picture is plain--for the frame in which I see her. Is she one of +the staff of your school?" + +"Yes, but with an air----" + +"Certainly--an air!" He nodded. + +"Well, she is a countrywoman of yours and has a history. Her father, a +journalist, artist, no matter what, came to live in Paris years ago. +He went down, down, always down; six months ago he died. There was +enough to bury him, no more. She says, I don't know"--the Princess +indicated doubt with a movement of her fan--"that she wrote to friends +in England. Perhaps she did not write; how do I know? She was at the +last sou, the street before her, a hag of a concierge behind, and +withal--as you see her." + +"Not wearing that dress, I presume?" he said with a faint smile. + +"No. She had passed everything to the Mont de Piété; she had what she +stood up in--yet herself! Then a Polish family on the floor below, to +whom my daughter carried alms, told Cécile of her. They pitied her, +spoke well of her, she had done--no matter what for them--perhaps +nothing. Probably nothing. But Cécile ascended, saw her, became +enamoured, _enragée!_ You know Cécile--for her all that wears feathers +is of the angels! Nothing would do but she must bring her here and set +her to teach English to the daughters during her own absence." + +"The Princess is away?" + +"For four weeks. But in three days she returns, and you see where I +am. How do I know who this is? She may be this, or that. If she were +French, if she were Polish, I should know! But she is English and of a +calm, a reticence--ah!" + +"And of a pride too," he replied thoughtfully, "if I mistake not. Yet +it is a good face, Princess." + +She fluttered her fan. "It is a handsome one. For a man that is the +same." + +"With all this you permit her to appear?" + +"To be of use. And a little that she may be seen by some English +friend, who may tell me." + +"Shall I talk to her?" + +"If you will be so good. Learn, if you please, what she is." + +"Your wishes are law," he rejoined. "Will you present me?" + +"It is not necessary," the Princess answered. She beckoned to a stout +gentleman who wore whiskers trimmed à la mode du Roi, and had laurel +leaves on his coat collar. "A thousand thanks." + +He lingered a moment to take part in the Princess's reception of the +Academician. Then he joined a group about old Prince Adam Czartoriski, +who was describing a recent visit to Cracow, that last morsel of free +Poland, soon to pass into the maw of Austria. A little apart, the girl +in black bent over the case of miniatures, comparing some with a list, +and polishing others with a square of silk. Presently he found himself +beside her. Their eyes met. + +"I am told," he said, bowing, "that you are my countrywoman. The +Princess thought that I might be of use to you." + +The girl had read his errand before he spoke and a shade flitted +across her face. She knew, only too well, that her hold on this rock +of safety to which chance had lifted her--out of a gulf of peril and +misery of which she trembled to think--was of the slightest. Early, +almost from the first, she had discovered that the Princess's +benevolence found vent rather in schemes for the good of many than in +tenderness for one. But hitherto she had relied on the daughter's +affection, and a little on her own usefulness. Then, too, she was +young and hopeful, and the depths from which she had escaped were such +that she could not believe that Providence would return her to them. + +But she was quick-witted, and his opening frightened her. She guessed +at once that she was not to be allowed to await Cécile's return, that +her fate hung on what this Englishman, so big and bland and forceful, +reported of her. + +She braced herself to meet the danger. "I am obliged to the Princess," +she said. "But my ties with England are slight. I came to France with +my father when I was ten years old." + +"I think you lost him recently?" He found his task less easy than it +should have been. + +"He died six months ago," she replied, regarding him gravely. "His +illness left me without means. I was penniless, when the young +Princess befriended me and gave me a respite here. I am no part of +this," with a glance at the salon and the groups about them. "I teach +upstairs. I am thankful for the privilege of doing so." + +"The Princess told me as much," he said frankly. "She thought that, +being English, I might advise you better than she could; that possibly +I might put you in touch with your relations?" + +She shook her head. + +"Or your friends? You must have friends?" + +"Doubtless my father had--once," she said in a low voice. "But as his +means diminished, he saw less and less of those who had known him. For +the last two years I do not think that he saw an Englishman at home. +Before that time I was in a convent school, and I do not know." + +"You are a Roman Catholic, then?" + +"No. And for that reason--and for another, that my account was not +paid"--her color rose painfully to her face--"I could not apply to the +Sisters. I am very frank," she added, her lip trembling. + +"And I encroach," he answered, bowing. "Forgive me! Your father was an +artist, I believe?" + +"He drew for an Atelier de Porcelaine--for the journals when he could. +But he was not very successful," she continued reluctantly. "The china +factory which had employed him since he came to Paris, failed. When I +returned from school he was alone and poor, living in the little +street in the Quartier, where he died." + +"But forgive me, you must have some relations in England?" + +"Only one of whom I know," she replied. "My father's brother. My +father had quarrelled with him--bitterly, I fear; but when he was +dying he bade me write to my uncle and tell him how we were placed. I +did so. No answer came. Then after my father's death I wrote again. I +told my uncle that I was alone, that I was without money, that in a +short time I should be homeless, that if I could return to England I +could live by teaching French. He did not reply. I could do no more." + +"That was outrageous," he answered, flushing darkly. Though well under +thirty he was a tall man and portly, with one of those large faces +that easily become injected. "Do you know--is your uncle also in +narrow circumstances?" + +"I know no more than his name," she said. "My father never spoke of +him. They had quarrelled. Indeed, my father spoke little of his past." + +"But when you did not hear from your uncle, did you not tell your +father?" + +"It could do no good," she said. "And he was dying." + +He was not sentimental, this big man, whose entrance into a room +carried with it a sense of power. Nor was he one to be lightly moved, +but her simplicity and the picture her words drew for him of the +daughter and the dying man touched him. Already his mind was made up +that the Czartoriski should not turn her adrift for lack of a word. +Aloud, "The Princess did not tell me your name," he said. "May I know +it?" + +"Audley," she said. "Mary Audley." + +He stared at her. She supposed that he had not caught the name. She +repeated it. + +"Audley? Do you really mean that?" + +"Why not?" she asked, surprised in her turn. "Is it so uncommon a +name?" + +"No," he replied slowly. "No, but it is a coincidence. The Princess +did not tell me that your name was Audley." + +The girl shook her head. "I doubt if she knows," she said. "To her I +am only 'the English girl.'" + +"And your father was an artist, resident in Paris? And his name?" + +"Peter Audley." + +He nodded. "Peter Audley," he repeated. His eyes looked through her at +something far away. His lips were more firmly set. His face was grave. +"Peter Audley," he repeated softly. "An artist resident in Paris!" + +"But did you know him?" she cried. + +He brought his thoughts and his eyes back to her. "No, I did not know +him," he said. "But I have heard of him." And again it was plain that +his thoughts took wing. "John Audley's brother, the artist!" he +muttered. + +In her impatience she could have taken him by the sleeve and shaken +him. "Then you do know John Audley?" she said. "My uncle?" + +Again he brought himself back with an effort. "A thousand pardons!" he +said. "You see the Princess did not tell me that you were an Audley. +Yes, I know John Audley--of the Gatehouse. I suppose it was to him you +wrote?" + +"Yes." + +"And he did not reply?" + +She nodded. + +He laughed, as at something whimsical. It was not a kindly laugh, it +jarred a little on his listener. But the next moment his face +softened, he smiled at her, and the smile of such a man had its +importance, for in repose his eyes were hard. It was clear to her that +he was a man of position, that he belonged of right to this keen +polished world at which she was stealing a glance. His air was +distinguished, and his dress, though quiet, struck the last note of +fashion. + +"But I am keeping you in suspense," he said. "I must tell you, Miss +Audley, why it surprised me to learn your name. Because I, too, am an +Audley." + +"You!" she cried. + +"Yes, I," he replied. "What is more, I am akin to you. The kinship is +remote, but it happens that your father's name, in its place in a +pedigree, has been familiar to me of late, and I could set down the +precise degree of cousinship in which you stand to me. I think your +father was my fourth cousin." + +She colored charmingly. "Is it possible?" she exclaimed. + +"It is a fact, proved indeed, recently, in a court of law," he +answered lightly. "Perhaps it is as well that we have that warrant for +a conversation which I can see that the Princess thinks long. After +this she will expect to hear the whole of your history." + +"I fear that she may be displeased," the girl said, wincing a little. +"You have been very kind----" + +"Who should be kind," he replied, "if not the head of your family? But +have no fear, I will deal with the Princess. I shall be able to +satisfy her, I have no doubt." + +"And you"--she looked at him with appeal in her eyes--"will you be +good enough to tell me who you are?" + +"I am Lord Audley. To distinguish me from another of the same name, I +am called Audley of Beaudelays." + +"Of Beaudelays?" she repeated. He thought her face, her whole bearing, +singularly composed in view of his announcement. "Beaudelays?" she +repeated thoughtfully. "I have heard the name more than once. Perhaps +from my father." + +"It were odd if you had not," he said. "It is the name of my house, +and your uncle, John Audley, lives within a mile of it." + +"Oh," she said. The name of the uncle who had ignored her appeals fell +on her like a cold douche. + +"I will not say more now," Lord Audley continued. "But you shall hear +from me. To--morrow I quit Paris for three or four days, but when I +return have no fear. You may leave the matter in my hands in full +confidence that I shall not fail--my cousin." + +He held out his hand and she laid hers in it. She looked him frankly +in the face. "Thank you," she said. "I little thought when I descended +this evening that I should meet a kinsman." + +"And a friend," he answered, holding her hand a little longer than was +needful. + +"And a friend," she repeated. "But there--I must go now. I should have +disappeared ten minutes ago. This is my way." She inclined her head, +and turning from him she pushed open a small door masked by a picture. +She passed at once into a dark corridor, and threading its windings +gained the great staircase. + +As she flitted upwards from floor to floor, skirting a long procession +of shadowy forms, and now ogled by a Leda whose only veil was the +dusk, now threatened by the tusks of the great boar at bay, she +was not conscious of thought or surprise. It was not until she had +lighted her taper outside the dormitory door, and, passing between the +rows of sleeping children, had gained her screened corner, that she +found it possible to think. Then she set the light in her tiny +washing-basin--such was the rule--and seated herself on her bed. For +some minutes she stared before her, motionless and unwinking, her +hands clasped about her knees, her mind at work. + +Was it true, or a dream? Had this really happened to her since she had +viewed herself in the blurred mirror, had set a curl right and, +satisfied, had turned to go down? The danger and the delivery from it, +the fear and the friend in need? Or was it a Cinderella's treat, which +no fairy godmother would recall to her, with which no lost slipper +would connect her? She could almost believe this. For no Cinderella, +in the ashes of the hearth, could have seemed more remote from the gay +ball-room than she crouching on her thin mattress, with the breathing +of the children in her ears, from the luxury of the famous salon. + +Or, if it was true, if it had happened, would anything come of it? +Would Lord Audley remember her? Or would he think no more of her, +ignoring to-morrow the poor relation whom it had been the whim of the +moment to own? That would be cruel! That would be base! But if Mary +had fallen in with some good people since her father's death, she had +also met many callous, and a few cruel people. He might be one. And +then, how strange it was that her father had never named this great +kinsman, never referred to him, never even, when dying, disclosed his +name! + +The light wavered in the draught that stole through the bald, undraped +window. A child whimpered in its sleep, awoke, began to sob. It was +the youngest of the daughters of Poland. The girl rose, and going on +tip-toe to the child, bent over it, kissed it, warmed it in her bosom, +soothed it. Presently the little waif slept again, and Mary Audley +began to make ready for bed. + +But so much turned for her on what had happened, so much hung in the +balance, that it was not unnatural that as she let down her hair and +plaited it in two long tails for the night, she should see her new +kinsman's face in the mirror. Nor strange that as she lay sleepless +and thought-ridden in her bed the same face should present itself anew +relieved against the background of darkness. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + THE LAWYER ABROAD + + +Half an hour later Lord Audley paused in the hall at Meurice's, and +having given his cloak and hat to a servant went thoughtfully up the +wide staircase. He opened the door of a room on the first floor. A +stout man with a bald head, who had been for some time yawning over +the dying fire, rose to his feet and remained standing. + +Audley nodded. "Hallo, Stubbs!" he said carelessly, "not in bed yet?" + +"No, my lord," the other answered. "I waited to learn if your lordship +had any orders for England." + +"Well, sit down now. I've something to tell you." My lord stooped as +he spoke and warmed his hands at the embers; then rising, he stood +with his back to the hearth. The stout man sat forward on his +chair with an air of deference. His double chin rested on the ample +folds of a soft white stock secured by a gold pin in the shape of a +wheat-sheaf. He wore black knee-breeches and stockings, and his dress, +though plain, bore the stamp of neatness and prosperity. + +For a minute or two Audley continued to look thoughtfully before him. +At length, "May I take it that this claim is really at an end now?" he +said. "Is the decision final, I mean?" + +"Unless new evidence crops up," Stubbs answered--he was a lawyer--"the +decision is certainly final. With your lordship's signature to the +papers I brought over----" + +"But the claimant might try again?" + +"Mr. John Audley might do anything," Stubbs returned. "I believe him +to be mad upon the point, and therefore capable of much. But he could +only move on new evidence of the most cogent nature. I do not believe +that such evidence exists." + +His employer weighed this for some time. At length, "Then if you were +in my place," he said, "you would not be tempted to hedge?" + +"To hedge?" the lawyer exclaimed, as if he had never heard the word +before. "I am afraid I don't understand." + +"I will explain. But first, tell me this. If anything happens to me +before I have a child, John Audley succeeds to the peerage? That is +clear?" + +"Certainly! Mr. John Audley, the claimant, is also your heir-at-law." + +"To title and estates--such as they are?" + +"To both, my lord." + +"Then follow me another step, Stubbs. Failing John Audley, who is the +next heir?" + +"Mr. Peter Audley," Stubbs replied, "his only brother, would succeed, +if he were alive. But it is common ground that he is dead. I knew Mr. +Peter, and, if I may say it of an Audley, my lord, a more shiftless, +weak, improvident gentleman never lived. And obstinate as the devil! +He married into trade, and Mr. John never forgave it--never forgave +it, my lord. Never spoke of his brother or to his brother from that +time. It was before the Reform Bill," the lawyer continued with a +sigh. "There were no railways then and things were different. Dear, +dear, how the world changes! Mr. Peter must have gone abroad ten years +ago, but until he was mentioned in the suit I don't think that I had +heard his name ten times in as many years. And he an Audley!" + +"He had a child?" + +"Only one, a daughter." + +"Would she come in after Mr. John?" + +"Yes, my lord, she would--if living." + +"I've been talking to her this evening." + +"Ah!" The lawyer was not so simple as he seemed, and for a minute or +two he had foreseen the _dénouement_. "Ah!" he repeated, thoughtfully +rubbing his plump calf. "I see, my lord. Mr. Peter Audley's daughter? +Really! And if I may venture to ask, what is she like?" + +Audley paused before he answered. Then, "If you have painted the +father aright, Stubbs, I should say that she was his opposite in all +but his obstinacy. A calm and self-reliant young woman, if I am any +judge." + +"And handsome?" + +"Yes, with a look of breeding. At the same time she is penniless and +dependent, teaching English in a kind of charity school, cheek by jowl +with a princess!" + +"God bless my soul!" cried the lawyer, astonished at last. "A +princess!" + +"Who is a good creature as women go, but as likely as not to send her +adrift to-morrow." + +"Tut-tut-tut!" muttered the other. + +"However, I'll tell you the story," Audley concluded. And he did so. + +When he had done, "Well," Stubbs exclaimed, "for a coincidence----" + +"Ah, there," the young man broke in, "I fancy, all's not said. I take +it the Princess noted the name, but was too polite to question me. +Anyway, the girl is there. She is dependent, friendless; attractive, +and well-bred. For a moment it did occur to me--she is John Audley's +heiress--that I might make all safe by----" His voice dropped. His +last words were inaudible. + +"The chance is so very remote," said the lawyer, aware that he was on +delicate ground, and that the other was rather following out his own +thoughts than consulting him. + +"It is. The idea crossed my mind only for a moment--of course it's +absurd for a man as poor as I am. There is hardly a poorer peer out of +Ireland--you know that. Fourteenth baron without a roof to my house +or a pane of glass in my windows! And a rent-roll when all is told +of----" + +"A little short of three thousand," the lawyer muttered. + +"Two thousand five hundred, by God, and not a penny more! If any man +ought to marry money, I am that man, Stubbs!" + +Mr. Stubbs, staring at the fire with a hand on each knee, assented +respectfully. "I've always hoped that you would, my lord," he said, +"though I've not ventured to say it." + +"Yes! Well--putting that aside," the other resumed, "what is to be +done about her? I've been thinking it over, and I fancy that I've hit +on the right line. John Audley's given me trouble enough. I'll give +him some. I'll make him provide for her, d--n him, or I don't know my +man!" + +"I'd like to know, my lord," Stubbs ventured thoughtfully, "why he +didn't answer her letters. He hated her father, but it is not like Mr. +John to let the young lady drift. He's crazy about the family, and she +is his next heir. He's a lonely man, too, and there is room at the +Gatehouse." + +Audley paused, half-way across the room. "I wish we had never leased +the Gatehouse to him!" + +"It's not everybody's house, my lord. It's lonely and----" + +"It's too near Beaudelays!" + +"If your lordship were living at the Great House, quite so," the +lawyer agreed. "But, as it is, the rent is useful, and the lease was +made before our time, so that we have no choice." + +"I shall always believe that he had a reason for going there!" + +"He had an idea that it strengthened his claim," the lawyer said +indulgently. "Nothing beyond that, my lord." + +"Well, I've made up my mind to increase his family by a niece!" the +other replied. "He shall have the girl whether he likes it or not. +Take a pen, man, and sit down. He's spoiled my breakfast many a time +with his confounded Writs of Error, or whatever you call them, and for +once I'll be even with him. Say--yes, Stubbs, say this: + +"'I am directed by Lord Audley to inform you that a young lady, +believed to be a daughter of the late Mr. Peter Audley, and recently +living in poverty in an obscure'--yes, Stubbs, say obscure--'part of +Paris, has been rescued by the benevolence of a Polish lady. For the +present she is in the lady's house in a menial capacity, and is +dependent on her charity. Lord Audley is informed that the young lady +made application to you without result, but this report his lordship +discredits. Still, he feels himself concerned; and if those to whom +she naturally looks decline to aid her, it is his lordship's intention +to make such provision as may enable her to live respectably. I am to +inform you that Miss Audley's address is the Hôtel Lambert, He St. +Louis, Paris. Letters should be addressed "Care of the Housekeeper."'" + +"He won't like the last touch!" the young man continued, with a quiet +chuckle. "If that does not touch him on the raw, I'll yield up the +title to-morrow. And now, Stubbs, good-night." + +But Stubbs did not take the hint. "I want to say one word, my lord, +about the borough--about Riddsley," he said. "We put in Mr. Mottisfont +at the last election, your lordship's interest just tipping the scale. +We think, therefore, that a word from you may set right what is going +wrong." + +"What is it?" + +"There's a strong feeling," the lawyer answered, his face serious, +"that the party is not being led aright. And that Mr. Mottisfont, who +is old----" + +"Is willing to go with the party, eh, Stubbs?" + +"No, my lord, with the party leaders. Which is a different thing. +Sir Robert Peel--the land put him in, but, d--n me, my lord"--the +lawyer's manner lost much of its deference and he spoke bluntly and +strongly--"it looks as if he were going to put the land out! An +income-tax in peace time, we've taken that. And less protection for +the farmer, very good--if it must be. But all this taking off of +duties, this letting in of Canadian corn--I tell you, my lord, there's +an ugly feeling abroad! There are a good many in Riddsley say that he +is going to repeal the Corn Laws altogether; that he's sold us to the +League, and won't be long before he delivers us!" + +The big man sitting back in his chair smiled. "It seems to me," he +said, "that you are travelling rather fast and rather far, Stubbs!" + +"That's just what we fear Sir Robert is doing!" the lawyer retorted +smartly, the other's rank forgotten. "And you may take it from me the +borough won't stand it, my lord, and the sooner Mr. Mottisfont has a +hint the better. If he follows Peel too far, the bottom will fall out +of his seat. There's no Corn Law leaguer will ever sit for Riddsley!" + +"With your help, anyway, Stubbs," my lord said with a smile. The +lawyer's excitement amused him. + +"No, my lord! Never with my help! I believe that on the landed +interest rests the stability of the country! It was the landed +interest that supported Pitt and beat Bony, and brought us through +the long war. It was the landed interest that kept us from revolution +in the dark days after the war. And now because the men that turn +cotton and iron and clay into money by the help of the devil's +breath--because they want to pay lower wages----" + +"The ark of the covenant is to be overthrown, eh?" the young man +laughed. "Why, to listen to you, Stubbs, one would think that you were +the largest landowner in the county!" + +"No, my lord," the lawyer answered. "But it's the landowners have made +me what I am. And it's the landowners and the farmers that Riddsley +lives by and is going to stand by! And the sooner Mr. Mottisfont knows +that the better. He was elected as a Tory, and a Tory he must stop, +whether Sir Robert turns his coat or not!" + +"You want me to speak to Mottisfont?" + +"We do, my lord. Just a word. I was at the Ordinary last fair day, and +there was nothing else talked of. Free Canadian corn was too like free +French corn and free Belgian corn for Stafford wits to see much +difference. And Peel is too like repeal, my lord. We are beginning to +see that." + +Audley shrugged his shoulders. "The party is satisfied," he said. "And +Mottisfont? I can't drive the man." + +"No, but a word from you----" + +"Well, I'll think about it. But I fancy you're overrunning the scent." + +"Then the line is not straight!" the lawyer retorted shrewdly. +"However, if I have been too warm, I beg pardon, my lord." + +"I'll bear it in mind," Audley answered. "Very good. And now, +good-night, Stubbs. Don't forget to send the letter to John Audley as +soon as you reach London." + +Stubbs replied that he would, and took his leave. He had said his say +on the borough question, lord or no lord; which to a Briton--and he +was a typical Briton--was a satisfaction. + +But half an hour later, when he had drawn his nightcap down to his +ears and stood, the extinguisher in his hand, he paused. "He's a sober +hand for a young man," he thought, "a very sober hand. I warrant he +will never run his ship on the rocks for lack of a good look-out!" + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + HOMEWARD BOUND + + +In the corner of the light diligence, seating six inside, which had +brought her from Montreuil, Mary Audley leant forward, looking out +through the dingy panes for the windmills of Calais. Joséphine slept +in the corner facing her, as she had slept for two hours past. Their +companions, a French shopkeeper and her child, and an English bagman, +sighed and fidgeted, as travellers had cause to sigh and fidget in +days when he was lucky who covered the distance from Paris to Calais +in twenty-five hours. The coach rumbled on. The sun had set, a small +rain was falling. The fading light tinged the plain of the Pas de +Calais with a melancholy which little by little dyed the girl's +thoughts. + +She was on her way to her own country, to those on whom she might be +dependent without shame. And common sense, of which she had a large +share, told her that she had cause, great cause to be thankful. But +the flush of relief, to which the opening prospect had given rise, was +ebbing. The life before her was new, those amongst whom she must lead +that life were strange; nor did the cold phrases of her uncle's +invitation, which ignored both her father and the letters that she had +written, promise an over-warm welcome. + +Still, "Courage!" Mary murmured to herself, "Courage!" And she +recalled a saying which she had learned from the maid, "At the worst, +ten fingers!" Then, seeing that at last they were entering the streets +of the town and that the weary journey was over--she had left Paris +the day before--she touched Joséphine. "We are there," she said. + +The maid awoke with her eyes on the bagman, who was stout. "Ah!" she +muttered. "In England they are like that! No wonder that they travel +seeing that their bones are so padded! But, for me I am one ache." + +They jolted over the uneven pavement, crossed a bridge, lumbered +through streets scarcely wider than the swaying diligence, at last +with a great cracking of whips they swerved to the left and drew up +amid the babel of the quay. In a twinkling they were part of it. +Porters dragged down, fought for, snatched up their baggage. +English-speaking touts shook dirty cards in their faces. Tide-waiters +bawled questions in their ears. The postilion, the conductor, all the +world stretched greedy palms under their noses. Other travellers ran +into them, and they ran into other travellers. All this, in the dusk, +in the rain, while the bell on the deck overhead clanged above the +roar of the escaping steam, and a man shouted without ceasing, "Tower +steamer! Tower steamer! Any more for England?" + +Joséphine, after one bitter exchange of words with a lad who had +seized her handbag, thrust her fingers into her ears and resigned +herself. Even Mary for a moment was aghast. She was dragged this way +and that, she lost one article and recovered it, lost another and +recovered that, she lost her ticket and rescued it from a man's hand. +At last, her baggage on board, she found herself breathless at the +foot of the ladder, with three passengers imploring her to ascend, and +six touts clinging to her skirts and crying for drink-money. She had +barely time to make her little gift to the kind-hearted maid--who was +returning to Paris by the night coach--and no time to thank her, +before they were parted. Mary was pushed up the ladder. In a moment +she was looking down from the deck on the wet, squalid quay, the pale +up-turned faces, the bustling crowd. + +She picked out the one face which she knew, and which it pained her to +lose. By gestures and smiles, with a tear in the eye, she tried to +make amends to Joséphine for the hasty parting, the half-spoken words. +The maid on her side was in tears, and after the French fashion was +proud of them. So the last minute came. The paddles were already +turning, the ship was going slowly astern, when a man pushed his way +through the crowd. He clutched the ladder as it was unhooked, and at +some risk and much loss of dignity he was bundled on board. There was +a lamp amidships, and, as he regained his balance, Mary, smiling in +spite of herself, saw that he was an Englishman, a man about thirty, +and plainly dressed. Then in her anxiety to see the last of Joséphine +she crossed the deck as the ship went about, and she lost sight of +him. + +She continued to look back and to wave her handkerchief, until +nothing remained but a light or two in a bank of shadow. That was the +last she was to see of the land which had been her home for ten years; +and chilled and lonely she turned about and did what, had she been +an older traveller, she would have done before. She sought the +after-cabin. Alas, a glance from the foot of the companion was enough! +Every place was taken, every couch occupied, and the air, already +close, repelled her. She climbed to the deck again, and was seeking +some corner where she could sit, sheltered from the wind and rain, +when the captain saw her and fell foul of her. + +"Now, young lady," he said, "no woman's allowed on deck at night!" + +"Oh, but," she protested, "there's no room downstairs!" + +"Won't do," he answered roughly. "Lost a woman overboard once, and as +much trouble about her as about all the men, drunk or sober, I've ever +carried. All women below, all women below, is the order! Besides," +more amicably, as he saw by a ray of lantern-light that she was young +and comely, "it's wet, my dear, and going to be d--d wet, and as dark +as Wapping!" + +"But I've a cloak," she petitioned, "if I sit quite still, and----" + +A tall form loomed up at the captain's elbow. "This is the lady I am +looking for," the new-comer said. "It will be all right, Captain +Jones." + +The captain turned sharply. "Oh, my lord," he said, "I didn't know; +but with petticoats and a dark night, blest if you know where you are! +I'm sure I beg the young lady's pardon. Quite right, my lord, quite +right!" With a rough salute he went forward and the darkness swallowed +him. + +"Lord Audley?" Mary said. She spoke quietly, but to do so she had to +steady her voice. + +"Yes," he replied. "I knew that you were crossing to-night, and as I +had to go over this week I chose this evening. I've reserved a cabin +for you." + +"Oh, but," she remonstrated, "I don't think you should have done that! +I don't know that I can----" + +"Afford it?" he said coolly. "Then--as it is a matter of some +shillings--your kinsman will presume to pay for it." + +It was a small thing, and she let it pass. "But who told you," she +asked, "that I was crossing to-night?" + +"The Princess. You don't feel, I suppose, that as you are crossing, it +was my duty to stay in France?" + +"Oh no!" she protested. + +"But you are not sure whether you are more pleased or more vexed? +Well, let me show you where your cabin is--it is the size of a +milliner's box, but by morning you will be glad of it, and that may +turn the scale. Moreover," as he led the way across the deck, "the +steward's boy, when he is not serving gin below, will serve tea above, +and at sea tea is not to be scorned. That's your number--7. And there +is the boy. Boy!" he called in a voice that ensured obedience, "Tea +and bread and butter for this lady in number 7 in an hour. See it is +there, my lad!" + +She smiled. "I think the tea and bread and butter may turn the scale," +she said. + +"Right," he replied. "Then, as it is only eight o'clock, why should we +not sit in the shelter of this tarpaulin? I see that there are two +seats. They might have been put for us." + +"Is it possible that they were?" she asked shrewdly. "Well, why not?" + +She had no reason to give--and the temptation was great. Five minutes +before she had been the most lonely creature in the world. The parting +from Joséphine, the discomfort of the boat, the dark sea and the +darker horizon, the captain's rough words, had brought the tears to +her eyes. And then, in a moment, to be thought of, provided for, +kindly entreated, to be lapped in attentions as in a cloak--in very +fact, in another second a warm cloak was about her--who could expect +her to refuse this? Moreover, he was her kinsman; probably she owed it +to him that she was here. + +At any rate she thought that it would be prudish to demur, and she +took one of the seats in the lee of the screen. Audley tucked the +cloak about her, and took the other. The light of a lantern fell on +their faces and the few passengers who still tramped the windy deck +could see the pair, and doubtless envied him their shelter. "Are you +comfortable?" he inquired--but before she could answer he whistled +softly. + +"What is it?" Mary asked. + +"Not much." He laughed to himself. + +Then she saw coming along the deck towards them a man who had not +found his sea-legs. As he approached he took little runs, and now +brought up against the rail, now clutched at a stay. Mary knew the man +again. "He nearly missed the boat," she whispered. + +"Did he?" her companion answered in the same tone. "Well, if he had +quite missed it, I'd have forgiven him. He is going to be ill, I'll +wager!" + +When the man was close to them he reeled, and to save himself he +grasped the end of their screen. His eyes met theirs. He was past much +show of emotion, but his voice rose as he exclaimed, "Audley. Is that +you?" + +"It is. We are in for a rough night, I'm afraid." + +"And--pardon me," the stranger hesitated, peering at them, "is that +Miss Audley with you?" + +"Yes," Mary said, much surprised. + +"Oh!" + +"This is Mr. Basset," Audley explained. Mary stared at the stranger. +The name conveyed nothing to her. + +"I came to meet you," he said, speaking with difficulty, and now and +again casting a wild eye abroad as the deck heaved under him. "But I +expected to find you at the hotel, and I waited there until I nearly +missed the boat. Even then I felt that I ought to learn if you were on +board, and I came up to see." + +"I am very much obliged to you," Mary answered politely, "but I am +quite comfortable, thank you. It is close below, and Lord Audley found +this seat for me. And I have a cabin." + +"Oh yes!" he answered. "I think I will go down then if you--if you are +sure you want nothing." + +"Nothing, thank you," Mary answered with decision. + +"I think I--I'll go, then. Good-night!" + +With that he went, making desperate tacks in the direction of the +companion. Unfortunately what he gained in speed he lost in dignity, +and before he reached the hatch Lord Audley gave way to laughter. + +"Oh, don't!" Mary cried. "He will hear you. And it was kind of him to +look for me when he was not well." + +But Audley only laughed the more. "You don't catch the full flavor of +it," he said. "He's come three hundred miles to meet you, and he's too +ill to do anything now he's here!" + +"Three hundred miles to meet me!" she cried in astonishment. + +"Every yard of it! Don't you know who he is? He's Peter Basset, your +uncle's nephew by marriage, who lives with him. He's come, or rather +your uncle has sent him, all the way from Stafford to meet you--and +he's gone to lie down! He's gone to lie down! There's a squire of +dames for you! Upon my honor, I never knew anything richer!" + +And my lord's laughter broke out anew. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + THE LONDON PACKET + + +Mary laughed with him, but she was not comfortable. What she had seen +of the stranger, a man plain in feature and ordinary in figure, one +whom the eye would not have remarked in a crowd, did not especially +commend him. And certainly he had not shown himself equal to a +difficult situation. But the effort he had made to come to her help +appealed to her generosity, and she was not sure how far she formed a +part of the comedy. So her laughter was from the lips only, and brief. +Then, "My uncle's nephew?" she asked thoughtfully. + +"His wife's nephew. Your uncle married a Basset." + +"But why did he send him to meet me?" + +"For a simple reason--I should say that he had no one else to send. +Your uncle is not a man of many friends." + +"I understood that some one would meet the boat in London," she said. +"But I expected a woman." + +"I fancy the woman would be to seek," he replied. "And Basset is a +kind of tame cat at the Gatehouse. He lives there a part of the year, +though he has an old place of his own up the country. He's a +Staffordshire man born and bred, and I dare say a good fellow in his +way, but a dull dog! a dull dog! Are you sure that the wind does not +catch you?" + +She said that she was very comfortable, and they were silent awhile, +listening to the monotonous slapping of a rope against the mast and +the wash of the waves as they surged past the beam. A single light at +the end of the breakwater shone in the darkness behind them. She +marked the light grow smaller and more distant, and her thoughts went +back to the convent school, to her father, to the third-floor where +for a time they had been together, to his care for her--feeble and +inefficient, to his illness. And a lump rose in her throat, her hands +gripped one another as she strove to hide her feelings. In her heart +she whispered a farewell. She was turning her back on her father's +grave. The last tendril which bound her to the old life was breaking. + +The light vanished, and gradually the girl's reflections sought a new +channel. They turned from the past to the present, and dwelt on the +man beside her, who had not only thought of her comfort, who had not +only saved her from some hours of loneliness, but had probably wrought +this change in her life. This was the third time only that she had +seen him. Once, some days after that memorable evening, he had called +at the Hôtel Lambert, and her employer had sent for her. He had +greeted her courteously in the Princess's presence, had asked her +kindly if she had heard from England, and had led her to believe that +she would hear. And she remembered with a blush that the Princess had +looked from one to the other with a smile, and afterwards had had +another manner for her. + +Meanwhile the man wondered what she was thinking, and waited for her +to give him the clue. But she was so long silent that his patience +wore thin. It was not for this, it was not to sit silent beside her, +that he had taken a night journey and secured these cosey seats. + +"Well?" he said at last. + +She turned to him, her eyes wet with tears. "It seems so strange," she +murmured, "to be leaving all and going into a world in which I know no +one." + +"Except the head of your family." + +"Except you! I suppose that I owe it to you that I am here?" + +"I should be happy if I thought so," he replied, with careful +reticence. "But we set a stone rolling, we do not know where it falls. +You will soon learn--Basset will tell you, if I don't--that your uncle +and I are not on good terms. Therefore it is unlikely that he was +moved by what I said." + +"But you said something?" + +"If I did," he answered, smiling, "it was against the grain--who likes +to put his finger between the door and the jamb? And let me caution +you. Your uncle will not suffer meddling on my part, still less a +reminder of it. Therefore, as you are going to owe all to him, you +will do well to be silent about me." + +She was sure that she owed all to him, and she might have said so, but +at that moment the boat changed its course and the full force of the +wind struck them. The salt spray whipped and stung their faces. Her +cloak flew out like a balloon, her scarf pennon-wise, the tarpaulin +flapped like some huge bird. He had to spring to the screen, to adjust +it to the new course, to secure and tuck in her cloak--and all in +haste, with exclamations and laughter, while Mary, sharing the joy of +the struggle, and braced by the sting of the salt wind, felt her heart +rise. How kind he was, and how strong. How he towered above ordinary +men. How safe she felt in his care. + +When they were settled anew, she asked him to tell her something about +the Gatehouse. + +"It's a lonely place," he said. "It is quite out of the world. I don't +know, indeed, how you will exist after the life you have led." + +"The life I have led!" she protested. "But that is absurd! Though you +saw me in the Princess's salon, you know that my life had nothing in +common with hers. I was downstairs no more than three or four times, +and then merely to interpret. My life was spent between whitewashed +walls, on bare floors. I slept in a room with twenty children, ate +with forty--onion soup and thick tartines. The evening I saw you I +wore shoes which the maid lent me. And with all that I was thankful, +most thankful, to have such a refuge. The great people who met at the +Princess's----" + +"And who thought that they were making history!" he laughed. "Did you +know that? Did you know that the Princess was looking to them to save +the last morsel of Poland?" + +"No," she said. "I did not know. I am very ignorant. But if I were a +man, I should love to do things like that." + +"I believe you would!" he replied. "Well, there are crusades in +England. Only I fear that you will not be in the way of them." + +"And I am not a princess! But tell me, please, what are they?" + +"You will not be long before you come upon one," he replied, a hint of +derision in his tone. "You will see a placard in the streets, '_Shall +the people's bread be taxed?_' Not quite so romantic as the +independence of Poland? But I can tell you that heads are quite as +likely to be broken over it." + +"Surely," she said, "there can be only one answer to that." + +"Just so," he replied dryly. "But what is the answer? The land +claims high prices that it may thrive; the towns claim cheap bread +that they may live. Each says that the country depends upon it. +'England self-supporting!' says one. 'England the workshop of the +world!' says the other." + +"I begin to see." + +"'The land is the strength of the country,' argues the squire. 'Down +with monopoly,' cries the cotton lord. Then each arms himself with a +sword lately forged and called 'Philanthropy,' and with that he +searches for chinks in the other's armor. 'See how factories work the +babes, drive the women underground, ruin the race,' shout the squires. +'Vote for the land and starvation wages,' shout the mill-owners." + +"But does no one try to find the answer?" she asked timidly. "Try to +find out what is best for the people?" + +"Ah!" he rejoined, "if by the people you mean the lower classes, they +cry, 'Give us not bread, but votes!' And the squires say that that is +what the traders who have just got votes don't mean to give them; and +so, to divert their attention, dangle cheap bread before their noses!" + +Mary sighed. "I am afraid that I must give it up," she said. "I am so +ignorant." + +"Well," he replied thoughtfully. "Many are puzzled which side to take, +and are waiting to see how the cat jumps. In the meantime every fence +is placarded with 'Speed the Plough!' on one side, and 'The Big Loaf!' +on the other. The first man you meet thinks the landlord a devourer of +widows' houses; to the next the mill-owner is an ogre grinding men's +bones to make his bread. Even at the Gatehouse I doubt if you will +escape the excitement, though there is not a field of wheat within a +mile of it!" + +"To me it is like a new world," she said. + +"Then, when you are in the new world," he replied, smiling as he rose, +"do not forget Columbus! But here is the lad to tell you that your tea +is ready." + +He repented when Mary had left him that he had not made better use of +his time. It had been his purpose to make such an impression on the +girl as might be of use in the future, and he wondered why he had not +devoted himself more singly to this; why he had allowed minutes which +might have been given to intimate subjects to be wasted in a dry +discussion. But there was a quality in Mary that did not lightly +invite to gallantry--a gravity and a balance that, had he looked +closely into the matter, might have explained his laches. + +And in fact he had builded better than he knew, for while he +reproached himself, Mary, safe within the tiny bathing machine which +the packet company called a cabin, was giving much thought to him. The +dip-candle, set within a horn lantern, threw its light on the one +comfortable object, the tea-tray, seated beside which she reviewed +what had happened, and found it all interesting; his meeting with her, +his thought for her, the glimpses he had given her of things beyond +the horizon of the convent school, even his diversion into politics. +He was not on good terms with her uncle, and it was unlikely that she +would see more of him. But she was sure that she would always remember +his appearance on the threshold of her new life, that she would always +recall with gratitude this crossing and the kindness which had lapped +her about and saved her from loneliness. + +In her eyes he figured as one of the brilliant circle of the Hôtel +Lambert. For her he played a part in great movements and high +enterprises such as those which he had revealed to her. His light +treatment of them, his air of detachment, had, indeed, chilled her at +times; but these were perhaps natural in one who viewed from above and +from a distance the ills which it was his task to treat. How ignorant +he must think her! How remote from the plane on which he lived, the +standards by which he judged, the objects at which he aimed! Yet he +had stooped to explain things to her and to make them clear. + +She spent an hour deep in thought, and, strange as the life of the +ship was to her, she was deaf to the creaking of the timbers, and the +surge of the waves as they swept past the beam. At intervals hoarse +orders, a rush of feet across the deck, the more regular tramp of rare +passengers, caught her attention, only to lose it as quickly. It was +late when she roused herself. She saw that the candle was burning low, +and she began to make her arrangements for the night. + +Midway in them she paused, and colored, aware that she knew his tread +from the many that had passed. The footstep ceased. A hand tapped at +her door. "Yes?" she said. + +"We shall be in the river by daybreak," Audley announced. "I thought +that you might like to come on deck early. You ought not to miss the +river from the Nore to the Pool." + +"Thank you," she answered. + +"You shouldn't miss it," he persisted. "Greenwich especially!" + +"I shall be there," she replied. "It is very good of you. Good-night." + +He went away. After all, he was the only man on board shod like a +gentleman; it had been odd if she had not known his step! And for +going on deck early, why should she not? Was she to miss Greenwich +because Lord Audley went to a good bootmaker? + +So when Peter Basset, still pale and qualmish, came on deck in the +early morning, a little below the Pool, the first person he saw was +the girl whom he had come to escort. She was standing high above him +on the captain's bridge, her hands clasping the rail, her hair blown +about and shining golden in the sunshine. Lord Audley's stately form +towered above her. He was pointing out this and that, and they were +talking gaily; and now and again the captain spoke to them, and many +were looking at them. She did not see Basset; he was on the deck +below, standing amid the common crowd, and so he was free to look at +her as he pleased. He might be said not to have seen her before, and +what he saw now bewildered, nay, staggered him. Unwillingly, and to +please his uncle, he had come to meet a girl of whom they knew no more +than this, that, rescued from some backwater of Paris life, into which +a weak and shiftless father had plunged her, she had earned her +living, if she had earned it at all, in a dependent capacity. He had +looked to find her one of two things; either flashy and underbred, +with every fault an Englishman might consider French, or a nice +mixture of craft and servility. He had not been able to decide which +he would prefer. + +Instead he saw a girl tall, slender, and slow of movement, with eyes +set under a fine width of brow and grave when they smiled, a chin +fuller than perfect beauty required, a mouth a little large, a perfect +nose. Auburn hair, thick and waving, drooped over each temple, and +framed a face as calm as it was fair. "Surely a pearl found on a +midden!" he thought. And as the thought passed through his mind, Mary +looked down. Her eyes roved for a moment over the crowded deck, where +some, like Basset, returned her gaze with interest, while others +sought their baggage or bawled for missing companions. He was not a +man, it has been said, to stand out in a crowd, and her eyes travelled +over him without seeing him. Audley spoke to her, she lifted her eyes, +she looked ashore again. But the unheeding glance which had not +deigned to know him stung Basset! He dubbed her, with all her beauty, +proud and hard. Still--to be such and to have sprung from such a life! +It was marvellous. + +He knew nothing of the convent school with its hourly discipline +lasting through years. He did not guess that the obstinacy which had +been weakness in the father was strength in the child. Much less could +he divine that the improvidence of that father had become a beacon, +warning the daughter off the rocks which had been fatal to him! Mary +was no miracle, but neither was she proud or hard. + +They had passed Erith, and Greenwich with its stately pile and formal +gardens glittering in the sunshine of an April morning. The ripple of +a westerly wind, meeting the flood, silvered the turbid surface. A +hundred wherries skimmed like water-flies hither and thither, long +lines of colliers fringed the wharves, tall China clippers forged +slowly up under a scrap of foresail, dumb barges deep laden with hay +or Barclay's Entire, moved mysteriously with the tide. On all sides +hoarse voices bawled orders or objurgations. Charmed with the gayety, +the movement, the color, Mary could not take her eyes from the scene. +The sunshine, the leap of life, the pulse of spring, moved in her +blood and put to flight the fears that had weighed on her at +nightfall. She told herself with elation that this was England, this +was her native land, this was her home. + +Meanwhile Audley's mind took another direction. He reflected that in a +few minutes he must part from the girl, and must trust henceforth to +the impression he had made. For some hours he had scarcely given a +thought to Basset, but he recalled him now, and he searched for him in +the throng below. He found him at last, pressed against the rail +between a fat woman with a basket and a crying child. Their eyes met. +My lord glanced away, but he could not refrain from a smile as he +pictured the poor affair the other had made of his errand. And +Basset saw the smile and read its meaning, and though he was not +self--assertive, though he was, indeed, backward to a fault, anger ran +through his veins. To have travelled three hundred miles in order to +meet this girl, to have found her happy in another's company, and to +have accepted the second place--the position had vexed him even under +the qualms of illness. This morning, and since he had seen her, it +stirred in him an unwonted resentment. He d--d Audley under his +breath, disengaged himself from the basket which the fat woman was +thrusting into his ribs, lifted the child aside. He escaped below to +collect his effects. + +But in a short time he recovered his temper. When the boat began to go +about in the crowded Pool and Mary reluctantly withdrew her eyes from +the White Tower, darkened by the smoke and the tragedies of twenty +generations, she found him awaiting them at the foot of the ladder. He +was still pale, and the girl's conscience smote her. For many hours +she had not given him a thought. "I hope you are better," she said +gently. + +"Horrid thing, _mal de mer!_" remarked my lord, with a gleam of humor +in his eye. + +"Thank you, I am quite right this morning," Basset answered. + +"You go from Euston Grove, I suppose?" + +"Yes. The morning train starts in a little over an hour." + +No more was said, and they went ashore together. Audley, an old +traveller, and one whose height and presence gave weight to his +orders, saw to Mary's safety in the crowd, shielded her from touts and +tide-waiters, took the upper hand. He watched the aproned porters +disappearing with the baggage in the direction of the Custom House, +and a thought struck him. "I am sorry that my servant is not here," he +said. "He would see our things through without troubling us." His eyes +met Basset's. + +Basset disdained to refuse. "I will do it," he said. He received the +keys and followed the baggage. + +Audley looked at Mary and laughed. "I think you'll find him useful," +he said. "Takes a hint and is not too forward." + +"For shame!" she cried. "It is very good of him to go." But she could +not refrain from a smile. + +"Well trained," Audley continued in a whimsical tone, "fetches and +carries, barks at the name of Peel and growls at the name of Cobden, +gives up a stick when required, could be taught to beg--by the right +person." + +She laughed--she could not resist his manner. "But you are not very +kind," she said. "Please to call a--whatever we need. He shall not do +everything." + +"Everything?" Lord Audley echoed. "He should do nothing," in a lower +tone, "if I had my way." + +Mary blushed. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + FIELD AND FORGE + + +The window of the clumsy carriage was narrow, but Mary gazed through +it as if she could never see enough of the flying landscape, the +fields, the woods, the ivy-clad homes and red-roofed towns that passed +in procession before her. The emotions of those who journeyed for the +first time on a railway at a speed four times as great as that of the +swiftest High-flier that ever devoured the road are forgotten by this +generation. But they were vivid. The thing was a miracle. And though +by this time men had ceased to believe that he who passed through the +air at sixty miles an hour must of necessity cease to breathe, the +novice still felt that he could never tire of the panorama so swiftly +unrolled before him. + +And it was not only wonder, it was admiration that held Mary chained +to the window. Her infancy had been spent in a drab London street, her +early youth in the heart of a Paris which was still gloomy and +mediæval. Some beautiful things she had seen on fête days, the +bend of the river at Meudon or St. Germain, and once the Forest +of Fontainebleau; on Sundays the Bois. But the smiling English +meadows, the gray towers of village churches, the parks and lawns of +manor-houses, the canals with their lines of painted barges, and here +and there a gay packet boat--she drank in the beauty of these, and +more than once her eyes grew dim. For a time Basset, seated in the +opposite corner, did not exist for her; while he, behind the _Morning +Chronicle_, made his observations and took note of her at his leisure. +The longer he looked the more he marvelled. + +He asked himself with amusement what John Audley would think of her +when he, too, should see her. He anticipated the old man's surprise on +finding her so remote from their preconceived ideas of her. He +wondered what she would think of John Audley. + +And while he pondered, and now scanned his paper without reading it, +and now stole another glance at her, he steeled himself against her. +She might not have been to blame, it might not have been her fault; +but, between them, the two on the boat had put him in his place and he +could not forget it. He had cut a poor figure, and he resented it. He +foresaw that in the future she would be dependent on him for society, +and he would be a fool if he then forgot the lesson he had learned. +She had a good face, but probably her up-bringing had been anything +but good. Probably it had taught her to make the most of the moment +and of the man of the moment, and he would be foolish if he let her +amuse herself with him. He had seen in what light she viewed him when +other game was afoot, and he would deserve the worst if he did not +remember this. + +Presently an embankment cut off the view, and she withdrew her eyes +from the window. In her turn she took the measure of her companion. It +seemed to her that his face was too thoughtful for his years, and that +his figure was insignificant. The eye which had accustomed itself to +Lord Audley's port and air found Basset slight and almost mean. She +smiled as she recalled the skill with which my lord had set him aside +and made use of him. + +Still, he was a part of the life to which she was hastening, and +curiosity stirred in her. He was in possession, he was in close +relations with her uncle, he knew many things which she was anxious to +know. Much of her comfort might depend on him. Presently she asked him +what her uncle was like. + +"You will see for yourself in a few hours," he replied, his tone cold +and almost ungracious. "Did not Lord Audley describe him?" + +"No. And you seem," with a faint smile, "to be equally on your guard, +Mr. Basset." + +"Not at all," he retorted. "But I think it better to leave you to +judge for yourself. I have lived too near to Mr. Audley to--to +criticise him." + +She colored. + +"Let me give you one hint, however," he continued in the same dry +tone; "you will be wise not to mention Lord Audley to him. They are +not on good terms." + +"I am sorry." + +He shrugged his shoulders. "It cannot be said to be unnatural, after +what has happened." + +She considered this. "What has happened?" she asked after a pause. + +"Well, the claim to the peerage, if nothing else----" + +"What claim?" she asked. "Whose claim? What peerage? I am quite in the +dark." + +He stared. He did not believe her. "Your uncle's claim," he said +curtly. Then as she still looked a question, "You must know," he +continued, "that your uncle claimed the title which Lord Audley bears, +and the property which goes with it. And that the decision was only +given against him three months ago." + +"I know nothing of it," she said. "I never heard of the claim." + +"Really?" he replied. He hardly deigned to veil his incredulity. "Yet +if your uncle had succeeded you were the next heir." + +"I?" + +"Yes, you." + +Then her face shook his unbelief. She turned slowly and painfully red. +"Is it possible?" she said. "You are not playing with me?" + +"Certainly I am not. Do you mean that Lord Audley never told you that? +Never told you that you were interested?" + +"Never! He only told me that he was not on good terms with my uncle, +and that for that reason he would leave me to learn the rest at the +Gatehouse." + +"Well, that was right," Basset answered. "It is as well, since you +have to live with Mr. Audley, that you should not be prejudiced +against him." + +"No doubt," she said dryly. "But I do not understand why he did not +answer my letters." + +"Did you write to him?" + +"Twice." She was going to explain the circumstances, but she +refrained. Why appeal to the sympathies of one who seemed so cold, so +distant, so indifferent? + +"He cannot have had the letters," Basset decided after a pause. + +"Then how did he come to write to me at last?" + +"Lord Audley sent your address to him." + +"Ah!" she said. "I supposed so." With an air of finality she turned to +the window, and for some time she was silent. Her mind had much upon +which to work. + +She was silent for so long that before more was said they were running +through the outskirts of Birmingham, and Mary awoke with a shock to +another and sadder side of England. In place of parks and homesteads +she saw the England of the workers--workers at that time exploited to +the utmost in pursuance of a theory of economy that heeded only the +wealth of nations, and placed on that wealth the narrowest meaning. +They passed across squalid streets, built in haste to meet the needs +of new factories, under tall chimneys the smoke of which darkened the +sky without hindrance, by vile courts, airless and almost sunless. +They looked down on sallow children whose only playground was the +street and whose only school-bell was the whistle that summoned them +at dawn to premature toil. Haggard women sat on doorsteps with puling +babes in their arms. Lines of men, whose pallor peered through the +grime, propped the walls, or gazed with apathy at the train. For a few +minutes Mary forgot not only her own hopes and fears, but the +aloofness and even the presence of her companion. When they came to a +standstill in the station, where they had to change on to the Grand +Junction Railway, Basset had to speak twice before she understood that +he wished her to leave the carriage. + +"What a dreadful place!" she exclaimed. + +"Well, it is not beautiful," Basset admitted. "One does not look for +beauty in Birmingham and the Black Country." + +He got her some tea, and marshalled her carefully to the upper line. +But his answer had jarred upon her, and when they were again seated, +Mary kept her thoughts to herself. Beyond Birmingham their route +skirted towns rather than passed through them, but she saw enough to +deepen the impression which the lanes and alleys of that place had +made upon her. The sun had set and the cold evening light revealed in +all their meanness the rows of naked cottages, the heaps of slag and +cinders, the starveling horses that stood with hanging heads on the +dreary lands. As darkness fell, fires shone out here and there, and +threw into Dantesque relief the dark forms of half-naked men toiling +with fury to feed the flames. The change which an hour had made in all +she saw seemed appalling to the girl; it filled her with awe and +sadness. Here, so near the paradise of the country and the plough, was +the Inferno of the town, the forge, the pit! Here, in place of the +thatched cottage and the ruddy faces, were squalor and sunken cheeks +and misery and dearth. + +She thought of the question which Lord Audley had raised twenty-four +hours before, and which he had told her was racking the minds of +men--should food be taxed? And she fancied that there was, there could +be, but one answer. These toiling masses, these slaves of the hammer +and the pick, must be fed, and, surely, so fed that a margin, however +small, however meagre, might be saved out of which to better their +sordid lot. + +"We call this the Black Country," Basset explained, feeling the +silence irksome. After all, she was in his charge, in a way she was +his guest. He ought to amuse her. + +"It is well named," she answered. "Is there anything in England worse +than this?" + +"Well, round Hales Owen and Dudley," he rejoined, "it may be worse. +And at Cradley Heath it may be rougher. More women and children are +employed in the pits; and where women make chains--well, it's pretty +bad." + +She had spoken dryly to hide her feelings. He replied in a tone as +matter-of-fact, through lack of feeling. For this he was not so much +to blame as she fancied, for that which horrified her was to him an +everyday matter, one of the facts of life with which he had been +familiar from boyhood. But she did not understand this. She judged him +and condemned him. She did not speak again. + +By and by, "We shall be at Penkridge in twenty minutes," he said. +"After that a nine-miles drive will take us to the Gatehouse, and your +journey will be over. But I fear that you will find the life quiet +after Paris." + +"I was very quiet in Paris." + +"But you were in a large house." + +"I was at the Princess Czartoriski's." + +"Of course. I suppose it was there that you met Lord Audley?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, after that kind of life, I am afraid that the Gatehouse will +have few charms for you. It is very remote, very lonely." + +She cut him short with impatience, the color rising to her face. "I +thought you understood," she said, "that I was in the Princess's house +as a governess? It was my business to take care of a number of +children, to eat with them, to sleep with them, to see that they +washed their hands and kept their hair clean. That was my position, +Mr. Basset. I do not wish it to be misunderstood." + +"But if that were so," he stammered, "how did you----" + +"Meet Lord Audley," she replied. "Very simply. Once or twice the +Princess ordered me to descend to the salon to interpret. On one of +these occasions Lord Audley saw me and learned--who I was." + +"Indeed," he said. "I see." Perhaps he had had it in his mind to test +her and the truth of Audley's letter, which nothing in her or in my +lord's conduct seemed to confirm. He did not know if this had been in +his mind, but in any case the result silenced him. She was either very +honest or very clever. Many girls, he knew, would have slurred over +the facts, and not a few would have boasted of the Princess's +friendship and the Princess's society, and the Princess's hôtel, and +brought up her name a dozen times a day. + +She is very clever, he thought, or she is--good. But for the moment he +steeled himself against the latter opinion. + +No other travellers alighted at Penkridge, and he went away to claim +the baggage, while she waited, cold and depressed, on the little +platform which, lit by a single oil lamp, looked down on a dim +churchyard. Dusk was passing into night, and the wind, sweeping across +the flat, whipped her skirts and chilled her blood. Her courage sank. +A light or two betrayed the nearness of the town, but in every other +direction dull lines of willows or pale stretches of water ran into +the night. + +Five minutes before she had resented Basset's company, now she was +glad to see him return. He led the way to the road in silence. "The +carriage is late," he muttered, but even as he spoke the quick tramp +of a pair of horses pushed to speed broke on them, lights appeared, a +moment later a fly pulled up beside them and turned. "You are late," +Basset said. + +"There!" the man replied. "Minutes might be guineas since trains came +in, dang 'em! Give me the days when five minutes made neither man nor +mouse, and gentry kept their own time." + +"Well, let us get off now." + +"I ask no better, Squire. Please yourself and you'll please me." + +When they were shut in, Basset laughed. "Stafford manners!" he said. +"You'll become used to them!" + +"Is this my uncle's carriage?" she asked. + +"No," he replied, smiling in the darkness. "He does not keep one." + +She said no more. Though she could not see him, her shoulder touched +his, and his nearness and the darkness in which they sat troubled her, +though she was not timid. They rode thus for a minute or two, then +trundled through a narrow street, dimly lit by shop windows; again +they were in the dark and the country. Presently the pace dropped to a +walk as they began to ascend. + +She fancied, peering out on her side, that they were winding up +through woods. Branches swept the sides of the carriage. They jolted +into ruts and jolted out of them. By and by they were clear of the +trees and the road seemed to be better. The moon, newly risen, showed +her a dreary upland, bare and endless, here dotted with the dark +stumps of trees, there of a deeper black as if fire had swept over it +and scarred it. They met no one, saw no sign of habitation. To the +girl, accustomed all her life to streets and towns, the place seemed +infinitely desolate--a place of solitude and witches and terror and +midnight murder. + +"What is this?" she asked, shivering. + +"This is the Great Chase," he said. "Riddsley, on the farther side, is +our nearest town, but since the railway was opened we use Penkridge +Station." + +His practical tone steadied her, but she was tired, and the loneliness +which she had felt while she waited on the bleak platform weighed +heavily on her. To what was she going? How would her uncle receive +her? This dreary landscape, the gaunt signpost that looked like a +gibbet and might have been one, the skeleton trees that raised bare +arms to heaven, the scream of a dying rabbit, all added to the +depression of the moment. She was glad when at last the carriage +stopped at a gate. Basset alighted and opened the gate. He stepped in +again, they went on. There were now shadowy trees about them, sparsely +set. They jolted unevenly over turf. + +"Are we there?" she asked, a tremor in her voice. + +"Very nearly," he said. "Another mile and we shall be there. This is +Beaudelays Park." + +She called pride to her aid, and he did not guess--for all day he had +marked her self-possession--that she was trembling. Vainly she told +herself that she was foolish, that nothing could happen to her, +nothing that mattered. What, after all, was a cold reception, what was +her uncle's frown beside the poverty and the hazards from which she +had escaped? Vainly she reassured herself; she could not still the +rapid beating of her heart. + +He might have said a word to cheer her. But he did not know that she +was suffering, and he said no word. She came near to hating him for +his stolidity and his silence. He was inhuman! A block! + +She peered through the misty glass, striving to see what was before +them. But she could make out no more than the dark limbs of trees, and +now and then a trunk, which shone as the light of the lamp slipped +over it, and as quickly vanished. Suddenly they shot from turf to hard +road, passed through an open gateway, for an instant the lamp on her +side showed a grotesque pillar--they wheeled, they stopped. Within a +few feet of her a door stood open, and in the doorway a girl held a +lantern aloft in one hand, and with the other screened her eyes from +the light. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + MR. JOHN AUDLEY + + +An hour later Basset was seated on one side of a wide hearth, +on the other John Audley faced him. The library in which they sat was +the room which Basset loved best in the world. It was a room of +silence and large spaces, and except where four windows, tall and +narrow, broke one wall, it was lined high with the companions of +silence--books. The ceiling was of black oak, adorned at the crossings +of the joists and beams with emblems, butterflies, and Stafford knots +and the like, once bright with color, and still soberly rich. A +five-sided bay enlarged each of the two inner corners of the +room and broke the outlines. One of these bays shrined a window, +four-mullioned, the other a spiral staircase. An air of comfort and +stateliness pervaded the whole; here the great scutcheon over the +mantel, there the smaller coats on the chair-backs blended their or +and gules with the hues of old rugs and the dun bindings of old +folios. There were books on the four or five tables, and books on the +Cromwell chairs; and charts and deeds, antique weapons and silver +pieces, all the tools and toys of the antiquary, lay broadcast. +Against the door hung a blazoned pedigree of the Audleys of +Beaudelays. It was six feet long and dull with age. + +But Basset, as he faced his companion, was not thinking of the room, +or of the pursuits with which it was connected in his mind, and which, +more than affection and habit, bound him to John Audley. He moved +restlessly in his chair, then stretched his legs to meet the glow of +the wood fire. "All the same," he said, "I think you would have done +well to see her to-night, sir." + +"Pooh! pooh!" John Audley answered with lazy good humor. "Why? It +doesn't matter what I think of her or she thinks of me. It's what +Peter thinks of Mary and Mary thinks of Peter that matters. That's +what matters!" He chuckled as he marked the other's annoyance. "She is +a beauty, is she?" + +"I didn't say so." + +"But you think it. You don't deceive me at this time of day. And +stand-off, is she? That's for the marines and innocent young fellows +like you who think women angels. I'll be bound that she's her mother's +daughter, and knows her value and will see that she fetches it! +Trading blood will out!" + +To the eye that looked and glanced away John Audley, lolling in his +chair, in a quilted dressing-gown with silk facings, was a plump and +pleasant figure. His face was fresh-colored, and would have been +comely if the cheeks had not been a little pendulous. His hair was +fine and white and he wore it long, and his hands were shapely and +well cared for. As he said his last word he poured a little brandy +into a glass and filled it up with water. "Here's to the wooing that's +not long adoing!" he said, his eyes twinkling. He seemed to take a +pleasure in annoying the other. + +He was so far successful that Basset swore softly. "It's silly to talk +like that," he said, "when I have hardly known the girl twenty-four +hours and have scarcely said ten times as many words to her." + +"But you're going to say a good many more words to her!" Audley +retorted, grinning. "Sweet, pretty words, my boy! But there, there," +he continued, veering between an elfish desire to tease and a desire +equally strong to bring the other to his way of thinking. "I'm only +joking. I know you'll never let that devil have his way! You'll never +leave the course open for _him!_ I know that. But there's no hurry! +There's no hurry. Though, lord, how I sweated when I read his letter! +I had never a wink of sleep the night after." + +"I don't suppose that he's given a thought to her in that way," Basset +answered. "Why should he?" + +John Audley leant forward, and his face underwent a remarkable change. +It became a pale, heavy mask, out of which his eyes gleamed, small and +malevolent. "Don't talk like a fool!" he said harshly. "Of course he +means it. And if she's fool enough all my plans, all my pains, all my +rights--and once you come to your senses and help me I shall have my +rights--all, all, all will go for nothing. For nothing!" He sank back +in his chair. "There! now you've excited me. You've excited me, and +you know that I can't bear excitement!" His hand groped feebly for his +glass, and he raised it to his lips. He gasped once or twice. The +color came back to his face. + +"I am sorry," Basset said. + +"Ay, ay. But be a good lad. Be a good lad. Make up your mind to help +me at the Great House." + +Basset shook his head. + +"To help me, and twenty-four hours--only twenty-four hours, man--may +make all the difference! All the difference in the world to me." + +"I have told you my views about it," Basset said doggedly. He shifted +uneasily in his chair. "I cannot do it, sir, and I won't." + +John Audley groaned. "Well, well!" he answered. "I'll say no more now. +I'll say no more now. When you and she have made it up"--in vain +Basset shook his head--"you'll see the question in another light. Ay, +believe me, you will. It'll be your business then, and your interest, +and nothing venture, nothing win! You'll see it differently. You'll +help the old man to his rights then." + +Basset shrugged his shoulders, but thought it useless to protest. The +other sighed once or twice and was silent also. At length, "You never +told me that you had heard from her," Basset said. + +"That I'd----" John Audley broke off. "What is it, Toft?" he asked +over his shoulder. + +A man-servant, tall, thin, lantern-jawed, had entered unseen. "I came +to see if you wanted anything more, sir?" he said. + +"Nothing, nothing, Toft. Good-night!" He spoke impatiently, and he +watched the man out before he went on. Then, "Perhaps I heard from +her, perhaps I didn't," he said. "It's some time ago. What of it?" + +"She was in great distress when she wrote." + +John Audley raised his eyebrows. "What of it!" he repeated. +"She was that woman's daughter. When Peter married a tradesman's +daughter--married a----" He did not continue. His thoughts trickled +away into silence. The matter was not worthy of his attention. + +But by and by he roused himself. "You've ridiculous scruples," he +said. "Absurd scruples. But," briskly, "there's that much of good in +this girl that I think she'll put an end to them. You must brighten +up, my lad, and spark it a little! You're too grave." + +"Damn!" said Basset. "For God's sake, don't begin it all again. I've +told you that I've not the least intention----" + +"She'll see to that if she's what I think her," John Audley retorted +cheerfully. "If she's her mother's daughter! But very well, very well! +We'll change the subject. I've been working at the Feathers--the +Prince's Feathers." + +"Have you gone any farther?" Basset asked, forcing an interest which +would have been ready enough at another time. + +"I might have, but I had a visitor." + +Visitors were rare at the Gatehouse, and Basset wondered. "Who was +it?" he asked. + +"Bagenal the maltster from Riddsley. He came about some political +rubbish. Some trouble they are having with Mottisfont. D--n +Mottisfont! What do I care about him? They think he isn't running +straight--that he's going in for corn-law repeal. And Bagenal and the +other fools think that that will be the ruin of the town." + +"But Mottisfont is a Tory," Basset objected. + +"So is Peel. They are both in Bagenal's bad books. Bagenal is sure +that Peel is going back to the cotton people he came from. Spinning +Jenny spinning round again!" + +"I see." + +"I asked him," Audley continued, rubbing his knees with sly enjoyment, +"what Stubbs the lawyer was doing about it. He's the party manager. +Why didn't he come to me?" + +Basset smiled. "What did he say to that?" + +"Hummed and hawed. At last he said that owing to Stubbs's connection +with--you know who--it was thought that he was not the right person to +come to me. So I asked him what Stubbs's employer was going to do +about it." + +"Ah!" + +"He didn't know what to say to that, the ass! Thought I should go the +other way, you see. So I told him"--John Audley laughed maliciously as +he spoke--"that, for the landed interest, the law had taken away my +land, and, for politics, I would not give a d--n for either party in a +country where men did not get their rights! Lord! how he looked!" + +"Well, you didn't hide your feelings." + +"Why should I?" John Audley asked cheerfully. "What will they do for +me? Nothing. Will they move a finger to right me? No. Then a plague on +both their houses!" He snapped his fingers in schoolboy fashion and +rose to his feet. He lit a candle, taking a light from the fire with a +spill. "I am going to bed now, Peter. Unless----" he paused, the +candlestick in his hand, and gazed fixedly at his companion. "Lord, +man, what we could do in two or three hours! In two or three hours. +This very night!" + +"I've told you that I will have nothing to do with it!" Basset +repeated. + +John Audley sighed, and removing his eyes, poked the wick of the +candle with the snuffers. "Well," he said, "good-night. We must look +to bright eyes and red lips to convert you. What a man won't do for +another he will do for himself, Peter. Good-night." + +Left alone, Basset stared fretfully at the fire. It was not the first +time by scores that John Audley had tried him and driven him almost +beyond bearing. But habit is a strong tie, and a common taste is a +bond even stronger. In this room, and from the elder man, Basset had +learned to trace a genealogy, to read a coat, to know a bar from a +bend, to discourse of badges and collars under the guidance of the +learned Anstie or the ingenious Le Neve. There he had spent hours +flitting from book to book and chart to chart in the pursuit, as +thrilling while it lasted as any fox-chase, of some family link, the +origin of this, the end of that, a thing of value only to those who +sought it, but to them all-important. He could recall many a day so +spent while rain lashed the tall mullioned windows or sunlight flooded +the window-seat in the bay; and these days had endeared to him every +nook in the library from the folio shelves in the shadowy corner under +the staircase to the cosey table near the hearth which was called "Mr. +Basset's," and enshrined in a long drawer a tree of the Bassets of +Blore. + +For he as well as Audley came of an ancient and shrunken stock. He +also could count among his forbears men who had fought at Blore Heath +and Towton, or had escaped by a neck from the ruin of the Gunpowder +Plot. So he had fallen early under the spell of the elder man's +pursuits, and, still young, had learned from him to live in the past. +Later the romantic solitude of the Gatehouse, where he had spent more +of the last six years than in his own house at Blore, had confirmed +him in the habit. + +Under the surface, however, the two men remained singularly unlike. +While a fixed idea had narrowed John Audley's vision to the inhuman, +the younger man, under a dry and reserved exterior--he was shy, and +his undrained acres, his twelve hundred a year, poorly supported an +ancient name--was not only human, but in his way was something of an +idealist. He dreamed dreams, he had his secret aspirations, at times +ambition of the higher kind stirred in him, he planned plans and +another life than this. But always--this was a thing inbred in him--he +put forward the commonplace, as the cuttle-fish sheds ink, and hid +nothing so shyly as the visions which he had done nothing to make +real. On those about him he made no deep impression, though from one +border of Staffordshire to the other his birth won respect. Politics +viewed as a game, and a selfish game, had no attraction for him. +Quarter Sessions and the Bench struck no spark from him. At the Races +and the County Ball richer men outshone him. But given something to +touch his heart and fire his ambition, he had qualities. He might +still show himself in another light. + +Something of this, for no reason that he could imagine, some feeling +of regret for past opportunities, passed through his mind as he sat +fretting over John Audley's folly. But after a time he roused himself +and became aware that he was tired; and he rose and lit a candle. He +pushed back the smouldering logs and slowly and methodically he put +out the lights. He gave a last thought to John Audley. "There was +always one maggot in his head," he muttered, "now there's a second. +What I would not do to please him, he thinks I shall do to please +another! Well, he does not know her yet!" + +He went to bed. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + THE GATEHOUSE + + +It is within the bounds of imagination that death may make no greater +change in our inner selves than is wrought at times by a new mood or +another outlook. When Mary, an hour before the world was astir on the +morning after her arrival, let herself out of the Gatehouse, and from +its threshold as from a ledge saw the broad valley of the Trent +stretched before her in all the beauty of a May morning, her alarm of +the past night seemed incredible. At her feet a sharp slope, clothed +in gorse and shrub, fell away to meet the plain. It sank no more than +a couple of hundred feet, but this was enough to enable her to follow +the silver streak of the river winding afar between park and coppice +and under many a church tower. Away to the right she could see the +three graceful spires of Lichfield, and southward, where an opal haze +closed the prospect, she could imagine the fringe of the Black +Country, made beautiful by distance. + +In sober fact few parts of England are less inviting than the low +lands of Staffordshire, when the spring floods cover them or the fogs +of autumn cling to the cold soil. But in spring, when larks soar above +them and tall, lop-sided elms outline the fields, they have their +beauty; and Mary gazed long at the fair prospect before she turned her +back on it and looked at the house that was fated to be her home. + +It was what its name signified, a gatehouse; yet by turns it could be +a sombre and a charming thing. Some Audley of noble ideas, a man long +dead, had built it to be the entrance to his demesne. The park wall, +overhung by trees, still ran right and left from it, but the road +which had once passed through the archway now slid humbly aside and +entered the park by a field gate. A wide-latticed Tudor tower, rising +two stories above the arch and turreted at the four corners, formed +the middle. It was buttressed on either hand by a lower building, +flush with it and of about the same width. The tower was of yellowish +stone, the wings were faced with stained stucco. Right and left of the +whole a plot of shrubs masked on the one hand the stables, on the +other the kitchens--modern blocks set back to such a distance that +each touched the old part at a corner only. + +He who had planned the building had set it cunningly on the brow of +the Great Chase, so that, viewed from the vale, it rose against the +skyline. On dark days it broke the fringe of woodland and stood up, +gloomy and forbidding, the portal of a Doubting Castle. On bright +days, with its hundred diamond panes a-glitter in the sunshine, it +seemed to be the porch of a fairy palace, the silent home of some +Sleeping Beauty. At all times it imposed itself upon men below and +spoke of something beyond, something unseen, greater, mysterious. + +To Mary Audley, who saw it at its best, the very stains of the plaster +glorified by the morning light, it was a thing of joy. She fancied +that to live behind those ancient mullioned windows, to look out +morning and evening on that spacious landscape, to feel the bustle of +the world so remote, must in itself be happiness. For a time she could +not turn from it. + +But presently the desire to explore her new surroundings seized her +and she re-entered the house. A glance at the groined roof of the +hall--many a gallant horseman had ridden under it in his time--proved +that it was merely the archway closed and fitted with a small door and +window at either end. She unlocked the farther door and passed into a +paved court, in which the grass grew between the worn flags. In the +stables on the left a dog whined. The kitchens were on the other hand, +and before her an opening flanked by tall heraldic beasts broke a low +wall, built of moss-grown brick. She ventured through it and uttered a +cry of delight. + +Near at hand, under cover of a vast chestnut tree, were traces of +domestic labor: a grindstone, a saw-pit, a woodpile, coops with +clucking hens. But beyond these the sward, faintly lined at first with +ruts, stretched away into forest glades, bordered here by giant oaks +brown in bud, there by the yellowish-green of beech trees. In the +foreground lay patches of gorse, and in places an ancient thorn, riven +and half prostrate, crowned the russet of last year's bracken with a +splash of cream. Heedless of the spectator, rabbits sat making their +toilet, and from every brake birds filled the air with a riot of song. + +To one who had seen little but the streets of Paris, more sordid then +than now, the scene was charming. Mary's eyes filled, her heart +swelled. Ah, what a home was here! She had espied on her journey many +a nook and sheltered dell, but nothing that could vie with this! +Heedless of her thin shoes, with no more than a handkerchief on her +head, she strayed on and on. By and by a track, faintly marked, led +her to the left. A little farther, and old trees fell into line on +either hand, as if in days long gone, before age thinned their ranks, +they had formed an avenue. + +For a time she sat musing on a fallen trunk, then the hawthorn that a +few paces away perfumed the spring air moved her to gather an armful +of it. She forgot that time was passing, almost she forgot that she +had not breakfasted, and she might have been nearly a mile from the +Gatehouse when she was startled by a faint hail that seemed to come +from behind her. She looked back and saw Basset coming after her. + +He, too, was hatless--he had set off in haste--and he was out of +breath. She turned with concern to meet him. "Am I very late, Mr. +Basset?" she asked, her conscience pricking her. What if this first +morning she had broken the rules? + +"Oh no," he said. And then, "You've not been farther than this?" + +"No. I am afraid my uncle is waiting?" + +"Oh no. He breakfasts in his own room. But Etruria told me that +you had gone this way, and I followed. I see that you are not +empty-handed." + +"No." And she thrust the great bunch of may under his nose--who would +not have been gay, who would not have lost her reserve in such a +scene, on such a morning? "Isn't it fresh? Isn't it delicious?" + +As he stooped to the flowers his eyes met hers smiling through the +hawthorn sprays, and he saw her as he had not seen her before. Her +gravity had left her. Spring laughed in her eyes, youth fluttered in +the tendrils of her hair, she was the soul of May. And what she had +found of beauty in the woodland, of music in the larks' songs, of +perfume in the blossoms, of freshness in the morning, the man found in +her; and a shock, never to be forgotten, ran through him. He did not +speak. He smelled the hawthorn in silence. + +But a few seconds later--as men reckon time--he took note of his +feelings, and he was startled. He had not been prepared to like her, +we know; many things had armed him against her. But before the +witchery of her morning face, the challenge of her laughing eyes, he +awoke to the fact that he was in danger. He had to own that if he must +live beside her day by day and would maintain his indifference, he +must steel himself. He must keep his first impressions of her always +before him, and be careful. And be very careful--if even that might +avail. + +For a hundred paces he walked at her side, listening without knowing +what she said. Then his coolness returned, and when she asked him why +he had come after her without his hat he was ready. + +"I had better tell you," he answered, "this path is little used. It +leads to the Great House, and your uncle, owing to his quarrel with +Lord Audley, does not like any one to go farther in that direction +than the Yew Tree Walk. You can see the Walk from here--the yews mark +the entrance to the gardens. I thought that it would be unfortunate if +you began by displeasing him, and I came after you." + +"It was very good of you," she said. Her face was not gay now. "Does +Lord Audley live there--when he is at home?" + +"No one lives there," he explained soberly. "No one has lived there +for three generations. It's a ruin--I was going to say, a nightmare. +The greater part of the house was burnt down in a carouse held to +celebrate the accession of George the Third. The Audley of that day +rebuilt it on a great scale, but before it was finished he gave a +housewarming, at which his only son quarrelled with a guest. The two +fought at daybreak, and the son was killed beside the old Butterfly in +the Yew Walk--you will see the spot some day. The father sent away the +builders and never looked up again. He diverted much of his property, +and a cousin came into the remainder and the title, but the house was +never finished, the windows in the new part were never glazed. In the +old part some furniture and tapestry decay; in the new are only bats +and dust and owls. So it has stood for eighty years, vacant in the +midst of neglected gardens. In the sunlight it is one of the most +dreary things you can imagine. By moonlight it is better, but +unspeakably melancholy." + +"How dreadful," she said in a low voice. "I almost wish, Mr. Basset, +that you had not told me. They say in France that if you see the dead +without touching them, you dream of them. I feel like that about the +house." + +It crossed his mind that she was talking for effect. "It is only a +house after all," he said. + +"But our house," with a touch of pride. Then, "What are those?" +she asked, pointing to the gray shapeless beasts, time-worn and +weather-stained, that flanked the entrance to the courtyard. + +"They are, or once were, Butterflies, the badge of the Audleys. These +hold shields. You will see the Butterflies in many places in the +Gatehouse. You will find them with men's faces and sometimes with a +fret on the wings. Your uncle says that they are not butterflies, but +moths, that have eaten the Audley fortunes." + +It was a thought that matched the picture he had drawn of the deserted +house, and Mary felt that the morning had lost its brightness. But not +for long. Basset led her into a room on the right of the hall, and the +sight drew from her a cry of pleasure. On three sides the dark +wainscot rose eight feet from the floor; above, the walls were +whitewashed to the ceiling and broken by dim portraits, on stretchers +and without frames. On the fourth side where the panelling divided the +room from a serving-room, once part of it, it rose to the ceiling. The +stone hearth, the iron dogs, the matted floor, the heavy chairs and +oak table, all were dark and plain and increased the austerity of the +room. + +At the end of the table places were laid for three, and Toft, who had +set on the breakfast, was fixing the kettle amid the burning logs. + +"Is Mr. Audley coming down?" Basset asked. + +"He bade me lay for him," Toft replied dryly. "I doubt if he will +come. You had better begin, sir. The young lady," with a searching +look at her, "must want her breakfast." + +"I am afraid I do," Mary confessed. + +"Yes, we will begin," Basset said. He invited her to make the tea. + +When they were seated, "You like the room?" + +"I love it," she answered. + +"So do I," he rejoined, more soberly. "The panelling is linen--pattern +of the fifteenth century--you see the folds? It was saved from the old +house. I am glad you like it." + +"I love it," she said again. But after that she grew thoughtful, and +during the rest of the meal she said little. She was thinking of what +was before her; of the unknown uncle, whose bread she was eating, and +upon whom she was going to be dependent. What would he be like? How +would he receive her? And why was every one so reticent about him--so +reticent that he was beginning to be something of an ogre to her? When +Toft presently appeared and said that Mr. Audley was in the library +and would see her when she was ready, she lost color. But she answered +the man with self-possession, asked quietly where the library was, and +had not Basset's eyes been on her face he would have had no notion +that she was troubled. + +As it was, he waited for her to avow her misgiving--he was prepared to +encourage her. But she said nothing. + +None the less, at the last moment, with her hand on the door of the +library, she hesitated. It was not so much fear of the unknown +relative whom she was going to see that drove the blood from her +cheek, as the knowledge that for her everything depended upon him. Her +new home, its peace, its age, its woodland surroundings, fascinated +her. It promised her not only content, but happiness. But as her stay +in it hung upon John Audley's will, so her pleasure in it, and her +enjoyment of it, depended upon the relations between them. What would +they be? How would he receive her? What would he be like? At last she +called up her courage, turned the handle, and entered the library. + +For a moment she saw no one. The great room, with its distances and +its harmonious litter, appeared to be empty. Then, "Mary, my dear," +said a pleasant voice, "welcome to the Gatehouse!" And John Audley +rose from his seat at a distant table and came towards her. + +The notion which she had formed of him vanished in a twinkling, and +with it her fears. She saw before her an elderly gentleman, plump +and kindly, who walked with a short tripping step, and wore the +swallow-tailed coat with gilt buttons which the frock-coat had +displaced. He took her hand with a smile, kissed her on the forehead, +and led her to a chair placed beside his own. He sat for a moment +holding her hand and looking at her. + +"Yes, I see the likeness," he said, after a moment's contemplation. +"But, my dear, how is this? There are tears in your eyes, and you +tremble." + +"I think," she said, "I was a little afraid of you, sir." + +"Well, you are not afraid now," he replied cheerfully. "And you won't +be again. You won't be again. My dear, welcome once more to the +Gatehouse. I hope that it may be your home until another is offered +you. Things came between your father and me--I shall never mention +them again, and don't you, my dear!"--this a little hurriedly--"don't +you; all that is buried now, and I must make it up to you. Your +letters?" he continued, patting her hand. "Yes, Peter told me that you +wrote to me. I need not say that I never had them. No, never had +them--Toft, what is it?" + +The change in his voice struck her. The servant had come in quietly. +"Mr. Basset, sir, has lost----" + +"Another time!" John Audley replied curtly. "Another time! I am +engaged now. Go!" Then when the door had closed behind the servant, +"No, my dear," he continued, "I need not say that I never had them, so +that I first heard of your troubles through a channel upon which I +will not dwell. However, many good things come by bad ways, Mary. I +hope you like the Gatehouse?" + +"It is charming!" she cried with enthusiasm. + +"It has only one drawback," he said. + +She was clever enough to understand that he referred to its owner, and +to escape from the subject. "This room," she said, "is perfection. I +have never seen anything like it, sir." + +"It is a pleasant room," he said, looking round him. "There is our +coat over the mantel, gules, a fret or; like all old coats, very +simple. Some think it is the Lacy Knot; the Audley of Edward the +First's time married a Lacy. But we bore our old coat of three +Butterflies later than that, for before the fall of Roger Mortimer, +who was hung at Tyburn, he married his daughter to an Audley, and the +escheaters found the wedding chamber in his house furnished with our +Butterflies. Later the Butterfly survived as our badge. You see it +there!" he continued, pointing it out among the mouldings of the +ceiling. "There is the Stafford Knot, the badge of the great Dukes of +Buckingham, the noblest of English families; it is said that the last +of the line, a cobbler, died at Newport, not twenty miles from here. +We intermarried with them, and through them with Peter's people, the +Bassets. That is the Lovel Wolf, and there is the White Wolf of the +Mortimers--all badges. But you do not know, I suppose, what a badge +is?" + +"I am afraid not," she said, smiling. "But I am as proud of our +Butterfly, and as proud to be an Audley, sir, as if I knew more." + +"Peter must give you some lessons in heraldry," he answered. "We live +in the past here, my dear, and we must indoctrinate you with a love of +our pursuits or you will be dull." He paused to consider. "I am afraid +that we cannot allot you a drawing-room, but you must make your room +upstairs as comfortable as you can. Etruria will see to that. And +Peter shall arrange a table for you in the south bay here, and it +shall be your table and your bay. That is his table; this is mine. We +are orderly, and so we do not get in one another's way." + +She thanked him gratefully, and with tears in her eyes, she said +something to which he would not listen--he only patted her hand--as to +his kindness, his great kindness, in receiving her. She could not, +indeed, put her relief into words, so deep was it. Nowhere, she felt, +could life be more peaceful or more calm than in this room which no +sounds of the outer world except the songs of birds, no sights save +the swaying of branches disturbed; where the blazoned panes cast their +azure and argent on lines of russet books, where an aged hound +sprawled before the embers, and the measured tick of the clock alone +vied with the scratching of the pen. She saw herself seated there +during drowsy summer days, or when firelight cheered the winter +evenings. She saw herself sewing beside the hearth while her +companions worked, each within his circle of light. + +Then, she also was an Audley. She also had her share in the race which +had lived long on this spot. Already she was fired with the desire to +know more of them, and that flame John Audley was well fitted to fan. +For he was not of the school of dry-as-dust antiquaries. He had the +knack of choosing the picturesque in story, he could make it stand out +for others, he could impart life to the actors in it. And, anxious to +captivate Mary, he bent himself for nearly an hour to the display of +his knowledge. Taking for his text one or other of the objects about +him, he told her of great castles, from which England had been ruled, +and through which the choicest life of the country had passed, that +now were piles of sherds clothed with nettles. He told her of that +woodland country on the borders of three counties, where the papists +had long lived undisturbed and where the Gunpowder Plot had had its +centre. He told her of the fashion which came in with Richard the +Second, of adorning the clothes with initials, reading and writing +having become for the first time courtly accomplishments; and to +illustrate this he showed her the Westminster portrait of Richard in a +robe embroidered with letters of R. He quoted Chaucer: + + + And thereon hung a broch of gold ful schene + On which was first i-written a crowned A + And after that, Amor vincit omnia. + + +Then, turning his back on her, he produced from some secret place a +key, and opening a masked cupboard in the wall, he held out for her +inspection a small bowl, bent and mis-shapen by use, and supported by +two fragile butterflies. The whole was of silver so thin that to +modern eyes it seemed trivial. Traces of gilding lingered about some +parts of it, and on each of the wings of the butterflies was a capital +A. + +She was charmed. "Of all your illustrations," she cried, "I prefer +this one! It is very old, I suppose?" + +"It is of the fifteenth century," he said, turning it about. "We +believe that it was made for the Audley who fell early in the Wars of +the Roses. Pages and knights, maids and matrons, gloves of silk and +gloves of mail, wrinkled palms and babies' fingers, the men, the +women, the children of twelve generations of our race, my dear, have +handled this. Once, according to an old inventory, there were six; +this one alone remains." + +"It must be very rare?" she said, her eyes sparkling. + +"It is very rare," he said, and he handled it as if he loved it. He +had not once allowed it to go out of his fingers. "Very rare. I doubt +if, apart from the City Companies, there is another in the hands of +the original owners." + +"And it came to you by descent, sir?" + +He paused in the act of returning it to its hiding-place. "Yes, that +is how it came to me," he said in a muffled tone. But he seemed to be +a long time putting it away; and when he turned with the key in his +hand his face was altered, and he looked at her--well, had she done +anything to anger him, she would have thought he was angry. "To whom +besides me could it descend!" he asked, his voice raised a tone. "But +there, I must not grow excited. I think--I think you had better go +now. Go, my dear, now. But come back presently." + +Mary went. But the change in tone and face had been such as to startle +her and to dash the happy mood of a few moments earlier. She wondered +what she had said to annoy him. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + OLD THINGS + + +The Gatehouse, placed on the verge of the upland, was very solitary. +Cut off from the vale by an ascent which the coachmen of the great +deemed too rough for their horses, it was isolated on the other three +sides by Beaudelays Park and by the Great Chase, which flung its +barren moors over many miles of table-land. In the course of the +famous suit John Audley had added to the solitude of the house by a +smiling aloofness which gave no quarter to those who agreed with his +rival. The result was that when Mary came to live there, few young +people would have found the Gatehouse a lively abode. + +But to Mary during the quiet weeks that followed her arrival it seemed +a paradise. She spent long hours in the open air, now seated on a +fallen trunk in some glade of the park, now watching the squirrels in +the clear gloom of the beech-wood, or again, lying at length on the +carpet of thyme and heather that clothed the moor. She came to know by +heart every path through the park--except that which led to the Great +House; she discovered where the foxgloves clustered, where the +meadow-sweet fringed the runlet, where the rare bog-bean warned the +traveller to look to his footing. Even the Great Chase she came to +know, and almost daily she walked to a point beyond the park whence +she could see the distant smoke of a mining village. That was the one +sign of life on the Chase; elsewhere it stretched vast and unpeopled, +sombre under a livid sky, smiling in sunshine, here purple with ling, +there scarred by fire--always wide under a wide heaven, raised high +above the common world. Now and again she met a shepherd or saw a gig, +lessened by distance, making its slow way along a moorland track. But +for days together she might wander there without seeing a human being. + +The wide horizon became as dear to her as the greenwood. Pent as she +had been in cities, straitened in mean rooms where sight and smell had +alike been outraged, she revelled in this sweet and open life. The hum +of bees, the scent of pines, the flight of the ousel down the water, +the whistle of the curlew, all were to her pleasures as vivid as they +were new. + +Meantime Basset made no attempt to share her excursions. He was +fighting a battle with himself, and he knew better than to go out of +his way to aid the enemy. And for her part she did not miss him. She +did not dislike him, but the interest he excited in her was feeble. +The thought of comparing him with Lord Audley, with the man to whose +intervention she owed this home, this peace, this content, never +occurred to her. Of Audley she did think as much perhaps as was +prudent, sometimes with pensive gratitude, more rarely with a smile +and a blush at her folly in dwelling on him. For always she thought of +him as one, high and remote, whom it was not probable that she would +ever see again, one whose course through life lay far from hers. + +Presently, it is not to be denied, Basset began to grow upon her. He +was there. He was part of her life. Morning and evening she had to do +with him. Often she read or sewed in the same room with him, and in +many small ways he added to her comfort. Sometimes he suggested things +which would please her uncle; sometimes he warned her of things which +she would do well to avoid. Once or twice he diverted to himself a +spirt of John Audley's uncertain temper; and though Mary did not +always detect the man[oe]uvre, though she was far from suspecting the +extent of his vigilance or the care which he cast about her, it would +have been odd if she had not come to think more kindly of him, and to +see merits in him which had escaped her at first. + +Meanwhile he thought of her with mingled feelings. At first with +doubt--it was never out of his mind that she had made much of Lord +Audley and little of him. Then with admiration which he withstood more +feebly as time went on, and the cloven hoof failed to appear. Later, +with tenderness, which, hating the scheme John Audley had formed, he +masked even from himself, and which he was sure that he would never +have the courage to express in her presence. + +For Basset was conscious that, aspire as he might, he was not a hero. +The clash of life, the shock of battle, had no attraction for him. The +library at the Gatehouse was, he owned it frankly, his true sphere. +She, on the other hand, had had experiences. She had sailed through +unknown seas, she had led a life strange to him. She had seen much, +done much, suffered much, had held her own among strangers. Before her +calmness and self-possession he humbled himself. He veiled his head. + +He did not attempt, therefore, to accompany her abroad, but at home he +had no choice save to see much of her. There was only one living room +for all, and she glided with surprising ease into the current of the +men's occupations. At first she was astray on the sea of books. Her +knowledge was not sufficient to supply chart or compass, and it fell +to Basset to point the way, to choose her reading, to set in a proper +light John Audley's vivid pictures of the past, to teach her the +elements of heraldry and genealogy. She proved, however, an apt +scholar, and very soon she dropped into the position of her uncle's +secretary. Sometimes she copied his notes, at other times he set her +on the track of a fact, a relationship, a quotation, and she would +spend hours in a corner, embedded in huge tomes of the county +histories. Dugdale, Leland, Hall, even Polydore Vergil, became her +friends. She pored over the Paston Letters, probed the false pedigrees +of Banks, and could soon work out for herself the famous discovery +respecting the last Lovel. + +For a young girl it was an odd pursuit. But the past was in the +atmosphere of the house, it went with the fortunes of a race whose +importance lay in days long gone. Then all was new to her, enthusiasm +is easily caught, and Mary, eager to please her uncle, was glad to be +of use. She found the work restful after the suspense of the past +year. It sufficed for the present, and she asked no more. + +She never forgot the lamplit evenings of that summer; the spacious +room, the fluttering of the moths that entered by the open windows, +the flop of the old dog as it sought a cooler spot, the whisper of +leaves turned ceaselessly in the pursuit of a fact or a fancy. In the +retrospect all became less a picture than a frame containing a past +world, a fifteenth-century world of color and movement, of rooms +stifled in hangings and tapestries, of lines of spear-points and rows +of knights in surcoats, of tolling bells and praying monks, of +travellers kneeling before wayside shrines, of strange changes of +fortune. For says the chronicler: + + +"I saw one of them, who was Duke of Exeter (but he concealed his name) +following the Duke of Burgundy's train barefoot and bare-legged, +begging his bread from door to door--this person was the next of the +House of Lancaster and had married King Edward's sister." + + +And of dark sayings: + + +"Thys sayde Edward, Duke of Somerset, had herde a fantastyk prophecy +that he sholde dy under a Castelle, wherefore he, as meche as in him +was, he lete the King that he sholde not come in the Castelle of +Wynsore, dredynge the sayde prophecy; but at Seint Albonys there was +an hostelry havyng the sygne of a Castelle, and before that hostelry +he was slayne." + + +"His badge was a Portcullis," her uncle said, when she read this to +him, "so it was natural that he should fall before a castle. He used +the Beanstalk, too, and if his name had been John, a pretty thing +might have been raised upon it. But you're divagating, my dear," he +continued, smiling--and seldom had Mary seen him in a better +humor--"you're divagating, whereas I--I believe that I have solved the +problem of the Feathers." + +"The Prince of Wales's? No!" + +"I believe so. Of course there is no truth in the story which traces +them to the blind King of Bohemia, killed at Crécy. His crest was two +vulture wings." + +"But what of Arderne, who was the Prince's surgeon?" Basset objected. +"He says clearly that the Prince gained it from the King of Bohemia." + +"Not at all!" John Audley replied arrogantly--at this moment he was an +antiquary and nothing more. "Where is the Arderne extract? Listen. +'Edward, son of Edward the King, used to wear such a feather, and +gained that feather from the King of Bohemia, whom he slew at Crécy, +and so assumed to himself that feather which is called an ostrich +feather which the first-named most illustrious King, used to wear on +his crest.' Now who was the first-named most illustrious King, who +before that used to wear it?" + +"The King of Bohemia." + +"Rubbish! Arderne means his own King, 'Edward the King.' He means that +the Black Prince, after winning his spurs by his victory over the +Bohemian, took his father's insignia. He had only been knighted six +weeks and waited to wear his father's crest until he had earned it." + +"By Jove, sir!" Basset exclaimed, "I believe you are right!" + +"Of course I am! The evidence is all that way. The Black Prince's +brothers wore it; surely not because their brother had done something, +but because it was their father's crest, probably derived from their +mother, Philippa of Hainault? If you will look in the inventory of +jewels made on the usurpation of Henry the Fourth you will see this +item, 'A collar of the livery of the Queen, on whom God have mercy, +with an ostrich.'" + +"But that," Basset interposed, "was Queen Anne of Bohemia--she died +seven years before. There you get Bohemia again!" + +"Compare this other entry," replied the antiquary, unmoved: "'A collar +of the livery of Queen Anne, of branches of rosemary.' Now either +Queen Anne of Bohemia had two liveries--which is unlikely--or the +inventory made by order of Henry IV. quotes verbatim from lists made +during the lifetime of Queen Anne; if this be the case, the last +deceased Queen, on whom God have mercy, would be Philippa of Hainault; +and we have here a clear statement that her livery was an ostrich, of +which ostrich her husband wore a feather on his crest." + +Basset clapped his hands. Mary beat applause on the table. "Hurrah!" +she cried. "Audley for ever!" + +"Miss Audley," Basset said, "Toft shall bring in hot water, and we +will have punch!" + +"Miss Audley!" her uncle exclaimed, with a wrinkling nose. "Why don't +you call her Mary? And why, child, don't you call him Peter?" + +Mary curtseyed. "Why not, my lord?" she said. "Peter it shall +be--Peter who keeps the keys that you discover!" + +And Peter laughed. But he saw that she used his name without a blush +or a tremor, whereas he knew that if he could force his lips to frame +her name, the word would betray him. For by this time, from his seat +at his remote table, and from the ambush of his book, he had watched +her too often for his peace, and too closely not to know that she was +indifferent to him. He knew that at the best she felt a liking for +him, the growth of habit, and tinged, he feared, with contempt. + +He was so far right that there were three persons in the house who had +a larger share of the girl's thoughts than he had. The first was John +Audley. He puzzled her. There were times when she could not doubt his +affection, times when he seemed all that she could desire, kind, +good-humored, frank, engaged with the simplicity of a child in +innocent pursuits, and without one thought beyond them. But touch +a certain spot, approach with steps ever so delicate a certain +subject--Lord Audley and his title--and his manner changed, the very +man changed, he became secretive, suspicious, menacing. Nor, however +quickly she might withdraw from the danger-line, could the harm be +undone at once. He would remain for hours gloomy and thoughtful, would +eye her covertly and with suspicion, would sit silent through meals, +and at times mutter to himself. More rarely he would turn on her with +a face which rage made inhuman, a face that she did not know, and with +a shaking hand he would bid her go--go, and leave the room! + +The first time that this happened she feared that he might follow up +his words by sending her away. But nothing ensued, then or later. For +a while after each outburst he would appear ill at ease. He would +avoid her eyes, and look away from her in a manner almost as +unpleasant as his violence; later, in a shamefaced way, he would tell +her that she must not excite him, she must not excite him, it was bad +for him. And the man-servant meeting her in the hall, would take the +liberty of giving her the same advice. + +Toft, indeed, was the second who puzzled her. He was civil, with the +civility of the trained servant, but always there was in his manner a +reserve. And she fancied that he watched her. If she left the house +and glanced back she was certain to see his face at a window, or his +figure in a doorway. Within doors it was the same. He slept out, +living with his wife in the kitchen wing, which had a separate +entrance from the courtyard. But he was everywhere at all hours. Even +his master appeared uneasy in his presence, and either broke off what +he was saying when the man entered, or continued the talk on another +note. More rarely he turned on Toft and without rhyme or reason would +ask him harshly what he wanted. + +The third person to share Mary's thoughts, but after a more pleasant +fashion, was Toft's daughter, Etruria. "I hope you will like her, my +dear," John Audley had said. "She will give you such attendance as you +require, and will share the south wing with you at night. The two +bedrooms there are on a separate staircase. I sleep above the library +in this wing, and Peter in the tower room--we have our own staircase. +I have brought her into the house because I thought you might not like +to sleep alone in that wing." + +Mary had thanked him, and had said how much she liked the girl. And +she had liked her, but for a time she had not understood her. Etruria +was all that was good and almost all that was beautiful. She was +simple, kindly, helpful, having the wide low brow, the placid eyes, +and perfect complexion of a Quaker girl--and to add to these +attractions she was finely shaped, though rather plump than slender; +and she was incredibly neat. Nor could any Quaker girl have been more +gentle or more demure. + +But she might have had no tongue, she was so loth to use it; and a +hundred times Mary wondered what was behind that reticence. Sometimes +she thought that the girl was merely stupid. Sometimes she yoked her +with her father in the suspicions she entertained of him. More often, +moved by the girl's meek eyes, she felt only a vague irritation. She +was herself calm by nature, and reserved by training, the last to +gossip with a servant, even with one whose refinement appeared innate. +But Etruria's dumbness was beyond her. + +One day in a research which she was making she fancied that she had +hit on a discovery. It happened that Etruria came into the room at the +moment, and in the fulness of her heart Mary told her of it. +"Etruria," she said, "I've made a discovery all by myself." + +"Yes, Miss." + +"Something that no one has known for hundreds of years! Think of +that!" + +"Indeed, Miss." + +Provoked, Mary took a new line. "Etruria," she asked, "are you happy?" + +The girl did not answer. + +"Don't you hear me? I asked if you were happy." + +"I am content, Miss." + +"I did not ask that. Are you happy?" + +And then, moved on her side, perhaps, by an impulse towards +confidence, Etruria yielded. "I don't think that we can any of us be +happy, Miss," she said, "with so much sorrow about us." + +"You strange girl!" Mary cried, taken aback. "What do you mean?" + +But Etruria was silent. + +"Come," Mary insisted. "You must tell me what you mean." + +"Well, Miss," the girl answered reluctantly, "I'm sad and loth to +think of all the suffering in the world. It's natural that you should +not think of it, but I'm of the people, and I'm sad for them." + +Balaam when the ass spoke was scarcely more surprised than Mary. +"Why?" she asked. + +The girl pointed to the open window. "We've all we could ask, +Miss--light and air and birds' songs and sunshine. We've all we need, +and more. But I come of those who have neither light nor air, nor +songs nor sunshine, who've no milk for children nor food for mothers! +Who, if they've work, work every hour of the day in dust and noise and +heat. Who are half clemmed from year's end to year's end, and see no +close to it, no hope, no finish but the pauper's deals! It's for them +I'm sad, Miss." + +"Etruria!" + +"They've no teachers and no time to care," Etruria continued in +desperate earnest now that the floodgates were raised. "They're just +tools to make money, and, like the tools, they wear out and are cast +aside! For there are always more to do their work, to begin where they +began, and to be worn out as they were worn out!" + +"Don't!" Mary cried. + +Etruria was silent, but two large tears rolled down her face. And Mary +marvelled. So this mild, patient girl, going about her daily tasks, +could think, could feel, could speak, and upon a plane so high that +the listener was sensible of humiliation as well as surprise! For a +moment this was the only effect made upon her. Then reflection did its +part--and memory. She recalled that glimpse of the under-world which +she had had on her journey from London. She remembered the noisome +alleys, the cinder wastes, the men toiling half-naked at the furnaces, +the pinched faces of the women; and she remembered also the account +which Lord Audley had given her of the fierce contest between town and +country, plough and forge, land-lord and cotton-lord, which had struck +her so much at the time. + +In the charms of her new life, in her new interests, these things had +faded from her mind. They recurred now, and she did not again ask +Etruria what she meant. "Is it as bad as that?" she asked. + +"It is not as bad as it has been," Etruria answered. "Three years ago +there were hundreds of thousands out of work. There are thousands, +scores of thousands, still; and thousands have no food but what's +given them. And charity is bitter to many," she added, "and the +poorhouse is bitter to all." + +"But what has caused things to be so bad?" + +"Some say one thing and some another. But most that machines lower +wages, Miss, and the bread-tax raises food." + +"Ah!" Mary said. And she looked more closely at the girl who knew so +much that was at odds with her station. + +"Others," Etruria continued, a faint color in her cheeks, "think that +it is selfishness, that every one is for himself and no one for one +another, and----" + +"Yes?" Mary said, seeing that she hesitated. + +"And that if every one thought as much of his neighbor as of himself, +or even of his neighbor as well as of himself, it would not be +machines nor corn-taxes nor poorhouses would be strong enough to take +the bread out of the children's mouths or the work out of men's +hands!" + +Mary had an inspiration. "Etruria," she cried, "some one has been +teaching you this." + +The girl blushed. "Well, Miss," she said simply, "it was at church I +learned most of it." + +"At church? What church? Not Riddsley?" For it was to Riddsley, to a +service as dull as it was long, that they proceeded on Sundays in a +chaise as slow as the reader. + +"No, Miss, not Riddsley," Etruria answered. "It's at Brown Heath on +the Chase. But it's not a real church, Miss. It's a room." + +"Oh!" Mary replied. "A meeting-house!" + +For some reason Etruria's eyes gleamed. "No, Miss," she said. "It's +the curate at Riddsley has a service in a room at Brown Heath on +Thursdays." + +"And you go?" + +"When I can, Miss." + +The idea of attending church on a week-day was strange to Mary; as +strange as to that generation was the zeal that passed beyond the +common channel to refresh those whom migrations of population or +changes in industry had left high and dry. The Tractarian movement was +giving vigor not only to those who supported it, but to those who +withstood it. + +"And you've a sermon?" Mary said. "What was the text last Thursday, +Etruria?" + +The girl hesitated, considered, then looked with appeal at her +mistress. She clasped her hands. "'Two are better than one,'" she +replied, "'because they have good reward for their labor. For if they +fall, one will lift up his fellow, but woe to him that is alone when +he falleth, for he hath not another to lift him up.'" + +"Gracious, Etruria!" Mary cried. "Is that in the Bible?" + +Etruria nodded. + +"And what did your preacher say about it?" + +"That the employer and the workman were fellows, and if they worked +together and each thought for the other they would have a good reward +for their labor; that if one fell, it was the duty of the other to +help him up. And again, that the land and the mill were fellows--the +town and the country--and if they worked together in love they would +have a good return, and if trouble came to one the other should +bear with him. But all the same," Etruria added timidly, "that the +bread-taxes were wrong." + +"Etruria," Mary said. "To-morrow is Thursday. I shall go with you to +Brown Heath." + + + + + + CHAPTER X + + NEW THINGS + + +Mary Audley, crossing the moor to a week-day service, was but one of +many who in the 'forties were venturing on new courses. In religion +there were those who fancied that by a return to primitive forms they +might recapture the primitive fervor; and those again who, like the +curate whom Mary was going to hear, were bent on pursuing the beaten +path into new places. Some thought that they had found a panacea for +the evils of the day in education, and put their faith in workmen's +institutes and night schools. Others were satisfied with philanthropy, +and proclaimed that infants of seven ought not to toil for their +living, that coal-pits were not fit places for women, and that what +paid was not the only standard of life. A few dreamt of a new England +in which gentle and simple were to mix on new-old terms; and a +multitude, shrewd and hard-headed, believed in the Corn Law League, +whose speakers travelled from Manchester to carry the claims of cheap +bread to butter crosses and market towns, and there bearded the very +landlord's agent. + +The truth was that the country was lying sick with new evils, and had +perforce to find a cure, whether that cure lay in faith, or in the +primer, or in the Golden Rule, or in Adam Smith. For two generations +men had been quitting the field for the mill, the farm for the +coal-pit. They had followed their work into towns built haphazard, +that grew presently into cities. There, short of light, of air, of +water, lacking decency, lacking even votes--for the Reform Bill, +that was to give everything to everybody, had stopped at the +masters--lacking everything but wages, they swarmed in numbers +stupendous and alarming to the mind of that day. And then the wages +failed. Machines pushed out hands, though + + + Tools were made, and born were hands, + Every farmer understands. + + +Machines lowered wages, machines glutted the markets. Men could get no +work, masters could sell no goods. On the top of this came bad seasons +and dear bread. Presently hundreds of thousands were living on public +charity, long lists of masters were in the _Gazette_. In the gloomy +cities of the North, masses of men heaved and moaned as the sea when +the south-west wind falls upon it. + +All but the most thoughtless saw danger as well as unhappiness in +this, and called on their gods. The Chartists proclaimed that safety +lay in votes. The landed interest thought that a little more +protection might mend matters. The Golden Rulers were for shorter +hours. But the men who were the loudest and the most confident cried +that cheap bread would mend all. The poor, they said, would have to +eat and to spend. They would buy goods, the glut would cease. The +wheels would turn again, there would be work and wages. The Golden Age +would return. So preached the Manchester men. + +In the meantime the doctors wrangled, and the patient grew a little, +not much, better. And Mary Audley and Etruria walked across the +moorland in the evening sunshine, with a light breeze stirring the +bracken, and waves of shadow moving athwart the stretches of purple +ling. They seemed very far, very remote from the struggle for life and +work and bread that was passing in the world below. + +Presently they dropped into a fern-clad dingle and saw below them, +beside the rivulet that made music in its bottom, a house or two. +Descending farther, they came on more houses, crawling up the hill +slopes, and on a few potato patches and ash-heaps. As the sides of the +valley rose higher and closed in above the walkers cottages fell into +lines on either side of the brook, and began to show one behind the +other in rough terraces, with middens that slid from the upper to the +lower level. The valley bent to the left, and quickly tall chimneys +became visible, springing from a huddle of mean roofs through which no +other building of size, no tower, no steeple, rose to break the ugly +sameness. This was Brown Heath. + +"It's a rough place," Etruria said as they picked their way. "But +don't be afraid, Miss. I'm often passing, and they know me." + +Still it was a rough place. The roadway was a cinder-track, and from +the alleys and lanes above it open drains wormed their way across the +path and into the stream, long grown foul. The air was laden with +smoke, coal dust lay everywhere; the most cleanly must have despaired. +Men seated, pipe in mouth, on low walls, watched the two go by--not +without some rude banter; frowsy women crouching on door-steps and +nursing starveling babes raised sullen faces. Lads in clogs made way +for them unwillingly. In one place a crowd seethed from a side street +and, shouting and struggling, overflowed the roadway before them and +threatened to bar their path. + +"It's a dog-fight," Etruria said. "They are rare and fond of them, +Miss. We'd best get by quickly." + +They passed in safety, passed, too, a brawl between two colliers, the +air about them thick with oaths, passed a third eddy round two women +fighting before a public-house. "The chaps are none so gentle," +Etruria said, falling unconsciously into a commoner way of speaking. +"They're all for fighting, dogs or men, and after dark I'm not saying +we'd be safe. But we'll be over the moor by dusk, Miss." + +They came, as she spoke, to a triangular space, sloping with the hill, +skirted by houses, and crossed by an open sewer. It was dreary and +cinder-covered, but five publics looked upon it and marked it for the +centre of Brown Heath. Etruria crossed the triangle to a building a +little cleaner than its neighbors; it was the warehouse, she told her +mistress, of a sack-maker who had failed. She entered, and her +companion followed her. + +Mary found herself in a bare barn-like room, having two windows set +high in the walls, the light from which fell coldly on a dozen benches +ranged one behind the other, but covering only a portion of the floor. +On these were seated, when they entered, about twenty persons, mainly +women, but including three or four men of the miner class. No attempt +had been made to alter the character of the place, and of formality +there was as little. The two had barely seated themselves before a +lean young man, with a long pale face and large nose, rose from the +front bench, and standing before the little congregation, opened his +book. He wore shabby black, but neither surplice nor gown. + +The service lasted perhaps twenty minutes, and Mary was not much +moved by it. The young man's voice was weak, the man himself looked +under-fed. She noticed, however, that as the service went on the +number in the room grew, and when it closed she found that all the +seats were filled, and that there were even a few men--some of them +colliers fresh from the pit--standing at the back. Remembering the odd +text that the clergyman had given out the week before, she wondered +what he would choose to-day, and, faintly amused, she stole a glance +at her companion. But Etruria's rapt face was a reproach to her +levity. + +The young clergyman pushed back the hair from his forehead. His +posture was ungainly, he did not know what to do with his hands, he +opened his mouth and shut it again. Then with an effort he began. "My +text, my friends," he said, "is but one word, 'Love.' Where will you +find it in the Scriptures? In every chapter and in every verse. In the +dark days of old the order was 'Thou shalt live!' The new order in +these days is 'Thou shalt love!'" He began by describing the battle of +life in the animal and vegetable world, where all things lived at the +cost of others; and he admitted that the struggle for life, for bread, +for work, as they saw it around them, resembled that struggle. In +moving terms he enlarged on the distress, on the vast numbers lately +living on the rates, on the thousands living, where even the rates +fell short, on Government aid. He described the fireless homes, the +foodless children, the strong men hopeless. And he showed them that +others were stricken, that masters suffered, tradesmen were ruined, +the country languished. "The worst may be past," he said. "You are +working half-time, you are living on half-wages, you are thankful that +things are better." Then he told them that for his part he did not +presume to say what was at the root of these unhappy conditions, but +that of one thing he felt sure--and this was his message to them--that +if the law of love, if the golden rule of preferring another to one's +self, if the precept of that charity, + + + Which seeketh not itself to please + Nor for itself hath any care, + But for another gives its ease, + + +if that were followed by all, then all + + + Might build a heaven in hell's despair. + + +And in words more eloquent than he had yet compassed he begged them to +set that example of brotherhood, in the certainty that the worst +social evils, nay, all evils save pain and death, would be cured by +the love that thought for others, that in the master preferred the +servant's welfare and in the servant put first his master's interests. +Finally he quoted his old text, "Let two work together, for if they +fall, one will lift up his fellow!" + +It seemed as if he had done. He was silent; his hearers waited. Then +with an effort he continued: + +"I have a word to say about something which fell from me in this place +last week. While I did not venture, unskilled as I am, to say where +lies the cause of our distress, I did say that I found it hard to +believe that the system which taxes the bread you earn in the sweat of +your brow, which takes a disproportionate part from the scanty crust +of the widow and from the food of the child, was in accordance with +the law of love. I repeat that now; and because I have been told that +I dare not say in the pulpit of Riddsley church what I say here, I +shall on the first opportunity state my belief there. You may ask why +I have not done so; my answer is, that I am there the representative +of another, whereas in this voluntary work I am myself more +responsible. In saying that I ask you to judge me, as we should judge +all, with that charity which believeth no evil." + +A moment later Mary, deeply moved, was passing out with the crowd. As +she stood, caught in the press by the door, an old man in horn-rimmed +glasses, who was waiting there, held out his hand. She was going to +take it, when she saw that it was not meant for her, but for the young +clergyman who was following at her heels. + +"Master, dunno you do it," the old fellow growled. "You'll break your +pick, and naught gotten. Naught gotten, that'll serve. Your gaffer'll +not abide it, and you'll lose your job!" + +"Would you have me take it," the young man answered, "and not do the +work, Cluff? Never fear for me." + +"Dunno you be rash, master!" the other rejoined, clutching his sleeve +and detaining him. "You be sure----" + +Mary heard no more. She felt Etruria's hand pressing her arm. "We'd +best lose no time," the girl whispered. And she drew Mary onward, +across the triangle and into the lane which led to the moor. + +"Are we so late?" The sun had set, but it was still light. "We'd best +hurry," Etruria persisted, increasing her speed. + +Mary looked at her and saw that she was troubled, but at the moment +she set this down to the influence of the sermon, and her own mind +went back to it. "I am glad you brought me, Etruria," she said. "I +shall always be glad that I came." + +"We'd best be getting home now," was Etruria's only answer, but this +time Mary's ear caught the sound of footsteps behind them, and she +turned. The young clergyman was hastening after them. + +"Etruria!" he cried. + +For a moment Mary fancied that Etruria did not hear. The girl hurried +on. But Mary saw no occasion to run away, and she halted. Then +Etruria, with a gesture of despair, stopped. + +"It is no use," she said. + +The young man came up with them. His head was bare, his hat was in his +hand, his long plain face was aglow with the haste he had made. He had +heard Etruria's words, and "It is of every use," he said. + +"This is--my mistress," Etruria said. + +"Miss Audley?" + +"I am Miss Audley," Mary announced, wondering much. + +"I thought that it might be so," he replied. "I have waited for such +an occasion. I am Mr. Colet, the curate at Riddsley. Etruria and I +love one another," he continued. "We are going to be married, if ever +my means allow me to marry." + +"No, we are not," the girl rejoined sharply. "Mr. Colet knows my +mind," she continued, her eyes turned away. "I have told him many +times that I am a servant, the daughter of a servant, in a different +class from his, and I'll never be the one to ruin him and be a +disgrace to him! I'll never marry him! Never!" + +"And I have told Etruria," he replied, "that I will never take that +answer. We love one another. It is nothing to me that she is a +servant. My work is to serve. I am as poor as it is possible to be, +with as poor prospects as it is possible to have. I shall never be +anything but what I am, and I shall think myself rich when I have a +hundred pounds a year. I who have so little, who look for so little, +am I to give up this happiness because Etruria has less? I, too, say, +Never!" + +Mary, standing between them, did not know what to answer, and it was +Etruria who replied. "It is useless," she said. And then, in a tone of +honest scorn, "Who ever heard," she cried, "of a clergyman who married +a servant? Or who ever heard of good coming of it?" + +Mary had an inspiration. "Does Etruria's father know?" she asked. + +"He knows and approves," the young man replied, his eyes bent fondly +on his mistress. + +Mary too looked at Etruria--beautiful, patient, a servant, loved. And +she wondered. All these weeks she had been rubbing elbows with this +romance, and she had not discerned it! Now, while her sympathies flew +to the lover's side, her prejudices rose up against him. They echoed +Etruria's words, "Who ever heard of good coming of such a match?" The +days had been, as Mary knew, when the chaplain had married the lady's +maid. But those days were gone. Meantime the man waited, and she did +not know what to say. + +"After all," she said at last, "it is for Etruria to decide." + +"No, it is for us both to decide," he replied. And then, as if he +thought that he had sufficiently stated his case, "I ask your pardon, +Miss Audley, for intruding," he continued. "I am keeping you, and as I +am going your way that is needless. I have had a message from a sick +woman, and I am on my way to see her." + +He took permission for granted, and though Etruria's very shoulders +forbade him, he moved on beside them. "Conditions are better here than +in many places," he said, "but in this village you would see much to +sadden you." + +"I have seen enough," Mary answered, "to know that." + +"Ten years ago there was not a house here. Now there is a population +of two thousand, no church, no school, no gentry, no one of the better +class. There is a kind of club, a centre of wild talk; better that, +perhaps, than apathy." + +"Is it in Riddsley parish?" Mary asked. They were nearly clear of the +houses, and the slopes of the hill, pale green in the peaceful evening +light, began to rise on either side. It was growing dusk, and from the +moorland above came the shrill cries of plovers. + +"Yes, it is in Riddsley parish," he answered, "but many miles from the +town, and as aloof from it--Riddsley is purely agricultural--as black +from white. In such places as this--and there are many of them in +Staffordshire, as raw, as rough, and as new--there is work for plain +men and plain women. In these swarming hives there is no room for any +refinement but true refinement. And the Church must learn to do her +work with plain tools, or the work will pass into other hands." + +"You may cut cheese with an onion knife," Etruria said coldly. "I +don't know that people like it." + +"I know nothing better than onions in the right place," he replied. + +"That's not in cheese," she rejoined, to Mary's amusement. + +"The poor get little cheese," he said, "and the main thing is to cut +their bread for them. But here I must leave you. My errand is to that +cottage." + +He pointed to a solitary house, standing a few score paces above the +road on the hillside. Mary shook hands with him, but Etruria turned +her shoulder resolutely. + +"Good-bye, Etruria," he said. And then to Mary, "I hope that I have +made a friend?" + +"I think you have," she answered. "I am sure that you deserve one." + +He colored, raised his hat, and turned away, and the two went on, +without looking back; darkness was coming apace, and they were still +two miles from home. Mary kept silence, prudently considering how she +should deal with the matter, and what she should say to her companion. +As it fell out, events removed her difficulty. They had not gone more +than two hundred yards, and were still some way below the level of the +Chase, when a cry reached them. It came out of the dusk behind them, +and might have been the call of a curlew on the moor. But first one, +and then the other stood. They turned, and listened, and suddenly +Etruria, more anxious or sharper of eye than her mistress, uttered a +cry and broke away at a run across the sloping turf towards the +solitary cottage. Alarmed, Mary looked intently in that direction, and +made out three or four figures struggling before the door of the +house. She guessed then that the clergyman was one of them, and that +the cry had come from him, and without a thought for herself she set +off, running after Etruria as fast as she could. + +Twice Etruria screamed as she ran, and Mary echoed the cry. She saw +that the man was defending himself against the onset of three or +four--she could hear the clatter of sticks on one another. Then she +trod on her skirt and fell. When she had got, breathless, to her feet +again, the clergyman was down and the men appeared to be raining blows +on him. Etruria shrieked once more and the next moment was lost amid +the moving figures, the brandished sticks, the struggle. + +Mary ran on desperately. She caught sight of the girl on her knees +over the fallen man, she saw her fend off more than one blow, she +heard more than one blow fall with a sickening thud. She came up to +them. With passion that drove out fear, she seized the arm of the +nearest and dragged him back. + +"You coward!" she cried. "You coward! I am Miss Audley! Do you hear! +Leave him! Leave him, I say!" + +Her appearance, the surprise, checked the man; her fearlessness, +perhaps her name, gave the others pause. They retreated a step. The +man she had grasped shook himself free, but did not attempt to strike +her. "Oh, d--n the screech-owls!" he cried. "The place is alive with +them! Hold your noise, you fools! We'll have the parish on us!" + +"I am Miss Audley!" Mary repeated, and in her indignation she advanced +on him. "How dare you?" Etruria, still on her knees, continued to +shriek. + +"You're like to get a wipe over the head, dang you!" the man growled, +"whoever you be! Go to---- and mind your own brats! He'll know better +now than to preach against them as he gets his living by! You be +gone!" + +But Mary stood her ground. She declared afterwards that, brutally as +the man spoke, the fight had gone out of him. Etruria, on the +contrary, maintained that, finding only women before them, the +ruffians would have murdered them. Fortunately, while the event hung +in the balance, "What is it?" some one shouted from the road below. +"What's the matter there?" + +"Murder!" cried Etruria shrilly. "Help! Help!" + +"Help!" cried Mary. She still kept her face to the men, but for the +first time she began to know fear. + +Footsteps thudded softly on the turf, figures came into view, climbing +the slope. It needed no more. With a volley of oaths the assailants +turned tail and made off. In a trice they were round the corner of the +house and lost in the dusk. + +A moment later two men, equally out of breath and each carrying a gun, +reached the spot. "Well!" said the bigger of the two, "What is it?" + +He spoke as if he had not come very willingly, but Mary did not notice +this. The crisis over, her knees shook, she could barely stand, she +could not speak. She pointed to the fallen man, over whom Etruria +still crouched, her hair dragged down about her shoulders, her +neckband torn, a ghastly blotch on her white cheek. + +"Is he dead?" the new-comer asked in a different tone. + +"Ay, dead!" Etruria echoed. "Dead!" + +Fortunately the curate gave the lie to the word. He groaned, moved, +with an effort he raised himself on his elbow. "I'm--all right!" he +gasped. "All right!" + +Etruria sprang to her feet. She stepped back as if the ground had +opened before her. + +"I'm not--hurt," Colet added weakly. + +But it was evident that he was hurt, even if no bones were broken. +When they came to lift him he could not stand, and he seemed to be +uncertain where he was. After watching him a moment, "He should see a +doctor," said the man who had come up so opportunely. "Petch," he +continued, addressing his companion, who wore a gamekeeper's dress, +"we must carry him to the trap and get him down to Brown Heath. Who is +he, do you know? He looks like a parson." + +"He's Mr. Colet of Riddsley," Mary said. + +The man turned and looked at her. "Hallo!" he exclaimed. And then in +the same tone of surprise, "Miss Audley!" he said. "At this time of +night?" + +Mary collected herself with an effort. "Yes," she said, "and very +fortunately, for if we had not been here the men would have murdered +him. As it is, you share the credit of saving him, Lord Audley." + +"The credit of saving you is a good deal more to me," he answered +gallantly. "I did not think that we should meet after this fashion." + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + TACT AND TEMPER + + +He looked at Etruria, and Mary explained who she was. + +"I am afraid that she is hurt." + +The girl's temple was bruised and there was blood on her cheek; more +than one of the blows aimed at her lover had fallen on her. But she +said eagerly that it was "Nothing! Nothing!" + +"Are you sure, Etruria?" Mary asked with concern. + +"It is nothing, indeed, Miss," the girl repeated. She was trying with +shaking fingers to put up her hair. + +"Then the sooner," Audley rejoined, "we get this--this gentleman to my +dogcart, the better. Take his other arm, Petch. Miss Audley, can you +carry my gun?--it is not loaded. And you," he continued to Etruria, +"if you are able, take Petch's." + +They took the guns, and the little procession wound down the path to +the road, where they found a dogcart awaiting them, and, peering from +the cart, two setters, whining and fretting. The dogs were driven +under the seat, and the clergyman, still muttering that he was all +right, was lifted in. "Steady him, Petch," Audley said; "and do you +drive slowly," he added, to the other man. "You will be at the +surgeon's at Brown Heath in twenty minutes. Stay with him, Petch, and +send the cart back for me." + +"But are you not going?" Mary cried. + +"I am not going to leave you in the dark with only your maid," he +answered with severity. "One adventure a night is enough, Miss +Audley." + +She murmured a word or two, but submitted. The struggle had shaken +her; she could still see the men's savage faces, still hear the thud +of their blows. And she and Etruria had nearly a mile to go before +they reached the park. + +When they were fairly started, "How did it happen?" he asked. + +Mary told the story, but said no word of Etruria's romance. + +"Then you were not with him when they set on him?" + +"No, we had parted." + +"And you went back?" + +"Of course we did!" + +"It was imprudent," he said, "very imprudent. If we had not come up at +that moment you might have been murdered." + +"And if we had not gone back, Mr. Colet might have been murdered!" she +answered. "What he had done to offend them----" + +"I think I can tell you that. He's the curate at Riddsley, isn't he? +Who's been preaching up cheap bread and preaching down the farmers?" + +"Perhaps so," Mary answered. "He may be. But is he to be murdered for +that? From your tone one might think so." + +"No," he replied slowly, "he is not to be murdered for it. But whether +he is wise to preach cheap bread to starving men, whether he is wise +to tell them that they would have it but for this man or that man, +this class or that class--is another matter." + +She was not convinced--the sermon had keyed her thoughts to a high +pitch. But he spoke reasonably, and he had the knack of speaking with +authority, and she said no more. And on his side he had no wish to +quarrel. He had come down to Riddsley partly to shoot, partly to look +into the political situation, but a little--there was no denying +it--to learn how Mary Audley fared with her uncle. + +For he had thought much of her since they had parted, and much of the +fact that she was John Audley's heir. Her beauty, her spirit, her +youth, had caught his fancy. He had looked forward to renewing his +acquaintance with her, and he was in no mood, now he saw her, to spoil +their meeting by a quarrel. He thought Colet, whose doings had been +reported to him, a troublesome, pestilent fellow, and he was not sorry +that he had got his head broken. But he need not tell her that. +Circumstances had favored him in bringing them together and giving him +the beau rôle, and he was not going to cross his luck. + +So, "Fire is an excellent thing of course," he continued with an air +of moderation, "but, believe me, it's not safe amid young trees in a +wind. Whatever your views, to express them in all companies may be +honest, but is not wise. I have no doubt that a parson is tried. He +sees the trouble. He is not always the best judge of the remedy. +However, enough of that. We shall agree at least in this, that our +meetings are opportune?" + +"Most opportune," Mary answered. "And from my point of view very +fortunate!" + +"There really is a sort of fate in it. What but fate could have +brought about our meeting at the Hôtel Lambert? What but fate could +have drawn us to the same spot on the Chase to-night?" + +There was a tone in his voice that brought the blood to her cheek and +warned her to keep to the surface of things. "The chance that men call +fate," she answered lightly. + +"Or the fate that fools call chance," he urged, half in jest, half in +earnest. "We have met by chance once, and once again--with results! +The third time--what will the third time bring? I wonder." + +"Not a fright like this, I hope!" Mary answered, remaining cheerfully +matter of fact. "Or if it does," with a flash of laughter, "I trust +that the next time you will come up a few moments earlier!" + +"Ungrateful!" + +"I?" she replied. "But it was Etruria who was in danger!" + +For the peril had left her with a sense of exhilaration, of lightness, +of ease. She was pleased to feel that she could hold her own with him, +relieved that she was not afraid of him. And she was glad--she was +certainly glad--to see him again. If he were inclined to make the most +of his advantage, well, a little gallantry was quite in the picture; +she was not deceived, and she was not offended. While he on his side, +as they walked over the moor, thought of her as a clever little witch +who knew her value and could keep her head; and he liked her none the +less for it. + +When they came at last to the gap in the wall that divided the Chase +from the park, a figure, dimly outlined, stood in the breach waiting +for them. "Is that you?" a voice asked. + +The voice was Basset's, and Mary's spirits sank. She felt that the +meeting was ill-timed. "Yes," she answered. + +Unluckily, Peter was one of those whose anxiety takes an irritable +form. "What in the world has happened?" he asked. "I couldn't believe +that you were still out. It's really not safe. Hallo!" breaking off +and speaking in a different tone, "is some one with you?" + +"Yes," Mary said. They were within touch now and could see one +another. "We have had an adventure. Lord Audley was passing, he came +to our rescue, and has very kindly seen us home." + +"Lord Audley!" Basset was taken by surprise and his tone was much as +if he had said, "The devil!" + +"By good fortune, Basset," Audley replied. He may have smiled in the +darkness--we cannot say. "I was returning from shooting, heard cries +for help, and found Miss Audley playing the knight-errant, encircled +by prostrate bodies!" + +Basset could not frame a word, so great was his surprise, so +overwhelming his chagrin. Was this man to spring up at every turn? To +cross him on every occasion? To put him in the background perpetually? +To intrude even on the peace and fellowship of the Gatehouse? It was +intolerable! + +When he did not answer, "It was not I who was the knight-errant," Mary +said. "It was Etruria. She is a little the worse for it, I fear, and +the sooner she is in bed the better. As Mr. Basset is here," she +continued, turning to Audley, "we must not take you farther. Your cart +is no doubt waiting for you. But you will allow us to thank you again. +We are most grateful to you--both Etruria and I." + +She spoke more warmly, perhaps she let her hand rest longer in his, to +make up for Basset's silence. For that silence provoked her. She had +gathered from many things that Basset did not love the other; but to +stand mute and churlish on such an occasion, and find no word of +acknowledgment--this was too bad. + +And Basset knew, he too knew that he ought to thank Audley. But the +black dog was on his back, and while he hesitated, the other made +his adieux. He said a pleasant word to Etruria, tossed a careless +"Good-night" to the other man, turned away, and was gone. + +For awhile the three who remained trudged homewards in silence. Then, +"What happened to you?" Basset asked grudgingly. + +Vexed and indignant, Mary told the story. + +"I did not know that you knew Mr. Colet!" + +"When a man is being murdered," she retorted, "one does not wait for +an introduction." + +He was a good fellow, but jealousy was hot within him, and he could +not bridle his tongue. "Oh, but murdered?" he said. "Isn't that rather +absurd? Who would murder Colet?" + +Mary did not deign to reply. + +Baffled, he sought for another opening. "I do not know what your uncle +will say." + +"Because we rescued Mr. Colet? And perhaps saved his life?" + +"No, but----" + +"Or because Lord Audley rescued us?" + +"He will certainly not be pleased to hear that," he retorted +maliciously. He knew that he was misbehaving, but he could not +refrain. "If you take my advice you will not mention it." + +"I shall tell him the moment I reach the house," she declared. + +"You will be very unwise if you do." + +"I shall be honest at least! For the rest I would rather not discuss +the matter, Mr. Basset. I am a good deal shaken by what we have gone +through, and I am very tired." + +He muttered humbly that he was sorry--that he only meant---- + +"Please leave it there," she said. "Enough has been said." + +Too late the anger and the spirit died out of the unlucky man, and he +would have grovelled before her, he would have done anything to earn +his pardon. But Etruria's presence tied his tongue, and gloomy and +wretched--oh, why had he not gone farther to meet them, why had he not +been the one to rescue her?--he walked on beside them, cursing his +unhappy temper. It was dark, the tired girls lagged, Etruria hung +heavily on her mistress's arm; he longed to help them. But he did not +dare to offer. He knew too well that Mary would reject the offer. + +Etruria had her own dreams, and in spite of an aching head was happy. +But to Mary, fatigued by the walk, and vexed by Basset's conduct, the +way seemed endless. At last the house loomed dark above them, their +steps rang hard on the flagged court. The outer door stood ajar, and +entering, they found a lamp burning in the hall; but the silence which +prevailed, above and below, struck a chill. Silence and an open door +go ill together. + +Etruria at Mary's bidding went up at once to her room. Basset called +angrily for Toft. But no Toft appeared, and Mary, resentment still hot +in her, opened the door of the library and went in to see her uncle. +She felt that the sooner her story was told the better. + +But the library was empty. Lights burned on the several tables, the +wood fire smouldered on the hearth, the tall clock ticked in the +silence, the old hound flopped his tail. But John Audley was not +there. + +"Where is my uncle?" she asked, as she stood in the open doorway. + +Basset looked over her shoulder. He saw that the room was empty. "He +may have gone to look for us." + +"And Toft?" + +"And Toft, too, I suppose." + +"But why should my uncle go to look for us?" she asked, aghast at the +thought--he troubled himself so little for others, he lived so +completely his own life! + +"He might," Basset replied. He stood for a moment, thinking. Then--for +the time they had forgotten their quarrel--"You had better get +something to eat and go to bed," he said. "I will send Mrs. Toft to +you." + +She had not the strength to resist. "Very well," she said. "Are you +going to look for them?" + +"Perhaps Mrs. Toft will know where they are." + +She took her candle and went slowly up the narrow winding staircase +that led to her room and to Etruria's. As she passed, stair by stair, +the curving wainscot of dull wood which so many generations had +rubbed, she carried with her the picture of Basset standing in thought +in the middle of the hall, his eyes on the doorway that gaped on the +night. Then a big man with a genial face usurped his place; and she +smiled and sighed. + +A moment later she went into Etruria's room to learn how she was, and +caught the girl rising from her knees. "Oh, Miss," she said, coloring +as she met Mary's eyes, "if we had not been there!" + +"And yet--you won't marry him, you foolish girl?" + +"Oh no, no!" + +"Although you love him!" + +"Love him!" Etruria murmured, her face burning. "It is because I love +him, Miss, that I will never, never marry him." + +Mary wondered. "And yet you love him?" she said, raising the candle so +that its light fell on the other's face. + +Etruria looked this way and that way, but there was no escape. In a +very small voice she said, + + + "Love seeketh not itself to please + Nor for itself hath any care!" + + +She covered her hot cheeks with her hands. But Mary took away the +hands and kissed her. + +"Oh, Miss!" Etruria exclaimed. + +Mary went out then, but on the threshold of her own room she paused to +snuff her candle. "So that is love," she thought. "It's very +interesting, and--and rather beautiful!" + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + THE YEW WALK + + +Basset had been absent the greater part of the day, and returning at +sunset had learned that Miss Audley had not come back from Brown +Heath. The servant had hinted alarm--the Chase was lonely, the hour +late; and Basset had hurried off without more, not doubting that John +Audley was in the house. + +Now he was sure that John Audley had been abroad at the time, and he +suspected that Toft had known it, and had kept it from him. He stood +for a moment in thought, then he crossed the court to Toft's house. +Mrs. Toft was cooking something savory in a bonnet before the fire, +and the contrast between her warm cheerful kitchen and the stillness +of the house from which he came struck him painfully. He told her that +her daughter had received a blow on the head, and that Miss Audley +needed supper--she had better attend to them. + +Mrs. Toft was a stout woman, set by a placid and even temper above +small surprises. She looked at the clock, a fork in her hand. "I can't +hurry it, Mr. Basset," she said. "You may be Sir Robert Peel himself, +but meat's your master and will have its time. A knock on the head?" +she continued, with a faint stirring of anxiety. "You don't say so? +Lor, Mr. Basset, who'd go to touch Etruria?" + +"You'd better go and see." + +"But where's Toft?" + +Basset's temper gave way at that. "God knows!" he said. "He ought to +be here--and he's not!" He went out. + +Mrs. Toft stared after him, and by and by she let down her skirt and +prepared to go into the house. "On the head?" she ruminated. "Well, +'Truria's a tidy lot of hair! And I will say this, if there's few +points a man gives a woman, hair's one of them." + +Meanwhile Basset had struck across the court and taken in the darkness +the track which led in the direction of the Great House. The breeze, +light but of an autumn coldness, swept the upland, whispering through +the dying fern, and rustling in the clumps of trees by which he +steered his course. He listened more than once, hoping that he might +hear approaching footsteps, but he heard none, and presently he came +to the yew-trees that masked the entrance to the gardens. + +The trees formed a wall of blackness exceeding that of the darkest +night, and Basset hesitated before he plunged into it. The growth of a +century had long trespassed on the walk, a hundred and fifty yards +long, which led through the yew-wood, and had been in its time a +stately avenue trimmed to the neatness of a bowling green. Now it was +little better than a tunnel, dark even at noon, and at night bristling +with a hundred perils. Basset peered into the blackness, listened, +hesitated. But he was honestly anxious on John Audley's account, and +contenting himself with exclaiming that the man was mad, he began to +grope his way along the path. + +It was no pleasant task. If he swerved from his course he stumbled +over roots, branches swept his cheek, jagged points threatened his +eyes, and more than once he found himself in the hedge. Half-way +through the wood he came to a circular clearing, some twenty yards +across; and here a glimmer of light enabled him to avoid the crumbling +stone Butterfly that crouched on its mouldering base in the centre of +the clearing--much as a spider crouches in its web. It seemed in that +dim light to be the demon of this underworld, a monster, a thing of +evil. + +The same gleam, however, disclosed the opposite opening, and for +another seventy yards he groped his way onward, longing to be clear of +the stifling air, and the brooding fancies that dwelt in it, longing +to plant his feet on something more solid than this carpet of rotting +yew. At last he came to the tall, strait gate, wrought of old iron, +that admitted to the pleasance. It was ajar. He passed through it, and +with relief he felt the hard walk under his feet, the fresh air on his +face. He crossed the walk, and stepping on to the neglected lawn, he +halted. + +The Great House loomed before him, a hundred yards away. The moon had +not risen, but the brightness which goes before its rising lightened +the sky behind the monstrous building. It outlined the roof but left +the bulk in gloom. No light showed in any part, and it was only the +watcher's memory that pictured the quaint casements of the north wing, +or filled in the bald rows of unglazed windows, which made of the new +portion a death-mask. In that north wing just eighty years before, in +a room hung with old Cordovan leather, the fatal house-warming had +been held. The duel had been fought at sunrise within a pace or two of +the moss-grown Butterfly that Basset had passed; and through the gate +of ironwork, wood-smelted and wrought with the arms of Audley, which +had opened at his touch, they had carried the dead heir back to his +father. Tradition had it that the servant who bore in the old lord's +morning draught of cool ale had borne also the tragic news to his +bedside. + +Basset remembered that the hinges of the gate, seldom as it was used, +had not creaked, and he felt sure that he was on the right track. He +scanned the dark house, and tried to sift from the soughing of the +wind any sound that might inform him. + +Presently he moved forward and scrutinized with care the north wing, +which abutted on the yew-wood. There lay between the two only a strip +of formal garden, once set with rows of birds and beasts cut in yew. +Time had turned these to monsters, huge, amorphous, menacing, amidst +which rank grass rioted and elder pushed. Even in daylight it seemed +as if the ancient trees stretched out arms to embrace and strangle the +deserted house. + +But the north wing remained as dark as the bulk of the house, and +Basset uttered a sigh of relief. Ill-humor began to take the place of +misgiving. He called himself a fool for his pains and anticipated with +distaste a return through the yew-walk. However, the sooner he +undertook the passage the sooner it would be over, and he was turning +on his heel when somewhere between him and the old wing a stick +snapped. + +Under a foot, he fancied; and he waited. In two or three minutes the +moon would rise. + +Again he caught a faint sound. It resembled the stealthy tread of some +one approaching from the north wing, and Basset, peering that way, was +striving to probe the darkness, when a gleam of light shot across his +eyes. He turned and saw in the main building a bright spark. It +vanished. He waited to see it again, and while he waited a second +stick snapped. This time the sound was behind him, and near the iron +gate. + +He had been outflanked, and he had now to choose which he would stalk, +the footstep or the light. He chose the latter, the rather as while he +stood with his eyes fixed on the house the upper edge of a rising moon +peeped above the roof. + +He stepped back to the gate, and in the shadow of the trees he waited. +Two or three minutes passed. The moon rose clear of the roof, +outlining the stately chimneys and gables and flooding with cold light +the lower part of the lawn. With the rising of the moon the air grew +more chilly. He shivered. + +At length a dull sound reached him--the sound of a closing door or a +shutter cast back. A minute later he heard the footsteps of some one +moving along the walk towards him. The man trod with care, but once he +stumbled. + +Basset advanced. "Is that you, sir?" he asked. + +"D--n!" John Audley replied out of the darkness. He halted, breathing +quickly. + +"I say d--n, too!" Basset replied. As a rule he was patient with the +old man, but to-night his temper failed him. + +The other came on. "Why did you follow me?" he asked. "What is the +use? What is the use? If you are willing to help me, good! But if not, +why do you follow me?" + +"To see that you don't come to harm," Basset retorted. "As you +certainly will one of these nights if you come here alone." + +"Well, I haven't come to harm to-night! On the contrary---- But there, +there, man, let us get back." + +"The sooner the better," Basset replied. "I nearly put out an eye as I +came." + +John Audley laughed. "Did you come through the yews in the dark?" he +asked. + +"Didn't you?" + +"No, I brought a lantern." He removed as he spoke the cap of a small +bull's-eye lantern and threw its light on the path. "Who's the fool +now?" + +"Let us get home," Basset snapped. + +John Audley locked the iron gate behind them and they started. The +light removed their worst difficulties and they reached the open park +without mishap. But long before they gained the house the elder man's +strength failed, and he was glad to lean on Basset's arm. On that a +sense of weakness on the one side and of pity on the other closed +their differences. "After all," Audley said wearily, "I don't know +what I should have done if you had not come." + +"You'd have stayed there!" + +"And that would have been--Heavens, what a pity that would have been!" +Audley paused and struck his stick on the ground. "I must take care of +myself, I must take care of myself! You don't know, Basset, what +I----" + +"And I don't want to know--here!" Basset replied. "When you are safe +at home, you may tell me what you like." + +In the courtyard they came on Toft, who was looking out for them with +a lantern. "Thank God, you're safe, sir," he said. "I was growing +alarmed about you." + +"Where were you," Basset asked sharply, "when I came in?" John Audley +was too tired to speak. + +"I had stepped out at the front to look for the master," Toft replied. +"I fancied that he had gone out that way." + +Basset did not believe him, but he could not refute the story. "Well, +get the brandy," he said, "and bring it to the library. Mr. Audley has +been out too long and is tired." + +They went into the library and Toft pulled off his master's boots and +brought his slippers and the spirit-tray. That done, he lingered, and +Basset thought that he was trying to divine from the old man's looks +whether the journey had been fruitful. + +In the end, however, the man had to go, and Audley leant forward to +speak. + +"Wait!" Basset muttered. "He is coming back." + +"How do you know?" + +Basset raised his hand. The door opened. Toft came in. "I forgot to +take your boots, sir," he said. + +"Well, take them now," his master replied peevishly. When the man had +again withdrawn, "How did you know?" he asked, frowning at the fire. + +"I saw him go to take your boots--and leave them." + +Audley was silent for a time, then "Well," he said, "he has been with +me many years and I think he is faithful." + +"To his own interests. He dogged you to-night." + +"So did you!" + +"Yes, but I did not hide! And he did, and hid from me, too, and lied +about it. How long he had been watching you, I cannot say, but if you +think that you can break through all your habits, sir, and be missing +for two hours at night and a man as shrewd as Toft suspect nothing, +you are mistaken. Of course he wonders. The next time he thinks it +over. The third time he follows you. Presently whatever you know he +will know." + +"Confound him!" Audley turned to the table and jerked some brandy into +a glass. Then, "You haven't asked yet," he said, "what I've done." + +"If I am to choose," Basset replied, "I would rather not know. You +know my views." + +"I know that you didn't think I should do it? Well, I've done it!" + +"Do you mean that--you've found the evidence?" + +"Is it likely?" the other replied petulantly. "No, but I've been in +the Muniment Room. It is fifty years since I heard my father describe +its position, but I could have gone to it blindfold! I was a boy then, +and the name--he was telling a story of the old lord--took my fancy. I +listened. In time the thing faded, but one day when I was at the +lawyer's and some one mentioned the Muniment Room, the story came back +to me so clearly, that I could almost repeat my father's words." + +"And you've been in the room?" + +"I've been in it. Why not? A door two inches thick and studded with +iron, and a lock that one out of any dozen big keys would open!" He +rubbed his calves in his satisfaction. "In twenty minutes I was +inside." + +"And it was empty?" + +"It was empty," the other agreed, with a cunning smile. "As bare as a +board. A little whitewashed room, just as my father described it!" + +"They had removed the papers?" + +"To the bank, or to London, or to Stubbs's. The place was as clean as +a platter! Not a length of green tape or an end of parchment was +left!" + +"Then what have you gained?" Basset asked. + +Audley looked slyly at him, his head on one side. "Ay, what?" he said. +"But I'll tell you my father's story. At one time the part of the room +under the stairs was crumbling and the rats got in. The steward told +the old lord and he went to see it. 'Brick it up!' he said. The +steward objected that there would not be room--the place was full; +there were boxes everywhere, some under the stairs. The old lord +tapped one of the boxes with his gold-headed cane. 'What's in these!' +he asked. 'Old papers,' the steward explained. 'Of no use, my lord, +but curious; old leases for lives, and terriers.' 'Terriers?' cried +the old lord. 'Then, by G--d, brick 'em up with the rats!' And that +day at dinner he told my father the story and chuckled over it." + +"And that's what you've had in your mind all this time?" Basset said. +"Do you think it was done?" + +"The old lord bricked up many a pipe of port, and I think that he +would do it for the jest's sake. And"-- John Audley turned and looked +in his companion's face--"the part under the stairs _is bricked up_, +and the room is as square and as flush as the family vault--and very +like it. The old lord," he added sardonically, "knows what it is to be +bricked up himself now." + +"And still there may be nothing there to help you." + +Audley rose from his chair. "Don't say it!" he cried passionately. "Or +I'll say that there's no right in the world, no law, no providence, no +God! Don't dare to say it!" he continued, his cheeks trembling with +excitement. "If I believed that I should go mad! But it is there! It +is there! Do you think that it was for naught I heard that story? That +it was for naught I remembered it, for naught I've carried the story +in my mind all these years? No, they are there, the papers that will +give me mine and give it to Mary after me! They are there! And you +must help me to get them." + +"I cannot do it, sir," Basset replied firmly. "I don't think that you +understand what you ask. To break into Audley's house like any common +burglar, to dig down his wall, to steal his deeds----" + +John Audley shook his fist in the young man's face. "His house!" he +shrieked. "His wall! His deeds! No, fool, but my house, my wall, my +deeds! my deeds! If the papers are there all's mine! All! And I am but +taking my own! Can't you see that? Can't you see it? Have I no right +to take what is my own?" + +"But if the papers are not there?" Basset replied gravely. "No, sir, +if you will take my advice you will tell your story, apply to the +court, and let the court examine the documents. That's the +straightforward course." + +John Audley flung out his arms. "Man!" he cried. "Don't you know that +as long as he is in possession he can sit on his deeds, and no power +on earth can force him to show them?" + +Basset drew in his breath. "If that is so," he said, "it is hard. Very +hard! But to go by night and break into his house--sticks in my +gizzard, sir. I'm sorry, but that is the way I look at it. The man's +here too. I saw him this evening. The fancy might have taken him to +visit the house, and he might have found you there?" + +Audley's color faded, he seemed to shrink into himself. "Where did you +see him?" he faltered. + +Basset told the story. "I don't suppose that the girls were really in +danger," he continued, "but they thought so, and Audley came to the +rescue and brought them as far as the park gap." + +The other took out his silk handkerchief and wiped his brow. "As near +as that," he muttered. + +"Ay, and if he had found you at the house, he might have guessed your +purpose." + +John Audley held out a hand trembling with passion. "I would have +killed him!" he cried. "I would have killed him--before he should have +had what is there!" + +"Exactly," Basset replied. "And that is why I will have nothing to do +with the matter! It's too risky, sir. If you take my advice you will +give it up." + +Audley did not answer. He sat awhile, his shoulders bowed, his eyes +fixed on the hearth, while the other wondered for the hundredth time +if he were sane. At length, "What is he doing here?" the old man asked +in a lifeless tone. The passion had died out of him. + +"Shooting, I suppose. But there was some talk in Riddsley of his +coming down to stir up old Mottisfont." + +"What about?" + +"Against the corn-law repeal, I suppose." + +Audley nodded. But after a while, "That's a pretext," he said. "And so +is the shooting. He has followed the girl." + +Basset started. "Followed Mary!" he exclaimed. + +"What else? I have looked for it from the first. I've pressed you to +come to an understanding with her for that reason. Why the devil can't +you? If you leave it much longer you'll be too late! Too late! And, by +G--d, I'll never forgive you!" with a fresh spirt of passion. "Never! +Never, man!" + +"I've not said that I meant to do it." + +"You've not said!" Audley replied contemptuously. "Do you think that I +don't know that she's all the world to you? Do you think that I've no +eyes? Do you think that when you sit there watching her from behind +your book by the hour together, I have not my sight? Man, I'm not a +fool! And I tell you that if you're not to lose her you must speak! +You must speak! Stand by another month, wait a little longer, and +Philip Audley will put in his oar, and I'll not give that for your +chances!" He snapped his fingers. + +"Why should he put in his oar?" Basset asked sullenly. His face had +turned a dull red. + +John Audley shrugged his shoulders. "Do you think that she is without +attractions?" + +"But Audley lives in another world." + +"The more likely to have attractions for her!" + +"But surely he'll look for--for something more," Basset stammered. + +"For a rich wife? For an alliance, as the saying is? And sleep ill of +nights? And have bad dreams? No, he is no fool, if you are. He sees +that if he marries the girl he makes himself safe. He makes himself +safe! After me, it lies between them." + +"I take it that he does think himself safe." + +"Not he!" Audley replied. He was stooping over the ashes, warming his +hands, but at that he jumped up. "Not he! he knows better than you! +And fears! And sleeps ill of nights, d--n him! And dreams! But there, +I must not excite myself. I must not excite myself. Only, if he once +begins, he'll be no laggard in love as you are! He'll not sit puling +and peeping and looking at the back of her head by the hour together! +He'll be up and at her--I know what that big jowl means! And she'll be +in his arms in half the time that you've taken to count her +eyelashes!" He turned in a fresh fit of fury and seized his candle. +"In his arms, I tell you, fool, while you are counting her eyelashes. +Well, lose her, lose her, and I never want to see you again, or her! +Never! I'll curse you both!" + +He stumbled to the door and went out, a queer, gibbering, shaking +figure; and Basset had no doubt at such moments that he was mad. But +on this occasion he was afraid--he was very much afraid, as he sat +pondering in his chair, that there was method in his madness! + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + PETER PAUPER + + +The impression which the events of the evening had made on Mary's mind +was still lively when she awoke next day. It was not less clear, +because like the feminine letter of the 'forties, crossed and +recrossed, it had stamped itself in two layers on her mind, of which +the earlier was the more vivid. + +The solitude in which her days had of late been spent had left her +peculiarly open to new ideas, while the quiet and wholesome life of +the Gatehouse had prepared her to answer any call which those ideas +might make upon her. Rescued from penury, lifted above anxiety about +bed and board, no longer exposed to the panic-fears which in Paris had +beset even her courageous nature, Mary had for a while been content +simply to rest. She had taken the sunshine, the beauty, the ease and +indolence of her life as a convalescent accepts idleness, without +scruple or question. + +But this could not last. She was young, nature soon rallied in her, +and she had seen things and done things during the last two years +which forbade her to accept such a limited horizon as satisfied most +of the women of that day. Unlike them, she had viewed the world from +more than one standpoint; through the grille of a convent school, from +the grimy windows of a back-street in Paris; again, as it moved +beneath the painted ceilings of a French salon. And now, as it +presented itself in this retired house. + +Therefore she could not view things as those saw them whose standpoint +had never shifted. She had suffered, she still had twinges--for who, +with her experience, could be sure that the path would continue easy? +And so to her Mr. Colet's sermon had made a strong appeal. + +It left the word which Mr. Colet had taken for his text sounding in +her ears. Borne upward on the eloquence which earnestness had lent to +the young preacher, she looked down on a world in torment, a world +holding up piteous hands, craving, itself in ignorance, the help of +those who held the secret, and whose will might make that secret +sufficient to save. Love! To do to others as she would have others do +to her! With every day, with every hour, with every minute to do +something for others! Always to give, never to take! Above all to give +herself, to do her part in that preference of others to self, which +could alone right these mighty wrongs, could find work for the idle, +food for the hungry, roofs for the homeless, knowledge for the blind, +healing for the sick! Which could save all this world in torment, and +could + + + "Build a Heaven in Hell's despair!" + + +It was a beautiful vision, and in this her first glimpse of it, Mary's +fancy was not chilled by the hard light of experience. It seemed so +plain that if the workman had his master's profit at heart, and the +master were as anxious for the weal of his men, the interests of the +two would be one. Equally plain it seemed that if they who grew the +food aimed at feeding the greatest number, and they who ate had the +same desire to reward the grower, if every man shrank from taking +advantage of other men, if the learned lived to spread their +knowledge, and the strong to help the weak, if no man wronged his +neighbor, but + + + "Each for another gave his ease," + + +then it seemed equally plain that love would indeed be lord of all! + +Later, she might discover that it takes two to make a bargain; that +charity does bless him who gives but not always him who takes; even, +that cheap bread might be a dear advantage--that at least it might +have its drawbacks. + +But for the moment it was enough for Mary that the vision was +beautiful and, as a theory, true. So that, gazing upward at the faded +dimity of her tester, she longed to play her part in it. That world in +torment, those countless hands stretched upward in appeal, that murmur +of infinite pain, the cry of the hungry, of the widow, of men sitting +by tireless hearths, of children dying in mill and mine--the picture +wrought on her so strongly, that she could not rest. She rose, and +though the hoar frost was white on the grass and the fog of an autumn +morning still curtained the view, she began to dress. + +Perhaps the chill of the cold water in which she washed sobered her. +At any rate, with the comb in one hand and her hair in the other, she +drifted down another line of thought. Lord Audley--how strange was the +chance which had again brought them together! How much she owed him, +with what kindness had he seen to her comfort, how masterfully had he +arranged matters for her on the boat. And then she smiled. She +recalled Basset's ill-humor, or his--jealousy. At the thought of what +the word implied, Mary colored. + +There could be nothing in the notion, yet she probed her own feelings. +Certainly she liked Lord Audley. If he was not handsome, he had that +air of strength and power which impresses women; and he had ease and +charm, and the look of fashion which has its weight with even the most +sensible of her sex. He had all these and he was a man, and she +admired him and was grateful to him. And yesterday she might have +thought that her feeling for him was love. + +But this morning she had gained a higher notion of love. She had +learned from Etruria how near to that pattern of love which Mr. Colet +preached the love of man and woman could rise. She had a new +conception of its strength and its power to expel what was selfish or +petty. She had seen it in its noblest form in Etruria, and she knew +that her feeling for Lord Audley was not in the same world with +Etruria's feeling for the curate. She laughed at the notion. + +"Poor Etruria!" she meditated. "Or should it be, happy Etruria? Who +knows? I only know that I am heart-whole!" + +And she knotted up her hair and, Diana-like, went out into the pure +biting air of the morning, along the green rides hoary with dew and +fringed with bracken, under the oak trees from which the wood-pigeons +broke in startled flight. + +But if the energy of her thoughts carried her out, fatigue soon +brought her to a pause. The evening's excitement, the strain of the +adventure had not left her, young as she was, unscathed. The springs +of enthusiasm waned with her strength, and presently she felt jaded. +She perceived that she would have done better had she rested longer; +and too late the charms of bed appealed to her. + +She was at the breakfast table when Basset--he, too, had had a +restless night and many thoughts--came down. He saw that she was pale +and that there were shadows under her eyes, and the man's tenderness +went out to her. He longed, he longed above everything to put himself +right with her; and on the impulse of the moment, "I want you to +know," he said, standing meekly at her elbow, "that I am sorry I lost +my temper last evening." + +But she was out of sympathy with him. "It is nothing," she said. "We +were all tired, I think. Etruria is not down yet." + +"But I want to ask your----" + +"Oh dear, dear!" she cried, interrupting him with a gesture of +impatience. "Don't let us rake it up again. If my uncle has not +suffered, there is no harm done. Please let it rest." + +But he could not let it rest. He longed to put his neck under her +foot, and he did not see that she was in the worst possible mood for +his purpose. "Still," he said, "you must let me say----" + +"Don't!" she cried. She put her hands to her ears. Then, seeing that +she had wounded him, she dropped them and spoke more kindly. "Don't +let us make much of little, Mr. Basset. It was all natural enough. You +don't like Lord Audley----" + +"I don't." + +"And you did not understand that we had been terribly frightened, and +had good reason to be grateful to him. I am sure that if you had known +that, you would have behaved differently. There!" with a smile. "And +now that I have made the amende for you, let us have breakfast. Here +is your coffee." + +He knew that she was holding him off, and all his alarms of the night +were quickened. Again and again had John Audley's warning recurred to +him and as often he had striven to reject it, but always in vain. And +gradually, slowly, it had kindled his resolution, it had fired him to +action. Now, the very modesty which had long kept him silent and +withheld him from enterprise was changed--as so often happens with +diffident man--into rashness. He was as anxious to put his fate to the +test as he had before been unwilling. + +Presently, "You will not need to tell your uncle about Lord Audley," +he said. "I've done it." + +"I hope you told him," she answered gravely, "that we were indebted to +Lord Audley for our safety." + +"You don't trust me?" + +"Don't say things like that!" she cried. "It is foolish. I have no +doubt that in telling my uncle you meant to relieve me. You have +helped me more than once in that way. But----" + +"But this is a special occasion?" + +She looked at him. "If you wish us to be friends----" + +"I don't," he answered roughly. "I don't want to be friends with you." + +Then, ambiguous as his words were, she saw where she stood, and she +mustered her presence of mind. She rose from her seat. "And I," she +said, "am not going to quarrel with you, Mr. Basset. I am going now to +learn how Etruria is. And then I shall see my uncle." + +She escaped before he could answer. + +Once or twice it had crossed her mind that he looked at her with +intention; and once reading that look in his eyes she had felt her +color rise, and her heart beat more quickly. But the absence on her +side of any feeling, except that which a sister might feel for a kind +brother, this and the reserve of his manner had nipped the fancy as +soon as it budded. And if she had given it a second thought, it had +been only to smile at her vanity. + +Now she had no doubt of the fact, no doubt that it was jealousy that +moved him, and her uppermost, almost her only feeling was vexation. +Because they had lived in the same house for five months, because he +had been useful and she had been grateful, because they were man and +woman, how foolish it was! How absurd! How annoying! She foresaw from +it many, many, inconveniences; a breach in their pleasant intercourse, +displeasure on her uncle's part, trouble in the house that had been so +peaceful--oh, many things. But that which vexed her most was the fear +that she had, all unwittingly, encouraged him. + +She believed that she had not. But while she talked to Etruria, and +later, as she went down the stairs to interview her uncle, she had +this weight on her mind. She strove to recall words and looks, and +upon the whole she was sure that she could acquit herself, sure that +of this evil no part lay at her door. But it was very, very vexatious! + +On the threshold of the library she wrested her thoughts back to the +present, and paused a moment, considering what she should say to her +uncle. + +She need not have troubled herself, for he was not there. At the first +glance she took the room to be empty; a second showed her Basset. She +turned to retire, but too late; he stepped between her and the door +and closed it. He was a little paler than usual, and his air of +purpose was not to be mistaken. + +She stiffened. "I came to see my uncle," she said. + +"I am the bearer of a message from him," he answered. "He asked me to +say that he considers the matter at an end. He does not wish it to be +mentioned again. Of course he does not blame you." + +"But, Mr. Basset----" + +But he would not let her speak. "That was his message," he continued, +"and I am glad to be the messenger because it gives me a chance of +speaking to you. Will you sit down?" + +"But we have only just parted," she remonstrated, struggling against +her fate. "I don't understand what you want----" + +"To say? No, I am going to explain it--if you will sit down." + +She sat down then with the feeling that she was trapped. And since it +was clear that she must go through with it, she was glad that his +insistence hardened her heart and dried up the springs of pity. + +He went to the fire, stooped and moved the wood. "You won't come +nearer?" he said. + +"No," she replied. How foolish to trap her like this if he thought to +get anything from her! + +He turned to her and his face was changed. Under his wistful look she +discovered that it was not so easy to be hard, not so easy to maintain +her firmness. "You would rather escape?" he said, reading her mind. "I +know. But I can't let you escape. You are thinking that I have trapped +you? And you are fearing that I am going to make you unhappy for--for +half an hour perhaps? I know. And I am fearing that you are going to +make me unhappy for--always." + +No, she could not retain her hardness. She knew that she was going to +feel pity after all. But she would not speak. + +"I have only hope," he went on. "There is only one thing I am clinging +to. I have read that when a man loves a woman very truly, very deeply, +as I love you, Mary"--she started violently, and blushed to the roots +of her hair, so sudden was the avowal--"as I love you," he repeated +sorrowfully, "I have read that she either hates him or loves him. His +love is a fire that either warms her or scorches her, draws her or +repels her. I thought of that last night, as I thought of many things, +and I was sure, I was confident that you did not hate me." + +"Oh no," she answered, unsteadily. "Indeed, indeed, I don't! I am very +grateful to you. But the other--I don't think it is true." + +"No?" he said, keeping his eyes on her face. "And then, you don't +doubt that I love you?" + +"No." The flush had faded from her face and left her pale. "I don't +doubt that--now." + +"It is so true that--you know that you have sometimes called me Peter? +Well, I would have given much, very much to call you Mary. But I did +not dare. I could not. For I knew that if I did, only once, my voice +would betray me, and that I should alarm you before the time! I knew +that that one word--that word alone--would set my heart upon my sleeve +for all to see. And I did not want to alarm you. I did not want to +hurry you. I thought then that I had time, time to make myself known +to you, time to prove my devotion, time to win you, Mary. I thought +that I could wait. Now, since last night, I am afraid to wait. I +doubt, nay I am sure, that I have no time, that I dare not wait." + +She did not answer, but the color mounted again to her face. + +He turned and knocked the fire together with his foot. Then he took a +step towards her. "Tell me," he said, "have I any chance? Any chance +at all, Mary?" + +She shook her head; but seeing then that he kept his eyes fixed on her +and would not take that for an answer, "None," she said as kindly as +she could. "I must tell you the truth. It is useless to try to break +it. I have never once, not once thought of you but as a friend, +Peter." + +"But now," he said, "cannot you regard me differently--now! Now that +you know? Cannot you begin to think of me as--a lover?" + +"No," Mary said frankly and pitifully. "I should not be honest if I +said that I could. If I held out hopes. You have been always good to +me, kind to me, a dear friend, a brother when I had need of one. And I +am grateful, Mr. Basset, honestly, really grateful to you. And fond of +you--in that way. But I could not think of you in the way you desire. +I know it for certain. I know that there is no chance." + +He stood for a moment without speaking, and seeing how stricken he +looked, how sad his face, her eyes filled with tears. Then, "Is there +any one else?" he asked slowly, his eyes on her face. + +She did not answer. She rose to her feet. + +"Is there any one else?" he repeated, a new note in his voice. He +moved forward a step. + +"You have no right to ask that," she said. + +"I have every right," he replied. "What?" he continued, moving still +nearer to her, his whole bearing changed in a moment by the sting of +jealousy. "I am condemned, I am rejected, and I am not to ask why?" + +"No," she said. + +"But I do ask!" he retorted with a passion which surprised and alarmed +her; he was no longer the despondent lover of five minutes before, but +a man demanding his rights. "Have you no heart? Have you no feeling +for me? Do you not consider what this is to me?" + +"I consider," Mary replied with a warmth almost equal to his own, +"that if I answered your question I should humiliate myself. No one, +no one has a right, sir, to ask that question. And least of all you!" + +"And I am to be cast aside, I am to be discarded without a reason?" + +That word "discarded" seemed so unjust, and so uncalled for, seeing +that she had given him no encouragement, that it stung her to anger. +"Without a reason?" she retorted. "I have given you a reason--I do not +return your love. That is the only reason that you have a right to +know. But if you press me, I will tell you why what you propose is +impossible. Because, if I ever love a man I hope, Mr. Basset, that it +will be one who has some work in the world, something to do that shall +be worth the doing, a man with ambitions above mere trifling, mere +groping in the dust of the past for facts that, when known, make no +man happier, and no man better, and scarce a man wiser! Do you ever +think," she continued, carried away by the remembrance of Mr. Colet's +zeal, "of the sorrow and pain that are in the world? Of the vast +riddles that are to be solved? Of the work that awaits the wisest and +the strongest, and at which all in their degree can help? My uncle is +an old man, it is well he should play with the past. I am a girl, it +may serve for me. But what do you here?" She pointed to his table, +laden with open folios and calf-bound volumes. "You spend a week in +proving a Bohun marriage that is nothing to any one. Another, in +raking up a blot that is better forgotten! A third in tracing to its +source some ancient tag! You move a thousand books--to make one +knight! Is that a man's work?" + +"At least," he said huskily, "I do no harm." + +"No harm?" Mary replied, swept away by her feelings. "Is that enough? +Because in this quiet corner, which is home to my uncle and a refuge +to me, no call reaches you, is it enough that you do no harm? Is there +no good to be done? Think, Mr. Basset! I am ignorant, a woman. But I +know that to-day there are great questions calling for an answer, +wrongs clamoring to be righted, a people in travail that pleads for +ease! I know that there is work in England for men, for all! Work, +that if there be any virtue left in ancient blood should summon you as +with a trumpet call!" + +He did not answer. Twice, early in her attack he had moved as if he +would defend himself. Then he had let his chin fall and he had +listened with his eyes on the table. And--but she had not seen it--he +had more than once shivered under her words as under a lash. For he +loved her and she scourged him. He loved her, he desired her, he had +put her on a pedestal, and all the time she had been viewing him with +the clear merciless eyes of youth, trying him by the standard of her +dreams, probing his small pretensions, finding him a potterer in a +library--he who in his vanity had raised his eyes to her and sought to +be her hero! + +It was a cruel lesson, cruelly given; and it wounded him to the heart. +So that she, seeing too late that he made no reply, seeing the +grayness of his face, and that he did not raise his eyes, had a +too-late perception of what she had done, of how cruel she had been, +of how much more she had said than she had meant to say. She stood +conscience-stricken, remorseful, ashamed. + +And then, "Oh, I am sorry!" she cried. "I am sorry! I should not have +said that! You meant to honor me and I have hurt you." + +He looked up then, but neither the shadow nor the grayness left his +face. "Perhaps it was best," he said dully. "I am sure that you meant +well." + +"I did," she cried. "I did! But I was wrong. Utterly wrong!" + +"No," he said, "you were not wrong. The truth was best." + +"But perhaps it was not the truth," she replied, anxious at once, +miserably anxious to undo what she had done, to unsay what she had +said, to tell him that she was conceited, foolish, a mere girl! "I am +no judge--after all what do I know of these things? What have I done +that I should say anything?" + +"I am afraid that what is said is said," he replied. "I have always +known that I was no knight-errant. I have never been bold until +to-day--and it has not answered," with a sickly smile. "But we +understand one another now--and I relieve you." + +He passed her on his way to the door, and she thought that he was +going to hold it open for her to go out. But when he reached the door +he fumbled for the handle, found it as a blind man might find it, and +went out himself, without turning his head. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + THE MANCHESTER MEN + + +Basset knew every path that crossed the Chase, and had traversed them +at all seasons, and in all weathers. But when, some hours later, he +halted on a scarred and blackened waste that stretched to the horizon +on every side, he would have been hard put to it to say how he came to +be there. He wore his hat, he carried his stick, but he could not +remember how he had become possessed of either. + +For a time the shock of disappointment, the numbing sense of loss had +dulled his mind. He had walked as in a dream, repeating over and over +again that that was what she thought of him--and he had loved her. It +was possible that in the interval he had sworn at fate, or shrieked +against the curlews, or cursed the inhuman sky that mocked him with +its sameness. But he did not think that he had. He felt the life in +him too low for such outbursts. He told himself that he was a poor +creature, a broken thing, a failure. He loved her, and--and that was +what she thought of him. + +He sat on the stump of an ancient thorn-tree that had been a landmark +on the burnt heath longer than the oldest man could remember, and he +began to put together what she had said. He was trifling away his +life, picking stray finds from the dust-heap of the past, making no +man wiser and no man better, doing nothing for any one! Was she right? +The Bohun pedigree, at which he had worked so long? He had been proud +of his knowledge of Norman descents, proud of the research which had +won that knowledge, proud of his taste for following up recondite +facts. Were the knowledge, the research, the taste, all things for +which he ought to blush? Certainly, tried by the test, _cui bono?_ +they came off but poorly. And perhaps, to sit down at his age, content +with such employments, might seem unworthy and beneath him, if there +were other calls upon him. But were there other calls? + +Time had been when his family had played a great part, not in +Staffordshire only but in England; and then doubtless public service +had been a tradition with them. But the tradition had waned with their +fortunes. In these days he was only a small squire, a little more +regarded than the new men about him; but with no ability to push his +way in a crowd, no mastery among his fellow-men, one whom character +and position alike cast for a silent part. + +Of course she knew none of these things, but with the enthusiasm of +youth she looked to find in every man the qualities of the leading +role. He who seldom raised his voice at Quarter Sessions or on the +Grand Jury--to which his birth rather than his possessions called +him--she would have had him figure among the great, lead causes, +champion the oppressed! It was pitiful, if it had not been absurd! + +He walked on by and by, dwelling on the pity of it, a very unhappy +man. He thought of the evenings in the library when she had looked +over his shoulder, and one lamp had lighted them; of the mornings when +the sun had gilded her hair as she bent over the task she was even +then criticizing; of afternoons when the spirit of the chase had been +theirs, and the sunshine and the flowers had had no charm strong +enough to draw them from the pursuit of--alas! something that could +make no man better or wiser. He had lost her; and if aught mattered +apart from that, she had for ever poisoned the springs of content, +muddied the wells of his ordered life. + +Beyond doubt she loved the other, for had she not, she would have +viewed things differently. Beyond doubt in her love for the other lay +the bias that weighted her strictures. And yet, making all allowance +for that, there was so much of truth in what she had said, so much +that hit the mark, that he could never be the same again, never give +himself with pleasure to his former pursuits, never find the old life +a thing to satisfy! + +And still, like the tolling of a death bell above the city's life, two +thoughts beat on his mind again and again, and gave him intolerable +pain. That was what she thought of him! And he had lost her! That was +what she thought of him! And he had lost her! Her slender gracious +figure, her smiling eyes, the glint in her hair, her goodness, her +very self--all were for another! All were lost to him! + +Presently the day began to draw in, and fagged and hopeless he turned +and began to make his way back. His road lay through Brown Heath, the +mining village, where in all the taverns and low-browed shops they +were beginning to light their candles. He crossed the Triangle, and +made his way along the lane, deep in coal-dust and foul with drains, +that ran upwards to the Chase. A pit, near at hand, had just turned +out its shift, and in the dusk tired men, swinging tins in their +hands, were moving by twos and threes along the track. With his bent +shoulders and weary gait he was lost among them, he walked one with +them; yet here and there an older man espied the difference, +recognized him, and greeted him with rough respect. Presently the +current slackened; something, he could not see what, dammed the +stream. A shrewish voice rose in the darkness before him, and other +voices, angry, clamant, protesting, struck in. A few of the men pushed +by the trouble, others stood, here and there a man added a taunt to +the brawl. In his turn Basset came abreast of the quarrel. He halted. + +A farm cart blocked the roadway. Over the tail hung three or four +wailing children; into it a couple of sturdy men were trying to lift +an old woman, seated in a chair. A dingy beadle and a constable, who +formed the escort and looked ill at ease, stood beside the cart, and +round it half a score of slatternly women pushed and shrieked and +gesticulated. On the group and the whole dreary scene nightfall cast a +pallid light. + +"What is it?" Basset asked. + +"They're shifting Nan Oates to the poorhouse," a man answered. "Her +son died of the fever, and there's none to keep her or the little uns. +She've done till now, but they'll not give her bite nor sup out of the +House--that's the law now't seems. So the House it be!" + +"Her'd rather die than go!" cried a girl. + +"D--n them and their Bastilles!" exclaimed a younger man. "Are we free +men, or are we not?" + +"Free men?" shrieked a woman, who had seized the horse's rein and was +loudest in her outcry. "No, nor Staffordshire men, nor Englishmen, nor +men at all, if you let an old woman that's always lived decent go to +their stone jug this way. Give me Stafford Gaol--'tis miles afore it!" + +"Ay, you're at home there, Bet!" a voice in the crowd struck in, and +the laugh that followed lightened matters. + +Basset looked with pity at the old woman. Her head sunk upon her +breast, her thin shawl tucked about her shoulders, her gray hair in +wisps on her cheeks, she gazed in tearless grief upon the hovel which +had been home to her. "Who's to support her," he asked, "if she +stays?" + +"For the bite and sup there's neighbors," a man answered. "Reverend +Colet he said he might do something. But he's been lammed. And there's +the rent. The boy's ten, and he made four shilling a week in the pit, +but the new law's stopped the young uns working." + +"Ay, d--n all new laws!" cried another. "Poor laws and pit laws we're +none but the worse for them!" + +The men were preparing to move the cart. The woman who held the rein +clung to it. "Now, Bet, have a care!" said the constable. "Or you'll +go home by Weeping Cross again!" + +"Cross? I'll cross you!" the termagant retorted. "Selling up widows' +houses is your bread and meat! May the devil, hoof and horn, with his +scythe on his back, go through you! If there were three men here, ay, +men as you'd call men----" + +"Easy, woman, easy!" + +"Woman, dang you! You call me woman----" + +"Now, let go, Bet! You'll be in trouble else!" some one said. + +But she held on, and the crowd were beginning to jostle the men in +charge when Basset stepped forward. "Steady, a moment," he said. "Will +the guardians let the woman stop if the rent is provided?" + +"Who be you, master?" the constable asked. "You'd best let us do our +duty." + +"Dang it, man," an old fellow interposed, "it's Squire Basset of +Blore. Dunno you know him? Keep a civil tongue in your head, will +you!" + +"Ay," chimed in another, pushing forward with a menacing gesture. "You +be careful, Jack! You be Jack in office, but 'twon't always be so! +'Twon't always be so!" + +"Mr. Colet knows the old woman?" Basset asked. + +"Sure, sir, the curate knows her." + +"Well, I'll find the rent," Basset said, addressing the constable, "if +you'll let her be. I'll see the overseer about her in the morning." + +"So long as she don't come on the rates, sir?" + +"She'll not come on the rates for six months," Basset said. "I'll be +answerable for so much." + +The men had little stomach for their task, and with a good excuse they +were willing enough to desist. A woman fetched a stub of a pen and a +drop of ink and Basset wrote a word for their satisfaction. While he +did so, "O'd Staffordshire! O'd Staffordshire!" a man explained in the +background. "Bassets of Blore--they be come from an Abbey and come to +a Grange, as the saying is. You never heard of the Bassets of Blore, +you be neither from Mixen nor Moor!" In old Stafford talk the rich +lands of Cheshire stood for the "mixen" as against the bare heaths of +the home county. + +In five minutes the business was done, the woman freed, and Basset was +trudging away through the gathering darkness. But the incident had +done him good. It had lightened his heart. It had changed ever so +little the direction of his thoughts. Out of his own trouble he had +stretched a hand to another; and although he knew that it was not by +stray acts such as this that he could lift himself to Mary's standard, +though the battle over the new Poor Law had taught him, and many +others, that charity may be the greatest of evils, what he had done +seemed to bring him nearer to her. A hardship of the poor, which he +might have seen with blind eyes, or viewed from afar as the inevitable +result of the stay of outdoor relief, had come home to him. As he +plodded across the moor he carried with him a picture of the old woman +with her gray hair falling about her wrinkled face, and her hands +clasped in hopeless resignation. And he felt that his was not the only +trouble in the world. + +When he had passed the wall of Beaudelays Park, Basset struck--not far +from the Gatehouse--into the road leading down to the Vale, and a +couple of hours after dark he plodded into Riddsley. He made for the +Audley Arms, a long straggling house on the main street, in one part +of two stories, in another of three, with a big bay window at the end. +Entering the yard by the archway he ordered a gig to go to the +Gatehouse for his portmanteau. Then he turned into the inn, and +scribbled a note to John Audley, stating that he was called away, and +would explain matters when he wrote again. He sent it by the driver. + +It was eight o'clock. "I am afraid, Squire," the landlord said, "that +there's no fire upstairs. If you'd not mind our parlor for once, +there's no one there and it's snug and warm." + +"I'll do that, Musters," he said. He was cold and famished and he was +not sorry to avoid the company of his own thoughts. In the parlor, +next door to the Snug, he might be alone or listen to the local gossip +as he pleased. + +Ten minutes later he sat in front of a good plain meal, and for the +time the pangs of appetite overcame those of disappointment. About +nine the landlord entered on some errand. "I suppose, sir," he said, +lingering to see that his guest had all that he wanted, "you've heard +this about Mr. Mottisfont?" + +"No, Musters, what is it? Get a clean glass and tell me about it." + +"He's to resign, sir, I hear. And his son is to stand." + +"Why?" + +"Along o' this about Sir Robert Peel, I understand. They have it that +Sir Robert's going to repeal the corn taxes--some say that he's been +for it all through, and some talk about a potato failure. Mr. +Mottisfont sees that that'll never do for Riddsley, but he don't want +to part from his leader, after following him all these years; so he'll +go out and the young gentleman will take his place." + +"Do you think it is true about Peel?" + +"They're saying it, and Mr. Stubbs, he believes it. But it'll never go +down in Riddsley, Squire. We're horn and corn men here, two to one of +us. There's just the two small factories on the other side, and most +of the hands haven't votes. But here's Mr. Stubbs himself." + +The lawyer had looked into the room in passing. Seeing Basset he +removed his hat. "Pardon, Squire," he said. "I did not know that you +were here." + +"Not at all," Basset answered. He knew the lawyer locally, and had +seen him often--at arm's length--in the peerage suit. "Will you take a +glass of wine with me?" + +Stubbs said that he would with pleasure, if he might take it +standing--his time was short. The landlord was for withdrawing, but +Stubbs detained him. "No, John, with Mr. Basset's leave I've a bone to +pick with you," he said. "Who are these men who are staying here?" + +Musters's face fell. "Lord, Mr. Stubbs," he said, "have you heard of +them?" + +"I hear most things," the lawyer answered. "But repealers talking +treason at the Audley Arms is a thing I never thought to hear. They +must go." + +The landlord rubbed his head. "I can't turn 'em out," he said. "They'd +have the law of me. His lordship couldn't turn 'em out." + +"I don't know about that," Stubbs replied. "He's a good landlord, but +he likes his own way." + +"But what can I do?" the stout man protested. "When they came I knew +no more about them than a china babe. When they began to talk, so glib +that no one could answer them, I was more took aback than anybody. +Seems like the world's coming to an end with Manchester men coming +here." + +"Perhaps it is," Basset said. + +Stubbs met his eye and took his meaning. Later the lawyer maintained +that he had his suspicions from that moment. At the time he only +answered, "Not in our day, Mr. Basset. Peel or Repeal, there's no one +has attacked the land yet but the land has broken them. And so it will +be this time. John, the sooner those two are out of your house the +better." + +"But, dang me, sir, what am I to do?" + +"Put 'em in the horse trough for what I care!" the lawyer replied. +"Good-evening, Squire. I hope the Riddsley parliament mayn't disturb +you." + +The landlord followed him out, after handing something through the +hatch, which opened into the Snug. He left the hatch a little ajar +when he had done so, and the voices of those who gathered there +nightly, as to a club, reached Basset. At first he caught no more than +a word here or there, but as the debate grew warm the speakers raised +their voices. + +"All mighty fine," some one said, laying down the law, "but you're +like the rest, you Manchester chaps. You've your eyes on your own rack +and manger!" + +"I'm not denying it," came the answer in a Lancashire accent, "I'm not +saying that cheap bread won't suit us. But it isn't for that----" + +"No, no, of course not," the former speaker replied with heavy +irony--Basset thought that the voice belonged to Hayward of the +Leasows, a pompous old farmer, dubbed behind his back "The Duke." "You +don't want low wages i' your mills, of course!" + +"Cheap bread doesn't make low wages," the other rejoined. "That's +where you mistake, sir. Let me put it to you. You've known wheat +high?" + +"It was seventy-seven shillings seven years back," the farmer +pronounced. "And I ha' known it a hundred shillings a quarter for +three years together." + +"And I suppose the wages at that time were the highest you've ever +known?" + +"Well, no," the farmer admitted, "I'm not saying that." + +"And seven years ago when wheat was seventy-seven--it is fifty-six +now--were wages higher then than now?" + +"Well," the Duke answered reluctantly, "I don't know as they were, +mister, not to take notice of." + +"Think it out for yourself, sir," the other replied. "I don't think +you'll find that wages are highest when wheat is highest, nor lowest +when wheat is lowest." + +The farmer, more weighty than ready, snorted. But another speaker took +up the cudgels. "Ay, but one minute," he said. "It's the price of +wheat fixes the lowest wages. If it's two pound of bread will keep a +man fit to work--just keep him so and no more--it's the price of bread +fixes whether the lowest wages is eightpence a day or a shilling a +day." + +"Well, but----" + +"Well, but by G--d, he's got you there!" the Duke cried, and smacked +his fat thigh in triumph. "We've some sense i' Riddsley yet. Here's +your health and song, Dr. Pepper!" At which there was some laughter. + +"Well, sir, I'll not say yes, nor no, to that," the Lancashire man +replied, as soon as he could get a hearing. "But, gentlemen, it's not +low wages we want. I'll tell you the two things we do want, and why we +want cheap bread; first, that your laborers after they have bought +bread may have something over to buy our woollens, and our cottons, +and your pots. And secondly, if we don't take foreign wheat in payment +how are foreigners to pay for our goods?" + +But at this half a dozen were up in arms. "How?" cried the Duke, "why +wi' money like honest men at home! But there it is! There's the +devil's hoof! It's foreign corn you're after! And with foreign corn +coming in at forty shillings where'll we be?" + +"No wheat will ever be grown at that price," declared the free trader +with solemnity, "here or abroad!" + +"So you say!" cried Hayward. "But put it at forty-five. We'll be on +the rates, and our laborers, where'll they be?" + +"I don't like such talk in my house!" said Musters. + +"I'd certainly like an answer to that," Pepper the surgeon said. "If +the farmers are broke where'll their laborers be but flocking to your +mills to put down wages there!" + +"The laborers? Well, they're protected now, that's true." + +"Lucky for them!" cried two or three. + +"They are protected now," the stranger repeated slowly. "And I'll tell +you what one of them said to me last year. 'I be protected,' he said, +'and I be starving!'" + +"Dang his impudence!" muttered old Hayward. "That's the kind of thing +they two Boshams at the Bridge talk. Firebrands they be!" + +But the shot had told; no one else spoke. + +"That man's wages," the Manchester man continued, "were six shillings +a week--it was in Wiltshire. And you are protected too, sir," he +continued, turning suddenly on the Duke. "Have you made a fortune, +sir, farming?" + +"I don't know as I have," the farmer answered sulkily--and in a lower +voice, "Dang his impudence again!" + +"Why not? Because you are paying a protected rent. Because you pay +high for feeding-stuff. Because you pay poor-rates so high you'd be +better off paying double wages. There's only one man benefits by the +corn-tax, sir, there's only one who is truly protected, and that is +the landlord!" + +But to several in the room this was treason, and they cried out upon +it. "Ay, that's the bottom of it, mister," one roared, "down with the +landlords and up with the cotton lords!" "There's your Reform Bill," +shouted another, "we've put the beggars on horseback, and none's to +ride but them now!" A third protested that cheap bread was a herring +drawn across the track. "They're for cheap bread for the poor man, but +no votes! Votes would make him as good as them!" + +"Anyway," the stranger replied patiently, "it's clear that neither the +farmer nor the laborer grows fat on Protection. Your wages are nine +shillings----" + +"Ten and eleven!" cried two or three. + +"And your farmers are smothered in rates. If that's all you get by +Protection I'd try another system." + +"Anyways, I'll ask you to try it out of my house," Musters said. "I've +a good landlord and I'll not hear him abused!" + +"Hear! Hear! Musters! Quite right!" + +"I've not said an uncivil word," the Manchester man rejoined. "I shall +leave your house to-morrow, not an hour before. I'll add only one +word, gentlemen. Bread is the staff of life. Isn't it the last thing +you should tax?" + +"True," Mr. Pepper replied. "But isn't agriculture the staple +industry? Isn't it the base on which all other industries stand? Isn't +it the mainstay of the best constitution in the world? And wasn't it +the land that steadied England, and kept it clear of Bonaparte and +Wooden Shoes----" + +"Ay, wooden ships against wooden shoes for ever!" broke in old +Hayward, in great excitement. "Where were the oaks grown as beat Bony! +No, master, protect the oak and protect the wheat, and England'll +never lack ships nor meat! Your cotton-printers and ironfounders +they're great folks now, great folks, with their brass and their +votes, and so they've a mind to upset the gentry. It's the town +against the country, and new money against the old acres that have fed +us and our fathers before us world without end! But put one of my lads +in your mills, and amid your muck, and in twelve months he'd not pitch +hay, no not three hours of the day!" + +Basset could hear the free trader's chair grate on the sanded floor as +he pushed it back. "Well, gentlemen," he said, "I'll not quarrel with +you. I wish you all the protection you deserve--and I think Sir Robert +will give it you! For us, I'm not saying that we are not thinking of +our own interests." + +"Devil a doubt of that!" muttered the farmer. + +"And some of us may have been cold-shouldered by my lord. But you +may take it from me that there's some of us, too, are as anxious to +better the poor man's lot--ay, as Lord Ashley himself! That's all! +Good-night, gentlemen." + +When he was gone, "Gi' me a coal for my pipe, John," said the Duke. "I +never heard the like of that in Riddsley. He's a gallus glib chap +that!" + +"I won't say," said Mr. Pepper cautiously, "that there's nothing in +it." + +"Plenty in it for the cotton people and the coal people, and the +potters. But not for us!" + +"But if Sir Robert sees it that way?" queried the surgeon, delicately. + +"Then if Sir Robert were member for Riddsley," Hayward answered +stubbornly, "he'd get his notice to quit, Dr. Pepper! You may bet your +hat on that!" + +"There's one got a lesson last night," a new-comer chimed in. "Parson +Colet got so beaten on the moor he's in bed I am told. He's been +speaking free these last two months, and I thought he'd get it. Three +lads from your part I am told, Hayward." + +"Well, well!" the farmer replied with philosophy. "There's good in +Colet, and maybe it'll be a lesson to him! Anyway, good or bad, he's +going." + +"Going?" cried two or three, speaking at once. + +"I met Rector not two hours back. He'd a letter from Colet saying he +was going to preach the same rubbish here as he's fed 'em with at +Brown Heath--cheap bread and the rest of it. Rector's been to him--he +wouldn't budge, and he got his notice to quit right straight. Rector +was fit to burst when I saw him." + +"Colet be a born fool!" cried Musters. "Who's like to employ him after +that? Wheat is tithe and the parsons are as fond of their tithe as any +man. You may look a long way before you'll find a parson that's a +repealer." + +"Serves Colet right!" said one. "But I'm sorry for him all the same. +There's worse men than the Reverend Colet." + +Basset could never say afterwards what moved him at this point, but +whatever it was he got up and went out. The boots was lounging at the +door of the inn. He asked the man where Mr. Colet lodged, and learning +that it was in Stream Street, near the Maypole, he turned that way. + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + STRANGE BEDFELLOWS + + +Had any one told Basset, even that morning, that before night he would +seek the advice of the Riddsley curate, he would have met the +suggestion with unmeasured scorn. Probably he had not since his +college days spent an hour in intimate talk with a man so far from him +in fortune and position, and so unlike him in those things which bring +men together. Nor in the act of approaching Colet--under the impulse +of a few casual words and a sudden thought--was he able to understand +or to justify himself. + +But when he rose to his feet after an hour spent beside the curate's +dingy hearth--over the barber's shop in Stream Street--he did not need +to justify the step. He had said little but he had heard much. Colet's +tongue had been loosened by the sacrifice he had made, and inspired by +that love of his kind which takes refuge in the most unlikely shapes, +he had poured forth at length his beliefs and his aspirations. And +Basset, whose world had tottered since morning, for whom common things +had lost their poise and life its wonted aspect, began to think that +he had found in the other's aims a new standpoint and the offer of a +new beginning. + +The dip candles, which had been many times snuffed, were burning low +when the two rose. The curate, whose pale cheeks matched his bandaged +head, had a last word to say. "Of the need I am sure," he repeated, as +Basset's eye sought the cheap clock on the mantelpiece. "If I have not +proved that, the fault, sir, is mine. But the means--they are a +question for you; almost any man may see them more clearly than I do. +By votes, it may be, and so through the people working out their own +betterment. Or by social measures, as Lord Ashley thinks, through the +classes that are fitted by education to judge for all. Or by the wider +spread, as I hold, of self-sacrifice by all for all--to me, the ideal. +But of one thing I am convinced; that this tax upon the commonest +food, which takes so much more in proportion from the poor than from +the rich, is wrong. Certainly wrong, Mr. Basset,--unless the gain and +the loss can be equally spread. That's another matter." + +"I will not say any more now," Basset answered cautiously, "than that +I am inclined to your view. But for yourself, are there not others who +will not pay so dearly for maintaining it?" + +A redness spread over the curate's long horse-face. "No, Mr. Basset," +he rejoined, "if I left my duty to others I should pay still more +dearly. I am my own man. I will remain so." + +"But what will you do when you leave here?" Basset inquired, casting +his eyes round the shabby room. He did not see it as he had seen it on +his entrance. He discerned that, small as it was, and shabby as it +was, it might be a man's home. "I fear that there are few incumbents +who hold your views." + +"There are absentees," Colet replied with a smile, "who are not so +particular; and in the north there are a few who think as I think. I +shall not starve." + +"I have an old house on the Derbyshire border twenty miles from here," +Basset said. "A servant and his wife keep it, and during some months +of the year I live there. It is an out-of-the-way place, Mr. Colet, +but it is at your service--if you don't get work?" + +The curate seemed to shrink into himself. "I couldn't trespass on +you," he said. + +"I hope you will," Basset replied. "In the meantime, who was the man +you quoted a few minutes ago?" + +"Francis Place. He is a good man though not as we"--he touched his +threadbare cloth--"count goodness. He is something of a Socialist, +something of a Chartist--he might frighten you, Mr. Basset. But he has +the love of the people in him." + +"I will see him." + +"He has been a tailor." + +That hit Basset fairly in the face. "Good heavens!" he said. "A +tailor?" + +"Yes," Colet replied, smiling. "But a very uncommon tailor. Let me +tell you why I quoted him. Because, though he is not a Christian, he +has ideals. He aims higher than he can shoot, while the aims of the +Manchester League, though I agree with them upon the corn-tax, seem to +me to be bounded by the material and warped by their own interests." + +Basset nodded. "You have thought a good deal on these things," he +said. + +"I live among the poor. I have them always before me." + +"And I have thought so little that I need time. You must think no +worse of me if I wait a while. And now, good-night." + +But the other did not take the hand held out to him. He was staring at +the candle. "I am not clear that I have been quite frank with you," he +said awkwardly. "You have offered me the shelter of your house though +I am a stranger, Mr. Basset, and though you must suspect that to +harbor me may expose you to remark. Well, I may be tempted to avail +myself of your kindness. But I cannot do so unless you know more of my +circumstances." + +"I know all that is necessary." + +"You don't know what I am going to tell you," Colet persisted. "And I +think that you should. I am going to marry the daughter of your +uncle's servant, Toft." + +"Good Lord!" cried Basset. This was a second and more serious blow. It +brought him down from the clouds. + +"That shocks you, Mr. Basset," the curate continued with dignity, +"that I should marry one in her position? Well, I am not called upon +to justify it. Why I think her worthy, and more than worthy to share +my life, is my business. I only trouble you with the matter because +you have made me an offer which you might not have made had you known +this." + +Basset did not deny the fact. He could not, indeed. His taste, his +prejudice, his traditions all had received a blow, all were up in +arms; and, for the moment, at any rate he repented of his visit. He +felt that in stepping out of the normal round he had made a mistake. +He should have foreseen, he should have known that he would meet with +such shocks. "You have certainly astonished me," he said after a pause +of dismay. "I cannot think the match suitable, Mr. Colet. May I ask if +my uncle knows of this?" + +"Miss Audley knows of it." + +"But--you cannot yourself think it suitable!" + +"I have," Colet replied dryly, "or rather I had seventy pounds a year. +What girl, born in comfort, gently bred, sheltered from childhood +could I ask to share that? How could I, with so little in the present +and no prospects, ask a gentlewoman to share my lot?" + +Basset did not reply, but he was not convinced. A clergyman to marry a +servant, good and refined as Etruria was! It seemed to him to be +unseemly, to be altogether wrong. + +Colet too was silent a moment. Then, "I am glad I have told you this," +he said. "I shall not now trespass on you. On the other hand, I hope +that you may still do something--and with your name, you can do +much--for the good cause. If rumor goes for anything, many will in the +next few months examine the ground on which they stand. It will be +much, if what I have said has weight with you." + +He spoke with constraint, but he spoke like a man, and Basset owned +his equality while he resented it. He felt that he ought to renew his +offer of hospitality, but he could not--reserve and shyness had him +again in their grip. He muttered something about thinking it over, +added a word or two of thanks--which were cut short by the flickering +out of the candle--and a minute later he was in the dark deserted +street, and walking back to his inn--not over well content with +himself, if the truth be told. + +Either he should not have gone, he felt, or he should have gone the +whole way, sunk his ideas of caste, and carried the thing through. +What was it to him if the man was going to marry a servant? + +But that was a detail. The main point was that he should not have +gone. It had been a foolish impulse--he saw it now--which had taken +him to the barber's shop; and one which he might have known that he +would repent. He ought to have foreseen that he could not place +himself on Colet's level without coming into collision with him; that +he could not draw wisdom from him without paying toll. + +An impossible person, he thought, a man of ideas quite unlike his own! +And yet the man had spoken well and ably, and spoken from experience. +He had told the things that he had seen as he passed from house to +house, hard, sad facts, the outcome of rising numbers and falling +wages, of over-production, of mouths foodless and unwanted. And all +made worse, as he maintained, by this tax on bread, that barely +touched the rich man's income, yet took a heavy toll from the small +wage. + +As he recalled some of the things that he had heard, Basset felt his +interest revive. Colet had dealt with facts; he had attempted no +oratory, he had cast no glamour over them. But he had brought to bear +upon them the light of an ideal--the Christian ideal of unselfishness; +and his hearer, while he doubted, while he did not admit that the +solution was practical, owned its beauty. + +For he too, as we know, had had his aspirations, though he had rarely +thought of turning them into action. Instead, he had hidden them +behind the commonplace; and in this he had matched the times, which +were commonplace. For the country lay in the trough of the wave. +Neither the fine fury of the generation which had adored the rights of +man, nor the splendid endurance which the great war had fostered, nor +the lesser ardors of the Reform era, which found its single panacea in +votes, touched or ennobled it. Great wealth and great poverty, +jostling one another, marked a material age, seeking remedies in +material things, despising arms, decrying enthusiasm; an age which +felt, but hardly bowed as yet, to the breath of the new spirit. + +But Basset--perhaps because the present offered no great prospect to +the straitened squire--had had his glimpses of a life higher and +finer, devoted to something above the passing whim and the day's +indulgence, a life that should not be useless to those who came after +him. Was it possible that he now heard the call? Could this be the +crusade of which he had idly dreamed? Had the trumpet sounded at the +moment of his utmost need? + +If only it were so! During the evening he had kept his sorrow at bay +as well as he could, distracting his thoughts with passing objects. +Now, as the boots ushered him up the close-smelling stairs to the +inn's best room, and he stood in his hat and coat, looking on the cold +bare aspect and the unfamiliar things--he owned himself desolate. The +thought of Mary, of his hopes and plans and of the end of these, +returned upon him in an irresistible flood. The waters which he had +stemmed all day, though all day they had lapped his lips, overwhelmed +him with their bitterness. Mary! He had loved her and she--he knew +what she thought of him. + +He could not take up the old life. She had made an end of that, the +rather as from this time onward the Gatehouse would be closed to him +by her presence. And the old house near Wootton where he had been wont +to pass part of his time? That hardly met his needs or his +aspirations. Unhappy as he was, he could not see himself sitting down +in idleness, to brood and to rust in a home so remote, so quiet, so +lost among the stony hills that the country said of it, + + + "Wootton under Weaver + Where God came never!" + + +No, he could hardly face that. Hitherto he had not been called upon to +say what he would do with his life. Now the question was put to him +and he had to answer it. He had to answer it. For many minutes he sat +on the bed staring before him. And from time to time he sighed. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + THE GREAT HOUSE AT BEAUDELAYS + + +It was about a week after this that two men stood on the neglected +lawn, contemplating the long blind front of Beaudelays House. With all +its grandeur the house lacked the dignity of ruin, for ruin presumes a +past, and the larger part of the Great House had no past. The ancient +wing that had welcomed brides, and echoed the laughter of children and +given back the sullen notes of the passing-bell did not suffice to +redeem the whole. By night the house might pass; the silent bulk +imposed on the eye. By day it required no effort of fancy to see the +scaffold still clinging to the brickwork, or to discern that the grand +entrance had never opened to guest or neighbor, that everyday life had +never gazed through the blank windows of the long façade. + +The house, indeed, was not only dead. It had never lived. + +Certainly Nature had done something to shroud the dead. The lawn was +knee-deep in weeds, and the evergreens about it had pushed out +embracing arms to narrow the vista before the windows. At the lower +end of the lawn a paved terrace, the width of the house, promised a +freer air, but even here grass sprouted between the flags, and elders +labored to uproot the stately balustrade that looked on the lower +garden. This garden, once formal, was now a tangle of vegetation, a +wilderness amid whose broad walks Venuses slowly turned to Dryads, and +classic urns lay in fragments, split by the frosts of some excessive +winter. Only the prospect of the Trent Valley and the Derbyshire +foot-hills, visible beyond the pleasance, still pleased; and this view +was vague and sad and distant. For the Great House, as became its +greatness, shunned the public eye, and, lying far back, set a wide +stretch of park between its bounds and the verge of the upland. + +One of the two men was the owner. The other who bore a bunch of keys +was Stubbs. Both had a depressed air. It would have been hard to say +which of the two entered more deeply into the sadness of the place. + +Presently my lord turned his back on the house. "The view is fine," he +said. "The only fine thing about the place," he added bitterly. "Isn't +there a sort of Belvedere below the garden?" + +"There is, my lord. But I fear that it is out of repair." + +"Like everything else! There, don't think I'm blaming you for it, man. +You cannot make bricks without straw. But let us look at this +Belvedere." + +They descended the steps, and passed slowly along the grass-grown +walk, now and again stepping aside to avoid the clutch of a straggling +rose bough, or the fragments of a broken pillar. They paused to +inspect the sundial, a giant Butterfly with closed wings, a replica of +the stone monster in the Yew Walk. Lord Audley read the inscription, +barely visible through the verdigris that stained the dial-plate: + + + "Non sine sole volo!" + + +"Just so!" he said. "A short life and a merry one!" + +A few paces farther along the walk they stopped to examine the basin +of the great fountain. Cracked from edge to centre, and become a +shallow bed of clay and weeds, it was now as unsightly as it had been +beautiful in the days when fair women leaning over it had fed the gold +fish, or viewed their mirrored faces in its waters. + +"The fortunes of the Audleys in a nutshell!" muttered the unlucky +owner. And turning on his heel, "Confound it, Stubbs," he cried, "I +have had as much of this as I can stand! A little more and I shall go +back and cut my throat! It is beginning to rain, too. D--n the +Belvedere! Let us go into the house. That cannot be as bad as this." + +Without waiting for an answer, or looking behind him, he strode back +the way they had come. Stubbs followed in silence, and they regained +the lawn. + +"I tell you what it is," Audley continued, letting the agent come +abreast of him. "You must find some vulgarian to take the place--iron +man or cotton man, I don't care who he is, if he has got the cash I +You must let it, Stubbs. You must let it! It's a white elephant, it's +the d--ndest White Elephant man ever had!" + +The lawyer shook his head. "You may be sure, my lord," he said mildly, +"I should have advised that long ago, if it were possible. But we +couldn't let it in its present state--for a short term; and we have no +more power to lease it for a long one than, as your lordship knows, we +have power to sell it." + +The other swore. At the outset he had scarcely felt his poverty. But +he was beginning to feel it. There were moments such as this when his +withers were wrung; when the consequence which the title had brought +failed to soften the hardships of his lot--a poor peer with a vast +house. Had he tried to keep the Great House in repair it would have +swallowed the whole income of the peerage--a sum which, as it was, +barely sufficed for his needs as a bachelor. + +Already Stubbs had hinted that there was one way out--a rich marriage. +And Audley had received the hint with the easiness of a man who was in +no haste to marry and might, likely enough, marry where money was. But +once or twice during the last few days, which they had been spending +in a review of the property, my lord had shown irritation. When an old +farmer had said to his face, that he must bring home a bride with a +good fat chest, "and his lordship would be what his forbears had +been," the great man, in place of a laughing answer, had turned glumly +away. + +Presently the two halted at the door of the north wing. Stubbs +unlocked it and pushed it open. They entered an ante-room of moderate +size. + +"Faugh!" Audley cried. "Open a window! Break one if necessary." + +Stubbs succeeded in opening one, and they passed on into the great +hall, a room sixty feet long and open to the roof, a gallery running +round it. A withdrawing-room of half the length opened at one end, and +midway along the inner side a short passage led to a second hall--the +servants' hall--the twin of this. Together they formed an H, and were +probably a Jacobean copy of a Henry the Eighth building. A long table, +some benches, and a score of massive chairs furnished the room. +Between the windows hung a few ragged pictures, and on either side of +the farther door a piece of tapestry hung askew. + +Audley looked about him. In this room eighty years before the old lord +had held his revels. The two hearths had glowed with logs, a hundred +wax-lights had shone on silver and glass and the rosy tints of old +wine. Guests in satin and velvet, henchmen and led captains, had +filled it with laughter and jest, and song. With a foot on the table +they had toasted the young king--not stout Farmer George, not the old, +mad monarch, but the gay young sovereign. To-day desolation reigned. +The windows gray with dirt let in a grisly light. All was bare and +cold and rusty--the webs of spiders crossed the very hearths. The old +lord, mouldering in his coffin, was not more unlike that Georgian +reveller than was the room of to-day unlike the room of eighty years +before. + +Perhaps the thought struck his descendant. "God! What a +charnel-house!" he cried. "To think that men made merry in this room. +It's a vault, it's a grave! Let us get away from it. What's through, +man?" + +They passed into the withdrawing-room, where panels of needlework of +Queen Anne's time, gloomy with age, filled the wall spaces, and a few +pieces of furniture crouched under shrouds of dust. As they stood +gazing two rats leapt from a screen of Cordovan leather that lay in +tatters on the floor. The rats paused an instant to stare at the +intruders, then fled in panic. + +The younger man advanced to one of the panels in the wall. "A hunting +scene?" he said. "These may be worth money some day." + +The lawyer looked doubtful. "It will be a long day first, I am +afraid," he said. "It's funereal stuff at the best, my lord." + +"At any rate it is out of reach of the rats," Lord Audley answered. He +cast a look of distaste at the shreds of the screen. He touched them +with his foot. A third rat sprang out and fled squeaking to covert. +"Oh, d--n!" he said. "Let us see something else." + +The lawyer led the way upstairs to the ghostly, echoing gallery that +ran round the hall. They glanced into the principal guest-room, which +was over the drawing-room. Then they went by the short passage of the +H to the range of bedrooms over the servants' hall. For the most part +they opened one from the other. + +"The parents slept in the outer and the young ladies in the inner," +Audley said, smiling. "Gad! it tells a tale of the times!" + +Stubbs opened the nearest door and recoiled. "Take care, my lord!" he +said. "Here are the bats!" + +"Faugh! What a smell! Can't you keep them out?" + +"We tried years ago--I hate them like poison--but it was of no use. +They are in all these upper rooms." + +They were. For when Stubbs, humping his shoulders as under a shower, +opened a second door, the bats streamed forth in a long silent +procession, only to stream back again as silently. In a dusky corner +of the second room a cluster, like a huge bunch of grapes, hung to one +of the rafters. Now and again a bat detached itself and joined the +living current that swept without a sound through the shadowy rooms. + +"There's nothing beyond these rooms?" + +"No." + +"Then let us go down. Rats and bats and rottenness! _Non sine sole +volo!_ We may not, but the bats do. Let us go down! Or no! I was +forgetting. Where is the Muniment Room?" + +"This way, my lord," Stubbs replied, turning with suspicious +readiness--the bats were his pet aversion. "I brought a candle and +some of the new lucifers. This way, my lord." + +He led the way down to a door set in a corner of the ante-room. He +unlocked this and they found themselves at the foot of a circular +staircase. On the farther side of the stairfoot was another door which +led, Stubbs explained, into the servants' quarters. "This turret," he +added, "is older even than the wing, and forms no part of the H. It +was retained because it supplied a second staircase, and also a short +cut from the servants' hall to the entrance. The Muniment Room is over +this lobby on the first floor. Allow me to go first, my lord." + +The air was close, but not unpleasant, and the stairs were clean. On +the first floor a low-browed door, clamped and studded with iron, +showed itself. Stubbs halted before it. There was a sputter. A light +shone out. "Wonderful invention!" he said. "Electric telegraph not +more wonderful, though marvellous invention that, my lord." + +"Yes," the other answered dryly. "But--when were you here last, +Stubbs?" + +"Not for a twelvemonth, my lord." + +"Leave your candle?" + +"No." + +"Then what's that?" The young man pointed to something that lay in the +angle between a stair and the wall. + +"God bless my soul!" the lawyer cried. "It's a candle." + +"And clean. It has not been there a week. Who has been here, my +friend?" + +Stubbs reflected. "No one with my authority," he said. "But if the +devil himself has been here," he continued, stoutly recovering +himself, "he can have done no harm. I can prove that in five minutes, +my lord--if you will kindly hold the light." He inserted a large key +in the lock, and with an effort, he shot back the bolts. He pushed +open the door and signed to Lord Audley to enter. + +He did so, and Stubbs followed. They stood and looked about them. They +were in a whitewashed chamber twelve feet square, clean, bare, empty. +The walls gave back the light so that the one candle lit the place +perfectly. + +"It's as good as air-tight," Stubbs said with pride. "And you see, my +lord, we swept it as bare as the palm of my hand. I can answer for it +that not a shred of paper or a piece of wax was left." + +Audley, gazing about him, seemed satisfied. His face relaxed. "Yes," +he said, "you could not overlook anything in a place like this. I'm +glad I've seen it." + +He was turning to go when a thought struck him. He lowered the light +and scanned the floor. "All the same, somebody has been here!" he +exclaimed. "There's one of the things you are so pleased with--a +lucifer!" + +Stubbs stooped and looked. "A lucifer?" he repeated. He picked up the +bit of charred wood and examined it. "Now how did that come here? I +never used one till six months ago." + +My lord frowned. "Who is it?" he asked. + +"Some one, I fear, who has had a key made," the agent answered, +shaking his head, + +"I can see that for myself. But has he learned anything?" + +Stubbs stared. "There's nothing to learn, my lord," he said. "You can +see that. Whoever he is, he has cracked the nut and found no kernel!" + +The young man looked round him again. He nodded. "I suppose so," he +said. But he seemed ill at ease and inclined to find fault. He threw +the light of the candle this way and that, as if he expected the clean +white walls to tell a tale. "What's that?" he asked suddenly. "A +crack? Or what?" + +Stubbs looked, passed his hand over the mark on the wall, effaced it. +"No, my lord, a cobweb," he said. "Nothing." + +There was no more to be seen, yet Audley seemed loth to go. At length +he turned and went out. Stubbs closed and locked the door behind them, +then he took the candle from his lordship and invited him to go down +before him. Still the young man hesitated. "I suppose we can learn +nothing more?" he said. + +"Nothing, my lord," Stubbs answered. "To tell you the truth, I have +long thought Mr. John mad, and it is possible that his madness has +taken this turn. But I am equally sure that there is nothing for him +to discover, if he spends every day of his life here." + +"All the same I don't like it," the owner objected. "Whoever has been +here has no right here. It is odd that I had some notion of this +before we came. You may depend upon it that this was why he fixed +himself at the Gatehouse." + +"He may have had something of the sort in his mind," Stubbs admitted. +"But I don't think so, my lord. More probably, being here and idle, he +took to wandering in for lack of something to do." + +"And by and by, had a key made and strayed into the Muniment Room! No, +that won't do, Stubbs. And frankly there should be closer supervision +here. It should not have remained for me to discover this." + +He began to descend, leaving Stubbs to digest the remark; who for his +part thought honestly that too much was being made of the matter. +Probably the intruder was John Audley; the man had a bee in his +bonnet, and what more likely than that he should be taken with a craze +to haunt the house which he believed was his own? But the agent was +too prudent to defend himself while the young man's vexation was +fresh. He followed him down in silence, and before many minutes had +passed, they were in the open air, and had locked the door behind +them. + +Clouds hung low on the tops of the trees, mist veiled the view, and a +small rain was falling on the wet lawn. Nevertheless the young man +moved into the open. "Come this way," he said. + +The lawyer turned up the collar of his coat and followed him +unwillingly. "Where does he get in?" my lord asked. It seemed as if +the longer he dwelt on the matter the less he liked it. "Not by that +door--the lock is rusty. The key had shrieked in it. Probably he +enters by one of the windows in the new part." + +He walked towards the middle of the lawn and Stubbs, thankful that he +wore Wellington boots, followed him. + +The lawyer thought that he had never seen the house wear so dreary an +aspect as it wore under the gray weeping sky. But his lordship was +more practical. "These windows look the most likely," he said after a +short survey: and he dragged his unwilling attendant to the point he +had marked. + +A nearer view strengthened his suspicions. On the sill of one of the +windows were scratches and stains. "You see?" he said. "It should not +have been left to me to discover this! Probably John Audley comes from +the Gatehouse by the Yew Walk." He turned to measure the distance with +his eye, the distance which divided the spot from the Iron Gate. +"That's it," he said, "he comes----" + +Then, "Good G--d!" he muttered. "Look! Look!" Stubbs looked. They both +looked. Beyond the lawn, on the farther side of the iron grille and +clinging to it with both hands, a man stood bareheaded under the rain. +Whether he had come uncovered, or his hat had been jerked from him by +some movement caused by their appearance, they could not tell; nor how +long he had stood thus, gazing at them through the bars. But they +could see that his eyes never wavered, that his hands gripped the +iron, and the two knew by instinct that in the intensity of his hate, +the man was insensible alike to the rain that drenched him, and to the +wind that blew out the skirts of his thin black coat. + +Even Stubbs held his breath. Even he felt that there was something +uncanny and ominous in the appearance. For the gazer was John Audley. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + TO THE RESCUE + + +Stubbs was the first to collect himself, but a minute elapsed before +he spoke. Then, "He must be mad," he cried, "mad, to expose himself to +the weather at his age. If I had not seen it, I couldn't believe it!" + +"I suppose it is John Audley?" + +"Yes." Then raising his voice, "My lord! I don't think I would go to +him now!" + +But Audley was already striding across the lawn towards the gate. The +lawyer hesitated, gave way, and followed him. + +They were within twenty paces of the silent watcher when he moved--up +to that time he might have been a lay figure. He shook one hand in the +air, as if he would beat them off, then he turned and walked stiffly +away. Half a dozen steps took him out of sight. The Yew Walk swallowed +him. + +But, quickly as he vanished, the lawyer had had time to see that he +staggered. "I fear, my lord, he is ill," he said. "He will never reach +the Gatehouse in that state. I had better follow him." + +"Why the devil did he come here?" Audley retorted savagely. The +watcher's strange aspect, his face, white against the dark yews, his +stillness, his gesture, a something ominous in all, had shaken him. +"If he had stopped at home----" + +"Still----" + +"D--n him, it's his affair!" + +"Still we cannot leave him if he has fallen, my lord," Stubbs replied +with decision. And without waiting for his employer's assent he tried +the gate. It was locked, but in a trice he found the key on his bunch, +turned it, and pushed back the gate. Audley noticed that it moved +silently on its hinges. + +Stubbs, the gate open, began to feel ashamed of his impulse. Probably +there was nothing amiss after all. But he had hardly looked along the +path before he uttered a cry, and hurrying forward, stooped over a +bundle of clothes that lay in the middle of the walk. It was John +Audley. Apparently he had tripped over a root and lain where he had +fallen. + +Stubbs's cry summoned the other, who followed him through the gate, to +find him on his knees supporting the old man's head. The sight +recalled Audley to his better self. The mottled face, the staring +eyes, the helpless limbs shocked him. "Good G--d!" he cried, "you were +right, Stubbs! He might have died if we had left him." + +"He would have died," Stubbs answered. "As it is--I am not sure." He +opened the waistcoat, felt for the beating of the heart, bent his ear +to it. "No, I don't think he's gone," he said, "but the heart is +feeble, very feeble. We must have brandy! My lord, you are the more +active. Will you go to the Gatehouse--there is no nearer place--and +get some? And something to carry him home! A hurdle if there is +nothing better, and a couple of men?" + +"Right!" Audley cried. + +"And don't lose a minute, my lord! He's nearly gone." + +Audley stripped off his overcoat. "Wrap this about him!" he said. And +before the other could answer he had started for the Gatehouse, at a +pace which he believed that he could keep up. + +Pad, pad, my lord ran under the yew trees, swish, swish across the +soaking grass, about the great Butterfly. Pad, pad, again through the +gloom under the yews! Not too fast, he told himself--he was a big man +and he must save himself. Now he saw before him the opening into the +park, and the light falling on the pale turf. And then, at a point not +more than twenty yards short of the open ground, he tripped over a +root, tried to recover himself, struck another root, and fell. + +The fall shook him, but he was young, and he was quickly on his feet. +He paused an instant to brush the dirt from his hands and knees; and +it was during that instant that his inbred fear of John Audley, and +the certainty that if John Audley died he need fear no more, rose +before him. + +Yes, if he died--this man who was even now plotting against him--there +was an end of that fear! There was an end of uneasiness, of anxiety, +of the alarm that assailed him in the small hours, of the forebodings +that showed him stripped of title and income and consequence. Stripped +of all! + +Five seconds passed, and he still stood, engaged with his hands. Five +more; it was his knees he was brushing now--and very carefully. +Another five--the sweat broke out on his brow though the day was cold. +Twenty seconds, twenty-five! His face showed white in the gloom. And +still he stood. He glanced behind him. No one could see him. + +But the movement discovered the man to himself, and with an oath he +broke away. He thrust the damning thought from him, he sprang forward. +He ran. In ten strides he was in the open park, and trotting steadily, +his elbows to his sides, across the sward. The blessed light was about +him, the wind swept past his ears, the cleansing rain whipped his +face. Thank God, he had left behind him the heavy air and noisome +scent of the yews. He hated them. He would cut them all down some day. + +For in a strange way he associated them with the temptation which had +assailed him. And he was thankful, most thankful, that he had put that +temptation from him--had put it from him, when most men, he thought, +would have succumbed to it. Thank God, he had not! The farther he +went, indeed, the better he felt. By the time he saw the Gatehouse +before him, he was sure that few men, exposed to that temptation, +would have overcome it. For if John Audley died what a relief it would +be! And he had looked very ill; he had looked like a man at the point +of death. The brandy could not reach him under--well, under half an +hour. Half an hour was a long time, when a man looked like that. "I'll +do my best," he thought. "Then if he dies, well and good. I've always +been afraid of him." + +He did not spare himself, but he was not in training, and he was well +winded when he reached the Gatehouse. A last effort carried him +between the Butterflies, and he halted on the flags of the courtyard. +A woman, whose skirts were visible, but whose head and shoulders were +hidden by an umbrella, was standing in the doorway on his left, +speaking to some one in the house. She heard his footsteps and turned. + +"Lord Audley!" she exclaimed--for it was Mary Audley. Then with a +woman's quickness, "You have come from my uncle?" she cried. "Is he +ill?" + +Audley nodded. "I am come for some brandy," he gasped. + +She did not waste a moment. She sped into the house, and to the +dining-room. "I had missed him," she cried over her shoulder. "The +man-servant is away. I hoped he might be with him." + +In a trice she had opened a cellarette and taken from it a decanter of +brandy. Then she saw that he could not carry this at any speed, and +she turned to the sideboard and took a wicker flask from a drawer. +With a steady hand and without the loss of a minute--he found her +presence of mind admirable--she filled this. + +As she corked it, Mrs. Toft appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. +"Dear, dear, miss," she said, "is the master bad? But it's no wonder +when he, that doesn't quit the fire for a week together, goes out like +this? And Toft away and all!" She stared at his lordship. Probably she +knew him by sight. + +"Will you get his bed warmed, Mrs. Toft," Mary answered. She gave Lord +Audley the flask. "Please don't lose a moment," she urged. "I am +following--oh yes, I am. But you will go faster." + +She had not a thought, he saw, for the disorder of her dress, or for +her hair dishevelled by the wind, and scarce a thought for him. He +decided that he had never seen her to such advantage, but it was no +time for compliments, nor was she in the mood for them. Without more +he nodded and set off on his return journey--he had not been in the +house three minutes. By and by he looked back, and saw that Mary was +following on his heels. She had snatched up a sun-bonnet, discarded +the umbrella, and, heedless of the rain, was coming after him as +swiftly and lightly as Atalanta of the golden apple. "Gad, she's not +one of the fainting sort!" he reflected; and also that if he had given +way to that d--d temptation he could not have looked her in the face. +"As it is," his mind ran, "what are the odds the old boy's not dead +when we get there? If he is--I am safe! If he is not, I might do worse +than think of her. It would checkmate him finely. More"--he looked +again over his shoulder--"she's a fine mover, by Gad, and her figure's +perfect! Even that rag on her head don't spoil her!" Whereupon he +thought of a certain Lady Adela with whom he was very friendly, who +had political connections and would some day have a plum. The +comparison was not, in the matter of fineness and figure, to Lady +Adela's advantage. Her lines were rather on the Flemish side. + +Meanwhile Mary was feeling anything but an Atalanta. Wind and rain and +wet grass, loosened hair and swaying skirts do not make for romance. +But in her anxiety she gave small thought to these. Her one instinct +was to help. With all his oddity her uncle had been kind to her, and +she longed to show him that she was grateful. And he was her one +relative. She had no one else in the world. He had given her what of +home he had, and ease, and a security which she had never known +before. Were she to lose him now--the mere fancy spurred her to fresh +exertions, and in spite of a pain in her side, in spite of clinging +skirts, and shoes that threatened to leave her feet, she pushed on. +She was not far behind Audley when he reached the Yew Walk. + +She saw him plunge into it, she followed, and was on the scene not +many seconds later. When she caught sight of the little group kneeling +about the prostrate man, that sense of tragedy, and of the inevitable, +which assails at such a time, shook her. The thing always possible, +never expected, had happened at last. + +Then the coolness which women find in these emergencies returned. She +knelt between the men, took the insensible head on her arm, held out +her other hand for the cup. "Has he swallowed any?" she asked, taking +command of the situation. + +"No," Toft answered--and she became aware that the man with Lord +Audley was the servant. + +She waited for no more, she tilted the cup, and by some knack she +succeeded where Toft had failed. A little of the spirit was swallowed. +She improvised a pillow and laid the head down on it. "The lower the +better," she murmured. She felt the hands and began to rub one. "Rub +the other," she said to Toft. "The first thing to do is to get him +home! Have you a carriage? How near can you bring it, Lord Audley?" + +"We can bring it to the park at the end of the walk," he answered. "My +agent has gone to fetch it." + +"Will you hasten it?" she replied. "Toft will stay with me. And bring +something, please, on which you can carry him to it." + +"At once," Audley answered, and he went off in the direction of the +Great House. + +"I've seen him as bad before, Miss," Toft said. "I found that he had +gone out without his hat and I followed him, but I could not trace him +at once. I don't think you need feel alarmed." + +Certainly the face had lost its mottled look, the eyes were now shut, +the limbs lay more naturally. "If he were only at home!" Mary +answered. "But every moment he is exposed to the cold is against him. +He must be wet through." + +She induced the patient to swallow another mouthful of brandy, and +with their eyes on his face the two watched for the first gleam of +consciousness. It came suddenly. John Audley's eyes opened. He stared +at them. + +His mind, however, still wandered. "I knew it!" he muttered. "They +could not be there and I not know it! But the wall! The wall is +thick--thick and----" He was silent again. + +The rambling mind is to those who are not wont to deal with it a most +uncanny thing, and Mary looked at Toft to see what he made of it. But +the servant had eyes only for his master. He was gazing at him with an +absorbed face. + +"Ay, a thick wall!" the sick man murmured. "They may look and look, +they'll not see through it." He was silent a moment, then, "All bare!" +he murmured. "All bare!" He chuckled faintly, and tried to raise +himself, but sank back. "Fools!" he whispered, "fools, when in ten +minutes if they took out a brick----" + +The servant cut him short. "Here's his lordship!" he cried. He spoke +so sharply that Mary looked up in surprise, wondering what was amiss. +Lord Audley was within three or four paces of them--the carpet of yew +leaves had deadened his footsteps. "Here's his lordship, sir!" Toft +repeated in the same tone, his mouth close to John Audley's ear. + +The servant's manner shocked Mary. "Hush, Toft!" she said. "Do you +want to startle him?" + +"His lordship will startle him," Toft retorted. He looked over his +shoulder, and without ceremony he signed to Lord Audley to stand back. + +"Bare, quite bare!" John Audley muttered, his mind still far away. +"But if they took out--if they took out----" + +Toft waved his hand again--waved it wildly. + +"All right, I understand," Lord Audley said. He had not at first +grasped what was wanted, but the man's repeated gestures enlightened +him. He retired to a position where he was out of the sick man's +sight. + +The servant wiped the sweat from his brow. "He mustn't see him!" he +repeated insistently. "Lord! what a turn it gave me. I ask your +pardon, Miss," he continued, "but I know the master so well." He cast +an uneasy glance over his shoulder. "If the master's eyes lit on him +once, only once, when he's in this state, I'd not answer for his +life." + +Mary reproached herself. "You are quite right, Toft," she said. "I +ought to have thought of that myself." + +"He must not see any strangers!" + +"He shall not. You are quite right." + +But Toft was still uneasy. He looked round. Stubbs and a man who had +been working in the neighborhood were bringing up a sheep-hurdle, and +again the butler's anxiety overcame him. "D--n!" he said: and he rose +to his feet. "I think they want to kill him amongst them! Why can't +they keep away?" + +"Hush! Toft. Why----" + +"He mustn't see the lawyer! He must not see him on any account." + +Mary nodded. "I will arrange it!" she said. "Only don't excite him. +You will do him harm that way if you are not careful. I will speak to +them." + +She went to meet them and explained, while Stubbs, who had not seen +her before, considered her with interest. So this was Miss Audley, +Peter Audley's daughter! She told them that she thought it better that +her uncle should not find strangers about him when he came to himself. +They agreed--it seemed quite natural--and it was arranged that Toft +and the man should carry him as far as the carriage, while Mary walked +beside him; and that afterwards she and Toft should travel with him. +The carriage cushions were placed on the hurdle, and the helpless man +was lifted on to them. Toft and the laborer raised their burden, and +slowly and heavily, with an occasional stagger, they bore it along the +sodden path. Mary saw that the sweat sprang out on Toft's sallow face +and that his knees shook under him. Clearly the man was taxing his +strength to the utmost, and she felt some concern--she had not given +him credit for such fidelity. However, he held out until they reached +the carriage. + +Babbling a word now and again, John Audley was moved into the vehicle. +Mary mounted beside him and supported his head, while Toft climbed to +the box, and at a footpace they set off across the sward, the laborer +plodding at the tail of the carriage, and Lord Audley and Stubbs +following a score of paces behind. The rain had ceased, but the clouds +were low and leaden, the trees dripped sadly, and the little +procession across the park had a funereal look. To Mary the way seemed +long, to Toft still longer. With every moment his head was round. His +eyes were now on his master, now jealously cast on those who brought +up the rear. But everything comes to an end, and at length they swung +into the courtyard, where Mrs. Toft, capable and cool, met them and +took a load off Mary's shoulders. + +"He's that bad is he?" she said calmly. "Then the sooner he's in his +bed the better. 'Truria's warming it. How will we get him up? I could +carry him myself if that's all. If Toft'll take his feet, I'll do the +rest. No need for another soul to come in!" with a glance at Lord +Audley. "But if they would fetch the doctor I'd not say no, Miss." + +"I'll ask them to do that," Mary said. + +"And don't you worrit, Miss," Mrs. Toft continued, eyeing the sick man +judicially. "He's been nigh as bad as this before and been about +within the week. There's some as when they wool-gathers, there's no +worse sign. But the master he's never all here, nor all there, and +like a Broseley butter-pot another touch of the kiln will neither make +him nor break him. Now, Toft, wide of the door-post, and steady, man." + +Lord Audley and Stubbs had remained outside, but when they saw Mary +coming towards them, the young man left Stubbs and went to meet her. +"How is he?" he asked. + +"Mrs. Toft thinks well of him. She has seen him nearly as ill before, +she says. But if he recovers," Mary continued gratefully, "we owe his +life to you. Had you not found him he must have died. And if you had +lost a moment in bringing the news, I am sure that we should have been +too late." + +The young man might have given some credit to Stubbs, but he did not; +perhaps because time pressed, perhaps because he felt that his virtue +in resisting a certain temptation deserved its reward. Instead he +looked at Mary with a sympathy so ardent that her eyes fell. "Who +would not have done as much?" he said. "If not for him--for you." + +"Will you add one kindness then?" she answered. "Will you send Dr. +Pepper as quickly as possible?" + +"Without the loss of a minute," he said. "But one thing before I go. I +cannot come here to inquire, yet I should like to know how he goes on. +Will you walk a little way down the Riddsley road at noon to-morrow, +and tell me how he fares?" + +Mary hesitated. But when he had done so much for them, when he had as +good as saved her uncle's life, how could she be churlish? How could +she play the prude? "Of course I will," she said frankly. "I hope I +shall bring a good report." + +"Thank you," he said. "Until to-morrow!" + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + MASKS AND FACES + + +Cherbuliez opens one of his stories with the remark that if the law of +probabilities ruled, the hero and heroine would never have met, seeing +that the one lived in Venice and the other seldom left Paris. That in +spite of this they fell in with one another was enough to suggest to +the lady that Destiny was at work to unite them. + +He put into words a thought which has entertained millions of lovers. +If in face of the odds of three hundred and sixty-four to one Phyllis +shares her birthday with Corydon, if Frederica sprains her ankle and +the ready arm belongs to a Frederic, if Mademoiselle has a _grain de +beauté_ on the right ear, and Monsieur a plain mole on the left--here +is at once matter for reverie, and the heart is given almost before +the hands have met. + +This was the fourth occasion on which Audley had come to Mary's +rescue, and, sensible as she was, she was too thoroughly woman to be +proof against the suggestion. On three of the four occasions the odds +had been against his appearance. Yet he had come. To-day in +particular, as if no pain that threatened her could be indifferent to +him, as if no trouble approached her but touched a nerve in him, he +had risen from the very ground to help and sustain her. + +Could the coldest decline to feel interest in one so strangely linked +with her by fortune? Could the most prudent in such a case abstain +from day dreams, in which love and service, devotion and constancy, +played their parts? + +_Sic itur ad astra!_ So men and women begin to love. + +She spent the morning between the room in which John Audley was making +a slow recovery, and the deserted library which already wore a cold +and unused aspect. In the one and the other she felt a restlessness +and a disturbance which she was fain to set down to yesterday's alarm. +The old interests invited her in vain. Do what she would, she could +not keep her mind off the appointment before her. Her eyes grew +dreamy, her thoughts strayed, her color came and went. At one moment +she would plunge into a thousand attentions to her uncle, at another +she opened books only to close them. She looked at the clock--surely +the hands were not moving! She looked again--it could not be as late +as that! The truth was that Mary was not in love, but she was ready to +be in love. She was glad and sorry, grave and gay, without reason; +like a stream that dances over the shallows, and rippling and +twinkling goes its way through the sunshine, knowing nothing of the +deep pool that awaits it. + +Presently, acting upon some impulse, she opened a drawer in one of the +tables. It contained a portrait in crayons of Peter Basset, which John +Audley had shown her. She took out the sketch and set it against a +book where the light fell upon it, and she examined it. At first with +a smile--that he should have been so mad as to think what he had +thought! And then with a softer look. How hard she had been to him! +How unfeeling! Nay, how cruel! + +She sat for a long time looking at the portrait. But in fact she had +forgotten that it was before her, when the clock, striking the +half--hour before noon, surprised her. Then she thrust the portrait +back into its drawer, and went with a composed face to put on her hat. + +The past summer had been one of the wettest ever known, for rain had +fallen on five days out of seven. But to-day it was fine, and as Mary +descended the road that led from the house towards Riddsley, a road +open to the vale on one side and flanked on the other by a rising +slope covered with brushwood, a watery sun was shining. Its rays, +aided by the clearness of the air, brought out the colors of stubble +and field, flood and coppice, that lay below. And men looking up +from toil or pleasure, leaning on spades or pausing before they +crossed a stile, saw the Gatehouse transformed to a fairy lodge, gray, +clear--cut, glittering, breaking the line of forest trees--saw it as +if it had stood in another world. + +Mary looked back, looked forward, admired, descended. She had made up +her mind that Lord Audley would meet her at a turn near the foot of +the hill, where a Cross had once stood, and where the crumbling base +and moss-clothed steps still bade travellers rest and be thankful. + +He was there, and Mary owned the attraction of the big smiling face +and the burly figure, that in a rough, caped riding-coat still kept an +air of fashion. He on his side saw coming to meet him, through the +pale sunshine, not as yesterday an Atalanta, but a cool Dian, with her +hands in a large muff. + +"You bring a good report, I hope?" he cried before they met. + +"Very good," Mary replied, sparkling a little as she looked at +him--was not the sun shining? "My uncle is much better this morning. +Dr. Pepper says that it was mainly exertion acting on a weak heart. He +expects him to be downstairs in a week and to be himself in a +fortnight. But he will have to be more careful in future." + +"That is good!" + +"He says, too, that if you had not acted so promptly, my uncle must +have died." + +"Well, he was pretty far gone, I must say." + +"So, as he will not thank you himself, you must let me thank you." And +Mary held out the hand she had hitherto kept in her muff. She was +determined not to be a prude. + +He pressed it discreetly. "I am glad," he said. "Very glad. Perhaps +after this he may think better of me." + +She laughed. "I don't think that there is a chance of it," she said. + +"No? Well, I suppose it was foolish, but do you know, I did hope that +this might bring us together." + +"You may dismiss it," she answered, smiling. + +"Ah!" he said. "Then tell me this. How in the world did he come to be +there? Without a hat? Without a coat? And so far from the house?" + +Mary hesitated. He had turned, they were walking side by side. "I am +not sure that I ought to tell you," she said. "What I know I gathered +from a word that Mr. Audley let fall when he was rambling. He seems to +have had some instinct, some feeling that you were there and to have +been forced to learn if it was so." + +"But forced? By what?" Lord Audley asked. "I don't understand." + +"I don't understand either," Mary answered. + +"He could not know that we were there?" + +"But he seems to have known." + +"Strange," he murmured. "Does he often stray away like that?" + +"He does, sometimes," she admitted reluctantly. + +"Ah!" Audley was silent a moment. Then, "Well, I am glad he is +better," he said in the tone of one who dismisses a subject. "Let us +talk of something else--ourselves. Are you aware that this is the +fourth time that I have come to your rescue?" + +"I know that it is the fourth time that you have been very useful," +she admitted. She wished that she had been able to control her color, +but though he spoke playfully there was meaning in his voice. + +"I, too, have a second sense it seems," he said, almost purring as he +looked at her. "Did you by any chance think of me, when you missed +your uncle?" + +"Not for a moment," she retorted. + +"Perhaps--you thought of Mr. Basset?" + +"No, nor of Mr. Basset. Had he been at the Gatehouse I might have. But +he is away." + +"Away, is he? Oh!" He looked at her with a whimsical smile. "Do you +know that when he met us the other evening I thought that he was a +little out of temper? It was not a continuance of that which took him +away, I suppose?" + +Mary would have given the world to show an unmoved face at that +moment. But she could not. Nor could she feel as angry as she wished. +"I thought we were going to talk of ourselves," she said. + +"I thought that we were talking of you." + +On that, "I am afraid that I must be going back," she said. And she +stopped. + +"But I am going back with you!" + +"Are you? Well, you may come as far as the Cross." + +"Oh, hang the Cross!" he answered with a masterfulness of which Mary +owned the charm, while she rebelled against it. "I shall come as far +as I like! And hang Basset too--if he makes you unhappy!" He laughed. +"We'll talk of--what shall we talk of, Mary? Why, we are cousins--does +not that entitle me to call you 'Mary'?" + +"I would rather you did not," she said, and this time there was no +lack of firmness in her tone. She remembered what Basset had said +about her name and--and for the moment the other's airiness displeased +her. + +"But we are cousins." + +"Then you can call me cousin," she answered. + +He laughed. "Beaten again!" he said. + +"And I can call you cousin," she said sedately. "Indeed, I am going to +treat you as a cousin. I want you, if not to do, to think of doing +something for me. I don't know," nervously, "whether I am asking more +than I ought--if so you must forgive me. But it is not for myself." + +"You frighten me!" he said. "What is it?" + +"It's about Mr. Colet, the curate whom you helped us to save from +those men at Brown Heath. He has been shamefully treated. What they +did to him might be forgiven--they knew no better. But I hear that +because he preaches what is not to everybody's taste, but what +thousands and thousands are saying, he is to lose his curacy. And +that is his livelihood. It seems most wicked to me, because I am told +that no one else will employ him. And what is he to do? He has no +friends----" + +"He has one eloquent friend." + +"Don't laugh at me!" she cried. + +"I am not laughing," he answered. He was, in fact, wondering how he +should deal with this--this fad of hers. A little, too, he was +wondering what it meant. It could not be that she was in love with +Colet. Absurd! He recalled the look of the man. "I am not laughing," +he repeated more slowly. "But what do you want me to do?" + +"To use your influence for him," Mary explained, "either with the +rector to keep him or with some one else to employ him." + +"I see." + +"He only did what he thought was his duty. And--and because he did it, +is he to pay with all he has in the world?" + +"It seems a hard case." + +"It is more, it is an abominable injustice!" she cried. + +"Yes," he said slowly. "It seems so. It certainly seems hard. But let +me--don't be angry with me if I put another side." He spoke with +careful moderation. "It is my experience that good, easy men, such as +I take the rector of Riddsley to be, rarely do a thing which seems +cruel, without reason. A clergyman, for instance; he has generally +thought out more clearly than you or I what it is right to say in the +pulpit; how far it is lawful, and then again how far it is wise to +deal with matters of debate. He has considered how far a pronouncement +may offend some, and so may render his office less welcome to them. +That is one consideration. Probably, too, he has considered that a +statement, if events falsify it, will injure him with his poorer +parishioners who look up to him as wiser than themselves. Well, when +such a man has laid down a rule and finds a younger clergyman bent +upon transgressing it, is it unreasonable if he puts his foot down?" + +"I had not looked at it in that way." + +"And that, perhaps, is not all," he resumed. "You know that a thing +may be true, but that it is not always wise to proclaim it. It may be +too strong meat. It may be true, for instance, that corn-dealers make +an unfair profit out of the poor; but it is not a truth that you would +tell a hungry crowd outside the corn-dealer's shop on a Saturday +night." + +"No," Mary allowed reluctantly. "Perhaps not." + +"And again--I have nothing to say against Colet. It is enough for me +that he is a friend of yours----" + +"I have a reason for being interested in him. I am sure that if you +heard him----" + +"I might be carried away? Precisely. But is it not possible that he +has seen much of one side of this question, much of the poverty for +which a cure is sought, without being for that reason fitted to decide +what the cure should be?" + +Mary nodded. "Have you formed any opinion yourself?" she asked. + +But he was too prudent to enter on a discussion. He saw that so far he +had impressed her with what he had said, and he was not going to risk +the advantage he had gained. "No," he said, "I am weighing the matter +at this moment. We are on the verge of a crisis on the Corn Laws, and +it is my duty to consider the question carefully. I am doing so. I +have hitherto been a believer in the tax. I may change my views, but I +shall not do so hastily. As for your friend, I will consider what can +be done, but I fear that he has been imprudent." + +"Sometimes," she ventured, "imprudence is a virtue." + +"And its own reward!" he retorted. They had passed the Cross, they +were by this time high on the hill, with one accord they came to a +stand. "However, I will think it over," he continued. "I will think it +over, and what a cousin may, a cousin shall." + +"A cousin may much when he is Lord Audley." + +"A poor man in a fine coat! A butterfly in an east wind." He +removed his curly-brimmed hat and stood gazing over the prospect, +over the wide valley that far and near gleamed with many a sheet of +flood-water. "Have you ever thought, Mary, what that means?" he +continued with feeling. "To be the shadow of a name! A ghost of the +past! To have for home a ruin, and for lands a few poor farms--in +place of all that we can see from here! For all this was once ours. To +live a poor man among the rich! To have nothing but----" + +"Opportunities!" she answered, her voice betraying how deeply she was +moved--for she too was an Audley. "For, with all said and done, you +start where others end. You have no need to wait for a hearing. Doors +stand open to you that others must open. Your name is a passport--is +there a Stafford man who does not thrill to it? Surely these things +are something. Surely they are much?" + +"You would make me think so!" he exclaimed. + +"Believe me, they are." + +"They would be if I had your enthusiasm!" he answered, moved by her +words. "And, by Jove," gazing with admiration at her glowing face, "if +I had you by me to spur me on there's no knowing, Mary, what I might +not try! And what I might not do!" + +Womanlike, she would evade the crisis which she had provoked. "Or fail +to do!" she replied. "Perhaps the most worthy would be left undone. +But I must go now," she continued. "I have to give my uncle his +medicine. I fear I am late already." + +"When shall I see you again?" he asked, trying to detain her. + +"Some day, I have no doubt. But good-bye now! And don't forget Mr. +Colet! Good-bye!" + +He stood awhile looking after her, then he turned and went down the +hill. By the time he was at the place where he had met her he was glad +that she had broken off the interview. + +"I might have said too much," he reflected. "She's handsome enough to +turn any man's head! And not so cold as she looks. And she spells +safety. But there's no hurry--and she's inclined to be kind, or I am +mistaken! That clown, Basset, too, has got his dismissal, I fancy, and +there's no one else!" + +Presently his thoughts took another turn. "What maggots women get into +their heads!" he muttered. "That pestilent Colet--I'm glad the rector +acted on my hint. But there it is; when a woman meddles with politics +she's game for the first spouter she comes across! Fine eyes, too, and +the Audley blood! With a little drilling she would hold her own +anywhere." + +Altogether, he found the walk to the place where he had left his +carriage pleasant enough and his thoughts satisfactory. With Mary and +safety on one side, and Lady Adela and a plum on the other--it would +be odd if he did not bring his wares to a tolerable market. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + THE CORN LAW CRISIS + + +He had been right in his forecast when he told Mary that a political +crisis was at hand. That which had been long whispered, was beginning +to be stated openly in club and market-place. The Corn Laws, the +support of the country, the mainstay, as so many thought, of the +Constitution, were in danger; and behind closed doors, while England +listened without, the doctors were met to decide their fate. + +Potatoes! The word flew from mouth to mouth that wet autumn, from town +to country, from village to village. Potatoes! The thing seemed +incredible. That the lordly Corn Laws, the bulwark of the landed +interest, the prop of agriculture, that had withstood all attacks for +two generations, and maintained themselves alike against high prices +and the Corn Law League--that these should go down because a vulgar +root like the potato had failed in Ireland--it was a thing passing +belief. It couldn't be. With the Conservatives in power, it seemed +impossible. + +Yet it was certain that the position was grave, if not hopeless. Never +since the Reform Bill had there been such meetings of the Cabinet, so +frequent, so secret. And strange things were said. Some who had +supported Peel yet did not trust him, maintained that this was the +natural sequel of his measures, the point to which he had been moving +through all the years of his Ministry. Potatoes--bah! Others who still +supported him, yet did not trust him, brooded nervously over his +action twenty years before, when he had first resisted and then +accepted the Catholic claims. Tories and Conservatives alike, wondered +what they were there to conserve, if such things were in the wind; +they protested, but with growing misgiving, that the thing could not +be. While those among them who had seats to save and majorities to +guard, met one another with gloomy looks, whispered together in +corners and privately asked themselves what they would do--if he did. +Happy in these circumstances were those who like Mottisfont, the +father, were ready to retire; and still happier those who like +Mottisfont, the son, knew the wishes of their constituents and could +sing "John Barleycorn, my Joe, John," with no fear of being jilted. + +Their anxieties--they were politicians--were mainly personal--and +selfish. But there were some, simple people like Mr. Stubbs at +Riddsley, who really believed, when these rumors reached them, that +the foundations of things were breaking up, and that the world in +which they had lived was sinking under their feet. Already in fancy +they saw the glare of furnaces fall across the peaceful fields. +Already they heard the tall mill jar and quiver where the cosey +homestead and the full stackyard sprawled. They saw a weakly race, +slaves to the factory bell, overrun the land where the ploughman still +whistled at his work and his wife suckled healthy babes. To these men, +if the rumors they heard were true, if Peel had indeed sold the pass, +it meant the loss of all. It meant the victory of coal and cotton, the +ruling of all after the Manchester pattern, the reign of Cash, the +Lord, and ten per cent. his profit. It meant the end of the old +England they had loved. + +Not that Stubbs said this at Riddsley, or anything like it. He smiled +and kept silence, as became a man who knew much and was set above +common rumor. The landlord of the Audley Arms, the corndealer, the +brewer, the saddler went away from him with their fears allayed merely +by the way in which he shrugged his shoulders. At the farmers' +ordinary he had never been more cheerful. He gave the toast of "Horn +and Corn, gentlemen! And when potatoes take their place you may come +and tell me!" And he gave it so heartily that the farmers went home, +market-peart and rejoicing, laughed at their doubting neighbors, and +quoted a hundred things that Lawyer Stubbs had not said. + +But a day or two later the lawyer sustained an unpleasant shock. He +had been little moved by Lord John's manifesto--the declaration in +which the little Whig Leader, seeing that the Government hesitated, +had plumped for total repeal. That was in the common course of things. +It had heartened him, if anything. It was natural. It would bring the +Tories into line and put an end to trimming. But this--this which +confronted him one morning when he opened his London paper was +different. He read it, he held his breath, he stood aghast a long +minute, he swore. After a few minutes he took his hat and the +newspaper, and went round to the house in which Lord Audley lived when +he was at Riddsley. + +It was a handsome Georgian house, built of brick with stone facings, +and partly covered with ivy. A wide smooth lawn divided it from the +road. The occupant was a curate's widow who lived there with her two +sisters and eked out their joint means by letting the first floor to +her landlord. For "The Butterflies" was Audley property, and the +clergyman's widow was held to derogate in no way by an arrangement +which differed widely from a common letting of lodgings. Mrs. +Jenkinson was stout, short, and fussy, her sisters were thin, short, +and precise, but all three overflowed with words as kindly as their +deeds. Good Mrs. Jenkinson, in fact, who never spoke of his lordship +behind his back but with distant respect, sometimes forgot in his +presence that he was anything but a "dear young man," and when he had +a cold, would prescribe a posset or a warming-pan with an insistence +which at times amused and more often bored him. + +Stubbs found his lordship just risen from a late lunch, and in his +excitement, the lawyer forgot his manners. "By G--d, my lord!" he +cried, "he's resigned." + +Audley looked at him with displeasure. "Who's resigned?" he asked +coldly. + +"Peel!" + +Against that news the young man was not proof. He caught the +infection. "Impossible!" he said, rising to his feet. + +"It's true! It's in the _Morning Post_, my lord! He saw the Queen +yesterday. She's sending for Lord John. It's black treachery! It's the +blackest of treachery! With a majority in the House, with the peers in +his pocket, the country quiet, trade improving, everything in his +favor, he's sold us--sold us to Cobden on some d--d pretext of famine +in Ireland!" + +Audley did not answer at once. He stood deep in thought, his eyes on +the floor, his hands in his pockets. At length, "I don't follow it," +he said. "How is Russell, who is in a minority, to carry repeal?" + +"Peel's promised his support!" Stubbs cried. Like most honest men, he +was nothing if not thorough. "You may depend upon it, my lord, he has! +He won't deceive me again. I know him through and through, now. He'll +take with him Graham and Gladstone and Herbert, his old tail, Radicals +at heart every man of them, and he's the biggest!" + +"Well," Audley said slowly, "he might have done one thing worse. He +might have stayed in and passed repeal himself!" + +"Good G--d!" the lawyer cried, "Judas wouldn't have done that! All he +could do, he has done. He has let in corn from Canada, cattle from +Heaven knows where, he has let in wool. All that he has done. But even +he has a limit, my lord! Even he! The man who was returned to support +the Corn Laws--to repeal them. Impossible!" + +"Well?" Audley said. "There'll be an election, I suppose?" + +"The sooner the better," Stubbs answered vengefully. "And we shall see +what the country thinks of this. In Riddsley we've been ready for +weeks--as you know, my lord. But a General Election? Gad! I only hope +they will put up some one here, and we will give them such a beating +as they've never had!" + +Audley pondered. "I suppose Riddsley is safe," he said. + +"As safe as Burton Bridge, my lord!" + +The other rattled the money in his pocket. "As long as you give them a +lead, Stubbs, I suppose? But if you went over? What then?" + +Stubbs opened his eyes. "Went over?" he ejaculated. + +"Oh, I don't mean," my lord said airily, "that you're not as staunch +as Burton Bridge. But supposing you took the other side--it would make +a difference, I suppose?" + +"Not a jot!" the lawyer answered sturdily. + +"Not even if the two Mottisfonts sided with Peel?" + +"If they did the old gentleman would never see Westminster again," +Stubbs cried, "nor the young one go there!" + +"Or," Audley continued, setting his shoulders against the +mantel-shelf, and smiling, "suppose I did? If the Beaudelays interest +were cast for repeal? What then?" + +"What then?" Stubbs answered. "You'll pardon me, my lord, if I am +frank. Then the Beaudelays influence, that has held the borough time +out of mind, that returned two members before '32, and has returned +one since--there'd be an end of it! It would snap like a rotten stick. +The truth is we hold the borough while we go with the stream. In fair +weather when it is a question of twenty votes one way or the other, we +carry it. And you've the credit, my lord." + +Audley moved his shoulders restlessly. "It's all I get by it," he +said. "If I could turn the credit into a snug place of two thousand a +year, Stubbs--it would be another thing. Do you know," he continued, +"I've often wondered why you feel so strongly on the corn-taxes?" + +"You asked me that once before, my lord," the agent answered slowly. +"All that I can say is that more things than one go to it. Perhaps the +best answer I can make is that, like your lordship's influence in the +borough, it's part sentiment and part tradition. I have a picture in +my mind--it's a picture of an old homestead that my grandfather lived +in and died in, and that I visited when I was a boy. That would be +about the middle nineties; the French war going, corn high, cattle +high, a good horse in the gig and old ale for all comers. There was +comfort inside and plenty without; comfort in the great kitchen, with +its floor as clean as a pink, and greened in squares with bay leaves, +its dresser bright with pewter, its mantel with Toby jugs! There was +wealth in the stackyard, with the poultry strutting and scratching, +and more in the byres knee-deep in straw, and the big barn where they +flailed the wheat! And there were men and maids more than on two farms +to-day, some in the house, some in thatched cottages with a run on the +common and wood for the getting. I remember, as if they were +yesterday, hot summer afternoons when there'd be a stillness on the +farm and all drowsed together, the bees, and the calves, and the old +sheep-dog, and the only sounds that broke the silence were the cluck +of a hen, or the clank of pattens on the dairy-floor, while the sun +fell hot on the orchard, where a little boy hunted for damsons! That's +what I often see, my lord," Stubbs continued stoutly. "And may Peel +protect me, if I ever raise a finger to set mill and furnace, devil's +dust and slave-grown cotton, in place of that!" + +My lord concealed a yawn. "Very interesting, Stubbs," he said. "Quite +a picture! Peace and plenty and old ale! And little Jack Horner +sitting in a corner! No, don't go yet, man. I want you." He made a +sign to Stubbs to sit down, and settling his shoulders more firmly +against the mantel-shelf, he thrust his hands deeper into his +trouser-pockets. "I'm not easy in my mind about John Audley," he said. +"I'm not sure that he has not found something." + +Stubbs stared. "There's nothing to find," he said. "Nothing, my lord! +You may be sure of it." + +"He goes there." + +"It's a craze." + +"It's a confoundedly unpleasant one!" + +"But harmless, my lord. Really harmless." + +The younger man's impatience darkened his face, but he controlled +it--a sure sign that he was in earnest. "Tell me this," he said. "What +evidence would upset us? You told me once that the claim could be +reopened on fresh evidence. On what evidence?" + +"I regard the case as closed," Stubbs answered stubbornly. "But if you +put the question--" he seemed to reflect--"the point at issue, on +which the whole turned, was the legitimacy of your great-grandfather, +my lord, Peter Paravicini Audley's son. Mr. John's great-grandfather +was Peter Paravicini's younger brother. The other side alleged, but +could not produce, a family agreement admitting that the son was +illegitimate. Such an agreement, if Peter Paravicini was a party +to it, if it was proved, and came from the proper custody, would +be an awkward document and might let in the next brother's +descendants--that's Mr. John. But in my opinion, its existence is a +fairy story, and in its absence, the entry in the register stands +good." + +"But such a document would be fatal?" + +"If it fulfilled the conditions it would be serious," the lawyer +admitted. "But it does not exist," he added confidently. + +"And yet--I'm not comfortable, Stubbs," Audley rejoined. "I can't get +John Audley's face out of my mind. If ever man looked as if he had his +enemy by the throat, he looked it; a d--d disinheriting face I thought +it! I don't mind telling you," the speaker continued, some disorder in +his own looks, "that I awoke at three o'clock this morning, and I saw +him as clearly as I see you now, and at that moment I wouldn't have +given a thousand pounds for my chance of being Lord Audley this time +two years!" + +"Liver!" said Stubbs, unmoved. "Liver, my lord, asking your pardon! +Nothing else--and the small hours. I've felt like that myself. Still, +if you are really uneasy there is always a way out, though it may be +impertinent of me to mention it." + +"The old way?" + +"You might marry Miss Audley. A handsome young lady, if I may presume +to say so, of your own blood and name, and no disparagement except in +fortune. After Mr. John, she is the next heir, and the match once made +would checkmate any action on his part." + +"I am afraid I could not afford such a marriage," Audley said coldly. +"But I am to you. As for this news--" he flicked the newspaper that +lay on the table--"it may be true or it may not. If it is true, it +will alter many things. We shall see. If you hear anything fresh let +me know." + +Stubbs said that he would and took his leave, wondering a little, but +having weightier things on his mind. He sought his home by back ways, +for he did not wish to meet Dr. Pepper or Bagenal the brewer, or even +the saddler, until he had considered what face he would put on Peel's +latest move. He felt that his reputation for knowledge and sagacity +was at stake. + +Meanwhile his employer, left alone, fell to considering, not what face +he should put upon the matter, but how he might at this crisis turn +the matter and the borough to the best account. Certainly Stubbs was +discouraging, but Stubbs was a fool. It was all very well for him; he +drew his wages either way. But a man of the world did not cling to the +credit of owning a borough for the mere name of the thing. If he were +sensible he looked to get something more from it than that. And it was +upon occasions such as this that the something more was to be had by +those who knew how to go about the business. + +Here, in fact, was the moment, if he was the man. + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + PETER'S RETURN + + +Not a word or hint of John Audley's illness had come to Basset's ears. +At the time of the alarm he had been in London, and it was not until +some days later that he took his seat in the morning train to return +to Stafford. On his way to town, and for some days after his arrival, +he had been buoyed up by plans, nebulous indeed, but sufficient. He +came back low in his mind and in poor spirits. The hopes, if not the +aspirations, which Colet's enthusiasm had generated in him had died +down, and the visit to Francis Place had done nothing to revive them. + +Some greatness in the man, a largeness of ideas, an echo of the +revolutionary days when the sanest saw visions, Basset was forced to +own. But the two stood too far apart, the inspired tailor and the +country squire, for sympathy. They were divided by too wide a gulf of +breeding and prejudice to come together. Basset was not even a +Radical, and his desire to improve things, and to better the world, +fell very far short of the passion of humanity which possessed the +aged Republican--the man who for half a century had been so forward in +all their movements that his fellows had christened him the "_Old +Postilion_." + +Nothing but disappointment, therefore, had come of the meeting. The +two had parted with a little contempt on the one side, a sense of +failure on the other. If a man could serve his neighbors only in +fellowship with such, if the cause which for a few hours had promised +to fill the void left by an unhappy love, could be supported only by +men who held such opinions, then Basset felt that the thing was not +for him. For six or seven days he went up and down London at odds with +himself and his kind, and ever striving to solve a puzzle, the answer +to which evaded him. Was the hope that he might find a mission and +found a purpose on Colet's lines, was it just the desire to set the +world right that seized on young men fresh from college? And if this +were so, if this were all, what was he to do? Whither was he to turn? +How was he going to piece together the life which Mary had broken? How +was he going to arrange his future so that some thread of purpose +might run through it, so that something of effort might still link +together the long bede-roll of years? + +He found no answer to the riddle. And it was in a gloomy, unsettled +mood, ill-content with himself and the world, that he took his seat in +the train. Alas, he could not refrain from recalling the May morning +on which he had taken his seat in the same train with Mary. How ill +had he then appreciated her company, how little had he understood, how +little had he prized his good fortune! He who was then free to listen +to her voice, to meet her eyes, to follow the changes of her mood from +grave to gay! To be to her--all that he could! And that for hours, for +days, for weeks! + +He swore under his breath and sat back in the shadow of the corner. +And a man who entered late, and saw that he kept his eyes shut, +fancied that he was ill; and when he muttered a word under his breath, +asked him if he spoke. + +"No," Basset replied rather curtly. And that he might be alone with +his thoughts he took up a newspaper and held it before him. But not a +word did he read. After a long interval he looked over the journal and +met the other's eyes. + +"Surprising news this," the stranger said. He had the look of a +soldier, and the bronzed face of one who had lived under warm skies. + +Basset murmured that it was. + +"The Whigs have a fine opportunity," the other pursued. "But I am not +sure that they will use it." + +"You are a Whig, perhaps?" + +The stranger smiled. "No," he replied. "I am not. I have lived so long +abroad that I belong to no party. I am an Englishman." + +"Ah?" Basset rejoined, curiosity beginning to stir in him. "That's +rather a fine idea." + +"Apparently it's a novel one. But it seems natural to me. I have lived +for fifteen years in India and I have lost touch with the cant of +parties. Out there, we do honestly try to rule for the good of the +people; their prosperity is our interest. Here, during the few weeks I +have spent in England I see things done, not because they are good, +but because they suit a party, or provide a cry, or put the other side +in a quandary." + +"There's a good deal of that, I suppose." + +"Still," the stranger continued, "I know a great man, and I know a +fine thing when I see them. And I fancy that I see them here!" He +tapped his paper. + +"Has Lord John formed his ministry, then?" + +"No, I am not sure that he will. I am not thinking of him, I am +thinking of Peel." + +"Oh! Of Peel?" + +"He has done a fine thing! As every man does who puts what is right +before what is easy. May I tell you a story of myself?" the Indian +continued. "Some years ago in the Afghan war I was unlucky enough +to command a small frontier post. My garrison consisted of two +companies and six or seven European officers. The day came when I had +to choose between two courses. I must either hold my ground until our +people advanced, or I must evacuate the post, which had a certain +importance--and fall back into safety. The men never dreamed of +retiring. The officers were confident that we could hold out. But we +were barely supplied for forty days, and in my judgment no +reinforcement was possible under seventy. I made my choice, breached +the place, and retired. But I tell you, sir, that the days of that +retreat, with sullen faces about me, and hardly a man in my company +who did not think me a poltroon, were the bitterest of my life. I knew +that if the big-wigs agreed with them I was a ruined man, and after +ten years service I should go home disgraced. Fortunately the General +saw it as I saw it, and all was well. But--" he looked at Basset with +a wry smile--"it was a march of ten days to the base, and to-day the +sullen looks of those men come back to me in my dreams." + +"And you think," Basset said--the other's story had won his +respect--"that Peel has found himself in such a position?" + +"To compare great issues with small, I do. I suspect that he has gone +through an agony--that is hardly too strong a word--such as I went +through. My impression is that when he came into office he was in +advance of his party. He saw that the distress in the country called +for measures which his followers would accept from no one else. He +believed that he could carry them with him. Perhaps, even then, he +held a repeal of the Corn Laws possible in some remote future; perhaps +he did not, I don't know. For suddenly there came on him the fear of +this Irish famine--and forced his hand." + +"But don't you think," Basset asked, "that the alarm is premature?" A +dozen times he had heard the famine called a flam, a sham, a bite, +anything but a reality. + +"You have never seen a famine?" the other replied gravely. "You have +never had to face the impossibility of creating food where it does not +exist, or of bringing it from a distance when there are no roads. I +have had that experience. I have seen people die of starvation by +hundreds, women, children, babes, when I could do nothing because +steps had not been taken in time. God forbid that that should happen +in Ireland! If the fear does not outrun the dearth, God help the poor! +Now I am told that Peel witnessed a famine in Ireland about '17 or +'18, and knows what it is." + +"You have had interesting experiences?" + +"The experience of every Indian officer. But the burden which rests on +us makes us alive to the difficulties of a statesman's position. I see +Peel forced--forced suddenly, perhaps, to make a choice; to decide +whether he shall do what is right or what is consistent. He must +betray his friends, or he must betray his country. And the agony of +the decision is the greater if he has it burnt in on his memory that +he did this thing once before, that once before he turned his back on +his party--and that all the world knows!" + +"I see." + +"If a man in that position puts self, consistency, reputation all +behind him--believe me, he is doing a fine thing." + +Basset assented. "But you speak," he added, "as if Sir Robert were +going to do the thing himself--instead of merely standing aside for +others to do it." + +"A distinction without much difference," the other rejoined. "Possibly +it will turn out that he is the only man who can do it. If so, he will +have a hard row to hoe. He will need the help of every moderate man in +the country, if he is not to be beaten. For whether he succeeds or +fails, depends not upon the fanatics, but upon the moderate men. I +don't know what your opinions are?" + +"Well," Basset said frankly, "I am not much of a party-man myself. I +am inclined to agree with you, so far." + +"Then if you have any influence, use it. Unfortunately, I am out of it +for family reasons." + +Basset looked at the stranger. "You are not by any chance Colonel +Mottisfont?" he said. + +"I am. You know my brother? He is member for Riddsley." + +"Yes. My name is Basset." + +"Of Blore? Indeed. I knew your father. Well, I have not cast my seed +on stony ground. Though you are stony enough about Wootton under +Weaver." + +"True, worse luck. Your brother is retiring, I hear?" + +"Yes, he has just horse sense, has Jack. He won't vote against Peel. +His lad has less and will take his place and vote old Tory. But there, +I mustn't abuse the family." + +They had still half an hour to spend together before Basset got out at +Stafford. He had time to discover that the soldier was faced by a +problem not unlike his own. His service over, he had to consider what +he would do. "All I know," the Colonel said breezily, "is that I won't +do nothing. Some take to preaching, others to Bath, but neither will +suit me. But I'll not drift. I kept from brandy pawnee out there, and +I am going to keep from drift here. For you, you're a young man, +Basset, and a hundred things are open to you. I am over the top of the +hill. But I'll do something." + +"You have done something to-day," Basset said. "You have done me +good." + +Later he had time to think it over during the long journey from +Stafford to Blore. He drove by twisting country roads, under the gray +walls of Chartley, by Uttoxeter and Rocester. Thence he toiled uphill +to the sterile Derbyshire border, the retreat of old families and old +houses. He began to think that he had gained some ideas with which he +could sympathize, ideas which were at one with Mary Audley's burning +desire to help, while they did not clash with old prejudices. If he +threw himself into Peel's cause, he would indeed be seen askance by +many. He would have to put himself forward after a fashion that gave +him the goose-flesh when he thought of it. A landowner, he would have +to go against the land. But he would not feel, in his darker moods, +that he was the dupe of cranks and fanatics. He saw Peel as Mottisfont +had pictured him, as a man putting all behind him except the right; +and his heart warmed to the picture. Many would fall away, few would +be staunch. From this ship, as from every sinking ship, the rats would +flee. But so much the stronger was the call. + +The result was that the Peter Basset who descended at the porch of the +old gabled house, that sat low and faced east in the valley under +Weaver, was a more hopeful man than he who had entered the train at +Euston. A purpose, a plan--he had gained these, and the hope that +springs from them. + +He had barely doffed his driving-coat, however, before his thoughts +were swept in another direction. On the hall table lay two letters. He +took up one. It was from Colet and written in deep dejection. "The +barber was a Tory and had given him short notice. Feeling ran high in +the town, and other lodgings were not to be had. The Bishop had +supported the rector's action, and he saw no immediate prospect of +further work." He did not ask for shelter, but it was plain that he +was at his wit's end, and more than a little surprised by the storm +which he had raised. + +Basset threw down the letter. "He shall come here," he thought. "What +is it to me whom he marries?" Many solitary hours spent in the streets +of London had gone some way towards widening Peter's outlook. + +He took up the second letter. It was from John Audley, and before +he had read three lines, he rang the bell and ordered that the +post-chaise which had brought him from Stafford should be kept: he +would want it in the morning. John Audley wrote that he had been very +ill--he was still in bed. He must see Basset. The matter was urgent, +he had something to tell him. He hinted that if he did not come +quickly it might be too late. + +Basset could not refuse to go; summoned after this fashion, he must +go. But he tried to believe that he was not glad to go. He tried to +believe that the excitement with which he looked forward to the +journey had to do with his uncle. It was in vain; he knew that he +tricked himself. Or if he did not know this then, his eyes were opened +next day, when, after walking up the hill to spare the horses--and a +little because he shrank at the last from the meeting--he came in +sight of the Gatehouse, and saw Mary Audley standing in the doorway. +The longing that gripped him then, the emotion that unmanned him, told +him all. It was of Mary he had been thinking, towards Mary he had been +travelling, of her work it was that the miles had seemed leagues! He +was not cured. He was not in the way to be cured. He was the same +love-sick fool whom she had driven from her with contumely an age--it +seemed an age, ago. + +He bent his head as he approached, that she might not see his face. +His knees shook and a tremor ran through him. Why had he come back? +Why had he come back to face this anguish? + +Then he mastered himself; indeed he took himself the more strongly in +hand for the knowledge he had gained. When they met at the door it was +Mary, not he, whose color came and went, who spoke awkwardly, and +rushed into needless explanations. The man listened with a stony face, +and said little, almost nothing. + +After the first awkward greeting, "Your room has been airing," she +continued, avoiding his eyes. "My uncle has been expecting you for +some days. He has asked for you again and again." + +He explained that he had been in London--hence the delay; and, +further, that he must return to Blore that day. She felt that she was +the cause of this, and she colored painfully. But he seemed to be +indifferent. He noticed a trifling change in the hall, asked a +question or two about his uncle's state, and inquired what had caused +his sudden illness. + +She told the story, giving details. He nodded. "Yes, I have seen him +in a similar attack," he said. "But he gets older. I am afraid it +alarmed you?" + +She forced herself to describe Lord Audley's part in the matter--and +Mr. Stubbs's, and was conscious that she was dragging in Mr. Stubbs +more often than was necessary. Basset listened politely, remarked that +it was fortunate that Audley had been on the spot, added that he was +sure that everything had been done that was right. + +When he had gone upstairs to see John Audley she escaped to her room. +Her cheeks were burning, and she could have cried. Basset's coldness, +his distance, the complete change in his manner all hurt her more than +she could say. They brought home to her, painfully home to her what +she had done. She had been foolish enough to fling away the friend, +when she need only have discarded the lover! + +But she must face it out now, the thing was done, and she must put up +with it. And by and by, fearing that Basset might suppose that she +avoided him, she came down and waited for him in the deserted library. +She had waited some minutes, moving restlessly to and fro and wishing +the ordeal of luncheon were over, when her eyes fell on the door of +the staircase that led up to her uncle's room. It was ajar. + +She stared at it, for she knew that she had closed it after Basset had +gone up. Now it was ajar. She reflected. The house was still, she +could hear no one moving. She went out quickly, crossed the hall, +looked into the dining-room. Toft was not there, nor was he in the +pantry. She returned to the library, and went softly up the stairs. + +So softly that she surprised the man before he could raise his head +from the keyhole. He saw that he was detected, and for an instant he +scowled at her in the half-light of the narrow passage, uncertain what +to do. Mary beckoned to him, and went down before him to the library. + +There she turned on him. "Shut the door," she said. "You were +listening! Don't deny it. You have acted disgracefully, and it will be +my duty to tell Mr. Audley what has happened." + +The man, sallow with fear, tried to brave it out. + +"You will only make mischief, Miss," he said sullenly. "You'll come +near to killing the master." + +"Very good!" Mary said, quivering with indignation. "Then instead of +telling Mr. Audley I shall tell Mr. Basset. It will be for him to +decide whether Mr. Audley shall know. Go now." + +But Toft held his ground. "You'll be doing a bad day's work, Miss," he +said earnestly. "I want to run straight." He raised his hand to his +forehead, which was wet with perspiration. "I swear I do! I want to +run straight." + +"Straight!" Mary cried in scorn. "And you listen at doors!" + +The man made a last attempt to soften her. "For God's sake, be warned, +Miss!" he cried. "Don't drive me. If you knew as much as I do----" + +"I should not listen to learn the rest!" replied Mary without pity. +"That is enough. Please to see that lunch is ready." She pointed to +the door. She was not an Audley for nothing. + +Toft gave way and went, and she remained alone, perplexed as well as +angry. Mrs. Toft and Etruria were good simple folk; she liked them. +But Toft had puzzled her from the first. He was so silent, so +secretive, he was for ever appearing without warning and vanishing +without noise. She had often suspected that he spied on his master. + +But she had never caught him in the act, and the certainty that he did +so, filled her with dismay. It was fortunate, she thought, that Basset +was there, and that she could consult him. And the instant that he +appeared, forgetting their quarrel and the strained relations between +them, she poured out her story. Toft was ungrateful, treacherous, a +danger! With Mr. Audley so helpless, the house so lonely, it +frightened her. + +It was only when she had run on for some time that Basset's air of +detachment struck her. He listened, with his back to the fire, and his +eyes bent on the floor, but he did not speak until she had told her +story, and expressed her misgivings. + +When he did, "I am not surprised," he said. "I've suspected this for +some time. But I don't know that anything can be done." + +"Do you mean that--you would do nothing?" + +"The truth is," he answered, "Toft is pretty far in his master's +confidence. And what he does not know he wishes to know. When he knows +it, he will find it a mare's nest. The truth--as I see it at any +rate--is that your uncle is possessed by a craze. He wants me to help +him in it. I cannot. I have told him so, firmly and finally, to-day. +Well, I suspect that he will now turn to Toft. I hope not, but he may, +and if we report the man's misconduct, it will only precipitate +matters and hasten an understanding. That is the position, and if I +were you, I should let the matter rest." + +"You mean that?" she exclaimed. + +"I do." + +"But--but I have spoken to Toft!" Her eyes were bright with anger. + +He kept his on the floor. It was only by maintaining the distance +between them that he could hope to hide what he felt. "Still I would +let him be," he repeated. "I do not think that Toft is dangerous. He +has surprised one half of a secret, and he wishes to learn the other +half. That is all." + +"And I am to take no notice?" + +"I believe that will be your wisest course." + +She was shocked, and she was still more hurt. He pushed her aside, he +pushed her out of his confidence, out of her uncle's confidence! His +manner, his indifference, his stolidity showed that she had not only +killed his fancy for her at a stroke, but that he now disliked her. + +And still she protested. "But I must tell my uncle!" she cried. + +"I think I would not," he repeated. "But there--" he paused and looked +at his watch--"I am afraid that if you are going to give me lunch I +must sit down. I've a long journey before me." + +Then she saw that no more could be said, and with an effort she +repressed her feelings. "Yes," she said, "I was forgetting. You must +be hungry." + +She led the way to the dining-room, and sat down with him, Toft +waiting on them with the impassive ease of the trained man. While they +ate, Basset talked of indifferent things, of his journey from town, of +the roads, of London, of Colonel Mottisfont--an interesting man whom +he had met in the train. And as he talked, and she made lifeless +answers, her indignation cooled, and her heart sank. + +She could have cried, indeed. She had lost her friend. He was gone to +an immense distance. He was willing to leave her to deal with her +troubles and difficulties, it might be, with her dangers. In killing +his love with cruel words--and how often had she repented, not of the +thing, but of the manner!--she had killed every feeling, every liking, +that he had entertained for her. + +It was clear that this was so, for to the last he maintained his +coldness and indifference. When he was gone, when the sound of the +chaise-wheels had died in the distance, she felt more lonely than she +had ever felt in her life. In her Paris days she had had no reason to +blame herself, and all the unturned leaves of life awaited her. Now +she had turned over one page, and marred it, she had won a friend and +lost him, she had spoiled the picture, which she had not wished to +keep! + +Her uncle lay upstairs, ready to bear, but hardly welcoming her +company. He had his secrets, and she stood outside them. She sat +below, enclosed in and menaced by the silence of the house. Yet it was +not fear that she felt so much as a sadness, a great depression, a +gray despondency. She craved something, she did not know what. She +only knew that she was alone--and sad. + +She tried to fight against the feeling. She tried to read, to work, +even to interest herself in Toft and his mystery. She failed. And at +last she gave up the attempt and with her elbows on her knees and her +eyes on the fire she fell to musing, the ticking of the tall clock and +the fall of the embers the only sounds that broke the stillness of the +shadowy room. + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + TOFT AT THE BUTTERFLIES + + +Basset's view of Toft, if it did not hit, came very near the mark. For +many years the man had served his master with loyalty, the relations +between them being such as were common in days when servants stayed +long in a place and held themselves a part of the family. The master +had been easy, the man had had no ambitions beyond those of his +fellows, and no temptations except those which turned upon the +cellar-book. + +But a year before Mary Audley's arrival two things had happened. First +the curate had fallen in love with Etruria, and the fact had become +known to her father, to whom the girl was everything. Her refinement, +her beauty, her goodness were his secret delight. And the thought that +she might become a lady, that she might sit at the table at which he +served had taken hold of the austere man's mind and become a passion. +He was ready to do anything and to suffer anything to bring this +about. Nor was he deceived when Etruria put the offer aside. She was +nothing if not transparent, and he was too fond of her not to see that +her happiness was bound up with the man who had stooped to woo her. + +He was not blind to the difficulties or to the clergyman's poverty. +But he saw that Colet, poor as he was, could raise his daughter in the +social scale; and he spent long hours in studying how the marriage +might be brought about. He hugged the matter to him, and brooded over +it, but he never discovered his thoughts or his hopes either to his +wife, or to Etruria. + +Then one day the sale of a living happened to be discussed in his +presence, and as he went, solemn and silent, round the table he +listened. He learned that livings could be bought. He learned that the +one in question, with its house and garden and three hundred a year, +had fetched a thousand guineas, and from that day Toft's aim was by +hook or crook to gain a thousand guineas. He revelled in impossible +dreams of buying a living, of giving it to Etruria, and of handing +maid and dowry to the fortunate man who was to make her a lady. + +There have been more sordid and more selfish ambitions. + +But a thousand guineas was a huge sum to the manservant. True, he had +saved a hundred and twenty pounds, and for his position in life he +held himself a rich man. But a thousand guineas? He turned the matter +this way and that, and sometimes he lost hope, and sometimes he pinned +his faith to a plan that twenty-four hours showed to be futile. All +the time his wife who lay beside him, his daughter who waited on him, +his master on whom he waited, were as far from seeing into his mind as +if they had lived in another planet. + +Then the second thing happened. He surprised, wholly by chance, a +secret which gave him a hold over John Audley. Under other +circumstances he might have been above using the advantage; as it was, +he was tempted. He showed his hand, a sum of four hundred pounds was +named; for a week he fancied that he had performed half his task. Then +his master explained with a gentle smile that to know and to prove +were two things, and that whereas Toft had for a time been able to do +both, John Audley had now destroyed the evidence. The master had in +fact been too sly for the man, and Toft found himself pretty well +where he had been. In the end Audley thought it prudent to give him a +hundred pounds, which did but whet his desire and sharpen his wits. + +For he had now tasted blood. He had made something by a secret. There +might be others to learn. He kept his eyes open, and soon he became +aware of his master's disappearances. He tracked him, he played the +spy, he discovered that John Audley was searching for something in the +Great House. The words that the old man let fall, while half-conscious +in the Yew Walk, added to his knowledge, and at the same time scared +him. A moment later, and Lord Audley might have known as much as he +knew--and perhaps more! + +For he did not as yet know all, and it was in the attempt to complete +his knowledge that Mary had caught him listening at the door. The blow +was a sharp one. He was still so far unspoiled, still so near the old +Toft that he could not bear that his wife and daughter should learn +the depth to which he had fallen. And John Audley? What would he do, +if Mary told him? + +Toft could not guess. He knew that his master was barely sane, if he +was sane; but he knew also that he was utterly inhuman. John Audley +would put him and his family to the door without mercy if that seemed +to him the safer course. And that meant an end of all his plans for +Etruria, for Colet, for them all. + +True, he might use such power as he had. But it was imperfect, and in +its use he must come to grips with one who had shown himself his +better both in courage and cunning. He had imbibed a strong fear of +his master, and he could not without a qualm contemplate a struggle +with him. + +For a week after his detection by Mary, he went about his work in a +fever of anxiety. And nothing happened; it was that which tried him. +More than once he was on the point of throwing himself at her feet, of +telling her all he knew, of imploring her pardon. It was only her +averted eyes and cold tone that held him back. + +Such a crisis makes a man either better or worse, and it made Toft +worse. At the end of three days a chance word put a fine point on his +fears and stung him to action. He might not know enough to face John +Audley, but he thought that he knew enough to sell his secret--in the +other camp. His lordship was young and probably malleable. He would go +to him and strike a bargain. + +Arrived at this point the man did not hide from himself that he was +going to do a hateful thing. He thought of his wife and her wonder +could she know. He thought of Etruria's mild eyes and her goodness. +And he shivered. But it was for her. It was for them. Within +twenty-four hours he was in Riddsley. + +As he passed the Maypole, where Mr. Colet had his lodgings, he noticed +that the town wore an unusual aspect. Groups of men stood talking in +the doorway, or on the doorsteps. A passing horseman was shouting to a +man at a window. Nearer the middle of the town the stir was greater. +About the saddler's door, about the steps leading up to the Audley +Arms, and round the yard of the inn, knots of men argued and +gesticulated. Toft asked the saddler what it was. + +"Haven't you heard?" + +"No. What's the news?" + +"The General Election's off!" The saddler proclaimed it with an +inflamed look. "Peel's in again! And damn me, after this," he +continued, "there's nothing I won't swallow! He come in in the farming +interest, and the hunting interest, and the racing interest, and the +gentlemanly interest, that I live by, and you too, Mr. Toft! And it +was bad enough when he threw it up! But to go in again and to take our +money and do the Radicals' work!" The saddler spat on the brick +pavement. "Why, there was never such a thing heard of in the 'varsal +world! Never! If Tamworth don't blush for him and his pigs turn pink, +I'm d--d, and that's all." + +Toft had to ask half a dozen questions before he grasped the position. +Gradually he learned that after Peel had resigned the Whigs had tried +to form a government; that they had failed, and that now Peel was to +come in again, expressly to repeal the Corn Laws. The Corn Laws which +he had taken office to support, and to the maintenance of which his +party was pledged! + +The thing was not much in Toft's way, nor his interest in it great, +but as he passed along he caught odds and ends of conversation. "I +don't believe a word of it!" cried an angry man. "The Radicals have +invented it!" "Like enough!" replied another. "Like enough! There's +naught they wouldn't do!" "Well, after all," suggested a third in a +milder tone, "cheap bread is something." "What? If you've got no money +to buy it? You're a fool! I tell you it'll be the ruin of Riddsley!" +"You're right there, Joe!" answered the first speaker. "You're right! +There'll be no farmer for miles round'll pay his way!" + +At the door of Mr. Stubbs's office three excited clients were +clamoring for entrance; an elderly clerk with a high bridge to his +nose was withstanding them. Before the Mechanics' Institute the +secretary, a superior person of Manchester views, was talking +pompously to a little group. "We must take in the whole field," Toft +heard him say. "If you'll read Mr. Carlyle's tract on----" Toft lost +the rest. The Institute readers belonged mainly to Hatton's Works or +Banfield's, and the secretary taught in an evening school. He was +darkly suspected of being a teetotaller, but it had never been proved +against him. + +Toft began to wonder if he had chosen his time well, but he was near +The Butterflies and he hardened his heart; to retreat now were to dub +himself coward. He told the maid that he came from the Gatehouse, and +that he was directed to deliver a letter into his lordship's own hand, +and in a moment he found himself mounting the shallow carpeted stairs. +In comparison with the Gatehouse, the house was modern, elegant, +luxurious, the passages were warm. + +When he was ushered in, his lordship, a dressing-gown cast over a +chair beside him as if he had just put on his coat, was writing near +the fireplace. After an interval that seemed long to Toft, who eyed +his heavy massiveness with a certain dismay, he laid down his pen, sat +back, and looked at the servant. + +"From the Gatehouse?" he asked, after a leisurely survey. + +"Yes, my lord," Toft answered respectfully. "I was with Mr. Audley +when he was taken ill in the Yew Walk." + +"To be sure! I thought I knew your face. You've a letter for me?" + +Toft hesitated. "I wished to see you, my lord," he said. The thing was +not as easy as he had hoped it would be; the man was more formidable. +"On a matter of business." + +Audley raised his eyebrows. "Business?" he said. "Isn't it Mr. Stubbs +you want to see?" + +"No, my lord," Toft answered. But the sweat broke out on his forehead. +What if his lordship took a high tone, ordered him out, and reported +the matter to his master? Too late it struck Toft that a gentleman +might take that line. + +"Well, be quick," Audley replied. Then in a different tone, "You don't +come from Miss Audley?" + +"No, my lord." + +"Then what is it?" + +Toft turned his hat in his hands. "I have information"--it was with +difficulty he could control his voice--"which it is to your lordship's +interest to have." + +There was a pregnant pause. "Oh!" the young man said at last. "And you +come--to sell it?" + +Toft nodded, unable to speak. Yet he was getting on as well as could +be expected. + +"Rather an unusual position, isn't it?" + +"Yes, my lord." + +"The information should be unusual?" + +"It is, my lord." + +Lord Audley smiled. "Well," he answered, "I'll say this, my man. If +you are going to sell me a spavined horse, don't! It will not be to +your advantage. What's it all about?" + +"Mr. Audley's claim, my lord." + +Audley had expected this, yet he could not quite mask the effect which +the statement made upon him. The thing that he had foreseen and +feared, that had haunted him in the small hours and been as it were a +death's-head at his feast, was taking shape. But he was quick to +recover himself, and "Oh!" said he. "That's it, is it! Don't you know +that that's all over, my man?" + +"I think not, my lord." + +The peer took up a paper-knife and toyed with it. "Well," he said, +"what is it? Come, I don't buy a pig in a poke." + +"Mr. Audley has found----" + +"Found, eh?" raising his eyebrows. + +Toft corrected himself. "He has in his power papers that upset your +lordship's case. I can still enable you to keep those papers in your +hands." + +Audley threw down the paper-cutter. "They are certainly worthless," he +said. His voice was contemptuous, but there was a hard look in his +eyes. + +"Mr. Audley thinks otherwise." + +"But he has not seen them?" + +"He knows what's in them, my lord. He has been searching for them for +weeks." + +The young man weighed this, and Toft's courage rose, and his +confidence. The trumps were in his hand, and though for a moment he +had shrunk before the other's heavy jaw he was glad now that he had +come; more glad when the big man after a long pause asked quietly, +"What do you want?" + +"Five hundred pounds, my lord." + +The other laughed, and Toft did not like the laugh. "Indeed? Five +hundred pounds? That's a good deal of money!" + +"The information is worth that, or it is worth nothing." + +"I quite agree!" the peer answered lightly. "You're a wit, my man. But +that's not saying you've a good case. However, I'll put you to the +test. You know where the papers are?" + +"I do, my lord." + +"Very good. There's a piece of paper. Write on one side the precise +place where they lie. I will write on the other a promise to pay £500 +if the papers are found in that place, and are of the value you +assert. That is a fair offer." + +Toft stood irresolute. He thought hard. + +My lord pushed the paper across. "Come!" he said; "write! Or I'll +write first, if that is your trouble." With decision he seized a +quill, held it poised a moment, then he wrote four lines and signed +them with a flourish, added the date, and read them to himself. With a +grim smile he pushed the paper across to Toft. "There," he said. "What +more do you want, my man, than that?" + +Toft took the paper and read what was written on it, from the "In +consideration of," that began the sentence, to the firm signature +"Audley of Beaudelays" that closed it. He did not speak. + +"Come! You can't want anything more than that!" my lord said. "You +have only to write, read me the secret, and keep the paper until it is +redeemed." + +"Yes, my lord." + +"Then take the pen. Of course the place must be precise. I am not +going to pull down Beaudelays House to find a box of papers that I do +not believe is there!" + +Toft's face was gray, the sweat stood on his lip. "I did not say," he +muttered, the paper rustling in his unsteady hand, "that they were in +Beaudelays House." + +"No?" Audley replied. "Perhaps not. And for the matter of that, it is +not a question of saying anything. It is a question of writing. You +can write, I suppose?" + +Toft did not speak. He could not speak. He had supposed that the power +to put his lordship on the scent would be the same as pulling down the +fox. When he had said that the papers were in the house, that they +were behind a wall, that Mr. Audley knew where they were, he would +have earned--he thought--his money! + +But he had not known the man with whom he had to deal. And challenged +to set down the place where the papers lay, he knew that he could not +do it. In the house? Behind a wall? He saw now that that would not do. +That would not satisfy the big smiling gentleman who sat opposite him, +amused at the dilemma in which he found himself. + +He knew that he was cornered, and he lost his countenance and his +manners. He swore. + +The young man laughed. "The biter bit," he said. "Five hundred pounds +you said, didn't you? I wonder whether I ought to send for the +constable? Or tell Mr. Audley? That would be wiser perhaps? What do +you think you deserve, my man?" + +Toft stretched out a shaking arm towards the paper. But my lord was +before him. His huge hand fell on it. He tore it across and across, +and threw the pieces under the table. + +"No," he said, "that won't do! You will write at a venture and if you +are right you will claim the money, and if you are wrong you will have +this paper to show that I bargained with you. But I never meant to +bargain with you, my good rascal. I knew you were a fraud. I knew it +from the beginning. And now I've only one thing to say. Either you +will tell me freely what you know, and in that case I shall say +nothing. Or I report you to your master. That's my last word." + +Toft shook from head to foot. He had done a hateful thing, he had been +defeated, and exposure threatened him. As far as his master was +concerned he could face it. But his wife, his daughter? Who thought +him honest, loyal, who thought him a man! Who believed in him! How +could he, how would he face them, if this tale were told? + +My lord saw the change in him, saw how he shrank, and, smiling, he +fancied that he had the man in his grasp, fancied that he would tell +what he knew, and tell it for nothing. And twice Toft opened his lips +to speak, and twice no words came. For at the last moment, in this +strait, what there was of good in him--and there was good--rose up, +and had the better; had the better, reinforced perhaps by his hatred +of the heavy smiling face that gloated upon him. + +For at the last moment, "No, my lord," he said desperately, "I'll not +speak. I'm d--d if I do! You may do what you like." + +And before his lordship, taken by surprise, could interpose, the +servant had turned and made for the door. He was half-way down the +stairs before the other had risen from his seat. He had escaped. He +was clear for the time, and safe in the road he breathed more freely. +But he had gone a hundred yards on his way before he remarked that he +was in the open air, or bethought himself to put on his hat. + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + MY LORD SPEAKS + + +For a few moments Audley had certainly hoped that he was going to +learn all that Toft knew, and to learn it for nothing. He had been +baulked in this. But when he came to think over the matter he was not +ill content with himself, nor with his conduct of the interview. He +had dealt with the matter with presence of mind, and in the only safe +way; and he had taught the man a lesson. "He knows by this time," he +reflected, "that if I am a lord, I am not a fool!" + +But this mood did not last long, and it was succeeded by one less +cheerful. The death's-head had never been wanting at his feast. The +family tradition which had come down to him with his blood had never +ceased to haunt him, and in the silence of the night he had many a +time heard John Audley at work seeking for the means to displace him. +Even the great empty house had seemed to mock his pretensions. + +But until the last month his fears had been vague and shadowy, and in +his busy hours he had laughed at them. He was Lord Audley, he sat, he +voted, the doors of White's, of Almack's were open to him. In town he +was a personage, in the country a divinity still hedged him, no +tradesman spoke to him save hat in hand. Then, lately, the traces +which he had found in the Great House had given a shape to his fears; +and within the last hour he had learned their solidity. Sane or mad, +John Audley was upon his track, bent upon displacing him, bent upon +ruining him; and this very day the man might be laying his hand upon +the thing he needed. + +Audley did not doubt the truth of Toft's story. It confirmed his fears +only too well; and the family tradition--that too weighed with him. He +sat for a long time staring before him, then, uneasy and restless, he +rose and paced the floor. He went to and fro, to and fro, until +by-and-by he came to a stand before one of the windows. He drummed +with his fingers on the glass. There was one way, certainly. Stubbs +had said so, and Stubbs was right. There was one way, if he could make +up his mind to the limitations it would impose upon him. If he could +make up his mind to be a poor man. + +The window at which he stood looked on a road of quiet dignity, a +little removed from the common traffic of the town. But the windows, +looking sideways, commanded also a more frequented thoroughfare which +crossed this street. His thoughts far away and sombrely engaged, the +young man watched the stream of passers, as it trickled across the +distant opening. + +Suddenly his eyes recalled his mind to the present. He started, +turned, in three strides he was beside the hearth. He rang the bell +twice, the signal for his man. He waited impatiently. + +"My hat and coat!" he cried to the servant. "Quick, I'm in a hurry!" +Like most men who have known vicissitudes he had a superstitious side, +and the figure which he had seen pass across the end of the road had +appeared so aptly, so timely, had had so much the air of an answer to +his doubts that he took it for an inspiration. + +He ran down the stairs, but he knew that his comings and goings were +marked, and once outside the house he controlled his impatience. He +walked slowly, humming a tune and swaying his cane, and it was a very +stately gentleman taking the air and acknowledging with courtesy the +respectful salutations of the passers, who came on Mary Audley as she +turned from Dr. Pepper's door in the High Street. + +He stood. "Miss Audley!" he cried. + +Mary was flushed with exercise, ruffled by the wind, travel-stained. +But she would have cared little for these things if she could have +governed the blood that rose to her cheeks at his sudden appearance. +To mask her confusion she rushed into speech. + +"You cannot be more surprised than I am," she said. "My uncle is not +so well to-day, and in a panic about his medicine. Toft, who should +have come in to town to fetch it, was not to be found, so I had to +come." + +"And you have walked in?" + +Smiling, she showed him her boots. "And I am presently going to walk +out," she said. + +"You will never do it?" + +"Before dark? No, perhaps not!" She raised her hand and put back a +tress of hair which had strayed from its fellows. "And I shall be +tired. But I shall be much surprised if I cannot walk ten miles at a +pinch." + +"I shall be surprised if you walk ten miles to-day," he retorted. "My +plans for you are quite different. Have you got what you came to +fetch?" + +She had steadied herself, and was by this time at her ease. She made a +little grimace. "No," she said. "It will not be ready for quarter of +an hour." + +He rang Dr. Pepper's bell. An awestruck apprentice, who had watched +the interview through the dusty window of the surgery, showed himself. + +"Be good enough to send the medicine for Miss Audley to Mrs. +Jenkinson's," Audley said. "You understand?" + +"Yes, my lord! Certainly, my lord!" She was going to protest. He +turned to her, silenced her. "And now I take possession of you," he +said, supremely careless what the lad heard. "You are coming to The +Butterflies to take tea, or sherry, or whatever you take when you have +walked five miles." + +"Oh, Lord Audley!" + +"And then I am going to drive you as far as the old Cross, and walk up +the hill with you--as far as I choose." + +"Oh, but I cannot!" Mary cried, coloring charmingly, but whether with +pleasure or embarrassment she could not tell. She only knew that his +ridiculous way of taking possession of her, the very masterfulness of +it, moved her strangely. "I cannot indeed. What would my uncle say?" + +"I don't know, and I don't care!" he replied, swinging his walking +cane, and smiling as he towered above her. + +"He may go hang--for once!" + +She hesitated. "It is very good of you," she said. "I confess I did +not look forward to the walk back. But----" + +"There is no--but," he replied. "And no walk back! It is arranged. It +is time--" his eyes dwelt kindly on her as she turned with him--"it +is time that some one took it in hand to arrange things for you. +Five miles in and five miles out over dirty roads on a winter +afternoon--and Miss Audley! No, no! And now--this way, please!" + +She yielded, she could not tell why, except that it was difficult to +resist him, and not unpleasant to obey him. And after all, why should +she not go with him? She had been feeling fagged and tired, depressed, +moreover, by her uncle's fears. The low-lying fields, the town, the +streets, all dingy under a gray autumn sky, had given her no welcome. + +And her thoughts, too, had been dun-colored. She had felt very lonely +the last few days, doubtful of the future, without aim, hipped. And +now in a moment all seemed changed. She was no longer alone, nor +fearful. The streets were no longer dingy nor dreary. There were still +pleasant things in the world, kindness, and thought for others, and +friendship and--and tea and cake! Was it wonderful that as she walked +along beside my lord her spirits rose? That she felt an unaccountable +relief, and in the reaction of the moment smiled and sparkled more +than her wont? That the muddy brick pavement, the low-browed shops, +the leafless trees all seemed brighter than before, and that even the +butcher's stall became almost a thing of beauty? + +And he responded famously. He swung his stick, he laughed, he was gay. +"Don't pretend!" he said. "I see that you were glad enough to meet +me!" + +"And the tea and cake!" she replied. "After five miles who would not +be glad to meet them?" + +"Exactly! It is my belief that if I had not met you, you would have +fallen by the way. You want some one to look after you, Miss Audley." +The name was a caress. + +Nor was the pleasure all their own. Great was the excitement of the +townsfolk as they passed. "His lordship and a young lady?" cried half +Riddsley, running to the windows. "Quick, or you will miss them!" Some +wondered who she could be; more had seen her at church and could +answer. "Miss Audley? The young lady who had come to live at the +Gatehouse? Indeed! You don't say so?" For every soul in Riddsley, over +twelve years old, was versed in the Audley history, knew all about the +suit, and could tell off the degrees of kindred as easily as they +could tell the distance from the Audley Arms to the Portcullis. "Mr. +Peter Audley's daughter who lived in Paris? Lady-in-waiting to a +Princess. And now walking with his lordship as if she had known him +all her life! What would Mr. John say? D'you see how gay he looks! Not +a bit what he is when he speaks to us! Wonder whether there's anything +in it!" And so on, and so on, with tit-bits from the history of Mary's +father, and choice eccentricities from the life of John Audley. + +Mrs. Jenkinson's amazement, as she espied them coming up the path to +the house, was a thing by itself. It was such that she set her door +ajar that she might see them pass through the hall. She was all of a +twitter, she said afterwards. And poor Jane and poor Sarah--who were +out! What a miss they were having! It was not thrice in the twelve +months that his lordship brought a lady to the house. + +A greater miss, indeed, it turned out, than she thought. For to her +gratification Lord Audley tapped at her door. He pushed it open. "Mrs. +Jenkinson," he said pleasantly, "this is my cousin, Miss Audley, who +is good enough to take a cup of your excellent tea with me, if you +will make it. She has walked in from the Gatehouse." + +Mrs. Jenkinson was a combination of an eager, bright-eyed bird and a +stout, short lady in dove-colored silk--if such a thing can be +imagined; and the soul of good-nature. She took Mary by both hands, +beamed upon her, and figuratively took her to her bosom. "A little +cake and wine, my dear," she chirruped. "After a long walk! And then +tea. To be sure, my dear! I knew your father, Mr. Peter Audley, a +dear, good gentleman. You would like to wash your hands? Yes, my dear! +Not that you are not--and his lordship will wait for us upstairs. Yes, +there's a step. I knew your father, to be sure, to be sure. A new +brush, my dear. And now will you let me--not that your sweet face +needs any ornament! Yes, I talk too much--but, there, my love, when +you are as old----" + +She was a simple soul, and because her tongue rarely stopped she might +have been thought to see nothing. But women, unlike men, can do two +things at once, and little escaped her twinkling spectacles. As she +told her sister later, "My dear, I saw it was spoons from the first. +She sparkled all over, bless her innocent heart! And he, if she had +been a duchess, could not have waited on her more elegant--well, +elegantly, Sally, if you like, but we can't all talk like you. They +thought, the dear creatures, that I saw nothing; but once he said +something too low for me to hear and she looked up at him, and her +pretty eyes were like stars. And he looked--well, Sally, I could not +tell you how he looked!" + +"I am not sure that it would be proper," the spinster demurred. + +"Ah, well, it was as pretty a thing as you'd wish to see," the good +creature ran on, drumming with her fingers on the lap of her silk +gown. "And she, bless her, I dare say she was all of a twitter, but +she didn't show it. No airs or graces either--but there, an Audley has +no need! Why, God bless me, I said something about the Princess and +what company she must have seen, and what a change for her, and she up +and said--I am sure I loved her for it!--that she had been no more +than a governess! My dear, an Audley a governess! I fancied my lord +wasn't quite pleased, and very natural! But when a man is spoons----" + +"My dear sister!" + +"Vulgar? Well, perhaps so, I know I run on, but gentle or simple, +they're the same when they're in love! And Jane will be glad to hear +that she took two pieces of the sultana and two cups of tea, and he +watching every piece she put in her mouth, and she coloring up, once +or twice, so that it did my heart good to see them, the pretty dears. +Jane will be pleased. And there might have been nothing but seed cake +in the house. I shall remember more presently, but I was in such a +twitter!" + +"What did she call him?" Miss Sarah asked. + +"To be sure, my dear, that was what I was going to tell you! I +listened, and not a single thing did she call him. But once, when he +gave her some cake, I heard him call her Mary, for all the world as if +it was a bit of sugar in his mouth. And there came a kind of quiver +over her pretty face, and she looked at her plate as much as to say it +was a new thing. And I said to myself 'Philip and Mary'--out of the +old school-books you know, but who they were I don't remember. But +it's my opinion," Mrs. Jenkinson continued, rubbing her nose with the +end of her spectacles, "that he had spoken just before they came in, +Sally." + +"You don't say so?" Sarah cried. + +"If you ask me, there was a kind of softness about them both! Law, +when I think what you and Jane missed through going to that stupid +Institute! I am sure you'll never forgive yourselves!" + +The good lady had not missed much herself, but she was mistaken in +thinking that the two had come to an understanding. Indeed when, +leaving the warmth of her presence behind them, they drove out of +town, with the servant seated with folded arms behind them and Mary +snugly tucked in beside my lord, a new constraint began to separate +them. The excitement of the meeting had waned, the fillip of the +unwonted treat had lost its power. A depression for which she could +not account beset Mary as they rolled through the dull outskirts and +faced the flat mistridden pastures and the long lines of willows. On +his side doubt held him silent. He had found it pleasant to come to +the brink, he had not been blind to Mary's smiles and her rare +blushes. But the one step farther--that could not be re-trodden, and +it was in the nature of the man to hesitate at the last, and to +consider if he were getting full value. + +So, as they drove through the dusk, now noiselessly over sodden +leaves, now drumming along the hard road, the hint of a chill fell +between them. Mary's thoughts went forward to the silent house and the +lonely rooms, and she chid herself for ingratitude. She had had her +pleasure, she had had an unwonted treat. What was wrong with her? What +more did she want? + +It was nearly dark, and not many words had passed when Lord Audley +pulled up the horses at the old Cross. The man leapt down and was +going to help Mary to alight, when his master bade him take the +box-seat and the reins. + +Mary remonstrated. "Oh, don't get down, please!" she cried. "Please! +It is nothing to the house from here." + +"It is half a mile if it is a yard," he said. "And it is nearly dark. +I am going with you." He bade the man walk the horses up and down. + +She ventured another protest, but he put it aside. He threw back the +rug and lifted her down. For a moment he stamped about and stretched +himself. Then "Come, Mary," he said. It was an order. + +She knew then what was at hand. And though she had a minute before +looked forward with regret to the parting, all her thought now was how +she might escape to the Gatehouse. It became a refuge. Her heart, as +she started to walk beside him, beat so quickly that she could not +speak. She was thankful that it was dark, and that he could not read +her agitation in her face. + +He did not speak himself for some minutes. Then "Mary," he said +abruptly, looking straight before him, "I am rather one for taking +than asking, and that stands in my way now. When I've wanted a thing +I've generally taken it. Now I want a thing I can't take--without +asking. And I feel that I'm not good at the asking. But I want it +badly, and I must do the best I can. I love you, Mary. I love you, and +I want you for my wife." + +She could not find a word. When he went on his tone was lower. + +"I'm rather a lonely man," he said. "You didn't know that, or think +it? But it is true. And such an hour as we have spent to-day is not +mine often. It lies with you to say if I am going to have more of +them. I might tell you with truth that I haven't much to offer my +wife. That if I am Audley of Beaudelays, I am the poorest Audley that +ever was. That my wife will be no great lady, and will step into no +golden shoes. The butterflies are moths, Mary, nowadays, and if I am +ever to be much she will have to help me. But I will tell no lies, my +dear!" He turned to her then and stopped; and perforce, though her +knees trembled, she had to stand also, and face him as he looked down +at her. "I am not going to pretend that what I have to offer isn't +enough. For you are lonely like me; you have no one but John Audley to +look to, and I am big enough and strong enough to take care of you. +And I will take care of you--if you will let me. If you will say the +word, Mary?" + +He loomed above her in the darkness. He seemed already to possess her. +She tried to think, tried to ask herself if she loved him, if she +loved him enough; but the fancy for him which she had had from the +beginning, that and his masterfulness swept her irresistibly towards +him. She was lonely--more lonely than ever of late, and to whom was +she to look? Who else had been as good to her, as kind to her, as +thoughtful for her, as he who now wooed her so honestly, who offered +her all he had to offer? She hesitated, and he saw that she hesitated. + +"Come, we've got to have this out," he said bluntly. And he put his +hand on her shoulder. "We stand alone, both of us, you and I. We're +the last of the old line, and I want you for my wife, Mary! With you I +can do something, with you I believe that I can make something of my +life! Without you--but there, if you say no, I won't take it! I won't +take it, and I am going to have you, if not to-day, to-morrow, and if +not to-morrow, the next day! Make no mistake about that!" + +She tried to fence with him. "I have not a penny," she faltered. + +"I don't ask you for a penny." + +Her instinct was still to escape. "You are Lord Audley," she said, +"and I am a poor relation. Won't you--don't you think that you will +repent presently!" + +"That's my business! If that be all--if there's no one else----" + +"No, there's no one else," she admitted. "But----" + +"_But_ be hanged!" he cried. "If there's no one else you are mine." +And he passed his arm round her. + +For a moment she stepped back. "No!" she protested, raising her hands +to push him off. "Please--please let me think." + +He let her be, for already he knew that he had won; and perhaps in his +own mind he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of the step. "My uncle? +Have you thought of him?" she asked. "What will he say?" + +"I have not thought of him," he cried grandly, "and I am not going to +think of him. I am thinking, my dear, only of you. Do you love me?" + +She stood silent, gazing at him. + +"Don't play with me!" he said. "I've a right to an answer." + +"I think I do," she said softly. "Yes--I think--no, wait; that is not +all." + +"It is all." + +"No," between laughing and crying. "You are not giving me time. I want +to think. You are carrying me by storm, sir." + +"And a good way, too!" he rejoined. Then she did let him take her, and +for a few seconds she was in his arms. He crushed her to him, she felt +all the world turning. But before he found her lips, the crack of a +whip startled them, the creak of a wheel sliding round the corner +warned them, she slipped from his arms. + +"You little wretch!" he said. + +Breathless, hardly knowing what she felt, or what storm shook her, she +could not speak. The wagon came creaking past them, the driver +clinging to the chain of the slipper. When it was gone by she found +her voice. "It shall be as you will," she said, and her tone thrilled +him. "But I want to think. It has been so sudden, I am frightened. I +am frightened, and--yes, I think I am happy. But please to let me go +now. I am safe here--in two minutes I shall be at home." + +He tried to keep her, but "Let me go now," she pleaded. "Later it +shall be as you wish--always as you wish. But let me go now." + +He gave way then. He said a few words while he held her hands, and he +said them very well. Then he let her go. Before the dusk hid her she +turned and waved her hand, and he waved his. He stood, listening. He +heard the sound of her footsteps grow fainter and fainter as she +climbed the hill, until they were lost in the rustle of the wind +through the undergrowth. At last he turned and trudged down the hill. + +"Well, I've done it," he muttered presently. "And Uncle John may find +what he likes, damn him! After all, she's handsome enough to turn any +man's head, and it makes me safe! But I'll go slow. I'll go slow now. +There's no hurry." + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + BLORE UNDER WEAVER + + +Gratitude and liking, and the worship of strength which is as natural +in a woman as the worship of beauty in a man, form no bad imitation of +love, and often pass into love as imperceptibly as the brook becomes a +river. The morning light brought Mary no repentance. Misgivings she +had, as what lover has not, were the truth told. Was her love as +perfect as Etruria's, as unselfish, as absorbing? She doubted. But in +all honesty she hoped that it might become so; and when she dwelt on +the man who had done so much for her, and thought so well for her, who +had so much to offer and made so little of the offering, her heart +swelled with gratitude, and if she did not love she fancied that she +did. + +So much was changed for her! She had wondered more than once what +would happen to her, if her uncle died. That fear was put from her. +Toft--she had been vexed with Toft. How small a matter that seemed +now! And Peter Basset? He had been kind to her, and a pang did pierce +her heart on his account. But he had recovered very quickly, she +reflected. He had shown himself cold enough and distant enough at his +last visit! And then she smiled as she thought how differently her new +lover had assailed her, with what force, what arrogance, what +insistence--and yet with a force and arrogance and insistence to which +it was pleasant to yield. + +She did not with all this forget that she would be Lady Audley, she, +whose past had been so precarious, whose prospects had been so dark, +whose fate it might have been to travel through life an obscure +teacher! She had not been woman if she had not thought of this; nor if +she had failed, when she thought of it, to breathe a prayer for the +gallant lover who had found her and saved her, and had held it enough +that she was an Audley. He might have chosen far and wide. He had +chosen her. + +No wonder that Mrs. Toft saw a change in her. "Law, Miss," she +remarked, when she came in to remove the breakfast. "One would think a +ten-mile walk was the making of you! It's put a color into your cheeks +that would shame a June rose! And to be sure," with a glance at the +young lady's plate, "not much eaten either!" + +"I am not hungry, Mrs. Toft," Mary said meekly. "I drove back to the +foot of the hill." + +"And I'd like to sort Toft for it! Ifs he who should have gone! He's +upstairs now, keeping out of my way, and that grim and gray you'd +think he'd seen a ghost! And 'Truria, silly girl, she's all of a +quiver this morning. It's 'Mother, let me do this!' and 'Mother, I'll +do that!' all because her reverend--not, as I tell her, that aught +will ever come of it--has got a roof over his head at last." + +"But that's good news! Has Mr. Colet got some work?" + +"Not he, the silly man! Nor likely! There's mighty little work for +them as go against the gentry. For what he's got he's to thank Mr. +Basset." + +"Mr. Basset." + +"To be sure," Mrs. Toft answered, with a covert glance at the girl, +"why not, Miss? Some talk and the wind goes by. There's plenty of +those. And some say naught but do--and that's Mr. Basset. He's took in +Mr. Colet till he can find a church. Etruria's that up about it, I +tell her, smile before breakfast and sweat before night. And so she'll +find it, I warrant!" + +"It is very good of Mr. Basset," Mary said gravely. And then, "Is that +some one knocking, Mrs. Toft?" + +"It's well to have young ears!" Mrs. Toft took out the tray, and +returned with a letter. "It's for you, Miss," she said. "The postman's +late this morning, but cheap's a slow traveller. When a letter was a +letter and cost ninepence it came to hand like a gentleman!" + +Mary waited to hear no more. She knew the handwriting, and as quickly +as she could she escaped from the room. No one with any claim to taste +used an envelope in those days, and to open a letter so that no rent +might mar its fairness called for a care which she could not exercise +in public. + +Alone, in her room, she opened it, and her eyes grew serious as they +travelled down the page, which bore signs of haste. + + +"Sweetheart," it began, and she thought that charming, "I do not ask +if you reached the Gatehouse safely, for I listened and I must have +heard, if harm befel you. I drove home as happy as a king, and grieved +only that I had not had that of you which I had a right to have--damn +that carter! This troubles me the more as I shall not see you again +for a time, and if this does not disappoint you too, you're a +deceiver! My plans are altered by to-day's news that Peel returns to +office. In any event, I had to go to Seabourne's for Christmas, now I +must be there for a meeting to-morrow and go from there to London on +the same business. You would not have me desert my post, I am sure? +Heaven knows how long I may be kept, possibly a fortnight, possibly +more. But the moment I can I shall be with you. + +"Write to me at the Brunswick Hôtel, Dover Street. Sweetheart, I am +yours, as you, my darling, are + + "Philip's. + +"_P. S_.--I must put off any communication to your uncle till I can see +him. So for the moment, mum!" + + +Mary read the letter twice; the first time with eager eyes, the second +time more calmly. Nothing was more natural, she told herself, than +that her spirits should sink--Philip was gone. The walk with him, the +talk which was to bring them nearer, and to make them better known to +one another, stood over. The day that was to be so bright was clouded. + +But beyond this the letter itself fell a little, a very little, short +of her expectations. The beginning was charming! But after that--was +it her fancy, or was her lover's tone a little flippant, a little +free, a little too easy? Did it lack that tender note of reassurance, +that chivalrous thought for her, which she had a right to expect in a +first letter? She was not sure. + +And as to her uncle. She must, of course, be guided by her lover, his +will must be her law now; and it was reasonable that in John Audley's +state of health the mode of communication should be carefully weighed. +But she longed to be candid, she longed to be open; and in regard to +one person she would be open. Basset had let her see that her +treatment had cured him. At their last meeting he had been cold, +almost unkind; he had left her to deal with Toft as she could. Still +she owed him, if any one, the truth, and, were it only to set herself +right in her own eyes, she must tell him. If the news did nothing else +it would open the way for his return to the Gatehouse, and the telling +would enable her to make the _amende_. + +The letter was not written on that day nor the next. But on the fourth +day after Audley's departure it arrived at Blore, and lay for an hour +on the dusty hall table amid spuds and powder-flasks and old +itineraries. There Mr. Colet found it and another letter, and removed +the two for safety to the parlor, where litter of a similar kind +struggled for the upper hand with piles of books and dog's-eared +Quarterlies. The decay of the Bassets dated farther back than the +decline of the Audleys, and the gabled house under the shadow of +Weaver was little better, if something larger, than a farm-house. +There had been a library, but Basset had taken the best books to the +Gatehouse. And there were in the closed drawing-room, and in some of +the bedrooms, old family portraits, bad for the most part; the best +lay in marble in Blore Church. But in the parlor, which was the +living-room, hung only paintings of fat oxen and prize sheep; and the +garden which ran up to the walls of the house, and in summer was a +flood of color, lay in these days dank and lifeless, ebbing away from +bee-skips and chicken-coops. The park had been ploughed during the +great war, and now pined in thin pasture. The whole of the valley was +still Basset land, but undrained in the bottom and light on the +slopes, it made no figure in a rent-roll. The present owner had +husbanded the place, and paid off charges, and cleared the estate, but +he had been able to do no more. The place was a poor man's place, +though for miles round men spoke to the owner bareheaded. He was +"Basset of Blore," as much a part of Staffordshire as Burton Bridge or +the Barbeacon. The memories of the illiterate are long. + +He had been walking the hill that morning with a dog and a gun, and +between yearnings for the woman he loved, and longings for some plan +of life, some object, some aim, he was in a most unhappy mood. At one +moment he saw himself growing old, without the energy to help himself +or others, still toying with trifles, the last and feeblest of his +blood. At another he thought of Mary, and saw her smiling through the +flowering hawthorn, or bending over a book with the firelight on her +hair. Or again, stung by the lash of her reproaches he tried to harden +himself to do something. Should he take the land into his own hands, +and drain and fence and breed stock and be of use, were it only as a +struggling farmer in his own district? Or should he make that plunge +into public life to which Colonel Mottisfont had urged him and from +which he shrank as a shivering man shrinks from an icy bath? + +For there was the rub. Mary was right. He was a dreamer, a weakling, +one in whom the strong pulse that had borne his forbears to the front +beat but feebly. He was not equal to the hard facts of life. With what +ease had Audley, whenever they had stood foot to foot, put him in the +second place, got the better of him, outshone him! + +Old Don pointed in vain. His master shot nothing, for he walked for +the most part with his eyes on the turf. If he raised them it was to +gaze at the hamlet lying below him in the valley, the old house, the +ring of buildings and cottages, the church that he loved--and that +like the woman he loved, reproached him with his inaction. + +About two o'clock he turned homewards. How many more days would he +will and not will, and end night by night where he had begun? In the +main he was of even temper, but of late small things tried him, and +when he entered the parlor and Colet rose at his entrance, he could +not check his irritation. + +"For heaven's sake, man, sit still!" he cried. "And don't get up every +time I come in! And don't look at me like a dog! And don't ask me if I +want the book you are reading!" + +The curate stared, and muttered an apology. It was true that he did +not wear the chain of obligation with grace. + +"No, it is I who am sorry!" Basset replied, quickly repenting. "I am a +churlish ass! Get up when you like, and say what you like! But if you +can, make yourself at home!" + +Then he saw the two letters lying on the table. He knew Mary's writing +at a glance, and he let it lie, his face twitching. He took up the +other, made as if he would open it, then he threw it back again, and +took Mary's to the window, where he could read it unwatched. + +It was short. + + +"Dear Mr. Basset," she wrote, "I should be paying you a poor +compliment if I pretended that what I am writing will not pain you. +But I hope, and since our last meeting, I have reason to believe that +that pain will not be lasting. + +"My cousin, Lord Audley, has asked me to marry him, and I have +consented. Nothing beyond this is fixed, and no announcement will be +made until my uncle has recovered his strength. But I feel that I owe +it to you to let you know this at once. + +"I owe you something more. You crowned your kindness by doing me a +great honor. I could not reply in substance otherwise than I did, but +for the foolish criticisms of an inexperienced girl, I ask you to +believe that I feel deep regret. + +"When we meet I hope that we may meet as friends. If I can believe +this it will add something to the happiness of my engagement. My uncle +is better, but little stronger than when you saw him. + + "I am, truly yours, + + "Mary Audley." + + +He stood looking at it for a long time, and only by an effort could he +control the emotion that strove to master him. Then his thoughts +travelled to the other, the man who had won her, the man who had got +the better of him from the first, who had played the Jacob from the +moment of their meeting on the steamer; and a passion of jealousy +swept him away. He swore aloud. + +Mr. Colet leapt in his chair. "Mr. Basset!" he cried. And then, in a +different tone, "You have bad news, I fear?" + +The other laughed bitterly. "Bad news?" he repeated, and Colet saw +that his face was white and that the letter shook in his hand. "The +Government's out, and that's bad news. The pig's ill, and that's bad +news. Your mother's dead, and that's bad news!" + +"Swearing makes no news better," Colet said mildly. + +"Not even the pig? If your--if Etruria died, and some one told you +that she was dead, you wouldn't swear? You wouldn't curse God?" + +"God forbid!" the clergyman cried in horror. + +"What would you do then?" + +"Try so to live, Mr. Basset, that we might meet again!" + +"Rubbish, man!" Basset retorted rudely. "Try instead not to be a +prig!" + +"If I could be of use?" + +"You cannot, nor any one else," Basset answered. "There, say no more. +The worst is over. We've played our little part and--what's the odds +how we played it?" + +"Much when the curtain falls," the poor clergyman ventured. + +"Well, I'll go and eat something. Hunger is one more grief!" And +Basset went out. + +He came back ten minutes later, pale but quiet. "Sorry, Colet," he +said. "Very rude, I am afraid! I had bad news, but I am right now. +Wasn't there another letter for me?" + +He found the letter and read it listlessly. He tossed it across the +table to his guest. "News is plentiful to-day," he said. + +Colet took the letter and read it. It was from a Mr. Hatton, better +known to him than to Basset, and the owner of one of the two small +factories in Riddsley. It was an invitation to contest the borough in +opposition to young Mottisfont. + + +"If it were a question, respected sir," Hatton wrote, "of Whigs and +Tories we should not approach you. But as the result must depend upon +the proportions in which the Tory party splits for and against Sir +Robert Peel upon the Corn Laws, we, who are in favor of repeal, +recognize the advantage of being represented by a moderate Tory. The +adherence to Sir Robert of Sir James Graham in the North and of Lord +Lincoln in the Midlands proves that there are landowners who place +their country before their rents, and it is in the hope that you, sir, +are of the number that we invite you to give us that assistance which +your ancient name must afford. + +"We are empowered to promise you the support of the Whig party in the +borough, conditioned only upon your support of the repeal of the Corn +Laws, leaving you free on other points. The Audley influence has been +hitherto paramount, but we believe that the time has come to free the +borough from the last remnant of the Feudal system. + +"A deputation will wait upon you to give you such assurances as you +may desire. But as Parliament meets on an early date, and the present +member may at once apply for the Chiltern Hundreds, we shall be glad +to have your answer before the New Year." + + +"Well?" Basset asked. "What do you think?" + +"It opens a wide door." + +"If you wish to have your finger pinched," Basset replied, flippantly, +"it does. I don't know that it is an opening to anything else." And as +Colet refrained from speaking, "You don't think," he went on, "that +it's a way into Parliament? A repealer has as much chance of getting +in for Riddsley against the Audley interest as you have of being an +archdeacon! Of course the Radicals want a fight if they can find a man +fool enough to spend his money. But as for winning, they don't dream +of it." + +"It is better to lose in some causes than to win in others." + +Basset laughed. "Do you know why they have come to me? They think that +I shall carry John Audley with me and divide the Audley interest. +There's nothing in it, but that's the notion." + +"Why look at the seamy side?" Colet objected. "I suppose there always +is one, but I don't think that it was at that side Sir Robert looked +when he made up his mind to put the country first and his party +second! I don't think that it was at that side he looked when he +determined to eat his words and pocket his pride, rather than be +responsible for famine in Ireland! Believe me, Mr. Basset," the +clergyman continued earnestly, "it was no easy change of opinion. +Before he came to that resolution, proud, cold man as I am told he is, +many a sight and sound must have knocked at the door of his mind; a +scene of poverty he passed in his carriage, a passage in some report, +a speech through which he seemed to sleep, a begging letter--one by +one they pressed the door inwards, till at last, with--it may be with +misery, he came to see what he must do!" + +"Possibly." + +"The call came, he had to answer it. Here is a call to you." + +"And do you think," the other retorted, "that I can answer it more +cheaply than Sir Robert? So far as I have thought it out, I am with +him. But do you think I could do this," he tapped the letter, "without +misery--of a different kind it may be? I am not a public man, I have +served no apprenticeship to it, I've not addressed a meeting three +times in my life, I don't know what I should say or how I should say +it. And for Hatton and his friends, they would rub me up a dozen times +a day." + +"_Non sine pulvere!_" Mr. Colet murmured. + +"Dust enough there'll be! I don't doubt that. And dirt. But there's +another thing." He paused, and turning, knocked the fire together. He +was nearly a minute about it, while the other waited. "There's another +thing," he repeated. "I am not going into this business to pay out a +private grudge, and I want to be clear that I am not doing that. And +I'm not going into this simply for what I can get out of it. Ambition +is a poor stayer with me, a washy chestnut. It would not carry me +through, Colet. If I go into this, it will be because I believe in it. +It seems as if I were preaching," he continued awkwardly. "But there's +nothing but belief will carry me through, and unless I am clear--I'll +not start. I'll not start, although I want to make a fresh start +badly! Devilish badly, if you'll excuse me!" + +"And how will you----" + +"Make certain? I don't know. I must fight it out by myself--go up on +the hill and think it out. I must believe in the thing, or I must +leave it alone!" + +"Just so," said Mr. Colet. And prudent for once he said no more. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + AN AGENT OF THE OLD SCHOOL + + +It is doubtful if even the great Reform Bill of '32, which shifted the +base of power from the upper to the middle class, awoke more bitter +feelings that did the _volte face_ of Peel in the winter of '45. Since +the days of Pitt no statesman had enjoyed the popularity or wielded +the power which had been Sir Robert's when he had taken office four +years before. He had been more than the leader of the Tory party; he +had been its re-creator. He had been more than the leader of the +landed interest; he had been its pride. Men who believed that upon the +welfare of that interest rested the stability of the constitution, men +with historic names had walked on his right hand and on his left, had +borne his train and carried his messages. All things, his origin, his +formality, his pride, his quiet domestic life, even his moderation, +had been forgiven in the man who had guided the Tories through the bad +days, had led them at last to power, and still stood between them and +the mutterings of this new industrial England, that hydra-like +threatened and perplexed them. + +And then--he had betrayed them. Suddenly, some held; in a panic, +scared by God knows what bugbear! Coldly and deliberately, said +others, spreading his treachery over years, laughing in his sleeve as +he led them to the fatal edge. Those who took the former view made +faint excuse for him, and perhaps still clung to him. Those who held +the latter thought no price too high, no sacrifice too costly, no +effort too great, if they could but punish the traitor! If they could +but pillory him for all to see. + +So, in a moment, in the autumn of '45, as one drop of poison will +cloud the fairest water, the face of public life was changed. +Bitterness was infused into it, friend was parted from friend and son +from father, the oldest alliances were dissolved. Men stood gaping, at +a loss whither to turn and whom to trust. Many who had never in all +their lives made up their own minds were forced to have an opinion and +choose a side; and as that process is to some men as painful as a +labor to a woman, the effect was to embitter things farther. How could +one who for years past had cursed Cobden in all companies, and in +moments of relaxation had drunk to a "Bloody War and a Wet Harvest," +turn round and join the Manchester School? It could be done, it was +done, but with what a rending of bleeding sinews only the sufferers +knew! + +Strange to say, few gave weight to Sir Robert's plea of famine in +Ireland. Still more strange, when events bore out his alarm, when in +the course of a year or two a quarter of a million in that unhappy +country died of want, public feeling changed little. Those who had +remained with him, stood with him still. Those who had banded +themselves against him, held their ground. Only a handful allowed that +he was honest, after all. Nor was it until he, who rode his horse like +a sack, had died like a demi-god, with a city hanging on his breath, +and weeping women filling all the streets about the house, that the +traitor became the patriot. + +But this is to anticipate. In December of '45, few men believed in +famine. Few thought much of dearth. The world was angry, blood was +hot, many dreamt of vengeance. Meantime Manchester exulted, and Coal, +Iron, Cotton toasted Peel. But even they marvelled that the man who +had been chosen to support the Corn Laws had the courage to repeal +them! + +Upon no one in the whole country did the news fall with more stunning +effect than upon poor Stubbs at Riddsley. He had suspected Peel. He +had disliked his measures, and doubted whither he was moving. He had +even on the occasion of his resignation predicted that Sir Robert +would support the repeal; but he had not thought worse of him than +that, and the event left him not uncertain, nor under any stress as to +making up his mind, but naked, as it were, in an east wind. He felt +older. He owned that his generation was passing. He numbered the +friends he had left and found them few. And though he continued to +assert that no man had ever pitted himself against the land whom the +land had not broken, doubt began to creep into his mind. There were +hours when he foresaw the end of the warm farming days, of game and +sport, of Horn and Corn, ay, and of the old toast, "The farmer's best +friend--the landlord," to which he had replied at many an audit +dinner. + +One thing remained--the Riddsley election. He found some comfort in +that. He drew some pleasure from the thought that Sir Robert might do +what he pleased at Tamworth, he might do what he pleased in the +Cabinet, in the Commons--there were toadies and turn-coats everywhere; +but Riddsley would have none of him! Riddsley would remain faithful! +Stubbs steeped himself in the prospect of the election, and in +preparations for it. A dozen times a day he thanked his stars that the +elder Mottisfont's weakness for Peel had provided this opening for his +energies. + +Not that even on this ground he was quite happy. There was a little +bitter in the cup. He hardly owned it to himself, he did not dream of +whispering it to others, but at the bottom of his mind he had ever so +faint a doubt of his employer. A hint dropped here, a word there, a +veiled question--he could not say which of these had given him the +notion that his lordship hung between two opinions, and even--no +wonder that Stubbs dared not whisper it to others--was weighing which +would pay him best! + +Such a thought was treason, however, and Stubbs buried it and trampled +on it, before he went jauntily into the snug little meeting at the +Audley Arms, which he had summoned to hear the old member's letter +read and to accept the son as a candidate in his father's place. Those +whom the agent had called were few and trusty; young Mottisfont +himself, the rector and Dr. Pepper, Bagenal the maltster, Hogg the +saddler, Musters the landlord, the "Duke" from the Leasows (which was +within the borough), and two other tradesmen. Stubbs had no liking for +big meetings. He had been bred up to believe that speeches were lost +labor, and if they must be made should be made at the Market Ordinary. + +At such a gathering as this he was happy. He had the strings in his +own hands. The work to be done was at his fingers' ends. At this table +he was as great a man as my lord. With young Mottisfont, who was by +way of being a Bond Street dandy, solemn, taciturn, and without an +opinion of his own, he was not likely to have trouble. The rector was +enthusiastic but indolent, Pepper an old friend. The rest were +Stubbs's most obedient. + +Stubbs read the retiring member's letter, and introduced the +candidate. The rector boomed through a few phrases of approbation, Dr. +Pepper seconded, the rest cried "Hear! hear!" + +"There's little to say," Stubbs went on. "I take it that we are all of +one mind, gentlemen, to return Mr. Mottisfont in his father's place?" + +"Hear! hear!" from all. "In the old interest?" Stubbs went on, looking +round the table. "And on the clear understanding that Mr. Mottisfont +is returned to oppose any tampering with the protection of +agriculture." + +"That is so," said Mr. Mottisfont. + +"I will see that that is embodied in Mr. Mottisfont's address," Stubbs +continued. "There must be no mistake. These are queer times----" + +"Sad times!" said the rector, shaking his head. + +"Terrible times!" said the maltster, shaking his. + +"Never did I dream I should live to see 'em," said old Hayward. +"'Tisn't a month since a chap came on my land, ay, up to my very door, +and said things--I'll be damned if I did not think he'd turn the cream +sour! And when I cried 'Sam! fetch a pitchfork and rid me of this +rubbish----'" + +"I know, Hayward," Stubbs said, cutting him short. "I know. You told +me about it. You did very well. But to business. It shall be a short +address--just that one point. We are all agreed, I think, gentlemen?" + +All were agreed. + +"I'll see that it is printed in good time," Stubbs continued. "I don't +think that we need trouble you further, Mr. Mottisfont. There's a +fat-stock sale this day fortnight. Perhaps you'll dine and say a few +words? I'll let you know if it is necessary. There'll be no +opposition. Hatton will have a meeting at the Institute, but nothing +will come of it." + +"That's all then, is it?" said the London man, sticking his glass in +his eye with a sigh of relief. + +"That's all," Stubbs replied. "If you can attend this day fortnight so +much the better. The farmers like it, and they've fourteen votes in +the borough. Thank you, gentlemen, that's all." + +"I think you've forgotten one thing, Mr. Stubbs," said old Hayward, +with a twinkle. + +"To be sure, I have. Ring the bell, Musters, and send up the two +bottles of your '20 port that I ordered and some glasses. A glass of +Musters' '20 port, Mr. Mottisfont, won't hurt you this cold day. And +we must drink your health. And, Musters, when these gentlemen go down, +see that they have what they call for." + +The port was sipped, tasted. Mr. Mottisfont's health was drunk, and +various compliments were paid to his father. The rector took his two +glasses; so did young Mottisfont, who woke up and vowed that he had +tasted none better in St. James's Street. "Is it Garland's?" he asked. + +"It is, sir," Musters said, much pleased. + +"I thought it was--none better!" said young Mottisfont, also pleased. +"The old Duke drinks no other." + +"Fine tipple! Fine tipple!" said the other "Duke." In the end a third +bottle was ordered, of which Musters and old Hayward drank the better +part. + +At one of these meetings a sad thing had happened. A rash tradesman +had proposed his lordship's health. Of course he had been severely +snubbed. It had been considered most indecent. But on this occasion no +one was so simple as to name my lord, and Stubbs felt with +satisfaction that all had passed as it should. So had candidates been +chosen as long as he could remember. + +But call no man happy until the day closes. As he left the house +Bagenal the maltster tacked himself on to him. "I'd a letter from +George this morning," he said. George was his son, articled to Mr. +Stubbs, and now with Mr. Stubbs's agents in town. "He saw his lordship +one day last week." + +"Ay, ay. I suppose Master George was in the West End? Wasting his +time, Bagenal, I'll be bound." + +"I don't know about that. Young fellows like to see things. He went +with a lot of chaps to see the crowd outside Sir Robert's. They'd read +in a paper that all the nobs were to be seen going in and out. Anyway, +he went, and the first person he saw going in was his lordship!" + +Mr. Stubbs walked a few yards in silence. Then, "Well, he's no sight +to George," he said. "It seems to me they were both wasting their +time. I told his lordship he'd do no good. When half the dukes in +England have been at Peel, d--n him, it wasn't likely he'd change his +course for his lordship! It wasn't to be expected, Bagenal. Did George +stop to see him come out?" + +"He did. And in a thundering temper my lord looked." + +"Ay, ay! Well I told him how it would be." + +"They were going in and out like bees, George said." + +"Ay, ay." + +They parted on that, and the lawyer went into his office. But his face +was gloomy. "Ay, like bees!" he muttered. "After the honey! I wonder +what he asked for! Whatever it was he couldn't have paid the price! I +thought he knew that. I've a good mind--but there, we've held it so +long, grandfather, father, and son--I can't afford to give it up." + +He turned into his office, but the day was spoiled for him. And the +day was not done yet. He had barely sat down before his clerk a thin, +gray-haired man, high-nosed, with a look of breeding run to seed, came +in, and closed the door behind him. Farthingale was as well known in +Riddsley as the Maypole; gossip had it that he was a by-blow of an old +name. "I've heard something," he said darkly, "and the sooner you know +it the better. They've got a man." + +Stubbs shrugged his shoulders. "For repeal in Riddsley?" he said. +"You're dreaming." + +The clerk smiled. "Well, you'd best be awake," he said. He had been +long enough with Stubbs to take a liberty. "Who do you think it is?" +he continued, rubbing his chin with the feather-end of a quill. + +"Some methodist parson!" + +Farthingale shook his head. "Guess again, sir," he said. "You're cold +at present. It's a bird of another feather." + +"A pretty big fool whoever he is!" + +"Mr. Basset of Blore. I have it on good authority." + +Stubbs stared. He was silent for a time, thinking hard. "Somebody's +fooled you," he said at last, but in a different tone. "He's never +shown a sign of coming out." + +The clerk looked wise. "It's true," he said. "It cost me four goes of +brown brandy at the Portcullis." + +"Well, you may score that to me," Stubbs answered. "Basset, eh? Well, +he's throwing his money into the gutter if it's true, and he hasn't +much to spare. I see Hatton's point. He's not the fool." + +"No. He's an old bird is Hatton." + +"But I don't see where Squire Basset comes in." + +Farthingale looked wiser than ever. "Well," he said, "he may have a +score to pay, too. And if he has, there's more ways than one of paying +it!" + +"What score?" + +"Ah, I'm not saying that. Mr. John Audley's may be--against his +lordship." + +"Umph! If you paid off yours at the Portcullis," Stubbs retorted, +losing his temper, "the landlord wouldn't be sorry! Scores are a deal +too much in your way, Farthingale!" he continued, severely, forgetting +in his annoyance the four goes of brown brandy. "You're too much at +home among 'em. Don't bring me cock-and-bull stories like this! I +don't believe it. And get to that lease!" + +But sure enough Farthingale's story proved to be well founded, for a +week later it was known for certain in Riddsley that Mr. Basset of +Blore was coming out, and that there would be a fight for the borough. + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + + MARY IS LONELY + + +Mary Audley was one of the last to hear the news. Etruria brought it +from the town one day in January, when the evenings were beginning to +lengthen, and the last hour of daylight was the dreariest of the +twenty-four. It had rained, and the oaks in the park were a-drip, the +thorn trees stood in tiny pools, the moorland lay stark under a pall +of fog. In the vale the Trent was in flood, its pale waters swirling +past the willow-stools, creeping over the chilled meadows, and +stealing inch by inch up the waterside lanes. Etruria's feet were wet, +and she was weary with her trudge through the mud; but when Mary met +her on the tiny landing on which their rooms opened, there was a +sparkle in the girl's eyes as bright as the red petticoat that showed +below her tucked-up gown. + +"You didn't forget----" Mary was beginning, and then, "Why, Etruria," +she exclaimed, "I believe you have seen Mr. Colet?" + +Etruria blushed like the dawn. "Oh no, Miss!" she said. "He's at +Blore." + +"To be sure! Then what is it?" + +"I've heard some news, Miss," Etruria said. "I don't know whether +you'll be pleased or not." + +"But it is certain that you are!" Mary replied with conviction. "What +is it?" + +The girl told what she had heard: that there was to be an election at +Riddsley in three weeks, and not only an election but a contest, and +that the candidate who had come forward to oppose the Corn Laws was no +other than Mr. Basset--their Mr. Basset! More, that only the evening +before he had held his first meeting at the Institute, and though he +had been interrupted and the meeting had been broken up, his short +plain speech had made a considerable impression. + +"Indeed, Miss," Etruria continued, carried away by the subject, "there +was one told me that when he stood up to speak she could see his hand +shake, and his face was the color of a piece of paper. But when they +began to boo and shout at him, he grew as cool as cool, and the longer +they shouted the braver he was, until they saw that if they let him go +on he would be getting a hearing! So they put out the lights and +stormed the platform, and there was a fine Stafford row, I'm told. Of +course," Etruria added simply, "the drink was in them." + +Mary hardly knew what her feelings were. "Mr. Basset?" she said at +last. "I can hardly believe it." + +"Nor could I, Miss, when I first heard it. But it seems they have +known it there for ten days and more, and the town is agog with it, +everybody taking sides, and some so much against him as never was. +It's dreadful to think," Etruria continued, "how misguided men can be. +But oh, Miss, I'm thankful he's on the right side, and for taking the +burden off the bread! I'm sure it will be returned to him, win or +lose. They're farmers' friends here, and they're saying shameful +things of him in the market! But there's many a woman will bless him, +and the lanes and alleys, they've no votes, but they'll pray for him! +Sometimes," Etruria added shyly, "I think it is Mr. Colet has brought +him to it." + +"Mr. Colet?" Mary repeated--she did not know why she disliked the +notion. "Why do you think that?" + +"He's been at Blore," Etruria murmured. "Mr. Basset has been so good +to him." + +"Mr. Basset has a mind of his own," Mary answered sharply. "He is +quite capable of forming his own opinion." + +"Of course. Miss," Etruria said, abashed. "I should have known that." + +"Yes," Mary repeated. "But what was it they were saying of Mr. Basset +in the market, Etruria? Not that it matters." + +"Well, Miss," Etruria explained, reluctantly. "They were saying it was +some grudge Mr. Basset or the Master had against his lordship that +brought Mr. Basset out." + +"Against Lord Audley?" Mary cried. And she blushed suddenly and +vividly. "Why? What has he to do with it?" + +"Well, Miss, it's his lordship's seat," Etruria answered naïvely; +"what he wishes has always been done in Riddsley. And he's for Mr. +Mottisfont." + +Mary walked to a window and looked out. "Oh," she said, "I did not +know that. But you'd better go now, Etruria, and change your shoes. +Your feet must be wet." + +Etruria went, and Mary continued to gaze through the window. What +strange news! And what a strange situation! The lover whom she had +rejected and the lover whom she had taken, pitted against one another! +And her words--she could hardly doubt it--the spur which had brought +Basset to the post! + +So thinking, so pondering, she grew more and more ill at ease. Her +sympathies should have been wholly with her betrothed, but they were +not. She should have resented Basset's action. She did not. Instead +she thought of his shaking hand and his pale face, and of the courage +that had grown firmer in the face of opposition; and she found +something fine in that, something that appealed to her. And the cause +he had adopted? It was the cause to which she naturally inclined. She +might be wrong, he might be wrong. Lord Audley knew so much more of +these things and looked at them from so enlightened a standpoint, that +they must be wrong. And yet--her heart warmed to that cause. + +She turned from the window in some trouble, wondering if she were +disloyal, wondering why she felt as she did; wondering a little, too, +why she had lost the first rapture of her love, and was less happy in +it than she had been. + +True, she had not seen her lover again, and that might account for it. +He had been detained at Lord Seabourne's, and in London; he had been +occupied for days together with the crisis. But she had had three +letters from him, busy as he was; three amusing letters, full of +gossip and sprinkled with anecdotes of the great world. She had opened +the first in something of a tremor; but her fingers had soon grown +steady, and if she had blushed it had been for her expectation of a +vulgar love-letter such as milkmaids prize. She had been silly to +suppose that he would write in that strain. + +And yet she had felt a degree of disappointment. He might have written +with less reserve, she thought; he might have discussed their plans +and hopes, he might have let the fire peep somewhere through the +chinks. But there, again, what a poor thing she was if her love must +be fed with sweetmeats. How weak her trust, how poor her affection, if +she could not bear a three weeks' parting! He had come to her, he had +chosen her, what more did she want? Did she expect him to put aside +the calls and the duties of his station, that he might hang on her +apron-strings? + +Still, she was not in good spirits, and she felt her loneliness. The +house, this gray evening, with the shadows gathering in the corners, +weighed on her. Mrs. Toft was far away in her cosey kitchen, Etruria +also had gone thither. Toft was with Mr. Audley in the other wing--he +had been much with his master of late. So Mary was alone. She was not +nervous, but she was depressed. The cold stairs, the austere parlor +with its dim portraits, the matted hall, the fireless library--all +struck a chill. She remembered other times and other evenings; cosey +evenings, when the glow of the wood-fire had vied with the shaded +lights, when the three heads had bent over the three tables, when the +rustle of turning pages had blended with the snoring of the old hound, +when the pursuit of some trifle had sped the pleasant hours. Alas, +those evenings were gone, as if they had never been. The house was +dull and melancholy. + +She might have gone to her uncle, but during the afternoon he had told +her that he wished to be alone; he should go to bed betimes. So about +seven o'clock she took her meal by herself, and when it was done she +felt more at a loss than ever. Presently her thoughts went again to +John Audley. + +Had she neglected him of late? Had she left him too much to Toft, and +let her secret, which she hated to keep secret, come between them? Why +should she not, even now, see him before he slept? She could take him +the news of Mr. Basset's enterprise. It would serve for an excuse. + +Lest her courage should fail she went at once, shivering as she passed +through the shadowy library, where a small lamp, burning on a table, +did no more than light her to the staircase. She ran up the stairs and +was groping for the handle of Mr. Audley's door when the door opened +abruptly and Toft stepped out, a candle in his hand. She was so close +to him that he all but touched her, and he was, if anything, more +startled than she was. He stood gaping at her. + +Through the narrow opening she had a glimpse of her uncle, who was on +his feet before the fire. He was fully dressed. + +That surprised her, for, even before this last attack, he had spent +most of his time in his dressing-gown. Still more surprising was +Toft's conduct. He shut the door and held it. "The master is going to +bed, Miss," he said. + +"I see that he is dressed!" she replied. And she looked at Toft in +such a way that the man gave way, took his hand from the door, and +stood aside. She pushed the door open and went in. Her uncle, standing +with his back to her, was huddling on his dressing-gown. + +"What is it?" he cried, his face averted. "Who is it?" + +"It is only I, sir," she replied. "Mary." She closed the door. + +"But I thought I told you that I didn't want you!" he retorted +pettishly. "I am going to bed." He turned, having succeeded in girding +on his dressing-gown. "Going to bed," he repeated. "Didn't I tell you +so?" + +"I'm very sorry, sir," she said, "but I had news for you. News that +has surprised me. I thought that you would like to hear it." + +He looked at her, his furtive eyes giving the lie to his plump face, +which sagged more than of old. "News," he muttered, peevishly. "What +news? I wish you wouldn't startle me. You ought to remember that--that +excitement is bad for me. And you come at this time of night with +news! What is it?" He was not looking at her. He seemed to be seeking +something. "What is it?" + +"It's nothing very terrible," she answered, smiling. "Nothing to alarm +you, uncle. Won't you sit down?" + +He looked about him like a man driven into a corner. "No, no, I don't +want to sit down!" he said. "I ought to be in bed! I ought to be there +now." + +"Well, I shall not keep you long," she answered, trying to humor his +mood, while all the time she was wondering why he was dressed at this +time, he whom she had not seen dressed for a fortnight. And why had +Toft tried to keep her out? "It is only," she continued, "that I heard +to-day that there is to be a contest at Riddsley. And that Mr. Basset +is to be one of the candidates." + +"Is that all?" he said. "News, you said? That's no news! Bigger fool +he, unless he does more for himself than he does for his friends! +Peter the Hermit become Peter the Great! He'll soon find himself Peter +the Piper, who picked a peck of pepper! Hot pepper he'll find it, d--n +him!" with sudden spite. "He's no better than the rest! He's all for +himself! All for himself!" he repeated, his voice rising in his +excitement. + +"But----" + +"There, don't agitate me!" He wiped his brow with a shaking hand, +while his eyes, avoiding hers, continued to look about him as if he +sought something. "I knew how it would be. You've no thought for me. +You don't remember how weak I am! Hardly able to crawl across the +floor, to put one foot before another. And you come chattering! +chattering!" + +She had thought him odd before, but never so odd as this evening; and +she was sorry that she had come. She was going to say what she could +and escape, when he began again. "You're the last person who should +upset me! The very last!" he babbled. "When it's all for you! It's +little good it can do me. And Basset, he'd the ball at his foot, +and wouldn't kick it! But I'll show you, I'll show you all!" he +continued, gesticulating with a violence that distressed Mary. "Ay, +and I'll show _him_ what I am! He thinks he's safe, d--n him! He +thinks he's safe! He's spending my money and adding up my balance! +He's walking on my land and sleeping in my bed! He's peacocking in my +name! But--but----" he stopped, struggling for words. For an instant +he turned on her over his shoulder a face distorted by passion. + +Thoroughly alarmed, she tried to soothe him. "But I am sure, sir," she +said, "Mr. Basset would never----" + +"Basset!" + +"I'm sure he never dreamt----" + +"Basset!" he repeated. "No! but Audley! Lord Audley, Audley of +Beaudelays, Audley of nowhere and nothing! And no Audley! no Audley!" +he repeated furiously, while again he fought for breath, and again he +mastered himself and lowered his tone. "No Audley!" he whispered, +pointing a hand at her, "but Jacob, girl! Jacob the supplanter, Jacob +the changeling, Jacob the baseborn! And he thinks I lie awake of +nights, hundreds of nights, for nothing! He thinks I dream of him--for +nothing! He thinks I go out with the bats--for nothing! He thinks I +have a canker here! Here!" And he clapped his hand to his breast, a +grotesque, yet dreadful figure in his huddled dressing-gown, his +flaccid cheeks quivering with rage. "For nothing! But I'll show him! +I'll ruin him! I'll----" + +His voice, which had risen to a scream, stopped. Toft had opened the +door. "Sir! Mr. Audley!" he cried. "For God's sake be calm! For God's +sake have a care, sir! And you, Miss," he continued; "you see what you +have done! If you'll leave him I'll get him to bed. I'll get him to +bed and quiet him--if I can." + +Mary was shocked, and yet she felt that she could not go without a +word. "Dear uncle," she said, "you wish me to go?" + +He had clutched one of the posts of the bed and was supporting himself +by it. The fire had died down in him, he was no more now than a +feeble, shaking old man. He wiped his brow and his lips. "Yes, go," he +whispered. "Go." + +"I am very sorry I disturbed you," she said. "I won't do it again. You +were right, Toft. Good-night." + +The man said "Good-night, Miss." Her uncle said nothing. He had let +himself down on the bed, but he still clung to the post. Mary looked +at him in sorrow, grieved to leave him in this state. But she had no +choice, and she went out and, closing the door behind her, groped her +way down the narrow staircase. + +It was a little short of ten when she reached the parlor, but she was +in no mood for reading. What she had seen had shocked and frightened +her. She was sure now that her uncle was not sane; and while she was +equally sure that Toft exercised a strong influence over him, she had +her misgivings as to that. Something must be done. She must consult +some one. Life at the Gatehouse could not go on on this footing. She +must see Dr. Pepper. + +Unluckily when she had settled this to her mind, and sought her bed, +she could not sleep. Long after she had heard Etruria go to her room, +long after she had heard the girl's shoes fall--familiar sound!--Mary +lay awake, thinking now of her uncle's state and her duty towards him, +nor of her own future, that future which seemed for the moment to have +lost its brightness. Doubts that the sun dismisses, fears at which +daylight laughs, are Giants of Despair in the dark watches. So it was +with her. Misgivings which she would not have owned in the daylight, +rose up and put on grisly shapes. Her uncle and his madness, her lover +and his absence, passed in endless procession through her brain. In +vain she tossed and turned, sat up in despair, tried the cooler side +of the pillow. She could not rest. + +The door creaked. She fancied a step on the staircase, a hand on the +latch. Far away in the depths of the house a clock struck. It was +three o'clock--only three o'clock! And it would not be light before +eight--not much before eight. Oh dear! Oh dear! + +And then she slept. + +When she awoke it was morning, the light was filtering in through the +white dimity curtains, and some one was really at her door. Some one +was knocking. She sat up. "What is it?" she cried. + +"Can I come in, Miss?" + +The voice was Mrs. Toft's, and Mary needed no second warning. She knew +in a moment that the woman brought bad news. She sprang out of bed, +put on a dressing-gown, and with bare feet she went to the door. She +unlocked it. "What is it, Mrs. Toft?" she said. + +"Maybe not much," the woman answered cautiously. "I hope not, Miss, +but I had to tell you. The Master is missing." + +"Missing?" Mary exclaimed, the blood leaving her face. "Impossible! +Why, I saw him, I was in his room last evening after nine o'clock." + +"Toft was with him up to eleven," Mrs. Toft answered. Her face was +grave. "But he's gone now?" + +"You mean that he is not in his room!" Mary said. "But have you +looked----" and she named places where her uncle might be--places in +the house. + +"We've looked there," Mrs. Toft answered. "Toft's been everywhere. The +Master's not in the house. We're well-nigh sure of that. And the door +in the courtyard was open this morning. I am afraid he's gone, Miss." + +"In his state and at night? Why, it's----" The girl broke off and took +hold of herself. "Very well," she said. "I shall not be more than five +minutes. I will come down." + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI + + MISSING + + +Mary scrambled into her clothes without pausing to do more than knot +up her hair. She tried to steady her nerves and to put from her the +thought that it was her visit which had upset her uncle. That thought +would only flurry her, and she must be cool. In little more than the +five minutes that she had named she was in the hall, and found Mrs. +Toft waiting for her. The door into the courtyard stood open, the +bleak light and raw air of a January morning poured in, but neither of +them heeded this. Their eyes met, and Mary saw that the woman, who was +usually so placid, was frightened. + +"Where is Toft?" Mary asked. + +"He's away this ten minutes," Mrs. Toft replied. "He's gone to the Yew +Walk, where you found the Master before. But law, Miss, if he's there +in this weather!" She lifted up her hands. + +Mary controlled herself. "And Etruria?" she asked. + +"She's searching outside the house. If she does not find him she is to +run over to Petch the keeper, and bring him." + +"Quite right," Mary said. "Did Toft take any brandy?" + +"He did. Miss. And the big kettle is on, if there is a bath wanted, +and I've put a couple of bricks to heat in the oven." + +"You're sure you've looked everywhere in the house?" + +"As sure as can be, Miss! More by token, I've some coffee ready for +you in the parlor." + +But Mary said, "Bring it here, Mrs. Toft." And snatching up a shawl +and folding it about her, she stepped outside. It was a gray, foggy +morning, and the flagged court wore a desolate air. In one corner a +crowd of dead leaves were circling in the gusts of wind, in another a +little pile of snow had drifted, and between the monsters that flanked +the Gateway, the old hound, deaf and crippled, stood peering across +the park. Mary fancied that the dog descried Toft returning, and she +ran across the court. But no one was in sight. The park with its +clumps of dead bracken, its naked trees and gnarled blackthorns, +stretched away under a thin sprinkling of snow. Shivering she returned +to the hall, where Mrs. Toft awaited her with the coffee. + +"Now," Mary said, "tell me about it, please--from the beginning." + +"Toft had left Mr. Audley about eleven," Mrs. Toft explained. "The +Master had been a bit put out, and that kept him. But he'd settled +down, and when Toft left him he was much as usual. It could not have +been before eleven," Mrs. Toft continued, rubbing her nose, "for I +heard the kitchen clock strike eleven, and I was asleep when Toft came +in. The next I remember was finding Toft had got out of bed. 'What is +it?' says I. He didn't answer, and I roused up and was going to get a +light. But he told me not to make a noise, he'd been woke by hearing a +door slam, and thought that some one had crossed the court. He was at +the window then, looking out, but we heard nothing, and after a while +Toft came back to bed." + +"What time was that?" + +"I couldn't say, Miss, and I don't suppose Toft could. It was dark and +before six, because when I woke again it was on six. But God knows it +was a thousand pities we didn't search then, for it's on my mind that +it was the poor Master. And if we'd known, Toft would have stopped +him." + +"Well?" Mary said gravely. "And when did you miss him?" + +"Most mornings Etruria'd let me into the house. But this morning she +found the door unlocked; howsomever she thought nothing of it, for +Toft has a key as well, and since the Master's illness and him coming +and going at all hours, he has not always locked the door; so she made +no remark. A bit before eight Toft came down--I didn't see him but I +heard him--and at eight he took up the Master's cup of tea. Toft makes +it in the pantry and takes it up." + +Mrs. Toft paused heavily--not without enjoyment. + +"Yes," Mary said anxiously, "and then?" + +"I suppose it was five minutes after, he came out to me--I was in the +kitchen getting our breakfast--and he was shaking all over. I don't +know that I ever saw a man more upset. 'He's gone!' he said. 'Law, +Toft,' I said. 'What's the matter? Who's gone?' 'The Master!' he said. +'Fiddlesticks!' says I. 'Where should he go?' And with that I went +into the house and up to the Master's room. When I saw it was empty +you could have knocked me down with a feather! I looked round a bit, +and then I went up to Mr. Basset's room that's over, and down again to +the library, and so forth. By that time Toft was there, gawpin about. +'He's gone!' he kept saying. I don't know as I ever saw Toft truly +upset before." + +"And what then?" Mary asked. Twice she had looked through the door, +but to no purpose. + +"Well," I said, "if he's not here he can't be far! Don't twitter, man, +but think! It's my belief he's away sleepwalking or what not, to the +place you found him before. On that I gave Toft some brandy and he +went off." + +"Shouldn't he be back by now?" + +"He should, Miss, if he's not found him," Mrs. Toft answered. "But, if +he's found him, he couldn't carry him! Toft's not all that strong. And +if the Master's lain out long, it's not all the brandy in the world +will bring him round!" + +Mary shuddered, and moved by a common impulse the two went out and +crossed the court. The old hound was still at gaze in the gateway, +still staring with purblind eyes down the vistas of the park. "Maybe +he sees more than we see," Mrs. Toft muttered. "He'd not stand there, +would the old dog, as he's stood twenty minutes, for nothing." + +She was right, for the next moment three figures appeared hurrying +across the park towards them. It was impossible to mistake Toft's +lanky figure. The others were Etruria, with a shawl about her head, +and the keeper Petch. + +Mary scanned them anxiously. "Have they found him?" she murmured. + +"No," Mrs. Toft said. "If they'd found him, one would have stopped +with him." + +"Of course," Mary said. And heedless of the cold, searching wind that +swung their skirts and carried showers of dead leaves sailing past +them, they waited until Toft and the others, talking together, came +up. Mary saw that, in spite of the pace at which he had walked, Toft's +face was colorless. He was almost livid. His daughter wore an anxious +look, while the keeper was pleasantly excited. + +As soon as the three were within hearing, "You've not found him?" Mary +cried. + +"No, Miss," Etruria answered. + +"Nor any trace?" + +"No, Miss. My father has been as far as the iron gate, and found it +locked. It was no use going on." + +"He could not have walked farther without help," Mrs. Toft said. "If +the Master's not between us and the gardens he's not that way." + +"Then where is he?" Mary cried, aghast. She looked from one to the +other. "Where can he be, Toft?" + +Toft raised his hands and let them fall. It was clear that he had +given up hope. + +But his wife was of different mettle. "That's to be seen," she said +briskly. "Anyway, you'll be perished here, Miss, and I don't want +another invalid on my hands. We'll go in, if you please." + +Mary gave way. They turned to go in, but it was noticeable that as +they moved towards the house each, stirred by the same thought, swept +the extent of the park with eyes that clung to it, and were loth to +leave it. Each hung for a moment, searching this alley or that, +fancying a clue in some distant object, or taking a clump of gorse, or +a jagged stump for the fallen man. All were harassed by the thought +that they might be abandoning him; that in turning their backs on the +bald, wintry landscape they might be carrying away with them his last +chance. + +"'T would take a day to search the park," the keeper muttered. "And a +dozen men, I'm afeared, to do it thoroughly." + +"Why not take a round yourself!" Mrs. Toft replied. "And if you find +nothing be at the house in an hour, Petch, and we'll know better +what's to do. The poor gentleman's off his head, I doubt, and there's +no saying where he'd wander. But he can't be far, and I'm beginning to +think he's in the house after all." + +The man agreed willingly, and strode away across the turf. The others +entered the hall. Mary was for pausing there, but Mrs. Toft swept them +all into the parlor where a good fire was burning. "You'll excuse me, +Miss," she said, "but Toft will be the better for this," and without +ceremony she poured out a cup of coffee, jerked into it a little +brandy from the decanter on the sideboard, and handed it to her +husband. "Drink that," she said, "and get your wits together, man! +You're no better than a wisp of paper now, and it's only you can help +us. Now think! You know him best. Where can he be? Did he say no word +last night to give you a clue?" + +A little color came back to Toft's face. He sighed and passed his hand +across his forehead. "If I'd never left him!" he said. "I never ought +to have left him!" + +"It's no good going over that!" Mrs. Toft replied impatiently. "He +means, Miss, that up to three nights ago he slept in the Master's +room. Then when the Master seemed better Toft came back to his bed." + +"I ought to have stayed with him," Toft repeated. That seemed the one +thought in his mind. + +"But where is he?" Mary cried. "Where? Every moment we stand +talking--can't you think where he might go? Are there no +hiding--places in the house? No secret passages?" + +Mrs. Toft raised her hands. "Lord's sake!" she exclaimed. "There's the +locked closet in his room where he keeps his papers. I never looked +there. It's seldom opened, and----" + +She did not finish. With one accord they hurried through the library +and up the stairs to the old tapestried room, where Mr. Audley had +slept and for the last month had lived. The others had been in it +since his disappearance, Mary had not; and she felt a thrill of awe as +she passed the threshold. The angular faces, the oblique eyes, of the +watchers in the needlework on the wall, that from generation to +generation had looked down on marriage and birth and death--what had +they seen during the past night? On what had they gazed, she asked +herself. Mrs. Toft, less fanciful or more familiar with the room, had +no such thoughts. She crossed the floor to a low door which was +outlined for those who knew of its existence, by rough cuts in the +arras. It led into a closet, contained in one of the turrets. + +Mrs. Toft tried the door, shook it, knocked on it. Finally she set her +eye to the keyhole. "He's not there," she said. "There's no key in the +lock. He'd not take out the key, that's certain." + +Mary scanned the disordered room. Books lay in heaps on the deep +window-seats, and even on the floor. A table by one of the windows was +strewn with papers and letters; on another beside the bed-head stood a +tray with night drinks, a pair of candles, an antique hour-glass, a +steel pistol. The bedclothes were dragged down, as if the bed had been +slept in, and over the rail at the foot, half hidden by the heavy +curtains, hung a nightgown. She took this up and found beneath it a +pair of slippers and a shoehorn. + +"He was dressed then?" she exclaimed. + +Toft eyed the things. "Yes, Miss, I've no doubt he was," he said +despondently. "His overcoat's gone." + +"Then he meant to leave the house?" Mary cried. + +"God save us!" + +"He's taken his silver flask too," Etruria said in a low voice. She +was examining the dressing-table. "And his watch." + +"His watch?" + +"Yes, Miss." + +"But that's odd," Mary said, fixing her eyes on Toft. "Don't you +think that's odd? If my uncle had rambled out in some nightmare or--or +wandering, would he have taken his flask and his watch, Toft? Are his +spectacles there?" + +Toft inspected the table, raised the pillow, felt under the bolster. +"No, Miss," he said; "he's taken them." + +"Ah!" Mary replied; "then I have hope. Wherever he is, he is in his +senses. Now, Toft!"--she looked hard at the man--"think again! Surely +since he had this in his mind last night he must have let something +drop? Some word?" + +The man shook his head. "Not that I heard, Miss," he said. + +Mary sighed. But Mrs. Toft was less patient. She exploded. "You +gaby!" she cried. "Where's your senses? It's to you we're looking, and +a poor stick you are in time of trouble! I couldn't have believed it! +Find your tongue, Toft, say something! You knew the Master down to his +shoe leather. Let's hear what you do think! He couldn't walk far! He +couldn't walk a mile without help. Where is he? Where do you think he +is?" + +Toft's answer silenced them. If one of the mute, staring figures on +the walls--that watched as from the boxes of a theatre the living +actors--had stepped down, it would hardly have affected them more +deeply. The man sat down on the bed, covered his face with his hands, +and rocking himself to and fro broke into a passion of weeping. "The +poor Master!" he cried between his sobs. "The poor Master!" + +Quickly at that Mary's feelings underwent a change. As if she had +stood already beside her uncle's grave, sorrow took the place of +perplexity. His past kindness dragged at her heart-strings. She forgot +that she had never been able to love him, she forgot that behind the +man whom she had known she had been ever conscious of another being, +vague, shifting, inhuman. She remembered only the help he had given, +the home he had offered, the rare hours of sympathy. "Don't, Toft, +don't!" she cried, tears in her voice. She touched the man on the +shoulder. "Don't give up hope!" + +As for Mrs. Toft, surprise silenced her. When she found her voice, +"Well," she said, looking round her with a sort of pride, "who'll say +after this that Toft's a hard man? Why, if the Master was lying on +that bed ready for burial--and we're some way off that, the Lord be +thanked!--he couldn't carry on more! But there, let's look now, and +weep afterwards! Pull yourself together, Toft, or who's the young lady +to depend on? If you take my advice, Miss," she continued, "we'll get +out of this room. It always did give me the fantods with them +Egyptians staring at me from the walls, and to-day it's worse than a +hearse! Now downstairs----" + +"You are quite right, Mrs. Toft," Mary said. "We'll go downstairs." +She shared to the full Mrs. Toft's distaste for the room. "We're doing +no good here, and your husband can follow us when he is himself again. +Petch should be back by this time, and we ought to arrange what is to +be done outside." + +Toft made no demur, and they went down. They found the keeper waiting +in the hall. He had made no discovery, and Mary, to whom Toft's +breakdown had given fresh energy, took things into her own hands. She +gave Petch his orders. He must get together a dozen men, and search +the park and every place within a mile of the Gatehouse. He must +report by messenger every two hours to the house, and in the meantime +he must send a man on horseback to the town for Dr. Pepper. + +"And Mr. Basset?" Mrs. Toft murmured. + +"I will write a note to Mr. Basset," Mary said, "and the man must send +it by post-horses from the Audley Arms. I will write it now." She sat +down in the library, cold as the room was, and scrawled three lines, +telling Basset that her uncle had disappeared during the night, and +that, ill as he was, she feared the worst. + +Then, when Petch had gone to get his men together--a task which would +take time as there were no farms at hand--she and Mrs. Toft searched +the house room by room, while Etruria and her father went again +through the outbuildings. But the quest was as fruitless as the former +search had been. + +Mary had known many unhappy days in Paris, days of anxiety, of +loneliness, of apprehension, when she had doubted where she would +lodge or what she would eat for her next meal. Now she had a source of +strength in her engagement and her love, which should have been +inexhaustible. But she never forgot the misery of this day, nor ever +looked back on it without a shudder. Probably there were moments when +she sat down, when she took a tasty meal, when she sought Mrs. Toft in +her warm kitchen or talked with Etruria before her own fire. But as +she remembered the day, she spent the long hours gazing across the +wintry park; now catching a glimpse of the line of beaters as it +appeared for a moment crossing a glade, now watching the approach of +the messenger who came to tell her that they had found nothing; or +again straining her eyes for the arrival of Dr. Pepper, who, had she +known it, was at the deathbed of an old patient, ten miles on the +farther side of Riddsley. + +Now and again a hailstorm swept across the park, and Mrs. Toft came +out and scolded her into shelter; or a farmer, whose men had been +borrowed, "happened that way," and after a gruff question touched his +hat and went off to join the searchers. Once a distant cry seemed to +herald a discovery, and she tried to steady her leaping pulses. But +nothing came of it except some minutes of anxiety. And once her +waiting ear caught the clang of the bell that hung in the hall and she +flew through the house to the front door, only to learn that the +visitor was the carrier who three times a week called for letters on +his way to town. The dreary house with its open doors, its cold +draughts, its unusual aspect, the hurried meals, the furtive glances, +the hours of suspense and fear--these stamped the day for ever on +Mary's memory: as sometimes an hour of loneliness prints itself on the +mind of a child who all his life long hears with distaste the clash of +wedding bells. + +At length the wintry day with its gusts of snow began to draw in. +Before four Petch sent in to say that he had beaten the park and also +the gardens at the Great House, but had found nothing. Half his men +were now searching the slope on either side of the Riddsley road. With +the other half he was going to explore, while the light lasted, the +fringe of the Chase towards Brown Heath. + +That left Mary face to face with the night; with the long hours of +darkness, which inaction must render infinitely worse than those of +the day. She had visions of the windswept park, the sullen ponds, the +frozen moorland; they spread before her fraught with some brooding +terror. She had never much marked, she had seldom felt the loneliness +of the house. Now it pressed itself upon her, isolated her, menaced +her. It made the thought of the night, that lay before her, almost +unbearable. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII + + A FOOTSTEP IN THE HALL + + +Mrs. Toft bringing in candles, and looking grave enough herself, +noticed the girl's pale face and chid her gently. "I don't believe +that you've sat down this blessed day, Miss!" she said. "Nor no more +than looked at good food. But tea you shall have and sit down to it, +or my name's not Anne Toft! Fretting's no manner of use, and fasting's +a poor stick to beat trouble with!" + +"But, Mrs. Toft," Mary said, her face piteous, "it's the thought that +he may be lying out there, helpless and dying, while we sit here----" + +"Steady, Miss! Giving way does no good, and too much mind's worse than +none. If he's out there he's gone, poor gentleman, long ago. And Dr. +Pepper'll say the same. It's not in reason he should be alive if he's +in the open. And, God knows, if he's under cover it's little better." + +"But then if he is alive!" Mary cried. "Think of another night!" + +"Ay, I know," Mrs. Toft said. "And hard it is! But you've been a model +all this blessed day, and it's no time to break down now. Where that +dratted doctor is, beats me, though he could do no more than we've +done! But there, Mr. Basset will be with us to-morrow, and he'll find +the poor gentleman dead or alive! There's some as are more to look at +than the Squire, but there's few I'd put before him at a pinch!" + +"Where's Toft?" Mary asked. + +"He went to join Petch two hours ago," Mrs. Toft explained. "And there +again, take Toft. He's a good husband, but there's no one would say he +was a man to wear his heart outside. But you saw how hard he took it? +I don't know," Mrs. Toft continued thoughtfully, "as I've seen Toft +shed a tear these twenty years--no, nor twice since we went to +church!" + +"You don't think," Mary asked, "that he knows more than he has told +us?" + +The question took Mrs. Toft aback. "Why, Miss," she said, "you don't +mean as you think he was putting on this morning?" + +"No," Mary answered. "But is it possible that he knows the worst and +does not tell us?" + +"And why shouldn't he tell us? It would be strange if he wouldn't tell +his own wife? And you that's Mr. Audley's nearest!" + +"It's all so strange," Mary pleaded. "My uncle is gone. Where has he +gone?" + +Mrs. Toft did not answer the question. She could not. And there came +an interruption. "That's Petch's voice," she said. "They're back." + +The men trooped into the hall. They advanced to the door of the +parlor, Petch leading, a man whom Mary did not know next to him, after +these a couple of farmers and Toft, in the background a blur of faces +vaguely seen. + +"We've found something, Miss," Petch said. "At least Tom has. But I'm +not sure it lightens things much. He was going home by the Yew Tree +Walk and pretty close to the iron gate, when what should he see lying +in the middle of the walk but this!" + +Petch held out a silver flask. + +"It's the Master's, sure enough," Mrs. Toft said. + +"Ay," Petch answered. "But the odd thing is, I searched that place +before noon, a'most inch by inch, looking for footprints, and I went +over it again when we were beating the Yew Tree Walk this afternoon, +and I'm danged if that flask was there then!" + +"I don't think as you could ha' missed it, Mr. Petch," the finder +said, "it was that bright and plain!" + +"But isn't the grass long there?" Mary asked. She had already as much +mystery as she could bear and wanted no addition to it. + +"Not that long," said Tom. + +"No, not that long, the lad's right," Petch added. "I warrant I must +have seen it." + +"That you must, Mr. Petch," a lad in the background said. "I was next +man, and I wondered when you'd ha' done that bit." + +"But I don't understand," Mary answered. "If it was not there, this +morning----" + +"I don't understand neither, lady," the keeper rejoined. "But it is on +my mind that there's foul play!" + +"Oh, but," Mary protested, "who--why should any one hurt my uncle?" + +"I can't say as to that," Petch replied, darkly. "I don't know anybody +as would. But there's the flask, and flasks don't travel without +hands. If he took it out of the house with him----" + +"May he not have dropped it--this afternoon?" Mary suggested. "Suppose +he wandered that way after you passed?" + +The keeper shook his head. "If he had passed that way this afternoon +it isn't one but six pairs of eyes would ha' seen him." + +There was a murmur of assent. The searchers were keenly enjoying the +drama, taking in every change that appeared on the girl's face. They +were men into whose lives not much of drama entered. + +"But I cannot think that what you say is likely!" Mary protested. She +had held her own stoutly through the day, but now with the eyes of all +these men upon her she grew bewildered. The rows of faces, the bashful +hands twisting caps, the blurred white of smocked frocks--grew and +multiplied and became misty. She had to grasp the table to steady +herself. + +Mrs. Toft saw how it was, and came to the rescue. "What's Toft say +about it?" she asked. + +"Ay, to be sure, missus," Petch agreed. "I dunno as he's said anything +yet." + +"I don't think the Master could have passed and not been seen," Toft +replied. His tone was low, and in the middle of his speech he +shivered. "But I'm not saying that the flask wasn't there this +morning. It's a small thing." + +"It couldn't have been overlooked, Mr. Toft," the keeper replied +firmly. "I speak as I know!" + +Again Mrs. Toft intervened. "I'm sure nobody would ha' laid a hand on +the Master!" she said. "Nobody in these parts and nobody foreign, as I +can fancy. I've no doubt at all the poor gentleman awoke with some +maggot in his brain and wandered off, not knowing. The question is, +what can we do? The young lady's had a sad day, and it's time she was +left to herself." + +"There's nothing we can do now," Petch said flatly. "It stands to +reason if we've found nothing in the daylight we'll find nothing in +the dark. We'll be back at eight in the morning. Whether we'd ought to +let his lordship know----" + +"Sho!" said Mrs. Toft with scorn. "What's he in it, I'd like to know? +But there, you've said what you come to say and it's time we left the +young lady to herself." + +Mary raised her head. "One moment," she said. "I want to thank you all +for what you've done. And for what Petch says about the flask, he's +right to speak out, but I can't think any one would touch my uncle. +Only--can we do nothing? Nothing more? Nothing at all? If we don't +find him to-night----" She broke off, overcome by her feelings. + +"I'm afraid not, Miss," Petch said gently. "We'd all be willing, +but we don't know where to look. I own I'm fair beat. Still Tom and +I'll stay an hour or two with Toft in case of anything happening. +Good-night, Miss. You're very welcome, I'm sure." + +The others murmured their sympathy as they trooped out into the +darkness. Mrs. Toft bustled away for the tea, and Mary was left alone. + +Suspense lay heavy on her. She felt that she ought to be doing +something and she did not know what to do. Dr. Pepper did not come, +the Tofts were but servants. They could not take the onus, they could +not share her burden; and Toft was a broken reed. Meanwhile time +pressed. Hours, nay, minutes might make all the difference between +life and death. + +When Etruria came in with Mary's tea she found her mistress bending +over the fire in an attitude of painful depression, and she said a few +words, trying to impart to her something of her own patience. That +patience was a fine thing in Etruria because it was natural. But Mary +was of sterner stuff. She had a more lively imagination, and she could +not be blind to the issues, or to the value of every moment that +passed. Even while she listened to Etruria she saw with the eyes of +fancy a hollow amid a clump of trees not far from a pool that she +knew. In summer it was a pleasant dell, clothed with mosses and ferns +and the flowers of the bog-bean; in winter a dank, sombre hollow. +There she saw her uncle lie, amid the decaying leaves, the mud, the +rank grass; and the vision was too much for her. What if he were +really lying there, while she sat here by the fire? Sat here in this +home which he--he had given her, amid the comforts which he had +provided! + +The thought was horrible, and she turned fiercely on the comforter. +"Don't!" she cried. "You don't think! You don't understand! We can't +go through the night like this! They must go on looking! Fetch your +father! And bring Petch! Bring them here!" she cried. + +Etruria went, alarmed by her excitement, but almost as quickly she +came back. Toft had gone out with Petch and the other man. They would +not be long. + +Mary cried out on them, but could do no more than walk the room, and +after a time Etruria coaxed her to sit down and eat; and tea and food +restored her balance. Still, as she sat and ate she listened--she +listened always. And Etruria, taught by experience, let her be and +said nothing. + +At last, "How long they are!" Mary cried. "What are they doing? Are +they never----" + +She stopped. The footsteps of two men coming through the hall had +reached her ears, and she recognized the tread of one--recognized it +with a rush of relief so great, of thankfulness so overwhelming that +she was startled and might well have been more than startled, had she +been free to think of anything but the lost man. It was Basset's step, +and she knew it--she would have known it, she felt, among a hundred! +He had come! An instant later he stood in the doorway, booted and +travel-stained, his whip in his hand, just as he had dropped from the +saddle--and with a face grave indeed, but calm and confident. He +seemed to her to bring relief, help, comfort, safety, all in one! + +"Oh!" she cried. "You are here! How--how good of you!" + +"Not good at all," he answered, advancing to the table and quietly +taking off his gloves. "Your messenger met me half-way to Blore. I was +coming into Riddsley to a meeting. I had only to ride on. Of course I +came." + +"But the meeting?" she asked fearfully. Was he only come to go again? + +"D--n the meeting!" he answered, moved to anger by the girl's pale +face. "Will you give me a cup of tea, Toft? I will hear Miss Audley's +account first. Keep Petch and the other man. We shall want them. In +twenty minutes I'll talk to you. That will do." + +Ah, with what gratitude, with what infinite relief, did Mary hear his +tone of authority! He watched Toft out of the room and, alone with +her, he looked at her. He saw that her hand shook as she filled the +teapot, that her lips quivered, that she tried to speak and could not. +And he felt an infinite love and pity, though he drove both out of his +voice when he spoke. "Yes, tea first," he said coolly, as he took off +his riding coat. "I've had a long journey. You must take another cup +with me. You can leave things to me now. Yes, two lumps, please, and +not too strong." He knocked together the logs, and warmed his hands, +stooping over the fire with his back to her. Then he took his place at +the table, and when he had drunk half a cup of tea, "Now," he said, +"will you tell me the story from the beginning. And take time. More +haste, less speed, you know." + +With a calmness that surprised herself, Mary told the tale. She +described the first alarm, the hunt through the house, the discoveries +in the bedroom, Toft's breakdown, last of all the search through the +park and the finding of the flask. + +He listened gravely, asking a question now and then. When she had +done, "What of Toft?" he inquired. "Not been very active, has he? Not +given you much help?" + +"No! But how did you guess?" she asked in surprise. + +"I'm afraid that Toft knows more than he has told you. For the rest," +he looked at her kindly, "I want you to give up the hope of finding +your uncle alive. I have none. But I think I can promise you that +there has been no suffering. If it turns out as I imagine, he was dead +before he was missed. What the doctor expected has happened. That is +all." + +"I don't understand," she said. + +"And I don't want to say more until I know for certain. May I ring for +Toft?" She nodded. He rang, and after a pause, during which he stood, +silent and waiting, the servant came in. He shot a swift glance at +them, and dropped his eyes. + +"Tell Petch and the other man to be ready to start with us in five +minutes," Basset said. "Let them fetch a hurdle, and do you put a +mattress on it. I suppose--you made sure he was dead, Toft, before you +left him?" + +The man flinched before the sudden question, but he showed less +emotion than Mary. Perhaps he had expected it. After a pause, during +which Basset did not take his eyes from him, "I made sure," he said in +a low voice. "As God sees me, I did! But if you think I raised a hand +to him----" + +"I don't!" Basset said sternly. "I don't think so badly of you as +that. But nothing but frankness can save you now. Is he in the Great +House?" + +Toft opened his mouth, but he seemed unable to speak. He nodded. + +"What about the flask?" + +"I dropped it," the man muttered. He turned a shade paler. "I could +not bear to think he was lying there. I thought it would lead the +search--that way, and they would find him." + +"I see. That's enough now. Be ready to start at once." + +The man went out. "Good heavens!" Mary cried. She was horror-stricken. +"And he has known it all this time! Do you think that he--he had any +part----" + +"Oh no. He was alone with Mr. Audley when he collapsed, and he lost +his head. They were together in the Great House--it was a difficult +position--and he did not see his way to explain. He may have seen +some advantage in gaining time--I don't know. The first thing to be +done is to bring your uncle home. I will see to that. You have borne +up nobly--you have done your part. Do you go to bed now." + +Something in his tone, and in his thought for her, brought old times +to Mary's mind and the blood to her pale cheek. She did not say no, +but she would not go to bed. She made Etruria come to her, and the two +girls sat in the parlor listening and waiting, moving only when it was +necessary to snuff the candles. It was a grim vigil. An hour passed, +two hours. At length they caught the first distant murmur, the tread +of men who moved slowly and heavily under a burden--there are few who +have not at one time or another heard that sound. Little by little the +shuffling feet, the subdued orders, the jar of a stumbling bearer, +drew nearer, became more clear. A gust of wind swept through the hall, +and moaned upwards through the ancient house. The candles on the table +flickered. And still the two sat spell-bound, clasping cold hands, as +the unseen procession passed over the threshold, and for the last time +John Audley came home to sleep amid his books--heedless now of right +or claim, or rank or blood. + + * * * * * + +A few minutes later Basset entered the parlor. His face betrayed his +fatigue, and his first act was to go to the sideboard and drink a +glass of wine. Mary saw that his hand shook as he raised the glass, +and gratitude for what he had done for her brought the tears to her +eyes. He stood a moment, leaning in utter weariness against the +wall--he had ridden far that day. And Mary had been no woman if she +had not drawn comparisons. + +Opportunity had served him, and had not served the other. Nor, had her +betrothed been here, could he have helped her in this pinch. He could +not have taken Basset's place, nor with all the will in the world +could he have done what Basset had done. + +That was plain. Yet deep down in her there stirred a faint resentment, +a complaint hardly acknowledged. Audley was not here, but he might +have been. It was his doing that she had not told her uncle, and that +John Audley had passed away in ignorance. It was his doing that in her +trouble she had had to lean on the other. It was not the first time +during the long hours of the day that the thought had come to her; and +though she had put it away, as she put it away now, the opening flower +of love is delicate--the showers pass but leave their mark. + +When Etruria had slipped out, and left them, Basset came forward, +and warmed himself at the fire. "Perhaps it is as well you did not go +to bed," he said. "You can go now with an easy mind. It was as I +thought--he lay on the stairs of the Great House and he had been dead +many hours. Dr. Pepper will tell us more to-morrow, but I have no +doubt that he died of syncope brought on by exertion. Toft had tried +to give him brandy." + +Shocked and grieved, yet sensible of relief, she was silent for a +time. She had known John Audley less than a year, but he had been good +to her in his way and she sorrowed for him. But at least she was freed +from the nightmare which had ridden her all day. Or was she? "May I +know what took him there?" she asked in a low voice. "And Toft?" + +"He believed that there were papers in the Great House, which would +prove his claim. It was an obsession. He asked me more than once to go +with him and search for them, and I refused. He fell back on Toft. +They had begun to search--so Toft tells me--when Mr. Audley was taken +ill. Before he could get him down the stairs, the end came. He sank +down and died." + +With a shudder Mary pictured the scene in the empty house. She saw the +light of the lantern fall on the huddled group, as the panic-stricken +servant strove to pour brandy between the lips of the dying man; and +truly she was thankful that in this strait she had Basset to support +her, to assist her, to advise her! "It is very dreadful," she said. "I +do not wonder that Toft gave way. But had he--had my uncle--any right +to be there?" + +"In his opinion, yes. And if the papers were there, they were his +papers, the house was his, all was his. In my opinion he was wrong. +But if he believed anything, he believed that he was justified in what +he did." + +"I am glad of that!" + +"There must be an inquest, I am afraid," Basset continued. "One or two +will know, and one or two more will guess what Mr. Audley's errand +was. But Lord Audley will have nothing to gain by moving in it. And if +only for your sake--but you must go to bed. Etruria is waiting in the +hall. I will send her to you. Good-night." + +She stood up. She wished to thank him, she longed to say something, +anything, which would convey to him what his coming had been to her. +But she could not find words, she was tongue-tied. And Etruria came +in. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII + + THE NEWS FROM RIDDSLEY + + +The business which had taken Audley away on the morrow of his +engagement had been no mere pretext. The crisis in political life +which Peel's return to office had brought about was one of those +upheavals which are of rare promise to the adventurous. The wise +foresaw that the party which Sir Robert had led would be riven from +top to bottom. Old allies would be flung into opposing camps, and +would be reaching out every way for support. New men would be learning +their value, and to those who dared, all things might be added. +Places, prizes, honors, all might be the reward of those who knew how +to choose their side with prudence and to support it with courage. The +clubs were like hives of bees. All day long and far into the winter +night Pall Mall roared under the wheels of carriages. About the doors +of Whitehall Gardens, where Peel lived, men gathered like vultures +about the prey. And, lo, in a twinkling and as by magic the +Conservative party vanished in a cloud of dust, to reappear a few days +later in the guise of Peelites and Protectionists--Siamese twins, who +would not live together, and could not live apart. + +At such a time it was Audley's first interest to be as near as +possible to the hub of things and to place himself in evidence as a +man concerned. He had a little influence in the Foreign Office, he had +his vote in the House of Lords. And though he did not think that these +would suffice, he trusted that, reinforced by the belief that he +carried the seat at Riddsley in his pocket, they might be worth +something to him. + +Unfortunately he could deal with one side only. If Stubbs were right +he could pass for the owner of the borough only as long as he opposed +Sir Robert. He could return the younger Mottisfont and have the credit +of returning him, in the landed interest; but however much it might +suit his book--and it was of that book he was thinking as he travelled +to Lord Seabourne's--he could not, if Stubbs were right, return a +member in the other interest. + +Now when a man can sell to one party only, tact is needed if he is to +make a good bargain. Audley saw this. But he knew his own qualities +and he did not despair. The occasion was unique, and he thought that +it would be odd if he could not pluck from the confusion something +worth having; some place under the Foreign Office, a minor embassy, a +mission, something worth two, or three, or even four thousand a year. + +He travelled up to town thinking steadily of the course he would +pursue, and telling himself that he must be as cunning as the serpent +and as gentle as the dove. He must let no whip cajole him, and no Tory +browbeat him. For he had only this to look to now: a rich marriage was +no longer among the possibilities. Not that he regretted his decision +in that matter as yet, but at times he wondered at it. He told himself +that he had been impulsive, and setting this down to the charms of his +mistress he gave himself credit for disinterested motives. And then, +too, he had made himself safe! + +Still there were difficulties in the way of his ambition, which +appeared more clearly at Seabourne Castle, where Lady Adela was a +fellow-guest, and in London than at Riddsley; difficulties of shrewd +whips, who knew the history of the borough by heart, and had figures +at their fingers' ends; difficulties of arrogant leaders, who talked +of his duty to the land and assumed that duty was its own reward. +Above all, there was the difficulty that he could only sell to the +party that was out of office and must pay in promises--bills drawn at +long dates and for which no discounters could be found. For who could +say when the landed interest, made up of stupid bull-headed men like +Lord George Bentinck and Stubbs, a party without a leader and with +divided counsels, would be in power? They were a mob rather than a +party, and like every other mob were ready to sacrifice future +prospects to present revenge. + +That was a terrible difficulty, and his lordship did not see how he +was to get over it. To the Peelites who could pay, cash down, in +honors and places, he could not sell. Nor to the Liberals under little +Lord John, though to their promises some prospect of office gave +value. So that at times he almost despaired. For he had only this to +look to now; if he failed in this he would have love and he would have +Mary, and he would have safety, but very little besides. If his word +had not been given to Mary, he might almost have reconsidered the +matter. + +The die was cast, however. Yet many a man has believed this, and then +one fine morning he has begun to wonder if it is so--the cast was such +an unlucky, if not an unfair one! And presently he has seen that at +the cost of a little pride, or a little consistency, or what not, he +might call the game drawn. That is, he might--if he were not the soul +of honor that he is! + +By and by under the stress of circumstances his lordship began to +consider that point. He did not draw back, he did not propose to draw +back; but he thought that he would keep the door behind him ajar. To +begin with, he did not overwhelm Mary with letters--his public +engagements were so many; and when he wrote he wrote on ordinary +matters. His pen ran more glibly on party gossip than on their joint +future; he wrote as he might have written to a cousin rather than to +his sweetheart. But he told himself that Mary was not versed in love +letters, nor very passionate. She would expect no more. + +Then one fine morning he had a letter from Stubbs, which told him that +there was to be a real contest in Riddsley, that the Horn and Corn +platform was to be challenged, and that the assailant was Peter +Basset. Stubbs added that the Working Men's Institute was beside +itself with joy, that Hatton's and Banfield's hands were solid for +repeal, and that the fight would be real, but that the issue was a +foregone conclusion. + +The news was not altogether unwelcome. The contest gave value to the +seat, and increased my lord's claim; on that party, unfortunately, +they could only pay in promises. It also tickled my lord's vanity. His +rival, unhorsed in the lists of love, had betaken himself, it seemed, +to other lists, in which he would as surely be beaten. + +"Poor beggar!" Audley thought. "He was always a day late! Always came +in second! I don't know that I ever knew anything more like him than +this! From the day I first saw him, standing behind John Audley's +counsel at the suit, right to this day, he has always been a loser!" + +And he smiled as he recalled the poor figure Basset had cut as a +squire of dames. + +A week later Stubbs wrote again, and this time his news was startling. +John Audley was dead. Stubbs wrote in the first alarm of the +discovery, word of which had just been brought into the town. He knew +no particulars, but thought that his lordship should be among the +first to learn the fact. He added a hasty postscript, in which he said +that Mr. Basset was proving himself a stronger candidate than either +side had expected, and that not only were the brass-workers with him +but a few of the smaller fry of tradesmen, caught by his cry of cheap +bread. Stubbs closed, however, with the assurance that the landed +interest would carry it by a solid majority. + +"D--n their impudence!" Lord Audley exclaimed. And after that he gave +no further heed to the postscript. As long as the issue was certain, +the election was Mottisfont's and Stubbs's affair. As for Basset, the +more money he chose to waste the better. + +But John Audley's death was news--it was great news! So he was gone at +last--the man whom he had always regarded as a menace! Whom he had +feared, whose very name had rung mischief in his ears, by whom, during +many a sleepless night, he had seen himself ousted from all that he +had gained from title, income, lands, position! He was gone at last; +and gone with him were the menace, the danger, the night alarms, the +whole pile of gloomy fancies which apprehension had built up! + +The relief was immense. Audley read the letter twice, and it seemed to +him that a weight was lifted from him. John Audley was dead. In his +dressing-gown and smoking-cap my lord paced his rooms at the Albany +and said again and again, "He's dead! By gad, he's dead!" Later, he +could not refrain from the thought that if the death had taken place a +few weeks earlier, in that first attack, he would have been under no +temptation to make himself safe. As it was--but he did not pursue the +thought. He only reflected that he had followed love handsomely! + +A day later a third letter came from Stubbs, and one from Mary. The +tidings they brought were such that my lord's face fell as he read +them, and he swore more than once over them. John Audley, the lawyer +wrote, had been found dead in the Great House. He had been found lying +on the stairs, a lantern beside him. Stubbs had visited the house the +moment the facts became known. He had examined the muniment room and +found part of the wall broken down, and in the room two boxes of +papers which had been taken from a recess which the breach had +disclosed. One of the boxes had been broken open. At present Stubbs +could only say that the papers had been disturbed, he could not say +whether any were missing. He begged his lordship--he was much +disturbed, it was clear--to come down as quickly as possible. In the +meantime, he would go through the papers and prepare a report. They +appeared to be family documents, old, and not hitherto known to his +lordship's advisers. + +Audley was still swearing, when his man came in. "Will you wear the +black velvet vest, my lord?" he asked, "or the flowered satin?" + +"Go to the devil!" his master cried--so furiously that the man fled +without more. + +When he was gone Audley read the letter again, and came to the +conclusion that in making himself safe he had builded more wisely than +he knew. For who could say what John Audley had found? Or who, through +those papers, had a hold on him? He remembered the manservant's visit, +and the thing looked black. Very black. Alive or dead, John Audley +threatened him. + +Then he felt bitterly angry with Stubbs. There had been the most +shocking carelessness. Had he not himself pointed out what was going +on? Had he not put it to Stubbs that the place should be guarded? But +the lawyer, stubborn in his belief that there were no papers there, +had done nothing. Nothing! And this had come of it! This which might +spell ruin! + +Or, no. Stubbs had indeed done his best to ruin him, but he had saved +himself. He turned with relief to Mary's letter. + +It was written sadly, and it was rather cold. He noticed this, but her +tone did not alarm him, because he set it down to the reserve of his +own letters. + +He took care to answer this letter, however, by that day's post, and +he wrote more affectionately than before--as if her trouble had broken +down a reserve natural to him. He wrote with tact, too. He could not +attend the funeral; the dead man's feelings towards him forbade that +he should. But his agent would attend, and his carriage and servants. +When he had written the letter he was satisfied with it: more than +satisfied when he had added a phrase implying that their happiness +would not long be postponed. + +After he had posted the letter he wondered if she would expect him to +come to her. It was a lonely house and with death in it--but no, in +the circumstances it was not possible. He would go down to The +Butterflies next day. That would be the most that could be expected of +him. He would be at hand if she needed anything. + +But when the next day came he did not go. A letter from a man +belonging to the inner circle of politics reached him. The great man, +who had been and might be again in the Cabinet, suggested a meeting. +Nothing came of the meeting--it was one of those will-of-the-wisps +that draw the unwary on until they find themselves committed. But it +kept Audley in London, and it was not until the evening of Monday, the +day of the funeral, that, chilled and out of temper, after posting the +last stage from Stafford, he reached his quarters at The Butterflies, +and gave short answers to Mrs. Jenkinson's inquiries after his health. + +"Poor dear young man!" she said, when she rejoined her sisters. "He +has a kind heart and he feels it. Mr. John was Mr. John, and odd, very +odd. But still he was an Audley!" + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX + + THE AUDLEY BIBLE + + +Angry with Stubbs as he was--and with some reason--Lord Audley was +not the man to bite off his nose to spite his face. He pondered long +what he would say to him, and more than once he rehearsed the scene, +toning down this phrase and pruning that. For he knew that after all +Stubbs was a good agent. He was honest, he thought much and made much +of the property, and nothing would be gained by changing him. Then his +influence in the borough was such that even if my lord quarrelled with +him, Mottisfont would hardly venture to discard him. + +For these reasons Audley had no mind to break with his agent. But he +did wish to punish him. He did wish to make his displeasure felt. And +he wished this the more because he began to suspect that if Stubbs had +been less bigoted, he might have carried the borough the way he +wished--the way that would pay him best. + +Stubbs on his side foresaw an unpleasant quarter of an hour. He had +been too easy. He had paid too little heed to John Audley's +trespasses, and had let things pass that he should have stopped. Then, +too, he had been over-positive that there were no more documents at +the Great House. Evil had not come of this, but it might have; and he +made up his mind to hear some hard words. + +But when he obeyed my lord's summons his reception tried his patience. +A bright fire burned in the grate, half a dozen wax candles shed a +softened light on the room. The wine stood at Audley's elbow, and his +glass was half full. But he did not give Stubbs even two fingers, nor +did he ask him to take wine. And his tone was colder than Stubbs had +ever known it. He made it plain that he was receiving a servant, and a +servant with whom he was displeased. + +Still he was Lord Audley, something of divine right survived in him, +and Stubbs knew that he had been himself in the wrong. He took the +bull by the horns. "You are displeased, my lord," he said, as he took +the seat to which the other pointed. "And I admit with some cause. I +have been mistaken and, perhaps, a little remiss! But it is the +exception, and it will be a lesson to me. I am sorry, my lord," he +added frankly. "I can say no more than that." + +"And much good that will do us," my lord growled, "in certain events, +Mr. Stubbs!" + +"At any rate it will be a sharp lesson to me," Stubbs replied. "It has +cost Mr. Audley his life." + +"He had no right to be there!" + +"No, my lord, he had no right to be there. But he would not have been +there if I had seen that the place was properly secured. I take all +the blame." + +"Unfortunately," the other flung at him contemptuously, "you cannot +pay the penalty; that may fall upon me. Anyway, it was a d--d silly +thing, Mr. Stubbs, to leave the place open, and you see what has come +of it." + +"I cannot deny it, my lord," Stubbs said patiently. "But I hope that +nothing will come of it. I will tell your lordship first what my own +observations were. I made a careful examination of the two chests of +papers and I came to the conclusion that Mr. Audley had done little +more than open the first when he was taken ill. One chest showed some +disturbance. The upper layer had been taken out and replaced. The +other box had not been opened." + +"What if he found what he wanted and searched no further?" Audley +asked grimly. "But the point of the matter does not lie there. It lies +in another direction, as I should have thought any lawyer would see." + +"My lord?" + +"Who was with him?" Lord Audley rapped the table with his fingers. +"That's the point, sir! Who was with him?" + +"I think I have ascertained that," Stubbs replied, less put out than +his employer expected. "I have little doubt that his man-servant, a +man called Toft, was with him." + +"Ha!" the other exclaimed, "I expected that!" + +Stubbs raised his eyebrows. "You know him, my lord?" + +"I know him for a d--d blackmailing villain!" Audley broke out. Then +he remembered himself. He had not told Stubbs of the blackmailing. +And, after all, what did it matter? He had made himself safe. Whatever +papers he had found, John Audley was dead, and John Audley's heiress +was going to be his wife! The danger to him was naught, and the +blackmailer was already disarmed. Still he was not going to spare +Stubbs by telling him that. Instead, "What did the boxes contain?" he +asked ungraciously. + +"Nothing of any value when I examined them, my lord. Old surrenders, +fines, and recoveries with some ancient terriers. I could find no +document among them that related to the title." + +"That may be," Audley retorted. "But John Audley expected to find +something that related to the title! He knew more than we knew. He +knew that those boxes existed, and he knew what he expected to find in +them." + +"No doubt. And if your lordship had given me a little more time I +should have explained before this that he was disappointed in his +expectation; nay, more, that it was that disappointment--as I have +little doubt--that caused his collapse and death." + +"How the devil do you know that?" + +"If your lordship will have patience I will explain," Stubbs said, a +gleam of malice in his eyes. He rose from his seat and took from a +chair beside the door a parcel which he had laid there on his +entrance. "I have here that which he found, and that which I don't +doubt caused his death." + +"The deuce you have!" Audley cried, rising to his feet in his +surprise. And he watched with all his eyes while the lawyer slowly +untied the tape and spread wide the wrappers. The action disclosed a +thick quarto volume bound in blue leather, sprinkled on the sides with +silver butterflies, and stamped with the arms of Audley. "Good G--d!" +Audley continued, "the Family Bible!" + +"Yes, the Family Bible," the lawyer answered, gazing at it +complacently, "about which there was so much talk at the opening of +the suit. It was identified by a score of references, called for by +both sides, sought for high and low, and never produced!" + +"And here it is!" + +"Here it is. Apparently at some time or other it went out of fashion, +was laid aside and lost sight of, and eventually bricked up with a +mass of old and valueless papers." + +Audley steadied his voice with difficulty. "And what is its effect?" +he asked. + +"Its effect, my lord, is to corroborate our case in every particular," +the lawyer answered proudly. "Its entries form a history of the family +for a long period, and amongst them is an entry of the marriage of +Peter Paravicini Audley on the date alleged by us; an entry made in +the handwriting of his father, and one of eleven made by the same +hand. This entry agrees in every particular with the suspected +statement in the register which we support, and fully bears out our +case." + +"And John Audley found that?" my lord cried, after a moment of +pregnant silence. He had regained his composure. His eyes were +shining. + +"Yes, and it killed him," Stubbs said gravely. "Doubtless he came on +it at the moment when he thought success was within his grasp, and the +shock was too much for him." + +"Good Lord! Good Lord! And how did you get it?" + +"From Mr. Basset." + +"Basset?" + +"Who obtained it, I have no doubt, from the man, Toft, either by +pressure or purchase." + +"The rascal! The d--d rascal! He ought to be prosecuted!" + +"Possibly," the lawyer agreed. "But he was only an accomplice, and we +could not prosecute him without involving others; without bringing Mr. +John's name into it--and he is dead. As a fact, I have passed my word +to Mr. Basset that no steps should be taken against him, and I think +your lordship will agree with me that I could not do otherwise." + +"Still--the man ought to be punished!" + +"He ought, but if any one has paid for his silence or for this book, +it is not we." + +After that there was a little more talk about the Bible, which my lord +examined with curiosity, about the singularity of its discovery, about +the handwriting of the entries, which the lawyer said he could himself +prove. Stubbs was made free of the decanter, and of everything but my +lord's mind. For Audley said nothing of his engagement to Mary--the +moment was hardly opportune; and nothing--it was too late in the +day--of Toft's former exploit. He stood awhile absorbed and dreaming, +staring through the haze of the candles. Here at last was final and +complete relief. No more fears, no more calculations. Here was an end +at last of the feeling that there was a mine under him. Traditions, +when they are bred in the bone, die slowly, and many a time he had +been hard put to it to resist the belief, so long whispered, that his +branch was illegitimate. At last the tradition was dead. There was no +more need to play for safety. What he had he had, and no one could +take it from him. + +And presently the talk passed to the election. + +"There's no doubt," Stubbs said, "that Mr. Basset is a stronger +candidate than either side expected." + +"But he's no politician! He has no experience!" + +The lawyer sat forward, with his legs apart and a hand on either knee. +"No," he said. "But the truth is, though it is beyond me how a +gentleman of his birth can be so misled, he believes what he says--and +it goes down!" + +"Is he a speaker?" + +"He is and he isn't! I slipped in myself one night at the back of one +of the new-fangled meetings his precious League has started. I wanted +to see, my lord, if any of our people were there. I heard him for ten +minutes, and at the start he was so jumpy I thought that he would +break down. But when he got going--well, I saw how it was and what +took the people. He believes what he says, and he says it plain. The +way he painted Peel giving up everything, sacrificing himself, +sacrificing his party, sacrificing his reputation, sacrificing all to +do what he thought was right--the devil himself wouldn't have known +his own!" + +"He almost converted you?" + +The lawyer laughed disdainfully. "Not a jot!" he said. "But I saw that +he would convert some. Not many," Stubbs continued complacently. +"There's some that mean to, but will think better of it at the last. +And some would but daren't! Two or three may. Still, he's such a +candidate as we've not had against us before, my lord. And with cheap +bread and the preachings of this plaguy League--I shall be glad when +it is over." + +Audley rose and poked the fire. "You're not going to tell me," he +said, in a voice that was unnaturally even, "that he's going to beat +us? You're not going, after all the assurances you've given me----" + +"God forbid," Stubbs replied. "No, no, my lord! Mr. Mottisfont will +hold the seat! I mean only that it will be a nearer thing--a nearer +thing than it has been." + +He had no idea that his patron was fighting a new spasm of anger; that +the thought that he might, after all, have dealt with Sir Robert, the +thought that he might, after all, have bargained with the party in +power, was almost too much for the other's self-command. It was too +late now, of course. It was too late. But if the contest was to be so +close, surely if he had cast his weight on the other side, he might +have carried it! + +And what if the seat were lost? Then this stubborn, confident fool, +who was as bigoted in his faith as the narrowest Leaguer of them all, +had done him a deadly injury! My lord bit off an oath, and young as he +was, his face wore a very apoplectic look as he turned round, after +laying down the poker. + +"That reminds me," the lawyer resumed, blandly unconscious of the +crisis, and of the other's anger. "I meant to ask your lordship what's +to be done about the two Boshams. You remember them, my lord? They've +had the small holding by the bridge with the water meadow time out of +mind--for seven generations they say. They pay eighteen pounds as +joint tenants, and have votes as old freemen." + +"What of them?" the other asked impatiently. + +"Well, I'm afraid they'll not support us." + +"Do you mean that they'll not vote for Mottisfont?" + +"I'm afraid not," Stubbs answered. "They're as stubborn as their own +pigs! I've spoken to them myself and told them that they've only one +thing to expect if they go against their landlord." + +"And that is, to go out!" Audley said. "Well, make that quite clear to +them, Stubbs, and depend upon it--they'll see differently." + +"I'm afraid they won't, my lord, and that is why I trouble you. They +voted against the last lord--twice, I am told--and the story goes that +he laid his stick about Ben Bosham's shoulders in the street--that +would be in '31, I fancy. But he didn't turn them out--they'd been in +the holding so long." + +"Two votes may have been nothing to him," Audley replied coldly. "They +are something to me. They will vote for Mottisfont or they will go, +Stubbs. That is flat, and do you see to it. There, I'm tired now," he +continued, rising from his seat. + +Stubbs rose. "I don't know if your lordship's heard about Mr. John's +will!" + +"No!" My lord straightened himself. Earlier in the day he had given +some thought to this, and had weighed Mary Audley's chances of +inheriting what John Audley had. "No!" he said. And he waited. + +"He has left the young lady eight thousand pounds." + +"Eight thousand!" Audley ejaculated. "Do you mean--he must have had +more than that? He wasted a small fortune in that confounded suit. But +he must have had--four times that, man!" + +"The residue goes to Mr. Basset." + +"Basset!" Audley cried, his face flushed with passion. "To Basset?" he +repeated. "Good G--d!" + +"So I'm told, my lord," the lawyer answered, staggered by the temper +in which his employer received the news. + +"But Miss Audley was his own niece! Basset? He was no relation to +him!" + +"They were very old friends." + +"That's no reason why he should leave him thirty thousand pounds of +Audley money! Money taken straight out of the Audley property! Thirty +thousand----" + +"Not thirty, my lord," Stubbs ventured. "Not much above twenty, I +should say. If you put it----" + +"If I put it that you were--something of a fool at times," the angry +man cried, "I shouldn't be far wrong! But there, there, never mind! +Good-night! Can't you see I'm dead tired and hardly know what I am +saying? Come to-morrow! Come at eleven in the morning." + +Stubbs hardly knew how to take it. But after a moment's hesitation, he +made the best of the apology, muttered something, and got out of the +room. On the stairs he relieved his feelings by a word or two. In the +street he wondered what had taken the man so suddenly. Surely he had +not expected to get the money! + + + + + CHAPTER XXX + + A FRIEND IN NEED + + +Basset had obtained the missing Bible very much in the way the lawyer +had indicated--partly by purchase and partly by pressure. Shocked as +Toft had been by his master's sudden death, he had had the presence of +mind to remember that he might make something of what they had +discovered could he secrete it; and with every nerve quivering the man +had fought down panic until he had hidden the parcel which had caused +John Audley's collapse. Then he had given way. He had turned his back +on the Great House, and shuddering, clutched at by grisly hands, +pursued by phantom feet, he had fled through the night and the Yew +Walk, to hide, for the present at least, his part in the tragedy. + +Basset, however, had known too much for him, and the servant, shaken +by what had happened, had not been able to persist in his denials. But +to tell and to give were two things, and it is doubtful whether he +would have released his plunder if Basset had not in the last resort +disclosed to him Miss Audley's engagement to her cousin. + +The change which this news wrought in Toft had astonished Basset. The +man had gone down under it as under a blow on the head. The spirit had +gone out of him, and he had taken with thankfulness the sum which +Basset, as John Audley's representative, had offered him--rather out +of pity than because it seemed necessary. He had given up the parcel +on the night before the funeral. + +The book in his hands, Basset had hastened to be rid of it. Cynically +he had told himself that he did so, lest he too might give way to the +ignoble impulse to withhold it. Audley was his rival, but that he +might have forgiven, as men forgive great wrongs and in time smile on +their enemies. But the little wrongs, who can forgive these--the +slight, the sneer, the assumption of superiority, the upper hand +lightly taken and insolently held? + +Not Peter Basset, at a moment when he was being tried almost beyond +bearing. For every day, between the finding of the body and the +funeral, and often more than once in the day he had to see Mary, he +had to advise her, he had--for there was no one else--to explain +matters to her, to bear her company. He had to quit this meeting and +that Ordinary--for election business stops for no man--and to go to +her. He had to find her alone and to see her face light up at his +entrance; he had to look back, and to see her watch him as he rode +from the door. Nor when he was absent from the Gatehouse was it any +better; nay, it was worse. For then he was forced to think of her as +alone and sad, he had to picture her brooding over the fire, he had to +fancy her at her solitary meals. And alike, with her or away from her, +he had to damp down the old passion, as well as the new regret that +each day and each hour and every kind look on her part fanned into a +flame. Nor was even this all; every day he saw that she grew more +grave, daily he saw her color fading, and he did not know what qualms +she masked, what nightmares she might be suffering in that empty +house--nay, what cause for unhappiness she might be hiding. At +last--it was the afternoon before the funeral--he could bear it no +longer, and he spoke. + +"You ought not to be here!" he said bluntly. "Why doesn't Audley fetch +you away?" He was standing before the fire drawing on his gloves as he +prepared to leave. The room was full of shadows, for he had chosen a +time when she could not see his face. + +She tried to fence with him. "I am afraid," she said, "that some +formalities will be necessary before he can do that." + +"Then why is he not here?" he retorted. "Or why doesn't he send some +one to be with you? You ought not to be alone. Mrs. Jenkinson at The +Butterflies--she's a good soul--you know her?" + +"Yes." + +"She'd come at a word. I know it's not my business----" + +"Or you would go about it, I am sure," she replied gently, "with as +much respect to my wishes as Lord Audley shows." + +"Your wishes? But why--why do you wish----" + +"Why do I wish to be alone?" she answered. "Because I owe something to +my uncle. Because I owe him a little thought and some remembrance. He +made my old life for me--would you have me begin the new one before he +is in the grave? This was his house--would you have me entertain Lord +Audley in it?" She stood up, slender and straight, with the table +between them--and he did not guess that her knees were trembling. +"Please to understand," she continued, "that Lord Audley and I are +entirely at one in this. We have our lives before us, and it were +indeed selfish of us, and ungrateful of me, if we grudged a few days +to remembrance. As selfish," she continued bravely--and he did not +know that she braced herself anew--"as if I were ever to forget the +friend who was _his_ friend, whose kindness has never failed me, whose +loyalty has never--" she broke down there. She could not go on. + +"Add, too," he said gruffly, "who has robbed you of the greater part +of your inheritance! Don't forget that!" He had been explaining the +effect of John Audley's will to her. It had been opened that morning. + +His roughness helped her to recover herself. "I do not know what you +mean by 'inheritance,'" she said. "My uncle has left me the portion +his wife brought to him. I am more than satisfied. I am very grateful. +My only fear is that, had he known of my engagement, he would not have +wished me to have this." + +"The will was made before you came to live here," Basset said. "The +eight thousand was left to you because you were his brother's child. +It was the least he could do for you, and had he made a new will he +would doubtless have increased it. But," breaking off, "I must be +going." Yet he still stood, and he still tapped the table with the +end of his riding-crop. "When is Audley coming?" he asked suddenly. +"To-morrow?" + +"Yes, to-morrow." + +"Well he ought to," he replied, without looking at her. "You should +not be here a day longer by yourself. It is not fitting. I shall see +you in the morning before we start for the church, but the lawyer will +be here and I shall not be able to come again. But I must be sure that +there is some one here." He spoke almost harshly, partly to impress +her, partly to hide his own feelings; and he did not suspect that she, +too, was fighting for calmness; that she was praying that he would go, +before she showed more clearly how much the parting tried her--before +every kind word, every thoughtful act, every toilsome journey taken on +her behalf, rose to her remembrance and swept away the remnants of her +self-control. + +She had not imagined that she would feel the leave-taking as she did. +She could not speak, and she was thankful that it was too dark for him +to see her face. Would he never go? And still the slow tap-tap of his +whip on the table went on. It seemed to her that she would never +forget the sound! And if he touched her---- + +But he had no thought of touching her. + +"Good-night," he said at last. He turned, moved away, lingered. At the +door he looked back. "I am going into the library," he said. "The +coffin will be closed in the morning." + +"Yes, good-night," she muttered, thankful that the thought of the dead +man steadied her and gave her power to speak. "I shall see him in the +morning." + +He closed the door, and she crept blindly to a chair, and covered by +the darkness she gave way. She told herself that she was thinking of +her uncle. But she knew that she deceived herself. She knew that her +uncle had little to do with her tears, or with the feeling of +loneliness that overcame her. Once more she had lost her friend--and a +friend so good, so kind. Only now did she know his value! + +Five minutes later Basset crossed the court in search of his horse. +Mrs. Toft's door stood open and a stream of firelight and candlelight +poured from it and cut the January fog. She was hard at work, cooking +funeral meats with the help of a couple of women; for quietly as John +Audley had lived, he could not be buried without some stir. Odd people +would come, drawn by the Audley name, squires who boasted some distant +connection with the line, a few who had been intimate with him in past +days. And the gentry far and wide would send their carriages, and the +servants must be fed. Still the preparations jarred on Basset as he +crossed the court. He felt the bustle an outrage on the mourning girl +he had left, and on his own depression. + +Probably Mrs. Toft had set the door open that she might waylay him, +for as he went by she came out and stopped him. "Mr. Basset, sir!" she +said in a low voice. "Is this true, what Toft tells me? I declare, +when I heard it, you could ha' knocked me down with a common dip!" She +was wiping her hands on her apron. "That the young lady is to marry +his lordship?" + +"I believe it is true," Basset said coldly. "But you had better let +her take her own time to make it known. Toft should not have told +you." + +"Never fear, sir, I'll not let on. But, Lord's sakes, who'd ha' +thought it? And she'll be my lady! Not that she's not an Audley, and +there's small differ, and she'll make none, or I don't know her! Well, +indeed, I hope she's wise, but wedding cake, make it as rich as you +like, it's soon stale. And for him, I don't know what the Master would +have said if he'd known it! I thought things would come out," with a +quick look at Basset, "quite otherways! And wished it, too!" + +"Thank you, Mrs. Toft," he said quietly. + +"Just so, sir, you'll excuse me. Well, it's not many months since the +young lady came, and look at the changes! With the old Master dead, +and you going in for elections--drat 'em, I say, plaguy things that +set folks by the ears--and Mr. Colet gone and 'Truria that unsettled, +and Toft for ever wool-gathering, I shall be glad when tomorrow's over +and I can sit down and sort things out a bit!" + +"Yes, Mrs. Toft." + +"And speaking of elections reminds me. You know they two Boshams of +the Bridge End, sir?" + +"I know them. Yes." + +Mrs. Toft sniffed. "They're sort of kin to me, and middling honest as +town folks go. But two silly fellows, always meddling and making and +gandering with things they'd ought to leave to the gentry! The old +lord was soft with them, and so they've a mind now to see who is the +stronger, they or his lordship." + +"If you mean that they have promised to vote for me----" + +"That's it, sir! Vote their living away, they will, and leave 'em +alone! Votes are for poor men to make a bit of money by, odd times; +but they two Boshams I've no patience with. Sally, Ben's wife, was +with me to-day, and the long and the short of it is, Mr. Stubbs has +told them that if they vote for you they'll go into the street." + +"It's a hard case," Basset said. "But what can I do?" + +"Don't ha' their votes. What's two votes to you? For the matter of +that," Mrs. Toft continued, thoroughly wound up, "what's all the +votes--put together? Bassets and Audleys, Audleys and Bassets were +knights of the shire, time never was, as all the country knows! But +for this little borough--place it's what your great-grandfather +wouldn't ha' touched with a pair of gloves! I'd leave it to the +riff-raff that's got money and naught else, and builds Institutes and +such like!" + +"But you'd like cheap bread?" Basset said, smiling. + +"Bread? Law, Mr. Basset, what's elections to do wi' bread? It's not +bread they're thinking of, cheap or dear. It's beer! Swim in it they +do, more shame to you gentry! I'll be bound to say there's three goes +to bed drunk in the town these days for two that goes sober! But +there, you speak to they Boshams, Mr. Basset, sir, and put some sense +into them!" + +"I'm afraid I can't promise," he answered. "I'll see!" + +But it was not of the Boshams he thought as he rode down the hill with +a tight rein--for between fog and frost the road was treacherous. He +was thinking of the man who had been his friend and of whose face, +sphinx-like in death, he had taken farewell in the library. And solemn +thoughts, thoughts such as at times visit most men, calmed his spirit. +The fret of the contest, the strivings of the platform, the rubs of +vanity flitted to a distance, they became small things. Even passion +lost its fever and love its selfishness; and he thought of Audley with +patience and of Mary as he would think of her in years to come, when +time had enshrined her, and she was but a memory, one of the things +that had shaped his life. He knew, indeed, that this mood would pass; +that passion would surge up again, that love would reach out to its +object, that memory would awake and wound him, that pain and +restlessness would be his for many days. But he knew also--in this +hour of clear views--that all these things would have an end, and only +the love, + + + That seeketh not itself to please + Nor of itself hath any care, + + +would remain with him. + +Already it had carried him some way. In the matter of the election, +indeed, he might be wrong. He might have entered on it too +hastily--often he thought that he had--he might be of fibre too weak +for the task. It cost him much to speak, and the occasional failure, +the mistake, the rebuff, worried him for hours and even days. Trifles, +too, that would not have troubled another, troubled his conscience; +side-issues that were false, but that he must not the less support, +workers whom he despised and must still use, tools that soiled his +hands but were the only tools. Then the vulgar greeting, the tipsy +grasp, the friend in the market-place:-- + + + The man who hails you Tom or Jack + And proves by thumps upon your back + How he esteems your merit! + Who's such a friend that one had need + Be very much his friend indeed + To pardon or to bear it! + + +these humiliated him. But worse, far worse, than all was his unhappy +gift of seeing the merits of the other side and of doubting the cause +which he had set out to champion. He had fits of lowness when he was +tempted to deny that honesty existed anywhere in politics; when Sir +Robert Peel no less than Lord George Bentinck--who was coming to the +front as the spokesman of the land--Cobden the Radical no less than +Lord John Russell, seemed to be bent only on their own advancement, +when all, he vowed, were of the School of the Cynics! + +But were he right or wrong in his venture--and right or wrong he had +small hope of winning--he would not the less cling to the thing which +Mary had given him--the will to make something of his life, the +determination that he would leave the world, were it only the few +hundred acres that he owned, or the hamlet in which he lived, better +than he had found them. The turmoil of the election over, he would +devote himself to his property at Blore. There John Audley's twenty +thousand pounds opened a wide door. He would build, drain, manure, +make roads, re-stock. He would make all things new. From him as from a +centre comfort should flow. He saw himself growing old in the middle +of his people, a lonely, but not an unhappy man. + +As he passed the bridge at Riddsley he thought of the Boshams, and +weary as he was, he drew rein at their door. Ben Bosham came out, +bare-headed; a short, elderly man with a bald forehead and a dirty +complexion, a man who looked like a cobbler rather than the cow-keeper +he was. + +"Shut your door, Bosham," Basset said. "I want a word with you." + +And when the man had done this, he stooped from the saddle and said a +few words to him in a low voice. + +"Well, I'm dommed!" the other answered, peering up through the +darkness. "It be you, Squire, bain't it? But you're not meaning it?" + +"I am," Basset replied in a low voice. "I'd not say, vote for him, +Bosham. But leave it alone. You're not called upon to ruin yourself." + +"But ha' you thought," the man exclaimed, "that our two votes may make +the differ? That they may make you or mar you, Squire!" + +"Well, I'd rather be marred than see you put out of your place," +Basset answered. "Think it over, Bosham." + +But Bosham repudiated even thought of it. This vote and his use of it, +this defiance of a lord, was, for the time, his very life. "I'll not +do it," he declared. "I couldn't do it! Nor I won't!" he repeated. +"We're freemen o' Riddsley, and almost the last of the freemen that +has votes as freemen! And while free we are, free we'll be, and vote +as we choose, Squire! Vote as we choose! I'd not show my face in the +town else! Mr. Stubbs may talk as gallus as he likes--and main ashamed +of himself he looked yesterday--he may talk as gallus as never was, +we'll not bend to no landlord, nor to no golden image!" + +"Then there's no more to be said," Basset answered, feeling that he +cut a poor figure. "I don't wish you to do anything against your +conscience, Bosham, and I'm obliged to you and your brother for your +staunchness. I only wanted you to know that I should understand if you +stayed away." + +"I'd chop my foot off first!" cried the patriot. + +After which Basset had no choice but to leave him and to ride on, +feeling that he was himself too soft for the business--that he was a +round man in a square hole. He wondered what his committee would think +of him if they knew, and what Bosham thought of him--who did know. For +Bosham seemed to him at this moment a man of principle, a patriot, +nay, a very Brutus: whereas, Ben was in truth no better than a small +man of large conceit, whose vote was his one road to fame. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXI + + BEN BOSHAM + + +It was Tuesday, market-day at Riddsley, and farmers' wives, cackling +as loudly as the poultry they carried, elbowed one another on the +brick pavements or clustered before the windows of the low-browed +shops. Farmers in white great-coats, with huge handkerchiefs about +their necks, streamed from the yards of the Packhorse and the Barley +Mow, and meeting a friend planted themselves in the roadway as firmly +as if they stood in their own pastures. Now and again a young spark, +fancying all eyes upon his four-year-old, sidled through the throng +with many a "Whoa!" and "Where be'st going, lad?" While on the steps +of the Market-Cross and about the long line of carts that rested on +their shafts in the open street, hucksters chaffered and house-wives +haggled over the rare egg or the keg of salted butter. + +The quacking of ducks, the neighing of horses, the singsong of rustic +voices filled the streets. It was common talk that the place was as +full as at the March Fair. The excitement of the Election had gone +abroad, the cry that the land was at stake had brought in some, others +had come to see what was afoot. Many a stout tenant was here who at +other times left the marketing to his womenfolk; and shrewd glances he +cast at the gentry, as he edged past the justices who lounged before +the Audley Arms and killed in gossip the interval between the +Magistrates' Meeting, at which they had just assisted, and the +Ordinary at which they were to support young Mottisfont. + +The great men talked loudly and eagerly, were passionate, were in +earnest. Occasionally one of the younger of them would step aside to +look at a passing hackney, or an older man would speak to a favorite +tenant whom he called by his first name. But, for the most part, +they clung together, fine upstanding figures, in high-collared +riding-coats and top-boots. They were keen to a man; the farmers keen +also, but not so keen. For the argument that high wheat meant high +rents, and that most of the benefits of protection went to the +landlords had got about even in Riddsley. The squires complained that +the farmers would only wake up when it was too late! + +Still in such a place, and on market-day, four out of five were in the +landed interest; four-fifths of the squires, four-fifths of the +parsons, almost four-fifths of the tenants; for the laborers, no one +asked what they thought of it--they had ten shillings a week and no +votes. "Peel--'od rot him!" cried the majority, "might shift as often +as his own spinning-jenny! But not they! No Manchester man, and no +Tamworth man either, should teach them their business! Who would die +if there were no potatoes? It was a flam, a bite, but it wouldn't +bamboozle Stafford farmers!" + +Meanwhile Stubbs, moving quietly through the throng, spoke with one +here and there. He had the same word for all. "Listen to me, John," he +would say, his hand on the yeoman's shoulder. "Peel says he's been +wrong all these years and is only right now. Then, if you believe him, +he's a fool; and if you don't believe him, he's a knave. Not a very +good vet., John, eh? Not the vet. for the old gray mare, eh?" + +This had a great effect. John went away and repeated it to himself, +and presently grasped the dilemma and chuckled over it. Ten minutes +later he imparted it, with the air of a Solomon, to the "Duke," who +mouthed it and liked it and rolled it off to the first he met. It went +the round of the inns and about four o'clock a farmer fresh from the +"tap" put it to Stubbs and convinced him; and that night men, +travelling home market-peart in the charge of their wives, bore it to +many a snug homestead set in orchards of hard cider apples. + +Had the issue of the Election lain with the Market, indeed, it had +been over. But of the hundred and ninety voters no more than fifteen +were farmers, and though the main trade of the town sided with them, +the two factories were in opposition; and cheap bread had its charms +for the lesser fry. But the free traders were too wise to flaunt their +views on market-day, and it was left for little Ben Bosham, whose vote +was pretty near his all, to distinguish himself in the matter. + +He, too, had been at the tap, and about noon his voice was heard +issuing from a group who stood near the Audley Arms. "Be I free, or +bain't I?" he bawled. "Answer me that, Mr. Bagenal!" + +A knot of farmers had edged him into a corner and were disposed to +bait him. A stubby figure in a velveteen coat and drab breeches, his +hand on an ash-plant, he held his ground among them, tickled by the +attention he excited and fired by his own importance. "Be I free, or +bain't I?" he repeated. + +"Free?" Bagenal answered contemptuously. "You be free to make a fool +of yourself, Ben! I'm thinking you'd ha' us all lay down the ground to +lazy pasture and live by milk, as you do!" + +"Milk?" ejaculated a stout man of many acres, whose contempt for such +traffic was above speech. + +"You'll be free to go out of Bridge End," cried a third. "That's what +you'll be free to do! And where'll your vote be then, Ben?" + +But there Bosham was sure of himself. "That's where you be wrong, Mr. +Willet," he retorted with gusto. "My vote dunno come o' my landlord, +and in the Bridge End or out of the Bridge End, I've a vote while I've +a breath! 'Tain't the landlord's vote, and why'd I give it to he? Free +I be--not like you, begging your pardon! Freeman, old freeman, I be, +of this borough! Freeman by marriage!" + +"Then you be a very rare thing!" Bagenal retorted slyly. "There's a +many lose their freedom that way, but you be the first I ever heard of +that got it!" + +"And a hard bargain, too, as I hear," said Willet. + +This drew a roar of laughter. The crowd grew thicker and the little +man's temper grew short, for his wife was no beauty. He began to see +that they were playing with him. + +"You leave me alone, Mr. Willet," he said angrily, "and I'll leave you +alone!" + +"Leave thee alone!" said the farmer who had turned up his nose at +milk. "So I would, same as any other lump o' dirt! But yo' don't let +us. Yo' set up to know more than your betters! Pity the old lord ain't +alive to put his stick about your back!" + +"Did it smart, Ben?" cried a lad who had poked himself in between his +betters. + +"You let me catch you," Ben cried, "and I'll make you smart. You be +all a set of slaves! You'd set your thatch afire if squires'd tell +you! Set o' slaves, set o' slaves you be!" + +"And what be you, Bosham?" said a man who had just joined the group. +"Head of the men, bain't you? Cheap bread and high wages, that's your +line, ain't it!" + +"That's his line, be it?" said the old farmer slowly. "Bit of a rascal +it seems yo' be? Don't yo' let me find you in my boosey pasture +talking to no men o' mine, or I'll make yo' smart a sight more than +his lordship did!" + +"Ay, that's Ben's line," said the new-comer. + +"You're a liar!" Ben shrieked. "A dommed liar you be! I see you not +half an hour agone coming out of Stubbs's office! I know who told you +to say that, you varmint! I'll have the law of you!" + +"Ben Bosham, the laborers' friend!" the man retorted. + +Ben was furious, for he was frightened. There was no feud so bitter in +the 'forties as the feud between farmer and laborer. The laborer had +no vote, he had lost his common rights, his wood, his cow-feed; he was +famished, he was crushed by the new Poor Law, and so he was often in +an ugly mood, as singed barns and burning stacks went to show. Bosham +knew that he might flout the squires, and at worst be turned out of +his holding; but woe betide him if he got the name of the laborers' +friend. Moreover, there was just so much truth in the accusation as +made it dangerous. Ben and his brother eked out the profits of the +dairy by occasional labor, and Ben had sometimes vapored in tap-rooms +where he had better have held his tongue. He shrieked furiously, +therefore, at the false witness, and even tried to reach him with his +ash-plant. "Who be you?" he screamed. "You be a lawyer's pup, you be! +You'd ruin me, you would! Let me get a hold of you and I'll put a mark +on you! You be lying!" + +"I don't know about that," said the big farmer slowly and weightily. +"I'm feared yo're a bit of a rascal, Ben." + +"Ay, and fine he'll look in front of Stafford Gaol some morning!" said +Willet. "At the end of a rope." + +On that in a happy moment for Ben, while he gaped for a retort and +found none, two carriers' vans, huge wooden vehicles festooned with +rabbits and market-baskets and drawn by three horses abreast, lumbered +through the crowd and scattered it. In a twinkling Ben was left alone, +an angry man, aware that he had cut but a poor figure! + +He had been frightened, too, and he resented it. He thirsted for some +chance of setting himself right, of proving to others that he was a +freeman and not as other men. And in the nick of time he saw a +chance--if only he had the courage to rise to it. He saw moving +towards him through the press a mail-phaeton and pair. On the box, +caped and gloved, the pink of fashion, sat no less a person than his +lordship himself. A servant in the well-known livery, a white coat +with a blue collar, sat behind him. + +The vans which had freed Ben blocked the great man's way, and he was +moving at a walk. All heads were bared as he passed, and he was +acknowledging the courtesy with his whip when Ben stepped before the +horses and lifted his hand. In an instant a hundred eyes were on the +man and he knew that he had burned his boats. Bravado was now his only +chance. + +"My lord," he cried, waving his hat impudently. "I want to know what +you be going to do about me?" + +My lord hardly caught his words and did not catch his meaning, but he +saw that the man was almost under the horses' feet and he checked +them. Ben stood aside then but, as the carriage passed him, he laid +his hand on the splashboard and walked beside it. He looked up at the +great man and in the same impudent tone, "Be you agoing to turn me +out, my lord?" he cried. "That's what I want to know." + +"I don't understand you," Audley said coldly. He guessed that the man +referred to the Election, and what was the use of understrappers like +Stubbs if he was to be exposed to this? + +"I'm Ben Bosham of the Bridge End, my lord, that's who I be," Ben +replied brazenly. "I'm not ashamed of my name. I want to know whether +you be agoing to turn me out, and my wife and my child! That's what I +want to----" + +Then a farmer seized him and dragged him back, and others laid hands +on him, though he still shouted. "Dunno be a fool!" cried the farmer, +deeply shocked. "Drive on, drive on, my lord! Never heed him. He've +had a glass too much!" + +"Packhorse beer, my lord," explained a second in stentorian +tones--though he knew that Ben was fairly sober. "Ought to be ashamed +of himself!" cried a third, and he shook the aggressor. Ben was in a +minority of one, and those who held him were inclined to be rough. + +Audley waved his whip good-humoredly. "Take care of him!" he said. +"Don't hurt him!" And he drove on, outwardly unmoved though inwardly +fuming. Still had it ended there little harm would have been done. But +word of the brawl outran the carriage and, as it chanced, reached the +door of Hatton's Works as the men came out to dinner. Ben Bosham had +spoken his mind to his lordship! His lordship had driven over him! The +farmers had beaten him! The news passed from one to another like +flame, and the hands stood, some two score of them, and hooted my lord +loudly, shouting "Shame!" and jeering at him. + +Now had Audley been the candidate he would have thought nothing of it. +He would have laughed in the men's faces and taken it as part of the +day's work; or had he been the old lord, he would have flung a curse +at the men and cut at the nearest with his whip--and forgotten it. + +But he was not the old lord, times were changed, and the thing angered +him. It was in an ill-temper that he drove on along the road that rose +by gentle degrees to the Great Chase. + +For the matter of that, he had been in a black mood for some time, +because he could not make up his mind. Night and morning ambition +whispered to him to put the vessel about; to steer the course which +experience told him that it behooved a man to steer who was not +steeped in romance, nor too greedy for the moment's enjoyment; the +course which, beyond all doubt, he would have steered were he now +starting! + +But he was not starting; and when he thought of shifting the helm he +foresaw difficulties. He did not think that he was a soft-hearted man, +yet he feared that when it came to the point he would flinch. Besides, +he told himself that he was a man of honor; and the change was a +little at odds with this. But there again, he reflected that truth was +honor and in the end would cause less pain. + +Eight thousand pounds was so very small a portion! And for safety, he +no longer needed to play for it. John Audley was dead and the Bible +was in his hands; his case was beyond cavil or question, while the +political situation was such that he saw no opening, no chance of +enrichment in that direction. To make Mary, handsome, good, attractive +as she was--to make her the wife of a poor peer, of a discontented, +dissatisfied man--this, if he could only find it in his heart to tell +her the truth, would be a cruel kindness. + +As he drove along the road, angry with the wretched Bosham, angry with +Stubbs, angry with the fools who had hooted him, he was not sorry to +feel his ill-temper increase. He might not find it so difficult to +speak to her. A little effort and the thing would be done. Eight +thousand pounds? The interest would barely dress her. Whereas, if she +had played her cards well and been heir to her uncle's thirty +thousand--the case would have been different. After all, the fault lay +with her. + +He roused the off-horse with a sharp cut, and a moment later discerned +at the end of a long, straight piece of road, the moss-clad steps of +the old Cross and standing beside them a figure he knew. + +He was moved, even while, in his irritation, he was annoyed that she +had come to meet him at a place that had recollections for him. It +seemed to him that in doing this she was putting an undue, an unfair +burden on him. + +She waved her hand and he raised his hat. The day was bright and cold, +and the east wind had whipped a fine color into her cheeks. Perhaps +that, too, was unfair. Perhaps that too was putting an undue burden on +him. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXII + + MARY MAKES A DISCOVERY + + +But his face was not one to betray his thoughts, and as he drew up +beside Mary, horses fretting, polechains jingling, the silver of the +harness glittering from a score of points, he made a gallant show. The +most eager lover, Apollo himself in the chariot of the sun, had +scarcely made a better approach to his mistress, had hardly carried it +more finely over a mind open to appearances. + +With a very fair show of haste he bade his man take the reins, and as +the servant swung himself into the front seat the master sprang to the +ground. His hand met Mary's, his curly-brimmed hat was doffed, his +eyes smiled into hers. "Well, better late than never!" he said. + +"Yes," she answered. But she spoke more soberly than he expected and +her face was grave. "You have been a long time away." + +That was their meeting. The servant was there; under his eyes it could +not be warmer. Whether one or the other had foreseen this need not be +asked. + +He spoke to the man, who, possessed by a natural curiosity, was all +ears. "Keep them moving," he said. "Drive back a mile or two and +return." Then to Mary, his hat still in his hand, "A long time away? +Longer than I expected, and far longer than I hoped, Mary. Shall we go +up the hill a little?" + +"I thought you would propose that," she said. "I am so glad that it is +fine." + +The man had turned the horses. Audley took her hand again and pressed +it, looking in her face, telling himself that she grew more handsome +every day. Why hadn't she thirty thousand pounds? Aloud he said, "So +am I, very glad. Otherwise you could not have met me, and I fancied +that you might not wish me to come to the house? Was that so, dear?" + +"I think it was," she said. "He has been gone so very short a time. +Perhaps it was foolish of me." + +"Not at all!" he answered, admiring the purity of her complexion. "It +was like you." + +"If we had told him, it would have been different." + +"On the other hand," he said deftly, as he drew her hand through his +arm, "it might have troubled his last days? And now, tell me all, +Mary, from the beginning. You have gone through dark days and I have +not been--I could not be with you. But I want to share them." + +She told the story of John Audley's disappearance, her cheeks growing +pale as she described the alarm, the search, the approach of night and +her anguish at the thought that her uncle might be lying in some place +which they had overlooked! Then she told him of Basset's arrival, of +the discovery, of the manner in which Peter had arranged everything +and saved her in every way. It seemed to her that to omit this, to say +nothing of him, would be as unfair to the one as uncandid to the +other. + +My lord's comment was cordial, yet it jarred on her. "Well done!" he +said. "He was made to be of use, poor chap! If it were any one else I +should be jealous of him!" And he laughed, pressing her arm to his +side. + +She was quivering with the memories which her story had called up, and +it was only by an effort that she checked the impulse to withdraw her +hand. "Had you been there----" + +"I hope I should have done as much," he replied complacently. "But it +was impossible." + +"Yes," she said. And though she knew that her tone was cold, she could +not help it. For many, many times during the last month she had +pondered over his long absence and the chill of his letters. Many +times she had told herself that he was treating her with scant +affection, scant confidence, almost with scant respect. But then again +she had reflected that she must be mistaken, that she brought him +nothing but herself, and that if he did not love her he would not have +sought her. And telling herself that she expected too much of love, +too much of her lover, she had schooled herself to be patient, and had +resolved that not a word of complaint should pass her lips. + +But to assume a warmth which she did not feel was another matter. This +was beyond her. + +He, for his part, set down her manner to a natural depression. "Poor +child!" he said, "you have had a sad time. Well, we must make up for +it. As soon as we can make arrangements you must leave that gloomy +house where everything reminds you of your uncle and--and we must make +a fresh start. Do you know where I am taking you?" + +She saw that they had turned off the road and were following a track +that scrambled upwards through the scrub that clothed the slope below +the Gatehouse. It slanted in the direction of the Great House. "Not to +Beaudelays?" she said. + +"Yes--to Beaudelays. But don't be afraid. Not to the house." + +"Oh no!" she cried. "I don't think I could bear to go there to-day!" + +"I know. But I want you to see the gardens. I want you to see what +might have been ours, what we might have enjoyed had fortune been more +kind to us! Had we been rich, Mary! It is hard to believe that you +have never seen even the outside of the Great House." + +"I have never been beyond the Iron Gate." + +"And all these months within a mile!" + +"All these months within a mile. But he did not wish it. It was one of +the first things he made me understand." + +"Ah! Well, there is an end of that!" And again so matter-of-fact was +his tone that she had to struggle against the impulse to withdraw her +arm. "Now, if there is any one who has a right to be there, it is you! +And I want to be the one to take you there. I want you to see for +yourself that it is only fallen grandeur that you are marrying, Mary, +the thing that has been, not the thing that is. By G--d! I don't know +that there is a creature in the world--certainly there is none in my +world--more to be pitied than a poor peer!" + +"That's nothing to me," she said. And, indeed, his words had brought +him nearer to her than anything he had said. So that when, taking +advantage of the undergrowth which hid them from the road below, he +put his arm about her and assisted her in her climb, she yielded +readily. "To think," he said, "that you have never seen this place! I +wonder that after we parted you did not go the very next morning to +visit it!" + +"Perhaps I wished to be taken there by you." + +"By Jove! Do you know that that is the most lover-like thing you have +said." + +"I may improve with practice," she rejoined. "Indeed, it is possible," +she continued demurely, "that we both need practice!" + +She had not a notion that he was in two minds; that one half of him +was revelling in the hour, pleased with possession, enjoying her +beauty, dwelling on the dainty curves of her figure, while the other +uncertain, wavering, was asking continually, "Shall I or shall I not?" +But if she did not guess thoughts to which she had no clue he was +sharp enough to understand hers. "Ah! you are there, are you?" he +said. "Wait! Presently, when we are out of sight of that cursed +road----" + +"I didn't find fault!" + +On that there was a little banter between them, gallant and smiling on +his part, playful and defensive on hers, which lasted until they +reached a door leading into the lower garden. It was a rusty, +damp-stained door, once painted green, and masked by trees somewhat +higher than the underwood through which they had climbed. Ivy hung +from the wall above it, rank grass grew against it, the air about +it was dank, and in summer sent up the smell of wild leeks. Once +under-gardeners had used it to come and go, and many a time on moonlit +nights maids had stolen through it to meet their lovers in the coppice +or on the road. + +Audley had brought the key and he set it in the lock and turned it. +But he did not open the door. Instead, he turned to Mary with a smile. +"This is my surprise," he said. "Shut your eyes and open them when I +tell you. I will guide you." + +She complied without suspicion, and heard the door squeak on its rusty +hinges. Guided by his hand she advanced three or four paces. She heard +the door close behind her. He put his arm round her and drew her on. +"Now?" she asked, "May I look?" + +"Yes, now!" he answered. As he spoke he drew her to him, and, before +she knew what to expect, he had crushed her to his breast and was +pressing kisses on her face and lips. + +She was taken by surprise and so completely, that for a moment she was +helpless, without defence. Then the instinctive impulse to resist +overcame her, and she struggled fiercely; and, presently, she released +herself. "Oh, you shouldn't have done it!" she cried. "You shouldn't +have done it!" + +"My darling!" + +"You--you hurt me!" she panted, her breath coming short and quick. She +was as red now as she had for a moment been white. Her lips trembled, +and there were tears in her eyes. He thought that he had been too +rough with her, and though he did not understand, he stayed his +impulse to seize her again. Instead, he stood looking down at her, a +little put out. + +She tried to smile, tried bravely to pass it off; but she was put to +it, he could see, not to burst into tears. "Perhaps I am foolish," she +faltered, "but please don't do it again." + +"I can't promise--for always," he answered, smiling. But, none +the less, he was piqued. What a prude the girl was! What a +Sainte-ni-touche! To make such a fuss about a few kisses! + +She tried to take the same tone. "I know I am silly," she said, "but +you took me by surprise." + +"You were very innocent, then, my dear. Still, I'll be good, and next +time I will give you warning. Now, don't be afraid, take my arm, and +let us----" + +"If I could sit down?" she murmured. Then he saw that the color had +again left her cheeks. + +There was an old wheelbarrow inside the door, half full of dead +leaves. He swept it clear, and she sat down on the edge of it. He +stood by her, puzzled, and at a loss. + +Certainly he had played a trick on her, and he had been a little rough +because he had felt her impulse to resist. But she must have known +that he would kiss her sooner or later. And she was no child. Her +convent days were not of yesterday. She was a woman. He did not +understand it. + +Alas, she did understand it. It was not her lover's kisses, it was not +his passion or his roughness that had shaken Mary. She was not a prude +and she was a woman. That which had overwhelmed her was the knowledge, +the certainty forced on her by his embrace, that she did not love him! +That, however much she might have deluded herself a few weeks earlier, +however far she might have let the lure of love mislead her, she did +not love this man! And she was betrothed to him, she was promised to +him, she was his! On her engagement to him, on her future with him had +been based--a moment before--all her plans and all her hopes for the +future. + +No wonder that the color was struck from her face, that she was shaken +to the depths of her being. For, indeed, she knew something more--that +she had had her warning and had closed her eyes to it. That evening, +when she had heard Basset's step come through the hall, that moment +when his presence had lifted the burden of suspense from her, should +have made her wise. And for an instant the veil had been lifted, and +she had been alarmed. But she reflected that the passing doubt was due +to her lover's absence and his coldness; and she had put the doubt +from her. When Audley returned all would be well, she would feel as +before. She was hipped and lonely and the other was kind to her--that +was all! + +Now she knew that that was not all. She did not love Audley and she +did love some one else. And it was too late. She had misled herself, +she had misled the man who loved her, she had misled that other whom +she loved. And it was too late! + +For a time that was short, yet seemed long to her companion, who stood +watching her, she sat lost in thought and unconscious of his presence. +At length he could bear it no longer. Pale cheeks and dull eyes had no +charm for him! He had not come, he had not met her, for this. + +"Come!" he said, "come, Mary, you will catch cold sitting there! One +might suppose I was an ogre!" + +She smiled wanly. "Oh no!" she said, "It is I--who am foolish. Please +forgive me." + +"If you would like to go back?" + +But her ear detected temper in his tone, and with a newborn fear of +him she hastened to appease him. "Oh no!" she said. "You were going to +show me the gardens!" + +"Such as they are. Well, so you will see what there is to be seen. It +is a sorry sight, I can tell you." She rose and, taking her arm, he +led her some fifty yards along the alley in which they were, then, +turning to the right, he stopped. "There," he said. "What do you think +of it?" + +They had before them the long, dank, weed-grown walk, broken midway by +the cracked fountain and closed at the far end by the broad flight of +broken steps that led upward to the terrace and so to the great lawn. +When Audley had last stood on this spot the luxuriance of autumn had +clothed the neglected beds. A tangle of vegetation, covering every +foot of soil with leaf and bloom, had veiled the progress of neglect. +Now, as by magic, all was changed. The sun still shone, but coldly and +on a bald scene. The roses that had run riot, the spires of hollyhocks +that had risen above them, the sunflowers that had struggled with the +encroaching elder, nay, the very bindweed that had strangled all alike +in its green embrace, were gone, or only reared naked stems to the +cold sky. Gone, too, were the Old Man, the Sweet William, the St. +John's Wort, the wilderness of humbler growths that had pressed about +their feet; and from the bare earth and leafless branches, the +fountain and the sundial alone, like mourners over fallen grandeur, +lifted gray heads. + +There is no garden that has not its sad season, its days of stillness +and mourning, but this garden was sordid as well as sad. Its dead lay +unburied. + +Involuntarily Mary spoke. "Oh, it is terrible!" she cried. + +"It is terrible," he answered gloomily. + +Then she feared that, preoccupied as she was with other thoughts, she +had hurt him. She was trying to think of something to comfort him, +when he repeated, "It is terrible! But, d--n it, let us see the rest +of it! We've come here for that! Let us see it!" + +Together they went slowly along the walk. They came by and by to the +sundial. She hung a moment, wishing to read the inscription, but he +would not stay. "It's the old story," he said. "We are gay fellows in +the sunshine, but in the shadow--we are moths." + +He did not explain his meaning. He drew her on. They mounted the wide +flight which had once, flanked by urns and nymphs and hot with summer +sunshine, echoed the tread of red-heeled shoes and the ring of spurs. +Now, elder grew between the shattered steps, weeds clothed them, the +nymphs mouldered, lacking arms and heads, the urns gaped. + +Mary felt his depression and would have comforted him, but her brain +was numbed by the discovery which she had made; she was unable to +think, without power to help. She shared, she more than shared, his +depression. And it was not until they had surmounted the last flight +and stood gazing on the Great House that she found her voice. Then, as +the length and vastness of the pile broke upon her, she caught her +breath. "Oh," she cried. "It is immense!" + +"It's a nightmare," he replied. "That is Beaudelays! That is," with +bitterness, "the splendid seat of Philip, fourteenth Lord Audley--and +a millstone about his neck! It is well, my dear, that you should see +it! It is well that you should know what is before you! You see your +home! And what you are marrying--if you think it worth while!" + +If she had loved him she would have been strong to comfort him. If she +had even fancied that she loved him, she would have known what to +answer. As it was, she was dumb; she scarcely took in the significance +of his words. Her mind--so much of it as she could divert from +herself--was engaged with the sight before her, with the long rows of +blank and boarded windows, the smokeless chimneys, the raw, unfinished +air that, after eighty years, betrayed that this had never been a +home, had never opened its doors to happy brides, nor heard the voices +of children. + +At last she spoke. "And this is Beaudelays?" she said. + +"This is my home," he replied. "That's the place I've come to own! +It's a pleasant possession! It promises a cheerful homecoming, doesn't +it?" + +"Have you never thought of--of doing anything to it?" she asked +timidly. + +"Do you mean--have I thought of completing it? Of repairing it?" + +"I suppose I meant that," she replied. + +"I might as well think," he retorted, "of repairing the Tower of +London! All I have in the world wouldn't do it! And I cannot pull it +down. If I did, the lawyers first and the housebreakers afterwards, +would pull down all I have with it! There is no escape, my dear," he +continued slowly. "Once I thought there was. I had my dream. I've +stood on this lawn on summer days and I've told myself that I would +build it up again, and that the name of Audley should not be lost. But +I am a peer, what can I do? I cannot trade, I cannot plead. For a peer +there is but one way--marriage. And there were times when I had +visions of repairing the breach--in that way; when I thought that I +could set the old name first and my pleasure second; when I dreamed of +marrying a great dowry that should restore us to the place we once +enjoyed. But--that is over! That is over," he repeated in a sinking +voice. "I had to choose between prosperity and happiness; I made my +choice. God grant that we may never repent it!" + +He sank into silence, waiting for her to speak; he waited with +exasperation. She did not, and he looked down at her. Then, "I +believe," he said, "that you have not heard a word I have said!" + +She glanced up, startled. "I am afraid I have not," she answered +meekly. "Please forgive me. I was thinking of my uncle, and wondering +where he died." + +It was all that Audley could do to check the oath that rose to his +lips. For he had spoken with intention; he had given her, as he +thought, a lead, an opening; and he had wasted his pains. He could +hardly believe that she had not heard. He could almost believe that +she was playing with him. But in truth she had barely recovered from +the shock of her discovery, and the thing before her eyes--the +house--held her attention. + +"I believe that you think more of your uncle than of me!" he cried. + +"No," she replied, "but he is gone and I have you." She was beginning +to be afraid of him; afraid of him, because she felt that she was in +fault. + +"Yes," he replied. "But you must be more kind to me--or I don't know +that you will keep me." + +She thought that he spoke in jest, and she pressed his arm. + +"You don't want to go into the house?" + +"Oh no! I could not bear it to-day." + +"Then you must not mind if I leave you for a moment. I have to look to +something inside. I shall not be more than five minutes. Will you walk +up and down?" + +She assented, thankful to be alone with her thoughts; and he left her. +A burly, stately figure, he passed across the lawn and disappeared +round the corner of the old wing where the yew trees grew close to +the walls. He let himself into the house. He wished to examine the +strong-room for himself and to see what traces were left of the +tragedy which had taken place there. + +But when he stood inside and felt the icy chill of the house, where +each footstep awoke echoes, and a ghostly tread seemed to follow him, +he went no farther than the shadowy drawing-room with its mouldering +furniture and fallen screen. There, placing himself before an +unshuttered pane, he stood some minutes without moving, his hands +resting on the head of his cane, his eyes fixed on Mary. The girl was +slowly pacing the length of the terrace, her head bent. + +Whether the lonely figure, with its suggestion of sadness, made its +appeal, or the attraction of a grace that no depression could mar, +overcame the dictates of prudence, he hesitated. At last, "I can't do +it!" he muttered, "hanged if I can! I suppose I ought not to have +kissed her if I meant to do it to-day. No, I can't do it." + +And when, half an hour later, he parted from her at the old Cross at +the foot of the hill, he had not done it. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIII + + THE MEETING AT THE MAYPOLE + + +Within twenty-four hours there were signs that Bosham's brush with his +lordship and the show of feeling outside Hatton's Works had set a +sharper edge on the fight. Trifles as these were, the farmers about +Riddsley took them up and resented them. The feudal feeling was not +quite extinct. Their landlord was still a great man to them, and even +those who did not love him believed that he was fighting their battle. +An insult to him seemed, in any case, a portent, but that such a poor +creature as Bosham--Ben Bosham of the Bridge End--should insult him, +went beyond bearing. + +Moreover, it was beginning to be whispered that Ben was tampering with +the laborers. One heard that he was preaching higher wages in the +public houses, another that he was asking Hodge what he got out of +dear bread, a third that he was vaporing about commons and enclosures. +The farmers growled. The farmers' sons began to talk together outside +the village inn. The farmers' wives foresaw rick-burning, maimed +cattle, and empty hen coops, and said that they could not sleep in +their beds for Ben. + +Meanwhile those who, perhaps, knew something of the origin of these +rumors, and could size up the Boshams to a pound, were not unwilling +to push the matter farther. Men who fancied with Stubbs that repeal of +the corn-taxes meant the ruin of the country-side, were too much in +earnest to pick and choose. They believed that this was a fight +between the wholesome country and the black, sweating town, between +the open life of the fields and the tyranny of mill and pit; and that +the only aim of the repealer was to lower wages, and so to swell the +profits that already enabled him to outshine the lords of the soil. +They were prone, therefore, to think that any stick was good enough to +beat so bad a dog, and if the stout arms of the farmers could redress +the balance, they were in no mood to refuse their help. + +Nor were sharpeners wanting on the other side. The methods of the +League were brought into play. Women were sent out to sing through the +streets of an evening, and the townsfolk ate their muffins to the +doleful strains of: + + + Child, is thy father dead? + Father is gone. + Why did they tax his bread? + God's will be done! + + +And as there were enthusiasts on this side, too, who saw the work of +the Corn Laws in the thin cheeks of children and the coffins of babes, +the claims of John Barley-corn, roared from the windows of the +Portcullis and the Packhorse, did not seem a convincing answer. A big +loaf and a little loaf, carried high through the streets, made a wide +appeal to non-voters; and a banner with, "You be taxing, we be +starving!" had its success. Then, on the evening of the market-day, a +band of Hatton's men, fresh from the Three Tailors, came to blows with +a market-peart farmer, and a "hand" was not only knocked down, but +locked up. Hatton's and Banfield's men were fired with indignation at +this injustice, and Hatton himself said a little more at the Institute +than Basset thought prudent. + +These things had their effect, and more, perhaps, than was expected. +For Stubbs, going back to his office one afternoon, suffered an +unpleasant shock. Bosham's impudence had not moved him, nor the jeers +of Hatton's men. But this turned out to be another matter. +Farthingale, the shabby clerk with the high-bred nose, had news for +him which he kept until the office door was locked. And the news was +so bad that Stubbs stood aghast. + +"What? All nine?" he cried. "Impossible, man! The woman's made a fool +of you!" + +But Farthingale merely looked at him over his steel-rimmed spectacles. +"It's true," he said. + +"I'll never believe it!" cried the lawyer. + +Farthingale shook his head. "That won't alter it," he said patiently. +"It's true." + +"Dyas the butcher! Why, he served me for years! For years! I go to him +at times now." + +"Only for veal," replied the clerk, who knew everything "Pitt, of the +sausage shop, and Badger, the tripeman, are in his pocket--buy his +offal. With the other six, it's mainly the big loaf--Lake has a sister +with seven children, and Thomas a father in the almshouse. Two more +have big families, and the women have got hold of them!" + +"But they've always voted right!" Stubbs urged, with a sinking heart. +"What's taken them?" + +"If you ask me," the clerk answered, "I should say it was partly +Squire Basset--he talks straight and it takes. And partly the split. +When a party splits you can't expect to keep all. I doubted Dyas from +the first. He's the head. They were all at his house last night and a +prime supper he gave them." + +Stubbs groaned. At last, "How much?" he asked. + +Farthingale shook his head. "Nix," he said. "You may be shaking Dyas's +hand and find it's Hatton's. If you take my advice, you'll leave it +alone." + +"Well," the lawyer cried, "of all the d--d ingratitude I ever heard +of! The money Dyas has had from me!" + +Farthingale's lips framed the words "only veal," but no sound came. +Devoted as he was to his employer, he was enjoying himself. Election +times were meat and drink--especially drink--to him. At such times his +normal wage was royally swollen by Election extras, such as: "To +addressing one hundred circulars, one guinea. To folding and closing +the same, half a guinea. To watering the same, half a guinea. To +posting the same, half a guinea." A whole year's score, chalked up +behind the door at the Portcullis, vanished as by magic at this +season. + +And then he loved the importance of it, and the secrecy, and the +confidence that was placed in him and might safely be placed. The +shabby clerk who had greased many a palm was himself above bribes. + +But Stubbs was aghast. Scarcely could he keep panic at bay. He had +staked his reputation for sagacity on the result. He had made himself +answerable for success, to his lordship, to the candidate, to the +party. Not once, but twice, he had declared in secret council that +defeat was impossible--impossible! Had he not done so, the contest, +which his own side had invited, might have been avoided. + +And then, too, his heart was in the matter. He honestly believed that +these poor creatures, these weaklings whose defection might cost so +much, were voting for the ruin of their children, for the +impoverishment of the town. They would live to see the land pass into +the hands of men who would live on it, not by it. They would live to +see the farmers bankrupt, the country undersold, the town a desert! + +The lawyer had counted on a safe majority of twenty-two on a register +of a hundred and ninety voters. And twenty-two had seemed a buckler, +sufficient against all the shafts and all the spite of fortune. But a +majority of four--for that was all that remained if these nine went +over--a majority of four was a thing to pale the cheek. Perspiration +stood on his brow as he thought of it. His hand shook as he shuffled +the papers on his desk, looking for he knew not what. For a moment he +could not face even Farthingale, he could not command his eye or his +voice. + +At last, "Who could get at Dyas?" he muttered. + +Farthingale pondered for a time, but shook his head. "No one," he +said. "You might try Hayward if you like. They deal." + +"What's to be done, then?" + +"There's only one way that I can think of," the clerk replied, his +eyes on his master's face. "Rattle them! Set the farmers on them! Show +them that what they're doing will be taken ill. Show 'em we're in +earnest. Badger's a poor creature and Thomas's wife's never off the +twitter. I'd try it, if I were you. You'd pull some back." + +They talked for a time in low voices and before he went into the +Portcullis that night Farthingale ordered a gig to be ready at +daylight. + +It might have been thought that with this unexpected gain, Basset +would be in clover. But he, too, had his troubles and vexations. John +Audley's death and Mary's loneliness had made drafts on his time as +well as on his heart. For a week he had almost withdrawn from the +contest, and when he returned to it it was to find that the extreme +men--as is the way of extreme men--had been active. In his address and +in his speeches he had declared himself a follower of Peel. He had +posed as ready to take off the corn-tax to meet an emergency, but not +as convinced that free trade was always and everywhere right. He had +striven to keep the question of Irish famine to the front, and had +constantly stated that that which moved his mind was the impossibility +of taxing food in one part of the country while starvation reigned in +another. Above all, he had tried to convey to his hearers his notion +of Peel. He had pictured the statesman's dilemma as facts began to +coerce him. He had showed that in the same position many would have +preferred party to country and consistency to patriotism. He had +painted the struggle which had taken place in the proud man's mind. He +had praised the decision to which Peel had come, to sacrifice his +name, his credit, and his popularity to his country's good. + +But when Basset returned to his Committee Room, he found that the men +to whom Free Trade was the whole truth, and to whom nothing else was +the truth, had stolen a march on him. They had said much which he +would not have said. They had set up Cobden where he had set up Peel. +To crown all, they had arranged an open-air meeting, and invited a man +from Lancashire--whose name was a red rag to the Tories--to speak at +it. + +Basset was angry, but he could do nothing. He had an equal distaste +for the man and the meeting, but his supporters, elated by their +prospects, were neither to coax nor hold. For a few hours he thought +of retiring. But to do so at the eleventh hour would not only expose +him to obloquy and injure the cause, but it would condemn him to an +inaction from which he shrank. + +For all that he had seen of Mary, and all that he had done for her, +had left him only the more restless and more unhappy. To one in such a +mood success, which began to seem possible, promised something--a new +sphere, new interests, new friends. In the hurly-burly of the House +and amid the press of business, the wound that pained him would heal +more quickly than in the retirement of Blore; where the evenings would +be long and lonely, and many a time Mary's image would sit beside his +fire and regret would gnaw at his heart. + +The open-air meeting was to be held at the Maypole, in the wide street +bordered by quaint cottages, that served the town for a cattle-market. +The day turned out to be mild for the season, the meeting was a +novelty, and a few minutes before three the Committee began to +assemble in strength at the Institute, which stood no more than a +hundred yards from the Maypole, but in another street. Hatton was +entertaining Brierly, the speaker from Lancashire, and in making him +known to the candidate, betrayed a little too plainly that he thought +that he had scored a point. + +"You'll see something new now, sir," he said, rubbing his hands. +"What's wanting, he'll win! He's addressed as many as four thousand +persons at one time, Mr. Brierly has!" + +"Ay, and not such as are here, Squire," Brierly boomed. He was a tall, +bulky man with an immense chin, who moved his whole body when he +turned his head. "Not country clods, but Lancashire men! No throwing +dust i' their eyes!" + +"Still, I hope you'll deal with us gently," Basset said. "Strong meat, +Mr. Brierly, is not for babes. We must walk before we can run." + +"Nay, but the emptier the stomach, the more need o' meat!" Brierly +replied, and he rumbled with laughter. "An' a bellyful I'll give them! +Truth's truth and I'm no liar!" + +"But to different minds the same words do not convey the same thing," +Basset urged. + +The man stared over his stiff neck-cloth. "That'ud not go down i' +Todmorden," he said. "Nor i' Burnley nor i' Bolton! We're down-right +chaps up North, and none for chopping words. Hands off the hands' +loaf, is Lancashire gospel, and we're out to preach it! We're out to +preach it, and them that clems folk and fats pheasants may make what +mouth o'er it they like!" + +Fortunately the order to start came at this moment, and Basset had to +fall in and move forward with Hatton, the chairman of the day. +Banfield followed with the stranger, and the rest of the Committee +came on two by two, the smaller men enjoying the company in which +they found themselves. So they marched solemnly into the street, a +score of Hatton's men forming a guard of honor, and a long tail of the +riff-raff of the town falling in behind with orange flags and favors. +These at a certain signal set up a shrill cheer, a band struck up +"See, the Conquering Hero Comes!" and the sixteen gentlemen marched, +some proudly and some shamefacedly, into the wider street, wherein a +cart drawn up at the foot of the Maypole awaited them. + +On such occasions Englishmen out of uniform do not show well. The +daylight streamed without pity on the Committee as they stalked or +shambled along in their Sunday clothes, and Basset at least felt the +absurdity of the position. With the tail of his eye he discerned that +the stranger was taking off a large white hat, alternately to the +right and left, in acknowledgment of the cheers of the crowd, while +ominous sniggers of laughter mingled here and there with the applause. +Banfield's men, with another hundred or so of the town idlers, were +gathered about the cart, but of the honest and intelligent voters +there were scanty signs. + +The crowd greeted the appearance of each of the principals with cheers +and a shaft or two of Stafford wit. + +"Hooray! Hooray!" shouted Hatton's men as he climbed into the cart. + +"Hatton's a great man now!" a bass voice threw in. + +"But he's never lost his taste for tripe!" squeaked a shrill treble. +The gibe won roars of laughter, and the back of the chairman's neck +grew crimson. + +"Hurrah for Banfield and the poor man's loaf!" shouted his supporters, +as he mounted in his turn. + +"It's little of the crumb he'll leave the poor man!" squeaked the +treble. + +It was the candidate's turn to mount next. "Hooray! Hooray!" shouted +the crowd with special fervor. Handkerchiefs were waved from windows, +the band played a little more of the Conquering Hero. + +As the music ceased, "What's he doing, Tommy, along o' these chaps?" +asked the treble voice. + +"He's waiting for that there Samaritan, Sammy?" answered the bass. + +"Ay, ay? And the wine and oil, Sammy?" + +It took the crowd a little time to digest this, but in time they did +so, and the gust of laughter that followed covered the appearance of +the stranger. He was not to escape, however, for as the noise ceased, +"Is this the Samaritan, Sammy?" asked the bass. + +"Where's your eyes?" whined the treble. "He's the big loaf! and, lor, +ain't he crumby!" + +"If I were down there----" the Burnley man began, leaning over the +side of the cart. + +"He's crusty, too!" cried the wit. + +But this was too much for the chairman. "Silence! Silence!" he cried, +and, as at a signal, there was a rush, the two interrupters were +seized and, surrounded by a gang of hobbledehoys, were hustled down +the road, fighting furiously and shouting, "Blues! Blues!" + +The chairman made use of the lull to step to the edge of the cart and +take off his hat. He looked about him, pompous and important. + +"Gentlemen," he began, "free and independent electors of our ancient +borough! At a crisis such as this, a crisis the most momentous--the +most momentous----" he paused and looked into his hat, "that history +has known, when the very staff of life is, one may say, the apple of +discord, it is an honor to me to take the chair!" + +"The cart you mean!" cried a voice, "you're in the cart!" + +The speaker cast a withering glance in the direction whence the voice +came, lost his place and, failing to find it, went on in a different +strain. "I'm a business man," he said, "you all know that! I'm a +business man, and I'm not ashamed of it. I stick to my business and my +business to-day----" + +"Better go on with it!" + +But he was getting set, and he was not to be abashed. "My business +to-day," he repeated, "is to ask your attention for the distinguished +candidate who seeks your suffrages, and for the--the distinguished +gentleman on my left who will presently follow me." + +A hollow groan checked him at this point, but he recovered himself. +"First, however," he continued, "I propose, with your permission, to +say a word on the--the great question of the day--if I may call it so. +It is to the food of the people I refer!" + +He paused for cheers, under cover of which Banfield murmured to his +neighbor that Hatton was set now for half an hour. He had yet to learn +that open-air meetings have their advantages. + +"The food of the people!" Hatton repeated, uplifted by the applause. +"It is to me a sacred thing! My friends, it is to me the Ark of the +Covenant. The bread is the life. It should go straight, untaxed, +untouched from the field of the farmer to the house of--of the widow +and the orphan!" + +"Hear! Hear! Hear! Hear!" Then, "What about the miller?" + +"It should go from where it is grown," Hatton repeated, "to where it +is needed; from where it is grown to the homes of the poor! And to the +man," slipping easily and fatally into his Sunday vein, "that lays his +'and upon it, let him be whom he may, I say with the Book, 'Thou shalt +not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn!' The Law, ay, and the +Prophets----" + +"Ay, Hatton's profits! Hands off them!" roared the bass voice. + +"Low bread and high profits!" shrieked the treble. "Hatton and thirty +per cent!" + +A gust of laughter swept all away for a time, and when the speaker +could again get a hearing he had lost his thread and his temper. +"That's a low insinuation!" he cried, crimson in the face. "A low +insinuation! I scorn to answer it!" + +"Regular old Puseyite you be," shouted a new tormentor. "Quoting +Scripture." + +Hatton shook his fist at the crowd. "A low, dirty insinuation!" he +cried. "I scorn----" + +"You don't scorn the profits!" + +"Listen! Silence!" Then, "I shall not say another word! You're not +worth it! You're below it! I call on Mr. Brierly of Manchester to +propose a resolution." + +And casting vengeful glances here and there where he fancied he +detected an opponent, he stood back. He began for the first time to +think the meeting a mistake. Basset, who had held that opinion from +the first, scanned the crowd and had his misgivings. + +The man from Manchester, however, had none. He stood forward, a smile +on his broad face, his chest thrown forward, a something easy in his +air, as became one who had confronted thousands and was not to be put +out of countenance by a few hisses. He waited good-humoredly for +silence. Nor could he see that, behind the cart, there had been +gathering for some time a band of men of a different air from those +who faced the platform. These men were still coming up by twos and +threes, issuing from side-streets; men clad in homespun and with ruddy +faces, men in smocked frocks, men in velveteens; a few with belcher +neckerchiefs and slouched felts, whom their mothers would not have +known. When Brierly raised his hand and opened his mouth there were +over two score of these men--and they were still coming up. + +But Brierly was unaware of them, and, complacent and confident of the +effect he would produce, he opened his mouth. + +"Gentlemen," he began. His voice, strong and musical, reached the edge +of the meeting. "Gentlemen, free electors! And I tell you straight no +man is free, no man had ought to be free----" + +Boom! and again, Boom! Boom! Not four paces behind him a drum rolled +heavily, drowning his voice. He stopped, his mouth open; for an +instant surprise held the crowd also. Then laughter swept the meeting +and supplied a treble to the drum's persistent bass. + +And still the drum went on, Boom! Boom! amid cheers, yells, laughter. +Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. More slowly, the +hurrahs, yells, laughter, died down, the laughter the last to fail, +for not only had the big man's face of surprise tickled the crowd, but +the drum had so nicely taken the pitch of his voice that the +interruption seemed even to his friends a joke. + +He seized the opportunity, but defiance not complacency was now his +note. "Gentlemen," he said, "it's funny, but you don't drum me down, +let me tell you! You don't drum me down! What I said I'm going to say +again, and shame the devil and the landlords! Free men----" + +But he did not say it. Boom, boom, rolled the drum, drowning his voice +beyond hope. And this time, with the fourth stroke, a couple of fifes +struck into a sprightly measure, and the next moment three score +lively voices were roaring: + + + You've here the little Peeler, + Out of place he will not go! + But to keep it, don't he turn about + And jump Jim Crow! + + But to keep it see him turn about + And jump Jim Crow! + Turn about, and wheel about + And do just so! + + _Chorus_ + + The only dance Sir Robert knows + Is Jump Jim Crow! + The only dance Sir Robert knows + Is Jump Jim Crow! + + +For a verse or two the singers had it their own way. Then the band of +the meeting struck in with "See, the Conquering Hero Comes!" and as +the airs clashed in discord, the stalwarts of the two parties clashed +also in furious struggle. In a twinkling and as by magic the scene +changed. Women, children, lads, fled every way, screaming and falling. +Shrieks of alarm routed laughter. The crowd swayed stormily, flowed +this way, ebbed that way. The clatter of staves on clubs rang above +oaths and shouts of defiance, as the Yellows made a rush for the drum. +Men were down, men were trampled on, men strove to scale the cart, +others strove to descend from it. But to descend from it was to +descend into a mêlée of random fists and falling sticks, and the man +from Manchester bellowed to stand fast; while Hatton shouted to "clear +out these rogues," and Banfield called on his men to charge. Basset +alone stood silent, measuring the conflict with his eyes. With an odd +exultation he felt his spirits rise to meet the need. + +He saw quickly that the orange favors were outnumbered, and were +giving way; and almost as quickly that, so far as mischief was meant, +it was aimed at the Manchester man. He was a stranger, he was the +delegate of the League, he was a marked man. Already there were cries +to duck him. Basset tapped Banfield on the shoulder. + +"They'll not touch us," he shouted in the man's ear, "but we must get +Brierly away. There's Pritchard's house opposite. We must fight our +way to it. Pass the word!" Then to Brierly, "Mr. Brierly, we must get +you away. There's a gang here means mischief." + +"Let them come on!" cried the Manchester man, "I'm not afraid." + +"No, but I am," Basset replied. "We're responsible, and we'll not have +you hurt here. Down all!" he cried raising his voice, as he saw the +band whom he had already marked, pressing up to the cart through the +mêlée--they moved with the precision of a disciplined force, and most +of their faces were muffled. "Down all!" he shouted. "Yellows to the +rescue! Down before they upset us!" + +The leaders scrambled out of the cart, some panic-stricken, some +enjoying the scuffle. They were only just in time. The Yellows were in +flight, amid yells and laughter, and before the last of the platform +was over the side, the cart was tipped up by a dozen sturdy arms. +Hatton and another were thrown down, but a knot of their men, the last +with fight in them, rallied to the call, plucked the two to their +feet, and, striking out manfully, covered the rear of the retreating +force. + +The men with the belcher neckerchiefs pressed on silently, brandishing +their clubs, and twice with cries of "Down him! Down him!" made a rush +for Brierly, striking at him over the shoulders of his companions. But +it was plain that the assailants shrank from coming to blows with the +local magnates; and Basset seeing this handed Brierly over to an older +man, and himself fell back to cover the retreat. + + +"Fair play, men," he cried, good humoredly. And he laughed in their +faces as he fell back before them. "Fair play! You're too many for us +to-day, but wait till the polling-day!" + +They hooted him. "Yah! Yah!" they cried. "You'd ruin the land that +bred you! You didn't ought to be there!" "Give us that fustian rascal! +We'll club him!" + +"Who makes cloth o' devil's dust?" yelled another. "Yah! You d--d +cotton-spawn!" + +Basset laughed in their faces, but he was not sorry when the friendly +doorway received his party. The country gang, satisfied with their +victory, began to fall back after breaking a dozen panes of glass; and +the panting and discomfited Yellows, thronging the passage and pulling +their coats into shape, were free to exchange condolences or +recriminations as they pleased. More than one had been against the +open-air meeting, and Hatton, a sorry figure, hatless, and with a +sprained knee, was not likely to hear the end of it. Two or three had +black eyes, one had lost two teeth, another his hat, and Brierly his +note-book. + +But almost before a word had been exchanged, a man pushed his way +among them. He had slipped into the house by the back way. "For God's +sake, gentlemen," he cried, "get the constable, or there'll be +murder!" + +"What is it?" asked a dozen voices. + +"They've got Ben Bosham, half a hundred of them! They're away to the +canal with him. They're that mad with him they'll drown him!" + +So far Basset had treated the affair as a joke. But Bosham's plight in +the hands of a mob of angry farmers seemed more than a joke. Murder +might really be done. He snatched a thick stick from a corner--he had +been hitherto unarmed--and raised his voice. "Mr. Banfield," he said, +"go to Stubbs and tell him what is doing! He can control them if any +one can. And do some of you, gentlemen, come with me! We must get him +from them." + +"But we're not enough," a man protested. + +"The man must not be murdered," Basset replied. "Come, gentlemen, +they'll not dare to touch us who know them, and we've the law with us! +Come on!" + +"Well done, Squire!" cried Brierly. "You're a man!" + + +"Ay, but I'm not man enough to take you!" Basset retorted. "You stay +here, please!" + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIV + + BY THE CANAL + + +It was noon on that day, the day of the meeting at Riddsley, and Mary +was sitting in the parlor at the Gatehouse. She was stooping over the +fire with her eyes on the embers. The old hound lay beside her with +his muzzle resting on her shoe, and Mrs. Toft, solidly poised on her +feet, on the farther side of the table, rolled her apron about her +arms and considered the pair. + +"It's given us all a rare shock," she said as she marked the girl's +listless pose, "the poor Master's death! That sudden and queer, too! I +don't know that I'm better for it, myself, and Toft goes up and down +like a toad under a harrow, he's that restless! For 'Truria, she's +fairly mazed. Her body's here and her thoughts are lord knows +where. Toft, he seems to think something will come of her and her +reverend----" + +"I hope so," Mary said gently. + +"But it's beyond me what Toft thinks these days. I asked him +point--blank yesterday, 'Toft,' I says, 'are we going or are we +staying?' And, bless the man, he looks at me as if he'd eat me. 'Take +time and you'll know,' he says. 'But whose is the house?' I asks, 'and +who's to pay us?' 'God knows!' he says, and whiffs out of the room +like one of these lucifers!" + +"I think that the house is Mr. Basset's," Mary explained, "for the +rest of the lease; that's about three years." + +"But you'll not be staying, begging your pardon, Miss? I suppose +you'll be naming the day soon? The Master's gone and his lordship will +be wanting you somewhere else than here." + +"Yes, Mrs. Toft," Mary said quietly. "I suppose so." + +Mrs. Toft looked for a blush and saw none, and she drew her +conclusions. She went on another tack. "There's like to be a fine +rumpus in the town to-day," she said comfortably. "The Squire's +brought a foreigner down to trim their nails, and there's to be a +wagon and speaking and such like foolishness at the Maypole. As if all +the speeches of all the fools in Staffordshire would lower the +quartern loaf! Anyway, if what Petch says is true, the farmers are +that mad there's like to be lives lost!" + +Mary stooped and carefully put a piece of wood on the fire. + +"And, to be sure, they're a rough lot," Mrs. Toft continued, dropping +her apron. "I'm not forgetting what happened to the reverend Colet, +and I wish the young master safe out of it. It's all give and no take +with him, too much for others and too little for himself! I'm thinking +if anybody's hurt he'll be there or thereabouts." + +Mary turned. "Is Petch--couldn't Petch go down and----" + +"La, Miss," Mrs. Toft answered--the girl's face told her all that she +wished to know--"Petch don't dare, with his lordship on the other +side! But, all said and done, I'll be bound the young master'll come +through. It's a pity, though," she continued thoughtfully, as she +began to dust the sideboard, "as people don't know their own minds. +There's the Squire, now. He's lived quiet and pleasant all these years +and now he must dip his nose into this foolishness, same as if he +dipped it into hot worts when Toft's a-brewing! I don't know what's +come to him. He goes riding up to Blore these winter nights, twenty +miles if it's a furlong, when this house is his! He's more like to +take his death that way, if I'm a judge." + +"Is he doing that?" Mary asked in a small voice. + +"To be sure," Mrs. Toft returned. "What else! Which reminds me, Miss, +are those papers to go to the bank to-day?" + +"I believe so." + +"Well, you're looking that peaky, you'd best take a jaunt with them. +Why not? It's a fine day, and if there is a bit of a clash there's +none will hurt you. Do you go, Miss, and get a little color in your +cheeks. At worst, you'll bring back the news and I'm sure we're that +dead-alive and moped a little's a godsend!" + +"I think I will go," Mary said. + +So when the gig, which was to convey the boxes to the bank, arrived +about three, she mounted beside the driver. Here, were it only for an +hour, was distraction and a postponement of that need to decide, to +choose between two courses, which was crushing her under its weight. + +For Mary was very unhappy. That moment which had proved to her that +she did not love the man she was to marry and did love another, had +stamped itself on her memory, never to be wiped from it. In Audley's +company, and for a time after they had parted, the shock had numbed +her mind and dulled her feelings. But once alone and free to think, +she had grasped all that the discovery meant--to her and to him; and +from that moment she had not known an instant of ease. + +She saw that she had made a terrible mistake, and one so vital that, +if nothing could be done, it must wreck her happiness and another's +happiness. And what was she to do? What ought she to do? In a moment +of emotion, led astray by that love of love which is natural to women, +and something swayed--so she told herself in scorn--by + + + Those glories of our blood and state, + + +which to women are not shadows, she had made this mistake, and now, +self-tricked, she had only herself to blame if + + + Sceptre and crown + Were tumbled down + And in the dust were lesser made + Than the poor crooked scythe and spade! + + +But to see her folly did not avail. What was she to do? + +Ought she to tell the truth, however painful it might be, to the man +whom she had deceived? Or ought she to go through with it, to do her +duty and save him at least from hurt? Either way, she had wrecked her +own craft, but she might still hope to save his. Or--might she hope? +She was not certain even of this. + +What was she to do? Hour after hour she asked herself the question, +sometimes looking through the windows with eyes that saw nothing, at +others pacing her room in a fever of anxiety. What was she to do? She +could not decide. Now she thought one thing, now another. And time was +passing. No wonder that she was glad even of the distraction of this +journey to Riddsley that at another time had been so dull an +adventure! It was, at least, a reprieve, a respite from the burden of +decision. + +She would not own, even to herself, that she had any other thought in +going, or that anxiety had any part in her restlessness. From that +side of the battle she turned her eyes with all the strength of her +will. Her conduct had been that of a silly girl rather than that of a +woman who had seen and suffered; but she was not light--and besides +Basset was cured. She was only unfortunate, and desperately unhappy. + +As they drove by the old Cross at the foot of the hill she averted her +eyes. Surely it must have been in some other life that she had made it +the object of a walk, and had told herself that she would never forget +it. + +Alas, she had been right. She would never forget it! + +The man who drove saw that her face matched her mourning, and he left +her to her thoughts, so that hardly a word passed between them until +they were close upon the outskirts of the town. Then the driver, to +whom the dull winter landscape, the lines of willows, and the low +water-logged fields, were no novelty, pricked up his ears. + +"Dang me!" he said, "they've started! There's a fine rumpus in the +town. Do you hear 'em, Miss? That's a band I'm thinking?" + +"I hope no one will be hurt." + +The man winked at his horse. "None of the right side, Miss," he said +slyly. "But it might be a hanging, front o' Stafford gaol, by the +roar! I met a tidy lot going in as I came out, a right tidy lot! I'm +blest," after listening a moment, "if they're not coming this way!" + +"I hope they won't do anything to----" + +"La, Miss," the man answered, misreading her anxiety and interrupting +her, "they'll never touch us. And for the old nag, he's yeomanry. He'd +not start if he met a mile o' funerals!" + +Certainly the noise was growing. But the lift of the canal bridge and +bank, which crossed the road a hundred yards before them, hid all of +the town from them save a couple of church towers, some tiled roofs, +and the brick gable of Hatton's Works. The man whipped up his horse. + +"Teach they Manchester chaps a trick!" he muttered. "Shouldn't wonder +if there'll be work for the crowner out of this! Gee-up, old nag, +let's see what's afoot! 'Pears to me," as the shouting grew plainer, +"we'll be in at the death yet, Miss!" + +Mary winced at the word, but if the man feared that she would refuse +to go on, he was mistaken. On the contrary, she looked eagerly to +the front as the old horse, urged by the whip, took the rise of the +bridge at a canter, and, having reached the crown, relapsed into an +absent-minded walk. + +"Dang me!" cried the driver, greatly excited, "but they do mean +business! It's in knee in neck with 'em! Never thought it would come +to this. And who is't they've got, Miss?" + +Certainly there was something out of the common on foot. Moving to +meet the gig, and filling the road from ditch to ditch, appeared a +disorderly crowd of two or three hundred persons. Cheering, hooting, +and brandishing sticks, they came on at something between a walk and a +run, although in the heart of the mass there was a something that now +and again checked the movement, and once brought it to a stand. When +this happened the crowd eddied and flowed about the object in its +centre and presently swept on again with the same hooting and +laughter. + +But in the laughter, as in the hooting, there was, after each of these +pauses, a more savage note. + +"What is it?" Mary cried, as the driver, scared by the sight, pulled +up his horse. "What is it?" + +"D--n me," the man replied, forgetting his manners, "if I don't think +it's Ben Bosham they've got! It is Ben! And they're for ducking him! +It's mortal deep by the bridge there, and s'help me, if it's not ten +to one they drown him!" + +"Ben Bosham?" Mary repeated. Then she recalled the name. She +remembered what Mrs. Toft had said of him--that the man had a wife +and would bring her to ruin. The crowd was not fifty yards from them +now and was still coming on. To the left a track ran down to the +towing-path and the canal, and already the leaders of the mob were +swerving in that direction. As they did so--and were once more checked +for a moment--Mary espied among them a man's bald head twisting this +way and that, as he strove to escape. The man was struggling +desperately, his clothes almost torn from his back, but he was +helpless in the hands of a knot of stout fellows, and after a brief +resistance he was hauled forcibly on. A hundred jeering voices rose +about him, and a something cruel in the sound chilled Mary's blood. +The dreary scene, the sluggish canal, the flat meadows, the rising +mist, all pressed on her mind and deepened the note of tragedy. + +But on that she broke the spell. The blood in her spoke. She clutched +the driver's arm and shook it. "Go on!" she cried. "Go on! Drive into +them!" + +The man hesitated--he saw that the crowd was in no jesting mood. But +the old horse felt the twitch on the reins and started, and having the +slope with him, trotted gently forward as if the road were empty +before him. The crowd waved and shouted, and cursed the driver. But +the horse, thinking perhaps that this was some new form of parade, +only cocked his ears and ambled on till he reached the foremost. Then +a man seized the rein, jerked it, and stopped him. + +In a moment Mary sprang down, heedless of the fact that she was one +woman among a hundred men. She faced the crowd, her eyes bright with +indignation. "Let that man go," she cried. "Do you hear? Do you want +to murder him?" And, advancing a step, she laid her hand on Ben +Bosham's ragged, filthy sleeve--he had been down more than once and +been rolled in the mud. "Let him go!" she continued imperiously. "Do +you know who I am, you cowards? Let him go!" + +"Yah!" shouted the crowd, and drowned her voice and pressed roughly +about her, threatened her. One of the foremost asked her what she +would do, another cried that she had best make herself scarce! Furious +faces surrounded her, fists were shaken at her. But Mary was not +daunted. "If you don't let him go, I shall go to Lord Audley!" she +said. + +"You're a fool meddling in this!" cried a voice. "We're only going to +wash the devil!" + +"You will let him go!" she replied, facing them all without fear and, +advancing a step, she actually plucked the man from the hands that +held him. "I am Miss Audley! If you do not let him go----" + +"We're only going to wash him, lady," whined one of the men who held +him. + +"That's all, lady!" chimed in half-a-dozen. "He wants it!" + +But Ben was not of that opinion, or he did not value cleanliness. +"They're going to drown me!" he spluttered, his eyes wild. All the +fight had been knocked out of him. "They're paid to do it! They'll +drown me!" + +"And sarve him right!" shouted half-a-dozen at the rear of the crowd. +"Sarve him right, the devil!" + +"They will not do it!" Mary said firmly. "They'll not lay another hand +on you. Get in! Get in here!" And then to the crowd, "For shame!" she +cried. "Stand back!" + +The man was so shaken that he could not help himself, but she pushed, +the driver pulled, and in a trice, before the mob had recovered from +its astonishment, Ben was above their heads, on the seat of the gig--a +blubbering, ragged, mud-caked figure with a white face and bleeding +lips. "Go on!" Mary said in the same tone, and the gig moved forward, +the old yeomanry horse tossing its head. She moved on beside it with +her hand on the rail. + +The mob let them pass, but closed in behind them, and after a pause +began to jeer--a little in amusement, a little to cover its defeat. In +a moment farce took the place of tragedy; the danger was over. "We'll +tell your wife, Ben!" screamed a youth, and the crowd laughed and +followed. Other wits took their turn. "You'll want a new coat for the +wedding, Ben!" cried one. And now and again amid the laughter a +sterner note survived. "We'll ha' you yet, Ben!" a man would cry. +"You're not out of the wood yet, Ben!" + +Mary's face burned, but she stuck to her post, plodding on beside the +gig, and after this fashion the queer procession, heralded by a score +of urchins crying the news, entered the streets of the town. On either +side women thronged the doorways and steps, and while some cried, +"Bravo, Miss!" others laughed and called to their neighbors to come +out and see the sight. And still the crowd clung to the rear of the +gig, and hooted and laughed and pretended to make forays on it. + +Mary had hoped to shake them off, but as they persisted in following +and no relief came--for Basset and his rescue party had gone to the +canal by another road--she saw nothing for it but to go on to Lord +Audley's. With a curt word she made the man turn that way. + +The crowd still attended, curious, amused. It had doubled its numbers, +nay, had trebled them. There were friends as well as foes among them +now, some of Hatton's men, some of Banfield's, yellow favors as well +as blue. If Mary had known it, she might have set Ben down and not a +hand would have been laid upon him. Even the leaders of the riot were +now thankful that they had not carried the matter farther. Enough had +been done. + +But Mary did not know this. She thought that the man was still in +peril. She did not dream of leaving him. And it was at the head of a +crowd of three or four hundred of the riff-raff of Riddsley that she +broke in upon the quiet of the suburban road in which The Butterflies +stood. Tumultuously, followed by laughter and hooting and cheers, she +swept along it with her train, and came to a halt before the house. + +No house was ever more surprised. Mrs. Wilkinson's scared face peered +above one blind, her sisters' caps showed above another. Was it an +accident? Was it a riot? Was it a Puseyite protest? What was it? Every +servant, every neighbor, Lord Audley himself came to the windows. + +Mary signed to the driver to help Ben down, and the moment the man's +foot touched the ground she grasped his arm. With a burning face, but +with her head in the air, she guided his stumbling footsteps through +the gate and along the paved walk. They came together to the door. +They went in. + +The crowd formed up five deep along the railings, and waited in +wondering silence to see what would happen. What would his lordship +say? What would his lordship do? This was bringing the election to his +doors with a vengeance, and there were not a few of the better sort +who saw the fun of the situation. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXV + + MY LORD SPEAKS OUT + + +Mary had passed through twenty minutes of tense excitement. The risk +had been slight, after the first moment of intervention, but she had +not known this, and she was still trembling with indignation, a +creature all fire and passion, when the door of The Butterflies opened +to admit her. Leaving Ben Bosham on the threshold she lost not a +moment, but with her story on her lips, hurried up the stairs, and on +the landing came plump upon Lord Audley. + +From the window he had seen something of what was afoot below. He had +recognized Mary and the tattered Bosham, and he had read the riddle, +grasped the facts, and cursed the busybody, all within thirty seconds. +"D--n it! this passes everything," he had muttered to himself as he +turned from the window in disgust. "This is altogether too much!" And +he had opened the door--ready also to open his mind to her! + +"What in the world is it?" he asked. He held the door for her to +enter. "What has happened? I could not believe my eyes when I saw you +in company with that wretched creature!" he continued. "And all the +tagrag and bobtail in the place behind you? What is it, Mary?" + +She felt the check, and the color, which excitement had brought to her +cheeks, faded. But she thought that it was only that he did not +understand, and, "That wretched creature, as you call him," she cried, +"has just escaped from death. They were going to murder him!" + +"Murder him?" Audley repeated. He raised his eyebrows. "Murder him?" +coldly. "My dear girl, don't be silly! Don't let yourself be carried +away. You've lost your head. And, pardon me for saying it, I am afraid +have made a fool of yourself! And of me!" + +"But they were going to throw him into the canal!" she protested. + +"Going to wash him!" he replied cynically. "And a good thing too! It's +a pity they left the job undone. The man is a low, pestilent fellow!" +he continued severely, "and obnoxious to me and to all decent people. +The idea of bringing him, and that pleasant tail, to my house--my dear +girl, it's absurd!" + +He made no attempt to soften his tone or suppress his annoyance, and +she stared at him in astonishment. Yet she still thought, or she +strove to think, that he did not understand, and tried to make the +facts clear. "But you don't know what they were like," she protested. +"You were not there. They had torn the clothes from his back----" + +"I can see that." + +"And he was so terrified that it was dreadful to see him! They were +handling him brutally, horribly! And then I came up and----" + +"And lost your head!" he said. "I dare say you thought all this. But +do you know anything about elections?" + +"No----" + +"Have you ever see an election in progress before?" + +"No." + +"Just so," he replied dryly. "Well, if you had, you would know that +brawls of this kind are common things, the commonest of things at such +a time, and that sensible people turn their backs on them. You've +chosen to turn the farce into a tragedy, and in doing so you've made +yourself ridiculous--and me too!" + +"If you had seen them," she said, "I do not think you would speak as +you are speaking." + +"My dear girl," he replied, and shrugged his shoulders, "I have seen +many such things, many. But there is one thing I have never seen, and +that is a man killed in an election squabble! The whole thing is +childish--silly! The least knowledge of the world--" + +"Would have saved me from it?" + +"Exactly! Would have saved you from it!" he answered austerely. "And +me from a very annoying incident! Peers have nothing to do with +elections, as you ought to know; and to bring this mob of all sorts to +my door as if the matter touched me, is to compromise me. It is past a +joke!" + +Mary stared. She was trying to place herself. Certainly this was the +room in which she had taken tea, and this was the man who had welcomed +her, who had hung over her, whose eyes had paid her homage, who had +foreseen her least want, who had lapped her in observance. This was +the man and this the room, and there was the chair in which good Mrs. +Wilkinson had sat and beamed on her. + +But there was a change somewhere; and the change was in the man. Could +it mean that he, too, had made a mistake and now recognized it? That +he, too, had found that he did not love? But in that case this was not +the way to confess an error. His tone, his manner, which held no +respect for the woman and no softness for the sweetheart, were far +from the tone of one in the wrong. On the contrary, they presented a +side of him which had been hitherto hidden from her; a phase of the +strength that she had admired, which shocked her even while, as deep +calls to deep, it roused her pride. She remembered that she was his +betrothed, and that he had wooed her, he had chosen her. And on slight +provocation he spoke to her in this strain! + +She sought the clue, she fancied that she held it, and from this +moment she was on her guard. She was quiet, but there was a +smouldering fire in her eyes. "Perhaps I was wrong," she said. "I have +had little experience of these things. But are not you, on your side, +making too much of this? Too much of a very small, a very natural +mistake? Isn't it a trifle after all?" + +"Not so much of a trifle as you think!" he retorted. "A man in my +position has to follow a certain line of conduct. A girl in yours +should be careful to guide herself by my views. Instead, out of a +foolish sentimentality, you run directly counter to them! It is too +late to consider your relation to me when the harm is done, my dear." + +"Perhaps we have neither of us considered the relation quite enough?" +she said. + +"I am not sure that we have." And again, "I am not sure, Mary, that we +have," he repeated more soberly. + +She knew what he meant now--knew what was in his mind almost as +clearly as if, instead of grasping his conclusion, she had been a +party to his reasons. And she closed her lips, a spot of color in each +cheek. In other circumstances she would have taken on herself a full, +nay, the main share, of the blame. She would have been quick to admit +that she, too, had made a mistake, and that no harm was done. + +But his manner opened her eyes to many things that had been a puzzle +to her. Thought is swift, and in a flash her mind had travelled over +the whole course of their engagement, had recalled his long absence, +the chill of his letters, the infrequency of his visits; and she saw +by that light that this was no sudden shift, but an occasion sought +and seized. Therefore she would not help him. She at least had been +honest, she at least had been in earnest. She had tricked, not him +only, but herself! + +She closed her lips and waited, therefore. And he, knowing that he had +now burned his boats, had to go on. "I am not sure that we did think +enough about it?" he said doggedly. "I have suspected for some time +that I acted hastily in--in asking you to be my wife, Mary." + +"Indeed?" she said. + +"Yes. And what has happened to-day, proving that we look at things +so differently, has confirmed my suspicion. It has convinced me--" +he looked down at his table, avoiding her eyes, but continued +firmly--"that we are not suited to one another. The wife of a man, +placed as I am, should have an idea of values, a certain reserve, that +comes of a knowledge of the world; above all, no sentimental notions +such as lead to mistakes like this." He indicated the street by a +gesture. "If I was mistaken a while ago in listening to my feelings +rather than to my prudence, if I gave you credit for knowledge which +you had had no means of gaining, I wronged you, Mary, and I am sorry +for it. But I should be doing you a far greater wrong if I remained +silent now." + +"Do you mean," she asked in a low voice, "that you wish it to be at an +end between us? That you wish to--to throw me over?" + +He smiled awry. "That is an unpleasant way of putting it, isn't it?" +he said. "However, I am in the wrong, and I have no right to quarrel +with a word. I do think that to break off our engagement at once is +the best and wisest thing for both of us." + +"How long have you felt this?" she asked. + +"For some time," he replied, measuring his words, "I have been coming +slowly--to that conclusion." + +"That I am not fitted to be your wife?" + +"If you like to put it so." + +Then her anger, hitherto kept under, flamed up. "Then what right," she +cried, "if that was in your mind, had you to treat me as you treated +me at Beaudelays--in the garden? What right had you to kiss me? +Rather, what right had you to insult me? For it was an insult--it was +an insult, if you were not going to marry me! Don't you know, sir, +that it was vile? That it was unforgivable?" + +She had never looked more handsome, never more attractive than at this +moment. The day was failing, but the glow of the fire fell on her +face, and on her eyes sparkling with anger. He took in the picture, he +owned her charm, he even came near to repenting. But it was too late, +and "It may have been vile--and you may not forgive it," he answered +hardily, "but I'd do it again, my dear, on the same provocation!" + +"You would----" + +"I would do it again," he repeated coolly. "Don't you know that you +are handsome enough to turn any man's head? And what is a kiss after +all? We are cousins. If you were not such a prude, I would kiss you +now?" + +She was furiously angry--or she fancied that she was. But it may be +that, deep down in her woman's mind, she was not truly angry. And, +indeed, how could she be angry when in her heart a little bird was +beginning to sing--was telling her that she was free, that presently +this cloud would be behind her, and that the sky would be blue? +Already the message was making itself heard, already she was finding +it hard to keep up appearances, to frown upon him and play her part. + +Yet she flashed out at him. Was he not going too fast, was he not +riding off too lightly? "Oh!" she cried, "You dare to say that! Even +while you break off with me!" + +But his selfish, masterful nature had now the upper hand. He had eaten +his leek and he was anxious to be done with it. "And what then?" he +said. "I believe that you know that I am right. I believe that you +know that we are not suited to one another." + +"And you think I will let you go at a word?" + +"I think you will let me go," he said, "because you are not a fool, +Mary. You know as well as I do that you might be 'my lady' at too high +a price. I'm not the most manageable of men. I'd make a decent +husband, all being well. But I'm not meek and I'd make a very unhandy +husband _malgré moi_." + +The threat exasperated her. "I know this at least," she retorted, +"that I would not marry you now, if you were twenty times my lord! You +have behaved meanly, and I believe falsely! Not to-day! You are +speaking the truth to-day. But I believe that from the start you had +this in your mind, that you foresaw this, and were careful not to +commit yourself too publicly! What I don't understand is why you ever +asked me to be your wife--at all?" + +"Look in the glass!" he answered impudently. + +She put that aside. "But I suppose that you had a reason!" she +returned. "That you loved me, that you felt for me anything worthy of +the name of love is impossible! For the rest, let me tell you this! If +I ever felt thankful for anything I am thankful for the chance that +brought me to your house to-day--and brought me to the truth!" + +"Anything more to say?" he asked flippantly. The way she was taking it +suited him better than if she had wept and appealed. And then she was +so confoundedly good-looking in her tantrums! + +"Nothing more," she said. "I think that we understand one another now. +At any rate, I understand you. Perhaps you will kindly see if I can +leave the house without annoyance." + +He looked into the street. Dusk had fallen, the lamplighter was going +his rounds. Of the crowd that had attended Mary to the house no more +than a handful remained; the nipping air, the attractions of free +beer, the sound of the muffin-bell, had drawn away the rest. The +driver of the gig was moving to and fro, now looking disconsolately at +the windows, now beating his fingers on his chest. + +"I think you can leave with safety," Audley said with irony. "I will +see you downstairs." + +"I will not trouble you," she answered. + +"But, surely, we may still be friends?" + +She looked him in the face. "We need not be enemies," she answered. +"And, perhaps, some day I may be able to think more kindly of you. If +that day comes I will tell you. Good-bye." She went out without +touching his hand. She went down the stairs. + +She drove through the dusky, dimly-lighted streets in a kind of dream, +seeing all things through a pleasant haze. The bank was closed and to +deliver up her papers she had to go into the bank-house. The glimpse +she had of the cheerful parlor, of the manager's wife, of his two +children playing the Royal Game of Goose at a round table, enchanted +her. Presently she was driving again through the darkling streets, +passing the Maypole, passing the quaint, low-browed shops, lit only by +an oil lamp or a couple of candles. The Audley Arms, the Packhorse, +the Portcullis, were all alight and buzzing with the voices of those +who fought their battles over again or laid bets on this candidate or +that. What the speaker had said to Lawyer Stubbs and what Lawyer +Stubbs had said to the speaker, what the "Duke" thought, who would +have to pay for the damage, and the odds the stout farmer would give +that wheat wouldn't be forty shillings a quarter this day twelvemonth +if the Repeal passed--scraps of these and the like poured from the +doorways as she drove by. + +All fell in delightfully with her mood and filled her with a sense of +well-being. Even when the streets lay behind her, and the driver +hunched his shoulders to meet the damp night-fog and the dreary +stretch that lay beyond the canal-bridge, Mary found the darkness +pleasant and the chill no more than bracing. For what were that night, +that chill beside the numbing grip from which she had just--oh, thing +miraculous!--escaped! Beside the fetters that had been lifted from her +within the last hour! O foolish girl, O ineffable idiot, to have ever +fancied that she loved that man! + +No, for her it was a charming night! The owl that, far away towards +the Great House, hooted dolefully above the woods--no nightingale +had been more tuneful. Ben Bosham--she laughed, thinking of his +plight--blessings on his bare, bald head and his ragged shoulders! The +old horse plodding on, with the hill that mounts to the Gatehouse +sadly on his mind--he should have oats, if oats there were in the +Gatehouse stables! He should have oats in plenty, or what he would if +oats failed! + +"What do you give him when he's tired?" she asked. + +"Well," the driver replied with diplomacy, "times a quart of ale, +Miss. He'll take it like a Christian." + +"Then a quart of ale he shall have to-night!" she said with a happy +laugh. "And you shall have one, too, Simonds." + +Her mood held to the end, so that before she was out of her wraps, +Mrs. Toft was aware of the change in her. "Why, Miss," she said, "you +look like another creature! It isn't the bank, I'll be bound, has put +that color in your cheeks!" + +"No!" Mary answered, "I've had an adventure, Mrs. Toft. And briefly +she told the tale of Ben Bosham's plight and of her gallant rescue. +She began herself to see the comic side of it. + +"He always was a fool, was Ben!" Mrs. Toft commented. "And that," she +continued shrewdly, "was how you come to see his lordship was it, +Miss?" + +"How did you know I saw him?" Mary asked in surprise. "But you're +right, I did." Then, as she entered the parlor, "Perhaps I'd better +tell you, Mrs. Toft," she said, "that the engagement between my cousin +and myself is at an end. You were one of the very few who knew of it, +and so I tell you." + +Mrs. Toft showed no surprise. "Indeed, Miss," she answered, stooping +to the hearth to light the candles with a piece of wood. "Well, one +thing's certain, and many a time my mother's drummed it into me, +'Better a plain shoe than one that pinches!' And again, 'Better live +at the bottom of the hill than the top,' she'd say. 'You see less but +you believe more.'" + +Neither she nor Mary saw Toft. But Toft, who had entered the hall a +moment before, was within hearing, and Mary's statement, so coolly +received by his wife, had an extraordinary effect on the man-servant. +He stood an instant, his lank figure motionless. Then he opened the +door beside him, slipped out into the chill and the darkness, and +silently, but with extravagant gestures, he broke into a dance, now +waving his thin arms in the air, now stooping with his hands locked +between his knees. Whether he thus found vent for joy or grief was a +secret which he kept to himself. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVI + + THE RIDDSLEY ELECTION + + +The riot at Riddsley found its way into the London Press, and gained +for the contest a certain amount of notoriety. The _Morning Chronicle_ +pointed out that the election had been provoked by the Protectionists +in a constituency in Sir Robert's own country; and the writer inferred +that, foreseeing defeat, the party of the land were now resorting to +violence. The _Morning Herald_ rejoiced that there were still places +which would not put up with the incursions of the Manchester League, +"the most knavish, pestilent body of men that ever plagued this or any +country!" In the House, where the tempest of the Repeal debate already +raged, and the air was charged with the stern invective of Disraeli, +or pulsed to the cheering of Peel's supporters--even here men +discussed the election at Riddsley, considered it a clue to the +feeling in the country, and on the one side hardly dared to hope, on +the other refused to fear. What? cried the Land Party. Be defeated in +an agricultural borough? Never! + +For a brief time, then, the contest filled the public eye and +presented itself as a thing of more than common interest. Those who +knew little weighed the names and the past of the candidates; those +behind the scenes whispered of Lord Audley. Whips gave thought to him, +and that one to whom his lordship was pledged, wrote graciously, +hinting at the pleasant things that might happen if all went well, and +the present winter turned to a summer of fruition. + +Alas, Audley felt that the Whip's summer, and + + + The friendly beckon towards Downing Street, + Which a Premier gives to one who wishes + To taste of the Treasury loaves and fishes, + + +were very remote, whereas, if the other Whip, he who had the honors +under his hand and the places in his power, had written so! But that +cursed Stubbs had blocked his play in that direction by asserting that +it was hopeless, though Audley himself began at this late hour to +suspect that it had not been hopeless! That it had been far from +hopeless! + +In his chagrin my lord tore the Whip's letter across and across, and +then prudently gummed it together again and locked it away. Certainly +the odds were long that it would never be honored; on the one side +stood Peel with four-fifths of his Cabinet and half his party, with +all the Whigs, all the Radicals, all the League, and the Big Loaf: on +the other stood the landed interest! Just the landed interest led by +Lord George Bentinck, handsome and debonair, the darling of the Turf, +the owner of Crucifix; but hitherto a silent member, and one at whom, +as a leader, the world gaped. Only, behind this Joseph there lurked a +Benjamin, one whose barbed shafts were many a time to clear the field. +The lists were open, the lances were levelled, the slogan of Free +Trade was met by the cry of "The Land and the Constitution!" and while +old friendships were torn asunder and old allies cut adrift, town and +country, forge and field, met in a furious grapple that promised to be +final. + +If, amid the dust of such a conflict, the riot at Riddsley obtained a +passing notice in London, intense it may be believed was the +excitement which it caused in the borough. Hatton and Banfield and +their men went about, vowing to take vengeance at the hustings. The +mayor went about, swearing in constables. The farmers and their allies +went about grinning. Fights took place nightly behind the Packhorse +and the Portcullis, while very old ladies, peering over their blinds, +talked of the French Revolution, and very young ones thought that the +Militia, adequately officered, should be brought into the town. + +The spirit of which Basset had given proof was blazoned about; and he +gained in another way. He was one of those to whom a spice of danger +is a fillip, whom a little peril shakes out of themselves. On the day +after the riot he came upon a score of people collected round a Cheap +Jack in the market. The man presently closed his patter and his stall, +and, on the impulse of the moment, Basset took his place and made the +crowd a speech as short as it was simple. He told them that in his +opinion it was impossible to keep food out of the country by a tax +while Ireland was threatened by famine. Secondly, that the sacrifice +which Peel was making of his party, his reputation, and his +consistency was warrant that in his view the change was urgently +needed. Thirdly, he asked them whether the farmers were so prosperous +and the laborers so comfortable that change must be for the worse. But +here he came on delicate ground; murmurs arose and some hisses, and he +broke off good-humoredly, thanked the crowd, which had grown to a good +size, and, stepping down from his barrow, he walked away amid +plaudits. The thing was reported, and though the Tories sneered at it +as a hole-and-corner meeting, Farthingale held another view. He told +Mr. Stubbs that it was a neat thing--very well done. + +Stubbs grunted. "Will it change a vote?" he growled. + +"Change a----" + +"Will it change a vote, man? You heard what I said." + +"Lord, no!" the clerk answered. "I never said it would!" + +"Then why trouble about it?" Stubbs retorted fretfully. "Get on with +those poll-cards! I don't pay you a guinea a day at election time to +praise monkey-tricks." + +For Stubbs was not happy. He knew, indeed, that the breaking-up of the +open-air meeting had been fairly successful. It had brought back two +votes to the fold; and he calculated that the seat would be held. But +by a majority how narrow, how fallen, how discreditable! He blushed to +think of it. + +And other things made him unhappy. Those who are politicians by trade +are like cardplayers, who play for the game's sake; one game lost, +they cut and deal as keenly as before. Behind the politicians, +however, are a few to whom the stake is something; and of these was +Stubbs. To him, as we know, the Corn-Tax was no mere toll, but the +protection of agriculture, the well-head that guarded the pure waters, +the fence that saved from smoke and steam, from slag-heap and +brickfield, the smiling face of England. For him, the home of his +fathers, the land of field and stubble, of plough and pinfold, was at +stake; nay, was passing, wasted by men who thought in percentages and +saw no farther than the columns of their ledgers. To that England of +his memory--whether it had ever existed in fact or no--a hundred +associations bound the lawyer; things tender and things true; quaint +memories of his first turkey's nest, of the last load of the harvest, +of the loosened plough horses straying to the water at the close of +day, of the flat paintings of the Durham Ox and the Coke Ram that +adorned the farm parlor. + +To the men who bade him look up and see that in his Elysium the farmer +struggled and the laborer starved, his answer was short. "Better ten +shillings and fresh air, than shoddy dust and a pound a week!" + +In the country as a whole--and as time went on--he despaired of +success. But he found Lord George a leader after his own heart, and +many an evening he pored over the long paragraphs of his long-winded +speeches. When he heard that the owner of Crucifix had dismissed his +trainers, released his jockeys, sold his stud, and turned his back on +the turf, he could have wept. Lord George and Stubbs, indeed, were the +true country party. For Lord George's sake Stubbs was prepared to +taken even the "Jew boy" to his heart. + +As to the potato famine, he did not believe a word of it. He called +the Premier, "Potato Peel!" + +The rains of February are apt to damp enthusiasm, but before eleven +o'clock on the nomination day Riddsley was like a hive of bees about +to swarm. The throng in the streets was such that Mottisfont could +hardly pass through it. He made his entry into the borough on +horseback at the head of a hundred mounted farmers wearing blue sashes +and favors. Before him reeled a huge banner upheld by eight men and +bearing on one side the legend, "The Land and the Constitution," on +the other, "Mottisfont the Farmers' Friend!" Behind the horsemen, and +surrounded by a guard of laborers in smocked frocks, moved a plough +mounted on a wain and drawn by eight farm horses. Flags with "Speed +the Plough," "England's Share is England's Fare," and "Peace and +Plenty," streamed from it. Three bands of varying degrees of badness +found their places where they could, and thumped and blared against +one another until the panes rattled in the deafened streets. The +butchers, with marrow-bones and cleavers, brought up the rear, and in +comparison were tuneful. + +Had Basset got his way, he would have dispensed with pomp and walked +the hundred yards which separated his quarters at the Swan from the +hustings. But he was told that this would never do. What would the +landlord of the Swan say, who kept postchaises? And the postboys who +looked for a golden tip? And the men who would hand him in and hand +him out, and the men who would open the door and shut the door, and +the men who would raise the steps and lower the steps, who would all +look for the same tip? So, perforce, he drove in state to the Town +Hall--before which the hustings stood--in a barouche and four +accompanied by Banfield and Hatton and his agent. The rest of his +Committee followed in postchaises. A bodyguard of "hands" escorted +them, and they, too, had their bands--of equal badness--and their +yellow banners with "Down with the Corn Laws," "Vote for Basset the +Poor Man's Friend," and "No Bread Taxes." The great and little loaf +pranced in front of him on spears, and if his procession was not quite +so fine or so large as his opponent's, it must be admitted that the +blackguards of the town showed no preference and that he could boast +about an equal number of the tagrag and bobtail. + +The left hand of the hustings was allotted to him, the right hand to +Mottisfont, and by a little after eleven both parties had crammed and +crushed, + + + With blustering, bullying, and brow-beating, + A little pummelling and maltreating, + And elbowing, jostling and cajoling, + + +into their places in front of the platform, the bullies and +truncheon-men being posted well to the fore, or craftily ranged where +the frontiers met. The bands boomed and blared, the men huzzaed, the +air shook, the banners waved, every window that looked out upon the +seething mob was white with faces, every 'vantage-point was occupied. +It was such a day and such a contest as Riddsley had never seen. The +eyes of the country, it was felt, were upon it! Fights took place +every five minutes, oaths and bets flew like hail over the heads of +the crowd, coarse wit met coarser nicknames, and now and again shrieks +varied the hubbub as the huge press of people, gathered from miles +round, swayed under the impact of some vicious rush. + +"Hurrah! Hurrah! Mottisfont for ever! Basset! Basset and the Big Loaf! +Basset! Basset! Hurrah! Mottisfont! Hurrah!" + +Then, in a short-lived silence, "Ten to one on Mottisfont! Three +cheers for the Duke!" and a roar of laughter. + +Or a hundred voices would raise + + + John Barley-corn, my Joe, John! + When we were first acquaint! + + +but never got beyond the first two lines, either because they were +howled down or they knew no more of the words. The Peelites answered +with their mournful, + + + Child, is thy father dead? + Father is gone! + Why did they tax his bread? + God's will be done! + + +or with the quicker, + + + Oh, landlords' devil take + Thy own elect I pray! + Who taxed our cake, and took our cake, + And threw our cake away! + + +On this would ensue a volley of personalities. "What would you be +without your starch, Hayward?" "How's your dad, Farthingale?" "Who +whopped his wife last Saturday?" "Hurrah! Hurrah! Who said Potatoes?" + +For nearly an hour this went on, the blare of the bands, the uproar, +the cheering, the abuse never ceasing. Then the town-crier appeared +upon the vacant hustings. He rang his bell for silence and for a +moment obtained it. On his heels entered, first the mayor and his +assistants, then the candidates, the proposers, the seconders. Each, +as he made his appearance, was greeted with a storm of groans, cheers, +and cat-calls. Each put on to meet it such a show of ease as he could, +some smiling, some affecting ignorance. The candidates and their +supporters filed to either side, while the flustered mayor took his +stand in the middle with the town clerk at his elbow. + +Basset, nearly at the end of his troubles, sought comfort in looking +beyond the present moment. He feared that he was not likely to win, +but he had done his duty, he had made his effort, and soon he would be +free to repeat that effort on a smaller stage. Soon, these days, that +in horror rivalled the middle passage of the slave trade, would be +over, and if he were not elected he would be free to retire to Blore, +and to spend days, lonely and sad indeed, but clean, in the +improvement of his acres and his people. His eyes dwelt upon the sea +of faces, and from time to time he smiled; but his mind was far away. +He thought with horror of elections, and with loathing of the sordid +round of flattery and handshaking, of bribery and intimidation from +which he emerged. Thank God, the morrow would see the end! He would +have done his best, and played his part. And it would be over. + +What the mayor said and what the town clerk said is of no importance, +for no one heard them. The proposers, the seconders, the candidates, +all spoke in dumb show. Basset dwelt briefly on the crisis in Ireland, +the integrity of Peel, and the doubtful wisdom of taxing that which, +to the poorest, was a necessity of life. If bread were cheaper all +would have more to spend on other things and the farmer would have a +wider market for his meat, his wool, and his cheese. It read well in +the local paper. + +But one man was heard. This was a man who was not expected to speak, +whose creed it had ever been that speeches were useless, and whom +tradition almost forbade to speak, for he was an agent. At the last +moment, when a seconder for a formal motion was needed, he thrust +himself forward to the astonishment of all. The same astonishment +stilled the mob as they gazed on the well-known figure. For a minute +or two, curiosity and the purpose in the man's face, held even his +opponents silent. + +The man was Stubbs; and from the moment he showed himself it was plain +that he was acting under the stress of great emotion. The very +fuglemen forgot to interrupt him. They scented something out of the +common. + +"I have never spoken on the hustings in my life," he said. "I speak +now to warn you. I believe that you, the electors of Riddsley, are +going to sell the birthright of health which you have received; and +the heritage of freedom which this land has enjoyed for generations +and on which the power of Bonaparte broke as on a rock. You think you +are going to have cheap bread, and, maybe, you are! But at what a +cost! Cheap bread is foreign bread. To you, the laborers, I say that +foreign bread means that the fields you till will be laid to grass and +you will go to work in Dudley and Walsall and Bury and Bolton, in +mills and pits and smoke and dust! And your children will be dwarfed +and wizened and puny! Foreign bread means that. And it means that the +day will come when war will cut off your bread and you will starve; or +the will of the foreigner who feeds you will cut it off--for he will +be your master. I say, grow your own bread and eat your own bread, and +you will be free men. Eat foreign bread and in time you will be +slaves! No land that is fed by another land----" + +His last words were lost. Signals from furious principals roused the +fuglemen, and he was howled down, and stood back ashamed of the +impulse which had moved him and little less astonished than those +about him. Young Mottisfont clapped him on the back and affected to +make much of him. But even he hardly knew how to take it. Some said +that Stubbs had had tears in his eyes, while the opposing agent +whispered to his neighbor that the lawyer was breaking and would never +handle another contest. Sober men shook their heads; agents should +hardly be seen, much less heard! + +But Stubbs's words were marked, and when the bad times came thirty +years later, aged farmers recalled them and thought over them. Nor +were they without fruit at the time. For next morning when the poll +opened, Basset's people suffered a shock. Two men on whom he had +counted appeared and voted short and sharp for Mottisfont. Basset's +agent asked them pleasantly if they were not making a mistake; and +then less pleasantly had the Bribery Oath administered to them. But +they stuck to their guns, the votes were recorded, and Mottisfont +shook hands with them. Later in the day when the two were fuddled they +denied that they had voted for Mottisfont. They had voted for old +Stubbs--and they would do it again and fight any man who said to the +contrary. Their desire in this direction was quickly met, and both, to +the indignation of the Tories, were fined five shillings at the next +petty sessions. + +Whether this start gave the Protectionists a fillip or no, they were +in great spirits, and Mottisfont was up and down shaking hands all the +morning. At noon the figures as exhibited outside the Mottisfont +Committee-room--amid tremendous cheering--were: + + + Mottisfont . . . 41 + Basset . . . . . 30 + + +though Basset outside his Committee-room claimed one more. Soon after +twelve Hatton brought up the two Boshams in his carriage, and Ben, +recovered from his fright, flung his hat before him into the booth, +danced a war-dance on the steps, and gave three cheers for Basset as +he came down. Banfield brought up three more voters in his carriage +and thence onward until one o'clock the polling was rapid. The one +o'clock board showed: + + + Mottisfont . . . 60 + Basset . . . . . 57 + + +with seventy votes to poll. The Mottisfont party began to look almost +as blue as their favors, but Stubbs, returned to his senses, continued +to read his newspaper in a closet behind the Committee-room, as if +there were no contest within a hundred miles of Riddsley. + +During the next three hours little was done. The poll-clerks sent +out for pots of beer, the watchers drowsed, the candidates were +invisible--some said that they had gone to dine with the mayor. The +bludgeon-men and blackguards went home to sleep off their morning's +drink, and to recruit themselves for the orgy of the Chairing. The +crowd before the polling booth shrank to a knot of loafing lads and a +stray dog. At four Mottisfont still held the lead with 64 to 61. + +But as the clock struck four the town awoke. Word went round that +a message from Sir Robert Peel would be read outside Basset's +Committee-room. Hearers were whipped up, and the message, having been +read with much parade, was posted up through the town and as promptly +pulled down. Animated by the message, and making as much of it as if +it had not been held back for the purpose, the Peelites polled +five-and-twenty votes in rapid succession, and at half-past four +issued a huge placard with: + + + Basset . . . . . 87 + Mottisfont . . . 83 + Vote for Basset and the Big Loaf! + Basset wins! + + +Great was the enthusiasm, loud the cheering, vast the stir outside +their Committee-room. The Big and the Little Loaf waltzed out on their +poles. The placard, mounted as a banner, was entrusted to the two +Boshams. The band was ready, a dozen flares were ready, the Committee +were ready, all was ready for a last rally which might decide the one +or two doubtful voters. All was ready, but where was Mr. Basset? Where +was the candidate? + +He could not be found, and great was the hubbub, vast the running to +and fro. "The Candidate? Where's the Candidate?" One ran to the Swan, +another to the polling-booth, a third to his agent's office. He could +not be found. All that was known of him or could be learned was that a +tall man, who looked like an undertaker, had stopped him near the +polling-booth and had kept him in talk for some minutes. From that +time he had been seen by no one. + +Foul play was talked of, and the search went on, but meantime the +procession--the poll closed at half-past six--must start if it was to +do any good. It did so, and with its flares, its swaying placard, its +running riff-raff, now luridly thrown up by the lights, now lost in +shadow, formed the most picturesque scene that the election had +witnessed. The absence of the candidate was a drawback, and some shook +their heads over it. But the more knowing put their tongues in their +cheeks, aware that whether he were there or not, and whether they +marched or stayed at home, neither side would be a vote the better! + +At half--past five the figures were, + + Basset . . . . . 87 + + Mottisfont . . . 86 + + +There were still fourteen votes to poll, and on the face of things +victory hung in the balance. + +But at that hour Stubbs moved. He laid down his newspaper, gave +Farthingale an order, took up a slip of paper and his hat, and went by +way of the darkest street to The Butterflies. He walked thoughtfully, +with his chin on his breast, as if he had no great appetite for the +interview before him. By the time he reached the house the poll stood +at + + + Mottisfont . . . 96 + Basset . . . . . 87 + + +And long and loud was the cheering, wild the triumph of the landed +interest. The town was fuller than ever, for during the last hour the +farmers and their men had trooped in, Brown Heath had sent its +colliers, and a crowd filling every yard of space within eye-shot of +the polling-booth greeted the news. To hell with Peel! Down with +Cobden! Away with the League! Hurrah! Hurrah! Stubbs, had he been +there, would have been carried shoulder-high. Old Hayward was lifted +and carried, old Musters of the Audley Arms, one or two of the +Committee. It was known that four votes only remained unpolled, so +that Mottisfont's victory was secure. + +At The Butterflies, whither the cheering of the crowd came in gusts +that rose and fell by turns, Stubbs nodded to the maid and went up the +stairs unannounced. Audley was writing at a side-table facing the +room. He looked up eagerly. "Well?" he said, putting down his quill. +"Is it over?" + +Stubbs laid the slip of paper before him. "It's not over, my lord," he +answered soberly. "But that is the result. I am sorry that it is no +better." + +Audley looked at the paper. "Nine!" he exclaimed. He looked at Stubbs, +he looked again at the paper. "Nine? Good G--d, man, you don't mean +it? You can't mean it! You don't mean that that is the best we could +do?" + +"We hold the seat, my lord," Stubbs said. + +"Hold the seat!" Audley replied, staring at him with furious eyes. +"Hold the seat? But I thought that it was a safe seat? I thought that +it was a seat that couldn't be lost! When five, only five, votes would +have cast it the other way! Why, man, you cannot have known anything +about it! No more about it than the first man in the street!" + +"My lord----" + +"Not a jot more!" Audley repeated. He had been prepared for something +like this, but the certainty that if he had cast his weight on the +other side, the side that had sinecures and places and pensions, he +would have turned the scale--this was too much for his temper. "Nine!" +he rapped out with another oath. "I can only think that the Election +has been mismanaged! Grievously, grievously mismanaged, Mr. Stubbs!" + +"If your lordship thinks so----" + +"I do!" Audley retorted, his certainty that the man before him had +thwarted his plans, carrying him farther than he intended. "I do! +Nine! Good G--d, man! When you assured me----" + +"Whatever I assured your lordship," Stubbs said firmly, "I believed. +And--no, my lord, you must allow me to speak now--what I promised +would have been borne out--fully borne out by the result in normal +times. But I did not allow enough for the split in the party, nor for +the wave of madness----" + +"As you think it!" + +"And surely as your lordship also thinks it!" Stubbs rejoined smartly, +"that has swept over the country! In these circumstances it is +something to hold the seat, which a return to sanity will certainly +assure to us at the next election." + +"The next election!" Audley muttered scornfully. For the moment he was +too angry to play a part or to drape his feelings. + +"But if your lordship is dissatisfied----" + +"Dissatisfied? I am d--nably dissatisfied." + +"Then your lordship has the power," Stubbs said slowly, "to dispense +with my services." + +"I know that, sir." + +"And if you do not think fit to take that step, my lord----" + +"I shall consider it!" + +Another word or two and the deed had been done, for both men were too +angry to fence. But before that last word was spoken Audley's man +entered. He handed a card to his master and waited. + +Audley looked at the card longer than was necessary and under cover of +the pause regained control of himself. "Who brought this?" he asked. + +"A messenger from the Swan, my lord." + +"Tell him----" He broke off. Holding out the card for Stubbs to take, +"Do you know anything about this?" he asked. + +Stubbs returned the card. "No, my lord," he said coldly. "I know +nothing." + +"Business of great importance to me? D--n his impudence, what business +important to me can he have?" Audley muttered. Then, "My compliments +to Mr. Basset and I am leaving in the morning, but I shall be at home +this evening at nine." + +The servant retired. Audley looked askance at his agent. "You'd better +be here," he muttered ungraciously. "We can settle what we were +talking about later." + +"Very good, my lord," Stubbs answered. And nothing more being said, he +took himself off. + +He was not sorry that they had been interrupted. Much of his income +and more of his importance sprang from the Audley agency, but rather +than be treated as if he were a servant, he would surrender both--in +his way he was a proud man. Still he did not want to give up either; +and if time were given he thought that his lordship would think better +of the matter. + +As he returned to his office, choosing the quiet streets by which +he had come, he had a glimpse, through an opening, of the distant +Market-place. A sound of cheering, a glare of smoky light, a medley of +leaping, running forms, a something uplifted above the crowd, moved +across his line of vision. Almost as quickly it vanished, leaving only +the reflection of retreating torches. "Hurrah! Hurrah for Mottisfont! +Hurrah!" Still the cheering came faintly to his ears. + +He sighed. Riddsley had remained faithful-by nine! But he did not +deceive himself. It was the writing on the wall. The Corn Laws were +doomed, and with them much that he had loved, much that he cherished, +much in which he believed. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVII + + A TURN OF THE WHEEL + + +Audley was suspicious and ill at ease. Standing on the hearth-rug with +his back to the fire, he fixed the visitor with his eyes, and with +secret anxiety asked himself what he wanted. The possibility that +Basset came to champion Mary had crossed his mind more than once; if +that were so he would soon dispose of him! In the meantime he took +civility for his cue, exchanged an easy word or two about the poll and +the election, and between times nodded to Stubbs to be seated. Through +all, his eyes were watchful and he missed nothing. + +"I asked Mr. Stubbs to be here," he said when a minute or two had been +spent in this by-play, "as you spoke of business. You don't object?" + +"Not at all," Basset replied. His face was grave. "I should tell you +at once, Audley," he added, "that my mission is not a pleasant one." + +The other raised his eyebrows. "You are sure that it concerns me?" + +"It certainly concerns you. Though, as things stand, not very +materially. I knew nothing of the matter myself until three o'clock +to-day, and at first I doubted if it was my duty to communicate it. +But the facts are known to a third person, they may be used to annoy +you in the future, and though the task is unpleasant, I decided that I +had no option." + +Audley set his broad shoulders against the mantel-shelf. "But if the +facts don't affect me?" he said. + +"In a way they do. Not as they might under other circumstances. That +is all." + +"And yet you are making our hair stand on end! I confess you puzzle +me. Well, let us have it. What is it all about?" + +"A little time ago you recovered, if you remember, your Family Bible." +"Well? What of that?" + +"I have just learned that the man did not hand over all that he had. +He kept back--it now appears--certain papers." + +"Ah!" Audley's voice was stern. "Well, he has had his chance. This +time, I can promise him a warrant will follow." + +"Perhaps you will hear me out first?" + +"No," was the sharp reply. Audley's temper was getting the better of +him. "Last time, my dear fellow, you compounded with him; your motive +an excellent one I don't doubt. But if he now thinks to get more money +from me--and for other papers--I can promise him that he will see the +inside of Stafford gaol. Besides, my good friend, you gave us to +understand that he had surrendered all he had." + +"I am afraid I did, and I fear I was wrong. Why he deceived me, and +has now turned about, I know no more than you do!" + +"I think I can enlighten you," the other answered--his fears as well +as his temper were aroused. "The rogue is shallow. He thinks to be +paid twice. Once by you and once by me. But you can tell him that this +time he will be paid in other coin." + +"I'm afraid that there is more in it than that," Basset said. "The +fact is the papers he now produces, Audley, are of another character." + +"Oh! The wind blows in that quarter, does it?" my lord replied. "You +don't mean that you've come here--why, d--n it, man," with sudden +passion, "either you are very simple, or you are art and part----" + +"Steady, steady, my lord," Stubbs said, interposing discreetly. +Hitherto he had not spoken. "There's no need to quarrel! I am sure +that Mr. Basset's intentions are friendly. It will be better if he +just tells us what these documents are which are now put forward. We +shall then be able to judge where we stand." + +"Go ahead," Audley said, averting his face and sulkily relapsing +against the mantel-shelf. "Put your questions! And, for God's sake, +let's get to the point!" + +"The paper that is pertinent is a deed," Basset explained. "I have the +heads of it here. A deed made between Peter Paravicini Audley, your +ancestor, the Audley the date of whose marriage has been always in +issue--between him on the one side, and his father and two younger +brothers on the other." + +"What is the date?" Stubbs asked. + +"Seventeen hundred and four." + +"Very good, Mr. Basset." Stubbs's tone was now as even as he could +make it, but an acute listener would have detected a change in it. +"Proceed, if you please." + +Before Basset could comply, my lord broke in. "What's the use of this? +Why the d--l are we going into it?" he cried. "If this man is out for +plunder I will make him smart as sure as my name is Audley! And any +one who supports him. In the meantime I want to hear no more of it!" + +Basset moved in his chair as if he would rise. Stubbs intervened. + +"That is one way of looking at it, my lord," he said temperately. "And +I'm not saying that it is the wrong way. But I think we had better +hear what Mr. Basset has to say. He is probably deceived----" + +"He has let himself be used as a catspaw!" Audley cried. His face was +flushed and there was an ugly look in his eyes. + +"But he means us well, I am sure," the lawyer interposed. "At present +I don't see"--he turned and carefully snuffed one of the candles--"I +don't see----" + +"I think you do!" Basset answered. He had had a long day and he had +come on an unpleasant business. His own temper was not too good. "You +see this, at any rate, Mr. Stubbs, that such a deed may be of vital +import to your client." + +"To me?" Audley exclaimed. Was it possible that the thing he had so +long feared--and had ceased to fear--was going to befall him? Was it +possible that at the eleventh hour, when he had burnt his boats, when +he had thought all danger at an end--no, it was impossible! "To me?" +he repeated passionately. + +"Yes," Basset replied. "Or, rather, it would be of vital import to you +in other circumstances." + +"In what other circumstances? What do you mean?" + +"If you were not about to marry the only person who, with you, is +interested." + +Audley cut short, by a tremendous effort, the execration that burst +from his lips. His face, always too fleshy for his years, swelled till +it was purple. Then, and as quickly, the blood ebbed, leaving it gray +and flabby. He would have given much, very much at this moment to be +able to laugh or to utter a careless word. But he could do neither. +The blow had been too sudden, too heavy, too overwhelming. Only in his +nightmares had he seen what he saw now! + +Meanwhile Stubbs, startled by the half-uttered oath and a little out +of his depth--for he had heard nothing of the engagement--intervened. +"I think, my lord," he said, "you had better leave this to me. I think +you had, indeed. We are quite in the dark and we are not getting +forward. Let us have the facts, Mr. Basset. What is the gist of this +deed? Or, first, have you seen it?" + +"I have." + +"And read it?" + +"I have." + +"It appears to you--I only say it appears--to be genuine?" + +"I have no doubt that it is genuine," Basset replied. "It bears the +marks of age, and it was found in the chest with the old Bible. If the +book is genuine----" + +The lawyer raised his hand. "Too fast," he said. "You say it was +found! You mean that this man says it was found?" + +"Yes." + +"Precisely. But there is a difference. Still, we have cleared the +ground. Now, what does this deed purport to be?" + +Basset produced a slip of paper. "An agreement," he read from it, +"between Peter Paravicini Audley and his father and his two younger +brothers. After admitting that the entry of the marriage in the +register is misleading and that no marriage took place until after the +birth of his son, Peter Paravicini undertakes that, in consideration +of his father and his brothers taking no action and making no attack +upon his wife's reputation, she being their cousin, he will not set up +for the said son, or the issue of the said son, any claim to the title +or estates." + +Audley listened to the description, so clear and so precise, and he +recognized that it tallied with the deed which tradition had always +held to exist but of which John Audley had been able to give no proof. +He heard, he understood; yet while he listened and understood, his +mind was working to another end, and viewing with passion the tragedy +which fate had prepared for him. Too late! Too late! Had this become +known a week, only a week, earlier, how lightly had the blow fallen! +How impotently! But he had cut the rope, he had severed the strands +once carefully twisted, that bound him to safety! And then the irony, +the bitterness, the cruelty of those words of Basset's, "in other +circumstances!" They bit into his mind. + +Still he suffered in silence, and only his stillness and his unhealthy +color betrayed the despair that gripped and benumbed his soul. Stubbs +did not look at him; perhaps he was careful not to look at him. The +lawyer sat thinking and drumming gently with his fingers on the table. +"Just so, just so," he said presently. "On the face of it, the +document of which Mr. John Audley tried to give secondary evidence, +and which a person fraudulently inclined would of course concoct. That +touch of the cousin well brought in!" + +"But the lady was his cousin," Basset said. + +"All the world knows it," the lawyer retorted coolly, "and use has +been made of the knowledge. But, of course, there are a hundred things +to be proved before any weight can be given to this document; its +origin, the custody from which it comes, the signatures, the +witnesses. Its production by a man who has once endeavored to +blackmail is alone suspicious. And the deed itself is at variance with +the evidence of the Bible." + +"But that variance bears out the deed, which is to secure the younger +sons' rights while covering the reputation of the lady." + +The lawyer shook his head. "Very clever," he said. "But, frankly, the +matter has an ugly look, Mr. Basset." + +"Lord Audley says nothing," Basset replied, nettled by the lawyer's +phrase. + +"And will say nothing," Stubbs rejoined genially, "if he is advised by +me. In the circumstances, as I understand them, he is not affected as +he might be, but this is still a serious matter. We are not +quarrelling with you for coming to us, Mr. Basset. On the contrary. +But I would like to know why the man came to you." + +"The answer is simple," Basset explained. "I am Mr. Audley's executor. +On his account, I am obliged to be interested. The moment I learned +this I saw that, be it true or false, I must disclose it to Miss +Audley. But I thought it fair to open it to Lord Audley first that he +might tell the young lady himself, if he preferred to do so." + +Stubbs nodded. "Very proper," he replied. "And where, in the meantime, +is this--precious document?" + +"I lodged it with Mr. Audley's bankers this afternoon." + +Stubbs nodded again. "Also very proper," he said. "Just so." + +Basset rose. "I've told you what I know. If there is nothing more?" he +said. He looked at Audley, who had turned his back on them and, with +his hands in his pockets and one foot on the fender, was gazing into +the fire. + +"I think that's all," Stubbs hastened to say. "I am sure that his +lordship is obliged to you, Mr. Basset, though it is a hundred to one +that there is nothing in this." + +At that, however, Audley turned about. He had pulled himself together, +and his manner was excellent. "I would like to say that for myself," +he said frankly, "I owe you many thanks for the straightforward course +you have taken, Basset. You must pardon my momentary annoyance. +Perhaps you will kindly keep this business to yourself for--shall we +say--three days? I will speak myself to my cousin, but I should like +to make one or two inquiries first." + +Basset agreed willingly. He hated the whole thing and his part in it. +It forced him to champion, or to seem to champion, Mary against her +betrothed; and so set him in that kind of opposition to his rival +which he loathed. It was only after some hesitation that he had +determined to see Audley, and now that he had seen him, the sooner he +was clear of the matter the happier he would be. So, "Certainly," he +repeated, thinking that the other was taking it very well. "And now, +as I have had a hard day, I will say good-night." + +"Good-night, and believe me," my lord added warmly, "we recognize the +friendliness of your action." + +Outside, in the darkness of the road, Basset drew a breath of relief. +He had had a hard day and he was utterly weary. But he had come now, +thank God, to an end of many things; of the canvass he had detested +and the contest in which he had been beaten; of his relations with +Mary, whom he had lost; of this imbroglio, which he hated; of Riddsley +and the Gatehouse and the old life there! He could go to his inn and +sleep the clock round. In his bed he would be safe, he would be free +from troubles. It seemed to him a refuge. Till the morrow he need +think of nothing, and when he came forth again it would be to a new +life. Henceforth Blore, his old house and his starved acres must bound +his ambitions. With the money which John Audley had left him he would +dig and drain and fence and build, and be by turns Talpa the mole and +Castor the beaver. In time, as he began to see the fruit of his toil, +he would win to some degree of content, and be glad, looking back, +that he had made this trial of his powers, this essay towards a wider +usefulness. So, in the end, he would come through to peace. + +But at this point the current of his thoughts eddied against Toft, and +he cursed the man anew. Why had he played these tricks? Why had he +kept back this paper? Why had he produced it now and cast on others +this unpleasant task? + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVIII + + TOFT'S LITTLE SURPRISE + + +Toft had gone into Riddsley on the polling-day, but had returned +before the result was known. "What the man was thinking of," his wife +declared in wrath, "beats me! To be there hours and hours and come out +no wiser than he went, and we waiting to hear--a babe would ha' had +more sense! The young master that we've known all our lives, to be in +or out, and we to know nothing till morning! It passes patience!" + +Mary had her own feelings, but she concealed them. "He must know how +it was going when he left?" she said. + +"He doesn't know an identical thing!" Mrs. Toft replied. "And all he'd +say was, 'There, there, what does it matter?' For all the world as if +he spoke to a child! 'What else matters, man?' says I. 'What did you +go for?' But there, Miss, he's beyond me these days! I believe he's +going like the poor master, that had a bee in his bonnet, God forgive +me for saying it! But what'd one not say, and we to wait till morning +not knowing whether those plaguy Repealers are in or out!" + +"But Mr. Basset is for Repeal," Mary said. + +"What matter what he's for, if he's in?" Mrs. Toft replied loftily. +"But to wait till morning to know--the man's no better than a numps!" + +In the end, it was Mr. Colet who brought the news to the Gatehouse. He +brought it to Etruria and so much of moment with it that before noon +the election result had been set aside as a trifle, and Mary found +herself holding a kind of court in the parlor--Mr. Colet plaintiff, +Etruria defendant, Mrs. Toft counsel for the defence. Absence had but +strengthened Mr. Colet's affection, and he came determined to come to +an understanding with his mistress. He saw his way to making a small +income by writing sermons for his more indolent brethren, and, in the +meantime, Mr. Basset was giving him food and shelter; in return he was +keeping Mr. Basset's accounts, and he was saving a little, a very +little, money. But the body of his plea rested not on these counts, +but on the political change. Repeal was in the air, repeal was in the +country. Vote as Riddsley might, the Corn Laws were doomed. His +opinions would no longer be banned; they would soon be the opinions of +the majority, and with a little patience he might find a new curacy. +When that happened he wished to marry Etruria. + +"And why not?" Mary asked. + +"I will never marry him to disgrace him," Etruria replied. She stood +with bowed head, her hands clasped before her, her beautiful eyes +lowered. + +"But you love him?" Mary said, blushing at her own words. + +"If I did not love him I might marry him," Etruria rejoined. "I am a +servant, my father's a servant. I should be wronging him, and he would +live to know it." + +"To my way o' thinking, 'Truria's right," her mother said. "I never +knew good come of such a marriage! He's poor, begging his reverence's +pardon, but, poor or rich, his place is there." She pointed to the +table. "And 'Truria's place is behind his chair." + +"But you forget," Mary said, "that when she is Mr. Colet's wife her +place will be by his side." + +"And much good that'll do him with the parsons and such like, as are +all gleg together! If he's in their black books for preaching too +free--and when you come to tithes one parson is as like another as +pigs o' the same litter--he'll not better himself by taking such as +Etruria, take my word for it, Miss!" + +"I will never do it," said Etruria. + +"But," Mary protested, "Mr. Colet need not live here, and in another +part people will not know what his wife has been. Etruria has good +manners and some education, Mrs. Toft, and what she does not know she +will learn. She will be judged by what she is. If there is a drawback, +it is that such a marriage will divide her from you and from her +father. But if you are prepared for that?" + +Mrs. Toft rubbed her nose. "We'd be willing if that were all," she +said. "She'd come to us sometimes, and there'd be no call for us to go +to her." + +Mr. Colet looked at Etruria. "If Etruria will come to me," he said, "I +will be ashamed neither of her nor her parents." + +"Bravely said!" Mary cried. + +"But there's more to it than that," Mrs. Toft objected. "A deal more. +Mr. Colet nor 'Truria can't live upon air. And it's my opinion that if +his reverence gets a curacy, he'll lose it as soon as it's known who +his wife is. And he can't dig and he can't beg, and where'll they be +with the parsons all sticking to one another as close as wax?" + +"He'll not need them!" replied a new speaker, and that speaker was +Toft. He had entered silently, none of them had seen him, and the +interruption took them aback. "He'll not need them," he repeated, "nor +their curacies. He'll not need to dig nor beg. There's changes coming. +There's changes coming for more than him, Miss. If Mr. Colet's willing +to take my girl she'll not go to him empty-handed." + +"I will take her as she stands," Mr. Colet said, his eyes shining. +"She knows that." + +"Well, you'll take her, sir, asking your pardon, with what I give +her," Toft answered. "And that'll be five hundred pounds that I have +in hand, and five hundred more that I look to get. Put 'em together +and they'll buy what's all one with a living, and you'll be your own +rector and may snap your fingers at 'em!" + +They stared at the man, while Mrs. Toft, in an awestruck tone, cried, +"You're out of your mind, Toft! Five hundred pounds! Whoever heard of +the like of us with that much money?" + +"Silence, woman," Toft said. "You know naught about it." + +"But, Toft," Mary said, "are you in earnest? Do you understand what a +large sum of money this is?" + +"I have it," the man replied, his sallow cheek reddening. "I have it, +and it's for Etruria." + +"If this be true," Mr. Colet said slowly, "I don't know what to say, +Toft." + +"You've said all that is needful, sir," Toft replied. "It's long +I've looked forward to this. She's yours, and she'll not come to you +empty-handed, and you'll have no need to be ashamed of a wife that +brings you a living. We'll not trouble except to see her at odd times +in the year. It will be enough for her mother and me that she'll be a +lady. She never was like us." + +"Hear the man!" cried Mrs. Toft between admiration and protest. "You'd +suppose she wasn't our child!" + +But Mary went to him and gave him her hand. "That's very fine, Toft," +she said. "I believe Etruria will be as happy as she is good, and Mr. +Colet will have a wife of whom he may be proud. But Etruria will not +be Etruria if she forgets her parents or your gift. Only you are sure +that you are not deceiving yourself?" + +"There's my bank-book to show for half of it," Toft replied. "The +other half is as certain if I live three months!" + +"Well, I declare!" Mrs. Toft cried. "If anybody'd told me yesterday +that I'd have--'Truria, han't you got a word to say?" + +Etruria's answer was to throw her arms round her father's neck. Yet +it is doubtful if the moment was as much to her as to the ungainly, +grim--visaged man, who looked so ill at ease in her embrace. + +The contrast between them was such that Mary hastened to relieve the +sufferer. "Etruria will have more to say to Mr. Colet," she said, +"than to us. Suppose we leave them to talk it over." + +She saw the Tofts out after another word or two, and followed them. +"Well, well, well!" said Mrs. Toft, when they stood in the hall. "I'm +sure I wish that everybody was as lucky this day--if all's true as +Toft tells us." + +"There's some in luck that don't know it!" the man said oracularly. +And he slid away. + +"If he said black was white, I'd believe him after this," his wife +exclaimed, "asking your pardon, Miss, for the liberties we've taken! +But you'd always a fancy for 'Truria. Anyway, if there's one will be +pleased to hear the news, it's the Squire! If I'd some of those nine +here that voted against him I'd made their ears burn!" + +"But perhaps they thought that Mr. Basset was wrong," Mary said. + +"What business had they o' thinking?" Mrs. Toft replied. "They had +ought to vote; that's enough for them." + +"Well, it does seem a pity," Mary allowed. And then, because she +fancied that Mrs. Toft looked at her with meaning, she went upstairs +and, putting on her hat and cloak, went out. The day was cold and +bright, a sprinkling of snow lay on the ground, and a walk promised +her an opportunity of thinking things over. Between the Butterflies, +at the entrance to the flagged yard, she hung a moment in doubt, then +she set off across the park in the direction of the Great House. + +At first her thoughts were busy with Etruria's fortunes and the +mysterious windfall which had enriched Toft. How had he come by it? +How could he have come by it? And was the man really sane? But soon +her mind took another turn. She had strayed this way on the morning +after her arrival at the Gatehouse, and, remembering this, she looked +across the gray, frost-bitten park, with its rows of leafless trees +and its naked vistas. Her mind travelled back to that happy morning, +and involuntarily she glanced behind her. + +But to-day no one followed her, no one was thinking of her. Basset was +gone, gone for good, and it was she who had sent him away. The May +morning when he had hurried after her, the May sunshine, gay with the +songs of larks and warm with the scents of spring were of the past. +To-day she looked on a bare, cold landscape and her thoughts matched +it. Yet she had no ground to complain, she told herself, no reason to +be unhappy. Things might have been worse, ah, so much worse, she +reflected. For a week ago she had been a captive, helpless, netted in +her own folly! And now she was free. + +Yes, she ought to be happy, being free; and, more than free, +independent. + +But she must go from here. And for many reasons the thought of going +was painful to her. During the nine months which she had spent at the +Gatehouse it had become a home. Its panelled rooms, its austerity, its +stillness, the ancient woodlands about it were endeared to her by the +memory of lamp-lit evenings and long summer days. The very plainness +and solitude of the life, which had brought the Tofts and Etruria so +near to her, had been a charm. And if her sympathy with her uncle had +been imperfect, still he had been her uncle and he had been kind to +her. + +All this she must leave, and something else which she did not define; +which was bound up with it, and which she had come to value when it +was too late. She had taken brass for gold, and tin for silver! And +now it was too late. So that it was no wonder that when she came to +the hawthorn-tree where she had gathered her may that morning, a sob +rose in her throat. She knew the tree! She had marked it often. But +to-day there was no one to follow her, no one to call her back, no one +to say that she should go no farther. Basset was gone, her uncle was +dead. + +Telling herself that, as she would never see it again, she would go as +far as the Great House, she pushed on to the Yew Walk. Its recesses +showed dark, the darker for the sprinkling of snow that lay in the +park. But it was high noon, there was nothing to fear, and she pursued +the path until she came to the crumbling monster that tradition said +was a butterfly. + +She was still viewing it with awe, thinking now of the duel which had +taken place there, now of her uncle's attack, when a bird moved in the +copse and she glanced nervously behind her, expecting she knew not +what. The dark yews shut her in, and involuntarily she shivered. What +if, in this solitary place--and then through the silence the sharp +click of the Iron Gate reached her ear. + +The stillness and the associations shook her nerves. She heard +footsteps and, hardly knowing what she feared, she slipped among the +trees and stood half-hidden. A moment passed and a man appeared. He +came from the Great House. He crossed the opening slowly, his chin +sunk upon his breast, his eyes bent on the path before him. A moment +and he was gone, the way she had come, without seeing her. + +It was Lord Audley, and foolish as the impulse to hide herself had +been, she blessed it. Nothing pleasant, nothing good, could have come +of their meeting; and into her thoughts of him had crept so much of +distaste that she was glad that she had not met him in this lonely +spot. She went on to the Iron Gate, and viewed for a few moments the +desolate lawn and the long, gaunt front. Then, reflecting that if she +turned back at once she might meet him, she took a side-path through +the plantation, and emerged on the park at another point. + +She was careful not to reach home until late in the day and then she +learned that he had called, that he had waited, and that in the end +Toft had seen him; and that he had departed in no good temper. "What +Toft said to him," Mrs. Toft reported, "I know no more than the moon, +but whatever it was his lordship marched off, Miss, as black as +thunder." + +After that nothing happened, and of the four at the Gatehouse Etruria +alone was content. Mrs. Toft was uneasy about the future--what were +they going to do?--and perplexed by Toft's mysterious fortune--how had +he come by it? Toft himself was on the rack, looking for things to +happen--and nothing happened. And Mary knew that she must take action. +She could not stay at the Gatehouse, she could not remain as the guest +either of Basset or of Lord Audley. + +But she did not know where to go, and no suggestion reached her. At +length she wrote, two days after Lord Audley's visit, to Quebec +Street, to the house where she had stayed with her father many years +before. It was the only address of the kind that she knew. But she +received no answer, and her heart sank. The difficulty, small as it +was, harassed her; she had no adviser, and ten times a day, to keep up +her spirits, she had tell herself that she was independent, that she +had eight thousand pounds, that the whole world was open to her, and +that compared with the penniless girl who had lived on the upper floor +of the Hôtel Lambert she was fortunate! + +But in the Hôtel Lambert she had had work to do, and here she had +none! + +She thought of taking rooms in Riddsley, but Lord Audley was there and +she shrank from meeting him. She would wait another week for the +answer from London, and then, if none came, she must decide what she +would do. But in her room that night the thought that Basset had +abandoned her, that he no longer cared, no longer desired to come near +her, broke her down. Of course, he was not to blame. He fancied her +still engaged to her cousin and receiving from him all the advice, all +the help, all the love, she needed. He fancied her happy and content, +in no need of him. And, alas, there was the pinch. She had written to +him to tell him of her engagement. She could not write to him to tell +him that it was at an end! + +And then, by the morrow's post, there came a long letter from Basset, +and in the letter the whole astonishing, overwhelming story of the +discovery of the document which John Audley had sought so long, and in +the end so disastrously. + + +"No doubt," the writer added, "Lord Audley has made you acquainted +with the facts, but I think it my duty as your uncle's executor to +lay them before you in detail and also to advise you that in your +interest and in view of the change in your position--and in Lord +Audley's--which this imports, it is proper that you should have +independent advice." + + +The blood ebbed and left Mary pale; it returned in a flood as with a +bounding heart and shaking fingers she read and turned and re-read +this letter. At length she grasped its meaning, and truly what +astounding, what overwhelming news! What a shift of fortune! What a +reversal of expectations! And how strangely, how singularly had all +things shaped themselves to bring this about--were it true! + +Unable to sit still, unable to control her excitement--and no +wonder--she rose and paced the floor. If she were indeed Lady Audley! +If this were indeed all hers! This dear house and the Great House! +This which had seemed to its possessor so small, so meagre, so +cramping an inheritance, but was to her fortune, an old name, a great +place, a firm position in the world! A position that offered so many +opportunities and so much power for good! + +She walked the room with throbbing pulses, the letter now crushed in +her hand, now smoothed out that she might assure herself of its +meaning, might read again some word or some sentence, might resolve +some doubt. Oh, it was a wonderful, it was a marvellous, it was an +incredible turn of fortune! And presently her mind began to deal with +and to sift the past. And, enlightened, she understood many of the +things that had perplexed her, and read many of the riddles that had +baffled her. And her cheeks burned, her heart was hot with +indignation. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIX + + THE DEED OF RENUNCIATION + + +Basset moved in his chair. He was unhappy and ill at ease. He looked +at the fire, he looked askance at Mary. "But do you mean," he said, +"that you knew nothing about this until you had my letter?" + +"Nothing," Mary answered, "not a word." She, too, found it more easy +to look at the fire. + +"You must have been very much surprised?" + +"I was. It was for that reason that I asked you to bring me the +papers--to bring me everything, so that I might see for myself how it +was." + +"I don't understand why Audley did not tell you. He said he would." + +It was the question Mary had foreseen and dreaded. She had slept two +nights upon the letter and given a long day's thought to it, and +she had made up her mind what she would do and how she would do it. +But between the planning and the doing there were passages which she +would fain have shunned, fain have omitted, had it been possible; and +this was one of them. She saw that there was nothing else for it, +however--the thing must be told, and told by her. She tried, and not +without success, to command her voice. "He did not tell me," she said. +"Indeed I have not seen him. And I ought to say, Mr. Basset, you ought +to know in these circumstances--that the engagement between my cousin +and myself is at an end." + +He may have started--he might well be astonished, in view of the +business which brought him there. But he did not speak, and Mary could +not tell what effect it had on him. She only knew that the silence +seemed age-long, the pause cruel, and that her heart was beating so +loudly that it seemed to her that he must hear it. At last, "Do you +mean," he asked, his voice muffled and uncertain, "that it is all over +between you?" + +"It is quite over between us," she answered soberly. "It was a mistake +from the beginning." + +"When--when did he----" + +"Oh, before this arose. Some time before this arose." She spoke +lightly, but her cheeks were hot. + +"He did not tell me." + +"No?" + +"No," Basset repeated. He spoke angrily, as if he felt this a +grievance, but in no other way could he have masked his emotion. +Perhaps he did not mask it altogether, for she was observing him--ah, +how keenly was she observing him! "On the contrary, he led me to +believe," he continued, "that things were as before between you, and +that he would tell you this himself. It was for that reason that I let +a week go by before I wrote to you." + +"Just so," she said, squeezing her handkerchief into a ball, and +telling herself that the worst was over now, the story told, that in +another minute this would be done and past. "Just so, I quite +understand. At any rate there is no longer any question of that, Mr. +Basset. And now," briskly, "may I see this famous deed which is to do +so much. You brought it with you, I hope?" + +"Yes, I brought it," he answered heavily. He took a packet of papers +from his breast-pocket, and it did not escape her--she was cooler +now--that his fingers were not as steady as a man's fingers should be. +The packet he brought out was tied about with old and faded green +ribbon, and bore a docket on the outside. She looked at it with +curiosity. That ribbon had been tied by a long-dead hand in the reign +of Queen Anne! Those yellowish papers had lain in damp and darkness a +hundred and forty years, that in the end they might take John Audley's +life! "I brought them from the bank this afternoon," he explained. +"They have been in the bank's custody since they were handed to me, +and I must return them to the bank to-night." + +"Everything depends upon them, I suppose?" + +"Everything." + +"But I thought that it was a deed--just one paper?" she said. + +"The actual instrument is a deed. This one!" He took it from the +series as he untied the packet. "The other papers are of value as +corroboration. They are letters, original letters, bearing on the +preparation of the agreement. They were found all together as they are +now, and in the same order. I did not disclose the letters to Audley, +or to his lawyer, because I had not then gone through them; nor was it +necessary to disclose them. I have since examined them, and they +provide ample proof of the genuineness of the deed." + +"So that you think...?" + +"I do not think that it can be contested. I am sure that it +cannot--with success. And if it be admitted, your opponent's case is +gone. It was practically common ground in the former suit that if this +agreement could be produced and proved his claim fell to the ground. +Yours remains. I do not suppose," Basset concluded, "that he will +contest it, save as a matter of form." + +"I am sorry for him," she said thoughtfully. And almost for the first +time her eyes met his. But he was not responsive. He shrugged his +shoulders. "He has had it long enough to feel the loss of it," she +continued, still bidding for his sympathy. "May I look at that +now--the deed?" She held out her hand. + +He gave it to her. It was a folded sheet of parchment, yellow with age +and not very large, perhaps ten inches square. Three or four seals of +green wax on ribbon ends dangled from it. It was written all over in a +fine and curious penmanship, its initial letter adorned with a +portrait of Queen Anne; altogether a pretty and delicate thing, but +small--so small, she thought, to effect so great a change, to carry, +to wreck, to make the fortunes of a house! + +She handled it gently, almost fearfully, with awe and a little +distaste. She turned it, she read the signatures. They were clear but +faint. The ink had turned brown. + +"Peter Paravicini Audley," she murmured. "He must have signed it +sadly, to save his wife, his cousin, a young girl, a girl of my age +perhaps! To save her name!" There was a quaver in her voice. Basset +moved uncomfortably. + +"They are all dead," he said. + +"Yes, they are all dead," she agreed. "And their joys and failings, +hopes and fears--all dead! It seems a pity that this should live to +betray them." + +"Not a pity on your account." + +"No. You are glad, of course?" + +"That you should have your rights?" he said manfully. "Of course I +am." + +"And you congratulate me?" She rose and held out her hand. Her eyes +were shining, there were tears in them, and her face was marvellously +soft. "You will be the first, won't you, to congratulate me? You who +have done so much for me, you who have been my friend through all? You +who have brought me this? You will wish me joy?" + +He was deeply moved; how deeply he could not hide from her, and her +last doubt faded. He took her hand--his own was cold--but he could not +speak. At last, "May you be very happy! It is my one wish, Lady +Audley!" + +She let his hand fall. "Thank you," she said gently. "I think that I +shall be happy. And now--now," in a firmer tone, "will you do +something for me, Mr. Basset? It is not much. Will you deal with Toft +for me? You told me in your letter that he held my uncle's note for +£800, to be paid in the event of the discovery of these papers? And +that £300, already paid, might be set off against this?" + +"That is so." + +"The money should be paid, of course." + +"I fear it must be paid." + +"Will you see him and tell him that it shall be. I--I am fond of +Etruria, but I am not so fond of Toft, and I would rather not--would +you see him about this?" + +"I quite understand," Basset answered. "Of course I will do it." They +had both regained the ordinary plane of feeling and he spoke in his +usual tone. "You would like me to see him now?" + +"If you please." + +He went from the room. There were other things that as executor he +must arrange, and when he had dealt with Toft, and not without a hard +word or two that went home, had settled that matter, he went round the +house and gave the orders he had to give. The light was beginning to +fail and shadows to fill the corners, and as he glanced into this room +and that and viewed the long-remembered places and saw ghosts and +heard the voices of the dead, he knew that he was taking leave of many +things, of things that had made up a large part of his life. + +And he had other thoughts hardly more cheering. Mary's engagement was +broken off. But how? By whom? Had she freed herself? Or had Audley, +_immemor Divum_, and little foreseeing the discovery that trod upon +his threshold, freed her? And if so, why? He was in the dark as to +this and as to all--her attitude, her thoughts, her feelings. He knew +only that while her freedom trebled the moment of the news he had +brought, the gifts of fortune which that news laid at her feet, rose +insuperable between them and formed a barrier he could not pass. + +For he could never woo her now. Whatever dawn of hope crept quivering +above the horizon--and she had been kind, ah, in that moment of +softness and remembrance she had been kind!--he could never speak now. + +The dusk was far advanced and firelight was almost the only light +when, after half an hour's absence, he returned to the parlor. Mary +was standing before the hearth, her slender figure darkly outlined +against the blaze. She held the poker in her hand, and she was +stooping forward; and something in her pose, something in the tense +atmosphere of the room, drew his gaze--he never knew why--to the table +on which he had left the papers. It was bare. He looked round, he +could not see them, a cry broke from him. "Mary!" + +"They don't burn easily," she said, a quaver of exultation and +defiance in her tone. "Parchment is so hard to burn--it burns so +slowly, though I made a good fire on purpose!" + +"D--n!" he cried, and he was going to seize, he tried to seize her +arm. But he saw the next moment that it was useless, he saw that it +was too late. "Are you mad? Are you mad?" he cried. Frantically, he +went down on his knees, he raked among the embers. But he knew that it +was futile, he had known it before he knelt, and he stood up again +with a gesture of despair. "My G--d!" he said. "Do you know what you +have done? You have destroyed what cannot be replaced! You have ruined +your claim! You must have been mad! Mad, to do it!" + +"Why, mad? Because I do not wish to be Lady Audley?" she said, facing +him calmly, with her hands behind her. + +"Mad!" he repeated, bitter self-reproach in his voice. For he felt +himself to blame, he felt the full burden of his responsibility. He +had left the papers with her, the true value of which she might not +have known! And she had done this dreadful, this fatal, this +irreparable thing! + +She faced his anger without a quiver. "Why, mad!" she repeated. She +was quite at her ease now. "Because, having been jilted by my cousin, +I do not wish for this common, this vulgar, this poor revenge? Because +I will not stoop to the game he plays and has played? Because I will +not take from him what is little to me who have not had it, but much, +nay all, to him who has?" + +"But your uncle?" he cried. He was striving desperately to collect +himself, trying to see the thing all round and not only as she saw it, +but in its consequences. "Your uncle, whose one aim, whose one object +in life----" + +"Was to be Lord Audley? Believe me," she replied gently, "he sees more +clearly now. And he is dead." + +"But there are still--those who come after you?" + +"Will they be better, happier, more useful?" she answered. "Will they +be less Audleys, with less of ancient blood running in their veins +because of what I have done? Because I have refused to rake up this +old, pitiful, forgotten stain, this scandal of Queen Elizabeth? No, a +thousand times no! And do not think, do not think," she continued more +soberly, "that I have acted in haste or on impulse. I have not had +this out of my thoughts for a moment since I knew the truth. I have +weighed, carefully weighed, the price, and as carefully decided to pay +it. My duty? I can do it, I hope, as well in one station as another. +For the rest there is only one who will lose by it"--she faced him +bravely now--"only one who will have the right to blame me--ever." + +"I may have no right----" + +"No you have no right at present." + +"Still----" + +"When you have the right--when you have gained the right, if ever--you +may blame me." + +Was he deceived? Was it the fact or only his fancy, a mere +will-o'-the-wisp inviting him to trouble that led him to imagine that +she looked at him queerly? With a mingling of raillery and tenderness, +with a tear and a smile, with something in her eyes that he had never +seen in them before? With--with--but her face was in shadow, she had +her back to the blaze that filled the room with dancing lights, and +his thoughts were in a turmoil of confusion. "I wish I knew," he said +in a low voice, "what you meant by that?" + +"By what?" + +"By what you have just said. Did you mean that now that he--now that +Audley is out of the way, there was a chance for me?" + +"A chance for you?" she repeated. She stared at him in seeming +astonishment. + +"Don't play with me!" he cried, advancing upon her. "You understand +me? You understand me very well! Yes, or no, Mary?" + +She did not flinch. "There is no chance for you," she answered slowly, +still confronting him. "If there be a second chance for me----" + +"Ah!" + +"For me, Peter?" And with that her tone told him all, all there was to +tell. "If you are willing to take me second-hand," she continued, with +a tremulous laugh, "you may take me. I don't deserve it, but I know my +own mind now. I have known it since the day my uncle died and I heard +your step come through the hall. And if you are still willing?" + +He did not answer her, but he took her. He held her to him, his heart +too full for anything but a thankfulness beyond speech, while she, +shaken out of her composure, trembled between tears and laughter. +"Peter! Peter!" she said again and again. And once, "We are the same +height, Peter!" and so showed him a new side of her nature which +thrilled him with surprise and happiness. + +That she brought him no title, no lands, that by her own act she had +flung away her inheritance and came to him almost empty-handed was no +pain to him, no subject for regret. On the contrary, every word she +had said on that, every argument she had used, came home to him now +with double force. It had been a poor, it had been a common, it had +been a pitiful revenge! It had mingled the sordid with the cup, it had +cast the shadow of the Great House on their happiness. In that room in +which they had shared their first meal on that far May morning, and +where the light of the winter fire now shone on the wainscot, now +brought life to the ruffed portraits above it, there was no question +of name or fortune, or more or less. + +So much so, that when Mrs. Toft came in with the tea she well-nigh +dropped the tray in her surprise. As she said afterwards, "The sight +of them two as close as chives in a barrel, I declare you might ha' +knocked me down with a straw! God bless 'em!" + + + + + CHAPTER XL + + "LET US MAKE OTHERS THANKFUL" + + +A man can scarcely harbor a more bitter thought than that he has lost +by foul play what fair play would have won for him. This for a week +was Lord Audley's mood and position; for masterful as he was he owned +the power of Nemesis, he felt the force of tradition, nor, try as he +might, could he convince himself that in face of this oft-cited deed +his chance of retaining the title and property was anything but +desperate. He made the one attempt to see Mary of which we know; and +had he seen her he would have done his best to knot again the tie +which he had cut. But missing her by a hair's breadth, and confronted +by Toft who knew all, he had found even his courage unequal to a +second attempt. The spirit in which Mary had faced the breach had +shown his plan to be from the first a counsel of despair, and +despairing he let her go. In a dark mood he sat down to wait for the +next step on the enemy's part, firmly resolved that whatever form it +might take he would contest the claim to the bitter end. + +And Stubbs was scarcely in happier case. At the time, and face to face +with Basset, he had borne up well, but the production of the fateful +deed had none the less fallen on him with stunning effect. He +appreciated--none better and more clearly now--what the effect of his +easiness would have been had Lord Audley not been engaged to his +cousin; nor did his negligence appear in a less glaring light because +his patron was to escape its worst results. He foresaw that whatever +befel he must suffer, and that the agency which his family had so long +enjoyed--that, that at any rate was forfeit. + +This was enough to make him a most unhappy, a most miserable man. But +it did not stand alone. Everything seemed to him to be going wrong. +All good things, public and private, seemed to be verging on their +end. The world as he had known it for sixty years was crumbling about +his ears. It was time that he was gone. + +Certainly the days of that Protection with which he believed the +welfare of the land to be bound up, were numbered. In the House Lord +George and Mr. Disraeli--those strangest of bedfellows!--might rage, +the old Protectionist party might foam, invective and sarcasm, taunt +and sneer might rain upon the traitor as he sat with folded arms and +hat drawn down to his eyes, rectors might fume and squires swear; the +end was certain, and Stubbs saw that it was. Those rascals in the +North, they and their greed and smoke, that stained the face of +England, would win and were winning. He had saved Riddsley by +nine--but to what end? What was one vote among so many? He thought of +the nut-brown ale, the teeming stacks, the wagoner's home, + + + Hard-by, a cottage chimney smokes + From betwixt two aged oaks. + + +He thought of the sweet cow-stalls, the brook where he had bent his +first pin, and he sighed. Half the country folk would be ruined, and +Shoddy from Halifax and Brass from Bury would buy their lands and walk +in gaiters where better men had foundered. The country would be full +of new men--Peels! + +Well, it would last his time. But some day there would rise another +Buonaparte and they would find Cobden with his calico millennium a +poor stay against starvation, his lean and flashy songs a poor +substitute for wheat. It was all money now; the kindly feeling, the +Christmas dole, the human ties, where father had worked for father and +son for son, and the thatch had covered three generations--all these +were past and gone. He found one fault, it is true, in the past. He +had one regret, as he looked back. The laborers' wage had been too +low; they had been left outside the umbrella of Protection. He saw +that now; there was the weak point in the case. "That's where they hit +us," he said more than once, "the foundation was too narrow." But the +knowledge came too late. + +Naturally he buried his private mishap--and my lord's--in silence. But +his mien was changed. He was an altered, a shaken man. When he passed +through the streets, he walked with his chin on his breast, his +shoulders bowed. He shunned men's eyes. Then one day Basset entered +his office and for a long time was closeted with him. + +When he left Stubbs left also, and his bearing was so subtly changed +as to impress all who met him; while Farthingale, stepping out in his +absence, drank his way through three brown brandies in a silence which +grew more portentous with every glass. At The Butterflies, whither the +lawyer hastened, Audley met him with moody and repellent eyes, and in +the first flush of the news which the lawyer brought refused to +believe it. It was not only that the tidings seemed too good to be +true, the relief from the nightmare which weighed upon him too great +to be readily accepted. But the thing that Mary had done was so far +out of his ken and so much beyond his understanding that he could not +rise to it, or credit it. Even when he at last took in the truth of +the story he put upon it the interpretation that was natural to him. + +"It was a forgery!" he cried with an oath. "You may depend upon it, it +was a forgery and they discovered it." + +But Stubbs would not agree to that. Stubbs was very stout about it, +and giving details of his conversation with Basset gradually persuaded +his patron. In one way, indeed, the news coming through him wrought a +benefit which neither Mary nor Basset had foreseen. It once more +commended him to Audley, and by and by healed the breach which had +threatened to sever the long connection between the lawyer and +Beaudelays. If Stubbs's opinion of my lord could never again be wholly +what it had been, if Audley still had hours of soreness when the +other's negligence recurred to his mind, at least they were again at +one as to the future. They were once more free to look forward to a +time when a marriage with Lady Adela, or her like, would rebuild the +fortunes of the Great House. Of Audley, whose punishment if short had +been severe, one thing at least may be ventured with safety--and +beyond this we need not inquire; that to the end his first, last, +greatest thought would be--himself! + +Late in June, the Corn Laws were repealed. On the same day Sir Robert +Peel, in the eyes of some the first, in the eyes of others the last of +men, was forced to resign. Thwarted by old friends and abandoned by +new ones, he fell by a man[oe]uvre which even his enemies could not +defend. Whether he was more to be blamed for blindness than he was to +be praised for rectitude, are questions on which party spirit has much +to say, nor has history as yet pronounced a final decision. But if his +hand gave the victory to the class from which he sprang, he was at +least free from the selfishness of that class. He had ideals, he was a +man, + + + He nothing common did nor mean, + Upon that memorable scene, + But bowed his comely head, + Down as upon a bed. + + +Nor is it possible, even for those who do not agree with him, to think +of his dramatic fall without sympathy. + +In the same week Basset and Mary were married. They spent their +honeymoon after a fashion of their own, for they travelled through the +north of England, and beginning with the improvements which Lord +Francis Egerton was making along the Manchester Canal, they continued +their quiet journey along the inland waterways which formed in the +'forties a link, now forgotten, between the great cities. In this +way--somewhat to the disgust of Mary's new maid, whose name was +Joséphine--they visited strange things; the famous land-warping upon +the Humber, the Doncaster drainage system in Yorkshire, the Horsfall +dairies. They brought back to the old gabled house at Blore some ideas +which were new even to old Hayward--though the "Duke" would never have +admitted this. + +"Now that we are not protected, we must bestir ourselves," Basset said +on the last evening before their return. "I'll inquire about a seat, +if you like," he added reluctantly. + +Mary was standing behind him. She put her hand on his shoulder. "You +are paying me out, Peter," she said. "I know now that I don't know as +much as I thought I knew." + +"Which means?" Basset said, smiling. + +"That once I thought that nothing could be done without an earthquake. +I know now that it can be done with a spade." + +"So that where Mary was content with nothing but a gilt coach, Mrs. +Basset is content with a nutshell." + +"If you are in the nutshell," Mary answered softly, "only--for what we +have received, Peter--let us make other people thankful." + +"We will try," he answered. + + + + THE END + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great House, by Stanley J. Weyman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT HOUSE *** + +***** This file should be named 39294-8.txt or 39294-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/2/9/39294/ + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the +Web Archive (University of Michigan) + + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/39294-8.zip b/old/39294-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..72107b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/39294-8.zip diff --git a/old/39294.txt b/old/39294.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..43f85a3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/39294.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14728 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great House, by Stanley J. Weyman + +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: The Great House + +Author: Stanley J. Weyman + +Release Date: March 28, 2012 [EBook #39294] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT HOUSE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the +Web Archive (University of Michigan) + + + + + + + + + + + +Transcriber's Notes: + + 1. Page scan source: + http://www.archive.org/details/greathouseastor00weymgoog + (University of Michigan) + + 2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. + + + + + + + THE GREAT HOUSE + + + + + + + BY THE SAME AUTHOR + + THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF + THE NEW RECTOR + THE STORY OF FRANCIS CLUDDE + A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE + THE MAN IN BLACK + UNDER THE RED ROBE + MY LADY ROTHA + MEMOIRS OF A MINISTER OF FRANCE + THE RED COCKADE + SHREWSBURY + THE CASTLE INN + SOPHIA + COUNT HANNIBAL + IN KINGS' BYWAYS + THE LONG NIGHT + THE ABBESS OF VLAYE + STARVECROW FARM + CHIPPINGE + LAID UP IN LAVENDER + THE WILD GEESE + + + + + + + THE GREAT HOUSE + + + + + BY + + STANLEY J. WEYMAN + + Author of "The Castle Inn," "Chippinge," + "A Gentleman of France," etc., etc. + + + + + + NEW YORK + LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. + FOURTH AVENUE AND 30th STREET + 1919 + + + + + + + Copyright, 1919 + BY + STANLEY J. WEYMAN + + + + + + + CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER + + I. The Hotel Lambert--Upstairs. + + II. The Hotel Lambert--Downstairs. + + III. The Lawyer Abroad. + + IV. Homeward Bound. + + V. The London Packet. + + VI. Field and Forge. + + VII. Mr. John Audley. + + VIII. The Gatehouse. + + IX. Old Things. + + X. New Things. + + XI. Tact and Temper. + + XII. The Yew Walk. + + XIII. Peter Pauper. + + XIV. The Manchester Men. + + XV. Strange Bedfellows. + + XVI. The Great House at Beaudelays. + + XVII. To the Rescue. + + XVIII. Masks and Faces. + + XIX. The Corn Law Crisis. + + XX. Peter's Return. + + XXI. Toft at the Butterflies. + + XXII. My Lord Speaks. + + XXIII. Blore Under Weaver. + + XXIV. An Agent of the Old School. + + XXV. Mary is Lonely. + + XXVI. Missing. + + XXVII. A Footstep in the Hall. + + XXVIII. The News from Riddsley. + + XXIX. The Audley Bible. + + XXX. A Friend in Need. + + XXXI. Ben Bosham. + + XXXII. Mary Makes a Discovery. + + XXXIII. The Meeting at the Maypole. + + XXXIV. By the Canal. + + XXXV. My Lord Speaks Out. + + XXXVI. The Riddsley Election. + + XXXVII. A Turn of the Wheel. + + XXXVIII. Toft's Little Surprise. + + XXXIX. The Deed of Renunciation. + + XL. "Let Us Make Others Thankful." + + + + + + + THE GREAT HOUSE + + + + + CHAPTER I + + THE HOTEL LAMBERT--UPSTAIRS + + +On an evening in March in the 'forties of last century a girl looked +down on the Seine from an attic window on the Ile St. Louis. The +room behind her--or beside her, for she sat on the window-ledge, with +her back against one side of the opening and her feet against the +other--was long, whitewashed from floor to ceiling, lighted by five +gaunt windows, and as cold to the eye as charity to the recipient. +Along each side of the chamber ran ten pallet beds. A black door broke +the wall at one end, and above the door hung a crucifix. A painting of +a Station of the Cross adorned the wall at the other end. Beyond this +picture the room had no ornament; it is almost true to say that beyond +what has been named it had no furniture. One bed--the bed beside the +window at which the girl sat--was screened by a thin curtain which did +not reach the floor. This was her bed. + +But in early spring no window in Paris looked on a scene more cheerful +than this window; which as from an eyrie commanded a shining reach of +the Seine bordered by the lawns and foliage of the King's Garden, and +closed by the graceful arches of the Bridge of Austerlitz. On the +water boats shot to and fro. The quays were gay with the red trousers +of soldiers and the coquettish caps of soubrettes, with students in +strange cloaks, and the twin kling wheels of yellow cabriolets. The +first swallows were hawking hither and thither above the water, and a +pleasant hum rose from the Boulevard Bourdon. + +Yet the girl sighed. For it was her birthday, she was twenty this +twenty-fifth of March, and there was not a soul in the world to know +this and to wish her joy. A life of dependence, toned to the key of +the whitewashed room and the thin pallets, lay before her; and though +she had good reason to be thankful for the safety which dependence +bought, still she was only twenty, and springtime, viewed from prison +windows, beckons to its cousin, youth. She saw family groups walking +the quays, and father, mother, children, all, seen from a distance, +were happy. She saw lovers loitering in the garden or pacing to and +fro, and romance walked with every one of them; none came late, or +fell to words. She sighed more deeply; and on the sound the door +opened. + +"_Hola!_" cried a shrill voice, speaking in French, fluent, but oddly +accented. "Who is here? The Princess desires that the English +Mademoiselle will descend this evening." + +"Very good," the girl in the window replied pleasantly. "At the same +hour, Josephine?" + +"Why not, Mademoiselle?" A trim maid, with a plain face and the +faultless figure of a Pole, came a few steps into the room. "But you +are alone?" + +"The children are walking. I stayed at home." + +"To be alone? As if I did not understand that! To be alone--it is the +luxury of the rich." + +The girl nodded. "None but a Pole would have thought of that," she +said. + +"Ah, the crafty English Miss!" the maid retorted. "How she flatters! +Perhaps she needs a touch of the tongs to-night? Or the loan of a pair +of red-heeled shoes, worn no more than thrice by the Princess--and +with the black which is convenable for Mademoiselle, oh, so neat! Of +the _ancien regime_, absolutely!" + +The other laughed. "The _ancien regime_, Josephine--and this!" she +replied, with a gesture that embraced the room, the pallets, her own +bed. "A curled head--and this! You are truly a cabbage----" + +"But Mademoiselle descends!" + +"A cabbage of--foolishness!" + +"Ah, well, if I descended, you would see," the maid retorted. "I am +but the Princess's second maid, and I know nothing! But if I descended +it would not be to this dormitory I should return! Nor to the +tartines! Nor to the daughters of Poland! Trust me for that--and I +know but my prayers. While Mademoiselle, she is an artist's daughter." + +"There spoke the Pole again," the girl struck in with a smile. + +"The English Miss knows how to flatter," Josephine laughed. "That is +one for the touch of the tongs," she continued, ticking them off on +her fingers. "And one for the red-heeled shoes. And--but no more! Let +me begone before I am bankrupt!" She turned about with a flirt of her +short petticoats, but paused and looked back, with her hand on the +door. "None the less, mark you well, Mademoiselle, from the whitewash +to the ceiling of Lebrun, from the dortoir of the Jeunes Filles to the +Gallery of Hercules, there are but twenty stairs, and easy, oh, so +easy to descend! If Mademoiselle instead of flattering Josephine, the +Cracovienne, flattered some pretty gentleman--who knows? Not I! I know +but my prayers!" And with a light laugh the maid clapped to the door +and was gone. + +The girl in the window had not throughout the parley changed her pose +or moved more than her head, and this was characteristic of her. For +even in her playfulness there was gravity, and a measure of stillness. +Now, left alone, she dropped her feet to the floor, turned, and knelt +on the sill with her brow pressed against the glass. The sun had set, +mists were rising from the river, the quays were gray and cold. Here +and there a lamp began to shine through the twilight. But the girl's +thoughts were no longer on the scene beneath her eyes. + +"There goes the third who has been good to me," she pondered. "First +the Polish lodger who lived on the floor below, and saved me from that +woman. Then the Princess's daughter. Now Josephine. There are still +kind people in the world--God grant that I may not forget it! But how +much better to give than to take, to be strong than to be weak, to be +the mistress and not the puppet of fortune! How much better--and, were +I a man, how easy!" + +But on that there came into her remembrance one to whom it had not +been easy, one who had signally failed to master fortune, or to +grapple with circumstances. "Poor father!" she whispered. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + THE HOTEL LAMBERT--DOWNSTAIRS + + +When ladies were at home to their intimates in the Paris of the +'forties, they seated their guests about large round tables with a +view to that common exchange of wit and fancy which is the French +ideal. The mode crossed to England, and in many houses these round +tables, fallen to the uses of the dining-room or the nursery, may +still be seen. But when the Princess Czartoriski entertained in the +Hotel Lambert, under the ceiling painted by Lebrun, which had looked +down on the arm-chair of Madame de Chatelet and the tabouret of +Voltaire, she was, as became a Pole, a law to herself. In that +beautiful room, softly lit by wax candles, her guests were free to +follow their bent, to fall into groups, or to admire at their ease the +Watteaus and Bouchers which the Princess's father-in-law, old Prince +Adam, had restored to their native panels. + +Thanks to his taste and under her rule the gallery of Hercules +presented on this evening a scene not unworthy of its past. The +silks and satins of the old regime were indeed replaced by the +high-shouldered coats, the stocks, the pins and velvet vests of the +dandies; and Thiers beaming through his glasses, or Lamartine, though +beauty, melted by the woes of Poland, hung upon his lips, might have +been thought by some unequal to the dead. But they were now what those +had been; and the women peacocked it as of old. At any rate the effect +was good, and a guest who came late, and paused a moment on the +threshold to observe the scene, thought that he had never before done +the room full justice. Presently the Princess saw him and he went +forward. The man who was talking to her made his bow, and she pointed +with her fan to the vacant place. "Felicitations, my lord," she said. +She held out her gloved hand. + +"A thousands thanks," he said, as he bent over it. "But on what, +Princess?" + +"On the success of a friend. On what we have all seen in the +_Journal_. Is it not true that you have won your suit?" + +"I won, yes." He shrugged his shoulders. "But what, Madame? A bare +title, an empty rent-roll." + +"For shame!" she answered. "But I suppose that this is your English +phlegm. Is it not a thing to be proud of--an old title? That which +money cannot buy and the wisest would fain wear? M. Guizot, what would +he not give to be Chien de Race? Your Peel, also?" + +"And your Thiers?" he returned, with a sly glance at the little man in +the shining glasses. + +"He, too! But he has the passion of humanity, which is a title in +itself. Whereas you English, turning in your unending circle, one out, +one in, one in, one out, are but playing a game--marking time! You +have not a desire to go forward!" + +"Surely, Princess, you forget our Reform Bill, scarce ten years old." + +"Which bought off your cotton lords and your fat bourgeois, and left +the people without leaders and more helpless than before. No, my lord, +if your Russell--Lord John, do you call him?--had one jot of M. +Thiers' enthusiasm! Or your Peel--but I look for nothing there!" + +He shrugged his shoulders. "I admit," he said, "that M. Thiers has an +enthusiasm beyond the ordinary." + +"You do? Wonderful!" + +"But," with a smile, "it is, I fancy, an enthusiasm of which the +object is--M. Thiers!" + +"Ah!" she cried, fanning herself more quickly. "Now there spoke not +Mr. Audley, the attache--he had not been so imprudent! But--how do you +call yourself now?" + +"On days of ceremony," he replied, "Lord Audley of Beaudelays." + +"There spoke my lord, unattached! Oh, you English, you have no +enthusiasm. You have only traditions. Poor were Poland if her fate +hung on you!" + +"There are still bright spots," he said slyly. And his glance returned +to the little statesman in spectacles on whom the Princess rested the +hopes of Poland. + +"No!" she cried vividly. "Don't say it again or I shall be displeased. +Turn your eyes elsewhere. There is one here about whom I wish to +consult you. Do you see the tall girl in black who is engaged with the +miniatures?" + +"I saw her some time ago." + +"I suppose so. You are a man. I dare say you would call her handsome?" + +"I think it possible, were she not in this company. What of her, +Princess?" + +"Do you notice anything beyond her looks?" + +"The picture is plain--for the frame in which I see her. Is she one of +the staff of your school?" + +"Yes, but with an air----" + +"Certainly--an air!" He nodded. + +"Well, she is a countrywoman of yours and has a history. Her father, a +journalist, artist, no matter what, came to live in Paris years ago. +He went down, down, always down; six months ago he died. There was +enough to bury him, no more. She says, I don't know"--the Princess +indicated doubt with a movement of her fan--"that she wrote to friends +in England. Perhaps she did not write; how do I know? She was at the +last sou, the street before her, a hag of a concierge behind, and +withal--as you see her." + +"Not wearing that dress, I presume?" he said with a faint smile. + +"No. She had passed everything to the Mont de Piete; she had what she +stood up in--yet herself! Then a Polish family on the floor below, to +whom my daughter carried alms, told Cecile of her. They pitied her, +spoke well of her, she had done--no matter what for them--perhaps +nothing. Probably nothing. But Cecile ascended, saw her, became +enamoured, _enragee!_ You know Cecile--for her all that wears feathers +is of the angels! Nothing would do but she must bring her here and set +her to teach English to the daughters during her own absence." + +"The Princess is away?" + +"For four weeks. But in three days she returns, and you see where I +am. How do I know who this is? She may be this, or that. If she were +French, if she were Polish, I should know! But she is English and of a +calm, a reticence--ah!" + +"And of a pride too," he replied thoughtfully, "if I mistake not. Yet +it is a good face, Princess." + +She fluttered her fan. "It is a handsome one. For a man that is the +same." + +"With all this you permit her to appear?" + +"To be of use. And a little that she may be seen by some English +friend, who may tell me." + +"Shall I talk to her?" + +"If you will be so good. Learn, if you please, what she is." + +"Your wishes are law," he rejoined. "Will you present me?" + +"It is not necessary," the Princess answered. She beckoned to a stout +gentleman who wore whiskers trimmed a la mode du Roi, and had laurel +leaves on his coat collar. "A thousand thanks." + +He lingered a moment to take part in the Princess's reception of the +Academician. Then he joined a group about old Prince Adam Czartoriski, +who was describing a recent visit to Cracow, that last morsel of free +Poland, soon to pass into the maw of Austria. A little apart, the girl +in black bent over the case of miniatures, comparing some with a list, +and polishing others with a square of silk. Presently he found himself +beside her. Their eyes met. + +"I am told," he said, bowing, "that you are my countrywoman. The +Princess thought that I might be of use to you." + +The girl had read his errand before he spoke and a shade flitted +across her face. She knew, only too well, that her hold on this rock +of safety to which chance had lifted her--out of a gulf of peril and +misery of which she trembled to think--was of the slightest. Early, +almost from the first, she had discovered that the Princess's +benevolence found vent rather in schemes for the good of many than in +tenderness for one. But hitherto she had relied on the daughter's +affection, and a little on her own usefulness. Then, too, she was +young and hopeful, and the depths from which she had escaped were such +that she could not believe that Providence would return her to them. + +But she was quick-witted, and his opening frightened her. She guessed +at once that she was not to be allowed to await Cecile's return, that +her fate hung on what this Englishman, so big and bland and forceful, +reported of her. + +She braced herself to meet the danger. "I am obliged to the Princess," +she said. "But my ties with England are slight. I came to France with +my father when I was ten years old." + +"I think you lost him recently?" He found his task less easy than it +should have been. + +"He died six months ago," she replied, regarding him gravely. "His +illness left me without means. I was penniless, when the young +Princess befriended me and gave me a respite here. I am no part of +this," with a glance at the salon and the groups about them. "I teach +upstairs. I am thankful for the privilege of doing so." + +"The Princess told me as much," he said frankly. "She thought that, +being English, I might advise you better than she could; that possibly +I might put you in touch with your relations?" + +She shook her head. + +"Or your friends? You must have friends?" + +"Doubtless my father had--once," she said in a low voice. "But as his +means diminished, he saw less and less of those who had known him. For +the last two years I do not think that he saw an Englishman at home. +Before that time I was in a convent school, and I do not know." + +"You are a Roman Catholic, then?" + +"No. And for that reason--and for another, that my account was not +paid"--her color rose painfully to her face--"I could not apply to the +Sisters. I am very frank," she added, her lip trembling. + +"And I encroach," he answered, bowing. "Forgive me! Your father was an +artist, I believe?" + +"He drew for an Atelier de Porcelaine--for the journals when he could. +But he was not very successful," she continued reluctantly. "The china +factory which had employed him since he came to Paris, failed. When I +returned from school he was alone and poor, living in the little +street in the Quartier, where he died." + +"But forgive me, you must have some relations in England?" + +"Only one of whom I know," she replied. "My father's brother. My +father had quarrelled with him--bitterly, I fear; but when he was +dying he bade me write to my uncle and tell him how we were placed. I +did so. No answer came. Then after my father's death I wrote again. I +told my uncle that I was alone, that I was without money, that in a +short time I should be homeless, that if I could return to England I +could live by teaching French. He did not reply. I could do no more." + +"That was outrageous," he answered, flushing darkly. Though well under +thirty he was a tall man and portly, with one of those large faces +that easily become injected. "Do you know--is your uncle also in +narrow circumstances?" + +"I know no more than his name," she said. "My father never spoke of +him. They had quarrelled. Indeed, my father spoke little of his past." + +"But when you did not hear from your uncle, did you not tell your +father?" + +"It could do no good," she said. "And he was dying." + +He was not sentimental, this big man, whose entrance into a room +carried with it a sense of power. Nor was he one to be lightly moved, +but her simplicity and the picture her words drew for him of the +daughter and the dying man touched him. Already his mind was made up +that the Czartoriski should not turn her adrift for lack of a word. +Aloud, "The Princess did not tell me your name," he said. "May I know +it?" + +"Audley," she said. "Mary Audley." + +He stared at her. She supposed that he had not caught the name. She +repeated it. + +"Audley? Do you really mean that?" + +"Why not?" she asked, surprised in her turn. "Is it so uncommon a +name?" + +"No," he replied slowly. "No, but it is a coincidence. The Princess +did not tell me that your name was Audley." + +The girl shook her head. "I doubt if she knows," she said. "To her I +am only 'the English girl.'" + +"And your father was an artist, resident in Paris? And his name?" + +"Peter Audley." + +He nodded. "Peter Audley," he repeated. His eyes looked through her at +something far away. His lips were more firmly set. His face was grave. +"Peter Audley," he repeated softly. "An artist resident in Paris!" + +"But did you know him?" she cried. + +He brought his thoughts and his eyes back to her. "No, I did not know +him," he said. "But I have heard of him." And again it was plain that +his thoughts took wing. "John Audley's brother, the artist!" he +muttered. + +In her impatience she could have taken him by the sleeve and shaken +him. "Then you do know John Audley?" she said. "My uncle?" + +Again he brought himself back with an effort. "A thousand pardons!" he +said. "You see the Princess did not tell me that you were an Audley. +Yes, I know John Audley--of the Gatehouse. I suppose it was to him you +wrote?" + +"Yes." + +"And he did not reply?" + +She nodded. + +He laughed, as at something whimsical. It was not a kindly laugh, it +jarred a little on his listener. But the next moment his face +softened, he smiled at her, and the smile of such a man had its +importance, for in repose his eyes were hard. It was clear to her that +he was a man of position, that he belonged of right to this keen +polished world at which she was stealing a glance. His air was +distinguished, and his dress, though quiet, struck the last note of +fashion. + +"But I am keeping you in suspense," he said. "I must tell you, Miss +Audley, why it surprised me to learn your name. Because I, too, am an +Audley." + +"You!" she cried. + +"Yes, I," he replied. "What is more, I am akin to you. The kinship is +remote, but it happens that your father's name, in its place in a +pedigree, has been familiar to me of late, and I could set down the +precise degree of cousinship in which you stand to me. I think your +father was my fourth cousin." + +She colored charmingly. "Is it possible?" she exclaimed. + +"It is a fact, proved indeed, recently, in a court of law," he +answered lightly. "Perhaps it is as well that we have that warrant for +a conversation which I can see that the Princess thinks long. After +this she will expect to hear the whole of your history." + +"I fear that she may be displeased," the girl said, wincing a little. +"You have been very kind----" + +"Who should be kind," he replied, "if not the head of your family? But +have no fear, I will deal with the Princess. I shall be able to +satisfy her, I have no doubt." + +"And you"--she looked at him with appeal in her eyes--"will you be +good enough to tell me who you are?" + +"I am Lord Audley. To distinguish me from another of the same name, I +am called Audley of Beaudelays." + +"Of Beaudelays?" she repeated. He thought her face, her whole bearing, +singularly composed in view of his announcement. "Beaudelays?" she +repeated thoughtfully. "I have heard the name more than once. Perhaps +from my father." + +"It were odd if you had not," he said. "It is the name of my house, +and your uncle, John Audley, lives within a mile of it." + +"Oh," she said. The name of the uncle who had ignored her appeals fell +on her like a cold douche. + +"I will not say more now," Lord Audley continued. "But you shall hear +from me. To--morrow I quit Paris for three or four days, but when I +return have no fear. You may leave the matter in my hands in full +confidence that I shall not fail--my cousin." + +He held out his hand and she laid hers in it. She looked him frankly +in the face. "Thank you," she said. "I little thought when I descended +this evening that I should meet a kinsman." + +"And a friend," he answered, holding her hand a little longer than was +needful. + +"And a friend," she repeated. "But there--I must go now. I should have +disappeared ten minutes ago. This is my way." She inclined her head, +and turning from him she pushed open a small door masked by a picture. +She passed at once into a dark corridor, and threading its windings +gained the great staircase. + +As she flitted upwards from floor to floor, skirting a long procession +of shadowy forms, and now ogled by a Leda whose only veil was the +dusk, now threatened by the tusks of the great boar at bay, she +was not conscious of thought or surprise. It was not until she had +lighted her taper outside the dormitory door, and, passing between the +rows of sleeping children, had gained her screened corner, that she +found it possible to think. Then she set the light in her tiny +washing-basin--such was the rule--and seated herself on her bed. For +some minutes she stared before her, motionless and unwinking, her +hands clasped about her knees, her mind at work. + +Was it true, or a dream? Had this really happened to her since she had +viewed herself in the blurred mirror, had set a curl right and, +satisfied, had turned to go down? The danger and the delivery from it, +the fear and the friend in need? Or was it a Cinderella's treat, which +no fairy godmother would recall to her, with which no lost slipper +would connect her? She could almost believe this. For no Cinderella, +in the ashes of the hearth, could have seemed more remote from the gay +ball-room than she crouching on her thin mattress, with the breathing +of the children in her ears, from the luxury of the famous salon. + +Or, if it was true, if it had happened, would anything come of it? +Would Lord Audley remember her? Or would he think no more of her, +ignoring to-morrow the poor relation whom it had been the whim of the +moment to own? That would be cruel! That would be base! But if Mary +had fallen in with some good people since her father's death, she had +also met many callous, and a few cruel people. He might be one. And +then, how strange it was that her father had never named this great +kinsman, never referred to him, never even, when dying, disclosed his +name! + +The light wavered in the draught that stole through the bald, undraped +window. A child whimpered in its sleep, awoke, began to sob. It was +the youngest of the daughters of Poland. The girl rose, and going on +tip-toe to the child, bent over it, kissed it, warmed it in her bosom, +soothed it. Presently the little waif slept again, and Mary Audley +began to make ready for bed. + +But so much turned for her on what had happened, so much hung in the +balance, that it was not unnatural that as she let down her hair and +plaited it in two long tails for the night, she should see her new +kinsman's face in the mirror. Nor strange that as she lay sleepless +and thought-ridden in her bed the same face should present itself anew +relieved against the background of darkness. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + THE LAWYER ABROAD + + +Half an hour later Lord Audley paused in the hall at Meurice's, and +having given his cloak and hat to a servant went thoughtfully up the +wide staircase. He opened the door of a room on the first floor. A +stout man with a bald head, who had been for some time yawning over +the dying fire, rose to his feet and remained standing. + +Audley nodded. "Hallo, Stubbs!" he said carelessly, "not in bed yet?" + +"No, my lord," the other answered. "I waited to learn if your lordship +had any orders for England." + +"Well, sit down now. I've something to tell you." My lord stooped as +he spoke and warmed his hands at the embers; then rising, he stood +with his back to the hearth. The stout man sat forward on his +chair with an air of deference. His double chin rested on the ample +folds of a soft white stock secured by a gold pin in the shape of a +wheat-sheaf. He wore black knee-breeches and stockings, and his dress, +though plain, bore the stamp of neatness and prosperity. + +For a minute or two Audley continued to look thoughtfully before him. +At length, "May I take it that this claim is really at an end now?" he +said. "Is the decision final, I mean?" + +"Unless new evidence crops up," Stubbs answered--he was a lawyer--"the +decision is certainly final. With your lordship's signature to the +papers I brought over----" + +"But the claimant might try again?" + +"Mr. John Audley might do anything," Stubbs returned. "I believe him +to be mad upon the point, and therefore capable of much. But he could +only move on new evidence of the most cogent nature. I do not believe +that such evidence exists." + +His employer weighed this for some time. At length, "Then if you were +in my place," he said, "you would not be tempted to hedge?" + +"To hedge?" the lawyer exclaimed, as if he had never heard the word +before. "I am afraid I don't understand." + +"I will explain. But first, tell me this. If anything happens to me +before I have a child, John Audley succeeds to the peerage? That is +clear?" + +"Certainly! Mr. John Audley, the claimant, is also your heir-at-law." + +"To title and estates--such as they are?" + +"To both, my lord." + +"Then follow me another step, Stubbs. Failing John Audley, who is the +next heir?" + +"Mr. Peter Audley," Stubbs replied, "his only brother, would succeed, +if he were alive. But it is common ground that he is dead. I knew Mr. +Peter, and, if I may say it of an Audley, my lord, a more shiftless, +weak, improvident gentleman never lived. And obstinate as the devil! +He married into trade, and Mr. John never forgave it--never forgave +it, my lord. Never spoke of his brother or to his brother from that +time. It was before the Reform Bill," the lawyer continued with a +sigh. "There were no railways then and things were different. Dear, +dear, how the world changes! Mr. Peter must have gone abroad ten years +ago, but until he was mentioned in the suit I don't think that I had +heard his name ten times in as many years. And he an Audley!" + +"He had a child?" + +"Only one, a daughter." + +"Would she come in after Mr. John?" + +"Yes, my lord, she would--if living." + +"I've been talking to her this evening." + +"Ah!" The lawyer was not so simple as he seemed, and for a minute or +two he had foreseen the _denouement_. "Ah!" he repeated, thoughtfully +rubbing his plump calf. "I see, my lord. Mr. Peter Audley's daughter? +Really! And if I may venture to ask, what is she like?" + +Audley paused before he answered. Then, "If you have painted the +father aright, Stubbs, I should say that she was his opposite in all +but his obstinacy. A calm and self-reliant young woman, if I am any +judge." + +"And handsome?" + +"Yes, with a look of breeding. At the same time she is penniless and +dependent, teaching English in a kind of charity school, cheek by jowl +with a princess!" + +"God bless my soul!" cried the lawyer, astonished at last. "A +princess!" + +"Who is a good creature as women go, but as likely as not to send her +adrift to-morrow." + +"Tut-tut-tut!" muttered the other. + +"However, I'll tell you the story," Audley concluded. And he did so. + +When he had done, "Well," Stubbs exclaimed, "for a coincidence----" + +"Ah, there," the young man broke in, "I fancy, all's not said. I take +it the Princess noted the name, but was too polite to question me. +Anyway, the girl is there. She is dependent, friendless; attractive, +and well-bred. For a moment it did occur to me--she is John Audley's +heiress--that I might make all safe by----" His voice dropped. His +last words were inaudible. + +"The chance is so very remote," said the lawyer, aware that he was on +delicate ground, and that the other was rather following out his own +thoughts than consulting him. + +"It is. The idea crossed my mind only for a moment--of course it's +absurd for a man as poor as I am. There is hardly a poorer peer out of +Ireland--you know that. Fourteenth baron without a roof to my house +or a pane of glass in my windows! And a rent-roll when all is told +of----" + +"A little short of three thousand," the lawyer muttered. + +"Two thousand five hundred, by God, and not a penny more! If any man +ought to marry money, I am that man, Stubbs!" + +Mr. Stubbs, staring at the fire with a hand on each knee, assented +respectfully. "I've always hoped that you would, my lord," he said, +"though I've not ventured to say it." + +"Yes! Well--putting that aside," the other resumed, "what is to be +done about her? I've been thinking it over, and I fancy that I've hit +on the right line. John Audley's given me trouble enough. I'll give +him some. I'll make him provide for her, d--n him, or I don't know my +man!" + +"I'd like to know, my lord," Stubbs ventured thoughtfully, "why he +didn't answer her letters. He hated her father, but it is not like Mr. +John to let the young lady drift. He's crazy about the family, and she +is his next heir. He's a lonely man, too, and there is room at the +Gatehouse." + +Audley paused, half-way across the room. "I wish we had never leased +the Gatehouse to him!" + +"It's not everybody's house, my lord. It's lonely and----" + +"It's too near Beaudelays!" + +"If your lordship were living at the Great House, quite so," the +lawyer agreed. "But, as it is, the rent is useful, and the lease was +made before our time, so that we have no choice." + +"I shall always believe that he had a reason for going there!" + +"He had an idea that it strengthened his claim," the lawyer said +indulgently. "Nothing beyond that, my lord." + +"Well, I've made up my mind to increase his family by a niece!" the +other replied. "He shall have the girl whether he likes it or not. +Take a pen, man, and sit down. He's spoiled my breakfast many a time +with his confounded Writs of Error, or whatever you call them, and for +once I'll be even with him. Say--yes, Stubbs, say this: + +"'I am directed by Lord Audley to inform you that a young lady, +believed to be a daughter of the late Mr. Peter Audley, and recently +living in poverty in an obscure'--yes, Stubbs, say obscure--'part of +Paris, has been rescued by the benevolence of a Polish lady. For the +present she is in the lady's house in a menial capacity, and is +dependent on her charity. Lord Audley is informed that the young lady +made application to you without result, but this report his lordship +discredits. Still, he feels himself concerned; and if those to whom +she naturally looks decline to aid her, it is his lordship's intention +to make such provision as may enable her to live respectably. I am to +inform you that Miss Audley's address is the Hotel Lambert, He St. +Louis, Paris. Letters should be addressed "Care of the Housekeeper."'" + +"He won't like the last touch!" the young man continued, with a quiet +chuckle. "If that does not touch him on the raw, I'll yield up the +title to-morrow. And now, Stubbs, good-night." + +But Stubbs did not take the hint. "I want to say one word, my lord, +about the borough--about Riddsley," he said. "We put in Mr. Mottisfont +at the last election, your lordship's interest just tipping the scale. +We think, therefore, that a word from you may set right what is going +wrong." + +"What is it?" + +"There's a strong feeling," the lawyer answered, his face serious, +"that the party is not being led aright. And that Mr. Mottisfont, who +is old----" + +"Is willing to go with the party, eh, Stubbs?" + +"No, my lord, with the party leaders. Which is a different thing. +Sir Robert Peel--the land put him in, but, d--n me, my lord"--the +lawyer's manner lost much of its deference and he spoke bluntly and +strongly--"it looks as if he were going to put the land out! An +income-tax in peace time, we've taken that. And less protection for +the farmer, very good--if it must be. But all this taking off of +duties, this letting in of Canadian corn--I tell you, my lord, there's +an ugly feeling abroad! There are a good many in Riddsley say that he +is going to repeal the Corn Laws altogether; that he's sold us to the +League, and won't be long before he delivers us!" + +The big man sitting back in his chair smiled. "It seems to me," he +said, "that you are travelling rather fast and rather far, Stubbs!" + +"That's just what we fear Sir Robert is doing!" the lawyer retorted +smartly, the other's rank forgotten. "And you may take it from me the +borough won't stand it, my lord, and the sooner Mr. Mottisfont has a +hint the better. If he follows Peel too far, the bottom will fall out +of his seat. There's no Corn Law leaguer will ever sit for Riddsley!" + +"With your help, anyway, Stubbs," my lord said with a smile. The +lawyer's excitement amused him. + +"No, my lord! Never with my help! I believe that on the landed +interest rests the stability of the country! It was the landed +interest that supported Pitt and beat Bony, and brought us through +the long war. It was the landed interest that kept us from revolution +in the dark days after the war. And now because the men that turn +cotton and iron and clay into money by the help of the devil's +breath--because they want to pay lower wages----" + +"The ark of the covenant is to be overthrown, eh?" the young man +laughed. "Why, to listen to you, Stubbs, one would think that you were +the largest landowner in the county!" + +"No, my lord," the lawyer answered. "But it's the landowners have made +me what I am. And it's the landowners and the farmers that Riddsley +lives by and is going to stand by! And the sooner Mr. Mottisfont knows +that the better. He was elected as a Tory, and a Tory he must stop, +whether Sir Robert turns his coat or not!" + +"You want me to speak to Mottisfont?" + +"We do, my lord. Just a word. I was at the Ordinary last fair day, and +there was nothing else talked of. Free Canadian corn was too like free +French corn and free Belgian corn for Stafford wits to see much +difference. And Peel is too like repeal, my lord. We are beginning to +see that." + +Audley shrugged his shoulders. "The party is satisfied," he said. "And +Mottisfont? I can't drive the man." + +"No, but a word from you----" + +"Well, I'll think about it. But I fancy you're overrunning the scent." + +"Then the line is not straight!" the lawyer retorted shrewdly. +"However, if I have been too warm, I beg pardon, my lord." + +"I'll bear it in mind," Audley answered. "Very good. And now, +good-night, Stubbs. Don't forget to send the letter to John Audley as +soon as you reach London." + +Stubbs replied that he would, and took his leave. He had said his say +on the borough question, lord or no lord; which to a Briton--and he +was a typical Briton--was a satisfaction. + +But half an hour later, when he had drawn his nightcap down to his +ears and stood, the extinguisher in his hand, he paused. "He's a sober +hand for a young man," he thought, "a very sober hand. I warrant he +will never run his ship on the rocks for lack of a good look-out!" + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + HOMEWARD BOUND + + +In the corner of the light diligence, seating six inside, which had +brought her from Montreuil, Mary Audley leant forward, looking out +through the dingy panes for the windmills of Calais. Josephine slept +in the corner facing her, as she had slept for two hours past. Their +companions, a French shopkeeper and her child, and an English bagman, +sighed and fidgeted, as travellers had cause to sigh and fidget in +days when he was lucky who covered the distance from Paris to Calais +in twenty-five hours. The coach rumbled on. The sun had set, a small +rain was falling. The fading light tinged the plain of the Pas de +Calais with a melancholy which little by little dyed the girl's +thoughts. + +She was on her way to her own country, to those on whom she might be +dependent without shame. And common sense, of which she had a large +share, told her that she had cause, great cause to be thankful. But +the flush of relief, to which the opening prospect had given rise, was +ebbing. The life before her was new, those amongst whom she must lead +that life were strange; nor did the cold phrases of her uncle's +invitation, which ignored both her father and the letters that she had +written, promise an over-warm welcome. + +Still, "Courage!" Mary murmured to herself, "Courage!" And she +recalled a saying which she had learned from the maid, "At the worst, +ten fingers!" Then, seeing that at last they were entering the streets +of the town and that the weary journey was over--she had left Paris +the day before--she touched Josephine. "We are there," she said. + +The maid awoke with her eyes on the bagman, who was stout. "Ah!" she +muttered. "In England they are like that! No wonder that they travel +seeing that their bones are so padded! But, for me I am one ache." + +They jolted over the uneven pavement, crossed a bridge, lumbered +through streets scarcely wider than the swaying diligence, at last +with a great cracking of whips they swerved to the left and drew up +amid the babel of the quay. In a twinkling they were part of it. +Porters dragged down, fought for, snatched up their baggage. +English-speaking touts shook dirty cards in their faces. Tide-waiters +bawled questions in their ears. The postilion, the conductor, all the +world stretched greedy palms under their noses. Other travellers ran +into them, and they ran into other travellers. All this, in the dusk, +in the rain, while the bell on the deck overhead clanged above the +roar of the escaping steam, and a man shouted without ceasing, "Tower +steamer! Tower steamer! Any more for England?" + +Josephine, after one bitter exchange of words with a lad who had +seized her handbag, thrust her fingers into her ears and resigned +herself. Even Mary for a moment was aghast. She was dragged this way +and that, she lost one article and recovered it, lost another and +recovered that, she lost her ticket and rescued it from a man's hand. +At last, her baggage on board, she found herself breathless at the +foot of the ladder, with three passengers imploring her to ascend, and +six touts clinging to her skirts and crying for drink-money. She had +barely time to make her little gift to the kind-hearted maid--who was +returning to Paris by the night coach--and no time to thank her, +before they were parted. Mary was pushed up the ladder. In a moment +she was looking down from the deck on the wet, squalid quay, the pale +up-turned faces, the bustling crowd. + +She picked out the one face which she knew, and which it pained her to +lose. By gestures and smiles, with a tear in the eye, she tried to +make amends to Josephine for the hasty parting, the half-spoken words. +The maid on her side was in tears, and after the French fashion was +proud of them. So the last minute came. The paddles were already +turning, the ship was going slowly astern, when a man pushed his way +through the crowd. He clutched the ladder as it was unhooked, and at +some risk and much loss of dignity he was bundled on board. There was +a lamp amidships, and, as he regained his balance, Mary, smiling in +spite of herself, saw that he was an Englishman, a man about thirty, +and plainly dressed. Then in her anxiety to see the last of Josephine +she crossed the deck as the ship went about, and she lost sight of +him. + +She continued to look back and to wave her handkerchief, until +nothing remained but a light or two in a bank of shadow. That was the +last she was to see of the land which had been her home for ten years; +and chilled and lonely she turned about and did what, had she been +an older traveller, she would have done before. She sought the +after-cabin. Alas, a glance from the foot of the companion was enough! +Every place was taken, every couch occupied, and the air, already +close, repelled her. She climbed to the deck again, and was seeking +some corner where she could sit, sheltered from the wind and rain, +when the captain saw her and fell foul of her. + +"Now, young lady," he said, "no woman's allowed on deck at night!" + +"Oh, but," she protested, "there's no room downstairs!" + +"Won't do," he answered roughly. "Lost a woman overboard once, and as +much trouble about her as about all the men, drunk or sober, I've ever +carried. All women below, all women below, is the order! Besides," +more amicably, as he saw by a ray of lantern-light that she was young +and comely, "it's wet, my dear, and going to be d--d wet, and as dark +as Wapping!" + +"But I've a cloak," she petitioned, "if I sit quite still, and----" + +A tall form loomed up at the captain's elbow. "This is the lady I am +looking for," the new-comer said. "It will be all right, Captain +Jones." + +The captain turned sharply. "Oh, my lord," he said, "I didn't know; +but with petticoats and a dark night, blest if you know where you are! +I'm sure I beg the young lady's pardon. Quite right, my lord, quite +right!" With a rough salute he went forward and the darkness swallowed +him. + +"Lord Audley?" Mary said. She spoke quietly, but to do so she had to +steady her voice. + +"Yes," he replied. "I knew that you were crossing to-night, and as I +had to go over this week I chose this evening. I've reserved a cabin +for you." + +"Oh, but," she remonstrated, "I don't think you should have done that! +I don't know that I can----" + +"Afford it?" he said coolly. "Then--as it is a matter of some +shillings--your kinsman will presume to pay for it." + +It was a small thing, and she let it pass. "But who told you," she +asked, "that I was crossing to-night?" + +"The Princess. You don't feel, I suppose, that as you are crossing, it +was my duty to stay in France?" + +"Oh no!" she protested. + +"But you are not sure whether you are more pleased or more vexed? +Well, let me show you where your cabin is--it is the size of a +milliner's box, but by morning you will be glad of it, and that may +turn the scale. Moreover," as he led the way across the deck, "the +steward's boy, when he is not serving gin below, will serve tea above, +and at sea tea is not to be scorned. That's your number--7. And there +is the boy. Boy!" he called in a voice that ensured obedience, "Tea +and bread and butter for this lady in number 7 in an hour. See it is +there, my lad!" + +She smiled. "I think the tea and bread and butter may turn the scale," +she said. + +"Right," he replied. "Then, as it is only eight o'clock, why should we +not sit in the shelter of this tarpaulin? I see that there are two +seats. They might have been put for us." + +"Is it possible that they were?" she asked shrewdly. "Well, why not?" + +She had no reason to give--and the temptation was great. Five minutes +before she had been the most lonely creature in the world. The parting +from Josephine, the discomfort of the boat, the dark sea and the +darker horizon, the captain's rough words, had brought the tears to +her eyes. And then, in a moment, to be thought of, provided for, +kindly entreated, to be lapped in attentions as in a cloak--in very +fact, in another second a warm cloak was about her--who could expect +her to refuse this? Moreover, he was her kinsman; probably she owed it +to him that she was here. + +At any rate she thought that it would be prudish to demur, and she +took one of the seats in the lee of the screen. Audley tucked the +cloak about her, and took the other. The light of a lantern fell on +their faces and the few passengers who still tramped the windy deck +could see the pair, and doubtless envied him their shelter. "Are you +comfortable?" he inquired--but before she could answer he whistled +softly. + +"What is it?" Mary asked. + +"Not much." He laughed to himself. + +Then she saw coming along the deck towards them a man who had not +found his sea-legs. As he approached he took little runs, and now +brought up against the rail, now clutched at a stay. Mary knew the man +again. "He nearly missed the boat," she whispered. + +"Did he?" her companion answered in the same tone. "Well, if he had +quite missed it, I'd have forgiven him. He is going to be ill, I'll +wager!" + +When the man was close to them he reeled, and to save himself he +grasped the end of their screen. His eyes met theirs. He was past much +show of emotion, but his voice rose as he exclaimed, "Audley. Is that +you?" + +"It is. We are in for a rough night, I'm afraid." + +"And--pardon me," the stranger hesitated, peering at them, "is that +Miss Audley with you?" + +"Yes," Mary said, much surprised. + +"Oh!" + +"This is Mr. Basset," Audley explained. Mary stared at the stranger. +The name conveyed nothing to her. + +"I came to meet you," he said, speaking with difficulty, and now and +again casting a wild eye abroad as the deck heaved under him. "But I +expected to find you at the hotel, and I waited there until I nearly +missed the boat. Even then I felt that I ought to learn if you were on +board, and I came up to see." + +"I am very much obliged to you," Mary answered politely, "but I am +quite comfortable, thank you. It is close below, and Lord Audley found +this seat for me. And I have a cabin." + +"Oh yes!" he answered. "I think I will go down then if you--if you are +sure you want nothing." + +"Nothing, thank you," Mary answered with decision. + +"I think I--I'll go, then. Good-night!" + +With that he went, making desperate tacks in the direction of the +companion. Unfortunately what he gained in speed he lost in dignity, +and before he reached the hatch Lord Audley gave way to laughter. + +"Oh, don't!" Mary cried. "He will hear you. And it was kind of him to +look for me when he was not well." + +But Audley only laughed the more. "You don't catch the full flavor of +it," he said. "He's come three hundred miles to meet you, and he's too +ill to do anything now he's here!" + +"Three hundred miles to meet me!" she cried in astonishment. + +"Every yard of it! Don't you know who he is? He's Peter Basset, your +uncle's nephew by marriage, who lives with him. He's come, or rather +your uncle has sent him, all the way from Stafford to meet you--and +he's gone to lie down! He's gone to lie down! There's a squire of +dames for you! Upon my honor, I never knew anything richer!" + +And my lord's laughter broke out anew. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + THE LONDON PACKET + + +Mary laughed with him, but she was not comfortable. What she had seen +of the stranger, a man plain in feature and ordinary in figure, one +whom the eye would not have remarked in a crowd, did not especially +commend him. And certainly he had not shown himself equal to a +difficult situation. But the effort he had made to come to her help +appealed to her generosity, and she was not sure how far she formed a +part of the comedy. So her laughter was from the lips only, and brief. +Then, "My uncle's nephew?" she asked thoughtfully. + +"His wife's nephew. Your uncle married a Basset." + +"But why did he send him to meet me?" + +"For a simple reason--I should say that he had no one else to send. +Your uncle is not a man of many friends." + +"I understood that some one would meet the boat in London," she said. +"But I expected a woman." + +"I fancy the woman would be to seek," he replied. "And Basset is a +kind of tame cat at the Gatehouse. He lives there a part of the year, +though he has an old place of his own up the country. He's a +Staffordshire man born and bred, and I dare say a good fellow in his +way, but a dull dog! a dull dog! Are you sure that the wind does not +catch you?" + +She said that she was very comfortable, and they were silent awhile, +listening to the monotonous slapping of a rope against the mast and +the wash of the waves as they surged past the beam. A single light at +the end of the breakwater shone in the darkness behind them. She +marked the light grow smaller and more distant, and her thoughts went +back to the convent school, to her father, to the third-floor where +for a time they had been together, to his care for her--feeble and +inefficient, to his illness. And a lump rose in her throat, her hands +gripped one another as she strove to hide her feelings. In her heart +she whispered a farewell. She was turning her back on her father's +grave. The last tendril which bound her to the old life was breaking. + +The light vanished, and gradually the girl's reflections sought a new +channel. They turned from the past to the present, and dwelt on the +man beside her, who had not only thought of her comfort, who had not +only saved her from some hours of loneliness, but had probably wrought +this change in her life. This was the third time only that she had +seen him. Once, some days after that memorable evening, he had called +at the Hotel Lambert, and her employer had sent for her. He had +greeted her courteously in the Princess's presence, had asked her +kindly if she had heard from England, and had led her to believe that +she would hear. And she remembered with a blush that the Princess had +looked from one to the other with a smile, and afterwards had had +another manner for her. + +Meanwhile the man wondered what she was thinking, and waited for her +to give him the clue. But she was so long silent that his patience +wore thin. It was not for this, it was not to sit silent beside her, +that he had taken a night journey and secured these cosey seats. + +"Well?" he said at last. + +She turned to him, her eyes wet with tears. "It seems so strange," she +murmured, "to be leaving all and going into a world in which I know no +one." + +"Except the head of your family." + +"Except you! I suppose that I owe it to you that I am here?" + +"I should be happy if I thought so," he replied, with careful +reticence. "But we set a stone rolling, we do not know where it falls. +You will soon learn--Basset will tell you, if I don't--that your uncle +and I are not on good terms. Therefore it is unlikely that he was +moved by what I said." + +"But you said something?" + +"If I did," he answered, smiling, "it was against the grain--who likes +to put his finger between the door and the jamb? And let me caution +you. Your uncle will not suffer meddling on my part, still less a +reminder of it. Therefore, as you are going to owe all to him, you +will do well to be silent about me." + +She was sure that she owed all to him, and she might have said so, but +at that moment the boat changed its course and the full force of the +wind struck them. The salt spray whipped and stung their faces. Her +cloak flew out like a balloon, her scarf pennon-wise, the tarpaulin +flapped like some huge bird. He had to spring to the screen, to adjust +it to the new course, to secure and tuck in her cloak--and all in +haste, with exclamations and laughter, while Mary, sharing the joy of +the struggle, and braced by the sting of the salt wind, felt her heart +rise. How kind he was, and how strong. How he towered above ordinary +men. How safe she felt in his care. + +When they were settled anew, she asked him to tell her something about +the Gatehouse. + +"It's a lonely place," he said. "It is quite out of the world. I don't +know, indeed, how you will exist after the life you have led." + +"The life I have led!" she protested. "But that is absurd! Though you +saw me in the Princess's salon, you know that my life had nothing in +common with hers. I was downstairs no more than three or four times, +and then merely to interpret. My life was spent between whitewashed +walls, on bare floors. I slept in a room with twenty children, ate +with forty--onion soup and thick tartines. The evening I saw you I +wore shoes which the maid lent me. And with all that I was thankful, +most thankful, to have such a refuge. The great people who met at the +Princess's----" + +"And who thought that they were making history!" he laughed. "Did you +know that? Did you know that the Princess was looking to them to save +the last morsel of Poland?" + +"No," she said. "I did not know. I am very ignorant. But if I were a +man, I should love to do things like that." + +"I believe you would!" he replied. "Well, there are crusades in +England. Only I fear that you will not be in the way of them." + +"And I am not a princess! But tell me, please, what are they?" + +"You will not be long before you come upon one," he replied, a hint of +derision in his tone. "You will see a placard in the streets, '_Shall +the people's bread be taxed?_' Not quite so romantic as the +independence of Poland? But I can tell you that heads are quite as +likely to be broken over it." + +"Surely," she said, "there can be only one answer to that." + +"Just so," he replied dryly. "But what is the answer? The land +claims high prices that it may thrive; the towns claim cheap bread +that they may live. Each says that the country depends upon it. +'England self-supporting!' says one. 'England the workshop of the +world!' says the other." + +"I begin to see." + +"'The land is the strength of the country,' argues the squire. 'Down +with monopoly,' cries the cotton lord. Then each arms himself with a +sword lately forged and called 'Philanthropy,' and with that he +searches for chinks in the other's armor. 'See how factories work the +babes, drive the women underground, ruin the race,' shout the squires. +'Vote for the land and starvation wages,' shout the mill-owners." + +"But does no one try to find the answer?" she asked timidly. "Try to +find out what is best for the people?" + +"Ah!" he rejoined, "if by the people you mean the lower classes, they +cry, 'Give us not bread, but votes!' And the squires say that that is +what the traders who have just got votes don't mean to give them; and +so, to divert their attention, dangle cheap bread before their noses!" + +Mary sighed. "I am afraid that I must give it up," she said. "I am so +ignorant." + +"Well," he replied thoughtfully. "Many are puzzled which side to take, +and are waiting to see how the cat jumps. In the meantime every fence +is placarded with 'Speed the Plough!' on one side, and 'The Big Loaf!' +on the other. The first man you meet thinks the landlord a devourer of +widows' houses; to the next the mill-owner is an ogre grinding men's +bones to make his bread. Even at the Gatehouse I doubt if you will +escape the excitement, though there is not a field of wheat within a +mile of it!" + +"To me it is like a new world," she said. + +"Then, when you are in the new world," he replied, smiling as he rose, +"do not forget Columbus! But here is the lad to tell you that your tea +is ready." + +He repented when Mary had left him that he had not made better use of +his time. It had been his purpose to make such an impression on the +girl as might be of use in the future, and he wondered why he had not +devoted himself more singly to this; why he had allowed minutes which +might have been given to intimate subjects to be wasted in a dry +discussion. But there was a quality in Mary that did not lightly +invite to gallantry--a gravity and a balance that, had he looked +closely into the matter, might have explained his laches. + +And in fact he had builded better than he knew, for while he +reproached himself, Mary, safe within the tiny bathing machine which +the packet company called a cabin, was giving much thought to him. The +dip-candle, set within a horn lantern, threw its light on the one +comfortable object, the tea-tray, seated beside which she reviewed +what had happened, and found it all interesting; his meeting with her, +his thought for her, the glimpses he had given her of things beyond +the horizon of the convent school, even his diversion into politics. +He was not on good terms with her uncle, and it was unlikely that she +would see more of him. But she was sure that she would always remember +his appearance on the threshold of her new life, that she would always +recall with gratitude this crossing and the kindness which had lapped +her about and saved her from loneliness. + +In her eyes he figured as one of the brilliant circle of the Hotel +Lambert. For her he played a part in great movements and high +enterprises such as those which he had revealed to her. His light +treatment of them, his air of detachment, had, indeed, chilled her at +times; but these were perhaps natural in one who viewed from above and +from a distance the ills which it was his task to treat. How ignorant +he must think her! How remote from the plane on which he lived, the +standards by which he judged, the objects at which he aimed! Yet he +had stooped to explain things to her and to make them clear. + +She spent an hour deep in thought, and, strange as the life of the +ship was to her, she was deaf to the creaking of the timbers, and the +surge of the waves as they swept past the beam. At intervals hoarse +orders, a rush of feet across the deck, the more regular tramp of rare +passengers, caught her attention, only to lose it as quickly. It was +late when she roused herself. She saw that the candle was burning low, +and she began to make her arrangements for the night. + +Midway in them she paused, and colored, aware that she knew his tread +from the many that had passed. The footstep ceased. A hand tapped at +her door. "Yes?" she said. + +"We shall be in the river by daybreak," Audley announced. "I thought +that you might like to come on deck early. You ought not to miss the +river from the Nore to the Pool." + +"Thank you," she answered. + +"You shouldn't miss it," he persisted. "Greenwich especially!" + +"I shall be there," she replied. "It is very good of you. Good-night." + +He went away. After all, he was the only man on board shod like a +gentleman; it had been odd if she had not known his step! And for +going on deck early, why should she not? Was she to miss Greenwich +because Lord Audley went to a good bootmaker? + +So when Peter Basset, still pale and qualmish, came on deck in the +early morning, a little below the Pool, the first person he saw was +the girl whom he had come to escort. She was standing high above him +on the captain's bridge, her hands clasping the rail, her hair blown +about and shining golden in the sunshine. Lord Audley's stately form +towered above her. He was pointing out this and that, and they were +talking gaily; and now and again the captain spoke to them, and many +were looking at them. She did not see Basset; he was on the deck +below, standing amid the common crowd, and so he was free to look at +her as he pleased. He might be said not to have seen her before, and +what he saw now bewildered, nay, staggered him. Unwillingly, and to +please his uncle, he had come to meet a girl of whom they knew no more +than this, that, rescued from some backwater of Paris life, into which +a weak and shiftless father had plunged her, she had earned her +living, if she had earned it at all, in a dependent capacity. He had +looked to find her one of two things; either flashy and underbred, +with every fault an Englishman might consider French, or a nice +mixture of craft and servility. He had not been able to decide which +he would prefer. + +Instead he saw a girl tall, slender, and slow of movement, with eyes +set under a fine width of brow and grave when they smiled, a chin +fuller than perfect beauty required, a mouth a little large, a perfect +nose. Auburn hair, thick and waving, drooped over each temple, and +framed a face as calm as it was fair. "Surely a pearl found on a +midden!" he thought. And as the thought passed through his mind, Mary +looked down. Her eyes roved for a moment over the crowded deck, where +some, like Basset, returned her gaze with interest, while others +sought their baggage or bawled for missing companions. He was not a +man, it has been said, to stand out in a crowd, and her eyes travelled +over him without seeing him. Audley spoke to her, she lifted her eyes, +she looked ashore again. But the unheeding glance which had not +deigned to know him stung Basset! He dubbed her, with all her beauty, +proud and hard. Still--to be such and to have sprung from such a life! +It was marvellous. + +He knew nothing of the convent school with its hourly discipline +lasting through years. He did not guess that the obstinacy which had +been weakness in the father was strength in the child. Much less could +he divine that the improvidence of that father had become a beacon, +warning the daughter off the rocks which had been fatal to him! Mary +was no miracle, but neither was she proud or hard. + +They had passed Erith, and Greenwich with its stately pile and formal +gardens glittering in the sunshine of an April morning. The ripple of +a westerly wind, meeting the flood, silvered the turbid surface. A +hundred wherries skimmed like water-flies hither and thither, long +lines of colliers fringed the wharves, tall China clippers forged +slowly up under a scrap of foresail, dumb barges deep laden with hay +or Barclay's Entire, moved mysteriously with the tide. On all sides +hoarse voices bawled orders or objurgations. Charmed with the gayety, +the movement, the color, Mary could not take her eyes from the scene. +The sunshine, the leap of life, the pulse of spring, moved in her +blood and put to flight the fears that had weighed on her at +nightfall. She told herself with elation that this was England, this +was her native land, this was her home. + +Meanwhile Audley's mind took another direction. He reflected that in a +few minutes he must part from the girl, and must trust henceforth to +the impression he had made. For some hours he had scarcely given a +thought to Basset, but he recalled him now, and he searched for him in +the throng below. He found him at last, pressed against the rail +between a fat woman with a basket and a crying child. Their eyes met. +My lord glanced away, but he could not refrain from a smile as he +pictured the poor affair the other had made of his errand. And +Basset saw the smile and read its meaning, and though he was not +self--assertive, though he was, indeed, backward to a fault, anger ran +through his veins. To have travelled three hundred miles in order to +meet this girl, to have found her happy in another's company, and to +have accepted the second place--the position had vexed him even under +the qualms of illness. This morning, and since he had seen her, it +stirred in him an unwonted resentment. He d--d Audley under his +breath, disengaged himself from the basket which the fat woman was +thrusting into his ribs, lifted the child aside. He escaped below to +collect his effects. + +But in a short time he recovered his temper. When the boat began to go +about in the crowded Pool and Mary reluctantly withdrew her eyes from +the White Tower, darkened by the smoke and the tragedies of twenty +generations, she found him awaiting them at the foot of the ladder. He +was still pale, and the girl's conscience smote her. For many hours +she had not given him a thought. "I hope you are better," she said +gently. + +"Horrid thing, _mal de mer!_" remarked my lord, with a gleam of humor +in his eye. + +"Thank you, I am quite right this morning," Basset answered. + +"You go from Euston Grove, I suppose?" + +"Yes. The morning train starts in a little over an hour." + +No more was said, and they went ashore together. Audley, an old +traveller, and one whose height and presence gave weight to his +orders, saw to Mary's safety in the crowd, shielded her from touts and +tide-waiters, took the upper hand. He watched the aproned porters +disappearing with the baggage in the direction of the Custom House, +and a thought struck him. "I am sorry that my servant is not here," he +said. "He would see our things through without troubling us." His eyes +met Basset's. + +Basset disdained to refuse. "I will do it," he said. He received the +keys and followed the baggage. + +Audley looked at Mary and laughed. "I think you'll find him useful," +he said. "Takes a hint and is not too forward." + +"For shame!" she cried. "It is very good of him to go." But she could +not refrain from a smile. + +"Well trained," Audley continued in a whimsical tone, "fetches and +carries, barks at the name of Peel and growls at the name of Cobden, +gives up a stick when required, could be taught to beg--by the right +person." + +She laughed--she could not resist his manner. "But you are not very +kind," she said. "Please to call a--whatever we need. He shall not do +everything." + +"Everything?" Lord Audley echoed. "He should do nothing," in a lower +tone, "if I had my way." + +Mary blushed. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + FIELD AND FORGE + + +The window of the clumsy carriage was narrow, but Mary gazed through +it as if she could never see enough of the flying landscape, the +fields, the woods, the ivy-clad homes and red-roofed towns that passed +in procession before her. The emotions of those who journeyed for the +first time on a railway at a speed four times as great as that of the +swiftest High-flier that ever devoured the road are forgotten by this +generation. But they were vivid. The thing was a miracle. And though +by this time men had ceased to believe that he who passed through the +air at sixty miles an hour must of necessity cease to breathe, the +novice still felt that he could never tire of the panorama so swiftly +unrolled before him. + +And it was not only wonder, it was admiration that held Mary chained +to the window. Her infancy had been spent in a drab London street, her +early youth in the heart of a Paris which was still gloomy and +mediaeval. Some beautiful things she had seen on fete days, the +bend of the river at Meudon or St. Germain, and once the Forest +of Fontainebleau; on Sundays the Bois. But the smiling English +meadows, the gray towers of village churches, the parks and lawns of +manor-houses, the canals with their lines of painted barges, and here +and there a gay packet boat--she drank in the beauty of these, and +more than once her eyes grew dim. For a time Basset, seated in the +opposite corner, did not exist for her; while he, behind the _Morning +Chronicle_, made his observations and took note of her at his leisure. +The longer he looked the more he marvelled. + +He asked himself with amusement what John Audley would think of her +when he, too, should see her. He anticipated the old man's surprise on +finding her so remote from their preconceived ideas of her. He +wondered what she would think of John Audley. + +And while he pondered, and now scanned his paper without reading it, +and now stole another glance at her, he steeled himself against her. +She might not have been to blame, it might not have been her fault; +but, between them, the two on the boat had put him in his place and he +could not forget it. He had cut a poor figure, and he resented it. He +foresaw that in the future she would be dependent on him for society, +and he would be a fool if he then forgot the lesson he had learned. +She had a good face, but probably her up-bringing had been anything +but good. Probably it had taught her to make the most of the moment +and of the man of the moment, and he would be foolish if he let her +amuse herself with him. He had seen in what light she viewed him when +other game was afoot, and he would deserve the worst if he did not +remember this. + +Presently an embankment cut off the view, and she withdrew her eyes +from the window. In her turn she took the measure of her companion. It +seemed to her that his face was too thoughtful for his years, and that +his figure was insignificant. The eye which had accustomed itself to +Lord Audley's port and air found Basset slight and almost mean. She +smiled as she recalled the skill with which my lord had set him aside +and made use of him. + +Still, he was a part of the life to which she was hastening, and +curiosity stirred in her. He was in possession, he was in close +relations with her uncle, he knew many things which she was anxious to +know. Much of her comfort might depend on him. Presently she asked him +what her uncle was like. + +"You will see for yourself in a few hours," he replied, his tone cold +and almost ungracious. "Did not Lord Audley describe him?" + +"No. And you seem," with a faint smile, "to be equally on your guard, +Mr. Basset." + +"Not at all," he retorted. "But I think it better to leave you to +judge for yourself. I have lived too near to Mr. Audley to--to +criticise him." + +She colored. + +"Let me give you one hint, however," he continued in the same dry +tone; "you will be wise not to mention Lord Audley to him. They are +not on good terms." + +"I am sorry." + +He shrugged his shoulders. "It cannot be said to be unnatural, after +what has happened." + +She considered this. "What has happened?" she asked after a pause. + +"Well, the claim to the peerage, if nothing else----" + +"What claim?" she asked. "Whose claim? What peerage? I am quite in the +dark." + +He stared. He did not believe her. "Your uncle's claim," he said +curtly. Then as she still looked a question, "You must know," he +continued, "that your uncle claimed the title which Lord Audley bears, +and the property which goes with it. And that the decision was only +given against him three months ago." + +"I know nothing of it," she said. "I never heard of the claim." + +"Really?" he replied. He hardly deigned to veil his incredulity. "Yet +if your uncle had succeeded you were the next heir." + +"I?" + +"Yes, you." + +Then her face shook his unbelief. She turned slowly and painfully red. +"Is it possible?" she said. "You are not playing with me?" + +"Certainly I am not. Do you mean that Lord Audley never told you that? +Never told you that you were interested?" + +"Never! He only told me that he was not on good terms with my uncle, +and that for that reason he would leave me to learn the rest at the +Gatehouse." + +"Well, that was right," Basset answered. "It is as well, since you +have to live with Mr. Audley, that you should not be prejudiced +against him." + +"No doubt," she said dryly. "But I do not understand why he did not +answer my letters." + +"Did you write to him?" + +"Twice." She was going to explain the circumstances, but she +refrained. Why appeal to the sympathies of one who seemed so cold, so +distant, so indifferent? + +"He cannot have had the letters," Basset decided after a pause. + +"Then how did he come to write to me at last?" + +"Lord Audley sent your address to him." + +"Ah!" she said. "I supposed so." With an air of finality she turned to +the window, and for some time she was silent. Her mind had much upon +which to work. + +She was silent for so long that before more was said they were running +through the outskirts of Birmingham, and Mary awoke with a shock to +another and sadder side of England. In place of parks and homesteads +she saw the England of the workers--workers at that time exploited to +the utmost in pursuance of a theory of economy that heeded only the +wealth of nations, and placed on that wealth the narrowest meaning. +They passed across squalid streets, built in haste to meet the needs +of new factories, under tall chimneys the smoke of which darkened the +sky without hindrance, by vile courts, airless and almost sunless. +They looked down on sallow children whose only playground was the +street and whose only school-bell was the whistle that summoned them +at dawn to premature toil. Haggard women sat on doorsteps with puling +babes in their arms. Lines of men, whose pallor peered through the +grime, propped the walls, or gazed with apathy at the train. For a few +minutes Mary forgot not only her own hopes and fears, but the +aloofness and even the presence of her companion. When they came to a +standstill in the station, where they had to change on to the Grand +Junction Railway, Basset had to speak twice before she understood that +he wished her to leave the carriage. + +"What a dreadful place!" she exclaimed. + +"Well, it is not beautiful," Basset admitted. "One does not look for +beauty in Birmingham and the Black Country." + +He got her some tea, and marshalled her carefully to the upper line. +But his answer had jarred upon her, and when they were again seated, +Mary kept her thoughts to herself. Beyond Birmingham their route +skirted towns rather than passed through them, but she saw enough to +deepen the impression which the lanes and alleys of that place had +made upon her. The sun had set and the cold evening light revealed in +all their meanness the rows of naked cottages, the heaps of slag and +cinders, the starveling horses that stood with hanging heads on the +dreary lands. As darkness fell, fires shone out here and there, and +threw into Dantesque relief the dark forms of half-naked men toiling +with fury to feed the flames. The change which an hour had made in all +she saw seemed appalling to the girl; it filled her with awe and +sadness. Here, so near the paradise of the country and the plough, was +the Inferno of the town, the forge, the pit! Here, in place of the +thatched cottage and the ruddy faces, were squalor and sunken cheeks +and misery and dearth. + +She thought of the question which Lord Audley had raised twenty-four +hours before, and which he had told her was racking the minds of +men--should food be taxed? And she fancied that there was, there could +be, but one answer. These toiling masses, these slaves of the hammer +and the pick, must be fed, and, surely, so fed that a margin, however +small, however meagre, might be saved out of which to better their +sordid lot. + +"We call this the Black Country," Basset explained, feeling the +silence irksome. After all, she was in his charge, in a way she was +his guest. He ought to amuse her. + +"It is well named," she answered. "Is there anything in England worse +than this?" + +"Well, round Hales Owen and Dudley," he rejoined, "it may be worse. +And at Cradley Heath it may be rougher. More women and children are +employed in the pits; and where women make chains--well, it's pretty +bad." + +She had spoken dryly to hide her feelings. He replied in a tone as +matter-of-fact, through lack of feeling. For this he was not so much +to blame as she fancied, for that which horrified her was to him an +everyday matter, one of the facts of life with which he had been +familiar from boyhood. But she did not understand this. She judged him +and condemned him. She did not speak again. + +By and by, "We shall be at Penkridge in twenty minutes," he said. +"After that a nine-miles drive will take us to the Gatehouse, and your +journey will be over. But I fear that you will find the life quiet +after Paris." + +"I was very quiet in Paris." + +"But you were in a large house." + +"I was at the Princess Czartoriski's." + +"Of course. I suppose it was there that you met Lord Audley?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, after that kind of life, I am afraid that the Gatehouse will +have few charms for you. It is very remote, very lonely." + +She cut him short with impatience, the color rising to her face. "I +thought you understood," she said, "that I was in the Princess's house +as a governess? It was my business to take care of a number of +children, to eat with them, to sleep with them, to see that they +washed their hands and kept their hair clean. That was my position, +Mr. Basset. I do not wish it to be misunderstood." + +"But if that were so," he stammered, "how did you----" + +"Meet Lord Audley," she replied. "Very simply. Once or twice the +Princess ordered me to descend to the salon to interpret. On one of +these occasions Lord Audley saw me and learned--who I was." + +"Indeed," he said. "I see." Perhaps he had had it in his mind to test +her and the truth of Audley's letter, which nothing in her or in my +lord's conduct seemed to confirm. He did not know if this had been in +his mind, but in any case the result silenced him. She was either very +honest or very clever. Many girls, he knew, would have slurred over +the facts, and not a few would have boasted of the Princess's +friendship and the Princess's society, and the Princess's hotel, and +brought up her name a dozen times a day. + +She is very clever, he thought, or she is--good. But for the moment he +steeled himself against the latter opinion. + +No other travellers alighted at Penkridge, and he went away to claim +the baggage, while she waited, cold and depressed, on the little +platform which, lit by a single oil lamp, looked down on a dim +churchyard. Dusk was passing into night, and the wind, sweeping across +the flat, whipped her skirts and chilled her blood. Her courage sank. +A light or two betrayed the nearness of the town, but in every other +direction dull lines of willows or pale stretches of water ran into +the night. + +Five minutes before she had resented Basset's company, now she was +glad to see him return. He led the way to the road in silence. "The +carriage is late," he muttered, but even as he spoke the quick tramp +of a pair of horses pushed to speed broke on them, lights appeared, a +moment later a fly pulled up beside them and turned. "You are late," +Basset said. + +"There!" the man replied. "Minutes might be guineas since trains came +in, dang 'em! Give me the days when five minutes made neither man nor +mouse, and gentry kept their own time." + +"Well, let us get off now." + +"I ask no better, Squire. Please yourself and you'll please me." + +When they were shut in, Basset laughed. "Stafford manners!" he said. +"You'll become used to them!" + +"Is this my uncle's carriage?" she asked. + +"No," he replied, smiling in the darkness. "He does not keep one." + +She said no more. Though she could not see him, her shoulder touched +his, and his nearness and the darkness in which they sat troubled her, +though she was not timid. They rode thus for a minute or two, then +trundled through a narrow street, dimly lit by shop windows; again +they were in the dark and the country. Presently the pace dropped to a +walk as they began to ascend. + +She fancied, peering out on her side, that they were winding up +through woods. Branches swept the sides of the carriage. They jolted +into ruts and jolted out of them. By and by they were clear of the +trees and the road seemed to be better. The moon, newly risen, showed +her a dreary upland, bare and endless, here dotted with the dark +stumps of trees, there of a deeper black as if fire had swept over it +and scarred it. They met no one, saw no sign of habitation. To the +girl, accustomed all her life to streets and towns, the place seemed +infinitely desolate--a place of solitude and witches and terror and +midnight murder. + +"What is this?" she asked, shivering. + +"This is the Great Chase," he said. "Riddsley, on the farther side, is +our nearest town, but since the railway was opened we use Penkridge +Station." + +His practical tone steadied her, but she was tired, and the loneliness +which she had felt while she waited on the bleak platform weighed +heavily on her. To what was she going? How would her uncle receive +her? This dreary landscape, the gaunt signpost that looked like a +gibbet and might have been one, the skeleton trees that raised bare +arms to heaven, the scream of a dying rabbit, all added to the +depression of the moment. She was glad when at last the carriage +stopped at a gate. Basset alighted and opened the gate. He stepped in +again, they went on. There were now shadowy trees about them, sparsely +set. They jolted unevenly over turf. + +"Are we there?" she asked, a tremor in her voice. + +"Very nearly," he said. "Another mile and we shall be there. This is +Beaudelays Park." + +She called pride to her aid, and he did not guess--for all day he had +marked her self-possession--that she was trembling. Vainly she told +herself that she was foolish, that nothing could happen to her, +nothing that mattered. What, after all, was a cold reception, what was +her uncle's frown beside the poverty and the hazards from which she +had escaped? Vainly she reassured herself; she could not still the +rapid beating of her heart. + +He might have said a word to cheer her. But he did not know that she +was suffering, and he said no word. She came near to hating him for +his stolidity and his silence. He was inhuman! A block! + +She peered through the misty glass, striving to see what was before +them. But she could make out no more than the dark limbs of trees, and +now and then a trunk, which shone as the light of the lamp slipped +over it, and as quickly vanished. Suddenly they shot from turf to hard +road, passed through an open gateway, for an instant the lamp on her +side showed a grotesque pillar--they wheeled, they stopped. Within a +few feet of her a door stood open, and in the doorway a girl held a +lantern aloft in one hand, and with the other screened her eyes from +the light. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + MR. JOHN AUDLEY + + +An hour later Basset was seated on one side of a wide hearth, +on the other John Audley faced him. The library in which they sat was +the room which Basset loved best in the world. It was a room of +silence and large spaces, and except where four windows, tall and +narrow, broke one wall, it was lined high with the companions of +silence--books. The ceiling was of black oak, adorned at the crossings +of the joists and beams with emblems, butterflies, and Stafford knots +and the like, once bright with color, and still soberly rich. A +five-sided bay enlarged each of the two inner corners of the +room and broke the outlines. One of these bays shrined a window, +four-mullioned, the other a spiral staircase. An air of comfort and +stateliness pervaded the whole; here the great scutcheon over the +mantel, there the smaller coats on the chair-backs blended their or +and gules with the hues of old rugs and the dun bindings of old +folios. There were books on the four or five tables, and books on the +Cromwell chairs; and charts and deeds, antique weapons and silver +pieces, all the tools and toys of the antiquary, lay broadcast. +Against the door hung a blazoned pedigree of the Audleys of +Beaudelays. It was six feet long and dull with age. + +But Basset, as he faced his companion, was not thinking of the room, +or of the pursuits with which it was connected in his mind, and which, +more than affection and habit, bound him to John Audley. He moved +restlessly in his chair, then stretched his legs to meet the glow of +the wood fire. "All the same," he said, "I think you would have done +well to see her to-night, sir." + +"Pooh! pooh!" John Audley answered with lazy good humor. "Why? It +doesn't matter what I think of her or she thinks of me. It's what +Peter thinks of Mary and Mary thinks of Peter that matters. That's +what matters!" He chuckled as he marked the other's annoyance. "She is +a beauty, is she?" + +"I didn't say so." + +"But you think it. You don't deceive me at this time of day. And +stand-off, is she? That's for the marines and innocent young fellows +like you who think women angels. I'll be bound that she's her mother's +daughter, and knows her value and will see that she fetches it! +Trading blood will out!" + +To the eye that looked and glanced away John Audley, lolling in his +chair, in a quilted dressing-gown with silk facings, was a plump and +pleasant figure. His face was fresh-colored, and would have been +comely if the cheeks had not been a little pendulous. His hair was +fine and white and he wore it long, and his hands were shapely and +well cared for. As he said his last word he poured a little brandy +into a glass and filled it up with water. "Here's to the wooing that's +not long adoing!" he said, his eyes twinkling. He seemed to take a +pleasure in annoying the other. + +He was so far successful that Basset swore softly. "It's silly to talk +like that," he said, "when I have hardly known the girl twenty-four +hours and have scarcely said ten times as many words to her." + +"But you're going to say a good many more words to her!" Audley +retorted, grinning. "Sweet, pretty words, my boy! But there, there," +he continued, veering between an elfish desire to tease and a desire +equally strong to bring the other to his way of thinking. "I'm only +joking. I know you'll never let that devil have his way! You'll never +leave the course open for _him!_ I know that. But there's no hurry! +There's no hurry. Though, lord, how I sweated when I read his letter! +I had never a wink of sleep the night after." + +"I don't suppose that he's given a thought to her in that way," Basset +answered. "Why should he?" + +John Audley leant forward, and his face underwent a remarkable change. +It became a pale, heavy mask, out of which his eyes gleamed, small and +malevolent. "Don't talk like a fool!" he said harshly. "Of course he +means it. And if she's fool enough all my plans, all my pains, all my +rights--and once you come to your senses and help me I shall have my +rights--all, all, all will go for nothing. For nothing!" He sank back +in his chair. "There! now you've excited me. You've excited me, and +you know that I can't bear excitement!" His hand groped feebly for his +glass, and he raised it to his lips. He gasped once or twice. The +color came back to his face. + +"I am sorry," Basset said. + +"Ay, ay. But be a good lad. Be a good lad. Make up your mind to help +me at the Great House." + +Basset shook his head. + +"To help me, and twenty-four hours--only twenty-four hours, man--may +make all the difference! All the difference in the world to me." + +"I have told you my views about it," Basset said doggedly. He shifted +uneasily in his chair. "I cannot do it, sir, and I won't." + +John Audley groaned. "Well, well!" he answered. "I'll say no more now. +I'll say no more now. When you and she have made it up"--in vain +Basset shook his head--"you'll see the question in another light. Ay, +believe me, you will. It'll be your business then, and your interest, +and nothing venture, nothing win! You'll see it differently. You'll +help the old man to his rights then." + +Basset shrugged his shoulders, but thought it useless to protest. The +other sighed once or twice and was silent also. At length, "You never +told me that you had heard from her," Basset said. + +"That I'd----" John Audley broke off. "What is it, Toft?" he asked +over his shoulder. + +A man-servant, tall, thin, lantern-jawed, had entered unseen. "I came +to see if you wanted anything more, sir?" he said. + +"Nothing, nothing, Toft. Good-night!" He spoke impatiently, and he +watched the man out before he went on. Then, "Perhaps I heard from +her, perhaps I didn't," he said. "It's some time ago. What of it?" + +"She was in great distress when she wrote." + +John Audley raised his eyebrows. "What of it!" he repeated. +"She was that woman's daughter. When Peter married a tradesman's +daughter--married a----" He did not continue. His thoughts trickled +away into silence. The matter was not worthy of his attention. + +But by and by he roused himself. "You've ridiculous scruples," he +said. "Absurd scruples. But," briskly, "there's that much of good in +this girl that I think she'll put an end to them. You must brighten +up, my lad, and spark it a little! You're too grave." + +"Damn!" said Basset. "For God's sake, don't begin it all again. I've +told you that I've not the least intention----" + +"She'll see to that if she's what I think her," John Audley retorted +cheerfully. "If she's her mother's daughter! But very well, very well! +We'll change the subject. I've been working at the Feathers--the +Prince's Feathers." + +"Have you gone any farther?" Basset asked, forcing an interest which +would have been ready enough at another time. + +"I might have, but I had a visitor." + +Visitors were rare at the Gatehouse, and Basset wondered. "Who was +it?" he asked. + +"Bagenal the maltster from Riddsley. He came about some political +rubbish. Some trouble they are having with Mottisfont. D--n +Mottisfont! What do I care about him? They think he isn't running +straight--that he's going in for corn-law repeal. And Bagenal and the +other fools think that that will be the ruin of the town." + +"But Mottisfont is a Tory," Basset objected. + +"So is Peel. They are both in Bagenal's bad books. Bagenal is sure +that Peel is going back to the cotton people he came from. Spinning +Jenny spinning round again!" + +"I see." + +"I asked him," Audley continued, rubbing his knees with sly enjoyment, +"what Stubbs the lawyer was doing about it. He's the party manager. +Why didn't he come to me?" + +Basset smiled. "What did he say to that?" + +"Hummed and hawed. At last he said that owing to Stubbs's connection +with--you know who--it was thought that he was not the right person to +come to me. So I asked him what Stubbs's employer was going to do +about it." + +"Ah!" + +"He didn't know what to say to that, the ass! Thought I should go the +other way, you see. So I told him"--John Audley laughed maliciously as +he spoke--"that, for the landed interest, the law had taken away my +land, and, for politics, I would not give a d--n for either party in a +country where men did not get their rights! Lord! how he looked!" + +"Well, you didn't hide your feelings." + +"Why should I?" John Audley asked cheerfully. "What will they do for +me? Nothing. Will they move a finger to right me? No. Then a plague on +both their houses!" He snapped his fingers in schoolboy fashion and +rose to his feet. He lit a candle, taking a light from the fire with a +spill. "I am going to bed now, Peter. Unless----" he paused, the +candlestick in his hand, and gazed fixedly at his companion. "Lord, +man, what we could do in two or three hours! In two or three hours. +This very night!" + +"I've told you that I will have nothing to do with it!" Basset +repeated. + +John Audley sighed, and removing his eyes, poked the wick of the +candle with the snuffers. "Well," he said, "good-night. We must look +to bright eyes and red lips to convert you. What a man won't do for +another he will do for himself, Peter. Good-night." + +Left alone, Basset stared fretfully at the fire. It was not the first +time by scores that John Audley had tried him and driven him almost +beyond bearing. But habit is a strong tie, and a common taste is a +bond even stronger. In this room, and from the elder man, Basset had +learned to trace a genealogy, to read a coat, to know a bar from a +bend, to discourse of badges and collars under the guidance of the +learned Anstie or the ingenious Le Neve. There he had spent hours +flitting from book to book and chart to chart in the pursuit, as +thrilling while it lasted as any fox-chase, of some family link, the +origin of this, the end of that, a thing of value only to those who +sought it, but to them all-important. He could recall many a day so +spent while rain lashed the tall mullioned windows or sunlight flooded +the window-seat in the bay; and these days had endeared to him every +nook in the library from the folio shelves in the shadowy corner under +the staircase to the cosey table near the hearth which was called "Mr. +Basset's," and enshrined in a long drawer a tree of the Bassets of +Blore. + +For he as well as Audley came of an ancient and shrunken stock. He +also could count among his forbears men who had fought at Blore Heath +and Towton, or had escaped by a neck from the ruin of the Gunpowder +Plot. So he had fallen early under the spell of the elder man's +pursuits, and, still young, had learned from him to live in the past. +Later the romantic solitude of the Gatehouse, where he had spent more +of the last six years than in his own house at Blore, had confirmed +him in the habit. + +Under the surface, however, the two men remained singularly unlike. +While a fixed idea had narrowed John Audley's vision to the inhuman, +the younger man, under a dry and reserved exterior--he was shy, and +his undrained acres, his twelve hundred a year, poorly supported an +ancient name--was not only human, but in his way was something of an +idealist. He dreamed dreams, he had his secret aspirations, at times +ambition of the higher kind stirred in him, he planned plans and +another life than this. But always--this was a thing inbred in him--he +put forward the commonplace, as the cuttle-fish sheds ink, and hid +nothing so shyly as the visions which he had done nothing to make +real. On those about him he made no deep impression, though from one +border of Staffordshire to the other his birth won respect. Politics +viewed as a game, and a selfish game, had no attraction for him. +Quarter Sessions and the Bench struck no spark from him. At the Races +and the County Ball richer men outshone him. But given something to +touch his heart and fire his ambition, he had qualities. He might +still show himself in another light. + +Something of this, for no reason that he could imagine, some feeling +of regret for past opportunities, passed through his mind as he sat +fretting over John Audley's folly. But after a time he roused himself +and became aware that he was tired; and he rose and lit a candle. He +pushed back the smouldering logs and slowly and methodically he put +out the lights. He gave a last thought to John Audley. "There was +always one maggot in his head," he muttered, "now there's a second. +What I would not do to please him, he thinks I shall do to please +another! Well, he does not know her yet!" + +He went to bed. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + THE GATEHOUSE + + +It is within the bounds of imagination that death may make no greater +change in our inner selves than is wrought at times by a new mood or +another outlook. When Mary, an hour before the world was astir on the +morning after her arrival, let herself out of the Gatehouse, and from +its threshold as from a ledge saw the broad valley of the Trent +stretched before her in all the beauty of a May morning, her alarm of +the past night seemed incredible. At her feet a sharp slope, clothed +in gorse and shrub, fell away to meet the plain. It sank no more than +a couple of hundred feet, but this was enough to enable her to follow +the silver streak of the river winding afar between park and coppice +and under many a church tower. Away to the right she could see the +three graceful spires of Lichfield, and southward, where an opal haze +closed the prospect, she could imagine the fringe of the Black +Country, made beautiful by distance. + +In sober fact few parts of England are less inviting than the low +lands of Staffordshire, when the spring floods cover them or the fogs +of autumn cling to the cold soil. But in spring, when larks soar above +them and tall, lop-sided elms outline the fields, they have their +beauty; and Mary gazed long at the fair prospect before she turned her +back on it and looked at the house that was fated to be her home. + +It was what its name signified, a gatehouse; yet by turns it could be +a sombre and a charming thing. Some Audley of noble ideas, a man long +dead, had built it to be the entrance to his demesne. The park wall, +overhung by trees, still ran right and left from it, but the road +which had once passed through the archway now slid humbly aside and +entered the park by a field gate. A wide-latticed Tudor tower, rising +two stories above the arch and turreted at the four corners, formed +the middle. It was buttressed on either hand by a lower building, +flush with it and of about the same width. The tower was of yellowish +stone, the wings were faced with stained stucco. Right and left of the +whole a plot of shrubs masked on the one hand the stables, on the +other the kitchens--modern blocks set back to such a distance that +each touched the old part at a corner only. + +He who had planned the building had set it cunningly on the brow of +the Great Chase, so that, viewed from the vale, it rose against the +skyline. On dark days it broke the fringe of woodland and stood up, +gloomy and forbidding, the portal of a Doubting Castle. On bright +days, with its hundred diamond panes a-glitter in the sunshine, it +seemed to be the porch of a fairy palace, the silent home of some +Sleeping Beauty. At all times it imposed itself upon men below and +spoke of something beyond, something unseen, greater, mysterious. + +To Mary Audley, who saw it at its best, the very stains of the plaster +glorified by the morning light, it was a thing of joy. She fancied +that to live behind those ancient mullioned windows, to look out +morning and evening on that spacious landscape, to feel the bustle of +the world so remote, must in itself be happiness. For a time she could +not turn from it. + +But presently the desire to explore her new surroundings seized her +and she re-entered the house. A glance at the groined roof of the +hall--many a gallant horseman had ridden under it in his time--proved +that it was merely the archway closed and fitted with a small door and +window at either end. She unlocked the farther door and passed into a +paved court, in which the grass grew between the worn flags. In the +stables on the left a dog whined. The kitchens were on the other hand, +and before her an opening flanked by tall heraldic beasts broke a low +wall, built of moss-grown brick. She ventured through it and uttered a +cry of delight. + +Near at hand, under cover of a vast chestnut tree, were traces of +domestic labor: a grindstone, a saw-pit, a woodpile, coops with +clucking hens. But beyond these the sward, faintly lined at first with +ruts, stretched away into forest glades, bordered here by giant oaks +brown in bud, there by the yellowish-green of beech trees. In the +foreground lay patches of gorse, and in places an ancient thorn, riven +and half prostrate, crowned the russet of last year's bracken with a +splash of cream. Heedless of the spectator, rabbits sat making their +toilet, and from every brake birds filled the air with a riot of song. + +To one who had seen little but the streets of Paris, more sordid then +than now, the scene was charming. Mary's eyes filled, her heart +swelled. Ah, what a home was here! She had espied on her journey many +a nook and sheltered dell, but nothing that could vie with this! +Heedless of her thin shoes, with no more than a handkerchief on her +head, she strayed on and on. By and by a track, faintly marked, led +her to the left. A little farther, and old trees fell into line on +either hand, as if in days long gone, before age thinned their ranks, +they had formed an avenue. + +For a time she sat musing on a fallen trunk, then the hawthorn that a +few paces away perfumed the spring air moved her to gather an armful +of it. She forgot that time was passing, almost she forgot that she +had not breakfasted, and she might have been nearly a mile from the +Gatehouse when she was startled by a faint hail that seemed to come +from behind her. She looked back and saw Basset coming after her. + +He, too, was hatless--he had set off in haste--and he was out of +breath. She turned with concern to meet him. "Am I very late, Mr. +Basset?" she asked, her conscience pricking her. What if this first +morning she had broken the rules? + +"Oh no," he said. And then, "You've not been farther than this?" + +"No. I am afraid my uncle is waiting?" + +"Oh no. He breakfasts in his own room. But Etruria told me that +you had gone this way, and I followed. I see that you are not +empty-handed." + +"No." And she thrust the great bunch of may under his nose--who would +not have been gay, who would not have lost her reserve in such a +scene, on such a morning? "Isn't it fresh? Isn't it delicious?" + +As he stooped to the flowers his eyes met hers smiling through the +hawthorn sprays, and he saw her as he had not seen her before. Her +gravity had left her. Spring laughed in her eyes, youth fluttered in +the tendrils of her hair, she was the soul of May. And what she had +found of beauty in the woodland, of music in the larks' songs, of +perfume in the blossoms, of freshness in the morning, the man found in +her; and a shock, never to be forgotten, ran through him. He did not +speak. He smelled the hawthorn in silence. + +But a few seconds later--as men reckon time--he took note of his +feelings, and he was startled. He had not been prepared to like her, +we know; many things had armed him against her. But before the +witchery of her morning face, the challenge of her laughing eyes, he +awoke to the fact that he was in danger. He had to own that if he must +live beside her day by day and would maintain his indifference, he +must steel himself. He must keep his first impressions of her always +before him, and be careful. And be very careful--if even that might +avail. + +For a hundred paces he walked at her side, listening without knowing +what she said. Then his coolness returned, and when she asked him why +he had come after her without his hat he was ready. + +"I had better tell you," he answered, "this path is little used. It +leads to the Great House, and your uncle, owing to his quarrel with +Lord Audley, does not like any one to go farther in that direction +than the Yew Tree Walk. You can see the Walk from here--the yews mark +the entrance to the gardens. I thought that it would be unfortunate if +you began by displeasing him, and I came after you." + +"It was very good of you," she said. Her face was not gay now. "Does +Lord Audley live there--when he is at home?" + +"No one lives there," he explained soberly. "No one has lived there +for three generations. It's a ruin--I was going to say, a nightmare. +The greater part of the house was burnt down in a carouse held to +celebrate the accession of George the Third. The Audley of that day +rebuilt it on a great scale, but before it was finished he gave a +housewarming, at which his only son quarrelled with a guest. The two +fought at daybreak, and the son was killed beside the old Butterfly in +the Yew Walk--you will see the spot some day. The father sent away the +builders and never looked up again. He diverted much of his property, +and a cousin came into the remainder and the title, but the house was +never finished, the windows in the new part were never glazed. In the +old part some furniture and tapestry decay; in the new are only bats +and dust and owls. So it has stood for eighty years, vacant in the +midst of neglected gardens. In the sunlight it is one of the most +dreary things you can imagine. By moonlight it is better, but +unspeakably melancholy." + +"How dreadful," she said in a low voice. "I almost wish, Mr. Basset, +that you had not told me. They say in France that if you see the dead +without touching them, you dream of them. I feel like that about the +house." + +It crossed his mind that she was talking for effect. "It is only a +house after all," he said. + +"But our house," with a touch of pride. Then, "What are those?" +she asked, pointing to the gray shapeless beasts, time-worn and +weather-stained, that flanked the entrance to the courtyard. + +"They are, or once were, Butterflies, the badge of the Audleys. These +hold shields. You will see the Butterflies in many places in the +Gatehouse. You will find them with men's faces and sometimes with a +fret on the wings. Your uncle says that they are not butterflies, but +moths, that have eaten the Audley fortunes." + +It was a thought that matched the picture he had drawn of the deserted +house, and Mary felt that the morning had lost its brightness. But not +for long. Basset led her into a room on the right of the hall, and the +sight drew from her a cry of pleasure. On three sides the dark +wainscot rose eight feet from the floor; above, the walls were +whitewashed to the ceiling and broken by dim portraits, on stretchers +and without frames. On the fourth side where the panelling divided the +room from a serving-room, once part of it, it rose to the ceiling. The +stone hearth, the iron dogs, the matted floor, the heavy chairs and +oak table, all were dark and plain and increased the austerity of the +room. + +At the end of the table places were laid for three, and Toft, who had +set on the breakfast, was fixing the kettle amid the burning logs. + +"Is Mr. Audley coming down?" Basset asked. + +"He bade me lay for him," Toft replied dryly. "I doubt if he will +come. You had better begin, sir. The young lady," with a searching +look at her, "must want her breakfast." + +"I am afraid I do," Mary confessed. + +"Yes, we will begin," Basset said. He invited her to make the tea. + +When they were seated, "You like the room?" + +"I love it," she answered. + +"So do I," he rejoined, more soberly. "The panelling is linen--pattern +of the fifteenth century--you see the folds? It was saved from the old +house. I am glad you like it." + +"I love it," she said again. But after that she grew thoughtful, and +during the rest of the meal she said little. She was thinking of what +was before her; of the unknown uncle, whose bread she was eating, and +upon whom she was going to be dependent. What would he be like? How +would he receive her? And why was every one so reticent about him--so +reticent that he was beginning to be something of an ogre to her? When +Toft presently appeared and said that Mr. Audley was in the library +and would see her when she was ready, she lost color. But she answered +the man with self-possession, asked quietly where the library was, and +had not Basset's eyes been on her face he would have had no notion +that she was troubled. + +As it was, he waited for her to avow her misgiving--he was prepared to +encourage her. But she said nothing. + +None the less, at the last moment, with her hand on the door of the +library, she hesitated. It was not so much fear of the unknown +relative whom she was going to see that drove the blood from her +cheek, as the knowledge that for her everything depended upon him. Her +new home, its peace, its age, its woodland surroundings, fascinated +her. It promised her not only content, but happiness. But as her stay +in it hung upon John Audley's will, so her pleasure in it, and her +enjoyment of it, depended upon the relations between them. What would +they be? How would he receive her? What would he be like? At last she +called up her courage, turned the handle, and entered the library. + +For a moment she saw no one. The great room, with its distances and +its harmonious litter, appeared to be empty. Then, "Mary, my dear," +said a pleasant voice, "welcome to the Gatehouse!" And John Audley +rose from his seat at a distant table and came towards her. + +The notion which she had formed of him vanished in a twinkling, and +with it her fears. She saw before her an elderly gentleman, plump +and kindly, who walked with a short tripping step, and wore the +swallow-tailed coat with gilt buttons which the frock-coat had +displaced. He took her hand with a smile, kissed her on the forehead, +and led her to a chair placed beside his own. He sat for a moment +holding her hand and looking at her. + +"Yes, I see the likeness," he said, after a moment's contemplation. +"But, my dear, how is this? There are tears in your eyes, and you +tremble." + +"I think," she said, "I was a little afraid of you, sir." + +"Well, you are not afraid now," he replied cheerfully. "And you won't +be again. You won't be again. My dear, welcome once more to the +Gatehouse. I hope that it may be your home until another is offered +you. Things came between your father and me--I shall never mention +them again, and don't you, my dear!"--this a little hurriedly--"don't +you; all that is buried now, and I must make it up to you. Your +letters?" he continued, patting her hand. "Yes, Peter told me that you +wrote to me. I need not say that I never had them. No, never had +them--Toft, what is it?" + +The change in his voice struck her. The servant had come in quietly. +"Mr. Basset, sir, has lost----" + +"Another time!" John Audley replied curtly. "Another time! I am +engaged now. Go!" Then when the door had closed behind the servant, +"No, my dear," he continued, "I need not say that I never had them, so +that I first heard of your troubles through a channel upon which I +will not dwell. However, many good things come by bad ways, Mary. I +hope you like the Gatehouse?" + +"It is charming!" she cried with enthusiasm. + +"It has only one drawback," he said. + +She was clever enough to understand that he referred to its owner, and +to escape from the subject. "This room," she said, "is perfection. I +have never seen anything like it, sir." + +"It is a pleasant room," he said, looking round him. "There is our +coat over the mantel, gules, a fret or; like all old coats, very +simple. Some think it is the Lacy Knot; the Audley of Edward the +First's time married a Lacy. But we bore our old coat of three +Butterflies later than that, for before the fall of Roger Mortimer, +who was hung at Tyburn, he married his daughter to an Audley, and the +escheaters found the wedding chamber in his house furnished with our +Butterflies. Later the Butterfly survived as our badge. You see it +there!" he continued, pointing it out among the mouldings of the +ceiling. "There is the Stafford Knot, the badge of the great Dukes of +Buckingham, the noblest of English families; it is said that the last +of the line, a cobbler, died at Newport, not twenty miles from here. +We intermarried with them, and through them with Peter's people, the +Bassets. That is the Lovel Wolf, and there is the White Wolf of the +Mortimers--all badges. But you do not know, I suppose, what a badge +is?" + +"I am afraid not," she said, smiling. "But I am as proud of our +Butterfly, and as proud to be an Audley, sir, as if I knew more." + +"Peter must give you some lessons in heraldry," he answered. "We live +in the past here, my dear, and we must indoctrinate you with a love of +our pursuits or you will be dull." He paused to consider. "I am afraid +that we cannot allot you a drawing-room, but you must make your room +upstairs as comfortable as you can. Etruria will see to that. And +Peter shall arrange a table for you in the south bay here, and it +shall be your table and your bay. That is his table; this is mine. We +are orderly, and so we do not get in one another's way." + +She thanked him gratefully, and with tears in her eyes, she said +something to which he would not listen--he only patted her hand--as to +his kindness, his great kindness, in receiving her. She could not, +indeed, put her relief into words, so deep was it. Nowhere, she felt, +could life be more peaceful or more calm than in this room which no +sounds of the outer world except the songs of birds, no sights save +the swaying of branches disturbed; where the blazoned panes cast their +azure and argent on lines of russet books, where an aged hound +sprawled before the embers, and the measured tick of the clock alone +vied with the scratching of the pen. She saw herself seated there +during drowsy summer days, or when firelight cheered the winter +evenings. She saw herself sewing beside the hearth while her +companions worked, each within his circle of light. + +Then, she also was an Audley. She also had her share in the race which +had lived long on this spot. Already she was fired with the desire to +know more of them, and that flame John Audley was well fitted to fan. +For he was not of the school of dry-as-dust antiquaries. He had the +knack of choosing the picturesque in story, he could make it stand out +for others, he could impart life to the actors in it. And, anxious to +captivate Mary, he bent himself for nearly an hour to the display of +his knowledge. Taking for his text one or other of the objects about +him, he told her of great castles, from which England had been ruled, +and through which the choicest life of the country had passed, that +now were piles of sherds clothed with nettles. He told her of that +woodland country on the borders of three counties, where the papists +had long lived undisturbed and where the Gunpowder Plot had had its +centre. He told her of the fashion which came in with Richard the +Second, of adorning the clothes with initials, reading and writing +having become for the first time courtly accomplishments; and to +illustrate this he showed her the Westminster portrait of Richard in a +robe embroidered with letters of R. He quoted Chaucer: + + + And thereon hung a broch of gold ful schene + On which was first i-written a crowned A + And after that, Amor vincit omnia. + + +Then, turning his back on her, he produced from some secret place a +key, and opening a masked cupboard in the wall, he held out for her +inspection a small bowl, bent and mis-shapen by use, and supported by +two fragile butterflies. The whole was of silver so thin that to +modern eyes it seemed trivial. Traces of gilding lingered about some +parts of it, and on each of the wings of the butterflies was a capital +A. + +She was charmed. "Of all your illustrations," she cried, "I prefer +this one! It is very old, I suppose?" + +"It is of the fifteenth century," he said, turning it about. "We +believe that it was made for the Audley who fell early in the Wars of +the Roses. Pages and knights, maids and matrons, gloves of silk and +gloves of mail, wrinkled palms and babies' fingers, the men, the +women, the children of twelve generations of our race, my dear, have +handled this. Once, according to an old inventory, there were six; +this one alone remains." + +"It must be very rare?" she said, her eyes sparkling. + +"It is very rare," he said, and he handled it as if he loved it. He +had not once allowed it to go out of his fingers. "Very rare. I doubt +if, apart from the City Companies, there is another in the hands of +the original owners." + +"And it came to you by descent, sir?" + +He paused in the act of returning it to its hiding-place. "Yes, that +is how it came to me," he said in a muffled tone. But he seemed to be +a long time putting it away; and when he turned with the key in his +hand his face was altered, and he looked at her--well, had she done +anything to anger him, she would have thought he was angry. "To whom +besides me could it descend!" he asked, his voice raised a tone. "But +there, I must not grow excited. I think--I think you had better go +now. Go, my dear, now. But come back presently." + +Mary went. But the change in tone and face had been such as to startle +her and to dash the happy mood of a few moments earlier. She wondered +what she had said to annoy him. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + OLD THINGS + + +The Gatehouse, placed on the verge of the upland, was very solitary. +Cut off from the vale by an ascent which the coachmen of the great +deemed too rough for their horses, it was isolated on the other three +sides by Beaudelays Park and by the Great Chase, which flung its +barren moors over many miles of table-land. In the course of the +famous suit John Audley had added to the solitude of the house by a +smiling aloofness which gave no quarter to those who agreed with his +rival. The result was that when Mary came to live there, few young +people would have found the Gatehouse a lively abode. + +But to Mary during the quiet weeks that followed her arrival it seemed +a paradise. She spent long hours in the open air, now seated on a +fallen trunk in some glade of the park, now watching the squirrels in +the clear gloom of the beech-wood, or again, lying at length on the +carpet of thyme and heather that clothed the moor. She came to know by +heart every path through the park--except that which led to the Great +House; she discovered where the foxgloves clustered, where the +meadow-sweet fringed the runlet, where the rare bog-bean warned the +traveller to look to his footing. Even the Great Chase she came to +know, and almost daily she walked to a point beyond the park whence +she could see the distant smoke of a mining village. That was the one +sign of life on the Chase; elsewhere it stretched vast and unpeopled, +sombre under a livid sky, smiling in sunshine, here purple with ling, +there scarred by fire--always wide under a wide heaven, raised high +above the common world. Now and again she met a shepherd or saw a gig, +lessened by distance, making its slow way along a moorland track. But +for days together she might wander there without seeing a human being. + +The wide horizon became as dear to her as the greenwood. Pent as she +had been in cities, straitened in mean rooms where sight and smell had +alike been outraged, she revelled in this sweet and open life. The hum +of bees, the scent of pines, the flight of the ousel down the water, +the whistle of the curlew, all were to her pleasures as vivid as they +were new. + +Meantime Basset made no attempt to share her excursions. He was +fighting a battle with himself, and he knew better than to go out of +his way to aid the enemy. And for her part she did not miss him. She +did not dislike him, but the interest he excited in her was feeble. +The thought of comparing him with Lord Audley, with the man to whose +intervention she owed this home, this peace, this content, never +occurred to her. Of Audley she did think as much perhaps as was +prudent, sometimes with pensive gratitude, more rarely with a smile +and a blush at her folly in dwelling on him. For always she thought of +him as one, high and remote, whom it was not probable that she would +ever see again, one whose course through life lay far from hers. + +Presently, it is not to be denied, Basset began to grow upon her. He +was there. He was part of her life. Morning and evening she had to do +with him. Often she read or sewed in the same room with him, and in +many small ways he added to her comfort. Sometimes he suggested things +which would please her uncle; sometimes he warned her of things which +she would do well to avoid. Once or twice he diverted to himself a +spirt of John Audley's uncertain temper; and though Mary did not +always detect the man[oe]uvre, though she was far from suspecting the +extent of his vigilance or the care which he cast about her, it would +have been odd if she had not come to think more kindly of him, and to +see merits in him which had escaped her at first. + +Meanwhile he thought of her with mingled feelings. At first with +doubt--it was never out of his mind that she had made much of Lord +Audley and little of him. Then with admiration which he withstood more +feebly as time went on, and the cloven hoof failed to appear. Later, +with tenderness, which, hating the scheme John Audley had formed, he +masked even from himself, and which he was sure that he would never +have the courage to express in her presence. + +For Basset was conscious that, aspire as he might, he was not a hero. +The clash of life, the shock of battle, had no attraction for him. The +library at the Gatehouse was, he owned it frankly, his true sphere. +She, on the other hand, had had experiences. She had sailed through +unknown seas, she had led a life strange to him. She had seen much, +done much, suffered much, had held her own among strangers. Before her +calmness and self-possession he humbled himself. He veiled his head. + +He did not attempt, therefore, to accompany her abroad, but at home he +had no choice save to see much of her. There was only one living room +for all, and she glided with surprising ease into the current of the +men's occupations. At first she was astray on the sea of books. Her +knowledge was not sufficient to supply chart or compass, and it fell +to Basset to point the way, to choose her reading, to set in a proper +light John Audley's vivid pictures of the past, to teach her the +elements of heraldry and genealogy. She proved, however, an apt +scholar, and very soon she dropped into the position of her uncle's +secretary. Sometimes she copied his notes, at other times he set her +on the track of a fact, a relationship, a quotation, and she would +spend hours in a corner, embedded in huge tomes of the county +histories. Dugdale, Leland, Hall, even Polydore Vergil, became her +friends. She pored over the Paston Letters, probed the false pedigrees +of Banks, and could soon work out for herself the famous discovery +respecting the last Lovel. + +For a young girl it was an odd pursuit. But the past was in the +atmosphere of the house, it went with the fortunes of a race whose +importance lay in days long gone. Then all was new to her, enthusiasm +is easily caught, and Mary, eager to please her uncle, was glad to be +of use. She found the work restful after the suspense of the past +year. It sufficed for the present, and she asked no more. + +She never forgot the lamplit evenings of that summer; the spacious +room, the fluttering of the moths that entered by the open windows, +the flop of the old dog as it sought a cooler spot, the whisper of +leaves turned ceaselessly in the pursuit of a fact or a fancy. In the +retrospect all became less a picture than a frame containing a past +world, a fifteenth-century world of color and movement, of rooms +stifled in hangings and tapestries, of lines of spear-points and rows +of knights in surcoats, of tolling bells and praying monks, of +travellers kneeling before wayside shrines, of strange changes of +fortune. For says the chronicler: + + +"I saw one of them, who was Duke of Exeter (but he concealed his name) +following the Duke of Burgundy's train barefoot and bare-legged, +begging his bread from door to door--this person was the next of the +House of Lancaster and had married King Edward's sister." + + +And of dark sayings: + + +"Thys sayde Edward, Duke of Somerset, had herde a fantastyk prophecy +that he sholde dy under a Castelle, wherefore he, as meche as in him +was, he lete the King that he sholde not come in the Castelle of +Wynsore, dredynge the sayde prophecy; but at Seint Albonys there was +an hostelry havyng the sygne of a Castelle, and before that hostelry +he was slayne." + + +"His badge was a Portcullis," her uncle said, when she read this to +him, "so it was natural that he should fall before a castle. He used +the Beanstalk, too, and if his name had been John, a pretty thing +might have been raised upon it. But you're divagating, my dear," he +continued, smiling--and seldom had Mary seen him in a better +humor--"you're divagating, whereas I--I believe that I have solved the +problem of the Feathers." + +"The Prince of Wales's? No!" + +"I believe so. Of course there is no truth in the story which traces +them to the blind King of Bohemia, killed at Crecy. His crest was two +vulture wings." + +"But what of Arderne, who was the Prince's surgeon?" Basset objected. +"He says clearly that the Prince gained it from the King of Bohemia." + +"Not at all!" John Audley replied arrogantly--at this moment he was an +antiquary and nothing more. "Where is the Arderne extract? Listen. +'Edward, son of Edward the King, used to wear such a feather, and +gained that feather from the King of Bohemia, whom he slew at Crecy, +and so assumed to himself that feather which is called an ostrich +feather which the first-named most illustrious King, used to wear on +his crest.' Now who was the first-named most illustrious King, who +before that used to wear it?" + +"The King of Bohemia." + +"Rubbish! Arderne means his own King, 'Edward the King.' He means that +the Black Prince, after winning his spurs by his victory over the +Bohemian, took his father's insignia. He had only been knighted six +weeks and waited to wear his father's crest until he had earned it." + +"By Jove, sir!" Basset exclaimed, "I believe you are right!" + +"Of course I am! The evidence is all that way. The Black Prince's +brothers wore it; surely not because their brother had done something, +but because it was their father's crest, probably derived from their +mother, Philippa of Hainault? If you will look in the inventory of +jewels made on the usurpation of Henry the Fourth you will see this +item, 'A collar of the livery of the Queen, on whom God have mercy, +with an ostrich.'" + +"But that," Basset interposed, "was Queen Anne of Bohemia--she died +seven years before. There you get Bohemia again!" + +"Compare this other entry," replied the antiquary, unmoved: "'A collar +of the livery of Queen Anne, of branches of rosemary.' Now either +Queen Anne of Bohemia had two liveries--which is unlikely--or the +inventory made by order of Henry IV. quotes verbatim from lists made +during the lifetime of Queen Anne; if this be the case, the last +deceased Queen, on whom God have mercy, would be Philippa of Hainault; +and we have here a clear statement that her livery was an ostrich, of +which ostrich her husband wore a feather on his crest." + +Basset clapped his hands. Mary beat applause on the table. "Hurrah!" +she cried. "Audley for ever!" + +"Miss Audley," Basset said, "Toft shall bring in hot water, and we +will have punch!" + +"Miss Audley!" her uncle exclaimed, with a wrinkling nose. "Why don't +you call her Mary? And why, child, don't you call him Peter?" + +Mary curtseyed. "Why not, my lord?" she said. "Peter it shall +be--Peter who keeps the keys that you discover!" + +And Peter laughed. But he saw that she used his name without a blush +or a tremor, whereas he knew that if he could force his lips to frame +her name, the word would betray him. For by this time, from his seat +at his remote table, and from the ambush of his book, he had watched +her too often for his peace, and too closely not to know that she was +indifferent to him. He knew that at the best she felt a liking for +him, the growth of habit, and tinged, he feared, with contempt. + +He was so far right that there were three persons in the house who had +a larger share of the girl's thoughts than he had. The first was John +Audley. He puzzled her. There were times when she could not doubt his +affection, times when he seemed all that she could desire, kind, +good-humored, frank, engaged with the simplicity of a child in +innocent pursuits, and without one thought beyond them. But touch +a certain spot, approach with steps ever so delicate a certain +subject--Lord Audley and his title--and his manner changed, the very +man changed, he became secretive, suspicious, menacing. Nor, however +quickly she might withdraw from the danger-line, could the harm be +undone at once. He would remain for hours gloomy and thoughtful, would +eye her covertly and with suspicion, would sit silent through meals, +and at times mutter to himself. More rarely he would turn on her with +a face which rage made inhuman, a face that she did not know, and with +a shaking hand he would bid her go--go, and leave the room! + +The first time that this happened she feared that he might follow up +his words by sending her away. But nothing ensued, then or later. For +a while after each outburst he would appear ill at ease. He would +avoid her eyes, and look away from her in a manner almost as +unpleasant as his violence; later, in a shamefaced way, he would tell +her that she must not excite him, she must not excite him, it was bad +for him. And the man-servant meeting her in the hall, would take the +liberty of giving her the same advice. + +Toft, indeed, was the second who puzzled her. He was civil, with the +civility of the trained servant, but always there was in his manner a +reserve. And she fancied that he watched her. If she left the house +and glanced back she was certain to see his face at a window, or his +figure in a doorway. Within doors it was the same. He slept out, +living with his wife in the kitchen wing, which had a separate +entrance from the courtyard. But he was everywhere at all hours. Even +his master appeared uneasy in his presence, and either broke off what +he was saying when the man entered, or continued the talk on another +note. More rarely he turned on Toft and without rhyme or reason would +ask him harshly what he wanted. + +The third person to share Mary's thoughts, but after a more pleasant +fashion, was Toft's daughter, Etruria. "I hope you will like her, my +dear," John Audley had said. "She will give you such attendance as you +require, and will share the south wing with you at night. The two +bedrooms there are on a separate staircase. I sleep above the library +in this wing, and Peter in the tower room--we have our own staircase. +I have brought her into the house because I thought you might not like +to sleep alone in that wing." + +Mary had thanked him, and had said how much she liked the girl. And +she had liked her, but for a time she had not understood her. Etruria +was all that was good and almost all that was beautiful. She was +simple, kindly, helpful, having the wide low brow, the placid eyes, +and perfect complexion of a Quaker girl--and to add to these +attractions she was finely shaped, though rather plump than slender; +and she was incredibly neat. Nor could any Quaker girl have been more +gentle or more demure. + +But she might have had no tongue, she was so loth to use it; and a +hundred times Mary wondered what was behind that reticence. Sometimes +she thought that the girl was merely stupid. Sometimes she yoked her +with her father in the suspicions she entertained of him. More often, +moved by the girl's meek eyes, she felt only a vague irritation. She +was herself calm by nature, and reserved by training, the last to +gossip with a servant, even with one whose refinement appeared innate. +But Etruria's dumbness was beyond her. + +One day in a research which she was making she fancied that she had +hit on a discovery. It happened that Etruria came into the room at the +moment, and in the fulness of her heart Mary told her of it. +"Etruria," she said, "I've made a discovery all by myself." + +"Yes, Miss." + +"Something that no one has known for hundreds of years! Think of +that!" + +"Indeed, Miss." + +Provoked, Mary took a new line. "Etruria," she asked, "are you happy?" + +The girl did not answer. + +"Don't you hear me? I asked if you were happy." + +"I am content, Miss." + +"I did not ask that. Are you happy?" + +And then, moved on her side, perhaps, by an impulse towards +confidence, Etruria yielded. "I don't think that we can any of us be +happy, Miss," she said, "with so much sorrow about us." + +"You strange girl!" Mary cried, taken aback. "What do you mean?" + +But Etruria was silent. + +"Come," Mary insisted. "You must tell me what you mean." + +"Well, Miss," the girl answered reluctantly, "I'm sad and loth to +think of all the suffering in the world. It's natural that you should +not think of it, but I'm of the people, and I'm sad for them." + +Balaam when the ass spoke was scarcely more surprised than Mary. +"Why?" she asked. + +The girl pointed to the open window. "We've all we could ask, +Miss--light and air and birds' songs and sunshine. We've all we need, +and more. But I come of those who have neither light nor air, nor +songs nor sunshine, who've no milk for children nor food for mothers! +Who, if they've work, work every hour of the day in dust and noise and +heat. Who are half clemmed from year's end to year's end, and see no +close to it, no hope, no finish but the pauper's deals! It's for them +I'm sad, Miss." + +"Etruria!" + +"They've no teachers and no time to care," Etruria continued in +desperate earnest now that the floodgates were raised. "They're just +tools to make money, and, like the tools, they wear out and are cast +aside! For there are always more to do their work, to begin where they +began, and to be worn out as they were worn out!" + +"Don't!" Mary cried. + +Etruria was silent, but two large tears rolled down her face. And Mary +marvelled. So this mild, patient girl, going about her daily tasks, +could think, could feel, could speak, and upon a plane so high that +the listener was sensible of humiliation as well as surprise! For a +moment this was the only effect made upon her. Then reflection did its +part--and memory. She recalled that glimpse of the under-world which +she had had on her journey from London. She remembered the noisome +alleys, the cinder wastes, the men toiling half-naked at the furnaces, +the pinched faces of the women; and she remembered also the account +which Lord Audley had given her of the fierce contest between town and +country, plough and forge, land-lord and cotton-lord, which had struck +her so much at the time. + +In the charms of her new life, in her new interests, these things had +faded from her mind. They recurred now, and she did not again ask +Etruria what she meant. "Is it as bad as that?" she asked. + +"It is not as bad as it has been," Etruria answered. "Three years ago +there were hundreds of thousands out of work. There are thousands, +scores of thousands, still; and thousands have no food but what's +given them. And charity is bitter to many," she added, "and the +poorhouse is bitter to all." + +"But what has caused things to be so bad?" + +"Some say one thing and some another. But most that machines lower +wages, Miss, and the bread-tax raises food." + +"Ah!" Mary said. And she looked more closely at the girl who knew so +much that was at odds with her station. + +"Others," Etruria continued, a faint color in her cheeks, "think that +it is selfishness, that every one is for himself and no one for one +another, and----" + +"Yes?" Mary said, seeing that she hesitated. + +"And that if every one thought as much of his neighbor as of himself, +or even of his neighbor as well as of himself, it would not be +machines nor corn-taxes nor poorhouses would be strong enough to take +the bread out of the children's mouths or the work out of men's +hands!" + +Mary had an inspiration. "Etruria," she cried, "some one has been +teaching you this." + +The girl blushed. "Well, Miss," she said simply, "it was at church I +learned most of it." + +"At church? What church? Not Riddsley?" For it was to Riddsley, to a +service as dull as it was long, that they proceeded on Sundays in a +chaise as slow as the reader. + +"No, Miss, not Riddsley," Etruria answered. "It's at Brown Heath on +the Chase. But it's not a real church, Miss. It's a room." + +"Oh!" Mary replied. "A meeting-house!" + +For some reason Etruria's eyes gleamed. "No, Miss," she said. "It's +the curate at Riddsley has a service in a room at Brown Heath on +Thursdays." + +"And you go?" + +"When I can, Miss." + +The idea of attending church on a week-day was strange to Mary; as +strange as to that generation was the zeal that passed beyond the +common channel to refresh those whom migrations of population or +changes in industry had left high and dry. The Tractarian movement was +giving vigor not only to those who supported it, but to those who +withstood it. + +"And you've a sermon?" Mary said. "What was the text last Thursday, +Etruria?" + +The girl hesitated, considered, then looked with appeal at her +mistress. She clasped her hands. "'Two are better than one,'" she +replied, "'because they have good reward for their labor. For if they +fall, one will lift up his fellow, but woe to him that is alone when +he falleth, for he hath not another to lift him up.'" + +"Gracious, Etruria!" Mary cried. "Is that in the Bible?" + +Etruria nodded. + +"And what did your preacher say about it?" + +"That the employer and the workman were fellows, and if they worked +together and each thought for the other they would have a good reward +for their labor; that if one fell, it was the duty of the other to +help him up. And again, that the land and the mill were fellows--the +town and the country--and if they worked together in love they would +have a good return, and if trouble came to one the other should +bear with him. But all the same," Etruria added timidly, "that the +bread-taxes were wrong." + +"Etruria," Mary said. "To-morrow is Thursday. I shall go with you to +Brown Heath." + + + + + + CHAPTER X + + NEW THINGS + + +Mary Audley, crossing the moor to a week-day service, was but one of +many who in the 'forties were venturing on new courses. In religion +there were those who fancied that by a return to primitive forms they +might recapture the primitive fervor; and those again who, like the +curate whom Mary was going to hear, were bent on pursuing the beaten +path into new places. Some thought that they had found a panacea for +the evils of the day in education, and put their faith in workmen's +institutes and night schools. Others were satisfied with philanthropy, +and proclaimed that infants of seven ought not to toil for their +living, that coal-pits were not fit places for women, and that what +paid was not the only standard of life. A few dreamt of a new England +in which gentle and simple were to mix on new-old terms; and a +multitude, shrewd and hard-headed, believed in the Corn Law League, +whose speakers travelled from Manchester to carry the claims of cheap +bread to butter crosses and market towns, and there bearded the very +landlord's agent. + +The truth was that the country was lying sick with new evils, and had +perforce to find a cure, whether that cure lay in faith, or in the +primer, or in the Golden Rule, or in Adam Smith. For two generations +men had been quitting the field for the mill, the farm for the +coal-pit. They had followed their work into towns built haphazard, +that grew presently into cities. There, short of light, of air, of +water, lacking decency, lacking even votes--for the Reform Bill, +that was to give everything to everybody, had stopped at the +masters--lacking everything but wages, they swarmed in numbers +stupendous and alarming to the mind of that day. And then the wages +failed. Machines pushed out hands, though + + + Tools were made, and born were hands, + Every farmer understands. + + +Machines lowered wages, machines glutted the markets. Men could get no +work, masters could sell no goods. On the top of this came bad seasons +and dear bread. Presently hundreds of thousands were living on public +charity, long lists of masters were in the _Gazette_. In the gloomy +cities of the North, masses of men heaved and moaned as the sea when +the south-west wind falls upon it. + +All but the most thoughtless saw danger as well as unhappiness in +this, and called on their gods. The Chartists proclaimed that safety +lay in votes. The landed interest thought that a little more +protection might mend matters. The Golden Rulers were for shorter +hours. But the men who were the loudest and the most confident cried +that cheap bread would mend all. The poor, they said, would have to +eat and to spend. They would buy goods, the glut would cease. The +wheels would turn again, there would be work and wages. The Golden Age +would return. So preached the Manchester men. + +In the meantime the doctors wrangled, and the patient grew a little, +not much, better. And Mary Audley and Etruria walked across the +moorland in the evening sunshine, with a light breeze stirring the +bracken, and waves of shadow moving athwart the stretches of purple +ling. They seemed very far, very remote from the struggle for life and +work and bread that was passing in the world below. + +Presently they dropped into a fern-clad dingle and saw below them, +beside the rivulet that made music in its bottom, a house or two. +Descending farther, they came on more houses, crawling up the hill +slopes, and on a few potato patches and ash-heaps. As the sides of the +valley rose higher and closed in above the walkers cottages fell into +lines on either side of the brook, and began to show one behind the +other in rough terraces, with middens that slid from the upper to the +lower level. The valley bent to the left, and quickly tall chimneys +became visible, springing from a huddle of mean roofs through which no +other building of size, no tower, no steeple, rose to break the ugly +sameness. This was Brown Heath. + +"It's a rough place," Etruria said as they picked their way. "But +don't be afraid, Miss. I'm often passing, and they know me." + +Still it was a rough place. The roadway was a cinder-track, and from +the alleys and lanes above it open drains wormed their way across the +path and into the stream, long grown foul. The air was laden with +smoke, coal dust lay everywhere; the most cleanly must have despaired. +Men seated, pipe in mouth, on low walls, watched the two go by--not +without some rude banter; frowsy women crouching on door-steps and +nursing starveling babes raised sullen faces. Lads in clogs made way +for them unwillingly. In one place a crowd seethed from a side street +and, shouting and struggling, overflowed the roadway before them and +threatened to bar their path. + +"It's a dog-fight," Etruria said. "They are rare and fond of them, +Miss. We'd best get by quickly." + +They passed in safety, passed, too, a brawl between two colliers, the +air about them thick with oaths, passed a third eddy round two women +fighting before a public-house. "The chaps are none so gentle," +Etruria said, falling unconsciously into a commoner way of speaking. +"They're all for fighting, dogs or men, and after dark I'm not saying +we'd be safe. But we'll be over the moor by dusk, Miss." + +They came, as she spoke, to a triangular space, sloping with the hill, +skirted by houses, and crossed by an open sewer. It was dreary and +cinder-covered, but five publics looked upon it and marked it for the +centre of Brown Heath. Etruria crossed the triangle to a building a +little cleaner than its neighbors; it was the warehouse, she told her +mistress, of a sack-maker who had failed. She entered, and her +companion followed her. + +Mary found herself in a bare barn-like room, having two windows set +high in the walls, the light from which fell coldly on a dozen benches +ranged one behind the other, but covering only a portion of the floor. +On these were seated, when they entered, about twenty persons, mainly +women, but including three or four men of the miner class. No attempt +had been made to alter the character of the place, and of formality +there was as little. The two had barely seated themselves before a +lean young man, with a long pale face and large nose, rose from the +front bench, and standing before the little congregation, opened his +book. He wore shabby black, but neither surplice nor gown. + +The service lasted perhaps twenty minutes, and Mary was not much +moved by it. The young man's voice was weak, the man himself looked +under-fed. She noticed, however, that as the service went on the +number in the room grew, and when it closed she found that all the +seats were filled, and that there were even a few men--some of them +colliers fresh from the pit--standing at the back. Remembering the odd +text that the clergyman had given out the week before, she wondered +what he would choose to-day, and, faintly amused, she stole a glance +at her companion. But Etruria's rapt face was a reproach to her +levity. + +The young clergyman pushed back the hair from his forehead. His +posture was ungainly, he did not know what to do with his hands, he +opened his mouth and shut it again. Then with an effort he began. "My +text, my friends," he said, "is but one word, 'Love.' Where will you +find it in the Scriptures? In every chapter and in every verse. In the +dark days of old the order was 'Thou shalt live!' The new order in +these days is 'Thou shalt love!'" He began by describing the battle of +life in the animal and vegetable world, where all things lived at the +cost of others; and he admitted that the struggle for life, for bread, +for work, as they saw it around them, resembled that struggle. In +moving terms he enlarged on the distress, on the vast numbers lately +living on the rates, on the thousands living, where even the rates +fell short, on Government aid. He described the fireless homes, the +foodless children, the strong men hopeless. And he showed them that +others were stricken, that masters suffered, tradesmen were ruined, +the country languished. "The worst may be past," he said. "You are +working half-time, you are living on half-wages, you are thankful that +things are better." Then he told them that for his part he did not +presume to say what was at the root of these unhappy conditions, but +that of one thing he felt sure--and this was his message to them--that +if the law of love, if the golden rule of preferring another to one's +self, if the precept of that charity, + + + Which seeketh not itself to please + Nor for itself hath any care, + But for another gives its ease, + + +if that were followed by all, then all + + + Might build a heaven in hell's despair. + + +And in words more eloquent than he had yet compassed he begged them to +set that example of brotherhood, in the certainty that the worst +social evils, nay, all evils save pain and death, would be cured by +the love that thought for others, that in the master preferred the +servant's welfare and in the servant put first his master's interests. +Finally he quoted his old text, "Let two work together, for if they +fall, one will lift up his fellow!" + +It seemed as if he had done. He was silent; his hearers waited. Then +with an effort he continued: + +"I have a word to say about something which fell from me in this place +last week. While I did not venture, unskilled as I am, to say where +lies the cause of our distress, I did say that I found it hard to +believe that the system which taxes the bread you earn in the sweat of +your brow, which takes a disproportionate part from the scanty crust +of the widow and from the food of the child, was in accordance with +the law of love. I repeat that now; and because I have been told that +I dare not say in the pulpit of Riddsley church what I say here, I +shall on the first opportunity state my belief there. You may ask why +I have not done so; my answer is, that I am there the representative +of another, whereas in this voluntary work I am myself more +responsible. In saying that I ask you to judge me, as we should judge +all, with that charity which believeth no evil." + +A moment later Mary, deeply moved, was passing out with the crowd. As +she stood, caught in the press by the door, an old man in horn-rimmed +glasses, who was waiting there, held out his hand. She was going to +take it, when she saw that it was not meant for her, but for the young +clergyman who was following at her heels. + +"Master, dunno you do it," the old fellow growled. "You'll break your +pick, and naught gotten. Naught gotten, that'll serve. Your gaffer'll +not abide it, and you'll lose your job!" + +"Would you have me take it," the young man answered, "and not do the +work, Cluff? Never fear for me." + +"Dunno you be rash, master!" the other rejoined, clutching his sleeve +and detaining him. "You be sure----" + +Mary heard no more. She felt Etruria's hand pressing her arm. "We'd +best lose no time," the girl whispered. And she drew Mary onward, +across the triangle and into the lane which led to the moor. + +"Are we so late?" The sun had set, but it was still light. "We'd best +hurry," Etruria persisted, increasing her speed. + +Mary looked at her and saw that she was troubled, but at the moment +she set this down to the influence of the sermon, and her own mind +went back to it. "I am glad you brought me, Etruria," she said. "I +shall always be glad that I came." + +"We'd best be getting home now," was Etruria's only answer, but this +time Mary's ear caught the sound of footsteps behind them, and she +turned. The young clergyman was hastening after them. + +"Etruria!" he cried. + +For a moment Mary fancied that Etruria did not hear. The girl hurried +on. But Mary saw no occasion to run away, and she halted. Then +Etruria, with a gesture of despair, stopped. + +"It is no use," she said. + +The young man came up with them. His head was bare, his hat was in his +hand, his long plain face was aglow with the haste he had made. He had +heard Etruria's words, and "It is of every use," he said. + +"This is--my mistress," Etruria said. + +"Miss Audley?" + +"I am Miss Audley," Mary announced, wondering much. + +"I thought that it might be so," he replied. "I have waited for such +an occasion. I am Mr. Colet, the curate at Riddsley. Etruria and I +love one another," he continued. "We are going to be married, if ever +my means allow me to marry." + +"No, we are not," the girl rejoined sharply. "Mr. Colet knows my +mind," she continued, her eyes turned away. "I have told him many +times that I am a servant, the daughter of a servant, in a different +class from his, and I'll never be the one to ruin him and be a +disgrace to him! I'll never marry him! Never!" + +"And I have told Etruria," he replied, "that I will never take that +answer. We love one another. It is nothing to me that she is a +servant. My work is to serve. I am as poor as it is possible to be, +with as poor prospects as it is possible to have. I shall never be +anything but what I am, and I shall think myself rich when I have a +hundred pounds a year. I who have so little, who look for so little, +am I to give up this happiness because Etruria has less? I, too, say, +Never!" + +Mary, standing between them, did not know what to answer, and it was +Etruria who replied. "It is useless," she said. And then, in a tone of +honest scorn, "Who ever heard," she cried, "of a clergyman who married +a servant? Or who ever heard of good coming of it?" + +Mary had an inspiration. "Does Etruria's father know?" she asked. + +"He knows and approves," the young man replied, his eyes bent fondly +on his mistress. + +Mary too looked at Etruria--beautiful, patient, a servant, loved. And +she wondered. All these weeks she had been rubbing elbows with this +romance, and she had not discerned it! Now, while her sympathies flew +to the lover's side, her prejudices rose up against him. They echoed +Etruria's words, "Who ever heard of good coming of such a match?" The +days had been, as Mary knew, when the chaplain had married the lady's +maid. But those days were gone. Meantime the man waited, and she did +not know what to say. + +"After all," she said at last, "it is for Etruria to decide." + +"No, it is for us both to decide," he replied. And then, as if he +thought that he had sufficiently stated his case, "I ask your pardon, +Miss Audley, for intruding," he continued. "I am keeping you, and as I +am going your way that is needless. I have had a message from a sick +woman, and I am on my way to see her." + +He took permission for granted, and though Etruria's very shoulders +forbade him, he moved on beside them. "Conditions are better here than +in many places," he said, "but in this village you would see much to +sadden you." + +"I have seen enough," Mary answered, "to know that." + +"Ten years ago there was not a house here. Now there is a population +of two thousand, no church, no school, no gentry, no one of the better +class. There is a kind of club, a centre of wild talk; better that, +perhaps, than apathy." + +"Is it in Riddsley parish?" Mary asked. They were nearly clear of the +houses, and the slopes of the hill, pale green in the peaceful evening +light, began to rise on either side. It was growing dusk, and from the +moorland above came the shrill cries of plovers. + +"Yes, it is in Riddsley parish," he answered, "but many miles from the +town, and as aloof from it--Riddsley is purely agricultural--as black +from white. In such places as this--and there are many of them in +Staffordshire, as raw, as rough, and as new--there is work for plain +men and plain women. In these swarming hives there is no room for any +refinement but true refinement. And the Church must learn to do her +work with plain tools, or the work will pass into other hands." + +"You may cut cheese with an onion knife," Etruria said coldly. "I +don't know that people like it." + +"I know nothing better than onions in the right place," he replied. + +"That's not in cheese," she rejoined, to Mary's amusement. + +"The poor get little cheese," he said, "and the main thing is to cut +their bread for them. But here I must leave you. My errand is to that +cottage." + +He pointed to a solitary house, standing a few score paces above the +road on the hillside. Mary shook hands with him, but Etruria turned +her shoulder resolutely. + +"Good-bye, Etruria," he said. And then to Mary, "I hope that I have +made a friend?" + +"I think you have," she answered. "I am sure that you deserve one." + +He colored, raised his hat, and turned away, and the two went on, +without looking back; darkness was coming apace, and they were still +two miles from home. Mary kept silence, prudently considering how she +should deal with the matter, and what she should say to her companion. +As it fell out, events removed her difficulty. They had not gone more +than two hundred yards, and were still some way below the level of the +Chase, when a cry reached them. It came out of the dusk behind them, +and might have been the call of a curlew on the moor. But first one, +and then the other stood. They turned, and listened, and suddenly +Etruria, more anxious or sharper of eye than her mistress, uttered a +cry and broke away at a run across the sloping turf towards the +solitary cottage. Alarmed, Mary looked intently in that direction, and +made out three or four figures struggling before the door of the +house. She guessed then that the clergyman was one of them, and that +the cry had come from him, and without a thought for herself she set +off, running after Etruria as fast as she could. + +Twice Etruria screamed as she ran, and Mary echoed the cry. She saw +that the man was defending himself against the onset of three or +four--she could hear the clatter of sticks on one another. Then she +trod on her skirt and fell. When she had got, breathless, to her feet +again, the clergyman was down and the men appeared to be raining blows +on him. Etruria shrieked once more and the next moment was lost amid +the moving figures, the brandished sticks, the struggle. + +Mary ran on desperately. She caught sight of the girl on her knees +over the fallen man, she saw her fend off more than one blow, she +heard more than one blow fall with a sickening thud. She came up to +them. With passion that drove out fear, she seized the arm of the +nearest and dragged him back. + +"You coward!" she cried. "You coward! I am Miss Audley! Do you hear! +Leave him! Leave him, I say!" + +Her appearance, the surprise, checked the man; her fearlessness, +perhaps her name, gave the others pause. They retreated a step. The +man she had grasped shook himself free, but did not attempt to strike +her. "Oh, d--n the screech-owls!" he cried. "The place is alive with +them! Hold your noise, you fools! We'll have the parish on us!" + +"I am Miss Audley!" Mary repeated, and in her indignation she advanced +on him. "How dare you?" Etruria, still on her knees, continued to +shriek. + +"You're like to get a wipe over the head, dang you!" the man growled, +"whoever you be! Go to---- and mind your own brats! He'll know better +now than to preach against them as he gets his living by! You be +gone!" + +But Mary stood her ground. She declared afterwards that, brutally as +the man spoke, the fight had gone out of him. Etruria, on the +contrary, maintained that, finding only women before them, the +ruffians would have murdered them. Fortunately, while the event hung +in the balance, "What is it?" some one shouted from the road below. +"What's the matter there?" + +"Murder!" cried Etruria shrilly. "Help! Help!" + +"Help!" cried Mary. She still kept her face to the men, but for the +first time she began to know fear. + +Footsteps thudded softly on the turf, figures came into view, climbing +the slope. It needed no more. With a volley of oaths the assailants +turned tail and made off. In a trice they were round the corner of the +house and lost in the dusk. + +A moment later two men, equally out of breath and each carrying a gun, +reached the spot. "Well!" said the bigger of the two, "What is it?" + +He spoke as if he had not come very willingly, but Mary did not notice +this. The crisis over, her knees shook, she could barely stand, she +could not speak. She pointed to the fallen man, over whom Etruria +still crouched, her hair dragged down about her shoulders, her +neckband torn, a ghastly blotch on her white cheek. + +"Is he dead?" the new-comer asked in a different tone. + +"Ay, dead!" Etruria echoed. "Dead!" + +Fortunately the curate gave the lie to the word. He groaned, moved, +with an effort he raised himself on his elbow. "I'm--all right!" he +gasped. "All right!" + +Etruria sprang to her feet. She stepped back as if the ground had +opened before her. + +"I'm not--hurt," Colet added weakly. + +But it was evident that he was hurt, even if no bones were broken. +When they came to lift him he could not stand, and he seemed to be +uncertain where he was. After watching him a moment, "He should see a +doctor," said the man who had come up so opportunely. "Petch," he +continued, addressing his companion, who wore a gamekeeper's dress, +"we must carry him to the trap and get him down to Brown Heath. Who is +he, do you know? He looks like a parson." + +"He's Mr. Colet of Riddsley," Mary said. + +The man turned and looked at her. "Hallo!" he exclaimed. And then in +the same tone of surprise, "Miss Audley!" he said. "At this time of +night?" + +Mary collected herself with an effort. "Yes," she said, "and very +fortunately, for if we had not been here the men would have murdered +him. As it is, you share the credit of saving him, Lord Audley." + +"The credit of saving you is a good deal more to me," he answered +gallantly. "I did not think that we should meet after this fashion." + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + TACT AND TEMPER + + +He looked at Etruria, and Mary explained who she was. + +"I am afraid that she is hurt." + +The girl's temple was bruised and there was blood on her cheek; more +than one of the blows aimed at her lover had fallen on her. But she +said eagerly that it was "Nothing! Nothing!" + +"Are you sure, Etruria?" Mary asked with concern. + +"It is nothing, indeed, Miss," the girl repeated. She was trying with +shaking fingers to put up her hair. + +"Then the sooner," Audley rejoined, "we get this--this gentleman to my +dogcart, the better. Take his other arm, Petch. Miss Audley, can you +carry my gun?--it is not loaded. And you," he continued to Etruria, +"if you are able, take Petch's." + +They took the guns, and the little procession wound down the path to +the road, where they found a dogcart awaiting them, and, peering from +the cart, two setters, whining and fretting. The dogs were driven +under the seat, and the clergyman, still muttering that he was all +right, was lifted in. "Steady him, Petch," Audley said; "and do you +drive slowly," he added, to the other man. "You will be at the +surgeon's at Brown Heath in twenty minutes. Stay with him, Petch, and +send the cart back for me." + +"But are you not going?" Mary cried. + +"I am not going to leave you in the dark with only your maid," he +answered with severity. "One adventure a night is enough, Miss +Audley." + +She murmured a word or two, but submitted. The struggle had shaken +her; she could still see the men's savage faces, still hear the thud +of their blows. And she and Etruria had nearly a mile to go before +they reached the park. + +When they were fairly started, "How did it happen?" he asked. + +Mary told the story, but said no word of Etruria's romance. + +"Then you were not with him when they set on him?" + +"No, we had parted." + +"And you went back?" + +"Of course we did!" + +"It was imprudent," he said, "very imprudent. If we had not come up at +that moment you might have been murdered." + +"And if we had not gone back, Mr. Colet might have been murdered!" she +answered. "What he had done to offend them----" + +"I think I can tell you that. He's the curate at Riddsley, isn't he? +Who's been preaching up cheap bread and preaching down the farmers?" + +"Perhaps so," Mary answered. "He may be. But is he to be murdered for +that? From your tone one might think so." + +"No," he replied slowly, "he is not to be murdered for it. But whether +he is wise to preach cheap bread to starving men, whether he is wise +to tell them that they would have it but for this man or that man, +this class or that class--is another matter." + +She was not convinced--the sermon had keyed her thoughts to a high +pitch. But he spoke reasonably, and he had the knack of speaking with +authority, and she said no more. And on his side he had no wish to +quarrel. He had come down to Riddsley partly to shoot, partly to look +into the political situation, but a little--there was no denying +it--to learn how Mary Audley fared with her uncle. + +For he had thought much of her since they had parted, and much of the +fact that she was John Audley's heir. Her beauty, her spirit, her +youth, had caught his fancy. He had looked forward to renewing his +acquaintance with her, and he was in no mood, now he saw her, to spoil +their meeting by a quarrel. He thought Colet, whose doings had been +reported to him, a troublesome, pestilent fellow, and he was not sorry +that he had got his head broken. But he need not tell her that. +Circumstances had favored him in bringing them together and giving him +the beau role, and he was not going to cross his luck. + +So, "Fire is an excellent thing of course," he continued with an air +of moderation, "but, believe me, it's not safe amid young trees in a +wind. Whatever your views, to express them in all companies may be +honest, but is not wise. I have no doubt that a parson is tried. He +sees the trouble. He is not always the best judge of the remedy. +However, enough of that. We shall agree at least in this, that our +meetings are opportune?" + +"Most opportune," Mary answered. "And from my point of view very +fortunate!" + +"There really is a sort of fate in it. What but fate could have +brought about our meeting at the Hotel Lambert? What but fate could +have drawn us to the same spot on the Chase to-night?" + +There was a tone in his voice that brought the blood to her cheek and +warned her to keep to the surface of things. "The chance that men call +fate," she answered lightly. + +"Or the fate that fools call chance," he urged, half in jest, half in +earnest. "We have met by chance once, and once again--with results! +The third time--what will the third time bring? I wonder." + +"Not a fright like this, I hope!" Mary answered, remaining cheerfully +matter of fact. "Or if it does," with a flash of laughter, "I trust +that the next time you will come up a few moments earlier!" + +"Ungrateful!" + +"I?" she replied. "But it was Etruria who was in danger!" + +For the peril had left her with a sense of exhilaration, of lightness, +of ease. She was pleased to feel that she could hold her own with him, +relieved that she was not afraid of him. And she was glad--she was +certainly glad--to see him again. If he were inclined to make the most +of his advantage, well, a little gallantry was quite in the picture; +she was not deceived, and she was not offended. While he on his side, +as they walked over the moor, thought of her as a clever little witch +who knew her value and could keep her head; and he liked her none the +less for it. + +When they came at last to the gap in the wall that divided the Chase +from the park, a figure, dimly outlined, stood in the breach waiting +for them. "Is that you?" a voice asked. + +The voice was Basset's, and Mary's spirits sank. She felt that the +meeting was ill-timed. "Yes," she answered. + +Unluckily, Peter was one of those whose anxiety takes an irritable +form. "What in the world has happened?" he asked. "I couldn't believe +that you were still out. It's really not safe. Hallo!" breaking off +and speaking in a different tone, "is some one with you?" + +"Yes," Mary said. They were within touch now and could see one +another. "We have had an adventure. Lord Audley was passing, he came +to our rescue, and has very kindly seen us home." + +"Lord Audley!" Basset was taken by surprise and his tone was much as +if he had said, "The devil!" + +"By good fortune, Basset," Audley replied. He may have smiled in the +darkness--we cannot say. "I was returning from shooting, heard cries +for help, and found Miss Audley playing the knight-errant, encircled +by prostrate bodies!" + +Basset could not frame a word, so great was his surprise, so +overwhelming his chagrin. Was this man to spring up at every turn? To +cross him on every occasion? To put him in the background perpetually? +To intrude even on the peace and fellowship of the Gatehouse? It was +intolerable! + +When he did not answer, "It was not I who was the knight-errant," Mary +said. "It was Etruria. She is a little the worse for it, I fear, and +the sooner she is in bed the better. As Mr. Basset is here," she +continued, turning to Audley, "we must not take you farther. Your cart +is no doubt waiting for you. But you will allow us to thank you again. +We are most grateful to you--both Etruria and I." + +She spoke more warmly, perhaps she let her hand rest longer in his, to +make up for Basset's silence. For that silence provoked her. She had +gathered from many things that Basset did not love the other; but to +stand mute and churlish on such an occasion, and find no word of +acknowledgment--this was too bad. + +And Basset knew, he too knew that he ought to thank Audley. But the +black dog was on his back, and while he hesitated, the other made +his adieux. He said a pleasant word to Etruria, tossed a careless +"Good-night" to the other man, turned away, and was gone. + +For awhile the three who remained trudged homewards in silence. Then, +"What happened to you?" Basset asked grudgingly. + +Vexed and indignant, Mary told the story. + +"I did not know that you knew Mr. Colet!" + +"When a man is being murdered," she retorted, "one does not wait for +an introduction." + +He was a good fellow, but jealousy was hot within him, and he could +not bridle his tongue. "Oh, but murdered?" he said. "Isn't that rather +absurd? Who would murder Colet?" + +Mary did not deign to reply. + +Baffled, he sought for another opening. "I do not know what your uncle +will say." + +"Because we rescued Mr. Colet? And perhaps saved his life?" + +"No, but----" + +"Or because Lord Audley rescued us?" + +"He will certainly not be pleased to hear that," he retorted +maliciously. He knew that he was misbehaving, but he could not +refrain. "If you take my advice you will not mention it." + +"I shall tell him the moment I reach the house," she declared. + +"You will be very unwise if you do." + +"I shall be honest at least! For the rest I would rather not discuss +the matter, Mr. Basset. I am a good deal shaken by what we have gone +through, and I am very tired." + +He muttered humbly that he was sorry--that he only meant---- + +"Please leave it there," she said. "Enough has been said." + +Too late the anger and the spirit died out of the unlucky man, and he +would have grovelled before her, he would have done anything to earn +his pardon. But Etruria's presence tied his tongue, and gloomy and +wretched--oh, why had he not gone farther to meet them, why had he not +been the one to rescue her?--he walked on beside them, cursing his +unhappy temper. It was dark, the tired girls lagged, Etruria hung +heavily on her mistress's arm; he longed to help them. But he did not +dare to offer. He knew too well that Mary would reject the offer. + +Etruria had her own dreams, and in spite of an aching head was happy. +But to Mary, fatigued by the walk, and vexed by Basset's conduct, the +way seemed endless. At last the house loomed dark above them, their +steps rang hard on the flagged court. The outer door stood ajar, and +entering, they found a lamp burning in the hall; but the silence which +prevailed, above and below, struck a chill. Silence and an open door +go ill together. + +Etruria at Mary's bidding went up at once to her room. Basset called +angrily for Toft. But no Toft appeared, and Mary, resentment still hot +in her, opened the door of the library and went in to see her uncle. +She felt that the sooner her story was told the better. + +But the library was empty. Lights burned on the several tables, the +wood fire smouldered on the hearth, the tall clock ticked in the +silence, the old hound flopped his tail. But John Audley was not +there. + +"Where is my uncle?" she asked, as she stood in the open doorway. + +Basset looked over her shoulder. He saw that the room was empty. "He +may have gone to look for us." + +"And Toft?" + +"And Toft, too, I suppose." + +"But why should my uncle go to look for us?" she asked, aghast at the +thought--he troubled himself so little for others, he lived so +completely his own life! + +"He might," Basset replied. He stood for a moment, thinking. Then--for +the time they had forgotten their quarrel--"You had better get +something to eat and go to bed," he said. "I will send Mrs. Toft to +you." + +She had not the strength to resist. "Very well," she said. "Are you +going to look for them?" + +"Perhaps Mrs. Toft will know where they are." + +She took her candle and went slowly up the narrow winding staircase +that led to her room and to Etruria's. As she passed, stair by stair, +the curving wainscot of dull wood which so many generations had +rubbed, she carried with her the picture of Basset standing in thought +in the middle of the hall, his eyes on the doorway that gaped on the +night. Then a big man with a genial face usurped his place; and she +smiled and sighed. + +A moment later she went into Etruria's room to learn how she was, and +caught the girl rising from her knees. "Oh, Miss," she said, coloring +as she met Mary's eyes, "if we had not been there!" + +"And yet--you won't marry him, you foolish girl?" + +"Oh no, no!" + +"Although you love him!" + +"Love him!" Etruria murmured, her face burning. "It is because I love +him, Miss, that I will never, never marry him." + +Mary wondered. "And yet you love him?" she said, raising the candle so +that its light fell on the other's face. + +Etruria looked this way and that way, but there was no escape. In a +very small voice she said, + + + "Love seeketh not itself to please + Nor for itself hath any care!" + + +She covered her hot cheeks with her hands. But Mary took away the +hands and kissed her. + +"Oh, Miss!" Etruria exclaimed. + +Mary went out then, but on the threshold of her own room she paused to +snuff her candle. "So that is love," she thought. "It's very +interesting, and--and rather beautiful!" + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + THE YEW WALK + + +Basset had been absent the greater part of the day, and returning at +sunset had learned that Miss Audley had not come back from Brown +Heath. The servant had hinted alarm--the Chase was lonely, the hour +late; and Basset had hurried off without more, not doubting that John +Audley was in the house. + +Now he was sure that John Audley had been abroad at the time, and he +suspected that Toft had known it, and had kept it from him. He stood +for a moment in thought, then he crossed the court to Toft's house. +Mrs. Toft was cooking something savory in a bonnet before the fire, +and the contrast between her warm cheerful kitchen and the stillness +of the house from which he came struck him painfully. He told her that +her daughter had received a blow on the head, and that Miss Audley +needed supper--she had better attend to them. + +Mrs. Toft was a stout woman, set by a placid and even temper above +small surprises. She looked at the clock, a fork in her hand. "I can't +hurry it, Mr. Basset," she said. "You may be Sir Robert Peel himself, +but meat's your master and will have its time. A knock on the head?" +she continued, with a faint stirring of anxiety. "You don't say so? +Lor, Mr. Basset, who'd go to touch Etruria?" + +"You'd better go and see." + +"But where's Toft?" + +Basset's temper gave way at that. "God knows!" he said. "He ought to +be here--and he's not!" He went out. + +Mrs. Toft stared after him, and by and by she let down her skirt and +prepared to go into the house. "On the head?" she ruminated. "Well, +'Truria's a tidy lot of hair! And I will say this, if there's few +points a man gives a woman, hair's one of them." + +Meanwhile Basset had struck across the court and taken in the darkness +the track which led in the direction of the Great House. The breeze, +light but of an autumn coldness, swept the upland, whispering through +the dying fern, and rustling in the clumps of trees by which he +steered his course. He listened more than once, hoping that he might +hear approaching footsteps, but he heard none, and presently he came +to the yew-trees that masked the entrance to the gardens. + +The trees formed a wall of blackness exceeding that of the darkest +night, and Basset hesitated before he plunged into it. The growth of a +century had long trespassed on the walk, a hundred and fifty yards +long, which led through the yew-wood, and had been in its time a +stately avenue trimmed to the neatness of a bowling green. Now it was +little better than a tunnel, dark even at noon, and at night bristling +with a hundred perils. Basset peered into the blackness, listened, +hesitated. But he was honestly anxious on John Audley's account, and +contenting himself with exclaiming that the man was mad, he began to +grope his way along the path. + +It was no pleasant task. If he swerved from his course he stumbled +over roots, branches swept his cheek, jagged points threatened his +eyes, and more than once he found himself in the hedge. Half-way +through the wood he came to a circular clearing, some twenty yards +across; and here a glimmer of light enabled him to avoid the crumbling +stone Butterfly that crouched on its mouldering base in the centre of +the clearing--much as a spider crouches in its web. It seemed in that +dim light to be the demon of this underworld, a monster, a thing of +evil. + +The same gleam, however, disclosed the opposite opening, and for +another seventy yards he groped his way onward, longing to be clear of +the stifling air, and the brooding fancies that dwelt in it, longing +to plant his feet on something more solid than this carpet of rotting +yew. At last he came to the tall, strait gate, wrought of old iron, +that admitted to the pleasance. It was ajar. He passed through it, and +with relief he felt the hard walk under his feet, the fresh air on his +face. He crossed the walk, and stepping on to the neglected lawn, he +halted. + +The Great House loomed before him, a hundred yards away. The moon had +not risen, but the brightness which goes before its rising lightened +the sky behind the monstrous building. It outlined the roof but left +the bulk in gloom. No light showed in any part, and it was only the +watcher's memory that pictured the quaint casements of the north wing, +or filled in the bald rows of unglazed windows, which made of the new +portion a death-mask. In that north wing just eighty years before, in +a room hung with old Cordovan leather, the fatal house-warming had +been held. The duel had been fought at sunrise within a pace or two of +the moss-grown Butterfly that Basset had passed; and through the gate +of ironwork, wood-smelted and wrought with the arms of Audley, which +had opened at his touch, they had carried the dead heir back to his +father. Tradition had it that the servant who bore in the old lord's +morning draught of cool ale had borne also the tragic news to his +bedside. + +Basset remembered that the hinges of the gate, seldom as it was used, +had not creaked, and he felt sure that he was on the right track. He +scanned the dark house, and tried to sift from the soughing of the +wind any sound that might inform him. + +Presently he moved forward and scrutinized with care the north wing, +which abutted on the yew-wood. There lay between the two only a strip +of formal garden, once set with rows of birds and beasts cut in yew. +Time had turned these to monsters, huge, amorphous, menacing, amidst +which rank grass rioted and elder pushed. Even in daylight it seemed +as if the ancient trees stretched out arms to embrace and strangle the +deserted house. + +But the north wing remained as dark as the bulk of the house, and +Basset uttered a sigh of relief. Ill-humor began to take the place of +misgiving. He called himself a fool for his pains and anticipated with +distaste a return through the yew-walk. However, the sooner he +undertook the passage the sooner it would be over, and he was turning +on his heel when somewhere between him and the old wing a stick +snapped. + +Under a foot, he fancied; and he waited. In two or three minutes the +moon would rise. + +Again he caught a faint sound. It resembled the stealthy tread of some +one approaching from the north wing, and Basset, peering that way, was +striving to probe the darkness, when a gleam of light shot across his +eyes. He turned and saw in the main building a bright spark. It +vanished. He waited to see it again, and while he waited a second +stick snapped. This time the sound was behind him, and near the iron +gate. + +He had been outflanked, and he had now to choose which he would stalk, +the footstep or the light. He chose the latter, the rather as while he +stood with his eyes fixed on the house the upper edge of a rising moon +peeped above the roof. + +He stepped back to the gate, and in the shadow of the trees he waited. +Two or three minutes passed. The moon rose clear of the roof, +outlining the stately chimneys and gables and flooding with cold light +the lower part of the lawn. With the rising of the moon the air grew +more chilly. He shivered. + +At length a dull sound reached him--the sound of a closing door or a +shutter cast back. A minute later he heard the footsteps of some one +moving along the walk towards him. The man trod with care, but once he +stumbled. + +Basset advanced. "Is that you, sir?" he asked. + +"D--n!" John Audley replied out of the darkness. He halted, breathing +quickly. + +"I say d--n, too!" Basset replied. As a rule he was patient with the +old man, but to-night his temper failed him. + +The other came on. "Why did you follow me?" he asked. "What is the +use? What is the use? If you are willing to help me, good! But if not, +why do you follow me?" + +"To see that you don't come to harm," Basset retorted. "As you +certainly will one of these nights if you come here alone." + +"Well, I haven't come to harm to-night! On the contrary---- But there, +there, man, let us get back." + +"The sooner the better," Basset replied. "I nearly put out an eye as I +came." + +John Audley laughed. "Did you come through the yews in the dark?" he +asked. + +"Didn't you?" + +"No, I brought a lantern." He removed as he spoke the cap of a small +bull's-eye lantern and threw its light on the path. "Who's the fool +now?" + +"Let us get home," Basset snapped. + +John Audley locked the iron gate behind them and they started. The +light removed their worst difficulties and they reached the open park +without mishap. But long before they gained the house the elder man's +strength failed, and he was glad to lean on Basset's arm. On that a +sense of weakness on the one side and of pity on the other closed +their differences. "After all," Audley said wearily, "I don't know +what I should have done if you had not come." + +"You'd have stayed there!" + +"And that would have been--Heavens, what a pity that would have been!" +Audley paused and struck his stick on the ground. "I must take care of +myself, I must take care of myself! You don't know, Basset, what +I----" + +"And I don't want to know--here!" Basset replied. "When you are safe +at home, you may tell me what you like." + +In the courtyard they came on Toft, who was looking out for them with +a lantern. "Thank God, you're safe, sir," he said. "I was growing +alarmed about you." + +"Where were you," Basset asked sharply, "when I came in?" John Audley +was too tired to speak. + +"I had stepped out at the front to look for the master," Toft replied. +"I fancied that he had gone out that way." + +Basset did not believe him, but he could not refute the story. "Well, +get the brandy," he said, "and bring it to the library. Mr. Audley has +been out too long and is tired." + +They went into the library and Toft pulled off his master's boots and +brought his slippers and the spirit-tray. That done, he lingered, and +Basset thought that he was trying to divine from the old man's looks +whether the journey had been fruitful. + +In the end, however, the man had to go, and Audley leant forward to +speak. + +"Wait!" Basset muttered. "He is coming back." + +"How do you know?" + +Basset raised his hand. The door opened. Toft came in. "I forgot to +take your boots, sir," he said. + +"Well, take them now," his master replied peevishly. When the man had +again withdrawn, "How did you know?" he asked, frowning at the fire. + +"I saw him go to take your boots--and leave them." + +Audley was silent for a time, then "Well," he said, "he has been with +me many years and I think he is faithful." + +"To his own interests. He dogged you to-night." + +"So did you!" + +"Yes, but I did not hide! And he did, and hid from me, too, and lied +about it. How long he had been watching you, I cannot say, but if you +think that you can break through all your habits, sir, and be missing +for two hours at night and a man as shrewd as Toft suspect nothing, +you are mistaken. Of course he wonders. The next time he thinks it +over. The third time he follows you. Presently whatever you know he +will know." + +"Confound him!" Audley turned to the table and jerked some brandy into +a glass. Then, "You haven't asked yet," he said, "what I've done." + +"If I am to choose," Basset replied, "I would rather not know. You +know my views." + +"I know that you didn't think I should do it? Well, I've done it!" + +"Do you mean that--you've found the evidence?" + +"Is it likely?" the other replied petulantly. "No, but I've been in +the Muniment Room. It is fifty years since I heard my father describe +its position, but I could have gone to it blindfold! I was a boy then, +and the name--he was telling a story of the old lord--took my fancy. I +listened. In time the thing faded, but one day when I was at the +lawyer's and some one mentioned the Muniment Room, the story came back +to me so clearly, that I could almost repeat my father's words." + +"And you've been in the room?" + +"I've been in it. Why not? A door two inches thick and studded with +iron, and a lock that one out of any dozen big keys would open!" He +rubbed his calves in his satisfaction. "In twenty minutes I was +inside." + +"And it was empty?" + +"It was empty," the other agreed, with a cunning smile. "As bare as a +board. A little whitewashed room, just as my father described it!" + +"They had removed the papers?" + +"To the bank, or to London, or to Stubbs's. The place was as clean as +a platter! Not a length of green tape or an end of parchment was +left!" + +"Then what have you gained?" Basset asked. + +Audley looked slyly at him, his head on one side. "Ay, what?" he said. +"But I'll tell you my father's story. At one time the part of the room +under the stairs was crumbling and the rats got in. The steward told +the old lord and he went to see it. 'Brick it up!' he said. The +steward objected that there would not be room--the place was full; +there were boxes everywhere, some under the stairs. The old lord +tapped one of the boxes with his gold-headed cane. 'What's in these!' +he asked. 'Old papers,' the steward explained. 'Of no use, my lord, +but curious; old leases for lives, and terriers.' 'Terriers?' cried +the old lord. 'Then, by G--d, brick 'em up with the rats!' And that +day at dinner he told my father the story and chuckled over it." + +"And that's what you've had in your mind all this time?" Basset said. +"Do you think it was done?" + +"The old lord bricked up many a pipe of port, and I think that he +would do it for the jest's sake. And"-- John Audley turned and looked +in his companion's face--"the part under the stairs _is bricked up_, +and the room is as square and as flush as the family vault--and very +like it. The old lord," he added sardonically, "knows what it is to be +bricked up himself now." + +"And still there may be nothing there to help you." + +Audley rose from his chair. "Don't say it!" he cried passionately. "Or +I'll say that there's no right in the world, no law, no providence, no +God! Don't dare to say it!" he continued, his cheeks trembling with +excitement. "If I believed that I should go mad! But it is there! It +is there! Do you think that it was for naught I heard that story? That +it was for naught I remembered it, for naught I've carried the story +in my mind all these years? No, they are there, the papers that will +give me mine and give it to Mary after me! They are there! And you +must help me to get them." + +"I cannot do it, sir," Basset replied firmly. "I don't think that you +understand what you ask. To break into Audley's house like any common +burglar, to dig down his wall, to steal his deeds----" + +John Audley shook his fist in the young man's face. "His house!" he +shrieked. "His wall! His deeds! No, fool, but my house, my wall, my +deeds! my deeds! If the papers are there all's mine! All! And I am but +taking my own! Can't you see that? Can't you see it? Have I no right +to take what is my own?" + +"But if the papers are not there?" Basset replied gravely. "No, sir, +if you will take my advice you will tell your story, apply to the +court, and let the court examine the documents. That's the +straightforward course." + +John Audley flung out his arms. "Man!" he cried. "Don't you know that +as long as he is in possession he can sit on his deeds, and no power +on earth can force him to show them?" + +Basset drew in his breath. "If that is so," he said, "it is hard. Very +hard! But to go by night and break into his house--sticks in my +gizzard, sir. I'm sorry, but that is the way I look at it. The man's +here too. I saw him this evening. The fancy might have taken him to +visit the house, and he might have found you there?" + +Audley's color faded, he seemed to shrink into himself. "Where did you +see him?" he faltered. + +Basset told the story. "I don't suppose that the girls were really in +danger," he continued, "but they thought so, and Audley came to the +rescue and brought them as far as the park gap." + +The other took out his silk handkerchief and wiped his brow. "As near +as that," he muttered. + +"Ay, and if he had found you at the house, he might have guessed your +purpose." + +John Audley held out a hand trembling with passion. "I would have +killed him!" he cried. "I would have killed him--before he should have +had what is there!" + +"Exactly," Basset replied. "And that is why I will have nothing to do +with the matter! It's too risky, sir. If you take my advice you will +give it up." + +Audley did not answer. He sat awhile, his shoulders bowed, his eyes +fixed on the hearth, while the other wondered for the hundredth time +if he were sane. At length, "What is he doing here?" the old man asked +in a lifeless tone. The passion had died out of him. + +"Shooting, I suppose. But there was some talk in Riddsley of his +coming down to stir up old Mottisfont." + +"What about?" + +"Against the corn-law repeal, I suppose." + +Audley nodded. But after a while, "That's a pretext," he said. "And so +is the shooting. He has followed the girl." + +Basset started. "Followed Mary!" he exclaimed. + +"What else? I have looked for it from the first. I've pressed you to +come to an understanding with her for that reason. Why the devil can't +you? If you leave it much longer you'll be too late! Too late! And, by +G--d, I'll never forgive you!" with a fresh spirt of passion. "Never! +Never, man!" + +"I've not said that I meant to do it." + +"You've not said!" Audley replied contemptuously. "Do you think that I +don't know that she's all the world to you? Do you think that I've no +eyes? Do you think that when you sit there watching her from behind +your book by the hour together, I have not my sight? Man, I'm not a +fool! And I tell you that if you're not to lose her you must speak! +You must speak! Stand by another month, wait a little longer, and +Philip Audley will put in his oar, and I'll not give that for your +chances!" He snapped his fingers. + +"Why should he put in his oar?" Basset asked sullenly. His face had +turned a dull red. + +John Audley shrugged his shoulders. "Do you think that she is without +attractions?" + +"But Audley lives in another world." + +"The more likely to have attractions for her!" + +"But surely he'll look for--for something more," Basset stammered. + +"For a rich wife? For an alliance, as the saying is? And sleep ill of +nights? And have bad dreams? No, he is no fool, if you are. He sees +that if he marries the girl he makes himself safe. He makes himself +safe! After me, it lies between them." + +"I take it that he does think himself safe." + +"Not he!" Audley replied. He was stooping over the ashes, warming his +hands, but at that he jumped up. "Not he! he knows better than you! +And fears! And sleeps ill of nights, d--n him! And dreams! But there, +I must not excite myself. I must not excite myself. Only, if he once +begins, he'll be no laggard in love as you are! He'll not sit puling +and peeping and looking at the back of her head by the hour together! +He'll be up and at her--I know what that big jowl means! And she'll be +in his arms in half the time that you've taken to count her +eyelashes!" He turned in a fresh fit of fury and seized his candle. +"In his arms, I tell you, fool, while you are counting her eyelashes. +Well, lose her, lose her, and I never want to see you again, or her! +Never! I'll curse you both!" + +He stumbled to the door and went out, a queer, gibbering, shaking +figure; and Basset had no doubt at such moments that he was mad. But +on this occasion he was afraid--he was very much afraid, as he sat +pondering in his chair, that there was method in his madness! + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + PETER PAUPER + + +The impression which the events of the evening had made on Mary's mind +was still lively when she awoke next day. It was not less clear, +because like the feminine letter of the 'forties, crossed and +recrossed, it had stamped itself in two layers on her mind, of which +the earlier was the more vivid. + +The solitude in which her days had of late been spent had left her +peculiarly open to new ideas, while the quiet and wholesome life of +the Gatehouse had prepared her to answer any call which those ideas +might make upon her. Rescued from penury, lifted above anxiety about +bed and board, no longer exposed to the panic-fears which in Paris had +beset even her courageous nature, Mary had for a while been content +simply to rest. She had taken the sunshine, the beauty, the ease and +indolence of her life as a convalescent accepts idleness, without +scruple or question. + +But this could not last. She was young, nature soon rallied in her, +and she had seen things and done things during the last two years +which forbade her to accept such a limited horizon as satisfied most +of the women of that day. Unlike them, she had viewed the world from +more than one standpoint; through the grille of a convent school, from +the grimy windows of a back-street in Paris; again, as it moved +beneath the painted ceilings of a French salon. And now, as it +presented itself in this retired house. + +Therefore she could not view things as those saw them whose standpoint +had never shifted. She had suffered, she still had twinges--for who, +with her experience, could be sure that the path would continue easy? +And so to her Mr. Colet's sermon had made a strong appeal. + +It left the word which Mr. Colet had taken for his text sounding in +her ears. Borne upward on the eloquence which earnestness had lent to +the young preacher, she looked down on a world in torment, a world +holding up piteous hands, craving, itself in ignorance, the help of +those who held the secret, and whose will might make that secret +sufficient to save. Love! To do to others as she would have others do +to her! With every day, with every hour, with every minute to do +something for others! Always to give, never to take! Above all to give +herself, to do her part in that preference of others to self, which +could alone right these mighty wrongs, could find work for the idle, +food for the hungry, roofs for the homeless, knowledge for the blind, +healing for the sick! Which could save all this world in torment, and +could + + + "Build a Heaven in Hell's despair!" + + +It was a beautiful vision, and in this her first glimpse of it, Mary's +fancy was not chilled by the hard light of experience. It seemed so +plain that if the workman had his master's profit at heart, and the +master were as anxious for the weal of his men, the interests of the +two would be one. Equally plain it seemed that if they who grew the +food aimed at feeding the greatest number, and they who ate had the +same desire to reward the grower, if every man shrank from taking +advantage of other men, if the learned lived to spread their +knowledge, and the strong to help the weak, if no man wronged his +neighbor, but + + + "Each for another gave his ease," + + +then it seemed equally plain that love would indeed be lord of all! + +Later, she might discover that it takes two to make a bargain; that +charity does bless him who gives but not always him who takes; even, +that cheap bread might be a dear advantage--that at least it might +have its drawbacks. + +But for the moment it was enough for Mary that the vision was +beautiful and, as a theory, true. So that, gazing upward at the faded +dimity of her tester, she longed to play her part in it. That world in +torment, those countless hands stretched upward in appeal, that murmur +of infinite pain, the cry of the hungry, of the widow, of men sitting +by tireless hearths, of children dying in mill and mine--the picture +wrought on her so strongly, that she could not rest. She rose, and +though the hoar frost was white on the grass and the fog of an autumn +morning still curtained the view, she began to dress. + +Perhaps the chill of the cold water in which she washed sobered her. +At any rate, with the comb in one hand and her hair in the other, she +drifted down another line of thought. Lord Audley--how strange was the +chance which had again brought them together! How much she owed him, +with what kindness had he seen to her comfort, how masterfully had he +arranged matters for her on the boat. And then she smiled. She +recalled Basset's ill-humor, or his--jealousy. At the thought of what +the word implied, Mary colored. + +There could be nothing in the notion, yet she probed her own feelings. +Certainly she liked Lord Audley. If he was not handsome, he had that +air of strength and power which impresses women; and he had ease and +charm, and the look of fashion which has its weight with even the most +sensible of her sex. He had all these and he was a man, and she +admired him and was grateful to him. And yesterday she might have +thought that her feeling for him was love. + +But this morning she had gained a higher notion of love. She had +learned from Etruria how near to that pattern of love which Mr. Colet +preached the love of man and woman could rise. She had a new +conception of its strength and its power to expel what was selfish or +petty. She had seen it in its noblest form in Etruria, and she knew +that her feeling for Lord Audley was not in the same world with +Etruria's feeling for the curate. She laughed at the notion. + +"Poor Etruria!" she meditated. "Or should it be, happy Etruria? Who +knows? I only know that I am heart-whole!" + +And she knotted up her hair and, Diana-like, went out into the pure +biting air of the morning, along the green rides hoary with dew and +fringed with bracken, under the oak trees from which the wood-pigeons +broke in startled flight. + +But if the energy of her thoughts carried her out, fatigue soon +brought her to a pause. The evening's excitement, the strain of the +adventure had not left her, young as she was, unscathed. The springs +of enthusiasm waned with her strength, and presently she felt jaded. +She perceived that she would have done better had she rested longer; +and too late the charms of bed appealed to her. + +She was at the breakfast table when Basset--he, too, had had a +restless night and many thoughts--came down. He saw that she was pale +and that there were shadows under her eyes, and the man's tenderness +went out to her. He longed, he longed above everything to put himself +right with her; and on the impulse of the moment, "I want you to +know," he said, standing meekly at her elbow, "that I am sorry I lost +my temper last evening." + +But she was out of sympathy with him. "It is nothing," she said. "We +were all tired, I think. Etruria is not down yet." + +"But I want to ask your----" + +"Oh dear, dear!" she cried, interrupting him with a gesture of +impatience. "Don't let us rake it up again. If my uncle has not +suffered, there is no harm done. Please let it rest." + +But he could not let it rest. He longed to put his neck under her +foot, and he did not see that she was in the worst possible mood for +his purpose. "Still," he said, "you must let me say----" + +"Don't!" she cried. She put her hands to her ears. Then, seeing that +she had wounded him, she dropped them and spoke more kindly. "Don't +let us make much of little, Mr. Basset. It was all natural enough. You +don't like Lord Audley----" + +"I don't." + +"And you did not understand that we had been terribly frightened, and +had good reason to be grateful to him. I am sure that if you had known +that, you would have behaved differently. There!" with a smile. "And +now that I have made the amende for you, let us have breakfast. Here +is your coffee." + +He knew that she was holding him off, and all his alarms of the night +were quickened. Again and again had John Audley's warning recurred to +him and as often he had striven to reject it, but always in vain. And +gradually, slowly, it had kindled his resolution, it had fired him to +action. Now, the very modesty which had long kept him silent and +withheld him from enterprise was changed--as so often happens with +diffident man--into rashness. He was as anxious to put his fate to the +test as he had before been unwilling. + +Presently, "You will not need to tell your uncle about Lord Audley," +he said. "I've done it." + +"I hope you told him," she answered gravely, "that we were indebted to +Lord Audley for our safety." + +"You don't trust me?" + +"Don't say things like that!" she cried. "It is foolish. I have no +doubt that in telling my uncle you meant to relieve me. You have +helped me more than once in that way. But----" + +"But this is a special occasion?" + +She looked at him. "If you wish us to be friends----" + +"I don't," he answered roughly. "I don't want to be friends with you." + +Then, ambiguous as his words were, she saw where she stood, and she +mustered her presence of mind. She rose from her seat. "And I," she +said, "am not going to quarrel with you, Mr. Basset. I am going now to +learn how Etruria is. And then I shall see my uncle." + +She escaped before he could answer. + +Once or twice it had crossed her mind that he looked at her with +intention; and once reading that look in his eyes she had felt her +color rise, and her heart beat more quickly. But the absence on her +side of any feeling, except that which a sister might feel for a kind +brother, this and the reserve of his manner had nipped the fancy as +soon as it budded. And if she had given it a second thought, it had +been only to smile at her vanity. + +Now she had no doubt of the fact, no doubt that it was jealousy that +moved him, and her uppermost, almost her only feeling was vexation. +Because they had lived in the same house for five months, because he +had been useful and she had been grateful, because they were man and +woman, how foolish it was! How absurd! How annoying! She foresaw from +it many, many, inconveniences; a breach in their pleasant intercourse, +displeasure on her uncle's part, trouble in the house that had been so +peaceful--oh, many things. But that which vexed her most was the fear +that she had, all unwittingly, encouraged him. + +She believed that she had not. But while she talked to Etruria, and +later, as she went down the stairs to interview her uncle, she had +this weight on her mind. She strove to recall words and looks, and +upon the whole she was sure that she could acquit herself, sure that +of this evil no part lay at her door. But it was very, very vexatious! + +On the threshold of the library she wrested her thoughts back to the +present, and paused a moment, considering what she should say to her +uncle. + +She need not have troubled herself, for he was not there. At the first +glance she took the room to be empty; a second showed her Basset. She +turned to retire, but too late; he stepped between her and the door +and closed it. He was a little paler than usual, and his air of +purpose was not to be mistaken. + +She stiffened. "I came to see my uncle," she said. + +"I am the bearer of a message from him," he answered. "He asked me to +say that he considers the matter at an end. He does not wish it to be +mentioned again. Of course he does not blame you." + +"But, Mr. Basset----" + +But he would not let her speak. "That was his message," he continued, +"and I am glad to be the messenger because it gives me a chance of +speaking to you. Will you sit down?" + +"But we have only just parted," she remonstrated, struggling against +her fate. "I don't understand what you want----" + +"To say? No, I am going to explain it--if you will sit down." + +She sat down then with the feeling that she was trapped. And since it +was clear that she must go through with it, she was glad that his +insistence hardened her heart and dried up the springs of pity. + +He went to the fire, stooped and moved the wood. "You won't come +nearer?" he said. + +"No," she replied. How foolish to trap her like this if he thought to +get anything from her! + +He turned to her and his face was changed. Under his wistful look she +discovered that it was not so easy to be hard, not so easy to maintain +her firmness. "You would rather escape?" he said, reading her mind. "I +know. But I can't let you escape. You are thinking that I have trapped +you? And you are fearing that I am going to make you unhappy for--for +half an hour perhaps? I know. And I am fearing that you are going to +make me unhappy for--always." + +No, she could not retain her hardness. She knew that she was going to +feel pity after all. But she would not speak. + +"I have only hope," he went on. "There is only one thing I am clinging +to. I have read that when a man loves a woman very truly, very deeply, +as I love you, Mary"--she started violently, and blushed to the roots +of her hair, so sudden was the avowal--"as I love you," he repeated +sorrowfully, "I have read that she either hates him or loves him. His +love is a fire that either warms her or scorches her, draws her or +repels her. I thought of that last night, as I thought of many things, +and I was sure, I was confident that you did not hate me." + +"Oh no," she answered, unsteadily. "Indeed, indeed, I don't! I am very +grateful to you. But the other--I don't think it is true." + +"No?" he said, keeping his eyes on her face. "And then, you don't +doubt that I love you?" + +"No." The flush had faded from her face and left her pale. "I don't +doubt that--now." + +"It is so true that--you know that you have sometimes called me Peter? +Well, I would have given much, very much to call you Mary. But I did +not dare. I could not. For I knew that if I did, only once, my voice +would betray me, and that I should alarm you before the time! I knew +that that one word--that word alone--would set my heart upon my sleeve +for all to see. And I did not want to alarm you. I did not want to +hurry you. I thought then that I had time, time to make myself known +to you, time to prove my devotion, time to win you, Mary. I thought +that I could wait. Now, since last night, I am afraid to wait. I +doubt, nay I am sure, that I have no time, that I dare not wait." + +She did not answer, but the color mounted again to her face. + +He turned and knocked the fire together with his foot. Then he took a +step towards her. "Tell me," he said, "have I any chance? Any chance +at all, Mary?" + +She shook her head; but seeing then that he kept his eyes fixed on her +and would not take that for an answer, "None," she said as kindly as +she could. "I must tell you the truth. It is useless to try to break +it. I have never once, not once thought of you but as a friend, +Peter." + +"But now," he said, "cannot you regard me differently--now! Now that +you know? Cannot you begin to think of me as--a lover?" + +"No," Mary said frankly and pitifully. "I should not be honest if I +said that I could. If I held out hopes. You have been always good to +me, kind to me, a dear friend, a brother when I had need of one. And I +am grateful, Mr. Basset, honestly, really grateful to you. And fond of +you--in that way. But I could not think of you in the way you desire. +I know it for certain. I know that there is no chance." + +He stood for a moment without speaking, and seeing how stricken he +looked, how sad his face, her eyes filled with tears. Then, "Is there +any one else?" he asked slowly, his eyes on her face. + +She did not answer. She rose to her feet. + +"Is there any one else?" he repeated, a new note in his voice. He +moved forward a step. + +"You have no right to ask that," she said. + +"I have every right," he replied. "What?" he continued, moving still +nearer to her, his whole bearing changed in a moment by the sting of +jealousy. "I am condemned, I am rejected, and I am not to ask why?" + +"No," she said. + +"But I do ask!" he retorted with a passion which surprised and alarmed +her; he was no longer the despondent lover of five minutes before, but +a man demanding his rights. "Have you no heart? Have you no feeling +for me? Do you not consider what this is to me?" + +"I consider," Mary replied with a warmth almost equal to his own, +"that if I answered your question I should humiliate myself. No one, +no one has a right, sir, to ask that question. And least of all you!" + +"And I am to be cast aside, I am to be discarded without a reason?" + +That word "discarded" seemed so unjust, and so uncalled for, seeing +that she had given him no encouragement, that it stung her to anger. +"Without a reason?" she retorted. "I have given you a reason--I do not +return your love. That is the only reason that you have a right to +know. But if you press me, I will tell you why what you propose is +impossible. Because, if I ever love a man I hope, Mr. Basset, that it +will be one who has some work in the world, something to do that shall +be worth the doing, a man with ambitions above mere trifling, mere +groping in the dust of the past for facts that, when known, make no +man happier, and no man better, and scarce a man wiser! Do you ever +think," she continued, carried away by the remembrance of Mr. Colet's +zeal, "of the sorrow and pain that are in the world? Of the vast +riddles that are to be solved? Of the work that awaits the wisest and +the strongest, and at which all in their degree can help? My uncle is +an old man, it is well he should play with the past. I am a girl, it +may serve for me. But what do you here?" She pointed to his table, +laden with open folios and calf-bound volumes. "You spend a week in +proving a Bohun marriage that is nothing to any one. Another, in +raking up a blot that is better forgotten! A third in tracing to its +source some ancient tag! You move a thousand books--to make one +knight! Is that a man's work?" + +"At least," he said huskily, "I do no harm." + +"No harm?" Mary replied, swept away by her feelings. "Is that enough? +Because in this quiet corner, which is home to my uncle and a refuge +to me, no call reaches you, is it enough that you do no harm? Is there +no good to be done? Think, Mr. Basset! I am ignorant, a woman. But I +know that to-day there are great questions calling for an answer, +wrongs clamoring to be righted, a people in travail that pleads for +ease! I know that there is work in England for men, for all! Work, +that if there be any virtue left in ancient blood should summon you as +with a trumpet call!" + +He did not answer. Twice, early in her attack he had moved as if he +would defend himself. Then he had let his chin fall and he had +listened with his eyes on the table. And--but she had not seen it--he +had more than once shivered under her words as under a lash. For he +loved her and she scourged him. He loved her, he desired her, he had +put her on a pedestal, and all the time she had been viewing him with +the clear merciless eyes of youth, trying him by the standard of her +dreams, probing his small pretensions, finding him a potterer in a +library--he who in his vanity had raised his eyes to her and sought to +be her hero! + +It was a cruel lesson, cruelly given; and it wounded him to the heart. +So that she, seeing too late that he made no reply, seeing the +grayness of his face, and that he did not raise his eyes, had a +too-late perception of what she had done, of how cruel she had been, +of how much more she had said than she had meant to say. She stood +conscience-stricken, remorseful, ashamed. + +And then, "Oh, I am sorry!" she cried. "I am sorry! I should not have +said that! You meant to honor me and I have hurt you." + +He looked up then, but neither the shadow nor the grayness left his +face. "Perhaps it was best," he said dully. "I am sure that you meant +well." + +"I did," she cried. "I did! But I was wrong. Utterly wrong!" + +"No," he said, "you were not wrong. The truth was best." + +"But perhaps it was not the truth," she replied, anxious at once, +miserably anxious to undo what she had done, to unsay what she had +said, to tell him that she was conceited, foolish, a mere girl! "I am +no judge--after all what do I know of these things? What have I done +that I should say anything?" + +"I am afraid that what is said is said," he replied. "I have always +known that I was no knight-errant. I have never been bold until +to-day--and it has not answered," with a sickly smile. "But we +understand one another now--and I relieve you." + +He passed her on his way to the door, and she thought that he was +going to hold it open for her to go out. But when he reached the door +he fumbled for the handle, found it as a blind man might find it, and +went out himself, without turning his head. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + THE MANCHESTER MEN + + +Basset knew every path that crossed the Chase, and had traversed them +at all seasons, and in all weathers. But when, some hours later, he +halted on a scarred and blackened waste that stretched to the horizon +on every side, he would have been hard put to it to say how he came to +be there. He wore his hat, he carried his stick, but he could not +remember how he had become possessed of either. + +For a time the shock of disappointment, the numbing sense of loss had +dulled his mind. He had walked as in a dream, repeating over and over +again that that was what she thought of him--and he had loved her. It +was possible that in the interval he had sworn at fate, or shrieked +against the curlews, or cursed the inhuman sky that mocked him with +its sameness. But he did not think that he had. He felt the life in +him too low for such outbursts. He told himself that he was a poor +creature, a broken thing, a failure. He loved her, and--and that was +what she thought of him. + +He sat on the stump of an ancient thorn-tree that had been a landmark +on the burnt heath longer than the oldest man could remember, and he +began to put together what she had said. He was trifling away his +life, picking stray finds from the dust-heap of the past, making no +man wiser and no man better, doing nothing for any one! Was she right? +The Bohun pedigree, at which he had worked so long? He had been proud +of his knowledge of Norman descents, proud of the research which had +won that knowledge, proud of his taste for following up recondite +facts. Were the knowledge, the research, the taste, all things for +which he ought to blush? Certainly, tried by the test, _cui bono?_ +they came off but poorly. And perhaps, to sit down at his age, content +with such employments, might seem unworthy and beneath him, if there +were other calls upon him. But were there other calls? + +Time had been when his family had played a great part, not in +Staffordshire only but in England; and then doubtless public service +had been a tradition with them. But the tradition had waned with their +fortunes. In these days he was only a small squire, a little more +regarded than the new men about him; but with no ability to push his +way in a crowd, no mastery among his fellow-men, one whom character +and position alike cast for a silent part. + +Of course she knew none of these things, but with the enthusiasm of +youth she looked to find in every man the qualities of the leading +role. He who seldom raised his voice at Quarter Sessions or on the +Grand Jury--to which his birth rather than his possessions called +him--she would have had him figure among the great, lead causes, +champion the oppressed! It was pitiful, if it had not been absurd! + +He walked on by and by, dwelling on the pity of it, a very unhappy +man. He thought of the evenings in the library when she had looked +over his shoulder, and one lamp had lighted them; of the mornings when +the sun had gilded her hair as she bent over the task she was even +then criticizing; of afternoons when the spirit of the chase had been +theirs, and the sunshine and the flowers had had no charm strong +enough to draw them from the pursuit of--alas! something that could +make no man better or wiser. He had lost her; and if aught mattered +apart from that, she had for ever poisoned the springs of content, +muddied the wells of his ordered life. + +Beyond doubt she loved the other, for had she not, she would have +viewed things differently. Beyond doubt in her love for the other lay +the bias that weighted her strictures. And yet, making all allowance +for that, there was so much of truth in what she had said, so much +that hit the mark, that he could never be the same again, never give +himself with pleasure to his former pursuits, never find the old life +a thing to satisfy! + +And still, like the tolling of a death bell above the city's life, two +thoughts beat on his mind again and again, and gave him intolerable +pain. That was what she thought of him! And he had lost her! That was +what she thought of him! And he had lost her! Her slender gracious +figure, her smiling eyes, the glint in her hair, her goodness, her +very self--all were for another! All were lost to him! + +Presently the day began to draw in, and fagged and hopeless he turned +and began to make his way back. His road lay through Brown Heath, the +mining village, where in all the taverns and low-browed shops they +were beginning to light their candles. He crossed the Triangle, and +made his way along the lane, deep in coal-dust and foul with drains, +that ran upwards to the Chase. A pit, near at hand, had just turned +out its shift, and in the dusk tired men, swinging tins in their +hands, were moving by twos and threes along the track. With his bent +shoulders and weary gait he was lost among them, he walked one with +them; yet here and there an older man espied the difference, +recognized him, and greeted him with rough respect. Presently the +current slackened; something, he could not see what, dammed the +stream. A shrewish voice rose in the darkness before him, and other +voices, angry, clamant, protesting, struck in. A few of the men pushed +by the trouble, others stood, here and there a man added a taunt to +the brawl. In his turn Basset came abreast of the quarrel. He halted. + +A farm cart blocked the roadway. Over the tail hung three or four +wailing children; into it a couple of sturdy men were trying to lift +an old woman, seated in a chair. A dingy beadle and a constable, who +formed the escort and looked ill at ease, stood beside the cart, and +round it half a score of slatternly women pushed and shrieked and +gesticulated. On the group and the whole dreary scene nightfall cast a +pallid light. + +"What is it?" Basset asked. + +"They're shifting Nan Oates to the poorhouse," a man answered. "Her +son died of the fever, and there's none to keep her or the little uns. +She've done till now, but they'll not give her bite nor sup out of the +House--that's the law now't seems. So the House it be!" + +"Her'd rather die than go!" cried a girl. + +"D--n them and their Bastilles!" exclaimed a younger man. "Are we free +men, or are we not?" + +"Free men?" shrieked a woman, who had seized the horse's rein and was +loudest in her outcry. "No, nor Staffordshire men, nor Englishmen, nor +men at all, if you let an old woman that's always lived decent go to +their stone jug this way. Give me Stafford Gaol--'tis miles afore it!" + +"Ay, you're at home there, Bet!" a voice in the crowd struck in, and +the laugh that followed lightened matters. + +Basset looked with pity at the old woman. Her head sunk upon her +breast, her thin shawl tucked about her shoulders, her gray hair in +wisps on her cheeks, she gazed in tearless grief upon the hovel which +had been home to her. "Who's to support her," he asked, "if she +stays?" + +"For the bite and sup there's neighbors," a man answered. "Reverend +Colet he said he might do something. But he's been lammed. And there's +the rent. The boy's ten, and he made four shilling a week in the pit, +but the new law's stopped the young uns working." + +"Ay, d--n all new laws!" cried another. "Poor laws and pit laws we're +none but the worse for them!" + +The men were preparing to move the cart. The woman who held the rein +clung to it. "Now, Bet, have a care!" said the constable. "Or you'll +go home by Weeping Cross again!" + +"Cross? I'll cross you!" the termagant retorted. "Selling up widows' +houses is your bread and meat! May the devil, hoof and horn, with his +scythe on his back, go through you! If there were three men here, ay, +men as you'd call men----" + +"Easy, woman, easy!" + +"Woman, dang you! You call me woman----" + +"Now, let go, Bet! You'll be in trouble else!" some one said. + +But she held on, and the crowd were beginning to jostle the men in +charge when Basset stepped forward. "Steady, a moment," he said. "Will +the guardians let the woman stop if the rent is provided?" + +"Who be you, master?" the constable asked. "You'd best let us do our +duty." + +"Dang it, man," an old fellow interposed, "it's Squire Basset of +Blore. Dunno you know him? Keep a civil tongue in your head, will +you!" + +"Ay," chimed in another, pushing forward with a menacing gesture. "You +be careful, Jack! You be Jack in office, but 'twon't always be so! +'Twon't always be so!" + +"Mr. Colet knows the old woman?" Basset asked. + +"Sure, sir, the curate knows her." + +"Well, I'll find the rent," Basset said, addressing the constable, "if +you'll let her be. I'll see the overseer about her in the morning." + +"So long as she don't come on the rates, sir?" + +"She'll not come on the rates for six months," Basset said. "I'll be +answerable for so much." + +The men had little stomach for their task, and with a good excuse they +were willing enough to desist. A woman fetched a stub of a pen and a +drop of ink and Basset wrote a word for their satisfaction. While he +did so, "O'd Staffordshire! O'd Staffordshire!" a man explained in the +background. "Bassets of Blore--they be come from an Abbey and come to +a Grange, as the saying is. You never heard of the Bassets of Blore, +you be neither from Mixen nor Moor!" In old Stafford talk the rich +lands of Cheshire stood for the "mixen" as against the bare heaths of +the home county. + +In five minutes the business was done, the woman freed, and Basset was +trudging away through the gathering darkness. But the incident had +done him good. It had lightened his heart. It had changed ever so +little the direction of his thoughts. Out of his own trouble he had +stretched a hand to another; and although he knew that it was not by +stray acts such as this that he could lift himself to Mary's standard, +though the battle over the new Poor Law had taught him, and many +others, that charity may be the greatest of evils, what he had done +seemed to bring him nearer to her. A hardship of the poor, which he +might have seen with blind eyes, or viewed from afar as the inevitable +result of the stay of outdoor relief, had come home to him. As he +plodded across the moor he carried with him a picture of the old woman +with her gray hair falling about her wrinkled face, and her hands +clasped in hopeless resignation. And he felt that his was not the only +trouble in the world. + +When he had passed the wall of Beaudelays Park, Basset struck--not far +from the Gatehouse--into the road leading down to the Vale, and a +couple of hours after dark he plodded into Riddsley. He made for the +Audley Arms, a long straggling house on the main street, in one part +of two stories, in another of three, with a big bay window at the end. +Entering the yard by the archway he ordered a gig to go to the +Gatehouse for his portmanteau. Then he turned into the inn, and +scribbled a note to John Audley, stating that he was called away, and +would explain matters when he wrote again. He sent it by the driver. + +It was eight o'clock. "I am afraid, Squire," the landlord said, "that +there's no fire upstairs. If you'd not mind our parlor for once, +there's no one there and it's snug and warm." + +"I'll do that, Musters," he said. He was cold and famished and he was +not sorry to avoid the company of his own thoughts. In the parlor, +next door to the Snug, he might be alone or listen to the local gossip +as he pleased. + +Ten minutes later he sat in front of a good plain meal, and for the +time the pangs of appetite overcame those of disappointment. About +nine the landlord entered on some errand. "I suppose, sir," he said, +lingering to see that his guest had all that he wanted, "you've heard +this about Mr. Mottisfont?" + +"No, Musters, what is it? Get a clean glass and tell me about it." + +"He's to resign, sir, I hear. And his son is to stand." + +"Why?" + +"Along o' this about Sir Robert Peel, I understand. They have it that +Sir Robert's going to repeal the corn taxes--some say that he's been +for it all through, and some talk about a potato failure. Mr. +Mottisfont sees that that'll never do for Riddsley, but he don't want +to part from his leader, after following him all these years; so he'll +go out and the young gentleman will take his place." + +"Do you think it is true about Peel?" + +"They're saying it, and Mr. Stubbs, he believes it. But it'll never go +down in Riddsley, Squire. We're horn and corn men here, two to one of +us. There's just the two small factories on the other side, and most +of the hands haven't votes. But here's Mr. Stubbs himself." + +The lawyer had looked into the room in passing. Seeing Basset he +removed his hat. "Pardon, Squire," he said. "I did not know that you +were here." + +"Not at all," Basset answered. He knew the lawyer locally, and had +seen him often--at arm's length--in the peerage suit. "Will you take a +glass of wine with me?" + +Stubbs said that he would with pleasure, if he might take it +standing--his time was short. The landlord was for withdrawing, but +Stubbs detained him. "No, John, with Mr. Basset's leave I've a bone to +pick with you," he said. "Who are these men who are staying here?" + +Musters's face fell. "Lord, Mr. Stubbs," he said, "have you heard of +them?" + +"I hear most things," the lawyer answered. "But repealers talking +treason at the Audley Arms is a thing I never thought to hear. They +must go." + +The landlord rubbed his head. "I can't turn 'em out," he said. "They'd +have the law of me. His lordship couldn't turn 'em out." + +"I don't know about that," Stubbs replied. "He's a good landlord, but +he likes his own way." + +"But what can I do?" the stout man protested. "When they came I knew +no more about them than a china babe. When they began to talk, so glib +that no one could answer them, I was more took aback than anybody. +Seems like the world's coming to an end with Manchester men coming +here." + +"Perhaps it is," Basset said. + +Stubbs met his eye and took his meaning. Later the lawyer maintained +that he had his suspicions from that moment. At the time he only +answered, "Not in our day, Mr. Basset. Peel or Repeal, there's no one +has attacked the land yet but the land has broken them. And so it will +be this time. John, the sooner those two are out of your house the +better." + +"But, dang me, sir, what am I to do?" + +"Put 'em in the horse trough for what I care!" the lawyer replied. +"Good-evening, Squire. I hope the Riddsley parliament mayn't disturb +you." + +The landlord followed him out, after handing something through the +hatch, which opened into the Snug. He left the hatch a little ajar +when he had done so, and the voices of those who gathered there +nightly, as to a club, reached Basset. At first he caught no more than +a word here or there, but as the debate grew warm the speakers raised +their voices. + +"All mighty fine," some one said, laying down the law, "but you're +like the rest, you Manchester chaps. You've your eyes on your own rack +and manger!" + +"I'm not denying it," came the answer in a Lancashire accent, "I'm not +saying that cheap bread won't suit us. But it isn't for that----" + +"No, no, of course not," the former speaker replied with heavy +irony--Basset thought that the voice belonged to Hayward of the +Leasows, a pompous old farmer, dubbed behind his back "The Duke." "You +don't want low wages i' your mills, of course!" + +"Cheap bread doesn't make low wages," the other rejoined. "That's +where you mistake, sir. Let me put it to you. You've known wheat +high?" + +"It was seventy-seven shillings seven years back," the farmer +pronounced. "And I ha' known it a hundred shillings a quarter for +three years together." + +"And I suppose the wages at that time were the highest you've ever +known?" + +"Well, no," the farmer admitted, "I'm not saying that." + +"And seven years ago when wheat was seventy-seven--it is fifty-six +now--were wages higher then than now?" + +"Well," the Duke answered reluctantly, "I don't know as they were, +mister, not to take notice of." + +"Think it out for yourself, sir," the other replied. "I don't think +you'll find that wages are highest when wheat is highest, nor lowest +when wheat is lowest." + +The farmer, more weighty than ready, snorted. But another speaker took +up the cudgels. "Ay, but one minute," he said. "It's the price of +wheat fixes the lowest wages. If it's two pound of bread will keep a +man fit to work--just keep him so and no more--it's the price of bread +fixes whether the lowest wages is eightpence a day or a shilling a +day." + +"Well, but----" + +"Well, but by G--d, he's got you there!" the Duke cried, and smacked +his fat thigh in triumph. "We've some sense i' Riddsley yet. Here's +your health and song, Dr. Pepper!" At which there was some laughter. + +"Well, sir, I'll not say yes, nor no, to that," the Lancashire man +replied, as soon as he could get a hearing. "But, gentlemen, it's not +low wages we want. I'll tell you the two things we do want, and why we +want cheap bread; first, that your laborers after they have bought +bread may have something over to buy our woollens, and our cottons, +and your pots. And secondly, if we don't take foreign wheat in payment +how are foreigners to pay for our goods?" + +But at this half a dozen were up in arms. "How?" cried the Duke, "why +wi' money like honest men at home! But there it is! There's the +devil's hoof! It's foreign corn you're after! And with foreign corn +coming in at forty shillings where'll we be?" + +"No wheat will ever be grown at that price," declared the free trader +with solemnity, "here or abroad!" + +"So you say!" cried Hayward. "But put it at forty-five. We'll be on +the rates, and our laborers, where'll they be?" + +"I don't like such talk in my house!" said Musters. + +"I'd certainly like an answer to that," Pepper the surgeon said. "If +the farmers are broke where'll their laborers be but flocking to your +mills to put down wages there!" + +"The laborers? Well, they're protected now, that's true." + +"Lucky for them!" cried two or three. + +"They are protected now," the stranger repeated slowly. "And I'll tell +you what one of them said to me last year. 'I be protected,' he said, +'and I be starving!'" + +"Dang his impudence!" muttered old Hayward. "That's the kind of thing +they two Boshams at the Bridge talk. Firebrands they be!" + +But the shot had told; no one else spoke. + +"That man's wages," the Manchester man continued, "were six shillings +a week--it was in Wiltshire. And you are protected too, sir," he +continued, turning suddenly on the Duke. "Have you made a fortune, +sir, farming?" + +"I don't know as I have," the farmer answered sulkily--and in a lower +voice, "Dang his impudence again!" + +"Why not? Because you are paying a protected rent. Because you pay +high for feeding-stuff. Because you pay poor-rates so high you'd be +better off paying double wages. There's only one man benefits by the +corn-tax, sir, there's only one who is truly protected, and that is +the landlord!" + +But to several in the room this was treason, and they cried out upon +it. "Ay, that's the bottom of it, mister," one roared, "down with the +landlords and up with the cotton lords!" "There's your Reform Bill," +shouted another, "we've put the beggars on horseback, and none's to +ride but them now!" A third protested that cheap bread was a herring +drawn across the track. "They're for cheap bread for the poor man, but +no votes! Votes would make him as good as them!" + +"Anyway," the stranger replied patiently, "it's clear that neither the +farmer nor the laborer grows fat on Protection. Your wages are nine +shillings----" + +"Ten and eleven!" cried two or three. + +"And your farmers are smothered in rates. If that's all you get by +Protection I'd try another system." + +"Anyways, I'll ask you to try it out of my house," Musters said. "I've +a good landlord and I'll not hear him abused!" + +"Hear! Hear! Musters! Quite right!" + +"I've not said an uncivil word," the Manchester man rejoined. "I shall +leave your house to-morrow, not an hour before. I'll add only one +word, gentlemen. Bread is the staff of life. Isn't it the last thing +you should tax?" + +"True," Mr. Pepper replied. "But isn't agriculture the staple +industry? Isn't it the base on which all other industries stand? Isn't +it the mainstay of the best constitution in the world? And wasn't it +the land that steadied England, and kept it clear of Bonaparte and +Wooden Shoes----" + +"Ay, wooden ships against wooden shoes for ever!" broke in old +Hayward, in great excitement. "Where were the oaks grown as beat Bony! +No, master, protect the oak and protect the wheat, and England'll +never lack ships nor meat! Your cotton-printers and ironfounders +they're great folks now, great folks, with their brass and their +votes, and so they've a mind to upset the gentry. It's the town +against the country, and new money against the old acres that have fed +us and our fathers before us world without end! But put one of my lads +in your mills, and amid your muck, and in twelve months he'd not pitch +hay, no not three hours of the day!" + +Basset could hear the free trader's chair grate on the sanded floor as +he pushed it back. "Well, gentlemen," he said, "I'll not quarrel with +you. I wish you all the protection you deserve--and I think Sir Robert +will give it you! For us, I'm not saying that we are not thinking of +our own interests." + +"Devil a doubt of that!" muttered the farmer. + +"And some of us may have been cold-shouldered by my lord. But you +may take it from me that there's some of us, too, are as anxious to +better the poor man's lot--ay, as Lord Ashley himself! That's all! +Good-night, gentlemen." + +When he was gone, "Gi' me a coal for my pipe, John," said the Duke. "I +never heard the like of that in Riddsley. He's a gallus glib chap +that!" + +"I won't say," said Mr. Pepper cautiously, "that there's nothing in +it." + +"Plenty in it for the cotton people and the coal people, and the +potters. But not for us!" + +"But if Sir Robert sees it that way?" queried the surgeon, delicately. + +"Then if Sir Robert were member for Riddsley," Hayward answered +stubbornly, "he'd get his notice to quit, Dr. Pepper! You may bet your +hat on that!" + +"There's one got a lesson last night," a new-comer chimed in. "Parson +Colet got so beaten on the moor he's in bed I am told. He's been +speaking free these last two months, and I thought he'd get it. Three +lads from your part I am told, Hayward." + +"Well, well!" the farmer replied with philosophy. "There's good in +Colet, and maybe it'll be a lesson to him! Anyway, good or bad, he's +going." + +"Going?" cried two or three, speaking at once. + +"I met Rector not two hours back. He'd a letter from Colet saying he +was going to preach the same rubbish here as he's fed 'em with at +Brown Heath--cheap bread and the rest of it. Rector's been to him--he +wouldn't budge, and he got his notice to quit right straight. Rector +was fit to burst when I saw him." + +"Colet be a born fool!" cried Musters. "Who's like to employ him after +that? Wheat is tithe and the parsons are as fond of their tithe as any +man. You may look a long way before you'll find a parson that's a +repealer." + +"Serves Colet right!" said one. "But I'm sorry for him all the same. +There's worse men than the Reverend Colet." + +Basset could never say afterwards what moved him at this point, but +whatever it was he got up and went out. The boots was lounging at the +door of the inn. He asked the man where Mr. Colet lodged, and learning +that it was in Stream Street, near the Maypole, he turned that way. + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + STRANGE BEDFELLOWS + + +Had any one told Basset, even that morning, that before night he would +seek the advice of the Riddsley curate, he would have met the +suggestion with unmeasured scorn. Probably he had not since his +college days spent an hour in intimate talk with a man so far from him +in fortune and position, and so unlike him in those things which bring +men together. Nor in the act of approaching Colet--under the impulse +of a few casual words and a sudden thought--was he able to understand +or to justify himself. + +But when he rose to his feet after an hour spent beside the curate's +dingy hearth--over the barber's shop in Stream Street--he did not need +to justify the step. He had said little but he had heard much. Colet's +tongue had been loosened by the sacrifice he had made, and inspired by +that love of his kind which takes refuge in the most unlikely shapes, +he had poured forth at length his beliefs and his aspirations. And +Basset, whose world had tottered since morning, for whom common things +had lost their poise and life its wonted aspect, began to think that +he had found in the other's aims a new standpoint and the offer of a +new beginning. + +The dip candles, which had been many times snuffed, were burning low +when the two rose. The curate, whose pale cheeks matched his bandaged +head, had a last word to say. "Of the need I am sure," he repeated, as +Basset's eye sought the cheap clock on the mantelpiece. "If I have not +proved that, the fault, sir, is mine. But the means--they are a +question for you; almost any man may see them more clearly than I do. +By votes, it may be, and so through the people working out their own +betterment. Or by social measures, as Lord Ashley thinks, through the +classes that are fitted by education to judge for all. Or by the wider +spread, as I hold, of self-sacrifice by all for all--to me, the ideal. +But of one thing I am convinced; that this tax upon the commonest +food, which takes so much more in proportion from the poor than from +the rich, is wrong. Certainly wrong, Mr. Basset,--unless the gain and +the loss can be equally spread. That's another matter." + +"I will not say any more now," Basset answered cautiously, "than that +I am inclined to your view. But for yourself, are there not others who +will not pay so dearly for maintaining it?" + +A redness spread over the curate's long horse-face. "No, Mr. Basset," +he rejoined, "if I left my duty to others I should pay still more +dearly. I am my own man. I will remain so." + +"But what will you do when you leave here?" Basset inquired, casting +his eyes round the shabby room. He did not see it as he had seen it on +his entrance. He discerned that, small as it was, and shabby as it +was, it might be a man's home. "I fear that there are few incumbents +who hold your views." + +"There are absentees," Colet replied with a smile, "who are not so +particular; and in the north there are a few who think as I think. I +shall not starve." + +"I have an old house on the Derbyshire border twenty miles from here," +Basset said. "A servant and his wife keep it, and during some months +of the year I live there. It is an out-of-the-way place, Mr. Colet, +but it is at your service--if you don't get work?" + +The curate seemed to shrink into himself. "I couldn't trespass on +you," he said. + +"I hope you will," Basset replied. "In the meantime, who was the man +you quoted a few minutes ago?" + +"Francis Place. He is a good man though not as we"--he touched his +threadbare cloth--"count goodness. He is something of a Socialist, +something of a Chartist--he might frighten you, Mr. Basset. But he has +the love of the people in him." + +"I will see him." + +"He has been a tailor." + +That hit Basset fairly in the face. "Good heavens!" he said. "A +tailor?" + +"Yes," Colet replied, smiling. "But a very uncommon tailor. Let me +tell you why I quoted him. Because, though he is not a Christian, he +has ideals. He aims higher than he can shoot, while the aims of the +Manchester League, though I agree with them upon the corn-tax, seem to +me to be bounded by the material and warped by their own interests." + +Basset nodded. "You have thought a good deal on these things," he +said. + +"I live among the poor. I have them always before me." + +"And I have thought so little that I need time. You must think no +worse of me if I wait a while. And now, good-night." + +But the other did not take the hand held out to him. He was staring at +the candle. "I am not clear that I have been quite frank with you," he +said awkwardly. "You have offered me the shelter of your house though +I am a stranger, Mr. Basset, and though you must suspect that to +harbor me may expose you to remark. Well, I may be tempted to avail +myself of your kindness. But I cannot do so unless you know more of my +circumstances." + +"I know all that is necessary." + +"You don't know what I am going to tell you," Colet persisted. "And I +think that you should. I am going to marry the daughter of your +uncle's servant, Toft." + +"Good Lord!" cried Basset. This was a second and more serious blow. It +brought him down from the clouds. + +"That shocks you, Mr. Basset," the curate continued with dignity, +"that I should marry one in her position? Well, I am not called upon +to justify it. Why I think her worthy, and more than worthy to share +my life, is my business. I only trouble you with the matter because +you have made me an offer which you might not have made had you known +this." + +Basset did not deny the fact. He could not, indeed. His taste, his +prejudice, his traditions all had received a blow, all were up in +arms; and, for the moment, at any rate he repented of his visit. He +felt that in stepping out of the normal round he had made a mistake. +He should have foreseen, he should have known that he would meet with +such shocks. "You have certainly astonished me," he said after a pause +of dismay. "I cannot think the match suitable, Mr. Colet. May I ask if +my uncle knows of this?" + +"Miss Audley knows of it." + +"But--you cannot yourself think it suitable!" + +"I have," Colet replied dryly, "or rather I had seventy pounds a year. +What girl, born in comfort, gently bred, sheltered from childhood +could I ask to share that? How could I, with so little in the present +and no prospects, ask a gentlewoman to share my lot?" + +Basset did not reply, but he was not convinced. A clergyman to marry a +servant, good and refined as Etruria was! It seemed to him to be +unseemly, to be altogether wrong. + +Colet too was silent a moment. Then, "I am glad I have told you this," +he said. "I shall not now trespass on you. On the other hand, I hope +that you may still do something--and with your name, you can do +much--for the good cause. If rumor goes for anything, many will in the +next few months examine the ground on which they stand. It will be +much, if what I have said has weight with you." + +He spoke with constraint, but he spoke like a man, and Basset owned +his equality while he resented it. He felt that he ought to renew his +offer of hospitality, but he could not--reserve and shyness had him +again in their grip. He muttered something about thinking it over, +added a word or two of thanks--which were cut short by the flickering +out of the candle--and a minute later he was in the dark deserted +street, and walking back to his inn--not over well content with +himself, if the truth be told. + +Either he should not have gone, he felt, or he should have gone the +whole way, sunk his ideas of caste, and carried the thing through. +What was it to him if the man was going to marry a servant? + +But that was a detail. The main point was that he should not have +gone. It had been a foolish impulse--he saw it now--which had taken +him to the barber's shop; and one which he might have known that he +would repent. He ought to have foreseen that he could not place +himself on Colet's level without coming into collision with him; that +he could not draw wisdom from him without paying toll. + +An impossible person, he thought, a man of ideas quite unlike his own! +And yet the man had spoken well and ably, and spoken from experience. +He had told the things that he had seen as he passed from house to +house, hard, sad facts, the outcome of rising numbers and falling +wages, of over-production, of mouths foodless and unwanted. And all +made worse, as he maintained, by this tax on bread, that barely +touched the rich man's income, yet took a heavy toll from the small +wage. + +As he recalled some of the things that he had heard, Basset felt his +interest revive. Colet had dealt with facts; he had attempted no +oratory, he had cast no glamour over them. But he had brought to bear +upon them the light of an ideal--the Christian ideal of unselfishness; +and his hearer, while he doubted, while he did not admit that the +solution was practical, owned its beauty. + +For he too, as we know, had had his aspirations, though he had rarely +thought of turning them into action. Instead, he had hidden them +behind the commonplace; and in this he had matched the times, which +were commonplace. For the country lay in the trough of the wave. +Neither the fine fury of the generation which had adored the rights of +man, nor the splendid endurance which the great war had fostered, nor +the lesser ardors of the Reform era, which found its single panacea in +votes, touched or ennobled it. Great wealth and great poverty, +jostling one another, marked a material age, seeking remedies in +material things, despising arms, decrying enthusiasm; an age which +felt, but hardly bowed as yet, to the breath of the new spirit. + +But Basset--perhaps because the present offered no great prospect to +the straitened squire--had had his glimpses of a life higher and +finer, devoted to something above the passing whim and the day's +indulgence, a life that should not be useless to those who came after +him. Was it possible that he now heard the call? Could this be the +crusade of which he had idly dreamed? Had the trumpet sounded at the +moment of his utmost need? + +If only it were so! During the evening he had kept his sorrow at bay +as well as he could, distracting his thoughts with passing objects. +Now, as the boots ushered him up the close-smelling stairs to the +inn's best room, and he stood in his hat and coat, looking on the cold +bare aspect and the unfamiliar things--he owned himself desolate. The +thought of Mary, of his hopes and plans and of the end of these, +returned upon him in an irresistible flood. The waters which he had +stemmed all day, though all day they had lapped his lips, overwhelmed +him with their bitterness. Mary! He had loved her and she--he knew +what she thought of him. + +He could not take up the old life. She had made an end of that, the +rather as from this time onward the Gatehouse would be closed to him +by her presence. And the old house near Wootton where he had been wont +to pass part of his time? That hardly met his needs or his +aspirations. Unhappy as he was, he could not see himself sitting down +in idleness, to brood and to rust in a home so remote, so quiet, so +lost among the stony hills that the country said of it, + + + "Wootton under Weaver + Where God came never!" + + +No, he could hardly face that. Hitherto he had not been called upon to +say what he would do with his life. Now the question was put to him +and he had to answer it. He had to answer it. For many minutes he sat +on the bed staring before him. And from time to time he sighed. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + THE GREAT HOUSE AT BEAUDELAYS + + +It was about a week after this that two men stood on the neglected +lawn, contemplating the long blind front of Beaudelays House. With all +its grandeur the house lacked the dignity of ruin, for ruin presumes a +past, and the larger part of the Great House had no past. The ancient +wing that had welcomed brides, and echoed the laughter of children and +given back the sullen notes of the passing-bell did not suffice to +redeem the whole. By night the house might pass; the silent bulk +imposed on the eye. By day it required no effort of fancy to see the +scaffold still clinging to the brickwork, or to discern that the grand +entrance had never opened to guest or neighbor, that everyday life had +never gazed through the blank windows of the long facade. + +The house, indeed, was not only dead. It had never lived. + +Certainly Nature had done something to shroud the dead. The lawn was +knee-deep in weeds, and the evergreens about it had pushed out +embracing arms to narrow the vista before the windows. At the lower +end of the lawn a paved terrace, the width of the house, promised a +freer air, but even here grass sprouted between the flags, and elders +labored to uproot the stately balustrade that looked on the lower +garden. This garden, once formal, was now a tangle of vegetation, a +wilderness amid whose broad walks Venuses slowly turned to Dryads, and +classic urns lay in fragments, split by the frosts of some excessive +winter. Only the prospect of the Trent Valley and the Derbyshire +foot-hills, visible beyond the pleasance, still pleased; and this view +was vague and sad and distant. For the Great House, as became its +greatness, shunned the public eye, and, lying far back, set a wide +stretch of park between its bounds and the verge of the upland. + +One of the two men was the owner. The other who bore a bunch of keys +was Stubbs. Both had a depressed air. It would have been hard to say +which of the two entered more deeply into the sadness of the place. + +Presently my lord turned his back on the house. "The view is fine," he +said. "The only fine thing about the place," he added bitterly. "Isn't +there a sort of Belvedere below the garden?" + +"There is, my lord. But I fear that it is out of repair." + +"Like everything else! There, don't think I'm blaming you for it, man. +You cannot make bricks without straw. But let us look at this +Belvedere." + +They descended the steps, and passed slowly along the grass-grown +walk, now and again stepping aside to avoid the clutch of a straggling +rose bough, or the fragments of a broken pillar. They paused to +inspect the sundial, a giant Butterfly with closed wings, a replica of +the stone monster in the Yew Walk. Lord Audley read the inscription, +barely visible through the verdigris that stained the dial-plate: + + + "Non sine sole volo!" + + +"Just so!" he said. "A short life and a merry one!" + +A few paces farther along the walk they stopped to examine the basin +of the great fountain. Cracked from edge to centre, and become a +shallow bed of clay and weeds, it was now as unsightly as it had been +beautiful in the days when fair women leaning over it had fed the gold +fish, or viewed their mirrored faces in its waters. + +"The fortunes of the Audleys in a nutshell!" muttered the unlucky +owner. And turning on his heel, "Confound it, Stubbs," he cried, "I +have had as much of this as I can stand! A little more and I shall go +back and cut my throat! It is beginning to rain, too. D--n the +Belvedere! Let us go into the house. That cannot be as bad as this." + +Without waiting for an answer, or looking behind him, he strode back +the way they had come. Stubbs followed in silence, and they regained +the lawn. + +"I tell you what it is," Audley continued, letting the agent come +abreast of him. "You must find some vulgarian to take the place--iron +man or cotton man, I don't care who he is, if he has got the cash I +You must let it, Stubbs. You must let it! It's a white elephant, it's +the d--ndest White Elephant man ever had!" + +The lawyer shook his head. "You may be sure, my lord," he said mildly, +"I should have advised that long ago, if it were possible. But we +couldn't let it in its present state--for a short term; and we have no +more power to lease it for a long one than, as your lordship knows, we +have power to sell it." + +The other swore. At the outset he had scarcely felt his poverty. But +he was beginning to feel it. There were moments such as this when his +withers were wrung; when the consequence which the title had brought +failed to soften the hardships of his lot--a poor peer with a vast +house. Had he tried to keep the Great House in repair it would have +swallowed the whole income of the peerage--a sum which, as it was, +barely sufficed for his needs as a bachelor. + +Already Stubbs had hinted that there was one way out--a rich marriage. +And Audley had received the hint with the easiness of a man who was in +no haste to marry and might, likely enough, marry where money was. But +once or twice during the last few days, which they had been spending +in a review of the property, my lord had shown irritation. When an old +farmer had said to his face, that he must bring home a bride with a +good fat chest, "and his lordship would be what his forbears had +been," the great man, in place of a laughing answer, had turned glumly +away. + +Presently the two halted at the door of the north wing. Stubbs +unlocked it and pushed it open. They entered an ante-room of moderate +size. + +"Faugh!" Audley cried. "Open a window! Break one if necessary." + +Stubbs succeeded in opening one, and they passed on into the great +hall, a room sixty feet long and open to the roof, a gallery running +round it. A withdrawing-room of half the length opened at one end, and +midway along the inner side a short passage led to a second hall--the +servants' hall--the twin of this. Together they formed an H, and were +probably a Jacobean copy of a Henry the Eighth building. A long table, +some benches, and a score of massive chairs furnished the room. +Between the windows hung a few ragged pictures, and on either side of +the farther door a piece of tapestry hung askew. + +Audley looked about him. In this room eighty years before the old lord +had held his revels. The two hearths had glowed with logs, a hundred +wax-lights had shone on silver and glass and the rosy tints of old +wine. Guests in satin and velvet, henchmen and led captains, had +filled it with laughter and jest, and song. With a foot on the table +they had toasted the young king--not stout Farmer George, not the old, +mad monarch, but the gay young sovereign. To-day desolation reigned. +The windows gray with dirt let in a grisly light. All was bare and +cold and rusty--the webs of spiders crossed the very hearths. The old +lord, mouldering in his coffin, was not more unlike that Georgian +reveller than was the room of to-day unlike the room of eighty years +before. + +Perhaps the thought struck his descendant. "God! What a +charnel-house!" he cried. "To think that men made merry in this room. +It's a vault, it's a grave! Let us get away from it. What's through, +man?" + +They passed into the withdrawing-room, where panels of needlework of +Queen Anne's time, gloomy with age, filled the wall spaces, and a few +pieces of furniture crouched under shrouds of dust. As they stood +gazing two rats leapt from a screen of Cordovan leather that lay in +tatters on the floor. The rats paused an instant to stare at the +intruders, then fled in panic. + +The younger man advanced to one of the panels in the wall. "A hunting +scene?" he said. "These may be worth money some day." + +The lawyer looked doubtful. "It will be a long day first, I am +afraid," he said. "It's funereal stuff at the best, my lord." + +"At any rate it is out of reach of the rats," Lord Audley answered. He +cast a look of distaste at the shreds of the screen. He touched them +with his foot. A third rat sprang out and fled squeaking to covert. +"Oh, d--n!" he said. "Let us see something else." + +The lawyer led the way upstairs to the ghostly, echoing gallery that +ran round the hall. They glanced into the principal guest-room, which +was over the drawing-room. Then they went by the short passage of the +H to the range of bedrooms over the servants' hall. For the most part +they opened one from the other. + +"The parents slept in the outer and the young ladies in the inner," +Audley said, smiling. "Gad! it tells a tale of the times!" + +Stubbs opened the nearest door and recoiled. "Take care, my lord!" he +said. "Here are the bats!" + +"Faugh! What a smell! Can't you keep them out?" + +"We tried years ago--I hate them like poison--but it was of no use. +They are in all these upper rooms." + +They were. For when Stubbs, humping his shoulders as under a shower, +opened a second door, the bats streamed forth in a long silent +procession, only to stream back again as silently. In a dusky corner +of the second room a cluster, like a huge bunch of grapes, hung to one +of the rafters. Now and again a bat detached itself and joined the +living current that swept without a sound through the shadowy rooms. + +"There's nothing beyond these rooms?" + +"No." + +"Then let us go down. Rats and bats and rottenness! _Non sine sole +volo!_ We may not, but the bats do. Let us go down! Or no! I was +forgetting. Where is the Muniment Room?" + +"This way, my lord," Stubbs replied, turning with suspicious +readiness--the bats were his pet aversion. "I brought a candle and +some of the new lucifers. This way, my lord." + +He led the way down to a door set in a corner of the ante-room. He +unlocked this and they found themselves at the foot of a circular +staircase. On the farther side of the stairfoot was another door which +led, Stubbs explained, into the servants' quarters. "This turret," he +added, "is older even than the wing, and forms no part of the H. It +was retained because it supplied a second staircase, and also a short +cut from the servants' hall to the entrance. The Muniment Room is over +this lobby on the first floor. Allow me to go first, my lord." + +The air was close, but not unpleasant, and the stairs were clean. On +the first floor a low-browed door, clamped and studded with iron, +showed itself. Stubbs halted before it. There was a sputter. A light +shone out. "Wonderful invention!" he said. "Electric telegraph not +more wonderful, though marvellous invention that, my lord." + +"Yes," the other answered dryly. "But--when were you here last, +Stubbs?" + +"Not for a twelvemonth, my lord." + +"Leave your candle?" + +"No." + +"Then what's that?" The young man pointed to something that lay in the +angle between a stair and the wall. + +"God bless my soul!" the lawyer cried. "It's a candle." + +"And clean. It has not been there a week. Who has been here, my +friend?" + +Stubbs reflected. "No one with my authority," he said. "But if the +devil himself has been here," he continued, stoutly recovering +himself, "he can have done no harm. I can prove that in five minutes, +my lord--if you will kindly hold the light." He inserted a large key +in the lock, and with an effort, he shot back the bolts. He pushed +open the door and signed to Lord Audley to enter. + +He did so, and Stubbs followed. They stood and looked about them. They +were in a whitewashed chamber twelve feet square, clean, bare, empty. +The walls gave back the light so that the one candle lit the place +perfectly. + +"It's as good as air-tight," Stubbs said with pride. "And you see, my +lord, we swept it as bare as the palm of my hand. I can answer for it +that not a shred of paper or a piece of wax was left." + +Audley, gazing about him, seemed satisfied. His face relaxed. "Yes," +he said, "you could not overlook anything in a place like this. I'm +glad I've seen it." + +He was turning to go when a thought struck him. He lowered the light +and scanned the floor. "All the same, somebody has been here!" he +exclaimed. "There's one of the things you are so pleased with--a +lucifer!" + +Stubbs stooped and looked. "A lucifer?" he repeated. He picked up the +bit of charred wood and examined it. "Now how did that come here? I +never used one till six months ago." + +My lord frowned. "Who is it?" he asked. + +"Some one, I fear, who has had a key made," the agent answered, +shaking his head, + +"I can see that for myself. But has he learned anything?" + +Stubbs stared. "There's nothing to learn, my lord," he said. "You can +see that. Whoever he is, he has cracked the nut and found no kernel!" + +The young man looked round him again. He nodded. "I suppose so," he +said. But he seemed ill at ease and inclined to find fault. He threw +the light of the candle this way and that, as if he expected the clean +white walls to tell a tale. "What's that?" he asked suddenly. "A +crack? Or what?" + +Stubbs looked, passed his hand over the mark on the wall, effaced it. +"No, my lord, a cobweb," he said. "Nothing." + +There was no more to be seen, yet Audley seemed loth to go. At length +he turned and went out. Stubbs closed and locked the door behind them, +then he took the candle from his lordship and invited him to go down +before him. Still the young man hesitated. "I suppose we can learn +nothing more?" he said. + +"Nothing, my lord," Stubbs answered. "To tell you the truth, I have +long thought Mr. John mad, and it is possible that his madness has +taken this turn. But I am equally sure that there is nothing for him +to discover, if he spends every day of his life here." + +"All the same I don't like it," the owner objected. "Whoever has been +here has no right here. It is odd that I had some notion of this +before we came. You may depend upon it that this was why he fixed +himself at the Gatehouse." + +"He may have had something of the sort in his mind," Stubbs admitted. +"But I don't think so, my lord. More probably, being here and idle, he +took to wandering in for lack of something to do." + +"And by and by, had a key made and strayed into the Muniment Room! No, +that won't do, Stubbs. And frankly there should be closer supervision +here. It should not have remained for me to discover this." + +He began to descend, leaving Stubbs to digest the remark; who for his +part thought honestly that too much was being made of the matter. +Probably the intruder was John Audley; the man had a bee in his +bonnet, and what more likely than that he should be taken with a craze +to haunt the house which he believed was his own? But the agent was +too prudent to defend himself while the young man's vexation was +fresh. He followed him down in silence, and before many minutes had +passed, they were in the open air, and had locked the door behind +them. + +Clouds hung low on the tops of the trees, mist veiled the view, and a +small rain was falling on the wet lawn. Nevertheless the young man +moved into the open. "Come this way," he said. + +The lawyer turned up the collar of his coat and followed him +unwillingly. "Where does he get in?" my lord asked. It seemed as if +the longer he dwelt on the matter the less he liked it. "Not by that +door--the lock is rusty. The key had shrieked in it. Probably he +enters by one of the windows in the new part." + +He walked towards the middle of the lawn and Stubbs, thankful that he +wore Wellington boots, followed him. + +The lawyer thought that he had never seen the house wear so dreary an +aspect as it wore under the gray weeping sky. But his lordship was +more practical. "These windows look the most likely," he said after a +short survey: and he dragged his unwilling attendant to the point he +had marked. + +A nearer view strengthened his suspicions. On the sill of one of the +windows were scratches and stains. "You see?" he said. "It should not +have been left to me to discover this! Probably John Audley comes from +the Gatehouse by the Yew Walk." He turned to measure the distance with +his eye, the distance which divided the spot from the Iron Gate. +"That's it," he said, "he comes----" + +Then, "Good G--d!" he muttered. "Look! Look!" Stubbs looked. They both +looked. Beyond the lawn, on the farther side of the iron grille and +clinging to it with both hands, a man stood bareheaded under the rain. +Whether he had come uncovered, or his hat had been jerked from him by +some movement caused by their appearance, they could not tell; nor how +long he had stood thus, gazing at them through the bars. But they +could see that his eyes never wavered, that his hands gripped the +iron, and the two knew by instinct that in the intensity of his hate, +the man was insensible alike to the rain that drenched him, and to the +wind that blew out the skirts of his thin black coat. + +Even Stubbs held his breath. Even he felt that there was something +uncanny and ominous in the appearance. For the gazer was John Audley. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + TO THE RESCUE + + +Stubbs was the first to collect himself, but a minute elapsed before +he spoke. Then, "He must be mad," he cried, "mad, to expose himself to +the weather at his age. If I had not seen it, I couldn't believe it!" + +"I suppose it is John Audley?" + +"Yes." Then raising his voice, "My lord! I don't think I would go to +him now!" + +But Audley was already striding across the lawn towards the gate. The +lawyer hesitated, gave way, and followed him. + +They were within twenty paces of the silent watcher when he moved--up +to that time he might have been a lay figure. He shook one hand in the +air, as if he would beat them off, then he turned and walked stiffly +away. Half a dozen steps took him out of sight. The Yew Walk swallowed +him. + +But, quickly as he vanished, the lawyer had had time to see that he +staggered. "I fear, my lord, he is ill," he said. "He will never reach +the Gatehouse in that state. I had better follow him." + +"Why the devil did he come here?" Audley retorted savagely. The +watcher's strange aspect, his face, white against the dark yews, his +stillness, his gesture, a something ominous in all, had shaken him. +"If he had stopped at home----" + +"Still----" + +"D--n him, it's his affair!" + +"Still we cannot leave him if he has fallen, my lord," Stubbs replied +with decision. And without waiting for his employer's assent he tried +the gate. It was locked, but in a trice he found the key on his bunch, +turned it, and pushed back the gate. Audley noticed that it moved +silently on its hinges. + +Stubbs, the gate open, began to feel ashamed of his impulse. Probably +there was nothing amiss after all. But he had hardly looked along the +path before he uttered a cry, and hurrying forward, stooped over a +bundle of clothes that lay in the middle of the walk. It was John +Audley. Apparently he had tripped over a root and lain where he had +fallen. + +Stubbs's cry summoned the other, who followed him through the gate, to +find him on his knees supporting the old man's head. The sight +recalled Audley to his better self. The mottled face, the staring +eyes, the helpless limbs shocked him. "Good G--d!" he cried, "you were +right, Stubbs! He might have died if we had left him." + +"He would have died," Stubbs answered. "As it is--I am not sure." He +opened the waistcoat, felt for the beating of the heart, bent his ear +to it. "No, I don't think he's gone," he said, "but the heart is +feeble, very feeble. We must have brandy! My lord, you are the more +active. Will you go to the Gatehouse--there is no nearer place--and +get some? And something to carry him home! A hurdle if there is +nothing better, and a couple of men?" + +"Right!" Audley cried. + +"And don't lose a minute, my lord! He's nearly gone." + +Audley stripped off his overcoat. "Wrap this about him!" he said. And +before the other could answer he had started for the Gatehouse, at a +pace which he believed that he could keep up. + +Pad, pad, my lord ran under the yew trees, swish, swish across the +soaking grass, about the great Butterfly. Pad, pad, again through the +gloom under the yews! Not too fast, he told himself--he was a big man +and he must save himself. Now he saw before him the opening into the +park, and the light falling on the pale turf. And then, at a point not +more than twenty yards short of the open ground, he tripped over a +root, tried to recover himself, struck another root, and fell. + +The fall shook him, but he was young, and he was quickly on his feet. +He paused an instant to brush the dirt from his hands and knees; and +it was during that instant that his inbred fear of John Audley, and +the certainty that if John Audley died he need fear no more, rose +before him. + +Yes, if he died--this man who was even now plotting against him--there +was an end of that fear! There was an end of uneasiness, of anxiety, +of the alarm that assailed him in the small hours, of the forebodings +that showed him stripped of title and income and consequence. Stripped +of all! + +Five seconds passed, and he still stood, engaged with his hands. Five +more; it was his knees he was brushing now--and very carefully. +Another five--the sweat broke out on his brow though the day was cold. +Twenty seconds, twenty-five! His face showed white in the gloom. And +still he stood. He glanced behind him. No one could see him. + +But the movement discovered the man to himself, and with an oath he +broke away. He thrust the damning thought from him, he sprang forward. +He ran. In ten strides he was in the open park, and trotting steadily, +his elbows to his sides, across the sward. The blessed light was about +him, the wind swept past his ears, the cleansing rain whipped his +face. Thank God, he had left behind him the heavy air and noisome +scent of the yews. He hated them. He would cut them all down some day. + +For in a strange way he associated them with the temptation which had +assailed him. And he was thankful, most thankful, that he had put that +temptation from him--had put it from him, when most men, he thought, +would have succumbed to it. Thank God, he had not! The farther he +went, indeed, the better he felt. By the time he saw the Gatehouse +before him, he was sure that few men, exposed to that temptation, +would have overcome it. For if John Audley died what a relief it would +be! And he had looked very ill; he had looked like a man at the point +of death. The brandy could not reach him under--well, under half an +hour. Half an hour was a long time, when a man looked like that. "I'll +do my best," he thought. "Then if he dies, well and good. I've always +been afraid of him." + +He did not spare himself, but he was not in training, and he was well +winded when he reached the Gatehouse. A last effort carried him +between the Butterflies, and he halted on the flags of the courtyard. +A woman, whose skirts were visible, but whose head and shoulders were +hidden by an umbrella, was standing in the doorway on his left, +speaking to some one in the house. She heard his footsteps and turned. + +"Lord Audley!" she exclaimed--for it was Mary Audley. Then with a +woman's quickness, "You have come from my uncle?" she cried. "Is he +ill?" + +Audley nodded. "I am come for some brandy," he gasped. + +She did not waste a moment. She sped into the house, and to the +dining-room. "I had missed him," she cried over her shoulder. "The +man-servant is away. I hoped he might be with him." + +In a trice she had opened a cellarette and taken from it a decanter of +brandy. Then she saw that he could not carry this at any speed, and +she turned to the sideboard and took a wicker flask from a drawer. +With a steady hand and without the loss of a minute--he found her +presence of mind admirable--she filled this. + +As she corked it, Mrs. Toft appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. +"Dear, dear, miss," she said, "is the master bad? But it's no wonder +when he, that doesn't quit the fire for a week together, goes out like +this? And Toft away and all!" She stared at his lordship. Probably she +knew him by sight. + +"Will you get his bed warmed, Mrs. Toft," Mary answered. She gave Lord +Audley the flask. "Please don't lose a moment," she urged. "I am +following--oh yes, I am. But you will go faster." + +She had not a thought, he saw, for the disorder of her dress, or for +her hair dishevelled by the wind, and scarce a thought for him. He +decided that he had never seen her to such advantage, but it was no +time for compliments, nor was she in the mood for them. Without more +he nodded and set off on his return journey--he had not been in the +house three minutes. By and by he looked back, and saw that Mary was +following on his heels. She had snatched up a sun-bonnet, discarded +the umbrella, and, heedless of the rain, was coming after him as +swiftly and lightly as Atalanta of the golden apple. "Gad, she's not +one of the fainting sort!" he reflected; and also that if he had given +way to that d--d temptation he could not have looked her in the face. +"As it is," his mind ran, "what are the odds the old boy's not dead +when we get there? If he is--I am safe! If he is not, I might do worse +than think of her. It would checkmate him finely. More"--he looked +again over his shoulder--"she's a fine mover, by Gad, and her figure's +perfect! Even that rag on her head don't spoil her!" Whereupon he +thought of a certain Lady Adela with whom he was very friendly, who +had political connections and would some day have a plum. The +comparison was not, in the matter of fineness and figure, to Lady +Adela's advantage. Her lines were rather on the Flemish side. + +Meanwhile Mary was feeling anything but an Atalanta. Wind and rain and +wet grass, loosened hair and swaying skirts do not make for romance. +But in her anxiety she gave small thought to these. Her one instinct +was to help. With all his oddity her uncle had been kind to her, and +she longed to show him that she was grateful. And he was her one +relative. She had no one else in the world. He had given her what of +home he had, and ease, and a security which she had never known +before. Were she to lose him now--the mere fancy spurred her to fresh +exertions, and in spite of a pain in her side, in spite of clinging +skirts, and shoes that threatened to leave her feet, she pushed on. +She was not far behind Audley when he reached the Yew Walk. + +She saw him plunge into it, she followed, and was on the scene not +many seconds later. When she caught sight of the little group kneeling +about the prostrate man, that sense of tragedy, and of the inevitable, +which assails at such a time, shook her. The thing always possible, +never expected, had happened at last. + +Then the coolness which women find in these emergencies returned. She +knelt between the men, took the insensible head on her arm, held out +her other hand for the cup. "Has he swallowed any?" she asked, taking +command of the situation. + +"No," Toft answered--and she became aware that the man with Lord +Audley was the servant. + +She waited for no more, she tilted the cup, and by some knack she +succeeded where Toft had failed. A little of the spirit was swallowed. +She improvised a pillow and laid the head down on it. "The lower the +better," she murmured. She felt the hands and began to rub one. "Rub +the other," she said to Toft. "The first thing to do is to get him +home! Have you a carriage? How near can you bring it, Lord Audley?" + +"We can bring it to the park at the end of the walk," he answered. "My +agent has gone to fetch it." + +"Will you hasten it?" she replied. "Toft will stay with me. And bring +something, please, on which you can carry him to it." + +"At once," Audley answered, and he went off in the direction of the +Great House. + +"I've seen him as bad before, Miss," Toft said. "I found that he had +gone out without his hat and I followed him, but I could not trace him +at once. I don't think you need feel alarmed." + +Certainly the face had lost its mottled look, the eyes were now shut, +the limbs lay more naturally. "If he were only at home!" Mary +answered. "But every moment he is exposed to the cold is against him. +He must be wet through." + +She induced the patient to swallow another mouthful of brandy, and +with their eyes on his face the two watched for the first gleam of +consciousness. It came suddenly. John Audley's eyes opened. He stared +at them. + +His mind, however, still wandered. "I knew it!" he muttered. "They +could not be there and I not know it! But the wall! The wall is +thick--thick and----" He was silent again. + +The rambling mind is to those who are not wont to deal with it a most +uncanny thing, and Mary looked at Toft to see what he made of it. But +the servant had eyes only for his master. He was gazing at him with an +absorbed face. + +"Ay, a thick wall!" the sick man murmured. "They may look and look, +they'll not see through it." He was silent a moment, then, "All bare!" +he murmured. "All bare!" He chuckled faintly, and tried to raise +himself, but sank back. "Fools!" he whispered, "fools, when in ten +minutes if they took out a brick----" + +The servant cut him short. "Here's his lordship!" he cried. He spoke +so sharply that Mary looked up in surprise, wondering what was amiss. +Lord Audley was within three or four paces of them--the carpet of yew +leaves had deadened his footsteps. "Here's his lordship, sir!" Toft +repeated in the same tone, his mouth close to John Audley's ear. + +The servant's manner shocked Mary. "Hush, Toft!" she said. "Do you +want to startle him?" + +"His lordship will startle him," Toft retorted. He looked over his +shoulder, and without ceremony he signed to Lord Audley to stand back. + +"Bare, quite bare!" John Audley muttered, his mind still far away. +"But if they took out--if they took out----" + +Toft waved his hand again--waved it wildly. + +"All right, I understand," Lord Audley said. He had not at first +grasped what was wanted, but the man's repeated gestures enlightened +him. He retired to a position where he was out of the sick man's +sight. + +The servant wiped the sweat from his brow. "He mustn't see him!" he +repeated insistently. "Lord! what a turn it gave me. I ask your +pardon, Miss," he continued, "but I know the master so well." He cast +an uneasy glance over his shoulder. "If the master's eyes lit on him +once, only once, when he's in this state, I'd not answer for his +life." + +Mary reproached herself. "You are quite right, Toft," she said. "I +ought to have thought of that myself." + +"He must not see any strangers!" + +"He shall not. You are quite right." + +But Toft was still uneasy. He looked round. Stubbs and a man who had +been working in the neighborhood were bringing up a sheep-hurdle, and +again the butler's anxiety overcame him. "D--n!" he said: and he rose +to his feet. "I think they want to kill him amongst them! Why can't +they keep away?" + +"Hush! Toft. Why----" + +"He mustn't see the lawyer! He must not see him on any account." + +Mary nodded. "I will arrange it!" she said. "Only don't excite him. +You will do him harm that way if you are not careful. I will speak to +them." + +She went to meet them and explained, while Stubbs, who had not seen +her before, considered her with interest. So this was Miss Audley, +Peter Audley's daughter! She told them that she thought it better that +her uncle should not find strangers about him when he came to himself. +They agreed--it seemed quite natural--and it was arranged that Toft +and the man should carry him as far as the carriage, while Mary walked +beside him; and that afterwards she and Toft should travel with him. +The carriage cushions were placed on the hurdle, and the helpless man +was lifted on to them. Toft and the laborer raised their burden, and +slowly and heavily, with an occasional stagger, they bore it along the +sodden path. Mary saw that the sweat sprang out on Toft's sallow face +and that his knees shook under him. Clearly the man was taxing his +strength to the utmost, and she felt some concern--she had not given +him credit for such fidelity. However, he held out until they reached +the carriage. + +Babbling a word now and again, John Audley was moved into the vehicle. +Mary mounted beside him and supported his head, while Toft climbed to +the box, and at a footpace they set off across the sward, the laborer +plodding at the tail of the carriage, and Lord Audley and Stubbs +following a score of paces behind. The rain had ceased, but the clouds +were low and leaden, the trees dripped sadly, and the little +procession across the park had a funereal look. To Mary the way seemed +long, to Toft still longer. With every moment his head was round. His +eyes were now on his master, now jealously cast on those who brought +up the rear. But everything comes to an end, and at length they swung +into the courtyard, where Mrs. Toft, capable and cool, met them and +took a load off Mary's shoulders. + +"He's that bad is he?" she said calmly. "Then the sooner he's in his +bed the better. 'Truria's warming it. How will we get him up? I could +carry him myself if that's all. If Toft'll take his feet, I'll do the +rest. No need for another soul to come in!" with a glance at Lord +Audley. "But if they would fetch the doctor I'd not say no, Miss." + +"I'll ask them to do that," Mary said. + +"And don't you worrit, Miss," Mrs. Toft continued, eyeing the sick man +judicially. "He's been nigh as bad as this before and been about +within the week. There's some as when they wool-gathers, there's no +worse sign. But the master he's never all here, nor all there, and +like a Broseley butter-pot another touch of the kiln will neither make +him nor break him. Now, Toft, wide of the door-post, and steady, man." + +Lord Audley and Stubbs had remained outside, but when they saw Mary +coming towards them, the young man left Stubbs and went to meet her. +"How is he?" he asked. + +"Mrs. Toft thinks well of him. She has seen him nearly as ill before, +she says. But if he recovers," Mary continued gratefully, "we owe his +life to you. Had you not found him he must have died. And if you had +lost a moment in bringing the news, I am sure that we should have been +too late." + +The young man might have given some credit to Stubbs, but he did not; +perhaps because time pressed, perhaps because he felt that his virtue +in resisting a certain temptation deserved its reward. Instead he +looked at Mary with a sympathy so ardent that her eyes fell. "Who +would not have done as much?" he said. "If not for him--for you." + +"Will you add one kindness then?" she answered. "Will you send Dr. +Pepper as quickly as possible?" + +"Without the loss of a minute," he said. "But one thing before I go. I +cannot come here to inquire, yet I should like to know how he goes on. +Will you walk a little way down the Riddsley road at noon to-morrow, +and tell me how he fares?" + +Mary hesitated. But when he had done so much for them, when he had as +good as saved her uncle's life, how could she be churlish? How could +she play the prude? "Of course I will," she said frankly. "I hope I +shall bring a good report." + +"Thank you," he said. "Until to-morrow!" + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + MASKS AND FACES + + +Cherbuliez opens one of his stories with the remark that if the law of +probabilities ruled, the hero and heroine would never have met, seeing +that the one lived in Venice and the other seldom left Paris. That in +spite of this they fell in with one another was enough to suggest to +the lady that Destiny was at work to unite them. + +He put into words a thought which has entertained millions of lovers. +If in face of the odds of three hundred and sixty-four to one Phyllis +shares her birthday with Corydon, if Frederica sprains her ankle and +the ready arm belongs to a Frederic, if Mademoiselle has a _grain de +beaute_ on the right ear, and Monsieur a plain mole on the left--here +is at once matter for reverie, and the heart is given almost before +the hands have met. + +This was the fourth occasion on which Audley had come to Mary's +rescue, and, sensible as she was, she was too thoroughly woman to be +proof against the suggestion. On three of the four occasions the odds +had been against his appearance. Yet he had come. To-day in +particular, as if no pain that threatened her could be indifferent to +him, as if no trouble approached her but touched a nerve in him, he +had risen from the very ground to help and sustain her. + +Could the coldest decline to feel interest in one so strangely linked +with her by fortune? Could the most prudent in such a case abstain +from day dreams, in which love and service, devotion and constancy, +played their parts? + +_Sic itur ad astra!_ So men and women begin to love. + +She spent the morning between the room in which John Audley was making +a slow recovery, and the deserted library which already wore a cold +and unused aspect. In the one and the other she felt a restlessness +and a disturbance which she was fain to set down to yesterday's alarm. +The old interests invited her in vain. Do what she would, she could +not keep her mind off the appointment before her. Her eyes grew +dreamy, her thoughts strayed, her color came and went. At one moment +she would plunge into a thousand attentions to her uncle, at another +she opened books only to close them. She looked at the clock--surely +the hands were not moving! She looked again--it could not be as late +as that! The truth was that Mary was not in love, but she was ready to +be in love. She was glad and sorry, grave and gay, without reason; +like a stream that dances over the shallows, and rippling and +twinkling goes its way through the sunshine, knowing nothing of the +deep pool that awaits it. + +Presently, acting upon some impulse, she opened a drawer in one of the +tables. It contained a portrait in crayons of Peter Basset, which John +Audley had shown her. She took out the sketch and set it against a +book where the light fell upon it, and she examined it. At first with +a smile--that he should have been so mad as to think what he had +thought! And then with a softer look. How hard she had been to him! +How unfeeling! Nay, how cruel! + +She sat for a long time looking at the portrait. But in fact she had +forgotten that it was before her, when the clock, striking the +half--hour before noon, surprised her. Then she thrust the portrait +back into its drawer, and went with a composed face to put on her hat. + +The past summer had been one of the wettest ever known, for rain had +fallen on five days out of seven. But to-day it was fine, and as Mary +descended the road that led from the house towards Riddsley, a road +open to the vale on one side and flanked on the other by a rising +slope covered with brushwood, a watery sun was shining. Its rays, +aided by the clearness of the air, brought out the colors of stubble +and field, flood and coppice, that lay below. And men looking up +from toil or pleasure, leaning on spades or pausing before they +crossed a stile, saw the Gatehouse transformed to a fairy lodge, gray, +clear--cut, glittering, breaking the line of forest trees--saw it as +if it had stood in another world. + +Mary looked back, looked forward, admired, descended. She had made up +her mind that Lord Audley would meet her at a turn near the foot of +the hill, where a Cross had once stood, and where the crumbling base +and moss-clothed steps still bade travellers rest and be thankful. + +He was there, and Mary owned the attraction of the big smiling face +and the burly figure, that in a rough, caped riding-coat still kept an +air of fashion. He on his side saw coming to meet him, through the +pale sunshine, not as yesterday an Atalanta, but a cool Dian, with her +hands in a large muff. + +"You bring a good report, I hope?" he cried before they met. + +"Very good," Mary replied, sparkling a little as she looked at +him--was not the sun shining? "My uncle is much better this morning. +Dr. Pepper says that it was mainly exertion acting on a weak heart. He +expects him to be downstairs in a week and to be himself in a +fortnight. But he will have to be more careful in future." + +"That is good!" + +"He says, too, that if you had not acted so promptly, my uncle must +have died." + +"Well, he was pretty far gone, I must say." + +"So, as he will not thank you himself, you must let me thank you." And +Mary held out the hand she had hitherto kept in her muff. She was +determined not to be a prude. + +He pressed it discreetly. "I am glad," he said. "Very glad. Perhaps +after this he may think better of me." + +She laughed. "I don't think that there is a chance of it," she said. + +"No? Well, I suppose it was foolish, but do you know, I did hope that +this might bring us together." + +"You may dismiss it," she answered, smiling. + +"Ah!" he said. "Then tell me this. How in the world did he come to be +there? Without a hat? Without a coat? And so far from the house?" + +Mary hesitated. He had turned, they were walking side by side. "I am +not sure that I ought to tell you," she said. "What I know I gathered +from a word that Mr. Audley let fall when he was rambling. He seems to +have had some instinct, some feeling that you were there and to have +been forced to learn if it was so." + +"But forced? By what?" Lord Audley asked. "I don't understand." + +"I don't understand either," Mary answered. + +"He could not know that we were there?" + +"But he seems to have known." + +"Strange," he murmured. "Does he often stray away like that?" + +"He does, sometimes," she admitted reluctantly. + +"Ah!" Audley was silent a moment. Then, "Well, I am glad he is +better," he said in the tone of one who dismisses a subject. "Let us +talk of something else--ourselves. Are you aware that this is the +fourth time that I have come to your rescue?" + +"I know that it is the fourth time that you have been very useful," +she admitted. She wished that she had been able to control her color, +but though he spoke playfully there was meaning in his voice. + +"I, too, have a second sense it seems," he said, almost purring as he +looked at her. "Did you by any chance think of me, when you missed +your uncle?" + +"Not for a moment," she retorted. + +"Perhaps--you thought of Mr. Basset?" + +"No, nor of Mr. Basset. Had he been at the Gatehouse I might have. But +he is away." + +"Away, is he? Oh!" He looked at her with a whimsical smile. "Do you +know that when he met us the other evening I thought that he was a +little out of temper? It was not a continuance of that which took him +away, I suppose?" + +Mary would have given the world to show an unmoved face at that +moment. But she could not. Nor could she feel as angry as she wished. +"I thought we were going to talk of ourselves," she said. + +"I thought that we were talking of you." + +On that, "I am afraid that I must be going back," she said. And she +stopped. + +"But I am going back with you!" + +"Are you? Well, you may come as far as the Cross." + +"Oh, hang the Cross!" he answered with a masterfulness of which Mary +owned the charm, while she rebelled against it. "I shall come as far +as I like! And hang Basset too--if he makes you unhappy!" He laughed. +"We'll talk of--what shall we talk of, Mary? Why, we are cousins--does +not that entitle me to call you 'Mary'?" + +"I would rather you did not," she said, and this time there was no +lack of firmness in her tone. She remembered what Basset had said +about her name and--and for the moment the other's airiness displeased +her. + +"But we are cousins." + +"Then you can call me cousin," she answered. + +He laughed. "Beaten again!" he said. + +"And I can call you cousin," she said sedately. "Indeed, I am going to +treat you as a cousin. I want you, if not to do, to think of doing +something for me. I don't know," nervously, "whether I am asking more +than I ought--if so you must forgive me. But it is not for myself." + +"You frighten me!" he said. "What is it?" + +"It's about Mr. Colet, the curate whom you helped us to save from +those men at Brown Heath. He has been shamefully treated. What they +did to him might be forgiven--they knew no better. But I hear that +because he preaches what is not to everybody's taste, but what +thousands and thousands are saying, he is to lose his curacy. And +that is his livelihood. It seems most wicked to me, because I am told +that no one else will employ him. And what is he to do? He has no +friends----" + +"He has one eloquent friend." + +"Don't laugh at me!" she cried. + +"I am not laughing," he answered. He was, in fact, wondering how he +should deal with this--this fad of hers. A little, too, he was +wondering what it meant. It could not be that she was in love with +Colet. Absurd! He recalled the look of the man. "I am not laughing," +he repeated more slowly. "But what do you want me to do?" + +"To use your influence for him," Mary explained, "either with the +rector to keep him or with some one else to employ him." + +"I see." + +"He only did what he thought was his duty. And--and because he did it, +is he to pay with all he has in the world?" + +"It seems a hard case." + +"It is more, it is an abominable injustice!" she cried. + +"Yes," he said slowly. "It seems so. It certainly seems hard. But let +me--don't be angry with me if I put another side." He spoke with +careful moderation. "It is my experience that good, easy men, such as +I take the rector of Riddsley to be, rarely do a thing which seems +cruel, without reason. A clergyman, for instance; he has generally +thought out more clearly than you or I what it is right to say in the +pulpit; how far it is lawful, and then again how far it is wise to +deal with matters of debate. He has considered how far a pronouncement +may offend some, and so may render his office less welcome to them. +That is one consideration. Probably, too, he has considered that a +statement, if events falsify it, will injure him with his poorer +parishioners who look up to him as wiser than themselves. Well, when +such a man has laid down a rule and finds a younger clergyman bent +upon transgressing it, is it unreasonable if he puts his foot down?" + +"I had not looked at it in that way." + +"And that, perhaps, is not all," he resumed. "You know that a thing +may be true, but that it is not always wise to proclaim it. It may be +too strong meat. It may be true, for instance, that corn-dealers make +an unfair profit out of the poor; but it is not a truth that you would +tell a hungry crowd outside the corn-dealer's shop on a Saturday +night." + +"No," Mary allowed reluctantly. "Perhaps not." + +"And again--I have nothing to say against Colet. It is enough for me +that he is a friend of yours----" + +"I have a reason for being interested in him. I am sure that if you +heard him----" + +"I might be carried away? Precisely. But is it not possible that he +has seen much of one side of this question, much of the poverty for +which a cure is sought, without being for that reason fitted to decide +what the cure should be?" + +Mary nodded. "Have you formed any opinion yourself?" she asked. + +But he was too prudent to enter on a discussion. He saw that so far he +had impressed her with what he had said, and he was not going to risk +the advantage he had gained. "No," he said, "I am weighing the matter +at this moment. We are on the verge of a crisis on the Corn Laws, and +it is my duty to consider the question carefully. I am doing so. I +have hitherto been a believer in the tax. I may change my views, but I +shall not do so hastily. As for your friend, I will consider what can +be done, but I fear that he has been imprudent." + +"Sometimes," she ventured, "imprudence is a virtue." + +"And its own reward!" he retorted. They had passed the Cross, they +were by this time high on the hill, with one accord they came to a +stand. "However, I will think it over," he continued. "I will think it +over, and what a cousin may, a cousin shall." + +"A cousin may much when he is Lord Audley." + +"A poor man in a fine coat! A butterfly in an east wind." He +removed his curly-brimmed hat and stood gazing over the prospect, +over the wide valley that far and near gleamed with many a sheet of +flood-water. "Have you ever thought, Mary, what that means?" he +continued with feeling. "To be the shadow of a name! A ghost of the +past! To have for home a ruin, and for lands a few poor farms--in +place of all that we can see from here! For all this was once ours. To +live a poor man among the rich! To have nothing but----" + +"Opportunities!" she answered, her voice betraying how deeply she was +moved--for she too was an Audley. "For, with all said and done, you +start where others end. You have no need to wait for a hearing. Doors +stand open to you that others must open. Your name is a passport--is +there a Stafford man who does not thrill to it? Surely these things +are something. Surely they are much?" + +"You would make me think so!" he exclaimed. + +"Believe me, they are." + +"They would be if I had your enthusiasm!" he answered, moved by her +words. "And, by Jove," gazing with admiration at her glowing face, "if +I had you by me to spur me on there's no knowing, Mary, what I might +not try! And what I might not do!" + +Womanlike, she would evade the crisis which she had provoked. "Or fail +to do!" she replied. "Perhaps the most worthy would be left undone. +But I must go now," she continued. "I have to give my uncle his +medicine. I fear I am late already." + +"When shall I see you again?" he asked, trying to detain her. + +"Some day, I have no doubt. But good-bye now! And don't forget Mr. +Colet! Good-bye!" + +He stood awhile looking after her, then he turned and went down the +hill. By the time he was at the place where he had met her he was glad +that she had broken off the interview. + +"I might have said too much," he reflected. "She's handsome enough to +turn any man's head! And not so cold as she looks. And she spells +safety. But there's no hurry--and she's inclined to be kind, or I am +mistaken! That clown, Basset, too, has got his dismissal, I fancy, and +there's no one else!" + +Presently his thoughts took another turn. "What maggots women get into +their heads!" he muttered. "That pestilent Colet--I'm glad the rector +acted on my hint. But there it is; when a woman meddles with politics +she's game for the first spouter she comes across! Fine eyes, too, and +the Audley blood! With a little drilling she would hold her own +anywhere." + +Altogether, he found the walk to the place where he had left his +carriage pleasant enough and his thoughts satisfactory. With Mary and +safety on one side, and Lady Adela and a plum on the other--it would +be odd if he did not bring his wares to a tolerable market. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + THE CORN LAW CRISIS + + +He had been right in his forecast when he told Mary that a political +crisis was at hand. That which had been long whispered, was beginning +to be stated openly in club and market-place. The Corn Laws, the +support of the country, the mainstay, as so many thought, of the +Constitution, were in danger; and behind closed doors, while England +listened without, the doctors were met to decide their fate. + +Potatoes! The word flew from mouth to mouth that wet autumn, from town +to country, from village to village. Potatoes! The thing seemed +incredible. That the lordly Corn Laws, the bulwark of the landed +interest, the prop of agriculture, that had withstood all attacks for +two generations, and maintained themselves alike against high prices +and the Corn Law League--that these should go down because a vulgar +root like the potato had failed in Ireland--it was a thing passing +belief. It couldn't be. With the Conservatives in power, it seemed +impossible. + +Yet it was certain that the position was grave, if not hopeless. Never +since the Reform Bill had there been such meetings of the Cabinet, so +frequent, so secret. And strange things were said. Some who had +supported Peel yet did not trust him, maintained that this was the +natural sequel of his measures, the point to which he had been moving +through all the years of his Ministry. Potatoes--bah! Others who still +supported him, yet did not trust him, brooded nervously over his +action twenty years before, when he had first resisted and then +accepted the Catholic claims. Tories and Conservatives alike, wondered +what they were there to conserve, if such things were in the wind; +they protested, but with growing misgiving, that the thing could not +be. While those among them who had seats to save and majorities to +guard, met one another with gloomy looks, whispered together in +corners and privately asked themselves what they would do--if he did. +Happy in these circumstances were those who like Mottisfont, the +father, were ready to retire; and still happier those who like +Mottisfont, the son, knew the wishes of their constituents and could +sing "John Barleycorn, my Joe, John," with no fear of being jilted. + +Their anxieties--they were politicians--were mainly personal--and +selfish. But there were some, simple people like Mr. Stubbs at +Riddsley, who really believed, when these rumors reached them, that +the foundations of things were breaking up, and that the world in +which they had lived was sinking under their feet. Already in fancy +they saw the glare of furnaces fall across the peaceful fields. +Already they heard the tall mill jar and quiver where the cosey +homestead and the full stackyard sprawled. They saw a weakly race, +slaves to the factory bell, overrun the land where the ploughman still +whistled at his work and his wife suckled healthy babes. To these men, +if the rumors they heard were true, if Peel had indeed sold the pass, +it meant the loss of all. It meant the victory of coal and cotton, the +ruling of all after the Manchester pattern, the reign of Cash, the +Lord, and ten per cent. his profit. It meant the end of the old +England they had loved. + +Not that Stubbs said this at Riddsley, or anything like it. He smiled +and kept silence, as became a man who knew much and was set above +common rumor. The landlord of the Audley Arms, the corndealer, the +brewer, the saddler went away from him with their fears allayed merely +by the way in which he shrugged his shoulders. At the farmers' +ordinary he had never been more cheerful. He gave the toast of "Horn +and Corn, gentlemen! And when potatoes take their place you may come +and tell me!" And he gave it so heartily that the farmers went home, +market-peart and rejoicing, laughed at their doubting neighbors, and +quoted a hundred things that Lawyer Stubbs had not said. + +But a day or two later the lawyer sustained an unpleasant shock. He +had been little moved by Lord John's manifesto--the declaration in +which the little Whig Leader, seeing that the Government hesitated, +had plumped for total repeal. That was in the common course of things. +It had heartened him, if anything. It was natural. It would bring the +Tories into line and put an end to trimming. But this--this which +confronted him one morning when he opened his London paper was +different. He read it, he held his breath, he stood aghast a long +minute, he swore. After a few minutes he took his hat and the +newspaper, and went round to the house in which Lord Audley lived when +he was at Riddsley. + +It was a handsome Georgian house, built of brick with stone facings, +and partly covered with ivy. A wide smooth lawn divided it from the +road. The occupant was a curate's widow who lived there with her two +sisters and eked out their joint means by letting the first floor to +her landlord. For "The Butterflies" was Audley property, and the +clergyman's widow was held to derogate in no way by an arrangement +which differed widely from a common letting of lodgings. Mrs. +Jenkinson was stout, short, and fussy, her sisters were thin, short, +and precise, but all three overflowed with words as kindly as their +deeds. Good Mrs. Jenkinson, in fact, who never spoke of his lordship +behind his back but with distant respect, sometimes forgot in his +presence that he was anything but a "dear young man," and when he had +a cold, would prescribe a posset or a warming-pan with an insistence +which at times amused and more often bored him. + +Stubbs found his lordship just risen from a late lunch, and in his +excitement, the lawyer forgot his manners. "By G--d, my lord!" he +cried, "he's resigned." + +Audley looked at him with displeasure. "Who's resigned?" he asked +coldly. + +"Peel!" + +Against that news the young man was not proof. He caught the +infection. "Impossible!" he said, rising to his feet. + +"It's true! It's in the _Morning Post_, my lord! He saw the Queen +yesterday. She's sending for Lord John. It's black treachery! It's the +blackest of treachery! With a majority in the House, with the peers in +his pocket, the country quiet, trade improving, everything in his +favor, he's sold us--sold us to Cobden on some d--d pretext of famine +in Ireland!" + +Audley did not answer at once. He stood deep in thought, his eyes on +the floor, his hands in his pockets. At length, "I don't follow it," +he said. "How is Russell, who is in a minority, to carry repeal?" + +"Peel's promised his support!" Stubbs cried. Like most honest men, he +was nothing if not thorough. "You may depend upon it, my lord, he has! +He won't deceive me again. I know him through and through, now. He'll +take with him Graham and Gladstone and Herbert, his old tail, Radicals +at heart every man of them, and he's the biggest!" + +"Well," Audley said slowly, "he might have done one thing worse. He +might have stayed in and passed repeal himself!" + +"Good G--d!" the lawyer cried, "Judas wouldn't have done that! All he +could do, he has done. He has let in corn from Canada, cattle from +Heaven knows where, he has let in wool. All that he has done. But even +he has a limit, my lord! Even he! The man who was returned to support +the Corn Laws--to repeal them. Impossible!" + +"Well?" Audley said. "There'll be an election, I suppose?" + +"The sooner the better," Stubbs answered vengefully. "And we shall see +what the country thinks of this. In Riddsley we've been ready for +weeks--as you know, my lord. But a General Election? Gad! I only hope +they will put up some one here, and we will give them such a beating +as they've never had!" + +Audley pondered. "I suppose Riddsley is safe," he said. + +"As safe as Burton Bridge, my lord!" + +The other rattled the money in his pocket. "As long as you give them a +lead, Stubbs, I suppose? But if you went over? What then?" + +Stubbs opened his eyes. "Went over?" he ejaculated. + +"Oh, I don't mean," my lord said airily, "that you're not as staunch +as Burton Bridge. But supposing you took the other side--it would make +a difference, I suppose?" + +"Not a jot!" the lawyer answered sturdily. + +"Not even if the two Mottisfonts sided with Peel?" + +"If they did the old gentleman would never see Westminster again," +Stubbs cried, "nor the young one go there!" + +"Or," Audley continued, setting his shoulders against the +mantel-shelf, and smiling, "suppose I did? If the Beaudelays interest +were cast for repeal? What then?" + +"What then?" Stubbs answered. "You'll pardon me, my lord, if I am +frank. Then the Beaudelays influence, that has held the borough time +out of mind, that returned two members before '32, and has returned +one since--there'd be an end of it! It would snap like a rotten stick. +The truth is we hold the borough while we go with the stream. In fair +weather when it is a question of twenty votes one way or the other, we +carry it. And you've the credit, my lord." + +Audley moved his shoulders restlessly. "It's all I get by it," he +said. "If I could turn the credit into a snug place of two thousand a +year, Stubbs--it would be another thing. Do you know," he continued, +"I've often wondered why you feel so strongly on the corn-taxes?" + +"You asked me that once before, my lord," the agent answered slowly. +"All that I can say is that more things than one go to it. Perhaps the +best answer I can make is that, like your lordship's influence in the +borough, it's part sentiment and part tradition. I have a picture in +my mind--it's a picture of an old homestead that my grandfather lived +in and died in, and that I visited when I was a boy. That would be +about the middle nineties; the French war going, corn high, cattle +high, a good horse in the gig and old ale for all comers. There was +comfort inside and plenty without; comfort in the great kitchen, with +its floor as clean as a pink, and greened in squares with bay leaves, +its dresser bright with pewter, its mantel with Toby jugs! There was +wealth in the stackyard, with the poultry strutting and scratching, +and more in the byres knee-deep in straw, and the big barn where they +flailed the wheat! And there were men and maids more than on two farms +to-day, some in the house, some in thatched cottages with a run on the +common and wood for the getting. I remember, as if they were +yesterday, hot summer afternoons when there'd be a stillness on the +farm and all drowsed together, the bees, and the calves, and the old +sheep-dog, and the only sounds that broke the silence were the cluck +of a hen, or the clank of pattens on the dairy-floor, while the sun +fell hot on the orchard, where a little boy hunted for damsons! That's +what I often see, my lord," Stubbs continued stoutly. "And may Peel +protect me, if I ever raise a finger to set mill and furnace, devil's +dust and slave-grown cotton, in place of that!" + +My lord concealed a yawn. "Very interesting, Stubbs," he said. "Quite +a picture! Peace and plenty and old ale! And little Jack Horner +sitting in a corner! No, don't go yet, man. I want you." He made a +sign to Stubbs to sit down, and settling his shoulders more firmly +against the mantel-shelf, he thrust his hands deeper into his +trouser-pockets. "I'm not easy in my mind about John Audley," he said. +"I'm not sure that he has not found something." + +Stubbs stared. "There's nothing to find," he said. "Nothing, my lord! +You may be sure of it." + +"He goes there." + +"It's a craze." + +"It's a confoundedly unpleasant one!" + +"But harmless, my lord. Really harmless." + +The younger man's impatience darkened his face, but he controlled +it--a sure sign that he was in earnest. "Tell me this," he said. "What +evidence would upset us? You told me once that the claim could be +reopened on fresh evidence. On what evidence?" + +"I regard the case as closed," Stubbs answered stubbornly. "But if you +put the question--" he seemed to reflect--"the point at issue, on +which the whole turned, was the legitimacy of your great-grandfather, +my lord, Peter Paravicini Audley's son. Mr. John's great-grandfather +was Peter Paravicini's younger brother. The other side alleged, but +could not produce, a family agreement admitting that the son was +illegitimate. Such an agreement, if Peter Paravicini was a party +to it, if it was proved, and came from the proper custody, would +be an awkward document and might let in the next brother's +descendants--that's Mr. John. But in my opinion, its existence is a +fairy story, and in its absence, the entry in the register stands +good." + +"But such a document would be fatal?" + +"If it fulfilled the conditions it would be serious," the lawyer +admitted. "But it does not exist," he added confidently. + +"And yet--I'm not comfortable, Stubbs," Audley rejoined. "I can't get +John Audley's face out of my mind. If ever man looked as if he had his +enemy by the throat, he looked it; a d--d disinheriting face I thought +it! I don't mind telling you," the speaker continued, some disorder in +his own looks, "that I awoke at three o'clock this morning, and I saw +him as clearly as I see you now, and at that moment I wouldn't have +given a thousand pounds for my chance of being Lord Audley this time +two years!" + +"Liver!" said Stubbs, unmoved. "Liver, my lord, asking your pardon! +Nothing else--and the small hours. I've felt like that myself. Still, +if you are really uneasy there is always a way out, though it may be +impertinent of me to mention it." + +"The old way?" + +"You might marry Miss Audley. A handsome young lady, if I may presume +to say so, of your own blood and name, and no disparagement except in +fortune. After Mr. John, she is the next heir, and the match once made +would checkmate any action on his part." + +"I am afraid I could not afford such a marriage," Audley said coldly. +"But I am to you. As for this news--" he flicked the newspaper that +lay on the table--"it may be true or it may not. If it is true, it +will alter many things. We shall see. If you hear anything fresh let +me know." + +Stubbs said that he would and took his leave, wondering a little, but +having weightier things on his mind. He sought his home by back ways, +for he did not wish to meet Dr. Pepper or Bagenal the brewer, or even +the saddler, until he had considered what face he would put on Peel's +latest move. He felt that his reputation for knowledge and sagacity +was at stake. + +Meanwhile his employer, left alone, fell to considering, not what face +he should put upon the matter, but how he might at this crisis turn +the matter and the borough to the best account. Certainly Stubbs was +discouraging, but Stubbs was a fool. It was all very well for him; he +drew his wages either way. But a man of the world did not cling to the +credit of owning a borough for the mere name of the thing. If he were +sensible he looked to get something more from it than that. And it was +upon occasions such as this that the something more was to be had by +those who knew how to go about the business. + +Here, in fact, was the moment, if he was the man. + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + PETER'S RETURN + + +Not a word or hint of John Audley's illness had come to Basset's ears. +At the time of the alarm he had been in London, and it was not until +some days later that he took his seat in the morning train to return +to Stafford. On his way to town, and for some days after his arrival, +he had been buoyed up by plans, nebulous indeed, but sufficient. He +came back low in his mind and in poor spirits. The hopes, if not the +aspirations, which Colet's enthusiasm had generated in him had died +down, and the visit to Francis Place had done nothing to revive them. + +Some greatness in the man, a largeness of ideas, an echo of the +revolutionary days when the sanest saw visions, Basset was forced to +own. But the two stood too far apart, the inspired tailor and the +country squire, for sympathy. They were divided by too wide a gulf of +breeding and prejudice to come together. Basset was not even a +Radical, and his desire to improve things, and to better the world, +fell very far short of the passion of humanity which possessed the +aged Republican--the man who for half a century had been so forward in +all their movements that his fellows had christened him the "_Old +Postilion_." + +Nothing but disappointment, therefore, had come of the meeting. The +two had parted with a little contempt on the one side, a sense of +failure on the other. If a man could serve his neighbors only in +fellowship with such, if the cause which for a few hours had promised +to fill the void left by an unhappy love, could be supported only by +men who held such opinions, then Basset felt that the thing was not +for him. For six or seven days he went up and down London at odds with +himself and his kind, and ever striving to solve a puzzle, the answer +to which evaded him. Was the hope that he might find a mission and +found a purpose on Colet's lines, was it just the desire to set the +world right that seized on young men fresh from college? And if this +were so, if this were all, what was he to do? Whither was he to turn? +How was he going to piece together the life which Mary had broken? How +was he going to arrange his future so that some thread of purpose +might run through it, so that something of effort might still link +together the long bede-roll of years? + +He found no answer to the riddle. And it was in a gloomy, unsettled +mood, ill-content with himself and the world, that he took his seat in +the train. Alas, he could not refrain from recalling the May morning +on which he had taken his seat in the same train with Mary. How ill +had he then appreciated her company, how little had he understood, how +little had he prized his good fortune! He who was then free to listen +to her voice, to meet her eyes, to follow the changes of her mood from +grave to gay! To be to her--all that he could! And that for hours, for +days, for weeks! + +He swore under his breath and sat back in the shadow of the corner. +And a man who entered late, and saw that he kept his eyes shut, +fancied that he was ill; and when he muttered a word under his breath, +asked him if he spoke. + +"No," Basset replied rather curtly. And that he might be alone with +his thoughts he took up a newspaper and held it before him. But not a +word did he read. After a long interval he looked over the journal and +met the other's eyes. + +"Surprising news this," the stranger said. He had the look of a +soldier, and the bronzed face of one who had lived under warm skies. + +Basset murmured that it was. + +"The Whigs have a fine opportunity," the other pursued. "But I am not +sure that they will use it." + +"You are a Whig, perhaps?" + +The stranger smiled. "No," he replied. "I am not. I have lived so long +abroad that I belong to no party. I am an Englishman." + +"Ah?" Basset rejoined, curiosity beginning to stir in him. "That's +rather a fine idea." + +"Apparently it's a novel one. But it seems natural to me. I have lived +for fifteen years in India and I have lost touch with the cant of +parties. Out there, we do honestly try to rule for the good of the +people; their prosperity is our interest. Here, during the few weeks I +have spent in England I see things done, not because they are good, +but because they suit a party, or provide a cry, or put the other side +in a quandary." + +"There's a good deal of that, I suppose." + +"Still," the stranger continued, "I know a great man, and I know a +fine thing when I see them. And I fancy that I see them here!" He +tapped his paper. + +"Has Lord John formed his ministry, then?" + +"No, I am not sure that he will. I am not thinking of him, I am +thinking of Peel." + +"Oh! Of Peel?" + +"He has done a fine thing! As every man does who puts what is right +before what is easy. May I tell you a story of myself?" the Indian +continued. "Some years ago in the Afghan war I was unlucky enough +to command a small frontier post. My garrison consisted of two +companies and six or seven European officers. The day came when I had +to choose between two courses. I must either hold my ground until our +people advanced, or I must evacuate the post, which had a certain +importance--and fall back into safety. The men never dreamed of +retiring. The officers were confident that we could hold out. But we +were barely supplied for forty days, and in my judgment no +reinforcement was possible under seventy. I made my choice, breached +the place, and retired. But I tell you, sir, that the days of that +retreat, with sullen faces about me, and hardly a man in my company +who did not think me a poltroon, were the bitterest of my life. I knew +that if the big-wigs agreed with them I was a ruined man, and after +ten years service I should go home disgraced. Fortunately the General +saw it as I saw it, and all was well. But--" he looked at Basset with +a wry smile--"it was a march of ten days to the base, and to-day the +sullen looks of those men come back to me in my dreams." + +"And you think," Basset said--the other's story had won his +respect--"that Peel has found himself in such a position?" + +"To compare great issues with small, I do. I suspect that he has gone +through an agony--that is hardly too strong a word--such as I went +through. My impression is that when he came into office he was in +advance of his party. He saw that the distress in the country called +for measures which his followers would accept from no one else. He +believed that he could carry them with him. Perhaps, even then, he +held a repeal of the Corn Laws possible in some remote future; perhaps +he did not, I don't know. For suddenly there came on him the fear of +this Irish famine--and forced his hand." + +"But don't you think," Basset asked, "that the alarm is premature?" A +dozen times he had heard the famine called a flam, a sham, a bite, +anything but a reality. + +"You have never seen a famine?" the other replied gravely. "You have +never had to face the impossibility of creating food where it does not +exist, or of bringing it from a distance when there are no roads. I +have had that experience. I have seen people die of starvation by +hundreds, women, children, babes, when I could do nothing because +steps had not been taken in time. God forbid that that should happen +in Ireland! If the fear does not outrun the dearth, God help the poor! +Now I am told that Peel witnessed a famine in Ireland about '17 or +'18, and knows what it is." + +"You have had interesting experiences?" + +"The experience of every Indian officer. But the burden which rests on +us makes us alive to the difficulties of a statesman's position. I see +Peel forced--forced suddenly, perhaps, to make a choice; to decide +whether he shall do what is right or what is consistent. He must +betray his friends, or he must betray his country. And the agony of +the decision is the greater if he has it burnt in on his memory that +he did this thing once before, that once before he turned his back on +his party--and that all the world knows!" + +"I see." + +"If a man in that position puts self, consistency, reputation all +behind him--believe me, he is doing a fine thing." + +Basset assented. "But you speak," he added, "as if Sir Robert were +going to do the thing himself--instead of merely standing aside for +others to do it." + +"A distinction without much difference," the other rejoined. "Possibly +it will turn out that he is the only man who can do it. If so, he will +have a hard row to hoe. He will need the help of every moderate man in +the country, if he is not to be beaten. For whether he succeeds or +fails, depends not upon the fanatics, but upon the moderate men. I +don't know what your opinions are?" + +"Well," Basset said frankly, "I am not much of a party-man myself. I +am inclined to agree with you, so far." + +"Then if you have any influence, use it. Unfortunately, I am out of it +for family reasons." + +Basset looked at the stranger. "You are not by any chance Colonel +Mottisfont?" he said. + +"I am. You know my brother? He is member for Riddsley." + +"Yes. My name is Basset." + +"Of Blore? Indeed. I knew your father. Well, I have not cast my seed +on stony ground. Though you are stony enough about Wootton under +Weaver." + +"True, worse luck. Your brother is retiring, I hear?" + +"Yes, he has just horse sense, has Jack. He won't vote against Peel. +His lad has less and will take his place and vote old Tory. But there, +I mustn't abuse the family." + +They had still half an hour to spend together before Basset got out at +Stafford. He had time to discover that the soldier was faced by a +problem not unlike his own. His service over, he had to consider what +he would do. "All I know," the Colonel said breezily, "is that I won't +do nothing. Some take to preaching, others to Bath, but neither will +suit me. But I'll not drift. I kept from brandy pawnee out there, and +I am going to keep from drift here. For you, you're a young man, +Basset, and a hundred things are open to you. I am over the top of the +hill. But I'll do something." + +"You have done something to-day," Basset said. "You have done me +good." + +Later he had time to think it over during the long journey from +Stafford to Blore. He drove by twisting country roads, under the gray +walls of Chartley, by Uttoxeter and Rocester. Thence he toiled uphill +to the sterile Derbyshire border, the retreat of old families and old +houses. He began to think that he had gained some ideas with which he +could sympathize, ideas which were at one with Mary Audley's burning +desire to help, while they did not clash with old prejudices. If he +threw himself into Peel's cause, he would indeed be seen askance by +many. He would have to put himself forward after a fashion that gave +him the goose-flesh when he thought of it. A landowner, he would have +to go against the land. But he would not feel, in his darker moods, +that he was the dupe of cranks and fanatics. He saw Peel as Mottisfont +had pictured him, as a man putting all behind him except the right; +and his heart warmed to the picture. Many would fall away, few would +be staunch. From this ship, as from every sinking ship, the rats would +flee. But so much the stronger was the call. + +The result was that the Peter Basset who descended at the porch of the +old gabled house, that sat low and faced east in the valley under +Weaver, was a more hopeful man than he who had entered the train at +Euston. A purpose, a plan--he had gained these, and the hope that +springs from them. + +He had barely doffed his driving-coat, however, before his thoughts +were swept in another direction. On the hall table lay two letters. He +took up one. It was from Colet and written in deep dejection. "The +barber was a Tory and had given him short notice. Feeling ran high in +the town, and other lodgings were not to be had. The Bishop had +supported the rector's action, and he saw no immediate prospect of +further work." He did not ask for shelter, but it was plain that he +was at his wit's end, and more than a little surprised by the storm +which he had raised. + +Basset threw down the letter. "He shall come here," he thought. "What +is it to me whom he marries?" Many solitary hours spent in the streets +of London had gone some way towards widening Peter's outlook. + +He took up the second letter. It was from John Audley, and before +he had read three lines, he rang the bell and ordered that the +post-chaise which had brought him from Stafford should be kept: he +would want it in the morning. John Audley wrote that he had been very +ill--he was still in bed. He must see Basset. The matter was urgent, +he had something to tell him. He hinted that if he did not come +quickly it might be too late. + +Basset could not refuse to go; summoned after this fashion, he must +go. But he tried to believe that he was not glad to go. He tried to +believe that the excitement with which he looked forward to the +journey had to do with his uncle. It was in vain; he knew that he +tricked himself. Or if he did not know this then, his eyes were opened +next day, when, after walking up the hill to spare the horses--and a +little because he shrank at the last from the meeting--he came in +sight of the Gatehouse, and saw Mary Audley standing in the doorway. +The longing that gripped him then, the emotion that unmanned him, told +him all. It was of Mary he had been thinking, towards Mary he had been +travelling, of her work it was that the miles had seemed leagues! He +was not cured. He was not in the way to be cured. He was the same +love-sick fool whom she had driven from her with contumely an age--it +seemed an age, ago. + +He bent his head as he approached, that she might not see his face. +His knees shook and a tremor ran through him. Why had he come back? +Why had he come back to face this anguish? + +Then he mastered himself; indeed he took himself the more strongly in +hand for the knowledge he had gained. When they met at the door it was +Mary, not he, whose color came and went, who spoke awkwardly, and +rushed into needless explanations. The man listened with a stony face, +and said little, almost nothing. + +After the first awkward greeting, "Your room has been airing," she +continued, avoiding his eyes. "My uncle has been expecting you for +some days. He has asked for you again and again." + +He explained that he had been in London--hence the delay; and, +further, that he must return to Blore that day. She felt that she was +the cause of this, and she colored painfully. But he seemed to be +indifferent. He noticed a trifling change in the hall, asked a +question or two about his uncle's state, and inquired what had caused +his sudden illness. + +She told the story, giving details. He nodded. "Yes, I have seen him +in a similar attack," he said. "But he gets older. I am afraid it +alarmed you?" + +She forced herself to describe Lord Audley's part in the matter--and +Mr. Stubbs's, and was conscious that she was dragging in Mr. Stubbs +more often than was necessary. Basset listened politely, remarked that +it was fortunate that Audley had been on the spot, added that he was +sure that everything had been done that was right. + +When he had gone upstairs to see John Audley she escaped to her room. +Her cheeks were burning, and she could have cried. Basset's coldness, +his distance, the complete change in his manner all hurt her more than +she could say. They brought home to her, painfully home to her what +she had done. She had been foolish enough to fling away the friend, +when she need only have discarded the lover! + +But she must face it out now, the thing was done, and she must put up +with it. And by and by, fearing that Basset might suppose that she +avoided him, she came down and waited for him in the deserted library. +She had waited some minutes, moving restlessly to and fro and wishing +the ordeal of luncheon were over, when her eyes fell on the door of +the staircase that led up to her uncle's room. It was ajar. + +She stared at it, for she knew that she had closed it after Basset had +gone up. Now it was ajar. She reflected. The house was still, she +could hear no one moving. She went out quickly, crossed the hall, +looked into the dining-room. Toft was not there, nor was he in the +pantry. She returned to the library, and went softly up the stairs. + +So softly that she surprised the man before he could raise his head +from the keyhole. He saw that he was detected, and for an instant he +scowled at her in the half-light of the narrow passage, uncertain what +to do. Mary beckoned to him, and went down before him to the library. + +There she turned on him. "Shut the door," she said. "You were +listening! Don't deny it. You have acted disgracefully, and it will be +my duty to tell Mr. Audley what has happened." + +The man, sallow with fear, tried to brave it out. + +"You will only make mischief, Miss," he said sullenly. "You'll come +near to killing the master." + +"Very good!" Mary said, quivering with indignation. "Then instead of +telling Mr. Audley I shall tell Mr. Basset. It will be for him to +decide whether Mr. Audley shall know. Go now." + +But Toft held his ground. "You'll be doing a bad day's work, Miss," he +said earnestly. "I want to run straight." He raised his hand to his +forehead, which was wet with perspiration. "I swear I do! I want to +run straight." + +"Straight!" Mary cried in scorn. "And you listen at doors!" + +The man made a last attempt to soften her. "For God's sake, be warned, +Miss!" he cried. "Don't drive me. If you knew as much as I do----" + +"I should not listen to learn the rest!" replied Mary without pity. +"That is enough. Please to see that lunch is ready." She pointed to +the door. She was not an Audley for nothing. + +Toft gave way and went, and she remained alone, perplexed as well as +angry. Mrs. Toft and Etruria were good simple folk; she liked them. +But Toft had puzzled her from the first. He was so silent, so +secretive, he was for ever appearing without warning and vanishing +without noise. She had often suspected that he spied on his master. + +But she had never caught him in the act, and the certainty that he did +so, filled her with dismay. It was fortunate, she thought, that Basset +was there, and that she could consult him. And the instant that he +appeared, forgetting their quarrel and the strained relations between +them, she poured out her story. Toft was ungrateful, treacherous, a +danger! With Mr. Audley so helpless, the house so lonely, it +frightened her. + +It was only when she had run on for some time that Basset's air of +detachment struck her. He listened, with his back to the fire, and his +eyes bent on the floor, but he did not speak until she had told her +story, and expressed her misgivings. + +When he did, "I am not surprised," he said. "I've suspected this for +some time. But I don't know that anything can be done." + +"Do you mean that--you would do nothing?" + +"The truth is," he answered, "Toft is pretty far in his master's +confidence. And what he does not know he wishes to know. When he knows +it, he will find it a mare's nest. The truth--as I see it at any +rate--is that your uncle is possessed by a craze. He wants me to help +him in it. I cannot. I have told him so, firmly and finally, to-day. +Well, I suspect that he will now turn to Toft. I hope not, but he may, +and if we report the man's misconduct, it will only precipitate +matters and hasten an understanding. That is the position, and if I +were you, I should let the matter rest." + +"You mean that?" she exclaimed. + +"I do." + +"But--but I have spoken to Toft!" Her eyes were bright with anger. + +He kept his on the floor. It was only by maintaining the distance +between them that he could hope to hide what he felt. "Still I would +let him be," he repeated. "I do not think that Toft is dangerous. He +has surprised one half of a secret, and he wishes to learn the other +half. That is all." + +"And I am to take no notice?" + +"I believe that will be your wisest course." + +She was shocked, and she was still more hurt. He pushed her aside, he +pushed her out of his confidence, out of her uncle's confidence! His +manner, his indifference, his stolidity showed that she had not only +killed his fancy for her at a stroke, but that he now disliked her. + +And still she protested. "But I must tell my uncle!" she cried. + +"I think I would not," he repeated. "But there--" he paused and looked +at his watch--"I am afraid that if you are going to give me lunch I +must sit down. I've a long journey before me." + +Then she saw that no more could be said, and with an effort she +repressed her feelings. "Yes," she said, "I was forgetting. You must +be hungry." + +She led the way to the dining-room, and sat down with him, Toft +waiting on them with the impassive ease of the trained man. While they +ate, Basset talked of indifferent things, of his journey from town, of +the roads, of London, of Colonel Mottisfont--an interesting man whom +he had met in the train. And as he talked, and she made lifeless +answers, her indignation cooled, and her heart sank. + +She could have cried, indeed. She had lost her friend. He was gone to +an immense distance. He was willing to leave her to deal with her +troubles and difficulties, it might be, with her dangers. In killing +his love with cruel words--and how often had she repented, not of the +thing, but of the manner!--she had killed every feeling, every liking, +that he had entertained for her. + +It was clear that this was so, for to the last he maintained his +coldness and indifference. When he was gone, when the sound of the +chaise-wheels had died in the distance, she felt more lonely than she +had ever felt in her life. In her Paris days she had had no reason to +blame herself, and all the unturned leaves of life awaited her. Now +she had turned over one page, and marred it, she had won a friend and +lost him, she had spoiled the picture, which she had not wished to +keep! + +Her uncle lay upstairs, ready to bear, but hardly welcoming her +company. He had his secrets, and she stood outside them. She sat +below, enclosed in and menaced by the silence of the house. Yet it was +not fear that she felt so much as a sadness, a great depression, a +gray despondency. She craved something, she did not know what. She +only knew that she was alone--and sad. + +She tried to fight against the feeling. She tried to read, to work, +even to interest herself in Toft and his mystery. She failed. And at +last she gave up the attempt and with her elbows on her knees and her +eyes on the fire she fell to musing, the ticking of the tall clock and +the fall of the embers the only sounds that broke the stillness of the +shadowy room. + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + TOFT AT THE BUTTERFLIES + + +Basset's view of Toft, if it did not hit, came very near the mark. For +many years the man had served his master with loyalty, the relations +between them being such as were common in days when servants stayed +long in a place and held themselves a part of the family. The master +had been easy, the man had had no ambitions beyond those of his +fellows, and no temptations except those which turned upon the +cellar-book. + +But a year before Mary Audley's arrival two things had happened. First +the curate had fallen in love with Etruria, and the fact had become +known to her father, to whom the girl was everything. Her refinement, +her beauty, her goodness were his secret delight. And the thought that +she might become a lady, that she might sit at the table at which he +served had taken hold of the austere man's mind and become a passion. +He was ready to do anything and to suffer anything to bring this +about. Nor was he deceived when Etruria put the offer aside. She was +nothing if not transparent, and he was too fond of her not to see that +her happiness was bound up with the man who had stooped to woo her. + +He was not blind to the difficulties or to the clergyman's poverty. +But he saw that Colet, poor as he was, could raise his daughter in the +social scale; and he spent long hours in studying how the marriage +might be brought about. He hugged the matter to him, and brooded over +it, but he never discovered his thoughts or his hopes either to his +wife, or to Etruria. + +Then one day the sale of a living happened to be discussed in his +presence, and as he went, solemn and silent, round the table he +listened. He learned that livings could be bought. He learned that the +one in question, with its house and garden and three hundred a year, +had fetched a thousand guineas, and from that day Toft's aim was by +hook or crook to gain a thousand guineas. He revelled in impossible +dreams of buying a living, of giving it to Etruria, and of handing +maid and dowry to the fortunate man who was to make her a lady. + +There have been more sordid and more selfish ambitions. + +But a thousand guineas was a huge sum to the manservant. True, he had +saved a hundred and twenty pounds, and for his position in life he +held himself a rich man. But a thousand guineas? He turned the matter +this way and that, and sometimes he lost hope, and sometimes he pinned +his faith to a plan that twenty-four hours showed to be futile. All +the time his wife who lay beside him, his daughter who waited on him, +his master on whom he waited, were as far from seeing into his mind as +if they had lived in another planet. + +Then the second thing happened. He surprised, wholly by chance, a +secret which gave him a hold over John Audley. Under other +circumstances he might have been above using the advantage; as it was, +he was tempted. He showed his hand, a sum of four hundred pounds was +named; for a week he fancied that he had performed half his task. Then +his master explained with a gentle smile that to know and to prove +were two things, and that whereas Toft had for a time been able to do +both, John Audley had now destroyed the evidence. The master had in +fact been too sly for the man, and Toft found himself pretty well +where he had been. In the end Audley thought it prudent to give him a +hundred pounds, which did but whet his desire and sharpen his wits. + +For he had now tasted blood. He had made something by a secret. There +might be others to learn. He kept his eyes open, and soon he became +aware of his master's disappearances. He tracked him, he played the +spy, he discovered that John Audley was searching for something in the +Great House. The words that the old man let fall, while half-conscious +in the Yew Walk, added to his knowledge, and at the same time scared +him. A moment later, and Lord Audley might have known as much as he +knew--and perhaps more! + +For he did not as yet know all, and it was in the attempt to complete +his knowledge that Mary had caught him listening at the door. The blow +was a sharp one. He was still so far unspoiled, still so near the old +Toft that he could not bear that his wife and daughter should learn +the depth to which he had fallen. And John Audley? What would he do, +if Mary told him? + +Toft could not guess. He knew that his master was barely sane, if he +was sane; but he knew also that he was utterly inhuman. John Audley +would put him and his family to the door without mercy if that seemed +to him the safer course. And that meant an end of all his plans for +Etruria, for Colet, for them all. + +True, he might use such power as he had. But it was imperfect, and in +its use he must come to grips with one who had shown himself his +better both in courage and cunning. He had imbibed a strong fear of +his master, and he could not without a qualm contemplate a struggle +with him. + +For a week after his detection by Mary, he went about his work in a +fever of anxiety. And nothing happened; it was that which tried him. +More than once he was on the point of throwing himself at her feet, of +telling her all he knew, of imploring her pardon. It was only her +averted eyes and cold tone that held him back. + +Such a crisis makes a man either better or worse, and it made Toft +worse. At the end of three days a chance word put a fine point on his +fears and stung him to action. He might not know enough to face John +Audley, but he thought that he knew enough to sell his secret--in the +other camp. His lordship was young and probably malleable. He would go +to him and strike a bargain. + +Arrived at this point the man did not hide from himself that he was +going to do a hateful thing. He thought of his wife and her wonder +could she know. He thought of Etruria's mild eyes and her goodness. +And he shivered. But it was for her. It was for them. Within +twenty-four hours he was in Riddsley. + +As he passed the Maypole, where Mr. Colet had his lodgings, he noticed +that the town wore an unusual aspect. Groups of men stood talking in +the doorway, or on the doorsteps. A passing horseman was shouting to a +man at a window. Nearer the middle of the town the stir was greater. +About the saddler's door, about the steps leading up to the Audley +Arms, and round the yard of the inn, knots of men argued and +gesticulated. Toft asked the saddler what it was. + +"Haven't you heard?" + +"No. What's the news?" + +"The General Election's off!" The saddler proclaimed it with an +inflamed look. "Peel's in again! And damn me, after this," he +continued, "there's nothing I won't swallow! He come in in the farming +interest, and the hunting interest, and the racing interest, and the +gentlemanly interest, that I live by, and you too, Mr. Toft! And it +was bad enough when he threw it up! But to go in again and to take our +money and do the Radicals' work!" The saddler spat on the brick +pavement. "Why, there was never such a thing heard of in the 'varsal +world! Never! If Tamworth don't blush for him and his pigs turn pink, +I'm d--d, and that's all." + +Toft had to ask half a dozen questions before he grasped the position. +Gradually he learned that after Peel had resigned the Whigs had tried +to form a government; that they had failed, and that now Peel was to +come in again, expressly to repeal the Corn Laws. The Corn Laws which +he had taken office to support, and to the maintenance of which his +party was pledged! + +The thing was not much in Toft's way, nor his interest in it great, +but as he passed along he caught odds and ends of conversation. "I +don't believe a word of it!" cried an angry man. "The Radicals have +invented it!" "Like enough!" replied another. "Like enough! There's +naught they wouldn't do!" "Well, after all," suggested a third in a +milder tone, "cheap bread is something." "What? If you've got no money +to buy it? You're a fool! I tell you it'll be the ruin of Riddsley!" +"You're right there, Joe!" answered the first speaker. "You're right! +There'll be no farmer for miles round'll pay his way!" + +At the door of Mr. Stubbs's office three excited clients were +clamoring for entrance; an elderly clerk with a high bridge to his +nose was withstanding them. Before the Mechanics' Institute the +secretary, a superior person of Manchester views, was talking +pompously to a little group. "We must take in the whole field," Toft +heard him say. "If you'll read Mr. Carlyle's tract on----" Toft lost +the rest. The Institute readers belonged mainly to Hatton's Works or +Banfield's, and the secretary taught in an evening school. He was +darkly suspected of being a teetotaller, but it had never been proved +against him. + +Toft began to wonder if he had chosen his time well, but he was near +The Butterflies and he hardened his heart; to retreat now were to dub +himself coward. He told the maid that he came from the Gatehouse, and +that he was directed to deliver a letter into his lordship's own hand, +and in a moment he found himself mounting the shallow carpeted stairs. +In comparison with the Gatehouse, the house was modern, elegant, +luxurious, the passages were warm. + +When he was ushered in, his lordship, a dressing-gown cast over a +chair beside him as if he had just put on his coat, was writing near +the fireplace. After an interval that seemed long to Toft, who eyed +his heavy massiveness with a certain dismay, he laid down his pen, sat +back, and looked at the servant. + +"From the Gatehouse?" he asked, after a leisurely survey. + +"Yes, my lord," Toft answered respectfully. "I was with Mr. Audley +when he was taken ill in the Yew Walk." + +"To be sure! I thought I knew your face. You've a letter for me?" + +Toft hesitated. "I wished to see you, my lord," he said. The thing was +not as easy as he had hoped it would be; the man was more formidable. +"On a matter of business." + +Audley raised his eyebrows. "Business?" he said. "Isn't it Mr. Stubbs +you want to see?" + +"No, my lord," Toft answered. But the sweat broke out on his forehead. +What if his lordship took a high tone, ordered him out, and reported +the matter to his master? Too late it struck Toft that a gentleman +might take that line. + +"Well, be quick," Audley replied. Then in a different tone, "You don't +come from Miss Audley?" + +"No, my lord." + +"Then what is it?" + +Toft turned his hat in his hands. "I have information"--it was with +difficulty he could control his voice--"which it is to your lordship's +interest to have." + +There was a pregnant pause. "Oh!" the young man said at last. "And you +come--to sell it?" + +Toft nodded, unable to speak. Yet he was getting on as well as could +be expected. + +"Rather an unusual position, isn't it?" + +"Yes, my lord." + +"The information should be unusual?" + +"It is, my lord." + +Lord Audley smiled. "Well," he answered, "I'll say this, my man. If +you are going to sell me a spavined horse, don't! It will not be to +your advantage. What's it all about?" + +"Mr. Audley's claim, my lord." + +Audley had expected this, yet he could not quite mask the effect which +the statement made upon him. The thing that he had foreseen and +feared, that had haunted him in the small hours and been as it were a +death's-head at his feast, was taking shape. But he was quick to +recover himself, and "Oh!" said he. "That's it, is it! Don't you know +that that's all over, my man?" + +"I think not, my lord." + +The peer took up a paper-knife and toyed with it. "Well," he said, +"what is it? Come, I don't buy a pig in a poke." + +"Mr. Audley has found----" + +"Found, eh?" raising his eyebrows. + +Toft corrected himself. "He has in his power papers that upset your +lordship's case. I can still enable you to keep those papers in your +hands." + +Audley threw down the paper-cutter. "They are certainly worthless," he +said. His voice was contemptuous, but there was a hard look in his +eyes. + +"Mr. Audley thinks otherwise." + +"But he has not seen them?" + +"He knows what's in them, my lord. He has been searching for them for +weeks." + +The young man weighed this, and Toft's courage rose, and his +confidence. The trumps were in his hand, and though for a moment he +had shrunk before the other's heavy jaw he was glad now that he had +come; more glad when the big man after a long pause asked quietly, +"What do you want?" + +"Five hundred pounds, my lord." + +The other laughed, and Toft did not like the laugh. "Indeed? Five +hundred pounds? That's a good deal of money!" + +"The information is worth that, or it is worth nothing." + +"I quite agree!" the peer answered lightly. "You're a wit, my man. But +that's not saying you've a good case. However, I'll put you to the +test. You know where the papers are?" + +"I do, my lord." + +"Very good. There's a piece of paper. Write on one side the precise +place where they lie. I will write on the other a promise to pay L500 +if the papers are found in that place, and are of the value you +assert. That is a fair offer." + +Toft stood irresolute. He thought hard. + +My lord pushed the paper across. "Come!" he said; "write! Or I'll +write first, if that is your trouble." With decision he seized a +quill, held it poised a moment, then he wrote four lines and signed +them with a flourish, added the date, and read them to himself. With a +grim smile he pushed the paper across to Toft. "There," he said. "What +more do you want, my man, than that?" + +Toft took the paper and read what was written on it, from the "In +consideration of," that began the sentence, to the firm signature +"Audley of Beaudelays" that closed it. He did not speak. + +"Come! You can't want anything more than that!" my lord said. "You +have only to write, read me the secret, and keep the paper until it is +redeemed." + +"Yes, my lord." + +"Then take the pen. Of course the place must be precise. I am not +going to pull down Beaudelays House to find a box of papers that I do +not believe is there!" + +Toft's face was gray, the sweat stood on his lip. "I did not say," he +muttered, the paper rustling in his unsteady hand, "that they were in +Beaudelays House." + +"No?" Audley replied. "Perhaps not. And for the matter of that, it is +not a question of saying anything. It is a question of writing. You +can write, I suppose?" + +Toft did not speak. He could not speak. He had supposed that the power +to put his lordship on the scent would be the same as pulling down the +fox. When he had said that the papers were in the house, that they +were behind a wall, that Mr. Audley knew where they were, he would +have earned--he thought--his money! + +But he had not known the man with whom he had to deal. And challenged +to set down the place where the papers lay, he knew that he could not +do it. In the house? Behind a wall? He saw now that that would not do. +That would not satisfy the big smiling gentleman who sat opposite him, +amused at the dilemma in which he found himself. + +He knew that he was cornered, and he lost his countenance and his +manners. He swore. + +The young man laughed. "The biter bit," he said. "Five hundred pounds +you said, didn't you? I wonder whether I ought to send for the +constable? Or tell Mr. Audley? That would be wiser perhaps? What do +you think you deserve, my man?" + +Toft stretched out a shaking arm towards the paper. But my lord was +before him. His huge hand fell on it. He tore it across and across, +and threw the pieces under the table. + +"No," he said, "that won't do! You will write at a venture and if you +are right you will claim the money, and if you are wrong you will have +this paper to show that I bargained with you. But I never meant to +bargain with you, my good rascal. I knew you were a fraud. I knew it +from the beginning. And now I've only one thing to say. Either you +will tell me freely what you know, and in that case I shall say +nothing. Or I report you to your master. That's my last word." + +Toft shook from head to foot. He had done a hateful thing, he had been +defeated, and exposure threatened him. As far as his master was +concerned he could face it. But his wife, his daughter? Who thought +him honest, loyal, who thought him a man! Who believed in him! How +could he, how would he face them, if this tale were told? + +My lord saw the change in him, saw how he shrank, and, smiling, he +fancied that he had the man in his grasp, fancied that he would tell +what he knew, and tell it for nothing. And twice Toft opened his lips +to speak, and twice no words came. For at the last moment, in this +strait, what there was of good in him--and there was good--rose up, +and had the better; had the better, reinforced perhaps by his hatred +of the heavy smiling face that gloated upon him. + +For at the last moment, "No, my lord," he said desperately, "I'll not +speak. I'm d--d if I do! You may do what you like." + +And before his lordship, taken by surprise, could interpose, the +servant had turned and made for the door. He was half-way down the +stairs before the other had risen from his seat. He had escaped. He +was clear for the time, and safe in the road he breathed more freely. +But he had gone a hundred yards on his way before he remarked that he +was in the open air, or bethought himself to put on his hat. + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + MY LORD SPEAKS + + +For a few moments Audley had certainly hoped that he was going to +learn all that Toft knew, and to learn it for nothing. He had been +baulked in this. But when he came to think over the matter he was not +ill content with himself, nor with his conduct of the interview. He +had dealt with the matter with presence of mind, and in the only safe +way; and he had taught the man a lesson. "He knows by this time," he +reflected, "that if I am a lord, I am not a fool!" + +But this mood did not last long, and it was succeeded by one less +cheerful. The death's-head had never been wanting at his feast. The +family tradition which had come down to him with his blood had never +ceased to haunt him, and in the silence of the night he had many a +time heard John Audley at work seeking for the means to displace him. +Even the great empty house had seemed to mock his pretensions. + +But until the last month his fears had been vague and shadowy, and in +his busy hours he had laughed at them. He was Lord Audley, he sat, he +voted, the doors of White's, of Almack's were open to him. In town he +was a personage, in the country a divinity still hedged him, no +tradesman spoke to him save hat in hand. Then, lately, the traces +which he had found in the Great House had given a shape to his fears; +and within the last hour he had learned their solidity. Sane or mad, +John Audley was upon his track, bent upon displacing him, bent upon +ruining him; and this very day the man might be laying his hand upon +the thing he needed. + +Audley did not doubt the truth of Toft's story. It confirmed his fears +only too well; and the family tradition--that too weighed with him. He +sat for a long time staring before him, then, uneasy and restless, he +rose and paced the floor. He went to and fro, to and fro, until +by-and-by he came to a stand before one of the windows. He drummed +with his fingers on the glass. There was one way, certainly. Stubbs +had said so, and Stubbs was right. There was one way, if he could make +up his mind to the limitations it would impose upon him. If he could +make up his mind to be a poor man. + +The window at which he stood looked on a road of quiet dignity, a +little removed from the common traffic of the town. But the windows, +looking sideways, commanded also a more frequented thoroughfare which +crossed this street. His thoughts far away and sombrely engaged, the +young man watched the stream of passers, as it trickled across the +distant opening. + +Suddenly his eyes recalled his mind to the present. He started, +turned, in three strides he was beside the hearth. He rang the bell +twice, the signal for his man. He waited impatiently. + +"My hat and coat!" he cried to the servant. "Quick, I'm in a hurry!" +Like most men who have known vicissitudes he had a superstitious side, +and the figure which he had seen pass across the end of the road had +appeared so aptly, so timely, had had so much the air of an answer to +his doubts that he took it for an inspiration. + +He ran down the stairs, but he knew that his comings and goings were +marked, and once outside the house he controlled his impatience. He +walked slowly, humming a tune and swaying his cane, and it was a very +stately gentleman taking the air and acknowledging with courtesy the +respectful salutations of the passers, who came on Mary Audley as she +turned from Dr. Pepper's door in the High Street. + +He stood. "Miss Audley!" he cried. + +Mary was flushed with exercise, ruffled by the wind, travel-stained. +But she would have cared little for these things if she could have +governed the blood that rose to her cheeks at his sudden appearance. +To mask her confusion she rushed into speech. + +"You cannot be more surprised than I am," she said. "My uncle is not +so well to-day, and in a panic about his medicine. Toft, who should +have come in to town to fetch it, was not to be found, so I had to +come." + +"And you have walked in?" + +Smiling, she showed him her boots. "And I am presently going to walk +out," she said. + +"You will never do it?" + +"Before dark? No, perhaps not!" She raised her hand and put back a +tress of hair which had strayed from its fellows. "And I shall be +tired. But I shall be much surprised if I cannot walk ten miles at a +pinch." + +"I shall be surprised if you walk ten miles to-day," he retorted. "My +plans for you are quite different. Have you got what you came to +fetch?" + +She had steadied herself, and was by this time at her ease. She made a +little grimace. "No," she said. "It will not be ready for quarter of +an hour." + +He rang Dr. Pepper's bell. An awestruck apprentice, who had watched +the interview through the dusty window of the surgery, showed himself. + +"Be good enough to send the medicine for Miss Audley to Mrs. +Jenkinson's," Audley said. "You understand?" + +"Yes, my lord! Certainly, my lord!" She was going to protest. He +turned to her, silenced her. "And now I take possession of you," he +said, supremely careless what the lad heard. "You are coming to The +Butterflies to take tea, or sherry, or whatever you take when you have +walked five miles." + +"Oh, Lord Audley!" + +"And then I am going to drive you as far as the old Cross, and walk up +the hill with you--as far as I choose." + +"Oh, but I cannot!" Mary cried, coloring charmingly, but whether with +pleasure or embarrassment she could not tell. She only knew that his +ridiculous way of taking possession of her, the very masterfulness of +it, moved her strangely. "I cannot indeed. What would my uncle say?" + +"I don't know, and I don't care!" he replied, swinging his walking +cane, and smiling as he towered above her. + +"He may go hang--for once!" + +She hesitated. "It is very good of you," she said. "I confess I did +not look forward to the walk back. But----" + +"There is no--but," he replied. "And no walk back! It is arranged. It +is time--" his eyes dwelt kindly on her as she turned with him--"it +is time that some one took it in hand to arrange things for you. +Five miles in and five miles out over dirty roads on a winter +afternoon--and Miss Audley! No, no! And now--this way, please!" + +She yielded, she could not tell why, except that it was difficult to +resist him, and not unpleasant to obey him. And after all, why should +she not go with him? She had been feeling fagged and tired, depressed, +moreover, by her uncle's fears. The low-lying fields, the town, the +streets, all dingy under a gray autumn sky, had given her no welcome. + +And her thoughts, too, had been dun-colored. She had felt very lonely +the last few days, doubtful of the future, without aim, hipped. And +now in a moment all seemed changed. She was no longer alone, nor +fearful. The streets were no longer dingy nor dreary. There were still +pleasant things in the world, kindness, and thought for others, and +friendship and--and tea and cake! Was it wonderful that as she walked +along beside my lord her spirits rose? That she felt an unaccountable +relief, and in the reaction of the moment smiled and sparkled more +than her wont? That the muddy brick pavement, the low-browed shops, +the leafless trees all seemed brighter than before, and that even the +butcher's stall became almost a thing of beauty? + +And he responded famously. He swung his stick, he laughed, he was gay. +"Don't pretend!" he said. "I see that you were glad enough to meet +me!" + +"And the tea and cake!" she replied. "After five miles who would not +be glad to meet them?" + +"Exactly! It is my belief that if I had not met you, you would have +fallen by the way. You want some one to look after you, Miss Audley." +The name was a caress. + +Nor was the pleasure all their own. Great was the excitement of the +townsfolk as they passed. "His lordship and a young lady?" cried half +Riddsley, running to the windows. "Quick, or you will miss them!" Some +wondered who she could be; more had seen her at church and could +answer. "Miss Audley? The young lady who had come to live at the +Gatehouse? Indeed! You don't say so?" For every soul in Riddsley, over +twelve years old, was versed in the Audley history, knew all about the +suit, and could tell off the degrees of kindred as easily as they +could tell the distance from the Audley Arms to the Portcullis. "Mr. +Peter Audley's daughter who lived in Paris? Lady-in-waiting to a +Princess. And now walking with his lordship as if she had known him +all her life! What would Mr. John say? D'you see how gay he looks! Not +a bit what he is when he speaks to us! Wonder whether there's anything +in it!" And so on, and so on, with tit-bits from the history of Mary's +father, and choice eccentricities from the life of John Audley. + +Mrs. Jenkinson's amazement, as she espied them coming up the path to +the house, was a thing by itself. It was such that she set her door +ajar that she might see them pass through the hall. She was all of a +twitter, she said afterwards. And poor Jane and poor Sarah--who were +out! What a miss they were having! It was not thrice in the twelve +months that his lordship brought a lady to the house. + +A greater miss, indeed, it turned out, than she thought. For to her +gratification Lord Audley tapped at her door. He pushed it open. "Mrs. +Jenkinson," he said pleasantly, "this is my cousin, Miss Audley, who +is good enough to take a cup of your excellent tea with me, if you +will make it. She has walked in from the Gatehouse." + +Mrs. Jenkinson was a combination of an eager, bright-eyed bird and a +stout, short lady in dove-colored silk--if such a thing can be +imagined; and the soul of good-nature. She took Mary by both hands, +beamed upon her, and figuratively took her to her bosom. "A little +cake and wine, my dear," she chirruped. "After a long walk! And then +tea. To be sure, my dear! I knew your father, Mr. Peter Audley, a +dear, good gentleman. You would like to wash your hands? Yes, my dear! +Not that you are not--and his lordship will wait for us upstairs. Yes, +there's a step. I knew your father, to be sure, to be sure. A new +brush, my dear. And now will you let me--not that your sweet face +needs any ornament! Yes, I talk too much--but, there, my love, when +you are as old----" + +She was a simple soul, and because her tongue rarely stopped she might +have been thought to see nothing. But women, unlike men, can do two +things at once, and little escaped her twinkling spectacles. As she +told her sister later, "My dear, I saw it was spoons from the first. +She sparkled all over, bless her innocent heart! And he, if she had +been a duchess, could not have waited on her more elegant--well, +elegantly, Sally, if you like, but we can't all talk like you. They +thought, the dear creatures, that I saw nothing; but once he said +something too low for me to hear and she looked up at him, and her +pretty eyes were like stars. And he looked--well, Sally, I could not +tell you how he looked!" + +"I am not sure that it would be proper," the spinster demurred. + +"Ah, well, it was as pretty a thing as you'd wish to see," the good +creature ran on, drumming with her fingers on the lap of her silk +gown. "And she, bless her, I dare say she was all of a twitter, but +she didn't show it. No airs or graces either--but there, an Audley has +no need! Why, God bless me, I said something about the Princess and +what company she must have seen, and what a change for her, and she up +and said--I am sure I loved her for it!--that she had been no more +than a governess! My dear, an Audley a governess! I fancied my lord +wasn't quite pleased, and very natural! But when a man is spoons----" + +"My dear sister!" + +"Vulgar? Well, perhaps so, I know I run on, but gentle or simple, +they're the same when they're in love! And Jane will be glad to hear +that she took two pieces of the sultana and two cups of tea, and he +watching every piece she put in her mouth, and she coloring up, once +or twice, so that it did my heart good to see them, the pretty dears. +Jane will be pleased. And there might have been nothing but seed cake +in the house. I shall remember more presently, but I was in such a +twitter!" + +"What did she call him?" Miss Sarah asked. + +"To be sure, my dear, that was what I was going to tell you! I +listened, and not a single thing did she call him. But once, when he +gave her some cake, I heard him call her Mary, for all the world as if +it was a bit of sugar in his mouth. And there came a kind of quiver +over her pretty face, and she looked at her plate as much as to say it +was a new thing. And I said to myself 'Philip and Mary'--out of the +old school-books you know, but who they were I don't remember. But +it's my opinion," Mrs. Jenkinson continued, rubbing her nose with the +end of her spectacles, "that he had spoken just before they came in, +Sally." + +"You don't say so?" Sarah cried. + +"If you ask me, there was a kind of softness about them both! Law, +when I think what you and Jane missed through going to that stupid +Institute! I am sure you'll never forgive yourselves!" + +The good lady had not missed much herself, but she was mistaken in +thinking that the two had come to an understanding. Indeed when, +leaving the warmth of her presence behind them, they drove out of +town, with the servant seated with folded arms behind them and Mary +snugly tucked in beside my lord, a new constraint began to separate +them. The excitement of the meeting had waned, the fillip of the +unwonted treat had lost its power. A depression for which she could +not account beset Mary as they rolled through the dull outskirts and +faced the flat mistridden pastures and the long lines of willows. On +his side doubt held him silent. He had found it pleasant to come to +the brink, he had not been blind to Mary's smiles and her rare +blushes. But the one step farther--that could not be re-trodden, and +it was in the nature of the man to hesitate at the last, and to +consider if he were getting full value. + +So, as they drove through the dusk, now noiselessly over sodden +leaves, now drumming along the hard road, the hint of a chill fell +between them. Mary's thoughts went forward to the silent house and the +lonely rooms, and she chid herself for ingratitude. She had had her +pleasure, she had had an unwonted treat. What was wrong with her? What +more did she want? + +It was nearly dark, and not many words had passed when Lord Audley +pulled up the horses at the old Cross. The man leapt down and was +going to help Mary to alight, when his master bade him take the +box-seat and the reins. + +Mary remonstrated. "Oh, don't get down, please!" she cried. "Please! +It is nothing to the house from here." + +"It is half a mile if it is a yard," he said. "And it is nearly dark. +I am going with you." He bade the man walk the horses up and down. + +She ventured another protest, but he put it aside. He threw back the +rug and lifted her down. For a moment he stamped about and stretched +himself. Then "Come, Mary," he said. It was an order. + +She knew then what was at hand. And though she had a minute before +looked forward with regret to the parting, all her thought now was how +she might escape to the Gatehouse. It became a refuge. Her heart, as +she started to walk beside him, beat so quickly that she could not +speak. She was thankful that it was dark, and that he could not read +her agitation in her face. + +He did not speak himself for some minutes. Then "Mary," he said +abruptly, looking straight before him, "I am rather one for taking +than asking, and that stands in my way now. When I've wanted a thing +I've generally taken it. Now I want a thing I can't take--without +asking. And I feel that I'm not good at the asking. But I want it +badly, and I must do the best I can. I love you, Mary. I love you, and +I want you for my wife." + +She could not find a word. When he went on his tone was lower. + +"I'm rather a lonely man," he said. "You didn't know that, or think +it? But it is true. And such an hour as we have spent to-day is not +mine often. It lies with you to say if I am going to have more of +them. I might tell you with truth that I haven't much to offer my +wife. That if I am Audley of Beaudelays, I am the poorest Audley that +ever was. That my wife will be no great lady, and will step into no +golden shoes. The butterflies are moths, Mary, nowadays, and if I am +ever to be much she will have to help me. But I will tell no lies, my +dear!" He turned to her then and stopped; and perforce, though her +knees trembled, she had to stand also, and face him as he looked down +at her. "I am not going to pretend that what I have to offer isn't +enough. For you are lonely like me; you have no one but John Audley to +look to, and I am big enough and strong enough to take care of you. +And I will take care of you--if you will let me. If you will say the +word, Mary?" + +He loomed above her in the darkness. He seemed already to possess her. +She tried to think, tried to ask herself if she loved him, if she +loved him enough; but the fancy for him which she had had from the +beginning, that and his masterfulness swept her irresistibly towards +him. She was lonely--more lonely than ever of late, and to whom was +she to look? Who else had been as good to her, as kind to her, as +thoughtful for her, as he who now wooed her so honestly, who offered +her all he had to offer? She hesitated, and he saw that she hesitated. + +"Come, we've got to have this out," he said bluntly. And he put his +hand on her shoulder. "We stand alone, both of us, you and I. We're +the last of the old line, and I want you for my wife, Mary! With you I +can do something, with you I believe that I can make something of my +life! Without you--but there, if you say no, I won't take it! I won't +take it, and I am going to have you, if not to-day, to-morrow, and if +not to-morrow, the next day! Make no mistake about that!" + +She tried to fence with him. "I have not a penny," she faltered. + +"I don't ask you for a penny." + +Her instinct was still to escape. "You are Lord Audley," she said, +"and I am a poor relation. Won't you--don't you think that you will +repent presently!" + +"That's my business! If that be all--if there's no one else----" + +"No, there's no one else," she admitted. "But----" + +"_But_ be hanged!" he cried. "If there's no one else you are mine." +And he passed his arm round her. + +For a moment she stepped back. "No!" she protested, raising her hands +to push him off. "Please--please let me think." + +He let her be, for already he knew that he had won; and perhaps in his +own mind he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of the step. "My uncle? +Have you thought of him?" she asked. "What will he say?" + +"I have not thought of him," he cried grandly, "and I am not going to +think of him. I am thinking, my dear, only of you. Do you love me?" + +She stood silent, gazing at him. + +"Don't play with me!" he said. "I've a right to an answer." + +"I think I do," she said softly. "Yes--I think--no, wait; that is not +all." + +"It is all." + +"No," between laughing and crying. "You are not giving me time. I want +to think. You are carrying me by storm, sir." + +"And a good way, too!" he rejoined. Then she did let him take her, and +for a few seconds she was in his arms. He crushed her to him, she felt +all the world turning. But before he found her lips, the crack of a +whip startled them, the creak of a wheel sliding round the corner +warned them, she slipped from his arms. + +"You little wretch!" he said. + +Breathless, hardly knowing what she felt, or what storm shook her, she +could not speak. The wagon came creaking past them, the driver +clinging to the chain of the slipper. When it was gone by she found +her voice. "It shall be as you will," she said, and her tone thrilled +him. "But I want to think. It has been so sudden, I am frightened. I +am frightened, and--yes, I think I am happy. But please to let me go +now. I am safe here--in two minutes I shall be at home." + +He tried to keep her, but "Let me go now," she pleaded. "Later it +shall be as you wish--always as you wish. But let me go now." + +He gave way then. He said a few words while he held her hands, and he +said them very well. Then he let her go. Before the dusk hid her she +turned and waved her hand, and he waved his. He stood, listening. He +heard the sound of her footsteps grow fainter and fainter as she +climbed the hill, until they were lost in the rustle of the wind +through the undergrowth. At last he turned and trudged down the hill. + +"Well, I've done it," he muttered presently. "And Uncle John may find +what he likes, damn him! After all, she's handsome enough to turn any +man's head, and it makes me safe! But I'll go slow. I'll go slow now. +There's no hurry." + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + BLORE UNDER WEAVER + + +Gratitude and liking, and the worship of strength which is as natural +in a woman as the worship of beauty in a man, form no bad imitation of +love, and often pass into love as imperceptibly as the brook becomes a +river. The morning light brought Mary no repentance. Misgivings she +had, as what lover has not, were the truth told. Was her love as +perfect as Etruria's, as unselfish, as absorbing? She doubted. But in +all honesty she hoped that it might become so; and when she dwelt on +the man who had done so much for her, and thought so well for her, who +had so much to offer and made so little of the offering, her heart +swelled with gratitude, and if she did not love she fancied that she +did. + +So much was changed for her! She had wondered more than once what +would happen to her, if her uncle died. That fear was put from her. +Toft--she had been vexed with Toft. How small a matter that seemed +now! And Peter Basset? He had been kind to her, and a pang did pierce +her heart on his account. But he had recovered very quickly, she +reflected. He had shown himself cold enough and distant enough at his +last visit! And then she smiled as she thought how differently her new +lover had assailed her, with what force, what arrogance, what +insistence--and yet with a force and arrogance and insistence to which +it was pleasant to yield. + +She did not with all this forget that she would be Lady Audley, she, +whose past had been so precarious, whose prospects had been so dark, +whose fate it might have been to travel through life an obscure +teacher! She had not been woman if she had not thought of this; nor if +she had failed, when she thought of it, to breathe a prayer for the +gallant lover who had found her and saved her, and had held it enough +that she was an Audley. He might have chosen far and wide. He had +chosen her. + +No wonder that Mrs. Toft saw a change in her. "Law, Miss," she +remarked, when she came in to remove the breakfast. "One would think a +ten-mile walk was the making of you! It's put a color into your cheeks +that would shame a June rose! And to be sure," with a glance at the +young lady's plate, "not much eaten either!" + +"I am not hungry, Mrs. Toft," Mary said meekly. "I drove back to the +foot of the hill." + +"And I'd like to sort Toft for it! Ifs he who should have gone! He's +upstairs now, keeping out of my way, and that grim and gray you'd +think he'd seen a ghost! And 'Truria, silly girl, she's all of a +quiver this morning. It's 'Mother, let me do this!' and 'Mother, I'll +do that!' all because her reverend--not, as I tell her, that aught +will ever come of it--has got a roof over his head at last." + +"But that's good news! Has Mr. Colet got some work?" + +"Not he, the silly man! Nor likely! There's mighty little work for +them as go against the gentry. For what he's got he's to thank Mr. +Basset." + +"Mr. Basset." + +"To be sure," Mrs. Toft answered, with a covert glance at the girl, +"why not, Miss? Some talk and the wind goes by. There's plenty of +those. And some say naught but do--and that's Mr. Basset. He's took in +Mr. Colet till he can find a church. Etruria's that up about it, I +tell her, smile before breakfast and sweat before night. And so she'll +find it, I warrant!" + +"It is very good of Mr. Basset," Mary said gravely. And then, "Is that +some one knocking, Mrs. Toft?" + +"It's well to have young ears!" Mrs. Toft took out the tray, and +returned with a letter. "It's for you, Miss," she said. "The postman's +late this morning, but cheap's a slow traveller. When a letter was a +letter and cost ninepence it came to hand like a gentleman!" + +Mary waited to hear no more. She knew the handwriting, and as quickly +as she could she escaped from the room. No one with any claim to taste +used an envelope in those days, and to open a letter so that no rent +might mar its fairness called for a care which she could not exercise +in public. + +Alone, in her room, she opened it, and her eyes grew serious as they +travelled down the page, which bore signs of haste. + + +"Sweetheart," it began, and she thought that charming, "I do not ask +if you reached the Gatehouse safely, for I listened and I must have +heard, if harm befel you. I drove home as happy as a king, and grieved +only that I had not had that of you which I had a right to have--damn +that carter! This troubles me the more as I shall not see you again +for a time, and if this does not disappoint you too, you're a +deceiver! My plans are altered by to-day's news that Peel returns to +office. In any event, I had to go to Seabourne's for Christmas, now I +must be there for a meeting to-morrow and go from there to London on +the same business. You would not have me desert my post, I am sure? +Heaven knows how long I may be kept, possibly a fortnight, possibly +more. But the moment I can I shall be with you. + +"Write to me at the Brunswick Hotel, Dover Street. Sweetheart, I am +yours, as you, my darling, are + + "Philip's. + +"_P. S_.--I must put off any communication to your uncle till I can see +him. So for the moment, mum!" + + +Mary read the letter twice; the first time with eager eyes, the second +time more calmly. Nothing was more natural, she told herself, than +that her spirits should sink--Philip was gone. The walk with him, the +talk which was to bring them nearer, and to make them better known to +one another, stood over. The day that was to be so bright was clouded. + +But beyond this the letter itself fell a little, a very little, short +of her expectations. The beginning was charming! But after that--was +it her fancy, or was her lover's tone a little flippant, a little +free, a little too easy? Did it lack that tender note of reassurance, +that chivalrous thought for her, which she had a right to expect in a +first letter? She was not sure. + +And as to her uncle. She must, of course, be guided by her lover, his +will must be her law now; and it was reasonable that in John Audley's +state of health the mode of communication should be carefully weighed. +But she longed to be candid, she longed to be open; and in regard to +one person she would be open. Basset had let her see that her +treatment had cured him. At their last meeting he had been cold, +almost unkind; he had left her to deal with Toft as she could. Still +she owed him, if any one, the truth, and, were it only to set herself +right in her own eyes, she must tell him. If the news did nothing else +it would open the way for his return to the Gatehouse, and the telling +would enable her to make the _amende_. + +The letter was not written on that day nor the next. But on the fourth +day after Audley's departure it arrived at Blore, and lay for an hour +on the dusty hall table amid spuds and powder-flasks and old +itineraries. There Mr. Colet found it and another letter, and removed +the two for safety to the parlor, where litter of a similar kind +struggled for the upper hand with piles of books and dog's-eared +Quarterlies. The decay of the Bassets dated farther back than the +decline of the Audleys, and the gabled house under the shadow of +Weaver was little better, if something larger, than a farm-house. +There had been a library, but Basset had taken the best books to the +Gatehouse. And there were in the closed drawing-room, and in some of +the bedrooms, old family portraits, bad for the most part; the best +lay in marble in Blore Church. But in the parlor, which was the +living-room, hung only paintings of fat oxen and prize sheep; and the +garden which ran up to the walls of the house, and in summer was a +flood of color, lay in these days dank and lifeless, ebbing away from +bee-skips and chicken-coops. The park had been ploughed during the +great war, and now pined in thin pasture. The whole of the valley was +still Basset land, but undrained in the bottom and light on the +slopes, it made no figure in a rent-roll. The present owner had +husbanded the place, and paid off charges, and cleared the estate, but +he had been able to do no more. The place was a poor man's place, +though for miles round men spoke to the owner bareheaded. He was +"Basset of Blore," as much a part of Staffordshire as Burton Bridge or +the Barbeacon. The memories of the illiterate are long. + +He had been walking the hill that morning with a dog and a gun, and +between yearnings for the woman he loved, and longings for some plan +of life, some object, some aim, he was in a most unhappy mood. At one +moment he saw himself growing old, without the energy to help himself +or others, still toying with trifles, the last and feeblest of his +blood. At another he thought of Mary, and saw her smiling through the +flowering hawthorn, or bending over a book with the firelight on her +hair. Or again, stung by the lash of her reproaches he tried to harden +himself to do something. Should he take the land into his own hands, +and drain and fence and breed stock and be of use, were it only as a +struggling farmer in his own district? Or should he make that plunge +into public life to which Colonel Mottisfont had urged him and from +which he shrank as a shivering man shrinks from an icy bath? + +For there was the rub. Mary was right. He was a dreamer, a weakling, +one in whom the strong pulse that had borne his forbears to the front +beat but feebly. He was not equal to the hard facts of life. With what +ease had Audley, whenever they had stood foot to foot, put him in the +second place, got the better of him, outshone him! + +Old Don pointed in vain. His master shot nothing, for he walked for +the most part with his eyes on the turf. If he raised them it was to +gaze at the hamlet lying below him in the valley, the old house, the +ring of buildings and cottages, the church that he loved--and that +like the woman he loved, reproached him with his inaction. + +About two o'clock he turned homewards. How many more days would he +will and not will, and end night by night where he had begun? In the +main he was of even temper, but of late small things tried him, and +when he entered the parlor and Colet rose at his entrance, he could +not check his irritation. + +"For heaven's sake, man, sit still!" he cried. "And don't get up every +time I come in! And don't look at me like a dog! And don't ask me if I +want the book you are reading!" + +The curate stared, and muttered an apology. It was true that he did +not wear the chain of obligation with grace. + +"No, it is I who am sorry!" Basset replied, quickly repenting. "I am a +churlish ass! Get up when you like, and say what you like! But if you +can, make yourself at home!" + +Then he saw the two letters lying on the table. He knew Mary's writing +at a glance, and he let it lie, his face twitching. He took up the +other, made as if he would open it, then he threw it back again, and +took Mary's to the window, where he could read it unwatched. + +It was short. + + +"Dear Mr. Basset," she wrote, "I should be paying you a poor +compliment if I pretended that what I am writing will not pain you. +But I hope, and since our last meeting, I have reason to believe that +that pain will not be lasting. + +"My cousin, Lord Audley, has asked me to marry him, and I have +consented. Nothing beyond this is fixed, and no announcement will be +made until my uncle has recovered his strength. But I feel that I owe +it to you to let you know this at once. + +"I owe you something more. You crowned your kindness by doing me a +great honor. I could not reply in substance otherwise than I did, but +for the foolish criticisms of an inexperienced girl, I ask you to +believe that I feel deep regret. + +"When we meet I hope that we may meet as friends. If I can believe +this it will add something to the happiness of my engagement. My uncle +is better, but little stronger than when you saw him. + + "I am, truly yours, + + "Mary Audley." + + +He stood looking at it for a long time, and only by an effort could he +control the emotion that strove to master him. Then his thoughts +travelled to the other, the man who had won her, the man who had got +the better of him from the first, who had played the Jacob from the +moment of their meeting on the steamer; and a passion of jealousy +swept him away. He swore aloud. + +Mr. Colet leapt in his chair. "Mr. Basset!" he cried. And then, in a +different tone, "You have bad news, I fear?" + +The other laughed bitterly. "Bad news?" he repeated, and Colet saw +that his face was white and that the letter shook in his hand. "The +Government's out, and that's bad news. The pig's ill, and that's bad +news. Your mother's dead, and that's bad news!" + +"Swearing makes no news better," Colet said mildly. + +"Not even the pig? If your--if Etruria died, and some one told you +that she was dead, you wouldn't swear? You wouldn't curse God?" + +"God forbid!" the clergyman cried in horror. + +"What would you do then?" + +"Try so to live, Mr. Basset, that we might meet again!" + +"Rubbish, man!" Basset retorted rudely. "Try instead not to be a +prig!" + +"If I could be of use?" + +"You cannot, nor any one else," Basset answered. "There, say no more. +The worst is over. We've played our little part and--what's the odds +how we played it?" + +"Much when the curtain falls," the poor clergyman ventured. + +"Well, I'll go and eat something. Hunger is one more grief!" And +Basset went out. + +He came back ten minutes later, pale but quiet. "Sorry, Colet," he +said. "Very rude, I am afraid! I had bad news, but I am right now. +Wasn't there another letter for me?" + +He found the letter and read it listlessly. He tossed it across the +table to his guest. "News is plentiful to-day," he said. + +Colet took the letter and read it. It was from a Mr. Hatton, better +known to him than to Basset, and the owner of one of the two small +factories in Riddsley. It was an invitation to contest the borough in +opposition to young Mottisfont. + + +"If it were a question, respected sir," Hatton wrote, "of Whigs and +Tories we should not approach you. But as the result must depend upon +the proportions in which the Tory party splits for and against Sir +Robert Peel upon the Corn Laws, we, who are in favor of repeal, +recognize the advantage of being represented by a moderate Tory. The +adherence to Sir Robert of Sir James Graham in the North and of Lord +Lincoln in the Midlands proves that there are landowners who place +their country before their rents, and it is in the hope that you, sir, +are of the number that we invite you to give us that assistance which +your ancient name must afford. + +"We are empowered to promise you the support of the Whig party in the +borough, conditioned only upon your support of the repeal of the Corn +Laws, leaving you free on other points. The Audley influence has been +hitherto paramount, but we believe that the time has come to free the +borough from the last remnant of the Feudal system. + +"A deputation will wait upon you to give you such assurances as you +may desire. But as Parliament meets on an early date, and the present +member may at once apply for the Chiltern Hundreds, we shall be glad +to have your answer before the New Year." + + +"Well?" Basset asked. "What do you think?" + +"It opens a wide door." + +"If you wish to have your finger pinched," Basset replied, flippantly, +"it does. I don't know that it is an opening to anything else." And as +Colet refrained from speaking, "You don't think," he went on, "that +it's a way into Parliament? A repealer has as much chance of getting +in for Riddsley against the Audley interest as you have of being an +archdeacon! Of course the Radicals want a fight if they can find a man +fool enough to spend his money. But as for winning, they don't dream +of it." + +"It is better to lose in some causes than to win in others." + +Basset laughed. "Do you know why they have come to me? They think that +I shall carry John Audley with me and divide the Audley interest. +There's nothing in it, but that's the notion." + +"Why look at the seamy side?" Colet objected. "I suppose there always +is one, but I don't think that it was at that side Sir Robert looked +when he made up his mind to put the country first and his party +second! I don't think that it was at that side he looked when he +determined to eat his words and pocket his pride, rather than be +responsible for famine in Ireland! Believe me, Mr. Basset," the +clergyman continued earnestly, "it was no easy change of opinion. +Before he came to that resolution, proud, cold man as I am told he is, +many a sight and sound must have knocked at the door of his mind; a +scene of poverty he passed in his carriage, a passage in some report, +a speech through which he seemed to sleep, a begging letter--one by +one they pressed the door inwards, till at last, with--it may be with +misery, he came to see what he must do!" + +"Possibly." + +"The call came, he had to answer it. Here is a call to you." + +"And do you think," the other retorted, "that I can answer it more +cheaply than Sir Robert? So far as I have thought it out, I am with +him. But do you think I could do this," he tapped the letter, "without +misery--of a different kind it may be? I am not a public man, I have +served no apprenticeship to it, I've not addressed a meeting three +times in my life, I don't know what I should say or how I should say +it. And for Hatton and his friends, they would rub me up a dozen times +a day." + +"_Non sine pulvere!_" Mr. Colet murmured. + +"Dust enough there'll be! I don't doubt that. And dirt. But there's +another thing." He paused, and turning, knocked the fire together. He +was nearly a minute about it, while the other waited. "There's another +thing," he repeated. "I am not going into this business to pay out a +private grudge, and I want to be clear that I am not doing that. And +I'm not going into this simply for what I can get out of it. Ambition +is a poor stayer with me, a washy chestnut. It would not carry me +through, Colet. If I go into this, it will be because I believe in it. +It seems as if I were preaching," he continued awkwardly. "But there's +nothing but belief will carry me through, and unless I am clear--I'll +not start. I'll not start, although I want to make a fresh start +badly! Devilish badly, if you'll excuse me!" + +"And how will you----" + +"Make certain? I don't know. I must fight it out by myself--go up on +the hill and think it out. I must believe in the thing, or I must +leave it alone!" + +"Just so," said Mr. Colet. And prudent for once he said no more. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + AN AGENT OF THE OLD SCHOOL + + +It is doubtful if even the great Reform Bill of '32, which shifted the +base of power from the upper to the middle class, awoke more bitter +feelings that did the _volte face_ of Peel in the winter of '45. Since +the days of Pitt no statesman had enjoyed the popularity or wielded +the power which had been Sir Robert's when he had taken office four +years before. He had been more than the leader of the Tory party; he +had been its re-creator. He had been more than the leader of the +landed interest; he had been its pride. Men who believed that upon the +welfare of that interest rested the stability of the constitution, men +with historic names had walked on his right hand and on his left, had +borne his train and carried his messages. All things, his origin, his +formality, his pride, his quiet domestic life, even his moderation, +had been forgiven in the man who had guided the Tories through the bad +days, had led them at last to power, and still stood between them and +the mutterings of this new industrial England, that hydra-like +threatened and perplexed them. + +And then--he had betrayed them. Suddenly, some held; in a panic, +scared by God knows what bugbear! Coldly and deliberately, said +others, spreading his treachery over years, laughing in his sleeve as +he led them to the fatal edge. Those who took the former view made +faint excuse for him, and perhaps still clung to him. Those who held +the latter thought no price too high, no sacrifice too costly, no +effort too great, if they could but punish the traitor! If they could +but pillory him for all to see. + +So, in a moment, in the autumn of '45, as one drop of poison will +cloud the fairest water, the face of public life was changed. +Bitterness was infused into it, friend was parted from friend and son +from father, the oldest alliances were dissolved. Men stood gaping, at +a loss whither to turn and whom to trust. Many who had never in all +their lives made up their own minds were forced to have an opinion and +choose a side; and as that process is to some men as painful as a +labor to a woman, the effect was to embitter things farther. How could +one who for years past had cursed Cobden in all companies, and in +moments of relaxation had drunk to a "Bloody War and a Wet Harvest," +turn round and join the Manchester School? It could be done, it was +done, but with what a rending of bleeding sinews only the sufferers +knew! + +Strange to say, few gave weight to Sir Robert's plea of famine in +Ireland. Still more strange, when events bore out his alarm, when in +the course of a year or two a quarter of a million in that unhappy +country died of want, public feeling changed little. Those who had +remained with him, stood with him still. Those who had banded +themselves against him, held their ground. Only a handful allowed that +he was honest, after all. Nor was it until he, who rode his horse like +a sack, had died like a demi-god, with a city hanging on his breath, +and weeping women filling all the streets about the house, that the +traitor became the patriot. + +But this is to anticipate. In December of '45, few men believed in +famine. Few thought much of dearth. The world was angry, blood was +hot, many dreamt of vengeance. Meantime Manchester exulted, and Coal, +Iron, Cotton toasted Peel. But even they marvelled that the man who +had been chosen to support the Corn Laws had the courage to repeal +them! + +Upon no one in the whole country did the news fall with more stunning +effect than upon poor Stubbs at Riddsley. He had suspected Peel. He +had disliked his measures, and doubted whither he was moving. He had +even on the occasion of his resignation predicted that Sir Robert +would support the repeal; but he had not thought worse of him than +that, and the event left him not uncertain, nor under any stress as to +making up his mind, but naked, as it were, in an east wind. He felt +older. He owned that his generation was passing. He numbered the +friends he had left and found them few. And though he continued to +assert that no man had ever pitted himself against the land whom the +land had not broken, doubt began to creep into his mind. There were +hours when he foresaw the end of the warm farming days, of game and +sport, of Horn and Corn, ay, and of the old toast, "The farmer's best +friend--the landlord," to which he had replied at many an audit +dinner. + +One thing remained--the Riddsley election. He found some comfort in +that. He drew some pleasure from the thought that Sir Robert might do +what he pleased at Tamworth, he might do what he pleased in the +Cabinet, in the Commons--there were toadies and turn-coats everywhere; +but Riddsley would have none of him! Riddsley would remain faithful! +Stubbs steeped himself in the prospect of the election, and in +preparations for it. A dozen times a day he thanked his stars that the +elder Mottisfont's weakness for Peel had provided this opening for his +energies. + +Not that even on this ground he was quite happy. There was a little +bitter in the cup. He hardly owned it to himself, he did not dream of +whispering it to others, but at the bottom of his mind he had ever so +faint a doubt of his employer. A hint dropped here, a word there, a +veiled question--he could not say which of these had given him the +notion that his lordship hung between two opinions, and even--no +wonder that Stubbs dared not whisper it to others--was weighing which +would pay him best! + +Such a thought was treason, however, and Stubbs buried it and trampled +on it, before he went jauntily into the snug little meeting at the +Audley Arms, which he had summoned to hear the old member's letter +read and to accept the son as a candidate in his father's place. Those +whom the agent had called were few and trusty; young Mottisfont +himself, the rector and Dr. Pepper, Bagenal the maltster, Hogg the +saddler, Musters the landlord, the "Duke" from the Leasows (which was +within the borough), and two other tradesmen. Stubbs had no liking for +big meetings. He had been bred up to believe that speeches were lost +labor, and if they must be made should be made at the Market Ordinary. + +At such a gathering as this he was happy. He had the strings in his +own hands. The work to be done was at his fingers' ends. At this table +he was as great a man as my lord. With young Mottisfont, who was by +way of being a Bond Street dandy, solemn, taciturn, and without an +opinion of his own, he was not likely to have trouble. The rector was +enthusiastic but indolent, Pepper an old friend. The rest were +Stubbs's most obedient. + +Stubbs read the retiring member's letter, and introduced the +candidate. The rector boomed through a few phrases of approbation, Dr. +Pepper seconded, the rest cried "Hear! hear!" + +"There's little to say," Stubbs went on. "I take it that we are all of +one mind, gentlemen, to return Mr. Mottisfont in his father's place?" + +"Hear! hear!" from all. "In the old interest?" Stubbs went on, looking +round the table. "And on the clear understanding that Mr. Mottisfont +is returned to oppose any tampering with the protection of +agriculture." + +"That is so," said Mr. Mottisfont. + +"I will see that that is embodied in Mr. Mottisfont's address," Stubbs +continued. "There must be no mistake. These are queer times----" + +"Sad times!" said the rector, shaking his head. + +"Terrible times!" said the maltster, shaking his. + +"Never did I dream I should live to see 'em," said old Hayward. +"'Tisn't a month since a chap came on my land, ay, up to my very door, +and said things--I'll be damned if I did not think he'd turn the cream +sour! And when I cried 'Sam! fetch a pitchfork and rid me of this +rubbish----'" + +"I know, Hayward," Stubbs said, cutting him short. "I know. You told +me about it. You did very well. But to business. It shall be a short +address--just that one point. We are all agreed, I think, gentlemen?" + +All were agreed. + +"I'll see that it is printed in good time," Stubbs continued. "I don't +think that we need trouble you further, Mr. Mottisfont. There's a +fat-stock sale this day fortnight. Perhaps you'll dine and say a few +words? I'll let you know if it is necessary. There'll be no +opposition. Hatton will have a meeting at the Institute, but nothing +will come of it." + +"That's all then, is it?" said the London man, sticking his glass in +his eye with a sigh of relief. + +"That's all," Stubbs replied. "If you can attend this day fortnight so +much the better. The farmers like it, and they've fourteen votes in +the borough. Thank you, gentlemen, that's all." + +"I think you've forgotten one thing, Mr. Stubbs," said old Hayward, +with a twinkle. + +"To be sure, I have. Ring the bell, Musters, and send up the two +bottles of your '20 port that I ordered and some glasses. A glass of +Musters' '20 port, Mr. Mottisfont, won't hurt you this cold day. And +we must drink your health. And, Musters, when these gentlemen go down, +see that they have what they call for." + +The port was sipped, tasted. Mr. Mottisfont's health was drunk, and +various compliments were paid to his father. The rector took his two +glasses; so did young Mottisfont, who woke up and vowed that he had +tasted none better in St. James's Street. "Is it Garland's?" he asked. + +"It is, sir," Musters said, much pleased. + +"I thought it was--none better!" said young Mottisfont, also pleased. +"The old Duke drinks no other." + +"Fine tipple! Fine tipple!" said the other "Duke." In the end a third +bottle was ordered, of which Musters and old Hayward drank the better +part. + +At one of these meetings a sad thing had happened. A rash tradesman +had proposed his lordship's health. Of course he had been severely +snubbed. It had been considered most indecent. But on this occasion no +one was so simple as to name my lord, and Stubbs felt with +satisfaction that all had passed as it should. So had candidates been +chosen as long as he could remember. + +But call no man happy until the day closes. As he left the house +Bagenal the maltster tacked himself on to him. "I'd a letter from +George this morning," he said. George was his son, articled to Mr. +Stubbs, and now with Mr. Stubbs's agents in town. "He saw his lordship +one day last week." + +"Ay, ay. I suppose Master George was in the West End? Wasting his +time, Bagenal, I'll be bound." + +"I don't know about that. Young fellows like to see things. He went +with a lot of chaps to see the crowd outside Sir Robert's. They'd read +in a paper that all the nobs were to be seen going in and out. Anyway, +he went, and the first person he saw going in was his lordship!" + +Mr. Stubbs walked a few yards in silence. Then, "Well, he's no sight +to George," he said. "It seems to me they were both wasting their +time. I told his lordship he'd do no good. When half the dukes in +England have been at Peel, d--n him, it wasn't likely he'd change his +course for his lordship! It wasn't to be expected, Bagenal. Did George +stop to see him come out?" + +"He did. And in a thundering temper my lord looked." + +"Ay, ay! Well I told him how it would be." + +"They were going in and out like bees, George said." + +"Ay, ay." + +They parted on that, and the lawyer went into his office. But his face +was gloomy. "Ay, like bees!" he muttered. "After the honey! I wonder +what he asked for! Whatever it was he couldn't have paid the price! I +thought he knew that. I've a good mind--but there, we've held it so +long, grandfather, father, and son--I can't afford to give it up." + +He turned into his office, but the day was spoiled for him. And the +day was not done yet. He had barely sat down before his clerk a thin, +gray-haired man, high-nosed, with a look of breeding run to seed, came +in, and closed the door behind him. Farthingale was as well known in +Riddsley as the Maypole; gossip had it that he was a by-blow of an old +name. "I've heard something," he said darkly, "and the sooner you know +it the better. They've got a man." + +Stubbs shrugged his shoulders. "For repeal in Riddsley?" he said. +"You're dreaming." + +The clerk smiled. "Well, you'd best be awake," he said. He had been +long enough with Stubbs to take a liberty. "Who do you think it is?" +he continued, rubbing his chin with the feather-end of a quill. + +"Some methodist parson!" + +Farthingale shook his head. "Guess again, sir," he said. "You're cold +at present. It's a bird of another feather." + +"A pretty big fool whoever he is!" + +"Mr. Basset of Blore. I have it on good authority." + +Stubbs stared. He was silent for a time, thinking hard. "Somebody's +fooled you," he said at last, but in a different tone. "He's never +shown a sign of coming out." + +The clerk looked wise. "It's true," he said. "It cost me four goes of +brown brandy at the Portcullis." + +"Well, you may score that to me," Stubbs answered. "Basset, eh? Well, +he's throwing his money into the gutter if it's true, and he hasn't +much to spare. I see Hatton's point. He's not the fool." + +"No. He's an old bird is Hatton." + +"But I don't see where Squire Basset comes in." + +Farthingale looked wiser than ever. "Well," he said, "he may have a +score to pay, too. And if he has, there's more ways than one of paying +it!" + +"What score?" + +"Ah, I'm not saying that. Mr. John Audley's may be--against his +lordship." + +"Umph! If you paid off yours at the Portcullis," Stubbs retorted, +losing his temper, "the landlord wouldn't be sorry! Scores are a deal +too much in your way, Farthingale!" he continued, severely, forgetting +in his annoyance the four goes of brown brandy. "You're too much at +home among 'em. Don't bring me cock-and-bull stories like this! I +don't believe it. And get to that lease!" + +But sure enough Farthingale's story proved to be well founded, for a +week later it was known for certain in Riddsley that Mr. Basset of +Blore was coming out, and that there would be a fight for the borough. + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + + MARY IS LONELY + + +Mary Audley was one of the last to hear the news. Etruria brought it +from the town one day in January, when the evenings were beginning to +lengthen, and the last hour of daylight was the dreariest of the +twenty-four. It had rained, and the oaks in the park were a-drip, the +thorn trees stood in tiny pools, the moorland lay stark under a pall +of fog. In the vale the Trent was in flood, its pale waters swirling +past the willow-stools, creeping over the chilled meadows, and +stealing inch by inch up the waterside lanes. Etruria's feet were wet, +and she was weary with her trudge through the mud; but when Mary met +her on the tiny landing on which their rooms opened, there was a +sparkle in the girl's eyes as bright as the red petticoat that showed +below her tucked-up gown. + +"You didn't forget----" Mary was beginning, and then, "Why, Etruria," +she exclaimed, "I believe you have seen Mr. Colet?" + +Etruria blushed like the dawn. "Oh no, Miss!" she said. "He's at +Blore." + +"To be sure! Then what is it?" + +"I've heard some news, Miss," Etruria said. "I don't know whether +you'll be pleased or not." + +"But it is certain that you are!" Mary replied with conviction. "What +is it?" + +The girl told what she had heard: that there was to be an election at +Riddsley in three weeks, and not only an election but a contest, and +that the candidate who had come forward to oppose the Corn Laws was no +other than Mr. Basset--their Mr. Basset! More, that only the evening +before he had held his first meeting at the Institute, and though he +had been interrupted and the meeting had been broken up, his short +plain speech had made a considerable impression. + +"Indeed, Miss," Etruria continued, carried away by the subject, "there +was one told me that when he stood up to speak she could see his hand +shake, and his face was the color of a piece of paper. But when they +began to boo and shout at him, he grew as cool as cool, and the longer +they shouted the braver he was, until they saw that if they let him go +on he would be getting a hearing! So they put out the lights and +stormed the platform, and there was a fine Stafford row, I'm told. Of +course," Etruria added simply, "the drink was in them." + +Mary hardly knew what her feelings were. "Mr. Basset?" she said at +last. "I can hardly believe it." + +"Nor could I, Miss, when I first heard it. But it seems they have +known it there for ten days and more, and the town is agog with it, +everybody taking sides, and some so much against him as never was. +It's dreadful to think," Etruria continued, "how misguided men can be. +But oh, Miss, I'm thankful he's on the right side, and for taking the +burden off the bread! I'm sure it will be returned to him, win or +lose. They're farmers' friends here, and they're saying shameful +things of him in the market! But there's many a woman will bless him, +and the lanes and alleys, they've no votes, but they'll pray for him! +Sometimes," Etruria added shyly, "I think it is Mr. Colet has brought +him to it." + +"Mr. Colet?" Mary repeated--she did not know why she disliked the +notion. "Why do you think that?" + +"He's been at Blore," Etruria murmured. "Mr. Basset has been so good +to him." + +"Mr. Basset has a mind of his own," Mary answered sharply. "He is +quite capable of forming his own opinion." + +"Of course. Miss," Etruria said, abashed. "I should have known that." + +"Yes," Mary repeated. "But what was it they were saying of Mr. Basset +in the market, Etruria? Not that it matters." + +"Well, Miss," Etruria explained, reluctantly. "They were saying it was +some grudge Mr. Basset or the Master had against his lordship that +brought Mr. Basset out." + +"Against Lord Audley?" Mary cried. And she blushed suddenly and +vividly. "Why? What has he to do with it?" + +"Well, Miss, it's his lordship's seat," Etruria answered naively; +"what he wishes has always been done in Riddsley. And he's for Mr. +Mottisfont." + +Mary walked to a window and looked out. "Oh," she said, "I did not +know that. But you'd better go now, Etruria, and change your shoes. +Your feet must be wet." + +Etruria went, and Mary continued to gaze through the window. What +strange news! And what a strange situation! The lover whom she had +rejected and the lover whom she had taken, pitted against one another! +And her words--she could hardly doubt it--the spur which had brought +Basset to the post! + +So thinking, so pondering, she grew more and more ill at ease. Her +sympathies should have been wholly with her betrothed, but they were +not. She should have resented Basset's action. She did not. Instead +she thought of his shaking hand and his pale face, and of the courage +that had grown firmer in the face of opposition; and she found +something fine in that, something that appealed to her. And the cause +he had adopted? It was the cause to which she naturally inclined. She +might be wrong, he might be wrong. Lord Audley knew so much more of +these things and looked at them from so enlightened a standpoint, that +they must be wrong. And yet--her heart warmed to that cause. + +She turned from the window in some trouble, wondering if she were +disloyal, wondering why she felt as she did; wondering a little, too, +why she had lost the first rapture of her love, and was less happy in +it than she had been. + +True, she had not seen her lover again, and that might account for it. +He had been detained at Lord Seabourne's, and in London; he had been +occupied for days together with the crisis. But she had had three +letters from him, busy as he was; three amusing letters, full of +gossip and sprinkled with anecdotes of the great world. She had opened +the first in something of a tremor; but her fingers had soon grown +steady, and if she had blushed it had been for her expectation of a +vulgar love-letter such as milkmaids prize. She had been silly to +suppose that he would write in that strain. + +And yet she had felt a degree of disappointment. He might have written +with less reserve, she thought; he might have discussed their plans +and hopes, he might have let the fire peep somewhere through the +chinks. But there, again, what a poor thing she was if her love must +be fed with sweetmeats. How weak her trust, how poor her affection, if +she could not bear a three weeks' parting! He had come to her, he had +chosen her, what more did she want? Did she expect him to put aside +the calls and the duties of his station, that he might hang on her +apron-strings? + +Still, she was not in good spirits, and she felt her loneliness. The +house, this gray evening, with the shadows gathering in the corners, +weighed on her. Mrs. Toft was far away in her cosey kitchen, Etruria +also had gone thither. Toft was with Mr. Audley in the other wing--he +had been much with his master of late. So Mary was alone. She was not +nervous, but she was depressed. The cold stairs, the austere parlor +with its dim portraits, the matted hall, the fireless library--all +struck a chill. She remembered other times and other evenings; cosey +evenings, when the glow of the wood-fire had vied with the shaded +lights, when the three heads had bent over the three tables, when the +rustle of turning pages had blended with the snoring of the old hound, +when the pursuit of some trifle had sped the pleasant hours. Alas, +those evenings were gone, as if they had never been. The house was +dull and melancholy. + +She might have gone to her uncle, but during the afternoon he had told +her that he wished to be alone; he should go to bed betimes. So about +seven o'clock she took her meal by herself, and when it was done she +felt more at a loss than ever. Presently her thoughts went again to +John Audley. + +Had she neglected him of late? Had she left him too much to Toft, and +let her secret, which she hated to keep secret, come between them? Why +should she not, even now, see him before he slept? She could take him +the news of Mr. Basset's enterprise. It would serve for an excuse. + +Lest her courage should fail she went at once, shivering as she passed +through the shadowy library, where a small lamp, burning on a table, +did no more than light her to the staircase. She ran up the stairs and +was groping for the handle of Mr. Audley's door when the door opened +abruptly and Toft stepped out, a candle in his hand. She was so close +to him that he all but touched her, and he was, if anything, more +startled than she was. He stood gaping at her. + +Through the narrow opening she had a glimpse of her uncle, who was on +his feet before the fire. He was fully dressed. + +That surprised her, for, even before this last attack, he had spent +most of his time in his dressing-gown. Still more surprising was +Toft's conduct. He shut the door and held it. "The master is going to +bed, Miss," he said. + +"I see that he is dressed!" she replied. And she looked at Toft in +such a way that the man gave way, took his hand from the door, and +stood aside. She pushed the door open and went in. Her uncle, standing +with his back to her, was huddling on his dressing-gown. + +"What is it?" he cried, his face averted. "Who is it?" + +"It is only I, sir," she replied. "Mary." She closed the door. + +"But I thought I told you that I didn't want you!" he retorted +pettishly. "I am going to bed." He turned, having succeeded in girding +on his dressing-gown. "Going to bed," he repeated. "Didn't I tell you +so?" + +"I'm very sorry, sir," she said, "but I had news for you. News that +has surprised me. I thought that you would like to hear it." + +He looked at her, his furtive eyes giving the lie to his plump face, +which sagged more than of old. "News," he muttered, peevishly. "What +news? I wish you wouldn't startle me. You ought to remember that--that +excitement is bad for me. And you come at this time of night with +news! What is it?" He was not looking at her. He seemed to be seeking +something. "What is it?" + +"It's nothing very terrible," she answered, smiling. "Nothing to alarm +you, uncle. Won't you sit down?" + +He looked about him like a man driven into a corner. "No, no, I don't +want to sit down!" he said. "I ought to be in bed! I ought to be there +now." + +"Well, I shall not keep you long," she answered, trying to humor his +mood, while all the time she was wondering why he was dressed at this +time, he whom she had not seen dressed for a fortnight. And why had +Toft tried to keep her out? "It is only," she continued, "that I heard +to-day that there is to be a contest at Riddsley. And that Mr. Basset +is to be one of the candidates." + +"Is that all?" he said. "News, you said? That's no news! Bigger fool +he, unless he does more for himself than he does for his friends! +Peter the Hermit become Peter the Great! He'll soon find himself Peter +the Piper, who picked a peck of pepper! Hot pepper he'll find it, d--n +him!" with sudden spite. "He's no better than the rest! He's all for +himself! All for himself!" he repeated, his voice rising in his +excitement. + +"But----" + +"There, don't agitate me!" He wiped his brow with a shaking hand, +while his eyes, avoiding hers, continued to look about him as if he +sought something. "I knew how it would be. You've no thought for me. +You don't remember how weak I am! Hardly able to crawl across the +floor, to put one foot before another. And you come chattering! +chattering!" + +She had thought him odd before, but never so odd as this evening; and +she was sorry that she had come. She was going to say what she could +and escape, when he began again. "You're the last person who should +upset me! The very last!" he babbled. "When it's all for you! It's +little good it can do me. And Basset, he'd the ball at his foot, +and wouldn't kick it! But I'll show you, I'll show you all!" he +continued, gesticulating with a violence that distressed Mary. "Ay, +and I'll show _him_ what I am! He thinks he's safe, d--n him! He +thinks he's safe! He's spending my money and adding up my balance! +He's walking on my land and sleeping in my bed! He's peacocking in my +name! But--but----" he stopped, struggling for words. For an instant +he turned on her over his shoulder a face distorted by passion. + +Thoroughly alarmed, she tried to soothe him. "But I am sure, sir," she +said, "Mr. Basset would never----" + +"Basset!" + +"I'm sure he never dreamt----" + +"Basset!" he repeated. "No! but Audley! Lord Audley, Audley of +Beaudelays, Audley of nowhere and nothing! And no Audley! no Audley!" +he repeated furiously, while again he fought for breath, and again he +mastered himself and lowered his tone. "No Audley!" he whispered, +pointing a hand at her, "but Jacob, girl! Jacob the supplanter, Jacob +the changeling, Jacob the baseborn! And he thinks I lie awake of +nights, hundreds of nights, for nothing! He thinks I dream of him--for +nothing! He thinks I go out with the bats--for nothing! He thinks I +have a canker here! Here!" And he clapped his hand to his breast, a +grotesque, yet dreadful figure in his huddled dressing-gown, his +flaccid cheeks quivering with rage. "For nothing! But I'll show him! +I'll ruin him! I'll----" + +His voice, which had risen to a scream, stopped. Toft had opened the +door. "Sir! Mr. Audley!" he cried. "For God's sake be calm! For God's +sake have a care, sir! And you, Miss," he continued; "you see what you +have done! If you'll leave him I'll get him to bed. I'll get him to +bed and quiet him--if I can." + +Mary was shocked, and yet she felt that she could not go without a +word. "Dear uncle," she said, "you wish me to go?" + +He had clutched one of the posts of the bed and was supporting himself +by it. The fire had died down in him, he was no more now than a +feeble, shaking old man. He wiped his brow and his lips. "Yes, go," he +whispered. "Go." + +"I am very sorry I disturbed you," she said. "I won't do it again. You +were right, Toft. Good-night." + +The man said "Good-night, Miss." Her uncle said nothing. He had let +himself down on the bed, but he still clung to the post. Mary looked +at him in sorrow, grieved to leave him in this state. But she had no +choice, and she went out and, closing the door behind her, groped her +way down the narrow staircase. + +It was a little short of ten when she reached the parlor, but she was +in no mood for reading. What she had seen had shocked and frightened +her. She was sure now that her uncle was not sane; and while she was +equally sure that Toft exercised a strong influence over him, she had +her misgivings as to that. Something must be done. She must consult +some one. Life at the Gatehouse could not go on on this footing. She +must see Dr. Pepper. + +Unluckily when she had settled this to her mind, and sought her bed, +she could not sleep. Long after she had heard Etruria go to her room, +long after she had heard the girl's shoes fall--familiar sound!--Mary +lay awake, thinking now of her uncle's state and her duty towards him, +nor of her own future, that future which seemed for the moment to have +lost its brightness. Doubts that the sun dismisses, fears at which +daylight laughs, are Giants of Despair in the dark watches. So it was +with her. Misgivings which she would not have owned in the daylight, +rose up and put on grisly shapes. Her uncle and his madness, her lover +and his absence, passed in endless procession through her brain. In +vain she tossed and turned, sat up in despair, tried the cooler side +of the pillow. She could not rest. + +The door creaked. She fancied a step on the staircase, a hand on the +latch. Far away in the depths of the house a clock struck. It was +three o'clock--only three o'clock! And it would not be light before +eight--not much before eight. Oh dear! Oh dear! + +And then she slept. + +When she awoke it was morning, the light was filtering in through the +white dimity curtains, and some one was really at her door. Some one +was knocking. She sat up. "What is it?" she cried. + +"Can I come in, Miss?" + +The voice was Mrs. Toft's, and Mary needed no second warning. She knew +in a moment that the woman brought bad news. She sprang out of bed, +put on a dressing-gown, and with bare feet she went to the door. She +unlocked it. "What is it, Mrs. Toft?" she said. + +"Maybe not much," the woman answered cautiously. "I hope not, Miss, +but I had to tell you. The Master is missing." + +"Missing?" Mary exclaimed, the blood leaving her face. "Impossible! +Why, I saw him, I was in his room last evening after nine o'clock." + +"Toft was with him up to eleven," Mrs. Toft answered. Her face was +grave. "But he's gone now?" + +"You mean that he is not in his room!" Mary said. "But have you +looked----" and she named places where her uncle might be--places in +the house. + +"We've looked there," Mrs. Toft answered. "Toft's been everywhere. The +Master's not in the house. We're well-nigh sure of that. And the door +in the courtyard was open this morning. I am afraid he's gone, Miss." + +"In his state and at night? Why, it's----" The girl broke off and took +hold of herself. "Very well," she said. "I shall not be more than five +minutes. I will come down." + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI + + MISSING + + +Mary scrambled into her clothes without pausing to do more than knot +up her hair. She tried to steady her nerves and to put from her the +thought that it was her visit which had upset her uncle. That thought +would only flurry her, and she must be cool. In little more than the +five minutes that she had named she was in the hall, and found Mrs. +Toft waiting for her. The door into the courtyard stood open, the +bleak light and raw air of a January morning poured in, but neither of +them heeded this. Their eyes met, and Mary saw that the woman, who was +usually so placid, was frightened. + +"Where is Toft?" Mary asked. + +"He's away this ten minutes," Mrs. Toft replied. "He's gone to the Yew +Walk, where you found the Master before. But law, Miss, if he's there +in this weather!" She lifted up her hands. + +Mary controlled herself. "And Etruria?" she asked. + +"She's searching outside the house. If she does not find him she is to +run over to Petch the keeper, and bring him." + +"Quite right," Mary said. "Did Toft take any brandy?" + +"He did. Miss. And the big kettle is on, if there is a bath wanted, +and I've put a couple of bricks to heat in the oven." + +"You're sure you've looked everywhere in the house?" + +"As sure as can be, Miss! More by token, I've some coffee ready for +you in the parlor." + +But Mary said, "Bring it here, Mrs. Toft." And snatching up a shawl +and folding it about her, she stepped outside. It was a gray, foggy +morning, and the flagged court wore a desolate air. In one corner a +crowd of dead leaves were circling in the gusts of wind, in another a +little pile of snow had drifted, and between the monsters that flanked +the Gateway, the old hound, deaf and crippled, stood peering across +the park. Mary fancied that the dog descried Toft returning, and she +ran across the court. But no one was in sight. The park with its +clumps of dead bracken, its naked trees and gnarled blackthorns, +stretched away under a thin sprinkling of snow. Shivering she returned +to the hall, where Mrs. Toft awaited her with the coffee. + +"Now," Mary said, "tell me about it, please--from the beginning." + +"Toft had left Mr. Audley about eleven," Mrs. Toft explained. "The +Master had been a bit put out, and that kept him. But he'd settled +down, and when Toft left him he was much as usual. It could not have +been before eleven," Mrs. Toft continued, rubbing her nose, "for I +heard the kitchen clock strike eleven, and I was asleep when Toft came +in. The next I remember was finding Toft had got out of bed. 'What is +it?' says I. He didn't answer, and I roused up and was going to get a +light. But he told me not to make a noise, he'd been woke by hearing a +door slam, and thought that some one had crossed the court. He was at +the window then, looking out, but we heard nothing, and after a while +Toft came back to bed." + +"What time was that?" + +"I couldn't say, Miss, and I don't suppose Toft could. It was dark and +before six, because when I woke again it was on six. But God knows it +was a thousand pities we didn't search then, for it's on my mind that +it was the poor Master. And if we'd known, Toft would have stopped +him." + +"Well?" Mary said gravely. "And when did you miss him?" + +"Most mornings Etruria'd let me into the house. But this morning she +found the door unlocked; howsomever she thought nothing of it, for +Toft has a key as well, and since the Master's illness and him coming +and going at all hours, he has not always locked the door; so she made +no remark. A bit before eight Toft came down--I didn't see him but I +heard him--and at eight he took up the Master's cup of tea. Toft makes +it in the pantry and takes it up." + +Mrs. Toft paused heavily--not without enjoyment. + +"Yes," Mary said anxiously, "and then?" + +"I suppose it was five minutes after, he came out to me--I was in the +kitchen getting our breakfast--and he was shaking all over. I don't +know that I ever saw a man more upset. 'He's gone!' he said. 'Law, +Toft,' I said. 'What's the matter? Who's gone?' 'The Master!' he said. +'Fiddlesticks!' says I. 'Where should he go?' And with that I went +into the house and up to the Master's room. When I saw it was empty +you could have knocked me down with a feather! I looked round a bit, +and then I went up to Mr. Basset's room that's over, and down again to +the library, and so forth. By that time Toft was there, gawpin about. +'He's gone!' he kept saying. I don't know as I ever saw Toft truly +upset before." + +"And what then?" Mary asked. Twice she had looked through the door, +but to no purpose. + +"Well," I said, "if he's not here he can't be far! Don't twitter, man, +but think! It's my belief he's away sleepwalking or what not, to the +place you found him before. On that I gave Toft some brandy and he +went off." + +"Shouldn't he be back by now?" + +"He should, Miss, if he's not found him," Mrs. Toft answered. "But, if +he's found him, he couldn't carry him! Toft's not all that strong. And +if the Master's lain out long, it's not all the brandy in the world +will bring him round!" + +Mary shuddered, and moved by a common impulse the two went out and +crossed the court. The old hound was still at gaze in the gateway, +still staring with purblind eyes down the vistas of the park. "Maybe +he sees more than we see," Mrs. Toft muttered. "He'd not stand there, +would the old dog, as he's stood twenty minutes, for nothing." + +She was right, for the next moment three figures appeared hurrying +across the park towards them. It was impossible to mistake Toft's +lanky figure. The others were Etruria, with a shawl about her head, +and the keeper Petch. + +Mary scanned them anxiously. "Have they found him?" she murmured. + +"No," Mrs. Toft said. "If they'd found him, one would have stopped +with him." + +"Of course," Mary said. And heedless of the cold, searching wind that +swung their skirts and carried showers of dead leaves sailing past +them, they waited until Toft and the others, talking together, came +up. Mary saw that, in spite of the pace at which he had walked, Toft's +face was colorless. He was almost livid. His daughter wore an anxious +look, while the keeper was pleasantly excited. + +As soon as the three were within hearing, "You've not found him?" Mary +cried. + +"No, Miss," Etruria answered. + +"Nor any trace?" + +"No, Miss. My father has been as far as the iron gate, and found it +locked. It was no use going on." + +"He could not have walked farther without help," Mrs. Toft said. "If +the Master's not between us and the gardens he's not that way." + +"Then where is he?" Mary cried, aghast. She looked from one to the +other. "Where can he be, Toft?" + +Toft raised his hands and let them fall. It was clear that he had +given up hope. + +But his wife was of different mettle. "That's to be seen," she said +briskly. "Anyway, you'll be perished here, Miss, and I don't want +another invalid on my hands. We'll go in, if you please." + +Mary gave way. They turned to go in, but it was noticeable that as +they moved towards the house each, stirred by the same thought, swept +the extent of the park with eyes that clung to it, and were loth to +leave it. Each hung for a moment, searching this alley or that, +fancying a clue in some distant object, or taking a clump of gorse, or +a jagged stump for the fallen man. All were harassed by the thought +that they might be abandoning him; that in turning their backs on the +bald, wintry landscape they might be carrying away with them his last +chance. + +"'T would take a day to search the park," the keeper muttered. "And a +dozen men, I'm afeared, to do it thoroughly." + +"Why not take a round yourself!" Mrs. Toft replied. "And if you find +nothing be at the house in an hour, Petch, and we'll know better +what's to do. The poor gentleman's off his head, I doubt, and there's +no saying where he'd wander. But he can't be far, and I'm beginning to +think he's in the house after all." + +The man agreed willingly, and strode away across the turf. The others +entered the hall. Mary was for pausing there, but Mrs. Toft swept them +all into the parlor where a good fire was burning. "You'll excuse me, +Miss," she said, "but Toft will be the better for this," and without +ceremony she poured out a cup of coffee, jerked into it a little +brandy from the decanter on the sideboard, and handed it to her +husband. "Drink that," she said, "and get your wits together, man! +You're no better than a wisp of paper now, and it's only you can help +us. Now think! You know him best. Where can he be? Did he say no word +last night to give you a clue?" + +A little color came back to Toft's face. He sighed and passed his hand +across his forehead. "If I'd never left him!" he said. "I never ought +to have left him!" + +"It's no good going over that!" Mrs. Toft replied impatiently. "He +means, Miss, that up to three nights ago he slept in the Master's +room. Then when the Master seemed better Toft came back to his bed." + +"I ought to have stayed with him," Toft repeated. That seemed the one +thought in his mind. + +"But where is he?" Mary cried. "Where? Every moment we stand +talking--can't you think where he might go? Are there no +hiding--places in the house? No secret passages?" + +Mrs. Toft raised her hands. "Lord's sake!" she exclaimed. "There's the +locked closet in his room where he keeps his papers. I never looked +there. It's seldom opened, and----" + +She did not finish. With one accord they hurried through the library +and up the stairs to the old tapestried room, where Mr. Audley had +slept and for the last month had lived. The others had been in it +since his disappearance, Mary had not; and she felt a thrill of awe as +she passed the threshold. The angular faces, the oblique eyes, of the +watchers in the needlework on the wall, that from generation to +generation had looked down on marriage and birth and death--what had +they seen during the past night? On what had they gazed, she asked +herself. Mrs. Toft, less fanciful or more familiar with the room, had +no such thoughts. She crossed the floor to a low door which was +outlined for those who knew of its existence, by rough cuts in the +arras. It led into a closet, contained in one of the turrets. + +Mrs. Toft tried the door, shook it, knocked on it. Finally she set her +eye to the keyhole. "He's not there," she said. "There's no key in the +lock. He'd not take out the key, that's certain." + +Mary scanned the disordered room. Books lay in heaps on the deep +window-seats, and even on the floor. A table by one of the windows was +strewn with papers and letters; on another beside the bed-head stood a +tray with night drinks, a pair of candles, an antique hour-glass, a +steel pistol. The bedclothes were dragged down, as if the bed had been +slept in, and over the rail at the foot, half hidden by the heavy +curtains, hung a nightgown. She took this up and found beneath it a +pair of slippers and a shoehorn. + +"He was dressed then?" she exclaimed. + +Toft eyed the things. "Yes, Miss, I've no doubt he was," he said +despondently. "His overcoat's gone." + +"Then he meant to leave the house?" Mary cried. + +"God save us!" + +"He's taken his silver flask too," Etruria said in a low voice. She +was examining the dressing-table. "And his watch." + +"His watch?" + +"Yes, Miss." + +"But that's odd," Mary said, fixing her eyes on Toft. "Don't you +think that's odd? If my uncle had rambled out in some nightmare or--or +wandering, would he have taken his flask and his watch, Toft? Are his +spectacles there?" + +Toft inspected the table, raised the pillow, felt under the bolster. +"No, Miss," he said; "he's taken them." + +"Ah!" Mary replied; "then I have hope. Wherever he is, he is in his +senses. Now, Toft!"--she looked hard at the man--"think again! Surely +since he had this in his mind last night he must have let something +drop? Some word?" + +The man shook his head. "Not that I heard, Miss," he said. + +Mary sighed. But Mrs. Toft was less patient. She exploded. "You +gaby!" she cried. "Where's your senses? It's to you we're looking, and +a poor stick you are in time of trouble! I couldn't have believed it! +Find your tongue, Toft, say something! You knew the Master down to his +shoe leather. Let's hear what you do think! He couldn't walk far! He +couldn't walk a mile without help. Where is he? Where do you think he +is?" + +Toft's answer silenced them. If one of the mute, staring figures on +the walls--that watched as from the boxes of a theatre the living +actors--had stepped down, it would hardly have affected them more +deeply. The man sat down on the bed, covered his face with his hands, +and rocking himself to and fro broke into a passion of weeping. "The +poor Master!" he cried between his sobs. "The poor Master!" + +Quickly at that Mary's feelings underwent a change. As if she had +stood already beside her uncle's grave, sorrow took the place of +perplexity. His past kindness dragged at her heart-strings. She forgot +that she had never been able to love him, she forgot that behind the +man whom she had known she had been ever conscious of another being, +vague, shifting, inhuman. She remembered only the help he had given, +the home he had offered, the rare hours of sympathy. "Don't, Toft, +don't!" she cried, tears in her voice. She touched the man on the +shoulder. "Don't give up hope!" + +As for Mrs. Toft, surprise silenced her. When she found her voice, +"Well," she said, looking round her with a sort of pride, "who'll say +after this that Toft's a hard man? Why, if the Master was lying on +that bed ready for burial--and we're some way off that, the Lord be +thanked!--he couldn't carry on more! But there, let's look now, and +weep afterwards! Pull yourself together, Toft, or who's the young lady +to depend on? If you take my advice, Miss," she continued, "we'll get +out of this room. It always did give me the fantods with them +Egyptians staring at me from the walls, and to-day it's worse than a +hearse! Now downstairs----" + +"You are quite right, Mrs. Toft," Mary said. "We'll go downstairs." +She shared to the full Mrs. Toft's distaste for the room. "We're doing +no good here, and your husband can follow us when he is himself again. +Petch should be back by this time, and we ought to arrange what is to +be done outside." + +Toft made no demur, and they went down. They found the keeper waiting +in the hall. He had made no discovery, and Mary, to whom Toft's +breakdown had given fresh energy, took things into her own hands. She +gave Petch his orders. He must get together a dozen men, and search +the park and every place within a mile of the Gatehouse. He must +report by messenger every two hours to the house, and in the meantime +he must send a man on horseback to the town for Dr. Pepper. + +"And Mr. Basset?" Mrs. Toft murmured. + +"I will write a note to Mr. Basset," Mary said, "and the man must send +it by post-horses from the Audley Arms. I will write it now." She sat +down in the library, cold as the room was, and scrawled three lines, +telling Basset that her uncle had disappeared during the night, and +that, ill as he was, she feared the worst. + +Then, when Petch had gone to get his men together--a task which would +take time as there were no farms at hand--she and Mrs. Toft searched +the house room by room, while Etruria and her father went again +through the outbuildings. But the quest was as fruitless as the former +search had been. + +Mary had known many unhappy days in Paris, days of anxiety, of +loneliness, of apprehension, when she had doubted where she would +lodge or what she would eat for her next meal. Now she had a source of +strength in her engagement and her love, which should have been +inexhaustible. But she never forgot the misery of this day, nor ever +looked back on it without a shudder. Probably there were moments when +she sat down, when she took a tasty meal, when she sought Mrs. Toft in +her warm kitchen or talked with Etruria before her own fire. But as +she remembered the day, she spent the long hours gazing across the +wintry park; now catching a glimpse of the line of beaters as it +appeared for a moment crossing a glade, now watching the approach of +the messenger who came to tell her that they had found nothing; or +again straining her eyes for the arrival of Dr. Pepper, who, had she +known it, was at the deathbed of an old patient, ten miles on the +farther side of Riddsley. + +Now and again a hailstorm swept across the park, and Mrs. Toft came +out and scolded her into shelter; or a farmer, whose men had been +borrowed, "happened that way," and after a gruff question touched his +hat and went off to join the searchers. Once a distant cry seemed to +herald a discovery, and she tried to steady her leaping pulses. But +nothing came of it except some minutes of anxiety. And once her +waiting ear caught the clang of the bell that hung in the hall and she +flew through the house to the front door, only to learn that the +visitor was the carrier who three times a week called for letters on +his way to town. The dreary house with its open doors, its cold +draughts, its unusual aspect, the hurried meals, the furtive glances, +the hours of suspense and fear--these stamped the day for ever on +Mary's memory: as sometimes an hour of loneliness prints itself on the +mind of a child who all his life long hears with distaste the clash of +wedding bells. + +At length the wintry day with its gusts of snow began to draw in. +Before four Petch sent in to say that he had beaten the park and also +the gardens at the Great House, but had found nothing. Half his men +were now searching the slope on either side of the Riddsley road. With +the other half he was going to explore, while the light lasted, the +fringe of the Chase towards Brown Heath. + +That left Mary face to face with the night; with the long hours of +darkness, which inaction must render infinitely worse than those of +the day. She had visions of the windswept park, the sullen ponds, the +frozen moorland; they spread before her fraught with some brooding +terror. She had never much marked, she had seldom felt the loneliness +of the house. Now it pressed itself upon her, isolated her, menaced +her. It made the thought of the night, that lay before her, almost +unbearable. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII + + A FOOTSTEP IN THE HALL + + +Mrs. Toft bringing in candles, and looking grave enough herself, +noticed the girl's pale face and chid her gently. "I don't believe +that you've sat down this blessed day, Miss!" she said. "Nor no more +than looked at good food. But tea you shall have and sit down to it, +or my name's not Anne Toft! Fretting's no manner of use, and fasting's +a poor stick to beat trouble with!" + +"But, Mrs. Toft," Mary said, her face piteous, "it's the thought that +he may be lying out there, helpless and dying, while we sit here----" + +"Steady, Miss! Giving way does no good, and too much mind's worse than +none. If he's out there he's gone, poor gentleman, long ago. And Dr. +Pepper'll say the same. It's not in reason he should be alive if he's +in the open. And, God knows, if he's under cover it's little better." + +"But then if he is alive!" Mary cried. "Think of another night!" + +"Ay, I know," Mrs. Toft said. "And hard it is! But you've been a model +all this blessed day, and it's no time to break down now. Where that +dratted doctor is, beats me, though he could do no more than we've +done! But there, Mr. Basset will be with us to-morrow, and he'll find +the poor gentleman dead or alive! There's some as are more to look at +than the Squire, but there's few I'd put before him at a pinch!" + +"Where's Toft?" Mary asked. + +"He went to join Petch two hours ago," Mrs. Toft explained. "And there +again, take Toft. He's a good husband, but there's no one would say he +was a man to wear his heart outside. But you saw how hard he took it? +I don't know," Mrs. Toft continued thoughtfully, "as I've seen Toft +shed a tear these twenty years--no, nor twice since we went to +church!" + +"You don't think," Mary asked, "that he knows more than he has told +us?" + +The question took Mrs. Toft aback. "Why, Miss," she said, "you don't +mean as you think he was putting on this morning?" + +"No," Mary answered. "But is it possible that he knows the worst and +does not tell us?" + +"And why shouldn't he tell us? It would be strange if he wouldn't tell +his own wife? And you that's Mr. Audley's nearest!" + +"It's all so strange," Mary pleaded. "My uncle is gone. Where has he +gone?" + +Mrs. Toft did not answer the question. She could not. And there came +an interruption. "That's Petch's voice," she said. "They're back." + +The men trooped into the hall. They advanced to the door of the +parlor, Petch leading, a man whom Mary did not know next to him, after +these a couple of farmers and Toft, in the background a blur of faces +vaguely seen. + +"We've found something, Miss," Petch said. "At least Tom has. But I'm +not sure it lightens things much. He was going home by the Yew Tree +Walk and pretty close to the iron gate, when what should he see lying +in the middle of the walk but this!" + +Petch held out a silver flask. + +"It's the Master's, sure enough," Mrs. Toft said. + +"Ay," Petch answered. "But the odd thing is, I searched that place +before noon, a'most inch by inch, looking for footprints, and I went +over it again when we were beating the Yew Tree Walk this afternoon, +and I'm danged if that flask was there then!" + +"I don't think as you could ha' missed it, Mr. Petch," the finder +said, "it was that bright and plain!" + +"But isn't the grass long there?" Mary asked. She had already as much +mystery as she could bear and wanted no addition to it. + +"Not that long," said Tom. + +"No, not that long, the lad's right," Petch added. "I warrant I must +have seen it." + +"That you must, Mr. Petch," a lad in the background said. "I was next +man, and I wondered when you'd ha' done that bit." + +"But I don't understand," Mary answered. "If it was not there, this +morning----" + +"I don't understand neither, lady," the keeper rejoined. "But it is on +my mind that there's foul play!" + +"Oh, but," Mary protested, "who--why should any one hurt my uncle?" + +"I can't say as to that," Petch replied, darkly. "I don't know anybody +as would. But there's the flask, and flasks don't travel without +hands. If he took it out of the house with him----" + +"May he not have dropped it--this afternoon?" Mary suggested. "Suppose +he wandered that way after you passed?" + +The keeper shook his head. "If he had passed that way this afternoon +it isn't one but six pairs of eyes would ha' seen him." + +There was a murmur of assent. The searchers were keenly enjoying the +drama, taking in every change that appeared on the girl's face. They +were men into whose lives not much of drama entered. + +"But I cannot think that what you say is likely!" Mary protested. She +had held her own stoutly through the day, but now with the eyes of all +these men upon her she grew bewildered. The rows of faces, the bashful +hands twisting caps, the blurred white of smocked frocks--grew and +multiplied and became misty. She had to grasp the table to steady +herself. + +Mrs. Toft saw how it was, and came to the rescue. "What's Toft say +about it?" she asked. + +"Ay, to be sure, missus," Petch agreed. "I dunno as he's said anything +yet." + +"I don't think the Master could have passed and not been seen," Toft +replied. His tone was low, and in the middle of his speech he +shivered. "But I'm not saying that the flask wasn't there this +morning. It's a small thing." + +"It couldn't have been overlooked, Mr. Toft," the keeper replied +firmly. "I speak as I know!" + +Again Mrs. Toft intervened. "I'm sure nobody would ha' laid a hand on +the Master!" she said. "Nobody in these parts and nobody foreign, as I +can fancy. I've no doubt at all the poor gentleman awoke with some +maggot in his brain and wandered off, not knowing. The question is, +what can we do? The young lady's had a sad day, and it's time she was +left to herself." + +"There's nothing we can do now," Petch said flatly. "It stands to +reason if we've found nothing in the daylight we'll find nothing in +the dark. We'll be back at eight in the morning. Whether we'd ought to +let his lordship know----" + +"Sho!" said Mrs. Toft with scorn. "What's he in it, I'd like to know? +But there, you've said what you come to say and it's time we left the +young lady to herself." + +Mary raised her head. "One moment," she said. "I want to thank you all +for what you've done. And for what Petch says about the flask, he's +right to speak out, but I can't think any one would touch my uncle. +Only--can we do nothing? Nothing more? Nothing at all? If we don't +find him to-night----" She broke off, overcome by her feelings. + +"I'm afraid not, Miss," Petch said gently. "We'd all be willing, +but we don't know where to look. I own I'm fair beat. Still Tom and +I'll stay an hour or two with Toft in case of anything happening. +Good-night, Miss. You're very welcome, I'm sure." + +The others murmured their sympathy as they trooped out into the +darkness. Mrs. Toft bustled away for the tea, and Mary was left alone. + +Suspense lay heavy on her. She felt that she ought to be doing +something and she did not know what to do. Dr. Pepper did not come, +the Tofts were but servants. They could not take the onus, they could +not share her burden; and Toft was a broken reed. Meanwhile time +pressed. Hours, nay, minutes might make all the difference between +life and death. + +When Etruria came in with Mary's tea she found her mistress bending +over the fire in an attitude of painful depression, and she said a few +words, trying to impart to her something of her own patience. That +patience was a fine thing in Etruria because it was natural. But Mary +was of sterner stuff. She had a more lively imagination, and she could +not be blind to the issues, or to the value of every moment that +passed. Even while she listened to Etruria she saw with the eyes of +fancy a hollow amid a clump of trees not far from a pool that she +knew. In summer it was a pleasant dell, clothed with mosses and ferns +and the flowers of the bog-bean; in winter a dank, sombre hollow. +There she saw her uncle lie, amid the decaying leaves, the mud, the +rank grass; and the vision was too much for her. What if he were +really lying there, while she sat here by the fire? Sat here in this +home which he--he had given her, amid the comforts which he had +provided! + +The thought was horrible, and she turned fiercely on the comforter. +"Don't!" she cried. "You don't think! You don't understand! We can't +go through the night like this! They must go on looking! Fetch your +father! And bring Petch! Bring them here!" she cried. + +Etruria went, alarmed by her excitement, but almost as quickly she +came back. Toft had gone out with Petch and the other man. They would +not be long. + +Mary cried out on them, but could do no more than walk the room, and +after a time Etruria coaxed her to sit down and eat; and tea and food +restored her balance. Still, as she sat and ate she listened--she +listened always. And Etruria, taught by experience, let her be and +said nothing. + +At last, "How long they are!" Mary cried. "What are they doing? Are +they never----" + +She stopped. The footsteps of two men coming through the hall had +reached her ears, and she recognized the tread of one--recognized it +with a rush of relief so great, of thankfulness so overwhelming that +she was startled and might well have been more than startled, had she +been free to think of anything but the lost man. It was Basset's step, +and she knew it--she would have known it, she felt, among a hundred! +He had come! An instant later he stood in the doorway, booted and +travel-stained, his whip in his hand, just as he had dropped from the +saddle--and with a face grave indeed, but calm and confident. He +seemed to her to bring relief, help, comfort, safety, all in one! + +"Oh!" she cried. "You are here! How--how good of you!" + +"Not good at all," he answered, advancing to the table and quietly +taking off his gloves. "Your messenger met me half-way to Blore. I was +coming into Riddsley to a meeting. I had only to ride on. Of course I +came." + +"But the meeting?" she asked fearfully. Was he only come to go again? + +"D--n the meeting!" he answered, moved to anger by the girl's pale +face. "Will you give me a cup of tea, Toft? I will hear Miss Audley's +account first. Keep Petch and the other man. We shall want them. In +twenty minutes I'll talk to you. That will do." + +Ah, with what gratitude, with what infinite relief, did Mary hear his +tone of authority! He watched Toft out of the room and, alone with +her, he looked at her. He saw that her hand shook as she filled the +teapot, that her lips quivered, that she tried to speak and could not. +And he felt an infinite love and pity, though he drove both out of his +voice when he spoke. "Yes, tea first," he said coolly, as he took off +his riding coat. "I've had a long journey. You must take another cup +with me. You can leave things to me now. Yes, two lumps, please, and +not too strong." He knocked together the logs, and warmed his hands, +stooping over the fire with his back to her. Then he took his place at +the table, and when he had drunk half a cup of tea, "Now," he said, +"will you tell me the story from the beginning. And take time. More +haste, less speed, you know." + +With a calmness that surprised herself, Mary told the tale. She +described the first alarm, the hunt through the house, the discoveries +in the bedroom, Toft's breakdown, last of all the search through the +park and the finding of the flask. + +He listened gravely, asking a question now and then. When she had +done, "What of Toft?" he inquired. "Not been very active, has he? Not +given you much help?" + +"No! But how did you guess?" she asked in surprise. + +"I'm afraid that Toft knows more than he has told you. For the rest," +he looked at her kindly, "I want you to give up the hope of finding +your uncle alive. I have none. But I think I can promise you that +there has been no suffering. If it turns out as I imagine, he was dead +before he was missed. What the doctor expected has happened. That is +all." + +"I don't understand," she said. + +"And I don't want to say more until I know for certain. May I ring for +Toft?" She nodded. He rang, and after a pause, during which he stood, +silent and waiting, the servant came in. He shot a swift glance at +them, and dropped his eyes. + +"Tell Petch and the other man to be ready to start with us in five +minutes," Basset said. "Let them fetch a hurdle, and do you put a +mattress on it. I suppose--you made sure he was dead, Toft, before you +left him?" + +The man flinched before the sudden question, but he showed less +emotion than Mary. Perhaps he had expected it. After a pause, during +which Basset did not take his eyes from him, "I made sure," he said in +a low voice. "As God sees me, I did! But if you think I raised a hand +to him----" + +"I don't!" Basset said sternly. "I don't think so badly of you as +that. But nothing but frankness can save you now. Is he in the Great +House?" + +Toft opened his mouth, but he seemed unable to speak. He nodded. + +"What about the flask?" + +"I dropped it," the man muttered. He turned a shade paler. "I could +not bear to think he was lying there. I thought it would lead the +search--that way, and they would find him." + +"I see. That's enough now. Be ready to start at once." + +The man went out. "Good heavens!" Mary cried. She was horror-stricken. +"And he has known it all this time! Do you think that he--he had any +part----" + +"Oh no. He was alone with Mr. Audley when he collapsed, and he lost +his head. They were together in the Great House--it was a difficult +position--and he did not see his way to explain. He may have seen +some advantage in gaining time--I don't know. The first thing to be +done is to bring your uncle home. I will see to that. You have borne +up nobly--you have done your part. Do you go to bed now." + +Something in his tone, and in his thought for her, brought old times +to Mary's mind and the blood to her pale cheek. She did not say no, +but she would not go to bed. She made Etruria come to her, and the two +girls sat in the parlor listening and waiting, moving only when it was +necessary to snuff the candles. It was a grim vigil. An hour passed, +two hours. At length they caught the first distant murmur, the tread +of men who moved slowly and heavily under a burden--there are few who +have not at one time or another heard that sound. Little by little the +shuffling feet, the subdued orders, the jar of a stumbling bearer, +drew nearer, became more clear. A gust of wind swept through the hall, +and moaned upwards through the ancient house. The candles on the table +flickered. And still the two sat spell-bound, clasping cold hands, as +the unseen procession passed over the threshold, and for the last time +John Audley came home to sleep amid his books--heedless now of right +or claim, or rank or blood. + + * * * * * + +A few minutes later Basset entered the parlor. His face betrayed his +fatigue, and his first act was to go to the sideboard and drink a +glass of wine. Mary saw that his hand shook as he raised the glass, +and gratitude for what he had done for her brought the tears to her +eyes. He stood a moment, leaning in utter weariness against the +wall--he had ridden far that day. And Mary had been no woman if she +had not drawn comparisons. + +Opportunity had served him, and had not served the other. Nor, had her +betrothed been here, could he have helped her in this pinch. He could +not have taken Basset's place, nor with all the will in the world +could he have done what Basset had done. + +That was plain. Yet deep down in her there stirred a faint resentment, +a complaint hardly acknowledged. Audley was not here, but he might +have been. It was his doing that she had not told her uncle, and that +John Audley had passed away in ignorance. It was his doing that in her +trouble she had had to lean on the other. It was not the first time +during the long hours of the day that the thought had come to her; and +though she had put it away, as she put it away now, the opening flower +of love is delicate--the showers pass but leave their mark. + +When Etruria had slipped out, and left them, Basset came forward, +and warmed himself at the fire. "Perhaps it is as well you did not go +to bed," he said. "You can go now with an easy mind. It was as I +thought--he lay on the stairs of the Great House and he had been dead +many hours. Dr. Pepper will tell us more to-morrow, but I have no +doubt that he died of syncope brought on by exertion. Toft had tried +to give him brandy." + +Shocked and grieved, yet sensible of relief, she was silent for a +time. She had known John Audley less than a year, but he had been good +to her in his way and she sorrowed for him. But at least she was freed +from the nightmare which had ridden her all day. Or was she? "May I +know what took him there?" she asked in a low voice. "And Toft?" + +"He believed that there were papers in the Great House, which would +prove his claim. It was an obsession. He asked me more than once to go +with him and search for them, and I refused. He fell back on Toft. +They had begun to search--so Toft tells me--when Mr. Audley was taken +ill. Before he could get him down the stairs, the end came. He sank +down and died." + +With a shudder Mary pictured the scene in the empty house. She saw the +light of the lantern fall on the huddled group, as the panic-stricken +servant strove to pour brandy between the lips of the dying man; and +truly she was thankful that in this strait she had Basset to support +her, to assist her, to advise her! "It is very dreadful," she said. "I +do not wonder that Toft gave way. But had he--had my uncle--any right +to be there?" + +"In his opinion, yes. And if the papers were there, they were his +papers, the house was his, all was his. In my opinion he was wrong. +But if he believed anything, he believed that he was justified in what +he did." + +"I am glad of that!" + +"There must be an inquest, I am afraid," Basset continued. "One or two +will know, and one or two more will guess what Mr. Audley's errand +was. But Lord Audley will have nothing to gain by moving in it. And if +only for your sake--but you must go to bed. Etruria is waiting in the +hall. I will send her to you. Good-night." + +She stood up. She wished to thank him, she longed to say something, +anything, which would convey to him what his coming had been to her. +But she could not find words, she was tongue-tied. And Etruria came +in. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII + + THE NEWS FROM RIDDSLEY + + +The business which had taken Audley away on the morrow of his +engagement had been no mere pretext. The crisis in political life +which Peel's return to office had brought about was one of those +upheavals which are of rare promise to the adventurous. The wise +foresaw that the party which Sir Robert had led would be riven from +top to bottom. Old allies would be flung into opposing camps, and +would be reaching out every way for support. New men would be learning +their value, and to those who dared, all things might be added. +Places, prizes, honors, all might be the reward of those who knew how +to choose their side with prudence and to support it with courage. The +clubs were like hives of bees. All day long and far into the winter +night Pall Mall roared under the wheels of carriages. About the doors +of Whitehall Gardens, where Peel lived, men gathered like vultures +about the prey. And, lo, in a twinkling and as by magic the +Conservative party vanished in a cloud of dust, to reappear a few days +later in the guise of Peelites and Protectionists--Siamese twins, who +would not live together, and could not live apart. + +At such a time it was Audley's first interest to be as near as +possible to the hub of things and to place himself in evidence as a +man concerned. He had a little influence in the Foreign Office, he had +his vote in the House of Lords. And though he did not think that these +would suffice, he trusted that, reinforced by the belief that he +carried the seat at Riddsley in his pocket, they might be worth +something to him. + +Unfortunately he could deal with one side only. If Stubbs were right +he could pass for the owner of the borough only as long as he opposed +Sir Robert. He could return the younger Mottisfont and have the credit +of returning him, in the landed interest; but however much it might +suit his book--and it was of that book he was thinking as he travelled +to Lord Seabourne's--he could not, if Stubbs were right, return a +member in the other interest. + +Now when a man can sell to one party only, tact is needed if he is to +make a good bargain. Audley saw this. But he knew his own qualities +and he did not despair. The occasion was unique, and he thought that +it would be odd if he could not pluck from the confusion something +worth having; some place under the Foreign Office, a minor embassy, a +mission, something worth two, or three, or even four thousand a year. + +He travelled up to town thinking steadily of the course he would +pursue, and telling himself that he must be as cunning as the serpent +and as gentle as the dove. He must let no whip cajole him, and no Tory +browbeat him. For he had only this to look to now: a rich marriage was +no longer among the possibilities. Not that he regretted his decision +in that matter as yet, but at times he wondered at it. He told himself +that he had been impulsive, and setting this down to the charms of his +mistress he gave himself credit for disinterested motives. And then, +too, he had made himself safe! + +Still there were difficulties in the way of his ambition, which +appeared more clearly at Seabourne Castle, where Lady Adela was a +fellow-guest, and in London than at Riddsley; difficulties of shrewd +whips, who knew the history of the borough by heart, and had figures +at their fingers' ends; difficulties of arrogant leaders, who talked +of his duty to the land and assumed that duty was its own reward. +Above all, there was the difficulty that he could only sell to the +party that was out of office and must pay in promises--bills drawn at +long dates and for which no discounters could be found. For who could +say when the landed interest, made up of stupid bull-headed men like +Lord George Bentinck and Stubbs, a party without a leader and with +divided counsels, would be in power? They were a mob rather than a +party, and like every other mob were ready to sacrifice future +prospects to present revenge. + +That was a terrible difficulty, and his lordship did not see how he +was to get over it. To the Peelites who could pay, cash down, in +honors and places, he could not sell. Nor to the Liberals under little +Lord John, though to their promises some prospect of office gave +value. So that at times he almost despaired. For he had only this to +look to now; if he failed in this he would have love and he would have +Mary, and he would have safety, but very little besides. If his word +had not been given to Mary, he might almost have reconsidered the +matter. + +The die was cast, however. Yet many a man has believed this, and then +one fine morning he has begun to wonder if it is so--the cast was such +an unlucky, if not an unfair one! And presently he has seen that at +the cost of a little pride, or a little consistency, or what not, he +might call the game drawn. That is, he might--if he were not the soul +of honor that he is! + +By and by under the stress of circumstances his lordship began to +consider that point. He did not draw back, he did not propose to draw +back; but he thought that he would keep the door behind him ajar. To +begin with, he did not overwhelm Mary with letters--his public +engagements were so many; and when he wrote he wrote on ordinary +matters. His pen ran more glibly on party gossip than on their joint +future; he wrote as he might have written to a cousin rather than to +his sweetheart. But he told himself that Mary was not versed in love +letters, nor very passionate. She would expect no more. + +Then one fine morning he had a letter from Stubbs, which told him that +there was to be a real contest in Riddsley, that the Horn and Corn +platform was to be challenged, and that the assailant was Peter +Basset. Stubbs added that the Working Men's Institute was beside +itself with joy, that Hatton's and Banfield's hands were solid for +repeal, and that the fight would be real, but that the issue was a +foregone conclusion. + +The news was not altogether unwelcome. The contest gave value to the +seat, and increased my lord's claim; on that party, unfortunately, +they could only pay in promises. It also tickled my lord's vanity. His +rival, unhorsed in the lists of love, had betaken himself, it seemed, +to other lists, in which he would as surely be beaten. + +"Poor beggar!" Audley thought. "He was always a day late! Always came +in second! I don't know that I ever knew anything more like him than +this! From the day I first saw him, standing behind John Audley's +counsel at the suit, right to this day, he has always been a loser!" + +And he smiled as he recalled the poor figure Basset had cut as a +squire of dames. + +A week later Stubbs wrote again, and this time his news was startling. +John Audley was dead. Stubbs wrote in the first alarm of the +discovery, word of which had just been brought into the town. He knew +no particulars, but thought that his lordship should be among the +first to learn the fact. He added a hasty postscript, in which he said +that Mr. Basset was proving himself a stronger candidate than either +side had expected, and that not only were the brass-workers with him +but a few of the smaller fry of tradesmen, caught by his cry of cheap +bread. Stubbs closed, however, with the assurance that the landed +interest would carry it by a solid majority. + +"D--n their impudence!" Lord Audley exclaimed. And after that he gave +no further heed to the postscript. As long as the issue was certain, +the election was Mottisfont's and Stubbs's affair. As for Basset, the +more money he chose to waste the better. + +But John Audley's death was news--it was great news! So he was gone at +last--the man whom he had always regarded as a menace! Whom he had +feared, whose very name had rung mischief in his ears, by whom, during +many a sleepless night, he had seen himself ousted from all that he +had gained from title, income, lands, position! He was gone at last; +and gone with him were the menace, the danger, the night alarms, the +whole pile of gloomy fancies which apprehension had built up! + +The relief was immense. Audley read the letter twice, and it seemed to +him that a weight was lifted from him. John Audley was dead. In his +dressing-gown and smoking-cap my lord paced his rooms at the Albany +and said again and again, "He's dead! By gad, he's dead!" Later, he +could not refrain from the thought that if the death had taken place a +few weeks earlier, in that first attack, he would have been under no +temptation to make himself safe. As it was--but he did not pursue the +thought. He only reflected that he had followed love handsomely! + +A day later a third letter came from Stubbs, and one from Mary. The +tidings they brought were such that my lord's face fell as he read +them, and he swore more than once over them. John Audley, the lawyer +wrote, had been found dead in the Great House. He had been found lying +on the stairs, a lantern beside him. Stubbs had visited the house the +moment the facts became known. He had examined the muniment room and +found part of the wall broken down, and in the room two boxes of +papers which had been taken from a recess which the breach had +disclosed. One of the boxes had been broken open. At present Stubbs +could only say that the papers had been disturbed, he could not say +whether any were missing. He begged his lordship--he was much +disturbed, it was clear--to come down as quickly as possible. In the +meantime, he would go through the papers and prepare a report. They +appeared to be family documents, old, and not hitherto known to his +lordship's advisers. + +Audley was still swearing, when his man came in. "Will you wear the +black velvet vest, my lord?" he asked, "or the flowered satin?" + +"Go to the devil!" his master cried--so furiously that the man fled +without more. + +When he was gone Audley read the letter again, and came to the +conclusion that in making himself safe he had builded more wisely than +he knew. For who could say what John Audley had found? Or who, through +those papers, had a hold on him? He remembered the manservant's visit, +and the thing looked black. Very black. Alive or dead, John Audley +threatened him. + +Then he felt bitterly angry with Stubbs. There had been the most +shocking carelessness. Had he not himself pointed out what was going +on? Had he not put it to Stubbs that the place should be guarded? But +the lawyer, stubborn in his belief that there were no papers there, +had done nothing. Nothing! And this had come of it! This which might +spell ruin! + +Or, no. Stubbs had indeed done his best to ruin him, but he had saved +himself. He turned with relief to Mary's letter. + +It was written sadly, and it was rather cold. He noticed this, but her +tone did not alarm him, because he set it down to the reserve of his +own letters. + +He took care to answer this letter, however, by that day's post, and +he wrote more affectionately than before--as if her trouble had broken +down a reserve natural to him. He wrote with tact, too. He could not +attend the funeral; the dead man's feelings towards him forbade that +he should. But his agent would attend, and his carriage and servants. +When he had written the letter he was satisfied with it: more than +satisfied when he had added a phrase implying that their happiness +would not long be postponed. + +After he had posted the letter he wondered if she would expect him to +come to her. It was a lonely house and with death in it--but no, in +the circumstances it was not possible. He would go down to The +Butterflies next day. That would be the most that could be expected of +him. He would be at hand if she needed anything. + +But when the next day came he did not go. A letter from a man +belonging to the inner circle of politics reached him. The great man, +who had been and might be again in the Cabinet, suggested a meeting. +Nothing came of the meeting--it was one of those will-of-the-wisps +that draw the unwary on until they find themselves committed. But it +kept Audley in London, and it was not until the evening of Monday, the +day of the funeral, that, chilled and out of temper, after posting the +last stage from Stafford, he reached his quarters at The Butterflies, +and gave short answers to Mrs. Jenkinson's inquiries after his health. + +"Poor dear young man!" she said, when she rejoined her sisters. "He +has a kind heart and he feels it. Mr. John was Mr. John, and odd, very +odd. But still he was an Audley!" + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX + + THE AUDLEY BIBLE + + +Angry with Stubbs as he was--and with some reason--Lord Audley was +not the man to bite off his nose to spite his face. He pondered long +what he would say to him, and more than once he rehearsed the scene, +toning down this phrase and pruning that. For he knew that after all +Stubbs was a good agent. He was honest, he thought much and made much +of the property, and nothing would be gained by changing him. Then his +influence in the borough was such that even if my lord quarrelled with +him, Mottisfont would hardly venture to discard him. + +For these reasons Audley had no mind to break with his agent. But he +did wish to punish him. He did wish to make his displeasure felt. And +he wished this the more because he began to suspect that if Stubbs had +been less bigoted, he might have carried the borough the way he +wished--the way that would pay him best. + +Stubbs on his side foresaw an unpleasant quarter of an hour. He had +been too easy. He had paid too little heed to John Audley's +trespasses, and had let things pass that he should have stopped. Then, +too, he had been over-positive that there were no more documents at +the Great House. Evil had not come of this, but it might have; and he +made up his mind to hear some hard words. + +But when he obeyed my lord's summons his reception tried his patience. +A bright fire burned in the grate, half a dozen wax candles shed a +softened light on the room. The wine stood at Audley's elbow, and his +glass was half full. But he did not give Stubbs even two fingers, nor +did he ask him to take wine. And his tone was colder than Stubbs had +ever known it. He made it plain that he was receiving a servant, and a +servant with whom he was displeased. + +Still he was Lord Audley, something of divine right survived in him, +and Stubbs knew that he had been himself in the wrong. He took the +bull by the horns. "You are displeased, my lord," he said, as he took +the seat to which the other pointed. "And I admit with some cause. I +have been mistaken and, perhaps, a little remiss! But it is the +exception, and it will be a lesson to me. I am sorry, my lord," he +added frankly. "I can say no more than that." + +"And much good that will do us," my lord growled, "in certain events, +Mr. Stubbs!" + +"At any rate it will be a sharp lesson to me," Stubbs replied. "It has +cost Mr. Audley his life." + +"He had no right to be there!" + +"No, my lord, he had no right to be there. But he would not have been +there if I had seen that the place was properly secured. I take all +the blame." + +"Unfortunately," the other flung at him contemptuously, "you cannot +pay the penalty; that may fall upon me. Anyway, it was a d--d silly +thing, Mr. Stubbs, to leave the place open, and you see what has come +of it." + +"I cannot deny it, my lord," Stubbs said patiently. "But I hope that +nothing will come of it. I will tell your lordship first what my own +observations were. I made a careful examination of the two chests of +papers and I came to the conclusion that Mr. Audley had done little +more than open the first when he was taken ill. One chest showed some +disturbance. The upper layer had been taken out and replaced. The +other box had not been opened." + +"What if he found what he wanted and searched no further?" Audley +asked grimly. "But the point of the matter does not lie there. It lies +in another direction, as I should have thought any lawyer would see." + +"My lord?" + +"Who was with him?" Lord Audley rapped the table with his fingers. +"That's the point, sir! Who was with him?" + +"I think I have ascertained that," Stubbs replied, less put out than +his employer expected. "I have little doubt that his man-servant, a +man called Toft, was with him." + +"Ha!" the other exclaimed, "I expected that!" + +Stubbs raised his eyebrows. "You know him, my lord?" + +"I know him for a d--d blackmailing villain!" Audley broke out. Then +he remembered himself. He had not told Stubbs of the blackmailing. +And, after all, what did it matter? He had made himself safe. Whatever +papers he had found, John Audley was dead, and John Audley's heiress +was going to be his wife! The danger to him was naught, and the +blackmailer was already disarmed. Still he was not going to spare +Stubbs by telling him that. Instead, "What did the boxes contain?" he +asked ungraciously. + +"Nothing of any value when I examined them, my lord. Old surrenders, +fines, and recoveries with some ancient terriers. I could find no +document among them that related to the title." + +"That may be," Audley retorted. "But John Audley expected to find +something that related to the title! He knew more than we knew. He +knew that those boxes existed, and he knew what he expected to find in +them." + +"No doubt. And if your lordship had given me a little more time I +should have explained before this that he was disappointed in his +expectation; nay, more, that it was that disappointment--as I have +little doubt--that caused his collapse and death." + +"How the devil do you know that?" + +"If your lordship will have patience I will explain," Stubbs said, a +gleam of malice in his eyes. He rose from his seat and took from a +chair beside the door a parcel which he had laid there on his +entrance. "I have here that which he found, and that which I don't +doubt caused his death." + +"The deuce you have!" Audley cried, rising to his feet in his +surprise. And he watched with all his eyes while the lawyer slowly +untied the tape and spread wide the wrappers. The action disclosed a +thick quarto volume bound in blue leather, sprinkled on the sides with +silver butterflies, and stamped with the arms of Audley. "Good G--d!" +Audley continued, "the Family Bible!" + +"Yes, the Family Bible," the lawyer answered, gazing at it +complacently, "about which there was so much talk at the opening of +the suit. It was identified by a score of references, called for by +both sides, sought for high and low, and never produced!" + +"And here it is!" + +"Here it is. Apparently at some time or other it went out of fashion, +was laid aside and lost sight of, and eventually bricked up with a +mass of old and valueless papers." + +Audley steadied his voice with difficulty. "And what is its effect?" +he asked. + +"Its effect, my lord, is to corroborate our case in every particular," +the lawyer answered proudly. "Its entries form a history of the family +for a long period, and amongst them is an entry of the marriage of +Peter Paravicini Audley on the date alleged by us; an entry made in +the handwriting of his father, and one of eleven made by the same +hand. This entry agrees in every particular with the suspected +statement in the register which we support, and fully bears out our +case." + +"And John Audley found that?" my lord cried, after a moment of +pregnant silence. He had regained his composure. His eyes were +shining. + +"Yes, and it killed him," Stubbs said gravely. "Doubtless he came on +it at the moment when he thought success was within his grasp, and the +shock was too much for him." + +"Good Lord! Good Lord! And how did you get it?" + +"From Mr. Basset." + +"Basset?" + +"Who obtained it, I have no doubt, from the man, Toft, either by +pressure or purchase." + +"The rascal! The d--d rascal! He ought to be prosecuted!" + +"Possibly," the lawyer agreed. "But he was only an accomplice, and we +could not prosecute him without involving others; without bringing Mr. +John's name into it--and he is dead. As a fact, I have passed my word +to Mr. Basset that no steps should be taken against him, and I think +your lordship will agree with me that I could not do otherwise." + +"Still--the man ought to be punished!" + +"He ought, but if any one has paid for his silence or for this book, +it is not we." + +After that there was a little more talk about the Bible, which my lord +examined with curiosity, about the singularity of its discovery, about +the handwriting of the entries, which the lawyer said he could himself +prove. Stubbs was made free of the decanter, and of everything but my +lord's mind. For Audley said nothing of his engagement to Mary--the +moment was hardly opportune; and nothing--it was too late in the +day--of Toft's former exploit. He stood awhile absorbed and dreaming, +staring through the haze of the candles. Here at last was final and +complete relief. No more fears, no more calculations. Here was an end +at last of the feeling that there was a mine under him. Traditions, +when they are bred in the bone, die slowly, and many a time he had +been hard put to it to resist the belief, so long whispered, that his +branch was illegitimate. At last the tradition was dead. There was no +more need to play for safety. What he had he had, and no one could +take it from him. + +And presently the talk passed to the election. + +"There's no doubt," Stubbs said, "that Mr. Basset is a stronger +candidate than either side expected." + +"But he's no politician! He has no experience!" + +The lawyer sat forward, with his legs apart and a hand on either knee. +"No," he said. "But the truth is, though it is beyond me how a +gentleman of his birth can be so misled, he believes what he says--and +it goes down!" + +"Is he a speaker?" + +"He is and he isn't! I slipped in myself one night at the back of one +of the new-fangled meetings his precious League has started. I wanted +to see, my lord, if any of our people were there. I heard him for ten +minutes, and at the start he was so jumpy I thought that he would +break down. But when he got going--well, I saw how it was and what +took the people. He believes what he says, and he says it plain. The +way he painted Peel giving up everything, sacrificing himself, +sacrificing his party, sacrificing his reputation, sacrificing all to +do what he thought was right--the devil himself wouldn't have known +his own!" + +"He almost converted you?" + +The lawyer laughed disdainfully. "Not a jot!" he said. "But I saw that +he would convert some. Not many," Stubbs continued complacently. +"There's some that mean to, but will think better of it at the last. +And some would but daren't! Two or three may. Still, he's such a +candidate as we've not had against us before, my lord. And with cheap +bread and the preachings of this plaguy League--I shall be glad when +it is over." + +Audley rose and poked the fire. "You're not going to tell me," he +said, in a voice that was unnaturally even, "that he's going to beat +us? You're not going, after all the assurances you've given me----" + +"God forbid," Stubbs replied. "No, no, my lord! Mr. Mottisfont will +hold the seat! I mean only that it will be a nearer thing--a nearer +thing than it has been." + +He had no idea that his patron was fighting a new spasm of anger; that +the thought that he might, after all, have dealt with Sir Robert, the +thought that he might, after all, have bargained with the party in +power, was almost too much for the other's self-command. It was too +late now, of course. It was too late. But if the contest was to be so +close, surely if he had cast his weight on the other side, he might +have carried it! + +And what if the seat were lost? Then this stubborn, confident fool, +who was as bigoted in his faith as the narrowest Leaguer of them all, +had done him a deadly injury! My lord bit off an oath, and young as he +was, his face wore a very apoplectic look as he turned round, after +laying down the poker. + +"That reminds me," the lawyer resumed, blandly unconscious of the +crisis, and of the other's anger. "I meant to ask your lordship what's +to be done about the two Boshams. You remember them, my lord? They've +had the small holding by the bridge with the water meadow time out of +mind--for seven generations they say. They pay eighteen pounds as +joint tenants, and have votes as old freemen." + +"What of them?" the other asked impatiently. + +"Well, I'm afraid they'll not support us." + +"Do you mean that they'll not vote for Mottisfont?" + +"I'm afraid not," Stubbs answered. "They're as stubborn as their own +pigs! I've spoken to them myself and told them that they've only one +thing to expect if they go against their landlord." + +"And that is, to go out!" Audley said. "Well, make that quite clear to +them, Stubbs, and depend upon it--they'll see differently." + +"I'm afraid they won't, my lord, and that is why I trouble you. They +voted against the last lord--twice, I am told--and the story goes that +he laid his stick about Ben Bosham's shoulders in the street--that +would be in '31, I fancy. But he didn't turn them out--they'd been in +the holding so long." + +"Two votes may have been nothing to him," Audley replied coldly. "They +are something to me. They will vote for Mottisfont or they will go, +Stubbs. That is flat, and do you see to it. There, I'm tired now," he +continued, rising from his seat. + +Stubbs rose. "I don't know if your lordship's heard about Mr. John's +will!" + +"No!" My lord straightened himself. Earlier in the day he had given +some thought to this, and had weighed Mary Audley's chances of +inheriting what John Audley had. "No!" he said. And he waited. + +"He has left the young lady eight thousand pounds." + +"Eight thousand!" Audley ejaculated. "Do you mean--he must have had +more than that? He wasted a small fortune in that confounded suit. But +he must have had--four times that, man!" + +"The residue goes to Mr. Basset." + +"Basset!" Audley cried, his face flushed with passion. "To Basset?" he +repeated. "Good G--d!" + +"So I'm told, my lord," the lawyer answered, staggered by the temper +in which his employer received the news. + +"But Miss Audley was his own niece! Basset? He was no relation to +him!" + +"They were very old friends." + +"That's no reason why he should leave him thirty thousand pounds of +Audley money! Money taken straight out of the Audley property! Thirty +thousand----" + +"Not thirty, my lord," Stubbs ventured. "Not much above twenty, I +should say. If you put it----" + +"If I put it that you were--something of a fool at times," the angry +man cried, "I shouldn't be far wrong! But there, there, never mind! +Good-night! Can't you see I'm dead tired and hardly know what I am +saying? Come to-morrow! Come at eleven in the morning." + +Stubbs hardly knew how to take it. But after a moment's hesitation, he +made the best of the apology, muttered something, and got out of the +room. On the stairs he relieved his feelings by a word or two. In the +street he wondered what had taken the man so suddenly. Surely he had +not expected to get the money! + + + + + CHAPTER XXX + + A FRIEND IN NEED + + +Basset had obtained the missing Bible very much in the way the lawyer +had indicated--partly by purchase and partly by pressure. Shocked as +Toft had been by his master's sudden death, he had had the presence of +mind to remember that he might make something of what they had +discovered could he secrete it; and with every nerve quivering the man +had fought down panic until he had hidden the parcel which had caused +John Audley's collapse. Then he had given way. He had turned his back +on the Great House, and shuddering, clutched at by grisly hands, +pursued by phantom feet, he had fled through the night and the Yew +Walk, to hide, for the present at least, his part in the tragedy. + +Basset, however, had known too much for him, and the servant, shaken +by what had happened, had not been able to persist in his denials. But +to tell and to give were two things, and it is doubtful whether he +would have released his plunder if Basset had not in the last resort +disclosed to him Miss Audley's engagement to her cousin. + +The change which this news wrought in Toft had astonished Basset. The +man had gone down under it as under a blow on the head. The spirit had +gone out of him, and he had taken with thankfulness the sum which +Basset, as John Audley's representative, had offered him--rather out +of pity than because it seemed necessary. He had given up the parcel +on the night before the funeral. + +The book in his hands, Basset had hastened to be rid of it. Cynically +he had told himself that he did so, lest he too might give way to the +ignoble impulse to withhold it. Audley was his rival, but that he +might have forgiven, as men forgive great wrongs and in time smile on +their enemies. But the little wrongs, who can forgive these--the +slight, the sneer, the assumption of superiority, the upper hand +lightly taken and insolently held? + +Not Peter Basset, at a moment when he was being tried almost beyond +bearing. For every day, between the finding of the body and the +funeral, and often more than once in the day he had to see Mary, he +had to advise her, he had--for there was no one else--to explain +matters to her, to bear her company. He had to quit this meeting and +that Ordinary--for election business stops for no man--and to go to +her. He had to find her alone and to see her face light up at his +entrance; he had to look back, and to see her watch him as he rode +from the door. Nor when he was absent from the Gatehouse was it any +better; nay, it was worse. For then he was forced to think of her as +alone and sad, he had to picture her brooding over the fire, he had to +fancy her at her solitary meals. And alike, with her or away from her, +he had to damp down the old passion, as well as the new regret that +each day and each hour and every kind look on her part fanned into a +flame. Nor was even this all; every day he saw that she grew more +grave, daily he saw her color fading, and he did not know what qualms +she masked, what nightmares she might be suffering in that empty +house--nay, what cause for unhappiness she might be hiding. At +last--it was the afternoon before the funeral--he could bear it no +longer, and he spoke. + +"You ought not to be here!" he said bluntly. "Why doesn't Audley fetch +you away?" He was standing before the fire drawing on his gloves as he +prepared to leave. The room was full of shadows, for he had chosen a +time when she could not see his face. + +She tried to fence with him. "I am afraid," she said, "that some +formalities will be necessary before he can do that." + +"Then why is he not here?" he retorted. "Or why doesn't he send some +one to be with you? You ought not to be alone. Mrs. Jenkinson at The +Butterflies--she's a good soul--you know her?" + +"Yes." + +"She'd come at a word. I know it's not my business----" + +"Or you would go about it, I am sure," she replied gently, "with as +much respect to my wishes as Lord Audley shows." + +"Your wishes? But why--why do you wish----" + +"Why do I wish to be alone?" she answered. "Because I owe something to +my uncle. Because I owe him a little thought and some remembrance. He +made my old life for me--would you have me begin the new one before he +is in the grave? This was his house--would you have me entertain Lord +Audley in it?" She stood up, slender and straight, with the table +between them--and he did not guess that her knees were trembling. +"Please to understand," she continued, "that Lord Audley and I are +entirely at one in this. We have our lives before us, and it were +indeed selfish of us, and ungrateful of me, if we grudged a few days +to remembrance. As selfish," she continued bravely--and he did not +know that she braced herself anew--"as if I were ever to forget the +friend who was _his_ friend, whose kindness has never failed me, whose +loyalty has never--" she broke down there. She could not go on. + +"Add, too," he said gruffly, "who has robbed you of the greater part +of your inheritance! Don't forget that!" He had been explaining the +effect of John Audley's will to her. It had been opened that morning. + +His roughness helped her to recover herself. "I do not know what you +mean by 'inheritance,'" she said. "My uncle has left me the portion +his wife brought to him. I am more than satisfied. I am very grateful. +My only fear is that, had he known of my engagement, he would not have +wished me to have this." + +"The will was made before you came to live here," Basset said. "The +eight thousand was left to you because you were his brother's child. +It was the least he could do for you, and had he made a new will he +would doubtless have increased it. But," breaking off, "I must be +going." Yet he still stood, and he still tapped the table with the +end of his riding-crop. "When is Audley coming?" he asked suddenly. +"To-morrow?" + +"Yes, to-morrow." + +"Well he ought to," he replied, without looking at her. "You should +not be here a day longer by yourself. It is not fitting. I shall see +you in the morning before we start for the church, but the lawyer will +be here and I shall not be able to come again. But I must be sure that +there is some one here." He spoke almost harshly, partly to impress +her, partly to hide his own feelings; and he did not suspect that she, +too, was fighting for calmness; that she was praying that he would go, +before she showed more clearly how much the parting tried her--before +every kind word, every thoughtful act, every toilsome journey taken on +her behalf, rose to her remembrance and swept away the remnants of her +self-control. + +She had not imagined that she would feel the leave-taking as she did. +She could not speak, and she was thankful that it was too dark for him +to see her face. Would he never go? And still the slow tap-tap of his +whip on the table went on. It seemed to her that she would never +forget the sound! And if he touched her---- + +But he had no thought of touching her. + +"Good-night," he said at last. He turned, moved away, lingered. At the +door he looked back. "I am going into the library," he said. "The +coffin will be closed in the morning." + +"Yes, good-night," she muttered, thankful that the thought of the dead +man steadied her and gave her power to speak. "I shall see him in the +morning." + +He closed the door, and she crept blindly to a chair, and covered by +the darkness she gave way. She told herself that she was thinking of +her uncle. But she knew that she deceived herself. She knew that her +uncle had little to do with her tears, or with the feeling of +loneliness that overcame her. Once more she had lost her friend--and a +friend so good, so kind. Only now did she know his value! + +Five minutes later Basset crossed the court in search of his horse. +Mrs. Toft's door stood open and a stream of firelight and candlelight +poured from it and cut the January fog. She was hard at work, cooking +funeral meats with the help of a couple of women; for quietly as John +Audley had lived, he could not be buried without some stir. Odd people +would come, drawn by the Audley name, squires who boasted some distant +connection with the line, a few who had been intimate with him in past +days. And the gentry far and wide would send their carriages, and the +servants must be fed. Still the preparations jarred on Basset as he +crossed the court. He felt the bustle an outrage on the mourning girl +he had left, and on his own depression. + +Probably Mrs. Toft had set the door open that she might waylay him, +for as he went by she came out and stopped him. "Mr. Basset, sir!" she +said in a low voice. "Is this true, what Toft tells me? I declare, +when I heard it, you could ha' knocked me down with a common dip!" She +was wiping her hands on her apron. "That the young lady is to marry +his lordship?" + +"I believe it is true," Basset said coldly. "But you had better let +her take her own time to make it known. Toft should not have told +you." + +"Never fear, sir, I'll not let on. But, Lord's sakes, who'd ha' +thought it? And she'll be my lady! Not that she's not an Audley, and +there's small differ, and she'll make none, or I don't know her! Well, +indeed, I hope she's wise, but wedding cake, make it as rich as you +like, it's soon stale. And for him, I don't know what the Master would +have said if he'd known it! I thought things would come out," with a +quick look at Basset, "quite otherways! And wished it, too!" + +"Thank you, Mrs. Toft," he said quietly. + +"Just so, sir, you'll excuse me. Well, it's not many months since the +young lady came, and look at the changes! With the old Master dead, +and you going in for elections--drat 'em, I say, plaguy things that +set folks by the ears--and Mr. Colet gone and 'Truria that unsettled, +and Toft for ever wool-gathering, I shall be glad when tomorrow's over +and I can sit down and sort things out a bit!" + +"Yes, Mrs. Toft." + +"And speaking of elections reminds me. You know they two Boshams of +the Bridge End, sir?" + +"I know them. Yes." + +Mrs. Toft sniffed. "They're sort of kin to me, and middling honest as +town folks go. But two silly fellows, always meddling and making and +gandering with things they'd ought to leave to the gentry! The old +lord was soft with them, and so they've a mind now to see who is the +stronger, they or his lordship." + +"If you mean that they have promised to vote for me----" + +"That's it, sir! Vote their living away, they will, and leave 'em +alone! Votes are for poor men to make a bit of money by, odd times; +but they two Boshams I've no patience with. Sally, Ben's wife, was +with me to-day, and the long and the short of it is, Mr. Stubbs has +told them that if they vote for you they'll go into the street." + +"It's a hard case," Basset said. "But what can I do?" + +"Don't ha' their votes. What's two votes to you? For the matter of +that," Mrs. Toft continued, thoroughly wound up, "what's all the +votes--put together? Bassets and Audleys, Audleys and Bassets were +knights of the shire, time never was, as all the country knows! But +for this little borough--place it's what your great-grandfather +wouldn't ha' touched with a pair of gloves! I'd leave it to the +riff-raff that's got money and naught else, and builds Institutes and +such like!" + +"But you'd like cheap bread?" Basset said, smiling. + +"Bread? Law, Mr. Basset, what's elections to do wi' bread? It's not +bread they're thinking of, cheap or dear. It's beer! Swim in it they +do, more shame to you gentry! I'll be bound to say there's three goes +to bed drunk in the town these days for two that goes sober! But +there, you speak to they Boshams, Mr. Basset, sir, and put some sense +into them!" + +"I'm afraid I can't promise," he answered. "I'll see!" + +But it was not of the Boshams he thought as he rode down the hill with +a tight rein--for between fog and frost the road was treacherous. He +was thinking of the man who had been his friend and of whose face, +sphinx-like in death, he had taken farewell in the library. And solemn +thoughts, thoughts such as at times visit most men, calmed his spirit. +The fret of the contest, the strivings of the platform, the rubs of +vanity flitted to a distance, they became small things. Even passion +lost its fever and love its selfishness; and he thought of Audley with +patience and of Mary as he would think of her in years to come, when +time had enshrined her, and she was but a memory, one of the things +that had shaped his life. He knew, indeed, that this mood would pass; +that passion would surge up again, that love would reach out to its +object, that memory would awake and wound him, that pain and +restlessness would be his for many days. But he knew also--in this +hour of clear views--that all these things would have an end, and only +the love, + + + That seeketh not itself to please + Nor of itself hath any care, + + +would remain with him. + +Already it had carried him some way. In the matter of the election, +indeed, he might be wrong. He might have entered on it too +hastily--often he thought that he had--he might be of fibre too weak +for the task. It cost him much to speak, and the occasional failure, +the mistake, the rebuff, worried him for hours and even days. Trifles, +too, that would not have troubled another, troubled his conscience; +side-issues that were false, but that he must not the less support, +workers whom he despised and must still use, tools that soiled his +hands but were the only tools. Then the vulgar greeting, the tipsy +grasp, the friend in the market-place:-- + + + The man who hails you Tom or Jack + And proves by thumps upon your back + How he esteems your merit! + Who's such a friend that one had need + Be very much his friend indeed + To pardon or to bear it! + + +these humiliated him. But worse, far worse, than all was his unhappy +gift of seeing the merits of the other side and of doubting the cause +which he had set out to champion. He had fits of lowness when he was +tempted to deny that honesty existed anywhere in politics; when Sir +Robert Peel no less than Lord George Bentinck--who was coming to the +front as the spokesman of the land--Cobden the Radical no less than +Lord John Russell, seemed to be bent only on their own advancement, +when all, he vowed, were of the School of the Cynics! + +But were he right or wrong in his venture--and right or wrong he had +small hope of winning--he would not the less cling to the thing which +Mary had given him--the will to make something of his life, the +determination that he would leave the world, were it only the few +hundred acres that he owned, or the hamlet in which he lived, better +than he had found them. The turmoil of the election over, he would +devote himself to his property at Blore. There John Audley's twenty +thousand pounds opened a wide door. He would build, drain, manure, +make roads, re-stock. He would make all things new. From him as from a +centre comfort should flow. He saw himself growing old in the middle +of his people, a lonely, but not an unhappy man. + +As he passed the bridge at Riddsley he thought of the Boshams, and +weary as he was, he drew rein at their door. Ben Bosham came out, +bare-headed; a short, elderly man with a bald forehead and a dirty +complexion, a man who looked like a cobbler rather than the cow-keeper +he was. + +"Shut your door, Bosham," Basset said. "I want a word with you." + +And when the man had done this, he stooped from the saddle and said a +few words to him in a low voice. + +"Well, I'm dommed!" the other answered, peering up through the +darkness. "It be you, Squire, bain't it? But you're not meaning it?" + +"I am," Basset replied in a low voice. "I'd not say, vote for him, +Bosham. But leave it alone. You're not called upon to ruin yourself." + +"But ha' you thought," the man exclaimed, "that our two votes may make +the differ? That they may make you or mar you, Squire!" + +"Well, I'd rather be marred than see you put out of your place," +Basset answered. "Think it over, Bosham." + +But Bosham repudiated even thought of it. This vote and his use of it, +this defiance of a lord, was, for the time, his very life. "I'll not +do it," he declared. "I couldn't do it! Nor I won't!" he repeated. +"We're freemen o' Riddsley, and almost the last of the freemen that +has votes as freemen! And while free we are, free we'll be, and vote +as we choose, Squire! Vote as we choose! I'd not show my face in the +town else! Mr. Stubbs may talk as gallus as he likes--and main ashamed +of himself he looked yesterday--he may talk as gallus as never was, +we'll not bend to no landlord, nor to no golden image!" + +"Then there's no more to be said," Basset answered, feeling that he +cut a poor figure. "I don't wish you to do anything against your +conscience, Bosham, and I'm obliged to you and your brother for your +staunchness. I only wanted you to know that I should understand if you +stayed away." + +"I'd chop my foot off first!" cried the patriot. + +After which Basset had no choice but to leave him and to ride on, +feeling that he was himself too soft for the business--that he was a +round man in a square hole. He wondered what his committee would think +of him if they knew, and what Bosham thought of him--who did know. For +Bosham seemed to him at this moment a man of principle, a patriot, +nay, a very Brutus: whereas, Ben was in truth no better than a small +man of large conceit, whose vote was his one road to fame. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXI + + BEN BOSHAM + + +It was Tuesday, market-day at Riddsley, and farmers' wives, cackling +as loudly as the poultry they carried, elbowed one another on the +brick pavements or clustered before the windows of the low-browed +shops. Farmers in white great-coats, with huge handkerchiefs about +their necks, streamed from the yards of the Packhorse and the Barley +Mow, and meeting a friend planted themselves in the roadway as firmly +as if they stood in their own pastures. Now and again a young spark, +fancying all eyes upon his four-year-old, sidled through the throng +with many a "Whoa!" and "Where be'st going, lad?" While on the steps +of the Market-Cross and about the long line of carts that rested on +their shafts in the open street, hucksters chaffered and house-wives +haggled over the rare egg or the keg of salted butter. + +The quacking of ducks, the neighing of horses, the singsong of rustic +voices filled the streets. It was common talk that the place was as +full as at the March Fair. The excitement of the Election had gone +abroad, the cry that the land was at stake had brought in some, others +had come to see what was afoot. Many a stout tenant was here who at +other times left the marketing to his womenfolk; and shrewd glances he +cast at the gentry, as he edged past the justices who lounged before +the Audley Arms and killed in gossip the interval between the +Magistrates' Meeting, at which they had just assisted, and the +Ordinary at which they were to support young Mottisfont. + +The great men talked loudly and eagerly, were passionate, were in +earnest. Occasionally one of the younger of them would step aside to +look at a passing hackney, or an older man would speak to a favorite +tenant whom he called by his first name. But, for the most part, +they clung together, fine upstanding figures, in high-collared +riding-coats and top-boots. They were keen to a man; the farmers keen +also, but not so keen. For the argument that high wheat meant high +rents, and that most of the benefits of protection went to the +landlords had got about even in Riddsley. The squires complained that +the farmers would only wake up when it was too late! + +Still in such a place, and on market-day, four out of five were in the +landed interest; four-fifths of the squires, four-fifths of the +parsons, almost four-fifths of the tenants; for the laborers, no one +asked what they thought of it--they had ten shillings a week and no +votes. "Peel--'od rot him!" cried the majority, "might shift as often +as his own spinning-jenny! But not they! No Manchester man, and no +Tamworth man either, should teach them their business! Who would die +if there were no potatoes? It was a flam, a bite, but it wouldn't +bamboozle Stafford farmers!" + +Meanwhile Stubbs, moving quietly through the throng, spoke with one +here and there. He had the same word for all. "Listen to me, John," he +would say, his hand on the yeoman's shoulder. "Peel says he's been +wrong all these years and is only right now. Then, if you believe him, +he's a fool; and if you don't believe him, he's a knave. Not a very +good vet., John, eh? Not the vet. for the old gray mare, eh?" + +This had a great effect. John went away and repeated it to himself, +and presently grasped the dilemma and chuckled over it. Ten minutes +later he imparted it, with the air of a Solomon, to the "Duke," who +mouthed it and liked it and rolled it off to the first he met. It went +the round of the inns and about four o'clock a farmer fresh from the +"tap" put it to Stubbs and convinced him; and that night men, +travelling home market-peart in the charge of their wives, bore it to +many a snug homestead set in orchards of hard cider apples. + +Had the issue of the Election lain with the Market, indeed, it had +been over. But of the hundred and ninety voters no more than fifteen +were farmers, and though the main trade of the town sided with them, +the two factories were in opposition; and cheap bread had its charms +for the lesser fry. But the free traders were too wise to flaunt their +views on market-day, and it was left for little Ben Bosham, whose vote +was pretty near his all, to distinguish himself in the matter. + +He, too, had been at the tap, and about noon his voice was heard +issuing from a group who stood near the Audley Arms. "Be I free, or +bain't I?" he bawled. "Answer me that, Mr. Bagenal!" + +A knot of farmers had edged him into a corner and were disposed to +bait him. A stubby figure in a velveteen coat and drab breeches, his +hand on an ash-plant, he held his ground among them, tickled by the +attention he excited and fired by his own importance. "Be I free, or +bain't I?" he repeated. + +"Free?" Bagenal answered contemptuously. "You be free to make a fool +of yourself, Ben! I'm thinking you'd ha' us all lay down the ground to +lazy pasture and live by milk, as you do!" + +"Milk?" ejaculated a stout man of many acres, whose contempt for such +traffic was above speech. + +"You'll be free to go out of Bridge End," cried a third. "That's what +you'll be free to do! And where'll your vote be then, Ben?" + +But there Bosham was sure of himself. "That's where you be wrong, Mr. +Willet," he retorted with gusto. "My vote dunno come o' my landlord, +and in the Bridge End or out of the Bridge End, I've a vote while I've +a breath! 'Tain't the landlord's vote, and why'd I give it to he? Free +I be--not like you, begging your pardon! Freeman, old freeman, I be, +of this borough! Freeman by marriage!" + +"Then you be a very rare thing!" Bagenal retorted slyly. "There's a +many lose their freedom that way, but you be the first I ever heard of +that got it!" + +"And a hard bargain, too, as I hear," said Willet. + +This drew a roar of laughter. The crowd grew thicker and the little +man's temper grew short, for his wife was no beauty. He began to see +that they were playing with him. + +"You leave me alone, Mr. Willet," he said angrily, "and I'll leave you +alone!" + +"Leave thee alone!" said the farmer who had turned up his nose at +milk. "So I would, same as any other lump o' dirt! But yo' don't let +us. Yo' set up to know more than your betters! Pity the old lord ain't +alive to put his stick about your back!" + +"Did it smart, Ben?" cried a lad who had poked himself in between his +betters. + +"You let me catch you," Ben cried, "and I'll make you smart. You be +all a set of slaves! You'd set your thatch afire if squires'd tell +you! Set o' slaves, set o' slaves you be!" + +"And what be you, Bosham?" said a man who had just joined the group. +"Head of the men, bain't you? Cheap bread and high wages, that's your +line, ain't it!" + +"That's his line, be it?" said the old farmer slowly. "Bit of a rascal +it seems yo' be? Don't yo' let me find you in my boosey pasture +talking to no men o' mine, or I'll make yo' smart a sight more than +his lordship did!" + +"Ay, that's Ben's line," said the new-comer. + +"You're a liar!" Ben shrieked. "A dommed liar you be! I see you not +half an hour agone coming out of Stubbs's office! I know who told you +to say that, you varmint! I'll have the law of you!" + +"Ben Bosham, the laborers' friend!" the man retorted. + +Ben was furious, for he was frightened. There was no feud so bitter in +the 'forties as the feud between farmer and laborer. The laborer had +no vote, he had lost his common rights, his wood, his cow-feed; he was +famished, he was crushed by the new Poor Law, and so he was often in +an ugly mood, as singed barns and burning stacks went to show. Bosham +knew that he might flout the squires, and at worst be turned out of +his holding; but woe betide him if he got the name of the laborers' +friend. Moreover, there was just so much truth in the accusation as +made it dangerous. Ben and his brother eked out the profits of the +dairy by occasional labor, and Ben had sometimes vapored in tap-rooms +where he had better have held his tongue. He shrieked furiously, +therefore, at the false witness, and even tried to reach him with his +ash-plant. "Who be you?" he screamed. "You be a lawyer's pup, you be! +You'd ruin me, you would! Let me get a hold of you and I'll put a mark +on you! You be lying!" + +"I don't know about that," said the big farmer slowly and weightily. +"I'm feared yo're a bit of a rascal, Ben." + +"Ay, and fine he'll look in front of Stafford Gaol some morning!" said +Willet. "At the end of a rope." + +On that in a happy moment for Ben, while he gaped for a retort and +found none, two carriers' vans, huge wooden vehicles festooned with +rabbits and market-baskets and drawn by three horses abreast, lumbered +through the crowd and scattered it. In a twinkling Ben was left alone, +an angry man, aware that he had cut but a poor figure! + +He had been frightened, too, and he resented it. He thirsted for some +chance of setting himself right, of proving to others that he was a +freeman and not as other men. And in the nick of time he saw a +chance--if only he had the courage to rise to it. He saw moving +towards him through the press a mail-phaeton and pair. On the box, +caped and gloved, the pink of fashion, sat no less a person than his +lordship himself. A servant in the well-known livery, a white coat +with a blue collar, sat behind him. + +The vans which had freed Ben blocked the great man's way, and he was +moving at a walk. All heads were bared as he passed, and he was +acknowledging the courtesy with his whip when Ben stepped before the +horses and lifted his hand. In an instant a hundred eyes were on the +man and he knew that he had burned his boats. Bravado was now his only +chance. + +"My lord," he cried, waving his hat impudently. "I want to know what +you be going to do about me?" + +My lord hardly caught his words and did not catch his meaning, but he +saw that the man was almost under the horses' feet and he checked +them. Ben stood aside then but, as the carriage passed him, he laid +his hand on the splashboard and walked beside it. He looked up at the +great man and in the same impudent tone, "Be you agoing to turn me +out, my lord?" he cried. "That's what I want to know." + +"I don't understand you," Audley said coldly. He guessed that the man +referred to the Election, and what was the use of understrappers like +Stubbs if he was to be exposed to this? + +"I'm Ben Bosham of the Bridge End, my lord, that's who I be," Ben +replied brazenly. "I'm not ashamed of my name. I want to know whether +you be agoing to turn me out, and my wife and my child! That's what I +want to----" + +Then a farmer seized him and dragged him back, and others laid hands +on him, though he still shouted. "Dunno be a fool!" cried the farmer, +deeply shocked. "Drive on, drive on, my lord! Never heed him. He've +had a glass too much!" + +"Packhorse beer, my lord," explained a second in stentorian +tones--though he knew that Ben was fairly sober. "Ought to be ashamed +of himself!" cried a third, and he shook the aggressor. Ben was in a +minority of one, and those who held him were inclined to be rough. + +Audley waved his whip good-humoredly. "Take care of him!" he said. +"Don't hurt him!" And he drove on, outwardly unmoved though inwardly +fuming. Still had it ended there little harm would have been done. But +word of the brawl outran the carriage and, as it chanced, reached the +door of Hatton's Works as the men came out to dinner. Ben Bosham had +spoken his mind to his lordship! His lordship had driven over him! The +farmers had beaten him! The news passed from one to another like +flame, and the hands stood, some two score of them, and hooted my lord +loudly, shouting "Shame!" and jeering at him. + +Now had Audley been the candidate he would have thought nothing of it. +He would have laughed in the men's faces and taken it as part of the +day's work; or had he been the old lord, he would have flung a curse +at the men and cut at the nearest with his whip--and forgotten it. + +But he was not the old lord, times were changed, and the thing angered +him. It was in an ill-temper that he drove on along the road that rose +by gentle degrees to the Great Chase. + +For the matter of that, he had been in a black mood for some time, +because he could not make up his mind. Night and morning ambition +whispered to him to put the vessel about; to steer the course which +experience told him that it behooved a man to steer who was not +steeped in romance, nor too greedy for the moment's enjoyment; the +course which, beyond all doubt, he would have steered were he now +starting! + +But he was not starting; and when he thought of shifting the helm he +foresaw difficulties. He did not think that he was a soft-hearted man, +yet he feared that when it came to the point he would flinch. Besides, +he told himself that he was a man of honor; and the change was a +little at odds with this. But there again, he reflected that truth was +honor and in the end would cause less pain. + +Eight thousand pounds was so very small a portion! And for safety, he +no longer needed to play for it. John Audley was dead and the Bible +was in his hands; his case was beyond cavil or question, while the +political situation was such that he saw no opening, no chance of +enrichment in that direction. To make Mary, handsome, good, attractive +as she was--to make her the wife of a poor peer, of a discontented, +dissatisfied man--this, if he could only find it in his heart to tell +her the truth, would be a cruel kindness. + +As he drove along the road, angry with the wretched Bosham, angry with +Stubbs, angry with the fools who had hooted him, he was not sorry to +feel his ill-temper increase. He might not find it so difficult to +speak to her. A little effort and the thing would be done. Eight +thousand pounds? The interest would barely dress her. Whereas, if she +had played her cards well and been heir to her uncle's thirty +thousand--the case would have been different. After all, the fault lay +with her. + +He roused the off-horse with a sharp cut, and a moment later discerned +at the end of a long, straight piece of road, the moss-clad steps of +the old Cross and standing beside them a figure he knew. + +He was moved, even while, in his irritation, he was annoyed that she +had come to meet him at a place that had recollections for him. It +seemed to him that in doing this she was putting an undue, an unfair +burden on him. + +She waved her hand and he raised his hat. The day was bright and cold, +and the east wind had whipped a fine color into her cheeks. Perhaps +that, too, was unfair. Perhaps that too was putting an undue burden on +him. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXII + + MARY MAKES A DISCOVERY + + +But his face was not one to betray his thoughts, and as he drew up +beside Mary, horses fretting, polechains jingling, the silver of the +harness glittering from a score of points, he made a gallant show. The +most eager lover, Apollo himself in the chariot of the sun, had +scarcely made a better approach to his mistress, had hardly carried it +more finely over a mind open to appearances. + +With a very fair show of haste he bade his man take the reins, and as +the servant swung himself into the front seat the master sprang to the +ground. His hand met Mary's, his curly-brimmed hat was doffed, his +eyes smiled into hers. "Well, better late than never!" he said. + +"Yes," she answered. But she spoke more soberly than he expected and +her face was grave. "You have been a long time away." + +That was their meeting. The servant was there; under his eyes it could +not be warmer. Whether one or the other had foreseen this need not be +asked. + +He spoke to the man, who, possessed by a natural curiosity, was all +ears. "Keep them moving," he said. "Drive back a mile or two and +return." Then to Mary, his hat still in his hand, "A long time away? +Longer than I expected, and far longer than I hoped, Mary. Shall we go +up the hill a little?" + +"I thought you would propose that," she said. "I am so glad that it is +fine." + +The man had turned the horses. Audley took her hand again and pressed +it, looking in her face, telling himself that she grew more handsome +every day. Why hadn't she thirty thousand pounds? Aloud he said, "So +am I, very glad. Otherwise you could not have met me, and I fancied +that you might not wish me to come to the house? Was that so, dear?" + +"I think it was," she said. "He has been gone so very short a time. +Perhaps it was foolish of me." + +"Not at all!" he answered, admiring the purity of her complexion. "It +was like you." + +"If we had told him, it would have been different." + +"On the other hand," he said deftly, as he drew her hand through his +arm, "it might have troubled his last days? And now, tell me all, +Mary, from the beginning. You have gone through dark days and I have +not been--I could not be with you. But I want to share them." + +She told the story of John Audley's disappearance, her cheeks growing +pale as she described the alarm, the search, the approach of night and +her anguish at the thought that her uncle might be lying in some place +which they had overlooked! Then she told him of Basset's arrival, of +the discovery, of the manner in which Peter had arranged everything +and saved her in every way. It seemed to her that to omit this, to say +nothing of him, would be as unfair to the one as uncandid to the +other. + +My lord's comment was cordial, yet it jarred on her. "Well done!" he +said. "He was made to be of use, poor chap! If it were any one else I +should be jealous of him!" And he laughed, pressing her arm to his +side. + +She was quivering with the memories which her story had called up, and +it was only by an effort that she checked the impulse to withdraw her +hand. "Had you been there----" + +"I hope I should have done as much," he replied complacently. "But it +was impossible." + +"Yes," she said. And though she knew that her tone was cold, she could +not help it. For many, many times during the last month she had +pondered over his long absence and the chill of his letters. Many +times she had told herself that he was treating her with scant +affection, scant confidence, almost with scant respect. But then again +she had reflected that she must be mistaken, that she brought him +nothing but herself, and that if he did not love her he would not have +sought her. And telling herself that she expected too much of love, +too much of her lover, she had schooled herself to be patient, and had +resolved that not a word of complaint should pass her lips. + +But to assume a warmth which she did not feel was another matter. This +was beyond her. + +He, for his part, set down her manner to a natural depression. "Poor +child!" he said, "you have had a sad time. Well, we must make up for +it. As soon as we can make arrangements you must leave that gloomy +house where everything reminds you of your uncle and--and we must make +a fresh start. Do you know where I am taking you?" + +She saw that they had turned off the road and were following a track +that scrambled upwards through the scrub that clothed the slope below +the Gatehouse. It slanted in the direction of the Great House. "Not to +Beaudelays?" she said. + +"Yes--to Beaudelays. But don't be afraid. Not to the house." + +"Oh no!" she cried. "I don't think I could bear to go there to-day!" + +"I know. But I want you to see the gardens. I want you to see what +might have been ours, what we might have enjoyed had fortune been more +kind to us! Had we been rich, Mary! It is hard to believe that you +have never seen even the outside of the Great House." + +"I have never been beyond the Iron Gate." + +"And all these months within a mile!" + +"All these months within a mile. But he did not wish it. It was one of +the first things he made me understand." + +"Ah! Well, there is an end of that!" And again so matter-of-fact was +his tone that she had to struggle against the impulse to withdraw her +arm. "Now, if there is any one who has a right to be there, it is you! +And I want to be the one to take you there. I want you to see for +yourself that it is only fallen grandeur that you are marrying, Mary, +the thing that has been, not the thing that is. By G--d! I don't know +that there is a creature in the world--certainly there is none in my +world--more to be pitied than a poor peer!" + +"That's nothing to me," she said. And, indeed, his words had brought +him nearer to her than anything he had said. So that when, taking +advantage of the undergrowth which hid them from the road below, he +put his arm about her and assisted her in her climb, she yielded +readily. "To think," he said, "that you have never seen this place! I +wonder that after we parted you did not go the very next morning to +visit it!" + +"Perhaps I wished to be taken there by you." + +"By Jove! Do you know that that is the most lover-like thing you have +said." + +"I may improve with practice," she rejoined. "Indeed, it is possible," +she continued demurely, "that we both need practice!" + +She had not a notion that he was in two minds; that one half of him +was revelling in the hour, pleased with possession, enjoying her +beauty, dwelling on the dainty curves of her figure, while the other +uncertain, wavering, was asking continually, "Shall I or shall I not?" +But if she did not guess thoughts to which she had no clue he was +sharp enough to understand hers. "Ah! you are there, are you?" he +said. "Wait! Presently, when we are out of sight of that cursed +road----" + +"I didn't find fault!" + +On that there was a little banter between them, gallant and smiling on +his part, playful and defensive on hers, which lasted until they +reached a door leading into the lower garden. It was a rusty, +damp-stained door, once painted green, and masked by trees somewhat +higher than the underwood through which they had climbed. Ivy hung +from the wall above it, rank grass grew against it, the air about +it was dank, and in summer sent up the smell of wild leeks. Once +under-gardeners had used it to come and go, and many a time on moonlit +nights maids had stolen through it to meet their lovers in the coppice +or on the road. + +Audley had brought the key and he set it in the lock and turned it. +But he did not open the door. Instead, he turned to Mary with a smile. +"This is my surprise," he said. "Shut your eyes and open them when I +tell you. I will guide you." + +She complied without suspicion, and heard the door squeak on its rusty +hinges. Guided by his hand she advanced three or four paces. She heard +the door close behind her. He put his arm round her and drew her on. +"Now?" she asked, "May I look?" + +"Yes, now!" he answered. As he spoke he drew her to him, and, before +she knew what to expect, he had crushed her to his breast and was +pressing kisses on her face and lips. + +She was taken by surprise and so completely, that for a moment she was +helpless, without defence. Then the instinctive impulse to resist +overcame her, and she struggled fiercely; and, presently, she released +herself. "Oh, you shouldn't have done it!" she cried. "You shouldn't +have done it!" + +"My darling!" + +"You--you hurt me!" she panted, her breath coming short and quick. She +was as red now as she had for a moment been white. Her lips trembled, +and there were tears in her eyes. He thought that he had been too +rough with her, and though he did not understand, he stayed his +impulse to seize her again. Instead, he stood looking down at her, a +little put out. + +She tried to smile, tried bravely to pass it off; but she was put to +it, he could see, not to burst into tears. "Perhaps I am foolish," she +faltered, "but please don't do it again." + +"I can't promise--for always," he answered, smiling. But, none +the less, he was piqued. What a prude the girl was! What a +Sainte-ni-touche! To make such a fuss about a few kisses! + +She tried to take the same tone. "I know I am silly," she said, "but +you took me by surprise." + +"You were very innocent, then, my dear. Still, I'll be good, and next +time I will give you warning. Now, don't be afraid, take my arm, and +let us----" + +"If I could sit down?" she murmured. Then he saw that the color had +again left her cheeks. + +There was an old wheelbarrow inside the door, half full of dead +leaves. He swept it clear, and she sat down on the edge of it. He +stood by her, puzzled, and at a loss. + +Certainly he had played a trick on her, and he had been a little rough +because he had felt her impulse to resist. But she must have known +that he would kiss her sooner or later. And she was no child. Her +convent days were not of yesterday. She was a woman. He did not +understand it. + +Alas, she did understand it. It was not her lover's kisses, it was not +his passion or his roughness that had shaken Mary. She was not a prude +and she was a woman. That which had overwhelmed her was the knowledge, +the certainty forced on her by his embrace, that she did not love him! +That, however much she might have deluded herself a few weeks earlier, +however far she might have let the lure of love mislead her, she did +not love this man! And she was betrothed to him, she was promised to +him, she was his! On her engagement to him, on her future with him had +been based--a moment before--all her plans and all her hopes for the +future. + +No wonder that the color was struck from her face, that she was shaken +to the depths of her being. For, indeed, she knew something more--that +she had had her warning and had closed her eyes to it. That evening, +when she had heard Basset's step come through the hall, that moment +when his presence had lifted the burden of suspense from her, should +have made her wise. And for an instant the veil had been lifted, and +she had been alarmed. But she reflected that the passing doubt was due +to her lover's absence and his coldness; and she had put the doubt +from her. When Audley returned all would be well, she would feel as +before. She was hipped and lonely and the other was kind to her--that +was all! + +Now she knew that that was not all. She did not love Audley and she +did love some one else. And it was too late. She had misled herself, +she had misled the man who loved her, she had misled that other whom +she loved. And it was too late! + +For a time that was short, yet seemed long to her companion, who stood +watching her, she sat lost in thought and unconscious of his presence. +At length he could bear it no longer. Pale cheeks and dull eyes had no +charm for him! He had not come, he had not met her, for this. + +"Come!" he said, "come, Mary, you will catch cold sitting there! One +might suppose I was an ogre!" + +She smiled wanly. "Oh no!" she said, "It is I--who am foolish. Please +forgive me." + +"If you would like to go back?" + +But her ear detected temper in his tone, and with a newborn fear of +him she hastened to appease him. "Oh no!" she said. "You were going to +show me the gardens!" + +"Such as they are. Well, so you will see what there is to be seen. It +is a sorry sight, I can tell you." She rose and, taking her arm, he +led her some fifty yards along the alley in which they were, then, +turning to the right, he stopped. "There," he said. "What do you think +of it?" + +They had before them the long, dank, weed-grown walk, broken midway by +the cracked fountain and closed at the far end by the broad flight of +broken steps that led upward to the terrace and so to the great lawn. +When Audley had last stood on this spot the luxuriance of autumn had +clothed the neglected beds. A tangle of vegetation, covering every +foot of soil with leaf and bloom, had veiled the progress of neglect. +Now, as by magic, all was changed. The sun still shone, but coldly and +on a bald scene. The roses that had run riot, the spires of hollyhocks +that had risen above them, the sunflowers that had struggled with the +encroaching elder, nay, the very bindweed that had strangled all alike +in its green embrace, were gone, or only reared naked stems to the +cold sky. Gone, too, were the Old Man, the Sweet William, the St. +John's Wort, the wilderness of humbler growths that had pressed about +their feet; and from the bare earth and leafless branches, the +fountain and the sundial alone, like mourners over fallen grandeur, +lifted gray heads. + +There is no garden that has not its sad season, its days of stillness +and mourning, but this garden was sordid as well as sad. Its dead lay +unburied. + +Involuntarily Mary spoke. "Oh, it is terrible!" she cried. + +"It is terrible," he answered gloomily. + +Then she feared that, preoccupied as she was with other thoughts, she +had hurt him. She was trying to think of something to comfort him, +when he repeated, "It is terrible! But, d--n it, let us see the rest +of it! We've come here for that! Let us see it!" + +Together they went slowly along the walk. They came by and by to the +sundial. She hung a moment, wishing to read the inscription, but he +would not stay. "It's the old story," he said. "We are gay fellows in +the sunshine, but in the shadow--we are moths." + +He did not explain his meaning. He drew her on. They mounted the wide +flight which had once, flanked by urns and nymphs and hot with summer +sunshine, echoed the tread of red-heeled shoes and the ring of spurs. +Now, elder grew between the shattered steps, weeds clothed them, the +nymphs mouldered, lacking arms and heads, the urns gaped. + +Mary felt his depression and would have comforted him, but her brain +was numbed by the discovery which she had made; she was unable to +think, without power to help. She shared, she more than shared, his +depression. And it was not until they had surmounted the last flight +and stood gazing on the Great House that she found her voice. Then, as +the length and vastness of the pile broke upon her, she caught her +breath. "Oh," she cried. "It is immense!" + +"It's a nightmare," he replied. "That is Beaudelays! That is," with +bitterness, "the splendid seat of Philip, fourteenth Lord Audley--and +a millstone about his neck! It is well, my dear, that you should see +it! It is well that you should know what is before you! You see your +home! And what you are marrying--if you think it worth while!" + +If she had loved him she would have been strong to comfort him. If she +had even fancied that she loved him, she would have known what to +answer. As it was, she was dumb; she scarcely took in the significance +of his words. Her mind--so much of it as she could divert from +herself--was engaged with the sight before her, with the long rows of +blank and boarded windows, the smokeless chimneys, the raw, unfinished +air that, after eighty years, betrayed that this had never been a +home, had never opened its doors to happy brides, nor heard the voices +of children. + +At last she spoke. "And this is Beaudelays?" she said. + +"This is my home," he replied. "That's the place I've come to own! +It's a pleasant possession! It promises a cheerful homecoming, doesn't +it?" + +"Have you never thought of--of doing anything to it?" she asked +timidly. + +"Do you mean--have I thought of completing it? Of repairing it?" + +"I suppose I meant that," she replied. + +"I might as well think," he retorted, "of repairing the Tower of +London! All I have in the world wouldn't do it! And I cannot pull it +down. If I did, the lawyers first and the housebreakers afterwards, +would pull down all I have with it! There is no escape, my dear," he +continued slowly. "Once I thought there was. I had my dream. I've +stood on this lawn on summer days and I've told myself that I would +build it up again, and that the name of Audley should not be lost. But +I am a peer, what can I do? I cannot trade, I cannot plead. For a peer +there is but one way--marriage. And there were times when I had +visions of repairing the breach--in that way; when I thought that I +could set the old name first and my pleasure second; when I dreamed of +marrying a great dowry that should restore us to the place we once +enjoyed. But--that is over! That is over," he repeated in a sinking +voice. "I had to choose between prosperity and happiness; I made my +choice. God grant that we may never repent it!" + +He sank into silence, waiting for her to speak; he waited with +exasperation. She did not, and he looked down at her. Then, "I +believe," he said, "that you have not heard a word I have said!" + +She glanced up, startled. "I am afraid I have not," she answered +meekly. "Please forgive me. I was thinking of my uncle, and wondering +where he died." + +It was all that Audley could do to check the oath that rose to his +lips. For he had spoken with intention; he had given her, as he +thought, a lead, an opening; and he had wasted his pains. He could +hardly believe that she had not heard. He could almost believe that +she was playing with him. But in truth she had barely recovered from +the shock of her discovery, and the thing before her eyes--the +house--held her attention. + +"I believe that you think more of your uncle than of me!" he cried. + +"No," she replied, "but he is gone and I have you." She was beginning +to be afraid of him; afraid of him, because she felt that she was in +fault. + +"Yes," he replied. "But you must be more kind to me--or I don't know +that you will keep me." + +She thought that he spoke in jest, and she pressed his arm. + +"You don't want to go into the house?" + +"Oh no! I could not bear it to-day." + +"Then you must not mind if I leave you for a moment. I have to look to +something inside. I shall not be more than five minutes. Will you walk +up and down?" + +She assented, thankful to be alone with her thoughts; and he left her. +A burly, stately figure, he passed across the lawn and disappeared +round the corner of the old wing where the yew trees grew close to +the walls. He let himself into the house. He wished to examine the +strong-room for himself and to see what traces were left of the +tragedy which had taken place there. + +But when he stood inside and felt the icy chill of the house, where +each footstep awoke echoes, and a ghostly tread seemed to follow him, +he went no farther than the shadowy drawing-room with its mouldering +furniture and fallen screen. There, placing himself before an +unshuttered pane, he stood some minutes without moving, his hands +resting on the head of his cane, his eyes fixed on Mary. The girl was +slowly pacing the length of the terrace, her head bent. + +Whether the lonely figure, with its suggestion of sadness, made its +appeal, or the attraction of a grace that no depression could mar, +overcame the dictates of prudence, he hesitated. At last, "I can't do +it!" he muttered, "hanged if I can! I suppose I ought not to have +kissed her if I meant to do it to-day. No, I can't do it." + +And when, half an hour later, he parted from her at the old Cross at +the foot of the hill, he had not done it. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIII + + THE MEETING AT THE MAYPOLE + + +Within twenty-four hours there were signs that Bosham's brush with his +lordship and the show of feeling outside Hatton's Works had set a +sharper edge on the fight. Trifles as these were, the farmers about +Riddsley took them up and resented them. The feudal feeling was not +quite extinct. Their landlord was still a great man to them, and even +those who did not love him believed that he was fighting their battle. +An insult to him seemed, in any case, a portent, but that such a poor +creature as Bosham--Ben Bosham of the Bridge End--should insult him, +went beyond bearing. + +Moreover, it was beginning to be whispered that Ben was tampering with +the laborers. One heard that he was preaching higher wages in the +public houses, another that he was asking Hodge what he got out of +dear bread, a third that he was vaporing about commons and enclosures. +The farmers growled. The farmers' sons began to talk together outside +the village inn. The farmers' wives foresaw rick-burning, maimed +cattle, and empty hen coops, and said that they could not sleep in +their beds for Ben. + +Meanwhile those who, perhaps, knew something of the origin of these +rumors, and could size up the Boshams to a pound, were not unwilling +to push the matter farther. Men who fancied with Stubbs that repeal of +the corn-taxes meant the ruin of the country-side, were too much in +earnest to pick and choose. They believed that this was a fight +between the wholesome country and the black, sweating town, between +the open life of the fields and the tyranny of mill and pit; and that +the only aim of the repealer was to lower wages, and so to swell the +profits that already enabled him to outshine the lords of the soil. +They were prone, therefore, to think that any stick was good enough to +beat so bad a dog, and if the stout arms of the farmers could redress +the balance, they were in no mood to refuse their help. + +Nor were sharpeners wanting on the other side. The methods of the +League were brought into play. Women were sent out to sing through the +streets of an evening, and the townsfolk ate their muffins to the +doleful strains of: + + + Child, is thy father dead? + Father is gone. + Why did they tax his bread? + God's will be done! + + +And as there were enthusiasts on this side, too, who saw the work of +the Corn Laws in the thin cheeks of children and the coffins of babes, +the claims of John Barley-corn, roared from the windows of the +Portcullis and the Packhorse, did not seem a convincing answer. A big +loaf and a little loaf, carried high through the streets, made a wide +appeal to non-voters; and a banner with, "You be taxing, we be +starving!" had its success. Then, on the evening of the market-day, a +band of Hatton's men, fresh from the Three Tailors, came to blows with +a market-peart farmer, and a "hand" was not only knocked down, but +locked up. Hatton's and Banfield's men were fired with indignation at +this injustice, and Hatton himself said a little more at the Institute +than Basset thought prudent. + +These things had their effect, and more, perhaps, than was expected. +For Stubbs, going back to his office one afternoon, suffered an +unpleasant shock. Bosham's impudence had not moved him, nor the jeers +of Hatton's men. But this turned out to be another matter. +Farthingale, the shabby clerk with the high-bred nose, had news for +him which he kept until the office door was locked. And the news was +so bad that Stubbs stood aghast. + +"What? All nine?" he cried. "Impossible, man! The woman's made a fool +of you!" + +But Farthingale merely looked at him over his steel-rimmed spectacles. +"It's true," he said. + +"I'll never believe it!" cried the lawyer. + +Farthingale shook his head. "That won't alter it," he said patiently. +"It's true." + +"Dyas the butcher! Why, he served me for years! For years! I go to him +at times now." + +"Only for veal," replied the clerk, who knew everything "Pitt, of the +sausage shop, and Badger, the tripeman, are in his pocket--buy his +offal. With the other six, it's mainly the big loaf--Lake has a sister +with seven children, and Thomas a father in the almshouse. Two more +have big families, and the women have got hold of them!" + +"But they've always voted right!" Stubbs urged, with a sinking heart. +"What's taken them?" + +"If you ask me," the clerk answered, "I should say it was partly +Squire Basset--he talks straight and it takes. And partly the split. +When a party splits you can't expect to keep all. I doubted Dyas from +the first. He's the head. They were all at his house last night and a +prime supper he gave them." + +Stubbs groaned. At last, "How much?" he asked. + +Farthingale shook his head. "Nix," he said. "You may be shaking Dyas's +hand and find it's Hatton's. If you take my advice, you'll leave it +alone." + +"Well," the lawyer cried, "of all the d--d ingratitude I ever heard +of! The money Dyas has had from me!" + +Farthingale's lips framed the words "only veal," but no sound came. +Devoted as he was to his employer, he was enjoying himself. Election +times were meat and drink--especially drink--to him. At such times his +normal wage was royally swollen by Election extras, such as: "To +addressing one hundred circulars, one guinea. To folding and closing +the same, half a guinea. To watering the same, half a guinea. To +posting the same, half a guinea." A whole year's score, chalked up +behind the door at the Portcullis, vanished as by magic at this +season. + +And then he loved the importance of it, and the secrecy, and the +confidence that was placed in him and might safely be placed. The +shabby clerk who had greased many a palm was himself above bribes. + +But Stubbs was aghast. Scarcely could he keep panic at bay. He had +staked his reputation for sagacity on the result. He had made himself +answerable for success, to his lordship, to the candidate, to the +party. Not once, but twice, he had declared in secret council that +defeat was impossible--impossible! Had he not done so, the contest, +which his own side had invited, might have been avoided. + +And then, too, his heart was in the matter. He honestly believed that +these poor creatures, these weaklings whose defection might cost so +much, were voting for the ruin of their children, for the +impoverishment of the town. They would live to see the land pass into +the hands of men who would live on it, not by it. They would live to +see the farmers bankrupt, the country undersold, the town a desert! + +The lawyer had counted on a safe majority of twenty-two on a register +of a hundred and ninety voters. And twenty-two had seemed a buckler, +sufficient against all the shafts and all the spite of fortune. But a +majority of four--for that was all that remained if these nine went +over--a majority of four was a thing to pale the cheek. Perspiration +stood on his brow as he thought of it. His hand shook as he shuffled +the papers on his desk, looking for he knew not what. For a moment he +could not face even Farthingale, he could not command his eye or his +voice. + +At last, "Who could get at Dyas?" he muttered. + +Farthingale pondered for a time, but shook his head. "No one," he +said. "You might try Hayward if you like. They deal." + +"What's to be done, then?" + +"There's only one way that I can think of," the clerk replied, his +eyes on his master's face. "Rattle them! Set the farmers on them! Show +them that what they're doing will be taken ill. Show 'em we're in +earnest. Badger's a poor creature and Thomas's wife's never off the +twitter. I'd try it, if I were you. You'd pull some back." + +They talked for a time in low voices and before he went into the +Portcullis that night Farthingale ordered a gig to be ready at +daylight. + +It might have been thought that with this unexpected gain, Basset +would be in clover. But he, too, had his troubles and vexations. John +Audley's death and Mary's loneliness had made drafts on his time as +well as on his heart. For a week he had almost withdrawn from the +contest, and when he returned to it it was to find that the extreme +men--as is the way of extreme men--had been active. In his address and +in his speeches he had declared himself a follower of Peel. He had +posed as ready to take off the corn-tax to meet an emergency, but not +as convinced that free trade was always and everywhere right. He had +striven to keep the question of Irish famine to the front, and had +constantly stated that that which moved his mind was the impossibility +of taxing food in one part of the country while starvation reigned in +another. Above all, he had tried to convey to his hearers his notion +of Peel. He had pictured the statesman's dilemma as facts began to +coerce him. He had showed that in the same position many would have +preferred party to country and consistency to patriotism. He had +painted the struggle which had taken place in the proud man's mind. He +had praised the decision to which Peel had come, to sacrifice his +name, his credit, and his popularity to his country's good. + +But when Basset returned to his Committee Room, he found that the men +to whom Free Trade was the whole truth, and to whom nothing else was +the truth, had stolen a march on him. They had said much which he +would not have said. They had set up Cobden where he had set up Peel. +To crown all, they had arranged an open-air meeting, and invited a man +from Lancashire--whose name was a red rag to the Tories--to speak at +it. + +Basset was angry, but he could do nothing. He had an equal distaste +for the man and the meeting, but his supporters, elated by their +prospects, were neither to coax nor hold. For a few hours he thought +of retiring. But to do so at the eleventh hour would not only expose +him to obloquy and injure the cause, but it would condemn him to an +inaction from which he shrank. + +For all that he had seen of Mary, and all that he had done for her, +had left him only the more restless and more unhappy. To one in such a +mood success, which began to seem possible, promised something--a new +sphere, new interests, new friends. In the hurly-burly of the House +and amid the press of business, the wound that pained him would heal +more quickly than in the retirement of Blore; where the evenings would +be long and lonely, and many a time Mary's image would sit beside his +fire and regret would gnaw at his heart. + +The open-air meeting was to be held at the Maypole, in the wide street +bordered by quaint cottages, that served the town for a cattle-market. +The day turned out to be mild for the season, the meeting was a +novelty, and a few minutes before three the Committee began to +assemble in strength at the Institute, which stood no more than a +hundred yards from the Maypole, but in another street. Hatton was +entertaining Brierly, the speaker from Lancashire, and in making him +known to the candidate, betrayed a little too plainly that he thought +that he had scored a point. + +"You'll see something new now, sir," he said, rubbing his hands. +"What's wanting, he'll win! He's addressed as many as four thousand +persons at one time, Mr. Brierly has!" + +"Ay, and not such as are here, Squire," Brierly boomed. He was a tall, +bulky man with an immense chin, who moved his whole body when he +turned his head. "Not country clods, but Lancashire men! No throwing +dust i' their eyes!" + +"Still, I hope you'll deal with us gently," Basset said. "Strong meat, +Mr. Brierly, is not for babes. We must walk before we can run." + +"Nay, but the emptier the stomach, the more need o' meat!" Brierly +replied, and he rumbled with laughter. "An' a bellyful I'll give them! +Truth's truth and I'm no liar!" + +"But to different minds the same words do not convey the same thing," +Basset urged. + +The man stared over his stiff neck-cloth. "That'ud not go down i' +Todmorden," he said. "Nor i' Burnley nor i' Bolton! We're down-right +chaps up North, and none for chopping words. Hands off the hands' +loaf, is Lancashire gospel, and we're out to preach it! We're out to +preach it, and them that clems folk and fats pheasants may make what +mouth o'er it they like!" + +Fortunately the order to start came at this moment, and Basset had to +fall in and move forward with Hatton, the chairman of the day. +Banfield followed with the stranger, and the rest of the Committee +came on two by two, the smaller men enjoying the company in which +they found themselves. So they marched solemnly into the street, a +score of Hatton's men forming a guard of honor, and a long tail of the +riff-raff of the town falling in behind with orange flags and favors. +These at a certain signal set up a shrill cheer, a band struck up +"See, the Conquering Hero Comes!" and the sixteen gentlemen marched, +some proudly and some shamefacedly, into the wider street, wherein a +cart drawn up at the foot of the Maypole awaited them. + +On such occasions Englishmen out of uniform do not show well. The +daylight streamed without pity on the Committee as they stalked or +shambled along in their Sunday clothes, and Basset at least felt the +absurdity of the position. With the tail of his eye he discerned that +the stranger was taking off a large white hat, alternately to the +right and left, in acknowledgment of the cheers of the crowd, while +ominous sniggers of laughter mingled here and there with the applause. +Banfield's men, with another hundred or so of the town idlers, were +gathered about the cart, but of the honest and intelligent voters +there were scanty signs. + +The crowd greeted the appearance of each of the principals with cheers +and a shaft or two of Stafford wit. + +"Hooray! Hooray!" shouted Hatton's men as he climbed into the cart. + +"Hatton's a great man now!" a bass voice threw in. + +"But he's never lost his taste for tripe!" squeaked a shrill treble. +The gibe won roars of laughter, and the back of the chairman's neck +grew crimson. + +"Hurrah for Banfield and the poor man's loaf!" shouted his supporters, +as he mounted in his turn. + +"It's little of the crumb he'll leave the poor man!" squeaked the +treble. + +It was the candidate's turn to mount next. "Hooray! Hooray!" shouted +the crowd with special fervor. Handkerchiefs were waved from windows, +the band played a little more of the Conquering Hero. + +As the music ceased, "What's he doing, Tommy, along o' these chaps?" +asked the treble voice. + +"He's waiting for that there Samaritan, Sammy?" answered the bass. + +"Ay, ay? And the wine and oil, Sammy?" + +It took the crowd a little time to digest this, but in time they did +so, and the gust of laughter that followed covered the appearance of +the stranger. He was not to escape, however, for as the noise ceased, +"Is this the Samaritan, Sammy?" asked the bass. + +"Where's your eyes?" whined the treble. "He's the big loaf! and, lor, +ain't he crumby!" + +"If I were down there----" the Burnley man began, leaning over the +side of the cart. + +"He's crusty, too!" cried the wit. + +But this was too much for the chairman. "Silence! Silence!" he cried, +and, as at a signal, there was a rush, the two interrupters were +seized and, surrounded by a gang of hobbledehoys, were hustled down +the road, fighting furiously and shouting, "Blues! Blues!" + +The chairman made use of the lull to step to the edge of the cart and +take off his hat. He looked about him, pompous and important. + +"Gentlemen," he began, "free and independent electors of our ancient +borough! At a crisis such as this, a crisis the most momentous--the +most momentous----" he paused and looked into his hat, "that history +has known, when the very staff of life is, one may say, the apple of +discord, it is an honor to me to take the chair!" + +"The cart you mean!" cried a voice, "you're in the cart!" + +The speaker cast a withering glance in the direction whence the voice +came, lost his place and, failing to find it, went on in a different +strain. "I'm a business man," he said, "you all know that! I'm a +business man, and I'm not ashamed of it. I stick to my business and my +business to-day----" + +"Better go on with it!" + +But he was getting set, and he was not to be abashed. "My business +to-day," he repeated, "is to ask your attention for the distinguished +candidate who seeks your suffrages, and for the--the distinguished +gentleman on my left who will presently follow me." + +A hollow groan checked him at this point, but he recovered himself. +"First, however," he continued, "I propose, with your permission, to +say a word on the--the great question of the day--if I may call it so. +It is to the food of the people I refer!" + +He paused for cheers, under cover of which Banfield murmured to his +neighbor that Hatton was set now for half an hour. He had yet to learn +that open-air meetings have their advantages. + +"The food of the people!" Hatton repeated, uplifted by the applause. +"It is to me a sacred thing! My friends, it is to me the Ark of the +Covenant. The bread is the life. It should go straight, untaxed, +untouched from the field of the farmer to the house of--of the widow +and the orphan!" + +"Hear! Hear! Hear! Hear!" Then, "What about the miller?" + +"It should go from where it is grown," Hatton repeated, "to where it +is needed; from where it is grown to the homes of the poor! And to the +man," slipping easily and fatally into his Sunday vein, "that lays his +'and upon it, let him be whom he may, I say with the Book, 'Thou shalt +not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn!' The Law, ay, and the +Prophets----" + +"Ay, Hatton's profits! Hands off them!" roared the bass voice. + +"Low bread and high profits!" shrieked the treble. "Hatton and thirty +per cent!" + +A gust of laughter swept all away for a time, and when the speaker +could again get a hearing he had lost his thread and his temper. +"That's a low insinuation!" he cried, crimson in the face. "A low +insinuation! I scorn to answer it!" + +"Regular old Puseyite you be," shouted a new tormentor. "Quoting +Scripture." + +Hatton shook his fist at the crowd. "A low, dirty insinuation!" he +cried. "I scorn----" + +"You don't scorn the profits!" + +"Listen! Silence!" Then, "I shall not say another word! You're not +worth it! You're below it! I call on Mr. Brierly of Manchester to +propose a resolution." + +And casting vengeful glances here and there where he fancied he +detected an opponent, he stood back. He began for the first time to +think the meeting a mistake. Basset, who had held that opinion from +the first, scanned the crowd and had his misgivings. + +The man from Manchester, however, had none. He stood forward, a smile +on his broad face, his chest thrown forward, a something easy in his +air, as became one who had confronted thousands and was not to be put +out of countenance by a few hisses. He waited good-humoredly for +silence. Nor could he see that, behind the cart, there had been +gathering for some time a band of men of a different air from those +who faced the platform. These men were still coming up by twos and +threes, issuing from side-streets; men clad in homespun and with ruddy +faces, men in smocked frocks, men in velveteens; a few with belcher +neckerchiefs and slouched felts, whom their mothers would not have +known. When Brierly raised his hand and opened his mouth there were +over two score of these men--and they were still coming up. + +But Brierly was unaware of them, and, complacent and confident of the +effect he would produce, he opened his mouth. + +"Gentlemen," he began. His voice, strong and musical, reached the edge +of the meeting. "Gentlemen, free electors! And I tell you straight no +man is free, no man had ought to be free----" + +Boom! and again, Boom! Boom! Not four paces behind him a drum rolled +heavily, drowning his voice. He stopped, his mouth open; for an +instant surprise held the crowd also. Then laughter swept the meeting +and supplied a treble to the drum's persistent bass. + +And still the drum went on, Boom! Boom! amid cheers, yells, laughter. +Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. More slowly, the +hurrahs, yells, laughter, died down, the laughter the last to fail, +for not only had the big man's face of surprise tickled the crowd, but +the drum had so nicely taken the pitch of his voice that the +interruption seemed even to his friends a joke. + +He seized the opportunity, but defiance not complacency was now his +note. "Gentlemen," he said, "it's funny, but you don't drum me down, +let me tell you! You don't drum me down! What I said I'm going to say +again, and shame the devil and the landlords! Free men----" + +But he did not say it. Boom, boom, rolled the drum, drowning his voice +beyond hope. And this time, with the fourth stroke, a couple of fifes +struck into a sprightly measure, and the next moment three score +lively voices were roaring: + + + You've here the little Peeler, + Out of place he will not go! + But to keep it, don't he turn about + And jump Jim Crow! + + But to keep it see him turn about + And jump Jim Crow! + Turn about, and wheel about + And do just so! + + _Chorus_ + + The only dance Sir Robert knows + Is Jump Jim Crow! + The only dance Sir Robert knows + Is Jump Jim Crow! + + +For a verse or two the singers had it their own way. Then the band of +the meeting struck in with "See, the Conquering Hero Comes!" and as +the airs clashed in discord, the stalwarts of the two parties clashed +also in furious struggle. In a twinkling and as by magic the scene +changed. Women, children, lads, fled every way, screaming and falling. +Shrieks of alarm routed laughter. The crowd swayed stormily, flowed +this way, ebbed that way. The clatter of staves on clubs rang above +oaths and shouts of defiance, as the Yellows made a rush for the drum. +Men were down, men were trampled on, men strove to scale the cart, +others strove to descend from it. But to descend from it was to +descend into a melee of random fists and falling sticks, and the man +from Manchester bellowed to stand fast; while Hatton shouted to "clear +out these rogues," and Banfield called on his men to charge. Basset +alone stood silent, measuring the conflict with his eyes. With an odd +exultation he felt his spirits rise to meet the need. + +He saw quickly that the orange favors were outnumbered, and were +giving way; and almost as quickly that, so far as mischief was meant, +it was aimed at the Manchester man. He was a stranger, he was the +delegate of the League, he was a marked man. Already there were cries +to duck him. Basset tapped Banfield on the shoulder. + +"They'll not touch us," he shouted in the man's ear, "but we must get +Brierly away. There's Pritchard's house opposite. We must fight our +way to it. Pass the word!" Then to Brierly, "Mr. Brierly, we must get +you away. There's a gang here means mischief." + +"Let them come on!" cried the Manchester man, "I'm not afraid." + +"No, but I am," Basset replied. "We're responsible, and we'll not have +you hurt here. Down all!" he cried raising his voice, as he saw the +band whom he had already marked, pressing up to the cart through the +melee--they moved with the precision of a disciplined force, and most +of their faces were muffled. "Down all!" he shouted. "Yellows to the +rescue! Down before they upset us!" + +The leaders scrambled out of the cart, some panic-stricken, some +enjoying the scuffle. They were only just in time. The Yellows were in +flight, amid yells and laughter, and before the last of the platform +was over the side, the cart was tipped up by a dozen sturdy arms. +Hatton and another were thrown down, but a knot of their men, the last +with fight in them, rallied to the call, plucked the two to their +feet, and, striking out manfully, covered the rear of the retreating +force. + +The men with the belcher neckerchiefs pressed on silently, brandishing +their clubs, and twice with cries of "Down him! Down him!" made a rush +for Brierly, striking at him over the shoulders of his companions. But +it was plain that the assailants shrank from coming to blows with the +local magnates; and Basset seeing this handed Brierly over to an older +man, and himself fell back to cover the retreat. + + +"Fair play, men," he cried, good humoredly. And he laughed in their +faces as he fell back before them. "Fair play! You're too many for us +to-day, but wait till the polling-day!" + +They hooted him. "Yah! Yah!" they cried. "You'd ruin the land that +bred you! You didn't ought to be there!" "Give us that fustian rascal! +We'll club him!" + +"Who makes cloth o' devil's dust?" yelled another. "Yah! You d--d +cotton-spawn!" + +Basset laughed in their faces, but he was not sorry when the friendly +doorway received his party. The country gang, satisfied with their +victory, began to fall back after breaking a dozen panes of glass; and +the panting and discomfited Yellows, thronging the passage and pulling +their coats into shape, were free to exchange condolences or +recriminations as they pleased. More than one had been against the +open-air meeting, and Hatton, a sorry figure, hatless, and with a +sprained knee, was not likely to hear the end of it. Two or three had +black eyes, one had lost two teeth, another his hat, and Brierly his +note-book. + +But almost before a word had been exchanged, a man pushed his way +among them. He had slipped into the house by the back way. "For God's +sake, gentlemen," he cried, "get the constable, or there'll be +murder!" + +"What is it?" asked a dozen voices. + +"They've got Ben Bosham, half a hundred of them! They're away to the +canal with him. They're that mad with him they'll drown him!" + +So far Basset had treated the affair as a joke. But Bosham's plight in +the hands of a mob of angry farmers seemed more than a joke. Murder +might really be done. He snatched a thick stick from a corner--he had +been hitherto unarmed--and raised his voice. "Mr. Banfield," he said, +"go to Stubbs and tell him what is doing! He can control them if any +one can. And do some of you, gentlemen, come with me! We must get him +from them." + +"But we're not enough," a man protested. + +"The man must not be murdered," Basset replied. "Come, gentlemen, +they'll not dare to touch us who know them, and we've the law with us! +Come on!" + +"Well done, Squire!" cried Brierly. "You're a man!" + + +"Ay, but I'm not man enough to take you!" Basset retorted. "You stay +here, please!" + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIV + + BY THE CANAL + + +It was noon on that day, the day of the meeting at Riddsley, and Mary +was sitting in the parlor at the Gatehouse. She was stooping over the +fire with her eyes on the embers. The old hound lay beside her with +his muzzle resting on her shoe, and Mrs. Toft, solidly poised on her +feet, on the farther side of the table, rolled her apron about her +arms and considered the pair. + +"It's given us all a rare shock," she said as she marked the girl's +listless pose, "the poor Master's death! That sudden and queer, too! I +don't know that I'm better for it, myself, and Toft goes up and down +like a toad under a harrow, he's that restless! For 'Truria, she's +fairly mazed. Her body's here and her thoughts are lord knows +where. Toft, he seems to think something will come of her and her +reverend----" + +"I hope so," Mary said gently. + +"But it's beyond me what Toft thinks these days. I asked him +point--blank yesterday, 'Toft,' I says, 'are we going or are we +staying?' And, bless the man, he looks at me as if he'd eat me. 'Take +time and you'll know,' he says. 'But whose is the house?' I asks, 'and +who's to pay us?' 'God knows!' he says, and whiffs out of the room +like one of these lucifers!" + +"I think that the house is Mr. Basset's," Mary explained, "for the +rest of the lease; that's about three years." + +"But you'll not be staying, begging your pardon, Miss? I suppose +you'll be naming the day soon? The Master's gone and his lordship will +be wanting you somewhere else than here." + +"Yes, Mrs. Toft," Mary said quietly. "I suppose so." + +Mrs. Toft looked for a blush and saw none, and she drew her +conclusions. She went on another tack. "There's like to be a fine +rumpus in the town to-day," she said comfortably. "The Squire's +brought a foreigner down to trim their nails, and there's to be a +wagon and speaking and such like foolishness at the Maypole. As if all +the speeches of all the fools in Staffordshire would lower the +quartern loaf! Anyway, if what Petch says is true, the farmers are +that mad there's like to be lives lost!" + +Mary stooped and carefully put a piece of wood on the fire. + +"And, to be sure, they're a rough lot," Mrs. Toft continued, dropping +her apron. "I'm not forgetting what happened to the reverend Colet, +and I wish the young master safe out of it. It's all give and no take +with him, too much for others and too little for himself! I'm thinking +if anybody's hurt he'll be there or thereabouts." + +Mary turned. "Is Petch--couldn't Petch go down and----" + +"La, Miss," Mrs. Toft answered--the girl's face told her all that she +wished to know--"Petch don't dare, with his lordship on the other +side! But, all said and done, I'll be bound the young master'll come +through. It's a pity, though," she continued thoughtfully, as she +began to dust the sideboard, "as people don't know their own minds. +There's the Squire, now. He's lived quiet and pleasant all these years +and now he must dip his nose into this foolishness, same as if he +dipped it into hot worts when Toft's a-brewing! I don't know what's +come to him. He goes riding up to Blore these winter nights, twenty +miles if it's a furlong, when this house is his! He's more like to +take his death that way, if I'm a judge." + +"Is he doing that?" Mary asked in a small voice. + +"To be sure," Mrs. Toft returned. "What else! Which reminds me, Miss, +are those papers to go to the bank to-day?" + +"I believe so." + +"Well, you're looking that peaky, you'd best take a jaunt with them. +Why not? It's a fine day, and if there is a bit of a clash there's +none will hurt you. Do you go, Miss, and get a little color in your +cheeks. At worst, you'll bring back the news and I'm sure we're that +dead-alive and moped a little's a godsend!" + +"I think I will go," Mary said. + +So when the gig, which was to convey the boxes to the bank, arrived +about three, she mounted beside the driver. Here, were it only for an +hour, was distraction and a postponement of that need to decide, to +choose between two courses, which was crushing her under its weight. + +For Mary was very unhappy. That moment which had proved to her that +she did not love the man she was to marry and did love another, had +stamped itself on her memory, never to be wiped from it. In Audley's +company, and for a time after they had parted, the shock had numbed +her mind and dulled her feelings. But once alone and free to think, +she had grasped all that the discovery meant--to her and to him; and +from that moment she had not known an instant of ease. + +She saw that she had made a terrible mistake, and one so vital that, +if nothing could be done, it must wreck her happiness and another's +happiness. And what was she to do? What ought she to do? In a moment +of emotion, led astray by that love of love which is natural to women, +and something swayed--so she told herself in scorn--by + + + Those glories of our blood and state, + + +which to women are not shadows, she had made this mistake, and now, +self-tricked, she had only herself to blame if + + + Sceptre and crown + Were tumbled down + And in the dust were lesser made + Than the poor crooked scythe and spade! + + +But to see her folly did not avail. What was she to do? + +Ought she to tell the truth, however painful it might be, to the man +whom she had deceived? Or ought she to go through with it, to do her +duty and save him at least from hurt? Either way, she had wrecked her +own craft, but she might still hope to save his. Or--might she hope? +She was not certain even of this. + +What was she to do? Hour after hour she asked herself the question, +sometimes looking through the windows with eyes that saw nothing, at +others pacing her room in a fever of anxiety. What was she to do? She +could not decide. Now she thought one thing, now another. And time was +passing. No wonder that she was glad even of the distraction of this +journey to Riddsley that at another time had been so dull an +adventure! It was, at least, a reprieve, a respite from the burden of +decision. + +She would not own, even to herself, that she had any other thought in +going, or that anxiety had any part in her restlessness. From that +side of the battle she turned her eyes with all the strength of her +will. Her conduct had been that of a silly girl rather than that of a +woman who had seen and suffered; but she was not light--and besides +Basset was cured. She was only unfortunate, and desperately unhappy. + +As they drove by the old Cross at the foot of the hill she averted her +eyes. Surely it must have been in some other life that she had made it +the object of a walk, and had told herself that she would never forget +it. + +Alas, she had been right. She would never forget it! + +The man who drove saw that her face matched her mourning, and he left +her to her thoughts, so that hardly a word passed between them until +they were close upon the outskirts of the town. Then the driver, to +whom the dull winter landscape, the lines of willows, and the low +water-logged fields, were no novelty, pricked up his ears. + +"Dang me!" he said, "they've started! There's a fine rumpus in the +town. Do you hear 'em, Miss? That's a band I'm thinking?" + +"I hope no one will be hurt." + +The man winked at his horse. "None of the right side, Miss," he said +slyly. "But it might be a hanging, front o' Stafford gaol, by the +roar! I met a tidy lot going in as I came out, a right tidy lot! I'm +blest," after listening a moment, "if they're not coming this way!" + +"I hope they won't do anything to----" + +"La, Miss," the man answered, misreading her anxiety and interrupting +her, "they'll never touch us. And for the old nag, he's yeomanry. He'd +not start if he met a mile o' funerals!" + +Certainly the noise was growing. But the lift of the canal bridge and +bank, which crossed the road a hundred yards before them, hid all of +the town from them save a couple of church towers, some tiled roofs, +and the brick gable of Hatton's Works. The man whipped up his horse. + +"Teach they Manchester chaps a trick!" he muttered. "Shouldn't wonder +if there'll be work for the crowner out of this! Gee-up, old nag, +let's see what's afoot! 'Pears to me," as the shouting grew plainer, +"we'll be in at the death yet, Miss!" + +Mary winced at the word, but if the man feared that she would refuse +to go on, he was mistaken. On the contrary, she looked eagerly to +the front as the old horse, urged by the whip, took the rise of the +bridge at a canter, and, having reached the crown, relapsed into an +absent-minded walk. + +"Dang me!" cried the driver, greatly excited, "but they do mean +business! It's in knee in neck with 'em! Never thought it would come +to this. And who is't they've got, Miss?" + +Certainly there was something out of the common on foot. Moving to +meet the gig, and filling the road from ditch to ditch, appeared a +disorderly crowd of two or three hundred persons. Cheering, hooting, +and brandishing sticks, they came on at something between a walk and a +run, although in the heart of the mass there was a something that now +and again checked the movement, and once brought it to a stand. When +this happened the crowd eddied and flowed about the object in its +centre and presently swept on again with the same hooting and +laughter. + +But in the laughter, as in the hooting, there was, after each of these +pauses, a more savage note. + +"What is it?" Mary cried, as the driver, scared by the sight, pulled +up his horse. "What is it?" + +"D--n me," the man replied, forgetting his manners, "if I don't think +it's Ben Bosham they've got! It is Ben! And they're for ducking him! +It's mortal deep by the bridge there, and s'help me, if it's not ten +to one they drown him!" + +"Ben Bosham?" Mary repeated. Then she recalled the name. She +remembered what Mrs. Toft had said of him--that the man had a wife +and would bring her to ruin. The crowd was not fifty yards from them +now and was still coming on. To the left a track ran down to the +towing-path and the canal, and already the leaders of the mob were +swerving in that direction. As they did so--and were once more checked +for a moment--Mary espied among them a man's bald head twisting this +way and that, as he strove to escape. The man was struggling +desperately, his clothes almost torn from his back, but he was +helpless in the hands of a knot of stout fellows, and after a brief +resistance he was hauled forcibly on. A hundred jeering voices rose +about him, and a something cruel in the sound chilled Mary's blood. +The dreary scene, the sluggish canal, the flat meadows, the rising +mist, all pressed on her mind and deepened the note of tragedy. + +But on that she broke the spell. The blood in her spoke. She clutched +the driver's arm and shook it. "Go on!" she cried. "Go on! Drive into +them!" + +The man hesitated--he saw that the crowd was in no jesting mood. But +the old horse felt the twitch on the reins and started, and having the +slope with him, trotted gently forward as if the road were empty +before him. The crowd waved and shouted, and cursed the driver. But +the horse, thinking perhaps that this was some new form of parade, +only cocked his ears and ambled on till he reached the foremost. Then +a man seized the rein, jerked it, and stopped him. + +In a moment Mary sprang down, heedless of the fact that she was one +woman among a hundred men. She faced the crowd, her eyes bright with +indignation. "Let that man go," she cried. "Do you hear? Do you want +to murder him?" And, advancing a step, she laid her hand on Ben +Bosham's ragged, filthy sleeve--he had been down more than once and +been rolled in the mud. "Let him go!" she continued imperiously. "Do +you know who I am, you cowards? Let him go!" + +"Yah!" shouted the crowd, and drowned her voice and pressed roughly +about her, threatened her. One of the foremost asked her what she +would do, another cried that she had best make herself scarce! Furious +faces surrounded her, fists were shaken at her. But Mary was not +daunted. "If you don't let him go, I shall go to Lord Audley!" she +said. + +"You're a fool meddling in this!" cried a voice. "We're only going to +wash the devil!" + +"You will let him go!" she replied, facing them all without fear and, +advancing a step, she actually plucked the man from the hands that +held him. "I am Miss Audley! If you do not let him go----" + +"We're only going to wash him, lady," whined one of the men who held +him. + +"That's all, lady!" chimed in half-a-dozen. "He wants it!" + +But Ben was not of that opinion, or he did not value cleanliness. +"They're going to drown me!" he spluttered, his eyes wild. All the +fight had been knocked out of him. "They're paid to do it! They'll +drown me!" + +"And sarve him right!" shouted half-a-dozen at the rear of the crowd. +"Sarve him right, the devil!" + +"They will not do it!" Mary said firmly. "They'll not lay another hand +on you. Get in! Get in here!" And then to the crowd, "For shame!" she +cried. "Stand back!" + +The man was so shaken that he could not help himself, but she pushed, +the driver pulled, and in a trice, before the mob had recovered from +its astonishment, Ben was above their heads, on the seat of the gig--a +blubbering, ragged, mud-caked figure with a white face and bleeding +lips. "Go on!" Mary said in the same tone, and the gig moved forward, +the old yeomanry horse tossing its head. She moved on beside it with +her hand on the rail. + +The mob let them pass, but closed in behind them, and after a pause +began to jeer--a little in amusement, a little to cover its defeat. In +a moment farce took the place of tragedy; the danger was over. "We'll +tell your wife, Ben!" screamed a youth, and the crowd laughed and +followed. Other wits took their turn. "You'll want a new coat for the +wedding, Ben!" cried one. And now and again amid the laughter a +sterner note survived. "We'll ha' you yet, Ben!" a man would cry. +"You're not out of the wood yet, Ben!" + +Mary's face burned, but she stuck to her post, plodding on beside the +gig, and after this fashion the queer procession, heralded by a score +of urchins crying the news, entered the streets of the town. On either +side women thronged the doorways and steps, and while some cried, +"Bravo, Miss!" others laughed and called to their neighbors to come +out and see the sight. And still the crowd clung to the rear of the +gig, and hooted and laughed and pretended to make forays on it. + +Mary had hoped to shake them off, but as they persisted in following +and no relief came--for Basset and his rescue party had gone to the +canal by another road--she saw nothing for it but to go on to Lord +Audley's. With a curt word she made the man turn that way. + +The crowd still attended, curious, amused. It had doubled its numbers, +nay, had trebled them. There were friends as well as foes among them +now, some of Hatton's men, some of Banfield's, yellow favors as well +as blue. If Mary had known it, she might have set Ben down and not a +hand would have been laid upon him. Even the leaders of the riot were +now thankful that they had not carried the matter farther. Enough had +been done. + +But Mary did not know this. She thought that the man was still in +peril. She did not dream of leaving him. And it was at the head of a +crowd of three or four hundred of the riff-raff of Riddsley that she +broke in upon the quiet of the suburban road in which The Butterflies +stood. Tumultuously, followed by laughter and hooting and cheers, she +swept along it with her train, and came to a halt before the house. + +No house was ever more surprised. Mrs. Wilkinson's scared face peered +above one blind, her sisters' caps showed above another. Was it an +accident? Was it a riot? Was it a Puseyite protest? What was it? Every +servant, every neighbor, Lord Audley himself came to the windows. + +Mary signed to the driver to help Ben down, and the moment the man's +foot touched the ground she grasped his arm. With a burning face, but +with her head in the air, she guided his stumbling footsteps through +the gate and along the paved walk. They came together to the door. +They went in. + +The crowd formed up five deep along the railings, and waited in +wondering silence to see what would happen. What would his lordship +say? What would his lordship do? This was bringing the election to his +doors with a vengeance, and there were not a few of the better sort +who saw the fun of the situation. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXV + + MY LORD SPEAKS OUT + + +Mary had passed through twenty minutes of tense excitement. The risk +had been slight, after the first moment of intervention, but she had +not known this, and she was still trembling with indignation, a +creature all fire and passion, when the door of The Butterflies opened +to admit her. Leaving Ben Bosham on the threshold she lost not a +moment, but with her story on her lips, hurried up the stairs, and on +the landing came plump upon Lord Audley. + +From the window he had seen something of what was afoot below. He had +recognized Mary and the tattered Bosham, and he had read the riddle, +grasped the facts, and cursed the busybody, all within thirty seconds. +"D--n it! this passes everything," he had muttered to himself as he +turned from the window in disgust. "This is altogether too much!" And +he had opened the door--ready also to open his mind to her! + +"What in the world is it?" he asked. He held the door for her to +enter. "What has happened? I could not believe my eyes when I saw you +in company with that wretched creature!" he continued. "And all the +tagrag and bobtail in the place behind you? What is it, Mary?" + +She felt the check, and the color, which excitement had brought to her +cheeks, faded. But she thought that it was only that he did not +understand, and, "That wretched creature, as you call him," she cried, +"has just escaped from death. They were going to murder him!" + +"Murder him?" Audley repeated. He raised his eyebrows. "Murder him?" +coldly. "My dear girl, don't be silly! Don't let yourself be carried +away. You've lost your head. And, pardon me for saying it, I am afraid +have made a fool of yourself! And of me!" + +"But they were going to throw him into the canal!" she protested. + +"Going to wash him!" he replied cynically. "And a good thing too! It's +a pity they left the job undone. The man is a low, pestilent fellow!" +he continued severely, "and obnoxious to me and to all decent people. +The idea of bringing him, and that pleasant tail, to my house--my dear +girl, it's absurd!" + +He made no attempt to soften his tone or suppress his annoyance, and +she stared at him in astonishment. Yet she still thought, or she +strove to think, that he did not understand, and tried to make the +facts clear. "But you don't know what they were like," she protested. +"You were not there. They had torn the clothes from his back----" + +"I can see that." + +"And he was so terrified that it was dreadful to see him! They were +handling him brutally, horribly! And then I came up and----" + +"And lost your head!" he said. "I dare say you thought all this. But +do you know anything about elections?" + +"No----" + +"Have you ever see an election in progress before?" + +"No." + +"Just so," he replied dryly. "Well, if you had, you would know that +brawls of this kind are common things, the commonest of things at such +a time, and that sensible people turn their backs on them. You've +chosen to turn the farce into a tragedy, and in doing so you've made +yourself ridiculous--and me too!" + +"If you had seen them," she said, "I do not think you would speak as +you are speaking." + +"My dear girl," he replied, and shrugged his shoulders, "I have seen +many such things, many. But there is one thing I have never seen, and +that is a man killed in an election squabble! The whole thing is +childish--silly! The least knowledge of the world--" + +"Would have saved me from it?" + +"Exactly! Would have saved you from it!" he answered austerely. "And +me from a very annoying incident! Peers have nothing to do with +elections, as you ought to know; and to bring this mob of all sorts to +my door as if the matter touched me, is to compromise me. It is past a +joke!" + +Mary stared. She was trying to place herself. Certainly this was the +room in which she had taken tea, and this was the man who had welcomed +her, who had hung over her, whose eyes had paid her homage, who had +foreseen her least want, who had lapped her in observance. This was +the man and this the room, and there was the chair in which good Mrs. +Wilkinson had sat and beamed on her. + +But there was a change somewhere; and the change was in the man. Could +it mean that he, too, had made a mistake and now recognized it? That +he, too, had found that he did not love? But in that case this was not +the way to confess an error. His tone, his manner, which held no +respect for the woman and no softness for the sweetheart, were far +from the tone of one in the wrong. On the contrary, they presented a +side of him which had been hitherto hidden from her; a phase of the +strength that she had admired, which shocked her even while, as deep +calls to deep, it roused her pride. She remembered that she was his +betrothed, and that he had wooed her, he had chosen her. And on slight +provocation he spoke to her in this strain! + +She sought the clue, she fancied that she held it, and from this +moment she was on her guard. She was quiet, but there was a +smouldering fire in her eyes. "Perhaps I was wrong," she said. "I have +had little experience of these things. But are not you, on your side, +making too much of this? Too much of a very small, a very natural +mistake? Isn't it a trifle after all?" + +"Not so much of a trifle as you think!" he retorted. "A man in my +position has to follow a certain line of conduct. A girl in yours +should be careful to guide herself by my views. Instead, out of a +foolish sentimentality, you run directly counter to them! It is too +late to consider your relation to me when the harm is done, my dear." + +"Perhaps we have neither of us considered the relation quite enough?" +she said. + +"I am not sure that we have." And again, "I am not sure, Mary, that we +have," he repeated more soberly. + +She knew what he meant now--knew what was in his mind almost as +clearly as if, instead of grasping his conclusion, she had been a +party to his reasons. And she closed her lips, a spot of color in each +cheek. In other circumstances she would have taken on herself a full, +nay, the main share, of the blame. She would have been quick to admit +that she, too, had made a mistake, and that no harm was done. + +But his manner opened her eyes to many things that had been a puzzle +to her. Thought is swift, and in a flash her mind had travelled over +the whole course of their engagement, had recalled his long absence, +the chill of his letters, the infrequency of his visits; and she saw +by that light that this was no sudden shift, but an occasion sought +and seized. Therefore she would not help him. She at least had been +honest, she at least had been in earnest. She had tricked, not him +only, but herself! + +She closed her lips and waited, therefore. And he, knowing that he had +now burned his boats, had to go on. "I am not sure that we did think +enough about it?" he said doggedly. "I have suspected for some time +that I acted hastily in--in asking you to be my wife, Mary." + +"Indeed?" she said. + +"Yes. And what has happened to-day, proving that we look at things +so differently, has confirmed my suspicion. It has convinced me--" +he looked down at his table, avoiding her eyes, but continued +firmly--"that we are not suited to one another. The wife of a man, +placed as I am, should have an idea of values, a certain reserve, that +comes of a knowledge of the world; above all, no sentimental notions +such as lead to mistakes like this." He indicated the street by a +gesture. "If I was mistaken a while ago in listening to my feelings +rather than to my prudence, if I gave you credit for knowledge which +you had had no means of gaining, I wronged you, Mary, and I am sorry +for it. But I should be doing you a far greater wrong if I remained +silent now." + +"Do you mean," she asked in a low voice, "that you wish it to be at an +end between us? That you wish to--to throw me over?" + +He smiled awry. "That is an unpleasant way of putting it, isn't it?" +he said. "However, I am in the wrong, and I have no right to quarrel +with a word. I do think that to break off our engagement at once is +the best and wisest thing for both of us." + +"How long have you felt this?" she asked. + +"For some time," he replied, measuring his words, "I have been coming +slowly--to that conclusion." + +"That I am not fitted to be your wife?" + +"If you like to put it so." + +Then her anger, hitherto kept under, flamed up. "Then what right," she +cried, "if that was in your mind, had you to treat me as you treated +me at Beaudelays--in the garden? What right had you to kiss me? +Rather, what right had you to insult me? For it was an insult--it was +an insult, if you were not going to marry me! Don't you know, sir, +that it was vile? That it was unforgivable?" + +She had never looked more handsome, never more attractive than at this +moment. The day was failing, but the glow of the fire fell on her +face, and on her eyes sparkling with anger. He took in the picture, he +owned her charm, he even came near to repenting. But it was too late, +and "It may have been vile--and you may not forgive it," he answered +hardily, "but I'd do it again, my dear, on the same provocation!" + +"You would----" + +"I would do it again," he repeated coolly. "Don't you know that you +are handsome enough to turn any man's head? And what is a kiss after +all? We are cousins. If you were not such a prude, I would kiss you +now?" + +She was furiously angry--or she fancied that she was. But it may be +that, deep down in her woman's mind, she was not truly angry. And, +indeed, how could she be angry when in her heart a little bird was +beginning to sing--was telling her that she was free, that presently +this cloud would be behind her, and that the sky would be blue? +Already the message was making itself heard, already she was finding +it hard to keep up appearances, to frown upon him and play her part. + +Yet she flashed out at him. Was he not going too fast, was he not +riding off too lightly? "Oh!" she cried, "You dare to say that! Even +while you break off with me!" + +But his selfish, masterful nature had now the upper hand. He had eaten +his leek and he was anxious to be done with it. "And what then?" he +said. "I believe that you know that I am right. I believe that you +know that we are not suited to one another." + +"And you think I will let you go at a word?" + +"I think you will let me go," he said, "because you are not a fool, +Mary. You know as well as I do that you might be 'my lady' at too high +a price. I'm not the most manageable of men. I'd make a decent +husband, all being well. But I'm not meek and I'd make a very unhandy +husband _malgre moi_." + +The threat exasperated her. "I know this at least," she retorted, +"that I would not marry you now, if you were twenty times my lord! You +have behaved meanly, and I believe falsely! Not to-day! You are +speaking the truth to-day. But I believe that from the start you had +this in your mind, that you foresaw this, and were careful not to +commit yourself too publicly! What I don't understand is why you ever +asked me to be your wife--at all?" + +"Look in the glass!" he answered impudently. + +She put that aside. "But I suppose that you had a reason!" she +returned. "That you loved me, that you felt for me anything worthy of +the name of love is impossible! For the rest, let me tell you this! If +I ever felt thankful for anything I am thankful for the chance that +brought me to your house to-day--and brought me to the truth!" + +"Anything more to say?" he asked flippantly. The way she was taking it +suited him better than if she had wept and appealed. And then she was +so confoundedly good-looking in her tantrums! + +"Nothing more," she said. "I think that we understand one another now. +At any rate, I understand you. Perhaps you will kindly see if I can +leave the house without annoyance." + +He looked into the street. Dusk had fallen, the lamplighter was going +his rounds. Of the crowd that had attended Mary to the house no more +than a handful remained; the nipping air, the attractions of free +beer, the sound of the muffin-bell, had drawn away the rest. The +driver of the gig was moving to and fro, now looking disconsolately at +the windows, now beating his fingers on his chest. + +"I think you can leave with safety," Audley said with irony. "I will +see you downstairs." + +"I will not trouble you," she answered. + +"But, surely, we may still be friends?" + +She looked him in the face. "We need not be enemies," she answered. +"And, perhaps, some day I may be able to think more kindly of you. If +that day comes I will tell you. Good-bye." She went out without +touching his hand. She went down the stairs. + +She drove through the dusky, dimly-lighted streets in a kind of dream, +seeing all things through a pleasant haze. The bank was closed and to +deliver up her papers she had to go into the bank-house. The glimpse +she had of the cheerful parlor, of the manager's wife, of his two +children playing the Royal Game of Goose at a round table, enchanted +her. Presently she was driving again through the darkling streets, +passing the Maypole, passing the quaint, low-browed shops, lit only by +an oil lamp or a couple of candles. The Audley Arms, the Packhorse, +the Portcullis, were all alight and buzzing with the voices of those +who fought their battles over again or laid bets on this candidate or +that. What the speaker had said to Lawyer Stubbs and what Lawyer +Stubbs had said to the speaker, what the "Duke" thought, who would +have to pay for the damage, and the odds the stout farmer would give +that wheat wouldn't be forty shillings a quarter this day twelvemonth +if the Repeal passed--scraps of these and the like poured from the +doorways as she drove by. + +All fell in delightfully with her mood and filled her with a sense of +well-being. Even when the streets lay behind her, and the driver +hunched his shoulders to meet the damp night-fog and the dreary +stretch that lay beyond the canal-bridge, Mary found the darkness +pleasant and the chill no more than bracing. For what were that night, +that chill beside the numbing grip from which she had just--oh, thing +miraculous!--escaped! Beside the fetters that had been lifted from her +within the last hour! O foolish girl, O ineffable idiot, to have ever +fancied that she loved that man! + +No, for her it was a charming night! The owl that, far away towards +the Great House, hooted dolefully above the woods--no nightingale +had been more tuneful. Ben Bosham--she laughed, thinking of his +plight--blessings on his bare, bald head and his ragged shoulders! The +old horse plodding on, with the hill that mounts to the Gatehouse +sadly on his mind--he should have oats, if oats there were in the +Gatehouse stables! He should have oats in plenty, or what he would if +oats failed! + +"What do you give him when he's tired?" she asked. + +"Well," the driver replied with diplomacy, "times a quart of ale, +Miss. He'll take it like a Christian." + +"Then a quart of ale he shall have to-night!" she said with a happy +laugh. "And you shall have one, too, Simonds." + +Her mood held to the end, so that before she was out of her wraps, +Mrs. Toft was aware of the change in her. "Why, Miss," she said, "you +look like another creature! It isn't the bank, I'll be bound, has put +that color in your cheeks!" + +"No!" Mary answered, "I've had an adventure, Mrs. Toft. And briefly +she told the tale of Ben Bosham's plight and of her gallant rescue. +She began herself to see the comic side of it. + +"He always was a fool, was Ben!" Mrs. Toft commented. "And that," she +continued shrewdly, "was how you come to see his lordship was it, +Miss?" + +"How did you know I saw him?" Mary asked in surprise. "But you're +right, I did." Then, as she entered the parlor, "Perhaps I'd better +tell you, Mrs. Toft," she said, "that the engagement between my cousin +and myself is at an end. You were one of the very few who knew of it, +and so I tell you." + +Mrs. Toft showed no surprise. "Indeed, Miss," she answered, stooping +to the hearth to light the candles with a piece of wood. "Well, one +thing's certain, and many a time my mother's drummed it into me, +'Better a plain shoe than one that pinches!' And again, 'Better live +at the bottom of the hill than the top,' she'd say. 'You see less but +you believe more.'" + +Neither she nor Mary saw Toft. But Toft, who had entered the hall a +moment before, was within hearing, and Mary's statement, so coolly +received by his wife, had an extraordinary effect on the man-servant. +He stood an instant, his lank figure motionless. Then he opened the +door beside him, slipped out into the chill and the darkness, and +silently, but with extravagant gestures, he broke into a dance, now +waving his thin arms in the air, now stooping with his hands locked +between his knees. Whether he thus found vent for joy or grief was a +secret which he kept to himself. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVI + + THE RIDDSLEY ELECTION + + +The riot at Riddsley found its way into the London Press, and gained +for the contest a certain amount of notoriety. The _Morning Chronicle_ +pointed out that the election had been provoked by the Protectionists +in a constituency in Sir Robert's own country; and the writer inferred +that, foreseeing defeat, the party of the land were now resorting to +violence. The _Morning Herald_ rejoiced that there were still places +which would not put up with the incursions of the Manchester League, +"the most knavish, pestilent body of men that ever plagued this or any +country!" In the House, where the tempest of the Repeal debate already +raged, and the air was charged with the stern invective of Disraeli, +or pulsed to the cheering of Peel's supporters--even here men +discussed the election at Riddsley, considered it a clue to the +feeling in the country, and on the one side hardly dared to hope, on +the other refused to fear. What? cried the Land Party. Be defeated in +an agricultural borough? Never! + +For a brief time, then, the contest filled the public eye and +presented itself as a thing of more than common interest. Those who +knew little weighed the names and the past of the candidates; those +behind the scenes whispered of Lord Audley. Whips gave thought to him, +and that one to whom his lordship was pledged, wrote graciously, +hinting at the pleasant things that might happen if all went well, and +the present winter turned to a summer of fruition. + +Alas, Audley felt that the Whip's summer, and + + + The friendly beckon towards Downing Street, + Which a Premier gives to one who wishes + To taste of the Treasury loaves and fishes, + + +were very remote, whereas, if the other Whip, he who had the honors +under his hand and the places in his power, had written so! But that +cursed Stubbs had blocked his play in that direction by asserting that +it was hopeless, though Audley himself began at this late hour to +suspect that it had not been hopeless! That it had been far from +hopeless! + +In his chagrin my lord tore the Whip's letter across and across, and +then prudently gummed it together again and locked it away. Certainly +the odds were long that it would never be honored; on the one side +stood Peel with four-fifths of his Cabinet and half his party, with +all the Whigs, all the Radicals, all the League, and the Big Loaf: on +the other stood the landed interest! Just the landed interest led by +Lord George Bentinck, handsome and debonair, the darling of the Turf, +the owner of Crucifix; but hitherto a silent member, and one at whom, +as a leader, the world gaped. Only, behind this Joseph there lurked a +Benjamin, one whose barbed shafts were many a time to clear the field. +The lists were open, the lances were levelled, the slogan of Free +Trade was met by the cry of "The Land and the Constitution!" and while +old friendships were torn asunder and old allies cut adrift, town and +country, forge and field, met in a furious grapple that promised to be +final. + +If, amid the dust of such a conflict, the riot at Riddsley obtained a +passing notice in London, intense it may be believed was the +excitement which it caused in the borough. Hatton and Banfield and +their men went about, vowing to take vengeance at the hustings. The +mayor went about, swearing in constables. The farmers and their allies +went about grinning. Fights took place nightly behind the Packhorse +and the Portcullis, while very old ladies, peering over their blinds, +talked of the French Revolution, and very young ones thought that the +Militia, adequately officered, should be brought into the town. + +The spirit of which Basset had given proof was blazoned about; and he +gained in another way. He was one of those to whom a spice of danger +is a fillip, whom a little peril shakes out of themselves. On the day +after the riot he came upon a score of people collected round a Cheap +Jack in the market. The man presently closed his patter and his stall, +and, on the impulse of the moment, Basset took his place and made the +crowd a speech as short as it was simple. He told them that in his +opinion it was impossible to keep food out of the country by a tax +while Ireland was threatened by famine. Secondly, that the sacrifice +which Peel was making of his party, his reputation, and his +consistency was warrant that in his view the change was urgently +needed. Thirdly, he asked them whether the farmers were so prosperous +and the laborers so comfortable that change must be for the worse. But +here he came on delicate ground; murmurs arose and some hisses, and he +broke off good-humoredly, thanked the crowd, which had grown to a good +size, and, stepping down from his barrow, he walked away amid +plaudits. The thing was reported, and though the Tories sneered at it +as a hole-and-corner meeting, Farthingale held another view. He told +Mr. Stubbs that it was a neat thing--very well done. + +Stubbs grunted. "Will it change a vote?" he growled. + +"Change a----" + +"Will it change a vote, man? You heard what I said." + +"Lord, no!" the clerk answered. "I never said it would!" + +"Then why trouble about it?" Stubbs retorted fretfully. "Get on with +those poll-cards! I don't pay you a guinea a day at election time to +praise monkey-tricks." + +For Stubbs was not happy. He knew, indeed, that the breaking-up of the +open-air meeting had been fairly successful. It had brought back two +votes to the fold; and he calculated that the seat would be held. But +by a majority how narrow, how fallen, how discreditable! He blushed to +think of it. + +And other things made him unhappy. Those who are politicians by trade +are like cardplayers, who play for the game's sake; one game lost, +they cut and deal as keenly as before. Behind the politicians, +however, are a few to whom the stake is something; and of these was +Stubbs. To him, as we know, the Corn-Tax was no mere toll, but the +protection of agriculture, the well-head that guarded the pure waters, +the fence that saved from smoke and steam, from slag-heap and +brickfield, the smiling face of England. For him, the home of his +fathers, the land of field and stubble, of plough and pinfold, was at +stake; nay, was passing, wasted by men who thought in percentages and +saw no farther than the columns of their ledgers. To that England of +his memory--whether it had ever existed in fact or no--a hundred +associations bound the lawyer; things tender and things true; quaint +memories of his first turkey's nest, of the last load of the harvest, +of the loosened plough horses straying to the water at the close of +day, of the flat paintings of the Durham Ox and the Coke Ram that +adorned the farm parlor. + +To the men who bade him look up and see that in his Elysium the farmer +struggled and the laborer starved, his answer was short. "Better ten +shillings and fresh air, than shoddy dust and a pound a week!" + +In the country as a whole--and as time went on--he despaired of +success. But he found Lord George a leader after his own heart, and +many an evening he pored over the long paragraphs of his long-winded +speeches. When he heard that the owner of Crucifix had dismissed his +trainers, released his jockeys, sold his stud, and turned his back on +the turf, he could have wept. Lord George and Stubbs, indeed, were the +true country party. For Lord George's sake Stubbs was prepared to +taken even the "Jew boy" to his heart. + +As to the potato famine, he did not believe a word of it. He called +the Premier, "Potato Peel!" + +The rains of February are apt to damp enthusiasm, but before eleven +o'clock on the nomination day Riddsley was like a hive of bees about +to swarm. The throng in the streets was such that Mottisfont could +hardly pass through it. He made his entry into the borough on +horseback at the head of a hundred mounted farmers wearing blue sashes +and favors. Before him reeled a huge banner upheld by eight men and +bearing on one side the legend, "The Land and the Constitution," on +the other, "Mottisfont the Farmers' Friend!" Behind the horsemen, and +surrounded by a guard of laborers in smocked frocks, moved a plough +mounted on a wain and drawn by eight farm horses. Flags with "Speed +the Plough," "England's Share is England's Fare," and "Peace and +Plenty," streamed from it. Three bands of varying degrees of badness +found their places where they could, and thumped and blared against +one another until the panes rattled in the deafened streets. The +butchers, with marrow-bones and cleavers, brought up the rear, and in +comparison were tuneful. + +Had Basset got his way, he would have dispensed with pomp and walked +the hundred yards which separated his quarters at the Swan from the +hustings. But he was told that this would never do. What would the +landlord of the Swan say, who kept postchaises? And the postboys who +looked for a golden tip? And the men who would hand him in and hand +him out, and the men who would open the door and shut the door, and +the men who would raise the steps and lower the steps, who would all +look for the same tip? So, perforce, he drove in state to the Town +Hall--before which the hustings stood--in a barouche and four +accompanied by Banfield and Hatton and his agent. The rest of his +Committee followed in postchaises. A bodyguard of "hands" escorted +them, and they, too, had their bands--of equal badness--and their +yellow banners with "Down with the Corn Laws," "Vote for Basset the +Poor Man's Friend," and "No Bread Taxes." The great and little loaf +pranced in front of him on spears, and if his procession was not quite +so fine or so large as his opponent's, it must be admitted that the +blackguards of the town showed no preference and that he could boast +about an equal number of the tagrag and bobtail. + +The left hand of the hustings was allotted to him, the right hand to +Mottisfont, and by a little after eleven both parties had crammed and +crushed, + + + With blustering, bullying, and brow-beating, + A little pummelling and maltreating, + And elbowing, jostling and cajoling, + + +into their places in front of the platform, the bullies and +truncheon-men being posted well to the fore, or craftily ranged where +the frontiers met. The bands boomed and blared, the men huzzaed, the +air shook, the banners waved, every window that looked out upon the +seething mob was white with faces, every 'vantage-point was occupied. +It was such a day and such a contest as Riddsley had never seen. The +eyes of the country, it was felt, were upon it! Fights took place +every five minutes, oaths and bets flew like hail over the heads of +the crowd, coarse wit met coarser nicknames, and now and again shrieks +varied the hubbub as the huge press of people, gathered from miles +round, swayed under the impact of some vicious rush. + +"Hurrah! Hurrah! Mottisfont for ever! Basset! Basset and the Big Loaf! +Basset! Basset! Hurrah! Mottisfont! Hurrah!" + +Then, in a short-lived silence, "Ten to one on Mottisfont! Three +cheers for the Duke!" and a roar of laughter. + +Or a hundred voices would raise + + + John Barley-corn, my Joe, John! + When we were first acquaint! + + +but never got beyond the first two lines, either because they were +howled down or they knew no more of the words. The Peelites answered +with their mournful, + + + Child, is thy father dead? + Father is gone! + Why did they tax his bread? + God's will be done! + + +or with the quicker, + + + Oh, landlords' devil take + Thy own elect I pray! + Who taxed our cake, and took our cake, + And threw our cake away! + + +On this would ensue a volley of personalities. "What would you be +without your starch, Hayward?" "How's your dad, Farthingale?" "Who +whopped his wife last Saturday?" "Hurrah! Hurrah! Who said Potatoes?" + +For nearly an hour this went on, the blare of the bands, the uproar, +the cheering, the abuse never ceasing. Then the town-crier appeared +upon the vacant hustings. He rang his bell for silence and for a +moment obtained it. On his heels entered, first the mayor and his +assistants, then the candidates, the proposers, the seconders. Each, +as he made his appearance, was greeted with a storm of groans, cheers, +and cat-calls. Each put on to meet it such a show of ease as he could, +some smiling, some affecting ignorance. The candidates and their +supporters filed to either side, while the flustered mayor took his +stand in the middle with the town clerk at his elbow. + +Basset, nearly at the end of his troubles, sought comfort in looking +beyond the present moment. He feared that he was not likely to win, +but he had done his duty, he had made his effort, and soon he would be +free to repeat that effort on a smaller stage. Soon, these days, that +in horror rivalled the middle passage of the slave trade, would be +over, and if he were not elected he would be free to retire to Blore, +and to spend days, lonely and sad indeed, but clean, in the +improvement of his acres and his people. His eyes dwelt upon the sea +of faces, and from time to time he smiled; but his mind was far away. +He thought with horror of elections, and with loathing of the sordid +round of flattery and handshaking, of bribery and intimidation from +which he emerged. Thank God, the morrow would see the end! He would +have done his best, and played his part. And it would be over. + +What the mayor said and what the town clerk said is of no importance, +for no one heard them. The proposers, the seconders, the candidates, +all spoke in dumb show. Basset dwelt briefly on the crisis in Ireland, +the integrity of Peel, and the doubtful wisdom of taxing that which, +to the poorest, was a necessity of life. If bread were cheaper all +would have more to spend on other things and the farmer would have a +wider market for his meat, his wool, and his cheese. It read well in +the local paper. + +But one man was heard. This was a man who was not expected to speak, +whose creed it had ever been that speeches were useless, and whom +tradition almost forbade to speak, for he was an agent. At the last +moment, when a seconder for a formal motion was needed, he thrust +himself forward to the astonishment of all. The same astonishment +stilled the mob as they gazed on the well-known figure. For a minute +or two, curiosity and the purpose in the man's face, held even his +opponents silent. + +The man was Stubbs; and from the moment he showed himself it was plain +that he was acting under the stress of great emotion. The very +fuglemen forgot to interrupt him. They scented something out of the +common. + +"I have never spoken on the hustings in my life," he said. "I speak +now to warn you. I believe that you, the electors of Riddsley, are +going to sell the birthright of health which you have received; and +the heritage of freedom which this land has enjoyed for generations +and on which the power of Bonaparte broke as on a rock. You think you +are going to have cheap bread, and, maybe, you are! But at what a +cost! Cheap bread is foreign bread. To you, the laborers, I say that +foreign bread means that the fields you till will be laid to grass and +you will go to work in Dudley and Walsall and Bury and Bolton, in +mills and pits and smoke and dust! And your children will be dwarfed +and wizened and puny! Foreign bread means that. And it means that the +day will come when war will cut off your bread and you will starve; or +the will of the foreigner who feeds you will cut it off--for he will +be your master. I say, grow your own bread and eat your own bread, and +you will be free men. Eat foreign bread and in time you will be +slaves! No land that is fed by another land----" + +His last words were lost. Signals from furious principals roused the +fuglemen, and he was howled down, and stood back ashamed of the +impulse which had moved him and little less astonished than those +about him. Young Mottisfont clapped him on the back and affected to +make much of him. But even he hardly knew how to take it. Some said +that Stubbs had had tears in his eyes, while the opposing agent +whispered to his neighbor that the lawyer was breaking and would never +handle another contest. Sober men shook their heads; agents should +hardly be seen, much less heard! + +But Stubbs's words were marked, and when the bad times came thirty +years later, aged farmers recalled them and thought over them. Nor +were they without fruit at the time. For next morning when the poll +opened, Basset's people suffered a shock. Two men on whom he had +counted appeared and voted short and sharp for Mottisfont. Basset's +agent asked them pleasantly if they were not making a mistake; and +then less pleasantly had the Bribery Oath administered to them. But +they stuck to their guns, the votes were recorded, and Mottisfont +shook hands with them. Later in the day when the two were fuddled they +denied that they had voted for Mottisfont. They had voted for old +Stubbs--and they would do it again and fight any man who said to the +contrary. Their desire in this direction was quickly met, and both, to +the indignation of the Tories, were fined five shillings at the next +petty sessions. + +Whether this start gave the Protectionists a fillip or no, they were +in great spirits, and Mottisfont was up and down shaking hands all the +morning. At noon the figures as exhibited outside the Mottisfont +Committee-room--amid tremendous cheering--were: + + + Mottisfont . . . 41 + Basset . . . . . 30 + + +though Basset outside his Committee-room claimed one more. Soon after +twelve Hatton brought up the two Boshams in his carriage, and Ben, +recovered from his fright, flung his hat before him into the booth, +danced a war-dance on the steps, and gave three cheers for Basset as +he came down. Banfield brought up three more voters in his carriage +and thence onward until one o'clock the polling was rapid. The one +o'clock board showed: + + + Mottisfont . . . 60 + Basset . . . . . 57 + + +with seventy votes to poll. The Mottisfont party began to look almost +as blue as their favors, but Stubbs, returned to his senses, continued +to read his newspaper in a closet behind the Committee-room, as if +there were no contest within a hundred miles of Riddsley. + +During the next three hours little was done. The poll-clerks sent +out for pots of beer, the watchers drowsed, the candidates were +invisible--some said that they had gone to dine with the mayor. The +bludgeon-men and blackguards went home to sleep off their morning's +drink, and to recruit themselves for the orgy of the Chairing. The +crowd before the polling booth shrank to a knot of loafing lads and a +stray dog. At four Mottisfont still held the lead with 64 to 61. + +But as the clock struck four the town awoke. Word went round that +a message from Sir Robert Peel would be read outside Basset's +Committee-room. Hearers were whipped up, and the message, having been +read with much parade, was posted up through the town and as promptly +pulled down. Animated by the message, and making as much of it as if +it had not been held back for the purpose, the Peelites polled +five-and-twenty votes in rapid succession, and at half-past four +issued a huge placard with: + + + Basset . . . . . 87 + Mottisfont . . . 83 + Vote for Basset and the Big Loaf! + Basset wins! + + +Great was the enthusiasm, loud the cheering, vast the stir outside +their Committee-room. The Big and the Little Loaf waltzed out on their +poles. The placard, mounted as a banner, was entrusted to the two +Boshams. The band was ready, a dozen flares were ready, the Committee +were ready, all was ready for a last rally which might decide the one +or two doubtful voters. All was ready, but where was Mr. Basset? Where +was the candidate? + +He could not be found, and great was the hubbub, vast the running to +and fro. "The Candidate? Where's the Candidate?" One ran to the Swan, +another to the polling-booth, a third to his agent's office. He could +not be found. All that was known of him or could be learned was that a +tall man, who looked like an undertaker, had stopped him near the +polling-booth and had kept him in talk for some minutes. From that +time he had been seen by no one. + +Foul play was talked of, and the search went on, but meantime the +procession--the poll closed at half-past six--must start if it was to +do any good. It did so, and with its flares, its swaying placard, its +running riff-raff, now luridly thrown up by the lights, now lost in +shadow, formed the most picturesque scene that the election had +witnessed. The absence of the candidate was a drawback, and some shook +their heads over it. But the more knowing put their tongues in their +cheeks, aware that whether he were there or not, and whether they +marched or stayed at home, neither side would be a vote the better! + +At half--past five the figures were, + + Basset . . . . . 87 + + Mottisfont . . . 86 + + +There were still fourteen votes to poll, and on the face of things +victory hung in the balance. + +But at that hour Stubbs moved. He laid down his newspaper, gave +Farthingale an order, took up a slip of paper and his hat, and went by +way of the darkest street to The Butterflies. He walked thoughtfully, +with his chin on his breast, as if he had no great appetite for the +interview before him. By the time he reached the house the poll stood +at + + + Mottisfont . . . 96 + Basset . . . . . 87 + + +And long and loud was the cheering, wild the triumph of the landed +interest. The town was fuller than ever, for during the last hour the +farmers and their men had trooped in, Brown Heath had sent its +colliers, and a crowd filling every yard of space within eye-shot of +the polling-booth greeted the news. To hell with Peel! Down with +Cobden! Away with the League! Hurrah! Hurrah! Stubbs, had he been +there, would have been carried shoulder-high. Old Hayward was lifted +and carried, old Musters of the Audley Arms, one or two of the +Committee. It was known that four votes only remained unpolled, so +that Mottisfont's victory was secure. + +At The Butterflies, whither the cheering of the crowd came in gusts +that rose and fell by turns, Stubbs nodded to the maid and went up the +stairs unannounced. Audley was writing at a side-table facing the +room. He looked up eagerly. "Well?" he said, putting down his quill. +"Is it over?" + +Stubbs laid the slip of paper before him. "It's not over, my lord," he +answered soberly. "But that is the result. I am sorry that it is no +better." + +Audley looked at the paper. "Nine!" he exclaimed. He looked at Stubbs, +he looked again at the paper. "Nine? Good G--d, man, you don't mean +it? You can't mean it! You don't mean that that is the best we could +do?" + +"We hold the seat, my lord," Stubbs said. + +"Hold the seat!" Audley replied, staring at him with furious eyes. +"Hold the seat? But I thought that it was a safe seat? I thought that +it was a seat that couldn't be lost! When five, only five, votes would +have cast it the other way! Why, man, you cannot have known anything +about it! No more about it than the first man in the street!" + +"My lord----" + +"Not a jot more!" Audley repeated. He had been prepared for something +like this, but the certainty that if he had cast his weight on the +other side, the side that had sinecures and places and pensions, he +would have turned the scale--this was too much for his temper. "Nine!" +he rapped out with another oath. "I can only think that the Election +has been mismanaged! Grievously, grievously mismanaged, Mr. Stubbs!" + +"If your lordship thinks so----" + +"I do!" Audley retorted, his certainty that the man before him had +thwarted his plans, carrying him farther than he intended. "I do! +Nine! Good G--d, man! When you assured me----" + +"Whatever I assured your lordship," Stubbs said firmly, "I believed. +And--no, my lord, you must allow me to speak now--what I promised +would have been borne out--fully borne out by the result in normal +times. But I did not allow enough for the split in the party, nor for +the wave of madness----" + +"As you think it!" + +"And surely as your lordship also thinks it!" Stubbs rejoined smartly, +"that has swept over the country! In these circumstances it is +something to hold the seat, which a return to sanity will certainly +assure to us at the next election." + +"The next election!" Audley muttered scornfully. For the moment he was +too angry to play a part or to drape his feelings. + +"But if your lordship is dissatisfied----" + +"Dissatisfied? I am d--nably dissatisfied." + +"Then your lordship has the power," Stubbs said slowly, "to dispense +with my services." + +"I know that, sir." + +"And if you do not think fit to take that step, my lord----" + +"I shall consider it!" + +Another word or two and the deed had been done, for both men were too +angry to fence. But before that last word was spoken Audley's man +entered. He handed a card to his master and waited. + +Audley looked at the card longer than was necessary and under cover of +the pause regained control of himself. "Who brought this?" he asked. + +"A messenger from the Swan, my lord." + +"Tell him----" He broke off. Holding out the card for Stubbs to take, +"Do you know anything about this?" he asked. + +Stubbs returned the card. "No, my lord," he said coldly. "I know +nothing." + +"Business of great importance to me? D--n his impudence, what business +important to me can he have?" Audley muttered. Then, "My compliments +to Mr. Basset and I am leaving in the morning, but I shall be at home +this evening at nine." + +The servant retired. Audley looked askance at his agent. "You'd better +be here," he muttered ungraciously. "We can settle what we were +talking about later." + +"Very good, my lord," Stubbs answered. And nothing more being said, he +took himself off. + +He was not sorry that they had been interrupted. Much of his income +and more of his importance sprang from the Audley agency, but rather +than be treated as if he were a servant, he would surrender both--in +his way he was a proud man. Still he did not want to give up either; +and if time were given he thought that his lordship would think better +of the matter. + +As he returned to his office, choosing the quiet streets by which +he had come, he had a glimpse, through an opening, of the distant +Market-place. A sound of cheering, a glare of smoky light, a medley of +leaping, running forms, a something uplifted above the crowd, moved +across his line of vision. Almost as quickly it vanished, leaving only +the reflection of retreating torches. "Hurrah! Hurrah for Mottisfont! +Hurrah!" Still the cheering came faintly to his ears. + +He sighed. Riddsley had remained faithful-by nine! But he did not +deceive himself. It was the writing on the wall. The Corn Laws were +doomed, and with them much that he had loved, much that he cherished, +much in which he believed. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVII + + A TURN OF THE WHEEL + + +Audley was suspicious and ill at ease. Standing on the hearth-rug with +his back to the fire, he fixed the visitor with his eyes, and with +secret anxiety asked himself what he wanted. The possibility that +Basset came to champion Mary had crossed his mind more than once; if +that were so he would soon dispose of him! In the meantime he took +civility for his cue, exchanged an easy word or two about the poll and +the election, and between times nodded to Stubbs to be seated. Through +all, his eyes were watchful and he missed nothing. + +"I asked Mr. Stubbs to be here," he said when a minute or two had been +spent in this by-play, "as you spoke of business. You don't object?" + +"Not at all," Basset replied. His face was grave. "I should tell you +at once, Audley," he added, "that my mission is not a pleasant one." + +The other raised his eyebrows. "You are sure that it concerns me?" + +"It certainly concerns you. Though, as things stand, not very +materially. I knew nothing of the matter myself until three o'clock +to-day, and at first I doubted if it was my duty to communicate it. +But the facts are known to a third person, they may be used to annoy +you in the future, and though the task is unpleasant, I decided that I +had no option." + +Audley set his broad shoulders against the mantel-shelf. "But if the +facts don't affect me?" he said. + +"In a way they do. Not as they might under other circumstances. That +is all." + +"And yet you are making our hair stand on end! I confess you puzzle +me. Well, let us have it. What is it all about?" + +"A little time ago you recovered, if you remember, your Family Bible." +"Well? What of that?" + +"I have just learned that the man did not hand over all that he had. +He kept back--it now appears--certain papers." + +"Ah!" Audley's voice was stern. "Well, he has had his chance. This +time, I can promise him a warrant will follow." + +"Perhaps you will hear me out first?" + +"No," was the sharp reply. Audley's temper was getting the better of +him. "Last time, my dear fellow, you compounded with him; your motive +an excellent one I don't doubt. But if he now thinks to get more money +from me--and for other papers--I can promise him that he will see the +inside of Stafford gaol. Besides, my good friend, you gave us to +understand that he had surrendered all he had." + +"I am afraid I did, and I fear I was wrong. Why he deceived me, and +has now turned about, I know no more than you do!" + +"I think I can enlighten you," the other answered--his fears as well +as his temper were aroused. "The rogue is shallow. He thinks to be +paid twice. Once by you and once by me. But you can tell him that this +time he will be paid in other coin." + +"I'm afraid that there is more in it than that," Basset said. "The +fact is the papers he now produces, Audley, are of another character." + +"Oh! The wind blows in that quarter, does it?" my lord replied. "You +don't mean that you've come here--why, d--n it, man," with sudden +passion, "either you are very simple, or you are art and part----" + +"Steady, steady, my lord," Stubbs said, interposing discreetly. +Hitherto he had not spoken. "There's no need to quarrel! I am sure +that Mr. Basset's intentions are friendly. It will be better if he +just tells us what these documents are which are now put forward. We +shall then be able to judge where we stand." + +"Go ahead," Audley said, averting his face and sulkily relapsing +against the mantel-shelf. "Put your questions! And, for God's sake, +let's get to the point!" + +"The paper that is pertinent is a deed," Basset explained. "I have the +heads of it here. A deed made between Peter Paravicini Audley, your +ancestor, the Audley the date of whose marriage has been always in +issue--between him on the one side, and his father and two younger +brothers on the other." + +"What is the date?" Stubbs asked. + +"Seventeen hundred and four." + +"Very good, Mr. Basset." Stubbs's tone was now as even as he could +make it, but an acute listener would have detected a change in it. +"Proceed, if you please." + +Before Basset could comply, my lord broke in. "What's the use of this? +Why the d--l are we going into it?" he cried. "If this man is out for +plunder I will make him smart as sure as my name is Audley! And any +one who supports him. In the meantime I want to hear no more of it!" + +Basset moved in his chair as if he would rise. Stubbs intervened. + +"That is one way of looking at it, my lord," he said temperately. "And +I'm not saying that it is the wrong way. But I think we had better +hear what Mr. Basset has to say. He is probably deceived----" + +"He has let himself be used as a catspaw!" Audley cried. His face was +flushed and there was an ugly look in his eyes. + +"But he means us well, I am sure," the lawyer interposed. "At present +I don't see"--he turned and carefully snuffed one of the candles--"I +don't see----" + +"I think you do!" Basset answered. He had had a long day and he had +come on an unpleasant business. His own temper was not too good. "You +see this, at any rate, Mr. Stubbs, that such a deed may be of vital +import to your client." + +"To me?" Audley exclaimed. Was it possible that the thing he had so +long feared--and had ceased to fear--was going to befall him? Was it +possible that at the eleventh hour, when he had burnt his boats, when +he had thought all danger at an end--no, it was impossible! "To me?" +he repeated passionately. + +"Yes," Basset replied. "Or, rather, it would be of vital import to you +in other circumstances." + +"In what other circumstances? What do you mean?" + +"If you were not about to marry the only person who, with you, is +interested." + +Audley cut short, by a tremendous effort, the execration that burst +from his lips. His face, always too fleshy for his years, swelled till +it was purple. Then, and as quickly, the blood ebbed, leaving it gray +and flabby. He would have given much, very much at this moment to be +able to laugh or to utter a careless word. But he could do neither. +The blow had been too sudden, too heavy, too overwhelming. Only in his +nightmares had he seen what he saw now! + +Meanwhile Stubbs, startled by the half-uttered oath and a little out +of his depth--for he had heard nothing of the engagement--intervened. +"I think, my lord," he said, "you had better leave this to me. I think +you had, indeed. We are quite in the dark and we are not getting +forward. Let us have the facts, Mr. Basset. What is the gist of this +deed? Or, first, have you seen it?" + +"I have." + +"And read it?" + +"I have." + +"It appears to you--I only say it appears--to be genuine?" + +"I have no doubt that it is genuine," Basset replied. "It bears the +marks of age, and it was found in the chest with the old Bible. If the +book is genuine----" + +The lawyer raised his hand. "Too fast," he said. "You say it was +found! You mean that this man says it was found?" + +"Yes." + +"Precisely. But there is a difference. Still, we have cleared the +ground. Now, what does this deed purport to be?" + +Basset produced a slip of paper. "An agreement," he read from it, +"between Peter Paravicini Audley and his father and his two younger +brothers. After admitting that the entry of the marriage in the +register is misleading and that no marriage took place until after the +birth of his son, Peter Paravicini undertakes that, in consideration +of his father and his brothers taking no action and making no attack +upon his wife's reputation, she being their cousin, he will not set up +for the said son, or the issue of the said son, any claim to the title +or estates." + +Audley listened to the description, so clear and so precise, and he +recognized that it tallied with the deed which tradition had always +held to exist but of which John Audley had been able to give no proof. +He heard, he understood; yet while he listened and understood, his +mind was working to another end, and viewing with passion the tragedy +which fate had prepared for him. Too late! Too late! Had this become +known a week, only a week, earlier, how lightly had the blow fallen! +How impotently! But he had cut the rope, he had severed the strands +once carefully twisted, that bound him to safety! And then the irony, +the bitterness, the cruelty of those words of Basset's, "in other +circumstances!" They bit into his mind. + +Still he suffered in silence, and only his stillness and his unhealthy +color betrayed the despair that gripped and benumbed his soul. Stubbs +did not look at him; perhaps he was careful not to look at him. The +lawyer sat thinking and drumming gently with his fingers on the table. +"Just so, just so," he said presently. "On the face of it, the +document of which Mr. John Audley tried to give secondary evidence, +and which a person fraudulently inclined would of course concoct. That +touch of the cousin well brought in!" + +"But the lady was his cousin," Basset said. + +"All the world knows it," the lawyer retorted coolly, "and use has +been made of the knowledge. But, of course, there are a hundred things +to be proved before any weight can be given to this document; its +origin, the custody from which it comes, the signatures, the +witnesses. Its production by a man who has once endeavored to +blackmail is alone suspicious. And the deed itself is at variance with +the evidence of the Bible." + +"But that variance bears out the deed, which is to secure the younger +sons' rights while covering the reputation of the lady." + +The lawyer shook his head. "Very clever," he said. "But, frankly, the +matter has an ugly look, Mr. Basset." + +"Lord Audley says nothing," Basset replied, nettled by the lawyer's +phrase. + +"And will say nothing," Stubbs rejoined genially, "if he is advised by +me. In the circumstances, as I understand them, he is not affected as +he might be, but this is still a serious matter. We are not +quarrelling with you for coming to us, Mr. Basset. On the contrary. +But I would like to know why the man came to you." + +"The answer is simple," Basset explained. "I am Mr. Audley's executor. +On his account, I am obliged to be interested. The moment I learned +this I saw that, be it true or false, I must disclose it to Miss +Audley. But I thought it fair to open it to Lord Audley first that he +might tell the young lady himself, if he preferred to do so." + +Stubbs nodded. "Very proper," he replied. "And where, in the meantime, +is this--precious document?" + +"I lodged it with Mr. Audley's bankers this afternoon." + +Stubbs nodded again. "Also very proper," he said. "Just so." + +Basset rose. "I've told you what I know. If there is nothing more?" he +said. He looked at Audley, who had turned his back on them and, with +his hands in his pockets and one foot on the fender, was gazing into +the fire. + +"I think that's all," Stubbs hastened to say. "I am sure that his +lordship is obliged to you, Mr. Basset, though it is a hundred to one +that there is nothing in this." + +At that, however, Audley turned about. He had pulled himself together, +and his manner was excellent. "I would like to say that for myself," +he said frankly, "I owe you many thanks for the straightforward course +you have taken, Basset. You must pardon my momentary annoyance. +Perhaps you will kindly keep this business to yourself for--shall we +say--three days? I will speak myself to my cousin, but I should like +to make one or two inquiries first." + +Basset agreed willingly. He hated the whole thing and his part in it. +It forced him to champion, or to seem to champion, Mary against her +betrothed; and so set him in that kind of opposition to his rival +which he loathed. It was only after some hesitation that he had +determined to see Audley, and now that he had seen him, the sooner he +was clear of the matter the happier he would be. So, "Certainly," he +repeated, thinking that the other was taking it very well. "And now, +as I have had a hard day, I will say good-night." + +"Good-night, and believe me," my lord added warmly, "we recognize the +friendliness of your action." + +Outside, in the darkness of the road, Basset drew a breath of relief. +He had had a hard day and he was utterly weary. But he had come now, +thank God, to an end of many things; of the canvass he had detested +and the contest in which he had been beaten; of his relations with +Mary, whom he had lost; of this imbroglio, which he hated; of Riddsley +and the Gatehouse and the old life there! He could go to his inn and +sleep the clock round. In his bed he would be safe, he would be free +from troubles. It seemed to him a refuge. Till the morrow he need +think of nothing, and when he came forth again it would be to a new +life. Henceforth Blore, his old house and his starved acres must bound +his ambitions. With the money which John Audley had left him he would +dig and drain and fence and build, and be by turns Talpa the mole and +Castor the beaver. In time, as he began to see the fruit of his toil, +he would win to some degree of content, and be glad, looking back, +that he had made this trial of his powers, this essay towards a wider +usefulness. So, in the end, he would come through to peace. + +But at this point the current of his thoughts eddied against Toft, and +he cursed the man anew. Why had he played these tricks? Why had he +kept back this paper? Why had he produced it now and cast on others +this unpleasant task? + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVIII + + TOFT'S LITTLE SURPRISE + + +Toft had gone into Riddsley on the polling-day, but had returned +before the result was known. "What the man was thinking of," his wife +declared in wrath, "beats me! To be there hours and hours and come out +no wiser than he went, and we waiting to hear--a babe would ha' had +more sense! The young master that we've known all our lives, to be in +or out, and we to know nothing till morning! It passes patience!" + +Mary had her own feelings, but she concealed them. "He must know how +it was going when he left?" she said. + +"He doesn't know an identical thing!" Mrs. Toft replied. "And all he'd +say was, 'There, there, what does it matter?' For all the world as if +he spoke to a child! 'What else matters, man?' says I. 'What did you +go for?' But there, Miss, he's beyond me these days! I believe he's +going like the poor master, that had a bee in his bonnet, God forgive +me for saying it! But what'd one not say, and we to wait till morning +not knowing whether those plaguy Repealers are in or out!" + +"But Mr. Basset is for Repeal," Mary said. + +"What matter what he's for, if he's in?" Mrs. Toft replied loftily. +"But to wait till morning to know--the man's no better than a numps!" + +In the end, it was Mr. Colet who brought the news to the Gatehouse. He +brought it to Etruria and so much of moment with it that before noon +the election result had been set aside as a trifle, and Mary found +herself holding a kind of court in the parlor--Mr. Colet plaintiff, +Etruria defendant, Mrs. Toft counsel for the defence. Absence had but +strengthened Mr. Colet's affection, and he came determined to come to +an understanding with his mistress. He saw his way to making a small +income by writing sermons for his more indolent brethren, and, in the +meantime, Mr. Basset was giving him food and shelter; in return he was +keeping Mr. Basset's accounts, and he was saving a little, a very +little, money. But the body of his plea rested not on these counts, +but on the political change. Repeal was in the air, repeal was in the +country. Vote as Riddsley might, the Corn Laws were doomed. His +opinions would no longer be banned; they would soon be the opinions of +the majority, and with a little patience he might find a new curacy. +When that happened he wished to marry Etruria. + +"And why not?" Mary asked. + +"I will never marry him to disgrace him," Etruria replied. She stood +with bowed head, her hands clasped before her, her beautiful eyes +lowered. + +"But you love him?" Mary said, blushing at her own words. + +"If I did not love him I might marry him," Etruria rejoined. "I am a +servant, my father's a servant. I should be wronging him, and he would +live to know it." + +"To my way o' thinking, 'Truria's right," her mother said. "I never +knew good come of such a marriage! He's poor, begging his reverence's +pardon, but, poor or rich, his place is there." She pointed to the +table. "And 'Truria's place is behind his chair." + +"But you forget," Mary said, "that when she is Mr. Colet's wife her +place will be by his side." + +"And much good that'll do him with the parsons and such like, as are +all gleg together! If he's in their black books for preaching too +free--and when you come to tithes one parson is as like another as +pigs o' the same litter--he'll not better himself by taking such as +Etruria, take my word for it, Miss!" + +"I will never do it," said Etruria. + +"But," Mary protested, "Mr. Colet need not live here, and in another +part people will not know what his wife has been. Etruria has good +manners and some education, Mrs. Toft, and what she does not know she +will learn. She will be judged by what she is. If there is a drawback, +it is that such a marriage will divide her from you and from her +father. But if you are prepared for that?" + +Mrs. Toft rubbed her nose. "We'd be willing if that were all," she +said. "She'd come to us sometimes, and there'd be no call for us to go +to her." + +Mr. Colet looked at Etruria. "If Etruria will come to me," he said, "I +will be ashamed neither of her nor her parents." + +"Bravely said!" Mary cried. + +"But there's more to it than that," Mrs. Toft objected. "A deal more. +Mr. Colet nor 'Truria can't live upon air. And it's my opinion that if +his reverence gets a curacy, he'll lose it as soon as it's known who +his wife is. And he can't dig and he can't beg, and where'll they be +with the parsons all sticking to one another as close as wax?" + +"He'll not need them!" replied a new speaker, and that speaker was +Toft. He had entered silently, none of them had seen him, and the +interruption took them aback. "He'll not need them," he repeated, "nor +their curacies. He'll not need to dig nor beg. There's changes coming. +There's changes coming for more than him, Miss. If Mr. Colet's willing +to take my girl she'll not go to him empty-handed." + +"I will take her as she stands," Mr. Colet said, his eyes shining. +"She knows that." + +"Well, you'll take her, sir, asking your pardon, with what I give +her," Toft answered. "And that'll be five hundred pounds that I have +in hand, and five hundred more that I look to get. Put 'em together +and they'll buy what's all one with a living, and you'll be your own +rector and may snap your fingers at 'em!" + +They stared at the man, while Mrs. Toft, in an awestruck tone, cried, +"You're out of your mind, Toft! Five hundred pounds! Whoever heard of +the like of us with that much money?" + +"Silence, woman," Toft said. "You know naught about it." + +"But, Toft," Mary said, "are you in earnest? Do you understand what a +large sum of money this is?" + +"I have it," the man replied, his sallow cheek reddening. "I have it, +and it's for Etruria." + +"If this be true," Mr. Colet said slowly, "I don't know what to say, +Toft." + +"You've said all that is needful, sir," Toft replied. "It's long +I've looked forward to this. She's yours, and she'll not come to you +empty-handed, and you'll have no need to be ashamed of a wife that +brings you a living. We'll not trouble except to see her at odd times +in the year. It will be enough for her mother and me that she'll be a +lady. She never was like us." + +"Hear the man!" cried Mrs. Toft between admiration and protest. "You'd +suppose she wasn't our child!" + +But Mary went to him and gave him her hand. "That's very fine, Toft," +she said. "I believe Etruria will be as happy as she is good, and Mr. +Colet will have a wife of whom he may be proud. But Etruria will not +be Etruria if she forgets her parents or your gift. Only you are sure +that you are not deceiving yourself?" + +"There's my bank-book to show for half of it," Toft replied. "The +other half is as certain if I live three months!" + +"Well, I declare!" Mrs. Toft cried. "If anybody'd told me yesterday +that I'd have--'Truria, han't you got a word to say?" + +Etruria's answer was to throw her arms round her father's neck. Yet +it is doubtful if the moment was as much to her as to the ungainly, +grim--visaged man, who looked so ill at ease in her embrace. + +The contrast between them was such that Mary hastened to relieve the +sufferer. "Etruria will have more to say to Mr. Colet," she said, +"than to us. Suppose we leave them to talk it over." + +She saw the Tofts out after another word or two, and followed them. +"Well, well, well!" said Mrs. Toft, when they stood in the hall. "I'm +sure I wish that everybody was as lucky this day--if all's true as +Toft tells us." + +"There's some in luck that don't know it!" the man said oracularly. +And he slid away. + +"If he said black was white, I'd believe him after this," his wife +exclaimed, "asking your pardon, Miss, for the liberties we've taken! +But you'd always a fancy for 'Truria. Anyway, if there's one will be +pleased to hear the news, it's the Squire! If I'd some of those nine +here that voted against him I'd made their ears burn!" + +"But perhaps they thought that Mr. Basset was wrong," Mary said. + +"What business had they o' thinking?" Mrs. Toft replied. "They had +ought to vote; that's enough for them." + +"Well, it does seem a pity," Mary allowed. And then, because she +fancied that Mrs. Toft looked at her with meaning, she went upstairs +and, putting on her hat and cloak, went out. The day was cold and +bright, a sprinkling of snow lay on the ground, and a walk promised +her an opportunity of thinking things over. Between the Butterflies, +at the entrance to the flagged yard, she hung a moment in doubt, then +she set off across the park in the direction of the Great House. + +At first her thoughts were busy with Etruria's fortunes and the +mysterious windfall which had enriched Toft. How had he come by it? +How could he have come by it? And was the man really sane? But soon +her mind took another turn. She had strayed this way on the morning +after her arrival at the Gatehouse, and, remembering this, she looked +across the gray, frost-bitten park, with its rows of leafless trees +and its naked vistas. Her mind travelled back to that happy morning, +and involuntarily she glanced behind her. + +But to-day no one followed her, no one was thinking of her. Basset was +gone, gone for good, and it was she who had sent him away. The May +morning when he had hurried after her, the May sunshine, gay with the +songs of larks and warm with the scents of spring were of the past. +To-day she looked on a bare, cold landscape and her thoughts matched +it. Yet she had no ground to complain, she told herself, no reason to +be unhappy. Things might have been worse, ah, so much worse, she +reflected. For a week ago she had been a captive, helpless, netted in +her own folly! And now she was free. + +Yes, she ought to be happy, being free; and, more than free, +independent. + +But she must go from here. And for many reasons the thought of going +was painful to her. During the nine months which she had spent at the +Gatehouse it had become a home. Its panelled rooms, its austerity, its +stillness, the ancient woodlands about it were endeared to her by the +memory of lamp-lit evenings and long summer days. The very plainness +and solitude of the life, which had brought the Tofts and Etruria so +near to her, had been a charm. And if her sympathy with her uncle had +been imperfect, still he had been her uncle and he had been kind to +her. + +All this she must leave, and something else which she did not define; +which was bound up with it, and which she had come to value when it +was too late. She had taken brass for gold, and tin for silver! And +now it was too late. So that it was no wonder that when she came to +the hawthorn-tree where she had gathered her may that morning, a sob +rose in her throat. She knew the tree! She had marked it often. But +to-day there was no one to follow her, no one to call her back, no one +to say that she should go no farther. Basset was gone, her uncle was +dead. + +Telling herself that, as she would never see it again, she would go as +far as the Great House, she pushed on to the Yew Walk. Its recesses +showed dark, the darker for the sprinkling of snow that lay in the +park. But it was high noon, there was nothing to fear, and she pursued +the path until she came to the crumbling monster that tradition said +was a butterfly. + +She was still viewing it with awe, thinking now of the duel which had +taken place there, now of her uncle's attack, when a bird moved in the +copse and she glanced nervously behind her, expecting she knew not +what. The dark yews shut her in, and involuntarily she shivered. What +if, in this solitary place--and then through the silence the sharp +click of the Iron Gate reached her ear. + +The stillness and the associations shook her nerves. She heard +footsteps and, hardly knowing what she feared, she slipped among the +trees and stood half-hidden. A moment passed and a man appeared. He +came from the Great House. He crossed the opening slowly, his chin +sunk upon his breast, his eyes bent on the path before him. A moment +and he was gone, the way she had come, without seeing her. + +It was Lord Audley, and foolish as the impulse to hide herself had +been, she blessed it. Nothing pleasant, nothing good, could have come +of their meeting; and into her thoughts of him had crept so much of +distaste that she was glad that she had not met him in this lonely +spot. She went on to the Iron Gate, and viewed for a few moments the +desolate lawn and the long, gaunt front. Then, reflecting that if she +turned back at once she might meet him, she took a side-path through +the plantation, and emerged on the park at another point. + +She was careful not to reach home until late in the day and then she +learned that he had called, that he had waited, and that in the end +Toft had seen him; and that he had departed in no good temper. "What +Toft said to him," Mrs. Toft reported, "I know no more than the moon, +but whatever it was his lordship marched off, Miss, as black as +thunder." + +After that nothing happened, and of the four at the Gatehouse Etruria +alone was content. Mrs. Toft was uneasy about the future--what were +they going to do?--and perplexed by Toft's mysterious fortune--how had +he come by it? Toft himself was on the rack, looking for things to +happen--and nothing happened. And Mary knew that she must take action. +She could not stay at the Gatehouse, she could not remain as the guest +either of Basset or of Lord Audley. + +But she did not know where to go, and no suggestion reached her. At +length she wrote, two days after Lord Audley's visit, to Quebec +Street, to the house where she had stayed with her father many years +before. It was the only address of the kind that she knew. But she +received no answer, and her heart sank. The difficulty, small as it +was, harassed her; she had no adviser, and ten times a day, to keep up +her spirits, she had tell herself that she was independent, that she +had eight thousand pounds, that the whole world was open to her, and +that compared with the penniless girl who had lived on the upper floor +of the Hotel Lambert she was fortunate! + +But in the Hotel Lambert she had had work to do, and here she had +none! + +She thought of taking rooms in Riddsley, but Lord Audley was there and +she shrank from meeting him. She would wait another week for the +answer from London, and then, if none came, she must decide what she +would do. But in her room that night the thought that Basset had +abandoned her, that he no longer cared, no longer desired to come near +her, broke her down. Of course, he was not to blame. He fancied her +still engaged to her cousin and receiving from him all the advice, all +the help, all the love, she needed. He fancied her happy and content, +in no need of him. And, alas, there was the pinch. She had written to +him to tell him of her engagement. She could not write to him to tell +him that it was at an end! + +And then, by the morrow's post, there came a long letter from Basset, +and in the letter the whole astonishing, overwhelming story of the +discovery of the document which John Audley had sought so long, and in +the end so disastrously. + + +"No doubt," the writer added, "Lord Audley has made you acquainted +with the facts, but I think it my duty as your uncle's executor to +lay them before you in detail and also to advise you that in your +interest and in view of the change in your position--and in Lord +Audley's--which this imports, it is proper that you should have +independent advice." + + +The blood ebbed and left Mary pale; it returned in a flood as with a +bounding heart and shaking fingers she read and turned and re-read +this letter. At length she grasped its meaning, and truly what +astounding, what overwhelming news! What a shift of fortune! What a +reversal of expectations! And how strangely, how singularly had all +things shaped themselves to bring this about--were it true! + +Unable to sit still, unable to control her excitement--and no +wonder--she rose and paced the floor. If she were indeed Lady Audley! +If this were indeed all hers! This dear house and the Great House! +This which had seemed to its possessor so small, so meagre, so +cramping an inheritance, but was to her fortune, an old name, a great +place, a firm position in the world! A position that offered so many +opportunities and so much power for good! + +She walked the room with throbbing pulses, the letter now crushed in +her hand, now smoothed out that she might assure herself of its +meaning, might read again some word or some sentence, might resolve +some doubt. Oh, it was a wonderful, it was a marvellous, it was an +incredible turn of fortune! And presently her mind began to deal with +and to sift the past. And, enlightened, she understood many of the +things that had perplexed her, and read many of the riddles that had +baffled her. And her cheeks burned, her heart was hot with +indignation. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIX + + THE DEED OF RENUNCIATION + + +Basset moved in his chair. He was unhappy and ill at ease. He looked +at the fire, he looked askance at Mary. "But do you mean," he said, +"that you knew nothing about this until you had my letter?" + +"Nothing," Mary answered, "not a word." She, too, found it more easy +to look at the fire. + +"You must have been very much surprised?" + +"I was. It was for that reason that I asked you to bring me the +papers--to bring me everything, so that I might see for myself how it +was." + +"I don't understand why Audley did not tell you. He said he would." + +It was the question Mary had foreseen and dreaded. She had slept two +nights upon the letter and given a long day's thought to it, and +she had made up her mind what she would do and how she would do it. +But between the planning and the doing there were passages which she +would fain have shunned, fain have omitted, had it been possible; and +this was one of them. She saw that there was nothing else for it, +however--the thing must be told, and told by her. She tried, and not +without success, to command her voice. "He did not tell me," she said. +"Indeed I have not seen him. And I ought to say, Mr. Basset, you ought +to know in these circumstances--that the engagement between my cousin +and myself is at an end." + +He may have started--he might well be astonished, in view of the +business which brought him there. But he did not speak, and Mary could +not tell what effect it had on him. She only knew that the silence +seemed age-long, the pause cruel, and that her heart was beating so +loudly that it seemed to her that he must hear it. At last, "Do you +mean," he asked, his voice muffled and uncertain, "that it is all over +between you?" + +"It is quite over between us," she answered soberly. "It was a mistake +from the beginning." + +"When--when did he----" + +"Oh, before this arose. Some time before this arose." She spoke +lightly, but her cheeks were hot. + +"He did not tell me." + +"No?" + +"No," Basset repeated. He spoke angrily, as if he felt this a +grievance, but in no other way could he have masked his emotion. +Perhaps he did not mask it altogether, for she was observing him--ah, +how keenly was she observing him! "On the contrary, he led me to +believe," he continued, "that things were as before between you, and +that he would tell you this himself. It was for that reason that I let +a week go by before I wrote to you." + +"Just so," she said, squeezing her handkerchief into a ball, and +telling herself that the worst was over now, the story told, that in +another minute this would be done and past. "Just so, I quite +understand. At any rate there is no longer any question of that, Mr. +Basset. And now," briskly, "may I see this famous deed which is to do +so much. You brought it with you, I hope?" + +"Yes, I brought it," he answered heavily. He took a packet of papers +from his breast-pocket, and it did not escape her--she was cooler +now--that his fingers were not as steady as a man's fingers should be. +The packet he brought out was tied about with old and faded green +ribbon, and bore a docket on the outside. She looked at it with +curiosity. That ribbon had been tied by a long-dead hand in the reign +of Queen Anne! Those yellowish papers had lain in damp and darkness a +hundred and forty years, that in the end they might take John Audley's +life! "I brought them from the bank this afternoon," he explained. +"They have been in the bank's custody since they were handed to me, +and I must return them to the bank to-night." + +"Everything depends upon them, I suppose?" + +"Everything." + +"But I thought that it was a deed--just one paper?" she said. + +"The actual instrument is a deed. This one!" He took it from the +series as he untied the packet. "The other papers are of value as +corroboration. They are letters, original letters, bearing on the +preparation of the agreement. They were found all together as they are +now, and in the same order. I did not disclose the letters to Audley, +or to his lawyer, because I had not then gone through them; nor was it +necessary to disclose them. I have since examined them, and they +provide ample proof of the genuineness of the deed." + +"So that you think...?" + +"I do not think that it can be contested. I am sure that it +cannot--with success. And if it be admitted, your opponent's case is +gone. It was practically common ground in the former suit that if this +agreement could be produced and proved his claim fell to the ground. +Yours remains. I do not suppose," Basset concluded, "that he will +contest it, save as a matter of form." + +"I am sorry for him," she said thoughtfully. And almost for the first +time her eyes met his. But he was not responsive. He shrugged his +shoulders. "He has had it long enough to feel the loss of it," she +continued, still bidding for his sympathy. "May I look at that +now--the deed?" She held out her hand. + +He gave it to her. It was a folded sheet of parchment, yellow with age +and not very large, perhaps ten inches square. Three or four seals of +green wax on ribbon ends dangled from it. It was written all over in a +fine and curious penmanship, its initial letter adorned with a +portrait of Queen Anne; altogether a pretty and delicate thing, but +small--so small, she thought, to effect so great a change, to carry, +to wreck, to make the fortunes of a house! + +She handled it gently, almost fearfully, with awe and a little +distaste. She turned it, she read the signatures. They were clear but +faint. The ink had turned brown. + +"Peter Paravicini Audley," she murmured. "He must have signed it +sadly, to save his wife, his cousin, a young girl, a girl of my age +perhaps! To save her name!" There was a quaver in her voice. Basset +moved uncomfortably. + +"They are all dead," he said. + +"Yes, they are all dead," she agreed. "And their joys and failings, +hopes and fears--all dead! It seems a pity that this should live to +betray them." + +"Not a pity on your account." + +"No. You are glad, of course?" + +"That you should have your rights?" he said manfully. "Of course I +am." + +"And you congratulate me?" She rose and held out her hand. Her eyes +were shining, there were tears in them, and her face was marvellously +soft. "You will be the first, won't you, to congratulate me? You who +have done so much for me, you who have been my friend through all? You +who have brought me this? You will wish me joy?" + +He was deeply moved; how deeply he could not hide from her, and her +last doubt faded. He took her hand--his own was cold--but he could not +speak. At last, "May you be very happy! It is my one wish, Lady +Audley!" + +She let his hand fall. "Thank you," she said gently. "I think that I +shall be happy. And now--now," in a firmer tone, "will you do +something for me, Mr. Basset? It is not much. Will you deal with Toft +for me? You told me in your letter that he held my uncle's note for +L800, to be paid in the event of the discovery of these papers? And +that L300, already paid, might be set off against this?" + +"That is so." + +"The money should be paid, of course." + +"I fear it must be paid." + +"Will you see him and tell him that it shall be. I--I am fond of +Etruria, but I am not so fond of Toft, and I would rather not--would +you see him about this?" + +"I quite understand," Basset answered. "Of course I will do it." They +had both regained the ordinary plane of feeling and he spoke in his +usual tone. "You would like me to see him now?" + +"If you please." + +He went from the room. There were other things that as executor he +must arrange, and when he had dealt with Toft, and not without a hard +word or two that went home, had settled that matter, he went round the +house and gave the orders he had to give. The light was beginning to +fail and shadows to fill the corners, and as he glanced into this room +and that and viewed the long-remembered places and saw ghosts and +heard the voices of the dead, he knew that he was taking leave of many +things, of things that had made up a large part of his life. + +And he had other thoughts hardly more cheering. Mary's engagement was +broken off. But how? By whom? Had she freed herself? Or had Audley, +_immemor Divum_, and little foreseeing the discovery that trod upon +his threshold, freed her? And if so, why? He was in the dark as to +this and as to all--her attitude, her thoughts, her feelings. He knew +only that while her freedom trebled the moment of the news he had +brought, the gifts of fortune which that news laid at her feet, rose +insuperable between them and formed a barrier he could not pass. + +For he could never woo her now. Whatever dawn of hope crept quivering +above the horizon--and she had been kind, ah, in that moment of +softness and remembrance she had been kind!--he could never speak now. + +The dusk was far advanced and firelight was almost the only light +when, after half an hour's absence, he returned to the parlor. Mary +was standing before the hearth, her slender figure darkly outlined +against the blaze. She held the poker in her hand, and she was +stooping forward; and something in her pose, something in the tense +atmosphere of the room, drew his gaze--he never knew why--to the table +on which he had left the papers. It was bare. He looked round, he +could not see them, a cry broke from him. "Mary!" + +"They don't burn easily," she said, a quaver of exultation and +defiance in her tone. "Parchment is so hard to burn--it burns so +slowly, though I made a good fire on purpose!" + +"D--n!" he cried, and he was going to seize, he tried to seize her +arm. But he saw the next moment that it was useless, he saw that it +was too late. "Are you mad? Are you mad?" he cried. Frantically, he +went down on his knees, he raked among the embers. But he knew that it +was futile, he had known it before he knelt, and he stood up again +with a gesture of despair. "My G--d!" he said. "Do you know what you +have done? You have destroyed what cannot be replaced! You have ruined +your claim! You must have been mad! Mad, to do it!" + +"Why, mad? Because I do not wish to be Lady Audley?" she said, facing +him calmly, with her hands behind her. + +"Mad!" he repeated, bitter self-reproach in his voice. For he felt +himself to blame, he felt the full burden of his responsibility. He +had left the papers with her, the true value of which she might not +have known! And she had done this dreadful, this fatal, this +irreparable thing! + +She faced his anger without a quiver. "Why, mad!" she repeated. She +was quite at her ease now. "Because, having been jilted by my cousin, +I do not wish for this common, this vulgar, this poor revenge? Because +I will not stoop to the game he plays and has played? Because I will +not take from him what is little to me who have not had it, but much, +nay all, to him who has?" + +"But your uncle?" he cried. He was striving desperately to collect +himself, trying to see the thing all round and not only as she saw it, +but in its consequences. "Your uncle, whose one aim, whose one object +in life----" + +"Was to be Lord Audley? Believe me," she replied gently, "he sees more +clearly now. And he is dead." + +"But there are still--those who come after you?" + +"Will they be better, happier, more useful?" she answered. "Will they +be less Audleys, with less of ancient blood running in their veins +because of what I have done? Because I have refused to rake up this +old, pitiful, forgotten stain, this scandal of Queen Elizabeth? No, a +thousand times no! And do not think, do not think," she continued more +soberly, "that I have acted in haste or on impulse. I have not had +this out of my thoughts for a moment since I knew the truth. I have +weighed, carefully weighed, the price, and as carefully decided to pay +it. My duty? I can do it, I hope, as well in one station as another. +For the rest there is only one who will lose by it"--she faced him +bravely now--"only one who will have the right to blame me--ever." + +"I may have no right----" + +"No you have no right at present." + +"Still----" + +"When you have the right--when you have gained the right, if ever--you +may blame me." + +Was he deceived? Was it the fact or only his fancy, a mere +will-o'-the-wisp inviting him to trouble that led him to imagine that +she looked at him queerly? With a mingling of raillery and tenderness, +with a tear and a smile, with something in her eyes that he had never +seen in them before? With--with--but her face was in shadow, she had +her back to the blaze that filled the room with dancing lights, and +his thoughts were in a turmoil of confusion. "I wish I knew," he said +in a low voice, "what you meant by that?" + +"By what?" + +"By what you have just said. Did you mean that now that he--now that +Audley is out of the way, there was a chance for me?" + +"A chance for you?" she repeated. She stared at him in seeming +astonishment. + +"Don't play with me!" he cried, advancing upon her. "You understand +me? You understand me very well! Yes, or no, Mary?" + +She did not flinch. "There is no chance for you," she answered slowly, +still confronting him. "If there be a second chance for me----" + +"Ah!" + +"For me, Peter?" And with that her tone told him all, all there was to +tell. "If you are willing to take me second-hand," she continued, with +a tremulous laugh, "you may take me. I don't deserve it, but I know my +own mind now. I have known it since the day my uncle died and I heard +your step come through the hall. And if you are still willing?" + +He did not answer her, but he took her. He held her to him, his heart +too full for anything but a thankfulness beyond speech, while she, +shaken out of her composure, trembled between tears and laughter. +"Peter! Peter!" she said again and again. And once, "We are the same +height, Peter!" and so showed him a new side of her nature which +thrilled him with surprise and happiness. + +That she brought him no title, no lands, that by her own act she had +flung away her inheritance and came to him almost empty-handed was no +pain to him, no subject for regret. On the contrary, every word she +had said on that, every argument she had used, came home to him now +with double force. It had been a poor, it had been a common, it had +been a pitiful revenge! It had mingled the sordid with the cup, it had +cast the shadow of the Great House on their happiness. In that room in +which they had shared their first meal on that far May morning, and +where the light of the winter fire now shone on the wainscot, now +brought life to the ruffed portraits above it, there was no question +of name or fortune, or more or less. + +So much so, that when Mrs. Toft came in with the tea she well-nigh +dropped the tray in her surprise. As she said afterwards, "The sight +of them two as close as chives in a barrel, I declare you might ha' +knocked me down with a straw! God bless 'em!" + + + + + CHAPTER XL + + "LET US MAKE OTHERS THANKFUL" + + +A man can scarcely harbor a more bitter thought than that he has lost +by foul play what fair play would have won for him. This for a week +was Lord Audley's mood and position; for masterful as he was he owned +the power of Nemesis, he felt the force of tradition, nor, try as he +might, could he convince himself that in face of this oft-cited deed +his chance of retaining the title and property was anything but +desperate. He made the one attempt to see Mary of which we know; and +had he seen her he would have done his best to knot again the tie +which he had cut. But missing her by a hair's breadth, and confronted +by Toft who knew all, he had found even his courage unequal to a +second attempt. The spirit in which Mary had faced the breach had +shown his plan to be from the first a counsel of despair, and +despairing he let her go. In a dark mood he sat down to wait for the +next step on the enemy's part, firmly resolved that whatever form it +might take he would contest the claim to the bitter end. + +And Stubbs was scarcely in happier case. At the time, and face to face +with Basset, he had borne up well, but the production of the fateful +deed had none the less fallen on him with stunning effect. He +appreciated--none better and more clearly now--what the effect of his +easiness would have been had Lord Audley not been engaged to his +cousin; nor did his negligence appear in a less glaring light because +his patron was to escape its worst results. He foresaw that whatever +befel he must suffer, and that the agency which his family had so long +enjoyed--that, that at any rate was forfeit. + +This was enough to make him a most unhappy, a most miserable man. But +it did not stand alone. Everything seemed to him to be going wrong. +All good things, public and private, seemed to be verging on their +end. The world as he had known it for sixty years was crumbling about +his ears. It was time that he was gone. + +Certainly the days of that Protection with which he believed the +welfare of the land to be bound up, were numbered. In the House Lord +George and Mr. Disraeli--those strangest of bedfellows!--might rage, +the old Protectionist party might foam, invective and sarcasm, taunt +and sneer might rain upon the traitor as he sat with folded arms and +hat drawn down to his eyes, rectors might fume and squires swear; the +end was certain, and Stubbs saw that it was. Those rascals in the +North, they and their greed and smoke, that stained the face of +England, would win and were winning. He had saved Riddsley by +nine--but to what end? What was one vote among so many? He thought of +the nut-brown ale, the teeming stacks, the wagoner's home, + + + Hard-by, a cottage chimney smokes + From betwixt two aged oaks. + + +He thought of the sweet cow-stalls, the brook where he had bent his +first pin, and he sighed. Half the country folk would be ruined, and +Shoddy from Halifax and Brass from Bury would buy their lands and walk +in gaiters where better men had foundered. The country would be full +of new men--Peels! + +Well, it would last his time. But some day there would rise another +Buonaparte and they would find Cobden with his calico millennium a +poor stay against starvation, his lean and flashy songs a poor +substitute for wheat. It was all money now; the kindly feeling, the +Christmas dole, the human ties, where father had worked for father and +son for son, and the thatch had covered three generations--all these +were past and gone. He found one fault, it is true, in the past. He +had one regret, as he looked back. The laborers' wage had been too +low; they had been left outside the umbrella of Protection. He saw +that now; there was the weak point in the case. "That's where they hit +us," he said more than once, "the foundation was too narrow." But the +knowledge came too late. + +Naturally he buried his private mishap--and my lord's--in silence. But +his mien was changed. He was an altered, a shaken man. When he passed +through the streets, he walked with his chin on his breast, his +shoulders bowed. He shunned men's eyes. Then one day Basset entered +his office and for a long time was closeted with him. + +When he left Stubbs left also, and his bearing was so subtly changed +as to impress all who met him; while Farthingale, stepping out in his +absence, drank his way through three brown brandies in a silence which +grew more portentous with every glass. At The Butterflies, whither the +lawyer hastened, Audley met him with moody and repellent eyes, and in +the first flush of the news which the lawyer brought refused to +believe it. It was not only that the tidings seemed too good to be +true, the relief from the nightmare which weighed upon him too great +to be readily accepted. But the thing that Mary had done was so far +out of his ken and so much beyond his understanding that he could not +rise to it, or credit it. Even when he at last took in the truth of +the story he put upon it the interpretation that was natural to him. + +"It was a forgery!" he cried with an oath. "You may depend upon it, it +was a forgery and they discovered it." + +But Stubbs would not agree to that. Stubbs was very stout about it, +and giving details of his conversation with Basset gradually persuaded +his patron. In one way, indeed, the news coming through him wrought a +benefit which neither Mary nor Basset had foreseen. It once more +commended him to Audley, and by and by healed the breach which had +threatened to sever the long connection between the lawyer and +Beaudelays. If Stubbs's opinion of my lord could never again be wholly +what it had been, if Audley still had hours of soreness when the +other's negligence recurred to his mind, at least they were again at +one as to the future. They were once more free to look forward to a +time when a marriage with Lady Adela, or her like, would rebuild the +fortunes of the Great House. Of Audley, whose punishment if short had +been severe, one thing at least may be ventured with safety--and +beyond this we need not inquire; that to the end his first, last, +greatest thought would be--himself! + +Late in June, the Corn Laws were repealed. On the same day Sir Robert +Peel, in the eyes of some the first, in the eyes of others the last of +men, was forced to resign. Thwarted by old friends and abandoned by +new ones, he fell by a man[oe]uvre which even his enemies could not +defend. Whether he was more to be blamed for blindness than he was to +be praised for rectitude, are questions on which party spirit has much +to say, nor has history as yet pronounced a final decision. But if his +hand gave the victory to the class from which he sprang, he was at +least free from the selfishness of that class. He had ideals, he was a +man, + + + He nothing common did nor mean, + Upon that memorable scene, + But bowed his comely head, + Down as upon a bed. + + +Nor is it possible, even for those who do not agree with him, to think +of his dramatic fall without sympathy. + +In the same week Basset and Mary were married. They spent their +honeymoon after a fashion of their own, for they travelled through the +north of England, and beginning with the improvements which Lord +Francis Egerton was making along the Manchester Canal, they continued +their quiet journey along the inland waterways which formed in the +'forties a link, now forgotten, between the great cities. In this +way--somewhat to the disgust of Mary's new maid, whose name was +Josephine--they visited strange things; the famous land-warping upon +the Humber, the Doncaster drainage system in Yorkshire, the Horsfall +dairies. They brought back to the old gabled house at Blore some ideas +which were new even to old Hayward--though the "Duke" would never have +admitted this. + +"Now that we are not protected, we must bestir ourselves," Basset said +on the last evening before their return. "I'll inquire about a seat, +if you like," he added reluctantly. + +Mary was standing behind him. She put her hand on his shoulder. "You +are paying me out, Peter," she said. "I know now that I don't know as +much as I thought I knew." + +"Which means?" Basset said, smiling. + +"That once I thought that nothing could be done without an earthquake. +I know now that it can be done with a spade." + +"So that where Mary was content with nothing but a gilt coach, Mrs. +Basset is content with a nutshell." + +"If you are in the nutshell," Mary answered softly, "only--for what we +have received, Peter--let us make other people thankful." + +"We will try," he answered. + + + + THE END + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great House, by Stanley J. Weyman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT HOUSE *** + +***** This file should be named 39294.txt or 39294.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/2/9/39294/ + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the +Web Archive (University of Michigan) + + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/39294.zip b/old/39294.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..12ae0cd --- /dev/null +++ b/old/39294.zip |